Original Submissions

• 

  Grandfather Carru and Mock-the-Void by Delirium
  Added on Mar 23, 2007

  This larger-than-life tale appears to originate from the Sun Runner tribe, and was passed around in Luir's for a while after it was told during a tall-tale contest.

  ---

  This is the story of Mock-the-Void and his battle with old Grandfather Carru, as it was passed down to me by my father and his mother's father's father's brother's uncle's father's father.
  
  He was out hunting, young Mock-the-Void, with his bow of mekillot rib and a quiver of diamond-tipped arrows, trotting along the trail which would someday become the great North Road. He went past the bluffs; they were still growing, too, they were just a pack of rowdy boulders back then. Bow in hand, he stalked on, past the King of Plants, the Queen of Lizards, past them all, low as a shadow and just as silent, when he saw.. Him.
  
  Big old Grandfather Carru, who he was hunting, for he was big enough to feed his entire tribe for years, and his hide was thick as a baobab tree, speckled with ages of weaponry from failed hunters before. Grandfather Carru's antlers were so big and sharp, they kept poking the northern sky and ripping little holes, some of which you can still see on clear nights.
  
  So Mock-the-Void slunk up, watching in awe as old Grandfather Carru grazed on boulders with his mighty, sharp teeth, taking them up between his powerful jaws and - CRUNCH! He stood in shock as Grandfather Carru crunched the very rockblood from that boulder, and drank it with a brutal twist of his neck, swallowing the remains!
  
  Now Mock-the-Void was brave but smart, so he waited for Grandfather Carru to sleep, watching nearby, watching and waiting. And he waited.. and waited.. and waited...
  
  Until finally, four weeks later, old Grandfather Carru put his head down and stayed still.  Thunder rose from that nose, which was big enough for an elf to run through, and Mock-the-Void knew he slept. Mock-the-Void crept up, with his finest diamond-tipped arrow nocked on his mighty mekillot-rib bow, and he aimed...and let fly...and struck true beneath the shoulder, where the heart would be.
  
  There the arrow stuck, for Grandfather Carru's hide was too tough for even Mock-the-Void's arrows, which had killed mekillot at two hundred paces.
  
  So Mock-the-Void crept away and found the King of Plants, who he'd passed on the way.  The King owed him a favor, for a favor done in childhood, so now to the King he asked for a seed. The King of Plants had seeds so sharp, so vicious, that they could pierce old Grandfather Carru's hide, and he gave one of those seeds to Mock-the-Void. After a week's labor with the finest wood and the truest cut feathers - from the fiercest verrin ever to fly, of course - tipped with the King's seed, he had his arrow.
  
  He went back to old Grandfather Carru, whose prints a man could stand in. Moving low as any quirri could be, he snuck around to the sleeping beast's face, for he wished to look in his eyes as he let the arrow fly.
  
  There he was, Mock-the-Void, in Grandfather Carru's face - and the old beast woke.
  
  Now my father's mother's father and my father's mother they come into disagreement on this bit... my father's mother says Grandfather Carru winked... and my father's mother's father, he says Grandfather Carru just lowered his head and charged.  His foot plowed up the rocks and sent them rolling clear to the east, forming the cliffs that we now know.
  
  Mock-the-Void was brave, if at this point a bit foolish, and let his arrow fly steady and true right into one of old Grandfather Carru's eyes.  Now, when you shoot, your feet are still, and still means you don't run.
  
  They say that Mock-the-Void was hit so hard he flew halfway across the known world before he went into the After, and they found his boots in the far valley of Xytrix Za - ten years later.
  
  But!
  
  That arrow was in Grandfather Carru's head. It took him two full weeks to realize he was dead, but all of a sudden he fell with a mighty crash among the scrub and rocks, right beside a vast deep chasm.
  
  Mock-the-Void's cousins and brothers and sisters were watching, and they saw him fall. They crawled in through his nose to cut him apart from the inside, for his hide was still too thick to cut through. And there a vine sprouted, curling up from the arrow in Grandfather Carru's head, and grew, and the King of Plants led his people north and settled along that vast chasm and grew fat off Grandfather Carru's remains.
  
  That is the story of Mock-The-Void and great Grandfather Carru. And it's why carru hate men and elf to this very day.

  This is the story of Mock-the-Void and his battle with old Grandfather Carru, as it was passed down to me by my father and his mother's father's father's brother's uncle's father's father.
  
  He was out hunting, young Mock-the-Void, with his bow of mekillot rib and a quiver of diamond-tipped...
  Continue Reading...

• 

  Negean Nobility by Ourla
  Added on Mar 23, 2007

  A young Governor mulls his next crafty maneuver over a glass of wine at the Sun King's Sanctuary.

  
• 

  Helmet Repair by FiveDisgruntledMonkeysWit
  Added on Mar 22, 2007

  A Kuraci saves a friend from a (probably well-deserved) beating by fixing a half-giant's helmet.

  ---

   The scene begins in the training yard, where a sparring session has gone horribly, horribly wrong...

   

  Screaming out, the bald, four-fingered man exclaims, in sirihish:

  "HELP!!"

   

  You fail the rescue.

   

  The enormous, weathered half-giant parries the bald, four-fingered man's attack.

   

  Yelling at you, the bald, four-fingered man exclaims, in sirihish:

  "Get over here bud!!"

   

  The screw-bearded man tries to dart in between the bald, four-fingered man and the enormous, weathered half-giant.

   

  Angrily, the enormous, weathered half-giant says, in tribal-accented sirihish:

  "You hurt my helmet."

   

  You fail the rescue.

   

  The bald, four-fingered man swiftly dodges the enormous, weathered half-giant's hits.

   

  The bald, four-fingered man bludgeons at the enormous, weathered half-giant's shield, nicking him.

   

  You heroically charge into the fight!

   

  The enormous, weathered half-giant hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.

   

  Looking up at the enormous, weathered half-giant, the bald, four-fingered man says, in sirihish:

  "Oh shet...I pissed him off."

   

  You lunge at the enormous, weathered half-giant, but your blow is deftly deflected by a mantis-shell breastplate.

   

  You exclaim, in sirihish:

  "Okay, break!"

   

  The enormous, weathered half-giant parries your attack.

   

  The bald, four-fingered man stumbles back against a mud brick wall.

   

  The enormous, weathered half-giant panics, and attempts to flee.

   

  The enormous, weathered half-giant runs east.

   

  The enormous, weathered half-giant has arrived from the east.

   

  The enormous, weathered half-giant turns towards the bald, four-fingered man, his expression full of rage.

   

  With a shake of his head, you say to the bald, four-fingered man, in sirihish:

  "Well, that's what you get for taunting 'em. Krath's blazing balls, man."

   

  With a concerned look, you ask the enormous, weathered half-giant, in sirihish:

  "Hey, Wind. Take it easy. It was just a game, remember?"

   

  Standing up from a mud brick wall, smiling nervously, the bald, four-fingered man says, in sirihish:

  "Uh...Wind. I was only messin' around man."

   

  His fist clenching tightly, the enormous, weathered half-giant says to the bald, four-fingered man, in tribal-accented sirihish:

  "You broke one of the horns."

   

  Holding his arms out wide, the bald, four-fingered man says, in sirihish:

  "We're all friends here."

   

  Positioning himself between the bald, four-fingered man and the enormous, weathered half-giant, you ask the enormous, weathered half-giant, in sirihish:

  "Easy, Wind. Easy. I'll fix it for you, okay?"

   

  Stomping his foot down hard as he feels to the broken horn on his bloodied anakore skull helm with black horns, the enormous, weathered half-giant exclaims, in tribal-accented sirihish:

  "This was a gift!"

   

  Frowning slightly as he shakes his head a bit, the bald, four-fingered man says, in sirihish:

  "I didn't mean to Wind. I'm sorry, big brother."

   

  You begin guarding the bald, four-fingered man.

   

  You say to the enormous, weathered half-giant, in sirihish:

  "I used to fix helmets all the time. That's no problem."

   

  Shrugging his shoulders a bit, the bald, four-fingered man says, in sirihish:

  "Wind...seriously, I don't know what to tell you."

   

  Raising both hands up, the bald, four-fingered man says, in sirihish:

  "It's training, man. A game you wanted to play. Shet happens. Please, I'm sorry."

   

  Looking down as he removes his bloodied anakore skull helm with black horns, the enormous, weathered half-giant asks you, in tribal-accented sirihish:

  "You can fix it?"

   

  The enormous, weathered half-giant stops using a bloodied anakore skull helm with black horns.

   

  With a nod, you say to the enormous, weathered half-giant, in sirihish:

  "I sure can. If you promise not to hurt Mosiah."

   

  The enormous, weathered half-giant expression calms visibly as his posture loosens, watching down at you.

   

  Shaking his head firmly, the enormous, weathered half-giant says to you, in tribal-accented sirihish:

  "I won't hurt Mosiah. I think Mosiah is a bad person though."

   

  The bald, four-fingered man stands quietly off to the side.

   

  Eyes on the enormous, weathered half-giant, you say to the bald, four-fingered man, in sirihish:

  "Recruit, find the piece of Wind's helmet your broke off."

   

  The enormous, weathered half-giant extends his bloodied anakore skull helm with black horns out towards you with a hopeful smile.

   

  The bald, four-fingered man gets on his knees, running his hands over the ground.

   

  The screw-bearded man reaches up for the enormous, weathered half-giant's helmet, inspecting it carefully.

   

  The enormous, weathered half-giant gives you a bloodied anakore skull helm with black horns.

   

  The dome of this anakore skull rises into a sharp slope, beset with two,

  large horns that shine dully in the light. Two beady eye sockets glare

  balefully into the distance, their sight gone long ago. Two rows of long,

  curved teeth hang down to frame the wearer's face, a stark reminder of their

  use in life to capture hapless victims in the dunes. Above, you can see

  where the horns have been affixed post-mortem to the skull as they complement

  its curvature and spiral out to either side of the wearer's head in

  a blue-black luminosity.

  It is stained with blood.

   

  The bald, four-fingered man frowns as he picks up a broken piece of horn and hands it up to you.

   

  Softly to you, the bald, four-fingered man says, in sirihish:

  "Sorry, man. Like I said, it was an accident."

   

  Idly, taking the horn-piece from the bald, four-fingered man, you say, in sirihish:

  "Don't apologize to me. Apologize to Wind."

   

  The bald, four-fingered man sits back on his knees.

   

  Adding darkly, you say to the bald, four-fingered man, in sirihish:

  "If you don't want to end up like Vaeth."

   

  Glancing over at the enormous, weathered half-giant, softly to you, the bald, four-fingered man asks, in sirihish:

  "I already did. What else is there to say?"

   

  The enormous, weathered half-giant stands firmly as he stares down at you hopefully, ignoring the conversation.

   

  Tinkering with your bloodied anakore skull helm with black horns and the horn-piece, you say to the bald, four-fingered man, in sirihish:

  "Tell him you're sorry you broke his helmet, and that you'll help me fix it. Which you will."

   

  Standing up as he walks up by you, to the enormous, weathered half-giant, the bald, four-fingered man asks, in sirihish:

  "Yeah Wind, I'll help Daktep fix it for you, how's that sound?"

   

  The bald, four-fingered man glances up at the enormous, weathered half-giant, then back at the helm in your hands.

   

  Bobbing his head once, not turning his gaze from his helmet in your possession, the enormous, weathered half-giant says to the bald, four-fingered man, in tribal-accented sirihish:

  "Okay, I guess."

   

  You say to the enormous, weathered half-giant, in sirihish:

  "You're in luck, Wind. Only a little piece broke off."

   

  Softly to you, pointing towards the broken horn, the bald, four-fingered man says, in sirihish:

  "Yeah, that goes right...there."

   

  The crimson sun sinks into the west, as the desert darkens.

   

  Holding up a chunk of horn about the size of a human thumb, you say, in sirihish:

  "See?"

   

  Looking the enormous, weathered half-giant over briefly, the bald, four-fingered man asks, in sirihish:

  "Wind, you wearing anything else that's a gift?"

   

  Motioning to his back then to his crude bone club, the enormous, weathered half-giant says to the bald, four-fingered man, in tribal-accented sirihish:

  "My shield and my club."

   

  Concentrating on your bloodied anakore skull helm with black horns, you say, in sirihish:

  "What I think we can do is tie it back on with a bit of leather. And then add some sort of adhesive. Maybe wood resin. Or some clay. Or even a bit of Odrean's gruel..."

   

  Chuckling as he looks up at you briefly, the bald, four-fingered man says, in sirihish:

  "Always knew that stuff wasn't real food."

   

  The bald, four-fingered man snickers as he looks back down at the helm.

   

  The screw-bearded man laughs weakly, then tucks your bloodied anakore skull helm with black horns under his arm. He holds the broken-off bit of horn in his other hand, clenching it tightly.

   

  You stop using a wooden training longsword.

   

  You stop using a cracked curved agafari shield.

   

  Pointing behind himself, the enormous, weathered half-giant says, in tribal-accented sirihish:

  "Lets go back and fix it."

   

  The enormous, weathered half-giant gets an ornate, red and white patterned shield from a leather backpack.

   

  Striding over the training yard, you say, in sirihish:

  "Aye. Let's see if there's anything we can use here in the Fort."

   

  The enormous, weathered half-giant holds an ornate, red and white patterned shield.

   

  The enormous, weathered half-giant stops using an used bloodied kank-shell hoplite shield.

   

  Scrub Plains [SW]

  A vast rolling plain unfolds in all directions, endless reaches of dry

  and dusty land, dotted with clumps of brownish grass and small stands of

  thornbush. Here and there, a stemwood or ocotillo moves with each whim of

  the winds, or a whipleaf scores the earth with its long, sharp needles.

  Throughout the plains, spires of sharp stone jut up from the earth like

  mighty reptiles, ringed by steppes of splintering red rock.

  To the north and east a towering wall of glazed mud bricks has been

  constructed, blocking any hope of travel.

  A squat grey adobe building extends from the northern wall.

  The enormous, weathered half-giant has arrived from the west.

   

  You enter a squat grey building.

   

  A Crowded Storeroom [NES]

  Clusters of green glow crystals suspended from nets in the ceiling cast

  a dubious green tint over everything in this crowded room. Wooden shelves

  line every wall, leaving only space for a narrow doorway set into each wall.

  Stacked in the center of the room are crates and sealed bags from which

  emanates the heady smell of unrefined spice.

  The enormous, weathered half-giant has entered a squat grey building.

   

  The enormous, weathered half-giant puts an used bloodied kank-shell hoplite shield inside a large hanging net.

   

  The bald, four-fingered man has entered a squat grey building.

   

  The screw-bearded man sets the helm on a nearby cot, then begins rummaging around the storeroom, digging into already-opened crates and glancing under cots.

   

  You put a bloodied anakore skull helm with black horns on a small leather cot.

   

  The enormous, weathered half-giant stands back as he watches you anxiously.

   

  Muttering quietly, you say, in sirihish:

  "Mostly spice in here... but if they store the training shields here, I figure they'd have something to repair the training shields..."

   

  To himself as he rubs his hand up and down the front of his ornate, red and white patterned shield, the enormous, weathered half-giant says, in tribal-accented sirihish:

  "I don't duck anymore. Getting hit in the head is bad."

   

  Glancing over, you say to the bald, four-fingered man, in sirihish:

  "Help me out, here. I'm looking for some leather scraps, and some baobab sap, ideally."

   

  The bald, four-fingered man sits down on a small leather cot and unshoulders his backpack.

   

  The bald, four-fingered man sits on a small leather cot.

   

  The bald, four-fingered man gets the disembodied head of a gortok from a rough canvas backpack.

   

  Holding up his disembodied head of a gortok, the bald, four-fingered man asks, in sirihish:

  "Think you can use anything off of this?"

   

  The screw-bearded man glances over at the bald, four-fingered man, his eyes widening with alarm and mild disgust.

   

  You ask the bald, four-fingered man, in sirihish:

  "Krath's blistered balls, man! What are you doing with that in your backpack?"

   

  Reaching behind himself, the enormous, weathered half-giant says to you, in tribal-accented sirihish:

  "I have a flower and some meat."

   

  Chuckling a bit, the bald, four-fingered man says, in sirihish:

  "Feck, don't ask me."

   

  Shaking his head and returning his attention to his rummaging, you say to the bald, four-fingered man, in sirihish:

  "I mean look around the storeroom. Krath, man."

   

  The bald, four-fingered man stands up from a small leather cot.

   

  The bald, four-fingered man walks east.

   

  Discovering a refuse bin full of leather scraps, you say, in sirihish:

  "Ah. Perfect."

   

  The screw-bearded man glances east, clearly annoyed.

   

  You shout in sirihish:

  "Hey! Hey! Mosiah! We're not allowed in there!"

   

  The bald, four-fingered man has arrived from the east.

   

  Pointing northwards, the enormous, weathered half-giant asks you, in tribal-accented sirihish:

  "I can go cut down a tree for you?"

   

  You say to the enormous, weathered half-giant, in sirihish:

  "Nah, Wind. Your helmet isn't hurt that bad."

   

  The bald, four-fingered man walks south.

   

  The screw-bearded man pulls a long, thin strip of leather from a refuse bin.

   

  Nodding to himself, you say, in sirihish:

  "Yes, this'll do."

   

  His expresion and voice calm now, the enormous, weathered half-giant says to you, in tribal-accented sirihish:

  "I used to cut trees down for Edrel's da, and he gave me fruit."

   

  The screw-bearded man moves over to a large hanging net, peering under and around it.

   

  Absently, you say, in sirihish:

  "That's nice."

   

  The screw-bearded man picks up a jar from underneath a large hanging net. He lifts the top off the jar and gives it a sniff.

   

  The bald, four-fingered man has arrived from the south.

   

  The bald, four-fingered man walks north.

   

  You shout in sirihish:

  "We're not allowed in there, either! Krath!"

   

  The bald, four-fingered man has arrived from the north.

   

  Gesturing to the room at large, you exclaim, in sirihish:

  "Look in -this- storeroom. This one. It's a big room! Look!"

   

  Shrugging his shoulders as he holds up a couple strands of wicker, the bald, four-fingered man says, in sirihish:

  "Well, if someone would feckin' tell me these things before."

   

  The screw-bearded man grunts quietly, snatching the wicker from the bald, four-fingered man.

   

  Shrugging his shoulders, the bald, four-fingered man says, in sirihish:

  "Feck man, you act as if I was given a proper tour or some shet."

   

  The screw-bearded man stows his training weapons before heading over to a small leather cot.

   

  You put a wooden training longsword inside a large, wooden crate.

   

  You put a cracked curved agafari shield inside a large hanging net.

   

  Holding up a finger, the bald, four-fingered man says, in sirihish:

  "Be right back."

   

  The bald, four-fingered man leaves a squat grey building.

   

  The enormous, weathered half-giant steps anxiously back and forth, glancing every so often towards you.

   

  You sit on a small leather cot, picking up the helm.

   

  You get a bloodied anakore skull helm with black horns from a small leather cot.

  It is no problem.

   

  Shaking his head as he paces, the enormous, weathered half-giant says, in tribal-accented sirihish:

  "Mosiah is a bad person."

   

  Motioning him over, you say to the enormous, weathered half-giant, in sirihish:

  "Aye, but not the worst. Come over, and I'll show you how to fix it."

   

  The enormous, weathered half-giant bobs his head as he moves over to your side, looking down at his helmet.

   

  You stop using a water gourd.

   

  Before taking a sip from your water gourd, you say to the enormous, weathered half-giant, in sirihish:

  "Now, we got some clay, some wicker, and a bit of leather. Not ideal for fixing horn or bone, but it'll work."

   

  You drink the water.

   

  You are carrying:

  a water gourd

  a bloodied anakore skull helm with black horns

   

  Wiping his mouth, you say, in sirihish:

  "First thing to do is to get the clay wet. It's the only way you can work with it."

   

  The bald, four-fingered man has entered a squat grey building.

   

  The bald, four-fingered man's torch flickers feebly.

   

  Shaking his head, the bald, four-fingered man says, in sirihish:

  "Hard to see out there."

   

  The bald, four-fingered man stops using a dim large wooden torch.

  The bald, four-fingered man extinguishes a dim large wooden torch.

   

  Looking over at you as he walks up, the bald, four-fingered man asks, in sirihish:

  "So how's it going?"

   

  The enormous, weathered half-giant stares down at your hands, his head moving up and down in a constant nod.

   

  The screw-bearded man pulls a small dollop of clay from the jar. He then wets the clay with a few drops of water from your water gourd, massaging it into a workable consistency.

   

  The bald, four-fingered man strokes his chin as he watches you work.

   

  Adding dabs of wet clay to the broken off end of your bloodied anakore skull helm with black horns' right horn, you ask, in sirihish:

  "Now, we use the clay to attach the broken tip to the rest of the helmet, see?"

   

  Mostly to himself, you say, in sirihish:

  "Not too much, now..."

   

  The screw-bearded man mushes the broken tip of horn into the rest of the helmet's horn. Reddish clay oozes out the sides, and the tip remains only loosely attached.

   

  His free hand opening and closing nervously, the enormous, weathered half-giant says, in tribal-accented sirihish:

  "Please be okay helmet."

   

  Glancing up toward the enormous, weathered half-giant, you ask, in sirihish:

  "Don;' worry. We're not quite done yet. See how it's crooked?"

   

  Taking a closer look at his helmet, the enormous, weathered half-giant says to you, in tribal-accented sirihish:

  "Ya. It is still broken."

   

  With a nod, you say, in sirihish:

  "Aye. But we can fix that with the leather, and with the wicker Mosiah found."

   

  The bald, four-fingered man glances up briefly at the enormous, weathered half-giant, then back at the helm in your hands.

   

  The enormous, weathered half-giant grins as he claps a large meaty hand to the front of his ornate, red and white patterned shield.

   

  The screw-bearded man wraps the thin length of leather around the horn, centering it at the fracture. He winds it tightly, forcing it to hold the horn-tip upright.

   

  Holding the leather in place with his thumb and index finger, you say, in sirihish:

  "Now, obviously, you need to do this part while the clay's still wet and malleable."

   

  You say, in sirihish:

  "Now that we got the leather to hold the horn in place, we're going to need the wicker to hold the leather in place."

   

  The screw-bearded man dips the two wicker reeds into your water gourd, softening them with water.

   

  Grinning wide as he watches, the enormous, weathered half-giant says to you, in tribal-accented sirihish:

  "Your very smart, like Sha."

   

  With a rough chuckle as he squints at the horn, you say, in sirihish:

  "Perhaps not that smart. This is just what I did before becoming a Kuraci, that's all."

   

  Turning his head to one side, to you softly, the bald, four-fingered man says, in sirihish:

  "Thanks."

   

  As he winds the reeds around the leather binding, lashing them tight, you say, in sirihish:

  "Now this is the tough part. You need a real steady hand."

   

  The screw-bearded man uses the two reeds to tie the leather tighter to the fractured horn. The reeds overlap on each side of the horn, forming a loose X-shape. He secures them by lacing them together, like one might lace up a boot.

   

  The enormous, weathered half-giant watches nervously down at you, his teeth clenching tightly.

  Holding up the massive helmet, you say, in sirihish:

  "And there you go. The horn's back, straight and true."

   

  You say to the enormous, weathered half-giant, in sirihish:

  "Now, you'll have to be gentle on it while the whole mess dries. And it might be better not to remove the wicker or leather at all. But if you simply must, and the clay doesn't hold, you can always bring it back to me."

   

  His eyes wide in surprise as he reaches out, the enormous, weathered half-giant says to you, in tribal-accented sirihish:

  "You';e amazing, Daktep. You saved my helmet, you're a very good person like Sha."

   

  Pulling out a brush from his hooded, dun-colored dustcloak, the bald, four-fingered man asks, in sirihish:

  "Might wanna scrub off some of that blood, eh?"

   

  The bald, four-fingered man gets a stiffly bristled wood armor brush from a hooded, dun-colored dustcloak.

   

  Shaking his head as he tucks his stiffly bristled wood armor brush away, the bald, four-fingered man says, in sirihish:

  "Nevermind. Let it set, like Daktep said."

   

  The bald, four-fingered man puts a stiffly bristled wood armor brush inside a hooded, dun-colored dustcloak.

   

  The screw-bearded man hands your bloodied anakore skull helm with black horns back to the enormous, weathered half-giant gently.

   

  You give a bloodied anakore skull helm with black horns to the enormous, weathered half-giant.

   

  The enormous, weathered half-giant takes his bloodied anakore skull helm with black horns, looking close at the fixed horn, his lips curled into a very wide grin.

   The scene begins in the training yard, where a sparring session has gone horribly, horribly wrong...

   

  Screaming out, the bald, four-fingered man exclaims, in sirihish:

  "HELP!!"

   

  You fail the rescue.

   

  The enormous, weathered half-giant parries the bald, four-fingered man's...

  
  Continue Reading...
• 

  "You could call it that..." by FiveDisgruntledMonkeysWit
  Added on Mar 22, 2007

  Be careful who you mug.

  ---

  The scene begins in the twisting alleyways of the ‘Rinth, where a rag-clad beggar has run afoul of a rather imposing elf…

   

  The tall figure in a dark, hooded cloak looks down at you.

   

  The mangy, scar-laced man gives his head a slight shake.

   

  You look up at the tall figure in a dark, hooded cloak.

  Ebon skin, highlighted by a multitude of pale scars in deliberate

  patterns encase the frame of this sturdy, thick looking elf. Long, pointed

  ears and proud almond shaped eyes couple with a somewhat abnormally lengthy

  nose to give him an almost avian appearance to the casual onlooker.

  Muscular arms, attached to broad shoulders, end with exceptionally nimble

  looking hands which are a hallmark of his race. The pinky on his left hand

  is half missing, leaving only a healed over stub in its place. Bushy hair,

  twisted and tangled into dreadlocks drapes over his face and shoulders.

  The tall figure in a dark, hooded cloak is in excellent condition.

  The tall figure in a dark, hooded cloak is using:

  <worn on head> a bloodied ancient, battered surmac

  <face> a few faint, crossed scars

  <neck> several puffy lines of scarred tissue

  <worn across back> a bone-studded backpack

  <right shoulder> a splotchy burn scar

  <worn around body> a dark, hooded cloak

  <worn on right ankle> an orange bandana

  <worn on feet> a pair of footpads

  He is carrying:

  nothing obvious

   

  Inclining his head, the tall figure in a dark, hooded cloak asks you, in sirihish:

  "Whats in the pouch?"

   

  The tall figure in a dark, hooded cloak points at your neck.

   

  Shrugging, you say, in sirihish:

  "Nothin' for you."

   

  The tall figure in a dark, hooded cloak eyes you a moment.

   

  The tall figure in a dark, hooded cloak says to you, in sirihish:

  "You sure? Cause you's dressed like you's ain' worth a shit... all except that pouch o' yours..."

   

  Sighing heavily, you ask the tall figure in a dark, hooded cloak, in sirihish:

  "Look, it's where I keep my 'sid. It ain't much, and I need it to feckin' eat, alright?"

   

  The tall figure in a dark, hooded cloak blinks.

   

  The tall figure in a dark, hooded cloak asks you, in sirihish:

  "That where you keep your sid?"

   

  Flatly, you say to the tall figure in a dark, hooded cloak, in sirihish:

  "Aye, that's what I said."

   

  Nodding once, the tall figure in a dark, hooded cloak asks you, in sirihish:

  "How about you hand that fuckin thing over then, eh?"

   

  The tall figure in a dark, hooded cloak beckons with his hand and then holds it out, palm up.

   

  Shaking his head, you say to the tall figure in a dark, hooded cloak, in sirihish:

  "Look, you don't want to feck with me."

   

  The mangy, scar-laced man begins twitching, his fingers tightening then relaxing rhythmically.

   

  The tall figure in a dark, hooded cloak asks you, in sirihish:

  "An' why that? You got some fuckin disease or some shit?"

   

  The tall figure in a dark, hooded cloak eyes you a moment.

   

  Eyes narrowing, you say to the tall figure in a dark, hooded cloak, in sirihish:

  "You could call it that."

   

  An inky wreath of tentacle-like shadows suddenly surrounds the mangy, scar-laced man.

   

  Voice low and dark, you say to the tall figure in a dark, hooded cloak, in sirihish:

  "So. Feck. Off."

   

  The tall figure in a dark, hooded cloak blinks and steps back.

   

  The area dims as you begin your summons.

   

  You utter an incantation.

  You glare ominously at the tall figure in a dark, hooded cloak, sending frightening images into his mind.

  The tall figure in a dark, hooded cloak attempts to flee.

  The tall figure in a dark, hooded cloak runs east.

  The scene begins in the twisting alleyways of the ‘Rinth, where a rag-clad beggar has run afoul of a rather imposing elf…

   

  The tall figure in a dark, hooded cloak looks down at you.

   

  The mangy, scar-laced man gives his head a slight shake.

   

  You look up at the tall figure in a dark,...

  
  Continue Reading...
• 

  Eshaan (Tears) the Bynner by Jmordetsky
  Added on Mar 12, 2007

  Character portrait of my fav char. Artist is Lee Smith of www.Shawawa.com. I found him on the internet and liked his work.

  
• 

  Politics Overheard by Marauder Moe
  Added on Feb 25, 2007

  An Oashi servant discretely listens to a conversation between Lord Hardestadt Oash and Lord Templar Kishime Fale. This is a great example of the sort of things Oash nobles tend to be involved in.

  ---

  A Small Library [NE]
     The walls lining this room are filled with books and various other
  artifacts that can be found around Zalanthas.  Most of the books refer to
  the geography and ecosystem of the harsh planet.  A few of the other books,
  as the titles seem to indicate, look at the various cultures of the
  different cities that surround Allanak.  The artifacts that are placed on
  the shelves vary from pottery to small statues of unknown beings.
     Through the archway, a side antechamber can be seen to the north, while a
  door blocks passage to the east.
  A compact agafari couch with a high, outward-curving back lies here.
  A rectangular table of polished baobab wood has been placed here.
  A wooden wine-cask lies here, an azure sigil depicted on its lid.
  The spidery, black-haired man is sitting on a blue and black, silk-covered couch.
  A veteran mercenary is standing here at attention.
  A veteran mercenary is standing here at attention.
  The garish, turquoise-plaited templar has arrived from the north.
  
  The garish, turquoise-plaited templar strolls into the library, hands clasped together at the small of his back.
  
  The spidery, black-haired man looks up from his small, azure-bound book and smiles pleasantly towards the garish, turquoise-plaited templar as he spots him.
  
  Clearly, you say to the spidery, black-haired man, in sirihish:
       "Lord Templar Kishime Fale has arrived, Lord Oash."
  
  The goateed, orange-eyed man bows to the spidery, black-haired man.
  
  The garish, turquoise-plaited templar looks down at the spidery, black-haired man with a kind smile and inclination of his head.
  
  Nodding lightly, the spidery, black-haired man says to you, in sirihish:
       "Get the lord templar a glass of wine."
  
  The goateed, orange-eyed man nods firmly and steps out of the library.
  
  
  **He goes off and retrieves some food and wine**
  
  
  Twisting the stem of his wineglass between two fingers as he speaks, the spidery, black-haired man says to the garish, turquoise-plaited templar, in sirihish:
       "I have heard about that, it seems that is exactly when meetings couldn't be arranged. But.... here we are."
  
  With a bow, the goateed, orange-eyed man presents the tray and goblet to the garish, turquoise-plaited templar.
  
  You give a small hardwood tray to the garish, turquoise-plaited templar.
  
  You give a fine white alabaster goblet to the garish, turquoise-plaited templar.
  
  Maintaining a formal posture as he relaxes on the couch and speaks with an easy smile, the garish, turquoise-plaited templar says to the spidery, black-haired man, in sirihish:
       "We've been intending to share drinks and conversation for years now, regardless... to say nothing of particular business."
  
  The goateed, orange-eyed man steps towards a wall and stands there, hands clasped behind his back.
  
  The garish, turquoise-plaited templar plucks a small piece of bread from the tray, then carefully deposits the dish on the table.
  
  Smiling briefly, the spidery, black-haired man says to you, in sirihish:
       "You are dismissed Senior Advisor. Excellent work today. Leave the library so the Lord Templar and I can speak in private. Stay close for when he requires escort."
  The garish, turquoise-plaited templar gets a slice of rich brown bread from a small hardwood tray.
  
  The garish, turquoise-plaited templar puts a small hardwood tray on a rectangular, polished baobab table.
  
  Bowing quickly, you say to the spidery, black-haired man, in sirihish:
       "Aye, M'Lord."
  
  The garish, turquoise-plaited templar consumes the bread discreetly with dainty little bites.
  
  The garish, turquoise-plaited templar eats a portion of a slice of rich brown bread.
  
  north
  Side Antechamber [NS]
     A large sandstone statue of Whira dominates the antechamber, its
  likeness seemingly carefree and unpredictable.  Several small spindly column
  reach up toward the large domed ceiling, and an equal number of long azure
  banners drape down to the floor.  Many black marble benches are set up near
  the walls, along with silken throw pillows to prevent them from looking so
  bare.
     A large archway to the south leads into the library, and a very faint
  sound of trickling water can be heard from the north.
  An urn, made of deep red, sunbaked clay, sits here.
  
  The goateed, orange-eyed man stands near a wall, hands clasped behind his back.
  
  You start trying to listen.
  
  [I've added the names of whom I believe is speaking]
  
  [Hardestadt]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "I've been looking forward to it. As my understanding is, you are the model blue robe."
  
  [Kishime]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "That is my understanding as well.  And I am especially pleazzed when I can work with your esteemed House.  Lord Lacretian is a fine friend."
  
  [Hardestadt]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "Few can say that of the Azure Dragon."
  
  [Hardestadt]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "Lord Lacretian is my mentor and my direct superior. I am aware of your relationship."
  
  [Hardestadt]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "As he is aware of the one you and I have."
  
  [Kishime]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "I do hope the matter you wish to discuss is nothing terribly unfortunate?"
  
  [Hardestadt]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "Not at all..."
  
  [Hardestadt]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "My push to build my wall grows momentum."
  
  [Hardestadt]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "The only grave news involved are these magickers that are attacking people."
  
  [Kishime]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "Yes.  I take some time to better myself with intensive studies, and return to find such upsetting incidents."
  
  [Hardestadt]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "I asked you here though, to speak about the future."
  
  [Hardestadt?]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "The magicker matter is unfortunate, but predictable and I'm sure is being handled."
  
  [Kishime]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "The future.   To be honest, of our generation, I see you and I having long and prosperous futures in the city.  A good topic.  Do go on."
  
  [Hardestadt]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "You and I more so than most Lord Templar."
  
  [Hardestadt?]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "Since I awoke this morning, I have already put in motion a plan to deal with one of the magickers within the next two weeks."
  
  [Hardestadt]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "I've made a name for myself in this city, more than most manage to do. I'm probably the most dangerous noble alive next to my own uncle Lacretian."
  
  [Kishime]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "Perhaps you are.  I wouldn't know about all that.  I'm not at all dangerous."
  
  [Hardestadt]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "Nor are you sarcastic. We both know that both of us are fabulous dressers though. I think that clinches that."
  
  [Kishime]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "There is no arguing that point.  Quite right.  And we both recognize the importance of keeping a tight leash on the tainted."
  
  [Hardestadt]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "Lord Templar, I want us to be able to stop playing izdari. As our goals are similar enough that in unison, we can become unstoppable."
  
  [Hardestadt]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "I can do things for you. That you may or may not have considered."
  
  [Kishime]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "Agreed.  It is so much more productive to speak frankly, anyhow."
  
  [Kishime]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "What sort of things, Lord Oash?"
  
  [Hardestadt]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "I have an intrinsic knowledge of the workings of this city, including much about your own order and the relationship with the noble houses. I am quite comfortable where I am. But... are you?"
  
  [Hardestadt]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "Do I aspire to more?  A red robe, perhaps?"
  
  [Hardestadt]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "Rhetorical really, to assume you do not is to assume you are not worth the effort."
  
  [Hardestadt]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "But I know you are."
  
  [Kishime]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "Knowing is better than assuming."
  
  [Hardestadt]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "Quite right, but in this case. I can say for sure that you do."
  
  [Hardestadt]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "Absolutely.  Now, we speak of the future, but there is also a great help you can be to me in the immediate... the matter I've been wishing to discuss."
  
  [Hardestadt]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "Many can promise things, I can deliver. Including assistance with magickers. As I have a similar request."
  
  
  **The servant misses part of the conversation**
  
  
  [Hardestadt?]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "Please return the book to me when you finish it."
  
  [Kishime???]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "Wallow in ignorance, barbarian."
  
  [Hardestadt?]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "I'm sure you'll find something in there to spark the imagination."
  
  [Kishime?]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "I am sure as well.  Thank you for the literature.  I look forward to hearing a fresh perspective."
  
  [Hardestadt]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "You are aware of my keen interest in the elementalists quarter? And my seriousness, in this attack matter?"
  
  [Kishime]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "Yes.  I've only just heard my first report on this elven caster, shortly before I arrived here.  I assume he is one of the attackers you refer to?"
  
  [Hardestadt]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "There are a group of ungemmed, of moderate power... working as though organized. "
  
  [Kishime]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "How many strong?"
  
  [Hardestadt]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "Without a doubt, they are in the quarter. I don't know."
  
  [Hardestadt]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "They are approaching other ungemmed they find, there is a spell."
  
  [Hardestadt]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "They can see each other."
  
  [Hardestadt]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "Threatening them."
  
  [Kishime]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "What element fuels this spell?"
  
  [Hardestadt]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "All elements appear to have access to it. It is fairly rare."
  
  [Hardestadt]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "It is without a doubt, <censored magick words>."
  
  [Hardestadt]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "I don't have a magicker that can do it."
  
  [Kishime]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "Certainly.  They must all be very wily and cautious... to never let any enchantments show in public."
  
  [Hardestadt]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "So I can only guess."
  
  [Hardestadt]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "If you licensed loyal magickers of power, you could harness that."
  
  [Kishime]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "Whatever it is... if one of those without a gem has that spell upon their eyes, I could see them for what they are."
  
  [Kishime?]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "But... it isn't traditional. So anyway..."
  
  [Hardestadt]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "Aren't you glad I'm walling up the quarter?"
  
  [Kishime]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "Regardless of how rare the enchantment, it cannot escape my detection.  "
  
  [Hardestadt]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "It's going to make your job a thousand times easier."
  
  [Kishime?]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "Where do you suppose they'll turn for cover, then, though?  The Labyrinth is the only avenue I'd see open to them."
  
  [Kishime?]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "The labyrinth is a dangerous place, even for a powerful magicker. "
  
  [Hardestadt]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "We have contacts there as well."
  
  [Kishime]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "Does this group have a ringleader?"
  
  [Hardestadt]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "I have no idea... I am trying to get information through my own magickers."
  
  [Hardestadt]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "All I know is, they are there and they are dangerous."
  
  [Kishime]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "Speaking of your magickers.  I would like to make use of two mages from your staff."
  
  [Hardestadt]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "My magickers have every reason to be as suspect as any, though I am certain this is not the case."
  
  [Hardestadt]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "That depends on what it is for, I will assist how I can. But I keep them on a strict schedule."
  
  [Hardestadt]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "This is less of a reflection on you as it is, my careful attention to my work. I cannot afford to lost any that I have right now."
  
  [Kishime]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "Thardoth and Serenaus, to accompany me on a brief excursion.  It will be a bloodless endeavor, likely lasting no more than a day, and they'll be quite secure."
  
  [Hardestadt]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "Give me a little more and I may say yes, Thardoth is my personal advisor and his work on spell components is very important to me. Use Serenaus if you can find him at your whim. "
  
  [Kishime]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "I have a wealth of resources of my own available to assist you.  Name a way that I can return this favor, and perhaps we can call it even."
  
  [Hardestadt]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "Very well..."
  
  [Hardestadt]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "I want you to take a step into a new game. One where you take your coin from every house in the city, and tell them all you'll serve their best interests. One where House Oash actually makes it worth your while to serve..."
  
  [Hardestadt]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "House Oash after the Highlord."
  
  [Hardestadt]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "Trust in my ability to assist in your ascension. Trust that I have both of our best interests in mind."
  
  [Kishime]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "Lord Hardestadt.  Do you know... that is the game I already play?  Lord Lacretian's support has always been something I treasure, and Oash has my support before any other."
  
  [Hardestadt]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "Of course I know the way the city works, but trust is a funny thing. Especially among the most unstrustable of all. However, Lord Lacretian himself... made this request. So... I am glad to hear that you and the Azure Dragon see..."
  
  [Hardestadt]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "...eye to eye..."
  
  [Kishime]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "Your family must have quite the reputation, for try as I do, I seldom here rumblings of threats or enemies that would endanger Oash."
  
  [Hardestadt]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "I find it important to keep the status quo. I do not make many enemies if I can manage it. I do lean on people now and again..."
  
  [Hardestadt]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "Vedestian Terash is a good example."
  
  [Hardestadt]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "The Atrium, doesn't suit us. We do not prefer the curriculum they teach servants."
  
  [Kishime]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "Ahh... yes, the bastard manchild.  I lean on him as well, if you would call forcing him to kneel in his silks and mop up vomit with a silken hanky... leaning on."
  
  [Hardestadt]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "So recently, I spoke to Vedestian, and I told him... that if he likes that estate of his... he will begin offer us more control over how their operations work."
  
  [Hardestadt?]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "I'll caution you, and let you act on this how you will... although you likely already know... the Lord Patriarch of House Borsial has a personal interest in seeing Vedestian prosper, and all the Terash holdings exist on the..."
  
  
  **Another part of the conversation is missed**
  
  You start trying to listen.
  
  [Hardestadt]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "I feel exactly the same of its curriculum. And I will not send Elite there, nor have I ever."
  
  [Hardestadt]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "I have never sent one there, or employed a... graduate.  I have enough trouble with keen-eared intruders without bringing more in recklessly myself."
  
  [Kishime]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "Precisely."
  
  You sit down.
  
  [Kishime]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "But what of the Academy?  I've just had my top man finish a tour there."
  
  The goateed, orange-eyed man sits on a black marble bench here.
  
  [Hardestadt]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "The Byn teaches more than they do."
  
  [Hardestadt]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "They have no idea what a warmage is..."
  
  [Hardestadt]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "They understand martial combat... but not war."
  
  [Hardestadt]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "Its ridiculous really."
  
  [Hardestadt]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "They are supposed to be making officers, but what they teach cadets... I do not want my men following."
  
  [Hardestadt]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "Well, they do serve their purpose.  It's best not to rely on them to round out an officer, but to supplement your own training.  There's no reason not to make use of the knowledge they do have.  Just not to let it be all that..."
  
  [Hardestadt]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "... goes into the soldier's head."
  
  [Hardestadt]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "I suggest removing martial combat from that facility."
  
  [Hardestadt]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "First..."
  
  [Hardestadt]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "Then begin to teach things that we would find useful, when it is time to call them to battle."
  
  [Hardestadt]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "Making sure there is enough food, and transportation problems... these things... are what kill armies."
  
  [Hardestadt]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "Delanora Tor has no idea what a soldier is."
  
  [Hardestadt]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "She spends most of her time, doing your job. Patrolling."
  
  [Hardestadt]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "I could go on... but I won't."
  
  [Hardestadt]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "I made my point, and it is late."
  
  [Kishime]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "So it is.  I am pleazzed to have had this conversation, finally."
  
  [Kishime]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "Do you object, then, to my making use of Thardoth as well?  There is no danger in this for either of them."
  
  [Hardestadt]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "You may, and if you return with them... all of you unscathed... there will be a transfer made to you to show appreciation for the service you have rendered and what lies in store."
  
  [Kishime]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "And they will have the honor of having served their God King in yet another way."
  
  [Hardestadt]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "They are trained to do just that."
  
  [Kishime]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "You're a man who appreciates curious manifestations of magickal energy... perhaps you'd like to see something..."
  
  [Hardestadt]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "We'll talk again soon, I can show you and your men out now."
  
  [Hardestadt]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "I am interested, I know more than most magickers do."
  
  [Kishime]
  You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
       "Let us step outside then."
  
  The spidery, black-haired man has arrived from the south.
  The garish, turquoise-plaited templar has arrived from the south.
  The veteran mercenary has arrived from the south.
  The veteran mercenary has arrived from the south.
  
  The garish, turquoise-plaited templar looks down at you.
  You stand up.
  
  The spidery, black-haired man says to you, in sirihish:
       "Oh my... Tanos..."
  
  The goateed, orange-eyed man quickly pushes up from the bench and bows.
  
  The spidery, black-haired man says to you, in sirihish:
       "You're still here. What a good servant."
  
  The spidery, black-haired man says to you, in sirihish:
       "Fall in..."
  
  You now follow the spidery, black-haired man.
  
  
  **The group makes their way to the Oash estate gardens**
  
  
  The Gardens [NE]
     Closed in by the high alabaster walls, this garden seems to thrive here
  in the city.  Large vines creep along, making the entire area impassable
  except for the path that avoids them.  Carefully tended flowers and fruit
  trees also dot the large garden.
  The spidery, black-haired man is standing here.
  The garish, turquoise-plaited templar has arrived from the north.
  The veteran mercenary has arrived from the north.
  The veteran mercenary has arrived from the north.
  
  The spidery, black-haired man says to the garish, turquoise-plaited templar, in sirihish:
       "This is a good spot."
  
  The garish, turquoise-plaited templar steps a few paces away from the others, standing in the center of a wide section on the sandstone path.
  
  The goateed, orange-eyed man glances at the spidery, black-haired man before turning to look at the garish, turquoise-plaited templar.
  
  The spidery, black-haired man watches the garish, turquoise-plaited templar in silence.
  
  In a soft and reverent tone, the garish, turquoise-plaited templar says, in sirihish:
       "Almighty Dragon, your servants beseech you.  Honor us by giving this union of minds your blessing."
  
  The sun begins its long voyage across the heavens.
  Jihae, the red moon, rises up into the sky.
  
  Lifting his arms to either side like wings, the garish, turquoise-plaited templar says, in sirihish:
       "Give us an omen to show Your approval of this collaboration.  I invoke Your righteous name."
  
  The garish, turquoise-plaited templar calls out the name of the Highlord.
  
  The garish, turquoise-plaited templar utters an incantation.
  Flickering strands of flame flit about, dancing chaotically and vanishing.
  
  The spidery, black-haired man knits his brow briefly, watching the display.
  
  Worms of flame move away from the garish, turquoise-plaited templar, snaking through the air to swirl around the spidery, black-haired man before dissipating into the sky.
  
  The spidery, black-haired man knits his brow, lowering his head reverently.
  
  The goateed, orange-eyed man's eyes widen slightly.
  
  In a soft tone, the garish, turquoise-plaited templar says, in sirihish:
       "We are guided by His hand, and we cannot fail.  Walk in His shadow, noble Oash."
  
  Quietly, the spidery, black-haired man says, in sirihish:
       "Thank you for this blessing Lord Templar, the Highlord truly does smile upon us both."
  
  The spidery, black-haired man turns and shows the garish, turquoise-plaited templar towards the gates.
  
  
  **Lord Templar Kishime is escorted out of the estate.  Lord Hardestadt and Tanos return to the library**
  
  
  A Small Library [NE]
     The walls lining this room are filled with books and various other
  artifacts that can be found around Zalanthas.  Most of the books refer to
  the geography and ecosystem of the harsh planet.  A few of the other books,
  as the titles seem to indicate, look at the various cultures of the
  different cities that surround Allanak.  The artifacts that are placed on
  the shelves vary from pottery to small statues of unknown beings.
     Through the archway, a side antechamber can be seen to the north, while a
  door blocks passage to the east.
  A compact agafari couch with a high, outward-curving back lies here.
  A large couch of blue and black silk sits here.
  A rectangular table of polished baobab wood has been placed here.
  A wooden wine-cask lies here, an azure sigil depicted on its lid.
  The spidery, black-haired man is standing here.
  The veteran mercenary has arrived from the north.
  The veteran mercenary has arrived from the north.
  
  The spidery, black-haired man sits down on a blue and black, silk-covered couch.
  
  The spidery, black-haired man says to you, in sirihish:
       "Apologies, I got caught up in that."
  
  The spidery, black-haired man asks you, in sirihish:
       "I hope you at least spied and listened?"
  
  Clearing his throat softly, you say to the spidery, black-haired man, in sirihish:
       "A few words may have drifted my way."
  
  The spidery, black-haired man nods.
  
  The spidery, black-haired man says to you, in sirihish:
       "That is why I like you."
  
  Glancing towards the direction of the yard, the spidery, black-haired man says to you, in sirihish:
       "That was... odd."
  
  You ask the spidery, black-haired man, in sirihish:
       "Was there more to that than could be seen, M'Lord?"
  
  The spidery, black-haired man says to you, in sirihish:
       "I don't know, I felt it for a moment... I thought. "
  
  The spidery, black-haired man says to you, in sirihish:
       "It was hard to tell."
  
  The goateed, orange-eyed man nods.
  
  The spidery, black-haired man says to you, in sirihish:
       "It was a good sign, regardless."
  
  The spidery, black-haired man asks you, in sirihish:
       "Do you think we have him? Or is he still playing izdari?"
  
  After a thoughtful pause, you say to the spidery, black-haired man, in sirihish:
       "I'm not entirely certain."
  
  You ask the spidery, black-haired man, in sirihish:
       "But you would not want him if his loyalty was so easily won, right M'Lord?"
  
  The spidery, black-haired man nods lightly.
  
  The spidery, black-haired man says to you, in sirihish:
       "I am more experienced at this, he shouldn't stand a chance."
  
  The spidery, black-haired man says to you, in sirihish:
       "Again... apologies for that wait. But that is one job we needed to get on."
  
  The spidery, black-haired man says to you, in sirihish:
       "Oh... I almost forgot."
  
  The goateed, orange-eyed man nods.
  
  The spidery, black-haired man says to you, in sirihish:
       "Get the Byn back out on patrols."
  
  Nodding, you say to the spidery, black-haired man, in sirihish:
       "I already have."
  
  The spidery, black-haired man says to you, in sirihish:
       "Good tell me about it next meeting, get some sleep."
  
  The spidery, black-haired man says, in sirihish:
       "Or go get a woman... whatever it is you do when you're away."
  
  You say to the spidery, black-haired man, in sirihish:
       "Aye, M'Lord."
  
  The spidery, black-haired man nods.
  
  **Tanos heads back to his house in the commoner's quarter**
  

  A Small Library [NE]
  

     The walls lining this room are filled with books and various other
  

  artifacts that can be found around Zalanthas.  Most of the books refer to
  

  the geography and ecosystem of the harsh planet.  A few of the other books,
  

  as the titles seem to indicate, look at the various...
  Continue Reading...

• 

  A wyvern by Kelen
  Added on Feb 12, 2007

  A younger member of the borsail wyverns.

  
• 

  Free Spirits by Ourla
  Added on Feb 10, 2007

  Free spirits are never tamed, only befriended.

  
• 

  The Criminal, part III: "I am sorry old friend." by Ghost
  Added on Feb 7, 2007

  Leaving Rocker in the dungeons, Serpent is sent out to finish Haadith. To save his man from the prison, he had to give up on the old friend

  ---

  ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
  Submitter's note:
  
  This is the final part of the story of the fall of Templar Haadith Oash of Allanak.  Here, in the final part, you will see how the story ends.
  
  I have edited the log many times, deleting some passages of conversations, mindtalks, and some emotes and I have also replaced some names/actions as **censored** to avoid passing some information that better kept as it is.  I hope you find it a good read.
  ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
  
  
  -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
  * Leaving Rocker in the jails, Serpent heads to the alleys in search of Haadith.  The sanctuary
  * he provided, would also be the place where he could find his old friend. 
  -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
  
  
  A Cluttered Office [WD]
     This tiny square chamber is unfurnished save for a battered desk
  behind with a few crates serving as seating behind it.  The room has no
  visible exits, save back to the bar and contains no windows.  Dust clings
  heavy in the air and there is a smell of decay and rot about the place that
  has likely been present for centuries.  The stone walls are stacked with
  battered crates, all arranged in a haphazard fashion and tilting madly in
  several different directions. 
  A pink-flowered plant is rooted here, its leaves exuding a sharp scent.
  A gwoshi carved wooden chest sits here.
  A couple of open shelved cabinets are here.
  A large wooden crate is here, stacked neatly in the corner.
  A rough hide sleeping mat lies on the floor here.
  The short, scar-faced man is sitting at a long, low and cracked clay table.
  The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak is sitting at a long, low and cracked clay table.
  
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man walks over a long, low and cracked clay table, setting over a crate.
  
  
  The short, scar-faced man gets a large bag from a bone-studded backpack.
  
  
  You sit at a long, low and cracked clay table.
  
  Rummaging around his large bag, the short, scar-faced man sits at a long, low and cracked clay
  table.
  
  
  Slim of build and soft of feature, this man's unscathed pale skin
  wraps
  itself delicately around high, well-born features.  Boyishly smooth, his
  face is comely in Zalanthan terms, neither overly obese nor malnourished,
  but is rounded in way that would indicate he was clearly well fed but has
  avoided the pitfalls of gluttony.  His set of piercing jade eyes, are framed
  by thick, black lashes and he most notably seems almost with out trace of
  scar or line of age.  His long, ebony hair, is well lathered with sweet
  scented oils and has been brushed straight to luxurious shine then twisted
  into a soft braid and is often tossed delicately behind his shoulder. 
  The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak is in excellent condition.
  
  The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak is using:
  <worn on face>           a thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap
  <worn across back>       a bone-studded backpack
  <primary hand>           a sharp, well-balanced bone halfsword
  <worn around body>       a dusty dark, hooded cloak
  <worn on legs>           a pair of patched sandcloth pants
  <worn on feet>           a dusty pair of black, soft leather boots
  
  
  The short, scar-faced man takes his blue silk sash out of his large bag, eyeing at the short figure
  in a dusty dark, hooded cloak.
  
  The short, scar-faced man holds a blue silk sash.
  
  
  At your table, the short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "So..."
  
  
  The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak looks at the short, scar-faced man.
  
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You contact the gargantuan, battle-scarred mul with the Way.
  
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the gargantuan, battle-scarred mul:
      "Hork.. With me?"
  
  
  The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak eyes the short, scar-faced man's sash for a moment,
  before flickering his gaze to you.
  
  
  The short, scar-faced man looks at you awaiting.
  
  
  Easily, but with some hestiation, the short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak says to you, in
  southern-accented sirihish:
       "We need to talk."
  
  
  You send a telepathic message to the gargantuan, battle-scarred mul:
      "In case Haadith comes out of the office, don't let him out."
  
  
  You dissolve the psychic link.
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, to the short figure in a dusty
  dark, hooded cloak:
       "Yes.  We need."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "about the lessons I guess."
  
  The short, scar-faced man puts a blue silk sash inside a large bag.
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You contact the short, scar-faced man with the Way.
  
  The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak places his hands on the table, and pushes to his
  feet slowly.
  
  The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak stands up from a long, low and cracked clay table.
  
  The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Alone..."
  
  
  The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak turns his gaze to the short, scar-faced man.
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the short, scar-faced man:
      "After I nod, count to three in yourself, and then hold the door."
  
  
  At your table, the short, scar-faced man says in sirihish, resting his palms at a long, low and
  cracked clay table:
       "Shall I take my leave, Chief?"
  
  You dissolve the psychic link.
  
  Gesturing at the empty seat, you say to the short figure in a
  dusty dark, hooded cloak, in sirihish:
       "Take a seat, we can send this one out."
  
  A foreign presence contacts your mind.
  
  The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak pauses near the door, turning to you.
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "I am napping for a small bit.. it's been too much this week.. life has.."
  
  The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak sits at a long, low and cracked clay table.
  
  You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
  
  Nodding to you, the short, scar-faced man stands up from a long, low and cracked clay table.
  
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You contact the short, scar-faced man with the Way.
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the short, scar-faced man:
      "Watch me.. When you see me rising to my feet, hold the door."
  
  You dissolve the psychic link.
  
  A foreign presence contacts your mind.
  
  You say to the short, scar-faced man, in sirihish:
       "That thing looks nice."
  
  The *censored* Magicker sends you a telepathic message:
      "Boss you know any way of getting this gem off my neck without killing me?"
  
  You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
  
  Before heading for the door, with a nod, the short, scar-faced man asks you, in sirihish:
       "Yes, indeed. I guess, I'll give it after your talk with him. Hmm?"
  
  Wetting his lips, you ask the short, scar-faced man, in sirihish:
       "Well.. You saw Rocker?"
  
  You are using:
  <worn in hair>           a thin leather headband
  <worn around neck>       a soft, grey-veined black neckband
  <worn across back>       a bone-studded backpack
  <secondary hand>         a translucent, crystalline longknife
  <worn as belt>           a finely-crafted pouched belt
  <worn around body>       a black skull-studded greatcloak
  <worn about waist>       a thin pouched belt
  <worn on legs>           a set of soft, grey-veined black leg-wraps
  <worn on feet>           a pair of soft, grey-veined black boots
  
  At your table, the short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak says in southern-accented sirihish,
  turning to the short, scar-faced man:
       "Where did you get it?"
  
  Turning back, when he reaches the door, with a shake of his head, the short, scar-faced man says to
  you, in sirihish:
       "No. I don't know what he's up to."
  
  Mercy on.
  
  The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak raps his fingers nervously over a long, low and
  cracked clay table, eyes flickering rapidly between the short, scar-faced man and you.
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man's eyes flickers back to the short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak.
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, turning to the short figure in
  a dusty dark, hooded cloak:
       "I am sorry old friend.. But things are turning bad.  You are aware of it?"
  
  You stand up from a long, low and cracked clay table.
  
  You reach down and draw a razor-sharp, hawk-etched halfsword out of your boot.
  You brandish the halfsword.
  
  You begin moving silently toward your victim.
  
  The short, scar-faced man begins guarding the west exit.
  
  
  The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak groans loudly as you thrust your halfsword up between
  his ribs.
  The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak's eyes roll back in his head.
  A sharp, well-balanced bone halfsword clatters to the ground as the short figure in a dusty dark,
  hooded cloak releases it.
  The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak crumples to the ground.
  
  
  The short, scar-faced man draws an obsidian dagger.
  
  The short, scar-faced man draws an obsidian dagger.
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man shakes his head, crouching near the short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak.
  
  
  
  The short, scar-faced man looks down at the short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak standing at
  his position near door.
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man touches to the short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak's neck, biting his lower lip.
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man quietly whispers under his breath, shaking his head.
  
  
  You wound the short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak on his
  back with a brutal stab.
  
  
  Eyeing at the body of the soft-featured, black-haired man, with a grin, the short, scar-faced man
  says to you, in sirihish:
       "Clean job, Boss! "
  
  Exhaling a soft sigh, you sit at a long, low and cracked clay
  table.
  
  You think:
       "Could not learn to read and write fully."
  
  
  The short, scar-faced man sheathes an obsidian dagger.
  
  
  The short, scar-faced man sheathes an obsidian dagger.
  
  The short, scar-faced man stops guarding the west exit.
  
  The short, scar-faced man walks back toward a long, low and cracked clay table, stopping just to get
  a sharp, well-balanced bone halfsword.
  
  
  The short, scar-faced man picks up a sharp, well-balanced bone halfsword.
  
  
  
  The short, scar-faced man puts a sharp, well-balanced bone halfsword on a long, low and cracked clay
  table.
  
  
  At your table, the short, scar-faced man says in sirihish, spitting on the body of the
  soft-featured, black-haired man:
       "So, what now?"
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, exhaling a soft breath:
       "Nothing.  I will get Rocker out of the Jail."
  
  You stand up from a long, low and cracked clay table.
  
  
  At a long, low and cracked clay table, you overhear the short, scar-faced man say in sirihish,
  frowning:
       "Is he in the jail?"
  
  You nod to him.
  
  
  Standing from a long, low and cracked clay table, the short, scar-faced man asks you, in sirihish:
       "What do you want me to do with the body?"
  
  You say to the short, scar-faced man, in sirihish:
       "I will take off the head, and you drag the body.. To out.. I don't know."
  
  
  Nodding, the short, scar-faced man says to you, in sirihish:
       "Alright, it'll be done, before you're back with Rocker."
  
  You say to the short, scar-faced man, in sirihish:
       "There is the carpet in the cabinet.. Clean it in the southside.. To the Globulu..Whatever the
  fuck's name."
  
  
  The short, scar-faced man looks up at you lifting his gaze from the body of the soft-featured,
  black-haired man, then nods.
  
  You get a small pack from an open shelved cabinet.
  It is very light, and empty.
  
  You put a small pack inside an open shelved cabinet.
  
  
  Gazing to an open shelved cabinet, the short, scar-faced man exclaims to you, in sirihish:
       "Alright, Chief!"
  
  You get a hooked knife from a gwoshi-hide knapsack.
  It is very light.
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man kneels down next to the body of the soft-featured, black-haired man.
  
  You brandish the knife.
  
  You behead the body of the soft-featured, black-haired man.
  
  
  A Cluttered Office [WD]
     This tiny square chamber is unfurnished save for a battered desk
  behind with a few crates serving as seating behind it.  The room has no
  visible exits, save back to the bar and contains no windows.  Dust clings
  heavy in the air and there is a smell of decay and rot about the place that
  has likely been present for centuries.  The stone walls are stacked with
  battered crates, all arranged in a haphazard fashion and tilting madly in
  several different directions. 
  The head of the soft-featured, black-haired man lies here.
  The headless body of the soft-featured, black-haired man lies crumpled here.
  A pink-flowered plant is rooted here, its leaves exuding a sharp scent.
  A gwoshi carved wooden chest sits here.
  A couple of open shelved cabinets are here.
  A large wooden crate is here, stacked neatly in the corner.
  A rough hide sleeping mat lies on the floor here.
  The short, scar-faced man is sitting at a long, low and cracked clay table.
  
  
  You pick up the head of the soft-featured, black-haired man.
  It is very light, and empty.
  
  You put the head of the soft-featured, black-haired man inside a
  small pack.
  
  You sit at a long, low and cracked clay table.
  
  The short, scar-faced man stands by the headless body of the soft-featured, black-haired man, watching you in silence.
  
  Glancing at the headless body of the soft-featured, black-haired man, you say to the short,
  scar-faced man, in sirihish:
       "You can take him out."
  
  contact malenthis
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You are unable to reach their mind.
  
  The short, scar-faced man dips a nod to you, and kneels by the headless body of the soft-featured,
  black-haired man.
  
  The short, scar-faced man strains as he lifts the headless body of the soft-featured, black-haired
  man.
  The headless body of the soft-featured, black-haired man half rises from the ground.
  
  
  
  The short, scar-faced man opens the door.
  
  You say to the short, scar-faced man, in sirihish:
       "And the sash.. Leave it in the chest if you want."
  
  
  Holding the headless body of the soft-featured, black-haired man at the ankles, nodding, the short,
  scar-faced man exclaims to you, in sirihish:
       "I'll do it, when I'm done with this, Chief!"
  
  
  The short, scar-faced man stands up from a long, low and cracked clay table.
  
  
  The short, scar-faced man stealthily moves west, dragging the headless body of the soft-featured,
  black-haired man behind him.
  
  
  The short, scar-faced man closes the door from the other side.
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man rubs his forehead.
  
  Your new objective is:
  Delivering Haadith's head.
  
  
  The short, scar-faced man opens the door from the other side.
  
  
  The short, scar-faced man has arrived from the west.
  
  
  The short, scar-faced man closes the door.
  
  
  The short, scar-faced man walks over to a long, low and cracked clay table, checking the pockets of
  his dusty dark, hooded cloak.
  
  
  You send this message to the staff:
       "Alright.  For the sake of saving someone from boredom, there is someone in the jails, put
  there till I deliver someone's head to the templarate.  The pc templar said giving other templars
  will work.  Now both the templar and the prisoner..."
  
  You send this message to the staff:
       "Is there a chance I deliver the head to an NPC templar, explain the situation, and the PC is
  taken off? For his playability issue, just for that. The prisoner and the templar PC. Both are logged off.Or do we have to wait for them both?"
  
  
  The short, scar-faced man sits at a long, low and cracked clay table.
  
  
  At your table, the short, scar-faced man says in sirihish, eyeing his blue silk sash in his hands,
  with a broad grin:
       "Maybe you might want to have a closer look on them, hmm?"
  
  You say to the short, scar-faced man, in sirihish:
       "Not now.  I will go and get Rocker out."
  
  You stand up from a long, low and cracked clay table.
  
  Wiping his nose, you say to the short, scar-faced man, in sirihish:
       "I will go and get him out."
  
  A Cramped, Dingy Bar [EWU]
     Were it not for the sheer overpowering vileness of the air outside,
  this small and tightly-cramped room would scarcely seem a breath of
  freshness at all.  Thick, acrid smoke intermingles with the smell of
  unwashed bodies, vomit, cheap booze, and ancient decay in the limited
  confines of this room, creating a unique amalgam of foulness that even the
  rough sensibilities of a dwarf would quail at.  The walls of the room are
  short and the roof is relatively low, giving one an acute claustrophobic
  feeling that mirrors the feel of the surrounding alleyways with merciless
  precision.  A few crates are stacked here and there in a seemingly haphazard
  array.  Whatever their intended purpose, it appears as though patrons have
  begun using them as seats in lieu of squatting on the ale-damp floor.  The
  center of the room draws your attention once your eyes have adjusted to the
  change in lighting and reveals a strange stoneworked depression, roughly
  three cords deep and ten cords across.  Broken stonework sculptures surround
  the edges of the depression in a seeming mockery of a gleeful dance.
  Several battered crates with a thick slab of pure obsidian draped across
  them seem to serve as a makeshift bar in a corner of the room.  An equally
  battered wooden door is situated just behind it. 
     Just beside the bar, a loosely hanging rope ladder disappears up into a
  jagged hole in the ceiling of the room. 
  A multi-ringed dartboard hangs on a wall here.
  A message board is propped up against a wall.
  The lanky, dreadlocked man, is hanging out here lazily against the wall.
  The muscular, hatchet-faced man stands here by the door.
  The long-haired, scar faced man stands by the bar, arms over his chest.
  The very short and thick male wearing a grey shaded, black face-wrap is standing here.
  The thick-set, sideburned bartender is here cleaning out mugs with a rag.
  
  
  Brown drops slowly fall from the edge of a cask behind the bar, forming slowly from some unseen
  leak.
  
  
  A staff member sends:
       "We'll watch the situation, but probably better if both are on.  If he is stuck in there a long
  time we'll release him."
  
  You send this message to the staff:
       "Hmm.. I will deliver the head to an NPC templar then.  And tell him the situation.  I plan to
  log out soon.  And will email the time he got in the jail, and the delivery time.  The rest is up to
  you and them I guess."
  
  A staff member sends:
       "That's great. Can you please email a log of the delivery to naiona@ginka.armageddon.org,
  halaster@ginka.armageddon.org and the mud?"
  
  You send this message to the staff:
       "Of course.  I will cc to my clan imms as well."
  
  A staff member sends:
       "Thanks!"
  
  
  A foreign presence contacts your mind.
  
  The barrel-chested, dark-curled man sends you a telepathic message:
      "Serpent.  Interested in yet another bounty on a foolish sharp-ear?"
  
  You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You contact the barrel-chested, dark-curled man with the Way.
  
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the barrel-chested, dark-curled man:
      "*Exhaustion* Sure.. Sure my Lord.  There are lots of bounties these days.  just on my way
  delivering another head now.  Who is the target?"
  
  
  You hear a man's voice from the west say, in sirihish:
       "Please, please, have pity on me."
  
  -----------------------------------------------------------------------
  * Exhausted, Serpent walked back once more into the crowds of people.  This time carrying
  * the bag, that would set his man free from the dungeons, to end the hunt on his organisation. 
  * Meanwhile, his mind was still searched  with other business offers.
  --------------------------------------------------------------------------
  
  The barrel-chested, dark-curled man sends you a telepathic message:
      "You know of an elf who calls himself Scar?  He dresses like he's from the alleys.  He has
  yellowed eyes that are dull and lackluster, vacant?"
  
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You contact the barrel-chested, dark-curled man with the Way.
  
  
  A foreign presence contacts your mind.
  
  The short, scar-eyed man sends you a telepathic message:
      "Serpent. Do you have my head?"
  
  
  You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the barrel-chested, dark-curled man:
      "Name I heard.. Also heard of the yellow eyed elf.. But never saw him myself.  I will see what I
  can dig up my Lord."
  
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You contact the short, scar-eyed man with the Way.
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the short, scar-eyed man:
      "Am I in my good day today?  I was just on my way.  Where do you want it?"
  
  You dissolve the psychic link.
  
  
  A foreign presence contacts your mind.
  
  
  The short, scar-eyed man sends you a telepathic message:
      "The gates of the Templars Quarters will be fine."
  
  You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
  
  
  The barrel-chested, dark-curled man sends you a telepathic message:
      "Oh.  And I've the feeling he may decide to watch me, from time to time.  Just another place to
  check for him."
  
  
  Silently, the pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man makes his way out
  of the crowds.
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar looks up at you.
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar lowers the hood of a blue, hooded templar's robe.
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man holds your small pack out,
  giving a rough shake to it.
  
  Extending your small pack to the short, scar-eyed templar, you say
  to the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
       "Here is what you want."
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "Think there's an elf .. by the name of Scar trailing me, weapons out.. he's roaming around, I
  know."
  
  You give a small pack to the short, scar-eyed templar.
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar gives a small pack to the half-giant soldier.
  
  You now follow the short, scar-eyed templar.
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar gives the half-giant soldier an order.
  The half-giant soldier gives a small pack to the short, scar-eyed templar.
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar peers into his small pack, smiling thinly.
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Excellent work, Serpent."
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man exhales a soft breath.
  
  You say to the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
       "Anytime, my Lord."
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar gets the head of the soft-featured, black-haired man from a small
  pack.
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar puts the head of the soft-featured, black-haired man inside a small
  pack.
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar gets the head of the soft-featured, black-haired man from a small
  pack.
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar frowns, holding up his head of the soft-featured, black-haired man.
  
  To his head of the soft-featured, black-haired man, holding it up by its hair, the short, scar-eyed
  templar says, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "You were always an idiot, Haadith."
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar puts the head of the soft-featured, black-haired man inside a small
  pack.
  
  Lightly, the short, scar-eyed templar exclaims, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "In you go!"
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man watches the short, scar-eyed
  templar silently.
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar closes a small pack.
  
  A human soldier sends up a call to the wall to close the gates.
  A human soldier closes the gate.
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Come...I'll give you what we agreed upon, and end this useless antipathy between us."
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar walks north.
  A human Allanaki soldier walks north.
  The half-giant soldier walks north.
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man shuffles throught he crowds, following after a faint shape.
  
  ----------------------------------------------
  * Quickly, in the escort of two soldiers, the templar and Serpent walk to the bazaar, and to the Nenyuki bank
  ----------------------------------------------
  
  You follow a faint shape, and walk east.
  
  House Nenyuk Bank [W]
     This large mud brick building is lit with irrig lamps, a pale greenish
  light fighting back the darkness seeping in through the doorway.  A few
  scribes sit towards the back of the room, making notation after notation in
  fine, spidery handwriting, totting up the series of debits and credits
  making up the finances of House Nenyuk.  Behind the scribes, rows and rows
  of locked wooden boxes are stacked in haphazard order.  Near the door sits
  the main clerk, flanked by guards, the desk in front of him littered with
  transaction slips written on agafari paper. 
  The short, scar-eyed templar is standing here.
  A heavy-set House Nenyuk banker sits behind a desk.
  A tall, ash-haired guard watches her surroundings intently.
  A human Allanaki soldier has arrived from the west.
  The half-giant soldier has arrived from the west.
  
  Thoughtfully, as he makes his way to the Nenyuki banker, the short, scar-eyed templar asks you, in
  southern-accented sirihish:
       "So....how did the killing go?"
  
  Looking at the desk idly, you say to the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
       "Just one hit.. And he hit to the ground."
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man rubs his temple, knitting his brows.
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar gives you 13000 coins.
  
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man lifts the bag, testing its weight.
  
  You say to the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
       "Looks heavier than I thought."
  
  Nodding, the Nenyuki banker tells you, 'Thanks for your business.'
  
  Smiling briefly, the short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "It is. I want you to understand that I hold no grudge."
  
  You hear a man's voice shout from the west in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Imported materials!  Rare items!"
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "We can work together...or against each other. One way is profitable for us both...the other,
  we simply end up killing one another."
  
  With bow of his head, you say to the short, scar-eyed templar, in
  sirihish:
       "And I want you to know, that I apreciate your intelligence."
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Before the end of the day...hopefully the hour...any hunt against your people will be
  ceased."
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar nods at you.
  
  You ask the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
       "And when will Rocker return where he is supposed to be?"
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "I'll see that he's immediately released...and can get you your lost items back, if you wish."
  
  You say to the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
       "It would be very good indeed my Lord, if you would be that kind.  I rather like my blades, if
  you don't mind."
  
  You hear a man's voice shout from the west in southern-accented sirihish:
       "No blades can pierce these armors!"
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Rocker may have been transferred to another cell...so it may take a bit to release him, but he
  should be out safe and sound."
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "I never got to torturing him...I'm fairly certain nobody else has, either."
  
  Nodding, you say to the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
       "So he truly was a guest then.. I see."
  
  Nodding to you, the short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "I need to go by the Quarter, and get this taken care of. I'll find your mind when I'm going to
  go by the jails to pick up your weapons."
  
  
  You say to the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
       "Thank you My Lord.  It has been a good week.. For forming such an allience."
  
  With a thin smile, the short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Indeed, it has."
  
  You hear a man's voice shout from the west in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Imported materials!  Rare items!"
  
  You are no longer following anyone.
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man steps aside from the doorway, peering outside.
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Walk in His shadow, Serpent. You've done a great job. "
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar walks west.
  A human Allanaki soldier walks west.
  The half-giant soldier walks west.
  
  ---------------------------------------------------
  * Thus ended the story of Serpent's old friend, Lord Haadith Oash of the Blue.  The effects of his
  * final actions echoed for quite sometime even after his death.  Meanwhile, Serpent found a new
  * allience in the templarate.  Due to some unfortunate events following afterwards, however, it did
  * not grow strong.  But in the end, little turn out as expected in Zalanthas.
  ---------------------------------------------------
  

  ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
  

  Submitter's note:
  

  
  

  This is the final part of the story of the fall of Templar Haadith Oash

  of Allanak.  Here, in the final part, you will see how the story

  ends.
  

  
  

  I have edited the...
  Continue Reading...

• 

  Salarri Sigil by James de Monet
  Added on Feb 7, 2007

  A wallpaper sized (1024x768) representation of House Salarr's emblem.

  
• 

  Kadian Sigil by James de Monet
  Added on Feb 7, 2007

  A wallpaper sized (1024x768) representation of House Kadius' emblem.

  
• 

  Kuraci Sigil by James de Monet
  Added on Feb 7, 2007

  A wallpaper sized (1024x768) representation of House Kurac's emblem.

  
• 

  Brawl at the Post by Delirium
  Added on Feb 6, 2007

  Tempers flare at the Storms End erupting into entertainment for all.

  ---

  Note: This log shows the use of the 'brawl' code in a RP'd scene. Warning - violence and strong language may offend some people.

  [From the viewpoint of the slight, desert-hued half-elf]
   
  The Storm's End Tavern [NESWU]
  This building evidences the same architectural principles as the inner
  wall and gate towers, but to a much lesser degree.  Its horns and spiked
  flanges have either been worn with time or were designed to a more subtle
  appearance.  Inside, veins of obsidian run along the ceiling and walls,
  generating the impression of a cold, stony skin, black-blooded and evil. 
  A massive wooden bar, stained to a deep grey and lacquered to a mirror
  shine, dominates the eastern half of the room.  An image of an eclipsed
   sun, the paint vivid and fresh, blazes along the front of the bar, the rays
  reaching the full length of it.  The walls appear to have been scrubbed
   till they shine with the deep malevolence only limitless black can hold. 
  A stone stairway curls around itself, spiraling up through the veined
  ceiling.  To the north, an impressive archway leads the way to a
  laughter-filled spice den. 

  The stout, one-eyed man is sitting at a long, carved wooden bar.
  The inked, scar-skinned half-elf is standing here.
  The sanguine-mohawked half-elf is sitting at a rounded agafari table.
  The tiny, brown-skinned dwarf is sitting at a long, carved wooden bar.
  The tall, pierced woman is sitting at a long, carved wooden bar.
  The ivory-maned, pallid-toned woman leans against the bar, surveying the
  room.
  The stocky, clean-shaven man is sitting at a long, carved wooden bar.
  The darkly tanned innkeeper stands here, wiping his hands on his apron.
  The muscular, blue-eyed man stands quietly beside the bar here.
  A burly half-giant soldier with a flat nose stands hunched here.
   
  Pushing against the bar with her sueded palm, the slight, desert-hued
  half-elf studies the tavern.
   
  The inked, scar-skinned half-elf makes his way over to the darkly
  tanned innkeeper, with a deep nod to the stocky, clean-shaven man as
  he approaches a long, carved wooden bar.
   
  The tall, pierced woman asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
  "What do ya think halfie?  Ya like 'em young and clumsy, or old
  and experienced?"
   
   The inked, scar-skinned half-elf gets a pile of allanaki coins from a
  thin pouched belt.
   
  A thin trail of odorless smoke trickles from the stocky, clean-shaven
  man's mouth as he smokes a naked harlot spice pipe.
  The stocky, clean-shaven man's expression becomes lighter.
   
   
  The stout, one-eyed man snickers, shaking his head.
   
  Very, very softly, curling a spiked hand firmly to her shoulder, you
  say to the tall, pierced woman, in sirihish:
  "I think I told you not to call me halfie."
   
  You say to the tall, pierced woman, in sirihish:
  "An' if you bring up that topic to me again.."
   
   The inked, scar-skinned half-elf speaks to the darkly tanned innkeeper
  for a moment, with a glance to you and a firm grip on his serrated
  spike-hilted longknife.
   
   The tiny, brown-skinned dwarf's tongue flicks across his lips as he
  straightens slightly in his seat.
   
   The tall, pierced woman looks up at you.
   
  You feel barely restrained, sparked-off rage.
   
  The darkly tanned innkeeper trades a glass flagon to the inked,
  scar-skinned half-elf.
   
  The darkly tanned innkeeper trades a glass flagon to the inked,
  scar-skinned half-elf.
   
  Her dark face tight with rage, the slight, desert-hued half-elf
  appears to stop herself, words bitten back.
   
  Putting her hand on your hand, the tall, pierced woman says to you, in
  southern-accented sirihish:
  "I think you're a little confused."
   
  The sanguine-mohawked half-elf rests her dull gaze briefly on a long,
  carved wooden bar.
   
  Snarling briefly, the slight, desert-hued half-elf snatches her hand
  from the tall, pierced woman's touch.
   
  You stalk up to the tall, pierced woman and reach down, grabbing for
  her.
  You grab the tall, pierced woman's shoulder roughly.
   
  Through her teeth, you say to the tall, pierced woman, in sirihish:
  "I don't LIKE you."
   
  Making his way back to a rounded agafari table, the inked,
  scar-skinned half-elf keeps an eye on a long, carved wooden bar.
   
  The tall, pierced woman says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
  "Well I -love- you."
   
  The stout, one-eyed man peers over at the commotion.
   
  Sitting on a seat, the inked, scar-skinned half-elf sits at a rounded
  agafari table.
   
  The sanguine-mohawked half-elf plants her hand on a rounded agafari
  table, barely shifting her weight to her feet.
   
   The stout, one-eyed man chuckles roughly.
   
   With a firm nod, the inked, scar-skinned half-elf gives his glass
  flagon to the sanguine-mohawked half-elf.
   
  Her jaw muscles tense and voice even, shaking with restrained rage,
  you say to the tall, pierced woman, in sirihish:
  "You have no idea how stupid that was of you."
   
   At a long, carved wooden bar, you overhear the tiny, brown-skinned
  dwarf say in mirukkim, to himself:
  "Not goilg to ninm rdih I'm ajjir hime."
   
  You say, in sirihish:
  "I'm going to pretend you never said it."
   
   At a rounded agafari table, you overhear the inked, scar-skinned
  half-elf say in sirihish:
  "Weakes' stuff we go here."
   
   The sanguine-mohawked half-elf tears her gaze from a long, carved
  wooden bar, tentatively reaching for her glass flagon with her bony
  fingers.
   
   The stocky, clean-shaven man looks between the tall, pierced woman and
  you, letting his naked harlot spice pipe hang out the corner of his
  mouth.
   
   Pushing your hand off her shoulder again, the tall, pierced woman says
  to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
  "Ya see, what ya told me is that ya weren't gonna help save me
  from some assrape if I called ya halfie again."
   
  Releasing her grip on the tall, pierced woman's shoulder, slowly, the
  slight, desert-hued half-elf slides a step back.
   
   The tall, pierced woman says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
  "I appreciate the thought, but I'm perfectly capable of savin'
  myself."
   
  The stout, one-eyed man arches a high brow.
   
  You feel difficulty restraining her set-off emotions, memories of
  Pendeh and intense emotional pain roaring through her.
   
   The sanguine-mohawked half-elf turns her eyes helplessly back to a
  long, carved wooden bar, her expression held close and tight.
   
   With a broad smile, the tall, pierced woman asks you, in
  southern-accented sirihish:
  "So why don't ya just keep on not savin' me from the molesters,
  and I'll keep on sayin' whatever I damn please, alright?"
   
  The darkly tanned innkeeper scratches his jaw, leaning one elbow down
  on the bar as he watches you and the tall, pierced woman.
   
  The slight, desert-hued half-elf closes one hand into a spiky fist
  and lifts it to her forehead, taking a long, deep breath.
   
  At a rounded agafari table, you overhear the sanguine-mohawked
  half-elf say in sirihish, murmuring scratchily aside to the inked,
  scar-skinned half-elf:
  "This happen a lot?"
   
  Her voice tremoring with held-back rage, you say to the tall, pierced
  woman, in sirihish:
  "You keep runnin' that mouth, sugar."
   
   The inked, scar-skinned half-elf shakes his head, then takes a sip
  from his glass flagon.
   
   The inked, scar-skinned half-elf sips from his glass flagon.
   
   Under his breath, the darkly tanned innkeeper says, in sirihish:
  "Wouldn't risk it meself."
   
  You think:
  "Swear t'fuck.. I -try- to behave.."
   
   The tall, pierced woman asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
  "And ya keep strokin' that chip on your shoulder.Ya might want
  ta just ease it off, eh?Eh?"
   
   At a long, carved wooden bar, you overhear the stout, one-eyed man say
  in sirihish:
  "That's some shit if I've ever seen it."
   
   At a long, carved wooden bar, you overhear the stocky, clean-shaven
  man say in northern-accented sirihish, looking down at his naked
  harlot spice pipe:
  "I got one puff of this left. One of you needs it."
   
  You think:
  "Some fucking cunt comes along.."
   
   The sanguine-mohawked half-elf lifts her glass flagon cautiously to
  her parched lips.
   
   The sanguine-mohawked half-elf sips from her glass flagon.
   
  The darkly tanned innkeeper whistles, shaking his head slightly.
   
  Muffling a scream of rage in the back of her throat, the slight,
  desert-hued half-elf jerks her fist back as if to strike, nostrils
  flaring as she hangs it there.
   
  At a long, carved wooden bar, you overhear the stout, one-eyed man say
  in sirihish:
  "Hey Sid... know when you've gone too far."
   
   The ivory-maned, pallid-toned woman walks north.
   
   The tall, pierced woman inclines her head, her smile vanishing.
   
   The tall, pierced woman stands up from a long, carved wooden bar.
   
  Unflexing her hand and pointing at the tall, pierced woman, you say
  to the stocky, clean-shaven man, in sirihish:
  "That... CUNT.. better not say another.. word to me."
   
   Staring at you, the tall, pierced woman says to you, in
  southern-accented sirihish:
  "Look here, look here."
   
   The tall, pierced woman takes a step closer to you.
   
   The stout, one-eyed man shakes his head.
   
   The sanguine-mohawked half-elf merely watches the tall, pierced woman
  from beneath the shadowy brim of her dusty wide-rimmed leather hat.
   
  The tall, pierced woman says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
  "I'm sorry."
   
   At a long, carved wooden bar, you overhear the stout, one-eyed man say
  in sirihish:
  "She's done."
   
  You grab a rough clay mug of ale and hurl it at the tall, pierced
  woman's
  head.
  Clay shatters as the mug breaks into pieces on impact. Nice shot!
   
  Roaring as she pounces for the tall, pierced woman, you shout in
  sirihish:
  "SORRY!"
   
   The inked, scar-skinned half-elf looks up at the tall, pierced woman
  from his seat at a rounded agafari table.
   
  Swiping for her, you exclaim to the tall, pierced woman, in sirihish:
  "I'll show you fucking sorry, you 'tok faced bitch!"
   
  You grab her by the shoulders and bring a knee up sharply into her
   abdomen.
  The tall, pierced woman groans loudly and doubles over.
   
   The stocky, clean-shaven man grits his teeth.
   
  The tall, pierced woman blinks in confusion, slowly putting a hand to
  her bleeding brow.
   
   At a long, carved wooden bar, you overhear the stout, one-eyed man say
  in sirihish, jerking his thumb over his shoulder:
  "She got that tok faced bitch from me."
   
   The tiny, brown-skinned dwarf knocks aside a bit of clay that settles
  beside his spot at a long, carved wooden bar.
   
  You exclaim to the tall, pierced woman, in sirihish:
  "You have no idea!None!No FUCKING idea what you're saying!"
   
   The inked, scar-skinned half-elf sheathes a serrated spike-hilted
   longknife.
   
   The tall, pierced woman looks around in a daze, gaze slowly focusing on
   you.
   
  Advancing in a sparked-off, wild rage, you exclaim to the tall,
  pierced woman, in sirihish:
  "You ever had a mate, woman?!"
   
   At a rounded agafari table, you overhear the sanguine-mohawked
  half-elf say in sirihish, nearly whispering to the inked, scar-skinned
  half-elf:
  "Who that woman Sha is mauling?"
   
  Grasping for the tall, pierced woman's collar, you shout in sirihish:
  "Someone you loved more than life itself?!"
   
  You step in close and drive an elbow into her ribs.
  The tall, pierced woman grunts softly, swaying on her feet as she
  struggles to breathe.
   
  At a long, carved wooden bar, you overhear the stout, one-eyed man say
  in sirihish:
  "Oh great she's got her started on all the kanks on her back."
   
   Her voice slurred, the tall, pierced woman says to you, in
  southern-accented sirihish:
  "Ya... ya hit me."
   
   Pushing up, the stocky, clean-shaven man says to you, in
  northern-accented sirihish:
  "Sergeant. You knocked 'er senseless. She probably can't even hear
   you."
   
   Jerking her face close to hers with her fist, you say to the tall,
  pierced woman, in sirihish:
  "I--"
   
  Leaning over, the inked, scar-skinned half-elf whispers something to
  the sanguine-mohawked half-elf.
   
  You feel her blind rage abruptly snap out.
   
   The tall, pierced woman wheezes, her face turning blue as she
  struggles to breathe.
   
  Abruptly calming, cool and distant as she jerks her collar again,
  then shoves her away, you say to the tall, pierced woman, in sirihish:
  "I warned you, bitch."
   
   At a long, carved wooden bar, the stout, one-eyed man speaks, shrugging.
   
   The stocky, clean-shaven man stands up from a long, carved wooden bar.
   
  You think:
  "Fuck.."
   
   Leaning over herself, the sanguine-mohawked half-elf whispers
  something to the inked, scar-skinned half-elf.
   
   Spluttering blood, the tall, pierced woman suddenly lurches over and
  seizes you.
   
  Whirling, the slight, desert-hued half-elf faces the tall, pierced
  woman.
   
   Her eyes wild, the tall, pierced woman says to you, in
  southern-accented sirihish:
  "No.Never.No one that would ever love me."
   
  Nostrils flaring, you say to the tall, pierced woman, in sirihish:
  "Get away from me."
   
  You feel intense pain.
   
   A bit of drool coming from her lips, the tall, pierced woman says to
  you, in southern-accented sirihish:
  "I didn't need that, I just wanted a baby."
   
   The stout, one-eyed man watches from over his shoulder.
   
  You feel another edgy burst of anger at the mention of children.
   
   A mul, clad in the garb of the desert traveller and bearing a huge
  hammer on his back, moves through the crowd.
   
   Still holding onto you, the tall, pierced woman says to you, in
  southern-accented sirihish:
  "But I can't have that, cause they beat me so I could never have
  that, just like you."
   
   At a long, carved wooden bar, the stout, one-eyed man speaks, shaking his
  head.
   
   The tall, pierced woman collapses at your feet.
   
   The tall, pierced woman sits down to rest.
   
  Wordlessly, the slight, desert-hued half-elf stares down at the tall,
  pierced woman.
   
  You think:
  "You expect me to feel pity for you, woman?"
   
  You feel intense hatred.
   
   Mumbling imperceptably, the tall, pierced woman says, in
  southern-accented sirihish:
  "Just like ya did now."
   
   Unconsciously, the inked, scar-skinned half-elf's lips pull back in a
  slight snarl as he watches you and the tall, pierced woman.
   
   The stout, one-eyed man says to you, in bendune:
  "Knocked the cunt right out of her, looks like."
   
  Kicking her away from her and stalking off, you say to the tall,
  pierced woman, in sirihish:
  "Maybe you should work on keeping your fucking mouth shut."
   
   The tiny, brown-skinned dwarf sucks air through his teeth, back
  against the lip of a long, carved wooden bar.
   
   The tall, pierced woman curls up into a fetal position as she is kicked.
   
  Shoulders taut with anger as she heads for the door, you say, in
  sirihish:
  "I have no pity for you."
   
  s (to the dark street)
  

  Note: This log shows the use of the 'brawl' code in a RP'd scene. Warning - violence and strong language may offend some people.

  [From the viewpoint of the slight, desert-hued half-elf]
   
  The Storm's End Tavern [NESWU]
  This building evidences the same architectural principles as the inner
  wall and...

  
  Continue Reading...
• 

  The Criminal, part II: Tricked. by Ghost
  Added on Feb 6, 2007

  After the pass of two weeks of Zalanthan time, The Fallen Templar Haadith still has not been found. His former collegue Templar Malenthis Jal calls Serpent to send him after Haadith's tail.

  ---

  ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
  Submitter's note:
  
  This log is the second part of the story of the fall of Templar Haadith Oash of Allanak.  In his time, Haadith Oash was a rather short-tempered,  or one may call, a nasty templar, had been involved in many plots/projects, touched  many PCs whether for good or ill.  Here, I am giving you a snippet of events that had transpired, giving some light to his collegues work to erase him completely from the power struggle.
  
  I have edited the log many times, deleting some passages of conversations, mindtalks, and some emotes and I have also replaced some names/actions as **censored** to avoid passing some information that better kept as it is.  I hope you find it a good read.
  ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
  
  Gesturing to a plain baobab table, the short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented
  sirihish:
       "Take a seat."
  
  With a nod, you sit at a plain baobab table.
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You contact the thin, ebony-skinned man with the Way.
  
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar sits at a plain baobab table.
  
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the thin, ebony-skinned man:
      "Rocker.. His name.. Try reaching his mind."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the thin, ebony-skinned man:
      "I am in Templar's company now."
  
  You dissolve the psychic link.
  
  
  At your table, the short, scar-eyed templar says in southern-accented sirihish, to you, with a dip
  of his head:
       "How has business been?"
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, rubbing his temple:
       "Thank you for asking my Lord.  It is good, that we occasionally continue taking contracts..
  The new ones grow, and it goes on."
  
  At your table, the short, scar-eyed templar says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Good...as I mentioned before...there is a reward out for the traitor, Haadith. "
  
  
  At your table, the short, scar-eyed templar says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "The Templarate was expecting him to die when he was expelled into the 'rinth."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, wetting his lips:
       "Five larges, if I heard it right."
  
  
  At your table, the short, scar-eyed templar says in southern-accented sirihish, dipping his
  head slightly:
       "Yes. Though...I think I might double it, just to see him die."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, dipping his head briefly:
       "Surely.  In my streets, he is an easy target."
  
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, If-:
       "he is in the streets though."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "I mean -If- he is in the streets though."
  
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar nods.
  
  
  At your table, the short, scar-eyed templar says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Surely, he'd be easy to spot."
  
  
  At your table, the short, scar-eyed templar says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "However, I've heard rumors that he's managed to escape into the deserts somehow."
  
  
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, furrowing his brows:
       "Possible."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Sewers lead to the sands."
  
  
  At your table, the short, scar-eyed templar says in southern-accented sirihish, nodding:
       "Yes...I've heard. I'm thinking I might impliment a plan to patch  up that hole in the
  wastes..."
  
  
  At your table, the short, scar-eyed templar says in southern-accented sirihish, thoughtfully, to
  you:
       "What do you think of that?"
  
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "How much time passed.. Two weeks by now?"
  
  
  At your table, the short, scar-eyed templar says in southern-accented sirihish, nodding to you:
       "Yes, two weeks..."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "If he aimed for the sands, he is probably out of that hole by now."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "He would not survive the sewers for two weeks to my guess anyway."
  
  At your table, the short, scar-eyed templar says in southern-accented sirihish, nodding to you, with
  a frown:
       "Yes, he mentioned that he knew the layout of the sewers during his explorations while
  protected with magicks."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, pursing his lips:
       "Red Storm.. Luirs.  Some caves the hunters use..  Those can be his current hide out."
  
  
  At your table, the short, scar-eyed templar says in southern-accented sirihish, to you:
       "Well, we're reasonably certain he's alive. Its doubtful he, an Oash, is living with the
  elves."
  
  
  At your table, the short, scar-eyed templar says in southern-accented sirihish, nodding firmly:
       "We searched some nearby caves when we heard he may have fled the 'rinth...so far to no
  avail."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, thoughtfully:
       "There are.. Some hiding places in the sewers where one can live his entire life though..
  Maybe.. He did not make it to the sands."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Just a possibility."
  
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "In case, he found any such location."
  
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar purses his lips, and nods.
  
  
  At your table, the short, scar-eyed templar says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Well...the Red Robes wish him dead...at any cost."
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man scratches his jawline.
  
  You think:
       "But the red robes sent him alive.."
  
  You think:
       "I can kill himm.. In several weeks."
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man scratches the single scar on
  his cheek, a thoughtful look on his dull black gaze, as he nods once.
  
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar holds up a hand, with a shrug, and a sigh.
  
  
  At your table, the short, scar-eyed templar says in southern-accented sirihish, to you, his
  head cocked:
       "What are you thinking...or scheming, hmm?"
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, wetting his lips, and
  shrugging:
       "Well.. Time may be an issue here..."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "But I can outright say, I will kill him for you."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "I -will-, if someone does not do it first."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "The thing is, I have places to look, hunt, keep his track."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "But there is too little place he can get away."
  
  
  At your table, the short, scar-eyed templar says in southern-accented sirihish, nodding slightly to
  you:
       "Mmm, hmm."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "He can just delay."
  
  
  At your table, the short, scar-eyed templar says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Give me a timetable...when do I get his head?"
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man exhales a soft breath,
  furrowing his brows.
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, wetting his lips:
       "A month is my current guess.  Ask me that time, and I will give you a more solid answer."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Does it make the things too complicated?"
  
  
  At your table, the short, scar-eyed templar says in southern-accented sirihish, tilting his
  head back and forth:
       "Yes, a bit. I was thinking before the end of the day, myself."
  
  
  At your table, the short, scar-eyed templar says in southern-accented sirihish, raising a finger to
  you:
       "One moment."
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man lifts an eyebrow, nodding
  slightly.
  
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar stands up from a plain baobab table.
  
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar points a smooth, obsidian orb at the pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man
  and says 'mon'.
  You feel a surge of energy enter your body, causing you to jerk spastically.
  The energy drains from your body, and your body ceases to respond.
  
  
  
  >stat
  
  Archon of the The Guild, jobs: recruiter | leader |
  Relationship to the land is neutral.
  You are currently speaking sirihish.
  You are affected by:
     Paralyze
  You are resting.
  You are not refusing saves (nosave off).
  You are not being merciful.
  
  
  Smiling briefly, the short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Never lie to me, Serpent."
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar gives the half-giant soldier an order.
  You are hauled to your feet roughly.
  The half-giant soldier subdues you, despite your attempts to struggle away.
  
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar walks east.
  The half-giant soldier walks east, dragging you behind him.
  The Gladiator and the Gaj Tavern -- Main Room [NES]
     This common room composes the bulk of the Gladiator and the Gaj
  Tavern, a bustling establishment founded in the Year of Suk-Krath's
  Defiance of the 19th age.  A cacophony of sounds fills the inn, from the
  busy murmur of the many merchants that frequent the location to the
  howling of the crowd, greeting the arriving news of the latest arena
  fight, to the drunken whine of the hundreds of commonfolk that have made
  the place famous.  Stout wooden beams support the panelled roof of the
  room, each bearing many drawings carved by the patrons of the tavern.
  An agafari-wood bar dominates the western side of the room, the shelves
  behind it supporting the weight of many alcoholic beverages.  Wood and
  stone tables with matching chairs are strewn all over the chamber in
  clusters as to allow waiters and waitresses to circulate with ease.  A
  raised platform has been erected in the northeastern corner for the
  messengers and hawkers hired by the establishment that relay the latest
  news from the arena.  
     To the north, a scarred tarp of carru hide leads out onto the busy
  Caravan Way.  Flickering yellow and orange light spills out from the
  southern room of the tavern, where the meals are prepared and where
  travellers may roast their raw meat for free.  Eastwards lies the public
  sleeping area, while a door lies behind the bar, most likely a back
  room.
  A wall here is designated as a message board.
  The short, scar-eyed templar is standing here.
  A human soldier of Tektolnes walks along here.
  The towering, golden-haired half-giant is here, crouched beside a table.
  The hairy, dark-skinned woman watches the room from beside the bar here.
  The lean, sun-reddened woman laughs as she talks at a large table here.
  A dark-skinned human barkeep stands behind the bar.
  The brutally-scarred orange dwarf sits here at a table, drinking heavily.
  The angular, silver-eyed man is here, leaning casually against a wall.
  
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar points a finger at you, and gestures for nearby guards.
  
  
  
  ______________________________________
  They move directly to the jails, the templar leading the way, Serpent held by the magicks and the soldiers, they make it to the dungeons with no struggle.
  ----------------------------------------
  
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar walks east.
  A human Allanaki soldier walks east.
  The half-giant soldier walks east, dragging you behind him.
  Allanaki Jail [NESW]
     Large blocks of red stone make up the walls of this building, the same
  type used to make the city walls most certainly, since they look so similar.
  This center room of the building is totally devoid of furnishings, save a wide
  bench along the east wall.  Cells lie to the north and south, both of which
  issue forth the smell of filth and rot.
  The short, scar-eyed templar is standing here.
  A human soldier of Tektolnes walks along here.
  A surly, half-giant member of the Allanaki militia is here, acting as jailer.
  
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar gives the half-giant soldier an order.
  A soldier shoves you towards the surly, half-giant jailer.
  The surly, half-giant jailer summons a pair of soldiers, who strip you of your weapons.
  The surly, half-giant jailer opens the northern door, and throws you inside.
  the surly, half-giant jailer closes the door from the other side, and you hear a key turn in its
  lock.
  
  A small window on the cell door opens, flooding the room with light before closing again.
  
  
  Darkness
     Total darkness surrounds you, preventing you from seeing anything
  at all.  You have trouble telling where you put your feet when you walk.
  
  
  The surly, half-giant jailer opens the cell door, and you are hauled out.
  Allanaki Jail [NESW]
     Large blocks of red stone make up the walls of this building, the same
  type used to make the city walls most certainly, since they look so similar.
  This center room of the building is totally devoid of furnishings, save a wide
  bench along the east wall.  Cells lie to the north and south, both of which
  issue forth the smell of filth and rot.
  A half-giant soldier of Tektolnes walks along here.
  The short, scar-eyed templar is standing here.
  A human soldier of Tektolnes walks along here.
  A surly, half-giant member of the Allanaki militia is here, acting as jailer.
  The surly, half-giant jailer closes and locks the cell door, and motions to a soldier.
  A soldier grabs the pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man around the arm, and escorts him to the west.
  A soldier takes you by the arm, and escorts you to the gate.
  Templars' Way [NSW]
     Templars' Way stretches north and south through the very heart of the
  crowded city. The road is made of large, black-colored stones that are
  covered with dust, dung, and other unsavory materials. It passes under the
  Arena's morbid shadow, a gigantic structure standing to the east. Bustling
  with activity, the Commoners' Quarter lies to the west. Crowds pass along
  the street, hurrying on errands and avoiding the keen-eyed glances of the
  templars and soldiers who use this way.
     Directly south stands the gate to the Templars' quarter, its carved
  stone form arching overhead. West Dragon's Path runs along a wall that
  stretches to the west, enclosing the Templar's quarter and separating it
  from the noise and filth of the Commoners' quarter, which lies to the
  northwest.
  A human soldier of Tektolnes stands here, guarding the Templar Quarter.
  The tall, slight man is standing here.
  
  
  A human soldier sends up a call to the wall to close the gates.
  A human soldier closes the gate.
  
  stat
  
  Archon of the The Guild, jobs: recruiter | leader |
  Relationship to the land is neutral.
  You are currently speaking sirihish.
  You are affected by:
     Paralyze
  You are standing.
  You are not refusing saves (nosave off).
  You are not being merciful.
  
  contact effen
  You can't move.
  
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar opens the gate from the other side.
  
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar has arrived from the south.
  A human Allanaki soldier has arrived from the south.
  The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south.
  
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar gives the half-giant soldier an order.
  The half-giant soldier subdues you, despite your attempts to struggle away.
  
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar points a finger at you, and gestures for nearby guards.
  
  
  
  You think:
       "Wait.."
  
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar looks up at you.
  
  You think:
       "Wait.."
  
  
  
  You think:
       "Wait for it.."
  
  
  
  
  Tisking, and shaking his head, the short, scar-eyed templar asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Not a very smart Jailer, is he?"
  
  You think:
       "Wait for it damn it."
  
  
  
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar gives the half-giant soldier an order.
  A soldier shoves you towards the surly, half-giant jailer.
  The surly, half-giant jailer summons a pair of soldiers, who strip you of your weapons.
  The surly, half-giant jailer opens the northern door, and throws you inside.
  the surly, half-giant jailer closes the door from the other side, and you hear a key turn in its
  lock.
  
  A small window on the cell door opens, flooding the room with light before closing again.
  
  Darkness
     Total darkness surrounds you, preventing you from seeing anything
  at all.  You have trouble telling where you put your feet when you walk.
  
  
  You think:
       "Wait for it.."
  
  
  A small window on the cell door opens, flooding the room with light before closing again.
  
  You think:
       "You don't know how we can work this out..damn it."
  
  A small window on the cell door opens, flooding the room with light before closing again.
  
  
  Someone closes the door.
  
  
  Stepping close to you, and hissing in your ear, a male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Hello, Serpent."
  
  
  A male voice shouts, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "In the name of the Highlord, let the foul magicks present here be cleansed!"
  
  
  Someone utters an incantation.
  Your body relaxes, and you can move again.
  
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man coughs, dropping to his
  feet.
  
  
  A male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "I suppose you're wondering why you're here."
  
  Wiping his mouth, gasping for breath, you say, in sirihish:
       "I am quite.. impressed my Lord.  I have to say."
  
  
  Someone closes something.
  
  
  A male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Well. I -am- the Lord Templar Malenthis Jal."
  
  
  Piercing wails of torment flood into the cell from one nearby.
  
  
  A male voice asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Ahh...did you hear that?"
  
  His chest heaving up and down, you say, in sirihish:
       "I am.. cursing myself.. Why I did not ally myself with you in the first place."
  
  You say, in sirihish:
       "Oh? Of course, my Lord."
  
  
  A male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "That may be a very familiar sound to you in the near future."
  
  
  A male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Yes? I'm quite surprised, myself...Haadith was always an idiot."
  
  rest
  You sit down and rest your tired bones.
  
  
  A male voice asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Do you know why you're here?"
  
  On his knees, his breathing slowing down, you say, in sirihish:
       "I am wondering it."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You contact the thick-set, sideburned bartender with the Way.
  
  
  You send a telepathic message to the thick-set, sideburned bartender:
      "I am dying Effen.  In the dungeons.. In Malenthis' hand.  Templar Malenthis Jal."
  
  A pained, wailing moan echoes down from another cell.
  
  Smiling briefly, a male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Oh...come now...take a guess."
  
  Pursing his lips, sitting more comfortably on the dirty floor, you ask, in sirihish:
       "Well.. Let's see.. You don't like to wait one month?"
  
  
  A male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Mmm...close."
  
  Wetting his lips, you ask, in sirihish:
       "You want to have something today.  Closer?"
  
  
  A male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Much closer."
  
  Exhaling softly, you say, in sirihish:
       "Well.. Ideas are running through my mind Lord Templar.  Clearly.."
  
  
  His voice lowering to a quiet low, the sounds of ruffling silk as if he's crouching down to your level, a male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "I'm sure there are."
  
  
  A male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "You see, Serpent...I know where Haadith is."
  
  
  Raising his finger to his lips, in a mock-whisper, a male voice exclaims to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Shhh! Don't tell! Its a secret!"
  
  Coughing a few times, and wiping his mouth, you say, in sirihish:
       "Oh.. My Lord, do not insult my intelligence.  Please."
  
  You say, in sirihish:
       "Maybe I made a dumb mistake."
  
  You ask, in sirihish:
       "A big one.  Eh?"
  
  
  A male voice says, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "A -very- big one."
  
  You say, in sirihish:
       "But that made me know you bettr."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You contact the sleek, honey-eyed young woman with the Way.
  
  
  Nodding slightly, a male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "I'm certain it did...let me show you something..."
  
  A male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Ah...well, you won't be able to see it in this light."
  
  
  You send a telepathic message to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman:
      "I think, Sophie.. I will die today at Malenthis hands.  Keep the coins for the child, that I gave you."
  
  
  Someone opens something.
  
  
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman:
      "If you can't do it, give the child to the Rocker.. Or whoever in the Guild's control."
  
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman:
      "I love you."
  
  You dissolve the psychic link.
  
  
  The sound of unrolling parchment fills the air as someone unrolls his something.
  
  
  A male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "I know you can't see it..but in my hands is a scroll. I assure you, I can read it just fine in this light."
  
  
  Curiously, a male voice asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Would you like to know what it says?"
  
  With a nod, exhaling softly, you say, in sirihish:
       "I am all too curious about it."
  
  
  With a soft chuckle, a male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "It says, simply: Lord Templar Malenthis Jal has been credited with learning that the Guild may be involved with somehow hiding and protecting Haadith while in the 'rinth. "
  
  
  A male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Therefore, the Blue robes of the War Ministry are given instructions any and all Guild members we know are to be detained, tortured,  and killed untill Haadith is captured or killed."
  
  
  Pursing his lips, you say, in sirihish:
       "Quite informative."
  
  The sound of parchment crinkling as he seems to poke his something, a male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Yes. Theres this little bit at the bottom that also says we're supposed to inform you of why."
  
  
  You ask, in sirihish:
       "So.. Forgive my curiosity, but.. Why?"
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You contact the thick-set, sideburned bartender with the Way.
  
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the thick-set, sideburned bartender:
      "Tell all the Guilders to step back into the rinth and do not go out."
  
  
  A male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Because you've been harboring a fugitive the Templarate wants dead. Don't try to deny it. I know."
  
  
  Exhaling a soft breath, you say, in sirihish:
       "So my Lord.. I am assuming..."
  
  
  A male voice asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Yes?"
  
  Adding on, you say, in sirihish:
       ".. You will eventually get Haadith.  Through me."
  
  
  Lifting a shoulder in a shrug, a male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "We know his exact location...think of it as a...sound business choice."
  
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You contact the soot-stubbled, jet-curled man with the Way.
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the soot-stubbled, jet-curled man:
      "Do not step to the southside.. At all.. And tell all the guilders to do the same."
  
  
  A male voice says, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Consider it: either his head is given to me...or his living body..."
  
  A male voice says, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "OR...a Legion of troops descends upon the Labyrinth, gets him anyway..."
  
  You say, in sirihish:
       "Head is easy.  I don't like run aways, and chasing.  I am a little old for that I guess."
  
  Wetting his lips, you say, in sirihish:
       "Legions.. No don't go over that."
  
  You say, in sirihish:
       "You will lose more than you think.. Believe me."
  
  You say, in sirihish:
       "After you strike me with your keen intelligent side, I would not want that."
  
  Exhaling a soft breath, you say, in sirihish:
       "Easy thing."
  
  You say, in sirihish:
       "There is always an easier way, and you know it."
  
  
  A male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Yes...a few casualties would be taken..perhaps some less-than-expendables. "
  
  
  A male voice says, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "There is. It involves Rocker."
  
  You say, in sirihish:
       "Rocker can't kill him."
  
  
  A male voice asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Then you'll simply find someone who can, won't you?"
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man shakes his head to either sides.
  
  You say, in sirihish:
       "That is exactly -me- you are talking about."
  
  You say, in sirihish:
       "I can kill him.  Rocker is not enough of a killer."
  
  
  Sighing, a male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "A pity, then, for the GUild. You're  going to be here...likely getting tortured, and eventually killed."
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man grunts softly.
  
  
  A male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Meanwhile, all the Blue robes of the wWar Ministry are going to be on the streets, pulling in all their contacts, and everyone they know from the Guild..."
  
  
  A male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "And that list is...quite substantial."
  
  You ask, in sirihish:
       "My Lord, just think on.. What you really want.  You want Haadith, yes?"
  
  
  A male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Yes. And I'd love to maintain good relations with The Guild."
  
  
  A male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "However...the Guild has proven itself to be a less than reliable business partner."
  
  You say, in sirihish:
       "Your way, Rocker can lose him.. Wounded.. Or gets himself wounded.. And your target runs away. These are possible."
  
  
  A male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "And I don't mean to myself. I mean to the Templarate."
  
  Shaking his head, you say, in sirihish:
       "Let me say my offer."
  
  
  A soft chuckle echoing in the dark dungeon, a male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "...I'm listening."
  
  You say, in sirihish:
       "Lets go to Nenyuk.. I will give you ten larges, your bounty.. I will then head to rinth, take off a head.  Bring it back.  And take my ten larges back."
  
  You say, in sirihish:
       "Haadith does not worth ten."
  
  You say, in sirihish:
       "Not in his current state"
  
  
  Nodding slowly, a male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Mmmm...an interesting offer."
  
  You say, in sirihish:
       "So it is sure I will bring it back."
  
  
  A male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Sadly, I've known far too many criminal types who've given me similar offers, and gone and buggered off."
  
  
  A sigh echoing through the cold dungeon air, a male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "...I never hear from them again."
  
  
  A male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "You've proven yourself to be less than trustworthy. I'd need a larger marker."
  
  Exhaling softly, you say, in sirihish:
       "Oh come now.."
  
  You say, in sirihish:
       "You are getting Haadith for no charges.. And just the same day you want."
  
  
  A male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Perhaps Rocker will still be of use. We'll do it your way...but you'll have Rocker present himself to me before I release you."
  
  
  An odd scratching noise is heard on the outside of the cell door.
  
  
  A male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Rocker will be a...guest...of the Templarate, untill I see Haadith's head."
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man scratches his jawline.
  
  
  A massive half-giant soldier walks by, glaring into the cell before moving on.
  
  You say, in sirihish:
       "By a -guest-, I hope we are having the same idea."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You contact the soot-stubbled, jet-curled man with the Way.
  
  
  Offering a laugh, a male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Use your imagination. Perhaps it will give you incentive."
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man chuckles quietly.
  
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the soot-stubbled, jet-curled man:
      "Rocker.. I might have a way out."
  
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the soot-stubbled, jet-curled man:
      "It is through you."
  
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the soot-stubbled, jet-curled man:
      "They want me to kill Haadith.  And you in the meanwhile will take my place."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the soot-stubbled, jet-curled man:
      "When Haadith dies, they will release you."
  
  A male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "I'll let you think about it for a few minutes."
  
  
  Someone opens the door.
  
  
  You say, in sirihish:
       "Alright..  You have it."
  
  
  Light pours into the dungeon as someone opens the door.
  
  
  A male voice asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Hmm?"
  
  
  You say, in sirihish:
       "Just some light.. I guess Rocker is trying to find my mind."
  
  
  A male voice says, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "I'll see what I can do."
  
  
  You say, in sirihish:
       "Er.. "
  
  You get a leather-strapped green glow-crystal from a black
  skull-studded greatcloak.
  It is very light.
  
  You light a leather-strapped green glow-crystal.
  The area is filled with a green light.
  You fasten a shining leather-strapped green glow-crystal around your right ankle.
  
  The Dungeons of Allanak [S]
     The solid stone walls of this massive chamber rise up twenty cords, to
  accommodate the larger criminals of the city's streets.  The floor has
  been laid with the same stone used in making the walls, and is covered
  with decades, possibly centuries, of filth.  There are no furnishings
  here, nor any windows for lighting.
  Several tiny, dead cockroaches are here.
  
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the soot-stubbled, jet-curled man:
      "You can get to my mind now"
  
  A foreign presence contacts your mind.
  
  You stop using a shining leather-strapped green glow-crystal.
  You extinguish a shining leather-strapped green glow-crystal.
  The area is enveloped in darkness.
  
  
  The soot-stubbled, jet-curled man sends you a telepathic message:
      "I'm ready, Boss... They gonna let me take some spice with me, to pass the hours? ....I don't wanna spend too long in that fucking hole, mind you."
  
  
  You send a telepathic message to the soot-stubbled, jet-curled man:
      "Oh.. Let me see.  Stay in my mind."
  
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You contact the short, scar-eyed man with the Way.
  
  Someone opens the door from the other side.
  
  You send a telepathic message to the short, scar-eyed man:
      "You don't mind if he takes some spice with him?  He says, if it takes too long in a hole, he needs it."
  
  The area is filled with a yellow light.
  The short, scar-eyed templar has arrived from the south.
  A human Allanaki soldier has arrived from the south.
  The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south.
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar closes the door.
  
  His scarred brows raised, the short, scar-eyed templar asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Are you serious?"
  
  A foreign presence contacts your mind.
  
  Tiredly, the pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man leans his back to the cell wall.
  
  The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "Ahh... Serpent."
  
  Shaking his head slightly, the short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "I don't believe you're in a position to make many demands."
  
  
  A foreign presence contacts your mind.
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You contact the soot-stubbled, jet-curled man with the Way.
  
  Narrowing his good eye, the short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Particularly illegal ones."
  
  With a sigh, rubbing his temple, you say to the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
       "Let me tell that to him."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the soot-stubbled, jet-curled man:
      "Rocker.. It won't take long."
  
  The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "I have a question for you."
  
  You dissolve the psychic link.
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You are unable to reach their mind.
  
  
  The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "...once you have a free moment to answer it."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You contact the delicate, ebon-curled woman with the Way.
  
  
  The soot-stubbled, jet-curled man sends you a telepathic message:
      "I'm ready, then. I trust you, Boss."
  
  You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
      "Oh.. Shoot is fast, because I am about to die, my lady."
  
  The sepia-skinned, blue-eyed man sends you a telepathic message:
      "If you have need of me, I'm available in the temple.  Also, what is our stance on the situation Haadith?"
  
  Rubbing his temple, you say to the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
       "Not too eager, but he believes I will not make it long."
  
  The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "Die? Why?"
  
  
  Dipping his head slightly, the short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Naturally."
  
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
      "It is a loooong story my Lady."
  
  
  The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "Did anyone tried to hire the Guild to kill Sophie?"
  
  
  Pushing up the dirty floor, you rise and stand.
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Tell me...who else has come into contact with Haadith...."
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "And what were you planning on doing with him?"
  
  You say to the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
       "No one else.. Just the eastsider undead magickers tried to buy him."
  
  You say to the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
       "And my idea was to extract information from him, in the meanwhile."
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar tisks, shaking his head.
  
  You say to the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
       "One month is enough for it.  You know."
  
  Leaning over to you, the short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Between you and I...he doesn't know much."
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "You would have been beter off selling him to the undead eastsider magickers."
  
  Pursing his lips, you say to the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
       "With your keen side, my Lord, I am more inclined to believe you anyways."
  
  
  With a thin smile, the short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Oh. Now you're just blowing smoke up my ass."
  
  You say to the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
       "By the way, your guards are overpaid."
  
  You say to the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
       "I am stripped off my weapons twice.. Yet I still have two with me."
  
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Really?"
  
  You say to the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
       "Guess they are for the target."
  
  
  Pointing down to your boots, the short, scar-eyed templar asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Not in your boots are they?"
  
  
  You say to the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
       "You are really keen."
  
  The soot-stubbled, jet-curled man sends you a telepathic message:
      "So? Am I meeting you, or should I run off for some snatch before they lock me up?"
  
  You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
  
  You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
  
  
  You ask the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
       "So.. Where should Rocker come?"
  
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Have him meet me at the gates to the Templars quarters."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You contact the soot-stubbled, jet-curled man with the Way.
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the soot-stubbled, jet-curled man:
      "Come to the Templar's quarter gates."
  
  You dissolve the psychic link.
  
  You hear a screeching sob from outside the cell as another prisoner is taken to their cell.
  
  You now follow the short, scar-eyed templar.
  
  Chuckling slightly, and holding up a hand, the short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "You'll be staying here, I'm afraid."
  
  You are no longer following anyone.
  
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Not that I don't trust you...but I'd be a fool to let you go before I had the marker."
  
  Glancing where the sound comes, you say to the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
       "Oh.. This is a very crowded place by the way.  I have not ended up here much."
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Yes...quite. That might be one of your associates."
  
  Leaning back to the wall, and sitting on the dirty floor, you sit down and rest your tired bones.
  
  Shaking his head, you say to the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
       "I don't think so.  But who knows."
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar lifts a shoulder in a shrug.
  
  You say to the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
       "Alright my Lord.  I am waiting."
  
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar opens the door.
  
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar walks south.
  The area is enveloped in darkness.
  
  
  Someone closes the door from the other side.
  
  
  You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
  
  contact shareyn
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You contact the delicate, ebon-curled woman with the Way.
  
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
      "No.. No one."
  
  
  
  A small window on the cell door opens, flooding the room with light before closing again.
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
      "Forgive the delay in the answer, I was a little busy near dying."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
      "Hmm.. By the way, have I told you are very beautiful?"
  
  You get a leather-strapped green glow-crystal from a black skull-studded greatcloak.
  It is very light.
  
  You light a leather-strapped green glow-crystal.
  The area is filled with a green light.
  You fasten a shining leather-strapped green glow-crystal around your right ankle.
  
  The Dungeons of Allanak [S]
     The solid stone walls of this massive chamber rise up twenty cords, to
  accommodate the larger criminals of the city's streets.  The floor has
  been laid with the same stone used in making the walls, and is covered
  with decades, possibly centuries, of filth.  There are no furnishings
  here, nor any windows for lighting.
  Several tiny, dead cockroaches are here.
  
  A foreign presence contacts your mind.
  
  You stop using a shining leather-strapped green glow-crystal.
  You extinguish a shining leather-strapped green glow-crystal.
  The area is enveloped in darkness.
  
  You put something inside a black skull-studded greatcloak.
  
  The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "..."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
      "Anyway.. Maybe I don't die. But to answer your question.."
  
  The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "Is your situation better?"
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
      "No.  We have no contract on Sophie."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
      "My situation?  Not very much.  But a little."
  
  You are getting hungry.
  
  The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "What would you want to not accept any?"
  
  A small irrig beetle hovers along the ceiling, splashing the walls with a faint green light before flitting away.
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
      "Accept what?  Offer?"
  
  A tiny, brown cockroach scuttles to the middle of the floor, stops, then falls over dead.
  
  The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "Yes. It is possible someone will come and ask. I want Sophie alive."
  
  
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
      "Forgive my curiosity.. I don't usually ask it but, this is a dying man's wish yes?  What do you mean exactly?  Who will come and why?"
  
  
  
  The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "I think there are two important man who might want to see her dead. Lord Templar Malenthis
  might be a one of them."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
      "For what?  Just to give a kick on Haadith?"
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
      "And is the other one Veralius?"
  
  The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "Yes."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
      "Yes to what?"
  
  The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "Yes, the second one could be my Lord Cousin Veralius."
  
  The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "I want Sophie alive. So I thought pay for her protection might be a good step."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
      "The usual protection payment, we can count for her.  Since she is additional head, and is no advisor, we will ask for an additional one large per year."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
      "Sound good?"
  
  The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "Yes."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
      "Good.  Next time the time for renewing the deal comes, you better add it and say the reason to the collector."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
      "If I die, the one after me will still hold onto the deal."
  
  The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "How is your dying going?"
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
      "Hmm.. A little slow and boring I should say."
  
  The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "I meant... do not you want to share the story? Maybe I can do something..."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
      "Well.. You can.. Maybe."
  
  Piercing wails of torment flood into the cell from one nearby.
  
  The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "Mhmmm?"
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
      "Malenthis has half the mind to kill me, the other half is making a deal.  Though, after I complete his deal.."
  
  You are getting hungry.
  
  A group of shuffling footsteps moves by the door of the cell.
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
      "He still might consider killing."
  
  The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "What kind of deal is that?"
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
      "If you want me alive, I don't know if you do, you can give him the idea maybe.. That there are somethings I have done and doing for you maybe.  I am not sure if it will work at all.  Maybe you should just watch.  Both works."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
      "Ahh.. Nothing.  Just killing Haadith."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
      "He wants it today."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
      "I still like you either way, my Lady."
  
  The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "Well... why your superiors do not do something?"
  
  The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "If he decides to make a deal with you, cannot you... avoid him?"
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
      "My superiors are probably into someting now.  They will do something after I die eventually. Guess it will be still convenient but a little late."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
      "Oh.. I can kill Haadith.  Today."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
      "The thing is, he can kill me after the delivery of the head."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
      "The fun part of the dealings with templars is that.  They always have a surprise in their sleeves."
  
  The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "Umm... question is... why will you deliver the head yourself?"
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
      "Hmm.. Good question.  I don't know."
  
  The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "You know where Haadith is?"
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
      "Hmm.. Kind of."
  
  The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "And Malenthis knows you do?"
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
      "Yes.  You are on the right track."
  
  The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "Which is the reason he wants you to die? Or is there anything else?"
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
      "There is a little more detail too, but we can pretty much say that is the reason."
  
  The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "Hmm,,"
  
  The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "Irritating."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
      "Oh.. I would not want someone beautiful like you to be irritated my Lady."
  
  The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "I would not want someone capable like you to die for a stupidity, Serpent."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
      "I am flattered, my Lady.  Thank you."
  
  You are hungry.
  You think:
       "Need to eat."
  
  A small window on the cell door opens, flooding the room with light before closing again.
  
  You dissolve the psychic link.
  
  Someone opens the door from the other side.
  
  Someone closes the door.
  
  Darkness
     Total darkness surrounds you, preventing you from seeing anything
  at all.  You have trouble telling where you put your feet when you walk.
  
  A male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "An interesting little enforcer you have there, Serpent."
  
  Blinking his eyes as the darkness resettles, you say, in sirihish:
       "Hmm?  He is."
  
  
  The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "Oh well. I will wish you luck. I am not sure what can I do more right now... hmmm... I will try something, though."
  
  
  A male voice asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Tell me...what will you be doing, now that he's taken over your crew?"
  
  
  You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
  
  You say, in sirihish:
       "I am already doing what I will be doing.  Supervising him."
  
  A male voice asks, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "And I imagine a few other crews at that, hmm?"
  
  
  A male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "He seems to think that what the Templarate is doing is a mistake."
  
  You ask, in sirihish:
       "Oh?"
  
  
  Nodding slightly, a male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Yes. He seems to think if we attack the Guild...many will die, all over."
  
  
  A male voice asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Do you have a similar point of view?"
  
  Bobbing his head slightly, you ask, in sirihish:
       "Well..  Kind of.  That is why I just said to go on the easier way, have not I?"
  
  
  A male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Mmm. Indeed."
  
  Shrugging his shoulders in the darkness, you say, in sirihish:
       "My idea."
  
  
  A male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Yes. Which is why I'm so hestant to go with it."
  
  
  
  A male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Afterall, my orders remain...and I've managed to to capture -two- notorious Guilders in one afternoon."
  
  
  A male voice asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Perhaps I should skip it, and go on to the torture and death part?"
  
  
  A commanding voice echoes through the shadows outside the cell, followed by cries of pain and
  several cracks of a whip.
  
  Pursing his lips, you say, in sirihish:
       "Well.. I am sure it will be amusing.  To torture two people, and have fun.  But I think you are smarter than that."
  
  You say, in sirihish:
       "You can always have your fun with easy targets."
  
  You say, in sirihish:
       "But not all of them can give you your target."
  
  
  A male voice says, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Indeed."
  
  
  A male voice says, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "I'll give you half of a week to bring me his head."
  
  Leaning back and resting his head over the dirty wall, you ask, in sirihish:
       "Come now my Lord.  Do you really believe you need some deadline to make sure what you want?"
  
  
  A male voice says, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "After that...I'm not certain that my generous protection will be able to hold out...and Rocker - and any other Guilders I find - may begin paying."
  
  You say, in sirihish:
       "I will give you today."
  
  
  A male voice says, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Oh, good. Well, lets get started, then."
  
  
  Someone lights something.
  The area is filled with a yellow light.
  
  The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "That is me, Serpent. I was just wondering how are you doing."
  
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You contact the delicate, ebon-curled woman with the Way.
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
      "Still debating if I should die or live my Lady.  How are you doing?"
  
  You dissolve the psychic link.
  
  The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "Sitting in a garden and enjoying weather."
  
  
  
  The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "I am honestly curious if you will get away or not."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You contact the delicate, ebon-curled woman with the Way.
  
  
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
      "Sounds delicius."
  
  
  The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "Oh yes, I bet you would like to be here too."
  
  
  A foreign presence contacts your mind.
  
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "-Relief flooding her thoughts- Krath, love.."
  
  The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "Nice spot to see people wandering around without be seen."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
      "I love the sound of it."
  
  The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "Hmm... yes. Indeed."
  
  Smiling thinly, the short, scar-eyed templar asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Shall we?"
  
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
      "Oh.. I think I am moving."
  
  You dissolve the psychic link.
  
  You stop resting, and stand up.
  
  You start trying to listen.
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "I'll  leave you to go...track down your prey."
  
  You now follow the short, scar-eyed templar.
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar pardons you of your crimes.
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Your weapons...describe them to me, and I'll see that you get them back."
  
  
  You say to the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
       "Hmm.. A few throwing knives, dyed in black.  One short spear.  One crystalline longknife, made of salt worm tooth."
  
  
  The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "Moving? There are few things I can see under that word."
  
  Wiping his face, you say to the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
       "Oh.. Nice meeting you again, by the way, my Lord."
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "The feeling is very mutual. I do hope a minimally bloody resolution can be found."
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar nods at you.
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "The guards will see you out. I'll fetch the knives."
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar stops leading the pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man.
  
  You say to the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
       "There are a few more I guess.. But I am not worried about them."
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar opens the door.
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Ahh, fine then. I'll just see you out."
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar walks south.
  A human Allanaki soldier walks south.
  The half-giant soldier walks south.
  
  
  The surly, half-giant jailer opens the cell door, and you are hauled out.
  Allanaki Jail [NESW]
     Large blocks of red stone make up the walls of this building, the same
  type used to make the city walls most certainly, since they look so similar.
  This center room of the building is totally devoid of furnishings, save a wide
  bench along the east wall.  Cells lie to the north and south, both of which
  issue forth the smell of filth and rot.
  A half-giant soldier of Tektolnes walks along here.
  The short, scar-eyed templar is standing here.
  A human soldier of Tektolnes walks along here.
  A surly, half-giant member of the Allanaki militia is here, acting as jailer.
  The surly, half-giant jailer closes and locks the cell door, and motions to a soldier.
  A soldier grabs the pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man around the arm, and escorts him to the west.
  A soldier takes you by the arm, and escorts you to the gate.
  Templars' Way [NSW]
     Templars' Way stretches north and south through the very heart of the
  crowded city. The road is made of large, black-colored stones that are
  covered with dust, dung, and other unsavory materials. It passes under the
  Arena's morbid shadow, a gigantic structure standing to the east. Bustling
  with activity, the Commoners' Quarter lies to the west. Crowds pass along
  the street, hurrying on errands and avoiding the keen-eyed glances of the
  templars and soldiers who use this way.
     Directly south stands the gate to the Templars' quarter, its carved
  stone form arching overhead. West Dragon's Path runs along a wall that
  stretches to the west, enclosing the Templar's quarter and separating it
  from the noise and filth of the Commoners' quarter, which lies to the
  northwest.
  A human soldier of Tektolnes stands here, guarding the Templar Quarter.
  The tall, slight man is standing here.
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man blinks.
  
  You are already standing.
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man scratches his head.
  
  
  You slow down and start moving carefully.
  
  Stinging sand swirls around you.
  Templars' Way [NS]
     Templars' Way stretches north and south through the very heart of the
  crowded city. The road is made of large, black-colored stones that are
  covered with dust, dung, and other unsavory materials. It passes under the
  Arena's morbid shadow, a gigantic structure standing to the east. Bustling
  with activity, the Commoners' Quarter lies to the west. Crowds pass along
  the street, hurrying on errands and avoiding the keen-eyed glances of the
  templars and soldiers who use this way.
  A branded, heavily-scarred mul moves down the road, looking determined.
  
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "-Her thoughts filled with emotion- I -love- -you-. PLEASE keep.. alive."
  
  ----------------------------------------------------------------------
  Thus Serpent is released to hunt down his old friend, and thus get his best man to be released.  There is little time, and little choice.
  ----------------------------------------------------------------------

  ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
  

  Submitter's note:
  

  
  

  This log is the second part of the story of the fall of Templar Haadith

  Oash of Allanak.  In his time, Haadith Oash was a rather

  short-tempered,  or one may call,...
  Continue Reading...

• 

  The Criminal, part I: Fallen Templar by Eru
  Added on Feb 6, 2007

  A templar of Blue gets disrobed, and is banished to Labyrinth. There he meets an old friend.

  ---

  ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
  Submitter's note:
  
  This log is part of the story of the fall of Templar Haadith Oash of Allanak.  In his time, Haadith Oash was a rather short-tempered,  or one may call, a nasty templar, had been involved in many plots/projects, touched  many PCs whether for good or ill.  Here, I am giving you a snippet of events that had transpired, giving some light to him getting disrobed and fallen from the Highlord's grace.
  
  I have edited the log many times, deleting some passages of conversations, mindtalks, and some emotes and I have also replaced some names/actions as **censored** to avoid passing some information that better kept as it is.  I hope you find it a good read.
  ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
  
  A Cluttered Office [WD]
     This tiny square chamber is unfurnished save for a battered desk
  behind with a few crates serving as seating behind it.  The room has no
  visible exits, save back to the bar and contains no windows.  Dust clings
  heavy in the air and there is a smell of decay and rot about the place that
  has likely been present for centuries.  The stone walls are stacked with
  battered crates, all arranged in a haphazard fashion and tilting madly in
  several different directions. 
  The large oval of a pale gold carpet is spread across the floor.
  A pink-flowered plant is rooted here, its leaves exuding a sharp scent.
  A gwoshi carved wooden chest sits here.
  A couple of open shelved cabinets are here.
  A large wooden crate is here, stacked neatly in the corner.
  A rough hide sleeping mat lies on the floor here.
  
  <95/95 111/124 75/101 - sneaking >
  The slight, wispy-bearded half-elf sits at a long, low and cracked clay table
  
  <95/95 111/124 80/101 - sneaking >op door
  Ok.
  
  <95/95 111/124 83/101 - sneaking >w
  A Cramped, Dingy Bar [EWU]
     Were it not for the sheer overpowering vileness of the air outside,
  this small and tightly-cramped room would scarcely seem a breath of
  freshness at all.  Thick, acrid smoke intermingles with the smell of
  unwashed bodies, vomit, cheap booze, and ancient decay in the limited
  confines of this room, creating a unique amalgam of foulness that even the
  rough sensibilities of a dwarf would quail at.  The walls of the room are
  short and the roof is relatively low, giving one an acute claustrophobic
  feeling that mirrors the feel of the surrounding alleyways with merciless
  precision.  A few crates are stacked here and there in a seemingly haphazard
  array.  Whatever their intended purpose, it appears as though patrons have
  begun using them as seats in lieu of squatting on the ale-damp floor.  The
  center of the room draws your attention once your eyes have adjusted to the
  change in lighting and reveals a strange stoneworked depression, roughly
  three cords deep and ten cords across.  Broken stonework sculptures surround
  the edges of the depression in a seeming mockery of a gleeful dance.
  Several battered crates with a thick slab of pure obsidian draped across
  them seem to serve as a makeshift bar in a corner of the room.  An equally
  battered wooden door is situated just behind it. 
     Just beside the bar, a loosely hanging rope ladder disappears up into a
  jagged hole in the ceiling of the room. 
  A multi-ringed dartboard hangs on a wall here.
  A message board is propped up against a wall.
  The very short and thick male wearing a grey shaded, black face-wrap is standing here.
  The long-haired, scar faced man stands by the bar, arms over his chest.
  The lanky, dreadlocked man, is hanging out here lazily against the wall.
  The thick-set, sideburned bartender is here cleaning out mugs with a rag.
  The muscular, hatchet-faced man stands here by the door.
  
  
  
  The scarred, well-muscled man sends you a telepathic message:
      "Serpent. As it happens, I have some information for you."
  
  With the coming of night, darkness steals over the Labyrinth.
  
  At your table, the short, scar-faced man says in sirihish:
       "Hey, Chief!"
  
  The scarred, well-muscled man sends you a telepathic message:
      "I have learned that a man formerly known as Lord Templar is to be banished to the Labyrinth."
  
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man blinks, rubbing his temple.
  
  The scarred, well-muscled man sends you a telepathic message:
      "Now, he is only Haadith. If you have anything you wish of him..I would suggest that you welcome him to our part of the city."
  
  At your table, the short, scar-faced man says in sirihish, to the thick-set, sideburned bartender:
       "Pass me an ale, Effen."
  
  The thick-set, sideburned bartender trades a chipped, red-clay mug to the short, scar-faced man.
  
  The scarred, well-muscled man sends you a telepathic message:
      "He has been removed from the templarate. What you do with him is up to you. I'd suggest that you don't let him fall into anyone else's hands, though."
  
  The scarred, well-muscled man sends you a telepathic message:
      "That is all."
  
  
  You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  
  You send a telepathic message to the scarred, well-muscled man:
      "Of course.. I will reach to him right away and accept him."
  
  You dissolve the psychic link.
  
  
  You stand up from a sturdy old bar.
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man grunts.
  
  
  His chest heaving up and down, the pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man walks over the battered doorway.
  
  The muscular, hatchet-faced man nods at you.
  Ok.
  
  The muscular, hatchet-faced man nods at you.
  
  A Cluttered Office [WD]
     This tiny square chamber is unfurnished save for a battered desk
  behind with a few crates serving as seating behind it.  The room has no
  visible exits, save back to the bar and contains no windows.  Dust clings
  heavy in the air and there is a smell of decay and rot about the place that
  has likely been present for centuries.  The stone walls are stacked with
  battered crates, all arranged in a haphazard fashion and tilting madly in
  several different directions. 
  The large oval of a pale gold carpet is spread across the floor.
  A pink-flowered plant is rooted here, its leaves exuding a sharp scent.
  A gwoshi carved wooden chest sits here.
  A couple of open shelved cabinets are here.
  A large wooden crate is here, stacked neatly in the corner.
  A rough hide sleeping mat lies on the floor here.
  The slight, wispy-bearded half-elf is sitting at a long, low and cracked clay table.
  
  Uttering a loud curse, you rest on a rough hide sleeping mat.
  
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You contact the soft-featured, black-haired man with the Way.
  
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the soft-featured, black-haired man:
      "Whenever you need a help, your old friend is here at your side.. Just wanted to say that.  I think it should mean something."
  
  The slight, wispy-bearded half-elf asks you, in northern-accented sirihish:
       "Something happen t'ya?"
  
  
  
  A foreign presence contacts your mind.
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man sends you a telepathic message:
      "*pain, desperation* I can pay you...Whatever you want....please..."
  
  You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the soft-featured, black-haired man:
      "Come to the Labyrinth..  I will provide you the sanctuary you need."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the soft-featured, black-haired man:
      "Come to the Elementalists quarter.. Near the temple of Whira."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the soft-featured, black-haired man:
      "Before the false wall.  I will take you in."
  
  You stand up from a rough hide sleeping mat.
  
  
     Were it not for the sheer overpowering vileness of the air outside,
  this small and tightly-cramped room would scarcely seem a breath of
  freshness at all.  Thick, acrid smoke intermingles with the smell of
  unwashed bodies, vomit, cheap booze, and ancient decay in the limited
  confines of this room, creating a unique amalgam of foulness that even the
  rough sensibilities of a dwarf would quail at.  The walls of the room are
  short and the roof is relatively low, giving one an acute claustrophobic
  feeling that mirrors the feel of the surrounding alleyways with merciless
  precision.  A few crates are stacked here and there in a seemingly haphazard
  array.  Whatever their intended purpose, it appears as though patrons have
  begun using them as seats in lieu of squatting on the ale-damp floor.  The
  center of the room draws your attention once your eyes have adjusted to the
  change in lighting and reveals a strange stoneworked depression, roughly
  three cords deep and ten cords across.  Broken stonework sculptures surround
  the edges of the depression in a seeming mockery of a gleeful dance.
  Several battered crates with a thick slab of pure obsidian draped across
  them seem to serve as a makeshift bar in a corner of the room.  An equally
  battered wooden door is situated just behind it. 
     Just beside the bar, a loosely hanging rope ladder disappears up into a
  jagged hole in the ceiling of the room. 
  A multi-ringed dartboard hangs on a wall here.
  A message board is propped up against a wall.
  The short, scar-faced man is sitting at a sturdy old bar.
  The very short and thick male wearing a grey shaded, black face-wrap is standing here.
  The long-haired, scar faced man stands by the bar, arms over his chest.
  The lanky, dreadlocked man, is hanging out here lazily against the wall.
  The thick-set, sideburned bartender is here cleaning out mugs with a rag.
  The muscular, hatchet-faced man stands here by the door.
  
  <95/95 119/124 33/101 - sneaking >close door
  Ok.
  
  
  You say to the short, scar-faced man, in sirihish:
       "Tell everyone to keep the alleys safe.. All the Blood.. Whoever you can fimd."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You contact the soft-featured, black-haired man with the Way.
  
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the soft-featured, black-haired man:
      "Or tell me your place..  I will come and pick you up."
  
  
  
  A foreign presence contacts your mind.
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man sends you a telepathic message:
      "I'm at the entrance to Hathors. I'll hold you to nothing but the knowldge that if they haven't
  emptied by bank account, it still contains a great deal."
  
  ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
  * Confused, Serpent moved through the familiar alleys, making his way as fast as *
  * possible to meet his old acquaintance that was once Lord Templar Haadith Oash. *          
  ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
  Hathor's Way [NS]
     This wide, dusty road -- named after a deceased Templar -- leads north
  toward the poor, crime-infested section of Allanak, the Labyrinth, or as
  most of its denizens call it, the 'rinth.  Old, crumbling red-clay brick
  buildings flank this throughfare on either side where piles of broken stone,
  filthy rags and old bones lie strewn up against them.  Thick dust and
  the sickeningly sweet-smelling air do little to ease your state of mind.
     Hathor's Way runs north and south from here, amidst the crumbling
  buildings of the Labyrinth. 
  A blue silk sash lies here.
  A half-giant soldier of Tektolnes walks along here.
  The soft-featured, black-haired man is standing here.
  
  Slim of build and soft of feature, this man's unscathed pale skin
  wraps itself delicately around high, well-born features.  Boyishly smooth, his
  face is comely in Zalanthan terms, neither overly obese nor malnourished,
  but is rounded in way that would indicate he was clearly well fed but has
  avoided the pitfalls of gluttony.  His set of piercing jade eyes, are framed
  by thick, black lashes and he most notably seems almost with out trace of
  scar or line of age.  His long, ebony hair, is well lathered with sweet
  scented oils and has been brushed straight to luxurious shine then twisted
  into a soft braid and is often tossed delicately behind his shoulder. 
  The soft-featured, black-haired man is in excellent condition.
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man is using:
  <worn on head>           a bloodied glossy-black, chitinous helmet
  <worn on face>           a carved carru-skull face-guard
  <worn around neck>       a bloodied dusky chitin neck-guard
  <worn on torso>          a jade-studded, black-leather hauberk
  <worn on arms>           a pair of jade-studded, black-leather sleeves
  <worn on legs>           a pair of jade-studded, black-leather leggings
  <worn on feet>           a green-toned pair of chitin shell boots
  
  
  
  You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man spits at the half-giant soldier's feet and turns bravely toward
  the alley.
  
  Pointing northward, the half-giant soldier says to the soft-featured, black-haired man, in
  sirihish:
       "You go in."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man says to the half-giant soldier, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Fucking traitors...The lot of you."
  
  You say to the soft-featured, black-haired man, in sirihish:
       "Fall in."
  
  You speed your pace a little.
  
  The half-giant soldier growls and starts to reach for his heavy bone, jade-emblazoned greatsword.
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man pauses his eyes falling on you, widening with fear.
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man falls in behind you.
  
  Head down, the soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Just promise me it will be quick."
  
  You say to the soft-featured, black-haired man, in sirihish:
       "You have too much valuables on you.  I will have you dress up like any other one resident
  here, so you won't get mugged on the way."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You contact the slight, wispy-bearded half-elf with the Way.
  
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the slight, wispy-bearded half-elf:
      "Vlen.. Bring a set of outfit.. Quick!  Near the Templar statue.. Now!"
  
  You dissolve the psychic link.
  
  Crude Intersection [NSW]
     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. 
     Alleyways run north and west from this dilapitated intersection.  A
  wider throughfare opens up to the south. 
  The headless and crumbling statue of a templar sits off to the side of the alley, one of its
  outstretched arms missing.
  The soft-featured, black-haired man is standing here.
  
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "What? "
  
  You say to the soft-featured, black-haired man, in sirihish:
       "Don't."
  
  A foreign presence contacts your mind.
  
  You ask the soft-featured, black-haired man, in sirihish:
       "Where are you going?"
  
  The slight, wispy-bearded half-elf sends you a telepathic message:
      "Somethin' more than what I'm wearing? I'll grab it anyhow..."
  
  You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
  
  Eyes flickering around widly, the soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "I...Don't...Know..."
  
  You say to the soft-featured, black-haired man, in sirihish:
       "We will move to the safety of my people."
  
  
  You say to the soft-featured, black-haired man, in sirihish:
       "Wait a little.. It will be alright."
  
  Breathes heavily, clasping his chest, the soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Traitors...Traitors..."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man says, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "All of them..."
  
  In a calm tone, you say to the soft-featured, black-haired man, in sirihish:
       "You will take your revenge.  Just relax."
  
  In a calm tone, you say to the soft-featured, black-haired man, in sirihish:
       "You need a shelter now."
  
  Clasping his head, the soft-featured, black-haired man says, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "She was in my mind..."
  
  You ask the soft-featured, black-haired man, in sirihish:
       "Who?"
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "So powerful...more powerful then I could have imagined..."
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man blinks a few times.
  
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Marsellus...Maewon."
  
  Stepping away from you, the soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented
  sirihish:
       "You have no reason to help me...Why....What do you want..."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man grasps at his finger and realizes with a sudden horror that
  nothing is there.
  
  Tilting his head, you say to the soft-featured, black-haired man,
  in sirihish:
       "You are a good tool.  We can help each other."
  
  You hear a man's voice from the west say, in sirihish:
       "At the entrance to Hathor's Way, he said..."
  
  The slight, wispy-bearded half-elf has arrived from the west.
  The short, scar-faced man has arrived from the west.
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man looks down at the short, scar-faced man.
  
  The slight, wispy-bearded half-elf opens a dusty leather strapped, traveling knapsack.
  
  Lifting a hand at the approaching figures, you say, in sirihish:
       "Give the pack."
  
  The short, scar-faced man looks up at the soft-featured, black-haired man as he approaches.
  
  The slight, wispy-bearded half-elf says, in northern-accented sirihish:
       "I just grabbed what I could find...pants and a smock."
  The slight, wispy-bearded half-elf gets a pair of patched sandcloth pants from a dusty leather
  strapped, traveling knapsack.
  
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man breath quickens as his eyes dart with every  sound.
  
  
  The slight, wispy-bearded half-elf gives you a pair of patched sandcloth pants.
  
  The slight, wispy-bearded half-elf gets a stained ragged linen smock from a dusty leather strapped,
  traveling knapsack.
  
  
  The slight, wispy-bearded half-elf gives you a stained ragged linen smock.
  
  Sighing, the slight, wispy-bearded half-elf says, in northern-accented sirihish:
       "Damn, wasn't sure what ya needed...I got some spare boots. He could wear mine for a bit."
  
  The slight, wispy-bearded half-elf raises the hood of a dusty dark, hooded cloak.
  
  You say to the figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak, in sirihish:
       "Give me your cloak, if you did not bring any.  Give a pair of boots too"
  
  The figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
       "Eh...just hope I get 'em back."
  
  The slight, wispy-bearded half-elf lowers the hood of a dusty dark, hooded cloak.
  The slight, wispy-bearded half-elf stops using a dusty dark, hooded cloak.
  
  The slight, wispy-bearded half-elf gives you a dusty dark, hooded cloak.
  
  
  Shaking his head quickly his face still panicked, the soft-featured, black-haired man exclaims to
  you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Wait, wait, wait...Whats wrong with this...This is excellent gear...?!"
  
  The short, scar-faced man exclaims, in sirihish:
       "If you wait a little, I've left some gear in one of the buildings, Chief!"
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man exclaims to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "These boots cost near two hundred sid!"
  
  Turning to him, you say to the soft-featured, black-haired man, in
  sirihish:
       "Till we get to safety, dress like we do.  Then you can wear them again."
  
  The slight, wispy-bearded half-elf stops using a dusty pair of black, soft leather boots.
  
  His expression paled with fear and miscomprehension, the soft-featured, black-haired man stares at
  you.
  
  The slight, wispy-bearded half-elf grudgingly pulls of his boots and tosses them on the ground in
  front of the soft-featured, black-haired man.
  
  The slight, wispy-bearded half-elf drops a dusty pair of black, soft leather boots.
  
  The slight, wispy-bearded half-elf gets a pair of smooth grey-hide footpads from a dusty leather
  strapped, traveling knapsack.
  
  The slight, wispy-bearded half-elf slips his feet into a pair of smooth grey-hide footpads.
  
  With a nod, you say to the soft-featured, black-haired man, in
  sirihish:
       "Till we get to the shelter.  Just till then.  You can keep your nice gears with you, I am not
  going to ask them"
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man clasps at his chest, his eyes filled with panick.
  
  The slight, wispy-bearded half-elf looks at the soft-featured, black-haired man with an appraising
  squint.
  
  Turning to the slight, wispy-bearded half-elf and the short,
  scar-faced man, you say, in sirihish:
       "You two.. Go back.  The rest of it, I wil lhandle myself."
  
  You say, in sirihish:
       "If you see Rocker.. Tell him to find me.  Or any other of the Blood."
  
  To your ear, the short, scar-faced man whispers to you in sirihish:
       "Tell him to put all into some pack, Boss."
  
  The slight, wispy-bearded half-elf says to the soft-featured, black-haired man, in
  northern-accented sirihish:
       "I'd put that cloak on quick...try t'cover anything flashy."
  
  You say, in sirihish:
       "You see Rocker or any other of the Blood, tell them to find me."
  
  Alley [EW]
     You are standing in the middle of a poverty-stricken alley, the
  Highlord's chamberpot of human life.  All about you, piled against
  dilapidated stone buildings, are piles of garbage, excrement, and the
  occasional corpse -- or perhaps that's simply a sleeping child -- that
  gather here.  The sky above, what is visible of its dome through the
  blood-tinged air rank with foul scents, shines less brightly upon you, the
  sun's rays blocked out by the tall cracked structures of crumbling red
  stone, buildings which give this alley a claustrophobic feel, despite its
  being quite wide. 
     This alleyway runs fairly straight, heading in an east-west direction. 
  A dusty pair of soft, black leather boots lies here.
  The short, scar-faced man is standing here.
  The slight, wispy-bearded half-elf is standing here.
  The soft-featured, black-haired man is standing here.
  
  His expression grim, the soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented
  sirihish:
       "No...I can apologize...They let me live."
  
  His expression grim, the soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented
  sirihish:
       "He'll forgive me...He'll forgive my insolence..."
  
  Shaking his head, you say to the soft-featured, black-haired man,
  in sirihish:
       "You can.. But not now.  Not now."
  
  The short, scar-faced man nods to you, then flashes a grin to the soft-featured, black-haired man,
  inclining his head.
  
  
  The slight, wispy-bearded half-elf nods to you, then turns, ducking warily down the side of the
  shadowy street.
       "Just give it an ease.. Let it pass.. Sometime."
  
  Bursting with anger, the soft-featured, black-haired man exclaims, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "They can't do this!!!"
  
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man watches the soft-featured, black-haired man, his brows furrowed.
  
  The short, scar-faced man stops and glances back over his shoulder.
  
  Shaking his head as the flash of anger passes and only weariness remains, the soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "I'm sorry....Whatever you want...Don't leave me here...please."
  
  
  The sun rises, filling the sweltering streets of the 'Rinth with heat.
  
  The short, scar-faced man sheathes an obsidian dagger.
  
  
  The short, scar-faced man sheathes an obsidian dagger.
  
  The short, scar-faced man stealthily moves east.
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man exhales a soft sigh.
  
  You pick up a dusty pair of black, soft leather boots.
  It is very light.
  
  You say to the soft-featured, black-haired man, in sirihish:
       "Come.. We need to get this over with quick."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man stumbles behind you, whimpering softly.
  
  -----------------------------------------------------------------------------
  * They move a little deeper into the alleys, to somewhere relatively safer. *
  * The ex-templar's thoughts and speech carrying little coherence as he finds*
  * it hard to believe what has been transpiring around him.                  *
  --------------------------------------------------------------------------
  Dead End [S]
     Worn and cracked walls of red-clay brick and old stone flank the sides
  of this narrow and twisting alleyway.  Trash, excrement and old gnawed bones
  lie in scattered heaps on the hard-packed earthen ground giving off foul,
  sickly odours that thicken the air with the telltale reek of disease.  The
  entire length of the alley lies in shadow, the sky being but a narrow crack
  overhead between the shattered tops of leaning ramshackle buildings.  The
  air hangs thick and deathly still, as if even Whira found it too repellent a
  place to move about in. 
     The alley comes to an abrupt end here.  A section of the western wall,
  however, seems to have recently collapsed exposing a parallel alleyway on
  the other side that one might be able to crawl through to. 
  The soft-featured, black-haired man is standing here.
  
  You say to the soft-featured, black-haired man, in sirihish:
       "Looks clear."
  
  His voice hoarse, the soft-featured, black-haired man whispers to you in sirihish:
       "the templarate....Nobility...."
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man stares at the soft-featured, black-haired man, his brows furrowed.
  
  Shaking his head softly, the soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "I'm sorry...."
  
  You say to the soft-featured, black-haired man, in sirihish:
       "It is alright.  We are not dead people here."
  
  You give a pair of patched sandcloth pants to the soft-featured, black-haired man.
  
  Staring at you with pleading eyes, the soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "I can still be of use to you....I can fight..I'm trained....And I can read....I'm literate..."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Please...You're not going to kill me are you? Please? "
  
  You say to the soft-featured, black-haired man, in sirihish:
       "You are useful, old friend.. I know that."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man frowns with disgust as he holds his pair of patched sandcloth pants.
  
  You say to the soft-featured, black-haired man, in sirihish:
       "I could kill you way befoe it I wanted."
  
  You say to the soft-featured, black-haired man, in sirihish:
       "Even when you were still a templar."
  
  Almost afraid of the pants, the soft-featured, black-haired man says, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Oh...These are utterly vile..."
  
  Chuckling quietly, you say to the soft-featured, black-haired man, in sirihish:
       "Just for a while.  You will still have the chance to keep your nice leggings."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man coughs bitterly, pulling off his pair of jade-studded, black-leather leggings with a painful frown.,
  
  ----------------------------------------------------------------------
  * A short time passes as the old templar changes his outfit, looking *
  * more like a rinth dweller than a noble born in the end.            *
  ----------------------------------------------------------------------
  
  Slim of build and soft of feature, this man's unscathed pale skin
  wraps
  itself delicately around high, well-born features.  Boyishly smooth, his
  face is comely in Zalanthan terms, neither overly obese nor malnourished,
  but is rounded in way that would indicate he was clearly well fed but has
  avoided the pitfalls of gluttony.  His set of piercing jade eyes, are framed
  by thick, black lashes and he most notably seems almost with out trace of
  scar or line of age.  His long, ebony hair, is well lathered with sweet
  scented oils and has been brushed straight to luxurious shine then twisted
  into a soft braid and is often tossed delicately behind his shoulder. 
  The soft-featured, black-haired man is in excellent condition.
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man is using:
  <worn around body>       a dusty dark, hooded cloak
  <worn on legs>           a pair of patched sandcloth pants
  <worn on feet>           a dusty pair of black, soft leather boots
  
  
  You ask the soft-featured, black-haired man, in sirihish:
       "Do you have any weapon, old friend?"
  
  Shaking his head his eyes wide with panic, the soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in
  southern-accented sirihish:
       "Nothing...My ring...He took it..."
  
  Slipping beyond the horizon, Jihae fades from the sky's stage.
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man nods once.
  
  Looking at his hands, the soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented
  sirihish:
       "My power.....all gone...."
  
  > draw sword
  You draw a sharp, well-balanced bone halfsword.
  
  You stop holding a sharp, well-balanced bone halfsword.
  
  You begin guarding the soft-featured, black-haired man.
  
  You drop a sharp, well-balanced bone halfsword.  Shown to the
  room as:
  A sharp, bone halfsword lies here.
  
  You say to the soft-featured, black-haired man, in sirihish:
       "Take it."
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "*Her thoughts holding confusion* Seems I'm, not employed by Haadith, any longer.. I.. don't
  know what's going on.."
  
  You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
  
  You say to the soft-featured, black-haired man, in sirihish:
       "I will give you a pack.. Once we get to my tavern."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man nods nervously at you.
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You contact the sleek, honey-eyed young woman with the Way.
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman:
      "Haadith is no longer a templar.  He is in the labyrinth now.. Banished."
  
  You dissolve the psychic link.
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man exhales a soft sigh.
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man gives you a jade-studded, black-leather hauberk.
  
  A foreign presence contacts your mind.
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man puts a smelly glass vial inside a dusty dark, hooded cloak.
  
  Nodding to a sharp, well-balanced bone halfsword, you say to the
  soft-featured, black-haired man, in sirihish:
       "Now.. Take it."
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "Are they going to banish me?"
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You contact the sleek, honey-eyed young woman with the Way.
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man nods a few times, with a desperate acknowledgement.
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Yes...yes..."
  
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man picks up a sharp, well-balanced bone halfsword.
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man brandishes a sharp, well-balanced bone halfsword.
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman:
      "No.  I don't think it has anything to do with you my love."
  
  A foreign presence contacts your mind.
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "-I- am -his- aide. It seems that it could have to do a lot with me.."
  
  You say to the soft-featured, black-haired man, in sirihish:
       "Raise your hood.. That will make you look more like a regular folk."
  
  Keeping his gaze ahead, you say to the soft-featured, black-haired man, in sirihish:
       "Don't think we will have any trouble.. After all, you are with me."
  
  Whimpering after you, the soft-featured, black-haired man says, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "What a fitting end.....for a vile bastard...."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man nods a few times to you, his head lowered, face slick with sweat.
  
  Turning halfway to check the soft-featured, black-haired man, the pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man keeps along the twisting alleys.
  
  Keeping your razor-sharp, hawk-etched halfsword at his side, the pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man drops a single nod at the short figure in a dark, hooded cloak.
  
  ----------------------------------------------------------------------------
  * Each step cautious, eyes scanning their surroundings with utmost alertness
  * they start moving again, this time to a more familiar place for almost
  * all the alley dwellers: Folley.
  ----------------------------------------------------------------------------
  
  
  A Cramped, Dingy Bar [EWU]
     Were it not for the sheer overpowering vileness of the air outside,
  this small and tightly-cramped room would scarcely seem a breath of
  freshness at all.  Thick, acrid smoke intermingles with the smell of
  unwashed bodies, vomit, cheap booze, and ancient decay in the limited
  confines of this room, creating a unique amalgam of foulness that even the
  rough sensibilities of a dwarf would quail at.  The walls of the room are
  short and the roof is relatively low, giving one an acute claustrophobic
  feeling that mirrors the feel of the surrounding alleyways with merciless
  precision.  A few crates are stacked here and there in a seemingly haphazard
  array.  Whatever their intended purpose, it appears as though patrons have
  begun using them as seats in lieu of squatting on the ale-damp floor.  The
  center of the room draws your attention once your eyes have adjusted to the
  change in lighting and reveals a strange stoneworked depression, roughly
  three cords deep and ten cords across.  Broken stonework sculptures surround
  the edges of the depression in a seeming mockery of a gleeful dance.
  Several battered crates with a thick slab of pure obsidian draped across
  them seem to serve as a makeshift bar in a corner of the room.  An equally
  battered wooden door is situated just behind it. 
     Just beside the bar, a loosely hanging rope ladder disappears up into a
  jagged hole in the ceiling of the room. 
  A multi-ringed dartboard hangs on a wall here.
  A message board is propped up against a wall.
  The very short and thick male wearing a grey shaded, black face-wrap is standing here.
  The long-haired, scar faced man stands by the bar, arms over his chest.
  The lanky, dreadlocked man, is hanging out here lazily against the wall.
  The thick-set, sideburned bartender is here cleaning out mugs with a rag.
  The muscular, hatchet-faced man stands here by the door.
  The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak has arrived from the west.
  
  The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak follows you into the dingy bar his head lowered submissively.
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man walks into the cramped room, eyes passing through few rough figures.
  
  Raising his voice over the crowd, you say to the thick-set, sideburned bartender, in sirihish:
       "Effen.. Give us a couple of ales."
  
  
  You give a chipped, red-clay mug to the short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak.
  
  You hold the mug.
  
  With a nod to the thick-set, sideburned bartender, the pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man walks toward the battered door.
  
  The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak accepts his chipped, red-clay mug face shadowed by the hood of his cloak.
  
  Leaning close to him, you whisper to the muscular, hatchet-faced man in sirihish:
       "I got a new friend, and he needs to get in badly."
  
  You initiate the short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak into 'The Guild'.
  
  The muscular, hatchet-faced man nods at you.
  Ok.
  
  The muscular, hatchet-faced man nods at you.
  A Cluttered Office [WD]
     This tiny square chamber is unfurnished save for a battered desk
  behind with a few crates serving as seating behind it.  The room has no
  visible exits, save back to the bar and contains no windows.  Dust clings
  heavy in the air and there is a smell of decay and rot about the place that
  has likely been present for centuries.  The stone walls are stacked with
  battered crates, all arranged in a haphazard fashion and tilting madly in
  several different directions. 
  The large oval of a pale gold carpet is spread across the floor.
  A pink-flowered plant is rooted here, its leaves exuding a sharp scent.
  A gwoshi carved wooden chest sits here.
  A couple of open shelved cabinets are here.
  A large wooden crate is here, stacked neatly in the corner.
  A rough hide sleeping mat lies on the floor here.
  The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak has arrived from the west.
  
  Following you, the short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak takes his place at a long, low and cracked clay table, hands clutching his chipped, red-clay mug.
  
  The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak sits at a long, low and cracked clay table.
  
  The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak places his elbows on the table, and laws his face in
  his hands.
  The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak says, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Why did they let me live...surely...."
  
  The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak says, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "I'm too dangerous alive..."
  
  You give a bone-studded backpack to the short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak.
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Here .. Your things."
  
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "So... Want to talk a little?"
  
  At your table, the short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak says in southern-accented sirihish, clasping his face with panic and shame:
       "What is there to say..."
  
  At your table, the short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "I'm humbled you've let me live this long..."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "What happened and you ended up in my side of the city?"
  
  At your table, the short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak says in southern-accented sirihish, shaking his head:
       "I don't know...I couldn't take it...The traitors...The double alliances...."
  
  At your table, the short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "They were lecturing me....the pure hypocrisy of that fucking lecture!"
  
  At your table, the short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "I couldn't take it....When she entered my mind, I snapped...I tried to kill them both...Both Reds..."
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man toys with your chipped, red-clay mug, staring at the short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak in the face.
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "You attacked them openly?"
  
  At your table, the short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak says in southern-accented sirihish, with a moan:
       "No...Never..."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You contact the sleek, honey-eyed young woman with the Way.
  
  At your table, the short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "In the Quarter....A closed room, just the three of us."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman:
      "Haadith is here.. Seemingly he did something himself.  Not you involved in it."
  
  At your table, the short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak says in southern-accented sirihish, near sobbing:
       "What have I done....."
  
  The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak lays his face onto his hands, his nails digging into his forehead.
  
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man lowers the hood of a dusty dark, hooded cloak.
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Just three of you?  Then what happened?  What lecture was it?"
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Veralius...."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "He paid me...."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man grits his teeth, for a moment before swallow.
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man furrows his brows, tilting his head as he listens to the soft-featured, black-haired man.
  
  A foreign presence contacts your mind.
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "Did he say what he did?"
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Veralius paid me to kill a senior of his house, fifty large..."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Someone found out...Told Marsellus..."
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "As a precaution. I emptied my place.. incase they go searching for anyone."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman:
      "He is saying."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman:
      "Seemingly, he attemted to kill a borsail senior."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "He sat there and chatised me for it....But months before he had praised me for what happened with Tor...It was the same fucking thing..."
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "Him or not, they always seek someone to blame. A Borsail senior? Veralius?"
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "He told me not to go to Veralius.."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "But now the heat was on him, and he was with the red that the fucking traitor reports too...And they sat and accused me of treason..."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman:
      "Veralius is just another noble.  Not a senior."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "So I decided to test the strength of their authority..."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "I set the Highlord's flames on him..."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "On Marsellus?"
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man nods firmly, his eyes taking on a malevolent, empty stare.
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "I see."
  
  sip mug
  This tastes like ordinary ale.
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "But he didn't flinch, he was barely harmed....He crushed me with his bare hands."
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man blinks, scratching his scarred cheek absently.
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "I've seen men's flesh burned away by such..."
  
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "He is truly HIS chosen...I have sinned greater then any have ever..."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "And now I have been cast away.....With the outcasts..."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, pursing his lips:
       "Unfortunate."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man wipes sweat from his face, his expression grim.
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "Wonder if I ought to just stay here.."
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "Unsafe for me to venture out?"
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman:
      "Want to see your former employer? Nah.. It is nothing about you."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman:
      "All he did was his own doing."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, exhaling a soft breath:
       "You are safe here."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "You are safe out in the bar as well."
  
  You think:
       "I will learn how to read and write.  By you."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "You will be safe in the streets, so long you don't flash out your southsider side."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, shaking his head:
       "There is a recruit....Named Tada...He might be loyal...Perhaps Dasyk as well..."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Or look too rich to anyone."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Or Sophie...poor Sophie."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "I know them.  I can check them out."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "In the streets..? I have to leave here??!!"
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man eyes widen with a sudden fear.
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, a cloud of concern coming to his face:
       "Do you think they will go after Sophie?"
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "No.. You can live here all the way.  I meant if you want to step out."
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "I don't mind seeing him. What do you think he'll say?"
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, shaking his head:
       "No...No they wouldn't ...I told her to go to Palimus...But what if he's with them..."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, grasping his head:
       "Fuck!"
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, shaking his head:
       "Nah.. She does not need to go anyone."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Just that.. Will she be put guilty because of your situation?"
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "I don't know..."
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man knits his brows thoughtfully.
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "Do I need to change or anything?"
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Bloody hell....Maybe they won't tell anyone....Perhaps they'll make some story to protect the reputation of the Blue."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Do you want to see Sophie now?  I can bring her here very quick as well."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, shaking his head:
       "No! No...I can't take the shame of it all..."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Tell her I've died...I was killed..."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "I have to get out of this city....They'll all know me here."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, shaking his head:
       "No need for it, old friend.  In the wilds you will be found, humiliated, tortured and face worse than death."
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "So wait before I go to the whiran temple?"
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "I want to see him, I worked ofr him for about two years!"
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "Tell him too bad."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, shaking his head and lowering his shoulders:
       "And what will I do here?"
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, licking his lips:
       "I am a curious mind, old friend."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "I always wanted to learn.. How to read a text.. Or write."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "I wanted to learn your strange tongue as well.  I have heard it so much.. So many templars I have seen, and heard talking."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Yet.. Without someone teaching, it did not go well at all."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man runs his bare hand over his face, smearing a mix of dirt and grim over his face.
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Also.. I would not like to see an old friend, being turned into a trash in the streets."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "I can grant you the protection."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "And.. You said you have been trained."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "You can perhaps train my little boys?"
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man shakes his head his eyes going wild.
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "I...I...I...I can't..."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Why?"
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man touches his forehead, narrowing his brow.
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Kerne...The Mul...Tada reports he's killing everyone."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "See.. You also have some loyal friends.  You can always be helpful."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "And I can help you take your revenge.. On veralius."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "In time."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "The Highlord...If I taught such things...."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Highlord did not kill you.."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "But sent you here."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "A greater sin then ever has been...."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Perhaps he wanted you to teach me those things?"
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, shaking his head:
       "As punishment...."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "No..."
  
  A foreign presence contacts your mind.
  
  The amber skinned, tattooed male sends you a telepathic message:
      "Borsail barracks is open! Kerne went crazy in there"
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, folding his arms over his chest:
       "How do you know it is not so?"
  
  You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
  
  A foreign presence contacts your mind.
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "I'm at the temple of Whira."
  
  You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, his eyes weary and beaten:
       "I don't....I'm wretched...No better then the infidels..."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, putting a black inked hand on the soft-featured, black-haired man's shoulder:
       "Sophie is in my mind.  Nearly crying to see you.. She says all those years, she served you,
  and she wants to be at your side now."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man closes his eyes.
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "I can take her here for a short time.  Real short."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Want it?"
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man nods a few times at you.
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man eyes light up with a sudden rage.
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man shouts, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "You are right! "
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Be at ease."
  
  Pointing at you, the soft-featured, black-haired man exclaims to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "You are right!"
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man exclaims to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "I was right about the sword! The Mul's escaped! I told them!"
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man tilts his head.
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Sword?"
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman:
      "Wait.. I will come and pick you up."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "You were at the fucking arena were you not?"
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Yes."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "You saw the sword the gifted the Mul?"
  
  You think:
       "No..I did not."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "what about it?"
  
  
  Shaking his head, the soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "I told them not to give it away. It was too powerful."
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man blinks a few times.
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "It would fall into the hands of our enemies, and now it has."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "So.. Mul is .. oh.. That won't work."
  
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Mul is a mindless slave.  They would not think it is an enemy."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "What? Don't be daft..."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Besides, probably that mul has killed more Borsail even now."
  
  You dissolve the psychic link.
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Wht?"
  
  A foreign presence contacts your mind.
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, shrugging:
       "A raging mul..in Borsail estates.. Who would he kill first?  Borsail."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "So.. Borsail is not enemy, because they are the ones dying now."
  
  The amber skinned, tattooed male sends you a telepathic message:
      "That Mul, Kerne, that won the metal sword, just faught himself free of the Borsail barracks, Outside the barrack is a dead body with a full outfit of Crimson Wyvern stuff"
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man exclaims to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "And? What is your point...The sword, you don't know what it does!"
  
  The amber skinned, tattooed male sends you a telepathic message:
      "And just me around..How much will that score?"
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "But a mul can enrage with or without any sword.  It does not mean the sword."
  
  You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You contact the amber skinned, tattooed male with the Way.
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the amber skinned, tattooed male:
      "Fifteen smalls."
  
  
  You dissolve the psychic link.
  
  Shaking his head, the soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "You don't understand....I was right."
  
  A foreign presence contacts your mind.
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "I understand.  I am telling you..."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "They won't understand."
  
  You think:
       "I have no fucking idea .."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Of course....But the sword...It's a **censored**...The wielder ********censored********"
  
  You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
  
  His tone becoming serious, the soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented
  sirihish:
       "It is the ultimate weapon against *****censored*****"
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, pursing his lips:
       "And against the **censored**"
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Right....But I *told* them not to let it go...to destroy it...But Malenthis and his
  pride...his ambitions."
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man furrows his brows.
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Do you recall when I last threatened you?"
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, chuckling quietly:
       "Yes. How can I forget."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "It was over that..."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Really?  Why did not you just fucking say it? I had no idea."
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man chuckles quietly.
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "I thought you sought it...I entered Tada into the contest, so pumped up on Rukian magicks I thought he'd kill them all."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "But Malenthis foiled it....and Kerne won."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Hmm.. Maybe I could just enter the arena, and win it.. Damn."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "I did not know that was the prize."
  
  Shaking his head, the soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "To be fair I didn't trust you."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man puts a carved carru-skull face-guard inside a bone-studded backpack.
  
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "On what?"
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "You would not give me the sword if I won it?"
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "To trust you to win and then give me the sword."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Fuck no...I just told you, I wanted it destroyed."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Oh.. I see."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "For this very reason. Who knows who get it from the Mul."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, with a nod:
       "I guess Templarate will get it back."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "How?"
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Wait..."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "If we could summon the mul as an friend...the three of us..."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "And the sword..."
  
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Wait here a few moments.  I will get Sophie.  She is outside."
  
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Quite an alliance."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man nods once, settling back into his seat.
  
  You stand up from a long, low and cracked clay table.
  
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man shoulders slump at mention of the name.
  
  -------------------------------------------------------------------------
  * The old templar is left to his own thoughts, as the crime lord leaves *
  * through the cramped door to fetch the clueless woman waiting outside. *
  * For a few moments, the office was empty save for the shadow of the    *
  * noble born, cast upon in the cracked table in the flickering light of *
  * the solitary candle.                                                  *
  -------------------------------------------------------------------------
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man beckons the short figure in an inky-black, hooded sandcloth greatcloak with a black inked hand.
  
  The short figure in an inky-black, hooded sandcloth greatcloak falls in behind you.
  
  Her tone soft, the short figure in an inky-black, hooded sandcloth greatcloak says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Hello, darling."
  
  The figure in a dark, hooded cloak quickly walks into the debris, guiding the short figure in an inky-black, hooded sandcloth greatcloak behind him.
  
  You initiate the short figure in an inky-black, hooded sandcloth greatcloak into 'The Guild'.
  
  ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
  
  The figure in a dark, hooded cloak walks over the battered door, nodding at the muscular, hatchet-faced man.
  
  The muscular, hatchet-faced man nods at you.
  A Cluttered Office [WD]
     This tiny square chamber is unfurnished save for a battered desk
  behind with a few crates serving as seating behind it.  The room has no
  visible exits, save back to the bar and contains no windows.  Dust clings
  heavy in the air and there is a smell of decay and rot about the place that
  has likely been present for centuries.  The stone walls are stacked with
  battered crates, all arranged in a haphazard fashion and tilting madly in
  several different directions. 
  The large oval of a pale gold carpet is spread across the floor.
  A pink-flowered plant is rooted here, its leaves exuding a sharp scent.
  A gwoshi carved wooden chest sits here.
  A couple of open shelved cabinets are here.
  A large wooden crate is here, stacked neatly in the corner.
  A rough hide sleeping mat lies on the floor here.
  The soft-featured, black-haired man is sitting at a long, low and cracked clay table.
  
  Stepping quietly in behind you, the short figure in an inky-black, hooded sandcloth greatcloak
  reaches her hands up.
  
  The short figure in an inky-black, hooded sandcloth greatcloak stops using a white silk veil, revealing a pair of pale, faint looking scars.
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman lowers the hood of an inky-black, hooded sandcloth greatcloak.
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man slumps backward in his chair, turning his face from the sleek, honey-eyed young woman and closing his eyes.
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man gestures at an empty crate at a long, low and cracked clay table.
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman looks down at the soft-featured, black-haired man with a hesitant shift of her gaze.
  
  Leading the sleek, honey-eyed young woman to it, you sit at a long, low and cracked clay table.
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sits at a long, low and cracked clay table.
  
  His voice ragged, the soft-featured, black-haired man says to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Sophie..."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man manages a nod to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman, his face slick with dust and sweat.
  
  At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, watching the soft-featured, black-haired man, her features uncertain:
       "Besides the circumstances.. are you.. alright?"
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man folds his arms over his chest.
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, straightening his chair:
       "I'm well enough...I've gracious hosts..."
  
  
  At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, nodding to the soft-featured, black-haired man, her eyes shifting to you:
       "Thank you.."
  
  The droplet-tattooed, swarthy man sends you a telepathic message:
      "Serpen', I hear yeh picked up a nice new friend t'night. I should be warnin' yeh.."
  
  A foreign presence contacts your mind.
  
  The droplet-tattooed, swarthy man sends you a telepathic message:
      "This'un is gonna be too hot for yeh t'hold onta. Get wha' yeh can from 'im, 'cause yeh prob'ly gonna 'aveta sell 'im out. Don't bring none'a tha' heat onta us."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You contact the droplet-tattooed, swarthy man with the Way.
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the droplet-tattooed, swarthy man:
      "Just want to learn what he knows.  I always wanted to learn how to read and ride.  And learn
  what the fuck those templars talk about.  Then he can die easy."
  
  The droplet-tattooed, swarthy man sends you a telepathic message:
      "*amusement* Hah..yeh gonna learn t'read? Yeh mus' think yeh smart."
  
  You chuckle.
  
  A Cluttered Office [WD]
     This tiny square chamber is unfurnished save for a battered desk
  behind with a few crates serving as seating behind it.  The room has no
  visible exits, save back to the bar and contains no windows.  Dust clings
  heavy in the air and there is a smell of decay and rot about the place that
  has likely been present for centuries.  The stone walls are stacked with
  battered crates, all arranged in a haphazard fashion and tilting madly in
  several different directions. 
  The large oval of a pale gold carpet is spread across the floor.
  A pink-flowered plant is rooted here, its leaves exuding a sharp scent.
  A gwoshi carved wooden chest sits here.
  A couple of open shelved cabinets are here.
  A large wooden crate is here, stacked neatly in the corner.
  A rough hide sleeping mat lies on the floor here.
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman is sitting at a long, low and cracked clay table.
  The soft-featured, black-haired man is sitting at a long, low and cracked clay table.
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman looks up at you her attention lifting to you.
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man grunts, lowering onto a crate.
  
  You sit at a long, low and cracked clay table.
  
  You give a bundle of cooked meat to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman.
  
  Softly, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Thank you."
  
  You give a bundle of cooked meat to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman.
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man sighs for a moment, his gaze flickering from you to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman.
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, offerin your bundle of cooked meat:
       "Want to eat, old friend?"
  
  Wrapping her bundle of cooked meat, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman lifts a piece of the smoked meat to her mouth.
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman eats a portion of a bundle of cooked meat.
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "I could barely hold it down I think..."
  
  At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, smacking her
  lips softly:
       "It's not bad, actually.."
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman eats a portion of a partially eaten bundle of cooked meat.
  
  You put a bundle of cooked meat on a long, low and cracked clay table.
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "If you want.. You can take it."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, shaking his head at the sleek, honey-eyed young woman:
       "You shouldn't be here...Don't share in my punishment...You have a child to consider."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "If it's found that you're with me...."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man shakes his head a few times.
  
  Thoughtfully, the pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man stares at the sleek, honey-eyed young woman's abdomen.
  
  At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, shaking her head at the soft-featured, black-haired man:
       "It won't be found out, I made the decision..."
  
  You eat part of a bundle of cooked meat.
  
  Lifting another piece of the cooked meat to her lips, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman glances toward you.
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman eats a portion of a half eaten bundle of cooked meat.
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man chews thoughtfully, lifting his gaze to meet the sleek, honey-eyed young woman's own.
  
  You eat part of a partially eaten bundle of cooked meat.
  
  At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, smirking faintly as she shakes her head:
       "Wasn't two days ago, I was yelling at recruit Tada in the Barrel, hope he doesn't.. nevermind. He'll leave me be, I'm sure."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, chuckling quietly:
       "I can spank his ass if that is the trouble."
  
  At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, shaking her head at you:
       "Naah, he was just gawking. I told him my concerns."
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman eats a portion of a half eaten bundle of cooked meat.
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Concerns?"
  
  At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, nodding at the soft-featured, black-haired man:
       "Didn't appreciate his gawking and remarks. Sounded like he was still a Bynner. But.. it's nothing any of us can help, now."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "He'll be useful in the long run...He loves his black coins..."
  
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Who does not?"
  
  You eat part of a half eaten bundle of cooked meat.
  
  At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, sighing softly as she rubs her hand over her belly:
       "And women, it seems.. so.. you're going to stay here? In the allies?"
  
  Silently, the pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man drops a single nod at the sleek, honey-eyed young woman.
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "He is in safety."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, wiping his face:
       "For now..."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "I've destroyed everything else....It's all gone now."
  
  At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, turning to beam you a smile:
       "Thank you for taking him in."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "You don't have any employer, I am assuming?"
  
  You eat part of a half eaten bundle of cooked meat.
  
  
  You eat part of a small portion of a bundle of cooked meat.
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, eyes flickering to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman:
       "Who did you get to take you in?"
  
  At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, nodding at you, then giving the soft-featured, black-haired man a glance:
       "That's true.. right? Nobody.. nobody is to be found.."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, shrugging:
       "It can go this way."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Palimus...He's the only one I could think of....Or the merchant houses. You must denounce me Sophie..."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "No no.. Not so fast."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "She is not supposed to know about your fate yet."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Yes, I was about to say..."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "IF she suddenly knows everything, it means.. Yeah.. You know what."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman:
       "Play ignorance and when they tell you, denounce what I've done. It's vile...."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "She will be one among the populace.. Whatever the commons know, she will know and then she will move accordingly."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Right."
  
  Her green-eyed gaze shifting between the soft-featured, black-haired man and you, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman nods slowly.
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "If you don't you'll share my fate..."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "I will take care of until then.  Nothing to worry about."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "I mean.. I can take care of her as well."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man nods a few time to you, rubbing his head.
  
  At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, nodding slowly:
       "Alright.. I will do so.."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, gesturing at the wrapped cooked meat on a long, low and cracked clay table:
       "Take that, old friend.  If you don't eat now, you will eat sometime later."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man reaches out, taking something reluctantly from a long, low and cracked clay table.
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man gets a bundle of cooked meat from a long, low and cracked clay table.
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "I will stash some more meats and stuff into the bags on the this table.  There is also clean water in one of them."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man chews slowly at the dried meat, wincing a bit.
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man drinks ale from a chipped, red-clay mug.
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "There is also spice.  But don't be sniffing it without asking.  I like to keep track of it."
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man exhales softly.
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, nodding a few times easily:
       "Of course...."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man drinks ale from a chipped, red-clay mug.
  
  A foreign presence contacts your mind.
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "Think.. we ough tto tell him?"
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, gesturing at the cabinets:
       "You can take anything you like from those as well."
  
  Rubbing his temple, the pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man shrugs at the sleek, honey-eyed young woman.
  
  asses -v haadith
  He appears in adulthood for his race.
  He is slightly shorter than you.
  He is slightly heavier than you.
  The soft-featured, black-haired man is in excellent condition.
  The soft-featured, black-haired man does not look tired.
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, rubbing his temple in pain:
       "I need to think....I can't stay in Allanak...Surely you've another place..."
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "You tell him, I'll run out the door to get a headstart.."
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "*Amusement*"
  
  You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Perhaps that filthy Red Storm village...Or the Outposts....Someone is going to recognize me here..."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Who are you waying to?"
  
  Turning to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman, the pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man blinks at her.
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "I'm trying to reach Tada....To see if they captured to Mul."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Stay here for a while..Till the southside gets a little easy, then I can guide you to Red Storm."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "But I am telling you, the alleys are safe, so long you play by the rules."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Red storm is no better.  If the north hears about it, they will just attempt to capture you."
  
  Sitting quietly, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman lifts a hand to rub at her neck.
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "But in my streets, no one can touch anything, if I don't approve it."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man glances down at his sharp, well-balanced bone halfsword with some anxiety.
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man glances at the sleek, honey-eyed young woman sidelong.
  
  The cerise-haired young woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "Serpent, we've got thief problems at Terash. A neck stole some things from Proprietor Enlil. Any suggestions?"
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You contact the cerise-haired young woman with the Way.
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, eyes settling on her:
       "Sophie...."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the cerise-haired young woman:
      "There is more trouble around.. I thought.. Kerne was on rage killing half the city with his shining metal sword."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the cerise-haired young woman:
      "You caught him?"
  
  The cerise-haired young woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "*softly* He's dead, aye."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the cerise-haired young woman:
      "What happened to the sword?"
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Kerne is dead."
  
  The cerise-haired young woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "Any idea why? The sword is safe."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "And the blade?"
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the cerise-haired young woman:
      "At Borsail?  Is it?"
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the cerise-haired young woman:
      "Or templarate?"
  
  The cerise-haired young woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "I turned it over to my Lord Commander."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "In Borsail Lord commander's hands."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the cerise-haired young woman:
      "I see."
  
  At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, turning her attention to the soft-featured, black-haired man:
       "Yes..?"
  
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, slamming his hand onto the table:
       "Blast!"
  
  The cerise-haired young woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "He'll see that it is where it needs to be, such things are far beyond my experience. Krath...
  I cannot believe I held a metal sword. Insane. Any ideas on how to catch an elf?"
  
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the cerise-haired young woman:
      "How to catch an elf is easy.  Just go to barrel and hold one tight."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the cerise-haired young woman:
      "But the one that thieved, well.."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the cerise-haired young woman:
      "Does Terash know what he looks like?"
  
  The cerise-haired young woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "I don't know."
  
  You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the cerise-haired young woman:
      "There are lots of elves.. Need to have an idea which one got lifted."
  
  You dissolve the psychic link.
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, touching his face suddenly his fingers tracing his own eyes:
       "The last of HIS touch.....Gone..."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "What?  What was it"
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man leans backward in his chair, slumping lifelessly.
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "My ability to see the unseen....The effects still lingered."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "But it's gone now..."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Come now.. You are still someone of note withouth his touch and shit."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "You are trained."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, with a twinkle in his eyes:
       "You are literate."
  
  Listening, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman peers btween you at the soft-featured, black-haired man.
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "We can help each other.. Old friend."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, lifting his sharp, well-balanced bone halfsword and looking at it warily:
       "I used to think these primitive..."
  
  The swarthy, fork-bearded man has entered the world.
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, to you:
       "I have nothing else..."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "With that primitive thing.. I killed a templar once."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Come? "
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "A member of HIS Templarate?"
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Nah.."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "But who cares?  Who touched to who and what."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "A templar with his Higlord or Muk balls or whatever.. Still bleeds, and that thing makes it
  bleed."
  
  At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, peering at the soft-featured, black-haired man:
       "You've still that gift I gave you? That seems like that would.. hurt.."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman his eyes heavy with guilt:
       "They took it....I'm sorry..."
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman shakes her head silently to the soft-featured, black-haired man, her hands still folded over the slope of her midsection.
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "You are on the safe hands, friend.  We help each other, we stick together.  And we will find a way to get your revenge someday."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, shaking his
  head:
       "But do I want it...I'm confused...My god has forsaken me...."
  
  Yawning, the swarthy, fork-bearded man stretches his hands, waking up from a rough hide sleeping mat.
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "I've blasphemed....But I still live....And the sword, I was right about it...It should have
  been..."
  
  Gesturing at the battered door, you ask the swarthy, fork-bearded
  man, in sirihish:
       "Give us some moment, alright?"
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man looks up at the swarthy, fork-bearded man quieting down, and turning his eyes on him.
  
  The swarthy, fork-bearded man nods absent-mindedly, heading for the door.
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman looks up at the swarthy, fork-bearded man with a slight turn of her head.
  
  The swarthy, fork-bearded man opens the door.
  
  The swarthy, fork-bearded man walks west.
  
  The swarthy, fork-bearded man closes the door from the other side.
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You contact the swarthy, fork-bearded man with the Way.
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the swarthy, fork-bearded man:
      "You did not see anything in the office, alright Jubal?"
  
  You dissolve the psychic link.
  
  A foreign presence contacts your mind.
  
  The swarthy, fork-bearded man sends you a telepathic message:
      "Right boss - the office was empty - as usual!"
  
  You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man lowers a black inked hand from his temple.
  
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man exhales for a moment, shaking his head.
  
  The cerise-haired young woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "Black hair and recessed yellow eyes is what Reneli says the elf looks like. That help, Serpent?"
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "You can rest here, I will keep leaving edibles on the table.. Maybe some coins if you want to go and get some drink.. You can wander in the alleys, if you are any curious about it."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Just don't try something too early."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You contact the cerise-haired young woman with the Way.
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, eyes settling on you:
       "Try something?"
  
  Sighing softly, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman watches the soft-featured, black-haired man for a quiet moment.
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the cerise-haired young woman:
      "Better."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, shrugging:
       "Don't know. Taking a walk to southside and spitting on Veralius."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Veralius didn't betray me...He's as guilty as I...Likely he might join us..."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man chuckles for a moment, the first sign of a smile forming on his lips.
  
  The cerise-haired young woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "He have a name?"
  
  A brow quirking, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman watches the soft-featured, black-haired man quietly still.
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "I hope he does.  We need a better dartboard anyway."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the cerise-haired young woman:
      "No.  But I will have it looked around."
  
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You contact the swarthy, fork-bearded man with the Way.
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Alright then...I'm past this whimpering kank-shit. If it's here I am, with or without the
  Highlord, Haadith Oash is Haadith Oash."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the swarthy, fork-bearded man:
      "An elf.. Black hair and yellow eyes.."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "What do you want from me, in exchange for my place in your "organization"?"
  
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Or our alliance...however you want to call it."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the swarthy, fork-bearded man:
      "Is doing nicking on the protected people.  Pass the word around, and lets see who this elf is and what he is up to."
  
  Listening, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman smiles faintly as she sits perched on a crate.
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "I said it already.. You can do anything you like that is to start with.."
  
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "But I am a curious mind, old friend."
  
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, nodding once:
       "Good, so am I. "
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "And also.. You can maybe help train my boys around."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, wiping his nose:
       "Hmm.. Thinking about it..."
  
  
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "You can go out in the alleys, and make sure no southsider or the eastsider starts shit around."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "That is basically any Blood does."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "I mean... Blood.. A gang."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "I'll need to lay low, I think for a while.  Until rumors get around that I'm dead."
  
  The swarthy, fork-bearded man sends you a telepathic message:
      "Gotcha boss, I'll spread tha word. By the way, there's an in'erestin fella out here - who jest
  might be lookin fer a job. Sounds like he's from the rinth too - want me ta talk to him?"
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "That is fine."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the swarthy, fork-bearded man:
      "Sure."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, lifting halfsword:
       "But here's are the terms. You teach me to stay alive, how to better use this pin prick, I'll teach you want you want to know. "
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "And when you've learned all you like....You let me go..."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Of course."
  
  You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
  
  A foreign presence contacts your mind.
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "He acts as if he's a prisoner."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "All too easy old friend."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, pushing himself to a straighten position:
       "How is Sadie? Doing well I hope?"
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "Who is Sadie?"
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman peers toward you curiously.
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, chuckling quietly:
       "Quite a pretty woman is not she?  Not seeing her around much lately.  She is always somewhere else."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Nierse was around though.  This week we had a little walk around."
  
  
  You dissolve the psychic link.
  
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "It's fine, Serpent."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman:
       "Sadie..is my superior.."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Well.. Was.  I don't know where she stands now."
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman nods toward you as she smooths a hand idly over her inky-black, hooded sandcloth greatcloak.
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man scratches his jawline.
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "So...Now that we're on the level..."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Nierse."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "The one you accused of being a slaver so long."
  
  You chuckle.
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "No, no...I meant undead elves...."
  
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "But I don't doubt it...One needs to press the buttons he has..."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "No, you mentioned not long ago that another undead elf has surfaced, did you not?"
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       " Oh, **censored**.  You sought him."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Died in **censored**."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Yes, I'd heard that."
  
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Funny, I'm much less interested in kill such a creature now....."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Mistress is kicking I heard.. Though did not see."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, exhaling softly:
       "An undead can be a little trouble, old friend.. Though they are not yet."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "You need a **censored**..."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, with asmirk:
       "**********CENSORED***************************"
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man scratches his chin.
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "When *******Censored***********....They die...Instantly."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, repeating slowly:
       "**censored**.. So we shall have."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Thats how Malenthis killed that **censored** Lordling so easily. Word has it he was **censored**..."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "All it took was one word..."
  
  You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man scratches his jawline.
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, chuckling slowly:
       "Why do you think I was so desperate to get into the Alley's to meet, them? "
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Nah.. Not to meet."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, nodding:
       "Every strength has it's weakness..."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "I just wanted to go a brief history."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Hmmm....Yes. The source of such things....Do you still think it's those Nilazi?"
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "I do."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "That I have little understanding of...Nilaz is the one element with which I am the most unfamiliar."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Ahh.. Alright then."
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sits quietly, listening to the two banter.
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You contact the sleek, honey-eyed young woman with the Way.
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman:
      "You want to say anything to him?"
  
  A foreign presence contacts your mind.
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "You getting ready to take me back?"
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman:
      "I am just asking if you want to tell him about the kid."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, closing his eyes for a moment:
       "Defilers.....There are some running about these Alleys I assume?"
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Not nowadays.. There is one magicker I know of.. Using drovian magick at least, but can be something bigger."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Not sure."
  
  Lifting a glance to you, then shifting it to the soft-featured, black-haired man, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman draws her lips to one side thoughtfully.
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man nods a few times easily.
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "What do you think he'll say? I don't mind telling him, now that he can not do anything about it.."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, eyes flickering to you:
       "I have a curious mind as well"
  
  You chuckle.
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "And what does it wonder now?"
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "How truly different can it be from what I once held in my hand."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman:
      "I don't know.   I don't mind telling him either"
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Perhaps this time without a leash...."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man runs a thumb over his chest were once hung a large medallion.
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, scratching his jawline:
       "How are you going to learn it?"
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, wetting his lips:
       "I don't know...the method for invocation of such things....I still know it....But the power...His power is gone."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, furrowing his brows:
       "Now you got me even more curious."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Yes....These defilers....They summon magicks without the aide of Tektelones...."
  
  At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, clearing her
  throat softly as she sits up on the crate, her eyes still firmly fixed upon the soft-featured, black-haired man:
       "Haadith, my days as your aide were.. and forever will be my most pride-filled. I'd never
  imagined that my studies would take me to your hands."
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man glances at the sleek, honey-eyed young woman sidelong.
  
  Cutting off, the soft-featured, black-haired man turns his gaze to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman.
  
  At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, glancing toward you with a soft smile:
       "I never did you wrong in my services, infact, I kept myself isolated from most everyone I met."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man remains silent, listening to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman.
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man returns the sleek, honey-eyed young woman's smile, a thoughtful look crossing his face.
  
  At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, peering back at the soft-featured, black-haired man as she draws in a soft breath:
       "There was a man who did treat me right and spark my interest as I so desired. And I am having his child. You know him."
  
  The swarthy, fork-bearded man opens the door from the other side.
  
  The swarthy, fork-bearded man has arrived from the west.
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman reaches over to give your arm a light pat, her eyes remaining on the soft-featured, black-haired man.
  
  The swarthy, fork-bearded man closes the door.
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, dipping his head:
       "Of course."
  
  The swarthy, fork-bearded man staggers in bleeding profusely, and collapses on the mat.
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Wait..."
  
  The swarthy, fork-bearded man sleeps on a rough hide sleeping mat.
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man grunts.
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman looks down at the swarthy, fork-bearded man her attention straying.
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman, gesturing to you:
       "It's his?"
  
  
  With an angry glare, you exclaim, in sirihish:
       "Fucking shit.. My carpet!"
  
  You stand up from a long, low and cracked clay table.
  
  You dissolve the psychic link.
  
  You pick up a pale gold oval carpet.
  It is no problem.
  
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man looks down at the swarthy, fork-bearded man.
  
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man shakes your pale gold oval carpet, cursing as he brushes off some blood droplets.
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man glares at the swarthy, fork-bearded man.
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man lifts his brow, ignoring the commotion and watching the sleek, honey-eyed young woman.
  
  At a long, low and cracked clay table, you overhear the sleek, honey-eyed young woman say in southern-accented sirihish, tearing her gaze from the swarthy, fork-bearded man:
       "It.. is. No matter what was happening.. do not think that he ever asked of my dealings,
  never. He just ..was there. I'm not sorry. I'm very proud."
  
  At a long, low and cracked clay table, you overhear the soft-featured, black-haired man say in southern-accented sirihish, shaking his head:
       "Not the Tor privates?"
  
  At a long, low and cracked clay table, you overhear the soft-featured, black-haired man say in southern-accented sirihish, rolling backward in his chair:
       "For fucks sake....Who would have guessed."
  
  Muttering angrily as he walks over an open shelved cabinet, glaring at the swarthy, fork-bearded man, you say, in sirihish:
       "You are so going to pay for this."
  
  At a long, low and cracked clay table, you overhear the sleek, honey-eyed young woman say in southern-accented sirihish, motioning to you:
       "He never had interest in what I ever was doing for you, and I was never telling. No.. the Tor
  private.. I was avoiding him at the time that it seems that I concieved.."
  
  You put a pale gold oval carpet inside an open shelved cabinet.
  
  Breaking his gaze from the sleek, honey-eyed young woman, the soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Congratulations."
  
  At a long, low and cracked clay table, you overhear the sleek, honey-eyed young woman say in
  southern-accented sirihish, lifting her hands to her cheeks her as peers at the soft-featured,
  black-haired man:
       "I wouldn't have. I.. just.. it was both of us.. he carried a table for me.. once."
  
  Shooting an angry glare at the swarthy, fork-bearded man, you sit at a long, low and cracked clay table.
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, turning to the soft-featured, black-haired man, his features easing down slightly:
       "Oh.. Thank you."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, waving his hand with dismissal:
       "Oh it hardly matters now, does it? If nothing else it's a bit convenient..."
  
  At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, lowering her hands to smile toward the soft-featured, black-haired man:
       "It seems so. Definately in your favor."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Seems we're one big happy fucking family now..."
  
  Moaning weakly, the swarthy, fork-bearded man turns around, coughing out some blood in his spit.
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, giving a gentle pat on the sleek, honey-eyed young woman's abdomen, chuckling quietly:
       "It seems so."
  
  
  Hearing a few moans, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman turns her head to glance over her shoulder at the swarthy, fork-bearded man.
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man stiffles a chuckle, taking his hand back over a long, low and cracked clay table.
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, eyes
  narrowing on serpent:
       "Well, I guess sending her to overhear your conversations was fairly futile."
  
  At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, turning to peer up at you:
       "He was to be a teacher to me, in the art of killing, but.. I'm not in such a condition.."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, blinking:
       "Sending her to what?"
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man offers you something that reassembles a grin.
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Once or twice, she never came back with anything. I could never understand why...."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man offers a smile to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman.
  
  At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, shaking her head at the soft-featured, black-haired man:
       "No, no.. it's because I couldn't get anything."
  
  At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, reaching a hand to poke at your ribs:
       "We don't deal in business together."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, blinking rapidly, then slowly:
       "Huh?  Oh..."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, waving his hand over the table:
       "Doesn't matter. Still you should have told me you were getting handy with a knife."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman:
       "I would sent you after Malenthis..."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man nods to you.
  
  You chuckle.
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Malenthis would eat her in the breakfast."
  
  At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, shaking her head again:
       "I'm not handy.. not yet. I was too developed.. when I asked him. We knew I was expecting, by then.."
  
  At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, beaming you a grin:
       "A gave quite a few men to be here. What's a few more, eh?"
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "It is not an easy feat to pass through a templar's guards, knock him down and get away with it."
  
  At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, motioning with a hand:
       "Perhaps.. since it is me.. he would hav eleft his guards elsewhere, hmm?"
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman:
       "My thoughts....But still...He has a toy that makes him very dangerous."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, to you:
       "How much would it have cost? Theoretically...If all this hadn't have happened...and I asked for Malenthis' head?"
  
  At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, peering back at the soft-featured, black-haired man:
       "Malenthis asked me once if you'd died yet because his aide wasn't showing and he wanted me as
  his. Pissed me off greatly.... what's his toy..?"
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, exhaling a soft breath:
       "Depends."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman:
       "A sphere...He can summon **censored** with it....Very dangerous."
  
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "I thought you had it."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Fuck no. He'd be dead already."
  
  Her brows lifting, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman nods toward the soft-featured, black-haired man.
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "And so would Marsellus for that fucking matter."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, with a grunt:
       "Malenthis is not an easy feat.  He would require a lot of hard work.. but maybe somethig in
  the lines.. Like thirty, might get us on the work."
  
  At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, curiously:
       "Want me to ask to be his aide? He wanted me sooo bad.."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, turning to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman:
       "You want to be?"
  
  At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, shrugging:
       "My way to help or something of the like?"
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, shrugging:
       "I can see how it matters anymore....If it's what you wish. Having you as an aide to another
  Templar would certainly be beneficial..."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Especially one that holds such a precious tool.."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Tool?"
  
  Nodding slowly, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman chew she rbottom lip in thought.
  
  At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "The sphere.."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Oh.. right.."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "The sphere."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "You know..."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "As I recall...Malenthis once said there is an entrance to ****censored*****
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Yes.  I think there is."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "If Tada or Dasyk stay loyal...They can get Militia cloaks."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man opens his hands easily.
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "If Malenthis bled, I could rest easy in my disgrace."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, scratching his jawline:
       "Yes.  Something to be considered.  Well.. Militia cloaks are everywhere, we don't need Tada or Dasyk doing it."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "But we can ask them to help in the work."
  
  At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, glancing at you:
       "If I remember corectly.. you're friends with Dasyk?"
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, waving a hand dismissively:
       "Something to be considered in the future."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Huh? Yes.. Kind of."
  
  At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, her eyes squinting:
       "I -think- I saw you both speaking once.. ahh.."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Dasyk's loyalty to me is questionable..."
  
  At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, chuckling:
       "Guess I have to start being nice to Tada..."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "If it were Kuroi...."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, turning to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman:
       "No."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man sighs for a moment, his face going long.
  
  Glancing at the soft-featured, black-haired man, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman bobs her head.
  
  At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, lifting her shoulders in a mild shrug:
       "I'm suprised Tada has lasted since the death of that Borsail."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Well...He did have my protection...."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman:
       "Well.. Tada has a fool's luck somewhere.  Fool's mouth as well."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, breaking into a chuckle:
       "I was so laughing, when he shouted at Kerne."
  
  At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, nodding at you:
       "You're the rest why I got so mouthy with him. Better me than you."
  
  At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "What did he shout?"
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, to you:
       "Still, he crushed that Wyvern. Five years of training....to Tada's one."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Something like, ill bred bastard..monster?  Like that."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man nods once to you.
  
  At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, waving a hand:
       "All those Borsails ... slavers or guards.. they seems to be the sneaky types, rather pride
  themselves in other things than what their house wants or needs..."
  
  At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, nodding at you:
       "Ahh, yes.. I heard that..I was trying to comfort Iyn and Miko."
  
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, wetting his lips:
       "Tada will make a good enforcer. He just needs motivation, and discipline."
  
  Tendrils of whispery shadow coils through the cracks in the table briefly, as though someone's
  fingers were attempting to claw their way through before being dispelled by the flickering
  torchlight.
  
  At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, smirking:
       "It's true what I hear of Borsail, they hire whom they can get their hands on.. in the Gaj, in the street, where ever.."
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man slams his hand over a long,low and cracked clay table.
  
  With a grunt, you say, in sirihish:
       "Fuck..."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man lifts his chin, pushing his chair away from a long, low and cracked clay table.
  
  Peering toward the cracks in the table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman draws in a slow breath.
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "What?"
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man grip tightens on his sharp, well-balanced bone halfsword.
  
  You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, peering beneath a long, low and cracked clay table:
       "It is ***censored***.  He is here."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You contact the *****censored***** with the Way.
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman nods lightly toward you, her lips drawing to one side.
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the ****censored****:
      "Get.. Out of my office."
  
  In a smooth motion, the pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man twirls your razor-sharp, hawk-etched halfsword in his hand, stabbing it over a long, low and cracked clay
  table where the shadowy form was.
  
  ....
  
  -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
  * After the arrival of the magicks the situation got a little bit confusing.  But it
  * somehow settled well in the end.  A crime lord, and an ex Lord Templar:  two old friends,
  * one burning with revenge and regain what was once his but now lost to him, one seeing some
  * profit out of this, settled an agreement.  At least for a while.  Though, in the end,
  * nothing turned out to be as expected.
  -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
  
  
  

  ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
  

  Submitter's note:
  

  
  

  This log is part of the story of the fall of Templar Haadith Oash of

  Allanak.  In his time, Haadith Oash was a rather

  short-tempered,  or one may call, a nasty...
  Continue Reading...

• 

  From the darkness by Davien
  Added on Feb 5, 2007

  Ever wondered why there's no gender inequality in Zalanthas?

  
• 

  Desert Archer by Ourla
  Added on Feb 2, 2007

  A suspicious desert elf in search of prey.

  
• 

  Triumvirate Tart by Ourla
  Added on Feb 2, 2007

  The best northern breeding produces nobles whose sly smiles remain even when they leave the Sun King's Sanctuary.

  
• 

  Bard of Tuluk by Ourla
  Added on Feb 1, 2007

  An apprentice of Elkinhym practices her handmade panpipes.

  
• 

  Ganin's Dancer by Briar
  Added on Jan 24, 2007

  The dance is a poem of which each movement is a word. - Words of Ganin's Dancer.

  
• 

  Daughter of the Moons by Briar
  Added on Jan 23, 2007

  With a finger to her solemn lips, the Moon hushed the shadows.

  
• 

  Just an ale by Okthen
  Added on Dec 25, 2006

  A night out for a 'rinther...

  ---

  When the stranger walked into the room, little did I know what the night had in store for me. It had been the usual sort of day for me in my alleys that I call home, stole for my food, barely enough. Decided it was time to kick my feet up in a nearby tavern.
  

  
  

  The smell of ale and smoke hit me in the face as I slipped in amongst the thick crowd of the tavern, weaving my way quickly through the rowdy patrons and approaching the bar. I muttered a brief acknowledgement to a couple of grim looking men seated along the bar, their faces shadowed by the deep hoods of their cloaks. Petty thugs,I figured, as most folk were around these parts.
  

  
  

  A burst of laughter erupted from a nearby table, I turned my head briefly towards the commotion before snickering and turning back to the bar top. ‘Just an ale for today, fella.’ I said, raising one finger in the air and rolling a few coins along the bar. I accepted my chipped mug from the barkeep and raised it slowly to my lips, tasting the bitter liquid before taking a long pull.
  

  
  

  I turned my attention towards the doorway, gazing absently at the crowd milling about the room. A few voices were quickly raised above the din of the crowd, two bulky looking men jumped to their feet, their eyes dripping with malice. They glared at each other before both turned and stalked towards the entrance. I snorted, knowing all too well what was in store for them.
  

  
  

  It was then that I saw the stranger, he towered over most of the other men in the room, his build was very thin though, a lithe looking man with dark hair falling around his face. His gaze passed mine without the slightest hint of acknowledgement, yet I saw him glance back towards me soon after.
  

  
  

  My attention was quickly pulled away from the stranger as the night wore on before I decided it was time to head back home. I eased from my stool and began trudging through the crowd, stepping out onto the foul smelling alley outside, leaving the noisy establishment behind me as I began sauntering down the streets.
  

  
  

  The scuffle of feet moving quickly along the trash-ridden alley grabbed my attention, shooting a swift glance over my shoulder before hurrying my step. I fumbled a hand towards my belt, looking forthe familiar feel of my blade. No luck. Damn, somebody must’ve pinched it back at the tavern.I tugged my hood further over my face, hoping the shadows could conceal my identity.
  

  
  

  I hear the footsteps again as I hurry towards my destination, the muffled sound of boot on stone seeming to echo along the alley. Just as I was rounding one of the last corners, an almost familiar face stepped in front of me, a couple heads taller with scruffy dark hair falling hazardously across his eyes. It was the stranger from the tavern I realized.
  

  
  

  What does this fool want? I snarled towards the stranger, lowering my stance as I prepared to fight or flee. The stranger lunged at me, a glint of dark obsidian showing up in the dim moonlight. I twisted to the side, barely escaping his blade. I turned to flee down the street but more cloaked figures stepped from the shadows. I whirled in a circle, cursing as I saw no way out, and they were on me.
  

  By ThirdEye...Final words from The Lottery (I liked the ending)....
  

  When the stranger walked into the room, little did I know what the night had in store for me. It had been the usual sort of day for me in my alleys that I call home, stole for my food, barely enough. Decided it was time to kick my feet up in a nearby tavern.
  

  
  

  The smell of ale and smoke hit me...

  
  Continue Reading...
• 

  Meat Tree Seeds by Anon
  Added on Dec 25, 2006

  A half-giant gives a physician a gift that keeps on giving - or so the elf told him.

  ---

  The six-fingered half-giant has arrived from the north, a strong scent of dung following him.

  
  

  The six-fingered half-giant heads over to his cot, men all about the barracks busy preparing for the night.

  
  

  Leaning down beside his cot with a weary groan, the six-fingered half-giant sits down.

  
  

  You put a scrap of cloth inside a hooded, kenku-stitched jade cloak.

  
  

  Glancing about, the six-fingered half-giant asks, in sirihish:
  

  "Anyone seen sarje Akim?"

  
  

  The mottled, tow-haired young man leans back and twists a bit, his back cracking.  Reaching forward, he closes the lid of the trunk that he'd been sitting in front of, and starts to rise.

  
  

  As he gets to his feet, you say to the six-fingered half-giant, in sirihish:
  

  "I certainly haven't."

  
  

  Pursing his lips and then nodding to you, the six-fingered half-giant says, in sirihish:

  "Ok."

  
  

  Your small stone mortar cradled in one hand, you stand up from a simple wooden stool.

  
  

  The mottled, tow-haired young man nods slightly to the six-fingered half-giant and walks over to a heavy agafari cabinet.

  
  

  You stop using a red stone pestle.

  
  

  You put a small stone mortar inside a heavy agafari cabinet.

  
  

  You put a red stone pestle inside a heavy agafari cabinet.

  
  

  The six-fingered half-giant asks you, in sirihish:
  

  "Were you smashing plants?"

  Turning away from a heavy agafari cabinet and grinning, you say to the six-fingered half-giant, in sirihish:
  

  "Yes, I was."

  
  

  Nodding his head with a very serious expression, the six-fingered half-giant says, in sirihish:
  

  "That's good, I still like smashing mutts best, but plants is good too."

  
  

  Nodding, you say to the six-fingered half-giant, in sirihish:
  

  "Smashing mutts is possibly more satisfying.  But I don't believe I would be any good at it."

  
  

  Suddenly sitting upright, the six-fingered half-giant exclaims, in sirihish:

  "Oh! I forgot!"

  
  

  The six-fingered half-giant stands up.

  
  

  The six-fingered half-giant starts to dig through the pouches on his white and flame-red pouched leather belt.

  
  

  The six-fingered half-giant shakes a pouch into one hand.

  
  

  The mottled, tow-haired young man blinks, watching the six-fingered half-giant.

  
  

  The six-fingered half-giant gets a handful of deep red seeds from a white and flame-red pouched leather belt.

  
  

  The six-fingered half-giant gets a handful of deep red seeds from a white and flame-red pouched leather belt.

  
  

  The six-fingered half-giant holds his hand out towards you, leaning down so that the massive paw hovers just a cord before you.

  
  

  As he holds his handful of deep red seeds out, the six-fingered half-giant says, in sirihish:

  "I got them for you"

  
  

  Cupping his hands and holding them up towards his hand, you ask the six-fingered half-giant, in sirihish:

  "For me?  Thank you.. where did they come from?"

  
  Flipping his hand so that the seeds spill into your grasp, the six-fingered half-giant says to you, in sirihish:

  "They are special, they are meat trees, I had to trade some meat, but we got a good deal, these will make much more meat."

  
  

  The six-fingered half-giant gives you his handful of deep red seeds.

  
  

  Sounding somewhat skeptical, as he peers at the seeds in his hands, you ask the six-fingered half-giant, in sirihish:

  "'Meat' trees?"

  
  

  A deep red, almost crimson in color, these tiny seeds are the size of  pinheads.  Their surface is glossy and smooth.   Split open, they reveal a bland white inner flesh, which smells faintly bitter.

  
  

  Nodding his head firmly, the six-fingered half-giant says to you, in sirihish:

  "Oh yes, they'll grow into many times more meat then I had to give them"

  
  

  The mottled, tow-haired young man shifts the bulk of the seeds to one hand, though a couple spill out onto the floor.  Ignoring the escapees for the moment, he picks up one seed between two fingers of his free hand and examines it more closely.

  
  

  Crushing the seed between his fingertips and sniffing cautiously at it, you say to the six-fingered half-giant, in sirihish:

  "I.. see.  I suppose I shall have to find a place to plant them, then."

  
  

  You think:

  "Meat trees, eh?"

  
  

  With a beaming smile, the six-fingered half-giant says to you, in sirihish:
       "Yes, they will be great"

  
  

  The six-fingered half-giant heads back a few paces and slumps down against a wood-framed cotton cot again.

  
  

  Glancing up at him, you ask the six-fingered half-giant, in sirihish:

  "So you traded for them?  You didn't find them yourself?"

  
  

  The six-fingered half-giant sits down.

  
  

  Nodding his head, the six-fingered half-giant says to you, in sirihish:

  "Yup"

  You think:

  "What a load of nonsense."

  
  

  Nodding slowly, you ask the six-fingered half-giant, in sirihish:

  "I see.  And the person who you traded with told you this.. meat tree story?"

  
  

  You think:

  "Bitter.. hmm.. a purgative, perhaps?  Or a poison.  There is often little difference."

  
  

  Nodding his head quickly, the six-fingered half-giant says to you, in sirihish:

  "Yeah, explained how much meat we'd get, much more then if I only got coins."

  
  

  Wrinkling his nose at the squashed seed and absently wiping its remnants off on your pair of rough canvas pants, you ask the six-fingered half-giant, in sirihish:

  "Of course.  Do you remember who this trader was?  A longneck, perhaps?"

  
  

  Feeling amused, you think:

  "A meat tree."

  
  

  Lifting a hand to push his white, tembo-hide helmet to the side as he scratches beneath it, the six-fingered half-giant says, in sirihish:

  "Ummm.. yeah.. tiny little necker.. very good friendly for a necker"

  
  

  You think:

  "I knew it."

  
  

  The mottled, tow-haired young man chuckles quietly and nods, his eyes still on your handful of deep red seeds.

  
  

  You say to the six-fingered half-giant, in sirihish:

  "I'm sure.  Do you happen to remember what he looked like?  I'd like to find out a bit more about these, ah, meat trees."

  
  

  Pursing his lips and pinching his entire expression as if in deep contemplation, the six-fingered half-giant exclaims, in sirihish:

  "His... ear... no... both ears.. yes! Both ears were pointy!"

  
  

  The six-fingered half-giant gives you a sagely nod.

  
  

  Glancing up briefly, his lips twisting into a smirk, you say to the six-fingered

  "Both of them?  Well, he should be easy enough to find."

  
  

  Staring at you with no real intent other then looking forwards, the six-fingered half-giant says, in sirihish:

  "Yes, that will make it easy."

  
  

  After a moment of consideration, the six-fingered half-giant says, in sirihish:

  "He was also very small.. smaller then me"

  
  

  Feeling progressively more amused, you think:

  "Oh dear.  Still, he's been bred for a purpose, and it isn't to think."

  
  

  Nodding with an exaggerated slowness, you say to the six-fingered half-giant, in sirihish:

  "Oh, good.  Very good.  If you can think of anything else, be sure to let me know."

  
  

  You think:
  

   "Now, what to do with these berries?"

  
  

  The six-fingered half-giant purses his lips and squints his eyes, a tense moment of indepth thought passes, and he tightens up against himself slightly, eyes deeply glazed.

  
  

  Crouching down, taking care not to spill any more berries from his cupped palm, the mottled, tow-haired young man picks up the few that had fallen to the floor earlier and returns them to the pile.

  
  

  After a long moment of silence, the six-fingered half-giant says, in sirihish:

  "He... was... an..."

  
  

  Biting out the word slowly, the six-fingered half-giant says, in sirihish:

  "An elf... with..."

  
  

  The mottled, tow-haired young man slowly straightens back up and glances at the six-fingered half-giant.

  
  

  Straining almost, the six-fingered half-giant says, in sirihish:

  "Pointy.. ears..."

  
  

  Helpfully, you ask the six-fingered half-giant, in sirihish:

  "And shorter than you?"

  
  

  The six-fingered half-giant nods his head slowly, looking pleased.

  
  

  The six-fingered half-giant exclaims, in sirihish:

  "Exactly!"

  
  

  Looking relieved as he straightens up and leans back from his tense moment, the six-fingered half-giant says, in sirihish:

  "We are a good team"

  
  

  Inclining his head towards him, you say to the six-fingered half-giant, in sirihish:

  "Yes, thank you.  That was very helpful."

  
  

  The mottled, tow-haired young man looks down at your handful of deep red seeds for a moment, then crosses the room towards the row of trunks.

  
  

  You think:

  "I'm sure I can find something to do with them.  Later."

  
  

  You put a handful of deep red seeds inside an inix-rib trunk.

  
  

  The mottled, tow-haired young man rummages around inside one of the trunks, clearing a space before carefully depositing the handful of seeds inside.  Turning away, he wipes his hands clean on your pair of rough canvas pants.

  
  

  The mottled, tow-haired young man waves his hand at the six-fingered half-giant and quietly walks towards the entry hall.

  The six-fingered half-giant has arrived from the north, a strong scent of dung following him.

  
  

  The six-fingered half-giant heads over to his cot, men all about the barracks busy preparing for the night.

  
  

  Leaning down beside his cot with a weary groan, the six-fingered half-giant sits down.

  
  

  You put...

  
  Continue Reading...
• 

  A Moonlit Night by Briar
  Added on Dec 24, 2006

  A child finds her element within Tuluk's Ivory Walls.

  ---

              The chiming click-clack of sandals, the rhythmic wheezing of tired, desperate lungs, and the constant shifting of heavy fabric about flailing limbs echoed through the long, marble-floored halls.

              Run! Run! Run!

              The little girl, her night-clothes still clinging to her body in weighted drapery ran as her thoughts compelled her to. Her small hands tore at the ivory toggles at the front of her silk robe, pulling awkwardly as her feet continued to drum into the floor, carrying her as fast as they could from those that chased. She thought she could still hear the din of their black boots pounding in pursuit and continued to flee from her bedchambers.

  Lirathu, full and brilliant, shone stark against the starless night as shafts of light broke between gauzy curtains along one side of the hall, bathing the child in fleeting pools of silver. In a flurry of brown and gold, her robe fell from her shoulders, melting to the floor in a muted puffing sound as she bolted farther down the hall. She turned right and right again, and ran until she pushed through screen doors of pymlithe lattice to a lush garden.

  Her tiny hands batted angrily at the brush as she darted through trees and manicured foliage, away from the trails, burrowing deep into the cluttered garden held captive in high, ivory-painted walls. She stilled, coming to an abrupt pause and choked, sucking in wells of breath as she turned her head to the side, listening to the lulling breeze that crept around, attempting to cool the still clinging heat from the earlier day that sweltered. Wait, she told herself, her thoughts even hard to understand in the painful cramps in her legs and lungs.

  Silence.

  The hushed drumming of foot-pads echoed in the distance, sounding like fingertips tapping a beat onto a silk pillow. Run, her mind screamed but she stayed still and forced her eyes closed. Listen, she told herself as she raised her trembling hands outwards and lowered to a crouch, hiding within a clutch of flowering bushes. She felt the breeze touch her skin, prickling the flesh alive as the air suddenly chilled and her fingers outstretched to tentatively grasp the earth beneath her.

  The gardens dimmed with the light of the silver moon paling and fading as a graying twilight took over in the matter of a breath. Some manner of moist, faint smoke began to form, creeping from within the green depths of the trees to thicken along the narrow, marble-floored paths. The sound of steps stopped in the distance and began again in opposite directions from one another. The little girl waited, her eyes held closed and her breath slowing, coming in softer gulps as she listened intently.

  Help me, she whispered mutely to the brush as she opened her eyes and looked down at a small ishra flower that surprisingly lifted its four-petals to face her. A shiver ran down the purple flower’s dark green stalk and a ripple of movement shifted abruptly through the garden as trees and flowers came alive, blossoms opening and tendrils, roots and vines unfurling, stretching across the paths, seeking those that searched. With a faint rustle of her amber-colored silk shift, the little girl rose halfway from her crouch and peered through the topmost branches of a bush to see the distant trail as a nearby crash sounded through the growth.

  One of the black-clad men had fallen. She could make out a vague figure, his form veiled in the thickening, moist air. His body writhed soundlessly as something from the ground seemed to attack him. The little girl lowered, ducking down to the ground as she looked quickly to the flower beside her. Its pollen-filled center quaked briefly as it shook itself off, sending a scented plume into a tiny space of air about it. She watched, waiting and began to move into the brush on hands and knees in the direction the ishra’s face turned.

  The wind blew down and through the garden, filling it with a chilling, hammering roar as the child moved slow and carefully across the ground. A myriad of roots shifted, curling back within the soil as she passed, closing in behind her. Another crash sounded in the distance, a faint cry cut off short following it.

  Pausing, the girl looked up through the clinging, humid air that remained thick and dark and came to her feet. How many was there, she thought and stood still. She squinted her eyes and balled her dirty hands into fists as she tried to remember. All she could recall was gloved hands slipping between the curtains of her bed, reaching for her in the dark. There had been no warning, no sound, but strangely the child could recall the strong scent of her mother, clove and a mixture of laok and jasmine powder, on the figures who attempted to wrestle her out of her bedding. She had escaped, squirming between hands and arms and bolted for the door. How she’d managed to outrun them, she couldn’t understand. Nothing made sense. 

  Silence stretched and she waited, listening. On the southern end of the garden she heard the sound of the gate’s heavy locks and moved suddenly, without thought, towards it in careless strides through the brush. Pushing desperately once more at the garden, the little girl began running through its trees and brush, the wind roaring in her ears as the fog began to darken the wooded area into a near blackness.

  Through blackened trunks and grey-looking foliage, a shaft of silver shown through the misty veil. It pooled over a white-stoned trail through the branches of sagging wylrith tree and deepened the darkness that hung like a void in the opening of a vine-covered stone alcove. Sucking in sharp breaths that stung, the child darted towards the light, her eyes going wide as she fought for words to shout out in the gate’s direction.

  Run! Run! Run!

  Stop!

  She did, coming to a stumbling halt just a cord within the shaft of moonlight and stared, breathing quick and heavily as she dug a hand into the pain in one side. Her eyes darted across the path as she stood between the squirming roots of the tree, its limbs creaking and swaying, brushing and reaching to touch her, as if to draw her back into the gardens. She looked beyond the light to the blackness of the alcove and squinted at a faint, silent motion.

  A pale hand reached out of the dark alcove, stark against a black sleeve and held a round, sugary cookie with in its long, spindly fingers. With a flickering gesture the shadowy figure beckoned the little girl closer. She stood still for a stretching moment before instinctively sliding one barefoot behind her into the brush.

  ‘Storia Dasari,” said the voice, feminine and familiar to the little girl.

  Momma, thought the little girl and she moved forward as the wind screamed and the trees thrashed behind in silent pleading. She stepped through the pooling light of Lirathu and extended her tiny hand to the cookie as she stared at the darkness within the alcove.

  A pair of cold silver-flecked, black eyes flashed within the shadows and met Storia’s brown eyes. As she took the cookie in her hand the hand of the figures withdrew into the black and suddenly the thought took hold in her mine: Those are not momma’s eyes.

  A whisper of leather.

  A flash of a shimmering blade.

  Silence and stillness suddenly embraced the gardens for a long moment. Brown eyes searched the darkness of the alcove, wide and confused. The cookie slipped through her fingers and fell, breaking apart on the ground. She fell, the shift of color and light flashing around her as the moon shone above, filling her eyes with white. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, all at once she felt numb and cold, heavy and lost. Momma, she asked Lirathu as the moon shown clear above. Momma why, she asked again, as the scent of her mother filled her nose, coated her tongue and filled her thoughts with the woman’s face. Everything began to fade, slip into the white that hung above.

  Storia lay dying, blood pooling beneath her, glittering like liquid rubies lit by fire. The red ebbed further outward, forming a halo around her amber-colored curls as she continued staring up into the silver moonlight. The shadowy figured stepped forward from within the alcove, wiping his stained blade upon a white silk handkerchief.

  “It is done,” said the black-clad woman as she turned her face to the side, casting a sidewards glance into the deeper black of the alcove.

  Alithia Dasari melted out of the darkness of the alcove. She was not a tall woman, in particular, and she had dark red hair that fell in a straight, shimmering curtain to her lean hips. Her face was pale, with a touch of perpetually ruddy cheeks, and her eyes were the color of deep, blackened gold. She lowered her eyes to the dying child and held them there for a moment, indifference showing clear before she raised her attention to the black-clad woman.

  “Do not state the obvious, dancer,” the Chosen Lady said as she turned gracefully from the alcove and moved down the path. She paused with deliberate ease and drew her eyes over the shoulder of her emerald-silk gown as she added with a neutral tone. “Remove it from my estate.”

  Without another look to the crumpled child on the ground, Alithia returned to her smooth stride and faded into the distance down the path.

  The black-clad woman looked down at the child, watched as the glassy look overtook her wide, confused eyes. The woman knelt down, taking up Storia’s pale, limp hand in her own and pressed her lips to the child’s knuckles. She watched.

  Storia turned her eyes slowly to the woman’s, searching her silver-flecked, black eyes. She could not speak but she looked at the woman, asking why silently as her fingers twitched within the woman’s. Her fingers tightened around Storia’s in turn and she nodded tightly.

  “You are what you are, little one. You are an abomination. I am a dancer. For you, I exist. For me, my blades exist. Do you understand?”

  The little girl could only blink, tears welling in her eyes as she stared at the woman.

  “Look to Lirathu, little one, She will guide you. Mercy is Hers. Go to Her,” said the black-clad woman as she clutched the child’s fingers in one hand and watched, waiting.

  Storia turned her eyes to the moonlight, staring as the sight faded, glazing over until nothing remained but empty flesh.

  “She loved you, this is why,” whispered the woman as she rose, letting the dead child’s hand fall through her fingers to hit the ground with a faint thud.

  The black-clad woman removed her cloak with a single flick of a slender hand, exposing a pale tattoo of Lirathu on the inside of her wrist, and deftly covered and rolled the child within it, concealing every inch of Storia’s body. Settling the limp form between her arms, the dancer moved, silently and in steps down the trail that seemed more fit to the slow rhythm of a bard’s song. A bloody outline of a child’s upper body and haloed head painted the top of the alabaster flagstones of the pathway, lit brightly by Lirathu through the sheer veil of the clinging fog.

   

              The chiming click-clack of sandals, the rhythmic wheezing of tired, desperate lungs, and the constant shifting of heavy fabric about flailing limbs echoed through the long, marble-floored halls.

              Run! Run! Run!

              The little girl, her night-clothes still...

  
  Continue Reading...
• 

  Krath's Touch by Bebop
  Added on Dec 22, 2006

  A Krathi magicker is endowed with Suk-Krath's power for the first time much to her own surprise.

  ---

  Loni's eye's scoured the arid, glistening horizon for a long moment as a tiny bead of sweat fell from her brow and a vein of water slid from her skin.  With a crunch of her boots she crouched down, extending a hand to steady herself against the grainy mixture of salt and sand that blanketed the land here.  As the sun began to peak up over the horizon, the slightest hint of it's face sent Suk-Krath's bold beams of light shooting through the sky and over everything else.  Loni had been out scavenging the sand for lumps of salt large enough to sell, a tedious but worthwhile task for a lonely half breed of the commoner's quarter.  As one hour turned into two the form of the burning sphere of Suk-Krath in the sky continued its daily path, floating with ease higher into the heavens.  Intent on the glistening crystals and the coarsely woven salt sack slumped over the sand next to her, Loni was unaware of the tall insectiod that had spotted her over the flat horizon and was fast approaching each of it's several legs pulling over the sand in synchronized time.

   

  Hearing the sound of sand crunching rapidly in protest under the many, moving legs of the towering insect Loni cringed flinging herself back to peer up at the scrab with quickly widening eyes.  It's mandibles clacking and rubbing against one another eagerly the beast clacked one clawed pincer extending it towards the scrawny, auburn-maned young woman.  Stung by the paralyzation of dread she could do nothing but fling her sun-baked, slim arms over her face expecting the inevitable.  Blinking she jolted to hear what sounded like the abrupt roar of a bond fire as the musky smell of smoke wafted to her nose in all of what could not have been more than an instant.  With a guttural shriek of surprise the stunned insect swept at the air with it's claws as the girl rolled over in time to see the beast turning it's knobby legs to carry it away in bewilderment.  Squinting as the creature departed she noticed smoke trailing from the scrab's, what now appeared singed, chitin in-casing.

   

  What had just happened?  Shaking and still sprawled on her back, Loni's emerald eyes darted left and right trying to locate the source of the flames before she scurried to her feet.  Standing a long moment as the pace of her heartbeat gradually beginning to thump back to regularity, the girl smeared a hand over her face and she took a shaky breath.   She rested one hand on her hip and dropped the other to her side, pressing her lips together as she realized she should get her salt sack and leave.  She should leave now!  But then, there was the smell of burning again, black smoke wafted to her nose and Loni's brow furrowed upward as the sound of a crackling fire floated to her ears akin to the smell.  Her eyes followed the tendrils of smoke downward.  Was the flame at her feet?  Had someone shot a low flying flaming arrow?  But in a moment of horrifying revelation her emerald eyes dropped to her hand and caught the flashing and dancing of the flames in their depths.  Her hand was burning.

   

  Shaking, she slowly and feebly began to close her fist, mouth dropping open with a mortified squeak that barely escaped the back of her throat.  Struggling mentally to grasp what had happened, and why she could not feel the flames her fingers curled.  With the tightening of her hand just as a candle is snuffed the flames evaporated leaving only a trail of smoke and Loni's heart racing once more.  Swooning, Loni grabbed her head beginning to stumble towards the ivory salt road that would ultimately guide her to the Black City of Allanak.  The sun seared her eyes, her throat was parched.  She reached out for something to stable her quivering hand but there was nothing and as she stumbled forward, her legs gave out.  She groaned in pain and exhaustion as her face met the hot sand and the heat began to envelope her like boiling water.  Collapsing over the sand Loni wandered if she was suffering from Krath's Touch.  The scrab.  The fire.  Everything had been an illusion.  It must have been ... what were they called?  A mirage.  Yes a mirage.  It must have been.  If not that would mean that she was....

   

  She gasped as every drop of moisture was sucked quickly from her mouth and throat.  And then everything went black.

  When Loni awoke she was standing naked and deep inside what looked like a hollow mountain.  A perfectly round, flat of stone was positioned under her feet and beyond that what looked like thick, bubbling liquid flame boiled and popped around her.  Something had sunk in now, and she was not afraid as the magma crept up over the small area of land that was her perch and began to form around her skin.   She accepted it feeling neither cold nor hot but warm and soothed.  The magma bubbled and oozed over her bare, thin frame she closed her eyes feeling the serene heat of the thriving liquid.  Her arms lifted, her eyes closed, her mouth opened and as the magma sunk into her mouth and ears she could feel the flame begin to pump through her veins.  It was empowering her, it was speaking to her, whispering riddles in words that she had never heard before but that she would never forget.  The words came in song now as each throbbing of her heart circulated the energy of the Sun but just as the melody came to the loudest most melodic point Loni's eyes opened wide.

  Her face was pressed against a cool bed of coarse salt and the sky had turned from crimson to black ink, it's infinite expanse absent of the radiance of Suk-Krath.  Taking a deep breath Loni rose to her feet and reached up gently smoothing her hands over her sandcloth garb and dusting crusted sand from the side of her face that had used the earth as a pillow.  Looking nothing short of taken aback, Loni stared off into the sky her thoughts only mildly interrupted by the soft lull of the occasional wind, relieving the land of the intense heat that Suk-Krath spared it only at night.  Running a hand through her hair her ajar mouth slowly squirmed into a smile and then laughter spilled from her lips.  Joyful laughter as a rise of adrenaline flexed through her veins as she began to realize the new powers that she now enjoyed.  Howling in the excitement of her ecstasy Loni rose her hands over her head shooting out gusts of flames and casting shapes around her in trails of amber light in an improvised dance of elation.  No longer a helpless breed Loni, was now a Krathi.

  Loni's eye's scoured the arid, glistening horizon for a long moment as a tiny bead of sweat fell from her brow and a vein of water slid from her skin.  With a crunch of her boots she crouched down, extending a hand to steady herself against the grainy mixture of salt and sand that blanketed the...

  
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