Original Submissions
-
Portrait of a Jihaen by Grim
Added on Jul 5, 2008A portrait of a High Templar done by my girlfriend.
Merchants by Briar
Added on Jul 3, 2008His song carried on through the smoke, playing the music of merchant hearts.
The Water and the Wheel by Briar
Added on Jul 1, 2008When the Water of Life and the Wheel of Fate meet even the suffering of the earth can be turned. - words of a Reader
Kaliya al'Seik by Astilwel
Added on Jun 26, 2008A sketch of one of the tribal humans
The Warriors of Faith: Part III: "Clash of the God-Kings" by Ghost
Added on Jun 9, 2008The armies clash in the desert and the war rages on
CHAPTER 10
“As mortals, we have a barrier in the level of power we can wield. No matter what we try, with magick or psionics or by completely mundane means, sooner or later we will hit the wall and there is no trivial way to pass this wall. For perhaps this is a barrier put down by the God-like entities to stop us from challenging them. There are however, ways to pass this. One such means is the aid of God-like beings. By the proof of loyalty and devotion, such powers beyond the capability of men can be granted, as they can be taken away.
This may be the easy way to pass this barrier, but there is another way…”
- Gin of the Alleys
Dawn came with the spill of red light over the mountains, revealing the ruins of an ancient building sprawled in the golden expanse of the sands. Cracked walls, surrounded by broken stones and sculptures lying haphazardly in all directions, possessed none of their former glory. Amidst them all, the once proud tower was now a broken piece of jagged tooth, facing the crimson skies in a silent greeting.
Samil watched the battlefield from the top his horse. So many untold tales were hidden in these ruins. Generations of civilizations, cities once powerful and filled with life were now resting in peaceful stillness beneath the sands. Samil's heart ached at the sight. A thousand years from now, would anything be left for the world to see and wonder about him, the way he wondered about this relic of a building? He did not know. Soon the peaceful sleep would be disturbed by the clash of swords and the battle cries throughout the field. The face of the earth would be tainted with the spilled blood and gore; the air with that old, almost comforting smell of battle.
"A good day to die, Captain?" Samil chose to ask the traditional question to clear his mind.
"As good as any, sir" replied the captain.
"What do you think of the enemy's deployment?" Samil asked, bringing his gaze back on the ranks of the Allanaki force.
"Sir, the main infantry is directly across the field and facing ours. The archers are stretched thin in front of the main force, I believe it will be a usual "fire until the engage and pull back."" Samil nodded his approval at the captain's words, without looking. The captain stretched his arm to point at the enemy flanks:
"He is keeping the half giants behind the ranks I assume he does not plan to open with the usual "clash of the half giants." It is fine from our standpoint as well. If anything, I will send them in the field if there is an immediate need to open ranks in the flanks."
"What about that hill with the deployed cavalry?" Samil lifted his chin to point at the hill across the field.
"That seems to be the weakest point of Sulach's deployment, Faithful Lord. The cavalry there is guarding the main force's right flank. Yet our cavalry is outnumbering them by three to one. Once the main infantries engage we can send our cavalry and break them easily, and then we will have the enemy's right flank. From there on, it will be a matter of minutes before they will be broken."
Samil nodded once more: "Sounds straightforward enough."
The captain nodded sharply at Samil's approval.
"Unfortunately," Samil began again, "this is the plan our enemy expect us to go through. I do not believe Sulach would make such an easy mistake. That hill," Samil's finger was pointing directly at the hill where Sulach deployed his cavalry, "must be an illusion" he concluded.
Lesk voiced his confusion: "Faithful Lord, they are tired and probably out of supplies. Such a mistake is not too out of place."
Samil, however, was determined: "Sulach has never lost a battle to this day. No matter how reasonable it seems, he would not overlook such a mistake." He turned to the Lieutenant Enlyl, standing close on her warbeetle, "Lieutenant, divide the cavalry in two groups. First group should be nearly the same size of Sulach's riders. Second group should stay behind and standby for further orders." As the female officer nodded affirmatively and rode back to carry the Faithful's orders, Samil turned back to Lesk:
"Captain, draw the Lyksaen warriors out of the infantry. I want them standing here with me."
Captain Lesk felt it futile to argue his point any further, but he could not let his worries slide: "Faithful Lord, if we divide the cavalry, we will not have a fast and crushing victory over the flanks, it will drag on and it will gi--"
Samil cut him off.
"My orders were clear?" he demanded.
Captain straightened up, dropping a fast, affirmative nod: "Yes, Faithful Lord."
"See them carried out." Samil snapped.
Clad in crimson and grey of the House Lyksae, the elite warband arrived shortly beside Samil.
"Orders, Faithful?" The commander asked after saluting Samil. Samil dropped the faintest of the nods, his eyes scanning the Allanaki ranks:
"Standby here, Mtakr, we are waiting for your assignment to show itself."
The commander did not understand, but that wasn't important. He had his orders, and he simply nodded once more and grew silent behind Samil.
Time dragged on, seemingly taking no notice of the excitement and tension prevalent in the air. The first hour of dawn ended unceremoniously.
Sulach laid no other traps, Samil noted; at least, none other that showed themselves yet. He looked over the remnants of the ancient civilization once more, almost wistfully. The time for the battle had come, and he signaled for the attack.
The war horns of the Tuluki force signaled the march of the main infantry and the archers, and the wave of red on white started its march at once. Allanaki horns responded with their own signal the both armies were marching against each other. Another set of signals and the archers in both parties came to a stop; their arrows bringing death upon the approaching enemy.
Shields were pulled up, forming a roof on both sides. The soldiers who fell to the raining arrows were quickly being replaced by another from behind, the pace never slowing down. When the distance between the two forces was close enough, the armies kicked into a charge, clashing on each other in a brutal frenzy.
Swords and axes were swung, the spears were hurled, clubs crushed armors, sending bits of chitin and obsidian among the commotion. Blood and gore on both sides spilled to the ground, turning the sands to a slick, reddish mud. The cries of pain were lost in the calls to the God-kings. The Tuluki force locked their shields in their traditional style, forming a wall in the front ranks and swinging their weapons from above and below the shields as opportunity presented itself. Allanaki army replied with spreading in the front rank and assaulting in a flurry of blows with both hands to keep the enemy overwhelmed, while the second rank sprinted forth with spears every now and then searching for enemy weakness.
Samil watched the spectacle from his mount. Both armies were wearing each other down, losing man after man in bloodied frenzy. They could go on for hours, to the last man perhaps, and then neither army would have won. Samil knew as well as Sulach did, whoever won on the flanks would turn the scales of the battle. He turned over his shoulder and signaled for the first group of riders to march forth; the riders raised a dust cloud as they galloped down the hill.
"Damn it! He saw our move!" spoke Sulach as he saw only a small group of riders galloping across the battlefield.
"Should we abort the plan, my Lord?" Strian asked from his side.
"No." he spoke, his hands holding the reins tightly. "We play his game."
They watched as the Tuluki cavalry rode down the hill, leaving a billowing dust cloud behind them. Their formation shifted at the bottom of the hill, spreading to the sides as they closed in, but Allanaki cavalry waited for them in muted stillness.
Suddenly, the ground moaned and writhed violently beneath the approaching enemy. Buckling and shattering with a deafening roar, a web of cracks shot across the ground; sinking the riders into a maelstrom of tumultuous, whipping sand and dirt. The beasts cried in their own miserable fear, jerking and kicking, throwing their riders in blind frenzy.
A shout echoed through the Allanaki cavalry then, and they kicked into a charge toward the scattered Tuluki riders.
"So.. that was Sulach's plan" whispered Samil as he watched the battle.
The Allanaki cavalry easily broke into the Tuluki ranks, their spears bringing death to the confused enemy as they tried to regain their battle stance. They put up very little resistance as the lines of riders trampled through their broken ranks.
"There is the abomination" Samil pointed as a lone figure stepped out from the opposite end of the dust cloud. The earthquake was over, and the figure stood at the skirts of the hill, watching as the Allanaki cavalry led their attack on the broken riders. The lone figure then looked across to battlefield to where Samil and his officers stood.
"Mtakr?" Samil called to the leader of the Lyksaen warriors who looked back directly at him in response. "Take him down." Samil ordered, and the captain of the elite warriors nodded indifferently. Turning to his group he quickly snapped his orders and the twenty men clad in crimson and grey kicked their mounts into a charge down the hill. Samil's lips broke into a smile as he watched the Lyksaen warriors charging fearlessly toward the mage, the abomination of the nature.
They fired their arrows on the run without slowing down. It was display of skill and accuracy as the arrows flew up into the crimson skies and rained down without any of them going astray. The mage saw the charging riders and the rain of death they set loose from their bows, and he kicked into a run. A blur of movement it was, a speed truly beyond the perception of men, causing the sand to rise up in a spray of gold behind him. His chasers did not seem to be surprised by such a display of power. At once, they broke into three groups, spreading behind the mage as they swept the sands behind him.
"It does not look like they will be able to kill him" spoke Captain Lesk beside Samil.
"No, I did not think they would" Samil responded calmly as he tore his gaze back to the hill where Allanaki riders engaged his own. The skirmish was nearly over with few losses from the enemy ranks.
"But I knew they would scare him away, and they did. Now I have the flank." With that, Samil gave the order and the Tuluki warhorns signaled the march of the second group of riders.
Sulach's heart sank as he heard the blast of the Tuluki warhorn, and he watched as a dust cloud rise from the opposing hill as the white and the red cloaks rode down. The mage that would guard the flank was long gone, and Sulach knew the numbers of the approaching enemy would quickly cripple his cavalry. "Sound the retreat" he called, his eyes not leaving the enemy riders.
"My Lord.." Strian attempted to protest. They had been winning so far. Perhaps they could break the approaching enemy? Perhaps, if they sent the half giants along with the riders..?
"We cannot win this war! And if we do not retreat now, we will definitely lose!" Sulach spoke, turning to regard Strian who seemed to start his disagreement. "Sound the retreat, soldier! NOW!" Sulach finished any further discussion, giving no option to Strian. Strian carried the order and the Allanaki warhorns were blown with the exact given note.
"What?! Another charge?!" Samil did not hide his surprise at the sound of enemy warhorns. "Captain, was there any report of enemy reinforcements?"
Captain Lesk was as surprised as Samil:
"No Faithful. Perhaps the enemy eluded us."
"Damn it!" Samil cursed. "Call the riders back here. Get the Lyksaen Warriors to drop the chase on the mage and find where this reinforcement is coming from! Now!"
Weapons painted red with blood, the Allanaki infantry disengaged from the melee and stepped a few paces back facing their opponent, but their opponent was not ordered to press forth. The Tuluki riders stopped their charge and headed back to the hills. For a moment there the entire battle seemed to cease, everyone waiting for the unexpected unit to show up.
The infantry of Allanak kept moving back as they still faced the Tuluki army, and the archery units moved to the front ranks. Samil watched in confusion what Sulach was trying to achieve. From the looks of it, the reinforcements would come from the left rank, which would be attacking his half giants and infantry at the same time. It made no sense, unless the reinforcement was nearly as big as the main army which would mean bad news for Samil, he thought grimly.
We see no sign of reinforcements sir, came the thoughts of the Lyksaen commander, and Samil understood Sulach's motives at once:
"Sound the charge!" he shouted. "No reinforcement is coming, they are retreating! Sound the charge!"
Horns were blown at once and the Tuluki front advanced. Allanak responded with a signal to the archers and volleys of arrows rained upon the approaching the enemy. Commanders snapped orders and the Tuluki infantry raised their shields, their pace slowing as they advanced defensively.
"He is running away. He tricked us by changing the horn signals, and now he is running away! Bastards!" Samil spoke grimly. It was a daring attempt to change the signals before the battle, for it carried the risk of causing confusion among the officers. In the heat of the battle, the soldiers would react to the horns almost instinctively. Such instincts would not be adapted overnight. However Sulach had the advantage of having experienced army. All of Sulach's commanders and even some of his regular grunts were battle-hardened veterans from gith campaigns. It surely made a difference in applying risky maneuvers such as the trick with the battle-horns.
Samil watched as his army desperately tried to catch the retreating Allanaki front. While being under a constant rain of arrows, it seemed impossible. The retreat of the enemy must be stopped, and his army needed help with it.
"Ivory guards, rally to me!" Samil shouted to his personal white-clad cavalry, and they responded with a single warcry that echoed across the battlefield. Captain Lesk understood at once what Samil was doing and he grabbed Samil's reins, unaware of his daring approach:
"Faithful Lord, no! You cannot ride to the front, it is too dangerous."
Samil regarded him with a cold gaze and pulled his reins free of the captain's grasp:
"After my infantry catches the enemy, order the cavalry to take the right flank and send forth the half giants" he spoke, not willing to waste anymore time by explaining himself.
"Faithful Lord, you do not have to do this" Lesk pleaded, but Samil cut him off with a dismissive gesture of his hand:
“You have orders, Captain. Carry them.”
Lesk realized there was no way to talk his commander out of it, and he lowered his head in defeat. Samil nodded once and then he ordered the charge.
"He has seen our move again!" Sulach spoke in frustration.
"He can not defeat the main infantry with a cavalry charge my Lord" replied Itina beside him.
"Defeating the infantry is not his plan, he wants to keep them in battle so his own infantry can catch them." He turned to the black clad elite riders spread to his left:
"
The entire unit of the War Ministry's elite guards let out a battle cry that overcame all other sounds in the field. Itina could not believe what she was seeing:
"My Lord, no! Let me lead the charge, you need to –"
Sulach shook his head, he had already made up his mind: "Samil has to be put down. I think I have the highest chance to do that task. The rest of you stay behind. This army needs to retreat. The closer you are to the front the harder it is." Then he gave the order to charge, and the black wave of the temple guards thundered down the hill.
Samil saw the black riders led by Sulach, and he changed course. His unit wheeled around to follow Samil's lead. The black against the white they rode; the sands sprawled up as high as men, leaving trails of dust clouds. The ground trembled beneath their powerful stomp as they charged, and the warcries of "For the Highlord" and "For the Sun-King" mixed in the battlefield.
Samil saw Sulach at the front, charging directly at him. His hand was up in the air, and when he was close he could hear him chanting: "In the name of the Highlord…"
Samil closed his eyes and concentrated. All other sounds died around him: Sun-King guide my hand, be my eyes. Guide my hand, guide my blade. Guide my hand...
Samil was praying still when flames erupted from Sulach's hand and lept toward him, engulfing him completely. For a second there everything in the battlefield seemed to cease its move.
Guide my hand..
Guide my blade..
Be my Eyes…
Sun King…
Guide my hand…
Like a demon, Samil emerged from the flames. His flesh was burned beyond recognition, skin darkened and cracked in veins giving him an horrific visage. It was a miracle he was still alive, and yet he seemed not slowed down by his burns. With a swing of his bladed staff, he jabbed at Sulach's armored chest and sent him toppling down from his horse. In a smooth motion, he jumped down from his mount and landed right behind Sulach, as he was calling on his God-king for another spell. Samil's fingers flashed forth with an unbelievable speed and landed several quick strikes around Sulach's neck and throat with surgical precision. Sulach attempted to call the name of the Highlord, but no voice came out of his throat. Instead, he stumbled back, barely avoiding Samil's bladed staff. He attempted to draw a sword, but a single swing of Samil's staff sent it flying away, and a kick on his armored chest sent him sprawling back.
Two of the temple guards charged at Samil, desperate to save Sulach from what was coming for him. They were the elite guards of the War Ministry, who had been instructed by the
But then, he fell down.
The Highlord's flames had long consumed all the life that kept him going. Whatever energy was left within that kept him still standing, was finally spent. Like an ancient tree whose roots gave away their grasp of the earth, he collapsed down on his back.
Sulach was spent when Samil stole his voice. The magickal energies gathered inside of him needed to be set loose, but his voice betrayed him and the energy was unleashed on Sulach instead. He was lying down on his back now on the verge of consciousness. He realized Samil's fall but it did not matter. It was over, the enemy infantry was here. He heard his soldiers calling his name as they run to save him, but he tried not to feel hope; it was too painful. His soldiers would fight on, desperate to save him. Against the enemy numbers they would lose, and with Tuluki riders winning easily on the flanks they would be broken before the enemy. Death would come soon for them all.
Drawing all his strength, he attempted to shout them to run but whatever Samil had done to him his voice was gone completely. His own weakness overcame finally, and Sulach drifted into the peaceful embrace of the unconsciousness.
"No!" Tild yelled from the top of his mount as he watched the battle. Despair welled up in his throat as he saw Sulach fell in the front rank. Sulach beaten? Sulach down? How was it even possible?
"Mage do something!" he called to the gemmed mage who was back behind the lines after the Lyksaen warriors dropped their chase on him.
"Like what?" the mage replied, baffled at what to say to the enraged warrior.
Tild's hand snapped forth and grabbed the mage by the throat: "I don't care! Do something!" he breathed down his anger, unaware of his daring move against one of the most feared beings in the world, but the mage did not seem impressed by his shear rage.
Tild released the mage's throat then, and looked back down in the battlefield. He was relieved slightly to see the enemy templar down as well, and then he saw as the infantries on both fronts rushing forth blindly to save their templars. The two armies clashed once more, covering their leaders in the conflict.
"I can make a wall to separate the front lines" the mage spoke making Tild look back at him with wild eyes, but before he could say anything: "But not from this distance. I need to be very close, right at the spot where the wall should be put. And if I go down there, I will be chopped to pieces before I can finish the spell" the mage added.
Tild gritted his teeth as he looked back to the battlefield. He could not help but get frustrated at being helpless. The enemy war horns sounded the march of the cavalry once more now, and soon the main infantry would be flanked, everything Sulach tried to stop would end there.
"Dragoons!" Tild called for the unit of cavalry, and then added "I need ten men to ride with me to glory!" He rode a few paces forth and turned his mount looking at the soldiers, the very same soldiers who were once under his command but now given under Itina.
The front rank of the riders stepped forth and dropped a sharp nod at him, and he nodded back. Turning to the mage: "We will give you the space you need" he said.
He turned to his side to see Itina beside him:
"I am coming too" she said. Tild furrowed his brows, but she continued: "I am your superior, Tild. I give the orders, and I am telling you now, I am coming."
Tild nodded several times, then his eyes swept back to the front lines:
"There is one problem though" he said finally.
"What prob – " Itina started, but she could not finish it. Tild's punch caught her off guard, and his uppercut sent her down from her mount. The world seemed to spin around in a wild fury as she tried to regain her balance when she heard Tild's voice again:
"You are not coming".
They rode down in a wild charge then, crying out Sulach's name over and over. There were eleven of them only, but their voices overcame even the strongest of the battle cries. With all the speed and the momentum of their mounts, they drove their spears into the thickest part of the enemy, and they pushed them back; away from the front lines, away from the precious Lord Templar.
"MAGE NOW!" shouted Tild from the enemy ranks, and the earth started to tremble and groan as the gemmed uttered the words of power. The ground rose with a deafening roar, spraying down the sands on the confused soldiers.
Too bad I never got to ride that rack of yours, came as Tild's last thoughts telepathically to Itina before the sand wall separated the armies completely.
See you in the drov.
Tears welled up in Itina's eyes, threatening to humiliate her in front of her soldiers. She tried to swallow her agony; for there was much to be done yet. Already the mage was running along the wall in his incredible speed to expand it further, making it harder for the enemy to circle around. Itina knew she had to find Strian and organize the retreat. It would not be over until they were away from the enemy's reach.
And after that…
After that she could grieve. She could cry over her comrade and get angry why he was such an ass and had not let her ride with him. She could curse and blame him, herself, and anybody else there to blame. And finally, she could lose herself in grief and booze, drinking for her lost friend.
Moments later, Captain Lesk pressed his palm on the sand wall, feeling the smoothness of the surface. All the commanding officers were standing behind him. Now that Samil was down, Lesk was in charge of the army. He knew all eyes were on him, waiting for his orders. But he did not honor them by returning their gazes. They had failed the Faithful. He had failed the Faithful! Samil put his own life in line to keep the enemy in the battle, and yet they let the enemy escape. It was the work of an abomination that stopped them, but there was no excuse for incompetence.
His back still turned to the army officers:
“Set up the camp, we stay the night” Lesk spoke his orders. In truth, they were Faithful Lady Neodyn’s orders, but the officers did not need to know that.
* * * * * * * * *
CHAPTER 11
"- I heard Miranda’s mind is the best mind tonight!”
- Your Majesty, a third one!
- Wow! I have not seen this one before!”
- King of Shadows and Raven and a third one of their kind meeting in a foreign mind.
She descended from the skies and landed on the ground gently.
All around her was a display of beautiful colors and fresh smells giving a feeling of paradise to all her senses. She stood there barefooted amid the flowers, lifting her head to the skies and feeling the touches of the wind on her skin. It has been such a long time she had been in a world so beautiful, and so well organized. She could stay here for eternity, feeling the tickles of flower petals on her feet as the fingers of the wind stroke them in gentle breezes.
She shook her head, alas, she did not have time to enjoy nor explore this world. She had to leave all aside, and meet the ruler of this world.
With a simple will, she took flight. Another use of willpower, and the entire world shifted beneath her, continents of land and mass flew beneath her in the blink of an eye, and then she was where she wanted to be: Facing the ruler, her Faithful Brother Samil Lyksae.
Inside the mind was where she was powerful. Simple minds could not comprehend the extents of her abilities. She could move as she willed, explore as deep as she wanted, even modify, destroy and recreate the parts of it if she so wished. She wished to meet with the owner of this mind, and here she was facing him directly.
“Hello Faithful Brother” she greeted him in a formal way, letting him know she is here. It was more of a gesture that she is right there in front of him, not digging his mind elsewhere.
“Greetings, sister” replied Samil’s usual calm voice. In mind he seemed as much in control as he was in flesh. Neodyn has seen the minds of many, and each would be filled with wealth that they can never hope to possess: Dreams of rare tastes, sexual fantasies, of reign over people to satisfy their petty needs. Men were nasty beasts and Neodyn could see them as who they are.
Yet this was not an ordinary mind she was in right now. From the moment she dived in, all around her has been a beautiful harmony of colors and sounds enriching all her senses. None of the petty, pitiful excuses for desires of the flesh had she seen here. She was awed by her brother’s control over his mind, and felt the strokes of curiosity as to what secrets the depths of this world was holding.
“I have ordered Captain of the Legions to take command and pitch the camps. They will stay there until further orders.” Neodyn began, trying to clear her thoughts.
“Did Sulach survive?” Samil asked and Neodyn was faintly nodding at his words.
“I believe so, even though I have not seen him just yet.”
“If he survived, the abominations will bring him up to his feet quickly” the mental image of Samil muttered. Then added after a brief moment: “My Legions must keep moving. They must chase Sulach.”
“No – “ Neodyn began, but Samil cut in shortly:
“If the Legions do not move, Sulach will understand that I am wounded and the army is headless. He will strike and wear us down.”
“Physicians are certain that if you are moved, you will die. You have to be kept stable” came Neodyn’s grim reply.
Samil grew silent at that, but Neodyn noticed a slight change in the world. The wind blew differently than before, the ambient sounds gone, the beautiful scents surrounding them were no more. As if a broken note in the middle of a recite, the musical harmony of the world seemed to be disturbed in Samil’s troubled thoughts.
“So be it then” Samil spoke, but there were a thousand more words carried in the sudden shift of the wind, the sudden discord in the smells. The world was his mind, Neodyn noted, any of his thoughts or emotions would have effect on the environment. She watched the Jihaen templar silently, waiting for him to speak his mind.
“Until I get well, sister, could you come here often and let me know of my legions, and carry my orders to them?” he finally asked.
A rare, bright smile flashed in Neodyn’s lips:
“Of course I will, brother.”
“My first order for them is to find a way to get me moving somehow.”
Their talk continued for a time in the harmony of their surroundings. When finally it was over, Neodyn simply left her brother’s mind. She returned to her consciousness, her features sickly pale from the efforts of psionic drain. The food bowl the slaves left for her was still on the table, untouched. She remembered it had been days she had not eaten, and her body was growing weak. But such was the cost to train the mind for perfection.
As her hands reached for the bowl, she felt her curiosity peaking as to what secrets her brother’s mind held in secret. Was there any dirty secret behind the display of harmony on the surface? Or maybe ambitious thoughts that he never shared with anyone?
She shook her head in disbelief at what she was thinking then, her cheeks flushing red. Her hand left the bowl untouched despite the prostests of her weak body. She needed to train her mind better, obviously.
* * * * * * * *
“- That was the most foolish thing I've done...today."
- Thrend Lyksae, when his wounds are being tended after an attack.
Everything will be alright.
The light was the deep red of the late afternoon sun when he woke up. The pain was gone, so were the feeling of being burned alive. He sat up in his pallet, causing the sheets to slid down and reveal his naked torso. Everything seemed so distant, and so blurry, he could not make what he was doing in his bed, yet he felt an odd sense of serenity.
Everything will be alright.
How could it be? I-.
Shhhhhh... Don't worry. Everything will be alright.
But I remember... Terrible things.
Don't worry. It is all gone now. There is nothing to worry about.
"Are you alright, Lord Templar?"
Even Itina's voice did not sound so familiar now. Yet it brought him back to his surroundings.
"Lieutenant..? What happened?" All eyes in the command tent were on him, carrying a mixture of curiosity and worry.
"You were wounded badly, my Lord. Magicks..."
She did not have to finish it; Sulach understood it all at once. The vague memory of being on the verge of death flashed in his mind and he understood how he had no trace of those wounds right now. The healing hand of the Vivadu could mend any fresh wound instantaneously, leaving no scars for the eye to see. Yet, unseen to the eye there would be drawbacks. For the body would not understand the works of magick and would still assume the wounds exist. Such a conflict with the body and supernatural would often lead to sudden mood shifts, imaginary pains, even seizures. Making decisions would be most difficult in such a state, as the mood shifts and the unnatural pains could be maddening for a normal mind.
To neutralize it, there was another magick of course, the magick that kept whispering the soft words of serenity in Sulach's mind.
With this magick at work, all of the victim's emotions would be blocked, the mind taken control by the unnatural touch of the magick. As long as the magick was active, the victim could not feel anything different than the dominating sensation of calmness. He could walk into the fire without realizing the danger or he could withstand the drawbacks of unnatural healing from a near-death experience like right now.
"What ... Exactly happened?" he asked, and they told them everything.
They told him how Tild led the final charge with ten riders to save him, and all he could do was a brisk nod. He could not even grief at the death of his beloved soldier, and he knew there was something wrong. Magicks even blocked parts of his memory, and all he could do was to sit there impassively, listening to the reports of his officers.
"Assemble the riders, we will raid the enemy for supplies" Sulach mustered the words finally when the reports were finished.
A look of surprise rippled through the faces of the officers, but they said nothing. They had reported that there was nothing left and the soldiers have been hungry all day long. Even though it was dangerous, they had no better idea to counter Sulach's mad plan. Itina and Strian finally bowed their respects and left the command tent, the rest of the officers followed their lead shortly.
Finally Sulach was alone in the command tent. He rested against the soft pillows at his back, his eyes growing glassy. He knew he would have ten different plans and the weaknesses of each by now had there not been magicks in play. Yet, he could think of none at the moment. The magicks blocked all the sense of danger or the desire to fight, he realized he could not even think rationally. He decided that he would have to call the power of Highlord to wash away the effects of Vivadu before the battle.
Late in the night, when they attacked the enemy, Sulach knew why they had put him under the false serenity of Vivadu in the first place.
* * * * * * * * *
CHAPTER 12
“-BRING IT ON MOTHERFUCKERS I WILL SKULLFUCK YOUR CHILDREN AND LAUGH AT THEIR TEARS!”
- Vash, when facing the overwhelming odds against mantis
Captain Lesk desperately tried to rally the retreating soldiers when the attack came, but there was no fruit to his efforts. Like ghosts, Sulach's men came under the cover of darkness and caught the defenders by surprise despite the increased number of guards at post. He knew they would come again, yet he could not stop them. Ever since Samil's fall in the first battle with the enemy, Sulach have taken advantage of the headless army and grew aggressive. But Lesk managed to avoid them in the daylight up to now. By destroying a few supply carts in the first day, Lesk had a special wagon to carry the command tent of the Faithful which gave the opportunity to run away from the enemy. Only at nights, a unit of cavalry would smash from one corner of the army, send them fleeing away, raid as much as they could and disappear into the cover of the night before Lesk could mobilize the Legions and strike them back. It happened four times by now, and this was the fifth.
First time it happened, he spent his entire night in the Faithful’s tent crying like a little child, unsure of how to face the soldiers in his shame. When the morning broke though, he swallowed his shame and carried the day as if nothing happened. He was more prepared for the second night assault when they came again, but then Sulach had a different plan and still managed to catch them by surprise. It was easier to accept the defeat each time after that. Perhaps it was getting used to what he could not change, and that bothered him even more than the shame he felt. What was next, handing the army to Sulach and making excuses?
No, there was no room for cowardice, no living with the shame this time. If he dies tonight, perhaps someone better suited would be given charge to lead the army until the Faithful recovered from his wounds.
A few soldiers accompanied his bravery and he held hope that more would follow. But his hopes withered as he saw more and more of the Legions turn their backs to the enemy and flee in panic. Anger welled up in Lesk when he saw a rider of Sulach slam his spear to a fallen Tuluki soldier. He roared and broke into a charge, grabbing the soldier by the leg and pulling him down. He groaned as the soldier collapsed on top of him and took both of them down. They wrestled on the ground, blinded by the rage and the darkness that surrounded them. Lesk knew that he would probably die to the next opponent if not to this one, but it did not matter. He would take as many as he could in his fall.
“…. To me!”
Through the chaos and the cries, he heard the voice calling others. He tried to get up but his opponent held him down fast, strangling him with an iron grip. In a rekindled rage, he rolled his opponent over and came on top. With all his strength, he hammered his elbow on his opponent’s face and felt the sickening sound of breaking bones. He slammed his armored elbow again and again, until something wet splattered on his face and he felt the coppery taste of blood in his mouth.
“Rally to me!”
The voice called again and Lesk jumped to his feet from the lifeless form of his opponent. So familiar was the voice, but he tried not to grow hope. He kicked into a run, trying to reach the source of the voice before enemy lines came any closer.
“Rally to me!”
Tears blurred his vision when he saw the hunched figure leaning on his staff. The dark cover of the night made it difficult to see, but he recognized the red robe from a distance:
“Faithful is here!” he shouted and more soldiers joined him.
“Faithful is among us!”
“Protect the Faithful Lord!”
More and more soldiers rushed in and formed ranks in front of Samil and Lesk was among them, too overwhelmed to give any orders.
“Legions of the Sun King, form fours! First two rows step forth! Melee formation! Engage the enemy!” Samil’s rich voice snapped the orders.
Within seconds, the tide of the battle changed. The Allanakki riders kept smashing into the locked shields of Tuluk and were sent back again and again. It was a night assault and speed and stealth were the key factors for Sulach’s men. They were not there to hold forms and fight the enemy, they were there to hit them in sudden and send them scattered. Wearing no armor that would break their stealth and with the Tuluki lines stand like a wall in front of them, they had no chance. More Tuluki soldiers came to Samil’s call and the outcome of the battle became evident.
Sulach stared into the Tuluki lines from the top of his horse. He had seen Samil in the dim torchlight and known him even at a distance. His red cloak had swirled around him in the wind and it had been easy to picture the man’s brutal visage when he faced him in the battle. So strange it was that the mere appearance of Samil made such a huge change in the course of the battle. Such a loyalty he commanded in the Tuluki army and Sulach did not like the sound of it.
There was moment when Sulach felt Samil looking directly at him, and shivered. The wounds from his battle with Samil still troubled him when he was not under the effects of magick, despite the considerable time it passed. Time would cure them Sulach knew, but the memory would remain. Despite looking old and weak, Samil was not the kind of man he wanted to meet in battle again. He recognized his fear for him but there was no shame in being afraid. Even though he would have to retreat that night, he would win the war. Tonight’s battle did not mean much after all, not for Sulach. He had already raided the enemy supplies enough to sustain his army for more than a week’s time ahead, what he had been doing over the last two nights’ assaults was to break the enemy’s morale. By showing them defeat every night, he was crushing their resolve. After all, winning a fight did not take to kill every single soldier, but to take away their will to fight. And Sulach realized as he watched Samil’s effect on his soldiers, that to take away the enemy’s will to fight, he had to eliminate Samil.
Sulach had to retreat that night and Samil did not pursue.
* * * * * * * *
“He has accepted his fate, and so must I. It is better to live a short time within His Radiance than a lifetime away from His Light.”
- Elithan Winrothol, before an execution
Late in the same night, Captain Lesk and Samil were alone in the command tent. The stale air carried a visible tension as Samil sat on his pallet wordlessly for what Lesk felt like ages long.
“What happened to my Legions, Captain?” spoke Samil at last. His voice was weaker than how it was in the battlefield, and so was his posture. When alone, the effects of his wounds were much visible in the candle light.
“Faithful Lord, I –“ Captain started as he stood, but then he stopped to clear his voice and his mind.
“Sir, it is my mistake. There is no excuse for it, perhaps I am not fit for the command” he spoke clearly. Relieved that he finally could muster the words, but Samil was not listening.
“They ran like cowards,” Samil spoke, more to himself and the empty air than to the Captain standing in attendance. Lesk could only bow his head in shame.
“I ordered them to drop their banner after the fight was over. Sulach already has their honor, he could as well take their banner” Samil continued, and Lesk felt his cheeks flush. So humiliating to leave the banner, it could very well mean that Samil did not care whether or not those units were all completely dead and gone.
“Sir, I would take any punishment for my incompetence” Lesk spoke, his head bowed low. He did not dare to look at the Faithful in the eye, fearing that his legs would give away their strength at humiliation.
“Raise your head, Captain!” Samil’s voice was sharp enough to make Lesk obey at once.
“There will be punishment of course. And yours is not so easy to step aside from the command.” Samil went on. His next words explained how the cowards would be punished, and Lesk’s face went pale as he listened.
Lesk stood with all the commanding officers in the dim light of Lirathu, the soldiers of the Second Battalion disarmed and lined up in front of their tents. All the voices of the camp died when the Second Battalion was called out of their beds.
“Begin” Lesk gave the order; his voice was cold as the desert night.
Two sergeants moved forward, but the third shook visibly, exchanging glances between his men and Captain Lesk:
“Sir… But they are our soldiers. It is not right” he spoke weakly.
“Stand still!” Lesk snapped, “Lieutenant, come to me!”
Sergeant shook his head in terror as he saw his lieutenant approaching to Lesk:
“I am sorry sir, I only meant…”
But Lesk was not listening to him:
“Lieutenant, this man disobeyed my orders. He will join the selected.” Lesk spoke clearly for everyone in attendance to hear.
The sergeant attempted to protest but the lieutenant struck his gauntleted fist down on him before he could add anymore shame he had brought to his command. Two more of his crushing punches and the dazed sergeant fell on his knees. They disarmed him quickly and dragged him away from the line of soldiers.
The rest of the draft went uneventful, sergeants counted the men and one out of every five was drawn out. When counting the men in Second Battalion was done, the selected was dragged away and the rest were sent back inside. Though, the night did not pass easily for anyone. Those who were left behind knew they would never see again the ones taken away. And they were shaking in terror when the commanding officers returned, calling another Battalion out of their tents.
It carried on all night long.
* * * * * * * *
CHAPTER 13
“- It is easy to grow hope, warrior, when your lover is in your arms, with your booze leaving the bitter taste and the smoke of your spice filling your lungs. It is easy to grow hope when your stomach is full and your tongue wet. It is easy to grow hope when you face your opponent in your battle and you stand strong. But when you miss your lover’s good bye kiss and there is nothing to wash it down; when hunger craves your insides and your mouth runs dry; when your sword breaks down and your opponent gashes open your brows, does your hope die warrior?
No, that is when you are truly alive.”
- Gin of the Alleys, and Ough the mul.
Lesk dropped on his haunches in front of Samil’s tent by the end of the night, Allanakki and the Tuluki bloods mingled in his armor. There was less than an hour of time left when they were finished executing the men, and he felt all his strength was finally leaving him. He dropped on the ground, trying to clear up the events of the night from his mind. From all the units who fled before Sulach in the night assaults, they picked one out of every five soldier.
And then they killed them. As a ranking officer he had killed many before. But killing another Tuluki soldier, and more importantly the way they killed them would haunt him for a long time.
Each battalion’s selected group was brought separately, disarmed and unarmored so that if a group attempts to resist, there would not be any complications. Then all the officers of the Legions attacked them unarmed, punching and kicking until they all died. Killing them without the use of any weapons in such a way took longer, cries and painful pleads of the dying men carried on for a long time. One of the men even said “I am sorry” and started to cry like a child before the officers launched on them. Each group was drawn away like this one by one. After the second group, the officers were all speechless in horror, and they worked in silence until the end. It ended about an hour to the day break, and Lesk sent them all to get some rest before dawn. They would not be able to sleep, he thought as much, but just like him they needed sometime alone.
Lesk dug his hands into the ground and clawed the desert sands in his silent weeping. It was coldest in the desert right before the sunrise, but he felt none of it. Tears were burning his eyes and he felt a weight down his throat that he could not swallow. This is what it takes to lead, he thought to himself.
He sat there in front of Samil’s tent, unsure of the time that passed. Approaching steps made him jump to his feet and he stood in attendance as the Faithful opened the flap of the tent and walked out to the morning sun. He stood before Lesk, eyeing him against the crimson dawn expectantly. But there was no strength left in Lesk to greet the Faithful properly. He bit his lower lip to stop them from quivering and looked straight past the Faithful, unable to meet him in the eye. He expected to be struck down for his weakness and steadied himself for the blow, but it did not come. Instead Samil patted him on the shoulder in a gesture of understanding and Lesk tried hard not to collapse at his feet.
The camp started to come alive with the waking soldiers and Lesk straightened in his posture, reminding himself that he is still the Captain of the Legions. There was no room for a show of weakness he reminded to himself and joined among the soldiers to break the camp.
Before the hour past, all the soldiers were brought to attendance and Samil rode in front of them, staring them down from atop his horse.
“Sun King’s Legions! My warriors!” he shouted and his gaze wandered through the ranks of soldiers. The legionnaires disgraced him. They knew it, and kept their heads bowed in private misery. Even their ranks seemed chaotic as each one found their among others without looking at the rank formations.
“Last night was the closest thing to disaster that I have ever seen. I have never seen a Legion turn their back to the enemy and leave their commanders in the field. Never before, a soldier ran past me when I called them to form ranks before me!”
From the top of his mount he could see all of the gathered soldiers. They stared down without daring to look at him, but he saw some of them shaking with humiliation as if he were a father lecturing repentant children. He shook his head and stared ahead for a time:
“Legions! The enemy we are facing is not a group of halfling. It is not a band of marauders hunting down helpless tribals! No! The enemy we have now is the worst ever seen! They have never seen the face of defeat before! And we knew this before we took our ride from the Ivory.”
“We knew what we were against before we left our beloved walls” he shouted, riding his horse up and down in front of the ranks. “I tell you now my warriors, if there is anyone who believes that we can not beat this enemy, I ask them to step forth!”
All heads were suddenly lifted up; all the soldiers looked at Samil directly. The traces of shame seemed to vanish as they gazed up at him.
“I ask anyone who believes that this enemy can not be beaten, to step forth!" Samil repeated louder. "They will be given the month’s payment and the next, and they will be sent back to the city!” Samil shouted and his gaze wandered on each soldier as he stood.
“I do not want a soldier in my ranks who do not believe in their comrades! There are thousands and thousands of soldiers among the Legions. But you are the ones that I chose to march with me!” He shouted and a cheer started to light in the eyes of the Legions.
“What an honor we are chosen to fight the greatest enemy of all!” Samil’s finger was pointing toward where Sulach’s men retreated a night before as he spoke: “That we are given the chance to achieve the greatest valor in the Sun King’s ranks!
“Soldiers!“ his voice dropped low as he regarded them all. “Some of the battalions that were yesterday are no more. I can not give back your history, but I can offer you a new start. Today we start a new day. As you will be briefed, the members of the disbanded Legions will join the ranks of the others. Legions! Do not hold your brothers and sisters with shame! We will not remember those running from the enemy, but we will remember them holding ranks as I called them to rally to me! Remember that they are your brothers in arm now! We left Legion banners last night! When we next meet them in battle, we will fight to get their banners and your honor with them!” The soldiers seemed to straighten their postures as Samil spoke, some of them lifted their heads high, a new light of determination in their eyes.
“Look around you now. Look at the faces of the men and women around you! Remember those faces, for there will come a day when you will tell tales of your fight against the Witch Templar Sulach, and you will tell who else was with you in that glorious battle!”
“Soldiers, we are all professionals. Shall we cut these amateur bastards to pieces?”
A loud cheer erupted from the ranks of the soldiers, swords and shields were clashed together and their mouths bellowed in applaud. Samil’s heart lifted with pride.
The camp was broken and they marched away in the morning sun.
CHAPTER 10
“As mortals, we have a barrier
in the level of power we can wield. No
matter what we try, with magick or psionics or by completely mundane means,
sooner or later we will hit the wall and there is no trivial way to pass this
wall. For perhaps this is a...
Continue Reading...Rance by Grey Area
Added on Jun 4, 2008The ever-elusive Lieutenant Rance Kurac in his natural environment. A collaborative work: art by Fathi, coloured by Grey Area.
The Currents of Magcik by Briar
Added on May 24, 2008A mage.
Lady of Tor by Ourla
Added on May 20, 2008In repose or in battle, a scorpion is always ready to strike.
Jiri by Silverfaune
Added on May 11, 2008Silver Scorpion and Tor Aide
Corporal by Briar
Added on May 5, 2008A Tuluki Coropral soon after his recovery from battle.
Gifted of the Elan Pah by Ourla
Added on May 5, 2008A desert elf Vivaduan keeps watch over the desert's precious oasis.
The Grey Man by Foolash
Added on May 5, 2008Another one of my hideously smudged left-handed abortions! Enjoy.
Wayfarers by Briar
Added on Apr 30, 2008Children of the Wayfarer's Road.
Soon the Day by Sarte
Added on Apr 27, 2008An original folk song dedicated to the disenfranchised of Tuluk.
Soon the day will come
When the winds will cease
And the dust can finally settle.
Soon the day will come
When rain will fall
And our thirst will rule no longer
And when that fateful day arrives
We will be free
We will be free
Soon the day will come
When those who are in doubt
Will know doubt no longer
Soon the day will come
When the spurned, the feared
Will know hate no longer
And when that fateful day arrives
We will be free
We will be freeSoon the day will come
When the winds will cease
And the dust can finally settle.
Soon the day will come
When rain will fall
And our thirst will rule no longer
And when that fateful day arrives
We will be free
We will be free
Soon the day will come
When those who are in doubt
Will know doubt no longer
Soon...
Continue Reading...The Beggar of Meleth's Circle by Silverfaune
Added on Apr 20, 2008Finished picture of the NPC that lounges outside the Inn in Meleth's Circle, Allanak.
This is a holdup!!! by Tarx
Added on Apr 20, 2008In Zalanthas, life sucks--and then someone tries to steal your sid.
************************************************************************************************
*****Working for House Kadius had its ups and downs, as this burgeoning merchant discovers.*****
************************************************************************************************
You think:
"Fuck storms. Always happening up here...why is it so bad here?"Terrible, biting sand whips around you.
You can't see a thing; sand swirls about you!You think:
"It's not fucking Red Storm."The Main Room of the Bard's Barrel [NSW]
A myriad of grinning skulls, each painted with bright colors laid
over the pallid bone, stare down from the broad wooden shelf that lines this
spacious room at eye level. Splashes of blue, green and red cover the clay
brick walls in an enthusiastic but inexpert abstract mural, some spatters of
the same paint dotted across the red tiled floor. The room is filled with
clamor: the clink and clatter of dishes and drinks, instruments being tuned,
scraps of song, and a general constant roar of conversation. A small wooden
stage sits along the northern wall, two ragged velvet curtains framing it,
looped back with blue-dyed ropes. A wide archway leads out onto the dusty
street, while a smaller one to the west provides a glimpse of a smaller,
quieter chamber.
A wall here is designated as a message board.
The solemn, club-footed man limps slowly along here.
The small, dark-haired man sits at a table in the back, staring into his drink.
The bald, muscular woman slouches at a large table, drinking ale.
The huge, sun-bronzed man surveys the room casually from a table here.
The husky, weatherworn dwarf is here, seated at a large table, drinking ale.
A tall, amber-eyed woman polishes glasses behind the boxy wooden bar.
A lean, spike-haired elf drums softly in the corner.
A lean, grey-eyed bard leans against the stage.
The figure in a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak has arrived from the north.
The figure in a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak starts cleaning.
The figure in a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak dusts herself off.
The figure in a burned drab, weathered stormcloak walks south.
Sighing as he sits back down at a boxy wooden bar, you say, in sirihish:
"Fuck tha'."You sit at a boxy wooden bar.
eq
You are using:
<worn on head> a dusty loose blue linen surmud
<worn about throat> a dusty water gourd
<worn across back> a dusty large chalton-hide backpack
<worn on torso> a trim cobalt vest
<worn on arms> a pair of blue and purple armbands
<worn around body> a dusty embroidered white crepe caftan
<worn on legs> a pair of blue linen pants
<worn on feet> a dusty pair of sandcloth and leather bootsYou start cleaning.
You dust yourself off.
The figure in a burned drab, weathered stormcloak has arrived from the south.
The figure in a burned drab, weathered stormcloak starts cleaning.
The figure in a burned drab, weathered stormcloak dusts herself off.
The figure in a burned drab, weathered stormcloak brushes her self off, sprinkling dust onto the floor.
The female wearing a burned thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap lowers the hood of a burned drab, weathered stormcloak.
The female wearing a burned thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap sits at a boxy wooden bar.
Tugging it down to her neck, the sinuous, olive-skinned woman stops using her burned thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap.
At your table, you say in sirihish, shifting his gaze to regard the sinuous, olive-skinned woman:
"Evenin'."
It is late at night on Yochem, the 161st day of the Low Sun,
In the Year of Jihae's Reverence, year 34 of the 21st Age.
At your table, the sinuous, olive-skinned woman says in sirihish:
"Evenin'."
At your table, the sinuous, olive-skinned woman says in sirihish, half-turning in her seat to look out at the plaza:
"Bad storm out there."
The tan, blonde man has arrived from the north.
At your table, you say in sirihish, with a half-hearted grunt:
"Yah. I noticed...got m' ass back in here."
At your table, the sinuous, olive-skinned woman says in sirihish:
"Yeah."
The tan, blonde man suddenly pulls out a crossbow.
The tan, blonde man exclaims, in sirihish:
"This is a holdup!"
The tan, blonde man exclaims, in sirihish:
"Hands in the air, packs on the ground!"
The sinuous, olive-skinned woman looks at you.
The sinuous, olive-skinned woman looks up at the tan, blonde man.
The tan, blonde man looks down at the sinuous, olive-skinned woman.
The tan, blonde man exclaims, in sirihish:
"I'm not messing around here!"
Pushing up from her seat, the sinuous, olive-skinned woman stands up from a boxy wooden bar.
The sinuous, olive-skinned woman draws an obsidian-headed polished-bone mace.
The sinuous, olive-skinned woman draws an obsidian halfsword.
The tan, blonde man steadies himself and takes aim.
The sinuous, olive-skinned woman narrowly avoids a dusty small cynipri crossbow fired by the tan, blonde man.
The sinuous, olive-skinned woman swiftly dodges the tan, blonde man's hits.
The sinuous, olive-skinned woman swiftly dodges the tan, blonde man's hits.
The tan, blonde man attempts to flee.
The tan, blonde man runs west.
The sinuous, olive-skinned woman walks west.
The sinuous, olive-skinned woman has arrived from the west.
The dusky, curly-haired man peers up towards the west with an incredulous expression on his face.
Scratching her head, the sinuous, olive-skinned woman says, in sirihish:
"Bizarre."You look up at the sinuous, olive-skinned woman.
A light, short scar marks the base of this woman's chin and extends
diagonally to just under her jaw. The rest of her face is comparatively
unremarkable, set with a small nose, dull brown eyes, high, stern-looking
cheek bones, and thin eyebrows. Well-groomed though unbound brown hair
falls down to the middle of her back, curled carefully behind her gently
pointed ears at the sides so as to be kept of her sight. Beneath her olive
skin is lean, sinuous musculature, conspiring with her slender frame to lend
her a fluid, graceful look.
The sinuous, olive-skinned woman is in excellent condition.The sinuous, olive-skinned woman is using:
<worn on head> a burned bone-studded leather cap
<worn in hair> a stiff, white-petalled flower
<worn in left ear> a rose-carved green marble earring
<worn in right ear> a rose-carved green marble earring
<worn around neck> a stiff, black-leather gorget
<worn about throat> a water gourd
<slung across back> a curving bone shortbow
<worn across back> a stained double-layered sandcloth pack
<worn on left shoulder> a stained orange cloth epaulette
<worn on arms> a pair of leather-reinforced sandcloth sleeves
<worn around wrist> a studded hide wrist-wrap
<worn around wrist> a studded hide wrist-wrap
<worn on hands> a bloodied pair of grey leather gloves
<primary hand> an obsidian-headed polished-bone mace
<secondary hand> an obsidian halfsword
<worn around body> a burned drab, weathered stormcloak
<worn on legs> a stained pair of leather-reinforced sandcloth leggings
<worn on feet> a pair of carru hide bootsShe is carrying:
nothing obvious
At your table, you say in sirihish, blinking:
"did...wh...did you kill him?"
Shaking her head, the sinuous, olive-skinned woman says, in sirihish:
"No. I don't know where he went."
You think:
"I'll find his ass."
The sinuous, olive-skinned woman sheathes an obsidian-headed polished-bone mace.
The sinuous, olive-skinned woman sheathes an obsidian halfsword.*****************************************************************************
*** Time passes ***
*****************************************************************************
At your table, you say in sirihish, frowning deeply:
"Hmm..."
The sinuous, olive-skinned woman sits at a boxy wooden bar.
At your table, you say in sirihish, frowning towards the sinuous, olive-skinned woman:
"I saw 'im run out inta the storm."
At your table, the sinuous, olive-skinned woman says in sirihish:
"You did?"A wide archway leads out onto a busy, dusty plaza.
[Very far]
The figure in a dusty set of hooded, silver-slashed robes is standing here.
The tanned, red-haired girl stumbles along here, looking unwell.
[Far]
A rag-clad elvish child runs along, playing with a ball.
A line of lizards is carved atop a red sandstone wall.
[Near]
A clay-stained human potter sits here on a woven mat of grass.
A lithe, obsidian-eyed woman lounges near the tavern entrance.
The figure in a dusty set of hooded, silver-slashed robes has arrived from the north.The figure in a dusty set of hooded, silver-slashed robes starts cleaning.
At your table, you say in sirihish, bobbing his head in agreement:
"Or at least, heard 'im. I dunno if ya ken jump offa th' balcony...but..."
The figure in a dusty set of hooded, silver-slashed robes dusts himself off.At your table, you say in sirihish, shrugging:
"'eard a clutter off t' the north. Figgered it might be him."
At your table, the sinuous, olive-skinned woman says in sirihish:
"Huh."
The figure in a set of hooded, silver-slashed robes steps further into the room and pulls a chair back from a broad table of scarred agafari wood.
The figure in a set of hooded, silver-slashed robes sits at a broad table of scarred agafari wood.
At your table, you say in sirihish, sighing:
"Didja get a good look at 'im?"
At your table, the sinuous, olive-skinned woman says in sirihish:
"Yeah. Blue eyes, crooked nose, light hair."
At your table, the sinuous, olive-skinned woman says in sirihish:
"Fairly non-descript, otherwise."
You think:
"I wonder..."
At your table, you say in sirihish, rubbing at his temples as he glances down to a stone-tipped bone bolt:
"Shit. Think we shoul' find a templar's mind?"
The sinuous, olive-skinned woman stands up from a boxy wooden bar.
The sinuous, olive-skinned woman picks up a stone-tipped bone bolt.
It is before dawn on Huegel, the 162nd day of the Low Sun,
In the Year of Jihae's Reverence, year 34 of the 21st Age.
The sinuous, olive-skinned woman sits at a boxy wooden bar.
At your table, the sinuous, olive-skinned woman says in sirihish, looking her stone-tipped bone bolt over:
"If you know any."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You are unable to reach their mind.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You are unable to reach their mind.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You are unable to reach their mind.You think:
"Well fuck, come on. Templarate? Heeeeello?"
You are unable to reach their mind.You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar with the Way.
The sinuous, olive-skinned woman stands up from a boxy wooden bar.
The sinuous, olive-skinned woman peers around at the crowd.
The sinuous, olive-skinned woman intently scans the area.
The sinuous, olive-skinned woman stands at a boxy wooden bar.
The sinuous, olive-skinned woman leans her hip against the a boxy wooden bar.
Pulling it up to her nose, the sinuous, olive-skinned woman places her burned thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap onto her
face.At your table, the female wearing a burned thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap says in sirihish, with a smirk:
"Ah well. This bolt'll sell for at least twenty 'sid."You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar:
"There's a fella out running around trying to rob people!"
At your table, you say in sirihish, touching his temples with one hand:
"Foun' a templar...yanno, th' one stationed on Caravan Way. Jus' east o' the Gaj? Mebbe we can go explain things up t' them."You dissolve the psychic link.
The female wearing a burned thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap says to you, in sirihish:
"Really? Yeah, alright."
The female wearing a burned thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap says to you, in sirihish:
"I think the man was just crazy, personally. It may not be worth the time of the templarate ... but who knows."
The female wearing a burned thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap raises the hood of a burned drab, weathered stormcloak.
The figure in a burned drab, weathered stormcloak asks you, in sirihish:
"Does he have time to talk to us?"
The tall, brutish man has arrived from the west.You stand up from a boxy wooden bar.
Shrugging, you say, in sirihish:
"Not sure. We ken try."It is dawn on Huegel, the 162nd day of the Low Sun,
In the Year of Jihae's Reverence, year 34 of the 21st Age.
The figure in a burned drab, weathered stormcloak falls in behind you.******************************************
****They walk to where the templar is.****
******************************************Caravan Road [EW]
Stretching itself out here is a long road, paved in rough yellowy
brown sandstone, covered with reddish dust and sand, and wide enough that at
least four caravans could pass through. The sun-browned backs of slaves
march along, carrying goods. The sky's blood-red glory shines from above
the main gate, highlighting its ominously smooth stones.
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar is standing here.
The thick-limbed, leather-skinned dwarf drags a cart behind him here.
The figure in a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak has arrived from the east.
The figure in a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak whispers to you, in sirihish:
"I think you should probably do the talking."The dusky, curly-haired man nods to the figure in a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak, clearing his throat and bowing
towards the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar.
You look up at the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar.
Long locks of auburn-brown hair adorn this human woman's head, falling to
the small of her back. Her face is dainty and elegantly-lined, with high
cheekbones and thin, dark brown eyebrows. Her pale gray eyes survey her
surroundings, at the same time somehow seeming melancholy and devoid of
emotion. Her shoulders are fairly broad, and her frame appears athletic,
though not heavy or particularly muscular.
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar is in excellent condition.The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar is using:
<worn on head> a blue silk hood
<worn in hair> a painted bone hairclasp
<worn around neck> a medallion of Tektolnes
<worn across back> an oversized black backpack
<worn around wrist> a grey granite bracelet
<worn around wrist> a thin, carved, white marble bracelet
<worn on right finger> a silver and marble signet ring
<worn on left finger> an obsidian templar ring
<worn around body> a blue, hooded templar's robe
<worn on legs> a flowing, blue silk skirt
<worn on feet> a pair of black leather bootsShe is carrying:
nothing obvious
The figure in a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak bows to the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar with you.
The figure in a dusty set of hooded, silver-slashed robes has arrived from the east.
The figure in a dusty set of hooded, silver-slashed robes walks west.
The black-eyed, elven man has arrived from the east.
The black-eyed, elven man walks west.
Clearing his throat once more, you say to the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar, in sirihish:
"My Lady Templar....ah...we kinna ran inta this fella tryin' t' steal our shit. He ran off, though..but..."
The black-eyed, elven man has arrived from the west.
The black-eyed, elven man walks east.Blinking a few times towards the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar, you say to the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar, in
sirihish:
"Err...well, I'll come find a templar 'at's not busy, sorry t' bother ya, my Lady Templar."
***************************************************
**** The two head back to the Bard's Barrel. ****
***************************************************
The Main Room of the Bard's Barrel [NSW]
A myriad of grinning skulls, each painted with bright colors laid
over the pallid bone, stare down from the broad wooden shelf that lines this
spacious room at eye level. Splashes of blue, green and red cover the clay
brick walls in an enthusiastic but inexpert abstract mural, some spatters of
the same paint dotted across the red tiled floor. The room is filled with
clamor: the clink and clatter of dishes and drinks, instruments being tuned,
scraps of song, and a general constant roar of conversation. A small wooden
stage sits along the northern wall, two ragged velvet curtains framing it,
looped back with blue-dyed ropes. A wide archway leads out onto the dusty
street, while a smaller one to the west provides a glimpse of a smaller,
quieter chamber.
A wall here is designated as a message board.
The tall figure in a dusty hooded, dun-colored dustcloak is standing here.
The figure in a dusty hooded, dun-colored dustcloak is standing here.
The solemn, club-footed man limps slowly along here.
The small, dark-haired man sits at a table in the back, staring into his drink.
The bald, muscular woman slouches at a large table, drinking ale.
The huge, sun-bronzed man surveys the room casually from a table here.
The husky, weatherworn dwarf is here, seated at a large table, drinking ale.
A tall, amber-eyed woman polishes glasses behind the boxy wooden bar.
A lean, spike-haired elf drums softly in the corner.
A lean, grey-eyed bard leans against the stage.
The figure in a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak has arrived from the north.Shaking his head, you say, in sirihish:
"Guess we'll wait till we fin' someone."
You sit at a boxy wooden bar.You start cleaning.
You dust yourself off.
Looking her stone-tipped bone bolt over, the figure in a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak says to you, in sirihish:
"I'm going to see how much this fetches."
The figure in a dusty hooded, dun-colored dustcloak looks down at you.
The tall figure in a dusty hooded, dun-colored dustcloak starts cleaning.
The tall figure in a dusty hooded, dun-colored dustcloak dusts herself off.
The figure in a dusty hooded, dun-colored dustcloak starts cleaning.
The figure in a dusty hooded, dun-colored dustcloak dusts herself off.
Gazing around the room, the figure in a hooded, dun-colored dustcloak says to the tall figure in a hooded, dun-colored dustcloak, in sirihish:
"Might be we'll find someone in th'Gaj lookin ta join. It's just th'regulars here taday."
The figure in a hooded, dun-colored dustcloak walks north.
The tall figure in a hooded, dun-colored dustcloak walks north.
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
The sinuous, olive-skinned woman sends you a telepathic message:
"I found him, he's in the Bazaar. I don't know what to do, though."You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the sinuous, olive-skinned woman with the Way.You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the sinuous, olive-skinned woman:
"Hmm...keep track of him? I'll keep trying to find a templar."You dissolve the psychic link.
You think:
"Hmm...fuck, we -do- need a templar."You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the sinuous, olive-skinned woman with the Way.You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the sinuous, olive-skinned woman:
"No luck yet. I don't know what to do, either..."
You dissolve the psychic link.
The sinuous, olive-skinned woman sends you a telepathic message:
"He's gone."*****************************************************************
*****************************************************************You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the sinuous, olive-skinned woman with the Way.The sinuous, olive-skinned woman sends you a telepathic message:
"I found him again, he's out in the wastes. A gemmer and I have caught him."You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the sinuous, olive-skinned woman:
"Oh, good. Well, do what you want. I'll be glad to have him out of comission."You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
You dissolve the psychic link.
************************************************************************************************
*****Working for House Kadius had its ups and downs, as this burgeoning merchant discovers.*****
************************************************************************************************
You...
Continue Reading...The Morning Sun by Sokotra
Added on Apr 15, 2008Pen, pencil, newspaper. Done way back in '99, as you can see on the newspaper. Inspired by a certain mul-like mud elemental(?) and other experiences I had in the game from around that time.
The Fortune Teller by Tarimad
Added on Apr 15, 2008Two old elves take a glimpse into the future.
The scene begins in a seedy tavern, somewhere in the ‘Rinth…
The sharp-chinned, braided elf asks the tiny-headed half-giant, in sirihish:
"Hey, you got any spice, ya lazy feck?"
The sharp-chinned, braided elf coughs.
The sharp-chinned, braided elf eats a portion of a serving of strewn moss pasta.
The sharp-chinned, braided elf eats a half eaten serving of strewn moss pasta.
The sharp-chinned, braided elf says to the tiny-headed half-giant, in sirihish:
"Well let me know if you find any."
The stooped, scar-torn elf continues shuffling your deck of Kruth cards, the worn vellum slips slapping against each other rhythmically.
You think:
"Hmm."
In a casual tone, spreading a few Kruth cards over his knuckles in a fan-shape, you say to the sharp-chinned, braided elf, in sirihish:
"You know, they sell it in the backroom of this place. Ain't no big secret."
The sharp-chinned, braided elf's eyes close in concentration for a moment. They open suddenly.
The sharp-chinned, braided elf glances at you with a start.
The sharp-chinned, braided elf asks you, in sirihish:
"No shit? And just anyone can get it?"
The stooped, scar-torn elf returns a few Kruth cards to the deck with a faint snap.
You begin speaking allundean.
Slipping fluently into another tongue, you say to the sharp-chinned, braided elf, in allundean:
"Aye. It's pricey, but, if'n you're desperate..."
The sharp-chinned, braided elf nods at you.
The sharp-chinned, braided elf says, in sirihish:
"I hear you."
The sharp-chinned, braided elf stands up from a scarred, round table.
The sharp-chinned, braided elf says to you, in sirihish:
"Pardon me for a moment."
The sharp-chinned, braided elf asks the grey-clad elf a question.
The sharp-chinned, braided elf haggles with the grey-clad elf for a moment.
The stooped, scar-torn elf nods cordially towards the sharp-chinned, braided elf before returning his attention to your deck of Kruth cards.
The sharp-chinned, braided elf turns back to you.
The sharp-chinned, braided elf asks you, in sirihish:
"Fecker says I'm too poor. How much do they charge, usually?"
Not looking up from your deck of Kruth cards, you say to the sharp-chinned, braided elf, in allundean:
"Dunno. Don't touch the shit, personally. Just know they sell it back there, and that they have a pretty high cover charge."
The sharp-chinned, braided elf says, in allundean:
"Damn. All these years, and I never knew that."
The sharp-chinned, braided elf asks you, in allundean:
"I'll bet you know all sorts of shit, eh?"
With a light shrug, you ask the sharp-chinned, braided elf, in allundean:
"Who doesn't know something?"
The sharp-chinned, braided elf nods to you, turning back towards a crude, makeshift bar.
Calling out, you say to the sharp-chinned, braided elf, in allundean:
"Wait a moment."
The sharp-chinned, braided elf stops in his tracks.
The sharp-chinned, braided elf turns around slowly.
Spreading out your deck of Kruth cards in a fan-like shape, and offering them to the sharp-chinned, braided elf, you say to the sharp-chinned, braided elf, in allundean:
"Indulge me. Pick a card."
The sharp-chinned, braided elf shrugs, reaching towards one in the middle.
You deal a Kruth card to the sharp-chinned, braided elf.
You ask the sharp-chinned, braided elf, in allundean:
"Lemme see?"
The sharp-chinned, braided elf pulls the card towards his face, a wide smile cracking his lips.
The sharp-chinned, braided elf holds up his Kruth card: the Water of Kings for all to see.
The sharp-chinned, braided elf asks you, in allundean:
"You play?"
The sharp-chinned, braided elf gives you a Kruth card: the Water of Kings.
As dusk falls, a couple of elves move over to the entrance, lighting the lamps beside the mantis carving.
Speaking to himself, and staring at your Kruth card: the Water of Kings contemplatively, you say, in allundean:
"Interesting..."
Glancing up, you say to the sharp-chinned, braided elf, in allundean:
"Hmm? Oh, yes. I suppose you could say that."
The sharp-chinned, braided elf asks you, in allundean:
"You ever hear of a game called Spice Run?"
With a nod, you say to the sharp-chinned, braided elf, in allundean:
"Aye, but I haven't played in a while."
The sharp-chinned, braided elf watches you momentarily for a reaction, then appears to reach some sort of conclusion.
The sharp-chinned, braided elf sits at some stacked and overturned crates.
The sharp-chinned, braided elf straightens his cloak.
The stooped, scar-torn elf shuffles your Kruth card: the Water of Kings into your deck of Kruth cards, eyeing the sharp-chinned, braided elf diplomatically.
Ok.
You break a Kruth card: the Water of Kings.
The sharp-chinned, braided elf inhales slowly.
At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean:
"You got a name?"
At your table, you say in allundean, nodding stiffly:
"Aye."
At your table, you say in allundean, after a deliberate pause:
"You may call me Mal."
You think:
"He drew the Water of Kings..."
You think:
"The card of rightful reward. Of vindication."
Seeming slightly distracted, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says, in allundean:
"My name is Eercdro, Mal. Pleasure ture make your acquaintance."
At your table, you say in allundean, nodding:
"Aye. Pleasure."
At your table, you say in allundean, running the tip of his tongue over his scarred lips:
"So what do you do when you're not looking to score spice, Eercdro?"
At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean:
"I'm retired, young man. Now I work as a consort to the Haruch Kemad tribe, right?"
At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean:
"It's a living."
At your table, you say in allundean:
"A consort?"
At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean:
"That's a fact."
The sharp-chinned, braided elf inhales slowly, deeply.
At your table, you say in allundean, nodding once and thumbing through your deck of Kruth cards:
"I see. Well I'm a fortune teller, if it's any interest to you. Spend a lot of time southside, and all that."
At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean:
"No kidding? How much is a fortune?"
At your table, you say in allundean:
"Well, southside I charge 'tween thirty and fifty 'sid. But up here, things are a bit more negotiable, yes?"
The sharp-chinned, braided elf snickers.
At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean:
"Amen to that. Praise be the Highlord."
The stooped, scar-torn elf laughs- a light, wheezy noise.
At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean:
"Well you gotta help me out, then. I need to know... --the future-- but I ain't got no thirty coins, right?"
At your table, you say in allundean, nodding solemnly and tapping your deck of Kruth cards:
"I think I might be able to help you out, Eercdro. You drew quite an interesting card, just now..."
At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean, leaning foward, glancing at the deck, fascinated:
"You serious?"
At your table, you say in allundean, pushing back away from some stacked and overturned crates just a bit:
"Yes. Could be very good, or very bad. I'd be willing to give you a hefty discount, simply out of my own curiosity. Of course, I can't give readings away for free..."
At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean, leaning back once again. His voice takes on a cool tone, but his eyes betray his obvious interest:
"Course not, nothing's free, except sand."
At your table, you say in allundean:
"Think you could spare fifteen 'sid for a glimpse into your future?"
At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean:
"Fifteen? Ain't no way you could go down to thirteen?"
At your table, you say in allundean:
"Thirteen? For a local?"
At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean:
"No, man. Thirteen for --me.--"
At your table, you say in allundean, nodding and resting his arms on a crate in between him and the sharp-chinned, braided elf:
"Aye, sure."
The sharp-chinned, braided elf smiles.
The sharp-chinned, braided elf begins counting out a few coins.
At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean:
"Oh, feck. I only got twelve, is that a problem?"
At your table, you say in allundean, laughing shortly:
"Only a problem for the man that's giving away his last twelve coins."
The sharp-chinned, braided elf shrugs his shoulders.
At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean, handing over the money to you:
"Gotta know the future, man."
The sharp-chinned, braided elf gives you 12 coins.
>You are carrying:
12 obsidian pieces
a deck of Kruth cards
At your table, you say in allundean, nodding:
"Aye, I understand."
At your table, you say in allundean, expression suddenly serious:
"Now. You look to me like a man that's got a particular question rolling about 'tween his ears. Am I right?"
The sharp-chinned, braided elf appears to think hard about the question. Eventually, he nods.
At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean:
"Yeah, that's right. How'd ya know?"
At your table, you say in allundean, tapping your deck of Kruth cards:
"I didn't. They did."
At your table, you say in allundean:
"Would you be comfortable asking your question out loud? It allows for a more accurate read."
At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean:
"Yeah, sure."
At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean:
"I'm trying to find a friend of mine. She's... missing."
The stooped, scar-torn elf nods, remaining silent. He shuffles your deck of Kruth cards vigorously, his gaze not straying from the sharp-chinned, braided elf's eyes. Eventually, he holds out the cards in a fan-shape, offering them to the sharp-chinned, braided elf.
The short figure in a dusty hooded, ebony cloak has arrived from the north.
At your table, you say in allundean:
"Pick one."
The sharp-chinned, braided elf leans forward.
The short figure in a dusty hooded, ebony cloak puts a set of fake elf ears inside a pair of brown leather pocketed pants.
The short figure in a dusty hooded, ebony cloak makes his way up to the stack of crates, looking down at you.
The short figure in a dusty hooded, ebony cloak looks down at you.
The sharp-chinned, braided elf's hands hover over the cards. The gravity of his decision is apparent in his actions.
The sharp-chinned, braided elf chooses a card at last.
You deal a Kruth card to the sharp-chinned, braided elf.
The sharp-chinned, braided elf holds up his Kruth card: the Stone of Life for you to see.
At your table, you say in allundean, watching the sharp-chinned, braided elf intently:
"I see. Put it down on the table, there. In the center."
The sharp-chinned, braided elf drops his Kruth card: the Stone of Life onto some stacked and overturned crates.
The sharp-chinned, braided elf gives you a Kruth card: the Stone of Life.
At your table, you say in allundean, lacing his long fingers together as he addresses the sharp-chinned, braided elf:
"The cards... they really respond to you. This "friend" you're looking for... quite important yes?"
At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean:
"Drov yeah, real important."
The disheveled, grid-tattooed man lowers the hood of a dusty hooded, ebony cloak.
The sharp-chinned, braided elf doesn't seem to notice the disheveled, grid-tattooed man, so intent is he on your cards.
At your table, you say in allundean:
"It's interesting that you chose the Stone of Life."
At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean:
"Oh yeah? Whatsit mean?"
The sharp-chinned, braided elf appears to hang on your every word.
The sharp-chinned, braided elf glances over at the disheveled, grid-tattooed man suddenly.
The disheveled, grid-tattooed man nods down to the sharp-chinned, braided elf.
The sharp-chinned, braided elf nods to the disheveled, grid-tattooed man quickly before returning his gaze to you.
The sharp-chinned, braided elf motions the disheveled, grid-tattooed man over.
At your table, you say in allundean:
"It is the card of... finding. Of absolute gain. It represents birth, sudden wealth… or the failure to grasp such an opportunity."
The disheveled, grid-tattooed man sits at some stacked and overturned crates.
At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean:
"Damn, failure? I can't deal with that. How do I get this... wealth?"
The disheveled, grid-tattooed man slides onto a crate, pulling it up to the table.
At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in sirihish:
"Pardon me, a moment. Round-Ears, this is Mal. Mal, meet Round-Ears."
Faint outside light slowly brightens the smoky haze of the main room as Suk-Krath rises.
The disheveled, grid-tattooed man looks you up and down cautiously for a moment before nodding.
At your table, you say in allundean, glancing towards the disheveled, grid-tattooed man for a brief moment:
"Hmm. Round-Ears. Well met."
At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in sirihish, to you:
"He's okay. He's from the neighborhood."
At your table, you say in allundean, returning his attention to the sharp-chinned, braided elf and giving your Kruth card: the Stone of Life a tap:
"Now, this card does not guarantee that you will find what you're seeking. It merely shows the importance of it, aye?"
At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in sirihish:
"No gaurantees, eh? Krath. That's kinda heavy."
At your table, the disheveled, grid-tattooed man says in sirihish, raising an eyebrow at the sharp-chinned, braided elf:
"Neighborhood? Man I meet you in a bar on the west side. Only reason I talk to you is for gambling, man."
The sharp-chinned, braided elf ignores the disheveled, grid-tattooed man for a moment.
At your table, you say in allundean, ignoring the disheveled, grid-tattooed man:
"It was simply the first card. Here... let's see what can else we can learn."
You deal yourself a Kruth card: the Sun of Truth.
At your table, the disheveled, grid-tattooed man says in sirihish, glancing from the sharp-chinned, braided elf to you:
"Thing is, I was just wondering if you people would like to help me beat the shit out of another round-ear."
The disheveled, grid-tattooed man shrugs and pushes back in his chair slightly.
At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in sirihish, to the disheveled, grid-tattooed man:
"Not me, mate. I believe in non-violence."
The sharp-chinned, braided elf returns to watching you, held in suspense.
The stooped, scar-torn elf stares at your Kruth card: the Sun of Truth for a long moment, before handing it over to the sharp-chinned, braided elf.
A Kruth card depicting a set of scales backlit with an image of Suk-krath.
This card is made of a stiff, thick vellum. Carefully painted in the
foreground in full color is a large set of golden scales. The ornate scales
are carefully balancing three heavenly bodies. In one pan the two moons,
Jihae and Lirathu and in the other Suk-krath shines brightly. The scales
seem to glow against the relentless light from Suk-krath.
The disheveled, grid-tattooed man shrugs and shakes his head.
You give a Kruth card: the Sun of Truth to the sharp-chinned, braided elf.
At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in sirihish:
"Sun of Truth? What's that mean?"
At your table, the disheveled, grid-tattooed man says in sirihish:
"Fine, fine. But when that fecker lets it go to his head and he comes over to the east side…"
At your table, you say in allundean:
"In relation to your question, it represents those that can effect its answer."
The disheveled, grid-tattooed man shrugs and stands up from his crate.
The disheveled, grid-tattooed man stands up from some stacked and overturned crates.
The disheveled, grid-tattooed man sits at a crude, makeshift bar.
At your table, you say in allundean:
"Your friends. Your enemies. Krath, even me."
At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in sirihish:
"Well how do I know who can effect me? Seems to me, like that's what I need to know. Lotta possiblities."
At your table, you say in allundean, spreading his long-fingered hands dramatically:
"More generally, however, the Sun of Truth (as that card is called), represents trial. Pain and doubt, but a bringer of growth."
The sharp-chinned, braided elf frowns at your words.
At your table, you say in allundean:
"What this card seems to be saying is that you will find little help with your search. Or, perhaps, that what help you do receive will only harm you."
The sharp-chinned, braided elf's shoulders slump.
At your table, you say in allundean, shaking his head and leaning back slightly:
"But, don't get me wrong. It is -not- saying you won't find her."
At your table, you say in allundean:
"It simply says that, if you do, it will be because of -you-, Eercdro. This is -your- search."
At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean:
"Sounds like it all boils down to me."
At your table, you say in allundean, nodding sincerely:
"Aye. The Sun of Truth is not a bad card, Eercdro. It brings strength. But it is hard-won."
At your table, you say in allundean, lifting up your deck of Kruth cards:
"Now, let's move on. I'd like you to shuffle the deck a bit, and draw your own card again, since the cards seem to respond so strongly to you."
The sharp-chinned, braided elf nods, reaching out for the cards.
You give a deck of Kruth cards to the sharp-chinned, braided elf.
The sharp-chinned, braided elf begins to shuffle the deck of cards. His fingers prove reasonably nimble, like they know their way around a deck. He doesn't do anything fancy, sticking to conventional interchanges of the cards. Eventually, he turns over the top card.
The sharp-chinned, braided elf deals himself a Kruth card.
At your table, you say in allundean, with a faint nod:
"When you're ready, put it down with the others."
The sharp-chinned, braided elf holds up his Kruth card: the Sun of Life to you.
The sharp-chinned, braided elf returns the deck and his Kruth card: the Sun of Life to the table.
The sharp-chinned, braided elf gives you a deck of Kruth cards.
The stooped, scar-torn elf's scarred lips twist into a smile.
The sharp-chinned, braided elf gives you a Kruth card: the Sun of Life.
The sharp-chinned, braided elf gives you a Kruth card: the Sun of Truth.
At your table, you say in allundean, shaking his head several times:
"My, my, my. What an interesting read this has been!"
You are carrying:
12 obsidian pieces
a Kruth card: the Sun of Truth
a Kruth card: the Sun of Life
a deck of Kruth cards
a Kruth card: the Stone of Life
A Kruth card depicting a healthy tree, Suk-krath glowing in the sky above
it.
This card is made of a stiff, thick vellum. Carefully painted in the
foreground in full color is a large, healthy green cylini tree. Dotted
around the thick brown trunk of the tree is a mosaic of wildflowers. Above
the tree Suk-krath is glowing brightly, shining down on the flora below.
At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean:
"Damn, Halfling's luck!"
At your table, you say in allundean, tapping your Kruth card: the Sun of Life:
"This falls in perfectly with your previous cards."
At your table, you say in allundean:
"This card represents the choice you have. How you can personally change the outcome of this decision."
The sharp-chinned, braided elf watches you, blinking only once.
At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean:
"How so?"
At your table, you say in allundean:
"And, as we already divined, it all comes down to you on this one, Eercdro."
At your table, you say in allundean, holding of your Kruth card: the Sun of Life, an intense expression on his face:
"Rebirth. Victory in battle. Pain bringing triumph."
The sharp-chinned, braided elf smiles contentedly.
At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean:
"All kinds of good shit."
At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean:
"Well believe me, Mal. I got pain in my life. All kinds of pain. But now what I need is triumph."
At your table, you say in allundean:
"If you can withstand the heat of Suk-Krath, you will be stronger for it. The cards seem to suggest that you will find your friend, or some important clue about her. But not without a great deal of work, and perhaps sacrifice."
At your table, you say in allundean, nodding, a faint smile on his face:
"I believe strongly that you will triumph."
The sharp-chinned, braided elf grins.
At your table, you say in allundean:
"Remember the first card you drew? The one of the King?"
At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean:
"Yeah?"
At your table, you say in allundean:
"It represents..."
The stooped, scar-torn elf pauses in his speech to make a strange motion in the air, as if physically searching for his next word.
At your table, you say in allundean:
"A deserved reward. Righteousness."
At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean:
"Righteousness, eh? That sounds like me."
At your table, you say in allundean:
"Benefits, Eercdro. Great benefits. And if you put that next to all this talk of trial and pain... well, you can figure it out for yourself, aye?"
At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean:
"Yeah, I feel like I know what I need to do."
At your table, you say in allundean, flashing a yellow-toothed grin:
"Glad I could help. I have to say, it's easy with you. The cards practically leapt out of the deck at you!"
The sharp-chinned, braided elf smiles.
At your table, you say in allundean, releasing a wheezy chuckle as he sets your deck of Kruth cards aside:
"In fact, I should probably let this deck cool off for a bit."
At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean:
"Krath-damn, I feel like I've had some good news this evening."
The sharp-chinned, braided elf glances over at the disheveled, grid-tattooed man for a long moment, before turning back to his table.
At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean:
"Man, this young generation. Always in a hurry to go knife somebody."
The disheveled, grid-tattooed man raises a hand rubbing his forehead, a frustrated look on his face.
At your table, you say in allundean:
"Indeed, indeed. Round-Ears... I think I've seen him southside quite a bit, actually."
The sharp-chinned, braided elf chuckles.
At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean:
"Yeah, I believe it."
The stooped, scar-torn elf bends down, slipping some coins into a pouch at his ankle.
You put a pile of coins inside a small leather pouch.
Ok.
At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean:
"Hey, you seen a Necker by the name of Octorix running around? Got green eyes?"
The stooped, scar-torn elf shuffles a few cards back into his deck of Kruth cards.
At your table, you say in allundean, shaking his head as he stuffs his deck into your plain sandcloth wristwrap:
"Nah, the name isn't familiar. Lots of green-eyed runners around, too."
You put a deck of Kruth cards inside a plain sandcloth wristwrap.
The sharp-chinned, braided elf nods.
At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean:
"At any rate."
At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean:
"So what family you in, mate? If you don't want to tell me, --you-- change the subject."
At your table, you say in allundean, after a long pause:
"So what exactly does a consort for the Haruch Kemad do?"
At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean:
"Mostly I fuck my Mistress for cash. Not a bad living, really. You ever met Kattria?"
At your table, you say in allundean:
"Kattria? No, I can't say that I have."
You think:
"Not a bad living at all..."
At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean:
"Yeah, she treats me alright. Keeps me fed and off the street. I get by."
At your table, you say in allundean, with a wry smile:
"Krath. I wouldn't mind getting work as a "consort"."
The sharp-chinned, braided elf smiles.
The sharp-chinned, braided elf looks at you.
The sharp-chinned, braided elf looks you up and down.
At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean:
"How long can you go for? You go for an hour?"
At your table, you say in allundean, snorting:
"Nah. I wasn't serious. I got other loyalties. And besides, fortune telling keeps me fed well enough."
At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean:
"Well, I had to make sure."
The sharp-chinned, braided elf chuckles.
At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean:
"Still, I got a good job. Command a lotta respect for it, a lotta respect."
At your table, you say in allundean, fiddling with your plain sandcloth wristwrap and chuckling lightly:
"Aye, aye. Well, I couldn't see myself doing much beyond reading the cards. Got to use what you're given, aye?"
At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean:
"Amen to that. Praise be His name, and shit. You got a good thing going, since you got The Sight."
At your table, you say in allundean, frowning slightly:
"You'd think so, aye, but... well, the fecks southside don't appreciate my craft like they used to."
The sharp-chinned, braided elf shakes his head.
At your table, you say in allundean, flashing a smile:
"Damn shame. But, feck, that's why I charge them half a small, aye?"
At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean:
"Them cheap ass, kank fucking, dilapidated sand-snorting sons of bitches. Sheeeeeyit, that's why I ain't go down there."
The stooped, scar-torn elf nods in agreement to the sharp-chinned, braided elf's words.
At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean:
"I hear you. I --hear--- you. Course, I kinda like it down there. They got one thing we ain't got up here."
At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean:
"You know what that is?"
At your table, you say in allundean:
"Deep pockets?"
The sharp-chinned, braided elf chuckles.
At your table, you say in allundean, shrugging:
"Well, that's why I go, anyway."
At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean, nodding in reluctant agreement:
"I'll give you that. Yeah, they got cash. But they also got -- security--."
At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean:
"Alright, Mal, nice to meet you."
At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean:
"Shade."
The sharp-chinned, braided elf stands up from some stacked and overturned crates.
Raising a hand in parting, you say to the sharp-chinned, braided elf, in allundean:
"Aye, shade. If you ever need my help again..."
The sharp-chinned, braided elf makes his way over to a crude, makeshift bar.
The sharp-chinned, braided elf says to you, in sirihish:
"I'll remember that."
The sharp-chinned, braided elf sits at a crude, makeshift bar.
You say to the sharp-chinned, braided elf, in allundean:
"I'll be sure to give a discounted price."
The sharp-chinned, braided elf waves to you.
The stooped, scar-torn elf gathers your dark, hooded cloak about him as he stands.
Rubbing at the small of his back a bit, you stand up from some stacked and overturned crates.
The stooped, scar-torn elf skirts past a few drunken patrons, heading outside.
Twisting Alleyway [NES]
Detritus and debris dominates this junction of twisting alleys.
Refuse of all varieties is strewn all about, including rags too torn and
filthy for even the most desperate to find useful, excrement, and perhaps a
humanoid corpse, most likely stripped of its possessions, perhaps even some
of its flesh gnawed or cut away. The overpowering, putrid odor of the
labyrinth is overwhelming here, and even in the relatively open space, the
tall, crumbling buildings seem to close in, creating a profound feeling of
claustrophobia.
This narrow, twisting alleyway snakes off to the north and east. A
loud, busy establishment of some sort can be seen to the south.
You draw an obsidian knife.
You draw an obsidian knife.
You raise the hood of a dark, hooded cloak.
The weary fortune teller returns to the streets and shadows, searching for a room to squat in for the night.
Abandoned Building [N]
Unsightly clutter lies strewn about the place, covered with sand and
grime from both wind and filthy occupants. The building is obviously
abandoned and fallen into disrepair, but it apparently still serves as at
least a sleeping-spot for desperate inhabitants of the labyrinth.
A doorway to the north serves as the exit from this building.
You think:
"He seemed impressed with my read."
You think:
"And why shouldn't he? It was a damn good read."
You think:
"He wrestled three 'sid away from me, aye... but what good'll three 'sid do him when he comes running to me to solve all his petty plights with the cards?"
You think:
"Twelve 'sid isn't too bad, either..."
You think:
"Besides... it was an interesting read."
The scene begins in a seedy tavern, somewhere in the ‘Rinth…
The sharp-chinned, braided elf asks the tiny-headed half-giant, in sirihish:
"Hey, you got any spice, ya lazy feck?"
The sharp-chinned, braided elf coughs.
The sharp-chinned, braided elf eats a portion of a serving of...
Continue Reading...Young Mother by Ourla
Added on Apr 14, 2008A teenage pickpocket and her infant child know that life on the Ivory streets is never easy.
Mages by Bast
Added on Apr 1, 2008Something a little more professional.
Untitled by AmandaGreathouse
Added on Apr 1, 2008An poem, from somewhere in Tuluk.
By Lirathu's light
In dark of night
A bitter wind blows through
In mind and heart
Though we're apart
Your mem'ry sees me through
With sparkling eyes
Like late night skies
You fill my very heart
And in my soul
I've lost control
From my mind you won't depart
By Lirathu's light
In dark of night
A bitter wind blows through
In mind and heart
Though we're apart
Your mem'ry sees me through
With sparkling eyes
Like late night skies
You fill my very heart
And in my soul
I've lost control
From my mind you won't depart
Continue Reading...A Dying Dirge by AmandaGreathouse
Added on Apr 1, 2008Short poem of remembrance.
Before kith and kin
It did begin
The brutal scouring of our hearts
And on the wind
Both foe and friend
In our pain, they play their parts
'Cross savage sand
And barren land
The dead all sing their dirge
Since then we've wept
Since then He's slept
Ever since that awful Dragon's purge
Before kith and kin
It did begin
The brutal scouring of our hearts
And on the wind
Both foe and friend
In our pain, they play their parts
'Cross savage sand
And barren land
The dead all sing their dirge
Since then we've wept
Since then He's slept
Ever since that awful...
Continue Reading...
