Original Submissions
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The Sun Legion by Ascipen
Added on Mar 22, 2011Forever in His Light.
A Grey Forest Jaunt by Valeria
Added on Mar 1, 2011A young Legions private accompanies her Jihaen and some others on a patrol of the Grey Forest, with life-altering consequences.
(This story has been edited to remove a lot of the superfluous spammy material and things not directly related to the story, and to fix some spelling errors and punctuation that was missed in the heat of battle.
By way of background, shortly after the flood in the north, our heroine Private Faith of the Sun Legions has been requested by her Jihaen to prepare for a patrol. She and some other Legionnaires do so, then ride out to the gates with the Templar, where another group is waiting for adventure.)
You are Fatima, of many people.
Keywords: dark athletic woman faith
Sdesc: the dark, athletic woman
You are 23 years, 1 months, and 157 days old, which by your race and appearance is adult.
You are 71 inches tall, and weigh 7 ten-stone.
Your strength is very good, your agility is extremely good, your wisdom is above average, and your endurance is exceptional.
Your health is 130(130), you have 120(133) stamina, and 127(127) stun.
The Road of Caravans, East of the Scaien Gates [NESW]
The yellow sandstone that once laid flat to the land to form the bulk of the road here now sports a number of positions where full chunks have been dislodged or sunken into the ground, making it treacherous for the normal wagon traffic it has. To each side of the street, a number of structures can be seen in various states of distress - some only mud-caked while others have been nearly levelled entirely. Various forms of small plant-life have already begun to take hold of the cracks underfoot, and
their scent mixed in with the mud and wood decay combine to cause quite a pungent aroma to assault the senses
The white pavestones of the North Road - what portions remain fully intact - pass west through the huge arch of the Scaien Gates, their ancient wallwork freed from the overhang of moss and ragged numut vines. The gates themselves desperately cling onto the stone walls on each side, only the bone supports high up keeping them attached while water decay and rot eat away at the lower halves.
An inix stands here, carrying the tall figure in a dusty hooded, white-trimmed, red cloak on his back.
A reddish-shelled inix stands here, carrying the tall figure in a dusty long, hooded red and white tabard on his back.
A reddish-shelled inix stands here, carrying the tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe on his back.
A glossy, black-scaled inix stands here, carrying the gigantic and obese figure
in a burned hooded, sleeveless grey sandcloth cloak on his back.
A war beetle stands here, carrying the grey-eyed, stubble-bearded man on its back.
A war beetle stands here, carrying the thin, short-haired man on its back.
A war beetle stands here, carrying the ruddy-skinned dwarf on its back.
A brown inix stands here, carrying the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a g
ruesomely twisted gortok on his back.
A grey-scaled, silver-shelled inix stands here, carrying the freckled, sinewy man on his back.
A glossy, black-scaled inix stands here, carrying the ivory, black-maned half-giant on his back.
A crew of slaves led by an overseer is here clearing the road, covered in mud.
A crew of Tenneshi laborers works here on a building project.
The small, splotchy dwarf has arrived from the south, riding a reddish-shelled inix.
~*~
Looking aside to the thin, short-haired man, the tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe exclaims, in sirihish:
"Rakas, you have the lead!"
The grey-eyed, stubble-bearded man asks the thin, short-haired man, in sirihish:
"Did you check their tracks, I wonder if they been wandering out of the forest into the grass?"
The tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe exclaims to the thin, short-haired man, in sirihish:
"Proceed when you are ready!"
The thin, short-haired man dips his head.
(The party heads out along the road, encountering a few gortok and tembo along the way to the forest. During a short break:)
The thin, short-haired man says to the tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe, in sirihish:
"Migh' I recommend, Faithful Lord. Given t'clear weather, everone dehood? So we can more quickly tell who migh' need hel."
Reaching up for his scrub-camouflaged facewrap, the male wearing a scrub-camouflaged facewrap says, in sirihish:
"Sounds good to me."
Rapping the butt of his staff against the ground, the tall Jihaen templar in a d
usty red hooded templar's robe shouts, in sirihish:
"Show your faces and report!"
(A lot of hoods are lowered.)
The grey-eyed, stubble-bearded man says, in sirihish:
"Neeko of Kadius here."
Briskly, you say, in sirihish:
"Private Fatima reporting Faithful Lord."
Glancing around, the barbarous, black-maned youth says, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Erak, Kadius."
The towering, curly-blonde man exclaims, in sirihish:
"Tulor, still alive and well Faithful Lord!"
The small, splotchy dwarf says, in sirihish:
"Recruit Charl."
The ruddy-skinned dwarf says, in sirihish:
"T'is on good, Faithful Lord."
The rangy, towheaded young man says to the tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red ho
oded templar's robe, in sirihish:
"Private Crisiant here."
Calling out, the ivory, black-maned half-giant exclaims, in sirihish:
"Dogouth!"
Glancing from the ivory, black-maned half-giant to the towering, curly-blonde ma
n, the freckled, sinewy man says, in sirihish:
"Raleris Winrothol, just fine."
Turning a level stare toward the rangy, towheaded young man, the tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe asks, in sirihish:
"Are you well, Crisiant?"
The thin, short-haired man sits up high on his saddle, gaze roaming full circle
over the light forest.
Pulling off his red silk veil from his face, the bearded, bronze-hued man says,
in sirihish:
"Medic Musadir."
An eery silence overcomes the area, even the insects going quiet.
The rangy, towheaded young man says to the tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe, in sirihish:
"Took a bite or two, they weren't deep."
The ruddy-skinned dwarf says, in sirihish:
"Rok."
The tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe slants a narrow-eye
d gaze out over the surrounding forest.
You feel profoundly nervous.
The thin, short-haired man says to the grey-eyed, stubble-bearded man, in sirihish:
"If ya get hurt, make sure ya call out fer help."
His voice rumbling past his wet maw, the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty ho
oded, sleeveless grey sandcloth cloak exclaims, in sirihish:
"Yeek!"
The rangy, towheaded young man twists in the saddle, gazing in every direction.
The grey-eyed, stubble-bearded man says to the thin, short-haired man, in sirihish:
"Yes, Boss."
The thin, short-haired man says to the tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe, in sirihish:
"Ready when you are, Faithful Lord."
The gigantic and obese figure in a dusty hooded, sleeveless grey sandcloth cloak seems less on edge as the chirping of the insects cease.
(Party mounts up, etc.)
As he steps back toward inix, the tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe says to the thin, short-haired man, in sirihish:
"Continue. I want a report on condition after every engagement."
The thin, short-haired man nods, continuing.
His voice stern, the tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe says, in sirihish:
"We have an experienced medic, and there is no excuse in leaving your wounds untended."
The thin, short-haired man glances southward.
Startled by the arriving party a brightly colored bird dashes up from the underbrush, flapping its wings into your face.
The towering, curly-blonde man smiles at you.
The freckled, sinewy man lifts fingers to his eyes and points south.
(The party moves on after it is confirmed that it was just a lizard that was spotted.)
A large, mangy gortok has arrived from the west, yelping in terror.
The thin, short-haired man keeps slow for those having trouble riding.
Yelping in terror, a large, mangy gortok runs east.
The tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe swings his legs to
the side and dismounts.
The thin, short-haired man blinks.
You swing your legs to the side and dismount.
The thin, short-haired man says, in sirihish:
"Well, tha' ain't good."
The tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe shouts, in sirihish:
"Prepare yourselves!"
Glancing over his shoulder, the freckled, sinewy man says, in sirihish:
"Now what would a gortok be running from..."
You think:
"Nothing good."
The towering, curly-blonde man says, in sirihish:
"Never seen a gortok run..."
The towering, curly-blonde man says, in sirihish:
"Except after my ass."
The thin, short-haired man says to the freckled, sinewy man, in sirihish:
"We're nearin' t'biggest concentration a' tembo I found las' week. "
Simply, the tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe says to the thin, short-haired man, in sirihish:
"I would suggest we proceed slowly for a time."
The freckled, sinewy man looks over to the thin, short-haired man with an arched eyebrow and nods.
The thin, short-haired man says to the tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe, in sirihish:
"Aye, Faithful Lord."
(The party heads further into the forest, some on foot.)
The tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe says to the thin, short-haired man, in sirihish:
"Hold."
The thin, short-haired man holds, left hand raising to stop the group.
The pervasive silence continues, the stillness clearly broken by the harsh, loud noises of the parties passage alone.
Glancing out over the group, the tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe says to the thin, short-haired man, in sirihish:
"I would suggest we take some time to rest."
(People pull up their mounts.)
Agafari Grove [NESW]
(A bunch of people and bugs are here.)
Looking aside to you, the tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe asks, in sirihish:
"Did you bring the tent, Private?"
The freckled, sinewy man stands near a grey-scaled, silver-shelled inix, pulling his dusty silver-dyed chitin-plated kite shield and his bone-handled, obsidian hawkblade up higher.
The thin, short-haired man says to the tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe, in sirihish:
"I figure we're about a third a' t'way there, Faithful Lord."
Nodding briskly, you ask the tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe, in sirihish:
"Yes Faithful Lord. Do you want me to set it up?"
Nodding sharply, the tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe says to you, in sirihish:
"Immediately."
The thin, short-haired man says, in sirihish:
"What we're in now is gonna seem like t'grasslands once we get about three more leagues in."
You unstrap your large bag from a reddish-shelled inix's back.
You get your rolled-up, dark-brown tent from your large bag.
The barbarous, black-maned youth glances to the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty hooded, sleeveless grey sandcloth cloak, then a glossy, black-scaled inix, his face wrinkling.
Kicking some brush out of the way, you drop your rolled-up, dark-brown tent.
The tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe says to the small, splotchy dwarf, in sirihish:
"Take your rest."
You quickly unroll a rolled-up, dark-brown tent and start to put it together.
Reaching over to pat it, murmuring, the barbarous, black-maned youth says to a glossy, black-scaled inix, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Easy there, buddy. I know. I know."
A large, mangy gortok has arrived from the south, limping, three-legged, and trailing blood behind it.
The dark, athletic woman shoves poles into the earth, stretching the canvas over them.
Glancing down at a glossy, black-scaled inix, the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty hooded, sleeveless grey sandcloth cloak says to a glossy, black-scaled inix, in sirihish:
"Uhh...sorry. Forgotted what nobug looked like, so I took da first one in da row.”
A large, mangy gortok howls piteously.
A huge claw snatches the gortok back into the underbrush.
Looking aside to the thin, short-haired man with a nod, the tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe says, in sirihish:
"Then we won't stay long..."
You think:
"Uhm."
The thin, short-haired man blinks. Again.
Glancing over, the barbarous, black-maned youth asks, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"What-the!?"
The towering, curly-blonde man asks, in sirihish:
"What the feck was that?"
The freckled, sinewy man looks away from the ivory, black-maned half-giant, towards the gortok that gets dragged away.
The thin, short-haired man says, in sirihish:
"Looked a bit bigger 'n a tembo."
You think:
"I didn't see anything. But the tent canvas."
The tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe levels his staff toward the undergrowth, his eyes narrowed sharply.
The dark, athletic woman glances up from spreading the canvas over a pitched, dark-brown tent, frowning.
You strap your large bag to a reddish-shelled inix's back.
The gigantic and obese figure in a dusty hooded, sleeveless grey sandcloth cloak yawns, even as the gortok gets ripped into the underbush.
The towering, curly-blonde man says, in sirihish:
"It was big enough to snatch a full grown gortok up in a paw."
The bearded, bronze-hued man turns his head left and right as he looks around the surrounding brush, keeping his shield up.
A HOWL of anguish pierces the forest. For a quarter of second. Then the crunching begins.
The thin, short-haired man says to the small, splotchy dwarf, in sirihish:
"Tents up."
Your mood is now fucking nervous.
Shakily holding his bone-handled, obsidian hawkblade up, the freckled, sinewy man says to the ivory, black-maned half-giant, in sirihish:
"Just pay attention."
The tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe shouts, in sirihish:
"Break camp!"
Suddenly noticing the howl, the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty hooded, sleeveless grey sandcloth cloak says, in sirihish:
"Uhhh...sounds like some bugs somewhere. "
You think:
"I just got the tent up, too."
With a scowl, the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty hooded, sleeveless grey sandcloth cloak looks east.
You quickly disassemble a pitched, dark-brown tent and start rolling it up.
(Everyone mounts up.)
Sharply, the tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe exclaims to the thin, short-haired man, in sirihish:
"Get us out of this brush!"
The thin, short-haired man asks the tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe, in sirihish:
"Back to t'road?"
Shaking his head, the tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe says to the thin, short-haired man, in sirihish:
"To the grasslands!"
The grey-eyed, stubble-bearded man says, in sirihish:
"Fuck."
(The party starts heading back the way they came.)
You think:
"I didn't even get a second to rest, either."
The thin, short-haired man asks, in sirihish:
"Jus' ta be sure... grasslands, east a' Tuluk?"
Glancing back, the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty hooded, sleeveless grey sandcloth cloak says, in sirihish:
"We not gonna go 'quish 'em? "
A large, mangy gortok has arrived from the east.
You leap in front of the bearded, bronze-hued man, protecting him.
A reddish-shelled inix throws you from his back!
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl has arrived from the east.
(The kryl attacks Faith. Fighting ensues. While the battle is ongoing:)
The tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe shouts, in sirihish:
"Kryl!"
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl has arrived from the east.
The towering, curly-blonde man exclaims, in sirihish:
"KRYL!"
The barbarous, black-maned youth exclaims, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Gah! The hells!"
Childlike, surprised, the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty hooded, sleeveless grey sandcloth cloak exclaims, in sirihish:
"Yeeeeiiieekkk!"
The gigantic and obese figure in a dusty hooded, sleeveless grey sandcloth cloak shouts, in sirihish:
"BUGGGS!"
The freckled, sinewy man exclaims, in sirihish:
"Quickly! Put it down!"
The dark, athletic woman whoofs as she gets knocked out of the way by the tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe.
Chittering fills the air, rising in volume.
You charge into the fight!
The barbarous, black-maned youth exclaims, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Fuck me!"
(The fighting continues until the kryl are put down.)
The thin, short-haired man says, in sirihish:
"Huh. Unexpected."
Slipping his bone-handled, obsidian hawkblade back into his kenku-buckled, tembo-hide swordbelt, the freckled, sinewy man asks, in sirihish:
"The -fuck- are kryl doing on the opposite end of His Domain?"
Simply, the tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe asks the thin, short-haired man, in sirihish:
"I thought you said there was a clearing ahead?"
The barbarous, black-maned youth says, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Erak. Kadius. Okay."
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl has arrived from the east.
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl has arrived from the east.
Shaking out her wrist, you say, in sirihish:
"Private Fatima a little wounded Faithful Lord."
The barbarous, black-maned youth exclaims, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"MORE!"
A pack of kryl has arrived from the east.
(Some people starting getting absolutely beaten up.)
A pack of kryl hits the grey-eyed, stubble-bearded man on his body.
The grey-eyed, stubble-bearded man reels from the blow.
The barbarous, black-maned youth exclaims, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Fuck, get them off me!"
The tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe shouts, in sirihish:
"Pull back south!"
A pack of kryl hits the grey-eyed, stubble-bearded man's head, inflicting a grievous wound.
Turning southward, the freckled, sinewy man exclaims, in sirihish:
"Cavaliers! Retreat, retreat!"
Spilling out of the underbrush, the insects swarm!
(People flee out.)
The barbarous, black-maned youth exclaims, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Tembo to the south!"
The gigantic and obese figure in a dusty hooded, sleeveless grey sandcloth cloak shouts, in sirihish:
"BUGGGGGSS! EEEEEIEIIIIK!"
You chop a dusty, ebon-shelled kryl's thorax.
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl crumples to the ground.
[hemote] The dark, athletic woman grits her teeth.
The tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe brutally jabs a dusty, ebon-shelled kryl on her thorax.
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl's eyes roll back in her head.
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl crumples to the ground.
The tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe shouts, in sirihish:
"Tend to the wounded!"
Agafari Grove [NESW]
The body of the grey-eyed, stubble-bearded man lies crumpled among the scrub trees.
A few bodies of a dusty, ebon-shelled kryl are here.
The body of a large, mangy gortok lies crumpled among the scrub trees.
(Various people and animals are also here.)
The barbarous, black-maned youth exclaims, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"The noble is in a fight! Souther!"
(Everyone heads south to help. After the tembo there is dispatched:)
All around, the sound of insects rises to an enormous, unbelievable whine.
The towering, curly-blonde man asks the freckled, sinewy man, in sirihish:
"Are you ok Chosen Lord?"
The thin, short-haired man asks the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty hooded, sleeveless grey sandcloth cloak, in sirihish:
"Did you get Neeko?"
Turning his head left and right, the bearded, bronze-hued man asks, in sirihish:
"Alright, anybody seriously hurt?"
Climbing up onto a grey-scaled, silver-shelled inix, the freckled, sinewy man says, in sirihish:
"I'm fine."
The barbarous, black-maned youth exclaims, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Someone left their beetles back north!"
The thin, short-haired man sighs.
The small, splotchy dwarf says, in sirihish:
"Someone died."
The tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe shouts, in sirihish:
"Rok!"
The thin, short-haired man says to the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty hood
ed, sleeveless grey sandcloth cloak, in sirihish:
"Please go back 'n get Neeko's body."
The barbarous, black-maned youth asks, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Neeko died!?"
The barbarous, black-maned youth exclaims, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Fuck!"
The tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe exclaims to the thin, short-haired man, in sirihish:
"Go for the body, quickly! We are pulling back!"
The towering, curly-blonde man says, in sirihish:
"Fucking had a whole pack of kryl trying to eat me..."
The chitters grow louder, louder. Nearby brush shudders and rattles.
The gigantic and obese figure in a dusty hooded, sleeveless grey sandcloth cloak walks north.
The thin, short-haired man shouts, in sirihish:
"Forget it Yeek, come on!"
The dark, athletic woman edges closer to the bearded, bronze-hued man.
You hear a man's voice shout from the north in sirihish:
"NO! I not let bugs eat him!"
The thin, short-haired man shouts, in sirihish:
"Yeek!"
Sharply, the freckled, sinewy man says, in sirihish:
"We. Need. To move."
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl has arrived from the east.
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl has arrived from the east.
The barbarous, black-maned youth shouts, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Yeek, fuck it! Grab my inix and let's go!"
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl attacks the small, splotchy dwarf.
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl attacks the ruddy-skinned dwarf.
(More fighting ensues.)
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl has arrived from the east.
A war beetle's eyes roll back in its head.
A war beetle cries out in pain.
A war beetle crumples to the ground.
The towering, curly-blonde man exclaims, in sirihish:
"Someone’s mount is dead!"
Swarming over the mounts, one drops in sizzling wreckage.
The barbarous, black-maned youth exclaims, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Fuck the mount!"
(The party starts retreating eastward through the forest, then doubles back to retrieve the other half of the party still fighting kryl nearby.)
The tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe shouts, in sirihish:
"Calm yourselves!"
The barbarous, black-maned youth exclaims, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Gah! Yeek has my beetle and my stuff.. Fucking.. half-giant!"
The freckled, sinewy man exclaims, in sirihish:
"Rok and Dogouth!"
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl has arrived from the south.
(More fighting ensues.)
You think:
"Oh this is bad."
(The most recent wave of kryl is dispatched.)
The thin, short-haired man says, in sirihish:
"Everyone fall in on Rakas please."
The barbarous, black-maned youth exclaims, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"My mount is dead!"
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl has arrived from the north.
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl has arrived from the north.
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl has arrived from the west.
(Even more fighting ensues.)
The barbarous, black-maned youth exclaims, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Fuck me!"
The towering, curly-blonde man does not look well.
rescue tulor
You fail the rescue.
The towering, curly-blonde man exclaims, in sirihish:
"Tulor needs help!"
You think:
"He looks bad."
(Tulor flees out and comes back.)
The barbarous, black-maned youth asks, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Rakas, how do I get out of here on foot!?"
(The kryl are eventually dispatched, again.)
The tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe grunts painfully.
You feel her heart pounding hard enough to almost burst.
You think:
"We need to get out of here!"
The freckled, sinewy man exclaims, in sirihish:
"Move! Or we're dead!"
Under heavy breaths, the bearded, bronze-hued man asks the tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe, in sirihish:
"You alright, Faithful Lord?"
The barbarous, black-maned youth exclaims, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Walk! I can't run!"
The towering, curly-blonde man says, in sirihish:
"I’m... I’m hurt bad..."
The tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe shouts, in sirihish:
"Proceed at a slow walk!"
A war beetle runs east, carrying the thin, short-haired man on its back.
(With the party following.)
The barbarous, black-maned youth exclaims, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"WALK!"
A war beetle runs south, carrying the thin, short-haired man on its back.
(The party continues to follow along.)
The freckled, sinewy man exclaims, in sirihish:
"Slow the fuck down!"
The gigantic and obese figure in a dusty hooded, sleeveless grey sandcloth cloak says to the thin, short-haired man, in sirihish:
"I don't have da bug. "
The gigantic and obese figure in a dusty hooded, sleeveless grey sandcloth cloak says to the thin, short-haired man, in sirihish:
"Er...lizzard. "
The barbarous, black-maned youth exclaims to the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty hooded, sleeveless grey sandcloth cloak, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"My damn lizard!"
A war beetle walks south, carrying the thin, short-haired man on its back.
(The party follows along at a slower pace now.)
The barbarous, black-maned youth exclaims to the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty hooded, sleeveless grey sandcloth cloak, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"GAH!"
The barbarous, black-maned youth exclaims to the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty hooded, sleeveless grey sandcloth cloak, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"All my stuff was on that lizard! My bow! My shit!"
The thin, short-haired man shouts, in sirihish:
"Tulor!"
To the north is Scrub Forest.
[Near]
A brown inix stands here, carrying the towering, curly-blonde man on his back.
The towering, curly-blonde man has arrived from the north, riding a brown inix.
The gigantic and obese figure in a dusty hooded, sleeveless grey sandcloth cloak says to a glossy, black-scaled inix, in sirihish:
"It's north n'west..."
The barbarous, black-maned youth says to the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty hooded, sleeveless grey sandcloth cloak, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"I bought it _this week_"
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl has arrived from the east.
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl has arrived from the east.
The freckled, sinewy man says to the towering, curly-blonde man, in sirihish:
"Stick with us you fucking idiot."
The gigantic and obese figure in a dusty hooded, sleeveless grey sandcloth cloak
says to the thin, short-haired man, in sirihish:
"We should...re..."
(Fighting ensues. While the fighting is ongoing:)
The barbarous, black-maned youth exclaims to the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty hooded, sleeveless grey sandcloth cloak, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"You better get me my damn inix!"
The small, splotchy dwarf does not look well.
rescue charl
But nobody is fighting him?
The thin, short-haired man says to the barbarous, black-maned youth, in sirihish:
"SHUT THE FUCK UP!"
The dark, athletic woman pants as she lashes out at the body of a dusty, ebon-shelled kryl.
(The kryl are again dispatched.)
The gigantic and obese figure in a dusty hooded, sleeveless grey sandcloth cloak says to the thin, short-haired man, in sirihish:
"WE GOTTA REST!"
Dropping a foot into a sinkhole, a brown inix collapses, roaring in pain!
A brown inix sits down to rest.The gigantic and obese figure in a dusty hooded, sleeveless grey sandcloth cloak says to the thin, short-haired man, in sirihish:
"Or else all die!"
The barbarous, black-maned youth exclaims, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Fuck!"
(The party continues on at a walk.)
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl has arrived from the north.
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl has arrived from the north.
(They attack a dwarf as the party is heading to the south; the dwarf gets left behind.)
The barbarous, black-maned youth exclaims, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"I can't walk much further!"
The barbarous, black-maned youth exclaims, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Hold up!"
The rangy, towheaded young man says, in sirihish:
"Nor I."
(The party turns around to go back for the dwarf.)
The ruddy-skinned dwarf swiftly dodges a dusty, ebon-shelled kryl's pinches.
(People rush in to try and help the dwarf and pull him out. As the fight is ongoing:)
The barbarous, black-maned youth exclaims, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Hold, PLEASE!"
The barbarous, black-maned youth shouts, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"I CAN'T WALK ANY FURTHER!"
You charge into the fight!
The towering, curly-blonde man says, in sirihish:
"Wheres my mount?"
The barbarous, black-maned youth shouts, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"If you walk, I will die!"
(Fight is still going on:)
The tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe exclaims to the freckled, sinewy man, in sirihish:
"Chosen Lord! Go! Tell them the eyeless have shown themselves!"
The freckled, sinewy man attempts to flee.
The freckled, sinewy man runs south.
The small, splotchy dwarf looks near death.
rescue charl
But nobody is fighting him?
(The last kryl is finally put down. The party stands around, looking more or less fuckitized.)
The small, splotchy dwarf sits down to rest.
The ruddy-skinned dwarf shouts, in sirihish:
"Git up!"
The barbarous, black-maned youth sits down to rest.
(Various others plop down to rest.)
The small, splotchy dwarf says, in sirihish:
"I can't move any more."
The barbarous, black-maned youth says, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"I can't.. go on! I am to tired."
[ Fatima : standing ]
< 108/130hp 121/121sn 39/133sm (early afternoon) armed (walking) >
The tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe sits down to rest.
Gingerly, you sit down.
The thin, short-haired man says, in sirihish:
"We're close ta t'road."
The tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe stands up.
You think:
"I'm following Khentim's lead."
You stand up.
The thin, short-haired man says, in sirihish:
"Incoming"
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl has arrived from the east.
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl has arrived from the east.
Panting hard, the barbarous, black-maned youth says, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"I can't.. walk! You ran.. when I said.. walk.. and my mount is dead.. and fuck."
(Fighting ensues. While it is ongoing:)
The barbarous, black-maned youth exclaims, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Someone who can walk, please lend me your mount!"
You say, in sirihish:
"We lost Charl."
The tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe shouts, in sirihish:
"Leave him!"
The barbarous, black-maned youth exclaims, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"I need a mount, please!"
The gigantic and obese figure in a dusty hooded, sleeveless grey sandcloth cloak says, in sirihish:
"Norther one, north!"
The thin, short-haired man says, in sirihish:
"East."
The tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe exclaims to the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty hooded, sleeveless grey sandcloth cloak, in sirihish:
"Grab Erak and head south!"
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl has arrived from the east.
(Guess what? More fighting ensues. When it is barely over:)
The ruddy-skinned dwarf says, in sirihish:
"On' north."
The tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe shouts, in sirihish:
"We are Riding!"
The gigantic and obese figure in a dusty hooded, sleeveless grey sandcloth cloak says to the thin, short-haired man, in sirihish:
"We gotta squish all da bugs...movin'just gonna kill us when we can't move no more."
The tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe shouts, in sirihish:
"South!"
A war beetle walks south, carrying the thin, short-haired man on its back.
(People following, until:)
l n
To the north is a Ridge of Dull Red Rock.
[Far]
The gigantic and obese figure in a dusty hooded, sleeveless grey sandcloth cloak is standing here, bleeding lightly.
- he is carrying the body of the grey-eyed, stubble-bearded man.
A huge, four-legged, reddish-shelled lizard is here, nosing about for forage.
[Near]
The towering, curly-blonde man lies on the ground stunned, unable to move.
A brown inix stands here, nosing the ground for vegetation.
The thin, short-haired man asks, in sirihish:
"Do we go back fer Tulor?"
Rubbing the nape of his neck, the rangy, towheaded young man exclaims, in sirihish:
"Ugh!"
The ruddy-skinned dwarf says, in sirihish:
"Weh lost Neeko tah."
A unit of Tuluki half-giant soldiers tromps up to the ridge, slamming weapons against shields.
The tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe exclaims to a unit of Tuluki half-giant soldiers, in sirihish:
"Protect the fallen!"
A war beetle walks north, carrying the thin, short-haired man on its back.
(The party follows.)
A unit of Tuluki half-giant soldiers has arrived from the south.
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl has arrived from the east.
(After being decimated by the half-giant soliders:)
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl runs east.
The thin, short-haired man exclaims to the towering, curly-blonde man, in sirihish:
"On yer feet!"
The tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe exclaims to the thin, short-haired man, in sirihish:
"To Ayun Iskandir!"
A unit of Tuluki half-giant soldiers shouts, in sirihish:
"Hoo-rah!"
The thin, short-haired man exclaims, in sirihish:
"Fall in on me now!"
The tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe exclaims to the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty hooded, sleeveless grey sandcloth cloak, in sirihish:
"Grab him!"
(The party starts moving along the ridge.)
The thin, short-haired man shouts, in sirihish:
"Yeek!"
The gigantic and obese figure in a dusty hooded, sleeveless grey sandcloth cloak has arrived from the north.
Rising up out of the forest to the south, everything looks deceptively quiet and calm.
Sharply, the tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe exclaims to the thin, short-haired man, in sirihish:
"To Ayun Iskandir, now!"
(A moment later:)
Suddenly you are jerked into the underbrush!
A Ridge of Dull Red Rock [NES]
A slender, black-shelled insectoid scours the terrain for prey.
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl runs north.
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl has arrived from the north.
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl attempts to grab you, but you wrestle away.
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
The bearded, bronze-hued man sends you a telepathic message:
"Where are you?"
The bearded, bronze-hued man sends you a telepathic message:
"Are you hurt, dieing? Where?"
The dark, athletic woman edges away from a dusty, ebon-shelled kryl.
s
Stinging sand swirls around you.
A Ridge of Dull Red Rock [NES]
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl has arrived from the north.
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl attempts to grab you, but you wrestle away.
The dark, athletic woman yells and thrashes!
The dark, athletic woman manages to free her foot, kicking out at a dusty, ebon-
shelled kryl.
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl keeps moving after you.
s
Atop an Archway [NS]
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl has arrived from the north.
You think:
"I can't run much farther."
< 110/130hp 121/121sn 23/133sm (late afternoon) unarmed (walking) >
The dark, athletic woman stumbles along the archway, panting.
s
A Narrow Ridge of Red Rock [NW]
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl has arrived from the north.
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl subdues you, despite your attempts to struggle away.
You stop guarding the bearded, bronze-hued man.
You think:
"Oh fuck me."
The dark, athletic woman starts with the thrashing, again, kicking at a dusty, ebon-shelled kryl.
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl runs north, dragging you behind her.
Atop an Archway [NS]
You struggle in vain against a dusty, ebon-shelled kryl.
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl drags you along with a clawed hand.
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl runs north, dragging you behind her.
A Ridge of Dull Red Rock [NES]
(The kryl drags her further north, back into the forest.)
You feel one last burst of adrenaline is about all she can manage.
The dark, athletic woman kicks one more time at a dusty, ebon-shelled kryl.
You struggle against a dusty, ebon-shelled kryl and break free.
You draw a crescent-bladed obsidian axe.
The dark, athletic woman half yells, half-sobs.
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl subdues you, despite your attempts to struggle away.
kill kryl
You are held tight, and unable to do anything.
The sound of angry insects is all around you.
The bearded, bronze-hued man sends you a telepathic message:
"Please wake up...or be able to help us...are you alright?"
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl grabs at you and keeps moving along, dragging.
The dark, athletic woman seems to run out of fight, drug along passively.
Agafari Grove [NESW]
A massive, winged insect towers above the ground, leathered wings outstretched.
Chittering noisily, a hulking, bloated kryl looks up at you.
You contact the bearded, bronze-hued man with the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the bearded, bronze-hued man:
"It's got me. Sorry, friend. It don't look good."
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl drags up you behind itself and holds you before a hulking, bloated kryl.
Towering over the vegetation, a hulking, bloated kryl waddles sloppily towards you.
The bearded, bronze-hued man sends you a telepathic message:
"Where? Do you know where you are? What it is?"
You send a telepathic message to the bearded, bronze-hued man:
"I don't. There's a giant... thing. Tell Faithful Lord Khentim, it was a
pleasure serving with him. Okay?"
The bearded, bronze-hued man sends you a telepathic message:
"What does it look like?"
The dark, athletic woman feebly tries to lift your crescent-bladed obsidian axe, but can't seem to get leverage around a dusty, ebon-shelled kryl's grip.
The bearded, bronze-hued man sends you a telepathic message:
"Are you just in the forest? A cave?"
You send a telepathic message to the bearded, bronze-hued man:
"A grove somewhere. One of those things has me. There's a larger one here, ugly as sin."
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl holding you in clawed hands it brings you to a hulking, bloated kryl.
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
A hulking, bloated kryl looms over you, cords and cords high, and with one of the bony spines jutting from its mouth knocks your axe away.
You send a telepathic message to the bearded, bronze-hued man:
"I'm all out of energy, Musa. This one's dragging me at it. I tried to hit it with my axe, but..."
You drop a crescent-bladed obsidian axe.
The bearded, bronze-hued man sends you a telepathic message:
"Dragging you where?"
You send a telepathic message to the bearded, bronze-hued man:
"I don't know. I'm going to pass out in a second. It was fun."
You dissolve the psychic link.
A hulking, bloated kryl says, out of character:
"There is going to be some mostly stylized gore if you consent to it."
You say, out of character:
"consent to gore, go ahead"
A hulking, bloated kryl says, out of character:
"Proceeding with gore."
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl holds you perfectly still before a hulking, bloated kryl, barely making a noise.
contact khentim
You are unable to reach their mind.
In your mind, a sudden, stark image. Thousands and thousands more dark insects s
warming across the grasslands and over the walls of Tuluk.
You think:
"If I could just.. tell Khentim..."
As the surrounding forest darkens, from all about the surrounding underbrush can be heard chittering and scuttling.
contact khentim
You contact the falconine, gold-toned man with the Way.
The falconine, gold-toned man sends you a telepathic message:
"Fatima! Fatima?"
You send a telepathic message to the falconine, gold-toned man:
"Sir, there are thousands out here. I see... them swarming the walls."
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl starts to chitter lightly as it holds you perfectly still before a hulking, bloated kryl.
< 116/130hp 6/117sn 10/133sm (dusk) unarmed (walking) >
You dissolve the psychic link.
The dark, athletic woman lies limply, entirely exhausted.
A hulking, bloated kryl lowers the impossibly large bulk of its head and the spines jutting from her mouth press against your arm, where it sockets against your shoulder.
The bearded, bronze-hued man sends you a telepathic message:
"I ain't leaving you...we will find you..."
The dark, athletic woman closes her eyes and turns her head away, teeth gritted.
contact khentim
You contact the falconine, gold-toned man with the Way.
You feel sudden, sharp, impossible pressure as the unthinkable weight of the creature focuses on the small points against your arm.
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl starts to chitter louder as a hulking, bloated kryl comes near, holding you perfectly still.
You send a telepathic message to the falconine, gold-toned man:
"*pained* I did my best."
The falconine, gold-toned man sends you a telepathic message:
"Do you know what awaits you?"
The chittering of surrounding insects grows louder, heaving and cresting in unison - a single, unworldly note of rage and hunger.
You dissolve the psychic link.
You feel that she can't hold the link a second longer, it just takes too much concentration.
The falconine, gold-toned man sends you a telepathic message:
"Should you have any toxin, any weapon, use it on yourself. Do not leave yourself to their devices."
You think:
"I can't move! I don't have anything."
Suddenly, quickly, but mercilessly, the spikes pierce your flesh and bone, tearing through sinew and muscle.
The dark, athletic woman screams through her clenched teeth, only briefly.
barrier
Your vision goes black.
The rending of raw flesh is clearly heard.
Slime gushes from the mouth of the creature, burning you horrificly and somehow cutting off the flow of blood as your arm dangles from your body by mere strands.
The dark, athletic woman passes out entirely, from pain, exhaustion, the whole thing.
You feel herself drop like a stone, deeper than dreams, and she'd be thankful for that, if she could.
(Time passes.)
Just inside the fortress, Someone nods brusquely at someone.
Someone peers northward, suspiciously.
Just inside the fortress, Someone frowns at that, turning, and wiping away a tear.
Just inside the fortress, Someone sighs as he looks towards someone with wide eyes, lowering his head.
(More time passes.)
Someone bends and then lifts you up.
Just inside the fortress, Someone looks down at the ground.
Someone steps aside, allowing someone to pass.
The sleeping woman has had her arm nearly severed. It dangles from her shoulder
by strands of sinew and flesh.
The wound is a mass of burnt tissue, apparently cauterized somehow, and there is little bleeding though she is covered in blood.
Someone wipes a hand down his ichor-laden his new chitinous breastplate, now smeared with your blood.
The dark, athletic woman remains dusky pale, and very, very unconscious.
Someone kneels on the opposite side of you.
Someone kneels down next to you, running a hand over her as he inspects closely.
Someone watches them work on you sadly.
Someone pulls out his needle and thread from his cylindrical wooden box, threading it quickly.
Someone begins to carefully examine you.
You dream:
"About drowning, in fits and starts."
Someone presses his needle through the soft flesh of your shoulder as he begins to sew up the wound, dipping it with his salve-covered bandage as he goes.
Your head clears and your eyes flutter open.
The woman's arm is nearly severed at the shoulder, hanging by mere threads of sinew and tissue.
The thin, short-haired man says to the tall male wearing a red silk veil, in sirihish:
"We're gonna have ta take t'arm off."
The dark, athletic woman screams into consciousness, thrashing weakly.
The tall male wearing a red silk veil ties off the thread as he looks over towards you.
You notice that your right arm is hanging by near threads, there is no pain as it all feels numb.
The thin, short-haired man says to you, in sirihish:
"Yer alive, Lass. Amongst friends."
Moving up to your shoulder with a quiet, hurried voice, the tall male wearing a
red silk veil says, in sirihish:
"Hold still Faith, I am here. Musadir. "
The tall male wearing a red silk veil gets his scattering of spotted leaves from his cylindrical wooden box.
The dark, athletic woman stops struggling against the thin, short-haired man, panting harshly.
Your arm just hangs there, like as if on a string... you don't feel it there anymore, you can't make it respond.
The tall male wearing a red silk veil begins rubbing your shoulder with the leaves, pressing his bandage upon the open wound.
You think:
"I can't feel it. Oh thank Utep for small favors."
Opening several compartments within his cylindrical wooden box, the tall male wearing a red silk veil says, in sirihish:
"Where is that glimmergrass...there it is..."
The tall male wearing a red silk veil gets his sprig of aromatic leaves from his cylindrical wooden box.
[hemote] The dark, athletic woman grinds her teeth nearly hard enough to hear.
Looking around dazedly until she seems to find him, voice rough and weak, you ask the falconine, gold-toned Jihaen templar, in sirihish:
"Faithful Lord?"
Your mood is now delirious.
The tall male wearing a red silk veil presses the bandage lightly over the torn exposed flesh of your shoulder.
You think:
"I've got to tell him. I've got to."
Your head clears a little as the tall male wearing a red silk veil bandages your wounds.
The ruddy-skinned dwarf asks the tall male wearing a red silk veil, in sirihish:
"Can T'is on' help Doc?"
Lowering himself to one knee beside you, the falconine, gold-toned Jihaen templar says to you, in sirihish:
"Rest, Private. All is being taken care of."
Tilting his head up, the tall male wearing a red silk veil says to the ruddy-ski
nned dwarf, in sirihish:
"The arm must come off all the way. I have flame in my pack. Get it. The flask."
Clearing her throat, sounding half-delirious, you say to the falconine, gold-toned Jihaen templar, in sirihish:
"There's.. thousands of them.. Faithful Lord. In my head. They want the city. You have to tell Khentim. I mean, Faithful Lord Khentim."
The tall male wearing a red silk veil pulls out a sharp obsidian scaple from his cylindrical wooden box, looking it over carefully.
The tall male wearing a red silk veil cuts the end of the sinewy off carefully,
moving the arm to the side.
After a few moments the dark, athletic woman's right arms finally falls off and
hits the ground with a squishy thud.
The ruddy-skinned dwarf gets his carved wooden flask from his sizeable leather backpack.
The tall male wearing a red silk veil moves to cut around your shoulder, removing the hanging bits of sinew and muscle.
You see it laying there, the bloody, mangled arm twitches lightly.
Looking up, the tall male wearing a red silk veil says to the thin, short-haired man, in sirihish:
"You see anything? Anything at all? "
With a slow shake of his head, the thin, short-haired man says, in sirihish:
"Nothin' obvious."
The dark, athletic woman oddly enough doesn't seem to notice her arm go, but she does flinch and wince as the tall male wearing a red silk veil cleans up her shoulder, when the knife bites into the good tissue.
Handing it to him, the ruddy-skinned dwarf gives his carved wooden flask to the tall male wearing a red silk veil.
A dismembered, humanoid arm twitches slightly upon the ground near to the dark, athletic woman.
As he cuts down a half the last of the hanging tissue, the tall male wearing a red silk veil says, in sirihish:
"Hold still, the runebane should help the pain...but it'll hurt."
You feel almost incoherent.
You think:
"Such a small thing. An arm. Oh, is that mine? It should matter more, I
think."
You think:
"Hold still. Easy for him to say."
The towering, curly-blonde man says, in sirihish:
"Faithful Lord."
Pressing it into the hand that is left, the tall male wearing a red silk veil gives you his carved wooden flask.
The thin, short-haired man settles down beside you as the worst passes, shifting his attention between the tall male wearing a red silk veil's work and checking his gear over.
The tall male wearing a red silk veil says to you, in sirihish:
"Drink some of that, it'll help the pain."
The towering, curly-blonde man asks, in sirihish:
"The chosen lord wishes to know our plans here, counter strike, or pull back to the city?"
(The pair of men exchange some bandages back and forth.)
The dark, athletic woman doesn't seem to be entirely aware of what's going on, or your carved wooden flask, her eyes shifting randomly around the room.
The gigantic and obese figure in a bloodied hooded, sleeveless grey sandcloth cloak cracks his knuckles, looking down.
The gigantic and obese figure in a bloodied hooded, sleeveless grey sandcloth cloak says, in sirihish:
"So we gonna quash da queenie?"
Looking up, the tall male wearing a red silk veil says to the thin, short-haired man, in sirihish:
"Help her if you would, just a little sip...too much would be bad...but a little would help. The rest we can use."
Looking aside to towering, the falconine, gold-toned Jihaen templar says, in sirihish:
"I would ask that he meet us on the road in the morning to help us return t
he wounded to the Ivory."
Your mood is now delirious.
The tall male wearing a red silk veil moves down your body, tugging on pieces of armor as he looks you over.
The towering, curly-blonde man says to the falconine, gold-toned Jihaen templar, in sirihish:
"He says he will be there."
The arm that is no longer there starts to feel pain... as if the echo of arm starts to register the pain it felt.
The tall male wearing a red silk veil begins setting a bandage around your wounded wrist, carefully pressing the herb side upon the stitches.
Dabbing sweat from his brow, the tall male wearing a red silk veil says, in sirihish:
"Rakas, help me here...there are several more spots...bleeding bad."
Squirming to the side, but not very energetically, you say, in sirihish:
"Owowow..."
Placing a hand on his shoulder, the falconine, gold-toned Jihaen templar asks the tall male wearing a red silk veil, in sirihish:
"Will we be able to move her soon?"
The towering, curly-blonde man ignores his own pain, and bloody bandages as he limps in his pacing around the men operating on you.
The thin, short-haired man nods as he kneels back up. With some splashes from his burned water gourd, he cleans out a wound, and very carefully lays a bandage over it.
The ruddy-skinned dwarf stares down at you shaking his head.
You feel bewildered.
You think:
"My arm hurts."
The pain shoots into your body from where the arm used to be... the empty spot burning a fire.
The thin, short-haired man makes his way along your body, searching for additional in jury.
Lifting his face up, the tall male wearing a red silk veil says to the falconine, gold-toned Jihaen templar, in sirihish:
"Shortly...once we have the bleeding under control. I can continue to check her for...anything...once we are in a secure location."
With gritted teeth, slamming her good hand against the ground, you exclaim, in sirihish:
"Fuck!"
Knocking it aside, you drop your carved wooden flask.
You think:
"My arm /really/ hurts."
The thin, short-haired man says to the tall male wearing a red silk veil, in sirihish:
"I think she's about as stable as we can make 'er. She'll need a fully body
examination fer implantations, though, when we get back."
Nodding his head firmly, the tall male wearing a red silk veil says to the thin, short-haired man, in sirihish:
"Yes, I will lead an inspection upon her. I can make any necessary incisions should I find anything."
You feel herself begging someone, something.
You think:
"I'd rather be unconscious. Please. I don't want to know about this."
The thin, short-haired man says, in sirihish:
"Might wanna burn tha' cut arm, too. Na' really sure how their egg layin' works."
Puffing out his cheeks, the tall male wearing a red silk veil runs a hand over your body slowly as he inspects numerous cuts and scrapes.
The towering, curly-blonde man asks, in sirihish:
"Will... will she be ok?"
The thin, short-haired man says to the towering, curly-blonde man, in sirihish:
"Time'll tell, fellah. Time'll tell."
(This story has been edited
to remove a lot of the superfluous spammy material and things not directly
related to the story, and to fix some spelling errors and punctuation that was
missed in the heat of battle.
By way of background,
shortly after the flood in the north, our...
Continue Reading...Vagabond by Nehoc
Added on Mar 1, 2011This is a warrior of the harsh desert sands, carrying the prize of his most recent battle. He is operating in a fashion similar to a Samurai, bringing the head of his foe to be presented before his paymaster.
Those Goofy Insubordinate Runners by Zoltan
Added on Jan 22, 2011Thrill as Lieutenant Raul of the T'zai Byn deals with a murder and rampant insubordination!
[Told from the perspective of Lieutenant Raul of the T'zai Byn (Demonslayer, Hero of Deeds, etc.), the rugged, mustachioed man.]
[The following description stuff is cobbled together from a few logs, but it's about right.]
You are Raul, of many people. (type 'tribes' to see your tribes).
Keywords: rugged mustachioed man
Sdesc: the rugged, mustachioed man
You are 29 years, 0 months, and 8 days old,
which by your race and appearance is adult.
You are 68 inches tall, and weigh 7 ten-stone.
Your strength is extremely good, your agility is very good,
your wisdom is average, and your endurance is exceptional.
[still my most epic reroll to date, and this was before reroll undo, whippersnappers!]
You are currently speaking sirihish with a southern accent.
This man's body tells a tale of battle, and of years of hard living. He
is a little shorter than the Zalanthan average. His body is made up of
long, muscular limbs, a broad chest, a sturdy neck, and heavily-calloused
hands and feet. All of this is sheathed in skin made dark and a little
leathery from much exposure to the sun. His dark brown hair is kept short
and slicked back, though a few errant strands break the mold here and there.
Bushy eyebrows sit below a tall, moderately wrinkled forehead and shade his
eyes, which are a deep brown in color. He has a large, slightly pointed
nose, and his thin lips are chapped. His chin is rather delicate looking in
contrast to his rugged features. He has a thick, well-maintained mustache.
Many old scars cover his flesh, ranging from large and rather grotesque to
small and mundane.
<worn on head> a black chitin helm
<worn around neck> an obsidian-carved, silver-etched gorget
<worn about throat> a water gourd
<slung across back> a serrated bone warsword
<worn across back> a bone-studded backpack
<worn on torso> a mantis-shell breastplate
<worn on left shoulder> a scrab-shell shoulder plate
<worn on arms> a new pair of three-knotted studded sleeves
<worn around wrist> a bone-spiked, black-leather bracer
<worn around wrist> a long, leather-strapped bone buckler
<worn on hands> a pair of spiked duskhorn gauntlets
<worn on forearms> a leather and chitin strap-sheath
<worn as belt> a leather knife belt
<hung from belt> a bloodied curved, black-hilted shortsword
<hung from belt> a waterskin
<worn around body> a hooded, black military aba
<worn about waist> a leather swordbelt
<worn on legs> a pair of sandy-yellow chitinous leggings
<worn on right ankle> a small leather pouch
<worn on left ankle> a thin, grey-sandcloth ankle wrap
<worn on feet> a pair of brown knee-high boots
[These events occurred not long before he was slain in the events of the HRPT, and this scene in particular was one of my favorites I ever had with this or any other character. I only wish I did more thinks and feels with Raul, but he really was my least “inner monologue/contemplative” character, despite having some complex motivations and such.]
The Officers' Barracks [ES Quit]
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the large, sideburned man with the Way.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the large, sideburned man:
"You guys make it back? Well, -you- are alive, anyway."
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
The large, sideburned man sends you a telepathic message:
"Yes, sir, we got back. But Pfirsich has killed Gil."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the large, sideburned man:
"Please gimme some more detail. What. The. Fuck."
[Raul heads off to the detention cell]
The large, sideburned man sends you a telepathic message:
"He's in the brig now."
Stinging sand swirls around you.
The Drill Yard [NESW]
The ebon-braided half-elf stands here, surveying the yard.
The lanky, obsidian-haired young man is here, marching around the yard.
The ebony-skinned, raven-haired woman stretches and twists her form here.
The brown-eyed, tattooed man is standing here.
To the north, a doorway is set into a small stone building.
The door is closed.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the large, sideburned man:
"You in there?"
The large, sideburned man sends you a telepathic message:
"He says Gil was harrassing him... err... we closed the door. He's still there. anyway, says Gil was telling him about how he was goign to kill him when Gil became militia."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the large, sideburned man:
"Come to the detention cell."
The large, sideburned man sends you a telepathic message:
"How northernes should be enslaved.."
The large, sideburned man has arrived from the east.
The rugged, mustachioed man beckons to the large, sideburned man.
The sun begins its long voyage across the heavens.
The large, sideburned man falls in behind you.
You open the door.
To the north, a doorway is set into a small stone building.
The door is open.
[Near]
It's completely dark over there.
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
You get your green glow-crystal from your hooded, black military aba.
It is very light.
The wind changes direction.
The wind loses some momentum.
You hold your green glow-crystal.
You light a green glow-crystal.
Sparse sands blow across your path.
The area is filled with a green light.
The Detention Room [S Quit]
The effeminate wisp of a man is reclining here.
The large, sideburned man has arrived from the south.
Slamming it, you close the door.
You suffer from use of the Way.
The large, sideburned man says, in sirihish:
"Gil's body is in the workshop, sir."
You open your bone-studded backpack.
You get your unlit rag-wrapped bone torch from your bone-studded backpack.
It is very light.
You drop an unlit rag-wrapped bone torch. Shown to the room as:
An unlit simple torch made of a piece of bone lies here.
You light an unlit rag-wrapped bone torch.
You extinguish a dim green glow-crystal.
You put your green glow-crystal into your hooded, black military aba.
The rugged, mustachioed man nods aside to the large, sideburned man, eyes boring into the effeminate wisp of a man.
You look down at the effeminate wisp of a man.
A tall man, his regal characteristics have been emphasized by grooming.
Soft and silky blonde hair is cut neatly about his ears, and parted so that
his bangs sweep down the left side of his forehead to dance with one of his
deep blue eyes. His eyebrows are not entirely thin, but consist of such a
light color so they do not appear prominently. A rosy hue tints his cheeks,
which are high-boned. Flawlessly straight, his nose is thin and arched.
The completely hairless jaw of this man is quite well defined, and his jaw
muscles bulge slightly. The deep red lips on his face a full, and seem
somewhat pouty, as though constantly puckering for a kiss. Slender
shoulders and thin arms, his torso is lightly built. His legs are long, and
buttocks firm.
A cluster of white blossoms spills out from beneath his helmet, seemingly
tucked behind an ear.
The effeminate wisp of a man is in excellent condition.
The effeminate wisp of a man is using:
<worn on head> a gurth shell helmet
<worn in hair> a cluster of lacy white blossoms
<worn around neck> a bloodied gurth shell collar
<worn about throat> a milky-white linen scarf
<worn on torso> a new bloodied tan tembo-hide cuirass
<worn on left shoulder> a gortok-stitched, deep blue patch
<worn around wrist> a stained studded bone bracer
<hands> a tattoo of a six-pronged star
<worn as belt> a gizhat-leather belt
<worn around body> a hooded, brown military aba
<worn about waist> a tough, grey chitin codpiece
<worn on legs> a smelly pair of rough canvas pants
<worn on feet> a smelly pair of grey hide boots
He is carrying:
nothing obvious
You lock the door with a black stone key with one purple stripe. - *click*
You put your black stone key with one purple stripe into your leather swordbelt.
You say to the effeminate wisp of a man, in sirihish:
"Stand up."
The effeminate wisp of a man blinks as he notices the light.
The effeminate wisp of a man rises from the ground, and clambers to his feet.
Growling, you say to the effeminate wisp of a man, in sirihish:
"Now."
The effeminate wisp of a man presses a fist to his chest.
Ignoring the salute, you ask the effeminate wisp of a man, in sirihish:
"What made you think you had the right to murder one've my men?"
You dissolve the psychic link.
The effeminate wisp of a man says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
"I didn't consider it that way, Lieutenant."
You ask the effeminate wisp of a man, in sirihish:
"How did you 'consider' it then?"
Reaching a battered hand up to run over his jaw, the effeminate wisp of a man says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
"It was the rage he built up in me, that's about all the consideration I had for it."
The effeminate wisp of a man says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
"Since he joined he just got worse and worse, until I couldn't take it anymore."
The effeminate wisp of a man says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
"The things he said... Well, they pushed me over the edge."
Glancing over at the large, sideburned man, clearly getting worked up, you exclaim to the effeminate wisp of a man, in sirihish:
"Rage? Rage? I'm familiar with that feelin'. In fact, I'm feelin' a lot of rage right now!"
The effeminate wisp of a man says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
"I asked him to stop repeatedly, and he wouldn't. Then I snapped."
Dipping his head, the effeminate wisp of a man says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
"I imagine you are Lieutenant."
Getting in his face, barking, you exclaim to the effeminate wisp of a man, in sirihish:
"Sounds like a problem to be dealt with by a -sergeant- or an -officer-!"
The effeminate wisp of a man's eyes squint involuntarily at the volume presented to his face.
A dim rag-wrapped bone torch flickers feebly.
The effeminate wisp of a man says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
"I didn't run because I meant no disrespect. I don't mean to hide, or belittle my actions."
Growling over his shoulder at him, you say to the large, sideburned man, in sirihish:
"Sergeant, get a torch lit that -ain't- flickerin'."
The large, sideburned man holds his purple glow-crystal.
The large, sideburned man lights a purple glow-crystal.
The large, sideburned man picks up a dim rag-wrapped bone torch.
The large, sideburned man extinguishes a dim rag-wrapped bone torch.
You say to the effeminate wisp of a man, in sirihish:
"You -killed- one of my men."
The effeminate wisp of a man says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
"I made the choice, I killed a man, and I apologize to you on a personal level Sergeant... But I do believe he deserved it."
Snarling, you say to the effeminate wisp of a man, in sirihish:
"Somethin' that could've been taken care of simply enough by -me-."
Wincing, the effeminate wisp of a man says, in northern-accented sirihish:
"Lieutenant."
Shaking his head as his gaze lowers, the effeminate wisp of a man says, in northern-accented sirihish:
"Krath.."
Lifting two fingers, practically jabbing them in his face, you exclaim to the effeminate wisp of a man, in sirihish:
"Two words, Runner! Two fecki-- -Look at me-!"
The rugged, mustachioed man slaps the effeminate wisp of a man roughly.
The effeminate wisp of a man takes the slap, his head twisted to the side for a few moments before he meets your gaze.
You exclaim to the effeminate wisp of a man, in sirihish:
"I have lost -enough- men without this -stupid- kankshit!"
Growing suddenly calmer, you ask the effeminate wisp of a man, in sirihish:
"How'd you do 'im?"
The effeminate wisp of a man says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
"The day went like most. He was swearing at my for my northern roots, and I told him to mind his manners and we sparred."
The effeminate wisp of a man says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
"I beat him soundly, and afterword he continued."
The rugged, mustachioed man holds his tongue, listening.
The effeminate wisp of a man says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
"He tossed down his weapons, I tossed down mine, and I intended to knock him out."
The effeminate wisp of a man says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
"He ran, and I found him unconscious outside the latrines, so I tossed him in there and went back to training."
The effeminate wisp of a man says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
"One of the giants, I have trouble telling them apart... One of them put him in the barracks, and after he came back he started at me again."
The effeminate wisp of a man says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
"I told him once more, to mind his manners or one day I would kill him."
The effeminate wisp of a man says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
"He went on, once more, about how all northies would be slaves, and that he would be militia and I would be made to beg for death."
The effeminate wisp of a man says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
"I told him that I was going to kill him, I drew my rapier, and I did so."
Voice low, you say to the effeminate wisp of a man, in sirihish:
"Strip. Everythin' off, now. Drop it."
The effeminate wisp of a man says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
"He told me as I stabbed that I had made a big mistake. He likely wasn't wrong... I think he thought his death would put me in more trouble."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the large, sideburned man with the Way.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the large, sideburned man:
"This is gonna get ugly."
The effeminate wisp of a man dips his head as he falls into silence, lifting up a foot to tug at his boots.
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
The effeminate wisp of a man stops using his smelly pair of grey hide boots.
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the large, sideburned man:
"The plan is to strip this fucker down, I'll lash 'em till he can't walk straight, an' then we toss 'im."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the large, sideburned man:
"I ain't gonna kill 'im, but this can't stand."
The large, sideburned man sends you a telepathic message:
"To his credit, sir, he conteacted me after it happened and surrendered without incident or resistance."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the large, sideburned man:
"So he won't die."
The short, red-headed woman sends you a telepathic message:
"mornin Lieutenant Yummy"
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
The large, sideburned man sends you a telepathic message:
"And Gil had even threatened me before."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the large, sideburned man:
"Yeah, Gil was a cunt. Again, this is why this northie lives another day."
The effeminate wisp of a man says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
"I presume you won't trust me this much, Lieutenant... But if there's a way you'd accept it I had every intention of giving your Warband my service for another seven years."
The effeminate wisp of a man drops a smelly pair of grey hide boots.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the large, sideburned man:
"This is -our- command, Ryzen, an' we can't let this stuff happen. No matter how deserved."
You dissolve the psychic link.
Sliding it over his hand, the effeminate wisp of a man stops using his stained studded bone bracer.
The effeminate wisp of a man drops a stained studded bone bracer.
The large, sideburned man sends you a telepathic message:
"Plan understood, sir."
Expression stony, you say to the effeminate wisp of a man, in sirihish:
"You murdered another Bynner."
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
The effeminate wisp of a man stops using his gurth shell helmet, shaking out his sweaty hair.
Stoicly, the large, sideburned man looks at the effeminate wisp of a man.
You say to the effeminate wisp of a man, in sirihish:
"Over words an' idle threats. Stuff I could've taken care of."
As he lets his gurth shell helmet fall, the effeminate wisp of a man says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
"Far be it from me to argue that, Lieutenant, but some good many might tell you they prefer that I did."
The effeminate wisp of a man drops a gurth shell helmet.
The effeminate wisp of a man stops using his bloodied gurth shell collar, revealing a blue and purple inked band.
The effeminate wisp of a man drops a bloodied gurth shell collar.
You say to the effeminate wisp of a man, in sirihish:
"If you truly were a trooper, I would be able to protect you from some cocksucker of a little militia guy, for cryin' out feckin' loud."
Unwrapping his milky-white linen scarf, the effeminate wisp of a man says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
"I thought with him alive I would never live in this city to see Trooper."
The effeminate wisp of a man stops using his milky-white linen scarf.
The effeminate wisp of a man drops a milky-white linen scarf.
You say to the effeminate wisp of a man, in sirihish:
"Sure."
It is late morning on Barani, the 109th day of the Low Sun,
In the Year of Jihae's Agitation, year 56 of the 21st Age.
Rubbing the tattooed band on his neck, the effeminate wisp of a man says, in northern-accented sirihish:
"Not by his hands."
The effeminate wisp of a man stops using his new bloodied tan tembo-hide cuirass.
The effeminate wisp of a man drops a new bloodied tan tembo-hide cuirass.
You say to the effeminate wisp of a man, in sirihish:
"Hurry up."
The effeminate wisp of a man stops using his gortok-stitched, deep blue patch.
The effeminate wisp of a man puts his gortok-stitched, deep blue patch into his hooded, brown military aba.
The effeminate wisp of a man stops using his gizhat-leather belt.
The effeminate wisp of a man drops a gizhat-leather belt.
The effeminate wisp of a man stops using his hooded, brown military aba.
The effeminate wisp of a man drops a hooded, brown military aba.
Glancing down at himself, the effeminate wisp of a man asks you, in northern-accented sirihish:
"All?"
You ask the effeminate wisp of a man, in sirihish:
"Did I stutter before?"
The effeminate wisp of a man stops using his tough, grey chitin codpiece.
The effeminate wisp of a man drops a tough, grey chitin codpiece.
The large, sideburned man looks at the effeminate wisp of a man.
The effeminate wisp of a man stops using his smelly pair of rough canvas pants.
The effeminate wisp of a man drops a smelly pair of rough canvas pants.
The effeminate wisp of a man spreads his arms, turning slowly with every bit of him exposed.
The rugged, mustachioed man eyes the effeminate wisp of a man coldly for a long moment, his hand resting on your bloodied curved, black-hilted shortsword's hilt.
You say to the large, sideburned man, in sirihish:
"Sergeant, take hold of Runner Pfirsich an' bring 'im to the trainin' hall."
You get your black stone key with one purple stripe from your leather swordbelt.
It is very light.
The large, sideburned man nods.
His arms spread wide, the effeminate wisp of a man says, in northern-accented sirihish:
"Shame it had to end like this. I hope you profit more from my gear than the losses I've given you."
The large, sideburned man moves to take hold of the effeminate wisp of a man.
Blithely, you say to the effeminate wisp of a man, in sirihish:
"Shut up."
The large, sideburned man hastily drops a glowing purple glow-crystal.
A glowing purple glow-crystal goes out.
The area is enveloped in darkness.
Someone subdues someone.
You unlock the door with a black stone key with one purple stripe. - *click*
You can't find a 'glow' here to light.
You open the door.
The Drill Yard [NESW]
The lean, ponytailed man is standing here.
- he is carrying a large bag.
The ebon-braided half-elf stands here, surveying the yard.
The lanky, obsidian-haired young man is here, marching around the yard.
The ebony-skinned, raven-haired woman stretches and twists her form here.
The brown-eyed, tattooed man is standing here.
The large, sideburned man has arrived from the north, dragging the effeminate wisp of a man behind.
You close the door.
You put your black stone key with one purple stripe into your leather swordbelt.
The sun reaches its highest point in the sky.
The red moon, Jihae, rises over the streets of Allanak.
The lean, ponytailed man walks east.
You say to the large, sideburned man, in sirihish:
"Procede, Sergeant. I'll be along shortly."
You stop leading the large, sideburned man.
The large, sideburned man walks west, dragging the effeminate wisp of a man behind him.
Sparse sands blow across your path.
A Large Workshop [NW]
A rough canvas backpack lies here.
A stained backpack made of leather lies here.
A few small piles of sawdust are here.
The body of the short, curly-haired male is here is layed out on the ground here, arms over his chest.
A couple of large bags are here.
The lean, ponytailed man is sitting on an old, dark-grained workbench.
- he is carrying a large bag.
The austere, fine-boned blonde is sitting on an old, dark-grained workbench.
- she is carrying a plain bag of cloth.
The petite, freckled youth is sitting on an old, dark-grained workbench.
The barbarous, black-maned youth is sitting on a stained, wooden crate.
The gaunt, cold-eyed man stands here, keeping watch over the workshop.
The old, scarred mul slave stitches a torn leather tunic as he sits here.
The rugged mul slave is here, sorting through armor and weapons slowly.
A horn blast sounds from somewhere to the southwest.
You say, in sirihish:
"All of you, into the trainin' hall, now."
The lean, ponytailed man stands up from an old, dark-grained workbench.
Speaking up, chin propped on her hands, the austere, fine-boned blonde says, in northern-accented sirihish:
"I suppose that Zuib and Kromp were not reco-"
A Large Storeroom [S Quit Save]
A red footlocker is here in a line of lockers.
A bone-sided obsidian-handled chest is here filled with tools.
A bone-sided obsidian-handled chest is here filled with ranged weapons.
A small sandstone footlocker is here in a row with the others.
A long wooden bench is along the eastern wall.
A bone sided chest is here filled with sparring weapons.
A large obsidian bin is here filled with armor.
A simple wooden chest is here filled with herbs and flowers.
A long yellowed-bone bin is here filled with foul-smelling gear.
A long yellowed-bone bin is here filled with weapons.
The flabby, ebony-skinned dwarf stands here, sweating profusely.
The dark red mul is standing here, keeping watch over the storeroom.
The dragon-tattooed, black dwarf is here, snarling and gnashing his teeth.
You get your wickedly barbed whip from a wooden weapons rack.[Up until that point, Raul avoided that particular whip because he found it to be too cruel]
It is very light.
The dark red mul and you salute each other.
A Large Workshop [NW]
A rough canvas backpack lies here.
A stained backpack made of leather lies here.
A few small piles of sawdust are here.
The body of the short, curly-haired male is here is layed out on the ground here, arms over his chest.
A couple of large bags are here.
A stained, wooden crate lies here.
The petite, freckled youth is sitting on an old, dark-grained workbench.
The gaunt, cold-eyed man stands here, keeping watch over the workshop.
The old, scarred mul slave stitches a torn leather tunic as he sits here.
The rugged mul slave is here, sorting through armor and weapons slowly.
The petite, freckled youth looks up at you.
Growling, you say to the petite, freckled youth, in sirihish:
"Move."
The petite, freckled youth stands up from an old, dark-grained workbench.
Sparing it a glance, you look at the body of the short, curly-haired male.
This man's skin is tanned and very smooth, unscarred and clean. He is
rather short, and built with sinewy muscles, his shoulders broad. His
shoulders taper slightly to his waist and his abdominals and pectorals are
very well toned. His arms and legs are short and the muscle causes the
veins to seem to bulge. He has small, calloused hands and small, but wide
feet. His hair is mid-length and curly, the brown locks falling just to
where his bushy eyebrows frame his sapphire blue eyes. His nose is thin and
sharp and is set above a thin lipped mouth with yellowed teeth. He has a
long beard that has been twisted into two strands that come to his navel.
The petite, freckled youth asks, in sirihish:
"Move where?"
The petite, freckled youth edges back.
You say to the petite, freckled youth, in sirihish:
"Trainin' hall."
[they go]
You enter a stone archway.
The Exercise Hall [NS Leave]
The lean, ponytailed man is standing here.
- he is carrying a large bag.
The dark-haired, hazel-eyed man is standing here, bleeding lightly.
The barbarous, black-maned youth is standing here.
The austere, fine-boned blonde is standing here.
- she is carrying a plain bag of cloth.
The effeminate wisp of a man is standing here held by the large, sideburned man.
The petite, freckled youth has entered a stone archway.
The rugged, squat half-giant has arrived from the north.
The austere, fine-boned blonde salutes the large, sideburned man.
The rangy, bushy-headed half-giant has arrived from the north.
The austere, fine-boned blonde salutes you.
The dark-haired, hazel-eyed man renders a salute to the large, sideburned man and you.
The sturdy, square-jawed man has arrived from the north.
As he unfurls your wickedly barbed whip, you say to the large, sideburned man, in sirihish:
"Get 'im against the wall."
The rangy, bushy-headed half-giant thumps a fist to his chest in a salute at large.
The rugged, squat half-giant mashes his hand into his chest, saluting you, and then the large, sideburned man.
You brandish your wickedly barbed whip.
The lean, ponytailed man looks up at the effeminate wisp of a man.
The large, sideburned man moves the effeminate wisp of a man up against a wall, continueing to restain his naked person.
The rugged, mustachioed man strides past the salutes, letting the end of your wickedly barbed whip trail on the dirty floor.
The dark-haired, hazel-eyed man stands well back of the range of the whip.
The petite, freckled youth looks up at the effeminate wisp of a man.
The lean, ponytailed man flinches as he notices the effeminate wisp of a man is naked.
The sturdy, square-jawed man chews thoughtfully on the inside of his cheek, stopping in the middle of the hallway to eye the rugged, squat half-giant.
The austere, fine-boned blonde stands up in a line with the other mercenaries, clasping her hands behind her back.
Hollaring over the crowd, the rangy, bushy-headed half-giant exclaims to the effeminate wisp of a man, in sirihish:
"You gonna get it now!"
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
The petite, freckled youth flaps her lips, watching on.
The rugged, squat half-giant growls low in his throat, bobbing his head at the rangy, bushy-headed half-giant.
The effeminate wisp of a man clenches his jaw, and lets his eyes close slowly.
The large, sideburned man sends you a telepathic message:
"By the way, I havn't had the opportunity to lash Erak yet for being drunk and missing a whole day."
The sturdy, square-jawed man asks the rangy, bushy-headed half-giant, in sirihish:
"You think he doesn't know that?"
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
The lean, ponytailed man looks at the sturdy, square-jawed man.
Addressing the crowd in a low, deadly tone, you say, in sirihish:
"Let it be known, Runner Gil Grim was somethin' of a cunt. Some've you may think that the naked man 'ere may've done this Known World a favor."
The austere, fine-boned blonde keeps her gaze firmly upon you, standing up straight.
You say, in sirihish:
"Some've you may be right. But no one, -no one- gets away with murderin' one've -my- men."
The barbarous, black-maned youth slumps a bit in the back of the crowd.
The lean, ponytailed man stands stiffly with his large bag over a shoulder, eyeing the effeminate wisp of a man with a nod.
Loudly, the rangy, bushy-headed half-giant exclaims, in sirihish:
"Yeah, nobody!"
The large, sideburned man continues his restraint of the effeminate wisp of a man with stoic resolve and expression.
Turning to prepare for the lashing, you say to the effeminate wisp of a man, in sirihish:
"Runner Pfirsich of Tuluk, for the murder of my runner, I'm gonna take the skin off yer back an' expel you from my company."
Muttering as she shakes her head, the petite, freckled youth says, in sirihish:
"What about leaving them to die..."
The barbarous, black-maned youth suddenly jabs an elbow at the petite, freckled youth, not to hard but in a gruff way.
The effeminate wisp of a man lets his head fall, keeping his mouth firmly shut.
The rugged, mustachioed man cuts an icy glare over at the petite, freckled youth.
Tossing a brief, curious look, the rangy, bushy-headed half-giant looks down at the petite, freckled youth.
The lean, ponytailed man shows the petite, freckled youth his fist.
Gaze following that of most of the crowd, the sturdy, square-jawed man looks down at the petite, freckled youth.
The austere, fine-boned blonde's cobalt gaze widens as she watches on.
The barbarous, black-maned youth gives the petite, freckled youth a look with pushed together brows.
The petite, freckled youth meets your gaze for a second and then looks down at her feet.
The dark-haired, hazel-eyed man look on with a grim expression.
The sturdy, vivid-eyed dwarf has arrived from the north.
The rangy, bushy-headed half-giant turns his gaze back over toward the rugged, squat half-giant.
The rugged, mustachioed man watches the petite, freckled youth for a long moment before turning back to the effeminate wisp of a man.
The rugged, squat half-giant whispers something to the rangy, bushy-headed half-giant.
The petite, freckled youth bites her lower lip, staring at the ground.
You raise a wickedly barbed whip and lash out at the effeminate wisp of a man.
*CRACK* A long, bloody gash opens up on the effeminate wisp of a man's back.
The rugged, squat half-giant nods.
The petite, freckled youth blinks hard.
The effeminate wisp of a man lets out an involuntary help of pain.
The sturdy, vivid-eyed dwarf stands quietly, arms folding over his chest.
The rugged, mustachioed man wordlessly continues the punishment, visciously lashing out with your bloodied wickedly barbed whip.
You raise a wickedly barbed whip and lash out at the effeminate wisp of a man.
*CRACK* A long, bloody gash opens up on the effeminate wisp of a man's back.
The effeminate wisp of a man's head whips about, his back arching as every muscle in his body tenses.
The rangy, bushy-headed half-giant reflexively grimaces at the sharp *CRACK* of the barbed whip.
You raise a wickedly barbed whip and lash out at the effeminate wisp of a man.
*CRACK* A long, bloody gash opens up on the effeminate wisp of a man's back.
The petite, freckled youth covers her eyes with her arm.
The lean, ponytailed man blinks at the sound of your whip cracking.
The effeminate wisp of a man's body begins to tremble, held up by the large, sideburned man.
The rugged, mustachioed man's jaw sets as he carries on, breathing audibly through his nose in the relative silence of the hall.
You raise a wickedly barbed whip and lash out at the effeminate wisp of a man.
*CRACK* A long, bloody gash opens up on the effeminate wisp of a man's back.
The barbarous, black-maned youth winces with each whip-lash.
The effeminate wisp of a man goes limp, blood pouring from the slashes on his back.
The sturdy, vivid-eyed dwarf doesn't flinch at all as the whip rends the effeminate wisp of a man's back.
The petite, freckled youth says, in sirihish:
"This isn't fair..."
The petite, freckled youth wiggles her head in disbelief.
The sturdy, square-jawed man chews idly at the inside of his cheek, his eyes impassively watching the whip snap back and forth across the effeminate wisp of a man's back.
Weakly, the effeminate wisp of a man says, in northern-accented sirihish:
"Yes... it is.."
In a low growl, you say to the effeminate wisp of a man, in sirihish:
"D'you know what it's like to be dead? D'you know just what you did? Lemme tell you, it's worse'n this." [Raul's prompt had in fact read “dead” in a prior RPT, giving him some first-hand experience with the phenomenon]
The barbarous, black-maned youth lays an arm around the petite, freckled youth's shoulders.
You say to the effeminate wisp of a man, in sirihish:
"It's so much worse."
You raise a wickedly barbed whip and lash out at the effeminate wisp of a man.
*CRACK* A long, bloody gash opens up on the effeminate wisp of a man's back.
The effeminate wisp of a man's eyes roll back in his head.
The effeminate wisp of a man crumples to the ground.
Tossing it aside, you drop your bloodied wickedly barbed whip.
Shown to the room as:
A bloodied coils of a barbed whip lie curled here.
The effeminate wisp of a man's body goes entirely limp.
The rugged, squat half-giant applauds, grinning.
The petite, freckled youth buries her face into the barbarous, black-maned youth's shoulder, crying.
You say to the large, sideburned man, in sirihish:
"Sergeant, toss 'im outside the gate, just like that. Discharge 'im, he's done. Do not report 'is crimes to the authorities."
The rangy, bushy-headed half-giant merely looks over at the rugged, squat half-giant, blinking a few times.
The large, sideburned man says, in sirihish:
"Yes, sir."
You say, in sirihish:
"He can make 'is livin' as a beggar, the piece of shit."
The large, sideburned man drags the effeminate wisp of a man behind him.
The large, sideburned man leaves a stone archway.
The large, sideburned man drags the effeminate wisp of a man out as well.
The rangy, bushy-headed half-giant claps too, just a few times.
The barbarous, black-maned youth full on hugs the petite, freckled youth, looking wholly disturbed by the events himself.
Curiously, the rugged, squat half-giant asks, in sirihish:
"Food now?"
The rugged, squat half-giant leaves a stone archway.
Looking irritably over his shoulder at the petite, freckled youth, the sturdy, square-jawed man asks, in sirihish:
"What's wrong with 'er?"
Stalking up to her and the barbarous, black-maned youth, you ask the petite, freckled youth, in sirihish:
"So, I left you to die?"
The petite, freckled youth says, in sirihish:
"Why now...Why after all..."
The petite, freckled youth pulls back at the sound of your sudden proximity.
The austere, fine-boned blonde looks down at the bloody path on the ground, made by the passage of the punished man.
The barbarous, black-maned youth tries to straighten a bit on his wounded leg.
Softly, though intensely, you say to the petite, freckled youth, in sirihish:
"Look at me."
Peering down at her, the rangy, bushy-headed half-giant says to the petite, freckled youth, in sirihish:
"That guy Puhfearsnek.."
Peering into your eyes with her own wet mismatched gaze, the petite, freckled youth looks at you.
The rugged, mustachioed man squats some to look into the petite, freckled youth's face.
The sturdy, vivid-eyed dwarf watches you quietly, arms loosely draped over his chest.
Out of the corner of her mouth, to the rangy, bushy-headed half-giant, the austere, fine-boned blonde says, in northern-accented sirihish:
"Pfirsich."
The rangy, bushy-headed half-giant shuts up, looking to you.
The lean, ponytailed man tilts his head back, eyes wandering upwards as he scratches his hairy neck.
You ask the petite, freckled youth, in sirihish:
"D'you really think I liked the situation?"
The large, sideburned man has entered a stone archway.
Blinking down at her for a second, the rangy, bushy-headed half-giant says to the austere, fine-boned blonde, in sirihish:
"I said that."
You say to the petite, freckled youth, in sirihish:
"Speak. Get it off yer chest, girl."
Crossing her arms over her diminutive chest, staring into your eyes, the petite, freckled youth says to you, in sirihish:
"It's your fault for making Xing a Sergeant. He isn't a good Sergeant. Not like Urrik. Not like Niema. You just promoted him because there wasn't anyone better."
The austere, fine-boned blonde coughs into a gloved fist, and then falls silent once more, staring firmly at the ground.
The barbarous, black-maned youth's jaw droops a little as he eyes the petite, freckled youth.
The lean, ponytailed man sighs, rolling his eyes at the ground, before finding the petite, freckled youth.
Looking over to the large, sideburned man, and then back to you, the petite, freckled youth says to you, in sirihish:
"He's one of the best fighters i've ever seen. But he isn't a good Sergeant."
Furrowing his bushy brows, staring daggers at her, the rangy, bushy-headed half-giant exclaims to the petite, freckled youth, in sirihish:
"That's my Sarge your talkin' about!"
Nodding faintly, you say to the petite, freckled youth, in sirihish:
"That's right. There is no one better. I mean, I happen to be pleased with Sergeant Xing's performance... but my vantage is different."
The rugged, mustachioed man lifts a hand in restraint at the rangy, bushy-headed half-giant, watching the petite, freckled youth.
The lean, ponytailed man clamps his hands infront of his waist, eyeing the petite, freckled youth and you with a stern watch.
You say to the petite, freckled youth, in sirihish:
"What's he done wrong, Runner? Enlighten me, please."
The rangy, bushy-headed half-giant abruptly lifts his head, shooting an annoyed look off through the hall at nothing in particular.
The rugged, mustachioed man remains hunched over, eye to eye with the petite, freckled youth.
The rangy, bushy-headed half-giant puffs a loud sigh, folding his massive arms across his chest.
The petite, freckled youth bites her lower lip, narrowing her eyes a little bit as she meets yours.
You say to the petite, freckled youth, in sirihish:
"C'mon, my young runner. Speak yer mind."
The large, sideburned man watches patiently, still stoic.
The barbarous, black-maned youth looks between you and the petite, freckled youth in a mix of amazment and disbelief.
His voice dripping condescension, you say, in sirihish:
"I'm -so- interested in the perspectives on military leadership that a fourteen year old runner has."
Reaching up high, the sturdy, vivid-eyed dwarf claps the rangy, bushy-headed half-giant's lower back once gently.
The sturdy, square-jawed man blurts out a laugh at that.
The rugged, squat half-giant has entered a stone archway.
The sturdy, square-jawed man says to the rugged, squat half-giant, in sirihish:
"Good one-- eh.. Leiutenant."
Turning his piercing brown eyes, the lean, ponytailed man says to the sturdy, square-jawed man, in sirihish:
"Shut up."
The sturdy, square-jawed man's voice trails off into a quiet murmer.
The lean, ponytailed man glances at the petite, freckled youth, tilting his head, big sandy brows angled sharply.
Leaning in somewhat, you ask the petite, freckled youth, in sirihish:
"Quirri got yer tongue?"
The petite, freckled youth says to you, in sirihish:
"Well at least I have a long life to live ahead of me, one where I don't have to go to sleep at night seeing the faces of the hundreds of people i've sent to their deaths because of my stupid mistakes. Sir."
The petite, freckled youth lifts her chin a little bit.
The rugged, mustachioed man smirks openly.
You say to the petite, freckled youth, in sirihish:
"I can count on one hand the guys that died under -my- command. An' I'll be generous, two died to a stupid mistake of mine. Despite certain guys tryin' to assure me otherwise." [Technically true, as Raul never counted deaths that occurred while he wasn't actually on the scene running things]
Over his shoulder, you ask the large, sideburned man, in sirihish:
"How many did you lose, Sergeant?"
The large, sideburned man says to you, in sirihish:
"Two now."
He raises his hands, holding up eight fingers, the barbarous, black-maned youth says, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"We've lost eight. So far, Lieutenant. Since I joined."
The lean, ponytailed man counts off four fingers on his hand, then continues counting his fingers.
The sturdy, vivid-eyed dwarf glances about at the speakers, expression impassive.
You ask the large, sideburned man, in sirihish:
"How? Did you not order them to knock the arrows out of the air in time? Did you not order them to be filled to the teeth with cures for unknown poisons?"
The large, sideburned man says to you, in sirihish:
"Kromp decided to try to disarm a gith. Zan Zuib got an arrow. THey knew to try to stop them and they had cures."
The rangy, bushy-headed half-giant rubs a large hand over his jaw while he looks down at the large, sideburned man.
The rugged, mustachioed man nods a couple times.
Shaking his head, the lean, ponytailed man says to the large, sideburned man, in sirihish:
"Nor for peraine, Sergeant. Nobody seems t'know it's cure. And it's th'taint fangs use most often."
You say, in sirihish:
"It's the [nope] one, I hear."
You say, in sirihish:
"In fact, it was Gil that was so certain on that tidbit, so take it or leave it."
Sniffing a little bit, the petite, freckled youth says, in sirihish:
"Makes you wonder why we even fought the Gith, when we knew there was an elf probably following us."
The lean, ponytailed man gets his [nope] from his hooded, brown military aba.
The lean, ponytailed man holds his [not here, either] up to his eye.
Glancing over, the barbarous, black-maned youth asks you, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Are you dismissing Slim, Lieutenant?"
You say to the petite, freckled youth, in sirihish:
"Well, Raveni, how would -you- run things? I bet if you were doin' it, no one would ever get hurt an' we'd be a happy family of psychos..."
You say to the barbarous, black-maned youth, in sirihish:
"He -is- dismissed. He's done."
The barbarous, black-maned youth simply nods at the rugged, squat half-giant.
You say to the barbarous, black-maned youth, in sirihish:
"He's lucky I didn't just take 'is head."
The barbarous, black-maned youth nods at you, too.
The sturdy, vivid-eyed dwarf grunts at your last words.
The barbarous, black-maned youth turns, and starts to leave.
The barbarous, black-maned youth leaves a stone archway.
The petite, freckled youth leaves a stone archway.
The petite, freckled youth has entered a stone archway.
You say to the large, sideburned man, in sirihish:
"Get Erak."
The large, sideburned man leaves a stone archway.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the large, sideburned man with the Way.
The petite, freckled youth says, in sirihish:
"No, sir. I don't think I could."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the large, sideburned man:
"Don't let 'im get shit from the detention cell."
The large, sideburned man has entered a stone archway.
Clearing his throat, the lean, ponytailed man says to you, in sirihish:
"A suggestion sir."
The large, sideburned man leaves a stone archway.
You dissolve the psychic link.
You say to the lean, ponytailed man, in sirihish:
"Sure, Zik. Fuck, I'm wide open for 'em today."
Clasping his hands by his waist, standing stiffly, the lean, ponytailed man says to you, in sirihish:
"We should never cross Tan Sarak again with weary mounts nor any less than five solid Bynners sir. Tainted arrows, archers'n all. S'too dangerous. Instead, we should make a waypoint at Luirs"
Nodding, you say to the lean, ponytailed man, in sirihish:
"I like that reasonin', Runner. Shit sounds good to me."
Also speaking up, her hands clasped behind her back, the austere, fine-boned blonde says, in northern-accented sirihish:
"Perhaps it would be wise to scout additional routes through to the North, if possible. And mayhap we can offer our services to House Kurac, to assist in clearing the road."
The large, sideburned man has entered a stone archway.
The barbarous, black-maned youth has entered a stone archway.
Nodding easily, you say to the austere, fine-boned blonde, in sirihish:
"Already bein' worked on, but yes, very good suggestion."
He trots back in, the barbarous, black-maned youth says, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Pardon."
The lean, ponytailed man nods once, his piercing brown eyes ahead.
The austere, fine-boned blonde glances aside at the lean, ponytailed man for a brief moment before returning her dark blue gaze to you.
The petite, freckled youth sighs a little bit through her nose.
Quirking a small smile, you say, in sirihish:
"I actually know a pretty interestin' way up, but yeah... heh, not exactly practical."
You ask the petite, freckled youth, in sirihish:
"Anyway, is the crushin' shittiness of this life fully sunk in for you yet?"
The petite, freckled youth says to you, in sirihish:
"Well, when you put it that way, yes."
You say to the petite, freckled youth, in sirihish:
"Good."
You ask the barbarous, black-maned youth, in sirihish:
"An' where did you run off to?"
The petite, freckled youth says to you, in sirihish:
"Doesn't mean I like it."
You say to the petite, freckled youth, in sirihish:
"I don't think anyone but the psychos do, Runner. I sure as shit don't."
He jerks a thumb over to the barracks, the barbarous, black-maned youth says, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Take a nap. Still have three holes, Sir."
The rugged, mustachioed man nods absently to the barbarous, black-maned youth.
The rugged, mustachioed man rubs his chin thoughtfully, looking over those gathered.
The rugged, squat half-giant raises his hand tentatively.
A horn blast sounds from somewhere to the southeast.
The barbarous, black-maned youth leans on his unbandaged leg.
Nodding a little bit and finally lowering her gaze, the petite, freckled youth says to you, in sirihish:
"I'm looking forward to Graduation. -Sir-. Thank you."
The rugged, mustachioed man nods over at the rugged, squat half-giant.
Tucking his chin while he looks down at the group, the rangy, bushy-headed half-giant says, in sirihish:
"Hey, I thought this place was full of toughs."
The sturdy, vivid-eyed dwarf cocks his head way up at the rugged, squat half-giant.
Burbling, the rugged, squat half-giant asks, in sirihish:
"We get paid for killing someone soon?"
The sturdy, vivid-eyed dwarf nods agreeably.
You say to the rugged, squat half-giant, in sirihish:
"Yes, I sure hope so. I'm workin' on it."
The rugged, squat half-giant bobs his head.
The barbarous, black-maned youth asks, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Can we leave, Lieutenant?"
The petite, freckled youth holds her hands behind her back.
Pointing at the floor, you say, in sirihish:
"You know, -this-, this kind've weirdness. It happens with like every cycle... It's like eternal recurrence in my life or some shit..."
The dark-haired, hazel-eyed man looks down at the floor.
You ask the barbarous, black-maned youth, in sirihish:
"Runner, I heard you skipped out've duty 'cause you... just sat 'round bein' drunk? You didn't even try to lie or hide it or anythin'?"
Shaking his head, his tone dull and tired, the barbarous, black-maned youth says to you, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Part of being a Bynner, Chasing women and being drunk, Lieutenant. Shall you wish to abolish me for this. Then you can claim my aba this very instant."
You say to the barbarous, black-maned youth, in sirihish:
"You can suck my dick, is what you can do. Sheesh."
Peering down at him, the rangy, bushy-headed half-giant says to the barbarous, black-maned youth, in sirihish:
"Gotta get tough."
Waving a hand, you say to the barbarous, black-maned youth, in sirihish:
"Three lashes."
The petite, freckled youth's eyes widen.
The petite, freckled youth exclaims, in sirihish:
"What?!"
The sturdy, vivid-eyed dwarf simply nods.
The lean, ponytailed man sighs, rubbing at his face.
Shaking it off, the barbarous, black-maned youth stops using his dusty hooded, brown military aba.
You say to the large, sideburned man, in sirihish:
"You wanna handle this one? Fuck, I could go all day."
Practically breathing out the words, the sturdy, square-jawed man says, in sirihish:
"Krath's sakes."
The barbarous, black-maned youth opens his worn, carru-hide pack.
The barbarous, black-maned youth empties his dusty hooded, brown military aba into his worn, carru-hide pack.
The barbarous, black-maned youth closes his worn, carru-hide pack.
The barbarous, black-maned youth stops using his dusty gortok-stitched, deep blue patch.
The large, sideburned man says to you, in sirihish:
"It's up to you, sir."
The barbarous, black-maned youth folds up his dusty hooded, brown military aba and his dusty gortok-stitched, deep blue patch in a small ball.
Dropping it by his feet neatly, the barbarous, black-maned youth drops his dusty hooded, brown military aba.
Dropping it by his feet neatly, the barbarous, black-maned youth drops his dusty gortok-stitched, deep blue patch.
The austere, fine-boned blonde watches on silently, unmoving from her position.
You say to the large, sideburned man, in sirihish:
"Eh, hold 'im."
The rangy, bushy-headed half-giant watches the barbarous, black-maned youth intently from where he stands.
Walking back over to it, you pick up a bloodied wickedly barbed whip.
It is very light.
The large, sideburned man moves to restrain the barbarous, black-maned youth.
Tugging down on his bone-studded backpack's shoulder strap, the sturdy, square-jawed man says to the rugged, squat half-giant, in sirihish:
"Can I get leave to get some food, Leiutenant? Haven't eaten in like a fek'n day."
The large, sideburned man subdues the barbarous, black-maned youth, despite his attempts to struggle away.
The barbarous, black-maned youth stops guarding the lean, ponytailed man.
The rugged, mustachioed man nods aside to the sturdy, vivid-eyed dwarf.
The sturdy, square-jawed man grumbles as his eyes glance askance to the barbarous, black-maned youth.
The large, sideburned man moves the barbarous, black-maned youth to the same position as before.
The barbarous, black-maned youth lies limp in the large, sideburned man's grip.
The rugged, mustachioed man nods aside to the sturdy, square-jawed man, rather.
Turning on his heels, the sturdy, square-jawed man says to the rugged, squat half-giant, in sirihish:
"Thanks, g'luck with these two sir."
The sturdy, square-jawed man leaves a stone archway.
The rugged, mustachioed man takes up position behind the barbarous, black-maned youth, his features betraying a trace of weariness and boredom.
The sturdy, vivid-eyed dwarf watches the goings on quietly, crimson eyes and unexpressive face revealing nothing.
Eyes widening, the petite, freckled youth asks, in sirihish:
"This is insane! How does this accomplish anything?"
You ask the petite, freckled youth, in sirihish:
"Does it look fun gettin' whipped?"
A single, firmly spoke word, the sturdy, vivid-eyed dwarf says to the petite, freckled youth, in sirihish:
"Discipline."
The petite, freckled youth opens her mouth to speak, and then closes it.
The austere, fine-boned blonde opens her mouth for a second, looking over at the petite, freckled youth, and then immediately snaps it shut again.
The barbarous, black-maned youth's features look sad, if anything.
Shaking his head, you ask, in sirihish:
"Is this shit for real? Did I die an' end up in some topsy-turvy world after all?"
You say to the barbarous, black-maned youth, in sirihish:
"Three lashes, Runner, for blatant skippin' of duty an' mild insubordination."
Readying it, you brandish your bloodied wickedly barbed whip.
You raise a wickedly barbed whip and lash out at the barbarous, black-maned youth.
The blow is deflected by the barbarous, black-maned youth's worn, carru-hide pack. [whoops]
The barbarous, black-maned youth stops using his worn, carru-hide pack.
The barbarous, black-maned youth stops using his used stained tan tembo-hide cuirass.
You raise a wickedly barbed whip and lash out at the barbarous, black-maned youth.
*CRACK* A long, bloody gash opens up on the barbarous, black-maned youth's back.
In a tiny voice, the petite, freckled youth says, in sirihish:
"He's already so hurt...Why..."
The barbarous, black-maned youth yelps, his eyes watering up as his whole body tenses.
The petite, freckled youth yelps too, looking away.
The rugged, mustachioed man looks over at the petite, freckled youth strangely.
The rugged, mustachioed man just shakes his head to himself, mutely and wearily carrying out the whipping.
Arms folded across his chest, the rangy, bushy-headed half-giant says, in sirihish:
"Gotta tough up some of these people."
You raise a wickedly barbed whip and lash out at the barbarous, black-maned youth.
*CRACK* A long, bloody gash opens up on the barbarous, black-maned youth's back.
The barbarous, black-maned youth foot rubs at the ground, making an invisible trench as he bites down with a gurgled groan upon his own teeth.
The lean, ponytailed man sinks his gaze at the ground, releasing a distraught sigh.
The barbarous, black-maned youth's back reddens and cracks in the common redness that is whipped skin.
Glancing up, the lean, ponytailed man says to the rangy, bushy-headed half-giant, in sirihish:
"Funny, I didn't see you fightin' off gith'n fangs, Carl."
The rugged, mustachioed man exhales slowly and hauls the whip up once again.
The rugged, squat half-giant furrows his brow.
You raise a wickedly barbed whip and lash out at the barbarous, black-maned youth.
*CRACK* A long, bloody gash opens up on the barbarous, black-maned youth's back.
Pointing at the rangy, bushy-headed half-giant and the rugged, squat half-giant, the lean, ponytailed man says, in sirihish:
"You, and you. Shut your fuckin' big mouths until you're on a contract'n you -see- what I've -seen-."
Rolling it up, you stop using your bloodied wickedly barbed whip.
You say to the lean, ponytailed man, in sirihish:
"Zik, Zik... relax."
Shifting a glance over, the rangy, bushy-headed half-giant says to the lean, ponytailed man, in sirihish:
"I asked. I wanted to go, but they said I needed a mount'n stuff."
The rugged, squat half-giant glances down at the lean, ponytailed man.
The barbarous, black-maned youth's knees buckles a bit, he lets out a hoarse yelp in pain.
The large, sideburned man releases the barbarous, black-maned youth, who immediately moves away.
You say to the large, sideburned man, in sirihish:
"Please show 'im to 'Bones to get the wounds taken care of."
The large, sideburned man nods.
His bandaged arm tensing as his fingers make a fist, the lean, ponytailed man says to you, in sirihish:
"It's . . . hard. Sir."
The rugged, squat half-giant says to the lean, ponytailed man, in sirihish:
"Not said anything. You got a problem. You come to ring with me."
In a gurgle, the barbarous, black-maned youth says, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"No.."
The petite, freckled youth watches the barbarous, black-maned youth's back in horror.
The lean, ponytailed man says to the rugged, squat half-giant, in sirihish:
"Okay, maybe not you. But Carl . . . "
The lean, ponytailed man looks up at the rangy, bushy-headed half-giant.
You say to the lean, ponytailed man, in sirihish:
"Zik, I know very well how hard it is. I've seen some shit. Hell, I've been whipped to a pulp myself. All of it."
You say to the lean, ponytailed man, in sirihish:
"The giant don't mean nothin'."
Very quietly, as he passes by, the austere, fine-boned blonde says to the barbarous, black-maned youth, in northern-accented sirihish:
"Erak. Do not be foolish. Go to Bones."
You say to the barbarous, black-maned youth, in sirihish:
"You need those wounds treated. Believe me."
Gesturing at the two giants, the lean, ponytailed man says to you, in sirihish:
"It's just, I saw Zuib'n Kromp fall yesterday. They could both outmatch either giant here."
The rugged, squat half-giant snorts loudly.
Waving a hand, hoarsly, the barbarous, black-maned youth exclaims, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Just throw me out! I won't change, and I wish not death!"
The large, sideburned man looks to you.
Shrugging his huge shoulders, the rangy, bushy-headed half-giant says, in sirihish:
"Figures. See? Not tough enough."
You say to the lean, ponytailed man, in sirihish:
"I've been betrayed an' backstabbed by friends an' allies, I've watched one love get torn apart before me an' the other disappeared without a trace."
The barbarous, black-maned youth yelps at his own outburst, grimacing at his pain.
You say to the lean, ponytailed man, in sirihish:
"We can just keep goin' an' goin'..."
You say to the barbarous, black-maned youth, in sirihish:
"I'll toss you out in a few weeks."
You say to the barbarous, black-maned youth, in sirihish:
"Get fixed."
His sandy brows furrowed, the lean, ponytailed man says to you, in sirihish:
"My point is, all this trainin' is useless if it ain't applied correctly. We need more than just tons of muscle to kill the Fangs."
Tries to fold a hand to his back, grimacing, the barbarous, black-maned youth says, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"I beg you, Lieutenant.. This, I care not for, anymore! I have payed my mistake."
You say to the lean, ponytailed man, in sirihish:
"I agree completely. The wheels are in motion..."
Slowly turning back to him, you say to the barbarous, black-maned youth, in sirihish:
"Get. Fixed."
Biting her lower lip, the petite, freckled youth looks up at the barbarous, black-maned youth.
He breaks out in a childlike whine, the barbarous, black-maned youth exclaims, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"I wish release from this! Release me! Please!"
The lean, ponytailed man lets out a weary sigh, picking a sliver of bone from his pocket to stick between his teeth. He chews on it tensely.
Stumbling down to a knee, crawling towards you, the barbarous, black-maned youth sits down.
You say to the large, sideburned man, in sirihish:
"Sergeant, please, restrain the runner an'... aw, damn it, Erak."
The large, sideburned man attempts to grab the barbarous, black-maned youth, but he wrestles away.
You say to the barbarous, black-maned youth, in sirihish:
"Get fixed up, or yer gonna regret it. I don't mean it as a threat, I'm just genuinely concerned here, Krath."
The petite, freckled youth stifles some tears, sniffing loudly and huffing. She tries to maintain her composure, failing a little bit.
Watery eyed, almost bawling, the barbarous, black-maned youth exclaims to the rugged, squat half-giant, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"I don't want to anymore! They're all going to die! I don't want to! Please.. I can shovel dung! I can shovel it good! Just let me go!"
The lean, ponytailed man shuffles behind the petite, freckled youth as he chews on some bone, placing a shaking hand to perch atop her shoulder.
The dark-haired, hazel-eyed man stares at the barbarous, black-maned youth in mild astonishment.
Mockingly, you say, in sirihish:
"'They're all goin' to die!' Yes, yes they are. We all are."
Pointing to the aba on the floor, the rangy, bushy-headed half-giant says to the rugged, squat half-giant, in sirihish:
"See, when he threw his colors on the floor.. I was like, yeah.. he's a cunt. He don't wanna be here cause someone caught up to his stupid shit."
You say to the barbarous, black-maned youth, in sirihish:
"Erak, we can speak when yer fixed up an' calmed down."
The barbarous, black-maned youth slumps down before the rugged, squat half-giant, crying openly.
The barbarous, black-maned youth slumps down before you, crying openly.
The rangy, bushy-headed half-giant says to the rugged, squat half-giant, in sirihish:
"I asked, hey Sarge, can I skip chores too? I hate chores, but no - I gotta do it."
To nobody in particular, the austere, fine-boned blonde says, in northern-accented sirihish:
"I am afraid that I have gate duty."
The rugged, mustachioed man eyes the barbarous, black-maned youth with a trace of disgust on his features and motions to the large, sideburned man.
The large, sideburned man attempts to grab the barbarous, black-maned youth, but he wrestles away.
You say to the austere, fine-boned blonde, in sirihish:
"Yes, go on."
The austere, fine-boned blonde salutes to you.
The barbarous, black-maned youth exclaims, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Just.. Please! I am begging you! Why!"
The large, sideburned man attempts to grab the barbarous, black-maned youth, but he wrestles away.
You say to the barbarous, black-maned youth, in sirihish:
"Stop fightin', yer only gonna make it worse."
The large, sideburned man subdues the barbarous, black-maned youth, despite his attempts to struggle away.
The petite, freckled youth exclaims, in sirihish:
"What are you going to do to him!"
The austere, fine-boned blonde leaves a stone archway.
You exclaim to the petite, freckled youth, in sirihish:
"Gettin' 'im healed, for cryin' out loud!"
The lean, ponytailed man says to the petite, freckled youth, in sirihish:
"Nothin'. Now calm down."
The large, sideburned man pulls the barbarous, black-maned youth away from you.
Shrugging his large shoulders a bit as he returns his gaze toward the barbarous, black-maned youth, the rangy, bushy-headed half-giant says to the rugged, squat half-giant, in sirihish:
"Best to do what Sarge says, see."
The petite, freckled youth reaches a hand out towards the barbarous, black-maned youth.
You say to the large, sideburned man, in sirihish:
"Get 'im to 'Bones, he knows what to do."
The large, sideburned man drags the barbarous, black-maned youth to the entrance.
The large, sideburned man leaves a stone archway.
The large, sideburned man drags the barbarous, black-maned youth out as well.
You ask the petite, freckled youth, in sirihish:
"So, what're you gonna do?"
You hear a man's voice shout from outside in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Pleaaaaaaaase!"
Snubbing some tears with a knuckle, the petite, freckled youth asks you, in sirihish:
"Whaddyamean?"
The rugged, mustachioed man peers out the archway momentarily.
The sturdy, vivid-eyed dwarf settles his implacable stare on the petite, freckled youth.
You ask the petite, freckled youth, in sirihish:
"You gonna dramatically remove yer uniform?"
The lean, ponytailed man gets his loaf of brown bread from his red-striped canvas backpack.
The lean, ponytailed man gets his loaf of brown bread from his red-striped canvas backpack.
Growling, the petite, freckled youth says to you, in sirihish:
"I wouldn't give you the -satisfaction-. Sir."
The rugged, mustachioed man smiles briefly.
Walking over to the rugged, squat half-giant and the rangy, bushy-headed half-giant, the lean, ponytailed man says, in sirihish:
"Sorry for yellin' harsh, big guys. Here's some bread eh."
The lean, ponytailed man gives his loaf of brown bread to the rugged, squat half-giant.
The lean, ponytailed man gives his loaf of brown bread to the rangy, bushy-headed half-giant.
The rugged, squat half-giant gives his loaf of brown bread to the lean, ponytailed man.
Shrugging, the lean, ponytailed man eats a portion of his loaf of brown bread.
The rugged, squat half-giant hands the loaf back, frowning.
Rubbing a hand over his mouth momentarily, you say to the petite, freckled youth, in sirihish:
"Alright."
Peering down at him, the rangy, bushy-headed half-giant says to the lean, ponytailed man, in sirihish:
"It's okay. I get mad too, sometimes."
Stuffing it into his mouth, the rangy, bushy-headed half-giant eats a portion of his loaf of brown bread.
The lean, ponytailed man eats his half eaten loaf of brown bread.
You say to the petite, freckled youth, in sirihish:
"Yer dismissed. Cross me again an' it's the lash."
The lean, ponytailed man puts his octagonal purple tablet into his small leather pouch.
The rangy, bushy-headed half-giant eats his half eaten loaf of brown bread.
Addressing the group as a whole, you say, in sirihish:
"It's like guys don't think I'm bothered by Zuib an' Kromp bitin' it, shit..."
The rugged, mustachioed man rolls his eyes to himself.
Chewing loudly, the rangy, bushy-headed half-giant says to you, in sirihish:
"I didn't know 'em."
To everyone but the petite, freckled youth, you ask, in sirihish:
"Other guys, we good?"
The petite, freckled youth frowns, crossing her tiny arms.
The dark-haired, hazel-eyed man says, in sirihish:
"Yes sir."
Scratching at his patchy beard, the lean, ponytailed man says, in sirihish:
"Mostly Zuib, but . . . eh."
Smacking his lips while he chews, the rangy, bushy-headed half-giant says to you, in sirihish:
"Real good, Lootenent."
The rugged, squat half-giant shrugs, watching the others in the hall.
Hesitantly, the lean, ponytailed man says to you, in sirihish:
"I'm good. I think."
Voice unexpressive, the sturdy, vivid-eyed dwarf says to you, in sirihish:
"Everyone's been bothered to some extent, that much is obvious, sir. But you've got all my talents as always, Sir."
The rugged, mustachioed man nods his understanding to the sturdy, vivid-eyed dwarf before patting a hand once on the lean, ponytailed man's shoulder.
You say, in sirihish:
"Alright, yer all dismissed. Rest, recover... we got work to do in the near future. Vengeance work."
Glancing up, his piercing eyes wide, the lean, ponytailed man says to you, in sirihish:
"T'last thing that fang will see is my face. And it will be smilin', sir."
The dark-haired, hazel-eyed man renders a salute.
The rugged, mustachioed man nods firmly to the lean, ponytailed man.
The dark-haired, hazel-eyed man leaves a stone archway.
Nodding to the rangy, bushy-headed half-giant, the sturdy, vivid-eyed dwarf asks the rugged, squat half-giant, in sirihish:
"We're going to train you big fecks how to kill neckers. How's that sound?"
The lean, ponytailed man salutes with his bandaged arm.
The sturdy, vivid-eyed dwarf taps off a firm salute to you.
The rangy, bushy-headed half-giant says, in sirihish:
"Skinny pie. I make it good, yeah."
The rugged, mustachioed man returns the salute crisply before stooping over for your hooded, black military aba.
Shrugging, the rugged, squat half-giant asks, in sirihish:
"Okay. Hit in face, right?"
You pick up a dusty hooded, brown military aba.
It is very light, and empty.
Wiping a hand across his mouth, the rangy, bushy-headed half-giant walks north.
You brush the dust off of a stained hooded, brown military aba.
Chuckling, the sturdy, vivid-eyed dwarf says, in sirihish:
"Not that simple, Bok. Not that simple."
The petite, freckled youth watches you with fiery, silent intensity.
The rangy, bushy-headed half-giant has arrived from the north.
Arching a brow, the lean, ponytailed man asks the sturdy, vivid-eyed dwarf, in sirihish:
"Grab them first, then punch in t'face?"
You think:
"I did this right."
The rugged, squat half-giant walks south.
You feel certain.
The rugged, squat half-giant has arrived from the south.
Holding his long wooden plank to him, the rangy, bushy-headed half-giant asks the sturdy, vivid-eyed dwarf, in sirihish:
"This yours?"
The rugged, squat half-giant wanders off.
The sturdy, vivid-eyed dwarf nods agreeably to the lean, ponytailed man.
The petite, freckled youth just sort of sighs.
The rugged, squat half-giant leaves a stone archway.
The rugged, mustachioed man meets the petite, freckled youth's gaze for a moment before heading out.
[Raul moseys over to the barracks]
The Main Barracks [EU Quit]
A multi-ringed dartboard is here hanging on the northern wall.
A large barrel of water is shoved in the corner.
The barbarous, black-maned youth [CREATING] is reclining on a small leather cot.
- he is carrying a worn, carru-hide pack.
The bulky, bald man is sitting here.
The brown-haired, blue-eyed man looks around slowly from his pallet here.
The thin, chestnut-haired woman stands here, watching the stairs.
The grey-maned, wooden-legged man sits here, sharpening a bone-toothed saw.
The dimpled, shaven-headed man looks over a wounded mercenary here.
The rugged, squat half-giant has arrived from the east.
The rugged, mustachioed man purses his lips to the side as he spots the barbarous, black-maned youth.
Dropping it near him, you give your stained hooded, brown military aba to the barbarous, black-maned youth.
The rugged, mustachioed man turns and leaves.
The barbarous, black-maned youth lies on his side, face a watery and messy mess.
The large, sideburned man has arrived from the east.
The barbarous, black-maned youth exclaims, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Lieutenant!"
The rugged, mustachioed man stops.
The large, sideburned man stops holding his dim rag-wrapped bone torch.
The large, sideburned man extinguishes a dim rag-wrapped bone torch.
The rugged, squat half-giant sits down to rest.
The rugged, mustachioed man glances from the grey-maned, wooden-legged man to the barbarous, black-maned youth.
You ask the barbarous, black-maned youth, in sirihish:
"Yeah?"
The rugged, squat half-giant yawns, stretching out along a wall.
He whimpers, the barbarous, black-maned youth exclaims, in tribal-accented sirihish:
".. please. I.. can't.. Eight! Nine!"
The rugged, mustachioed man holds a finger to his lips and shushes the barbarous, black-maned youth.
You say to the barbarous, black-maned youth, in sirihish:
"Two, three weeks."
The barbarous, black-maned youth says, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"But Slim! I promised Slim.. He'll die."
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
The petite, freckled youth sends you a telepathic message:
"I'm sorry sir. I'm...This is a lot to take in. I won't do it again."
The barbarous, black-maned youth tries to wipe some snot away from his face.
You say to the barbarous, black-maned youth, in sirihish:
"He might. Guess he shouldn't've murdered my man."
The petite, freckled youth sends you a telepathic message:
"I promise. I will follow orders...I'll learn. I'll do what you tell me to do."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the petite, freckled youth with the Way.
The barbarous, black-maned youth exclaims, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"I have a place to stay.. I can live! Worry.. Please.. Just! Don't leave me here. .With them!"
The rugged, squat half-giant raises a bushy eyebrow, peering at the barbarous, black-maned youth.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the petite, freckled youth:
"I know, it was all very shitty. Every new wave has a meltdown at some point. It's just the reality of the situation."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the petite, freckled youth:
"Take care. Stick to yer work. Erak is a broken man. Yer already stronger."
The petite, freckled youth sends you a telepathic message:
"It sounds so...Awesome from the outside. Sell-swords. Drunkards. Sex...Not that I know what that's like really."
Grunting, you say to the barbarous, black-maned youth, in sirihish:
"You ain't gonna die. Calm down, let yer wounds heal."
A loud horn blast sounds from the northeast.
The barbarous, black-maned youth asks the rugged, squat half-giant, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"I don't.. want to be here no more! Why are you holding me!?"
The petite, freckled youth sends you a telepathic message:
"It's hard to...It's all a fantasy until it becomes a reality. I poked my first thing today and made it bleed. We were all going to celebrate when we got back...But then...Then people died."
You say to the barbarous, black-maned youth, in sirihish:
"No one -here- is gonna fuck with you, 'cause they'd get some mighty harsh treatment."
The thin, chestnut-haired woman intently scans the area.
You say to the barbarous, black-maned youth, in sirihish:
"'Cause I can. I like you here, right now, for yer recovery."
The sturdy, vivid-eyed dwarf has arrived from the east, plodding along.
Quietly, the large, sideburned man says, in sirihish:
"He doesn't mean us, sir."
The petite, freckled youth sends you a telepathic message:
"It is all fun and games until people die. And then it becomes so vivid...Almost unreal. I'm sorry...I just. I guess i'll have to be a hardass now, since you told everyone how old I am."
He pleads, bringing up his hands, the barbarous, black-maned youth exclaims, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"You.. did! Just.. let me go, please, sir!"
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the petite, freckled youth:
"Sorry, I didn't realize that was a secret. I guess it makes sense that it was."
The sturdy, vivid-eyed dwarf trudges over to a small leather cot.
Flopping down into it, the sturdy, vivid-eyed dwarf rests on a small leather cot.
The petite, freckled youth sends you a telepathic message:
"It's okay. I'll get by, sir."
You say to the barbarous, black-maned youth, in sirihish:
"I will eventually. Relax."
The rugged, squat half-giant lays down, beginning to snore.
The rugged, squat half-giant has departed from the land of Zalanthas.
You say to the large, sideburned man, in sirihish:
"Sergeant, if you got just one moment..."
The rugged, mustachioed man beckons to the large, sideburned man.
The large, sideburned man nods at you.
He laments at the ceiling, the barbarous, black-maned youth exclaims, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"They are so cruel! Please!"
The large, sideburned man steps over.
The petite, freckled youth has arrived from the east.
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
You dissolve the psychic link.
The barbarous, black-maned youth exclaims, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"I beg you! Release me, I don't want to be here! I can take care of my own!"
You look at the petite, freckled youth.
This young, small girl has barely hit puberty, leaving most of her
body covered with bits of baby fat and underdeveloped muscle; what muscle is
visible lies around her arms and legs. Her eyes are a mismatched hazel brown
and viridian blue, in the left and right respectively. A tiny nose sits in
the middle of her freckled face, a swath of blonde hair rolling over her head
to about her shoulders. Her teeth are mostly grown in, though there're a few
gaps of teeth still missing. Freckles adorn most of her body, especially
around the forearms. A hoop of bone intersects her lower lip right in the center.
The petite, freckled youth is in excellent condition.
The petite, freckled youth is using:
<worn on head> an used dusty chitin-plated leather helmet
<worn around neck> a dusty stiff, black-leather gorget
<slung across back> a dusty short bone sparring spear
<worn across back> a dusty bone-studded backpack
<worn on torso> a stained chitin-plated leather cuirass
<worn on left shoulder> a dusty purple, bloody claw-sewn patch
<worn around wrist> an used sweat-stained dark leather bracer
<worn around wrist> a studded hide wrist-wrap
<worn as belt> a brown leather pouched belt
<hung from belt> an obsidian-bladed kirisigi dagger
<hung from belt> a bloodied black mandible-headed spear
<worn around body> a dusty hooded, brown military aba
<worn on legs> an used sweat-stained pair of dark leather leggings
<worn on feet> an used dusty pair of chitin-plated leather boots
She is carrying:
nothing obvious
The petite, freckled youth sits on a small leather cot.
The sturdy, vivid-eyed dwarf exhales a long breath, then moves to ease up from his cot.
The sturdy, vivid-eyed dwarf stands up from a small leather cot.
The rugged, mustachioed man turns from the barbarous, black-maned youth and heads for the stares.
The Main Barracks [ND Quit]
A multi-ringed dartboard hangs on a wall here.
The grizzled, long-fingered mercenary sits on a pallet here, tattooing.
The barrel-chested, ebony-skinned man lies here on a grimy pallet, sleepy-eyed.
The tattooed, square-headed man lays restlessly on a cot.
The lanky, bald-headed woman stands here, looking bored.
The large, sideburned man has arrived from below.
Lowering his voice as he peers over the railing, you whisper to the large, sideburned man in sirihish:
"I'm keepin' 'im here as somethin' of a gamble..."
The large, sideburned man nods at you.
Looking back to him, you whisper to the large, sideburned man in sirihish:
"One, I'd like 'im to recover before I set 'im loose. I don't do that to guys that don't deserve it. Two..."
You whisper to the large, sideburned man in sirihish:
"He's totally broken right now. I wanna see how he develops, an' I want the others to see it."
You whisper to the large, sideburned man in sirihish:
"It'll weed some've the weaker ones out, an' it'll strengthen the hard ones."
The large, sideburned man whispers to you, in sirihish:
"He came unhinged when Urrik was shot too."
You whisper to the large, sideburned man in sirihish:
"I noticed that, an' I thought he'd turn like Raveni just did. It don't always work that way, though."
You whisper to the large, sideburned man in sirihish:
"This was a pretty shitty day. Days..."
The large, sideburned man whispers to you, in sirihish:
"I don't think we can escort Tasok back in four weeks, sir... not in the face of what just happened."
The rugged, mustachioed man blows out a breath and wipes his hand down his face.
You whisper to the large, sideburned man in sirihish:
"No, we can't. Instead, we need to prepare for revenge. I'll smooth things an' make 'em right with the Agent."
The large, sideburned man whispers to you, in sirihish:
"not only is it risking our best runner, but Tasok himself."
The rugged, mustachioed man nods.
You whisper to the large, sideburned man in sirihish:
"Sorry things got brutal. But you see, it's very necessary. Sometimes it builds up an' boils over like this."
The large, sideburned man whispers to you, in sirihish:
"Revani may not take my orders anymore."
You whisper to the large, sideburned man in sirihish:
"She will. Yer my man, an' she knows not to cross me."
The large, sideburned man whispers to you, in sirihish:
"Once the arrows started ocming I paniced out there.. Tried to get Kromp and Zuib to flee, but was too late."
Resting a hand on his shoulder, you whisper to the large, sideburned man in sirihish:
"I know. I know very well how it goes. But I know you've learned, too. I got faith in you, Sergeant."
The large, sideburned man nods at you.
You whisper to the large, sideburned man in sirihish:
"It was a tough spot. An' really, tough spots are hard to avoid someties."
The large, sideburned man whispers to you, in sirihish:
"I'm glad Niema got sick when she did." [ie pregnant with Raul's baby, I believe]
The rugged, mustachioed man nods after a pause. [It was a... complicated situation in some ways]
You whisper to the large, sideburned man in sirihish:
"Yeah... believe me, I worry. I try not to get hung up on shit, but I do worry 'bout you guys."
The large, sideburned man whispers to you, in sirihish:
"What do we do with Gil's body?"
The large, sideburned man opens his bloodied bahamet-embroidered leather backpack.
The large, sideburned man gets his blue and purple ceramic bottle from his bloodied bahamet-embroidered leather backpack.
Passing it over, the large, sideburned man gives you his blue and purple ceramic bottle.
The large, sideburned man closes his bloodied bahamet-embroidered leather backpack.
You whisper to the large, sideburned man in sirihish:
"We'll dump it outside by the sewer pipes. Won't be the first time. Won't be the last."
The rugged, mustachioed man accepts the bottle gratefully.
You drink the firestorm's flame.
The large, sideburned man whispers to you, in sirihish:
"Strip it?"
The rugged, mustachioed man nods.
The large, sideburned man whispers to you, in sirihish:
"I'll take care of it, sir."
You whisper to the large, sideburned man in sirihish:
"Take it all, put the armor an' shit into the storeroom. I know it's been a long week, so if you gotta just toss it all on the bench, it's fine."
You whisper to the large, sideburned man in sirihish:
"The coin is yers."
The large, sideburned man whispers to you, in sirihish:
"I'll sort it all.... though I may need to get this piece of gith spear out of me first..."
The rugged, mustachioed man chuckles quietly.
You whisper to the large, sideburned man in sirihish:
"Priorities, eh?"
The large, sideburned man whispers to you, in sirihish:
"Carl cracked my jerkin before we left, so all I had was a leather vest."
The rugged, mustachioed man gives the large, sideburned man's shoulder a companionable slap.
Flashing a grin, you whisper to the large, sideburned man in sirihish:
"That... sucks."
The large, sideburned man gives a short rueful chuckle.
You whisper to the large, sideburned man in sirihish:
"I gotta go. This is gonna make one helluva report."
The large, sideburned man nods at you.
You say to the large, sideburned man, in sirihish:
"'Sid an' glory, sergeant."
The rugged, mustachioed man moves for the stairs.
The Main Barracks [EU Quit]
A multi-ringed dartboard is here hanging on the northern wall.
A large barrel of water is shoved in the corner.
The austere, fine-boned blonde is standing here.
- she is carrying a plain bag of cloth.
The sturdy, vivid-eyed dwarf is reclining on a small leather cot.
- he is carrying a large bag.
- he is carrying a couple of bone-studded backpacks.
The barbarous, black-maned youth is reclining on a small leather cot.
- he is carrying a worn, carru-hide pack.
The bulky, bald man is sitting here.
The brown-haired, blue-eyed man looks around slowly from his pallet here.
The thin, chestnut-haired woman stands here, watching the stairs.
The grey-maned, wooden-legged man sits here, sharpening a bone-toothed saw.
The dimpled, shaven-headed man looks over a wounded mercenary here.
Whimpering, the barbarous, black-maned youth says, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"No one understands.. I almost died out there. No one looked at me twice. No orders.. Zik saved us all."
From his cot, the sturdy, vivid-eyed dwarf dips his head to you as you comes down the stairs.
The rugged, mustachioed man descends the stairs languidly and heads on out.
[he strolls to the Officers' Barracks]
The rugged, mustachioed man snorts out a chuckle.
Feeling relief, you think:
"Well, that turned out better'n it could've."
You think:
"Ah, Ryzen, you'll learn."
You get your black stone key with one purple stripe from your leather swordbelt.
It is very light.
You unlock the door with a black stone key with one purple stripe. - *click*
You open the door.
A Small Hallway [ESW]
The lean, sharp-eyed woman is here, leaning casually against a wall.
The dark, war-painted dwarf looks around as he stands here.
The thin, trim-bearded half-elf stands here, watching the hallway.
You close the door.
You lock the door with a black stone key with one purple stripe. - *click*
You put your black stone key with one purple stripe into your leather swordbelt.
You think:
"There's always a crisis for the new guy."
The Officers' Barracks [ES Quit]
You sit down and rest your tired bones.
You think:
"It's happened to every single one've us."
The rugged, mustachioed man shakes his head slowly to himself.
You think:
"Everyone'll see Erak as the broken man. Only in the soft will it cause some discontent."
[the end]
[Told from the perspective of Lieutenant Raul of the T'zai Byn (Demonslayer, Hero of Deeds, etc.), the rugged, mustachioed man.]
[The following description stuff is cobbled together from a few logs, but it's about right.]
You are Raul, of many people. (type 'tribes' to see your tribes).
Keywords:...
Continue Reading...A Blue Robed Templar by Briar
Added on Jan 22, 2011
Biography of a Bynner: "Join the Byn!" by Zoltan
Added on Jan 22, 2011A scrawny teen begins his journey towards his ultimate destiny and it only costs him three hundred coins!
It was evening and the Gladiator and the Gaj was beginning to really fill up. The barkeep Vennant taciturnly poured booze as dusty patrons slapped obsidian coins onto the bar. The air smelled of vomit and poor decisions, but the pungency had yet to reach its nighttime zenith. The tavern was stuffed with a slapdash selection of old and battered tables. In one corner was a broad stone one carved in the shape of a coiled dragon, and at it two men were holding a conversation.
“So if you agree to those terms and rules, cough up the three small, kid,” drawled the one in a brown aba. He was an ugly, scarred up hunk of a man with greasy black hair and a mustache. He lounged comfortably in his chair despite being coated with heavy chitin and leather armor, and adorned with heavy blades and dangerous-looking daggers. The left breast of his aba bore a hand-sized purple dragon patch, matching the design on the table. The studded leather armor on his arms had the same insignia on the right sleeve and two black bars on the left.
“I agree,” impatiently muttered the other man, a short, thin-limbed youth with long, stringy brown hair. He produced a bulging sack of coins from beneath his cloak and pushed it across the table.
“I agree, sir. Or Sergeant Streen, Sarge, or Ender of Lives and Fucker of Mothers,” corrected the mustachioed man as he weighed the sack of coins in one gauntleted hand. “Welcome to the T'zai Byn, runt.”
The younger man bristled and Streen casually ignored him, tucking the coins into his pack. They both rose and Streen led the way to the exit. He batted aside the threadbare tarp that served as a door and then they were out on the dusty street. The foot traffic was still thick even so late in the day. The setting sun was bloated and crimson-colored, silhouetting the massive dragon statue at the end of the road. Streen took a right, putting the sun at his back. He shouldered his way through the crowds, avoiding pockets of black-clad militiamen and the occasional wagon drawn by enormous lizards. The youth followed in his wake.
“A kid of your stature is probably just useful as fodder, but you dug up that three small after all,” Streen called back, “Maybe you think you're actually serious. Either way, I don't take kindly to lazy freeloaders, so I better get some real fucking work out of you.”
The sergeant's off-hand barbs stuck in the teenager. He was sixteen and filled with frustration and stunted, confused pride. He was constantly the butt of jokes due to his scrawniness and height. His own family never took him seriously, and he was utterly eclipsed by the military successes of his older siblings. His folks just laughed when he stormed off to join the T'zai Byn, the largest mercenary company in the Known World. Their laughter still rang in his ears and infuriated him, and now there was this pompous sergeant to suffer. He kept his brooding silence.
They stepped out into a vast plaza, Meleth's Circle. It was choked with masses of travelers and beggars. The center was dominated by a temple to the Highlord Tektolnes, and it housed the primary source of water for the citizens of Allanak. Piles of corpses - fresh ones as well as desiccated husks – were strewn near its doors, baking in the heat. The air stank of death; it was the heart of the city. Streen motioned the kid to the left and they circled the temple.
“Learn this route well, Runner Runt. A real Bynner can walk it true while sloshed. In a night darker than Drov's armpit. With the skies as sandy as... eh, a really sandy thing.”
“I told you, my name is Raul,” the kid growled in the most menacing tone he could muster. “Sir,” he added grudgingly after a glare from Streen.
Streen smiled viciously. “You're name's whatever-the-fuck I decide it is, Runner. You better learn some respect now before you have to learn it from the lash.
“Now let's say we go on and enjoy a companionable silence for the rest of the trip,” Streen concluded flatly. There was no more talk.
They left Meleth's Circle and cut across the expansive bazaar. Before long they were on a street heading due north off of the better-maintained Merchant's Road. It was called Warriors' Way, and the traffic was markedly less than most other places. The lawless slums of the Labyrinth weren't far off. Suffering and despair taste something like what the winds sent roiling down the road at the Byn sergeant and his recruit. Their destination was just short of that gloomy, miserable pile of squalor. The gates of the T'zai Byn Mercenary Company's headquarters stood before them. In the detachment of guards posted there, Raul had never before seen such a convincing display of utterly disinterested malice. It was very impressive.
“Fresh meat!” Streen bawled laconically as he took Raul's shoulder and hurried him up to the gate. A guard pulled it open and then they were in. Raul's skin tingled as he took in the stone walls that flanked the path. It was only upon entering the gates that it truly felt real to him. He knew that his new life would be dirty and dangerous, but it was his life. And his family wouldn't see a damn coin from him. As Streen lead him through the drill yard into the compound's mess hall, Raul could already feel the frustrations of living at home dissipating.
“Wait here,” Streen said, “get some stew or whatever. I'll get you your uniform and sparring weapons. Speaking of which, what sort of weapons are you planning on using?”
Raul hadn't really thought of that. He just looked at what Streen had strapped to him and said “A sword. I mean, two of them.”
“True Nakki style, right?” said Streen with a smirk, and he left. Raul looked around from where he stood near the entrance. He garnered a few disinterested glances from mercenaries hunched over their bowls of stew. There were a couple of elves sitting together and they each offered him a slow, malign smile. It made Raul uncomfortable. He hadn't had to be around too many elves before, but he heard stories and knew to keep an eye on his possessions. Suddenly, Raul was elbowed heavily in the back and nearly sent sprawling.
“Get the fuck out of my way, meat,” a husky feminine voice growled behind him. Raul caught himself on a nearby stone table. He brushed his stringy hair out of his face just in time to watch the owner of the voice pound past. She was human, tall and muscular. Her coal black hair was short and utilitarian. She bore the two black stripes of a Byn sergeant as well as scars that said she had been with the company for years. Her black, beady eyes were further darkened by the incredible scowl she briefly directed at him. He didn't get much more of a look before he received a gratuitous shove from a dwarven Bynner trailing her.
“Krath, that breed's whining was priceless, Sarge,” the dwarf laughed, not even looking at Raul. “Just blubbering 'Oooh, am I gonna die, Sarge, am I?'” he quoted, screwing his broad, hairless face up with mock pain and sadness.
“Yeah, yeah, real hilarious,” the sergeant woman said tiredly. She was handed a bowl of stew by a cook.
The squat dwarf barked a laugh like stone cracking. “He had three gith arrows in the chest, what did he think was gonna happen? And did you see that other runner start crying? The humie? I bet she was kanking that no good half-elf! Can you believe that, Sarge?”
“There's no accounting for taste, Trooper,” she said, heavily dropping onto a bench at a table.
“Disgusting, sir, just disgusting,” and the dwarf joined her.
Moments later, Streen arrived with a brown bundle in his arms. “Here's your shit,” he declared to Raul and dumped the bundle on him. “Wear that aba at all times. And try to wear it with some pride, runt. The patch sewn on near the shoulder there puts you in my unit, the Black Jakhals.”
The patch was a black,stylized and snarling reptilian creature on a stone gray background. Raul passed his thumb over it before unrolling the bundle and barely catching the crude bone swords concealed within.
“You're clumsier than fingerless dwarf on Tho,” chided Streen. “You'd better keep good track of those things, because those are the only sparring sticks you're going to get from me. If you lose them, I'm taking some flesh from your back. Now get that aba on nice and proper. There's one more thing to do.”
Raul slipped the practice blades into his belt and quickly threw on the aba. It smelled like shit and it had a ragged, old blood-spattered tear in it. Clearly, he wasn't the first runner to have worn it.
Streen stood up straighter and planted his right fist against his breast. “This here is the Byn salute. If you see a sergeant like myself, or one of our officers in black, you better pound out one of these real quick. Got it? Give it a shot.”
Raul squared his shoulders and wordlessly emulated his sergeant. The thudding of his fist on his chest echoed the internal sealing away of his old doubts. He was in. It was only a matter of time and patience before he would outshine his militiaman brother and Tor Scorpion sister. Not that it would matter anyway, because he knew that he would never seek out his family ever again. He was his own man.
“I guess that works,” Streen sighed. “Anyway, welcome to the Byn.”
He scanned the tables and caught sight of the female sergeant and the dwarf. He motioned for Raul to join him as he strode up to their table. “You may as well start meeting some of the other Bynners in the warband, Runner.”
The woman and dwarf ceased their conversation as Streen stopped before them with his hands on his hips. “Against my better judgment, I scooped up this kid out of the Gaj,” and he indicated Raul with his thumb. “Say hi to Runner Runt, guys.”
“It's Raul,” he protested quietly with a scowl. The dwarf snorted. The woman smirked broadly and wiggled her fingers at Raul in greeting.
“This here's Sergeant Talia,” Streen went on with a grand gesture towards the woman, “of the Limp-Dicked Jozhals unit. Get used to her ugly mug, because you're going to be seeing a lot of it.”
“Sergeant Dipshit meant 'of the Screaming Hawks,' but he's always been easily confused,” Talia said to Raul before narrowing her eyes at Streen. “You better start getting it right before I make you eat that goofy mustache.”
Streen laughed and wiped a finger under his nose. “Fucking true love, kids. Anyway. Runt, explore the compound and then get yourself some sleep. Training begins tomorrow.”
Raul saluted the sergeants and wandered out into the darkening drill yard. He found his way to the barracks after some exploration and picked out a cot as far from everyone else as he could find. He was just stowing his scant belongings under it when a couple of men approached him.
“That's my cot, new guy,” one growled at him. The second man, clearly the first's lackey, stood by with vile, pent-up excitement. Raul knew trouble when he saw it.
“Fine,” he muttered and gathered up his pack. When he began to rise, he was shoved down. Raul loosed a surprised grunt and glared up at the first man.
“Show some respect, new guy.”
“You tell him, Mal,” laughed the lackey.
“Shut up,” Mal shot back. The other man obeyed promptly. “Now where were we?”
“The part where I tell you to fuck yourself sideways,” Raul couldn't stop himself from saying.
“What did you say?” Mal demanded, his gravelly voice carrying a threat. He was much older and larger than Raul, who was beginning to regret his words.
“I said... I said that I'm sorry I'm on your cot,” he replied and hated himself. “I'll just get out of your way.” He rose and was shoved right back down again.
“It's too late for that. What kind of shit is that, talking like a tough guy and then running off like a jozhal?”
“Yeah!” the lackey butted in, raising a fist. “Ain't room for cowards in the Byn.”
“Just leave me alone,” Raul said coldly, his eyes frantically scanning the room for any possible supporters. There were none in the oblivious groups of chatting mercenaries.
“Maybe after you apologize for being such a fucking wuss, you runty little shitstain,” Mal spat down at him.
Something snapped in Raul then. The Byn seemed like his only chance to rise above being stepped on by everyone who entered his life, and there he was fitting into the same patterns all over again. He paid no mind to the fact that the frenzy he was entering was just playing to his antagonists' desires. There was no more time for reflection or feeling sorry for himself, and from that moment onward there wouldn't be much of either for a long time.
Raul moved as fast as he could, trying to get his feet under him even as he drove a fist into the lackey's groin. The man fell, clutching his crotch and gasping for breath. Mal was on Raul the next instant, knocking him down and driving his face into the dirty floor with a fierce blow. Raul strained as hard as he could to try and wrestle Mal to the side and gain the advantage, but the older man was too strong. Raul raked at his opponent's eyeballs in desperation. His arm was almost casually brushed aside and then pinned under Mal's grip. He straddled Raul and started pounding him methodically in the face with his free hand. The beat down was beginning to draw some spectators, and the hall echoed with laughs and goading cheers.
A murderous fury barely kept Raul conscious, but it wasn't going to hold back the darkness for long. He reached out frantically around on the floor with his free hand even as his head rebounded again and again off of the ground. His groping fingertips found a hunk of stone partially shaped into the form of a kank that some amateur crafter had abandoned. Loosing an inarticulate scream of rage, he smashed the thing against Mal's skull with a sickening thud, immediately losing his grip on it.
Mal fell to the side without a sound. Raul tried to get up, but he only managed to lurch along the floor a few inches, laying on his side. His eyes just wouldn't focus and his strength was failing him. Mal's lackey had gathered himself, and he didn't bother looking to his friend before savagely kicking Raul in the side, rolling him onto his back.
“You bastard!” he snarled at Raul, slipping an obsidian dagger out of his belt and raising it above his head.
“What the fuck is going on in here?!” a voice thundered, leaving the hall silent in its wake. Everyone turned to observe a very pissed-off looking Sergeant Streen. He strode towards the combatants.
“Runner, put that gith-sticker away before I bury it in you,” he growled. Mal's buddy complied immediately.
“This new guy up and tried to kill Mal!” he stammered, pointing at the bleeding and half-conscious Raul.
“Yeah, I'm sure that's exactly what happened,” Streen snapped sarcastically after taking stock of the scene. “Drag these two over to Sergeant Sawbones. And there had better be peace in here for the rest of the night, or I swear on Tek's wrinkled nutsack that I'll be breaking some bones.”
Streen glared at the mercenaries in the barracks and they promptly dispersed. Raul and Mal were soon laid out on blood-stained cots before a peg-legged, bored-looking medic.
“I need these two to be able to at least hold a sparring blade tomorrow,” said Streen.
“These boys are hardly scratched,” the medic answered with a smirk, casually prodding Mal's battered skull with a finger.
Streen merely grunted in response, and made his way up the stairs to the upper levels of the barracks. “Dipshit runners,” he muttered to himself.
It was evening and the Gladiator and
the Gaj was beginning to really fill up. The barkeep Vennant
taciturnly poured booze as dusty patrons slapped obsidian coins onto
the bar. The air smelled of vomit and poor decisions, but the
pungency had yet to reach its nighttime zenith. The tavern...
Continue Reading...An Unprecedented Meeting by Maglos
Added on Jan 22, 2011Thrend Lyksae arranges a trip to visit the Elan Pah, an alliance of elves. While his hatred of the elven tribes in general affects him, he presses forth to use his talents in understanding tribal cultures and languages to attempt to work against a threat. Unfortunately for Thrend, his "understanding" of tribal cultures didn't include some key bits of knowledge about the nature of certain individuals. He is forced to control himself and not say what he is thinking (or do what he secretly desires) on several occasions.
The Desert Rose [ES Quit]
Entering this busy bar is like stepping into a dimly-lit cave, the thick stone walls keeping it comfortably cool inside and adding to the cave-like feel of the place. A constant buzz of conversation fills the room, which is populated by elves from a variety of tribes. Narrow arrow slits on the western wall are draped with sandcloth to block the heat of the afternoon sun, but still let in a scant measure of filtered light. The sandcloth covers are rolled up and tied at dusk to let in the cool night breezes. The bar is on the north wall, and tables and chairs, most of them occupied, are grouped about the room in the shadows. On the south wall, a clear area provides a spot for dancing or entertainment to be performed. An elaborate archway in the eastern wall allows entry to a vibrantly-hued room,smoke writhing out past its entry curtain.
The desert elf outpost message board is propped up against the wall here.
A thick rug of shiny quirri hide lies on the floor beneath the arrow slits.
A multi-ringed dartboard hangs on a wall here.
The corded, bronze-hued male elf is standing here.
The slender, crooked-nosed woman is standing here.
The sinewy, weather-worn man is standing here.
The stern-eyed, weathered half-elf is standing here.
The leanly muscled, topknotted elf is standing here, looking a bit winded.
A sinewy, ebon-skinned elf leans against the western wall, surveying the bar.
The dark-haired elf is standing here.
A slender, cold-eyed elven woman stands behind the bar, pouring drinks.
The burly, red-haired woman has arrived from the south.
The red maned, anakore-tattooed elf has arrived from the south.
The braided, ebony-skinned elf has arrived from the south.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf has arrived from the south.
Dragging fingers through lank braids, the braided, ebony-skinned elf stops using her sweat-stained loose-fitting, gwoshi-hide headwrap.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf starts cleaning.
The braided, ebony-skinned elf puts her sweat-stained loose-fitting, gwoshi-hide headwrap into her stained hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf brushes the dust off of light-red and brown streaked warpaint.
The corded, bronze-hued male elf starts cleaning.
The corded, bronze-hued male elf dusts himself off.
You start cleaning.
You dust yourself off.
The corded, bronze-hued male elf gestures a clawed arm for a large stone table as he moves across to take his seat.
The slim arrow slits allow a partially-obscured view outside, to the
broad tunnel that provides one of the entrances to the outpost.
[Near]
A war beetle is reclining here.
A war beetle is reclining here.
A grey-scaled, silver-shelled inix is reclining here.
A reddish-shelled inix is reclining here.
A rugged elf with copper skin stands here, on vigilant watch.
A tall, darkly-tanned elven woman stands here.
A coppery elf woman of apparent youth stands here alertly.
Remarking as he lifts a hand to his his ribcage breastplate, the leanly muscled, topknotted elf says to the corded, bronze-hued male elf, in allundean:
"Heru, I have come to speak for my tribe, as you asked. I didn't mean to wear Mother's flesh, but it was given to me during the earlier problems."
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf sits on a thick rug of quirri hide.
Just past the arrow slits, A grey-scaled, silver-shelled inix opens its jaws, letting its tongue dart out to lick its nostrils.
You look up at the leanly muscled, topknotted elf.
Leanly muscular, this elf bears the athletic frame of a warrior. Primal strength is stretched taut along his lanky form, providing bulk where otherwise there might be none. This might make him a somewhat imposing presence to other races, given that this bulk is supplemented by a stature easily crossing five cords. Forearms and hands alike are marked with a wide array of scars. Some look to have been mere nicks, while others are gruesome, puffy swaths of poorly mended tissue. The elf's face is bound within flesh of a dirty golden hue, the contours of which emphasize a heavy, surly-looking brow. At most times, his chapped lips are locked in a natural frown cradled by a square jaw. He keeps his head closely shaved with the
exception of a black topknot.
The leanly muscled, topknotted elf is in excellent condition.
His skin has a stonelike quality.
The leanly muscled, topknotted elf is using:
He is carrying:
nothing obvious
The sinewy, weather-worn man starts cleaning.
The corded, bronze-hued male elf sits at a large stone table.
Settling on the corded, bronze-hued male elf's right, the braided, ebony-skinned elf sits at a large stone table.
The sinewy, weather-worn man dusts himself off.
The leanly muscled, topknotted elf starts cleaning.
The leanly muscled, topknotted elf dusts himself off.
The slender, crooked-nosed woman sheathes a bloodied quirri-hilted, serrated bone scimitar.
The freckled, light-skinned man stares at the leanly muscled, topknotted elf for a few moments, his gaze fixed firmly on him.
The slender, crooked-nosed woman sheathes a curved, mantis-carved obsidian scimitar.
You think:
"Mother's flesh? He is an abomination."
His attention flitting aside for but an instant, the leanly muscled, topknotted elf looks down at you.
Gaze lit for him, the corded, bronze-hued male elf says to the leanly muscled, topknotted elf, in allundean:
"..Go an' watch the beetle an' inix for the Ivory, then."
Reaching out to slide the nearest off, the braided, ebony-skinned elf gets her ceramic mug from a large stone table.
The slender, crooked-nosed woman nods to the sinewy, weather-worn man.
At 1) a small wooden bar are:
a few empty seats.
At 2) a thick rug of quirri hide are:
the raw-boned, top-knotted elf, and a couple of empty seats.
At 3) a large stone table are:
the corded, bronze-hued male elf, the braided, ebony-skinned elf,
and some empty seats.
His lips drawing into a frown, the leanly muscled, topknotted elf asks the corded, bronze-hued male elf, in allundean:
"You do not wish me to speak?"
Briefly, the sinewy, weather-worn man looks at the leanly muscled, topknotted elf.
With a pause, the corded, bronze-hued male elf says, in allundean:
"..Nah mind.."
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf stands up from a thick rug of quirri hide.
The corded, bronze-hued male elf shouts, in allundean:
"Sahael! Close'a gates ah?"
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf walks east.
The freckled, light-skinned man eases onto a seat at a large stone table.
You sit on a thick rug of quirri hide.
The slender, cold-eyed elven woman turns and looses a loud, three-note whistle through the murder holes.
Just past the arrow slits, the tall, darkly-tanned elven woman closes the gate.
At 1) a small wooden bar are:
a few empty seats.
At 2) a thick rug of quirri hide are:
the freckled, light-skinned man, and a couple of empty seats.
At 3) a large stone table are:
the corded, bronze-hued male elf, the braided, ebony-skinned elf,
and some empty seats.
Just past the arrow slits, The tall, darkly-tanned elven woman shouts upwards, and the gates begin to grind closed.
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in allundean:
"Kija! You bring anything to smoke?"
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf has arrived from the east.
Ok.
You get your knot of dark-red, golden-flecked spice from your loose, crimson silk knapsack.
It is very light.
Just past the arrow slits, the tall, darkly-tanned elven woman shouts something.
Grunting as he lifts his thick arms to his chest, folding them there, the leanly muscled, topknotted elf says to the corded, bronze-hued male elf, in allundean:
"If they want to speak with our tribe, they'll have to get used to it. I'm the only Akeita in the Pah who's not Gifted."
At a large stone table, the braided, ebony-skinned elf speaks, easing back against the chair.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf beams you a jovial grin.
You begin speaking sirihish.
With a tilt of her head, the slender, crooked-nosed woman asks the corded, bronze-hued male elf, in allundean:
"Thanks. Ah din't know about this meetin - just kinda ran inta it. Should we wall up our minds?"
The red maned, anakore-tattooed elf smirks, casting a glance at the braided, ebony-skinned elf.
The braided, ebony-skinned elf gets her bleached-bone spice tube case from her fine pouched belt.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You build a psychic barrier around your mind.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf sits on a thick rug of quirri hide.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf puts his pile of allanaki coins into his dusty mesh carrying sling.
The braided, ebony-skinned elf opens a bleached-bone spice tube case.
You begin speaking allundean.
With a light sniff, the corded, bronze-hued male elf says to the leanly muscled, topknotted elf, in allundean:
"Come an' sit."
The sinewy, weather-worn man slings a long bone spear, inlaid with stones across his back.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf looks down at you.
The slender, crooked-nosed woman heads over to a large stone table and pulls out a few chairs.
The braided, ebony-skinned elf gets her pinch of black, viscous spice from her bleached-bone spice tube case.
Grunting as he lopes forward to claim a chair, the leanly muscled, topknotted elf sits at a large stone table.
With a gaze turned for you, the corded, bronze-hued male elf says to you, in allundean:
"We have'a chair for you here, Chosen."
As he holds up your knot of dark-red, golden-flecked spice, you say, in allundean:
"Unfortunately, this is only warspice...most of what I have is warspice."
At 1) a small wooden bar are:
a few empty seats.
At 2) a thick rug of quirri hide are:
the raw-boned, top-knotted elf, the freckled, light-skinned man,
and one empty seat.
At 3) a large stone table are:
the corded, bronze-hued male elf, the braided, ebony-skinned elf,
the leanly muscled, topknotted elf, and a few empty seats.
Keeping a hand on one empty chair, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says to you, in allundean:
"Over here Chosen Sir, ah picked out one what don't wobble too much."
[Standing first]
You stand up from a thick rug of quirri hide.
You sit at a large stone table.
Balancing a pinch of black, vicious spice on her thumb, the braided, ebony-skinned elf offers it towards the corded, bronze-hued male elf.
The slender, crooked-nosed woman sits at a large stone table.
Just past the arrow slits, A reddish-shelled inix stretches its hind legs, arching its back.
You get your knot of black, viscous spice from your loose, crimson silk knapsack.
It is very light.
The corded, bronze-hued male elf shakes his head loosely, reaching out to swipe a mug from a large stone table.
The corded, bronze-hued male elf gets his ceramic mug from a large stone table.
With a passing gaze, the red maned, anakore-tattooed elf looks down at you.
Head dipping once, the braided, ebony-skinned elf puts her pinch of black, viscous spice into her bleached-bone spice tube case.
You suffer from use of the Way.
At your table, you say in allundean, casually, as he holds up your knot of black, viscous spice:
"And the rest of this knot. Not much left."
The braided, ebony-skinned elf closes a bleached-bone spice tube case.
You give your knot of black, viscous spice to the corded, bronze-hued male elf.
The braided, ebony-skinned elf puts her bleached-bone spice tube case into her fine pouched belt.
!
You give your knot of dark-red, golden-flecked spice to the corded, bronze-hued male elf.
Lifting his arm as he observes the departure of its stoney texture, the leanly muscled, topknotted elf says, in allundean:
"There, that'll be better. Heh."
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf stands up from a thick rug of quirri hide.
The braided, ebony-skinned elf sips from her ceramic mug.
At your table, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says in sirihish, to the sinewy, weather-worn man, with a warm smile:
"So far just gittin everyone settled down, spice and alla that."
At one end, the raw-boned, top-knotted elf sits at a large stone table.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf puts his booklet of rolling papers onto a large stone table.
Motioning towards some full mugs on the table, the braided, ebony-skinned elf says, in tribal-accented allundean:
"Drinks for those that want it."
Just past the arrow slits, A reddish-shelled inix stretches its hind legs, arching its back.
Taking a chair next to her, the sinewy, weather-worn man sits at a large stone table.
The stern-eyed, weathered half-elf sits at a large stone table.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf gets his ceramic mug from a large stone table.
You get your blue and purple ceramic bottle from your loose, crimson silk knapsack.
It is very light, and about half full.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf holds his ceramic mug.
It's about half full of a reddish liquid.
Ok.
At your table, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says in sirihish, reaching for a mug with another smile to the braided, ebony-skinned elf:
"Aw, thanks Treya!"
Clumsy, the corded, bronze-hued male elf moves to sort spice before him on a large stone table.
The braided, ebony-skinned elf beams a smile at the slender, crooked-nosed woman.
The slender, crooked-nosed woman gets her ceramic mug from a large stone table.
At your table, the sinewy, weather-worn man says in sirihish, nodding sideward to the slender, crooked-nosed woman:
"Ah figured as much."
The slender, crooked-nosed woman holds her ceramic mug.
At your table, you say in allundean, holding up your blue and purple ceramic bottle:
"And some flame, I believe, for any that want it. Ah...here."
You give your blue and purple ceramic bottle to the sinewy, weather-worn man.
The braided, ebony-skinned elf closes a sizeable leather backpack.
The sinewy, weather-worn man holds his blue and purple ceramic bottle.
You are carrying:
a loose, crimson silk knapsack
On a large stone table (here) :
a booklet of rolling papers
some ceramic mugs
a couple of short lengths of bone
At your table, the corded, bronze-hued male elf says in allundean, with a few nods across a large stone table, first to the braided, ebony-skinned elf:
"This is Treya of'a Sun Runners. She is my second in'a Elan Pah.. an took care of our meets with'a Ivory in'a past."
The sinewy, weather-worn man looks down at his blue and purple ceramic bottle for a moment and then turns his head to the slender, crooked-nosed woman.
At your table, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says in sirihish, lifting her ceramic mug up:
"Ta easier days and smooth sands."
You get your ceramic mug from a large stone table.
It is very light, and full.
The braided, ebony-skinned elf's head tilts in a nod.
It's full of a yellowish green liquid.
Slugging it back in a loud gulp, the slender, crooked-nosed woman drinks green honey mead from her ceramic mug.
You don't smell anything special.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf drinks green honey mead from his ceramic mug.
You drink the green honey mead.
You do not feel thirsty.
You are full.
The sinewy, weather-worn man shrugs briefly and then tilts his blue and purple ceramic bottle back.
The braided, ebony-skinned elf sips from her ceramic mug.
The sinewy, weather-worn man drinks firestorm's flame from his blue and purple ceramic bottle.
Sorting a few lines before him on a sheet of spice-paper, the corded, bronze-hued male elf slides his knot of dark-red, golden-flecked spice to the table center.
The corded, bronze-hued male elf puts his knot of dark-red, golden-flecked spice onto a large stone table.
The corded, bronze-hued male elf puts his knot of black, viscous spice onto a large stone table.
You think:
"...there is a fucking mutant right here in front of me, got to be."
The stern-eyed, weathered half-elf leans back in his seat, crossing his arms casually.
At your table, the corded, bronze-hued male elf says in allundean, with a nod across to the raw-boned, top-knotted elf:
"Tohego of my tribe. Soh. He fought beside me this week against'a cursed Ashlayer an' many clawfoot."
The sinewy, weather-worn man's as he chugs down the contents of his blue and purple ceramic bottle, a small line of red liquid begins to run down his cheek.
Inching closer and winking at the braided, ebony-skinned elf, the slender, crooked-nosed woman whispers something to the sinewy, weather-worn man.
After some nods around the table, the raw-boned, top-knotted elf gets his knot of black, viscous spice from a large stone table.
The red maned, anakore-tattooed elf folds his arms, leaning against the wall.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf gets his booklet of rolling papers from a large stone table.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf draws a dusty durrit-claw skinning knife.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf starts cleaning.
The slender, crooked-nosed woman whispers something to the sinewy, weather-worn man.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf brushes the dust off of a bloodied durrit-claw skinning knife.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf starts cleaning.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf quickly wipes the blood off of a bloodied durrit-claw skinning knife.
You suffer from use of the Way.
The slender, crooked-nosed woman stops using her ceramic mug.
The sinewy, weather-worn man lowers his blue and purple ceramic bottle onto the table with a satisfied sigh and then nods sideward to the slender, crooked-nosed woman.
At your table, you say in allundean, nodding simply as he gestures to the burly, red-haired woman, who nods slightly from her position near a large stone table:
"And this is Lorre, my bodyguard and one of the Lyksaean Warriors. She, myself, and the Faithful Lord slew another similar one..."
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf wipes his durrit-claw skinning knife on his dusty brown hide loincloth and sets to shave a corner from his knot of black, viscous spice.
At your table, you say in allundean:
"...north of the Muark lands."
The slender, crooked-nosed woman puts her ceramic mug onto a large stone table.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf stops holding his ceramic mug.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf holds his knot of black, viscous spice.
The slender, crooked-nosed woman gets her ceramic mug from a large stone table.
The sinewy, weather-worn man stops holding his blue and purple ceramic bottle.
You are carrying:
a ceramic mug
a loose, crimson silk knapsack
The braided, ebony-skinned elf sips from her ceramic mug.
It's less than half full of a yellowish green liquid.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf stops holding his knot of black, viscous spice.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf carefully rolls a pinch of spice with a booklet of rolling papers.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf sheathes a durrit-claw skinning knife.
The corded, bronze-hued male elf drifts a nod across to you.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf puts his ceramic mug onto a large stone table.
The sinewy, weather-worn man gets his ceramic mug from a large stone table.
The leanly muscled, topknotted elf shoots a slight grin over toward the corded, bronze-hued male elf, for whatever reason. As he does, he lifts a hand to strip the helmet from his head.
Licking her lips, the slender, crooked-nosed woman chugs another mugful down.
The slender, crooked-nosed woman drinks green honey mead from her ceramic mug.
The leanly muscled, topknotted elf stops using his stained sandy-yellow chitinous helm.
You stop using your pair of spiked, chitin-backed gauntlets, revealing a crimson and grey seven-pronged star.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf puts his booklet of rolling papers onto a large stone table.
The corded, bronze-hued male elf looks up at the burly, red-haired woman.
The sinewy, weather-worn man holds his ceramic mug.
Setting the empty mug to one side, the braided, ebony-skinned elf discards her ceramic mug.
You suffer from use of the Way.
A staff member sends:
"Sorry to interrupt, Shal here, can you log this beast of a meeting and send it to me as well as your clanfolkz?"
The slender, crooked-nosed woman drinks green honey mead from her ceramic mug.
At your table, the corded, bronze-hued male elf says in allundean, with a light sniff as his attention centers on you:
"Wha' would we speak on, Chosen?"
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf lights his solidly packed tube of spice from a nearby candle and draws a hearty puff, releasing the smoke through nose and mouth.
The sinewy, weather-worn man's eyes move between the corded, bronze-hued male elf and you as he lifts his ceramic mug to his lips.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf holds his solidly packed tube of spice.
A thin trail of rich, heady smoke trickles from the raw-boned, top-knotted elf's mouth as he smokes a solidly packed tube of spice.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf's eyes become glassy-red and half-closed.
You send this message to the staff:
"I always log, so yep, got it under control."
The sinewy, weather-worn man frowns down at his ceramic mug as he lowers it.
The sinewy, weather-worn man stops holding his ceramic mug.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf stops holding his solidly packed tube of spice.
The sinewy, weather-worn man puts his ceramic mug onto a large stone table.
The slender, crooked-nosed woman wipes some dribbled liquid from her chin with the hem of one of her pair of scrub-camouflaged, sandcloth sleeves.
The slender, crooked-nosed woman puts her ceramic mug onto a large stone table.
The corded, bronze-hued male elf looks down at you.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf gives his solidly packed tube of spice to the corded, bronze-hued male elf.
Just past the arrow slits, A grey-scaled, silver-shelled inix puffs through its nostrils and bobs its head.
At your table, you say in allundean, letting out a sigh as he sets your ceramic mug on a large stone table:
"The chief thought on my mind is likely one of the foremost thoughts in yours."
The leanly muscled, topknotted elf turns his attention toward you, remaining silent for the moment.
The sinewy, weather-worn man gets his ceramic mug from a large stone table.
Posture slouched against the back of the chair, the braided, ebony-skinned elf looks down at you.
The sinewy, weather-worn man holds his ceramic mug.
The sinewy, weather-worn man drinks green honey mead from his ceramic mug.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf sits back with a lingering smile and crosses his arms loosely.
The sinewy, weather-worn man sips from his ceramic mug.
At your table, the corded, bronze-hued male elf says in allundean, with a short nod:
"One Fang..was las' believed to be in'a Xytrix Za, but we begin'a believe he is not one of'a Servants."
At your table, you say in allundean, as his hands encircle your ceramic mug:
"One Fang is his name, then?"
You suffer from use of the Way.
At your table, the corded, bronze-hued male elf says in allundean, with his settle back in seat, lifting his ceramic mug, glancing across a large stone table:
"Tha' was it, Kah?"
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf gets his ceramic mug from a large stone table.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf holds his ceramic mug.
Nodding to the corded, bronze-hued male elf, the slender, crooked-nosed woman whispers something to the sinewy, weather-worn man.
The stern-eyed, weathered half-elf narrows his eyes slightly, his weathered features becoming slightly drawn as he listens.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf shrugs at the corded, bronze-hued male elf and tilts his mug back.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf drinks green honey mead from his ceramic mug.
Lips twisting in a thoughtful grimace, the sinewy, weather-worn man whispers something to the slender, crooked-nosed woman.
You suffer from use of the Way.
Just past the arrow slits, A grey-scaled, silver-shelled inix puffs through its nostrils and bobs its head.
At your table, you say in allundean, pursing his lips thoughtfully:
"Private Zak here has made his way to speak with you only recently about some things. I wished to come to answer any...questions...that you may have, if you have any."
The slender, crooked-nosed woman whispers something to the sinewy, weather-worn man.
At your table, the corded, bronze-hued male elf says in allundean, with a delayed nod for you:
"One Fang. He's been quiet late."
think Not that I want to really talk to that mutant fellow but he's in charge of a group of them. No getting around all of that.
You think:
"Not that I want to really talk to that mutant fellow but he's in charge of a group of them. No getting around all of that."
The braided, ebony-skinned elf's attention drifts from you towards the corded, bronze-hued male elf.
The leanly muscled, topknotted elf remains a silent presence at a large stone table. His eyes flit from one speaker to the next.
You think:
"...fuck. It could be worse, I suppose. I could have shown up and instead of seeing some mutant talking about abominable stuff, it could have been a whole fucking group of flying elves."
You feel slightly relieved.
At your table, the corded, bronze-hued male elf says in allundean, with his mouth pursed:
"..Our aim is simple, an' carried by many now. We don' need to play games with words here. Wha' Thralls does'a Ivory know, an' do ya know where any are?"
With a faint nod, the sinewy, weather-worn man whispers something to the slender, crooked-nosed woman.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf looks at the leanly muscled, topknotted elf.
The red maned, anakore-tattooed elf runs a tongue over his teeth, peering towards the arrow slits for a moment.
At your table, you say in allundean, nodding simply:
"Rondus Fale is one that has been confirmed. Lapitia Fale also seems suspect."
At your table, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says in sirihish, blinking:
"They're dragons?"
At your table, you say in allundean, his tone cool and calm as he glances to the slender, crooked-nosed woman:
"Surprise."
You suffer from use of the Way.
At your table, the corded, bronze-hued male elf says in allundean, with a distracted look for the braided, ebony-skinned elf:
"..The Black Pit ta.. like Sharak."
The sinewy, weather-worn man's eyes widen as he stares at the slender, crooked-nosed woman.
The braided, ebony-skinned elf's head bobs a few times.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You suffer from use of the Way.
At your table, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says in sirihish, with a shrug:
"Ain't ne'er heard of a Fale what looked like a dragon before. Learn somethin new every day ah guess."
At your table, you say in allundean, continuing slowly:
"I have heard disturbing news about a Merchant House as well. This has been disputed by some sources and confirmed by others."
Just past the arrow slits, someone opens the gate from the other side.
Just past the arrow slits, someone closes the gate.
The slim arrow slits allow a partially-obscured view outside, to the
broad tunnel that provides one of the entrances to the outpost.
[Near]
A tall, darkly-tanned elven woman stands here.
A war beetle is reclining here.
A war beetle is reclining here.
A grey-scaled, silver-shelled inix is reclining here.
A reddish-shelled inix is reclining here.
A rugged elf with copper skin stands here, on vigilant watch.
A coppery elf woman of apparent youth stands here alertly.
A doorway leads out into a small shop.
[Far]
Nothing.
[Near]
An auburn-haired, dark-eyed elf lounges near the bottom of the stairs.
A thin, tanned elf stands behind the counter, selling goods.
You suffer from use of the Way.
The red maned, anakore-tattooed elf narrows his gaze.
The corded, bronze-hued male elf's attention settles on you.
The slender, crooked-nosed woman's glances shifts toward the western wall as the sound of creaking gates enters the room.
Leaning in, the sinewy, weather-worn man whispers something to the slender, crooked-nosed woman.
At your table, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says in sirihish, murmuring:
"Critters is all still there."
The red maned, anakore-tattooed elf intently scans the area.
The slender, crooked-nosed woman nods to the sinewy, weather-worn man.
The stern-eyed, weathered half-elf's eyes flick to the murder holes, looking carefully through.
At your table, you say in allundean, his gaze now resting on the corded, bronze-hued male elf as he speaks:
"I could not confirm it, but you ask what we know. There is suspicion about Kadius."
At your table, the corded, bronze-hued male elf says in allundean, with a cut nod for you:
"Ah'm told, Rondus is dead."
Just past the arrow slits, A grey-scaled, silver-shelled inix puffs through its nostrils and bobs its head.
You think:
"I do not trust them much, but they have killed ashcallers. They know the threat they pose..."
At your table, the leanly muscled, topknotted elf says in allundean, speaking up for the first time as he turns to regard you:
"Why's there suspicion about them?"
The slender, crooked-nosed woman whispers something to the sinewy, weather-worn man.
You suffer from use of the Way.
Brow furrowed, the sinewy, weather-worn man whispers something to the slender, crooked-nosed woman.
The freckled, light-skinned man's gaze shifts and settles on the leanly muscled, topknotted elf, his lips pursed tightly.
The slender, crooked-nosed woman nods to the sinewy, weather-worn man.
Attention drifting from one speaker to the next, the braided, ebony-skinned elf scratches at a dark, dried bit of crust on her gloves.
The braided, ebony-skinned elf starts cleaning.
The braided, ebony-skinned elf works at cleaning a bloodied pair of dark leather, golden stitched gloves.
The sinewy, weather-worn man gives a sour grunt.
Just past the arrow slits, the very tall figure in a dusty desert-camouflaged sandcloth duster opens the gate from the other side.
Just past the arrow slits, the very tall figure in a dusty desert-camouflaged sandcloth duster has arrived from the north.
Just past the arrow slits, the very tall figure in a dusty desert-camouflaged sandcloth duster closes the gate.
Leaning sideways, the raw-boned, top-knotted elf looks west.
The leanly muscled, topknotted elf merely stares at you, his expression one of expectance.
Just past the arrow slits, The very tall figure in a dusty desert-camouflaged sandcloth duster looks over some mounts.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf stands up from a large stone table.
The stern-eyed, weathered half-elf's features seem to illuminate with realization, his gaze becoming distant as his eyes widen.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf walks south.
Just past the arrow slits, the raw-boned, top-knotted elf has arrived from the south.
Just past the arrow slits, The very tall figure in a dusty desert-camouflaged sandcloth duster nods to the raw-boned, top-knotted elf.
At your table, you say in allundean, finally shrugging his shoulders belatedly, speaking almost grudgingly:
"The information collected...is not solid. Do you have anything to dispute that claim of suspicion?"
Just past the arrow slits, the very tall figure in a dusty desert-camouflaged sandcloth duster opens a pouched, brown hide belt.
Just past the arrow slits, the very tall figure in a dusty desert-camouflaged sandcloth duster closes a pouched, brown hide belt.
Just past the arrow slits, the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf lowers the hood of a dusty desert-camouflaged sandcloth duster.
Just past the arrow slits, walking through among the mounts, the raw-boned, top-knotted elf asks the tall, darkly-tanned elven woman something.
You suffer from use of the Way.
The braided, ebony-skinned elf starts cleaning.
Just past the arrow slits, dusting off her hood, the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf says something to the raw-boned, top-knotted elf.
At your table, the corded, bronze-hued male elf says in allundean, with his settle back:
"..We have enough names for now."
The braided, ebony-skinned elf flicks some matter to the floor then rests both hands on her lap.
Just past the arrow slits, A grey-scaled, silver-shelled inix opens its jaws, letting its tongue dart out to lick its nostrils.
The lithe, sandy-haired elf has arrived from the east.
Just past the arrow slits, eyeing her up and down, the raw-boned, top-knotted elf asks the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf something.
The lithe, sandy-haired elf gently drops to the ground.
The slender, crooked-nosed woman looks up at the lithe, sandy-haired elf.
Just past the arrow slits, The amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf nods and floats to the ground softly.
Silently, the lithe, sandy-haired elf lowers down next to the corded, bronze-hued male elf in a seat nearby.
Just past the arrow slits, the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf stops floating around and lies down to sleep.
Just past the arrow slits, A reddish-shelled inix puffs through its nostrils and bobs its head.
The lithe, sandy-haired elf sits at a large stone table.
Shifting his gaze, the red maned, anakore-tattooed elf looks down at the lithe, sandy-haired elf.
Just past the arrow slits, The raw-boned, top-knotted elf raises his eyebrows.
At your table, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says in sirihish, nodding to the lithe, sandy-haired elf:
"This here's Shattered, fer them what ain't never met'er. Scuse me, ah gotta see ta th'conversation outside."
The slender, crooked-nosed woman stands up from a large stone table.
At your table, you say in allundean, nodding once to the corded, bronze-hued male elf, his expression relaxing a bit:
"I think so, as well..."
You look up at the lithe, sandy-haired elf.
Standing average height for one of her race, this elves lanky body is
defined by few outstanding features. She possesses a small, pointed nose,
two brown eyes, and thin pale lips. Her hair flows down her shoulders in an
unkempt set of tangles and split ends, covered with a variety of dirt and
sands of varying colors from around Zalanthas. A few sun spots and
scratches adorn her ruddy and brownish skin, scattered about on worn arms
and legs that display packed muscle groups common to desert travelers.
The lithe, sandy-haired elf is in excellent condition.
Her skin has a stonelike quality.
The lithe, sandy-haired elf is using:
At your table, the corded, bronze-hued male elf says in allundean, with a simple nod towards the lithe, sandy-haired elf:
"This is Shattered. She knows more of'a Thralls than I do."
Just past the arrow slits, shrugging, the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf says something to the raw-boned, top-knotted elf.
The slender, crooked-nosed woman lets out a sigh and heads out to the yard.
The lithe, sandy-haired elf looks down at you.
The slender, crooked-nosed woman walks south.
Just past the arrow slits, the slender, crooked-nosed woman has arrived from the south.
You suffer from use of the Way.
Just past the arrow slits, warmly, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says something to the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf.
Just past the arrow slits, wrinkling his brow, the raw-boned, top-knotted elf says something to the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf.
At your table, the corded, bronze-hued male elf says in allundean, with a look across to the lithe, sandy-haired elf:
"..How did Rondus fall?"
You think:
"...dear Sun King, had I known I would be surrounded by a cadre of fucking abomination-looking-things, I would have never come."
The stern-eyed, weathered half-elf looks at the lithe, sandy-haired elf.
A thoughtful expression crosses the braided, ebony-skinned elf's features as she huffs out a soft breath.
You begin speaking sirihish.
Just past the arrow slits, raising a hand as a broad smile crosses her lips, the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf asks the slender, crooked-nosed woman something.
Just past the arrow slits, raising a hand as a broad smile crosses her lips, the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf asks the slender, crooked-nosed woman something.
Just past the arrow slits, watching the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf and the raw-boned, top-knotted elf for a few minutes, the slender, crooked-nosed woman asks something.
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, her voice soft as she draws in a faint breath, strange, eldritch words overtoning each word in ghostly whispers:
"Rondus Fale was known by a southern Templar."
Just past the arrow slits, shaking her head, the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf says something to the slender, crooked-nosed woman.
You begin speaking allundean.
Just past the arrow slits, letting out a chuckle, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says something to the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf.
Just past the arrow slits, with a vague nod, the raw-boned, top-knotted elf says something to the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf.
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, gesturing with a hand across the table at those gathered:
"It is no secret to the Black City and Fale is intertwined in dealings with the Dragon, it has been proven too many times."
Just past the arrow slits, gesturing to the raw-boned, top-knotted elf, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says something to the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf.
The freckled, light-skinned man fixates his gaze on the lithe, sandy-haired elf, his eyes widening slightly.
Just past the arrow slits, thumbing her chest, the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf says something to the raw-boned, top-knotted elf.
Just past the arrow slits, A grey-scaled, silver-shelled inix opens its jaws, letting its tongue dart out to lick its nostrils.
Just past the arrow slits, her hand waving over to the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says something to the raw-boned, top-knotted elf.
The corded, bronze-hued male elf looks at the lithe, sandy-haired elf.
The sinewy, weather-worn man looks at the lithe, sandy-haired elf.
You think:
"...I need some spice."
Just past the arrow slits, with a snicker, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says something to the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf.
Just past the arrow slits, The amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf chuckles softly.
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, gesturing then to you, her voice intoning as the whispers flicker into temporary ghostly lights about her form:
"It may be a surprise to you, Thrend Lysake..."
Just past the arrow slits, the raw-boned, top-knotted elf says something to the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf.
At your table, you say in allundean, his tone furtive as he shifts his glance to the corded, bronze-hued male elf:
"I could use some of the Tho, Kija."
You suffer from use of the Way.
With a nod across to you, the corded, bronze-hued male elf says, in allundean:
"Table center."
Just past the arrow slits, nodding, the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf asks the raw-boned, top-knotted elf something.
On a large stone table (here) :
a booklet of rolling papers
a knot of dark-red, golden-flecked spice
a few empty ceramic mugs
a few ceramic mugs
a couple of short lengths of bone
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, drawing in a breath as she sets her hands on the table, speaking to you:
"What is your interest in the Dragonsthralls?"
Just past the arrow slits, tipping his head toward the arrow-slits of the building, the raw-boned, top-knotted elf says something to the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf.
You suffer from use of the Way.
Just past the arrow slits, glancing over to the east and letting out a soft sigh, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says something.
You suffer from use of the Way.
At your table, the corded, bronze-hued male elf says in allundean, with a nod across to the lithe, sandy-haired elf:
"..They hunt them, as we do, as Tor does."
You suffer from use of the Way.
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, offering a faint shake of her head at that:
"Tor."
Just past the arrow slits, glancing to the east, the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf asks the slender, crooked-nosed woman something.
At your table, you say in allundean, glancing back to the lithe, sandy-haired elf as he replies, bluntly:
"My interest is to see as many of their corpses rotting on spears, swords, axes, or bashed in by the clubs and maces of House Lyksae...before the coming conflict."
Just past the arrow slits, the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf says something to the slender, crooked-nosed woman.
You suffer from use of the Way.
Just past the arrow slits, with a nod, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says something to the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf.
Just past the arrow slits, The amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf nods.
Just past the arrow slits, starting south, the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf asks something.
Just past the arrow slits, chuckling, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says something to the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf.
Just past the arrow slits, The amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf chuckles and nods.
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, offering a nod as she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath:
"That is good, but the spirits do not divine if your purpose is truth, yet."
The stern-eyed, weathered half-elf frowns thoughtfully for a moment, gazing down at the table top.
At your table, the corded, bronze-hued male elf says in allundean, iolite gaze settled on the lithe, sandy-haired elf:
"..We know any other thralls?"
Just past the arrow slits, heading south, her eyes widened, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says something to the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf.
Just past the arrow slits, the slender, crooked-nosed woman walks south.
Just past the arrow slits, the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf walks south.
The slender, crooked-nosed woman has arrived from the south.
The amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf has arrived from the south.
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, opening her eyes and gazing back at the corded, bronze-hued male elf, after a moment of thought:
"No."
Just past the arrow slits, The raw-boned, top-knotted elf wanders around, checking on the mounts.
Shifting his gaze towards the entrance, the red maned, anakore-tattooed elf looks up at the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf.
With a soft nod of his head, the sinewy, weather-worn man looks up at the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf.
Indicating an empty chair at a large stone table, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says to the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf, in allundean:
"Ya kin rest yer ass, ah'll stand fer now, we kin switch when ya need ta stretch."
You suffer from use of the Way.
At your table, you say in allundean, glancing to the lithe, sandy-haired elf, brusquely:
"Then let me elaborate. I personally withstood attacks from Sharak and Horoz. They killed my last bodyguard."
The amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf nods with a smile to the sinewy, weather-worn man.
The corded, bronze-hued male elf's attention settles long on the lithe, sandy-haired elf.
The amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf nods to the slender, crooked-nosed woman.
Just past the arrow slits, The raw-boned, top-knotted elf leashes the beetles and inix to a wooden beam and strolls back to the tavern.
Just past the arrow slits, the raw-boned, top-knotted elf walks south.
The amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf sits at a large stone table.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf has arrived from the south.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf looks down at the lithe, sandy-haired elf.
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, shifting her gaze to you, drawing in a faint breath:
"So you were the Chosen he pulled out of the White Walls?"
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf wanders in from the market, appearing mildly surprised as he spots the lithe, sandy-haired elf.
The slender, crooked-nosed woman whispers something to the sinewy, weather-worn man.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf sits on a thick rug of quirri hide.
The sinewy, weather-worn man frowns and shakes his head at the slender, crooked-nosed woman.
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, nodding slowly to the stern-eyed, weathered half-elf:
"Fair enough. I honor your words."
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf rests on a thick rug of quirri hide.
At your table, you say in allundean, shaking his head:
"I was the Chosen he -tried- to pull out of the Ivory."
The braided, ebony-skinned elf clucks her tongue once.
You think:
"This is fucking insane."
You think:
"Why did I ever agree to come out here?"
The sinewy, weather-worn man whispers something to the slender, crooked-nosed woman.
The stern-eyed, weathered half-elf smiles faintly, watching the lithe, sandy-haired elf.
Leaning back briefly, the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf whispers something to the slender, crooked-nosed woman.
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, offering a faint inclination of her head as she draws in another breath:
"It would not grieve you, then, to know it was I who saw to his end."
You suffer from use of the Way.
Pushing up from his chair, the sinewy, weather-worn man says to the slender, crooked-nosed woman, in sirihish:
"Here, you sit. Yer the only one what can make use of it, anyhow."
At your table, you say in allundean, smiling thinly to the lithe, sandy-haired elf:
"I am...pleased to hear that."
The sinewy, weather-worn man stands up from a large stone table.
The amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf looks over those assembled at the table and raises a hand to the braided, ebony-skinned elf.
Just past the arrow slits, A reddish-shelled inix puffs through its nostrils and bobs its head.
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, shifting her gaze to you:
"..But I wonder, why would a Servant of the Dragon impose upon you?"
Nodding toward the arrow-slits, the raw-boned, top-knotted elf says to the corded, bronze-hued male elf, in allundean:
"Benu of the Sand Jakhals."
Crinkling her nose, causing it to bend comically to the left, the slender, crooked-nosed woman whispers something to the sinewy, weather-worn man.
The sinewy, weather-worn man gives an amused grunt.
Smiling softly, the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf whispers something to the braided, ebony-skinned elf.
At your table, you say in allundean, with a sudden chuckle, his voice grating:
"Because I tried to trap him in the City. Our plan almost succeeded, but he escaped at the last moment."
The braided, ebony-skinned elf's lips curve at the edges towards the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf.
Leaning to her other side, crouching between her and the sinewy, weather-worn man, the slender, crooked-nosed woman whispers something to the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf.
Just past the arrow slits, the very tall figure in a dusty hooded, darkly-stained sandcloth greatcloak opens the gate from the other side.
Just past the arrow slits, the very tall figure in a dusty hooded, darkly-stained sandcloth greatcloak has arrived from the north.
Just past the arrow slits, the very tall figure in a dusty hooded, darkly-stained sandcloth greatcloak closes the gate.
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, nodding towards you, her voice intertwining with the ghostly whispers around her:
"What force did you bring to stop him?"
Just past the arrow slits, the very tall figure in a dusty hooded, darkly-stained sandcloth greatcloak runs south.
The amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf nods gently to the slender, crooked-nosed woman and leans back in towards the table.
Just past the arrow slits, A grey-scaled, silver-shelled inix puffs through its nostrils and bobs its head.
You suffer from use of the Way.
The sinewy, weather-worn man stops holding his ceramic mug.
Setting it down, the sinewy, weather-worn man puts his ceramic mug onto a large stone table.
Speaking up and watching those gathered, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says, in tribal-accented allundean:
"You should -all- be shielding your minds right now, as if it wasn't a given."
You suffer from use of the Way.
At your table, you say in allundean, his gaze set firmly on the lithe, sandy-haired elf:
"Me? Only my wits and the Lyksaean Warriors. The Templarate used their own methods."
Voice taking on a warm, gentle tint, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says, in tribal-accented allundean:
"To be truly alone is deep magick."
The sinewy, weather-worn man steps back from a large stone table and crosses his arms before him.
The amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf nods lightly to the lithe, sandy-haired elf.
The braided, ebony-skinned elf shifts slightly on the chair, readjusting her rounded, darkly-stained leather quiver before relaxing, one thumb hooking on her belt.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf lounges on a thick rug of quirri hide, paying little attention to a large stone table.
Tilting her head and pushing a knotted twist of brown hair from her cheek, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says to the lithe, sandy-haired elf, in sirihish:
"That's how come ah'm helpin Nahkt over here this way, wit whatever allundean he ain't unnerstandin. Elsewise ah'd be in'is head instead."
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, softly, to you:
"There are ranks within the Servants, fairly similar to the Sun Legion's militia, you see?"
You suffer from use of the Way.
You think:
"deep magick my fucking shithole. This is kankshit."
emote grunts an affirmative to ~shattered
The freckled, light-skinned man grunts an affirmative to the lithe, sandy-haired elf.
The slender, crooked-nosed woman whispers something to the sinewy, weather-worn man.
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, softly:
"Sharak was a lesser servant, serving an androgynous ghost. Horoz was even a little less than that."
The sinewy, weather-worn man nods to the slender, crooked-nosed woman.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf has lost link.
l
The Desert Rose [ES Quit]
Entering this busy bar is like stepping into a dimly-lit cave, the
thick stone walls keeping it comfortably cool inside and adding to the
cave-like feel of the place. A constant buzz of conversation fills the
room, which is populated by elves from a variety of tribes. Narrow arrow
slits on the western wall are draped with sandcloth to block the heat of the
afternoon sun, but still let in a scant measure of filtered light. The
sandcloth covers are rolled up and tied at dusk to let in the cool night
breezes. The bar is on the north wall, and tables and chairs, most of them
occupied, are grouped about the room in the shadows. On the south wall, a
clear area provides a spot for dancing or entertainment to be performed. An
elaborate archway in the eastern wall allows entry to a vibrantly-hued room,
smoke writhing out past its entry curtain.
The desert elf outpost message board is propped up against the wall here.
A multi-ringed dartboard hangs on a wall here.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf is reclining on a thick rug of quirri hide.
The amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf is sitting at a large stone table.
The slender, crooked-nosed woman is standing here.
The lithe, sandy-haired elf is sitting at a large stone table.
The corded, bronze-hued male elf is sitting at a large stone table.
The braided, ebony-skinned elf is sitting at a large stone table.
The red maned, anakore-tattooed elf is standing here.
The burly, red-haired woman stands at attention.
The sinewy, weather-worn man is standing here.
The stern-eyed, weathered half-elf is sitting at a large stone table.
The leanly muscled, topknotted elf is sitting at a large stone table.
A sinewy, ebon-skinned elf leans against the western wall, surveying the bar.
The dark-haired elf is standing here.
A slender, cold-eyed elven woman stands behind the bar, pouring drinks.
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, gesturing with a hand across the table:
"What I think a lot of people miss, though you have seemed to pick up on, Thrend...is that the conflict isn't truly Echri."
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf has reconnected.
You think:
"If she says the conflict has something to do with magick, I could not give more of a flying fuck about it."
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, exhaling faintly, a few whisps of Suk-Krath's sparks traversing her form:
"..It is the Servants that need to be removed, because they will.."
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, pausing, towards the slender, crooked-nosed woman:
"..You are transmitting this psionically?"
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf looks up at the slender, crooked-nosed woman.
Shuddering, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says to the lithe, sandy-haired elf, in sirihish:
"Fuck no. Ah said that's why ah'm whisperin here ta Nahkt. Ah'm translatin."
The red maned, anakore-tattooed elf lands his gaze on the slender, crooked-nosed woman.
The braided, ebony-skinned elf's eyes shift towards the slender, crooked-nosed woman.
pemote gaze latches onto %shattered face, a muscle in his cheek twitching.
The freckled, light-skinned man's gaze latches onto the lithe, sandy-haired elf's face, a muscle in his cheek twitching.
Just past the arrow slits, A reddish-shelled inix stretches its hind legs, arching its back.
The slender, crooked-nosed woman says to the lithe, sandy-haired elf, in sirihish:
"Ah put ma wall up soon as ah came through th'gates."
You think:
"Yep, I was right. Fucking abomination."
At your table, the stern-eyed, weathered half-elf says in allundean, clearing his throat, glancing across the table:
"Are there uny servants of Echri trat kavi ychiened beieg Dragony themselves? Durhaps I may by misumdorsoanfing."
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, apologetically, with a nod:
"I heard something. I apologize, sweetheart."
The lithe, sandy-haired elf returns her gaze towards you, collecting her hands together on the table again.
You suffer from use of the Way.
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, to you:
"..The Dragon consumes, but the Servants will rip apart the world. They will kill everything you love and know, first, so that Life can be drawn without conflict."
Just past the arrow slits, A reddish-shelled inix puffs through its nostrils and bobs its head.
You think:
"...Sun King, give me the clarity to think clearly about what to say and do, or I might say something incredibly stupid."
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, softly:
"If the Servants never come, Echri will arrive at an entire planet mounting an offense, and he will easily lose."
Brow furrowed, the sinewy, weather-worn man whispers something to the slender, crooked-nosed woman.
Moccasins drag against the floor as the braided, ebony-skinned elf shifts her legs back against the chair, teal gaze shifting from the lithe, sandy-haired elf to you.
You suffer from use of the Way.
The lithe, sandy-haired elf trails a hand across the table, a line of rich soil materializing and following her fingers as she half-closes her eyes.
You think:
"I feel like I am meeting with an army of gith to help me fight an army of mantis."
You suffer from use of the Way.
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, after a moment's pause:
"That said.."
Shaking her head and frowning, the slender, crooked-nosed woman whispers something to the sinewy, weather-worn man.
You think:
"This is insane. I suppose since in this case the mantis are much more dangerous....it is worth it. Until the mantis are destroyed at least."
The stern-eyed, weathered half-elf nods slowly.
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, softly:
"We can organize our priorities. Even lesser servants are very dangerous."
The slender, crooked-nosed woman whispers something to the sinewy, weather-worn man.
You think:
"Remember, Thrend, choose your battles...magickers must be killed, but there is a time and a place for them to be destroyed."
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, to you:
"I will go out and take a risk here. There is at least one spy here who will inform the Northern Templarate, another the Southern Orders, and yet one more a Thrall itself."
The lithe, sandy-haired elf shifts her gaze around those gathered, a faint smile crossing her normally solemn features.
Sourly, the sinewy, weather-worn man whispers something to the slender, crooked-nosed woman.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf lifts his eyebrows at the lithe, sandy-haired elf.
Blinking, the slender, crooked-nosed woman asks the lithe, sandy-haired elf, in sirihish:
"Here, right now?"
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, to you:
"..Seek the Council."
At your table, the leanly muscled, topknotted elf says in allundean, lifting a hand as he listens to the lithe, sandy-haired elf:
"It's not me."
The amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf raises her brows as she gazes at the lithe, sandy-haired elf.
The braided, ebony-skinned elf's lips twitch.
The red maned, anakore-tattooed elf smirks, shaking his head.
At your table, you say in allundean, quirking a brow towards the lithe, sandy-haired elf:
"Council? The Triumvirate?"
You suffer from use of the Way.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You think:
"Speak plainly, abomination."
The sinewy, weather-worn man's eyes settle on the lithe, sandy-haired elf, his expression flat.
With a grumble, the slender, crooked-nosed woman whispers something to the sinewy, weather-worn man.
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, waving a hand and shaking her head:
"Pah. No, not your Pure. Deeper south, Chosen..the very thing your city repulses is what you seek."
At your table, you say in allundean, blinking a few times:
"You mean..."
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, wrinkling her nose and closing her eyes:
"The highest eschelons are poisoned."
talk (taking great care to say the word without absolutely spitting it out)Magick?
At your table, you say in allundean, taking great care to say the word without absolutely spitting it out:
"Magick?"
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, opening her eyes again, ghostly white whisps swirling around her:
"..Specifically, what magick-wielders?"
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf sits up properly now, listening unmasked to the conversations at a large stone table.
You think:
"Oh, Sun King...smack this "Shattered" aside her head and make her speak plainly so that your servant may understand what the FUCK she means."
With a grunt, the sinewy, weather-worn man whispers something to the slender, crooked-nosed woman.
You suffer from use of the Way.
With a grunt, the sinewy, weather-worn man whispers something to the slender, crooked-nosed woman.
The slender, crooked-nosed woman whispers something to the sinewy, weather-worn man.
Just past the arrow slits, A grey-scaled, silver-shelled inix stretches its hind legs, arching its back.
At your table, you say in allundean, smiling thinly towards the lithe, sandy-haired elf:
"You'll have to...forgive me. The thing which my city despises...is utterly abhorred by my House."
The red maned, anakore-tattooed elf intently scans the area.
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, to you, her voice slowing a little:
"I am not offended, since I do not use magick in any traditional sense."
Just past the arrow slits, A grey-scaled, silver-shelled inix puffs through its nostrils and bobs its head.
You think:
"And by me. Of course."
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, to you:
"Your anger can be your weapon, as long as it doesn't traverse the gulf to hate - that is the path of Echri."
The sinewy, weather-worn man whispers something to the slender, crooked-nosed woman.
The corded, bronze-hued male elf settles into his seat, attention languid on the lithe, sandy-haired elf.
The slender, crooked-nosed woman whispers something to the sinewy, weather-worn man.
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, to you, softly:
"Gathered together in the quarter of Allanak is a Council of Gemmed Mages. If you seek where poison, Nilaz, and the Dragon lay, look no further, for now."
At your table, you say in allundean, simply:
"Nilaz. I have heard of this...word. It is associated with dead and death things."
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, offering a faint inclination of her head:
"It can be, but it also represents pure neutrality. Nilaz also indicates nothingness. Which means..the absense of Life."
The braided, ebony-skinned elf clucks her tongue softly.
Shuddering again, this time more obviously, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says to you, in sirihish:
"It's nasty shit Sir. Most regular magickers don't even wanna deal wit'em."
You suffer from use of the Way.
At your table, the stern-eyed, weathered half-elf says in allundean, nodding firmly:
"I have encountered a Nilazi myself."
The leanly muscled, topknotted elf leans back into his chair, arms crossing against his chest. He maintains a peculiar, focused watch on you.
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, shifting her gaze to the table and intoning to you slowly:
"..Thus, anything associated with Nilaz should probably worry you."
Curiously, the sinewy, weather-worn man whispers something to the slender, crooked-nosed woman.
The slender, crooked-nosed woman nods to the sinewy, weather-worn man.
At your table, the stern-eyed, weathered half-elf says in allundean:
"Five rigures, ssumblina across the sorth eoad. Neither dead nor alive. They would be killed, ius stand again."
At your table, you say in allundean, his gaze alighting on the lithe, sandy-haired elf again:
"I'll go with dead, then. So this Council needs to be destroyed?"
Just past the arrow slits, A grey-scaled, silver-shelled inix stretches its hind legs, arching its back.
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, softly, to you, with a faint shake of her head:
"Not entirely, but the current representatives are mostly beings of darkness."
You think:
"I feel like an elf at a roundear party."
Just past the arrow slits, A grey-scaled, silver-shelled inix opens its jaws, letting its tongue dart out to lick its nostrils.
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, closing her eyes:
"I have not moved my hand in this matter yet. Perhaps it will be left to the North to determine their devotion to the cause."
At your table, you say in allundean, bluntly:
"To be entirely honest, that's not good enough. Do you have names?"
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, to you, gently:
"And to be entirely honest, if you, Tuluki, are not seeking the deaths of Council members actively for -what- they are, there is already a problem."
At your table, you say in allundean, letting out a harsh laugh in response to the lithe, sandy-haired elf:
"Oh, I am ready to actively seek their deaths for what they are right now."
You think:
"Being abominations is a damned good enough reason for me."
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, to you:
"Seek the Fire Caller Valla, and the Wind Shifter Naclyn. This is not my gift to you.."
You suffer from use of the Way.
think ...well, says me, who is talking to some sort of magick-touched woman.
You think:
"...well, says me, who is talking to some sort of magick-touched woman."
You feel confused.
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, gesturing to each elf gathered:
"..it is the Elan Pah's gift to you, to represent their interest in a mutual effort together with House Lysake."
The slender, crooked-nosed woman whispers something to the sinewy, weather-worn man.
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, correcting herself:
"Lyksae."
The sinewy, weather-worn man nods to the slender, crooked-nosed woman.
The braided, ebony-skinned elf's eyes slide towards the corded, bronze-hued male elf.
At your table, you say in allundean, in response to the lithe, sandy-haired elf:
"I'd say the "mutual effort" is more like two folk fighting against a foe from different angles...rather than together from the same direction."
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, to you, softly:
"Maybe that's the problem."
You suffer from use of the Way.
The red maned, anakore-tattooed elf lowers his brows.
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, softly:
"I will tell you this - when the true Thralls begin to appear, they will breathe death upon entire armies. Without unity, there is utterly no hope."
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean:
"That you choose to make a journey to this Outpost today indicates to me that unity is not out of the question for you. At the very least, let's work towards it."
Her brown-eyed gaze flitting between you and the lithe, sandy-haired elf, the slender, crooked-nosed woman whispers something to the sinewy, weather-worn man.
The stern-eyed, weathered half-elf nods firmly to the lithe, sandy-haired elf.
At your table, you say in allundean, blinking a few times, his forehead furrowing:
"...I would have to bring any such measure before my House first. I can tell you that the entire situation makes a...strangely compelling argument."
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, her voice softening, a little warmth within the depths of the arcane whispers around her:
"Truly consider it, together, as Zalanthan's all, we are very powerful."
At your table, you say in allundean:
"...but when I look at it from here, I cannot see how working...alongside...the Pah, rather than from another angle...is not the same thing."
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, looking then to each person individually at the table:
"Love. Hope. Belief. Forgiveness. These are -all- of your weapons against Echri, no matter who you are, or what sword, magick, or psionics you wield."
At your table, the leanly muscled, topknotted elf says in allundean, lowering an eyebrow skeptically toward you, even as he leans back into his chair:
"Fact is, even if you hate our Gifted and don't wish to work with us, you'll have to. Whatever we could do, the enemy will do worse."
You think:
"What kind of bardic shit is this? Love, hope? Sounds like a bad Konviwedu composition."
You think:
"Sun King, I am going to go crazy."
The corded, bronze-hued male elf drinks green honey mead from his ceramic mug.
The freckled, light-skinned man clenches his teeth tightly, his jaw making a very soft grating noise as he stares down at a large stone table.
The freckled, light-skinned man's gaze shifts to your ceramic mug.
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, softly, to you:
"Thrend..the time has come to put old hatreds aside and attempt to understand each of us equally as life being threatened on this planet."
The freckled, light-skinned man blinks a couple of times, then eagerly downs the rest of your ceramic mug.
You drink the green honey mead.
You do not feel thirsty.
The corded, bronze-hued male elf tips his ceramic mug to his mouth, a brief grin showing.
The corded, bronze-hued male elf drinks green honey mead from his ceramic mug.
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean:
"Nobody gathered here expects it to happen immediately. Very few, likely, even believe it can be done."
Eyes on you, the sinewy, weather-worn man whispers something to the slender, crooked-nosed woman.
Licking her lips as she interjects, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says, in sirihish:
"If ya don't mind me buttin in...maybe ah kin splain ta th'Chosen...or at least say somethin what might make'im not look like he's about ta bust a vein."
The stern-eyed, weathered half-elf turns, gazing at you with a neutral expression.
At your table, the braided, ebony-skinned elf says in tribal-accented allundean, raising a gloved hand to thumb at her nose before speaking:
"There was a time that Soh and Blackwing hunted gifted but they put aside their hatred and work together with all. It takes time but you have to decide what is more important.."
At your table, the braided, ebony-skinned elf says in tribal-accented allundean, lowering her hand:
"Life or old hatreds."
At your table, you say in allundean, wiping his mouth with the back of one hand as he glances to the slender, crooked-nosed woman, his expression only slightly relaxing:
"I'll take a listen to the Kuraci first, then."
You think:
"I cannot decipher what to do."
The lithe, sandy-haired elf falls silent, drawing her attention to the slender, crooked-nosed woman.
You suffer from use of the Way.
Padding over to your side of the full table and crouching again, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says, in sirihish:
"Aright.."
You think:
"They make a compelling argument, but...my House. Me. Fuck, I can't believe I'm even -considering- this."
You think:
"I'm not considering it, no."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You think:
"I'm only bringing THEIR idea to my House. That's all."
Taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says to you, in sirihish:
"Ya see, Sir. Ain't no one askin ya ta learn ta like magickers or even wit elfs fer that matter."
The stern-eyed, weathered half-elf's face becomes drawn with impatience, his gaze still locked on you.
You begin speaking sirihish.
The corded, bronze-hued male elf puts his ceramic mug onto a large stone table.
Her shoulders lifting, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says to you, in sirihish:
"Ah'm a grebber, ah weren't ne'er taught one way or another, so ah do as ah like, and fuck anyone what don't like it. But that's me."
You suffer from use of the Way.
Nodding toward several elves seated at a large stone table, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says to you, in sirihish:
"But these folk here, is willin - and even askin - ta work -wit- Tuluk. A city what'd kill'em on sight if they was ever caught near th'gates."
At your table, the leanly muscled, topknotted elf says in allundean, scratching at his chin as he observes you:
"So, I don't know much about the Pits. Why do they call you Chosen? Who chose you, and what for?"
At your table, the corded, bronze-hued male elf says in allundean, as he slides his ceramic mug over a large stone table:
"We'll call our meet'ere. More'a think on than speak."
Her tone softening, the slender, crooked-nosed woman asks you, in sirihish:
"All they're askin, is fer ya ta put yer feelins about'em on hold. Fer awhile. Ta help deal wit th'bigger prollem. Fair enough, Sir?"
You begin speaking allundean.
The corded, bronze-hued male elf touches a fingertip to his lips on a glance for the leanly muscled, topknotted elf.
The freckled, light-skinned man nods slightly towards the slender, crooked-nosed woman, then shifts his attention to the leanly muscled, topknotted elf.
Shifting her gaze to the corded, bronze-hued male elf and leaning over, the lithe, sandy-haired elf whispers something to the corded, bronze-hued male elf.
You suffer from use of the Way.
Rising up from the table slowly, the lithe, sandy-haired elf stands up from a large stone table.
You suffer from use of the Way.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf looks up at the lithe, sandy-haired elf.
With a look after the lithe, sandy-haired elf, the corded, bronze-hued male elf says, in allundean:
"You spoke well. Shade."
You suffer from use of the Way.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf inclines his head up to the lithe, sandy-haired elf.
Gazing across the table and speaking softly as she rises, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says, in tribal-accented allundean:
"We can win this battle through love and forgiveness. We need to give each other a chance."
The leanly muscled, topknotted elf lifts his shoulders to the corded, bronze-hued male elf. With a sigh, he falls silent, leaning into his chair.
At your table, you say in allundean, his response coming to the fore easily:
"The Sun King chose my people"
Her gaze warming as she regards you face, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says to you, in sirihish:
"Thanks Chosen, Sir. Ah knew ya'd unnerstand."
emote nods simply towards ~leanly.
The freckled, light-skinned man nods simply towards the leanly muscled, topknotted elf.
The slender, crooked-nosed woman rises and returns back to stand between the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf and the sinewy, weather-worn man.
The stern-eyed, weathered half-elf dips his head to the lithe, sandy-haired elf.
You think:
"Love and forgiveness?"
You suffer from use of the Way.
You suffer from use of the Way.
Lowering her voice into a solemn plea, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says, in tribal-accented allundean:
"You are all wise, and you all have a choice to make. I pray to you all that you choose the path of protection for these beautiful lands."
You suffer from use of the Way.
The lithe, sandy-haired elf says, in tribal-accented allundean:
"Never lose hope, never lose faith. It is always there, beside you all."
You think:
"I'll love and forgiveness a mace aside that bitch's head if she keeps flouting such airy shit."
Aside, the sinewy, weather-worn man whispers something to the slender, crooked-nosed woman.
With a faint smile, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says, in tribal-accented allundean:
"I've spoken more than enough. A fine Barani to you all."
Lifting her hand to wave at her, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says to the lithe, sandy-haired elf, in sirihish:
"Ah - twas good ta see ya agin ole friend. We'll talk, another day. Smooth sands."
The lithe, sandy-haired elf slowly fades from view.
The Desert Rose [ES Quit]
Entering this busy bar is like stepping into a dimly-lit cave, the
thick stone walls keeping it comfortably cool inside and adding to the
cave-like feel of the place. A constant buzz of conversation fills the
room, which is populated by elves from a variety of tribes. Narrow arrow
slits on the western wall are draped with sandcloth to block the heat of the
afternoon sun, but still let in a scant measure of filtered light. The
sandcloth covers are rolled up and tied at dusk to let in the cool night
breezes. The bar is on the north wall, and tables and chairs, most of them
occupied, are grouped about the room in the shadows. On the south wall, a
clear area provides a spot for dancing or entertainment to be performed. An
elaborate archway in the eastern wall allows entry to a vibrantly-hued room,
smoke writhing out past its entry curtain.
The desert elf outpost message board is propped up against the wall here.
A multi-ringed dartboard hangs on a wall here.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf is reclining on a thick rug of quirri hide.
The amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf is sitting at a large stone table.
The slender, crooked-nosed woman is standing here.
The corded, bronze-hued male elf is sitting at a large stone table.
The braided, ebony-skinned elf is sitting at a large stone table.
The red maned, anakore-tattooed elf is standing here.
The burly, red-haired woman stands at attention.
The sinewy, weather-worn man is standing here.
The stern-eyed, weathered half-elf is sitting at a large stone table.
The leanly muscled, topknotted elf is sitting at a large stone table.
A sinewy, ebon-skinned elf leans against the western wall, surveying the bar.
The dark-haired elf is standing here.
A slender, cold-eyed elven woman stands behind the bar, pouring drinks.
The freckled, light-skinned man blinks a few times, then glances to the corded, bronze-hued male elf.
You suffer from use of the Way.
After observing the sandy-haired elf fade away, the leanly muscled, topknotted elf turns his head, grinning.
Just past the arrow slits, someone opens the gate.
You think:
"Fuck me. Damn it."
l
The Desert Rose [ES Quit]
Entering this busy bar is like stepping into a dimly-lit cave, the
thick stone walls keeping it comfortably cool inside and adding to the
cave-like feel of the place. A constant buzz of conversation fills the
room, which is populated by elves from a variety of tribes. Narrow arrow
slits on the western wall are draped with sandcloth to block the heat of the
afternoon sun, but still let in a scant measure of filtered light. The
sandcloth covers are rolled up and tied at dusk to let in the cool night
breezes. The bar is on the north wall, and tables and chairs, most of them
occupied, are grouped about the room in the shadows. On the south wall, a
clear area provides a spot for dancing or entertainment to be performed. An
elaborate archway in the eastern wall allows entry to a vibrantly-hued room,
smoke writhing out past its entry curtain.
The desert elf outpost message board is propped up against the wall here.
A multi-ringed dartboard hangs on a wall here.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf is reclining on a thick rug of quirri hide.
The amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf is sitting at a large stone table.
The slender, crooked-nosed woman is standing here.
The corded, bronze-hued male elf is sitting at a large stone table.
The braided, ebony-skinned elf is sitting at a large stone table.
The red maned, anakore-tattooed elf is standing here.
The burly, red-haired woman stands at attention.
The sinewy, weather-worn man is standing here.
The stern-eyed, weathered half-elf is sitting at a large stone table.
The leanly muscled, topknotted elf is sitting at a large stone table.
A sinewy, ebon-skinned elf leans against the western wall, surveying the bar.
The dark-haired elf is standing here.
A slender, cold-eyed elven woman stands behind the bar, pouring drinks.
Just past the arrow slits, someone closes the gate from the other side.
Gaing toward the now-empty space on the floor, the slender, crooked-nosed woman whispers something to the sinewy, weather-worn man.
You suffer from use of the Way.
Setting it on a large stone table, you discard your ceramic mug.
At your table, you say in allundean, letting out a grunt as he speaks, his lips pulled back tightly against his teeth:
"I think we've covered enough for this discussion."
At your table, the corded, bronze-hued male elf says in allundean, iolite gaze settled for you:
"Ah don' have anything to say. They've said ta much. You're ready to ride?"
It is late morning on Barani, the 131st day of the Ascending Sun,
In the Year of Ruk's Peace, year 37 of the 21st Age.
At your table, you say in allundean, nodding to the corded, bronze-hued male elf:
"Yes. Quite."
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf stands up from a thick rug of quirri hide.
The braided, ebony-skinned elf's lips twitch at the edges.
Looking toward the slits in the wall, the sinewy, weather-worn man whispers something to the slender, crooked-nosed woman.
At your table, the leanly muscled, topknotted elf says in allundean, lifting his chin as speaks to you, adopting a cordial tone:
"Nice meeting you."
Rising to his feet, you stand up from a large stone table.
The stern-eyed, weathered half-elf stands up from a large stone table.
Pushing away from his chair, the leanly muscled, topknotted elf stands up from a large stone table.
With a grunt, you say to the leanly muscled, topknotted elf, in allundean:
"Spice's yours. Enjoy it."
The slender, crooked-nosed woman whispers something to the sinewy, weather-worn man.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf says to the corded, bronze-hued male elf, in allundean:
"I'll run with them to the White Road."
You suffer from use of the Way.
The braided, ebony-skinned elf gets her ceramic mug from a large stone table.
You pull your pair of spiked, chitin-backed gauntlets onto your hands.
With a nod aside to the raw-boned, top-knotted elf, the corded, bronze-hued male elf says, in allundean:
"Good."
The stern-eyed, weathered half-elf walks south.
Just past the arrow slits, the raw-boned, top-knotted elf has arrived from the south.
Just past the arrow slits, the stern-eyed, weathered half-elf has arrived from the south.
With a tipped nod for you, the corded, bronze-hued male elf says, in allundean:
"Tohego will be ya guide to the white road, his eyes ah sharp."
Pushing off her seat, the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf stands up from a large stone table.
You suffer from use of the Way.
Thoughtfully, the slender, crooked-nosed woman asks the corded, bronze-hued male elf, in allundean:
"Want me ta stick around?"
Just past the arrow slits, The raw-boned, top-knotted elf frees some mounts from a wooden pole and arranges them near the gate.
Nodding to him, you say to the corded, bronze-hued male elf, in allundean:
"Shade, then..."
Just past the arrow slits, the raw-boned, top-knotted elf opens the gate.
You begin speaking sirihish.
The sinewy, weather-worn man whispers something to the slender, crooked-nosed woman.
The corded, bronze-hued male elf stands up from a large stone table.
Pushing it aside, the braided, ebony-skinned elf discards her ceramic mug.
With a rise from his seat, the corded, bronze-hued male elf says to you, in allundean:
"Shade."
Turning southward, the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf says, in tribal-accented allundean:
"I'll make my way to the Gem. Be safe."
The amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf walks south.
Nodding to the sinewy, weather-worn man and the slender, crooked-nosed woman, you say, in sirihish:
"Thanks for the ride."The Desert Rose [ES Quit]
Entering this busy bar is like stepping into a dimly-lit cave, the thick stone walls keeping it comfortably cool inside and adding to the cave-like feel of the place. A constant buzz of conversation fills the room, which is populated by elves from a variety of tribes....
Continue Reading...Not very subtle, are you? by Maglos
Added on Jan 22, 2011Thrend and a potential partisan run into a problem. Thrend, in his typical proud, selfish, and arrogant manner, decides to take matters into his own hands on the sly, using the disturbance to test that potential partisan and rid the City of one undesirable.
-------
Thrend arrives at the Sanctuary after being informed about some disturbance. (think this was in a previous log but I didn't dig it up)
-------
The Sun King's Sanctuary [NESWUD]
A polished, white marble floor covers the ground of this expansive
room, gleaming under the light of a large glass chandelier that hangs
overhead. A semi-circular bar, made of hard-grained wood painted a deep
black, extends from the eastern wall, several high-backed barstools sitting
around it. The walls of this room are brightly decorated, with several
elaborate paintings placed carefully for unobstructed view, and shelves
holding many exotic potted plants, blooming with bright red and white
flowers. Two large stained-glass windows, decorated with elaborate sun
symbols, adorn the northwest and southeast corners of the room.
Several decoratively carved tables fill this room, while a polished
leather couch nearly ten cords in length sprawls along the northern wall. A
stately spiral staircase sits in the center of the room, winding upwards
toward the common rooms of the second floor. The sounds of laughter and
music can be heard from a doorway along the western wall, while the scents
of cooked meat waft in from the east. A small, straight stairway sits along
the northern wall, ending at a slightly raised loft and a large carven
baobab door sits in the southern wall, leading out onto the North Road
outside.
The Tuluk bulletin board is here propped up on a stand.
The ochre-eyed, lissome man is standing here.
The weatherworn, fuzzy-haired old man is sitting on a supple, black leather couch.
The broad, harsh-looking woman is sitting at a black-painted bar.
The svelte, bronzed man is sitting at a black-painted bar.
The lithe, tanned man is standing here.
The short haired, heavy-set man stands here mug in-hand.
The tall, well-groomed man sits here on a plush couch.
The gaunt, black-haired man is here, leaning on the bar.
The plump, tawny-skinned woman sits on a stool, strumming on her mandolin.
The long-haired, middle-aged man stands behind the counter.
The burly, red-haired woman has arrived from the south.
You lower the hood of a hooded, mace-stitched grey linen cloak.
At 1) a supple, black leather couch are:
the weatherworn, fuzzy-haired old man, and a few empty seats.
At 2) a black-painted bar are:
the broad, harsh-looking woman, the svelte, bronzed man,
and some empty seats.
At 3) a long, white painted table are:
some empty seats.
At 4) an intimate, dimly lit table are:
a couple of empty seats.
At 5) a highly polished table are:
a few empty seats.
The lithe, tanned man nods politely to you.
In a hooded, mace-stitched grey linen cloak (used) :
a green chitin archery brace
a pile of coins
The broad, harsh-looking woman clenches and unclenches her fist, ignoring the lithe, tanned
man.
Heading to the stairs, the ochre-eyed, lissome man walks up.
The freckled, light-skinned man makes his way through the tavern, wrapping your hooded, mace-
stitched grey linen cloak more tightly around his form.
At a black-painted bar, the broad, harsh-looking woman speaks, to the svelte, bronzed man.
Easing down onto a stool, you sit at a black-painted bar.
The lithe, tanned man sits at a black-painted bar.
The broad, harsh-looking woman notices you and lowers her head to her, awkwardly.
The svelte, bronzed man inclines his head in a nod, respectfully, in your direction .
You are using:
inva black-scaled leather surmac a black-scaled leather gorget a new black-scaled leather longvest a black-scaled leather vambrace a leather and chitin strap-sheath a pair of black leather and chitin scaled gauntlets a slender crimson and silver ring a ruby and moonstone inlaid, silver signet ring a glossy, black leather swordbelt a silver-etched, stone-spiked mace a bloodied narrow-hilted, jaded khopesh blade a hooded, mace-stitched grey linen cloak a grey, black, and crimson silk sash a pair of black-scaled leather leggings a pair of black-scaled leather boots
You are carrying:
nothing.
Glancing down a black-painted bar, you look at the svelte, bronzed man.
This human male looks like he has lived a life in the wilderness.
He has scraggly hair hanging haphazardly to just about shoulder length. He is
above average height for his race, and seems to carry himself well, his
movements seeming natural, not laboured. His svelte figure is adorned with
many tattoos of random beasts. Bronzed all over, his muscles appear more
toned. His skin is hairless from neck to foot, no doubt due to his life in
the intense heat. His blue eyes bring his face to life, a playful
glint within.
The svelte, bronzed man is in excellent condition.
The svelte, bronzed man is using:a tough tandu-leather cap a blue and purple inked band a long, agate-headed spear a rough canvas backpack a pair of carru leather sleeves a scrab shell wristguard a studded hide wrist-wrap a tattoo of a six-pronged star a hooded, sandy-brown reinforced sandcloth duster a sweat-stained pair of sandcloth and leather leggings a pair of grey hide boots
He is carrying:
nothing obvious
The broad, harsh-looking woman notices you and lowers her head to you, awkwardly.
It is early morning on Waleuk, the 160th day of the Ascending Sun,
In the Year of Suk-Krath's Anger, year 43 of the 21st Age.
At your table, you say in sirihish, lacing his gauntleted fingers together in his lap:
"Such a fine morning."
At your table, the broad, harsh-looking woman says in sirihish, turning her broad back towards
the lithe, tanned man:
"A real nice morning, Chosen Lord."
At your table, the lithe, tanned man says in sirihish, Nodding his head in agreement:
"Definitely so Chosen lord"
At your table, the broad, harsh-looking woman says in sirihish, to the svelte, bronzed man:
"Notice the Coward isn't speaking anymore?"
At your table, the lithe, tanned man says in sirihish, With a grin to you:
"I think someone needs a drink Chosen Lord"
The freckled, light-skinned man glances briefly over to the broad, harsh-looking woman and
then to the lithe, tanned man.
The svelte, bronzed man nods minimally.
The slim, golden-haired woman has arrived from the north.
At your table, the broad, harsh-looking woman says in sirihish, rolling her eyes:
"I'm trying."
The lithe, tanned man gives the long-haired, middle-aged bartender many coins in exchange for
a finely made glass goblet.
The lithe, tanned man offers his finely made glass goblet to you.
At your table, you say in sirihish, flicking his attention back to the lithe, tanned man:
"Aren't you a bit old to be cajoling folk into trying to kill you?"
He is older than you.
He is about the same size as you.
He weighs about the same as you.
The lithe, tanned man is in excellent condition.
The lithe, tanned man does not look tired.
Holding out his finely made glass goblet, the lithe, tanned man says to you, in sirihish:
"I was speaking of buying a drink for you Chosen Lord"
The broad, harsh-looking woman's eyes flick to you and she unclenches her fists.
The svelte, bronzed man nods in agreement.
The slender, tea-skinned male has arrived from the south, panting softly as #me steps through
the doorway.
The lithe, tanned man looks up at the slender, tea-skinned male.
The dark-blond, tall human has arrived from the south.
At your table, you say in sirihish, waving a hand in dismissive response to the lithe, tanned
man:
"No, thank you. I'm going to be training shortly."
The weatherworn, fuzzy-haired old man looks up at the dark-blond, tall human.
The slim, golden-haired woman runs north.
Pulling out a stool, the slender, tea-skinned male sits at a black-painted bar.
The dark-blond, tall human says to the slender, tea-skinned male, in sirihish:
"Hey there."
The dark-blond, tall human opens a dusty sizeable leather backpack.
The dark-blond, tall human closes a dusty sizeable leather backpack.
The dark-blond, tall human sits down at the bar.
The dark-blond, tall human sits at a black-painted bar.
The dark-blond, tall human looks at the slender, tea-skinned male.
Lips curling upwards as he bobs his head, the slender, tea-skinned male asks the dark-blond,
tall human, in sirihish:
"How goes?"
At your table, the dark-blond, tall human says in sirihish:
"Everythin' pretty normal, and yourself ?"
The lithe, tanned man shrugs his shoulders and downs his finely made glass goblet in one gulp.
The lithe, tanned man drinks reynolte-dry from his finely made glass goblet.
The dark-blond, tall human looks at the lithe, tanned man.
The lithe, tanned man looks at the dark-blond, tall human.
At your table, the slender, tea-skinned male says in sirihish, drawing a deep breath before
speaking:
"A'right... 'Tok out on th' road 'gain."
The dark-blond, tall human sheathes a dusty razor-edged, obsidian tomahawk.
The dark-blond, tall human sheathes a dusty one-handed, crescent-bladed axe.
Ignoring the lithe, tanned man, the broad, harsh-looking woman looks at the slender, tea-
skinned male.
At your table, the slender, tea-skinned male says in sirihish, shaking his head with a short
chuckle:
"Couldn' find m'spears, an' some skinny's followin' me 'round."
At your table, the lithe, tanned man says in sirihish, Looking down at the broad, harsh-
looking woman:
"Okay lady, maybe it's time we settled things, what do you want from me?"
The dark-blond, tall human looks at the broad, harsh-looking woman.
Slowly gazing down the bar, the slender, tea-skinned male looks at the svelte, bronzed man.
The weatherworn, fuzzy-haired old man chuckles, glancing towards the bar.
The dark-blond, tall human looks at the weatherworn, fuzzy-haired old man.
At your table, the broad, harsh-looking woman says in sirihish, narrowing her eyes at the
lithe, tanned man:
"You and I go somewhere noone's going to care, and I punch you until I feel better."
The svelte, bronzed man has lost link.
The svelte, bronzed man has reconnected.
The dark-blond, tall human chuckles quietly.
The freckled, light-skinned man smirks ever so slightly.
At your table, the dark-blond, tall human says in sirihish, to the broad, harsh-looking woman:
"What's the problem ?"
The svelte, bronzed man nods affirmatively.
At your table, the svelte, bronzed man says in sirihish:
"That's the only reasonable solution I can see. "
The dark-blond, tall human looks at the svelte, bronzed man.
At your table, the broad, harsh-looking woman says in sirihish, to the dark-blond, tall human:
"I'm going to make him bleed. No problem."
The broad, harsh-looking woman looks at the dark-blond, tall human.
At your table, the dark-blond, tall human says in sirihish:
"Yeah, but why ?"
At your table, the lithe, tanned man says in sirihish, Shrugging his shoulders:
"I was out in the woods and she tried to take my sid"
At your table, the lithe, tanned man says in sirihish:
"I wouldn't give it up, she got mad, here we are"
At your table, the dark-blond, tall human says in sirihish, with a frown:
"Is that so ?"
At your table, the broad, harsh-looking woman says in sirihish, after looking him over:
"After I kick him in the balls I few times, I'll tell you."
The dark-blond, tall human looks at the lithe, tanned man.
The dark-blond, tall human looks at the broad, harsh-looking woman.
At your table, the dark-blond, tall human says in sirihish, to the lithe, tanned man:
"You're a woodworker ?"
At your table, the broad, harsh-looking woman says in sirihish, narrowing eyes at the lithe,
tanned man:
"Coward, don't lie. You called me stupid, then have taunted me since."
Raising a brow, the slender, tea-skinned male looks at the broad, harsh-looking woman.
At your table, the svelte, bronzed man says in sirihish, to the lithe, tanned man:
"Was this before or after you insulted her mother?"
The dark-blond, tall human stands up from a black-painted bar.
At your table, the lithe, tanned man says in sirihish:
"this was very much before"
The dark-blond, tall human says, in sirihish:
"Fuck, I gotta leave."
The dark-blond, tall human walks up.
At your table, the broad, harsh-looking woman says in sirihish, to the lithe, tanned man:
"Well, Coward? We going somewhere?"
At your table, the svelte, bronzed man says in sirihish:
"And before you called her fat?"
At your table, the lithe, tanned man says in sirihish:
"this was before i called her fat also"
The broad, harsh-looking woman opens a rough canvas backpack.
At your table, the svelte, bronzed man says in sirihish, nodding:
"I see."
The broad, harsh-looking woman gets her small portion of a travel cake from her rough canvas
backpack.
The broad, harsh-looking woman eats her small portion of a travel cake.
The broad, harsh-looking woman closes a rough canvas backpack.
At your table, the broad, harsh-looking woman says in sirihish:
"And when you stole my shield?"
At your table, the lithe, tanned man says in sirihish, Raising an eyebrow:
"You mean the shield that I picked up after you tried to hit me with it and the same one
that neck ran off with?"
At your table, the lithe, tanned man says in sirihish, Looking over at the svelte, bronzed
man:
"All I was trying to do was take a rest in the woods and this is the result"
At your table, the broad, harsh-looking woman says in sirihish, frowning:
"I tried to put you in a headlock when you were laughing at me, you idiot."
At your table, you say in sirihish, shifting his attention back to the lithe, tanned man and
the broad, harsh-looking woman:
"It seems that you two wish to resolve the matter."
At your table, the broad, harsh-looking woman says in sirihish, after a sigh:
"Sorry, Chosen Lord. I'm trying...I really am..."
At your table, the lithe, tanned man says in sirihish:
"I personally have nothing to do with her, I am just trying to find out what her problem
is"
At your table, you say in sirihish, blinking at the lithe, tanned man:
"Then resolve the matter. Stop insulting the woman like a Southron, it is unbecoming."
At your table, the broad, harsh-looking woman says in sirihish, to the lithe, tanned man:
"Come on then. I'll never talk to you again after I pummel you for a while."
At your table, the lithe, tanned man says in sirihish, Glancing over at you:
"She only wishes to resort to violence and violence mind you for something she started,
I personally want her to stay out of my affairs, before you came in, she was the one taunting
me"
At your table, the lithe, tanned man says in sirihish:
"see what I mean?"
At your table, the broad, harsh-looking woman says in sirihish, to the svelte, bronzed man:
"Was I?"
At your table, you say in sirihish, peering at the lithe, tanned man, then the broad, harsh-
looking woman:
"Alright. Both of you, come with me. I have the solution."
Rising to his feet, you stand up from a black-painted bar.
The lithe, tanned man stands up from a black-painted bar.
The broad, harsh-looking woman stands up from a black-painted bar.
The broad, harsh-looking woman falls in behind you.
With a subtle smirk, the slender, tea-skinned male looks up at the lithe, tanned man.
The freckled, light-skinned man lets out a longsuffering sigh and glances back to a black-
painted bar.
You raise the hood of a hooded, mace-stitched grey linen cloak.
North Road [NESW]
The stark white of this wide stone road lies nestled between the rise
and fall of a conglomerated jumble of eclectically styled buildings.
Passing through the city, the road is kept clean of any blowing sand and
forest debris. The pale backbone cuts a decisive line east across the
bustling metropolis towards what remains of the Old City.
The pale white of the road merges with a newer road just to the east.
Further in the distance, the crumbled ruins of the old city can be seen
rising up above the newer walls that have been built up around them. Set on
the north side of the road is a large two-story tavern. On the south side
of the road is a large wagon yard.
A down-trodden group of Allanaki refugees shuffles down the road.
The lanky, russet-haired lad lounges by the tavern.
The wiry, obsidian-haired Jihaen templar is standing here.
The broad, harsh-looking woman has arrived from the north.
The burly, red-haired woman has arrived from the north.
The lithe, tanned man has arrived from the north.
The lithe, tanned man falls in behind you.
The svelte, bronzed man has arrived from the north.
North Salt Road [NSW]
Rows of pale stones form the backbone for this broad avenue, settled
into the ground with graceful fervor. Decorating the edge of the street,
the buildings and storefronts are universally adorned with garish and tawdry
sculptures, bas reliefs, and murals. The road is filled with a continual
throng of humans and demi-humans alike as they scurry about the bustle of
daily life.
The sounds of a rowdy commotion spills out onto the streets from the
building to the west. A trio of humanoid sculptures are caught before the
junction between two roads, the crowds passing around them. An odd-looking
sculpture surrounds a stone bench off to one side of the road.
The tawny, blonde-haired woman strolls down the street, eyes bright.
A few colorful individuals sit in a circle on the street corner, drumming.
The lithe, tanned man has arrived from the west.
The broad, harsh-looking woman has arrived from the west.
The burly, red-haired woman has arrived from the west.
The Red Sun Commons [NESW]
The chaotic roar of the tumultuous clamor within the commons fills the
air with a constant din, building into a flooding crescendo as deals are
bartered. Throngs of humans and demi-humans flock from one multi-colored
tent to another, ducking in and between the various stands that have been
erected along the breadth of the commons. Craftsmen and tradesmen alike
wander the sandstone grounds, mingling themselves with the rest in search of
opportunity. The scents of the commons, myriad and varied in their potency
and origins, mingle together to create a somewhat acrid and sweaty feel to
the atmosphere.
A mound of dung, heaped shoulder high, stands here.
A sour-faced dwarf hunches here, buying dung.
The lithe, tanned man has arrived from the north.
The broad, harsh-looking woman has arrived from the north.
The burly, red-haired woman has arrived from the north.
The Red Sun Commons [ESW]
The chaotic roar of the tumultuous clamor within the commons fills the
air with a constant din, building into a flooding crescendo as deals are
bartered. Throngs of humans and demi-humans flock from one multi-colored
tent to another, ducking in and between the various stands that have been
erected along the breadth of the commons. Craftsmen and tradesmen alike
wander the sandstone grounds, mingling themselves with the rest in search of
opportunity. The scents of the commons, myriad and varied in their potency
and origins, mingle together to create a somewhat acrid and sweaty feel to
the atmosphere.
The lithe, tanned man has arrived from the east.
The broad, harsh-looking woman has arrived from the east.
The burly, red-haired woman has arrived from the east.
As he slows to a stop in the Commons, you say, in sirihish:
"Alright. Here's what I propose."
You look at the lithe, tanned man.
This man is of very average height with his hair at a length no longer
than the bottom of his ears. His skin is rather unremarkable, lightly
tanned from exposure to the sun and slightly smooth. His eyes are a dull
brown with no outstanding features and set evenly in his head beneath rather
neatly groomed eyebrows. His hair is a dark black blend with streaks of
grey running through it. His body is lithe and lightly muscled, resembling
the normal Zalanthan human physique.
The lithe, tanned man is in excellent condition.
The lithe, tanned man is using:a long-handled, flint lumber axe a sizeable leather backpack a blue and purple inked band an unlit large wooden torch a hooded, black sandcloth windcloak a pair of rough canvas pants a pair of grey hide boots
He is carrying:
nothing obvious
The broad, harsh-looking woman stands apart from the lithe, tanned man, eyes on you.
The svelte, bronzed man has arrived from the east.
You say to the lithe, tanned man, in sirihish:
"The woman here wishes to challenge you, so I suggest you both oblige each other and beat
on each other until one or both parties are satisfied."
The svelte, bronzed man keeps his distance.
With a frown, the lithe, tanned man says, in sirihish:
"That's what she wants, I want her to stop her violence toward me"
The mighty sun begins to crawl across the western sky.
You say to the lithe, tanned man, in sirihish:
"As it's not appropriate to do this just anywhere, I suggest on the grounds of my Estate
in the sparring yard."
The broad, harsh-looking woman smiles at the lithe, tanned man.
Nodding, the broad, harsh-looking woman says to you, in sirihish:
"Sounds fair to me, Chosen Lord."
The svelte, bronzed man frowns.
The weatherworn, fuzzy-haired old man has arrived from the east.
The lithe, tanned man says, in sirihish:
"she has assaulted me three times, I'd say she has more than had her turn"
Looking him up and down, the weatherworn, fuzzy-haired old man looks at the lithe, tanned man.
Rolling her eyes, the broad, harsh-looking woman says to the lithe, tanned man, in sirihish:
"I'll just use my fists."
Nodding agreeably, the svelte, bronzed man says, in sirihish:
"Seems like the only solution."
The weatherworn, fuzzy-haired old man glances at you, inclining his head as he does.
Quirking a brow curiously, you ask the lithe, tanned man, in sirihish:
"do you taunt bahamets?"
You ask the lithe, tanned man, in sirihish:
"And then complain afterwards when they rip into your organs?"
The svelte, bronzed man grins.
The lithe, tanned man says, in sirihish:
"I disagree with the solution since it is only fair for one party, besides, she did her
fair share of taunting"
Lifting his linen clad shoulders in a shrug, you ask the lithe, tanned man, in sirihish:
"You disagree with -my- solution?"
Staring at the lithe, tanned man with a deep frown, you ask the lithe, tanned man, in
sirihish:
"Are you aware of where you are, citizen?"
The broad, harsh-looking woman folds her muscular arms, watching the lithe, tanned man.
With a nod, the lithe, tanned man says to you, in sirihish:
"Aye Chosen Lord, I am aware of where I am, but if the Law is to be just and fair, then
hauling off citizens at your whim because of another party that has no claim"
Narrowing his pale green eyes on the lithe, tanned man, you say to the lithe, tanned man, in
sirihish:
"This is not the first time you have deemed yourself wiser than His Chosen. And where
you are is, in point of fact, the Red Sun Commons."
The broad, harsh-looking woman looks with shock at the lithe, tanned man.
The lithe, tanned man says, in sirihish:
"then surely we are no better than living in the south"
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
The weatherworn, fuzzy-haired old man sends you a telepathic message:
"This fella... well he ain't too smart, but I guess you can see that."
The figure in a hooded, mace-stitched grey linen cloak smiles politely over at the lithe,
tanned man.
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
Beckoning with one hand, you say to the lithe, tanned man, in sirihish:
"You've got quite a bit of spunk for a citizen. I think I can use people like that."
The lithe, tanned man moves closer to you.
Waving her off, you say to the broad, harsh-looking woman, in sirihish:
"He's quite right, Rosie. You should certainly stop taunting him."
You stop leading the broad, harsh-looking woman.
The svelte, bronzed man looks shocked.
The broad, harsh-looking woman nods to you.
Stepping lightly, you say to the lithe, tanned man, in sirihish:
"We'll head to the Lyksaen Estate. I'll get you outfitted properly."
------
Thrend takes the "potential partisan" to the Estate. The follow conversation occurs on the way there.
------
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the broad, harsh-looking woman with the Way.
Glancing back to the lithe, tanned man, you ask the lithe, tanned man, in sirihish:
"You don't already have employment with some other patron, do you, Omanet?"
The late, red sun descends toward the western horizon.
The red orb of Jihae, the red moon, begins to vanish as it slowly sets.
The pale face of the white moon, Lirathu, rises over the agafari trees.
You send this message to the staff:
"Just an FYI, Thrend is going to have Rosie beat the hell out of Omanet inside the
Lyksaen Estate, and then let him disappear quietly."
You send this message to the staff:
"I would have just gone for the "beat the hell out of Omanet" but he has insulted His
Chosen in front of many witnesses. That's a no-no."
Lowering his shoulders, the lithe, tanned man says to you, in sirihish:
"I hope I have not offended you Chosen Lord"
Tugging down his hood, you ask the lithe, tanned man, in sirihish:
"Offended me? How could you have offended me?"
You lower the hood of a hooded, mace-stitched grey linen cloak.
Pausing before the gates, you ask the lithe, tanned man, in sirihish:
"You do realize, however, that speaking such things in public--outright against His
Chosen and His City--are not to be done, yes?"
The lithe, tanned man glances around him.
Sheisett's Plaza [NEW]
Here, massive gates lead out of Tuluk's Noble's Quarter. The road has
been laid by a circular pattern of white alabaster and red jasper stones,
creating a massive work of art that portrays a blazing sun. The gates
themselves, lying at the north end of the circle, are made of a
crisscrossing pattern of polished agafari, both attractive and
extraordinarily sturdy. The pattern formed by the gates' wood ends at the
top by curved spires, blackened at their tops.
The lithe, tanned man has arrived from the north.
The burly, red-haired woman has arrived from the north.
Nodding as he speaks, the lithe, tanned man says to you, in sirihish:
"Aye Chosen Lord, I do understand"
Dipping his head agreeably, you ask the lithe, tanned man, in sirihish:
"Are you familiar with the Red Sun Commons?"
Lowering his head as he speaks, the lithe, tanned man says to you, in sirihish:
"I do admit that I have erred"
Nodding his head, the lithe, tanned man says, in sirihish:
"Aye, I am familiar with the commons"
You suffer from use of the Way.
Gesturing grandly towards the gates to the south, you ask the lithe, tanned man, in sirihish:
"And here we are, the Lyksaen Estate. Have you been here before, Omanet?"
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the broad, harsh-looking woman:
"Find my mind when you are near the gates, Rosie."
The lithe, tanned man looks up toward the gates in awe.
His face lighting up, the lithe, tanned man says, in sirihish:
"I have not Chosen Lord"
You suffer from use of the Way.
You think:
"Rosie will kill him, I'm fairly sure."
You think:
"A good way to prove herself, too."
Nodding once, you say to the lithe, tanned man, in sirihish:
"Well. I'll show you about the Courtyard."
The burly, mohawked man stops using his etched, red stone key.
The burly, mohawked man unlocks the gates with an etched, red stone key.
The burly, mohawked man opens the gates.
The burly, mohawked man steps aside, allowing you to pass.
The Courtyard of House Lyksae [NEW]
The overall impression of this courtyard is one of greyness, as that
color has been used in the stones forming the walls to the east, west, and
south. To the north is a gate of charred bone, offering a slightly
contrasting shade of grey, as well as the occasional glimpse of a more
colorful world beyond it. Even the landscaping, such as it is, is grey,
with stout short bushes at each of the courtyard's four corners. The focal
point in all this greyness is a statue at the center of the courtyard,
surrounded by a series of lightening circles of stones, the centermost being
black, and those at the edge being a pale dun.
To the west, a door leads into the manor house, inset with a panel of
bright crimson silk in the shape of a rising sun. To the east, through a
door painted with a mace, is a more humble building.
A sizable stone building has been built against the southern wall.
A muscular man, sculpted life-size from granite, stands here triumphantly.
The weathered, burly-armed man stands watch at the gates.
The lithe, tanned man has arrived from the north.
The burly, red-haired woman has arrived from the north.
The burly, mohawked man closes the gates from the other side.
You suffer from use of the Way.
The lithe, tanned man looks back as the large mohawked man closes the gates behind him.
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
The broad, harsh-looking woman sends you a telepathic message:
"I'm there now, Chosen Lord."
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
Clearing his throat, you ask the lithe, tanned man, in sirihish:
"Different regions of His City are governed by His Chosen--were you aware of that?"
You send a telepathic message to the broad, harsh-looking woman:
"I'll get you inside shortly."
You dissolve the psychic link.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You are unable to reach their mind.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You are unable to reach their mind.
Shrugging his shoulders, the lithe, tanned man says to you, in sirihish:
"I was aware of that but not exactly who is in charge of where"
Dipping his head, you say to the lithe, tanned man, in sirihish:
"I'm the Governor of the Red Sun Commons."
Nodding his head as he speaks, the lithe, tanned man says, in sirihish:
"I see now"
The last spire fades to darkness as Suk-Krath abandons the city to night.
Pursing his lips thoughtfully, you say to the lithe, tanned man, in sirihish:
"And you called His City no better than the South."
Wrinkling his brow, the lithe, tanned man says to you, in sirihish:
"Begging your pardon Chosen Lord, but I was actually saying that in context, relating to
my prior comment concerning the young lady in question"
You say to the lithe, tanned man, in sirihish:
"Well, I am a man with many solutions, for many problems. Hold here for just a moment,
good citizen."
You stop leading the lithe, tanned man.
The weathered, burly-armed man stops using his etched, red stone key.
The weathered, burly-armed man unlocks the gates with an etched, red stone key.
The weathered, burly-armed man opens the gates.
The weathered, burly-armed man steps aside, allowing you to pass.
Before the Gates of House Lyksae [ES]
Lengthy slabs of mekillot bone have been laced together with woven
ropes of kylori sinew to create an imposing and austere set of gates that
bar movement to the south. The tips of the bone slabs have been hewn to
sharpened protrusions and blackened with fire, creating a churning swirl of
sooty black that cascades down the length of the bleached bone.
The azure and amber of the granite paving stones form a broad circle
before the gates of the estate, twining around in ever-decreasing spirals.
Circling this courtyard are stands of loreshi shrubs that lend a darker and
more earthen contrast to the outer ring of the plaza.
Secured to the wall by a wooden frame is a fire-scorched copper wardrum.
The broad, harsh-looking woman stands here to the side.
The burly, mohawked man stands staunchly before the gate.
The burly, red-haired woman has arrived from the south.
The weathered, burly-armed man closes the gates from the other side.
The freckled, light-skinned man beckons to the broad, harsh-looking woman.
Simply, you say to the broad, harsh-looking woman, in sirihish:
"Keep your temper in check."
You think:
"...how to -do- this?"
The broad, harsh-looking woman falls in behind you.
The broad, harsh-looking woman nods to you.
The burly, mohawked man stops using his etched, red stone key.
The burly, mohawked man unlocks the gates with an etched, red stone key.
The burly, mohawked man opens the gates.
The burly, mohawked man steps aside, allowing you to pass.
The Courtyard of House Lyksae [NEW]
The overall impression of this courtyard is one of greyness, as that
color has been used in the stones forming the walls to the east, west, and
south. To the north is a gate of charred bone, offering a slightly
contrasting shade of grey, as well as the occasional glimpse of a more
colorful world beyond it. Even the landscaping, such as it is, is grey,
with stout short bushes at each of the courtyard's four corners. The focal
point in all this greyness is a statue at the center of the courtyard,
surrounded by a series of lightening circles of stones, the centermost being
black, and those at the edge being a pale dun.
To the west, a door leads into the manor house, inset with a panel of
bright crimson silk in the shape of a rising sun. To the east, through a
door painted with a mace, is a more humble building.
A sizable stone building has been built against the southern wall.
A muscular man, sculpted life-size from granite, stands here triumphantly.
The weathered, burly-armed man stands watch at the gates.
The lithe, tanned man is standing here.
The broad, harsh-looking woman has arrived from the north.
The burly, red-haired woman has arrived from the north.
The burly, mohawked man closes the gates from the other side.
Turning her attention towards him, the broad, harsh-looking woman looks down at the lithe,
tanned man.
The lithe, tanned man looks up at the broad, harsh-looking woman.
Pointing over to the broad, harsh-looking woman, you say to the lithe, tanned man, in
sirihish:
"This is Rosie. I believe you two have met."
The lithe, tanned man says, in sirihish:
"we have been acquainted a few times, yes"
The broad, harsh-looking woman's eyes narrow on the lithe, tanned man but she says nothing.
You ask the lithe, tanned man, in sirihish:
"You said things were not fair. Well, who determines what is fair?"
You stop leading the burly, red-haired woman.
The lithe, tanned man says to you, in sirihish:
"I guess it depends on who is in charge Chosen Lord"
Nodding in agreement with the lithe, tanned man, you ask the lithe, tanned man, in sirihish:
"And who, precisely, is in charge?"
You ask the lithe, tanned man, in sirihish:
"I think it fair for both of you to have your conflict and be done with it. Am I not a
fair Chosen Lord?"
Nodding as he speaks and looking around the courtyard, the lithe, tanned man says to you, in
sirihish:
"from where I stand Chosen Lord, that would be you"
You think:
"Patience, Thrend. Perhaps he can be useful somehow besides dying."
Dropping his arms, the lithe, tanned man says to you, in sirihish:
"She is free to have her conflict chosen Lord, I tire of her constant attacks, but I
will not fight her"
The broad, harsh-looking woman looks about to say something then closes her mouth firmly.
Quirking a shaped eyebrow at the lithe, tanned man, you say to the lithe, tanned man, in
sirihish:
"And why not? You have instigated the entire ordeal."
The night has begun.
You say to the lithe, tanned man, in sirihish:
"You wish to fight like a Southron--hurl blunt insults as though they are weapons, then
hide behind false claims when the seeds you have sown have grown into an unmanageable mess."
You say to the lithe, tanned man, in sirihish:
"Oh, His City is -very- fair, indeed, Omanet. And very different from the South--for,
had you been in the South, you would have been slain outright for slandering the very City you
live in."
The lithe, tanned man says to you, in sirihish:
"I will not dispute your words Chosen Lord, however I still stand behind the fact that
there are other factors at work that noone is willing to listen to"
The lithe, tanned man says to you, in sirihish:
"Let us have this be done with Chosen Lord, let us let herhave her way, I am man enough
to face consequences"
Dipping his head, you say to the lithe, tanned man, in sirihish:
"Indeed. I think that would be appropriate."
The lithe, tanned man says to the broad, harsh-looking woman, in sirihish:
"have your way woman, I won't fight you"
You say, in sirihish:
"Come with me, you will square off in the yard."
The broad, harsh-looking woman looks to the lithe, tanned man and shrugs.
Glancing distastefully to a life-sized granite statue of a muscular man, you say, in sirihish:
"I will not have blood spilled or violence done beneath this memorial."
An Orderly Mess Hall [EW]
Everything in this cooking and dining area has been arranged with
military precision, tall baobab cabinets standing at attention on either
side of the cooking ovens. Sturdy baobab benches are in precise formation
with their matching tables, which are in turn squared off on the northern
side of the room. But although there is not a single touch of disorder
about the place, it is not precisely clean, either, being tinged with smoke
from the cooking and curing of food.
A couple of sturdy baobab tables are here.
A sturdy baobab tun is full of clean drinking water.
The smoke-smudged, wide-eyed young woman stands before the stoves here.
The broad, harsh-looking woman has arrived from the west.
The broad, harsh-looking woman narrows her eyes at the lithe, tanned man.
Beckoning briefly, you say to the lithe, tanned man, in sirihish:
"Come laong."
The lithe, tanned man falls in behind you.
A Dimly Lit Barracks [NWD Quit Save]
This windowless room is relatively cool and dim, although a bit
stuffy. Earthy scents waft into it from the adjoining rooms: smoke and
victuals from the mess hall to the west, and dust and sweaty bodies through
the doorway to the north. Hammocks are strung from the rafters and support
beams, each slightly personalized by an article of clothing or some personal
effect. At the head of each hammock hangs a thick woven-grass net in which
additional belongings are stowed. In the southeast corner, beside a table,
a trapdoor leads down into the ground.
A thick rug of quirri hide is here laid out near the hammocks.
A plain chest of maroon baobab hardwood sits here.
An elongated, heavy trunk made of agafari lies here.
A simple wooden chest sits here on the floor.
The stern, iron-braided woman watches over the trapdoor.
The slim, porcelain-skinned maiden sits behind a needle-covered table.
The lithe, tanned man has arrived from the west.
The broad, harsh-looking woman has arrived from the west.
A Covered Training Yard [SU Save]
This spacious yard is walled in on all four sides, with a door leading
into the building to the south. Hard-packed reddish sand forms the ground
here, dusty and stained in spots with what might be blood. At the center of
the yard is a circle lined in granite tiles marking out the main sparring
area, but officers can be seen giving private instruction outside this area.
Overhead, a series of wooden catwalks provide a measure of shade while also
serving as a vantage point for the guards that patrol them.
A shadow falls over the area, driving off the uncomfortable heat.
An empty hefty wooden barrel sits here.
A dwarf sized chunk of raw salt is here.
A couple of simple wooden chests are here off in a far corner of the yard, away from the
sparring area.
An elongated, heavy trunk made of agafari lies here.
The lithe, tanned man has arrived from the south.
The broad, harsh-looking woman has arrived from the south.
In a heavy agafari trunk (here) :
a new hammer-carved wooden shield
a couple of short bone sparring swords
a short bone sparring spear
an used round tortoiseshell shield
a long wooden-bladed training halberd
a couple of wood-bladed training staves
several slim wooden training daggers
some wooden training longswords
a few slim wooden training clubs
a few slim wooden training axes
l in chest
In a simple wooden chest (here) :
an untanned rough, mangy hide
some long lengths of bone
You are carrying:
nothing.
The broad, harsh-looking woman looks from the lithe, tanned man to you.
Nodding towards an empty ring of sand, you say, in sirihish:
"Enjoy yourselves. It seems both of you have a lot to learn."
The freckled, light-skinned man stands stoically by a dwarf sized jagged boulder of salt.
Moving out further into the yard, the broad, harsh-looking woman asks the lithe, tanned man,
in sirihish:
"Why will my life be numbered in moments?"
The broad, harsh-looking woman stops using her open sleeveless robe.
You begin watching the broad, harsh-looking woman.
The lithe, tanned man moves out into the yard with a grin on his face.
Tossing it to the ground at the edge of the circle, the broad, harsh-looking woman drops her
open sleeveless robe.
You think:
"Hmm. She needs to learn to be more subtle."
You think:
"Definitely."
You think:
"But...she does have that violent spirit. And that is something we need."
Watching him with narrowed eyes as she stretches, the broad, harsh-looking woman asks the
lithe, tanned man, in sirihish:
"Only speaking in my mind?"
The lithe, tanned man whispers something to the broad, harsh-looking woman.
Pushing the lithe, tanned man away, the broad, harsh-looking woman says to the lithe, tanned
man, in sirihish:
"Speak louder."
The broad, harsh-looking woman balls up her fists, approaching the lithe, tanned man.
The lithe, tanned man drops his fists to his side.
With a heavy sigh, you say to the lithe, tanned man, in sirihish:
"The other difference in the South and His City that I'm afraid you're unfamiliar with is
that no one will ever find out what happened to you. Before you insulted -me-, you had a
chance."
The broad, harsh-looking woman swings just after you speaks.
The broad, harsh-looking woman attacks the lithe, tanned man.
The broad, harsh-looking woman hits the lithe, tanned man, barely grazing his body.
The broad, harsh-looking woman hits the lithe, tanned man, barely grazing his body.
The broad, harsh-looking woman swiftly dodges the lithe, tanned man's hits.
The lithe, tanned man swiftly dodges the broad, harsh-looking woman's hits.
The broad, harsh-looking woman stops attacking the lithe, tanned man.
The broad, harsh-looking woman swiftly dodges the lithe, tanned man's hits.
Dipping his head towards her, you say to the broad, harsh-looking woman, in sirihish:
"And you have a lot to learn, as well, partisan. You should not have stated your
intentions."
The lithe, tanned man drops an unlit large wooden torch.
The broad, harsh-looking woman swiftly dodges the lithe, tanned man's hits.
The broad, harsh-looking woman swiftly dodges the lithe, tanned man's hits.
The broad, harsh-looking woman swiftly dodges the lithe, tanned man's hits.
The broad, harsh-looking woman swiftly dodges the lithe, tanned man's hits.
The broad, harsh-looking woman looks towards you and nods, before swinging again at the lithe,
tanned man.
The broad, harsh-looking woman hits the lithe, tanned man, barely grazing his foot.
The broad, harsh-looking woman hits the lithe, tanned man, barely grazing his body.
The broad, harsh-looking woman hits the lithe, tanned man, barely grazing his leg.
The lithe, tanned man unslings a long-handled, flint lumber axe from his back.
The broad, harsh-looking woman hits the lithe, tanned man, barely grazing his body.
The lithe, tanned man's eyes roll back in his head.
A long-handled, flint lumber axe clatters to the ground as the lithe, tanned man releases it.
The lithe, tanned man crumples to the ground.
The broad, harsh-looking woman scowls, knocking out the lithe, tanned man as him unstraps a
long-handled, flint lumber axe.
As he inspects the lithe, tanned man, you say to the broad, harsh-looking woman, in sirihish:
"Not a bad form, for using no weapons."
Standing over top of you, the broad, harsh-looking woman says to you, in sirihish:
"Thank you, Chosen Lord."
The broad, harsh-looking woman says, out of character:
"oops"
Crossing his arms and staring at the broad, harsh-looking woman, you say to the broad, harsh-
looking woman, in sirihish:
"He is yours. Tell me what must be done to this one."
Looking down at the lithe, tanned man, the broad, harsh-looking woman says to you, in
sirihish:
"He told me that I should run to the south, he would have me killed."
The broad, harsh-looking woman looks down at the lithe, tanned man.
The broad, harsh-looking woman reaches down to pick up the lithe, tanned man by his hair.
Looking over, the broad, harsh-looking woman says to you, in sirihish:
"I think he's talking from his ass. But, who knows."
The broad, harsh-looking woman swings her fist at the lithe, tanned man again.
The broad, harsh-looking woman attacks the lithe, tanned man.
The broad, harsh-looking woman hits the lithe, tanned man on his head.
Dipping his head in agreement, you ask the broad, harsh-looking woman, in sirihish:
"We'll need to dispose of the body when you have killed him. You will need to learn to
think on your feet--so tell me, what happened to this man?"
The broad, harsh-looking woman takes the lithe, tanned man by the hair again, looking over at
you.
You ask the broad, harsh-looking woman, in sirihish:
"He ran off on the way to my Estate, and I did not see him again, did I?"
Balling her fist once more, the broad, harsh-looking woman says to you, in sirihish:
"I don't think anyone saw him again, Chosen Lord."
The broad, harsh-looking woman attacks the lithe, tanned man.
The broad, harsh-looking woman solidly hits the lithe, tanned man's head.
The broad, harsh-looking woman grins down at the lithe, tanned man before unstrapping her
stone-studded baobab flail.
The broad, harsh-looking woman draws a stone-studded baobab flail.
The broad, harsh-looking woman stops using her curved agafari shield.
The broad, harsh-looking woman brandishes her stone-studded baobab flail in both hands.
Raising her stone-studded baobab flail, the broad, harsh-looking woman says to you, in
sirihish:
"May want to step back, Chosen Lord."
You say to the broad, harsh-looking woman, in sirihish:
"A better option would have been to pretend that you were not angry with him, earlier."
her Stone-studded baobab flail raised, the broad, harsh-looking woman says to you, in
sirihish:
"I tried. I did."
The broad, harsh-looking woman attacks the lithe, tanned man.
The broad, harsh-looking woman brutally bludgeons the lithe, tanned man on his head.
The broad, harsh-looking woman raises her stone-studded baobab flail again, the left side of
his head caved in.
The broad, harsh-looking woman attacks the lithe, tanned man.
The broad, harsh-looking woman viciously bludgeons the lithe, tanned man on his head.
The freckled, light-skinned man watches impassively.
The giant crimson sun rises in the east.
Jihae, the red moon, rises up into the sky.
The broad, harsh-looking woman kicks at the lithe, tanned man with her feet, frowning.
The broad, harsh-looking woman says, in sirihish:
"Still breathing."
The broad, harsh-looking woman raises her stone-studded baobab flail high once more.
The broad, harsh-looking woman attacks the lithe, tanned man.
The broad, harsh-looking woman brutally bludgeons the lithe, tanned man on his head.
The broad, harsh-looking woman hits the lithe, tanned man a couple of times with her stone-
studded baobab flail.
The broad, harsh-looking woman attacks the lithe, tanned man.
The broad, harsh-looking woman bludgeons the lithe, tanned man's head, inflicting a grievous
wound.
The broad, harsh-looking woman attacks the lithe, tanned man.
The broad, harsh-looking woman bludgeons the lithe, tanned man's head, inflicting a grievous
wound.
The broad, harsh-looking woman finally steps away from the body of the lithe, tanned man.
Glancing to the body of the lithe, tanned man, then back to the broad, harsh-looking woman,
you say to the broad, harsh-looking woman, in sirihish:
"You have a bit to learn, I think...but good work."
You say, out of character:
"afk a moment"
Looking over after wiping some blood from her stone-studded baobab flail, the broad, harsh-
looking woman says to you, in
sirihish:
"I'll get rid of him. I'm willing to learn, Chosen Lord."
The broad, harsh-looking woman sheathes a stone-studded baobab flail.
The broad, harsh-looking woman moves away from the body of the lithe, tanned man to an open
sleeveless robe.
The broad, harsh-looking woman picks up an open sleeveless robe.
The broad, harsh-looking woman wears her open sleeveless robe about her body.
After putting her open sleeveless robe on, the broad, harsh-looking woman says to you, in
sirihish:
"I learned if I'm patient, I get what I want."
The broad, harsh-looking woman holds her curved agafari shield.
The broad, harsh-looking woman picks up a long-handled, flint lumber axe.
The broad, harsh-looking woman puts her long-handled, flint lumber axe into her rough canvas
backpack.
The broad, harsh-looking woman picks up an unlit large wooden torch.
The broad, harsh-looking woman puts her unlit large wooden torch into her rough canvas
backpack.
The broad, harsh-looking woman picks up the body of the lithe, tanned man.
The broad, harsh-looking woman swings her body of the lithe, tanned man over her shoulder,
grunting.
nod broad
You nod to her.
You say to the broad, harsh-looking woman, in sirihish:
"We need to get this moved somewhere. Let's see..."
You think:
"How to get rid of the body?"
You think:
"Could hack it into pieces..."
You think:
"...then shove him in a trunk. Maybe."
Gesturing with one hand, you say, in sirihish:
"We'll pack him on an inix, cover it with a rug."
A Dimly Lit Barracks [NWD Quit Save]
This windowless room is relatively cool and dim, although a bit
stuffy. Earthy scents waft into it from the adjoining rooms: smoke and
victuals from the mess hall to the west, and dust and sweaty bodies through
the doorway to the north. Hammocks are strung from the rafters and support
beams, each slightly personalized by an article of clothing or some personal
effect. At the head of each hammock hangs a thick woven-grass net in which
additional belongings are stowed. In the southeast corner, beside a table,
a trapdoor leads down into the ground.
A thick rug of quirri hide is here laid out near the hammocks.
A plain chest of maroon baobab hardwood sits here.
An elongated, heavy trunk made of agafari lies here.
A simple wooden chest sits here on the floor.
The athletic, olive-skinned man is standing here.
The stern, iron-braided woman watches over the trapdoor.
The slim, porcelain-skinned maiden sits behind a needle-covered table.
To the north: the broad, harsh-looking woman walks south.
The broad, harsh-looking woman has arrived from the north.
A Dimly Lit Barracks [NWD Quit Save]
This windowless room is relatively cool and dim, although a bit
stuffy. Earthy scents waft into it from the adjoining rooms: smoke and
victuals from the mess hall to the west, and dust and sweaty bodies through
the doorway to the north. Hammocks are strung from the rafters and support
beams, each slightly personalized by an article of clothing or some personal
effect. At the head of each hammock hangs a thick woven-grass net in which
additional belongings are stowed. In the southeast corner, beside a table,
a trapdoor leads down into the ground.
A thick rug of quirri hide is here laid out near the hammocks.
A plain chest of maroon baobab hardwood sits here.
An elongated, heavy trunk made of agafari lies here.
A simple wooden chest sits here on the floor.
The broad, harsh-looking woman is standing here.
- she is carrying the body of the lithe, tanned man.
The athletic, olive-skinned man is standing here.
The stern, iron-braided woman watches over the trapdoor.
The slim, porcelain-skinned maiden sits behind a needle-covered table.
An Orderly Mess Hall [EW]
Everything in this cooking and dining area has been arranged with
military precision, tall baobab cabinets standing at attention on either
side of the cooking ovens. Sturdy baobab benches are in precise formation
with their matching tables, which are in turn squared off on the northern
side of the room. But although there is not a single touch of disorder
about the place, it is not precisely clean, either, being tinged with smoke
from the cooking and curing of food.
A couple of sturdy baobab tables are here.
A sturdy baobab tun is full of clean drinking water.
The smoke-smudged, wide-eyed young woman stands before the stoves here.
To the east: the broad, harsh-looking woman walks west.
The broad, harsh-looking woman has arrived from the east.
The Courtyard of House Lyksae [NEW]
The overall impression of this courtyard is one of greyness, as that
color has been used in the stones forming the walls to the east, west, and
south. To the north is a gate of charred bone, offering a slightly
contrasting shade of grey, as well as the occasional glimpse of a more
colorful world beyond it. Even the landscaping, such as it is, is grey,
with stout short bushes at each of the courtyard's four corners. The focal
point in all this greyness is a statue at the center of the courtyard,
surrounded by a series of lightening circles of stones, the centermost being
black, and those at the edge being a pale dun.
To the west, a door leads into the manor house, inset with a panel of
bright crimson silk in the shape of a rising sun. To the east, through a
door painted with a mace, is a more humble building.
A sizable stone building has been built against the southern wall.
A muscular man, sculpted life-size from granite, stands here triumphantly.
The burly, red-haired woman stands at attention.
The weathered, burly-armed man stands watch at the gates.
To the east: the broad, harsh-looking woman walks west.
The broad, harsh-looking woman has arrived from the east.
You enter a sizable, gray stone building.
A Spacious Stable [Leave Save]
Rows of box stalls line the interior of this spacious, high-ceilinged
building, each one suitable for even the largest inix to reside in
comfortably. The creak of leather and the sounds of animals eating fills
the area. The flagstone paved ground underfoot is strewn with straw.
Slaves can be seen hurrying up and down the corridors of the stable, bearing
food, cleaning implements, and various bits of harness and leather.
A few large, wooden crates have been stacked in an empty stall.
A gargantuan lizard with glossy black scales stands here foraging for food.
A slender, striped cheotan lizard crouches here, nostrils flaring.
A huge, four-legged, reddish-shelled lizard is here, nosing about for forage.
A large yellow sunback lizard stands here.
A gargantuan lizard with glossy black scales stands here foraging for food.
The broad, harsh-looking woman has entered a sizable, gray stone building.
The broad, harsh-looking woman follows you, the arms of her body of the lithe, tanned man
hanging down.
The freckled, light-skinned man indicates a glossy, black-scaled inix with one gauntleted
hand.
The broad, harsh-looking woman straps her body of the lithe, tanned man to a glossy, black-
scaled inix's back.
The broad, harsh-looking woman wipes bloody hands on the inside of her open sleeveless robe.
A reddish-shelled inix puffs through its nostrils and bobs its head.
"A moment."
You are already standing.
Alas, you cannot go that way.
You stop leading the broad, harsh-looking woman.
leave
You step out to...
The Courtyard of House Lyksae [NEW]
The overall impression of this courtyard is one of greyness, as that
color has been used in the stones forming the walls to the east, west, and
south. To the north is a gate of charred bone, offering a slightly
contrasting shade of grey, as well as the occasional glimpse of a more
colorful world beyond it. Even the landscaping, such as it is, is grey,
with stout short bushes at each of the courtyard's four corners. The focal
point in all this greyness is a statue at the center of the courtyard,
surrounded by a series of lightening circles of stones, the centermost being
black, and those at the edge being a pale dun.
To the west, a door leads into the manor house, inset with a panel of
bright crimson silk in the shape of a rising sun. To the east, through a
door painted with a mace, is a more humble building.
A sizable stone building has been built against the southern wall.
A muscular man, sculpted life-size from granite, stands here triumphantly.
The burly, red-haired woman stands at attention.
The weathered, burly-armed man stands watch at the gates.
An Orderly Mess Hall [EW]
Everything in this cooking and dining area has been arranged with
military precision, tall baobab cabinets standing at attention on either
side of the cooking ovens. Sturdy baobab benches are in precise formation
with their matching tables, which are in turn squared off on the northern
side of the room. But although there is not a single touch of disorder
about the place, it is not precisely clean, either, being tinged with smoke
from the cooking and curing of food.
A couple of sturdy baobab tables are here.
A sturdy baobab tun is full of clean drinking water.
The athletic, olive-skinned man is standing here.
The smoke-smudged, wide-eyed young woman stands before the stoves here.
A Dimly Lit Barracks [NWD Quit Save]
This windowless room is relatively cool and dim, although a bit
stuffy. Earthy scents waft into it from the adjoining rooms: smoke and
victuals from the mess hall to the west, and dust and sweaty bodies through
the doorway to the north. Hammocks are strung from the rafters and support
beams, each slightly personalized by an article of clothing or some personal
effect. At the head of each hammock hangs a thick woven-grass net in which
additional belongings are stowed. In the southeast corner, beside a table,
a trapdoor leads down into the ground.
A thick rug of quirri hide is here laid out near the hammocks.
A plain chest of maroon baobab hardwood sits here.
An elongated, heavy trunk made of agafari lies here.
A simple wooden chest sits here on the floor.
The stern, iron-braided woman watches over the trapdoor.
The slim, porcelain-skinned maiden sits behind a needle-covered table.
You pick up a thick rug of quirri hide.
It is easily manageable.
An Orderly Mess Hall [EW]
Everything in this cooking and dining area has been arranged with
military precision, tall baobab cabinets standing at attention on either
side of the cooking ovens. Sturdy baobab benches are in precise formation
with their matching tables, which are in turn squared off on the northern
side of the room. But although there is not a single touch of disorder
about the place, it is not precisely clean, either, being tinged with smoke
from the cooking and curing of food.
A couple of sturdy baobab tables are here.
A sturdy baobab tun is full of clean drinking water.
The athletic, olive-skinned man is standing here.
The smoke-smudged, wide-eyed young woman stands before the stoves here.
The Courtyard of House Lyksae [NEW]
The overall impression of this courtyard is one of greyness, as that
color has been used in the stones forming the walls to the east, west, and
south. To the north is a gate of charred bone, offering a slightly
contrasting shade of grey, as well as the occasional glimpse of a more
colorful world beyond it. Even the landscaping, such as it is, is grey,
with stout short bushes at each of the courtyard's four corners. The focal
point in all this greyness is a statue at the center of the courtyard,
surrounded by a series of lightening circles of stones, the centermost being
black, and those at the edge being a pale dun.
To the west, a door leads into the manor house, inset with a panel of
bright crimson silk in the shape of a rising sun. To the east, through a
door painted with a mace, is a more humble building.
A sizable stone building has been built against the southern wall.
A muscular man, sculpted life-size from granite, stands here triumphantly.
The burly, red-haired woman stands at attention.
The weathered, burly-armed man stands watch at the gates.
You enter a sizable, gray stone building.
A Spacious Stable [Leave Save]
Rows of box stalls line the interior of this spacious, high-ceilinged
building, each one suitable for even the largest inix to reside in
comfortably. The creak of leather and the sounds of animals eating fills
the area. The flagstone paved ground underfoot is strewn with straw.
Slaves can be seen hurrying up and down the corridors of the stable, bearing
food, cleaning implements, and various bits of harness and leather.
A few large, wooden crates have been stacked in an empty stall.
The broad, harsh-looking woman is standing here.
A gargantuan lizard with glossy black scales stands here foraging for food.
- he is carrying the body of the lithe, tanned man.
A slender, striped cheotan lizard crouches here, nostrils flaring.
A huge, four-legged, reddish-shelled lizard is here, nosing about for forage.
A large yellow sunback lizard stands here.
A gargantuan lizard with glossy black scales stands here foraging for food.
Handing over the hastily rolled-up rug, you give your thick rug of quirri hide to the broad,
harsh-looking woman.
The broad, harsh-looking woman drapes her thick rug of quirri hide over the body on a glossy,
black-scaled inix.
You say to the broad, harsh-looking woman, in sirihish:
"Drape that over the body, and lead the inix on out of the gates out of His City. Dump
the body a few leagues away, and then return to the Sanctuary after you take the inix back
here."
You initiate the broad, harsh-looking woman into 'Servants of House Lyksae'.
The broad, harsh-looking woman arranges her thick rug of quirri hide over the body, tucking a
stray arm beneath.
Simply, you say to the broad, harsh-looking woman, in sirihish:
"Should be able to get in and out of the gates now with that inix."
The broad, harsh-looking woman nods to light.
The broad, harsh-looking woman nods to you.
The broad, harsh-looking woman begins leading a glossy, black-scaled inix.
Tugging on a glossy, black-scaled inix, the broad, harsh-looking woman says to you, in
sirihish:
"As you say, Chosen Lord. Thank you."
The broad, harsh-looking woman lowers her head to you, a happy grin on her face.
With another assessive glance over the broad, harsh-looking woman, the corners of his
features quirking upwards, you say to the broad, harsh-looking woman, in sirihish:
"We'll discuss this later. See me after you've taken the inix back. You are not to go
into the barracks."
You step out to...
The Courtyard of House Lyksae [NEW]
The overall impression of this courtyard is one of greyness, as that
color has been used in the stones forming the walls to the east, west, and
south. To the north is a gate of charred bone, offering a slightly
contrasting shade of grey, as well as the occasional glimpse of a more
colorful world beyond it. Even the landscaping, such as it is, is grey,
with stout short bushes at each of the courtyard's four corners. The focal
point in all this greyness is a statue at the center of the courtyard,
surrounded by a series of lightening circles of stones, the centermost being
black, and those at the edge being a pale dun.
To the west, a door leads into the manor house, inset with a panel of
bright crimson silk in the shape of a rising sun. To the east, through a
door painted with a mace, is a more humble building.
A sizable stone building has been built against the southern wall.
A muscular man, sculpted life-size from granite, stands here triumphantly.
The burly, red-haired woman stands at attention.
The weathered, burly-armed man stands watch at the gates.
You think:
"I think she'll work out."
You don't see that person here.
The broad, harsh-looking woman emerges from a sizable, gray stone building.
A glossy, black-scaled inix emerges from a sizable, gray stone building.
The burly, red-haired woman falls in behind you.
Thrend goes back to the Sanctuary.
You send this message to the staff:
"Rosie is taking the body outside of the city to dump a few leagues from the gates. She
has it stowed on an inix, and has RPed covering the body with a quirri rug she has."
You think:
"Well. That went well."
------
Thrend heads back to the Sanctuary.
------
The Sun King's Sanctuary [NESWUD]
A polished, white marble floor covers the ground of this expansive
room, gleaming under the light of a large glass chandelier that hangs
overhead. A semi-circular bar, made of hard-grained wood painted a deep
black, extends from the eastern wall, several high-backed barstools sitting
around it. The walls of this room are brightly decorated, with several
elaborate paintings placed carefully for unobstructed view, and shelves
holding many exotic potted plants, blooming with bright red and white
flowers. Two large stained-glass windows, decorated with elaborate sun
symbols, adorn the northwest and southeast corners of the room.
Several decoratively carved tables fill this room, while a polished
leather couch nearly ten cords in length sprawls along the northern wall. A
stately spiral staircase sits in the center of the room, winding upwards
toward the common rooms of the second floor. The sounds of laughter and
music can be heard from a doorway along the western wall, while the scents
of cooked meat waft in from the east. A small, straight stairway sits along
the northern wall, ending at a slightly raised loft and a large carven
baobab door sits in the southern wall, leading out onto the North Road
outside.
The Tuluk bulletin board is here propped up on a stand.
The short haired, heavy-set man stands here mug in-hand.
The tall, well-groomed man sits here on a plush couch.
The gaunt, black-haired man is here, leaning on the bar.
The plump, tawny-skinned woman sits on a stool, strumming on her mandolin.
The long-haired, middle-aged man stands behind the counter.
The burly, red-haired woman has arrived from the south.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the broad, harsh-looking woman with the Way.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the broad, harsh-looking woman:
"No trouble thus far?"
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
The broad, harsh-looking woman sends you a telepathic message:
"I'm almost at the Sanctuary, Chosen Lord. I left the rug in the stables."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You dissolve the psychic link.
The thin gangly woman has arrived from the south.
The thin gangly woman walks up.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the svelte, bronzed man with the Way.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the svelte, bronzed man:
"Have you seen that fellow I hired as a partisan?"
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
You suffer from use of the Way.
The svelte, bronzed man sends you a telepathic message:
"No, Chosen Lord. Not since you left with him."
You send a telepathic message to the svelte, bronzed man:
"Or was going to hire. He ran off."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the svelte, bronzed man:
"Ah. Well, if you see him anywhere, do let me know. Odd how people up and disappear
like that."
You dissolve the psychic link.
The svelte, bronzed man sends you a telepathic message:
"He was an unusual sort."
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
The svelte, bronzed man sends you a telepathic message:
"Will do, Chosen Lord."
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.-------
Thrend arrives at the Sanctuary after being informed about some disturbance. (think this was in a previous log but I didn't dig it up)
-------
The Sun King's Sanctuary [NESWUD]
A polished, white marble floor covers the ground of this expansive
room, gleaming under the light of a large glass...
Continue Reading...'Twas the Night Before Githmas by Sandy Claws
Added on Dec 24, 2010A holiday parody.
'Twas the night before Githmas, when all through the city
not a PC was kilt in a manner unshitty;
The PKs were done without thought for the ending,
in hopes that Tektolnes would soon come attending.
The children were nestled all snug in a bed,
but nightmares of gypsies filled them with cold dread.
Their mother and father both wore tandu caps,
for fear they'd be easy to pwn in headwraps,
when outside the window there came such a clatter,
to their great surprise, it was a rope ladder.
Away from the window one flew like a hawk,
and wished up to the staff in hopes of a talk.
The light of Lirathu was glowing so brightly,
it revealed to all present a vision unsightly.
Why, what sort of sight brought them back with two yanks?
'Twas an enormous sleigh led by eight undead kanks,
and a sizable mantis with descriptive flaws--
they knew in a moment it was Sandy Claws.
More rapid than erdlu his extinct kanks came
and he whistled and clicked as he called them by name;
(The couple could not understand a damned word--
with such a low "listen," it's amazing they heard!
They could've pasted it publicly on the GDB...
but the staff would just say that it was too IC.)
As dry sands that before the fierce desert storms fly,
when they meet a noob without direction sense high,
so up to the Tower the undead kanks flew,
with a sleigh full of poison--and old Sandy Claws, too.
And then, without warning, a great flash of light
pierced the sky, making day what was formerly night.
Behold:Â surrounded by His black robed cronies
floated He-Who-Saved-Us, the Dragon, Tektolnes.
He was dressed all in fur, on his front and his sides,
(how did he find that many gwoshi hides?)
His robe-wearing boys, they had old Tek's back,
prepared to defend their Highlord from attack.
His eyes--oh, they twinkled, and flashed forth with fire,
then the couple beheld a great battle transpire:
Ol' Sandy Claws drew back his giant war bow,
peraine on the tip of his green-fletched arrow.
The stump of a pipe poked right out of Tek's mouth,
and the smoke from the spice began to drift south--
taking the form of a smoke-powered dragon,
it crashed 'gainst the sleigh like a Byn-driven wagon.
Distracted, confused, old Sandy's shot missed
and skewered a Black Robe's wand-clutching fist.
That wand fired off flames at the undead insects:
They burned alive (dead--in some respects).
With sleigh all asunder and kanks all a-fried,
Good Sandy Claws knew that his four arms were tied.
The Highlord just grinned, and he winked at the bug,
his victory certain, he spoke with a shrug.
"I handled Luir and I bested Muk Utep,
battling me was your biggest misstep.
I destroyed a great city--or haven't you heard?
All that it took were five simple words."
Sandy Claw's mandibles weren't designed
to speak in the tongues of dwarf, elf, and mankind,
but defeated, he tried--his words slow and leaden:
"Merry...Githmas...to all...and to all..."Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â ________________________Â Â Â Â Â Â Â
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               \ ({"""""""}\    _~ / /~~\~~\~~\'Twas the night before Githmas, when all through the city
not a PC was kilt in a manner unshitty;
The PKs were done without thought for the ending,
in hopes that Tektolnes would soon come attending.
The children were nestled all snug in a bed,
but nightmares of gypsies filled them with cold dread.Continue Reading... When Bynners Get Drunk by Semper
Added on Dec 5, 2010Just before a contract to head north, a group of runners of the T'zai Byn get together to drink and have fun. A lot of craziness ensues.
From the perspective of "the compact, sun-bronzed woman".
Looking down from his impressive height, the blond, strapping man stares unblinking at the red-haired, lean woman.
Clasping both her hands behind her, the red-haired, lean woman says, in sirihish:
"We are currently in the final steps of being awarded a contract from the northers. It involves patroling and guardind labourers clearing the North Road just north of Luir's."
The lean, brown-skinned man glances at the tall, heavily-scarred man.
The tall, heavily-scarred man tenses, slightly, the hint of a frown touching his lips.
The blond, strapping man says, in sirihish:
"Ah . .. "
The red-haired, lean woman says, in sirihish:
"They asked for the Ragin' Tembos specifically, but I'll talk to Sergeant Cael about borrowing some of his men too."
The short, ebony-skinned elf nods, smiling.
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says to the red-haired, lean woman, in sirihish:
"Aye... clear'n it'a what? Ah heard some-- yeh."
The tall, heavily-scarred man says to the red-haired, lean woman, in sirihish:
"Sergeant, if I may..."
Looking to him, the red-haired, lean woman asks the tall, heavily-scarred man, in sirihish:
"Yes?"
The tall, heavily-scarred man asks the red-haired, lean woman, in sirihish:
"This doesn't happen to have anything to do with the Kryl gathering in Grey Forest, does it?"
Shaking her head, the red-haired, lean woman says, in sirihish:
"We are not going into the Forest as far as I know."
The tall, heavily-scarred man says to the red-haired, lean woman, in sirihish:
"... Trust me, you don't have to."
With a nod, the red-haired, lean woman says to the tall, heavily-scarred man, in sirihish:
Flicking his gaze aside to the tall, heavily-scarred man briefly, the blond, strapping man says, in sirihish:
"Its right near the Pah."
The tall, heavily-scarred man says to the red-haired, lean woman, in sirihish:
"Alright. That's all I wanted to know."
The lean, brown-skinned man sighs.
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says to the tall, heavily-scarred man, in sirihish:
"Yeh, so need to go piss'n yer pants."
The lean, brown-skinned man chuckles at the tall, heavily-scarred man.
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man refocuses his attention back on the red-haired, lean woman.
As she looks around, the red-haired, lean woman asks, in sirihish:
"I've spent ten years here in this company. I know a unit when it's ready and when it's not. We ain't all there yet. I need every man mounted, and every 'necker with a tent. Who doesn't have a mount yet?"
The tall, heavily-scarred man glances around, for a moment.
The lean, brown-skinned man raises a hand.
To the lean, brown-skinned man, the red-haired, lean woman asks, in sirihish:
"That's one... and anyone else?"
The tall, heavily-scarred man gets his pile of allanaki coins from his rough canvas backpack.
The tall, heavily-scarred man hums, and picks out a pouch, counting it up, before nodding slowly.
With a nod, the red-haired, lean woman says, in sirihish:
"Alright, we can work with that. We also need everyone armored and ready in fightin' order."
The tall, heavily-scarred man puts his pile of allanaki coins into his rough canvas backpack.
The tall, heavily-scarred man says to the red-haired, lean woman, in sirihish:
"I'm as armored as I'll get."
The short, ebony-skinned elf says, in sirihish:
"Just need an escort, Sarge, or permission, and I can get the cash for the tent. Ain't been able to find a shovel for the shit, yet. "
Chuckling, the lean, brown-skinned man says, in sirihish:
"Well, damn."
The tall, heavily-scarred man closes his hooded, brown military aba.
The red-haired, lean woman says to the short, ebony-skinned elf, in sirihish:
"Escort? You can get a tent down in miners road. I'll take you there myself."
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says to the red-haired, lean woman, in sirihish:
"Ah'v got armored covered, pretty much. Figure ah'll go buy a better blade at th' bazaar..."
The short, ebony-skinned elf says, in sirihish:
"Escort or permission for the flats, was what I meant."
The tall, heavily-scarred man asks the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man, in sirihish:
"You need a sword?"
Looking over, the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says to the tall, heavily-scarred man, in sirihish:
"'ey, shithead. Lemme see that one poker yeh had in your pack."
The short, ebony-skinned elf says, in sirihish:
"I been wandering around the city for some time alone. "
The short, ebony-skinned elf chuckles.
The tall, heavily-scarred man asks the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man, in sirihish:
"... The rapier or the shortsword?"
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says to the tall, heavily-scarred man, in sirihish:
"Yeh, sorta. That rapier-thin'."
The lean, brown-skinned man wipes a hand down his face.
The tall, heavily-scarred man holds up his bloodied rib-hilted bone rapier, and his bloodied double-edged bone shortsword.
Returning her attention to the group, the red-haired, lean woman says, in sirihish:
"Now we haven't sealed the deal yet but we will soon, meanin' you have time to prepare and that's why I'm talkin' to you today."
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man nods to the rapier.
Off to the side, you sit down, relaxing.
The tall, heavily-scarred man says to the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man, in sirihish:
"Which one you want? Both're fuckin' Militia swords from up north."
The red-haired, lean woman asks, in sirihish:
"Any questions?"
Handing it over handle first, the tall, heavily-scarred man gives his bloodied rib-hilted bone rapier to the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man.
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says to the tall, heavily-scarred man, in sirihish:
"Lemme borrow it fer th' trip, aye? Ah'll watch yer back for't."
The short, ebony-skinned elf shakes his head.
Your new ldesc is:
The compact, sun-bronzed woman sits here by the wall, relaxing
The tall, heavily-scarred man says to the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man, in sirihish:
"Sure. Just don't lose it, that's high quality shit..."
The lean, brown-skinned man shakes his head.
The blond, strapping man says, in sirihish:
"No, Sergeant."
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man slants the tall, heavily-scarred man a smile, taking his bloodied rib-hilted bone rapier by its carved hilt.
The red-haired, lean woman looks down at the tall, heavily-scarred man.
The tall, heavily-scarred man says to the red-haired, lean woman, in sirihish:
"And nah, I'm ready to go."
The red-haired, lean woman asks the tall, heavily-scarred man, in sirihish:
"Why do you have militia swords?"
Weighing his bloodied rib-hilted bone rapier in his hand, the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says, in sirihish:
"Shet, this' heavy."
The tall, heavily-scarred man says to the red-haired, lean woman, in sirihish:
"They were given to me by a Half-Giant."
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man quickly wipes the blood off of a bloodied rib-hilted bone rapier.
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man holds his rib-hilted bone rapier.
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man slings a rib-hilted bone rapier across his back.
The compact, sun-bronzed woman breathes out an amused chuckle.
The tall, heavily-scarred man shrugs, off-handedly.
The red-haired, lean woman says to the tall, heavily-scarred man, in sirihish:
"We're going to be stationed in the north. Those swords will need to be replaced."
The blond, strapping man glances over to you.
The tall, heavily-scarred man says to the red-haired, lean woman, in sirihish:
"They won't know the difference, trust me."
Extending a hand, the red-haired, lean woman says to the tall, heavily-scarred man, in sirihish:
"Show me."
The short, ebony-skinned elf stops using his bloodied short stabbing halfspear.
The tall, heavily-scarred man says to the red-haired, lean woman, in sirihish:
"They're 'militia' swords, in that they came from there, but you can buy that shit from anywhere up north."
The tall, heavily-scarred man gives his bloodied double-edged bone shortsword to the red-haired, lean woman.
The lean, brown-skinned man sighs.
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says to the red-haired, lean woman, in sirihish:
"Ain' a big deal sarge. Doesn' even have no emblems on't or brandings."
The red-haired, lean woman nods.
The red-haired, lean woman says, in sirihish:
"Alright."
The short, ebony-skinned elf quickly wipes the blood off of a bloodied short stabbing halfspear.
The short, ebony-skinned elf brandishes his short stabbing halfspear.
The tall, heavily-scarred man says to the red-haired, lean woman, in sirihish:
"They came out of the Militia stocks, no brands. Otherwise I'd never have taken em."
The short, ebony-skinned elf sheathes a short stabbing halfspear.
The tall, heavily-scarred man holds his hand out, for the shortsword.
A Small Training Hall [S]
This small, bare stone hall has thick straw pads on the walls, and also
on part of the floor, to provide some small degree of cushioning from the
violent activity normally seen here. Around the hall, a few pairs of rough-
looking mercenaries engage in close-combat drills or sparring. The smell of
stale sweat hangs heavily in the air. A large archway opens up to a larger
hall to the south.
A couple of large, etched wooden casks are here.
The blond, strapping man is standing here, looking a bit winded.
- he is carrying a large bag.
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man is standing here.
The red-haired, lean woman is here, hands clasped behind her back.
The lean, brown-skinned man is standing here.
The tall, heavily-scarred man is sitting here.
The short, ebony-skinned elf is reclining here.
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
The red-haired, lean woman says, in sirihish:
"Well, that's all I wanted to say. Get ready, really. Use the barracks if you want to drink. I'll be takin' Vhryss down to miners road."
The short, ebony-skinned elf says, in sirihish:
"Think I'm gonna want to lay in a few more throwing knives, and I still gotta get some armor."
The blond, strapping man sends you a telepathic message:
"You are fun drunk?"
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says to the red-haired, lean woman, in sirihish:
"Aye, ma'm."
Loudly, the red-haired, lean woman says, in sirihish:
"Dismissed."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the blond, strapping man with the Way.
The blond, strapping man offers a salute to you.
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man gets his waterskin from his small bag.
The red-haired, lean woman snaps a fist to her chest.
The tall, heavily-scarred man says to the red-haired, lean woman, in sirihish:
"Yea- Hey, hold it."
The blond, strapping man trods over to a large, etched wooden cask.
The short, ebony-skinned elf says to the red-haired, lean woman, in sirihish:
"I know the way, Sarge. I meant, an escort or permission for the flats, I ain't figured the shovelling of the shit yet."
The tall, heavily-scarred man chuckles, and raps a fist onto the chest-bit of his used bloodied chitin-banded leather cuirass.
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man chuckles over at the tall, heavily-scarred man.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the blond, strapping man:
"Eeeeh. Well. Just don't get on my bad side. I've nevah hit no non-bynner..."
The lean, brown-skinned man glances at the blond, strapping man before saluting the red-haired, lean woman.
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man glances over his shoulder once to the blond, strapping man then walks over to one of the casks.
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man fills up a waterskin from a large, etched wooden cask.
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man drinks firestorm's flame from his waterskin.
The blond, strapping man picks up a large, etched wooden cask.
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man picks up a large, etched wooden cask.
The tall, heavily-scarred man says to the red-haired, lean woman, in sirihish:
"Gonna need that sword back, y'know."
The blond, strapping man says to the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man, in sirihish:
"Lets haul these to the barracks, Berk."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the blond, strapping man:
"Actually...jes' might. Dunno. It's always a risk even for me to get drunk, heh."
Gesturing with a hand, the red-haired, lean woman says to the short, ebony-skinned elf, in sirihish:
"Well, you get a shovel, go to the stables, collect the shit in a bag, go on Merchants road 'till you reach the man with the cart. He'll pay you for it."
You stand up, dusting herself off.
You dissolve the psychic link.
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
Passing it back hilt first, the red-haired, lean woman gives her bloodied double-edged bone shortsword to the tall, heavily-scarred man.
The tall, heavily-scarred man says to the short, ebony-skinned elf, in sirihish:
"And get my bag from Berk."
The lean, brown-skinned man puts his bloodied short bone sparring sword into his small bag.
The short, ebony-skinned elf says, in sirihish:
"Ah, 'twas the shovel part that fucked me up then."
The blond, strapping man says, in sirihish:
"Someone doesn't ant to drink."
Cask halphazardly under one arm as he gives his waterskin a shake, the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says to the blond, strapping man, in sirihish:
"Looks like yeh got a good deal, Blondie."
The blond, strapping man walks south.
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man walks south.
You follow the blond, strapping man, and walk south.
The Main Barracks [EU Quit]
This massive, two-story hall seems to have undergone heavy rebuilding
at some time in the past. Most of the vast room is open air, with the first
story above ground level being nothing more than a balcony of sorts,
several cords wide and running along the walls of the building. Both upper
and lower floors are devoid of furniture, with several hundred grimy
pallets arranged in semi-orderly rows along the walls. Solid stone stairs
lead to the upper level from the western end of the hall. Suspended from
the ceiling, more than twenty-five cords above, is a large black banner
bearing a purple dragon.
The hall appears mostly empty except for a few mercenaries here and
there, mending armor, sharpening weapons, or just talking quietly.
A multi-ringed dartboard hangs on a wall here.
A large barrel of water is shoved in the corner.
The blond, strapping man is standing here, looking tired.
- he is carrying a large, etched wooden cask.
- he is carrying a large bag.
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man is standing here.
- he is carrying a large, etched wooden cask.
The brown-haired, blue-eyed man looks around slowly from his pallet here.
The thin, chestnut-haired woman stands here, watching the stairs.
The grey-maned, wooden-legged man sits here, sharpening a bone-toothed saw.
The dimpled, shaven-headed man looks over a wounded mercenary here.
Flopping it down, the blond, strapping man drops his large, etched wooden cask.
Slouching it against the wall, the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man drops his large, etched wooden cask.
The lean, brown-skinned man has arrived from the east.
Glancing over a shoulder, you say, in sirihish:
"We should make one of the new guys eat part of the rat to join the party. Heh. Heh."
Chuckling, the lean, brown-skinned man says, in sirihish:
"Heh-heh... drinkin'."
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man fills up a waterskin from a large, etched wooden cask.
The blond, strapping man says, in sirihish:
"Ok, newbies."
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man drinks firestorm's flame from his waterskin.
The blond, strapping man says, in sirihish:
"Berk and Kar here can drink when and what they want, but you feckers."
After a loud breath, the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says, in sirihish:
"Hard stuff."
The blond, strapping man says, in sirihish:
"There's one, simple rule."
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man drinks firestorm's flame from his waterskin.
The blond, strapping man says, in sirihish:
"I drink: you drink."
Smirking, the lean, brown-skinned man says, in sirihish:
"I bet I can drink you under the table."
The blond, strapping man says, in sirihish:
"I promise, you'll be asleep by afternoon."
The blond, strapping man opens his bone-studded backpack.
The blond, strapping man gets his waterskin from his bone-studded backpack.
The blond, strapping man closes his bone-studded backpack.
Shuffling over to you, the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says, in sirihish:
"Kar..."
Chuckling, the lean, brown-skinned man says to you, in sirihish:
"I don't think he seen me drink before."
Glancing toward the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man, you ask, in sirihish:
"Hmmm?"
Easing down near a large, etched wooden cask, the blond, strapping man sits on a small leather cot.
Holding out his waterskin, the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says to you, in sirihish:
"Shoulda try some'a this."
The blond, strapping man drinks water from his waterskin.
The blond, strapping man drinks water from his waterskin.
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man turns his waterskin over, cocking an eye down its contents.
Turning back to a large, etched wooden cask, the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says, in sirihish:
"Shit."
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man fills up a waterskin from a large, etched wooden cask.
Curiously, you ask the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man, in sirihish:
"What's it?"
The lean, brown-skinned man gets his waterskin from his small bag.
You are carrying:
an unlit dusty simple, leather-wrapped bone torch
an used round black shield
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man asks you, in sirihish:
"Yeh ain' ever had flame?"
A bone-studded backpack is already open!
You get your leather waterskin from your bone-studded backpack.
It is very light, and full.
You get your waterskin from your bone-studded backpack.
It is very light, and about half full.
pour skin barrel
There is no room for more.
The blond, strapping man pulls down his leather and jet-colored chitin coif with a gentle tug.
You drink the water.
You do not feel thirsty.
You are carrying:
a waterskin
a leather waterskin
an unlit dusty simple, leather-wrapped bone torch
an used round black shield
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says to you, in sirihish:
"Yeh, well, ah haven' either."
It's less than half full of a clear liquid.
The blond, strapping man carefully pours his waterskin's scant remains over his head.
The blond, strapping man pours his waterskin on the ground.
Slumping back, the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man rests on a small leather cot.
drink skin
Your stomach can't contain anymore!
You sigh.
You put your waterskin into your bone-studded backpack.
You put your leather waterskin into your bone-studded backpack.
You get your shot-glass from your bone-studded backpack.
It is very light, and empty.
The blond, strapping man fills up a waterskin from a large, etched wooden cask.
Shaking your shot-glass, you say, in sirihish:
"Got this for emergencies."
fill shot cask
Ok.
You open your small leather pouch.
You get your deck of Kruth cards from your small leather pouch.
It is very light.
You close your small leather pouch.
You sit on a small leather cot.
With a woozy gaze, the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man lifts his waterskin to his mouth.
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man drinks firestorm's flame from his waterskin.
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man stops guarding the blond, strapping man.
You shuffle a deck of Kruth cards.
Bringing your shot-glass to her lips, you say, in sirihish:
"Now, tah start it off."
Pausing his hoist of his waterskin, the blond, strapping man asks you, in sirihish:
"Hey, Kar, going to brush up that hair today?"
You drink the firestorm's flame.
You do not feel thirsty.
You say, in sirihish:
"Jes' might. But only cause i's you guys."
Tilting his head back to take a few gulps, the blond, strapping man drinks firestorm's flame from his waterskin.
You are carrying:
a deck of Kruth cards
an empty shot-glass
an unlit dusty simple, leather-wrapped bone torch
an used round black shield
Just chugging away, the blond, strapping man drinks firestorm's flame from his waterskin.
Chuckling, the lean, brown-skinned man says to the blond, strapping man, in sirihish:
"Let me get a drink, then."
You ask, in sirihish:
"Alrigh'. High card to see who drinks or does a dare?"
The blond, strapping man says to the lean, brown-skinned man, in sirihish:
"You're a waterskin down already."
The blond, strapping man says, in sirihish:
"I'm in, for a dare round."
Chuckling, the lean, brown-skinned man says to the blond, strapping man, in sirihish:
"Be back."
Hastily, the lean, brown-skinned man walks east.
You say, in sirihish:
"We got all feck'n weekend. Whoo."
The lean, brown-skinned man has arrived from the east.
You are carrying:
a deck of Kruth cards
an empty shot-glass
an unlit dusty simple, leather-wrapped bone torch
an used round black shield
The lean, brown-skinned man fills up a waterskin from a large, etched wooden cask.
The blond, strapping man fills up a waterskin from a large, etched wooden cask.
The thin, chestnut-haired woman intently scans the area.
Grinning as he holds up his waterskin, the lean, brown-skinned man says, in sirihish:
"Let's get to drinkin'."
The lean, brown-skinned man drinks firestorm's flame from his waterskin.
You say, in sirihish:
"Normal Kruth ranks, Suits before Ranks, Whira on top."
The lean, brown-skinned man drinks firestorm's flame from his waterskin.
You deal a Kruth card to the lean, brown-skinned man.
You deal a Kruth card to the blond, strapping man.
You deal a Kruth card to the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man.
You deal yourself a Kruth card: the Water of Kings.
The compact, sun-bronzed woman drops down your Kruth card: the Water of Kings.
fill shot cask
Ok.
The blond, strapping man says, in sirihish:
"Feh."
Looking down at his card, the lean, brown-skinned man says, in sirihish:
"Aw, shit..."
Flipping it over, the blond, strapping man drops his Kruth card: the Stone of Truth.
While presenting his Kruth card: the Stone of Deceit, the lean, brown-skinned man drinks firestorm's flame from his waterskin.
As if it were water, the blond, strapping man drinks firestorm's flame from his waterskin.
The lean, brown-skinned man fills up a waterskin from a large, etched wooden cask.
While watching the cards from the corner of her eye, you drink the firestorm's flame.
You are feeling very intoxicated.
You do not feel thirsty.
The lean, brown-skinned man watches the blond, strapping man grinning.
You are Kahya, a Runner of the T'zai Byn.
Keywords: compact sun-bronzed woman Kharsa Kar
Sdesc: the compact, sun-bronzed woman
Objective: Survive and become a Trooper of the Byn.
Long Description:
Code Generated Long Description.
You are 25 years, 0 months, and 140 days old,
which by your race and appearance is adult.
You are 71 inches tall, and weigh 7 ten-stone.
...
You are neither hungry nor thirsty.
You are intoxicated.
...
You have been playing for 3 days and 9 hours.
You are sitting on a small leather cot.
You are currently speaking sirihish with a southern accent.
You are carrying:
a Kruth card: the Water of Kings
a deck of Kruth cards
an empty shot-glass
an unlit dusty simple, leather-wrapped bone torch
an used round black shield
The lean, brown-skinned man sits on a small leather cot.
Lowering your shot-glass, you say, in sirihish:
"Whew...damn I've gotten weak. I'm feel'n it already."
The blond, strapping man chuckles over at you.
Smirking, the lean, brown-skinned man asks you, in sirihish:
"Shit... two shots?"
l in cask
It is empty.
Amusement in his tone, the blond, strapping man says, in sirihish:
"I know who'se getting hit first."
Squeezing it a short distance into his mouth, the lean, brown-skinned man drinks firestorm's flame from his waterskin.
You say to the lean, brown-skinned man, in sirihish:
"Hey, I'm a light-weight for now."
The blond, strapping man asks, in sirihish:
"So who lost?"
The lean, brown-skinned man raises a hand.
The blond, strapping man says to the lean, brown-skinned man, in sirihish:
"Go lay a kiss on Serg."
Tossing it aside, the lean, brown-skinned man discards his Kruth card: the Stone of Deceit.
You say to the blond, strapping man, in sirihish:
"Hey, tha's a nice one."
The blond, strapping man dips his head, grinning.
You say, in sirihish:
"We gotta watch 'im do it."
Looking about, the lean, brown-skinned man asks, in sirihish:
"Where's 'e at?"
The blond, strapping man says, in sirihish:
"Watch this."
The lean, brown-skinned man stares at the blond, strapping man.
The thin, chestnut-haired woman intently scans the area.
The compact, sun-bronzed woman regards the lean, brown-skinned man with a flush to her cheeks.
Shrugging, the lean, brown-skinned man asks, in sirihish:
"Who I gotta kiss?"
The short, ebony-skinned elf has arrived from the east.
The blond, strapping man says, in sirihish:
"The Serg, who'se coming."
The short, ebony-skinned elf puts his waterskin into his bone-studded backpack.
The short, ebony-skinned elf nods, and heads back out, raising his hood.
The lean, brown-skinned man scowls at the short, ebony-skinned elf.
The short, ebony-skinned elf runs east.
Easing it back, the blond, strapping man drinks firestorm's flame from his waterskin.
A loud horn blast sounds from the northeast.
Suddenly, the lean, brown-skinned man stands up from a small leather cot.
Absently, swaying a glance over to no-one in particular, you ask, in sirihish:
"Hey, sharp-ear. Hands off the shit, hmm?"
The blond, strapping man blinks a few times.
The tall, heavily-scarred man has arrived from the east.
The blond, strapping man says, in sirihish:
"Drov. . . I'm finally feeling it"
Looking up, the lean, brown-skinned man asks, in sirihish:
"Wait... no. She said we got leave days, right?"
The thin, chestnut-haired woman intently scans the area.
The tall, heavily-scarred man steps in, and blinks, before motioning to the grey-maned, wooden-legged man, and laying himself down on a small leather cot.
The blond, strapping man tilts his head back, laughing merrily!
The lean, brown-skinned man sits on a small leather cot.
The tall, heavily-scarred man sits on a small leather cot.
The tall, heavily-scarred man rests on a small leather cot.
Smirking before laughing loudly!, the lean, brown-skinned man looks at the blond, strapping man.
The tall, heavily-scarred man closes his eyes, while the grey-maned, wooden-legged man gets to work wrapping his wrist -again - as well as a slash on his head.
The tall, heavily-scarred man sleeps on a small leather cot.
You say to the lean, brown-skinned man, in sirihish:
"Oh, shet! I forgot! Kell, sarge said yah had to spar that elfie."
The blond, strapping man says to the lean, brown-skinned man, in sirihish:
"Drink. You're still a skin behind."
Thumbing at himself, the lean, brown-skinned man says to you, in sirihish:
"I can beat that elf's stupid ass. I done it before, and I do it again."
With a slow smirk, pointing at the tall, heavily-scarred man, you say to the lean, brown-skinned man, in sirihish:
"Oh. There's the one yah gotta kiss."
Wavering on his cot, the lean, brown-skinned man says, in sirihish:
"Even as drunk as I am..."
The red-haired, lean woman has arrived from the east.
Stepping in, the red-haired, lean woman asks, in sirihish:
"Runners. How's the drink going?"
Pointing at the lean, brown-skinned man, the blond, strapping man says to the red-haired, lean woman, in sirihish:
"He's the one."
Glaring at the tall, heavily-scarred man, the lean, brown-skinned man exclaims to you, in sirihish:
"Grinz!? You want me kiss -that- ass-hat?!"
The red-haired, lean woman looks down at the tall, heavily-scarred man.
You say to the lean, brown-skinned man, in sirihish:
"Yah should drink one more shot, Kell."
The blond, strapping man exclaims to the lean, brown-skinned man, in sirihish:
"You're a skin behind, and a dare behind. Get to work!"
Eyes half-lidded, the lean, brown-skinned man asks you, in sirihish:
"Absolutely right... what was I thinkin'?"
The lean, brown-skinned man sips from his waterskin.
The red-haired, lean woman asks, in sirihish:
"Anyone here seen Sergeant Cael?"
The blond, strapping man scoffs.
Wearing a loose grin, the compact, sun-bronzed woman pulls her hair out from her eyes, looking from the lean, brown-skinned man to the red-haired, lean woman.
The blond, strapping man says to the red-haired, lean woman, in sirihish:
"I've not . . .," he pauses to hiccup, "Serg."
Shrugging, the lean, brown-skinned man asks, in sirihish:
"So who'm I kissin'!?"
The blond, strapping man points a long finger at the red-haired, lean woman.
The compact, sun-bronzed woman points absently toward the red-haired, lean woman along with the blond, strapping man.
Slowly turning his head, the lean, brown-skinned man looks up at the red-haired, lean woman.
The blond, strapping man fails to stifle a huge grin.
fill shot 2.cask
Ok.
Looking away from the red-haired, lean woman, the lean, brown-skinned man asks the blond, strapping man, in sirihish:
"Sure she won't mind?"
The blond, strapping man exclaims to the lean, brown-skinned man, in sirihish:
"Not at all, look, she's beckoning you over!"
With a low groan, to find his head wrapped up lightly, and his wrist set in a heavier bandages, the tall, heavily-scarred man awakens.
You exclaim to the lean, brown-skinned man, in sirihish:
"Jes' do it. Yah gotta catch her off-guard!"
The tall, heavily-scarred man asks, in sirihish:
"Ohh, ohh fuckin'... Ehh..?"
The tall, heavily-scarred man glances around, for a moment.
The compact, sun-bronzed woman tries to talk in a whisper, which is rather loud.
To the lean, brown-skinned man, the red-haired, lean woman says, in sirihish:
"If you want a good lashin', Runner, go ahead."
The tall, heavily-scarred man asks, in sirihish:
"The fuck's goin' on here..?"
Passing it over, the red-haired, lean woman gives her round black shield to the tall, heavily-scarred man.
The blond, strapping man chuckles a bit, eyeing the red-haired, lean woman.
Grimacing, the lean, brown-skinned man says to the red-haired, lean woman, in sirihish:
"Aw... but it's a dare. I can't -not- do it."
The tall, heavily-scarred man blinks, at his round black shield, and grins.
Tossing that over, the tall, heavily-scarred man gives his cracked smelly round black shield to the red-haired, lean woman.
The red-haired, lean woman says to the lean, brown-skinned man, in sirihish:
"You'll do as your told Runner, drunk or not."
The blond, strapping man fills up a waterskin from a large, etched wooden cask.
The tall, heavily-scarred man asks the red-haired, lean woman, in sirihish:
"What's he doin'...?"
The tall, heavily-scarred man opens his rough canvas backpack.
The tall, heavily-scarred man gets his waterskin from his rough canvas backpack.
Scratching at his scalp, the lean, brown-skinned man asks, in sirihish:
"Then I... don't?"
The tall, heavily-scarred man sips from a tun of water.
The tall, heavily-scarred man sips from a tun of water.
In a stage whisper, you ask the lean, brown-skinned man, in sirihish:
"A kiss on the cheek?"
The blond, strapping man exclaims to the lean, brown-skinned man, in sirihish:
"Go kiss Grinz then!"
Hopping up, the blond, strapping man stands up from a small leather cot.
Settling down, the red-haired, lean woman sits on a small leather cot.
Bobbing a nod, sitting back, you say to the blond, strapping man, in sirihish:
"Lost 'is chance though."
The lean, brown-skinned man tries to drink from his waterskin but it's empty!
The tall, heavily-scarred man exclaims, in sirihish:
"Ohh, SHIT!"
The compact, sun-bronzed woman offers your shot-glass toward the red-haired, lean woman a moment.
Nodding a bit, the blond, strapping man says, in sirihish:
"Definitely lost."
The tall, heavily-scarred man says, in sirihish:
"Hahah, look at this..."
The tall, heavily-scarred man drinks firestorm's flame from his waterskin.
Rushing over to the tall, heavily-scarred man, the lean, brown-skinned man stands up from a small leather cot.
The tall, heavily-scarred man slams his waterskin back, and coughs.
The tall, heavily-scarred man exclaims, in sirihish:
"Ohh SHIT Firestorm! FUCK yeah! Tuluki liquor!"
The lean, brown-skinned man tackles the tall, heavily-scarred man, smooching him.
The tall, heavily-scarred man drinks firestorm's flame from his waterskin.
Easing down beside you, the blond, strapping man sits on a small leather cot.
You say to the tall, heavily-scarred man, in sirihish:
"Whoooa, shit."
The compact, sun-bronzed woman goes and hugs a large, etched wooden cask protectively.
The blond, strapping man chuckles a bit.
The tall, heavily-scarred man blinks, and falls off a small leather cot, hitting the floor and sputtering, throwing an arm up to get the lean, brown-skinned man off.
The tall, heavily-scarred man exclaims, in sirihish:
"Ge- GET OFF ME!"
The tall, heavily-scarred man stands up from a small leather cot.
The tall, heavily-scarred man sits down to rest.
The blond, strapping man says to the tall, heavily-scarred man, in sirihish:
"That's enough for you, then."
Pushing up, the lean, brown-skinned man says to the tall, heavily-scarred man, in sirihish:
"There. Dare done."
Staggering, the lean, brown-skinned man gets to his feet.
The compact, sun-bronzed woman returns to her cot after the mess is over.
The tall, heavily-scarred man spits, and sputters, before standing up, and raising his fist at the lean, brown-skinned man.
Holding out his waterskin, the lean, brown-skinned man asks, in sirihish:
"Fill me up?"
You shuffle a deck of Kruth cards.
The tall, heavily-scarred man exclaims to the lean, brown-skinned man, in sirihish:
"I'll kick yer fuckin' ass!"
The tall, heavily-scarred man drinks firestorm's flame from his waterskin.
At your seat, the blond, strapping man says in sirihish, smiling as he glances about the barracks:
"It was worth seven small."
Holding out a hand, you say to the lean, brown-skinned man, in sirihish:
"Pass it ovah'"
The red-haired, lean woman stands up from a small leather cot.
The red-haired, lean woman walks east.
The tall, heavily-scarred man blinks, and coughs, before stepping aside, and grabbing hold of a small leather cot to keep himself steady.
The tall, heavily-scarred man puts his waterskin into his rough canvas backpack.
Taking a very long step, the lean, brown-skinned man gives you his waterskin.
Glancing east, you say, in sirihish:
"Awww, we chased the sarge off."
The tall, heavily-scarred man says, in sirihish:
"Ohh... ohhhh..."
l in 2.cask
It's about half full of a reddish liquid.
The tall, heavily-scarred man rises from the ground, and clambers to his feet.
fill skin 2.cask
Ok.
The tall, heavily-scarred man closes his rough canvas backpack.
l in skin
It's full of a reddish liquid.
l in 2.cask
It's less than half full of a reddish liquid.
You give your waterskin to the lean, brown-skinned man.
The tall, heavily-scarred man says to the lean, brown-skinned man, in sirihish:
"You... you slimy... slimy fucker..."
The tall, heavily-scarred man says to the lean, brown-skinned man, in sirihish:
"Let's... let's go. Right... right now... Mess Hall... you n'me..."
Smiling, the lean, brown-skinned man exclaims to the tall, heavily-scarred man, in sirihish:
"Mess hall rumble!!"
Pumping her fists, you exclaim, in sirihish:
"Whoooo!"
Holding out a hand, the lean, brown-skinned man says to you, in sirihish:
"My skin, please."
The blond, strapping man shakes his head, chuckling.
You are carrying:
a deck of Kruth cards
a shot-glass
an unlit dusty simple, leather-wrapped bone torch
an used round black shield
The tall, heavily-scarred man coughs, and steps past, half-stumbling, before moving beyond the group, seeking the exit - and the mess hall.
Blinking, you say to the lean, brown-skinned man, in sirihish:
"I gave it tah yah, shithead."
The blond, strapping man says to the lean, brown-skinned man, in sirihish:
"Still down an entire skin, lightweight."
The lean, brown-skinned man looks down at his already full hand.
The tall, heavily-scarred man attempts to walk, but trips over his feet.
The tall, heavily-scarred man hits the floor, and... stays there.
Nodding, the lean, brown-skinned man says to you, in sirihish:
"so ya did."
The blond, strapping man chuckles, eyeing the prostrate the tall, heavily-scarred man.
The compact, sun-bronzed woman barks out a chuckle.
The lean, brown-skinned man steps over the tall, heavily-scarred man.
The lean, brown-skinned man attempts to walk, but trips over his feet.
The tall, heavily-scarred man stands up.
The lean, brown-skinned man and then trips.
The tall, heavily-scarred man grunts, and stands himself up, intentionally - or not - tripping the lean, brown-skinned man in the process.
Laughing riotously, the blond, strapping man exclaims, in sirihish:
"Idiots!"
Glancing around, you ask, in sirihish:
"Wha' happened tah Berk? He pass out already?"
The tall, heavily-scarred man staggers east.
Exhaling, the lean, brown-skinned man stands up.
The lean, brown-skinned man staggers east.
Nodding a bit, the blond, strapping man says, in sirihish:
"That he did."
The Main Barracks [EU Quit]
This massive, two-story hall seems to have undergone heavy rebuilding
at some time in the past. Most of the vast room is open air, with the first
story above ground level being nothing more than a balcony of sorts,
several cords wide and running along the walls of the building. Both upper
and lower floors are devoid of furniture, with several hundred grimy
pallets arranged in semi-orderly rows along the walls. Solid stone stairs
lead to the upper level from the western end of the hall. Suspended from
the ceiling, more than twenty-five cords above, is a large black banner
bearing a purple dragon.
The hall appears mostly empty except for a few mercenaries here and
there, mending armor, sharpening weapons, or just talking quietly.
A Kruth playing card is here: the Stone of Truth.
An empty large wooden cask, etched with flames, rests here.
A large wooden cask, etched with flames, rests here.
A multi-ringed dartboard hangs on a wall here.
A large barrel of water is shoved in the corner.
The blond, strapping man is sitting on a small leather cot.
- he is carrying a large bag.
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man lays on a cot here, plastered and passed out.
The brown-haired, blue-eyed man looks around slowly from his pallet here.
The thin, chestnut-haired woman stands here, watching the stairs.
The grey-maned, wooden-legged man sits here, sharpening a bone-toothed saw.
The dimpled, shaven-headed man looks over a wounded mercenary here.
You say, in sirihish:
"Awww. Damn."
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man is in excellent condition.
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man looks completely rested.
You look down at the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man.
Numerous bald spots break out all around this man's scalp, leaving only a
few patches of unkempt black hair. His face is angular and his body lean,
though his arms are sinewy with muscle and harshly tanned in contrast to the
rest of him, showing that he's someone used to the unforgiving rays of the
sun and physical labor. Much more noticable about him is his dark eyes,
which seem to be permanently slanted downwards in a surly stare.
Crude cut marks are visible along his stubbled jaw, most likely where he
slipped shaving.
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man is in excellent condition.
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man is using:
<worn on head> a dusty cuirbouilli helmet
<worn around neck> a dusty dusky chitin neck-guard
<slung across back> a rib-hilted bone rapier
<worn on torso> a bloodied thick beetle-carapace cuirass
<worn on left shoulder> a dusty red-slashed, tembo-sewn patch
<worn around wrist> a stained leather wrist guard
<worn around wrist> a stained leather wrist guard
<worn on hands> a dusty pair of chitin-plated leather gloves
<primary hand> a cracked round black shield
<worn as belt> a black belt
<hung from belt> a small bag
<hung from belt> an obsidian shortsword
<worn around body> a dusty hooded, brown military aba
<worn about waist> a tough, grey chitin codpiece
<worn on legs> a pair of patched sandcloth pants
<worn on feet> a dusty pair of sandcloth and leather boots
He is carrying:
nothing obvious
Simply, the blond, strapping man says, in sirihish:
"He's earned that right."
You cannot wake him up!
The blond, strapping man leans over and gently claps the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man's shoulder once.
With a cheeky grin, the compact, sun-bronzed woman stumbles over to the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man.
The blond, strapping man squints up at you, then glances down to the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man.
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man's eyes flutter open.
Grabbing the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man's hand, the compact, sun-bronzed woman loosens up his pants at the front, sticking the hand in.
Giving the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man's crotch a light tap, the compact, sun-bronzed woman stumbles back to her cot.
Mumbling, you say, in sirihish:
"We need tah get chalk nex' time..."
You drink the firestorm's flame.
You are feeling very intoxicated.
You do not feel thirsty.
Pulling up casually on his tough, grey chitin codpiece's strap, the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says to you, in sirihish:
"Well 'ey Kar."
The blond, strapping man chuckles softly, grinning ear to ear.
As she shakes her shot-glass over her head, empty, you ask, in sirihish:
"Hey to yahself, Berkie. Have a nice dream?"
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man slumps back against the cot, leaning sideways on an elbow.
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says to you, in sirihish:
"Yeh. Real nice."
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man smiles slowly to you.
The blond, strapping man says to you, in sirihish:
"Oh yeah, I wanted to ask you."
Expression fading, the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says to you, in sirihish:
"But now ah got a feck'n headache to all krath."
The blond, strapping man cocks his head, pointing a finger at his neck.
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man rubs at his eyes, clenching them tightly closed.
The blond, strapping man asks you, in sirihish:
"You like that smell?"
Slowly turning her gaze toward the blond, strapping man, you ask, in sirihish:
"Like...what smell?"
The compact, sun-bronzed woman sniffs around.
Blinking some, the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man asks, in sirihish:
"Can' even see straight. What'd they put in this stuff?"
The blond, strapping man says to you, in sirihish:
"No, here, my skin."
You are a little hungry.
Looking at him out of the corner of his eyes, the blond, strapping man says to the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man, in sirihish:
"Its just water."
You are carrying:
a deck of Kruth cards
an empty shot-glass
an unlit dusty simple, leather-wrapped bone torch
an used round black shield
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man stares dubiously at the blond, strapping man.
In a wet slur, the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says to the blond, strapping man, in sirihish:
"Shut up, Blondie."
You look at the blond, strapping man.
A stocky and compact frame stretches to impressive height to shape the
foundation of this human male. Broad shoulders give way to a thick neck
which supports a face shaped by a strong jaw and moderate lips set under a
complimenting nose. His eyes, a lusterous viridian, are framed by thin
brows with a distinctive curve in their shape. Short and tussled, his blond
hair is thick and full, with a hue lightened to radiant heights by Krath's
influence. Lean, and suitably proportioned legs end in nondescript feet.
His arms are defined, and his hands bare long fingers marked with callouses
and scars.
His coif has been pulled back to lay against his broad shoulders. Meticulously
groomed, his bright blond hair is styled in a backwards-sweeping look.
The blond, strapping man is in excellent condition.
The blond, strapping man is using:
<worn on head> a leather and jet-colored chitin coif
<face> an angular, crescent shaped scar
<worn around neck> a reddish-brown chitinous collar
<slung across back> a short bone sparring club
<worn across back> a bone-studded backpack
<worn on torso> a new chitin-banded leather cuirass
<worn on left shoulder> a red-slashed, tembo-sewn patch
<worn on arms> a pair of agafari-wood armguards
<worn around wrist> a jet, chitin-layered leather bracer
<worn around wrist> a jet, chitin-layered leather bracer
<worn on hands> a pair of gurth shell and leather gloves
<worn as belt> a leather swordbelt
<hung from belt> a bone-hilted, carru-antler longknife
<hung from belt> a short bone sparring spear
<worn around body> a hooded, brown military aba
<worn about waist> a scrab shell breechguard
<worn on legs> a pair of inix hide pants
<worn on feet> a pair of sturdy sandcloth and leather boots
He is carrying:
nothing obvious
The blond, strapping man grins ear to ear.
The thin, chestnut-haired woman intently scans the area.
Flicking his dark blue eyes back to you, the blond, strapping man asks you, in sirihish:
"Well?"
Still staring at the blond, strapping man, you ask, in sirihish:
"I don' see it. Yah're play'n a trick?"
The lean, brown-skinned man has arrived from the east.
The lean, brown-skinned man looks relatively fit.
The lean, brown-skinned man does not look tired.
Shaking his head, the blond, strapping man asks, in sirihish:
"No trick, but do you like it?"
Moving to a small leather cot, the lean, brown-skinned man says, in sirihish:
"Need... bed."
Glancing over, you say to the lean, brown-skinned man, in sirihish:
"Oooh. Hey Kell. Nice of yah to join the party."
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"I'm... comin'.... comin' for ya!"
The tall, heavily-scarred man has arrived from the east.
The blond, strapping man chuckles over at the lean, brown-skinned man.
Bobbing an idle nod over, you say to the blond, strapping man, in sirihish:
"Uh huh. Smells real nice."
Face-down, the lean, brown-skinned man rests on a small leather cot.
The tall, heavily-scarred man stumbles in, and stops near the entrance, eyes dimly scouring around, before he spots the lean, brown-skinned man.
Smiling a bit, the blond, strapping man says, in sirihish:
"Good, good."
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says to the blond, strapping man, in sirihish:
"Leave Kar alone. Ah got'r ask'r somethin'."
The tall, heavily-scarred man says to the lean, brown-skinned man, in sirihish:
"There... there ya are... ya... ya worthless fuck'n bunch'a...."
The tall, heavily-scarred man exclaims to the blond, strapping man, in sirihish:
"YOU!"
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says to you, in sirihish:
"Kar, stick yer hand in m' pants again. Think ah liked that."
Grunting and staring over, the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man looks up at the tall, heavily-scarred man.
Rolling over, the lean, brown-skinned man sits on a small leather cot.
You ask the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man, in sirihish:
"Who, me? Yah sure that was me?"
The blond, strapping man cocks his head over at the tall, heavily-scarred man.
The tall, heavily-scarred man asks, in sirihish:
"Hands... in pants...?"
The tall, heavily-scarred man grunts, and half-stumbles over to the blond, strapping man.
The blond, strapping man says to the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man, in sirihish:
"It was Grinz."
Blinking one eye, the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says to you, in sirihish:
"Thought't was..."
The tall, heavily-scarred man exclaims to the blond, strapping man, in sirihish:
"You... an'... an' me...!"
The lean, brown-skinned man sips from his waterskin.
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man exclaims to the blond, strapping man, in sirihish:
"What the fuck!"
Turning a wild-eyed stare, the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man looks up at the tall, heavily-scarred man.
The compact, sun-bronzed woman begins breaking up into a laugh, rolling on her cot.
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man rises from the ground, and clambers to his feet.
Brows raised as he waves on a cot, the lean, brown-skinned man says, in sirihish:
"Ooh."
The tall, heavily-scarred man says to the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man, in sirihish:
"Y'wish... t'was m'hand... in yer pants..."
The blond, strapping man places a hand over his mouth, watching the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man and the tall, heavily-scarred man intently.
Stumbling a step forward, the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says to the tall, heavily-scarred man, in sirihish:
"You'n me. Let's go."
Muffled behind his hand, the blond, strapping man says, in sirihish:
"That's what he said. He said he liked it."
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man unslings a rib-hilted bone rapier from his back.
Whispering loudly, the lean, brown-skinned man says to the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man, in sirihish:
"Teach that ass-hat some manners."
The tall, heavily-scarred man asks the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man, in sirihish:
"Aw.... y'wanna.... fuckin'.... stick me?"
~rapier held lazily and its tip dragging against the ground, the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man stumbles more over to the tall, heavily-scarred man.
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says to the tall, heavily-scarred man, in sirihish:
"Yeh, ah do."
The tall, heavily-scarred man hisses, and shakes his head, lifting his left fist.
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says to the tall, heavily-scarred man, in sirihish:
"Gonna poke yer feck'n eye out. Get'n the training hall."
The tall, heavily-scarred man says to the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man, in sirihish:
"Yeah.... sure..."
The tall, heavily-scarred man staggers east.
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man attempts to walk, but trips over his feet.
fill shot 2.cask
Ok.
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man stands up.
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man runs east.
The compact, sun-bronzed woman breaks out into another wave of laugher.
The blond, strapping man shakes his head, watching the retreating figures.
Plopping back, you rest on a small leather cot.
Grunting, the lean, brown-skinned man rests on a small leather cot.
Glancing over to you, the blond, strapping man says, in sirihish:
"I'll show you where to do that, by the way, one of these days."
Staring up at the ceiling, the lean, brown-skinned man says, in sirihish:
"Drunk..."
Bobbing a nod, you say to the blond, strapping man, in sirihish:
"Yeah...tha' would be nice."
The blond, strapping man says to the lean, brown-skinned man, in sirihish:
"One flask? So much for your prowess."
You think:
"Wha's he even talk'n about?"
The blond, strapping man chuckles, wearing a wide grin.
Holding up lazy finger, the lean, brown-skinned man asks, in sirihish:
"You remember the trick I told you about drinkin'?"
Holding your shot-glass in hand, still full, you say to the lean, brown-skinned man, in sirihish:
"Suuuure do."
Exhaling softly, the lean, brown-skinned man asks, in sirihish:
"What?"
You ask the lean, brown-skinned man, in sirihish:
"Are yah drunk?"
Eyes half-lidded, the lean, brown-skinned man says to you, in sirihish:
"Nnn...-yes."
Snickering, the blond, strapping man says, in sirihish:
"Pusses."
With a shrug, head tilting to one side, you say, in sirihish:
"Then meee too."
drink shot
You drink the firestorm's flame.
You are completely drunk.
You are a little hungry.
You do not feel thirsty.
Chuckling, the lean, brown-skinned man says to you, in sirihish:
"Well if it counts... I had three bottles of spirits before this."
Finishing your shot-glass with a flourish, the compact, sun-bronzed woman keeps her head tilted back a moment.
Chuckling, the lean, brown-skinned man says, in sirihish:
"What's his face thought he could beat me too..."
Snickering, the blond, strapping man says, in sirihish:
"Right, sure, three bottles."
Pulling it off, you stop using your bloodied crimson-dyed, leather skullcap, letting down her hair, speckled with old blood.
Gesturing with his waterskin, the lean, brown-skinned man says to the blond, strapping man, in sirihish:
"Uhh... Ghani! Yeah. Ask him. Wasted all that saltin' 'sid to do it."
The blond, strapping man says to the lean, brown-skinned man, in sirihish:
"Right, like I'd trust a northie."
Wobbling a little, the blond, strapping man stands up from a small leather cot.
You ask, in sirihish:
"Who the feck is Ghandi?"
The blond, strapping man says to you, in sirihish:
"Stay right there."
Frowning, the lean, brown-skinned man asks the blond, strapping man, in sirihish:
"He's a northie?"
The blond, strapping man plods over to a tun of water.
The blond, strapping man scoops up some water in his hands, carefully.
The blond, strapping man strolls back over to you.
Holding out a hand, the lean, brown-skinned man exclaims to you, in sirihish:
"Look out!"
The blond, strapping man says to you, in sirihish:
"We'll get that hair fixed up good, just, stay still."
The compact, sun-bronzed woman seems not to notice anything.
Grunting, the lean, brown-skinned man just shrugs.
The blond, strapping man holds his hands above your head, slowly letting the water trickle out into your hair.
As her hair gets wet, the compact, sun-bronzed woman kind of slumps forward onto the blond, strapping man's leg.
Groaning, the lean, brown-skinned man says, in sirihish:
"Krath, I hate it when people say I can't drink..."
Japping a finger into the blond, strapping man's knee, you say, in sirihish:
"Ahhh feck. Why's my cot so hard."
The blond, strapping man chuckles, but doesn't move, letting the water spill onto his leg somewhat.
The blond, strapping man says to you, in sirihish:
"Wrong way"
With a faint groan, the compact, sun-bronzed woman drops back the other way onto her cot before turning onto her stomach.
The blond, strapping man gets his garnet studded bone comb from his leather swordbelt.
Pushing herself back up, squinting, you ask, in sirihish:
"Feck, what happened tah the party?"
The lean, brown-skinned man scratches at the bridge of his nose.
Looking around, you sit on a small leather cot.
Chuckling as he leans over, the blond, strapping man says, in sirihish:
"Fighting and passing out."
Holding up his waterskin, the lean, brown-skinned man says, in sirihish:
"Drinks."
The blond, strapping man holds his garnet studded bone comb.
The blond, strapping man picks up a strand of your hair, brushing at it firmly.
His voice sounding intense and focused, the blond, strapping man says, in sirihish:
"See, tangles and knots. You've got to comb it daily."
The compact, sun-bronzed woman kind of waves the blond, strapping man away with a hand for a moment.
Wagging a finger, the lean, brown-skinned man says, in sirihish:
"Daily..."
The blond, strapping man rights himself, eyeing you.
A loud horn blast sounds from the northeast.
The blond, strapping man says to the lean, brown-skinned man, in sirihish:
"You're next."
Wincing, the lean, brown-skinned man says, in sirihish:
"Uhg... horn loud."
Squinting, you say to the lean, brown-skinned man, in sirihish:
"Berk, is that yah? What are yah doing with that twig.."
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
The thick-necked, beefy human has entered the world.
The thick-necked, beefy human yawns.
Waving his waterskin, the lean, brown-skinned man says to you, in sirihish:
"I was showin' ya how to comb your hair."
Adding on, the lean, brown-skinned man says, in sirihish:
"Daily."
The thick-necked, beefy human sits on a small leather cot.
Sitting still, you ask the lean, brown-skinned man, in sirihish:
"Why do I want to comb my hair?"
The lean, brown-skinned man places with a long braid of hair.
Leaning too far to the side, the lean, brown-skinned man sits on a small leather cot.
The thick-necked, beefy human stretches.
The blond, strapping man taps his garnet studded bone comb in his empty hand, eyeing you.
Righting himself, the lean, brown-skinned man says to you, in sirihish:
"Because..."
The thick-necked, beefy human looks at the lean, brown-skinned man.
In an entirely earnest manner, the blond, strapping man asks you, in sirihish:
"Why wouldn't you?"
Inclining his head, the lean, brown-skinned man says to you, in sirihish:
"Yeah?... wait... no."
Waving a hand absently, you say, in sirihish:
"Ish...too much trouble."
Nodding, the lean, brown-skinned man says to the blond, strapping man, in sirihish:
"Yeah... She could be drinkin' instead."
Chuckling, the blond, strapping man says, in sirihish:
"She *is* drinking."
Nodding her head slowly, you say to the lean, brown-skinned man, in sirihish:
"I *am* drinking..."
Nodding sagely, the lean, brown-skinned man says, in sirihish:
"You *are* drinking..."
The compact, sun-bronzed woman brings up your shot-glass to her lips, emptying it out into her mouth...which has nothing in it.
Waving your shot-glass around in the air, you say to the lean, brown-skinned man, in sirihish:
"I *am* drinking."
Holding up a finger, the lean, brown-skinned man exclaims to you, in sirihish:
"But!"
The compact, sun-bronzed woman wipes her mouth with a finger.
The blond, strapping man staggers a bit, then corrects himself.
The thick-necked, beefy human stands up from a small leather cot.
The thick-necked, beefy human gets his sharp bone dart from a multi-ringed dartboard.
Pointing, the lean, brown-skinned man says to you, in sirihish:
"You aren't combing your hair."
The thick-necked, beefy human gets his sharp bone dart from a multi-ringed dartboard.
The thick-necked, beefy human gets his sharp bone dart from a multi-ringed dartboard.
The thick-necked, beefy human brandishes his sharp bone dart.
You ask the lean, brown-skinned man, in sirihish:
"Huh? Why would I want tah comb mah hair?"
Shrugging, the lean, brown-skinned man asks you, in sirihish:
"Why wouldn't you?"
The thick-necked, beefy human stands at the mark etched on the ground.
Looking up slightly, the lean, brown-skinned man says, in sirihish:
"Uh..."
The thick-necked, beefy human hurls a sharp bone dart at a multi-ringed dartboard.
a sharp bone dart struck the Noble ring.
After a pause in which she has a finger to her lips, you say to the lean, brown-skinned man, in sirihish:
"I...don't know. Can't remember..."
The thick-necked, beefy human asks the lean, brown-skinned man, in sirihish:
"You saying she's got something to hide?"
Wiping a hand down his face, the lean, brown-skinned man says, in sirihish:
"Because... shit. I know, I know."
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
The thick-necked, beefy human brandishes his sharp bone dart.
Looking up, the lean, brown-skinned man says to the thick-necked, beefy human, in sirihish:
"Uh..."
The thick-necked, beefy human hurls a sharp bone dart at a multi-ringed dartboard.
a sharp bone dart thumps in the Templar ring.
The blond, strapping man says to the thick-necked, beefy human, in sirihish:
"Drink."
The thick-necked, beefy human brandishes his sharp bone dart.
The thick-necked, beefy human says, in sirihish:
"Nah, I'm pro'ly just gonna sleep."
The blond, strapping man indicates a cask with a slightly misplaced finger.
Waving a hand toward the ground, you say to the thick-necked, beefy human, in sirihish:
"Si'down. Yah're making my head spin."
The thick-necked, beefy human hurls a sharp bone dart at a multi-ringed dartboard.
a sharp bone dart thumps in the Templar ring.
The thick-necked, beefy human sits on a small leather cot.
Offering his waterskin, the lean, brown-skinned man says to the thick-necked, beefy human, in sirihish:
"One of us..."
The thin, chestnut-haired woman intently scans the area.
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man has arrived from the east.
The tall, heavily-scarred man has arrived from the east.
Tilting his head back, the blond, strapping man drinks firestorm's flame from his waterskin.
The lean, brown-skinned man shakes his waterskin in front of the thick-necked, beefy human.
The blond, strapping man stumbles a bit after the massive gulps.
The thick-necked, beefy human holds out his hand.
The tall, heavily-scarred man stumbles in, behind the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man, heaving, with blood set on his armor, and hands.
The lean, brown-skinned man stops holding his waterskin.
Reaching, the lean, brown-skinned man gives his waterskin to the thick-necked, beefy human.
Spilling onto it, the blond, strapping man sits on a small leather cot.
The thick-necked, beefy human looks up at the tall, heavily-scarred man.
The thick-necked, beefy human drinks firestorm's flame from his waterskin.
Shoving the tall, heavily-scarred man away with a bloodied shoulder, the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says, in sirihish:
"That's what... yeh get."
The thick-necked, beefy human gives his waterskin to the lean, brown-skinned man.
Groggily, the blond, strapping man says, in sirihish:
"Third . . flasks the charm."
Seeming to spot the blond, strapping man, appearing mildly surprised, you ask, in sirihish:
"Hey, Blondie. How'd yah get there?"
The thick-necked, beefy human says to the lean, brown-skinned man, in sirihish:
"Cheers."
The tall, heavily-scarred man takes one step, before throwing his weight into the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man, in an attempt to knock his ass down.
The tall, heavily-scarred man exclaims to the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man, in sirihish:
"Fuck... you!"
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man stabs the tip of his bloodied rib-hilted bone rapier to the ground, leaning into its hilt.
The blond, strapping man says to you, in sirihish:
"I . . . drank."
The lean, brown-skinned man squeezes his waterskin.
Slipping on his bloodied boots, leaving a smear across the floor as he falls, the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man sits down.
Wearing a loose smile, you say to the blond, strapping man, in sirihish:
"No shet? Me too."
Grabbing a pillow, the thick-necked, beefy human rests on a small leather cot.
Falling on the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man, and glaring darkly, the tall, heavily-scarred man sits down.
The compact, sun-bronzed woman kind of drags a large, etched wooden cask over to herself, dipping in her shot-glass.
The blond, strapping man grins, bobbing his head wildly at you.
Pushing him meakly off, the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says to the tall, heavily-scarred man, in sirihish:
"Get off me yeh feck'n shithead."
fill shot 2.cask
Ok.
l in 2.cask
It's less than half full of a reddish liquid.
While fumbling for his neck, the tall, heavily-scarred man exclaims to the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man, in sirihish:
"Y'... y'take that back!"
You are Kahya, a Runner of the T'zai Byn.
...
You are a little hungry and not thirsty.
You are totally plastered.
...
You have been playing for 3 days and 10 hours.
You are sitting on a small leather cot.
You are currently speaking sirihish with a southern accent.
Moving over to a large, etched wooden cask, the lean, brown-skinned man stands up from a small leather cot.
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man cuts slowly and uselessly at the tall, heavily-scarred man with his bloodied rib-hilted bone rapier.
Beside a large, etched wooden cask, the lean, brown-skinned man sits down.
Loudly, the thick-necked, beefy human says, in sirihish:
"You know, I think we got a pretty good crew here."
The tall, heavily-scarred man reaches to grab his neck, and -very- weakly strangle the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man.
The red-haired, lean woman has arrived from the east.
The tall, heavily-scarred man exclaims to the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man, in sirihish:
"... Take i'.... take i' back!"
The red-haired, lean woman looks down at the thick-necked, beefy human.
The thick-necked, beefy human stands up from a small leather cot.
In a slow, mumbling chant, you say to the lean, brown-skinned man, in sirihish:
"Drink, drink, drink, driinnn...."
The thick-necked, beefy human salutes.
The red-haired, lean woman snaps a fist to her chest.
Flling up his waterskin, the lean, brown-skinned man says, in sirihish:
"Drink..."
The thick-necked, beefy human rests on a small leather cot.
The lean, brown-skinned man fills up a waterskin from a large, etched wooden cask.
The tall, heavily-scarred man continues to uh... hold his neck, without actually applying any legitimate pressure to it at all.
The compact, sun-bronzed woman kind of brings a hand up to her chest but waves it at the red-haired, lean woman instead.
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man grunts and smacks the tall, heavily-scarred man in the side of the head with the blunted edge of his bloodied rib-hilted bone rapier, using it like a sword.
With an unfocused gaze, the blond, strapping man says, in sirihish:
"Yeah, I'm downing my third skin you puss."
Glancing at the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man, the lean, brown-skinned man sips from his waterskin.
The red-haired, lean woman says, in sirihish:
"Who's that medic in the Fist? I forgot his name."
The tall, heavily-scarred man blinks, and shakes his head, before actually -squeezing- this time, and attempting to slam his head off the floor, throwing his weight down to pin the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man.
Holding it out, you say to the red-haired, lean woman, in sirihish:
"Wanna' drink, Luja? Bes' stuff."
Biting into his lower lip for a moment first, the blond, strapping man exclaims, in sirihish:
"Ahh I know!"
The tall, heavily-scarred man exclaims to the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man, in sirihish:
"Take i'... take i' back.... righ' now!"
Regarding the shot-glass, you say, in sirihish:
"Well...one 'of the good ones, at least."
The blond, strapping man says, in sirihish:
"Its . . its. . .old man. . . asshole . . . tries to kill me all day . . ."
In a slur as he holds the point of his bloodied rib-hilted bone rapier to the tall, heavily-scarred man's side, the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man exclaims to the red-haired, lean woman, in sirihish:
"He grabbed my crotch, sarge!"
Suddenly belting it out, the blond, strapping man exclaims, in sirihish:
"Arrun!"
You say, in sirihish:
"Arrr...arrrrr"
Turning his attention back to the tall, heavily-scarred man, wiping some matted hair from his face, the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says, in sirihish:
"Gonna... cut yer eye out."
Pointing a finger toward the blond, strapping man, you say to the blond, strapping man, in sirihish:
"Arrrun."
Shrugging, the lean, brown-skinned man says, in sirihish:
"Arrrrrr...."
Pointing at the blond, strapping man, the thick-necked, beefy human asks the red-haired, lean woman, in sirihish:
"Him maybe?"
Laughing, then slurring it suitably, the blond, strapping man says, in sirihish:
"Arrrrrrun."
With a hiss, leaning his face over his face, the tall, heavily-scarred man exclaims to the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man, in sirihish:
"Ain' gonna... gonna do shit!"
Calling out, face toward the ceiling, the lean, brown-skinned man says, in sirihish:
"Arrrrrr......"
You say to the blond, strapping man, in sirihish:
"Arrrrr...."
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man tries to make a prod for the tall, heavily-scarred man's eye with his bloodied rib-hilted bone rapier, only weakly scratching the skin near it.
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says to the tall, heavily-scarred man, in sirihish:
"Shut up.. an quit movin'."
Laughing to the floor, the lean, brown-skinned man says, in sirihish:
"Arr...heh-heh..."
To no one in particular, the blond, strapping man shouts, in sirihish:
"You hear that old man! ARRRRRRRRR!"
Kind of spilling a lot of it by accident, you give your shot-glass to the red-haired, lean woman.
The tall, heavily-scarred man bats the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man across the face, and leans in to give the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man a kiss on the lips before -throwing- himself back, and scurrying behind the red-haired, lean woman for cover.
You shout in sirihish:
"ARRRR!"
The thin, chestnut-haired woman intently scans the area.
Grinning, the red-haired, lean woman says, in sirihish:
"I thought you'd never ask."
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man stands up.
The red-haired, lean woman sits on a small leather cot.
The red-haired, lean woman holds her shot-glass.
From his prone position, the lean, brown-skinned man shouts, in sirihish:
"Arr!!!"
Knocking it back, the red-haired, lean woman drinks firestorm's flame from her shot-glass.
The lean, brown-skinned man lies down on the ground and rests.
Spitting to the floor, the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man exclaims to the red-haired, lean woman, in sirihish:
"Ah'm gonna.. feck'n kill'm!"
Blinking up at her and offering a salute that manages to hit his own face, the blond, strapping man exclaims to the red-haired, lean woman, in sirihish:
"Arrrr!"
The thick-necked, beefy human has departed from the land of Zalanthas.
Slipping over his bloodied boots, the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man sits down.
With a chuckle, pointing in the direction of a large, etched wooden cask, you say to the red-haired, lean woman, in sirihish:
"Still a good deal left. Yah need at least two..."
Making a face, the red-haired, lean woman says, in sirihish:
"Aaarr."
The tall, heavily-scarred man scurries over the cots, tripping himself up a couple times, before half-diving under her cot.
The red-haired, lean woman stands up from a small leather cot.
The red-haired, lean woman walks over to a large, etched wooden cask.
l in cask
It is empty.
l in 2.cask
It's less than half full of a reddish liquid.
Laughing at the red-haired, lean woman, the lean, brown-skinned man exclaims, in sirihish:
"Yea-arrr!"
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man intently scans the area.
The red-haired, lean woman stops using her shot-glass.
The thin, chestnut-haired woman intently scans the area.
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says to the lean, brown-skinned man, in sirihish:
"Shut up."
The red-haired, lean woman fills up a shot-glass from a large, etched wooden cask.
You say to the lean, brown-skinned man, in sirihish:
"Kell-ARRRR."
Knocking it back, the red-haired, lean woman drinks firestorm's flame from her shot-glass.
Sitting up, the lean, brown-skinned man exclaims to you, in sirihish:
"Ka-karr!!!"
The lean, brown-skinned man stops resting.
Stumbling a few times as he rights himself, the blond, strapping man stands up from a small leather cot.
The compact, sun-bronzed woman giggles a little.
The tall, heavily-scarred man shouts, in sirihish:
"AAAAAAAARRRRRRRR!"
The tall, heavily-scarred man does that from under one of the cots.
Wincing, the red-haired, lean woman says, in sirihish:
"This shit is weak. Gypsy brew is a lot better."
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man squints on eye, roving his bloodied gaze over the cots.
The red-haired, lean woman sits on a small leather cot.
The blond, strapping man weaves and trips his way over to the red-haired, lean woman.
The red-haired, lean woman holds her shot-glass.
The blond, strapping man thrusts his waterskin haphazardly at the red-haired, lean woman.
You say to the red-haired, lean woman, in sirihish:
"Kinda'...hits yah at the end."
The blond, strapping man says to the red-haired, lean woman, in sirihish:
"That . . .was my third. Rules . . . you gotta catch me . . ."
Spotting him, the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man exclaims to the tall, heavily-scarred man, in sirihish:
"Gonna cutcher feck'n mouth off nex' time yeh do that!"
Aggreeing with you, the lean, brown-skinned man says, in sirihish:
"yar."
The tall, heavily-scarred man exclaims to the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man, in sirihish:
"Ya.... YA LIKED IT!"
You say to the lean, brown-skinned man, in sirihish:
"karr"
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says to the tall, heavily-scarred man, in sirihish:
"Feck yeh. No I didn'."
The tall, heavily-scarred man snickers, and crawls over to the lean, brown-skinned man, before rapping him on the shoulder a couple times.
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says to the tall, heavily-scarred man, in sirihish:
"Feck'n manlover. Now ah'm gonna cutcher cock off too, breed."
You are a little hungry.
Probably trying to right himself, the lean, brown-skinned man says, in sirihish:
"Karr. Karr."
Pressing on his bloodied rib-hilted bone rapier for support, the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man stands up.
The blond, strapping man jiggles his waterskin at the red-haired, lean woman, staring at her appraisingly.
You stand up from a small leather cot, staggering a little in one direction.
The tall, heavily-scarred man says to the lean, brown-skinned man, in sirihish:
"Hey.... Hey you...."
The red-haired, lean woman nods to the blond, strapping man.
Smiling, the lean, brown-skinned man says, in sirihish:
"Kellar. I like that..."
The red-haired, lean woman accepts the waterskin.
Looking up, the lean, brown-skinned man asks the tall, heavily-scarred man, in sirihish:
"Huh?"
Nearly dropping it, the blond, strapping man gives his waterskin to the red-haired, lean woman.
Making her way over to the blond, strapping man, you say, in sirihish:
"Here...Berk...I'll show yah someth'n yah can like..."
The tall, heavily-scarred man latches onto his face, and plants a big, sloppy kiss on his lips!
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man barks out a laugh at the lean, brown-skinned man.
Bringing it to her lips, the red-haired, lean woman sips from her waterskin.
As he is smooched, the lean, brown-skinned man exclaims, in sirihish:
"Ugh...!"
Falling over, the lean, brown-skinned man lies down to rest.
Expression going stern, the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man exclaims to the lean, brown-skinned man, in sirihish:
"Now yeh know how a' felt! Kill'm! Cut 'is cock off!"
Knocking it back, the red-haired, lean woman drinks firestorm's flame from her waterskin.
The tall, heavily-scarred man releases the lean, brown-skinned man, and smirks.
The blond, strapping man stands blissfully unaware of his surroundings.
Slumping forward, one hand draping over the blond, strapping man's shoulder, the compact, sun-bronzed woman reaches down to his crotch, giving a light squeeze, before giggling.
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man makes a charging motion at the tall, heavily-scarred man with a wave of his bloodied rib-hilted bone rapier.
The red-haired, lean woman burps, her eyes turning red.
The tall, heavily-scarred man exclaims to the lean, brown-skinned man, in sirihish:
"Y'ain' wanna ge' kissed... y'don' e- WHOA!"
Groaning, the lean, brown-skinned man says, in sirihish:
"So the tables have turned..."
Passing it back, the red-haired, lean woman gives her waterskin to the blond, strapping man.
The tall, heavily-scarred man stumbles back, and scurries under the cots again!
The tall, heavily-scarred man exclaims, in sirihish:
"Fuck you!"
The red-haired, lean woman stops using her shot-glass.
The blond, strapping man gazes down at his own crotch for a moment, blinking.
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man stalks over to the line of cots.
Her hands behind her head, the red-haired, lean woman rests on a small leather cot.
The tall, heavily-scarred man gets his bloodied double-edged bone shortsword from his rough canvas backpack.
As she stumbles back to her cot, you ask the red-haired, lean woman, in sirihish:
"Did it hit yah yet, Luja?"
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man prods the lumps under the threadbare linen sheets with his boot.
At 1) a small leather cot are:
a couple of empty seats.
At 2) a small leather cot are:
a couple of empty seats.
At 3) a small leather cot are:
a couple of empty seats.
At 4) a small leather cot are:
the red-haired, lean woman, and one empty seat.
At 5) a small leather cot are:
a couple of empty seats.
At 6) a small leather cot are:
a couple of empty seats.
At 7) a small leather cot are:
a couple of empty seats.
At 8) a small leather cot are:
a couple of empty seats.
At 9) a small leather cot are:
a couple of empty seats.
The tall, heavily-scarred man slips his bloodied double-edged bone shortsword out, and continues scurrying, working his way in the opposite direction of the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man.
Idly, the red-haired, lean woman says, in sirihish:
"Oh, yeah. Feelin' like a fuckin' pickled ginka."
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man asks, in sirihish:
"Where are yeh, you coward?"
Squinting at her, the blond, strapping man says to you, in sirihish:
"Hey . . .that's not my . . ., " another hiccup escapes, "hair."
The red-haired, lean woman stops using her carved carru-skull face-guard.
The tall, heavily-scarred man comes out near the entrance, as far as the cots go, and stands up, pointing at the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man.
The thin, chestnut-haired woman intently scans the area.
Managing to pick the same cot as the red-haired, lean woman to rest at, you rest on a small leather cot, kind of draping an arm around the red-haired, lean woman's waist.
The tall, heavily-scarred man exclaims to the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man, in sirihish:
"Y'come on, suck on m'dick, tough guy!"
The red-haired, lean woman stops using her decorated anakore-skull helm.
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man spots the tall, heavily-scarred man and throws his bloodied rib-hilted bone rapier like a spear over at him.
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man stops using his bloodied rib-hilted bone rapier.
The lean, brown-skinned man rises from the ground, and clambers to his feet.
The lean, brown-skinned man staggering onto a cot.
The end of it bouncing harmlessly off the wall, the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man gives his bloodied rib-hilted bone rapier to the tall, heavily-scarred man.
The lean, brown-skinned man sits on a small leather cot.
You exclaim to the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man, in sirihish:
"Do it 'n bite if off!"
The blond, strapping man dopily smiles off at a blank area of the barracks.
The tall, heavily-scarred man blinks, and steps back, falling, with the rapier skimming right byhis head. Then... he grabs it.
The tall, heavily-scarred man stops using his round black shield.
The tall, heavily-scarred man holds his bloodied rib-hilted bone rapier.
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man nods to you and stalks over to where the tall, heavily-scarred man was.
After a moment, you ask, in sirihish:
"Ew...what was I talk'n about again?"
The tall, heavily-scarred man eyes the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man, for a moment, before whipping his bloodied rib-hilted bone rapier up, and angling it toward the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man.
The tall, heavily-scarred man looks up at the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man.
The tall, heavily-scarred man says to the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man, in sirihish:
"Y'don' wanna fuck with me..."
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man draws an obsidian shortsword.
Stumbling towards the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man and the tall, heavily-scarred man, the blond, strapping man exclaims, in sirihish:
"Uh . . ah . . One small on Berk!"
The lean, brown-skinned man looks in the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man's direction.
Holding up a hand, the lean, brown-skinned man says, in sirihish:
"Berk. Three coins."
Mumbling against the red-haired, lean woman's side, you say, in sirihish:
"Why's this so comfortable..."
Meeting his rapier with his shortsword, the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says to the tall, heavily-scarred man, in sirihish:
"Back off an lemme take yer eye out, yeh coward."
The tall, heavily-scarred man brings his bloodied double-edged bone shortsword out, and around, resting it beside his bloodied rib-hilted bone rapier, his right foot set back, eyes dimly recovering.
The tall, heavily-scarred man says to the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man, in sirihish:
"Y'jus... try it..."
The tall, heavily-scarred man asks the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man, in sirihish:
"Think you can beat me...?"
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man starts moving the sharp edge of his obsidian shortsword towards the tall, heavily-scarred man's face.
The tall, heavily-scarred man lashes out, smashing his shortsword away with his bloodied double-edged bone shortsword.
The blond, strapping man staggers about uncertainly on his feet, watching the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man and the tall, heavily-scarred man with a bright, almost cherubic smile.
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man grunts and moves his obsidian shortsword back over relentlessly.
The lean, brown-skinned man also watches the tall, heavily-scarred man and the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man.
Absently, the blond, strapping man exclaims, in sirihish:
"Just like . . .home!"
The tall, heavily-scarred man zips his bloodied rib-hilted bone rapier in, and thrusts it at his hand, while using his bloodied double-edged bone shortsword as a guard.
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man sets the tip of his obsidian shortsword just above the tall, heavily-scarred man's eye.
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man curses as the rapier bites into his hands, but keeps one forearm loped over his obsidian shortsword's pommel.
Blinking as he stares, enthralled by the martial stand off, the blond, strapping man exclaims, in sirihish:
"Kick . . . kick his groin!"
The tall, heavily-scarred man blinks, then does just that, knocking his sword aside and throwing a hard right foot up.
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man shirks to the right, moving his crotch, and legs out of the way.
The tall, heavily-scarred man steps back, out of the barracks... and calls out...
Rounding on the blond, strapping man, the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man exclaims, in sirihish:
"What th' feck, Blondie?! Ah nearly cut 'is eye out!"
The tall, heavily-scarred man shouts, in sirihish:
"COME AND GET ME MOTHER FUCKER!"
Babbling on, the blond, strapping man exclaims, in sirihish:
"B. . . burp! headbuthim!"
The tall, heavily-scarred man stands up.
The tall, heavily-scarred man staggers east.
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man attempts to walk, but trips over his feet.
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man stands up.
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man staggers east.
The blond, strapping man laughs whimsically, staggering slowly through the barracks.
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"Shut yer trap!"
The red-haired, lean woman stands up from a small leather cot.
From her spot at the cot, you shout in sirihish:
"GO! Get the motherfucker!"
Watching the two fall over themselves, the lean, brown-skinned man says, in sirihish:
"I hope Grinz dies or somethin'..."
The red-haired, lean woman shakes her head.
The red-haired, lean woman places her carved carru-skull face-guard onto her face.
The red-haired, lean woman places her decorated anakore-skull helm on her head.
The red-haired, lean woman staggers east.
The blond, strapping man says, in sirihish:
"Just like . . . when I tried to kill Jaro."
The Main Barracks [EU Quit]
This massive, two-story hall seems to have undergone heavy rebuilding
at some time in the past. Most of the vast room is open air, with the first
story above ground level being nothing more than a balcony of sorts,
several cords wide and running along the walls of the building. Both upper
and lower floors are devoid of furniture, with several hundred grimy
pallets arranged in semi-orderly rows along the walls. Solid stone stairs
lead to the upper level from the western end of the hall. Suspended from
the ceiling, more than twenty-five cords above, is a large black banner
bearing a purple dragon.
The darkened hall is crammed with sleeping mercenaries, most still and
snoring, but a few not so still, and definitely not asleep. The occasional
figure can be seen dressing and then slipping quietly out through the large
hallway to the east.
A Kruth playing card is here: the Stone of Truth.
A couple of empty large, etched wooden casks are here.
A multi-ringed dartboard hangs on a wall here.
A large barrel of water is shoved in the corner.
The lean, brown-skinned man is sitting on a small leather cot.
The blond, strapping man is standing here.
- he is carrying a large bag.
The brown-haired, blue-eyed man looks around slowly from his pallet here.
The thin, chestnut-haired woman stands here, watching the stairs.
The grey-maned, wooden-legged man sits here, sharpening a bone-toothed saw.
The dimpled, shaven-headed man looks over a wounded mercenary here.
Looking over, the lean, brown-skinned man asks the blond, strapping man, in sirihish:
"You tried killin' a guy one time?"
The blond, strapping man slams full speed into a small leather cot and crumples atop it, face first.
*thunk*, the blond, strapping man rests on a small leather cot.
Mumbling, you say to the blond, strapping man, in sirihish:
"Blondie...Blondie..."
The compact, sun-bronzed woman mumbles a bit more, indecipherably.
Snapping suddenly upright and leveling a hard gaze at a small leather cot, the blond, strapping man exclaims, in sirihish:
"You . .. you got a problem!"
The blond, strapping man laces his fingers together and throws a hard rabbit punch at a small leather cot, to no avail.
The thin, chestnut-haired woman intently scans the area.
The blond, strapping man stands up from a small leather cot.
Spilling off a small leather cot onto the floor, the blond, strapping man sits down to rest.
In a loud voice which quickly disappates, you say, in sirihish:
"Fix it! YAH MOTherfuck'n cockshushk'n whor...."
Staring blankly up at the ceiling, the blond, strapping man says, in sirihish:
"I . . tried every day to kill Jaro."
While lying on her cot, you say, in sirihish:
"What happened tah Jaro?..."
Nodding slowly, the lean, brown-skinned man says to the blond, strapping man, in sirihish:
"I know what ya mean, Blond-man."
The blond, strapping man lifts his head, glancing about in a daze.
A loud horn blast sounds from the northeast.
Matter of factly, the blond, strapping man says, in sirihish:
"He killed everyone but me. I haven't found him yet."
The lean, brown-skinned man winces at the loud sound.
Holding his hands to his ears, the blond, strapping man says, in sirihish:
"Ohhhhhhh."
Brows raised, the lean, brown-skinned man says to the blond, strapping man, in sirihish:
"No shit?..."
Plugging her ears with a hand, you say, in sirihish:
"Oooowww. Someone shut that thing up."
Frowning, the blond, strapping man says, in sirihish:
"I need more booze."
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man has arrived from the east.
Mostly stable, the blond, strapping man rises and stands.
Giving the handle of his obsidian shortsword a slow pat, the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says, in sirihish:
"Took't right out."
The blond, strapping man attempts to fill his waterskin from both casks, then gazes down at them with a slack jaw.
The blond, strapping man shouts, in sirihish:
"THE BOOZE IS GONE!?"
Mumbling, you say, in sirihish:
"Need moah booooooze..."
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man turns his attention to the casks, looking just as slack jawed as the blond, strapping man.
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man exclaims to the blond, strapping man, in sirihish:
"Ah only got like three feck'n skin fulls'a that stuff!"
Frowning, the lean, brown-skinned man asks, in sirihish:
"What? The Booze's gone?"
Stuffing a hand into his small bag, the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says, in sirihish:
"Wait.. ah think ah got some."
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man gets his waterskin from his small bag.
The thin, chestnut-haired woman intently scans the area.
The blond, strapping man begins savegely attacking a large, etched wooden cask with kicks, elbows, and punches.
Looking over to everyone else, the lean, brown-skinned man asks, in sirihish:
"Whe's all the booze gone?"
You say, in sirihish:
"Berk saves deh day..."
Wailing on a large, etched wooden cask, the blond, strapping man exclaims, in sirihish:
"Give me more booze!"
Stumbling a step over, the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says to the blond, strapping man, in sirihish:
"S'alright Blondie, it's okay now."
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man holds out his waterskin to the blond, strapping man.
The blond, strapping man pauses his animalistic beating on a large, etched wooden cask, looking at the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man.
All traces of violence fading, the blond, strapping man says, in sirihish:
"Oh."
As he holds out his waterskin in a blood crusted hand, the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says, in sirihish:
"Yeh, still some left in't."
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man gives his waterskin to the blond, strapping man.
The red-haired, lean woman has arrived from the east.
Burping, the red-haired, lean woman sits on a small leather cot.
The blond, strapping man tilts his head back and pounds another large helping of liqour.
The blond, strapping man drinks firestorm's flame from his waterskin.
The tall, heavily-scarred man has arrived from the east.
Narrowing one eye, the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says to the blond, strapping man, in sirihish:
"But don' drink't all."
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man exclaims to the blond, strapping man, in sirihish:
"'ey!"
The compact, sun-bronzed woman continues mumbling, the dawn light exposing half of her figure, and keeping the rest in the shadow.
Handing it over clumsily, the blond, strapping man gives his waterskin to the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man.
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man makes a grab for the waterskin.
Placing both hands behind her head, the red-haired, lean woman rests on a small leather cot.
The thin, chestnut-haired woman intently scans the area.
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man stares up from his waterskin as its lopped into his arms.
Stepping over to a small leather cot, and hissing, shaking his head, while the grey-maned, wooden-legged man lets out a sigh of his own, and comes over to check the tall, heavily-scarred man out, the tall, heavily-scarred man sits on a small leather cot.
The blond, strapping man stumbles over to you, gazing down at you.
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says to the blond, strapping man, in sirihish:
"Feck'n krath, Blondie."
The tall, heavily-scarred man rests on a small leather cot.
You have no feeling about the weather indoors.
At 1) a small leather cot are:
the lean, brown-skinned man, and one empty seat.
At 2) a small leather cot are:
a couple of empty seats.
At 3) a small leather cot are:
a couple of empty seats.
At 4) a small leather cot are:
the red-haired, lean woman, and the compact, sun-bronzed woman.
At 5) a small leather cot are:
a couple of empty seats.
At 6) a small leather cot are:
a couple of empty seats.
At 7) a small leather cot are:
a couple of empty seats.
At 8) a small leather cot are:
a couple of empty seats.
At 9) a small leather cot are:
the tall, heavily-scarred man, and one empty seat.
Frowning, the lean, brown-skinned man says, in sirihish:
"I feel like I should of been doing something..."
The blond, strapping man asks you, in sirihish:
"You look pretty. How do you do that?"
The tall, heavily-scarred man sleeps on a small leather cot.
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man reels his head back, squeezing his waterskin over his mouth.
The blond, strapping man swipes his hand at the growing light.
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man stops what he's doing to focus on the blond, strapping man and you.
Grumbling, waving a hand toward the blond, strapping man, you say, in sirihish:
"Like ah haven't heard that... gunna punch yah in the face..."
The blond, strapping man exclaims to you, in sirihish:
"Hah! Try it . . .bitch!"
You are a little hungry.
The blond, strapping man lifts his hands clumsily, leaving his entire lower body exposed.
Glancing aside, the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man looks at the blond, strapping man.
Sitting up suddenly, you exclaim, in sirihish:
"Wha'?!"
Groaning, the lean, brown-skinned man says, in sirihish:
"Uhg... not enough shit to buy mount."
Groaning, clutching at her head, you say, in sirihish:
"Oohhh, my head."
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says to the blond, strapping man, in sirihish:
"Feck Blondie, cover't up. Get'n sick of seein' cock today."
The blond, strapping man asks you, in sirihish:
"You say you'll punch me but I'll punch you or . . .wait, why would I punch you?"
Glancing about, the blond, strapping man asks, in sirihish:
"Where's Grinz, I want to punch someone?"
Looking up, the lean, brown-skinned man says, in sirihish:
"I wanna punch Grinz too."
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man looks over his shoulder.
The compact, sun-bronzed woman suddenly lifts a foot up in a jerk reaction right between the blond, strapping man's legs.
Nodding to the tall, heavily-scarred man, who's near the grey-maned, wooden-legged man, the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says, in sirihish:
"Over 'ere."
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says, in sirihish:
"Think ah got that eye ah wanted."
Crumpling like a heap of stone, the blond, strapping man lies down and falls asleep.
The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man squints over at the tall, heavily-scarred man.
The lean, brown-skinned man grimaces at the groin kick.
Mumbling, holding a dreamy smile, the compact, sun-bronzed woman adjusts her position on her cot.
Dozing off, you sleep on a small leather cot.
You stop guarding the blond, strapping man.
Someone presses his boot to your side and gives you a nudge.
Someone mumbles in his sleep, "I'll . . . cut it off . . . don't . . . not agian . . ."
Someone burps and looks up at the ceiling.
Someone snorts, rolling onto his back, and mumbling something to the tune of "Rocks.... and trees.... and trees.... and rocks..."
Someone prods his waterskin into his mouth, sucking a bit on its emptiness before tossing it angrily into his small bag.
Someone thrashes about on the floor.
Someone grumbles "I'll . . . always . . you."
You are a little hungry.
The compact, sun-bronzed woman shifts on your cot, first an arm rolling off the edge, and then later your whole body, landing with a small *thud* on the ground, followed by a groan.
Grumbling, someone steps over you.
Someone rolls off the bed, and awakens with a start, blinking.
Someone tries to walk out of the barracks!
Your new ldesc is:
The compact, sun-bronzed woman lies here beside a cot, one leg still on it.
Someone nudges a large, etched wooden cask.
Someone grunts, and crawls under the cots, before slipping over to a large, etched wooden cask.
Someone sets his blood-crusted hand to his knee, pushing himself wobbily up.
It is early morning on Ocandra, the 144th day of the Low Sun,
In the Year of Desert's Peace, year 58 of the 21st Age.
You are a little hungry and not thirsty.
You are intoxicated.
...
You have been playing for 3 days and 11 hours.
You are asleep on a small leather cot.
You are currently speaking sirihish with a southern accent.
Someone crawls over to a small leather cot, and climbs onto it, shaking his head.
You are a little hungry.
Someone sweats and rests uneasily, turning and tossing about on the floor.
From the perspective of "the compact, sun-bronzed woman".
Looking down from his impressive height, the blond, strapping man stares unblinking at the red-haired, lean woman.
Clasping both her hands behind her, the red-haired, lean woman says, in sirihish:
"We are currently in the final steps of...
Continue Reading...Hunger by BuNutzCola
Added on Nov 23, 2010Senior Agent Markua Kadius is standing in front of a mirror in his apartment. A curse has left him craving for raw meats, amongst a host of other psychological and physical problems, culminating here.
*Mark's standing in front of the mirror in his room, having just undressed*
The gaunt, henna-maned man runs the fingers of his left hand along his right arm, lips pursed deeply.
The middle-aged figure before you rises nearly four and a half cords
in height, his spindly frame sporting little musculature. His body is well
proportioned, broad shoulders and evenly toned arms ending a slender left
hand, the fingers calloused and slightly dirtied. His right arm ends in a
cleanly severed stub, dark, jagged lines extending to the forearm. A wild
mass of tangled, henna-toned curls falls to his lower back, some grey
beginning to manifest about his temples. His skin is weathered and tanned
from exposure to Suk-krath, olive in complexion and marred by numerous small,
slash-mark scars. When his lips part, clean whites are exposed, the canines
protruding almost imperceptibly. His gaunt features are otherwise well-
defined: a thin jawline resting beneath darkly-stained lips, and high
cheekbones surmount a stubbled face. Beneath thin brows rest hazel eyes,
deeply set and slightly ovoid. Overall his appearance would depict an
otherwise handsome figure, though obviously aesthetics are not first priority
for this individual.
The gaunt, henna-maned man is in excellent condition.a blue and purple inked band a bone charm on a leather cord a pale tattoo of an angular gem an angular, crescent shaped scar a large, blotchy burn scar a purple ring tattoo a cleanly severed right hand several pale, faint looking scars a lapis lazuli signet ring with an evening stone
Health: 99/99, Mana: 6/109, Stun: 88/92, Stamina:110/114, Speed:walking, (standing) (unarmed)
You think:
"Krath Mark, you're gettin' on in time."
You think:
"Y'look like shit, y'know."
The gaunt, henna-maned man shifts his pose in front of a polished obsidian mirror, a sour expression his features.
You think:
"Maybe if you ate more you'd fill out"
You think:
"Only time y'eat now is when the cravings come."
You think:
"How long's it been since y'dick was hard?"
The gaunt, henna-maned man glances down at his package, frowning deeply.
You think:
"Fuck...the last time I remember fucking..."
You think:
"Had t'be..."
You think:
"Hmm.."
You think:
"...man I only remember almost gettin' with Zaea that once, an' Bleys fuckin' essence'er whatever was watchin' over us."
You think:
"So couldn'a been then."
You think:
"Oh..s'pose maybe that lovely handjob in the MIDDLE OF A FREAKIN' SANDSTORM might count."
You think:
"Fuck I was chaffed for weeks."
The smell of rich, pure earth and freshly growing moss clings to his skin.
You are starving.
Your health worsens from lack of food.
You are a little thirsty.
The gaunt, henna-maned man lowers his nostrils to his arm, inhaling deeply.
You think:
"I love that fucking smell."
You think:
"If I lose it..."
You think:
"If I could smell nothing?"
You think:
"Already what..taste...touch..it's all gone."
A Forest Green Apartment [S Quit Save]
Every textile in this room is dyed in varying scales of forest green.
The walls are covered with thick green weaves that have been embroidered to
depict forest scenery with trees, hunters, halflings and other elements
known from the Grey Forest up north. The only other color present in the
chamber is the dark maroon of baobab wood, as the ceiling and all furniture
is crafted from that expensive material. Baobab bars protect the northern
and western windows from possible intruders, and a thick, gwoshi-wool carpet
of dark green covers the floor.
A bone-sided obsidian-handled chest sits here.
Hung above the bed, an unlit glass-sided purple lantern reflects a dim violet glow.
Seemingly growing out of the floor, a long-stemmed, basalt mushroom rises here.
Stacked with food, a large, silvery pymlithe tray rests near the doorway here.
Lying at the foot of the bed, a plain baobab chest rests here.
Resting on the nightstand, a polished marble jewelry box glints in the available light.
Reflecting darkly, a polished obsidian mirror is hung on the back of the southern door.
Set against the northern wall, a sturdy agafari dresser rests here.
Some carved shelves of fitted agafari hardwood stand here.
A compact baobab wardrobe is here , pushed against the northern wall.
Set beneath the expansive windows, a heavy baobab desk rests here.
Silken coverlets draping, a heavy baobab bed rests against the eastern wall.
You think:
"Wish I had some spice."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You think:
"There's some down in the runner..but I'd have to get dressed."
You think:
"And it's been so long since I was really naked."
The gaunt, henna-maned man reaches a hand down, idly fondling himself.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You think:
"Feh..nothing."
You feel annoyed as you try to envision various naked women, but feel no arousal.
You are starving.
Your health worsens from lack of food.
You are a little thirsty.
You think:
"Could jus' cut the fucker off and not notice a thing., c'ept it'd be weird when time comes t'be ipissing."
You feel curious enough that you start to envision naked men.
Feeling even more annoyed, you think:
"Nope, s'not that."
The gaunt, henna-maned man looses a deep sigh, resting his forehead against a polished obsidian mirror.
You think:
"Hmm.."
A Forest Green Apartment [S Quit Save]
Every textile in this room is dyed in varying scales of forest green.
The walls are covered with thick green weaves that have been embroidered to
depict forest scenery with trees, hunters, halflings and other elements
known from the Grey Forest up north. The only other color present in the
chamber is the dark maroon of baobab wood, as the ceiling and all furniture
is crafted from that expensive material. Baobab bars protect the northern
and western windows from possible intruders, and a thick, gwoshi-wool carpet
of dark green covers the floor.
A bone-sided obsidian-handled chest sits here.
Hung above the bed, an unlit glass-sided purple lantern reflects a dim violet glow.
Seemingly growing out of the floor, a long-stemmed, basalt mushroom rises here.
Stacked with food, a large, silvery pymlithe tray rests near the doorway here.
Lying at the foot of the bed, a plain baobab chest rests here.
Resting on the nightstand, a polished marble jewelry box glints in the available light.
Reflecting darkly, a polished obsidian mirror is hung on the back of the southern door.
Set against the northern wall, a sturdy agafari dresser rests here.
Some carved shelves of fitted agafari hardwood stand here.
A compact baobab wardrobe is here , pushed against the northern wall.
Set beneath the expansive windows, a heavy baobab desk rests here.
Silken coverlets draping, a heavy baobab bed rests against the eastern wall.
The gaunt, henna-maned man purses his lips, looking about the room.
You suffer from use of the Way.
The top of this desk has a smooth, clear surface that lacks any
adornments, but that fact is considerably outweighed by the intricate,
elegant carvings on the legs and borders of the desk. The side of the small
drawer under the surface- board of the desk is also carved in fine-lined,
swirling patterns, with a small knob that has been carved to look like an
erdlu's head. The dark maroon baobab hardwood seems to be of a fine
quality, polished smooth and glossy.
A couple of heavy baobab chairs are drawn up to it.
There is one space at it.
On a heavy baobab desk (here) :
a green and pink striped bloom
a four-petaled ishra flower
Plush pillows lie on top of the thick silken bedspread covering this
wide, sizeable bed. A broad and high-set headboard resides at its upper
end, carved with a few simple, but elegant lines that follow the wave-like
shape of the board. Thick, rounded legs taper down to sturdy feet, carved
to resemble the clawed feet of a mekillot. The dark maroon baobab hardwood
seems to be of a fine quality, polished smooth and glossy.
On a heavy baobab bed (here) :
a stained black vestric-quill pen
a small leather pouch
a stained silvery woven, black silk wrap
a pair of brushed, sienna-hued knee pants
a soft, amber-tasseled suede quiver
a couple of amber-edged, sienna leather bracers
a maar hand-crossbow
an emblazoned purple patch
a set of leaf-patterned, tembo-hide sleeves
a leaf-patterned, tembo-hide vest
a black silk shoulder bag
a tight-fitting, black leather beret
a clawed bone scimitar
a ruby-studded crystal shortsword
a broad, obsidian-buttoned black silk belt
a pair of ebony-dyed, gwoshi-hide boots
a hooded, moss-green and ivory leather overcoat
an ivory-buttoned, black silk longvest
a pair of billowy, white silk pants
a pair of voluminous, ivory silk sleeves
an ornate black silk choker
a flowing white gown set with temboeye buttons
a hooded, amber-fringed leather shoulder cape
a green-tassled hide pillow
A Forest Green Apartment [S Quit Save]
Every textile in this room is dyed in varying scales of forest green.
The walls are covered with thick green weaves that have been embroidered to
depict forest scenery with trees, hunters, halflings and other elements
known from the Grey Forest up north. The only other color present in the
chamber is the dark maroon of baobab wood, as the ceiling and all furniture
is crafted from that expensive material. Baobab bars protect the northern
and western windows from possible intruders, and a thick, gwoshi-wool carpet
of dark green covers the floor.
A bone-sided obsidian-handled chest sits here.
Hung above the bed, an unlit glass-sided purple lantern reflects a dim violet glow.
Seemingly growing out of the floor, a long-stemmed, basalt mushroom rises here.
Stacked with food, a large, silvery pymlithe tray rests near the doorway here.
Lying at the foot of the bed, a plain baobab chest rests here.
Resting on the nightstand, a polished marble jewelry box glints in the available light.
Reflecting darkly, a polished obsidian mirror is hung on the back of the southern door.
Set against the northern wall, a sturdy agafari dresser rests here.
Some carved shelves of fitted agafari hardwood stand here.
A compact baobab wardrobe is here , pushed against the northern wall.
Set beneath the expansive windows, a heavy baobab desk rests here.
Silken coverlets draping, a heavy baobab bed rests against the eastern wall.
Padding over, snatching it up, you get your stained black vestric-quill pen from a heavy baobab bed.
It is very light.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You think:
"Ok lesse.."
A Forest Green Apartment [S Quit Save]
Every textile in this room is dyed in varying scales of forest green.
The walls are covered with thick green weaves that have been embroidered to
depict forest scenery with trees, hunters, halflings and other elements
known from the Grey Forest up north. The only other color present in the
chamber is the dark maroon of baobab wood, as the ceiling and all furniture
is crafted from that expensive material. Baobab bars protect the northern
and western windows from possible intruders, and a thick, gwoshi-wool carpet
of dark green covers the floor.
A bone-sided obsidian-handled chest sits here.
Hung above the bed, an unlit glass-sided purple lantern reflects a dim violet glow.
Seemingly growing out of the floor, a long-stemmed, basalt mushroom rises here.
Stacked with food, a large, silvery pymlithe tray rests near the doorway here.
Lying at the foot of the bed, a plain baobab chest rests here.
Resting on the nightstand, a polished marble jewelry box glints in the available light.
Reflecting darkly, a polished obsidian mirror is hung on the back of the southern door.
Set against the northern wall, a sturdy agafari dresser rests here.
Some carved shelves of fitted agafari hardwood stand here.
A compact baobab wardrobe is here , pushed against the northern wall.
Set beneath the expansive windows, a heavy baobab desk rests here.
Silken coverlets draping, a heavy baobab bed rests against the eastern wall.
In a compact baobab wardrobe (here) :
a stained blue-streaked, purple wrist-sheath
a silvery, blue-trimmed silk sash
a small wooden box
a rugged white shirt
a tightly-woven sash of dark sandcloth
a pair of high, polished black leather boots
a pair of deep blue, purple-trimmed silk trousers
a snug, deep blue silk vest with purple trim
a pair of deep blue, purple-trimmed silk sleeves
a pair of grey sandcloth sleeves
a darkly-stained leather and sandcloth hat
a couple of white and flame-red pouched leather belts
a pouched purple leather belt
a leather-strapped, rich purple satchel
a smooth, black-silk jacket
A Forest Green Apartment [S Quit Save]
Every textile in this room is dyed in varying scales of forest green.
The walls are covered with thick green weaves that have been embroidered to
depict forest scenery with trees, hunters, halflings and other elements
known from the Grey Forest up north. The only other color present in the
chamber is the dark maroon of baobab wood, as the ceiling and all furniture
is crafted from that expensive material. Baobab bars protect the northern
and western windows from possible intruders, and a thick, gwoshi-wool carpet
of dark green covers the floor.
A bone-sided obsidian-handled chest sits here.
Hung above the bed, an unlit glass-sided purple lantern reflects a dim violet glow.
Seemingly growing out of the floor, a long-stemmed, basalt mushroom rises here.
Stacked with food, a large, silvery pymlithe tray rests near the doorway here.
Lying at the foot of the bed, a plain baobab chest rests here.
Resting on the nightstand, a polished marble jewelry box glints in the available light.
Reflecting darkly, a polished obsidian mirror is hung on the back of the southern door.
Set against the northern wall, a sturdy agafari dresser rests here.
Some carved shelves of fitted agafari hardwood stand here.
A compact baobab wardrobe is here , pushed against the northern wall.
Set beneath the expansive windows, a heavy baobab desk rests here.
Silken coverlets draping, a heavy baobab bed rests against the eastern wall.
The gaunt, henna-maned man scratches at his cheek, glancing between your stained black vestric-quill pen and his package.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You think:
"Nothing really adhesive...could hold it up maybe."
Grunting as he tosses it aside, you drop your stained black vestric-quill pen.
Shown to the room as:
A stained quill-pen fashioned from a long black vestric feather lies here.
A Forest Green Apartment [S Quit Save]
Every textile in this room is dyed in varying scales of forest green.
The walls are covered with thick green weaves that have been embroidered to
depict forest scenery with trees, hunters, halflings and other elements
known from the Grey Forest up north. The only other color present in the
chamber is the dark maroon of baobab wood, as the ceiling and all furniture
is crafted from that expensive material. Baobab bars protect the northern
and western windows from possible intruders, and a thick, gwoshi-wool carpet
of dark green covers the floor.
A stained quill-pen fashioned from a long black vestric feather lies here.
A bone-sided obsidian-handled chest sits here.
Hung above the bed, an unlit glass-sided purple lantern reflects a dim violet glow.
Seemingly growing out of the floor, a long-stemmed, basalt mushroom rises here.
Stacked with food, a large, silvery pymlithe tray rests near the doorway here.
Lying at the foot of the bed, a plain baobab chest rests here.
Resting on the nightstand, a polished marble jewelry box glints in the available light.
Reflecting darkly, a polished obsidian mirror is hung on the back of the southern door.
Set against the northern wall, a sturdy agafari dresser rests here.
Some carved shelves of fitted agafari hardwood stand here.
A compact baobab wardrobe is here , pushed against the northern wall.
Set beneath the expansive windows, a heavy baobab desk rests here.
Silken coverlets draping, a heavy baobab bed rests against the eastern wall.
The gaunt, henna-maned man paces about the room in the buff, rubbing the back of his neck, massaging the muscles.
You think:
"..Why do I even bother scratching..just out've habit? S'not like it ever helps anything."
You think:
"Don't truly get tired, 'er hungry...sure the craving..but s'much of it is just habit, s'pose."
You feel stressed .
Snatching the silken length, you get your stained silvery woven, black silk wrap from a heavy baobab bed.
It is very light, and more than half full.
Unfurling the blade, you get your ivory-hilted, obsidian-bladed dirk from your stained silvery woven, black silk wrap.
It is very light.
Tossing the limp cloth back onto the mattress, you put your stained silvery woven, black silk wrap onto a heavy baobab bed.
Wrapping his fingers about the hilt as he moves over to a polished obsidian mirror, you brandish your ivory-hilted, obsidian-bladed dirk.
You think:
"Can't fucking eat now, no fucking meat."
You think:
"Need somethin' to take the edge off though."
The gaunt, henna-maned man gazes at himself in the mirror, baring his teeth as he draws the edge of your ivory-hilted, obsidian-bladed dirk in a curving gash along his right bicep, a thin line of ruddy brownish blood trickling from the wound.
You feel a numbness creep along your right bicep.
You feel your craving for meat only intensify at the sight of your own blood.
Feeling frustrated, you think:
"Fuck! S'posed to help! Not make it worse."
A Forest Green Apartment [S Quit Save]
Every textile in this room is dyed in varying scales of forest green.
The walls are covered with thick green weaves that have been embroidered to
depict forest scenery with trees, hunters, halflings and other elements
known from the Grey Forest up north. The only other color present in the
chamber is the dark maroon of baobab wood, as the ceiling and all furniture
is crafted from that expensive material. Baobab bars protect the northern
and western windows from possible intruders, and a thick, gwoshi-wool carpet
of dark green covers the floor.
A stained quill-pen fashioned from a long black vestric feather lies here.
A bone-sided obsidian-handled chest sits here.
Hung above the bed, an unlit glass-sided purple lantern reflects a dim violet glow.
Seemingly growing out of the floor, a long-stemmed, basalt mushroom rises here.
Stacked with food, a large, silvery pymlithe tray rests near the doorway here.
Lying at the foot of the bed, a plain baobab chest rests here.
Resting on the nightstand, a polished marble jewelry box glints in the available light.
Reflecting darkly, a polished obsidian mirror is hung on the back of the southern door.
Set against the northern wall, a sturdy agafari dresser rests here.
Some carved shelves of fitted agafari hardwood stand here.
A compact baobab wardrobe is here , pushed against the northern wall.
Set beneath the expansive windows, a heavy baobab desk rests here.
Silken coverlets draping, a heavy baobab bed rests against the eastern wall.
an etched, amethyst key-ring
Throwing it away as he looses a frustrated yell, you drop your ivory-hilted, obsidian-bladed dirk.
Shown to the room as:
A finely crafted dirk lies here, its obsidian blade set in an ivory hilt.
The gaunt, henna-maned man grumbles to himself, pacing about the room, blood trickling down his right arm.
You think:
"Makes me wish I kept a pet..."
The gaunt, henna-maned man licks his lips, looking about the room with a rather crazed expression.
A Forest Green Apartment [S Quit Save]
Every textile in this room is dyed in varying scales of forest green.
The walls are covered with thick green weaves that have been embroidered to
depict forest scenery with trees, hunters, halflings and other elements
known from the Grey Forest up north. The only other color present in the
chamber is the dark maroon of baobab wood, as the ceiling and all furniture
is crafted from that expensive material. Baobab bars protect the northern
and western windows from possible intruders, and a thick, gwoshi-wool carpet
of dark green covers the floor.
A finely crafted dirk lies here, its obsidian blade set in an ivory hilt.
A stained quill-pen fashioned from a long black vestric feather lies here.
A bone-sided obsidian-handled chest sits here.
Hung above the bed, an unlit glass-sided purple lantern reflects a dim violet glow.
Seemingly growing out of the floor, a long-stemmed, basalt mushroom rises here.
Stacked with food, a large, silvery pymlithe tray rests near the doorway here.
Lying at the foot of the bed, a plain baobab chest rests here.
Resting on the nightstand, a polished marble jewelry box glints in the available light.
Reflecting darkly, a polished obsidian mirror is hung on the back of the southern door.
Set against the northern wall, a sturdy agafari dresser rests here.
Some carved shelves of fitted agafari hardwood stand here.
A compact baobab wardrobe is here , pushed against the northern wall.
Set beneath the expansive windows, a heavy baobab desk rests here.
Silken coverlets draping, a heavy baobab bed rests against the eastern wall.
You think:
"...Might be rats in this ol' mansion, if only a few."
A Forest Green Apartment [S Quit Save]
Every textile in this room is dyed in varying scales of forest green.
The walls are covered with thick green weaves that have been embroidered to
depict forest scenery with trees, hunters, halflings and other elements
known from the Grey Forest up north. The only other color present in the
chamber is the dark maroon of baobab wood, as the ceiling and all furniture
is crafted from that expensive material. Baobab bars protect the northern
and western windows from possible intruders, and a thick, gwoshi-wool carpet
of dark green covers the floor.
A finely crafted dirk lies here, its obsidian blade set in an ivory hilt.
A stained quill-pen fashioned from a long black vestric feather lies here.
A bone-sided obsidian-handled chest sits here.
Hung above the bed, an unlit glass-sided purple lantern reflects a dim violet glow.
Seemingly growing out of the floor, a long-stemmed, basalt mushroom rises here.
Stacked with food, a large, silvery pymlithe tray rests near the doorway here.
Lying at the foot of the bed, a plain baobab chest rests here.
Resting on the nightstand, a polished marble jewelry box glints in the available light.
Reflecting darkly, a polished obsidian mirror is hung on the back of the southern door.
Set against the northern wall, a sturdy agafari dresser rests here.
Some carved shelves of fitted agafari hardwood stand here.
A compact baobab wardrobe is here , pushed against the northern wall.
Set beneath the expansive windows, a heavy baobab desk rests here.
Silken coverlets draping, a heavy baobab bed rests against the eastern wall.
Snatching it up with a wide grin, you pick up an ivory-hilted, obsidian-bladed dirk.
It is very light.
The gaunt, henna-maned man heads to the doorway.
A Short Hallway [NEW Save]
Thick, deep blue raw silk draperies cover the entire walls of this
short hallway. Doors lead in all directions but south, all crafted from a
polished, high-gloss baobab wood. A thick deep blue carpet made of soft
velvet has left no piece of the floor uncovered, and in the low ceiling,
lines of all shades of purple swirl their way across a blue foundation. In
the southern wall sits a tall window, its glass seems thick, though not more
so than to let in a trace of moonlight from the outside, and is protected
from intruders by several sturdy wooden cross-bars.
Wrapping his fingers about the hilt, you brandish your ivory-hilted, obsidian-bladed dirk.
You are starving.
Your health worsens from lack of food.
You are a little thirsty.
Gazing down the hall, his chest heaving in excitement, you look east.
A door to the east leads to a Cramped, Silk-draped Office.
The door is open.
[Near]
Nothing.
You think:
"We'll check Jubs' old room, no one's been in there in ages."
Ok.
A Red, Velvet-walled Chamber [E Save]
Soft, plush red velvet drapes over the walls, floor and ceiling of
this elegant chamber. A scent of sweet incense lingers in the air, and
several candle-lit lanterns have been affixed to the walls to spread a dim
light in the room. Footsteps are quiet over the velvety floor, and thin
black swirling lines have been woven into the textile. To the east, a low
door of crimson-painted wood opens to the hallway, and small glass-covered
windows sit in the southern and northern walls. To the west, a larger
window opens, displaying a crimson and transparent mosaic, and with a deep
windowseat resting beneath it.
Here near the western wall, a heavy baobab bed is under some windows overlooking the wagonyard.
A heavy desk of black-stained baobab has been planted here firmly.
A compact, octagonal baobab wardrobe has been deposited here.
The gaunt, henna-maned man lingers near the doorway a moment, before leaping in the room, landing spread-feet, gaze sweeping over the dusty, velveted chamber.
Waving your ivory-hilted, obsidian-bladed dirk about in a shallow motion, you say, in cavilish:
"Heeere mousy mousy."
You suffer from use of the Way.
The gaunt, henna-maned man strains his neck, head tilting to the side as he falls silent.
You start trying to listen.
You feel anxious as you listen for the slightest sound of scratching or squeaking.
You start trying to listen.
You think:
"Hmm, might've heard me coming in, will have t'try'n be more quiet about it in the other rooms."
The gaunt, henna-maned man drops down to a knee, sweeping the drapings of a heavy baobab bed aside and peering beneath.
Plush pillows lie on top of the thick silken bedspread covering this
wide, sizeable bed. A broad and high-set headboard resides at its upper
end, carved with a few simple, but elegant lines that follow the wave-like
shape of the board. Thick, rounded legs taper down to sturdy feet, carved
to resemble the clawed feet of a mekillot. The dark maroon baobab hardwood
seems to be of a fine quality, polished smooth and glossy.
On a heavy baobab bed (here) :
a couple of red-tassled hide pillows
You suffer from use of the Way.
The gaunt, henna-maned man grumbles, slowly rising to his feet, your ivory-hilted, obsidian-bladed dirk clenched in his hand.
A Red, Velvet-walled Chamber [E Save]
Soft, plush red velvet drapes over the walls, floor and ceiling of
this elegant chamber. A scent of sweet incense lingers in the air, and
several candle-lit lanterns have been affixed to the walls to spread a dim
light in the room. Footsteps are quiet over the velvety floor, and thin
black swirling lines have been woven into the textile. To the east, a low
door of crimson-painted wood opens to the hallway, and small glass-covered
windows sit in the southern and northern walls. To the west, a larger
window opens, displaying a crimson and transparent mosaic, and with a deep
windowseat resting beneath it.
Here near the western wall, a heavy baobab bed is under some windows overlooking the wagonyard.
A heavy desk of black-stained baobab has been planted here firmly.
A compact, octagonal baobab wardrobe has been deposited here.
You are starving.
Your health worsens from lack of food.
You are a little thirsty.
The gaunt, henna-maned man quietly pads towards the doorway, taking special care in his steps.
You slow down and start moving carefully.
A Short Hallway [NEW Save]
Thick, deep blue raw silk draperies cover the entire walls of this
short hallway. Doors lead in all directions but south, all crafted from a
polished, high-gloss baobab wood. A thick deep blue carpet made of soft
velvet has left no piece of the floor uncovered, and in the low ceiling,
lines of all shades of purple swirl their way across a blue foundation. In
the southern wall sits a tall window, its glass seems thick, though not more
so than to let in a trace of moonlight from the outside, and is protected
from intruders by several sturdy wooden cross-bars.
The gaunt, henna-maned man moves quietly down the hall, gaze wandering along the floorboards.
A Cramped, Silk-draped Office [NWUD Save]
Thick, light blue masses of raw silk drape over the walls of this
chamber. Despite the relatively generous size of the office, it gives a
cramped impression due to the surprising amount of furniture and containers
stored here. The light color of the walls serve to add some air to the
chamber despite its crowded state, and a similarly dyed, elaborately woven
gwoshi wool carpet covers most of the polished baobab floor. A trapdoor
sits discreetly under a cut-out flap of the carpet in the southeastern
corner, and just above it, a narrow staircase leads upwards. Above the door
that leads to a short corridor west hangs a remarkably finely crafted
embroidery about three inches wide and half as high, depicting the Kadian
emblem: a blue gemstone on a purple field. Another door sits between two
high shelves, leading through the northern wall.
A distinguished baobab desk with carved facets stands here.
The gaunt, henna-maned man slows as he pads into the office, gaze sweeping over the carpeted floor.
You feel the hunger for meat nearly consuming your every thought.
You think:
"Need..t'fucking...eat something.."
The door is closed.
The gaunt, henna-maned man moves quietly across the office, carefully turning the knob on the northern door.
It seems to be locked.
an etched, amethyst key-ring
You are carrying:
1851 obsidian pieces
an etched, amethyst key-ring
A Short Hallway [NEW Save]
Thick, deep blue raw silk draperies cover the entire walls of this
short hallway. Doors lead in all directions but south, all crafted from a
polished, high-gloss baobab wood. A thick deep blue carpet made of soft
velvet has left no piece of the floor uncovered, and in the low ceiling,
lines of all shades of purple swirl their way across a blue foundation. In
the southern wall sits a tall window, its glass seems thick, though not more
so than to let in plenty of sunlight from the outside, and is protected from
intruders by several sturdy wooden cross-bars.
A Forest Green Apartment [S Quit Save]
Every textile in this room is dyed in varying scales of forest green.
The walls are covered with thick green weaves that have been embroidered to
depict forest scenery with trees, hunters, halflings and other elements
known from the Grey Forest up north. The only other color present in the
chamber is the dark maroon of baobab wood, as the ceiling and all furniture
is crafted from that expensive material. Baobab bars protect the northern
and western windows from possible intruders, and a thick, gwoshi-wool carpet
of dark green covers the floor.
A stained quill-pen fashioned from a long black vestric feather lies here.
A bone-sided obsidian-handled chest sits here.
Hung above the bed, an unlit glass-sided purple lantern reflects a dim violet glow.
Seemingly growing out of the floor, a long-stemmed, basalt mushroom rises here.
Stacked with food, a large, silvery pymlithe tray rests near the doorway here.
Lying at the foot of the bed, a plain baobab chest rests here.
Resting on the nightstand, a polished marble jewelry box glints in the available light.
Reflecting darkly, a polished obsidian mirror is hung on the back of the southern door.
Set against the northern wall, a sturdy agafari dresser rests here.
Some carved shelves of fitted agafari hardwood stand here.
A compact baobab wardrobe is here , pushed against the northern wall.
Set beneath the expansive windows, a heavy baobab desk rests here.
Silken coverlets draping, a heavy baobab bed rests against the eastern wall.
Health: 90/80, Mana: 6/109, Stun: 60/60, Stamina:108/108, Speed:sneaking, (standing) (armed)
Cause they were totally not in his inventory, you put your pile of allanaki coins onto a heavy baobab bed.
You suffer from use of the Way.
Neither was this, you put your etched, amethyst key-ring onto a heavy baobab bed.
A Short Hallway [NEW Save]
Thick, deep blue raw silk draperies cover the entire walls of this
short hallway. Doors lead in all directions but south, all crafted from a
polished, high-gloss baobab wood. A thick deep blue carpet made of soft
velvet has left no piece of the floor uncovered, and in the low ceiling,
lines of all shades of purple swirl their way across a blue foundation. In
the southern wall sits a tall window, its glass seems thick, though not more
so than to let in plenty of sunlight from the outside, and is protected from
intruders by several sturdy wooden cross-bars.
A Cramped, Silk-draped Office [NWUD Save]
Thick, light blue masses of raw silk drape over the walls of this
chamber. Despite the relatively generous size of the office, it gives a
cramped impression due to the surprising amount of furniture and containers
stored here. The light color of the walls serve to add some air to the
chamber despite its crowded state, and a similarly dyed, elaborately woven
gwoshi wool carpet covers most of the polished baobab floor. A trapdoor
sits discreetly under a cut-out flap of the carpet in the southeastern
corner, and just above it, a narrow staircase leads upwards. Above the door
that leads to a short corridor west hangs a remarkably finely crafted
embroidery about three inches wide and half as high, depicting the Kadian
emblem: a blue gemstone on a purple field. Another door sits between two
high shelves, leading through the northern wall.
A distinguished baobab desk with carved facets stands here.
Feeling annoyed, you think:
"Damn, locked."
The gaunt, henna-maned man pats himself down, as if looking for something.
You think:
"Hmm..where'd I put my keys?"
You think:
"Eh fuck it, we'll check there later."
A Cramped, Silk-draped Office [NWUD Save]
Thick, light blue masses of raw silk drape over the walls of this
chamber. Despite the relatively generous size of the office, it gives a
cramped impression due to the surprising amount of furniture and containers
stored here. The light color of the walls serve to add some air to the
chamber despite its crowded state, and a similarly dyed, elaborately woven
gwoshi wool carpet covers most of the polished baobab floor. A trapdoor
sits discreetly under a cut-out flap of the carpet in the southeastern
corner, and just above it, a narrow staircase leads upwards. Above the door
that leads to a short corridor west hangs a remarkably finely crafted
embroidery about three inches wide and half as high, depicting the Kadian
emblem: a blue gemstone on a purple field. Another door sits between two
high shelves, leading through the northern wall.
A distinguished baobab desk with carved facets stands here.
The gaunt, henna-maned man moves about the office, gaze sweeping over the floor, until he reaches the corner.
Set into the floor is a trapdoor, covered with a cut-out flap of the
carpet and difficult to discern.
The trapdoor is open.
[Near]
Nothing.
A Velvet-walled Office [NWU Save]
Soft, deep blue velvet drapes over the wooden walls of this elegant
office. A thick, burgundy carpet muffles footsteps and protects the glossy
baobab floor beneath. A set of shelves stands to the eastern wall, and a
desk with one chair behind it, and two before it, rests in convenient
proximity to the shelves. An unusually finely-polished crate has been
placed in the north-eastern corner of the office, and in the opposite side
of the room, a staircase winds its way up to a trapdoor in the ceiling. Two
regular, if low, doors allow departure from the chamber to the north and
west.
A massive, jet-black obsidian-adorned chest sits here.
A red jasper urn sits here.
A winerack, made of carved bone, sits here.
A few large, etched wooden casks are here.
A couple of large blue wine casks are here.
A baobab desk of compact proportions rests here.
A large purple cask, bearing the symbol of House Kadius, rests here.
You are starving.
Your health worsens from lack of food.
You are a little thirsty.
The gaunt, henna-maned man winces and haults every few steps, a groaning *Squeeak* emitting from the floorboards.
A Velvet-walled Office [NWU Save]
Soft, deep blue velvet drapes over the wooden walls of this elegant
office. A thick, burgundy carpet muffles footsteps and protects the glossy
baobab floor beneath. A set of shelves stands to the eastern wall, and a
desk with one chair behind it, and two before it, rests in convenient
proximity to the shelves. An unusually finely-polished crate has been
placed in the north-eastern corner of the office, and in the opposite side
of the room, a staircase winds its way up to a trapdoor in the ceiling. Two
regular, if low, doors allow departure from the chamber to the north and
west.
A massive, jet-black obsidian-adorned chest sits here.
A red jasper urn sits here.
A winerack, made of carved bone, sits here.
A few large, etched wooden casks are here.
A couple of large blue wine casks are here.
A baobab desk of compact proportions rests here.
A large purple cask, bearing the symbol of House Kadius, rests here.
Feeling as though there was nothing else, you think:
"Meat meat meat meat meat meat meat."
A Blue-padded, Narrow Hallway [NESWD Save]
Thickly woven wool-carpets of dark blue pad the walls and floor of
this narrow hallway. A sky blue pattern of irregular, surreal lines and
images has been embroidered onto the thick weave in places, and the padding
makes way southwards for two narrow doors of glass mosaic. The doors are
set with a blue and purple pattern of small, diagonally placed square
glass-tiles, half of them colored, and the other half transparent. A
pleasant amount of light spills in through the glass, lifting the cramped
atmosphere of the hallway. Three blue-padded wooden doors rise to the east,
west and north, and the ceiling, the only visible surface not clad in the
dark blue, consists of polished maroon baobab planks. A small wooden
staircase leads downward.
The gaunt, henna-maned man sniffs at the air, gazing about the hallway with a wild look in his eyes.
Health: 70/70, Mana: 6/109, Stun: 49/50, Stamina:107/107, Speed:sneaking, (standing) (armed)
The middle-aged figure before you rises nearly four and a half cords
in height, his spindly frame sporting little musculature. His body is well
proportioned, broad shoulders and evenly toned arms ending a slender left
hand, the fingers calloused and slightly dirtied. His right arm ends in a
cleanly severed stub, dark, jagged lines extending to the forearm. A wild
mass of tangled, henna-toned curls falls to his lower back, some grey
beginning to manifest about his temples. His skin is weathered and tanned
from exposure to Suk-krath, olive in complexion and marred by numerous small,
slash-mark scars. When his lips part, clean whites are exposed, the canines
protruding almost imperceptibly. His gaunt features are otherwise well-
defined: a thin jawline resting beneath darkly-stained lips, and high
cheekbones surmount a stubbled face. Beneath thin brows rest hazel eyes,
deeply set and slightly ovoid. Overall his appearance would depict an
otherwise handsome figure, though obviously aesthetics are not first priority
for this individual.
The gaunt, henna-maned man is in excellent condition.a blue and purple inked band a bone charm on a leather cord a pale tattoo of an angular gem an angular, crescent shaped scar a large, blotchy burn scar a purple ring tattoo a cleanly severed right hand an ivory-hilted, obsidian-bladed dirk several pale, faint looking scars a lapis lazuli signet ring with an evening stone
)
Through a doors to the south is On a Blue Balcony.
The doors are open.
[Near]
Nothing.
You think:
"Hmmm, THE KITCHEN!"
You think:
"If there were rats anywhere, they'd be there."
Glancing furtively down the stairs, you look down.
Down below is a Purple-walled Lobby.
[Near]
Nothing.
A Purple-walled Lobby [NEWU]
Light purple tapestries cover the walls of this comfortable chamber.
Lavender embroidery trickles over their surface, adding an attractive
shimmer to the soft linen. A low, finely made oval wooden table sits in the
middle of the room, with six armchairs surrounding it. On the glossy maroon
surface of the table rests a wooden bowl, and the chairs are luxuriously
wide and padded with deep blue cloth. A dark blue carpet covers most of the
floor here, thickly woven from escru wool with a discreet, swirling purple
pattern in its texture. The soft cover muffles the sound of footsteps from
people moving towards the doorways that rise in the western, eastern, and
northern walls. To the south is a painted glass window, with flowery
patterns of blue, purple and white adorning it. Through the few transparent
spots on the window, the wall of another building is visible, and only a
sparse amount of light spills through the glass. A small baobab staircase
leads upward.
A low table sits here, made of maroon baobab wood.
A slim, maroon baobab door sits in the eastern wall.
The door is closed.
West of here is an Airy Entrance Hall.
[Far]
Nothing.
[Near]
The swarthy, muscular man stands post here.
A baobab-framed, arched doorway leads northwards to a maroon-panelled
dining room.
[Near]
Nothing.
A Purple-walled Lobby [NEWU]
Light purple tapestries cover the walls of this comfortable chamber.
Lavender embroidery trickles over their surface, adding an attractive
shimmer to the soft linen. A low, finely made oval wooden table sits in the
middle of the room, with six armchairs surrounding it. On the glossy maroon
surface of the table rests a wooden bowl, and the chairs are luxuriously
wide and padded with deep blue cloth. A dark blue carpet covers most of the
floor here, thickly woven from escru wool with a discreet, swirling purple
pattern in its texture. The soft cover muffles the sound of footsteps from
people moving towards the doorways that rise in the western, eastern, and
northern walls. To the south is a painted glass window, with flowery
patterns of blue, purple and white adorning it. Through the few transparent
spots on the window, the wall of another building is visible, and only a
sparse amount of light spills through the glass. A small baobab staircase
leads upward.
A low table sits here, made of maroon baobab wood.
The gaunt, henna-maned man flits his gaze about the lobby, gazing westwards along the hall.
A Baobab-panelled Dining Room [ES]
Smooth, dark maroon panels line the walls, the floor and the ceiling
of this room. The baobab wood has been cut in long, regular planks, their
fine gloss reflecting the light from the lanterns on the walls to create a
warm, dim atmosphere. A rectangular table rises in the center of the
chamber, with eight high-backed chairs standing around it. The table is
made of maroon, oiled baobab similar to the walls, and its surface is etched
with swirling lines along its edges. The chairs match the table, and their
seats are padded with comfortable, deep blue linen pillows. A long,
purple-blue silk tapestry hangs on the northern wall, displaying flowery,
surreal patterns with silver highlights. An arched doorway leads
southwards, while a small door opens to another chamber east of here.
A rectangular table made of baobab wood stands here, its surface etched.
A low, baobab door leads eastwards to the kitchen.
The door is open.
[Near]
The short, blue-haired cook stands here, hurriedly serving up some food.
The gaunt, henna-maned man inhales sharply, moving behind an etched, rectangular baobab table.
A Baobab-panelled Dining Room [ES]
Smooth, dark maroon panels line the walls, the floor and the ceiling
of this room. The baobab wood has been cut in long, regular planks, their
fine gloss reflecting the light from the lanterns on the walls to create a
warm, dim atmosphere. A rectangular table rises in the center of the
chamber, with eight high-backed chairs standing around it. The table is
made of maroon, oiled baobab similar to the walls, and its surface is etched
with swirling lines along its edges. The chairs match the table, and their
seats are padded with comfortable, deep blue linen pillows. A long,
purple-blue silk tapestry hangs on the northern wall, displaying flowery,
surreal patterns with silver highlights. An arched doorway leads
southwards, while a small door opens to another chamber east of here.
A rectangular table made of baobab wood stands here, its surface etched.
A White-bricked Kitchen [W]
Glazed, white ceramic bricks cover the walls of this kitchen. A
brick-oven leans against the eastern wall, with a fire burning under it.
Next to the oven is a large roasting pit with a blackened bone stick sitting
above the hot coal of the pit, meat and fruit hanging from it. The floor is
tiled with blue and white clay bricks placed in a checkered pattern, and
linen towels hang from a set of wooden pegs on the northern wall,
conveniently close to the hot oven. Above the pegs sit an open window that
looks out onto a high wall, separating the Kadian estate from the Salarri
grounds north. A barrel of water has been placed in the northwestern
corner, and opposite it, next to the door, rests a small crate with a few
pieces of garbage and rotten food inside.
The short, blue-haired cook stands here, hurriedly serving up some food.
The gaunt, henna-maned man spies the short, blue-haired cook working over the stove, and carefully moves along the wall .
A White-bricked Kitchen [W]
Glazed, white ceramic bricks cover the walls of this kitchen. A
brick-oven leans against the eastern wall, with a fire burning under it.
Next to the oven is a large roasting pit with a blackened bone stick sitting
above the hot coal of the pit, meat and fruit hanging from it. The floor is
tiled with blue and white clay bricks placed in a checkered pattern, and
linen towels hang from a set of wooden pegs on the northern wall,
conveniently close to the hot oven. Above the pegs sit an open window that
looks out onto a high wall, separating the Kadian estate from the Salarri
grounds north. A barrel of water has been placed in the northwestern
corner, and opposite it, next to the door, rests a small crate with a few
pieces of garbage and rotten food inside.
The short, blue-haired cook stands here, hurriedly serving up some food.
Crouching behind a wooden water barrel, calling out in a hushed whisper, you say, in cavilish:
"Psst."
Your new ldesc is:
The gaunt, henna-maned man is here, crouched behind a wooden barrel, naked.
Just an intsy bit louder, gripping your ivory-hilted, obsidian-bladed dirk tightly at his side, you ask, in cavilish:
"Pssst, Cirwen! You have any rats?"
You think:
"Hmm...he can't hear me. Don't want to startled him though, might chase away any rats that be hidin'."
A White-bricked Kitchen [W]
Glazed, white ceramic bricks cover the walls of this kitchen. A
brick-oven leans against the eastern wall, with a fire burning under it.
Next to the oven is a large roasting pit with a blackened bone stick sitting
above the hot coal of the pit, meat and fruit hanging from it. The floor is
tiled with blue and white clay bricks placed in a checkered pattern, and
linen towels hang from a set of wooden pegs on the northern wall,
conveniently close to the hot oven. Above the pegs sit an open window that
looks out onto a high wall, separating the Kadian estate from the Salarri
grounds north. A barrel of water has been placed in the northwestern
corner, and opposite it, next to the door, rests a small crate with a few
pieces of garbage and rotten food inside.
The short, blue-haired cook stands here, hurriedly serving up some food.
The gaunt, henna-maned man lowers himself to his stomach, slanting his gaze along the floor.
Your new ldesc is:
The gaunt, henna-maned man is crawling on his stomach here, naked.
The gaunt, henna-maned man slowly pulls himself along the tiled floor, biting down on your ivory-hilted, obsidian-bladed dirk to hold it in his teeth.
A White-bricked Kitchen [W]
Glazed, white ceramic bricks cover the walls of this kitchen. A
brick-oven leans against the eastern wall, with a fire burning under it.
Next to the oven is a large roasting pit with a blackened bone stick sitting
above the hot coal of the pit, meat and fruit hanging from it. The floor is
tiled with blue and white clay bricks placed in a checkered pattern, and
linen towels hang from a set of wooden pegs on the northern wall,
conveniently close to the hot oven. Above the pegs sit an open window that
looks out onto a high wall, separating the Kadian estate from the Salarri
grounds north. A barrel of water has been placed in the northwestern
corner, and opposite it, next to the door, rests a small crate with a few
pieces of garbage and rotten food inside.
The short, blue-haired cook stands here, hurriedly serving up some food.
The gaunt, henna-maned man freezes in place as the short, blue-haired cook turns away from stove, moving over to a counter to chop up some fresh vegetables.
You think:
"Shiiiit."
You think:
"Careful Mark!"
A deep, crate-like construction of sandstone makes out this roasting pit.
Inside the crate burns a low fire, the flames licking the sides of the pit
but not reaching all the way up to the stick hanging above it. Hooks sit on
the stick, meant for meat to hang on when being grilled, and a few smaller,
sharp pieces of bone stand out from it, where one is able to pierce fruit
and other goodies needing a turn over the fire. Coal and dried manure make
out the fuel for the fire.
On a large roasting pit (here) :
a couple of grilled scrab steaks
a few grilled chalton steaks
A White-bricked Kitchen [W]
Glazed, white ceramic bricks cover the walls of this kitchen. A
brick-oven leans against the eastern wall, with a fire burning under it.
Next to the oven is a large roasting pit with a blackened bone stick sitting
above the hot coal of the pit, meat and fruit hanging from it. The floor is
tiled with blue and white clay bricks placed in a checkered pattern, and
linen towels hang from a set of wooden pegs on the northern wall,
conveniently close to the hot oven. Above the pegs sit an open window that
looks out onto a high wall, separating the Kadian estate from the Salarri
grounds north. A barrel of water has been placed in the northwestern
corner, and opposite it, next to the door, rests a small crate with a few
pieces of garbage and rotten food inside.
The short, blue-haired cook stands here, hurriedly serving up some food.
You think:
"Damnit! She must keep a clean House, n'fucking rats anywhere!"
In a small, blue bone crate (here) :
a rotten petoch-fruit
a small mass of bloody guts
a battered piece of scrab shell
The gaunt, henna-maned man tugs himself along the floor, drawing near to a small, blue bone crate.
You think:
"Oh yeah, the fucking jackpot!"
Reaching his arm up over the lip, rummaging about the refuse, you get your small mass of bloody guts from a small, blue bone crate.
It is very light.
Grasping them in a finger, you look at your small mass of bloody guts.
This bloody gore comes from the entrails of an animal. The guts look
distasteful and carry an unpleasant smell. The gore makes up for about a
handful of strings and guts clinging together in a stomach-turning mass.
The gaunt, henna-maned man sniffs at your small mass of bloody guts, glancing to the short, blue-haired cook, who's attention is elsewhere.
A White-bricked Kitchen [W]
Glazed, white ceramic bricks cover the walls of this kitchen. A
brick-oven leans against the eastern wall, with a fire burning under it.
Next to the oven is a large roasting pit with a blackened bone stick sitting
above the hot coal of the pit, meat and fruit hanging from it. The floor is
tiled with blue and white clay bricks placed in a checkered pattern, and
linen towels hang from a set of wooden pegs on the northern wall,
conveniently close to the hot oven. Above the pegs sit an open window that
looks out onto a high wall, separating the Kadian estate from the Salarri
grounds north. A barrel of water has been placed in the northwestern
corner, and opposite it, next to the door, rests a small crate with a few
pieces of garbage and rotten food inside.
The short, blue-haired cook stands here, hurriedly serving up some food.
The gaunt, henna-maned man grins impishly, carefully crawling across the kitchen back towards the dining room.
A Baobab-panelled Dining Room [ES]
Smooth, dark maroon panels line the walls, the floor and the ceiling
of this room. The baobab wood has been cut in long, regular planks, their
fine gloss reflecting the light from the lanterns on the walls to create a
warm, dim atmosphere. A rectangular table rises in the center of the
chamber, with eight high-backed chairs standing around it. The table is
made of maroon, oiled baobab similar to the walls, and its surface is etched
with swirling lines along its edges. The chairs match the table, and their
seats are padded with comfortable, deep blue linen pillows. A long,
purple-blue silk tapestry hangs on the northern wall, displaying flowery,
surreal patterns with silver highlights. An arched doorway leads
southwards, while a small door opens to another chamber east of here.
A rectangular table made of baobab wood stands here, its surface etched.
The gaunt, henna-maned man pulls himself up onto the carpet, carefully, quietly rising to his feet.
The gaunt, henna-maned man holds your small mass of bloody guts up in a triumphant pose, his wild eyes only adding to the crazed image of his naked self.
A Purple-walled Lobby [NEWU]
Light purple tapestries cover the walls of this comfortable chamber.
Lavender embroidery trickles over their surface, adding an attractive
shimmer to the soft linen. A low, finely made oval wooden table sits in the
middle of the room, with six armchairs surrounding it. On the glossy maroon
surface of the table rests a wooden bowl, and the chairs are luxuriously
wide and padded with deep blue cloth. A dark blue carpet covers most of the
floor here, thickly woven from escru wool with a discreet, swirling purple
pattern in its texture. The soft cover muffles the sound of footsteps from
people moving towards the doorways that rise in the western, eastern, and
northern walls. To the south is a painted glass window, with flowery
patterns of blue, purple and white adorning it. Through the few transparent
spots on the window, the wall of another building is visible, and only a
sparse amount of light spills through the glass. A small baobab staircase
leads upward.
A low table sits here, made of maroon baobab wood.
You think:
"Meat meat meat meat meat"
A Blue-padded, Narrow Hallway [NESWD Save]
Thickly woven wool-carpets of dark blue pad the walls and floor of
this narrow hallway. A sky blue pattern of irregular, surreal lines and
images has been embroidered onto the thick weave in places, and the padding
makes way southwards for two narrow doors of glass mosaic. The doors are
set with a blue and purple pattern of small, diagonally placed square
glass-tiles, half of them colored, and the other half transparent. A
pleasant amount of light spills in through the glass, lifting the cramped
atmosphere of the hallway. Three blue-padded wooden doors rise to the east,
west and north, and the ceiling, the only visible surface not clad in the
dark blue, consists of polished maroon baobab planks. A small wooden
staircase leads downward.
You are Markua, Trader/Overseer/First Hunter of the House Kadius.
Keywords: maned henna gaunt man Kadius balls Mark Agent Senior
Sdesc: the gaunt, henna-maned man
Objective: Planning Mal Krian Expedition
Long Description:
Code Generated Long Description.
You are 29 years, 0 months, and 229 days old,
which by your race and appearance is adult.
You are 68 inches tall, and weigh 7 ten-stone.
Your strength is below average, your agility is good,
your wisdom is very good, and your endurance is poor.
You are starving and a little thirsty.
Your health is 70(70), you have 107(107) stamina, and 50(50) stun.
You have been playing for 45 days and 16 hours.
You are standing.
You are currently speaking cavilish with a southern accent.
Your encumbrance is very light.
You are:
Trader/Overseer/First Hunter of the House Kadius, jobs: recruiter | leader | banker |
Relationship to the land is neutral.
You are currently speaking cavilish with a southern accent.
Your mood is neutral.
You are standing.
Your mind is in contact with the short, burn-ravaged woman.
You are refusing saves on: arrest.
You are not being merciful.
You aren't watching anything in particular.
A Velvet-walled Office [NWU Save]
Soft, deep blue velvet drapes over the wooden walls of this elegant
office. A thick, burgundy carpet muffles footsteps and protects the glossy
baobab floor beneath. A set of shelves stands to the eastern wall, and a
desk with one chair behind it, and two before it, rests in convenient
proximity to the shelves. An unusually finely-polished crate has been
placed in the north-eastern corner of the office, and in the opposite side
of the room, a staircase winds its way up to a trapdoor in the ceiling. Two
regular, if low, doors allow departure from the chamber to the north and
west.
A massive, jet-black obsidian-adorned chest sits here.
A red jasper urn sits here.
A winerack, made of carved bone, sits here.
A few large, etched wooden casks are here.
A couple of large blue wine casks are here.
A baobab desk of compact proportions rests here.
A large purple cask, bearing the symbol of House Kadius, rests here.
The gaunt, henna-maned man looks about, wiping your small mass of bloody guts over his lips as he stalks towards the stairwell, ascending ever so slowly.
A Cramped, Silk-draped Office [NWUD Save]
Thick, light blue masses of raw silk drape over the walls of this
chamber. Despite the relatively generous size of the office, it gives a
cramped impression due to the surprising amount of furniture and containers
stored here. The light color of the walls serve to add some air to the
chamber despite its crowded state, and a similarly dyed, elaborately woven
gwoshi wool carpet covers most of the polished baobab floor. A trapdoor
sits discreetly under a cut-out flap of the carpet in the southeastern
corner, and just above it, a narrow staircase leads upwards. Above the door
that leads to a short corridor west hangs a remarkably finely crafted
embroidery about three inches wide and half as high, depicting the Kadian
emblem: a blue gemstone on a purple field. Another door sits between two
high shelves, leading through the northern wall.
A distinguished baobab desk with carved facets stands here.
A Short Hallway [NEW Save]
Thick, deep blue raw silk draperies cover the entire walls of this
short hallway. Doors lead in all directions but south, all crafted from a
polished, high-gloss baobab wood. A thick deep blue carpet made of soft
velvet has left no piece of the floor uncovered, and in the low ceiling,
lines of all shades of purple swirl their way across a blue foundation. In
the southern wall sits a tall window, its glass seems thick, though not more
so than to let in plenty of sunlight from the outside, and is protected from
intruders by several sturdy wooden cross-bars.
)
A door to the north leads to a Forest Green Apartment.
The door is open.
[Near]
Nothing.
A Forest Green Apartment [S Quit Save]
Every textile in this room is dyed in varying scales of forest green.
The walls are covered with thick green weaves that have been embroidered to
depict forest scenery with trees, hunters, halflings and other elements
known from the Grey Forest up north. The only other color present in the
chamber is the dark maroon of baobab wood, as the ceiling and all furniture
is crafted from that expensive material. Baobab bars protect the northern
and western windows from possible intruders, and a thick, gwoshi-wool carpet
of dark green covers the floor.
A stained quill-pen fashioned from a long black vestric feather lies here.
A bone-sided obsidian-handled chest sits here.
Hung above the bed, an unlit glass-sided purple lantern reflects a dim violet glow.
Seemingly growing out of the floor, a long-stemmed, basalt mushroom rises here.
Stacked with food, a large, silvery pymlithe tray rests near the doorway here.
Lying at the foot of the bed, a plain baobab chest rests here.
Resting on the nightstand, a polished marble jewelry box glints in the available light.
Reflecting darkly, a polished obsidian mirror is hung on the back of the southern door.
Set against the northern wall, a sturdy agafari dresser rests here.
Some carved shelves of fitted agafari hardwood stand here.
A compact baobab wardrobe is here , pushed against the northern wall.
Set beneath the expansive windows, a heavy baobab desk rests here.
Silken coverlets draping, a heavy baobab bed rests against the eastern wall.
Clenching your small mass of bloody guts in his fist, lifting them up, you exclaim, in cavilish:
"HA! FOOD!"
Summarily sinking his teeth into the bloody mess, ripping away a piece, you eat your small mass of bloody guts.
The gaunt, henna-maned man noisily scarfs the mass down, blood smearing all over his hands, lips, and chin.
The gaunt, henna-maned man's hand, that is.
You feel rather unsatiated, but no where near the desperation you did before.
Feeling much more calmed and collected, you think:
"Need...t'go see Midge..I promised. Plus..she had meat, an' I could fill myself up."
*Mark's standing in front of the mirror in his room, having just undressed*
The gaunt, henna-maned man runs the...
Continue Reading...Unforgiving by lordcooper
Added on Nov 23, 2010The deserts do not forgive
Commonly Known Clan Equipment by Armageddon Collaborative Commu
Added on Jul 12, 2010A list of the most common pieces of equipment that are worn by the members of various well-known clans around Zalanthas.
This is a reference guide to the most common uniforms and rings associated with various clans and ranks within the clans of Armageddon, brought to you by the various players of the game and the community around the General Discussion Board. This guide is kept intentionally vague; while your characters will be able to discern the most basic information from a clan member's attire, IC interaction to figure out the true relevance of that person's position in the clan and the world is encouraged. It will hopefully be helpful to new players and players returning from hiatus.
Most people in the Known world would know about...
a black leather and steel-grey sandcloth greatcloak - House Salarr
a bone ring with an eclipse signet - House Kurac family member.
a gemstone-embroidered sandcloth djellabah - House Kadius.
a hooded brown military aba - T'zai Byn.
a hooded, coal-black sandcloth dustcloak - Kurac.
a hooded, dun-colored dustcloak - Kurac.
a jet-inlaid marble signet ring - Salarr family member.
a lapis lazuli signet ring with an evening stone - Kadius family member.
a long, crested ebon silk dustcloak - Salarr.
a long, crested grey silk dustcloak - Salarr.
an oiled, decorated leather aba - Kadius.
an orange cloth epaulette - Salarr.
a pair of blue and purple armbands - Kadius.
a pair of one-striped studded sleeves - A T'zai Byn Trooper.
a pair of two-striped studded sleeves - A T'zai Byn Sergeant.
If you're from Allanak, you would know about...
an amethyst and jade silver signet ring - House Fale nobility.
a black leather patch with a jade cross - Arm of the Dragon
a grey, wyvern-adorned hooded aba - Borsail Wyvern.
a hooded, black and azure aba - House Oash.
a hooded black militia dustcloak - standard militia uniform (Arm of the Dragon).
a hooded, crimson linen aba - House Borsail.
various scorpion-emblazoned cloaks - House Tor.
a slender crimson and silver ring - House Borsail nobility.
a silver ring set with an azure stone - House Oash nobility.
a silver signet ring - House Tor nobility.
If you're from Tuluk, you would know about...
a hooded, blaze-sigiled black greatcloak - House Tenneshi .
a hooded, kenku-embroidered greatcloak - House Winrothol .
a hooded, kenku-stitched jade cloak - House Winrothol.
a hooded, mace-stitched grey linen cloak - House Lyksae.
a hooded, red and brown greatcloak - House Dasari.
a long, hooded red and white tabard - standard Legionnaire uniform (Utep Sun Clan, aka The Legions).
a ruby and moonstone inlaid, silver signet ring - House Lyksae nobility.
a silver-and-gold, scale-sigiled signet ring - House Kassigarh nobility.
a silver and sapphire signet ring - House Uaptal nobility.
a silver, blossom-sigiled signet ring - House Dasari nobility.
a silver, kenku-carved signet ring - House Winrothol nobility.
a silver ring emblazoned with a gold sun - House Tenneshi nobility.
a silver signet ring - House Negean nobility.This is a reference guide to the most common uniforms and rings associated with various clans and ranks within the clans of Armageddon, brought to you by the various players of the game and the community around the General Discussion Board. This guide is kept intentionally vague; while your...
Continue Reading...The forgetful bard by Akaramu
Added on Jul 4, 2010Zach and Nyli, both Fale employees, run into each other for the first of many times.
The lissome, kohl-eyelined man rubs his forehead gently, a gradually deepening look of exhaustion crossing his features.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the nubile, aureate-braided woman:
"Hopefully, no crazy lasses will disturb my sleep! Have a wonderful and entertaining week, my lady."You dissolve the psychic link.
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
The lissome, kohl-eyelined man straightens himself to sit upright, then directs an absent glance to the lightly-tanned, one-armed woman.
You look at the lightly-tanned, one-armed woman.
This human woman's skin seems to have been spared the brunt of
Suk-Krath's glare, leaving it with a lighter shade of bronze than that of
the average Zalanthan. Her face is mostly plain with pale lips, an
average-sized nose, and dark eyebrows. The only distinctive exceptions are
her wide-set, startling pale-blue eyes. Her dirty-blonde hair undulates
loosely as it falls, reaching halfway down her back. Her left arm ends in a
hand that is soft but clearly no stranger to some sort of labor, while her
right terminates midway between shoulder and elbow in an old, neatly healed
wound. The rest of her physique is trim, with a flat stomach and
well-proportioned legs.
The lightly-tanned, one-armed woman is in excellent condition.The lightly-tanned, one-armed woman is using:
<worn in hair> a purple hair bangle
<worn in left ear> a small jade earring
<worn in right ear> a small jade earring
<worn around neck> a small jade brooch
<worn about throat> a translucent scarf of emerald muslin
<worn across back> a loose, purple-silk knapsack
<right shoulder> a vibrant indigo bird tattoo
<worn around wrist> a purple-spiralled bone bracelet
<worn on left finger> a bone ring set with lavender salt crystals
<worn on left finger> a smooth obsidian ring
<worn on left finger> a feathered maar ring
<worn around body> a purple and green silk cloak bearing the Fale sigil
<worn on legs> a gauzy green cotton skirt
<worn on feet> a pair of knee-high purple and green silk bootsShe is carrying:
nothing obviousThe lissome, kohl-eyelined man blinks.
At your table, the lightly-tanned, one-armed woman says in sirihish, staring back at you with widened eyes:
"What?"At your table, you say in sirihish, a somewhat weak, but friendly smile easing its way around his lips:
"Where have I seen that cloak before?"The lissome, kohl-eyelined man pushes your black-feathered, purple hat into a straight position on top of his head, then gives the lightly-tanned, one-armed woman another look, his attention lingering longer this time.
At your table, the lightly-tanned, one-armed woman says in sirihish, smiling again:
"Probably on my shoulders, where I always keep it."At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Ah, I've seen you around! Don't tell me... Nalya, was it? Or Nuri? mmmmh..."The lissome, kohl-eyelined man purses his full lips in thought.
The lightly-tanned, one-armed woman waits with a patient smile.
The lissome, kohl-eyelined man clicks his fingers.
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"I got it now!"At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Nirya, am I right?"The lightly-tanned, one-armed woman shakes her head, her smile widening a bit more.
The lissome, kohl-eyelined man exhales an overdramatic sigh.
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Ah, I'm shite with names."The lissome, kohl-eyelined man lifts your black-feathered, purple hat from his head with a sweep of one hand, then turns it over demonstratively.
At your table, the lightly-tanned, one-armed woman says in sirihish, chuckling:
"Well good. I'd feel awful if you knew my name but I couldn't even guess at yours."You stop using your black-feathered, purple hat.
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"The hat is too small, you see? There is only room for three, four, at most five names in there."The lissome, kohl-eyelined man chuckles in amusement at his own remark.
The lightly-tanned, one-armed woman chuckles again.
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Ah. Normally I have to get women drunk before they begin to enjoy my terrible jokes."At your table, the lightly-tanned, one-armed woman says in sirihish:
"Why? That one was clever."At your table, you say in sirihish, dipping his head forward somewhat to gaze deep into the lightly-tanned, one-armed woman's eyes before he continues, softly:
"I am sorry dear, I am dead tired and it would likely be fair to make another attempt with your name when I feel more awake."At your table, you say in sirihish, supporting his words with a sweep of a hand:
"Find me another day, and I'll get it right, I promise."At your table, the lightly-tanned, one-armed woman says in sirihish, pursing her lip:
"Hmm, but, well, what if we saved eachother the embarassment and just pretend we've never actually met? That sounds like more fun to me."At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Just follow the slapping noises and someone will have found Zach the bard."The lissome, kohl-eyelined man blurts out a hearty chuckle.
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Alrite then, next time we meet, it will be the first time."At your table, the lightly-tanned, one-armed woman says in sirihish, grinning:
"Alright."At your table, you say in sirihish, crooking a slender finger:
"But don't wait too long, or I might have forgotten that I already like you."The lissome, kohl-eyelined man shows the lightly-tanned, one-armed woman a playful wink from a single eye before he adjusts your black-feathered, purple hat, and rises from his seat.
You stand up from a short wooden bar.
Waving, the lightly-tanned, one-armed woman says to you, in sirihish:
"Alright. Goodbye, stranger-who-I-never-met."Humming quietly to himself, the lissome, kohl-eyelined man meanders between the tables towards the entryway, one hand fluttering a small wave over his shoulder.
The lissome, kohl-eyelined man rubs his forehead gently, a gradually deepening look of exhaustion crossing his features.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the nubile, aureate-braided woman:
"Hopefully, no crazy lasses will disturb my sleep! Have a wonderful...
Continue Reading...The confused bard by Akaramu
Added on Jul 4, 2010Women are trouble, such is life. And noble ladies? They are very fond of their songbirds. Sometimes, there is no easy choice to make.
At your seat, you say in sirihish, his gaze drifting between your partially eaten bowl of erdlu wings and the nubile, aureate-braided woman as he speaks, a boyish smile lingering:
"Ah, those are delightful."
At your seat, the nubile, aureate-braided woman says in sirihish, her voice gentle as she swirls the contents of her goblet:
"I must agree with you."
You think:
"Hopefully she still likes those almost inproper little remarks, heh."
You eat your partially eaten bowl of erdlu wings.
You are no longer hungry.
Having emptied the bowl, the lissome, kohl-eyelined man eyes your green glass brandy snifter and switches it from his left to his right hand, still watching the nubile, aureate-braided woman from the corner of an eye.
At your seat, you say in sirihish:
"Have you had a delightful week, my lady?"
You sip from your green glass brandy snifter.
This tastes like strongly spiced brandy.
You think:
"This is the Krath-damned good stuff. Nothing like the gith piss in the Gaj."
At your seat, the nubile, aureate-braided woman says in sirihish, eyes lifting to your face, ignoring the pleasantries:
"What do you want to do Zach. I am really curious if it was your desire to be my concubine. I want to know your thoughts pet."
You think:
"Ah, so this is it..."
Waiting expectantly, the nubile, aureate-braided woman sips from her round, amethyst-rimmed lapis goblet.
At your seat, you say in sirihish, contemplating the contents of his glass as he speaks, in a cautiously respectful tone:
"My lady, it is my desire to please you... however, this simple-minded bard does not know any of the... rules, or what is required."
At your seat, you say in sirihish:
"Lady Lapitia never spoke of... such things."
You think:
"Would I still be able to see Zara? But Krath, if I mention a common woman now, she might think I prefer Zara over her."
At your seat, the nubile, aureate-braided woman says in sirihish, slender finger tracing the rim of her goblet idly, her tone patient and soft:
"I am not Lady Lapitia my dear, but do not fret. If you were to be my concubine, I fear it would stun your creative avenues. You would never be allowed to be with..."
You think:
"And do I even have a free will in this? I don't want to lose her favor..."
At your seat, the nubile, aureate-braided woman says in sirihish, clearing her throat:
"You sould never be allowed to be with another while my concubine, Zach."
At your seat, the nubile, aureate-braided woman says in sirihish, blinking at her goblet:
"Would.."
The nubile, aureate-braided woman sips from her round, amethyst-rimmed lapis goblet.
The lissome, kohl-eyelined man nods as he listens, his gaze flicking towards the curving lines of the nubile, aureate-braided woman's lips briefly.
You think:
"Ah, Krath. Life will never be simple again, eh?"
At your seat, you say in sirihish, softly, allowing his gaze to linger on the nubile, aureate-braided woman's lips for a longer time:
"My lady, no other woman could match your charms."
At your seat, you say in sirihish, with an undertone of amusement:
"But half of the servant lasses within the household might fret..."
At your seat, you say in sirihish:
"I could be strangled in my sleep, or beaten with brooms."
At your seat, the nubile, aureate-braided woman says in sirihish, artistically arched brow raising as her dark eyes lift to you:
"I do not want to take your freedoms Zach. That is not my intent. Unfortunately I must be careful for obvious reasons, with who I lay with. If it is not your desire to be killed..."
At your seat, the nubile, aureate-braided woman says in sirihish, continuing with some humor:
"..with brooms, decline the position."
The lissome, kohl-eyelined man considers the nubile, aureate-braided woman sidelong for a moment, his kohl-lined gaze softening as it traces along her braids and neck.
The lissome, kohl-eyelined man releases a deep breath.
You think:
"I am likely a Krath-damned idiot, no matter what I do."
At your seat, you say in sirihish, softly:
"My lady, would you be offended... if I think about this, for a week or two?"
You sip from your green glass brandy snifter.
This tastes like strongly spiced brandy.
The nubile, aureate-braided woman crosses her legs primly and readjusts the silk over her legs then lets her free hand drape over her knee.
At your seat, the nubile, aureate-braided woman says in sirihish, smiling gently:
"Of course I would not be opposed Zach. But I will give you another offer within this to consider."
At your seat, you say in sirihish, curiously:
"Another offer, my lady?"
At your seat, the nubile, aureate-braided woman says in sirihish, her eyes focusing softly as she looks across the carriage:
"Should you decide to be my concubine, if you find love your heart needs to persue, even after a week in that service.."
At your seat, the nubile, aureate-braided woman says in sirihish, eyes moving up to focus on your face:
"I will release you to your freedoms, while still remaining employed with me."
The lissome, kohl-eyelined man takes another small sip from your green glass brandy snifter, apparently attempting to focus his attention on something other than the nubile, aureate-braided woman's curving bosom.
You think:
"Ah, shite. I always knew that in the end, women would get me into the most trouble."
You think:
"I know it... no matter what I do, at some time, it will result in trouble."
You think:
"But Krath, she's perfect..."
You feel aroused.
At your seat, you say in sirihish:
"You are very kind, and generous, to make such an offer, my lady."
At your seat, the nubile, aureate-braided woman says in sirihish, voice soft:
"I could not keep my songbird in a gilded cage."
The nubile, aureate-braided woman lifts her hand from her knee to rest on yours, fingertips gently tracing over it.
At your seat, you say in sirihish, in an equally soft tone, favoring the nubile, aureate-braided woman with his warmest smile:
"The songbird will always chant his sweetest songs, no matter what happens, because he adores his lady."
The lissome, kohl-eyelined man gently places his hand on top of the nubile, aureate-braided woman's hand, each slender finger lightly caressing her skin.
The nubile, aureate-braided woman grins briefly before lifting her chin and leaning towards you, her full lips grazing your jawline, warm breath washing down your neck.
At your seat, you say in sirihish, mumbling with mock disapproval:
"Ah, my lady, if this was a Kruth game... I would say you are cheating."
The lissome, kohl-eyelined man releases a faint sigh, then closes his eyes, tilting his head slightly to ease the nubile, aureate-braided woman's access.
Her lips moving up to linger over your ear teasingly, her voice low and lascivious, the nubile, aureate-braided woman whispers to you, in sirihish:
"Wouldn't my Seniors be proud of me then, my pet?"
You think:
"Must... resist... her... now. I need some fecking time to think..."
You think:
"Resist..."
You feel internal struggle.
The lissome, kohl-eyelined man tightens his grip on the nubile, aureate-braided woman's hand somewhat, then releases it with a vague, and weak shake of his head.
At your seat, you say in sirihish, with a somewhat strained tone as he turns his face away from the nubile, aureate-braided woman:
"Forgive me, my lady... I need time... to think."
At your seat, the nubile, aureate-braided woman says in sirihish, dropping back to her place in the chair, eyes on your:
"I'm not trying to seduce you into an answer now Zach. Just seduce you."
At your seat, you say in sirihish, a look of vague confusion crossing his features as he glances over to the nubile, aureate-braided woman:
"Would this not mean... I am, I mean... would it make me..."
The lissome, kohl-eyelined man sighs softly.
At your seat, you say in sirihish:
"See my lady, your charm is so strong... you turn me into a babbling idiot."
You think:
"And sometimes, that scares me... very much."
At your seat, the nubile, aureate-braided woman says in sirihish, her hand under yours turning up to entangle her fingers amongst yours:
"Not this once, my curiosity has the better of me Zach, anyway, would you not be the same man a week or two from now, should you accept?"
A Pilot's Chamber [D Quit Save]
A carved and gilded wooden bench, upholstered with comfortable purple
leather padding, stands at the front of this low- ceilinged pilot's chamber,
while other ornately fashioned benches, sitting a little further back against
the walls, provide the occupants with a comfortable vantage point from which
they can see out over the pilot's shoulder. A large baobab cabinet, fastened
with a small gilt catch, sits within easy reach of the pilot, while a gilded
wooden cask sits atop it, ready to dispense wine. Underfoot, a purple and
green rug completely obscures the wooden planking of the floor. The walls
are covered with woven tapestries, depicting scenes of Allanaki glory. The
chamber smells of perfume and burnt spice.
A leather-strapped, rich purple satchel is slung over the footboard of a large, agafari bed.
A small, black-dyed wooden cask with silver stripes is pushed in the corner behind the table.
An unlit slender yellow taper is standing upright in a small sconce built into the wall.
An octagonal agate-topped table is set just to the side of the pilots bench, several chairs pulled around it.
A small, purple-dyed wooden cask with green stripes is here pushed in the corner, strapped down to keep from sloshing.
Affixed with leather ties, a plump leather cushion pads the driver's bench.
A large tray is placed in the middle of the table, filled with various foods.
The nubile, aureate-braided woman is sitting on a leather-covered, gilt-armed easy chair.
The unibrowed, wide-shouldered man is standing here alertly.
The lissome, kohl-eyelined man settles back on his seat, giving the nubile, aureate-braided woman's hand a gentle, though somewhat absent squeeze as he appears to mull the question over.
At your seat, you say in sirihish:
"I don't know, my lady. I am not the same man now than I was before I wore this cloak... "
At your seat, you say in sirihish:
"I might be a better man, or I might be a babbling idiot, who only comes to life in your presence. A more skilled artist, mayhaps..."
At your seat, you say in sirihish:
"but one with fewer friends?"
At your seat, you say in sirihish, with an undertone of bitterness:
"Envy runs like crotch-rot among the common populace."
At your seat, you say in sirihish:
"A bard with few friends does a poorer job, with less birds whispering into his ear. We work with stories, and the inspiration of others."
At your seat, the nubile, aureate-braided woman says in sirihish, a soft smile curling her lips as she looks to her hand in yours:
"You need not tell people. Nor do you need to fret over the future just now. All I want at this moment is to lay with you."
At your seat, the nubile, aureate-braided woman says in sirihish, squeezing your hand before releasing it and moving to stand:
"If you wish for it to not happen I suggest you make your desires known now."
Witha graceful rise, silks clinging to her ample form, the nubile, aureate-braided woman stands up from a leather-covered, gilt-armed easy chair.
At your seat, you say in sirihish, his features brightening at the instant as he considers the nubile, aureate-braided woman once more, and watches her rise:
"Mmmmh... not tell anyone? I believe I would like... that, I like secrets, my lady... of course, none from you..."
The nubile, aureate-braided woman turns to face you, head canting faintly.
Wetting her full lips as she regards you, the nubile, aureate-braided woman asks you, in sirihish:
"I didn't hear you pet. What was that?"
You think:
"Didn't I want to ask something today? Eh... can't fecking remember..."
You think:
"Something about... swords? Ah... no matter..."
You think:
"A flurry of sexual images"
Speaking in a slightly darker tone as he pulls back the rim of your black-feathered, purple hat and turns his face to her, you say to the nubile, aureate-braided woman, in sirihish:
"It was nothing important, my lady. Just a waste of time, and words."
Turning with a swirl of lilac silk about her ankles, the nubile, aureate-braided woman asks you, in sirihish:
"I am about to lock the trapdoor, do you choose to be inside our outside when it is done?"
The nubile, aureate-braided woman moves over to a leather-strapped, rich purple satchel hung across the cramped bed wiht a silent stride.
The nubile, aureate-braided woman opens a leather-strapped, rich purple satchel.
The nubile, aureate-braided woman gets her jade-glazed keyring from a leather-strapped, rich purple satchel.
You ask the nubile, aureate-braided woman, in sirihish:
"Will I be able to walk, my lady?"
The nubile, aureate-braided woman closes a leather-strapped, rich purple satchel.
Arching a brow curiously as she turns to face you again, the nubile, aureate-braided woman asks you, in sirihish:
"What do you mean Zach?"
The lissome, kohl-eyelined man scratches his chin above the two hairy prongs of his goatee with a thumb, the flicker of a grin playing along his lips as he takes in every one of the nubile, aureate-braided woman's movements.
You say to the nubile, aureate-braided woman, in sirihish:
"Well, sometimes it works like an excellent drink... leaving me too light-headed and exhausted to climh down stairs, or ladders."
Pursing her lips in thought as she watches your expression, the nubile, aureate-braided woman says to you, in sirihish:
"I certainly hope you will still have minimal use of those legs. But Wesley can help you down if the need should arise."
The nubile, aureate-braided woman flashes a grin and moves for the tradoor, pausing to look at you once more.
Holding up her jade-glazed keyring, the nubile, aureate-braided woman asks you, in sirihish:
"And what is your decision?"
The lissome, kohl-eyelined man lifts a hand to flutter a small, playful wave towards the unibrowed, wide-shouldered man before returning his attention to the nubile, aureate-braided woman.
The unibrowed, wide-shouldered man grunts, eyes darting off to look out on the yard.
You say to the nubile, aureate-braided woman, in sirihish:
"Mmmh, mayhaps outside then, my lady."
You say, in sirihish:
"Or inside? I am no good with decisions."
You think:
"Does it fecking matter?"
His eyes locked on the nubile, aureate-braided woman as he speaks, distractedly, you say, in sirihish:
"Mmh, no... outside it is."
Leaning into the wall of the chamber with a sharply jutting hip, brown eyes still on you, the nubile, aureate-braided woman says to you, in sirihish:
"As you wish pet."
A quick glimps of disappointment crosses the nubile, aureate-braided woman's visage, quickly hidden behind an amicable smile.
The nubile, aureate-braided woman stops using her round, amethyst-rimmed lapis goblet.
The nubile, aureate-braided woman switches hands with her round, amethyst-rimmed lapis goblet and her keyring, taking her jade-glazed keyring in her right palm with an almost inaudible sigh.
The nubile, aureate-braided woman walks across the carriage and sets down her goblet quietly on the table.
The nubile, aureate-braided woman puts her round, amethyst-rimmed lapis goblet onto an octagonal agate-topped table.
The lissome, kohl-eyelined man rises with a smooth motion and a soft rustle of your purple and green silk cloak bearing the Fale sigil, then sets your green glass brandy snifter down on the table with a forceful 'thud' before approaching the nubile, aureate-braided woman with a few swift strides.
You stand up from a leather-covered, gilt-armed easy chair.
You put your green glass brandy snifter onto an octagonal agate-topped table.
Placing both hands on the wall to her right and left as he speaks, in a dark but gentle tone, next to her ear, you ask the nubile, aureate-braided woman, in sirihish:
"Is it locked, my lady?"
The nubile, aureate-braided woman looks at you with an interested flick of her gaze, watching you assessively.
Softly, the nubile, aureate-braided woman says to you, in sirihish:
"No."
At your seat, you say in sirihish, his gaze drifting between your partially eaten bowl of erdlu wings and the nubile, aureate-braided woman as he speaks, a boyish smile lingering:
"Ah, those are delightful."
At your seat, the nubile, aureate-braided woman says in sirihish, her voice gentle...
Continue Reading...Solike, what? by Is Friday
Added on Jun 15, 2010A Tor medic named Quinne is an oblivious, ditzy, and self-conscious young woman. In this scene she tries to make small talk with a blue robe and explain her role as the Jade Saber's temporary medic.
To the supple, frazzle-maned young templar quietly, you say, in sirihish:
"Solike, I was a herblist most a my kid life an then I joined Tor cause I wanted to be a medic instead a sellin mul mix to whores an stuff."
Gesturing to a small sandstone footlocker, the supple, frazzle-maned young templar says, in sirihish:
"If there's anything in there you'd use for cures, then take it now."
The supple, frazzle-maned young templar nods to you.
The small, shailoti curled lass bends over a small sandstone footlocker, digging around.
The supple, frazzle-maned young templar gets her small wooden box from a small white-boned footlocker.
The supple, frazzle-maned young templar puts her small wooden box into a heavy agafari trunk.
The supple, frazzle-maned young templar gets her dusty bone-studded backpack from a small white-boned footlocker.
Rambling on as you half-buries herself in a small sandstone footlocker, you say, in sirihish:
"Anlike, I'm real good at it so they was like 'oh you're jus a cadet but ya should be the medic like right now'. So I was the medic then."
Lost in your own world inside a small sandstone footlocker, you say, in sirihish:
"Anlike, then Silver Kite was like 'hey ya should be a medic for the militia too cause they need one'. Anlike, I met Sergeant Zoan an he hated me but that was okay cause he needed me."
Tossing a pack to -plunk- down near you, the supple, frazzle-maned young templar says to you, in sirihish:
"There's bimbal in here, and more in the other locker, too."
The supple, frazzle-maned young templar drops a dusty bone-studded backpack.
Not replying outright to the supple, frazzle-maned young templar, and instead continuing with your distant recollection, you say, in sirihish:
"Yaknow I liked Zoan even though I bugged him a lot. I also once saw his penis. It was pretty big.... Probly a good thing he hated me."
The supple, frazzle-maned young templar rubs a hand to her forehead.
Struggling with something inside a small sandstone footlocker, you say, in sirihish:
"So -any-way, then I was the unit medic cause they needed me here."
The supple, frazzle-maned young templar says to you, in sirihish:
"Do not discuss the size of the Sergeant's penis with me. Chet nearly got himself tossed in the pit for some inappropriate comments."
Peeking out to the supple, frazzle-maned young templar with a glazed over expression, you say, in sirihish:
"Oh. Did I say somethin bout his dick? Sorry Lady Templar. Sometimes I like... ramble an stuff...."
The small, shailoti curled lass winces slowly, trying to uphold a good-natured smile despite this.
< later on >
----
Gaze wandering over to a heavy agafari trunk, you say, in sirihish:
"Solike, I saw this reallyreally awesome hat in here, Lady Templar. Can I have it pretty please? I aint ever seen anybody use it ever, an I know all the officers that come in here."
Lips quirking, the supple, frazzle-maned young templar says to you, in sirihish:
"You may be able to trade your month's pay for it, I'll have to talk with the Lady Templar Kinnis to see if she had any plans for it."
To the supple, frazzle-maned young templar quickly, you exclaim, in sirihish:
"Oh I'd trade -three- months pay for it, Lady Templar!"
The small, shailoti curled lass' knees wiggle a little as your body is wracked with obvious excitement.
The supple, frazzle-maned young templar asks you, in sirihish:
"Mm, we'll see. Anything else you wanted to ask?"
The small, shailoti curled lass' face turns visibly pensive as your lips pucker.
To the supple, frazzle-maned young templar after a long moment, you ask, in sirihish:
"Solike, Lady Templar, I'm tryin to find the ingredients to a boobie growin potion when I'm not workin. If I find some stuff in what I got here an it aint bein used for like... tablet makin, can I use it?"
The supple, frazzle-maned young templar just stares at you a moment, before bursting into laughter.
The small, shailoti curled lass' expression pales as you holds an awkward demeanor, gaze falling.
Meekly, you ask, in sirihish:
"Solike, no?"
Still chuckling, the supple, frazzle-maned young templar says to you, in sirihish:
"Oh, my. A boobie making potion? You could just wait, you know."
Half-mumbling as your round cheeks redden, you say, in sirihish:
"Ya what-ever- Lady Templar... I want big boobies -now-."
The supple, frazzle-maned young templar chuckles more, shaking her head from side to side with mirth.
The supple, frazzle-maned young templar says to you, in sirihish:
"I think you're the -only- person I have -ever- heard talking to a Templar about boobie potions. Dear me."
Amusement plain on her face, the supple, frazzle-maned young templar asks you, in sirihish:
"Dare I ask why it's so important to have them now?"
Bravely lifting your chin to stare at her, you say to the supple, frazzle-maned young templar, in sirihish:
"Well like, people don really take me all that serious cause a my small boobies. Mostly they're like 'oh look at them small boobies, that's weird'... an then like... it's hard to really..."
Going on with an exposed expression to your features, you say to the supple, frazzle-maned young templar, in sirihish:
"... yaknow, talk to people, cause they're always thinkin 'what small boobies'. Now if I had big boobies then people wouldn't really notice an then..."
Shaking her head a bit, smiling faintly, the supple, frazzle-maned young templar says to you, in sirihish:
"Don't you have a sister or mother to talk with about this? Big boobies can be all sorts of trouble, you know."
Going on with a bit of hope and reverie entering your tone, you say to the supple, frazzle-maned young templar, in sirihish:
"No no, but like, if I had big boobies then like, they wouldn't be starin at my small ones anymore, an then they could like, get to know me an stuff. They'd probably say like......"
Face contorting as you attempts to put on a voice, you say, in sirihish:
"Hey I bet she's got some really great smarts an stuff."
Returning to your normally squeaky and mousy voice, you say, in sirihish:
"Butlike, they can't say that cause they're too busy starin at my small boobies. Nobody is really like, takin me seriously or anythin."
Both eyebrows shooting up, the supple, frazzle-maned young templar asks you, in sirihish:
"You think people will think you're smart if you have BIG breasts?"
To the supple, frazzle-maned young templar with a quick set of nods, you say, in sirihish:
"Ya probly. It's reallyreally hard havin small boobies yaknow, Lady Templar. I betya never had small ones..."
The small, shailoti curled lass sighs morosely.
The supple, frazzle-maned young templar asks you, in sirihish:
"Hon, whoever's looking at your boobs is going to be -more- distracted if you have bigger ones. The bigger they are, the less men hear you say. Did I mention that they get in the way, too?"
The supple, frazzle-maned young templar says to you, in sirihish:
"You'll have Drov-aweful back problems, trying to keep those things supported."
Waving a finger at the supple, frazzle-maned young templar with your other hand planted on your hip, grinning with a determined gleam in your pale eyes, you say to the supple, frazzle-maned young templar, in sirihish:
"Ya-right-, Lady Templar! I'm a medic, I can do all sorta stuff for big boobie support."
The supple, frazzle-maned young templar just starts flat-out laughing again.
Gasping to regain her composure, the supple, frazzle-maned young templar says to you, in sirihish:
"Oh, my. I'm sorry it's just... Oh dear."
The small, shailoti curled lass bites your bottom lip, staring at the supple, frazzle-maned young templar as though having no idea what is funny.
Shaking her head back and fourth and chuckling, the supple, frazzle-maned young templar says to you, in sirihish:
"No, you may not use the barracks supplies to make a boobie potion, but you may use your own."
Mumbling sadly as your gaze drifts to the ground, you say, in sirihish:
"... ya okay."
The supple, frazzle-maned young templar says to you, in sirihish:
"Oh my. You're quite the brave or oblivious one, asking a Templar about a boobie potion."
Rubbing at your hand with your other gently, you say, in sirihish:
"Ya... sorta gets me in trouble sometimes, Lady Templar."
To the supple, frazzle-maned young templar distantly, you say, in sirihish:
"Ma said I was like, eatin truth root an stupid salve too much."
Shaking her head still, in amusement, the supple, frazzle-maned young templar says to you, in sirihish:
"Generally, it's best not to ask Templars or nobles about those things. You're lucky I was amused. Watch your tongue a little more, it is going to get you into horrible trouble some day."
Nursing your hand with a quiet tone, you say, in sirihish:
"Ya okay Lady Templar."
Struggling to prevent a firm face, the supple, frazzle-maned young templar says to you, in sirihish:
"Now, we didn't talk about this. Don't go saying you talked to me about a boobie potion. It's not good to present the idea that that can be talked about with a Templar."
To the supple, frazzle-maned young templar with a slow nod, you say, in sirihish:
"Ya okay, Lady Templar."To the supple, frazzle-maned young templar quietly, you say, in sirihish:
"Solike, I was a herblist most a my kid life an then I joined Tor cause I wanted to be a medic instead a sellin mul mix to whores an stuff."
Gesturing to a small sandstone footlocker, the supple, frazzle-maned young...
Continue Reading...The boy with the heart of a bird. by Anonymous
Added on Jun 15, 2010This song was overheard in the Allanaki Bazaar, sung by a rinth rat.
The boy with heart of bird did not fly,
the man he wants to be did die.
The girl he loves most, suprising,
when asked, see him not deserving
I want to be alone until suk-krath dies,
and what I know is maybe lies
Iiii-eeee do not die, when I close my eyes....
Iiii-eeee do not die, when I close my eyes....
But all I love go away
The boy with heart of bird did not fly,
he fell upward into black night.The boy with heart of bird did not fly,
the man he wants to be did die.
The girl he loves most, suprising,
when asked, see him not deserving
I want to be alone until suk-krath dies,
and what I know is maybe lies
Iiii-eeee do not die, when I close my eyes....
Iiii-eeee do not die, when I close my...
Continue Reading...All my love you have. by Anonymous
Added on Jun 15, 2010This was overheard in the Allanaki Bazaar, sung by a rinth rat.
In 'day' time, or in 'night' time, I be your friend.
You give me cup of love when you laugh.
When suk-krath go away, I will stay,
I love hear you say my name.
All my love you have."
You make my heart broke, and not know,
I feel most alone when you go-oooh.
I want make your heart feel best,
I make my singing prettiest.
All my love you have.
If you and me stay all day, I be your friend.
I love to most to see your face
Maybe you hurt me, or say lies,
Or when you wear my anklet white,
All my love you have.
In 'day' time, or in 'night' time, I be your friend.
You give me cup of love when you laugh.
When suk-krath go away, I will stay,
I love hear you say my name.
All my love you have."
You make my heart broke, and not know,
I feel most alone when you go-oooh.
I want make...
Continue Reading...Untitled by Hanna
Added on Jun 15, 2010A song about a gemmer-girl who's broken the grip of her father, only to end up broken herself.
Surrounded by the enemies,
in a war held in my mind.
Darkness lifted gingerly,
but now I think I'm blind.
The bodies hid in his secret,
were only shadows of her love.
The forgiveness he would not permit,
kept me from rising above.
I'm marked and marked again,
a gem and a fever I can't shake.
I've been craving another hit,
and all my lovers are fake.
Tell me now what keeps me,
from cracking down the center,
shattering into so many pieces,
and spilling all my water?
I know I have destroyed one,
person who had drank from me,
but I won't be a fount of poison
that corrupts the rest of the city.
Surrounded by the enemies,
in a war that's long behind.
Darkness lifted eventually,
it's the light I seem to mind.Surrounded by the enemies,
in a war held in my mind.
Darkness lifted gingerly,
but now I think I'm blind.
The bodies hid in his secret,
were only shadows of her love.
The forgiveness he would not permit,
kept me from rising above.
I'm marked and marked again,
a gem and a fever I can't shake.
I've been...
Continue Reading...Village Kid by Jakub
Added on Jun 15, 2010A red-robed Allanaki templar of the War Ministry encounters a piece of his own past.
Meleth's Circle [NESW]
The rugged, one-eyed templar is standing here.
The burly, long-haired bouncer stands here, guarding the inn's entrance.
An aged human beggar sits cross-legged against the wall of the inn here.
Hurrying out of the tavern, the blue-eyed, rawboned lad stops dead.
Eyes wide, you look at the rugged, one-eyed templar.
This man's hard-lined, weather-worn face is drawn and taut, with stress
wrinkles beginning to show around his eyes and at the corners of his lips.
Chin-length, sienna-shaded hair frames the austere visage, appearing
relatively clean and free of tangles. A thin stubble coats his square jaw
and the flat planes of his cheeks, and his skin looks rough and tanned
bronze by the harsh sun. His right eye shines a keen, clean blue, but the
left is covered by damaged, scarred flesh, clearly unusable. His corded
neck is attached to a set of broad shoulders which top out a thick, defined
chest, and muscular arms end in strong, calloused hands. An impressive
height somewhat disguises his toned musculature, lending him a sturdy look
overall without being especially bulky.
The rugged, one-eyed templar is in excellent condition.
The rugged, one-eyed templar is using:
<worn on head> a wide-brimmed black hat
<worn on face> an ivory eyepatch inlaid with a jade cross
<worn in left ear> a diamond earring stud
<worn around neck> an obsidian-carved, silver-etched gorget
<worn about throat> a medallion of Tektolnes
<slung across back> a narrow, etched bronze longsword
<worn across back> an oversized black backpack
<worn on left shoulder> a red silk sash
<worn on arms> a pair of black, bone scalemail arm-guards
<worn around wrist> a glossy, jet-colored shell bracer
<worn around wrist> a glossy, jet-colored shell bracer
<worn on hands> a pair of spike-knuckled, black leather gloves
<worn on forearms> a leather and chitin strap-sheath
<worn around body> a red, hooded templar's robe
<worn on legs> a set of glossy, jet-colored shell greaves
<worn on right ankle> a polished, jade-capped gith claw
<worn on feet> a pair of high, polished black leather boots
Feeling terrified, you think:
"It's-- a Red Robe. Mightn't be Him."
An aged human beggar stirs a clump of dirt on the street with his finger.
An aged human beggar mutters something about elves.
The sun rises over the spires of Allanak's east wall.
A final glimmer of red light marks the red moon Jihae's slow descent.
Standing by the burly, long-haired bouncer, the blue-eyed, rawboned lad stares at the rugged, one-eyed templar, transfixed.
Groaning and holding his stomach, an aged human beggar exclaims, in sirihish:
"Alms, food for the poor!"
Shaking his head distantly, the rugged, one-eyed templar says, in sirihish:
"Ugh."
An aged human beggar picks a flea out of his raggedy cloak.
Buzzing, a kank-fly circles in the dusty air, passing low over the blue-eyed, rawboned lad before disappearing down the street.
As his eye refocuses from staring off at nothing, the rugged, one-eyed templar looks at you.
His form stiffening at the rugged, one-eyed templar's gaze, the blue-eyed, rawboned lad drops quickly to one knee, bowing.
After a few moments, the rugged, one-eyed templar asks you, in sirihish:
"That Salarr's new getup, son?"
102/102hp 93/93st 127/128mv walking standing riding: none > l me
Perfectly straight, jet-black hair, neatly trimmed to a single hand's
breadth, frames the lean face of this young human man, matched by a fine
layer of dark stubble on his cheeks and chin. His face and forearms are
bronzed beyond their natural hue by Suk-Krath's fierce rays, contrasting
starkly with the keen, startling blue of his eyes. Though his tall,
broad-shouldered frame shows the promise of a powerful adult body, the last
vestiges of rawboned youth conspire to lend him a lingering malnourished
look.
The blue-eyed, rawboned lad is in excellent condition.
<worn about throat> a black sandcloth bandana
<slung across back> a cross-hilted, bone bastard sword
<worn across back> a small pack
<worn on left shoulder> an orange cloth epaulette
<worn on arms> a pair of carru leather sleeves
<worn around wrist> a studded hide wrist-wrap
<worn around wrist> a leather wrist guard
<worn on hands> a pair of hide gloves
<worn around body> a black leather and steel-grey sandcloth greatcloak
<worn on legs> a pair of black leather pants
<worn on feet> a pair of chalton leather boots
Your tone indistinct, you ask the rugged, one-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"...bf fff.... ..ord?"
Clearing your throat, you say to the rugged, one-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"I...I suppose yes, Great Lord."
Sounding slightly amused and looking vaguely curious, the rugged, one-eyed templar asks you, in sirihish:
"Y'suppose?"
Still on one knee, you say to the rugged, one-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"'Tis Salarr gear, Great Lord. I couldn't say if it's new."
After a moment, you say to the rugged, one-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"No newer than me, that is."
Folding his arms, the rugged, one-eyed templar asks you, in sirihish:
"How new's you?"
Your eyes lifting to study his face, you say to the rugged, one-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"I been workin' in the stables seven months, Great Lord. Ever since I come to the City, really."
Nodding idly, the rugged, one-eyed templar asks you, in sirihish:
"Village kid?"
Dipping a little nod, you say to the rugged, one-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Menos, Great Lord."
The rugged, one-eyed templar says, in sirihish:
"Or tribal? Y'don' sound tribal."
Quickly, you say to the rugged, one-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Oh, no, Great Lord, I'm His citizen."
Looking a bit more interested, the rugged, one-eyed templar says to you, in sirihish:
"Menos? No shit. I was out there years ago."
After a moment's hesitation, matter-of-factly, you say to the rugged, one-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"You're Great Lord Rennick."
Nodding once, the rugged, one-eyed templar says to you, in sirihish:
"Samos Rennik."
Reaching up to tap his ivory eyepatch inlaid with a jade cross, the rugged, one-eyed templar says, in sirihish:
"Had two eyes and a blue robe when I was out there."
Flushing, you say to the rugged, one-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Everbody speaks of you there, Great Lord."
Chuckling quietly, the rugged, one-eyed templar says to you, in sirihish:
"Yeh, I reckon I put 'em on th' map."
The short female wearing a thin veil of deep blue silk has arrived from the east.
The short figure in a purple and green silk cloak bearing the Fale sigil has arrived from the east.
Hesitating, you say to the rugged, one-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Yes, Great Lord. My... Lots of 'em remember those days."
Your new ldesc is:
The blue-eyed, rawboned lad kneels by the tavern door.
The short female wearing a thin veil of deep blue silk looks up at the rugged, one-eyed templar.
Glancing aside, the rugged, one-eyed templar looks down at the short female wearing a thin veil of deep blue silk.
The short female wearing a thin veil of deep blue silk bows to the rugged, one-eyed templar respectfully, the short figure in a purple and green silk cloak bearing the Fale sigil doing the same.
On one knee near the tavern door, the blue-eyed, rawboned lad starts slightly as the short female wearing a thin veil of deep blue silk passes.
The rugged, one-eyed templar reaches up to touch the brim of his hat, returning a nod to the short female wearing a thin veil of deep blue silk's bow.
The short female wearing a thin veil of deep blue silk says to the rugged, one-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Great Lord Templar Samos? It's an honor."
Feeling mostly awestruck, you think:
"It's him, it's him."
You look at the rugged, one-eyed templar, your eyes flickering over the red-robed form.
The tall figure in an inky-black, hooded sandcloth greatcloak slows, bowing to the rugged, one-eyed templar as he passes, attempting to make himself as small possible.
Glancing over at you briefly, the short female wearing a thin veil of deep blue silk says to the rugged, one-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"I'm Lady Samira. Unfortunately, I'm afraid I've got something very pressing to attend to. "
Bowing again before turning to leave, the short female wearing a thin veil of deep blue silk says to the rugged, one-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"His Shadow upon you, Great Lord Templar."
The short female wearing a thin veil of deep blue silk walks west.
The short figure in a purple and green silk cloak bearing the Fale sigil walks west.
The blue-eyed, rawboned lad glances briefly at the short female wearing a thin veil of deep blue silk as she passes.
Chuckling softly to himself, the rugged, one-eyed templar says, in sirihish:
"Always make 'em nice, them Fales."
The blue-eyed, rawboned lad's bronzed ears turn a bit pink.
The blue-eyed, rawboned lad grins slightly, then wipes the expression clean.
You are Jakub, Servant/Slave/Recruit/Partisan of the House Salarr.
Keywords: blue-eyed rawboned lad
Sdesc: the blue-eyed, rawboned lad
Objective:
Long Description:
The blue-eyed, rawboned lad kneels by the tavern door.
You are 18 years, 1 months, and 179 days old,
which by your race and appearance is young.
You are 73 inches tall, and weigh 8 ten-stone.
Your strength is above average, your agility is extremely good,
your wisdom is average, and your endurance is above average.
You are neither hungry nor thirsty.
Your health is 102(102), you have 127(128) stamina, and 93(93) stun.
You have been playing for 3 days and 15 hours.
You are standing.
You are currently speaking sirihish with a southern accent.
Looking to the tavern and back, the rugged, one-eyed templar asks you, in sirihish:
"What's your name?"
You begin watching the rugged, one-eyed templar.
You say to the rugged, one-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Jakub, Lord Templar."
After a moment, you say to the rugged, one-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"From the Darhurds, if you...remember them."
Unnecessarily, you say to the rugged, one-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"I'm taller'n them, though."
After a moment, the rugged, one-eyed templar says to you, in sirihish:
"Ah.. yeh. Yeh, I reckon I do. Come on with me, son. I'll buy y' a drink."
The blue-eyed, rawboned lad stares at the rugged, one-eyed templar, unmoving.
Blinking, the blue-eyed, rawboned lad stands up.
You say to the rugged, one-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Yes, Great Lord."
You now follow the rugged, one-eyed templar.
Keeping a good distance away from the rugged, one-eyed templar, the blue-eyed, rawboned lad hesitantly makes your way to a position to his side.
Smirking, the rugged, one-eyed templar says to you, in sirihish:
"S'what I was on about anyways, so I reckon you can join me 'n tell me 'bout Menos."
An aged human beggar fearfully scrambles out of the rugged, one-eyed templar's way.
The rugged, one-eyed templar walks east.
You follow the rugged, one-eyed templar, and walk east.
Terrible, biting sand whips around you.
The Trader's Inn [WU]
The stone walls of this building rise up about fifteen cords and are
devoid of windows. Only the doorway to the west admits any light from
outside, and that much is diffused by the colorful jade and black beads that
hang from the doorframe. Two large torches stick out on each side of the
doorway, unlit. Cool shadows cover most of the bar, except where oil lamps
hang on long bone chains above tables crowded with patrons, giving the inn a
quiet, subdued air. The slate floor underfoot is polished and clean.
A polished bar runs the length of the building's east end, where it meets
a staircase that leads up to the rooms that patrons often rent during their
stay in Allanak.
A wall here is designated as a message board.
The rugged, one-eyed templar is standing here.
A bartender stands behind the long bar, quietly waiting on customers.
The slight, black-haired man stands at attention beside a side table here.
The massive, grey-bearded man sits at a side table here, watching quietly.
A slim, half-elf server moves from table to table, taking orders.
A lithe, sable-haired woman converses gently with a group at a table.
A half-giant soldier of Tektolnes walks along here.
A human Allanaki soldier has arrived from the west.
Making his way to a small table at the north end, the rugged, one-eyed templar says to the quiet bartender, in sirihish:
"Two wines. Don' much care what kind, long as it ain't shit."
Claiming a seat for himself, the rugged, one-eyed templar sits at a small table at the north end.
The blue-eyed, rawboned lad follows in the rugged, one-eyed templar wake, murmurs, bows, and curious glances rippling through the quiet tavern.
Making your way to the other side of a small table in the back, the blue-eyed, rawboned lad hesitates, then bows low to the rugged, one-eyed templar and pulls back a chair.
Eyes on the rugged, one-eyed templar, you sit at a small table in the back.
At a small table at the north end, the rugged, one-eyed templar speaks, as the wine is speedily delivered.
The rugged, one-eyed templar gives you his fine white alabaster goblet.
You stand up from a small table in the back.
You sit at a small table at the north end.
At your table, the rugged, one-eyed templar says in sirihish, as the wine is speedily delivered:
"Darhurds, eh."
At your table, you say in sirihish, gripping your fine white alabaster goblet:
"Yes, Great Lord. We're all ranchers, if you remember...mebbe the, ah, third or fourth biggest herd?"
At your table, you say in sirihish, turning your fine white alabaster goblet around and around in your hand without taking a drink:
"...Though I dun't know how big it was in your time."
At your table, the rugged, one-eyed templar says in sirihish, with an easy, reminiscent smile:
"Feels like ages ago. Have t' say I might've let details like that slip on by. Knew it all pretty well 'n good when I was tax collectin' 'r sendin' men after stray chalton, though."
At your table, you say in sirihish, glancing down at your fine white alabaster goblet:
"Everbody's real proud to have knowed you once, Great Lord. My ma speaks of you sometimes."
Hunching your shoulders, you sip from your fine white alabaster goblet.
Chuckling quietly, the rugged, one-eyed templar sips from his fine white alabaster goblet.
At your table, the rugged, one-eyed templar says in sirihish:
"Yeah? What's she say?"
At your table, you say in sirihish, glancing up, avoiding the rugged, one-eyed templar's eyes:
"Just...that you was a real fine Lord. An'...kind. To folks."
At your table, the rugged, one-eyed templar says in sirihish, leaning back on his seat:
"Tried t' be. Your family survive th' gith attack all right?"
At your table, you say in sirihish, your own posture ramrod straight:
"They did, Great Lord. I...thought mebbe I caught a glimpse of you then. But they wouldn' let me near the gate."
At your table, you say in sirihish, to the rugged, one-eyed templar, indifferently:
"We lost some stock, I guess. I wasn't watchin' tallies, back then."
At your table, you say in sirihish, softly, glancing down at your fine white alabaster goblet:
"Nor now, o' course."
Nodding once, the rugged, one-eyed templar says to you, in sirihish:
"Was me and a handful of others that broke through. Savin' chalton wasn' exactly on my mind right then."
At your table, you say in sirihish, raising your eyes to his, with a slight shake of your head:
"They call it Samos' village now, Great Lord. We'd o' been all kilt f'sure, otherwise."
At your table, the rugged, one-eyed templar says in sirihish, laughing and leaning back on his seat:
"Yeh. Some days I wanna take my girls 'n move on back."
At your table, you say in sirihish, one eye squinting spasmotically:
"Your gir--"
At your table, you say in sirihish, ducking your head:
"You, ah, have kids, Great Lord? if I may ask?"
At your table, the rugged, one-eyed templar says in sirihish, nodding easily:
"Oldest 's gonna wear a Blue herself, some day."
At your table, you say in sirihish, faintly, flushing crimson:
"That's real fine, Great Lord."
You think:
"My sister? A templar?"
The rugged, one-eyed templar furrows his brow, watching you.
You think:
"But maybe it's not true. He's so.."
You think:
"Lordly."
At your table, the rugged, one-eyed templar says in sirihish, after a moment, leaning forward again:
"What'd y'say yer mother's name was?"
Raising your eyes from your fine white alabaster goblet, you look at the rugged, one-eyed templar.
At your table, you say in sirihish, dropping your gaze again:
"Chalta, Great Lord."
Slowly lowering it, the rugged, one-eyed templar puts his fine white alabaster goblet onto a small table at the north end.
The blue-eyed, rawboned lad glances down at the floor, your fine white alabaster goblet tipping a bit in your hand.
You think:
"Even so, he wouldn't know her."
At your table, the rugged, one-eyed templar says in sirihish, after a few moments:
"How old are you?"
You think:
"Even if it's true."
At your table, you say in sirihish, to the rugged, one-eyed templar, your fine white alabaster goblet recovering its equilibrium:
"Eighteen, Great Lord, take a month."
Lifting it to your lips, you sip from your fine white alabaster goblet.
The rugged, one-eyed templar lifts his gaze a moment, eye going distant.
You look at the rugged, one-eyed templar, your expression veiled.
At your table, the rugged, one-eyed templar says in sirihish, after a longer pause:
"Reckon I knew her"
At your table, you say in sirihish, after a moment:
"She's spoke of you afore, Great Lord, like I said."
At your table, the rugged, one-eyed templar says in sirihish, taking in a deep breath:
"What'd.. she say?"
The short female wearing a dusty thin veil of deep blue silk has arrived from the west.
The short figure in a dusty purple and green silk cloak bearing the Fale sigil has arrived from the west.
The short figure in a dusty purple and green silk cloak bearing the Fale sigil dusts the short female wearing a dusty thin veil of deep blue silk off.
The short figure in a dusty purple and green silk cloak bearing the Fale sigil dusts herself off.
At your table, you say in sirihish, your complexion now paling a little:
"That, that you was real kind. And Lordly. Like no man she'd ever met."
Patiently, the short female wearing a thin veil of deep blue silk waits for the short figure in a purple and green silk cloak bearing the Fale sigil to dust her off, then continues into the tavern towards a short wooden bar.
The short female wearing a thin veil of deep blue silk sits at a short wooden bar.
By the short female wearing a thin veil of deep blue silk, the short figure in a purple and green silk cloak bearing the Fale sigil stands at a short wooden bar.
The quiet bartender trades a small cake to the short female wearing a thin veil of deep blue silk.
The short female wearing a thin veil of deep blue silk takes a bite of her small cake.
At your table, the rugged, one-eyed templar says in sirihish, wetting his lips before speaking:
"Yeh, I recall I treated 'er nice."
At your table, you say in sirihish, your tone a bit hushed, avoiding the rugged, one-eyed templar's eyes now:
"I, I guess she'd have been about your age then, Great Lord."
The short female wearing a thin veil of deep blue silk eats her half eaten small cake.
The blue-eyed, rawboned lad glances up at the rugged, one-eyed templar's words, your fine white alabaster goblet touching a small table at the north end with a little *clink*.
At your table, the rugged, one-eyed templar says in sirihish, inclining his head in recollection:
"Yeh. She was. How's she doin', these days?"
At your table, you say in sirihish, the tilt of your head unconsciously matching his:
"She's well, Great Lord. She's been...a bit hard put, mebbe. But well."
At your table, the rugged, one-eyed templar says in sirihish:
"I don' reckon I've heard much from 'er since I left."
At your table, you say in sirihish, flushing slightly:
"I don' s'pose so, Great Lord."
At your table, you say in sirihish, softly, studying your fine white alabaster goblet:
"Things went a bit off for her after I started growin' up."
At your table, the rugged, one-eyed templar says in sirihish, frowning a bit:
"How's that?"
At your table, you say in sirihish, not meeting the rugged, one-eyed templar's gaze:
"'s a long story, Great Lord. She was s'pposed to..."
At your table, you say in sirihish, exhaling hard:
"They brought a fella into the family for her. My... Well, Kettin. They was s'pposed to have four kids right off."
At your table, you say in sirihish, sliding your fine white alabaster goblet back and forth minutely:
"They got to be talk goin' around that she didn' keep the Contract."
The blue-eyed, rawboned lad utters the last word with some reverence.
Picking it up, you drink the ocotillo wine.
The rugged, one-eyed templar nods slowly, expression rather grave.
More closely, the rugged, one-eyed templar looks at you.
At your table, you say in sirihish, mumbling, but still ramrod straight on your chair:
"I don' mean to bore you, Great Lord."
At your table, the rugged, one-eyed templar says in sirihish, shaking his head firmly:
"No, I ain't. Keep on."
At your table, you say in sirihish, your voice barely audible:
"She tol' me, don't ever pay no mind to all that. That I could always be proud o' who my pa was."
Setting it down, you put your fine white alabaster goblet onto a small table at the north end.
At your table, the rugged, one-eyed templar says in sirihish, quietly, but firmly:
"I reckon I'm done with my drink. How's about you walk with me a ways?"
At your table, you say in sirihish, nodding slightly:
"By yer word, Great Lord."
The rugged, one-eyed templar stands up from a small table at the north end.
You now follow the rugged, one-eyed templar.
With a quickened pace, the rugged, one-eyed templar walks west.
You follow the rugged, one-eyed templar, and walk west.
You can't see a thing; sand swirls about you!
The blue-eyed, rawboned lad fumbles in your small pack.
A faint shape says, in sirihish:
"Fuckin'... don't have time for sandstorms."
You get your unlit dusty simple, leather-wrapped bone torch from your small pack.
You light an unlit dusty simple, leather-wrapped bone torch.
A faint shape exclaims, in sirihish:
"Mighty Tektolnes, allow my eyes the power to penetrate all darkness!"
A faint shape utters an incantation.
You say to a faint shape, in sirihish:
"I got a tor--"
A faint shape exclaims, in sirihish:
"Mighty Tektolnes, allow my eyes the power to penetrate all darkness!"
A faint shape utters an incantation.
A faint shape's eyes take on a red hue.
A faint shape's eye flashes red.
In the swirling sand, the blue-eyed, rawboned lad takes a step back.
Grabbing you by the arm, a faint shape says, in sirihish:
"C'mon."
You follow a faint shape, and walk west.
The blue-eyed, rawboned lad follows a faint shape with sure steps, your arm gripped tight.
...
Waving him off, a faint shape says to a faint shape, in sirihish:
"Yer dismissed, Private."
A faint shape gets his thornwood and leather keyring from his dusty oversized black backpack.
A faint shape unlocks the gates with a carved, black stone key.
A faint shape opens the gates.
You follow a faint shape, and walk east.
A faint shape closes the gates.
A faint shape leads you through the dark and sandy night into the courtyard.
Terrible, biting sand whips around you.
A Small Porch and Entryway [EW Save]
Dark red and slate grey tiles checker the narrow walkway up to the
door. The area has been swept free from dust and debris, appearing to be
well maintained. Shade from the two balconies hanging overhead covers the
area. The door leading into the building here is painted a bright ruby red
with a large silver scorpion emblazoned on the front. The scorpion is of a
high gloss and appears almost metallic, due to its highly polished sheen.
A shadow falls over the area, driving off the uncomfortable heat.
The rugged, one-eyed templar is standing here.
A human soldier of Tektolnes stands guard here.
A black-haired, rip-scarred man stands on guard here.
A human soldier of Tektolnes walks along here.
You follow the rugged, one-eyed templar, and walk east.
A Large Sitting Room [ESWU Save]
The high, wide hinged glass windows of this sitting room allow as
much outside light as possible to wash in over its elegant furnishings.
Swathes of gauzy white cotton, tied back with knotted umber cording,
serve as curtains. A plush, dark red carpet spreads itself across the
floor. A wooden staircase, its banisters carved with flowers, is set
along the northern wall and leads upstairs, and a door is set into the
southern wall, while the rest of the room flows east into a dining
area. Shelves on the northern wall hold a variety of glazed clay pots
and vases, a careful eye evident in the way they have been chosen and
displayed.
A luxuriant, sprawling kiyet-fur rug stretches out in the center of the room.
Gleaming, a large, elegantly crafted gold and purple harp stands against one wall.
A light brown, leather instrument case is sitting beside the harp.
A tall, full-leaved plant with purple flowers sits to one side of the eastern doorway.
An empty large wooden cask, etched with flames, rests here.
A large canvas painting hangs on the wall.
The rugged, one-eyed templar is standing here.
You stop watching the rugged, one-eyed templar.
You intently scan the area.
Eyes wide, you look at the rugged, one-eyed templar.
The rugged, one-eyed templar glances up the stairs as if listening for noise, then slowly nods.
Quietly, with a note of question, you say to the rugged, one-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"We're not in the Noble's Quarter, Great Lord."
Turning back to you and taking a deep breath, the rugged, one-eyed templar says to you, in sirihish:
"I already know th' answer t' this, but who'd she say yer -- I know we ain't."
Finishing his question, the rugged, one-eyed templar asks you, in sirihish:
"Who'd she say yer father is?"
Exhaling hard, closing your eyes, you say to the rugged, one-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Lord Templar Samos Rennick. Great Lord."
Softly, your eyes still closed, you say to the rugged, one-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"She didn't tell me 'til I had to leave."
The rugged, one-eyed templar exhales a sigh and nods, wiping a palm down his face.
Sinking down to the couch, which is luckily behind him, the rugged, one-eyed templar sits on a well-padded, red leather couch.
Stubbly jaw set, the blue-eyed, rawboned lad stands before a well-padded, red leather couch, back straight but shoulders hunched.
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
His voice a mix of emotions, not all pleasant, the rugged, one-eyed templar asks you, in sirihish:
"She didn' see fit t' tell me all this time?"
Opening your eyes, you say to the rugged, one-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"I don' think she wanted you to know back then, Great Lord. I unnerstood she was s'posed to be usin' the Mix."
The frazzled, ebon-tressed lass sends you a telepathic message:
"Jakub, I hope the meeting with the Great Lord Templar Rennik is going well."
Glancing down, you say to the rugged, one-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"An' it wouldn' have done for the fambly to know, neither."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the frazzled, ebon-tressed lass with the Way.
The frazzled, ebon-tressed lass sends you a telepathic message:
"I couldn't believe my eyes. Where did you find him?"
You send a telepathic message to the frazzled, ebon-tressed lass:
"*confusion, an emotional current running high* Yeh, I'm...I'm fine."
You dissolve the psychic link.
Lifting his gaze incredulously, the rugged, one-eyed templar asks you, in sirihish:
"It wouldn't? Y'think I care what they'd think? I have a... you've been out there in Menos eighteen years 'n I didn' even KNOW?"
The rugged, one-eyed templar's voice starts to raise, but he abruptly quiets down, looking up the stairs.
Meeting the rugged, one-eyed templar's gaze, the blue-eyed, rawboned lad straightens your shoulders, your dusty cross-hilted, bone bastard sword shifting on your back.
The frazzled, ebon-tressed lass sends you a telepathic message:
"I'll let you focus, then. Mind your manners like you have been and you'll do fine."
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
Faintly, you say to the rugged, one-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"I didn' know either, Great Lord. I know she didn' mean an offense."
Exhaling a huge sigh, the rugged, one-eyed templar says, in sirihish:
"Krath sake. Fuck."
The blue-eyed, rawboned lad's teeth grate, and you relaxes your jaw.
After a few more silent moments, the rugged, one-eyed templar says to you, in sirihish:
"I ain' angry at you. I just..."
The rugged, one-eyed templar trails off.
Frowning to himself after the pause, the rugged, one-eyed templar says, in sirihish:
"Y'know..... she's.. probably right. If y'had known... 'f people'd known... I don' know what it woulda been like for ya."
After a moment, you say to the rugged, one-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"I won't tell no one, Great Lord. I know...havin' a kid you didn' mean to..."
The rugged, one-eyed templar says to you, in sirihish:
"Cerys... barely ever goes out. Never without somebody watchin' 'er, usually me."
Softly, you ask the rugged, one-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Your girl, Great Lord?"
Looking at you seriously, the rugged, one-eyed templar says to you, in sirihish:
"There are people, who 'f they knew who's son y'were... they'd be after you all day 'n night. Terrible people like y'hear bedtime stories about t'scare ya."
Nodding again, the rugged, one-eyed templar says to you, in sirihish:
"My girl. Oldest. She's five."
The blue-eyed, rawboned lad nods faintly.
Faintly, you say to the rugged, one-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Enemies of th' Highlord."
Flopping it off and raking a hand back through his hair, the rugged, one-eyed templar stops using his dusty wide-brimmed black hat.
Quietly, the rugged, one-eyed templar asks you, in sirihish:
"Yeh. Enemies 'f ME. Y'know just a couple years back, a defiler went after th' fields out in Taki?"
The rugged, one-eyed templar says to you, in sirihish:
"Dumbasses thought it was Menos. They wanted t' draw me out."
You ask the rugged, one-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"A dust-layer?"
The rugged, one-eyed templar says, in sirihish:
"Ash-layer. Sorcerer."
The blue-eyed, rawboned lad nods, jerkily.
A loud bell chimes, echoing across the city.
A loud bell chimes, echoing across the city.
A loud bell chimes, echoing across the city.
It is dawn on Abid, the 91st day of the Low Sun,
In the Year of Desert's Defiance, year 47 of the 21st Age.
The blue-eyed, rawboned lad tilts your head slightly, the bell echoing dully in the broad, carpeted room.
Glancing just for a moment in the direction of the bell, the rugged, one-eyed templar asks you, in sirihish:
"... yer normal, right? I didn't pass on any... anything I oughta know?"
Hesitating, you say to the rugged, one-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Y'mean, silt-cur-- tetched, or somethin'? No, Great Lord, nothin' funny about me."
With a slight, mirthless smile, you say to the rugged, one-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"I can ride anythin' with legs, I guess."
Cracking just a hint of a grin, the rugged, one-eyed templar asks you, in sirihish:
"Includin' th' girls?"
A broad grin beaming across your face for a moment, you say to the rugged, one-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Th' ones that count, Great Lord."
The rugged, one-eyed templar lets out a short laugh.
You feel that you are not going to die just yet.
His mirth fading almost as quickly as it came, the rugged, one-eyed templar says, in sirihish:
"Don' go braggin' to 'em. Y'shouldn' have to, but don't."
Your tone turning serious, almost cold, you say to the rugged, one-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"I see that, Great Lord. I won'."
Pushing back up off his seat, the rugged, one-eyed templar asks you, in sirihish:
"And y'said you're a.. stableboy for Salarr?"
The rugged, one-eyed templar stands up from a well-padded, red leather couch.
Glancing down, you say to the rugged, one-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"For now, Great Lord."
Nodding slowly, the rugged, one-eyed templar asks you, in sirihish:
"What's yer plan?"
Shifting your feet and lifting your eyes, you say to the rugged, one-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"The Tor Academy, Great Lord. If they'll let me. I got the fee nearly saved."
Glancing away, you say to the rugged, one-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"An' after that, I don't know. I don' think I can go back to Menos."
Nodding slowly, the rugged, one-eyed templar says to you, in sirihish:
"It's a.. place y'can be when yer world is that small. Hard t' go back to 't when y'leave."
With something that might be an approving smile, the rugged, one-eyed templar says to you, in sirihish:
"Tor'd be a good place t' be."
Rubbing fingers over the back of your neck, you say to the rugged, one-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"I got an offer to work for that Lady Fale, mebbe. But I don't want to be...tied down, yet."
Adding, you say to the rugged, one-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Great Lord."
Catching his expression, you ask the rugged, one-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"You think it's the right thing to do?"
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
Nodding slowly, the rugged, one-eyed templar says to you, in sirihish:
"Yeh, that's... find a place for yerself. Make it one that serves th' Highlord. Takes care 'f th' people y'care for."
The blue-eyed, rawboned lad nods slowly.
Studying his face, you ask the rugged, one-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Serving the Highlord. You mean in His Arm, Great Lord?"
Shaking his head after a moment, the rugged, one-eyed templar says to you, in sirihish:
"Not necessarily. Th' Arm's fine and good. So 's Tor... so 's servin' other nobles if yer workin', and not lazin'."
Quietly, you say to the rugged, one-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"The Lady Fale's...she's..."
Stammering slightly, you say to the rugged, one-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"..lovely. But I dunno how many parties I could serve in my life."
The rugged, one-eyed templar says to you, in sirihish:
"This City... it's got a lot 'f work cut out for 't. Needs th' strong t' pull all their weight 'n then some. I fight hard, kid.. but it ain' for me. I don' much care about glory 'r havin' a statue."
The blue-eyed, rawboned lad nods, your adam's apple moving.
Motioning to the upstairs, the rugged, one-eyed templar says to you, in sirihish:
"I got two little girls I wanna see have better days. I got other people I'd lay my life out for, not just th' Highlord. S' my duty t' him, t' fight 'n protect so we're all better."
Chucklng a little at himself, the rugged, one-eyed templar says to you, in sirihish:
"Now look 't me. I'm lecturin'. But... keep that in mind. Life ain' all parties 'n games."
Your expression vaguely troubled, you say to the rugged, one-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"I think that's all some folks knows, Great Lord. An' others...can't put thought past making their water an' food."
Nodding bitterly, the rugged, one-eyed templar says to you, in sirihish:
"It is all some knows, 'n even I can't change that. But I can try t' make more folk see things how they are. We're a city 'f fighters, Jakub, 'f strength. We stop fightin'... well, that ain' us."
The blue-eyed, rawboned lad nods.
Sighing and shaking his head, with a frown, the rugged, one-eyed templar says to you, in sirihish:
"As for.. th' rest.. I dunno what t' tell you. I.. need t' think about things."
The blue-eyed, rawboned lad dips a nod, dropping your gaze to the rugged, one-eyed templar's knees.
Eyes lowered, you say to the rugged, one-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"I'm...I'm grateful t' have yer blood, Great Lord. Or some of it."
Glancing back up, you say to the rugged, one-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Great Lord, when you're fightin' for all that--"
Nodding gravely, his tone a bit forceful, the rugged, one-eyed templar says to you, in sirihish:
"Don't waste 't, then. And don' let 't go to yer head. Th' last thing I'll let you do is strut around livin' off my name."
Tone softening as he adds, the rugged, one-eyed templar says, in sirihish:
".. though it seems like y'wouldn't. And it'd be a damn fool thing t' do anyway."
Realizing he interrupted a question, the rugged, one-eyed templar asks you, in sirihish:
"Yeah?"
Your tone almost frosty, you say to the rugged, one-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"I wouldn' do that, Great Lord. I promised you I won't tell no one."
Rubbing a palm over your chin, your shoulders slumping a bit, you say to the rugged, one-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Well, talki-- seein' all these Nobles and all-- sometimes I think I'll jus' get crushed, or et, or somethin' if I get too near 'em."
Continuing, you say to the rugged, one-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"How they, they kill folks jus' for spite, or--"
Breaking off, you say to the rugged, one-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"--I shouldn' have said that, Great Lord."
Wryly, the rugged, one-eyed templar says to you, in sirihish:
"It ain' like Menos, is it."
Uncomfortably, you say to the rugged, one-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Not much, Great Lord."
Looking a bit more serious, the rugged, one-eyed templar says to you, in sirihish:
"I could preach at you more about 'em bein' yer betters, and not t' question 'em. By all rights in th' law, they are, nobody'd question. Whatever y'think, keep in mind that's how 't is."
Soberly, you say to the rugged, one-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"I unnerstand, Great Lord."
Sighing, the rugged, one-eyed templar says to you, in sirihish:
"They're people who.. don' really know a life like you've ever had. It's their privledge. How they choose t' use 't 's up t' them. They ain' all.. eh.. spiteful."
Simply, you say to the rugged, one-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"'s the Highlord's will."
With a frown, the rugged, one-eyed templar says to you, in sirihish:
"Yeh."
The rugged, one-eyed templar says to you, in sirihish:
"I ain't gonna stand here and tell you that you're on their level cos of me. What I will say is a person's greatness don't come from a title they have or a ring they wear."
The rugged, one-eyed templar says to you, in sirihish:
"Least not in my eyes. Be th' best y'can make of yerself."
The blue-eyed, rawboned lad flushes, nodding again.
A little huskily, you say to the rugged, one-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"I'll do it, Great Lord."
After a moment, nodding slowly, the rugged, one-eyed templar says to you, in sirihish:
"Good. Jakub, I'll say this much... I brought y'in t' this world, so I'll make sure it don' end you 'f I have a say so."
Your eyes unnaturally bright, you say to the rugged, one-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"I think the City's a lot like the wastes, Great Lord. You've got to learn the sands an' the beasts before you can think to tread easy."
Shaking your head, you say to the rugged, one-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Meanin'...I won' be foolish."
Gruffly, the rugged, one-eyed templar says to you, in sirihish:
"But I ain' gonna coddle you either. You don' much strike me as stupid. I reckon I'm pleased 't that. I'll expect you t' take care 'f yerself as a grown man should."
Straightening your shoulders, you say to the rugged, one-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"O' course, Great Lord."
Glancing upstairs again, the rugged, one-eyed templar asks you, in sirihish:
"One of 'em's gonna wake up in just a bit. Y'have anything else you'd ask me?"
Hesitating, you ask the rugged, one-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"You're not angry with my ma, Great Lord?"
Opening his mouth, closing it, then finally delivering an answer after a bit, the rugged, one-eyed templar says to you, in sirihish:
"I don't know. I ain' gonna hurt 'er."
The blue-eyed, rawboned lad nods, your posture relaxing just a little.
The rugged, one-eyed templar says to you, in sirihish:
"Bringin' her t' live with me probably ain' gonna happen, though."
Shaking your head, you say to the rugged, one-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Didn' expect nothin' like that, Great Lord."
Exhaling hard, you say to the rugged, one-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"I guess I got a lot to think about."
The rugged, one-eyed templar says to you, in sirihish:
"We both do."
Rubbing your chin, you say to the rugged, one-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"There's a chance they won't let me into the Academy."
With a grim smile, you say to the rugged, one-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Which I got a plan for, too."
After a few moments, the rugged, one-eyed templar asks you, in sirihish:
"What's that?"
Letting several moments pass, you say to the rugged, one-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Might be that Lady Samira would sponsor it, if they won't take me of myself. But I guess Tor an' Fale ain't on the friendliest terms."
Glancing away, you say to the rugged, one-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"But there's slower ways, too. Work through the Byn, say."
Nodding slowly, the rugged, one-eyed templar says to you, in sirihish:
"Work it out a ways. If yer good enough 'n make a good enough case, I think you'll manage."
Meeting his eyes, you say to the rugged, one-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"I will, Great Lord. "
The rugged, one-eyed templar smiles back at you briefly.
As the crying of a small child come from upstairs, the rugged, one-eyed templar says to you, in sirihish:
"I better show y'out. I'll.. try 'n stay in touch."
Quietly, nodding, you say to the rugged, one-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Thank you for...tellin' me, Great Lord. That you're really..."
The blue-eyed, rawboned lad shrugs, your voice trailing off.
You now follow the rugged, one-eyed templar.
Quietly, as he steps out, the rugged, one-eyed templar says to you, in sirihish:
"Yeh. Part 'f me wasn' sure I should've."
The rugged, one-eyed templar walks west.
You follow the rugged, one-eyed templar, and walk west.
A Small Porch and Entryway [EW Save]
You follow the rugged, one-eyed templar, and walk west.
A Large Courtyard [NESW]
Halting beside the gate, the blue-eyed, rawboned lad drops again to one knee, bowing low to the rugged, one-eyed templar.
The rugged, one-eyed templar says to you, in sirihish:
"Remember what I said."
The rugged, one-eyed templar unlocks the gates with a carved, black stone key.
Quietly, you say to the rugged, one-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Tell nobody. Be smart. Serve the Highlord."
The blue-eyed, rawboned lad stands up, with the ease of youthful joints.
A faint shape says to you, in sirihish:
"'n be yer best."
Holding the gate open in the fading light, a faint shape says to you, in sirihish:
"'n His shadow, kid."
Your tone wondering, you say to a faint shape, in sirihish:
"His Shadow, Great Lord."
The blue-eyed, rawboned lad slips out the open gate.
Meleth's Circle [NESW]
The rugged, one-eyed templar is standing here.
The burly, long-haired bouncer stands here, guarding the inn's entrance.
An aged human beggar sits cross-legged against the wall of the inn here.
Hurrying out of the tavern, the blue-eyed, rawboned lad stops dead.
Eyes wide, you...
Continue Reading...Scorpion's Battlefield by Briar
Added on May 26, 2010A Tor Scorpion, battling gith.
Qi by Tallulah
Added on May 2, 2010Sketch of one of the last Speakers of the Vivadu temple.
Zarajiri of the Sun Runners by Ourla
Added on Apr 24, 2010She's a gamblin' elf.
The lousy Allanaki bard by Akaramu
Added on Apr 24, 2010Running into another, overly confident bard in Allanak, Zach decides to play down his skills, and just showoff his storytelling and entertainment value instead.
At your table, the cherubic, silvery-eyed teen says in sirihish, leaning forward some:
"Are you gonna write a song 'bout the war, then? D'you do that for 'sid?"
The lissome, kohl-eyelined man's eyes have a roguish sparkle to them as he glances sidelong to the cherubic, silvery-eyed teen.
The cherubic, silvery-eyed teen sips from her miniature barrel.
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Mmmh. Sure, everyone likes 'sid... but 's about time I come up with another song, anyway."
You think:
"Wanna play the clues game with me, mmmh? Smart lass."
The lissome, kohl-eyelined man splays the slender fingers of his right hand briefly.
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"These were gettin' a bit bored..."
At your table, the cherubic, silvery-eyed teen says in sirihish, glancing at your hand:
"Well.. the drum's borin'."
At your table, the cherubic, silvery-eyed teen says in sirihish, shrugging:
"Without a mandolin, anyway."
The cherubic, silvery-eyed teen grins.
At your table, the cherubic, silvery-eyed teen says in sirihish, looking into her miniature barrel:
"I do it for 'sid. Doesn't pay good."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Ah, aye, I know... I used tha have a flute, and a mandolin... but 's the women, they always take what I have."
At your table, the cherubic, silvery-eyed teen says in sirihish, frowning:
"Women took your mandolin and flute? You should'a pounded them o'er the head"
At your table, you say in sirihish, with a sheepish glance to the cherubic, silvery-eyed teen:
"And play clues games with me."
The cherubic, silvery-eyed teen chuckles.
At your table, the cherubic, silvery-eyed teen says in sirihish, glancing sidelong at you:
"Sounds like an interestin' story..."
The cherubic, silvery-eyed teen stops using a miniature barrel.
Passing it to the tall, amber-eyed woman, the cherubic, silvery-eyed teen discards her miniature barrel.
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Well, there was this lass... Lia? Leya? I don't remember..."
The cherubic, silvery-eyed teen nods briskly, watching you.
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"And we spent a nice long night... talkin'..."
The cherubic, silvery-eyed teen nods a couple times.
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"And, well, as I wake up, all my things are gone."
The lissome, kohl-eyelined man chuckles.
You think:
"And none of this is true."
At your table, the cherubic, silvery-eyed teen says in sirihish, shaking her fist:
"I would'a found her and..."
At your table, the cherubic, silvery-eyed teen says in sirihish, sternly:
"Nobody takes me mandolin"
The cherubic, silvery-eyed teen sighs at you.
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Mmmh, what to say, I'm a nice guy."
At your table, the cherubic, silvery-eyed teen says in sirihish, thoughtfully:
"Too nice."
At your table, the cherubic, silvery-eyed teen says in sirihish, to you, grinning:
"Maybe you'll let me steal your songs."
At your table, the cherubic, silvery-eyed teen says in sirihish, sweetly:
"I'll make them better."
A look of exagerrated helplessness flushes across the lissome, kohl-eyelined man's face as he stares at his hands, sighing.
The cherubic, silvery-eyed teen grins broadly.
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Mmmh, maybe you steal 'em no matter what I say, neh?"
At your table, the cherubic, silvery-eyed teen says in sirihish, with a smirk:
"Well, it ain't like stealin' your things, but I'll keep me ears good and open."
At your table, you say in sirihish, sweetly:
"I'm just a party singer. Surely I could neh match your skill at the competition."
At your table, the cherubic, silvery-eyed teen says in sirihish, shrugging:
"Well - you know... I -am- the best song maker in 'Nak."
The cherubic, silvery-eyed teen stiffles a chuckle, then nods gravely.
The lissome, kohl-eyelined man dips his head closer to the cherubic, silvery-eyed teen, the three piercings within his left ear shimmering darkly as a handful of tresses fall over his shoulder.
The cherubic, silvery-eyed teen inches back a little, nervously.
At your table, you say in sirihish, giving the cherubic, silvery-eyed teen an apoplogetic, dark-lashed gaze:
"Got any master's advice, mayhaps?"
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"To level the playin' field a little? I'd hate ta see a nice lass like you bored..."
At your table, the cherubic, silvery-eyed teen says in sirihish, relaxing:
"Uh... well.. I ain't heard your stuff enough to comment."
At your table, you say in sirihish, shifting back into his former position:
"Mmmh."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Maybe we can fix that, neh?"
You are carrying:
a spiral-glazed goblet drum
Grinning slightly, the cherubic, silvery-eyed teen flicks a finger toward the stage.
The lissome, kohl-eyelined man lifts your spiral-glazed goblet drum from his lap and gently brushes some dust from it with his fingertips.
The Main Room of the Bard's Barrel [NSW]
A myriad of grinning skulls, each painted with bright colors laid
over the pallid bone, stare down from the broad wooden shelf that lines this
spacious room at eye level. Splashes of blue, green and red cover the clay
brick walls in an enthusiastic but inexpert abstract mural, some spatters of
the same paint dotted across the red tiled floor. The room is filled with
clamor: the clink and clatter of dishes and drinks, instruments being tuned,
scraps of song, and a general constant roar of conversation. A small wooden
stage sits along the northern wall, two ragged velvet curtains framing it,
looped back with blue-dyed ropes. A wide archway leads out onto the dusty
street, while a smaller one to the west provides a glimpse of a smaller,
quieter chamber.
A wall here is designated as a message board.
The cherubic, silvery-eyed teen is sitting at a boxy wooden bar.
A lean, grey-eyed bard leans against the stage.
A lean, spike-haired elf drums softly in the corner.
A tall, amber-eyed woman polishes glasses behind the boxy wooden bar.
The husky, weatherworn dwarf is here, seated at a large table, drinking ale.
The huge, sun-bronzed man surveys the room casually from a table here.
The bald, muscular woman slouches at a large table, drinking ale.
The small, dark-haired man sits at a table in the back, staring into his drink.
The solemn, club-footed man limps slowly along here.
At your table, you say in sirihish, following the cherubic, silvery-eyed teen's motion with his eyes:
"Ah, neh... that's tha' host's place."
The cherubic, silvery-eyed teen glances at the stage once more, then nods.
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Would be bold ta claim it..."
The lissome, kohl-eyelined man winks to a grey-eyed bard from the shade of his hat.
At your table, the cherubic, silvery-eyed teen says in sirihish, dipping her chin:
"Awight"
The lissome, kohl-eyelined man tucks your spiral-glazed goblet drum beneath his left arm, his dark lashes sinking downwards slowly.
The lissome, kohl-eyelined man begins to play a crude rhythm, his dancing palm and fingers producing a pattern of a few simple beats.
The cherubic, silvery-eyed teen's head very subtly bobs with the beat, eyes shifting between you and your drum.
A rough, coarse and not very melodic tone to his voice, you sing, in sirihish:
"I'm a lousy bard..."
His gaze shifting towards a nearby table of gamblers, you sing, in sirihish:
"Can not even play a card..."
Amusement flashes across the cherubic, silvery-eyed teen's face.
You sing, in sirihish:
"I can't play any song..."
You are a little hungry.
His voice accompanied by a dissonant rhythm from your spiral-glazed goblet drum, you sing, in sirihish:
"Been a beginner too long..."
You sing, in sirihish:
"I never heard of tha war..."
Flashing the cherubic, silvery-eyed teen a warm smile, you sing, in sirihish:
"But the lass at mah side is a star..."
The cherubic, silvery-eyed teen rolls her eyes with a smile.
The lissome, kohl-eyelined man winces and quickly withdraws his hand from your spiral-glazed goblet drum, causing the simple melody to die down.
At your table, you say in sirihish, pursing his lips poutfully:
"Think I broke mah finger."
At your table, the cherubic, silvery-eyed teen says in sirihish, smiling at you:
"Ah, get off it. Ya did not. That weren't bad at all."
At your table, the cherubic, silvery-eyed teen says in sirihish, sighing with mock arrogance:
"You're certainly no 'Teafae', but... Good enough."
The lissome, kohl-eyelined man chuckles and tosses your spiral-glazed goblet drum a short distance into the air before catching it with his other hand.
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Ah, but I can juggle, neh?"
Light filters in through the doorway as the crimson sun rises.
At your table, the cherubic, silvery-eyed teen says in sirihish, with a grin:
"Aye? I've got a torch. Maybe you got another. We could light'm and you could show."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Thank ya for tha kind words, miss."
At your table, the cherubic, silvery-eyed teen says in sirihish, looking north for a moment:
"Okay."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Mayhaps... another time."
You are carrying:
a spiral-glazed goblet drum
The lissome, kohl-eyelined man turns on his stool to perform a deep bow towards the room, supporting the move with a wide sweep of one arm.
You say, in sirihish:
"Show is over."
At your table, the cherubic, silvery-eyed teen says in sirihish, leaning forward some:
"Are you gonna write a song 'bout the war, then? D'you do that for 'sid?"
The lissome, kohl-eyelined man's eyes have a roguish sparkle to them as he glances sidelong to the cherubic, silvery-eyed...
Continue Reading...Thoroughly Soggy (Numus Gets Even) by Laurajlmars
Added on Apr 19, 2010Speaker Numus of the Vivaduan Temple indulges in his favorite extreme sport - persecuting addlepated slave girls. (Thanks to Naox for providing one of the greatest, and most odious, npc animations I've ever witnessed.)
The Temple of Vivadu [EW Quit]
The sun-bronzed, teal-eyed man is standing here.
The squat, hook-nosed man stands by the pool, plump hands clasped at his back.
The black-haired, rip-scarred man has arrived from the east.
You feel startled.
A fine mist condenses near the sun-bronzed, teal-eyed man as he begins a spell.
You think:
"I hate that spider."
The sun-bronzed, teal-eyed man utters an incantation.
The sun-bronzed, teal-eyed man falls silent.
Pleasantly, the sun-bronzed, teal-eyed man says, in sirihish:
"Welcome."
The black-haired, rip-scarred man takes a firmer hold of your arm as he looks around the temple.
In near whisper, her slippers noiseless across the marble floor, you ask, in sirihish:
"Is Speaker Numus available?"
The sun-bronzed, teal-eyed man says to the squat, hook-nosed man, in sirihish:
"Speaker? Sorry to interrupt your meditation, but you have a visitor."
The squat, hook-nosed man closes his eyes, murmuring softly.
The slim, darkly-tanned young woman has arrived from the east.
Slapping moisture off his creamy hands, the squat, hook-nosed man looks down at you.
The sun-bronzed, teal-eyed man says to you, in sirihish:
"It may take him a little time. One moment, please."
The slim, darkly-tanned young woman walks through the temple quietly, dipping a polite nod to the squat, hook-nosed man as she nears a shallow stone pool.
Squinting at him, the squat, hook-nosed man looks down at the sun-bronzed, teal-eyed man.
Curiously, the slim, darkly-tanned young woman looks up at the black-haired, rip-scarred man.
Nervously twisting her fingers into the sleeve of her robe, you say, in sirihish:
"I don't want to disturb him. If he's busy."
The sun-bronzed, teal-eyed man nods respectfully.
Jerking his thumb at you, the squat, hook-nosed man exclaims to the sun-bronzed, teal-eyed man, in sirihish:
"Oh, she says she doesn't want to disturb me, then forces me to do this by appealing to the Great Lord!"
The black-haired, rip-scarred man leads you a few steps closer to the squat, hook-nosed man.
Looking him up and down, the squat, hook-nosed man says to the sun-bronzed, teal-eyed man, in sirihish:
"Another one? Wonderful. Impress me by staying alive."
The sun-bronzed, teal-eyed man glances toward you curiously.
Her lips twisting in a faint smile as she kneels next to a shallow stone pool, pulling her leather waterskin up, the slim, darkly-tanned young woman asks the squat, hook-nosed man, in sirihish:
"You're having a bad day, Speaker?"
The slim, darkly-tanned young woman stops using her leather waterskin.
Rolling his eyes, the squat, hook-nosed man says to the sun-bronzed, teal-eyed man, in sirihish:
"And -not- getting yourself executed. Some of us have a habit of doing that. The name 'Kolt' comes to mind."
The female wearing a night-black, sheer silk blindfold's lips twitch downward slightly at the squat, hook-nosed man's words.
Smiling broadly as he looks to the slim, darkly-tanned young woman, the squat, hook-nosed man exclaims to the slim, darkly-tanned young woman, in sirihish:
"Oh! No no, wonderful so far. Better that you're here. You should have -seen- the way the Kuraci did it. With what -resolve-. Hah!"
Squinting at you, the squat, hook-nosed man looks down at you.
Beckoning with a fat finger, the squat, hook-nosed man says to you, in sirihish:
"Well, come over here."
Uncomfortably, the sun-bronzed, teal-eyed man says, in sirihish:
"Yes, well... I'm not much the sort to go breaking laws or running off on adventures."
While she dips her waterskin into the pool, the slim, darkly-tanned young woman asks the squat, hook-nosed man, in sirihish:
"What'd Kurac do?"
Light glinting off the rubies dangling from her ears as she steps closer on velvet feet, you say to the squat, hook-nosed man, in sirihish:
"Ok."
The slim, darkly-tanned young woman fills up a leather waterskin from a shallow stone pool.
You now follow the squat, hook-nosed man.
Pushing the stopper back into her leather waterskin, the slim, darkly-tanned young woman looks at you.
The slim, darkly-tanned young woman hangs her leather waterskin on her belt.
With a fond smile, gesturing as though to saw into his arm, the squat, hook-nosed man says to the slim, darkly-tanned young woman, in sirihish:
"Oh! Midge, the Salarr -- he put his stinger in her and now she's with child. I cut something out of her, but got to see the Kuraci squirm."
Waving a hand, the squat, hook-nosed man says to the slim, darkly-tanned young woman, in sirihish:
"Rance was the twerp's name."
The female wearing a night-black, sheer silk blindfold pales slightly.
Squinting at her, beckoning with both hands in front of him, the squat, hook-nosed man looks down at you, come.
Beckoning wildly, the squat, hook-nosed man looks down at you, come.
Huffing, the squat, hook-nosed man looks down at you, come.
Letting out a quiet chuckle and nodding, the slim, darkly-tanned young woman asks the squat, hook-nosed man, in sirihish:
"I see. It wasn't a little egg thingy, was it?"
The sun-bronzed, teal-eyed man looks between the slim, darkly-tanned young woman and the squat, hook-nosed man, momentarily confused.
The squat, hook-nosed man says to you, in sirihish:
"Well -come here-. Come closer. I can't see those repulsive sockets of yours unless you get them over here."
Clearing his throat, the black-haired, rip-scarred man nudges you forward in front of the squat, hook-nosed man.
The squat, hook-nosed man reaches out his pudgy palms and claps them to either side of your head, tugging back on the flesh of your temples.
Stumbling off balance a bit, the female wearing a night-black, sheer silk blindfold straightens hastily, hooking a thumb beneath her blindfold.
Clasping her hands loosely behind her back, the slim, darkly-tanned young woman says to the squat, hook-nosed man, in sirihish:
"Oh, be nice. I'll give you some candy later."
Lips peeling back from her teeth, you stop using your night-black, sheer silk blindfold.
The squat, hook-nosed man mutters under his breath as he gazes with wide, beady eyes, struggling to see close into your wounded sockets.
The sun-bronzed, teal-eyed man looks at your intact, but scarred over, eyes carefully.
The black-haired, rip-scarred man grunts, glaring over your head at the squat, hook-nosed man.
The sun-bronzed, teal-eyed man looks down at you.
You feel a bit horrified really.
Scoldingly, gripping you by the head and speaking close enough for you to smell his sour breath, the squat, hook-nosed man asks you, in sirihish:
"Well, what did you do to these things?! Don't you -know- they are delicate?"
You feel very scrutinized and without the rugged, one-eyed man.
The squat, hook-nosed man pries and pulls back at the flesh around your eyes.
In a nervous whisper, licking her lips, growing even paler as she submits to his fleshy pokes, you say to the squat, hook-nosed man, in sirihish:
"It's a long story."
With a dismissive wave, the squat, hook-nosed man says to the slim, darkly-tanned young woman, in sirihish:
"Come, while I examine her! I may need...ideas."
Her eyebrows arching slightly before she walks over a little closer, the slim, darkly-tanned young woman says to the squat, hook-nosed man, in sirihish:
"Well, alright."
Little black shoes clicking on the tile, the squat, hook-nosed man walks west.
You follow the squat, hook-nosed man, and walk west.
Lobby of the Vivaduan Barracks [EU Save]
The squat, hook-nosed man stands by the pool, plump hands clasped at his back.
The black-haired, rip-scarred man has arrived from the east.
The slim, darkly-tanned young woman has arrived from the east.
The sun-bronzed, teal-eyed man has arrived from the east.
The squat, hook-nosed man steps through the giant wall of thorns as they pull back, allowing passage.
Pacing up the stairs, pushing off his knees with each step, the squat, hook-nosed man walks up.
The slim, darkly-tanned young woman walks up.
You follow the squat, hook-nosed man, and walk up.
Hallway [NSWD Save]
The squat, hook-nosed man stands by the pool, plump hands clasped at his back.
The slim, darkly-tanned young woman is standing here.
The black-haired, rip-scarred man has arrived from below.
The sun-bronzed, teal-eyed man has arrived from below.
You feel a flutter of panic behind her ribs.
Patting his paunch, the squat, hook-nosed man walks south.
The slim, darkly-tanned young woman walks south.
You follow the squat, hook-nosed man, and walk south.
A Trickling Balcony Garden [N Quit Save]
A shadow falls over the area, driving off the uncomfortable heat.
A white stone jug has been set here.
A stream of water tumbles down an amethyst mound and circles the garden.
A dull wooden cask with a cork stopper stands here.
A cluster of spikey flowers grows among the low grass.
A small, shaggy-headed tree bears handfuls of thick-shelled nuts.
A leather waterskin hangs on a hook on the cistern's side.
A wide-mouthed stone cistern is here sits in the shadow of a small tree.
The squat, hook-nosed man stands by the pool, plump hands clasped at his back.
The slim, darkly-tanned young woman is standing here.
The black-haired, rip-scarred man has arrived from the north.
The slim, darkly-tanned young woman follows along at the back of the group, poking her fingers into her belt.
The sun-bronzed, teal-eyed man has arrived from the north.
Motioning vaguely to an amethyst waterfall, the squat, hook-nosed man says to you, in sirihish:
"Go in there and splash about a bit."
Shuffling over to her, the squat, hook-nosed man asks the slim, darkly-tanned young woman, in sirihish:
"How are things?"
A slight frown forming as she searches the pouches, the slim, darkly-tanned young woman asks, in sirihish:
"Huh, where'd my candy go?"
The slim, darkly-tanned young woman closes a finely-crafted pouched belt.
Obediantly, the blind, wine-haired female reaches for the black-haired, rip-scarred man's hand, who leads her over to an amethyst waterfall.
Jowls drooping with a frown, the squat, hook-nosed man says to the slim, darkly-tanned young woman, in sirihish:
"Your candy?"
Tugging them off, you stop using your pair of black silk gloves.
You think:
"I don't like this."
You think:
"I don't like Numus."
Heaving out a sigh before looking up, the slim, darkly-tanned young woman says to the squat, hook-nosed man, in sirihish:
"Oh, well enough I guess. Someone stole an entire chest out of my apartment, but I did finally manage to get that skull I've been looking for."
Little black eyes lighting up, the squat, hook-nosed man says to the slim, darkly-tanned young woman, in sirihish:
"Oh! Marvelous."
Shouting over his shoulder without looking back, the squat, hook-nosed man says to you, in sirihish:
"Right in. That's right, get -in-."
Shrewdly, one eye running up and down, the squat, hook-nosed man looks down at the slim, darkly-tanned young woman.
Uncomfortably, turning, you say to the squat, hook-nosed man, in sirihish:
"My clothes will be wet."
Soothingly, the sun-bronzed, teal-eyed man says to you, in sirihish:
"It's completely safe."
Curling a grin as he looks to her wrists, the squat, hook-nosed man says to the slim, darkly-tanned young woman, in sirihish:
"You have such nice bracelets."
Snapping back at you, the squat, hook-nosed man asks you, in sirihish:
"Of course you're going to get wet. Do you know where -you are-?"
Flopping his hand about, the squat, hook-nosed man says to you, in sirihish:
"But if you'd rather not, I can see you out."
Flashing him a quick smile, the garnets embedded in her bracelets briefly glowing brighter, the slim, darkly-tanned young woman asks the squat, hook-nosed man, in sirihish:
"Why thank you. And how've you been, Numus?"
Smiling back at her, the squat, hook-nosed man says to the slim, darkly-tanned young woman, in sirihish:
"Well, well, I feel wonderful."
Nervously, stepping away from him and back towards the waterfall, you say to the squat, hook-nosed man, in sirihish:
"No thank you. I'll go in. And I won't tell Great Lord Samos you're so rude to me either."
Feeling furious and embarrassed, you think:
"I will just remove his dearest memories. Or make him see nothing but bug heads where people heads should be. Revolting little man."
The squat, hook-nosed man mumbles resentfully as he glimpses back at you, but remains otherwise silent.
The sun-bronzed, teal-eyed man says to you, in sirihish:
"If you'd like to set aside some garments first, they'll be safe here."
Filling his arms with girl clothes, you give your soft pair of black velvet slippers to the black-haired, rip-scarred man.
You give your pair of black silk gloves to the black-haired, rip-scarred man.
Ducking her head to escape it, you stop using your ornate black silk choker.
You give your ornate black silk choker to the black-haired, rip-scarred man.
Slipping her leather backpack off halfway and reaching inside, the slim, darkly-tanned young woman asks the squat, hook-nosed man, in sirihish:
"Will a yam make you happier?"
The slim, darkly-tanned young woman opens a leather backpack.
Shrugging out of it, you stop using your sable and crimson over-robe.
Gasping excitedly, the squat, hook-nosed man exclaims to the slim, darkly-tanned young woman, in sirihish:
"It would!"
Flinging it at him, you give your sable and crimson over-robe to the black-haired, rip-scarred man.
The black-haired, rip-scarred man juggles clothing, appearing more and more put out by the situation.
The slim, darkly-tanned young woman grins slightly and pulls out a tiny cloth bag, poking her fingers inside.
Digging it out, the slim, darkly-tanned young woman gets her mushroom stuffed yam from her leather backpack.
The squat, hook-nosed man rubs his hands in anticipation.
You enter an amethyst waterfall.
Inside an Amethyst Waterfall [Leave]
A shadow falls over the area, driving off the uncomfortable heat.
Stepping through the veil of water, the blind, wine-haired female gasps as she's completely drenched, dress plastered to her body, teeth starting to chatter.
Pulling sodden silken ribbons away from her forearms, you shout in sirihish:
"Speaker Numus, I know you don't like me at all, but is this supposed to do anything? Just asking."
You hear a man's voice shout from outside in sirihish:
"Come out when you are thoroughly soggy!"
You hear a man's voice shout from outside in sirihish:
"That is the result that you can expect from this -exotic- procedure of getting wet."
You shout in sirihish:
"I've taken baths before."
You shout in sirihish:
"Just they were warm, and I had no clothes on."
You step out to...
A Trickling Balcony Garden [N Quit Save]
A shadow falls over the area, driving off the uncomfortable heat.
A white stone jug has been set here.
A stream of water tumbles down an amethyst mound and circles the garden.
A dull wooden cask with a cork stopper stands here.
A cluster of spikey flowers grows among the low grass.
A small, shaggy-headed tree bears handfuls of thick-shelled nuts.
A leather waterskin hangs on a hook on the cistern's side.
A wide-mouthed stone cistern is here sits in the shadow of a small tree.
The squat, hook-nosed man stands by the pool, plump hands clasped at his back.
The slim, darkly-tanned young woman is standing here.
The black-haired, rip-scarred man has arrived from the north.
Shrugging and shooting a curious glance towards an amethyst waterfall, the slim, darkly-tanned young woman asks the squat, hook-nosed man, in sirihish:
"Is that cold?"
Nibbling at his mushroom stuffed yam, the squat, hook-nosed man says to you, in sirihish:
"Is that supposed to impress me? Hah!"
The blind, wine-haired female storms out through the veil of water, her silk dress plastered to her figure, waist-length hair dripping copiously.
Nodding to an amethyst waterfall, the squat, hook-nosed man says to the slim, darkly-tanned young woman, in sirihish:
"Hop in and see."
As she drips, you say, in sirihish:
"I didn't like this dress anyway."
Squinting at you, the squat, hook-nosed man looks down at you.
Picking at his mushroom stuffed yam, the squat, hook-nosed man says to you, in sirihish:
"Now find an appropriate place on the grass and sit."
The squat, hook-nosed man takes a bite of his mushroom stuffed yam.
A slight shudder running through her, the slim, darkly-tanned young woman says to the squat, hook-nosed man, in sirihish:
"I'll pass. If it is, they'd be hearing my screams all the way across the city."
The sun-bronzed, teal-eyed man says to you, in sirihish:
"Here is a good spot."
Astonished eyes searching over his mushroom stuffed yam, the squat, hook-nosed man says to the slim, darkly-tanned young woman, in sirihish:
"This is wonderful! Spicy some, mmhmm."
The squat, hook-nosed man licks at his tiny chops.
The black-haired, rip-scarred man takes your elbow and steers you over to the spot indicated by the sun-bronzed, teal-eyed man.
Offering another wide smile, the slim, darkly-tanned young woman says to the squat, hook-nosed man, in sirihish:
"Of course, the cooks in Cenyr are the best."
Sinking down onto a rock, skirts puddling around her, rather like the actual puddle that also forms, you sit down.
Your new ldesc is:
The blind, wine-haired female sits on a rock beneath a small tree.
Breaking pieces off with her fingers, the slim, darkly-tanned young woman eats her small portion of a stuffed piece of bread.
Eyeing the spot with a sigh, the squat, hook-nosed man says to the sun-bronzed, teal-eyed man, in sirihish:
"I suppose -that- is why you are an amateur."
With a confident wave, the squat, hook-nosed man says to the sun-bronzed, teal-eyed man, in sirihish:
"You'll learn, don't you worry."
You feel uneasy.
You think:
"Why is he so vile?"
You think:
"I don't understand."
The sun-bronzed, teal-eyed man nods, stepping back.
The squat, hook-nosed man strolls around you, wiggling his fingers in the air.
Drearily, leaking all over the ground, her elbow braced against a knee, chin atop her fist, you say to the squat, hook-nosed man, in sirihish:
"You are a truly inspired man, Speaker."
You feel very unhappy and angry.
You think:
"He is so rude."
Brushing her hands off against each other, then touching her right one to her forehead, the slim, darkly-tanned young woman says, in sirihish:
"I wonder if we'll get to have an actual meeting this week."
Shaking his head at her, the squat, hook-nosed man says to the slim, darkly-tanned young woman, in sirihish:
"Ah, you see, you and Speaker Tar are miscommunicating. He expected my last week, I believe."
Letting her hand drop, the slim, darkly-tanned young woman asks the squat, hook-nosed man, in sirihish:
"Oh, I thought they'd been moved. So Tar's not dead then?"
Clasping his hands, the squat, hook-nosed man says to you, in sirihish:
"Now! I -do- need to know what happened, to know the extent of your damage."
You feel cornered.
Her breath coming a little faster, as she starts to stammer, you say to the squat, hook-nosed man, in sirihish:
"It was...it was..that is.."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the rugged, one-eyed man with the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the rugged, one-eyed man:
"Can you come now, please?"
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
The slim, darkly-tanned young woman tilts her head to the side, her attention moving back to you.
The rugged, one-eyed man sends you a telepathic message:
"I'll come real soon."
The sun-bronzed, teal-eyed man watches the proceedings observantly.
You send a telepathic message to the rugged, one-eyed man:
"Please? I'm at the temple. Numus is being...rather vile."
You think:
"I know I said I wouldn't say."
You think:
"But I changed my mind."
Snapping at the air, hands thrown up, the squat, hook-nosed man says to you, in sirihish:
"You would gag at the wounds I've closed, the carcassess I've wrapped back in their floppy flesh, and each had -some- story to tell."
Glaring down at you, the squat, hook-nosed man says to you, in sirihish:
"I hear it all, all the sad stories, oh yes. See the tears, the mourning, the grief, the shame...I simply don't care."
The rugged, one-eyed man sends you a telepathic message:
"Numus? What's he doing?"
Hands on his wide hips, the squat, hook-nosed man says to you, in sirihish:
"But I -need- to know what damage occured."
Pushing a lock of dripping hair over one ear, nervous fingers of her free hand twisting into her sopping skirts, you say to the squat, hook-nosed man, in sirihish:
"It was a knife."
You feel like throwing up.
Crooning, the squat, hook-nosed man asks you, in sirihish:
"Held by...?"
Looking closely, the sun-bronzed, teal-eyed man says, in sirihish:
"It appears to... possibly self-inflicted."
Speaking up suddenly, the squat, hook-nosed man exclaims to the sun-bronzed, teal-eyed man, in sirihish:
"I don't think we have enough evidence to suppose that!"
You feel the air in her lungs close off.
The sun-bronzed, teal-eyed man says, in sirihish:
"A curious wound, if not."
The rugged, one-eyed man sends you a telepathic message:
"Saya? Are you..?"
You send a telepathic message to the rugged, one-eyed man:
"NO."
You feel like kicking Numus off the balcony.
With a nervous hiss, continuing to twist her skirts into knots, you ask, in sirihish:
"Do all these people need to be here?"
The squat, hook-nosed man sighs and wanders over to an amethyst waterfall, standing by the pool and wiggling his hands over the clear waters.
The rugged, one-eyed templar descends on a gust of billowing wind.
You dissolve the psychic link.
The rugged, one-eyed templar looks down at you.
The blind, wine-haired female's head turns towards the rugged, one-eyed templar's descent, though her sodden hair and skirts fail to flutter.
Glimpsing first, then double-taking and nearly falling over, the squat, hook-nosed man looks down at the rugged, one-eyed templar.
The slim, darkly-tanned young woman lifts her hand to steady her wide-brimmed, veiled black hat, the gust of wind stirring her clothing.
The sun-bronzed, teal-eyed man blinks as the rugged, one-eyed man appears, startled.
Scrambling into a bow, the squat, hook-nosed man exclaims to the rugged, one-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"My Great Lord! Apologies, I didn't see you there!"
You feel relieved.
You think:
"It isn't so bad now. He can ask me anything, now."
Looking past him to the skies beyond the balcony before bending in a deep bow, the slim, darkly-tanned young woman says to the rugged, one-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Good... afternoon, Great Lord."
Glaring, the rugged, one-eyed templar asks the squat, hook-nosed man, in sirihish:
"I WASN' here until a moment ago. What's goin' on here?"
Twisting water out of handfuls of her soaking hair, you ask, in sirihish:
"Can I stand up yet?"The Temple of Vivadu [EW Quit]
The sun-bronzed, teal-eyed man is standing here.
The squat, hook-nosed man stands by the pool, plump hands clasped at his back.
The black-haired, rip-scarred man has arrived from the east.
You feel startled.
A fine mist condenses near the sun-bronzed, teal-eyed man as...
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