Original Submissions by Taven
-
Fecked a Fruit
Added on Dec 29, 2009This is the craziest party (with the possible exception of a certain Fale party) any of my PCs has ever attended. It's so crazy, you have to consent to read it. Just be glad you're not the fruit.
It’s a long log, to get you into the mood of the scene. I apologize for the crappy formatting, but it’s the crazy Arm Original Submissions doing it, not me.
-------
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man has arrived from the north.
At your table, the burn-scarred, curly-haired man says in sirihish, glancing around:
"Discard if ya've still got a card, mates, an' here we go."
Calling over, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette says to the gaunt, grungy-bearded man, in sirihish:
"Cactus, grab a drink, but no getting drunk."
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man deals himself a Kruth card.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man deals a Kruth card to the slender, obsidian-eyed man.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man deals a Kruth card to the willowy, grey-streaked man.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man deals a Kruth card to the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man deals a Kruth card to the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man deals a Kruth card to the rugged, dusk-toned man.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man deals a Kruth card: the Sun of Life to you.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man deals a Kruth card to the scarred, ebony-haired woman.
Rolling his eyes, the willowy, grey-streaked man discards his Kruth card: the Water of Death.
At your table, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette says in sirihish, eyeing her card solemnly:
"Damn."
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man deals a Kruth card to the willowy, grey-streaked man.
At your table, the scarred, ebony-haired woman says in sirihish, tossing her Kruth card: the Wind of Deceit to the table:
"New one, Farran."
The rugged, dusk-toned man grins a large grin, glancing down to his card.
The slender, hack-haired man smiles at your card.
At your table, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette says in sirihish, pointing at the willowy, grey-streaked man:
"Makarim!"
The scarred, ebony-haired woman discards her Kruth card: the Wind of Deceit.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man deals a Kruth card to the scarred, ebony-haired woman.
At your table, the furrowed, stubbled man says in sirihish, to the burn-scarred, curly-haired man:
"Fergot me."
Grunting, the burn-scarred, curly-haired man discards his Kruth card: the Water of Kings.
At your table, the burn-scarred, curly-haired man says in sirihish, glancing to the furrowed, stubbled man:
"Yeah. Who th' fuck are ya, anyway/"
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man salutes the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette and nods obediently as he weaves his way over to a broad table of scarred agafari wood.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man deals himself a Kruth card.
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man gets his small stone shotglass from a broad table of scarred agafari wood.
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man gets his small stone shotglass from a broad table of scarred agafari wood.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man deals a Kruth card to the furrowed, stubbled man.
At your table, the furrowed, stubbled man says in sirihish, with a shrug:
"Jus' some fek. Names Yaroch."
The scarred, ebony-haired woman frowns at her card.
At your table, the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman says in sirihish:
"I'll stay."
Tilting his head back, the gaunt, grungy-bearded man downs his small stone shotglass.
At your table, the burn-scarred, curly-haired man says in sirihish, shrugging:
"Aye, very well. Anyone else?"
At your table, the furrowed, stubbled man says in sirihish:
"Another."
At your table, the burn-scarred, curly-haired man says in sirihish, dipping a nod:
"Gotta discard it first mate."
The furrowed, stubbled man discards his Kruth card: the Wind of Death.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man deals a Kruth card to the furrowed, stubbled man.
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man smacks his lips a few times and eyes his small stone shotglass.
At your table, the burn-scarred, curly-haired man says in sirihish, glancing around:
"Going... goin'... gone. Flip 'em."
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman flips over her Kruth card: the Sun of Fate.
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette absently turns over her Kruth card: the Stone of Death.
The furrowed, stubbled man turns over his Kruth card: the Stone of Truth.
Flipping it over, the scarred, ebony-haired woman discards her Kruth card: the Sun of Deceit.
Grunting, the burn-scarred, curly-haired man discards his Kruth card: the Wind of Truth.
The willowy, grey-streaked man discards his Kruth card: the Sun of Truth.
The slender, obsidian-eyed man discards his Kruth card: the Stone of Fate.
The furrowed, stubbled man discards his Kruth card: the Stone of Truth.
At your table, the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman says in sirihish:
"Safely in tha middle... "
Tossing it down with a large grin, the rugged, dusk-toned man discards his Kruth card: the Stone of Life.
Swallowing hard, the gaunt, grungy-bearded man lifts the second glass and gulps it down unflinchingly.
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man drinks brandy from his small stone shotglass.
At your table, the burn-scarred, curly-haired man says in sirihish, smirking:
"So far, it's Horus winnin' and Laila loosin'."
At your table, the burn-scarred, curly-haired man says in sirihish, shaking his head:
"Jenneth's winnin' that is."
Making a wry face as he eases it back onto the table, the gaunt, grungy-bearded man discards his small stone shotglass.
At your table, the rugged, dusk-toned man says in sirihish, to you, with a frown:
"Well, fuck you."
At your table, you say in sirihish, to the rugged, dusk-toned man with a slight smirk:
"Love to. You pick the place, or should I?"
At your table, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette says in sirihish:
"Turnabout's fair play, Jenneth, what's it to be?"
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man shuffles a deck of Kruth cards.
Stepping over, the gaunt, grungy-bearded man tosses his dark, hooded cloak into a crate half-packed with debris and trash.
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man walks south.
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Anybody got a good idea?"
At your table, the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman says in sirihish:
"Table dance!"
At your table, the willowy, grey-streaked man says in sirihish:
"Regardin' Laila? I got -dozens- of good ideas fer Laila."
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man shuffles a deck of Kruth cards.
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman grins at the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette.
At your table, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette says in sirihish:
"I'm hard to embarrass too, unless Cera's around."
At your table, the rugged, dusk-toned man says in sirihish, to the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman:
"Tha's... yer idea -every- time."
At your table, the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman says in sirihish, to the rugged, dusk-toned man:
"An yer complainin why?"
At your table, you say in sirihish, to the willowy, grey-streaked man with a chuckle:
"Well, spit 'em out. N' no, we don't want to watch more foreplay n' shet with you two."
At your table, the rugged, dusk-toned man says in sirihish, to you:
"Make 'er beat th'piss out've Farran! I want t'watch that sibling rivalry shit."
At your table, the burn-scarred, curly-haired man says in sirihish, pursing his lips:
"I want a story."
At your table, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette says in sirihish, pointing her clay bottle at the willowy, grey-streaked man:
"And I doubt the Sergeant's ideas are legal in public."
At your table, the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman says in sirihish:
"They are, and Fale pays double if they get ta watch."
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman grins at the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette.
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette laughs at the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman.
At your table, the furrowed, stubbled man says in sirihish:
"Who's gonna arrest ya?"
The scarred, ebony-haired woman chuckles, shaking her head.
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman nods to the furrowed, stubbled man.
At your table, the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman says in sirihish:
"Excellent point"
At your table, the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman says in sirihish:
"I won't."
At your table, the willowy, grey-streaked man says in sirihish:
"Like -you- fuckers get to see what I'm gonna do t'Laila later."
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette leans over the edge of the table, still laughing.
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman fans herself, glancing sidelong at the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man wrinkles up his nose.
At your table, the rugged, dusk-toned man says in sirihish, jamming a thumb into his chest:
"My idea is th'best."
At your table, the burn-scarred, curly-haired man says in sirihish, sagely:
"I don't -want- to."
At your table, the rugged, dusk-toned man says in sirihish:
"Siblin' brawl."
At your table, the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman says in sirihish, to the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette:
"I know what yer birthday present is.. Yer gonna be walkin' bowlegged fer weeks."
At your table, the rugged, dusk-toned man says in sirihish, to the burn-scarred, curly-haired man:
"Then don't fight back. Jus' let 'er beat th'fuck out've ya'."
With a wink, the slender, obsidian-eyed man says to the willowy, grey-streaked man, in sirihish:
"You never know who might be watching."
At your table, you say in sirihish, chuckling:
"I agree with Farran. I -don't- want to see that."
At your table, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette says in sirihish, waggling her eyebrows at the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman:
"Let's hope."
At your table, the burn-scarred, curly-haired man says in sirihish, rolling his eyes at the rugged, dusk-toned man:
"Wasn't talkin' about that."
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman grins at the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette.
At your table, the burn-scarred, curly-haired man says in sirihish, peering at you:
"Pick summat."
Pursing his lips, you look at the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette.
The confident carriage of an athletic physique, healthy glow of bronze
skin, and clear gaze of this young woman combine to radiate an aura of
vitality and energy. Tall for a human, her body bears the sleek, taut
musculature of one trained in physical arts, clearly seen in strong
shoulders, sculpted arms, and long, shapely legs. Modest but womanly curves
are accentuated by a slim waist, and she has large, capable hands with
slender fingers. A single lock of brunette hair falling to the left side of
her face has been ornamented with a lustrous strand of small, smoothly
rounded jade beads ranging in hue from dusky to brilliant green; at the end
of this length dangles two slightly larger beads painstakingly carved in the
shapes of a lushly blooming rose and a wickedly barbed thorn. Haphazardly
woven into the remainder of the waving mane that frames her round face is a
fringe of dozens more jade beads which clack gently with movement and gleam
in ambient light. The soft depth of warm brown eyes and sensuous sweep of
wide lips are countered by emphatically dark eyebrows; a straight, firm
nose; and a resolute set to her squared chin. Etched at the corners of
mouth and eyes, faint lines are beginning to give testimony to laughter and
care.
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette is in excellent condition.
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette is using:
<worn in hair> a jade hairclasp
<face> branching fiery temple veins
<worn in left ear> an earring of glittering black glass
<worn in right ear> a small jade earring
<worn around neck> a jet-colored, chitin gorget
<worn about throat> a jade and ebony cross
<slung across back> an obsidian-headed, jade-emblazoned mace
<worn across back> a new jade-emblazoned, hoplite shield
<right shoulder> a black-inked tattoo of a sprawling city
<left shoulder> a wicked jade warrior tattoo
<worn on arms> a pair of black, cloth armbands
<worn around wrist> a tortoiseshell bracer
<worn around wrist> a dragon-carved spiked bracer
<worn on hands> a pair of fine, black suede gloves
<worn on forearms> a dragon-emblazoned armsheath
<worn around body> a black, hooded militia dustcloak
<worn on legs> a jade-trimmed reinforced leather skirt
<right ankle> a small, jade songbird tattoo
<worn on left ankle> an obsidian anklet set with jade studs
<worn on feet> a pair of polished, black leather boots
She is carrying:
nothing obvious
At your table, the rugged, dusk-toned man says in sirihish, nodding:
"Oh. A'right, then."
At your table, the rugged, dusk-toned man says in sirihish, to you:
"My idea's th'best, y'know."
At your table, the willowy, grey-streaked man says in sirihish:
"Let's have somethin' Jenneth."
The dapper, pony-tailed woman has arrived from the south.
The sinewy, emerald-eyed man has arrived from the south.
At your table, the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman says in sirihish:
"Jes don' make me think again.. that hurt"
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman grins.
At your table, you say in sirihish, waving a hand to the burn-scarred, curly-haired man:
"'S goin' to be a table dance. I'd make it a table -strip- dance, but the feckin' Gith won't go for that, eh?"
Tipping it back, the burn-scarred, curly-haired man drinks brandy from his small stone shotglass.
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman grins.
At your table, the burn-scarred, curly-haired man says in sirihish, smirking:
"I wouldn't go for a strip dance. Since it's my sister an' all."
You get your small portion of a small roasted erdlu breast from your pouched belt.
It is very light.
At your table, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette says in sirihish, looking down at herself:
"I could take off my cloak...weapons...shield...but yeah."
At your table, the willowy, grey-streaked man says in sirihish, to you:
"Think you was mistaken. Think you meant to say that there's no way you'd ask her to strip."
Pacing through the crowd behind the sinewy, emerald-eyed man, the dapper, pony-tailed woman claims the chair him draws back for her at a round, blue-painted table and settles down, crossing her legs)
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman thumps a booted foot against the floor to set a steady beat for the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette.
The dapper, pony-tailed woman sits at a round, blue-painted table.
At your table, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette says in sirihish, nodding to you:
"Highly recommend that's what you meant to say."
At your table, the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman says in sirihish:
"No threatenin when we're playin!"
The rugged, dusk-toned man snickers, shaking his head.
Tilting his head back, the sinewy, weather-worn man drinks ale from his miniature barrel.
At your table, the burn-scarred, curly-haired man says in sirihish, chuckling:
"Jenneth's just fond of strip dance in general for some reason. I doubt it has anythin' to do with Laila doin' it."
At your table, the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman says in sirihish:
"Jen made NADIM strip.. tha man's got no limits."
Scraping her chair back, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette stands up from a broad table of scarred agafari wood.
Pushing back in his chair, the sinewy, weather-worn man stands up from a wobbly baobab table.
At your table, you say in sirihish, chuckling:
"Nadim -did- get to keep his pants on."
As she straightens, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette says to the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman, in sirihish:
"Tell Cactus he can have my chair, I'll sit on the Sergeant's lap. When I'm done."
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman nods to the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette.
At your table, the furrowed, stubbled man says in sirihish, nodding to you:
"Ya got the right idea, Jenneth."
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette steps up on her chair, placing a booted foot firmly, and then onto a broad table of scarred agafari wood.
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman keeps thumping out a rhythm, pounding a heel against the floor.
Leaving it behind on a wobbly baobab table, the sinewy, weather-worn man discards his miniature barrel.
With a glance from the northern archway, the gaunt, ivory-toned lad looks down at the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman.
With a flick of a gloved hand, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette sweeps her black, hooded militia dustcloak over her shoulders and catches a fistful of it.
The scarred, ebony-haired woman claps her hands, matching the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman's heel thumps.
The willowy, grey-streaked man leans back in his chair and folds his arms over his chest, looking up at the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette with a grin.
With a squint as a head breaks the usual swarm of patrons, the dapper, pony-tailed woman looks towards the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette with a curious eye expression.
The sinewy, weather-worn man steps forward through the tavern, slowly making his way to a broad table of scarred agafari wood.
Matching the rhythm, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette smiles down at the willowy, grey-streaked man as she clicks bootheels on a broad table of scarred agafari wood, keeping her gaze on him as she turns in a slow circle.
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman drinks brandy from her small stone shotglass.
Tossing it back onto the table after slamming it down, the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman discards her small stone shotglass.
The sinewy, weather-worn man places a hand on the back of the rugged, dusk-toned man's chair and crouches down to his level.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man pounds the table with the side of his fist, in rythym with the other encouragements.
Twisting her hand, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette sweeps her black, hooded militia dustcloak out to brush toward the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman's face as she turns, heels pounding out the rhythm on the table.
At your table, the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman says in sirihish, adding loud clapping to the steady thump of her heel:
"OOOH! Tha's our Laila, if her blade won' kill ya, her sexiness .. or jealous mate.. will."
Still watching the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette, the willowy, grey-streaked man gets his small stone shotglass from a broad table of scarred agafari wood.
At your table, the willowy, grey-streaked man says in sirihish:
"Probably th' last one."
The willowy, grey-streaked man drinks brandy from his small stone shotglass.
The furrowed, stubbled man pats his knee in time, his head bobbing up and down.
At your table, the scarred, ebony-haired woman says in sirihish, calling out:
"Work it, Laila!"
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette laughs and slides a foot forward, tapping her heel and then continuing her turn with a sinuous swing of her hips.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man covers his eyes.
The slender, hack-haired man chuckles at the burn-scarred, curly-haired man.
Arching her arms over her head and clapping along with the rhythm, gloved palms thudding quietly, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette asks the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman, in sirihish:
"Am I done yet?"
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man has arrived from the north.
The scarred, ebony-haired woman giggles and reaches out to pat the burn-scarred, curly-haired man shoulder.
At your table, the willowy, grey-streaked man says in sirihish, to the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette:
"I reckon you are. Git down here."
At your table, the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman says in sirihish, with a grin up at the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette:
"Jen made tha terms.. gotta ask him!"
At your table, the burn-scarred, curly-haired man says in sirihish, from behind his hands:
"Please be done!"
Weaving through the crowds, the gaunt, grungy-bearded man moves over to a broad table of scarred agafari wood.
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman laughs at the burn-scarred, curly-haired man.
Casting a glance to the archway, the dapper, pony-tailed woman looks up at the gaunt, grungy-bearded man.
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man sits at a broad table of scarred agafari wood.
The slender, obsidian-eyed man's head wavers slightly, his eyes squeezing shut in pain.
The furrowed, stubbled man chuckles.
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette stomps her feet a last time, then hops down from a broad table of scarred agafari wood next to the willowy, grey-streaked man.
At your table, you say in sirihish, chuckling:
"Alright, you're done, if only for Farran's sake."
Sliding it back onto a round, blue-painted table, the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman discards her clay bottle.
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man glances thoughtfully down at the collection of shotglasses then shakes his head with a faint grunt.
At your table, the burn-scarred, curly-haired man says in sirihish, with a happy sigh:
"Thanks Jen. Alright, next round? All cards been discarded?"
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette settles sideways on the willowy, grey-streaked man's lap and hooks an arm around his shoulders.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man shuffles a deck of Kruth cards.
At your table, the burn-scarred, curly-haired man says in sirihish, nodding firmly:
"Next round. Hup!"
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man deals himself a Kruth card.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man deals a Kruth card to the slender, obsidian-eyed man.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man deals a Kruth card to the willowy, grey-streaked man.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man deals a Kruth card to the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man deals a Kruth card to the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man deals a Kruth card to the rugged, dusk-toned man.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man deals a Kruth card: the Wind of Truth to you.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man deals a Kruth card to the scarred, ebony-haired woman.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man deals a Kruth card to the furrowed, stubbled man.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man deals a Kruth card to the gaunt, grungy-bearded man.
The willowy, grey-streaked man wraps a long arm around the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette's waist, snagging a card with his free hand.
At your table, the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman says in sirihish:
"I'll stay"
At your table, the burn-scarred, curly-haired man says in sirihish, rpusing his lips:
"Keepin'."
At your table, the rugged, dusk-toned man says in sirihish:
"Keepin'."
Wordlessly, the slender, obsidian-eyed man rises to his feet, moving hurriedly into the plaza.
At your table, the rugged, dusk-toned man says in sirihish:
"Actually.."
The willowy, grey-streaked man discards his Kruth card: the Stone of Deceit.
Tossing it away, the rugged, dusk-toned man discards his Kruth card: the Stone of Fate.
At your table, the rugged, dusk-toned man says in sirihish:
"What th'hell? Another."
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man deals a Kruth card to the willowy, grey-streaked man.
At your table, the scarred, ebony-haired woman says in sirihish:
"New one, please"
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man deals a Kruth card to the rugged, dusk-toned man.
The scarred, ebony-haired woman discards her Kruth card: the Water of Truth.
At your table, the gaunt, grungy-bearded man says in sirihish, glancing down at his card:
"I dunno how to play."
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man deals a Kruth card to the scarred, ebony-haired woman.
At your table, the willowy, grey-streaked man says in sirihish:
"Not bad. Not bad."
At your table, the furrowed, stubbled man says in sirihish:
"I'll stay. Don't have a clue which is fekin' which, but it looks alright."
The scarred, ebony-haired woman frowns intently at her card.
At your table, the rugged, dusk-toned man says in sirihish, snickering:
"MUCH better."
At your table, the burn-scarred, curly-haired man says in sirihish, glancing to the gaunt, grungy-bearded man:
"Ranks are Life, Truth, Fate, Kings, Deceit, and Death. Suits are Wind, Sun, Stone, and Water. Ranks before suits."
At your table, the burn-scarred, curly-haired man says in sirihish, raising his finger:
"You can discard once."
At your table, you say in sirihish, with an appreicatve nod to the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette:
"You do a nice dance. You dance often? Not, of course, that I'm suggestin' -anythin'-, Sarge."
[Background: Jenneth loves to dance, it's one of his passions, so he's actually not suggesting anything by it]
The rugged, dusk-toned man discards his Kruth card: the Wind of Death.
At your table, the rugged, dusk-toned man says in sirihish:
"I think I lose."
At your table, the gaunt, grungy-bearded man says in sirihish, glancing at the burn-scarred, curly-haired man:
"They any 'sid involved?"
Flipping it onto the table, the willowy, grey-streaked man discards his Kruth card: the Sun of Truth.
At your table, the willowy, grey-streaked man says in sirihish:
"That's mine."
At your table, the burn-scarred, curly-haired man says in sirihish, shaking his head:
"Nah, just dares. Flip!"
Tossing it to the table, the scarred, ebony-haired woman discards her Kruth card: the Wind of Deceit.
Pointing at the burn-scarred, curly-haired man, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette says to you, in sirihish:
"We used to see the Arabeti dance at Luir's. I learned a bit then."
Flipping it, the burn-scarred, curly-haired man discards his Kruth card: the Water of Kings.
The furrowed, stubbled man turns over his Kruth card: the Sun of Life.
Flipping it, you discard your Kruth card: the Wind of Truth.
The furrowed, stubbled man discards his Kruth card: the Sun of Life.
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man discards his Kruth card: the Water of Death.
Turning it over, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette discards her Kruth card: the Water of Fate.
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man slides the card back to the burn-scarred, curly-haired man and makes a beckoning motion.
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette laughs and points to the gaunt, grungy-bearded man, shaking her head.
At your table, the rugged, dusk-toned man says in sirihish, to the gaunt, grungy-bearded man:
"Fuck you. I want t'win, or lose, or SOMETHIN'."
At your table, the burn-scarred, curly-haired man says in sirihish, chuckling:
"Yaroch's on top, Cactus lost."
At your table, the gaunt, grungy-bearded man says in sirihish:
"We can't trade in a card?"
At your table, the scarred, ebony-haired woman says in sirihish, laughing:
"I'm with Horus. I want -something- to happen."
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man looks at the rugged, dusk-toned man.
At your table, the burn-scarred, curly-haired man says in sirihish, wryly:
"Ya missed th' deadline, mate."
Uncrossing her legs to rise, the dapper, pony-tailed woman stands up from a round, blue-painted table.
At your table, the furrowed, stubbled man says in sirihish:
"Well I'll be. Who's cactus?"
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man points to the gaunt, grungy-bearded man.
Lightly rubbing at her temple and giving a grunt, the dapper, pony-tailed woman moves towards the northern plaza, the sinewy, emerald-eyed man in tow.
The dapper, pony-tailed woman walks north.
The sinewy, emerald-eyed man walks north.
At your table, the gaunt, grungy-bearded man says in sirihish, showing his nasty teeth with a half grin:
"I can think of a few somethins for you t'do, sir Kurac."
The caramel, alabaster-haired woman walks north.
At your table, the rugged, dusk-toned man says in sirihish, waggling his brows at the scarred, ebony-haired woman:
"I make shit happen."
At your table, the burn-scarred, curly-haired man says in sirihish, chuckling:
"You should make 'im kiss Horus. Since Horus almost lost. An' he sucks at kissin'."
At your table, the burn-scarred, curly-haired man says in sirihish, smirking:
"With tongue, I might add."
At your table, the rugged, dusk-toned man says in sirihish, to the burn-scarred, curly-haired man:
"I don't suck at kissin'. I suck at kissin' when I'm piss drunk, an' kissin' YOU."
At your table, the burn-scarred, curly-haired man says in sirihish, rolling his eyes:
"As far as I know, ya fuckin' suck at kissin' worse than anyone I've ever kissed in m' life, and ya haven't proven otherwise yet."
The furrowed, stubbled man gets his fleshy blue fruit from his dusty bone-studded backpack.
At your table, the furrowed, stubbled man says in sirihish:
"I want Cactus here ta stand up, and in front'a the bar seduce this here fruit like it was the hottest fekin' woman he's ever seen."
The slender, hack-haired man bursts into laughter.
The furrowed, stubbled man tosses his fleshy blue fruit to the gaunt, grungy-bearded man.
The rugged, dusk-toned man chortles, shaking his head.
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man looks at the furrowed, stubbled man.
The willowy, grey-streaked man laughs loudly, putting a hand to his stomach.
At your table, the scarred, ebony-haired woman says in sirihish, chuckling:
"This should be interesting."
At your table, the willowy, grey-streaked man says in sirihish:
"Fuckin' -right-, lad."
At your table, the rugged, dusk-toned man says in sirihish:
"It'll pro'lly be th'prettiest thing he's ever seduced."
At your table, the gaunt, grungy-bearded man says in sirihish, eyeing the furrowed, stubbled man dubiously:
"The most extent of seducin' I ever done, fella, is passin' twenty sid to a whore."
At your table, the furrowed, stubbled man says in sirihish:
"Then this should be good."
At your table, the rugged, dusk-toned man says in sirihish, to the gaunt, grungy-bearded man, flatly:
"Jus' stick yer dick in it, then."
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman chuckles.
The scarred, ebony-haired woman snickers.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man shuffles a deck of Kruth cards.
At your table, the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman says in sirihish:
"Fek it an cheat it of half tha sid afterwards then."
The furrowed, stubbled man leans back, watching the gaunt, grungy-bearded man.
Calling over, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette exclaims to the reedy, sorrel-skinned woman, in sirihish:
"Cera! It's my birthday, have a drink, damnit!"
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette waves to some glasses on a broad table of scarred agafari wood.
At your table, the gaunt, grungy-bearded man says in sirihish, looking at the rugged, dusk-toned man, eyes slivering:
"I ain't about to fuck no fuckin' fruit in front've the whole fuckin tavern, fella. Have another drink."
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man stands up from a broad table of scarred agafari wood.
Smiling, the reedy, sorrel-skinned woman asks the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Wull no shit, yeh an adult yet ya pretta thin'?"
The reedy, sorrel-skinned woman pushes away from a boxy wooden bar.
As he holds up his fleshy blue fruit, clearing his voice, the gaunt, grungy-bearded man says, in sirihish:
"Hey, scumbag."
Waggling her eyebrows, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette says to the reedy, sorrel-skinned woman, in sirihish:
"I'm all woman, Cera."
At your table, the rugged, dusk-toned man says in sirihish, shrugging:
"I've done worse."
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man bursts out laughing.
With a dramatic sigh as she moves to the table, the reedy, sorrel-skinned woman says to the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Don' ah wish ah knew."
Addressing his fleshy blue fruit with a dour, coarse voice, the gaunt, grungy-bearded man says, in sirihish:
"Fifty sid? You gotta be smokin' some've that bad shit, y'nasty fuckin wench. Twenty 'sid or I'm takin' this cock further on down the road."
The scarred, ebony-haired woman watches the gaunt, grungy-bearded man, chuckling.
At your table, the furrowed, stubbled man says in sirihish:
"Cactus get all the ladies with that line I bet."
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman chuckles.
The willowy, grey-streaked man laughs.
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette bursts into a laugh at the gaunt, grungy-bearded man.
At your table, the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman says in sirihish:
"yeah.. he's a real ladies man"
The slender, hack-haired man chuckles.
Smiling and tipping her head, the reedy, sorrel-skinned woman says to the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"ah'll be back. Got an erran' ta run."
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man pounds his fist on a broad table of scarred agafari wood, laughing uproariously.
The rugged, dusk-toned man suddenly bursts into a laugh, watching the gaunt, grungy-bearded man.
Nodding, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette says to the reedy, sorrel-skinned woman, in sirihish:
"'s'fine."
Lobbing his fleshy blue fruit over to the furrowed, stubbled man, the gaunt, grungy-bearded man grins nastily and retakes his seat.
Tossing it at the head of a passing half-elf and missing, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette discards her clay bottle.
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man gives his fleshy blue fruit to the furrowed, stubbled man.
At your table, the rugged, dusk-toned man says in sirihish, to the gaunt, grungy-bearded man:
"Shoulda' fucked it."
At your table, the furrowed, stubbled man says in sirihish:
"No he shouldn'a...I wanna still eat this."
The willowy, grey-streaked man says to the gaunt, grungy-bearded man, in sirihish:
"Real good, Cactus. Real good."
At your table, the scarred, ebony-haired woman says in sirihish, grinning at the rugged, dusk-toned man:
"At least the fruit would've enjoyed -that-, I think."
At your table, the gaunt, grungy-bearded man says in sirihish, eyeing the rugged, dusk-toned man:
"Three small and I'll even fuck it in the ass."
At your table, the rugged, dusk-toned man says in sirihish, to the furrowed, stubbled man:
"You woulda' ate it still."
At your table, the rugged, dusk-toned man says in sirihish, to the gaunt, grungy-bearded man:
"Two small an' it's a deal."
The rugged, dusk-toned man opens a dusty expansive, crimson-fist emblazoned backpack.
At your table, the gaunt, grungy-bearded man says in sirihish:
"Two and a half."
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman chuckles.
The scarred, ebony-haired woman shakes her head.
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man eyes the rugged, dusk-toned man shrewdly.
At your table, the rugged, dusk-toned man says in sirihish, nodding:
"A'right."
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man stands up from a broad table of scarred agafari wood.
The rugged, dusk-toned man pulls a bag from his pack, grinning.
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man says to the furrowed, stubbled man, in sirihish:
"Hey, I need that fruit."
[Another game round has started, and he strives to get people's attention...]
At your table, the rugged, dusk-toned man says in sirihish, shaking his head:
"WAIT! Cactus is gonna fuck th'fruit."
Dubiously, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette asks the gaunt, grungy-bearded man, in sirihish:
"How are you going to fuck a fruit in the ass?"
At your table, the rugged, dusk-toned man says in sirihish:
"For two an' a half small."
The scarred, ebony-haired woman blushes, then blinks.
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman nods to the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette.
Extending his mangled hand, the gaunt, grungy-bearded man says to the rugged, dusk-toned man, in sirihish:
"My mammy didn't raise no fool; I need that sid up front."
At your table, the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman says in sirihish:
"I have ta say.. was thinkin' tha same thing."
The rugged, dusk-toned man asks the gaunt, grungy-bearded man, in sirihish:
"How're y'gonna do it?"
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man says to the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette, in sirihish:
"Like a savage fuckin beast, sir."
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man asks the rugged, dusk-toned man, in sirihish:
"What, don't ya'll Kuraci ever fuck in the ass?"
Bursting into a laugh, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette buries her face against the willowy, grey-streaked man's shoulder.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man again bursts into uproarious laughter.
At your table, the furrowed, stubbled man says in sirihish, looking down at the fruit:
"Fek, yer a juicy one too. At least he'll enjoy it."
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man says, in sirihish:
"All's you gotta do is turn it around and do it from behind."
Smirking, the rugged, dusk-toned man says to the gaunt, grungy-bearded man, in sirihish:
"A'right. "
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman slaps a palm against the table, laughing hard enough to almost lose her seat.
Tossing the sack over, the rugged, dusk-toned man gives some coins to the gaunt, grungy-bearded man.
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man shrugs his gangly shoulders helplessly, callous hand still extended toward the rugged, dusk-toned man.
The rugged, dusk-toned man opens a dusty expansive, crimson-fist emblazoned backpack.
The rugged, dusk-toned man puts his pile of allanaki coins into his dusty expansive, crimson-fist emblazoned backpack.
The furrowed, stubbled man gives his fleshy blue fruit to the gaunt, grungy-bearded man.
At your table, the willowy, grey-streaked man says in sirihish:
"I ain't sure I want to see this."
Amusedly, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette says, in sirihish:
"I thought the boot-licking was good, but -this- is -good-."
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man gets his small stone shotglass from a round, blue-painted table.
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man gets his small stone shotglass from a round, blue-painted table.
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man gets his small stone shotglass from a round, blue-painted table.
At your table, the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman says in sirihish:
"I think I'm about ta be scarred fer life."
The rugged, dusk-toned man watches the gaunt, grungy-bearded man, leaning back.
Patting her chest, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette says to the willowy, grey-streaked man, in sirihish:
"I'll hide your eyes for you. Sir."
At your table, the scarred, ebony-haired woman says in sirihish, grinning at the gaunt, grungy-bearded man:
"Be nice...this is the fruit's first time, ya know."
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man scowls and rummages around the table for a full glass.
At your table, the willowy, grey-streaked man says in sirihish, to the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette:
"Might be you'll have to."
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man stares at the gaunt, grungy-bearded man with full interest.
At your table, the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman says in sirihish:
"No wonder he's fekkin' tha fruit.. if he drank that many shotglasses."
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette says, in sirihish:
"He better not have, I told him not to get drunk."
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man tilts his chin up and drains his small stone shotglass with a bit've a flinch.
At your table, the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman says in sirihish:
"Cactus.. leave some fer tha rest of us ya fekkin' greedy shit."
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar has arrived from the north.
The rugged, dusk-toned man exclaims to the gaunt, grungy-bearded man, in sirihish:
"Get to it!"
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman glances at the rugged, stubble-bearded templar and doubles over in laughter, trying to stand and salute but laughing so hard she misses her chest.
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man places his new stained spiky helmet on his head.
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette says, in sirihish:
"I hope this isn't how long it usually takes him."
At your table, the furrowed, stubbled man says in sirihish:
"S'called foreplay"
The willowy, grey-streaked man asks the gaunt, grungy-bearded man, in sirihish:
"You havin' trouble gettin' it up, lad?"
Unstrapping his stained leather swordbelt, the gaunt, grungy-bearded man drops his leggings to his knees.
At your table, the furrowed, stubbled man says in sirihish:
"You saw how he seduced it...what ya expect?"
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette eases up off of the willowy, grey-streaked man's lap, bows and salutes to the rugged, stubble-bearded templar, and then settles down again.
At your table, the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman says in sirihish:
"In front of tha Lord.. templar...."
The scarred, ebony-haired woman exclaims to the gaunt, grungy-bearded man, in sirihish:
"Let's see some action!"
The willowy, grey-streaked man says to the gaunt, grungy-bearded man, in sirihish:
"Try talkin' dirty to it."
Staring fascinatedly at the gaunt, grungy-bearded man, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette says, in sirihish:
"He's really gonna do it."
The slender, hack-haired man chuckles.
At your table, the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman says in sirihish, idly to the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette:
"Won' hurt the fruit that much from tha looks of it."
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man says, out of character:
"Consent needed."
The rugged, dusk-toned man says, out of character:
"yes, rofl."
The scarred, ebony-haired woman stands and gives a slightly off-balance bow to the rugged, stubble-bearded templar before retaking her seat.
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar says, out of character:
"Ooh, me me! What am I consenting to again?"
The furrowed, stubbled man says, out of character:
"Given"
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman says, out of character:
"go for it, that's my call."
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man says, out of character:
"Uh, yeah."
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette says, out of character:
"Go ahead."
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man says, out of character:
"Fruit sex."
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman says, out of character:
"You'll see :)"
Snickering, the rugged, dusk-toned man says to the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette, in sirihish:
"I -did- pay for th'shit."
The scarred, ebony-haired woman says, out of character:
"Go for it!"
You say, out of character:
"Given."
The reedy, sorrel-skinned woman says, out of character:
"yay for consent"
Tilting her head as she stares at the gaunt, grungy-bearded man, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette asks the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman, in sirihish:
"Is that all of it?"
At your table, the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman says in sirihish, tilting her head sideways:
"I think so..."
The willowy, grey-streaked man says, out of character:
"I'm not sure the fruit is consenting... but go for it."
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar pauses in the entryway, trying to make sense of the scene.
After playing with himself for a moment, the gaunt, grungy-bearded man manages a rather feeble erection.
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette tilts her head even farther, staring blatantly at the gaunt, grungy-bearded man and the hapless fruit.
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man grunts and shoves his thumb deeply into his fleshy blue fruit, pushing a hole out through the other side.
The furrowed, stubbled man shakes his head silently watching the gaunt, grungy-bearded man.
The scarred, ebony-haired woman snorts in laughter, watching the gaunt, grungy-bearded man with the fruit.
At your table, the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman says in sirihish:
"Shit.. the whores tha been chargin' him twenty sid been overchargin' tha man."
The rugged, dusk-toned man watches the gaunt, grungy-bearded man quite closely, laughing the whole time.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man stands from his chair, staring at the gaunt, grungy-bearded man with a can't-look-away-fascination written on his face.
In an artifically high voice, the willowy, grey-streaked man exclaims, in sirihish:
"No! Please! Aiee!"
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman falls out of her chair laughing at the willowy, grey-streaked man's comment.
The slender, hack-haired man laughs loudly at the willowy, grey-streaked man's comment.
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette begins laughing helplessly, batting at the willowy, grey-streaked man's shoulder.
The scarred, ebony-haired woman bursts out laughing.
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man eases his fleshy blue fruit onto his dick and begins to slide it back and forth, face taut with concentration.
The reedy, sorrel-skinned woman moves to the table seeming completely lost at what is going on, but breaks into a guffaw as she draws close enough to see.
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman crawls back into her seat, laughing so hard tears are rolling down her cheeks.
Amongst her laughter, the scarred, ebony-haired woman says to the gaunt, grungy-bearded man, in sirihish:
"Say something to it...show it you love it."
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar's jaw goes slack.
The rugged, dusk-toned man leans back, still laughing.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man clutches his stomach, laughing so hard he falls back into his seat.
Between laughs, the rugged, dusk-toned man exclaims to the gaunt, grungy-bearded man, in sirihish:
"Talk dirty to it!"
The furrowed, stubbled man coughs, holding his stomach.
Grunting loudly, the gaunt, grungy-bearded man smacks the side of his fleshy blue fruit, his hips gyrating rhythmatically.
The slender, hack-haired man glances over at the door way, sees the rugged, stubble-bearded templar's face and nearly falls off his chair laughing.
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman holds her side, wheezing for breath between laughs.
The reedy, sorrel-skinned woman drops to her knees and clutches her stomach, laughing herself to tears.
Laughing helplessly, the willowy, grey-streaked man says, in sirihish:
"Oh... shit... he should've at least bought it dinner first..."
Tears gleaming in her eyes and face flushing, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette just keeps laughing.
The rugged, dusk-toned man holds his gut, shaking his head as he continues to laugh.
The scarred, ebony-haired woman gasps for breath, laughing so hard that tears come to her eyes.
Moaning down at his fleshy blue fruit, the gaunt, grungy-bearded man says, in sirihish:
"Aw baby, mmm.... fuckin'.... yeahhhhhh.... you're almost as good as that kalan I had last week.. Ohhh.. ughh..."
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man rubs helplessly at one streaming eye at a time, his face crimson as he continues to laugh, almost choking.
The willowy, grey-streaked man screams out his laughter, nearly dropping the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette from his lap as he rocks back and forth in his chair.
Tears coming down his cheek, the furrowed, stubbled man says, in sirihish:
"Oh krath."
The slender, hack-haired man clucthes his sides, hanging onto his chair so he wont fall off in his mirth.
Gasping, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette says, in sirihish:
"Hope she took mul mix, I do -not- want to see the product of this union."
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar just stares on in disbelief, speechless.
The scarred, ebony-haired woman slaps her thigh, laughing helplessly.
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman gives in, just resting her arms against the tabletop, laughing and crying as she watches in helpless fascination.
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man vigorously pumps himself a few more times into his fleshy blue fruit before finally exhaling and hunching over, his face flushed and slick with sweat.
Barely able to get the words out, the furrowed, stubbled man asks, in sirihish:
"Anyone hungry?"
To the fruit with a low, slurred drawl, the gaunt, grungy-bearded man says, in sirihish:
"Hope it was as good f'you as it was f'me.."
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette bursts into a fresh gale of laughter at the furrowed, stubbled man's question.
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman bursts into more laughter, rubbing the back of a sleeve across her eyes.
The willowy, grey-streaked man exclaims, in sirihish:
"F...f....fruit salad!"
The slender, hack-haired man gets another look at the rugged, stubble-bearded templar's face, looks back to the gaunt, grungy-bearded man and finally looses the battle, falling off his chair and hitting the floor with a thump.
Finally managing to call out, the rugged, dusk-toned man exclaims, in sirihish:
"One small to whoever eats it!"
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man says to the rugged, dusk-toned man, in sirihish:
"Two."
Silently, the tall, amber-eyed woman comes around the bar and drops her white linen towel upon the tabletop.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man lowers his forehead to a broad table of scarred agafari wood, hiding his face in the crook of his arm, still choking on laughter.
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man suddenly turns, noticing the rugged, stubble-bearded templar and paling.
The tall, amber-eyed woman puts her white linen towel onto a broad table of scarred agafari wood.
Bowing swiftly, the gaunt, grungy-bearded man salutes the rugged, stubble-bearded templar, his pants still at his knees.
Just as silently, the tall, amber-eyed woman walks back to her station behind the bar.
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman bursts into more laughter, slapping a hand against her knee and whimpering in helpless merriment.
The scarred, ebony-haired woman laughs, tears streaming down her face.
The reedy, sorrel-skinned woman wipes tears from her face, still shaking from laughter as she collects herself from the floor.
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette stares at the tall, amber-eyed woman, laughing and wiping her eyes.
Staring over in awe, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar asks the tall, amber-eyed woman, in sirihish:
".. 's anyone ever done anythin' more ridiculous 'n this in yer bar?"
Still on the floor, the slender, hack-haired man clucthes your sides in mirth, rolling with laughter.
The rugged, dusk-toned man bursts into renewed laughter, leaning into a boxy wooden bar.
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man looks down at the rugged, dusk-toned man.
Gravely pouring herself a drink, the tall, amber-eyed woman says to the rugged, stubble-bearded templar, in sirihish:
"Not for a good many years, Lord Templar."
At your table, the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman says in sirihish:
"oh.. oh.... oh.. it hurts..... "
The scarred, ebony-haired woman clutches at her stomach, her breath coming in short gasps.
The willowy, grey-streaked man eventually catches his breath, burying his face in the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette's chest as he wheezes and gasps.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man lifts his face from a broad table of scarred agafari wood, wiping at his streaming eyes and just shaking his head.
Squinting over dubiously, the gaunt, grungy-bearded man asks the rugged, dusk-toned man, in sirihish:
"So do I get two small for eatin' this shit, or what?"
The rugged, dusk-toned man exclaims, in sirihish:
"Best... 'sid... I -ever- spent!"
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman chuckles at the rugged, dusk-toned man.
Yanking up his pants, the gaunt, grungy-bearded man cinches his stained leather swordbelt about his waist.
At your table, the furrowed, stubbled man says in sirihish:
"Best fruit I ever picked."
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette pulls the willowy, grey-streaked man against her, her laughter quieting and shoulders shaking.
Licking at his lips, and finally managing to stop laughing, the rugged, dusk-toned man says to the gaunt, grungy-bearded man, in sirihish:
"Hmm.. one small. I a'ready gave ya' two an' a half, y'greedy fuck."
His voice muffled, the willowy, grey-streaked man says, in sirihish:
"I ain't sure there's any point in playin' anymore. Ain't nothin' gonna top that."
The scarred, ebony-haired woman shakes her head, and wipes her eyes.
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar looks down at the furrowed, stubbled man.
At your table, the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman says in sirihish, between giggles:
"Have.. ta... agree.. with that."
The reedy, sorrel-skinned woman pants for breath, a hand still clutching her stomach as she stares at the table in disbelief.
The slender, hack-haired man's laughter slows, and he is able to climb back up on your chair.
Indignantly as he tilts up his bearded chin, the gaunt, grungy-bearded man says to the rugged, stubble-bearded templar, in sirihish:
"One and a half."
Shaking her head slowly and wiping her eyes, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette says, in sirihish:
"I think we're done with Whira's Luck for the night. That was the best ever."
Shaking his head, the rugged, dusk-toned man says to the gaunt, grungy-bearded man, in sirihish:
"Fuckin' deal."
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man puts his deck of Kruth cards onto a broad table of scarred agafari wood.
The furrowed, stubbled man continues coughing as he wipes the tears from his cheek.
Frowning with disappointment, the caramel, alabaster-haired woman asks, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Wha'I miss?"
Tossing it over, the rugged, dusk-toned man gives some coins to the gaunt, grungy-bearded man.
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar turns away, holding a hand to his face.
The rugged, dusk-toned man exclaims to the gaunt, grungy-bearded man, in sirihish:
"EAT IT!"
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette exclaims to the caramel, alabaster-haired woman, in sirihish:
"Cactus fucked a fruit!"
Teras of laughter drying on her cheeks, the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman says to the caramel, alabaster-haired woman, in sirihish:
"Righ.. here."
Slapping her forehead, the caramel, alabaster-haired woman says, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Oh krath..."
Just as soon as he takes the coins, the gaunt, grungy-bearded man takes a big bite from his fleshy blue fruit and gnashes away at it unflinchingly.
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man eats a portion of his fleshy blue fruit.
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man eats a portion of his partially eaten fleshy blue fruit.
Adding, with renewed laughter, the rugged, dusk-toned man says to the caramel, alabaster-haired woman, in sirihish:
"Now he's gonna ea-"
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man eats a portion of his half eaten fleshy blue fruit.
The rugged, dusk-toned man stops talking, and just laughs.
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar turns back and looks toward a broad table of scarred agafari wood, his face red.
Shaking her head with a somber tone, the caramel, alabaster-haired woman says, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Y'jus' ruined y'chances, Cactus. Y'dumbass."
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man eats a portion of his small portion of a fleshy blue fruit.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man snickers helplessly into his hand.
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man says to the caramel, alabaster-haired woman, in sirihish:
"I'd take a ginka over you any day, baby."
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette stares at the gaunt, grungy-bearded man.
The reedy, sorrel-skinned woman breaks into a fresh round of uncontrollable laughter, hand grasping at the nearest chair back to steady herself.
The scarred, ebony-haired woman laughs.
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman leans against your side, snickering now and then as she watches the gaunt, grungy-bearded man.
The furrowed, stubbled man groans, shaking his head slowly.
Bellowing out, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar shouts, in sirihish:
"FIRST UNIT, AT ATTENTION."
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman stands up from a broad table of scarred agafari wood.
The caramel, alabaster-haired woman snorts softly, giving cactus a disbelieving stare.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man stands up from a broad table of scarred agafari wood.
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman stands up, snapping to attention.
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette hops from the willowy, grey-streaked man's lap.
Abruptly, you stand up from a broad table of scarred agafari wood.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man snaps to attention.
The caramel, alabaster-haired woman snaps to attention.
The scarred, ebony-haired woman remains seated, her laughter fading away.
The reedy, sorrel-skinned woman scurries out of the way, still laughing hysterically.
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette straightens to attention, gaze going to the rugged, stubble-bearded templar.
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man suddenly stiffens to attention, facing the rugged, stubble-bearded templar.
The rugged, dusk-toned man looks up, his laughter suddenly stopping.
Straightening his squaring his shoulders, the willowy, grey-streaked man stands up from a broad table of scarred agafari wood.
The slender, hack-haired man stands at attention, gaze on the rugged, stubble-bearded templar.
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar looks at the gaunt, grungy-bearded man.
Barking out, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says to the gaunt, grungy-bearded man, in sirihish:
"You a soldier or a prostitute, son? GET YER FUCKIN' PANTS BACK ON."
You think:
"Hey, it's not me for once."
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man makes sure his belt is tightly secured.
Flicking a glnce over, you look at the gaunt, grungy-bearded man.
A pair of broad, black obsidian eyes squint forth from slanted sockets
set widely across this tall man's face. Nicks and scrapes adorn his head
from it having been crudely shaven, and aside his from a small rat-tail
dangling down his scrawny neck, his only mane is a gritty sheen of black
stubble. All of his hair has been dispersed around his thick, scabby lips.
A full, stiffly bristled beard puffs out; it is matted with grease, bits of
debris, and is rigid with dried sweat. He is young and mostly free of
scars, although his hands and forearms have numerous lacerations, some more
severe than others. A wound has claimed the tips of the forefinger and
middle finger on his left hand, leaving callous stubs. A crudely-inked
tattoo of a woman, eyes wide with shock, taking it in the rear from a cactus
has been scrawled amongst the scars on his forearm.
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man is in excellent condition.
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man is using:
<worn on head> a new stained spiky helmet
<worn around neck> a stained inky-black leather collar
<slung across back> a double-edged bone shortsword
<worn across back> a round black shield
<worn on left shoulder> a black leather patch with a jade cross
<worn on arms> a pair of leather-reinforced sandcloth sleeves
<worn around wrist> a studded bone bracer
<worn around wrist> a spiked leather bracer
<worn on hands> a set of mesh-covered, tembo-hide gloves
<forearms> a pair of pitted, deep looking scars
<worn around body> a long, hooded aba of black sandcloth
<worn on legs> a pair of leather-reinforced sandcloth leggings
<worn on feet> a pair of knee-high dark leather boots
He is carrying:
nothing obvious
Pointing northwards, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar shouts, in sirihish:
"I'm out there workin' t' get gith killed and yer all in here -- laughin' about some dumbshit havin' sex with FRUIT? You men soldiers or Bynners? For FUCK SAKE!"
Stammering out the words, the gaunt, grungy-bearded man says to the rugged, stubble-bearded templar, in sirihish:
"Th-th-th-they're o-o-on, M-m-M'lord Templar"
The slender, hack-haired man lips twitch.
Flatly, the willowy, grey-streaked man says to the gaunt, grungy-bearded man, in sirihish:
"Shut up."
Staring, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says to the gaunt, grungy-bearded man, in sirihish:
"Did YOU just talk out 'f order? Yer th' LAST one I wanna hear shit from."
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar asks the willowy, grey-streaked man, in sirihish:
"Sergeant! Yer men are t' run three laps between here and th' Gaj, then report to barracks fer inspection. That clear?"
The caramel, alabaster-haired woman glances between cactus and templar with her eyes.
Pursing his thick, busted lips, the gaunt, grungy-bearded man bows his head low and locks his eyes on the ale-stained floor.
Jerking his hand out towards the plaza, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar exclaims to the willowy, grey-streaked man, in sirihish:
"ON THE FUCKIN' DOUBLE!"
Simply, the willowy, grey-streaked man says, in sirihish:
"Fall in, y'all."
The willowy, grey-streaked man bows to the rugged, stubble-bearded templar's in passing, his expression neutral.
The willowy, grey-streaked man nods at the caramel, alabaster-haired woman.
The willowy, grey-streaked man walks north.
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man nods at the caramel, alabaster-haired woman.
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man walks north.
The caramel, alabaster-haired woman walks north.
You follow the willowy, grey-streaked man, and walk north.
[they do some laps]
His expression still blank, the willowy, grey-streaked man says, in sirihish:
"Think I'm gonna call you Fruits from now on, lad."
The caramel, alabaster-haired woman snickers loudly before covering her mouth with her hand.
Hoarsely, the gaunt, grungy-bearded man says to the caramel, alabaster-haired woman, in sirihish:
"That shit'll sober a fella up quick, m'dear."
As she jogs, breathing evenly, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette sings, in sirihish:
"And ooh, Jade Saber lasses, now they're the real thing,
The fiercest, finest, toughest girls that e'er a sword did swing."
Pointing back at the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette sings, in sirihish:
"Untold pleasures you'll achieve if you get one into bed,
Though I'd advise you satisfy, or you'll quickly end up dead!"
Flatly, the willowy, grey-streaked man says, in sirihish:
"One."
In a lowered voice as he jogs along, the gaunt, grungy-bearded man says to the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette, in sirihish:
"I got a cadence, sir."
The willowy, grey-streaked man says, in sirihish:
"Two."
The willowy, grey-streaked man loops yet again.
The willowy, grey-streaked man says, in sirihish:
"Double-time."
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette sings, in sirihish:
"He's a veteran of many years, as you will quickly tell,
When he kicks the enemy's ass up one side, then back down into hell!"
The willowy, grey-streaked man runs north.
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man runs north.
The caramel, alabaster-haired woman runs north.
You follow the willowy, grey-streaked man, and run north.
[eventually they enter the Barrel again]
The veins buldging from his neck, the gaunt, grungy-bearded man shouts, in sirihish:
"Left, right, left, right, left, right... KILL!!"
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman chuckles.
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette laughs and stumbles a step.
The reedy, sorrel-skinned woman collapses into laughter at the shouts.
As he lopes along, the gaunt, grungy-bearded man shouts, in sirihish:
"Left, right, left, right, you know I WILL!"
The scarred, ebony-haired woman giggles again.
The willowy, grey-streaked man jogs right through the tavern, leading a large group of giggling soldiers.
The rugged, dusk-toned man begins to laugh again as the group steps in, despite himself.
The willowy, grey-streaked man runs south.
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man runs south.
The caramel, alabaster-haired woman runs south.
You follow the willowy, grey-streaked man, and run south.
The willowy, grey-streaked man opens his right hand, revealing his small stone shotglass.
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman grins at the willowy, grey-streaked man.
Tossing his head back, the willowy, grey-streaked man drinks brandy from his small stone shotglass.
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man shouts, in sirihish:
"Oh me, we're the infantry -- Oh me, we're the infantry!"
Tossing it over a shoulder as she jogs, the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman discards her small stone shotglass.
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man shouts, in sirihish:
"Gunna show the gith!"
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man shouts, in sirihish:
"What we're trained to be!"
The willowy, grey-streaked man exclaims, in sirihish:
"Hup, two, three four! I'm th' fuckin' hero of th' Copper War!"
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette cheers and whoops.
Singing out as she paces along, the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman shouts, in sirihish:
"An' if they ain' scared of us like they should be;We'll paint like a belshun an set Cactus free."
The willowy, grey-streaked man exclaims, in sirihish:
"Five, six, eight, ten! I killed me a dozen Tuluki men!"
Singing out as she paces along, the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman shouts, in sirihish:
"An' if they ain' scared of us like they should be/We'll paint em like a belshun an set Cactus free."
The slender, hack-haired man chuckles, as he jogs along.
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette presses a hand to her side, laughing and wincing.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man chortles breathlessly.
The willowy, grey-streaked man exclaims, in sirihish:
"Seven, nine, three, two! I killed me one'a them templars too!"
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man's narrow chest rattles with a ragged bout of snickering at the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman's words.
The willowy, grey-streaked man slows as he approaches the dusty, brown-haired soldier.
The willowy, grey-streaked man says, in sirihish:
"Right. Even out, children. Take a minute to catch yerselves."
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman moves over to the side of the road, brushing herself off.
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette nods to the willowy, grey-streaked man and bends over, catching her breath.
The dusty, brown-haired soldier stops using her carru-horn key.
The dusty, brown-haired soldier unlocks the gateway with a carru-horn key.
The dusty, brown-haired soldier opens the gateway.
The dusty, brown-haired soldier steps aside, allowing the willowy, grey-streaked man to pass.
The willowy, grey-streaked man walks north.
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man walks north.
You follow the willowy, grey-streaked man, and walk north.
Sparse sands blow across your path.
A Stonepaved Courtyard [NES]
The stones paving this courtyard are newly cut, rough edges waiting
for the wear that will smooth their grey and black surface. To the east
sits a large barracks, the arms of House Tor carved above them and gleaming
with fresh paint. Along its side is an animal pen, made of wood, which
leans into the shelter of the larger building. Stone walls surround the
courtyard, topped with broken glass to keep away the worst of Allanak's
notorious thieves. A large mural, depicting the siege of the city by
rebel dwarves, their short, squat forms fleeing in terror from Tektolnes'
might in the final stages, has been painted onto the blank stone of one
wall, apparently to serve as inspiration for the troops training here.
The willowy, grey-streaked man is standing here, looking a bit winded.
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man is standing here, looking a bit winded.
- he is carrying a jozhal-hide backpack.
The bushy-browed, gangly half-giant slouches here.
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman has arrived from the south.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man has arrived from the south.
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette has arrived from the south.
The dusty, brown-haired soldier closes the gateway from the other side.
Panting raggedly, the gaunt, grungy-bearded man lopes slowly around in a circle for a while, cooling down.
Passing a few, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette gives some coins to the gaunt, grungy-bearded man.
Sparse sands blow across your path.
A Roomy Barracks [NEW Quit Save]
The thickness of the dull red mud bricks of which this barracks has
been built provides it with a coolness which resists the worst of the
Zalanthan sun. The furnishings are simple: neatly ordered cots sit in rows,
a few with footlockers built into one end, while a large weapons rack hangs
on the wall underneath a wooden frieze depicting the desert, gith, jozhals
and scrabs moving through the dunes. Below the frieze, extending down the
walls and covering the floor, are ceramic tiles composed of all the hues of
the desert: vermilion, bronze, amber, rust, tawny yellow, and ochre. The
tiles are laid in an abstract, undulating pattern reminiscent of rolling
dunes.
Under the weapons rack, a cracked stone storage bin is filled with mismatched armor pieces.
Pushed against a wall, a bone sided chest is filled with desert survival equipment.
Pushed against a wall, a simple wooden chest is filled with raw materials.
The willowy, grey-streaked man is standing here, looking a bit winded.
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man is standing here, looking a bit winded.
- he is carrying a jozhal-hide backpack.
A human soldier of Tektolnes walks along here.
A human soldier of Tektolnes walks along here.
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman has arrived from the west.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man has arrived from the west.
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette has arrived from the west.
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette says to the gaunt, grungy-bearded man, in sirihish:
"Happy birthday to me."
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman grins at the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette.
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman says to the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette, in sirihish:
"Yer birthdays gonna be tha talk of the town fer a long long time."
The willowy, grey-streaked man says, in sirihish:
"Shaddup, y'all."
The willowy, grey-streaked man says to the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette, in sirihish:
"Tell th' Lord Templar we're here."
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette grins at the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman and then looks back to the willowy, grey-streaked man.
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman moves over to formation, snapping to attention and clasping her hands behind her back.
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man opens his mouth toward the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette then clamps it shut, dark eyes shiting to the willowy, grey-streaked man.
The caramel, alabaster-haired woman sighs, lowering her eyes with a dreading expression.
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette nods to the willowy, grey-streaked man, her gaze growing distant.
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette says to the willowy, grey-streaked man, in sirihish:
"Message relayed, sir."
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man steps into line, motioning to the gaunt, grungy-bearded man and the caramel, alabaster-haired woman.
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man swallows hard and stands at parade rest, hands clasped behind his back.
The caramel, alabaster-haired woman steps beside the burn-scarred, curly-haired man, sighing as she places her body into its appropriate position.
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar has arrived from the west.
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar walks north.
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar closes the door from the other side.
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette's gaze follows the templar's path before snapping straight ahead again.
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar opens the door from the other side.
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar has arrived from the north, stalking out with a steel-edged glare.
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman keeps her eyes dead ahead, not even twitching.
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man stares forward with glazed, reddened eyes.
The willowy, grey-streaked man folds his hands at the small of his back.
Looking back and forth, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar asks, in sirihish:
"I'm in the militia barracks, right? This ain't the Byn?"
Looking at the rugged, stubble-bearded templar for just a moment, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette nods.
Looking up and down the line, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar asks, in sirihish:
"You men ARE soldiers? YES 'R NO?"
Firmly, the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman exclaims, in sirihish:
"Yes sir!"
Firmly, the burn-scarred, curly-haired man says, in sirihish:
"Yes my Lord."
Emphatically, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette says to the rugged, stubble-bearded templar, in sirihish:
"Yes, my Lord."
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man shouts, in sirihish:
"Yes Lord Templar!"
The willowy, grey-streaked man says, in sirihish:
"Ayuh."
Snapping up even straighter, you exclaim, in sirihish:
"Yes, Lord Templar!"
The caramel, alabaster-haired woman exclaims, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Yes Lord Templar!"
Glaring up and down the line, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says, in sirihish:
"That's YES LORD TEMPLAR. Least -some- 'f you got 't right."
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar shoots the willowy, grey-streaked man a look, stalking up and down the line, his hands clenched into fists.
After a moment, the willowy, grey-streaked man says, in sirihish:
"Yes, Lord Templar."
The caramel, alabaster-haired woman purses her lips for a moment, before wiping away expression from her features.
With a clenched jaw, the gaunt, grungy-bearded man stands rigidly and stares at a wall with a hard, near unblinking gaze.
Pausing in front of her, barking into her face, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar asks the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman, in sirihish:
"This funny, Nae? You havin' a good ol' time?"
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman exclaims, in sirihish:
"No Lord Templar.. not anymore Lord Templar!"
The slender, hack-haired man eyes slide over to view the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman and the rugged, stubble-bearded templar.
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar grunts and walks on down the line, stopping again in front of the caramel, alabaster-haired woman.
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar asks the caramel, alabaster-haired woman, in sirihish:
"Do you even know how t' talk proper yet?"
With a steady tone, the caramel, alabaster-haired woman says, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Yes Lord Templar, I speak proper."
With a roll of his eyes, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says to the caramel, alabaster-haired woman, in sirihish:
"Proper if yer some kinda Arabet, mebbe."
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette clears her throat very quietly, obviously suppressing a smile.
The caramel, alabaster-haired woman says, in sirihish:
"I do not think so, Lord Templar."
Pointing over at him, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says to the gaunt, grungy-bearded man, in sirihish:
"And YOU. You are the craziest fuckin' person in this barracks, and that's sayin' a LOT."
Wheeling back, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar exclaims to the caramel, alabaster-haired woman, in sirihish:
"I say anything to you, soldier?!"
The slender, hack-haired man mouth twitches a moment, then moves back straight.
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman's eyes shift to the caramel, alabaster-haired woman briefly before snapping back ahead.
Staring forward unblinkingly, voice crisp, the gaunt, grungy-bearded man shouts, in sirihish:
"Yes, Lord Templar!"
Staring ahead with a swallow, the caramel, alabaster-haired woman says, in sirihish:
"No, Lord Templar, you did not."
Gruffly, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says, in sirihish:
"On yer knees! Both 'f you! Take them patches off and toss 'em down in front of ya."
Kneeling down and unstrapping his patch, the gaunt, grungy-bearded man sits down.
Dropping to her knees and reaching for her black leather patch with a jade cross, the caramel, alabaster-haired woman sits down to rest.
Putting it on the ground before him, the gaunt, grungy-bearded man gives his black leather patch with a jade cross to the rugged, stubble-bearded templar.
Quivering, the gaunt, grungy-bearded man kneels, head hung low.
Dropping it promptly, the caramel, alabaster-haired woman gives her black leather patch with a jade cross to the rugged, stubble-bearded templar.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man continues to stare forward expressionlessly.
Looking back up the line, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says, in sirihish:
"And the rest of you, you all ought t' KNOW better. I really thought y'would. Fuck sake, I want ALL 'f you down."
Kneeling at the rugged, stubble-bearded templar's command, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette sits down.
Dropping to his knees, the burn-scarred, curly-haired man sits down.
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman drops to her knees, eyes closing briefly.
Kneeling expressionlessly, you sit down.
Dropping to a knee, the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman sits down.
Staring at a point just over the rugged, stubble-bearded templar's shoulder, the willowy, grey-streaked man sits down.
Letting out a grunt (or maybe a snicker?), the rugged, stubble-bearded templar looks up and down the kneeling line, wordlessly.
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar asks, in sirihish:
"Y'all remind me of my old unit, them farmboys out 'n MENOS. Y'know what th' only difference I can see right now is?"
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette shakes her head very slightly.
Tonelessly, the burn-scarred, curly-haired man says, in sirihish:
"No Lord Templar."
Finally busting out into laughter, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says, in sirihish:
"Those fuckers woulda TOLD me afore they got their 'cruits t' do shit that funny."
Quietly, the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman says, in sirihish:
"No Lord Templar.."
The slender, hack-haired man blinks at the rugged, stubble-bearded templar.
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette bursts into a quiet laugh, dropping her head.
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman glances up briefly, a startled expression on her face.
The caramel, alabaster-haired woman furrows her brow, glancing to the rugged, stubble-bearded templar.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man smiles broadly, dipping his chin.
The willowy, grey-streaked man tilts his head back, exhaling with a huff.
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar laughs and shakes his head for several moments before dropping a hand down into his burned oversized black backpack.
Clearing her throat and looking up to the rugged, stubble-bearded templar, the caramel, alabaster-haired woman asks, in sirihish:
"Ah... Lord Templar...?"
Amusedly, the willowy, grey-streaked man says, in sirihish:
"Didn't nobody think he was actually gonna -do- it 'till he went and dropped his drawers, Lord Templar."
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar pulls a dustcloak out of a burned blue, hooded templar's robe.
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar pulls a dustcloak out of a burned blue, hooded templar's robe.
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman nods in silent agreement with the willowy, grey-streaked man's words.
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman says, in sirihish:
"Then we was laughin' too hard ta really think, Lord Templar."
The caramel, alabaster-haired woman lowers her eyes, her lips twisting.
Kneeling but straight-postured, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette watches the rugged, stubble-bearded templar with a wide smile.
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man keeps his eyes locked on the floor and continues to kneel tensely.
His angry expression from a few moments ago gone completely, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says, in sirihish:
"You men 'r a unit now, I can see that much. That's good, that's what we need against them gith. You fight together 'n fuck around together, you'll all live."
------------
Everyone gets promoted, and gets badges for service. It's only later that Jenneth finds out after they left the Barrel, the Lord Templar Samos was cracking up so hard, he was literally rolling around on the floor. But shhh, he made everyone swear not to tell. ;)
It’s a long log, to get you into the mood of the scene. I apologize for the crappy formatting, but it’s the crazy Arm Original Submissions doing it, not me.
-------
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man has arrived from the north.
At your table, the burn-scarred, curly-haired man...
Continue Reading...How to Get Involved in Plots
Added on Oct 24, 2009Time and time again questions that have plagued players have been "How do I get involved in plots?" or "How do I make this role more excited and prevent boredom?" and they've had a whole host of answers. Answers that often get repeated or overlooked because of the sheer amount of other threads and posts on the GDB, making answers almost impossible to find. This article is meant to be a resource for players, where the answers can be easily and quickly found. It uses suggestions from many players in a large range of posts from the GDB, sometimes keeping the original language. Please note that this is player advice and ideas; it's not hard fact supported by staff.
How to get Involved in Plots
- How to get sucked into Plots
- Make your Own RPT
- Involving Yourself in Your Clan
- Don't Forget the vNPCs
Time and time again questions that have plagued players have been "How do I get involved in plots?" or "How do I make this role more excited and prevent boredom?" and they've had a whole host of answers. Answers that often get repeated or overlooked because of the sheer amount of other threads and posts on the GDB, making answers almost impossible to find. This article is meant to be a resource for players, where the answers can be easily and quickly found. It uses suggestions from many players in a large range of posts from the GDB, sometimes keeping the original language. Credit is given under the heading of each section, in italics. Please note that this is player advice and ideas; it's not hard fact supported by staff.How to get sucked into Plots
Most of this comes from the work of Gimfailsette, with some contribution from FiveDisgruntledMonkeysWit.
It's really not HARD to get involved, provided you're not in some incredibly isolated role. Joining a clan can be helpful, but some people join clans and still don't get involved; why is that?
The sekret key to getting sucked into plots: RELATIONSHIPS
If you do not have enough involvement with other PCs, you will not get brought into plots, it's just that simple. It's not that the AREA is boring...it's that you're boring, because you're not connected! So, here's how to get involved with other PCs:
1. Join an active clan as an employee or partisan.
Joining a clan puts you in a position to be noticed by the clan leaders, it gives you an immediate connection to the other employees in the clan, and it gives you potential connections to customers/users of the clan's goods or services. Clans give relationships of all kinds a kick-start.
2. Play in a consistent time frame for a consistent quantity of hours.
If you only have two hours per day to play, fine. But don't then play sometimes in the morning, sometimes in the afternoon, sometimes late at night. Playing those two hours per day at or near peak time, consistently, will assure that you are seeing the same characters on a regular basis and will allow you to develop relationships with them.
3. Play a marginally interesting character.
If you are Redshirt Guard #15 (or Mage #87) who is constantly stoic and doesn't laugh and appears to have nothing to talk about, you will be easily overlooked. Don't be that person. It's not hard to be just a bit more interesting by emoting some, having some quirks, and having some opinions about things. PCs like to hang out with other PCs who are interesting, and it's the people you hang out with who will get you into plots.
Here are a few helpful ideas along those lines:- Don't be just a merchant. Be a merchant/performance artist!
- Don't just be a soldier. Be a soldier/fortune teller!
- Don't just be an aide. Be an aide/crafter/physician/linguist/assassin/you get the point, this is a ridiculously versatile role.
- If your character is only good at one thing then do it for two different people, and be a spy!
4. Cozy up to the clan leaders.
Imm-generated plots are disseminated through clan leaders, who then involve their minions in the plots. If you're not in a clan, or you're not close to the clan leader, you will not be able to take advantage of this connection for getting involved. Making nice with the clan leader is not difficult; it doesn't require ass-kissing or bribery. Mostly what it takes is #2, #3, and #6 on this list; do those things and you will be Right-Hand Minion in very little time.
5. Don't make your character be all about sparring or hunting.
If you log in to spar in the Zalanthan morning hours, but then log out in the afternoon/night because there's "nothing to do," you will miss out. Ditto with hunting. You MUST get your character involved with other characters in order to get included in the fun stuff. Develop rivalries or friendships, find enemies or love interests, sell or buy things from PCs, however you can get involved in relationships with other PCs, DO IT.
6. Ask your clan leaders for things to do.
At first, they will give you completely unimportant but necessary tasks, like buying or selling something at a shop for them. Later, they will give you tasks that necessitate you getting in contact with other PCs, which then gives you a potential opportunity to develop relationships with those PCs. And still later, when you've become trusted, they will give you neat stuff to do like carry sekret messages or spy on someone. EXTRA BONUS to doing tasks for clan leaders: The smart, competent clan leaders will usually give you a nice tip of coinage for your work!
7. When given a task, complete it correctly within the allotted time frame, then immediately report back.
If you're given tasks and you don't complete them, you will never gain the necessary trust with your leaders to be given more important tasks. If you don't report back on your work, you miss out on the opportunity to build trust and also to potentially get 'sids coming your way for a job well done. Plots require lots of things to be done in game, so if you're there to help with the tasks, you'll get involved in the plot.
8. Attend RPTs.
If your clan is having an RPT, then the likelihood is that your presence would be really helpful to the clan leader. (It's hard to accomplish RPT goals when clan members don't attend.) RPTs are often where interesting plot-related information is passed, or seriously freakin' cool stuff happens. So don't miss them.
9. Live a while.
If your character dies immediately, you won't get involved in plots. If your character lives for an RL month or more, then you start to have a much better chance of getting involved in interesting stuff. Other characters are not interested in your character until they've seen them around at least three times in, say, an RL week, because there are just SO many insta-dying characters around, and it's a waste of time and energy to invest in totally new characters...usually. So prove you can live, and relationships and plots will follow.Make your Own RPT
Written completely by Taven.
RPTs, HRPTs, I think what this is all about is having fun in a way that involves other players or clans with some steady, dependable fun events taking place and happening. I agree 100% that it is NOT solely the leader's job to do this. You can think of your own fun and crazy ideas to try and go for. If you don't succeed, then you can say you tried. Here's a few ideas that can lighten up any scene.
Game Night
Having a clan game day/night every few weeks is awesome, too. Kruth, Tek's Tower, whatever. Just go to your nearest tavern, hijack a table, and show all those other sorry little idlers how awesome your clan is. Furthermore, there are things and ideas to do WITHIN that that can be a game night, or any time.
Impromptu Song Contest
Tulukis, find a location for some public singing or dancing. NPCs do it all the time, don't you go telling me it isn't subtle enough. Also, singing and dancing is not just for Tuluki. Making up silly songs on the spot in the group and forcing each other to sing them publicly could be TONS of fun. Dance with someone at the Gaj. Aspire to find a Nakki bard to come and teach you songs, or some tribal to teach you exotic dances. Let other people know of your plans, set up a time.
Impersonation of other city contest/activity
We do silly things like this making fun of the various cities respectively all the time. Starting this up at a dull day in the Gaj (or Sanctuary? Tooth?) would provide a break from the long boring periods. It's also easy to combine with any of the above ides.
Have clan gossip sessions
You think I'm kidding. I'm not. Players often loose interest in clans because they don't SEE anything going on. Tell them just about what they missed, make them want to play more! Make it so Amos down the bar wants a piece of the action, too. Alternately, have just-clan meetings. Talk about policies, about information you know that they should too. Talk about weather or not that new Salarri IS actually crazy, or if so-and-so has a crush on that half-elf.
Tell stories of ages long gone
That's right. You, crazy Fale, you know we commoners can't read. Impress us with your tales from ages past of great Fale parties. Tor, tell your Silvers some war tales so it will trickle down back to the common folk. You, there, old grizzled Bynner! Tell us of days gone by when you had to walk up hill both ways in a sandstorm and fight off defilers. Tuluki, same goes for you. Remember when those 'Nakki invaded? We may be at peace now, but back in my day...
Play "bother the elf" (Or Foreigner, as the case maybe)
Seriously, people. These are ELVES. They aren't PEOPLE. They aren't HUMAN. You Tuluki made subtle snide remarks. 'Nakkis, start a fight! Throw some insults. And beer mugs. Be more creative then the bar-fight echoes. Also, power in numbers. Have a large support group to back you up. Elves seem, to me, to mostly get ignored. Breeds, too. SNEER MORE, PEOPLE. Interact. See just how far you can insult that breed before they loose it and tackle you.
Learning and Teaching
I'm not kidding. Getting taught things is great. Set a clan day (approve it with your leaders, or on the fly) to teach about whatever you can do. Geography, what ARE those cures for anyways, tricks elves might do, wrestling... Don't make it all about the CODE make it about interaction. I have had stellar times where the routine "training" was broken up by some absolutely incredible lessons on these things. I've given some lessons myself.
Alternately, start a teaching group for your spare time. Maybe you always wanted to learn about Geography, and have traveled in your time. Make a group, trade stories and tales. Healer? It's not all about TABLETS. Rumors of cures, charms, and special "remedies" that may or may not have coded value are perfectly good. In the movie Gladiator, they use maggots to eat away the diseased flesh. How come I've never heard even a whisper of someone using that technique ICly? Also, slapping a bandage on something isn't always good. Tell gruesome stories about infection, and talk about how to clean a wound or set a break properly.
Learn about some foreign culture. Ask that Tuluki about why they have those tattoos... Then mock them for it. Is it true that Gith can actually TALK? Go ask that tribal over there. Learn a language. Insult people in that language while claiming it's praise (use with caution, and beware negative side effects). Learn tribal slang or phrases.
Worship your City's King
Yes, that's right. Remember dear old Tektolnes who decides if you LIVE OR DIE? Those people in front of the Dragon aren't kneeling there because it makes them feel good. What about the Sun King? What have you done to show appreciation for HIS Glorious Light, lately? Make a cult. Inspire worship. Make up your own odd rules and beliefs that you spread to others. Do your odd ideas publicly.
It doesn't have to be traditional worship. Dance to the Highlord, or kill a halfling for the Sun King. Be creative. Look at RL and how many religious variants there are. Not in a big city? What do you worship? What's a new way you can worship this?
Host An Event
Yes, even you, Commoner Amos, can Host an Event. Don't have enough food and wine for everybody? Make it a potluck. Don't have the money for l33t prizes? Talk to your local GMH member and discuss making a raffle for an item. How many Maliks would toss fifty 'sid into the pot for a chance at that awesome sword? Or that insanely cool outfit? If they don't go for it, collect the pot first and then get the item.
Organize Co-Clan Games/activities
Ever get to be in a spot where whatever clan you're in seems devoid of all people, but the other similar clan is hopping? Coordinate with your leader and theirs, set up some friendly cross-clan games. Archery contest? Well, our Malik is better then your lame-ass Amos! You could even ask a Templar about setting up some friendly non-bloody Arena games. Everybody who enters will probably have fee to get in, and if the Templar was motivated, they could charge the viewers to watch, too. However, that does open up the opportunity for ‘Sid prizes, ranging from fifty ‘sid to even a large, depending on the event. It's a fun thing for multiple clans, and it gets a Templar 'sid. Who doesn't like that?
Even if it doesn't work, showing interest and ideas is a good start. Just remember, everyone likes money! If there’s other people participating then it makes sense for them to chip in for costs, too. Convince your leader that while you might not have any archery ranges, this clan might, and wouldn't it be good to practice? I'm sure there's non-combat oriented ways to do this too, but usually a clan has at least one combat aspect to it.
Explore
Oh, woe is YOU. You're stuck inside your city, how can "go exploring" POSSIBLY apply to you without getting your PC in trouble? Actually take a moment to look at your city-state with a fresh eye. Those room descriptions? Read them again, sometimes you'll be surprised. For example, just who ARE those templar statues of? What sorts of carvings are in the Gaj-- Are they lewd? If there aren't any lewd ones, why not? Shouldn't you make one? Alternately, exploring doesn't have to be physical. "Explore" your PC's past. What are their vNPC relatives up to? Is it something that can make for an interesting plot in PC-land?
Summing It All Up
I think more challenging then a leader not wanting to get all the work, or a minion struggling to create a RPT/event despite their lack of power is when you just don't HAVE minions/underlings, or a leader. There's a lot of things you COULD do, if there were more people around. I think that's one of the reasons that things never actually happen. Trying to plan more cross-clan events would help solve this, I think. The trouble with that, of course, is that with more people to get "okays" from, then longer everything takes. But it doesn't have to be a BIG thing, it can start small and go from there. It's so easy to get discouraged or bored, it's HARD to plan things and involve others. Keeping at it is an important thing to do. I'd also say that it's easier if you've been in your clan awhile, and have a feel for how things work. It's hard to make things new or exciting if you don't have a good grasp of what "normal" is.Involving Yourself in Your Clan
Work from Helix and Fathi's post.
Characters:
So, if this is a post about plots and clan involvement, then why is the first section about characters? One of the major barriers to having a good time with clans is that oftentimes characters aren't developed enough for them to operate independently of their clan. One of the most important part about playing in a clan is also knowing when not to be working on clan stuff, and that requires having a developed character.
Personality:
As a leader, it can be frustrating to have PCs under you with no ambition or life beyond their clan rank and station. People also seem to expect that they be given these nebulous 'things to do' - often a series of easily (or not so easily) accomplishable tasks that lead up to a bigger task that is an overall goal for the clan or some of the PCs involved in it. Many times what a PC needs to keep 'busy' is simply a more developed personality.
In this case, "personality" is more than just likes and dislikes. It means fleshing out the background - who did your character know, before they were a PC? Who were their friends, their family, where do they come from and what do they want? Goals. Goals, even lofty nearly impossible goals, do more for character development than anything else. This also helps you actually bond with other characters... if you think about how it works in real life - you have the deepest connections with people that you can talk to about a variety of subjects. In Arm - the key is coming up with believable experiences for your character to enable them to have the deep bonds that keep you from getting bored (as the people whom become your characters good friends will often draw you into plots).
The caveat with this is that if you join a clan where there's only two people and you have a strict schedule, you're going to have this problem unless you really, really enjoy solo RP.
Goals:
A range of goals for a character is best. Not just 'I want to become..." type goals, but also character development goals - where do you want your character to go? What do you want your character to accomplish? Allow your character to be shaped and evolve from the events that happen to him. Flesh the character out with thoughts and feels - deciding how they would react to something goes a long way in determining what they want to accomplish. If they 'like' something, they're much more likely to want to pursue something that brings them into contact with what they like. The opposite is true for disliking things.
There's also the concept of having "Things To Do." However - what's much more useful and appreciated is knowing what's going on. Say I'm a clan leader. I have goals X, Y, and Z that I need to accomplish in t amount of time. If you - my loyal and fearless clanmate - know that, then you find an opportunity to advance those goals - in a sense, you're getting "Things To Do" by acting on your own capability and innovation. Rather than sit and wait to be 'assigned' to work on something - figure out what your clan is currently engaged in and then its easy to figure out what you need to be working on - without having to wait for "Things to Do."
Independence:
Don't be afraid to be independent from the clan, either. If you're in a clan that has a tight training schedule but there isn't ever anyone around - address it either IC or OOC on your clan boards. Email your Imm.
Also - mentioning that Storytellers are busy and everything... if you email your imm and say, "Hey, can I do x?" and they don't respond then take what IC steps you need to make it happen, as long as its IC for you to do so. Even if its a 'bad thing', chances are the imm is going to enjoy roasting you alive. If they come back later and say you can't do that, or you shouldn't do that then take that as a lesson learned. But at least you're doing something, and really, if you send in an email about it, they probably aren't going to be (too) angry with you.
Leaders:
As a leader of a clan, here is some extra advice as to what helps with success.
- Have goals:
Have an idea of something that you want to get accomplished. This isn't as easy as it sounds... leaders have to have all the stuff above - they have to be normal characters AS WELL AS be capable of coming up with things for everyone to do. You should have both personal goals and clan goals.
- Be online:
You'd think this was a given. You'd be surprised how many people get intimidated by not really knowing what to do and just stop logging in. Leading characters in Arm is about creating and resolving conflict. You can't do either of those things unless you're online. That's not to say that you can't take time off, or you have to play every day. But you should at least be around fairly frequently. Also, make your leader PC accessible by the rest of the clan. Granted you don't have to be buddies with them, and of course a lot of clans have social structures that would prevent outright friendship or snuggles, but don't isolate yourself from your clannies' PLAYERS. Be around in places where they can find you if they need you or just want to interact some.
- Have a trusty sidekick:
Having a trusted lieutenant goes a LONG way, in my experience. Once you have this - you can direct 'overall' direction for your clan, and allow the lieutenant to be the one who really digs into the details and gets things done. In this way you can focus on higher-level tasks (handling the templars and other nobility) while your lieutenant deals with the scum of the universe (your employees). In this way, you're working as a team at all levels of Arm society. That's hugely important for getting things done, and getting them done fast.
- Be social:
Especially at first, when your character isn't involved in very much... be social. This will quickly embroil you in the political plots of the place that you choose to reside in. Don't be afraid to make blood enemies, and don't be afraid to make trusted friends. Both of those things will generate plots for your players - especially if they feel that their actions are influencing the clan's overall position. Everyone likes to feel important, and everyone likes to feel that their character is doing something large for the clan.
- Delegate:
Giving your underlings jobs and responsibilities not only gives them Things To Do, but it creates a sense of hierarchy and importance. Don't let any members of the team feel like they're stuck in a position where they would be prevented from stepping up and contributing more if they expressed desire to.
- Do things together:
As cheesy as it may sound, palling around with your clannies establishes a sense of unit identity and makes them more likely to stick in the clan long enough for things to develop. Also, I'd imagine any friendly neighborhood staffers would be more apt to play around with six PCs on a hunt in the same place than six PCs in pairs scattered all over.
- Create Atmopsphere:
Develop a clan atmosphere that encourages contributions from the lowliest underlings up to the top of the tower of power. Don't make your clan meetings into "the apped in leaders sit around while everyone else types 'guard man.'"
- Keep staff informed:
Let your clan staffers know what you're up to! If you plan on going out to investigate That Place In The Grasslands/Tablelands/Salt Flats with your hunters, instead of just going out one day, turn it into a mini-RPT. You'll get more people and you're far more likely to get staff attention when your imms know when and where you're gonna be somewhere.
- Stick it out:
There will be rough patches, there will be boring stretches, and there will be stress. But despite all this, there's a special kind of enjoyment that comes from building a group of players from the ground up, sticking together through thick and thin, and cultivating something interesting, multifaceted, and eventually badass.
And one thing, too, that both leaders and minions can keep in mind: clan staffers are here to help you, not screw you out of having fun. If you're bored and you're unable to stir up anything interesting with your PC boss, try emailing your imms and setting something up with an NPC to get some work on the side. Plot AGAINST your PC boss and your imms might just help you out if he's doing that horrible a job.
Don't be afraid to come to the staff with questions, concerns, and frustrations--just sitting around and letting it fester while you play less and less doesn't help anyone in the end, and chances are your admins will have at least -some- input on how to better the situation.Don't Forget the vNPCs
From a post of Tisiphone’s.
Develop your vNPC environment. There was one thread, by way of example, an encounter between one of his characters and that character's father. They didn't get along, and the character was in a foul mood for the rest of the week.
As far as getting into exciting things rather than personal quirks, make mistakes. Get totally sloshed because you're upset with your new life and puke on a noble's shoes. If you're a southerner in Tuluk, bow to a templar; nod to one if vice versa. Fall into a hole, get robbed, go mad (this must be done with utmost care as madness is difficult to fake and only compelling if done correctly), fuck a fruit for money, act bigoted towards elves/'rinthis/gemmers/southrons/northrons/dwarves/all of the above at the same time. Have an emotional breakdown.
Do all of those things at the same time.How to get Involved in Plots
- How to get sucked into Plots
- Make your Own RPT
- Involving Yourself in Your Clan
- Don't Forget the vNPCs
Time and time again questions that have plagued players have been "How do I get involved in plots?" or "How do I make this role more...
Continue Reading...Armageddon Logo
Added on Jun 23, 2009It started as a doodle in class, and turned into something interesting. Exact completion date unknown, done in pen and colored pencil.
Cross
Added on Jun 17, 2009A character portrait of Cross, this was not originally intended as a final work. The process is to sketch, photocopy the sketch and then color in colored pencils. Her blouse changed throughout this, and she has a slightly cartoonish style. Completed 11/4/08.
Soldier at the Gaj
Added on Jun 17, 2009While originally based off an actual character, this took on a life of it's own. One of the most common criticisms is that her cloak looks like hair, because of the curviness. Done in colored pencil, as usual and completed 4/12/08.
Private Shem
Added on Jun 17, 2009A rendering of one Private Shem of the Allanki militia, exact date of sketch completion unknown. It's possible there might be a colored version later.
Something Wrong with the Unit
Added on Apr 26, 2009There's been alot of talk about Magickers, and how they're treated. In this log, some of the events behind the murder of the old Vividuian pool keeper are revealed. That murder led to much OOC forum discussion, and this is an interesting history about all that.
There's been alot of talk about Magickers, and how they're treated. In this log, some of the events behind the murder of the old Vividuian pool keeper are revealed. That murder led to much OOC forum discussion, and this is an interesting history about all that.
In addition a number of factor go into this log, and I'm sure each of the players involved would have different views of just what those are. Ruti (the wiry, young man) is a Private in the militia who has an unusually high paranoia about gemmers. Jenneth, whose perspective the story is told from (the slender, hack-haired man) is Ruti's some-times lover, and good friend. Nae (the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman) I think it a Corporal right now. I believe at this time Laila (vibrant, jade-adorned brunette) is the Sergeant of the First Unit of the Jade Sabers.
One of the factors of Laila's play is the belief that the mistake of leaving things glowing on Hodor was a sheerly OOC mistake, and should be overlooked the same way forgetting to sheath weapons or holding a torch should. There could possibly also be the IC reason of that they need to use the mage on this mission, and punishment right now wasn't practical. At the same time, from my perspective, it had already built up too much to be ignored. I'd venture to guess that Ruti's player felt OOCly that gemmed should be treated more strictly about forgetting such things, since of their PC's position and power. ICly, all this had been building up for awhile. Obviously, all the factors haven't been mentioned, but I feel that this was an important preface to add.
<Jenneth:: 123/123hp 117/125st 125/125sn>
A foreign presence contacts your mind.The wiry young man sends you a telepathic message:
"*warm affection and relief* Jen!"You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the wiry young man with the Way.You send a telepathic message to the wiry young man:
"You! You fecker, you keep lettin' th' wall warden drag ya off! *happy*"The wiry young man sends you a telepathic message:
"You with the unit? On patrol? Oy, I've missed you. I've -needed- you."You send a telepathic message to the wiry young man:
"Th' unit, in th' barracks. We're talkin' 'bout Luirs n' shet. You hafta come, ya know. I'm -draggin'- ya along."The wiry young man sends you a telepathic message:
"The Lord Templar ordered the Sergeant to execute me if I fuck up again. You get wall for a few weeks, and everything falls apart."You send a telepathic message to the wiry young man:
".....Wha did you -DO-? *worry*"The wiry young man sends you a telepathic message:
"It's because I don't fancy gemmers. "You send a telepathic message to the wiry young man:
"There's more t' it then tha. Wha happened?"The wiry young man sends you a telepathic message:
"We were out of water in the barracks. I told a gemmer that I was gonna fill the cisterns. She said no, not unless I paid. I told her to stop fucking around. She gave me shit about contracts and money. I talked rude to her. Because a filthy..."The wiry young man sends you a telepathic message:
".... -gemmer-, talking like that to a soldier in His militia? About water for the barracks? And they all down on me--and hard. "You send a telepathic message to the wiry young man:
"Fecker. She a Counciller, 'r wha? Which one? 'Cause she had t' be a counciller, 'r why'd th' Templar get so mad?"The wiry young man sends you a telepathic message:
"Hodor is her name. A Viv."The wiry young man sends you a telepathic message:
"I asked for a transfer. They refused."You send a telepathic message to the wiry young man:
"I've never even feckin' -heard- o' 'er. Why th' feck---? It doesn't make a feck o' sense t' me."The wiry young man sends you a telepathic message:
"Doesn't make sense to me, either. She's Council, aye. But still a gemmer. And I thought--I thought the templar held -us- higher than those fucks. Instead, I been ordered to either be confined to barracks, or ..."The wiry young man sends you a telepathic message:
"... to lower my gaze when I see them. Not to speak with them. And not to -dare- give 'em any hassle. Like a rinthi seeing a nobleman."You send a telepathic message to the wiry young man:
"...To feckin' -lower your gaze-? I mean, feck, an insulted gemmer could do all sorts o' subtle magick shet t' ya, but th' -Templarite- is suppose t'-- Well. Th' -Lord Templar- said tha? N' Laila too?"The wiry young man sends you a telepathic message:
"Sergeant said if I fuck up one more time, I'm done. It's only on account of her that I ain't dead already."You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the wiry young man:
"Feck, Ruti. You really stepped on some toes. Ya need t' make nice wi' someone high-up."The wiry young man sends you a telepathic message:
"I'm getting close to Saya. I've asked her to put a word in for me."You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the wiry young man:
"*faint traces of alarm* Saya? Put in a wor--. Uh. Well. Tha's good."You think:
"Great. Wonderful. Just wha we need. "The wiry young man sends you a telepathic message:
"What? She -seems- a good lass."You send a telepathic message to the wiry young man:
"I'm not sayin' she isn't. I wouldn't say bad things 'bout Samos' girl."The wiry young man sends you a telepathic message:
"You don't like her? There ain't no other way I'm gonna get 'round this, not that I see."You think:
"...Yeah. Well. She feckin' scares me t' death."The wiry young man sends you a telepathic message:
"Jen. I'm putting myself forward in a way that I -never- do. If you know something against her, tell me!"You send a telepathic message to the wiry young man:
"Well. She's a good person t' have on yer side. She'll put in a good word, I'm sure."Terrible, biting sand whips around you.
Caravan Road [ESW]
Stretching itself out here is a long road, paved in rough yellowy
brown sandstone, covered with reddish dust and sand, and wide enough that at
least four caravans could pass through. The sun-browned backs of slaves
march along, carrying goods. The sky's blood-red glory shines from above
the main gate, highlighting its ominously smooth stones.
Shouts and cheers sound from a fenced hardscrabble south of here.
The tall figure in a hooded, sun-patterned aba is standing here.
- she glows with a bright light!
The wiry young man has arrived from the east.The tall figure in a hooded, sun-patterned aba keeps her hood up close.
The tall figure in a hooded, sun-patterned aba walks east.
The slender, hack-haired man blinks.
The wiry young man stops.The wiry young man asks, in sirihish:
"What the fuck was -that-?"East of here is Caravan Road.
[Near]
The thick-limbed, leather-skinned dwarf drags a cart behind him here.The wiry young man says to you, in sirihish:
"That was her. Hodor."You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette with the Way.You suffer from use of the Way.
You exclaim to the wiry young man, in sirihish:
"Hodor? Feck, she's -glowin'-!"The wiry young man says to you, in sirihish:
"Yeah. I noticed."The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman has arrived from the east.
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman walks west.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette:
"Some fecker is goin' around -GLOWIN'- on th' streets. Think it's a gemmer named Hodor."You say to the wiry young man, in sirihish:
"Feckin' -insane-."Terrible, biting sand whips around you.
Caravan Road [EW]
Stretching itself out here is a long road, paved in rough yellowy
brown sandstone, covered with reddish dust and sand, and wide enough that at
least four caravans could pass through. The sun-browned backs of slaves
march along, carrying goods. The sky's blood-red glory shines from above
the main gate, highlighting its ominously smooth stones.
The wiry young man has arrived from the east.You ask the wiry young man, in sirihish:
"N' -you're- th' one in trouble?"The slender, hack-haired man mutters angrily.
The wiry young man says to you, in sirihish:
"But gemmers are far above me. I can't question them, not even if they're glowing with a bright light walking down the middle of Caravan Road like she was."The wiry young man sends you a telepathic message:
"I mentioned seeing a gemmer glowing with bright light, in the middle of the road. Sergeant said, "Shut the fuck up about gemmers.""The wiry young man sends you a telepathic message:
"You mention it, like you don't know I did. See what she says."You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the wiry young man:
"I already did, eh? Wayed 'er."The wiry young man sends you a telepathic message:
"What'd she say?"You send a telepathic message to the wiry young man:
"Not a feckin' word. Any idea why we're here?"The wiry young man sends you a telepathic message:
"There's something very wrong with the unit, Jen. And yeah. Some Oashi lords are stuck somewhere. Beetles and spiders all around 'em. We're waiting for morning."You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the wiry young man:
"I don't feckin' understand why th' gemmers 'r bein' allowed so loose a rein. They're -dangerous- n' they're feckin' -nothin'-, too. "The wiry young man sends you a telepathic message:
"There's something very wrong with the unit."You send a telepathic message to the wiry young man:
"Aside from th' Gemmer shet?"The wiry young man sends you a telepathic message:
"No. Just that."The tall figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba nods back and leads a yellow sunback lizard up to rest behind the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette.
Just loudly enough to carry over the noise of the street even at this early hour, the tall figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba says to the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette, in sirihish:
"Sorry about earlier."Looking over the group of soldiers, and pointedly at the wiry young man, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette asks, in sirihish:
"Doesn't look like Hodor's glowing to me, is she?"To the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette, frowning, you say, in sirihish:
"She -was- before, n' in th' -middle- o' Caravan. I saw 'er m'self."Wincing at the words, the tall figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba says to the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette, in sirihish:
"I mighta been earlier. Kolt was showin' me some shit, an' sometimes you can't see it from inside."Dipping a nod, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette says to the tall figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba, in sirihish:
"You might have been. And when I let you know, you were concerned about it, seemed to me. Like you already knew that weren't a good thing."The wiry young man sends you a telepathic message:
"She woulda trusted the word of a gemmer over the word of two soldiers, did you see that?"The slender, hack-haired man blinks.
Dipping a quick and fluid nod, the tall figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba says to the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette, in sirihish:
"'course 'tain't a good thing. Gemmers already stick enough in people's collective craw without glowin'."You send a telepathic message to the wiry young man:
"Feck, she just let a -gemmer- walk down CARAVAN's -GLOWIN'-?!"Looking over at the wiry young man and you, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette says, in sirihish:
"Most of the time, folks don't realize they're doing it. You just gotta let them know. It's like people who forget they're holding a knife."The wiry young man sends you a telepathic message:
"There is something very wrong in the unit."The wiry young man says to the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette, in sirihish:
"Yessir. Like holding a knife, sir."Sheepishly, the tall figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba says, in sirihish:
"'cept a whole lot freakier."The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman says, in sirihish:
"And knives don't make nobles freak out and demand yer head as easily."Blinking, you say, in sirihish:
"'Cuse me f' sayin', Sir, but a -gemmer- walkin' down th' street -glowin'- is gonna attract a -feckload- more o' attention."The wiry young man sends you a telepathic message:
"Like holding a knife."Lifting her eyebrows at you, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette asks you, in sirihish:
"Of course they are. But that doesn't mean they're doing it because they're a pathetic idiotic dickwad intent on killing everyone, does it?"You send a telepathic message to the wiry young man:
"I agree. Somethin' is feckin' wrong. There is -no way-. I mean--"The wiry young man sends you a telepathic message:
"Because a glowing gemmer isn't a problem until they start killing. There is something very wrong in the--fuck. You know."You say to the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette, in sirihish:
"N' th' commoners 'd know tha? She could o' incited a panic. 'Member th' boy in th' bazzar saw some gemmer re-appear? Near started a panic there."Pointedly, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette says to you, in sirihish:
"Quit arguing with me about it. I'm saying she DIDN'T KNOW SHE WAS GLOWING. That's no reason to abuse her."The wiry young man sends you a telepathic message:
"Don't push her, Jen. Let it drop. Not a big deal. Just chuckle and shake your head."You send a telepathic message to the wiry young man:
"Sure, Laila could be concerned about th' nobles. "Dipping a nod, you say to the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette, in sirihish:
"Aye, Sir. "You send a telepathic message to the wiry young man:
"--But there is NO way she'd be li' this. No way."You send a telepathic message to the wiry young man:
"So. Th' others, are they--? I mean, they think this is normal, 'r?"The wiry young man sends you a telepathic message:
"Everyone one of 'em but me. And now you."There's been alot of talk about Magickers, and how they're treated. In this log, some of the events behind the murder of the old Vividuian pool keeper are revealed. That murder led to much OOC forum discussion, and this is an interesting history about all that.
In addition a number of factor...
Continue Reading...A Militia Training Session: Shields
Added on Mar 16, 2009A lesson from one Private Jenneth breaks up the monotony of sparring in the life of the Arm of the Dragon. Here, he shows recruits how to more effectively use a shield.
In the Arm of the Dragon, sparring usually starts at dawn and ends at highsun.
This is an extended sparring session, where recruits Sett and Lucien learn
shield use, as taught by one Private Jenneth. Private Nadim looks on.--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Glancing over, the tousled, bronzed young man asks you, in sirihish:
"So, what's your opinon on what Lucien and Sett need to work on, Jen?"The tousled, bronzed young man puts his short bone sparring sword into a large obsidian bin.
The tousled, bronzed young man puts his used large round shield into a large obsidian bin.The wild-haired, lanky man looks over to you.
You say to the tousled, bronzed young man, in sirihish:
"Well, I'd say Lucien did a good job lookin' out f' 'is comrade, tried ta rescue 'im when 'e was down. Sett kept at it, nice n' determined. He could use some pratice on th' shield work, n' Lucien'd probably benifit a demistration too, I'd..."
You say to the tousled, bronzed young man, in sirihish:
"say tha's where we should head f' today."
Grinning, the tousled, bronzed young man says to you, in sirihish:
"My thoughts exactly. Was explaining that to a Tor cadet earlier, too."
The tousled, bronzed young man asks you, in sirihish:
"You wanna go through it with them?"
The athletic, dusky man nods slowly to you.
You say to the tousled, bronzed young man, in sirihish:
"Ayep, would love ta."
Easing down, the tousled, bronzed young man sits on a worn stone bench.
Pushing up, you stand up from a worn stone bench.
A Small Training Yard [S Save]
This dusty square yard is enclosed by sturdy-looking stone walls topped
with shards of broken glass. The walls appear to be either fairly new or
relatively well maintained, though they bear a number of rough scuff marks
and scratches. The ground is hard-packed and fairly flat, allowing the dust
to tell its tale of combats fought here. To the north, a wooden weapons
rack is set along the wall, and to the south, a small wooden gate opens up
into a courtyard.
A shadow falls over the area, driving off the uncomfortable heat.
A large obsidian bin looms here.
The tousled, bronzed young man is sitting on a worn stone bench, looking a bit winded.
The athletic, dusky man is reclining here, bleeding lightly.
The wild-haired, lanky man is reclining here, bleeding lightly.
The tousled, bronzed young man says, in sirihish:
"Floor's yours."
The wild-haired, lanky man rises from the ground, and clambers to his feet.
You say to the wild-haired, lanky man, in sirihish:
"Alright, step up n' show me how ya stand ta use your sheild n' shet if I was ta attack ya."
The wild-haired, lanky man nods, stepping into the circle, close to you.
You say to the wild-haired, lanky man, in sirihish:
"Wait, hang on a mite."The wild-haired, lanky man raises up his shield, bringing it up to deflect an illusional blow.
The slender, hack-haired man jogs to a large obsidian bin.
The wild-haired, lanky man pauses mid-action.You get your short bone sparring sword from a large obsidian bin.
The slender, hack-haired man jogs back to the sparring circle, giving the wild-haired, lanky man a nod to continue.
You brandish your short bone sparring sword.
The wild-haired, lanky man nods, going back through the motion of the block, using his shield to deflect the blow, bending his knees slightly.The athletic, dusky man watches the wild-haired, lanky man intently, scratching his cheek.
The late, red sun descends toward the western horizon.
You say to the wild-haired, lanky man, in sirihish:
"Alright, let's see how'd ya do wi' an actual blow. I'm gonna go slow-motion wi' m' sword, n' you move ta block. I'll be lookin' ta see how it strikes th' shield n' shet, your stance, and such."
The wild-haired, lanky man nods.
The slender, hack-haired man moves slowly with your short bone sparring sword in a slash at the wild-haired, lanky man.
The wild-haired, lanky man slowly brings up his shield, bending his knees to lessen the impeact, and hitting the sparring sword with his new daraq shield to knock it away.
With a smile, you say to the wild-haired, lanky man, in sirihish:
"Not half bad."
The wild-haired, lanky man shrugs, a smile creeping across his face.
To the group at large, you ask, in sirihish:
"So, can any o' you tell me what Sett --you can answer too, Sett-- wha was good, n wha needs work?"
The wild-haired, lanky man shrugs agin.
Pointing at the wild-haired, lanky man's legs with his short bone sparring spear, the athletic, dusky man says, in sirihish:
"It's good that he bent his knees. Keeps him from falling over if he was hit really hard."
With a nod, you ask the athletic, dusky man, in sirihish:
"Aye, quite right. Anythin' else?"
Shruging, the wild-haired, lanky man says, in sirihish:
"Guess that since I met the blow with the shield I could controll it more, instead of just getting hit."
The athletic, dusky man says, in sirihish:
"Also, how he hit your sword with his shield, instead'a letting you hit his shield with your sword. Leaves an opening for Sett to counter-attack."
The wild-haired, lanky man nods to the athletic, dusky man.
You say, in sirihish:
"Aye, tha's wha ya want ta aim f'. One thing ya've got ta watch out f' though is where the blade hits-- Sett, you're catchin' it in th' center more. In a battle, tha'd put extra pressure in, in can even get ya knocked o'er easier. Ta prevent..."
You ask, in sirihish:
"...tha, ya tryin' catch it on th' side, n' angle it slight, so it'd slip off, eh?"
Noding, the wild-haired, lanky man says to you, in sirihish:
"Yeah, that makes sense."
The athletic, dusky man nods slowly, watching you intently.
Positioning your new round black shield, you say, in sirihish:
"Th' other thing, is you're holdin' th' shield a bit close li' this when yer in combat."
The wild-haired, lanky man nods at you.
The slender, hack-haired man holds your new round black shield further away from you, at mid-height.
Shaking his head and rising to his feet, the tousled, bronzed young man says, in sirihish:
"Alright."
The tousled, bronzed young man stands up from a worn stone bench.
You say, in sirihish:
"If ya hold it a bit further away, it'll make it so ya can move it ta deflect easier."
The tousled, bronzed young man says, in sirihish:
"Lieutenant's up, Jen. Either we finish quick or finish it tommorow morning, else you know he'll have us whipped for going into their leave."
It is dusk on Terrin, the 200th day of the Ascending Sun,
In the Year of Dragon's Slumber, year 39 of the 21st Age.
You say to the tousled, bronzed young man, in sirihish:
"We'll finish quick now, I've Wall Duty."
The tousled, bronzed young man says to the athletic, dusky man, in sirihish:
"I'll run ya through it tommorow morning, if we got a chance."
You say to the wild-haired, lanky man, in sirihish:
"Thing ya've probably got th' idea. Just hold y' shield once li' I said, then I'd do another slow-blow, n' ya can go f' leave."
The athletic, dusky man folds his arms across his chest, watching the wild-haired, lanky man.
The slender, hack-haired man slowly slashes out at the wild-haired, lanky man with your short bone sparring sword.
The wild-haired, lanky man brings his shield up as he bends his knees. He lifts the shield to the sword, aiming it at the side of the shield, as to deflect it away.
Smiling, you say to the wild-haired, lanky man, in sirihish:
"Aye, very good. Now you'll just have ta be able ta do it fast, but tha'll come wi' time n' pratice."
You instruct the wild-haired, lanky man in the skill of 'shield use'.
The wild-haired, lanky man says to you, in sirihish:
"Thanks for the assistance, Jenneth."
You ask the athletic, dusky man, in sirihish:
"Would ya li' ta try too?"
Shrugging, the athletic, dusky man says to you, in sirihish:
"Yeah, sure, if you got time."
With another smile, you say to the wild-haired, lanky man, in sirihish:
"Aye, no trouble."
The athletic, dusky man strides into the sparring circle quickly, in front of you.
Waving and headin off, the wild-haired, lanky man says, in sirihish:
"See you two. I'm headin' to the Gaj."
The wild-haired, lanky man runs south.
The slender, hack-haired man waits for the athletic, dusky man to take a stance.
The athletic, dusky man crouches low, holding his daraq shield out a few inches away from his body.
The athletic, dusky man rises slightly, angling his daraq shield back towards him just a bit.
The slender, hack-haired man slahses out slowly with your short bone sparring sword.
The athletic, dusky man moves his large round shield forward, striking out at your sword with the side of his large round shield.
Smiling, you say to the athletic, dusky man, in sirihish:
"You'll want ta make sure you're bendin' your knees a bit more on th' impact, but otherwise all good, I'd say."
You instruct the athletic, dusky man in the skill of 'shield use'.
Nodding quickly, the athletic, dusky man says to you, in sirihish:
"Yeah, I'll put more work inta it."
The athletic, dusky man says to you, in sirihish:
"Thanks for staying to practice."
You say to the athletic, dusky man, in sirihish:
"Aye, no problem. 'Cuse me though, Wall Warden's a-waitin'."
Nodding while showing a slight wave, the athletic, dusky man says to you, in sirihish:
"Yeah, you go ahead. Wouldn't want to see you punished for being too late."
In the Arm of the Dragon, sparring usually starts at dawn and ends at highsun.
This is an extended sparring session, where recruits Sett and Lucien learn
shield use, as taught by one Private Jenneth. Private Nadim looks...
Continue Reading...This is What Happens to Looters
Added on Mar 16, 2009The Gith War is over, but the corpses of the dead still litter the streets in large piles. Looting corpses, any corpse, is a crime for which the sentance is death.
Told by the perspective of one Private Jenneth. The Lord Templar Samos Rennik
deals with a looter. Corporal Laila and Private Farran are also present, as
well as a few bystandards.---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A Small, Dusty Plaza [NESW]
Crowds choke this plaza, stirring up thick dust and fine, silty sand
into the air, already thick with the odors of the lives conducted here. The
ground underfoot is simple, hardpacked dirt, worn smooth with footsteps, but
with an occasional jagged crack or pile of offal that keeps the traveller's
step wary. Slightly taller buildings surround this plaza, many of them
featuring balconies fluttering with the laundry which has been hung out to
air in the fierce sun.
A pile of black sandcloth lies here in a heap.
An unlit bone-handled torch is lying here.
Some worn out pairs of braxat-hide pants are here.
Some used large round shields are here.
An used bloodied large round shield lies here.
A couple of worn out braxat-hide jackets are here.
A few worn out bloodied braxat-hide jackets are here.
Some used sets of cuirbouilli sleeves are here.
A few obsidian-tipped spears are here.
Some crude, twisted bone shortbows are here.
An unadorned black belt lies here.
An empty brownish-grey bottle, its side labelled with the Oash sigil, sits here.
Some leather knife belts are here.
The head of the tattoo-covered, dark-orange gith lies here.
An used bloodied set of cuirbouilli leg guards is lying here.
A sprawling heap of corpses lay littered along the war-torn street.
Some used bloodied bone helmets are here.
A few used bone helmets are here.
Triangular clay pipes jut unevenly from a depression here, caked with filth.
Several bone-handled obsidian longknives are here.
Some broken pipes, largely obscured by a midden heap, reveal a gaping hole.
The ebon-braided, scar-riddled man is standing here.
The petite, jet-haired young woman is standing here.
The dark, purple-inked man is standing here.
The short, fire-blackened woman is standing here.
The spartan, silt-toned man is standing here.
The massive, black-bearded man is standing here.
The scrawny, unkempt youth is standing here held by the burn-scarred, curly-haired man.
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette is standing here.
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar is standing here.
A tiny kank-fly buzzes through the air.
A lithe, obsidian-eyed woman lounges near the tavern entrance.
A clay-stained human potter sits here on a woven mat of grass.
Walking over with his narrow, etched bronze longsword held level at the scrawny, unkempt youth's gut, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says to the burn-scarred, curly-haired man, in sirihish:
"Hold 'im easy, now."
Briefly, you look down at the scrawny, unkempt youth.
The scrawny human before you seems to be rather young, with nary a patch
of facial hair on him. His hair is an unkempt mess of dark brown that
covers his ears, matching long, slitted eyes of the same hue. His cheeks
are gaunt, and his ribs can clearly be discerned. His lips are cracked and
chaffed rather badly, as likely from the lack of moisture. His limbs are
long and dangly, ending in long-fingered hands.
The scrawny, unkempt youth is in excellent condition.The scrawny, unkempt youth is using:
<worn in right ear> a loop of bleached bone
<worn around neck> a triangular black pendant
<worn on feet> a pair of polished black bootsHe is carrying:
nothing obvious
Eyeing the scrawny, unkempt youth, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette says, in sirihish:
"Was picking up militia cloaks. Worst fucking kind of looter."
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man fixes the scrawny, unkempt youth's arms firmly behind him, one of his hands gripped on each of his elbows.
The scrawny, unkempt youth grins widely, attempting to put on his best face.
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar brandishes his narrow, etched bronze longsword in both hands.This is an ornately-crafted longsword made of the metal bronze. Three
cords in length, the deadly-sharp blade of this weapon gleams brightly
whenever light reflects on it. It appears to be one solid piece of metal,
with a high-quality leather wrapped around the hilt to provide a good grip.
Just above the hilt, at the base of the blade, many tiny runes have been
etched into the metal, the sum of them forming a thick, swirling pattern.
The sword seems to weigh considerably less than it should and is
inexplicably well-balanced.
The petite, jet-haired young woman leans against a blood caked door to the west, scratching her cheek.
Arms languidly folding over his bloodied black-stained brigandine cuirass, the ebon-braided, scar-riddled man watches on unflinchingly.
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar eyes the scrawny, unkempt youth's legs for a few moments, then with a mighty swing, cleaves his narrow, etched bronze longsword in a side-swiping arc, aimed to sever one leg at the knee.
The scrawny, unkempt youth grimaces, face still attempting to maintain a brave front.
Whistling low, the massive, black-bearded man says, in sirihish:
"That'll leave a mark."
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette watches impassively as the rugged, stubble-bearded templar's sword cuts through the scrawny, unkempt youth's flesh and bone.
The muscles in the burn-scarred, curly-haired man's arms cord as he leans back slightly, suddenly supporting the scrawny, unkempt youth's weight.
The dark, purple-inked man winces a bit, watching as the blade cleaves into flesh.
One side of her mouth twisting in a half-scowl, the short, fire-blackened woman props herself against the ebon-braided, scar-riddled man's shoulder.
The slender, hack-haired man winces, then straightens.
With a thin, emotionless smile, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says to the burn-scarred, curly-haired man, in sirihish:
"Alright. Drop 'im."
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar slings a narrow, etched bronze longsword across his back.
The scrawny, unkempt youth face turns tight, features still struggling to maintain the semblance of a grin.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man releases the scrawny, unkempt youth, who immediately moves away.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man drops the scrawny, unkempt youth unceremoniously.
The scrawny, unkempt youth stumbles onto the ground in a heap, sprawled on the floor.
Raising his hands, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar exclaims, in sirihish:
"Citizens... THIS 's what happens t' looters!"
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette sheathes an obsidian-headed, jade-emblazoned mace.
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar calls out the name of the Highlord.
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar utters an incantation.
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar spews a bright orange fire from his mouth at the scrawny, unkempt youth, and his body ignites!.
The short, fire-blackened woman's eyes go three times their normal size.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man falls back a few steps quite abruptly.
The slender, hack-haired man eyes widen.
The spartan, silt-toned man says to the short, fire-blackened woman, in sirihish:
"Mind yourself.. Midge."
The dark, purple-inked man's eyes grow large, and he steps back.
The dragon-tattooed, claw-braided man has arrived from the north.
The crescent-faced half-giant has arrived from the north.
The hale, scarlet-haired woman has arrived from the north.
You look down at the scrawny, unkempt youth.
The scrawny human before you seems to be rather young, with nary a patch
of facial hair on him. His hair is an unkempt mess of dark brown that
covers his ears, matching long, slitted eyes of the same hue. His cheeks
are gaunt, and his ribs can clearly be discerned. His lips are cracked and
chaffed rather badly, as likely from the lack of moisture. His limbs are
long and dangly, ending in long-fingered hands.
The scrawny, unkempt youth is in excellent condition.
He writhes in agony as orange flames immolate his body.The scrawny, unkempt youth is using:
<worn in right ear> a loop of bleached bone
<worn around neck> a triangular black pendant
<worn on feet> a pair of polished black bootsHe is carrying:
nothing obvious
The petite, jet-haired young woman jumps, pressing further against the door.
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar closes his mouth and licks his lips, a bit of smoke trailing from his nostrils.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man hastily backs away from the legless, burning form of the scrawny, unkempt youth.
The scrawny, unkempt youth winces as his skin sears, lips attempting to fix themselves back into a smile.
Flatly, the orange flames reflecting in her eyes, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette says to the scrawny, unkempt youth, in sirihish:
"I hate that fucking smile."
Turning away from the burning form of the scrawny, unkempt youth, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar asks, in sirihish:
"Anyone ELSE want t' loot my fallen soldiers?"
Impassively, the massive, black-bearded man looks at the scrawny, unkempt youth.
The ebon-braided, scar-riddled man stands by, impassively, watching the scrawny, unkempt youth with a malicious half-sneer.
Watching closely as the flames writhe and flicker, the short, fire-blackened woman looks at the scrawny, unkempt youth.
The spartan, silt-toned man simply lays a hand on the hilt of his light bone straight-sword, looking simply toward the rugged, stubble-bearded templar, apparently doggedly paying attention to his words.
The orange flames surrounding the scrawny, unkempt youth burn him with a hiss!
The orange flames surrounding the scrawny, unkempt youth burn him with a hiss!
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette shakes her head, gaze set steadily on the scrawny, unkempt youth as he burns.
The massive, black-bearded man raises a hand before his face, shielding his eyes from the blaze.
The slender, hack-haired man turns a green hue at the smell of burning flesh.
You feel sick.The dragon-tattooed, claw-braided man winces, watching the scrawny, unkempt youth.
The hale, scarlet-haired woman cringes a bit as she watches the scrawny, unkempt youth sizzle.
Sneering, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette says to the scrawny, unkempt youth, in sirihish:
"Burn, fucker."
Sighing, the massive, black-bearded man says to the scrawny, unkempt youth, in sirihish:
"C'mon, lad. At least scream a little bit."
With a quick sudden jump back, the tall figure in a loose, off-white sandcloth robe looks down at the scrawny, unkempt youth.
The trim, jet-bearded young man lowers the hood of a loose, off-white sandcloth robe.
The orange flames surrounding the scrawny, unkempt youth burn him with a hiss!The petite, jet-haired young woman watches the flames in silence, staring at the scrawny, unkempt youth with a bored expression.
As the fires around the scrawny, unkempt youth twist higher, the short, fire-blackened woman tugs her hood up, shielding her face.
The short, fire-blackened woman raises the hood of a drab, weathered stormcloak.
The slender, hack-haired man continues to look green, putting a hand over your nose.
The scrawny, unkempt youth closes his eyes slowly, face already somewhat permanently etched into the smile as his skin turns a charred hue.
The trim, jet-bearded young man bows to the rugged, stubble-bearded templar silently as he watches the scrawny, unkempt youth burn.
Smiling weakly as tears stream down his cheeks, the scrawny, unkempt youth says, in sirihish:
"...thank you Highlord. Release me from this mortal coil."
Curtly, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette exclaims to the scrawny, unkempt youth, in sirihish:
"Highlord's got nothing for your kind! Faithless!"
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man spits with an expression of contempt in the general direction of the scrawny, unkempt youth.
The dark, purple-inked man leans against the wall, watching in silence.
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette spits at the scrawny, unkempt youth disgustedly.
Summarily, tipping his fine, wide-brimmed hat, the massive, black-bearded man says to the rugged, stubble-bearded templar, in sirihish:
"Good form, m'Lord."
The orange flames surrounding the scrawny, unkempt youth burn him with a hiss!
The ravaging fires burning the scrawny, unkempt youth suddenly die out with a wisp of smoke.
Darkly, the ebon-braided, scar-riddled man says to the short figure in a drab, weathered stormcloak, in sirihish:
"Fawkin' deserves it. Pair'a Rinthis came inna th'armorshop earlier while I was conversin' wit' Kench, tried pawnin' off Gith shit. HATE that shit. Wanted t'punch 'em in th'throat."
The slender, hack-haired man blinks at the dissipated fire.
The short figure in a drab, weathered stormcloak acknowledges the ebon-braided, scar-riddled man with a halfassed mumble of agreement.
Staring down at the blackened, charred form that used to be the scrawny, unkempt youth, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says, in sirihish:
"Huh. Most of 'em just kill 'emselves. Amazed he handled th' pain."
The scrawny, unkempt youth eyes flutter open slowly, eyes fixed on the sky.
You think:
"...There is something WRONG with him..."
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette sneers again at the scrawny, unkempt youth.The rugged, stubble-bearded templar walks over and raises his boot over the scrawny, unkempt youth's head.
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar neatly kicks the scrawny, unkempt youth's head into pieces.
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar's stomp crushes the blackened skull in half.
The swarthy, aging man pauses, eyeing the commotion a moment, his scented, jade and black handkerchief held over his nose and mouth.
The dark, purple-inked man steps awat as bits of charred flesh, skull, and brain splatter against the area he was standing moment before.
With a half-smirk, the ebon-braided, scar-riddled man looks at the body of the scrawny, unkempt youth.
Flicking a nod at the body of the scrawny, unkempt youth, the massive, black-bearded man says, in sirihish:
"T'Drov with yeh, lad."
Addressing the crowds with narrowed eyes, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says, in sirihish:
"THAT is what I'll do t' any feckers who loot any 'f th' heroes that gave their lives fer us."
The hale, scarlet-haired woman pulls the hem of her aba over her face, grimacing, eyes still stuck on the charred remains.
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette nods to the rugged, stubble-bearded templar.
Kicking the husk of the body of the scrawny, unkempt youth, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says, in sirihish:
"You 'n yer friends 're gonna scream a lot worse 'n that spiced up fuck."
Eyes following the voice, the swarthy, aging man looks at the rugged, stubble-bearded templar.
The petite, jet-haired young woman sneers at the smoking body, standing from her lean on the door to tap her boot and rid it of a clump of burned hair and brain.
Gruffly, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says, in sirihish:
"Soldiers, take care 'f this shit here."
Bowing her head, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette says to the rugged, stubble-bearded templar, in sirihish:
"Yes, my Lord."
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar stalks up the plaza, making his way through the crowd.
Told by the perspective of one Private Jenneth. The Lord Templar Samos Rennik
deals with a looter. Corporal Laila and Private Farran are also present, as
well as a few bystandards.---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A Small, Dusty Plaza [NESW]
...
Continue Reading...Legends of 'Nak: The Four Orders
Added on Nov 26, 2008Four Orders to serve His Will, four colors of the Robes. This is a legend or story a commoner might hear or speak about what the roles of His Templarate are, and explain their existence in ways mere commoners might understand.
There are four orders to serve the will of the Golden Tower, four orders
that enforce His will upon the sprawling sands of civilization; the realm
and city of Allanak. Four orders to hold His will:The Keepers of His Gifts. The Black Dragon spread it's wings across the
sky, enveloping the worthy. He Who Saved Us vanquished the defilers of His
Will, tearing from them the Gift they abused: Not only life, but existence
itself. The Templars of the White bequeath unto His City water, source of
all, the toll they take a reminder of the cost of His Gifts.The Speakers of His Voice. His Gloriousness, like the Golden Tower He resides in, is far above the puny affairs of His Citizens. Unending, He sees a year as but a
moment, a King's Age as a mere day. The Templars of the Blue are entrusted
the Judgment to speak with His voice on all matters. Their word is His
Will: Their word is Law and Truth.The Bearers of His Blood. In His City, citizens might first convey an
order by voice, and then enforce it with brutal and precise force. To
comprehend in small the orders who serve him, this example will serve. The
Great Templars of the Red are His Blood, and to them is given unimaginable
gifts, to obliterate any who try to defy or rise above the speakers of His
Voice.Those formed of His Shadow. His Shadow encompasses all. White are for
Gifts, Blue for the Voice, Red for the Blood. Those who are of His Shadow
don robes as black as the Dragon's very scales. The High Templar Lords of
the Black are unseen, unspoken. It is they who set the cast, the mold for
His City to follow in, as the Shadow of His Gloriousness wills.There are four orders to serve the will of the Golden Tower, four orders
that enforce His will upon the sprawling sands of civilization; the realm
and city of Allanak. Four orders to hold His will:The Keepers of His Gifts. The Black Dragon spread it's wings across the
sky, enveloping the...
Continue Reading...Path of Vengence
Added on Oct 6, 2008A cross piercing a moon, and a scarred-over hand. Done in colored pencil.
Sulifus
Added on Oct 6, 2008Lord Templar Sulifus Jal of the Blue. Done in colored pencil.
Serilla
Added on Oct 6, 2008A picture of Faithful Lady Serilla. Colored with colored pencils, and had some touch up on photoshop.
Artwork Contest #4 City: Daja
Added on Sep 20, 2008The Oasis city Daja.
Dreams of death for ever-more
Added on Jan 6, 2008Set during and shortly after the Gith War in Allanak , this gruesome story focuses on Private Karriv Amosson of the Arm of the Dragon and the horrors of war and death. Please note there are reoccurring and graphic depictions of violence. Constructive criticism welcome.
The eerie, haunting melody slipped out over the brown-splattered, corpse-strewn streets, seeming only to enhance the utter stillness. Slowly it drifted through the air, each word lingering the way the stench of death lingered, permeating the air.
“No thoughts of glo-ry, this is war,
Dreams of death for ever-more…”
The gaunt wisp of a girl threaded her way over the precarious, gruesome footing with ease, seeming the only thing alive in the nightmare around her. The city had elapsed into a shocked, numbed silence, the reeling of incomprehension before reality sinks in. All sounds save those of mindless reflex were crushed, gone before the weight of fatigue. Soon even the distantly heard clash of blades would cease, the sounds of a few stragglers in a war already over.
“Ba-the your sword in crim-son red,
Cele-brate the bodies dead.”
The gore surrounding the blood-drenched figure seemed like something out of a defiler’s wet dream. Scraps of burnt flesh were plastered to the wall of the building slumping behind him, clung to his armor and littered the road. Goblets of bloody hunks of tissue and ripped strands of twisted muscle were scattered along the road, kank-flies already beginning to buzz. The cold, unseeing eyes of monstrous gith and soldier alike leered from mangled and trampled corpses.
Karriv Amosson’s eyes could scarce be told apart. They too stared unblinkingly and unseeingly at nothing, unfocused and uncaring. The differences were subtle. These eyes still glistened, not yet drying out as so many others, and when a kank-fly approached to suck out the moisture, they would flicker in their numb stare with a single, reflexive blink. In his blood-caked, trembling arms was the body of a woman, her fingers still clutched around a jade-emblazoned, razor-edged sword.
“Dressed in jade, clad in black,
“‘Gainst the Highlord’s Arm none will take ‘Nak…”
The words echoed in Karriv’s thoughts, a spark of awareness in the vast dunes of numbness. “’Gainst the Highlord’s Arm none will take ‘Nak…” Bile rose in his throat, thick and acidic. He retched, splattering the remains of his last meal across the ground in heave after heave, until his retching came dry-- There was nothing left.
Her eyes sparkled as she smacked his head; with anger or amusement he couldn’t tell. “How many times do I have to tell you? It’s not ‘Yza’ and it’s not ‘Belle,’ it’s Yzabelle. You’d think you’d have it by now, you stupid lug”
He gave a wide grin. “Well, you know, yelling ‘Yza, Yza, Yzaaa! Ooo!’ isn’t near so fun to yell as ‘ Yzaaabelleee! Ooooo !’ in bed.”
Yzabelle smirked at him. “Been practicing on the whores again, Karriv? Or do you practice while playing with yourself, because you couldn’t even pay a whore to fuck you?”
He clutched his chest. “Ouch, you’ve a krathi-tounge. Ooooh, how it burns.”
Yzabelle rolled her eyes. “I’d say see a vivadu, but you’re already wet enough.”
“Good, then we can get to it!” He grins incorrigibly before pausing. “Seriously, Yza, why not? We’d both have a damn good time, you know that.”
She gave him a soft smile. “Because fun fucks come easy, and a man who is so persistent at making a fool of himself is a much rarer treat.”
He grumbled something unflattering under his breath.
“Besides, I’m not going to fuck a man just so he’ll get my name right.” She pressed two fingers to her lips, then pressed them to his cheek.
“Hey, love-kanks!” They both started, Yzabelle’s face a scowl as she prepared to vehemently object. “Save it. Serge is callin’ the unit together.”
The sergeant begin, and it was not long before Karriv interrupted. “How many fuckers?! Wigglin’ child of a rinthi necker-spawn!”
Yzabelle smirked. “Don’t worry Karriv, I won’t let the scary Gith get you.”
The memory dissipated, Karriv abruptly wrenched from it like a babe from the safety womb thrust into the cruel jowls of reality. Somewhere distant the high wail of a child split through the air, a jarring refrain.
“What’s wrong?”
Karriv started, sword reflexively up and point pressed to the speaker’s throat. It was just a child. Karriv forced tense muscles to relax, withdrawing his sword. Large blue eyes continued to look at him unblinkingly, and she spoke again in that same ethereal voice. “You won, you know.”
He tried to speak, but all that came out was a croak. The sharp tang of acid was still strong in his mouth, his throat felt as raw as the fleshless globs of oozing flesh scattered about. Karriv coughed, throat seared with pain. He took a long swig of water, cool, cold, refreshing-- And spit it out. The pungent smell of blood, sweat and the dead permeated everything. The girl only continued to watch him, cool eyes unwavering.
“Who- Who are you?”
“I’m only the first. There will be many songs to follow, for a victory so grand. The losses were acceptable, the foe vanquished.”
He blinked with incomprehension, and she turned to continue. The distant child’s wail finally died, and she continued the slow, floating melody.
“Bloody, shat-terred broken dreams,
Victorious tri-um-phant screams…”
------------------------------------------
“To the Highlord!” Karriv raised his glass to the toast, downing it in a single swallow. Five glasses later, he wasn’t even buzzed, much less drunk. He didn’t remember the last time he had gotten drunk. True, this was probably because afterwards he always awoke on the floor of the Gaj, knowing nothing save the intense pounding pain of a merciless hangover.
He filled the glass again, watching the Lord Templar Nariliek give out awards. He didn’t know the men and women up there; over half his unit was dead. Over half the unit. I’ve reduced them to nothing more then a statistic. Of course he had. Karriv wanted them to be a statistic, to have that distance from them. Because if they didn’t exist as more then numbers, then they weren’t gone. Then he wouldn’t feel this nameless, sinking all-consuming void within him. You want to forget. And that only inflamed the guilt. He couldn’t deny it, he wanted to forget everything that seared his heart so, and that in itself was a dagger plunging into him.
The drunkenness would have purged all of this. It made him numb, it made him not care, gave him the illusion of happiness and joy. And when he woke up, everything was all the darker, all the bleaker, making him crave the delusion of bliss all the more.
“Karriv!” He started as an elbow found his ribs. “The Lord Templar has called you twice already.” Nariliek’s hard eyes stared at him expectantly.
“Sorry, milord. Must’ve been a bit krath-struck,” he said, rising smoothly. Too smoothly for his lapse to be wine induced, the Lord Templar noted with a flicker of satisfaction.
“Private Karriv , your performance on the battle field was exceptional, a fine example for--”
Thrust, slash, parry, block. Too quick for conscious thought, weapon merely and extension of self, self a creature with only one goal: To kill. Complete and utter chaos. Something shoved something your way; you rammed your sword back in its face. Protect the soldiers on either side of you, hold the line. Anything else was death.
“Therefore, I present you with the jade cross, as well as--”
He slashed out, bone slashing across the jugular with a spray of warm blood spurting across his face. No time to wipe it away. He turned to block a blade aimed at his head, stumbling over a fallen body. No time to think. He smashed down a boot for better footing, crunching bone and mashing flesh, smashing the face beyond recognition. Merrik’s face. Merrik, oh Highlord, not Mer -- Block, parry, slash, dodge . No time to think. “Hold the line! I will fucking personally flay anyone who breaks. HOLD THE FUCKING LINE!” Roared a voice, as the hoard of Gith continued to come, as far as the eye can see, snarling with feral blood lusting eyes--
--The soldier beside him, arm brutally severed with a rush of crimson, endlessly spurting and the screaming, oh Highlord, the screaming-- “MEDIC! MEDIC FOR ASHIA!” He yelled, voice lost amidst the clash and clang of weaponry, the screams of the injured and roars of the combatants. A vivadu, a medic, something or she’d bleed out--! “Arrows!” someone yelled a few soldiers down, barely audible. Too late, as one pierced Ashia’s eye, slicing through it with a thunk as it hit something beyond. Her screams cut off abruptly, dieing in a strangled gurgle of blood.
Yzabelle moved to fill the gap in the line, shield firmly before her. “Yza, Ashia, I couldn’t--” Her eyes met his. “I know Karriv. I couldn’t save her eit --” She slammed an offending Gith down, ramming her sword through its gut and as it fell into Ashia’s corpse beneath it. “--er. It’s not over, Karriv. We’ve got a War to win. Now let’s kill these fucking sons of bitches!”
In the distance, cross the lengths of fighting sweat-soaked soldiers and treacherous footing made slick with blood and adorned with gore came a cry. Yzabelle spun to look for the source of the sound. “Karriv, the Lord Templar!”
Another explosion of gore, shards of sizzling-hot bone flew through the air. Blood, torn and shredded strips of muscle covered him like a mantle. Karriv could feel his heart racing in his chest (thunk-thunk-thunk-thunk) as the soldiers exploded around him, with not so much as time for a scream. He was going to be next; he was going to go-- His bladder released, seeping down his pants, urine mixing with the sweat that soaked them.
Beside him, Yzabelle rushed on, eyes also wide with fear. Her breathing came ragged, and she clenched her jaw, narrowing her gaze on their goal. They ran on, a deadly obstacle course of gith , stone road completely obscured by bodies and blood, both waiting for a misstep to send them booth sprawling down in the chaos. They scrambled to keep their footing and their sanity in this nightmarish reality.
“Karriv, cover me-- I’ll take point.” Karriv dropped back, focusing to the sneering, snarling Gith to either side. Yzabelle was free to focus her efforts on surging forewords. The repugnant stench of gore and the fallen filled the air, along with the all-permeating odor of burnt flesh, but it barely registered as the two sweat and blood-soaked soldiers pressed on.
They reached the Templar, Karriv rushing to route the gith in the front, Yza darting behind the Templar’s back. He didn’t know how long they hacked and slashed, if it was only moments, or endless days but suddenly there was nothing left to kill. Karriv stood, blinking blearily, breathing haggard as he waited for that simple yet inconceivable fact to register. “Yza?” He croaked. “It’s… Yzabelle…” Was the equally hoarse and haggard reply. Someone moaned, and they both were reminded of the cause for the frantic rush to get here.
Karriv stumbled over with a weary sigh, dropping to his knees to look the Lord Templar over. “I think he’s been poisoned.” Karriv begin to rummage through his belt, only to find that it had been slashed somewhere along the fight, precious contents lost somewhere amidst the chaos of battle. Fuck, now what?! He stared at the Templar, no answer coming. Then something clanged off his helmet, bouncing off. “You… Stupid… Lug…” Yzabelle’s breathing was still harsh and ragged, but she offered a grin. “Always loosing your shit. I swear ,you’d be a helpless babe without me.” Karriv snorted, inwardly clinging to the banter the way a man fallen over the edge of the shield wall would cling to a rope. It was familiar, it was reassuring and it kept him focused, able to ignore the ravages around him.
He picked the pouch thrown at him out from the rubble and gore, peering into it to discern the proper tablet. “Lord Templar?” Blue eyes flickered weakly over to gaze unsteadily at Karriv. “Milord, you have to eat this. You understand?” He placed the tablet in Nariliek’s mouth, making sure he ate and swallowed it-- Without choking or vomiting it back up. He poured the water from the flask to the Templar’s lips, and the blue eyes closed-- Breathing slowly getting steadier and more even. Karriv let out a sigh of relief, slumping down. “Yza, we did it. We did it.”
She gave a tired smile back, for once not complaining about the nick-name. “Yeah, we did.” They both just rested, recovering best they could before the inevitability of more fighting, more insanity. The adrenaline drained out of Karriv , leaving him glad that he was already on the ground; he didn’t think he could stand if he wanted to. Yzabelle didn’t seem much better, slumped against a wall, her fingers seemingly only still clutching her sword because they’d forgotten how to do anything else. His shield seemed to be wanting to drag his arm out of it’s socket, so damn fucking heavy. Had it always weighed this much?
He ached all over. Head to toe, nothing didn’t hurt. But they’d done it; they’d rescued the Lord Templar. They hadn’t exploded, and they weren’t dead. All in all, things were looking up. They just had to wait, either for re-enforcements or until they could lug the Lord Templar back to a secure spot to rest. Karriv wished he could rest, not likely; no able-bodied soldier could afford that luxury while Nak was threatened. Still, it was nice to be able to just sit awhile, aches or no, just rest, if only for a moment.
“GREEEAAAAAARRRKKKK!” A screech split the air, and Karriv turned, eyes wide in horror at the snarling form lunging towards him. He fumbled, trying to get his sword up, but it was too late; the Gith was too close, and in moments the blade would slice through his flesh, biting to the bone, severing-- Suddenly, in a blur of motion, the Gith was tackled from the side. Oh thank the Highlord, thank-you, Shadow Above, thank-you…
“ALLLANAAAAAAAK!” Yzabelle cried, slashing forwards. The Gith pulled up it’s face into a gruesome sneer at it was plowed into from the side, then let out a gurgle as it hit the road with a thunk, sword plunged clear through it. They both hit in a sprawling heap.
“Highlord, Yza, I’d thought he’d get me for sure. Fuck that was close!”
There was no answer. He could feel his heart beating, thump-thump-thump, and it seemed an eternity of silence, despite the fact that somewhere in the back of his mind he new that couldn’t be right; the battle was still going on. There was screaming, the clash of blades, surely… But he heard none of it. He heard nothing; nothing. No answer.
“Yza?” A chill of denial was already running through him. No, no, it couldn’t be… There were no last words, no moment of understanding before the end, no chance to say good-bye. She was playing, it was just a game. She always did have a bad sense of humor. “Yza, this isn’t fucking funny.” He rose shakily, heading over to where the gith and Yzabelle lay sprawled together in a heap. “Yza-- Yzabelle?” He knelt, turning her over-- Her guts spilled out, intestines still warm. Horror and loss overwhelmed him, and choked back the bile that rose. A voice, a memory, that flash of smile. “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you from the scary Gith.” As he gathered her lifeless corpse into his arms, her head lolled to the side, helmet clanking off, her rich Quirri-black hair plastered to her forehead with sweat, eyes vacant as a doll’s, staring off, unseeing for evermore.
“And furthermore, you’ll now serve as the Corporal of your unit.”
Claps and cheers rose in the background, with the occasional cry of “Congratulations, Corporal!” or “You showed the fucks! Karriv Amosson the Gith-Smiter!” Karriv didn’t hear them. He only said one word: “No.”
Lord Templar Nariliek frowned. “What did you say?”
Karriv spoke again, shaking his head, voice raised to be heard over the clamor. “No. No! I’m not the one you want. I didn’t save you, I didn’t do shit! Yza--” He choked on the name. “Yzabelle’s the one you want. Ashia’s the one you want, Merrik is the fucking one you want! All the damn others-- They are the ones you want! I’M NOT A KRATH-FUCKING HERO! She fell and I fucking froze, I was reduced to a damn blubbering heap. I am not your damn hero.”
Complete and utter silence. The Lord Templar looked shocked, features blank with disbelief. His unit’s Sergeant looked horrified, the rest of the gathered soldiers couldn’t have been more stunned if he’d announced that he was the Sun-King. The Sergeant was the first to speak, his voice dangerously low. “Private Karriv Amosson , you--” The Lord Templar held up a hand, and the sergeant fell silent. The silent seemed overwhelming now, as oppressing as the sweltering heat of Suk-Krath at High Sun.
Two words, sharp as knives. “Collect yourself.” A hand pointed to the door, and Karriv left without a word into the ravaged city under the endless void of night. And in the silence, he swore a voice drifted, floating through the air like a tendril of breeze, a melody impossible to forget as inescapable as the death surrounding him.
“Win the bat- tle, loose the war,
Dreams of death for ever-more…”
The eerie, haunting melody slipped out over the brown-splattered, corpse-strewn streets, seeming only to enhance the utter stillness. Slowly it drifted through the air, each word lingering the way the stench of death lingered, permeating the air.
“No thoughts of glo-ry, this is war,
Dreams of...
Continue Reading...
