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Post by ElfChild on Jan 12, 2014 23:12:26 GMT -8
Quick Rundown: - Most of the party is nobles - Found a tunnel - Explored the tunnel (there were haunts who didn't seem to like thiefly behavior much, and various things that had tunneled in) - Went into town (learned that a wagon full of cannibals went missing in our area, talked a noble's kid out of adventuring, I think Esterock has something wrong with him)
Caylis Lockhart Part One: Acclimating to Nowhere (Reading/Writing lvl 1)
Hello, friends, enemies, terrible people, and you rare and elusive actually pretty decent people as well. My name, as is stated atop this page, is Caylis. My party calls me Lockhart, which is the other part of my name. Apparently I am not of high enough standing to be referred to by location. On the other hand, I do not think the name Hostor would suit me with any particular finesse or accuracy, so I will do just fine by my family name. Because I am certain you do not care that I am a hobbit, a craftsman, and a woman, (unless of course you wish to court me, in which case you may care a good deal, but I would spare you the trouble since I have no interest in romantic relations with men or women who learn about me only from my writing), I will try to make this quick. My standing is only important because before I begin, there is something you must understand, and that is about the makeup of the party I have ended up with.
When I joined the expedition, it was because I had thought that the plateau would be good for adventure, exploration, and possibly the opportunity to build a town. And, of course, claiming a small plot of land and having my own shop, I certainly wouldn't object to that. When I arrived, I was placed along with several others on the patrol running west, and I discovered quite quickly that I was nearly the only one of the lot who worked for my living. Temnor and Greywash (the people) are both nobility of Temnor (the place). Esterock (the person) is nobility in the capital. Evelyn is nobility from Geb. And Frogthrown is a prince of the fey. Mom (who is not, in fact, my mother) may have been the only other member of our group who did not appear to be out here to grab up lots of cheap land fast.
The fact of the matter is, half the party thinks they're above me. Which meant that from the get-go, I had to do something I wasn't used to: Ignoring the social construct of class. Had I not, I would have been ignored and cut out of all decision-making, and that would have been terrible for my adventuring opportunities. So while the weather was miserable and camp was pretty much food, fire, and a stand of trees, I was on the lookout for opportunities to prove that I couldn't be ignored so easily.
Such an opportunity appeared quickly enough. A couple days in, a group of travelers came by our camp, and I went out to talk to them along with a few others. They said they were going past, and they couldn't tell us what they were looking for. Seemed to be afraid we'd take it. The rest of the group walked back to camp, but I fell into step with these traveling folks. I told 'em I had no intention of taking whatever they were looking for, but I was curious. Both Mom and Esterock tried to pull me back, but it was an adventure and I for one wasn't going to pass it up when all I'd had 'till then was ice and snow and crappy food. So we walked a bit, and they paused a ways from our camp and we started talking and they asked about my companions and I told them that they were mostly nobles from here and there, Temnor and the capital and such, and how Esterock was a pretty nice guy for a noble. But then the questions started getting a bit specific for my taste, and I'd heard stories of rich kids being kidnapped and ransomed, and I didn't want to mistakenly be accomplice to such a thing. Played it safe, ran back to camp. The travelers packed up and moved, but I was still curious, so I said we should follow them and most everyone agreed.
We packed up and followed them, and well, I'd learned a little tracking back at home in my spare time, and Frogthrown (who was very particular that it was about being thrown by frogs, not a froggish royal seat) and I put our heads together and tracked them down.
When we got there, we found them dead in the snow with all these green and frighteningly fierce goblins about. The goblins killed Mom and Esterock, and I daresay there were a couple times they almost put some holes in me as well, but our group was a sturdy sort and fought back rather well. In the end the green goblins were defeated, and we had to decide what to do.
We stood in a circle, Evelyn and the Temnorians and Frogthrown and myself. And we figured we should go find whatever the poor travellers had been looking for. It was our best lead so far. So Ev' and Temnor and me hoisted up Mom (who's a big old Toiror, no idea if I got that spelled right, but she's no small thing,) and Greywash picked up Esterock, and off we went. Frogthrown was too small to pick up anyone, so he walked about between us and made talk.
I suggested in jest that I could be a member of his court, since he was a prince and all, and he asked me what a court was. I told him it was normally a group of noble suck-ups, but that this one would be more like a group of people with lots of different skills who could work together to do neat things. He thought this was a great idea and then ordered me to go life mage. I laughed and agreed, because that had been my plan all along. Life and necromancy, you know. He seemed very pleased. Then he went about telling the others that he wanted to "court" them. He meant making them part of his court, of course, but the Temnors and Evelyn thought it'd be great fun to pretend this was the proper word and send him out to "court" a number of people. Eventually I did tell him that to court someone was to make romantic advances and that there was no simple verb for adding someone to your court. He was unhappy and I daresay a good deal confused. And the Temnorians were a sight disappointed that I had ruined their entertainment. But funny though I agree it was, he didn't come off as much an arrogant ass as the more vocal of the two did, so I was more inclined to save him the humiliation of learning it later.
We came upon a small valley. In the center was a particularly nice set of objects, cloak, sword, bow, and chainmail. Looked to be mastercrafted at least, if not magic. Up by us were a pair of giants, both life mages, and pretty friendly at the time. They agreed to resurrect our dead, which was rather nice of them. Across the ridge were a couple trolls and a couple skeletons, but they were just meandering along and I thought I might make a pass for the things down the bottom of the valley. I got most of the way there, but they noticed me and chased me off.
Much of the party engaged them, but I moved round to a swamp down the valley a bit. Crept around a bit. Got a good look at the skeletons, but they noticed me and I crept back down into the trees and reeds and solid-frozen mud, and I snuck about down there a bit, listening and catching glimpses of the battle outside. While I was down there I found a branch dropped across between a couple trees with old smashed skulls hanging down from it an a bundle of sticks tied between them. I carefully untied the skull bits and wrapped the string around my arm, skull shards still attached. Might be worth something, you never know.
I emerged from the swamp then, peering about cautiously. There was only Frogthrown wandering about, with the giants throwing spells at the skeletons. I came out and scooped up the nice items, all magic, and put the blade on Temnor's body, took the cloak myself, and handed Evelyn the bow (bows suit her more than her fancy daggers, but don't tell her I said it) before walking up to Frogthrown and asking what he was up to. He said it looked like there was a passage to be explored if we cleared away the dirt, so we did. Took a while, the giants started getting antsy. Esterock went off to meet the group that'd gone East the first time we'd split up, brought back a couple merchant boys. They seemed like decent fellows. I've formed a bit of an alliance with them, gotta stick together, us working folk. Garden actually suggested it. He's good at the business, and an honest man too.
Anyhow, we cleared out the entrance to the tunnel but realized none of us had any good torches. So we improvised a couple and wandered in. There were a bunch of haunts and a bunch of things out behind them. Looked like someone'd died here. Esterock dueled one of 'em. Bad idea, that, escalates the things. But with all that fancy samurai honor and such, maybe he was obligated. The haunts advanced and I snuck around and picked up the dead man's things (Ev' says with all the sneaking I do I should be a thief) and then ran out to the full light. Turns out I had a torch in my hand! A real one. Well, I lit it on one of the makeshift ones, but couldn't get down there for a good while with all the escalated haunts and such. Haunts brought Esterock back out all set like a great warrior being buried. Think the giants resurrected him. I got into a fight with Frogthrown over the cloak, which I eventually got back for promising to send him something magic from down the tunnels.
By then the haunts were calmed down, so I walked on by. Party was still poking about outside, but I was going to have an adventure, whether they were part of it or not. So off I go into the next room and there's a tunnel and a goblin with what looked like a magic dagger (it was certainly glowing, and if that's not a sign of magic I don't know what is) but I'd ditched all my weapons at the entrance to avoid making the haunts angry. So I improvised. I lifted my torch high above my head and declared that I was the god of the light! All the goblins were awed and a bit confused. I declared that the goblin with the glowing dagger was my high priest, and that the goblins were my followers. They continued to look confused and maybe a tiny bit antsy. I told them that as my followers they could now go out and conquer the world. This got them all excited and they ran off screaming with excitement. All of them.
At this point I was alone in the room. There was a tunnel in where it looked like the goblins had come from, as well as another doorway where the human-crafted tunnel continued. I went to the doorway and looked on in, but the things in there were big as an ogre and covered in spines. They seemed too animal for me to trick into not hurting me, so I ran off back to the entrance where I was berated for running off alone with the torch. Suppose I deserved that, though I'll be damned if I say so to Temnor. Realized then that Evelyn was missing still and that she'd probably been injured down the tunnels, so we went in and looked about. Found her well enough, but then the haunts got angry for my looking (probably thought I was snooping around for things to steal) and poked me full of holes. When I woke up I was on the resurrection cart. But Ev' was fine, so I suppose it's okay.
Caylis Lockhart Part Two: A Kid and a Caravan
Been a while since I last wrote anything short of financial records. I keep those. They read zero now. No gold to my name anymore! Well, I guess if my survival weren't just a little bit at stake I'd feel a bit liberated by that number, no gold, don't have to worry about buying anything anymore or if I can afford this or that because guess what! Answer's no. No thought required. But I need things, and you need money for things, which means you need work. Or I need work. Too bad the historians guild doesn't pay me for these bits. Gave the other one to 'em the other day and they smiled and said thank you and it was all very nice, but. I need work.
Brings us to the point right enough. We're in town now. Bunch of us came on down with the resurrection cart, most of the West group (I'm calling us the west group now, regardless of the irrelevance of it at this point. Gotta do something to define the groups, this works well enough) anyway. Temnor an' Greywash, Evelyn and Garden (who I should really call Morglin, he asked nice enough and he's certainly nicer than Evelyn, who I do call as she asks. Then again, so's Esterock, but Harold doesn't fit him at all, so it's a very different thing there), and Garden's friend, and Esterock too, though he says he's on 'is way elsewhere. All came down here and it turns out they're not bad for a buncha assholes. Temnor still needs work, but I'm on decent enough terms with Greywash and Evelyn, and Morg' and his buddy and I look like potential business partners, so it's all pretty good. Even Temnor's warming up, though he still has bouts of "filthy commons why am I even listening to you". Which really I have more of a problem with than the behavior issues of everybody else. Can deal with assholes, but not ones that disregard my right to be in the conversation. Ah, he'll learn. And in all likelihood, I'll learn too, and we'll meet someplace in the middle and be jerks to one another and get on just fine. (My definition of getting on fine has undergone some rather radical changes since I left home.)
Well, we got into town just fine, and first things first, went to get things identified. We are adventurers after all. Well, I was hoping everybody'd get something nice out of the deal, but as it turns out, the cloak, sword, bow, and chainmail are all part of a set, don't work apart. So much for that. They're an Elder goddess thing, turns out, only girls can use 'em. The goddess is one of the three I follow, so I suppose I'll use it for a few weeks, but after that Evelyn can have it and keep it. So that's that. Least Frogthrown will be getting a nice little piece. He got the goblin's dagger, turns out the thing's a nice practical bit of metal. He'll be happy to hear it.
We spent the evening hangin' out in an inn mostly, all of us. Not that I did any drinking, have to be a fool to get drunk around thieves, but the water's nice enough and so's the company now I'm used to them. We were sitting down and picking up our drinks when I overheard a couple men talking about some caravan gone missing up our neck of the woods. I excused myself from the table and went over to talk to them, and it turned out the caravan did circuits, picking up odds and ends, salvageables, that sort, and it should've arrived a couple days prior. They gave me a description of the driver and her guard and I told them I'd ask around. I went back to the table and relayed what I'd learned about the caravan, and Morglin raised an eyebrow and said he'd seen just the one.
Turns out there was something up with cannibal babies and an evil house in the middle of nowhere, and the caravan had showed up and picked up the cannibals and their babies. They were supposed to bring them to town. I reported back to the men at the bar, told them I'd keep an eye out, but I can't say I fancy the chances of the poor sods working that caravan.
Night wore on, and eventually some human kid showed up at our table, asking if we were adventurers. Said he was thirteen though he looked a bit younger, and that he was coming with us. Well, we told him that was stupid, of course, but he stuck to his guns. Apparently he's the kid of some Sleepytown nobility, wants to reclaim his land before someone else does. Too bad the kid didn't realize adventuring is violent and camping is pretty miserable. Tried to talk him out of it, but he was pretty insistent that 13 was adulthood and he was adventuring.
Night happened, next morning the kid was back, bugging us over breakfast. Esterock showed up again (he'd come and talked to Evelyn the previous night and we joked around about the two of them being lovers, though we all know it's a load of shit) and asked to talk to Evelyn again, and the kid looked up from our conversation and he gave Esterock a good look-over, and then interrupted with "do you want to be my bodyguard?" Kid listed pay and everything, and when Esterock asked what for, he answered that he was gonna be an adventurer.
I think Esterock has some kind of trigger issue going on, because he yelled at the kid about the horrors of adventuring and something about losing his mother then ended up on his knees on the ground muttering about some lady called Ishmael (the mother he alluded to perhaps?) and where was she. I went and tried to comfort him, but he shook his head and got up and ran off.
Seems like the little display convinced the kid that coming with us was a pretty bad idea though, because later he came back and told us we were right and he was going to stay home. I told him he should talk to his parents so we could see if I could get permission to claim some land for his family, since if they were driven out of their rightful holdings they shouldn't be denied the opportunity to reclaim something just because their heir was too young.
A last note. I think we're going to try to build a city out there, starting with an inn and building out from that. Shelter would be nice, and a base of operations, and if we could convince a couple guilds it was worth setting up shop, we might just be in business. Issue is, we don't have the capital to start it. So if there's any nobles out there reading this who think it'd be worth investing in a town up on the plateau, they should talk to Evelyn about it. Hopefully we can get something underway.
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Post by Celebfealor on Jan 12, 2014 23:23:01 GMT -8
"Oi! My name's EVELYN. Not Eve, not whatever this 'Ev'' thing is. Evelyn. Got that?" ( )
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Post by ElfChild on Jan 13, 2014 21:47:27 GMT -8
"Sorry, won't make the mistake again. I like nicknames, guess that's not so much your thing though."
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Post by ElfChild on Apr 16, 2014 1:59:39 GMT -8
Quick Rundown: - The Red dragon does not seem to be present at the moment. - It seems to have been replaced by two other dragons, one of which is adolescent. - Esterock is bloody insane. Good gods.
Caylis Lockhart Here Be Dragons (Reading/Writing lvl 1)
I'm a ranger so I can tell stories, you know. It'd be a bit of a waste if I didn't, and this is such a good one. Then again, it's hardly the sort of storytelling I'm trained in as a ranger. But I daresay I've been writing since before I was tracking, so all's the more reason to put my stories to writing. Besides, without dedicated historians there'd be no history. Given recent events, I am inclined to think that a lack of history would be inconvenient at best. But today's not the day for today's news. Today is the day for a month ago's news. So let's go back to a month ago.
We were trekking back from some mission or another, what it was I hardly recall. Not really important anyway. We'd met up with an orc along the way, friendly enough guy, suggested we make up an alliance with Blackspire against the Grim and the Dagdiens and other such characters for whom we had a mutual distaste. Did a funny arm thing as a replacement for a handshake. He had a name, but it doesn't stick in my memory.
Old city of Menonass was more or less on the way home and we thought hey. So long as there might be a red dragon around, we should probably know about it. Seems reasonable, yes? If there's a dragon, run for our lives and remember not to build on the old city. If there's not, well, might as well start trying to build on foundations that already exist and all. Everyone with half a whit of knowhow on the topic knows it's easier to build on foundations already present than to make your own. Half a whit is about how much knowledge I have on the topic, so I consider myself a fairly credible source on that last point.
We walked a bit and came to the old city, supposedly grand once upon a time. It was still pretty grand, just in an 'oooo mysterious ruins' sort of way. Still a pretty huge city, maybe bigger than Pinnacle in terms of sprawl. Big old buildings stood tall, though many were missing roofs and doors and such. Wood doesn't last long under dragonfire I'd bet. My half a whit of construction knowledge is apparently good enough to tell me wood's a flammable building material. Impressive, I know. Anyhow, the place was a bit overwhelming with it's greyness and brownness and overall feeling of being long dead. I imagine being razed to the ground years before I was born would do that.
The walking went a bit until I noticed the party was separating itself out, humans right, nonhumans left, and an odd collection of us center. The orc stood off to the side as glances filled with animosity began to dart between the two groups, and I pulled Esterock and ribbon magic elf off to the side along with him, watching carefully. The two groups advanced on each other, seemingly oblivious to the fog that was starting to roll in from the center of the city. Blades clashed and clanged in the street. In the fog appeared four beams of light set into two pairs, suspiciously like eyes.
The orc, like the highly sane and reasonable person that he was, bolted in the other direction.
I, like the daredevil with a sense of responsibility to people that I am, shouted to Esterock and Ribbons that we should try to get people out and bolted for Evelyn, sending someone else for Greywash. We ducked into the chaos of the fight. The humans were doing well against the non-humans. They had a small numbers advantage. The non-humans were doing well enough defending themselves regardless, but they did not expect their own kind to dart in and pull them away. A smack to the back of the head did Evelyn, and I believe we managed to take down Greywash as well, but in doing so we drew more eyes, and as a band of hobbit, elf, and human, we were everyone's enemies. The glowing beams of the dragons swept over us, becoming more and more present by the second. We bolted. Esterock covered us. The fight raged, the smell of steel and blood growing as the fog flowed in, but time was up.
Not one but two dragons were upon us.
They burst from the cloud of fog. The first of two was fully grown and covered in spines with red waves running along the needletips, and it made its entrance with a blast of fiery needles that leaped from its tongue and seared all they touched, throwing much of the 'til then unsuspecting party into panicked chaos. The other, silvery with blue running over its scales in waves, made it's entrance by pouncing on me. I swear to the gods if I'd not been so hyped up on terrified adrenaline I would have passed out right there, and as it is I am somewhat amazed that those enormous paws didn't snap my spine in six different places.
Pain reared it's ugly head and screamed at me in that voice pain uses when it refuses to be ignored. You know. The one that says "you have puncture wounds in your back and half a dozen cracked ribs, send help". People were moving, shouting, but I couldn't tell who or what was doing so. Blotches of color moved in front of my eyes, obscuring the world. With as much energy as I could muster, I twisted away from the dragon's paws. The creature seemed surprised I was still moving--to it's credit, I kind of was too--and for a moment I thought I might have a shot at escape, but it recovered quickly, curling it's claws around me and lifting me into the air. I felt the wind being crushed from my lungs and tried a desperate maneuver in favor of self-preservation: I complimented it. Said compliments were not lies, though they were certainly not motivated by any particular desire to demonstrate awe. Dragons are, unsurprisingly, not stupid. This one did not let me go. It squeezed tighter.
Fortunately for me, whether Esterock is stupid or just the most bloody courageous person I've ever met is still up for debate. As Ribbons ran away with Evelyn swung over his shoulder, Esterock ceased his retreat, turned to the dragon that held me in it's claw, and dueled it. The next thing I knew I was flying through the air and slamming into the ground much harder than I would have liked. I swear I heard the bones snap. Even so, the energy of the space around me trickled into me and sped the healing of my injuries, allowing me to cling to the barest hint of consciousness.
Lying on the ground as I was, I didn't witness Esterock's duel with the silvery dragon. I have, however, gathered enough from the accounts of party members to be able to provide what I hope is a reasonably apt description.
Esterock dueled the dragon. I was flung out of sight into the mist. The dragon charged Esterock. Although I can't imagine it being much of a charge, more just the dragon taking a step or two before opening it's jaws and closing those couple foot long teeth on him. Esterock started stabbing the dragon. In the mouth. Which I imagine must have been made a great deal easier by the fact that he was standing in it, and a great deal harder by the fact that he had gaping holes in him. Dragon teeth are huge, sharp, and terrifying. The dragon bit down again, and Esterock, realizing he wasn't likely to survive the day, ceased his strikes in favor of taking a knee on the ground and praying to his gods.
The dragon did not finish him off as he expected. Instead, it sat back on it's haunches and breathed on him, a fine white breath that Esterock seemed to almost sag against. Then the duel was over and it began in my direction.
From the midst of the flame and chaos that bathed the rest of the field, a man of Sorikonian nobility, Tui Zee, stepped forth. With words of surprising calm, he asked the dragons what they wished and stated an intent to negotiate.
The wind changed. Or rather, the clouds did. The dragons were suddenly here, then there, then up there, and the clouds masked their forms each time they flickered to a new position until they settled before the Sorikonian. Five, they said, and it was not spoken so much as felt echoing in the mind. Zee presented them with a magic item, stating that the debt would be paid off over time. The dragons seemed satisfied. They departed. I delivered them my own item that same evening before rejoining the party at the inn.
So. That's dragons for you.
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Post by ElfChild on Jun 24, 2014 13:43:21 GMT -8
Against my own better judgement and the advice of anyone I've talked to about it. I'm actually writing this. It is short. It is written in scenes and not as one long piece. Trying to write it like normal didn't fit the character mindset.
Quick Rundown: - A month prior "goblins" were spotted moving in the mud like zombies - They weren't goblins - Screw everything - Oh yeah and now there are 18 kids just kind of around who refused to leave
Caylis Lockhart Corpse Children (Reading/Writing lvl 1, Historian lvl 1)
If we'd done something when the rumors first came in maybe we'd have been fine. Evidence points to they'd have been fine. More fine than they are. None of us thinks to care about goblins. Not when there's a pair of dragons in town and some important paper thing to find. But they weren't goblins, out in the swamps of Sleepytown.
The reports came in from travelers. We knew what we were going to find before we ever set foot outside of town, but only the same way you know what we're going to find. You read the title. Probably looked at the documents in the library and thought "Corpse Children" sounded like something worth reading. It was similar for us. Just words. A hundred dead kids buried in a marsh. Sounded like something to pay attention to.
We were deep down in the mud when our feet started to drag against bodies.
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Hundreds. Dead. Alive. Swarming. I'm supposed to stab them, stab children, like-- like they're animals to be put down, like they're monsters. They wore the faces of children, the small pale hands of children, reaching, and we fought back. We fought back because there was nothing else to do, because those small white hands reached for our clothing and our skin and to let these children--these dead, unseeing, ravenous children--touch us with hands white with death and carrying the wet and dirt of the swamp was more than we could bear and like as not to kill us, but--
They were children.
We stumbled back through the mud and they would rise and fall when they were in pieces and chunks of broken flesh and red wounds that did not bleed as they should have bled and yet still stood far too red against pale dead skin.
Children. We butchered children in the mud out there by sleepytown and there was nothing else that we could do.
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I didn't fight through the night like others did. I retrieved corpses. I moved corpses. I closed my eyes and closed the entirety of myself and I did not think about what I was moving. It was weight. Just weight. Like a heavy bag. Ignore the limbs, the hands, the cold, the stench. It's just an object. Take it from the thieves. Move it to the pile. And when the first pile is too big for more, start a new one to its left and keep going.
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The priestesses came from Randwin and took away over two hundred children, shivering, scared, hungry. Some stayed. Gods only know why. We can't take care of them. Too young to take care of themselves, mostly. Whole damn thing would be so much easier if I could make some sarcastic comment and grin about it, but when you see bodies and ghouls and the things they used to be on the insides of your eyes every time you look at them... Sarcasm and jokes just feel like a lot of worthless shit.
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Post by gamemasterchris on Jul 2, 2014 22:11:50 GMT -8
This is a good one! Your really got the feel of the encounter and the emotion behind the setting. Well done
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Post by ElfChild on Aug 7, 2014 17:22:37 GMT -8
I wouldn't exactly call this a chronicle and I am kinda nervous about the sound quality and it's not the best of songs. but. thing. Also my creativity with naming things is unparalleled.
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Post by ElfChild on Sept 21, 2014 20:27:27 GMT -8
DISCLAIMER- I'm pretty sure you can't get the story xp by reading this here. I just wanted to record it.
Caylis Tells Stories in the Inn (But with the interruptions and discussion and banter cut out.) Murder Farmers Storytelling lvl 25 (ranger) + 7 (arts) + 1 (historian)
Yohan: "So you were about to say about the murder farmers."
Caylis: "There were these three villages we knew of where they'd been sighted, all slightly to the north of here. So we headed out to go find them. In the first town, as we approached we could see really green, healthy crops, but no people. Place seemed pretty much deserted. Course it wasn't. Soon as we got amongst the buildings a couple men leapt out of doorways and attacked us. They were just humans, not trained in classes or anything, so they were easy to deal with, but they were skilled at fighting so far as farmers tend to go."
Yohan:"Ev'ryone is ok I hope"
Caylis: "All of US are. Can't say the same for them."
"At any rate. We wandered around. More of them attacked us from nearby buildings, and some from hidden places in the fields. Always in little groups. There were twelve in all, or at least I assume there were only twelve. The one we questioned wouldn't give an answer worth shit to any question worth asking. They certainly stopped attacking after twelve. Looked around. They had a lotta axes. A lot of slaughter equipment. Weird for a town with no livestock, but I guess we've been over the this is murder farmers we're talkin' about bit. So.
We moved on to the second town. Fewer people there, only five 'r so, and they were out tending the fields when we arrived. We approached all friendly and they talked to us all friendly, though the language they used was a little off. That was around when knife lady decided to live up to her nickname and stick a knife in one of em. After that they were on us shouting about how they were gonna use us for farming. Obviously they did not have a great deal of success.
Looked around that place too, after. Same deal with the slaughter equipment. Lots of equipment. No animals in sight. No shrines or anything that might cause this sort of shit either. We did find tracks. Big metal boots, came in, came out. Didn't follow 'em up, we had a third village to move on to. But. Ominous boot marks worth looking into. Heading up north. Maybe undead or something.
We carried on to the last town, and as we did we could see that something was off. Yes there were shapes in the fields, but they were not quite human. As we came through the trees, we saw that they had long claws, pale flesh, and sharp, pointed teeth. They did not concern themselves with the planting of crops, they simply devoured everything. Town three: Ghoultown.
We crept up, most of us able to hide proficiently, and then attacked. They were vicious and nasty and had a tendency to rush anyone who tried to attack them. Nasty fuckers. We dealt with them alright, having healers along was useful though.
Upon investigating THAT village, we found a shrine of sorts in someone's garden. Plants growing all up, strong and healthy, but tainted and evil and budding black blooms. We set them on fire, but that guttered out as it came to the bottom and had to compete with the swampy earth. The bases of the plants were still there, growing out of the earth, black and tainted. We started digging them up.
"What we found were a great number of these:" She takes a chunk of bone with a black stem growing up from it out of her pocket. "A few inches under the mud. Most of them we destroyed. Burned. This one needs an identify next time Crestorian can get around to it, because I'd damn well like to know what these things are and what powers them.
That was when we were attacked by skeletal hands and feet clawing their way out of the mud.
Skeletal hands and feet. Reaching up out of the ground. Jumping at us and crawling on us. We all pulled out silver, stabbed repeatedly, but there didn't seem to be any end to them. Then I sang for people to get back and I fireball aura'd the bunch with the harp. They stayed dead after that.
We didn't have anybody with exorcism handy, so we did our best to burn things and dump sand on the boggy earth to dry it out and stop it from being all swampy and necromancy-ish and gross. Then we headed back. As I said, Cleric says he'll go in and run some exorcisms with some other people from his shrine. But we still gotta track down Boots at some point. Figure out what the hell that is. But that's the story as it is for now."
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Post by ElfChild on Sept 21, 2014 21:12:25 GMT -8
DISCLAIMER- I'm pretty sure you can't get the story xp by reading this here. I just wanted to record it.
Caylis Tells Stories in the Inn (But with the interruptions and discussion and banter cut out.) Ambushing Dark Heroes Storytelling lvl 25 (ranger) + 7 (arts) + 1 (historian)
Yohan: "Running around with dark heroes, did you join them?"
Caylis: "Ha. No."
Frogthrown: "I think I figured out the dark heroes sorta, by the way. They're probably from Temnor and made by what's-his-face Big Litch Guy."
Yohan: "Big litch guy?"
Caylis: "Rysic? Dare I ask how you came to this conclusion?"
Frogthrown: "That's the one. I assume they were sent to mess with us, but they could be just adventurers. It fits with the personality and goals of Rysic. And it explains how they are able to keep their personalities as undead. I'd be impressed if they didn't want to kill us."
Caylis:*raises eyebrows* "Well then. Now I think I need to tell the story just to give the rest of the room context."
"So we hear rumors about a band of dark heroes. Making some undead. Also making pretty damn clever strategic attacks. Some people said they mighta been Dagdeoth, but we doubted it. Dagdeoth has a tendency to flash their insignia everywhere. Anyway. There were SUPPOSED to be ten of them. And then a couple undead.
So Greywash is a talented lady and she's got a magic item that'll help her put her talents to use. So she suggests the four of us--her, Frogthrown, Galen, and myself--sneak up and ambush the dark heroes. If we can knock enough of them out fast enough it should be smooth sailing, and the ambush should help with that significantly. So we do. Sneak up. Hide in the bushes on a small rise.
"Turns out there's this great big encampment, thirty strong, damn near all undead. Mostly those weird red-eyed ones, but ten bigger and typically very intelligent ones too. And they're behaving funny. As we sit there and watch, these two skeletons seem to be bantering away, and then one of em walks up to this thing in this big streamlined suit of full plate with spines sticking up out of it. Taps it on the shoulder. Full plate thing turns to it and throws its hands up in exasperation and then turns away. Friggin weird behavior for undead if you ask me.
At any rate. We mighta been able to ambush ten guys. No way we're gonna ambush thirty guys, twenty of whom can go back and forth ethereal, in their own well set up encampment. So we decide that this has been a nice recon mission but it is time to go. Which is when we run into problems. Because a whole bunch of them are coming up the way we came.
We split. Frogthrown's got an instant out if he needs it, so he sticks around to play distraction. The three of us track around a circuitous route through trees and underbrush and a short stretch of field. And we're out pretty much. We coulda run right there if we wanted to, but we realize we've basically taken up flanking position and if Frogthrown's doing well we could take out the group. If he's not, we need to let him know to book it. So back we go. We walk on up and there's this death knight standing by a stump, holding a great big morganti longsword.
Galen shouts, 'Have you seen a gnome around here? He owes me money.'
And the death knight says, 'Yeah, he's up there killing my people. You can take him.'
He says this as Frogthrown's sneaking up behind him, but the thing's not a ranger. Can't see him sneaking up. So Galen takes a few steps up the rise and there's half a dozen dead undead and a couple living, but no Frogthrown.
Which is just about when Frogthrown jumps out and damn near mauls a death knight.
The death knight bolts, which is hilarious, seeing this hulking, intimidating suit of armor run from this tiny little thief with a knife. Galen, Greywash, and I are after it. Frogthrown circles back around to deal with the last of literally everything else that tried to attack us. Death knight catches Galen in a duel, swings around a morganti weapon, gets off a mana drain or two, but Galen holds his own with his sword and a metal thing on a rope that's attached to it. Gets in a couple attacks, does some damage before getting dropped by a mana drain. I finish it off with a couple fireball auras. Then Greywash drops in and stops it's Grim Guard sword from animating it with some dispels before looting the thing. Then Frogthrown shows up, Greywash grabs the death knight corpse, and we run, pursued by red-eyed undead and other nasty things most of the way back."
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Post by ElfChild on Oct 23, 2014 22:26:08 GMT -8
Quick Rundown: - There were five (maybe there are seven but we solved five) puzzles - They were set up by and correspond do the dragons in Menonass and their colors - White: Haunts, remember the knights chant - Black: We didn't realize it was black the first time around, but the challenge was to defeat escalating undead - Blue: Fight constructs who mirror your skills - Green: Water entlings. Two young dragons showed up here briefly before the older green dragon showed up. - Red: Tournament, kill and burn your allies - Frogthrown's right, I shouldn't hate them, but damn am I getting tired of getting burned trying to help greater forces without knowing the end goal.
Caylis Lockhart Dragon Circles (Reading/Writing lvl 2, Historian lvl 1)
Story starts back a while, back when Harold was creeping 'round with Dagdeoth and Shelley was new to the team. Visited an old tomb out near Menonass lookin' after haunts and some kinda circling griffin. That's it's own story, one for another time, and I've only got the rights to tell about two thirds of it. The other one isn't going down on paper unless the people most affected want to write it themselves, I'm not gonna go putting people at risk like that. Important part for this story is the fact that out in those ruins there's a rhyme we picked up from a buncha haunts and a couple of us memorized it. Today's story starts with Shelley wants to go give the place another look over. Something we've neglected to do what with the other things happening. Certainly seemed worth a second look. So we go on out with her up the east road.
Ran into Blackspire on the way out. One of our number asked to fight their strongest, and one of them quick enough stepped up to say that'd be him. The guy next to him, big burly orcish fellow, gives him a crack over the back of the head. Insists that nope, he is the strongest. We see the opportunity here, play off it, all of them'd like to be strongest really and a number are willing to try provin' it to us before the smarter of them get it in their heads to attack us. Then I pulled out my harp and burned them, mostly. The thing shoots fire all directions when I play it, 's one of the old Grey Isles items. Wasn't much Blackspire troops could do about that one, so it was over quick enough. Made sure to put them all out though. They mighta been Darkspikes, so that mighta been the wrong move. But there wasn't any proof and people don't really deserve to die just cos they look like they might be the guy who'll try to murder you. If they attack us again, I guess we'll know, but hopefully they get a chance to back off this way.
We continued up north to the ruins, but they weren't set the same. I guess they mighta been set the same. Pretty difficult to determine exactly how a buncha rocks are aligned in the dark, but I'd've sworn there was some kind of pathway last time. And a shriney thing. And a door looked like a griffin. You know, minor landmarks. This time the rocks had a pattern. A circle of seven stones surrounded a single center stone with a blade and a helm sitting next to it one side and a lit torch sitting to the other. Haunts were present, but not overly awake. I started humming. All of us spread to investigate, some to check for magic and others to check round the stones or the haunts. One of the haunts started up the chant, "all our foes are upon us." I started to sing through the chant. Cleric answered straight off with the next line, "and the world now trembles in doubt." There was a pause, an then the stone in the middle cracked wide open and a paper appeared on the air.
About then's when the haunts got unhappy, and they weren't doing nothing real like the last time. I barely got out of the way of one sword and another slid over my chainmail, not doing wonders for my coat. I got airborne fast, I'm no talented fighter by anybody's standards and down there I was liable to get murdered by haunts before I could solve anything. So I hovered out of reach and sang lines back and forth at them til finally I just sang through the whole damn poem. I'll record it here, might as well have a record down someplace.
All our foes are upon us And the world now trembles in doubt All our foes are upon us What was in is now without
We must bend our ways as one If divided we will fall apart We must bend our ways as one Lest the battle begin in our heart
You're not my brother nor my sister But together we will stand Bows, blades and shields together In every life, in every land
When I hit the last note there was a voice, and I swear it managed to say the words and I said some back, but not a moment passed. Certainly no one else seemed to notice it. Too preoccupied with the results. But it went on through the second verse all through til the last line and stopped, and then I finished it off. Every other stone in the circle cracked and another paper shot up into the air.
From the ground, defense against the haunts was the big concern, but up in the air it was pretty clear there was a dragon rising up off the city. Came in our direction, landed on the stones. Seen a dragon a good number of times now, and they're always unfathomably big. Never been in a room big enough to hold one type big. Bigger than an awful lot of trees type big. This one landed in the middle of the stones and swept them away like they're just dirt under its tail. It was the white one, big and powerful, but somehow sleek and put together too. It swept the earth flat under its long tail and watched us, setting the haunts to sleep so as not to be disturbed. Then it turned to (Nicky) and said something, "I send you to your darkness," but in sorcery. Sorcery's weird. Every time. You know what's being said, but not how, like something down inside of you understands the wording of the world even if you can't speak it or read it, just by nature of being a part of it. Anyways, dragon says magic words, we appear in the middle of a buncha zombies with the ominous statement that they're somehow our darkness or at least his darkness ringing in the nature of our beings, everybody's confused.
We were in a field, surrounded by grass grown long and unchecked. The ruins of Menonass stood visible to the West, a wide expanse of dusty grey and brown buildings rising up over the land. Around us were seven zombies, rotting and still, at least for a moment. Course, they didn't stay that way. If they'd stayed that way they'd just've been corpses, and we couldn't have that, could we? No, course not. We're adventurers, after all. They came to life, slowly to begin, and we retreated or stuck holes in 'em, at least until someone got one on the ground. That's when things got horrifying. The bloody zombie cracked open, and out crawled a ghoul, sharp teeth and jaw not quite properly on its hinges. It was thinner, a little smaller, and it shed the zombie outside like a snake sheds a skin. Then it set about trying to murder us again. Killing that just revealed another scarier ghoul on the inside, and we didn't know how far these things were gonna go, but they were scary enough as it was. Defense became our main goal. Wasn't much else we could do really, if we didn't want them t' get worse.
I climbed into the air and sang quietly through the song, looking for clues. Made sense enough if we'd been sent here from that place they were connected, maybe the chant would tell us what was supposed to happen. It didn't. Instead, the world got dark. There was a moment come the end of the song when there was something, some great black force looking down on me. "That is not my test," it said. World came back t' normal, but I could feel whatever it was still. I knew it was watching. Got on the ground again, and we continued to defend ourselves against the undead, trying not to escalate them too bad and not sure really what to do, and still there was that shadowy force watching us. Whatever it was, this was its doing and if it was sending this shit at us, I daresay it wasn't anybody's friend.
I thought. Test wasn't connected to the chant. And if it were a test of figuring out not to escalate the undead any further we'd already be winning. So far as I could tell whatever it was was playing with us, and that made me angry. I'm getting really fucking tired of being a plaything for gods. Still felt like it was watching, so I said to it that we didn't need its shit right now and this wasn't funny and it could go fuck itself.
Abruptly, every single one of the undead hit the dirt.
We stared at the corpses for a moment, and then Cleric got to work exorcizing them. While he was at it, I asked the others if they'd gotten anything off the great dark thing. None of them but (Nicky)'d even had an inkling it was there. I started to wonder if telling it to leave off had been the answer to the test. Bloody weird test if it was. Cleric finished running an exorcism presently and we gathered around while the guy was rebirthed. Turns out he was just a normal guy, dead off a bad run-in with a drakespawn. The others were dead similarly random ways, and it seemed more or less that they'd been collected from random places around the countryside. Whatever the big black thing was, it hadn't killed victims. It'd just repurposed the already dead. Confused and a little weirded out, we headed back to town.
After an hour's rest, a slightly bigger set of us set out to see what all was being left around the dragonfire beacon, since I'd heard there were things. We didn't exactly get to the beacon. Got slightly sidetracked on the way.
We were just West of the city when we found an odd ritual. Seven balls of indigo clay sat in a circle around an eighth lump and a broken mirror. Symbols were written in the dirt, but none we could understand. A few of us stepped into the circle and looked at the center bit with the mirror carefully. Then Shelley touched it. A symbol appeared where her finger'd come into contact with the clay, and around the circle four of the clay lumps grew and turned into clay men with swords sprouting out of their hands. At first it seemed like a pretty simple fight. They didn't do anything special. Just stabbed us, and we stabbed them back. Pretty simple. And then all of a sudden they've all got shock touch, and then they're breaking bones and disarming weapons, and suddenly the fight's not exactly easy. Gets pretty clear pretty fast that they're mimicking skills used on them, so we get more careful, pull out a win. They crack open and there's paper inside, and somebody picks it up. We went on back to the center 'n poked it to activate the other four and they came up, all the other clay bits turning into clay soldiers. We were more careful this time around, but they were scarier too. Didn't just mirror the skills used on them, but also the ones we used on ourselves and each other, and they swung with the force of what they received. Damn near decimated our group. At a point it got scary enough that I dropped in and tried t' remove the mirrors from the ritual space, hoping taking away the symbolic source of their mimicry would keep them behind enough they couldn't kill us all, but (Zac) stepped in and stopped me. Maybe he understood something I didn't. Either way, he wouldn't hear of disrupting that, and either way we got through it alright, if only by a little. Then those clay things cracked too, leaving a second slip of paper with oddly coded red.
A dragon appeared in the sky, blue this time, and descended on the scene, sweeping away all evidence of the ritual with a sweep of its massive paw. It moved slowly and examined us through slit pupils, moving in a way reminiscent of a large snake. We moved around it cautiously. Frogthrown stepped forward, lifted a dagger to it in offering. It looked it over and then accepted it with care. "Is this payment?" it asked in a deep, low voice. Frogthrown shook his head. "No. It's just for you to have." It rumbled in consideration and then sat back for a moment, surveying us one last time before launching itself back into the air and leaving us to our own devices.
I drew connections and started drawing em out on the ground. "There are gonna be five of these," I said. "One dragon of each mage type, one puzzle of each mage type." I sketched out a small map in the dirt. Rock for Menonass, smaller rocks for other locations. Little dip in the dirt for the path we'd taken so far. We'd been south for the life test, east would need revisiting for the necromancy test, we'd just done the storm one... Theoretically there'd be nature a little north and then flame at the beacon. Seemed reasonable to the others, so we went on out and looked, but we didn't find a test where I'd expected. Did find a good number of rumors though, about dragons landing further northwest. Frogthrown pointed out that'd make the formation an arrow and not a star. An arrow pointing south... Either way, pretty clear northwest was where we were supposed to go, so we went.
Went off walking a bit, grass, grass, more grass as usual. Menonass got a little bit smaller and distant, but Menonass is a bleedin' enormous city so it didn't exactly disappear. Just kinda got hid behind the beacon. Fun fact for the weary traveller, you can pretty much figure out where y'are always by if you can see the beacon, how big it is, and what direction it's off at. If you're a small sight closer you can get a better reading based on what the Menonass skyline looks like, but I daresay that takes a little more work and more time spent around the old city than most sane folks are willing to spend given the proximity to great fire-breathing dragons. Came to a stand of trees a few miles off, and in the middle seven saplings circled 'round a big tree.
Now I'm not gonna say I solved the puzzle straight off cos of some magic revelation in my head. Not smart enough for that one. Just figured it couldn't possibly hurt relations with the world for me to water the plant circle. That's a couple years of ranger knowledge put t' use right there: plants like water. Took a whole six months before the guild revealed that one, yer getting a damn good deal. Checked for my canteen, but I'd left it off at town. Guildmaster ranger, right here, all the survival skills. Don't bring water kids, why would you need a silly thing like that? Alright, no easy water, where could I get myself some water? Ah.
There was a stream a little ways down a short bluff and I could hear it running, so while the party poked at the tree I wandered off and glided down the short slope. Knelt, got some water in my hands, and headed back on up t' pour it on one of the saplings. Suddenly the big tree in the middle moved. I looked up and it wasn't precisely a tree anymore, fact I was pretty sure that was an ent lookin' down at me. I fumbled for words, but by the time I found any it'd gone back to treeing. So with a shrug, I headed back down t' the stream. Galen followed this time, and while I got a better handful a water, he dipped his shield in the stream 'n pulled up a ton of it. I poured water on three more of the saplings, and the ent reverted to watch again, and then by the time I needed more water Galen was back up the bluff and I could get it outta his shield 'stead of going back on down to the stream. Alright. Bloody wonderful thing about being short and being able to fly right here. You are always the right height for things. Need to hide under a bush? Small enough. Need to get a dart outta a tree? Lemme just be above everybody's head for a minute. Need to be able to get water out of a tall human's shield without making him bend down and risking spilling it all over the ground? Just levitate another foot into the air and you're set. All that and you get to move around without consistent pain too. Ladies and gentlemen, flying. Join the Amazons guild today for only a couple gold to gain access to this amazing skill.
Anyhow. Poured water on all the saplings. Held out water in offering to the ent. It looked down. Right, roots. Poured water on the roots. It moved, pulling its roots up from the ground and taking a step back, away from the center. A little plant grew before our eyes, stem poking it's way up and then a single leaf unfurling and turning reddish and then brown and leaving color only in the symbols. I took it and put it in my coat pocket, then stepped out of the circle. No sooner had I done that than every single one of the saplings popped outta the ground, a little teensy treeish figure, and followed the big ent off into the grass like ducklings after a mother duck. Looking around, there was a smile on damn near every face.
Course, nobody's allowed to be happy too long, world wouldn't hear of it. A pair of small--and when I say small I'll have you know I mean only the size of big trees, not actual small, dragons're huge even without bein' full grown--green dragons twisted through the air, biting and clawing at one another and smashing into the ground in front of us in a furious mess of claws and wings. They pulled themselves apart and looked at us with chaos in their gazes, and each breathed a green mist that melted away magic items and dissipated into the air. The two a them took places at either end of the arc we'd arranged ourselves in and each started pulling out spells. Made (Zac) a raven. Made Frogthrown a frog after one failed try. I picked him up. Wasn't sure whether they could turn back, but that hadn't sounded like a polymorph much. Empathic rays for evryone followed, and a couple treeforms for people who didn't drop. They came round to me last. Used one of the spells at me, and one at Frogthrown. He didn't die, but he coulda if they'd kept their focus on him. I pulled the frog close to my chest, trying to hide it from anything external. They cast on me again. Wasn't sure if they were trying to get him or me, and I wasn't in good shape, but I was the only thing protecting him if he was what they wanted, so I did my best. They looked like they were ready to do that again, and I could only withstand so many spells. "Please don't," I asked them. They hesitated. I knelt to them. Hoping. They seemed to make up their minds and thick roots rose up from the ground to encircle me, some of them jabbing into my skin. But we were alive. And that was what mattered. Then the two of them took off.
The party waited there a couple minutes, silent, unsure. Then the big green dragon dropped in. It was big and sturdy, and it swept its tail over the earth to erase the ritual. Grass appeared anyplace it touched the ground. Then it set to systematically undoing the work of the other two. Reverted Cleric n Shelley from trees, reverted the raven from bein a raven except that somehow it didn't revert, so that was weird. Dismissed the roots. Reverted Frogthrown. Shelley and Cleric came around and patched everyone up, and it took off into the sky, letting out a roar. In the distance, the two smaller ones started flying faster.
We cut across to the east, knowing we were headed toward the red test. And having seen the dragon multiple occasions... We weren't exactly sure what that was gonna entail. We found out. I'm a little hesitant to write it, it'll end up too much of me eating at the inside of my skull, and m not sure I want the inside of my head in the paper record of shit that happened up here. Ten years down the road I'm gonna be running a fief and one of my people's gonna come up to me and say "hey Caylis I was reading about this time you almost had a breakdown" and I'll say "I knew that shouldn't've been made public record" and then I'll spend a half an hour having t' talk about it and it'll be awful. But I feel responsible for getting down what happens, so I guess if it's ten years in the future I don't want to hear about it unless it's really bloody important alright?
We found what we were looking for right enough: Seven huge pieces of charcoal set in a wide circle around another circle of charcoal with five points. At the very center were three torches, lit, and a campfire setup, unlit. Tried to walk in, which didn't work out so well. There was some kind of barrier 'r circle of protection or something, and something fiercely angry trying to get into my head, twist me to it. I rejected it, pushing it away, and it retreated back to the barrier. The others tried a hand, to similar results for some of them. Galen and the raven went into a blind rage, and we had to hit them with warded effects so as not to have to kill them. When someone was dropped, a door appeared in the circle, but it didn't stay open if anyone tried to enter but them, or if they tried to bring in who they'd injured. It looked like getting to the center was some sort of tournament. One by one Frogthrown warded our things and we dropped Galen or the raven. One by one we entered, til it was just the two of them outside.
The second circle behaved the same, we learned when Shelley touched it. Leo knocked her out with a warded blade and walked into the center while Cleric patched up Shelley. Got a good look at the torches, but didn't touch them. General consensus was it'd be better if one of the three of us who could ward off mental invasions did the poking of things for safety testing. Problem was, with Galen outside trying to catch the raven so's he could get in, the only person inside who could act as a key was Shelley. She's not so much a fan of trusting people when she can avoid it, at least not us people. She either didn't want to give the wild anger access to her or didn't want to trust the group of us with her life, didn't really communicate the reasoning so much as the fact that she wasn't okay with it. Eventually she agreed, and I knocked her out and went into the center.
Then I picked up one of the torches and brought it to the fire pit in the middle.
Nothing lit. A third circle of protection, small and invisible, held around the fire pit. Which isn't to say nothing happened. There was a sense of the burning, all-consuming anger pressing against my mind, telling me to kill and burn my victims. It filled the space. And then Leo was coming at me, stabbing repeatedly. I had one warded shot left, and it glanced aimlessly against his chain mail. I tried to defend myself, but I wasn't going to last long, so I did the only thing I could. I fought back. I stabbed him and punched him and stabbed him until he dropped and I was a bloody mess, threads away from my limit. He wasn't breathing anymore.
I picked up one of the torches, drove it into the fire pit. Then the next. Then the third. None of them touched it. I burned the body like the mind thing seemed like it'd wanted. Nothing happened. The puzzle didn't solve. He just burned, his skin slowly crisping and smoke rising up from the corpse. I'd just killed him. For fucking nothing. Outside, Galen and Frogthrown had entered the second layer. They were deliberating. I'm not sure what they said. I wasn't listening. I paced. I apologized. He didn't hear me, there's no way he heard me, he was dead, but I did it anyway. I was supposed to be in there to prevent bad things from happening, not to kill him. I'd wasted the only shot that could've saved him. Stupid, stupid, stupid. (Nicky) and Frogthrown appeared next to me, inside the circle. We tried lighting the center again. Nothing but the rage filling the circle, looking for a place to go. It didn't find one. Leo burned. The smoke was starting to cloud the air, acrid scent burning my lungs. I was breathing the remnants of who I'd killed. We were running out of air. Frogthrown was negotiating with Galen and Shelley, asking them to open up the circle so air could get in, so we didn't suffocate. Three torches, three people. This place was designed to be a circle of death, where one person murdered and set to fire an entire party. We couldn't open paths out for ourselves. Trapped. We were going to die here, we were intended to die here. Three torches, three deaths, three enraged people burning down to nothing to light a center fire. Leo, Galen, Shelley. No way out, no way to walk away anymore but to kill and burn and destroy. This was cruel. Galen and Shelley entered the circle after some deliberation. There was air again. They set down their things and resigned themselves to their fates. How dare the red dragon force people to walk into their deaths. These were our people, we were supposed to have their backs, we're supposed to protect them. We set their corpses to burn. The air filled with choking bitter smoke, breathing became nearly impossible, we had just killed three fucking people for this thrice damned puzzle and now we were going to die here too. At least we nearly deserved it at this point. They hadn't. They'd just been unlucky to be the only people who the rage could take residence in. I hated the red dragon. I hated this place. I hated the fire. And we were going to die.
There was air again. The smoke dispersed as the magic holding it to a small circle vanished, and the wood in the fire pit caught and burned away to reveal a thin slip of paper. We'd murdered our own for paper. There was nearly nothing left of our friends. Just ash, which dispersed as heavy wingbeats sent waves of air out toward us. I pulled myself to my feet, and then a thread higher. The dragon swept the space with its massive tail. No signs of anything anymore. I wanted to yell at it. I wanted to tell it that was cruel, ask it why that had been necessary. Only thing that made it into the air as more than a strangled whisper was "why". There was a moment when I thought there might be an answer before I was bathed in fire and it flew away.
We went back to the ogre stronghold to get people summoned and resurrected. I don't know about anyone else, but I don't really remember the walk back. But I know I spent a lot of it cursing at the red dragon under my breath. Frogthrown an' I talked about it later, and he said a buncha things about how that's the nature of the dragon and you don't do a fire dragon's test without expecting to get burned. It made sense and all. It just. It making sense doesn't make it any more okay, but... maybe it makes it forgivable. Gods know I've forgiven worse things.
Spite of all that, we still had the black dragon's test to do, never finished it the first time, so we headed back up. Could've used a spell to get there, but it was just as well we walked. Wasn't so hard to find with us knowing where to look. Seven undead standing on a patch of bare dirt east of the city. Distinctive. As we approached, we saw that they were circled around a bloodstain. I looked at it, and ominous feeling rising in the back of my mind. Shelley and I knelt to inspect it. It was hobbit blood. I had a creeping feeling it was my blood. Hesitantly, I reached out to touch it.
There was a single moment in which I became horribly aware that my body was no longer mine, when I lost sensation in everything from the neck down, when I absolutely knew I was one of those things we'd fought. A single moment that between touching that blood, undeniably mine now, and the moment when all the undead, myself included, activated. I shouted for Shelley to get away, it was damn near the only thing I could do. Then I stabbed her.
That fight was terrifying. I was helpless, just watching as I tried to murder Shelley, Frogthrown, Cleric. I didn't succeed. Thank the gods the undead thing didn't succeed. They fought back, they killed me--it--whatever my body was, and the last thing I remember before dying was being aware of it folding in on itself before everything stopped functioning. And then words in a calm low voice saying "fuck you too."
I beat the party back to town, even with having to get summoned and resurrected. They'd been waylaid by the red and needle dragon. It'd tried to get them to trade it the black dragon't paper fragment for magic items, and I guess when Frogthrown refused it cast a spell on him to prevent him and anyone in his party from trading anything, even coin for food and stuff. That's been dealt with now, the beacon burns away even dragon spells. The papers've been translated, Greywash's manifested a talent for that sort of work. And I've moved to the library to figure out what any of it means.
Something big is coming, clear enough. Or is already happening and we're not noticing. And whatever it is... Whatever it is we're gonna find it.
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Post by ElfChild on Jan 20, 2015 15:04:42 GMT -8
Shebara Nonas Firstmoon (Reading/Writing lvl 2)
The plateau is a place of fighting and death. Somehow I doubt I need elaborate on this point much further- There are undead, goblins, and turoks near the city and Dagdeoth forces North of Menonass. They are hardly boring to fight, but I'll be damned if anyone cares for a blow-by-blow even a month from now. All you need know is that stab wounds are a bitch and that we inflicted more than we received.
The adventurers are more noteworthy, not because they all made actions of note but because I am certain that they will soon enough. It is something of a rule of adventurers. There is a high elf, Faleorion, out of Andionion. There is also a second elf he translates for, Oronyea, though the two of them seem unrelated. Overenthusiastic and at the head of every battle is a bardic type from Amir. And there is Yohan Enbran, who adventures at times and primarily maintains the city. That would be who stuck out to me. There are more, but you will grow tired of my listing them and have likely done already, so I'll find it in my heart to spare you the details.
To be entirely honest, the meeting from which I am presently returning included more of note than the day prior, at least for the purposes of the historians who will bother to read this document, though I imagine my lack of focus on my exploits will frustrate future biographers to no end. To them I say, if you want a hero of men who's pure of heart and going to save us all, go see my brother, he's more the type. If you want me, you could use a challenge. Though perhaps not. When I end up doing what the gnome says needs doing, you'll have no shortage of things to record.
Right now though, you get a generally disagreeable introduction. Go find someone else to make your day.
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Post by ElfChild on Feb 24, 2015 13:25:46 GMT -8
Shebara Nonas Secondmoon (Reading/Writing lvl 3)
Apparently, I am the chosen one sent on a quest to face many trials and reclaim my family's legacy. This is my life. I have become the protagonist of an overdone storybook plot. I am certain Rollo will have plenty of things to say about it.
I have been doing what the gnome claims needs doing, and thus far, the things he said are panning out. I made a plan, and I went to execute it, followed enthusiastically by Rollo and Morgan and less enthusiastically by those who had less idea what the plan was. They followed regardless, some because the Norse are their gods, and some because claims of confrontations with the gods themselves hardly fail to draw interest.
Morgan is a friend of mine, a hobbit with a good head and a proficiency with clay. I had discussed the plan with him, along with a number of other things. He is a good man. He also thinks differently than I do, which will be a good thing. A second pair of eyes is useful for seeing what one can't. Rollo is the warrior bard fellow who I mentioned prior. He is obnoxious, but he is also a skilled fighter with a good heart.
We fought through Dagdeoth ogres on the way in, and were at first overwhelmed, but turned the tides after a botched escape. Upon arriving, we were sent to do further battle. A test to prove that we were worthy to be in the shrine at all. Once that, too, was done, we met with a priest of Odin. The man asked us if we were here to test ourselves, put forth a champion, and to speak to the Skald. He gestured at four ice giants standing about outside the shrine and then at a cloaked man with a small throng of warriors around him. I told the priest I was here to do no such thing and that all I wanted was my family's blade back from his gods so that I could be on my way. He gave me a look and told me I should speak with the Skald then. I said fine, that I would do that. He informed me that I would have to fight the ice giants then, and I could bring the band of adventurers with me if I did not think I was glorious and honorable enough. I told him that my job was to get shit done and survive so that I could get more shit done later, not to win glory. He informed me that he was unfamiliar with my way of thinking, but that we could go. We did.
The fight was long and hard and stab wounds are still a bitch. Ice giants are enormous and tough and outnumbered us. We won, thanks to clever use of awaken and disarm.
The Skald was a blonde man with a short beard and no eyes. He played a harp. A man amongst our group, an orcish man, was displeased with the music. He did not consider song to be useful. I told him there were stories of a bard named Linnet who had killed with song. He asked how. I told him I did not know. The Skald looked up then from his music making to inform us that there were five harps, one of each color, made in Shimmermist, "though, as often is the case, only the blue remains untouched". He asked us who our champion was. I asked him where Ebonafter was. His music stopped for a moment. His features never changed much, but his music reflected feeling throughout our conversation, and the ceasing of it struck me as surprise. He asked for my name, and I gave it. He reacted with less surprise than my companions had at learning my name, but surprise still. This silence was brief.
"The Keeper seeks the Champion for the prize he keeps for the war the Lords are making," he said. "Who is the champion?" Rollo and a couple others pointed at me. The man was blind, he would not see the fingers. I told him it was looking like that would be me. He removed his left hand from his harp and held it out to signal something should be placed there. That thing was my hand. He turned it between his, and his hands were rough and warm and careful. Then he let it go. He hummed the way people do when they are considering a proposition. "You may be right," he said finally. "And who is the Keeper?"
"The Keeper of what," asked the man I had discussed music with. There was no answer. The Skald indicated we had lost a guess, as though this had been a riddle.
Esther--the young daughter of Lord Enbran's master of cavalry--spoke up quietly. "Was it the guy that sacrificed himself with the sword?"
The Skald nodded. "And who was that?"
I recalled the meeting at Pinnacle. "According to the gnome, a member of the Nonas Guard. I do not know his name." The gnome was Cornelius Frogthrown, the head of the thieves guild. The Skald gave a nod once more. I knew my lore, he said. I know some lore, primarily the lore that allowed me to know to look for Ebonafter in the first place. He asked if I was here to engage in the quest the Norse have prescribed their champion. I said no and told him I was here because the Norse had a blade that belonged to my family and I would like it back. He said I should quest then, "seek the other Skalds". There was one in Reedman, one in Odilwatch, and one in Randwin. I should speak to all of them.
He then declared that I had earned a question, and his music came slowly to silence. I asked if I could save it for later. If I could find him, he said. I did not have a question. Or rather, I had many, but none that merited asking. I turned to my companions. They talked amongst themselves, and then put forth variations on why the Norse sought what they did. I turned back to the Skald and asked what the Norse hoped to gain from their crusade, what they wanted. The bard's countenance did not change, but his music resumed, taking on a darker note.
"The question speaks of want," he said. "What does any god want? Are they so different from us?" The gods seek status, glory, in the places where they reside, and in the ways that they know. They seek power. They seek to have more than their present share. The Skald painted them like petty nobles vying with other gods for power and status, but with a Norse twist. "The Keeper," he said, "the Keeper sees danger. He seeks a truer way. Our war will transform the land, make the land ours, make the world as we see it. Surrounded by enemies ever. This is the prize we seek." These gods resided upon the plains and plateaus, fields of battle. Men brought them here. And they would remake the place in their image.
I stopped the Skald. "It is not their right to do so." The chord that followed was sour. It was more their right than anyone else's. Whose right did I think it was? Not everyone could fight, I told him. Not everyone sought glory. But they have as much right to live happily as his warriors did. It was the answer I had to give. This land is my family's. The people on it are the highest good I answer to, and most are not warriors. They are farmers, working men and women. The world the Skald described, surrounded on all sides by enemies and battle, will devastate those people should it come to pass. So I will not let it.
"Do you worship Loki?" the Skald asked. I told him no. "Perhaps you should," he said. I told him I followed the sky god and had no intention whatsoever of following the Norse, I was here for what belonged to my family, that was all. The tension in the space grew threefold. His voice grew hard and he withdrew, stating that he was done here. I stated that we were too and rose with haste, pursued by my companions. The orc I had spoken to regarding the harp shouted after me that I had been offered Valhalla, but I have no interest in Valhalla or any other afterlife. I am here, I am now, and I will focus on where my soul goes when I am good and dead.
We took the waypoint system to Odilwatch. I read a book. We arrived as dusk was beginning to fill the air. It was not difficult to discover there was some commotion at the shrine of Thor. Upon arriving we were informed of the presence of flame giants. Rollo, Scarecrow, and Esther attempted to convince the priest there that as we had already defeated frost giants, we did not need to prove ourselves again. The priest told us to prove it, though he seemed mildly petulant. There followed about five minutes of standing about listening to Scarecrow make an ass of himself, following which there were several more minutes of bone-shattering blows from giants before our bodies were dragged back to the shrine for healing and in some cases resurrection. If you did not gather, we did not win.
Scarecrow is a young man who I thought was mildly endearing until he proved himself to be an ass. He takes amusement in denying people information for no reason and being difficult.
The priest of Thor laughed triumphantly upon our return. We had not been so mighty after all if we could not defeat the flame giants. Rollo asked if any of them had been able to. The priest answered no, his expression and posture immediately ashamed and downtrodden. I declared that we were going to go back and win this time. We did.
The Skald of Odilwatch was a dark-haired man, clean-shaven, blood dripping from his eyes. He wore an autumnal purple where the previous man had worn a golden yellow. He too played harp. He asked for our champion. I answered. He asked my name. I gave it. He took my hand as the previous Skald had done. He asked after the Keeper and Lords as the previous man had done. Our answers were much the same. "You have passed your question," he said. "You understand the war?" I answered somewhat. I am not going to claim full understanding when I do not think I have it. "Then you are the same as I," he said. He asked if I was on a quest. I said yes. "What do you seek?" I asked what scale he was referring to, and he repeated his question. I told him I intended to reclaim Ebonafter and force Dagdeoth off the plain. He repeated his question. At the moment, Ebonafter, I told him. "Very well," said the Skald, "Take with you only Courage, Strength, and Will. Who are they?"
There was a short silence that seemed very long. Scarecrow jumped up. "Will, right here!" There were some silent and some less silent protests from our company. Who was he, the Skald asked. People called him Scarecrow, he said. And he went on to describe his ability to be a difficult, facetious ass. He described it in kinder terms than I did.
And who was courage, asked the Skald. Again, there was a silence, and I weighed choices. Morgan spoke then. "Here." He was one of the choices I had considered, and I was relieved that he would be a member of my company, should I be required to venture with only the three at some point down the road. Given the two I considered as candidates for strength, Morgan would be the voice of reason in that band. And a good counterbalance to Scarecrow. Why was he courage, asked the skald. "I don't let things that seem greater than me intimidate me," Morgan answered after a moment. He had fought giants today, the Skald commented. This did not frighten him? No, it did not. The Skald nodded.
Who was strength, then? No one spoke. I made a decision. Rollo had been itching to say something the entire time, and he was a skilled enough fighter to take the role. I gestured to him. "I am strength," he said. Why was he strength? "Because I am strong." For a lover of stories, it was not a compelling or dramatic speech. Not what I had anticipated. The skald accepted it.
The Skald spoke now to me. There would be a doorway, he said. It would never be the same twice. A door, a path, a tree. "Look to your histories," he said. "Take with you only Courage, Strength, and Will, and you may find what you seek." I had a question, he said to me. Did I wish to ask it now? I considered as a number of dragons passed overhead. What were the significance of Courage, Strength, and Will? "They are the tools you will need on your journey," he said. "Take only Courage, Strength, and Will and you may succeed. There will be trials, and each is suited to the task. As the Champion sees it, so the Keeper would have it made." Seek the other Skalds, he told me, and listed the locations of the remaining two. Each would have their own trial, and if I was the champion, I might succeed.
He departed. We returned to the waypoint station. Scarecrow continued to be an ass, but that is Scarecrow.
I have a task to do. I will write again when I have made progress toward it.
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Post by gamemasterchris on Mar 2, 2015 21:55:33 GMT -8
Wonderful as always Alison. I really enjoy Shabara's voice as opposed to others you have written (I particularly like the Lady Nonas reference in her choice of expletives... nice details). Keep at it!
Christopher
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Post by ElfChild on Mar 24, 2015 17:05:38 GMT -8
Shebara Nonas Thirdmoon (Reading/Writing lvl 3, kind of)
We travelled to Reedmen by Waypoint the night prior to our--FUCK! Forgive me. This will take time, and when I deliver it to the scribes guild they will surely have to rewrite the whole of it for legibility. I am doing my best. It is frustrating that at the moment it is inadequate, but there is no improvement if there is no work. In the meantime I would have your patience.
We travelled to Reedmen by Waypoint the night prior to our arrival at the shrine of Tyr. We did not permit Scarecrow to accompany us. Scarecrow is not Will. Upon our arrival, we met a priest with but a single hand. He informed us there were nature giants to be fought. We saw them looming outside the shrine, long beards of vines growing down their fronts. He also informed us there was a man who wished to join us. The man was Scarecrow disguised as an warrior of Tyr. We removed him from our band shortly thereafter. He was far less than thrilled.
I need not describe the battle to you. It was much the same as the others, save a need for torches. Asmodeus dealt with that, though holding everything down long enough for him to do so was something of a challenge.
Asmodeus is a tall spindly boy my brother's age. He does not seem to understand people well, but there is a quiet camaraderie to be found with him and a persistent ticking of thought behind his eyes.
The Skald of Reedmen was cloaked in pale blue. He wore his hair short, close to his head, and his beard was cut to a neat dark point coming from his chin. He played harp with energy and intensity, not the soft flowing tones employed by the previous two. He asked why we had come. I told him. He asked my name. I gave it. I felt empty, he said, empty of faith. Faith in the Norse, I knew. I informed him that I had faith in myself, and in my allies. Friends. Yes, they are friends by this time. There is no sense in denying it. My faith was insufficient, he said. Insufficient for whom? The Keeper. I must understand the path that I am on. His music swelled before it ceased, and he put forth his hand, palm up. I placed mine in it. He seemed to inspect it with his fingers, tracing lines as a palm reader, but with speed that one could not have.
"You may have luck yet," he said finally. He released my hand and began to play again. "Take my hand in trust, Take my hand in pain, Take my hand in duty," he riddled. "Who am I?" It was not the sort of question we had anticipated. A comrade, I guessed. "A fair answer," he said, but not the one he sought. There was silence. We thought. Rollo made motions to indicate strength rather insistently, but strength did not fit. Other answers circulated, scrawled upon Morgan's notebook. This went for some time. "Have you no faith," said the Skald. Not in his gods. I answered with them regardless. "Fair", he said, "and it approaches the answer." It was not what he sought either. The writing continued, as did Rollo's increasingly annoyed attempts to show off his biceps. "Have you no allies," asked the Skald. I did. The unspoken suggestion was that I enlist their help, but I had it already. "Who are the Lords," he asked. I answered, and he became frustrated. I had already answered with the gods. Had I no faith? Rollo mouthed faith as an answer. The man to my left whispered it. Morgan wrote it. I was reluctant. The asker does not say the answer to a riddle during a riddling. But they were my companions, and they had an answer where I had none. I presented faith, once, twice, three times. The skald turned us away then. We had failed his test.
Scarecrow was a smug son of a bitch when he learned. He did not cease to be one as the day progressed.
We discussed our course of action. I decided the correct course was to attempt to speak with the Keeper directly. If the Skald was so certain he would not see a champion who did not follow his gods, I would prefer to know if he spoke true. There is a set of flowers made from stiff cloth, and I distributed one each to those who held the necessary roles. White and blue to Strength, Hunter. Red to Rollo, Courage. Blue with green to Morgan, Will. Black and gold to myself. We placed them on the shrine. Each of us announced our role. Some members of our company sacrificed mana. I turned my face to the sky and shouted for the Keeper.
Hunter is a bone warrior sent by a Norse goddess to hunt undead. We disagree on many things, but he is strong and quick and thoughtful and as set in his own path as I am in mine. I appreciate him, though I do not always take his advice.
A moment passed wherein time slowed, nearly to a standstill. We were to ask a question. What did the Keeper want? There was a circle cut to fourths, connecting cities around and over the plain. There were giants. Frost, flame, nature, and necrotic. There was a scale. We lifted giants into one side. On the other, Odin sat, watching. All about us were objects, but we lifted in giants. The vision ended with a period of black. We were blind. This was remedied shortly. There was a compulsion to weigh things as well, which faded in time. We fought the giants once more.
Rollo and a younger man who travelled with us received resurrections. We approached the Skald a second time. We returned, he said. Had we learned, or were we the same? Hopefully we had learned. We had discussed answers while the resurrections were cast, we had an idea. "You still appear empty," he said. That is just me, I answered. "I do not know if the Keeper will see you," said the Skald. Did I think that I was so special, so unique, he could not wait for another? Did I think the Keeper would let a barbarian into his home, with no respect for his ways? The right was not mine alone, the skald said, it belonged to many. "Perhaps you are the champion," he said, "but perhaps not." It seemed he would rather it be not. I had no choice but hope that it was me, so I would take the chance. His words had served their purpose, however. I was on edge. Worried.
He asked his riddle again, the same one. Courage, strength, and will, I answered. "He had them all in equal measure," said the Skald, "but it is not the answer I seek." His song carried on, and Morgan and the others considered. Hunter prayed. He walked a ways off and scratched words in the dirt. Where are you, they said. I answered. He was blind. I lead him back to his seat by the Skald. Those words could have been a great boon had I not taken them at face value. I did not, however, and so they were not. Morgan presented me with an answer, the Keeper, and I gave it. "He is a great hero, but not the one of which I speak," answered the Skald. There was a brief silence in which Rollo mouthed words at me and Morgan scratched letters in his book. The champion, they both suggested reluctantly. I thought. I came to no better answers. I stood. If I would be the answer, I would give it well. I repeated the Skald's riddle, left hand outstretched. The Skald would have looked at me, had he eyes. "Do you claim to be the answer?" That was the hope. "Very well." He took my hand. For a moment, I thought it had been true. "You may pass, but I fear you may not go far." He reached for the other. I gave it. The son of a bitch squeezed both and there was pain, white hot, in my right hand. When I pulled it back it was numb. Useless. I am angrier now than I was then. I have spent several hours writing with my left hand. It has not been a pleasant experience. At the time what I felt was understanding. The answer was Tyr, I said. I was correct, he answered. But I was correct too late. I could not expect him to accept it. "Perhaps you will not be too late in the future," he said. "Perhaps. Perhaps you should hope." He passed me a slip of code.
I had earned a question. I wanted to ask how to restore my hand. How to cease representing a god I did not follow. It seemed selfish when there were more important things. "Ask him how to fix your hand," said Rollo. I looked at him and his stupid hat. There was guilt, but there was permission. I asked. Find the error in your ways, the Skald said. I would be checked as I followed the path. I would be given a choice. It would not be one I liked. On that ominous note, he departed.
Hunter was not happy with me. Do not try to cheat the gods, he said.
Scarecrow was positively leaping at the loss of my hand. He wonders why I despise him.
We took the Waypoints to Randwin. Scarecrow followed. I deviated from the group briefly to visit the shrine of the Sky God. Sacrifices were made. I did not use them to make requests. I spoke with the priests.
I will address now the form my faith takes, as I have said things that likely sound contradictory in the past. They are not. I follow the Sky God, and no other deity. I have always done. I have no intent to change this. The gods need us to interact with this world directly. Often, we need the power they offer to make the most of our ability to act. To follow a god is to form a partnership. To say "your wishes and mine are the same and with your power I will work to bring them about in ways you cannot." I do not have faith in gods. I have agreements with them. I have faith in people. People are who live in this world. People are who will change it. Some people are connected deeply to gods. Some are not. All will act upon the world in some way. The farmer who grows food to feed a nation is deserving of faith. The architect who raises cities is deserving of faith. The soldier who gives his life for his cause is deserving of faith. If one day a god stands on this earth and makes and breaks the world with his own hands, I will have faith in him as well. Until that day, I will have respect, but not faith.
We approached the shrine of Freyja. A priestess greeted us. A cape of royal purple hung from her shoulders. She asked how we intended to prove ourselves. I asked if there were giants here as well. There were. Morgan asked if there was another way. There might have been. I asked why her faith wished the conversion of all. She had no such wish, she said. Those on the plateau did, I said. She nodded. She had many disagreements with them, but they did not listen to her. They were less insufferable when they were not on the plateau, however. Did she have any methods of convincing them to be more reasonable that we might try? She had found that the cutting off of certain bits which made them pig-headed worked, but most men objected to removal of such. Confirmed, Morgan quipped, men did not appreciate that. The priestess left us to prepare for our fight.
We fought. We won.
The final Skald was a woman. She wore her golden hair free of braids or bindings and framed it with a cloak of red. The tones of her song were softer, as the first two had been. Her voice was calmer than any, and she spoke in a way that made it difficult to distrust her. What brought us here, she asked. I answered, a more complete answer than my usual. "You speak like a noble," she said. I was. "What house do you call your own." I gave her my name. She would know the house. She did, and welcomed me home. She put forward a hand and I put forward mine. She held it gently, and did not inspect it so much as the others had. "You have lost the other." It was gentle, but not a question. "It is a brutal place."
"Reedmen, or the plateau?" Did she refer to the world, or the taking of my hand? Both, she said, and it would seem everywhere else as well. The world then. "Perhaps when this quest is done it will not have to be so much." Perhaps those who did not seek danger could farm in peace without danger prowling the roads. It is the outcome I hope for.
"You have faith that it will be complete?" It was not a challenge. Only a question.
I nodded once. "Yes. Without it I could never have set foot on this path. Just as I have faith your gods and mine will one day no longer be at war, and can again be friends again properly." Just as I must have faith the Nonas family will not be rent in two over conflicts of religion. We would see, said the Skald. "I would like it to be so."
Her voice became firm. "The Lords know their way, it is not our place to question." How closely she walked to conflict. Any other way she could have spoken, I would have thought her angry. Whose place was it, then? "You do not question."
"If we do not, we will not learn, and we will not be able to call them on it when they make decisions that will harm their followers, themselves, or their environment." On the plateau they are making such decisions now. "As a noble, I would much prefer subjects who are willing to question me and tell me when I have fucked up, rather than being too afraid or not thinking it is their place to do so." I am not Yohan. I do not demand that I be seen as right in all things. I will make mistakes. Mistakes should not be praised. They should be addressed. There will be no improvement otherwise.
"You look forward to being questioned at every turn?" Frustration edged her voice. "The system of guilds, heirarchies, and ranks is what guides us, what keeps us alive." Was a decision wrong if we could not see why it was made? Could we not conceive of decisions that might appear wrong but be right, decisions where reasons were hidden by necessity? Should we disobey them because we cannot see why they are made?
I did not agree, but her point was well argued. There was a great deal of truth in it. "Just because we will not always receive answers does not mean we should not ask, just as the fact that we wished for answers will not keep us from functioning in their absence," I answered. If it was spoken right, it acknowledged her points and showed they did not contradict my own. I do not know if it was spoken right. She was satisfied, regardless.
"Perhaps one day you will be the one ruling ruling," she said. "I hope it will come to pass." I am not certain I share her sentiment. There was a riddle and a coded slip if I was indeed the champion. She thought I was. Our company had defeated all sets of giants. "Eyes beside me in the night Warmth on my lap my fright Curled on my lap on winter days My noblest friend in so many ways." The answer was a cat. She wished us a good journey, and that we might find wisdom where it found us. We had earned a question. I did not have one. I turned to my companions. Save it, they said. I repeated this to her. "Good journey to you," she said, "I hope that you survive."
"You as well," I answered, "I hope that your path is less perilous than ours."
"That," she said, "is certain."
We returned to Yohanisburgh. There was a haunted house. It is an odd story. I am not the best person to tell it. I am certain others will. Our next step is uncertain. I suspect it leads back to the shrine of Odin. First we must turn our attention to Dagdeoth. Reedmen's watch is reclaimed, but fighting goes badly at the beacon. Oronyëa has been unable to rally the fighters necessary to hold the line. The best all follow me, he says.
I will stand against Dagdeoth next time. We will see if they follow.
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Post by ElfChild on Apr 20, 2015 20:10:01 GMT -8
Shebara Nonas Fourthmoon (Reading/Writing lvl 3)
The plateau was full to the brim of Dagdeoth troops. It is less full now.
Oronyëa has had difficulty gathering parties to fight Dagdeoth. They have lost with frequency as they have lacked the fighters to be effective in more direct battles. They have been effective in places where alternatives to direct confrontation are readily available. On the main front, however, there had primarily been losses. I rallied our party to combat Dagdeoth as promised. They did not need it. Yohanisburgh is transitioning to a state of heavily militarization. They all felt it. It may have helped that I did not push any questing aside from that of destroying Dagdeoth, but we will never know and speculation is useless.
There was a commander Galen Shadowguard in the Broken Noble. He stood by the mission board. He informed me of the situation. I asked regarding the most important tasks for us to be doing. He stated that the turuk orcs behind our lines were the most significant threat. He briefed me on the war as a whole. I told him to tell me what to do when things needed doing. He agreed. He did not appreciate authority over others much. An odd trait for a commander.
We fought turuk orcs, as asked. You do not need a detailed description of the fighting. For the benefit of the military, I will do more than continue to comment on the nature of being stabbed. There were a great number of turuks. Many were in classes. Some were stronger in this respect than we were. Impale is the most useful skill against them. The cavalry's poison depleted their ranks some as well. Be careful of their samurai, and remember to use our own. Duel changes things. It is best to control that change. I am sure it has been reported already that the battles came out a wash and much of the cavalry did not return. Life mages, especially those with rebirth, are highly necessary on that field. Get some.
We fought dark heroes next. I permitted Scarecrow a brief exception to the restraining order I have against him so that he could be a participant on our side in that fight. Such was a bad decision and I should not have made it. Dwelling on it changes little. He stabbed me in the back midway through the fight. He is gone now, I do not know where. Somehow, I do not think he will show his face again. Two of the dark heroes we fought are still at large. I am told one was a spellcaster and one wielded morganti relatively ineffectively. I was not alive when either appeared. I lack details. For the information of the city. The mage you sent was extremely helpful. He is likely what enabled us to win the battle. Lady Greywash has my thanks. As does Kinslayer.
I am told roads have been cleared and there are sleepy wyrms off the path.
The temple to Odin was performing a ritual. Their priest was highly enthusiastic. They requested mana. Many of our number gave it. A well appeared from the earth. We did not go into it. Dagdeoth goblins came upon us then. They attempted to pass by the shrine, toward the city. We kept the majority from doing so.
That is all.
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