Original Submissions by Ghost
-
The Warriors of Faith: Part IV: "To Be Born into Greatness"
Added on Apr 27, 2009The armies clash over and over in the desert as two templars try to beat the other. Meanwhile, chaos and troubles brew in the Allanak.
CHAPTER 14
Dzeda, the 42nd day of the Ascending Sun, year 19 of the 21st Age, King's
It has been 53 days since the beginning of the campaign. The storm that raged throughout the evening started to calm at
It has been 53 days, as I noted, and the campaign has been going stale as of late. I have chased Sulach through the wastes of Abi li Pah into the depths of the gith lands. The armies clashed four times in total, save for the minor skirmishes of smaller groups when they crossed paths or Sulach's night raids when I was unconscious of the injuries I received in the first battle. Though, the chase started again as soon as I was able to walk.
As soon as I recovered from the wounds in the first battle, I chased Sulach through the land of crumbling roads and broken grounds, all the while closing his escape to south. On the morning of the third day we were hailed by a rain of arrows and spears from Sulach's hidden archers. We responded with a charge that set them on the run for half a league and there I saw the rest of his force. They were taunting us to continue with the blind charge to reach them for a front battle. This was a trap. I ordered my soldiers to stop and search for pit falls and Sulach started to retreat immediately. In a manner of half an hour, my scouts found the traps ahead of us. We moved through the snaking path to catch Sulach's force and we only managed to catch his final column, fifty men and women. They stood their ground as we butchered them, and the rest of Sulach's soldiers retreated. Such a display of loyalty, yet it is wasted with the barbarians of Allanak.
We marched for a day but we lost sight of Sulach by then. I cut the resting times to catch up with the enemy in the second day. We rationed on the march and kept moving even after the dark. We caught the enemy off guard by the fourth day at
We kept following his tail the very same afternoon. He was cutting his way in a speed that showed how much he was familiar with the land. If we have the higher numbers and the abundant supplies, he has the knowledge of the terrain and veteran warriors that are result of his previous campaigns couple years ago. He had been here, he fought here on the very same ground against another enemy just two years ago. But I would not let that take the upper hand from me.
We caught sight of them in two more days at the skirts of a series of hills, a splash of black over the sea of yellow. I gave the order to close in immediately, before Sulach could move out of reach again. I realized too late that Sulach made no intent to move to the top of the hills, the higher ground as it would provide a strategically better position. Then I saw it that they were not Allanakki force at all, we were charging into a pile of rocks and straw, deceptively positioned to imitate a waiting army. I called the stop and to reposition, but it was too late. Sulach sprinted from the back of the hill in an instant. They descended upon us in a fury that carried the revenge for days of running. They smashed from our flank and we lost many good soldiers in the initial onslaught. I saw my soldiers buckle and shatter with the sudden force of Sulach's army. If they could break our flank, the rest of the army would be hit from their flank s as well before they could take position, and they would fall one by one. For the first time, I felt we were on the verge of defeat.
Yet my soldiers stood. These were the same battalion that lost their banners in Sulach's raids, they knew too well what happens to runners. They responded with an anger and pushed the enemy back. I saw my opportunity to move the rest of the army to face Sulach's attack. The units changed their formations and were moving in and by that time I heard Sulach's order to pull back from the front. I was frustrated that in such a short time we had such a blow. Higher ground or not, we had the chance to destroy him there. My soldiers were burning with anger and I gave the order to charge. We ran uphill to engage the enemy but the abomination once again caused a quake that shook the entire hill. The sands moved beneath us and I saw a wall of solid stone rise up and separate us from the enemy. Still uphill, Sulach had the advantage of using his half giants to rain stones upon us. He forced us back from the hill, and soon enough he was on the run again. We lost hundred and eighty four soldiers that day and many more were wounded. The barbarians’ tricks cost us dearly.
It was still a victory on our side. Sulach had the upper ground and had us by the flank completely. We were surprised and we did not even have time to react to the battle formations. Sulach had the best opportunity that he could ever get, yet he had to pull back. I was never this proud of my soldiers to give me such a victorious moment, or rather, to steal the victory from the enemy's very hands. It was clear by then that no matter what Sulach brings, we could take it. The victory would be ours eventually, and I was glad to feel that.
We had many wounded soldiers and were forced to camp there. Sulach moved further north and thus stepped deeper into the gith territory, and we could not chase him there. I sent units of scouts and hunters after him soon after. In the following few days, they came back with reports of skirmishes between Sulach's scouting parties. In the second day, Lyksaen group returned with the head of the cursed abomination, and I was glad to have yet another victory against the barbarian army. We also lost some good scouts but neither army gained the upper hand in those small scale fights. As of today, we have one thousand two hundred and thirty seven soldiers in total, of which two hundred and eighty five of them still have not recovered fully. Our cavalry outnumbers Sulach's by two to one and we have slightly more number of half giants than what they had in the last battle.
The days passed and we were not able to move due to the heavy number of the wounded soldiers from the last battle. Sulach moved further into the gith region, and my scouts were not running into Sulach's parties anymore. He was moving away from us, and we were unable to follow him. But then again, we did not have to. The territory we are in now expands to the sides as it moves towards the north where it is home to many gith tribes. It has only two exits and I am holding one of them. Sulach has to run through us, or has to destroy armies of gith many times vaster in number to cut a path open. It is possible, he is moving there to find supplies, since the land is rich enough to support thousands of gith. I even had my Faithful Sister Neodyn to control the gith to push him out. Sooner or later the gith will push him back and he will have to come down to test our strength.
And I will be waiting for him.
* * * * * * * * * *
CHAPTER 15
The streets were deserted by the time the sun was disappearing in the horizon. Those who had survived the onslaught were no doubt hiding in the alleys or disappeared into the crowds, away from the vengeful eyes of the militia patrols. Lord Templar Risac Valika looked out over the streets to see a sluggish smoke rising from a nearby street, residue of the civilian riot from a few hours ago. Scorched buildings stood stark and bare, and the burned bodies, soldier and citizen alike still smoldered in the skeletal wrecks of the buildings.
It was a strangely peaceful scene, with even the street hawkers being silent. The violence and emotions of the day were somehow distant when you were able to look across the empty streets. Risac rubbed his face for a moment then turned to walk down the steps toward the Arbaretum.
Brown stains spattered every wall and surface. Pools of blood congealed in corners and obscene smears showed where the bodies had already been shifted, dragged to the pile at Meleth's Circle or loaded to the carts to be taken to Arena to feed the beasts. The defenders were laid in clean clothes in shades, their limbs arranged for dignity. The rioters were simply thrown onto a growing pile with their arms and legs stuck at different angles. Risac watched the work and in the background he could hear the screams of the wounded as they were stitched or made ready for amputation. It would take a long time, Risac thought grimly, for anything to return to normal.
Especially with a Highborn being dead in the riot.
The entrance to Arboretum was well guarded by the city soldiers. They bowed in respect and stepped out of his way as Risac approached, he simply ignored them. He walked in through the curtain to see several highborn and their escorts taking shelter inside. Their faces turned to him as his armored boots clattered across the tiled floor. The riot clearly left its mark of fear on them, especially with the fragile purple figure lying in a pool of blood by the fountain. The dagger was removed from her throat, Risac noted as he approached. He saw the precision of the thrown dagger on the fragile neck, it was not an accident she was dead. She was assassinated by an opportunist.
Risac did not notice the soldiers rise from their bowing state, one of them was holding out the bloodied dagger that was retrieved from the body. He was rubbing his bloodied hand vigorously on his filthy cloak.
“Be careful soldier” spoke a voice nearby, Risac turned to see it was Lord Cadra Borsail. “Your hands have the blood of Lady Ansche Fale on them. A little respect is due, I believe” Lord Cadra continued.
The soldier gaped at the noble Lord, unable to comprehend. He took a few paces away, holding his hand away from his body.
Cadra smirked at the soldier’s reaction then turned to Risac: “So few understand, do they my dear? Just what it means to be born into greatness?”
“Good to see you safe, Lord Borsail” Risac dropped a nod of acknowledgement to Lord Cadra
“We have some matters to discuss. It seems I need the list of everyone Samil infiltrated in the city.”
“Then you shall have it” Cadra replied and snapped a few orders to his slaves to have his carriage readied at Arboretum’s entrance.
“Sergeant, you said you have information for me” Risac said to the Sergeant Varaq standing by.
“My Lord,” sergeant bowed as he began, “the mobile squads were only partially successful. We broke them in the Miner’s and Stonecarver’s road, and did a lot of damage on the first hours. We took them in hundreds in the first skirmishes.” Risac nodded as he listened to the report.
“But then, word must have gotten out, we found ourselves being tracked in the streets. Whoever took the lead, knows the city very well. Some of us took to the rooftops, but there were men waiting up there. I saw some of our soldiers being brought down by women or children coming out of the houses with knives. Soldiers hesitated to kill the civilians, and were cut to pieces.” Varaq hesitated to continue for a second, and Risac waited patiently for the sergeant to gather up his thoughts.
“We were ambushed in the north of the stonecarver’s, just before the Caravan road. We had been chasing them for a while and they cornered us in an alleyway. I…”
“It was clear from the beginning the mobile squads would not be successful in quelling the entire riot” Risac cut off the sergeant. “I sent them anyway to create chaos and fear in the rioters, so they could be hunted down once broken. But it seems they still have a semblance of discipline, which means there is a leader coordinating them. They are probably planning to disappear from sight and regroup to strike one last time. Did your men see any sign of this?”
“Yes Lord Templar, in the alleys around the Caravan road, they were bringing more men quietly. I do not know when or where they will attack, but it seems there will be a skirmish soon.”
“Whoever is directing them must have given them the right motivation” Risac added as he looked at the fountain in the middle of the well decorated room. “They are coming for water. They will strike here and the
Varaq reached to his temple as he dropped a sharp nod at Templar Risac.
A crimson clad servant came running, his sandals cluttering on the stone floor.
“My Lord, your carriage is coming” he reported breathlessly to Lord Cadra.
“Very well” Lord Cadra said, “Lord Templar, I will deliver the list to you in a couple of hours. Let me know when you are done here.”
“We will meet tonight, Lord Borsail” replied Risac, and with that Cadra Borsail moved to the curtained exit, and outside with his escorts accompanying him. A nervous smile was on his lips. The riot was a bold move, but so far it worked out well. Templar Risac of the blue was already quelling the riot. The fact that he asked for Cadra’s direct help proved how much the troubled times could speed up the politics. And more importantly, Lady Fale was dead. Another point how fruitful the riot was. Now all he had to do was to make sure the killer of the Lady would put to death before he could spill his tale to anyone.
The dusk was setting as he stepped out. He spotted his carriage and was moving there, as suddenly the skies grew dark with arrow shafts and spears, a stinging humming swarm of death. Cadra watched them fall. He clenched his fists and tightened his jaw as they whirred towards his position. Men around him threw themselves down, but he stood straight and unblinking with eyes glittering. One guard finally stood up in front of Cadra, trying to shield him with his own body.
The shafts rained and shattered around Cadra, but he was untouched. He turned and laughed at his scrambling officers and aides. One was on his knees, pulling an arrow out of his chest and spitting blood. Two others stared glassily at the sky, unmoving.
The guard shielding the noble Lord took a step back: “My Lord, are you harmed?”
Cadra dismissed him with a flick of his meaty hand: “Highlord protects his beloved. Escort me to my carriage, quickly.”
They hurried into the inix drawn carriage. Cadra was seated inside and ordered for the driver to move when an enraged Risac came out of Arboretum. He snapped the orders and the units of soldiers responded harshly, steeling themselves to crush the final resistance that threatened the city.
Cadra’s carriage moved forth, ignoring the chaos and violence they left behind. Everything was falling in place, Cadra thought. He had to get rid of Lady Fale’s killer before Risac could get his hands on him to cover his tracks.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
The night covered the city in its dark sheets, veiling all the violence and stains of the riot. Serpent lay crouched on a rooftop, overlooking the Caravan’s road. He could see most of the Commons from his position, and notice which parts of the city were heavily guarded. The riot killed the night life in some sections of the city as the templarate and the militia took heavy measures to crush down any semblance of disturbance before they resurrected the riot once more. Thousands were killed in the riot; the streets were littered with corpses of citizens and soldiers alike. Houses were burnt down and the scars of the city would remain a long time before they healed completely.
His plans had worked nearly perfectly, with the exception of the death of Lady Fale. He still did not understand how it happened, since none of his men did the deed. His instructions were to lead the crowds toward the
Still he did the best he could, and he would get paid for it. Whatever reason Lord Cadra wanted this riot for, he got it in the end. None of his men were captured yet, and if they were as careful, they would not be.
He felt the presence of another mind contacting his through the Way, and he calmed down all his thoughts and emotions, waiting patiently for the intruding mind to speak first.
“My employer is very pleased with the way you performed your part” said Sergeant Idenu from House Borsail. “Did you cover all your tracks? Nothing will come in our way?”
Serpent contacted to the mind in a second:
“Not because of me, I covered my part.”
“Then there is one more thing my employer wishes for you to do.”
Idenu’s thoughts came with a hint of nervousness, which was expected if the man never took part in a crime like this. Serpent waited patiently for him to make the offer.
“There is someone that needs to die. It must be done tonight.”
Serpent was irritated at a deadline so soon after a riot, not to mention the soldiers crowding the city.
“Your employer must be willing to pay very high amounts then” Serpent replied, after calming his thoughts.
“You will be paid what you ask for. I will give you the looks of the man, and where he is currently. Can you do it?”
Serpent thought about it for a moment. They would not give a deadline like this unless it was someone knew about their involvement with the riot. Perhaps something they slipped, or something they have done during the riot, and they do not want the man to be found. Anger spun in Serpent’s mind as he thought about covering up someone else’s mess after such a short time, but given the position of the man, he knew he could do it.
“Alright, go ahead” he replied, and Idenu gave him the job.
* * * * * * * * * *
The night life was picking up in the Plaza of the Commons after the riot of the day. Many sections of the city were guarded by soldiers, to crush any more resistance before any damage can be delivered, but not the plaza. It had more soldiers on duty than a regular night, but commoners still could keep the Bard's Barrel's traffic alive without being questioned by the militia.
Ksint stood across the bench in the center of the Plaza. At a short distance, the Bard’s Barrel was full with citizens, cheering up for the defenders. Barbarians, lot of them, Ksint thought, for applauding the very people who slaughtered their own. Though, he did not care one bit for them, being one of the few people Samil planted into the city, he was waiting there tonight for an entirely different purpose.
He was one of the six people Samil planted into Allanak as slaves of the militia, who would seek any opportunity to strike at key figures in the city to create chaos. They were all trained for years, and this was the perfect opportunity to show their purpose for the Faithful. None showed itself though, not until last night.
Last night, after another day of backbreaking work, he was returning to the slaves' quarter, exhausted. Perhaps that was the reason to why he could not hear someone sneaking up on him, and why his combat reflexes failed him in dodging the crushing blow. He was incapacitated with a single blow, without a chance to fight back.
When he regained consciousness, he was in a dark room, hands and feet tied and his head was forced to face the wall. Someone else was in the room, he could hear the breathing clearly. He thought this was the end, he was discovered and would be tortured to death. If he breaks, perhaps death would come easier, less painful. But he would not break, he promised to himself and the Faithful and the Sun King, and readied himself for the excruciating pain.
Though, things developed in a way he never expected.
His capturer knew him, why he was sent to Allanak and by whom. He knew how he was planted into the city, as well as each and every one of the servants of the Faithful that were planted along with him. But still, he did not proceed to torture, or death threats. He asked the only thing that could compromise him: Cooperation.
He explained that there are a number of people, important people, that need to die for the greater good, and they would work towards the same end, together.
They talked for over an hour in that dark room, Ksint could barely make it to the slave quarters. When he finally sprawled over the filthy covers to get some sleep, he found the peace at last. His first mark was given to him, Lady Ansche Fale. Ksint could not ask for more, for he could very well pick her as a target anyway. Now he had someone cooperating with him, who informed him that Lady Fale would be in Meleth's Circle in the following day and there would be a commotion which Ksint could take it to his advantage easily.
And there it happened. Ksint did not expect the “commotion” would actually be a riot as big as this. He took his timing and joined the crowds, only to kill his intended target and then disappear. He would not stay in the crowd and risk getting captured. He doubled back to the slave quarters, and reported that he ran away as soon as the riot started. The slaves were left alone, as most of the militia was sent to quell the riots. Just before the dusk, he slipped out to the city and came to the Plaza as instructed by his capturer. He would see him for the first time and get his new target there.
A rotten fruit offered to him brought his attention back to his surroundings. A small bare-chested child, so skinny that his ribs could be counted, carried a bag of fruits and offered one to him. Ksint noticed the child was a fruit seller, and now he was offering one to him without asking for coin. He surveyed his surroundings quickly, before looking back at the child.
“Who sent you kid?”
The child did not reply but looked over his shoulder. Ksint followed his gaze only to meet someone watching them from the streets stretching to the Stone carver’s road. The man turned quickly and disappeared at the corner, his cloak whipping with the sudden movement. Ksint roughly pushed the child away and started walking after the figure. He did not want to lose him, not when he was so close to see him face to face. He picked up in his speed as he turned the corner of Stone carver’s. There were several people on the street here, many more staying in their homes or hiding away from the militia. Dark red stains covered the walls and the street here, with broken shards of obsidian and bone scattered everywhere. Smears of soot covered some buildings, residue of the fire that was set during the riot. But Ksint paid no attention to them. He saw the man a few blocks away and caught him slipping into the alleyway, and Ksint found his temper rising. What with playing games like boys, they could very well ask him to come to the alley.
Heads turned in his direction as he started to walk even faster, he did not care being spotted or not, he would catch the man and they would walk together then. He came until the entrance to the alley and looked in. The heavy stink of urine washed over him and he could not help but cover his mouth in disgust. Still he looked on and could see no one in the darkness. Did he not see him get in here? Or maybe he walked into a building next to the alley and his eyes failed him in the dark street? He could not be sure. He looked around, unsure of what to do. The people in the street carried on with their business: a whore standing by, calling up at mercenaries and soldiers passing by, militia men walking in pairs exaggerating their deeds of the day; servants rushing up in the streets carrying errands.
As he stood there, doubt struck Ksint of what he was doing. Maybe he followed the wrong man here, or maybe there was no man after all, it could very well be a set up. What if his capturer did not need him anymore and wanted to get rid of all the witnesses?
“Sir, please… I am so hungry, just a few coins. Sir...” Ksint heard a beggar pleading to a couple of mercenaries just a few feet away. The mercenaries looked tired of listening to his bickering, and one of them roughly shoved him away. The beggar stumbled away and into Ksint, nearly knocking him off his feet. Reflexively, Ksint tried to balance himself, but his legs lost their strength as he felt a sharp pain in his chest.
“Nothing personal, but someone paid a lot of coins to see you dead” the beggar whispered into his ear, and the pain increased as he twisted something in his chest. The beggar fell sideways, and Ksint was knocked down on his back. The world became a blur, and Ksint did not even have strength to cry out for help. He heard the beggar shouting curses at the mercenaries as he got up and run away, but he could not make words. It happened so quick, and so casual, no one even realized the beggar stabbing Ksint in the heart.
Bony fingers reached out from the alleys and grabbed Ksint by the shoulders, pulling him into the darkness of the alley before someone could realize him dying.
Serpent moved down the street, the dagger already slipped into his wristsheath. It was done well enough, and so far he did not hear any yells down the street of someone dying. He let out a breath of relief and contacted to the mind of his man in the alley, who already dragged the corpse in.
“He died in the riot. Make sure to frame it that way” he sent through the unseen Way, and was comforted at the thought that his man would not fail him.
* * * * * * * * * *
A light wind was breezing as Lord Cadra walked through the empty city flanked by his guards. With dawn at horizon, the streets should have been filled with workers, servants and slaves, bustling along on a thousand errands. The cries of vendors should have been heard, coupled with the din of a thousand trades. Instead, it was eerily quiet.
Soldiers stood at every corner in small groups, ready to break any possible riot, Lord Templar Risac’s orders demanded so. The whole city was nervous, and Lord Cadra felt a prickling suspicion if everyone covered their tracks. The Lady’s killer had been silenced earlier in the night, and Serpent said he did his part well, otherwise he too would be charged with treason. Lord Cadra shook his head slightly at his own thoughts, everything went perfectly as planned. There was no point in going over again.
A wind that had been blocked by the rows of houses hit him as he passed in front of the Trader’s
He strode quickly walking down in the Templar’s path. The flat stones kept him clear of the sluggish filth of the road below his feet. In all his life, he never saw so many soldiers guarding every corner of the city. Two soldiers held station at the gates to the Templar’s quarters, absolutely still in the moonless night. As Lord Cadra and his escorts approached to the great gates, one of them stepped forward, bowing in respect before addressing the Lord as well as the escorts.
“My Lord, may I ask what business you have in the Templar’s Quarter?”
“I need to see Lord Templar Risac Valika” Cadra replied. “Where is he?”
The two soldiers glanced at each other for a moment, trying to decide whether it would be right for tem to volunteer the information. Too tired and impatient to wait for the soldiers to come to a conclusion, Cadra felt his temper rising.
“I was asked by Lord Valika to come see him before the daybreak. I am here, where is he?”
“The jails, my Lord” the soldier answered. He opened his mouth to say more, but then thought better of it. He sent a call to the gates, and resumed his position as the great gates opened. Once again, the soldiers were like twin statues at the gates.
Lord Cadra moved quickly without a word, passing the gates to the quarter. He followed the Night’s path down into the Morning’s road. The wind was growing in strength as the dawn approached. Lord Cadra was tempted to start running, but his meaty frame was not fit for it. The city jailhouse was a small building. There was no need to have big jailhouses, as execution and banishment prevented the need for them. The very fact that the Lord Templar would be in the jails told Lord Cadra what he would find and he prepared to face it without flinching.
Another pair of soldiers guarded the outer door of the jailhouse. As Lord Cadra approached to them, they nodded as if expecting him and threw open the locking bars. Lord Cadra’s and his escorts’ cloaks carried the insignia of House Borsail, and they were not questioned until they reached to hallway leading to the holding cells. Three soldiers moved apart as Cadra announced himself and a half giant jail keeper ran down the hallway. Cadra waited patiently as he heard his name being announced somewhere, and Risac’s answering rumble. He was able to smile when Lord Risac returned with the half giant.
“That is Lord Borsail” Risac confirmed.
“Is there still a threat in the city” Lord Cadra asked, hiding his tension.
“It is ended. Come along with me, Lord Borsail, you should be part of this” Lord Risac said.
As he spoke, he wiped sweat from his forehead and Cadra saw a smear of blood on his hand.
They walked down the hallway, passing several holding cells with no light coming from within. There was a sickly wail coming from one of the cells, but they paid no attention to it. Finally, the half giant jail keeper opened the doors to one of the cells, and fumbled to put a lit torch in place to light the room.
There was a sickly smell in the air and at first Lord Cadra tried not to look at the figures bound to the chairs in the center of it.
“A pity,” Lord Risac said as they both entered into the room. “These creatures named someone called Ksint as their leader, but they know nothing of the riot or the assassination otherwise. They would have told us by now.”
Cadra looked at the men and repressed a shudder at what had been done to them. Risac had been through and he too had doubted the men could have held anything back. Four of them lay as still as dead, but the last rolled his head towards them with a sudden jerk. One of his eyes had been pierced and wept a shining stream of liquid down his cheek, but the other peered around aimlessly, lighting up as he spotted Lord Cadra.
“You! I accuse you!” he spat, then cackled weakly, dribbling blood over his chin.
Lord Cadra fought the rising gorge as he looked down at the broken bodies of the conspirators.
“He has lost his mind” he said softly, and Risac nodded.
“Yes, though he held out the longest. They will live long enough to be executed. My soldiers found the body of their leader, Ksint. Possibly he died during the riot.” Risac shook his head a few times, before looking at Lord Cadra “I must thank you, Lord Borsail, for bringing this matter to me. I wish we could have moved in time, but regardless, we stopped it after all. It was a noble deed, and worthy of your title” Risac spoke lightly.
Cadra stood silently, trying to gather his thoughts. He could always sport the vicious ending, though he never saw the brutal ending of a torture so close before.
Risac continued again as Cadra did not say anything “The two of us, we should work together for Allanak.” His mood lightened as Lord Cadra nodded to him. “Though, we can talk about it another time. The stink of this place is in my lungs. I have to report to the Red Robes at sunrise and I intend to take a bath before that.”
“Dawn is here” Cadra said and Risac swore softly.
“It is night always in this place. I am finished with these.”
He gave the orders to the torturers to have the men cleaned and made presentable before turning back to Lord Cadra. “I will set the execution for the
The red light of dawn had taken a lighter tint as Lord Cadra and his guards stepped out of the Templar’s Quarter. The wind had ceased and the city was awakening late, as the soldiers were relieved from their posts and the normal tone returned to the city. Away from the sickening scenery of the jailhouse, Lord Cadra could finally think clearly. The riot was gone, Lady Fale was dead, and all his tracks were covered. Most important of all, Lord Templar Risac Valika was his supporter. With Sulach gone, Allanak would be his.
* * * * * * * * * * *
CHAPTER 16
It was dark in the tent and the scribe slave had only a single candle to give him enough light to write. He sat in perfect silence as Sulach lay sprawled on a pallet, one arm outstretched to be bandaged, for he had refused the magickal healing. Sulach grunted as the physician made a knot and pulled it tight. For a moment, his eyes opened with pain, and the slave saw they were dim with exhaustion.
The physician left then, letting a blast of air into the stuffy interior that made the candle flicker. The slave looked over the words that were recorded, and wished Sulach would sleep. They were all hungry, but the last few weeks had burned flesh from the commander as much as any other men. His skin was tinged with yellow and there were dark hollows underneath his eyes that gave him a look of death.
The slave thought The Lord Templar slid into sleep and began to gather his scrolls to steal away without waking him. He froze as Sulach scratched at the sweat stains of his tunic and then rubbed his face.
“Where did I finish?” Sulach asked without opening his eyes.
“Gith mesa. I was writing about the second battle before the physician came in.”
“Ah, yes. Are you ready to go on?”
“If you wish it, Master. It might be better if I left you to get some rest”
Sulach did not respond to that, but rubbed his face.
“We reached the gith mesa soon after the rukkian mage and his escorts were killed by the gith raiders. Are you writing this?”
“I am” the slave whispered. To his surprise, he felt a sting of tears begin as Sulach forced himself on.
“We stormed the camp. I could not hold the soldiers back after what they saw of the mage’s body, I did not want to” Sulach paused for a moment to open his eyes and look at the slave directly.
“Fifteen survived us. Record the truth for me. Out of five hundred gith, men, women and children, only fifteen could escape us. We burned the entire camp around them and stripped whatever food or water they have. Still, I could count the ribs on my soldiers. There were more gith to fight of course, and Untturi took the command of them. But I am telling you now, without the stores in the mesa we would have been finished.”
“We routed them over and over whenever we caught them in the open, but many tribes of the gith joined to Untturi and they outnumbered us everytime. Lieutenant Zakhis was killed in an ambush in the second week or the third, I can not remember now. His unit saw him being dragged off his mount. We did not find his body.”
Sulach lapsed into silence at the thought of the young Lieutenant. He was a decent man and it had been a great loss. When he spoke again, his voice carried his weariness.
“The gith kept gathering in the north and blocking our way through and I could not break them there.”
The slave looked at Sulach and saw his lips twist in anger. Still, he was lying on his back, his eyes closed against the candle light:
“We lost two hundred soldiers over these battles, and as the food was low, I saw my soldiers eat grass until they vomited. Still we destroyed the gith who dared to take the field against us. Strian, Itina, Vate, and Kann did well with the banners there, but the numbers…” Sulach fell silent for a second then.
“I could not cut a path open toward the north there and was forced to move west, deeper into the tablelands to find a way through. Untturi sent his generals and we fought all the way while we marched day and night. I have tried every route possible. I have seen death walk with me.”
“But now you have sent him back toward the gem” the slave dared to add.
Sulach struggled to sit up and leaned over his knees, his head sagging.
“He is gathering more gith by the minute over there, more tribes are joining him every moment. We starve down here while he gathers more men to destroy us.”
“You raided enough grain and meat and water in the last battle to feed the army over a week. The worst is over” the slave spoke again.
Sulach shrugged so slightly, it could have been a breath:
“Perhaps. Write this for me, we built fortifications and trenches over three leagues to north. We have built a hill from the earth so great to allow us build watchtowers on it. Untturi can not come down here as long as we remain. We have already cut them down in hundreds and we will cut them down in thousands if need be. We will stay until we find a way to break Samil in south, or until Samil comes up here.”
The tent flap was opened and Lieutenant Itina and someone wearing no uniform came in.
“Lord Templar?” Itina asked.
“I am here” came the voice, barely a whisper.
“The man you wanted, I brought him. As instructed, no one else knows.” Lieutenant Itina spoke.
Sulach looked at her with red-rimmed eyes, looking more dead than alive. He stood, and swayed from exhaustion, Itina reflexively reached out to help him stand. He reached to the pocket of his robe and pulled out a sealed scroll. The scribe slave looked curiously at the paper, as he was not the one writing that one.
The man who dressed up with a simple armor and a bow, stepped forward as Sulach handed the rolled parchment to him.
“You will give this scroll to the man you are told, and ask him to deliver to the Lady. He himself must see to it that it is delivered to her hand alone. Can you do it?”
The man simply nodded, as he slipped the parchment into his cloak.
“I will ride at full gallop to arrive the city at daybreak my Lord, and I will simply pass as a regular hunter.”
Sulach nodded wearily at the man’s understanding of the task he had.
“Ride back here as soon as you deliver it.”
The man nodded, slipping out of the tent and into the night. Itina looked at the tired form of Sulach for a moment, her expression showing her concern.
“What is the plan, Lord Templar?”
“The plan?” Sulach asked sitting down on his pallet exhaustedly. “We will crush Samil, and then we will crush his army” he spoke tiredly. His lay down on the pallet, his eyes closing. Itina watched him without moving an inch.
“And then we will go home?” she asked.
CHAPTER 14
Dzeda, the 42nd day of the Ascending Sun, year 19 of the
21st Age, King's
It has been 53 days since the beginning of the
campaign. The storm that raged throughout
the evening started to calm at
Continue Reading...The Warriors of Faith: Part III: "Clash of the God-Kings"
Added on Jun 9, 2008The armies clash in the desert and the war rages on
CHAPTER 10
“As mortals, we have a barrier in the level of power we can wield. No matter what we try, with magick or psionics or by completely mundane means, sooner or later we will hit the wall and there is no trivial way to pass this wall. For perhaps this is a barrier put down by the God-like entities to stop us from challenging them. There are however, ways to pass this. One such means is the aid of God-like beings. By the proof of loyalty and devotion, such powers beyond the capability of men can be granted, as they can be taken away.
This may be the easy way to pass this barrier, but there is another way…”
- Gin of the Alleys
Dawn came with the spill of red light over the mountains, revealing the ruins of an ancient building sprawled in the golden expanse of the sands. Cracked walls, surrounded by broken stones and sculptures lying haphazardly in all directions, possessed none of their former glory. Amidst them all, the once proud tower was now a broken piece of jagged tooth, facing the crimson skies in a silent greeting.
Samil watched the battlefield from the top his horse. So many untold tales were hidden in these ruins. Generations of civilizations, cities once powerful and filled with life were now resting in peaceful stillness beneath the sands. Samil's heart ached at the sight. A thousand years from now, would anything be left for the world to see and wonder about him, the way he wondered about this relic of a building? He did not know. Soon the peaceful sleep would be disturbed by the clash of swords and the battle cries throughout the field. The face of the earth would be tainted with the spilled blood and gore; the air with that old, almost comforting smell of battle.
"A good day to die, Captain?" Samil chose to ask the traditional question to clear his mind.
"As good as any, sir" replied the captain.
"What do you think of the enemy's deployment?" Samil asked, bringing his gaze back on the ranks of the Allanaki force.
"Sir, the main infantry is directly across the field and facing ours. The archers are stretched thin in front of the main force, I believe it will be a usual "fire until the engage and pull back."" Samil nodded his approval at the captain's words, without looking. The captain stretched his arm to point at the enemy flanks:
"He is keeping the half giants behind the ranks I assume he does not plan to open with the usual "clash of the half giants." It is fine from our standpoint as well. If anything, I will send them in the field if there is an immediate need to open ranks in the flanks."
"What about that hill with the deployed cavalry?" Samil lifted his chin to point at the hill across the field.
"That seems to be the weakest point of Sulach's deployment, Faithful Lord. The cavalry there is guarding the main force's right flank. Yet our cavalry is outnumbering them by three to one. Once the main infantries engage we can send our cavalry and break them easily, and then we will have the enemy's right flank. From there on, it will be a matter of minutes before they will be broken."
Samil nodded once more: "Sounds straightforward enough."
The captain nodded sharply at Samil's approval.
"Unfortunately," Samil began again, "this is the plan our enemy expect us to go through. I do not believe Sulach would make such an easy mistake. That hill," Samil's finger was pointing directly at the hill where Sulach deployed his cavalry, "must be an illusion" he concluded.
Lesk voiced his confusion: "Faithful Lord, they are tired and probably out of supplies. Such a mistake is not too out of place."
Samil, however, was determined: "Sulach has never lost a battle to this day. No matter how reasonable it seems, he would not overlook such a mistake." He turned to the Lieutenant Enlyl, standing close on her warbeetle, "Lieutenant, divide the cavalry in two groups. First group should be nearly the same size of Sulach's riders. Second group should stay behind and standby for further orders." As the female officer nodded affirmatively and rode back to carry the Faithful's orders, Samil turned back to Lesk:
"Captain, draw the Lyksaen warriors out of the infantry. I want them standing here with me."
Captain Lesk felt it futile to argue his point any further, but he could not let his worries slide: "Faithful Lord, if we divide the cavalry, we will not have a fast and crushing victory over the flanks, it will drag on and it will gi--"
Samil cut him off.
"My orders were clear?" he demanded.
Captain straightened up, dropping a fast, affirmative nod: "Yes, Faithful Lord."
"See them carried out." Samil snapped.
Clad in crimson and grey of the House Lyksae, the elite warband arrived shortly beside Samil.
"Orders, Faithful?" The commander asked after saluting Samil. Samil dropped the faintest of the nods, his eyes scanning the Allanaki ranks:
"Standby here, Mtakr, we are waiting for your assignment to show itself."
The commander did not understand, but that wasn't important. He had his orders, and he simply nodded once more and grew silent behind Samil.
Time dragged on, seemingly taking no notice of the excitement and tension prevalent in the air. The first hour of dawn ended unceremoniously.
Sulach laid no other traps, Samil noted; at least, none other that showed themselves yet. He looked over the remnants of the ancient civilization once more, almost wistfully. The time for the battle had come, and he signaled for the attack.
The war horns of the Tuluki force signaled the march of the main infantry and the archers, and the wave of red on white started its march at once. Allanaki horns responded with their own signal the both armies were marching against each other. Another set of signals and the archers in both parties came to a stop; their arrows bringing death upon the approaching enemy.
Shields were pulled up, forming a roof on both sides. The soldiers who fell to the raining arrows were quickly being replaced by another from behind, the pace never slowing down. When the distance between the two forces was close enough, the armies kicked into a charge, clashing on each other in a brutal frenzy.
Swords and axes were swung, the spears were hurled, clubs crushed armors, sending bits of chitin and obsidian among the commotion. Blood and gore on both sides spilled to the ground, turning the sands to a slick, reddish mud. The cries of pain were lost in the calls to the God-kings. The Tuluki force locked their shields in their traditional style, forming a wall in the front ranks and swinging their weapons from above and below the shields as opportunity presented itself. Allanaki army replied with spreading in the front rank and assaulting in a flurry of blows with both hands to keep the enemy overwhelmed, while the second rank sprinted forth with spears every now and then searching for enemy weakness.
Samil watched the spectacle from his mount. Both armies were wearing each other down, losing man after man in bloodied frenzy. They could go on for hours, to the last man perhaps, and then neither army would have won. Samil knew as well as Sulach did, whoever won on the flanks would turn the scales of the battle. He turned over his shoulder and signaled for the first group of riders to march forth; the riders raised a dust cloud as they galloped down the hill.
"Damn it! He saw our move!" spoke Sulach as he saw only a small group of riders galloping across the battlefield.
"Should we abort the plan, my Lord?" Strian asked from his side.
"No." he spoke, his hands holding the reins tightly. "We play his game."
They watched as the Tuluki cavalry rode down the hill, leaving a billowing dust cloud behind them. Their formation shifted at the bottom of the hill, spreading to the sides as they closed in, but Allanaki cavalry waited for them in muted stillness.
Suddenly, the ground moaned and writhed violently beneath the approaching enemy. Buckling and shattering with a deafening roar, a web of cracks shot across the ground; sinking the riders into a maelstrom of tumultuous, whipping sand and dirt. The beasts cried in their own miserable fear, jerking and kicking, throwing their riders in blind frenzy.
A shout echoed through the Allanaki cavalry then, and they kicked into a charge toward the scattered Tuluki riders.
"So.. that was Sulach's plan" whispered Samil as he watched the battle.
The Allanaki cavalry easily broke into the Tuluki ranks, their spears bringing death to the confused enemy as they tried to regain their battle stance. They put up very little resistance as the lines of riders trampled through their broken ranks.
"There is the abomination" Samil pointed as a lone figure stepped out from the opposite end of the dust cloud. The earthquake was over, and the figure stood at the skirts of the hill, watching as the Allanaki cavalry led their attack on the broken riders. The lone figure then looked across to battlefield to where Samil and his officers stood.
"Mtakr?" Samil called to the leader of the Lyksaen warriors who looked back directly at him in response. "Take him down." Samil ordered, and the captain of the elite warriors nodded indifferently. Turning to his group he quickly snapped his orders and the twenty men clad in crimson and grey kicked their mounts into a charge down the hill. Samil's lips broke into a smile as he watched the Lyksaen warriors charging fearlessly toward the mage, the abomination of the nature.
They fired their arrows on the run without slowing down. It was display of skill and accuracy as the arrows flew up into the crimson skies and rained down without any of them going astray. The mage saw the charging riders and the rain of death they set loose from their bows, and he kicked into a run. A blur of movement it was, a speed truly beyond the perception of men, causing the sand to rise up in a spray of gold behind him. His chasers did not seem to be surprised by such a display of power. At once, they broke into three groups, spreading behind the mage as they swept the sands behind him.
"It does not look like they will be able to kill him" spoke Captain Lesk beside Samil.
"No, I did not think they would" Samil responded calmly as he tore his gaze back to the hill where Allanaki riders engaged his own. The skirmish was nearly over with few losses from the enemy ranks.
"But I knew they would scare him away, and they did. Now I have the flank." With that, Samil gave the order and the Tuluki warhorns signaled the march of the second group of riders.
Sulach's heart sank as he heard the blast of the Tuluki warhorn, and he watched as a dust cloud rise from the opposing hill as the white and the red cloaks rode down. The mage that would guard the flank was long gone, and Sulach knew the numbers of the approaching enemy would quickly cripple his cavalry. "Sound the retreat" he called, his eyes not leaving the enemy riders.
"My Lord.." Strian attempted to protest. They had been winning so far. Perhaps they could break the approaching enemy? Perhaps, if they sent the half giants along with the riders..?
"We cannot win this war! And if we do not retreat now, we will definitely lose!" Sulach spoke, turning to regard Strian who seemed to start his disagreement. "Sound the retreat, soldier! NOW!" Sulach finished any further discussion, giving no option to Strian. Strian carried the order and the Allanaki warhorns were blown with the exact given note.
"What?! Another charge?!" Samil did not hide his surprise at the sound of enemy warhorns. "Captain, was there any report of enemy reinforcements?"
Captain Lesk was as surprised as Samil:
"No Faithful. Perhaps the enemy eluded us."
"Damn it!" Samil cursed. "Call the riders back here. Get the Lyksaen Warriors to drop the chase on the mage and find where this reinforcement is coming from! Now!"
Weapons painted red with blood, the Allanaki infantry disengaged from the melee and stepped a few paces back facing their opponent, but their opponent was not ordered to press forth. The Tuluki riders stopped their charge and headed back to the hills. For a moment there the entire battle seemed to cease, everyone waiting for the unexpected unit to show up.
The infantry of Allanak kept moving back as they still faced the Tuluki army, and the archery units moved to the front ranks. Samil watched in confusion what Sulach was trying to achieve. From the looks of it, the reinforcements would come from the left rank, which would be attacking his half giants and infantry at the same time. It made no sense, unless the reinforcement was nearly as big as the main army which would mean bad news for Samil, he thought grimly.
We see no sign of reinforcements sir, came the thoughts of the Lyksaen commander, and Samil understood Sulach's motives at once:
"Sound the charge!" he shouted. "No reinforcement is coming, they are retreating! Sound the charge!"
Horns were blown at once and the Tuluki front advanced. Allanak responded with a signal to the archers and volleys of arrows rained upon the approaching the enemy. Commanders snapped orders and the Tuluki infantry raised their shields, their pace slowing as they advanced defensively.
"He is running away. He tricked us by changing the horn signals, and now he is running away! Bastards!" Samil spoke grimly. It was a daring attempt to change the signals before the battle, for it carried the risk of causing confusion among the officers. In the heat of the battle, the soldiers would react to the horns almost instinctively. Such instincts would not be adapted overnight. However Sulach had the advantage of having experienced army. All of Sulach's commanders and even some of his regular grunts were battle-hardened veterans from gith campaigns. It surely made a difference in applying risky maneuvers such as the trick with the battle-horns.
Samil watched as his army desperately tried to catch the retreating Allanaki front. While being under a constant rain of arrows, it seemed impossible. The retreat of the enemy must be stopped, and his army needed help with it.
"Ivory guards, rally to me!" Samil shouted to his personal white-clad cavalry, and they responded with a single warcry that echoed across the battlefield. Captain Lesk understood at once what Samil was doing and he grabbed Samil's reins, unaware of his daring approach:
"Faithful Lord, no! You cannot ride to the front, it is too dangerous."
Samil regarded him with a cold gaze and pulled his reins free of the captain's grasp:
"After my infantry catches the enemy, order the cavalry to take the right flank and send forth the half giants" he spoke, not willing to waste anymore time by explaining himself.
"Faithful Lord, you do not have to do this" Lesk pleaded, but Samil cut him off with a dismissive gesture of his hand:
“You have orders, Captain. Carry them.”
Lesk realized there was no way to talk his commander out of it, and he lowered his head in defeat. Samil nodded once and then he ordered the charge.
"He has seen our move again!" Sulach spoke in frustration.
"He can not defeat the main infantry with a cavalry charge my Lord" replied Itina beside him.
"Defeating the infantry is not his plan, he wants to keep them in battle so his own infantry can catch them." He turned to the black clad elite riders spread to his left:
"
The entire unit of the War Ministry's elite guards let out a battle cry that overcame all other sounds in the field. Itina could not believe what she was seeing:
"My Lord, no! Let me lead the charge, you need to –"
Sulach shook his head, he had already made up his mind: "Samil has to be put down. I think I have the highest chance to do that task. The rest of you stay behind. This army needs to retreat. The closer you are to the front the harder it is." Then he gave the order to charge, and the black wave of the temple guards thundered down the hill.
Samil saw the black riders led by Sulach, and he changed course. His unit wheeled around to follow Samil's lead. The black against the white they rode; the sands sprawled up as high as men, leaving trails of dust clouds. The ground trembled beneath their powerful stomp as they charged, and the warcries of "For the Highlord" and "For the Sun-King" mixed in the battlefield.
Samil saw Sulach at the front, charging directly at him. His hand was up in the air, and when he was close he could hear him chanting: "In the name of the Highlord…"
Samil closed his eyes and concentrated. All other sounds died around him: Sun-King guide my hand, be my eyes. Guide my hand, guide my blade. Guide my hand...
Samil was praying still when flames erupted from Sulach's hand and lept toward him, engulfing him completely. For a second there everything in the battlefield seemed to cease its move.
Guide my hand..
Guide my blade..
Be my Eyes…
Sun King…
Guide my hand…
Like a demon, Samil emerged from the flames. His flesh was burned beyond recognition, skin darkened and cracked in veins giving him an horrific visage. It was a miracle he was still alive, and yet he seemed not slowed down by his burns. With a swing of his bladed staff, he jabbed at Sulach's armored chest and sent him toppling down from his horse. In a smooth motion, he jumped down from his mount and landed right behind Sulach, as he was calling on his God-king for another spell. Samil's fingers flashed forth with an unbelievable speed and landed several quick strikes around Sulach's neck and throat with surgical precision. Sulach attempted to call the name of the Highlord, but no voice came out of his throat. Instead, he stumbled back, barely avoiding Samil's bladed staff. He attempted to draw a sword, but a single swing of Samil's staff sent it flying away, and a kick on his armored chest sent him sprawling back.
Two of the temple guards charged at Samil, desperate to save Sulach from what was coming for him. They were the elite guards of the War Ministry, who had been instructed by the
But then, he fell down.
The Highlord's flames had long consumed all the life that kept him going. Whatever energy was left within that kept him still standing, was finally spent. Like an ancient tree whose roots gave away their grasp of the earth, he collapsed down on his back.
Sulach was spent when Samil stole his voice. The magickal energies gathered inside of him needed to be set loose, but his voice betrayed him and the energy was unleashed on Sulach instead. He was lying down on his back now on the verge of consciousness. He realized Samil's fall but it did not matter. It was over, the enemy infantry was here. He heard his soldiers calling his name as they run to save him, but he tried not to feel hope; it was too painful. His soldiers would fight on, desperate to save him. Against the enemy numbers they would lose, and with Tuluki riders winning easily on the flanks they would be broken before the enemy. Death would come soon for them all.
Drawing all his strength, he attempted to shout them to run but whatever Samil had done to him his voice was gone completely. His own weakness overcame finally, and Sulach drifted into the peaceful embrace of the unconsciousness.
"No!" Tild yelled from the top of his mount as he watched the battle. Despair welled up in his throat as he saw Sulach fell in the front rank. Sulach beaten? Sulach down? How was it even possible?
"Mage do something!" he called to the gemmed mage who was back behind the lines after the Lyksaen warriors dropped their chase on him.
"Like what?" the mage replied, baffled at what to say to the enraged warrior.
Tild's hand snapped forth and grabbed the mage by the throat: "I don't care! Do something!" he breathed down his anger, unaware of his daring move against one of the most feared beings in the world, but the mage did not seem impressed by his shear rage.
Tild released the mage's throat then, and looked back down in the battlefield. He was relieved slightly to see the enemy templar down as well, and then he saw as the infantries on both fronts rushing forth blindly to save their templars. The two armies clashed once more, covering their leaders in the conflict.
"I can make a wall to separate the front lines" the mage spoke making Tild look back at him with wild eyes, but before he could say anything: "But not from this distance. I need to be very close, right at the spot where the wall should be put. And if I go down there, I will be chopped to pieces before I can finish the spell" the mage added.
Tild gritted his teeth as he looked back to the battlefield. He could not help but get frustrated at being helpless. The enemy war horns sounded the march of the cavalry once more now, and soon the main infantry would be flanked, everything Sulach tried to stop would end there.
"Dragoons!" Tild called for the unit of cavalry, and then added "I need ten men to ride with me to glory!" He rode a few paces forth and turned his mount looking at the soldiers, the very same soldiers who were once under his command but now given under Itina.
The front rank of the riders stepped forth and dropped a sharp nod at him, and he nodded back. Turning to the mage: "We will give you the space you need" he said.
He turned to his side to see Itina beside him:
"I am coming too" she said. Tild furrowed his brows, but she continued: "I am your superior, Tild. I give the orders, and I am telling you now, I am coming."
Tild nodded several times, then his eyes swept back to the front lines:
"There is one problem though" he said finally.
"What prob – " Itina started, but she could not finish it. Tild's punch caught her off guard, and his uppercut sent her down from her mount. The world seemed to spin around in a wild fury as she tried to regain her balance when she heard Tild's voice again:
"You are not coming".
They rode down in a wild charge then, crying out Sulach's name over and over. There were eleven of them only, but their voices overcame even the strongest of the battle cries. With all the speed and the momentum of their mounts, they drove their spears into the thickest part of the enemy, and they pushed them back; away from the front lines, away from the precious Lord Templar.
"MAGE NOW!" shouted Tild from the enemy ranks, and the earth started to tremble and groan as the gemmed uttered the words of power. The ground rose with a deafening roar, spraying down the sands on the confused soldiers.
Too bad I never got to ride that rack of yours, came as Tild's last thoughts telepathically to Itina before the sand wall separated the armies completely.
See you in the drov.
Tears welled up in Itina's eyes, threatening to humiliate her in front of her soldiers. She tried to swallow her agony; for there was much to be done yet. Already the mage was running along the wall in his incredible speed to expand it further, making it harder for the enemy to circle around. Itina knew she had to find Strian and organize the retreat. It would not be over until they were away from the enemy's reach.
And after that…
After that she could grieve. She could cry over her comrade and get angry why he was such an ass and had not let her ride with him. She could curse and blame him, herself, and anybody else there to blame. And finally, she could lose herself in grief and booze, drinking for her lost friend.
Moments later, Captain Lesk pressed his palm on the sand wall, feeling the smoothness of the surface. All the commanding officers were standing behind him. Now that Samil was down, Lesk was in charge of the army. He knew all eyes were on him, waiting for his orders. But he did not honor them by returning their gazes. They had failed the Faithful. He had failed the Faithful! Samil put his own life in line to keep the enemy in the battle, and yet they let the enemy escape. It was the work of an abomination that stopped them, but there was no excuse for incompetence.
His back still turned to the army officers:
“Set up the camp, we stay the night” Lesk spoke his orders. In truth, they were Faithful Lady Neodyn’s orders, but the officers did not need to know that.
* * * * * * * * *
CHAPTER 11
"- I heard Miranda’s mind is the best mind tonight!”
- Your Majesty, a third one!
- Wow! I have not seen this one before!”
- King of Shadows and Raven and a third one of their kind meeting in a foreign mind.
She descended from the skies and landed on the ground gently.
All around her was a display of beautiful colors and fresh smells giving a feeling of paradise to all her senses. She stood there barefooted amid the flowers, lifting her head to the skies and feeling the touches of the wind on her skin. It has been such a long time she had been in a world so beautiful, and so well organized. She could stay here for eternity, feeling the tickles of flower petals on her feet as the fingers of the wind stroke them in gentle breezes.
She shook her head, alas, she did not have time to enjoy nor explore this world. She had to leave all aside, and meet the ruler of this world.
With a simple will, she took flight. Another use of willpower, and the entire world shifted beneath her, continents of land and mass flew beneath her in the blink of an eye, and then she was where she wanted to be: Facing the ruler, her Faithful Brother Samil Lyksae.
Inside the mind was where she was powerful. Simple minds could not comprehend the extents of her abilities. She could move as she willed, explore as deep as she wanted, even modify, destroy and recreate the parts of it if she so wished. She wished to meet with the owner of this mind, and here she was facing him directly.
“Hello Faithful Brother” she greeted him in a formal way, letting him know she is here. It was more of a gesture that she is right there in front of him, not digging his mind elsewhere.
“Greetings, sister” replied Samil’s usual calm voice. In mind he seemed as much in control as he was in flesh. Neodyn has seen the minds of many, and each would be filled with wealth that they can never hope to possess: Dreams of rare tastes, sexual fantasies, of reign over people to satisfy their petty needs. Men were nasty beasts and Neodyn could see them as who they are.
Yet this was not an ordinary mind she was in right now. From the moment she dived in, all around her has been a beautiful harmony of colors and sounds enriching all her senses. None of the petty, pitiful excuses for desires of the flesh had she seen here. She was awed by her brother’s control over his mind, and felt the strokes of curiosity as to what secrets the depths of this world was holding.
“I have ordered Captain of the Legions to take command and pitch the camps. They will stay there until further orders.” Neodyn began, trying to clear her thoughts.
“Did Sulach survive?” Samil asked and Neodyn was faintly nodding at his words.
“I believe so, even though I have not seen him just yet.”
“If he survived, the abominations will bring him up to his feet quickly” the mental image of Samil muttered. Then added after a brief moment: “My Legions must keep moving. They must chase Sulach.”
“No – “ Neodyn began, but Samil cut in shortly:
“If the Legions do not move, Sulach will understand that I am wounded and the army is headless. He will strike and wear us down.”
“Physicians are certain that if you are moved, you will die. You have to be kept stable” came Neodyn’s grim reply.
Samil grew silent at that, but Neodyn noticed a slight change in the world. The wind blew differently than before, the ambient sounds gone, the beautiful scents surrounding them were no more. As if a broken note in the middle of a recite, the musical harmony of the world seemed to be disturbed in Samil’s troubled thoughts.
“So be it then” Samil spoke, but there were a thousand more words carried in the sudden shift of the wind, the sudden discord in the smells. The world was his mind, Neodyn noted, any of his thoughts or emotions would have effect on the environment. She watched the Jihaen templar silently, waiting for him to speak his mind.
“Until I get well, sister, could you come here often and let me know of my legions, and carry my orders to them?” he finally asked.
A rare, bright smile flashed in Neodyn’s lips:
“Of course I will, brother.”
“My first order for them is to find a way to get me moving somehow.”
Their talk continued for a time in the harmony of their surroundings. When finally it was over, Neodyn simply left her brother’s mind. She returned to her consciousness, her features sickly pale from the efforts of psionic drain. The food bowl the slaves left for her was still on the table, untouched. She remembered it had been days she had not eaten, and her body was growing weak. But such was the cost to train the mind for perfection.
As her hands reached for the bowl, she felt her curiosity peaking as to what secrets her brother’s mind held in secret. Was there any dirty secret behind the display of harmony on the surface? Or maybe ambitious thoughts that he never shared with anyone?
She shook her head in disbelief at what she was thinking then, her cheeks flushing red. Her hand left the bowl untouched despite the prostests of her weak body. She needed to train her mind better, obviously.
* * * * * * * *
“- That was the most foolish thing I've done...today."
- Thrend Lyksae, when his wounds are being tended after an attack.
Everything will be alright.
The light was the deep red of the late afternoon sun when he woke up. The pain was gone, so were the feeling of being burned alive. He sat up in his pallet, causing the sheets to slid down and reveal his naked torso. Everything seemed so distant, and so blurry, he could not make what he was doing in his bed, yet he felt an odd sense of serenity.
Everything will be alright.
How could it be? I-.
Shhhhhh... Don't worry. Everything will be alright.
But I remember... Terrible things.
Don't worry. It is all gone now. There is nothing to worry about.
"Are you alright, Lord Templar?"
Even Itina's voice did not sound so familiar now. Yet it brought him back to his surroundings.
"Lieutenant..? What happened?" All eyes in the command tent were on him, carrying a mixture of curiosity and worry.
"You were wounded badly, my Lord. Magicks..."
She did not have to finish it; Sulach understood it all at once. The vague memory of being on the verge of death flashed in his mind and he understood how he had no trace of those wounds right now. The healing hand of the Vivadu could mend any fresh wound instantaneously, leaving no scars for the eye to see. Yet, unseen to the eye there would be drawbacks. For the body would not understand the works of magick and would still assume the wounds exist. Such a conflict with the body and supernatural would often lead to sudden mood shifts, imaginary pains, even seizures. Making decisions would be most difficult in such a state, as the mood shifts and the unnatural pains could be maddening for a normal mind.
To neutralize it, there was another magick of course, the magick that kept whispering the soft words of serenity in Sulach's mind.
With this magick at work, all of the victim's emotions would be blocked, the mind taken control by the unnatural touch of the magick. As long as the magick was active, the victim could not feel anything different than the dominating sensation of calmness. He could walk into the fire without realizing the danger or he could withstand the drawbacks of unnatural healing from a near-death experience like right now.
"What ... Exactly happened?" he asked, and they told them everything.
They told him how Tild led the final charge with ten riders to save him, and all he could do was a brisk nod. He could not even grief at the death of his beloved soldier, and he knew there was something wrong. Magicks even blocked parts of his memory, and all he could do was to sit there impassively, listening to the reports of his officers.
"Assemble the riders, we will raid the enemy for supplies" Sulach mustered the words finally when the reports were finished.
A look of surprise rippled through the faces of the officers, but they said nothing. They had reported that there was nothing left and the soldiers have been hungry all day long. Even though it was dangerous, they had no better idea to counter Sulach's mad plan. Itina and Strian finally bowed their respects and left the command tent, the rest of the officers followed their lead shortly.
Finally Sulach was alone in the command tent. He rested against the soft pillows at his back, his eyes growing glassy. He knew he would have ten different plans and the weaknesses of each by now had there not been magicks in play. Yet, he could think of none at the moment. The magicks blocked all the sense of danger or the desire to fight, he realized he could not even think rationally. He decided that he would have to call the power of Highlord to wash away the effects of Vivadu before the battle.
Late in the night, when they attacked the enemy, Sulach knew why they had put him under the false serenity of Vivadu in the first place.
* * * * * * * * *
CHAPTER 12
“-BRING IT ON MOTHERFUCKERS I WILL SKULLFUCK YOUR CHILDREN AND LAUGH AT THEIR TEARS!”
- Vash, when facing the overwhelming odds against mantis
Captain Lesk desperately tried to rally the retreating soldiers when the attack came, but there was no fruit to his efforts. Like ghosts, Sulach's men came under the cover of darkness and caught the defenders by surprise despite the increased number of guards at post. He knew they would come again, yet he could not stop them. Ever since Samil's fall in the first battle with the enemy, Sulach have taken advantage of the headless army and grew aggressive. But Lesk managed to avoid them in the daylight up to now. By destroying a few supply carts in the first day, Lesk had a special wagon to carry the command tent of the Faithful which gave the opportunity to run away from the enemy. Only at nights, a unit of cavalry would smash from one corner of the army, send them fleeing away, raid as much as they could and disappear into the cover of the night before Lesk could mobilize the Legions and strike them back. It happened four times by now, and this was the fifth.
First time it happened, he spent his entire night in the Faithful’s tent crying like a little child, unsure of how to face the soldiers in his shame. When the morning broke though, he swallowed his shame and carried the day as if nothing happened. He was more prepared for the second night assault when they came again, but then Sulach had a different plan and still managed to catch them by surprise. It was easier to accept the defeat each time after that. Perhaps it was getting used to what he could not change, and that bothered him even more than the shame he felt. What was next, handing the army to Sulach and making excuses?
No, there was no room for cowardice, no living with the shame this time. If he dies tonight, perhaps someone better suited would be given charge to lead the army until the Faithful recovered from his wounds.
A few soldiers accompanied his bravery and he held hope that more would follow. But his hopes withered as he saw more and more of the Legions turn their backs to the enemy and flee in panic. Anger welled up in Lesk when he saw a rider of Sulach slam his spear to a fallen Tuluki soldier. He roared and broke into a charge, grabbing the soldier by the leg and pulling him down. He groaned as the soldier collapsed on top of him and took both of them down. They wrestled on the ground, blinded by the rage and the darkness that surrounded them. Lesk knew that he would probably die to the next opponent if not to this one, but it did not matter. He would take as many as he could in his fall.
“…. To me!”
Through the chaos and the cries, he heard the voice calling others. He tried to get up but his opponent held him down fast, strangling him with an iron grip. In a rekindled rage, he rolled his opponent over and came on top. With all his strength, he hammered his elbow on his opponent’s face and felt the sickening sound of breaking bones. He slammed his armored elbow again and again, until something wet splattered on his face and he felt the coppery taste of blood in his mouth.
“Rally to me!”
The voice called again and Lesk jumped to his feet from the lifeless form of his opponent. So familiar was the voice, but he tried not to grow hope. He kicked into a run, trying to reach the source of the voice before enemy lines came any closer.
“Rally to me!”
Tears blurred his vision when he saw the hunched figure leaning on his staff. The dark cover of the night made it difficult to see, but he recognized the red robe from a distance:
“Faithful is here!” he shouted and more soldiers joined him.
“Faithful is among us!”
“Protect the Faithful Lord!”
More and more soldiers rushed in and formed ranks in front of Samil and Lesk was among them, too overwhelmed to give any orders.
“Legions of the Sun King, form fours! First two rows step forth! Melee formation! Engage the enemy!” Samil’s rich voice snapped the orders.
Within seconds, the tide of the battle changed. The Allanakki riders kept smashing into the locked shields of Tuluk and were sent back again and again. It was a night assault and speed and stealth were the key factors for Sulach’s men. They were not there to hold forms and fight the enemy, they were there to hit them in sudden and send them scattered. Wearing no armor that would break their stealth and with the Tuluki lines stand like a wall in front of them, they had no chance. More Tuluki soldiers came to Samil’s call and the outcome of the battle became evident.
Sulach stared into the Tuluki lines from the top of his horse. He had seen Samil in the dim torchlight and known him even at a distance. His red cloak had swirled around him in the wind and it had been easy to picture the man’s brutal visage when he faced him in the battle. So strange it was that the mere appearance of Samil made such a huge change in the course of the battle. Such a loyalty he commanded in the Tuluki army and Sulach did not like the sound of it.
There was moment when Sulach felt Samil looking directly at him, and shivered. The wounds from his battle with Samil still troubled him when he was not under the effects of magick, despite the considerable time it passed. Time would cure them Sulach knew, but the memory would remain. Despite looking old and weak, Samil was not the kind of man he wanted to meet in battle again. He recognized his fear for him but there was no shame in being afraid. Even though he would have to retreat that night, he would win the war. Tonight’s battle did not mean much after all, not for Sulach. He had already raided the enemy supplies enough to sustain his army for more than a week’s time ahead, what he had been doing over the last two nights’ assaults was to break the enemy’s morale. By showing them defeat every night, he was crushing their resolve. After all, winning a fight did not take to kill every single soldier, but to take away their will to fight. And Sulach realized as he watched Samil’s effect on his soldiers, that to take away the enemy’s will to fight, he had to eliminate Samil.
Sulach had to retreat that night and Samil did not pursue.
* * * * * * * *
“He has accepted his fate, and so must I. It is better to live a short time within His Radiance than a lifetime away from His Light.”
- Elithan Winrothol, before an execution
Late in the same night, Captain Lesk and Samil were alone in the command tent. The stale air carried a visible tension as Samil sat on his pallet wordlessly for what Lesk felt like ages long.
“What happened to my Legions, Captain?” spoke Samil at last. His voice was weaker than how it was in the battlefield, and so was his posture. When alone, the effects of his wounds were much visible in the candle light.
“Faithful Lord, I –“ Captain started as he stood, but then he stopped to clear his voice and his mind.
“Sir, it is my mistake. There is no excuse for it, perhaps I am not fit for the command” he spoke clearly. Relieved that he finally could muster the words, but Samil was not listening.
“They ran like cowards,” Samil spoke, more to himself and the empty air than to the Captain standing in attendance. Lesk could only bow his head in shame.
“I ordered them to drop their banner after the fight was over. Sulach already has their honor, he could as well take their banner” Samil continued, and Lesk felt his cheeks flush. So humiliating to leave the banner, it could very well mean that Samil did not care whether or not those units were all completely dead and gone.
“Sir, I would take any punishment for my incompetence” Lesk spoke, his head bowed low. He did not dare to look at the Faithful in the eye, fearing that his legs would give away their strength at humiliation.
“Raise your head, Captain!” Samil’s voice was sharp enough to make Lesk obey at once.
“There will be punishment of course. And yours is not so easy to step aside from the command.” Samil went on. His next words explained how the cowards would be punished, and Lesk’s face went pale as he listened.
Lesk stood with all the commanding officers in the dim light of Lirathu, the soldiers of the Second Battalion disarmed and lined up in front of their tents. All the voices of the camp died when the Second Battalion was called out of their beds.
“Begin” Lesk gave the order; his voice was cold as the desert night.
Two sergeants moved forward, but the third shook visibly, exchanging glances between his men and Captain Lesk:
“Sir… But they are our soldiers. It is not right” he spoke weakly.
“Stand still!” Lesk snapped, “Lieutenant, come to me!”
Sergeant shook his head in terror as he saw his lieutenant approaching to Lesk:
“I am sorry sir, I only meant…”
But Lesk was not listening to him:
“Lieutenant, this man disobeyed my orders. He will join the selected.” Lesk spoke clearly for everyone in attendance to hear.
The sergeant attempted to protest but the lieutenant struck his gauntleted fist down on him before he could add anymore shame he had brought to his command. Two more of his crushing punches and the dazed sergeant fell on his knees. They disarmed him quickly and dragged him away from the line of soldiers.
The rest of the draft went uneventful, sergeants counted the men and one out of every five was drawn out. When counting the men in Second Battalion was done, the selected was dragged away and the rest were sent back inside. Though, the night did not pass easily for anyone. Those who were left behind knew they would never see again the ones taken away. And they were shaking in terror when the commanding officers returned, calling another Battalion out of their tents.
It carried on all night long.
* * * * * * * *
CHAPTER 13
“- It is easy to grow hope, warrior, when your lover is in your arms, with your booze leaving the bitter taste and the smoke of your spice filling your lungs. It is easy to grow hope when your stomach is full and your tongue wet. It is easy to grow hope when you face your opponent in your battle and you stand strong. But when you miss your lover’s good bye kiss and there is nothing to wash it down; when hunger craves your insides and your mouth runs dry; when your sword breaks down and your opponent gashes open your brows, does your hope die warrior?
No, that is when you are truly alive.”
- Gin of the Alleys, and Ough the mul.
Lesk dropped on his haunches in front of Samil’s tent by the end of the night, Allanakki and the Tuluki bloods mingled in his armor. There was less than an hour of time left when they were finished executing the men, and he felt all his strength was finally leaving him. He dropped on the ground, trying to clear up the events of the night from his mind. From all the units who fled before Sulach in the night assaults, they picked one out of every five soldier.
And then they killed them. As a ranking officer he had killed many before. But killing another Tuluki soldier, and more importantly the way they killed them would haunt him for a long time.
Each battalion’s selected group was brought separately, disarmed and unarmored so that if a group attempts to resist, there would not be any complications. Then all the officers of the Legions attacked them unarmed, punching and kicking until they all died. Killing them without the use of any weapons in such a way took longer, cries and painful pleads of the dying men carried on for a long time. One of the men even said “I am sorry” and started to cry like a child before the officers launched on them. Each group was drawn away like this one by one. After the second group, the officers were all speechless in horror, and they worked in silence until the end. It ended about an hour to the day break, and Lesk sent them all to get some rest before dawn. They would not be able to sleep, he thought as much, but just like him they needed sometime alone.
Lesk dug his hands into the ground and clawed the desert sands in his silent weeping. It was coldest in the desert right before the sunrise, but he felt none of it. Tears were burning his eyes and he felt a weight down his throat that he could not swallow. This is what it takes to lead, he thought to himself.
He sat there in front of Samil’s tent, unsure of the time that passed. Approaching steps made him jump to his feet and he stood in attendance as the Faithful opened the flap of the tent and walked out to the morning sun. He stood before Lesk, eyeing him against the crimson dawn expectantly. But there was no strength left in Lesk to greet the Faithful properly. He bit his lower lip to stop them from quivering and looked straight past the Faithful, unable to meet him in the eye. He expected to be struck down for his weakness and steadied himself for the blow, but it did not come. Instead Samil patted him on the shoulder in a gesture of understanding and Lesk tried hard not to collapse at his feet.
The camp started to come alive with the waking soldiers and Lesk straightened in his posture, reminding himself that he is still the Captain of the Legions. There was no room for a show of weakness he reminded to himself and joined among the soldiers to break the camp.
Before the hour past, all the soldiers were brought to attendance and Samil rode in front of them, staring them down from atop his horse.
“Sun King’s Legions! My warriors!” he shouted and his gaze wandered through the ranks of soldiers. The legionnaires disgraced him. They knew it, and kept their heads bowed in private misery. Even their ranks seemed chaotic as each one found their among others without looking at the rank formations.
“Last night was the closest thing to disaster that I have ever seen. I have never seen a Legion turn their back to the enemy and leave their commanders in the field. Never before, a soldier ran past me when I called them to form ranks before me!”
From the top of his mount he could see all of the gathered soldiers. They stared down without daring to look at him, but he saw some of them shaking with humiliation as if he were a father lecturing repentant children. He shook his head and stared ahead for a time:
“Legions! The enemy we are facing is not a group of halfling. It is not a band of marauders hunting down helpless tribals! No! The enemy we have now is the worst ever seen! They have never seen the face of defeat before! And we knew this before we took our ride from the Ivory.”
“We knew what we were against before we left our beloved walls” he shouted, riding his horse up and down in front of the ranks. “I tell you now my warriors, if there is anyone who believes that we can not beat this enemy, I ask them to step forth!”
All heads were suddenly lifted up; all the soldiers looked at Samil directly. The traces of shame seemed to vanish as they gazed up at him.
“I ask anyone who believes that this enemy can not be beaten, to step forth!" Samil repeated louder. "They will be given the month’s payment and the next, and they will be sent back to the city!” Samil shouted and his gaze wandered on each soldier as he stood.
“I do not want a soldier in my ranks who do not believe in their comrades! There are thousands and thousands of soldiers among the Legions. But you are the ones that I chose to march with me!” He shouted and a cheer started to light in the eyes of the Legions.
“What an honor we are chosen to fight the greatest enemy of all!” Samil’s finger was pointing toward where Sulach’s men retreated a night before as he spoke: “That we are given the chance to achieve the greatest valor in the Sun King’s ranks!
“Soldiers!“ his voice dropped low as he regarded them all. “Some of the battalions that were yesterday are no more. I can not give back your history, but I can offer you a new start. Today we start a new day. As you will be briefed, the members of the disbanded Legions will join the ranks of the others. Legions! Do not hold your brothers and sisters with shame! We will not remember those running from the enemy, but we will remember them holding ranks as I called them to rally to me! Remember that they are your brothers in arm now! We left Legion banners last night! When we next meet them in battle, we will fight to get their banners and your honor with them!” The soldiers seemed to straighten their postures as Samil spoke, some of them lifted their heads high, a new light of determination in their eyes.
“Look around you now. Look at the faces of the men and women around you! Remember those faces, for there will come a day when you will tell tales of your fight against the Witch Templar Sulach, and you will tell who else was with you in that glorious battle!”
“Soldiers, we are all professionals. Shall we cut these amateur bastards to pieces?”
A loud cheer erupted from the ranks of the soldiers, swords and shields were clashed together and their mouths bellowed in applaud. Samil’s heart lifted with pride.
The camp was broken and they marched away in the morning sun.
CHAPTER 10
“As mortals, we have a barrier
in the level of power we can wield. No
matter what we try, with magick or psionics or by completely mundane means,
sooner or later we will hit the wall and there is no trivial way to pass this
wall. For perhaps this is a...
Continue Reading...The Warriors of Faith: Part II: "Before the Storm"
Added on Feb 26, 2008The armies prepare for the battle, and the politics of the cities take a new shape
CHAPTER 6
“ – He is not a friend…
… He is the enemy in disguise.”
-
My dearest Ka’Tryn,
Days followed nights, and time flew away. It has only been two weeks that tore us apart, but it feels like years have gone between us. I thank the Highlord every night for your still-fresh memory to keep me company in these desolate lands.
I have been pulled in a trap, my love. For days I have been running with Samil at my back. For days my men have been marching, and the way home is closed to us; our enemy is strong.
I require assistance from the War Ministry, my love. I need another armed force to circle around my enemy’s rear, which will quickly lead us into a decisive victory. However, as a blue robe, I have already been trusted with more than enough soldiers under my command. For even more units, the procedure will take too long to carry on. That kind of time, I do not have.
My love, I need you to write a letter for me to the War Ministry, and use your Family’s influence to draw a few hundred soldiers from the Ministry and have them sent along the Shield Wall to strike the enemy from behind. The maps I am sending you with this letter clearly indicate the position of the enemy units, and their possible routes over the next two days. A commanding officer would understand what is expected of him from those maps. If they agree to send the force, this battle will end quickly, and we will be together once again. Please do this for me, my love, for I miss you so much.
Walk in His shadow.
I love you, with all my heart.
Sulach Tor of the War Ministry
Lord Cadra Borsail rolled the written parchment in his meaty hands, a pleasant smile curling up on his lips. He was glad to hire a servant specifically tasked to watch Ka’Tryn’s letters. A bold move it was, and finally it produced fruit. He crossed the spacious room, carrying his substantial body to the window where he could watch the beautiful colors of the garden stretching out to the rest of the estate. The view was relaxing in nature.
Ever since Sulach had marched out for his campaign, everything worked for the success of Lord Cadra. He was quick to catch the attention of a Senator of his House by throwing a party in the man’s name. Pretty soon, his relationship with the Senator got very close; he was attending his meetings, helping him arrange social events, rallying his own servants for his course, working with nobles of other Houses to collect votes for the said Senator. His knowledge and experience with the politics of the city expanded so much in a very short time, even he was surprised.
His meaty cheeks were pulled back, revealing a childish smile. He tore his gaze away from the garden and began to walk toward the hearth. More work would have to follow. He would host another Senator tomorrow in the Estate and he would use all he could to try and manipulate the senator into passing a vote in his favor. If he failed, it would not be a loss for him, but for the current Senator of Borsail. But if he succeeded…
His smile broadened as he stood near the hearth, staring at the dancing light with hypnotized eyes. In the end this was all a game for him, at least for now. Until he became comfortable in the political schemes and made his name heard in the Senate Halls, it would remain as a game. The real politics would start after that moment.
His eyes focused on the firelight, as he woke from his daydreams. His game was going very well and it should not be disturbed, and that meant Sulach would have to stay out of his way. Even if it meant the downfall of Sulach and a few hundred soldiers, the success Cadra could accomplish in the long run would easily pale this minor loss. He threw the crumpled parchment into the hearth and let the flames catch it with an insatiable hunger. The parchment shriveled and wrinkled, the ink marks leaving dark spots in the firelight.
When the last ink mark shriveled and died in the fire, a relief washed over Cadra. He quickly called the slaves for refreshments, and let his mind wander on the taste of the afternoon dessert.
* * * * * * * * * *
“We cannot keep avoiding them forever, my Lord. The soldiers are beginning to question why we have been changing routes so very often, and why we have not met the gith army after all that marching,” Lieutenant Strian spoke, his voice high to overcome the wail of the wind outside. A sandstorm was raging in the desert, sending ripples over the tightly-secured interior walls of the tent. The commanding officers were silent around the map table, their gazes appearing sullen after the weariness of the day.
Sulach pressed his fists on the map table, his brows wrinkling as he weighed Strian’s words. He had kept the news of the Tuluki force a secret from the rest of the army to this moment, for fear that if the soldiers learn the grave mistake of the scouts they would lose their trust on each other. Each soldier in the army trusted their life to the other. If they heard of a weakness among them, it would morale would drop and cripple their will to fight. Sulach could not allow that to happen.
He knew he had to fight the Tuluki force, and he knew he had to break the news of the enemy to his soldiers... but not yet. He wanted a reply his letter to Ka’Tryn and to how the War Ministry responded before giving the news to his army. He could not use the Way and ask about it. When the subject was Tuluk, use of the Way would only mean giving all his plans to Samil on a silver plate. The only option he had was to wait, and wait he did.
Two days passed like that. This was the third day, and his officers were getting as restless as the rest of his army.
“What about the supplies?” he asked.
“Very low my Lord. We probably have three days’ food and drink on the carts, give or take,” Itina said shortly. Then she added after a momentary thought: “The enemy was moving toward the supply routes. If that is their goal, these might very well be our last supplies.”
Sulach released a heavy sigh, but the cries of the storm quickly drowned his voice. His options were getting thinne, but he had to wait. The only way to victory was hitting the enemy from the rear as he pressed from the front. And for that, he needed Ka’Tryn’s help. Why did he not hear from her still? She would do what he asked. She had Sulach’s full trust on that, but he was running out of time. Perhaps he had to write another letter and put pressure on the time.
Sulach lifted his gaze to look at the officers gathered around the map table. All eyes were on him, waiting for any command he would give them.
“Drop the rations given to the soldiers to half. We will wait for a word from Allanak for two more days. We will decide after that,” he spoke finally. The officers did not seem overly happy about his decision, but they did not speak on it. The final word belonged to Sulach and they would comply, whether they liked it or not.
The commanding officers left the tent shortly, leaving Sulach alone in the trembling candlelight. He sat down at the table, pulled over a parchment and quill, and started writing another letter to Ka’Tryn.
* * * * * * * * * *
“- They have pieces of the puzzle, but only hazily see the whole picture.
- Then I would safely say very few know as much as we, Brother.”
- Serilla Uaptal and Elithan Winrothol, Templars of Tuluk.
“They are not using the Way anymore,” said Neodyn through the unseen Way.
“Then he is aware of my presence,” replied Samil’s clear thoughts. “No more games then, I will close in and engage him as soon as possible.”
“Most likely,” replied the frail mental image of the Lirathan in Samil’s mind. “Still, it does not mean we should drop all other plans. We can still plant our men into the vile city as we discussed before.”
“Why, yes. We can. I assigned the Lyksaen warriors that my
“Speaking of which, your
“Send him my regards, and tell him that his warriors are the best I have seen,” Samil sent his thoughts. In truth, it was a basic way of thanking the noble blood for his aid rather than a compliment. Lyksae trained the most elite warriors; twenty of them would make a difference.
“Thank you, Faithful Sister,” Samil finished.
“His radiance guide you, Brother,” Neodyn replied, before slipping from his thoughts.
Samil sat alone on his pallet for a few minutes, mulling the recent news. He had Sulach cornered by closing the way back. The Lyksaen warriors could easily take care of his supply routes as well, and thus force Sulach into a pitched battle. Considering he had the greater numbers and fresh Legions, along with abundant supplies, he was confident of the outcome of such a battle. Not to mention he would also have his own men in Allanak once the supply route was broken.
He lay down on the pallet, taking a deep, relaxing breath. The morning was still a few hours away, and his mind was weary from meditation and the drain of the psionic contact.
The day would dawn to the march of the Legions.
* * * * * * * * * *
“- Well, fuck, you did it already? I'd figured you're wack off a bit before finishing it”
- Marin of the Guild
Corporal Xides of the Jade Teeth, quartermaster of the second battalion…
The same phrase repeated over and over in her head. Everything had been dark… for how long? Was there ever a light? Did she ever look at the skies?
Corporal Xides of the Jade Teeth, quartermaster of the second battalion of the Arm of the Dragon, reporting for duty.
A sharp headache was calling her back from sleep, pushing away the dream world and reminding her of the physical senses. She did not want to wake up though, it was too painful to wake up. The headache alone was unbearable, not to mention all those wounds from arrows and spears, turning her body into a bloody mess. Sleep was taking her pain away; sleep was comfortable.
Corporal Xides of the Jade Teeth, quartermaster of the second battalion of the Arm of the Dragon, reporting for duty.
How did she fall into this? How did the lights go away, and the pain take over? How did she feel her life slipping away, and the pain driving her towards insanity before unconsciousness came to her rescue?
It was her first mission as a Corporal to escort the supply carts to Lord Templar Sulach Tor, who was supposed to be fighting gith. The routes had been planned carefully, as they always were. The gith numbers were so few that the Corporal and her unit would not even be needed. But such were the protocols. The slaves could not defend themselves against the threats of the desert, were there a random group of raiders or a beast sneaking upon them. Her unit would scare away such raiders and could defend against the occasional beasts lurking in the dunes. The supply carts would be delivered in no time.
But it did not go so well.
The ambush started so fast and was so deadly, nobody understood what hit them. Suddenly arrows and spears rained out of nowhere, slaughtering many in a bloody confusion. Shields were pulled up at the Corporal’s order to stop the bloody rain of death, but then the sands around them sprayed up in a blinding shower, throwing up more ambushers within melee range in their wake. In seconds, they cut through the prone unit, dropping down so many with brutal efficiency. The Corporal’s order was cut off in the middle as a spear caught her full in the chest, and a sword slashed across her groin. Then her attacker passed by her, moving to his next target. Instinctively she dropped her hands on her wound, as if trying to prevent her guts from spilling out.
She saw another volley of arrows and spears taking flight and she heard the thunder of galloping cavalry charging on her men, followed shortly by the screams and the cries of the dying men. She knew she would not survive this. Her opponent was so strong. They were almost like… They almost reminded her of…
Corporal Xides of the Jade Teeth, quartermaster of the second battalion of the Arm of the Dragon, reporting for duty.
The same voice repeated over and over in her head… Disturbing her sleep.
Corporal Xides…
Powerful hands were shaking her and she realized the sleep could no longer protect her. She opened her eyes, trying not to flinch at the overwhelming pain awakening inside of her, and the rush of light that burned her eyes.
Crimson and grey was her opponent, his attire carrying not a bit of blood or sand from the deadly desert. How could anything be so untouched by the misery of such a crimson afternoon?
“Tell me your name and your unit, soldier!” The powerful hands shook her again, causing a ripple of pain to pass over her expression.
“Corporal…Xides… Of the Ja - de Teeth…”
The fight scene was running in her head again and again. Such a good coordination, discipline, skill… They were almost like… Almost like…
“… quartermas-.. ter… of the second battalion…”
They fight almost like Tor Scorpions.
“Die miserably.”
A knife slashed across her throat, leaving a trail of crimson in its wake, and then her killer dropped her carelessly. She tried to talk, but the words died in her throat with a sickening gurgle. She felt the precious blood pouring out, leaving her weaker and weaker with each heartbeat. She could not help but to shake violently, causing the blood to spray and paint the golden sands in a chaotic splash of crimson stain.
Her eyes moved to the sides, looking past the hands that killed her. She could see clearly now, that there were only about ten to twenty attackers that created such a field of death.
No!
She could not be beaten by a handful of men like this! She was of the Arm of the Dragon; she could not die like this!
Her hands clawed the sands as if to hold tight to the life and fight against the grasp of death.
And she stayed like that.
“The mission was successful, Faithful Lord. The caravan is neutralized,” reported the Lyksaen warrior through the unseen Way, as the last ragged breathes of the Corporal died away. All around him were piles of bodies, lying in a lifeless mimicry of the chaotic battle that had happened moments ago.
“Excellent, Mtakr. Any casualties among your men?” Samil’s mind responded him shortly.
“None, Faithful Lord.”
“You truly live to the fame of House Lyksae, Enit.” Samil honored the warrior by calling him by his name.
“I do my duty for the Ivory and the Faithful,” replied the warrior in the traditional way.
Samil’s thoughts were colored with approval and pleasantness: “Keep the carts secure now. In about an hour, my men will come to take the carts from your hands. After that, make sure the corpses of the vile
“Yes sir,” Enit replied affirmatively.
“Once it is done, continue your patrol on the supply routes. No supply carts should pass to the enemy, Mtakr.”
“None will pass, sir.”
“Excellent. I will call you by my side before I engage the enemy, and we will rejoice with the glory then.”
“As you please, Faithful Lord.”
* * * * * * * * * *
CHAPTER 7
“ - Look at my son! Is not he cute?
- I can snap his neck with two fingers.
- And I can remove your balls and stuff them down your throat.
- Good point”
- Gin of the Alleys, and Inrof
Meleth’s Circle was overcrowded. The music and the noise of the Fale party were over now, but the commoners still stood outside the Arboretum. Some old and crippled, some harboring a child, some supporting a loved one, their bony fingers intertwined in a desperate gesture of love, were all standing there weak and battered under the scorching sun, hoping that they would be spared with the leftovers. The party was over now and the Highborn were making their way out of the Arboretum.
Lord Templar Risac Valika was one of the first to leave the party. He was not surprised to be greeted by the mass of the commoners, but he was not expecting the circle of soldiers in tight formation to hold the people out. He approached the ranking officer, who was standing several feet away from the curtain that separated the Arboretum from the Meleth’s Circle.
“Sergeant,” Risac called as he walked over and dropped a bored nod of acknowledgement at the sergeant’s respectful bow. “What is this about?” He gestured at he commoners pressing their bodies against the soldiers.
“Sir, the people are starving.”
Risac nodded grimly. It was a time of famine and both the water and flour prices had raised over the last week, leaving many people struggling desperately on the verge of starvation.
“I see. We are going through difficult times. It is a shame to see our own people suffer like this,” he said bitterly. The Sergeant could see genuine concern on the templar’s face.
“Still,” Templar Risac added, taking a deep breath, “we cannot let them disturb the noble-born. Make sure your men keep them away until the nobility departs, then we will see what we can do for our people.”
Sergeant nodded sharply: “Right away, sir.”
“It was a pleasant party, was it not Lord Templar?” called Lord Cadra as he passed through the curtain and walked out to the bustling noise of the Meleth’s.
“It certainly was, Lord Borsail,” replied Templar Risac.
“We did not have much chance to talk in the party,” continued Lord Cadra as he approached to the templar in blue, two guards wearing the crimson of Borsail stepping to his flanks immediately. “I hope all is well?”
Risac spared a glance at the soldiers trying to hold the commoners away from the Arboretum. Although it seemed to be a small commotion, he noted it would be better to have more soldiers ready in these times. Too late for now, but perhaps for the next meeting in Arboretum.
“The famine is breaking our citizens, which concerns me. Other than that, all is well. And you?”
“Oh I am fine, thank you for asking,” Cadra replied, wearing a genuine broad smile. “Is there any word from my old friend Sulach? I have not heard from him ever since he headed for the gith campaign.”
“I did not know you were so close to him, Lord Borsail,” smirked Risac playfully. Then he added: “No, actually there is not much news. The slaves that brought back the supply carts say he has not engaged the gith yet. I assume he does not want to say a word without meeting the enemy.”
Cadra Borsail had a difficult time disguising his surprise. Supply carts being brought back? Slaves reporting about not meeting gith?
A loud noise erupted from the crowd as several people tried to break the soldiers’ block to come closer to Arboretum. They were begging loudly as they clawed their way against the adamant posture of the soldiers. Templar Risac shook his head as he watched the commotion. It was a pain to see his people so desperate and weak, and he prayed to the Highlord that no outbreak would occur that day.
Cadra was lost in thoughts however. He had intercepted all of Sulach’s letters to Ka’Tryn and to the War Ministry over the last week. In every one, he mentioned the supply chains having been broken. The fact that Risac saying the supply carts returning safely could only mean…
The soldiers were having a hard time holding the crowds back. Risac was pressing his fingertips to his temple, probably requesting a unit to back up the soldiers.
“Your job is not easy at all, dear friend,” said Cadra, forcing a smile. Ideas were rushing through his mind. Daring ideas, dangerous ideas…
Risac said something as a reply, but Cadra did not hear it. He was too far into his own thoughts. Learning that Samil planted his own men like slaves of Allanak, and that only Cadra himself had knowledge of this, were the best pieces of news he had heard in a while. So many possibilities were running through his mind.
“Ah, dear! Were you waiting for me?” called a female voice beside Cadra, and he felt gentle gloved hands hooking around his arm. Turning over, he was looking directly at Lady Ansche Fale, her fluffy purple silk dress brushing against his cloak.
Anger was spinning in Cadra’s thoughts as he saw her, but he knew better than to jerk off his arm. Instead, he flashed a smile:
“Lady Fale, it was such a beautiful party,” he continued. His smile was growing as he placed his hand on hers, her purple silk gloves soft to his touch.
Ansche Fale flashed back warmly, leaning close to him. Her perfume was masking the stench of the commons. “I am glad you enjoyed it, dear.”
Cadra tried hard to keep a straight face. Lady Fale, among all the nobility, had so far proved to be the biggest thorn he had. Quite manipulative in nature, she was in this game much earlier. She was successfully undoing all his efforts to collect supporters for the Senator. Knowing how she had been, Cadra finally decided to convince her to his side first, and then decide what next to do.
“Our little talk has been due for quite some time, Lady. Would you like to come with me to the Trader’s?” Cadra spoke gently, his smile was warm and inviting.
“How lovely of you, dear. Indeed, we should talk”.
Her hand hooked around the crook of his arm, Cadra began to escort her when the crowds broke into another uprising. This time the force pushing through was not as strong, but still a woman clawed and kicked her way through the ring of soldiers. A baby in her arms, the fragile frame of the woman stood confused for a moment, not sure what to do next. But then, she threw herself in front of Cadra and Ansche, and her eyes were teary and pleading:
“Please my Lord, my Lady… Please… My baby is dying. Please, just a little water?”
Ansche on his arm, Lord Cadra stopped in his steps, looking directly at the crying woman: Bony figure, skin tanned and dried from exposure to the Suk-krath, she seemed no older than mid twenties, the baby in her arms no more than a month. Helping this woman would bring the rest of the crowds begging. On the other hand, it was not Cadra’s authority to discipline this woman. Even considering punishment for something this simple would mean that his time and mind would become occupied with things as worthless as a simple commoner; a shame to his noble blood. Yet the woman was there, in front of his path:
“That is enough!” boomed Templar Risac’s voice. “Soldiers, make room for the nobility!”
“Weapons ready!” Sergeant Vorag commanded to his soldiers, who stepped back from the press of the commoners and drew their weapons. “Advance!” he ordered, and he broke into a charge toward the fragile form of the woman. His first sword swing killed the baby, his second finished the woman off.
Chaos erupted through the the Circle as the soldiers cut through the commoners mercilessly. Each swing of a blade dropping another, soldiers killed their own citizens without hesitation. The commoners, who were trying to push their way through moments ago, were now tripping over each other in their haste to run away from the advancing soldiers; the ones left behind butchered without discrimination. They could provide little resistance against the armed and trained soldiers before being cut down. Blood and gore spilled on the streets, painting the paving stones in a dark crimson.
"Stand your ground!" the Sergeant shouted when the soldiers were spread wide enough. "Stand your ground!" he repeated, and the advancing soldiers stopped abruptly, their blades coated in crimson blood.
Another unit of militia was jogging through the streets, making their way to report to Templar Risac, who barely nodded and gestured for them to join the forces that were holding the commoners back, though it was no longer necessary. Due to the brutal repression of the armed forces, the commoners were still afraid to come any close to the circle of soldiers.
"I am afraid this has delayed your leave," Templar Risac told Lord Cadra and Lady Ansche apologetically.
"Ah, it is no problem, Lord Templar," replied Cadra, "our time is a fine price to do the Highlord's bidding."
"My apologies, still," Risac countered.
Slaves poured barrels of dry sand over the sticky blood, making a
clear path for the nobles, though there was nothing to be done for the reek of gore and open bowels that hung heavy in the open air.As the nobility were leaving, Risac noticed several unfortunate commoners dropping to their knees, trying to drink from the blood on the ground to quench their thirst. He felt his heart ache at the sight, and prayed to the Highlord for these dark times to be over soon.
* * * * * * * * * *
CHAPTER 8
"- Hey... Farran... if we all die t'gith... tha's alright. No... m'serious... in th'end... what's it matter?"
- Agent Horus-da Kurac, experiencing a thodeliv-fueled revelation.
The two days of time given was over. There was no response to the letters, not even the latest ones he sent. The supply chain was broken; the very few rations left were the last for the Allanaki force. Little was said in the morning meeting with his officers. Their woeful expressions spoke volumes. Sulach felt his heart sinking.
From the back of his mount, he looked down at the great expanse of his soldiers. His mind wandered back to the last two weeks and the pride he felt at the sight of his great force, the promises of the glory in eliminating the raids. He would be named “the Conqueror”. Already his name was spoken with respect even among the other blue robes. The tales of his victories against the overwhelming gith numbers, against all odds, were well received. But now he was here, in front of the very soldiers, unable to decide how to start. “I am the Conqueror,” he whispered to himself, but the words failed to cheer him as they once did.
“Soldiers! Men of the Arm of the Dragon! My followers!” he started, taking a deep breath. “Two weeks ago, we left our hearts at home and stepped into these desolate lands. We all did this for the same reason.” He let his words sink in.
“For Allanak!” he shouted and the soldiers gave a cheer, lifting their swords in salute.
“But today, we are facing an enemy we did not think we would find. An enemy we have had all the time, though we did not come out here to fight them. Not this time, not in this war.”
The soldiers were silent as Sulach rode his horse up and down in front of the gathered units. “Today, Allanak is too far away. Highlord knows, if we die today, they will not hear it for days.”
“Soldiers! We will meet this enemy! We will fight them! But I will not ask you to fight for Allanak this time!” Confusion could be read on the soldiers’ faces as they looked directly at Sulach. Sulach merely looked back, his eyes moving from face to face.
“I will not ask you to fight for Allanak!” he repeated. “What does Allanak know of us here? What does the Senate understand of what we are? The merchants in their houses, the slaves, the commoners and the whores have not been with us in our battles. When I think of Allanak, I can think of the city that has been standing for ages, and will stand for ages more. But my warriors are those that I see before me now!”
The words sank easily among the soldiers. He knew them for what they are, and he could see the thin cheers as they gazed up at him.
“I will not ask you to fight for Allanak this time! This time, fight for me!” he said, and they lifted their heads higher to hear him. He swept a hand to the southern horizon in a vague gesture to point toward the enemy’s direction:
“What an honor that our enemy came in greater numbers. They know our strength, my warriors! They know we are unbreakable in spirit! If I could change places today, and be one among them, I would fear you! I would be terrified! For they are not us! The infidels, the barbarians they are, my warriors, they are nothing like us! When our hearts and arms are tired, we go on! When our stomachs are empty and mouths dry, we go on!”
He smiled upon the soldiers, pleased to see all of their heads high and spirits lifted:
“The enemy closed in to draw our blood! Let us show them how the Allanakki fight!”
A loud cheer erupted from the gathered soldiers, drowning Sulach’s last words. Swords were rapped together, whistles, cheers, cries rose from the crowds, and Sulach’s name rang repeatedly in the noise.
Sulach was pleased. Once more he felt the excitement of the battle rising within him. Let Samil come now, and fight me when I lead such brave soldiers. His heart lifted with pride, and he ordered them to move out. The enemy was within a day’s march.
“Faithful Lord, that black wave –“ started the captain Lesk of the legions.
“Allanaki force,” Samil cut in shortly.
“Should we move in and engage them, then?”
Samil stared at the afternoon horizons for a moment, then to the enemy force a few leagues distant. “First we need to rest.”
* * * * * * * * * *
" - Reila. A fine name, eh? I'm Lassan. Lassan Dito. This is me partner, Azhaj. We both deadly with swords, an' amazin' with cocks."
- Lassan Dito and Azhaj, Partners in Debauchery
The night fell as Suk Krath gathered its light and departed to the west. Both moons were high in the sky, their red and white glow spilling to the sands and illuminating the landscape dimly. A clear mixture of sounds was giving life to the night in the Tuluki camp, as bards played their instruments and the rest of the army joined them with applaud and cheering. The campfires were hosting the dancing contests as soldiers pulled forth their ability to follow and accompany the music with aesthetic moves. The songs would end, the cheer and clapping on hands would rise for the dancers, and the new song would begin with a different tone, sometimes faster, sometimes challengingly slow, sometimes in sudden changes requiring the dancer to guess the follow of the music to adjust properly. It was as much a display of playing the music as it was a display of its seduction.
Captain Lesk watched the dancers as the rest of his soldiers did for a while, leaving all the worries of battle in the shifting light of the campfires. Such moments always gave him a feeling of strengthening the bond between the soldiers. As the dancing contests came to an end and Kruth decks changed hands, Lesk realized the passage of time. The duties of his role as commander in the army called him once more. With the rest of the commanding officers, he made it to the Faithful’s tent, only to find him sitting in the map table covered in thin loose garment.
They all dipped their heads in greeting, and Samil returned their gesture. Lesk was the first to break the silence:
“No disturbance, Faithful Lord. Looks like they will not try their chance under the cover of the night.”
Samil merely nodded, lifting his stone cup to take a swallow of clear water.
“Understandable. Fighting in the dark is tricky, it brings risk on both parties involved,” he said. “And probably, he is also as curious of tomorrow’s battle as we are. If he attacks at night, he will never find out if he would win or lose against the odds.” Samil wiped his mouth.
Lesk was as confused as the rest of the officers. He did not quite understand. Curious of the battle? Perhaps that is what it meant to be the messenger of a God-King, and to wield the power of life and death over the masses. That perhaps, such measures in hundreds of deaths may sometimes look like a game.
“Is there anything you require us to do, Faithful Lord? Perhaps a battle plan?”
Samil was already shaking his head before Lesk could finish.
“No. I intend to let Sulach make the planning, and I will counter him. We hold the upper hand here and rushing things could bring risk.” He started to wave his hand dismissively. “You may return to your units. Enjoy the night, and have a good rest. Tomorrow before the dawn, we will be facing the enemy.”
The commanding officers all nodded and departed from the command tent. The chatter and the noise outside were significantly lower, as the new game was about concealing the emotions, and reading the other players’ faces. Players seemed to be lost in the card games and the observers only watched in awe, trying to distinguish who was better in masking their intentions.
Samil rose from the map table stretching his muscles, thinking the battle was over for that night. Over forty years he was, nearly twice the age of Sulach, but still his physique was impressive. He decided to pray for the Sun-King for an hour, and then he too would need to retire for the rest of the night. For tomorrow required a rested body and mind.
The fires of the Allanaki camp were as alive as those of the Tuluki after dusk. After a few days of half rations, Sulach finally ordered for food and water to be given as much as the soldiers want, so that they would look like Allanakki when they met their enemy. Barrels of wine and ale were passed among the campfires after the meal to lift the spirits, and it was effective. Soldiers were challenged to wrestle against beasts captured from the desert during the day. Bets were placed, coins changed hands and in the end, after the beasts had been wounded or tired, they would be slaughtered and grilled over the campfires to be shared among the men. The laughter and joy could be read on the soldiers’ faces, as if they were not to die tomorrow, as if they will not lose many friends and loved ones in several hours.
As time passed and the booze left a bitter taste in the night, the laughter and cheers died as well. The lingering campfires were playing tricks of light on their cold faces when Tild approached to the largest of the groups.
He dropped to his haunches, nearly spilling his ale over a soldier. Chuckling as he slapped the soldier on the shoulder, he lifted his cup in salute. The rest of the soldiers did not share his cheerful manner, at least not as much as he did.
“What is up, soldiers? You are not going to tell me you missed your moms?” Tild started again, his voice still cheerful, untouched by the gloom of his company.
“Some of us are worried, Lieu… I mean, Tild,” the soldier replied. Ever since Tild had been demoted to the rank of private due to the mistake of his subordinates, some soldiers were having a hard time adjusting his new rank.
“Worried?” Tild’s eyes were wandering from face to face now. “Worried about what? Fighting?” The soldiers were shaking their heads in protest, but Tild ignored them. “If you are scared of fighting, I think you made a major mistake in choosing your jobs, fellas.”
“No!” one of them broke in. “We are not scared of fighting, Tild. But look at this.” The soldier’s hand was stretched to the distant glows of the enemy fires. “Word says we are outnumbered. And you know how we have not been given much food lately. It is obvious we are running out of basic supplies.”
Tild licked his lips, tasting again the leftovers of the ale. He looked at the soldiers once more, and saw all eyes were on him. He nodded then, putting down his cup on the ground.
“So, fellas” he began, raising his voice enough to be carried through the campfire, and even to the nearby groups. “How long have you known Lord Sulach?” He continued quickly, without waiting for a reply. “A year? Two? I know most of you have not even finished your first year.”
The soldiers were silent.
When he started again his voice was stronger, carrying no sign of his drunken delirious from moments ago: “I know him for more than five years. I have fought many times for him. My credentials speak for me” his serious expression giving in to a mischievous grin “and my outstanding rank!” a laughter erupted through the soldiers then, as someone from the darkness added “To the rank of the private!” and all the cups were lifted cheerfully, the soldiers taking a mouthful of the liquor. Tild saw clearly at that moment, that almost all of the soldiers sitting around the nearby campfires were moving closer to hear what he was saying.
“Fellas! I fought with Lord Sulach when outnumbered. I fought with him when we were surrounded! There was one time, the gith ambushed us from both front and rear ranks and outnumbering us two to one” he slowed down then, letting the words sink into the soldiers. His voice was clear and loud when he started again: “But we always won. That man” his finger was pointing towards the command tent standing tall and wide in the darkness, “That Lord Templar Sulach, knows how to fight. He knows how to win. As a soldier, all I had to do was to follow his orders and think no further than my duties. And I am here today.”
All heads seemed to nod in silent understanding, but Tild was not finished: “Let him do the thinking, let him do the worrying. You just do what you are told to do, and remember that you are on the winning side.”
Tild was pleased to see the change in the soldiers’ expressions. It lifted his spirits as much as it did for the soldiers’. Still he forced himself to take on a serious expression:
“Now there is another important matter” and he lifted his cup, draining all the remaining ale. He retrieved a bag of dice from his cloak, and took a set from there without looking.
“I have my eyes on a nice warbeetle for a while now” he threw the dice into his cup and begin to swirl the contents, “and you know… Funds are low.”
Laughters and chatter broke through the gathered soldiers as they were drawn into the games. Soon more games were started around the campfires; coins were exchanged and more jokes were shared.
Later in the night, Lieutenant Strian caught the sight of the former lieutenant Tild in the middle of a huge group of soldiers, playing games and sharing jokes, and shamelessly adding more coins to the already overgrown piles of obsidian as the games continued. A smile crept over Strian’s face as he stalked off into the night through the camp, then. The joyful spirits of the former lieutenant was thoroughly lightening.
* * * * * * * * * *
" - Krath in the sky, woman. You use yer tongue better'n an armless beggar lickin' water off the ground."
- Addlestone Salarr
Itina’s arm stretched to feel the warmth of manflesh, but she woke up as it only found the cold touch of the wrinkled bedsheets. She straightened up, causing the still asleep Eoni beside her shift with an unpleasant muffle. Her eyes easily spotted Sulach’s half naked form in the candle light, wrapped in white sheets at the map table, a cup of wine accompanying his troubled thoughts.
Soft steps left their naked touches on the sandy floor, carrying her in the dim light. If Sulach was aware of her approach, he showed no sign of it. Her hands were gentle as she placed them on his shoulders, massaging him in between gentle squeezes.
“The first time I was terrified of the enemy was four years ago” Sulach spoke, as Itina’s hands worked in harmony to relieve the stress from Sulach’s shoulders. “I realized then, that there is no shame in being afraid, only in action that follows it.” Itina nodded as she listened, though, Sulach could not see it. “I have seen men still holding their ground when they are shaken with fear; I have seen them suppress the pain and fight, when their guts are being spilled.”
“Are you afraid that you will die tomorrow in the battlefield, my Lord?”
Sulach shook his head:
“Death comes for all of us, today or tomorrow it makes no difference. Men live to build the future and die to make a difference.”
Her fingertips caressed his skin as she walked around him to his front. Open palms cupped his face then smoothly; they ran up his cheeks to brush his hair back. Sulach was forced to look her in the eye as she stood in front of him, the thin sheet wrapped around her barely covering the naked flesh.
“Then what is it my Lord, that wakes you up from your sleep?” Her hands brushed his hair in gentle caress, her eyes watching him with distant admiration.
“How will the future remember me?”
Itina smirked at his words then shook her head. There were not enough words of admiration for him.
“My lord”, she began, her hands moving down to the hem of the wraps enveloping Sulach’s form. “I am a living witness along with many more, that you are someone true to your ideals; someone worth dying for” she finished. Sulach barely nodded his head, then leaned on his back in the chair, his head staring at the ceiling in the dim light.
He felt Itina’s pulling away the wraps that cover his naked form. Her hands were gentle, and her lips were soft. In the silence of the dimly lit tent, he let her take away all his worries.
* * * * * * * * *
CHAPTER 9
“-You's got six words to tell me how you's gonna make dat shit square... roughin up a fucker westside when you's ain' got no colors on you's. Six motherfuckin words.. Say dem now.
- You can have all my sid!”
- Quick, after catching someone in the wrong place
The night would often make the city beautiful but not tonight, observed Sergeant Idenu.
The bustle of crowds and the city life slowly faded away as he kept walking on the street ahead. The walls by the sides of the road started to have more and more cracks and scratches, giving a painful image of nonhealed wounds. Even the ground was different here, reflecting the lifeless and cruel image of the part of the city: the Rinth.
Low life of Allanak, thought the sergeant. The idea that he was in this part of the city was insane. One year of serving as a recruit, and two years of the Wyverns, he was climbing up steadily in his career. And yet, here he was, in the Chamber pot of the Highlord, walking for a hope he would find what he is looking for before trouble finds him.
The road broke into a crude junction, an alley leading to the west, the other keeping straight to the north. A statue of a templar, arms outstretched in a greeting was on the side of the junction, one of his arms and head was missing in an attempt of insolent mockery. The red light of Jihae was spilling over the statue, as though, the templar was bleeding from various wounds and scratches. Bitter anger passed over the Sergeant as he observed the disrespect to the Highlord, but he knew better than letting his anger control him. It was not in his place to correct the fools dwelling here. The fact that this part of the city still exsisted, meant that the Highlord and the templarate did want it to exist. He shook his head in an attempt to cool his thoughts as he turned toward the alley to his west. He wanted to get done and get out of this krath forsaken place as soon as possible.
The brushing sound of cloth against cloth came from his back and he spun wildly to meet his follower. The alley was dark; too dark for the sergeant’s liking to catch someone sneaking around. In a reflexive motion, his hands drew his blades and twirled them in a skillful display:
“Come out, whoever you are and face me! I am sergeant Idenu of –“ the sergeant started to challenge, but he stopped in the middle as he heard armored boots clacking along the stone floor of the alleys. He spun wildly, taking on a defensive position, but no attack came forward.
“Your name means nothing to me” responded a male voice softly from his back.
Sergeant was staring at a towering frame of an armored man. His shield was in front and an axe was held in his other hand. A scar cutting his face diagonally in half, the man was looking with murder in his eyes. Yet this was not the man who spoke to him, the voice came from Sergeant’s back, from the shadows.
Sergeant hated being at a disadvantageous situation like this. He turned over his shoulder, trying to figure out where the source of the voice was:
“Look away from me!” the voice was not as soft this time, and the sergeant felt he had no choice but to do as he was told. He turned back to the hulking figure of a man in front of him, and tried to remain calm. With years of training, it was quite possible he could take down this towering figure of a man, but flanked by someone in his back, he did not like his odds.
“Now give me a reason why I should not beat you senseless and take away all your valuables” the soft voice spoke, and the hulking man in front of him made a grunting sound at that. “And it better be a good reason” the voice continued, “because, I really want to beat you.”
What a fucking coincidence, I want to beat you too, sergeant thought, but it was not time for being sarcastic:
“I came here on behalf of my Lord to offer business.”
“Who, and what business?” demanded the voice.
“I will only tell to the person who would do it” sergeant said adamantly.
“Say it now” the voice softly demanded again.
“No” the sergeant replied.
The sergeant was startled at the sudden movement of the gigantic man ahead of him, but he recoiled quickly:
“Come then, you cowards! I will take at least one of you down with me!” he prepared himself for a fight, as he took on a defensive posture, but the attack did not come again. “And my Lord knows I am here, and if I get missing, he will bring the drov upon you.”
“He will do no such thing” the voice responded softly. “You are not supposed to be here, sergeant, it is against the House rules. Since you came here instead of Waying your business, surely your Lord wants something that should be really really secret. And your Lord will hide the fact that he was aware of your coming here, for doing so would alert his rivals of his possible plans. He will announce that you came here against the House rules, and you will be remembered as a disgrace to the Great Borsail” continued the voice in the same soft tone. When it spoke again, a pleasant tone was accompanying the words as well, for the source of the voice had seen the conflict of the sergeant. “I have been nothing but polite to you. Do not dishonor me by trying to play smart here, sergeant.”
“My Lord .. Lord Cadra” Idenu whispered in such a low voice he was not sure if the man behind him could hear it, “He is asking if a riot could be arranged.”
“Anything can be arranged if the price is creative, sergeant” the voice replied, proving that he indeed heard it well.
“How much do you ask for it, and what name should I give him?” Idenu asked.
“I think the price should be spoken with him directly. Tell him to find my mind and give me a price proving how badly he wants it done, without giving any hints of what the price is about… Just the number” the voice spoke again, and Idenu nodded to himself.
“I will tell him a yes or no, and if it is a yes, he should give me which day it is he wants it done” the voice added softly.
“What name should I give him to look for?” Sergeant Idenu asked again.
“Mine. I am Serpent.”
Moments later, after the sergeant of the Wyverns departed, the towering man and Serpent were alone in the alley.
“You know, I don’t like that you will make a riot and get many people killed for some coin” the big man spoke, gritting his teeth in anger.
“Hmm? Why do you care?” Serpent asked.
“It is our city! Our people! They should not die because a fat ass noble wants them to!” he shouted angrily, but then he took a deep calming breath: “At least, we should not be leading them to death.”
“Scarface” Serpent began, and whenever he called him Scarface, it would hint that an argument is on the way. “If the people are as stupid as to go to their death for something they will never get, then it is better that they die and the smarter ones are left alive.”
Scarface furrowed his brows in confusion: “I don’t get that shit.”
“Exactly, you don’t” snapped Serpent. “Remember now, the rinth is your business, southside is mine. Do –not- question the way I run the shit, if you do not want me question yours.”
The argument was over at that, without a need for a fistfight between the crimelords. It was a peaceful evening, and even though Idenu would not agree to it, it was indeed a beautiful night for those who could see it.
* * * * * * * * *
CHAPTER 6
“ – He is not a friend…
…
He is the enemy in disguise.”
-
Continue Reading...A bad day to be a foreigner in the rinth
Added on Dec 31, 2007A recently arrived southsider has a rough night in the rinthi bar
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 is here standing idly near the wall.
A multi-ringed dartboard hangs on a wall here.
A message board is propped up against a wall.
The stoic, brown-skinned mul is standing here.
The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak is standing here.
- he is carrying a filthy, crude hide bag.
The grey-skinned, orange haired man is standing here.
The thick-set, sideburned bartender is here cleaning out mugs with a rag.
The long-haired, scar faced man stands by the bar, arms over his chest.
The lanky, dreadlocked man, is hanging out here lazily against the wall.
The muscular, hatchet-faced man stands here by the door.
The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak hands over an empty bag.
The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak says to the grey-skinned, orange haired man, in sirihish:
"Get better stuff for da next time."
The grey-skinned, orange haired man says to the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak, in sirihish:
"There is no better stuff..."
The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak puts his string of cocoons into his filthy, crude hide bag.
The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak puts his pair of footpads into his filthy, crude hide bag.
The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak asks the grey-skinned, orange haired man, in sirihish:
"If I's walk you's over dere an' show you's sumfin useful, what do I's get from you?"
The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak puts his shard of sharp-edged obsidian into his filthy, crude hide bag.
The grey-skinned, orange haired man says to the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak, in sirihish:
"A surprised look. A very surprised look."
The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak asks the grey-skinned, orange haired man, in sirihish:
"A finger? Three? Maybe you's eye?"
The grey-skinned, orange haired man says to the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak, in sirihish:
"I want to keep my fingers... and my eye..."
The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak says to the grey-skinned, orange haired man, in sirihish:
"Den figure out what you's doin wrong an' fuckin fix it."
The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak says to the grey-skinned, orange haired man, in sirihish:
"Every other fucker in da alleys know how to scrounge for valuable shit."
The stoic, brown-skinned mul exhales lightly, looking out into the alley.
The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak asks the grey-skinned, orange haired man, in sirihish:
"You's tryin to say you's da stupidest motherfucker walkin dem alleys? Is dat it?"
The grey-skinned, orange haired man says to the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak, in sirihish:
"I only been in the alley for a half-a-month... less than that..."
The grey-skinned, orange haired man says to the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak, in sirihish:
"only like six weeks actually."
The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak asks the grey-skinned, orange haired man, in sirihish:
"You's think you's gonna survive da next half month bein worthless?"
Lifting his chin to the grey-skinned, orange haired man, the stoic, brown-skinned mul says to the tall figure in a dark
hooded cloak, in southern-accented sirihish:
"I'd just throw him in the well."
The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak asks the grey-skinned, orange haired man, in sirihish:
"What da fuck did you's do southside for coin?"
The stoic, brown-skinned mul shrugs, and folds his arms leaning on a sturdy old bar.
The grey-skinned, orange haired man says to the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak, in sirihish:
"Worked at the butcher shop some, but I only started workin' really."
The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak asks, in sirihish:
"Afore what?"
Kicking a long, low and cracked clay table, the stoic, brown-skinned mul says to the grey-skinned, orange haired man, in
southern-accented sirihish:
"Get out of my table."
The grey-skinned, orange haired man nervously pushes off the tabletop, moving away.
The grey-skinned, orange haired man stands up from a long, low and cracked clay table.
The grey-skinned, orange haired man asks the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak, in sirihish:
"Afore?"
Taking the grey-skinned, orange haired man's seat, the stoic, brown-skinned mul sits at a
long, low and cracked clay table.
Speaking clearly, the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak asks the grey-skinned, orange haired man, in
sirihish:
"Afore what?"
The stoic, brown-skinned mul scratches his head.
The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak asks, in sirihish:
"Afore he figure out you's ain' know shit about shit an' you's ain' worth da coin he payin you's?"
The stoic, brown-skinned mul shuffles a deck of Kruth cards.
The grey-skinned, orange haired man says to the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak, in sirihish:
"I wasn't fired..."
The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak asks the grey-skinned, orange haired man, in sirihish:
"Den why ain' you's dere now?"
The stoic, brown-skinned mul deals himself a Kruth card.
The grey-skinned, orange haired man says to the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak, in sirihish:
"'cause my best friend ran away here, so I did too."
The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak asks, in sirihish:
"You's best friend?"
The stoic, brown-skinned mul flips his Kruth card: the Sun of Kings over in his hand looking at it.
The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak asks, in sirihish:
"An' who dat?"
The stoic, brown-skinned mul puts his deck of Kruth cards into his leather backpack.
The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak asks, in sirihish:
"Some stupid whore?"
The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak looks at the grey-skinned, orange haired man with open contempt.
The grey-skinned, orange haired man says to the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak, in sirihish:
"An elf. I think he's dead now."
The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak says to the grey-skinned, orange haired man, in sirihish:
"You's fuckin followed an' elf.... to da alleys."
The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak shakes his head at the grey-skinned, orange haired man.
The grey-skinned, orange haired man says to the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak, in sirihish:
"I've never really been with humans, as friends..."
The stoic, brown-skinned mul gets his deck of Kruth cards from his leather backpack.
The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak's features soften.
Softly, the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak says to the grey-skinned, orange haired man, in
sirihish:
"I... I's never really had no friends either..."
The stoic, brown-skinned mul arches a smooth brow to the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak, flipping through his deck of
Kruth cards slowly.
Nodding swiftly, his eyes widening a bit, the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak asks the grey-skinned,
orange haired man, in sirihish:
"You's wanna maybe... maybe be my's friend?"
The stoic, brown-skinned mul smirks.
The grey-skinned, orange haired man says to the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak, in sirihish:
"Your joking. I ain't that dumb."
The stoic, brown-skinned mul shuffles a deck of Kruth cards.
The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak says to the grey-skinned, orange haired man, in sirihish:
"No no... I's serious."
The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak says to the grey-skinned, orange haired man, in sirihish:
"Maybe we's can share a drink an' some spice or sumfin."
The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak says to the grey-skinned, orange haired man, in sirihish:
"Talk about dem old times an' shit... maybe hold hands or sumfin."
The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak reaches a hand towards the grey-skinned, orange haired man's
hand.
The stoic, brown-skinned mul shuffles a deck of Kruth cards.
The pallid, dark-curled young man chuckles, watching the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak and the grey-skinned, orange
haired man.
Pretending to not notice his hand, the grey-skinned, orange haired man says to the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak, in
sirihish:
"I've never done spice..."
The stoic, brown-skinned mul turns his deck of Kruth cards over curiously, looking through the
cards.
The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak subdues the grey-skinned, orange haired man.
The grey-skinned, orange haired man exclaims, in sirihish:
"Gah!"
The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak grabs the grey-skinned, orange haired man's hand with a
alarmingly fast motion.
The grey-skinned, orange haired man says to the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak, in sirihish:
"I see you like to be friendly..."
The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak drags the grey-skinned, orange haired man to the far side of the
bar.
Nodding a few times, the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak says to the grey-skinned, orange haired
man, in sirihish:
"Yeah... I's good like dat."
The stoic, brown-skinned mul deals himself a Kruth card.
The stoic, brown-skinned mul deals a Kruth card: the Water of Death to you.
Holding him hand, the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak says to the grey-skinned, orange haired man,
in sirihish:
"What I's really like doin is rememberin all da good time's I's had wif my's friends....
cause when dey all dead an' gone, dat really all dat left."
Nodding amiably, the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak says to the grey-skinned, orange haired man, in
sirihish:
"Like you's remember dat one time when you's an' me's was talkin...."
The grey-skinned, orange haired man asks the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak, in sirihish:
"Which time?"
The grey-skinned, orange haired man asks the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak, in sirihish:
"When you sold my corpse...?"
Shaking his head quickly, his hollow voice sounding amiable, the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak
says to the grey-skinned, orange haired man, in sirihish:
"No no no.... dat time when you's sayin about all da shit dat can't be found in dat
market..."
The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak begins to squeeze the grey-skinned, orange haired man's hand.
Wincing slightly, the grey-skinned, orange haired man says to the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak,
in sirihish:
"Yeah..."
Increasing the pressure of his grip, the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak asks the grey-skinned,
orange haired man, in sirihish:
"An' den I's was sayin how I's -know- dere good stuff dere, but you's was jus' too stupid
to find it's?"
The grey-skinned, orange haired man nods nervously to the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak.
His voice amiable, the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak says to the grey-skinned, orange haired man,
in sirihish:
"An' you's start babblin all dis shit about how you's used to be a butcher an' how you's
leave you's pleasant little....."
The grey-skinned, orange haired man attentivly listens to the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak.
The stoic, brown-skinned mul looks from his deck of Kruth cards to you with little
understanding.
Hatred slowly seeping into his voice, the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak says to the grey-skinned,
orange haired man, in sirihish:
"insignificant worthless an' pathetic little existence to come here an' play in dem
motherfuckin alleys....."
The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak begins to crush the grey-skinned, orange haired man's hand with
impossible strength.
The grey-skinned, orange haired man exclaims to the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak, in sirihish:
"Think it was a mistake- GAH!"
The grey-skinned, orange haired man struggles in vain against the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak.
The grey-skinned, orange haired man squirms horribly.
The grey-skinned, orange haired man struggles in vain against the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak.
The stoic, brown-skinned mul asks the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak, in southern-accented
sirihish:
"Want me to punch out his teeth?"
The stoic, brown-skinned mul looks up from his cards, tracing his fingers over each one with
great care.
The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak says to the grey-skinned, orange haired man, in sirihish:
"An' den you's continue on - cause you's KNOW I fuckin really care about dat kind of
shit... about how you's fuckin little elf friend dead now's....."
The grey-skinned, orange haired man continues to squirm, no longer listening but concentrating
on the pain.
The grey-skinned, orange haired man struggles in vain against the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak.
The morbid sound of snapping bones fills in an odd moment of silence within the bar as the
tall figure in a dark hooded cloak continues to crush the grey-skinned, orange haired man's hand.
The grey-skinned, orange haired man screams!
His eyes flaring a bright red as he hisses his words out, the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak
exclaims to the grey-skinned, orange haired man, in sirihish:
"Find... me... sumfin... fuckin... USEFUL!"
The stoic, brown-skinned mul glances at the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak, a few figures in the
bar glancing uncomfortably but daring not speak.
The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak snaps his hand to the side, breaking the grey-skinned, orange
haired man's wrist.
The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak grabs the grey-skinned, orange haired man's chest with his other
hand and shoves him across the room.
The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak roughly shoves the grey-skinned, orange haired man west.
To the west is Twisting Alleyway.
[Near]
The grey-skinned, orange haired man is reclining here.
A low, crumbled stone wall sits here, its front occupied by faded bas-relief carvings.
The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak walks over to a long, low and cracked clay table.
Throwing his hands up in a mocking fashion, the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak exclaims, in sirihish:
"I decide it might be fun to come to da alleys! My's friend do it so I's come along for
da adventure!"
The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak shakes his head in disgust.
The stoic, brown-skinned mul smirks to the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak.
The pallid, dark-curled young man places your Kruth card: the Stone of Deceit over a triangular stone table.
The stoic, brown-skinned mul tilts his head taking the card.
You give your Kruth card: the Sun of Life to the
stoic, brown-skinned mul.
The stoic, brown-skinned mul puts his deck of Kruth cards onto a long, low and cracked clay
table.
Holding the picture up to his eyes, the stoic, brown-skinned mul looks at his Kruth card: the
Sun of Life.
You give your Kruth card: the Wind of Deceit to the
stoic, brown-skinned mul.
The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak looks between the stoic, brown-skinned mul and you.
The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak asks, in sirihish:
"What you's two playin?"
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...
Continue Reading...The Warriors of Faith: Part I: "Chasing Ghosts"
Added on Dec 25, 2007A templar of Allanak leads an army to eliminate gith raiders threatening the forts. But nothing goes as planned.
Prologue
The warrior’s one good eye opened as a spear poked his ribs. A bull by the gith standards, he had killed many soldiers in the battle of the morning and even now, without weapons and tied in knots of rope, the soldiers kept their distance from him. All around the field were a mass of bodies, his former friends, tribemates, followers... now sprawled and painted crimson in the afternoon sun. The smell of blood and open bowels hung heavy in the air. The chief warriors of his tribe were impaled and their bodies sagged loosely, held upright by spikes as tall as a man.
It was a bleak day to see it all end.
His eyes drifted to the hills where the last group of his warriors had fled. There was no sign of them now, save for those who fell in their final flight. Broken bodies scattered like cornerstones of an ancient road.
At least they are free, he thought. They do not take shame in my defeat.
Where was the God of War now? Where was the claiming of the Tablelands? His mind wandered back over the months, tasting again the joys of the uprise. The pride, as strong gith came to him from all other tribes, united against the invading armies of the human city. Stinking humans, were they even worthy of fighting? Everything was so perfect in the beginning. His army were the best warriors of the best race. He was so confident that they could crush the world under their feet. They would stand against the armies of the city humans, make a show of force to other tribes and gather them under their names. Then they would drive all humans and elves from the Tablelands, their rightful home. It had all seemed possible for a while, but now there were only ashes in the mouth. Now, he was the only one left of the gith warchiefs that had dared to throw off the invasion of the humans.
Horns were blown and a unit of cavalry riding beasts galloped across a clear path to where the captured gith warlord waited on his haunches. He lifted his bruised head, the mess of hair falling over his face. The soldiers nearby stood attendance in silence, and then the gith warrior knew who was coming. His vision was blurry from weariness and the wounds, but he could see as a lone figure climbed down from his armored beast and pass the reins to another. The spotless blue robe seemed incongruous in the field of death, untouched by the blood and the taint of the battlefield, almost like an illusion in the red painted afternoon.
Slaves spread dry sand over the blood-soaked ground, making a clear path to the tied gith warrior as the blue robed figure walked slowly toward the captive. All the soldiers had their weapons bared, as if looking for an excuse to kill.
No. The gith warrior straightened.
He would not be broken in the face of the enemy, he promised himself silently. He lifted his one good eye to the approaching enemy, causing a nervous shift in the circle of soldiers.
“It is alright, soldiers,” spoke the figure as he walked. “This is the general of an army who fought valiantly. A little respect is due.”
The gith warchief could understand the common tongue of humans, but he showed no sign of it. The men eased in their stance then, offering a respectful bow as the figure passed into the circle of his soldiers.
He stood a few feet away from the kneeling prisoner, his gaze remaining locked on the gith warrior.
“Warchief Untturi.” He tasted the words through his mind. A second later, the gith’s mind was connected to his, as well.
“You have caused me quite a bit of trouble,” spoke the templar.
“I did my best to.” The gith smiled as he sent his thoughts forth.
The templar nodded silently as he responded.
“It is all ended now. Your army is broken.”
Untturi shrugged carelessly. What good was there stating the obvious?
“Here is my sword, swear to me you will never rise against me, and I will leave you alive.”
Untturi blinked back in confusion. One eye was stuck with blood; his other eye searched the templar’s face for a sign of mockery. But he could see none of it.
“Why?” he replied.
“You fought valiantly, and there has been enough death today. One more or one less will make no difference.”
Untturi’s confusion was overwhelming. He was ready to die. A warrior would always prepare for death before the battle. But here was a man, offering him a new life; time to spend with his sons, time to live with his tribe.
“I swear,” he replied, lifting his hands to cup the warrior’s sword. Then aloud, in his native language, “I swear.”
The templar nodded lightly as he bent forward to cut the captive’s bonds. “You have family... your sons, your tribe, what about them?”
Untturi squinted. Surely his sons would want to revenge those who have fallen today. “I cannot speak for them,” the warrior replied.
The templar dipped his head again:
“If they rise against me, I will return. I will bring the wrath of my city on your people on a scale of misery that they have not seen before.”
The gith warrior nodded bitterly, then cast his gaze to the ground. He felt the templar slipping out of his thoughts and heard him walk back to his mount amidst the confused glances of soldiers. Every Allanakki soldier in sight moved off with him. Within seconds, commanders snapped orders to each unit and the army broke camp, moving east along the Shield wall. Untruri was left cold and puzzled, surrounded by the dead.
They rode for several leagues in silence, and finally one of the commanders rode closer to the templar in blue robe.
“Lord Sulach?”
Sulach stopped his mount, turning around to face the source of the voice.
“Yes, Lieutenant?”
“My Lord,” the man bowed quickly, “don’t you think he will gather the tribes again and bring war upon us?”
Sulach stared off into the distance, seeming to consider. The soldiers riding with him came closer, wanting to hear his reply.
“Perhaps. He is broken... he has seen the defeat and he will live with the shame of it. If he considers rising against us, he will remember that shame.” Sulach held his reins tightly, then shrugged. “But still, perhaps he will. It makes no difference. I beat him once, I can beat him again. He is still the leader of his tribe. If he dies, the new warchief will seek revenge, and we have not fought him yet. He can surprise us.”
He turned his mount and paused. “We defeated the enemy soldiers. The war is over. It is time to return home.”
With that, he grew silent again, and all nearby soldiers nodded at once, riding after him.
Chapter 1
"- So I'm sittin' there with the Chosen Lady, gabbin' it up, pretendin' t'be a prude kiss-ass. What a fawkin' time t'pop a hard-on, eh?"
- Khortoc Salarr
The wind raged across the closely pitched tents, picking up dust and sand over the dunes and sending them up towards the skies. All the campfires were put out for fear the storm could pick them up and hurl them across the camp. The stars and moons were blocked by the dustclouds, the sands covering what the pitch black night left.
The lone figure amidst the tents shivered uncomfortably as the blue robe ranking his command in the Highlord’s service struggled weakly in the blowing wind. The wind blew cold at night, in contrast to the burning heat of the day, but such was the trials of the desert. It would test your courage and determination on all ends to come.
Two years had passed since he’d endured the trials of the desert: Two years, since his last campaign in these desolate lands, his decisive victory against the gathered gith tribes. He had hoped he would not have to ride out again after that battle, but fate was fickle. The gith raids had started again too close to the completion of the forts, and more importantly, too close to his marriage with Ka’Tryn Borsail.
The image of the woman flashed momentarily across his eyes. The first time he’d seen her was in the Arboretum. Among the gathered nobles, she was resting comfortably on a pillow across the fountain. Smooth, creamy flesh, fair and preserved from the ravaging rays of Suk-Krath, as fine as the silks and jewelry that covered it. Her curves were clear and smoothly defined; something she clearly knew, and took advantage of. But it was her eyes that stole all his attention back then. With those eyes he became enthralled, watching exquisitely formed fingers, five digits of perfection, rise to pull a strand of hair like a silky curtain. As she pushed a strand from her face, jewel eyes, dark and ebon were revealed, and then there was no escaping the danger of her. A man might get lost in the dark depths of her eyes, or he might glance away -- only to look back again.
He was mesmerized by her that day, and the day after… and after… He started to see her more often. Day after day, they grew closer. Politics or city affairs, in everything they were together. By marrying her, he would have Borsail’s support. With her at his side, everything seemed possible. Everything was complete.
Ka’Tryn. Ahh, Ka’Tryn…
The wind sent a cold shiver running down his spine and brought him back from his dreams.
So jealous was the desert, it would never let you dream about anything else. He turned around, and pulled the tent flap open. The night was long, and the day would bring the news of the raiders.
One thousand soldiers would march at his command, and there would be fighting. The worries of now and the trials of desert would have to wait. Even Ka’Tryn would have to wait…
Ahh, beautiful Ka’Tryn.
* * * * * * * * * *
Unseen tumblers turned and the stone doors groaned open. The Jihaen templar in his formal red robes entered the room without hesitation; the soldiers flanking him did not need to be ordered to stand guard at the entrance.
Armored boots clacked over the stone tiles, reflecting the beauty of the Tuluki art as the Jihaen crossed the domed room. He approached the single table at the center, two female Lirathans clad in traditional white robes watching him in silence.
“Evening, Faithful Brother Samil. I apologize for interrupting your meditation.”
The Jihaen simply stared at her calmly as he stood in silence. He made no move to sit, and after a long moment, the Lirathan started again.
“Sister Neodyn and I have the news.” She turned to look at the frail form of the other woman across the table.
“He took the bait. He is out in the desert right now,” Neodyn cut in shortly.
The Jihaen nodded briefly at those words. “I will march at daybreak.”
“May the light of His Radiance be your guide, and illuminate your path, Faithful Brother,” finished the Lirathan.
Samil offered a faint dip of his head before turning on his heels. Fast strides carried him to the open doors. The soldiers at the sides quickly pulled the doors shut with a loud clank that echoed from the walls. In a moment, the room was silent once more.
* * * * * * * * * *
Chapter 2
“- Do you know the two most powerful weapons in the Known World?
- Love and Forgiveness?
- No, Boredom and Frustration.”
- Gin of the alleys, and Shattered, the last of the Silt Winds”
Lord Templar Sulach Tor ran his hand over his face. Two days passed since he had calculated where they would start marching, and none of the returning scouts could get a report about gith groups in the previously reported positions.
He looked at the maps lying on the table once more. He had checked all the previous reports indicating the location of the gith numbers. Since then, nearly every location to where they possibly could have moved had been checked. Still nothing. Nothing.
“My Lord,” came a female voice from behind.
“Yes, Sergeant?” Sulach replied without looking back.
“Scout Yeno returned.” Sulach wheeled back sharply, his earring slapping to his cheek at his sudden turn.
“What news?”
“A score of gith were laying in ambush, my Lord!” A tiny figure sprang from beneath the tent flap, carrying the dust and the smell of desert over his attire. The sergeant’s face went red with anger at the scout’s unannounced entrance.
“Here, let me show on the ma-“
The tiny man’s voice ended with a muffled curse as he was pulled by his neck and tripped down to the ground, the dust on his cloak rising in a cloud as he fell on his back. Before he could make a protest, the sergeant’s knee was on his throat, her face twisted in anger:
“Where the FUCK do you think you are going?”
“I was goin-“ he struggled to reply.
“Did you hear being called, soldier?” The sergeant was not in the mood to let that slide.
“Ahh!” yelped Yeno, his tiny frame struggling in vain.
“I said, did you –hear- being called, soldier?”
Yeno shut his eyes tight, holding his breath as if steadying himself for a blow. His small frame seemed to grow even smaller.
“Enough!” Sulach’s voice boomed. The sergeant waited for a second to force herself calm.
“Sergeant Itina, bring that man here.”
The jade-clad woman pulled the little scout up and shoved him roughly to the table. The man trembled for a moment in fear, his hand rubbing his throat where her knee had been pressed. After staring at the woman, trembling, for a few seconds, he finally remembered he was in presence of a templar, and quickly turned to the map, pressing his finger wildly at a point:
“They were here, my Lord!”
Sulach looked down at where he pressed his finger and frowned.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, my Lord. I have seen them.”
It was a bit more to the north of where they were spotted last time. It made no sense. A raid group gathered to launch an onslaught on the forts would not follow such a route. But taking chances on such measures could prove deadly.
“Go back there, stay for two nights. If you see a movement, follow it and find out where the base camp is. Then report immediately. If they do not move in two days, come back here.”
The small man stared at the templar with wide eyes.
Sulach tilted his head as he stared back. “Dismissed, soldier.”
As if waking up from a daydream, the man bowed quickly, then darted for the exit, avoiding his sergeant’s rage-filled gaze.
Sulach stared at the closed tent flap for a moment. Why were the gith moving north now? Were they aware of him? Is this their strategy after their defeat two years ago? What are they tring to do?
“Orders, sir?”
Sulach collapsed tiredly on the chair, fingers pressed to his brows. The sergeant took a step forward, then stopped abruptly.
“Do you need anything, my Lord?” her voice was much softer than it had been moments ago. Only rarely would she speak so, rarely indeed.
Sulach only shook his head without looking up. He did not see the woman gazing at him with admiration, nor did he see her bow respectfully and slip outside, leaving him alone in the stale air of the tent.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Lord Cadra Borsail sat comfortably in his chair, reading through his notes. He was quite pleased with his spy’s latest report. The nauseating Sulach had been led on by the gith, and he was following the simple thread to the source.
Let him ride to his glory. Let him stay out of the picture as I take things into my hands.
A smile crept over his meaty face as he leaned back. With Ka’Tryn around, he could never get his own attention. And with him around, Ka’Tryn would never need Sulach. Separate them, and I have the stage to run my show, Cadra smiled. Perhaps if he could keep Sulach busy chasing ghosts for long enough, he could even marry Ka’Tryn. It would take time, but it was not impossible.
Time will tell, he thought. Yes, time would tell. He called for the slaves for refreshments. Pleasant news and pleasant thoughts deserved celebration. He slouched back even further, his substantial body filling the armchair, and focused on his next move.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Chapter 3
“If you do not trust me, then kill me quickly. I do not want to live, knowing that I lost you.”
- Gin of the alleys
Two more days passed without a further confirmation on the location of the gith raiders. The time and energy was being wasted with no results, and Sulach did not have control over it.
The very moment he had decided he’d lost the scout, he heard back from him.
“They are heading north,” came the words into his mind. “I will let you know as soon as I know more.” And then the telepathic connection was cut off.
Moving north still made no sense to Sulach. It would further draw the gith apart from their objective and bring too much complication to their raiding parties.
Unless they are planning something different than engaging me this time, Sulach thought. It could be a retreat, or a trap. The gith realized two years ago that they were no match for Sulach’s disciplined army. Perhaps the lesson was learned and they were fleeing north. Or they were hoping to lure him into a trap.
He finally found Untturi’s mind in desperation.
“I thought you were a man of your word,” Sulach sent his thoughts forward.
The gith’s response came shortly. “And that I am, I have not broken a word that I swore to keep.”
“Then who is leading the raids this time?” Sulach asked.
“No one that I know of. There is no warband gathered against you.”
“My men say otherwise,” Sulach went on.
“Then perhaps you should judge your men’s worth again,” replied the gith warchief. “Did you save my life just to insult my honor?” he added, his thoughts edging on the colors of anger.
Sulach released the psionic contact then. Either someone moved without Untturi’s notice, or he was lying. In either case, he could not keep the army in the same spot forever. The soldiers were growing restless with no battle. He had to close in on the enemy or he had to return.
And it was too early to go back home.
Taking such a huge force and returning without seeing the battlefield would remain as a shame on him. He had to follow whatever plan the enemy lay down for him, and then he had to engage, and break them. That was the only outcome his Tor blood would allow him. And that was the only course he would follow.
The army broke camp at the first lights of Suk-Krath, and set course towards the north.
* * * * * * * * * * *
“He is doing exactly as we predicted,” the mental image of the female Lirathan spoke in Samil’s thoughts.
“Where is he right now?” Samil’s thoughts were calm and carefully calculated.
“He is following north along the Shield Wall. In two day’s march he will be a few leagues east of the mesa.”
“Then his scouts may find my tracks. I will have to move fast and circle him,” said Samil.
And perhaps leave a hunter group to take down any scouts coming close enough to find my tracks, he thought to himself.
“You know what would be the best course of action, Faithful Brother,” Neodyn replied shortly, “His Radiance guide you.”
With that, Samil was left alone in his thoughts. He would order the march before the first lights of the day, and he would send a group of hunters to eliminate any scouts close enough to discover his tracks. He did not want his opponent to know of his plans until he had him cornered.
He opened the flap of the tent and peered outside. Pale Lirathu was low in the sky, and there was still more than an hour until morning. He walked back to his bed and kneeled to the ground.
“Muk Utep” he whispered, pushing all other thoughts from his mind, “Guide me with Your light, give me your strength, open my mind…” He prayed on in silent meditation until the day dawned to a red horizon, and the army started to wake up.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Chapter 4
“- Your mind, will bend to my will.”
- The invisible voice
Yeno lay flat on the dune and peered across the sandy ground. He had given his last report a day and a half ago, and he had to send another soon. He watched the terrain closely, and tried to calculate his position. Finding your way in the desert was no easy feat: memorizing the safe spots, watching the angles of any stable points, keeping track of the time, checking the wind, and on top of it all, being prepared for a sandstorm at any time.
His position was good enough, he decided, and now he could send a report. As he thought about what he should say and how to word it, his mind wandered over his last report and what he had been told by Lord Cadra.
“Lead him on, make him chase ghosts,” was his final order. “I will give you further instructions when the situation requires so. For now, just lead him on.”
And that was what Yeno had been doing for the last week. He knew his reports had to make sense, or his cover would be blown and he would be arrested and executed. Tortured first, perhaps, to get what secrets he had kept and who he worked for. Yeno shivered at the thought. It was way too early to die yet, and he had plenty of years in front of him to serve his Lord and city. For greater goods, sometimes sacrifices had to be made.
For this one, Lord Sulach was the sacrifice.
He thought of his report as he kept his gaze on terrain ahead. He would give another report of movement to north, and then he would think of the next one. In a moment, he was connected to Sulach’s mind.
Hundreds of leagues away, in the silence of a huge domed room Faithful Lady Neodyn Winrothol sat back in her chair, her features relaxing as the strain of the psionic drain slowly eased back. Once more she directed Yeno’s thoughts and made him report another movement to north. This would drag Sulach further into the tablelands and provide time for Samil to choose the battleground.
What she did not calculate into her plans was Cadra Borsail’s ambitions. Such a fine surprise it was, it made her job so much easier to follow his instructions to Yeno. All she had to do was direct Yeno in a way that fit with her own plans without bringing suspicion to her work.
She closed her eyes and concentrated on finding Samil’s mind. She had more news to pass to her Faithful Brother.
* * * * * * * * * * *
“- He is weak against the pleasures of the flesh.”
- Serilla Uaptal, Lirathan Templar.
Sulach slammed his fist on the table in frustration, startling his commanders. The single candle on the table, casting more shadows than light, trembled at Sulach’s anger, sending ghosts of shadows scurrying at the interior walls of the command tent. The tension was visible. Days of marching and still the enemy evaded them. Even if it was an ambush, they should have come down on them by now, chasing them forever could not bring any good to the gith.
According to the last report, the gith bands were still moving north.
“Orders, sir?” Lieutenant Strian asked after a moment, but Sulach did not seem to hear him.
Sulach doubted the gith’s intentions now. This could not be a raiding party moving away from their objectives, nor could they be laying a trap. They would have sprung it already. Sulach even gave them a chance to trap him, and still nothing came out of it. No, it makes no sense at all.
“My Lord?”
Sulach lifted his gaze from the map and looked directly at the lieutenant.
“Orders?” Strian asked again.
Sulach gave a sigh, leaning on the table on his fists. “Have the men ready for leaving, we will be marching north.”
The lieutenant nodded sharply, the other officers following his gesture.
“You may return to your units and get some rest before we start marching again.”
They all bowed their respects and began to walk out of the tent.
Sulach called behind them, “Sergeant Itina, could you stay for a moment?” She nodded once, and stepped aside. The rest of the commanders offered only a brief salute to her as they stepped out. Sulach spoke again only after they were alone.
“Bring me Private Eoni.”
Sulach retreated into his thoughts as soon as the sergeant left. He looked down at his maps; there really was not much option he had there. For the first time since he started this campaign he considered returning back. It would be a shame on his end, but then, chasing an enemy like this could only keep on so long. Soon he would have to consider the supply limits, and the soldiers were growing restless without battle. Armies gathered for fight needed to see blood every now and then.
Perhaps the scout was incompetent in judging the enemy. He could send a mage to scout ahead, but mages generally proved useless in scouting missions. They lacked “a soldier’s eye” and would often overlook details that could turn the scales. Sulach did try to train a few mages during the campaigns against the gith, but they quickly learned gith shamans had wards against spying magicks that brought hazardous casualities. During the gith campaign, two of Sulach’s trained mages went insane due to such wards, proving how dangerous a truly crazed mage could be. Using trained soldiers for scouting missions was a lesson hard learned.
Regardless, sending a few more scouts at the same target could not hurt. Surely Yeno would take it as an insult to his work, but more was at stake than a single scout’s feelings now.
“You called for me, my Lord?” Private Eoni and the sergeant were back in the tent.
Sulach lifted his weary eyes to them, looking from one woman to the other. So many questions were racing in his mind, so many decisions. The campaign started with great promises and so many opportunities for his career. But now, it was bad enough that he was prepared to return empty handed.
“I need to feel good, soldiers,” Sulach whispered in the stale air of the tent. “Can you make me feel good?”
No reply was needed. Itina closed the tent flap and secured it as Eoni took off her armor. Sulach watched them both with distant eyes, his thoughts still troubled between returning or going forward. There was only one candle on the table, and even that was too much now.
Soon, the two women took away all his worries.
Lirathan Templar Neodyn felt a tang of disgust as she saw the naked women sound asleep lying beside Sulach. Noble blood sleeping with commons... such was the barbaric nature of southrons. Her mind wandered inside the darkness of the tent, looking at the maps over the table. The eye of the mind, though it did not need light to see as the mortal eyes do, was unfortunately weak to grasp objective details. She could not gather anything from his notes no matter how hard she tried. Moments later her mind returned to her body, exhausted. She was comforted that Sulach had come this far. Samil would catch him within a few days now.
Closing her eyes, she prayed her thanks to the Sun King. There was still time until dawn, and she could rest for an hour. In her chair in the stone-domed room, she rested her head back and in a moment, she was asleep.
* * * * * * * * * *
“-Where is that flower now?
… It...has withered...and died…”
- Ankha
Private Somir sat at the skirts of the Shield Wall, his back to the flat face of a massive, wind-scoured boulder. Despite the protection of the sandcloth, the heat of high sun brought little spots dancing in his vision. He was beginning to feel dizzy, and he would become Krath-struck if he did not take shelter in the little shade of the rock. The sun burned off the sands, turning the desert into a field of gold. Looking ahead too much would bring shifting shadows to the vision, illusions, chasing each other in the endlessness.
Somir placed his waterskin at his feet, using all his willpower to tear his gaze away from it. He had ignored his thirst for quite a while but now, the need for water was starting to dominate all his senses. It was a contest of wills; the desert would whisper the taste of water, the comfort of a good shadow, the call for a peaceful sleep. All those were tests of the desert, to eliminate the weaker minds from the stronger. Somir wanted to believe he was the latter.
He surveyed the sands stretching up to north, a gloved hand shielding his eyes against the scorching sunlight. Although it has been over a day since he turned this way to track down the main gith raiding group, he had yet to see a single gith... let alone a thousand of them.
He reached to the ground and picked the waterskin up gently, almost afraid to hurt the precious contents. He saw a movement of a shadow then, or perhaps he thought he did. He lifted his gaze, water leaving his thoughts only momentarily. It could be from looking about in the high sun for too long, he thought. Perhaps the desert was testing him.
Or perhaps not.
Something whistled, followed by a *thud*. Somir felt the agony of his breath being kicked from his lungs. His gaze dropped to his chest reflexively, and he stared at the protruding arrow with unbelieving eyes. Two more whistling sounds, and Somir was knocked on his back, feeling the hot sands through his protective sandcloth. He tried to get up, but the arrows tore at his insides with the movement and he fell back in pain, facing the skies that he tried so hard to avoid. Direct sunlight burned his eyes; his vision blurred first, twisted next. Everything turned to gold, then orange, then red… He forced his eyes shut, a bright orange curtain pulling over his vision.
He lay there on the sands on the verge of consciousness, burning under the scorching sun. For how long, he did not know. A shadow fell over his face, and he slowly opened his eyes to face his attacker. His executioner was dark against the sunlight as he lifted his sword.
What was it? Figure of the sun? What was a Tuluki doing here so far away from his home?
Then everything went dark.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Chapter 5
“Da point of dis comin’ here be to show da good will. We’s can say you’s can trust us an’ all dat shit, but you’s gotta believe a fucker trustworthy when dey’s show up in you’s face an’ you’s ain’t dead.”
- Quick
Days passed with no improvement.
The scouts he sent kept disappearing one by one. One of them managed to send a telepathic message that it was several raiders who ambushed him before the link was severed. No matter what, the message was clear. The enemy was to the north, and they were not letting any information leak.
Sulach was determined not to go any further. No matter what, the enemy was not a threat to the forts, and it was a matter of a mere month until they would be complete. This raiding group was no threat.
Still, Sulach could not bear returning empty-handed. The red robes of the War Ministry had given him command of one thousand soldiers, a great honor for a blue robe. To take all these soldiers back without seeing a battlefield would remain as a scar on him that would not be forgotten. He set the camps. He would not move a league more, but he could wait until the forts are completed. Then, regardless of spilling enemy blood, he would still have completed his objective. So he waited. For three days, nothing happened.
On the third day, as he sat on his pallet in the command tent, Lieutenant Strian asked for permission to enter.
“My Lord, scouts brought someone that has information.”
To that, Sulach merely nodded. The desire for battle was burnt out in him, the first excitement of leading into the field with his soldiers was gone, the eagerness replaced by a bitter aftertaste.
Strian pulled the flap aside, and a huge figure stepped in, ducking so low at the entrance that his body seemed to double over. Towering two heads over him, it was perhaps the tallest elf Sulach ever seen. His lean muscled structure was entirely covered with loose sandcloth garments. The elf stared down at Sulach for a moment, his face incongruous behind the fabric of the sandcloth veil. Sulach hated to be forced to look up, but his expression gave no sign of it.
“What news do you bring me, elf?”
As elf spoke, his breath blowing the sandcloth veil slightly. “Kah, I saw the White Pit men.” His Sirihish was fluent.
“Tuluki?” Sulach was surprised, but still he hid his interest well enough.
The elf seized Sulach in his gaze at that then nodded. “Kah.”
“Where, and how many?”
The elf continued to stare at Sulach with his veiled gaze. “Two hours of Soh run, south of here. Kah, I have not seen them all, but I saw maybe a hundred tents.”
Sulach could not believe what he was hearing. Such a huge Tuluki force was so close to his camp? How was it ever possible he was hearing it from an elf he met for the first time? He tried not to show his anger in front of the longear.
“Is that all?”
The elf seemed to straighten up slightly, then nodded again. “Kah.”
Sulach threw a coin pouch to the elf’s chest. As the elf caught the pouch deftly in his hand, Sulach spoke again. “I hope you are telling the truth. If not, you will see me again.”
The elf smirked behind the sandcloth veil, causing a nervous shift among the officers in the tent.
As Lieutenant Strian led the elf outside, the rest of the military officers stood in silence attendance, waiting for their orders. Sulach did not seem to notice them for a few moments, his gaze lost over the maps. When he finally spoke, his voice was heavy, as if shattered under the weight of his troubled thoughts:
“Go to your units. Have field training, and wait for further orders.”
Every officer bowed their respects and left the command tent silently, except for Sergeant Itina. It took a while for Sulach to notice she was still inside the tent, watching him silently.
“Do you wish for a distraction, my Lord?”
Sulach did not answer, but sergeant required none. He needed it. Highlord knows he needed it now, more than anything.
Bowing deeply, she said, “I will be back with Eoni, my Lord.”
The light was the deep red of sunset at the flap of the command tent when Sulach rose from his bed. The two women were still asleep in naked splendor. He did not call the dressing slaves; he did not want to make a sound. The night had pulled its thin veil over the camp when he left the tent.
“My horse,” he called to the nearest soldier, who bowed quickly and strode away, returning with a cloven-hoofed animal behind him. Sulach took the reins from the soldier, running his hand over the muscled neck of the powerful beast. A very rare mount it was, stolen by a gypsy from a Northern Templar a month ago. The cheerful memory of the young gypsy brought a smile to Sulach’s lips.
“Should I call a unit of cavalry to accompany you, Lord Templar?”
Sulach’s merely shook his head as he mounted the powerful stallion. “No soldier. Return to your post. Dismissed.”
The soldier bowed deeply then strode away.
He rode across the desert for hours, alone in the darkness, pale Lirathu his only guide. It gave him a childish joy to feel the breeze on his face, to be alone even for a short period. His mount was not tired yet and he could probably ride for a few hours more. But the distant glow on the dark horizons signaled that he arrived at his destination. He pulled the reins and his horse came to an abrupt stop. From now on it would be dangerous going, but he shrugged it off. He did not ride this far to be scared away.
He spotted a sharp rock, jutting towards the skies. It had a steep slope, but it would give the perfect survey of the land. He rode silently, thankful to the night for cloaking him under the thick sheet of darkness.
He tied the cloven-hoofed stallion to the base of the rock and stripped off the chitin parts of his armor one by one. The climb would be a hard one. When he was done, he only had a short knife at his belt and a thin loose outfit to cover him against the chill of the desert night. His fingers touched the cold face of the stone. Yes, the climb would be a hard one.
He went steadily and carefully. All his thoughts and worries were gone, save for the growing fear of falling off the rock. The cold night was sending shivers with each breeze, and reminding him of his mortality as he ascended. He kept his focus ahead, rising slowly, each step using more effort than the other.
A powerful hand grabbed him by the wrist when he finally found the top and pulled him up. It was a strong grip, could perhaps snap his bones by simply squeezing. It lifted his entire weight off the face of the rock effortlessly, and dropped him at the flat top, face first. The hand then reached down to pat Sulach, stopping briefly to pick up his knife from his belt.
“Looks like it is going to be a long night, neh?” It was a guttural voice that spoke, as if it was coming all the way from the stomach of the person.
Sulach lifted his head to stare at the speaker. It was a hulking figure, dark against the pale light of the Lirathu. Sulach tried to rise to his haunches slowly, getting a better look at his opponent.
“Don’t be smart, neh. The best you can do, we both fall down the rock. Not the best kind of death for either of us,” the man spoke again. This time, Sulach recognized the voice.
“Untturi,” he whispered.
The gith warlord nodded, his thin smile hidden in the night.
“You speak the human tongue… pretty well.” Sulach did not disguise his surprise.
The gith let out a loud chuckle at that, though Sulach was not sure if he was laughing or coughing. Untturi stared down at Sulach’s form without speaking for a long moment. Sulach only returned his gaze.
Two warriors,sat over the top of the rock studying each other, speechless.
Untturi was the first to break eye contact as he stretched out a massive arm, using the dagger he took from Sulach’s belt to point toward the distant camp. Following the gesture, Sulach looked down, thankful again to the darkness that hid his despair. Even from this far away, Sulach could see the campfires and how wide they spread. The enemy numbers were as many as his, if not more.
Sulach’s heart sank at the idea of a disciplined enemy remaining within a day’s march to his camp without his knowledge. Anger overwhelmed his thoughts suddenly, as his thoughts weighed on how incompetent his own scouts were.
“Pretty tight they look, neh?” Untturi broke the silence.
Sulach did not seem to hear him. It did not matter for Untturi, he spoke again after a moment. “Do you remember the day we fought?”
Sulach slowly turned his head to Untturi now, studying him sidelong.
Untturi continued, without looking at him.
“It was a field like this. All fields are similar in the desert, neh?” He surveyed the sands sprawling under the darkness. “You put your archers there, and there. Your half giants, you kept them out until the main armies clashed, they stayed out. Then when the melee was engaged, you brought them along with the cavalry to break through my flankers. It was a good strategy, their speed and weight gave them advantage to sweep away and open the flanks.
“There, the main armies clashed.” He pointed with the dagger tip. “What a fascinating battle it was.” Untturi’s voice carried his amazement the memory. He turned to Sulach, staring at him for a few silent seconds.
“Your warriors, I counted at least four different formations that day. Such a good training, discipline, and coordination they had.”
Untturi’s head bobbed a few times as he grew silent. When he began again, his joy was gone. The heavy weight of defeat and the loss of his tribemates hung in his tone. “It was a good fight. The God of War smiled upon you that day.”
Sulach was silent, his eyes on the enemy camp. The gith warlord followed his gaze. The rugged, guttural voice spoke again.
“Your enemy, seems to be well prepared. Their army disciplined, trained, equipped well. It is a fight the God of War will watch.”
Sulach tore his gaze from the camp, at Untturi’s words. “Is there a gith warband to the north?” he asked.
Untturi only shook his head.
Sulach’s world crumbled around him. Weeks of planning, days of march, he came to the desert for nothing, and now he was facing an enemy that he was not ready to fight. When he spoke his thoughts, his voice was as broken as his heart. “What happens now?”
The gith warlord shifted slightly, facing Sulach fully. He regarded Sulach in his gaze for a few moments, before speaking: “You bound me to you with an oath, neh? That I am not going to rise against you.”
Sulach only stared in reply.
Still Untturi nodded at his own words, and continued. “This is how it happens: I am free of that oath if you release it, or if you are dead.”
Sulach considered the warchief’s words. The message was clear: Either undo the oath, or die tonight. He had seen the strength of the gith warrior. Those hands could snap Sulach’s bones like they were twigs. Even if Sulach wanted to fight, the small space on top of the rock gave little comfort. If the gith warrior did not kill him, they both would surely fall to their death, and the gith seemed to have very little problem with dying.
“So you want me to release you from your oath, so you can one day raise an army against me?”
The gith warlord simply nodded.
“Why do you want to fight me?” he asked.
Dirty yellowed teeth revealed a dirty yellowed smirk as Untturi replied, “Because, you fight well.”
Sulach did not understand the meaning:
“But why will you fight? To what purpose?”
The grizzled gith’s respone rang in Sulach’s mind for a long time:
“The battle does not need a purpose; the battle has its own purpose. You don’t ask why a plague spreads or a field burns. Don’t ask why I fight.”
The morning was still more than an hour away when Sulach climbed down the rock face. He felt the cold of the night as he donned his heavy armor at the base of the rock cliff, and rode into the darkness on his warm beast, leaving Untturi alone.
He did not care how he rode or where. Only when he was greeted by bowing soldiers of his camp, did he realize he returned. Dawn had broken over the ruddy stones as he dismounted before the command tent, passing the reins to the soldier on guard. He strode in without a word and threw his helmet and sword down with a clatter, seating himself at the map table. Both women had gone, leaving no trace of their warmth in the bed. Sulach rested his head in his hands and considered the events of the night. He felt desperate when he saw the Tuluki camp spreading in the distance, unable to understand what went wrong. How could an army greater in numbers than his own creep so close without his knowledge?
Approaching steps made him straighten in his seat and he took a deep breath as the first commanding officers stepped in. They bowed their respects and stood silently before the table. Sulach took as much of his time as he could, before giving words to his despair:
“A Tuluki camp, vaster even than our own, circled around us and they are within a day’s march from where we stand.” he spoke softly. Officers looked at each other in grim silence, as he started again. “Who can tell me why the first person to report this was an elf I had never seen before?”
The officers kept their heads bowed until Lieutenant Tild stepped forth.
“My Lord, I ask to be relieved of command,” he spoke, his head still bowed low. When Sulach only stared at him in response, he continued. “The scouts responsible from that area are under my command, sir.”
“I do not need those scouts anymore!” Sulach spoke sharply. An uneasy shift rippled through the assembled officers. “Sergeant Itina, I hereby promote you to the rank of Lieutenant, and put Tild’s former unit under your command. Congratulations Lieutenant Itina.”
Itina only lifted her chin and nodded once.
The tension in the command tent lessened then. The commanding officers took their orders briefly. The sun began its journey at the eastern horizon when the incompetent scouts were executed. Shortly after that, the army broke camp and began its march.
Prologue
The warrior’s one good eye
opened as a spear poked his ribs. A bull
by the gith standards, he had killed many soldiers in the battle of the morning
and even now, without weapons and tied in knots of rope, the soldiers kept
their distance from him. All around the
field...
Continue Reading...The Criminal, part VI: "Kill me, or let me go."
Added on Mar 23, 2007Staying in a foreign city started to show its unpleasant face. Sophie could not get to talk to anyone. Nor did Serpent have much of a control over his organisation in the Labyrinth. Returning and starting everything again, started to show its sweet face. And after about a month of time, Serpent decided it was time to take the risk and return.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Submitter's note:
Staying in a foreign city started to show its unpleasant face. Sophie could not get to talk to anyone. Nor did Serpent have much of a control over his organisation in the Labyrinth. Returning and starting everything again, started to show its sweet face. And after about a month of time, Serpent decided it was time to take the risk and return.
P.S: I have edited the log many times, deleting some passages of conversations, mindtalks, and some emotes and I have also replaced some names/actions as **censored** to avoid passing some information that better kept as it is. I hope you find it a good read.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Sun King's Sanctuary [NESWUD]
A polished, white marble floor covers the ground of this expansive
room, gleaming under the light of a large glass chandelier that hangs
overhead. A semi-circular bar, made of hard-grained wood painted a deep
black, extends from the eastern wall, several high-backed barstools sitting
around it. The walls of this room are brightly decorated, with several
elaborate paintings placed carefully for unobstructed view, and shelves
holding many exotic potted plants, blooming with bright red and white
flowers. Two large stained-glass windows, decorated with elaborate sun
symbols, adorn the northwest and southeast corners of the room.
Several decoratively carved tables fill this room, while a polished
leather couch nearly ten cords in length sprawls along the northern wall. A
stately spiral staircase sits in the center of the room, winding upwards
toward the common rooms of the second floor. The sounds of laughter and
music can be heard from a doorway along the western wall, while the scents
of cooked meat waft in from the east. A small, straight stairway sits along
the northern wall, ending at a slightly raised loft and a large carven
baobab door sits in the southern wall, leading out onto the North Road
outside.
The Tuluk bulletin board is here propped up on a stand.
The tiny, copper-skinned, auburn-haired woman moves easily from table to table.
The svelte, loreshi-tressed woman is standing here.
The short figure in a black, moonstone-buttoned cloak is standing here.
The one-eyed half-giant Tuluki soldier is standing here.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar is sitting at a highly polished table.
A human Tuluki soldier is here, patrolling.
The auburn, charm-tasseled man is sitting at a black-painted bar.
The sharp-featured human soldier flanks the silver-haired templar.
The spare, silvery-blonde templar is sitting at a highly polished table.
The umber-skinned, azure-eyed man stands here attentively.
The prodigious, purple-skinned half-giant soldier looms on duty here.
The short haired, heavy-set man stands here mug in-hand.
The tall, well-groomed man sits here on a plush couch.
The gaunt, black-haired man is here, leaning on the bar.
The long-haired, middle-aged man stands behind the counter.
Passing a highly polished table, the svelte, loreshi-tressed woman inclines her head to the table's
occupants and smilesa.
<95/95 114/124 101/101 - walking >listen on
You are already listening.
Noticing a crowd of soldiers around a highly polished table, the short figure in a black,
moonstone-buttoned cloak inclines her head deeply, then continues toward a black-painted bar.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the sleek, honey-eyed young woman with the Way.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman:
"Getting ready for the trip?"
The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
"I am, and I see you. Silence and I are getting along well."
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
"Dawn?"
You ask the sleek, honey-eyed young woman, in sirihish:
"You think I should call our escort for the trip or should it wait?"
You say to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman, in sirihish:
"Hmm.. daybreak is a good timing indeed."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the sinewy, bald-headed man with the Way.
Nodding lightly as she shifts on a saffron-colored kank, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman asks
you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Have anything you need me to gather in preparation?"
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the sinewy, bald-headed man:
"Good day Kot. You think we can set for the trip at tomorrow daybreak?"
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
The sinewy, bald-headed man sends you a telepathic message:
"Should be an easy trip, then. Bring water and food."
Her torso wrapped in a linen sling holding a blond-haired baby, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman
steps to a small white stone bench.
Leaning in to press a kiss to your cheek, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman whispers to you in
sirihish:
"I'm going to go get everything from the apartment, love."
Slipping an arm around your shoulders, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman whispers to you in
sirihish:
"Mmm, I bought some rations, I'll cook with the rest of the supplies we have. I'll be changing
clothes, as well."
Before releasing her grip on you, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman squeezes your shoudler with her
arm.
Bobbing his head, you say to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman, in
sirihish:
"Alright. Sounds good."
The sleek, honey-eyed young woman walks south.
You think:
"Wonder how it will be like to be in Allanak again."
It is dusk on Dzeda, the 42nd day of the Ascending Sun,
In the Year of King's Defiance, year 19 of the 21st Age.
You think:
"Nearly the day is going down. Little time till the dawn."
The sleek, honey-eyed young woman has arrived from the south.
Wiping sweat from her brow, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman sighs as she lower sonto a small
white stone bench.
The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sits on a small white stone bench.
At your seat, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, settling her
sizeable leather backpack in her lap:
"This is heavy."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the robust, crimson-eyed man:
"I will most probably make my trip to south this week, Faithful Lord. Just wanted to say it."
You dissolve the psychic link.
At your seat, you say in sirihish:
"Evening."
At your seat, the obsidian-skinned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, nodding slowly:
"Evening."
At your seat, the obsidian-skinned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, shaking her head:
"There is something going on around here..."
At your seat, you say in sirihish:
"What is it?"
At your seat, the obsidian-skinned woman says in southern-accented sirihish:
"I don't know... bugs disappearing..."
At your seat, you say in sirihish, blinking in surprise:
"What?"
The sleek, honey-eyed young woman has arrived from the north.
The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sits on a small white stone bench, settling next to you.
At your seat, the obsidian-skinned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, shaking her head:
"I think I just need a bit of rest."
At your seat, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, dipping her
head to the obsidian-skinned woman:
"Hello, Ferris."
At your seat, the obsidian-skinned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, to the sleek,
honey-eyed young woman:
"Evening, Sophie."
At your seat, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, tilting her
head at the obsidian-skinned woman:
"What's the matter?"
At your seat, the obsidian-skinned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, surveying the area:
"I've been seeing things.... then they'd disappear."
At your seat, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, her brows
lifting a bit:
"What.. kind of things?"
At your seat, you say in sirihish:
"You took spice or something?"
The obsidian-skinned woman shakes her head.
Giving an irritated grunt, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman squeezes her eyes shut.
At your seat, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, lifting a
hand to touch her head:
"Been awhile since I've felt that."
At your seat, the obsidian-skinned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, shaking her head:
"The tempalars kicked me out of the tavern, because it happened. They were going to do it
anyway."
At your seat, you say in sirihish, quietly:
"A little more quiet on that."
At your seat, you say in sirihish:
"Remember.. We are all foreigners here."
At your seat, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, squinting an
eye open:
"What did you see, Ferris?"
The sleek, honey-eyed young woman is gone just a second..
The sinewy, bald-headed man sends you a telepathic message:
"I'll be hanging around the stables, whenever you three are ready to leave."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the sinewy, bald-headed man:
"Waying someone.. We will be there once we are finished."
You dissolve the psychic link.
At your seat, the obsidian-skinned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, looking around:
"I saw bugs crawl up my leg... They were there for a second... The next... They were gone."
The robust, crimson-eyed templar has arrived from the west.
The spare, silvery-blonde templar has arrived from the west.
The prodigious, purple-skinned half-giant soldier has arrived from the west.
The umber-skinned, azure-eyed man has arrived from the west.
The sharp-featured human soldier has arrived from the west.
A human Tuluki soldier has arrived from the west.
The one-eyed half-giant Tuluki soldier has arrived from the west.
The spare, silvery-blonde templar glances to the robust, crimson-eyed templar.
Slowly walking along the crowd, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says to the spare, silvery-blonde
templar, in an unfamiliar tongue:
"Irhihirkojt."
Tilting her head to one side as she answers, the spare, silvery-blonde templar says to the robust,
crimson-eyed templar, in northern-accented sirihish:
"His Radiance guides us always."
The male wearing a grey shaded, black face-wrap glances at the approaching crowd, rising from his seat to incline his head, before reseating back on a small white stone bench.
The well-shaped, slash-marked man has arrived from the north.
The sleek, honey-eyed young woman inclines her head respectfully as she catches sight of the spare,
silvery-blonde templar and the robust, crimson-eyed templar.
The obsidian-skinned woman shakes her head and pulls her pair of elegant red silk shoes with heels
off the ground and onto a small white stone bench.
The well-shaped, slash-marked man nods his head gently toward the spare, silvery-blonde templar as
he passes by.
Turning to a small white stone bench, the spare, silvery-blonde templar asks you, in
northern-accented sirihish:
"Good day. Tell me, out of curiosity...how long have you been seated here?"
Dipping his head once, going on walking along dark road slowly, the robust, crimson-eyed templar
says to the spare, silvery-blonde templar, in an unfamiliar tongue:
"Ar ufpyyo."
The well-shaped, slash-marked man shifts his gazes to the robust, crimson-eyed templar and drops a
gentle nod in that direction.
Blinking a few times behind the silken fabric of his facewrap, you say to the spare, silvery-blonde templar, in sirihish:
"Probably..six hours or so"
Stopping near a small white stone bench, the robust, crimson-eyed templar glances between the
spare, silvery-blonde templar and you.
The well-shaped, slash-marked man has arrived from the west.
Her brow knitted as she turns, the spare, silvery-blonde templar says to the robust, crimson-eyed
templar, in an unfamiliar tongue:
"I ihqydeptoo kise jarg atipe iojuyqojp pa jy."
Offering a firm nod, the robust, crimson-eyed templar asks the spare, silvery-blonde templar, in an
unfamiliar tongue:
"Se jqy shoaioj iujuuog imjeaktup?"
You whisper to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman in sirihish:
"Are you ready? Kot is waiting."
The auburn, charm-tasseled man has arrived from the north.
The auburn, charm-tasseled man walks south.
The sleek, honey-eyed young woman nods gently to you, rising from a small white stone bench.
Hefting under the weight of your sizeable leather backpack, you stand up from a small white stone bench.
The sleek, honey-eyed young woman stands up from a small white stone bench.
The sleek, honey-eyed young woman falls in behind you.
Pausing to glance at the obsidian-skinned woman briefly, the spare, silvery-blonde templar says to
the robust, crimson-eyed templar, in an unfamiliar tongue:
"Nu. Swu ej roeyn. Toy Sewr Mogezups kek pnaieh."
Lifting a hand, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
"A moment Serpent."
The sleek, honey-eyed young woman lifts a hand, waving to the obsidian-skinned woman as she remains
by your side.
Softly, holding up a hand, the spare, silvery-blonde templar says to the sleek, honey-eyed young
woman, in northern-accented sirihish:
"Hold."
Lowering your sizeable leather backpack to the ground, breathing heavily, the male wearing a grey shaded, black face-wrap bobs his head.
The sleek, honey-eyed young woman dips her head in respect to the spare, silvery-blonde templar,
her gaze lowered reverently toward the ground.
The enormous sun rises above the barren plains in the east.
The obsidian-skinned woman says to the well-shaped, slash-marked man, in southern-accented
sirihish:
"Cadet, if you'd like, I could make it fall to pieces when your trying to bring down those
tembo."
The male wearing a grey shaded, black face-wrap lifts an eyebrow, glancing between the spare, silvery-blonde templar and the robust, crimson-eyed templar.
Quitely, the well-shaped, slash-marked man asks the obsidian-skinned woman, in northern-accented
sirihish:
"Shh.. Respect to the Faithfuls'. Dont raise your voice... And what Tembo??"
The robust, crimson-eyed templar strides towards the sleek, honey-eyed young woman, after a glance
to the spare, silvery-blonde templar.
The obsidian-skinned woman glances down the length of a small white stone bench towards the robust,
crimson-eyed templar. After a moment, she settles her back on the well-shaped, slash-marked man.
The male wearing a grey shaded, black face-wrap gaze follow the robust, crimson-eyed templar as he progresses to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman, stepping closer to her.
The spare, silvery-blonde templar nods solemnly to the robust, crimson-eyed templar.
With a booming voice, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman,
in northern-accented sirihish:
"Come with me Sophie."
Jumping to her feet, the obsidian-skinned woman stands up from a small white stone bench.
Glancing to you, grunting, the robust, crimson-eyed templar exclaims to the sleek, honey-eyed young
woman, in northern-accented sirihish:
"Alone!"
The obsidian-skinned woman beckons towards the well-shaped, slash-marked man.
Furrowing his brows, hesitation in his tone, you ask the robust, crimson-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"What is happening Faithful Lord? Maybe I can be of help?"
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
Reaching up to unfasten the linen sling holding the small, blond-haired baby, the sleek, honey-eyed
young woman asks the robust, crimson-eyed templar, in southern-accented sirihish:
"May I give the baby to Serpent, Faithful Lord?"
Quietly, the spare, silvery-blonde templar says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
"This is none of your concern, Serpent. Take the child and leave the Faithful to their
business."
The robust, crimson-eyed man sends you a telepathic message:
"*with dark mist*Not this time Serpent, Not this time."
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
Quitely, the well-shaped, slash-marked man says to the obsidian-skinned woman, in northern-accented
sirihish:
"I will be waiting you in Garrison'.. Come with meh now if you want."
The sleek, honey-eyed young woman carefully removes the baby from the linen that hugs her torso and
extends it to you, her features bearing no expression.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar stands near the sleek, honey-eyed young woman rigidly, as baby
changes hands from the sleek, honey-eyed young woman to you.
Her tone quiet as she steps to his side, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says to the robust,
crimson-eyed templar, in southern-accented sirihish:
"I am ready, Faithful Lord."
The robust, crimson-eyed templar offers a firm nod to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman, motioning
the one-eyed half-giant Tuluki soldier to stand behind.
His hands shaking, his chest heaving up and down, you say, in sirihish:
"What is going on? We are just leaving.."
The robust, crimson-eyed templar slowly walks along stone road, his reddish gaze set on the sleek,
honey-eyed young woman.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar walks south.
The sleek, honey-eyed young woman walks south.
The spare, silvery-blonde templar walks south.
The prodigious, purple-skinned half-giant soldier walks south.
The umber-skinned, azure-eyed man walks south.
The sharp-featured human soldier walks south.
A human Tuluki soldier walks south.
The one-eyed half-giant Tuluki soldier walks south.
The slender, russet-haired man has arrived from the north.
With her arms folded, the obsidian-skinned woman says, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Let us not think about it right now..."
You think:
"What?!"
The delicate, young brunette snickers quietly to herself before walking away.
To you, the obsidian-skinned woman asks, in southern-accented sirihish:
"This is yours, serpent?"
The delicate, young brunette walks west.
The obsidian-skinned woman places her sizeable leather backpack on a small white stone bench.
His hands shaking as he holds the tiny baby in his arms, the male
wearing a grey shaded, black face-wrap bobs his head, gaze following southwards.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the robust, crimson-eyed man with the Way.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the robust, crimson-eyed man:
"What is happening Faithful Lord?"
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the spare, silvery-blonde woman with the Way.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the spare, silvery-blonde woman:
"What is happening Faithful Lady? Why did you take Sophie?"
You dissolve the psychic link.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the sleek, honey-eyed young woman with the Way.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman:
"Where are they taking you to?"
You dissolve the psychic link.
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
"I don't know, Love. If you don't see me again, know I love you and tell Sen all about me."
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the sleek, honey-eyed young woman with the Way.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman:
"No! If I don't see you again, I am no more too!"
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the sinewy, bald-headed man with the Way.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the sinewy, bald-headed man:
"Troubles. The trip has to be delayed.. At least one day."
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
You slow down and start moving carefully.
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
The spare, silvery-blonde woman sends you a telepathic message:
"It is unfortunate, good Serpent. But, this woman has deceived you and acted as a spy for the
Black City during her stay here in the Ivory."
You think:
"NO!"
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the spare, silvery-blonde woman with the Way.
The spare, silvery-blonde woman sends you a telepathic message:
"It is not even a question. There is absolute proof. But, because she is your mate, if you
wish to come to the Heart and discuss, we will extend you that option."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the spare, silvery-blonde woman:
"I am on my way."
The spare, silvery-blonde woman sends you a telepathic message:
"My Brother and I will meet you at the Gate. Do not come bearing arms. We wish you no ill."
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Worried, Serpent ran the familiar way to the Heart. Within minutes, he was there before the giant gates.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the spare, silvery-blonde woman:
"She can't be! She does not know anyone here. She has no access to any information. What
proof is it?"
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the spare, silvery-blonde woman:
"I am at the gates, Faithful Lady."
You dissolve the psychic link.
The male wearing a grey shaded, black face-wrap pats on the small
baby in his arms, knitting his brows.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the spare, silvery-blonde woman:
"I am at the gates of the Heart."
You dissolve the psychic link.
The tall, greying-haired Tuluki soldier opens the gate from the other side.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar has arrived from the north.
A human Tuluki soldier has arrived from the north.
The one-eyed half-giant Tuluki soldier has arrived from the north.
The tall, greying-haired Tuluki soldier closes the gate from the other side.
Motioning you to follow with a vague wave of his hand, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says to
you, in northern-accented sirihish:
"Come Serpent, we need to talk."
The young, wavy-haired female soldier opens the gate.
The young, wavy-haired female soldier steps aside, allowing the robust, crimson-eyed templar to
pass.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar walks north.
You follow the robust, crimson-eyed templar, and walk north.
The Bahamet's Maw Tavern - Main Room [ESU]
Half a dozen tables are scattered throughout this diminutive tavern.
Despite the lack of lavish decor, the bar exudes a feeling of being anything
but paltry. The walls are coated in a layer of vivid tan paint, and
occasionally a framed painting hangs from their glossy surfaces. The
floorstones below are simple squares of red sandstone, haphazardly inlayed
into the level ground. Just above the elongated bar on the northern wall
hangs a luxurious tapestry, the tedious embroidery of a fiery sunburst
stitched onto a white background.
The cramped entrance to the east leads out to a road, while the room
snakes away to the south. A polished baobab staircase is affixed to one end
of the bar to carry patrons to an upper level dormitory.
A wooden-paneled painting sits supported by a miniature bone tripod.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar is standing here.
The plump, reddish-hued templar is standing here.
A stocky, bald-headed bartender stands upright behind the glazed bar.
A human Tuluki soldier has arrived from the east.
The one-eyed half-giant Tuluki soldier has arrived from the east.
Gesturing a highly polished table with a lift of his single-tasseled, bladed staff, the robust,
crimson-eyed templar asks you, in northern-accented sirihish:
"Sit down. Want anything?"
The robust, crimson-eyed templar opens a Jihae-embossed toolbelt.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar gets a pile of allanaki coins from a Jihae-embossed toolbelt.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar walks towards counter in front of the stocky, bald-headed
bartender.
Putting some coins on counter, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says to the stocky, bald-headed
bartender, in northern-accented sirihish:
"Prepare me some bowls of stew and a pint of ale."
His tone quiet, holding the small baby in one arm, you say to the
robust, crimson-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"I just want to get Sophie out of here. Nothing else."
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
After a glance to baby in your arm, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says to you, in
northern-accented sirihish:
"Sit down, babies feel the fear much easier then us."
The stocky, bald-headed bartender trades a bowl of carru-meat stew to the robust, crimson-eyed
templar.
The stocky, bald-headed bartender trades a bowl of carru-meat stew to the robust, crimson-eyed
templar.
The stocky, bald-headed bartender trades a bowl of carru-meat stew to the robust, crimson-eyed
templar.
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
Furrowing his brows, you ask the robust, crimson-eyed templar, in
sirihish:
"Faithful Lady coming?"
You sit at a highly polished table.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar strides towards a highly polished table putting his reddish clay
pint in front of you.
At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, pushing empty
bowl aside, reaching a full one:
"Do you know what Sophie was doing while she is with you?"
At your table, you say in sirihish, placing your reddish clay pint on a highly polished table:
"Thank you. But I don't need a drink."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"I know. Taking care of the child, preparing food. Nothing else."
You stop using a grey shaded, black face-wrap.
At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, pushing another
empty bowl, reaching a full bowl:
"You miss a small thing what she was doing."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"I don't think I do. But say it, what is it?"
At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, lifting a
ceramic spoon:
"She was using you for protection and spying for Borsail."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"She was -running- away from Borsail. How can she be spying for them?"
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"You are just mistaken.. Borsail wants her dead and you are just doing what they want."
At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, softly, his
gaze set on you:
"His Faithfuls hear everything including conversations with the Way. You know that very well,
don't you."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"I do. But I am guessing, Borsail is playing a trick here. It must be that way."
At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, exhaling
softly:
"She was spying for House Borsail during her stay in the Ivory."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"She does not know anyone, is not friend to anyone here. Has no connection, has no access to
any information."
At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, dipping his
spoon into bowl:
"Tell me Serpent, how can you explain the messages Sophie send via the Way to House Borsail?"
The robust, crimson-eyed templar eats a portion of a bowl of carru-meat stew.
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"In her first day, she had a friend.. Miko, and someone else, that my mind is busy enough that
I can't make the name."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"I told her to cut her friendships as well."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"And she did it."
At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, his shoulders
raising into a shrug:
"No, actually a rotten Borsail she was information. "
The robust, crimson-eyed templar eats a small portion of a bowl of carru-meat stew.
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"A noble? Tell me his name is Veralius."
At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish:
"Not an aide, not another servant but a rotten Borsail."
At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, grunting:
"Actually, I just know that rotten blood was a Borsail Lady. Nothing more."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"She was Haadith's aide. I killed Haadith, and Borsail wanted to kill more of what is
Haadith's."
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Sent militia.. Templars on her."
The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
"She's taken me back to the Sanctuary, Serpent."
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"I kidnapped her and we ran away."
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man blinks, furrowing his brows.
At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, bending forward
towards table:
"Then maybe she was trying to secure her position in the Black City."
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man reaches to his temple, grunting.
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Can't be. She is still being sought, I am about to just threaten or maybe even kill Veralius
because of this."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"And you are giving them what they want"
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Now.. She is back in the sanctuary. Why is Faithful Lady not here?"
At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, firmly:
"Most Honorful Mistress gave her word, she was in contact with a rotten blood and spying on
the Ivory!"
At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish:
"Serpent! Hold yourself and think! You do that well.. Very well!"
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"I am thinking, and the more I think, the more you are just doing what Borsail wants. We were
on our way.."
At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish:
"Think what Sophie was doing with you using -your- baby. She was just protecting herself,
nothing else."
At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish:
"Mistress gave her word! Sophie was a spy in contact with rotten Borsail."
At your table, you say in sirihish, wetting his lips, patting the small baby in his arms:
"Now.. I think it is my turn after her, is not it?"
At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, after a while
looking at you, wetting his lips before going on:
"Serpent or whatever you call yourself. You are seated with me at a table, and I am trying to
show the true face of Sophie who used your maybe single weakness."
At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish:
"She saw you want a family, and she gave it to you. Nothing else.. In return she got power and
a lot of coins.. Isn't it?"
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"No."
At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, grunting:
"Then what? She was using you, and you ignore it."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"The baby.. The family.. All came out of the blue."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the spare, silvery-blonde woman with the Way.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the spare, silvery-blonde woman:
"Let us go..Faithful Lady.."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the spare, silvery-blonde woman:
"I will do anything.. For it."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the spare, silvery-blonde woman:
"Just let us go."
You dissolve the psychic link.
The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
"Go! Take Sen! Raise our son! I'm condemned to death! I love you, Serpent!"
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man bites his lower lip, his hand clenching into a fist.
You think:
"They killed Sophie.."
You think:
"Now is my turn.."
You think:
"So long.. it has been."
At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish:
"She gave you what you wanted, and expected power and coins in return."
At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, glancing down
to your hand then baby in your arm:
"Seems she succeeded."
At your table, you say in sirihish, pressing his lips together,
his voice trembling:
"Until she was arrested by Sarador, she got nothing.. asked nothing of me."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"And even then.. She did not ask. But I did."
At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, grunting:
"She was using you as a cover while she is spying for the Borsail.."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Alright.. Now.. Let's think about it. What does Borsail give her in return, while she is a
foreingner here?"
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Who does she have as a friend when she is here?"
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"What kind of a spying is it? No payment? No access?"
At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, with a raise of
his broad shoulders:
"Probably Borsail offered to make her stay in the Black City safe. As you said she can not
walk in the Black City safetly, unless she does jobs for the Borsail and the cursed templarate."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Borsail did? Well.. They did not do it hard enough then, since.. I was still planning to
kill one of their numbers because of it."
At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, rubbing his
eyes as he speaks in a quiet tune:
"In any case, Sophie was spying for the Borsail with the unspoken way while she was living in
the Ivory under my protection. "
At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, lifting his
head, with a tired voice:
"Are you speaking with Sophie with the Way right now?"
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"No."
At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, his reddish
gaze set on you:
"You know what is inevitable, don't you."
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
At your table, you say in sirihish, pursing his lips:
"I can see what is going to happen to me as well."
At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, tilting his
head to a side:
"What will happen to you?"
The short, scar-faced man sends you a telepathic message:
"Hey, Chief! You arrived Nak?"
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the short, scar-faced man:
"I am going to die.. So.. Enjoy your time with the crew."
You dissolve the psychic link.
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man sighs tiredly, patting the tiny baby wordlessly.
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
The short, scar-faced man sends you a telepathic message:
"What does that mean, Serpent? I still need your assistance."
At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, glancing down
to baby in your arm:
"Must be interesting that feeling. Watching it slowly growing up."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the short, scar-faced man with the Way.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the short, scar-faced man:
"Well, it does not mean a lot does it? I am in Tuluk, templarate here want a little blood, and
I will give them that."
The short, scar-faced man sends you a telepathic message:
"Don't do anything insane, Boss. Try to convince them, bribe them.."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the short, scar-faced man:
"Leave it to me. You mind your own crew fuck it. Since when am I being lectured by my
underlings?"
You dissolve the psychic link.
At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, lifting his
gaze, staring at you:
"You will be with your child while he is growing up, don't you want that?"
At your table, you say in sirihish, scratching his neck:
"Well I wanted some more things but I guess it does not matter much what I want, does it?"
The short, scar-faced man sends you a telepathic message:
"I'm sorry, Boss. I said that, because I care about you. I'm sure, other bosses care about you
too."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the short, scar-faced man with the Way.
At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish:
"Actually it really matters. When our conversation is over, I wonder what you will do first?"
At your table, you say in sirihish, pursing his lips:
"Well.. I wonder that as well."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the short, scar-faced man:
"Oh don't go emotional, or I will kick your ass. Go Effen and say that his mugs were all
fucked up.. Well.. Most of them. And mind your own business."
You dissolve the psychic link.
At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish:
"Leave the Ivory..? or... Find someone decent to take of the child.. or maybe risk your and
that baby's life unneccesarily? "
At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish:
"Why don't you let me personally take care of your bady?"
The short, scar-faced man sends you a telepathic message:
"I -will- be emotional. Come down here and kick my ass for it."
At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish:
"Until grows up to age three or four.. or anytime you want. He will taken care as good as
younglings from Great Houses of the Ivory."
The short, scar-faced man sends you a telepathic message:
"Why don't you come here and tell that to him yourself? I don't think Effen likes me more than
a bug on his bar."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"If there is any need of it, well.. It can work."
At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish:
"You are his father, you will decide if there is a need or not."
You think:
"Oh..fuck.. Go mind your own business damn it!"
The short, scar-faced man sends you a telepathic message:
"Tell me, who's gonna kill you, Chief."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the short, scar-faced man with the Way.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the short, scar-faced man:
"Did not I tell you to mind your own business? Piss off."
You dissolve the psychic link.
The short, scar-faced man sends you a telepathic message:
"If that's what your order is. I wish you can get through it too, and come here to kick my
ass."
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man stares blankly at your sizeable leather backpack.
At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish:
"Well, actually I visit younglings almost every week once. There are two children of Tamara
and Garrity who are growing up quickly. "
You think:
"Tamara..Tikuri's sister.."
At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, softly:
"Eh, if you leave your child, I can be sure he is in good hands as well."
You think:
"Oh.. Everything seems so difficult now."
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man's face looks paler for a moment, exhaling a soft sigh.
The sinewy, bald-headed man sends you a telepathic message:
"Feel like making that trip soon?"
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the sinewy, bald-headed man with the Way.
At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, softly:
"Sophie is no more Serpent and you will continue your life. Like you did after Falka who has
fallen with a foul trick."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the sinewy, bald-headed man:
"Troubles. I am not sure. If you have other business, go about it."
The sinewy, bald-headed man sends you a telepathic message:
"Alright. I'll be around. Let me know."
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Foul trick?"
At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, grunting:
"A kind of cursed magickal trick as I recall from reports."
At your table, you say in sirihish, softly:
"Is Faithful lady coming here?"
You dissolve the psychic link.
At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, with a shake of
his head:
"I guess she has returned to her studies. What did you wish to speak with Faithful Lady?"
You think:
"Maybe I should just try to kill her?"
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
The sinewy, bald-headed man sends you a telepathic message:
"Don't usually make a point of getting involved in other folks business, but I just saw a
templar carrying Miss out the gate. Just figured you should know, if you didn't already."
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, wetting his
lips before going on:
"Serpent?"
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man tilts his head, his dark eyes staring at the robust, crimson-eyed templar blankly.
At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, grunting:
"What is passing through your mind Serpent?"
At your table, you say in sirihish, knitting his brows thoughtfully:
"Lots of things.. and nothing."
You think:
"If only I could see her now."
You think:
"Everything would be easier."
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, gazing the
polished surface of wooden table for a moment, then chuckling softly:
"Then, when will you tell me of your plans.. until that time, seems we will be seated on those
chairs. "
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"My plans? I don't have any plan."
The ruddy, purple-bearded man sends you a telepathic message:
"Ahh, Serpent. I don't think we've been formally introduced. I'm Lord Templar Mazlaen Fale,
of the War Ministry."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the ruddy, purple-bearded man with the Way.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the ruddy, purple-bearded man:
"Well met then, Lord Templar."
At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish:
"What do you mean you do not have any plan? You are leading a powerful group and you have a
child to grow, surely you must have plans."
At your table, you say in sirihish, softly:
"In better words, I had some plans. But they are ruined now at the moment."
The ruddy, purple-bearded man sends you a telepathic message:
"I offer my approval at the death of that **censored**. If anything else of note happens
in the Northlands, I'll have your underlings compensated for passing the information along."
The robust, crimson-eyed templar bobs his head absently a few times, his gaze standing at you.
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the ruddy, purple-bearded man:
"My pleasure, Lord Templar. I will see what I can do. And Scar, the one now taking care of
the crew will be in contact with you."
You dissolve the psychic link.
At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, steadying his
posture:
"Do you need time for making new plans Serpent?"
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Seems like it."
At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish:
"What About your child?"
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"He will share my fate."
You think:
"It is meaningless."
You think:
"I just want to kill... Just want to kill.."
At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, his gaze
falling down to polished surface of wooden table:
"And your possible fate is..?"
You think:
"Where is Eunoli when I need her?"
At your table, you say in sirihish, lifts his shoulders into an exhausted shrug:
"We will see."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"I don't know yet myself."
At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, hitting the
table with his fist loudly with voice of cracking wood:
"WHAT FOOLISHNESS IS THIS?"
At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish:
"YOU ARE A GOOD DAMM LEADER OF A GANG!"
At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, his voice
echoing through tavern:
"YOU TELL ME YOU ARE LOST OF YOUR MIND BECAUSE OF A WOMAN YOU KNOW FOR WHAT.. A COUPLE OF
YEARS!"
The robust, crimson-eyed templar staring at the plump, reddish-hued templar direction, exhaling
softly.
At your table, you say in sirihish, patting the baby in his arms, his tone soft:
"I think I know pretty much what I am, Faithful Lord. We don't need to go over that."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"But it is not often.."
Offering a firm nod, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says to the plump, reddish-hued templar, in
northern-accented sirihish:
"I do apologize High Templar."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"That my plans gets ruined. I am a little.. Surprised."
Motioning you to raise with a wave of his hand, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says to you, in
northern-accented sirihish:
"Come."
The robust, crimson-eyed templar stands up from a highly polished table.
You stand up from a highly polished table.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar strides along the crowded tavern with long steps.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar walks east.
You follow the robust, crimson-eyed templar, and walk east.
Way of Acquisition [NSW]
Smoothed chunks of fire-blackened stone make up the walkway of this
cobbled road. Just to the east, walls of sturdy wooden logs are nailed
together to form a steadfast barrier between the street and the massive
pyramid enclosed within. The road is rather minute in width, its
overshadowing western wall adding to its tiny appearance. Although the path
seems rather new, the surface of each of the durable stones is marred by the
imperfection of wheel marks and the occasional stain.
A break in the wall to the west reveals the awning-covered entryway to
a bustling tavern. Just above the leather-reinforced canvas awning, a
wooden carving hangs from the building to depict the visage of a beady-eyed
bahamet.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar is standing here.
A human Tuluki soldier has arrived from the west.
The one-eyed half-giant Tuluki soldier has arrived from the west.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar walks south.
You follow the robust, crimson-eyed templar, and walk south.
Street of the Blazing Fist [NE]
Round-edged plates of red sandstone have been placed together to form
this road. An occasional slab bears the faint etching of a sunburst, though
they are otherwise undecorated. A pair of walls hamper movement in the two
cardinal directions, and the tip of a pyramidal object can be seen just over
the towering northern barrier. Scatterings of greyish grass sprout up from
between various pieces of the road below, struggling to survive amidst the
dusty surface.
Mirroring the corner of the pyramid, the road takes a jutting turn
from the east to the north here. The wall surrounding the pyramid seems
sunken at this point, allowing glimpses of the sleek grey marble structure.
A smooth statue of sculpted stone stands here upon a thin circle.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar is standing here.
A human Tuluki soldier has arrived from the north.
The one-eyed half-giant Tuluki soldier has arrived from the north.
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar walks east.
You follow the robust, crimson-eyed templar, and walk east.
Street of the Blazing Fist [EW]
Round-edged plates of red sandstone have been placed together to form
this road. An occasional slab bears the faint etching of a sunburst, though
they are otherwise undecorated. A pair of walls hamper movement in the two
cardinal directions, and the tip of a pyramidal object can be seen just over
the towering northern barrier. Scatterings of greyish grass sprout up from
between various pieces of the road below, struggling to survive amidst the
dusty surface.
Pink-mottled red fruit clings to the sides of a thorny vine that
creeps over the northern wall. The vine dangles precariously from atop the
wall, still clearing the ground by multiple cords.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar is standing here.
A human Tuluki soldier has arrived from the west.
The one-eyed half-giant Tuluki soldier has arrived from the west.
Shrugging, you say to the robust, crimson-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"I won't need it anymore. Someone else can take the pack."
The robust, crimson-eyed templar walks east.
You follow the robust, crimson-eyed templar, and walk east.
Tembo Pass [NESW]
A pair of matching gates looms just to the north, their height
slightly dwarfed when compared to the ones above. A gate-tower remains
elevated in the air above this road, the patrolling of which can be heard
constantly through day or night. Lightly speckled grey plants lead
alongside the road to the east, while to the west the colors of the blossoms
are much more vivid and appear to be more taken care of.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar is standing here.
A tall, greying-haired Tuluki soldier stands here, guarding the southern gate.
A lean, tattooed Jihaen slave is here cleaning the streets.
A human Tuluki soldier has arrived from the west.
The one-eyed half-giant Tuluki soldier has arrived from the west.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar walks north.
You follow the robust, crimson-eyed templar, and walk north.
Chakal's Gateway [NS]
Brilliant banners hang from the eastern and western guardtowers,
stopping just short of a gargantuan wooden gateway. The pair of tapestries
depict scenes of battle, their detailed stitchwork capturing each crimson
droplet of blood as Tuluki soldiers massacre the southlands militia. Rows
of vibrantly-hued blossoms have been planted to lead up to the gate, over
which the glistening tip of a pyramid can be seen.
A scattering of wildflowers lies drifted through the grass.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar is standing here.
A stout, scruffy-haired male soldier blocks the northern gateway.
A human Tuluki soldier has arrived from the south.
The one-eyed half-giant Tuluki soldier has arrived from the south.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar gets a thornwood and leather keyring from a Jihae-embossed
toolbelt.
The prim, midnight-haired man sends you a telepathic message:
"So we never had that little chat a couple months ago, as we had planned..."
The robust, crimson-eyed templar slings a single-tasseled, bladed staff across his back.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar holds a thornwood and leather keyring.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar searches through a thornwood and leather keyring.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar unlocks the gate with a knob-ended baobab key.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar exclaims to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
"I will do something for you!"
The stout, scruffy-haired male soldier steps aside, allowing the robust, crimson-eyed templar to
pass.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar walks north.
You follow the robust, crimson-eyed templar, and walk north.
Within Piory's Yard [NESW]
The saplings of purple and grey-barked trees are no match to the sheer
height of the marble pyramid that dominates this yard. Standing with an
enormous stature, the pyramid's greyish marble walls elegantly taper up to a
statue-tipped point. Scattered around the base of the pyramid are various
beds of lush blossoms, their colors appearing vibrantly-hued in contrast
with the dreary building. Just near the wooden gateway to the pyramid, a
lush strip of rosebushes sprawl towards the door.
A gigantic, grey-marble pyramid overshadows the rest of the yard.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar is standing here.
A bulging, wide-lipped man sits toying with some needles.
A Jihaen slave stands here, caring for the plants.
The braided, hook-nosed templar is standing here.
A human Tuluki soldier has arrived from the south.
The one-eyed half-giant Tuluki soldier has arrived from the south.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar closes the gate.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the prim, midnight-haired man with the Way.
Firmly, the robust, crimson-eyed templar exclaims to a Jihaen slave, in northern-accented
sirihish:
"Come here!"
The robust, crimson-eyed templar asks a Jihaen slave for assistance, but he refuses.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the prim, midnight-haired man:
"Oh.. There is not any more need for it. As your target is dead already."
The robust, crimson-eyed templar dips his head once as a Jihaen slave approaches.
The prim, midnight-haired man sends you a telepathic message:
"...she is... *surprise*"
The burning sun rises high into the sky, searing the earth.
The red orb of Jihae, the red moon, begins to vanish as it slowly sets.
The prim, midnight-haired man sends you a telepathic message:
"When?"
Gesturing a Jihaen slave, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says to you, in northern-accented
sirihish:
"Give your child to this slave, or you will ruin yourself without a sudden anger."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the prim, midnight-haired man:
"It does not matter much, I guess. But right.. I am as much surprised."
The prim, midnight-haired man sends you a telepathic message:
"It does matter, a great deal."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the prim, midnight-haired man:
"Time.. Does not matter I meant."
The prim, midnight-haired man sends you a telepathic message:
"The time does."
The prim, midnight-haired man sends you a telepathic message:
"When did it happen?"
Tilting his head, you ask the robust, crimson-eyed templar, in
sirihish:
"Why?"
The robust, crimson-eyed templar says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
"You will always able to ask your child back, but I insist him to stay here at least a
month."
The use of the Way drains you.
Shaking his head, you say to the robust, crimson-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"No. I don't want to part with anyone else at the moment. You can keep me along with the
child if you want."
You shrug.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
"You seem to have nothing to lose right now. After years of effort, I can not even imagine how
you manage to dig a hole in the filth you born, you seem to lost everything within yourself."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the prim, midnight-haired man:
"Today.. Or was it yesterday? I am losing the track of time."
The prim, midnight-haired man sends you a telepathic message:
".....today.....by...who?"
Pointing baby with a slender finger, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says to you, in
northern-accented sirihish:
"That's a baby and needs attention, on the other hand you need time to think what you have
done so far. "
The short templar wearing a thin veil of white silk opens the gate from the other side.
The short templar wearing a thin veil of white silk has arrived from the south.
The umber-skinned, azure-eyed man has arrived from the south.
The sharp-featured human soldier has arrived from the south.
The short templar wearing a thin veil of white silk closes the gate.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar walks east.
You follow the robust, crimson-eyed templar, and walk east.
In a Small Corner of a Garden [NW]
Pymlithe saplings are planted in variegated rows along this tight
strip of the garden. Nearly all of the flora that thrives within the
surrounding area seems to be in the earliest stages of their growth. The
vividly-colored blossoms of the roses strewn about are on the brink of
spreading open, though each stem's jade hue stands out stiffly above the
flowerbed. A few rounded slabs of red sandstone create a path throughout
the underlying greb grass' dark violet cascade.
Just beneath the row of trees planted in the southeastern corner of
the garden lies a cozy wooden bench, its seat covered with a pair of linen
cushions.
A shadow falls over the area, driving off the uncomfortable heat.
A wylrith tree stubbornly flourishes, its leaves forming a shaded canopy above the ground.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar is standing here.
The short templar wearing a thin veil of white silk has arrived from the west.
The umber-skinned, azure-eyed man has arrived from the west.
The sharp-featured human soldier has arrived from the west.
A human Tuluki soldier has arrived from the west.
The one-eyed half-giant Tuluki soldier has arrived from the west.
The short templar wearing a thin veil of white silk walks west.
The umber-skinned, azure-eyed man walks west.
The sharp-featured human soldier walks west.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the prim, midnight-haired man:
"Tuluk.. Public execution."
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man glances westward sharply.
You dissolve the psychic link.
You think:
"Slipped.. Missed my chance."
You hear a woman's voice shout from the west in northern-accented sirihish:
"Sorry to disturb, Brother."
The prim, midnight-haired man sends you a telepathic message:
"....by the Hi- *his thoughts are cut off abruptly as the link snaps shut*"
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man's chest heaves up and down, a hand reaching to his temple.
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
The prim, midnight-haired man sends you a telepathic message:
"*guardedly* You and I need to have that chat."
The robust, crimson-eyed templar exclaims to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
"High Templar Eunoli will not join us!"
The prim, midnight-haired man sends you a telepathic message:
"Send an emissary if you don't trust me after that stunt you pulled by smuggling her out of
Allanak."
Pursing his lips, exhaustion in his words, you say to the robust,
crimson-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Can I go then? I have a long way to south."
With a shake of his head, firmly, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says to you, in
northern-accented sirihish:
"No, as I said I insist your baby to stay. You are not in good mood for taking care of this
baby. "
Softly, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
"Serpent, this is best for your child."
You say to the robust, crimson-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"My organisation will take care of him."
The robust, crimson-eyed templar puts a thornwood and leather keyring inside a Jihae-embossed
toolbelt.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
"Serpent, let the baby stay."
The prim, midnight-haired man sends you a telepathic message:
"But this cannot be discussed over the Way."
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
Grunting, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
"At least let your baby to be taken care of in decent conditions."
The robust, crimson-eyed templar says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
".. at least for a couple of months."
Shaking his head, you say to the robust, crimson-eyed templar, in
sirihish:
"My organisation takes care of many babies. And this one will be looked over specially."
You say to the robust, crimson-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"I will keep him."
The sun reaches its highest point in the sky.
The small, blond baby starts to wail in the pale-faced,
serpent-tattooed man's arms.
Softly, you say to the robust, crimson-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Let us go."
Leaning aganist a thin, canopied wylrith tree, the robust, crimson-eyed templar asks you, in
northern-accented sirihish:
"You do understand me right?"
You say to the robust, crimson-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"I think I do."
The robust, crimson-eyed templar asks you, in northern-accented sirihish:
"Do you understand your position in my eyes?"
You ask the robust, crimson-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"What does it have to do with the baby?"
The robust, crimson-eyed templar says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
"With that baby in under my protection, I will be sure you will not do anything with a sudden
anger of yours.. And I guess results of your anger could be .. very harmful."
Shaking his head, after a moment of thought, you say to the robust, crimson-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"There is no way.. I am parting with him."
Stepping close to you, lifting his head to face, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says to you, in
northern-accented sirihish:
"Why don't you leave him with me. Surely he will spend a couple of better months then in a
place full of hunger, thievery and brutallity."
Lowering your leather waterskin from his lips, his tone calm, you
say to the robust, crimson-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"I take good care of what is mine. So long..."
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man presses his lips together,
shutting his mouth tightly.
His lips curling up slightly, the robust, crimson-eyed templar asks you, in northern-accented
sirihish:
"So if I insist to keep your baby, you wish to stay with him right?"
Without a word, the pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man stares at
the robust, crimson-eyed templar blankly.
His arms folded on his chest, the robust, crimson-eyed templar stares at you .
You think:
"I am getting tired."
In a calm tone, you ask the robust, crimson-eyed templar, in
sirihish:
"You are not letting me go?"
Softly, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
"How damm important you are."
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
Pursing his lips, you say to the robust, crimson-eyed templar, in
sirihish:
"Seriously, I am not sure. Depends on who is asking I guess."
The short, scar-faced man sends you a telepathic message:
"What's the deal you had with Juye, Boss?"
Scratching his hair under his red silk hood, slowly walking along the path in garden, the robust,
crimson-eyed templar says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
"Well, for me at least."
Turning back for a moment, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says to you, in northern-accented
sirihish:
"You are a smart person.. very smart I must say."
The short, scar-faced man sends you a telepathic message:
"I don't know if you're in the condition to reply me, but she told me that I need to ask you
about it."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the short, scar-faced man with the Way.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
"On the other hand, I am not quite sure of how good you are controling your emotions."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the short, scar-faced man:
"There is a merchant to be killed. On the miner's road. The cloth seller. In one month, the
job should be done."
The short, scar-faced man sends you a telepathic message:
"How much is the bounty on their head?"
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
Kneeling near a flower bush, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says to you, in northern-accented
sirihish:
"Seems that spy manage to seduce and .. control you to some degree."
The late, red sun descends toward the western horizon.
The pale orb of the white moon, Lirathu, vanishes as it slowly sets.
With an exasperated sigh, you say to the robust, crimson-eyed
templar, in sirihish:
"It is not doing any progress at all. I am really tired. Just do what you want to do
Faithful Lord. Or let me go."
The robust, crimson-eyed templar says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
"Unless I am convienced you are going to dig the sour of that spy, I can not let you leave."
Grunting, the robust, crimson-eyed templar exclaims to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
"Look at yourself Serpent, you are not even caring of your life!"
The robust, crimson-eyed templar says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
"You even know you may not leave this place alive, you still do not care about it."
The robust, crimson-eyed templar says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
"That's why I ask for the child. At least there will be something you care for."
You say to the robust, crimson-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Truly, I have not thought much about my life for quite a long time. Longer than I know you,
I think."
Shaking his head, you say to the robust, crimson-eyed templar, in
sirihish:
"The child stays with me, and the only way to part with him is taking him off my dead
fingers."
Reaching long shaft of his single-tasseled, bladed staff, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says to
you, in northern-accented sirihish:
"Then make my decision easier if you do not care about your life a bit."
You think:
"If he reaches for the baby.."
You think:
"I will first kill my son.. Then kill him.."
The robust, crimson-eyed templar unslings a single-tasseled, bladed staff from his back.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar stops using a serrated, ivory longknife.
Offering his serrated, ivory longknife from its hilt, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says to you,
in northern-accented sirihish:
"If you do not want to live, take this and end you life. As you said, seems we are not making
an progress here."
Spreading his empty hand, his other arm holding the baby, you say
to the robust, crimson-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"I want to go. That is what I said. And I will take the child with me. If you want to kill
me, or take the child, I am not going to try persuading you otherwise."
You say to the robust, crimson-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"But I am not parting with the baby."
The hilt of his serrated, ivory longknife standing close to your, the robust, crimson-eyed templar
asks you, in northern-accented sirihish:
"Serpent, will you continue doing your business?"
The robust, crimson-eyed templar asks you, in northern-accented sirihish:
"Will you able to get your emotions out and continue you to make business with His
Faithfuls?"
The last rays of the red sun fade over the Grey Forest.
The scarlet face of Jihae rises, staring down from the sky.
With an exasperated sigh, you say to the robust, crimson-eyed
templar, in sirihish:
"I am.. really.. tired Faithful Lord. Can we discuss this later? Either let me go, or kill
me.. Or do something. But please end this for now."
Slowly sliding his serrated, ivory longknife to a sheath on his Jihae-embossed toolbelt, the
robust, crimson-eyed templar asks you, in northern-accented sirihish:
"Are you, two leaving for the Black City?"
The robust, crimson-eyed templar walks west.
You follow the robust, crimson-eyed templar, and walk west.
Within Piory's Yard [NESW]
The saplings of purple and grey-barked trees are no match to the sheer
height of the marble pyramid that dominates this yard. Standing with an
enormous stature, the pyramid's greyish marble walls elegantly taper up to a
statue-tipped point. Scattered around the base of the pyramid are various
beds of lush blossoms, their colors appearing vibrantly-hued in contrast
with the dreary building. Just near the wooden gateway to the pyramid, a
lush strip of rosebushes sprawl towards the door.
A gigantic, grey-marble pyramid overshadows the rest of the yard.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar is standing here.
A bulging, wide-lipped man sits toying with some needles.
A Jihaen slave stands here, caring for the plants.
The braided, hook-nosed templar is standing here.
A human Tuluki soldier has arrived from the east.
The one-eyed half-giant Tuluki soldier has arrived from the east.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar slings a single-tasseled, bladed staff across his back.
Offering a firm nod, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says to the braided, hook-nosed templar, in
northern-accented sirihish:
"High Templar."
Holding the baby in his arms securely, you say, in sirihish:
"Seems like it."
The robust, crimson-eyed templar gets a thornwood and leather keyring from a Jihae-embossed
toolbelt.
Reaching a key on his thornwood and leather keyring, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says to you,
in northern-accented sirihish:
"Leave this week."
The robust, crimson-eyed templar holds a thornwood and leather keyring.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar searches through a thornwood and leather keyring.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar unlocks the gate with a knob-ended baobab key.
Gesturing baby in your arm, the robust, crimson-eyed templar asks you, in northern-accented
sirihish:
"What is his name?"
You say to the robust, crimson-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Sen Hiatus. Sophie put his name."
Stepping close to baby, his lips slightly curled up, the robust, crimson-eyed templar asks you, in
northern-accented sirihish:
"Sen Hiatus.. Does it have a meaning?"
The robust, crimson-eyed templar puts a thornwood and leather keyring inside a Jihae-embossed
toolbelt.
You say to the robust, crimson-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Sen.. Was what people used to call me when I was a kid. And Hiatus means "disruption".
Well.. Because he was a disturbing one."
A faded smile touched on his lips, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says to you, in
northern-accented sirihish:
"Beatiful name. He is growning up close to weapons.. He will be tough."
Slowly walking towards large wooden gates, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says to you, in
northern-accented sirihish:
"I would hope he to speak smooth Sirihish though."
You send a telepathic message to the sinewy, bald-headed man:
"Two of us.. And the baby.. We should progress on the trip as soon as possible."
You say to the robust, crimson-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"As smooth as mine."
You say to the robust, crimson-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Or more like a southsider.. I am not sure."
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
The sinewy, bald-headed man sends you a telepathic message:
"Sounds good. Where should we meet?"
Chuckling softly, raising his head from baby to you, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says, in
northern-accented sirihish:
"At least I can understand what you can, unlike other labyrinth born."
Softly, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
"Leave the Ivory this week, without leaving your weapons from your sheath."
You think:
"We will see."
You say to the robust, crimson-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"I will go to south. As soon."
Softly, the robust, crimson-eyed templar asks you, in northern-accented sirihish:
"Should I give you a soldier to assist you?"
Rubbing his pointed chin, the robust, crimson-eyed templar asks you, in northern-accented
sirihish:
"Can not you make this week Serpent?"
You say to the robust, crimson-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"I can."
You say to the robust, crimson-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"And I will."
Softly, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
"I would appreciate it."
You fasten a grey shaded, black face-wrap across your face.
Holding the tiny baby securely in his hands, the male wearing a
grey shaded, black face-wrap inclines his head to the robust, crimson-eyed templar.
Lifting his hand, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
"I bid you a safe travel."
His gaze passing to baby, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says, in northern-accented sirihish:
"And you as well Sen."
The male wearing a grey shaded, black face-wrap silently, slips through the darkened streets, disappearing into the crowds.
You slow down and start moving carefully.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
His thoughts weak, he just let his feet carry him. After a short while, Serpent met his guide to the south.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
His tone soft as a whisper, to the small blond baby in his arms,
you say, in sirihish:
"I will take care of you, Sen.. I will."
You think:
"I would just kill you.."
You think:
"Eunoli.."
You think:
"Or try at least."
You think:
"Fuck."
The sinewy, bald-headed man raises the hood of a dusty hooded, grey sandcloth windcloak.
The very short figure in a dusty hooded, grey sandcloth windcloak slips a hand within his cloak,
and rummages through his belt.
His tone calm, you ask the very short figure in a dusty hooded,
grey sandcloth windcloak, in sirihish:
"Do we have to wait for the daybreak?"
The very short figure in a dusty hooded, grey sandcloth windcloak says to you, in sirihish:
"Nope. Wouldn't recommend crossing the Red Desert at night, but that's a ways off."
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
They made it to Allanak without an incident. They parted their ways and Serpent once more was home. He traveled the alleys he has lived in for so long, his son crying in his arms.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Dead End [NE]
You are standing in the middle of a poverty-stricken alley, the
Highlord's chamberpot of human life. All about you, piled against
dilapidated stone buildings, are piles of garbage, excrement, and the
occasional corpse -- or perhaps that's simply a sleeping child -- that
gather here. The sky above, what is visible of its dome through the
blood-tinged air rank with foul scents, shines less brightly upon you, the
sun's rays blocked out by the tall cracked structures of crumbling red
stone, buildings which give this alley a claustrophobic feel, despite its
being quite wide.
This alleyway ends here. To the west the grey stone of the outer wall
of Allanak is visible above the piles of trash and debris piled up against
it. A narrow doorway is visible along the north row of buildings. The only
other visible exit leads eastwards.
Matron Verwolin's Orphanage [S]
Within the sanctuary of this small building, the air is heady with the
smells of molding laundry, feces, ammonia and the ancient reek of the
Labyrinth itself. It has been recently cleared of the sand, trash and
debris that once littered this place. The building is in terrible
disrepair, but apparently now serves as a shelter for the hordes of homeless
children in Allanak. A small cooking fire burns near the back of the
building near which lies a large pile of soiled laundry. A small number of
bruised and dirty children live and thrive here, some play quietly, while
others sit listessly.
The ancient, green-eyed woman stands hunched over the fire.
A grimy, shaggy-haired urchin crouches in the shadows.
The bulky, grim-faced man is here, disciplining the children.
Holding the baby in his arms, the pale-faced, serpent-tattooed
man walks over the fire, crouching next to the ancient, green-eyed woman.
Patting the baby softly, you say to the ancient, green-eyed woman, in sirihish:
"Hello Matron. Long time no see."
The ancient, green-eyed woman glances up at you.
The ancient, green-eyed woman's eyes shift to the baby in your arms.
You say to the ancient, green-eyed woman, in sirihish:
"I have something that I want you to keep. And raise for me."
Spitting to one side before speaking, the ancient, green-eyed woman says to you, in sirihish:
"Eh, alright. Won't be much good for a couple years yet. I'l get one'a the older brats to
watch it."
The ancient, green-eyed woman says to you, in sirihish:
"But I'll need somethin' for its upkeep."
Wetting his lips, you say to the ancient, green-eyed woman, in
sirihish:
"I want him to be raised.. With a special care matron. He is not one of the other brats."
You say to the ancient, green-eyed woman, in sirihish:
"You will get a special upkeep for him as well."
You say to the ancient, green-eyed woman, in sirihish:
"I mean.. You will get special -something- for his upkeep."
You ask the ancient, green-eyed woman, in sirihish:
"Do we understand each other?"
One eye squinted, the ancient, green-eyed woman says to you, in sirihish:
"Every month? I'll treat 'im good enough if it's worth it."
You say to the ancient, green-eyed woman, in sirihish:
"You name what it is worth then."
The baby starts wailing again, squirming in your arms.
You say to the ancient, green-eyed woman, in sirihish:
"I will come and see him once in every two weeks."
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man pats softly to the back of the baby, exhaling a soft sigh.
The ancient, green-eyed woman says to you, in sirihish:
"Well then, give me what you think he's worth an' when you come to check you decide if you're
gettin' what you paid for."
The ancient, green-eyed woman says to you, in sirihish:
"Can't say any fairer than that."
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man bobs his head, passing the baby to the ancient, green-eyed woman.
You get a pile of allanaki coins from a bone-studded backpack.
There were 1000 coins.
It is very light.
The ancient, green-eyed woman takes the baby into her arms, gently rocking it until the cries
subside.
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man takes a few coin pouches from your bone-studded backpack, tossing one of them to the ancient, green-eyed woman.
You ask the ancient, green-eyed woman, in sirihish:
"Looks good enough?"
Looking the baby over then glancing back to you, the ancient, green-eyed woman says to you, in
sirihish:
"This poor thing's half starved, I better feed it."
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man absently, tosses another
coin pouch to the ancient, green-eyed woman, bobbing his head.
His tone quiet, you say to the ancient, green-eyed woman, in
sirihish:
"Alright.. You know what to do with him."
The ancient, green-eyed woman slips the coins into a pocket, carrying the baby off with a nod.
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man furrows his brows, staring
at the fire thoughtfully.
You think:
"Should I just go and attempt killing Eunoli now?"
You think:
"Nah.. Does not worth half the trouble."
You think:
"I will think of something, when the time is right."
The ancient, green-eyed woman moves over to the fire, holding the baby in the crook of one arm and
taking a small bowl of mushy gruel in the other.
Staring blankly at the fire, you say to the ancient, green-eyed
woman, in sirihish:
"I will be going.. Guess I will have some business to do in the alleys. You take care of the
kid."
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
Turning toward the doorway, his empty hand reaching to the hilt
of your sharp, well-balanced bone halfsword, you say to the ancient, green-eyed woman, in
sirihish:
"I will come check him in two weeks."
Dead End [NE]
You are standing in the middle of a poverty-stricken alley, the
Highlord's chamberpot of human life. All about you, piled against
dilapidated stone buildings, are piles of garbage, excrement, and the
occasional corpse -- or perhaps that's simply a sleeping child -- that
gather here. The sky above, what is visible of its dome through the
blood-tinged air rank with foul scents, shines less brightly upon you, the
sun's rays blocked out by the tall cracked structures of crumbling red
stone, buildings which give this alley a claustrophobic feel, despite its
being quite wide.
This alleyway ends here. To the west the grey stone of the outer wall
of Allanak is visible above the piles of trash and debris piled up against
it. A narrow doorway is visible along the north row of buildings. The only
other visible exit leads eastwards.
The obsidian-skinned woman sends you a telepathic message:
"I am sorry for the loss."
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The news of Sophie's death traveled as fast as Serpent did. Within moments, Mazlaen Fale was in his mind
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
The ruddy, purple-bearded man sends you a telepathic message:
"So I here Haadith has only recently been executed, Serpent."
The ruddy, purple-bearded man sends you a telepathic message:
"It sounds like there's about to be a blood bath. A Guild blood bath. Unless I get some
answers."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the ruddy, purple-bearded man with the Way.
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
The obsidian-skinned woman sends you a telepathic message:
"Serpent, you should make your way to Allanak as soon as possiable."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the ruddy, purple-bearded man:
"Answer? What is the question?"
The obsidian-skinned woman sends you a telepathic message:
"I am here and I need someone to tell a story to a Tempalar here."
The obsidian-skinned woman sends you a telepathic message:
"I will wait for you in Allanak."
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
The obsidian-skinned woman sends you a telepathic message:
"Tell the templars of Allanak how they killed Sophie"
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
The ruddy, purple-bearded man sends you a telepathic message:
"Previously it was claimed that the Guild was responsible for killing Haadith, but it's been
proven that.. such.. just simply isn't true. Someone's been lying to a Red Robe, Serpent."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the ruddy, purple-bearded man:
"I have killed him, myself.. With my very own blade."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the ruddy, purple-bearded man:
"What makes you think it is not so?"
The ruddy, purple-bearded man sends you a telepathic message:
"Then Sophie and two others -weren't- recently executed in the Northlands?"
The ruddy, purple-bearded man sends you a telepathic message:
"Haadith's belongings weren't destroyed publically in the North? All my sources are full of
shit, are they?"
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the ruddy, purple-bearded man:
"Sophie has been executed. Haadith's belongings are destroyed. What does it make at all?"
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the ruddy, purple-bearded man:
"Haadith is killed by me, in the labyrinth."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the ruddy, purple-bearded man:
"In the westside."
The ruddy, purple-bearded man sends you a telepathic message:
"What of this Renali fellow?"
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the ruddy, purple-bearded man:
"Who cares if Sophie had Haadith's belongings.. And ran away to Tuluk"
You think:
"I do."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the ruddy, purple-bearded man:
"Reneli? Well.. She has nothing about anything. She was just Veralius' concubine."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the ruddy, purple-bearded man:
"I could enlighten you a little bit about Veralius and all, but it gets a little nifty there.
We paid for this information, and if we get what we paid for, we can pass it to you of course."
You dissolve the psychic link.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Thus ended the remains of Haadith. However it sparkled the taste of revenge on the crime lord. He was uncertain how to start, but first, he had a lot of work to built back the damaged relations of his organisations.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Submitter's note:
Staying in a foreign city started to show its unpleasant face.
Sophie could not get to talk to anyone. Nor did Serpent have much
of a control over his...
Continue Reading...The Criminal, part V: Questionable Safety
Added on Mar 23, 2007A few weeks passed since their arrival. Sophie and the baby she had with her was threatened by a "licenced assassin" in Sanctuary, which made Serpent doubt the granted safety.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Submitter's note:
A few weeks passed since their arrival. Sophie and the baby she had with her was threatened by a "licenced assassin" in Sanctuary, which made Serpent doubt the granted safety.
P.S: I have edited the log many times, deleting some passages of conversations, mindtalks, and some emotes and I have also replaced some names/actions as **censored** to avoid passing some information that better kept as it is. I hope you find it a good read.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Pak-Curachek Road [NEW]
Bordered on either side by towering walls that spire upwards of ten
cords, this road runs east and west between the Templars' Quarter and the
Nobles' Quarter. Bones, dried and specially treated, have been set into the
ground to form a complexly woven path of isilt. The road is kept free of
dust and other debris as it makes its way through the city.
A pair of high-flying banners drape over the topmost portion of each
of these gates. On the left side, an enormous depiction of the reddish moon
of Jihae. Opposite to that is its stark white counterpart, Lirathu. The
vertical gate is a staggering ten cords tall, an insurmountable obstacle for
even the most skilled of climbers. The gate is made of interlocking
rectangles of a polished hardwood, with a series of close-set obsidian
spikes lining the very top of each half. A row of half a dozen smoothed
ivory torch-holders flank the sides of the gateway, ensuring a reasonably
brightly lit entryway no matter what the hour.
The Pak-Curachek road continues to the east and west.
A young, wavy-haired female soldier stoically guards the northern gate.
The beefy, grey-skinned dwarf is standing here, bleeding heavily.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the robust, crimson-eyed man with the Way.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the robust, crimson-eyed man:
"I am at the gates."
The tall, greying-haired Tuluki soldier opens the gate from the other side.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar has arrived from the north.
The one-eyed half-giant Tuluki soldier has arrived from the north.
A human Tuluki soldier has arrived from the north.
The tall, greying-haired Tuluki soldier closes the gate from the other side.
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man inclines his head to the
robust, crimson-eyed templar.
Standing in front of large wooden gates, dipping his head casually, the robust, crimson-eyed
templar says to you, in an unfamiliar tongue:
"Caro."
The young, wavy-haired female soldier opens the gate.
The young, wavy-haired female soldier steps aside, allowing the robust, crimson-eyed templar to
pass.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar walks north.
You follow the robust, crimson-eyed templar, and walk north.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
They walk in the Heart, in silence Frustration visible on one, the other has other thoughts.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Bahamet's Maw Tavern - Main Room [ESU]
Half a dozen tables are scattered throughout this diminutive tavern.
Despite the lack of lavish decor, the bar exudes a feeling of being anything
but paltry. The walls are coated in a layer of vivid tan paint, and
occasionally a framed painting hangs from their glossy surfaces. The
floorstones below are simple squares of red sandstone, haphazardly inlayed
into the level ground. Just above the elongated bar on the northern wall
hangs a luxurious tapestry, the tedious embroidery of a fiery sunburst
stitched onto a white background.
The cramped entrance to the east leads out to a road, while the room
snakes away to the south. A polished baobab staircase is affixed to one end
of the bar to carry patrons to an upper level dormitory.
A wooden-paneled painting sits supported by a miniature bone tripod.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar is standing here.
The short, obsidian-eyed youth is sitting at a highly polished table.
A stocky, bald-headed bartender stands upright behind the glazed bar.
The plump, reddish-hued templar is standing here.
The one-eyed half-giant Tuluki soldier has arrived from the east.
A human Tuluki soldier has arrived from the east.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar walks towards a highly polished table with long steps.
The stocky, bald-headed bartender trades a bowl of carru-meat stew to the short, obsidian-eyed
youth.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar sits at a highly polished table.
Gesturing a chair across, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says to you, in northern-accented
sirihish:
"Sit down Serpent."
The short, obsidian-eyed youth tilts his head downward, bringing the edge of his bowl of carru-meat
stew to his lips as he begins to drain the soup of it's liquid, his gaze remaining firm upon a
highly polished table.
Following the robust, crimson-eyed templar's gesture, you sit at a
highly polished table.
At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, gesturing the
short, obsidian-eyed youth with a vague hand move:
"You know my partisan. What bothers you Serpent?"
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man clenches his jaw, staring at the tabletop with a rigid expression.
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man inhales deeply, letting out a soft sigh before turning to the robust, crimson-eyed templar.
At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, his gaze
getting narrow watching you:
"Master assasin, I haven't ever seen you like this before. What did happen?"
At your table, you say in sirihish, his tone quiet, his words
coming out slowly:
"Faithful Lord, the Ivory has never been this hostile to me before. I just wonder what I did
wrong."
At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, raising his
shoulder into a brief shrug:
"I have heard an unpleasant incident, but I thought you have suffered consequances of being a
southorn born before."
At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish:
"You are given permission to live under His warm light by myself and High Templar Eunoli.
That's more than enough for any body."
At your table, you say in sirihish, nodding his head:
"Yes, but why does someone draws a knife to a baby and a mother in the middle of a crowded
tavern and gets away with it because he has a licence. I never knew the licence had so much
power."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"I never knew, that I could draw a knife to a baby in the sanctuary and threaten the mother,
just because I am a licenced assassin."
At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, grunting
loudly, lifting a finger:
"I am reported about the incident. That action did not occur because that man was a licensed
assasin, but a Faithful brother of mine just asked for him to do it."
At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish:
"I will speak with my Faithful brother and learned the reason behind it."
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man blinks, furrowing his brows.
At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish:
"Probably he did not know you and your mate is given permission to live in the Ivory by myself
and High Templar Eunoli."
The short, obsidian-eyed youth remains silent, his obsidian-hued gaze settled upon the surface of a
highly polished table, his lips drawn into a thin line.
At your table, you say in sirihish, exhaling softly and shaking
his head:
"I have asked this before Faithful Lord. But this incident again made me uncomfortable. I
have come here with your permission and your granting us the safety.."
At your table, you say in sirihish, adding on:
"I have served and will continue to serve the Ivory with whatever. Two southern templars died
to my blade and probably there will be a third.."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"But.."
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man inhales a deep breath, wetting his lips.
At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish:
"My word means my Order's word, and Faithful Lady's words mean for Lirathan Order. So you are
safe in the Ivory."
At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish:
"I will learn the details of that incident, and will be sure it will not repeat. "
At your table, you say in sirihish, adding on quietly, his tone
calm:
"If we are going to be a trouble and will suffer it, we can just leave. Just that I am asking
it again."
At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, grunting:
"This is second time you ask for leaving. Where do you plan to go Serpent?"
At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish:
"Is there any other place in the Known World which would welcome you more then the Ivory?"
At your table, you say in sirihish, shrugging his shoulders,
lowering his gaze:
"Nowhere.. We would probably be runaways in the sands and go to the Red Storm, live like
smugglers and what not.. The Ivory is more than a safe haven.."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"But if it is not safe.. I just don't want to have my mind troubled. I just want to be sure
of the things, so I can focus on what I am supposed to do."
At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, softly:
"I suggest you to keep your nerves, and continue your life with your skills. I have a feeling
that child make you .. a bit more .. softer?"
At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, his lips curled
up:
"I will deal that incident, be sure it will not repeat again."
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man rubs his forehead.
At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, gesturing the
short, obsidian-eyed youth with a vague hand move:
"There is someone valuable for me, waiting for us."
At your table, you say in sirihish, in a calm tone:
"My skills never slipped. Never left me alone. And I will put them into good use.. So long..
My mind is clear and is not worried about a couple of person."
The short, obsidian-eyed youth rests his small hands upon his lap, his gaze remaining towards the
surface of a highly polished table still as he remains silent at the edge of the table.
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man nods slowly, turning to the
short, obsidian-eyed youth.
At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, watching you
for a while:
"Those feelings.. Interesting they are. You will get more comfortable, when Sophie will
understand she is safe in the Ivory."
At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish:
"Well, when will you begin training?"
At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, his gaze set on
you:
"So?"
At your table, the short, obsidian-eyed youth says in northern-accented sirihish, twisting his lips
to one side, before speaking:
"He simply had mentioned you. I thought it was curious that a mutant would say such.. He was
attempting to assist me with my paintings, in the Sancutary.."
At your table, you say in sirihish, his tone taking firm:
"We can train even now. I was waiting a word from you about the other trainees.. Houses..
And .. All the details."
At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, to you:
"Chosen Lord Vadrayus wishes to speak with you Serpent. I told your services are extremely
good and expensive. Single lesson costs around two larges."
At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish:
"Reach Chosen Lord's mind and offer your services."
At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish:
"Also, I will speak with a Chosen from Winrothol family then return back to you."
At your table, you say in sirihish, wetting his lips:
"It will go through you. I would rather like to have a monthly payment, not a huge one and
the rest can go as a donation to you, Faithful Lord."
contact vadrayus
You suffer from use of the Way.
You are unable to reach their mind.
At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, with a soft
smile touched on his lips, gesturing the short, obsidian-eyed youth:
"The remaining coins can hopefully be enough training. My partisan is in your hands, and
skillful hands they are."
At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish:
"You have given lessons before, you are the master and I will not interfere."
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man turns back to the short,
obsidian-eyed youth, glancing at him up and down.
At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, his gaze set on
the short, obsidian-eyed youth:
"He will listen your words carefully and will do his best."
The short, obsidian-eyed youth shifts his gaze towards you for a moment, before faintly tilting his
head downward at the robust, crimson-eyed templar's words in a nod.
At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, his gaze
shifting between you and the short, obsidian-eyed youth:
"I am sure you two have much to talk."
At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, his gaze
passing over surrounding:
"And this place is not suitable for that kind of conversation."
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"We need training weapons.. And a suitable place."
<95/95 116/124 101/101 - walking >
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, dipping his
head once:
"I will arrange weapons right now, but facilities will take some time. I will get key for the
barracks in Freil's Rest."
At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish:
"It will be open for both of you."
At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish:
"For now, my partisan has an apartment. I hope that could be useful enough for now."
At your table, you say in sirihish, to the short, obsidian-eyed
youth:
"Big enough?"
At your table, you say in sirihish, turning to the robust,
crimson-eyed templar:
"You spoke of another candidate of yours, if I am not mistaken."
At your table, the short, obsidian-eyed youth says in northern-accented sirihish, dipping his
head faintly while speaking:
"Yes.. It is rather empty.. at the moment."
At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, his gaze
shifting between you and the short, obsidian-eyed youth:
"You wait here for a while. We will speak about the other professional soon Serpent."
The robust, crimson-eyed templar stands up from a highly polished table.
Firmly, the robust, crimson-eyed templar exclaims to a human Tuluki soldier, in northern-accented
sirihish:
"You stay here!"
A human Tuluki soldier offers firm nod towards the robust, crimson-eyed templar.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar relieves a human Tuluki soldier from his duty.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar walks east.
The one-eyed half-giant Tuluki soldier walks east.
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
The short, obsidian-eyed youth shifts a glance over his small, right shoulder, his gaze seeming to
follow the robust, crimson-eyed templar, before turning back towards you.
You think:
"I just want their safety.. I just want that.."
You think:
"Give me their safety damn it.."
At your table, the short, obsidian-eyed youth says in northern-accented sirihish, shaking his
head in either direction, while speaking:
"I am eager to begin.. I've waited for some time, now, for a
proper mentor."
You think:
"And I will offer my services.. Is it too much asking?"
At your table, you say in sirihish, wetting his lips:
"You would not mind if there were other people along with you, while I instruct you, eh?"
At your table, the short, obsidian-eyed youth says in northern-accented sirihish, shaking his
head slowly in either direction:
"I am surprised, as this is the first time I've heard of it.. But.. No."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"There is one more person I want to teach. And the two of you, can take it together."
At your table, the short, obsidian-eyed youth says in northern-accented sirihish, clearing his
throat lightly, before dipping his head towards you:
"I understand.."
At your table, you say in sirihish, thoughtfully:
"It has been a lot of years since I had a competitive apprentice."
The robust, crimson-eyed templar has arrived from the east.
The one-eyed half-giant Tuluki soldier has arrived from the east.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar walks towards a highly polished table carrying a pile of bone
weapons.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar sits at a highly polished table.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar calls to a human Tuluki soldier for aid, and he strides to his
side.
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man glances toward a
wooden-paneled, dark tempera painting.
At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, putting weapons
on polished surface of wooden table into a pile in front you:
"Here they are."
At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, his reddish
gaze shifting between you and the short, obsidian-eyed youth:
"Anything else either of you wish to add?"
The short, obsidian-eyed youth shakes his head lightly in either direction, shifting his gaze
towards the bone weapons that they are placed within a bone-studded backpack.
At your table, you say in sirihish, looking at a wooden-paneled,
dark tempera painting once more:
"Other than the other candidate, nothing on my side."
At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, quickly raising
from his stool, speaking in a firm tune:
"Very well, professional assasins. That's all for now then."
The robust, crimson-eyed templar stands up from a highly polished table.
The short, obsidian-eyed youth stands up from a highly polished table.
Slowly lifting his slender frame, you stand up from a highly polished table.
In firm tune, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says, in northern-accented sirihish:
"May His radiance shine upon you."
You are no longer following anyone.
The Pak-Curachek Road [NEW]
Bordered on either side by towering walls that spire upwards of ten
cords, this road runs east and west between the Templars' Quarter and the
Nobles' Quarter. Bones, dried and specially treated, have been set into the
ground to form a complexly woven path of isilt. The road is kept free of
dust and other debris as it makes its way through the city.
A pair of high-flying banners drape over the topmost portion of each
of these gates. On the left side, an enormous depiction of the reddish moon
of Jihae. Opposite to that is its stark white counterpart, Lirathu. The
vertical gate is a staggering ten cords tall, an insurmountable obstacle for
even the most skilled of climbers. The gate is made of interlocking
rectangles of a polished hardwood, with a series of close-set obsidian
spikes lining the very top of each half. A row of half a dozen smoothed
ivory torch-holders flank the sides of the gateway, ensuring a reasonably
brightly lit entryway no matter what the hour.
The Pak-Curachek road continues to the east and west.
The short, obsidian-eyed youth is standing here.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar is standing here.
The one-eyed half-giant Tuluki soldier is standing here.
A human Tuluki soldier stands here, lightly armored.
A young, wavy-haired female soldier stoically guards the northern gate.
The beefy, grey-skinned dwarf is standing here, bleeding heavily.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Once again Serpent was convinced of their safety. However, as the time passed, the feeling did not stay for long.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Submitter's note:
A few weeks passed since their arrival. Sophie and the baby she
had with her was threatened by a "licenced assassin" in Sanctuary,
which made Serpent...
Continue Reading...The Criminal, part IV: Foreign Sanctuary
Added on Mar 23, 2007Haadith died, but the concequences of his actions still echoed even after his death. Veralius Borsail wanted to destroy everything that was left of Haadith. Lord templar Sarador Sath captured Sophie and said he will decide his sentence on her, refusing any negotiations with Serpent or Veralius. Seeing no better way to solve it, Serpent kidnapped Sophie from where Sarador was hiding her. And together they fled to Tuluk for Sophie's safety. On their way, Sophie gave an early birth at Luir's outpost. Twins. Two boys, one died at birth. After staying in Kurac's care for one week, they finally made it to Tuluk. Seeking sanctuary, on a foreign land was not easy.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Submitter's note:
Haadith died, but the concequences of his actions still echoed even after his death. Veralius Borsail wanted to destroy everything that was left of Haadith. Lord templar Sarador Sath captured Sophie and said he will decide his sentence on her, refusing any negotiations with Serpent or Veralius. Seeing no better way to solve it, Serpent kidnapped Sophie from where Sarador was hiding her. And together they fled to Tuluk for Sophie's safety.
On their way, Sophie gave an early birth at Luir's outpost. Twins. Two boys, one died at birth. After staying in Kurac's care for one week, they finally made it to Tuluk. Seeking sanctuary, on a foreign land was not easy.
P.S: I have edited the log many times, deleting some passages of conversations, mindtalks, and some emotes and I have also replaced some names/actions as **censored** to avoid passing some information that better kept as it is. I hope you find it a good read.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Sun King's Sanctuary [NESWUD]
A polished, white marble floor covers the ground of this expansive
room, gleaming under the light of a large glass chandelier that hangs
overhead. A semi-circular bar, made of hard-grained wood painted a deep
black, extends from the eastern wall, several high-backed barstools sitting
around it. The walls of this room are brightly decorated, with several
elaborate paintings placed carefully for unobstructed view, and shelves
holding many exotic potted plants, blooming with bright red and white
flowers. Two large stained-glass windows, decorated with elaborate sun
symbols, adorn the northwest and southeast corners of the room.
Several decoratively carved tables fill this room, while a polished
leather couch nearly ten cords in length sprawls along the northern wall. A
stately spiral staircase sits in the center of the room, winding upwards
toward the common rooms of the second floor. The sounds of laughter and
music can be heard from a doorway along the western wall, while the scents
of cooked meat waft in from the east. A small, straight stairway sits along
the northern wall, ending at a slightly raised loft and a large carven
baobab door sits in the southern wall, leading out onto the North Road
outside.
The Tuluk bulletin board is here propped up on a stand.
The obsidian-skinned woman is standing here.
The young, Jihae-haired man is sitting at a black-painted bar.
The sinewy, chiseled woman is sitting at a black-painted bar.
The thin, green-gazed man is sitting at a black-painted bar.
The light-tressed young man is sitting at a black-painted bar.
The long-haired, middle-aged man stands behind the counter.
The gaunt, black-haired man is here, leaning on the bar.
The tall, well-groomed man sits here on a plush couch.
The short haired, heavy-set man stands here mug in-hand.
The male wearing a grey shaded, black face-wrap walks over an intimate, dimly lit table, taking a seat.
You sit at an intimate, dimly lit table.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the robust, crimson-eyed man:
"Good morning Faithful Lord. It is a pleasure to find your mind finally."
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
At a black-painted bar, you overhear the sinewy, chiseled woman say in northern-accented sirihish,
murmuring to herself:
"May's well watch th'scrub grow."
The battered, ebon-matted man has arrived from the south.
The young, Jihae-haired man looks at the sinewy, chiseled woman with a turn of his helmet-covered
head.
The slim, golden-haired woman has arrived from the west.
The robust, crimson-eyed man sends you a telepathic message:
"I have been looking for your mind for some time too master assasin. Did you manage to have a safe travel to the Ivory?"
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the robust, crimson-eyed man:
"That I have. I am indeed in the Sanctuary right now."
The obsidian-skinned woman makes her way across the marble floor with her head slightly inclined in the direction of a black-painted bar. She pitches a broad smile in at her twisted ruby red silk scarf as she makes her way down the bar's length.
The robust, crimson-eyed man sends you a telepathic message:
"Please come to the gates of the Heart Serpent, there are a lot to talk about your future in the Ivory."
The battered, ebon-matted man flicks his tongue out over his dark, dry lips, his feet carrying him slowly towards a black-painted bar with a limp in his step.
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
The battered, ebon-matted man sits at a black-painted bar.
The young, Jihae-haired man looks at the battered, ebon-matted man as he sits.
The slim, golden-haired woman walks north.
The obsidian-skinned woman looks down at the sinewy, chiseled woman with a passing gaze.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the robust, crimson-eyed man:
"I am on my way then."
Lowering a black inked hand from his temple, you stand up from an intimate, dimly lit table.
You dissolve the psychic link.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Serpent walked to the Heart, a place few southernors made it in, fewer made it alive out.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Pak-Curachek Road [NEW]
Bordered on either side by towering walls that spire upwards of ten
cords, this road runs east and west between the Templars' Quarter and the
Nobles' Quarter. Bones, dried and specially treated, have been set into the
ground to form a complexly woven path of isilt. The road is kept free of
dust and other debris as it makes its way through the city.
A pair of high-flying banners drape over the topmost portion of each
of these gates. On the left side, an enormous depiction of the reddish moon
of Jihae. Opposite to that is its stark white counterpart, Lirathu. The
vertical gate is a staggering ten cords tall, an insurmountable obstacle for
even the most skilled of climbers. The gate is made of interlocking
rectangles of a polished hardwood, with a series of close-set obsidian
spikes lining the very top of each half. A row of half a dozen smoothed
ivory torch-holders flank the sides of the gateway, ensuring a reasonably
brightly lit entryway no matter what the hour.
The Pak-Curachek road continues to the east and west.
A young, wavy-haired female soldier stoically guards the northern gate.
The beefy, grey-skinned dwarf is standing here, bleeding heavily.
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the robust, crimson-eyed man with the Way.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the robust, crimson-eyed man:
"I am at the gates."
The thin, green-gazed man sends you a telepathic message:
"Serpent...I notice a man who dresses like you. "
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the thin, green-gazed man with the Way.
The tall, greying-haired Tuluki soldier opens the gate from the other side.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar has arrived from the north.
A human Tuluki soldier has arrived from the north.
The one-eyed half-giant Tuluki soldier has arrived from the north.
The tall, greying-haired Tuluki soldier closes the gate from the other side.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the thin, green-gazed man:
"That was me Fej."
You now follow the robust, crimson-eyed templar.
The figure in a black skull-studded greatcloak inclines his head in the robust, crimson-eyed templar's direction.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar looks up at you for a while before dipping his head briefly.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar steps back towards large wooden gates, after a glance back to
you.
The young, wavy-haired female soldier opens the gate.
The young, wavy-haired female soldier steps aside, allowing the robust, crimson-eyed templar to
pass.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar walks north.
You follow the robust, crimson-eyed templar, and walk north.
Tembo Pass [NESW]
A pair of matching gates looms just to the north, their height
slightly dwarfed when compared to the ones above. A gate-tower remains
elevated in the air above this road, the patrolling of which can be heard
constantly through day or night. Lightly speckled grey plants lead
alongside the road to the east, while to the west the colors of the blossoms
are much more vivid and appear to be more taken care of.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar is standing here.
A tall, greying-haired Tuluki soldier stands here, guarding the southern gate.
The prodigious, purple-skinned half-giant soldier looms on duty here.
The short-haired, female Tuluki soldier is standing here.
A lean, tattooed Jihaen slave is here cleaning the streets.
A human Tuluki soldier has arrived from the south.
The one-eyed half-giant Tuluki soldier has arrived from the south.
The young, wavy-haired female soldier closes the gate from the other side.
Within Piory's Yard [NESW]
The saplings of purple and grey-barked trees are no match to the sheer
height of the marble pyramid that dominates this yard. Standing with an
enormous stature, the pyramid's greyish marble walls elegantly taper up to a
statue-tipped point. Scattered around the base of the pyramid are various
beds of lush blossoms, their colors appearing vibrantly-hued in contrast
with the dreary building. Just near the wooden gateway to the pyramid, a
lush strip of rosebushes sprawl towards the door.
A gigantic, grey-marble pyramid overshadows the rest of the yard.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar is standing here.
The braided, hook-nosed templar is standing here.
A Jihaen slave stands here, caring for the plants.
A bulging, wide-lipped man sits toying with some needles.
A human Tuluki soldier has arrived from the south.
The one-eyed half-giant Tuluki soldier has arrived from the south.
The figure in a black skull-studded greatcloak glances around his
surroundings briefly.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar closes the gate.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar locks the gate with a knob-ended baobab key.
The enormous sun rises above the barren plains in the east.
After a glance to huge pyramid raising to sky, the robust, crimson-eyed templar asks you, in northern-accented sirihish:
"Well, you have been here before a few times, haven't you?"
The figure in a black skull-studded greatcloak drops a single firm nod.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar tucks his thornwood and leather keyring back to a pocket on his
Jihae-embossed toolbelt, slowly walking along stone path on garden.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar puts a thornwood and leather keyring inside a Jihae-embossed
toolbelt.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar walks east.
You follow the robust, crimson-eyed templar, and walk east.
In a Small Corner of a Garden [NW]
Pymlithe saplings are planted in variegated rows along this tight
strip of the garden. Nearly all of the flora that thrives within the
surrounding area seems to be in the earliest stages of their growth. The
vividly-colored blossoms of the roses strewn about are on the brink of
spreading open, though each stem's jade hue stands out stiffly above the
flowerbed. A few rounded slabs of red sandstone create a path throughout
the underlying greb grass' dark violet cascade.
Just beneath the row of trees planted in the southeastern corner of
the garden lies a cozy wooden bench, its seat covered with a pair of linen
cushions.
A shadow falls over the area, driving off the uncomfortable heat.
A wylrith tree stubbornly flourishes, its leaves forming a shaded canopy above the ground.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar is standing here.
A human Tuluki soldier has arrived from the west.
The one-eyed half-giant Tuluki soldier has arrived from the west.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar closes a Jihae-embossed toolbelt.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar walks north.
You follow the robust, crimson-eyed templar, and walk north.
Within a Linen-Topped Gazebo [SW]
A row of potted plants lines the interior of this simple gazebo,
providing the only fauna not blocked off by screens of a wooly fabric. The
beige, earth-toned shades assist in shadowing away some of the harsh crimson
light of Suk-Krath while still allowing a pleasant view of the luxurious
garden just outside. A shelf has been hammered into place above the bench
on the eastern wall, bearing a few yellowish candles and some long-dried
flowers.
A wicker-edged door leads to the west, and a matching door opens up
towards the southern garden.
A small thornbush grows in a pot.
A long bench has been bolted to the eastern wall, cushioned by thick pillows.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar is standing here.
A human Tuluki soldier has arrived from the south.
The one-eyed half-giant Tuluki soldier has arrived from the south.
Walking along wooden floor towards a long, cushioned bench, the robust, crimson-eyed templar asks
you, in northern-accented sirihish:
"You do not need that hood.. or do you need to feel safer?"
The robust, crimson-eyed templar sits on a long, cushioned bench.
Gesturing a long, cushioned bench with a casual wave of his hand, the robust, crimson-eyed templar
says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
"Sit down."
Tilting his head back and letting his hood fall on his shoulders
silently, you sit on a long, cushioned bench.
You lower the hood of a black skull-studded greatcloak.
You stop using a grey shaded, black face-wrap.
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man carefully wraps your grey
shaded, black face-wrap in his hands, placing the silken object in his lap.
At your seat, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, his reddish gaze
passing over you up and down:
"So, Serpent of the alleys. Welcome!"
At your seat, you say in sirihish, with an appreciative nod:
"Thank you Faithful Lord."
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man wets his lips, reaching to
your bone-studded backpack.
At your seat, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, his lips curling
up slightly:
"I can not think of any good reason why -now- you need to the sanctuary of His warm light."
The thin, green-gazed man sends you a telepathic message:
"Ahh. Visiting, then? Whats become of Judas?"
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
At your seat, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish:
"Did you insult a black roped witch or an high ranking caught you with a rotten noble in his
bedroom?"
At your seat, you say in sirihish, exhaling a soft breath:
"Not quite, but close."
At your seat, you say in sirihish:
"Haadith..."
At your seat, you say in sirihish:
"Malenthis.."
At your seat, you say in sirihish:
"Then Sarador.."
At your seat, you say in sirihish:
"Also, for the safety of my companions."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the thin, green-gazed man with the Way.
At your seat, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, stroking his
pointed chin as he studies your face:
"I know of Malenthis.. A blue if I am not mistaken, probably he would not cause any problems
for your business.. Who is Sarador?"
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the thin, green-gazed man:
"If things do not turn any bad, I will be staying in the Ivory for sometime. Judah, could not
recover from his injuries."
At your seat, you say in sirihish:
"Another Blue. Narrow witted one."
At your seat, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, lifting a brow:
"Did you escape from the Black City because of two blue robes? Interesting.. I thought your
status in your organization give you enough protection from those types."
At your seat, you say in sirihish, wetting his lips:
"The thing is.. I am accused of being a traitor.. Twice. And none of them really bothers me.
Because I can slip through the whole Blues and Reds if I have to."
At your seat, you say in sirihish, exhaling a soft breath:
"I am here.. Because there is also a defiler. Well.. Again.."
At your seat, you say in sirihish:
"I could give a good fight and make the outcome of the fight a little bit surprise for him."
At your seat, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, grunting:
"A defiler? From Labyrith?"
At your seat, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish:
"Or a pet defiler witches use?"
At your seat, you say in sirihish:
"But my companions.. The templars, nobles, defiler.. They are also a threat for them. I came
to ensure their safety."
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man nods a few times.
At your seat, you say in sirihish:
"I don't think he has any connections to the templars."
At your seat, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, pointing you
with a slender finger finger:
"This is second time you say companions.. One of them is an old aide of Haadith, the others?"
At your seat, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish:
"Did you bring a group with you for foundation of your groups' branch in the Ivory?"
At your seat, you say in sirihish, wetting his lips, and taking another bite from your half eaten bundle of cooked meat:
"A kid.. Baby."
At your seat, you say in sirihish, shaking his head:
"Probably.. I will try that branch myself. None with me here."
At your seat, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, his lips curling
up slightly into a faded grin:
"A baby? Should I congratulate?"
At your seat, you say in sirihish, stiffling a grin, taking another
bite from your half eaten bundle of cooked meat to hide the curl in his lips:
"Well.. You could if you want to."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the thin, green-gazed man:
"I came here to see the well being of the group in North myself Fej."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the thin, green-gazed man:
"We two, can pull it together, don't you think?"
At your seat, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, chuckling
softly, shifting on bench to face you:
"The one your bring, aide of Haadith. What's her name? I guess there is quite a story about
Haadith's death as well."
At your seat, you say in sirihish:
"Sophie. And yes, there is some story to the death of the disrobbed templar."
At your seat, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, folding his arms
on his red armored chest, still a smile on his lips:
"I am listenning. "
Your new objective is:
Ensuring the safety of Sophie and his baby.
At your seat, you say in sirihish, exhaling a soft breath:
"Haadith.. attacked to a superior of his. Red Robe Marsellus."
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
At your seat, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, dipping his
head briefly:
"Interesting. Please continue."
At your seat, you say in sirihish:
"And got knocked down. Which led to his being disrobbed and banished to the Labyrinth."
The thin, green-gazed man sends you a telepathic message:
"We could, perhaps, but I am still sickened by disease. "
At your seat, you say in sirihish:
"There was a mob.. A crowd that was waiting for him to tear him into shreds."
At your seat, you say in sirihish:
"I confronted him myself first and ensured his safety by taking him among my people."
The robust, crimson-eyed templar stares at you with narrowed reddish gaze.
At your seat, you say in sirihish:
"What I was planing was.."
At your seat, you say in sirihish:
"To keep him secure, and then probably extract anything that he knew."
At your seat, you say in sirihish:
"Then I would sell him out.. He was nothing to me at all."
At your seat, you say in sirihish, wetting his lips:
"I was.. Sold out by some magicker that entered my quarter by shadow magick."
At your seat, you say in sirihish:
"And Malenthis, pulled me into a trick.. And I was thrown into the jails for the first time."
The robust, crimson-eyed templar exhales softly, without leaving his gaze on your face.
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
At your seat, you say in sirihish:
"Jails are a little bit convincing, when it comes to that, you are a traitor for the second
time."
At your seat, you say in sirihish:
"Malenthis' intentions were clear. He was asking for Haadith's head. And he captured another
of ranking in my organisation as well."
At your seat, you say in sirihish:
"For his safety, I agreed, and brought Haadith's head to him."
At your seat, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, tapping his
pointed chin, softly:
"So that's the end of Haadith."
At your seat, you say in sirihish, pursing his lips:
"The tip of my blade.. Was his end."
At your seat, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, spreading his
arms briefly, shifting on a long, cushioned bench reaching another silk pillow:
"Well, so you have no problem with that witch Malenthis."
At your seat, you say in sirihish, wiping his forehead:
"Well.. We can say that. But still, he might hold something against me, since I am the
"traitor"."
At your seat, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, with a raise of
his broad shoulders in a brief shrug:
"Why don't you slay that beast? "
At your seat, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish:
"Or someone else from your gang."
At your seat, you say in sirihish:
"Killing a templar, in his own domain among his guards is not something easy to pull off
easily. And after I do that, everything we do in the southside of the city would be damaged
greatly."
At your seat, you say in sirihish:
"I have to have a -very- big reason to do it."
At your seat, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, dipping his
head briefly:
"Well, shortly you are in the Ivory because of another Sandas defiler who can harm either
yourself our your mate and child.. Am I correct? "
At your seat, you say in sirihish:
"And also Sarador, the Blue."
At your seat, you say in sirihish:
"I kidnapped her from Sarador's hand."
At your seat, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, steadying his
posture, speaking in a firm tune:
"Well, you will walk safely under His warm light with protection of my name."
At your seat, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish:
"I already ordered Corporal Vaashir to speak with you. You can also speak with him if
neccesary."
At your seat, you say in sirihish, nodding appreaciatively:
"Thank you Faithful Lord. And, this includes my companions too?"
At your seat, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, bobbing his
head briefly:
"Yes. I hope you are not planning any retirement, your skills could be very useful."
At your seat, you say in sirihish:
"Actually.. I was just thinking of that."
At your seat, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, his gaze widen
slightly:
"You are too young to retire. Your skills could be very valuable. "
At your seat, you say in sirihish, exhaling a soft breath:
"I agree on that."
At your seat, you say in sirihish:
"But I was planning more in lines of.."
At your seat, you say in sirihish:
"Passing my knowledge perhaps."
At your seat, you say in sirihish:
"If that is possible of course, I can be a trainer here during my stay."
At your seat, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, his lips curling
up slightly:
"Indeed, that's what I am planning as well. There are a couple of canditates already in my
hand, your skills will give a safe stay and earning during your stay."
At your seat, you say in sirihish, nodding his head:
"I think the Houses might have some to be trained as well. Perhaps you can arrange that."
At your seat, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, nodding once:
"Yes, -I- will arrange it personally Serpent."
At your seat, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish:
"I will speak with Faithful Lady Eunoli, and I want you to completely obey her orders without
even thinking."
At your seat, you say in sirihish, blinking:
"Of course.. But orders about what?"
At your seat, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, after a long
while looking at you:
"Anything my sister wishes."
At your seat, you say in sirihish, knitting his brows:
"Of course."
You think:
"Confusing."
At your seat, you say in sirihish, thoughtfully:
"If our stay here is going to be a problem... We can leave Faithful Lord."
You think:
"Orders? What orders..."
You think:
"I am not ordered.. Never."
You think:
"Damn it.. Weakness.. This is weakness.. For Sophie and the baby.."
You think:
"They can use them... Damn."
At your seat, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, shaking his
head a couple of times:
"It's not a problem, but an opportunity for me. You will find sanctuary under His brilliant
light in the Ivory."
At your seat, you say in sirihish:
"I have brought what Haadith had, before he died."
At your seat, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish:
"All **censored** are questioned by His legions on sight. On the other hand, do you
know the name of that beast or.. can you describe?"
At your seat, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, lifting a brow:
"Ring?"
At your seat, you say in sirihish:
"Maybe you will be interested in them. No."
At your seat, you say in sirihish:
"Without his ring, medallion, and robe.. Still he has some of the templar uniform though."
At your seat, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, his lips curled
up slightly:
"Did you bring the robe and medallion? What is the cost of those cursed items?"
At your seat, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish:
"I would like to keep them for my personal collection."
At your seat, you say in sirihish, shaking his head:
"No.. As I said, the medallion and robe were taken in his banishment. But I have the res of
the uniform in Jade and black colors."
At your seat, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish:
"Well, what is the cost of those items?"
At your seat, you say in sirihish:
"I think I could pull off something like three larges or something for those armor pieces..
But."
At your seat, you say in sirihish:
"We can go half for you. Fifteen smalls."
At your seat, you say in sirihish:
"If you agree, I mean."
At your seat, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, after a while
looking at you, bobbing his head once:
"Sounds like a good piece. They will be a good addition to my collection."
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man bobs his head a few times.
At your seat, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish:
"I would like to speak with Sophie as well."
At your seat, you say in sirihish:
"Of course. Once she is around, I will bring her to you as well."
At your seat, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, lifting his
hand:
"There is no need you have to accompany us in that meeting, I want her to understand she in
safe here."
You think:
"Why is that?"
At your seat, you say in sirihish, biting his lower lip:
"I see."
At your seat, you say in sirihish:
"Once she is around, I will tell her."
At your seat, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, dipping his
head once more:
"Anytime, I will try to reach her mind as well. We will speak occasionally, that's good news.
During your stay, if you manage to learn anything regarding the old City ruins, I would like to pay
for it."
At your seat, you say in sirihish:
"Of course."
At your seat, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish:
"Also, there are elves running around His dominion, speaking about Rantarri. I am quite sure
you will come up with something from that as well.. Especially about an one eyed elf."
At your seat, you say in sirihish:
"One eyed? What else does he have as distinguishing feature?"
At your seat, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, with a brief
shake of his head, grunting:
"It is informed he is blonde, but nothing else. Oh.. Also one more thing.. "
At your seat, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish:
"There is a kind of mysterious figure who is very interested in Ruins as well. He calls
himself -Shadow-. Other than that little piece of information, there is nothing about him. "
At your seat, you say in sirihish:
"Shadow.. Drovians like that kind of name, if you ask me."
At your seat, you say in sirihish:
"But nothing reliable. I can check it out."
At your seat, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, gesturing your
cloak with a lift of his hand:
"I am quite sure those types of people will find you while in your stay."
At your seat, you say in sirihish, chuckling quietly:
"I am not sure if it is good to be so atractive."
At your seat, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, with a slight
girn:
"Well, you make your life with being atractive. That's all for now Serpent, if there is
nothing else you wish to add."
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man shakes his head, lifting his slender frame up.
You stand up from a long, cushioned bench.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar stands up from a long, cushioned bench.
You fasten a grey shaded, black face-wrap across your face.
Within a Linen-Topped Gazebo [SW]
A row of potted plants lines the interior of this simple gazebo,
providing the only fauna not blocked off by screens of a wooly fabric. The
beige, earth-toned shades assist in shadowing away some of the harsh crimson
light of Suk-Krath while still allowing a pleasant view of the luxurious
garden just outside. A shelf has been hammered into place above the bench
on the eastern wall, bearing a few yellowish candles and some long-dried
flowers.
A wicker-edged door leads to the west, and a matching door opens up
towards the southern garden.
A small thornbush grows in a pot.
A long bench has been bolted to the eastern wall, cushioned by thick pillows.
The one-eyed half-giant Tuluki soldier is standing here.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar is standing here.
A human Tuluki soldier stands here, lightly armored.
Slowly walking along wooden gaze towards garden, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says to you, in
northern-accented sirihish:
"If you meet with a young human called Murkan, I am planning to ask you to give training to
him.. So at least introduce yourself to him, as a beginning."
The robust, crimson-eyed templar walks south.
You follow the robust, crimson-eyed templar, and walk south.
You ask the robust, crimson-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"What was the name of that dwarf, he was also a private of the legions?"
Slowly openning the wooden gates, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says to you, in
northern-accented sirihish:
Tucking his thornwood and leather keyring back to a pocket on his Jihae-embossed toolbelt, the
robust, crimson-eyed templar asks you, in northern-accented sirihish:
"So when I can get those armor pieces?"
Shrugging his shoulders, you say to the robust, crimson-eyed
templar, in sirihish:
"Whenever you want. I can just go and pick them up even now."
Dipping his head briefly walking over large wooden gates, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says to
you, in northern-accented sirihish:
"Meet me in front of Nenyuki Bank after you pick them up."
The tall, greying-haired Tuluki soldier opens the gate.
The tall, greying-haired Tuluki soldier steps aside, allowing the robust, crimson-eyed templar to
pass.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar walks south.
You follow the robust, crimson-eyed templar, and walk south.
The Pak-Curachek Road [NEW]
Bordered on either side by towering walls that spire upwards of ten
cords, this road runs east and west between the Templars' Quarter and the
Nobles' Quarter. Bones, dried and specially treated, have been set into the
ground to form a complexly woven path of isilt. The road is kept free of
dust and other debris as it makes its way through the city.
A pair of high-flying banners drape over the topmost portion of each
of these gates. On the left side, an enormous depiction of the reddish moon
of Jihae. Opposite to that is its stark white counterpart, Lirathu. The
vertical gate is a staggering ten cords tall, an insurmountable obstacle for
even the most skilled of climbers. The gate is made of interlocking
rectangles of a polished hardwood, with a series of close-set obsidian
spikes lining the very top of each half. A row of half a dozen smoothed
ivory torch-holders flank the sides of the gateway, ensuring a reasonably
brightly lit entryway no matter what the hour.
The Pak-Curachek road continues to the east and west.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar is standing here.
A young, wavy-haired female soldier stoically guards the northern gate.
The beefy, grey-skinned dwarf is standing here, bleeding heavily.
A human Tuluki soldier has arrived from the north.
The one-eyed half-giant Tuluki soldier has arrived from the north.
The tall, greying-haired Tuluki soldier closes the gate from the other side.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
"May His radiance guide your path in your stay Serpent."
You say to the robust, crimson-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Then I will reach your mind within an hour."
The robust, crimson-eyed templar dips his head briefly offering a gentle nod.
The male wearing a grey shaded, black face-wrap dips his head to the robust, crimson-eyed templar.
You slow down and start moving carefully.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Within an hour, they met again in the Bank ran by House Nenyuk
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
House Nenyuk Bank [W]
The continual clink of money being counted competes with the
noise of shuffling receipts and the yells of clerks as they run this
way and that with boxes full of coins. A large desk sits near the
door, from which customers are served.
A plaque has been affixed on the wall above the desk.
A short, fat Nenyuki clerk stands here, waiting to help customers.
A muscular, half-giant bodyguard lounges here.
A muscular, half-giant bodyguard lounges here.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar is standing here.
A human Tuluki soldier is standing here.
The one-eyed half-giant Tuluki soldier is standing here.
The male wearing a grey shaded, black face-wrap hefts under the weight of your bloodied bone-studded backpack.
Passing your bloodied bone-studded backpack to the robust,
crimson-eyed templar, you say to the robust, crimson-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Exactly what he had. Blood is his own"
You give a bloodied bone-studded backpack to the robust,
crimson-eyed templar.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar walks over you, handing a large coin pouch.
The male wearing a grey shaded, black face-wrap tests the weight
of the coin pouch, nodding once.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar glances down to his bloodied bone-studded backpack, with a smile
spread on his face.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar dips his head briefly towards you, walking along dark street.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar walks south.
A human Tuluki soldier walks south.
The one-eyed half-giant Tuluki soldier walks south.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Moments later...
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Sun King's Sanctuary [NESWUD]
A polished, white marble floor covers the ground of this expansive
room, gleaming under the light of a large glass chandelier that hangs
overhead. A semi-circular bar, made of hard-grained wood painted a deep
black, extends from the eastern wall, several high-backed barstools sitting
around it. The walls of this room are brightly decorated, with several
elaborate paintings placed carefully for unobstructed view, and shelves
holding many exotic potted plants, blooming with bright red and white
flowers. Two large stained-glass windows, decorated with elaborate sun
symbols, adorn the northwest and southeast corners of the room.
Several decoratively carved tables fill this room, while a polished
leather couch nearly ten cords in length sprawls along the northern wall. A
stately spiral staircase sits in the center of the room, winding upwards
toward the common rooms of the second floor. The sounds of laughter and
music can be heard from a doorway along the western wall, while the scents
of cooked meat waft in from the east. A small, straight stairway sits along
the northern wall, ending at a slightly raised loft and a large carven
baobab door sits in the southern wall, leading out onto the North Road
outside.
The Tuluk bulletin board is here propped up on a stand.
The well-shaped, slash-marked man is standing here.
The light-tressed young man is sitting at a black-painted bar.
The one-eyed half-giant Tuluki soldier is standing here.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar is standing here.
A human Tuluki soldier stands here, lightly armored.
The lithe, black-haired young woman is sitting at a black-painted bar.
The slim, golden-haired woman is here moving about the room.
The obsidian-skinned woman is sitting at a highly polished table.
The sable-skinned, ponytailed man is sitting at a black-painted bar.
The sinewy, chiseled woman is sitting at a black-painted bar.
The thin, green-gazed man is sitting at a black-painted bar.
The green-eyed, redheaded woman is sitting on a supple, black leather couch.
The scar-riddled, wiry man is standing here.
The svelte, loreshi-tressed woman is sitting on a supple, black leather couch.
The tall, curly-haired man is sitting at a black-painted bar.
The long-haired, middle-aged man stands behind the counter.
The gaunt, black-haired man is here, leaning on the bar.
The tall, well-groomed man sits here on a plush couch.
The short haired, heavy-set man stands here mug in-hand.
Stepping over the center of the crowded tavern, the robust, crimson-eyed templar shouts, in
northern-accented sirihish:
"Good and loyal citizens of the Ivory!"
The lithe, black-haired young woman shifts her position, turning half way around on her cushioned
stool.
The sinewy, chiseled woman looks up at the robust, crimson-eyed templar with a turn of her head.
The sable-skinned, ponytailed man turns completely on the stool, facing the robust, crimson-eyed
templar.
The well-shaped, slash-marked man comes to halt by tavern's entry, focusing his gazes on the
robust, crimson-eyed templar.
After a while waiting for silence, the robust, crimson-eyed templar shouts, in northern-accented
sirihish:
"I have some good news!"
The male wearing a grey shaded, black face-wrap glances at the robust, crimson-eyed templar briefly, before turning back to the doorway.
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 robust, obsidian-haired Jihaen templar is standing here.
The lanky, russet-haired lad lounges by the tavern.
North Salt Road [NSW]
Rows of pale stones form the backbone for this broad avenue, settled
into the ground with graceful fervor. Decorating the edge of the street,
the buildings and storefronts are universally adorned with garish and tawdry
sculptures, bas reliefs, and murals. The road is filled with a continual
throng of humans and demi-humans alike as they scurry about the bustle of
daily life.
The sounds of a rowdy commotion spills out onto the streets from the
building to the west. A trio of humanoid sculptures are caught before the
junction between two roads, the crowds passing around them. An odd-looking
sculpture surrounds a stone bench off to one side of the road.
The tawny, blonde-haired woman strolls down the street, eyes bright.
You sit on a small white stone bench.
The wiry, stony-eyed man has arrived from the north.
The wiry, stony-eyed man walks west.
The short figure in a desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak has arrived from the north.
The short figure in a desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak walks west.
The stout, one-eyed man has arrived from the north.
You think:
"Interesting."
The stout, one-eyed man looks down at you as he passes down the road.
You hear a man's voice from the north say, in sirihish:
"He's stealin' it!!!"
The Sun King's Sanctuary [NESWUD]
A polished, white marble floor covers the ground of this expansive
room, gleaming under the light of a large glass chandelier that hangs
overhead. A semi-circular bar, made of hard-grained wood painted a deep
black, extends from the eastern wall, several high-backed barstools sitting
around it. The walls of this room are brightly decorated, with several
elaborate paintings placed carefully for unobstructed view, and shelves
holding many exotic potted plants, blooming with bright red and white
flowers. Two large stained-glass windows, decorated with elaborate sun
symbols, adorn the northwest and southeast corners of the room.
Several decoratively carved tables fill this room, while a polished
leather couch nearly ten cords in length sprawls along the northern wall. A
stately spiral staircase sits in the center of the room, winding upwards
toward the common rooms of the second floor. The sounds of laughter and
music can be heard from a doorway along the western wall, while the scents
of cooked meat waft in from the east. A small, straight stairway sits along
the northern wall, ending at a slightly raised loft and a large carven
baobab door sits in the southern wall, leading out onto the North Road
outside.
The Tuluk bulletin board is here propped up on a stand.
The stout, one-eyed man is standing here.
The scarred, pony-tailed man is standing here.
The short figure in a desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak is sitting at a black-painted bar.
The wiry, stony-eyed man is standing here.
The intricately tattooed half-elf is sitting at an intimate, dimly lit table.
The well-shaped, slash-marked man is standing here.
The light-tressed young man is sitting at a black-painted bar.
The one-eyed half-giant Tuluki soldier is standing here.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar is standing here.
A human Tuluki soldier stands here, lightly armored.
The lithe, black-haired young woman is sitting at a black-painted bar.
The obsidian-skinned woman is sitting at a highly polished table.
The sable-skinned, ponytailed man is sitting at a black-painted bar.
The thin, green-gazed man is standing here.
The green-eyed, redheaded woman is standing here.
The scar-riddled, wiry man is standing here.
The svelte, loreshi-tressed woman is standing here.
The tall, curly-haired man is sitting at a black-painted bar.
The long-haired, middle-aged man stands behind the counter.
The gaunt, black-haired man is here, leaning on the bar.
The tall, well-groomed man sits here on a plush couch.
The short haired, heavy-set man stands here mug in-hand.
The well-shaped, slash-marked man breaks a jade-studded, black-leather hauberk.
Dips his head to himself a couple of times watching the crowd cracking the items, the robust,
crimson-eyed templar steps out to busy street with a slight smile on his lips.
The sable-skinned, ponytailed man stands up from a black-painted bar.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar walks south.
A human Tuluki soldier walks south.
The one-eyed half-giant Tuluki soldier walks south.
The well-shaped, slash-marked man sheathes an ivory and marble claw-carved mace.
The scarred, pony-tailed man looks down at the well-shaped, slash-marked man.
The green-eyed, redheaded woman says, in northern-accented sirihish:
"Pity there wasn't a witch's neck in there.."
The sable-skinned, ponytailed man puts a slender, blue-rimmed wineglass on a black-painted bar.
The sable-skinned, ponytailed man walks south.
The stained glass windows glow with the light of the rising sun outside.
The wiry, stony-eyed man asks, in northern-accented sirihish:
"Which witch was it?"
The scar-riddled, wiry man walks south.
The thin, green-gazed man looks down at the tall, curly-haired man.
Raising his voice, hoarsely, the well-shaped, slash-marked man says, in northern-accented
sirihish:
"Haadith'."
Holding out her bloodied bone-studded backpack toward him, the svelte, loreshi-tressed woman says
to the wiry, stony-eyed man, in northern-accented sirihish:
"This is the blood of Haadith Oash."
Head bowed low, the male wearing a grey shaded, black face-wrap makes his way to the stairs, passing through the crowds.
The intricately tattooed half-elf stands up from an intimate, dimly lit table.
The lithe, black-haired young woman looks up at the intricately tattooed half-elf.
The intricately tattooed half-elf strides past the mob with an easy stride stopping to turn to the
lithe, black-haired young woman.
The stout, one-eyed man purses his lips, glancing over the crowd.
The wiry, stony-eyed man says to the svelte, loreshi-tressed woman, in northern-accented sirihish:
"Hey, I think I remember that name."
The male wearing a grey shaded, black face-wrap silently stops by
the stairs, glancing at the commotion briefly.
The well-shaped, slash-marked man makes his way to a supple, black leather couch at a slow pace.
You hear a man's voice from below say, in sirihish:
"Goo', well I have work ta' do eh'. I must be off."
You hear a woman's voice shout from below in northern-accented sirihish:
"This witches blood will burn in firepit!"
You hear a man's voice from below say, in sirihish:
"Travel ligh' an' live well lass. I hope to see ye latta'."
You hear a woman's voice from below say, in sirihish:
"Sorry about the mess."
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Haadith's belongings were displayed, and destroyed publically:A small sign of victory for Tuluk, and for Samil, a bigger sign of acceptance for Serpent.
A few days after, Serpent met the boy named Murkan, who would be his aprentice in the deadly arts.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Ana's Garden [NESW]
Lowset bushes, their leaves a glossy purple and green, sprawl in
semi-orderly ranks beneath a scattering of agafari and pymlithe trees, a
network of gravelled paths leading along through the park area. Denizens of
the city wander through the pathways, talking in small clusters or moving
silently towards some other destination.
The short, obsidian-eyed youth is sitting on a small grey stone bench.
A slim-bodied, blonde-haired elf lounges on a bench, watching the crowds.
A Tuluki street slave stands sweeping the ground clear of dust.
A supple, dark-eyed dancer sits on the grass, clapping out the time.
A short, red-haired dancer moves through the crowd, collecting donations.
A lazy-eyed, wide-hipped dancer sways in time to a softly beaten rhythm.
A cross-eyed, green-haired half-giant crouches, sniffing at some flowers.
The male wearing a grey shaded, black face-wrap leads the short,
obsidian-eyed youth to a small grey stone bench.
You sit on a small grey stone bench.
The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
"Do you know a lot about northern templars?"
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the delicate, ebon-curled woman with the Way.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"A lot? I don't think anyone knows a lot about anything.. But.. Yeah, I think I know some."
The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
"*amusement* Serpent... I am sure you know a lot about lot of things. Would be possible to meet
you... perhaps in a few weeks?"
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"I don't think it is easy to meet me these days. Is it hard to pass it along the way? Or
untrusty?"
The male wearing a grey shaded, black face-wrap glances at a
lazy-eyed, wide-hipped dancer, as he nods absently.
The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
"Hmm... you are hiding? That is... unfortunate, indeed. Let me think how to word the question.
"
The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
"Do all northern templars have the same powers?"
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"Sure. You shoot it. I can prepare an answer probably."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"Oh.."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"No. Not to my observation."
At your seat, the short, obsidian-eyed youth says in northern-accented sirihish, grimacing
lightly as he grips his stomach tightly:
"So the Faithful seem to favor me.. I can't complain.. Though I wish I could've found one,
before I ended up starving like this.."
The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
"Samil and Eunoli?"
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"Different I would say."
At your seat, you say in sirihish, his gaze turning to the short,
obsidian-eyed youth:
"Slow it down or you will choke."
The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
"Alright. I thank you, Serpent. Your company is alright, I heard?"
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"Yes. She is fine. We have a cute son here."
The male wearing a grey shaded, black face-wrap's gaze return to a
lazy-eyed, wide-hipped dancer, beaming a veiled smile to her performance.
The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
"Ahh, excellent. And its name?"
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"Sen.. Sen Hiatus. A little troublemaker I would say."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"And for your request.."
At your seat, the short, obsidian-eyed youth says in northern-accented sirihish, furrowing his
brows curiously as he turns his head towards you, seemingly ignorant of the dancing figures close
by:
"Your accent .. it's different from those others which I've heard.. Are you from the South?"
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"I can give you a more detailed answer once I can meet you."
The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
"Excellent. Let me know once it is possible."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"Of course."
You dissolve the psychic link.
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
A lazy-eyed, wide-hipped dancer stretches out a leg, toes pointed into the air, leaning back on her
other leg as she dances.
At your seat, you say in sirihish, dipping his head with a smile
to a lazy-eyed, wide-hipped dancer:
"We can say that.."
At your seat, the short, obsidian-eyed youth says in northern-accented sirihish, scratching the
back of his neck as a mark of confusion crosses his facial features, finally turning his gaze
towards a lazy-eyed, wide-hipped dancer with a blank expression:
"Huh.. Why would.. you wish to train me, then?"
A lazy-eyed, wide-hipped dancer moves with a languid, sinuous twist of her shoulders.
At your seat, you say in sirihish:
"Because I am going to get paid for that."
At your seat, you say in sirihish, turning to the short,
obsidian-eyed youth, staring at him in the face:
"Now.. The purpose of this little sit down and talk, Murkan.."
At your seat, you say in sirihish:
"Is to introduce me who I am."
At your seat, you say in sirihish:
"I mean.. Introduce -you-."
At your seat, the short, obsidian-eyed youth says in northern-accented sirihish, dipping his
head slowly, several times:
"I understand.."
At your seat, you say in sirihish, eyes narrowing to slits behind
his facewrap:
"Now you saw me, you hear me. You know I am a foreigner scum.."
At your seat, you say in sirihish:
"And you will probably hate me. Everybody does."
At your seat, you say in sirihish:
"I don't care if you do."
At your seat, you say in sirihish:
"But.. You will respect me, so long I am your trainer."
At your seat, you say in sirihish:
"Hate. Temper.. Feel humiliated, whatever."
At your seat, the short, obsidian-eyed youth says in northern-accented sirihish, dipping his
head slowly, narrowing his gaze towards his small feet:
"I am allowed to live in the grace of the Faithful to do a task.. As long as you can train me
in that task, you will have my respect, and jot my hatred."
At your seat, you say in sirihish, with a slow nod, not leaving
his gaze from the short, obsidian-eyed youth's face:
"That is good.. That is what I want to hear."
At your seat, you say in sirihish, exhaling a soft breath, his
gaze turning back to the performers:
"That is all for now"
The late, red sun descends toward the western horizon.
At your seat, you say in sirihish, with a dismissive gesture:
"You can go."
At your seat, the short, obsidian-eyed youth says in northern-accented sirihish, rubbing his
stomach with a content sigh:
"Very well. Contact me whenever you wish.. to begin."
The short, obsidian-eyed youth stands up from a small grey stone bench.
The short, obsidian-eyed youth bows his head lightly within your direction, stepping back from a
small grey stone bench, grasping onto the bundle inbetween his small hands.
Lowering his gaze towards his bundle of cooked meat, the short, obsidian-eyed youth says, in
northern-accented sirihish:
"Thank you.."
A lazy-eyed, wide-hipped dancer beckons in invitation to a passerby, leaning close to him as she
dances towards him.
The short, obsidian-eyed youth walks south.
The male wearing a grey shaded, black face-wrap glances between a lazy-eyed, wide-hipped dancer and the passerby, grinning impishly.
A steady jingle comes from the tambourine as a lazy-eyed, wide-hipped dancer shakes it.
The male wearing a grey shaded, black face-wrap walks over a short, red-haired dancer, passing a small coin pouch.
In a quiet tone, you say, in sirihish:
"Thanks for the entertainment."
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A day after in Sanctuary, Serpent meets Corporal Vaashir, an old friend... or acquintance.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Sun King's Sanctuary [NESWUD]
A polished, white marble floor covers the ground of this expansive
room, gleaming under the light of a large glass chandelier that hangs
overhead. A semi-circular bar, made of hard-grained wood painted a deep
black, extends from the eastern wall, several high-backed barstools sitting
around it. The walls of this room are brightly decorated, with several
elaborate paintings placed carefully for unobstructed view, and shelves
holding many exotic potted plants, blooming with bright red and white
flowers. Two large stained-glass windows, decorated with elaborate sun
symbols, adorn the northwest and southeast corners of the room.
Several decoratively carved tables fill this room, while a polished
leather couch nearly ten cords in length sprawls along the northern wall. A
stately spiral staircase sits in the center of the room, winding upwards
toward the common rooms of the second floor. The sounds of laughter and
music can be heard from a doorway along the western wall, while the scents
of cooked meat waft in from the east. A small, straight stairway sits along
the northern wall, ending at a slightly raised loft and a large carven
baobab door sits in the southern wall, leading out onto the North Road
outside.
An empty mug of rough grey soapstone has been placed here.
The Tuluk bulletin board is here propped up on a stand.
The slim, golden-haired woman is here moving about the room.
The young, Jihae-haired man is sitting at a black-painted bar.
The scarred, ashen-skinned half-elf is sitting at a black-painted bar.
The wiry, amethyst-eyed woman stands here, gaze alert.
The bulky, golden-bearded man is sitting at a highly polished table.
The light-tressed young man is sitting at a highly polished table.
The slight, bony-faced man is sitting at a black-painted bar.
The long-haired, middle-aged man stands behind the counter.
The gaunt, black-haired man is here, leaning on the bar.
The tall, well-groomed man sits here on a plush couch.
The short haired, heavy-set man stands here mug in-hand.
The scarred, ashen-skinned half-elf looks up at you.
The svelte, loreshi-tressed woman has arrived from the south.
At a highly polished table, you overhear the bulky, golden-bearded man say in northern-accented
sirihish, lacing his fat hands over his swelling gut:
"Tell me. How well known are you in the Black City? Favorably?"
Carrying her blue and purple ceramic bottle in one hand, the svelte, loreshi-tressed woman weaves
through the crowd across the marble floor.
The scarred, ashen-skinned half-elf sends you a telepathic message:
"Well, it's been a while since I've seen you around here..."
At a highly polished table, you overhear the light-tressed young man say in northern-accented
sirihish, with a slight shake of his head:
"Not favorably, Chosen Lord.. especially by those disinterested in trade. It is a very
unhospitable place."
At a highly polished table, you overhear the bulky, golden-bearded man say in northern-accented
sirihish, chucling suddenly before speaking:
"And no, I'm not thinking you may be in league with those barbarians!"
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the scarred, ashen-skinned half-elf with the Way.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the scarred, ashen-skinned half-elf:
"Yes. It has. You are doing good, I suppose?"
The scarred, ashen-skinned half-elf sends you a telepathic message:
"Not too badly... and yourself?"
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the scarred, ashen-skinned half-elf:
"Not good. But not bad either. Came here with a couple companions, and I guess I will have to
stay here for a while."
The scarred, ashen-skinned half-elf sends you a telepathic message:
"I see. Anything I can help with?"
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the scarred, ashen-skinned half-elf:
"Actually, I believe there is something you can help."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the scarred, ashen-skinned half-elf:
"As I said I came with a couple of companions. One woman, near twenty three years old and
one baby."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the scarred, ashen-skinned half-elf:
"The woman has sleekly built body, green eyes, and is blonde braided hair."
At a highly polished table, you overhear the bulky, golden-bearded man say in northern-accented
sirihish, smiling broadly at the light-tressed young man:
"Of course! Not only would you be serving our glorious City, but also myself."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the scarred, ashen-skinned half-elf:
"The baby is just a few weeks old. Has my eyes, and blonde hair. What I would ask is.."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the scarred, ashen-skinned half-elf:
"These two, just like me are "southern scums"."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the scarred, ashen-skinned half-elf:
"I believe I can take care of myself when it comes to it. But I don't think they can."
The male wearing a grey shaded, black face-wrap rubs his temple
slowly, with a soft grunt.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the scarred, ashen-skinned half-elf:
"Would you be able to help them, if they were in some kind of trouble?"
The scarred, ashen-skinned half-elf sends you a telepathic message:
"I will protect them to the best of my ability, just as if they were citizens..."
The scarred, ashen-skinned half-elf stops using a jeweled, ivory-hilted bone longsword.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the scarred, ashen-skinned half-elf:
"Thank you. I think I can pay you for your troubles in it."
The scarred, ashen-skinned half-elf loads a jeweled, ivory-hilted bone longsword into an
ivory-bound wooden scabbard with a *snap*.
At a highly polished table, you overhear the bulky, golden-bearded man say in northern-accented
sirihish, a grin appearing upon his fat face:
"I think you stand a very good chance of meeting with them and surviving the encounter, to
deliver my offer to their leaders."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the scarred, ashen-skinned half-elf:
"Aside from these two, I think the rest is an easy task."
You send a telepathic message to the scarred, ashen-skinned half-elf:
"I mean.. For me."
The scarred, ashen-skinned half-elf sends you a telepathic message:
"We can worry about that later... tell them to seek me out if they need help."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the scarred, ashen-skinned half-elf:
"Thank you. I will tell it now."
The scarred, ashen-skinned half-elf sends you a telepathic message:
"What is her name"
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the scarred, ashen-skinned half-elf:
"Sophie."
The scarred, ashen-skinned half-elf sends you a telepathic message:
"Alright then... tell Sophie if she needs me, find myself or ask any Legionnaire for Corporal
Vaashir. They will find my mind."
The male wearing a grey shaded, black face-wrap massages to his
temple with a pair of pale fingers.
The scarred, ashen-skinned half-elf sends you a telepathic message:
"Hope business goes well for you."
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Thus he ensured their safety, or so he thought. A few weeks after, he realized he was wrong.
After all, few things stayed as expected in Zalanthas.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Submitter's note:
Haadith died, but the concequences of his actions still echoed even
after his death. Veralius Borsail wanted to destroy everything
that was left of...
Continue Reading...The Criminal, part III: "I am sorry old friend."
Added on Feb 7, 2007Leaving Rocker in the dungeons, Serpent is sent out to finish Haadith. To save his man from the prison, he had to give up on the old friend
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Submitter's note:
This is the final part of the story of the fall of Templar Haadith Oash of Allanak. Here, in the final part, you will see how the story ends.
I have edited the log many times, deleting some passages of conversations, mindtalks, and some emotes and I have also replaced some names/actions as **censored** to avoid passing some information that better kept as it is. I hope you find it a good read.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
* Leaving Rocker in the jails, Serpent heads to the alleys in search of Haadith. The sanctuary
* he provided, would also be the place where he could find his old friend.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A Cluttered Office [WD]
This tiny square chamber is unfurnished save for a battered desk
behind with a few crates serving as seating behind it. The room has no
visible exits, save back to the bar and contains no windows. Dust clings
heavy in the air and there is a smell of decay and rot about the place that
has likely been present for centuries. The stone walls are stacked with
battered crates, all arranged in a haphazard fashion and tilting madly in
several different directions.
A pink-flowered plant is rooted here, its leaves exuding a sharp scent.
A gwoshi carved wooden chest sits here.
A couple of open shelved cabinets are here.
A large wooden crate is here, stacked neatly in the corner.
A rough hide sleeping mat lies on the floor here.
The short, scar-faced man is sitting at a long, low and cracked clay table.
The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak is sitting at a long, low and cracked clay table.
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man walks over a long, low and cracked clay table, setting over a crate.
The short, scar-faced man gets a large bag from a bone-studded backpack.
You sit at a long, low and cracked clay table.
Rummaging around his large bag, the short, scar-faced man sits at a long, low and cracked clay
table.
Slim of build and soft of feature, this man's unscathed pale skin
wraps
itself delicately around high, well-born features. Boyishly smooth, his
face is comely in Zalanthan terms, neither overly obese nor malnourished,
but is rounded in way that would indicate he was clearly well fed but has
avoided the pitfalls of gluttony. His set of piercing jade eyes, are framed
by thick, black lashes and he most notably seems almost with out trace of
scar or line of age. His long, ebony hair, is well lathered with sweet
scented oils and has been brushed straight to luxurious shine then twisted
into a soft braid and is often tossed delicately behind his shoulder.
The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak is in excellent condition.
The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak is using:
<worn on face> a thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap
<worn across back> a bone-studded backpack
<primary hand> a sharp, well-balanced bone halfsword
<worn around body> a dusty dark, hooded cloak
<worn on legs> a pair of patched sandcloth pants
<worn on feet> a dusty pair of black, soft leather boots
The short, scar-faced man takes his blue silk sash out of his large bag, eyeing at the short figure
in a dusty dark, hooded cloak.
The short, scar-faced man holds a blue silk sash.
At your table, the short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak says in southern-accented sirihish:
"So..."
The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak looks at the short, scar-faced man.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the gargantuan, battle-scarred mul with the Way.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the gargantuan, battle-scarred mul:
"Hork.. With me?"
The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak eyes the short, scar-faced man's sash for a moment,
before flickering his gaze to you.
The short, scar-faced man looks at you awaiting.
Easily, but with some hestiation, the short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak says to you, in
southern-accented sirihish:
"We need to talk."
You send a telepathic message to the gargantuan, battle-scarred mul:
"In case Haadith comes out of the office, don't let him out."
You dissolve the psychic link.
At your table, you say in sirihish, to the short figure in a dusty
dark, hooded cloak:
"Yes. We need."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"about the lessons I guess."
The short, scar-faced man puts a blue silk sash inside a large bag.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the short, scar-faced man with the Way.
The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak places his hands on the table, and pushes to his
feet slowly.
The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak stands up from a long, low and cracked clay table.
The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Alone..."
The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak turns his gaze to the short, scar-faced man.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the short, scar-faced man:
"After I nod, count to three in yourself, and then hold the door."
At your table, the short, scar-faced man says in sirihish, resting his palms at a long, low and
cracked clay table:
"Shall I take my leave, Chief?"
You dissolve the psychic link.
Gesturing at the empty seat, you say to the short figure in a
dusty dark, hooded cloak, in sirihish:
"Take a seat, we can send this one out."
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak pauses near the door, turning to you.
The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
"I am napping for a small bit.. it's been too much this week.. life has.."
The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak sits at a long, low and cracked clay table.
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
Nodding to you, the short, scar-faced man stands up from a long, low and cracked clay table.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the short, scar-faced man with the Way.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the short, scar-faced man:
"Watch me.. When you see me rising to my feet, hold the door."
You dissolve the psychic link.
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
You say to the short, scar-faced man, in sirihish:
"That thing looks nice."
The *censored* Magicker sends you a telepathic message:
"Boss you know any way of getting this gem off my neck without killing me?"
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
Before heading for the door, with a nod, the short, scar-faced man asks you, in sirihish:
"Yes, indeed. I guess, I'll give it after your talk with him. Hmm?"
Wetting his lips, you ask the short, scar-faced man, in sirihish:
"Well.. You saw Rocker?"
You are using:
<worn in hair> a thin leather headband
<worn around neck> a soft, grey-veined black neckband
<worn across back> a bone-studded backpack
<secondary hand> a translucent, crystalline longknife
<worn as belt> a finely-crafted pouched belt
<worn around body> a black skull-studded greatcloak
<worn about waist> a thin pouched belt
<worn on legs> a set of soft, grey-veined black leg-wraps
<worn on feet> a pair of soft, grey-veined black boots
At your table, the short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak says in southern-accented sirihish,
turning to the short, scar-faced man:
"Where did you get it?"
Turning back, when he reaches the door, with a shake of his head, the short, scar-faced man says to
you, in sirihish:
"No. I don't know what he's up to."
Mercy on.
The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak raps his fingers nervously over a long, low and
cracked clay table, eyes flickering rapidly between the short, scar-faced man and you.
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man's eyes flickers back to the short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak.
At your table, you say in sirihish, turning to the short figure in
a dusty dark, hooded cloak:
"I am sorry old friend.. But things are turning bad. You are aware of it?"
You stand up from a long, low and cracked clay table.
You reach down and draw a razor-sharp, hawk-etched halfsword out of your boot.
You brandish the halfsword.
You begin moving silently toward your victim.
The short, scar-faced man begins guarding the west exit.
The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak groans loudly as you thrust your halfsword up between
his ribs.
The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak's eyes roll back in his head.
A sharp, well-balanced bone halfsword clatters to the ground as the short figure in a dusty dark,
hooded cloak releases it.
The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak crumples to the ground.
The short, scar-faced man draws an obsidian dagger.
The short, scar-faced man draws an obsidian dagger.
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man shakes his head, crouching near the short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak.
The short, scar-faced man looks down at the short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak standing at
his position near door.
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man touches to the short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak's neck, biting his lower lip.
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man quietly whispers under his breath, shaking his head.
You wound the short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak on his
back with a brutal stab.
Eyeing at the body of the soft-featured, black-haired man, with a grin, the short, scar-faced man
says to you, in sirihish:
"Clean job, Boss! "
Exhaling a soft sigh, you sit at a long, low and cracked clay
table.
You think:
"Could not learn to read and write fully."
The short, scar-faced man sheathes an obsidian dagger.
The short, scar-faced man sheathes an obsidian dagger.
The short, scar-faced man stops guarding the west exit.
The short, scar-faced man walks back toward a long, low and cracked clay table, stopping just to get
a sharp, well-balanced bone halfsword.
The short, scar-faced man picks up a sharp, well-balanced bone halfsword.
The short, scar-faced man puts a sharp, well-balanced bone halfsword on a long, low and cracked clay
table.
At your table, the short, scar-faced man says in sirihish, spitting on the body of the
soft-featured, black-haired man:
"So, what now?"
At your table, you say in sirihish, exhaling a soft breath:
"Nothing. I will get Rocker out of the Jail."
You stand up from a long, low and cracked clay table.
At a long, low and cracked clay table, you overhear the short, scar-faced man say in sirihish,
frowning:
"Is he in the jail?"
You nod to him.
Standing from a long, low and cracked clay table, the short, scar-faced man asks you, in sirihish:
"What do you want me to do with the body?"
You say to the short, scar-faced man, in sirihish:
"I will take off the head, and you drag the body.. To out.. I don't know."
Nodding, the short, scar-faced man says to you, in sirihish:
"Alright, it'll be done, before you're back with Rocker."
You say to the short, scar-faced man, in sirihish:
"There is the carpet in the cabinet.. Clean it in the southside.. To the Globulu..Whatever the
fuck's name."
The short, scar-faced man looks up at you lifting his gaze from the body of the soft-featured,
black-haired man, then nods.
You get a small pack from an open shelved cabinet.
It is very light, and empty.
You put a small pack inside an open shelved cabinet.
Gazing to an open shelved cabinet, the short, scar-faced man exclaims to you, in sirihish:
"Alright, Chief!"
You get a hooked knife from a gwoshi-hide knapsack.
It is very light.
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man kneels down next to the body of the soft-featured, black-haired man.
You brandish the knife.
You behead the body of the soft-featured, black-haired man.
A Cluttered Office [WD]
This tiny square chamber is unfurnished save for a battered desk
behind with a few crates serving as seating behind it. The room has no
visible exits, save back to the bar and contains no windows. Dust clings
heavy in the air and there is a smell of decay and rot about the place that
has likely been present for centuries. The stone walls are stacked with
battered crates, all arranged in a haphazard fashion and tilting madly in
several different directions.
The head of the soft-featured, black-haired man lies here.
The headless body of the soft-featured, black-haired man lies crumpled here.
A pink-flowered plant is rooted here, its leaves exuding a sharp scent.
A gwoshi carved wooden chest sits here.
A couple of open shelved cabinets are here.
A large wooden crate is here, stacked neatly in the corner.
A rough hide sleeping mat lies on the floor here.
The short, scar-faced man is sitting at a long, low and cracked clay table.
You pick up the head of the soft-featured, black-haired man.
It is very light, and empty.
You put the head of the soft-featured, black-haired man inside a
small pack.
You sit at a long, low and cracked clay table.
The short, scar-faced man stands by the headless body of the soft-featured, black-haired man, watching you in silence.
Glancing at the headless body of the soft-featured, black-haired man, you say to the short,
scar-faced man, in sirihish:
"You can take him out."
contact malenthis
You suffer from use of the Way.
You are unable to reach their mind.
The short, scar-faced man dips a nod to you, and kneels by the headless body of the soft-featured,
black-haired man.
The short, scar-faced man strains as he lifts the headless body of the soft-featured, black-haired
man.
The headless body of the soft-featured, black-haired man half rises from the ground.
The short, scar-faced man opens the door.
You say to the short, scar-faced man, in sirihish:
"And the sash.. Leave it in the chest if you want."
Holding the headless body of the soft-featured, black-haired man at the ankles, nodding, the short,
scar-faced man exclaims to you, in sirihish:
"I'll do it, when I'm done with this, Chief!"
The short, scar-faced man stands up from a long, low and cracked clay table.
The short, scar-faced man stealthily moves west, dragging the headless body of the soft-featured,
black-haired man behind him.
The short, scar-faced man closes the door from the other side.
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man rubs his forehead.
Your new objective is:
Delivering Haadith's head.
The short, scar-faced man opens the door from the other side.
The short, scar-faced man has arrived from the west.
The short, scar-faced man closes the door.
The short, scar-faced man walks over to a long, low and cracked clay table, checking the pockets of
his dusty dark, hooded cloak.
You send this message to the staff:
"Alright. For the sake of saving someone from boredom, there is someone in the jails, put
there till I deliver someone's head to the templarate. The pc templar said giving other templars
will work. Now both the templar and the prisoner..."
You send this message to the staff:
"Is there a chance I deliver the head to an NPC templar, explain the situation, and the PC is
taken off? For his playability issue, just for that. The prisoner and the templar PC. Both are logged off.Or do we have to wait for them both?"
The short, scar-faced man sits at a long, low and cracked clay table.
At your table, the short, scar-faced man says in sirihish, eyeing his blue silk sash in his hands,
with a broad grin:
"Maybe you might want to have a closer look on them, hmm?"
You say to the short, scar-faced man, in sirihish:
"Not now. I will go and get Rocker out."
You stand up from a long, low and cracked clay table.
Wiping his nose, you say to the short, scar-faced man, in sirihish:
"I will go and get him out."
A Cramped, Dingy Bar [EWU]
Were it not for the sheer overpowering vileness of the air outside,
this small and tightly-cramped room would scarcely seem a breath of
freshness at all. Thick, acrid smoke intermingles with the smell of
unwashed bodies, vomit, cheap booze, and ancient decay in the limited
confines of this room, creating a unique amalgam of foulness that even the
rough sensibilities of a dwarf would quail at. The walls of the room are
short and the roof is relatively low, giving one an acute claustrophobic
feeling that mirrors the feel of the surrounding alleyways with merciless
precision. A few crates are stacked here and there in a seemingly haphazard
array. Whatever their intended purpose, it appears as though patrons have
begun using them as seats in lieu of squatting on the ale-damp floor. The
center of the room draws your attention once your eyes have adjusted to the
change in lighting and reveals a strange stoneworked depression, roughly
three cords deep and ten cords across. Broken stonework sculptures surround
the edges of the depression in a seeming mockery of a gleeful dance.
Several battered crates with a thick slab of pure obsidian draped across
them seem to serve as a makeshift bar in a corner of the room. An equally
battered wooden door is situated just behind it.
Just beside the bar, a loosely hanging rope ladder disappears up into a
jagged hole in the ceiling of the room.
A multi-ringed dartboard hangs on a wall here.
A message board is propped up against a wall.
The lanky, dreadlocked man, is hanging out here lazily against the wall.
The muscular, hatchet-faced man stands here by the door.
The long-haired, scar faced man stands by the bar, arms over his chest.
The very short and thick male wearing a grey shaded, black face-wrap is standing here.
The thick-set, sideburned bartender is here cleaning out mugs with a rag.
Brown drops slowly fall from the edge of a cask behind the bar, forming slowly from some unseen
leak.
A staff member sends:
"We'll watch the situation, but probably better if both are on. If he is stuck in there a long
time we'll release him."
You send this message to the staff:
"Hmm.. I will deliver the head to an NPC templar then. And tell him the situation. I plan to
log out soon. And will email the time he got in the jail, and the delivery time. The rest is up to
you and them I guess."
A staff member sends:
"That's great. Can you please email a log of the delivery to naiona@ginka.armageddon.org,
halaster@ginka.armageddon.org and the mud?"
You send this message to the staff:
"Of course. I will cc to my clan imms as well."
A staff member sends:
"Thanks!"
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
The barrel-chested, dark-curled man sends you a telepathic message:
"Serpent. Interested in yet another bounty on a foolish sharp-ear?"
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the barrel-chested, dark-curled man with the Way.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the barrel-chested, dark-curled man:
"*Exhaustion* Sure.. Sure my Lord. There are lots of bounties these days. just on my way
delivering another head now. Who is the target?"
You hear a man's voice from the west say, in sirihish:
"Please, please, have pity on me."
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
* Exhausted, Serpent walked back once more into the crowds of people. This time carrying
* the bag, that would set his man free from the dungeons, to end the hunt on his organisation.
* Meanwhile, his mind was still searched with other business offers.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
The barrel-chested, dark-curled man sends you a telepathic message:
"You know of an elf who calls himself Scar? He dresses like he's from the alleys. He has
yellowed eyes that are dull and lackluster, vacant?"
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the barrel-chested, dark-curled man with the Way.
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
The short, scar-eyed man sends you a telepathic message:
"Serpent. Do you have my head?"
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the barrel-chested, dark-curled man:
"Name I heard.. Also heard of the yellow eyed elf.. But never saw him myself. I will see what I
can dig up my Lord."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the short, scar-eyed man with the Way.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the short, scar-eyed man:
"Am I in my good day today? I was just on my way. Where do you want it?"
You dissolve the psychic link.
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
The short, scar-eyed man sends you a telepathic message:
"The gates of the Templars Quarters will be fine."
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
The barrel-chested, dark-curled man sends you a telepathic message:
"Oh. And I've the feeling he may decide to watch me, from time to time. Just another place to
check for him."
Silently, the pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man makes his way out
of the crowds.
The short, scar-eyed templar looks up at you.
The short, scar-eyed templar lowers the hood of a blue, hooded templar's robe.
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man holds your small pack out,
giving a rough shake to it.
Extending your small pack to the short, scar-eyed templar, you say
to the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Here is what you want."
The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
"Think there's an elf .. by the name of Scar trailing me, weapons out.. he's roaming around, I
know."
You give a small pack to the short, scar-eyed templar.
The short, scar-eyed templar gives a small pack to the half-giant soldier.
You now follow the short, scar-eyed templar.
The short, scar-eyed templar gives the half-giant soldier an order.
The half-giant soldier gives a small pack to the short, scar-eyed templar.
The short, scar-eyed templar peers into his small pack, smiling thinly.
The short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Excellent work, Serpent."
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man exhales a soft breath.
You say to the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Anytime, my Lord."
The short, scar-eyed templar gets the head of the soft-featured, black-haired man from a small
pack.
The short, scar-eyed templar puts the head of the soft-featured, black-haired man inside a small
pack.
The short, scar-eyed templar gets the head of the soft-featured, black-haired man from a small
pack.
The short, scar-eyed templar frowns, holding up his head of the soft-featured, black-haired man.
To his head of the soft-featured, black-haired man, holding it up by its hair, the short, scar-eyed
templar says, in southern-accented sirihish:
"You were always an idiot, Haadith."
The short, scar-eyed templar puts the head of the soft-featured, black-haired man inside a small
pack.
Lightly, the short, scar-eyed templar exclaims, in southern-accented sirihish:
"In you go!"
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man watches the short, scar-eyed
templar silently.
The short, scar-eyed templar closes a small pack.
A human soldier sends up a call to the wall to close the gates.
A human soldier closes the gate.
The short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Come...I'll give you what we agreed upon, and end this useless antipathy between us."
The short, scar-eyed templar walks north.
A human Allanaki soldier walks north.
The half-giant soldier walks north.
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man shuffles throught he crowds, following after a faint shape.
----------------------------------------------
* Quickly, in the escort of two soldiers, the templar and Serpent walk to the bazaar, and to the Nenyuki bank
----------------------------------------------
You follow a faint shape, and walk east.
House Nenyuk Bank [W]
This large mud brick building is lit with irrig lamps, a pale greenish
light fighting back the darkness seeping in through the doorway. A few
scribes sit towards the back of the room, making notation after notation in
fine, spidery handwriting, totting up the series of debits and credits
making up the finances of House Nenyuk. Behind the scribes, rows and rows
of locked wooden boxes are stacked in haphazard order. Near the door sits
the main clerk, flanked by guards, the desk in front of him littered with
transaction slips written on agafari paper.
The short, scar-eyed templar is standing here.
A heavy-set House Nenyuk banker sits behind a desk.
A tall, ash-haired guard watches her surroundings intently.
A human Allanaki soldier has arrived from the west.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the west.
Thoughtfully, as he makes his way to the Nenyuki banker, the short, scar-eyed templar asks you, in
southern-accented sirihish:
"So....how did the killing go?"
Looking at the desk idly, you say to the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Just one hit.. And he hit to the ground."
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man rubs his temple, knitting his brows.
The short, scar-eyed templar gives you 13000 coins.
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man lifts the bag, testing its weight.
You say to the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Looks heavier than I thought."
Nodding, the Nenyuki banker tells you, 'Thanks for your business.'
Smiling briefly, the short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"It is. I want you to understand that I hold no grudge."
You hear a man's voice shout from the west in southern-accented sirihish:
"Imported materials! Rare items!"
The short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"We can work together...or against each other. One way is profitable for us both...the other,
we simply end up killing one another."
With bow of his head, you say to the short, scar-eyed templar, in
sirihish:
"And I want you to know, that I apreciate your intelligence."
The short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Before the end of the day...hopefully the hour...any hunt against your people will be
ceased."
The short, scar-eyed templar nods at you.
You ask the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"And when will Rocker return where he is supposed to be?"
The short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"I'll see that he's immediately released...and can get you your lost items back, if you wish."
You say to the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"It would be very good indeed my Lord, if you would be that kind. I rather like my blades, if
you don't mind."
You hear a man's voice shout from the west in southern-accented sirihish:
"No blades can pierce these armors!"
The short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Rocker may have been transferred to another cell...so it may take a bit to release him, but he
should be out safe and sound."
The short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"I never got to torturing him...I'm fairly certain nobody else has, either."
Nodding, you say to the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"So he truly was a guest then.. I see."
Nodding to you, the short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"I need to go by the Quarter, and get this taken care of. I'll find your mind when I'm going to
go by the jails to pick up your weapons."
You say to the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Thank you My Lord. It has been a good week.. For forming such an allience."
With a thin smile, the short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Indeed, it has."
You hear a man's voice shout from the west in southern-accented sirihish:
"Imported materials! Rare items!"
You are no longer following anyone.
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man steps aside from the doorway, peering outside.
The short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Walk in His shadow, Serpent. You've done a great job. "
The short, scar-eyed templar walks west.
A human Allanaki soldier walks west.
The half-giant soldier walks west.
---------------------------------------------------
* Thus ended the story of Serpent's old friend, Lord Haadith Oash of the Blue. The effects of his
* final actions echoed for quite sometime even after his death. Meanwhile, Serpent found a new
* allience in the templarate. Due to some unfortunate events following afterwards, however, it did
* not grow strong. But in the end, little turn out as expected in Zalanthas.
---------------------------------------------------
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Submitter's note:
This is the final part of the story of the fall of Templar Haadith Oash
of Allanak. Here, in the final part, you will see how the story
ends.
I have edited the...
Continue Reading...The Criminal, part II: Tricked.
Added on Feb 6, 2007After the pass of two weeks of Zalanthan time, The Fallen Templar Haadith still has not been found. His former collegue Templar Malenthis Jal calls Serpent to send him after Haadith's tail.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Submitter's note:
This log is the second part of the story of the fall of Templar Haadith Oash of Allanak. In his time, Haadith Oash was a rather short-tempered, or one may call, a nasty templar, had been involved in many plots/projects, touched many PCs whether for good or ill. Here, I am giving you a snippet of events that had transpired, giving some light to his collegues work to erase him completely from the power struggle.
I have edited the log many times, deleting some passages of conversations, mindtalks, and some emotes and I have also replaced some names/actions as **censored** to avoid passing some information that better kept as it is. I hope you find it a good read.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Gesturing to a plain baobab table, the short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented
sirihish:
"Take a seat."
With a nod, you sit at a plain baobab table.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the thin, ebony-skinned man with the Way.
The short, scar-eyed templar sits at a plain baobab table.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the thin, ebony-skinned man:
"Rocker.. His name.. Try reaching his mind."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the thin, ebony-skinned man:
"I am in Templar's company now."
You dissolve the psychic link.
At your table, the short, scar-eyed templar says in southern-accented sirihish, to you, with a dip
of his head:
"How has business been?"
At your table, you say in sirihish, rubbing his temple:
"Thank you for asking my Lord. It is good, that we occasionally continue taking contracts..
The new ones grow, and it goes on."
At your table, the short, scar-eyed templar says in southern-accented sirihish:
"Good...as I mentioned before...there is a reward out for the traitor, Haadith. "
At your table, the short, scar-eyed templar says in southern-accented sirihish:
"The Templarate was expecting him to die when he was expelled into the 'rinth."
At your table, you say in sirihish, wetting his lips:
"Five larges, if I heard it right."
At your table, the short, scar-eyed templar says in southern-accented sirihish, dipping his
head slightly:
"Yes. Though...I think I might double it, just to see him die."
At your table, you say in sirihish, dipping his head briefly:
"Surely. In my streets, he is an easy target."
At your table, you say in sirihish, If-:
"he is in the streets though."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"I mean -If- he is in the streets though."
The short, scar-eyed templar nods.
At your table, the short, scar-eyed templar says in southern-accented sirihish:
"Surely, he'd be easy to spot."
At your table, the short, scar-eyed templar says in southern-accented sirihish:
"However, I've heard rumors that he's managed to escape into the deserts somehow."
At your table, you say in sirihish, furrowing his brows:
"Possible."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Sewers lead to the sands."
At your table, the short, scar-eyed templar says in southern-accented sirihish, nodding:
"Yes...I've heard. I'm thinking I might impliment a plan to patch up that hole in the
wastes..."
At your table, the short, scar-eyed templar says in southern-accented sirihish, thoughtfully, to
you:
"What do you think of that?"
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"How much time passed.. Two weeks by now?"
At your table, the short, scar-eyed templar says in southern-accented sirihish, nodding to you:
"Yes, two weeks..."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"If he aimed for the sands, he is probably out of that hole by now."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"He would not survive the sewers for two weeks to my guess anyway."
At your table, the short, scar-eyed templar says in southern-accented sirihish, nodding to you, with
a frown:
"Yes, he mentioned that he knew the layout of the sewers during his explorations while
protected with magicks."
At your table, you say in sirihish, pursing his lips:
"Red Storm.. Luirs. Some caves the hunters use.. Those can be his current hide out."
At your table, the short, scar-eyed templar says in southern-accented sirihish, to you:
"Well, we're reasonably certain he's alive. Its doubtful he, an Oash, is living with the
elves."
At your table, the short, scar-eyed templar says in southern-accented sirihish, nodding firmly:
"We searched some nearby caves when we heard he may have fled the 'rinth...so far to no
avail."
At your table, you say in sirihish, thoughtfully:
"There are.. Some hiding places in the sewers where one can live his entire life though..
Maybe.. He did not make it to the sands."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Just a possibility."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"In case, he found any such location."
The short, scar-eyed templar purses his lips, and nods.
At your table, the short, scar-eyed templar says in southern-accented sirihish:
"Well...the Red Robes wish him dead...at any cost."
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man scratches his jawline.
You think:
"But the red robes sent him alive.."
You think:
"I can kill himm.. In several weeks."
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man scratches the single scar on
his cheek, a thoughtful look on his dull black gaze, as he nods once.
The short, scar-eyed templar holds up a hand, with a shrug, and a sigh.
At your table, the short, scar-eyed templar says in southern-accented sirihish, to you, his
head cocked:
"What are you thinking...or scheming, hmm?"
At your table, you say in sirihish, wetting his lips, and
shrugging:
"Well.. Time may be an issue here..."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"But I can outright say, I will kill him for you."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"I -will-, if someone does not do it first."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"The thing is, I have places to look, hunt, keep his track."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"But there is too little place he can get away."
At your table, the short, scar-eyed templar says in southern-accented sirihish, nodding slightly to
you:
"Mmm, hmm."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"He can just delay."
At your table, the short, scar-eyed templar says in southern-accented sirihish:
"Give me a timetable...when do I get his head?"
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man exhales a soft breath,
furrowing his brows.
At your table, you say in sirihish, wetting his lips:
"A month is my current guess. Ask me that time, and I will give you a more solid answer."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Does it make the things too complicated?"
At your table, the short, scar-eyed templar says in southern-accented sirihish, tilting his
head back and forth:
"Yes, a bit. I was thinking before the end of the day, myself."
At your table, the short, scar-eyed templar says in southern-accented sirihish, raising a finger to
you:
"One moment."
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man lifts an eyebrow, nodding
slightly.
The short, scar-eyed templar stands up from a plain baobab table.
The short, scar-eyed templar points a smooth, obsidian orb at the pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man
and says 'mon'.
You feel a surge of energy enter your body, causing you to jerk spastically.
The energy drains from your body, and your body ceases to respond.
>stat
Archon of the The Guild, jobs: recruiter | leader |
Relationship to the land is neutral.
You are currently speaking sirihish.
You are affected by:
Paralyze
You are resting.
You are not refusing saves (nosave off).
You are not being merciful.
Smiling briefly, the short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Never lie to me, Serpent."
The short, scar-eyed templar gives the half-giant soldier an order.
You are hauled to your feet roughly.
The half-giant soldier subdues you, despite your attempts to struggle away.
The short, scar-eyed templar walks east.
The half-giant soldier walks east, dragging you behind him.
The Gladiator and the Gaj Tavern -- Main Room [NES]
This common room composes the bulk of the Gladiator and the Gaj
Tavern, a bustling establishment founded in the Year of Suk-Krath's
Defiance of the 19th age. A cacophony of sounds fills the inn, from the
busy murmur of the many merchants that frequent the location to the
howling of the crowd, greeting the arriving news of the latest arena
fight, to the drunken whine of the hundreds of commonfolk that have made
the place famous. Stout wooden beams support the panelled roof of the
room, each bearing many drawings carved by the patrons of the tavern.
An agafari-wood bar dominates the western side of the room, the shelves
behind it supporting the weight of many alcoholic beverages. Wood and
stone tables with matching chairs are strewn all over the chamber in
clusters as to allow waiters and waitresses to circulate with ease. A
raised platform has been erected in the northeastern corner for the
messengers and hawkers hired by the establishment that relay the latest
news from the arena.
To the north, a scarred tarp of carru hide leads out onto the busy
Caravan Way. Flickering yellow and orange light spills out from the
southern room of the tavern, where the meals are prepared and where
travellers may roast their raw meat for free. Eastwards lies the public
sleeping area, while a door lies behind the bar, most likely a back
room.
A wall here is designated as a message board.
The short, scar-eyed templar is standing here.
A human soldier of Tektolnes walks along here.
The towering, golden-haired half-giant is here, crouched beside a table.
The hairy, dark-skinned woman watches the room from beside the bar here.
The lean, sun-reddened woman laughs as she talks at a large table here.
A dark-skinned human barkeep stands behind the bar.
The brutally-scarred orange dwarf sits here at a table, drinking heavily.
The angular, silver-eyed man is here, leaning casually against a wall.
The short, scar-eyed templar points a finger at you, and gestures for nearby guards.
______________________________________
They move directly to the jails, the templar leading the way, Serpent held by the magicks and the soldiers, they make it to the dungeons with no struggle.
----------------------------------------
The short, scar-eyed templar walks east.
A human Allanaki soldier walks east.
The half-giant soldier walks east, dragging you behind him.
Allanaki Jail [NESW]
Large blocks of red stone make up the walls of this building, the same
type used to make the city walls most certainly, since they look so similar.
This center room of the building is totally devoid of furnishings, save a wide
bench along the east wall. Cells lie to the north and south, both of which
issue forth the smell of filth and rot.
The short, scar-eyed templar is standing here.
A human soldier of Tektolnes walks along here.
A surly, half-giant member of the Allanaki militia is here, acting as jailer.
The short, scar-eyed templar gives the half-giant soldier an order.
A soldier shoves you towards the surly, half-giant jailer.
The surly, half-giant jailer summons a pair of soldiers, who strip you of your weapons.
The surly, half-giant jailer opens the northern door, and throws you inside.
the surly, half-giant jailer closes the door from the other side, and you hear a key turn in its
lock.
A small window on the cell door opens, flooding the room with light before closing again.
Darkness
Total darkness surrounds you, preventing you from seeing anything
at all. You have trouble telling where you put your feet when you walk.
The surly, half-giant jailer opens the cell door, and you are hauled out.
Allanaki Jail [NESW]
Large blocks of red stone make up the walls of this building, the same
type used to make the city walls most certainly, since they look so similar.
This center room of the building is totally devoid of furnishings, save a wide
bench along the east wall. Cells lie to the north and south, both of which
issue forth the smell of filth and rot.
A half-giant soldier of Tektolnes walks along here.
The short, scar-eyed templar is standing here.
A human soldier of Tektolnes walks along here.
A surly, half-giant member of the Allanaki militia is here, acting as jailer.
The surly, half-giant jailer closes and locks the cell door, and motions to a soldier.
A soldier grabs the pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man around the arm, and escorts him to the west.
A soldier takes you by the arm, and escorts you to the gate.
Templars' Way [NSW]
Templars' Way stretches north and south through the very heart of the
crowded city. The road is made of large, black-colored stones that are
covered with dust, dung, and other unsavory materials. It passes under the
Arena's morbid shadow, a gigantic structure standing to the east. Bustling
with activity, the Commoners' Quarter lies to the west. Crowds pass along
the street, hurrying on errands and avoiding the keen-eyed glances of the
templars and soldiers who use this way.
Directly south stands the gate to the Templars' quarter, its carved
stone form arching overhead. West Dragon's Path runs along a wall that
stretches to the west, enclosing the Templar's quarter and separating it
from the noise and filth of the Commoners' quarter, which lies to the
northwest.
A human soldier of Tektolnes stands here, guarding the Templar Quarter.
The tall, slight man is standing here.
A human soldier sends up a call to the wall to close the gates.
A human soldier closes the gate.
stat
Archon of the The Guild, jobs: recruiter | leader |
Relationship to the land is neutral.
You are currently speaking sirihish.
You are affected by:
Paralyze
You are standing.
You are not refusing saves (nosave off).
You are not being merciful.
contact effen
You can't move.
The short, scar-eyed templar opens the gate from the other side.
The short, scar-eyed templar has arrived from the south.
A human Allanaki soldier has arrived from the south.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south.
The short, scar-eyed templar gives the half-giant soldier an order.
The half-giant soldier subdues you, despite your attempts to struggle away.
The short, scar-eyed templar points a finger at you, and gestures for nearby guards.
You think:
"Wait.."
The short, scar-eyed templar looks up at you.
You think:
"Wait.."
You think:
"Wait for it.."
Tisking, and shaking his head, the short, scar-eyed templar asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Not a very smart Jailer, is he?"
You think:
"Wait for it damn it."
The short, scar-eyed templar gives the half-giant soldier an order.
A soldier shoves you towards the surly, half-giant jailer.
The surly, half-giant jailer summons a pair of soldiers, who strip you of your weapons.
The surly, half-giant jailer opens the northern door, and throws you inside.
the surly, half-giant jailer closes the door from the other side, and you hear a key turn in its
lock.
A small window on the cell door opens, flooding the room with light before closing again.
Darkness
Total darkness surrounds you, preventing you from seeing anything
at all. You have trouble telling where you put your feet when you walk.
You think:
"Wait for it.."
A small window on the cell door opens, flooding the room with light before closing again.
You think:
"You don't know how we can work this out..damn it."
A small window on the cell door opens, flooding the room with light before closing again.
Someone closes the door.
Stepping close to you, and hissing in your ear, a male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Hello, Serpent."
A male voice shouts, in southern-accented sirihish:
"In the name of the Highlord, let the foul magicks present here be cleansed!"
Someone utters an incantation.
Your body relaxes, and you can move again.
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man coughs, dropping to his
feet.
A male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"I suppose you're wondering why you're here."
Wiping his mouth, gasping for breath, you say, in sirihish:
"I am quite.. impressed my Lord. I have to say."
Someone closes something.
A male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Well. I -am- the Lord Templar Malenthis Jal."
Piercing wails of torment flood into the cell from one nearby.
A male voice asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Ahh...did you hear that?"
His chest heaving up and down, you say, in sirihish:
"I am.. cursing myself.. Why I did not ally myself with you in the first place."
You say, in sirihish:
"Oh? Of course, my Lord."
A male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"That may be a very familiar sound to you in the near future."
A male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Yes? I'm quite surprised, myself...Haadith was always an idiot."
rest
You sit down and rest your tired bones.
A male voice asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Do you know why you're here?"
On his knees, his breathing slowing down, you say, in sirihish:
"I am wondering it."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the thick-set, sideburned bartender with the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the thick-set, sideburned bartender:
"I am dying Effen. In the dungeons.. In Malenthis' hand. Templar Malenthis Jal."
A pained, wailing moan echoes down from another cell.
Smiling briefly, a male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Oh...come now...take a guess."
Pursing his lips, sitting more comfortably on the dirty floor, you ask, in sirihish:
"Well.. Let's see.. You don't like to wait one month?"
A male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Mmm...close."
Wetting his lips, you ask, in sirihish:
"You want to have something today. Closer?"
A male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Much closer."
Exhaling softly, you say, in sirihish:
"Well.. Ideas are running through my mind Lord Templar. Clearly.."
His voice lowering to a quiet low, the sounds of ruffling silk as if he's crouching down to your level, a male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"I'm sure there are."
A male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"You see, Serpent...I know where Haadith is."
Raising his finger to his lips, in a mock-whisper, a male voice exclaims to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Shhh! Don't tell! Its a secret!"
Coughing a few times, and wiping his mouth, you say, in sirihish:
"Oh.. My Lord, do not insult my intelligence. Please."
You say, in sirihish:
"Maybe I made a dumb mistake."
You ask, in sirihish:
"A big one. Eh?"
A male voice says, in southern-accented sirihish:
"A -very- big one."
You say, in sirihish:
"But that made me know you bettr."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the sleek, honey-eyed young woman with the Way.
Nodding slightly, a male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"I'm certain it did...let me show you something..."
A male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Ah...well, you won't be able to see it in this light."
You send a telepathic message to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman:
"I think, Sophie.. I will die today at Malenthis hands. Keep the coins for the child, that I gave you."
Someone opens something.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman:
"If you can't do it, give the child to the Rocker.. Or whoever in the Guild's control."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman:
"I love you."
You dissolve the psychic link.
The sound of unrolling parchment fills the air as someone unrolls his something.
A male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"I know you can't see it..but in my hands is a scroll. I assure you, I can read it just fine in this light."
Curiously, a male voice asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Would you like to know what it says?"
With a nod, exhaling softly, you say, in sirihish:
"I am all too curious about it."
With a soft chuckle, a male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"It says, simply: Lord Templar Malenthis Jal has been credited with learning that the Guild may be involved with somehow hiding and protecting Haadith while in the 'rinth. "
A male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Therefore, the Blue robes of the War Ministry are given instructions any and all Guild members we know are to be detained, tortured, and killed untill Haadith is captured or killed."
Pursing his lips, you say, in sirihish:
"Quite informative."
The sound of parchment crinkling as he seems to poke his something, a male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Yes. Theres this little bit at the bottom that also says we're supposed to inform you of why."
You ask, in sirihish:
"So.. Forgive my curiosity, but.. Why?"
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the thick-set, sideburned bartender with the Way.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the thick-set, sideburned bartender:
"Tell all the Guilders to step back into the rinth and do not go out."
A male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Because you've been harboring a fugitive the Templarate wants dead. Don't try to deny it. I know."
Exhaling a soft breath, you say, in sirihish:
"So my Lord.. I am assuming..."
A male voice asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Yes?"
Adding on, you say, in sirihish:
".. You will eventually get Haadith. Through me."
Lifting a shoulder in a shrug, a male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"We know his exact location...think of it as a...sound business choice."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the soot-stubbled, jet-curled man with the Way.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the soot-stubbled, jet-curled man:
"Do not step to the southside.. At all.. And tell all the guilders to do the same."
A male voice says, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Consider it: either his head is given to me...or his living body..."
A male voice says, in southern-accented sirihish:
"OR...a Legion of troops descends upon the Labyrinth, gets him anyway..."
You say, in sirihish:
"Head is easy. I don't like run aways, and chasing. I am a little old for that I guess."
Wetting his lips, you say, in sirihish:
"Legions.. No don't go over that."
You say, in sirihish:
"You will lose more than you think.. Believe me."
You say, in sirihish:
"After you strike me with your keen intelligent side, I would not want that."
Exhaling a soft breath, you say, in sirihish:
"Easy thing."
You say, in sirihish:
"There is always an easier way, and you know it."
A male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Yes...a few casualties would be taken..perhaps some less-than-expendables. "
A male voice says, in southern-accented sirihish:
"There is. It involves Rocker."
You say, in sirihish:
"Rocker can't kill him."
A male voice asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Then you'll simply find someone who can, won't you?"
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man shakes his head to either sides.
You say, in sirihish:
"That is exactly -me- you are talking about."
You say, in sirihish:
"I can kill him. Rocker is not enough of a killer."
Sighing, a male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"A pity, then, for the GUild. You're going to be here...likely getting tortured, and eventually killed."
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man grunts softly.
A male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Meanwhile, all the Blue robes of the wWar Ministry are going to be on the streets, pulling in all their contacts, and everyone they know from the Guild..."
A male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"And that list is...quite substantial."
You ask, in sirihish:
"My Lord, just think on.. What you really want. You want Haadith, yes?"
A male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Yes. And I'd love to maintain good relations with The Guild."
A male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"However...the Guild has proven itself to be a less than reliable business partner."
You say, in sirihish:
"Your way, Rocker can lose him.. Wounded.. Or gets himself wounded.. And your target runs away. These are possible."
A male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"And I don't mean to myself. I mean to the Templarate."
Shaking his head, you say, in sirihish:
"Let me say my offer."
A soft chuckle echoing in the dark dungeon, a male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"...I'm listening."
You say, in sirihish:
"Lets go to Nenyuk.. I will give you ten larges, your bounty.. I will then head to rinth, take off a head. Bring it back. And take my ten larges back."
You say, in sirihish:
"Haadith does not worth ten."
You say, in sirihish:
"Not in his current state"
Nodding slowly, a male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Mmmm...an interesting offer."
You say, in sirihish:
"So it is sure I will bring it back."
A male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Sadly, I've known far too many criminal types who've given me similar offers, and gone and buggered off."
A sigh echoing through the cold dungeon air, a male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"...I never hear from them again."
A male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"You've proven yourself to be less than trustworthy. I'd need a larger marker."
Exhaling softly, you say, in sirihish:
"Oh come now.."
You say, in sirihish:
"You are getting Haadith for no charges.. And just the same day you want."
A male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Perhaps Rocker will still be of use. We'll do it your way...but you'll have Rocker present himself to me before I release you."
An odd scratching noise is heard on the outside of the cell door.
A male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Rocker will be a...guest...of the Templarate, untill I see Haadith's head."
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man scratches his jawline.
A massive half-giant soldier walks by, glaring into the cell before moving on.
You say, in sirihish:
"By a -guest-, I hope we are having the same idea."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the soot-stubbled, jet-curled man with the Way.
Offering a laugh, a male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Use your imagination. Perhaps it will give you incentive."
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man chuckles quietly.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the soot-stubbled, jet-curled man:
"Rocker.. I might have a way out."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the soot-stubbled, jet-curled man:
"It is through you."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the soot-stubbled, jet-curled man:
"They want me to kill Haadith. And you in the meanwhile will take my place."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the soot-stubbled, jet-curled man:
"When Haadith dies, they will release you."
A male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"I'll let you think about it for a few minutes."
Someone opens the door.
You say, in sirihish:
"Alright.. You have it."
Light pours into the dungeon as someone opens the door.
A male voice asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Hmm?"
You say, in sirihish:
"Just some light.. I guess Rocker is trying to find my mind."
A male voice says, in southern-accented sirihish:
"I'll see what I can do."
You say, in sirihish:
"Er.. "
You get a leather-strapped green glow-crystal from a black
skull-studded greatcloak.
It is very light.
You light a leather-strapped green glow-crystal.
The area is filled with a green light.
You fasten a shining leather-strapped green glow-crystal around your right ankle.
The Dungeons of Allanak [S]
The solid stone walls of this massive chamber rise up twenty cords, to
accommodate the larger criminals of the city's streets. The floor has
been laid with the same stone used in making the walls, and is covered
with decades, possibly centuries, of filth. There are no furnishings
here, nor any windows for lighting.
Several tiny, dead cockroaches are here.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the soot-stubbled, jet-curled man:
"You can get to my mind now"
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
You stop using a shining leather-strapped green glow-crystal.
You extinguish a shining leather-strapped green glow-crystal.
The area is enveloped in darkness.
The soot-stubbled, jet-curled man sends you a telepathic message:
"I'm ready, Boss... They gonna let me take some spice with me, to pass the hours? ....I don't wanna spend too long in that fucking hole, mind you."
You send a telepathic message to the soot-stubbled, jet-curled man:
"Oh.. Let me see. Stay in my mind."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the short, scar-eyed man with the Way.
Someone opens the door from the other side.
You send a telepathic message to the short, scar-eyed man:
"You don't mind if he takes some spice with him? He says, if it takes too long in a hole, he needs it."
The area is filled with a yellow light.
The short, scar-eyed templar has arrived from the south.
A human Allanaki soldier has arrived from the south.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south.
The short, scar-eyed templar closes the door.
His scarred brows raised, the short, scar-eyed templar asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Are you serious?"
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
Tiredly, the pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man leans his back to the cell wall.
The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
"Ahh... Serpent."
Shaking his head slightly, the short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"I don't believe you're in a position to make many demands."
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the soot-stubbled, jet-curled man with the Way.
Narrowing his good eye, the short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Particularly illegal ones."
With a sigh, rubbing his temple, you say to the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Let me tell that to him."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the soot-stubbled, jet-curled man:
"Rocker.. It won't take long."
The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
"I have a question for you."
You dissolve the psychic link.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You are unable to reach their mind.
The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
"...once you have a free moment to answer it."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the delicate, ebon-curled woman with the Way.
The soot-stubbled, jet-curled man sends you a telepathic message:
"I'm ready, then. I trust you, Boss."
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"Oh.. Shoot is fast, because I am about to die, my lady."
The sepia-skinned, blue-eyed man sends you a telepathic message:
"If you have need of me, I'm available in the temple. Also, what is our stance on the situation Haadith?"
Rubbing his temple, you say to the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Not too eager, but he believes I will not make it long."
The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
"Die? Why?"
Dipping his head slightly, the short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Naturally."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"It is a loooong story my Lady."
The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
"Did anyone tried to hire the Guild to kill Sophie?"
Pushing up the dirty floor, you rise and stand.
The short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Tell me...who else has come into contact with Haadith...."
The short, scar-eyed templar asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"And what were you planning on doing with him?"
You say to the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"No one else.. Just the eastsider undead magickers tried to buy him."
You say to the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"And my idea was to extract information from him, in the meanwhile."
The short, scar-eyed templar tisks, shaking his head.
You say to the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"One month is enough for it. You know."
Leaning over to you, the short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Between you and I...he doesn't know much."
The short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"You would have been beter off selling him to the undead eastsider magickers."
Pursing his lips, you say to the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"With your keen side, my Lord, I am more inclined to believe you anyways."
With a thin smile, the short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Oh. Now you're just blowing smoke up my ass."
You say to the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"By the way, your guards are overpaid."
You say to the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"I am stripped off my weapons twice.. Yet I still have two with me."
The short, scar-eyed templar asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Really?"
You say to the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Guess they are for the target."
Pointing down to your boots, the short, scar-eyed templar asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Not in your boots are they?"
You say to the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"You are really keen."
The soot-stubbled, jet-curled man sends you a telepathic message:
"So? Am I meeting you, or should I run off for some snatch before they lock me up?"
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
You ask the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"So.. Where should Rocker come?"
The short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Have him meet me at the gates to the Templars quarters."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the soot-stubbled, jet-curled man with the Way.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the soot-stubbled, jet-curled man:
"Come to the Templar's quarter gates."
You dissolve the psychic link.
You hear a screeching sob from outside the cell as another prisoner is taken to their cell.
You now follow the short, scar-eyed templar.
Chuckling slightly, and holding up a hand, the short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"You'll be staying here, I'm afraid."
You are no longer following anyone.
The short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Not that I don't trust you...but I'd be a fool to let you go before I had the marker."
Glancing where the sound comes, you say to the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Oh.. This is a very crowded place by the way. I have not ended up here much."
The short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Yes...quite. That might be one of your associates."
Leaning back to the wall, and sitting on the dirty floor, you sit down and rest your tired bones.
Shaking his head, you say to the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"I don't think so. But who knows."
The short, scar-eyed templar lifts a shoulder in a shrug.
You say to the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Alright my Lord. I am waiting."
The short, scar-eyed templar opens the door.
The short, scar-eyed templar walks south.
The area is enveloped in darkness.
Someone closes the door from the other side.
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
contact shareyn
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the delicate, ebon-curled woman with the Way.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"No.. No one."
A small window on the cell door opens, flooding the room with light before closing again.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"Forgive the delay in the answer, I was a little busy near dying."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"Hmm.. By the way, have I told you are very beautiful?"
You get a leather-strapped green glow-crystal from a black skull-studded greatcloak.
It is very light.
You light a leather-strapped green glow-crystal.
The area is filled with a green light.
You fasten a shining leather-strapped green glow-crystal around your right ankle.
The Dungeons of Allanak [S]
The solid stone walls of this massive chamber rise up twenty cords, to
accommodate the larger criminals of the city's streets. The floor has
been laid with the same stone used in making the walls, and is covered
with decades, possibly centuries, of filth. There are no furnishings
here, nor any windows for lighting.
Several tiny, dead cockroaches are here.
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
You stop using a shining leather-strapped green glow-crystal.
You extinguish a shining leather-strapped green glow-crystal.
The area is enveloped in darkness.
You put something inside a black skull-studded greatcloak.
The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
"..."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"Anyway.. Maybe I don't die. But to answer your question.."
The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
"Is your situation better?"
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"No. We have no contract on Sophie."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"My situation? Not very much. But a little."
You are getting hungry.
The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
"What would you want to not accept any?"
A small irrig beetle hovers along the ceiling, splashing the walls with a faint green light before flitting away.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"Accept what? Offer?"
A tiny, brown cockroach scuttles to the middle of the floor, stops, then falls over dead.
The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
"Yes. It is possible someone will come and ask. I want Sophie alive."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"Forgive my curiosity.. I don't usually ask it but, this is a dying man's wish yes? What do you mean exactly? Who will come and why?"
The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
"I think there are two important man who might want to see her dead. Lord Templar Malenthis
might be a one of them."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"For what? Just to give a kick on Haadith?"
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"And is the other one Veralius?"
The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
"Yes."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"Yes to what?"
The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
"Yes, the second one could be my Lord Cousin Veralius."
The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
"I want Sophie alive. So I thought pay for her protection might be a good step."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"The usual protection payment, we can count for her. Since she is additional head, and is no advisor, we will ask for an additional one large per year."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"Sound good?"
The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
"Yes."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"Good. Next time the time for renewing the deal comes, you better add it and say the reason to the collector."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"If I die, the one after me will still hold onto the deal."
The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
"How is your dying going?"
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"Hmm.. A little slow and boring I should say."
The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
"I meant... do not you want to share the story? Maybe I can do something..."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"Well.. You can.. Maybe."
Piercing wails of torment flood into the cell from one nearby.
The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
"Mhmmm?"
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"Malenthis has half the mind to kill me, the other half is making a deal. Though, after I complete his deal.."
You are getting hungry.
A group of shuffling footsteps moves by the door of the cell.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"He still might consider killing."
The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
"What kind of deal is that?"
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"If you want me alive, I don't know if you do, you can give him the idea maybe.. That there are somethings I have done and doing for you maybe. I am not sure if it will work at all. Maybe you should just watch. Both works."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"Ahh.. Nothing. Just killing Haadith."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"He wants it today."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"I still like you either way, my Lady."
The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
"Well... why your superiors do not do something?"
The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
"If he decides to make a deal with you, cannot you... avoid him?"
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"My superiors are probably into someting now. They will do something after I die eventually. Guess it will be still convenient but a little late."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"Oh.. I can kill Haadith. Today."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"The thing is, he can kill me after the delivery of the head."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"The fun part of the dealings with templars is that. They always have a surprise in their sleeves."
The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
"Umm... question is... why will you deliver the head yourself?"
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"Hmm.. Good question. I don't know."
The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
"You know where Haadith is?"
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"Hmm.. Kind of."
The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
"And Malenthis knows you do?"
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"Yes. You are on the right track."
The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
"Which is the reason he wants you to die? Or is there anything else?"
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"There is a little more detail too, but we can pretty much say that is the reason."
The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
"Hmm,,"
The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
"Irritating."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"Oh.. I would not want someone beautiful like you to be irritated my Lady."
The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
"I would not want someone capable like you to die for a stupidity, Serpent."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"I am flattered, my Lady. Thank you."
You are hungry.
You think:
"Need to eat."
A small window on the cell door opens, flooding the room with light before closing again.
You dissolve the psychic link.
Someone opens the door from the other side.
Someone closes the door.
Darkness
Total darkness surrounds you, preventing you from seeing anything
at all. You have trouble telling where you put your feet when you walk.
A male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"An interesting little enforcer you have there, Serpent."
Blinking his eyes as the darkness resettles, you say, in sirihish:
"Hmm? He is."
The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
"Oh well. I will wish you luck. I am not sure what can I do more right now... hmmm... I will try something, though."
A male voice asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Tell me...what will you be doing, now that he's taken over your crew?"
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
You say, in sirihish:
"I am already doing what I will be doing. Supervising him."
A male voice asks, in southern-accented sirihish:
"And I imagine a few other crews at that, hmm?"
A male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"He seems to think that what the Templarate is doing is a mistake."
You ask, in sirihish:
"Oh?"
Nodding slightly, a male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Yes. He seems to think if we attack the Guild...many will die, all over."
A male voice asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Do you have a similar point of view?"
Bobbing his head slightly, you ask, in sirihish:
"Well.. Kind of. That is why I just said to go on the easier way, have not I?"
A male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Mmm. Indeed."
Shrugging his shoulders in the darkness, you say, in sirihish:
"My idea."
A male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Yes. Which is why I'm so hestant to go with it."
A male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Afterall, my orders remain...and I've managed to to capture -two- notorious Guilders in one afternoon."
A male voice asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Perhaps I should skip it, and go on to the torture and death part?"
A commanding voice echoes through the shadows outside the cell, followed by cries of pain and
several cracks of a whip.
Pursing his lips, you say, in sirihish:
"Well.. I am sure it will be amusing. To torture two people, and have fun. But I think you are smarter than that."
You say, in sirihish:
"You can always have your fun with easy targets."
You say, in sirihish:
"But not all of them can give you your target."
A male voice says, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Indeed."
A male voice says, in southern-accented sirihish:
"I'll give you half of a week to bring me his head."
Leaning back and resting his head over the dirty wall, you ask, in sirihish:
"Come now my Lord. Do you really believe you need some deadline to make sure what you want?"
A male voice says, in southern-accented sirihish:
"After that...I'm not certain that my generous protection will be able to hold out...and Rocker - and any other Guilders I find - may begin paying."
You say, in sirihish:
"I will give you today."
A male voice says, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Oh, good. Well, lets get started, then."
Someone lights something.
The area is filled with a yellow light.
The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
"That is me, Serpent. I was just wondering how are you doing."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the delicate, ebon-curled woman with the Way.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"Still debating if I should die or live my Lady. How are you doing?"
You dissolve the psychic link.
The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
"Sitting in a garden and enjoying weather."
The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
"I am honestly curious if you will get away or not."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the delicate, ebon-curled woman with the Way.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"Sounds delicius."
The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
"Oh yes, I bet you would like to be here too."
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
"-Relief flooding her thoughts- Krath, love.."
The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
"Nice spot to see people wandering around without be seen."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"I love the sound of it."
The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
"Hmm... yes. Indeed."
Smiling thinly, the short, scar-eyed templar asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Shall we?"
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"Oh.. I think I am moving."
You dissolve the psychic link.
You stop resting, and stand up.
You start trying to listen.
The short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"I'll leave you to go...track down your prey."
You now follow the short, scar-eyed templar.
The short, scar-eyed templar pardons you of your crimes.
The short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Your weapons...describe them to me, and I'll see that you get them back."
You say to the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Hmm.. A few throwing knives, dyed in black. One short spear. One crystalline longknife, made of salt worm tooth."
The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
"Moving? There are few things I can see under that word."
Wiping his face, you say to the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Oh.. Nice meeting you again, by the way, my Lord."
The short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"The feeling is very mutual. I do hope a minimally bloody resolution can be found."
The short, scar-eyed templar nods at you.
The short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"The guards will see you out. I'll fetch the knives."
The short, scar-eyed templar stops leading the pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man.
You say to the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"There are a few more I guess.. But I am not worried about them."
The short, scar-eyed templar opens the door.
The short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Ahh, fine then. I'll just see you out."
The short, scar-eyed templar walks south.
A human Allanaki soldier walks south.
The half-giant soldier walks south.
The surly, half-giant jailer opens the cell door, and you are hauled out.
Allanaki Jail [NESW]
Large blocks of red stone make up the walls of this building, the same
type used to make the city walls most certainly, since they look so similar.
This center room of the building is totally devoid of furnishings, save a wide
bench along the east wall. Cells lie to the north and south, both of which
issue forth the smell of filth and rot.
A half-giant soldier of Tektolnes walks along here.
The short, scar-eyed templar is standing here.
A human soldier of Tektolnes walks along here.
A surly, half-giant member of the Allanaki militia is here, acting as jailer.
The surly, half-giant jailer closes and locks the cell door, and motions to a soldier.
A soldier grabs the pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man around the arm, and escorts him to the west.
A soldier takes you by the arm, and escorts you to the gate.
Templars' Way [NSW]
Templars' Way stretches north and south through the very heart of the
crowded city. The road is made of large, black-colored stones that are
covered with dust, dung, and other unsavory materials. It passes under the
Arena's morbid shadow, a gigantic structure standing to the east. Bustling
with activity, the Commoners' Quarter lies to the west. Crowds pass along
the street, hurrying on errands and avoiding the keen-eyed glances of the
templars and soldiers who use this way.
Directly south stands the gate to the Templars' quarter, its carved
stone form arching overhead. West Dragon's Path runs along a wall that
stretches to the west, enclosing the Templar's quarter and separating it
from the noise and filth of the Commoners' quarter, which lies to the
northwest.
A human soldier of Tektolnes stands here, guarding the Templar Quarter.
The tall, slight man is standing here.
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man blinks.
You are already standing.
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man scratches his head.
You slow down and start moving carefully.
Stinging sand swirls around you.
Templars' Way [NS]
Templars' Way stretches north and south through the very heart of the
crowded city. The road is made of large, black-colored stones that are
covered with dust, dung, and other unsavory materials. It passes under the
Arena's morbid shadow, a gigantic structure standing to the east. Bustling
with activity, the Commoners' Quarter lies to the west. Crowds pass along
the street, hurrying on errands and avoiding the keen-eyed glances of the
templars and soldiers who use this way.
A branded, heavily-scarred mul moves down the road, looking determined.
The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
"-Her thoughts filled with emotion- I -love- -you-. PLEASE keep.. alive."
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Thus Serpent is released to hunt down his old friend, and thus get his best man to be released. There is little time, and little choice.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Submitter's note:
This log is the second part of the story of the fall of Templar Haadith
Oash of Allanak. In his time, Haadith Oash was a rather
short-tempered, or one may call,...
Continue Reading...
