Original Submissions by Zoltan

• 

  Those Goofy Insubordinate Runners
  Added on Jan 22, 2011

  Thrill as Lieutenant Raul of the T'zai Byn deals with a murder and rampant insubordination!

  ---

  [Told from the perspective of Lieutenant Raul of the T'zai Byn (Demonslayer, Hero of Deeds, etc.), the rugged, mustachioed man.]
  
  [The following description stuff is cobbled together from a few logs, but it's about right.]
  
  You are Raul, of many people. (type 'tribes' to see your tribes).
  Keywords: rugged mustachioed man
  Sdesc: the rugged, mustachioed man
  You are 29 years, 0 months, and 8 days old,
   which by your race and appearance is adult.
  You are 68 inches tall, and weigh 7 ten-stone.
  Your strength is extremely good, your agility is very good,
    your wisdom is average, and your endurance is exceptional.
  [still my most epic reroll to date, and this was before reroll undo, whippersnappers!]
  You are currently speaking sirihish with a southern accent.
  
  This man's body tells a tale of battle, and of years of hard living.  He
  is a little shorter than the Zalanthan average.  His body is made up of
  long, muscular limbs, a broad chest, a sturdy neck, and heavily-calloused
  hands and feet.  All of this is sheathed in skin made dark and a little
  leathery from much exposure to the sun.  His dark brown hair is kept short
  and slicked back, though a few errant strands break the mold here and there.
  Bushy eyebrows sit below a tall, moderately wrinkled forehead and shade his
  eyes, which are a deep brown in color.  He has a large, slightly pointed
  nose, and his thin lips are chapped.  His chin is rather delicate looking in
  contrast to his rugged features.  He has a thick, well-maintained mustache.
  Many old scars cover his flesh, ranging from large and rather grotesque to
  small and mundane.
  
  <worn on head>           a black chitin helm
  <worn around neck>       an obsidian-carved, silver-etched gorget
  <worn about throat>      a water gourd
  <slung across back>      a serrated bone warsword
  <worn across back>       a bone-studded backpack
  <worn on torso>          a mantis-shell breastplate
  <worn on left shoulder>  a scrab-shell shoulder plate
  <worn on arms>           a new pair of three-knotted studded sleeves
  <worn around wrist>      a bone-spiked, black-leather bracer
  <worn around wrist>      a long, leather-strapped bone buckler
  <worn on hands>          a pair of spiked duskhorn gauntlets
  <worn on forearms>       a leather and chitin strap-sheath
  <worn as belt>           a leather knife belt
  <hung from belt>         a bloodied curved, black-hilted shortsword
  <hung from belt>         a waterskin
  <worn around body>       a hooded, black military aba
  <worn about waist>       a leather swordbelt
  <worn on legs>           a pair of sandy-yellow chitinous leggings
  <worn on right ankle>    a small leather pouch
  <worn on left ankle>     a thin, grey-sandcloth ankle wrap
  <worn on feet>           a pair of brown knee-high boots
  
  [These events occurred not long before he was slain in the events of the HRPT, and this scene in particular was one of my favorites I ever had with this or any other character. I only wish I did more thinks and feels with Raul, but he really was my least “inner monologue/contemplative” character, despite having some complex motivations and such.]
  
  The Officers' Barracks [ES Quit]
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You contact the large, sideburned man with the Way.
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the large, sideburned man:
       "You guys make it back? Well, -you- are alive, anyway."
  
  A foreign presence contacts your mind.
  
  The large, sideburned man sends you a telepathic message:
       "Yes, sir, we got back. But Pfirsich has killed Gil."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the large, sideburned man:
       "Please gimme some more detail. What. The. Fuck."
  
  [Raul heads off to the detention cell]
  
  The large, sideburned man sends you a telepathic message:
       "He's in the brig now."
  
  Stinging sand swirls around you.
  The Drill Yard [NESW]
  The ebon-braided half-elf stands here, surveying the yard.
  The lanky, obsidian-haired young man is here, marching around the yard.
  The ebony-skinned, raven-haired woman stretches and twists her form here.
  The brown-eyed, tattooed man is standing here.
  
  To the north, a doorway is set into a small stone building.
  The door is closed.
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the large, sideburned man:
       "You in there?"
  
  The large, sideburned man sends you a telepathic message:
       "He says Gil was harrassing him... err... we closed the door. He's still there.  anyway, says Gil was telling him about how he was goign to kill him when Gil became militia."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the large, sideburned man:
       "Come to the detention cell."
  
  The large, sideburned man sends you a telepathic message:
       "How northernes should be enslaved.."
  
  The large, sideburned man has arrived from the east.
  
  The rugged, mustachioed man beckons to the large, sideburned man.
  
  The sun begins its long voyage across the heavens.
  
  The large, sideburned man falls in behind you.
  
  You open the door.
  
  To the north, a doorway is set into a small stone building.
  The door is open.
  [Near]
  It's completely dark over there.
  
  You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
  
  You get your green glow-crystal from your hooded, black military aba.
  It is very light.
  
  The wind changes direction.
  The wind loses some momentum.
  You hold your green glow-crystal.
  You light a green glow-crystal.
  
  Sparse sands blow across your path.
  The area is filled with a green light.
  The Detention Room [S Quit]
  The effeminate wisp of a man is reclining here.
  The large, sideburned man has arrived from the south.
  
  Slamming it, you close the door.
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  
  The large, sideburned man says, in sirihish:
       "Gil's body is in the workshop, sir."
  
  You open your bone-studded backpack.
  
  You get your unlit rag-wrapped bone torch from your bone-studded backpack.
  It is very light.
  
  You drop an unlit rag-wrapped bone torch.  Shown to the room as:
  An unlit simple torch made of a piece of bone lies here.
  
  You light an unlit rag-wrapped bone torch.
  
  You extinguish a dim green glow-crystal.
  You put your green glow-crystal into your hooded, black military aba.
  
  The rugged, mustachioed man nods aside to the large, sideburned man, eyes boring into the effeminate wisp of a man.
  
  You look down at the effeminate wisp of a man.
  A tall man, his regal characteristics have been emphasized by grooming.
  Soft and silky blonde hair is cut neatly about his ears, and parted so that
  his bangs sweep down the left side of his forehead to dance with one of his
  deep blue eyes.  His eyebrows are not entirely thin, but consist of such a
  light color so they do not appear prominently.  A rosy hue tints his cheeks,
  which are high-boned.  Flawlessly straight, his nose is thin and arched.
  The completely hairless jaw of this man is quite well defined, and his jaw
  muscles bulge slightly.  The deep red lips on his face a full, and seem
  somewhat pouty, as though constantly puckering for a kiss.  Slender
  shoulders and thin arms, his torso is lightly built.  His legs are long, and
  buttocks firm. 
  A cluster of white blossoms spills out from beneath his helmet, seemingly
  tucked behind an ear. 
  The effeminate wisp of a man is in excellent condition.
  
  The effeminate wisp of a man is using:
  <worn on head>           a gurth shell helmet
  <worn in hair>           a cluster of lacy white blossoms
  <worn around neck>       a bloodied gurth shell collar
  <worn about throat>      a milky-white linen scarf
  <worn on torso>          a new bloodied tan tembo-hide cuirass
  <worn on left shoulder>  a gortok-stitched, deep blue patch
  <worn around wrist>      a stained studded bone bracer
  <hands>                  a tattoo of a six-pronged star
  <worn as belt>           a gizhat-leather belt
  <worn around body>       a hooded, brown military aba
  <worn about waist>       a tough, grey chitin codpiece
  <worn on legs>           a smelly pair of rough canvas pants
  <worn on feet>           a smelly pair of grey hide boots
  
  He is carrying:
  nothing obvious
  
  You lock the door with a black stone key with one purple stripe. - *click*
  
  You put your black stone key with one purple stripe into your leather swordbelt.
  
  You say to the effeminate wisp of a man, in sirihish:
       "Stand up."
  
  The effeminate wisp of a man blinks as he notices the light.
  
  The effeminate wisp of a man rises from the ground, and clambers to his feet.
  
  Growling, you say to the effeminate wisp of a man, in sirihish:
       "Now."
  
  The effeminate wisp of a man presses a fist to his chest.
  
  Ignoring the salute, you ask the effeminate wisp of a man, in sirihish:
       "What made you think you had the right to murder one've my men?"
  
  You dissolve the psychic link.
  
  The effeminate wisp of a man says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
       "I didn't consider it that way, Lieutenant."
  
  You ask the effeminate wisp of a man, in sirihish:
       "How did you 'consider' it then?"
  
  Reaching a battered hand up to run over his jaw, the effeminate wisp of a man says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
       "It was the rage he built up in me, that's about all the consideration I had for it."
  
  The effeminate wisp of a man says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
       "Since he joined he just got worse and worse, until I couldn't take it anymore."
  
  The effeminate wisp of a man says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
       "The things he said... Well, they pushed me over the edge."
  
  Glancing over at the large, sideburned man, clearly getting worked up, you exclaim to the effeminate wisp of a man, in sirihish:
       "Rage? Rage? I'm familiar with that feelin'. In fact, I'm feelin' a lot of rage right now!"
  
  The effeminate wisp of a man says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
       "I asked him to stop repeatedly, and he wouldn't. Then I snapped."
  
  Dipping his head, the effeminate wisp of a man says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
       "I imagine you are Lieutenant."
  
  Getting in his face, barking, you exclaim to the effeminate wisp of a man, in sirihish:
       "Sounds like a problem to be dealt with by a -sergeant- or an -officer-!"
  
  The effeminate wisp of a man's eyes squint involuntarily at the volume presented to his face.
  
  A dim rag-wrapped bone torch flickers feebly.
  
  The effeminate wisp of a man says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
       "I didn't run because I meant no disrespect. I don't mean to hide, or belittle my actions."
  
  Growling over his shoulder at him, you say to the large, sideburned man, in sirihish:
       "Sergeant, get a torch lit that -ain't- flickerin'."
  
  The large, sideburned man holds his purple glow-crystal.
  The large, sideburned man lights a purple glow-crystal.
  
  The large, sideburned man picks up a dim rag-wrapped bone torch.
  The large, sideburned man extinguishes a dim rag-wrapped bone torch.
  
  You say to the effeminate wisp of a man, in sirihish:
       "You -killed- one of my men."
  
  The effeminate wisp of a man says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
       "I made the choice, I killed a man, and I apologize to you on a personal level Sergeant... But I do believe he deserved it."
  
  Snarling, you say to the effeminate wisp of a man, in sirihish:
       "Somethin' that could've been taken care of simply enough by -me-."
  
  Wincing, the effeminate wisp of a man says, in northern-accented sirihish:
       "Lieutenant."
  
  Shaking his head as his gaze lowers, the effeminate wisp of a man says, in northern-accented sirihish:
       "Krath.."
  
  Lifting two fingers, practically jabbing them in his face, you exclaim to the effeminate wisp of a man, in sirihish:
       "Two words, Runner! Two fecki-- -Look at me-!"
  
  The rugged, mustachioed man slaps the effeminate wisp of a man roughly.
  
  The effeminate wisp of a man takes the slap, his head twisted to the side for a few moments before he meets your gaze.
  
  You exclaim to the effeminate wisp of a man, in sirihish:
       "I have lost -enough- men without this -stupid- kankshit!"
  
  Growing suddenly calmer, you ask the effeminate wisp of a man, in sirihish:
       "How'd you do 'im?"
  
  The effeminate wisp of a man says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
       "The day went like most. He was swearing at my for my northern roots, and I told him to mind his manners and we sparred."
  
  The effeminate wisp of a man says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
       "I beat him soundly, and afterword he continued."
  
  The rugged, mustachioed man holds his tongue, listening.
  
  The effeminate wisp of a man says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
       "He tossed down his weapons, I tossed down mine, and I intended to knock him out."
  
  The effeminate wisp of a man says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
       "He ran, and I found him unconscious outside the latrines, so I tossed him in there and went back to training."
  
  The effeminate wisp of a man says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
       "One of the giants, I have trouble telling them apart... One of them put him in the barracks, and after he came back he started at me again."
  
  The effeminate wisp of a man says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
       "I told him once more, to mind his manners or one day I would kill him."
  
  The effeminate wisp of a man says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
       "He went on, once more, about how all northies would be slaves, and that he would be militia and I would be made to beg for death."
  
  The effeminate wisp of a man says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
       "I told him that I was going to kill him, I drew my rapier, and I did so."
  
  Voice low, you say to the effeminate wisp of a man, in sirihish:
       "Strip. Everythin' off, now. Drop it."
  
  The effeminate wisp of a man says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
       "He told me as I stabbed that I had made a big mistake. He likely wasn't wrong... I think he thought his death would put me in more trouble."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You contact the large, sideburned man with the Way.
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the large, sideburned man:
       "This is gonna get ugly."
  
  The effeminate wisp of a man dips his head as he falls into silence, lifting up a foot to tug at his boots.
  
  A foreign presence contacts your mind.
  
  The effeminate wisp of a man stops using his smelly pair of grey hide boots.
  
  A foreign presence contacts your mind.
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the large, sideburned man:
       "The plan is to strip this fucker down, I'll lash 'em till he can't walk straight, an' then we toss 'im."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the large, sideburned man:
       "I ain't gonna kill 'im, but this can't stand."
  
  The large, sideburned man sends you a telepathic message:
       "To his credit, sir, he conteacted me after it happened and surrendered without incident or resistance."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the large, sideburned man:
       "So he won't die."
  The short, red-headed woman sends you a telepathic message:
       "mornin Lieutenant Yummy"
  
  You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
  
  The large, sideburned man sends you a telepathic message:
       "And Gil had even threatened me before."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the large, sideburned man:
       "Yeah, Gil was a cunt. Again, this is why this northie lives another day."
  
  The effeminate wisp of a man says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
       "I presume you won't trust me this much, Lieutenant... But if there's a way you'd accept it I had every intention of giving your Warband my service for another seven years."
  
  The effeminate wisp of a man drops a smelly pair of grey hide boots.
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the large, sideburned man:
       "This is -our- command, Ryzen, an' we can't let this stuff happen. No matter how deserved."
  
  You dissolve the psychic link.
  
  Sliding it over his hand, the effeminate wisp of a man stops using his stained studded bone bracer.
  
  The effeminate wisp of a man drops a stained studded bone bracer.
  
  The large, sideburned man sends you a telepathic message:
       "Plan understood, sir."
  
  Expression stony, you say to the effeminate wisp of a man, in sirihish:
       "You murdered another Bynner."
  
  You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
  
  The effeminate wisp of a man stops using his gurth shell helmet, shaking out his sweaty hair.
  
  Stoicly, the large, sideburned man looks at the effeminate wisp of a man.
  
  You say to the effeminate wisp of a man, in sirihish:
       "Over words an' idle threats. Stuff I could've taken care of."
  
  As he lets his gurth shell helmet fall, the effeminate wisp of a man says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
       "Far be it from me to argue that, Lieutenant, but some good many might tell you they prefer that I did."
  
  The effeminate wisp of a man drops a gurth shell helmet.
  
  The effeminate wisp of a man stops using his bloodied gurth shell collar, revealing a blue and purple inked band.
  
  The effeminate wisp of a man drops a bloodied gurth shell collar.
  
  You say to the effeminate wisp of a man, in sirihish:
       "If you truly were a trooper, I would be able to protect you from some cocksucker of a little militia guy, for cryin' out feckin' loud."
  
  Unwrapping his milky-white linen scarf, the effeminate wisp of a man says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
       "I thought with him alive I would never live in this city to see Trooper."
  
  The effeminate wisp of a man stops using his milky-white linen scarf.
  
  The effeminate wisp of a man drops a milky-white linen scarf.
  
  You say to the effeminate wisp of a man, in sirihish:
       "Sure."
  
  It is late morning on Barani, the 109th day of the Low Sun,
  In the Year of Jihae's Agitation, year 56 of the 21st Age.
  
  Rubbing the tattooed band on his neck, the effeminate wisp of a man says, in northern-accented sirihish:
       "Not by his hands."
  
  The effeminate wisp of a man stops using his new bloodied tan tembo-hide cuirass.
  
  The effeminate wisp of a man drops a new bloodied tan tembo-hide cuirass.
  
  You say to the effeminate wisp of a man, in sirihish:
       "Hurry up."
  
  The effeminate wisp of a man stops using his gortok-stitched, deep blue patch.
  
  The effeminate wisp of a man puts his gortok-stitched, deep blue patch into his hooded, brown military aba.
  
  The effeminate wisp of a man stops using his gizhat-leather belt.
  
  The effeminate wisp of a man drops a gizhat-leather belt.
  
  The effeminate wisp of a man stops using his hooded, brown military aba.
  
  The effeminate wisp of a man drops a hooded, brown military aba.
  
  Glancing down at himself, the effeminate wisp of a man asks you, in northern-accented sirihish:
       "All?"
  
  You ask the effeminate wisp of a man, in sirihish:
       "Did I stutter before?"
  
  The effeminate wisp of a man stops using his tough, grey chitin codpiece.
  
  The effeminate wisp of a man drops a tough, grey chitin codpiece.
  
  The large, sideburned man looks at the effeminate wisp of a man.
  
  The effeminate wisp of a man stops using his smelly pair of rough canvas pants.
  
  The effeminate wisp of a man drops a smelly pair of rough canvas pants.
  
  The effeminate wisp of a man spreads his arms, turning slowly with every bit of him exposed.
  
  The rugged, mustachioed man eyes the effeminate wisp of a man coldly for a long moment, his hand resting on your bloodied curved, black-hilted shortsword's hilt.
  
  You say to the large, sideburned man, in sirihish:
       "Sergeant, take hold of Runner Pfirsich an' bring 'im to the trainin' hall."
  
  You get your black stone key with one purple stripe from your leather swordbelt.
  It is very light.
  
  The large, sideburned man nods.
  His arms spread wide, the effeminate wisp of a man says, in northern-accented sirihish:
       "Shame it had to end like this. I hope you profit more from my gear than the losses I've given you."
  
  The large, sideburned man moves to take hold of the effeminate wisp of a man.
  
  Blithely, you say to the effeminate wisp of a man, in sirihish:
       "Shut up."
  
  The large, sideburned man hastily drops a glowing purple glow-crystal.
  A glowing purple glow-crystal goes out.
  The area is enveloped in darkness.
  Someone subdues someone.
  
  You unlock the door with a black stone key with one purple stripe. - *click*
  
  You can't find a 'glow' here to light.
  
  You open the door.
  
  The Drill Yard [NESW]
  The lean, ponytailed man is standing here.
  - he is carrying a large bag.
  The ebon-braided half-elf stands here, surveying the yard.
  The lanky, obsidian-haired young man is here, marching around the yard.
  The ebony-skinned, raven-haired woman stretches and twists her form here.
  The brown-eyed, tattooed man is standing here.
  The large, sideburned man has arrived from the north, dragging the effeminate wisp of a man behind.
  
  You close the door.
  
  You put your black stone key with one purple stripe into your leather swordbelt.
  
  The sun reaches its highest point in the sky.
  The red moon, Jihae, rises over the streets of Allanak.
  
  The lean, ponytailed man walks east.
  
  You say to the large, sideburned man, in sirihish:
       "Procede, Sergeant. I'll be along shortly."
  
  You stop leading the large, sideburned man.
  
  The large, sideburned man walks west, dragging the effeminate wisp of a man behind him.
  
  Sparse sands blow across your path.
  A Large Workshop [NW]
  A rough canvas backpack lies here.
  A stained backpack made of leather lies here.
  A few small piles of sawdust are here.
  The body of the short, curly-haired male is here is layed out on the ground here, arms over his chest.
  A couple of large bags are here.
  The lean, ponytailed man is sitting on an old, dark-grained workbench.
  - he is carrying a large bag.
  The austere, fine-boned blonde is sitting on an old, dark-grained workbench.
  - she is carrying a plain bag of cloth.
  The petite, freckled youth is sitting on an old, dark-grained workbench.
  The barbarous, black-maned youth is sitting on a stained, wooden crate.
  The gaunt, cold-eyed man stands here, keeping watch over the workshop.
  The old, scarred mul slave stitches a torn leather tunic as he sits here.
  The rugged mul slave is here, sorting through armor and weapons slowly.
  
  A horn blast sounds from somewhere to the southwest.
  
  You say, in sirihish:
       "All of you, into the trainin' hall, now."
  
  The lean, ponytailed man stands up from an old, dark-grained workbench.
  
  Speaking up, chin propped on her hands, the austere, fine-boned blonde says, in northern-accented sirihish:
       "I suppose that Zuib and Kromp were not reco-"
  
  A Large Storeroom [S Quit Save]
  A red footlocker is here in a line of lockers.
  A bone-sided obsidian-handled chest is here filled with tools.
  A bone-sided obsidian-handled chest is here filled with ranged weapons.
  A small sandstone footlocker is here in a row with the others.
  A long wooden bench is along the eastern wall.
  A bone sided chest is here filled with sparring weapons.
  A large obsidian bin is here filled with armor.
  A simple wooden chest is here filled with herbs and flowers.
  A long yellowed-bone bin is here filled with foul-smelling gear.
  A long yellowed-bone bin is here filled with weapons.
  The flabby, ebony-skinned dwarf stands here, sweating profusely.
  The dark red mul is standing here, keeping watch over the storeroom.
  The dragon-tattooed, black dwarf is here, snarling and gnashing his teeth.
  
  You get your wickedly barbed whip from a wooden weapons rack.[Up until that point, Raul avoided that particular whip because he found it to be too cruel]
  It is very light.
  
  The dark red mul and you salute each other.
  A Large Workshop [NW]
  A rough canvas backpack lies here.
  A stained backpack made of leather lies here.
  A few small piles of sawdust are here.
  The body of the short, curly-haired male is here is layed out on the ground here, arms over his chest.
  A couple of large bags are here.
  A stained, wooden crate lies here.
  The petite, freckled youth is sitting on an old, dark-grained workbench.
  The gaunt, cold-eyed man stands here, keeping watch over the workshop.
  The old, scarred mul slave stitches a torn leather tunic as he sits here.
  The rugged mul slave is here, sorting through armor and weapons slowly.
  
  The petite, freckled youth looks up at you.
  
  Growling, you say to the petite, freckled youth, in sirihish:
       "Move."
  
  The petite, freckled youth stands up from an old, dark-grained workbench.
  
  Sparing it a glance, you look at the body of the short, curly-haired male.
  This man's skin is tanned and very smooth, unscarred and clean.  He is
  rather short, and built with sinewy muscles, his shoulders broad.  His
  shoulders taper slightly to his waist and his abdominals and pectorals are
  very well toned.  His arms and legs are short and the muscle causes the
  veins to seem to bulge.  He has small, calloused hands and small, but wide
  feet.  His hair is mid-length and curly, the brown locks falling just to
  where his bushy eyebrows frame his sapphire blue eyes.  His nose is thin and
  sharp and is set above a thin lipped mouth with yellowed teeth.  He has a
  long beard that has been twisted into two strands that come to his navel. 
  
  The petite, freckled youth asks, in sirihish:
       "Move where?"
  
  The petite, freckled youth edges back.
  
  You say to the petite, freckled youth, in sirihish:
       "Trainin' hall."
  
  [they go]
  
  You enter a stone archway.
  The Exercise Hall [NS Leave]
  The lean, ponytailed man is standing here.
  - he is carrying a large bag.
  The dark-haired, hazel-eyed man is standing here, bleeding lightly.
  The barbarous, black-maned youth is standing here.
  The austere, fine-boned blonde is standing here.
  - she is carrying a plain bag of cloth.
  The effeminate wisp of a man is standing here held by the large, sideburned man.
  
  The petite, freckled youth has entered a stone archway.
  
  The rugged, squat half-giant has arrived from the north.
  
  The austere, fine-boned blonde salutes the large, sideburned man.
  
  The rangy, bushy-headed half-giant has arrived from the north.
  
  The austere, fine-boned blonde salutes you.
  
  The dark-haired, hazel-eyed man renders a salute to the large, sideburned man and you.
  
  The sturdy, square-jawed man has arrived from the north.
  
  As he unfurls your wickedly barbed whip, you say to the large, sideburned man, in sirihish:
       "Get 'im against the wall."
  
  The rangy, bushy-headed half-giant thumps a fist to his chest in a salute at large.
  
  The rugged, squat half-giant mashes his hand into his chest, saluting you, and then the large, sideburned man.
  
  You brandish your wickedly barbed whip.
  
  The lean, ponytailed man looks up at the effeminate wisp of a man.
  
  The large, sideburned man moves the effeminate wisp of a man up against a wall, continueing to restain his naked person.
  
  The rugged, mustachioed man strides past the salutes, letting the end of your wickedly barbed whip trail on the dirty floor.
  
  The dark-haired, hazel-eyed man stands well back of the range of the whip.
  
  The petite, freckled youth looks up at the effeminate wisp of a man.
  
  The lean, ponytailed man flinches as he notices the effeminate wisp of a man is naked.
  
  The sturdy, square-jawed man chews thoughtfully on the inside of his cheek, stopping in the middle of the hallway to eye the rugged, squat half-giant.
  
  The austere, fine-boned blonde stands up in a line with the other mercenaries, clasping her hands behind her back.
  
  Hollaring over the crowd, the rangy, bushy-headed half-giant exclaims to the effeminate wisp of a man, in sirihish:
       "You gonna get it now!"
  
  A foreign presence contacts your mind.
  
  The petite, freckled youth flaps her lips, watching on.
  
  The rugged, squat half-giant growls low in his throat, bobbing his head at the rangy, bushy-headed half-giant.
  
  The effeminate wisp of a man clenches his jaw, and lets his eyes close slowly.
  
  The large, sideburned man sends you a telepathic message:
       "By the way, I havn't had the opportunity to lash Erak yet for being drunk and missing a whole day."
  
  The sturdy, square-jawed man asks the rangy, bushy-headed half-giant, in sirihish:
       "You think he doesn't know that?"
  
  You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
  
  The lean, ponytailed man looks at the sturdy, square-jawed man.
  
  Addressing the crowd in a low, deadly tone, you say, in sirihish:
       "Let it be known, Runner Gil Grim was somethin' of a cunt. Some've you may think that the naked man 'ere may've done this Known World a favor."
  
  The austere, fine-boned blonde keeps her gaze firmly upon you, standing up straight.
  
  You say, in sirihish:
       "Some've you may be right. But no one, -no one- gets away with murderin' one've -my- men."
  
  The barbarous, black-maned youth slumps a bit in the back of the crowd.
  
  The lean, ponytailed man stands stiffly with his large bag over a shoulder, eyeing the effeminate wisp of a man with a nod.
  
  Loudly, the rangy, bushy-headed half-giant exclaims, in sirihish:
       "Yeah, nobody!"
  
  The large, sideburned man continues his restraint of the effeminate wisp of a man with stoic resolve and expression.
  
  Turning to prepare for the lashing, you say to the effeminate wisp of a man, in sirihish:
       "Runner Pfirsich of Tuluk, for the murder of my runner, I'm gonna take the skin off yer back an' expel you from my company."
  
  Muttering as she shakes her head, the petite, freckled youth says, in sirihish:
       "What about leaving them to die..."
  
  The barbarous, black-maned youth suddenly jabs an elbow at the petite, freckled youth, not to hard but in a gruff way.
  
  The effeminate wisp of a man lets his head fall, keeping his mouth firmly shut.
  
  The rugged, mustachioed man cuts an icy glare over at the petite, freckled youth.
  
  Tossing a brief, curious look, the rangy, bushy-headed half-giant looks down at the petite, freckled youth.
  
  The lean, ponytailed man shows the petite, freckled youth his fist.
  
  Gaze following that of most of the crowd, the sturdy, square-jawed man looks down at the petite, freckled youth.
  
  The austere, fine-boned blonde's cobalt gaze widens as she watches on.
  
  The barbarous, black-maned youth gives the petite, freckled youth a look with pushed together brows.
  
  The petite, freckled youth meets your gaze for a second and then looks down at her feet.
  
  The dark-haired, hazel-eyed man look on with a grim expression.
  
  The sturdy, vivid-eyed dwarf has arrived from the north.
  
  The rangy, bushy-headed half-giant turns his gaze back over toward the rugged, squat half-giant.
  
  The rugged, mustachioed man watches the petite, freckled youth for a long moment before turning back to the effeminate wisp of a man.
  
  The rugged, squat half-giant whispers something to the rangy, bushy-headed half-giant.
  
  The petite, freckled youth bites her lower lip, staring at the ground.
  
  You raise a wickedly barbed whip and lash out at the effeminate wisp of a man.
  *CRACK* A long, bloody gash opens up on the effeminate wisp of a man's back.
  
  The rugged, squat half-giant nods.
  
  The petite, freckled youth blinks hard.
  
  The effeminate wisp of a man lets out an involuntary help of pain.
  
  The sturdy, vivid-eyed dwarf stands quietly, arms folding over his chest.
  
  The rugged, mustachioed man wordlessly continues the punishment, visciously lashing out with your bloodied wickedly barbed whip.
  
  You raise a wickedly barbed whip and lash out at the effeminate wisp of a man.
  *CRACK* A long, bloody gash opens up on the effeminate wisp of a man's back.
  
  The effeminate wisp of a man's head whips about, his back arching as every muscle in his body tenses.
  
  The rangy, bushy-headed half-giant reflexively grimaces at the sharp *CRACK* of the barbed whip.
  
  You raise a wickedly barbed whip and lash out at the effeminate wisp of a man.
  *CRACK* A long, bloody gash opens up on the effeminate wisp of a man's back.
  
  The petite, freckled youth covers her eyes with her arm.
  
  The lean, ponytailed man blinks at the sound of your whip cracking.
  
  The effeminate wisp of a man's body begins to tremble, held up by the large, sideburned man.
  
  The rugged, mustachioed man's jaw sets as he carries on, breathing audibly through his nose in the relative silence of the hall.
  
  You raise a wickedly barbed whip and lash out at the effeminate wisp of a man.
  *CRACK* A long, bloody gash opens up on the effeminate wisp of a man's back.
  
  The barbarous, black-maned youth winces with each whip-lash.
  
  The effeminate wisp of a man goes limp, blood pouring from the slashes on his back.
  
  The sturdy, vivid-eyed dwarf doesn't flinch at all as the whip rends the effeminate wisp of a man's back.
  
  The petite, freckled youth says, in sirihish:
       "This isn't fair..."
  
  The petite, freckled youth wiggles her head in disbelief.
  
  The sturdy, square-jawed man chews idly at the inside of his cheek, his eyes impassively watching the whip snap back and forth across the effeminate wisp of a man's back.
  
  Weakly, the effeminate wisp of a man says, in northern-accented sirihish:
       "Yes... it is.."
  
  In a low growl, you say to the effeminate wisp of a man, in sirihish:
       "D'you know what it's like to be dead? D'you know just what you did? Lemme tell you, it's worse'n this." [Raul's prompt had in fact read “dead” in a prior RPT, giving him some first-hand experience with the phenomenon]
  
  The barbarous, black-maned youth lays an arm around the petite, freckled youth's shoulders.
  
  You say to the effeminate wisp of a man, in sirihish:
       "It's so much worse."
  
  You raise a wickedly barbed whip and lash out at the effeminate wisp of a man.
  *CRACK* A long, bloody gash opens up on the effeminate wisp of a man's back.
  The effeminate wisp of a man's eyes roll back in his head.
  The effeminate wisp of a man crumples to the ground.
  
  Tossing it aside, you drop your bloodied wickedly barbed whip.
  Shown to the room as:
  A bloodied coils of a barbed whip lie curled here.
  
  The effeminate wisp of a man's body goes entirely limp.
  
  The rugged, squat half-giant applauds, grinning.
  
  The petite, freckled youth buries her face into the barbarous, black-maned youth's shoulder, crying.
  
  You say to the large, sideburned man, in sirihish:
       "Sergeant, toss 'im outside the gate, just like that. Discharge 'im, he's done. Do not report 'is crimes to the authorities."
  
  The rangy, bushy-headed half-giant merely looks over at the rugged, squat half-giant, blinking a few times.
  
  The large, sideburned man says, in sirihish:
       "Yes, sir."
  
  You say, in sirihish:
       "He can make 'is livin' as a beggar, the piece of shit."
  
  The large, sideburned man drags the effeminate wisp of a man behind him.
  
  The large, sideburned man leaves a stone archway.
  The large, sideburned man drags the effeminate wisp of a man out as well.
  
  The rangy, bushy-headed half-giant claps too, just a few times.
  
  The barbarous, black-maned youth full on hugs the petite, freckled youth, looking wholly disturbed by the events himself.
  
  Curiously, the rugged, squat half-giant asks, in sirihish:
       "Food now?"
  
  The rugged, squat half-giant leaves a stone archway.
  
  Looking irritably over his shoulder at the petite, freckled youth, the sturdy, square-jawed man asks, in sirihish:
       "What's wrong with 'er?"
  
  Stalking up to her and the barbarous, black-maned youth, you ask the petite, freckled youth, in sirihish:
       "So, I left you to die?"
  
  The petite, freckled youth says, in sirihish:
       "Why now...Why after all..."
  
  The petite, freckled youth pulls back at the sound of your sudden proximity.
  
  The austere, fine-boned blonde looks down at the bloody path on the ground, made by the passage of the punished man.
  
  The barbarous, black-maned youth tries to straighten a bit on his wounded leg.
  
  Softly, though intensely, you say to the petite, freckled youth, in sirihish:
       "Look at me."
  
  Peering down at her, the rangy, bushy-headed half-giant says to the petite, freckled youth, in sirihish:
       "That guy Puhfearsnek.."
  
  Peering into your eyes with her own wet mismatched gaze, the petite, freckled youth looks at you.
  
  The rugged, mustachioed man squats some to look into the petite, freckled youth's face.
  
  The sturdy, vivid-eyed dwarf watches you quietly, arms loosely draped over his chest.
  
  Out of the corner of her mouth, to the rangy, bushy-headed half-giant, the austere, fine-boned blonde says, in northern-accented sirihish:
       "Pfirsich."
  
  The rangy, bushy-headed half-giant shuts up, looking to you.
  
  The lean, ponytailed man tilts his head back, eyes wandering upwards as he scratches his hairy neck.
  
  You ask the petite, freckled youth, in sirihish:
       "D'you really think I liked the situation?"
  
  The large, sideburned man has entered a stone archway.
  
  Blinking down at her for a second, the rangy, bushy-headed half-giant says to the austere, fine-boned blonde, in sirihish:
       "I said that."
  
  You say to the petite, freckled youth, in sirihish:
       "Speak. Get it off yer chest, girl."
  
  Crossing her arms over her diminutive chest, staring into your eyes, the petite, freckled youth says to you, in sirihish:
       "It's your fault for making Xing a Sergeant. He isn't a good Sergeant. Not like Urrik. Not like Niema. You just promoted him because there wasn't anyone better."
  
  The austere, fine-boned blonde coughs into a gloved fist, and then falls silent once more, staring firmly at the ground.
  
  The barbarous, black-maned youth's jaw droops a little as he eyes the petite, freckled youth.
  
  The lean, ponytailed man sighs, rolling his eyes at the ground, before finding the petite, freckled youth.
  
  Looking over to the large, sideburned man, and then back to you, the petite, freckled youth says to you, in sirihish:
       "He's one of the best fighters i've ever seen. But he isn't a good Sergeant."
  
  Furrowing his bushy brows, staring daggers at her, the rangy, bushy-headed half-giant exclaims to the petite, freckled youth, in sirihish:
       "That's my Sarge your talkin' about!"
  
  Nodding faintly, you say to the petite, freckled youth, in sirihish:
       "That's right. There is no one better. I mean, I happen to be pleased with Sergeant Xing's performance... but my vantage is different."
  
  The rugged, mustachioed man lifts a hand in restraint at the rangy, bushy-headed half-giant, watching the petite, freckled youth.
  
  The lean, ponytailed man clamps his hands infront of his waist, eyeing the petite, freckled youth and you with a stern watch.
  
  You say to the petite, freckled youth, in sirihish:
       "What's he done wrong, Runner? Enlighten me, please."
  
  The rangy, bushy-headed half-giant abruptly lifts his head, shooting an annoyed look off through the hall at nothing in particular.
  
  The rugged, mustachioed man remains hunched over, eye to eye with the petite, freckled youth.
  
  The rangy, bushy-headed half-giant puffs a loud sigh, folding his massive arms across his chest.
  
  The petite, freckled youth bites her lower lip, narrowing her eyes a little bit as she meets yours.
  
  You say to the petite, freckled youth, in sirihish:
       "C'mon, my young runner. Speak yer mind."
  
   The large, sideburned man watches patiently, still stoic.
  
   The barbarous, black-maned youth looks between you and the petite, freckled youth in a mix of amazment and disbelief.
  
   His voice dripping condescension, you say, in sirihish:
       "I'm -so- interested in the perspectives on military leadership that a fourteen year old runner has."
  
   Reaching up high, the sturdy, vivid-eyed dwarf claps the rangy, bushy-headed half-giant's lower back once gently.
  
   The sturdy, square-jawed man blurts out a laugh at that.
  
  The rugged, squat half-giant has entered a stone archway.
  
   The sturdy, square-jawed man says to the rugged, squat half-giant, in sirihish:
       "Good one-- eh.. Leiutenant."
  
   Turning his piercing brown eyes, the lean, ponytailed man says to the sturdy, square-jawed man, in sirihish:
       "Shut up."
  
   The sturdy, square-jawed man's voice trails off into a quiet murmer.
  
   The lean, ponytailed man glances at the petite, freckled youth, tilting his head, big sandy brows angled sharply.
  
  Leaning in somewhat, you ask the petite, freckled youth, in sirihish:
       "Quirri got yer tongue?"
  
   The petite, freckled youth says to you, in sirihish:
       "Well at least I have a long life to live ahead of me, one where I don't have to go to sleep at night seeing the faces of the hundreds of people i've sent to their deaths because of my stupid mistakes. Sir."
  
   The petite, freckled youth lifts her chin a little bit.
  
   The rugged, mustachioed man smirks openly.
  
   You say to the petite, freckled youth, in sirihish:
       "I can count on one hand the guys that died under -my- command. An' I'll be generous, two died to a stupid mistake of mine. Despite certain guys tryin' to assure me otherwise." [Technically true, as Raul never counted deaths that occurred while he wasn't actually on the scene running things]
  
   Over his shoulder, you ask the large, sideburned man, in sirihish:
       "How many did you lose, Sergeant?"
  
   The large, sideburned man says to you, in sirihish:
       "Two now."
  
   He raises his hands, holding up eight fingers, the barbarous, black-maned youth says, in tribal-accented sirihish:
       "We've lost eight. So far, Lieutenant. Since I joined."
  
   The lean, ponytailed man counts off four fingers on his hand, then continues counting his fingers.
  
   The sturdy, vivid-eyed dwarf glances about at the speakers, expression impassive.
  
   You ask the large, sideburned man, in sirihish:
       "How? Did you not order them to knock the arrows out of the air in time? Did you not order them to be filled to the teeth with cures for unknown poisons?"
  
   The large, sideburned man says to you, in sirihish:
       "Kromp decided to try to disarm a gith. Zan Zuib got an arrow. THey knew to try to stop them and they had cures."
  
  The rangy, bushy-headed half-giant rubs a large hand over his jaw while he looks down at the large, sideburned man.
  
   The rugged, mustachioed man nods a couple times.
  
   Shaking his head, the lean, ponytailed man says to the large, sideburned man, in sirihish:
       "Nor for peraine, Sergeant. Nobody seems t'know it's cure. And it's th'taint fangs use most often."
  
   You say, in sirihish:
       "It's the [nope] one, I hear."
  
   You say, in sirihish:
       "In fact, it was Gil that was so certain on that tidbit, so take it or leave it."
  
   Sniffing a little bit, the petite, freckled youth says, in sirihish:
       "Makes you wonder why we even fought the Gith, when we knew there was an elf probably following us."
  
  The lean, ponytailed man gets his [nope] from his hooded, brown military aba.
  
  The lean, ponytailed man holds his [not here, either] up to his eye.
   
  Glancing over, the barbarous, black-maned youth asks you, in tribal-accented sirihish:
       "Are you dismissing Slim, Lieutenant?"
  
  You say to the petite, freckled youth, in sirihish:
       "Well, Raveni, how would -you- run things? I bet if you were doin' it, no one would ever get hurt an' we'd be a happy family of psychos..."
  
   You say to the barbarous, black-maned youth, in sirihish:
       "He -is- dismissed. He's done."
  
   The barbarous, black-maned youth simply nods at the rugged, squat half-giant.
  
   You say to the barbarous, black-maned youth, in sirihish:
       "He's lucky I didn't just take 'is head."
  
   The barbarous, black-maned youth nods at you, too.
  
   The sturdy, vivid-eyed dwarf grunts at your last words.
  
   The barbarous, black-maned youth turns, and starts to leave.
  
   The barbarous, black-maned youth leaves a stone archway.
  The petite, freckled youth leaves a stone archway.
  
   The petite, freckled youth has entered a stone archway.
  
   You say to the large, sideburned man, in sirihish:
       "Get Erak."
  
   The large, sideburned man leaves a stone archway.
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You contact the large, sideburned man with the Way.
  
  The petite, freckled youth says, in sirihish:
       "No, sir. I don't think I could."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the large, sideburned man:
       "Don't let 'im get shit from the detention cell."
  
  The large, sideburned man has entered a stone archway.
  
  Clearing his throat, the lean, ponytailed man says to you, in sirihish:
       "A suggestion sir."
  
  The large, sideburned man leaves a stone archway.
  
  You dissolve the psychic link.
  
  You say to the lean, ponytailed man, in sirihish:
       "Sure, Zik. Fuck, I'm wide open for 'em today."
  
  Clasping his hands by his waist, standing stiffly, the lean, ponytailed man says to you, in sirihish:
       "We should never cross Tan Sarak again with weary mounts nor any less than five solid Bynners sir. Tainted arrows, archers'n all. S'too dangerous. Instead, we should make a waypoint at Luirs"
  
  Nodding, you say to the lean, ponytailed man, in sirihish:
       "I like that reasonin', Runner. Shit sounds good to me."
  
   Also speaking up, her hands clasped behind her back, the austere, fine-boned blonde says, in northern-accented sirihish:
       "Perhaps it would be wise to scout additional routes through to the North, if possible. And mayhap we can offer our services to House Kurac, to assist in clearing the road."
  
   The large, sideburned man has entered a stone archway.
  
   The barbarous, black-maned youth has entered a stone archway.
  
   Nodding easily, you say to the austere, fine-boned blonde, in sirihish:
       "Already bein' worked on, but yes, very good suggestion."
  
   He trots back in, the barbarous, black-maned youth says, in tribal-accented sirihish:
       "Pardon."
  
   The lean, ponytailed man nods once, his piercing brown eyes ahead.
  
   The austere, fine-boned blonde glances aside at the lean, ponytailed man for a brief moment before returning her dark blue gaze to you.
  
   The petite, freckled youth sighs a little bit through her nose.
  
   Quirking a small smile, you say, in sirihish:
       "I actually know a pretty interestin' way up, but yeah... heh, not exactly practical."
  
   You ask the petite, freckled youth, in sirihish:
       "Anyway, is the crushin' shittiness of this life fully sunk in for you yet?"
  
   The petite, freckled youth says to you, in sirihish:
       "Well, when you put it that way, yes."
  
   You say to the petite, freckled youth, in sirihish:
       "Good."
  
   You ask the barbarous, black-maned youth, in sirihish:
       "An' where did you run off to?"
  
   The petite, freckled youth says to you, in sirihish:
       "Doesn't mean I like it."
  
  You say to the petite, freckled youth, in sirihish:
       "I don't think anyone but the psychos do, Runner. I sure as shit don't."
  
  He jerks a thumb over to the barracks, the barbarous, black-maned youth says, in tribal-accented sirihish:
       "Take a nap. Still have three holes, Sir."
  
  The rugged, mustachioed man nods absently to the barbarous, black-maned youth.
  
  The rugged, mustachioed man rubs his chin thoughtfully, looking over those gathered.
  
  The rugged, squat half-giant raises his hand tentatively.
  
  A horn blast sounds from somewhere to the southeast.
  
  The barbarous, black-maned youth leans on his unbandaged leg.
   
  Nodding a little bit and finally lowering her gaze, the petite, freckled youth says to you, in sirihish:
       "I'm looking forward to Graduation. -Sir-. Thank you."
  
  The rugged, mustachioed man nods over at the rugged, squat half-giant.
  
  Tucking his chin while he looks down at the group, the rangy, bushy-headed half-giant says, in sirihish:
       "Hey, I thought this place was full of toughs."
  
  The sturdy, vivid-eyed dwarf cocks his head way up at the rugged, squat half-giant.
  
  Burbling, the rugged, squat half-giant asks, in sirihish:
       "We get paid for killing someone soon?"
   
  The sturdy, vivid-eyed dwarf nods agreeably.
   
  You say to the rugged, squat half-giant, in sirihish:
       "Yes, I sure hope so. I'm workin' on it."
   
  The rugged, squat half-giant bobs his head.
   
  The barbarous, black-maned youth asks, in tribal-accented sirihish:
       "Can we leave, Lieutenant?"
  
  The petite, freckled youth holds her hands behind her back.
  
  Pointing at the floor, you say, in sirihish:
       "You know, -this-, this kind've weirdness. It happens with like every cycle... It's like eternal recurrence in my life or some shit..."
  
  The dark-haired, hazel-eyed man looks down at the floor.
  
  You ask the barbarous, black-maned youth, in sirihish:
       "Runner, I heard you skipped out've duty 'cause you... just sat 'round bein' drunk? You didn't even try to lie or hide it or anythin'?"
  
   Shaking his head, his tone dull and tired, the barbarous, black-maned youth says to you, in tribal-accented sirihish:
       "Part of being a Bynner, Chasing women and being drunk, Lieutenant. Shall you wish to abolish me for this. Then you can claim my aba this very instant."
  
   You say to the barbarous, black-maned youth, in sirihish:
       "You can suck my dick, is what you can do. Sheesh."
  
   Peering down at him, the rangy, bushy-headed half-giant says to the barbarous, black-maned youth, in sirihish:
       "Gotta get tough."
  
   Waving a hand, you say to the barbarous, black-maned youth, in sirihish:
       "Three lashes."
  
   The petite, freckled youth's eyes widen.
  
   The petite, freckled youth exclaims, in sirihish:
       "What?!"
  
   The sturdy, vivid-eyed dwarf simply nods.
  
   The lean, ponytailed man sighs, rubbing at his face.
  
   Shaking it off, the barbarous, black-maned youth stops using his dusty hooded, brown military aba.
  
   You say to the large, sideburned man, in sirihish:
       "You wanna handle this one? Fuck, I could go all day."
  
   Practically breathing out the words, the sturdy, square-jawed man says, in sirihish:
       "Krath's sakes."
  
   The barbarous, black-maned youth opens his worn, carru-hide pack.
  
   The barbarous, black-maned youth empties his dusty hooded, brown military aba into his worn, carru-hide pack.
  
   The barbarous, black-maned youth closes his worn, carru-hide pack.
  
   The barbarous, black-maned youth stops using his dusty gortok-stitched, deep blue patch.
  
   The large, sideburned man says to you, in sirihish:
       "It's up to you, sir."
  
   The barbarous, black-maned youth folds up his dusty hooded, brown military aba and his dusty gortok-stitched, deep blue patch in a small ball.
  
   Dropping it by his feet neatly, the barbarous, black-maned youth drops his dusty hooded, brown military aba.
  
   Dropping it by his feet neatly, the barbarous, black-maned youth drops his dusty gortok-stitched, deep blue patch.
  
   The austere, fine-boned blonde watches on silently, unmoving from her position.
  
   You say to the large, sideburned man, in sirihish:
       "Eh, hold 'im."
  
   The rangy, bushy-headed half-giant watches the barbarous, black-maned youth intently from where he stands.
  
   Walking back over to it, you pick up a bloodied wickedly barbed whip.
  It is very light.
  
   The large, sideburned man moves to restrain the barbarous, black-maned youth.
  
   Tugging down on his bone-studded backpack's shoulder strap, the sturdy, square-jawed man says to the rugged, squat half-giant, in sirihish:
       "Can I get leave to get some food, Leiutenant?  Haven't eaten in like a fek'n day."
  
   The large, sideburned man subdues the barbarous, black-maned youth, despite his attempts to struggle away.
  The barbarous, black-maned youth stops guarding the lean, ponytailed man.
  
   The rugged, mustachioed man nods aside to the sturdy, vivid-eyed dwarf.
  
  The sturdy, square-jawed man grumbles as his eyes glance askance to the barbarous, black-maned youth.
  
   The large, sideburned man moves the barbarous, black-maned youth to the same position as before.
  
   The barbarous, black-maned youth lies limp in the large, sideburned man's grip.
  
   The rugged, mustachioed man nods aside to the sturdy, square-jawed man, rather.
  
   Turning on his heels, the sturdy, square-jawed man says to the rugged, squat half-giant, in sirihish:
       "Thanks, g'luck with these two sir."
  
  The sturdy, square-jawed man leaves a stone archway.
  
   The rugged, mustachioed man takes up position behind the barbarous, black-maned youth, his features betraying a trace of weariness and boredom.
  
   The sturdy, vivid-eyed dwarf watches the goings on quietly, crimson eyes and unexpressive face revealing nothing.
  
   Eyes widening, the petite, freckled youth asks, in sirihish:
       "This is insane! How does this accomplish anything?"
  
   You ask the petite, freckled youth, in sirihish:
       "Does it look fun gettin' whipped?"
  
   A single, firmly spoke word, the sturdy, vivid-eyed dwarf says to the petite, freckled youth, in sirihish:
       "Discipline."
  
   The petite, freckled youth opens her mouth to speak, and then closes it.
  
   The austere, fine-boned blonde opens her mouth for a second, looking over at the petite, freckled youth, and then immediately snaps it shut again.
  
   The barbarous, black-maned youth's features look sad, if anything.
  
   Shaking his head, you ask, in sirihish:
       "Is this shit for real? Did I die an' end up in some topsy-turvy world after all?"
  
   You say to the barbarous, black-maned youth, in sirihish:
       "Three lashes, Runner, for blatant skippin' of duty an' mild insubordination."
  
  Readying it, you brandish your bloodied wickedly barbed whip.
  
   You raise a wickedly barbed whip and lash out at the barbarous, black-maned youth.
  The blow is deflected by the barbarous, black-maned youth's worn, carru-hide pack. [whoops]
  
  The barbarous, black-maned youth stops using his worn, carru-hide pack.
  
  The barbarous, black-maned youth stops using his used stained tan tembo-hide cuirass.
  
   You raise a wickedly barbed whip and lash out at the barbarous, black-maned youth.
  *CRACK* A long, bloody gash opens up on the barbarous, black-maned youth's back.
  
   In a tiny voice, the petite, freckled youth says, in sirihish:
       "He's already so hurt...Why..."
  
   The barbarous, black-maned youth yelps, his eyes watering up as his whole body tenses.
  
   The petite, freckled youth yelps too, looking away.
  
   The rugged, mustachioed man looks over at the petite, freckled youth strangely.
  
  The rugged, mustachioed man just shakes his head to himself, mutely and wearily carrying out the whipping.
  
  Arms folded across his chest, the rangy, bushy-headed half-giant says, in sirihish:
       "Gotta tough up some of these people."
  
  You raise a wickedly barbed whip and lash out at the barbarous, black-maned youth.
  *CRACK* A long, bloody gash opens up on the barbarous, black-maned youth's back.
  
  The barbarous, black-maned youth foot rubs at the ground, making an invisible trench as he bites down with a gurgled groan upon his own teeth.
  
  The lean, ponytailed man sinks his gaze at the ground, releasing a distraught sigh.
  
  The barbarous, black-maned youth's back reddens and cracks in the common redness that is whipped skin.
  
  Glancing up, the lean, ponytailed man says to the rangy, bushy-headed half-giant, in sirihish:
       "Funny, I didn't see you fightin' off gith'n fangs, Carl."
  
  The rugged, mustachioed man exhales slowly and hauls the whip up once again.
  
  The rugged, squat half-giant furrows his brow.
  
  You raise a wickedly barbed whip and lash out at the barbarous, black-maned youth.
  *CRACK* A long, bloody gash opens up on the barbarous, black-maned youth's back.
  
  Pointing at the rangy, bushy-headed half-giant and the rugged, squat half-giant, the lean, ponytailed man says, in sirihish:
       "You, and you. Shut your fuckin' big mouths until you're on a contract'n you -see- what I've -seen-."
  
  Rolling it up, you stop using your bloodied wickedly barbed whip.
  
  You say to the lean, ponytailed man, in sirihish:
       "Zik, Zik... relax."
  
  Shifting a glance over, the rangy, bushy-headed half-giant says to the lean, ponytailed man, in sirihish:
       "I asked. I wanted to go, but they said I needed a mount'n stuff."
  
   The rugged, squat half-giant glances down at the lean, ponytailed man.
  
  The barbarous, black-maned youth's knees buckles a bit, he lets out a hoarse yelp in pain.
  
  The large, sideburned man releases the barbarous, black-maned youth, who immediately moves away.
  
  You say to the large, sideburned man, in sirihish:
       "Please show 'im to 'Bones to get the wounds taken care of."
  
  The large, sideburned man nods.
  
  His bandaged arm tensing as his fingers make a fist, the lean, ponytailed man says to you, in sirihish:
       "It's . . . hard. Sir."
  
  The rugged, squat half-giant says to the lean, ponytailed man, in sirihish:
       "Not said anything.  You got a problem.  You come to ring with me."
  
  In a gurgle, the barbarous, black-maned youth says, in tribal-accented sirihish:
       "No.."
  
  The petite, freckled youth watches the barbarous, black-maned youth's back in horror.
  
  The lean, ponytailed man says to the rugged, squat half-giant, in sirihish:
       "Okay, maybe not you. But Carl . . . "
  
  The lean, ponytailed man looks up at the rangy, bushy-headed half-giant.
  
  You say to the lean, ponytailed man, in sirihish:
       "Zik, I know very well how hard it is. I've seen some shit. Hell, I've been whipped to a pulp myself. All of it."
  
  You say to the lean, ponytailed man, in sirihish:
       "The giant don't mean nothin'."
  
  Very quietly, as he passes by, the austere, fine-boned blonde says to the barbarous, black-maned youth, in northern-accented sirihish:
       "Erak. Do not be foolish. Go to Bones."
  
  You say to the barbarous, black-maned youth, in sirihish:
       "You need those wounds treated. Believe me."
  
  Gesturing at the two giants, the lean, ponytailed man says to you, in sirihish:
       "It's just, I saw Zuib'n Kromp fall yesterday. They could both outmatch either giant here."
  
  The rugged, squat half-giant snorts loudly.
  
  Waving a hand, hoarsly, the barbarous, black-maned youth exclaims, in tribal-accented sirihish:
       "Just throw me out! I won't change, and I wish not death!"
  
  The large, sideburned man looks to you.
  
   Shrugging his huge shoulders, the rangy, bushy-headed half-giant says, in sirihish:
       "Figures. See? Not tough enough."
  
  You say to the lean, ponytailed man, in sirihish:
       "I've been betrayed an' backstabbed by friends an' allies, I've watched one love get torn apart before me an' the other disappeared without a trace."
  
  The barbarous, black-maned youth yelps at his own outburst, grimacing at his pain.
  
  You say to the lean, ponytailed man, in sirihish:
       "We can just keep goin' an' goin'..."
  
  You say to the barbarous, black-maned youth, in sirihish:
       "I'll toss you out in a few weeks."
  
  You say to the barbarous, black-maned youth, in sirihish:
       "Get fixed."
  
  His sandy brows furrowed, the lean, ponytailed man says to you, in sirihish:
       "My point is, all this trainin' is useless if it ain't applied correctly. We need more than just tons of muscle to kill the Fangs."
  
  Tries to fold a hand to his back, grimacing, the barbarous, black-maned youth says, in tribal-accented sirihish:
       "I beg you, Lieutenant.. This, I care not for, anymore! I have payed my mistake."
  
  You say to the lean, ponytailed man, in sirihish:
       "I agree completely. The wheels are in motion..."
  
  Slowly turning back to him, you say to the barbarous, black-maned youth, in sirihish:
       "Get. Fixed."
  
  Biting her lower lip, the petite, freckled youth looks up at the barbarous, black-maned youth.
  
  He breaks out in a childlike whine, the barbarous, black-maned youth exclaims, in tribal-accented sirihish:
       "I wish release from this! Release me! Please!"
  
  The lean, ponytailed man lets out a weary sigh, picking a sliver of bone from his pocket to stick between his teeth. He chews on it tensely.
  
  Stumbling down to a knee, crawling towards you, the barbarous, black-maned youth sits down.
  
  You say to the large, sideburned man, in sirihish:
       "Sergeant, please, restrain the runner an'... aw, damn it, Erak."
  
  The large, sideburned man attempts to grab the barbarous, black-maned youth, but he wrestles away.
  
  You say to the barbarous, black-maned youth, in sirihish:
       "Get fixed up, or yer gonna regret it. I don't mean it as a threat, I'm just genuinely concerned here, Krath."
  
  The petite, freckled youth stifles some tears, sniffing loudly and huffing. She tries to maintain her composure, failing a little bit.
   
  Watery eyed, almost bawling, the barbarous, black-maned youth exclaims to the rugged, squat half-giant, in tribal-accented sirihish:
       "I don't want to anymore! They're all going to die! I don't want to! Please.. I can shovel dung! I can shovel it good! Just let me go!"
  
  The lean, ponytailed man shuffles behind the petite, freckled youth as he chews on some bone, placing a shaking hand to perch atop her shoulder.
  
  The dark-haired, hazel-eyed man stares at the barbarous, black-maned youth in mild astonishment.
  
  Mockingly, you say, in sirihish:
       "'They're all goin' to die!' Yes, yes they are. We all are."
  
  Pointing to the aba on the floor, the rangy, bushy-headed half-giant says to the rugged, squat half-giant, in sirihish:
       "See, when he threw his colors on the floor.. I was like, yeah.. he's a cunt. He don't wanna be here cause someone caught up to his stupid shit."
  
  You say to the barbarous, black-maned youth, in sirihish:
       "Erak, we can speak when yer fixed up an' calmed down."
  
  The barbarous, black-maned youth slumps down before the rugged, squat half-giant, crying openly.
  
  The barbarous, black-maned youth slumps down before you, crying openly.
  
  The rangy, bushy-headed half-giant says to the rugged, squat half-giant, in sirihish:
       "I asked, hey Sarge, can I skip chores too? I hate chores, but no - I gotta do it."
  
  To nobody in particular, the austere, fine-boned blonde says, in northern-accented sirihish:
       "I am afraid that I have gate duty."
  
  The rugged, mustachioed man eyes the barbarous, black-maned youth with a trace of disgust on his features and motions to the large, sideburned man.
  
  The large, sideburned man attempts to grab the barbarous, black-maned youth, but he wrestles away.
  
   You say to the austere, fine-boned blonde, in sirihish:
       "Yes, go on."
  
  The austere, fine-boned blonde salutes to you.
  
  The barbarous, black-maned youth exclaims, in tribal-accented sirihish:
       "Just.. Please! I am begging you! Why!"
  
  The large, sideburned man attempts to grab the barbarous, black-maned youth, but he wrestles away.
  
  You say to the barbarous, black-maned youth, in sirihish:
       "Stop fightin', yer only gonna make it worse."
  
  The large, sideburned man subdues the barbarous, black-maned youth, despite his attempts to struggle away.
  
  The petite, freckled youth exclaims, in sirihish:
       "What are you going to do to him!"
  
  The austere, fine-boned blonde leaves a stone archway.
  
  You exclaim to the petite, freckled youth, in sirihish:
       "Gettin' 'im healed, for cryin' out loud!"
  
  The lean, ponytailed man says to the petite, freckled youth, in sirihish:
       "Nothin'. Now calm down."
  
  The large, sideburned man pulls the barbarous, black-maned youth away from you.
  
  Shrugging his large shoulders a bit as he returns his gaze toward the barbarous, black-maned youth, the rangy, bushy-headed half-giant says to the rugged, squat half-giant, in sirihish:
       "Best to do what Sarge says, see."
  
  The petite, freckled youth reaches a hand out towards the barbarous, black-maned youth.
  
  You say to the large, sideburned man, in sirihish:
       "Get 'im to 'Bones, he knows what to do."
  
  The large, sideburned man drags the barbarous, black-maned youth to the entrance.
  
   The large, sideburned man leaves a stone archway.
  The large, sideburned man drags the barbarous, black-maned youth out as well.
  
  You ask the petite, freckled youth, in sirihish:
       "So, what're you gonna do?"
  
  You hear a man's voice shout from outside in tribal-accented sirihish:
       "Pleaaaaaaaase!"
  
  Snubbing some tears with a knuckle, the petite, freckled youth asks you, in sirihish:
       "Whaddyamean?"
  
  The rugged, mustachioed man peers out the archway momentarily.
  
  The sturdy, vivid-eyed dwarf settles his implacable stare on the petite, freckled youth.
  
  You ask the petite, freckled youth, in sirihish:
       "You gonna dramatically remove yer uniform?"
   
  The lean, ponytailed man gets his loaf of brown bread from his red-striped canvas backpack.
  
  The lean, ponytailed man gets his loaf of brown bread from his red-striped canvas backpack.
  
  Growling, the petite, freckled youth says to you, in sirihish:
       "I wouldn't give you the -satisfaction-. Sir."
  
  The rugged, mustachioed man smiles briefly.
  
  Walking over to the rugged, squat half-giant and the rangy, bushy-headed half-giant, the lean, ponytailed man says, in sirihish:
       "Sorry for yellin' harsh, big guys. Here's some bread eh."
  
  The lean, ponytailed man gives his loaf of brown bread to the rugged, squat half-giant.
  
   The lean, ponytailed man gives his loaf of brown bread to the rangy, bushy-headed half-giant.
   
  The rugged, squat half-giant gives his loaf of brown bread to the lean, ponytailed man.
  
  Shrugging, the lean, ponytailed man eats a portion of his loaf of brown bread.
  
  The rugged, squat half-giant hands the loaf back, frowning.
  
  Rubbing a hand over his mouth momentarily, you say to the petite, freckled youth, in sirihish:
       "Alright."
  
  Peering down at him, the rangy, bushy-headed half-giant says to the lean, ponytailed man, in sirihish:
       "It's okay. I get mad too, sometimes."
  
  Stuffing it into his mouth, the rangy, bushy-headed half-giant eats a portion of his loaf of brown bread.
  
  The lean, ponytailed man eats his half eaten loaf of brown bread.
  
  You say to the petite, freckled youth, in sirihish:
       "Yer dismissed. Cross me again an' it's the lash."
  
  The lean, ponytailed man puts his octagonal purple tablet into his small leather pouch.
  
  The rangy, bushy-headed half-giant eats his half eaten loaf of brown bread.
  
  Addressing the group as a whole, you say, in sirihish:
       "It's like guys don't think I'm bothered by Zuib an' Kromp bitin' it, shit..."
  
  The rugged, mustachioed man rolls his eyes to himself.
  
  Chewing loudly, the rangy, bushy-headed half-giant says to you, in sirihish:
       "I didn't know 'em."
  
  To everyone but the petite, freckled youth, you ask, in sirihish:
       "Other guys, we good?"
  
  The petite, freckled youth frowns, crossing her tiny arms.
  
  The dark-haired, hazel-eyed man says, in sirihish:
       "Yes sir."
  
  Scratching at his patchy beard, the lean, ponytailed man says, in sirihish:
       "Mostly Zuib, but . . . eh."
  
  Smacking his lips while he chews, the rangy, bushy-headed half-giant says to you, in sirihish:
       "Real good, Lootenent."
  
  The rugged, squat half-giant shrugs, watching the others in the hall.
  
  Hesitantly, the lean, ponytailed man says to you, in sirihish:
       "I'm good. I think."
  
  Voice unexpressive, the sturdy, vivid-eyed dwarf says to you, in sirihish:
       "Everyone's been bothered to some extent, that much is obvious, sir.  But you've got all my talents as always, Sir."
  
  The rugged, mustachioed man nods his understanding to the sturdy, vivid-eyed dwarf before patting a hand once on the lean, ponytailed man's shoulder.
  
  You say, in sirihish:
       "Alright, yer all dismissed. Rest, recover... we got work to do in the near future. Vengeance work."
  
  Glancing up, his piercing eyes wide, the lean, ponytailed man says to you, in sirihish:
       "T'last thing that fang will see is my face. And it will be smilin', sir."
  
  The dark-haired, hazel-eyed man renders a salute.
  
   The rugged, mustachioed man nods firmly to the lean, ponytailed man.
  
  The dark-haired, hazel-eyed man leaves a stone archway.
  
  Nodding to the rangy, bushy-headed half-giant, the sturdy, vivid-eyed dwarf asks the rugged, squat half-giant, in sirihish:
       "We're going to train you big fecks how to kill neckers.  How's that sound?"
  
  The lean, ponytailed man salutes with his bandaged arm.
   
  The sturdy, vivid-eyed dwarf taps off a firm salute to you.
  
  The rangy, bushy-headed half-giant says, in sirihish:
       "Skinny pie. I make it good, yeah."
  
  The rugged, mustachioed man returns the salute crisply before stooping over for your hooded, black military aba.
  
  Shrugging, the rugged, squat half-giant asks, in sirihish:
       "Okay.  Hit in face, right?"
  
  You pick up a dusty hooded, brown military aba.
  It is very light, and empty.
   
  Wiping a hand across his mouth, the rangy, bushy-headed half-giant walks north.
  
  You brush the dust off of a stained hooded, brown military aba.
  
  Chuckling, the sturdy, vivid-eyed dwarf says, in sirihish:
       "Not that simple, Bok.  Not that simple."
  
  The petite, freckled youth watches you with fiery, silent intensity.
  
  The rangy, bushy-headed half-giant has arrived from the north.
  
  Arching a brow, the lean, ponytailed man asks the sturdy, vivid-eyed dwarf, in sirihish:
       "Grab them first, then punch in t'face?"
  
  You think:
       "I did this right."
  
  The rugged, squat half-giant walks south.
  
  You feel certain.
  
  The rugged, squat half-giant has arrived from the south.
  
  Holding his long wooden plank to him, the rangy, bushy-headed half-giant asks the sturdy, vivid-eyed dwarf, in sirihish:
       "This yours?"
  
  The rugged, squat half-giant wanders off.
  
  The sturdy, vivid-eyed dwarf nods agreeably to the lean, ponytailed man.
  
  The petite, freckled youth just sort of sighs.
  
  The rugged, squat half-giant leaves a stone archway.
  
  The rugged, mustachioed man meets the petite, freckled youth's gaze for a moment before heading out.
  
   [Raul moseys over to the barracks]
   
  The Main Barracks [EU Quit]
  A multi-ringed dartboard is here hanging on the northern wall.
  A large barrel of water is shoved in the corner.
  The barbarous, black-maned youth [CREATING] is reclining on a small leather cot.
  - he is carrying a worn, carru-hide pack.
  The bulky, bald man is sitting here.
  The brown-haired, blue-eyed man looks around slowly from his pallet here.
  The thin, chestnut-haired woman stands here, watching the stairs.
  The grey-maned, wooden-legged man sits here, sharpening a bone-toothed saw.
  The dimpled, shaven-headed man looks over a wounded mercenary here.
  
  The rugged, squat half-giant has arrived from the east.
  
  The rugged, mustachioed man purses his lips to the side as he spots the barbarous, black-maned youth.
  
  Dropping it near him, you give your stained hooded, brown military aba to the barbarous, black-maned youth.
  
  The rugged, mustachioed man turns and leaves.
  
  The barbarous, black-maned youth lies on his side, face a watery and messy mess.
  
  The large, sideburned man has arrived from the east.
  
  The barbarous, black-maned youth exclaims, in tribal-accented sirihish:
       "Lieutenant!"
  
  The rugged, mustachioed man stops.
  
  The large, sideburned man stops holding his dim rag-wrapped bone torch.
  The large, sideburned man extinguishes a dim rag-wrapped bone torch.
  
   The rugged, squat half-giant sits down to rest.
  
  The rugged, mustachioed man glances from the grey-maned, wooden-legged man to the barbarous, black-maned youth.
  
  You ask the barbarous, black-maned youth, in sirihish:
       "Yeah?"
  
  The rugged, squat half-giant yawns, stretching out along a wall.
   
  He whimpers, the barbarous, black-maned youth exclaims, in tribal-accented sirihish:
       ".. please. I.. can't.. Eight! Nine!"
  
   The rugged, mustachioed man holds a finger to his lips and shushes the barbarous, black-maned youth.
  
  You say to the barbarous, black-maned youth, in sirihish:
       "Two, three weeks."
  
  The barbarous, black-maned youth says, in tribal-accented sirihish:
       "But Slim! I promised Slim.. He'll die."
  
  A foreign presence contacts your mind.
  
  The petite, freckled youth sends you a telepathic message:
       "I'm sorry sir. I'm...This is a lot to take in. I won't do it again."
  
  The barbarous, black-maned youth tries to wipe some snot away from his face.
  
  You say to the barbarous, black-maned youth, in sirihish:
       "He might. Guess he shouldn't've murdered my man."
  
  The petite, freckled youth sends you a telepathic message:
       "I promise. I will follow orders...I'll learn. I'll do what you tell me to do."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You contact the petite, freckled youth with the Way.
  
  The barbarous, black-maned youth exclaims, in tribal-accented sirihish:
       "I have a place to stay.. I can live! Worry.. Please.. Just! Don't leave me here. .With them!"
  
  The rugged, squat half-giant raises a bushy eyebrow, peering at the barbarous, black-maned youth.
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the petite, freckled youth:
       "I know, it was all very shitty. Every new wave has a meltdown at some point. It's just the reality of the situation."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the petite, freckled youth:
       "Take care. Stick to yer work. Erak is a broken man. Yer already stronger."
  
  The petite, freckled youth sends you a telepathic message:
       "It sounds so...Awesome from the outside. Sell-swords. Drunkards. Sex...Not that I know what that's like really."
  
  Grunting, you say to the barbarous, black-maned youth, in sirihish:
       "You ain't gonna die. Calm down, let yer wounds heal."
  
  A loud horn blast sounds from the northeast.
  
  The barbarous, black-maned youth asks the rugged, squat half-giant, in tribal-accented sirihish:
       "I don't.. want to be here no more! Why are you holding me!?"
  
  The petite, freckled youth sends you a telepathic message:
       "It's hard to...It's all a fantasy until it becomes a reality. I poked my first thing today and made it bleed. We were all going to celebrate when we got back...But then...Then people died."
  
  You say to the barbarous, black-maned youth, in sirihish:
       "No one -here- is gonna fuck with you, 'cause they'd get some mighty harsh treatment."
  
  The thin, chestnut-haired woman intently scans the area.
  
  You say to the barbarous, black-maned youth, in sirihish:
       "'Cause I can. I like you here, right now, for yer recovery."
  
  The sturdy, vivid-eyed dwarf has arrived from the east, plodding along.
  
  Quietly, the large, sideburned man says, in sirihish:
       "He doesn't mean us, sir."
  
  The petite, freckled youth sends you a telepathic message:
       "It is all fun and games until people die. And then it becomes so vivid...Almost unreal. I'm sorry...I just. I guess i'll have to be a hardass now, since you told everyone how old I am."
  
  He pleads, bringing up his hands, the barbarous, black-maned youth exclaims, in tribal-accented sirihish:
       "You.. did! Just.. let me go, please, sir!"
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the petite, freckled youth:
       "Sorry, I didn't realize that was a secret. I guess it makes sense that it was."
  
  The sturdy, vivid-eyed dwarf trudges over to a small leather cot.
  
  Flopping down into it, the sturdy, vivid-eyed dwarf rests on a small leather cot.
  
  The petite, freckled youth sends you a telepathic message:
       "It's okay. I'll get by, sir."
  
  You say to the barbarous, black-maned youth, in sirihish:
       "I will eventually. Relax."
  
  The rugged, squat half-giant lays down, beginning to snore.
  
  The rugged, squat half-giant has departed from the land of Zalanthas.
  
  You say to the large, sideburned man, in sirihish:
       "Sergeant, if you got just one moment..."
  
  The rugged, mustachioed man beckons to the large, sideburned man.
  
  The large, sideburned man nods at you.
  
  He laments at the ceiling, the barbarous, black-maned youth exclaims, in tribal-accented sirihish:
       "They are so cruel! Please!"
  
  The large, sideburned man steps over.
  
  The petite, freckled youth has arrived from the east.
  
  You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
  
  You dissolve the psychic link.
  
  The barbarous, black-maned youth exclaims, in tribal-accented sirihish:
       "I beg you! Release me, I don't want to be here! I can take care of my own!"
  
  You look at the petite, freckled youth.
  This young, small girl has barely hit puberty, leaving most of her
  body covered with bits of baby fat and underdeveloped muscle; what muscle is
  visible lies around her arms and legs.  Her eyes are a mismatched hazel brown
  and viridian blue, in the left and right respectively.  A tiny nose sits in
  the middle of her freckled face, a swath of blonde hair rolling over her head
  to about her shoulders.  Her teeth are mostly grown in, though there're a few
  gaps of teeth still missing.  Freckles adorn most of her body, especially
  around the forearms.  A hoop of bone intersects her lower lip right in the center. 
  The petite, freckled youth is in excellent condition.
  
  The petite, freckled youth is using:
  <worn on head>           an used dusty chitin-plated leather helmet
  <worn around neck>       a dusty stiff, black-leather gorget
  <slung across back>      a dusty short bone sparring spear
  <worn across back>       a dusty bone-studded backpack
  <worn on torso>          a stained chitin-plated leather cuirass
  <worn on left shoulder>  a dusty purple, bloody claw-sewn patch
  <worn around wrist>      an used sweat-stained dark leather bracer
  <worn around wrist>      a studded hide wrist-wrap
  <worn as belt>           a brown leather pouched belt
  <hung from belt>         an obsidian-bladed kirisigi dagger
  <hung from belt>         a bloodied black mandible-headed spear
  <worn around body>       a dusty hooded, brown military aba
  <worn on legs>           an used sweat-stained pair of dark leather leggings
  <worn on feet>           an used dusty pair of chitin-plated leather boots
  
  She is carrying:
  nothing obvious
  
  The petite, freckled youth sits on a small leather cot.
  
  The sturdy, vivid-eyed dwarf exhales a long breath, then moves to ease up from his cot.
  
  The sturdy, vivid-eyed dwarf stands up from a small leather cot.
  
  The rugged, mustachioed man turns from the barbarous, black-maned youth and heads for the stares.
  
  The Main Barracks [ND Quit]
  A multi-ringed dartboard hangs on a wall here.
  The grizzled, long-fingered mercenary sits on a pallet here, tattooing.
  The barrel-chested, ebony-skinned man lies here on a grimy pallet, sleepy-eyed.
  The tattooed, square-headed man lays restlessly on a cot.
  The lanky, bald-headed woman stands here, looking bored.
  
  The large, sideburned man has arrived from below.
  
  Lowering his voice as he peers over the railing, you whisper to the large, sideburned man in sirihish:
       "I'm keepin' 'im here as somethin' of a gamble..."
   
  The large, sideburned man nods at you.
  
  Looking back to him, you whisper to the large, sideburned man in sirihish:
       "One, I'd like 'im to recover before I set 'im loose. I don't do that to guys that don't deserve it. Two..."
  
  You whisper to the large, sideburned man in sirihish:
       "He's totally broken right now. I wanna see how he develops, an' I want the others to see it."
  
  You whisper to the large, sideburned man in sirihish:
       "It'll weed some've the weaker ones out, an' it'll strengthen the hard ones."
  
  The large, sideburned man whispers to you, in sirihish:
       "He came unhinged when Urrik was shot too."
  
  You whisper to the large, sideburned man in sirihish:
       "I noticed that, an' I thought he'd turn like Raveni just did. It don't always work that way, though."
  
  You whisper to the large, sideburned man in sirihish:
       "This was a pretty shitty day. Days..."
  
  The large, sideburned man whispers to you, in sirihish:
       "I don't think we can escort Tasok back in four weeks, sir... not in the face of what just happened."
  
  The rugged, mustachioed man blows out a breath and wipes his hand down his face.
  
  You whisper to the large, sideburned man in sirihish:
       "No, we can't. Instead, we need to prepare for revenge. I'll smooth things an' make 'em right with the Agent."
  
  The large, sideburned man whispers to you, in sirihish:
       "not only is it risking our best runner, but Tasok himself."
   
  The rugged, mustachioed man nods.
   
  You whisper to the large, sideburned man in sirihish:
       "Sorry things got brutal. But you see, it's very necessary. Sometimes it builds up an' boils over like this."
   
  The large, sideburned man whispers to you, in sirihish:
       "Revani may not take my orders anymore."
  
  You whisper to the large, sideburned man in sirihish:
       "She will. Yer my man, an' she knows not to cross me."
  
  The large, sideburned man whispers to you, in sirihish:
       "Once the arrows started ocming I paniced out there.. Tried to get Kromp and Zuib to flee, but was too late."
  
  Resting a hand on his shoulder, you whisper to the large, sideburned man in sirihish:
       "I know. I know very well how it goes. But I know you've learned, too. I got faith in you, Sergeant."
  
  The large, sideburned man nods at you.
  
  You whisper to the large, sideburned man in sirihish:
       "It was a tough spot. An' really, tough spots are hard to avoid someties."
  
  The large, sideburned man whispers to you, in sirihish:
       "I'm glad Niema got sick when she did." [ie pregnant with Raul's baby, I believe]
  
  The rugged, mustachioed man nods after a pause. [It was a... complicated situation in some ways]
  
  You whisper to the large, sideburned man in sirihish:
       "Yeah... believe me, I worry. I try not to get hung up on shit, but I do worry 'bout you guys."
  
  The large, sideburned man whispers to you, in sirihish:
       "What do we do with Gil's body?"
  
  The large, sideburned man opens his bloodied bahamet-embroidered leather backpack.
  
  The large, sideburned man gets his blue and purple ceramic bottle from his bloodied bahamet-embroidered leather backpack.
  
  Passing it over, the large, sideburned man gives you his blue and purple ceramic bottle.
  
  The large, sideburned man closes his bloodied bahamet-embroidered leather backpack.
  
  You whisper to the large, sideburned man in sirihish:
       "We'll dump it outside by the sewer pipes. Won't be the first time. Won't be the last."
  
  The rugged, mustachioed man accepts the bottle gratefully.
  
  You drink the firestorm's flame.
   
  The large, sideburned man whispers to you, in sirihish:
       "Strip it?"
  
  The rugged, mustachioed man nods.
  
  The large, sideburned man whispers to you, in sirihish:
       "I'll take care of it, sir."
   
  You whisper to the large, sideburned man in sirihish:
       "Take it all, put the armor an' shit into the storeroom. I know it's been a long week, so if you gotta just toss it all on the bench, it's fine."
  
  You whisper to the large, sideburned man in sirihish:
       "The coin is yers."
  
  The large, sideburned man whispers to you, in sirihish:
       "I'll sort it all.... though I may need to get this piece of gith spear out of me first..."
  
  The rugged, mustachioed man chuckles quietly.
  
  You whisper to the large, sideburned man in sirihish:
       "Priorities, eh?"
  
  The large, sideburned man whispers to you, in sirihish:
       "Carl cracked my jerkin before we left, so all I had was a leather vest."
  
  The rugged, mustachioed man gives the large, sideburned man's shoulder a companionable slap.
  
  Flashing a grin, you whisper to the large, sideburned man in sirihish:
       "That... sucks."
  
  The large, sideburned man gives a short rueful chuckle.
  
   
  You whisper to the large, sideburned man in sirihish:
       "I gotta go. This is gonna make one helluva report."
  
   The large, sideburned man nods at you.
  
   You say to the large, sideburned man, in sirihish:
       "'Sid an' glory, sergeant."
  
   The rugged, mustachioed man moves for the stairs.
  
  The Main Barracks [EU Quit]
  A multi-ringed dartboard is here hanging on the northern wall.
  A large barrel of water is shoved in the corner.
  The austere, fine-boned blonde is standing here.
  - she is carrying a plain bag of cloth.
  The sturdy, vivid-eyed dwarf is reclining on a small leather cot.
  - he is carrying a large bag.
  - he is carrying a couple of bone-studded backpacks.
  The barbarous, black-maned youth is reclining on a small leather cot.
  - he is carrying a worn, carru-hide pack.
  The bulky, bald man is sitting here.
  The brown-haired, blue-eyed man looks around slowly from his pallet here.
  The thin, chestnut-haired woman stands here, watching the stairs.
  The grey-maned, wooden-legged man sits here, sharpening a bone-toothed saw.
  The dimpled, shaven-headed man looks over a wounded mercenary here.
  
  Whimpering, the barbarous, black-maned youth says, in tribal-accented sirihish:
       "No one understands.. I almost died out there. No one looked at me twice. No orders.. Zik saved us all."
   
  From his cot, the sturdy, vivid-eyed dwarf dips his head to you as you comes down the stairs.
   
  The rugged, mustachioed man descends the stairs languidly and heads on out.
  
  [he strolls to the Officers' Barracks]
  
  The rugged, mustachioed man snorts out a chuckle.
  
  Feeling relief, you think:
       "Well, that turned out better'n it could've."
  
  You think:
       "Ah, Ryzen, you'll learn."
  
  You get your black stone key with one purple stripe from your leather swordbelt.
  It is very light.
  
  You unlock the door with a black stone key with one purple stripe. - *click*
  
  You open the door.
  
   A Small Hallway [ESW]
  The lean, sharp-eyed woman is here, leaning casually against a wall.
  The dark, war-painted dwarf looks around as he stands here.
  The thin, trim-bearded half-elf stands here, watching the hallway.
  
  You close the door.
  
  You lock the door with a black stone key with one purple stripe. - *click*
  
   You put your black stone key with one purple stripe into your leather swordbelt.
  
  You think:
       "There's always a crisis for the new guy."
  
   The Officers' Barracks [ES Quit]
  
   You sit down and rest your tired bones.
  
  You think:
       "It's happened to every single one've us."
  
  The rugged, mustachioed man shakes his head slowly to himself.
  
  You think:
       "Everyone'll see Erak as the broken man. Only in the soft will it cause some discontent."
  
  [the end]
  
  
  
  

  [Told from the perspective of Lieutenant Raul of the T'zai Byn (Demonslayer, Hero of Deeds, etc.), the rugged, mustachioed man.]
  
  [The following description stuff is cobbled together from a few logs, but it's about right.]
  
  You are Raul, of many people. (type 'tribes' to see your tribes).
  Keywords:...
  Continue Reading...
• 

  Biography of a Bynner: "Join the Byn!"
  Added on Jan 22, 2011

  A scrawny teen begins his journey towards his ultimate destiny and it only costs him three hundred coins!

  ---

      It was evening and the Gladiator and the Gaj was beginning to really fill up. The barkeep Vennant taciturnly poured booze as dusty patrons slapped obsidian coins onto the bar. The air smelled of vomit and poor decisions, but the pungency had yet to reach its nighttime zenith. The tavern was stuffed with a slapdash selection of old and battered tables. In one corner was a broad stone one carved in the shape of a coiled dragon, and at it two men were holding a conversation.

      “So if you agree to those terms and rules, cough up the three small, kid,” drawled the one in a brown aba. He was an ugly, scarred up hunk of a man with greasy black hair and a mustache. He lounged comfortably in his chair despite being coated with heavy chitin and leather armor, and adorned with heavy blades and dangerous-looking daggers. The left breast of his aba bore a hand-sized purple dragon patch, matching the design on the table. The studded leather armor on his arms had the same insignia on the right sleeve and two black bars on the left.

  “I agree,” impatiently muttered the other man, a short, thin-limbed youth with long, stringy brown hair. He produced a bulging sack of coins from beneath his cloak and pushed it across the table.

      “I agree, sir. Or Sergeant Streen, Sarge, or Ender of Lives and Fucker of Mothers,” corrected the mustachioed man as he weighed the sack of coins in one gauntleted hand. “Welcome to the T'zai Byn, runt.”

      The younger man bristled and Streen casually ignored him, tucking the coins into his pack. They both rose and Streen led the way to the exit. He batted aside the threadbare tarp that served as a door and then they were out on the dusty street. The foot traffic was still thick even so late in the day. The setting sun was bloated and crimson-colored, silhouetting the massive dragon statue at the end of the road. Streen took a right, putting the sun at his back. He shouldered his way through the crowds, avoiding pockets of black-clad militiamen and the occasional wagon drawn by enormous lizards. The youth followed in his wake.

      “A kid of your stature is probably just useful as fodder, but you dug up that three small after all,” Streen called back, “Maybe you think you're actually serious. Either way, I don't take kindly to lazy freeloaders, so I better get some real fucking work out of you.”

      The sergeant's off-hand barbs stuck in the teenager. He was sixteen and filled with frustration and stunted, confused pride. He was constantly the butt of jokes due to his scrawniness and height. His own family never took him seriously, and he was utterly eclipsed by the military successes of his older siblings. His folks just laughed when he stormed off to join the T'zai Byn, the largest mercenary company in the Known World. Their laughter still rang in his ears and infuriated him, and now there was this pompous sergeant to suffer. He kept his brooding silence.

      They stepped out into a vast plaza, Meleth's Circle. It was choked with masses of travelers and beggars. The center was dominated by a temple to the Highlord Tektolnes, and it housed the primary source of water for the citizens of Allanak. Piles of corpses - fresh ones as well as desiccated husks – were strewn near its doors, baking in the heat. The air stank of death; it was the heart of the city. Streen motioned the kid to the left and they circled the temple.

      “Learn this route well, Runner Runt. A real Bynner can walk it true while sloshed. In a night darker than Drov's armpit. With the skies as sandy as... eh, a really sandy thing.”

      “I told you, my name is Raul,” the kid growled in the most menacing tone he could muster. “Sir,” he added grudgingly after a glare from Streen.

      Streen smiled viciously. “You're name's whatever-the-fuck I decide it is, Runner. You better learn some respect now before you have to learn it from the lash.

      “Now let's say we go on and enjoy a companionable silence for the rest of the trip,” Streen concluded flatly. There was no more talk.

      They left Meleth's Circle and cut across the expansive bazaar. Before long they were on a street heading due north off of the better-maintained Merchant's Road. It was called Warriors' Way, and the traffic was markedly less than most other places. The lawless slums of the Labyrinth weren't far off. Suffering and despair taste something like what the winds sent roiling down the road at the Byn sergeant and his recruit. Their destination was just short of that gloomy, miserable pile of squalor. The gates of the T'zai Byn Mercenary Company's headquarters stood before them. In the detachment of guards posted there, Raul had never before seen such a convincing display of utterly disinterested malice. It was very impressive.

      “Fresh meat!” Streen bawled laconically as he took Raul's shoulder and hurried him up to the gate. A guard pulled it open and then they were in. Raul's skin tingled as he took in the stone walls that flanked the path. It was only upon entering the gates that it truly felt real to him. He knew that his new life would be dirty and dangerous, but it was his life. And his family wouldn't see a damn coin from him. As Streen lead him through the drill yard into the compound's mess hall, Raul could already feel the frustrations of living at home dissipating.

      “Wait here,” Streen said, “get some stew or whatever. I'll get you your uniform and sparring weapons. Speaking of which, what sort of weapons are you planning on using?”

      Raul hadn't really thought of that. He just looked at what Streen had strapped to him and said “A sword. I mean, two of them.”

      “True Nakki style, right?” said Streen with a smirk, and he left. Raul looked around from where he stood near the entrance. He garnered a few disinterested glances from mercenaries hunched over their bowls of stew. There were a couple of elves sitting together and they each offered him a slow, malign smile. It made Raul uncomfortable. He hadn't had to be around too many elves before, but he heard stories and knew to keep an eye on his possessions. Suddenly, Raul was elbowed heavily in the back and nearly sent sprawling.

      “Get the fuck out of my way, meat,” a husky feminine voice growled behind him. Raul caught himself on a nearby stone table. He brushed his stringy hair out of his face just in time to watch the owner of the voice pound past. She was human, tall and muscular. Her coal black hair was short and utilitarian. She bore the two black stripes of a Byn sergeant as well as scars that said she had been with the company for years. Her black, beady eyes were further darkened by the incredible scowl she briefly directed at him. He didn't get much more of a look before he received a gratuitous shove from a dwarven Bynner trailing her.

      “Krath, that breed's whining was priceless, Sarge,” the dwarf laughed, not even looking at Raul. “Just blubbering 'Oooh, am I gonna die, Sarge, am I?'” he quoted, screwing his broad, hairless face up with mock pain and sadness.

      “Yeah, yeah, real hilarious,” the sergeant woman said tiredly. She was handed a bowl of stew by a cook.

      The squat dwarf barked a laugh like stone cracking. “He had three gith arrows in the chest, what did he think was gonna happen? And did you see that other runner start crying? The humie? I bet she was kanking that no good half-elf! Can you believe that, Sarge?”

      “There's no accounting for taste, Trooper,” she said, heavily dropping onto a bench at a table.

      “Disgusting, sir, just disgusting,” and the dwarf joined her.

      Moments later, Streen arrived with a brown bundle in his arms. “Here's your shit,” he declared to Raul and dumped the bundle on him. “Wear that aba at all times. And try to wear it with some pride, runt. The patch sewn on near the shoulder there puts you in my unit, the Black Jakhals.”

      The patch was a black,stylized and snarling reptilian creature on a stone gray background. Raul passed his thumb over it before unrolling the bundle and barely catching the crude bone swords concealed within.

      “You're clumsier than fingerless dwarf on Tho,” chided Streen. “You'd better keep good track of those things, because those are the only sparring sticks you're going to get from me. If you lose them, I'm taking some flesh from your back. Now get that aba on nice and proper. There's one more thing to do.”

      Raul slipped the practice blades into his belt and quickly threw on the aba. It smelled like shit and it had a ragged, old blood-spattered tear in it. Clearly, he wasn't the first runner to have worn it.

      Streen stood up straighter and planted his right fist against his breast. “This here is the Byn salute. If you see a sergeant like myself, or one of our officers in black, you better pound out one of these real quick. Got it? Give it a shot.”

      Raul squared his shoulders and wordlessly emulated his sergeant. The thudding of his fist on his chest echoed the internal sealing away of his old doubts. He was in. It was only a matter of time and patience before he would outshine his militiaman brother and Tor Scorpion sister. Not that it would matter anyway, because he knew that he would never seek out his family ever again. He was his own man.

      “I guess that works,” Streen sighed. “Anyway, welcome to the Byn.”

      He scanned the tables and caught sight of the female sergeant and the dwarf. He motioned for Raul to join him as he strode up to their table. “You may as well start meeting some of the other Bynners in the warband, Runner.”

      The woman and dwarf ceased their conversation as Streen stopped before them with his hands on his hips. “Against my better judgment, I scooped up this kid out of the Gaj,” and he indicated Raul with his thumb. “Say hi to Runner Runt, guys.”

      “It's Raul,” he protested quietly with a scowl. The dwarf snorted. The woman smirked broadly and wiggled her fingers at Raul in greeting.

      “This here's Sergeant Talia,” Streen went on with a grand gesture towards the woman, “of the Limp-Dicked Jozhals unit. Get used to her ugly mug, because you're going to be seeing a lot of it.”

      “Sergeant Dipshit meant 'of the Screaming Hawks,' but he's always been easily confused,” Talia said to Raul before narrowing her eyes at Streen. “You better start getting it right before I make you eat that goofy mustache.”

      Streen laughed and wiped a finger under his nose. “Fucking true love, kids. Anyway. Runt, explore the compound and then get yourself some sleep. Training begins tomorrow.”

  
  

      Raul saluted the sergeants and wandered out into the darkening drill yard. He found his way to the barracks after some exploration and picked out a cot as far from everyone else as he could find. He was just stowing his scant belongings under it when a couple of men approached him.

      “That's my cot, new guy,” one growled at him. The second man, clearly the first's lackey, stood by with vile, pent-up excitement. Raul knew trouble when he saw it.

      “Fine,” he muttered and gathered up his pack. When he began to rise, he was shoved down. Raul loosed a surprised grunt and glared up at the first man.

      “Show some respect, new guy.”

      “You tell him, Mal,” laughed the lackey.

      “Shut up,” Mal shot back. The other man obeyed promptly. “Now where were we?”

      “The part where I tell you to fuck yourself sideways,” Raul couldn't stop himself from saying.

      “What did you say?” Mal demanded, his gravelly voice carrying a threat. He was much older and larger than Raul, who was beginning to regret his words.

      “I said... I said that I'm sorry I'm on your cot,” he replied and hated himself. “I'll just get out of your way.” He rose and was shoved right back down again.

      “It's too late for that. What kind of shit is that, talking like a tough guy and then running off like a jozhal?”

      “Yeah!” the lackey butted in, raising a fist. “Ain't room for cowards in the Byn.”

      “Just leave me alone,” Raul said coldly, his eyes frantically scanning the room for any possible supporters. There were none in the oblivious groups of chatting mercenaries.

      “Maybe after you apologize for being such a fucking wuss, you runty little shitstain,” Mal spat down at him.

      Something snapped in Raul then. The Byn seemed like his only chance to rise above being stepped on by everyone who entered his life, and there he was fitting into the same patterns all over again. He paid no mind to the fact that the frenzy he was entering was just playing to his antagonists' desires. There was no more time for reflection or feeling sorry for himself, and from that moment onward there wouldn't be much of either for a long time.

      Raul moved as fast as he could, trying to get his feet under him even as he drove a fist into the lackey's groin. The man fell, clutching his crotch and gasping for breath. Mal was on Raul the next instant, knocking him down and driving his face into the dirty floor with a fierce blow. Raul strained as hard as he could to try and wrestle Mal to the side and gain the advantage, but the older man was too strong. Raul raked at his opponent's eyeballs in desperation. His arm was almost casually brushed aside and then pinned under Mal's grip. He straddled Raul and started pounding him methodically in the face with his free hand. The beat down was beginning to draw some spectators, and the hall echoed with laughs and goading cheers.

      A murderous fury barely kept Raul conscious, but it wasn't going to hold back the darkness for long. He reached out frantically around on the floor with his free hand even as his head rebounded again and again off of the ground. His groping fingertips found a hunk of stone partially shaped into the form of a kank that some amateur crafter had abandoned. Loosing an inarticulate scream of rage, he smashed the thing against Mal's skull with a sickening thud, immediately losing his grip on it.

      Mal fell to the side without a sound. Raul tried to get up, but he only managed to lurch along the floor a few inches, laying on his side. His eyes just wouldn't focus and his strength was failing him. Mal's lackey had gathered himself, and he didn't bother looking to his friend before savagely kicking Raul in the side, rolling him onto his back.

      “You bastard!” he snarled at Raul, slipping an obsidian dagger out of his belt and raising it above his head.

      “What the fuck is going on in here?!” a voice thundered, leaving the hall silent in its wake. Everyone turned to observe a very pissed-off looking Sergeant Streen. He strode towards the combatants.

      “Runner, put that gith-sticker away before I bury it in you,” he growled. Mal's buddy complied immediately.

      “This new guy up and tried to kill Mal!” he stammered, pointing at the bleeding and half-conscious Raul.

      “Yeah, I'm sure that's exactly what happened,” Streen snapped sarcastically after taking stock of the scene. “Drag these two over to Sergeant Sawbones. And there had better be peace in here for the rest of the night, or I swear on Tek's wrinkled nutsack that I'll be breaking some bones.”

      Streen glared at the mercenaries in the barracks and they promptly dispersed. Raul and Mal were soon laid out on blood-stained cots before a peg-legged, bored-looking medic.

      “I need these two to be able to at least hold a sparring blade tomorrow,” said Streen.

      “These boys are hardly scratched,” the medic answered with a smirk, casually prodding Mal's battered skull with a finger.

      Streen merely grunted in response, and made his way up the stairs to the upper levels of the barracks. “Dipshit runners,” he muttered to himself.

      It was evening and the Gladiator and

  the Gaj was beginning to really fill up. The barkeep Vennant

  taciturnly poured booze as dusty patrons slapped obsidian coins onto

  the bar. The air smelled of vomit and poor decisions, but the

  pungency had yet to reach its nighttime zenith. The tavern...

  
  Continue Reading...
• 

  Creating and Playing a Complex Character
  Added on Feb 14, 2010

  Some tips and tricks to creating a character with some extra "meat" to their personalities, and how to play them to their fullest.

  ---

  Creating and Playing a Complex Character, or “Zoltan’s Guide to Drama King/Queen Supremacy”

   

  What’s the point?

   

  I’m going to go ahead and assume that anyone that reads this and is interested in input on this subject actually wants to make a complex character and enjoys that kind of play. I won’t go into why I find these characters desirable to be around and to play, who they could be fun for, or how they affect the game world. I’m just going to lay out some tips I’ve found and continue to find helpful in playing a multifaceted character.

   

  Disclaimer: Everything in this article is purely my opinion, based solely on my own experiences.

   

  Chargen

   

  The Dramatic Approach

   

  First off, what kind of story do you want to tell with your character? In Armageddon, chargen is about the only thing you have total creative control over. This includes their background, descriptions, and guild/subguild; but it can include so much more. Manners of speech, pre-formed opinions, desires, fetishes and fears are a part of any person, and so too can bring a lot of life to a character. I know some players like to let these things develop over time, and that’s actually a very good way to go about it. However, I’m writing this article to address making a complex character straight out the gate; “veteran” characters are always going to grow and change in natural ways.

   

  So, again, what is the story you want to tell? For me, this is the single most important thing. If I have an OOC story-telling purpose to my character, everything else falls into place. I like to incorporate the literary features of theme and mood.

   

  For illustrative purposes, I’m going to refer to the character that I first really fleshed out this approach with. He was stored some months ago, but I went through this process of writing him in March ’08, if I remember correctly. In the interest of not compromising current IC information, I’m going to limit my references to him to only his background (virtual events) and the techniques I used to try to bring him to life in an interesting way, straight from chargen.

   

  Theme:

   

  In relation to Arm PCs, this is the “point” of the character. It can be anything at all: an ultimate goal, an internal struggle, a conflict with the setting due to the nature of the character, a RL concept you want to explore through RP; anything. This could very well change as your character lives, or as you change IRL. It’s not something to be set in stone forever, but it’s a very useful guideline of sorts to get your character on track and to flesh them out.

   

  In my case with that character I mentioned, I was trying out my karma options for the first time and wanted to roll up a wind mage. Seeing as that would be my very first magicker, I wanted to kick it off with a deeper-than-my-average-PC character. My very first task was to find that theme to him, the whole point, the part that would make it more interesting to me than just exploring the magick code. As I was pretty much completely ignorant of magickal stuff, I stayed extremely vague. I went with the idea of Undoing Ruin because that happened to be the name of the metal album I was listening to when my last character died.

   

  So, what did I have from there? Well, I had almost all of the basics down: race, guild, etc. and my theme left a lot of room for interpretation. All I was sure on is that 1) this guy had a bad life, or some trauma, or is broken inside and 2) the character will have a desire to make things better. He was already taking on more form than many of my other characters, and this was just in my head getting ready to write the application. As I began writing him up, I began to add texture – a mood I wanted to convey to myself and others as I played him.

   

  Mood:

   

  This is kind of the “feel” you are going for in your play. Now, Armageddon as a whole is a beautiful game and has a variety of moods in itself: in the room descs and NPCs and the societal constructs. What makes all of these things good is their attention to atmosphere and immersion. Each and every PC can make an impact on the mood similarly in how they are played. Being conscious of mood on an OOC level can make your character complex and engaging on a deeper level than just their IG demeanor and actions.

   

  So what do I mean, exactly? With my Whiran, I decided I wanted to try something else I had never done and make a middle-aged character. With that settled, and with my theme of undoing ruin in mind, I resolved that not only would he be an older, beaten-down man, but that my emotes, says, thinks, feels and descs would all subtly (and in some cases later on, not so subtly) convey that feeling of weariness, regret and uncertainty.

   

  His mdesc came together very quickly after that. His skin was weathered and made rugged from exposure to the elements. He had scars and was missing some fingers. He was tall, but he had begun to take on a slight hunch under the weight of his years and experiences. He may have been quite handsome once, but the events of his life and his way of coping with it had chiseled away at his features; his slate-grey eyes had become cold, and they had that Clint Eastwood squint to them. And in what is probably my greatest indulgence in subjective desc writing, I capped it off with “his thin lips do not look accustomed to smiling.”

   

  I notice this kind of thing all the time IG and I only point it out in this article to call attention to the fact that those words you write for your mdesc and sdesc are likely going to be the very first thing another player experiences in your character. It’s a good opportunity to set the tone for IC interactions. Clearly, this is not the end all be all of complex interaction, but it’s something I definitely keep mindful of in adding shades of meaning to PCs.

   

  Anyway, having my theme and mood established more or less enabled me to make the final addition to my app: the background.

   

  Background/Virtual IC History:

   

  This is a part I thoroughly enjoy, though it can take a lot of creative investment. I know that many players aren’t fond of the idea of putting all kinds of work into a character just to know that they can be killed in a few hours’ playtime. While I wouldn’t say that a super-detailed background is absolutely vital for a complex character, it certainly doesn’t hurt. If you know where your character’s been, it’s easier to send them where they’re going. And I find that for myself, I just can’t play convincingly and engagingly if I don’t have direction. And again, for me, I need this direction right out of the gate. Nothing is as guaranteed to do this as an interesting background. It doesn’t mean you have to go over the top, though. Let me bring up that Whiran of mine again.

   

  I knew he was older, and according to my theme, he had a rough life. So, just by filling out some vital details, I had myself the beginnings of a decent story on my hands. How come he was a mage and had never used his powers/got gemmed by the time he was thirty-eight? Well, he found out when he was fifteen and endeavored to suppress it all of his life. How did he do that? He had near-fanatical denial and the aid of drugs such as spice and alcohol. Oh, he must have had some favorites? Yes, some varieties worked better for him: I laid them out. How did he survive? Hmmm, well, he was a grebber, and he was raised as a hunter by his mother, who he loved dearly, in the ‘Nakki village of Menos. He had the basic skills to pay the bills (subguild hunter), and when things got very bad in his twenties, he was pressed into prostitution off and on by his main dealer. Wow, he must have had some issues. Yes, in fact, he was a total momma’s boy before his former bestfriend/brother Malik witnessed his magickness that one day and our young hero was exiled, fleeing the gem and his true nature.

   

  Boom, that took me all of ten minutes or so to figure out and suddenly my character was ready to go. Granted, at that point I had had some knowledge and experience with the game world, so the details were considerably easier than when making my first PC. The point is, I knew what had brought him to that point in his life where I’d start playing, and I knew the very first thing I would try to do and why I would do it: that Whiran found his way of life untenable, so he caved in, decided to face himself, and went to ‘Nak in search of a gem. And there I was, playing, and because of my clarity in theme, mood and virtual history, I felt pretty much no transition at all from my previous character to playing him. Everything happened very fast and very fluidly after that and because I found my character to be fun to play and intriguing to develop, I think others had a good time as well. What could have been a very boring, grindy foray into mage-playing turned into what I feel is still my best character.

   

  But now on to the considerably trickier part: actually trying to play a complex, engaging character.

   

  Role-play

   

  Consistency, Balance and Vulnerability

   

  So you get in game, and then it’s time to play out and project that story you thought up. There is no “right” way to RP besides what is laid out specifically in the rules of the game. However, there are some techniques I’ve picked up and which I see others use that greatly aid in portraying a character and can seriously enhance your fun and that of others. When playing, I try to keep my character’s attributes in mind at all times, as well as the fact that not only is my character interacting with other characters, but that I am trying to tell an engaging story to other players through that interaction.

   

  Character Attributes:

   

  This is absolutely essential. What I mean by a character attribute is a thing that makes your PC what they are. Attitude, bearing, sense of humor, sexuality, virtual history, thought patterns; the whole shebang. These are the things you have to keep consistent with to make a character approachable from many angles by many players. Everyone will have their own level of detail on those things; the key is adherence to those details you put in. This is who your character is, and though your PC by no means needs to be an open book for anyone to read, they should be pretty much figured out in your mind to facilitate a seamless portrayal of them.

   

  For example, the biggest character attribute for me to hit on and flesh out the soonest is my character’s speech patterns and voice. In my case, everything follows from that. With my Whiran, I knew that he was this old hunter type, so in my head he spoke with a gravelly, Old West drawl. I figured out in short order exactly how I would convey it through text, I latched onto his favorite curse words and sayings, and just how he would articulate certain concepts and subjects. I decided early on that he would be a man of few words to the “normals” and most everyone else (partially from an OOC desire to keep my magick out of others’ mundane fun). However, I knew that if he was ever actively engaged by someone or made some friends, he would be a real rambler. So, right there in just how he talked I had a framework with which to interact with other players through.

   

  A lot can be written on character features and quirks, those gems for other players to dig up in your character. However, that could be a whole article in itself. Instead, I’ll go on to techniques useful for playing an engaging character.

   

  Depth:

   

  When I say “depth” in relation to a character, I don’t necessarily mean profound philosophies of theirs or shocking revelations. My concept of character depth is the idea that other players should have to dig a little bit into your character to start seeing them for what they are. This is desirable for two reasons: 1) people enjoy figuring stuff out and learning tidbits and secrets, no matter how small and 2) it adds realism to your character. The easiest way I have to think about this is how people in real life have their public, professional faces and then they are different with their friends and loved ones.

   

  Don’t just lay out everything about your character at the drop of a hat. Make other players dig, even just a little. It will make your character feel real. You just have to roll with the fact that not everyone will have the opportunity or desire to do so. You can rest assured that those that do start digging are likely going to enjoy it.

   

  This idea can further be split up into two categories: character-revealed attributes and player-revealed attributes. Those attributes revealed by your character are those that they flat out tell other PCs about, or are otherwise fully conscious of revealing. Player revealed attributes are those character quirks and features that you at the keyboard subtly reveal by the way the character is played. I’ll try to show you what I mean with examples from my Whiran.

   

  Character-revealed attributes: My character would often tell his story (both virtual histories and events played out IG) to those he started getting close to. It was likely clear to them that he had had some serious drug and family issues. His changing views on magick, from distrust and fear at the beginning to total acceptance at the end, were also pretty obvious to most he talked to.

   

  Player-revealed attributes: When I played that guy, there were of course many underlying things in his psyche that he was unable or unwilling to be candid about, but which I as a player tried to subtly reveal through his actions. I had no way of knowing, for example, if others picked up that his harsh spice addiction shifted to magick addiction in the middle of his career, or that he was pretty negligent of his children (leading to one of their deaths), or that there was a definite sexual undercurrent in his relationship to his element. Those were some of the juicy details that kept me extremely entertained, but were only evident to other players if they carefully observed and got to know my character.

   

  Revelation:

   

  All of this character depth is useless to everyone besides yourself and staff if you don’t demonstrate at least a little of it. And really, I believe that’s the point of playing for many of us: interacting with and engaging other players with your character. Sometimes you have to be vulnerable to allow some of your character’s secrets to not be so secret. I’m not suggesting that emotional tell-alls are the solution for all, not even most. What I’m saying is that even your most uptight, stoic character is going to reveal something at some point. The think, feel and hemote commands are very useful for this. However, sometimes you just have to put them out there and have them blurt out what they’re thinking, or something along those lines. The point is, yes, you can play the ultimate locked-down steel vault of a character, but you may have trouble engaging other characters. Sometimes you have to give up a little to get anywhere and to entice other players to dig deeper.

   

  Final Thoughts

   

  Always stay true to your character. They will grow and change and your OOC goals will too, but if play consistently and portray your character honestly, you can’t go wrong.

   

  People aren’t always going to “get it” or click into your character. Just roll with it. Those times when your character and others’ get into it deep are well worth the wait.

   

  Have fun. Fun is contagious. The goal isn’t to play some super deep, awesome character – it’s to have fun because you are playing that character, or playing with others. If it it’s not fun, don’t do it!

   

  When in doubt, play dangerous, awkward or intense situations to the hilt, every time. You’ll always get a story, or make/break IG relationships. That’s what Armageddon is all about.

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

  Creating and Playing a Complex Character, or

  “Zoltan’s Guide to Drama King/Queen Supremacy”

   

  What’s the point?

   

  I’m going to go ahead and assume that anyone that reads this

  and is interested in input on this subject actually wants to make a complex

  character and enjoys...

  
  Continue Reading...
• 

  Rukkian Encounter
  Added on Dec 24, 2008

  Some hunters stumble upon a Rukkian with out-of-control magickal vomit powers.

  ---

  Indy hunters Louas and Jurij are out with some of the members of their hunters' guild in the deep desert when a sudden storm (ie sudden crash) causes the party to scatter. Jurij is finally found by Louas and the two head out in search of the others when they hear cries for help. They go to investigate. The following is from Jurij's point of view.

  Jurij, the rugged, dark-eyed dwarf

  This dwarf is built like a rock.  His broad, chiseled shoulders are as wide as
  he is tall.  His well muscled arms terminate in large, rough hands.  He has
  slightly bow legged, adding to his square, sturdy appearance.  His face is
  moderately wrinkled, showing the ravages of a lifetime of hard work and
  exposure to the elements.  Dark eyes stare out from under his thick brow, the
  vivid whiteness of the cornea contrasting intensely with the blackness of the
  iris and pupil.  Between his eyes is a large, round nose that sits above a
  thin-lipped mouth.  The very tip of his left ear appears to have been cut off
  by some past trauma.

  You are using:
  <worn on head>           a chitin-studded anakore helm
  <worn around neck>       a reddish-brown chitinous collar
  <worn about throat>      a water gourd
  <slung across back>      a bloodied serrated, blackened bone war-axe
  <worn across back>       a red-striped canvas backpack
  <worn on torso>          a new bloodied cuirbouilli cuirass
  <worn on arms>           a set of cuirbouilli sleeves
  <worn around wrist>      a bloodied studded bone bracer
  <worn around wrist>      a studded bone bracer
  <worn on hands>          a stained pair of chitin-plated leather gloves
  <worn as belt>           a leather swordbelt
  <hung from belt>         a razor-edged, obsidian tomahawk
  <hung from belt>         an obsidian-headed polished-bone mace
  <worn around body>       a hooded, sandy-brown reinforced sandcloth duster
  <worn about waist>       a pouched belt
  <worn on legs>           a set of cuirbouilli leg guards
  <worn on right ankle>    a leather and chitin strap-sheath
  <worn on feet>           a pair of tall, carru-hide moccasins

  You swing your legs to the side and dismount.

  The very tall figure in a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak looks down at the maimed, murky-eyed man.

  You stop watching the west exit.
  You begin watching the maimed, murky-eyed man.

  Keeping his distance, you ask the maimed, murky-eyed man, in sirihish:
       "What is it?"

  The maimed, murky-eyed man begins to quiver on his knees, making terrible moaning sounds.

  The very tall figure in a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak intently scans the area.

  The figure in a dusty hooded, sandy-brown reinforced sandcloth duster grimaces.

  The very tall figure in a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak asks the maimed, murky-eyed man, in sirihish:
       "What's wrong with ya?"

  You lower the hood of a dusty hooded, sandy-brown reinforced sandcloth duster.

  You look up at the maimed, murky-eyed man.
  A great swirl of creased scar tissue disturbs the shallow wrinkles of
  this man's swarthy face.  The left of his nose, cheek, and forehead seem to
  be the most affected and are less several large chunks of tissue and
  multitudes of smaller lacerations.  Underneath the damage a narrow,
  economical skeletal structure of sharp angles shapes high cheekbones,
  slanted eyebrows, and a square jaw and chin.  The dominant tone of his skin
  is a brazen brown except where linear streaks of light and dark blue arch
  out along the right side of his face in trails of various lengths.  His eyes
  and hair are a muddy brown of varying consistency, the latter of which hangs
  down around his head in a shaggy crown spreading out from a thinning patch
  in the center.  His body is small and lean, crafted for the swiftness and
  endurance necessitated by the harsh landscapes it resembles. 
  The maimed, murky-eyed man is in excellent condition.

  The maimed, murky-eyed man is using:
  <worn on head>           a dusty brown sandcloth turban
  <face>                   an angular series of light and dark blue lines
  <worn around neck>       a dull black gem
  <worn on arms>           a pair of black sandcloth sleeves
  <worn around body>       a dusty layered black cloak with an agate clasp
  <worn on legs>           a pair of trim, black sandcloth trousers
  <worn on feet>           a dusty pair of darkly-stained, knee-high raptor-hide boots

  He is carrying:
  nothing obvious

  The maimed, murky-eyed man opens his mouth at the very tall figure in a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak, but sand flies out and splatters to the dunes.

  Hopping back, you exclaim, in sirihish:
       "Fuckin' Krath!"

  The very tall figure in a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak swings his legs to the side and dismounts.

  You exclaim to the very tall figure in a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak, in sirihish:
       "Did ya see that?!"

  The very tall figure in a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak unstrap his dusty leather strapped, traveling knapsack from a war beetle's back.

  The very tall figure in a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak opens a dusty leather strapped, traveling knapsack.

  The maimed, murky-eyed man begins a spell, and the earth trembles in response.

  The maimed, murky-eyed man utters an incantation.
  The maimed, murky-eyed man gestures, summoning food from the air itself.
  A dark purple kank steak suddenly appears.

  The very tall figure in a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak gets his dusty water gourd from his dusty leather strapped, traveling knapsack.

  The very tall figure in a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak closes a dusty leather strapped, traveling knapsack.

  The very tall figure in a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak straps his dusty leather strapped, traveling knapsack to a war beetle's back.

  The maimed, murky-eyed man bends over and vomits a stream of sand which turns into a dark purple kank steak.

  The very tall figure in a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak drops a dusty water gourd, which settles to the sand.

  The rugged, dark-eyed dwarf stumbles back towards a war beetle, mouth agape.

  The maimed, murky-eyed man crashes to the dune, writhing in obvious pain.

  The very tall figure in a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak points to his dusty water gourd.

  As sand spews forth from his mouth, the maimed, murky-eyed man exclaims, in tribal-accented sirihish:
       "GRRREEEEEEEHHHHLLLLPPPP!!!!!!"

  The maimed, murky-eyed man wretches forward again.

  Pointing his axe at the maimed, murky-eyed man, you ask the very tall figure in a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak, in sirihish:
       "Is -that- how Falmie made our food?"

  Watching the maimed, murky-eyed man with wide eyes, you exclaim, in sirihish:
       "Gah!"

  The very tall figure in a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak says to you, in sirihish:
       "Not quite so elegantly."

  The maimed, murky-eyed man vomits only sand.

  You begin speaking mirukkim.

  The maimed, murky-eyed man crashes back to the dunes, convulsing.

  Flopping down, the maimed, murky-eyed man sits down to rest.

  You say, in mirukkim:
       "Krath. Fucking Krath..."

  You begin speaking sirihish.

  The very tall figure in a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak says to the maimed, murky-eyed man, in sirihish:
       "Drink the fuckin' water."

  You say to the very tall figure in a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak, in sirihish:
       "He won't stop pukin'... sand."

  Pushing up to his feet, still bent double, the maimed, murky-eyed man rises and stands.

  The rugged, dark-eyed dwarf shakes his head slowly.

  The sun begins its long voyage across the heavens.

  The maimed, murky-eyed man begins to lumber after you, sand dribbling from his mouth in a steady stream.

  You exclaim, in sirihish:
       "Stay back! Stay th' -fuck- back!"

  The maimed, murky-eyed man begins a spell, and the earth trembles in response.

  The maimed, murky-eyed man utters an incantation.
  The maimed, murky-eyed man gestures, summoning food from the air itself.
  A slice of gritty brown bread suddenly appears.

  The maimed, murky-eyed man vomits sand at your feet, which suddenly turns into a slice of gritty brown bread!

  The rugged, dark-eyed dwarf's left hand darts down to his waist.

  You draw an obsidian-headed polished-bone mace.

  The very tall figure in a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak picks up a dusty water gourd.

  The rugged, dark-eyed dwarf stumbles back, trying to ward the maimed, murky-eyed man off with your dusty serrated, blackened bone war-axe.

  The very tall figure in a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak says to you, in sirihish:
       "We'll take 'im with us."

  Still plodding forward, more sand draining from his mouth, the maimed, murky-eyed man exclaims to you, in tribal-accented sirihish:
       "Grrrrraaaawwwllbb!"

  The very tall figure in a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak stops holding his new dusty chitin-decorated wooden shield.

  The rugged, dark-eyed dwarf falls over, landing on his ass.

  The very tall figure in a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak stops holding his dusty obsidian-bladed battle axe.

  You sit down.

  The very tall figure in a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak bends down near the maimed, murky-eyed man, gripping the maimed, murky-eyed man's arm.

  Scrambling backward, leaving a trail on the sand, you exclaim to the very tall figure in a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak, in sirihish:
       "Louas! Ya can't be serious!"

  The very tall figure in a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak subdues the maimed, murky-eyed man.

  The very tall figure in a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak says, in sirihish:
       "Get up on yer kank."

  Slowly, you stand up.

  A trickle of sand sprays onto the very tall figure in a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak from the maimed, murky-eyed man's gaping maw.

  You sheathe an obsidian-headed polished-bone mace.

  The rugged, dark-eyed dwarf gropes for a war beetle's reins.

  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You contact the long-limbed blue-eyed man with the Way.

  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the long-limbed blue-eyed man:
       "*terrified* Should we just kill this freak now?"

  The rugged, dark-eyed dwarf looks to the very tall figure in a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak with wild eyes.

  The very tall figure in a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak says to you, in sirihish:
       "He could be useful, let's go."

  You dissolve the psychic link.

  The maimed, murky-eyed man wriggles in the very tall figure in a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak's arms, kicking and bucking with waning stamina.

  The rugged, dark-eyed dwarf swallows hard and finds a war beetle's reins.

  You jump up onto a war beetle's back.

  A short trip through the desert, then...

  
  Wave Dunes [NESW]
  Cloudy glass has fused in the sands here, forming a large deposit.
  The maimed, murky-eyed man is standing here held by the very tall figure in a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak.
  A war beetle is reclining here.
  - it is carrying a large bag.
  The large, clean-shaven man is reclining here.
  A war beetle is reclining here.
  - it is carrying a large bag.
  The red haired, white-pupiled woman is standing here, looking a bit winded.
  A huge sandy-brown lizard stands here, foraging for food.
  The gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak is standing here.
  - he is carrying a large bag.
  A war beetle has arrived from the north.

  The very tall figure in a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak exclaims, in sirihish:
       "Tent!"

  You swing your legs to the side and dismount.

  You are a little thirsty.
  The wind loses some momentum.

  The gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak gets his rope-bound, tan-colored tent from his large bag.

  The gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak drops a rope-bound, tan-colored tent, which settles to the sand.

  The gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak quickly unrolls a rope-bound, tan-colored tent and begins constructing it.

  The very tall figure in a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak releases the maimed, murky-eyed man, who immediately moves away.

  You exclaim, in sirihish:
       "Set up th' tent! Keep yer distance!"

  The very tall figure in a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak pulls on a war beetle's reins.
  A war beetle curls up on the ground.

  The very tall figure in a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak attempts to grab the maimed, murky-eyed man, but he wrestles away.

  The maimed, murky-eyed man sprays an unnatural amount of sand out on the ground as he collapses.

  You pull on a war beetle's reins.
  A war beetle curls up on the ground.

  The very tall figure in a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak subdues the maimed, murky-eyed man.

  The gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak slings a dusty heavy bone cleaver across his back.

  The gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak sheathes a dusty large, yellowed bone club.

  The very tall figure in a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak enters a crude tan-colored tent.
  The very tall figure in a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak drags the maimed, murky-eyed man in as well.
  You enter a crude tan-colored tent.

  Inside a crude tan-colored tent [Leave Save]
  The maimed, murky-eyed man is standing here held by the very tall figure in a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak.

  The very tall figure in a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak releases the maimed, murky-eyed man, who immediately moves away.

  The very tall figure in a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak pushes the maimed, murky-eyed man into a corner of the tent.

  The gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak has entered a crude tan-colored tent.

  The gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak begins guarding the way out.

  Sand begins to leak into the tent from the maimed, murky-eyed man's mouth and nose.

  The long-limbed blue-eyed man lowers the hood of a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak.

  The gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak asks, in sirihish:
       "What wrongs?"

  Crumpling to the ground, the maimed, murky-eyed man sits down to rest.

  Pointing menacingly, if a little shakily, with your dusty serrated, blackened bone war-axe, you say to the maimed, murky-eyed man, in sirihish:
       "Stay put. Just... stay right there."

  The long-limbed blue-eyed man says to the maimed, murky-eyed man, in sirihish:
       "sit down."

  The gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak looks down at the maimed, murky-eyed man.

  Near the maimed, murky-eyed man, the long-limbed blue-eyed man drops his dusty water gourd.

  Shaking his head, you say to the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak, in sirihish:
       "I don't know what's goin' on... This freak is spewin' sand... screamin'. Krath."

  Reaching a hand out to the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak, his eyes pleading as sand pours from his mouth, the maimed, murky-eyed man exclaims, in tribal-accented sirihish:
       "Grrreeeeellllbbbb!"

  The long-limbed blue-eyed man exclaims to the maimed, murky-eyed man, in sirihish:
       "Sit back!"

  The gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak whispers something to the long-limbed blue-eyed man.

  The gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak slings a dusty heavy bone cleaver across his back.

  The long-limbed blue-eyed man says to the maimed, murky-eyed man, in sirihish:
       "You touch anyone and I'll let 'im rip your head off."

  The gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak draws a large, yellowed bone club.

  Sand dribbling from his mouth at an alarming rate, the maimed, murky-eyed man exclaims to the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak, in tribal-accented sirihish:
       "GRreeeelellllblblbbbb!"

  The rugged, dark-eyed dwarf lets out a slow breath.

  The long-limbed blue-eyed man holds his new dusty chitin-decorated wooden shield.

  Across the tent, the long-limbed blue-eyed man sits down.

  The long-limbed blue-eyed man brandishes his dusty obsidian-bladed battle axe.

  The long-limbed blue-eyed man says to the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak, in sirihish:
       "If he gets up, grab him."

  The rugged, dark-eyed dwarf keeps station beside the tent flap, his eyes locked on the maimed, murky-eyed man.

  Spasming about, the maimed, murky-eyed man rises and stands.

  The gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak looks down at the maimed, murky-eyed man.

  The maimed, murky-eyed man shouts, in tribal-accented sirihish:
       "Hey! Hey!"

  The maimed, murky-eyed man shouts, in tribal-accented sirihish:
       "Help! Over here!"

  Gurgling, the maimed, murky-eyed man shouts, in tribal-accented sirihish:
       "Help!"

  The maimed, murky-eyed man's head lolls to the side.

  Sounding as if he is choking, the maimed, murky-eyed man shouts, in tribal-accented sirihish:
       "Lllgggggg!!"

  The maimed, murky-eyed man begins to quiver on his knees, making terrible moaning sounds.

  The maimed, murky-eyed man crashes to the dune, writhing in obvious pain.

  As sand spews forth from his mouth, the maimed, murky-eyed man exclaims, in tribal-accented sirihish:
       "GRRREEEEEEEHHHHLLLLPPPP!!!!!!"

  The maimed, murky-eyed man wretches forward again.
  The gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak hastily drops a dusty large, yellowed bone club.
  The gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak hastily drops a large, yellowed bone club.
  The gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak attempts to grab the maimed, murky-eyed man, but he wrestles away.

  The maimed, murky-eyed man vomits only sand.

  The gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak subdues the maimed, murky-eyed man.

  Gently, the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak holds out the maimed, murky-eyed man.

  The huge, scaley-skinned half-giant lowers the hood of a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak.

  The long-limbed blue-eyed man says to the huge, scaley-skinned half-giant, in sirihish:
       "Push him back on the floor."

  The huge, scaley-skinned half-giant asks the maimed, murky-eyed man, in sirihish:
       "Yous oks?"

  The maimed, murky-eyed man leaks sand from his mouth and nose onto the huge, scaley-skinned half-giant.

  Nodding, the huge, scaley-skinned half-giant slowly lowers the maimed, murky-eyed man.

  You say to the huge, scaley-skinned half-giant, in sirihish:
       "Krath! Don't breath it in!"

  Writhing about, sand muffling his words, the maimed, murky-eyed man shouts, in tribal-accented sirihish:
       "Greeeeelllbbb!"

  The rugged, dark-eyed dwarf begins to dart forward but keeps his position by the tent flap.

  Nodding, the huge, scaley-skinned half-giant coughs as he inhales some sand floating around the maimed, murky-eyed man.

  The huge, scaley-skinned half-giant releases the maimed, murky-eyed man, who immediately moves away.

  The long-limbed blue-eyed man says, in sirihish:
       "I'm trying to find Kolt."

  The huge, scaley-skinned half-giant picks up a large, yellowed bone club.

  The huge, scaley-skinned half-giant brandishes his large, yellowed bone club.

  The huge, scaley-skinned half-giant picks up a dusty large, yellowed bone club.

  The huge, scaley-skinned half-giant holds his dusty large, yellowed bone club.

  You say to the long-limbed blue-eyed man, in sirihish:
       "Alright... alright. Good idea."

  The maimed, murky-eyed man crashes into one side of the tent, quivering madly.

  You hear a man's voice shout from outside in rinthi-accented sirihish:
       "What the feck is goin on in there?"

  The huge, scaley-skinned half-giant coughs.

  You shout in sirihish:
       "I-I don't know!"

  As more sand spews forth, littering the floor of the tent, the maimed, murky-eyed man shouts, in tribal-accented sirihish:
       "GRReeeeellllbbb!"

  Feeling terrified, you think:
       "Fucking Krath. I can't believe this shit... I just can't believe it."

  You think:
       "Why are we helping him?"

  You think:
       "Why didn't we just ride on by? Fuck! -Fuck-!"

  The maimed, murky-eyed man appears to regain control of his writhing body and stands perfectly still.

  The maimed, murky-eyed man begins a spell, and the earth trembles in response.

  You think:
       "And now Kolt. That fucking arrogant freak... he's going to be out here. He'll only make things worse."

  The maimed, murky-eyed man utters an incantation.
  The maimed, murky-eyed man gestures, summoning food from the air itself.
  A slice of gritty brown bread suddenly appears.

  The maimed, murky-eyed man bends forward, wretching over.

  The maimed, murky-eyed man spews out a large amount of sand, which turns into a slice of gritty brown bread!

  Grinning broadly, the huge, scaley-skinned half-giant exclaims, in sirihish:
       "Wow!!  Food!"

  The rugged, dark-eyed dwarf's jaw drops open as the maimed, murky-eyed man vomits... food.

  You exclaim to the huge, scaley-skinned half-giant, in sirihish:
       "Don't touch it!"

  Reaching foir a slice of gritty brown bread, the huge, scaley-skinned half-giant jerks his hand back.

  The maimed, murky-eyed man starts to run right for you in a maddening spring, sand dropping from his mouth onto the already sandy floor.

  You exclaim, in sirihish:
       "Oh -fuck- no!"

  The huge, scaley-skinned half-giant sheathes a large, yellowed bone club.

  The long-limbed blue-eyed man stands up.

  The huge, scaley-skinned half-giant sheathes a dusty large, yellowed bone club.

  As he charges forward, the maimed, murky-eyed man exclaims to you, in tribal-accented sirihish:
       "GREEEEEEELLLLLBBBB!!!!"

  The long-limbed blue-eyed man hastily drops a new dusty chitin-decorated wooden shield.
  The long-limbed blue-eyed man hastily drops a dusty obsidian-bladed battle axe.
  The long-limbed blue-eyed man attempts to grab the maimed, murky-eyed man, but he wrestles away.

  The huge, scaley-skinned half-giant subdues the maimed, murky-eyed man.

  The maimed, murky-eyed man struggles in vain against the huge, scaley-skinned half-giant.

  The long-limbed blue-eyed man picks up a new dusty chitin-decorated wooden shield.

  The long-limbed blue-eyed man picks up a dusty obsidian-bladed battle axe.

  The rugged, dark-eyed dwarf falls over backward, screaming.

  You sit down.

  The huge, scaley-skinned half-giant growls squeezing the maimed, murky-eyed man.

  The maimed, murky-eyed man begins to gasp as the flow of sand is choked to a trickle.

  Slowly, the huge, scaley-skinned half-giant lifts the maimed, murky-eyed man up with a massive arm.

  You exclaim to the maimed, murky-eyed man, in sirihish:
       "Stay... -back-!"

  The long-limbed blue-eyed man shouts, in sirihish:
       "May as well cut some glass out there."

  The maimed, murky-eyed man's face pulses red with blood.

  The rugged, dark-eyed dwarf trembles violently.

  The maimed, murky-eyed man stares straight into the huge, scaley-skinned half-giant's eyes.

  The long-limbed blue-eyed man asks the maimed, murky-eyed man, in sirihish:
       "You want him to let go?"

  With a tight grip around the maimed, murky-eyed man, the huge, scaley-skinned half-giant says to the

  long-limbed blue-eyed man, in sirihish:
       "What up wid dis guy boss?  "

  You are a little thirsty.

  The maimed, murky-eyed man gags on what little sand still comes out of his mouth.

  With a shaky hand, you drink the water.
  You are no longer thirsty.

  You stand up.

  The long-limbed blue-eyed man says to the huge, scaley-skinned half-giant, in sirihish:
       "Keep him held down."

  Louas heads out the tent briefly to send their hunting companions home...

  The huge, scaley-skinned half-giant asks the maimed, murky-eyed man, in sirihish:
       "You oks der?"

  The maimed, murky-eyed man shakes his head as best he can at the huge, scaley-skinned half-giant - which isn't much.

  The huge, scaley-skinned half-giant asks, in sirihish:
       "We ain't mean folks.  What wrong, maybe we helps?"

  The maimed, murky-eyed man's face begins to lose all color.

  You think:
       "Speak for yourself, King. This guy is freaking me the fuck out."

  Frowning, the huge, scaley-skinned half-giant removes the tight grip from the maimed, murky-eyed man.

  The huge, scaley-skinned half-giant says to the maimed, murky-eyed man, in sirihish:
       "Breath deep friend."

  The huge, scaley-skinned half-giant grins at the maimed, murky-eyed man.

  His breathing ragged, you say to the maimed, murky-eyed man, in sirihish:
       "Yeah... Just stay -calm-."

  The maimed, murky-eyed man chokes and sputters, though the sand has seemed to stop pouring from his orifices.

  The long-limbed blue-eyed man has entered a crude tan-colored tent.

  The long-limbed blue-eyed man picks up a dusty water gourd.

  The long-limbed blue-eyed man asks the maimed, murky-eyed man, in sirihish:
       "You want this water?"

  The long-limbed blue-eyed man eats his bloodied pair of firm, segmented antennae.

  The maimed, murky-eyed man shakes his head at the long-limbed blue-eyed man.

  The huge, scaley-skinned half-giant says to the maimed, murky-eyed man, in sirihish:
       "Can yous talks?"

  The long-limbed blue-eyed man asks the maimed, murky-eyed man, in sirihish:
       "Can you sit still?"

  Speech broken and mangled, the maimed, murky-eyed man exclaims to the long-limbed blue-eyed man, in tribal-accented sirihish:
       "Can't help! I can't!"

  Pleadingly, the maimed, murky-eyed man exclaims to the long-limbed blue-eyed man, in tribal-accented sirihish:
       "Let me go! Let me go!"

  Simply, the huge, scaley-skinned half-giant asks, in sirihish:
       "Helps whats?"

  The long-limbed blue-eyed man asks the maimed, murky-eyed man, in sirihish:
       "Can't help what?"

  You ask the long-limbed blue-eyed man, in sirihish:
       "Did ya find Kolt's mind?"

  The long-limbed blue-eyed man nods at you.

  The maimed, murky-eyed man struggles in vain against the huge, scaley-skinned half-giant.

  The huge, scaley-skinned half-giant asks, in sirihish:
       "Let's 'im go boss?"

  The rugged, dark-eyed dwarf grunts and nods.

  The maimed, murky-eyed man exclaims to the huge, scaley-skinned half-giant, in tribal-accented sirihish:
       "Yesss! Yes!"

  Narrowing his eyes, the huge, scaley-skinned half-giant asks, in sirihish:
       "Or knocks 'im outs?"

  The long-limbed blue-eyed man shakes his head.

  The long-limbed blue-eyed man asks the maimed, murky-eyed man, in sirihish:
       "Where ya headed?"

  The maimed, murky-eyed man exclaims, in tribal-accented sirihish:
       "Away! Gone! Away!"

  The huge, scaley-skinned half-giant says, in sirihish:
       "Him Siek..."

  The long-limbed blue-eyed man asks the maimed, murky-eyed man, in sirihish:
       "Siek throw ya out because of the gem?"

  The maimed, murky-eyed man ceases speaking, focusing instead of wriggling out of the huge, scaley-skinned half-giant's grasp.

  The maimed, murky-eyed man struggles in vain against the huge, scaley-skinned half-giant.

  The rugged, dark-eyed dwarf frowns.

  The long-limbed blue-eyed man asks the maimed, murky-eyed man, in sirihish:
       "Away, where?  To die in some hole?"

  The maimed, murky-eyed man struggles against the huge, scaley-skinned half-giant and breaks free.

  The maimed, murky-eyed man attempts to flee.
  The maimed, murky-eyed man leaves a crude tan-colored tent.

  You exclaim, in sirihish:
       "Ah, shit!"

  The huge, scaley-skinned half-giant leaves a crude tan-colored tent.

  Outside a crude tan-colored tent: the maimed, murky-eyed man jumps up onto a war beetle's back.

  The long-limbed blue-eyed man leaves a crude tan-colored tent.

  A brief struggle ensues, and the Rukkian is dragged off of Louas's beetle. They return to the tent.

  The huge, scaley-skinned half-giant stops guarding the long-limbed blue-eyed man.
  The huge, scaley-skinned half-giant begins guarding the way out.

  The long-limbed blue-eyed man exclaims to the maimed, murky-eyed man, in sirihish:
       "You were stealin' a beetle!"

  Kicking his little feet at the huge, scaley-skinned half-giant, the maimed, murky-eyed man exclaims, in tribal-accented sirihish:
       "Let me go!"

  The huge, scaley-skinned half-giant squeezes tight on the maimed, murky-eyed man.

  The long-limbed blue-eyed man exclaims, in sirihish:
       "My beetle!"

  The long-limbed blue-eyed man brandishes his dusty obsidian-bladed battle axe.
  The rugged, dark-eyed dwarf scowls.

  The maimed, murky-eyed man gasps for air.

  The huge, scaley-skinned half-giant squeezes tighter, suddenly you hear the crunching of bones, probably ribs of the maimed, murky-eyed man.

  You look up at the long-limbed blue-eyed man.
    The overly long limbs of this lean blue-eyed man give him an awkward
  stance.  His long light brown hair is pulled back snugly into a single
  flowing topknot.  His youthful clean features defy the wisdom-filled blue
  eyes that roam over everything with a warrior's appraisal, beneath which a
  solitary tattoo of three blue tears drips down his left cheek. 
  The long-limbed blue-eyed man is in excellent condition.

  The long-limbed blue-eyed man is using:
  <worn on head>           a dusty cuirbouilli helmet
  <worn in hair>           a dusty thin leather headband
  <worn on face>           a dusty plain sandcloth bandana
  <worn in right ear>      a dusty loop of bleached bone
  <worn around neck>       a dusty gurth shell collar
  <worn about throat>      a dusty water gourd
  <slung across back>      a dusty ebon wood, recurve longbow
  <worn on right shoulder> a dusty scrab-shell shoulder plate
  <worn on left shoulder>  a dusty scrab-shell shoulder plate
  <worn on arms>           a set of cuirbouilli sleeves
  <worn around wrist>      a blackened grey, chitin wrist razor
  <worn around wrist>      a bloodied grey, chitin wrist razor
  <worn on hands>          a dusty pair of anakore-claw gloves
  <primary hand>           a dusty obsidian-bladed battle axe
  <secondary hand>         a new dusty chitin-decorated wooden shield
  <worn on forearms>       a dusty leather and chitin strap-sheath
  <worn around body>       a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak
  <worn on legs>           a bloodied set of cuirbouilli leg guards
  <worn on right ankle>    a dusty small leather pouch
  <worn on left ankle>     a dusty small leather pouch
  <worn on feet>           a dusty pair of spike-toed, thigh-high leather boots

  He is carrying:
  nothing obvious

  The rugged, dark-eyed dwarf winces slightly.

  The long-limbed blue-eyed man asks the maimed, murky-eyed man, in sirihish:
       "Give a good reason quick why I don' remove your head?"

  The maimed, murky-eyed man yelps as things inside of him make bad noises.

  With a steady grasp on the maimed, murky-eyed man, the huge, scaley-skinned half-giant growls viciously.

  The long-limbed blue-eyed man says to the huge, scaley-skinned half-giant, in sirihish:
       "Knock him out."

  You think:
       "Krath, am I glad King is with us."

  Gasping, the maimed, murky-eyed man exclaims, in tribal-accented sirihish:
       "No!"

  The maimed, murky-eyed man struggles in vain against the huge, scaley-skinned half-giant.

  The huge, scaley-skinned half-giant draws a large, yellowed bone club.
  The huge, scaley-skinned half-giant releases the maimed, murky-eyed man, who immediately moves away.

  A real clusterfuck ensues. The Rukkian slips out, and King accidently blocks his much smaller comrades from leaving the tent. They eventually scramble out to find...

  Wave Dunes [NESW]
  The maimed, murky-eyed man lays here, blood dribbling from his mouth.

  The rugged, dark-eyed dwarf scowls as he rides up to the maimed, murky-eyed man.

  The wind changes direction.

  You swing your legs to the side and dismount.

  You slow down to a brisk walk.

  The long-limbed blue-eyed man has arrived from the east.
  A war beetle has arrived from the east.

  Excitedly, you ask the long-limbed blue-eyed man, in sirihish:
       "Is Kolt comin' or not?"

  The huge, scaley-skinned half-giant has arrived from the east, riding a sandy-brown inix.

  The long-limbed blue-eyed man shakes his head.

  The huge, scaley-skinned half-giant asks, in sirihish:
       "You gets dat tent boss?"

  The long-limbed blue-eyed man says to you, in sirihish:
       "He's in Luirs"

  The long-limbed blue-eyed man nods to the huge, scaley-skinned half-giant.

  The huge, scaley-skinned half-giant swings his legs to the side and dismounts.

  You ask the long-limbed blue-eyed man, in sirihish:
       "Did he tell ya anythin' 'bout this freak?"

  The huge, scaley-skinned half-giant asks, in sirihish:
       "King clubs?"

  The long-limbed blue-eyed man gives his large, yellowed bone club to the huge, scaley-skinned half-giant.

  The huge, scaley-skinned half-giant holds his large, yellowed bone club.

  The huge, scaley-skinned half-giant unslings a dusty heavy bone cleaver from his back.

  The huge, scaley-skinned half-giant slings a dusty heavy bone cleaver across his back.

  The huge, scaley-skinned half-giant sheathes a large, yellowed bone club.

  The huge, scaley-skinned half-giant subdues the maimed, murky-eyed man.

  The long-limbed blue-eyed man says to you, in sirihish:
       "Nothing."

  The rugged, dark-eyed dwarf looks the maimed, murky-eyed man over, careful to keep his distance.

  The maimed, murky-eyed man sags in the huge, scaley-skinned half-giant's grasp.

  You ask the long-limbed blue-eyed man, in sirihish:
       "Should we just leave him out here then?"

  The huge, scaley-skinned half-giant asks the maimed, murky-eyed man, in sirihish:
       "What wrongs?"

  You think:
       "We should!"

  The long-limbed blue-eyed man says to you, in sirihish:
       "I don' know."

  The long-limbed blue-eyed man says to you, in sirihish:
       "He was yellin' for help, then running."

  The huge, scaley-skinned half-giant asks the maimed, murky-eyed man, in sirihish:
       "How we's helps yous?".

  Glowering to the maimed, murky-eyed man, the long-limbed blue-eyed man says, in sirihish:
       "Stealing a beetle."

  Shrugging, you ask the long-limbed blue-eyed man, in sirihish:
       "Maybe we should drag him into 'Nak? Maybe get a reward?"

  The maimed, murky-eyed man lies down and falls asleep.

  The huge, scaley-skinned half-giant wakes the maimed, murky-eyed man up.

  The maimed, murky-eyed man's his lolls to the side. His eyes are only half-open.

  The long-limbed blue-eyed man says to you, in sirihish:
       "I'll ask one of the militia."

  The rugged, dark-eyed dwarf nods.

  The rugged, dark-eyed dwarf glowers at the maimed, murky-eyed man and shakes his head slowly.

  The huge, scaley-skinned half-giant looks down at the maimed, murky-eyed man.

  You ask, in sirihish:
       "Ya don't think he was tryin' t' run from 'Nak?"

  Barely above the sound of his own breathing, the maimed, murky-eyed man whispers something to the huge, scaley-skinned half-giant.

  The huge, scaley-skinned half-giant whispers something to the maimed, murky-eyed man.

  The long-limbed blue-eyed man asks, in sirihish:
       "Baghra?  Is that your name?"

  Grunting, you ask the huge, scaley-skinned half-giant, in sirihish:
       "What'd he say?"

  The huge, scaley-skinned half-giant says, in sirihish:
       "Him want me lets him goes."

  The mighty sun begins to crawl across the western sky.

  The maimed, murky-eyed man whispers something to the huge, scaley-skinned half-giant.

  The maimed, murky-eyed man whispers something to the huge, scaley-skinned half-giant.

  The long-limbed blue-eyed man drinks water from his dusty water gourd.

  You exclaim to the huge, scaley-skinned half-giant, in sirihish:
       "Don't listen t' him, King! He's tryin' some witch shit, I'm sure o' it!"

  The long-limbed blue-eyed man drinks water from his dusty water gourd.

  The huge, scaley-skinned half-giant says to the long-limbed blue-eyed man, in sirihish:
       "Him want goes."

  The long-limbed blue-eyed man asks the maimed, murky-eyed man, in sirihish:
       "Baghra?"

  The huge, scaley-skinned half-giant asks the maimed, murky-eyed man, in sirihish:
       "You promise not hurt me or friends?"

  A sandy-brown inix stretches its hind legs, arching its back.

  A bit of blood dripping onto him from his mouth, the maimed, murky-eyed man whispers something to the huge, scaley-skinned half-giant.

  Frowning, the huge, scaley-skinned half-giant says, in sirihish:
       "Maybe him needs go baaad."

  The huge, scaley-skinned half-giant peers over at the long-limbed blue-eyed man.

  The long-limbed blue-eyed man says to the huge, scaley-skinned half-giant, in sirihish:
       "Let him go."

  The huge, scaley-skinned half-giant asks the maimed, murky-eyed man, in sirihish:
       "You not steal no mounts?"

  The rugged, dark-eyed dwarf nods slowly.

  The huge, scaley-skinned half-giant releases the maimed, murky-eyed man, who immediately moves away.

  The huge, scaley-skinned half-giant unslings a dusty heavy bone cleaver from his back.

  The huge, scaley-skinned half-giant draws a dusty large, yellowed bone club.

  The long-limbed blue-eyed man jumps up onto a war beetle's back.

  The huge, scaley-skinned half-giant sits down to rest.

  Collapsing with a thud, the maimed, murky-eyed man lies down to rest.

  The maimed, murky-eyed man shudders once.

  The maimed, murky-eyed man shudders again with more intensity.

  You think:
       "Not again..."

  Struggling to his knees, the maimed, murky-eyed man rises and stands.

  The long-limbed blue-eyed man says to you, in sirihish:
       "Let's head back."

  The huge, scaley-skinned half-giant asks the maimed, murky-eyed man, in sirihish:
       "You bes ok?"

  The rugged, dark-eyed dwarf nods to the long-limbed blue-eyed man, slowly peeling his eyes off of the maimed, murky-eyed man.

  The maimed, murky-eyed man's eyes roll back into his head as he rises completely.

  The huge, scaley-skinned half-giant rises from the ground, and clambers to his feet.

  You stop watching the maimed, murky-eyed man.

  The maimed, murky-eyed man sticks out his hands at the long-limbed blue-eyed man.

  The maimed, murky-eyed man begins a spell, and the earth trembles in response.

  The maimed, murky-eyed man utters an incantation.

  You exclaim, in sirihish:
       "What the--?!"

  The huge, scaley-skinned half-giant attacks the maimed, murky-eyed man.
  The huge, scaley-skinned half-giant chops the maimed, murky-eyed man's body, inflicting a grievous wound.
  The maimed, murky-eyed man reels from the blow.
  The huge, scaley-skinned half-giant bludgeons the maimed, murky-eyed man on his arm, wounding him.

  The long-limbed blue-eyed man narrows his eyes at the maimed, murky-eyed man.

  The maimed, murky-eyed man turns to you now.

  The maimed, murky-eyed man's attack on the huge, scaley-skinned half-giant is absorbed by a bloodied gurth shell and leather vest.

  The maimed, murky-eyed man is thrown backwards by the huge, scaley-skinned half-giant's vicious onslaught.

  The maimed, murky-eyed man lunges at the huge, scaley-skinned half-giant, but his blow is deftly deflected by a bloodied gurth shell and leather vest.

  The huge, scaley-skinned half-giant chops the maimed, murky-eyed man's head, doing horrendous damage.
  The maimed, murky-eyed man cries out in pain.
  The maimed, murky-eyed man crumples to the ground.

  The rugged, dark-eyed dwarf winces.

  Growling, the huge, scaley-skinned half-giant jerks his dusty heavy bone cleaver from the body of the maimed, murky-eyed man.

  The long-limbed blue-eyed man watches the huge, scaley-skinned half-giant, blowing out a breath.

  The rugged, dark-eyed dwarf swallows, with extreme difficulty.

  To the body of the maimed, murky-eyed man, the huge, scaley-skinned half-giant says, in sirihish:
       "You never be means my boss."

  You ask the long-limbed blue-eyed man, in sirihish:
       "Yer alright?"

  Lifting his dusty heavy bone cleaver, the huge, scaley-skinned half-giant rises high above the body of the maimed, murky-eyed man.

  The huge, scaley-skinned half-giant removes the head from the body of the maimed, murky-eyed man.

  The huge, scaley-skinned half-giant rips through the headless body of the maimed, murky-eyed man with his dusty heavy bone cleaver.

  The huge, scaley-skinned half-giant peers over at the long-limbed blue-eyed man.

  Plucking it off carefully, you get your dull black gem from the headless body of the maimed, murky-eyed man.
  It is very light.

  The huge, scaley-skinned half-giant asks the long-limbed blue-eyed man, in sirihish:
       "You oks boss?"

  The huge, scaley-skinned half-giant looks down at the long-limbed blue-eyed man.

  The long-limbed blue-eyed man sighs a bit.

  The rugged, dark-eyed dwarf holds your dull black gem up to inspect it.

  The long-limbed blue-eyed man says, in sirihish:
       "Ya, I don' know what he did."

  Still staring at the headless body of the maimed, murky-eyed man, the huge, scaley-skinned half-giant exclaims to the long-limbed blue-eyed man, in sirihish:
       "Yah, me doesn'ts eiders.  Him try kills yous!"

  You say to the huge, scaley-skinned half-giant, in sirihish:
       "Thanks fer jumpin' in there, King."

  You feel your fear subside.

  The long-limbed blue-eyed man swings his legs to the side and dismounts.

  The huge, scaley-skinned half-giant exclaims, in sirihish:
       "Him was gonna try hurt me boss!"

  The long-limbed blue-eyed man says, in sirihish:
       "Maybe, we don' know what he was doing."

  Nodding slowly as he toes the headless body of the maimed, murky-eyed man over, you say to the huge, scaley-skinned half-giant, in sirihish:
       "Krath..."

  Tilting his head, the huge, scaley-skinned half-giant says, in sirihish:
       "Uhh, what?  "

  The long-limbed blue-eyed man says to the huge, scaley-skinned half-giant, in sirihish:
       "There's no way to know what he was saying, what magick."

  The long-limbed blue-eyed man shrugs his shoulders.

  The huge, scaley-skinned half-giant picks up the head of the maimed, murky-eyed man.

  You say to the long-limbed blue-eyed man, in sirihish:
       "Well, he -was- spewin' sand an' food before. But..."

  The long-limbed blue-eyed man says to you, in sirihish:
       "That was different, he was pointing to us."

  You say to the long-limbed blue-eyed man, in sirihish:
       "He was actin' different that last time. Who knows. It's... better this way."

  To his head of the maimed, murky-eyed man, the huge, scaley-skinned half-giant says, in sirihish:
       "You come at my boss like you was gonna hurts 'im.  You shoulda went likes yah said."

  The rugged, dark-eyed dwarf nods.

  The long-limbed blue-eyed man says to the huge, scaley-skinned half-giant, in sirihish:
       "Leave it all here."

  The long-limbed blue-eyed man gets his dusty layered black cloak with an agate clasp from the headless body of the maimed, murky-eyed man.

  The huge, scaley-skinned half-giant drops the head of the maimed, murky-eyed man, which settles to the sand.

  Over a body, the long-limbed blue-eyed man drops his dusty layered black cloak with an agate clasp.

  The rugged, dark-eyed dwarf frowns down at your dull black gem.

  The late, red sun descends toward the western horizon.

  The long-limbed blue-eyed man arranges a dusty layered black cloak with an agate clasp.

  You drop a dull black gem, which settles to the sand. Shown to the room as:
  A small black gem on a string of plant fibers lies here.

  Hanging his head, the huge, scaley-skinned half-giant asks, in sirihish:
       "Did I do bad boss?"

  You arrange a dull black gem.

  Wave Dunes [NESW]
  A dull black gem lies on top of a body.
  A dusty layered black cloak with an agate clasp is here over a corpse.
  The head of the maimed, murky-eyed man lies here.
  The headless body of the maimed, murky-eyed man lies crumpled here.
  A huge sandy-brown lizard stands here, foraging for food.
  The huge, scaley-skinned half-giant is standing here, looking a bit winded.
  - he is carrying a large bag.
  A large war beetle crawls about, struggling against its chitin harness.
  - it is carrying a leather strapped, traveling knapsack.
  - it is carrying a large bag.
  The long-limbed blue-eyed man is standing here.
  A large war beetle crawls about, struggling against its chitin harness.
  - it is carrying a red-striped canvas backpack.

  The long-limbed blue-eyed man says to the huge, scaley-skinned half-giant, in sirihish:
       "No, there's no way to know."

  The huge, scaley-skinned half-giant sighs.

  Looking down at the headless body of the maimed, murky-eyed man, you say to the huge, scaley-skinned half-giant, in sirihish:
       "Ya did th' right thing, King. I woulda done it, if I had been closer."

  The huge, scaley-skinned half-giant nods at you.

  You say to the huge, scaley-skinned half-giant, in sirihish:
       "There's no tellin' with these freaks."

  The long-limbed blue-eyed man jumps up onto a war beetle's back.

  The huge, scaley-skinned half-giant jumps up onto a sandy-brown inix's back.

  The long-limbed blue-eyed man says, in sirihish:
       "We're done speakin' of it."

  The rugged, dark-eyed dwarf wearily pulls himself up into the saddle.

  The long-limbed blue-eyed man says to the huge, scaley-skinned half-giant, in sirihish:
       "Ever."

  The huge, scaley-skinned half-giant nods to the long-limbed blue-eyed man.

  Nodding firmly, you say, in sirihish:
       "Agreed."

  Indy hunters Louas and Jurij are out with some of the members of their hunters' guild in the deep desert when a sudden storm (ie sudden crash) causes the party to scatter. Jurij is finally found by Louas and the two head out in search of the others when they hear cries for help. They go to...

  
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