Original Submissions
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At the Sanctuary by Lahna
Added on Apr 26, 2009A song about three(or two) woman wanting to meet a man at a dance. Tuluki origin.
All:
Tonight we’re going to meet some lads
As girls all dressed up gaily
We’ll both(all) be dancing ‘til the dawn
We’re going to the Sanctuary
The lads they come from all around
They're also dress up gaily
To show us all their fancy steps
We’re going to the Sanctuary
They’re planning tunes on everything
From pipes to ukulele
It sounds so good you can’t sit down
We’re dancing at the Sanctuary
Female 1:
All the boys we loved so well
So handsome young and charming
They’re out in the scrub this day
Carrying smiles that are so disarming
My own true love has rode away
To be an endless rover
‘Cos times are tough and he must leave
To start a new life over
All:
He finds my mind near every week
To say how much he’s slavin’
And he promises that he’ll be back
Before the day needs savin’
But it’s hard to love somebody
That you’re not in touch with daily
So I’m looking for somebody new
Tonight at the Sanctuary
Female 1:
The moonlit nights are long and hard
and time goes by so slowly
I wish my true love he was here
And in his arms I’d go
He’d whisper tender words of love to me
And kiss my lips so sweetly
And quickly I’d surrender to
His manly charms completely
All:
He finds my mind near every week
To say how much he’s slavin’
And he promises that he’ll be back
Before the day needs savin’
But it’s hard to love somebody
That you’re not in touch with daily
So I’m looking for somebody new
Tonight at the Sanctuary
Female 2:
I hope I meet someone tonight
Who’ll make my heart beat fast
A handsome man with laughing eyes
Who smiles as he walks past
The harp may play a soft sweet song
He’ll twirl me round the floor
And promise me that I will be
His girl forever more
His girl forever more
His girl forever more
He’ll promise me that I will be
His girl forever more
Female 1(or 3):
I’m somewhat in a bother
That is really quite alarming
I have two lads pursuing me
And each of them is charming
One of them is dark and poor
One fair with lots of money
I don’t know which one to choose
The flowered or the funny
All:
What in Known Wold am I to do
It’s driving me half crazy
Tonight I’ll make my mind up
When I see them at the Sanctuary
Female 1(or 3):
To be a poor man’s wife
Will be a life of with lots of itches
While a rich man’s wife will surely have
Great luxury and riches
In comfort how I know
It wouldn’t be too hard to wallow
And being poor is not much fun
Which one should I follow
All:
What in Known Wold am I to do
It’s driving me half crazy
Tonight I’ll make my mind up
When I see them at the Sanctuary
Female 1(ONLY if there is 3 females, otherwise see next Female 1 line):
I’ve been lucky I’ve found a lad
Who’s handsome and a neighbor
Female 2:
Me, I’ve met a decent man
Whose friendship I will savour
Female 1(or 3):
And me I made my choice as well
And in no way was it easy
But I’d rather have a man for love
Than be a rich man’s lady
All:
And that is how the story ends
May true love never fail me
We got ourselves two(three) men tonight
And we met them at the Sanctuary.
OOC info: This was modified from At the Ceili by Celtic Women. You can see a video of the song on youtube.
All:
Tonight we’re going to meet some lads
As girls all dressed up gaily
We’ll both(all) be dancing ‘til the dawn
We’re going to the Sanctuary
The lads they come from all around
They're also dress up gaily
To show us all their fancy steps
We’re going to the Sanctuary
They’re planning tunes on...
Continue Reading...Zan by Rhyden
Added on Apr 26, 2009After losing another bagful of obsidian coins, the foolish thief Zan is summoned by the Guild Boss Marin. During the meeting, Zan soon learns the punishment for his mistakes and the lack of mercy in the Guild.
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 wiry, bald man is sitting at a boxy wooden bar.
The light-skinned young man 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 cThe 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.
>sit round (grabbing a chair)
Grabbing a chair, you sit at a round, blue-painted table.
>l self
Close-cut, oily black hair sticks out in jagged lengths from this short,
skinny man's head. His dark bushy brows hang over hazel colored eyes, a
small nose centered in his dark skinned, youthful features. His round ears
stick out near the long sable sideburns that trail down his angular cheeks,
developing into a scraggly black beard across his narrow chin, marked by
patches of short stubble. His neck crawls down to his narrow shoulders and
his wiry arms are slim, with little visible muscle. His legs are similar;
slight and bony, like the rest of his lean body.
The figure in a filthy dark, hooded cloak is in excellent condition.
<worn on head> an ancient, battered surmac
<neck> an angular, crescent shaped scar
<worn around body> a filthy dark, hooded cloak
<worn on legs> a pair of grimy linen trousers
<worn on feet> a pair of dark leather footpads
>contact marin
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man with the Way.
>psi Got an update on m'situation, boss.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man:
"Got an update on m'situation, boss."
>psi Y'spoken wit' Gin yet? Maybe y'speakin' wit' Corin right now?
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man:
"Y'spoken wit' Gin yet? Maybe y'speakin' wit' Corin right now?"
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man sends you a telepathic message:
"Do you have my coin?"
>psi A whore stole it from me. Workin' on gettin' it back, boss.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man:
"A whore stole it from me. Workin' on gettin' it back, boss."
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man sends you a telepathic message:
"What's her name?"
>psi Miranda.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man:
"Miranda."
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man sends you a telepathic message:
"Good luck with that. She might stab you in the back."
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
>psi What's dat mean?
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man:
"What's dat mean?"
The light-skinned young man raises the hood of a dusty hooded, sleeveless white sandcloth cloak.
The tall figure in a dusty hooded, sleeveless white sandcloth cloak stands up from a boxy wooden bar.
>think Quit bein' fuckin' subtle.
You think:
"Quit bein' fuckin' subtle."
The tall figure in a dusty hooded, sleeveless white sandcloth cloak walks north.
>cease
You suffer from use of the Way.
You dissolve the psychic link.
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man sends you a telepathic message:
"I'm saying that Miranda is a whore, who's a templar's aide, and likes to stab people."
>contact marin
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man with the Way.
>psi So how y'suggest I get y'coins back from'er, boss?
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man:
"So how y'suggest I get y'coins back from'er, boss?"
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man sends you a telepathic message:
"How'd she steal from you?"
>psi Left m'clothes in'er main room after we fucked while I's gettin' a drink, come back'n m'belt was a lot lighter.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man:
"Left m'clothes in'er main room after we fucked while I's gettin' a drink, come back'n m'belt was a lot lighter."
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man sends you a telepathic message:
"How much did she charge for the fuck?"
>psi Nothin'. Hence why I's call it stealin' from me.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man:
"Nothin'. Hence why I's call it stealin' from me."
The wiry, bald man stands up from a boxy wooden bar.
The wiry, bald man walks west.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man sends you a telepathic message:
"Get your idiot ass to the Folley."
>stand
You stand up from a round, blue-painted table.
>n
[Travelling to the Folley Tavern to meet with Marin]
A Cramped, Dingy Bar [EWU]
Were it not for the sheer overpowering vileness of the air outside,
this small and tightly-cramped room would scarcely seem a breath of
freshness at all. Thick, acrid smoke intermingles with the smell of
unwashed bodies, vomit, cheap booze, and ancient decay in the limited
confines of this room, creating a unique amalgam of foulness that even the
rough sensibilities of a dwarf would quail at. The walls of the room are
short and the roof is relatively low, giving one an acute claustrophobic
feeling that mirrors the feel of the surrounding alleyways with merciless
precision. A few crates are stacked here and there in a seemingly haphazard
array. Whatever their intended purpose, it appears as though patrons have
begun using them as seats in lieu of squatting on the ale-damp floor. The
center of the room draws your attention once your eyes have adjusted to the
change in lighting and reveals a strange stoneworked depression, roughly
three cords deep and ten cords across. Broken stonework sculptures surround
the edges of the depression in a seeming mockery of a gleeful dance.
Several battered crates with a thick slab of pure obsidian draped across
them seem to serve as a makeshift bar in a corner of the room. An equally
battered wooden door is situated just behind it.
Just beside the bar, a loosely hanging rope ladder disappears up into a
jagged hole in the ceiling of the room.
A ladder-backed bone chair sits here.
A ladder-backed bone chair is here standing idly near the wall.
A message board is propped up against a wall.
A multi-ringed dartboard hangs on a wall here.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man is sitting at a sturdy old bar.
The slim, dusky man is sitting at a sturdy old bar.
The tall, scarlet-haired woman is sitting at a sturdy old bar.
The lithe, dark-haired man is sitting at a sturdy old bar.
The muscular, hatchet-faced man stands here by the door.
The long-haired, scar faced man stands by the bar, arms over his chest.
The thick-set, sideburned bartender is here cleaning out mugs with a rag.
The tall and thick male wearing a thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap is standing here.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man shakes his head a bit, looking to you.
>emote walks towards ~bar with a nod to ~marin
The short, black-haired man walks towards a sturdy old bar with a nod to the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man.
>sit bar
You sit at a sturdy old bar.
At your table, the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man says in rinthi-accented sirihish:
"Zan. You need a new name."
At your table, the tall, scarlet-haired woman says in sirihish, nodding down to you:
"'Ey Zan."
>nod corin
You nod to her.
At your table, the slim, dusky man says in rinthi-accented sirihish, nodding to you:
"'ello Zan."
At your table, the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man says in rinthi-accented sirihish, glancing to the lithe, dark-haired man:
"Got an idea for a new name for Zan, Vel?"
>talk (eyes rolling with a grin) Idiot fucktard face?
At your table, you say in sirihish, eyes rolling with a grin:
"Idiot fucktard face?"
At your table, the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man says in rinthi-accented sirihish:
"Fucktard. That's quite a good one."
At your table, the lithe, dark-haired man says in sirihish, looking to you:
"Damn don't know if I can beat that."
The slim, dusky man smirks at you.
The tall, scarlet-haired woman rubs her chin thoughtfully while regarding you before cracking a faint grin.
>talk (pulling a shot-glass off ~bar) I can nick a bagga coins like it weren't m'business...now...-HOLDIN'- onto dem coins...dat's m'problem.
At your table, you say in sirihish, pulling a shot-glass off a sturdy old bar:
"I can nick a bagga coins like it weren't m'business...now...-HOLDIN'- onto dem coins...dat's m'problem."
>keyword shot bar
On a sturdy old bar:
1.shot - a shot-glass
2.shot - a shot-glass
3.shot - a shot-glass
4.shot - a shot-glass
5.shot - a shot-glass
6.shot - a shot-glass
>get 6.shot bar
You get your shot-glass from a sturdy old bar.
It is very light, and full.
>drink shot (with a grunt)
With a grunt, you drink the whisky.
>put shot bar
You put your shot-glass onto a sturdy old bar.
>emote smacks his lips together with a quenching grunt.
The short, black-haired man smacks his lips together with a quenching grunt.
At your table, the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man says in rinthi-accented sirihish:
"Where's my hundred, then?"
>get coins belt
The belt does not contain 'coins'.
>get coins pouch
The pouch does not contain 'coins'.
>get coins cloak
You get your pile of allanaki coins from your filthy dark, hooded cloak.
There were 55 coins.
It is very light.
You are carrying:
55 obsidian pieces
You give the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man 55 coins.
At your table, the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man says in rinthi-accented sirihish:
"What the fuck is this?"
>emote rummages around %cloak pockets.
The short, black-haired man rummages around in your filthy dark, hooded cloak's pockets.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man puts his pile of allanaki coins into his pouched, brown hide belt.
>get knife cloak
You get your clumsy wooden knife from your filthy dark, hooded cloak.
It is very light.
>give knife marin
You give your clumsy wooden knife to the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man.
At your table, the tall, scarlet-haired woman says in sirihish, glancing from you to the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man:
"Oh...So you're.."
>get torch belt
You get your unlit simple, leather-wrapped bone torch from your pouched belt.
It is very light.
The tall, scarlet-haired woman trails off and nods to the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man.
>talk (holding ~torch in front of ~marin) Dat's all I got.
At your table, you say in sirihish, holding your unlit simple, leather-wrapped bone torch infront of the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man:
"Dat's all I got."
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man says to you, in rinthi-accented sirihish:
"Alright, Zan."
>give torch marin
You give your unlit simple, leather-wrapped bone torch to the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man gives you his unlit simple, leather-wrapped bone torch.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man stands up from a sturdy old bar.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man says to you, in rinthi-accented sirihish:
"Up on the Roof."
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man walks up.
>stand
You stand up from a sturdy old bar.
>up
On a Rooftop [D]
This plain red-clay brick roof is really no more than a burned out
second floor of what was once a taller building. Bits of charred remains
are obvious amongst the scattered debris and shards of rock strewn all over
the general area. Despite being hemmed in on three-sides by two story
buildings, the rooftop gives a clear view down into the alleyway below. A
jagged hole in the southeast corner has two bone spikes driven into the
clay, from which a rope-ladder trails downwards.
An empty chipped, red-clay mug has been left here.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man is standing here.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man says to you, in rinthi-accented sirihish:
"Stand still."
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man brandishes his clumsy wooden knife.
>emote sighs, head held downwards with a sigh.
The short, black-haired man sighs, head held downwards with a sigh.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man asks you, in rinthi-accented sirihish:
"Tell me. How much does this hurt?"
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man stabs you very hard on your head.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man swiftly dodges your hit.
You hit the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man, barely grazing his foot.
Your attack on the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man is absorbed by a bloodied padded, grey-veined black tunic.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man swiftly dodges your hit.
>disengage
You stop attacking the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man!
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man stops fighting you.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man stops using his bloodied clumsy wooden knife.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man gives you his bloodied clumsy wooden knife.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man says to you, in rinthi-accented sirihish:
"Don't fuckin' do that."
>sit (holding his bleeding head)
Holding his bleeding head, you sit down.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man says to you, in rinthi-accented sirihish:
"You're lucky I missed your eye."
>emote rubs at his bleeding eyebrow, wincing deeply.
The short, black-haired man rubs at his bleeding eyebrow, wincing deeply.
Exhaling slowly, the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man says to you, in rinthi-accented sirihish:
"I trusted you, Zan. I even gave you products to fence, to make a profit on."
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man says to you, in rinthi-accented sirihish:
"You lost some being mugged. You lost some to a whore."
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man says to you, in rinthi-accented sirihish:
"The next time, I'm going to have to break one of your hands."
>tell marin (hand held against his forehead, blood speeing through his fingers) Uhhh...ah...I...just fuck up bad lots.
Hand held against his forehead, blood seeping through his fingers, you say to the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man, in sirihish:
"Uhhh...ah...I...just fuck up bad lots."
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man nods at you.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man licks his dried lips.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man asks you, in rinthi-accented sirihish:
"What the fuck am I to do with you, Zan?"
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man says to you, in rinthi-accented sirihish:
"You're not producing."
>shout (with an angry, squaky squeal) I don't know!
With an angry, squeaky squeal, you shout in sirihish:
"I don't know!"
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man says to you, in rinthi-accented sirihish:
"Shut up. Please."
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man says to you, in rinthi-accented sirihish:
"Go get the rest of what you owe me, Zan."
>stand
You stand up.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man says to you, in rinthi-accented sirihish:
"We've been looking out for you, and it's not paying."
>em grunts and nods.
The short, black-haired man grunts and nods.
>tell marin It will.
You say to the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man, in sirihish:
"It will."
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man nods at you.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man says to you, in rinthi-accented sirihish:
"Good."
>emote grits his teeth and walks towards the stairway.
The short, black-haired man grits his teeth and walks towards the stairway.
>d (with a determined look on his dirty face)
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...
Continue Reading...You are -right- beneath His Templar's apartment building, you fool! by Yam
Added on Apr 26, 2009A 'rinthi half-giant falls into the sewers and ends up banging on an access gate to a templar apartment building.
You are Rebgar.
Keywords: half-giant with a big red beard
Sdesc: the half-giant with a big red beard
Objective:
Long Description:
Code Generated Long Description.
You are 36 years, 0 months, and 15 days old,
which by your race and appearance is adult.
You are 155 inches tall, and weigh 90 ten-stone.
Your strength is very good, your agility is average,
your wisdom is good, and your endurance is poor.
You are starving and a little thirsty.
Your health is 1(80), you have 52(139) stamina, and 80(80) stun.
You are standing.
You are currently speaking sirihish with a rinthi accent.
The faint sound of voices drift past the gate to the west, seeming at a fair distance away, and so low to be unintelligable.
You shout in sirihish:
"HEY!"
Visible exits:
East - Darkness
Rap! Rap! Rap! You knock on the gate.
You shout in sirihish:
"HEEEEY!"
Darkness
Total darkness surrounds you, preventing you from seeing anything
at all. You have trouble telling where to put your feet when you walk.
Rap! Rap! Rap! You knock on the gate.
You shout in sirihish:
"HEY!"
The ever so faint sound of voices continue for a moment, the distance causing them to seem little more then a whisper on the wind.
You shout in sirihish:
"IS ANYONE THERE?!"
The half-giant with a big red beard slams his meaty fists onto the western gate with all the fury of a half-giant that is starving to death in a filthy sewer.
The faint murmur stops abruptly and utter silence follows, perhaps the sound having reach them in turn.
The half-giant with a big red beard takes a heavy breath as he presses his ear to the western gate.
Somewhere off in the distance, a faint click is heard, as if something were being opened, soon following by the barest hint of a footstep.
Staring at the western gate through the inky blackness, the half-giant with a big red beard remains completely still.
Utter silence follows right after the faint footstep, perhaps the source of the low voice stopping to listen into the tunnels.
The half-giant with a big red beard cups his hands to his mouth.
You shout in sirihish:
"Hello?!"
Soon after the shout, footsteps seem to grow closer, and closer, at least a trio of seperate footfalls to be heard coming closer to the gate.
The half-giant with a big red beard stands here covered in shit and blood
Someone opens the gate from the other side.
You think:
"I'm saved!"
You think:
"..."
You think:
"Am I saved?"
The half-giant with a big red beard wobbles forward and peers westward.
The robust, black-bearded templar has arrived from the west.
Access Tunnel [EW]
Putrid smells of decaying matter waft from the slow moving stream of
waste that spans the width of this tunnel. Bits of flesh, cloth, bone,
and squishy organic material are the main components of the festering
stream. Small openings in the stone walls allow sludge to ooze out of
small access pipes from the city above to join the slow-moving river of
decaying matter on its northward journey out of the city. Distant
sounds echo out of the darkness from an unknown origin.
The tunnel continues to the east, while a sturdy gate lies to the west.
The robust, black-bearded templar watches over the entrance of the square.
With a few surprised blinks, the robust, black-bearded templar looks up at you.
Raising a hand to protect his eyes from the dusky torchlight, you look down at the robust, black-bearded templar.
Shortly cropped, curly black hair covers this noble templar's chin and
mouth. The whiskers have been shaved close over the rest of his face. His
head is covered with a lighter hair of a dark brown tone. Stern eyes peer
out from a chiseled brow, looking over the area with intensity, but not
necessarily anger. He stands tall and proud.
The robust, black-bearded templar is in excellent condition.
The robust, black-bearded templar is using:
<secondary hand> a glowing green glow-crystal
He is carrying:
nothing obvious
Slowly lowering his arm, the half-giant with a big red beard blinks at the robust, black-bearded templar.
Cocking his head to one side, you ask the robust, black-bearded templar, in sirihish:
"What are you doing down here?"
You think:
"Why is a templar in the sewers."
You think:
"Oh no! He's going to kill me!"
You think:
"Wait... he doesn't have any soldiers."
With a low snarl coming into his voice, the robust, black-bearded templar asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"I could ask -you- the same thing, rat. Do you have -any- idea where you are?"
Defensively, you say to the robust, black-bearded templar, in sirihish:
"Underground."
You feel somewhat courageous in light of the circumstances.
You feel not too courageous though.
You feel hungry more than anything.
You feel a bit confused too.
Scowling towards you as a single digit lifts to point upward, the robust, black-bearded templar exclaims to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"You are -right- beneath His Templars apartment building, you fool!"
You feel your mind go blank.
The half-giant with a big red beard just kind of stares at the robust, black-bearded templar while his big, fat tongue works it way around in his mouth.
You think:
"What do I say?"
You think:
"I got lost."
You say to the robust, black-bearded templar, in sirihish:
"I got lost."
Barking out a mirthless laugh to you, the robust, black-bearded templar asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Yes, I dare say you have, alley rat. Now give me one good reason you shouldn't be killed where you stand for this?"
The half-giant with a big red beard eyes the robust, black-bearded templar hungrily.
You say to the robust, black-bearded templar, in sirihish:
"I really need some food Lord Templar."
You think:
"How can I get food from him?"
You think:
"I could eat him."
You are using:
<worn across back> a dusty shabby basket
<worn on torso> a dusty faded cotton shirt
<primary hand> an ashen rag-wrapped bone torch
<worn on legs> a dusty pair of patched sandcloth pants
<worn on feet> a dusty pair of cracked-leather boots
You think:
"Should I try that?"
Blandly, while turning back to the gate, the robust, black-bearded templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"You can starve down here in your filth for all I care."
You think:
"I am really hungry."
You drop an ashen rag-wrapped bone torch.
The robust, black-bearded templar walks west.
The area is enveloped in darkness.
You think:
"EAT HIM!"
You go west.
Access Chamber [EU]
The stonework walls of this spacious room are in a surprising state of
cleanliness and repair, as though they're meticulously maintained. Set
into the stonework of the western wall is a huge jade cross on an obsidian
field, and a sturdy ladder runs up the north wall.
The robust, black-bearded templar watches over the entrance of the square.
A human soldier of Tektolnes stands guard here.
A human soldier of Tektolnes stands guard here.
You think:
"Uh oh."
The half-giant with a big red beard skids to a halt.
The half-giant with a big red beard sprayed some sewer juice with that halt.
The robust, black-bearded templar calls to a human Allanaki soldier for aid, and he strides to his side.
The robust, black-bearded templar calls to a human Allanaki soldier for aid, and he strides to his side.
You think:
"Now he has soldiers."
The half-giant with a big red beard gulps.
Turning back towards you, the robust, black-bearded templar looks up at you.
Looking from one to the other, you look down at a human Allanaki soldier.
This lean, muscular man bears the scars of hard fighting. His skin is a
dark brown from the sun's harsh rays, and his close-cropped hair is a
similarly dark color. Dark brown eyes are set in a hard-looking face, and
appear sharp and alert. His straight-backed posture and vigilant stance
suggest several years of disciplined military training.
A human Allanaki soldier is in excellent condition.
A human Allanaki soldier is using:
<worn on head> a cuirbouilli helmet
<worn on torso> a cuirbouilli cuirass
<worn on left shoulder> a black sandcloth sash
<worn on arms> a set of cuirbouilli sleeves
<primary hand> a jade-emblazoned, obsidian longsword
<both hands> a jade-emblazoned, obsidian shortsword
<worn as belt> a black belt
<worn around body> a black, hooded militia dustcloak
<worn on legs> a set of cuirbouilli leg guards
<worn on feet> a pair of sturdy leather boots
He is carrying:
nothing obvious
Directing a digit back to the sewers, tone a harsh snap, the robust, black-bearded templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Back to your sewers, rat."
You think:
"How can I get food from him?"
The robust, black-bearded templar looks at a human Allanaki soldier.
You say to the robust, black-bearded templar, in sirihish:
"But I really need some food."
You think:
"I KNOW!"
Eyes brighting like miniature suns, you exclaim to the robust, black-bearded templar, in sirihish:
"I know! I can buy food from you. Yeah!"
The half-giant with a big red beard squints at the robust, black-bearded templar.
Lifting a hand, three digits extended, the robust, black-bearded templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"You have -three- seconds to get yourself back in those sewers and away from this place before my men cut you down and feed you your own legs. Go eat a rat in there or something."
Pleading, you say, in sirihish:
"But I can't see the rats."
The half-giant with a big red beard's head tilts up just a tidge.
Up above is darkness.
[Very far]
A diminutive, white-robed templar sits at a semi-circular desk.
[Far]
It's completely dark over there.
[Near]
It's completely dark over there.
You think:
"I could get up there."
You think:
"If this is his apartment there should be food somewhere."
Flatly, while looking from a human Allanaki soldier, to a human Allanaki soldier before back to you, the robust, black-bearded templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Three..."
The half-giant with a big red beard's eyebrows slant.
You speed up to a fast run.
The half-giant with a big red beard lets out a howl as he tries to charge past the robust, black-bearded templar.
You think:
"I need to get out!"
You go up.
Darkness
Total darkness surrounds you, preventing you from seeing anything
at all. You have trouble telling where to put your feet when you walk.
You go up.
You stumble around in the darkness and lose your bearings.
Darkness
Total darkness surrounds you, preventing you from seeing anything
at all. You have trouble telling where to put your feet when you walk.
You go up.
Stonework Building [SU]
This small stonework building is simple in design and function. Set
into the stonework of the meticulously kept northern wall is a large jade
cross on an obsidian field. A large, oval rug sprawls out in the center of
the floor. A sturdy door in the south wall provides the only other entrance
to this building. A large, semi-circular desk rests beneath the jade cross
on the northern wall. A split staircase ascends up from this foyer on both
the eastern and western walls, meeting at the center, high above the jade
cross.
A diminutive, white-robed templar sits at a semi-circular desk.
Visible exits:
Up - A Well-Lit Stairwell
Down - Darkness
South - A closed door
You shout in sirihish:
"Aggh!"
Up above is a Well-Lit Stairwell.
[Very far]
Nothing.
[Far]
Nothing.
[Near]
Nothing.
The robust, black-bearded templar has arrived from below.
A human Allanaki soldier has arrived from below.
A human Allanaki soldier has arrived from below.
You attempt to flee.
Darkness
Total darkness surrounds you, preventing you from seeing anything
at all. You have trouble telling where to put your feet when you walk.
You flee, heading down.
The area is filled with a green light.
The robust, black-bearded templar has arrived from above.
A human Allanaki soldier has arrived from above.
A human Allanaki soldier has arrived from above.
You think:
"Oh no... oh no."
You exclaim, in sirihish:
"I just need food!"
Climbing The Ladder [UD]
A sturdy wooden ladder provides a means to navigate this stonework
tunnel. Above, a heavy trapdoor prevents movement in that direction, while
below the tunnel continues into darkness.
A human soldier of Tektolnes stands guard here.
The robust, black-bearded templar watches over the entrance of the square.
A human soldier of Tektolnes stands guard here.
Flatly, the robust, black-bearded templar says to a human Allanaki soldier, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Kill that fool."
The half-giant with a big red beard leers up at the robust, black-bearded templar.
The robust, black-bearded templar gives a human Allanaki soldier an order.
A human Allanaki soldier nods firmly and steps towards you, both blades beginning to lift.
The half-giant with a big red beard clogs up the tunnel with his bulk and gets jammed on a rung of the ladder.
Stuck helplessly in the ladder rungs, you exclaim to a human Allanaki soldier, in sirihish:
"Don't do it!"
The half-giant with a big red beard works frantically to get his leg out of the ladder.
You think:
"Grab the templar!"
Pressing himself against the tunnel wall, you exclaim, in sirihish:
"Ragghh!"
You subdue the robust, black-bearded templar.
You're now wanted!
Calling down to the soldier below him on the ladder, the robust, black-bearded templar says, in southern-accented sirihish:
"I'm waiting, Soldier. Free that fool, permanantly."
The robust, black-bearded templar gives a human Allanaki soldier an order.
A human Allanaki soldier slashes you very hard on your arm.
Welcome to Armageddon!
You may:
(C) Disconnect from character
(V) Toggle ANSI/VT100 mode
(B) Toggle 'brief' menus
(D) Documentation menu
(M) Mail menu
(S) Stats of your character
(E) Enter Zalanthas
(X) Exit Armageddon
(?) Read menu options
Read the documentation
menu before creating your
character, please.You are Rebgar.
Keywords: half-giant with a big red beard
Sdesc: the half-giant with a big red beard
Objective:
Long Description:
Code Generated Long Description.
You are 36 years, 0 months, and 15 days old,
which by your race and appearance is adult.
You are 155 inches tall, and weigh 90...
Continue Reading...Dwarf Sketch by Ourla
Added on Apr 26, 2009A rough illustration of one of Zalanthas' burly little residents.
Destruction of Steinal by Tektolnes
Added on Apr 1, 2009ok heres the deal, its been more than 1 year so im posting the logs from when i got pissed and blew up steinal 4 the lulz
The mighty Tektolnes is here, draped in power and splendor because he rocks.
He is wearing a cloak of pure awesome.
He is damn fine.
>score
Your are Tektolnes, of many people (type 'tribes' to see your subjugated people).
Keywords: Tektolnes Tek Godzilla Lt. Awesomesauce
Sdesc: the mighty Tektolnes
Objective: branch
Long description: Code Generated Long Description.
You are older than everyone else, which by your race is old (but by appearance you look pretty damn fine).
You are tall, dark, and handsome.
Your strength is absolutely incredible, your agility is absolutely incredible,
your wisdom is absolutely incredible, and your endurance is absolutely incredible.
You are currently speaking sirihish with a Highlord accent.
The mighty Tektolnes says, in Highlord-accented sirihish,
"lol guys ok so how do u liek my new desc? i kept emailin teh staff till they changed it"
The black-robed templar says, out-of-character:
"Dude use ooc for ooc stuff please"
The mighty Tektolnes says, in Highlord-accented sirihish,
"dude fuck off"
The mighty Tektolnes says, in Highlord-accented sirihish,
"i have shit to do"
The mighty Tektolnes waves his hand and utters an incantation.
The black-robed templar disappears in a flash of light, leaving a pile of ash on the ground.
The mighty Tektolnes says, in Highlord-accented sirihish,
"lol"
The mighty Tektolnes says, in Highlord-accented sirihish,
"guess I better get another"
The mighty Tektolnes sends this message to the staff:
"hey guys I just vape'd a blackrobe, pls put up a new call on the bbs for one, tks"
The mighty Tektolnes checks out his profile in a small obsidian mirror.
The mighty Tektolnes wishes he had a command to express how awesome he looks right now.
A human Allanaki lackey has arrived from below.
A human Allanaki lackey says, in southern-accented sirihish,
"Highlord! Steinal has attacked our forces and...practically routed them!"
The mighty Tektolnes says, in Highlord-accented sirihish,
"dude wtf, you didn't bow or anything"
The mighty Tektolnes says, in Highlord-accented sirihish,
"i need to get better lackeys, you guys all suck"
The mighty Tektolnes says, in Highlord-accented sirihish,
"noobs"
The mighty Tektolnes is gone a bit, gotta send off mail to complain about this noob.
The mighty Tektolnes is back.
The mighty Tektolnes says, in Highlord-accented sirihish,
"aight sorry bout that, go ahead"
A human Allanaki lackey says, in southern-accented sirihish,
"They beat our forces off, but we should be able to retaliate, Highlord."
The mighty Tektolnes rolls on the floor, laughing hysterically.
The mighty Tektolnes says, in Highlord-accented sirihish,
"haha"
The mighty Tektolnes says, in Highlord-accented sirihish,
"you said beat off"
The mighty Tektolnes puts on his serious cat face.
The mighty Tektolnes says, in Highlord-accented sirihish,
"ok srsly, let's do something about this"
The mighty Tektolnes says, in Highlord-accented sirihish,
"did we post a call for an rpt?"
The human Allanaki lackey says, out-of-character:
"man you really need to differentiate between IC and OOC"
The mighty Tektolnes says, in Highlord-accented sirihish,
"im sorry"
The mighty Tektolnes says, in Highlord-accented sirihish,
"i cant hear you over my root access to ginka"
The mighty Tektolnes says, in Highlord-accented sirihish,
"continue"
The human Allanaki lackey says, out-of-character:
"they had some kind of RPT already scheduled today. some steinal party or something, a victory"
The mighty Tektolnes says, in Highlord-accented sirihish,
"let's kick some ass then"
The human Allanaki lackey says, out-of-character:
"dude we can't go crash someone else's RPT"
The human Allanaki lackey says, out-of-character:
"that's bad form"
The mighty Tektolnes says, in Highlord-accented sirihish,
"Valasaurus must be extincted, as i am sure you know"
The mighty Tektolnes says, in Highlord-accented sirihish,
"send our army to wipe out the city of Steinal"
The human Allanaki lackey says, in southern-accented sirihish,
"Highlord, we do not have an army. Steinal wiped it out."
The human Allanaki lackey says, in southern-accented sirihish,
"Many of my friends within the militia have lost their lives. They went out to war at your command and gave their lives to the cause. We are recruiting more, but..."
The human Allanaki lackey says, in southern-accented sirihish,
"...it will take a long time before we can really field the amount of soldiers we had. Our forces are cut in half. We have to leave some here to defend our city..."
The human Allanaki lackey says, in southern-accented sirihish,
"...or we might face some risk."
The mighty Tektolnes has lost link.
The mighty Tektolnes has reconnected.
The mighty Tektolnes says, in Highlord-accented sirihish,
"sry, missed that"
The mighty Tektolnes says, in Highlord-accented sirihish,
"look it doesnt matter ill go deal with it"
The mighty Tektolnes says, in Highlord-accented sirihish,
"keep the light on muthafucka"
The mighty Tektolnes waves his hand and utters an incantation.
The mighty Tektolnes disappears from view!
----------
A Massive Square
Crenellated granite and baobab balconies protruded from both the
northern and southern sides of the square, heavy canvas draped over them to keep the nobility and the highest-ranked merchants of Steinal in the shade.
Valasurus is here, addressing a lot of people.
A lot of people are here, adoring Valasurus.
Valasurus says, in Steinal-accented sirihish,
"My people, last week, our armies collided with the forces of Allanak near their black walls. I urged you to support our army's endeavor, and it has..."
Valasurus says, in Steinal-accented sirihish,
...succeeded in a strategic victory that I must report to you:
we have routed Allanak's fighting forces!"
Everyone cheers.
Valasurus says, in Steinal-accented sirihish,
"You have heard the reports of tribes taking back land stolen by the conquering rulers, Tektolnes and Muk Utep. These are not rumors; they are facts proven..."
Valasurus says, in Steinal-accented sirihish,
"...by our own exceptional display of tactics in this, the first battle of the War between Allanak and Steinal."
The air begins to blow more breezily.
People begin to be a little uncomfortable.
Valasurus says, in Steinal-accented sirihish,
"We will press our advantage soon, and destroy the will of Allanak!"
Valasurus pauses to take a breath.
Everyone cheers.
Valasurus says, in Steinal-accented sirihish,
"I promise to you that I will lead you to victory against the Black Menace of Allanak!"
The mighty Tektolnes appears in a flash of light, emerging from a bright pinpoint of a portal.
The mighty Tektolnes says, in Highlord-accented sirihish,
"sup bitches"
The mighty Tektolnes says, in Highlord-accented sirihish,
can a mutha get a mimosa in this bitch?"
Valasurus says, in Steinal-accented sirihish,
"Pride will be your destruction."
The mighty Tektolnes stares strangely at Valasurus.
The mighty Tektolnes says, in Highlord-accented sirihish,
"wat"
Valasurus says, out-of-character:
"dude how the hell did you ever get your role, you are the worst roleplayer of all time"
The mighty Tektolnes says, in Highlord-accented sirihish,
"cast mon un shut the fuck up ~Valasurus"
The mighty Tektolnes says, in Highlord-accented sirihish,
"oops, mischan"
The mighty Tektolnes waves his hand and utters an incantation.
Steinal disappears from view, leaving behind salt and sand and ash.
The mighty Tektolnes says, in Highlord-accented sirihish,
"haha, noobs"
The mighty Tektolnes rolls on the floor, laughing hysterically.
The mighty Tektolnes says, in Highlord-accented sirihish,
"steinal...more like whine all"
The mighty Tektolnes says, in Highlord-accented sirihish,
"cast mon un animate all corpse"
The mighty Tektolnes says, in Highlord-accented sirihish,
"damn it"
The mighty Tektolnes waves a hand, uttering an incantation.
Salt and sand-covered zombies arise from the ground.
The mighty Tektolnes says, in Highlord-accented sirihish,
"ok"
The mighty Tektolnes says, in Highlord-accented sirihish,
"do that michal jackson dance thing"
-----
hope u guys liekd it
-TekThe mighty Tektolnes is here, draped in power and splendor because he rocks.
He is wearing a cloak of pure awesome.
He is damn fine.
score
Your are Tektolnes, of many people (type 'tribes' to see your subjugated people).
Keywords: Tektolnes Tek Godzilla Lt. Awesomesauce
Sdesc: the mighty TektolnesContinue Reading... Kadius Advertisement by Lahna
Added on Mar 16, 2009Song about Kadius hiring, and advertising their wares. Change names as needed.
Ohhh, Kadius is a hirin' to beef their whole crew up,
They're lookin' for some crafters, who rarely screw things up.
Kadius is a hirin', they want you in their employ,
hunters 'n grebbers alike, be you a girl or boy.
Kadius, as you well know, they have the finest silk,
All decked out in their jewelry, people'll think you're from the greatest ilk.
Finely crafted furniture, theirs is the greatest ever known,
It's made from many different things, mostly wood and bone.
Now find your local Agent if you're lookin for for some work,
You'd be wanting to find the (Local Agent), before you go beserk.
And find your local Merchant, for buying pretty things,
talk to (Local Merchant) and s/he might bring you sandals with some wings.Ohhh, Kadius is a hirin' to beef their whole crew up,
They're lookin' for some crafters, who rarely screw things up.
Kadius is a hirin', they want you in their employ,
hunters 'n grebbers alike, be you a girl or boy.
Kadius, as you well know, they have the finest silk,
All decked out in their...
Continue Reading...Memoir #5 - The Silver Scorpion (Iaelimar) by Rairen
Added on Mar 16, 2009Now a servant-slave who tends to the Tor Academy barracks, Aja receives an unexpected visit from the Silver Scorpion overseeing her captivity.
It is dawn on Yochem, the 18th day of the Low Sun,
In the Year of Drov's Agitation, year 35 of the 21st Age.
You are Aja, Apprentice of the Bards of Poets' Circle.
Objective: To survive Allanak.
You are 23 years, 0 months, and 153 days old,
A Large Work Room [NS Save]
Tall walls of red stone rise upwards proudly, proclaiming their protection of the entrance hall to a large building. The floor is made up of tightly fitted black stone slabs, carefully hewn into square tower shields. Upon each of the shields is a finely etched scorpion, the small grooves kept free of sand by constant vigilance. A long table of baobab runs north to south, before the western wall. Upon the table are a variety of tools for repairing armor and weapons. Before the eastern wall is a long counter, topped with grey slate acting as a work area. Positioned carefully along the east and western walls are jade sconces cupping small crystals, casting a pale green light across the chamber.
The immense, braid-bearded man has arrived from the north.
The sturdy, black-skinned dwarf closes the door from the other side.
Pausing her work, the ethereal, fair-haired woman straightens and casts the immense, braid-bearded man a polite smile.
The immense, braid-bearded man halts within the door, pulling off his ruby-red, scorpion-emblazoned plate helm and tucking it under his arm before running a gauntleted hand over his bald head that glistens with sweat.
The immense, braid-bearded man stops using his ruby-red, scorpion-emblazoned plate helm.
Her broom held loosely at her side, you ask the immense, braid-bearded man, in sirihish:
"... Is all well?"
Glancing over the room, the immense, braid-bearded man asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Morning, Aja. Everything well?"
With a flicker of amusement in her pale eyes, you say to the immense, braid-bearded man, in sirihish:
"Yes, Silver. Thank you for asking."
Nodding once, the immense, braid-bearded man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Good, good."
The ethereal, fair-haired woman watches the immense, braid-bearded man with patient attention, her broom relaxed at her side and the barest hint of a smile toying at the corner of her mouth.
You notice: The immense, braid-bearded man looks you over carefully, thin lips pursing briefly.
As he moves forward with slow steps, the immense, braid-bearded man looks down at you.
(hemote) From beneath her collar, the ethereal, fair-haired woman swallows, a subtle waver to her flawless posture.
Moving around you slowly, the immense, braid-bearded man asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"How long have you been in confined space now, Aja? Two years? Three?"
The ethereal, fair-haired woman's head inclines back to keep her eyes on the immense, braid-bearded man's own, curiosity evident enough in them.
In her soft, crystal-like voice, you say to the immense, braid-bearded man, in sirihish:
"Yes, I believe so. Time passes strangely here."
The ethereal, fair-haired woman turns her head, keeping her eyes on the immense, braid-bearded man, although she doesn't move from her spot.
(hemote) The ethereal, fair-haired woman's brow knits ever so slightly.
Nodding his head lightly, shifting his grip on his ruby-red, scorpion-emblazoned plate helm, the immense, braid-bearded man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"I imagine. Seeing Suk-krath's light is not the same as being under it."
Coming to a halt directly beside you, turning his broad form to face your side, the immense, braid-bearded man asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"How do you feel about that confinement?"
Gaze flickering, just for a second, as she studies his features, you ask the immense, braid-bearded man, in sirihish:
"I feel as I must, that it is a necessity. Why this line of questioning, Silver?"
(hemote) A subtle tension rests in the ethereal, fair-haired woman's shoulders.
Seemingly ignoring your question, the immense, braid-bearded man asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"All this time. Krath. I've heard of no attempts to escape. Have there been any?"
Her posture flawlessly correct, motionless save for the slight rise and fall of her chest, you say to the immense, braid-bearded man, in sirihish:
"None."
(hemote) The ethereal, fair-haired woman's jaw tenses.
You notice: The immense, braid-bearded man's amber eyes flicker over you again, his weight shifting.
His voice and expression unchanged, the immense, braid-bearded man asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Why not?"
You notice: The immense, braid-bearded man leans forward the slightest bit, his attention unwavering on you.
Her voice crystalline, calm, you say to the immense, braid-bearded man, in sirihish:
"Because it would not be the right decision."
You feel warm. Very, very warm.
You think:
"What a foolish answer..."
Tilting his head to the side, the immense, braid-bearded man asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Why not?"
Voice softening a touch, patient, you say to the immense, braid-bearded man, in sirihish:
"Because I want to go home, and because I owe the Warlord my life. I would have no hope for life as a fugitive from this one."
A few distracting strands of hair fall across the ethereal, fair-haired woman's eyes, but she makes no move to brush them away.
A gauntleted hand lifting to flick against your collar, the immense, braid-bearded man asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"You hope for release, then?"
(hemote) The ethereal, fair-haired woman's head jerks, ever so slightly, the immense, braid-bearded man's motion sparking a reaction from her.
Patient fascination in her pale eyes as she watches him, you say to the immense, braid-bearded man, in sirihish:
"Always."
Moving slowly around in front of you, then turning to face you again, head tilted forward for his amber eyes to blaze into your features, the immense, braid-bearded man asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Enslaved for spying, yes? What makes you so sure release will be coming?"
Her head craning back as far as it will permit to be able to meet his eyes, you say to the immense, braid-bearded man, in sirihish:
"I have no assurance. No promise. I have only hope... and I was not enslaved for spying."
The last words of the ethereal, fair-haired woman's come at a crisper tone.
Squinting suddenly, the immense, braid-bearded man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"I was told differently. Educate me, if you will."
In her soft, crystal-like voice, you say to the immense, braid-bearded man, in sirihish:
"I would not presume to do so. If I were a spy, Silver, it would have been death and not slavery that entrapped me. The accusation has been made often, but never substantuated, as I have insisted upon..."
Voice softening, you say to the immense, braid-bearded man, in sirihish:
"... innocence."
Deep voice even as he remains still with attention set on you, the immense, braid-bearded man asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Often. Why should you be enslaved while every other northern worker and visitor remains free, here?"
(hemote) The tension in the ethereal, fair-haired woman's neck spreads to her shoulders.
Pale eyes flickering down to his chin, you say to the immense, braid-bearded man, in sirihish:
"I cannot speak to that."
You feel a flash of pain.
You notice: The immense, braid-bearded man's amber eyes shift subtly back and forth, looking directly into each of your own intently.
(hemote) The ethereal, fair-haired woman's hand tenses around her broom, knuckles growing a paler shade of white.
Your mood is now hurt and defensive.
Features turning slightly to the side before he leans in slightly, the immense, braid-bearded man asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Explain that. You can't, won't, or there is no answer?"
Crystalline voice fracturing, just a touch, you say to the immense, braid-bearded man, in sirihish:
"I do not know the answer and I will not speculate as to my Lord's motivations."
The ethereal, fair-haired woman's head cants the opposite direction to accomodate the immense, braid-bearded man's motion, her gaze meeting his own once again.
You feel your heart pounding.
Narrowing his gaze as he leans in further, his deep voice lowering with the proximity of his features to your own, the immense, braid-bearded man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Do you know how release is even considered, Aja? What makes an owner feel it is earned? That..."
The immense, braid-bearded man says, in southern-accented sirihish:
"...word, 'earned', is a clue."
Her gaze steady, serene, although her voice becomes forced, you say to the immense, braid-bearded man, in sirihish:
"By good service, I believe is the answer."
Voice lowering, you whisper to the immense, braid-bearded man in sirihish:
"Why this line of questioning?"
(hemote) The ethereal, fair-haired woman's posture is rigid now and still - although, her breathing is a shade faster than it was previously.
A hand lifting to your collar again, keeping your features in place as he straightens again, the immense, braid-bearded man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Good service, and trust. Trust is earned in itself. Good service is recognized step by step."
Lowering his hand slightly, glancing down at the open palm before it returns to his side, the immense, braid-bearded man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Soon, a page of the Warlord will be coming into contact with you. You will be accompanying the Warlord on a trip."
Amber eyes intent on you, the immense, braid-bearded man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"It is the first step, a first motion of true trust, on his part. I -will- be watching you like a verrin hawk of your plains watches its prey to insure it is not betrayed."
With the immense, braid-bearded man's hand away from your scorpion-emblazoned slave's collar, the ethereal, fair-haired woman gives only a shallow nod of acknowledgment, her pale eyes resuming an attentive polity.
With a slight lift to her brow, you say to the immense, braid-bearded man, in sirihish:
"... Silver, a day may come when you no longer feel it necessary to intimidate me into good behavior. It is my sincere hope that it comes soon."
Lifting his ruby-red, scorpion-emblazoned plate helm back over his head, the immense, braid-bearded man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"The -possibility- of your release begins here. An attempt to escape results in less favorable consequences. Use the chances you're give-..."
The immense, braid-bearded man places his ruby-red, scorpion-emblazoned plate helm on his head.
(hemote) The ethereal, fair-haired woman's posture remains tensed, muscles rigid from her neck and down through her arms and shoulders.
Watching him still, you say to the immense, braid-bearded man, in sirihish:
"... Thank you for the advice, Silver."
Attention unwavering, the immense, braid-bearded man asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"This is my investigation, Aja. This is my warning, my advice. This is me working for security. That statement does nothing to prevent further 'intimidation', only your actions will. Clear?"
A soft breath of air escaping her lips, you say to the immense, braid-bearded man, in sirihish:
"Silver, you speak of things I know well and will speak on them again, I have no doubt. But as I hope for release, I must also hope that you see me as something other than a woman trying to kill you."
Your mood is now wearied.
Glancing you over, the immense, braid-bearded man asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"If I ignored possibilities that did not seem likely based on appearance, I would not be a Silver, nor would I likely be alive, Aja. Now...are we clear, that I -will- be observing you closely?"
Voice level as she inclines her head to him, you ask the immense, braid-bearded man, in sirihish:
"I would have it no other way, Silver. If... I might ask, this trip - What is its destination?"
You think:
"Impossible southern soldiers."
His features impassive as he eyes you, the immense, braid-bearded man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"The Warlord's page will give you that information if he deems it necessary. You may resume your work, Aja."
As he turns back to the door, striding briskly, the immense, braid-bearded man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Good work."
The faintest hint of a smile crossing her lips, you say to the immense, braid-bearded man, in sirihish:
"... Be well, Silver. And thank you for your company."
The immense, braid-bearded man opens the door.
The immense, braid-bearded man walks north.
Features serene, the ethereal, fair-haired woman stares after the door before returning mechanically to her work.
It is dawn on Yochem, the 18th day of the Low Sun,
In the Year of Drov's Agitation, year 35 of the 21st Age.
You are Aja, Apprentice of the Bards of Poets' Circle.
Objective: To survive Allanak.
You are 23 years, 0 months, and 153 days old,
A Large Work Room [NS Save]
...
Continue Reading...Memoir #4 - The Senior Lady (Ceylara) by Rairen
Added on Mar 16, 2009The conclusion of an exercise in Stockholm Syndrome, a Senior Lady of Borsail demonstrates how to break a northern slave.
(Aja has spent more than two months locked in a single room, with company scarce and no sun or moons to tell day and night apart. At the last meeting with her Senior Lady, she broke into hysterics, mind crumbling at this timeless existence. She’d begged her new mistress for sunlight. That was four weeks ago.)
Servants' Quarters [E Quit Save]
In comparison with some of the other rooms onboard the wagon, this one would seem to have little in the way of accommodations. That comparison aside, these quarters are actually far from spartan. Ten moderately cushioned cots line the east wall, at the end of each is a simple wooden chest. Some wall-mounted torches flicker over two simple tables along the north wall. A thick gizhat-skin rug lines the middle of the floor, its crimson hue seeming darker in the torchlight.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman looks at the ceiling as she walks, her features serene.
You think:
"Flawless peace."
You think:
"How often I once wished for this."
You think:
"What will I do when it goes away?"
The ethereal, fair-haired woman doesn't turn around when she reaches the opposite wall. She bends back, both hands pressing to the floor.
After executing a crisp handstand, the ethereal, fair-haired woman turns and lands on her feet, again, to continue her walk.
You feel strained.
The slight, silver-crowned woman has arrived from the east.
The feminine, smooth-featured man has arrived from the east.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman pauses her 'stroll' to dip into an eloquent bow in the slight, silver-crowned woman's direction.
You think:
"Flawless."
Regarding the bow, the slight, silver-crowned woman looks at you.
Voice soft as she straightens, you say to the slight, silver-crowned woman, in sirihish:
"A pleasure to see you, my Lady."
(hemote) The ethereal, fair-haired woman's eyes are lined by dark cricles.
You feel nervous.
With a fond little smile, the slight, silver-crowned woman asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Of course it is. Exercise once again, hm?"
Amusement creeping into her eyes, you say to the slight, silver-crowned woman, in sirihish:
"... Yes, my Lady."
The ethereal, fair-haired woman touches your slave's collar, shifting it to the other side of her neck before folding her hands in front of her.
Glancing aside at the muscled man with a patchwork face for a moment, then back, the slight, silver-crowned woman asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Are you getting adequate rest?"
With practiced ease, you say to the slight, silver-crowned woman, in sirihish:
"It is more than peaceful here, my Lady. Thank you for the inquiry."
You think:
"She'll see through this like clear glass."
Your mood is now eager.
Recollecting herself as she gestures with one hand, you ask the slight, silver-crowned woman, in sirihish:
"My apologies. May I offer you a seat?"
Blinking suddenly, the slight, silver-crowned woman says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"I may have to cut this visit shorter than I intended. But come."
You now follow the slight, silver-crowned woman.
The slight, silver-crowned woman beckons the muscled man with a patchwork face.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman takes a step forward, caution as well as curiosity in her smile.
Moving to the door, the slight, silver-crowned woman says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"I gave my word to you on something, and so I shall keep it."
The slight, silver-crowned woman walks east.
You follow the slight, silver-crowned woman, and walk east.
(Walking... outside... through the arabet to the gardens...)
You feel hopelessly overjoyed.
Crystal-like voice too-level, you say to the slight, silver-crowned woman, in sirihish:
"How... kind of you to remember."
You think:
"... Pymlithe..."
Looking aside with a lifted brow, the slight, silver-crowned woman asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Don't you think?"
Cracking a smile, you say to the slight, silver-crowned woman, in sirihish:
"Only when you wish me to."
You feel deliriously happy.
Her expression souring a bit, the slight, silver-crowned woman says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"This is hardly the attitude I would expect when receiving a gift."
With a glance to her, her tone gentle, you say to the slight, silver-crowned woman, in sirihish:
"My Lady, I hardly know how to thank you appropriately."
(hemote) A subtle tension rests in the ethereal, fair-haired woman's neck.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman casts the doorway a casual glance.
As she steps out into the light and off the boarding plank, the slight, silver-crowned woman says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Humble respect is a good start."
The slight, silver-crowned woman leaves a massive, dark-crimson araba.
(hemote) The ethereal, fair-haired woman takes in a deep breath.
In a soft voice, her attention torn between her and the wagon house, you say to the slight, silver-crowned woman, in sirihish:
"As you wish, my Lady."
You feel jittery.
Your mood is now deliriously happy.
It is a cool night.
The sky is clear.
A cool breeze blows from the east.
Jihae, the red moon, is high in the sky.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman looks up at the sky, features serene.
Walking down the flagstone byway, the slight, silver-crowned woman says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"It will be dawn soon."
The ethereal, fair-haired woman swallows, the hands clasped behind her back holding tighter to each other.
After a pause, crystal-like voice tranquil, you ask the slight, silver-crowned woman, in sirihish:
"Of what day?"
Quietly, the slight, silver-crowned woman says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
The ethereal, fair-haired woman nods, once, in acknowledgement as she looks back to the sky.
(hemote) The ethereal, fair-haired woman's eyes narrow, her jaw clenched tight.
You feel overjoyed, miserable...
Stepping out toward the tiled courtyard, the slight, silver-crowned woman asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Before I took you into my grace, did you enjoy this city?"
Strain in her soft tone, you say to the slight, silver-crowned woman, in sirihish:
"I had little opportunity to experience it, my Lady."
Looking ahead, chin lifted as she watches the sky above, you say to the slight, silver-crowned woman, in sirihish:
"I spent most of my time in the compound."
Quietly, walking across the tiled courtyard, the slight, silver-crowned woman says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Perhaps one day you shall see more from my side."
The Central Courtyard [NESW]
Leaping, cavorting waters dance in the light of Suk-krath before musically plunging back into a marble fountain. The random tessellations of the courtyard's flagstones seem to take on a mosaic pattern around its center, flaring out from the fountain circle like waves of flame from the disk of the sun. The entire Borsail estate is laid out before the eyes here. To the west is the central wing, the windows of its second story gazing down upon the courtyard from their point of vantage above the colonnade of a verandah. The estate's gates loom further to the east, between a guard house and wagon house, while the courtyard extends to the north and through the House gardens to the south, before reaching the two flanking wings.
(hemote) The ethereal, fair-haired woman's pale gaze wavers, the transluscent color shimmering.
After another pause, her steps timed to match her own, you say to the slight, silver-crowned woman, in sirihish:
"If you feel me an appropriate companion, I would be delighted to join you."
(hemote) The ethereal, fair-haired woman swallows, taking in a deep breath through her nose.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman watches the marble fountain, head turned away from the slight, silver-crowned woman.
With a small smile, the slight, silver-crowned woman says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Not so much a companion, girl. But an attendant."
Gesturing toward a marble fountain, the slight, silver-crowned woman says, in southern-accented sirihish:
"I thought you might find this a pleasing sight."
With an affirming noise, you say to the slight, silver-crowned woman, in sirihish:
"It is, my Lady. More than pleasing."
(hemote) Subtle creases line the ethereal, fair-haired woman's forehead.
You think:
"Sweet Krath..."
Recollecting herself, a slight hitch to her crystalline voice, you say to the slight, silver-crowned woman, in sirihish:
"The entire estate is very lovely, my Lady. You must be very proud."
You think:
"... It's beautiful..."
Looking towards you, the slight, silver-crowned woman says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Out here, in the open.. this is your future, girl. Your old life is past. But you shall enjoy a new one. In the glow of my radiance, you might enjoy an existance few common souls could ever dream of."
Taking a few steps closer to the fountain and letting its mist blow across her face, the slight, silver-crowned woman says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"I take pride in my heritage, yes."
With soft anguish, never quite looking at her, you whisper to the slight, silver-crowned woman in sirihish:
"I don't..."
(hemote) The ethereal, fair-haired woman's jaw tenses.
Turning and looking at you with a lifted brow, the slight, silver-crowned woman says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Go on."
The ethereal, fair-haired woman turns, arms folded over her waist as she takes in the rest of the estate.
In a firmer voice, the tension in it seeming to run down her neck and into her shoulders, you say to the slight, silver-crowned woman, in sirihish:
"... I am very... happy... to be able to see this, my Lady."
You think:
"Don't touch me."
Passing servants in crimson livery and collared slaves, some bare-skinned and others in silks, make wide circles as they pass around the slight, silver-crowned woman's entourage, pausing to bow low to her.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman stands motionless, wind tossing her hair about her face.
You think:
"I'm too..."
You feel ... overwhelmed.
Her tone soft and even somewhat gentle, the slight, silver-crowned woman says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"You seem too tense. I do not think that is what you began to say. Try again."
Chin lifting, further rigidity rising to her posture, you say to the slight, silver-crowned woman, in sirihish:
"Perhaps, my Lady, but the... meaning is the same. I'm... overwhelmed by your consideration."
(hemote) The ethereal, fair-haired woman swallows before letting an inaudible breath escape her lips.
You feel like sobbing.
Stepping closer and looking into your eyes, the slight, silver-crowned woman asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"I'm sure you are. But what was it you were going to say?"
Looking away, pale eyes disrupted by unfallen tears, you say to the slight, silver-crowned woman, in sirihish:
"I'm not certain. Some thoughts never have words... are never put to words."
Soft, pained, you say to the slight, silver-crowned woman, in sirihish:
"I don't... understand you. I don't... deserve this... So many I don'ts, my Lady. I don't think I know all of them."
Gently, in the tone a mother would speak to a child, the slight, silver-crowned woman says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"I would not expect you to know. Come with me."
The ethereal, fair-haired woman inhales and nods, eyes turned again to the sky and away from the slight, silver-crowned woman.
Gazebo [NE]
A small gazebo, carved of pymlithe wood, its surface gracefully greyed by the touch of time, sits nestled among a cluster of blossoming trees, the clouds of flowers almost obscuring its roof. Two carved wooden benches, softened with a myriad of tiny overstuffed silk pillows, sit adjoining each other inside it. The air is sweet with the fragrance of the flowers, a heady almost intoxicating aroma which permeates the gazebo. Latticed sides allow glimpses of the garden to the north and east while still providing the occupants with a modicum of privacy. The softly rustling branches overhead are the only sound which competes with the glass wind chimes which hang from the eaves, singing softly.
A set of glass wind chimes sounds softly in the breeze.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman turns her head, recognition in her eyes.
You think:
"... pymlithe..."
The slight, silver-crowned woman makes her way over to a bench, waiting for the feminine, smooth-featured man to brush off its surface before she takes a seat.
The slight, silver-crowned woman sits on a carved cylini bench.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman looks up at a set of glass wind chimes as she walks toward the slight, silver-crowned woman, but doesn't sit.
Nodding at a spot down the bench from herself, the slight, silver-crowned woman says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"You may sit."
After turning a cautious glance down to the slight, silver-crowned woman, you sit on a carved cylini bench.
(hemote) The ethereal, fair-haired woman brushes a hand over the silk of the pillow at her side.
At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, quietly:
"Confusion is natural for you. I imagine it may need to run its course."
At your seat, you say in sirihish, with a forced humor:
"My Lady, I suspect that this may be a... very long course to run here."
At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, with a soft chuckle:
"Perhaps. But I shall help it along as I can. Some things need to be broken down before they can be rebuilt."
The ethereal, fair-haired woman sits with flawless poise as she looks straight ahead, taking in the trees on the opposite side of the gazebo.
At your seat, you say in sirihish, wavering:
"Thank... you, my Lady."
At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, in a gentle, soothing voice:
"You need to let me help, though, sweet. Some things I cannot force. Others I cannot. Trust is in the latter."
At your seat, you say in sirihish, looking down at her hands, linked around one knee:
"... Why desire my trust, my Lady? It's yours if you desire it - it is already yours, in fact - but why desire it in the first?"
(hemote) The ethereal, fair-haired woman swallows, her breathing deep and level.
You feel overwhelmed.
At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, leaning back and turning her own hazel gaze out towards the gardens:
"If I do not have it, I cannot give you much else than you have now. I cannot move this forward any farther, as I would like to."
At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, softly:
"I exist to be adored. That is why the Highlord brought me into being... to receive the adoration of all His city and the awe of the foreigners, in His name. How can I be what I am if I cannot hold the trust of my own slaves?"
At your seat, you say in sirihish, brushing a regrowing strand of hair away from her cheek:
"... You have it, my Lady. How are you asking me to prove this?"
The ethereal, fair-haired woman closes her eyes for a quiet moment, features never losing their accustomed serenity.
At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, looking toward you:
"There is so much tension in you. So much stammering. You remind me of a crystal glass when I watch you... so close to simply breaking, but holding back, as if you are afraid to trust me to pick up the pieces."
At your seat, you say in sirihish, looking at the trees again when her eyes reopen:
"It is my place to carry burdens, my Lady, not share them. Your respect I desire, greatly."
At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, reaching out to rearrange the shortened strands of your hair behind your ear:
"Your burdens are of interest to me. Especially now, when you are so utterly dependent on my care."
At your seat, you say in sirihish, eyes closing at the slight, silver-crowned woman's touch, shoulders tensing, almost flinching back:
"I've... told... you, my Lady. I'm... happy..."
(hemote) The ethereal, fair-haired woman's steady breathing hitches, shuddering.
At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, pausing the motion of her hand:
"Yet simple words are still so hard. Why?"
At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, softly, her eyes locked on you:
"Have I not taken you in when you should have been executed? Have I not sheltered you, supported you? I have been your savior, yet you are still so frightened."
At your seat, you say in sirihish, faltering, one damaged hand holding lightly to the side of her face:
"Simplicity does not... mean ease, my Lady. You have... done all of these things and more, I know."
At your seat, you say in sirihish, with a sound like a groan, head bowing:
"It's not... fear that stills my voice..."
At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, tilting her head curiously:
"Then what?"
The ethereal, fair-haired woman laughs, a heart-broken sound as she bends forward, arms folding on her knees as she buries her face into them.
In a voice of complete misery, you whisper to the slight, silver-crowned woman in sirihish:
"I'm... s-so... happy to be here..."
The ethereal, fair-haired woman shudders, back arching with quiet gasps for air as she sobs into her arms.
At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, scooting down the bench and leaning down closer to you, her voice soothing, but probing:
"And it shames you. You're having trouble accepting it in the midst of what you knew before."
At your seat, you say in sirihish, body still bent as she presses fingers into her eyes, ineffectively pushing back tears:
"Worse... I'm not ashamed at all."
At your seat, you say in sirihish, no composure in her tear-stained, haunted face:
"I... don't... know how to serve you..."
At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, brushing a hand through your hair:
"Then.. why so sad? Serve me as I ask for it."
One of the ethereal, fair-haired woman's hands forms a tight fist, while the other continues to swat at the tears sliding down her face.
At your seat, you say in sirihish, with a helpless gasp of air, so very much like a laugh:
"I'm not... sad. I'm so... happy to be here..."
The ethereal, fair-haired woman gives another low noise, like a groan, and turns, pressing her forehead into the slight, silver-crowned woman's leg.
At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, not shifting away, glancing down at you in curious sympathy:
"You should be, sweet. Keep talking. It will help us, knowing all this."
At your seat, you say in sirihish, with a feverish voice, broken by quieting sobs:
"It's so... perfect..."
Her voice rough, you whisper to the slight, silver-crowned woman in sirihish:
"The wind... the sky... the flowers in the air..."
(hemote) The ethereal, fair-haired woman's tears are hot, sinking into the material covering the slight, silver-crowned woman's leg.
You whisper to the slight, silver-crowned woman in sirihish:
"Thank you..."
At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, patting your shoulder gently:
"I did tell you I would show you."
A tragic smile lingers on the ethereal, fair-haired woman's lips as she sits up, keeping flushed features and swollen eyes averted from the slight, silver-crowned woman.
The slight, silver-crowned woman gives the wet stain on her pair of silver-stitched, crimson-silk pants a brief glance, then reaches out to brush your tears away.
At your seat, you say in sirihish, with a soft, lyrical laugh, one hand reaching to still the slight, silver-crowned woman's hand:
"I'm... sorry... I... tried to not."
At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, with an amused laugh:
"It's just silk."
At your seat, you say in sirihish, rolling her reddened eyes skyward for a moment, knuckles wiping at them as she smiles:
"I meant the tears, my Lady. I'm not hysterical by nature."
At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, shaking her head:
"I understand. I think.. you needed it."
At your seat, you say in sirihish, with a quirk of a smile hand lowering to gesture to the gardens:
"I needed this. There are so few things... but I needed this."
At your seat, you say in sirihish, casting the slight, silver-crowned woman a side-long, tear-streaked glance:
"... Thank you."
At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, dipping her head a bit as she smiles at you:
"I gave my word. Trust in me. Enjoy what you have here."
The ethereal, fair-haired woman relaxes back, reclining with casual elegance as her drying eyes look over the gardens.
At your seat, you say in sirihish, in a soft, gentle tone:
"As you wish, my Lady."
At your seat, you say in sirihish, amusement warming her voice:
"I've... been tasked with harder trials than that..."
At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, perking her sculpted brows:
"Oh? Such as?"
At your seat, you say in sirihish, looking back to the slight, silver-crowned woman, her smile warm if still weak from tears:
"Harder than being asked to savor kindness, charm, and beauty? I believe the majority of my adult education has been less... pleasantly phrased."
At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, to you, tilting her head:
"I would have you tell me of that education, actually."
At your seat, you say in sirihish, with a curious inclination of her head:
"... Of the Circle?"
At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, shrugging:
"All of it. Tell me the story of before."
At your seat, you say in sirihish, a rueful touch to her smile as one hand rubs the back of her neck, beneath your slave's collar:
""The story of before." That almost sounds like a song."
At your seat, you say in sirihish, in her soft, crystal-like voice:
"I don't know how much you know, my Lady. There are six Circles among my kin, and I am of the Driamusek."
At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, with a small smile:
"It almost does, doesn't it? Perhaps I shall have you sing for me one day."
At your seat, you say in sirihish, with a nod to the slight, silver-crowned woman:
"If you desire it, but singing was never my strongest virtue."
You think:
"... song bird..."
You think:
"... "A perfect pitch...""
(hemote) A shadow crosses the ethereal, fair-haired woman's thoughtful eyes and fades away again.
You think:
"Never again."
At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, with a shrug:
"For now the story shall suffice."
At your seat, you say in sirihish, hand brushing the silk pillow at her side:
"My mother was a Driamusek, and she decided that I would follow her. My entire life has been spent a bard, my Lady."
At your seat, you say in sirihish, in a patient tone:
"We all have our strengths and weaknesses, but there are six main areas of study. We call them "Arcs"."
At your seat, you say in sirihish:
"Music, Song... Words, Acting, Lore, and Blades.."
At your seat, you say in sirihish:
"A Master excels at all of them."
The slight, silver-crowned woman listens with thoughtful attentiveness, her gaze straying between you and the rest of the garden.
At your seat, you say in sirihish, arms folding over her waist without a drop of rigidity in them:
"Each of the Circles has their preferences... the Elkinhym, for example, do everything with a humorous bent."
At your seat, you say in sirihish, with a tragically lovely smile:
"My kin are much less... entertaining. We are the... teachers, in many respects. Tutors of the Chosen - ah, my pardon, of the nobility there."
At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, her brows lifting quickly at that:
"Really? Did you tutor any yourself?"
At your seat, you say in sirihish, with a shake of her head:
"Oh, certainly not. Not as an Apprentice, no, but I did have the opportunity to teach some of the younger bards."
At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, with a blink, holding up a hand:
"Wait.. wait. You mean to tell me that the fake nobles have themselves tutored by commoners... and not even common servants of their own family?"
At your seat, you say in sirihish, turning to address the slight, silver-crowned woman now, with a polite confusion:
"Yes, my Lady. In matters of etiquette, diplomacy... dance and music, many have had my kin as instructors."
At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, trying to restrain her amusement, though a few giggles bubble out anyway:
"Etiquette? Diplomacy? -Commoners-?"
At your seat, you say in sirihish, with evident mirth in her pale eyes:
"... Have you found my company so distasteful that the mere thought of being tutored by one of my superiors is unbelievable?"
At your seat, you say in sirihish, shaking her head, smiling to herself:
"This place is so strange. In ways you, my Lady, are closer to your commoners than they would ever dream, and in others... It's challenging to navigate the boundaries of polite interaction."
At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, biting back a grin:
"The taste of your company has nothing to do with it at all. Think of what you're saying. That a common, lesser form of being would actually... actually be able to -instruct- a supposed noble.."
At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, shaking her head in sheer amusement:
"It's unthinkable. It's such a blatant contradiction. How could a superior caste take instruction from something beneath them?"
At your seat, you say in sirihish, with a great deal of fondness and no sign of offense:
"And yet, I do not lie, my Lady. We cannot teach them how to lead, but for the lesser parts - those we can teach, while our leaders focus on other affairs."
You think:
"Such an incredibly strange place I've found."
At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish:
"And even... about politics? Etiquette? What would a commoner know of such things, and how they apply to the life of supposed nobility?"
At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, turning her focus back to you:
"I know you speak the truth. But surely you see the contradiction, the silliness of it."
At your seat, you say in sirihish, with a gentle, if apologetic, smile:
"I can see the... point you make, but I think I would have more to learn here - about how you live - before I'll be able to understand, I think."
Rising from her seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"You'll tell me more about this later. And we shall help you to understand the fallacies and contradictions."
Pacing out of the gazebo, the slight, silver-crowned woman says, in southern-accented sirihish:
"For now... I have other business."
Falling into step at her side, you say to the slight, silver-crowned woman, in sirihish:
"I'll... look forward to it."
Servants' Quarters [E Quit Save]
In comparison with some of the other rooms onboard the wagon, this one would seem to have little in the way of accommodations. That comparison aside, these quarters are actually far from spartan. Ten moderately cushioned cots line the east wall, at the end of each is a simple wooden chest. Some wall-mounted torches flicker over two simple tables along the north wall. A thick gizhat-skin rug lines the middle of the floor, its crimson hue seeming darker in the torchlight.
(hemote) The ethereal, fair-haired woman sighs as she steps back into the room.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman turns, dropping into a polite bow before the slight, silver-crowned woman.
Remaining in the doorway, the slight, silver-crowned woman says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Rest well."
Straightening, you say to the slight, silver-crowned woman, in sirihish:
"Be well, my Lady."
With a small smile, the slight, silver-crowned woman says, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Always."
The slight, silver-crowned woman turns, motioning her guards to follow as she steps out.
(Aja has spent more than two months locked in a single room, with company scarce and no sun or moons to tell day and night apart. At the last meeting with her Senior Lady, she broke into hysterics, mind crumbling at this timeless existence. She’d begged her new mistress for sunlight. That was...
Continue Reading...Memoir #3 - The Conflicted Slave (Lao) by Rairen
Added on Mar 16, 2009Exiled and captured in the south, Aja awaits her fate in her make-shift, windowless cell aboard the Borsail argosy.
You are Aja, of many people. (type 'tribes' to see your tribes).
Objective: To survive Allanak.
You are 20 years, 2 months, and 60 days old.
It is dusk on Ocandra, the 155th day of the Ascending Sun,
In the Year of Suk-Krath's Slumber, year 32 of the 21st Age.
Servants' Quarters [E Quit Save]
In comparison with some of the other rooms onboard the wagon, this one would seem to have little in the way of accommodations. That comparison aside, these quarters are actually far from spartan. Ten moderately cushioned cots line the east wall, at the end of each is a simple wooden chest. Some wall-mounted torches flicker over two simple tables along the north wall. A thick gizhat-skin rug lines the middle of the floor, its crimson hue seeming darker in the torchlight.
The muscled man with a patchwork face looms here, features impassive.The ethereal, fair-haired woman sits up at the sound of the door, sliding out of the cot in a smooth motion.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman has half dropped into a bow before noticing the braid-bearded, auburn-haired man.
With a small smile, the braid-bearded, auburn-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Good morning, Aja."
The braid-bearded, auburn-haired man looks down at you.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman straightens, pulling down on the hem of your trim black linen vest as she inclines her head to the braid-bearded, auburn-haired man with a polite smile.
You ask the braid-bearded, auburn-haired man, in sirihish:
"Good... morning, Lao. How do you do?"
(hemote) The ethereal, fair-haired woman clears her throat softly.
You think:
“Of all the underhanded ways to find out what time it is...”
As he looks about the room, the braid-bearded, auburn-haired man asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Hmm, thus far, thus good, I do suppose. And how about you?"
Regarding him with her quiet thoughtfulness, you ask the braid-bearded, auburn-haired man, in sirihish:
"Good, I suppose, as well. To what do I owe the pleasure?"
As he moves to one of the tables, the braid-bearded, auburn-haired man asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"I said I would come to visit, did I not?"
Taking a step after him, a hint of a smile in her tone, you say to the braid-bearded, auburn-haired man, in sirihish:
"You did, but that does not mean that you would."
As he pulls a chair out, the braid-bearded, auburn-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"I've often found in life that false promises oft come back to bite you, in the end."
Settling on a chair, the braid-bearded, auburn-haired man sits down.
Taking a seat opposite the braid-bearded, auburn-haired man, you sit down.
As she crosses her legs, you say to the braid-bearded, auburn-haired man, in sirihish:
"Mm. I've been told many things for why people would seek my company, but... never... out of fear that I might bite them."
The ethereal, fair-haired woman casts the braid-bearded, auburn-haired man a mirthful glance.
You feel like screaming.
With a mournful shake of his head, the braid-bearded, auburn-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Never fun getting bitten."
With a soft click of her tongue, you say to the braid-bearded, auburn-haired man, in sirihish:
"I can't say I've had the experi - Oh, wait. No. My sister did once. I believe you may be right."
The braid-bearded, auburn-haired man drums fingers against a sold shape beneath his aba.
The braid-bearded, auburn-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"I've an answer, to a concern of yours."
Voice softening, you ask the braid-bearded, auburn-haired man, in sirihish:
"... Oh?"
With a light nod, the braid-bearded, auburn-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"It would see that you have pleased the great Lady thus far. She has chosen for you to live."
With a hint of a smile, you say to the braid-bearded, auburn-haired man, in sirihish:
"For now, at least. Thank you for looking into this for me."
Reaching into the folds of his aba, the braid-bearded, auburn-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"She has also decided to make you her own."
Brow creasing, you ask the braid-bearded, auburn-haired man, in sirihish:
"... I beg your pardon?"
Her gaze both thoughtful and appraising, you look at the braid-bearded, auburn-haired man.
A slender form wrapped in swarthy skin, this young man appears more frail than hearty. Standing a bit taller than most at around five cords, a bow of his rangy shoulders shortens him some. His thick auburn hair is kept tied back with a leather thong and falls to his shoulder blades. Sunken eyes of a deep blue shade stand in contrast of the otherwise angular features of his face and high forehead. The point of his chin can be made out beneath long beard that covers just his lower jaw, through the three braids it has been parted in to. Thin lines of dark red and blue whorl across his cheeks, dipping down to his neck and curling around to the small of his back.
Removing the ring from within his aba, the braid-bearded, auburn-haired man sets it down atop the table. He looks down at it for a long moment, with a slight furrow of brow and purse of lips.
Running a finger along his slave's collar, the braid-bearded, auburn-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"A personal slave, of the great Lady."
Watching the braid-bearded, auburn-haired man's hands, with practiced calm, you say to the braid-bearded, auburn-haired man, in sirihish:
"I... see."
Looking back up to him, you ask the braid-bearded, auburn-haired man, in sirihish:
"Like you?"
The braid-bearded, auburn-haired man stares at his slave's collar for a long moment, before slowly lifting his gaze, looking at you with that same small furrow of brow.
The braid-bearded, auburn-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Like me."
(hemote) The ethereal, fair-haired woman's gaze softens, just for a moment.
(And then he changes the subject, the conversation ranging from gardens to Tuluk to philosophy. They banter for hours, or what she guesses to be hours, with that ring of bone laying unmentioned between them, until, finally...)
In a smooth motion, her hip coming to rest against the side of the small table, you stand up.
The braid-bearded, auburn-haired man watches you with a touch of curiosity in his expression.
You notice: The braid-bearded, auburn-haired man frowns, just a bit, as his eyes float down to the collar set atop the table.
"Will you pardon me? Your... wit exhausts my mental reserves."
The ethereal, fair-haired woman trails off, as she glances down to the top of the table.
The braid-bearded, auburn-haired man takes in a slow breath, fingers closing around the collar as his gaze slowly lifts to you.
You ask the braid-bearded, auburn-haired man, in sirihish:
"... I suppose we should take care of that bit of business, hm?"
The braid-bearded, auburn-haired man's face seems to drain of expression as he nods slowly, his chair easing back.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman glances from the ring, up his hands to his face.
The braid-bearded, auburn-haired man stands up.
You contact the braid-bearded, auburn-haired man with the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the braid-bearded, auburn-haired man:
"Don't look so forlorn. It's... nothing. A triviality."
The collar held rather tightly in his right hand, the fingers of his left slowly flexing and relaxing, the braid-bearded, auburn-haired man approaches you, then steps around you, turning to stand behind you.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman stands motionless, save for the slight rise and fall of her chest, head turned to one side to look over her shoulder at the braid-bearded, auburn-haired man.
The braid-bearded, auburn-haired man's jaw sets, the movents of his hand stiff as his thumb flips the catch, opening the collar.
(hemote) The fingers of one of the ethereal, fair-haired woman's hands press into the table enough to turn her skin white at the fingertips.
The braid-bearded, auburn-haired man avoids your eyes as he raises his slave's collar. With an efficiency of movements, he brings the collar to your neck, and with the faintest of flinches, snaps it shut.
You bow your head, placing your slave's collar about your neck.
Voice fragile, even soothing, you say to the braid-bearded, auburn-haired man, in sirihish:
"... See? No matter at all."
The braid-bearded, auburn-haired man's hand lingers for a moment, palm brushing against your shoulder, before it lowers to his side.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman swallows, the soft skin of her throat rising and falling.
This collar is the type normally worn by a slave. It is made of heavy bone, to serve as a constant reminder to the slave of the weight of their responsibility to the master. It has a sturdy clasp on the rear of the collar, reminding the slave that they are in service until released.
His own voice somewhat hoarse, the braid-bearded, auburn-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"No matter at all."
Shifting her weight to no longer lean against the table, you say to the braid-bearded, auburn-haired man, in sirihish:
"... I thought you were the one who said we were all slaves."
The ethereal, fair-haired woman turns, looking up to the braid-bearded, auburn-haired man.
"It's heavy. You've carried this for too long."
His voice brusk as he turns, still avoiding you gaze, the braid-bearded, auburn-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"All all have weights that we must bare. I hope that your sleep is restful."
In her soft, crystal-like voice as she remains motionless, you say to the braid-bearded, auburn-haired man, in sirihish:
"... Let it go, Lao. And... enjoy a peaceful rest."
You notice: The braid-bearded, auburn-haired man stiffens at the gentleness of your tone.
(hemote) The ethereal, fair-haired woman's jaw is tensed, the rigidity extending down her neck and into her shoulders.
The braid-bearded, auburn-haired man starts to lift a hand, perhaps to your shoulder. But then, without a word, he finishes his turn, and crosses the room to the door, his abnormally jerky movements filled with tension.
The braid-bearded, auburn-haired man walks east.
You think:
"... Some mountains are harder to understand than others."
The ethereal, fair-haired woman glances to the door with a thoughtful tranquility.
You are Aja, of many people. (type 'tribes' to see your tribes).
Objective: To survive Allanak.
You are 20 years, 2 months, and 60 days old.
It is dusk on Ocandra, the 155th day of the Ascending Sun,
In the Year of Suk-Krath's Slumber, year 32 of the 21st Age.
Servants' Quarters [E...
Continue Reading...Memoir #2 - The Stranger in the Storm (Sand) by Rairen
Added on Mar 16, 2009A stormy evening in a long week of wind-swept skies makes friends out of the most unlikely of people.
It is dusk on Barani, the 21st day of the Low Sun,
In the Year of Suk-Krath's Slumber, year 32 of the 21st Age.
It is a warm night.
The sky is clear.
A mighty gale wind screams out of the south.
(On the streets near the Sanctuary...)
The twiggy, vividly-inked man wanders north along the road.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman walks, a hand along the wall for support as the winds push her forward.
The twiggy, vividly-inked man chuckles and shakes his head.
The twiggy, vividly-inked man exclaims to you, in sirihish:
"Ya'll make it lass, just keep goin'!"
The ethereal, fair-haired woman looks up to the twiggy, vividly-inked man, clearly having trouble standing as she smiles.
Sighing briefly, the twiggy, vividly-inked man asks you, in sirihish:
"Ya need a hand?"
Voice lifting to be heard above the winds, you say to the twiggy, vividly-inked man, in sirihish:
"Oh, laugh it up, my friend..."
The twiggy, vividly-inked man walks across the road towards you, offering a hand as the wind blows his hair and cloak about him.
Resting her back against wall as she smiles to him, you say to the twiggy, vividly-inked man, in sirihish:
"I live in the Circle... I couldn't take you so far away."
The ethereal, fair-haired woman stumbles, righting herself with a brief flicker of annoyance.
Raising his voice as he nears, the twiggy, vividly-inked man asks you, in sirihish:
"Oh, bother, I could spare an hour or two. And if I don't..ya'd never tell me another story, yeah?"
You now follow the twiggy, vividly-inked man.
The twiggy, vividly-inked man offers his arm to you for support, his other holding his cloak.
With what seems like laughter, although its too soft to hear, you say to the twiggy, vividly-inked man, in sirihish:
"Perhaps..."
The ethereal, fair-haired woman takes the twiggy, vividly-inked man's arm, wrapping both hands around it.
You contact the twiggy, vividly-inked man with the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the twiggy, vividly-inked man:
"I'll owe you a great debt for this."
Though not really a whisper as he raises his voice, the twiggy, vividly-inked man whispers to you, in sirihish:
"Come now, think nothin' of it."
The twiggy, vividly-inked man pats your hand with a smile befoe walking eastward.
(The walk back to the Circle...)
The twiggy, vividly-inked man pushes along though the wind threatens to push him into one of the northern walls.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman's hair is flung about her face as she clings to the twiggy, vividly-inked man's arm like a lost reed.
The twiggy, vividly-inked man sends you a telepathic message:
"As I said, think nothing of it. You gave me good company, so this is me paying -my- debt in return."
You send a telepathic message to the twiggy, vividly-inked man:
"I think... my conversation comes easier than this walk. You do a good service to a bardess, my friend."
The twiggy, vividly-inked man sends you a telepathic message:
"Then remember me, and way my sorry sweat stained ass when you next perform so that I may watch."
You send a telepathic message to the twiggy, vividly-inked man:
"You have my word."
The twiggy, vividly-inked man peers to the east but instead turns northward with the wind whipping heavily against his back.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman drags her heels to keep from being flung forward by the winds.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman's arms tighten around the twiggy, vividly-inked man's own.
You notice: The twiggy, vividly-inked man pulls his arm close, and thereby pulls you towards him.
The twiggy, vividly-inked man sends you a telepathic message:
"Keep close, or the winds will carry you off, like some loreshi reed, lass."
The twiggy, vividly-inked man squints as some sand and debris are blown down the road then proceeds to the east.
You send a telepathic message to the twiggy, vividly-inked man:
"... I'm lucky I can bear burdens with grace, or this would be mortifying, I think - although better than when I'm dropped to my knees from a sudden gust."
You notice: The twiggy, vividly-inked man tightens his lanky arm against the wind as he walks along.
The twiggy, vividly-inked man sends you a telepathic message:
"To your knees, lass? Now that's... hmm, nevermind that."
The twiggy, vividly-inked man chuckles to himself, though the sound is lost in the wind.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman walks with her head lowered, face half-turned to use the twiggy, vividly-inked man's shoulder as a shield.
The twiggy, vividly-inked man peers about as his shocks of hair are blown awry by the heavy winds.
The twiggy, vividly-inked man looks to the east then to the north and nods to himself brusquely.
(hemote) A brief, flickering, relieved smile crosses the ethereal, fair-haired woman's lips.
Looking around quietly, the twiggy, vividly-inked man asks you, in sirihish:
"Almost...there...ya holdin' up?"
Voice blurring with the winds, you say to the twiggy, vividly-inked man, in sirihish:
"Onl... ... cause of you."
The twiggy, vividly-inked man chuckles to himself then turns to the east.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman shakes her head a few times.
Stepping out of the gusting winds, the twiggy, vividly-inked man walks south.
You follow the twiggy, vividly-inked man, and walk south.
A Gated Entry [NS]
This small entrance is dominated by a large wooden gate. The gate was devised of long turned cylindrical posts. Painted white, there are no clues as to which type of wood was used, but each post is thick and strong. A bone panel is home to an oddly shaped keyhole. A small bush stands on either side of the gate, bracketing it.
The twiggy, vividly-inked man relaxes visibly and shakes his clothing lightly with his hands.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman lets out a soft breath as she loosens her grip on the twiggy, vividly-inked man's arm.
His hair all sorts of wild as he casts a bright smile, the twiggy, vividly-inked man says to you, in sirihish:
"There! We survived! A tale to tell of things to be told...as tales...and...told, yeah."
Softly, you say to the twiggy, vividly-inked man, in sirihish:
"This isn't my House, but... it does well enough."
The twiggy, vividly-inked man asks, in sirihish:
"Wait...not?"
The ethereal, fair-haired woman runs a hand through her hair, pulling the tangled strands away from her face.
The twiggy, vividly-inked man says, in sirihish:
"Oooooh, oh oh yes."
The twiggy, vividly-inked man bites his lower lip then looks to the north.
The twiggy, vividly-inked man asks, in sirihish:
"Onward then?"
With amused confusion, you say to the twiggy, vividly-inked man, in sirihish:
"No, I rent an apartment in the Driamusek House... and you have remarkable patience."
With a grand gesture, you say to the twiggy, vividly-inked man, in sirihish:
"... If we must."
Looking back at you as he raises his eyebrows, the twiggy, vividly-inked man says to you, in sirihish:
"Patience? This? I walked to Luir's, half-ran, and back a few days later. This? This is nothin'."
The twiggy, vividly-inked man waves his hand at the door as though at a buzzing kankfly and chuckles.
With soft amusement to herself, you say, in sirihish:
"Well, I'm glad I rate better than a trip to Luir's."
The twiggy, vividly-inked man winks at you then cocks his head to the north.
The twiggy, vividly-inked man says, in sirihish:
"Let's be off, lass."
The ethereal, fair-haired woman restrings her arms around the twiggy, vividly-inked man's own.
The twiggy, vividly-inked man pulls you close as he gazes about the circle.
The twiggy, vividly-inked man glances at his hooded, dusky-green cotton cloak in passing then continues on his way.
The twiggy, vividly-inked man looks about then nods to himself before turning west.
Pulling herself up on his arm to speak near his ear, you whisper to the twiggy, vividly-inked man in sirihish:
"South side... near the Ghaati."
Raising his hand to point a finger with due diligence and regality, the twiggy, vividly-inked man shouts, in sirihish:
"TO THE GHATTI!"
The ethereal, fair-haired woman flinches, lowering her face again at a sharp wind, even as she laughs.
The twiggy, vividly-inked man nods firmly then continues on through the circle.
The twiggy, vividly-inked man pushes through the garden as the grass blows through the trees.
The twiggy, vividly-inked man squints his eyes, though lessening that as the wind dies a bit.
Close to the twiggy, vividly-inked man's side, the ethereal, fair-haired woman does her best to avoid scattered debris tossed by the winds.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman smiles, with evident relief.
The twiggy, vividly-inked man moves towards a purple brick building, giving a sharp, loud noise of finding.
The Courtyard of Driamusek Circle [Leave]
Lavender and amethyst marble pavestones form the flooring of this small but crowded courtyard, lined with small, silver-barked saplings, their leaves adrift with pale white blossoms. Servants rush to and fro on errands while a few bards sit on the steps leading up to the entrance, competing with their instruments. Unlike most of the other buildings of Poets' Circle, this building is made solely of claybrick, making its architecture short and squat, although sturdier than most. Above the wide front door, glazed onto a white ceramic plate, is the symbol of Driamusek Circle: a purple cross.
The austere, stiff-necked man is here, disdainfully watching his surroundings.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman lets out a deep breath - and then inclines her head to the austere, stiff-necked man with a respectful motion.
Stepping into the courtyard, the wind a bit shielded, the twiggy, vividly-inked man says, in sirihish:
"There..here..and yes."
You whisper to the twiggy, vividly-inked man in sirihish:
"Master Olide..."
Tipping his head politely , the twiggy, vividly-inked man says to the austere, stiff-necked man, in sirihish:
"Master Olide, let me thank ya for allowin' such a lass as this to give me such wonderful company"
You notice: The twiggy, vividly-inked man winks faintly at you as he grins.
Not releasing her firm grip on his arm as she pulls him -away- from the austere, stiff-necked man, you say to the twiggy, vividly-inked man, in sirihish:
"Ah... thank you, my friend. I do owe you greatly."
Hair scattered about her face, you ask the twiggy, vividly-inked man, in sirihish:
"Will you be well to get to work, or did you need to rest a moment?"
Turning into you and shaking his head, the twiggy, vividly-inked man whispers to you, in sirihish:
"Nah, not at all, ya paid any debt with yer wit, lass."
Looking back to the outside and blowing air out of his cheeks, the twiggy, vividly-inked man asks you, in sirihish:
"I think I should work...or starve and die without water, lass. But perhaps another time, yeah?"
With soft amusement, you say to the twiggy, vividly-inked man, in sirihish:
"Not at all. Driamusek are born witless. We've no talent for humor."
The twiggy, vividly-inked man chuckles as he looks back at you.
With a deep nod, you say to the twiggy, vividly-inked man, in sirihish:
"It would be a pleasure. Please be safe."
Nodding in return, the twiggy, vividly-inked man says to you, in sirihish:
"Take care, and until next time, lass, be safe in His Light."
The ethereal, fair-haired woman smiles, brushing a few of the tangled strands of hair away from her face as she nods to the twiggy, vividly-inked man.
You say to the twiggy, vividly-inked man, in sirihish:
"His Light guard you, friend."
The twiggy, vividly-inked man nods, pulling his arm back and smiling as he backs away to the entrance.
The twiggy, vividly-inked man winks at you then turns to walk out, pulling his cloak about his body tightly.
The twiggy, vividly-inked man leaves a purple brick building.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman turns, straightening your laced lavender silk blouse as she slips inside the House.
You think:
"What a day..."
It is dusk on Barani, the 21st day of the Low Sun,
In the Year of Suk-Krath's Slumber, year 32 of the 21st Age.
It is a warm night.
The sky is clear.
A mighty gale wind screams out of the south.
(On the streets near the Sanctuary...)
The twiggy, vividly-inked man wanders north...
Continue Reading...Memoir #1 - The Elven Seeker (Tuha) by Rairen
Added on Mar 16, 2009A chance encounter on the streets of Tuluk leads a Circle Apprentice to challenge an uncomfortable question: What do you do when an elf outranks you?
It is dusk on Huegel, the 74th day of the Descending Sun,
In the Year of Suk-Krath's Slumber, year 32 of the 21st Age.
You are Aja, Apprentice of the Bards of Poets' Circle.
Objective: To become the Heart and Soul of Tuluk
You are 19 years, 2 months, and 210 days old.
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.
The slender, fine-featured elf has arrived from the north.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman stops just before crashing into the slender, fine-featured elf.
You look up at the slender, fine-featured elf.
Standing a little over five cords in height, this male elf's presence is by no means imposing. Fine features adorn his prominently elvish facade, framed by a sleek mane of sand-hued hair. His build complements his lissome effigy, his form seemingly composed of little more than sparsely fleshed-out bone. His curious eyes are ever so slightly mismatched. One remains an amber hue, whilst the other bears a subtle hint of green. Tattoos common to Gol Krathu are apparent upon this elf's copper-toned skin, almost lost in the myriad of colorful inks that mark his flesh.
Voice soft, you say, in sirihish:
"Oh... pardon."
The slender, fine-featured elf steps out from the tavern, pausing as he passes you.
To you with an easy smile, the slender, fine-featured elf asks, in sirihish:
"Everything alright there, Aja?"
A few drops of sweat glistening at her collarbone, you say to the slender, fine-featured elf, in sirihish:
"Of course, Seeker. Thank you for asking."
The ethereal, fair-haired woman looks up at the slender, fine-featured elf with a patient expression, a flush at her neck and cheeks.
Steping to one side to circle you closely, the slender, fine-featured elf says, in sirihish:
"You seem a little, worried..."
Looking up to him without moving, you say to the slender, fine-featured elf, in sirihish:
"If I do, I apologize for it."
The slender, fine-featured elf appears at your left shoulder.
Posture straightening, you ask the slender, fine-featured elf, in sirihish:
"A prank, Seeker?"
(hemote) The ethereal, fair-haired woman's jaw tenses.
To you, taking a step back, the slender, fine-featured elf says, in sirihish:
"Oh no, I wouldn't be -that- obvious, Aja. Plus there are far more interesting targets that yourself. You'd probably apologise afterwards..."
The ethereal, fair-haired woman looks up at the slender, fine-featured elf, over her shoulder now, with a quiet smile.
You say to the slender, fine-featured elf, in sirihish:
"If you say so, Seeker. I would hate to ruin your jokes."
The slender, fine-featured elf pipes a brief chuckle.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman turns, resting her back against the wall of the Sanctuary.
Her expression patient, once again, you ask the slender, fine-featured elf, in sirihish:
"... Did I distract you from your business?"
The slender, fine-featured elf looks down at you.
(hemote) A subtle tension rests in the ethereal, fair-haired woman's neck.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman folds her hands in front of herself.
(hemote) A few strands of hair, sticky with sweat, cling to the ethereal, fair-haired woman's neck.
Smirking, the slender, fine-featured elf says, in sirihish:
"My business varies, I doubt you could distract me for long if I had something important to do."
Inclining her head in agreement, you say to the slender, fine-featured elf, in sirihish:
"Of course, Seeker."
A grin creeping between his lips, baring his narrow teeth, the slender, fine-featured elf says, in sirihish:
"You agree with most things I say, it seems."
Returning the slender, fine-featured elf's grin with a faint smile, you ask the slender, fine-featured elf, in sirihish:
"Should I disagree with them?"
The ethereal, fair-haired woman inclines her head to one side, pale eyes still watching the slender, fine-featured elf.
His mismatched eyes lighting up for a second, the slender, fine-featured elf asks, in sirihish:
"Perhaps, but then you would have to apologise for all our disagreements, hmm?"
With a correct nod, you say to the slender, fine-featured elf, in sirihish:
"Yes, of course. It would be a source of conversation."
(hemote) The crisp aroma of mint still clings to the ethereal, fair-haired woman.
You think:
"I will survive this and be stronger for it."
After a short pause, tilting his head a touch, the slender, fine-featured elf asks, in sirihish:
"No... it wouldn't be a good source of conversation...?"
Blinking, you say to the slender, fine-featured elf, in sirihish:
"I said it would be a source of conversation. Not that it would be a good one."
To you, pouting his lips curiously, the slender, fine-featured elf asks, in sirihish:
"A terrible one?"
Pale gaze dropping to the slender, fine-featured elf's lips, you say to the slender, fine-featured elf, in sirihish:
"I don't know. I could find a conversation with you terrible."
You say to the slender, fine-featured elf, in sirihish:
"Could... not find, I mean."
The ethereal, fair-haired woman frowns.
To you, snapping his fingers with an edgy grin, the slender, fine-featured elf asks, in sirihish:
"Aha! You have said something I might deem as offensive, hmm? You'd better apologise, or should you?"
Forehead creasing, you say to the slender, fine-featured elf, in sirihish:
"Do you need me to apologize? I thought you found it terrible."
The ethereal, fair-haired woman glances to the slender, fine-featured elf's hand and then back up to his face.
The slender, fine-featured elf tilts his head a moment, rubbing his cheek.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman tilts her head in the opposite direction.
Suddenly, with a bright smile, the slender, fine-featured elf says, in sirihish:
"A most interesting thing, you are. I am hungry."
The slender, fine-featured elf turns elegantly on his heel.
A smile crossing her lips, you say to the slender, fine-featured elf, in sirihish:
"Thank you, Seeker."
The slender, fine-featured elf walks north.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman exhales, relief in her expression.
You think:
"I wonder if that means he'll kill me."
You think:
"... I really can't do this to myself."
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.
Sitting on the bench, the ethereal, fair-haired woman crosses her legs at the ankle and stretches them in front of her.
The slender, fine-featured elf has arrived from the west.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman looks up at the sky from her seat.
Lowering her gaze, you look up at the slender, fine-featured elf.
Approaching a small white stone bench, the slender, fine-featured elf says, in sirihish:
"Well if you aren't just everywhere..."
Mirth in her eyes for just a moment, you say to the slender, fine-featured elf, in sirihish:
"No, I'm only here. I give my word."
The slender, fine-featured elf narrows his eyes with a thin smile.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman casts the slender, fine-featured elf a lovely smile, her expression attentive.
Glancing left, then right with a grin, the slender, fine-featured elf says, in sirihish:
"That'd be the right answer, my dear. Any other and we had a witch's execution..."
With a sage nod, you say to the slender, fine-featured elf, in sirihish:
"Yes, I know."
Crossing her legs as she clasps her hands over one knee, you ask the slender, fine-featured elf, in sirihish:
"... Is all well, Seeker?"
The slender, fine-featured elf casts a puzzled expression, jutting a long, thin arm out to one side.
(hemote) The wind causes strands of the ethereal, fair-haired woman's hair to brush against her face and shoulders.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman looks down the length of the slender, fine-featured elf's arm.
With a flick the slender, fine-featured elf turns his hand, producing his red bone flute.
You notice: The slender, fine-featured elf bites his lip.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman looks back to the slender, fine-featured elf with the appropriate degree of admiration.
To you, giving his red bone flute a short twirl, the slender, fine-featured elf says, in sirihish:
"Yet this is not a foul practice... but an artful one. My, sometimes I confuse even myself..."
The slender, fine-featured elf smirks.
With a polite smile, you ask the slender, fine-featured elf, in sirihish:
"Should I be confused as well?"
You think:
"... Oh, he should be very careful."
The slender, fine-featured elf sits on a small white stone bench.
You think:
"And so should I, thinking of it."
At your seat, you say in sirihish, turning her head to look at the slender, fine-featured elf:
"Do you wish me to go, Seeker?"
At your seat, the slender, fine-featured elf says in sirihish, grinning as he quirks a thin, sandy eyebrow:
"Would you if I asked?"
At your seat, you say in sirihish, also lifting a slender eyebrow:
"Yes, of course - unless you wish me to ignore you, of course."
At your seat, the slender, fine-featured elf says in sirihish, to you, his eyes blazing a moment:
"Wrong, see. The correct reply would be "Naff off, neck!"."
At your seat, you say in sirihish, with a slight nod as she looks back to the slender, fine-featured elf:
"I'll try to remember that."
To you, scooching back on the bench, the slender, fine-featured elf says, in sirihish:
"Don't bother, eh? You'll save yourself an apology."
At your seat, you say in sirihish, with a shrug of her slender shoulders:
"As you wish, of course, Seeker."
(hemote) The ethereal, fair-haired woman's cloak brushes against the slender, fine-featured elf's back.
At your seat, the slender, fine-featured elf says in sirihish, musing:
""As you wish.".... Sands, if all the apprentices said that I'd have Krath on a stick."
At your seat, you say in sirihish, with flickering mirth:
"An interesting wish."
You think:
"I will not die."
You think:
"I will not fail."
You think:
"I will not lose."
At your seat, the slender, fine-featured elf says in sirihish, to you, lowering his gaze:
"So, what were you planning to do all alone on this bench, hmm?"
(The pesky thing evidently having no plans of leaving her be, Aja continues speaking with him. Noticing discomfort for the first time in his cool demeanor, she takes a different tact, using the Way.)
You notice: The slender, fine-featured elf swallows briefly.
You contact the slender, fine-featured elf with the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the slender, fine-featured elf:
"... Have I done something wrong, Tuha?"
The slender, fine-featured elf narrows his eyes curiously at you.
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
The slender, fine-featured elf sends you a telepathic message:
"What are you doing in my head?"
The ethereal, fair-haired woman continues to look at the slender, fine-featured elf, a slight crease to her forehead.
You send a telepathic message to the slender, fine-featured elf:
"Displeasing you, it seems."
The slender, fine-featured elf sends you a telepathic message:
"*with a hint of mirth* Better apologise, hmm? That'd be Seeker, and all."
You send a telepathic message to the slender, fine-featured elf:
"*sharing your amusement* If you wish. Do you?"
The slender, fine-featured elf sends you a telepathic message:
"No. Perhaps... It doesn't matter."
You send a telepathic message to the slender, fine-featured elf:
"... Why doesn't it matter?"
The slender, fine-featured elf glances off for a second, appearing distracted.
You notice: The slender, fine-featured elf peeps back at you a moment.
You notice the slender, fine-featured elf start watching you.
(hemote) With the slender, fine-featured elf's gaze turned, the ethereal, fair-haired woman's lets out a long, soft breath.
(hemote) The crisp aroma of mint surrounds the ethereal, fair-haired woman.
(hemote) A few strands of hair cling to the ethereal, fair-haired woman's neck and the side of her face.
The slender, fine-featured elf sends you a telepathic message:
"Beacause it's in my head, Master What-his-face Driamusek can't hear you..."
You send a telepathic message to the slender, fine-featured elf:
"Do you believe Master Olide would approve of my behavior?"
You notice: The slender, fine-featured elf's nostrils flare briefly.
(hemote) A subtle tension rests in the ethereal, fair-haired woman's neck.
The slender, fine-featured elf's eyes fall half-closed with a faint smile.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman continues to regard the slender, fine-featured elf with a patient expression, her hands folded on her lap.
The slender, fine-featured elf sends you a telepathic message:
"He'd hate it. Chattering away with a Rusarla elf. It'd drive them all mad."
You send a telepathic message to the slender, fine-featured elf:
"It is possible. Why are you doing it?"
The slender, fine-featured elf sends you a telepathic message:
"Doing what?"
You send a telepathic message to the slender, fine-featured elf:
"Chattering away at a Driamusek bardess, Seeker."
The slender, fine-featured elf sways his head elegntly from one side to the other.
The slender, fine-featured elf sends you a telepathic message:
"Because I wish to."
(hemote) A brief, slender smile toys at the corner of the ethereal, fair-haired woman's mouth.
You notice: The slender, fine-featured elf lips twitch.
You send a telepathic message to the slender, fine-featured elf:
"Very well."
You send a telepathic message to the slender, fine-featured elf:
"Do I cause you discomfort, Tuha?"
The slender, fine-featured elf sends you a telepathic message:
"Being chased by seven gortoks caused me discomfort once. You are far from it."
You send a telepathic message to the slender, fine-featured elf:
"*mirth crossing her thoughts* Far from seven?"
You send a telepathic message to the slender, fine-featured elf:
"... Six?"
The slender, fine-featured elf sends you a telepathic message:
"Perhaps one, though it'd have to be a rather dazzling gortok."
The ethereal, fair-haired woman inclines her head to the slender, fine-featured elf in a polite, respectful gesture.
You send a telepathic message to the slender, fine-featured elf:
"Thank you, Seeker."
You send a telepathic message to the slender, fine-featured elf:
"We've talked for hours and said almost nothing. A remarkable accomplishment, even for two bards."
The slender, fine-featured elf sends you a telepathic message:
"I'm the best at talking in circles by far, my dear Aja."
You send a telepathic message to the slender, fine-featured elf:
"So I'm discovering. Why?"
The slender, fine-featured elf sends you a telepathic message:
"*with a soft mental giggle* Because that's how I work, Aja. Circles avoid a direction."
(hemote) A few drops of sweat glisten at the ethereal, fair-haired woman's collarbone.
You send a telepathic message to the slender, fine-featured elf:
"Don't you get dizzy?"
The slender, fine-featured elf gaze lingers on your neck.
The slender, fine-featured elf sends you a telepathic message:
"Sometimes."
Brow creasing, the ethereal, fair-haired woman breaks her attentive regard of the slender, fine-featured elf to glance down at your laced lavender silk blouse.
You send a telepathic message to the slender, fine-featured elf:
"Circles never end, do they, no matter what might cross their path."
The ethereal, fair-haired woman adjusts the clasp of your airy, white cotton cloak as she returns to regarding the slender, fine-featured elf attentively.
The slender, fine-featured elf sends you a telepathic message:
"Oh, circles can be broken, that I'm sure of. I'm just not to clued up on how."
You send a telepathic message to the slender, fine-featured elf:
"Nor I, Seeker."
You send a telepathic message to the slender, fine-featured elf:
"Nor have I particular desire to learn."
The slender, fine-featured elf sends you a telepathic message:
"True. But you have desire to break circles, perhaps. Though perhaps I just have the desire to continue along them..."
You send a telepathic message to the slender, fine-featured elf:
"No, Seeker. I have no interest breaking circles. It is not in my nature."
Gaze growing more intent, you look up at the slender, fine-featured elf.
You notice: The slender, fine-featured elf breathing grows a touch deeper.
You think:
"Yes... you hear me..."
The slender, fine-featured elf returns your gaze for a brief moment.
The slender, fine-featured elf sends you a telepathic message:
"It was never my nature..."
Before moving on, the coffee-tressed young woman looks down at the slender, fine-featured elf.
The slender, fine-featured elf glances up with a wary eye.
You send a telepathic message to the slender, fine-featured elf:
"You understand. I could try to discover what breaks a circle, what causes it fear, what brings it joy... but I will not. It has no purpose for me."
(hemote) The ethereal, fair-haired woman swallows, the hollow of her throat deepening with the motion.
The slender, fine-featured elf sends you a telepathic message:
"And I. Though I do not worry about purpose. Little we do has purpose. We do things because we have to, not because we want to."
The slender, fine-featured elf feigns adjusting his elegant white velvet hat, his eyes flicking to you every so often.
(What do you do when an elf outranks you? You show composure, enough sardonic humility to entice, and establish a rule that poses no threat to the pointy-eared bastard.
Perhaps the more interesting question, however, is how did the conversation end…)
The ethereal, fair-haired woman returns the tall, aquiline-faced elf's gaze before looking over to the slender, fine-featured elf.
The slender, fine-featured elf sends you a telepathic message:
"He says he'll trade these mushrooms for you."
The tall, aquiline-faced elf eyes you a moment.
You send a telepathic message to the slender, fine-featured elf:
"Why, I wonder where he would get the idea that you would have the right to make such a trade."
The slender, fine-featured elf sends you a telepathic message:
"Sand hoppers think I'm some kind of king elf, I suppose. It's the hat."
You think:
“Damn all elves.”
(… But that’s an entirely other story.)
It is dusk on Huegel, the 74th day of the Descending Sun,
In the Year of Suk-Krath's Slumber, year 32 of the 21st Age.
You are Aja, Apprentice of the Bards of Poets' Circle.
Objective: To become the Heart and Soul of Tuluk
You are 19 years, 2 months, and 210 days old.
North Road...
Continue Reading...A Militia Training Session: Shields by Taven
Added on Mar 16, 2009A lesson from one Private Jenneth breaks up the monotony of sparring in the life of the Arm of the Dragon. Here, he shows recruits how to more effectively use a shield.
In the Arm of the Dragon, sparring usually starts at dawn and ends at highsun.
This is an extended sparring session, where recruits Sett and Lucien learn
shield use, as taught by one Private Jenneth. Private Nadim looks on.--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Glancing over, the tousled, bronzed young man asks you, in sirihish:
"So, what's your opinon on what Lucien and Sett need to work on, Jen?"The tousled, bronzed young man puts his short bone sparring sword into a large obsidian bin.
The tousled, bronzed young man puts his used large round shield into a large obsidian bin.The wild-haired, lanky man looks over to you.
You say to the tousled, bronzed young man, in sirihish:
"Well, I'd say Lucien did a good job lookin' out f' 'is comrade, tried ta rescue 'im when 'e was down. Sett kept at it, nice n' determined. He could use some pratice on th' shield work, n' Lucien'd probably benifit a demistration too, I'd..."
You say to the tousled, bronzed young man, in sirihish:
"say tha's where we should head f' today."
Grinning, the tousled, bronzed young man says to you, in sirihish:
"My thoughts exactly. Was explaining that to a Tor cadet earlier, too."
The tousled, bronzed young man asks you, in sirihish:
"You wanna go through it with them?"
The athletic, dusky man nods slowly to you.
You say to the tousled, bronzed young man, in sirihish:
"Ayep, would love ta."
Easing down, the tousled, bronzed young man sits on a worn stone bench.
Pushing up, you stand up from a worn stone bench.
A Small Training Yard [S Save]
This dusty square yard is enclosed by sturdy-looking stone walls topped
with shards of broken glass. The walls appear to be either fairly new or
relatively well maintained, though they bear a number of rough scuff marks
and scratches. The ground is hard-packed and fairly flat, allowing the dust
to tell its tale of combats fought here. To the north, a wooden weapons
rack is set along the wall, and to the south, a small wooden gate opens up
into a courtyard.
A shadow falls over the area, driving off the uncomfortable heat.
A large obsidian bin looms here.
The tousled, bronzed young man is sitting on a worn stone bench, looking a bit winded.
The athletic, dusky man is reclining here, bleeding lightly.
The wild-haired, lanky man is reclining here, bleeding lightly.
The tousled, bronzed young man says, in sirihish:
"Floor's yours."
The wild-haired, lanky man rises from the ground, and clambers to his feet.
You say to the wild-haired, lanky man, in sirihish:
"Alright, step up n' show me how ya stand ta use your sheild n' shet if I was ta attack ya."
The wild-haired, lanky man nods, stepping into the circle, close to you.
You say to the wild-haired, lanky man, in sirihish:
"Wait, hang on a mite."The wild-haired, lanky man raises up his shield, bringing it up to deflect an illusional blow.
The slender, hack-haired man jogs to a large obsidian bin.
The wild-haired, lanky man pauses mid-action.You get your short bone sparring sword from a large obsidian bin.
The slender, hack-haired man jogs back to the sparring circle, giving the wild-haired, lanky man a nod to continue.
You brandish your short bone sparring sword.
The wild-haired, lanky man nods, going back through the motion of the block, using his shield to deflect the blow, bending his knees slightly.The athletic, dusky man watches the wild-haired, lanky man intently, scratching his cheek.
The late, red sun descends toward the western horizon.
You say to the wild-haired, lanky man, in sirihish:
"Alright, let's see how'd ya do wi' an actual blow. I'm gonna go slow-motion wi' m' sword, n' you move ta block. I'll be lookin' ta see how it strikes th' shield n' shet, your stance, and such."
The wild-haired, lanky man nods.
The slender, hack-haired man moves slowly with your short bone sparring sword in a slash at the wild-haired, lanky man.
The wild-haired, lanky man slowly brings up his shield, bending his knees to lessen the impeact, and hitting the sparring sword with his new daraq shield to knock it away.
With a smile, you say to the wild-haired, lanky man, in sirihish:
"Not half bad."
The wild-haired, lanky man shrugs, a smile creeping across his face.
To the group at large, you ask, in sirihish:
"So, can any o' you tell me what Sett --you can answer too, Sett-- wha was good, n wha needs work?"
The wild-haired, lanky man shrugs agin.
Pointing at the wild-haired, lanky man's legs with his short bone sparring spear, the athletic, dusky man says, in sirihish:
"It's good that he bent his knees. Keeps him from falling over if he was hit really hard."
With a nod, you ask the athletic, dusky man, in sirihish:
"Aye, quite right. Anythin' else?"
Shruging, the wild-haired, lanky man says, in sirihish:
"Guess that since I met the blow with the shield I could controll it more, instead of just getting hit."
The athletic, dusky man says, in sirihish:
"Also, how he hit your sword with his shield, instead'a letting you hit his shield with your sword. Leaves an opening for Sett to counter-attack."
The wild-haired, lanky man nods to the athletic, dusky man.
You say, in sirihish:
"Aye, tha's wha ya want ta aim f'. One thing ya've got ta watch out f' though is where the blade hits-- Sett, you're catchin' it in th' center more. In a battle, tha'd put extra pressure in, in can even get ya knocked o'er easier. Ta prevent..."
You ask, in sirihish:
"...tha, ya tryin' catch it on th' side, n' angle it slight, so it'd slip off, eh?"
Noding, the wild-haired, lanky man says to you, in sirihish:
"Yeah, that makes sense."
The athletic, dusky man nods slowly, watching you intently.
Positioning your new round black shield, you say, in sirihish:
"Th' other thing, is you're holdin' th' shield a bit close li' this when yer in combat."
The wild-haired, lanky man nods at you.
The slender, hack-haired man holds your new round black shield further away from you, at mid-height.
Shaking his head and rising to his feet, the tousled, bronzed young man says, in sirihish:
"Alright."
The tousled, bronzed young man stands up from a worn stone bench.
You say, in sirihish:
"If ya hold it a bit further away, it'll make it so ya can move it ta deflect easier."
The tousled, bronzed young man says, in sirihish:
"Lieutenant's up, Jen. Either we finish quick or finish it tommorow morning, else you know he'll have us whipped for going into their leave."
It is dusk on Terrin, the 200th day of the Ascending Sun,
In the Year of Dragon's Slumber, year 39 of the 21st Age.
You say to the tousled, bronzed young man, in sirihish:
"We'll finish quick now, I've Wall Duty."
The tousled, bronzed young man says to the athletic, dusky man, in sirihish:
"I'll run ya through it tommorow morning, if we got a chance."
You say to the wild-haired, lanky man, in sirihish:
"Thing ya've probably got th' idea. Just hold y' shield once li' I said, then I'd do another slow-blow, n' ya can go f' leave."
The athletic, dusky man folds his arms across his chest, watching the wild-haired, lanky man.
The slender, hack-haired man slowly slashes out at the wild-haired, lanky man with your short bone sparring sword.
The wild-haired, lanky man brings his shield up as he bends his knees. He lifts the shield to the sword, aiming it at the side of the shield, as to deflect it away.
Smiling, you say to the wild-haired, lanky man, in sirihish:
"Aye, very good. Now you'll just have ta be able ta do it fast, but tha'll come wi' time n' pratice."
You instruct the wild-haired, lanky man in the skill of 'shield use'.
The wild-haired, lanky man says to you, in sirihish:
"Thanks for the assistance, Jenneth."
You ask the athletic, dusky man, in sirihish:
"Would ya li' ta try too?"
Shrugging, the athletic, dusky man says to you, in sirihish:
"Yeah, sure, if you got time."
With another smile, you say to the wild-haired, lanky man, in sirihish:
"Aye, no trouble."
The athletic, dusky man strides into the sparring circle quickly, in front of you.
Waving and headin off, the wild-haired, lanky man says, in sirihish:
"See you two. I'm headin' to the Gaj."
The wild-haired, lanky man runs south.
The slender, hack-haired man waits for the athletic, dusky man to take a stance.
The athletic, dusky man crouches low, holding his daraq shield out a few inches away from his body.
The athletic, dusky man rises slightly, angling his daraq shield back towards him just a bit.
The slender, hack-haired man slahses out slowly with your short bone sparring sword.
The athletic, dusky man moves his large round shield forward, striking out at your sword with the side of his large round shield.
Smiling, you say to the athletic, dusky man, in sirihish:
"You'll want ta make sure you're bendin' your knees a bit more on th' impact, but otherwise all good, I'd say."
You instruct the athletic, dusky man in the skill of 'shield use'.
Nodding quickly, the athletic, dusky man says to you, in sirihish:
"Yeah, I'll put more work inta it."
The athletic, dusky man says to you, in sirihish:
"Thanks for staying to practice."
You say to the athletic, dusky man, in sirihish:
"Aye, no problem. 'Cuse me though, Wall Warden's a-waitin'."
Nodding while showing a slight wave, the athletic, dusky man says to you, in sirihish:
"Yeah, you go ahead. Wouldn't want to see you punished for being too late."
In the Arm of the Dragon, sparring usually starts at dawn and ends at highsun.
This is an extended sparring session, where recruits Sett and Lucien learn
shield use, as taught by one Private Jenneth. Private Nadim looks...
Continue Reading...This is What Happens to Looters by Taven
Added on Mar 16, 2009The Gith War is over, but the corpses of the dead still litter the streets in large piles. Looting corpses, any corpse, is a crime for which the sentance is death.
Told by the perspective of one Private Jenneth. The Lord Templar Samos Rennik
deals with a looter. Corporal Laila and Private Farran are also present, as
well as a few bystandards.---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A Small, Dusty Plaza [NESW]
Crowds choke this plaza, stirring up thick dust and fine, silty sand
into the air, already thick with the odors of the lives conducted here. The
ground underfoot is simple, hardpacked dirt, worn smooth with footsteps, but
with an occasional jagged crack or pile of offal that keeps the traveller's
step wary. Slightly taller buildings surround this plaza, many of them
featuring balconies fluttering with the laundry which has been hung out to
air in the fierce sun.
A pile of black sandcloth lies here in a heap.
An unlit bone-handled torch is lying here.
Some worn out pairs of braxat-hide pants are here.
Some used large round shields are here.
An used bloodied large round shield lies here.
A couple of worn out braxat-hide jackets are here.
A few worn out bloodied braxat-hide jackets are here.
Some used sets of cuirbouilli sleeves are here.
A few obsidian-tipped spears are here.
Some crude, twisted bone shortbows are here.
An unadorned black belt lies here.
An empty brownish-grey bottle, its side labelled with the Oash sigil, sits here.
Some leather knife belts are here.
The head of the tattoo-covered, dark-orange gith lies here.
An used bloodied set of cuirbouilli leg guards is lying here.
A sprawling heap of corpses lay littered along the war-torn street.
Some used bloodied bone helmets are here.
A few used bone helmets are here.
Triangular clay pipes jut unevenly from a depression here, caked with filth.
Several bone-handled obsidian longknives are here.
Some broken pipes, largely obscured by a midden heap, reveal a gaping hole.
The ebon-braided, scar-riddled man is standing here.
The petite, jet-haired young woman is standing here.
The dark, purple-inked man is standing here.
The short, fire-blackened woman is standing here.
The spartan, silt-toned man is standing here.
The massive, black-bearded man is standing here.
The scrawny, unkempt youth is standing here held by the burn-scarred, curly-haired man.
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette is standing here.
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar is standing here.
A tiny kank-fly buzzes through the air.
A lithe, obsidian-eyed woman lounges near the tavern entrance.
A clay-stained human potter sits here on a woven mat of grass.
Walking over with his narrow, etched bronze longsword held level at the scrawny, unkempt youth's gut, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says to the burn-scarred, curly-haired man, in sirihish:
"Hold 'im easy, now."
Briefly, you look down at the scrawny, unkempt youth.
The scrawny human before you seems to be rather young, with nary a patch
of facial hair on him. His hair is an unkempt mess of dark brown that
covers his ears, matching long, slitted eyes of the same hue. His cheeks
are gaunt, and his ribs can clearly be discerned. His lips are cracked and
chaffed rather badly, as likely from the lack of moisture. His limbs are
long and dangly, ending in long-fingered hands.
The scrawny, unkempt youth is in excellent condition.The scrawny, unkempt youth is using:
<worn in right ear> a loop of bleached bone
<worn around neck> a triangular black pendant
<worn on feet> a pair of polished black bootsHe is carrying:
nothing obvious
Eyeing the scrawny, unkempt youth, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette says, in sirihish:
"Was picking up militia cloaks. Worst fucking kind of looter."
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man fixes the scrawny, unkempt youth's arms firmly behind him, one of his hands gripped on each of his elbows.
The scrawny, unkempt youth grins widely, attempting to put on his best face.
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar brandishes his narrow, etched bronze longsword in both hands.This is an ornately-crafted longsword made of the metal bronze. Three
cords in length, the deadly-sharp blade of this weapon gleams brightly
whenever light reflects on it. It appears to be one solid piece of metal,
with a high-quality leather wrapped around the hilt to provide a good grip.
Just above the hilt, at the base of the blade, many tiny runes have been
etched into the metal, the sum of them forming a thick, swirling pattern.
The sword seems to weigh considerably less than it should and is
inexplicably well-balanced.
The petite, jet-haired young woman leans against a blood caked door to the west, scratching her cheek.
Arms languidly folding over his bloodied black-stained brigandine cuirass, the ebon-braided, scar-riddled man watches on unflinchingly.
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar eyes the scrawny, unkempt youth's legs for a few moments, then with a mighty swing, cleaves his narrow, etched bronze longsword in a side-swiping arc, aimed to sever one leg at the knee.
The scrawny, unkempt youth grimaces, face still attempting to maintain a brave front.
Whistling low, the massive, black-bearded man says, in sirihish:
"That'll leave a mark."
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette watches impassively as the rugged, stubble-bearded templar's sword cuts through the scrawny, unkempt youth's flesh and bone.
The muscles in the burn-scarred, curly-haired man's arms cord as he leans back slightly, suddenly supporting the scrawny, unkempt youth's weight.
The dark, purple-inked man winces a bit, watching as the blade cleaves into flesh.
One side of her mouth twisting in a half-scowl, the short, fire-blackened woman props herself against the ebon-braided, scar-riddled man's shoulder.
The slender, hack-haired man winces, then straightens.
With a thin, emotionless smile, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says to the burn-scarred, curly-haired man, in sirihish:
"Alright. Drop 'im."
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar slings a narrow, etched bronze longsword across his back.
The scrawny, unkempt youth face turns tight, features still struggling to maintain the semblance of a grin.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man releases the scrawny, unkempt youth, who immediately moves away.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man drops the scrawny, unkempt youth unceremoniously.
The scrawny, unkempt youth stumbles onto the ground in a heap, sprawled on the floor.
Raising his hands, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar exclaims, in sirihish:
"Citizens... THIS 's what happens t' looters!"
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette sheathes an obsidian-headed, jade-emblazoned mace.
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar calls out the name of the Highlord.
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar utters an incantation.
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar spews a bright orange fire from his mouth at the scrawny, unkempt youth, and his body ignites!.
The short, fire-blackened woman's eyes go three times their normal size.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man falls back a few steps quite abruptly.
The slender, hack-haired man eyes widen.
The spartan, silt-toned man says to the short, fire-blackened woman, in sirihish:
"Mind yourself.. Midge."
The dark, purple-inked man's eyes grow large, and he steps back.
The dragon-tattooed, claw-braided man has arrived from the north.
The crescent-faced half-giant has arrived from the north.
The hale, scarlet-haired woman has arrived from the north.
You look down at the scrawny, unkempt youth.
The scrawny human before you seems to be rather young, with nary a patch
of facial hair on him. His hair is an unkempt mess of dark brown that
covers his ears, matching long, slitted eyes of the same hue. His cheeks
are gaunt, and his ribs can clearly be discerned. His lips are cracked and
chaffed rather badly, as likely from the lack of moisture. His limbs are
long and dangly, ending in long-fingered hands.
The scrawny, unkempt youth is in excellent condition.
He writhes in agony as orange flames immolate his body.The scrawny, unkempt youth is using:
<worn in right ear> a loop of bleached bone
<worn around neck> a triangular black pendant
<worn on feet> a pair of polished black bootsHe is carrying:
nothing obvious
The petite, jet-haired young woman jumps, pressing further against the door.
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar closes his mouth and licks his lips, a bit of smoke trailing from his nostrils.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man hastily backs away from the legless, burning form of the scrawny, unkempt youth.
The scrawny, unkempt youth winces as his skin sears, lips attempting to fix themselves back into a smile.
Flatly, the orange flames reflecting in her eyes, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette says to the scrawny, unkempt youth, in sirihish:
"I hate that fucking smile."
Turning away from the burning form of the scrawny, unkempt youth, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar asks, in sirihish:
"Anyone ELSE want t' loot my fallen soldiers?"
Impassively, the massive, black-bearded man looks at the scrawny, unkempt youth.
The ebon-braided, scar-riddled man stands by, impassively, watching the scrawny, unkempt youth with a malicious half-sneer.
Watching closely as the flames writhe and flicker, the short, fire-blackened woman looks at the scrawny, unkempt youth.
The spartan, silt-toned man simply lays a hand on the hilt of his light bone straight-sword, looking simply toward the rugged, stubble-bearded templar, apparently doggedly paying attention to his words.
The orange flames surrounding the scrawny, unkempt youth burn him with a hiss!
The orange flames surrounding the scrawny, unkempt youth burn him with a hiss!
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette shakes her head, gaze set steadily on the scrawny, unkempt youth as he burns.
The massive, black-bearded man raises a hand before his face, shielding his eyes from the blaze.
The slender, hack-haired man turns a green hue at the smell of burning flesh.
You feel sick.The dragon-tattooed, claw-braided man winces, watching the scrawny, unkempt youth.
The hale, scarlet-haired woman cringes a bit as she watches the scrawny, unkempt youth sizzle.
Sneering, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette says to the scrawny, unkempt youth, in sirihish:
"Burn, fucker."
Sighing, the massive, black-bearded man says to the scrawny, unkempt youth, in sirihish:
"C'mon, lad. At least scream a little bit."
With a quick sudden jump back, the tall figure in a loose, off-white sandcloth robe looks down at the scrawny, unkempt youth.
The trim, jet-bearded young man lowers the hood of a loose, off-white sandcloth robe.
The orange flames surrounding the scrawny, unkempt youth burn him with a hiss!The petite, jet-haired young woman watches the flames in silence, staring at the scrawny, unkempt youth with a bored expression.
As the fires around the scrawny, unkempt youth twist higher, the short, fire-blackened woman tugs her hood up, shielding her face.
The short, fire-blackened woman raises the hood of a drab, weathered stormcloak.
The slender, hack-haired man continues to look green, putting a hand over your nose.
The scrawny, unkempt youth closes his eyes slowly, face already somewhat permanently etched into the smile as his skin turns a charred hue.
The trim, jet-bearded young man bows to the rugged, stubble-bearded templar silently as he watches the scrawny, unkempt youth burn.
Smiling weakly as tears stream down his cheeks, the scrawny, unkempt youth says, in sirihish:
"...thank you Highlord. Release me from this mortal coil."
Curtly, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette exclaims to the scrawny, unkempt youth, in sirihish:
"Highlord's got nothing for your kind! Faithless!"
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man spits with an expression of contempt in the general direction of the scrawny, unkempt youth.
The dark, purple-inked man leans against the wall, watching in silence.
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette spits at the scrawny, unkempt youth disgustedly.
Summarily, tipping his fine, wide-brimmed hat, the massive, black-bearded man says to the rugged, stubble-bearded templar, in sirihish:
"Good form, m'Lord."
The orange flames surrounding the scrawny, unkempt youth burn him with a hiss!
The ravaging fires burning the scrawny, unkempt youth suddenly die out with a wisp of smoke.
Darkly, the ebon-braided, scar-riddled man says to the short figure in a drab, weathered stormcloak, in sirihish:
"Fawkin' deserves it. Pair'a Rinthis came inna th'armorshop earlier while I was conversin' wit' Kench, tried pawnin' off Gith shit. HATE that shit. Wanted t'punch 'em in th'throat."
The slender, hack-haired man blinks at the dissipated fire.
The short figure in a drab, weathered stormcloak acknowledges the ebon-braided, scar-riddled man with a halfassed mumble of agreement.
Staring down at the blackened, charred form that used to be the scrawny, unkempt youth, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says, in sirihish:
"Huh. Most of 'em just kill 'emselves. Amazed he handled th' pain."
The scrawny, unkempt youth eyes flutter open slowly, eyes fixed on the sky.
You think:
"...There is something WRONG with him..."
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette sneers again at the scrawny, unkempt youth.The rugged, stubble-bearded templar walks over and raises his boot over the scrawny, unkempt youth's head.
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar neatly kicks the scrawny, unkempt youth's head into pieces.
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar's stomp crushes the blackened skull in half.
The swarthy, aging man pauses, eyeing the commotion a moment, his scented, jade and black handkerchief held over his nose and mouth.
The dark, purple-inked man steps awat as bits of charred flesh, skull, and brain splatter against the area he was standing moment before.
With a half-smirk, the ebon-braided, scar-riddled man looks at the body of the scrawny, unkempt youth.
Flicking a nod at the body of the scrawny, unkempt youth, the massive, black-bearded man says, in sirihish:
"T'Drov with yeh, lad."
Addressing the crowds with narrowed eyes, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says, in sirihish:
"THAT is what I'll do t' any feckers who loot any 'f th' heroes that gave their lives fer us."
The hale, scarlet-haired woman pulls the hem of her aba over her face, grimacing, eyes still stuck on the charred remains.
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette nods to the rugged, stubble-bearded templar.
Kicking the husk of the body of the scrawny, unkempt youth, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says, in sirihish:
"You 'n yer friends 're gonna scream a lot worse 'n that spiced up fuck."
Eyes following the voice, the swarthy, aging man looks at the rugged, stubble-bearded templar.
The petite, jet-haired young woman sneers at the smoking body, standing from her lean on the door to tap her boot and rid it of a clump of burned hair and brain.
Gruffly, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says, in sirihish:
"Soldiers, take care 'f this shit here."
Bowing her head, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette says to the rugged, stubble-bearded templar, in sirihish:
"Yes, my Lord."
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar stalks up the plaza, making his way through the crowd.
Told by the perspective of one Private Jenneth. The Lord Templar Samos Rennik
deals with a looter. Corporal Laila and Private Farran are also present, as
well as a few bystandards.---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A Small, Dusty Plaza [NESW]
...
Continue Reading...A Tuluki Play by Rairen
Added on Mar 16, 2009Four bards reopen the Uaptal Theater.
It is dusk on Dzeda, the 218th day of the Descending Sun,
In the Year of Ruk's Reverence, year 48 of the 21st Age.
On A Broad, Sweeping Stage [NESW]
A great deal of labor appears to have gone into making this stage appear to resemble a picturesque scene in the middle of a rolling, grass-filled plain. The backdrop has been painted with vibrant tones, the grasses a russet red and dusky green. The sky glows a subdued red above the portrait of rolling grasses, with a faint smudge or two against the sky suggesting some bird of prey or kylori, aloft in the distance. The stage planks have been covered with broad strips of red and green canvas, rocks, and potted plants native to the region. From slender, silvery ropes, seperate from the backdrop itself, vibrant depictions of Lirathu and Jihae hang from the catwalks above the stage, huge against the painted sky.
Standing to the side, the vigorous, maroon-haired man silently whispers to a couple of nearby tribal-clad men and women.
The shaggy-haired, sun-branded man walks to the center of the stage, sitting with two men in tribal armor. One hand lifts finger pointed at another man's chest, his mouth open as if to speak.
Moving to the center of the stage, the immense, rune-inked man crosses his legs and settles down to his ankles, attention focused on the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man.
Stilling at one side of the stage, the ethereal, fair-haired woman watches as men and women - nine in all - follow onto the stage, all armed to the teeth, and fall motionless.
Turning to the audience, voice crisp in the clear air of the theater, you say, in sirihish:
"Many ages ago, the north called itself the home of twelve peoples, twelve tribes, divided in rivalry, ancient hatreds, and war."
With a sweeping gesture over the silent stage toward the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man, you say, in sirihish:
"The leader of the most powerful of these tribes, a man of the Twin Warlocks, called a gathering, a summit, the first such meeting within living memory."
Archness carrying across her firm tone, you say, in sirihish:
"His enemies came, they all came to see one another in the flesh and to talk on the fragile balance of power - and on rumors, whispered on the winds, of foreign threats."
The ethereal, fair-haired woman turns to survey the stage and, when she does so, the people on it come to life, muttering and sneering, while the sound of creaking armor fills the air.
The vigorous, maroon-haired man looks slowly from side to side, steady gaze drifting across the faces of the nearby men and women.
With a sneer turned into a proud expression, the vigorous, maroon-haired man whispers something to the bearded, six-fingered man, followed by a slow, confident shrug.
The shaggy-haired, sun-branded man's lips move harshly, his finger jabbing towards the chest of the man across from him.
In a mock-whisper to the sallow, watery-eyed young man, the vigorous, maroon-haired man says, in sirihish:
"This news from the northwest.. They say people flock to him."
Turning to the blonde-haired, lanky human, eyes narrowed, the vigorous, maroon-haired man asks, in sirihish:
"Can you believe his demands?"
The immense, rune-inked man warms his hand-and-a-half over an imaginary flame, gaze flickering in purse-lipped silence around the stage.
Breaking from his conversation, his tone one of absolute authority, the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man says, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"The Twin Warlocks do not submit to faceless warlords."
Tilting his chin upwards, the immense, rune-inked man appears to listen with a stern and intent frown. He wrinkles his hand within his leather, spike-covered cestus, the leather creaking like an old door.
Decisively speaking over the murmuring of the other armed men and women, his voice a warning growl, the immense, rune-inked man says to the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man, in sirihish:
"The Dawn Watchers do not submit."
Fist clenching atop a knee as his booming bassitone barks out a warning, the immense, rune-inked man exclaims to the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man, in sirihish:
"I will take three hundred blades and sever his head for this insolence, for the glory and honor of my people!"
Chin held high, the vigorous, maroon-haired man sweeps in from the side of the stage to the center, his gait confident in the midst of the group.
Half-turning to the immense, rune-inked man, the vigorous, maroon-haired man says, in sirihish:
"So much honor for such a little pup? Before you start chasing bones, you should learn to catch your tail first."
His tattooed visage recoiling into a defensive look of disdain, the immense, rune-inked man's narrowed gaze trails over the vigorous, maroon-haired man.
Fully turning to the immense, rune-inked man, voice a mock-whisper, the vigorous, maroon-haired man says, in sirihish:
"For I know the Arrows mean to threaten you when you go. Do not let them..."
At the vigorous, maroon-haired man's words, the immense, rune-inked man's posture relaxes; suddenly seeming distracted, he inhales deeply as his gaze falls to the floor - considering.
Gaze sweeping across the gathering of people, a lingering smile on his lips, the vigorous, maroon-haired man says, in sirihish:
"Friends, it takes but a single, steady hand to swat a fly. You can raise your armies, but the Elves of Mallok will stop this by raising a finger."
The vigorous, maroon-haired man draws a dujat-tooth longknife.
His smile sly, the vigorous, maroon-haired man wraps his fingers around the hilt of his longknife, adjusting his grip.
His voice barreling into the conversation remorselessly, his tone cold and disdainful, the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man says, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Let it be done, if you mean to do it. You talk too much, but know that when your scheme fails, the Twin Warlocks will be there to finish what you could not."
The shaggy-haired, sun-branded man smiles fiercely at the vigorous, maroon-haired man, a harsh laugh barking from his lips as he sneers.
The vigorous, maroon-haired man stands defiantly as several of the tribal men and women laugh and shout out in agreement with the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man's remarks.
From the stage, men and women cry out cheers, shoving forward, fists raised - and freeze, motionless save for the ethereal, fair-haired woman who steps away from her tranquil corner.
Idly, unhurried, you say, in sirihish:
"They left that day, twelve tribes under twelve banners. They saw to crops, to hunting, to old wars and rivalries that extended across generations."
Pausing at the side of the roughened, dark-featured man, studying him, picking at one of his sleeves, you say, in sirihish:
"And still, word of this man from the northwest continued, as people whispered of his growing strength, of the armies that followed him."
Touching a gloved hand to the shoulder of the roughened, dark-featured man, you say, in sirihish:
"And then, one day, the sentries of the furthest reaches of the western lands were heard from no more."
At the ethereal, fair-haired woman's touch, the roughened, dark-featured man crumples to the floor at her feet.
Already moving past the roughened, dark-featured man, weaving through the frozen warlords, you say, in sirihish:
"The defeat was swift, unyielding... and soon, two tribes - cousins to that already lost - fell under the sunlight banner of the man of the northwest."
The ethereal, fair-haired woman's hands brush across the shoulders of two others as she passes. They collapse to the floor behind her, and the helmet of one comes loose, skidding across the stage, stopping just at the edge.
Slowing beside the short, athletic woman and tracing the back of a finger along her face, you say, in sirihish:
"An emissary from a fourth tribe came distraught to the halls of the Twin Warlocks, covered in blood."
Gently, shaking her head, you say, in sirihish:
"With her last breath, she recounted how her people had fallen, swept aside by the armies of the north."
Eyes drifting closed, the short, athletic woman drops to the stage, falling away from the ethereal, fair-haired woman's hand.
Stepping over the short, athletic woman and speaking conversationally, you say, in sirihish:
"It was later that the tribal leaders remaining met again under the roof of the Twin Warlocks."
Pausing astride the slender, dark-eyed woman and the blonde-haired, lanky human, you say, in sirihish:
"The talk was of a truce, an end to a brutal, relentless skirmish between two rivals that encompassed the remaining tribes..."
Trailing off to glance, amusedly, between the two warlords who remain locked in a fierce, frozen snarl, you say, in sirihish:
"... but the specter of these armies from the north lingered throughout the negotiations."
Smirking, the ethereal, fair-haired woman gives an impatient, dismissive wave of her hand when she turns her back to the others on her way toward an empty edge of the stage. Behind her, once-motionless warlords slouch into wary glares, weight shifting without ease.
His hands clasped firmly on his belt as he regards blonde-haired, lanky human and the slender, dark-eyed woman, the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man says, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"... Is this at an end, then, or do we bring our swords to this fight and bring you both to your knees?"
Glancing at one another first, blonde-haired, lanky human and the slender, dark-eyed woman turn to the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man and nod, their eyes lowering submissively.
His voice a growling sigh, chin tilted down as he speaks to the vigorous, maroon-haired man, the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man says, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Your swatted fly has bested four tribes. That is some finger you point."
With a coy smile, the vigorous, maroon-haired man says, in sirihish:
"Time, old friend. All things take time. It is no failure, when all he has taken from those tribes is land as fertile as stone. When all he has taken from us is a lot of scheming, plotting idiots we are better off without."
The immense, rune-inked man crosses his massive, rune adorned arms over each other, dull gaze on the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man. His armor clatters as he shifts his weight.
All around the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man, the other leaders laugh and snort at kyrith words, many shaking their heads or turning their backs on him.
Chin lifting with a note of pride, offering a dismissive wave of his hand, the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man says, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"It is no matter. The madman's forces are extending. Tiring. They will be easy to pick apart now that he has wasted his time on fools."
Placing a half-hand to his chest and resting the other reassuringly on his shoulder as he speaks solemnly, the immense, rune-inked man says to the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man, in sirihish:
"Let my strength join with yours. We can conquer him together and divide those lands for our people."
The shaggy-haired, sun-branded man opens his mouth as if to speak, one hand lifting.
Before the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man can speak, the vigorous, maroon-haired man says, in sirihish:
"Do you hear that? The pup wishes to fight with the kiyet lion. I suppose, though, that as the lion turns gray, so do its armies, too..."
The immense, rune-inked man's mountain of a body quakes for a moment in almost tangible rage. He turns his head slowly to glare at the vigorous, maroon-haired man.
His words coming only after a long moment's stare, a sneer in both eyes and tone, the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man says, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"You will hold your tongue before I slice it out. You are in my home, and my gray forces have kept yours at bay for many ages, elf of Mallok. We will stop him."
Clasping his hand over his heart with a nod to the immense, rune-inked man, voice like a grim rasp of sand against stone, the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man says, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"And you will see to your own people. The winds say that your southern fields burn and your tribe flees to the east."
Slamming his leather, spike-covered cestus into his chest, raising it as if to hit the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man, the immense, rune-inked man shouts, in sirihish:
"Lies! And I will cut the throat of them who says such!"
The shaggy-haired, sun-branded man rocks back, his head craning up to look at the immense, rune-inked man.
Pounding his leather, spike-covered cestus into his chest repeatedly and speaking bitterly after a quick gulp, nostrils flaring, the immense, rune-inked man exclaims, in sirihish:
"Let the northman come to -me- first, and I will show you how pups fight!"
At the sight of the immense, rune-inked man's threatening move, the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man's leaders step forward, their weapons drawing.
One hand grasping a longknife, the other on his hip, the vigorous, maroon-haired man stands silent with a smug expression plastered across his features as he watches the others.
Even after everything goes still, the ethereal, fair-haired woman's laughter rings across the stage.
Holding her sides, the laughter melting away into a too-chipper voice, you say, in sirihish:
"There was blood shed that day, and the young leader of the Dawn Watchers left in disgrace."
Moving forward, the humor to her eyes gone as if it had never been, you say, in sirihish:
"And, still, the invading army marched south, sweeping over the tribes until its mysterious leader turned his gaze east."
The ethereal, fair-haired woman snaps her fingers, and five people fall to the ground behind her.
Waiting for the clatter of fallen weaponry to fade before speaking in a crisp voice, you say, in sirihish:
"Word reaches the leader of the Twin Warlocks of the movements of the northern army, of its unending victories, of the people who pledge themselves to its leader."
Pointing a finger at the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man, you say, in sirihish:
"He leaves his lands, crossing into those owned by the Dawn Watchers and pays call to their young leader, locked in preparations for war and in counsel with the Elves of Mallok..."
The immense, rune-inked man's cestus lowers, his back turns to the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man and he stares off past the stage, his gaze contemplative and thought-stricken.
The shaggy-haired, sun-branded man walks towards the immense, rune-inked man, frustration evident on his features as he regards him. His bootfalls fall heavily on the stage, his hands clasped behind his back.
Voice quietly neutral, though his eyes speak of legions of accusations, the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man says, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Your people are surrounded on three sides."
His visage heavy and subdued as he tilts his chin towards his shoulder, though not enough to lift his gaze, the immense, rune-inked man asks the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man, in sirihish:
"Yes. Why do you darken my door and bring your armies to my border, Warlock?"
Crossing his arms over his chest resolutely, the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man says, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"We march on him, while his army is extended."
With long, slow shakes of his head, the vigorous, maroon-haired man says, in sirihish:
"You plan to march -against- him? He is too powerful, old man. You should be raising defenses."
Snapping a snort of barely contained fury and loathing, eyes flashing dangerously, the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man says, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"What would you know of battle, elf? You cannot even kill a single man."
With languid ease, the vigorous, maroon-haired man says, in sirihish:
"Pieces take time to be put into place. He is vulnerable now and more exposed. He will fall. It is as sure as the setting of the sun he marches under."
Glaring darkly at the ground, his broken chin staunchly craned to the side as his fist tightens within his leather, spike-covered cestus, the leather cracking loudly, the immense, rune-inked man says to the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man, in sirihish:
"I knew of your coming, Warlock. You will not take these lands from us."
His voice nearly a shout, imploring with mad reasoning, the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man says, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Don't you see what is happening? People go to him, would die for him. He has stone and wood for weapons. -I- must face him."
Turning now to face the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man cautiously, his gaze unwavering as it meets his, the immense, rune-inked man says to the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man, in sirihish:
"As you said, I should see to my people. And so help me... If I must fight he and you -both-...I will."
Shaking his head faintly, the immense, rune-inked man says to the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man, in sirihish:
"You will not fight him through my lands, Warlock."
His tone a defeated husk as his head dips down, braids and beads clattering against his breastplate, the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man says, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"You can't win. I've lead my people since before you were born. You are not strong enough. Do not... die for this."
Narrowing his gaze, the immense, rune-inked man makes a dismissive and derisive swipe of his hand, pointing the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man to the exit.
With the three players standing frozen on the stage, a triangle of ill-will and dark looks, the ethereal, fair-haired woman steps away from the stage, striding for the vigorous, maroon-haired man.
Encircling him, you say to the vigorous, maroon-haired man, in sirihish:
"So clever, you were, false counselor. Filling the tribes with lies, causing chaos and division."
Stopping at his side, moving her mouth close to his pointed ear, you say to the vigorous, maroon-haired man, in sirihish:
"Hoping... yearning... that this man from the north might conquer your rivals, and that then you in turn could defeat him."
Lifting a gloved hand, turning his face to look at her, at her arrogant snarl of a smile, you say to the vigorous, maroon-haired man, in sirihish:
"No, he would not die at your hand... and he has no place for treachery in his dominion."
Leaning in, pale eyes sardonic, arch, the ethereal, fair-haired woman presses her lips to the corner of the vigorous, maroon-haired man's mouth.
Legs collapsing beneath him, the vigorous, maroon-haired man falls to the ground, dagger still tightly clasped in his hand.
Already moving past the vigorous, maroon-haired man, her stride quick and sure toward the immense, rune-inked man, you say, in sirihish:
"They could not understand you, young one. But he did, this man from the north."
Words coming faster as she cups his face in both hands, you say to the immense, rune-inked man, in sirihish:
"He understood your mind, your skill... and when you fought, it was with respect."
Expression softening, the ethereal, fair-haired woman gives the immense, rune-inked man's nose a light tap with the back of a finger; the smile she gives him is a solemn one, an assuring one.
His eyes filled with defeat and emotion the immense, rune-inked man falls to his knees, his leather, spike-covered cestus slipping from his hand and falling to the stage in a loud *WHAP*.
Her steps silent on the stage littered with the fallen, the ethereal, fair-haired woman lets her hand fall away from the immense, rune-inked man, alone on his knees, and takes up quiet watch over the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man in solitude.
With the grace of a warrior of many years, though his face betrays that he is surrounded on all sides, the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man walks through the fallen, nearly without noticing them.
The shaggy-haired, sun-branded man reaches for a carved drinking horn, embossed with ivory at the open end, and pulls it into his grasp meditatively.
Thoughtfully, the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man says, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"It is quiet, now, before the dawn. What are you thinking, man of the north, as you sleep tonight? You are not in your own bed, not in the hall that was built by your forebearers and their forebearers before them."
The shaggy-haired, sun-branded man paces slowly among the bodies of the fallen, eyes unseeing as he speaks to himself, the drinking horn nearly forgotten in his hands.
Looking down at the fallen and seemingly noticing them for the first time, the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man says, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Your ancestors don't watch over this battlefield. You don't fear."
The shaggy-haired, sun-branded man stops, his heavy tread ceasing and leaving only ominous silence as he cranes his head back, looking upwards, a tiny mote of life against the backdrop of the dead.
A harsh, bitter laugh eminating from his throat, the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man says, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"No, you don't do that. Your armies are camped on the horizon. I can hear them. I can hear their joy."
The shaggy-haired, sun-branded man nods to himself, as though to some great and insidious wisdom, his brows coming together like knotted cords.
Clasping the drinking horn to his chest as he looks upwards, the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man says, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"We should have spoken. Tonight, before the dawn. I should have looked on your face and known what you were. Known what I should have been."
The shaggy-haired, sun-branded man makes a move to half-raise the drinking horn, then stops, shaking his head. His eyes close, the hand at his side clenching into a fist.
You feel your heart beginning to beat again. To pound.
His voice a hoarse rasp, the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man says, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Come, share a drink with me. While your armies toast tales of bloodshed and valor, drink to your conquest. I should salute your triumph, the age of peace to come - long may you preserve it."
Drinking horn held in his hand as his spreads his arms plaintively, the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man looks up into the farthest rows of the audience.
His voice so light, it might only be a thought, though it rings through the air, the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man says, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Don't fail them, these people I have loved. They will look to you for strength, for solace, for security. End this as you began."
The shaggy-haired, sun-branded man lifts the horn over his head, his voice the dusty, terrible growl of approaching doom, and speaks softly into the stillness.
With an almost false cheer, the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man says, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"In farewell, then, I propose a toast. A toast of endings. To the lesser one. To the last to face you, the last of my time."
Nearly without pause, the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man drains the horn and wipes the froth from his beard, snarling a warcry as he yanks his saber-bladed agafari bardiche from his back, eyes glaring defiantly.
As the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man walks towards the edge of the stage, the butt-end of his weapon strikes the wood with a sharp -thunk- with every pace. As he nears the edge, he sags against its haft, stumbling to the ground before going still.
Silence reigns over the stage, everything still and at peace. Only then, is it broken by muted applause from the the ethereal, fair-haired woman, gloves softening the accolade she offers to the fallen players.
It is dusk on Dzeda, the 218th day of the Descending Sun,
In the Year of Ruk's Reverence, year 48 of the 21st Age.
On A Broad, Sweeping Stage [NESW]
A great deal of labor appears to have gone into making this stage appear to resemble a picturesque scene in the middle of a rolling,...
Continue Reading...The Ballad of the Unlicensed Man by Rairen
Added on Feb 20, 2009A cautionary song for Tuluk, recollecting the consequences for those who would play at assassination without being licensed.
The road before me is a dusty one.
My back's facin' to the sun.
And my tale, it is a sad, sad one,
With leagues to go 'fore I'm done.
In th' Ivory I was a man of means,
Just like my father'd been.
He was a liar, a thief, and a drunk,
Turns out, I was worse than him.
Now, murderin's wrong, that is no lie,
But I've always been a gambling man,
And the only time that I've been satisfied,
Is with a dagger in my hand.
Now mothers... tell your children,
Not to do what I have done.
There's laws to keep murderin' in its place,
In the City of the Mornin' Sun.
The road before me is a dusty one.
My back's facin' to the sun.
I killed two men, there's no comin' back for me,
I've gone walked past the sun.The road before me is a dusty one.
My back's facin' to the sun.
And my tale, it is a sad, sad one,
With leagues to go 'fore I'm done.
In th' Ivory I was a man of means,
Just like my father'd been.
He was a liar, a thief, and a drunk,
Turns out, I was worse than him.
Now, murderin's wrong, that is...
Continue Reading...Nashi's Song by Rairen
Added on Feb 20, 2009A commemorative piece, dedicated to the Master Bard Nashi Ansuz A'jinn of the Irofel Circle and commissioned by her son Vejaan at the time of her death.
Nashi dear, farewell, though I barely knew you at all,
You had the grace to stand, where others had rather fall.
You'd smile to them and say, while they'd fallen, down on their knees,
"Don't be afraid, be strong... and come have a cookie."
And now looking back, on the times we had, you were like a sunrise at dawn,
Warming our faces before, the evening storms came along.
It's hard for me not to think on fate, on what could have been,
On the good days left to share with, our Nashi Ansuz A'jinn.
I didn't know Sujaal, but I know the man that he'd been.
And the woman it'd take, to hold him and to win.
I think you're with him now, and maybe someday, we'll be there, too.
Children, students, friends, for that last lesson with you.
And now looking back, on the times we had, you were like a sunrise at dawn,
Warming our faces before, the evening storms came along.
And I should have said goodbye to you, but that wasn't to be.
So from me to you, farewell and the dawn keep you, Nashi.Nashi dear, farewell, though I barely knew you at all,
You had the grace to stand, where others had rather fall.
You'd smile to them and say, while they'd fallen, down on their knees,
"Don't be afraid, be strong... and come have a cookie."
And now looking back, on the times we had, you were like a...
Continue Reading...Oh, She Was a Servant to High Elite by Rairen
Added on Feb 20, 2009A grave, somber study on the Tuluki castes.
Oh, she was a servant to high elite,
And he was a beggar from off the street,
But he loved this lady so tenderly...Oh, Sorrow. Sweet Sorrow.
Now he sleeps in the darkness of the long, Detal night,
And no one knows he loved her save His Rad'ant Light.One morn when the sun with Jihae allied,
She passed by his side with a silk-soft stride.
He smiled and he spoke - but she paid no heed.Oh, Sorrow. Sweet Sorrow.
Now he sleeps in the darkness of the long, Detal night,
And no one knows he loved her save His Rad'ant Light.If you be a beggar from off the street,
Don't love of no servant of high elite.
They hain't got a heart for sympathy.Oh, Sorrow. Sweet Sorrow.
Now he sleeps in the darkness of the long, Detal night,
And no one knows he loved her... save His Rad'ant Light.Oh, she was a servant to high elite,
And he was a beggar from off the street,
But he loved this lady so tenderly...Oh, Sorrow. Sweet Sorrow.
Now he sleeps in the darkness of the long, Detal night,
And no one knows he loved her save His Rad'ant Light.One morn when the sun with Jihae...
Continue Reading...Mae Konviwe' by Rairen
Added on Feb 20, 2009A Driamusek-style hazing of a rival Seeker, the true challenge of the piece is to sing it progressively faster with every verse. Good luck!
Oh... There's... a... nice, sweet lass and her name's Mae Konviwe'.
Make no mistake she's the lass I'm goin' to sway.
All the other fella's want to bed her sure today,
But I think they'll have to wake up very early.May I, Mae, make you into my mate?
Mate me, Mae, and make me what you may.
I'd mate merry Mae that I may with her stay.
Mae, I'll never leave you if you mate me as you may.Oh, this wary wench, she's got a lot of wit.
Got a lot of wit, but she's fearin' to commit.
But I'd be a silly chit for to let the matter sit.
For my sister says she suits me really fairly.May I, Mae, make you into my mate?
Mate me, Mae, and make me what you may.
I'd mate merry Mae that I may with her stay.
Mae, I'll never leave you if you mate me as you may.Oh, Mae and her lovers spend an awful lot together -
- In fact I hardly see one without the other.
At times I start to wonderin' if it's Mae, then, or her lovers,
Or all of them together that I'm courtin'.May I, Mae, make you into my mate?
Mate me, Mae, and make me what you may.
I'd mate merry Mae that I may with her stay.
Mae, I'll never leave you if you mate me as you may.I'll court her on the morrow and the morrow will it be,
The day she's going t' be my girl and belongin' onto me.
With the makin' the arrangements I'll be out of misery,
For lovin' is an awful undertaking!May I, Mae, make you into my mate?
Mate me, Mae, and make me what you may.
I'd mate merry Mae that I may with her stay.
Mae, I'll never leave you if you mate me as you may!Oh... There's... a... nice, sweet lass and her name's Mae Konviwe'.
Make no mistake she's the lass I'm goin' to sway.
All the other fella's want to bed her sure today,
But I think they'll have to wake up very early.May I, Mae, make you into my mate?
Mate me, Mae, and make me what you may.
I'd mate...
Continue Reading...Allanak Has Fallen by Rairen
Added on Feb 20, 2009This would-be-prophetic celebration of old-fashioned city state rivalry was composed by a former Allanaki slave and won top honors at the Silverwood Ball.
The winds are hot down south today,
The people brush their tears away,
As they look up in dismay,
To the Arena's walls.The taverns have no wine or ale,
There's only dirtied silt for sale,
No guest of any templar's jail,
Has ever looked so sad.And in the gardens fall the flowers,
Like bricks from the militia's towers.
All the bards are singing flat.
While people walk the city streets,
Saying as the army south retreats,
"How could it happen like that?"Oh...! Celebration 'cross the lands,
From Red Storm to the Tablelands.
As all sing gleeful o'er the sands:
Allanak has fallen!One by one those soldiers died,
While red, blue, black templars spared their pride,
And into silk their blood they dried.
Allanak has fallen!How crass the southern voice is,
As they look down all their noses,
Saying, "We are by far better than you."
I wonder who it was then,
Who let themselves be beaten?
The Liberation we won't forget, too.Oh... Highlord Tek just sits and stares,
Gone from this world and all its cares,
The Sun King runs the grand affairs.
Allanak has fallen!Allanak has fallen!
Allanak has fallen...!The winds are hot down south today,
The people brush their tears away,
As they look up in dismay,
To the Arena's walls.The taverns have no wine or ale,
There's only dirtied silt for sale,
No guest of any templar's jail,
Has ever looked so sad.And in the gardens fall the flowers,
Like bricks from the...
Continue Reading...Soldier Girl (or Solder Boy) by Rairen
Added on Feb 20, 2009A bittersweet Tuluki duet that fell out of favor during the years of the Copper War against Allanak.
Soldier girl, soldier girl,
Where are you going to?
Soldier girl, soldier girl,
With your smile so fine?I am going off to war,
Where the 'sidian arrows soar,
Where the silver banners shine.
Oh, darling sweet, be mine.Soldier girl, soldier girl,
When will you come again?
Soldier girl, soldier girl,
With your smile so fine?When the pymlithe blooms again,
When the sun is high again,
When there is an end to war,
Then I will come once more.Seven years, then seven more,
Pymlithe bloomed in the trees again.
The sun rode high in the sky,
Just like before.But there was no end to war,
Seven years, then seven more.
Still he waited just the same...
... But no one ever came.Soldier girl, soldier girl,
Where are you going to?
Soldier girl, soldier girl,
With your smile so fine?I am going off to war,
Where the 'sidian arrows soar,
Where the silver banners shine.
Oh, darling sweet, be mine.Soldier girl, soldier girl,
When will you come again?
Soldier girl, soldier...
Continue Reading...The Night the Half-Giant Found the Ale by Rairen
Added on Feb 20, 2009A parody of "The Tavern Dance Floor" and a cautionary tale against half-giant intoxication.
One day were a party and all the town were at the show.
I went there myself, to see what folks that I might know.
When, looking around, I sudd'nly heard a frightful roar,
As a half-giant passed out on the tavern dance floor.So jump up, jump down, jump up and down and all around.
Swing him 'round some more, keep your feet way off the ground.
No liquor this night's left for you to have your sorrows drown'd,
Since the night the half-giant full-drunk was found.The air filled with ale, as tankards flew up left and right.
A table crashed down, and with it fell the candlelight.
A merchant fell back, his chair crumbling beneath his legs.
He fell back so far, he knocked over three half-full kegs.The kegs they spilled out, the ale leaking 'cross the floor
And a soldier slipped down... right down onto a three-leg'd whore.
So in all of this mess, no one thought to stop and see...
... Beneath the half-giant, six dwarves screaming indignities.So jump up, jump down, jump up and down and all around.
Swing her 'round some more, keep your feet way off the ground.
No liquor this night's left for you to have your sorrows drown'd,
Since the night the half-giant full-drunk was found.They flailed and squirmed - and cursed and screamed and spit and swore.
They kicked and they punched, and clawed and scratched and kick'd s'more.
But all this for naught, they stayed stuck there against the floor,
Doomed to that place, by one deep, half-giant snore.So jump up, jump down, jump up and down and all around.
Swing them 'round some more, keep your feet way off the ground.
No liquor this night's left for you to have your sorrows drown'd,
Since the night the half-giant full-drunk was found.So jump up, jump down, jump up and down and all around.
Swing them 'round, my dears, keep your feet way off the ground.
No liquor this night's left for you to have your sorrows drown'd,
Since the night the half-giant full-drunk was found.One day were a party and all the town were at the show.
I went there myself, to see what folks that I might know.
When, looking around, I sudd'nly heard a frightful roar,
As a half-giant passed out on the tavern dance floor.So jump up, jump down, jump up and down and all around.
Swing him 'round...
Continue Reading...The Tavern Dance Floor by Rairen
Added on Feb 20, 2009A dark-natured Warrens-style dance, popularized by a Driamusek Bard in the twenty-first Age.
He looks at me first, all sweat and insecurity.
The sound of his voice is the sound of ecstasy.
I hold up a hand, but he's pushed back a little more,
Caught up with the dancers on the tavern dance floor.Well, dance the night away, far away o'er the dyin' lands.
Dance the night away, stayin' close next t' me.
Dance the night away, far away o'er the dyin' lands.
Dance the night away on th' tavern dance floor.The floor smokes like embers, burned up with heat and revelry.
There is nothin' of him hain't come out of obscurity
No tears there now, boy, not now and not before.
There's no one but us on the tavern dance floor.I ask him for his name, and his name, he'll not tell to me.
That silence of his is the silence of ecstasy.
I ask him, right out, just what he is stayin' for.
He says, "Come with me, off the tavern dance floor."Well, dance the night away, far away o'er the dyin' lands.
Dance the night away, stayin' close next t' me.
Dance the night away, far away o'er the dyin' lands.
Dance the night away on th' tavern dance floor.Now, some drinks, like wine, they soothe away a misery.
While others, they sting, sting right at the throat of me.
But this drink so sweet leaves me thirstin' for more and more.
That's how I lost my heart on the tavern dance floor.Well, dance the night away, far away o'er the dyin' lands.
Dance the night away, stayin' close next t' me.
Dance the night away, far away o'er the dyin' lands.
Dance the night away on th' tavern dance floor.He looks at me first, all sweat and insecurity.
The sound of his voice is the sound of ecstasy.
I hold up a hand, but he's pushed back a little more,
Caught up with the dancers on the tavern dance floor.Well, dance the night away, far away o'er the dyin' lands.
Dance the night away, stayin' close...
Continue Reading...Of Kadian Racks and Chests by Medena
Added on Feb 18, 2009A noble, a templar and a merchant discuss the relative merits of Kadian armour racks and chests.
At your table, the dusky, curly-haired man says in sirihish, curiously, as his eyes are drawn to your hair:
"Hmm...perhaps some sort of headdress, as well? With feathers, and the like, my Lady?"
At your table, the dusky, curly-haired man says in sirihish:
"I was only wondering--we happen to have something like that on display, if you enjoy feathers, my Lady Fale..."
At your table, you say in sirihish, tilting her head from side to side as she speaks:
"I do already own many elaborate feathered headpieces."
The dusky, curly-haired man nods at you.
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar has arrived from the west.
A human Allanaki soldier has arrived from the west.
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"The gown, of course, will be fitted to me, I know, but even so I would like something of a style which shows off my form to advantage."
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar mutters to himself, swatting dust off of his dusty frame as best he can.
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar starts cleaning. The rugged, stubble-bearded templar dusts himself off. Strapping it to the back, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar puts his enormous, concave tortoiseshell shield into his oversized black backpack.
At your table, the dusky, curly-haired man says in sirihish, nodding briefly a few times, pursing his lips:
"Of course, my Lady. I`ll detail this out specifically with our folk, and make sure we get something that will, ah, demonstrate that. "
Lifting up a hand to wave in a graceful sweep, you say to the rugged, stubble-bearded templar, in sirihish:
"Look Lord Samos, the Kadian is still here and not even bound yet."
Strolling over to a large round table in the center of the room, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says to you, in sirihish:
"Enraptured by yer beauty, no doubt."
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar looks down at the dusky, curly-haired man.
The dusky, curly-haired man dips his head into a respectful nod towards the rugged, stubble-bearded templar, remaining at his seat near you.
Grinning up at him, then patting at the boots near her hand on the table, you say to the rugged, stubble-bearded templar, in sirihish:
"Look at the delightful riding boots I have acquired."
Grinning, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says to you, in sirihish:
"Sure are very comfortable `n colorful-lookin`."
After a thoughtful glance at the dusky, curly-haired man, turning back to him, you say to the rugged, stubble-bearded templar, in sirihish:
"Were you in need of Flop? I believe I am done with him for now."
Snickering, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says, in sirihish:
"Flop."
Suddenly patting the chair beside her, you exclaim to the rugged, stubble-bearded templar, in sirihish:
"Oh, and please do sit! You must think me most dreadfully rude!"
Resting a hand on a chair, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar asks the dusky, curly-haired man, in sirihish:
"So you said you got an armor stand fer me... but Zaea don` wanna show me `er rack?"
Smiling and shaking his head, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar sits at a large round table in the center of the room, beside you.
Her voice rising into a squeal of giggling laughter, you say to the rugged, stubble-bearded templar, in sirihish:
"Is that what you asked? To see her rack? How delightfully entertaining."
A group of merchants makes their way up the stairs, talking amongst themselves.
At your table, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says in sirihish, with a shrug of his shoulders:
"I don` understand why she got so nervous. I mean, where`s a better place fer my spear `n a Kadian rack, huh?"
At your table, the dusky, curly-haired man says in sirihish, with a nod, a muscle near the corner of his mouth twitching:
"Armor stand, yes, my Lord Templar--and I tried to explain that, but..."
At your table, the dusky, curly-haired man says in sirihish:
"...she and the House seem to think that Salarr knows their racks pretty well. They put all sorts of things in them all the time."
The quiet bartender wipes the bar down with a dirty rag.
At your table, you say in sirihish, after a wink at the rugged, stubble-bearded templar, looking at the dusky, curly-haired man askance:
"Are you saying then that Salarr has better racks than Kadius?"
At your table, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says in sirihish, suppressing a grin across his hard-lined face:
"Well `f yer admittin` that Kadians ain` as familiar with racks `s Salarri... guess I gotta believe ya."
At your table, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says in sirihish, frowning:
"Kinda hurt, though. Reckoned most common folks `d love t` show me their racks."
At your table, the dusky, curly-haired man says in sirihish, his tone exceptionally dry as he replies to you:
"Quality over quantity, I think...they have a lot of racks, but none that look especially decent. We -could- make up a one all special for you, but it`d be really more of a cabinet."
At your table, the dusky, curly-haired man says in sirihish:
"It all depends on how you feel about racks. If you`ve seen one, have you really seen them all, my Lord Templar?"
At your table, you say in sirihish, raising her eyebrows up exceptionally high, then lowering them, her lips twitching as she speaks:
"A cabinet sounds rather dreary as compared to a rack. Quite humdrum. Not a rack at all but merely a chest."
At your table, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says in sirihish, shaking his head:
"Oh, no, son. Nah. There`s some ravishin`ly sumptuous racks out there I just dream `f seein`."
At your table, the dusky, curly-haired man says in sirihish, shrugging his shoulders lightly:
"But a chest of some definite qualities...very...ample. Able to deal with anything, not just weapons, that are put into it..."
At your table, the dusky, curly-haired man says in sirihish, as he shifts his gaze back to the rugged, stubble-bearded templar:
"That -is- an option, my Lord Templar--if you`d like to look at a Kadian chest. I`d have to place the order for it."
At your table, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says in sirihish, to the dusky, curly-haired man, blithely:
"How much it cost t` look at a Kadian chest these days?"
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"It surely does not cost anything to just look? If I were a Kadian, I`d be falling all over myself to show you my chest."
At your table, the dusky, curly-haired man says in sirihish, shrugging his shoulders once again:
"My Lord Templar, probably more than peeking at a Salarri rack. But like I said. Ample...very ample. Multi-purpose."
At your table, the dusky, curly-haired man says in sirihish:
"In truth, we do have a chest up in the warehouse now, one that even locks."
At your table, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says in sirihish, waving a hand dismissively:
"Rather see a nice rack. Was countin` on it. I gonna get a discount on my armor stand cos there`s no rack like Sparkles said she`d show?"
A slim half-elf server carefully carries a sizzling plate of Allanak flame cheese over to a table.
At your table, the dusky, curly-haired man says in sirihish, bobbing his head towards the rugged, stubble-bearded templar easily:
"That was the discount, my Lord Templar. I hate to leave a customer wanting anything..."
At your table, the dusky, curly-haired man says in sirihish:
"...originally, was going to be sold for seven small and a half small."
At your table, the dusky, curly-haired man says in sirihish, scratching at his chin thoughtfully:
"But, my Lord, since we`ve done business before a few times..."
At your table, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says in sirihish, with a slow nod:
"Ahh. I see. How much it gonna cost me now again, with th` discount?"
At your table, the dusky, curly-haired man says in sirihish, clearing his throat:
"I`ll sell it at six and a half small."
At your table, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says in sirihish:
"What a deal."
At your table, you say in sirihish, tittering softly, her glance both bemused and questioning on the rugged, stubble-bearded templar:
"Is that a deal?"
At your table, the dusky, curly-haired man says in sirihish, as he shifts his gaze to the rugged, stubble-bearded templar and nodding:
"Always glad to make deals for future business, my Lord Templar."
At your table, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says in sirihish, to you, not really hiding a smirk:
"Well, I mean, I was expectin` two things `n got one, but... well, a whole small discount. Means I can spend th` fine I got from that thievin` elf on booze now."
At your table, the dusky, curly-haired man says in sirihish, clearing his throat hesitantly:
"Shall we go get it for you--or shall I get it and bring it here, my Lord?"
At your table, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says in sirihish:
"Yeh... bring `t here."
At your table, the dusky, curly-haired man says in sirihish, gaze turning to you:
"Is that all you have for me, Lady Fale?"
At your table, you say in sirihish, swishing your thin, jade and black bone fan toward the dusky, curly-haired man:
"Yes Flop, I did say so. Until you have some gowns for my perusal."
The dusky, curly-haired man rises to his feet, bowing deeply to you and the rugged, stubble-bearded templar.
At your table, the dusky, curly-haired man says in sirihish, curiously, as his eyes are drawn to your hair:
"Hmm...perhaps some sort of headdress, as well? With feathers, and the like, my Lady?"
At your table, the dusky, curly-haired man says in sirihish:
"I was only wondering--we...
Continue Reading...A Byn in the Arena by Terri
Added on Feb 11, 2009Trooper Shanli had turned down a templar's offer of employment to stay in the Byn, despite a recent demotion from Sargeant. Player of Shanli can't recall why she was demoted. The templar had brought forth someone accusing her of paying him to assault Allanak soldiers.
The white-haired blue skinned woman stops, chest heaving as she bows to the
sleek, jakhal-eyed templar.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar asks the long-armed man, in sirihish:
"Is this the one?"
A man of average height, stand atop his massive feet. His purely white
hair drips down onto his powerful shoulders and cover up his lean neck. His
enormous chest stands out from the rest of his body, showing signs of
extreme labor. Dark black skin covers his entire body and two large scars
are visible on his face. Two intriguing green eyes are set atop a large and
curved nose. Two long legs extend from his torso and are mounted on his two
massive feet. His lengthy arms, extend far below his waist and almost
reaching the knees.
The long-armed man looks relatively fit.
The long-armed man is using:
<worn on torso> a sweat-stained, simple sandcloth shirt
<worn on legs> a pair of light-brown pants
<worn on feet> a bloodied, pair of black shoes
The long-armed man looks toward you and then nods in the direction of the
sleek, jakhal-eyed templar.
You ask the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Lord Templar?"
The long-armed man trembles as a human soldier tightens her grip.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar moves to you a gentle smile on his lips.
You think:
"I'm screwed. Never trust a templar's smile."
The white-haired blue skinned woman looks from the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar
to the long-armed man.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to you, in sirihish:
"My Pretty Shanli, however dissapointed I may be in your decission...
you're not in trouble."
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar asks you, in sirihish:
"You know this man?"
You say to the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"No, Lord Templar. I do not know him."
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar asks you, in sirihish:
"The Byn hates the soldiers for what reason?"
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar paces about, glancing from you to the
long-armed man.
You say to the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Lord Templar? I don't know that the Byn hates soldiers at all."
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar asks you, in sirihish:
"So.. you didn't offer this man sid.. to kill a soldier in His militia?"
You say to the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"No, Lord Templar."
You think:
"Some sort of setup."
Drawing in a long sharp breath, the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to the
long-armed man, in sirihish:
"Sorry.."
The long-armed man mumbles something as he whimpers.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar brings his bloodied, wickedly barbed whip to
bear against the long-armed man.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed man raises a wickedly barbed whip and lashes out at
the long-armed man.
*CRACK* A long, bloody gash opens up on the long-armed man's back.
The white-haired blue skinned woman watches quietly, face neutral in
expression.
The long-armed man yells out in pain as a whip cuts through his flesh.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar asks you, in sirihish:
"Would you like the chance to avenge the lies this man has told against
the noble Byn? Specifically yourself?"
The long-armed man's eyes open and close and drool drips down on the ground.
You say to the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"I'd be delighted, Milord Templar. If ya think it is appropriate."
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to you, in sirihish:
"He attacked soldiers of the city... and tried to cover the act by
saying that the Byn paid him."
The long-armed man twitches and whimpers as his body shivers.
The white-haired blue skinned woman rolls her eyes.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to the long-armed man, in sirihish:
"Not the sort of reputation the Byn needs..."
In an amused tone, you ask the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"As if the Byn gonna do somethin that stupid?"
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to you, in sirihish:
"Well... they did demote you.. but I consider that a far cry from blood
money against His men."
The long-armed man opens his mouth to say something, but fails as his
strength gives out.
Tilting his head, the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar asks the long-armed man, in
sirihish:
"What was that?"
You say to the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"I ain't the kind ta do me Highlord that kinda dishonor, Lord Templar."
Mumbling over a few words, the long-armed man asks, in sirihish:
"yes ... a ..nnd she w..il..te..ll the ...tr . u ... truth?"
The long-armed man groans as streaks of blood flow down his back.
The white-haired blue skinned woman scowls at the long-armed man.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar asks you, in sirihish:
"Arena, public or private?"
You ask the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"How bout the arena, Lord Templar?"
The sun reaches its highest point in the sky.
A final glimmer of light marks the white moon Lirathu's slow descent.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar asks you, in sirihish:
"Public show... or private?"
You say to the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"public, Lord Templar. If it be ya will, of course."
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to you, in sirihish:
"Do you have weapons you can lend the accused? "
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to you, in sirihish:
"never mind... I'll have a couple matches before then."
You say to the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"No, Lord Templar. All I have are my own."
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to you, in sirihish:
"Fall in..."
You now follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to the long-armed man, in sirihish:
"Your' going to be famous... if you win"
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks north.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk north.
Templars' Way [NS]
Templars' Way stretches north and south through the very heart of the
crowded city. The road is made of large, black-colored stones that are
covered with dust, dung, and other unsavory materials. It passes under the
Arena's morbid shadow, a gigantic structure standing to the east. Bustling
with activity, the Commoners' Quarter lies to the west. Crowds pass along
the street, hurrying on errands and avoiding the keen-eyed glances of the
templars and soldiers who use this way.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
The thick-bearded, half giant soldier stands here.
A human soldier of Tektolnes stands here vigilantly.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south.
The human soldier has arrived from the south.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south, dragging the long-armed man behind.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar asks you, in sirihish:
"Oh... to the death.. or no?"
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks north.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk north.
Templars' Way [NS]
Templars' Way stretches north and south through the very heart of the
crowded city. The road is made of large, black-colored stones that are
covered with dust, dung, and other unsavory materials. It passes under the
Arena's morbid shadow, a gigantic structure standing to the east. Bustling
with activity, the Commoners' Quarter lies to the west. Crowds pass along
the street, hurrying on errands and avoiding the keen-eyed glances of the
templars and soldiers who use this way.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
A wide hipped, elven woman with a painted face struts, smiling at people.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south.
The human soldier has arrived from the south.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south, dragging the long-armed man behind.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks north.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk north.
Templars' Way [NS]
Templars' Way stretches north and south through the very heart of the
crowded city. The road is made of large, black-colored stones that are
covered with dust, dung, and other unsavory materials. It passes under the
Arena's morbid shadow, a gigantic structure standing to the east. Bustling
with activity, the Commoners' Quarter lies to the west. Crowds pass along
the street, hurrying on errands and avoiding the keen-eyed glances of the
templars and soldiers who use this way.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
A human soldier of Tektolnes walks along here.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south.
The human soldier has arrived from the south.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south, dragging the long-armed man behind.
The long-armed man raises his gaze toward the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar and almost faints, but keeps conscious.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar asks you, in sirihish:
"Or do you wish it to be a suprise?"
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks north.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk north.
Templars' Way [NSW]
Templars' Way stretches north and south through the very heart of the
crowded city. The road is made of large, black-colored stones that are
covered with dust, dung, and other unsavory materials. It passes under the
Arena's morbid shadow, a gigantic structure standing to the east. Bustling
with activity, the Commoners' Quarter lies to the west. Crowds pass along
the street, hurrying on errands and avoiding the keen-eyed glances of the
templars and soldiers who use this way.
To the west, Miner's Road leads into the reek and constant noise of
the Commoners' Quarter.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
A human soldier of Tektolnes stands here vigilantly.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south.
The human soldier has arrived from the south.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south, dragging the long-armed man behind.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks north.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk north.
Templars' Way [NS]
Templars' Way stretches north and south through the very heart of the
crowded city. The road is made of large, black-colored stones that are
covered with dust, dung, and other unsavory materials. It passes under the
Arena's morbid shadow, a gigantic structure standing to the east. Bustling
with activity, the Commoners' Quarter lies to the west. Crowds pass along
the street, hurrying on errands and avoiding the keen-eyed glances of the
templars and soldiers who use this way.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south.
The human soldier has arrived from the south.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south, dragging the long-armed man behind.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks north.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk north.
Templars' Way [NS]
Templars' Way stretches north and south through the very heart of the
crowded city. The road is made of large, black-colored stones that are
covered with dust, dung, and other unsavory materials. It passes under the
Arena's morbid shadow, a gigantic structure standing to the east. Bustling
with activity, the Commoners' Quarter lies to the west. Crowds pass along
the street, hurrying on errands and avoiding the keen-eyed glances of the
templars and soldiers who use this way.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south.
The human soldier has arrived from the south.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south, dragging the long-armed man behind.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks north.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk north.
Templars' Way [NSW]
Templars' Way stretches north and south through the very heart of the
crowded city. The road is made of large, black-colored stones that are
covered with dust, dung, and other unsavory materials. It passes under the
Arena's morbid shadow, a gigantic structure standing to the east. Bustling
with activity, the Commoners' Quarter lies to the west. Crowds pass along
the street, hurrying on errands and avoiding the keen-eyed glances of the
templars and soldiers who use this way.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
A human soldier of Tektolnes walks along here.
A dark-haired elf staggers along, carrying a load of hides.
The dark, club-footed human slave is here, dragging a boulder.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south.
The human soldier has arrived from the south.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south, dragging the long-armed man behind.
You say to the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Less he tells the truth, I wish ta kill him, Milord Templar"
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar lowers his head.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks north.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk north.
Templars' Way [NSW]
Templars' Way stretches north and south through the very heart of the
crowded city. The road is made of large, black-colored stones that are
covered with dust, dung, and other unsavory materials. It passes under the
Arena's morbid shadow, a gigantic structure standing to the east. Bustling
with activity, the Commoners' Quarter lies to the west. Crowds pass along
the street, hurrying on errands and avoiding the keen-eyed glances of the
templars and soldiers who use this way.
To the west, Stonecarver's Road leads into the reek and noise of the
commoners' quarter.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
A human soldier of Tektolnes walks along here.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south.
The human soldier has arrived from the south.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south, dragging the long-armed man behind.
You say to the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Unless ya do not wish it."
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks north.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk north.
Templars' Way [NS]
Templars' Way stretches north and south through the very heart of the
crowded city. The road is made of large, black-colored stones that are
covered with dust, dung, and other unsavory materials. It passes under the
Arena's morbid shadow, a gigantic structure standing to the east. Bustling
with activity, the Commoners' Quarter lies to the west. Crowds pass along
the street, hurrying on errands and avoiding the keen-eyed glances of the
templars and soldiers who use this way.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south.
The human soldier has arrived from the south.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south, dragging the long-armed man behind.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks north.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk north.
Templars' Way [NES]
Templars' Way stretches north and south through the very heart of the
crowded city. The road is made of large, black-colored stones that are
covered with dust, dung, and other unsavory materials. It passes under the
Arena's morbid shadow, a gigantic structure standing to the east. Bustling
with activity, the Commoners' Quarter lies to the west. Crowds pass along
the street, hurrying on errands and avoiding the keen-eyed glances of the
templars and soldiers who use this way.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south.
The human soldier has arrived from the south.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south, dragging the long-armed man behind.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks east.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk east.
Arena Road [EW]
Arena Road runs along the north of the Arena, home of Allanak's bloody
Games. Even from this distance, the screams of gladiators practicing inside
echo over the polished bone spikes that jut above the stone walls. The
Arena itself has a smooth, polished stone wall, engraved with a variety of
inscriptions, most of them depicting scenes from famous battles and
gladiatorial combats. On the north side of the road sits a row of subdued
looking mud brick buildings, some occupied by merchants during the Games,
and others used to store supplies or house slaves.
The road extends to the east, along the north wall of the Arena,
leading towards the vast entrance. To the west lies Templars' Way,
which leads south towards the Templars' Quarter.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
The short, thick-set templar stands here vigilantly.
The lean, brown-haired slave trots along here.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the west.
The human soldier has arrived from the west.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the west, dragging the long-armed man behind.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to you, in sirihish:
"It is his shame against you.... your choice."
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks east.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk east.
Arena Road [EW]
Arena Road runs along the north of the Arena, home of Allanak's bloody
Games. Even from this distance, the screams of gladiators practicing inside
echo over the polished bone spikes that jut above the stone walls. The
Arena itself has a smooth, polished stone wall, engraved with a variety of
inscriptions, most of them depicting scenes from famous battles and
gladiatorial combats. On the north side of the road sits a row of subdued
looking mud brick buildings, some occupied by merchants during the Games,
and others used to store supplies or house slaves.
The road extends to the east, along the north wall of the Arena,
leading towards the vast entrance. To the west lies Templars' Way,
which leads south towards the Templars' Quarter.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the west.
The human soldier has arrived from the west.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the west, dragging the long-armed man behind.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks east.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk east.
Arena Road [NEW]
Arena Road runs along the north of the Arena, home of Allanak's bloody
Games. Even from this distance, the screams of gladiators practicing inside
echo over the polished bone spikes that jut above the stone walls. The
Arena itself has a smooth, polished stone wall, engraved with a variety of
inscriptions, most of them depicting scenes from famous battles and
gladiatorial combats. On the north side of the road sits a row of subdued
looking mud brick buildings, some occupied by merchants during the Games,
and others used to store supplies or house slaves.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
A squinty-eyed half elf slouches here, watching pedestrians go by.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the west.
The human soldier has arrived from the west.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the west, dragging the long-armed man behind.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks east.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk east.
Arena Road [NEW]
Arena Road runs along the north of the Arena, home of Allanak's bloody
Games. Even from this distance, the screams of gladiators practicing inside
echo over the polished bone spikes that jut above the stone walls. The
Arena itself has a smooth, polished stone wall, engraved with a variety of
inscriptions, most of them depicting scenes from famous battles and
gladiatorial combats. On the north side of the road sits a row of subdued
looking mud brick buildings, some occupied by merchants during the Games,
and others used to store supplies or house slaves.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the west.
The human soldier has arrived from the west.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the west, dragging the long-armed man behind.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks east.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk east.
Arena Road [ESW]
Arena Road runs along the north of the Arena, home of Allanak's bloody
Games. Even from this distance, the screams of gladiators practicing inside
echo over the polished bone spikes that jut above the stone walls. The
Arena itself has a smooth, polished stone wall, engraved with a variety of
inscriptions, most of them depicting scenes from famous battles and
gladiatorial combats. On the north side of the road sits a row of subdued
looking mud brick buildings, some occupied by merchants during the Games,
and others used to store supplies or house slaves.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the west.
The human soldier has arrived from the west.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the west, dragging the long-armed man behind.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks south.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk south.
The Arena Gate [NESWU]
The gate to the arena stands here, open for either a Game or a
gladitorial practice. Sturdy bars stand in front of the gritty sand of the
arena floor, restraining spectators tempted to take a more active part in
the Games. The arena itself sprawls out, its surface covered with blood-
spattered sand. Stairs leading up to the stands of the arena lie to the
east and west, exits to the training cells and cages beyond them.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the north.
The human soldier has arrived from the north.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the north, dragging the long-armed man behind.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks west.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk west.
Entrance to the Stands [ESU]
A stone stairway leads up to the stands, its withered, smooth surface
having known the tread of thousands of feet. Above your head you hear
the jeers and shouts of the spectators, inciting the combatants on the
Arena floor.
A door is on the south wall, and another leads east to the
Arena entrance.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the east.
The human soldier has arrived from the east.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the east, dragging the long-armed man behind.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks south.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk south.
A Torch-lit Hallway [NS]
Lit by flickering torches of styrax wood, this hallway is unfurnished.
The sounds of the stands roofing it, the cries of the arena crowds and the
constant noise of moving feet overhead, echo along its length, the
reverbations amplified by the worn stone flooring underfoot.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the north.
The human soldier has arrived from the north.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the north, dragging the long-armed man behind.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar opens the door.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks south.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk south.
Entrance to the Arena Floor [NESW]
You stand at the entrance to the Arena floor, before a large
metal door through which monsters for the Games are lead through,
in order to meet death at the end of a gladiator's sword. Two doors,
set into the stone wall which holds up the Arena's underside, are
south and west of you, and a tunnel-like hallway leads north toward the
entrance to the Arena stands.
A tarnished brass chain hangs down from the ceiling.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
The flame-color haired templar stands here overlooking the arena beasts.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the north.
The human soldier has arrived from the north.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the north, dragging the long-armed man behind.
You think:
"Other fella's going to probably be a strong killer."
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar pulls on a tarnished brass chain, causing a loud bell to ring up above.
A loud bell chimes, echoing across the city.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar pulls on a tarnished brass chain, causing a loud bell to ring up above.
A loud bell chimes, echoing across the city.
You sit down and rest your tired bones.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the rugged, runic-tattooed man with the Way.
The long-armed man groans as he hears the shrill of a bell.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the rugged, runic-tattooed man:
"I need a witness. Get ta the arena as soon as ya can."
The flame-color haired templar exclaims, in sirihish:
"At once!"
The flame-color haired templar orders that the gith gladiator to be released into the arena.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the rugged, runic-tattooed man:
"I'm ta fight a man who accuses the byn of givin him money to kill soldiers"
You dissolve the psychic link.
You stop resting, and stand up.
The flame-color haired templar exclaims, in sirihish:
"At once!"
The flame-color haired templar orders that a mullish gladiator to be released into the arena.
On The Beast's Chraden: the gith gladiator parries a mullish gladiator's attack.
On The Beast's Chraden: the gith gladiator lightly slashes a mullish gladiator's body.
On The Beast's Chraden: a mullish gladiator swiftly dodges the gith gladiator's slashes.
On The Beast's Chraden: a mullish gladiator nimbly avoids the gith gladiator's circle kick.
On The Beast's Chraden: the gith gladiator slashes a mullish gladiator, barely grazing his body.
On The Beast's Chraden: a mullish gladiator nimbly avoids the gith gladiator's circle kick.
On The Beast's Chraden: a mullish gladiator swiftly dodges the gith gladiator's slashes.
On The Beast's Chraden: a mullish gladiator avoids being bashed by the gith gladiator, who loses his balance and falls.
On The Beast's Chraden: a mullish gladiator swiftly dodges the gith gladiator's slashes.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says, in sirihish:
"I like to give them a little something to watch... before the main event"
On The Beast's Chraden: a mullish gladiator swiftly dodges the gith gladiator's slashes.
On The Beast's Chraden: a mullish gladiator swiftly dodges the gith gladiator's slashes.
On The Beast's Chraden: a mullish gladiator swiftly dodges the gith gladiator's slashes.
The white-haired blue skinned woman nods, chuckling.
On The Beast's Chraden: a mullish gladiator swiftly dodges the gith gladiator's slashes.
On The Beast's Chraden: a mullish gladiator bludgeons the gith gladiator's neck, doing horrendous damage.
On The Beast's Chraden: a mullish gladiator swiftly dodges the gith gladiator's slashes.
The long-armed man coughs.
On The Beast's Chraden: a mullish gladiator bludgeons the gith gladiator on his leg, wounding him.
On The Beast's Chraden: a mullish gladiator swiftly dodges the gith gladiator's slashes.
On The Beast's Chraden: a mullish gladiator swiftly dodges the gith gladiator's slashes.
On The Beast's Chraden: a mullish gladiator parries the gith gladiator's attack.
On The Beast's Chraden: a mullish gladiator bludgeons the gith gladiator on his foot, wounding him.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to the long-armed man, in sirihish:
"Don't worry... your wounds will be tended"
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar pulls on a tarnished brass chain, causing a loud bell to ring up above.
A loud bell chimes, echoing across the city.
On The Beast's Chraden: a mullish gladiator bludgeons the gith gladiator on his leg, wounding him.
On The Beast's Chraden: a mullish gladiator tries to kick the gith gladiator in the chest, but he steps aside.
On The Beast's Chraden: the gith gladiator parries a mullish gladiator's attack.
On The Beast's Chraden: a mullish gladiator knocks the gith gladiator senseless with a brutal circle kick.
On The Beast's Chraden: a bone longsword clatters to the ground as the gith gladiator releases it.
On The Beast's Chraden: the gith gladiator crumples to the ground.
On The Beast's Chraden: a mullish gladiator bludgeons the gith gladiator's head, doing horrendous damage.
On The Beast's Chraden:
The bald, pallid-skinned templar has arrived from the north.
The thick-bearded, half-giant soldier has arrived from the north.
The human soldier has arrived from the north.
You ask the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Lord Templar, ya don't give the kankdroppins that fella said any belief, do ya?"
On The Beast's Chraden: a mullish gladiator walks west.
On The Western Arena Floor: a mullish gladiator has arrived from the east.
Someone sends:
"he's LD"
The bald, pallid-skinned templar glances about slowly, his hands clasped before him.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar exclaims to the bald, pallid-skinned templar, in sirihish:
"Ahhh... Lord Kriztok!"
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to the bald, pallid-skinned templar, in sirihish:
"Just setting up a bit of an honor duel."
The white-haired blue skinned woman bows deeply to the bald, pallid-skinned templar.
Inclining his head as he glances to the arena floor momentarily, the bald, pallid-skinned templar asks the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Indeed? what are the stakes?"
The bald, pallid-skinned templar looks at you.
l pallid before lowering her eyes
A set of dark brown eyes peer out from sunken sockets upon this human's face. His height and weight average for a person of his race, this man's most distinctive feature is his pale white skin, almost appearing as though it lacks pigmentation of any kind. His bald head, lacking growth of any type while hair still does remain upon other parts of his body. Growing from his chin, a stiletto beard, which is long, narrow, black in color, and pointed at the end. His nose is short and pudgy and while it does not extend lengthwise very far, it still remains quite wide and pronounced. The man's limbs show what the rest of his body has already demonstrated. This man is neither overly obese, nor muscular. Instead his build nestles nicely between the two, hiding all definition of muscle while at the same time not hanging loose about him. The bald, pallid-skinned templar is in excellent condition.
The bald, pallid-skinned templar is using:
<worn on head> a blue silk hood
<worn around neck> a medallion of Tektolnes
<worn across back> a gwoshi-hide knapsack
<worn on right finger> an obsidian templar ring
<worn on left finger> a Kadian signet ring
<worn around body> a blue, hooded templar's robe
<worn on legs> a pair of blue silk pants
<worn on feet> a pair of black leather boots
The bald, pallid-skinned templar looks at the long-armed man.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to the bald, pallid-skinned templar, in sirihish:
"Seems this man here claims the Byn, specifically Shanli... paid him to attempt to murder a soldier."
The bald, pallid-skinned templar glances between you and the long-armed man with an extended gaze.
The long-armed man raises his weary eyes to gaze upon the bald, pallid-skinned templar.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to the bald, pallid-skinned templar, in sirihish:
"Shanli wishes to beat him to death, until he speaks the truth..."
With a nod as he regards the long-armed man, the bald, pallid-skinned templar says to the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Excellent, I always enjoy a good fight"
The white-haired blue skinned woman nods, giving the long-armed man a hard stare.
The long-armed man trembles as he hears the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar say a few words.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says, in sirihish:
"Now... lets tend to those lashes."
Nodding to the long-armed man, the bald, pallid-skinned templar asks the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Are you going to give him a weapon?"
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to the long-armed man, in sirihish:
"He can pick from the Gith dead."
The long-armed man coughs.
With a nod, looking to the gate, the bald, pallid-skinned templar says, in sirihish:
"Pity, I was hoping to see them fight it out bare handed."
On The Western Arena Floor: a mullish gladiator walks north.
The First Chraden: a mullish gladiator has arrived from the south.
You think:
"Hope to Tek not."
Pausing, the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to you, in sirihish:
"Up to you..."
The bald, pallid-skinned templar says to the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"It's always pleasant to see someone killed by the raw might of the hand"
Indicating your jagged chitin scimitar, you ask the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"I be a swordsman, Lords Templar. I prefer these, if I may?"
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar nods.
The long-armed man glances at a jagged chitin scimitar and trembles with fear.
The bald, pallid-skinned templar asks the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in an unfamiliar tongue:
"Ii sis'g pu rygh uo i jepsi fkyh koy, qu uuy feryuiu lpa Bon if huslojs qvy ioouiehy wcooz?"
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar calls out for the gates of the arena to be opened.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar opens the gate.
On The Western Arena Floor: the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar opens the gate from the other side.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to the bald, pallid-skinned templar, in sirihish:
"We shall see..."
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to the bald, pallid-skinned templar, in sirihish:
"and since the only reason he picked her was because I gave him the information.... I have no reason to believe him"
The bald, pallid-skinned templar nods his head once, glancing between you and the long-armed man.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks east.
On The Western Arena Floor: the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar has arrived from the west.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk east.
The Arena Floor [NESW]
You are on the west side of the Arena, between the First and Third
Chradens. The screams and cheers emanating from the stands above you
further add to the deadly and decadent mood. The Arena floor is made up of
sand and rocks, as if built directly over the desert that once lay here,
and chitin spikes poke through the ground in various places, threatening
those who are more wary of their opponent than themselves.
The Arena continues to the east, and a giant iron gate lies to your
west, firmly shut, trapping you inside for the spectators' amusement.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the west.
The human soldier has arrived from the west.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the west, dragging the long-armed man behind.
A mullish gladiator has arrived from the north.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks west.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk west.
Entrance to the Arena Floor [NESW]
You stand at the entrance to the Arena floor, before a large
metal door through which monsters for the Games are lead through,
in order to meet death at the end of a gladiator's sword. Two doors,
set into the stone wall which holds up the Arena's underside, are
south and west of you, and a tunnel-like hallway leads north toward the
entrance to the Arena stands.
A tarnished brass chain hangs down from the ceiling.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
A human soldier of Tektolnes stands here vigilantly.
The bald, pallid-skinned templar is standing here.
The thick-bearded, half giant soldier stands here.
The flame-color haired templar stands here overlooking the arena beasts.
On The Western Arena Floor: the half-giant soldier walks west.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the east.
On The Western Arena Floor: the human soldier walks west.
The human soldier has arrived from the east.
On The Western Arena Floor: the half-giant soldier walks west, dragging the long-armed man behind her.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the east, dragging the long-armed man behind.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar calls out for the gates of the arena to be closed.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar closes the gate.
On The Western Arena Floor: the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar closes the gate from the other side.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar dusts the flame-color haired templar off.
Entrance to the Arena Floor [NESW]
You stand at the entrance to the Arena floor, before a large
metal door through which monsters for the Games are lead through,
in order to meet death at the end of a gladiator's sword. Two doors,
set into the stone wall which holds up the Arena's underside, are
south and west of you, and a tunnel-like hallway leads north toward the
entrance to the Arena stands.
A tarnished brass chain hangs down from the ceiling.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
The long-armed man stands here, held by the half-giant soldier.
A human soldier of Tektolnes stands here vigilantly.
A half-giant soldier of Tektolnes stands here impassively.
A human soldier of Tektolnes stands here vigilantly.
The bald, pallid-skinned templar is standing here.
The thick-bearded, half giant soldier stands here.
The flame-color haired templar stands here overlooking the arena beasts.
Handlers move through the arena, corralling the occupants back into the slaves and animal pens.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar calls out for the gates of the arena to be opened.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar opens the gate.
On The Western Arena Floor: the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar opens the gate from the other side.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks east.
On The Western Arena Floor: the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar has arrived from the west.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk east.
The Arena Floor [NESW]
You are on the west side of the Arena, between the First and Third
Chradens. The screams and cheers emanating from the stands above you
further add to the deadly and decadent mood. The Arena floor is made up of
sand and rocks, as if built directly over the desert that once lay here,
and chitin spikes poke through the ground in various places, threatening
those who are more wary of their opponent than themselves.
The Arena continues to the east, and a giant iron gate lies to your
west, firmly shut, trapping you inside for the spectators' amusement.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the west.
The human soldier has arrived from the west.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the west, dragging the long-armed man behind.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks east.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk east.
The Beast's Chraden [NESW]
You are at the Beast's Chraden, a large mound of dirt piled high in the
center of the arena. Set into the top of the mound is a reinforced
trapdoor, from which the beasts and gladiators that fight for the
entertainment of Allanak are herded out of. The ground around this chraden
is a mixture of tanned sand, and dark-red of dried blood; the tell-tale
sign of countless battles fought. The arsign of countless battles fought. The arena continues in all directions.
The body of the gith gladiator fills your nostrils with a morbid stench.
A bone longsword lies here.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the west.
The human soldier has arrived from the west.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the west, dragging the long-armed man behind.
The bald, pallid-skinned templar has arrived from the west.
The thick-bearded, half-giant soldier has arrived from the west.
The human soldier has arrived from the west.
The white-haired blue skinned woman grins down at the dead gith.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar shouts, in sirihish:
"People of Allanak! Today we have a duel! Between one that would Slander the Byn's good name!"
The bald, pallid-skinned templar reaches up, stroking his beard as he looks to the crowd.
A loud bell chimes, echoing across the city.
A loud bell chimes, echoing across the city.
A loud bell chimes, echoing across the city.
The white-haired blue skinned woman looks over the stands calmly.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar shouts, in sirihish:
"The champion for the Byn... Trooper Shanli!"
You think:
"I wish there were Byn up there, present. I just...if I die, I want them ta see it."
The bald, pallid-skinned templar glances towards the body of the gith gladiator for a long moment as he strokes his long, slender beard.
You think:
"An if I live..I want someone ta back up me braggin."
The long-armed man chokes on his saliva as he hears the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar.
The white-haired blue skinned woman smiles.
Motiontioning to the long-armed man, the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar shouts, in sirihish:
"The man accused.. the criminal who claims the Byn hired him to assassinate soldiers.... Dirr...."
The bald, pallid-skinned templar looks at the long-armed man with a momentary gaze.
The long-armed man groans and shakes.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar picks up a bone longsword.
You think:
"Scared as a jozhal. Either he was stupid an manipulated, or he's real good an pretendin."
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to you, in sirihish:
"one weapon only.. keep it remotely fair."
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar gives a bone longsword to the long-armed man.
You say to the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"As ya wish, Lord Templar."
The long-armed man tries to hold on to his bone longsword.
The bald, pallid-skinned templar gathers in his blue, hooded templar's robe, striding westward along the floor.
The bald, pallid-skinned templar walks west.
The thick-bearded, half-giant soldier walks west.
The human soldier walks west.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar gives the half-giant soldier an order.
The half-giant soldier releases the long-armed man, who immediately moves away.
The long-armed man brandishes a bone longsword.
You draw a jagged chitin scimitar.
The long-armed man steps back in fear.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar looks down at the long-armed man.
The white-haired blue skinned woman salutes the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar with the your jagged chitin scimitar.
You shout in sirihish:
"For the Highlord an the T'zai Byn!"
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar shouts, in sirihish:
"In the name of the Highlord! May he with truth... force the other to yeild... or take thier life!"
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar shouts, in sirihish:
"All Hail the highlord!"
The white-haired blue skinned woman turns, watching the long-armed man.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar stops leading the white-haired blue skinned woman.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks west.
The half-giant soldier walks west.
The human soldier walks west.
The half-giant soldier walks west.
The long-armed man mumbles something.
You ask the long-armed man, in sirihish:
"Ya gonna tell the truth?"
The long-armed man says to you, in sirihish:
"I did ... tell it."
The white-haired blue skinned woman crouches, left side towards the long-armed man.
You say to the long-armed man, in sirihish:
"No. I never saw ya before. Nor paid ya money. Ya are a liar."
The long-armed man says to you, in sirihish:
"Ahh ... yer memory is weak."
The white-haired blue skinned woman grins.
The long-armed man says, in sirihish:
"Everything will be found .... sooner or later."
You say to the long-armed man, in sirihish:
"Come an get some, fool."
The long-armed man says, in sirihish:
"if you say so ..."
The long-armed man makes a desperate lunge at you.
You deftly parry the long-armed man's attack.
You deftly parry the long-armed man's attack.
The long-armed man slashes at you, but you dodge out of the way.
The long-armed man swings his bone longsword horizontaly slashing at you.
You deftly parry the long-armed man's attack.
The long-armed man swiftly dodges your slash.
You slash the long-armed man's arm.
The long-armed man raies his bone longsword in an overhead chop bringing it to you.
You nick the long-armed man's leg with your slash.
The white-haired blue skinned woman parries, reversing to catch the long-armed man's arm.
You deftly parry the long-armed man's attack.
You slash the long-armed man's body.
You wound the long-armed man on his head with a brutal slash.
The long-armed man swiftly dodges your slash.
The long-armed man jabs desperatly at you.
You lightly slash the long-armed man's leg.
From the stands over head the stocky, mottled man shouts, " Kick his ass! Murderize him!".
The long-armed man slashes at you, but you dodge out of the way.
You slash the long-armed man very hard on his body.
From the stands over head the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar shouts, " You have the chance to yeild the Truth!".
The long-armed man parries your attack.
The long-armed man swings back in despair.
You deftly parry the long-armed man's attack.
You say to the long-armed man, in sirihish:
"Tell the truth."
You deftly parry the long-armed man's attack.
assess long
The long-armed man is in terrible condition.
The long-armed man does not look tired.
You deftly parry the long-armed man's attack.
You land a solid slash to the long-armed man's body.
The long-armed man shouts, in sirihish:
"Alright I lied"
A loud voice booms from over head: "Shout now you lie, and you may have a chance".
The long-armed man parries your attack.
The long-armed man panics, and attempts to flee.
The long-armed man runs west.
From the stands over head the spidery, black-haired man shouts, " Kill him anyway!".
From the stands over head the stocky, mottled man shouts, " Woooo! Hit him again! Chop his head off!".
You shout in sirihish:
"He admits he lied!"
The Arena Floor [NESW]
You are on the west side of the Arena, between the First and Third
Chradens. The screams and cheers emanating from the stands above you
further add to the deadly and decadent mood. The Arena floor is made up of
sand and rocks, as if built directly over the desert that once lay here,
and chitin spikes poke through the ground in various places, threatening
those who are more wary of their opponent than themselves.
The Arena continues to the east, and a giant iron gate lies to your
west, firmly shut, trapping you insidwest, firmly shut, trapping you inside for the spectators' amusement.
The long-armed man is standing here, bleeding profusely.
The long-armed man sits down.
From the stands over head the stocky, mottled man shouts, " Kill him anyway!".
The long-armed man chokes with pain.
You say to the long-armed man, in sirihish:
"Tell em the truth"
From the stands over head the stocky, mottled man shouts, " Woooo!".
You shout in sirihish:
"What be the will of the Lord Templar?"
The long-armed man shouts, in sirihish:
"I lied .... the Byn had nothing to do with it"
From the stands over head the stocky, mottled man shouts, " Make him pay!".
The long-armed man drops his bone longsword.
The long-armed man stops using a bone longsword.
The long-armed man drops a bone longsword.
The long-armed man faints back and hits the ground.
The white-haired blue skinned woman looks around at the stands.
From the stands over head the stocky, mottled man shouts, " Make him a Byn slave!".
From the stands over head the stocky, mottled man shouts, " Then kill him!".
You sheathe a jagged chitin scimitar.
From the stands over head the stocky, mottled man shouts, " Make him bleed! I want blood!".
You shout in sirihish:
"Lord Templar, what be thy will?"
The long-armed man chokes on his own blood as it spills out of his mouth.
From the stands over head the stocky, mottled man shouts, " BLOOD BLOOD BLOOD!".
The long-armed man coughs, and blood flies in every direction.
You think:
"Now that's a fella needs a life."
From the stands over head the spidery, black-haired man shouts, " (glancing back at the templars) I'll give you five hundred coins to stick your sword into him again. That fight was pathetic!".
The white-haired blue skinned woman shrugs.
You ask the long-armed man, in sirihish:
"Why did ya accuse the Byn? An me?"
From the stands over head the stocky, mottled man shouts, " Stop talking!".
From the stands over head the stocky, mottled man shouts, " Make them fight!".
The long-armed man opens his mouthm trying to mumble out words.
assess long
The long-armed man looks near death.
The long-armed man does not look tired.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar opens the gate from the other side.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar has arrived from the west.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the west.
The human soldier has arrived from the west.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the west.
From the stands over head the stocky, mottled man shouts, " Wooo!".
Coughing, the long-armed man says, in sirihish:
"a ... lie .... to sa ... ve me..h se."
You say, in sirihish:
"I'll kill him if it is ya wish, Lord Templar"
From the stands over head the stocky, mottled man shouts, " YEAH! Execute him! Let's see some blood!".
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to you, in sirihish:
"His life is yours... for the insult."
The long-armed man faints back and his eyes roll closed as streaks of blood flow down his head.
You hit the long-armed man, barely grazing his body.
The long-armed man swiftly dodges your hit.
The long-armed man hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
The long-armed man hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
The long-armed man hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
The long-armed man viciously leaps toward you, but a sweat-stained, new pair of one-striped studded sleeves gets in the way.
The long-armed man deftly avoids your slow kick.
You viciously leap toward the long-armed man, but a bloodied, sweat-stained, simple sandcloth shirt gets in the way.
You hit the long-armed man, barely grazing his body.
The long-armed man hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
The long-armed man hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
The long-armed man gives out a last sighs as hee sees a blade coming.
You hit the long-armed man, barely grazing his body.
The long-armed man swiftly dodges your hit.
The long-armed man hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
The long-armed man hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
You nick the long-armed man's neck with your hit.
The long-armed man swiftly dodges your hit.
The long-armed man's attack on you is absorbed by a sweat-stained, new crimson jakhal-hide jacket.
The long-armed man hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
The long-armed man lunges at you, but his blow is deftly deflected by a sweat-stained, new pair of one-striped studded sleeves.
The long-armed man hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
From the stands over head the stocky, mottled man shouts, " Knock his block off!".
The long-armed man hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
The long-armed man hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
You hit the long-armed man, barely grazing his arm.
You hit the long-armed man, barely grazing his arm.
The long-armed man hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
The long-armed man hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
The long-armed man swiftly dodges your hit.
The long-armed man swiftly dodges your hit.
The long-armed man hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
The long-armed man hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
Your attack on the long-armed man is absorbed by a pair of light-brown pants.
You hit the long-armed man, barely grazing his leg.
The long-armed man crumples to the ground.
From the stands over head the stocky, mottled man shouts, " YEAH!!!! Woooo!".
You draw a jagged chitin scimitar.
You inflict a grievous wound on the long-armed man's neck with your slash.
From the stands over head the stocky, mottled man shouts, " WOO!!!!! Yeah!".
You behead the body of the long-armed man.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar's lips peel back to a thin smile.
You sheathe a jagged chitin scimitar.
You pick up the head of the long-armed man.
It is very light, and empty.
The bald, pallid-skinned templar has arrived from the west.
The thick-bearded, half-giant soldier has arrived from the west.
The human soldier has arrived from the west.
The white-haired blue skinned woman bows, offering the head to the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar.
As he comes to a stop, the bald, pallid-skinned templar asks the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in an unfamiliar tongue:
"Yoa jyqi gei goe hyosj kirn fih Lajs Suhip?"
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to the bald, pallid-skinned templar, in sirihish:
"His life was hers.... for the insult alone.. it was thier duel."
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to the bald, pallid-skinned templar, in sirihish:
"Had she let him live... I would have killed him."
With a nod, the bald, pallid-skinned templar says to the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in an unfamiliar tongue:
"Speca ad deieui heiy juoh yyio zeqotuiq."
From the stands over head the stocky, mottled man shouts, " Yeah!!! That was great!".
Softly, you say, in sirihish:
"He did attack a soldier, after all, Lords Templar. THat's jus' wrong."
From the stands over head the stocky, mottled man shouts, " More more more!".
The bald, pallid-skinned templar says to the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in an unfamiliar tongue:
"A fyrzui gyhifoen ry ooag qajisiu sioiw ki ur eiqam I kyreuha, ojo iui iaat iuki 500 pousg sivafw ro oah."
You think:
"Bet that fella wouldn't think it was so great from in here."
The bald, pallid-skinned templar shrugs lightly, gasting a momentary glance to you.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to the bald, pallid-skinned templar, in sirihish:
"You are so right."
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to you, in sirihish:
"Come, present the head to the noble that wished you to finish the fight."
You think:
"Don't like this. Why isn't it over?"
The petite pale-skinned woman has arrived from the west.
The white-haired blue skinned woman bows to the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar.
Feathery brown hair frames the petite woman's face, falling in a tumble
over her shoulders. Eyes the hue of rich, fertile soil gaze studiously over
a narrow nose and full rosy lips. A short slender scar runs down the side
of her chin, marring her otherwise flawless cream-toned skin. Though small
in stature, she bears well-muscled yet curvaceous lines.
The petite pale-skinned woman is in excellent condition.
The petite pale-skinned woman is using:
<worn around neck> a blue ceramic charm
<worn about throat> an elegant opal brooch
<worn across back> a leather-strapped, rich purple satchel
<worn on arms> a new pair of azure-sigilled black armbands
<worn around wrist> a purple-spiralled bone bracelet
<worn around body> a black and azure hooded cloak
<worn on legs> a deep blue, split silk skirt
<worn on right ankle> a polished, opal-inset charm
<worn on feet> a new pair of knee-high black boots with azure sigils
The petite pale-skinned woman curtsies to the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar and the bald, pallid-skinned templar before approaching you.
You now follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar.
The white-haired blue skinned woman nods respectfully to the petite pale-skinned woman.
Holding a small purse out, the petite pale-skinned woman says to you, in sirihish:
"This is from Lord Hardestadt Oash."
The petite pale-skinned woman gives you 500 coins.
You ask the petite pale-skinned woman, in sirihish:
"Tell him he has me thanks, an I'll drink ta his health, Miss. Does Lord Oash wish the head?"
Tilting his head, the bald, pallid-skinned templar asks the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in an unfamiliar tongue:
"Daj Losf Oihq hurjudotohzo go ujuiqhh yook gegrew?"
The white-haired blue skinned woman slips the pouch into her belt.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar shakes his head to the bald, pallid-skinned templar.
You put a pile of allanaki coins inside a leather swordbelt.
Thoughtfully, the petite pale-skinned woman says to you, in sirihish:
"I can ask him, and let you know. I'm Nari, Aid to House Oash. I didn't get your name.."
The bald, pallid-skinned templar says to the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in an unfamiliar tongue:
"Fui ap iaamju zoet iah syax enasoquhp xig ao axykuia joagigh."
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar nods.
You say to the petite pale-skinned woman, in sirihish:
"I be Shanli, trooper of the Byn."
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says, in sirihish:
"When you are ready to leave the Arena Floor Nari."
Smiling and inclining her head, the petite pale-skinned woman says to you, in sirihish:
"Well met then, Trooper Shanli."
Looking between the petite pale-skinned woman and you, the bald, pallid-skinned templar says, in sirihish:
"This isn't a social club."
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks west.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk west.
Entrance to the Arena Floor [NESW]
You stand at the entrance to the Arena floor, before a large
metal door through which monsters for the Games are lead through,
in order to meet death at the end of a gladiator's sword. Two doors,
set into the stone wall which holds up the Arena's underside, are
south and west of you, and a tunnel-like hallway leads north toward the
entrance to the Arena stands.
A tarnished brass chain hangs down from the ceiling.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
The flame-color haired templar stands here overlooking the arena beasts.
On The Western Arena Floor: the half-giant soldier walks west.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the east.
On The Western Arena Floor: the human soldier walks west.
The human soldier has arrived from the east.
On The Western Arena Floor: the half-giant soldier walks west.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the east.
On The Western Arena Floor: the bald, pallid-skinned templar walks west.
The bald, pallid-skinned templar has arrived from the east.
On The Western Arena Floor: the thick-bearded, half-giant soldier walks west.
The thick-bearded, half-giant soldier has arrived from the east.
On The Western Arena Floor: the human soldier walks west.
The human soldier has arrived from the east.
On The Western Arena Floor: the petite pale-skinned woman walks west.
The petite pale-skinned woman has arrived from the east.
The white-haired blue skinned woman chuckles softly.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar calls out for the gates of the arena to be closed.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar closes the gate.
On The Western Arena Floor: the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar closes the gate from the other side.
The petite pale-skinned woman walks north.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to the bald, pallid-skinned templar, in sirihish:
"Give them something that is entertaining."
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to the bald, pallid-skinned templar, in sirihish:
"You've such a better feel for it than I do."
With a nod, the bald, pallid-skinned templar says to the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Indeed, I'll go grab an elf from the quarter"
The bald, pallid-skinned templar says to the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"I don't want to pay to release the beasts again."
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says, in sirihish:
"Another seems willing to attack the soldiers"
The bald, pallid-skinned templar says to the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"You see, always another"
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks north.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk north.
A Torch-lit Hallway [NS]
Lit by flickering torches of styrax wood, this hallway is unfurnished.
The sounds of the stands roofing it, the cries of the arena crowds and the
constant noise of moving feet overhead, echo along its length, the
reverbations amplified by the worn stone flooring underfoot.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south.
The human soldier has arrived from the south.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks north.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk north.
Entrance to the Stands [ESU]
A stone stairway leads up to the stands, its withered, smooth surface
having known the tread of thousands of feet. Above your head you hear
the jeers and shouts of the spectators, inciting the combatants on the
Arena floor.
A door is on the south wall, and another leads east to the
Arena entrance.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south.
The human soldier has arrived from the south.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks east.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk east.
The Arena Gate [NESWU]
The gate to the arena stands here, open for either a Game or a
gladitorial practice. Sturdy bars stand in front of the gritty sand of the
arena floor, restraining spectators tempted to take a more active part in
the Games. The arena itself sprawls out, its surface covered with blood-
spattered sand. Stairs leading up to the stands of the arena lie to the
east and west, exits to the training cells and cages beyond them.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
The petite pale-skinned woman is standing here.
A veteran mercenary is standing here at attention.
The spidery, black-haired man is standing here.
A veteran mercenary is standing here at attention.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the west.
The human soldier has arrived from the west.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the west.
The bald, pallid-skinned templar has arrived from the west.
The thick-bearded, half-giant soldier has arrived from the west.
The human soldier has arrived from the west.
The white-haired blue skinned woman smiles at the petite pale-skinned woman.
Nodding, the petite pale-skinned woman asks the spidery, black-haired man, in sirihish:
"Saw someone, didn't get a look at him though. The big one, kind of thick around the middle, wearing the sandcloth cloak?"
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar inclines his head.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks north.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk north.
Arena Road [ESW]
Arena Road runs along the north of the Arena, home of Allanak's bloody
Games. Even from this distance, the screams of gladiators practicing inside
echo over the polished bone spikes that jut above the stone walls. The
Arena itself has a smooth, polished stone wall, engraved with a variety of
inscriptions, most of them depicting scenes from famous battles and
gladiatorial combats. On the north side of the road sits a row of subdued
looking mud brick buildings, some occupied by merchants during the Games,
and others used to store supplies or house slaves.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south.
The human soldier has arrived from the south.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks west.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk west.
Arena Road [NEW]
Arena Road runs along the north of the Arena, home of Allanak's bloody
Games. Even from this distance, the screams of gladiators practicing inside
echo over the polished bone spikes that jut above the stone walls. The
Arena itself has a smooth, polished stone wall, engraved with a variety of
inscriptions, most of them depicting scenes from famous battles and
gladiatorial combats. On the north side of the road sits a row of subdued
looking mud brick buildings, some occupied by merchants during the Games,
and others used to store supplies or house slaves.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the east.
The human soldier has arrived from the east.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the east.
The stocky, mottled man has arrived from the west.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks west.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk west.
Arena Road [NEW]
Arena Road runs along the north of the Arena, home of Allanak's bloody
Games. Even from this distance, the screams of gladiators practicing inside
echo over the polished bone spikes that jut above the stone walls. The
Arena itself has a smooth, polished stone wall, engraved with a variety of
inscriptions, most of them depicting scenes from famous battles and
gladiatorial combats. On the north side of the road sits a row of subdued
looking mud brick buildings, some occupied by merchants during the Games,
and others used to store supplies or house slaves.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
A squinty-eyed half elf slouches here, watching pedestrians go by.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the east.
The human soldier has arrived from the east.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the east.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk west.
Arena Road [EW]
Arena Road runs along the north of the Arena, home of Allanak's bloody
Games. Even from this distance, the screams of gladiators practicing inside
echo over the polished bone spikes that jut above the stone walls. The
Arena itself has a smooth, polished stone wall, engraved with a variety of
inscriptions, most of them depicting scenes from famous battles and
gladiatorial combats. On the north side ofgladiatorial combats. On the north side of the road sits a row of subdued
looking mud brick buildings, some occupied by merchants during the Games,
and others used to store supplies or house slaves.
The road extends to the east, along the north wall of the Arena,
leading towards the vast entrance. To the west lies Templars' Way,
which leads south towards the Templars' Quarter.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the east.
The human soldier has arrived from the east.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the east.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks west.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk west.
Arena Road [EW]
Arena Road runs along the north of the Arena, home of Allanak's bloody
Games. Even from this distance, the screams of gladiators practicing inside
echo over the polished bone spikes that jut above the stone walls. The
Arena itself has a smooth, polished stone wall, engraved with a variety of
inscriptions, most of them depicting scenes from famous battles and
gladiatorial combats. On the north side ofgladiatorial combats. On the north side of the road sits a row of subdued
looking mud brick buildings, some occupied by merchants during the Games,
and others used to store supplies or house slaves.
The road extends to the east, along the north wall of the Arena,
leading towards the vast entrance. To the west lies Templars' Way,
which leads south towards the Templars' Quarter.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the east.
The human soldier has arrived from the east.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the east.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks west.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk west.
Templars' Way [NES]
Templars' Way stretches north and south through the very heart of the
crowded city. The road is made of large, black-colored stones that are
covered with dust, dung, and other unsavory materials. It passes under the
Arena's morbid shadow, a gigantic structure standing to the east. Bustling
with activity, the Commoners' Quarter lies to the west. Crowds pass along
the street, hurrying on errands and avoiding the keen-eyed glances of the
templars and soldiers who use this way.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
A dark-haired elf staggers along, carrying a load of hides.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the east.
The human soldier has arrived from the east.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the east.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks south.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk south.
Templars' Way [NS]
Templars' Way stretches north and south through the very heart of the
crowded city. The road is made of large, black-colored stones that are
covered with dust, dung, and other unsavory materials. It passes under the
Arena's morbid shadow, a gigantic structure standing to the east. Bustling
with activity, the Commoners' Quarter lies to the west. Crowds pass along
the street, hurrying on errands and avoiding the keen-eyed glances of the
templars and soldiers who use this way.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
A human soldier of Tektolnes walks along here.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the north.
The human soldier has arrived from the north.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the north.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to you, in sirihish:
"YOu are dismissed... you did a fine show, Shanli..."
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to you, in sirihish:
"Pity you consider yourself so unpolished"
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar stops leading the white-haired blue skinned woman.
You say to the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"I thank ya, for ya faith in me, Lord Templar."
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks south.
The half-giant soldier walks south.
The human soldier walks south.
The half-giant soldier walks south.
The white-haired blue skinned woman smiles to herself as she turns.
The Gateway to the T'zai Byn [ESW]
Massive gray stone arches mark the entrance to the T'zai Byn, also known
as the Allanaki Mercenaries' Guild. A large black banner bearing a purple
dragon hangs proudly across the thick stone wall to the north, while arches
open to the east, south, and west. A heavy wooden gate is set beneath the
eastern arch, while a small courtyard is visible through the western arch.
Warriors' Way lies to the south.
The hustle and bustle of the road to the south can be heard, and a large
amount of traffic passes in that direction. Most of the people here form a
line before the gate to the east.
The obsidian-skinned dwarf is here, holding his swords at the ready.
The solid, sun-darkened half-giant is here, looming over the crowd.
The rugged, war-braided man keeps watch over the courtyard here.
The rugged, gray-haired woman stands beside the massive gate here.
The scar-faced green elf scratches his belly as he keeps watch here.
The hulking, dark gray half-giant stands here, looking around slowly.
The obsidian-skinned dwarf watches as you approach the gate.
Ok.
The rugged, gray-haired woman and you salute each other.
A Stony Path [EW]
Small, sharp gray gravel covers the ground here, forming a path leading
east and west. To the north, a massive gray stone wall rises up perhaps
fourteen cords into the air. To the south, a massive, utilitarian-looking
stone building reaches up into the sky, with arrow slits set at regular
intervals along its length.
Warriors of all kinds walk along here, either striding along to the east
or queuing up to be let out through the gateway to the west.
The rugged, brown-haired woman stands here vigilantly, beside the gate.
The muscular, sandy-brown dwarf is standing here.
The monstrous, battle-scarred mul keeps watch over the path here.
The thick-boned half-giant is here, standing to one side of the gate.
You think:
"Wish the Lieutenant was up, so's I could report."
A Stony Path [NESW]
Small, sharp gray gravel covers the ground here, forming a path leading
east and west. To the north, the path opens up into a large, dusty yard. To
the south, a large hallway marks the entrance to a massive, utilitarian-
looking stone building.
Warriors of all kinds walk along here, either striding along to the east
or queuing up to be let out through the gateway to the west.
The bald, one-eyed man leans against the side of the hall here.
The copper-skinned, claw-scarred elf is here, watching the path.
The muscular, violet eyed woman stands here vigilantly.
The fat-headed, spear-tattooed man chuckles as he talks here.
The robust gray dwarf is standing here, watching the sky.
The Drill Yard [NESW]
This large, dusty yard is set in the middle of several buildings, most
of them fairly tall. The sand underfoot is coarse and gritty, and is caked
with sweat or blood in more than a few places. Various pieces of equipment
are scattered around the area, including some humanoid-shaped practice
targets and wooden practice weapons of all kinds. Several groups of rough-
looking mercenaries are engaged in combat drills, overseen by sergeants
barking out crisp orders, and with a lieutenant or two supervising the
overall situation in this part of the yard.
To the east is a large stone hall filled with trestle tables, and to the
south, the yard meets up with a stony path. The yard continues to the north
and west.
The graceful, golden-haired elf is here, cutting the air with her weapons.
A Stony Path [NESW]
Small, sharp gray gravel covers the ground here, forming a path leading
east and west. To the north, the path opens up into a large, dusty yard. To
the south, a large hallway marks the entrance to a massive, utilitarian-
looking stone building.
Warriors of all kinds walk along here, either striding along to the east
or queuing up to be let out through the gateway to the west.
The bald, one-eyed man leans against the side of the hall here.
The copper-skinned, claw-scarred elf is here, watching the path.
The muscular, violet eyed woman stands here vigilantly.
The fat-headed, spear-tattooed man chuckles as he talks here.
The robust gray dwarf is standing here, watching the sky.
A Large Hallway [NW]
This broad hallway opens up to a stony path to the north, and the rest
of the building to the west. The plain gray flagstones here are heavily
scuffed, with evidence of much repair work to level the stones and fill in
chips and cracks. The traffic is heavy here, with many people seeking both
entry to and exit from the building. Most are dressed in armor, but many
are instead dressed in civilian clothing. Very few would appear to be at
all wealthy.
The grizzled old man scratches at himself idly as he stands here.
The flame-haired elven woman is here, her gaze darting around alertly.
The lithe, obsidian-braided man keeps watch over the hallway here.
The silver-skinned dwarven woman stands here, looking around slowly.
The Main Barracks [EU]
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.
The tall, cleft-lipped man is here, sleeping on a pallet.
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 Main Barracks [ND]
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 fifteen 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.
The rugged, runic-tattooed man is sitting on a pallet here, nursing a wound.
The grizzled, long-fingered mercenary sits on a pallet here, tattooing.
You ask the rugged, runic-tattooed man, in sirihish:
"Ya awake yet?"
You think:
"Love to set this head down on his chest, so's when he wakes..."
The white-haired blue skinned woman giggles.
You say to the rugged, runic-tattooed man, in sirihish:
"I got a story ta tell ya, when ya feel up to it, Pavel."
The Main Barracks [EU]
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.
The tall, cleft-lipped man is here, sleeping on a pallet.
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.
A Large Hallway [NW]
This broad hallway opens up to a stony path to the north, and the rest
of the building to the west. The plain gray flagstones here are heavily
scuffed, with evidence of much repair work to level the stones and fill in
chips and cracks. The traffic is heavy here, with many people seeking both
entry to and exit from the building. Most are dressed in armor, but many
are instead dressed in civilian clothing. Very few would appear to be at
all wealthy.
The grizzled old man scratches at himself idly as he stands here.
The flame-haired elven woman is here, her gaze darting around alertly.
The lithe, obsidian-braided man keeps watch over the hallway here.
The silver-skinned dwarven woman stands here, looking around slowly.
A Stony Path [NESW]
Small, sharp gray gravel covers the ground here, forming a path leading
east and west. To the north, the path opens up into a large, dusty yard. To
the south, a large hallway marks the entrance to a massive, utilitarian-
looking stone building.
Warriors of all kinds walk along here, either striding along to the east
or queuing up to be let out through the gateway to the west.
The bald, one-eyed man leans against the side of the hall here.
The copper-skinned, claw-scarred elf is here, watching the path.
The muscular, violet eyed woman stands here vigilantly.
The fat-headed, spear-tattooed man chuckles as he talks here.
The robust gray dwarf is standing here, watching the sky.
The Drill Yard [NESW]
This large, dusty yard is set in the middle of several buildings, most
of them fairly tall. The sand underfoot is coarse and gritty, and is caked
with sweat or blood in more than a few places. Various pieces of equipment
are scattered around the area, including some humanoid-shaped practice
targets and wooden practice weapons of all kinds. Several groups of rough-
looking mercenaries are engaged in combat drills, overseen by sergeants
barking out crisp orders, and with a lieutenant or two supervising the
overall situation in this part of the yard.
To the east is a large stone hall filled with trestle tables, and to the
south, the yard meets up with a stony path. The yard continues to the north
and west.
The graceful, golden-haired elf is here, cutting the air with her weapons.
The Drill Yard [NE]
This large, dusty yard is set in the middle of several buildings, most
of them fairly tall. The sand underfoot is coarse and gritty, and is caked
with sweat or blood in more than a few places. Various pieces of equipment
are scattered around the area, including some humanoid-shaped practice
targets and wooden practice weapons of all kinds. Several groups of rough-
looking mercenaries are engaged in combat drills, overseen by sergeants
barking out crisp orders, and with a lieutenant or two supervising the
overall situation in this part of the yard.
To the south, a thick stone wall rises many cords into the air, blocking
your view in that direction, and to the west, part of a rectangular hall
forms the border of this area. The yard continues to the north and east.
The battle-scarred, sun-bronzed man is standing here.
The muscular, gray-hued mul stands here, keeping watch over the yard.
The Drill Yard [NES]
This large, dusty yard is set in the middle of several buildings, most
of them fairly tall. The sand underfoot is coarse and gritty, and is caked
with sweat or blood in more than a few places. Various pieces of equipment
are scattered around the area, including some humanoid-shaped practice
targets and wooden practice weapons of all kinds. Several groups of rough-
looking mercenaries are engaged in combat drills, overseen by sergeants
barking out crisp orders, and with a lieutenant or two supervising the
overall situation in this part of the yard.
To the north lies a dank-looking building, from which emanates a foul
stench of some kind, and, to the west, a stone archway leads into a large
hall. The yard continues to the south and east.
The slim, clear-eyed woman works her way through a weapons drill here.
The night has begun.
You enter a stone archway.
The Exercise Hall [NS]
The walls of this large training hall are lined with sturdy shelves,
tough baobab forms the higher shelves, and plain gray stone the lower
shelves. A variety of training equipment is neatly stacked on the shelves,
mostly stone weights and heavy wooden clubs and staves. Archways to the
north and south lead into smaller halls, and an archway to the east leads
out to a large, dusty training yard.
You drop the head of the long-armed man.
Shown to room as:
The head of the long-armed man is here stuck on a spike.
The Exercise Hall [NS]
The walls of this large training hall are lined with sturdy shelves,
tough baobab forms the higher shelves, and plain gray stone the lower
shelves. A variety of training equipment is neatly stacked on the shelves,
mostly stone weights and heavy wooden clubs and staves. Archways to the
north and south lead into smaller halls, and an archway to the east leads
out to a large, dusty training yard.
The head of the long-armed man is here stuck on a spike.
The white-haired blue skinned woman pulls the head off the spike.
You think:
"I'll hang onto it for a bit, till I can show it ta people"
You pick up the head of the long-armed man.
It is very light, and empty.
The white-haired blue skinned woman stares into your head of the long-armed man's dead eyes.
Softly to the head, you ask, in sirihish:
"Why did ya lie? Did ya think it would save ya?"
You say, in sirihish:
"Shoulda used ya head. It woulda stayed on ya shoulders longer."
The white-haired blue skinned woman stops, chest heaving as she bows to the
sleek, jakhal-eyed templar.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar asks the long-armed man, in sirihish:
"Is this the one?"
A man of average height, stand atop his massive feet. His purely white
hair drips down onto his...
Continue Reading...Hitting the Soft Spots by Cutthroat
Added on Feb 11, 2009One soldier + one fresh body + one halfsword + one codpiece = one self-training session in the dealing of death.
You are Lucien, of many people. (type 'tribes' to see your tribes).
Keywords: athletic dusky man Lucky
Sdesc: the athletic, dusky man
Objective: Work as a Private in the Allanaki militia.
Long Description:
Code Generated Long Description.
You are 27 years, 0 months, and 71 days old,
which by your race and appearance is adult.
You are 69 inches tall, and weigh 7 ten-stone.
Your strength is average, your agility is extremely good,
your wisdom is extremely good, and your endurance is below average.
You are neither hungry nor thirsty.
Your health is 89(89), you have 67(120) stamina, and 87(87) stun.
You have been playing for 17 days and 11 hours.
You are standing.
You are currently speaking sirihish with a southern accent.
Your encumbrance is light.
You are:
Recruit of the Allanaki Militia Recruits, jobs:
Private / Archer / Soldier / Black Soldier / Clerk / Praetorian Guard of the Arm of the Dragon, jobs:
Relationship to the land is neutral.
You are currently speaking sirihish with a southern accent.
Your mood is neutral.
You are standing.
You are accepting all saves (nosave off).
You are being merciful.
You aren't watching anything in particular.
This adult human male stands slightly above four and a half cords tall. His lean, limber legs with large feet contribute much to his height. His torso is narrow at the bottom but widens around the shoulders. His long, sinewy arms are packed with well-built muscle. His hands are large, and each have long, slender fingers sprouting from them. His dark brown skin stretches over his well-formed musculature. His rounded face and thin neck are covered by a full dark beard. His thin, chapped lips are surrounded by his facial hair, and his pronounced Adam's apple is partially covered by it. His nose is large but flat, resting between two dark brown eyes. Two thick black eyebrows hang over his eyes, with hair growing between them. The hair on the top of his head is as dark as onyx and hangs naturally at his head's back and sides, messily cut at his shoulders. Two round ears partially poke out of his hair from either side of his head.
The figure in a black, hooded militia dustcloak is in excellent condition.
<worn on head> a simple black helm
<worn around neck> an inky-black leather collar
<slung across back> a blackened slim bone rapier
<worn across back> a jade-emblazoned, hoplite shield
<worn on left shoulder> a black sandcloth sash
<worn on arms> a pair of inky-black leather sleeves
<worn around wrist> an inky-black leather bracer
<worn around wrist> an inky-black leather bracer
<worn on hands> a pair of inky-black leather gloves
<worn on forearms> a leather and chitin strap-sheath
<worn around body> a black, hooded militia dustcloak
<worn on legs> a pair of inky-black leather leggings
<worn on right ankle> a black sandcloth bandana
<worn on left ankle> a black sandcloth bandana
<worn on feet> a pair of knee-high dark leather boots
The figure in a black, hooded militia dustcloak wipes his brow with the back of his hand as he moves to the door of the abandoned hovel.
You lower the hood of a black, hooded militia dustcloak.
You drop the body of the grey-eyed human.
You arrange the body of the grey-eyed human. Shown to the room as:
The body of the grey-eyed human is lying on the floor here.
A Small Empty Room [N Quit]
The stone walls of this room have been painted a dull white which has already begun to peel and crack from the heat of the sun to reveal grey stone underneath it. There is a small wooden door to the north, which appears to be the only exit.
The body of the grey-eyed human is lying on the floor here.
Leaning against the wall, you sit down and rest your tired bones, sliding down slowly.
You think:
"Dragging that body along with Trea was hard work."
You are using:
<worn on head> a simple black helm
<worn around neck> an inky-black leather collar
<slung across back> a blackened slim bone rapier
<worn across back> a jade-emblazoned, hoplite shield
<worn on torso> an inky-black leather vest
<worn on left shoulder> a black sandcloth sash
<worn on arms> a pair of inky-black leather sleeves
<worn around wrist> an inky-black leather bracer
<worn around wrist> an inky-black leather bracer
<worn on hands> a pair of inky-black leather gloves
<worn on forearms> a leather and chitin strap-sheath
<worn as belt> a leather swordbelt
<hung from belt> a blackened serrated bone halfsword
<hung from belt> a blackened serrated bone halfsword
<worn around body> a black, hooded militia dustcloak
<worn about waist> a tough, grey chitin codpiece
<worn on legs> a pair of inky-black leather leggings
<worn on right ankle> a black sandcloth bandana
<worn on left ankle> a black sandcloth bandana
<worn on feet> a pair of knee-high dark leather boots
It is dusk on Yochem, the 7th day of the Descending Sun,
In the Year of Silt's Agitation, year 42 of the 21st Age.
In a leather swordbelt (used) :
some dried kalan chips
a pile of allanaki coins
a leather ticket
a red rose
a dusty purple glow-crystal
a thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap
The athletic, dusky man reaches behind your black, hooded militia dustcloak.
You get your thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap from your leather swordbelt.
It is very light.
You are carrying:
a thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap
a half eaten kalan fruit
a partially eaten kalan fruit
You think:
"I'm gonna get blood splattered on me, and smells coming at me like they were trying to kill me."
Strapping it on, you fasten your thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap across your face, tying a strap behind his head.
You think:
"Because, today... I am going to be tearing this body apart like it was a real, living thing."
You stop resting, and stand up.
The male wearing a thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap frowns faintly as he walks along the perimeter of the room, running his hand along the wall.
You think:
"I gotta find something to prop this poor bastard on."
The male wearing a thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap smiles as his gloved hand runs into a small bone hook on the wall, close to the ceiling.
You are carrying:
a half eaten kalan fruit
a partially eaten kalan fruit
You think:
"Great. I can hook this guy up onto that, but I need something sturdy to hold him in place."
The male wearing a thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap grins a bit as he reaches under your black, hooded militia dustcloak, towards his leggings.
You think:
"I got an idea..."
The male wearing a thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap grunts as he reaches for his crotch, loosening something.
You stop using your tough, grey chitin codpiece.
The male wearing a thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap pulls your tough, grey chitin codpiece out from under your pair of inky-black leather leggings.
l codpiece
Tough grey chitin, flexible yet tough, has been hardened with something, and been molded into a crotch piece to protect the jewels of men. It has a leather cord looped through about ten drilled holes so that it can be tied about the waist and pulled up through the legs.
The male wearing a thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap pulls on your tough, grey chitin codpiece's leather cord to test its tension, then walks up to the body of the grey-eyed human.
The male wearing a thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap hefts up the body of the grey-eyed human by the shoulder, and slings your tough, grey chitin codpiece around the body of the grey-eyed human's neck.
You think:
"Now, if I do that..."
The male wearing a thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap grunts as he pulls up on the body of the grey-eyed human, and drags him toward the hook on the wall.
The male wearing a thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap hefts up the body of the grey-eyed human, and allows it to hang on the hook by your tough, grey chitin codpiece's straps.
You arrange the body of the grey-eyed human. Shown to the room as:
The body of the grey-eyed human is hanging from a hook on the wall, by a codpiece with leather straps.
A Small Empty Room [N Quit]
The stone walls of this room have been painted a dull white which has already begun to peel and crack from the heat of the sun to reveal grey stone underneath it. There is a small wooden door to the north, which appears to be the only exit.
The body of the grey-eyed human is hanging from a hook on the wall, by a codpiece with leather straps.
The male wearing a thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap steps away from the body of the grey-eyed human, towards the door, and reaches under your black, hooded militia dustcloak.
You draw a blackened serrated bone halfsword.
The male wearing a thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap walks up to the body of the grey-eyed human, and moves it around to make sure that its back is facing towards the wall.
You think:
"Good. Now it's hanging out there."
The male wearing a thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap steps backwards towards the door, eyeing the body of the grey-eyed human carefully.
You think:
"Great. It looks steady, and I shouldn't have any trouble with it now."
The male wearing a thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap walks up to the body of the grey-eyed human slowly, your blackened serrated bone halfsword held down at his side.
You think:
"Approaching from the front, act like nothing's wrong."
You think:
"Then..."
The male wearing a thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap suddenly raises your blackened serrated bone halfsword and jabs directly for the body of the grey-eyed human's throat.
Some darkening blood starts to sputter as the male wearing a thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap plunges your blackened serrated bone halfsword's cord-long blade through the body of the grey-eyed human's throat.
The male wearing a thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap grins broadly as he twists your blackened serrated bone halfsword, causing a circular gash to form in the body of the grey-eyed human's dead, fleshy neck.
You think:
"Yeah... that's how it's done."
The male wearing a thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap pulls your blackened serrated bone halfsword back, and steps away slowly, towards the door.
You think:
"Good. Now usually smart people wear a nice, thick gorget to protect their necks. Rarely does anyone protect the armpit, and that is a very weak spot."
The male wearing a thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap raises your blackened serrated bone halfsword up to his eye level, looking down the blade towards the body of the grey-eyed human's shoulder.
You think:
"It's tricky getting there. I'm bound to miss if I rush this."
You think:
"But, let's try it anyhow."
The male wearing a thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap takes a few long running steps towards the body of the grey-eyed human, your blackened serrated bone halfsword held out and ready to strike.
The male wearing a thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap presses your blackened serrated bone halfsword directly into the body of the grey-eyed human's shoulder, then the features behind his mask seem to curl into a dissatisfied grimace.
You think:
"As I expected."
The male wearing a thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap pulls your blackened serrated bone halfsword out of the body of the grey-eyed human's shoulder, and he steps backwards towards the door.
The male wearing a thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap holds your blackened serrated bone halfsword behind his back as he walks slowly towards the body of the grey-eyed human.
You think:
"Again, slow on the approach..."
The male wearing a thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap pulls your blackened serrated bone halfsword out from behind him, holding it out to his side as he thrusts your blackened serrated bone halfsword in a curving path towards the body of the grey-eyed human's underarm.
You think:
"Be quick on the draw, then..."
The male wearing a thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap plunges your blackened serrated bone halfsword straight into the body of the grey-eyed human's right underarm, then twists it around, the serrated edges causing a gash to form.
The male wearing a thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap frowns as the body starts to shake, and the hook snaps, causing the body of the grey-eyed human and your tough, grey chitin codpiece to fall to the floor.
You arrange the body of the grey-eyed human. Shown to the room as:
The body of the grey-eyed human is slumped to the floor, a codpiece strapped around his neck.
A Small Empty Room [N Quit]
The stone walls of this room have been painted a dull white which has already begun to peel and crack from the heat of the sun to reveal grey stone underneath it. There is a small wooden door to the north, which appears to be the only exit.
The body of the grey-eyed human is slumped to the floor, a codpiece strapped around his neck.
Walking to the body of the grey-eyed human, you say, in sirihish:
"Well, this is a sight indeed."
The male wearing a thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap reaches for the body of the grey-eyed human's neck, pulling off your tough, grey chitin codpiece.
You arrange the body of the grey-eyed human. Shown to the room as:
The body of the grey-eyed human is slumped to the floor, leaning against the wall.
A Small Empty Room [N Quit]
The stone walls of this room have been painted a dull white which has already begun to peel and crack from the heat of the sun to reveal grey stone underneath it. There is a small wooden door to the north, which appears to be the only exit.
The body of the grey-eyed human is slumped to the floor, leaning against the wall.
The male wearing a thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap flips your tough, grey chitin codpiece around as he turns for the door, tucking away your blackened serrated bone halfsword.
You sheathe a blackened serrated bone halfsword.
You think:
"That's all for today."You are Lucien, of many people. (type 'tribes' to see your tribes).
Keywords: athletic dusky man Lucky
Sdesc: the athletic, dusky man
Objective: Work as a Private in the Allanaki militia.
Long Description:
Code Generated Long Description.
You are 27 years, 0 months, and 71 days old,
which by...
Continue Reading...
