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Author Topic: An Adventure In Black - Chapter III  (Read 12538 times)
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Deklitch Hardin
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« on: May 16, 2012, 04:35:53 PM »

Deklitch directed Tak and Termat down the main street of Cemphiria towards the tavern that Dek and Tervin had arranged earlier on for their use. Tervin said that the tavern was not far from the city library and the Archmagi had hinted that a trip to the library might be in order. Dek had noticed as they travelled that Tervin had directed more than one glance at the indigo eyed elf that had Dek more than a bit worried. They had eventually reached a tavern named the 'Grothar's Child Tavern', with a silhouette of a Centuraurian Horse on its hind legs on the sign above the entry into the common room. There were stables there as well, with more than enough space for the two carts and ponies.

Inside the tavern there was a fireplace with a fire dancing merrily behind the grate, as well as a number of tables. Tavern wenches were present as was a barkeep and a cook and there were a number of customers in attendance as well. Most of their fellow customers paid no attention to the group that entered, however there were a group of three, hoods pulled over their heads and robes pulled in tight around then that looked at the newcomers intently, before turning back to their mugs that were filled with ale or something similar.

As they approached a large table in the opposite corner to where the three men were sitting, one which was, strangely enough, away from other customers and which was large enough for all of them to sit around it comfortably, Tervin said to Alyr, "I must speak with you urgently, Alyr, and in private."

"You and your stodgy old man companion return, Dekkie," one of the tavern wenches said, approaching Deklitch and the group, "and I see you brought some other friends as well. Will you now spend time with me?"

She leaned forward and gave Dek a viewing of her breasts.

"Ah, not at the moment," Dek replied, "we're quite busy, and I'm sure my companions would appreciate a drink and perhaps something to eat. What is there to eat and drink?"

The tavern wench sighed and gave a run down on the food and drink on offer, mostly standard fare for a tavern in this part of Santharia. She looked around the group expectedly, obviously waiting for drink and food orders.

Anyone looking over towards where the three figures were sitting would see that one of the three had left ... and that the other two seemed intent on their drinks and conversation.
« Last Edit: May 16, 2012, 04:36:36 PM by Deklitch Hardin » Logged

Seeking the truth, whatever the cost! - Deklitch Hardin, Elf Friend
Alýr (Rayne)
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« Reply #1 on: May 17, 2012, 01:24:02 AM »

Evening was falling in a descent like a gentle spring rain. Twilight was slipping silently down the rooftops and pooling in the city streets, mingling with young shadows and dark winds. The citizens were still upon the streets, though the crowds seem to be thinning, and Alýr watched them as she walked with her group to the tavern. Cemphiria was an old city, one that still drew a great deal of respect from, not only Voldar, but the capital of New Santhala. Hundreds of years ago, some of the most powerful religious figures in the kingdom sat here, in this city known for having the largest temple to Armeros in the kingdom.

Indigo eyes noticed the tall spires and darkening sky through the gray hood of her cloak. Although her hood hid most of her countenance, her racial heritage was still easy to identify for the careful observer, for she moved as lightly as a breeze across the sea.

She followed Dek and Tervin to the tavern, and felt herself ease at the warm blaze and the bubbly barmaids, though a lingering shadow flickered in her heart. She felt Tervin touch her shoulder, and she turned to him.

"I must speak with you urgently, Alýr, and in private."

Alýr nodded, and she gave a comforting smile to Dek whose vague anxiety had not gone unnoticed. Then she turned and walked to the back with the very solemn-looking Archmage.
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Roy Tmofl
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« Reply #2 on: May 17, 2012, 06:16:44 AM »

Roy had remained silent through out the trip. Drinking in as much information as he could. He quite agreed with the arch mage on the obvious notion that they should visit the library but he was strangely hungry and would quite enjoy a meal.

When the wench was prepared to take their orders. he stepped forward and said  "I shall take water. As well as bread." Then gave the bar wench the appropriate amount of coins.

He walked over to a table that was in a reletively safe position. A corner hid from most where he could view all. This served him well for people were most lickely to act as they normally did when they didn't think they were being watched and in a tavern there was much to see.
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Stupidity is also a gift from God, but one musn't misuse it.

Pope John Paul II

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Gilith
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« Reply #3 on: May 18, 2012, 06:02:09 AM »

After the red robed mage had ordered his food and drink Gilith stepped forward with only slight hesitation. There was something usettleing about him. Yet he could not quite identify it. Mead some bread and meat he ordered. After paying for his food he took his seat. He agreed with the strange mages chose of position. But he was reluctant to sit near him. So he chose a table against the wall. When he had settled himself into his chair he shifted his injured arm ever so slowly into a more comfortable position. Then he removed his bow arrows and sword and set them against the wall at his side. He was however not going to be taken by surprise so he made sure that he concealed his injured arm with his cloak. Then placed his leg on the other attempting to hide the long knife inside of his boot with his cloak as well.
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Aye, I've my fair share of scars. Perhaps a bit too many to be honest, decent sign of a careless man. But those don't bother me, they heal, and even if they don't heal right I've always found a way to deal with 'em. The ones I can see at least, the others...the ones inside. They aren't so easy to forget about, they don't heal like the others do. They might heal in a day, a week, a year. Or maybe some like mine, won't ever heal at all. There's no getting past these scars, you can't treat it, you can't cover it up, and you can't find a way around it. But, there comes a day, when you learn to live it, and you stop living in the past, so you can do what your able for the future.

Gilith
Quáel
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« Reply #4 on: May 19, 2012, 10:00:53 AM »

Quael's stomach protested with hunger, and after the cart ride she felt very queezy. But food would hopefully relieve the sickness that she felt.

"Some water and a few pieces of bread please." Once Quael had spoken her order to the lady, she paid, and went to sit down. She saw the ominous red robed man sitting in a corner by himself, he seems to like being places where he can keep an eye on everyone. But hunger wills out, and everything except food leaves her mind.

Quael decides to sit by Gilith, no one really looks like they want to talk much, except Alyr and her reuntied friend. But it doesn't matter, no one has to talk, Quael is content with silence. She does ask Gilith something though, a common concern for a fellow party member, "How are you holding up Gilith?"
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Nothing peirces the soul more than eyes do.
Quáel
Tak
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« Reply #5 on: May 21, 2012, 12:27:39 AM »

Tak still felt sick.  He joined the others in the tavern for a meal, he was famished after his earlier episode.  His stomach still troubled him, as he found out while trying to eat some of his own supplies of salted meats only to have them come right back up.

Tak climbed up a bar stool, and still had to stand on top of it to reach the counter.  “Excuse me, miss, do you have any taller chairs?”

The girl serving him seemed very amused with his appearance, “Afraid not sir.  I could fetch a few crates from the back.” 

“That would be fine.”  Tak climbed back down and walked over to his friends.  After a little hassle positioning the crates (and some vertical assistance from the bar girl) Tak sat atop a crate stacked on a chair across from Gilith and Quáel.  “If you would be so kind, I'd also like a light soup and some bread.” 

After eating Tak looked over at his friends, waived, and said, “Hello!” He was starting to feel better. 
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"There’s Nothing Worth Doing That Isn’t Worth Overdoing" - Tak "The Magnificent"
Gilith
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« Reply #6 on: May 21, 2012, 01:23:07 AM »

"How are you holding up Gilith?""

"Fine. not much to worry about." Gilith responded.

then he heard "Hello!"

Gilith nodded his head towards Tak.

"Hello Tak Hows your eh.. Stomach?"

Gilith asked. He liked the small gnome. But he did not entirely wish to be anywhere near him if his answer was anything less than completely settled.
« Last Edit: May 21, 2012, 01:24:14 AM by Gilith » Logged

Aye, I've my fair share of scars. Perhaps a bit too many to be honest, decent sign of a careless man. But those don't bother me, they heal, and even if they don't heal right I've always found a way to deal with 'em. The ones I can see at least, the others...the ones inside. They aren't so easy to forget about, they don't heal like the others do. They might heal in a day, a week, a year. Or maybe some like mine, won't ever heal at all. There's no getting past these scars, you can't treat it, you can't cover it up, and you can't find a way around it. But, there comes a day, when you learn to live it, and you stop living in the past, so you can do what your able for the future.

Gilith
Irid alMenie
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« Reply #7 on: May 23, 2012, 08:02:03 PM »

Irid looked around the table where everyone was seated - everyone except Alyr and the mage that had met them, Tervin. The meaning of Martje's words (part of them, anyway) was clear enough now, here were the two companions that were to meet them. That still did not explain the matter of the necklace, of course, or even how she had known about them.

She felt only slightly part of this ragtag group of travellers, mostly because she did not really know any of them and was still waiting to form a judgement of their character, even for the darkelf. For example, she did not understand how the first ones to order food would fill their stomachs on just bread and water. Perhaps it was the wolfish part of her speaking, rather than her elvish side, but she knew she would need more if she were to really heal properly. At least Gilith ordered some meat as well, which was good - he needed to heal more than anyone.

Turning her golden eyes to the waiting barmaid, she ordered a bowl of stew and an artwine. Then she sat back, deciding that if she was ever to tell the others about her affliction, now was the time to do it, even though Alyr was not here. Everyone was more or less quiet.

"I have something to tell you." she said, not so loudly that the whole inn would hear but loud enough that it carried to her companions. When she had their attention, she went on: "Something happened some years ago, I am still uncertain what exactly, but since then I have experienced black-outs at times. During these times, I am told I act rather strangely - to be exact, somewhat wolfish. How long these spells last is hard to say, as it varies, but when I wake up I never remember anything from this time. Since we will be travelling together, I thought you should know about this, so that if it should happen in your presence, you will not be surprised. I have told Alyr about this, and she had no problems with me staying on."

She stopped speaking, finally having had her say. Now she had no secrets from her companions - not any secrets that mattered, anyway. She sat back again, not realising how much she had tensed during her little speech. She did not like speaking about her affliction, but the others deserved to know - and she'd rather tell them now than them treating her with distrust if it should happen without forewarning.

The tension in her body did not go entirely away. She was on edge, fretful though she managed to sit still. She would have to learn the reactions of the others before she could really feel better. Or worse, depending on what they actually said. She looked from one to the other to gauge their reaction.
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Stat rosa pristina nomine, nomina nuda tenemus.
Irid al'Menie
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« Reply #8 on: May 24, 2012, 01:22:41 PM »

Remis let his hood fall back just a little as evening settled in. The brilliance of the light no longer burned his eyes, and he felt revived a bit in the gloaming. While he had felt a little bewildered by the cart speeding to Cemphiria, he hid it well, and the quickness did not bother him: he was used to moving fast.

As the others headed to the bar, he paused, looking at the city. He was sure he had passed this city before, and yet to look at it, it seemed rather unfamiliar.

Having been so long in the cart, close to others--including that damn, wriggling lizard (he despised psyrpents)--he felt the need to stay back and let himself recover from the annoyance of the crowd. The more time he spent with the group, the more he disliked them, all of them: not just that hulking lizard, but that annoying little gnome who hopped around with spastic pyromaniacal glee, that sarcastic blue-haired elf whose overly-cheery attitude needed a slow and painful death, that quiet arrogant elf who had neither the light of a wood elf nor the darkness of a dark elf, that uppity dandy with the cravat who clearly needed to be devoured by blood-thirsty hounds, that alcoholic sailor woman whose delicate response to everything seemed to be to fervently slash it with her sword, that brooding fire mage who seemed to imply maniacal laughter after every utterance and shifty glance, the black-eyed elf whose sudden attacks made him want to put her out of her misery... slowly. And that human with the wounded shoulder--he needed to be thrown into the Arvins Festival to be hunted down for sport ...and now there was also this decrepit human made and overly-excitable boy!

All of them had begun to get on his nerves. Especially that damned wood elf with the indigo eyes. She was medling, foolish, and too full of light; he longed to snuff out the source of her glow.

He turned back a bit. He had no allegiance now; he had agreed to come as far as Cemphiria, and now that that was done, he could go back to Voldar to resume where he had left off. Though that elf still owed him money. He brooded a little when he saw eyes watching him from the darkness and saw the demon-like human Defalgren step into view.

"Hello, my dark friend," he spoke.

Remis did not answer the demon, but he met his eyes and felt more inviting to his presence; it was comfortable to be around darkness again.

"I have come, as promised to see where your loyalties lie," he said, and smiled slightly. "Will you follow the elfess Alýr?"

"No," said the dark elf, coolly but immediately and assertively.

"Then you will join us?"

"Why must I join either of you?"

"Because, in the future, you may have to. I do not know your past, but I know you seek knowledge. What better knowledge to bring back to your tribe than the knowledge of the Netherworld? A knowledge that can arm you and your kin with great and powerful weapons of destruction."

Remis looked at his dark companion quietly, thinking, before he finally said, "What do you want me to do?" His voice hinted his suspicions.

Defalgren smiled, but he knew that the dark elf did not trust him entirely. Winning loyalty was slow, and he had to make things easy. "Just tell me what the group of companions possesses? Who has the box?"

"I don't know," said Remis.

Defalgren's eyes flashed with anger until he realized that Alýr had no reason to tell him who hid the box. He tried to stifle the tones of his frustrations, but they echoed a little in his words. "Fine. Do they have anything else? How did the group get here so fast?"

"An old woman in the woods with some strange powers. She called herself Martje, and when we arrived she gave the wolf-eyed elf some peculiar green stone, like a rough emerald."

"So they have a fragment," Defalgren said softly, more to himself than anyone, then met the eyes of the dark elf. "Thank you, my dark friend. I shall consider us in allegiance, and for your help, will tell you that it is a nice night, and I recommend against entering the part where your ex-companions have come to board." Remis looked at Defalgren almost questioningly, but the demon-man began strolling. "Come and walk with me around the block, and let us discuss our new alliance."

Remis was hesitant and suspicious, but unafraid. The two figures walked down the darkening streets of Cemphiria, away from the tavern.
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Termat Geirskun
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« Reply #9 on: May 24, 2012, 09:12:33 PM »

Termat followed the newcomer down the broad central street.The two with whom they now travelled were a curious pair, he decided, and he couldn't quite work out why they were travelling together, or even why they were now a part of their group. He did, however, notice that the elder of the pair seemed concerned about their fearless leader, and he had gleaned enough from the few words that had been exchanged to realise that the three of them were acquainted. As the evening had drawn in, he had put his jacket back on and was carefully rearranging the sit of his cravat when they stopped outside a tavern.

As the young newcomer and others entered the inn, Termat drew his cart into the stables that stood by the door. Unhitching his donkey, he rubbed its head briefly and led it to a water trough for a much-needed drink, before opening the smaller of his cases. On top of various necessities of travel lay his cutlass, and in a locked box was a sizeable sum of money - Termat was in funds, and after their rapid traversal of ground it was no bad thing. Unlocking the box, he took out a small bag with enough money to pay for a good meal and the night's accomodation before closing the case and, carrying it in one hand out of the stable and into the tavern.

A fire seemed to laugh in the grate, chuckling at some private joke, as Termat stepped through the door. Many of the others were already established; Alýr and the old man were engaged in a discussion that looked deep, meaningful, and very much not to be interrupted. Glancing around some more, Termat saw the barmaid helping the diminutive owner of the other cart a hand in clambering onto what appeared to be a crate atop an ordinary chair.

Amused, he stepped across the tavern floor and stood waiting; when the barmaid had finished, he greeted her with a slight dipping of his upper torso and a smile.

“Good evening. I'd like a room for the night, please.”

“Of course. Is that all, or would you like anything to eat or drink this evening?”

“Both, please. I’ll have a glass of wine straight away and then if you could give me an idea of the food I can get here that would be excellent.”

As she hurried to get a drink, Termat sank into a chair. If the group were staying downstairs he wouldn’t retire to his room and change this evening.
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Alýr (Rayne)
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« Reply #10 on: May 25, 2012, 07:37:08 AM »

It was nearly 20 minutes before Alýr and the Archmage Tenvin Jolith reappeared. The human mage appeared troubled, his brows furrowed with troughs of worry in his already wrinkled countenance. There was a trembled stillness in his eyes, as though the stolidity of his heart were caught between rage and despair. He walked slowly, with every step trying to regain himself.

He seemed comforted to watch the elf in front of him, for she moved like wind, and his expression seemed to remark that, if she should evanesce into a wandering breeze and flutter into the cool expanse of night, the change would be hardly unexpected. Her eyes were calm and kind--though deep in the glimmering indigo, there was perhaps a shadow of sorrow, as though she had turned again to some troubling fate and the darkness still lingered there as a reflection.

The elf took a seat at the table of her companions next to Deklitch, and noticed that Remis was not among them; he must have decided to part with the group upon arrival in Cemphiria. This was, after all, the plan all along. Tervin Jolith, for his part, stood. The peculiarity of the absence of the archmage and indigo-eyed elf was not explained. Rather, the Archmage's gaze into the eyes of those seated around the table was enough to inspire curious silence, but it was Alýr her spoke: "Have you found something regarding the box in the tomes of Ximax?"

The Archmage nodded, as though suddenly remembering the fact. He quietly pulled out rolled parchment from his bag upon which he had inscribed pertinent notes and information from the ancient, dusky tomes of Ximax. They were covered in small, somewhat messy handwriting but spotted with contrastingly neat sketches. Occasional ink-stains from his quill marred places in the text. As he rolled the pages out across the wooden table, he spoke in a gruff, woody voice--which seemed all the more gruffer for the solemnity of his words:

"According to the ancient records, which came from fragments of scripture from across Sarvonia, this legend hails back to the time of the fall of the empire of Fá'áv'cál'âr. The great, mythological elven empire fell through the righteousness of the elven empress Kásh'áv'taylá, who believe Avá alone was the only god deserving worship. The dark god Coór was furious, and rallied the other gods and goddess to smite the elves.

He shuffled through the parchment to show a dark, shadowy dragon. Its wings looked dark and boney, its snout long and mean, and its body looked like some figure of nightmare; even in illustration, it looked terrible. "In the ensuing destruction of the empire, Coór twisted the form of a fire dragon, linking its essence to the Netherworld to make her chaotic, dark, and powerful. The twisted creature, later called Cór'efér, or Night Fire, reigned death upon the elves until it was finally brought down.

"As life left the great Cór'efér and it fell from the black sky, much of its form faded, giving in to the great powers of the Netherworld. By the time it hit the ground, all that was left of it was an eye, which became a portal to the Netherworld."


Here the mage began to again shuffle through papers as he spoke. "The eye, which had hardened into a dark, glowing orange-red crystal, was brought before fourteen elder elves." Among the notes and scribbles was the sketch of a circular object with a dark core. "It could not be destroyed, and so the elves had it locked in a box, one that could not be destroyed by earth, wind, water, or fire."

The mage pointed to a key, broken into thirteen parts. "They forged a key for it, then broke that key into thirteen pieces. One elder took the box and each of the others took the thirteen pieces."

"What happened to the elder elves?" asked the indigo-eyed elf quietly.

"They scattered to the winds, across Sarvonia. The key fragments were lost to time and memory. But that's not the end of the story."

The archmage shuffled through the parchment for the third time. "In the year a.S. 147, a curious and brilliant mage and tinkerer named Selma Ocridge came across the box in her travels, and developed a device for locating the pieces of the key, though she could only adjust it to point to twelve of the thirteen fragments, and even then only one at time." He pointed to a picture of the device, which looked very much like a watch. And looked very, very familiar. "She began searching for the fragments, but didn't get very far; in 151, she left her home in Ximax with the box, the fragment locator device, and two key fragments she had found. A couple months later she was found dead upon the shore of the Ancytharian Sea, dead--the box, device, and fragments gone from her possession."

As though overwhelmed with the ominous darknesses in the history and the heaviness of the task for those who bore the box, the Archmage slowly sat down, looking almost defeated. "Now it seems, after all these years, the box has resurfaced again. And comes to us pursued."
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Tak
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« Reply #11 on: May 26, 2012, 12:51:12 AM »

"Hello Tak Hows your eh.. Stomach?" Gilith asked, casting a wary look at Tak, he seemed ready to jump out of his seat.

“Much better, terrible thing traveling at high speeds.  It reminds me of my Combustion Boots, but much much much faster!”  Tak grinned, he had a new idea for the combustion boots and was fiddling through his pockets for a notebook when Irid came up to the group and announced, "I have something to tell you. Something happened some years ago, I am still uncertain what exactly, but since then I have experienced black-outs at times. During these times, I am told I act rather strangely - to be exact, somewhat wolfish. How long these spells last is hard to say, as it varies, but when I wake up I never remember anything from this time. Since we will be travelling together, I thought you should know about this, so that if it should happen in your presence, you will not be surprised. I have told Alyr about this, and she had no problems with me staying on."

Tak’s eyes went wide as saucers, he had heard stories of fantastic beings that could transform into wolves, but he thought they were fantasy, things the Golgnome mothers would tell their children to keep them home. “You’re an Uluvar?!”  Tak finally found his notebook and wrote ‘Human Form’ at the top of the page and began to sketch Irid.  Not happy with the sketch he hopped off his chair (almost falling flat on his face), and shouted, “To the library!”  He raced over to where Irid sat, grabbed ahold of her arm and said, “Come on, I need to study you!  Those old stuffy gnomes back home will never believe this!”
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"There’s Nothing Worth Doing That Isn’t Worth Overdoing" - Tak "The Magnificent"
Gilith
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« Reply #12 on: May 26, 2012, 06:54:40 AM »

“Much better, terrible thing traveling at high speeds.  It reminds me of my Combustion Boots, but much much much faster!”  

Gilith smiled.

Ah very good." he responded.

Then Irid said

"I have something to tell you. Something happened some years ago, I am still uncertain what exactly, but since then I have experienced black-outs at times. During these times, I am told I act rather strangely - to be exact, somewhat wolfish. How long these spells last is hard to say, as it varies, but when I wake up I never remember anything from this time. Since we will be travelling together, I thought you should know about this, so that if it should happen in your presence, you will not be surprised. I have told Alyr about this, and she had no problems with me staying on."

The gnome responded to this with much enthusiasim. Saying something about Ulver and a library.

Now waite. That wasn't right. She had said a few years ago. Ulver so far as he knew not to say that he knew much. Were like what they were from birth.

"Hold on a second Tak. If she said something happened a few years ago. Doesn't that mean that she couldn't be an ulver. I mean or thats to say I always thought they were just born the way they are."

His words stumbled and he knew it. He was never very good at persuasion.

He looked over to Irid.

"I'm guessing your not an Ulver?" He asked.
« Last Edit: May 27, 2012, 02:04:52 AM by Gilith » Logged

Aye, I've my fair share of scars. Perhaps a bit too many to be honest, decent sign of a careless man. But those don't bother me, they heal, and even if they don't heal right I've always found a way to deal with 'em. The ones I can see at least, the others...the ones inside. They aren't so easy to forget about, they don't heal like the others do. They might heal in a day, a week, a year. Or maybe some like mine, won't ever heal at all. There's no getting past these scars, you can't treat it, you can't cover it up, and you can't find a way around it. But, there comes a day, when you learn to live it, and you stop living in the past, so you can do what your able for the future.

Gilith
Serpentfang
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« Reply #13 on: May 26, 2012, 04:04:51 PM »

The psyrpent followed his companions, dragging the maul behind him with its head on the ground and raking the dirt as he walked. He still felt uneasy from the cart trip, in contrast with his dog, who even now is jumping around the lizardman. At last they've reached their destination, a city outside the forest. Serpentfang stared back at curious onlookers, whom he guessed had never seen a psyrpent before. Some of the peasants held their rakes, hoes, shovels, and scythes closer to them, obviously scared but defensive. They are wary, and it's understandable. Humans have always feared that which they do not understand. The psyrpent gripped his maul all the more tighter, should one of these squishies decides to attack him.

A few minutes later they arrived at a tavern, and the rest of the group went in. Everyone except him. He saw how the townspeople looked at him. They fear him, and they are right to do so. But inside that establishment he'll be vastly outnumbered by the squishies, and facing a dozen or so drunks will be hard especially in a small, cramped room such as that. Perhaps waiting outside would be a much better idea.

He was looking for the stables or some other building similar to it when a few of the townspeople from the tavern noticed him. He averted his eyes from them, and taking hold of David's collar he led the dog towards a shaded area, near where a few barrels and some crates stood. He sat down and leaned against a barrel, taking out some more of the dried jerky and giving it to his dog. The men followed him, taking note of the protruding scales in his bag.

"I know what ye be," said a man with a huge, bulbous nose and a messy beard. "I saw a few o yer kind guardin' caravans."

"Tha's a mighty fine set of coat ye got there, Scaly. Mind ye give 'em to some poor folk, seein as ye don't need it?" A lanky young man was eyeing his bag.

The psyrpent flicked his tongue in and out, trying to smell the group of people. He caught a whiff of alcohol in them, which meant they are drunk.

One of the men, a large rotund human with a shaven and oiled head, was obviously offended by the psyrpent's actions. "I dunno where ya from, but in this town, stickin' out yer tongue at strangers be a rude thing." He walked towards the lizardman and attempted to pull out the molted scale. His swagger was met with a powerful shove and he went rolling towards his companions. The psyrpent stood up. He's had enough.

The bald man stood up and spat out the dirt he accidentally licked. "Wrong move, Scaly!" He reached for a rusty dagger on his belt and made a move towards the psyrpent, but suddenly dropped the weapon, knelt down and held his head between his hands. His eyes were closed tightly and he was convulsing with pain. The other humans gathered around him, confused and trying to help their companion.

Serpentfang was just standing there, his eyes focused on the bald man.
« Last Edit: May 26, 2012, 04:07:43 PM by Serpentfang » Logged

Ridgen Sú'ufanán
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« Reply #14 on: May 27, 2012, 04:43:32 PM »

Sleep. Sweet, peaceful sleep. Tranquil, like water. Serene, a place... no, a time, to escape the tangle of harsh troubles and unending conflicts that we call reality. Sometimes, one only truly felt at peace whilst asleep. Sometimes, a bit of sleep was good for one's health. And sometimes, there are moments where sleeping - any variation of it - is completely uncalled for, inappropriate, and left the sleep-induced person disoriented and confused immediately after waking up.

Such is the case of the not-so-young elf, Ridgen. He didn't know how, but immediately after flinging spells around and... doing something, the magician had succumbed to his own exhaustion and fell asleep in Termat's cart.

Apparently, nobody bothered to wake him up, or take note that he was, in fact, asleep. And so, when he did wake up, he doesn't have the slightest idea of where everyone else was. Fortunately, the tavern was in plain view in front of him - convenient, because that's where most adventures start. Taverns could also be considered rest-stops in the middle of these adventures and the only logical conclusion was to enter, merely half-awake and all that.

"I have something to tell you..."
The rest of the speech went on, Ridgen only partly registering whatever it was that was being said - even though his childish mind knew that it was important and knew that there was something to be done when one of the aforementioned 'spells/blackouts' struck. Other things happened. Alyr and a man that he's never seen before rejoined the group and explained that there was a key to the box, split into thirteen pieces. It was surprising, however, to find that there was a device that Ridgen almost instantly recognised. "Wait a minute, isn't that...?" Or at least, he should have. Unfortunately, in his half-asleep/half-awakened state, the elf did not do so and continued to lurk in silence.

That didn't last long, though. The lurking, that is.

"Hey uh... everyone. Where are we, what time is it, what's this about an Ulvur, why are there people here I can't recognise and why does this one have a picture of something that looks insanely familiar?"

Half-asleep Ridgen, go!
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"Everything is a game - some people just don't realise that."
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