Title: Chapter 1: It Always Starts in a Tavern....
Post by: Lythania So Mephgour on February 18, 2006, 09:50:23 AM
The Laughing Gnome tavern was nearly empty, it's numerous tables clean, in anticipation for the people that would be entering come nightfall. Behind the bar stood a kind faced gnome, casually sitting on a large stool, so as to be able to see over the counter. He seemed to be virtually surrounded by multicolored bottles, all within easy reach of his small arms. He seemed the epitome of patience, sitting there with his hands linked in his lap, with a slight smile on his face as he waited for customers. Customers which, by the looks of the near empty tavern, were not coming anytime in the immediate future.
In the main room, there was but one occupied table. This was occupied by a large man, dressed as an officer of the Milkengradian Guard. The man's postured exuded confidence, although his heavy brow was furrowed and his eyes seemed intent on his table, as he absentmindedly played with his dagger on the table. His sword is easily noticed from his belt, and the way it moves with him shows that he is used to wearing such a weapon. As soon as someone walks in the room, his sharp gaze quickly falls on them, as if sizing them up for something, but then his eyes once again fall back to his dagger.
In the main room, there was but one occupied table. This was occupied by a large man, dressed as an officer of the Milkengradian Guard. The man's postured exuded confidence, although his heavy brow was furrowed and his eyes seemed intent on his table, as he absentmindedly played with his dagger on the table. His sword is easily noticed from his belt, and the way it moves with him shows that he is used to wearing such a weapon. As soon as someone walks in the room, his sharp gaze quickly falls on them, as if sizing them up for something, but then his eyes once again fall back to his dagger.
Nobody is beyond redemption.
- Lythánia
Title: Re: Chapter 1: It Always Starts in a Tavern....
Post by: Monty Leadfist on February 18, 2006, 01:13:23 PM
The sun beat down upon the dwarf's helm and heavy-set shoulders as he storms down the dusty road, tromping boots kicking up dust in a ploom behind him. His lips move in irritation, muttering in Thergerim curse after curse into the warm spring afternoon. Suddenly, the dwarf's ears pick up the comforting sound of creaking hinges and looking up, his bristled face breaks into a smile at the sight of the hanging tavern sign, creaking in the breeze.
"Y-a-ha!" he shouts, pushing in through the heavy wooden doors into the near empty tavern. The silent return does not phase him, Montgomery swaggering straight through the center of the room and clapping his massive gloves together, clouds of dust errupting with every metallic jingle of the gauntlets. Hopping up onto a stool with practiced ease, Monty fumbles in a large sack about his waist and throws a few san on the bar. "Wee'n lad I'mma'n needferra pint'ere o-ale!"
"Y-a-ha!" he shouts, pushing in through the heavy wooden doors into the near empty tavern. The silent return does not phase him, Montgomery swaggering straight through the center of the room and clapping his massive gloves together, clouds of dust errupting with every metallic jingle of the gauntlets. Hopping up onto a stool with practiced ease, Monty fumbles in a large sack about his waist and throws a few san on the bar. "Wee'n lad I'mma'n needferra pint'ere o-ale!"
Title: Re: Chapter 1: It Always Starts in a Tavern....
Post by: Synder Nytefall on February 19, 2006, 08:44:23 AM
She wobbles into the tavern somewhat exhausted and a bit hung-over from the celebrations of the night before. The broad brim of her hat lowered to shadow her slight elven face from the harsh rays of Injerin. Synder’s eyes shine like burgundy fire; half shut and glazed over from within the shadows, yet a spriteful beam still radiating from the elfess’s supple lips.
Sauntering across the bar her slender form making its way through the tavern to a seat but a few Peds distant from the dwarf. Her only thoughts are focused upon another drink and some work, possibly, since the festivities with her fellow shipmates has left her purse a bit light. “Barkeep!” She exclaims in a slurred pitch the reverberation of her own sweet voice causing the elfess to cringe vaguely. Setting her rucksack next to the barstool, her silken shirt tied in a knot at the front revealing the tattoo of a detailed black butterfly with a silhouette of flames covering her lower back. The pirate then seated herself with arms folded upon the oaken surface of the bar, calmly waiting as the bartender tended the dwarven patron.
Seeing the barkeep tapping a keg for the dwarf, Synder hastily spoke. “I’d b’ lik’n a flag’n uh ale if ya wou’d?” Her words heavily garbled from the nausea caused by the throbbing headache overcoming the elf. Her burgundy eyes finally focusing upon the haggard dwarf as a genuinely temperate smile spread across her delicate elven visage. The classic features of elven beauty chiseled on her face almost enthralling given the soft lighting of the inn. Barely even capable to chat she just nodded nonchalantly at him.
at: 2/19/06 1:13
Sauntering across the bar her slender form making its way through the tavern to a seat but a few Peds distant from the dwarf. Her only thoughts are focused upon another drink and some work, possibly, since the festivities with her fellow shipmates has left her purse a bit light. “Barkeep!” She exclaims in a slurred pitch the reverberation of her own sweet voice causing the elfess to cringe vaguely. Setting her rucksack next to the barstool, her silken shirt tied in a knot at the front revealing the tattoo of a detailed black butterfly with a silhouette of flames covering her lower back. The pirate then seated herself with arms folded upon the oaken surface of the bar, calmly waiting as the bartender tended the dwarven patron.
Seeing the barkeep tapping a keg for the dwarf, Synder hastily spoke. “I’d b’ lik’n a flag’n uh ale if ya wou’d?” Her words heavily garbled from the nausea caused by the throbbing headache overcoming the elf. Her burgundy eyes finally focusing upon the haggard dwarf as a genuinely temperate smile spread across her delicate elven visage. The classic features of elven beauty chiseled on her face almost enthralling given the soft lighting of the inn. Barely even capable to chat she just nodded nonchalantly at him.
(¯`•."If there's a man among ye, ye'll come out and fight like the men ye are.".•´¯)-Synder's CD
Edited by: Synder Nytefall at: 2/19/06 1:13Title: Re: Chapter 1: It Always Starts in a Tavern....
Post by: Kain Cristar on February 19, 2006, 05:41:23 PM
A bead of sweat rolls across Kain's thin brow. With an infident slowness, it slips across his pale, high cheek, and drops onto the cobble street under his light, black boots. The stifling warmth of the day annoys him, as he is a kindered spirit to cold and stormy weather. There is not a cloud to block the groping rays of the sun, and he can feel the pure light wash over him. He gives a glance to the noon day sun and glares. He feels weak all over, weak and defenceless. He can feel all of his energy draining from his soul. A feeling that is oppressive in the worst way. The mage yearns to escape the sunlight, and find a cool tavern to hide within.
Without waiting annother second, he shoves at a thick oaken door, who's hinges creak in unision with his scrawny shoulders. He is greeted by a wash of shade and safety. Though still weary, yet the protection of the roof above him and walls around him kept him out of direct sunlight. Quickly he notes two things; the first of these was that the far left corner, in relation to himself, recieves almost no sunlight from the windows.
The second, and most important, is that there is an elf of astounding beauty standing not five peds from himself. So striking are her features, in fact, that he forgets about the door he is holding, and allows it's wieght to slowly slip from his fingers. He surveys her not as a human would stare at a whore, no, his eyes wash across her soft skin as an artist surveys the falling of night, as a conessuire of beauty. He feels her sensuality as the wind from a summer storm. A loud crash of iron and oak, as the door resumes it's closed position, shocks the elf out of his reviery of adultation. He gives the woman one more quick scan, smiles, and begins to walk toward the dark corner. As he nears his destination, he notes that she is fairly drunk, going by the "slight" slur in her speech. As he passes her by, he decides she would need somebody to watch out for her. Beautiful women, even elves, had a tendency to be taken advantage of when full of drink. Kain would not allow any man to defile her. Beauty is the thing that brightens two centuries of pain. He tries to ignore the vile whispers that churn in the back of his mind. Thoughts and images wrought by Moh'epher's dark influence, blood and flesh, the absolute destruction of innocence at his hands. He keeps the yearnings of the artifact at bay with a forcefull application of his will. A testiment to his soul.
-Kain Cristar, Divine Aspect
Without waiting annother second, he shoves at a thick oaken door, who's hinges creak in unision with his scrawny shoulders. He is greeted by a wash of shade and safety. Though still weary, yet the protection of the roof above him and walls around him kept him out of direct sunlight. Quickly he notes two things; the first of these was that the far left corner, in relation to himself, recieves almost no sunlight from the windows.
The second, and most important, is that there is an elf of astounding beauty standing not five peds from himself. So striking are her features, in fact, that he forgets about the door he is holding, and allows it's wieght to slowly slip from his fingers. He surveys her not as a human would stare at a whore, no, his eyes wash across her soft skin as an artist surveys the falling of night, as a conessuire of beauty. He feels her sensuality as the wind from a summer storm. A loud crash of iron and oak, as the door resumes it's closed position, shocks the elf out of his reviery of adultation. He gives the woman one more quick scan, smiles, and begins to walk toward the dark corner. As he nears his destination, he notes that she is fairly drunk, going by the "slight" slur in her speech. As he passes her by, he decides she would need somebody to watch out for her. Beautiful women, even elves, had a tendency to be taken advantage of when full of drink. Kain would not allow any man to defile her. Beauty is the thing that brightens two centuries of pain. He tries to ignore the vile whispers that churn in the back of his mind. Thoughts and images wrought by Moh'epher's dark influence, blood and flesh, the absolute destruction of innocence at his hands. He keeps the yearnings of the artifact at bay with a forcefull application of his will. A testiment to his soul.
You have lived a life of cruelty and atrocity, you have bathed in the blood of the innocent, you have considered every act of depravity and your corruption knows no bounds. I am the angel of justice, I am the accumulation of all of your sins. Prepare for your redemption.
-Kain Cristar, Divine Aspect
Title: Re: Chapter 1: It Always Starts in a Tavern....
Post by: Ciosina on February 20, 2006, 04:43:23 AM
Lost, she is so lost.
Once, she had been a fine lady destined for marriage to a Baron, for a life of comfort where her myriad skills were put to their intended use, running an estate for the man to whom she was to be wed. Now, she is alone, prey for any thief or scoundrel who sees her. Out here, in the wilderness, her skills mean nothing. She is lost, and even the warmest northen sun cannot warm the skin of a woman used to Bardavosian summers. She is cold, and so lost.
Frightened eyes scan the wilderness - graceful buildings now rather than trees, but it is still a wilderness to her, vulnerable as she is - merely another type. She had come here from Vardynn only because it had meant that the rising sun was to her back; she could not bear for Foiros to see her tears. Now, days later, her tears have dried, and there is only the cold, and the fear, and the deep, hungry sense of loss. Milkengrad is beautiful, but she does not see it. She rides almost blindly through the streets, aiming nowhere.
Looking up, she sees a tavern sign. It has a cheery little creature pictured on it, which turns her mind to warmth and happier times. Pulling the huge, dark-grey drafthorse called Eghana to a halt, she slides down from the side-saddle, her long-sleeved, woollen, mid-blue riding gown puffing out slightly as she lands heavily. Regaining her proper, ladylike posture she automatically looks around for a stableboy. Tears almost return as the realisation hits her that there is not, and will likely never again be, any stableboy. Shaking back her dusty hair, she hitches the grey to a post, and walks inside. Such is her exhaustion from her unaccustomed excercise that she completely forgets to take care of Eghana, or even to remove the saddlebags from the mare's back, taking inside only the money in the pouch tied to her belt.
The sharp gaze of the guard as she enters makes Ciosina jump, clutching her hands to her troat protectively. Her experience at the gates had not been a particularly pleasant one, so she hesitates wide-eyed, standing just inside and to the right of the door, even after the guard looks away.
Once, she had been a fine lady destined for marriage to a Baron, for a life of comfort where her myriad skills were put to their intended use, running an estate for the man to whom she was to be wed. Now, she is alone, prey for any thief or scoundrel who sees her. Out here, in the wilderness, her skills mean nothing. She is lost, and even the warmest northen sun cannot warm the skin of a woman used to Bardavosian summers. She is cold, and so lost.
Frightened eyes scan the wilderness - graceful buildings now rather than trees, but it is still a wilderness to her, vulnerable as she is - merely another type. She had come here from Vardynn only because it had meant that the rising sun was to her back; she could not bear for Foiros to see her tears. Now, days later, her tears have dried, and there is only the cold, and the fear, and the deep, hungry sense of loss. Milkengrad is beautiful, but she does not see it. She rides almost blindly through the streets, aiming nowhere.
Looking up, she sees a tavern sign. It has a cheery little creature pictured on it, which turns her mind to warmth and happier times. Pulling the huge, dark-grey drafthorse called Eghana to a halt, she slides down from the side-saddle, her long-sleeved, woollen, mid-blue riding gown puffing out slightly as she lands heavily. Regaining her proper, ladylike posture she automatically looks around for a stableboy. Tears almost return as the realisation hits her that there is not, and will likely never again be, any stableboy. Shaking back her dusty hair, she hitches the grey to a post, and walks inside. Such is her exhaustion from her unaccustomed excercise that she completely forgets to take care of Eghana, or even to remove the saddlebags from the mare's back, taking inside only the money in the pouch tied to her belt.
The sharp gaze of the guard as she enters makes Ciosina jump, clutching her hands to her troat protectively. Her experience at the gates had not been a particularly pleasant one, so she hesitates wide-eyed, standing just inside and to the right of the door, even after the guard looks away.
Title: Re: Chapter 1: It Always Starts in a Tavern....
Post by: Lythania So Mephgour on February 20, 2006, 05:25:23 AM
Likep The Bartender
Smiling as the dwarf walked up to him, Likep understood little of what the dwarf said other than the word "ale". That was enough for Likep, who knew his business, and said As you please sir, and swung his small body around his stool, now facing his bottles. He quickly picks one out and poors it into a remarkably clean mug. Before handing it to the dwarf, scooping up the coins and depositing them somewhere unseen.
A young elven woman soon walks in after the dwarf, stepping about brazenly. She was quite pretty, until she spoke. Again, one of the few words that Likep could understand was "ale", and again, that was all he needed. He again swung around and poured another mug, before expertly sliding the mud down a few peds, it easing to a stop in front of the woman. Likep patiently waits to be paid, too polite to ask for it outright, and knowing that with the captain of the guard sitting in the middle of the room, no thieving would occur.
Another elf walked to a dark corner of the room, asking for nothing. Likep did not like the looks of this one, but was confident that no trouble would occur, again due to the captain of the guard's close proximity.
The door opens once more, and Likep turns to see a frightened young girl who was obviously on the verge of tears. Pity taking his heart, Likep Smiles warmly, and waves the girl to sit in front of him. Come in young lady, there is nothing to fear in Likep's inn.
Smiling as the dwarf walked up to him, Likep understood little of what the dwarf said other than the word "ale". That was enough for Likep, who knew his business, and said As you please sir, and swung his small body around his stool, now facing his bottles. He quickly picks one out and poors it into a remarkably clean mug. Before handing it to the dwarf, scooping up the coins and depositing them somewhere unseen.
A young elven woman soon walks in after the dwarf, stepping about brazenly. She was quite pretty, until she spoke. Again, one of the few words that Likep could understand was "ale", and again, that was all he needed. He again swung around and poured another mug, before expertly sliding the mud down a few peds, it easing to a stop in front of the woman. Likep patiently waits to be paid, too polite to ask for it outright, and knowing that with the captain of the guard sitting in the middle of the room, no thieving would occur.
Another elf walked to a dark corner of the room, asking for nothing. Likep did not like the looks of this one, but was confident that no trouble would occur, again due to the captain of the guard's close proximity.
The door opens once more, and Likep turns to see a frightened young girl who was obviously on the verge of tears. Pity taking his heart, Likep Smiles warmly, and waves the girl to sit in front of him. Come in young lady, there is nothing to fear in Likep's inn.
Nobody is beyond redemption.
- Lythánia
Title: Re: Chapter 1: It Always Starts in a Tavern....
Post by: Elysia on February 20, 2006, 04:13:23 PM
A light breeze whirls her black cloak as Elysia strides down the cobbled streets. Pale azure eyes glare out from beneath the cowl of her hood as crimson bangs escape, obscuring her vision. The light of Foiros scorches the world as noon approaches, threatening to burn the fair complexion of the half elf. One pale hand grasps the cloak, holding it closed, as she balefully stares at the native Helcrani as they pass her on the street. Fools, they worship Ava and forget to whom they plead as ailments consume their lives. None are spared as the scythe of her mistress descends unseen to harvest the souls of mortals.
The stares of women concern her not as they scowl at the flesh revealed with each stride, her long legs stepping forth from the cloak, revealing silky thighs clothed only in the skirt of her dress, only to be concealed once more in the next moment. Mortal beauty is ever fleeting and not worthy of such attention. Even so, the corporeal form must be cared for to gain the strength needed to properly serve the Goddess, and this heat is enough to make her movements lethargic, as she was accustomed to living indoors. Shade would be a welcome relief.
A sign creaking in the breeze above her head attracts her gaze, the image upon it now faded and barely recognizable as a gnome. Elysia scowls to see such mirth depicted upon the sign, the gnome leaning forward as his frame seems to shake with guffaws of laughter. Nevertheless, she pushes against the heavy oak door, succeeding in only opening it wide enough for her to slip through. Once inside the tavern, she notices the apparent stare of the guard, not realizing the motive behind his gaze, and ignores him as she casts back the hood of her cloak. Crimson locks cascade seemingly without end as they disappear beneath her cloak, and large expressive eyes gaze out from above high cheekbones. Her rosy lips, a slash of color against her otherwise pale face, curl into a cruel smile at the evident fear of the girl standing next to her. Having derived as much amusement as possible from the girl’s distress, she dismisses her as another mortal destined to be welcomed within her mistress’s cold embrace and proceeds toward the bar.
The cloak flows behind her as she gracefully weaves among the empty tables, her hand having released its grasp upon it once she stood within the tavern. Revealing more than it concealed, her skirt whirled about her hips with each stride, the slit in one side offering a glimpse at her curvaceous hips. Not caring for the company of others, she avoids sitting near the dwarf or elf and instead chooses a stool against the far wall, obscured by shadows as the light from the windows does not reach this corner. As she sits, her skirt rides higher on her hips, revealing more of her thighs, yet the half elf does not seem to notice. Her voice is soft and lilting as she calls to the barkeep.
“Have you something cool and refreshing to ease this day’s heat?” Edited by: Elysia the Blessed at: 2/20/06 8:16
The stares of women concern her not as they scowl at the flesh revealed with each stride, her long legs stepping forth from the cloak, revealing silky thighs clothed only in the skirt of her dress, only to be concealed once more in the next moment. Mortal beauty is ever fleeting and not worthy of such attention. Even so, the corporeal form must be cared for to gain the strength needed to properly serve the Goddess, and this heat is enough to make her movements lethargic, as she was accustomed to living indoors. Shade would be a welcome relief.
A sign creaking in the breeze above her head attracts her gaze, the image upon it now faded and barely recognizable as a gnome. Elysia scowls to see such mirth depicted upon the sign, the gnome leaning forward as his frame seems to shake with guffaws of laughter. Nevertheless, she pushes against the heavy oak door, succeeding in only opening it wide enough for her to slip through. Once inside the tavern, she notices the apparent stare of the guard, not realizing the motive behind his gaze, and ignores him as she casts back the hood of her cloak. Crimson locks cascade seemingly without end as they disappear beneath her cloak, and large expressive eyes gaze out from above high cheekbones. Her rosy lips, a slash of color against her otherwise pale face, curl into a cruel smile at the evident fear of the girl standing next to her. Having derived as much amusement as possible from the girl’s distress, she dismisses her as another mortal destined to be welcomed within her mistress’s cold embrace and proceeds toward the bar.
The cloak flows behind her as she gracefully weaves among the empty tables, her hand having released its grasp upon it once she stood within the tavern. Revealing more than it concealed, her skirt whirled about her hips with each stride, the slit in one side offering a glimpse at her curvaceous hips. Not caring for the company of others, she avoids sitting near the dwarf or elf and instead chooses a stool against the far wall, obscured by shadows as the light from the windows does not reach this corner. As she sits, her skirt rides higher on her hips, revealing more of her thighs, yet the half elf does not seem to notice. Her voice is soft and lilting as she calls to the barkeep.
“Have you something cool and refreshing to ease this day’s heat?” Edited by: Elysia the Blessed at: 2/20/06 8:16
Title: Re: Chapter 1: It Always Starts in a Tavern....
Post by: Synder Nytefall on February 20, 2006, 11:24:23 PM
The elfess was hung-over but took suitable note of the bartender’s glance of inquiry at her non-payment. Slipping an agile hand into her pouch she pulled forth only air, her purse completely empty. Burgundy eyes turning upon the barkeep as a mischievous gleam danced across them, only accentuated further by a radiant smile. The feat causing her to narrow her eyes a bit as an agonizing headache beseeched her once more. The best course of action would be to fill my belly before the bartender figures out that I am a bit broke, minus my secreted reserves that is.
“I’d b’ wanton som’ vittles, du ya b’ havin any mutton I coul’ b’ gettn from yee?” The pirate inquired as she raised the flagon of ale to her ginger lips. Tilting her head back a good ways as she drained near half the contents, before placing it for a second time upon the countertop. One gloved hand rising to clean the foam mustache from her upper lip before scanning the room for newcomers. Synder beamed vibrantly as she noticed the boost of patrons to the establishment. The intake of alcohol began to cause her headache to fade once more as she slipped from hung-over to slightly inebriated, yet again.
Synder removed her buccaneer’s hat in a fluid motion twirling it on her nimble finger before brushing the grime of the road from its surface and placing it upon the bar. One gloved hand rising to position a few fiery locks to respite yet again behind her elven ears. Her attentions turned back upon the barkeep as she grinned tenderly at him before inquiring. “Wou yee b’ seekin sum help with tendn’ yer customers, matey?” She knew the ins and outs of more than one tavern and hoped that she could at least bring in enough to feed herself for the evening. at: 2/21/06 23:55
“I’d b’ wanton som’ vittles, du ya b’ havin any mutton I coul’ b’ gettn from yee?” The pirate inquired as she raised the flagon of ale to her ginger lips. Tilting her head back a good ways as she drained near half the contents, before placing it for a second time upon the countertop. One gloved hand rising to clean the foam mustache from her upper lip before scanning the room for newcomers. Synder beamed vibrantly as she noticed the boost of patrons to the establishment. The intake of alcohol began to cause her headache to fade once more as she slipped from hung-over to slightly inebriated, yet again.
Synder removed her buccaneer’s hat in a fluid motion twirling it on her nimble finger before brushing the grime of the road from its surface and placing it upon the bar. One gloved hand rising to position a few fiery locks to respite yet again behind her elven ears. Her attentions turned back upon the barkeep as she grinned tenderly at him before inquiring. “Wou yee b’ seekin sum help with tendn’ yer customers, matey?” She knew the ins and outs of more than one tavern and hoped that she could at least bring in enough to feed herself for the evening.
(¯`•."If there's a man among ye, ye'll come out and fight like the men ye are.".•´¯)-Synder's CD
Edited by: Synder Nytefall at: 2/21/06 23:55Title: Re: Chapter 1: It Always Starts in a Tavern....
Post by: Ciosina on February 21, 2006, 04:22:23 AM
"Come in young lady, there is nothing to fear in Likep's inn", says a kind voice from behind the bar. She turns away from the guard, where her gaze had been fixed, to see a gnome gesturing to a seat at the bar. She is briefly surprised, but then remembers where she is: Milkengrad. Ciosina's training included full histories of all the major cities of Santharia, and many of the smaller places too, so she knows - now that her fear has receded somewhat - what to expect here.
The door opens a fore and a very tall, very thin woman clad all in black insinuates herself into the tavern. She is very graceful and, despite the lady's intimidating height - a full fore-and a half greater than her own - Ciosina immediately feels a kinship with this woman. Ah, she thinks in the moments she takes to evaluate the lady, here is a woman of some social standing. Taking in the dark clothes and near-skeletal appearance, Ciosina assumes that the red-haired lady is in mourning. She has just enough time to wonder what a widow would be doing in a tavern before the rosy lips of the lady quirk into a cruel smile, and then she is dismissed.
A hot, pink blush spreads over Cio's cheeks and nose, caused by embarrassment over her own situation, and the ungentlewomaly behaviour of one whom she had assumed was like herself - a lady. This mix of shame and anger is all the impetus Ciosina needs to regain her sense of self-possesion. Tossing her hair in defiance, she pushes herself away from the wall and crosses the room, seating herself before the patiently smiling gnome. Her back is straight as she gracefully arranges her somewhat dusty skirts, and addresses the gnome.
"Thankyou for your welcome, kind sir. You must be Likep?"
The door opens a fore and a very tall, very thin woman clad all in black insinuates herself into the tavern. She is very graceful and, despite the lady's intimidating height - a full fore-and a half greater than her own - Ciosina immediately feels a kinship with this woman. Ah, she thinks in the moments she takes to evaluate the lady, here is a woman of some social standing. Taking in the dark clothes and near-skeletal appearance, Ciosina assumes that the red-haired lady is in mourning. She has just enough time to wonder what a widow would be doing in a tavern before the rosy lips of the lady quirk into a cruel smile, and then she is dismissed.
A hot, pink blush spreads over Cio's cheeks and nose, caused by embarrassment over her own situation, and the ungentlewomaly behaviour of one whom she had assumed was like herself - a lady. This mix of shame and anger is all the impetus Ciosina needs to regain her sense of self-possesion. Tossing her hair in defiance, she pushes herself away from the wall and crosses the room, seating herself before the patiently smiling gnome. Her back is straight as she gracefully arranges her somewhat dusty skirts, and addresses the gnome.
"Thankyou for your welcome, kind sir. You must be Likep?"
Title: Re: Chapter 1: It Always Starts in a Tavern....
Post by: Kain Cristar on February 21, 2006, 03:03:23 PM
As Kain begins to recover from the wracking torment of the sun's rays, more patrons stride with their own respective confidences through the tavern door. He does not notice these newcommers, their entrances are lost to his wind swept eyes. Instead he finds himself leaning over a heavy wooden table, with his long elbows supporting his wieght against the table top. His shoulders are hunched, and his thin, spiderlike fingers are carefully entwined. His sharp chin and thin lips are hidden by his clasped hands, so that his eyes stare over his knuckles. In this position he studies and thinks. He is solemn and intence in his own way, and his will can be seen in his eyes, which focus only on one thing.
They focus on the beauty. He drinks her in from afar, and carefully calculates her every move. Because of this, he is able to notice things that might pass unseen. The mage watches her reach into her coin purse, and observes, both from her reaction and the form of the bag, that it is indeed empty. He also is attentive to the subtle movements of her wrists and fingers, which are graceful despite her drunken state, as she removes her large hat. This impresses the elf, and he allows some portion of his mind to cerebrate. How beautiful her grace must be when she is sober. She is blessed with more than the appearance of beauty, his is it's very incarnation. To be tainted by the sins of the weak and despoiled, to be a wretched insect with such blessings, is a testimate to the sins of our gods. For a moment, his eyes leave the woman, and glance down into his cloak. He finds an ample amout of coin there, in one of his more hidden pockets. With a grace of a differant nature, a grace which holds no beauty, he retrieves a few san for the girl. He then points to the cheery gnome bartender, and curls his index finger toward himself, a gesture that states, come here. He places the san on the table and asks, in a quiet and discreet fashion. What is the price that you ask for yonder woman's drink?
-Kain Cristar, Divine AspectEdited by: Kain Cristar
at: 2/22/06 4:28
They focus on the beauty. He drinks her in from afar, and carefully calculates her every move. Because of this, he is able to notice things that might pass unseen. The mage watches her reach into her coin purse, and observes, both from her reaction and the form of the bag, that it is indeed empty. He also is attentive to the subtle movements of her wrists and fingers, which are graceful despite her drunken state, as she removes her large hat. This impresses the elf, and he allows some portion of his mind to cerebrate. How beautiful her grace must be when she is sober. She is blessed with more than the appearance of beauty, his is it's very incarnation. To be tainted by the sins of the weak and despoiled, to be a wretched insect with such blessings, is a testimate to the sins of our gods. For a moment, his eyes leave the woman, and glance down into his cloak. He finds an ample amout of coin there, in one of his more hidden pockets. With a grace of a differant nature, a grace which holds no beauty, he retrieves a few san for the girl. He then points to the cheery gnome bartender, and curls his index finger toward himself, a gesture that states, come here. He places the san on the table and asks, in a quiet and discreet fashion. What is the price that you ask for yonder woman's drink?
You have lived a life of cruelty and atrocity, you have bathed in the blood of the innocent, you have considered every act of depravity and your corruption knows no bounds. I am the angel of justice, I am the accumulation of all of your sins. Prepare for your redemption.
-Kain Cristar, Divine AspectEdited by: Kain Cristar
at: 2/22/06 4:28Title: Re: Chapter 1: It Always Starts in a Tavern....
Post by: Elysia on February 22, 2006, 04:36:23 PM
While waiting for the barkeep to answer, Elysia notices an apparition out of the corner of her eye. Restless spirits are common enough in a city this size, yet she had not expected to find one in this seemingly peaceful tavern. Nor is it the ghost of the typical patron. Luxuriant auburn tresses descend slightly beyond her shoulders and flow to and fro as the child gaily dances about the main room. A mischievous glint sparkles within bloodshot eyes. Once fair in life, the child is now a sickly grey, her skin mottled as if from a wasting sickness. Blood flows freely from several wounds upon her body, the blood pooling at her feet whenever she remains still and otherwise leaving bloody footprints along the tavern floor. One could almost believe the child to be alive and joyous despite her obvious malady, if it were not for the fact that the other patrons are visible through her ethereal form.
Upon realizing that the cleric is able to perceive her, the girl gracefully dances to the bar, a broad grin upon her face as she introduces herself. “Hello, living one. I am Emmy. How is it that you are able to see me? For almost a year, I’ve followed my father as he performs his daily duties, yet never before has one of flesh and blood seen me.”
Elysia turns to face the spirit, turning her back to the bar, and nods in acknowledgment of her ability to perceive the child. A genuine smile crosses her face upon hearing the girl’s introduction, and her voice is soft and compassionate as she replies. “Hail, Emmy. My talents are many, among them is the ability to perceive spirits such as yourself, doomed to roam this world until the circumstances of your death are resolved. Your father must be the guard sitting at the nearby table, as he is the only man within the tavern at this moment.”
Tears flow down the girl’s cheeks as confirms that the man is indeed her father. “He blames himself for my death, for not being able to cure me. He is a man trained for combat and lacks the skills for a healer yet still he berates himself for failing to protect me. If only he could hear me, I would tell him how wrong he is, yet I’ve attempted to speak to him before without success.”
Upon hearing of the girl’s plight, Elysia reaches toward her and speaks in a soft whisper. “Come to me, child. Together we will speak with him.”
As the child steps forward and takes the hand of the cleric, her ethereal form merges with the body of the priestess, slowly stepping into the woman’s body as she would a dress. A childish grin spreads across the face of the now possessed priestess as she stands and gazes about in wonder, the child being unaccustomed to possessing such height. As her gaze lowers to inspect her own body, the grin broadens upon the sight of her small yet firm breasts. With both hands she squeezes them, giggling at the thought of being a grown woman. Leaving her breasts, her hands venture downward to her skirt which she lifts as she stretches forth first one leg and then the other, cooing in delight at the sight of such shapely limbs.
Remembering the reason for which she now borrowed this woman’s body, she stops admiring her new form and gazes toward her father. Even with such a serious duty to perform, the child cannot resist dancing lithely as she gracefully approaches her father, her skirt flowing about her hips to reveal silky thighs. Upon reaching his table, she collapses in the chair next to him, laughing in delight at being able to dance once more as she did in life. Her laughter ceases as her expression becomes serious and one of concern for her father. Reaching toward him, she gently strokes his cheek as she gazes into his eyes.
“Da, it wasn’t your fault. None other than Nehtor himself or one dedicated to serving him could have healed me. Please, forgive yourself and move on with your life. You will always have the memories of your sweet Emmy to cherish.”
Once her message was spoken, Emmy departs from the body of the priestess, rising up beyond the ceiling of the tavern as an ethereal light seems to fill the room. Elysia quickly snatches her hand back, glaring at the guard as if he had been touching her instead of the reverse being true. All compassion seems to have left her voice as it is once again filled with contempt.
“I know not how I came to be here at this table with you, yet I remember the spirit of a young girl, seeking the help of one such as myself. Did she speak to you?”
Upon realizing that the cleric is able to perceive her, the girl gracefully dances to the bar, a broad grin upon her face as she introduces herself. “Hello, living one. I am Emmy. How is it that you are able to see me? For almost a year, I’ve followed my father as he performs his daily duties, yet never before has one of flesh and blood seen me.”
Elysia turns to face the spirit, turning her back to the bar, and nods in acknowledgment of her ability to perceive the child. A genuine smile crosses her face upon hearing the girl’s introduction, and her voice is soft and compassionate as she replies. “Hail, Emmy. My talents are many, among them is the ability to perceive spirits such as yourself, doomed to roam this world until the circumstances of your death are resolved. Your father must be the guard sitting at the nearby table, as he is the only man within the tavern at this moment.”
Tears flow down the girl’s cheeks as confirms that the man is indeed her father. “He blames himself for my death, for not being able to cure me. He is a man trained for combat and lacks the skills for a healer yet still he berates himself for failing to protect me. If only he could hear me, I would tell him how wrong he is, yet I’ve attempted to speak to him before without success.”
Upon hearing of the girl’s plight, Elysia reaches toward her and speaks in a soft whisper. “Come to me, child. Together we will speak with him.”
As the child steps forward and takes the hand of the cleric, her ethereal form merges with the body of the priestess, slowly stepping into the woman’s body as she would a dress. A childish grin spreads across the face of the now possessed priestess as she stands and gazes about in wonder, the child being unaccustomed to possessing such height. As her gaze lowers to inspect her own body, the grin broadens upon the sight of her small yet firm breasts. With both hands she squeezes them, giggling at the thought of being a grown woman. Leaving her breasts, her hands venture downward to her skirt which she lifts as she stretches forth first one leg and then the other, cooing in delight at the sight of such shapely limbs.
Remembering the reason for which she now borrowed this woman’s body, she stops admiring her new form and gazes toward her father. Even with such a serious duty to perform, the child cannot resist dancing lithely as she gracefully approaches her father, her skirt flowing about her hips to reveal silky thighs. Upon reaching his table, she collapses in the chair next to him, laughing in delight at being able to dance once more as she did in life. Her laughter ceases as her expression becomes serious and one of concern for her father. Reaching toward him, she gently strokes his cheek as she gazes into his eyes.
“Da, it wasn’t your fault. None other than Nehtor himself or one dedicated to serving him could have healed me. Please, forgive yourself and move on with your life. You will always have the memories of your sweet Emmy to cherish.”
Once her message was spoken, Emmy departs from the body of the priestess, rising up beyond the ceiling of the tavern as an ethereal light seems to fill the room. Elysia quickly snatches her hand back, glaring at the guard as if he had been touching her instead of the reverse being true. All compassion seems to have left her voice as it is once again filled with contempt.
“I know not how I came to be here at this table with you, yet I remember the spirit of a young girl, seeking the help of one such as myself. Did she speak to you?”
Title: Re: Chapter 1: It Always Starts in a Tavern....
Post by: Synder Nytefall on February 22, 2006, 04:55:23 PM
A spriteful grin stretched over Synder’s ginger colored lips as the barkeep nodded vaguely to her inquiry of work. The lightness of her purse still bothered her for when she had come to port the elfess had brought a reasonable amount of wealth along. An inquisitive look could be noted upon her delicate features as she endeavored to remember the hazy images of the night past.
Only visions of a half-filled bottle of Mil’no Fire, the spirit of Synder’s choice, the sounds of laughter and pieces of eight exchanging hands are what she recalls from the night previous. Her gloved hand coming to rest upon her sore bum, this being the first time she had noticed that it hurt, rubbing it briskly in an attempt to soothe the pain. The odds are she had run out of money and been booted from the tavern she had been gambling in, thus why she had awoken in the street this morning. Merely shaking her head lightly in self disgust as the firelight danced over the elf's scarlet tresses.
Turning her head slightly to the side as Ciosina approached the bar, her fiery eyes gleaming with mischief. Synder took great note of the fine clothing the woman wore and her elegant grace, noting the woman as very wealthy. Her tiny hands came to rest at the small of her back as she stretched in a great arc making an attempt to stretch aching muscles. Then once again the elfess focused her eyes upon Ciosina greeting the lady with a melodic voice. “Aarg ho’ ar’ ye t’day, landlubber?” Her left diminutive hand rose to brush a few fiery locks from her eyes, placing them behind her elven ears. The buccaneer quickly taking note that this lady would be carrying at least some wealth.
Completely missing Kain’s summoning of Likep, as the pirate’s awareness was drawn to the strange events surrounding Elysia. One dexterous hand slipping behind Synder’s tiny back as she grasped the flagon of ale and brought it to her lips, sipping the contents slowly. The elfess was highly disturbed by the strange actions of the priestess as she danced across the bar before seating herself next to the guardsman. Her elven ears perked a bit as she made an attempt to make out a little of what transpired between them. If one were observant they could easily tell that the pirate was lost in thought for this time she left the foamy mustache from her drink.
at: 2/23/06 0:16
Only visions of a half-filled bottle of Mil’no Fire, the spirit of Synder’s choice, the sounds of laughter and pieces of eight exchanging hands are what she recalls from the night previous. Her gloved hand coming to rest upon her sore bum, this being the first time she had noticed that it hurt, rubbing it briskly in an attempt to soothe the pain. The odds are she had run out of money and been booted from the tavern she had been gambling in, thus why she had awoken in the street this morning. Merely shaking her head lightly in self disgust as the firelight danced over the elf's scarlet tresses.
Turning her head slightly to the side as Ciosina approached the bar, her fiery eyes gleaming with mischief. Synder took great note of the fine clothing the woman wore and her elegant grace, noting the woman as very wealthy. Her tiny hands came to rest at the small of her back as she stretched in a great arc making an attempt to stretch aching muscles. Then once again the elfess focused her eyes upon Ciosina greeting the lady with a melodic voice. “Aarg ho’ ar’ ye t’day, landlubber?” Her left diminutive hand rose to brush a few fiery locks from her eyes, placing them behind her elven ears. The buccaneer quickly taking note that this lady would be carrying at least some wealth.
Completely missing Kain’s summoning of Likep, as the pirate’s awareness was drawn to the strange events surrounding Elysia. One dexterous hand slipping behind Synder’s tiny back as she grasped the flagon of ale and brought it to her lips, sipping the contents slowly. The elfess was highly disturbed by the strange actions of the priestess as she danced across the bar before seating herself next to the guardsman. Her elven ears perked a bit as she made an attempt to make out a little of what transpired between them. If one were observant they could easily tell that the pirate was lost in thought for this time she left the foamy mustache from her drink.
(¯`•."If there's a man among ye, ye'll come out and fight like the men ye are.".•´¯)-Synder's CD
Edited by: Synder Nytefall at: 2/23/06 0:16Title: Re: Chapter 1: It Always Starts in a Tavern....
Post by: Monty Leadfist on February 24, 2006, 09:33:23 AM
The dwarf's eyes twinkle as the frothy drink comes to rest between heavily gloved hands. With a fluid motion, he takes up the mug and swings it up in an arc towards the little gnome in a cheery salute. Near no liquid cascades from the rim, the warrior having long perfected the angle of a true cheer, and Monty brings it swiftly back to his lips. The mug empties steadily and the dwarf spins about on his stool, eyes peering over the rim at the other patrons as they slowly entered, one after another. Three pretty lasses, one an earpoint having had one too many drinks the night prior and not seeking signs of stopping. The other two are nothing nice to look at, too thin about the hips especially. Spotting the other men, Monty lets his eyes fall on them a little longer. One is a guard, a sombre type of fellow who needed a pint and a swift kick in the ass to bring up his mood. The other is the creepy sort, thin and shifty. The dwarf growls a little past his beard into his drink, which remains nothing but a film of foam resting stationary against his whiskers.
The dwarf slams the mug back onto the counter and nearly slaps himself across the face as he brushes the foam away with his knuckles. "'Notter if'er pleasin!" he barks, though not especially unkindly, to the little gnome, Monty's eyes not lifting from Kain.
The dwarf slams the mug back onto the counter and nearly slaps himself across the face as he brushes the foam away with his knuckles. "'Notter if'er pleasin!" he barks, though not especially unkindly, to the little gnome, Monty's eyes not lifting from Kain.
Title: Re: Chapter 1: It Always Starts in a Tavern....
Post by: Lythania So Mephgour on February 27, 2006, 01:08:23 PM
Likep The Bartender
I’d b’ wanton som’ vittles, du ya b’ havin any mutton I coul’ b’ gettn from yee? Wou yee b’ seekin sum help with tendn’ yer customers, matey?
Likep saw the lack of monetary goods from the young lady, and wasn't too surprised. Sailors who came in hungover often are lacking in coins. Likep was not disheartened though, for if the young woman agreed to hisproposal, then his friend, the captain, might find away out of his plight, and Likep would very much like to help his friend. Smiling warmly at the girl, he said.
I will make sure you get your meal young lady. As for work, you might go over to that man, Likep points to the man who is with the tall gaunt lady. Ask him about work, for I know he is in need of some help.
Likep begins to write down the young woman's order to send back to the kitchen, when out of the corner he spots the timid woman sit down at the bar, before saying "Thankyou for your welcome, kind sir. You must be Likep?" His warm smile returning, Likep turns to face the woman. he can tell that she is somewhat frightened and his tone is as compassionate and reassuring as possible.
Yes, I am Likep. Is there anything that i can get for you? Do not be afraid to ask.
At this time, the pirate woman addresses the timid girl, and Likep leaves them to talk as the tall elf speaks.
What is the price that you ask for yonder woman's drink?
Thinking quickly, Likep ginds yet another person to help his with his friends plight.
Her meal and drink are free, should you go to that man there, once again Likep points to the captain of the guard in the middle of the room. and offer your services to him, for he is much in need of those who can fight, and assuming by your weapons, you can. Now if you don't mind, I have to go to the kitchen right quick. I shall be back soon.
Hopping from his stool, and grabbing the piece of paper with The pirate woman's order, Likep walks away into the kitchen to get her food ready.
I’d b’ wanton som’ vittles, du ya b’ havin any mutton I coul’ b’ gettn from yee? Wou yee b’ seekin sum help with tendn’ yer customers, matey?
Likep saw the lack of monetary goods from the young lady, and wasn't too surprised. Sailors who came in hungover often are lacking in coins. Likep was not disheartened though, for if the young woman agreed to hisproposal, then his friend, the captain, might find away out of his plight, and Likep would very much like to help his friend. Smiling warmly at the girl, he said.
I will make sure you get your meal young lady. As for work, you might go over to that man, Likep points to the man who is with the tall gaunt lady. Ask him about work, for I know he is in need of some help.
Likep begins to write down the young woman's order to send back to the kitchen, when out of the corner he spots the timid woman sit down at the bar, before saying "Thankyou for your welcome, kind sir. You must be Likep?" His warm smile returning, Likep turns to face the woman. he can tell that she is somewhat frightened and his tone is as compassionate and reassuring as possible.
Yes, I am Likep. Is there anything that i can get for you? Do not be afraid to ask.
At this time, the pirate woman addresses the timid girl, and Likep leaves them to talk as the tall elf speaks.
What is the price that you ask for yonder woman's drink?
Thinking quickly, Likep ginds yet another person to help his with his friends plight.
Her meal and drink are free, should you go to that man there, once again Likep points to the captain of the guard in the middle of the room. and offer your services to him, for he is much in need of those who can fight, and assuming by your weapons, you can. Now if you don't mind, I have to go to the kitchen right quick. I shall be back soon.
Hopping from his stool, and grabbing the piece of paper with The pirate woman's order, Likep walks away into the kitchen to get her food ready.
Nobody is beyond redemption.
- Lythánia
Title: Re: Chapter 1: It Always Starts in a Tavern....
Post by: Kain Cristar on February 27, 2006, 04:36:23 PM
Her meal and drink are free, should you go to that man there Kain slowly follows the gnome's finger with his cold blue-grey eyes. As they fall upon the gaurd for the first time, the gnome speaks again, and offer your services to him, for he is much in need of those who can fight, and assuming by your weapons, you can. Now if you don't mind, I have to go to the kitchen right quick. I shall be back soon. He exhales sharply, which is the closest the elf had ever gotten to a laugh, his shoulders rising with the strangeness of the situation.
Only in a tavern are the circumstances for purchusing a woman's drink so convoluted. With a slow grace, his long fingers caress Moh'epher's long, fine hilt. He had overheard the gnome, and his previous attempt to volunteer the very elfess whom Kain himself had just queried of. What game does this little man play? What circles does he drive us forth into? The mage is slightly intrigued, and, returning his coins to their properplace, he shifts his slow gaze back onto the beautiful elfess, once again allowing everything to wash over him, except for her beauty. That wonderful drunken grace he drinks as a dying man from the holy grail. A man dead to all goodness, seeing the purest for of the graces of the holy. Synapses flash across his mind as connections are drawn, and assumptions bravely made. As he drinks forth the goodlyness of the pirate, he ponders the purpose that the gnome is putting forth. The mage decides, after a moments thought, that he would allow the girl to speak with the gaurd, prepared to intervene if such aid was found neccesary, and allow the human to divulge what information he would to all ears open. With that in mind, Kain brings a few choice words into his cunning mind. Words with meaning beyond thier utterance, with a divine purpose beyond the simple letters which contain them. Let thine winds ceassate.
-Kain Cristar, Divine Aspect
Only in a tavern are the circumstances for purchusing a woman's drink so convoluted. With a slow grace, his long fingers caress Moh'epher's long, fine hilt. He had overheard the gnome, and his previous attempt to volunteer the very elfess whom Kain himself had just queried of. What game does this little man play? What circles does he drive us forth into? The mage is slightly intrigued, and, returning his coins to their properplace, he shifts his slow gaze back onto the beautiful elfess, once again allowing everything to wash over him, except for her beauty. That wonderful drunken grace he drinks as a dying man from the holy grail. A man dead to all goodness, seeing the purest for of the graces of the holy. Synapses flash across his mind as connections are drawn, and assumptions bravely made. As he drinks forth the goodlyness of the pirate, he ponders the purpose that the gnome is putting forth. The mage decides, after a moments thought, that he would allow the girl to speak with the gaurd, prepared to intervene if such aid was found neccesary, and allow the human to divulge what information he would to all ears open. With that in mind, Kain brings a few choice words into his cunning mind. Words with meaning beyond thier utterance, with a divine purpose beyond the simple letters which contain them. Let thine winds ceassate.
You have lived a life of cruelty and atrocity, you have bathed in the blood of the innocent, you have considered every act of depravity and your corruption knows no bounds. I am the angel of justice, I am the accumulation of all of your sins. Prepare for your redemption.
-Kain Cristar, Divine Aspect
Title: Re: Chapter 1: It Always Starts in a Tavern....
Post by: Ciosina on February 28, 2006, 07:36:23 PM
Ciosina shakes her head to the bargnome’s query. She had only come into the tavern to try to recapture the warm, happy feelings that the sign had reminded her of, and she is too scared still to feel any hunger.
Cio jumps as one of the patrons greets her. The slur in the red-headed woman’s voice renders her words almost unintelligible, and her breath brings with it the stench of stale alcohol – the reek of all that is uncouth and to be feared, at least to Ciosina’s refined sensibilities. Her posture immediately becomes even more upright and she assumes a haughty expression as she turns away, ignoring the woman. Outwardly the gesture looks cold and rude, but inside Ciosina, her stomach is twisting itself into strange knots in fear of this crude, scary person. Her mind is, at least for the moment, fully fixed on the presence now to her back, in anxious anticipation of a hostile move from the drunken woman.
Ciosina’s new position points her in the direction of the guard’s table. She cannot help noticing the black-clad widow as she dances exuberantly over to the guard, then seats herself there with him. Cio sees this strange behaviour, and is confused for a moment before she suddenly understands. The poor woman, she thinks. She must have suffered terribly with the loss of her husband to be so very mad now. Thinking back to happier days in Varcopas, Ciosina remembers another woman. She had been older, with greying hair, but she had also had these strange changes of mood. She had come to stay with the School, having graduated from there years before and with nowhere to go after her husband, children, and first grandchild had perished in a fire. Tortured by grief, and some said, guilt, the Lady had descended into madness. Ciosina had been found to have a calming influence on the woman, and so had spent many afternoons with her.
Looking with grave sympathy at the red-haired widow, Ciosina wondered where the servants or companions who should be looking after this Lady were.
Cio jumps as one of the patrons greets her. The slur in the red-headed woman’s voice renders her words almost unintelligible, and her breath brings with it the stench of stale alcohol – the reek of all that is uncouth and to be feared, at least to Ciosina’s refined sensibilities. Her posture immediately becomes even more upright and she assumes a haughty expression as she turns away, ignoring the woman. Outwardly the gesture looks cold and rude, but inside Ciosina, her stomach is twisting itself into strange knots in fear of this crude, scary person. Her mind is, at least for the moment, fully fixed on the presence now to her back, in anxious anticipation of a hostile move from the drunken woman.
Ciosina’s new position points her in the direction of the guard’s table. She cannot help noticing the black-clad widow as she dances exuberantly over to the guard, then seats herself there with him. Cio sees this strange behaviour, and is confused for a moment before she suddenly understands. The poor woman, she thinks. She must have suffered terribly with the loss of her husband to be so very mad now. Thinking back to happier days in Varcopas, Ciosina remembers another woman. She had been older, with greying hair, but she had also had these strange changes of mood. She had come to stay with the School, having graduated from there years before and with nowhere to go after her husband, children, and first grandchild had perished in a fire. Tortured by grief, and some said, guilt, the Lady had descended into madness. Ciosina had been found to have a calming influence on the woman, and so had spent many afternoons with her.
Looking with grave sympathy at the red-haired widow, Ciosina wondered where the servants or companions who should be looking after this Lady were.
Title: Re: Chapter 1: It Always Starts in a Tavern....
Post by: Lythania So Mephgour on March 01, 2006, 11:21:23 AM
Captain of the Guard, The Heavyhand
Erick Heavyhand, known as 'The Heavyhand' by criminals and fellow guards alike watched as each person entered the tavern, scrutinizing each. He had told of his troubles to his good friend Likep, and knew that the gnome would send anyone who could be of use to him. The Heavyhand saw a few sword wielders enter the tavern, and quickly passed a knowing glance to the gnome, who returned the look, knowing who to send over. Then a tall pale woman dressed in black danced towards the table, before sitting down and addressing the captain. Da, it wasn’t your fault. None other than Nehtor himself or one dedicated to serving him could have healed me. Please, forgive yourself and move on with your life. You will always have the memories of your sweet Emmy to cherish. The Red haired womans face a voice then changed, as she said to the stunned Captain I know not how I came to be here at this table with you, yet I remember the spirit of a young girl, seeking the help of one such as myself. Did she speak to you?
The Guard stared dumbfounded at this woman. Emmy had been dead for Years! How had this woman even known of her, much less known how to mimic both the child's voice and manner of speech? But what if his daughter WAS somehow speaking through this woman. Emmy often danced the way this woman had...
Softly, in a voice which was made to hide sorrow, The Heavyhand asked the woman. How is it that you come to know of my daughter, much less speak as her?
Erick Heavyhand, known as 'The Heavyhand' by criminals and fellow guards alike watched as each person entered the tavern, scrutinizing each. He had told of his troubles to his good friend Likep, and knew that the gnome would send anyone who could be of use to him. The Heavyhand saw a few sword wielders enter the tavern, and quickly passed a knowing glance to the gnome, who returned the look, knowing who to send over. Then a tall pale woman dressed in black danced towards the table, before sitting down and addressing the captain. Da, it wasn’t your fault. None other than Nehtor himself or one dedicated to serving him could have healed me. Please, forgive yourself and move on with your life. You will always have the memories of your sweet Emmy to cherish. The Red haired womans face a voice then changed, as she said to the stunned Captain I know not how I came to be here at this table with you, yet I remember the spirit of a young girl, seeking the help of one such as myself. Did she speak to you?
The Guard stared dumbfounded at this woman. Emmy had been dead for Years! How had this woman even known of her, much less known how to mimic both the child's voice and manner of speech? But what if his daughter WAS somehow speaking through this woman. Emmy often danced the way this woman had...
Softly, in a voice which was made to hide sorrow, The Heavyhand asked the woman. How is it that you come to know of my daughter, much less speak as her?
Nobody is beyond redemption.
- Lythánia
Title: Re: Chapter 1: It Always Starts in a Tavern....
Post by: Synder Nytefall on March 02, 2006, 02:46:23 PM
Synder nodded casually as Likep instructed her to chat with the guard, yet she was still cautious of approaching the peculiar woman sitting with him. Especially after the barkeep continued to instruct others to do the same, she knew that whatever the mischievous gnome was up to would be no good. But then again the value of a warm meal and a place to possibly rest her head would be worth whatever a simple guard could request of her, or so the piratess thought.
Turning burgundy eyes upon Ciosina she reached out with the mug of ale and tapped the woman on the elbow. “Wou’ ye b’ joinin me o’re yonder?” As she then gestured towards the table that the guard and priestess were seated at, a cheerful smile spreading over supple lips before she continued on. “I b’ think’n yer starin’ at him ma’am, ye be likin wha ye b’ see’n?” An impish giggle escaping her ginger lips as she hopped nimbly from her barstool. “Dun b’ to shy ma’am he b’ seemin ta hav’ a wee bit a compny alreay.” Lifting her hat from the bar she fixed it about the belt upon her petite hip and stooped to reclaim her rucksack from the floor. Peering over her shoulder once more the elfess’s eyes swirled with mischief as she addressed the lady again. “I b’ puttin in a gud wurd fer ye befor ya join us.”
Sauntering across the bar towards where the guard was seated, a rucksack in one tiny hand and a flagon in the other. Her locks shimmered like silken fire in the twinkling rays of Injera that shined through the far windows of the tavern. Her pace was seductive yet agile like an Auroran stalking prey in the shadows of dark sylvan places. As she came to stand near the fireplace, not more than a few peds from the guardsman and his frightening companion. Casting an affectionate grin to him she then gave him a modest nod, she knew there was slight need to address the man. For the gnome was crowding people to him and when he was prepared he would speak to them all.
Placing her rucksack upon the mantle of the fireplace, Synder then stood on tippy toes as she pulled a half-full jug from the depths of it. She bit the cork with her canines removing it from the bottle as she then let it drop to her gloved hand. Eyes closing as she smelled the fragrance radiating from the crimson fluid, a look of ecstasy swarming over her delicate features as she did so. The elfess then poured a solitary shot of the fluid into the half flagon of ale, before returning the stopper to the container and placing it back in her rucksack.
Laying upon the hearth, lithe legs stretched out along its length, as she rested with one elbow on the stony surface. Sipping ever so slowly from the flagon as a lustrous glaze began to expand over her flaming eyes. I wonder what a guardsman would want with so many people, for he seems to already have a harlot to tend his needs. Synder then waited for the man to speak or for her food to arrive. at: 3/2/06 7:00
Turning burgundy eyes upon Ciosina she reached out with the mug of ale and tapped the woman on the elbow. “Wou’ ye b’ joinin me o’re yonder?” As she then gestured towards the table that the guard and priestess were seated at, a cheerful smile spreading over supple lips before she continued on. “I b’ think’n yer starin’ at him ma’am, ye be likin wha ye b’ see’n?” An impish giggle escaping her ginger lips as she hopped nimbly from her barstool. “Dun b’ to shy ma’am he b’ seemin ta hav’ a wee bit a compny alreay.” Lifting her hat from the bar she fixed it about the belt upon her petite hip and stooped to reclaim her rucksack from the floor. Peering over her shoulder once more the elfess’s eyes swirled with mischief as she addressed the lady again. “I b’ puttin in a gud wurd fer ye befor ya join us.”
Sauntering across the bar towards where the guard was seated, a rucksack in one tiny hand and a flagon in the other. Her locks shimmered like silken fire in the twinkling rays of Injera that shined through the far windows of the tavern. Her pace was seductive yet agile like an Auroran stalking prey in the shadows of dark sylvan places. As she came to stand near the fireplace, not more than a few peds from the guardsman and his frightening companion. Casting an affectionate grin to him she then gave him a modest nod, she knew there was slight need to address the man. For the gnome was crowding people to him and when he was prepared he would speak to them all.
Placing her rucksack upon the mantle of the fireplace, Synder then stood on tippy toes as she pulled a half-full jug from the depths of it. She bit the cork with her canines removing it from the bottle as she then let it drop to her gloved hand. Eyes closing as she smelled the fragrance radiating from the crimson fluid, a look of ecstasy swarming over her delicate features as she did so. The elfess then poured a solitary shot of the fluid into the half flagon of ale, before returning the stopper to the container and placing it back in her rucksack.
Laying upon the hearth, lithe legs stretched out along its length, as she rested with one elbow on the stony surface. Sipping ever so slowly from the flagon as a lustrous glaze began to expand over her flaming eyes. I wonder what a guardsman would want with so many people, for he seems to already have a harlot to tend his needs. Synder then waited for the man to speak or for her food to arrive.
(¯`•."If there's a man among ye, ye'll come out and fight like the men ye are.".•´¯)-Synder's CD
Edited by: Synder Nytefall at: 3/2/06 7:00Title: Re: Chapter 1: It Always Starts in a Tavern....
Post by: Elysia on March 04, 2006, 05:00:23 AM
"How is it that you come to know of my daughter, much less speak as her?"
A slight smile crosses her face upon hearing his question. Elysia does not take comfort in his grief, instead taking on the familiar role of a priestess of Queprur. Mortals always sought answers for that which they could not understand, and death was no exception. To mourn was to be human, and such mourners looked to her kind for answers about their loved ones that have passed from this world. Trained to answer such questions, among other duties associated with the worship of the Goddess, Elysia answers in soft soothing tones, a most uncommon tone of voice for the half elf.
"I serve Queprur as a priestess and am trained to communicate with the deceased. Just now I was visited by the spirit of a young girl, your daughter, and allowed her to possess me so that she may speak to you, wishing nothing more than to dispel your doubts about the circumstances of her death. I did not and cannot speak as your daughter. It truly was Emmy that spoke to you. Her words are a boon to you, one that should dispel your foolish doubts. The guilt you feel for her death will consume you if you do not accept her words and cease to mourn the child that passed years ago. Enough tears have flowed from your eyes, cease this eternal self pity and remember the joys of life. Or you are truly lost to this world."
She leans back in her chair, awaiting his answer. The reactions to the knowledge that their deceased relatives had spoken to them through the lips of another varied, and Elysia knows not how this guard will react. Worst of all were those that reacted violently, denying the truth as they attempt to harm those responsible for speaking to them as their loved ones once had. Fear that this man will attempt to strike her and accuse her of blasphemy clearly shows in her eyes, yet the priestess will not cease to serve her mistress for fear of a mortal. Uniting with Queprur upon her death would be a joyous occasion for the cleric, unless she fails her mistress in this life and could thus expect agony beyond the comprehension of any mortal.
A slight smile crosses her face upon hearing his question. Elysia does not take comfort in his grief, instead taking on the familiar role of a priestess of Queprur. Mortals always sought answers for that which they could not understand, and death was no exception. To mourn was to be human, and such mourners looked to her kind for answers about their loved ones that have passed from this world. Trained to answer such questions, among other duties associated with the worship of the Goddess, Elysia answers in soft soothing tones, a most uncommon tone of voice for the half elf.
"I serve Queprur as a priestess and am trained to communicate with the deceased. Just now I was visited by the spirit of a young girl, your daughter, and allowed her to possess me so that she may speak to you, wishing nothing more than to dispel your doubts about the circumstances of her death. I did not and cannot speak as your daughter. It truly was Emmy that spoke to you. Her words are a boon to you, one that should dispel your foolish doubts. The guilt you feel for her death will consume you if you do not accept her words and cease to mourn the child that passed years ago. Enough tears have flowed from your eyes, cease this eternal self pity and remember the joys of life. Or you are truly lost to this world."
She leans back in her chair, awaiting his answer. The reactions to the knowledge that their deceased relatives had spoken to them through the lips of another varied, and Elysia knows not how this guard will react. Worst of all were those that reacted violently, denying the truth as they attempt to harm those responsible for speaking to them as their loved ones once had. Fear that this man will attempt to strike her and accuse her of blasphemy clearly shows in her eyes, yet the priestess will not cease to serve her mistress for fear of a mortal. Uniting with Queprur upon her death would be a joyous occasion for the cleric, unless she fails her mistress in this life and could thus expect agony beyond the comprehension of any mortal.
Title: Re: Chapter 1: It Always Starts in a Tavern....
Post by: Monty Leadfist on March 05, 2006, 12:13:23 PM
Monty's eyes remain hard on Kain's profile, watching the quiet figure lost in his own thoughts. Monty didn't like the elf's nose. You could trust a man with a big nose, not some wee sliver of snauz.
Snorting down some whiskers from under his own bulbous protrusion, Monty heaves up his mug and lifts the bottom up, only to find it, to his dissapointment and frustration, empty but for a film of froth about the bottom that refuses to budge. The little face that is visible past his big, dominating beard and bushy, oppresive eyebrows fumes and flushes, Monty's beard quivering.
"When'na ahsk fehr an'nale, I'nnaspect an'nale!" he grumbles, staring down the little gnome. "Eh ye wee cur! I'nnaspakintahyah!" The thirsty dwarf waves his empty mug about violently, his stubby and heavily booted legs waving frantically off the rim of his stool.
Snorting down some whiskers from under his own bulbous protrusion, Monty heaves up his mug and lifts the bottom up, only to find it, to his dissapointment and frustration, empty but for a film of froth about the bottom that refuses to budge. The little face that is visible past his big, dominating beard and bushy, oppresive eyebrows fumes and flushes, Monty's beard quivering.
"When'na ahsk fehr an'nale, I'nnaspect an'nale!" he grumbles, staring down the little gnome. "Eh ye wee cur! I'nnaspakintahyah!" The thirsty dwarf waves his empty mug about violently, his stubby and heavily booted legs waving frantically off the rim of his stool.
Title: Re: Chapter 1: It Always Starts in a Tavern....
Post by: Lythania So Mephgour on March 12, 2006, 04:15:23 AM
Likep
Likep was just about to enter the kitchen, when the dwarf seemed to be convulsing about something, waving his mug in the air and having an all around temper tantrum, not unlike a small child. Likep Quickly hopped back up to his stool, listening closely to the gibberish emanating from this bearded creature. Again, he managed to scrap together the word Ale, and just to be safe, filled an entire pitcher with the stuff, sliding it to the Philologist, before hopping off his stool again to pass the order of the young woman to the kitchen.
The Heavyhand
Erick listened to the womans small speech, describing her powers, realizing that this woman was quite a find for him. He knew something of the religion of Querpur, and knew that she would definitely help him. Turning to the red headed sailor, he gestures to her to come sit, as he tells the cleric
I am need of the services of a woman with your capabilities. I can offer vast sums of money, although I think your god would enjoy having you do this despite monetary goods. I will tell you further details once i have gathered a few more people.
Likep was just about to enter the kitchen, when the dwarf seemed to be convulsing about something, waving his mug in the air and having an all around temper tantrum, not unlike a small child. Likep Quickly hopped back up to his stool, listening closely to the gibberish emanating from this bearded creature. Again, he managed to scrap together the word Ale, and just to be safe, filled an entire pitcher with the stuff, sliding it to the Philologist, before hopping off his stool again to pass the order of the young woman to the kitchen.
The Heavyhand
Erick listened to the womans small speech, describing her powers, realizing that this woman was quite a find for him. He knew something of the religion of Querpur, and knew that she would definitely help him. Turning to the red headed sailor, he gestures to her to come sit, as he tells the cleric
I am need of the services of a woman with your capabilities. I can offer vast sums of money, although I think your god would enjoy having you do this despite monetary goods. I will tell you further details once i have gathered a few more people.
Nobody is beyond redemption.
- Lythánia
Title: Re: Chapter 1: It Always Starts in a Tavern....
Post by: Kain Cristar on March 16, 2006, 04:45:23 PM
The way she walks carries my mortal frame to imortal heavens, and yet the sullen grace of my own capacity for sin weighs down the very moral fiber which seeks such divine forgiveness. So does Kain note that the elfess of his eye has begun to walk toward the guard of Milkengrad. His furious attentions are drawn to the glimmer of her hair. Satin set aflame with passion, or rubies of silk, so do her locks appear to his eyes. He watches her predatory stalk, and revels in its dark beauty. The hunt, the sensuality of the long, low strides, he drinks of its poetry, and represses the dark lusts of the ancient evil weighing his burdens through to all manner of sin and depravity. As she begins to drink of what seems to be ale, her eyes glow with a vivid fire, more alive and luscious than most men ever dare to be. This too, is glorified and protected by the silent mage, who watches on in his own, sinister way.
As so, as he contemplates the beautiful elf, does he hear the words of the guard, who has begun to speak. For the first time Kain notes that there is annother red headed woman in the room. Something dim, almost like a memory, flashes behind his eyes. The mage remembers some small strain of strangeness that he had felt from the woman as she had entered, though he does not immediatly know the source. I am need of the services of a woman with your capabilities. Kain takes a moment to rewind, and try to remeber something that would aid him in discovering just what those abilities might be. Somewhere in the back of his mind he wondered what a guard would want with some preistess, and what abilities he might require. Humans where a base sort of creature, and he did not think it below the man to bid for sexual favors. That would explain the incusion of the other elfess, but what about him. Kain threw the thought away, and pondered on stranger, more adventerous purposes that the man might have in mind. Humans seek glory above even love. I can offer vast sums of money, although I think your god would enjoy having you do this despite monetary goods. I will tell you further details once i have gathered a few more people. While Kain is not inticed by the inclusion of monetary gain, he does intend to protect the beauty, and finds the mystery to be of enough intrest that he might rise to his feet. He does so with the quiet brilliance of a morning breeze over the frost covered stalks of the windswept plains. Carefully avoiding direct sunlight, he walks his long, gracefull walk, so that he might stand beside the other elf, and mutters below the hearing range of a human. What finds thou, of 'ere gnome and his larger companion. I taste the bittersweet agony of adventure in the wind. Men seek glory and fame over even the golden threads of love.
-Kain Cristar, Divine Aspect
As so, as he contemplates the beautiful elf, does he hear the words of the guard, who has begun to speak. For the first time Kain notes that there is annother red headed woman in the room. Something dim, almost like a memory, flashes behind his eyes. The mage remembers some small strain of strangeness that he had felt from the woman as she had entered, though he does not immediatly know the source. I am need of the services of a woman with your capabilities. Kain takes a moment to rewind, and try to remeber something that would aid him in discovering just what those abilities might be. Somewhere in the back of his mind he wondered what a guard would want with some preistess, and what abilities he might require. Humans where a base sort of creature, and he did not think it below the man to bid for sexual favors. That would explain the incusion of the other elfess, but what about him. Kain threw the thought away, and pondered on stranger, more adventerous purposes that the man might have in mind. Humans seek glory above even love. I can offer vast sums of money, although I think your god would enjoy having you do this despite monetary goods. I will tell you further details once i have gathered a few more people. While Kain is not inticed by the inclusion of monetary gain, he does intend to protect the beauty, and finds the mystery to be of enough intrest that he might rise to his feet. He does so with the quiet brilliance of a morning breeze over the frost covered stalks of the windswept plains. Carefully avoiding direct sunlight, he walks his long, gracefull walk, so that he might stand beside the other elf, and mutters below the hearing range of a human. What finds thou, of 'ere gnome and his larger companion. I taste the bittersweet agony of adventure in the wind. Men seek glory and fame over even the golden threads of love.
You have lived a life of cruelty and atrocity, you have bathed in the blood of the innocent, you have considered every act of depravity and your corruption knows no bounds. I am the angel of justice, I am the accumulation of all of your sins. Prepare for your redemption.
-Kain Cristar, Divine Aspect
Title: Re: Chapter 1: It Always Starts in a Tavern....
Post by: Synder Nytefall on March 17, 2006, 12:11:23 PM
Ginger lips parting in a beaming smile as the guardsman motioned her to join him and the strange woman at their table. The elfess rose nimbly to her feet before turning lightly to retrieve the rucksack from its place upon the mantle. She grasped the rucksack in one tiny hand, laying the strap over her right shoulder, allowing its weight to bring it to rest against her lithe thigh before spinning about and coming face to chest with Kain. A light gasp of astonishment rolling over supple lips as the mage had caught her completely off guard with his quick approach. Her left hand slipped to rest at the arch of her lower back, only a few nailsbreadths from the hilt of a hidden dagger. As her gaze then rose to meet the mages, a spriteful glimmer showing in the depths of her eyes as she smiled affectionately to him as he began to speak calmly.
Sipping a bit from the flagon of ale and Milno Fire as the mage finished his statement about adventure and the possible intent of the guardsman. Seeing that his approach was of little or no danger, her tiny hand rose to tilt the brim of her hat, “I b’ thinkin tha the man b’ needn’ sum help, b’ it mine, yers or of the harlot he b’ sittin wit is still ta b’ seen.” Nodding towards the table she was just invited to her eyes shimmering with mischief as made her way agilely about the magus and sauntered towards the table. She paused for a moment to look intently at the towering man, her sweltering locks reminiscent of a intense fire in the twinkling rays of Injera poking through the windows of the tavern. “Wou yee be liken ta join me in findin’ the mates interests in us?” As she then twisted to stroll over to the table.
Seating bum first upon the oaken surface of the table, her booted feet resting upon the nearest chair as she smiled to the Priestess and the Guard. “Yer g’nome ally has be’n sayin yee ar’ lookin for sum help, if this b’ fact I thin’ I coul’ b’ helpin’ yee.” Holding out a gloved hand to the man as she raised the brim of her hat with the other hand, a warm smile coming quickly to her delicate features as she began to speak melodically to him. “Tha name be Synder what b’ yers an yer harl …. Lady friends?”
Sipping a bit from the flagon of ale and Milno Fire as the mage finished his statement about adventure and the possible intent of the guardsman. Seeing that his approach was of little or no danger, her tiny hand rose to tilt the brim of her hat, “I b’ thinkin tha the man b’ needn’ sum help, b’ it mine, yers or of the harlot he b’ sittin wit is still ta b’ seen.” Nodding towards the table she was just invited to her eyes shimmering with mischief as made her way agilely about the magus and sauntered towards the table. She paused for a moment to look intently at the towering man, her sweltering locks reminiscent of a intense fire in the twinkling rays of Injera poking through the windows of the tavern. “Wou yee be liken ta join me in findin’ the mates interests in us?” As she then twisted to stroll over to the table.
Seating bum first upon the oaken surface of the table, her booted feet resting upon the nearest chair as she smiled to the Priestess and the Guard. “Yer g’nome ally has be’n sayin yee ar’ lookin for sum help, if this b’ fact I thin’ I coul’ b’ helpin’ yee.” Holding out a gloved hand to the man as she raised the brim of her hat with the other hand, a warm smile coming quickly to her delicate features as she began to speak melodically to him. “Tha name be Synder what b’ yers an yer harl …. Lady friends?”
(¯`•."If there's a man among ye, ye'll come out and fight like the men ye are.".•´¯)-Synder's CD
Title: Re: Chapter 1: It Always Starts in a Tavern....
Post by: Monty Leadfist on March 18, 2006, 07:17:23 AM
Monty nods curtly and scoops up the pitcher, sloshing his mug full with the pitcher, topping it off with a heavy head. "That's be'n better, laddy, so'n keep that'llot n'mind, y'ear?" the dwarf mumbles into his mug, downing the drink quickly, the liquor dribbling down either side of his short clipped beard but remaining stationary in a trail of frothy bubbles over the coarse black fibers.
Tired of watching the sun reflect off the various sized and shaped bottles that lined the opposite side of his veiw, Monty swivels on his seat and lets his eyes fall on the small cluster of population by the hearth. He isn't particularily enthralled by their apparent conversation, but one word does snag the burr that was his interest.
"Adventure!" he exclaims, though rather quietly to himself and in a manner that would simply be mistaken as a drunkard's slurred attempt at conversation with himself. Monty takes up the pitcher and fills his mug once more, bounding off the stool and stalking up to the group with the heavy clank clank of stubbornly shifting and squeaking armor. "Now'n don't be gettin'meh startin'non'ventures!" he says again, looking the guard square in the eye, "Cause I'll beh safesayin I'nmieghty year'no'two older then'all, an I've behn off on minny anventure nure two, meself, see." A crazy grin suddenly errupts over the well-worn dwarf's features as he gazes patron to patron, looking last from lady to lady. "Now beh'about scusing meself, there lassies, butI'nna bein' Montgomery Leadfist, see see," he said, softer now and lifting his helmet off. There was a subtle wave reminscent of wet pig as the heavy dreadlocks rearranged themselves in the fresh air and the dwarf hooked the helm under his arm, still grinning as the shir tail dragged it's tip along the floor in accordance with his ill-practiced bow.
Tired of watching the sun reflect off the various sized and shaped bottles that lined the opposite side of his veiw, Monty swivels on his seat and lets his eyes fall on the small cluster of population by the hearth. He isn't particularily enthralled by their apparent conversation, but one word does snag the burr that was his interest.
"Adventure!" he exclaims, though rather quietly to himself and in a manner that would simply be mistaken as a drunkard's slurred attempt at conversation with himself. Monty takes up the pitcher and fills his mug once more, bounding off the stool and stalking up to the group with the heavy clank clank of stubbornly shifting and squeaking armor. "Now'n don't be gettin'meh startin'non'ventures!" he says again, looking the guard square in the eye, "Cause I'll beh safesayin I'nmieghty year'no'two older then'all, an I've behn off on minny anventure nure two, meself, see." A crazy grin suddenly errupts over the well-worn dwarf's features as he gazes patron to patron, looking last from lady to lady. "Now beh'about scusing meself, there lassies, butI'nna bein' Montgomery Leadfist, see see," he said, softer now and lifting his helmet off. There was a subtle wave reminscent of wet pig as the heavy dreadlocks rearranged themselves in the fresh air and the dwarf hooked the helm under his arm, still grinning as the shir tail dragged it's tip along the floor in accordance with his ill-practiced bow.
Title: Re: Chapter 1: It Always Starts in a Tavern....
Post by: Ciosina on March 19, 2006, 07:32:23 PM
Ciosina jumps as the cold mug touches her elbow and spins back to face the woman, eyes wide with suppressed fear. She listens, dumbstuck to the woman’s uncouth speech and says nothing as she walks away to the table. It is only as the woman leaves that Cio realises that the she had red eyes.
Distracted by the Dwarf’s alarming mutterings, Ciosina doesn’t catch Elysia’s explanation of her powers. Turning her attention back to the table she only hears her being offered money to do something. Her aristocratic upbringing - predjudices intact - jumps to the fore and Cio immediately hops off her stool, fuming in indignation for Elysia who, she thinks, has just been offered an indecent proposition by the guard. Where are her servants? She fumes as she walks with dainty but quick steps toward the table, shoulders held back with the unconcious authority of the noble-born. Don’t they know what could happen to this poor woman if she is not cared for?
“You needn’t offer her anything, Sir,” Ciosina says haughtily, practically sneering the title. “She is well taken care of and needs nothing from the likes of you!” She turns her back to the guard, kneeling next to the chair in which Elysia sits, and speaks softly to her, so that the guard would catch little if any of her speech. “My name is Ciosina. If this… man… is bothering you, we should leave. You and I are not like these people; if you wish, we could travel together and watch out for one another.” Shadows of her recent grief flicker behind Cio’s eyes, along with a desperation to find a way to regain what she has lost. Also there, however, is a deep strength and willingness to face whatever is ahead – the hard-won rewards of having been through the end of all she knew, and yet lived.
Distracted by the Dwarf’s alarming mutterings, Ciosina doesn’t catch Elysia’s explanation of her powers. Turning her attention back to the table she only hears her being offered money to do something. Her aristocratic upbringing - predjudices intact - jumps to the fore and Cio immediately hops off her stool, fuming in indignation for Elysia who, she thinks, has just been offered an indecent proposition by the guard. Where are her servants? She fumes as she walks with dainty but quick steps toward the table, shoulders held back with the unconcious authority of the noble-born. Don’t they know what could happen to this poor woman if she is not cared for?
“You needn’t offer her anything, Sir,” Ciosina says haughtily, practically sneering the title. “She is well taken care of and needs nothing from the likes of you!” She turns her back to the guard, kneeling next to the chair in which Elysia sits, and speaks softly to her, so that the guard would catch little if any of her speech. “My name is Ciosina. If this… man… is bothering you, we should leave. You and I are not like these people; if you wish, we could travel together and watch out for one another.” Shadows of her recent grief flicker behind Cio’s eyes, along with a desperation to find a way to regain what she has lost. Also there, however, is a deep strength and willingness to face whatever is ahead – the hard-won rewards of having been through the end of all she knew, and yet lived.
Title: Re: Chapter 1: It Always Starts in a Tavern....
Post by: Elysia on March 26, 2006, 12:00:23 PM
Expressive, emotionless eyes remain fixated on the guard, icy stare unwavering as he speaks. The approach of others in the tavern is noted, yet Elysia pays no heed to their presence. Mortals often seek to understand that which is beyond their comprehension, such as the abilities bestowed upon the priestess by her Goddess. Only those truly dedicated to Queprur could begin to understand the motives of the Goddess, and even then mere mortals cannot hope to perceive every facet of Queprur’s intentions.
However the arrival of the girl as she kneels by her chair distracts Elysia from answering the guard for a moment. As the girl speaks, the corners of her lips curl into a cruel smile, broadening with each foolish word spoken by the youth. A hollow laugh emanates from rosy lips at the notion that she and this girl were anything alike. Her slight frame trembles with laughter, her laughter seemingly devoid of any emotion save scorn, before it finally ceases after what seemed an eternity as Elysia somberly stares at Ciosina, her lips still curled in her typical smile.
“And what perchance do you believe us to have in common?” She pauses as her eyes take in the girl’s azure riding gown, the smile creeping across more of her cheeks as the priestess recognizes to which class this girl belongs. “Ah, nobility, among the worst of all mortals. Think you to purchase more years upon this world? I care naught for your wealth, nor does my mistress. I have no need of a traveling companion, and I welcome the embrace of Queprur should I perish upon my travels.”
Turning her gaze once more to the guard, her azure eyes flash in anger as she realizes the nature of his words. Any trace of a smile fades from her lips as they are pressed together. One pale, delicate hand rests on the hilt of her dagger, the knuckles whitening as she grasps it, holding this symbol of her faith as she replies.
“You are of need of my services? Am I then a harlot to be hired and then discarded when my services are rendered? I have no need of your precious money nor will I serve a mere mortal.” She pauses as she considers the second statement of his speech, her anger increasing as she leans forward, the color draining from her already pale face as she balefully glares at him, her words hissing forth from her lips. “My god? You dare to curse Queprur with the flaws associated with being male? And you have the arrogance to assume you know anything of her motives? Foolish mortal, you cannot begin to comprehend the scope of her intentions with this world. I will listen to your plight and then judge whether my assistance would serve Queprur. Do not mistake my assistance, if it is given, as a submission to your desires for only my mistress may command me.”
However the arrival of the girl as she kneels by her chair distracts Elysia from answering the guard for a moment. As the girl speaks, the corners of her lips curl into a cruel smile, broadening with each foolish word spoken by the youth. A hollow laugh emanates from rosy lips at the notion that she and this girl were anything alike. Her slight frame trembles with laughter, her laughter seemingly devoid of any emotion save scorn, before it finally ceases after what seemed an eternity as Elysia somberly stares at Ciosina, her lips still curled in her typical smile.
“And what perchance do you believe us to have in common?” She pauses as her eyes take in the girl’s azure riding gown, the smile creeping across more of her cheeks as the priestess recognizes to which class this girl belongs. “Ah, nobility, among the worst of all mortals. Think you to purchase more years upon this world? I care naught for your wealth, nor does my mistress. I have no need of a traveling companion, and I welcome the embrace of Queprur should I perish upon my travels.”
Turning her gaze once more to the guard, her azure eyes flash in anger as she realizes the nature of his words. Any trace of a smile fades from her lips as they are pressed together. One pale, delicate hand rests on the hilt of her dagger, the knuckles whitening as she grasps it, holding this symbol of her faith as she replies.
“You are of need of my services? Am I then a harlot to be hired and then discarded when my services are rendered? I have no need of your precious money nor will I serve a mere mortal.” She pauses as she considers the second statement of his speech, her anger increasing as she leans forward, the color draining from her already pale face as she balefully glares at him, her words hissing forth from her lips. “My god? You dare to curse Queprur with the flaws associated with being male? And you have the arrogance to assume you know anything of her motives? Foolish mortal, you cannot begin to comprehend the scope of her intentions with this world. I will listen to your plight and then judge whether my assistance would serve Queprur. Do not mistake my assistance, if it is given, as a submission to your desires for only my mistress may command me.”
Title: Re: Chapter 1: It Always Starts in a Tavern....
Post by: Lythania So Mephgour on April 01, 2006, 05:59:23 AM
The Heavyhand
“You are of need of my services? Am I then a harlot to be hired and then discarded when my services are rendered? I have no need of your precious money nor will I serve a mere mortal. My god? You dare to curse Queprur with the flaws associated with being male? And you have the arrogance to assume you know anything of her motives? Foolish mortal, you cannot begin to comprehend the scope of her intentions with this world. I will listen to your plight and then judge whether my assistance would serve Queprur. Do not mistake my assistance, if it is given, as a submission to your desires for only my mistress may command me.”
The Heavyhand assumed an amused look. He had met many such people, they seemed to usually be female. Magicians seemed to love to consider all those who do not practice magic beneath the dung of the northern Thunderfeet. Erick laughed slightly as he addressed her
My, My. Aren't we the arrogant one. Do not assume that i am ignorant in the faith of the Iron Mistress. Both of my parents were part of her priesthood. Regardless, the services I Requi-
It was at this moment that the Dwarf interrupted Erick in a slur of speech, saying something about adventure. The Heavyhand assumed that the philogist was agreeing to go on this little outing. Erick was about to address the dwarf when the sailor woman spoke.
Yer g’nome ally has be’n sayin yee ar’ lookin for sum help, if this b’ fact I thin’ I coul’ b’ helpin’ yee. Tha name be Synder what b’ yers an yer harl …. Lady friends?
The heavyhand, feeling that his group was large enough, decided to tell them of their purpose in coming to the captain of the guard.
You have all come to me to learn of the aid that i require. The task i am going to ask you to take part of is a dangerous one. There have been a slew of murders in my city, and a number of witnesses have told me that a pale man in black was the man who commited these atrocities. This murderer has no discriminations, he will murder man, woman, child, elf, human or dwarf....all have fallen to him. he has killed a number of my guard, and i dare not send any more against him, for my men are valuable. I care little for you strangers and thus, you are expendable. I will pay each of you mass sums of money for this task, and some of you may appreciate the fact that you take a mass murderer from this world. Any questions?
“You are of need of my services? Am I then a harlot to be hired and then discarded when my services are rendered? I have no need of your precious money nor will I serve a mere mortal. My god? You dare to curse Queprur with the flaws associated with being male? And you have the arrogance to assume you know anything of her motives? Foolish mortal, you cannot begin to comprehend the scope of her intentions with this world. I will listen to your plight and then judge whether my assistance would serve Queprur. Do not mistake my assistance, if it is given, as a submission to your desires for only my mistress may command me.”
The Heavyhand assumed an amused look. He had met many such people, they seemed to usually be female. Magicians seemed to love to consider all those who do not practice magic beneath the dung of the northern Thunderfeet. Erick laughed slightly as he addressed her
My, My. Aren't we the arrogant one. Do not assume that i am ignorant in the faith of the Iron Mistress. Both of my parents were part of her priesthood. Regardless, the services I Requi-
It was at this moment that the Dwarf interrupted Erick in a slur of speech, saying something about adventure. The Heavyhand assumed that the philogist was agreeing to go on this little outing. Erick was about to address the dwarf when the sailor woman spoke.
Yer g’nome ally has be’n sayin yee ar’ lookin for sum help, if this b’ fact I thin’ I coul’ b’ helpin’ yee. Tha name be Synder what b’ yers an yer harl …. Lady friends?
The heavyhand, feeling that his group was large enough, decided to tell them of their purpose in coming to the captain of the guard.
You have all come to me to learn of the aid that i require. The task i am going to ask you to take part of is a dangerous one. There have been a slew of murders in my city, and a number of witnesses have told me that a pale man in black was the man who commited these atrocities. This murderer has no discriminations, he will murder man, woman, child, elf, human or dwarf....all have fallen to him. he has killed a number of my guard, and i dare not send any more against him, for my men are valuable. I care little for you strangers and thus, you are expendable. I will pay each of you mass sums of money for this task, and some of you may appreciate the fact that you take a mass murderer from this world. Any questions?
Nobody is beyond redemption.
- Lythánia
Title: Re: Chapter 1: It Always Starts in a Tavern....
Post by: Synder Nytefall on April 03, 2006, 09:07:23 AM
The piratess tilted her head nonchalantly to shroud her face beneath the edge of her hat as Ciosina and Elysia spoke. A hint of sadness spread evenly over her delicate features as she once again realized that she was surrounded by those of society and esteem. Her customary charade did not pass, as a spriteful smile glimmered from the shade that now veiled her face. The only indication of her uneasiness was a trivial turning of her petite shoulder to the gathering, as if to screen herself somewhat from the others.
Burgundy eyes studied the dwarf as he spoke of adventures, the elfess was relatively sure the stubby dwarf was telling at least semi-truth through the shroud of drunkenness. Her elven ears perked up a bit, hoping that the man would continue on into a fine tale or at least a recounting of some fanciful yarn of his people. Yet the guardsman cut them all short from the general state of chaos that had ensued after they had gathered about the table. One hand rose to brush a few fiery locks to rest once more behind her ears as she raised burgundy eyes to rest upon the guard. A palatable look of glee upon her subtle face could be seen effortlessly from the shadows of her hat as the elfess listened keenly.
The guardsman finished his tiny tale of murder and intrigue, Synder’s hand lifted to tilt the brim of her hat at the man. A beaming grin upon her ginger colored lips, she then looked about at the others, waiting for any of them to respond to what the man had asked. Only silence had been forthcoming so the elfess spoke up, “Wha b’ thee offerin for this har task g’sir?” Both gloved hands falling to rest upon the edge of the oaken table between her lithe legs. “An why b’ it tha yee ar thinkin we wou’ be bounty hunters?” Her eyes studying the man intently, hoping to catch some hint of his intentions or motivations, for noone hires a band of mercenaries to simply catch a common fugitive. This would have to be personal I would be thinking.
at: 4/3/06 1:08
Burgundy eyes studied the dwarf as he spoke of adventures, the elfess was relatively sure the stubby dwarf was telling at least semi-truth through the shroud of drunkenness. Her elven ears perked up a bit, hoping that the man would continue on into a fine tale or at least a recounting of some fanciful yarn of his people. Yet the guardsman cut them all short from the general state of chaos that had ensued after they had gathered about the table. One hand rose to brush a few fiery locks to rest once more behind her ears as she raised burgundy eyes to rest upon the guard. A palatable look of glee upon her subtle face could be seen effortlessly from the shadows of her hat as the elfess listened keenly.
The guardsman finished his tiny tale of murder and intrigue, Synder’s hand lifted to tilt the brim of her hat at the man. A beaming grin upon her ginger colored lips, she then looked about at the others, waiting for any of them to respond to what the man had asked. Only silence had been forthcoming so the elfess spoke up, “Wha b’ thee offerin for this har task g’sir?” Both gloved hands falling to rest upon the edge of the oaken table between her lithe legs. “An why b’ it tha yee ar thinkin we wou’ be bounty hunters?” Her eyes studying the man intently, hoping to catch some hint of his intentions or motivations, for noone hires a band of mercenaries to simply catch a common fugitive. This would have to be personal I would be thinking.
(¯`•."If there's a man among ye, ye'll come out and fight like the men ye are.".•´¯)-Synder's CD
Edited by: Synder Nytefall at: 4/3/06 1:08Title: Re: Chapter 1: It Always Starts in a Tavern....
Post by: Monty Leadfist on April 15, 2006, 03:45:23 PM
He waits patiently. It wasn't silent... far from it. Everybody kept on talking, sure, but not to him. Monty opens one eye, then the other, and puffs up his cheeks, looking furiously from one lady to the others. They had ignored him. The dwarf clenches his heavy hands and stomps his feet a little, snorting down the whiskers just under his nose.
"You have all come to me to learn of the aid that i require. The task i am going to ask you to take part of is a dangerous one. There have been a slew of murders in my city, and a number of witnesses have told me that a pale man in black was the man who commited these atrocities. This murderer has no discriminations, he will murder man, woman, child, elf, human or dwarf....all have fallen to him. he has killed a number of my guard, and i dare not send any more against him, for my men are valuable. I care little for you strangers and thus, you are expendable. I will pay each of you mass sums of money for this task, and some of you may appreciate the fact that you take a mass murderer from this world. Any questions? "
Montgomery's brows come together in irritation. "Lad," he begins sternly, taking a few menacingly steps forward to the guard, "you'n be lissin' right smart, ehnow? Me names'a'bin Montgomery Leadfist. Leadfist, see!?" the dwarf cries, gesturing violently to the gorish scene about his helm. "En' wedon' benone anyfilth-typemercs. Cos ye'earme, we'n rightohnrble warriors! So donnacometehmehthinninmehInn'elpye!"
"You have all come to me to learn of the aid that i require. The task i am going to ask you to take part of is a dangerous one. There have been a slew of murders in my city, and a number of witnesses have told me that a pale man in black was the man who commited these atrocities. This murderer has no discriminations, he will murder man, woman, child, elf, human or dwarf....all have fallen to him. he has killed a number of my guard, and i dare not send any more against him, for my men are valuable. I care little for you strangers and thus, you are expendable. I will pay each of you mass sums of money for this task, and some of you may appreciate the fact that you take a mass murderer from this world. Any questions? "
Montgomery's brows come together in irritation. "Lad," he begins sternly, taking a few menacingly steps forward to the guard, "you'n be lissin' right smart, ehnow? Me names'a'bin Montgomery Leadfist. Leadfist, see!?" the dwarf cries, gesturing violently to the gorish scene about his helm. "En' wedon' benone anyfilth-typemercs. Cos ye'earme, we'n rightohnrble warriors! So donnacometehmehthinninmehInn'elpye!"
Title: Re: Chapter 1: It Always Starts in a Tavern....
Post by: Kain Cristar on April 20, 2006, 02:23:23 PM
Kain gives the elfess a good long stare, just to make sure she was real. He anticipates the smooth burn of smouldering floorboard to meet his nostrils as the sultry pirate sauntered away. Her very steps could ignite and heart, any passion. She escapes his vision, as mist to the morning glare.
Something close to a smile tugs at one corner of his pale lips, and he turns sharply on a heel. He wonders what those quivering locks feel like, what those full, passionate lips taste like. They must be like fire and blood.
Now his attentions are focused on the gaurd, and perhaps for the slightest of sneering moments at his harlot, as the elfess had so aptly dubbed the gaunt woman. As of yet any other, unmentioned patrons are unnoticed and deftly ignored.
The ancient elf turns on his heel, and gives a small bow. His eyes are carefull not to leave those of the guard as he rises. Before he is able to speak, the beauty begins her own introductions. He allows himself to admire her strangely gracefull abrubtness, then gives his own introduction. I have also been called forth by your gnome, and offer my services as an aspect of the divine. Whatever meaning that divine carried, he seems to leave to the beholder to decipher.
"You have all come to me to learn of the aid that i require. The task i am going to ask you to take part of is a dangerous one. There have been a slew of murders in my city, and a number of witnesses have told me that a pale man in black was the man who commited these atrocities. This murderer has no discriminations, he will murder man, woman, child, elf, human or dwarf....all have fallen to him. he has killed a number of my guard, and i dare not send any more against him, for my men are valuable. I care little for you strangers and thus, you are expendable. I will pay each of you mass sums of money for this task, and some of you may appreciate the fact that you take a mass murderer from this world. Any questions?"
Kain quickly realizes that this man has the mental capacity of a drunken dwarf, and that there would be little investigative work completed. He frowns as he searches his mind for some sort of plan of attack, some way to take what little information they had and find a killer. He knows that they will need much more information that this if they are to start a search.
In fact, dear sir, I have a multitude of queries the likes of which cannot be spoken from mortal lips in a single night. The most simple of these are as follows:
Is there no evidence of motive? Where the bodies plundered? Do you have any information on his probable location? Are there any similairities in the circumstance or practice of the murder? What does he use to kill these men, women, and children? Are there many wounds upon the bodies, or only a simple killing blow? May we call upon any of the witnesses you mentioned? Where these people murdered in their homes? Where they murdered in public? Do you have a map? Have you plotted, or can you plot, the location of each murder for me on said map if available? Does he murder at night, or risk the day? Are the murders acts of intelligent planning, or passion? When was the first murder? How many murders have there been? When was the last? Have you placed any wanted posters?
Kain tries to remember seeing one, but does not.
Does he leave any sort of distinguishing marks on the bodies? Are any of the bodies availible for viewing? Do you know his race? Have you placed any restrictions on travel? If so when? Are you certain that these murders are related? If so why? Of course we have questions child! Do you realize how many of your citizens we would have to kill if we were to act upon these gaunt facts? They are as starving children sucking at a desolate nipple! A pale male wearing dark clothing? Is this all you will tell us of your killer? With your information I could be the very male you seek!
His vioce begins to thrash as storm fraught waters.
Witness the depravity of this journey! You embark into the grey wastes of the unknown, here there lay the mists of oblivion and the darkness of nightmare! Awaken to find yourself alone amidst the nothingness, the null facts which you attempt to appease the voracious beast of investigative research! You can fill not this maw with plaintive cries and whelps, but with fact and reason.
A gentle calm catches his furious lips, and the mage continues with a cold chill. With these idle scraps of knowledge you have no hope of ridding your town of its ills.
Something starts to shout near his theigh, and the glances down to see a drunken dwarf, similiar to the one he feared this captain may be as dull as. "En' wedon' benone anyfilth-typemercs. Cos ye'earme, we'n rightohnrble warriors! So donnacometehmehthinninmehInn'elpye!"
Kain purses his lips for a full three seconds as the distraction consumes his thoughts, his eyes scan back and forth as he attempts to draw some sembilance of meaning from the drivel which had just filled his ears. After those three seconds, he decides that there was no meaning at all, and that the dwarf is insane, or perhaps intolerably stupid. Either way Kain decides that he was best ignored, and deftly returns his scowl to the human gaurd.
-Kain Cristar, Divine AspectEdited by: Kain Cristar at: 4/20/06 6:37
Something close to a smile tugs at one corner of his pale lips, and he turns sharply on a heel. He wonders what those quivering locks feel like, what those full, passionate lips taste like. They must be like fire and blood.
Now his attentions are focused on the gaurd, and perhaps for the slightest of sneering moments at his harlot, as the elfess had so aptly dubbed the gaunt woman. As of yet any other, unmentioned patrons are unnoticed and deftly ignored.
The ancient elf turns on his heel, and gives a small bow. His eyes are carefull not to leave those of the guard as he rises. Before he is able to speak, the beauty begins her own introductions. He allows himself to admire her strangely gracefull abrubtness, then gives his own introduction. I have also been called forth by your gnome, and offer my services as an aspect of the divine. Whatever meaning that divine carried, he seems to leave to the beholder to decipher.
"You have all come to me to learn of the aid that i require. The task i am going to ask you to take part of is a dangerous one. There have been a slew of murders in my city, and a number of witnesses have told me that a pale man in black was the man who commited these atrocities. This murderer has no discriminations, he will murder man, woman, child, elf, human or dwarf....all have fallen to him. he has killed a number of my guard, and i dare not send any more against him, for my men are valuable. I care little for you strangers and thus, you are expendable. I will pay each of you mass sums of money for this task, and some of you may appreciate the fact that you take a mass murderer from this world. Any questions?"
Kain quickly realizes that this man has the mental capacity of a drunken dwarf, and that there would be little investigative work completed. He frowns as he searches his mind for some sort of plan of attack, some way to take what little information they had and find a killer. He knows that they will need much more information that this if they are to start a search.
In fact, dear sir, I have a multitude of queries the likes of which cannot be spoken from mortal lips in a single night. The most simple of these are as follows:
Is there no evidence of motive? Where the bodies plundered? Do you have any information on his probable location? Are there any similairities in the circumstance or practice of the murder? What does he use to kill these men, women, and children? Are there many wounds upon the bodies, or only a simple killing blow? May we call upon any of the witnesses you mentioned? Where these people murdered in their homes? Where they murdered in public? Do you have a map? Have you plotted, or can you plot, the location of each murder for me on said map if available? Does he murder at night, or risk the day? Are the murders acts of intelligent planning, or passion? When was the first murder? How many murders have there been? When was the last? Have you placed any wanted posters?
Kain tries to remember seeing one, but does not.
Does he leave any sort of distinguishing marks on the bodies? Are any of the bodies availible for viewing? Do you know his race? Have you placed any restrictions on travel? If so when? Are you certain that these murders are related? If so why? Of course we have questions child! Do you realize how many of your citizens we would have to kill if we were to act upon these gaunt facts? They are as starving children sucking at a desolate nipple! A pale male wearing dark clothing? Is this all you will tell us of your killer? With your information I could be the very male you seek!
His vioce begins to thrash as storm fraught waters.
Witness the depravity of this journey! You embark into the grey wastes of the unknown, here there lay the mists of oblivion and the darkness of nightmare! Awaken to find yourself alone amidst the nothingness, the null facts which you attempt to appease the voracious beast of investigative research! You can fill not this maw with plaintive cries and whelps, but with fact and reason.
A gentle calm catches his furious lips, and the mage continues with a cold chill. With these idle scraps of knowledge you have no hope of ridding your town of its ills.
Something starts to shout near his theigh, and the glances down to see a drunken dwarf, similiar to the one he feared this captain may be as dull as. "En' wedon' benone anyfilth-typemercs. Cos ye'earme, we'n rightohnrble warriors! So donnacometehmehthinninmehInn'elpye!"
Kain purses his lips for a full three seconds as the distraction consumes his thoughts, his eyes scan back and forth as he attempts to draw some sembilance of meaning from the drivel which had just filled his ears. After those three seconds, he decides that there was no meaning at all, and that the dwarf is insane, or perhaps intolerably stupid. Either way Kain decides that he was best ignored, and deftly returns his scowl to the human gaurd.
You have lived a life of cruelty and atrocity, you have bathed in the blood of the innocent, you have considered every act of depravity and your corruption knows no bounds. I am the angel of justice, I am the accumulation of all of your sins. Prepare for your redemption.
-Kain Cristar, Divine AspectEdited by: Kain Cristar
at: 4/20/06 6:37Title: Re: Chapter 1: It Always Starts in a Tavern....
Post by: Lythania So Mephgour on April 25, 2006, 01:49:23 PM
The Heavyhand
Erick judges each of member of his audience, looking for signals as to what they may be thinking, when the pirate woman asks him a few questions. He looks the girl straight in the eye as he says
As I said before, vast sums of money will be given to you when you can prove to me that this man is dead. For some of you, that may be all the reward you need.
The pale elf begins a rant, insulting Erick's skills as an investigator. The heavyhand's Retort is swift and merciless.
Do you honestly think that i would give all information to every piece of slime who has come to me? No. I at least want an answer as to whether or not they even want to chase this villain. Besides that, there is one among you who could find my murderer quite easily with even less information than i have given you, but you spout your mouth with ignorance before you know what is going on. I suggest you sit tight fool, and tell me whether or not you even want to follwo this fiend before you have the audacity to question my abilities.
The Dwarf then sputters out a string of words, and for some unexplainded reason, The Heavyhand understood everybit of it.
Honorable warriors indeed, the Leadfists may be. Thus I am certain that you would increase your honor by destroying this man who kills innocents on whims. You need not accept the money, but I am sure that it could not hurt your financial standings.
With a final glare at the elf, The Heavyhand sits back, awaiting The priestesses reply
Erick judges each of member of his audience, looking for signals as to what they may be thinking, when the pirate woman asks him a few questions. He looks the girl straight in the eye as he says
As I said before, vast sums of money will be given to you when you can prove to me that this man is dead. For some of you, that may be all the reward you need.
The pale elf begins a rant, insulting Erick's skills as an investigator. The heavyhand's Retort is swift and merciless.
Do you honestly think that i would give all information to every piece of slime who has come to me? No. I at least want an answer as to whether or not they even want to chase this villain. Besides that, there is one among you who could find my murderer quite easily with even less information than i have given you, but you spout your mouth with ignorance before you know what is going on. I suggest you sit tight fool, and tell me whether or not you even want to follwo this fiend before you have the audacity to question my abilities.
The Dwarf then sputters out a string of words, and for some unexplainded reason, The Heavyhand understood everybit of it.
Honorable warriors indeed, the Leadfists may be. Thus I am certain that you would increase your honor by destroying this man who kills innocents on whims. You need not accept the money, but I am sure that it could not hurt your financial standings.
With a final glare at the elf, The Heavyhand sits back, awaiting The priestesses reply
Nobody is beyond redemption.
- Lythánia
Title: Re: Chapter 1: It Always Starts in a Tavern....
Post by: Kain Cristar on April 27, 2006, 11:01:23 AM
Do you honestly think that i would give all information to every piece of slime who has come to me? No. I at least want an answer as to whether or not they even want to chase this villain. Besides that, there is one among you who could find my murderer quite easily with even less information than i have given you, but you spout your mouth with ignorance before you know what is going on. I suggest you sit tight fool, and tell me whether or not you even want to follwo this fiend before you have the audacity to question my abilities.
Kain finds a calm lace where he can not kill everyone in the room. It takes some work, but he is about to thwart his darker lusts. Rather than blast the insolent youth to smouldering dust, the elf simply touches the massive hilt which rises over his left shoulder. This seems to soothe the magus enough that he is able to reply.
I find your lack of faith to be.... discomforting. You must simply realize that my wishes are grounded in the realm of the logical. I would not wish to invest my time and energies in a listless chase into the abysses of chaos and grime. If you can assure me that there is a greater amount of evidence and information relating to the aprehension of this sociopath I will surely aid you. You are indeed speaking to an experianced hunter of those choosing the nether path.
Something inside him felt dirty, as if he had physically been soiled from stooping to indignancy of explaining his motives to a human.
-Kain Cristar, Divine AspectEdited by: Lythania So Mephgour at: 4/27/06 4:05
Kain finds a calm lace where he can not kill everyone in the room. It takes some work, but he is about to thwart his darker lusts. Rather than blast the insolent youth to smouldering dust, the elf simply touches the massive hilt which rises over his left shoulder. This seems to soothe the magus enough that he is able to reply.
I find your lack of faith to be.... discomforting. You must simply realize that my wishes are grounded in the realm of the logical. I would not wish to invest my time and energies in a listless chase into the abysses of chaos and grime. If you can assure me that there is a greater amount of evidence and information relating to the aprehension of this sociopath I will surely aid you. You are indeed speaking to an experianced hunter of those choosing the nether path.
Something inside him felt dirty, as if he had physically been soiled from stooping to indignancy of explaining his motives to a human.
You have lived a life of cruelty and atrocity, you have bathed in the blood of the innocent, you have considered every act of depravity and your corruption knows no bounds. I am the angel of justice, I am the accumulation of all of your sins. Prepare for your redemption.
-Kain Cristar, Divine AspectEdited by: Lythania So Mephgour at: 4/27/06 4:05
Title: Re: Chapter 1: It Always Starts in a Tavern....
Post by: Lythania So Mephgour on May 04, 2006, 12:38:23 PM
The Heavyhand
Erick takes the Elf's answer with a nod, as he waits for the others to tell him their intentions.
Erick takes the Elf's answer with a nod, as he waits for the others to tell him their intentions.
Nobody is beyond redemption.
- Lythánia
Title: Re: Chapter 1: It Always Starts in a Tavern....
Post by: Synder Nytefall on May 08, 2006, 11:54:23 AM
The pirate’s shyness began to fade as the foreboding elf, Kain, began to address the guardsman. Burgundy eyes narrowing a bit as the mage spoke of hunting others through Nether Regions. A whimsical grin pursed upon glossy ginger lips, as Synder attempted to not giggle loudly at the elf’s saga. The man spoke of nether regions and such but the swashbuckler truly doubted the man had ever witnessed the screams of those in the waters being devoured by sharks.
Standing aboard a vessel as the fading rays of Injera washed over a field of water mingled with crimson and highlighted by the death cries of those unable to escape. Blinking quickly, the elf realized she had been taken back to these horrid times by the man’s bantering. The elf can spin a grand fable; need to have a few flagons with him and the dwarf one evening to see what tales they can tell.
Reaching out a gloved hand the buccaneer patted the guardsman’s forearm flippantly before coming to rest carelessly there. “I wo’ld b’ most hap’y ta aid ya.” The other gloved digits rose to tilt the brim of her flowing hat, lifting it a bit. The gleeful smile upon her delicate features merged with the mischief dancing in the fiery depths of burgundy eyes. “I am st’k wit ya lan’lub’ers for a goo’ bit. An a few pieces a’w’aer neva hurts a gurl.” Delicate hands returning to respite once more upon the surface of the oaken table, fingers spread wide in a fanlike pattern. “Jus not ver’ry sur’ why it b’ ya need a performer, bu I’d b’ helping ya if ya need me sir.”
Burgundy eyes studied the others intently as they scanned slowly over them. A glee filled smile unwavering over supple lips as she anxiously awaited the others responses to the guard. Booted feet in constant motion below the table belying the young elf’s anxiety, yet giving testament to those observing such trivial things, a glimpse of how limber the young elf was.
. at: 5/8/06 3:55
Standing aboard a vessel as the fading rays of Injera washed over a field of water mingled with crimson and highlighted by the death cries of those unable to escape. Blinking quickly, the elf realized she had been taken back to these horrid times by the man’s bantering. The elf can spin a grand fable; need to have a few flagons with him and the dwarf one evening to see what tales they can tell.
Reaching out a gloved hand the buccaneer patted the guardsman’s forearm flippantly before coming to rest carelessly there. “I wo’ld b’ most hap’y ta aid ya.” The other gloved digits rose to tilt the brim of her flowing hat, lifting it a bit. The gleeful smile upon her delicate features merged with the mischief dancing in the fiery depths of burgundy eyes. “I am st’k wit ya lan’lub’ers for a goo’ bit. An a few pieces a’w’aer neva hurts a gurl.” Delicate hands returning to respite once more upon the surface of the oaken table, fingers spread wide in a fanlike pattern. “Jus not ver’ry sur’ why it b’ ya need a performer, bu I’d b’ helping ya if ya need me sir.”
Burgundy eyes studied the others intently as they scanned slowly over them. A glee filled smile unwavering over supple lips as she anxiously awaited the others responses to the guard. Booted feet in constant motion below the table belying the young elf’s anxiety, yet giving testament to those observing such trivial things, a glimpse of how limber the young elf was.
.
(¯`•."If there's a man among ye, ye'll come out and fight like the men ye are.".•´¯)-Synder's CD
Edited by: Synder Nytefall at: 5/8/06 3:55Title: Re: Chapter 1: It Always Starts in a Tavern....
Post by: Kain Cristar on May 09, 2006, 10:33:23 AM
Kain breathes the wild growl of a storms first thrashing squalls. The afront was beyond contemplation, it was simply inconcievable. His fists slowly clench and release with a violent passion, as he imagined crushing the youth's windpipe between his fingers, and watching his short life ebb into the winds. If it were not for the stiffled giggles which rose softly from somewhere beyond his shoulder, he would have begun summoning something unpleasent to unleash on the gaurd. Instead he listens to her join the human's hunt. Now he had little choice. He would not allow the girl to get herself killed chasing a homicidal psychopathic.
With grunt he allows all the tention to fall from his body, as if blown away by a wayward breeze. My services will be made availible to this man hunt. He feels all the more dirty now. Every part of his body is covered in an oily shame.
-Kain Cristar, Divine Aspect
With grunt he allows all the tention to fall from his body, as if blown away by a wayward breeze. My services will be made availible to this man hunt. He feels all the more dirty now. Every part of his body is covered in an oily shame.
You have lived a life of cruelty and atrocity, you have bathed in the blood of the innocent, you have considered every act of depravity and your corruption knows no bounds. I am the angel of justice, I am the accumulation of all of your sins. Prepare for your redemption.
-Kain Cristar, Divine Aspect
Title: Re: Chapter 1: It Always Starts in a Tavern....
Post by: Monty Leadfist on May 13, 2006, 05:26:23 PM
"Honorable warriors indeed, the Leadfists may be. Thus I am certain that you would increase your honor by destroying this man who kills innocents on whims. You need not accept the money, but I am sure that it could not hurt your financial standings."
Monty sets his intense, wavering eyes on the guard for a long moment, oblivious to the happenings and speakings of those around him. A compelling argument had been made, but something dosen't settle well with the weathered adventurer. Brushing absently at the coarse, bristling beard with dirt caked gloves, the dwarf appears to be thinking passionately about something, the faint shadow of anger on his face that appeared persistently whenever the dwarf fell into thought. At length, Monty opens his mouth to speak but is interrupted by the upstart young woman's acceptance to the challenge.
Concern ripples through Monty's features, and for a brief moment a charicature of compassion finds itself on his face before being dashed away by the usual coarseness inspired by the battlehardened visage. This young woman, her eyes ablaze with spirit and respectable intoxication, is a firm representation of women, and Montgomery feels an almost paternal inclination towards her. She is a rare breed among the non-dwarven races and that was something to be respected and preserved.
Stiffening his resolve, Monty slams a fist into his skull. The metal plating on his gloves rakes against the engraved helm, emmenating a shrill clang. "Aye'rt! I'nna cannalahng, behbekeppinyeboodles tann'heyeselfmate!" he cries, rocking his head backwards and laughing heartilly, mangy dreadlocks knocking loose from his helm and whipping wildly about him as his shoulders shake with throws of unprecedented laughter.
Monty sets his intense, wavering eyes on the guard for a long moment, oblivious to the happenings and speakings of those around him. A compelling argument had been made, but something dosen't settle well with the weathered adventurer. Brushing absently at the coarse, bristling beard with dirt caked gloves, the dwarf appears to be thinking passionately about something, the faint shadow of anger on his face that appeared persistently whenever the dwarf fell into thought. At length, Monty opens his mouth to speak but is interrupted by the upstart young woman's acceptance to the challenge.
Concern ripples through Monty's features, and for a brief moment a charicature of compassion finds itself on his face before being dashed away by the usual coarseness inspired by the battlehardened visage. This young woman, her eyes ablaze with spirit and respectable intoxication, is a firm representation of women, and Montgomery feels an almost paternal inclination towards her. She is a rare breed among the non-dwarven races and that was something to be respected and preserved.
Stiffening his resolve, Monty slams a fist into his skull. The metal plating on his gloves rakes against the engraved helm, emmenating a shrill clang. "Aye'rt! I'nna cannalahng, behbekeppinyeboodles tann'heyeselfmate!" he cries, rocking his head backwards and laughing heartilly, mangy dreadlocks knocking loose from his helm and whipping wildly about him as his shoulders shake with throws of unprecedented laughter.
Title: Re: Chapter 1: It Always Starts in a Tavern....
Post by: vepier on March 23, 2007, 10:35:05 AM
He stumbles into the tavern bloodied and bruised with a grerat gash across his face and dagger in his stomach. anyone here an apothocist...he faints.
Title: Re: Chapter 1: It Always Starts in a Tavern....
Post by: Kareesh Valendar on March 23, 2007, 11:34:42 AM
OOC: Vepier, you need to first need to have your character approved and you need to ask permission to first enter the story.