Original Submissions containing 'view'
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The Grey Hunt - Part 3 by Adhira
Added on Mar 4, 2016The winner is finally announced.
Scene: The Silverwood Estate
Event: The Grey Hunt Announcement
Note: Staff view of thinks and feels has been left in to enhance the scene.
<! As seen by Amos/Malik and his alter ego-->
Someone thinks:
"Hmm."
<< The earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar feels curious. >>
The spangled-blond, muscular woman snakes her way through the crowd.
The short, dusky woman thinks:
"What the fuck?"
With a swift glane, the scruffy, brown-haired youth looks at the spangled-blond, muscular woman .
The pearl-haired Lirathan templar begins guarding the tall, muscular man.
The svelte, top-knotted woman glances to the freckled, light-skinned man then back up to the stage in confusion and alarm.
The short-haired, jade-eyed Lirathan templar begins guarding the tall, muscular man.
One eye narrowed, the sinewy, weather-worn man looks down at the spangled-blond, muscular woman.
The tiny, reed-like Jihaen templar begins guarding the tall, muscular man.
The very short and thick male wearing a bloodied runic, fire-scorched mask looks up at the tall, muscular man.
[[You get the strangest impression that the tall, muscular man is actually growing taller.]]
<< The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette feels absolutely confused. >>
The willowy, grey-streaked man thinks:
"What the fuck?"
The freckled, light-skinned man thinks:
"What the fuck?"
The willowy, grey-streaked man looks at the tall, muscular man.
The stocky, clean-shaven man thinks:
"This is..."
Tilting her head, the dusky, sorrel-curled woman looks up at the tall, muscular man.
Slowly, the short female wearing a mask of glinting, emerald scales tilts her head to the side.
The willowy, brown-haired young man thinks:
"What the... fuck is happening."
The stout, heavily-scarred dwarf looks up at the tall, muscular man.
The short, dusky woman thinks:
"What.. what.. what.. what?"
The sinewy, weather-worn man 's eyes widen as he watches.
The earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar swallows hard, her eyes growing wide.
Squinting quizzically, the lofty, cunyati-tanned man looks down at the spangled-blond, muscular woman.
The stocky, clean-shaven man's jaw drops open, slowly.
The skeletal, dark-skinned Jihaen templar begins guarding the tall, muscular man.
The ancient, brutally-scarred Jihaen templar's gaze drifts to the spangled-blond, muscular woman a look of realization coming over him.
The sinewy, bald-headed man reaches over, grabbing the scruffy, brown-haired youth's elbow, with a firm hand.
The spangled-blond, muscular woman takes a step back.
The grey-haired, fiery-eyed woman tilts her head as she watches.
Squinting quizzically, the lofty, cunyati-tanned man looks at the tall, muscular man.
With a furrowing of his brow, the trim, ashen-skinned man looks up at the tall, muscular man.
The ancient, brutally-scarred Jihaen templar thinks:
"That is His Radiance?"
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette stares wide-eyed at the tall, muscular man.
The willowy, grey-streaked man thinks:
"No."
Without even seeming to realize it, the short, dusky woman clutches the stocky, clean-shaven man's arm, staring at the tall, muscular man.
Eyes narrowing, the swarthy, aging man looks up at the tall, muscular man.
The pockmarked, well-toned man swallows, watching the tall, muscular man.
The dusky, sorrel-curled woman's breath catches.
The scruffy, brown-haired youth's eyes widen noticeably and without a thought he seeks to spring forward but is held in check by the sinewy, bald-headed man.
<< The short, fire-blackened woman feels utterly fucking gobsmacked. >>
Adjusting her wig, the robust, coppery-curled teen looks up at the spangled-blond, muscular woman.
Under his breath, the willowy, grey-streaked man says, in southern-accented sirihish:
"No."
The chubby, brown-haired man's eyes widen, watching.
Curiously as he glances between him and the skeletal, dark-skinned Jihaen templar, the sinewy, obsidian-haired man looks up at the tall, muscular man.
The shaggy-haired, sun-branded man reaches up to touch his forehead, mouth agape as he looks at the tall, muscular man.
[[The unremarkable features of the tall, muscular man become more defined, and his complexion takes on a remarkably healthy luster.]]
The willowy, brown-haired young man frowns broadly, pushing himself to his feet very quickly.
The earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar goes to one knee before the tall, muscular man, her head bowed to the ground.
The willowy, brown-haired young man stands up from a long wooden bench.
The pockmarked, well-toned man thinks:
"What's going on?"
The spangled-blond, muscular woman's expression shifts from concern to puzzlement.
Mouth falling open and food falling out, the freckled, light-skinned man eats his small portion of a baguette of brown bread.
The trim, ashen-skinned man thinks:
"What the fuck..."
The stocky, clean-shaven man quickly removes his hand from beneath his cloak, empty, his eyes wide.
The short, dusky woman thinks:"What.. what.. wh.."
The very short and thick male wearing a bloodied runic, fire-scorched mask thinks:
"Muk...no way."
The shaggy-haired, sun-branded man stands up from a long wooden bench.
The freckled, light-skinned man stands up from a long, white painted table.
[[Beneath his brows, the tall, muscular man's eyes seem to grow darker, yet strangely clearer and more compelling.]]
The sinewy, weather-worn man thinks:
"He's growin' huge!"
You notice the robust, coppery-curled teen glancing at the robust, coppery-curled teen .
The lofty, cunyati-tanned man thinks:
"Dang, who is this guy, and... well, if the Faithful are bowin' to him, guess I sure will."
On her knee in the grass, the earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar watches the tall, muscular man in wonder.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman watches the tall, muscular man, enraptured, frozen in place.
[[The tall, muscular man's hair twines itself into numerous braids, no longer mousy in appearance but taking on a lustrous red hue.]]
The earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar thinks:
"Is it... could it be...?"
The trim, ashen-skinned man thinks:
"Who..the Krath.."
Chewing at her thumbnail, the robust, coppery-curled teen looks up at the tall, muscular man.
The freckled, light-skinned man glances towards the earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar, then back to the tall, muscular man.
Blinking rapidly, the curvy, jallal-tressed maiden looks up at the tall, muscular man.
The stocky, clean-shaven man drops down to both knees before the tall, muscular man.
The shaggy-haired, sun-branded man kneels, falling forward onto his chest, arms outstretched above him as he presses his face into the grass.
The freckled, light-skinned man thinks:
"Oh, fuck."
<< The earthy, sienna-maned woman feels a bolt of high reverence. >>
The freckled, light-skinned man thinks:
"Utep??"
His mouth agape the ancient, brutally-scarred Jihaen templar watches the tall, muscular man in astonishment.
The trim, ashen-skinned man looks at the earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar then widens his eyes back at the tall, muscular man.
Feeling abject shock, the swarthy, aging man thinks:
"No way... No way under Krath..."
<< The spangled-blond, muscular woman feels your heart beat faster, pounding between her ribs. >>
His eyes narrowing, as he watches him, the sinewy, bald-headed man looks up at the tall, muscular man.
The curvy, jallal-tressed maiden thinks:
"What the...?"
The sinewy, weather-worn man's jaw drops as he watches the tall, muscular man, his attention fixed.
The willowy, brown-haired young man shoves his way through the crowd until he reaches the lanky, indigo-tressed woman, arm reaching slowly over his right shoulder.
<< The short, fire-blackened woman feels utterly astounded, every muscle frozen and tensed. >>
The freckled, light-skinned man falls to both knees, lowering his head quickly.
The lofty, cunyati-tanned man glances from side to side, a bit confused, and follows suit with the templars, falling to his knees in deference to the tall, muscular man... though still completely mystified, by all appearances.
The very short and thick male wearing a bloodied runic, fire-scorched mask thinks:
"Well fucken shit...guess he ain't some old wrinkled fart in a pyramid after all."
The shaggy-haired, sun-branded man thinks:
"My King... I bask in Your Gloriousness."
The chubby, brown-haired man moves to his feet, watching.
The curvy, jallal-tressed maiden fiddles around in disbelief, her body teeming with energy but her mind obviously confused.
Having sunk to her knees in shock and wonder, the short, dusky woman stares, mouth open, then lowers her eyes.
This large man towers at least eight feet above the ground, much larger
and taller than most other men. From his head, crimson braids, the color of
wet blood upon a battlefield, cascade down his massive, muscular back. His
features appear to be the work of some master sculptor, where every nuance
must be pleasing and familiar to the eye, the flat planes of his face
chiseled and stern, yet personable and illuminated with perfect health. His
tan skin almost seems to glow with a brilliant light, and his dark eyes seem
to be filled with endless depths of wisdom, knowledge, and humor regarding
all they survey.
The immense, crimson-braided man is in excellent condition.
<worn around neck> a sunburst decorated silk shoulder-cape
<slung across back> an old runed, ivory-hilted steel greatsword
<worn on torso> a loose tunic of white silk
<worn around wrist> a ruby-set silver bracelet
<worn on right finger> a bejewelled golden ring
<worn on left finger> a ruby-jeweled golden ring
<worn as belt> a white and flame-red silk scarf
<worn on legs> a pair of white silk pantaloons
<worn on feet> a pair of silver-toed leather boots
The trim, ashen-skinned man thinks:
"SHIT! IS HE GOING TO ATTACK?!"
Blinking rapidly, the stout, heavily-scarred dwarf stands up from a long wooden bench.
Peering over the crowd as some drop to their knees, the extremely short female wearing a mask of glinting, emerald scales stands up from a long wooden bench.
Following suit with the crowd to kneel, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette sits down.
[[Now towering above the tallest human, the immense, crimson-braided man's physique is imposing despite his relaxed posture.]]
The scruffy, brown-haired youth looks up at you.
<< The lofty, cunyati-tanned man feels amazement. >>
The lofty, cunyati-tanned man thinks:
"Krath, could it actually be Him?"
<< The trim, ashen-skinned man feels worried about Paryl attacking the man...what might be Muk. >>
The willowy, grey-streaked man looks up at you.
The curvy, jallal-tressed maiden thinks:
"Is it...? I mean, could it be...?"
The freckled, light-skinned man sits down.
Tugging at his arm, the sinewy, bald-headed man whispers something to the scruffy, brown-haired outh .
For just a moment, then quickly tearing her gaze away, the extremely short female wearing a mask of glinting, emerald scales looks up at you.
The ancient, brutally-scarred Jihaen templar drops to a knee immediatly.
Sucking in air, the trim, ashen-skinned man looks up at you.
The spangled-blond, muscular woman thinks:
"I don't understand"
The pockmarked, well-toned man shakes his head slowly, quickly sliding from a long wooden bench to fall to his knees.
As he slowly takes a knee, the sinewy, bald-headed man looks up at you.
The scruffy, brown-haired youth kneels suddenly.
Mouth hanging open, the swarthy, aging man looks up at you.
With a just a brief raise of her eyes, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette looks up at you.
Silently, her hands trembling, the earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar watches you silently.
Falling to a respectful kneel as though forcefully tugged to the ground, the extremely short female wearing a mask of glinting, emerald scales sits down to rest.
Falling to a knee beside her chair, the svelte, top-knotted woman sits down.
The extremely short male wearing a bloodied runic, fire-scorched mask looks up at you.
Jaw falling slack, the dusky, sorrel-curled woman looks up at you.
Forgoing staying on his knees, the freckled, light-skinned man just completely prostrates himself.
Glancing up carefully, the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man looks up at you.
The willowy, grey-streaked man's jaw drops and he just stares at you, standing among the kneeling crowd.
The short, lithe young man stands up from a long wooden bench.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman drops to both knees, posture rigid as she... stares up at you.
After a moment of looking around, the curvy, jallal-tressed maiden drops herself to the floor and places her head to the ground, mumbling incoherently.
The ancient, brutally-scarred Jihaen templar thinks:
"He has graced us with His Presence."
Just..... staring, the short, dusky woman looks up at you.
The curvy, jallal-tressed maiden sits down.
The sinewy, weather-worn man's attention snaps to the side in surprise and then quickly falls to one knee.
The trim, ashen-skinned man thinks:
"Fuck no."
The immense, crimson-braided man stands on the stage, folding his arms over his massive chest as he looks out at the crowd.
The sinewy, obsidian-haired man gasps for a moment, his thick carru and cheese sandwich falling from his mouth to land on his lap, before falling forward on his knee afterward.
The willowy, brown-haired young man blinks quickly and hesitantly drops to one knee.
The curvy, jallal-tressed maiden looks up at you.
The willowy, brown-haired young man thinks:
"What is going on?!"
The sinewy, weather-worn man sits down.
The freckled, light-skinned man thinks:
"Sun King! I had no idea!"
The scruffy, brown-haired youth hangs his head low, knelt beside the sinewy, bald-headed man, silent and unmoving, his eyes widened in disbelief.
The extremely short male wearing a bloodied runic, fire-scorched mask chuckles quietly and slaps a long wooden bench.
The spangled-blond, muscular woman sinks to her knees slowly.
The stout, heavily-scarred dwarf drops slowly to a knee, gazing about in surprise.
His attention completely set upon you, the lofty, cunyati-tanned man looks up at you.
Jaw dropping, the robust, coppery-curled teen looks up at you.
Only briefly daring to look up, the svelte, top-knotted woman looks up at you.
The trim, ashen-skinned man gives another awe filled look at you then slowly lowers to one knee.
The short, lithe young man hurries to kneel.
The curvy, jallal-tressed maiden thinks:
"Look at-- is it-- no, I don't-- He would-- no no-- what?"
A tear touching the corner of her eyes, the earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar averts her gaze from you.
<< The swarthy, aging man feels fear. >>
The swarthy, aging man thinks:
"Krath shade us, and may we shelter in the lee of Whira's fury!"
The grey-haired, fiery-eyed woman rises to her feet and bows respectfully to you, her eyes wide.
The sinewy, obsidian-haired man looks up at you.
<< The ethereal, fair-haired woman feels ... utterly... at... a... loss... >>
Turning his eyes up briefly, the sinewy, weather-worn man looks up at you.
The shaggy-haired, sun-branded man thinks:
"And here... here is the source of the Light. This is what I have fought my entire life for. My life is yours, Your Gloriousness, should you require it."
The short, lithe young man looks up at you.
<< The trim, ashen-skinned man feels impressed, so damn impressed. >>
<< The ethereal, fair-haired woman feels stunned >>
[[You feel an upwelling of joy and happiness in the immense man's presence.]]
The curvy, jallal-tressed maiden stares at you for a moment and then quickly lowers her eyes, mumbling soft prayers.
The spangled-blond, muscular woman looks up at you.
<< The earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar feels your heart expand to bursting. >>
The earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar thinks:
"It is Him~ He is here... what an incredible honor."
Eyes darting upwards briefly, then quickly returning to the ground, the stout, heavily-scarred dwarf looks up at you.
<< The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette feels utterly astonished and quite frightened. >>
<< The stocky, clean-shaven man feels completely voiceless. >>
The trim, ashen-skinned man sucks in air as he shudders.
Takinig a deep breath, the chubby, brown-haired man looks up at you.
The freckled, light-skinned man thinks:
"Sun King! I..."
The lofty, cunyati-tanned man thinks:
"Dang, dang, dang, fuckin' shit. This is intense."
The willowy, brown-haired young man scans the crowd, brow knitted in confusion, and allows himself a brief glance at you with squinted eyes.
His eyes misting the ancient, brutally-scarred Jihaen templar raises his gaze looking serenly at you.
The willowy, brown-haired young man thinks:
"Who is he?"
The willowy, brown-haired young man thinks:
"I feel so..."
Sliding limply off a long wooden bench to his knees, the swarthy, aging man stands up from a long wooden bench.
The trim, ashen-skinned man thinks:
"He's fuckin' real!"
The pockmarked, well-toned man smiles, closing his eyes as his face points down to the ground.
The willowy, grey-streaked man stares at you, wide-eyed, his entire body trembling.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman thinks:
"... Thank you..."
Her eyes touched by joyful tears, the earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar looks up at you.
Her breathing steadying, the curvy, jallal-tressed maiden looks up at you and then away, and then back, and then away, a tear dripping over her tattooed one.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman thinks:
"... Thank... you."
An odd, strangled little laugh croaks from the extremely short female wearing a mask of glinting, emerald scales 's throat.
<< The freckled, light-skinned man feels exceptionally awed in the presence of his Sun King. >>
[[A sense of well-being settles over you at the perfection of the crimson-braided man's appearance.]]
<< The extremely short female wearing a mask of glinting, emerald scales feels happy, suddenly, HAPPY, for no reason at all. >>
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette reaches up to pull at the willowy, grey-streaked man 's arm.
<< The lofty, cunyati-tanned man feels an unusual swelling of hope. >>
The lofty, cunyati-tanned man thinks:
"Hope he doesn't notice you? No - hope he -does-."
The scruffy, brown-haired youth's breathing quickens, a broad smile, though hesitant, crashing onto his youthful features. He can do nothing but kneel silently, wide eyed gaze staring into the ground before him.
The pockmarked, well-toned man thinks:
"I can't believe it..."
The earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar thinks:
"He is so handsome!"
Muttering it out quickly, the dusky, sorrel-curled woman exclaims, in tribal-accented bendune:
"Blessed Utep!"
The ancient, brutally-scarred Jihaen templar thinks:
"I am honored to be here, he has graced us. This feeling is greater than I have ever imagined."
The freckled, light-skinned man thinks:
"No shit."
The willowy, grey-streaked man bats the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette 's hand away, staring at you.
<< The curvy, jallal-tressed maiden feels utmost joy. >>
The curvy, jallal-tressed maiden thinks:
"This is-- it's-- He's-- it really must-- He is--"
The shaggy-haired, sun-branded man takes a deep breath as tears begin to roll down his cheeks, his breath ragged for a moment.
The willowy, brown-haired young man inhales slowly and deeply, a smile gradually broadening over his face.
The pockmarked, well-toned man thinks:
"I've been in HIS presence..."
<< The earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar feels your senses reeling with joy and disbelief. >>
The short, lithe young man shivers visibly, his gaze locked on the floor.
The willowy, brown-haired young man thinks:
"I have no idea why I feel this way, who is this man?"
The robust, coppery-curled teen wipes at her eyes as she glances at you in apparent awe.
The extremely short male wearing a bloodied runic, fire-scorched mask nods as if to himself.
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette tugs on the willowy, grey-streaked man 's arm again in an attempt to pull him down next to her.
The curvy, jallal-tressed maiden's body shivers as tears stream down her face, making a noise torn between a sob and a laugh.
With a trembling hand the svelte, top-knotted woman smears away a moist sheen from her face.
The ancient, brutally-scarred Jihaen templar thinks:
"His Radiance cannot be denied, all will know, all must know. His wisdom, his guidance is always with us."
The trim, ashen-skinned man lifts his gaze to you, mouth slowly opening without a sound.
The earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar thinks:
"He is.. perfection... He is everything... He is older than -time-."
The dusky, sorrel-curled woman thinks:
"Die today, in perfection."
The ethereal, fair-haired woman thinks:
"Please..."
Unfolding his arms, you say, in sirihish:
"My people! I have come before you as I once walked amongst you."
<< The lofty, cunyati-tanned man feels a sudden twist of black humour. >>
The lofty, cunyati-tanned man thinks:
"And I suppose these southerners now know we were right the whole fuckin' time."
The stocky, clean-shaven man thinks:
".... and I'm kneeling right before him."
The curvy, jallal-tressed maiden thinks:
"I just-- is it-- can I-- oh my!"
The lofty, cunyati-tanned man thinks:
"I wonder what they're going to report when they get home?"
Tears begin streaming down the ancient, brutally-scarred Jihaen templar's face as he remains transfixed on you, remaining prostrate.
The chubby, brown-haired man moves to kneel at your words.
The chubby, brown-haired man sits down.
The lofty, cunyati-tanned man thinks:
"...hey, I even think my hangover's gone."
The spangled-blond, muscular woman blink slowly one hand rising to press against her chest over her heart, mouth still hanging open.
The willowy, brown-haired young man thinks:
"I am, I am!"
The willowy, grey-streaked man screams, a strangled, joyous, betrayed sound, as he falls to his knees next to the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette .
On her knees, the earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar watches you in rapt silence, her expression glowing.
The scruffy, brown-haired youth 's jaw drops slightly at you's speech, not daring to lift his gentle browns to the man's perfect form.
The curvy, jallal-tressed maiden lifts her eyes slightly to you, and then turns them. They become a center of activity, shifting from looking at to looking away from you.
Trembling, but seemingly not in fear, the svelte, top-knotted woman looks up at you.
[[The presence and magnetism of the crimson-braided man is so intense you feel that you would follow him anywhere.]]
Looking down at those gathered with a benevolent smile, you say, in sirihish:
"Over these past hours I have drunk wine with you, I have eaten with you, and now, together we shall rejoice."
The willowy, brown-haired young man forces himself down lower on his knee, face tucked into his chest.
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette pulls the willowy, grey-streaked man against her as she visibly trembles.
<< The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette feels adoration and wonder. >>
The spindly, grey-haired man bends over, knees to the ground and face held down in reverence.
<< The trim, ashen-skinned man feels an elaborate elation flowing through you. >>
The ancient, brutally-scarred Jihaen templar thinks:
"Paryl cannot deny it, no one can deny it. His Radiance is so beautiful, it blinds."
<< The extremely short female wearing a mask of glinting, emerald scales feels a strange wash of odd, affectionate adoration from seemingly nowhere, causing her throat to tighten. >>
The willowy, grey-streaked man's hand moves to the jade cross hanging from his neck and he begins tugging compulsively at it, eyes transfixed on you.
The trim, ashen-skinned man stares at you with a slightly quivering lower lip.
[[Your growing adoration for the immense man begins to outstrip your love for any other living being.]]
Deadly silent, but trembling with energy, the curvy, jallal-tressed maiden lowers her head as the tears stream hotly, but with joy.
The robust, coppery-curled teen trembles as tears glisten on her round face.
<< The earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar feels like reeling and reeling. >>
The earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar thinks:
"What a gift he has given us with His presence!"
His breathing quick and shallow, as one on the verge of tears, the scruffy, brown-haired youth makes a concerted attempt to steel himself, his youthful features quivering with untold happiness, though there this is the faintest tick of
confusion to his brows.
The dusky, sorrel-curled woman reaches out exposed fingertips toward you.
The chubby, brown-haired man thinks:
"Krath...krath...krath...krath..."
The short, lithe young man inhales shakily, seeming to struggle internally with himself.
The sinewy, weather-worn man squeezes his eyes shut and holds his head low.
The lofty, cunyati-tanned man thinks:
"This is... this is such a weird... keep your wits about you, Bryn. That southerner looks like he's going to lose his shit."
The chubby, brown-haired man blinks rappidly, watching you with adoration.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman thinks:
"... Please... stay with us..."
His hand motioning towards the short, dusky woman and the stocky, clean-shaven man , you say, in sirihish:
"These two stand here as the last to compete for the right to join myChosen ."
The spangled-blond, muscular woman's trembling hand rises slowly from her heart to her lips.
The earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar squeezes her eyes closed, wiping a tear from her cheek before swallowing hard, once again, lifting a brilliant smile to the pearl-haired Lirathan templar.
As it slides from his limp fingers, the swarthy, aging man stops using his smoothly carved black pipe.
The stocky, clean-shaven man picks his head up in wonderment, still kneeling before you.
The willowy, brown-haired young man thinks:
"Oh, for the chance to be one of those two!"
The swarthy, aging man drops a smoothly carved black pipe.
The curvy, jallal-tressed maiden thinks:
"Am I... dreaming? Is this...?"
The shaggy-haired, sun-branded man reaches to unbuckle the straps of his breastplate, the many brands of rising suns covering his skin displayed.
The extremely short male wearing a bloodied runic, fire-scorched mask taps his chin.
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette lifts her head to gaze openly, wide-eyed, apparently completely entranced with you.
The sinewy, obsidian-haired man takes in a deep breath as he focuses on you, staring directly towards him, his chest straightened proudly.
The trim, ashen-skinned man thinks:
"Krath, I just can't believe it."
The short, lithe young man trembles heavily as he lifts his hands to his head. He digs his fingers into his hair, yanking roughly.
The willowy, brown-haired young man thinks:
"Why was I born so... my thoughts aren't even worthy in this man's presence."
Hastily pulling them off to kiss the back of her hands, the curvy, jallal-tressed maiden stops using her pair of white silk gloves, revealing a tattoo of a six-pronged star.
<< The extremely short female wearing a mask of glinting, emerald scales feels on the verge of tears. >>
Face damp with tears, the short, dusky woman gazes wordlessly at you, lips parted in amazement.
Turning slightly on his heel to face the pair, you say, in sirihish:
"Worthy contestants both, but only one shall be joining the ranks of those most favored. Only one shall I choose."
<< The lofty, cunyati-tanned man feels forced and difficult determination. >>
The lofty, cunyati-tanned man thinks:
"Not... lettin'... anything ruin this. Eyes on the southerners. Make sure they don't go nutso. Gotta... gotta keep useful."
You unsling an old runed, ivory-hilted steel greatsword from your back.
The willowy, brown-haired young man thinks:
"This is the zenith of my life, I shall remember this day forever."
The scruffy, brown-haired youth steals the briefest glance up towards you before quickly averting his eyes, his head shaking in disbelief, feathers and beads flying in unison. His broad and childish smile is uncontrollable.
<< The earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar feels like you cannot bring your attention away to answer her. >>
<< The stocky, clean-shaven man feels like even if the Sun King cut him in two with that sword, it'd be the happiest moment of his life. >>
The trim, ashen-skinned man thinks:
"Krath, he's fuckin' beautiful."
The pockmarked, well-toned man opens his eyes, staring down at the ground as he smiles brightly.
The immense, crimson-braided man holds your old runed, ivory-hilted steel greatsword up high above one shoulder, twisting his body slightly as he makes a move to bring it slashing down towards the stocky, clean-shaven man's neck.
Trembling, the earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar silently watches, her eyes widening.
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette gasps as she watches the sword swing.
[[The steel of the immense, crimson-braided man's sword gleams brightly despite its apparent age.]]
The curvy, jallal-tressed maiden holds a hand over her mouth as she watches your sword.
The short, lithe young man thinks:
"No! Mother! Zak! Valin!!!"
The stocky, clean-shaven man goes stiff, eyes squeezing shut.
The short, dusky woman jolts, as if to throw herself toward the stocky, clean-shaven man in protection, a reflexive movement.
The dusky, sorrel-curled woman clutches her ruby crystal pyramid tightly in her hand.
The freckled, light-skinned man lifts his gaze slightly from his position on the ground, coming to a kneeling position finally.
The scruffy, brown-haired youth's gaze lifts once more at the sound of swinging steel.
The ancient, brutally-scarred Jihaen templar's mouth drops agape as he watches you, frozen still.
[[ As he grips the sword, the crystal imbedded in the pommel begins to glow deep red, like the bloody horizon at sunrise.]]
Eyes wide the svelte, top-knotted woman's trembling hands cup her agape mouth.
The sinewy, weather-worn man's breath quickens as he opens his eyes, locking his gaze on the stocky, clean-shaven man.
As the sword comes to an abrupt halt inches from the stocky, clean-shaven man's neck, you ask, in sirihish:
"Rokov Kurac, do you renounce all that you have been. Do you commit yourself to my service, to walk the streets of the Ivory as myChosen ?"
[[The pommel's crystal appears to throb with light, as if in time with a heartbeat.]]
The curvy, jallal-tressed maiden thinks:
"ROKOV!"
<< The swarthy, aging man feels your pulse quickening. >>
The trim, ashen-skinned man stares at the crystal in the sword, eyes transfixed, gaze trailing from it to the stocky, clean-shaven man.
<< The earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar feels your heart grow calm and still. >>
The earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar thinks:
"The Sun King speaks."
The freckled, light-skinned man thinks:
"You...Sun King, you heard my plea!"
The dusky, sorrel-curled woman thinks:
"I DO!"
The chubby, brown-haired man's holds his breath, watching.
The stocky, clean-shaven man opens his eyes, and then lifts his head, his mouth opening next, though no words escape.
The trim, ashen-skinned man thinks:
"Sweet merciful... It's all real."
<< The stocky, clean-shaven man feels completely, utterly, shocked. >>
<< The earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar feels your heart go out to Thiza. >>
<< The extremely short female wearing a mask of glinting, emerald scales feels like one or two drops of pee might have come out. >>
The stocky, clean-shaven man thinks:
"... gotta.. gotta say something. Just say yes."
The scruffy, brown-haired youth blinks rapidly, a quick glance drifting aside towards the short, dusky woman. His brows knit heavily for the quickest of moments.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman thinks:
"... It was Him..."
[[The glowing crystal shifts to a warmer, brighter red, like the glare of Suk-Krath at .]]
His voice awed, breathless, the stocky, clean-shaven man says to you, in sirihish:
"I.. I do."
<< The stocky, clean-shaven man feels completely certain. >>
The spangled-blond, muscular woman's hand travels from her mouth to reach out tentatively toward you, as if to touch you across the span of feet between her and the stage. Her outstretched and quivers like a bow-string.
The extremely short female wearing a mask of glinting, emerald scales shifts slightly where she kneels.
The lofty, cunyati-tanned man thinks:
"Not... going to just... cry my eyes out feelin' happy... gotta... gotta stay useful."
Touching the heavy metal sword down on the stocky, clean-shaven man 's shoulder, you say to the stocky, clean-shaven man , in sirihish:
"From this day till your end you are Chosen Lord Rokov, winner of my great hunt. "
[[ The faces of those nearby are bathed in the warm glow of light from the crimson-braided man's sword.]]
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette gazes transfixed, reverently, at you.
The stocky, clean-shaven man bows his head again, letting out a weak gasp.
The trim, ashen-skinned man exhales softly, serenely, the glow of the crystal casting over his face as he watches.
The trim, ashen-skinned man thinks:
"Amazin'... Just... fuckin' amazin'."
The dusky, sorrel-curled woman's hands tremble.
With a benign smile, her eyes shining proudly, the earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar looks at the stocky, clean-shaven man.
<< The extremely short female wearing a mask of glinting, emerald scales feels a warmth rush over her face, beneath her mask. >>
The svelte, top-knotted woman eyes squint in the glow of the radiating light.
Lifting the sword up from the stocky, clean-shaven man's shoulder, you say to the stocky, clean-shaven man, in sirihish:
"Do you choose to elevate a consort Chosen Lord Rokov."
His face alight with a gentle glow, the scruffy, brown-haired youth's brows quiver with the intensity of the moment.
The chubby, brown-haired man thinks:
"Krath..."
The curvy, jallal-tressed maiden lets out a little sound, the light shining over her tear-moistened face.
The freckled, light-skinned man thinks:
"...ah..."
<< The swarthy, aging man feels numb. >>
The swarthy, aging man thinks:
"SweetKrathSweetKrathSweetKrathSweetKrath..."
The curvy, jallal-tressed maiden thinks:
"There's no way he'd pick me.. he doesn't even know me..."
You notice: One of the short, dusky woman 's hands curls tightly into a fist, eyes shutting.
Simply, the extremely short male wearing a bloodied runic, fire-scorched mask whispers something to the extremely short female wearing a mask of glinting, emerald scales.
<< The spangled-blond, muscular woman feels your mind a total blank, thought chased by the power of the emotional pull toward him. >>
The chubby, brown-haired man's eyes flick briefly towards the short, dusky woman before returning to you.
Looking up, once again, his face tear-streaked, the stocky, clean-shaven man says to you, in sirihish:
"I... if it pleases you... I would take..."
Watching the proceedings silently, the earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar bows her head with a deep smile.
The extremely short female wearing a mask of glinting, emerald scales offers a shallow nod to the extremely short male wearing a bloodied runic, fire-scorched mask .
The extremely short male wearing a bloodied runic, fire-scorched mask's blue gaze returns to the stage.
Seeming to find a bit of his voice, finally, as he finishes, the stocky, clean-shaven man says to you, in sirihish:
"... I would take Jisiu al Azia, of the Muark, as my consort."
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette gasps and puts a hand to her jade and ebony cross.
The earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar thinks:
"Who?"
Breathing heavily, the curvy, jallal-tressed maiden watches the stocky, clean-shaven man and then the short, dusky woman.
Tearing it off, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette stops using her jade and ebony cross.
The short, dusky woman puts a hand to her mouth, tears escaping her eyes, though she blinks swiftly against them.
The extremely short male wearing a bloodied runic, fire-scorched mask stifles a cough.
The scruffy, brown-haired youth's gaze locks upon the short, dusky woman , brows drooping in a pleading expression, deep concern evident for the faintest of moments before the aura of you consumes him once more, eyes falling to the ground before him.
<< The ethereal, fair-haired woman feels haltingly, dizzingly. >>
The ethereal, fair-haired woman thinks:
"... Kurac... and a Muark..."
The willowy, grey-streaked man cries out, tearing his jade and ebony cross from his throat by way of snapping the leather cord around his neck.
Voice rumbling in his chest, you say to the short, dusky woman, in sirihish:
"Chosen Consort Jisiu, find your place by your Chosen Lord's side."
The willowy, grey-streaked man stops using his jade and ebony cross.
The trim, ashen-skinned man smiles silently as he watches you then shifts his gaze to the ethereal, fair-haired woman and the short, dusky woman.
The lofty, cunyati-tanned man thinks:
"Oh, shit... tossin' her Tek mark? I mean, obviously anyone would... s'the right decision... but it's gonna set that other one off. I know it. He's gonna lose his..."
The lofty, cunyati-tanned man thinks:
"Well, fancy that. He did it too..."
The svelte, top-knotted woman looks up at the short, dusky woman.
The ancient, brutally-scarred Jihaen templar thinks:
"He has done what is best for the Ivory."
The earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar thinks:
"The southron cannot bear his presence."
Slowly rising, his head still held low in reverance to you, the ancient, brutally-scarred Jihaen templar stands up.
Adoring eyes still fixed on you, the willowy, grey-streaked man clutches his jade and ebony cross in a closed fist before dropping it to the ground.
<< The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette feels a terrible mixture of love for Muk and a sickening sense of betrayal of Allanak. >>
[[The faces of the stocky, clean-shaven man and the short, dusky woman flicker in the light cast from your sword.]]
The willowy, grey-streaked man drops a jade and ebony cross.
The short, dusky woman swallows, lifting her eyes to you for the briefest of moments, then bows her head humbly, reverently.
<< The earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar feels astonished. >>
The earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar thinks:
"The southron... oh, Muk Utep!"
The earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar thinks:
"Muk Utep, thank you."
Breathlessly, the short, dusky woman says, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Gladly. I will."
Shaking terribly, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette stares at you.
The chubby, brown-haired man's features relax, a proud smile upon his face.
The sinewy, obsidian-haired man gasps with his mouth wide open, staring towards you, briefly stealing a quick glance towards the stocky, clean-shaven man before turning back to you.
<< The curvy, jallal-tressed maiden feels somehow whole. >>
The curvy, jallal-tressed maiden thinks:
"All those selfish thoughts..."
<< The extremely short female wearing a mask of glinting, emerald scales feels utterly uninterested in answering the bronzed, angular humanoid. >>
The scruffy, brown-haired youth turns his gaze aside to the knelt form of the sinewy, bald-headed man, a questioning and pleading look dancing upon his brows and in his eyes.
Pumping his arm in the air, his sword lofted high above, you exclaim, in sirihish:
"Citizens! Join me as we welcome my newestChosen !"
<< The earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar feels your heart growing strong, the sense of love the reverence for the immense, crimson-braided man. >>
The freckled, light-skinned man thinks: "I...I..."
The ancient, brutally-scarred Jihaen templar unslings a double-tassled steel-bladed staff from his back.
The short, dusky woman looks both horrified and reverent at once, eyes wide.
The freckled, light-skinned man thinks:
"I made the right choice!"
The earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar stands, calling out a hearty cheer, a fist in the air.
The willowy, brown-haired young man forces his knee into the ground further, wiping sweat off his brow as he holds his gaze downward.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman's eyes close. When she opens them, it is with a smile as she slips two fingers into her mouth and whistles shrilly for the short, dusky woman and the stocky, clean-shaven man .
The freckled, light-skinned man claps his hands solidly, lifting his gaze as tears stream down his face.
The chubby, brown-haired man moves to his feet, calling out loudly.
The ancient, brutally-scarred Jihaen templar raises his double-tassled steel-bladed staff in triumph as he looks to the stocky, clean-shaven man his eyes reddened.
The hulking, gurth-bellied half-giant soldier grins at the short, dusky woman and the stocky, clean-shaven man, hooting loudly.
Swiftly, the sinewy, weather-worn man stands up.
The trim, ashen-skinned man looks between the stocky, clean-shaven man and the short, dusky woman with a broad grin.
The svelte, top-knotted woman lets out a joyful cheer, applauding with trembling hands.
The curvy, jallal-tressed maiden's eyes steal glances at you as she pushes to a stand, shouting incomprehensibly and pumping her fist into the air.
The dusky, sorrel-curled woman whistles loudly, her ruby crystal pyramid in her fingers.
The curvy, jallal-tressed maiden stands up.
The swarthy, aging man's hands come together in a stuttered fashion, clapping hesitantly, then faster, faster.
The willowy, grey-streaked man clutches at the ground with his fingers, his shoulders shaking and body trembling.
The ancient, brutally-scarred Jihaen templar raises his double-tassled steel-bladed staff in triumph as he looks to the stocky, clean-shaven man and the short, dusky woman his eyes reddened.
Head tilting back, his braids swinging from his shoulders, you shout in sirihish:
"Tuluk!"
The trim, ashen-skinned man slowly pushes off the ground and raises his hands in applause as he straightens up.
The short, lithe young man rises shakily to his feet, gently applauding.
The stocky, clean-shaven man rises up to his feet, slowly, his tear-streaked face a mix of wonderment and pride as he reaches for the short, dusky woman's hand.
Raising a fist above his head, pumping it wildly, the stout, heavily-scarred dwarf exclaims, in sirihish:
"Chosen Lord Rokov!"
The sinewy, weather-worn man pumps his fist into the air, bellowing loudly.
Her voice trembling and joyous, the earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar exclaims, in sirihish:
"To the Sun King Muk Utep, and Chosen Lord Rokov!"
[[The crowd goes wild with adoration, faces everywhere upturned to you as thunderous applause breaks over the amphitheater.]]
<< The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette feels torn and wretched inside, as if her deepest loyalties are beseiged. >>
Shakily, as if not quite sure of her feet, the short, dusky woman rises, her breath rapid as she stares at the stocky, clean-shaven man.
The shaggy-haired, sun-branded man stands, spreading his arms wide as he leans back, emitting a long howl, a note of victory evident in his tone.
Cheering loudly as he gazes up back, the sinewy, obsidian-haired man exclaims, in sirihish:
"Hail the Sun King! Hail the newChosen !"Shill voice cracking with emotion, the spangled-blond, muscular woman shouts, in sirihish:
"Tuluk!"
The chubby, brown-haired man continues yelling with the crowd, fist pumping.
The willowy, brown-haired young man trembles on his knee as he grins fiercely and applauds vigorously.
The trim, ashen-skinned man continues pumping his fist into the air as he yells out over and over again.
Softly, as he speaks to the floor, the lofty, cunyati-tanned man says, in sirihish:
"Hail to His glory, and His power."
The immense, crimson-braided man lowers his sword, beaming at the crowd before dipping his head to the stocky, clean-shaven man.
Rough voice lifted ecstatically, the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man shouts, in sirihish:
"Tuluk! Glory to the Sun King! Glory toChosen Lord Rokov!"
[[The warm red aura surrounding the crimson-braided man seems to pulse and scintillate.]]
Along with the earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar, the ancient, brutally-scarred Jihaen templarexclaims, in sirihish:
"Eternal is the Sun King, endless is His Wisdom!"
Lifting his voice amid all the cheers, the stocky, clean-shaven man exclaims, in sirihish:
"The Sun King Eternal!"
<< The earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar feels as if the headiness is about to make you faint. >>
The grey-haired, fiery-eyed woman exclaims, in sirihish:
"Utep! Utep! SUN KING!"
The willowy, brown-haired young man thinks:
"I don't even know why I feel all of this excitement, but it is simply sweeping!"
Her voice barely above a whisper as she wipes her face, the curvy, jallal-tressed maiden exclaims, in sirihish:
"Eternal is the Sun King!"
Gently, you say to the stocky, clean-shaven man, in sirihish:
"You may join those friends in the crowd, Chosen Lord."
The willowy, grey-streaked man clutches at his jade and ebony cross like a lifeline, choking back joyous, reverent sobs.
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette breaks into a sobbing cry and tears spill onto her cheeks as she watches you.
Fiercely, the swarthy, aging man shouts, in an unfamiliar tongue:
"opbn ez ppj cco fiod! rpqqa ih pdhrfv ridb cnuir!"
His voice lost in the shouts, the pockmarked, well-toned man says, in sirihish:
"Hail t-t-t-... t-to the Sun K-... K-K-King."
Enthusiastically, the robust, coppery-curled teen shouts, in sirihish:
"Tuluk!"
The sinewy, weather-worn man hollers until his voice croaks and then quickly resumes, lifting both fists into the air.
<< The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette feels totally confused and torn. >>
The chubby, brown-haired man wipes at his eyes, continuing to cheer.
You sling an old runed, ivory-hilted steel greatsword across your back.
Pushing through the crowd to extend a hand, the earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar exclaims to the stocky, clean-shaven man , in sirihish:
"Chosen Lord Rokov, congratulations!"
[[You are caught up in a fervor of excitement and fascination with the immense man.]]
The pockmarked, well-toned man thinks:
"This is all... so much..."
Softly, arms dropping to her sides, the extremely short female wearing a mask of glinting, emerald scales says, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"...Chosen Lord Rokov."
The stocky, clean-shaven man bows his head down low to you, then the rest of the Faithful nearby.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman clasps her hands together, holding them in front of her face as she watches the stocky, clean-shaven man and the short, dusky woman with incredulous devotion.
The svelte, top-knotted woman sobs joyously continuing to cheer.
The curvy, jallal-tressed maiden somehow finds the ethereal, fair-haired woman in the crowd and leans against her back, sobbing with glee.
Voice breaking though the word is spoken softly, the spangled-blond, muscular woman says, in sirihish:
"Radiance! The Sun King."
Standing proudly back to his feet, shouting loudly, the sinewy, obsidian-haired man exclaims, in sirihish:
"The Sun King lives, glory to His City and His Chosen!"
The trim, ashen-skinned man continues yelling joyous praises to you and the stocky, clean-shaven man as he pumps his arm into the air.
The willowy, grey-streaked man sways to his feet, sobbing and shouting joyfull and wordlessly at the stocky, clean-shaven man.
Seeming to clasp it for dear life, the swarthy, aging man holds his black serpentine cane.
Seeming surprised for a moment before taking her hand and shaking it back, the stocky, clean-shaven man says to the earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar , in sirihish:
"Thank... thank you, Faithful Lady."
The scruffy, brown-haired youth hesitantly puts his gloved hands together, his youthful face a mixture of many emotions.
<< The lofty, cunyati-tanned man feels hints of an awful, unbearable sadness. >>
The lofty, cunyati-tanned man thinks:
"What's... what is going on, I..."
Grabbing at the willowy, grey-streaked man's arm, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette stands up.
The chubby, brown-haired man laughs, clapping an arm upon the back of the swarthy, aging man.
<< The extremely short female wearing a mask of glinting, emerald scales feels overwhelmed from all angles, senses reeling. >>
The immense, crimson-braided man takes up position in the middle of the narrow stage, his arms folded across his chest.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman lifts a hand, wrapping it around the curvy, jallal-tressed maiden's head, hand soothing as much as elated.
The earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar eases away back toward the stage, her eyes straying shyly back to you.
The pockmarked, well-toned man thinks:
"I'm... in... the Sun King's presence..."
With a dazed smile, laughing almost as if in spite of herself, the short, dusky woman hugs the stocky, clean-shaven man's waist with one arm.
The trim, ashen-skinned man walks over to the stocky, clean-shaven man, slapping a hand on his shoulder with a broad grin.
The spangled-blond, muscular woman thinks:
"That I was here today. It's a reason to have young, to be able to say I was here today. That I gazed upon him."
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette lets out a shout for the stocky, clean-shaven man and thrusts a fist in the air.
The earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar thinks:
"Should I... can I... -talk- to Him?"
The robust, coppery-curled teen shrieks in excitement as she wipes away a tear.
The trim, ashen-skinned man continues laughing for a bit longer before stepping away.
Placing a gloved hand on his shoulder, the scruffy, brown-haired youth whispers something to the sinewy, bald-headed man .
<Eukelade>: A hush ripples slowly over the crowd as you folds your arms over his chest, starting from the stage and moving backwards.
<< The lofty, cunyati-tanned man feels a struggle between overwhelming euphoria and a deep, abiding grief. >>
Easing himself up as he wipes stray tears from his cheeks, the spindly, grey-haired man says, in sirihish:
"His Radiance... Oh, to be honored by His Radiance's presence."
The trim, ashen-skinned man thinks:
"He's real."
The swarthy, aging man grips the chubby, brown-haired man 's cloak as if for fear of falling, but jabs his black serpentine cane into the air with his other hand, cheering.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman looks up at you, a smile lingering.
<< The spangled-blond, muscular woman feels overwhelmed with awe. >>
Sobbing into the ethereal, fair-haired woman shoulder, the curvy, jallal-tressed maiden whispers something to the ethereal, fair-haired woman.
Still clutching at his jade and ebony cross, the willowy, grey-streaked man begins pushing his way through the crowd towards you, his gaze loving and reverant.
The scruffy, brown-haired youth looks up at you.
[[You feel an intense STILLNESS ome over you as your attention is drawn to you.]]
The trim, ashen-skinned man turns and looks back to you in reverential silence.
Pulling back to shout out loud, the curvy, jallal-tressed maiden exclaims, in sirihish:
"He is my Sun King!"
<< The spangled-blond, muscular woman feels wetness on your cheek. >>
The stocky, clean-shaven man wraps an arm around the short, dusky woman, starting to retreat back into the crowd towards the chubby, brown-haired man, then pauses.
The extremely short female wearing a mask of glinting, emerald scales silences and stills, motionless.
The ancient, brutally-scarred Jihaen templar turns suddenly to you hushing immediately.
The chubby, brown-haired man falls into silence, an arm still upon the swarthy, aging man's shoulder.
The curvy, jallal-tressed maiden suddenly falls still, her eyes drawn to you.
With awe, the pockmarked, well-toned man looks up at you.
Sucking in a hushed breath the svelte, top-knotted woman 's sobs grow silent, her body still trembling.
Lifting her head, the extremely short female wearing a mask of glinting, emerald scales looks up at you.
<< The earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar feels your attention riveted on Muk Utep. >>
The willowy, grey-streaked man stops in his tracks near the front of the crowd, his jade and ebony cross dangling in his hand from a broken leather cord.
The sinewy, weather-worn man lowers his hands to his sides, eyes fixed intensely on you.
The scruffy, brown-haired youth 's arms fall to his sides, his gaze inevitably drawn to you, wide eyed.
The freckled, light-skinned man stares upwards at you.
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette begins to take a step to follow the willowy, grey-streaked man, and then stops as if slapped.
Spreading his arms wide, palms upturned, you say, in sirihish:
"Hear me, citizens of the Known World."
With utter calm and quiet, the robust, coppery-curled teen regards you.
Staring fixated, the svelte, top-knotted woman looks up at you.
The chubby, brown-haired man thinks:
"Krath...Rokov...you bastard...ha!"
The curvy, jallal-tressed maiden reaches out for the nearest hand and grasps it tightly, her eyes focused on you.
The chubby, brown-haired man thinks:
"Utep...speaks..."
Held by the stocky, clean-shaven man, the short, dusky woman stares, motionlessly, toward you, eyes still wide, the kohl streaked where tears left their tracks.
The extremely short male wearing a bloodied runic, fire-scorched mask peers over at you.
The dragon-tattooed, claw-braided man has arrived from the east, stepping quietly.
The dreadlocked female has arrived from the east.
The neat bearded, cyprini-hued male has arrived from the east.
<< The lofty, cunyati-tanned man feels awful clarity. >>
The lofty, cunyati-tanned man thinks:
"I don't... don't understand... whose feelings are these? Mine, or theirs?"
The trim, ashen-skinned man watches you with serene smile on his lips.
The spangled-blond, muscular woman 's hand moves to her face and slowly wipes the moisture there smearing the tears into streaks and then she looks down at her wet fingers, then quickly up at you.
<< The extremely short female wearing a mask of glinting, emerald scales feels compelled to listen. >>
<< The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette feels full of rage atSamos . >>
The chubby, brown-haired man wipes at his eyes, blinking back tears.
Crimson locks glinting in refracted light, you say, in sirihish:
"Long did I slumber, but never did I rest. My dreams spoke to me of this day, of this event, and of what will come to be."
Glancing from the dreadlocked female to the neat bearded, cyprini-hued male , the dragon-tattooed, claw-braided man says, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Not a word."
[[Everything else seems to fade away as all your attention is focused on the immense, crimson-braided man.]]
The freckled, light-skinned man glances briefly to the side to the dreadlocked female .
[[You feel compelled to hush. To listen. To listen to your words, which seem to you to be beautiful, and right.]]
The dreadlocked female looks around with an anxious expression then bows deeply.
<< The curvy, jallal-tressed maiden feels an somehow solid emptiness. >>
The curvy, jallal-tressed maiden thinks:
"Sun King, Sun King, sun king..."
The freckled, light-skinned man thinks:
"Ah...I..."
The willowy, brown-haired young man reaches up a slender finger to wipe away a stream of tears slowly working their way down his cheek.
<< The lofty, cunyati-tanned man feels a twinge of of sympathy for the southern emissaries. >>
The lofty, cunyati-tanned man thinks:
"This must be tearing them apart."
The earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar falls into simple, rapt stillness.
The neat bearded, cyprini-hued male thinks:
"What is happening"
His gaze stern as he looks through the crowd, you say, in sirihish:
"To you I gift the knowledge of what must come to be. "
Kneeling beside the freckled, light-skinned man, unable to help herself the svelte, top-knotted woman grips the top of the freckled, light-skinned man 's hand tightly, seemingly unware of herself doing so as she stares at you.
<< The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette feels reverent. >>
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette thinks:
"The knowledge of what must come to be."
<< The curvy, jallal-tressed maiden feels her heart skip a bit, but almost unknowingly. >>
The willowy, brown-haired young man thinks:
"Ah... look at this..."
The dragon-tattooed, claw-braided man's brows furrow, eyes on you.
The scruffy, brown-haired youth stares wide-eyed towards you, scrawny form still and motionless, hands hanging low at his sides.
The neat bearded, cyprini-hued male halts suddenly, eyes searching through the crowd and stopping as they rest on you.
<< The extremely short female wearing a mask of glinting, emerald scales feels like everything she's ever known was wrong. >>
Lowering his hands to his side, you say, in sirihish:
"Heed my words, for they are the prophecies of the Sun-King, Muk-Utep."
Hanging on every word, the stocky, clean-shaven man looks up at you.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman thinks:
"... Stay..."
<< The trim, ashen-skinned man feels elation pouring through your body. >>
<< The lofty, cunyati-tanned man feels emotions racing between peace, rapture, grief and confusion. >>
The lofty, cunyati-tanned man thinks:
"I've... I can't think straight. Why can't I think straight? I've got to get out of here..."
The lofty, cunyati-tanned man thinks:
"No, I've got to stay?"
The willowy, brown-haired young man thinks:
"This must be destiny... that I have crossed the sands and shot into slavery to hear His words!"
Expressionless, the robust, coppery-curled teen remains transfixed on you.
The shaggy-haired, sun-branded man watches you intently, face rapt.
The chubby, brown-haired man holds his breath, eyes firmly once more upon you.
The lofty, cunyati-tanned man thinks:
"This is what you want, Bryn! Important things! There's nothing more important than this!"
<< The spangled-blond, muscular woman feels suffused with rapture. >>
The spangled-blond, muscular woman thinks:
"Am I worthy? I want to be worthy."
<< The short, dusky woman feels the entirety of her being drawn reverently toward the immense, crimson-braided man, her lifelong loyalties and loves suddenly thrown into turmoil. >>
His head tilting back, eyes unfocused as he speaks with a booming voice, you say, in sirihish:
"Darkness gathers overhead, falling with soft intention to those below. A victory… turned to defeat. A deed done in ignorance will set the world awash with anger."
Staring, slack-jawed, the extremely short female wearing a mask of glinting, emerald scales looks up at you.
Kneeling down, the dragon-tattooed, claw-braided man sits down.
The short, lithe young man gazes silently at you, deep green eyes held wide.
<< The earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar feels all the noise and chaos disappear at the sound of His voice. >>
The freckled, light-skinned man thinks:
"I should think more before I try to help..."
The dreadlocked female stares at you in rapt attention.
The freckled, light-skinned man thinks:
"Darkness?"
Massive chest lifting as he takes a deep breath, you say, in sirihish:
"Wasted lands will fall victim, as swooping shadows solidfy a stone saber will shatter the earth."
The earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar thinks:
"A deed done in ignorance."
<< The short, dusky woman feels as if she and the immense, crimson-braided man are all that exists. He and His words. >>
The curvy, jallal-tressed maiden sucks in a deep breath, her blinks almost non existant as she watches your every
move.
<< The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette feels utterly concentrated on Muk's words. >>
<< The earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar feels your being quail at the words. >>
The ethereal, fair-haired woman thinks:
"... No... what are... you... saying..."
The earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar thinks:
"His prophecy... He makes it known to His common caste now."
<< The trim, ashen-skinned man feels that stillness holding through your entire body. >>
Words carrying clearly across the garden, you say, in sirihish:
"A time of ash shall mark the rise of the cities. Days of old shall be new once more. "
[[A muffling, encompassing void of silence shrouds the area, broken only by your powerful, penetrating words.]]
<< The ethereal, fair-haired woman feels like it's impossible to think, to reason, to... understand... >>
The willowy, brown-haired young man thinks:
"I can't believe what I'm hearing..."
Head tipping down, his gaze clouded, you say, in sirihish:
"The paths diversify, bright strands bring victory, the wrong steps defeat."
The spindly, grey-haired man stays silent, focusing on you's every word.
<< The short, dusky woman feels the tiny surfacing thought. >>
The short, dusky woman thinks:
".. more riddles... even the Sun King Himself speaks riddles."
The ancient, brutally-scarred Jihaen templar thinks:
"His Radiance speaks of the return of Echri. Command us, what do you wish of us, your loyal and faithful servants."
<< The short, dusky woman feels prompted to mad laughter, just as much as she is to cry, all overwhelmed with awe and reverence. >>
<< The earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar feels the shroud of silence press close, the only thing visible in His Light. >>
The stocky, clean-shaven man thinks:
"... deeds done in ignorance... that sounds like whatSamos went and did.."
His voice dropping lower, you say, in sirihish:
"What was once opposite shall join as one - fire and water will mingle, the union will tremble the earth."
The lofty, cunyati-tanned man thinks:
"This... really doesn't mean much to me. At all. I can't piece this together at all."
<< The earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar feels terrified. >>
The earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar thinks:
"Magick and void and-- ooooh."
<< The spangled-blond, muscular woman feels confusion. >>
The spangled-blond, muscular woman thinks:
"I don't understand it all."
<< The extremely short female wearing a mask of glinting, emerald scales feels her face flush with warm heat at the word 'fire.'. >>
The willowy, brown-haired young man thinks:
"This sounds... cataclysmic..."
The willowy, brown-haired young man thinks:
"Will any survive this?"
The chubby, brown-haired man blinks his eyes but otherwise watches you.
The words a mere whisper yet clearly heard, you say, in sirihish:
"When eyeless beasts comb the land, then shall be the time for all tribes to gather. The march must be made, or the path will be lost."
The short-haired, jade-eyed Lirathan templar falls in behind you.
The skeletal, dark-skinned Jihaen templar falls in behind you.
<< The short, dusky woman feels a tight inward shudder. >>
The short-haired, jade-eyed Lirathan templar falls in behind you.
The willowy, brown-haired young man thinks:
"If the Sun Kings words are true... then slavery or not, I'll be ash by the time this prophecy rings true."
Her eyes fastened at your feet, the earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar shivers deeply.
The freckled, light-skinned man thinks:
"Tribes! We have...we've done it right so far!"
The tiny, reed-like Jihaen templar falls in behind you.
The shaggy-haired, sun-branded man thinks:
"We are tribe, my King. We are strong in the Light."
The curvy, jallal-tressed maiden watches you with fascination.
<< The extremely short female wearing a mask of glinting, emerald scales feels revulsion churn through her gut--old memories, old words, the ramblings of a madman recalled. >>
The earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar thinks:
"Eyeless beings... He will protect us. We must do as He orders."
The immense, crimson-braided man exhales, nostrils flaring as he looks over those gathered, his lips pressing together to form a stern countenance.
The chubby, brown-haired man thinks:
"Rache...Utep...Utep...listen...Utep..."
Fixed where she stands, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette gazes adoringly at you.
The willowy, grey-streaked man reaches out a trembling, empty hand towards you.
<< The sinewy, weather-worn man feels nothing, everything in him fixed on the words of the immense, crimson-braided man. >>
<< The lofty, cunyati-tanned man feels a grim determination as he forces his feelings to quiet. >>
The lofty, cunyati-tanned man thinks:
"Fine. Fine. Leave the big stuff to people who understand it. Eyes on your own prize. Thrend will lead you."
The ancient, brutally-scarred Jihaen templar's gaze remains utterly transfixed on you, his expression caught between rapt attention and stern determination.
The trim, ashen-skinned man thinks:
"and now....this should be my home..."
Motionless, the dreadlocked female looks up at you.
<< The earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar feels your mind racing. >>
The earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar thinks:
"We can do it, we -will- do it. Oh, if only he will look at me... war..."
<< The trim, ashen-skinned man feels that overwhelming love for Tuluk flowing through you. >>
The spangled-blond, muscular woman's body sways on her bended knees, both her hands pressed over her heart.
The willowy, brown-haired young man thinks:
"How can the Dragon even wish to ever vanquish such a massive and all-powerful king as this?"
The lofty, cunyati-tanned man thinks:
"You're going to be best, aren't you? That's how you'll serve him. That's..."
Stepping towards the edge of the stage, you say, in sirihish:
"Look for my warnings. Only if we march as one will we there be victory."
The short, lithe young man breathes shakily, his deep green eyes unflinchingly locked on you.
<< The extremely short female wearing a mask of glinting, emerald scales feels subdued and reverent. >>
The freckled, light-skinned man thinks:
"As...one...?"
The willowy, brown-haired young man thinks:
"The South is but a grain of this man's being!"
<< The short, dusky woman feels memories flashing, stirring, mad ramblings, visions of fire and death, of floods and cold void winds, of a pure white bird larger than life, awe and desperate sorrow overwhelmed with devotion and love. >>
The freckled, light-skinned man thinks:
"...with the other tribes, or..."
The curvy, jallal-tressed maiden whispers but a single word-- 'victory'.
<< The earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar feels a burst of hot tears behind your eyes. >>
The earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar thinks:
"Work as one! Yes!"
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette murmurs something that sounds like an agreement as she watches you.
The svelte, top-knotted woman clutches the freckled, light-skinned man 's hand, gaze transfixed on you, tears welled in her eyes.
<< The swarthy, aging man feels nothing, weightless - mind, body, and soul caught in the immense, crimson-braided man's grasp. >>
<< The lofty, cunyati-tanned man feels a moment's doubt. >>
The lofty, cunyati-tanned man thinks:
"Serving Him... seems like such a different idea now that... now that you've seen Him... like this..."
Dipping his head, braids swinging about his face, you say, in sirihish:
"Walk in My light, my people."
The ethereal, fair-haired woman thinks:
"... Stay..."
The ethereal, fair-haired woman thinks:
"... please."
The immense, crimson-braided man steps from the stage, motioning to the group of silent Templars behind him.
A silent sob wracking her shoulder, her face joyous as she whispers, the earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar
says, in an unfamiliar tongue:
"rizr en aio."
[[As the immense, crimson-braided man shifts to leave the stage, he turns his head, looking directly at you, a luminous smile on his handsome face.]]
The short, dusky woman thinks:
"My people.. my people."
The dusky, sorrel-curled woman's eyebrows rise.
The willowy, brown-haired young man thinks:
"He looked at me..."
The dreadlocked female's eyes widen in shock.
The spangled-blond, muscular woman's breath catches in her throat, the sound a gasp, a sob, and raptured moan.
The curvy, jallal-tressed maiden emits a soft gasp as she looks at you, her body swaying on weak knees.Someone thinks: I have to serve him...
Someone thinks: He loves me.. He loves me..
[[A ripple of energy courses through you, and people all about the area begin to turn and glance in the direction of the Grand Ivory Pyramid.]]
Scene: The Silverwood Estate
Event: The Grey Hunt Announcement
Note: Staff view of thinks and feels has been left in to enhance the scene.
Someone thinks:
"Hmm."
<< The earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar feels curious. >>
The...
Continue Reading...Roleplaying a Nomad by Cutthroat
Added on Jun 19, 2011Tips on roleplaying a character with the 'nomad' subguild, and being from a virtual tribe.
Roleplaying a Nomad
These are some handy suggestions for people who wish to play a character with a nomadic background. There is never one right way to roleplay something, but these are my observations, after watching players who I thought did it well.
This is done in a similar style to the subguild guides on the main site, and hopefully there will be others. The three original ones are:
http://www.armageddon.org/rp/subguilds/hunter.html
http://www.armageddon.org/rp/subguilds/linguist.html
http://www.armageddon.org/rp/subguilds/physician.html
Enjoy.
What is a nomad?
Nomads, usually originating in the tablelands around Luir's Outpost, speak their own native tongue, Bendune, and are adept at shrewd bartering in the desert markets. If you are playing a character with a nomadic background, you must pick this subclass.
We see a few main points from this description of your average nomad. We see:
- their usual origin (around Luir's)
- they speak bendune
- they have some skill with trading
Other than the origin of the nomad, that's not much. Luckily, this allows us to get quite creative when we design a nomad for play.
Designing a nomad concept
All of the coded tribes have their own unique traits. Take a look at any tribe documentation available on the site and you will see traditions, a general like/dislike for certain things, superstitions, tribal tattoos, and many other things. To list some publicly available examples, the Jul Tavan documents dictate an intolerance for magickers, while Benjari documentation describes the importance of keeping a dagger handy.
As a subguild_nomad, you will likely be playing a representative of a virtual tribe. Designing virtual tribe documentation for your own character is a good way to define where your character is coming from, and where characters related to you might be, if only for yourself or for a biography entry. Here are some aspects you can try to include into your "virtual tribe documentation":
Basics
What is the name of your tribe?
What is the race of your tribe?
Where is camp? Does it move around, and if so, where?
How large is the tribe?
How old is the tribe?
What are the tribe's main sources of income?
Physical appearances
Hair/eye/skin colors
Is there a usual set of colors for your tribe?
Do certain colors imply unseen characteristics (cowardice, leadership, etc.)?
Body features
Shapes of ears, noses, lips, etc.
Tattoos
Scarification
Height/weight
Weapons, Armor, and Clothing
Weapons - Are certain types used? Certain weapon styles?
Armor - What materials are used in your tribe's armor, how is it worn, and who wears it?
Clothing - What materials are used in your tribe's clothing, how is it worn, and who wears it?
Jewelry - Do tribe members wear certain types of jewelry, or of certain materials? How about piercings? Do they differ amongst various members of the tribe?
Trading - Would your tribe trade these weapons/armor/clothing/jewelry away, or is it for the tribe only? Are certain items reserved for the tribe and not others?
Traditions
Organization - How does the tribe break down with regards to responsibilities?
Age - when is a member of the tribe an adult, and what do they do to get to that status, if anything?
Gatherings - are there gatherings in the tribe that happen on a regular basis? Why?
Families - If there was only one family in the tribe, everyone would be inbred. How many families are there, how are they distinct?
Elders - How are elders viewed and what are their responsibilities? How are they chosen?
Mating - Are there permanent mated relationships? Is there an elaborate process through which mating 'rights' are secured?
Spirituality - Does your tribe worship anything? Do they have an enduring set of myths or gods? Do they believe in spirits?
Burials - How does your tribe handle the last rites of its dead and how are the bodies disposed of?
Philosophy
Object related - do certain objects, or certain types of objects, hold any importance?
Magickers - Is magick tolerated? Which elements, if so? How about sorcery?
Water - Water is extremely important in Zalanthas, and especially to tribes. What does your tribe do specially with it?
Spice - Is spice good or bad? Which types are preferred?
Views of Outsiders
City-slickers - How does the tribe view city folk?
Sand talkers - How does the tribe view other tribes?
Sayings - Are there special words or phrases to describe things?
Half-elves - If your tribe is human or elven, what does it think of half-elves in the tribe?
Punishment - How would your tribal culture handle punishment for misdeeds?
Xenophobia - How open is your tribe's camp? Would they allow outsiders to enter for trade or cut them down on the spot?
Example of a defined tribe
The Araseik-Betvan (don't use this name; it is a horrible portmanteau) are a tribe of humans hailing from the center of the salt flats.
Most A-Bs are rugged looking, with dark hair, eyes, and skin. Their lifestyle lends a powerful frame to most Betvans and physically handicapped Betvans are often used as bait for hunting. Those born with lighter features are often considered softer and thus less able to deal with life on the flats, and while they are held to the same standards as everyone else, they will often receive less help.
A-B hunters hunt the salt worms and scrabs they come across, using the hides and shells they get for armor, while using the salt worm teeth to create sharp weapons for hunting. They wear necklaces made out of salt worm teeth, and string one salt worm tooth onto the necklace every time they age. A-B gatherers gather salt from the ground, and bring it to Allanak to trade it to House Jal for water, which the gatherers bring back to the tribe. Gatherers are marked with a tattoo of a lump of purple salt on the back of their primary hand, and often wear light sandcloth gear to aid in their work. At the beginning of every year, the hunters gather together for the Great Mekillot Hunt. A tribe member uses something made of mekillot hide or bone often earns that right by leading hunts.
A-B tribals are split into two main families - the Araseik family and the Betvan. There are other smaller families which support one family or the other. Most hunters come from the Araseik and their supporters while the gatherers come from the Betvan and their supporters. Each family has a matriarch and a patriarch, and the biggest family's elders reside over the entirety of the tribe. A-B always carry a piece of glittering salt with them, as an identifier for other tribes in the area. Water is rationed by the Betvan fairly to each tribe member, and sharing of water isn't allowed. Spice is allowed for hunters, but not for gatherers - while the spices help hunters, the gatherers might take it into Allanak accidentally while bringing their salt in to trade for water.
A-B maintains a professional trade relationship with Allanak, but to mingle with Allanakis or other city people in any other way (friendly, sexual) is unthinkable. The result of the union between an A-B and a city person is always killed at birth. New blood is always needed for the tribe however, and A-B are often encouraged to seek out the members of nearby tribes for mating purposes. Magickers are partially tolerated - Vivaduans and Drovians bring much needed relief to the gatherers, and their existence in the tribe is allowed. Other elements are not tolerated, and members found to be learning sorcery are always killed.
Bendune and tribal speech
The helpfile on bendune has this to say about the nomadic tongue:
"The language of the nomadic tribes of the Known World is called Bendune. It bears some resemblance to the elven speech, and even more to the language known as Cavilish. The real history of linguistic development is most likely that the tribal tongues became united at Gol Krathu, several Ages before the arrival of the Dragon, into a more primitive form of Bendune. It was not until many years later that the elven and Cavilish tongues were certain to have existed.
While most contemporary desert tribes are composed of refugees from the city-states or of elven nomads, the Allundean and Sirihish languages are far more common in the wilderness than they once were. On the fringes of the Known World, however, most still speak Bendune, particularly the Tan Muark, who claim it their own invention."
Keeping this in mind, we can derive a few interesting facts about how bendune might be used among virtual tribes, such as your own if you create a subguild_nomad character. If your tribe is further away from the cities, heavy use of bendune (and an unpracticed sirihish) are more likely, while if your tribe is closer, your sirihish would be better. Also keep in mind how your tribe would use sirihish or bendune. If sirihish was mainly being used as a trade language, to speak with city-folk about your tribe's goods and pricing, it is probably not likely that you will be able to understand complex poetry being recited in sirihish. Figure out what makes sense for your character and run with it.
In the real world, speaking a broken language is not equivalent to leaving off syllables of words. Oftentimes when broken language is spoken in real life there are a few key ways that it is broken:
- Verb confusion. In English we say "let's have a party" if we want to have a party. However, some foreign speakers understand the verb "to have" solely as possessing something, so "having" a party in that regard doesn't make much sense. Instead they might say "do a party" or "make a party", which isn't entirely correct in English and its complexity. Feel free to confuse verbs like have/make or other similar verbs in-game.
- Looking for the right word. Even native speakers of a language will pause to think of a proper word to describe something complex. This difficulty is compounded on foreign speakers with a smaller vocabulary of the language. Pause to think of a word that's complex to your PC... maybe the native sirihish speaker you're talking to will think of it for you.
- Unique nouns. Maybe your tribe calls goudra "brown-furs". Maybe your tribe does this and knows what city people call them, or maybe it doesn't... either way, it can provide another challenge in the language barrier that should be there.Roleplaying a Nomad
Theseare some handy suggestions for people who wish to play a character with
a nomadic background. There is never one right way to roleplay
something, but these are my observations, after watching players who I
thought did it well.
This is done in a similar style to...
Continue Reading...An Unprecedented Meeting by Maglos
Added on Jan 22, 2011Thrend Lyksae arranges a trip to visit the Elan Pah, an alliance of elves. While his hatred of the elven tribes in general affects him, he presses forth to use his talents in understanding tribal cultures and languages to attempt to work against a threat. Unfortunately for Thrend, his "understanding" of tribal cultures didn't include some key bits of knowledge about the nature of certain individuals. He is forced to control himself and not say what he is thinking (or do what he secretly desires) on several occasions.
The Desert Rose [ES Quit]
Entering this busy bar is like stepping into a dimly-lit cave, the thick stone walls keeping it comfortably cool inside and adding to the cave-like feel of the place. A constant buzz of conversation fills the room, which is populated by elves from a variety of tribes. Narrow arrow slits on the western wall are draped with sandcloth to block the heat of the afternoon sun, but still let in a scant measure of filtered light. The sandcloth covers are rolled up and tied at dusk to let in the cool night breezes. The bar is on the north wall, and tables and chairs, most of them occupied, are grouped about the room in the shadows. On the south wall, a clear area provides a spot for dancing or entertainment to be performed. An elaborate archway in the eastern wall allows entry to a vibrantly-hued room,smoke writhing out past its entry curtain.
The desert elf outpost message board is propped up against the wall here.
A thick rug of shiny quirri hide lies on the floor beneath the arrow slits.
A multi-ringed dartboard hangs on a wall here.
The corded, bronze-hued male elf is standing here.
The slender, crooked-nosed woman is standing here.
The sinewy, weather-worn man is standing here.
The stern-eyed, weathered half-elf is standing here.
The leanly muscled, topknotted elf is standing here, looking a bit winded.
A sinewy, ebon-skinned elf leans against the western wall, surveying the bar.
The dark-haired elf is standing here.
A slender, cold-eyed elven woman stands behind the bar, pouring drinks.
The burly, red-haired woman has arrived from the south.
The red maned, anakore-tattooed elf has arrived from the south.
The braided, ebony-skinned elf has arrived from the south.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf has arrived from the south.
Dragging fingers through lank braids, the braided, ebony-skinned elf stops using her sweat-stained loose-fitting, gwoshi-hide headwrap.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf starts cleaning.
The braided, ebony-skinned elf puts her sweat-stained loose-fitting, gwoshi-hide headwrap into her stained hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf brushes the dust off of light-red and brown streaked warpaint.
The corded, bronze-hued male elf starts cleaning.
The corded, bronze-hued male elf dusts himself off.
You start cleaning.
You dust yourself off.
The corded, bronze-hued male elf gestures a clawed arm for a large stone table as he moves across to take his seat.
The slim arrow slits allow a partially-obscured view outside, to the
broad tunnel that provides one of the entrances to the outpost.
[Near]
A war beetle is reclining here.
A war beetle is reclining here.
A grey-scaled, silver-shelled inix is reclining here.
A reddish-shelled inix is reclining here.
A rugged elf with copper skin stands here, on vigilant watch.
A tall, darkly-tanned elven woman stands here.
A coppery elf woman of apparent youth stands here alertly.
Remarking as he lifts a hand to his his ribcage breastplate, the leanly muscled, topknotted elf says to the corded, bronze-hued male elf, in allundean:
"Heru, I have come to speak for my tribe, as you asked. I didn't mean to wear Mother's flesh, but it was given to me during the earlier problems."
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf sits on a thick rug of quirri hide.
Just past the arrow slits, A grey-scaled, silver-shelled inix opens its jaws, letting its tongue dart out to lick its nostrils.
You look up at the leanly muscled, topknotted elf.
Leanly muscular, this elf bears the athletic frame of a warrior. Primal strength is stretched taut along his lanky form, providing bulk where otherwise there might be none. This might make him a somewhat imposing presence to other races, given that this bulk is supplemented by a stature easily crossing five cords. Forearms and hands alike are marked with a wide array of scars. Some look to have been mere nicks, while others are gruesome, puffy swaths of poorly mended tissue. The elf's face is bound within flesh of a dirty golden hue, the contours of which emphasize a heavy, surly-looking brow. At most times, his chapped lips are locked in a natural frown cradled by a square jaw. He keeps his head closely shaved with the
exception of a black topknot.
The leanly muscled, topknotted elf is in excellent condition.
His skin has a stonelike quality.
The leanly muscled, topknotted elf is using:
He is carrying:
nothing obvious
The sinewy, weather-worn man starts cleaning.
The corded, bronze-hued male elf sits at a large stone table.
Settling on the corded, bronze-hued male elf's right, the braided, ebony-skinned elf sits at a large stone table.
The sinewy, weather-worn man dusts himself off.
The leanly muscled, topknotted elf starts cleaning.
The leanly muscled, topknotted elf dusts himself off.
The slender, crooked-nosed woman sheathes a bloodied quirri-hilted, serrated bone scimitar.
The freckled, light-skinned man stares at the leanly muscled, topknotted elf for a few moments, his gaze fixed firmly on him.
The slender, crooked-nosed woman sheathes a curved, mantis-carved obsidian scimitar.
You think:
"Mother's flesh? He is an abomination."
His attention flitting aside for but an instant, the leanly muscled, topknotted elf looks down at you.
Gaze lit for him, the corded, bronze-hued male elf says to the leanly muscled, topknotted elf, in allundean:
"..Go an' watch the beetle an' inix for the Ivory, then."
Reaching out to slide the nearest off, the braided, ebony-skinned elf gets her ceramic mug from a large stone table.
The slender, crooked-nosed woman nods to the sinewy, weather-worn man.
At 1) a small wooden bar are:
a few empty seats.
At 2) a thick rug of quirri hide are:
the raw-boned, top-knotted elf, and a couple of empty seats.
At 3) a large stone table are:
the corded, bronze-hued male elf, the braided, ebony-skinned elf,
and some empty seats.
His lips drawing into a frown, the leanly muscled, topknotted elf asks the corded, bronze-hued male elf, in allundean:
"You do not wish me to speak?"
Briefly, the sinewy, weather-worn man looks at the leanly muscled, topknotted elf.
With a pause, the corded, bronze-hued male elf says, in allundean:
"..Nah mind.."
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf stands up from a thick rug of quirri hide.
The corded, bronze-hued male elf shouts, in allundean:
"Sahael! Close'a gates ah?"
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf walks east.
The freckled, light-skinned man eases onto a seat at a large stone table.
You sit on a thick rug of quirri hide.
The slender, cold-eyed elven woman turns and looses a loud, three-note whistle through the murder holes.
Just past the arrow slits, the tall, darkly-tanned elven woman closes the gate.
At 1) a small wooden bar are:
a few empty seats.
At 2) a thick rug of quirri hide are:
the freckled, light-skinned man, and a couple of empty seats.
At 3) a large stone table are:
the corded, bronze-hued male elf, the braided, ebony-skinned elf,
and some empty seats.
Just past the arrow slits, The tall, darkly-tanned elven woman shouts upwards, and the gates begin to grind closed.
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in allundean:
"Kija! You bring anything to smoke?"
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf has arrived from the east.
Ok.
You get your knot of dark-red, golden-flecked spice from your loose, crimson silk knapsack.
It is very light.
Just past the arrow slits, the tall, darkly-tanned elven woman shouts something.
Grunting as he lifts his thick arms to his chest, folding them there, the leanly muscled, topknotted elf says to the corded, bronze-hued male elf, in allundean:
"If they want to speak with our tribe, they'll have to get used to it. I'm the only Akeita in the Pah who's not Gifted."
At a large stone table, the braided, ebony-skinned elf speaks, easing back against the chair.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf beams you a jovial grin.
You begin speaking sirihish.
With a tilt of her head, the slender, crooked-nosed woman asks the corded, bronze-hued male elf, in allundean:
"Thanks. Ah din't know about this meetin - just kinda ran inta it. Should we wall up our minds?"
The red maned, anakore-tattooed elf smirks, casting a glance at the braided, ebony-skinned elf.
The braided, ebony-skinned elf gets her bleached-bone spice tube case from her fine pouched belt.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You build a psychic barrier around your mind.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf sits on a thick rug of quirri hide.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf puts his pile of allanaki coins into his dusty mesh carrying sling.
The braided, ebony-skinned elf opens a bleached-bone spice tube case.
You begin speaking allundean.
With a light sniff, the corded, bronze-hued male elf says to the leanly muscled, topknotted elf, in allundean:
"Come an' sit."
The sinewy, weather-worn man slings a long bone spear, inlaid with stones across his back.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf looks down at you.
The slender, crooked-nosed woman heads over to a large stone table and pulls out a few chairs.
The braided, ebony-skinned elf gets her pinch of black, viscous spice from her bleached-bone spice tube case.
Grunting as he lopes forward to claim a chair, the leanly muscled, topknotted elf sits at a large stone table.
With a gaze turned for you, the corded, bronze-hued male elf says to you, in allundean:
"We have'a chair for you here, Chosen."
As he holds up your knot of dark-red, golden-flecked spice, you say, in allundean:
"Unfortunately, this is only warspice...most of what I have is warspice."
At 1) a small wooden bar are:
a few empty seats.
At 2) a thick rug of quirri hide are:
the raw-boned, top-knotted elf, the freckled, light-skinned man,
and one empty seat.
At 3) a large stone table are:
the corded, bronze-hued male elf, the braided, ebony-skinned elf,
the leanly muscled, topknotted elf, and a few empty seats.
Keeping a hand on one empty chair, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says to you, in allundean:
"Over here Chosen Sir, ah picked out one what don't wobble too much."
[Standing first]
You stand up from a thick rug of quirri hide.
You sit at a large stone table.
Balancing a pinch of black, vicious spice on her thumb, the braided, ebony-skinned elf offers it towards the corded, bronze-hued male elf.
The slender, crooked-nosed woman sits at a large stone table.
Just past the arrow slits, A reddish-shelled inix stretches its hind legs, arching its back.
You get your knot of black, viscous spice from your loose, crimson silk knapsack.
It is very light.
The corded, bronze-hued male elf shakes his head loosely, reaching out to swipe a mug from a large stone table.
The corded, bronze-hued male elf gets his ceramic mug from a large stone table.
With a passing gaze, the red maned, anakore-tattooed elf looks down at you.
Head dipping once, the braided, ebony-skinned elf puts her pinch of black, viscous spice into her bleached-bone spice tube case.
You suffer from use of the Way.
At your table, you say in allundean, casually, as he holds up your knot of black, viscous spice:
"And the rest of this knot. Not much left."
The braided, ebony-skinned elf closes a bleached-bone spice tube case.
You give your knot of black, viscous spice to the corded, bronze-hued male elf.
The braided, ebony-skinned elf puts her bleached-bone spice tube case into her fine pouched belt.
!
You give your knot of dark-red, golden-flecked spice to the corded, bronze-hued male elf.
Lifting his arm as he observes the departure of its stoney texture, the leanly muscled, topknotted elf says, in allundean:
"There, that'll be better. Heh."
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf stands up from a thick rug of quirri hide.
The braided, ebony-skinned elf sips from her ceramic mug.
At your table, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says in sirihish, to the sinewy, weather-worn man, with a warm smile:
"So far just gittin everyone settled down, spice and alla that."
At one end, the raw-boned, top-knotted elf sits at a large stone table.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf puts his booklet of rolling papers onto a large stone table.
Motioning towards some full mugs on the table, the braided, ebony-skinned elf says, in tribal-accented allundean:
"Drinks for those that want it."
Just past the arrow slits, A reddish-shelled inix stretches its hind legs, arching its back.
Taking a chair next to her, the sinewy, weather-worn man sits at a large stone table.
The stern-eyed, weathered half-elf sits at a large stone table.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf gets his ceramic mug from a large stone table.
You get your blue and purple ceramic bottle from your loose, crimson silk knapsack.
It is very light, and about half full.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf holds his ceramic mug.
It's about half full of a reddish liquid.
Ok.
At your table, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says in sirihish, reaching for a mug with another smile to the braided, ebony-skinned elf:
"Aw, thanks Treya!"
Clumsy, the corded, bronze-hued male elf moves to sort spice before him on a large stone table.
The braided, ebony-skinned elf beams a smile at the slender, crooked-nosed woman.
The slender, crooked-nosed woman gets her ceramic mug from a large stone table.
At your table, the sinewy, weather-worn man says in sirihish, nodding sideward to the slender, crooked-nosed woman:
"Ah figured as much."
The slender, crooked-nosed woman holds her ceramic mug.
At your table, you say in allundean, holding up your blue and purple ceramic bottle:
"And some flame, I believe, for any that want it. Ah...here."
You give your blue and purple ceramic bottle to the sinewy, weather-worn man.
The braided, ebony-skinned elf closes a sizeable leather backpack.
The sinewy, weather-worn man holds his blue and purple ceramic bottle.
You are carrying:
a loose, crimson silk knapsack
On a large stone table (here) :
a booklet of rolling papers
some ceramic mugs
a couple of short lengths of bone
At your table, the corded, bronze-hued male elf says in allundean, with a few nods across a large stone table, first to the braided, ebony-skinned elf:
"This is Treya of'a Sun Runners. She is my second in'a Elan Pah.. an took care of our meets with'a Ivory in'a past."
The sinewy, weather-worn man looks down at his blue and purple ceramic bottle for a moment and then turns his head to the slender, crooked-nosed woman.
At your table, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says in sirihish, lifting her ceramic mug up:
"Ta easier days and smooth sands."
You get your ceramic mug from a large stone table.
It is very light, and full.
The braided, ebony-skinned elf's head tilts in a nod.
It's full of a yellowish green liquid.
Slugging it back in a loud gulp, the slender, crooked-nosed woman drinks green honey mead from her ceramic mug.
You don't smell anything special.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf drinks green honey mead from his ceramic mug.
You drink the green honey mead.
You do not feel thirsty.
You are full.
The sinewy, weather-worn man shrugs briefly and then tilts his blue and purple ceramic bottle back.
The braided, ebony-skinned elf sips from her ceramic mug.
The sinewy, weather-worn man drinks firestorm's flame from his blue and purple ceramic bottle.
Sorting a few lines before him on a sheet of spice-paper, the corded, bronze-hued male elf slides his knot of dark-red, golden-flecked spice to the table center.
The corded, bronze-hued male elf puts his knot of dark-red, golden-flecked spice onto a large stone table.
The corded, bronze-hued male elf puts his knot of black, viscous spice onto a large stone table.
You think:
"...there is a fucking mutant right here in front of me, got to be."
The stern-eyed, weathered half-elf leans back in his seat, crossing his arms casually.
At your table, the corded, bronze-hued male elf says in allundean, with a nod across to the raw-boned, top-knotted elf:
"Tohego of my tribe. Soh. He fought beside me this week against'a cursed Ashlayer an' many clawfoot."
The sinewy, weather-worn man's as he chugs down the contents of his blue and purple ceramic bottle, a small line of red liquid begins to run down his cheek.
Inching closer and winking at the braided, ebony-skinned elf, the slender, crooked-nosed woman whispers something to the sinewy, weather-worn man.
After some nods around the table, the raw-boned, top-knotted elf gets his knot of black, viscous spice from a large stone table.
The red maned, anakore-tattooed elf folds his arms, leaning against the wall.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf gets his booklet of rolling papers from a large stone table.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf draws a dusty durrit-claw skinning knife.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf starts cleaning.
The slender, crooked-nosed woman whispers something to the sinewy, weather-worn man.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf brushes the dust off of a bloodied durrit-claw skinning knife.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf starts cleaning.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf quickly wipes the blood off of a bloodied durrit-claw skinning knife.
You suffer from use of the Way.
The slender, crooked-nosed woman stops using her ceramic mug.
The sinewy, weather-worn man lowers his blue and purple ceramic bottle onto the table with a satisfied sigh and then nods sideward to the slender, crooked-nosed woman.
At your table, you say in allundean, nodding simply as he gestures to the burly, red-haired woman, who nods slightly from her position near a large stone table:
"And this is Lorre, my bodyguard and one of the Lyksaean Warriors. She, myself, and the Faithful Lord slew another similar one..."
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf wipes his durrit-claw skinning knife on his dusty brown hide loincloth and sets to shave a corner from his knot of black, viscous spice.
At your table, you say in allundean:
"...north of the Muark lands."
The slender, crooked-nosed woman puts her ceramic mug onto a large stone table.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf stops holding his ceramic mug.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf holds his knot of black, viscous spice.
The slender, crooked-nosed woman gets her ceramic mug from a large stone table.
The sinewy, weather-worn man stops holding his blue and purple ceramic bottle.
You are carrying:
a ceramic mug
a loose, crimson silk knapsack
The braided, ebony-skinned elf sips from her ceramic mug.
It's less than half full of a yellowish green liquid.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf stops holding his knot of black, viscous spice.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf carefully rolls a pinch of spice with a booklet of rolling papers.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf sheathes a durrit-claw skinning knife.
The corded, bronze-hued male elf drifts a nod across to you.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf puts his ceramic mug onto a large stone table.
The sinewy, weather-worn man gets his ceramic mug from a large stone table.
The leanly muscled, topknotted elf shoots a slight grin over toward the corded, bronze-hued male elf, for whatever reason. As he does, he lifts a hand to strip the helmet from his head.
Licking her lips, the slender, crooked-nosed woman chugs another mugful down.
The slender, crooked-nosed woman drinks green honey mead from her ceramic mug.
The leanly muscled, topknotted elf stops using his stained sandy-yellow chitinous helm.
You stop using your pair of spiked, chitin-backed gauntlets, revealing a crimson and grey seven-pronged star.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf puts his booklet of rolling papers onto a large stone table.
The corded, bronze-hued male elf looks up at the burly, red-haired woman.
The sinewy, weather-worn man holds his ceramic mug.
Setting the empty mug to one side, the braided, ebony-skinned elf discards her ceramic mug.
You suffer from use of the Way.
A staff member sends:
"Sorry to interrupt, Shal here, can you log this beast of a meeting and send it to me as well as your clanfolkz?"
The slender, crooked-nosed woman drinks green honey mead from her ceramic mug.
At your table, the corded, bronze-hued male elf says in allundean, with a light sniff as his attention centers on you:
"Wha' would we speak on, Chosen?"
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf lights his solidly packed tube of spice from a nearby candle and draws a hearty puff, releasing the smoke through nose and mouth.
The sinewy, weather-worn man's eyes move between the corded, bronze-hued male elf and you as he lifts his ceramic mug to his lips.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf holds his solidly packed tube of spice.
A thin trail of rich, heady smoke trickles from the raw-boned, top-knotted elf's mouth as he smokes a solidly packed tube of spice.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf's eyes become glassy-red and half-closed.
You send this message to the staff:
"I always log, so yep, got it under control."
The sinewy, weather-worn man frowns down at his ceramic mug as he lowers it.
The sinewy, weather-worn man stops holding his ceramic mug.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf stops holding his solidly packed tube of spice.
The sinewy, weather-worn man puts his ceramic mug onto a large stone table.
The slender, crooked-nosed woman wipes some dribbled liquid from her chin with the hem of one of her pair of scrub-camouflaged, sandcloth sleeves.
The slender, crooked-nosed woman puts her ceramic mug onto a large stone table.
The corded, bronze-hued male elf looks down at you.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf gives his solidly packed tube of spice to the corded, bronze-hued male elf.
Just past the arrow slits, A grey-scaled, silver-shelled inix puffs through its nostrils and bobs its head.
At your table, you say in allundean, letting out a sigh as he sets your ceramic mug on a large stone table:
"The chief thought on my mind is likely one of the foremost thoughts in yours."
The leanly muscled, topknotted elf turns his attention toward you, remaining silent for the moment.
The sinewy, weather-worn man gets his ceramic mug from a large stone table.
Posture slouched against the back of the chair, the braided, ebony-skinned elf looks down at you.
The sinewy, weather-worn man holds his ceramic mug.
The sinewy, weather-worn man drinks green honey mead from his ceramic mug.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf sits back with a lingering smile and crosses his arms loosely.
The sinewy, weather-worn man sips from his ceramic mug.
At your table, the corded, bronze-hued male elf says in allundean, with a short nod:
"One Fang..was las' believed to be in'a Xytrix Za, but we begin'a believe he is not one of'a Servants."
At your table, you say in allundean, as his hands encircle your ceramic mug:
"One Fang is his name, then?"
You suffer from use of the Way.
At your table, the corded, bronze-hued male elf says in allundean, with his settle back in seat, lifting his ceramic mug, glancing across a large stone table:
"Tha' was it, Kah?"
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf gets his ceramic mug from a large stone table.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf holds his ceramic mug.
Nodding to the corded, bronze-hued male elf, the slender, crooked-nosed woman whispers something to the sinewy, weather-worn man.
The stern-eyed, weathered half-elf narrows his eyes slightly, his weathered features becoming slightly drawn as he listens.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf shrugs at the corded, bronze-hued male elf and tilts his mug back.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf drinks green honey mead from his ceramic mug.
Lips twisting in a thoughtful grimace, the sinewy, weather-worn man whispers something to the slender, crooked-nosed woman.
You suffer from use of the Way.
Just past the arrow slits, A grey-scaled, silver-shelled inix puffs through its nostrils and bobs its head.
At your table, you say in allundean, pursing his lips thoughtfully:
"Private Zak here has made his way to speak with you only recently about some things. I wished to come to answer any...questions...that you may have, if you have any."
The slender, crooked-nosed woman whispers something to the sinewy, weather-worn man.
At your table, the corded, bronze-hued male elf says in allundean, with a delayed nod for you:
"One Fang. He's been quiet late."
think Not that I want to really talk to that mutant fellow but he's in charge of a group of them. No getting around all of that.
You think:
"Not that I want to really talk to that mutant fellow but he's in charge of a group of them. No getting around all of that."
The braided, ebony-skinned elf's attention drifts from you towards the corded, bronze-hued male elf.
The leanly muscled, topknotted elf remains a silent presence at a large stone table. His eyes flit from one speaker to the next.
You think:
"...fuck. It could be worse, I suppose. I could have shown up and instead of seeing some mutant talking about abominable stuff, it could have been a whole fucking group of flying elves."
You feel slightly relieved.
At your table, the corded, bronze-hued male elf says in allundean, with his mouth pursed:
"..Our aim is simple, an' carried by many now. We don' need to play games with words here. Wha' Thralls does'a Ivory know, an' do ya know where any are?"
With a faint nod, the sinewy, weather-worn man whispers something to the slender, crooked-nosed woman.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf looks at the leanly muscled, topknotted elf.
The red maned, anakore-tattooed elf runs a tongue over his teeth, peering towards the arrow slits for a moment.
At your table, you say in allundean, nodding simply:
"Rondus Fale is one that has been confirmed. Lapitia Fale also seems suspect."
At your table, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says in sirihish, blinking:
"They're dragons?"
At your table, you say in allundean, his tone cool and calm as he glances to the slender, crooked-nosed woman:
"Surprise."
You suffer from use of the Way.
At your table, the corded, bronze-hued male elf says in allundean, with a distracted look for the braided, ebony-skinned elf:
"..The Black Pit ta.. like Sharak."
The sinewy, weather-worn man's eyes widen as he stares at the slender, crooked-nosed woman.
The braided, ebony-skinned elf's head bobs a few times.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You suffer from use of the Way.
At your table, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says in sirihish, with a shrug:
"Ain't ne'er heard of a Fale what looked like a dragon before. Learn somethin new every day ah guess."
At your table, you say in allundean, continuing slowly:
"I have heard disturbing news about a Merchant House as well. This has been disputed by some sources and confirmed by others."
Just past the arrow slits, someone opens the gate from the other side.
Just past the arrow slits, someone closes the gate.
The slim arrow slits allow a partially-obscured view outside, to the
broad tunnel that provides one of the entrances to the outpost.
[Near]
A tall, darkly-tanned elven woman stands here.
A war beetle is reclining here.
A war beetle is reclining here.
A grey-scaled, silver-shelled inix is reclining here.
A reddish-shelled inix is reclining here.
A rugged elf with copper skin stands here, on vigilant watch.
A coppery elf woman of apparent youth stands here alertly.
A doorway leads out into a small shop.
[Far]
Nothing.
[Near]
An auburn-haired, dark-eyed elf lounges near the bottom of the stairs.
A thin, tanned elf stands behind the counter, selling goods.
You suffer from use of the Way.
The red maned, anakore-tattooed elf narrows his gaze.
The corded, bronze-hued male elf's attention settles on you.
The slender, crooked-nosed woman's glances shifts toward the western wall as the sound of creaking gates enters the room.
Leaning in, the sinewy, weather-worn man whispers something to the slender, crooked-nosed woman.
At your table, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says in sirihish, murmuring:
"Critters is all still there."
The red maned, anakore-tattooed elf intently scans the area.
The slender, crooked-nosed woman nods to the sinewy, weather-worn man.
The stern-eyed, weathered half-elf's eyes flick to the murder holes, looking carefully through.
At your table, you say in allundean, his gaze now resting on the corded, bronze-hued male elf as he speaks:
"I could not confirm it, but you ask what we know. There is suspicion about Kadius."
At your table, the corded, bronze-hued male elf says in allundean, with a cut nod for you:
"Ah'm told, Rondus is dead."
Just past the arrow slits, A grey-scaled, silver-shelled inix puffs through its nostrils and bobs its head.
You think:
"I do not trust them much, but they have killed ashcallers. They know the threat they pose..."
At your table, the leanly muscled, topknotted elf says in allundean, speaking up for the first time as he turns to regard you:
"Why's there suspicion about them?"
The slender, crooked-nosed woman whispers something to the sinewy, weather-worn man.
You suffer from use of the Way.
Brow furrowed, the sinewy, weather-worn man whispers something to the slender, crooked-nosed woman.
The freckled, light-skinned man's gaze shifts and settles on the leanly muscled, topknotted elf, his lips pursed tightly.
The slender, crooked-nosed woman nods to the sinewy, weather-worn man.
Attention drifting from one speaker to the next, the braided, ebony-skinned elf scratches at a dark, dried bit of crust on her gloves.
The braided, ebony-skinned elf starts cleaning.
The braided, ebony-skinned elf works at cleaning a bloodied pair of dark leather, golden stitched gloves.
The sinewy, weather-worn man gives a sour grunt.
Just past the arrow slits, the very tall figure in a dusty desert-camouflaged sandcloth duster opens the gate from the other side.
Just past the arrow slits, the very tall figure in a dusty desert-camouflaged sandcloth duster has arrived from the north.
Just past the arrow slits, the very tall figure in a dusty desert-camouflaged sandcloth duster closes the gate.
Leaning sideways, the raw-boned, top-knotted elf looks west.
The leanly muscled, topknotted elf merely stares at you, his expression one of expectance.
Just past the arrow slits, The very tall figure in a dusty desert-camouflaged sandcloth duster looks over some mounts.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf stands up from a large stone table.
The stern-eyed, weathered half-elf's features seem to illuminate with realization, his gaze becoming distant as his eyes widen.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf walks south.
Just past the arrow slits, the raw-boned, top-knotted elf has arrived from the south.
Just past the arrow slits, The very tall figure in a dusty desert-camouflaged sandcloth duster nods to the raw-boned, top-knotted elf.
At your table, you say in allundean, finally shrugging his shoulders belatedly, speaking almost grudgingly:
"The information collected...is not solid. Do you have anything to dispute that claim of suspicion?"
Just past the arrow slits, the very tall figure in a dusty desert-camouflaged sandcloth duster opens a pouched, brown hide belt.
Just past the arrow slits, the very tall figure in a dusty desert-camouflaged sandcloth duster closes a pouched, brown hide belt.
Just past the arrow slits, the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf lowers the hood of a dusty desert-camouflaged sandcloth duster.
Just past the arrow slits, walking through among the mounts, the raw-boned, top-knotted elf asks the tall, darkly-tanned elven woman something.
You suffer from use of the Way.
The braided, ebony-skinned elf starts cleaning.
Just past the arrow slits, dusting off her hood, the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf says something to the raw-boned, top-knotted elf.
At your table, the corded, bronze-hued male elf says in allundean, with his settle back:
"..We have enough names for now."
The braided, ebony-skinned elf flicks some matter to the floor then rests both hands on her lap.
Just past the arrow slits, A grey-scaled, silver-shelled inix opens its jaws, letting its tongue dart out to lick its nostrils.
The lithe, sandy-haired elf has arrived from the east.
Just past the arrow slits, eyeing her up and down, the raw-boned, top-knotted elf asks the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf something.
The lithe, sandy-haired elf gently drops to the ground.
The slender, crooked-nosed woman looks up at the lithe, sandy-haired elf.
Just past the arrow slits, The amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf nods and floats to the ground softly.
Silently, the lithe, sandy-haired elf lowers down next to the corded, bronze-hued male elf in a seat nearby.
Just past the arrow slits, the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf stops floating around and lies down to sleep.
Just past the arrow slits, A reddish-shelled inix puffs through its nostrils and bobs its head.
The lithe, sandy-haired elf sits at a large stone table.
Shifting his gaze, the red maned, anakore-tattooed elf looks down at the lithe, sandy-haired elf.
Just past the arrow slits, The raw-boned, top-knotted elf raises his eyebrows.
At your table, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says in sirihish, nodding to the lithe, sandy-haired elf:
"This here's Shattered, fer them what ain't never met'er. Scuse me, ah gotta see ta th'conversation outside."
The slender, crooked-nosed woman stands up from a large stone table.
At your table, you say in allundean, nodding once to the corded, bronze-hued male elf, his expression relaxing a bit:
"I think so, as well..."
You look up at the lithe, sandy-haired elf.
Standing average height for one of her race, this elves lanky body is
defined by few outstanding features. She possesses a small, pointed nose,
two brown eyes, and thin pale lips. Her hair flows down her shoulders in an
unkempt set of tangles and split ends, covered with a variety of dirt and
sands of varying colors from around Zalanthas. A few sun spots and
scratches adorn her ruddy and brownish skin, scattered about on worn arms
and legs that display packed muscle groups common to desert travelers.
The lithe, sandy-haired elf is in excellent condition.
Her skin has a stonelike quality.
The lithe, sandy-haired elf is using:
At your table, the corded, bronze-hued male elf says in allundean, with a simple nod towards the lithe, sandy-haired elf:
"This is Shattered. She knows more of'a Thralls than I do."
Just past the arrow slits, shrugging, the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf says something to the raw-boned, top-knotted elf.
The slender, crooked-nosed woman lets out a sigh and heads out to the yard.
The lithe, sandy-haired elf looks down at you.
The slender, crooked-nosed woman walks south.
Just past the arrow slits, the slender, crooked-nosed woman has arrived from the south.
You suffer from use of the Way.
Just past the arrow slits, warmly, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says something to the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf.
Just past the arrow slits, wrinkling his brow, the raw-boned, top-knotted elf says something to the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf.
At your table, the corded, bronze-hued male elf says in allundean, with a look across to the lithe, sandy-haired elf:
"..How did Rondus fall?"
You think:
"...dear Sun King, had I known I would be surrounded by a cadre of fucking abomination-looking-things, I would have never come."
The stern-eyed, weathered half-elf looks at the lithe, sandy-haired elf.
A thoughtful expression crosses the braided, ebony-skinned elf's features as she huffs out a soft breath.
You begin speaking sirihish.
Just past the arrow slits, raising a hand as a broad smile crosses her lips, the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf asks the slender, crooked-nosed woman something.
Just past the arrow slits, raising a hand as a broad smile crosses her lips, the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf asks the slender, crooked-nosed woman something.
Just past the arrow slits, watching the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf and the raw-boned, top-knotted elf for a few minutes, the slender, crooked-nosed woman asks something.
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, her voice soft as she draws in a faint breath, strange, eldritch words overtoning each word in ghostly whispers:
"Rondus Fale was known by a southern Templar."
Just past the arrow slits, shaking her head, the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf says something to the slender, crooked-nosed woman.
You begin speaking allundean.
Just past the arrow slits, letting out a chuckle, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says something to the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf.
Just past the arrow slits, with a vague nod, the raw-boned, top-knotted elf says something to the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf.
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, gesturing with a hand across the table at those gathered:
"It is no secret to the Black City and Fale is intertwined in dealings with the Dragon, it has been proven too many times."
Just past the arrow slits, gesturing to the raw-boned, top-knotted elf, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says something to the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf.
The freckled, light-skinned man fixates his gaze on the lithe, sandy-haired elf, his eyes widening slightly.
Just past the arrow slits, thumbing her chest, the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf says something to the raw-boned, top-knotted elf.
Just past the arrow slits, A grey-scaled, silver-shelled inix opens its jaws, letting its tongue dart out to lick its nostrils.
Just past the arrow slits, her hand waving over to the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says something to the raw-boned, top-knotted elf.
The corded, bronze-hued male elf looks at the lithe, sandy-haired elf.
The sinewy, weather-worn man looks at the lithe, sandy-haired elf.
You think:
"...I need some spice."
Just past the arrow slits, with a snicker, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says something to the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf.
Just past the arrow slits, The amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf chuckles softly.
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, gesturing then to you, her voice intoning as the whispers flicker into temporary ghostly lights about her form:
"It may be a surprise to you, Thrend Lysake..."
Just past the arrow slits, the raw-boned, top-knotted elf says something to the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf.
At your table, you say in allundean, his tone furtive as he shifts his glance to the corded, bronze-hued male elf:
"I could use some of the Tho, Kija."
You suffer from use of the Way.
With a nod across to you, the corded, bronze-hued male elf says, in allundean:
"Table center."
Just past the arrow slits, nodding, the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf asks the raw-boned, top-knotted elf something.
On a large stone table (here) :
a booklet of rolling papers
a knot of dark-red, golden-flecked spice
a few empty ceramic mugs
a few ceramic mugs
a couple of short lengths of bone
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, drawing in a breath as she sets her hands on the table, speaking to you:
"What is your interest in the Dragonsthralls?"
Just past the arrow slits, tipping his head toward the arrow-slits of the building, the raw-boned, top-knotted elf says something to the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf.
You suffer from use of the Way.
Just past the arrow slits, glancing over to the east and letting out a soft sigh, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says something.
You suffer from use of the Way.
At your table, the corded, bronze-hued male elf says in allundean, with a nod across to the lithe, sandy-haired elf:
"..They hunt them, as we do, as Tor does."
You suffer from use of the Way.
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, offering a faint shake of her head at that:
"Tor."
Just past the arrow slits, glancing to the east, the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf asks the slender, crooked-nosed woman something.
At your table, you say in allundean, glancing back to the lithe, sandy-haired elf as he replies, bluntly:
"My interest is to see as many of their corpses rotting on spears, swords, axes, or bashed in by the clubs and maces of House Lyksae...before the coming conflict."
Just past the arrow slits, the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf says something to the slender, crooked-nosed woman.
You suffer from use of the Way.
Just past the arrow slits, with a nod, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says something to the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf.
Just past the arrow slits, The amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf nods.
Just past the arrow slits, starting south, the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf asks something.
Just past the arrow slits, chuckling, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says something to the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf.
Just past the arrow slits, The amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf chuckles and nods.
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, offering a nod as she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath:
"That is good, but the spirits do not divine if your purpose is truth, yet."
The stern-eyed, weathered half-elf frowns thoughtfully for a moment, gazing down at the table top.
At your table, the corded, bronze-hued male elf says in allundean, iolite gaze settled on the lithe, sandy-haired elf:
"..We know any other thralls?"
Just past the arrow slits, heading south, her eyes widened, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says something to the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf.
Just past the arrow slits, the slender, crooked-nosed woman walks south.
Just past the arrow slits, the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf walks south.
The slender, crooked-nosed woman has arrived from the south.
The amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf has arrived from the south.
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, opening her eyes and gazing back at the corded, bronze-hued male elf, after a moment of thought:
"No."
Just past the arrow slits, The raw-boned, top-knotted elf wanders around, checking on the mounts.
Shifting his gaze towards the entrance, the red maned, anakore-tattooed elf looks up at the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf.
With a soft nod of his head, the sinewy, weather-worn man looks up at the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf.
Indicating an empty chair at a large stone table, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says to the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf, in allundean:
"Ya kin rest yer ass, ah'll stand fer now, we kin switch when ya need ta stretch."
You suffer from use of the Way.
At your table, you say in allundean, glancing to the lithe, sandy-haired elf, brusquely:
"Then let me elaborate. I personally withstood attacks from Sharak and Horoz. They killed my last bodyguard."
The amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf nods with a smile to the sinewy, weather-worn man.
The corded, bronze-hued male elf's attention settles long on the lithe, sandy-haired elf.
The amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf nods to the slender, crooked-nosed woman.
Just past the arrow slits, The raw-boned, top-knotted elf leashes the beetles and inix to a wooden beam and strolls back to the tavern.
Just past the arrow slits, the raw-boned, top-knotted elf walks south.
The amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf sits at a large stone table.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf has arrived from the south.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf looks down at the lithe, sandy-haired elf.
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, shifting her gaze to you, drawing in a faint breath:
"So you were the Chosen he pulled out of the White Walls?"
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf wanders in from the market, appearing mildly surprised as he spots the lithe, sandy-haired elf.
The slender, crooked-nosed woman whispers something to the sinewy, weather-worn man.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf sits on a thick rug of quirri hide.
The sinewy, weather-worn man frowns and shakes his head at the slender, crooked-nosed woman.
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, nodding slowly to the stern-eyed, weathered half-elf:
"Fair enough. I honor your words."
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf rests on a thick rug of quirri hide.
At your table, you say in allundean, shaking his head:
"I was the Chosen he -tried- to pull out of the Ivory."
The braided, ebony-skinned elf clucks her tongue once.
You think:
"This is fucking insane."
You think:
"Why did I ever agree to come out here?"
The sinewy, weather-worn man whispers something to the slender, crooked-nosed woman.
The stern-eyed, weathered half-elf smiles faintly, watching the lithe, sandy-haired elf.
Leaning back briefly, the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf whispers something to the slender, crooked-nosed woman.
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, offering a faint inclination of her head as she draws in another breath:
"It would not grieve you, then, to know it was I who saw to his end."
You suffer from use of the Way.
Pushing up from his chair, the sinewy, weather-worn man says to the slender, crooked-nosed woman, in sirihish:
"Here, you sit. Yer the only one what can make use of it, anyhow."
At your table, you say in allundean, smiling thinly to the lithe, sandy-haired elf:
"I am...pleased to hear that."
The sinewy, weather-worn man stands up from a large stone table.
The amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf looks over those assembled at the table and raises a hand to the braided, ebony-skinned elf.
Just past the arrow slits, A reddish-shelled inix puffs through its nostrils and bobs its head.
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, shifting her gaze to you:
"..But I wonder, why would a Servant of the Dragon impose upon you?"
Nodding toward the arrow-slits, the raw-boned, top-knotted elf says to the corded, bronze-hued male elf, in allundean:
"Benu of the Sand Jakhals."
Crinkling her nose, causing it to bend comically to the left, the slender, crooked-nosed woman whispers something to the sinewy, weather-worn man.
The sinewy, weather-worn man gives an amused grunt.
Smiling softly, the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf whispers something to the braided, ebony-skinned elf.
At your table, you say in allundean, with a sudden chuckle, his voice grating:
"Because I tried to trap him in the City. Our plan almost succeeded, but he escaped at the last moment."
The braided, ebony-skinned elf's lips curve at the edges towards the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf.
Leaning to her other side, crouching between her and the sinewy, weather-worn man, the slender, crooked-nosed woman whispers something to the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf.
Just past the arrow slits, the very tall figure in a dusty hooded, darkly-stained sandcloth greatcloak opens the gate from the other side.
Just past the arrow slits, the very tall figure in a dusty hooded, darkly-stained sandcloth greatcloak has arrived from the north.
Just past the arrow slits, the very tall figure in a dusty hooded, darkly-stained sandcloth greatcloak closes the gate.
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, nodding towards you, her voice intertwining with the ghostly whispers around her:
"What force did you bring to stop him?"
Just past the arrow slits, the very tall figure in a dusty hooded, darkly-stained sandcloth greatcloak runs south.
The amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf nods gently to the slender, crooked-nosed woman and leans back in towards the table.
Just past the arrow slits, A grey-scaled, silver-shelled inix puffs through its nostrils and bobs its head.
You suffer from use of the Way.
The sinewy, weather-worn man stops holding his ceramic mug.
Setting it down, the sinewy, weather-worn man puts his ceramic mug onto a large stone table.
Speaking up and watching those gathered, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says, in tribal-accented allundean:
"You should -all- be shielding your minds right now, as if it wasn't a given."
You suffer from use of the Way.
At your table, you say in allundean, his gaze set firmly on the lithe, sandy-haired elf:
"Me? Only my wits and the Lyksaean Warriors. The Templarate used their own methods."
Voice taking on a warm, gentle tint, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says, in tribal-accented allundean:
"To be truly alone is deep magick."
The sinewy, weather-worn man steps back from a large stone table and crosses his arms before him.
The amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf nods lightly to the lithe, sandy-haired elf.
The braided, ebony-skinned elf shifts slightly on the chair, readjusting her rounded, darkly-stained leather quiver before relaxing, one thumb hooking on her belt.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf lounges on a thick rug of quirri hide, paying little attention to a large stone table.
Tilting her head and pushing a knotted twist of brown hair from her cheek, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says to the lithe, sandy-haired elf, in sirihish:
"That's how come ah'm helpin Nahkt over here this way, wit whatever allundean he ain't unnerstandin. Elsewise ah'd be in'is head instead."
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, softly, to you:
"There are ranks within the Servants, fairly similar to the Sun Legion's militia, you see?"
You suffer from use of the Way.
You think:
"deep magick my fucking shithole. This is kankshit."
emote grunts an affirmative to ~shattered
The freckled, light-skinned man grunts an affirmative to the lithe, sandy-haired elf.
The slender, crooked-nosed woman whispers something to the sinewy, weather-worn man.
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, softly:
"Sharak was a lesser servant, serving an androgynous ghost. Horoz was even a little less than that."
The sinewy, weather-worn man nods to the slender, crooked-nosed woman.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf has lost link.
l
The Desert Rose [ES Quit]
Entering this busy bar is like stepping into a dimly-lit cave, the
thick stone walls keeping it comfortably cool inside and adding to the
cave-like feel of the place. A constant buzz of conversation fills the
room, which is populated by elves from a variety of tribes. Narrow arrow
slits on the western wall are draped with sandcloth to block the heat of the
afternoon sun, but still let in a scant measure of filtered light. The
sandcloth covers are rolled up and tied at dusk to let in the cool night
breezes. The bar is on the north wall, and tables and chairs, most of them
occupied, are grouped about the room in the shadows. On the south wall, a
clear area provides a spot for dancing or entertainment to be performed. An
elaborate archway in the eastern wall allows entry to a vibrantly-hued room,
smoke writhing out past its entry curtain.
The desert elf outpost message board is propped up against the wall here.
A multi-ringed dartboard hangs on a wall here.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf is reclining on a thick rug of quirri hide.
The amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf is sitting at a large stone table.
The slender, crooked-nosed woman is standing here.
The lithe, sandy-haired elf is sitting at a large stone table.
The corded, bronze-hued male elf is sitting at a large stone table.
The braided, ebony-skinned elf is sitting at a large stone table.
The red maned, anakore-tattooed elf is standing here.
The burly, red-haired woman stands at attention.
The sinewy, weather-worn man is standing here.
The stern-eyed, weathered half-elf is sitting at a large stone table.
The leanly muscled, topknotted elf is sitting at a large stone table.
A sinewy, ebon-skinned elf leans against the western wall, surveying the bar.
The dark-haired elf is standing here.
A slender, cold-eyed elven woman stands behind the bar, pouring drinks.
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, gesturing with a hand across the table:
"What I think a lot of people miss, though you have seemed to pick up on, Thrend...is that the conflict isn't truly Echri."
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf has reconnected.
You think:
"If she says the conflict has something to do with magick, I could not give more of a flying fuck about it."
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, exhaling faintly, a few whisps of Suk-Krath's sparks traversing her form:
"..It is the Servants that need to be removed, because they will.."
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, pausing, towards the slender, crooked-nosed woman:
"..You are transmitting this psionically?"
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf looks up at the slender, crooked-nosed woman.
Shuddering, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says to the lithe, sandy-haired elf, in sirihish:
"Fuck no. Ah said that's why ah'm whisperin here ta Nahkt. Ah'm translatin."
The red maned, anakore-tattooed elf lands his gaze on the slender, crooked-nosed woman.
The braided, ebony-skinned elf's eyes shift towards the slender, crooked-nosed woman.
pemote gaze latches onto %shattered face, a muscle in his cheek twitching.
The freckled, light-skinned man's gaze latches onto the lithe, sandy-haired elf's face, a muscle in his cheek twitching.
Just past the arrow slits, A reddish-shelled inix stretches its hind legs, arching its back.
The slender, crooked-nosed woman says to the lithe, sandy-haired elf, in sirihish:
"Ah put ma wall up soon as ah came through th'gates."
You think:
"Yep, I was right. Fucking abomination."
At your table, the stern-eyed, weathered half-elf says in allundean, clearing his throat, glancing across the table:
"Are there uny servants of Echri trat kavi ychiened beieg Dragony themselves? Durhaps I may by misumdorsoanfing."
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, apologetically, with a nod:
"I heard something. I apologize, sweetheart."
The lithe, sandy-haired elf returns her gaze towards you, collecting her hands together on the table again.
You suffer from use of the Way.
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, to you:
"..The Dragon consumes, but the Servants will rip apart the world. They will kill everything you love and know, first, so that Life can be drawn without conflict."
Just past the arrow slits, A reddish-shelled inix puffs through its nostrils and bobs its head.
You think:
"...Sun King, give me the clarity to think clearly about what to say and do, or I might say something incredibly stupid."
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, softly:
"If the Servants never come, Echri will arrive at an entire planet mounting an offense, and he will easily lose."
Brow furrowed, the sinewy, weather-worn man whispers something to the slender, crooked-nosed woman.
Moccasins drag against the floor as the braided, ebony-skinned elf shifts her legs back against the chair, teal gaze shifting from the lithe, sandy-haired elf to you.
You suffer from use of the Way.
The lithe, sandy-haired elf trails a hand across the table, a line of rich soil materializing and following her fingers as she half-closes her eyes.
You think:
"I feel like I am meeting with an army of gith to help me fight an army of mantis."
You suffer from use of the Way.
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, after a moment's pause:
"That said.."
Shaking her head and frowning, the slender, crooked-nosed woman whispers something to the sinewy, weather-worn man.
You think:
"This is insane. I suppose since in this case the mantis are much more dangerous....it is worth it. Until the mantis are destroyed at least."
The stern-eyed, weathered half-elf nods slowly.
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, softly:
"We can organize our priorities. Even lesser servants are very dangerous."
The slender, crooked-nosed woman whispers something to the sinewy, weather-worn man.
You think:
"Remember, Thrend, choose your battles...magickers must be killed, but there is a time and a place for them to be destroyed."
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, to you:
"I will go out and take a risk here. There is at least one spy here who will inform the Northern Templarate, another the Southern Orders, and yet one more a Thrall itself."
The lithe, sandy-haired elf shifts her gaze around those gathered, a faint smile crossing her normally solemn features.
Sourly, the sinewy, weather-worn man whispers something to the slender, crooked-nosed woman.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf lifts his eyebrows at the lithe, sandy-haired elf.
Blinking, the slender, crooked-nosed woman asks the lithe, sandy-haired elf, in sirihish:
"Here, right now?"
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, to you:
"..Seek the Council."
At your table, the leanly muscled, topknotted elf says in allundean, lifting a hand as he listens to the lithe, sandy-haired elf:
"It's not me."
The amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf raises her brows as she gazes at the lithe, sandy-haired elf.
The braided, ebony-skinned elf's lips twitch.
The red maned, anakore-tattooed elf smirks, shaking his head.
At your table, you say in allundean, quirking a brow towards the lithe, sandy-haired elf:
"Council? The Triumvirate?"
You suffer from use of the Way.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You think:
"Speak plainly, abomination."
The sinewy, weather-worn man's eyes settle on the lithe, sandy-haired elf, his expression flat.
With a grumble, the slender, crooked-nosed woman whispers something to the sinewy, weather-worn man.
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, waving a hand and shaking her head:
"Pah. No, not your Pure. Deeper south, Chosen..the very thing your city repulses is what you seek."
At your table, you say in allundean, blinking a few times:
"You mean..."
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, wrinkling her nose and closing her eyes:
"The highest eschelons are poisoned."
talk (taking great care to say the word without absolutely spitting it out)Magick?
At your table, you say in allundean, taking great care to say the word without absolutely spitting it out:
"Magick?"
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, opening her eyes again, ghostly white whisps swirling around her:
"..Specifically, what magick-wielders?"
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf sits up properly now, listening unmasked to the conversations at a large stone table.
You think:
"Oh, Sun King...smack this "Shattered" aside her head and make her speak plainly so that your servant may understand what the FUCK she means."
With a grunt, the sinewy, weather-worn man whispers something to the slender, crooked-nosed woman.
You suffer from use of the Way.
With a grunt, the sinewy, weather-worn man whispers something to the slender, crooked-nosed woman.
The slender, crooked-nosed woman whispers something to the sinewy, weather-worn man.
Just past the arrow slits, A grey-scaled, silver-shelled inix stretches its hind legs, arching its back.
At your table, you say in allundean, smiling thinly towards the lithe, sandy-haired elf:
"You'll have to...forgive me. The thing which my city despises...is utterly abhorred by my House."
The red maned, anakore-tattooed elf intently scans the area.
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, to you, her voice slowing a little:
"I am not offended, since I do not use magick in any traditional sense."
Just past the arrow slits, A grey-scaled, silver-shelled inix puffs through its nostrils and bobs its head.
You think:
"And by me. Of course."
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, to you:
"Your anger can be your weapon, as long as it doesn't traverse the gulf to hate - that is the path of Echri."
The sinewy, weather-worn man whispers something to the slender, crooked-nosed woman.
The corded, bronze-hued male elf settles into his seat, attention languid on the lithe, sandy-haired elf.
The slender, crooked-nosed woman whispers something to the sinewy, weather-worn man.
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, to you, softly:
"Gathered together in the quarter of Allanak is a Council of Gemmed Mages. If you seek where poison, Nilaz, and the Dragon lay, look no further, for now."
At your table, you say in allundean, simply:
"Nilaz. I have heard of this...word. It is associated with dead and death things."
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, offering a faint inclination of her head:
"It can be, but it also represents pure neutrality. Nilaz also indicates nothingness. Which means..the absense of Life."
The braided, ebony-skinned elf clucks her tongue softly.
Shuddering again, this time more obviously, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says to you, in sirihish:
"It's nasty shit Sir. Most regular magickers don't even wanna deal wit'em."
You suffer from use of the Way.
At your table, the stern-eyed, weathered half-elf says in allundean, nodding firmly:
"I have encountered a Nilazi myself."
The leanly muscled, topknotted elf leans back into his chair, arms crossing against his chest. He maintains a peculiar, focused watch on you.
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, shifting her gaze to the table and intoning to you slowly:
"..Thus, anything associated with Nilaz should probably worry you."
Curiously, the sinewy, weather-worn man whispers something to the slender, crooked-nosed woman.
The slender, crooked-nosed woman nods to the sinewy, weather-worn man.
At your table, the stern-eyed, weathered half-elf says in allundean:
"Five rigures, ssumblina across the sorth eoad. Neither dead nor alive. They would be killed, ius stand again."
At your table, you say in allundean, his gaze alighting on the lithe, sandy-haired elf again:
"I'll go with dead, then. So this Council needs to be destroyed?"
Just past the arrow slits, A grey-scaled, silver-shelled inix stretches its hind legs, arching its back.
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, softly, to you, with a faint shake of her head:
"Not entirely, but the current representatives are mostly beings of darkness."
You think:
"I feel like an elf at a roundear party."
Just past the arrow slits, A grey-scaled, silver-shelled inix opens its jaws, letting its tongue dart out to lick its nostrils.
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, closing her eyes:
"I have not moved my hand in this matter yet. Perhaps it will be left to the North to determine their devotion to the cause."
At your table, you say in allundean, bluntly:
"To be entirely honest, that's not good enough. Do you have names?"
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, to you, gently:
"And to be entirely honest, if you, Tuluki, are not seeking the deaths of Council members actively for -what- they are, there is already a problem."
At your table, you say in allundean, letting out a harsh laugh in response to the lithe, sandy-haired elf:
"Oh, I am ready to actively seek their deaths for what they are right now."
You think:
"Being abominations is a damned good enough reason for me."
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, to you:
"Seek the Fire Caller Valla, and the Wind Shifter Naclyn. This is not my gift to you.."
You suffer from use of the Way.
think ...well, says me, who is talking to some sort of magick-touched woman.
You think:
"...well, says me, who is talking to some sort of magick-touched woman."
You feel confused.
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, gesturing to each elf gathered:
"..it is the Elan Pah's gift to you, to represent their interest in a mutual effort together with House Lysake."
The slender, crooked-nosed woman whispers something to the sinewy, weather-worn man.
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, correcting herself:
"Lyksae."
The sinewy, weather-worn man nods to the slender, crooked-nosed woman.
The braided, ebony-skinned elf's eyes slide towards the corded, bronze-hued male elf.
At your table, you say in allundean, in response to the lithe, sandy-haired elf:
"I'd say the "mutual effort" is more like two folk fighting against a foe from different angles...rather than together from the same direction."
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, to you, softly:
"Maybe that's the problem."
You suffer from use of the Way.
The red maned, anakore-tattooed elf lowers his brows.
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, softly:
"I will tell you this - when the true Thralls begin to appear, they will breathe death upon entire armies. Without unity, there is utterly no hope."
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean:
"That you choose to make a journey to this Outpost today indicates to me that unity is not out of the question for you. At the very least, let's work towards it."
Her brown-eyed gaze flitting between you and the lithe, sandy-haired elf, the slender, crooked-nosed woman whispers something to the sinewy, weather-worn man.
The stern-eyed, weathered half-elf nods firmly to the lithe, sandy-haired elf.
At your table, you say in allundean, blinking a few times, his forehead furrowing:
"...I would have to bring any such measure before my House first. I can tell you that the entire situation makes a...strangely compelling argument."
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, her voice softening, a little warmth within the depths of the arcane whispers around her:
"Truly consider it, together, as Zalanthan's all, we are very powerful."
At your table, you say in allundean:
"...but when I look at it from here, I cannot see how working...alongside...the Pah, rather than from another angle...is not the same thing."
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, looking then to each person individually at the table:
"Love. Hope. Belief. Forgiveness. These are -all- of your weapons against Echri, no matter who you are, or what sword, magick, or psionics you wield."
At your table, the leanly muscled, topknotted elf says in allundean, lowering an eyebrow skeptically toward you, even as he leans back into his chair:
"Fact is, even if you hate our Gifted and don't wish to work with us, you'll have to. Whatever we could do, the enemy will do worse."
You think:
"What kind of bardic shit is this? Love, hope? Sounds like a bad Konviwedu composition."
You think:
"Sun King, I am going to go crazy."
The corded, bronze-hued male elf drinks green honey mead from his ceramic mug.
The freckled, light-skinned man clenches his teeth tightly, his jaw making a very soft grating noise as he stares down at a large stone table.
The freckled, light-skinned man's gaze shifts to your ceramic mug.
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, softly, to you:
"Thrend..the time has come to put old hatreds aside and attempt to understand each of us equally as life being threatened on this planet."
The freckled, light-skinned man blinks a couple of times, then eagerly downs the rest of your ceramic mug.
You drink the green honey mead.
You do not feel thirsty.
The corded, bronze-hued male elf tips his ceramic mug to his mouth, a brief grin showing.
The corded, bronze-hued male elf drinks green honey mead from his ceramic mug.
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean:
"Nobody gathered here expects it to happen immediately. Very few, likely, even believe it can be done."
Eyes on you, the sinewy, weather-worn man whispers something to the slender, crooked-nosed woman.
Licking her lips as she interjects, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says, in sirihish:
"If ya don't mind me buttin in...maybe ah kin splain ta th'Chosen...or at least say somethin what might make'im not look like he's about ta bust a vein."
The stern-eyed, weathered half-elf turns, gazing at you with a neutral expression.
At your table, the braided, ebony-skinned elf says in tribal-accented allundean, raising a gloved hand to thumb at her nose before speaking:
"There was a time that Soh and Blackwing hunted gifted but they put aside their hatred and work together with all. It takes time but you have to decide what is more important.."
At your table, the braided, ebony-skinned elf says in tribal-accented allundean, lowering her hand:
"Life or old hatreds."
At your table, you say in allundean, wiping his mouth with the back of one hand as he glances to the slender, crooked-nosed woman, his expression only slightly relaxing:
"I'll take a listen to the Kuraci first, then."
You think:
"I cannot decipher what to do."
The lithe, sandy-haired elf falls silent, drawing her attention to the slender, crooked-nosed woman.
You suffer from use of the Way.
Padding over to your side of the full table and crouching again, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says, in sirihish:
"Aright.."
You think:
"They make a compelling argument, but...my House. Me. Fuck, I can't believe I'm even -considering- this."
You think:
"I'm not considering it, no."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You think:
"I'm only bringing THEIR idea to my House. That's all."
Taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says to you, in sirihish:
"Ya see, Sir. Ain't no one askin ya ta learn ta like magickers or even wit elfs fer that matter."
The stern-eyed, weathered half-elf's face becomes drawn with impatience, his gaze still locked on you.
You begin speaking sirihish.
The corded, bronze-hued male elf puts his ceramic mug onto a large stone table.
Her shoulders lifting, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says to you, in sirihish:
"Ah'm a grebber, ah weren't ne'er taught one way or another, so ah do as ah like, and fuck anyone what don't like it. But that's me."
You suffer from use of the Way.
Nodding toward several elves seated at a large stone table, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says to you, in sirihish:
"But these folk here, is willin - and even askin - ta work -wit- Tuluk. A city what'd kill'em on sight if they was ever caught near th'gates."
At your table, the leanly muscled, topknotted elf says in allundean, scratching at his chin as he observes you:
"So, I don't know much about the Pits. Why do they call you Chosen? Who chose you, and what for?"
At your table, the corded, bronze-hued male elf says in allundean, as he slides his ceramic mug over a large stone table:
"We'll call our meet'ere. More'a think on than speak."
Her tone softening, the slender, crooked-nosed woman asks you, in sirihish:
"All they're askin, is fer ya ta put yer feelins about'em on hold. Fer awhile. Ta help deal wit th'bigger prollem. Fair enough, Sir?"
You begin speaking allundean.
The corded, bronze-hued male elf touches a fingertip to his lips on a glance for the leanly muscled, topknotted elf.
The freckled, light-skinned man nods slightly towards the slender, crooked-nosed woman, then shifts his attention to the leanly muscled, topknotted elf.
Shifting her gaze to the corded, bronze-hued male elf and leaning over, the lithe, sandy-haired elf whispers something to the corded, bronze-hued male elf.
You suffer from use of the Way.
Rising up from the table slowly, the lithe, sandy-haired elf stands up from a large stone table.
You suffer from use of the Way.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf looks up at the lithe, sandy-haired elf.
With a look after the lithe, sandy-haired elf, the corded, bronze-hued male elf says, in allundean:
"You spoke well. Shade."
You suffer from use of the Way.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf inclines his head up to the lithe, sandy-haired elf.
Gazing across the table and speaking softly as she rises, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says, in tribal-accented allundean:
"We can win this battle through love and forgiveness. We need to give each other a chance."
The leanly muscled, topknotted elf lifts his shoulders to the corded, bronze-hued male elf. With a sigh, he falls silent, leaning into his chair.
At your table, you say in allundean, his response coming to the fore easily:
"The Sun King chose my people"
Her gaze warming as she regards you face, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says to you, in sirihish:
"Thanks Chosen, Sir. Ah knew ya'd unnerstand."
emote nods simply towards ~leanly.
The freckled, light-skinned man nods simply towards the leanly muscled, topknotted elf.
The slender, crooked-nosed woman rises and returns back to stand between the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf and the sinewy, weather-worn man.
The stern-eyed, weathered half-elf dips his head to the lithe, sandy-haired elf.
You think:
"Love and forgiveness?"
You suffer from use of the Way.
You suffer from use of the Way.
Lowering her voice into a solemn plea, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says, in tribal-accented allundean:
"You are all wise, and you all have a choice to make. I pray to you all that you choose the path of protection for these beautiful lands."
You suffer from use of the Way.
The lithe, sandy-haired elf says, in tribal-accented allundean:
"Never lose hope, never lose faith. It is always there, beside you all."
You think:
"I'll love and forgiveness a mace aside that bitch's head if she keeps flouting such airy shit."
Aside, the sinewy, weather-worn man whispers something to the slender, crooked-nosed woman.
With a faint smile, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says, in tribal-accented allundean:
"I've spoken more than enough. A fine Barani to you all."
Lifting her hand to wave at her, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says to the lithe, sandy-haired elf, in sirihish:
"Ah - twas good ta see ya agin ole friend. We'll talk, another day. Smooth sands."
The lithe, sandy-haired elf slowly fades from view.
The Desert Rose [ES Quit]
Entering this busy bar is like stepping into a dimly-lit cave, the
thick stone walls keeping it comfortably cool inside and adding to the
cave-like feel of the place. A constant buzz of conversation fills the
room, which is populated by elves from a variety of tribes. Narrow arrow
slits on the western wall are draped with sandcloth to block the heat of the
afternoon sun, but still let in a scant measure of filtered light. The
sandcloth covers are rolled up and tied at dusk to let in the cool night
breezes. The bar is on the north wall, and tables and chairs, most of them
occupied, are grouped about the room in the shadows. On the south wall, a
clear area provides a spot for dancing or entertainment to be performed. An
elaborate archway in the eastern wall allows entry to a vibrantly-hued room,
smoke writhing out past its entry curtain.
The desert elf outpost message board is propped up against the wall here.
A multi-ringed dartboard hangs on a wall here.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf is reclining on a thick rug of quirri hide.
The amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf is sitting at a large stone table.
The slender, crooked-nosed woman is standing here.
The corded, bronze-hued male elf is sitting at a large stone table.
The braided, ebony-skinned elf is sitting at a large stone table.
The red maned, anakore-tattooed elf is standing here.
The burly, red-haired woman stands at attention.
The sinewy, weather-worn man is standing here.
The stern-eyed, weathered half-elf is sitting at a large stone table.
The leanly muscled, topknotted elf is sitting at a large stone table.
A sinewy, ebon-skinned elf leans against the western wall, surveying the bar.
The dark-haired elf is standing here.
A slender, cold-eyed elven woman stands behind the bar, pouring drinks.
The freckled, light-skinned man blinks a few times, then glances to the corded, bronze-hued male elf.
You suffer from use of the Way.
After observing the sandy-haired elf fade away, the leanly muscled, topknotted elf turns his head, grinning.
Just past the arrow slits, someone opens the gate.
You think:
"Fuck me. Damn it."
l
The Desert Rose [ES Quit]
Entering this busy bar is like stepping into a dimly-lit cave, the
thick stone walls keeping it comfortably cool inside and adding to the
cave-like feel of the place. A constant buzz of conversation fills the
room, which is populated by elves from a variety of tribes. Narrow arrow
slits on the western wall are draped with sandcloth to block the heat of the
afternoon sun, but still let in a scant measure of filtered light. The
sandcloth covers are rolled up and tied at dusk to let in the cool night
breezes. The bar is on the north wall, and tables and chairs, most of them
occupied, are grouped about the room in the shadows. On the south wall, a
clear area provides a spot for dancing or entertainment to be performed. An
elaborate archway in the eastern wall allows entry to a vibrantly-hued room,
smoke writhing out past its entry curtain.
The desert elf outpost message board is propped up against the wall here.
A multi-ringed dartboard hangs on a wall here.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf is reclining on a thick rug of quirri hide.
The amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf is sitting at a large stone table.
The slender, crooked-nosed woman is standing here.
The corded, bronze-hued male elf is sitting at a large stone table.
The braided, ebony-skinned elf is sitting at a large stone table.
The red maned, anakore-tattooed elf is standing here.
The burly, red-haired woman stands at attention.
The sinewy, weather-worn man is standing here.
The stern-eyed, weathered half-elf is sitting at a large stone table.
The leanly muscled, topknotted elf is sitting at a large stone table.
A sinewy, ebon-skinned elf leans against the western wall, surveying the bar.
The dark-haired elf is standing here.
A slender, cold-eyed elven woman stands behind the bar, pouring drinks.
Just past the arrow slits, someone closes the gate from the other side.
Gaing toward the now-empty space on the floor, the slender, crooked-nosed woman whispers something to the sinewy, weather-worn man.
You suffer from use of the Way.
Setting it on a large stone table, you discard your ceramic mug.
At your table, you say in allundean, letting out a grunt as he speaks, his lips pulled back tightly against his teeth:
"I think we've covered enough for this discussion."
At your table, the corded, bronze-hued male elf says in allundean, iolite gaze settled for you:
"Ah don' have anything to say. They've said ta much. You're ready to ride?"
It is late morning on Barani, the 131st day of the Ascending Sun,
In the Year of Ruk's Peace, year 37 of the 21st Age.
At your table, you say in allundean, nodding to the corded, bronze-hued male elf:
"Yes. Quite."
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf stands up from a thick rug of quirri hide.
The braided, ebony-skinned elf's lips twitch at the edges.
Looking toward the slits in the wall, the sinewy, weather-worn man whispers something to the slender, crooked-nosed woman.
At your table, the leanly muscled, topknotted elf says in allundean, lifting his chin as speaks to you, adopting a cordial tone:
"Nice meeting you."
Rising to his feet, you stand up from a large stone table.
The stern-eyed, weathered half-elf stands up from a large stone table.
Pushing away from his chair, the leanly muscled, topknotted elf stands up from a large stone table.
With a grunt, you say to the leanly muscled, topknotted elf, in allundean:
"Spice's yours. Enjoy it."
The slender, crooked-nosed woman whispers something to the sinewy, weather-worn man.
The raw-boned, top-knotted elf says to the corded, bronze-hued male elf, in allundean:
"I'll run with them to the White Road."
You suffer from use of the Way.
The braided, ebony-skinned elf gets her ceramic mug from a large stone table.
You pull your pair of spiked, chitin-backed gauntlets onto your hands.
With a nod aside to the raw-boned, top-knotted elf, the corded, bronze-hued male elf says, in allundean:
"Good."
The stern-eyed, weathered half-elf walks south.
Just past the arrow slits, the raw-boned, top-knotted elf has arrived from the south.
Just past the arrow slits, the stern-eyed, weathered half-elf has arrived from the south.
With a tipped nod for you, the corded, bronze-hued male elf says, in allundean:
"Tohego will be ya guide to the white road, his eyes ah sharp."
Pushing off her seat, the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf stands up from a large stone table.
You suffer from use of the Way.
Thoughtfully, the slender, crooked-nosed woman asks the corded, bronze-hued male elf, in allundean:
"Want me ta stick around?"
Just past the arrow slits, The raw-boned, top-knotted elf frees some mounts from a wooden pole and arranges them near the gate.
Nodding to him, you say to the corded, bronze-hued male elf, in allundean:
"Shade, then..."
Just past the arrow slits, the raw-boned, top-knotted elf opens the gate.
You begin speaking sirihish.
The sinewy, weather-worn man whispers something to the slender, crooked-nosed woman.
The corded, bronze-hued male elf stands up from a large stone table.
Pushing it aside, the braided, ebony-skinned elf discards her ceramic mug.
With a rise from his seat, the corded, bronze-hued male elf says to you, in allundean:
"Shade."
Turning southward, the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf says, in tribal-accented allundean:
"I'll make my way to the Gem. Be safe."
The amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf walks south.
Nodding to the sinewy, weather-worn man and the slender, crooked-nosed woman, you say, in sirihish:
"Thanks for the ride."The Desert Rose [ES Quit]
Entering this busy bar is like stepping into a dimly-lit cave, the thick stone walls keeping it comfortably cool inside and adding to the cave-like feel of the place. A constant buzz of conversation fills the room, which is populated by elves from a variety of tribes....
Continue Reading...Not very subtle, are you? by Maglos
Added on Jan 22, 2011Thrend and a potential partisan run into a problem. Thrend, in his typical proud, selfish, and arrogant manner, decides to take matters into his own hands on the sly, using the disturbance to test that potential partisan and rid the City of one undesirable.
-------
Thrend arrives at the Sanctuary after being informed about some disturbance. (think this was in a previous log but I didn't dig it up)
-------
The Sun King's Sanctuary [NESWUD]
A polished, white marble floor covers the ground of this expansive
room, gleaming under the light of a large glass chandelier that hangs
overhead. A semi-circular bar, made of hard-grained wood painted a deep
black, extends from the eastern wall, several high-backed barstools sitting
around it. The walls of this room are brightly decorated, with several
elaborate paintings placed carefully for unobstructed view, and shelves
holding many exotic potted plants, blooming with bright red and white
flowers. Two large stained-glass windows, decorated with elaborate sun
symbols, adorn the northwest and southeast corners of the room.
Several decoratively carved tables fill this room, while a polished
leather couch nearly ten cords in length sprawls along the northern wall. A
stately spiral staircase sits in the center of the room, winding upwards
toward the common rooms of the second floor. The sounds of laughter and
music can be heard from a doorway along the western wall, while the scents
of cooked meat waft in from the east. A small, straight stairway sits along
the northern wall, ending at a slightly raised loft and a large carven
baobab door sits in the southern wall, leading out onto the North Road
outside.
The Tuluk bulletin board is here propped up on a stand.
The ochre-eyed, lissome man is standing here.
The weatherworn, fuzzy-haired old man is sitting on a supple, black leather couch.
The broad, harsh-looking woman is sitting at a black-painted bar.
The svelte, bronzed man is sitting at a black-painted bar.
The lithe, tanned man is standing here.
The short haired, heavy-set man stands here mug in-hand.
The tall, well-groomed man sits here on a plush couch.
The gaunt, black-haired man is here, leaning on the bar.
The plump, tawny-skinned woman sits on a stool, strumming on her mandolin.
The long-haired, middle-aged man stands behind the counter.
The burly, red-haired woman has arrived from the south.
You lower the hood of a hooded, mace-stitched grey linen cloak.
At 1) a supple, black leather couch are:
the weatherworn, fuzzy-haired old man, and a few empty seats.
At 2) a black-painted bar are:
the broad, harsh-looking woman, the svelte, bronzed man,
and some empty seats.
At 3) a long, white painted table are:
some empty seats.
At 4) an intimate, dimly lit table are:
a couple of empty seats.
At 5) a highly polished table are:
a few empty seats.
The lithe, tanned man nods politely to you.
In a hooded, mace-stitched grey linen cloak (used) :
a green chitin archery brace
a pile of coins
The broad, harsh-looking woman clenches and unclenches her fist, ignoring the lithe, tanned
man.
Heading to the stairs, the ochre-eyed, lissome man walks up.
The freckled, light-skinned man makes his way through the tavern, wrapping your hooded, mace-
stitched grey linen cloak more tightly around his form.
At a black-painted bar, the broad, harsh-looking woman speaks, to the svelte, bronzed man.
Easing down onto a stool, you sit at a black-painted bar.
The lithe, tanned man sits at a black-painted bar.
The broad, harsh-looking woman notices you and lowers her head to her, awkwardly.
The svelte, bronzed man inclines his head in a nod, respectfully, in your direction .
You are using:
inva black-scaled leather surmac a black-scaled leather gorget a new black-scaled leather longvest a black-scaled leather vambrace a leather and chitin strap-sheath a pair of black leather and chitin scaled gauntlets a slender crimson and silver ring a ruby and moonstone inlaid, silver signet ring a glossy, black leather swordbelt a silver-etched, stone-spiked mace a bloodied narrow-hilted, jaded khopesh blade a hooded, mace-stitched grey linen cloak a grey, black, and crimson silk sash a pair of black-scaled leather leggings a pair of black-scaled leather boots
You are carrying:
nothing.
Glancing down a black-painted bar, you look at the svelte, bronzed man.
This human male looks like he has lived a life in the wilderness.
He has scraggly hair hanging haphazardly to just about shoulder length. He is
above average height for his race, and seems to carry himself well, his
movements seeming natural, not laboured. His svelte figure is adorned with
many tattoos of random beasts. Bronzed all over, his muscles appear more
toned. His skin is hairless from neck to foot, no doubt due to his life in
the intense heat. His blue eyes bring his face to life, a playful
glint within.
The svelte, bronzed man is in excellent condition.
The svelte, bronzed man is using:a tough tandu-leather cap a blue and purple inked band a long, agate-headed spear a rough canvas backpack a pair of carru leather sleeves a scrab shell wristguard a studded hide wrist-wrap a tattoo of a six-pronged star a hooded, sandy-brown reinforced sandcloth duster a sweat-stained pair of sandcloth and leather leggings a pair of grey hide boots
He is carrying:
nothing obvious
The broad, harsh-looking woman notices you and lowers her head to you, awkwardly.
It is early morning on Waleuk, the 160th day of the Ascending Sun,
In the Year of Suk-Krath's Anger, year 43 of the 21st Age.
At your table, you say in sirihish, lacing his gauntleted fingers together in his lap:
"Such a fine morning."
At your table, the broad, harsh-looking woman says in sirihish, turning her broad back towards
the lithe, tanned man:
"A real nice morning, Chosen Lord."
At your table, the lithe, tanned man says in sirihish, Nodding his head in agreement:
"Definitely so Chosen lord"
At your table, the broad, harsh-looking woman says in sirihish, to the svelte, bronzed man:
"Notice the Coward isn't speaking anymore?"
At your table, the lithe, tanned man says in sirihish, With a grin to you:
"I think someone needs a drink Chosen Lord"
The freckled, light-skinned man glances briefly over to the broad, harsh-looking woman and
then to the lithe, tanned man.
The svelte, bronzed man nods minimally.
The slim, golden-haired woman has arrived from the north.
At your table, the broad, harsh-looking woman says in sirihish, rolling her eyes:
"I'm trying."
The lithe, tanned man gives the long-haired, middle-aged bartender many coins in exchange for
a finely made glass goblet.
The lithe, tanned man offers his finely made glass goblet to you.
At your table, you say in sirihish, flicking his attention back to the lithe, tanned man:
"Aren't you a bit old to be cajoling folk into trying to kill you?"
He is older than you.
He is about the same size as you.
He weighs about the same as you.
The lithe, tanned man is in excellent condition.
The lithe, tanned man does not look tired.
Holding out his finely made glass goblet, the lithe, tanned man says to you, in sirihish:
"I was speaking of buying a drink for you Chosen Lord"
The broad, harsh-looking woman's eyes flick to you and she unclenches her fists.
The svelte, bronzed man nods in agreement.
The slender, tea-skinned male has arrived from the south, panting softly as #me steps through
the doorway.
The lithe, tanned man looks up at the slender, tea-skinned male.
The dark-blond, tall human has arrived from the south.
At your table, you say in sirihish, waving a hand in dismissive response to the lithe, tanned
man:
"No, thank you. I'm going to be training shortly."
The weatherworn, fuzzy-haired old man looks up at the dark-blond, tall human.
The slim, golden-haired woman runs north.
Pulling out a stool, the slender, tea-skinned male sits at a black-painted bar.
The dark-blond, tall human says to the slender, tea-skinned male, in sirihish:
"Hey there."
The dark-blond, tall human opens a dusty sizeable leather backpack.
The dark-blond, tall human closes a dusty sizeable leather backpack.
The dark-blond, tall human sits down at the bar.
The dark-blond, tall human sits at a black-painted bar.
The dark-blond, tall human looks at the slender, tea-skinned male.
Lips curling upwards as he bobs his head, the slender, tea-skinned male asks the dark-blond,
tall human, in sirihish:
"How goes?"
At your table, the dark-blond, tall human says in sirihish:
"Everythin' pretty normal, and yourself ?"
The lithe, tanned man shrugs his shoulders and downs his finely made glass goblet in one gulp.
The lithe, tanned man drinks reynolte-dry from his finely made glass goblet.
The dark-blond, tall human looks at the lithe, tanned man.
The lithe, tanned man looks at the dark-blond, tall human.
At your table, the slender, tea-skinned male says in sirihish, drawing a deep breath before
speaking:
"A'right... 'Tok out on th' road 'gain."
The dark-blond, tall human sheathes a dusty razor-edged, obsidian tomahawk.
The dark-blond, tall human sheathes a dusty one-handed, crescent-bladed axe.
Ignoring the lithe, tanned man, the broad, harsh-looking woman looks at the slender, tea-
skinned male.
At your table, the slender, tea-skinned male says in sirihish, shaking his head with a short
chuckle:
"Couldn' find m'spears, an' some skinny's followin' me 'round."
At your table, the lithe, tanned man says in sirihish, Looking down at the broad, harsh-
looking woman:
"Okay lady, maybe it's time we settled things, what do you want from me?"
The dark-blond, tall human looks at the broad, harsh-looking woman.
Slowly gazing down the bar, the slender, tea-skinned male looks at the svelte, bronzed man.
The weatherworn, fuzzy-haired old man chuckles, glancing towards the bar.
The dark-blond, tall human looks at the weatherworn, fuzzy-haired old man.
At your table, the broad, harsh-looking woman says in sirihish, narrowing her eyes at the
lithe, tanned man:
"You and I go somewhere noone's going to care, and I punch you until I feel better."
The svelte, bronzed man has lost link.
The svelte, bronzed man has reconnected.
The dark-blond, tall human chuckles quietly.
The freckled, light-skinned man smirks ever so slightly.
At your table, the dark-blond, tall human says in sirihish, to the broad, harsh-looking woman:
"What's the problem ?"
The svelte, bronzed man nods affirmatively.
At your table, the svelte, bronzed man says in sirihish:
"That's the only reasonable solution I can see. "
The dark-blond, tall human looks at the svelte, bronzed man.
At your table, the broad, harsh-looking woman says in sirihish, to the dark-blond, tall human:
"I'm going to make him bleed. No problem."
The broad, harsh-looking woman looks at the dark-blond, tall human.
At your table, the dark-blond, tall human says in sirihish:
"Yeah, but why ?"
At your table, the lithe, tanned man says in sirihish, Shrugging his shoulders:
"I was out in the woods and she tried to take my sid"
At your table, the lithe, tanned man says in sirihish:
"I wouldn't give it up, she got mad, here we are"
At your table, the dark-blond, tall human says in sirihish, with a frown:
"Is that so ?"
At your table, the broad, harsh-looking woman says in sirihish, after looking him over:
"After I kick him in the balls I few times, I'll tell you."
The dark-blond, tall human looks at the lithe, tanned man.
The dark-blond, tall human looks at the broad, harsh-looking woman.
At your table, the dark-blond, tall human says in sirihish, to the lithe, tanned man:
"You're a woodworker ?"
At your table, the broad, harsh-looking woman says in sirihish, narrowing eyes at the lithe,
tanned man:
"Coward, don't lie. You called me stupid, then have taunted me since."
Raising a brow, the slender, tea-skinned male looks at the broad, harsh-looking woman.
At your table, the svelte, bronzed man says in sirihish, to the lithe, tanned man:
"Was this before or after you insulted her mother?"
The dark-blond, tall human stands up from a black-painted bar.
At your table, the lithe, tanned man says in sirihish:
"this was very much before"
The dark-blond, tall human says, in sirihish:
"Fuck, I gotta leave."
The dark-blond, tall human walks up.
At your table, the broad, harsh-looking woman says in sirihish, to the lithe, tanned man:
"Well, Coward? We going somewhere?"
At your table, the svelte, bronzed man says in sirihish:
"And before you called her fat?"
At your table, the lithe, tanned man says in sirihish:
"this was before i called her fat also"
The broad, harsh-looking woman opens a rough canvas backpack.
At your table, the svelte, bronzed man says in sirihish, nodding:
"I see."
The broad, harsh-looking woman gets her small portion of a travel cake from her rough canvas
backpack.
The broad, harsh-looking woman eats her small portion of a travel cake.
The broad, harsh-looking woman closes a rough canvas backpack.
At your table, the broad, harsh-looking woman says in sirihish:
"And when you stole my shield?"
At your table, the lithe, tanned man says in sirihish, Raising an eyebrow:
"You mean the shield that I picked up after you tried to hit me with it and the same one
that neck ran off with?"
At your table, the lithe, tanned man says in sirihish, Looking over at the svelte, bronzed
man:
"All I was trying to do was take a rest in the woods and this is the result"
At your table, the broad, harsh-looking woman says in sirihish, frowning:
"I tried to put you in a headlock when you were laughing at me, you idiot."
At your table, you say in sirihish, shifting his attention back to the lithe, tanned man and
the broad, harsh-looking woman:
"It seems that you two wish to resolve the matter."
At your table, the broad, harsh-looking woman says in sirihish, after a sigh:
"Sorry, Chosen Lord. I'm trying...I really am..."
At your table, the lithe, tanned man says in sirihish:
"I personally have nothing to do with her, I am just trying to find out what her problem
is"
At your table, you say in sirihish, blinking at the lithe, tanned man:
"Then resolve the matter. Stop insulting the woman like a Southron, it is unbecoming."
At your table, the broad, harsh-looking woman says in sirihish, to the lithe, tanned man:
"Come on then. I'll never talk to you again after I pummel you for a while."
At your table, the lithe, tanned man says in sirihish, Glancing over at you:
"She only wishes to resort to violence and violence mind you for something she started,
I personally want her to stay out of my affairs, before you came in, she was the one taunting
me"
At your table, the lithe, tanned man says in sirihish:
"see what I mean?"
At your table, the broad, harsh-looking woman says in sirihish, to the svelte, bronzed man:
"Was I?"
At your table, you say in sirihish, peering at the lithe, tanned man, then the broad, harsh-
looking woman:
"Alright. Both of you, come with me. I have the solution."
Rising to his feet, you stand up from a black-painted bar.
The lithe, tanned man stands up from a black-painted bar.
The broad, harsh-looking woman stands up from a black-painted bar.
The broad, harsh-looking woman falls in behind you.
With a subtle smirk, the slender, tea-skinned male looks up at the lithe, tanned man.
The freckled, light-skinned man lets out a longsuffering sigh and glances back to a black-
painted bar.
You raise the hood of a hooded, mace-stitched grey linen cloak.
North Road [NESW]
The stark white of this wide stone road lies nestled between the rise
and fall of a conglomerated jumble of eclectically styled buildings.
Passing through the city, the road is kept clean of any blowing sand and
forest debris. The pale backbone cuts a decisive line east across the
bustling metropolis towards what remains of the Old City.
The pale white of the road merges with a newer road just to the east.
Further in the distance, the crumbled ruins of the old city can be seen
rising up above the newer walls that have been built up around them. Set on
the north side of the road is a large two-story tavern. On the south side
of the road is a large wagon yard.
A down-trodden group of Allanaki refugees shuffles down the road.
The lanky, russet-haired lad lounges by the tavern.
The wiry, obsidian-haired Jihaen templar is standing here.
The broad, harsh-looking woman has arrived from the north.
The burly, red-haired woman has arrived from the north.
The lithe, tanned man has arrived from the north.
The lithe, tanned man falls in behind you.
The svelte, bronzed man has arrived from the north.
North Salt Road [NSW]
Rows of pale stones form the backbone for this broad avenue, settled
into the ground with graceful fervor. Decorating the edge of the street,
the buildings and storefronts are universally adorned with garish and tawdry
sculptures, bas reliefs, and murals. The road is filled with a continual
throng of humans and demi-humans alike as they scurry about the bustle of
daily life.
The sounds of a rowdy commotion spills out onto the streets from the
building to the west. A trio of humanoid sculptures are caught before the
junction between two roads, the crowds passing around them. An odd-looking
sculpture surrounds a stone bench off to one side of the road.
The tawny, blonde-haired woman strolls down the street, eyes bright.
A few colorful individuals sit in a circle on the street corner, drumming.
The lithe, tanned man has arrived from the west.
The broad, harsh-looking woman has arrived from the west.
The burly, red-haired woman has arrived from the west.
The Red Sun Commons [NESW]
The chaotic roar of the tumultuous clamor within the commons fills the
air with a constant din, building into a flooding crescendo as deals are
bartered. Throngs of humans and demi-humans flock from one multi-colored
tent to another, ducking in and between the various stands that have been
erected along the breadth of the commons. Craftsmen and tradesmen alike
wander the sandstone grounds, mingling themselves with the rest in search of
opportunity. The scents of the commons, myriad and varied in their potency
and origins, mingle together to create a somewhat acrid and sweaty feel to
the atmosphere.
A mound of dung, heaped shoulder high, stands here.
A sour-faced dwarf hunches here, buying dung.
The lithe, tanned man has arrived from the north.
The broad, harsh-looking woman has arrived from the north.
The burly, red-haired woman has arrived from the north.
The Red Sun Commons [ESW]
The chaotic roar of the tumultuous clamor within the commons fills the
air with a constant din, building into a flooding crescendo as deals are
bartered. Throngs of humans and demi-humans flock from one multi-colored
tent to another, ducking in and between the various stands that have been
erected along the breadth of the commons. Craftsmen and tradesmen alike
wander the sandstone grounds, mingling themselves with the rest in search of
opportunity. The scents of the commons, myriad and varied in their potency
and origins, mingle together to create a somewhat acrid and sweaty feel to
the atmosphere.
The lithe, tanned man has arrived from the east.
The broad, harsh-looking woman has arrived from the east.
The burly, red-haired woman has arrived from the east.
As he slows to a stop in the Commons, you say, in sirihish:
"Alright. Here's what I propose."
You look at the lithe, tanned man.
This man is of very average height with his hair at a length no longer
than the bottom of his ears. His skin is rather unremarkable, lightly
tanned from exposure to the sun and slightly smooth. His eyes are a dull
brown with no outstanding features and set evenly in his head beneath rather
neatly groomed eyebrows. His hair is a dark black blend with streaks of
grey running through it. His body is lithe and lightly muscled, resembling
the normal Zalanthan human physique.
The lithe, tanned man is in excellent condition.
The lithe, tanned man is using:a long-handled, flint lumber axe a sizeable leather backpack a blue and purple inked band an unlit large wooden torch a hooded, black sandcloth windcloak a pair of rough canvas pants a pair of grey hide boots
He is carrying:
nothing obvious
The broad, harsh-looking woman stands apart from the lithe, tanned man, eyes on you.
The svelte, bronzed man has arrived from the east.
You say to the lithe, tanned man, in sirihish:
"The woman here wishes to challenge you, so I suggest you both oblige each other and beat
on each other until one or both parties are satisfied."
The svelte, bronzed man keeps his distance.
With a frown, the lithe, tanned man says, in sirihish:
"That's what she wants, I want her to stop her violence toward me"
The mighty sun begins to crawl across the western sky.
You say to the lithe, tanned man, in sirihish:
"As it's not appropriate to do this just anywhere, I suggest on the grounds of my Estate
in the sparring yard."
The broad, harsh-looking woman smiles at the lithe, tanned man.
Nodding, the broad, harsh-looking woman says to you, in sirihish:
"Sounds fair to me, Chosen Lord."
The svelte, bronzed man frowns.
The weatherworn, fuzzy-haired old man has arrived from the east.
The lithe, tanned man says, in sirihish:
"she has assaulted me three times, I'd say she has more than had her turn"
Looking him up and down, the weatherworn, fuzzy-haired old man looks at the lithe, tanned man.
Rolling her eyes, the broad, harsh-looking woman says to the lithe, tanned man, in sirihish:
"I'll just use my fists."
Nodding agreeably, the svelte, bronzed man says, in sirihish:
"Seems like the only solution."
The weatherworn, fuzzy-haired old man glances at you, inclining his head as he does.
Quirking a brow curiously, you ask the lithe, tanned man, in sirihish:
"do you taunt bahamets?"
You ask the lithe, tanned man, in sirihish:
"And then complain afterwards when they rip into your organs?"
The svelte, bronzed man grins.
The lithe, tanned man says, in sirihish:
"I disagree with the solution since it is only fair for one party, besides, she did her
fair share of taunting"
Lifting his linen clad shoulders in a shrug, you ask the lithe, tanned man, in sirihish:
"You disagree with -my- solution?"
Staring at the lithe, tanned man with a deep frown, you ask the lithe, tanned man, in
sirihish:
"Are you aware of where you are, citizen?"
The broad, harsh-looking woman folds her muscular arms, watching the lithe, tanned man.
With a nod, the lithe, tanned man says to you, in sirihish:
"Aye Chosen Lord, I am aware of where I am, but if the Law is to be just and fair, then
hauling off citizens at your whim because of another party that has no claim"
Narrowing his pale green eyes on the lithe, tanned man, you say to the lithe, tanned man, in
sirihish:
"This is not the first time you have deemed yourself wiser than His Chosen. And where
you are is, in point of fact, the Red Sun Commons."
The broad, harsh-looking woman looks with shock at the lithe, tanned man.
The lithe, tanned man says, in sirihish:
"then surely we are no better than living in the south"
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
The weatherworn, fuzzy-haired old man sends you a telepathic message:
"This fella... well he ain't too smart, but I guess you can see that."
The figure in a hooded, mace-stitched grey linen cloak smiles politely over at the lithe,
tanned man.
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
Beckoning with one hand, you say to the lithe, tanned man, in sirihish:
"You've got quite a bit of spunk for a citizen. I think I can use people like that."
The lithe, tanned man moves closer to you.
Waving her off, you say to the broad, harsh-looking woman, in sirihish:
"He's quite right, Rosie. You should certainly stop taunting him."
You stop leading the broad, harsh-looking woman.
The svelte, bronzed man looks shocked.
The broad, harsh-looking woman nods to you.
Stepping lightly, you say to the lithe, tanned man, in sirihish:
"We'll head to the Lyksaen Estate. I'll get you outfitted properly."
------
Thrend takes the "potential partisan" to the Estate. The follow conversation occurs on the way there.
------
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the broad, harsh-looking woman with the Way.
Glancing back to the lithe, tanned man, you ask the lithe, tanned man, in sirihish:
"You don't already have employment with some other patron, do you, Omanet?"
The late, red sun descends toward the western horizon.
The red orb of Jihae, the red moon, begins to vanish as it slowly sets.
The pale face of the white moon, Lirathu, rises over the agafari trees.
You send this message to the staff:
"Just an FYI, Thrend is going to have Rosie beat the hell out of Omanet inside the
Lyksaen Estate, and then let him disappear quietly."
You send this message to the staff:
"I would have just gone for the "beat the hell out of Omanet" but he has insulted His
Chosen in front of many witnesses. That's a no-no."
Lowering his shoulders, the lithe, tanned man says to you, in sirihish:
"I hope I have not offended you Chosen Lord"
Tugging down his hood, you ask the lithe, tanned man, in sirihish:
"Offended me? How could you have offended me?"
You lower the hood of a hooded, mace-stitched grey linen cloak.
Pausing before the gates, you ask the lithe, tanned man, in sirihish:
"You do realize, however, that speaking such things in public--outright against His
Chosen and His City--are not to be done, yes?"
The lithe, tanned man glances around him.
Sheisett's Plaza [NEW]
Here, massive gates lead out of Tuluk's Noble's Quarter. The road has
been laid by a circular pattern of white alabaster and red jasper stones,
creating a massive work of art that portrays a blazing sun. The gates
themselves, lying at the north end of the circle, are made of a
crisscrossing pattern of polished agafari, both attractive and
extraordinarily sturdy. The pattern formed by the gates' wood ends at the
top by curved spires, blackened at their tops.
The lithe, tanned man has arrived from the north.
The burly, red-haired woman has arrived from the north.
Nodding as he speaks, the lithe, tanned man says to you, in sirihish:
"Aye Chosen Lord, I do understand"
Dipping his head agreeably, you ask the lithe, tanned man, in sirihish:
"Are you familiar with the Red Sun Commons?"
Lowering his head as he speaks, the lithe, tanned man says to you, in sirihish:
"I do admit that I have erred"
Nodding his head, the lithe, tanned man says, in sirihish:
"Aye, I am familiar with the commons"
You suffer from use of the Way.
Gesturing grandly towards the gates to the south, you ask the lithe, tanned man, in sirihish:
"And here we are, the Lyksaen Estate. Have you been here before, Omanet?"
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the broad, harsh-looking woman:
"Find my mind when you are near the gates, Rosie."
The lithe, tanned man looks up toward the gates in awe.
His face lighting up, the lithe, tanned man says, in sirihish:
"I have not Chosen Lord"
You suffer from use of the Way.
You think:
"Rosie will kill him, I'm fairly sure."
You think:
"A good way to prove herself, too."
Nodding once, you say to the lithe, tanned man, in sirihish:
"Well. I'll show you about the Courtyard."
The burly, mohawked man stops using his etched, red stone key.
The burly, mohawked man unlocks the gates with an etched, red stone key.
The burly, mohawked man opens the gates.
The burly, mohawked man steps aside, allowing you to pass.
The Courtyard of House Lyksae [NEW]
The overall impression of this courtyard is one of greyness, as that
color has been used in the stones forming the walls to the east, west, and
south. To the north is a gate of charred bone, offering a slightly
contrasting shade of grey, as well as the occasional glimpse of a more
colorful world beyond it. Even the landscaping, such as it is, is grey,
with stout short bushes at each of the courtyard's four corners. The focal
point in all this greyness is a statue at the center of the courtyard,
surrounded by a series of lightening circles of stones, the centermost being
black, and those at the edge being a pale dun.
To the west, a door leads into the manor house, inset with a panel of
bright crimson silk in the shape of a rising sun. To the east, through a
door painted with a mace, is a more humble building.
A sizable stone building has been built against the southern wall.
A muscular man, sculpted life-size from granite, stands here triumphantly.
The weathered, burly-armed man stands watch at the gates.
The lithe, tanned man has arrived from the north.
The burly, red-haired woman has arrived from the north.
The burly, mohawked man closes the gates from the other side.
You suffer from use of the Way.
The lithe, tanned man looks back as the large mohawked man closes the gates behind him.
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
The broad, harsh-looking woman sends you a telepathic message:
"I'm there now, Chosen Lord."
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
Clearing his throat, you ask the lithe, tanned man, in sirihish:
"Different regions of His City are governed by His Chosen--were you aware of that?"
You send a telepathic message to the broad, harsh-looking woman:
"I'll get you inside shortly."
You dissolve the psychic link.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You are unable to reach their mind.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You are unable to reach their mind.
Shrugging his shoulders, the lithe, tanned man says to you, in sirihish:
"I was aware of that but not exactly who is in charge of where"
Dipping his head, you say to the lithe, tanned man, in sirihish:
"I'm the Governor of the Red Sun Commons."
Nodding his head as he speaks, the lithe, tanned man says, in sirihish:
"I see now"
The last spire fades to darkness as Suk-Krath abandons the city to night.
Pursing his lips thoughtfully, you say to the lithe, tanned man, in sirihish:
"And you called His City no better than the South."
Wrinkling his brow, the lithe, tanned man says to you, in sirihish:
"Begging your pardon Chosen Lord, but I was actually saying that in context, relating to
my prior comment concerning the young lady in question"
You say to the lithe, tanned man, in sirihish:
"Well, I am a man with many solutions, for many problems. Hold here for just a moment,
good citizen."
You stop leading the lithe, tanned man.
The weathered, burly-armed man stops using his etched, red stone key.
The weathered, burly-armed man unlocks the gates with an etched, red stone key.
The weathered, burly-armed man opens the gates.
The weathered, burly-armed man steps aside, allowing you to pass.
Before the Gates of House Lyksae [ES]
Lengthy slabs of mekillot bone have been laced together with woven
ropes of kylori sinew to create an imposing and austere set of gates that
bar movement to the south. The tips of the bone slabs have been hewn to
sharpened protrusions and blackened with fire, creating a churning swirl of
sooty black that cascades down the length of the bleached bone.
The azure and amber of the granite paving stones form a broad circle
before the gates of the estate, twining around in ever-decreasing spirals.
Circling this courtyard are stands of loreshi shrubs that lend a darker and
more earthen contrast to the outer ring of the plaza.
Secured to the wall by a wooden frame is a fire-scorched copper wardrum.
The broad, harsh-looking woman stands here to the side.
The burly, mohawked man stands staunchly before the gate.
The burly, red-haired woman has arrived from the south.
The weathered, burly-armed man closes the gates from the other side.
The freckled, light-skinned man beckons to the broad, harsh-looking woman.
Simply, you say to the broad, harsh-looking woman, in sirihish:
"Keep your temper in check."
You think:
"...how to -do- this?"
The broad, harsh-looking woman falls in behind you.
The broad, harsh-looking woman nods to you.
The burly, mohawked man stops using his etched, red stone key.
The burly, mohawked man unlocks the gates with an etched, red stone key.
The burly, mohawked man opens the gates.
The burly, mohawked man steps aside, allowing you to pass.
The Courtyard of House Lyksae [NEW]
The overall impression of this courtyard is one of greyness, as that
color has been used in the stones forming the walls to the east, west, and
south. To the north is a gate of charred bone, offering a slightly
contrasting shade of grey, as well as the occasional glimpse of a more
colorful world beyond it. Even the landscaping, such as it is, is grey,
with stout short bushes at each of the courtyard's four corners. The focal
point in all this greyness is a statue at the center of the courtyard,
surrounded by a series of lightening circles of stones, the centermost being
black, and those at the edge being a pale dun.
To the west, a door leads into the manor house, inset with a panel of
bright crimson silk in the shape of a rising sun. To the east, through a
door painted with a mace, is a more humble building.
A sizable stone building has been built against the southern wall.
A muscular man, sculpted life-size from granite, stands here triumphantly.
The weathered, burly-armed man stands watch at the gates.
The lithe, tanned man is standing here.
The broad, harsh-looking woman has arrived from the north.
The burly, red-haired woman has arrived from the north.
The burly, mohawked man closes the gates from the other side.
Turning her attention towards him, the broad, harsh-looking woman looks down at the lithe,
tanned man.
The lithe, tanned man looks up at the broad, harsh-looking woman.
Pointing over to the broad, harsh-looking woman, you say to the lithe, tanned man, in
sirihish:
"This is Rosie. I believe you two have met."
The lithe, tanned man says, in sirihish:
"we have been acquainted a few times, yes"
The broad, harsh-looking woman's eyes narrow on the lithe, tanned man but she says nothing.
You ask the lithe, tanned man, in sirihish:
"You said things were not fair. Well, who determines what is fair?"
You stop leading the burly, red-haired woman.
The lithe, tanned man says to you, in sirihish:
"I guess it depends on who is in charge Chosen Lord"
Nodding in agreement with the lithe, tanned man, you ask the lithe, tanned man, in sirihish:
"And who, precisely, is in charge?"
You ask the lithe, tanned man, in sirihish:
"I think it fair for both of you to have your conflict and be done with it. Am I not a
fair Chosen Lord?"
Nodding as he speaks and looking around the courtyard, the lithe, tanned man says to you, in
sirihish:
"from where I stand Chosen Lord, that would be you"
You think:
"Patience, Thrend. Perhaps he can be useful somehow besides dying."
Dropping his arms, the lithe, tanned man says to you, in sirihish:
"She is free to have her conflict chosen Lord, I tire of her constant attacks, but I
will not fight her"
The broad, harsh-looking woman looks about to say something then closes her mouth firmly.
Quirking a shaped eyebrow at the lithe, tanned man, you say to the lithe, tanned man, in
sirihish:
"And why not? You have instigated the entire ordeal."
The night has begun.
You say to the lithe, tanned man, in sirihish:
"You wish to fight like a Southron--hurl blunt insults as though they are weapons, then
hide behind false claims when the seeds you have sown have grown into an unmanageable mess."
You say to the lithe, tanned man, in sirihish:
"Oh, His City is -very- fair, indeed, Omanet. And very different from the South--for,
had you been in the South, you would have been slain outright for slandering the very City you
live in."
The lithe, tanned man says to you, in sirihish:
"I will not dispute your words Chosen Lord, however I still stand behind the fact that
there are other factors at work that noone is willing to listen to"
The lithe, tanned man says to you, in sirihish:
"Let us have this be done with Chosen Lord, let us let herhave her way, I am man enough
to face consequences"
Dipping his head, you say to the lithe, tanned man, in sirihish:
"Indeed. I think that would be appropriate."
The lithe, tanned man says to the broad, harsh-looking woman, in sirihish:
"have your way woman, I won't fight you"
You say, in sirihish:
"Come with me, you will square off in the yard."
The broad, harsh-looking woman looks to the lithe, tanned man and shrugs.
Glancing distastefully to a life-sized granite statue of a muscular man, you say, in sirihish:
"I will not have blood spilled or violence done beneath this memorial."
An Orderly Mess Hall [EW]
Everything in this cooking and dining area has been arranged with
military precision, tall baobab cabinets standing at attention on either
side of the cooking ovens. Sturdy baobab benches are in precise formation
with their matching tables, which are in turn squared off on the northern
side of the room. But although there is not a single touch of disorder
about the place, it is not precisely clean, either, being tinged with smoke
from the cooking and curing of food.
A couple of sturdy baobab tables are here.
A sturdy baobab tun is full of clean drinking water.
The smoke-smudged, wide-eyed young woman stands before the stoves here.
The broad, harsh-looking woman has arrived from the west.
The broad, harsh-looking woman narrows her eyes at the lithe, tanned man.
Beckoning briefly, you say to the lithe, tanned man, in sirihish:
"Come laong."
The lithe, tanned man falls in behind you.
A Dimly Lit Barracks [NWD Quit Save]
This windowless room is relatively cool and dim, although a bit
stuffy. Earthy scents waft into it from the adjoining rooms: smoke and
victuals from the mess hall to the west, and dust and sweaty bodies through
the doorway to the north. Hammocks are strung from the rafters and support
beams, each slightly personalized by an article of clothing or some personal
effect. At the head of each hammock hangs a thick woven-grass net in which
additional belongings are stowed. In the southeast corner, beside a table,
a trapdoor leads down into the ground.
A thick rug of quirri hide is here laid out near the hammocks.
A plain chest of maroon baobab hardwood sits here.
An elongated, heavy trunk made of agafari lies here.
A simple wooden chest sits here on the floor.
The stern, iron-braided woman watches over the trapdoor.
The slim, porcelain-skinned maiden sits behind a needle-covered table.
The lithe, tanned man has arrived from the west.
The broad, harsh-looking woman has arrived from the west.
A Covered Training Yard [SU Save]
This spacious yard is walled in on all four sides, with a door leading
into the building to the south. Hard-packed reddish sand forms the ground
here, dusty and stained in spots with what might be blood. At the center of
the yard is a circle lined in granite tiles marking out the main sparring
area, but officers can be seen giving private instruction outside this area.
Overhead, a series of wooden catwalks provide a measure of shade while also
serving as a vantage point for the guards that patrol them.
A shadow falls over the area, driving off the uncomfortable heat.
An empty hefty wooden barrel sits here.
A dwarf sized chunk of raw salt is here.
A couple of simple wooden chests are here off in a far corner of the yard, away from the
sparring area.
An elongated, heavy trunk made of agafari lies here.
The lithe, tanned man has arrived from the south.
The broad, harsh-looking woman has arrived from the south.
In a heavy agafari trunk (here) :
a new hammer-carved wooden shield
a couple of short bone sparring swords
a short bone sparring spear
an used round tortoiseshell shield
a long wooden-bladed training halberd
a couple of wood-bladed training staves
several slim wooden training daggers
some wooden training longswords
a few slim wooden training clubs
a few slim wooden training axes
l in chest
In a simple wooden chest (here) :
an untanned rough, mangy hide
some long lengths of bone
You are carrying:
nothing.
The broad, harsh-looking woman looks from the lithe, tanned man to you.
Nodding towards an empty ring of sand, you say, in sirihish:
"Enjoy yourselves. It seems both of you have a lot to learn."
The freckled, light-skinned man stands stoically by a dwarf sized jagged boulder of salt.
Moving out further into the yard, the broad, harsh-looking woman asks the lithe, tanned man,
in sirihish:
"Why will my life be numbered in moments?"
The broad, harsh-looking woman stops using her open sleeveless robe.
You begin watching the broad, harsh-looking woman.
The lithe, tanned man moves out into the yard with a grin on his face.
Tossing it to the ground at the edge of the circle, the broad, harsh-looking woman drops her
open sleeveless robe.
You think:
"Hmm. She needs to learn to be more subtle."
You think:
"Definitely."
You think:
"But...she does have that violent spirit. And that is something we need."
Watching him with narrowed eyes as she stretches, the broad, harsh-looking woman asks the
lithe, tanned man, in sirihish:
"Only speaking in my mind?"
The lithe, tanned man whispers something to the broad, harsh-looking woman.
Pushing the lithe, tanned man away, the broad, harsh-looking woman says to the lithe, tanned
man, in sirihish:
"Speak louder."
The broad, harsh-looking woman balls up her fists, approaching the lithe, tanned man.
The lithe, tanned man drops his fists to his side.
With a heavy sigh, you say to the lithe, tanned man, in sirihish:
"The other difference in the South and His City that I'm afraid you're unfamiliar with is
that no one will ever find out what happened to you. Before you insulted -me-, you had a
chance."
The broad, harsh-looking woman swings just after you speaks.
The broad, harsh-looking woman attacks the lithe, tanned man.
The broad, harsh-looking woman hits the lithe, tanned man, barely grazing his body.
The broad, harsh-looking woman hits the lithe, tanned man, barely grazing his body.
The broad, harsh-looking woman swiftly dodges the lithe, tanned man's hits.
The lithe, tanned man swiftly dodges the broad, harsh-looking woman's hits.
The broad, harsh-looking woman stops attacking the lithe, tanned man.
The broad, harsh-looking woman swiftly dodges the lithe, tanned man's hits.
Dipping his head towards her, you say to the broad, harsh-looking woman, in sirihish:
"And you have a lot to learn, as well, partisan. You should not have stated your
intentions."
The lithe, tanned man drops an unlit large wooden torch.
The broad, harsh-looking woman swiftly dodges the lithe, tanned man's hits.
The broad, harsh-looking woman swiftly dodges the lithe, tanned man's hits.
The broad, harsh-looking woman swiftly dodges the lithe, tanned man's hits.
The broad, harsh-looking woman swiftly dodges the lithe, tanned man's hits.
The broad, harsh-looking woman looks towards you and nods, before swinging again at the lithe,
tanned man.
The broad, harsh-looking woman hits the lithe, tanned man, barely grazing his foot.
The broad, harsh-looking woman hits the lithe, tanned man, barely grazing his body.
The broad, harsh-looking woman hits the lithe, tanned man, barely grazing his leg.
The lithe, tanned man unslings a long-handled, flint lumber axe from his back.
The broad, harsh-looking woman hits the lithe, tanned man, barely grazing his body.
The lithe, tanned man's eyes roll back in his head.
A long-handled, flint lumber axe clatters to the ground as the lithe, tanned man releases it.
The lithe, tanned man crumples to the ground.
The broad, harsh-looking woman scowls, knocking out the lithe, tanned man as him unstraps a
long-handled, flint lumber axe.
As he inspects the lithe, tanned man, you say to the broad, harsh-looking woman, in sirihish:
"Not a bad form, for using no weapons."
Standing over top of you, the broad, harsh-looking woman says to you, in sirihish:
"Thank you, Chosen Lord."
The broad, harsh-looking woman says, out of character:
"oops"
Crossing his arms and staring at the broad, harsh-looking woman, you say to the broad, harsh-
looking woman, in sirihish:
"He is yours. Tell me what must be done to this one."
Looking down at the lithe, tanned man, the broad, harsh-looking woman says to you, in
sirihish:
"He told me that I should run to the south, he would have me killed."
The broad, harsh-looking woman looks down at the lithe, tanned man.
The broad, harsh-looking woman reaches down to pick up the lithe, tanned man by his hair.
Looking over, the broad, harsh-looking woman says to you, in sirihish:
"I think he's talking from his ass. But, who knows."
The broad, harsh-looking woman swings her fist at the lithe, tanned man again.
The broad, harsh-looking woman attacks the lithe, tanned man.
The broad, harsh-looking woman hits the lithe, tanned man on his head.
Dipping his head in agreement, you ask the broad, harsh-looking woman, in sirihish:
"We'll need to dispose of the body when you have killed him. You will need to learn to
think on your feet--so tell me, what happened to this man?"
The broad, harsh-looking woman takes the lithe, tanned man by the hair again, looking over at
you.
You ask the broad, harsh-looking woman, in sirihish:
"He ran off on the way to my Estate, and I did not see him again, did I?"
Balling her fist once more, the broad, harsh-looking woman says to you, in sirihish:
"I don't think anyone saw him again, Chosen Lord."
The broad, harsh-looking woman attacks the lithe, tanned man.
The broad, harsh-looking woman solidly hits the lithe, tanned man's head.
The broad, harsh-looking woman grins down at the lithe, tanned man before unstrapping her
stone-studded baobab flail.
The broad, harsh-looking woman draws a stone-studded baobab flail.
The broad, harsh-looking woman stops using her curved agafari shield.
The broad, harsh-looking woman brandishes her stone-studded baobab flail in both hands.
Raising her stone-studded baobab flail, the broad, harsh-looking woman says to you, in
sirihish:
"May want to step back, Chosen Lord."
You say to the broad, harsh-looking woman, in sirihish:
"A better option would have been to pretend that you were not angry with him, earlier."
her Stone-studded baobab flail raised, the broad, harsh-looking woman says to you, in
sirihish:
"I tried. I did."
The broad, harsh-looking woman attacks the lithe, tanned man.
The broad, harsh-looking woman brutally bludgeons the lithe, tanned man on his head.
The broad, harsh-looking woman raises her stone-studded baobab flail again, the left side of
his head caved in.
The broad, harsh-looking woman attacks the lithe, tanned man.
The broad, harsh-looking woman viciously bludgeons the lithe, tanned man on his head.
The freckled, light-skinned man watches impassively.
The giant crimson sun rises in the east.
Jihae, the red moon, rises up into the sky.
The broad, harsh-looking woman kicks at the lithe, tanned man with her feet, frowning.
The broad, harsh-looking woman says, in sirihish:
"Still breathing."
The broad, harsh-looking woman raises her stone-studded baobab flail high once more.
The broad, harsh-looking woman attacks the lithe, tanned man.
The broad, harsh-looking woman brutally bludgeons the lithe, tanned man on his head.
The broad, harsh-looking woman hits the lithe, tanned man a couple of times with her stone-
studded baobab flail.
The broad, harsh-looking woman attacks the lithe, tanned man.
The broad, harsh-looking woman bludgeons the lithe, tanned man's head, inflicting a grievous
wound.
The broad, harsh-looking woman attacks the lithe, tanned man.
The broad, harsh-looking woman bludgeons the lithe, tanned man's head, inflicting a grievous
wound.
The broad, harsh-looking woman finally steps away from the body of the lithe, tanned man.
Glancing to the body of the lithe, tanned man, then back to the broad, harsh-looking woman,
you say to the broad, harsh-looking woman, in sirihish:
"You have a bit to learn, I think...but good work."
You say, out of character:
"afk a moment"
Looking over after wiping some blood from her stone-studded baobab flail, the broad, harsh-
looking woman says to you, in
sirihish:
"I'll get rid of him. I'm willing to learn, Chosen Lord."
The broad, harsh-looking woman sheathes a stone-studded baobab flail.
The broad, harsh-looking woman moves away from the body of the lithe, tanned man to an open
sleeveless robe.
The broad, harsh-looking woman picks up an open sleeveless robe.
The broad, harsh-looking woman wears her open sleeveless robe about her body.
After putting her open sleeveless robe on, the broad, harsh-looking woman says to you, in
sirihish:
"I learned if I'm patient, I get what I want."
The broad, harsh-looking woman holds her curved agafari shield.
The broad, harsh-looking woman picks up a long-handled, flint lumber axe.
The broad, harsh-looking woman puts her long-handled, flint lumber axe into her rough canvas
backpack.
The broad, harsh-looking woman picks up an unlit large wooden torch.
The broad, harsh-looking woman puts her unlit large wooden torch into her rough canvas
backpack.
The broad, harsh-looking woman picks up the body of the lithe, tanned man.
The broad, harsh-looking woman swings her body of the lithe, tanned man over her shoulder,
grunting.
nod broad
You nod to her.
You say to the broad, harsh-looking woman, in sirihish:
"We need to get this moved somewhere. Let's see..."
You think:
"How to get rid of the body?"
You think:
"Could hack it into pieces..."
You think:
"...then shove him in a trunk. Maybe."
Gesturing with one hand, you say, in sirihish:
"We'll pack him on an inix, cover it with a rug."
A Dimly Lit Barracks [NWD Quit Save]
This windowless room is relatively cool and dim, although a bit
stuffy. Earthy scents waft into it from the adjoining rooms: smoke and
victuals from the mess hall to the west, and dust and sweaty bodies through
the doorway to the north. Hammocks are strung from the rafters and support
beams, each slightly personalized by an article of clothing or some personal
effect. At the head of each hammock hangs a thick woven-grass net in which
additional belongings are stowed. In the southeast corner, beside a table,
a trapdoor leads down into the ground.
A thick rug of quirri hide is here laid out near the hammocks.
A plain chest of maroon baobab hardwood sits here.
An elongated, heavy trunk made of agafari lies here.
A simple wooden chest sits here on the floor.
The athletic, olive-skinned man is standing here.
The stern, iron-braided woman watches over the trapdoor.
The slim, porcelain-skinned maiden sits behind a needle-covered table.
To the north: the broad, harsh-looking woman walks south.
The broad, harsh-looking woman has arrived from the north.
A Dimly Lit Barracks [NWD Quit Save]
This windowless room is relatively cool and dim, although a bit
stuffy. Earthy scents waft into it from the adjoining rooms: smoke and
victuals from the mess hall to the west, and dust and sweaty bodies through
the doorway to the north. Hammocks are strung from the rafters and support
beams, each slightly personalized by an article of clothing or some personal
effect. At the head of each hammock hangs a thick woven-grass net in which
additional belongings are stowed. In the southeast corner, beside a table,
a trapdoor leads down into the ground.
A thick rug of quirri hide is here laid out near the hammocks.
A plain chest of maroon baobab hardwood sits here.
An elongated, heavy trunk made of agafari lies here.
A simple wooden chest sits here on the floor.
The broad, harsh-looking woman is standing here.
- she is carrying the body of the lithe, tanned man.
The athletic, olive-skinned man is standing here.
The stern, iron-braided woman watches over the trapdoor.
The slim, porcelain-skinned maiden sits behind a needle-covered table.
An Orderly Mess Hall [EW]
Everything in this cooking and dining area has been arranged with
military precision, tall baobab cabinets standing at attention on either
side of the cooking ovens. Sturdy baobab benches are in precise formation
with their matching tables, which are in turn squared off on the northern
side of the room. But although there is not a single touch of disorder
about the place, it is not precisely clean, either, being tinged with smoke
from the cooking and curing of food.
A couple of sturdy baobab tables are here.
A sturdy baobab tun is full of clean drinking water.
The smoke-smudged, wide-eyed young woman stands before the stoves here.
To the east: the broad, harsh-looking woman walks west.
The broad, harsh-looking woman has arrived from the east.
The Courtyard of House Lyksae [NEW]
The overall impression of this courtyard is one of greyness, as that
color has been used in the stones forming the walls to the east, west, and
south. To the north is a gate of charred bone, offering a slightly
contrasting shade of grey, as well as the occasional glimpse of a more
colorful world beyond it. Even the landscaping, such as it is, is grey,
with stout short bushes at each of the courtyard's four corners. The focal
point in all this greyness is a statue at the center of the courtyard,
surrounded by a series of lightening circles of stones, the centermost being
black, and those at the edge being a pale dun.
To the west, a door leads into the manor house, inset with a panel of
bright crimson silk in the shape of a rising sun. To the east, through a
door painted with a mace, is a more humble building.
A sizable stone building has been built against the southern wall.
A muscular man, sculpted life-size from granite, stands here triumphantly.
The burly, red-haired woman stands at attention.
The weathered, burly-armed man stands watch at the gates.
To the east: the broad, harsh-looking woman walks west.
The broad, harsh-looking woman has arrived from the east.
You enter a sizable, gray stone building.
A Spacious Stable [Leave Save]
Rows of box stalls line the interior of this spacious, high-ceilinged
building, each one suitable for even the largest inix to reside in
comfortably. The creak of leather and the sounds of animals eating fills
the area. The flagstone paved ground underfoot is strewn with straw.
Slaves can be seen hurrying up and down the corridors of the stable, bearing
food, cleaning implements, and various bits of harness and leather.
A few large, wooden crates have been stacked in an empty stall.
A gargantuan lizard with glossy black scales stands here foraging for food.
A slender, striped cheotan lizard crouches here, nostrils flaring.
A huge, four-legged, reddish-shelled lizard is here, nosing about for forage.
A large yellow sunback lizard stands here.
A gargantuan lizard with glossy black scales stands here foraging for food.
The broad, harsh-looking woman has entered a sizable, gray stone building.
The broad, harsh-looking woman follows you, the arms of her body of the lithe, tanned man
hanging down.
The freckled, light-skinned man indicates a glossy, black-scaled inix with one gauntleted
hand.
The broad, harsh-looking woman straps her body of the lithe, tanned man to a glossy, black-
scaled inix's back.
The broad, harsh-looking woman wipes bloody hands on the inside of her open sleeveless robe.
A reddish-shelled inix puffs through its nostrils and bobs its head.
"A moment."
You are already standing.
Alas, you cannot go that way.
You stop leading the broad, harsh-looking woman.
leave
You step out to...
The Courtyard of House Lyksae [NEW]
The overall impression of this courtyard is one of greyness, as that
color has been used in the stones forming the walls to the east, west, and
south. To the north is a gate of charred bone, offering a slightly
contrasting shade of grey, as well as the occasional glimpse of a more
colorful world beyond it. Even the landscaping, such as it is, is grey,
with stout short bushes at each of the courtyard's four corners. The focal
point in all this greyness is a statue at the center of the courtyard,
surrounded by a series of lightening circles of stones, the centermost being
black, and those at the edge being a pale dun.
To the west, a door leads into the manor house, inset with a panel of
bright crimson silk in the shape of a rising sun. To the east, through a
door painted with a mace, is a more humble building.
A sizable stone building has been built against the southern wall.
A muscular man, sculpted life-size from granite, stands here triumphantly.
The burly, red-haired woman stands at attention.
The weathered, burly-armed man stands watch at the gates.
An Orderly Mess Hall [EW]
Everything in this cooking and dining area has been arranged with
military precision, tall baobab cabinets standing at attention on either
side of the cooking ovens. Sturdy baobab benches are in precise formation
with their matching tables, which are in turn squared off on the northern
side of the room. But although there is not a single touch of disorder
about the place, it is not precisely clean, either, being tinged with smoke
from the cooking and curing of food.
A couple of sturdy baobab tables are here.
A sturdy baobab tun is full of clean drinking water.
The athletic, olive-skinned man is standing here.
The smoke-smudged, wide-eyed young woman stands before the stoves here.
A Dimly Lit Barracks [NWD Quit Save]
This windowless room is relatively cool and dim, although a bit
stuffy. Earthy scents waft into it from the adjoining rooms: smoke and
victuals from the mess hall to the west, and dust and sweaty bodies through
the doorway to the north. Hammocks are strung from the rafters and support
beams, each slightly personalized by an article of clothing or some personal
effect. At the head of each hammock hangs a thick woven-grass net in which
additional belongings are stowed. In the southeast corner, beside a table,
a trapdoor leads down into the ground.
A thick rug of quirri hide is here laid out near the hammocks.
A plain chest of maroon baobab hardwood sits here.
An elongated, heavy trunk made of agafari lies here.
A simple wooden chest sits here on the floor.
The stern, iron-braided woman watches over the trapdoor.
The slim, porcelain-skinned maiden sits behind a needle-covered table.
You pick up a thick rug of quirri hide.
It is easily manageable.
An Orderly Mess Hall [EW]
Everything in this cooking and dining area has been arranged with
military precision, tall baobab cabinets standing at attention on either
side of the cooking ovens. Sturdy baobab benches are in precise formation
with their matching tables, which are in turn squared off on the northern
side of the room. But although there is not a single touch of disorder
about the place, it is not precisely clean, either, being tinged with smoke
from the cooking and curing of food.
A couple of sturdy baobab tables are here.
A sturdy baobab tun is full of clean drinking water.
The athletic, olive-skinned man is standing here.
The smoke-smudged, wide-eyed young woman stands before the stoves here.
The Courtyard of House Lyksae [NEW]
The overall impression of this courtyard is one of greyness, as that
color has been used in the stones forming the walls to the east, west, and
south. To the north is a gate of charred bone, offering a slightly
contrasting shade of grey, as well as the occasional glimpse of a more
colorful world beyond it. Even the landscaping, such as it is, is grey,
with stout short bushes at each of the courtyard's four corners. The focal
point in all this greyness is a statue at the center of the courtyard,
surrounded by a series of lightening circles of stones, the centermost being
black, and those at the edge being a pale dun.
To the west, a door leads into the manor house, inset with a panel of
bright crimson silk in the shape of a rising sun. To the east, through a
door painted with a mace, is a more humble building.
A sizable stone building has been built against the southern wall.
A muscular man, sculpted life-size from granite, stands here triumphantly.
The burly, red-haired woman stands at attention.
The weathered, burly-armed man stands watch at the gates.
You enter a sizable, gray stone building.
A Spacious Stable [Leave Save]
Rows of box stalls line the interior of this spacious, high-ceilinged
building, each one suitable for even the largest inix to reside in
comfortably. The creak of leather and the sounds of animals eating fills
the area. The flagstone paved ground underfoot is strewn with straw.
Slaves can be seen hurrying up and down the corridors of the stable, bearing
food, cleaning implements, and various bits of harness and leather.
A few large, wooden crates have been stacked in an empty stall.
The broad, harsh-looking woman is standing here.
A gargantuan lizard with glossy black scales stands here foraging for food.
- he is carrying the body of the lithe, tanned man.
A slender, striped cheotan lizard crouches here, nostrils flaring.
A huge, four-legged, reddish-shelled lizard is here, nosing about for forage.
A large yellow sunback lizard stands here.
A gargantuan lizard with glossy black scales stands here foraging for food.
Handing over the hastily rolled-up rug, you give your thick rug of quirri hide to the broad,
harsh-looking woman.
The broad, harsh-looking woman drapes her thick rug of quirri hide over the body on a glossy,
black-scaled inix.
You say to the broad, harsh-looking woman, in sirihish:
"Drape that over the body, and lead the inix on out of the gates out of His City. Dump
the body a few leagues away, and then return to the Sanctuary after you take the inix back
here."
You initiate the broad, harsh-looking woman into 'Servants of House Lyksae'.
The broad, harsh-looking woman arranges her thick rug of quirri hide over the body, tucking a
stray arm beneath.
Simply, you say to the broad, harsh-looking woman, in sirihish:
"Should be able to get in and out of the gates now with that inix."
The broad, harsh-looking woman nods to light.
The broad, harsh-looking woman nods to you.
The broad, harsh-looking woman begins leading a glossy, black-scaled inix.
Tugging on a glossy, black-scaled inix, the broad, harsh-looking woman says to you, in
sirihish:
"As you say, Chosen Lord. Thank you."
The broad, harsh-looking woman lowers her head to you, a happy grin on her face.
With another assessive glance over the broad, harsh-looking woman, the corners of his
features quirking upwards, you say to the broad, harsh-looking woman, in sirihish:
"We'll discuss this later. See me after you've taken the inix back. You are not to go
into the barracks."
You step out to...
The Courtyard of House Lyksae [NEW]
The overall impression of this courtyard is one of greyness, as that
color has been used in the stones forming the walls to the east, west, and
south. To the north is a gate of charred bone, offering a slightly
contrasting shade of grey, as well as the occasional glimpse of a more
colorful world beyond it. Even the landscaping, such as it is, is grey,
with stout short bushes at each of the courtyard's four corners. The focal
point in all this greyness is a statue at the center of the courtyard,
surrounded by a series of lightening circles of stones, the centermost being
black, and those at the edge being a pale dun.
To the west, a door leads into the manor house, inset with a panel of
bright crimson silk in the shape of a rising sun. To the east, through a
door painted with a mace, is a more humble building.
A sizable stone building has been built against the southern wall.
A muscular man, sculpted life-size from granite, stands here triumphantly.
The burly, red-haired woman stands at attention.
The weathered, burly-armed man stands watch at the gates.
You think:
"I think she'll work out."
You don't see that person here.
The broad, harsh-looking woman emerges from a sizable, gray stone building.
A glossy, black-scaled inix emerges from a sizable, gray stone building.
The burly, red-haired woman falls in behind you.
Thrend goes back to the Sanctuary.
You send this message to the staff:
"Rosie is taking the body outside of the city to dump a few leagues from the gates. She
has it stowed on an inix, and has RPed covering the body with a quirri rug she has."
You think:
"Well. That went well."
------
Thrend heads back to the Sanctuary.
------
The Sun King's Sanctuary [NESWUD]
A polished, white marble floor covers the ground of this expansive
room, gleaming under the light of a large glass chandelier that hangs
overhead. A semi-circular bar, made of hard-grained wood painted a deep
black, extends from the eastern wall, several high-backed barstools sitting
around it. The walls of this room are brightly decorated, with several
elaborate paintings placed carefully for unobstructed view, and shelves
holding many exotic potted plants, blooming with bright red and white
flowers. Two large stained-glass windows, decorated with elaborate sun
symbols, adorn the northwest and southeast corners of the room.
Several decoratively carved tables fill this room, while a polished
leather couch nearly ten cords in length sprawls along the northern wall. A
stately spiral staircase sits in the center of the room, winding upwards
toward the common rooms of the second floor. The sounds of laughter and
music can be heard from a doorway along the western wall, while the scents
of cooked meat waft in from the east. A small, straight stairway sits along
the northern wall, ending at a slightly raised loft and a large carven
baobab door sits in the southern wall, leading out onto the North Road
outside.
The Tuluk bulletin board is here propped up on a stand.
The short haired, heavy-set man stands here mug in-hand.
The tall, well-groomed man sits here on a plush couch.
The gaunt, black-haired man is here, leaning on the bar.
The plump, tawny-skinned woman sits on a stool, strumming on her mandolin.
The long-haired, middle-aged man stands behind the counter.
The burly, red-haired woman has arrived from the south.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the broad, harsh-looking woman with the Way.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the broad, harsh-looking woman:
"No trouble thus far?"
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
The broad, harsh-looking woman sends you a telepathic message:
"I'm almost at the Sanctuary, Chosen Lord. I left the rug in the stables."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You dissolve the psychic link.
The thin gangly woman has arrived from the south.
The thin gangly woman walks up.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the svelte, bronzed man with the Way.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the svelte, bronzed man:
"Have you seen that fellow I hired as a partisan?"
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
You suffer from use of the Way.
The svelte, bronzed man sends you a telepathic message:
"No, Chosen Lord. Not since you left with him."
You send a telepathic message to the svelte, bronzed man:
"Or was going to hire. He ran off."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the svelte, bronzed man:
"Ah. Well, if you see him anywhere, do let me know. Odd how people up and disappear
like that."
You dissolve the psychic link.
The svelte, bronzed man sends you a telepathic message:
"He was an unusual sort."
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
The svelte, bronzed man sends you a telepathic message:
"Will do, Chosen Lord."
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.-------
Thrend arrives at the Sanctuary after being informed about some disturbance. (think this was in a previous log but I didn't dig it up)
-------
The Sun King's Sanctuary [NESWUD]
A polished, white marble floor covers the ground of this expansive
room, gleaming under the light of a large glass...
Continue Reading...Creating and Playing a Complex Character by Zoltan
Added on Feb 14, 2010Some 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
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...Interrogation of a 'Rinth Rat by HaiWolfe
Added on Feb 14, 2010A half-breed 'Rinthi, newly inducted into the Guild, suddenly finds himself in over his head when picked out of a southside crowd for interrogation by a templar.
It is before dawn on Nekrete, the 214th day of the Ascending Sun,
In the Year of Lirathu's Slumber, year 11 of the 21st Age.
The Main Room of the Bard's Barrel [NSW]
A myriad of grinning skulls, each painted with bright colors laid
over the pallid bone, stare down from the broad wooden shelf that lines this
spacious room at eye level. Splashes of blue, green and red cover the clay
brick walls in an enthusiastic but inexpert abstract mural, some spatters of
the same paint dotted across the red tiled floor. The room is filled with
clamor: the clink and clatter of dishes and drinks, instruments being tuned,
scraps of song, and a general constant roar of conversation. A small wooden
stage sits along the northern wall, two ragged velvet curtains framing it,
looped back with blue-dyed ropes. A wide archway leads out onto the dusty
street, while a smaller one to the west provides a glimpse of a smaller,
quieter chamber.
A wall here is designated as a message board.
The trim, sorrel-haired man is sitting at a boxy wooden bar.
The one-eyed, white-haired half-elf is sitting at a boxy wooden bar.
The goateed, orange-eyed man is sitting at a wobbly baobab table.
The misshapen, lucent-eyed man is sitting at a wobbly baobab table.
The lithe, dark-haired man is sitting at a broad table of scarred agafari wood.
The small, dark-haired man sits at a table in the back, staring into his drink.
The bald, muscular woman slouches at a large table, drinking ale.
The huge, sun-bronzed man surveys the room casually from a table here.
The husky, weatherworn dwarf relaxes at a table here, clay mug in hand.
A tall, amber-eyed woman polishes glasses behind the boxy wooden bar.
A lean, spike-haired elf drums softly in the corner.
A lean, grey-eyed bard leans against the stage.
The trim, sorrel-haired man sits quietly at his stool, tugging on his beard with a
distracted expression.
Your new ldesc is:
The scrawny, half-breed teen with a badly swollen wrist leans here on a crutch.
The oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar has arrived from the north.
The sallow, top-knotted half-giant has arrived from the north.
The one-eyed, white-haired half-elf stands to his feet quickly.
The scrawny, half-breed teen turns to see the oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar with wide
eyes.
The one-eyed, white-haired half-elf bows deeply to the oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar,
his cloak dragging the ground.
The scrawny, half-breed teen bows before the oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar, barely
keeping his balance.
The oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar passes through the northern entrance, flanked by the
imposing figure of the sallow, top-knotted half-giant.
The trim, sorrel-haired man rises to his feet, and bows gracefully to the oddly-bent,
yellow-skinned templar, his eyes lowered before retaking his barstool after a moment's
pause.
The one-eyed, white-haired half-elf sits down at a boxy wooden bar.
The misshapen, lucent-eyed man glances up at the sounding sound of scraping bar stools
before spotting the oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar.
Ignoring the majority those bowing him, the oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar's gazes falls
in harsh interrogation of a few faces.
The oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar looks down at you.
The scrawny, half-breed teen shrinks back against a wall, keeping his gaze lowered.
Rising halfway out of his seat, the misshapen, lucent-eyed man bends respectfully at the
waist towards the oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar before reseating himself.
The oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar looks down at the lithe, dark-haired man.
The oddly-bent, yellow-skinned man sends you a telepathic message:
"Tell me of the Statue."
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
Seeing the oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar's attention upon him, the lithe, dark-haired man
quickly stands and bows before retaking his seat.
Passing through the parting crowds the oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar's eyes lock onto
you, his yellow-spotted lips curling lightly into odd smile.
The scrawny, half-breed teen nearly falls to his knees, but catches himself and presses
himself against the wall.
The misshapen, lucent-eyed man looks up at you.
You think:
"Kade must've told him!"
The oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar curls his finger a few times in your direction,
beckoning for you to follow.
The oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Come along...Ish."
Staring at the oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar's feet, you say, in sirihish:
"I-I... "
You now follow the oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar.
The trim, sorrel-haired man looks up at you.
The scrawny, half-breed teen reluctantly steps toward the oddly-bent, yellow-skinned
templar.
The lithe, dark-haired man sends you a telepathic message:
"Be respectful and don't piss off Rezaul."
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the lithe, dark-haired man with the Way.
The oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar glances once to the lithe, dark-haired man his eyes
lingering there for a few moments before making his way west.
The oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar walks west.
You follow the oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar, and walk west.
An Antechamber of the Bard's Barrel [EU]
The sallow, top-knotted half-giant has arrived from the east.
The oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar walks up.
You follow the oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar, and walk up.
A Wide, Spacious Room [ED]
The sallow, top-knotted half-giant has arrived from below.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the lithe, dark-haired man:
"He wants ta know about th' figurine!"
You dissolve the psychic link.
The oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar walks east.
You follow the oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar, and walk east.
A Wide, Spacious Room [EW]
The sallow, top-knotted half-giant has arrived from the west.
The oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar walks east.
You follow the oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar, and walk east.
A Wooden-Railed Balcony [W]
This wide balcony overlooks the street below, providing ample view of
the passersby, as well as a general vista of the sprawl of the Commoner's
Quarter. A railing of polished thuja wood surrounds it, carved with a
pattern of tumbling coins in bas-relief. Sounds of singing and raucous
revelry float up from somewhere below. An arched doorway to the west leads
back inside the building, covered with a curtain of bright red canvas. A
heavy stone bench is firmly affixed to the wall, while along the top of the
balcony, clay planters have been fastened, each one holding several small
plants spilling over with dusty green leaves and tiny, fragrant white
flowers.
The oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar is standing here.
The sallow, top-knotted half-giant has arrived from the west.
The oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar closes the curtain.
The oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Well then....explain."
The scrawny, half-breed teen swallows hard.
The oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar takes a few steps toward a heavy stone bench, and
slides onto it, watching you firmly.
The oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar sits down on a heavy stone bench.
Shaking his head, his voice light, the oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar asks you, in
southern-accented sirihish:
"You are aware of what I did to your friend Kade?"
The scrawny, half-breed teen shakes his head mutely.
With an idle shrug, the oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar asks you, in southern-accented
sirihish:
"Seen him about of late?"
Licking dry lips, you say to the oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar, in sirihish:
"I.. I nicked a figurine, a small one.. Kade helped. It was a test."
The oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"A test? Given by whom. "
Adding quickly, the oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar asks you, in southern-accented
sirihish:
"Don't blame Kade for ratting on you...You'd have done the same if I had you fingers
and tongue removed, hmmm?"
The scrawny, half-breed teen twitches his head.
The oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"So, a test...a figurine. Continue."
You say to the oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar, in sirihish:
"A gang, westside... in the 'rinth. Called th' Third Eyes... they offer protection..."
You say, in sirihish:
"Fer a price."
The oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Ah? And how did you meet Kade?"
You think:
"(is terrified, but a small part of him is frantically hoping that this is another test
arranged between Vel and the templar)"
The lithe, dark-haired man sends you a telepathic message:
"Tell him what you will. The black figurine wouldn't be something for you to die over."
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
You say to the oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar, in sirihish:
"I-in th' Gaj, Lord Templar."
Out on the plaza, the lithe, dark-haired man has arrived from the south.
Out on the plaza, the lithe, dark-haired man walks north.
Shaking his head and gesturing to the sallow, top-knotted half-giant, the oddly-bent,
yellow-skinned templar asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Do you know how I found out about you?"
You say to the oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar, in sirihish:
"Kade..."
The oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Yes of course. For every lie, Kade told me...Mgran pulled off one of his pinkies.
Perhaps you require the same coaxing?"
The oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"You work for Vel."
You exclaim to the oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar, in sirihish:
"N-no, I ain't lyin'! I know what 'appens ta rats git caught an' don't tell th' truth!"
Glancing to the sallow, top-knotted half-giant, the oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar asks
you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"How were you injured?"
You say to the oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar, in sirihish:
"I was jumped inna alley, eastside."
The oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"By whom?"
You think:
"I told Kade! I told Kade Vel's name!"
Shaking his head jerkily, you say to the oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar, in sirihish:
"I dun' know... some hooded skinnies.."
You think:
"Ish ya dumbshit yer dead, dead!"
Shaking his head lightly, the oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar says to you, in southern-
accented sirihish:
"You know something you're not telling me half-breed."
Without much interest, the oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar says to the sallow, top-
knotted half-giant, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Tear off his arms or something..."
The scrawny, half-breed teen stands rooted to the spot, stone-still in fear.
The sallow, top-knotted half-giant glances to the oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar with
surprise for a moment and then with a shrug lumbers toward you.
The scrawny, half-breed teen works his lips silently as he stares at the floor.
The sallow, top-knotted half-giant reaches out at you with a large meaty hand.
The oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar gives the sallow, top-knotted half-giant an order.
The sallow, top-knotted half-giant subdues you, despite your attempts to struggle away.
Kicking and flailing, you exclaim, in sirihish:
"Eyaaargh!"
Frantically, you exclaim to the oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar, in sirihish:
"I'll tell ya.. I! Whaddya wanna know!"
The oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Who was the figurine stolen from and why."
The oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Who ordered it."
The red moon, Jihae, rises over the streets of Allanak.
The oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar sighs shaking his head with annoyance.
You exclaim to the oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar, in sirihish:
"D-dice! Fella named Dice!"
The oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Dice? Tell me about Dice."
With a sigh, the oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar says to the sallow, top-knotted half-
giant, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Should he utter a word about not knowing something, just pull it off and toss it over
the ledge."
The sallow, top-knotted half-giant nods once affirmatively to the oddly-bent, yellow-skinned
templar, your arm head tightly in his closed fist.
The words spilling from his mouth, you say to the oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar, in
sirihish:
"He's got th' tattoos, he an' Siltwind, they th' leaders of th' gang."
You think:
"I shoulda used th' mul! Too late too late!"
The oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Gang?"
You say to the oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar, in sirihish:
"They, they.. call'emselves th' Third Eyes cause they put a tattoo of a eye on their
forehead. Yeh, gang. Every'un in the 'rinth's talkin' bout'em, they're real strong."
The oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Oh? And the black fist?"
You say to the oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar, in sirihish:
"Tha's another gang, I thought Kade knew some'un who was innit."
The oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Vel. Where does he fit. I know you're lying about this Dice fellow..."
The oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar says to the sallow, top-knotted half-giant, in
southern-accented sirihish:
"Twist...."
You exclaim to the oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar, in sirihish:
"I can 'xplain!"
The oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"I know. Thats why we're here."
The oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar stands forcefully, his peaceful, placid demeanor
bursting into a fiery anger.
The oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar pushes off of a heavy stone bench and rises to his
feet.
In a smooth motion, the oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar slides a topaz-pommeled ivory
dagger out of a leather and chitin strap-sheath.
The oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar brandishes a topaz-pommeled ivory dagger.
The oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar marches toward where the sallow, top-knotted half-
giant holds you.
You exclaim to the oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar, in sirihish:
"I ain't lyin'! I seen Vel aroun' in the 'rinth a few times, he always kickin' me
round. 'alf-breed do this, clean that up, ya worthless!"
The scrawny, half-breed teen grows panicked as he squirms in the sallow, top-knotted half-
giant's grip.
His voice a harsh rasp, his eyes fills with hatred, placing the tip of his topaz-pommeled
ivory dagger under your left eye, the oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar whispers to you in
sirihish:
"Listen to me you filthy lying half-breed....Do you think I want to be in your presence
any longer? Tell me *everything*."
You exclaim to the oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar, in sirihish:
"So I needed Kade ta help me do th' job... th' nickin'! An' Kade was askin' all these
questions 'fore he would do it! But Dice tol' me ta not spill his name, so I tol' Kade Vel's
name instead!"
The oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar straightens for a moment as if shocked, he seems to
lose his concentration and takes a step away from the sallow, top-knotted half-giant.
A ragged sob tears itself from the scrawny, half-breed teen's throat as he slumps forward.
Hunched for a moment, the oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar's eyes widen as he glances
downward at his hands in awe.
The oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar straightens, still not looking at you or the sallow,
top-knotted half-giant, he turns his eyes raging with some mad pleasure.
As he approaches you again, his eyes awash with determination and he snatches your face, the
oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar says to you in southern-accented sirihish:
"I am His Will."
The scrawny, half-breed boy twitches involuntarily.
The oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar asks you in southern-accented sirihish:
"What does Dice look like?"
Screwing his eyes shut, you say to the oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar in sirihish:
"He's a-a... a big fella, tall, strong."
Voice calm and even as the tip of his topaz-pommeled ivory dagger is placed again under
your eye, the oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar says to you in southern-accented sirihish:
"More..."
You say to the oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar in sirihish:
"Got dice tattooed on'is hands, an' the eye on'is forehead."
The oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar says to you in southern-accented sirihish:
"What is it worth to you? For me to not tell Vel, or your arrangement with Dice?"
The oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar says to you in southern-accented sirihish:
"What have you to trade besides this eye?"
You exclaim to the oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar, in sirihish:
"I-I.. they'll kill me!"
The oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Of course they will."
The oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"I'm the only one who can keep you alive now....treat me well...."
You say to the oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar, in sirihish:
"I got less'an fifty sid.. jus' what I'm wearin'."
Presses the top of his topaz-pommeled ivory dagger just a touch into the flesh under your
eye, the oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Do you think I require funding?"
The oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"What can you offer me aside from this eye?"
Sweat rolling down his face, you exclaim to the oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar, in
sirihish:
"Whaddya want!"
A final glimmer of light marks the white moon Lirathu's slow descent.
Simply, the oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Information. "
You exclaim to the oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar, in sirihish:
"I ken get ya information!"
The oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar twists the tip of his topaz-pommeled ivory dagger
lightly digging a small nich in your skin.
The oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"No....now."
The oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar lifts his chin to the sallow, top-knotted half-giant.
The sallow, top-knotted half-giant begins pulling forcefully at your arm.
Stifling a scream, you exclaim to the oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar, in sirihish:
"Eyaa--- ask me a question!"
The oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Armless, eyeless....a pitiful way to live."
Laughing, the oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Was that an order? Simply talk...."
The oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Just talk, talk, talk."
His face soaked with sweat and tears, you say to the oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar, in
sirihish:
"Dice an' Siltwind, they been 'round the 'rinth a few months now, they started off
small..."
Looking bored the oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar removes his topaz-pommeled ivory dagger
slipping it back into his burned leather and chitin strap-sheath.
You say to the oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar, in sirihish:
"But they gitted a reputation th' way they din't take no shat from skinnies."
You say to the oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar, in sirihish:
"Whole eastside hates'em but they don't care 'cause they got th' west on their side."
Lifting his chin, the oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar says to the sallow, top-knotted
half-giant, in southern-accented sirihish:
"This is pointless....Let him go. I'm bored of Rinth politics,"
The oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar gives the sallow, top-knotted half-giant an order.
The sallow, top-knotted half-giant releases you, and you immediately move away.
The scrawny, half-breed teen falls to the ground in a heap.
With a sigh gesturing to you idly, the oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar says to you, in
southern-accented sirihish:
"Your arm and eye are now owned by me. You've three months to bring me two pieces of
information that will purchase them back. I'll see you soon."
The scrawny, half-breed teen quickly scrambles up using your worn wooden crutch and nearly
falls again as he bows deeply to the oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar, then shuffles
toward the curtain.
You say to the oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar, in sirihish:
"Yes Lord Templar, I do everythin' ya say, thank ya Lord Templar."
The oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar wets his yellow spotted lips turning to look out over
the balcony.
The oddly-bent, yellow-skinned templar says, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Off with you..."
The scrawny, half-breed teen backs through the curtain, bent at the waist.It is before dawn on Nekrete, the 214th day of the Ascending Sun,
In the Year of Lirathu's Slumber, year 11 of the 21st Age.
The Main Room of the Bard's Barrel [NSW]
A myriad of grinning skulls, each painted with bright colors laid
over the pallid bone, stare down from the broad wooden shelf that...
Continue Reading...Behind Thrend Lyksae by Tarx
Added on Dec 29, 2009Biographies of Thrend Lyksae, edited to remove some IC information that probably should not be shared. Hopefully this will give some insight into a noble role.
Initial Background
It was late morning on Cingel, the 70th day of the Descending Sun
In the Year of Drov's Agitation, year 35 of the 21st AgeThrend has been raised up in the war-like House of Lyksae, trained in
warfare and in commanding soldiers for the majority of his life. A shrewd
man, he is more intent on finding long-term solutions to problems rather
than short-term, temporary fixes. He prides himself on his ability to think
through situations and use his mind, even though he is (what he considers,
at least) an ample combatant. This, coupled with the Lyksaen dislike of
writing, has led him to pick up what languages and cultural knowledge that
he could--knowing the mindset of possible opponents (and allies) would be
invaluable, in his opinion. A self-proclaimed strategist, he is entirely
open to unconventional means of fixing problems--whether they be in battle,
in treaties, or in everyday life. He does have a quirk of personality: he
is always conscious about fashion and keeping himself looking proper, clean,
and unruffled, almost to the point of being effeminate. In fact, some of
his flamboyant gestures have, in the past, put people entirely too
comfortable with a person that has no compunctions with sliding a blade
between ribs himself.Diplomacy and Tact
It was late morning on Huegel, the 30th day of the Ascending Sun
In the Year of Ruk's Peace, year 37 of the 21st AgeAfter more than three years serving as one of the primary representatives of
House Lyksae, Thrend has accomplished a great deal. He is the current governor
of the Southwestern Scrub and the Red Sun Commons. He has orchestrated the start
of several peace / alliance talks with different tribes of the Northlands.
Thrend is now on good terms with the Jul Tavan, the Benjari, and the Tan Muark.
Part of this is due to his skill at understanding differing cultures and their
languages, as well as how they perceive threats. His chief problem now
is the threat of the (information removed by author).
Thrend has also managed to deploy a Horde of Lyksaen Warriors to
operate out of Ayun Iskandir. Soon, he will begin using these forces as leverage
to put pressure on the regions thereabouts (Tan Muark homelands, Elan Pah, etc).
He is working fervently to increasing the influence of his House and himself
both within and outside the walls of the Ivory City.
(next entry will show details)Influence and Intimidation
It was late afternoon on Huegel, the 30th day of the Ascending Sun
In the Year of Ruk's Peace, year 37 of the 21st AgeThrend has begun to amass support amongst the commoner populace of the Northlands,
portraying himself as a noble figure in one sense, but as a charismatic commander
as well. He takes great care to be calm and cool about any decisions made publicly,
and keeps up with his training of personal combat, tactics, and reviews of strategy.
By doing all of this, he hopes to create a strong support base of commoners outside
of House Lyksae. Some will hopefully respect and listen to him out of his considerable
diplomatic and economic influence (alliances, treaties, influence he -can- hold over
Merchant Houses by taxing any goods sent out of the Commons or Scrub).
The rest? They should respect and listen to him because he tries to be intimidating.
(Whether or not they do remains up to them, of course.)Stance on Magick?
It was dusk on Huegel, the 30th day of the Ascending Sun
In the Year of Ruk's Peace, year 37 of the 21st AgeHouse Lyksae has a strong stance against magick--in fact, rumored to be one
of the most anti-magick groups in Zalanthas. As such, Thrend has lived most
of his life in a very black-and-white world in which all magick should be
destroyed, whatever the cost, as soon as possible. However, Thrend's work
with the Faithful and continued reports from the field have led him to begin
compiling at least a working understanding of how abominations "work." He
still hates the thought of even dealing with 'gickers, but he has lately taken
a slightly different viewpoint. Magickers will be killed and destroyed--on
his own terms, at a time and place of his choosing...not when they are ready
for such an attack. Needless waste of life, he has determined...
Interestingly enough, (information removed by the author). This naivete to
how the world really is may end up causing him problems one day.Ritual of Fire
It was high sun on Nekrete, the 126th day of the Ascending Sun
In the Year of Ruk's Peace, year 37 of the 21st AgeThrend has only given scant thought to any forced confrontation against
the (information removed by author) and anything they can summon. While this
may be surprising, he has been far too busy trying to gather forces
and strategy to consider the event in question itself. Only recently
has he paused to consider the War that the Sun King has foreseen.
What will his House do? Undoubtedly, against a foe like (removed) they will be called upon to participate in some
dangerous and costly missions, resulting in many dead Warriors,
and likely his own death. To prepare himself for this, he has
decided to participate in a fire ritual to prove his loyalty and his
dedication to leading forces against the force of (removed).Foe, or...foe?
It was late morning on Cingel, the 158th day of the Ascending Sun
In the Year of Ruk's Peace, year 37 of the 21st AgeThrend took it upon himself to visit the Elan Pah and discuss terms of
dealing with (removed) with them. Unaware that he would be
facing so many magickers so blatantly, it took an excessive amount of
self-control for Thrend to sit through the meeting, and frequently he
bit his tongue before saying anything potentially dangerous.
While the trip was not entirely without gain, Thrend admitted himself
that he did not think of the risks involved. Had he been killed, it
would have severely set back any agreements or treaties with the
Elan Pah. By committing himself to a dangerous trip, though, he
learned several things:
While the Templarate frequently worked with Thrend and expected
him to tell them everything he heard about, they did NOT
reciprocate this information. Much of what Thrend set out to
discuss was already determined among the Templarate. Having
previously viewed Serilla and Elithan as friends, Thrend is a
bit more cautious around the two of them, for they were very much
against the trip and adamant about his importance.
He does feel that the trip made a difference if only that in
recent memory, none of His Chosen or His Faithful have been
to visit the Pah directly.
The question: will Lyksae accept the Pah's proposal for a
more direct alliance? Likely not. Thrend hates the thought of
being allied with a magicker, especially after seeing what they
do in person. Their talk of peace and love and compassion
grates so much against Thrend that he is willing to go along
with it as a complete deception and launch an attack at the
most opportune moment.(title removed by author)
It was late morning on Dzeda, the 174th day of the Ascending Sun
In the Year of Ruk's Peace, year 37 of the 21st AgeWars have not been fought or lost over weapons, as far as Thrend knows,
but they sure do help. The (removed by author) has been missing for many years.
A fine weapon in its own right, Thrend has recently developed an obsession
with finding it and restoring it to the House (and hopefully his own hand,
fitting his ideals of attempting to become the -next- (removed by author)).
With the silver from the medallion of Tektolnes that he currently "owns,"
Thrend believes he has a good bargaining chip for finding (removed by author).
He's mentioned his interest in finding the original, and knows its last
location was (removed by author)...New Priorities
It was late afternoon on Dzeda, the 141st day of the Low Sun
In the Year of Whira's Vengeance, year 38 of the 21st AgeAfter some time spent figuring out his plans, Thrend is once again
pushing for agents working outside of His City, people that can be at least
marginally trusted to bring in useful information. It appears that the Lady
Tor wishes to meet up with him down in Luir's... While the offer looks
legitimate, Thrend is wary of making the journey.Affirmation: The Pah Alliance
It was high sun on Abid, the 91st day of the Ascending Sun
In the Year of Whira's Vengeance, year 38 of the 21st AgeThe Elan Pah proposed their alliance some time ago. Thrend has
grudgingly accepted on behalf of the House. He has sent Utakr Ehrick of the
Lyksaean Warriors to secure this alliance with Kija. His conditions will be
to only work directly with the non-magicker scouts, and just trade
information otherwise. This alliance will be in effect only until whatever
confrontation with the Dragon is met. Beyond that point? Thrend has darker
interests in mind... The Elan Pah court alliance with magick and magickers.
They must all be destroyed.A Magicker killed
It was high sun on Abid, the 91st day of the Ascending Sun
In the Year of Whira's Vengeance, year 38 of the 21st Age(removed) was her name. An innocent face, a loyal facade put forth to
sway me, to make me see past the obvious taint she had.
She was, of course, tainted by abominable magicks.
We deceived her, to be sure--but I have learned that the best way to
destroy those that use such dangerous arts is to choose the time and place
of destruction appropriately. They have weaknesses. Utakr Ehrick is
determining what those are even now, among them. A truly detestable job...
I will be surprised if he is not promoted for simply maintaining such
composure and self-control among such adverse conditions.
We beat her head in after confronting her in the Estate. Our Kaffter
Kahs were stained by her blood.
The Sun King is once again victorious.The Alliance for the Grey HuntIt was early morning on Abid, the 25th day of the Low Sun
In the Year of Dragon's Slumber, year 39 of the 21st AgeI never expected him to REALLY win the Grey Hunt, but he had the best
chance. Rokov-da Kurac, we knew, was a favored choice... So we sponsored
him, quietly. Lyksae put their full political backing behind this candidate
for the Hunt. I met with him and he agreed to the alliance in exchange for
predetermined spice discounts along a broad range for House Lyksae. In
return, we offered any help that we could that would not cause harm to our
interests. I met personally with His Faithful and others of His Chosen and
mentioned how favorably I found this person to be. I only told His Faithful
of the official stance of Lyksae, which was "unofficial" and not publicly
known.Defensive agreement with the Tan Muark
It was early morning on Abid, the 25th day of the Low Sun
In the Year of Dragon's Slumber, year 39 of the 21st AgeI heard from Utakr Ehrick that Zharal, one of the Tan Muark, had greatly
impressed him--and he had greatly impressed her, I later found out. It was
unexpected. We rarely let on the tribal nature of the House, and for her to
discover it may have been a boon. I am beginning to reconsider my stance on
the tribes... Maybe I should have approached them from the beginning to
appeal to their tribal nature and show them our roots, if only a scant
amount of them. The Pah are a hopeless cause, but the Muark are
interesting. Ehrick thought it wise to broker a tentative agreement of
defense between himself and any Warriors, slaves, or partisans he took on
patrol and the Muark that may be out on patrol. I find it equally wise, and
I will push to make it more widespread and include all within my
Sept--perhaps all within the House, if the elders so choose. If we run into
trouble, we can call them for assistance. If they run into trouble, they
can call us for assistance. I hardly expect them to do so, and I hardly
expect any of the Warriors to readily ask for assistance, but the appearance
of such an agreement is what matters.His Glory Shines on Us
It was late morning on Abid, the 25th day of the Low Sun
In the Year of Dragon's Slumber, year 39 of the 21st AgeThe Sun King filled my thoughts with love, devotion to me, and
determination. I knew before that He cared for His people, but now... I
have laid eyes on Him myself. I know it to be true beyond faith. This
truly is a momentous time for the House, for He Chose Rokov-da and Zharal
Himself, before all. He spoke of His prophecy, and I took it to heart: I
must gather the tribes. I must gather them... And if they are unwilling, I
will have to persuade them of the best course of action. It seems as though
every person will matter. If it comes down to it, we will have to push
aside those that stand in the way of His Will.Lyksae's Victory: The Grey Hunt
It was late morning on Abid, the 25th day of the Low Sun
In the Year of Dragon's Slumber, year 39 of the 21st AgeThe largest victory that our House has had, and few will ever know.
We supported Rokov-da. We had an agreement with Zharal beforehand,
though not for the Hunt. I even personally endorsed Thiza al'Seik, who
trusts me enough to die for me. Her trust and devotion is similar to that
of the Warriors, though she is unblooded. I plan to make her a citizen, and
officially, a Warrior in training. I trust her more than the others...
The point? We hedged our bets, and all of them turned out well. Rokov
was Chosen by HIM, and it cannot be mistaken that He knew that Chosen Lord
Rokov would choose Zharal as his consort, which I did not expect.
I think that our King must have known the work I put into this. He has
seen that we made the right choice, to support those that He would Choose.
I met with the Chosen Lord and Lady only last week. They were in
agreement: Lyksae is going to be a great ally to them. Perhaps I will bring
it before the elders to marry them into the House at a later time. For now,
it is good that they enjoy their newfound status. Any that He Chose Himself
are good people. I told them so, and have pledged my Sept to protecting
them.And thus begins my mistake: Uaptal
It was early afternoon on Yochem, the 205th day of the Descending Sun
In the Year of Vivadu's Defiance, year 40 of the 21st AgeSoon after He showed His face... She showed hers. I fell for it.
Uaptal women. Let it never be said that they are not beautiful, nor let it
be said that they are not crafty. Shara Uaptal certainly wasn't the first
of His Chosen that I've been enamored with, but she certainly was the most
recent.
A brief fling it was, and she was interested in a relationship with no
political ties. I won't deny that the prospect was interesting, and I even
went along with such a notion with this in mind. She was nice enough, and I
could stand to be around her.The alliance plan
It was late afternoon on Yochem, the 205th day of the Descending Sun
In the Year of Vivadu's Defiance, year 40 of the 21st AgeOnly a brief month after things began to escalate between the Chosen
Lady and I, the ruthless line from the point where I was to the point that I
wished to be became clear.
I saw it now. The North and South had allied, and I couldn't be less
annoyed by it. He had called for it, to be sure, but I never expected that
it would ever occur. It is inevitable that ambassadors would be sent. I
thought to hedge every possible bet. Oh, my plan was exquisite and lacked
any flaws!
A permanent marriage between her and I. She would join with Lyksae, and
bring her territories with her. It would increase our prestige in exchange
for whatever it was that Uaptal would wish for children. The crux of the
power play came with this: if one or the other of us were to be sent to the
South as an ambassador, the other could manage the qynar and striasiri, and
keep things going in the North.The unknown variable: stupidity
It was dusk on Yochem, the 205th day of the Descending Sun
In the Year of Vivadu's Defiance, year 40 of the 21st AgeThe only variable I had no control over was the woman herself, and an
unexpected, unforeseen development: she was a complete idiot.
She lacked any political savvy. Her intentions were greedy, and her
ideals were such that would damage the Ivory's relations with everyone. The
first mistake she made was not even acknowledging my political experience.
Rather than listening, she forged on stubbornly, deciding on licensing any
hunting within the grasslands in order to "prevent overhunting." A stupid
move: she has no force to patrol the grasslands. However, I thought to
move forward and press the issue--after all, I have Warriors under my
command that could easily enforce these regulations.
Her second mistake? Preventing the Warriors from patrolling the
grasslands by Qynar law. Oh, it was more complicated than that, but at this
point, my desire to enter in a marriage contract had faded and had been
replaced by a desire to rid myself of her...The Final Mistake
It was late at night on Yochem, the 205th day of the Descending Sun
In the Year of Vivadu's Defiance, year 40 of the 21st AgeShe no longer wanted to go through with the marriage contract.
Besides acting like a bitch in general, she had turned into some greedy,
selfish creature that was only interested in her own wants and needs and how
she looked to the rest of the world.
Unfortunately, how she looks to the rest of the world is not how she
thinks she looks. She is a complete fool politically. I forced her to make
the decision. She chose to make Qynar law that borders on illegality with
the Qynar Authority, and then I instructed my own Warriors and partisans to
be aware of the law, but ignore it in seriousness. She has no one to
enforce even a law that prevents the Warriors from patrolling the
grasslands.
My answer to this will have to be political sabotage and subterfuge,
something the Chosen Lady has little skill in. She believes that she can
disagree with me and still be a "friend," and have a relationship.
This was the mistake that broke me. My interests are to protect His
City, to protect the striasiri as I have always done, and to make sure that
we are working against (removed). She is impeding this.
If His Chosen can be so naive, then they must be tested by fire. Only
the loyal will withstand His Burning Light.Surrounded by fools
It was late at night on Yochem, the 205th day of the Descending Sun
In the Year of Vivadu's Defiance, year 40 of the 21st AgeI'm surrounded by fools. Shara Uaptal is more concerned with learning
about animals than about defending His City. Analyse passed out from using
the Way whilst IN Allanak. Leisara put the entire delegation in jeopardy.
Cammul Kassigarh is insane, and a borderline heretic. Aylishia Tor tries to
order me around, as though I were a pet kurtok. Mallor Tor pretends to know
things I've known for months.
What is the answer? Why has the Sun King put me through such a trial? I
am weary of the stupidity of others. I take heart in spending time among
His Faithful, for they know the Sun King's true will, and they have not
failed.Chosen Lady Shara's Death
It was high sun on Dzeda, the 174th day of the Low Sun
In the Year of King's Reverence, year 41 of the 21st AgeI wasn't surprised. It removed the thorn from my side. The Sun King
watches over me, and protects me--and has poured out His wrath on those that
would come against me, either openly or covertly. May His Radiance shine
down on those that serve Him, and burn up those that are heretics.Leisara: The Chosen Consort
It was early afternoon on Dzeda, the 174th day of the Low Sun
In the Year of King's Reverence, year 41 of the 21st AgeThe gypsy Chosen. Adept, yet unskilled in the subtleties of His City.
I wondered about this one originally. I threw my support behind Rokov-da,
and also behind Thiza al'Seik. Rokov won, but sickness has taken him. He
is a weak man, physically. His ties to Kurac have strengthened my ties with
Kurac, but he is scarcely able to leave his bed and Estate.
The problem with her is her ambition. She is not controllable, not docile.
In many ways, her stubbornness reflects what I saw in Shara--only in a more
reasonable light. She seems to enjoy company with me, as we share many
things in common...yet I know the truth of her ways. I trust her. I trust
her to be herself, and her nature is one that looks out for her and her own
folk. She is still Muark at heart.
I've put on airs that I am disconcerted by her, and possibly interested.
This was only helped by one drunken evening spent talking about things. If
she thinks I am easily swayed by feminine wiles, she will be caught
off-guard when it does not succeed. She is pleasant enough, I suppose, and
something of a Chosen, but still a commoner in many ways. Until she refines
herself, I can't see myself pursuing anything other than business relations
with the woman.
She's damn infuriating. Luirsfest: Relations with the South
It was late afternoon on Dzeda, the 174th day of the Low Sun
In the Year of King's Reverence, year 41 of the 21st AgeI hate Southerners.
I really do. They're uncouth, dull-witted, and the majority of them do not
command any respect from me. The only one I've seen of any sort of decency
has been the Great Lord Samos Rennik, and him only because of the influence
that he wields so well. I respect him, at least.
Unfortunately, he did not come to the Festival. The only people to show
from the South's "highblood" ranks were Mallor Tor, Aylishia Tor, and
Sedarin Oash.
Aylishia Tor I rendered a fool within moments of meeting her
face-to-face. She kept harping on about the "alliance." There is no such
thing. I made it painfully clear to her.
Sedarin Oash was, simply put, far outmatched. He should have stayed in
Allanak until he was old enough to speak more eloquently and with more
intelligence.
Mallor Tor...I thought him to be repugnant. I nearly challenged him to a
fight within the Kuraci Fighting pits, which would have been magnificent.
However, Faithful Lady Serilla interfered, as she always does... Luirsfest: Relations with the North
It was late afternoon on Dzeda, the 174th day of the Low Sun
In the Year of King's Reverence, year 41 of the 21st AgeI am beginning to despise the Lirathan Templarate. Specifically, the
Faithful Lady Serilla Uaptal. She has meddled in my affairs before, and I
have remained cautiously optimistic that she was not dangerous.
She seems to think that an alliance between the North and the South is
what we need in order to (removed). I am of a different mind: I think
that we should let (removed) destroy the South, then sweep up the remains of
both in a glorious conquest afterwards.
While that seems far-fetched, so is the thought of Tuluk and Allanak
working as allies. If any such thing officially comes to pass, I will
be -very- irate.Death of Vraj Dasari
It was early morning on Dzeda, the 152nd day of the Low Sun
In the Year of Lirathu's Peace, year 44 of the 21st AgeHe was a great man for the short time I got to know him. Vraj
Dasari... Interesting fellow, to be sure. I respected him, even though he
was much younger than me. He respected my experience, and that made me
pleased. The week the biters took him, we were holed up in the Fortress,
fending off the biter attacks. I dragged a Legion soldier back down the
road with my own strength, warding off the biters with my mace.
I killed several of the biters...(removed by author) There will be vengeance against them. We
held Vraj's memorial service aboard the Araba, deep, deep in the grasslands.
I have the full support of three Jihaen Templars and Faithful Lady Serilla
to do what is necessary to defeat these halflings.Belinta Lyksae's death; a new (removed by author)
It was high sun on Dzeda, the 152nd day of the Low Sun
In the Year of Lirathu's Peace, year 44 of the 21st AgeWe've hit a bit of a snag, it seems: one of my kin, Belinta Lykase,
was killed in the Grey Forest on scouting missions. As one of the (removed),
she was directly over me, though I usually report to my uncle, Lirst Lyksae.
Belinta was replaced by Arisu Lyksae, my firebrand of a cousin.
The woman is a terrible creature to behold. Her beautiful features mask
insanity, I'm sure. I fear for my life when the daughter of the (removed)
is in the room with me. Not only is she completely spastic, she is half my
age and lacks experience in leadership, in my opinion.
I've learned from Shara, though: never trust beauty, and never trust
first impressions. She may very well be a boon in the future.Forging Ahead
It was late morning on Cingel, the 37th day of the Ascending Sun
In the Year of Suk-krath's Defiance, year 54 of the 21st AgeMy House has given me the task of scouting out the Grey Forest for the
purpose of a protracted Lyksaen campaign in the area. I understand that
this likely will be something the House will push for, with or without the
support of other Houses or the Templarate. Those who fail at their
accomplishments in Lyksae typically do not get pushed ahead to delve into
more, so I relish the chance to prove myself.
I have spent nearly all of my political capital gained over the years of my
life in garnering support for this scouting party. I pulled in Kurac for
their renowned fieldcraft. I pulled in the Jihaen Templarate, citing (removed).
I secured a map from the Lirathan
Templarate, generic as it may be. Kadius was willing to join in for the
sake of Morin's Village. I even pulled in a contingent of Bynners to act as
targets.
My plan was not complicated. However, it was completely insane, and likely
to produce casualties. No other sort of plan would work against the biters
in their own territory. The plan? I divided our forces into two groups.
One would harry the biters at the south end of the Grey Forest, near the
Span. The other would plunge into the Grey, heading towards (removed). The scouts would leave the second group at this point,
(remainder removed by author).The Aftermath
It was high sun on Cingel, the 37th day of the Ascending Sun
In the Year of Suk-krath's Defiance, year 54 of the 21st AgeWe were successful.
The plan did not go as intended, but the goal was still achieved. However,
we took on casualties. I estimate that we left with three quarters to four
fifths of the forces we entered the mission with. The Byn took on losses,
as did Kadius, but the ones I noticed most were the Legions and my own
Warriors. We lost Faithful Lord Aupholt Negean to a halfling dart, and I
lost my protege partisan-turned-Warrior, Caprice.
The biters did not act as I predicted. They were much more ferocious, and
seemed to be more aware of my scouting party than I expected. They were not
long fooled by the diversion to the south, and had the numbers (apparently)
to aggressively take on both forces.
I pushed my forces into the Grey. Once we arrived, I sent off
the scouts. We were determined to hold position there, but the biters were
beginning to wear on us with their darts and arrows. I made the decision to
pull back, trusting to the work of the scouts to keep themselves hidden in
their work, and rejoined the other group of soldiers. At some point, the
Jhinya Ake appeared to harass us, but we managed to fight them off as well.
I awaited reports from the scouting party.
Meanwhile, it seemed that some rogue magickers were actually helping the
biters--if not directly, then by somehow passing information. Eventually,
my scouting party reported to me via the Way that they had achieved their
objective of scouting the area, and saw many halflings, but were worried
they'd be cut off (removed). That was all I needed
to know--that a dedicated team COULD (removed).
I made one last push with the whole of our forces. We managed
to secure our end, but Faithful Lord Aupholt fell. Then I heard the
chilling news that Caprice had fallen, and that the other two scouts, Kaliya
al'Seik and Sergeant Nahkt of Kurac were separated and in need of
assistance. I left about half of the forces and
took the rest--including Faithful Lord Elithan--to rescue the scouts. We
succeeded, and managed to return relatively unharmed to our beleaguered
defensive force. We then extracted ourselves.Uncharacteristic Reactions
It was early afternoon on Cingel, the 37th day of the Ascending Sun
In the Year of Suk-krath's Defiance, year 54 of the 21st AgeI wasn't expecting the Templarate to call the mission a failure. By all
accounts--well, by my accounts--we achieved the goal we set out for. We had
scouted the (removed) Grey Forest, and knew it was possible to (removed).
If warriors and soldiers are not ready to die when they enter into a mission,
then they have not been trained well enough. I emphasized this point to the
Templarate, but it was no use. High Templar Serilla was displeased with the
way things had turned out, despite my explanations that casualties were
expected in advance.
It was a sore blow to lose Caprice. I had grown very attached to that woman,
and her work over the years was invaluable.
The next biography has not been included.Initial Background
It was late morning on Cingel, the 70th day of the Descending Sun
In the Year of Drov's Agitation, year 35 of the 21st AgeThrend has been raised up in the war-like House of Lyksae, trained in
warfare and in commanding soldiers for the majority of his life. A shrewd
man, he is...
Continue Reading...Fecked a Fruit by Taven
Added on Dec 29, 2009This is the craziest party (with the possible exception of a certain Fale party) any of my PCs has ever attended. It's so crazy, you have to consent to read it. Just be glad you're not the fruit.
It’s a long log, to get you into the mood of the scene. I apologize for the crappy formatting, but it’s the crazy Arm Original Submissions doing it, not me.
-------
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man has arrived from the north.
At your table, the burn-scarred, curly-haired man says in sirihish, glancing around:
"Discard if ya've still got a card, mates, an' here we go."
Calling over, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette says to the gaunt, grungy-bearded man, in sirihish:
"Cactus, grab a drink, but no getting drunk."
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man deals himself a Kruth card.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man deals a Kruth card to the slender, obsidian-eyed man.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man deals a Kruth card to the willowy, grey-streaked man.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man deals a Kruth card to the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man deals a Kruth card to the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man deals a Kruth card to the rugged, dusk-toned man.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man deals a Kruth card: the Sun of Life to you.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man deals a Kruth card to the scarred, ebony-haired woman.
Rolling his eyes, the willowy, grey-streaked man discards his Kruth card: the Water of Death.
At your table, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette says in sirihish, eyeing her card solemnly:
"Damn."
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man deals a Kruth card to the willowy, grey-streaked man.
At your table, the scarred, ebony-haired woman says in sirihish, tossing her Kruth card: the Wind of Deceit to the table:
"New one, Farran."
The rugged, dusk-toned man grins a large grin, glancing down to his card.
The slender, hack-haired man smiles at your card.
At your table, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette says in sirihish, pointing at the willowy, grey-streaked man:
"Makarim!"
The scarred, ebony-haired woman discards her Kruth card: the Wind of Deceit.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man deals a Kruth card to the scarred, ebony-haired woman.
At your table, the furrowed, stubbled man says in sirihish, to the burn-scarred, curly-haired man:
"Fergot me."
Grunting, the burn-scarred, curly-haired man discards his Kruth card: the Water of Kings.
At your table, the burn-scarred, curly-haired man says in sirihish, glancing to the furrowed, stubbled man:
"Yeah. Who th' fuck are ya, anyway/"
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man salutes the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette and nods obediently as he weaves his way over to a broad table of scarred agafari wood.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man deals himself a Kruth card.
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man gets his small stone shotglass from a broad table of scarred agafari wood.
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man gets his small stone shotglass from a broad table of scarred agafari wood.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man deals a Kruth card to the furrowed, stubbled man.
At your table, the furrowed, stubbled man says in sirihish, with a shrug:
"Jus' some fek. Names Yaroch."
The scarred, ebony-haired woman frowns at her card.
At your table, the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman says in sirihish:
"I'll stay."
Tilting his head back, the gaunt, grungy-bearded man downs his small stone shotglass.
At your table, the burn-scarred, curly-haired man says in sirihish, shrugging:
"Aye, very well. Anyone else?"
At your table, the furrowed, stubbled man says in sirihish:
"Another."
At your table, the burn-scarred, curly-haired man says in sirihish, dipping a nod:
"Gotta discard it first mate."
The furrowed, stubbled man discards his Kruth card: the Wind of Death.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man deals a Kruth card to the furrowed, stubbled man.
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man smacks his lips a few times and eyes his small stone shotglass.
At your table, the burn-scarred, curly-haired man says in sirihish, glancing around:
"Going... goin'... gone. Flip 'em."
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman flips over her Kruth card: the Sun of Fate.
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette absently turns over her Kruth card: the Stone of Death.
The furrowed, stubbled man turns over his Kruth card: the Stone of Truth.
Flipping it over, the scarred, ebony-haired woman discards her Kruth card: the Sun of Deceit.
Grunting, the burn-scarred, curly-haired man discards his Kruth card: the Wind of Truth.
The willowy, grey-streaked man discards his Kruth card: the Sun of Truth.
The slender, obsidian-eyed man discards his Kruth card: the Stone of Fate.
The furrowed, stubbled man discards his Kruth card: the Stone of Truth.
At your table, the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman says in sirihish:
"Safely in tha middle... "
Tossing it down with a large grin, the rugged, dusk-toned man discards his Kruth card: the Stone of Life.
Swallowing hard, the gaunt, grungy-bearded man lifts the second glass and gulps it down unflinchingly.
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man drinks brandy from his small stone shotglass.
At your table, the burn-scarred, curly-haired man says in sirihish, smirking:
"So far, it's Horus winnin' and Laila loosin'."
At your table, the burn-scarred, curly-haired man says in sirihish, shaking his head:
"Jenneth's winnin' that is."
Making a wry face as he eases it back onto the table, the gaunt, grungy-bearded man discards his small stone shotglass.
At your table, the rugged, dusk-toned man says in sirihish, to you, with a frown:
"Well, fuck you."
At your table, you say in sirihish, to the rugged, dusk-toned man with a slight smirk:
"Love to. You pick the place, or should I?"
At your table, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette says in sirihish:
"Turnabout's fair play, Jenneth, what's it to be?"
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man shuffles a deck of Kruth cards.
Stepping over, the gaunt, grungy-bearded man tosses his dark, hooded cloak into a crate half-packed with debris and trash.
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man walks south.
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Anybody got a good idea?"
At your table, the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman says in sirihish:
"Table dance!"
At your table, the willowy, grey-streaked man says in sirihish:
"Regardin' Laila? I got -dozens- of good ideas fer Laila."
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man shuffles a deck of Kruth cards.
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman grins at the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette.
At your table, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette says in sirihish:
"I'm hard to embarrass too, unless Cera's around."
At your table, the rugged, dusk-toned man says in sirihish, to the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman:
"Tha's... yer idea -every- time."
At your table, the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman says in sirihish, to the rugged, dusk-toned man:
"An yer complainin why?"
At your table, you say in sirihish, to the willowy, grey-streaked man with a chuckle:
"Well, spit 'em out. N' no, we don't want to watch more foreplay n' shet with you two."
At your table, the rugged, dusk-toned man says in sirihish, to you:
"Make 'er beat th'piss out've Farran! I want t'watch that sibling rivalry shit."
At your table, the burn-scarred, curly-haired man says in sirihish, pursing his lips:
"I want a story."
At your table, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette says in sirihish, pointing her clay bottle at the willowy, grey-streaked man:
"And I doubt the Sergeant's ideas are legal in public."
At your table, the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman says in sirihish:
"They are, and Fale pays double if they get ta watch."
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman grins at the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette.
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette laughs at the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman.
At your table, the furrowed, stubbled man says in sirihish:
"Who's gonna arrest ya?"
The scarred, ebony-haired woman chuckles, shaking her head.
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman nods to the furrowed, stubbled man.
At your table, the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman says in sirihish:
"Excellent point"
At your table, the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman says in sirihish:
"I won't."
At your table, the willowy, grey-streaked man says in sirihish:
"Like -you- fuckers get to see what I'm gonna do t'Laila later."
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette leans over the edge of the table, still laughing.
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman fans herself, glancing sidelong at the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man wrinkles up his nose.
At your table, the rugged, dusk-toned man says in sirihish, jamming a thumb into his chest:
"My idea is th'best."
At your table, the burn-scarred, curly-haired man says in sirihish, sagely:
"I don't -want- to."
At your table, the rugged, dusk-toned man says in sirihish:
"Siblin' brawl."
At your table, the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman says in sirihish, to the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette:
"I know what yer birthday present is.. Yer gonna be walkin' bowlegged fer weeks."
At your table, the rugged, dusk-toned man says in sirihish, to the burn-scarred, curly-haired man:
"Then don't fight back. Jus' let 'er beat th'fuck out've ya'."
With a wink, the slender, obsidian-eyed man says to the willowy, grey-streaked man, in sirihish:
"You never know who might be watching."
At your table, you say in sirihish, chuckling:
"I agree with Farran. I -don't- want to see that."
At your table, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette says in sirihish, waggling her eyebrows at the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman:
"Let's hope."
At your table, the burn-scarred, curly-haired man says in sirihish, rolling his eyes at the rugged, dusk-toned man:
"Wasn't talkin' about that."
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman grins at the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette.
At your table, the burn-scarred, curly-haired man says in sirihish, peering at you:
"Pick summat."
Pursing his lips, you look at the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette.
The confident carriage of an athletic physique, healthy glow of bronze
skin, and clear gaze of this young woman combine to radiate an aura of
vitality and energy. Tall for a human, her body bears the sleek, taut
musculature of one trained in physical arts, clearly seen in strong
shoulders, sculpted arms, and long, shapely legs. Modest but womanly curves
are accentuated by a slim waist, and she has large, capable hands with
slender fingers. A single lock of brunette hair falling to the left side of
her face has been ornamented with a lustrous strand of small, smoothly
rounded jade beads ranging in hue from dusky to brilliant green; at the end
of this length dangles two slightly larger beads painstakingly carved in the
shapes of a lushly blooming rose and a wickedly barbed thorn. Haphazardly
woven into the remainder of the waving mane that frames her round face is a
fringe of dozens more jade beads which clack gently with movement and gleam
in ambient light. The soft depth of warm brown eyes and sensuous sweep of
wide lips are countered by emphatically dark eyebrows; a straight, firm
nose; and a resolute set to her squared chin. Etched at the corners of
mouth and eyes, faint lines are beginning to give testimony to laughter and
care.
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette is in excellent condition.
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette is using:
<worn in hair> a jade hairclasp
<face> branching fiery temple veins
<worn in left ear> an earring of glittering black glass
<worn in right ear> a small jade earring
<worn around neck> a jet-colored, chitin gorget
<worn about throat> a jade and ebony cross
<slung across back> an obsidian-headed, jade-emblazoned mace
<worn across back> a new jade-emblazoned, hoplite shield
<right shoulder> a black-inked tattoo of a sprawling city
<left shoulder> a wicked jade warrior tattoo
<worn on arms> a pair of black, cloth armbands
<worn around wrist> a tortoiseshell bracer
<worn around wrist> a dragon-carved spiked bracer
<worn on hands> a pair of fine, black suede gloves
<worn on forearms> a dragon-emblazoned armsheath
<worn around body> a black, hooded militia dustcloak
<worn on legs> a jade-trimmed reinforced leather skirt
<right ankle> a small, jade songbird tattoo
<worn on left ankle> an obsidian anklet set with jade studs
<worn on feet> a pair of polished, black leather boots
She is carrying:
nothing obvious
At your table, the rugged, dusk-toned man says in sirihish, nodding:
"Oh. A'right, then."
At your table, the rugged, dusk-toned man says in sirihish, to you:
"My idea's th'best, y'know."
At your table, the willowy, grey-streaked man says in sirihish:
"Let's have somethin' Jenneth."
The dapper, pony-tailed woman has arrived from the south.
The sinewy, emerald-eyed man has arrived from the south.
At your table, the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman says in sirihish:
"Jes don' make me think again.. that hurt"
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman grins.
At your table, you say in sirihish, waving a hand to the burn-scarred, curly-haired man:
"'S goin' to be a table dance. I'd make it a table -strip- dance, but the feckin' Gith won't go for that, eh?"
Tipping it back, the burn-scarred, curly-haired man drinks brandy from his small stone shotglass.
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman grins.
At your table, the burn-scarred, curly-haired man says in sirihish, smirking:
"I wouldn't go for a strip dance. Since it's my sister an' all."
You get your small portion of a small roasted erdlu breast from your pouched belt.
It is very light.
At your table, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette says in sirihish, looking down at herself:
"I could take off my cloak...weapons...shield...but yeah."
At your table, the willowy, grey-streaked man says in sirihish, to you:
"Think you was mistaken. Think you meant to say that there's no way you'd ask her to strip."
Pacing through the crowd behind the sinewy, emerald-eyed man, the dapper, pony-tailed woman claims the chair him draws back for her at a round, blue-painted table and settles down, crossing her legs)
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman thumps a booted foot against the floor to set a steady beat for the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette.
The dapper, pony-tailed woman sits at a round, blue-painted table.
At your table, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette says in sirihish, nodding to you:
"Highly recommend that's what you meant to say."
At your table, the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman says in sirihish:
"No threatenin when we're playin!"
The rugged, dusk-toned man snickers, shaking his head.
Tilting his head back, the sinewy, weather-worn man drinks ale from his miniature barrel.
At your table, the burn-scarred, curly-haired man says in sirihish, chuckling:
"Jenneth's just fond of strip dance in general for some reason. I doubt it has anythin' to do with Laila doin' it."
At your table, the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman says in sirihish:
"Jen made NADIM strip.. tha man's got no limits."
Scraping her chair back, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette stands up from a broad table of scarred agafari wood.
Pushing back in his chair, the sinewy, weather-worn man stands up from a wobbly baobab table.
At your table, you say in sirihish, chuckling:
"Nadim -did- get to keep his pants on."
As she straightens, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette says to the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman, in sirihish:
"Tell Cactus he can have my chair, I'll sit on the Sergeant's lap. When I'm done."
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman nods to the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette.
At your table, the furrowed, stubbled man says in sirihish, nodding to you:
"Ya got the right idea, Jenneth."
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette steps up on her chair, placing a booted foot firmly, and then onto a broad table of scarred agafari wood.
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman keeps thumping out a rhythm, pounding a heel against the floor.
Leaving it behind on a wobbly baobab table, the sinewy, weather-worn man discards his miniature barrel.
With a glance from the northern archway, the gaunt, ivory-toned lad looks down at the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman.
With a flick of a gloved hand, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette sweeps her black, hooded militia dustcloak over her shoulders and catches a fistful of it.
The scarred, ebony-haired woman claps her hands, matching the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman's heel thumps.
The willowy, grey-streaked man leans back in his chair and folds his arms over his chest, looking up at the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette with a grin.
With a squint as a head breaks the usual swarm of patrons, the dapper, pony-tailed woman looks towards the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette with a curious eye expression.
The sinewy, weather-worn man steps forward through the tavern, slowly making his way to a broad table of scarred agafari wood.
Matching the rhythm, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette smiles down at the willowy, grey-streaked man as she clicks bootheels on a broad table of scarred agafari wood, keeping her gaze on him as she turns in a slow circle.
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman drinks brandy from her small stone shotglass.
Tossing it back onto the table after slamming it down, the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman discards her small stone shotglass.
The sinewy, weather-worn man places a hand on the back of the rugged, dusk-toned man's chair and crouches down to his level.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man pounds the table with the side of his fist, in rythym with the other encouragements.
Twisting her hand, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette sweeps her black, hooded militia dustcloak out to brush toward the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman's face as she turns, heels pounding out the rhythm on the table.
At your table, the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman says in sirihish, adding loud clapping to the steady thump of her heel:
"OOOH! Tha's our Laila, if her blade won' kill ya, her sexiness .. or jealous mate.. will."
Still watching the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette, the willowy, grey-streaked man gets his small stone shotglass from a broad table of scarred agafari wood.
At your table, the willowy, grey-streaked man says in sirihish:
"Probably th' last one."
The willowy, grey-streaked man drinks brandy from his small stone shotglass.
The furrowed, stubbled man pats his knee in time, his head bobbing up and down.
At your table, the scarred, ebony-haired woman says in sirihish, calling out:
"Work it, Laila!"
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette laughs and slides a foot forward, tapping her heel and then continuing her turn with a sinuous swing of her hips.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man covers his eyes.
The slender, hack-haired man chuckles at the burn-scarred, curly-haired man.
Arching her arms over her head and clapping along with the rhythm, gloved palms thudding quietly, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette asks the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman, in sirihish:
"Am I done yet?"
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man has arrived from the north.
The scarred, ebony-haired woman giggles and reaches out to pat the burn-scarred, curly-haired man shoulder.
At your table, the willowy, grey-streaked man says in sirihish, to the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette:
"I reckon you are. Git down here."
At your table, the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman says in sirihish, with a grin up at the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette:
"Jen made tha terms.. gotta ask him!"
At your table, the burn-scarred, curly-haired man says in sirihish, from behind his hands:
"Please be done!"
Weaving through the crowds, the gaunt, grungy-bearded man moves over to a broad table of scarred agafari wood.
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman laughs at the burn-scarred, curly-haired man.
Casting a glance to the archway, the dapper, pony-tailed woman looks up at the gaunt, grungy-bearded man.
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man sits at a broad table of scarred agafari wood.
The slender, obsidian-eyed man's head wavers slightly, his eyes squeezing shut in pain.
The furrowed, stubbled man chuckles.
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette stomps her feet a last time, then hops down from a broad table of scarred agafari wood next to the willowy, grey-streaked man.
At your table, you say in sirihish, chuckling:
"Alright, you're done, if only for Farran's sake."
Sliding it back onto a round, blue-painted table, the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman discards her clay bottle.
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man glances thoughtfully down at the collection of shotglasses then shakes his head with a faint grunt.
At your table, the burn-scarred, curly-haired man says in sirihish, with a happy sigh:
"Thanks Jen. Alright, next round? All cards been discarded?"
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette settles sideways on the willowy, grey-streaked man's lap and hooks an arm around his shoulders.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man shuffles a deck of Kruth cards.
At your table, the burn-scarred, curly-haired man says in sirihish, nodding firmly:
"Next round. Hup!"
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man deals himself a Kruth card.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man deals a Kruth card to the slender, obsidian-eyed man.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man deals a Kruth card to the willowy, grey-streaked man.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man deals a Kruth card to the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man deals a Kruth card to the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man deals a Kruth card to the rugged, dusk-toned man.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man deals a Kruth card: the Wind of Truth to you.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man deals a Kruth card to the scarred, ebony-haired woman.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man deals a Kruth card to the furrowed, stubbled man.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man deals a Kruth card to the gaunt, grungy-bearded man.
The willowy, grey-streaked man wraps a long arm around the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette's waist, snagging a card with his free hand.
At your table, the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman says in sirihish:
"I'll stay"
At your table, the burn-scarred, curly-haired man says in sirihish, rpusing his lips:
"Keepin'."
At your table, the rugged, dusk-toned man says in sirihish:
"Keepin'."
Wordlessly, the slender, obsidian-eyed man rises to his feet, moving hurriedly into the plaza.
At your table, the rugged, dusk-toned man says in sirihish:
"Actually.."
The willowy, grey-streaked man discards his Kruth card: the Stone of Deceit.
Tossing it away, the rugged, dusk-toned man discards his Kruth card: the Stone of Fate.
At your table, the rugged, dusk-toned man says in sirihish:
"What th'hell? Another."
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man deals a Kruth card to the willowy, grey-streaked man.
At your table, the scarred, ebony-haired woman says in sirihish:
"New one, please"
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man deals a Kruth card to the rugged, dusk-toned man.
The scarred, ebony-haired woman discards her Kruth card: the Water of Truth.
At your table, the gaunt, grungy-bearded man says in sirihish, glancing down at his card:
"I dunno how to play."
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man deals a Kruth card to the scarred, ebony-haired woman.
At your table, the willowy, grey-streaked man says in sirihish:
"Not bad. Not bad."
At your table, the furrowed, stubbled man says in sirihish:
"I'll stay. Don't have a clue which is fekin' which, but it looks alright."
The scarred, ebony-haired woman frowns intently at her card.
At your table, the rugged, dusk-toned man says in sirihish, snickering:
"MUCH better."
At your table, the burn-scarred, curly-haired man says in sirihish, glancing to the gaunt, grungy-bearded man:
"Ranks are Life, Truth, Fate, Kings, Deceit, and Death. Suits are Wind, Sun, Stone, and Water. Ranks before suits."
At your table, the burn-scarred, curly-haired man says in sirihish, raising his finger:
"You can discard once."
At your table, you say in sirihish, with an appreicatve nod to the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette:
"You do a nice dance. You dance often? Not, of course, that I'm suggestin' -anythin'-, Sarge."
[Background: Jenneth loves to dance, it's one of his passions, so he's actually not suggesting anything by it]
The rugged, dusk-toned man discards his Kruth card: the Wind of Death.
At your table, the rugged, dusk-toned man says in sirihish:
"I think I lose."
At your table, the gaunt, grungy-bearded man says in sirihish, glancing at the burn-scarred, curly-haired man:
"They any 'sid involved?"
Flipping it onto the table, the willowy, grey-streaked man discards his Kruth card: the Sun of Truth.
At your table, the willowy, grey-streaked man says in sirihish:
"That's mine."
At your table, the burn-scarred, curly-haired man says in sirihish, shaking his head:
"Nah, just dares. Flip!"
Tossing it to the table, the scarred, ebony-haired woman discards her Kruth card: the Wind of Deceit.
Pointing at the burn-scarred, curly-haired man, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette says to you, in sirihish:
"We used to see the Arabeti dance at Luir's. I learned a bit then."
Flipping it, the burn-scarred, curly-haired man discards his Kruth card: the Water of Kings.
The furrowed, stubbled man turns over his Kruth card: the Sun of Life.
Flipping it, you discard your Kruth card: the Wind of Truth.
The furrowed, stubbled man discards his Kruth card: the Sun of Life.
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man discards his Kruth card: the Water of Death.
Turning it over, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette discards her Kruth card: the Water of Fate.
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man slides the card back to the burn-scarred, curly-haired man and makes a beckoning motion.
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette laughs and points to the gaunt, grungy-bearded man, shaking her head.
At your table, the rugged, dusk-toned man says in sirihish, to the gaunt, grungy-bearded man:
"Fuck you. I want t'win, or lose, or SOMETHIN'."
At your table, the burn-scarred, curly-haired man says in sirihish, chuckling:
"Yaroch's on top, Cactus lost."
At your table, the gaunt, grungy-bearded man says in sirihish:
"We can't trade in a card?"
At your table, the scarred, ebony-haired woman says in sirihish, laughing:
"I'm with Horus. I want -something- to happen."
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man looks at the rugged, dusk-toned man.
At your table, the burn-scarred, curly-haired man says in sirihish, wryly:
"Ya missed th' deadline, mate."
Uncrossing her legs to rise, the dapper, pony-tailed woman stands up from a round, blue-painted table.
At your table, the furrowed, stubbled man says in sirihish:
"Well I'll be. Who's cactus?"
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man points to the gaunt, grungy-bearded man.
Lightly rubbing at her temple and giving a grunt, the dapper, pony-tailed woman moves towards the northern plaza, the sinewy, emerald-eyed man in tow.
The dapper, pony-tailed woman walks north.
The sinewy, emerald-eyed man walks north.
At your table, the gaunt, grungy-bearded man says in sirihish, showing his nasty teeth with a half grin:
"I can think of a few somethins for you t'do, sir Kurac."
The caramel, alabaster-haired woman walks north.
At your table, the rugged, dusk-toned man says in sirihish, waggling his brows at the scarred, ebony-haired woman:
"I make shit happen."
At your table, the burn-scarred, curly-haired man says in sirihish, chuckling:
"You should make 'im kiss Horus. Since Horus almost lost. An' he sucks at kissin'."
At your table, the burn-scarred, curly-haired man says in sirihish, smirking:
"With tongue, I might add."
At your table, the rugged, dusk-toned man says in sirihish, to the burn-scarred, curly-haired man:
"I don't suck at kissin'. I suck at kissin' when I'm piss drunk, an' kissin' YOU."
At your table, the burn-scarred, curly-haired man says in sirihish, rolling his eyes:
"As far as I know, ya fuckin' suck at kissin' worse than anyone I've ever kissed in m' life, and ya haven't proven otherwise yet."
The furrowed, stubbled man gets his fleshy blue fruit from his dusty bone-studded backpack.
At your table, the furrowed, stubbled man says in sirihish:
"I want Cactus here ta stand up, and in front'a the bar seduce this here fruit like it was the hottest fekin' woman he's ever seen."
The slender, hack-haired man bursts into laughter.
The furrowed, stubbled man tosses his fleshy blue fruit to the gaunt, grungy-bearded man.
The rugged, dusk-toned man chortles, shaking his head.
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man looks at the furrowed, stubbled man.
The willowy, grey-streaked man laughs loudly, putting a hand to his stomach.
At your table, the scarred, ebony-haired woman says in sirihish, chuckling:
"This should be interesting."
At your table, the willowy, grey-streaked man says in sirihish:
"Fuckin' -right-, lad."
At your table, the rugged, dusk-toned man says in sirihish:
"It'll pro'lly be th'prettiest thing he's ever seduced."
At your table, the gaunt, grungy-bearded man says in sirihish, eyeing the furrowed, stubbled man dubiously:
"The most extent of seducin' I ever done, fella, is passin' twenty sid to a whore."
At your table, the furrowed, stubbled man says in sirihish:
"Then this should be good."
At your table, the rugged, dusk-toned man says in sirihish, to the gaunt, grungy-bearded man, flatly:
"Jus' stick yer dick in it, then."
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman chuckles.
The scarred, ebony-haired woman snickers.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man shuffles a deck of Kruth cards.
At your table, the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman says in sirihish:
"Fek it an cheat it of half tha sid afterwards then."
The furrowed, stubbled man leans back, watching the gaunt, grungy-bearded man.
Calling over, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette exclaims to the reedy, sorrel-skinned woman, in sirihish:
"Cera! It's my birthday, have a drink, damnit!"
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette waves to some glasses on a broad table of scarred agafari wood.
At your table, the gaunt, grungy-bearded man says in sirihish, looking at the rugged, dusk-toned man, eyes slivering:
"I ain't about to fuck no fuckin' fruit in front've the whole fuckin tavern, fella. Have another drink."
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man stands up from a broad table of scarred agafari wood.
Smiling, the reedy, sorrel-skinned woman asks the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Wull no shit, yeh an adult yet ya pretta thin'?"
The reedy, sorrel-skinned woman pushes away from a boxy wooden bar.
As he holds up his fleshy blue fruit, clearing his voice, the gaunt, grungy-bearded man says, in sirihish:
"Hey, scumbag."
Waggling her eyebrows, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette says to the reedy, sorrel-skinned woman, in sirihish:
"I'm all woman, Cera."
At your table, the rugged, dusk-toned man says in sirihish, shrugging:
"I've done worse."
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man bursts out laughing.
With a dramatic sigh as she moves to the table, the reedy, sorrel-skinned woman says to the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Don' ah wish ah knew."
Addressing his fleshy blue fruit with a dour, coarse voice, the gaunt, grungy-bearded man says, in sirihish:
"Fifty sid? You gotta be smokin' some've that bad shit, y'nasty fuckin wench. Twenty 'sid or I'm takin' this cock further on down the road."
The scarred, ebony-haired woman watches the gaunt, grungy-bearded man, chuckling.
At your table, the furrowed, stubbled man says in sirihish:
"Cactus get all the ladies with that line I bet."
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman chuckles.
The willowy, grey-streaked man laughs.
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette bursts into a laugh at the gaunt, grungy-bearded man.
At your table, the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman says in sirihish:
"yeah.. he's a real ladies man"
The slender, hack-haired man chuckles.
Smiling and tipping her head, the reedy, sorrel-skinned woman says to the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"ah'll be back. Got an erran' ta run."
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man pounds his fist on a broad table of scarred agafari wood, laughing uproariously.
The rugged, dusk-toned man suddenly bursts into a laugh, watching the gaunt, grungy-bearded man.
Nodding, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette says to the reedy, sorrel-skinned woman, in sirihish:
"'s'fine."
Lobbing his fleshy blue fruit over to the furrowed, stubbled man, the gaunt, grungy-bearded man grins nastily and retakes his seat.
Tossing it at the head of a passing half-elf and missing, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette discards her clay bottle.
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man gives his fleshy blue fruit to the furrowed, stubbled man.
At your table, the rugged, dusk-toned man says in sirihish, to the gaunt, grungy-bearded man:
"Shoulda' fucked it."
At your table, the furrowed, stubbled man says in sirihish:
"No he shouldn'a...I wanna still eat this."
The willowy, grey-streaked man says to the gaunt, grungy-bearded man, in sirihish:
"Real good, Cactus. Real good."
At your table, the scarred, ebony-haired woman says in sirihish, grinning at the rugged, dusk-toned man:
"At least the fruit would've enjoyed -that-, I think."
At your table, the gaunt, grungy-bearded man says in sirihish, eyeing the rugged, dusk-toned man:
"Three small and I'll even fuck it in the ass."
At your table, the rugged, dusk-toned man says in sirihish, to the furrowed, stubbled man:
"You woulda' ate it still."
At your table, the rugged, dusk-toned man says in sirihish, to the gaunt, grungy-bearded man:
"Two small an' it's a deal."
The rugged, dusk-toned man opens a dusty expansive, crimson-fist emblazoned backpack.
At your table, the gaunt, grungy-bearded man says in sirihish:
"Two and a half."
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman chuckles.
The scarred, ebony-haired woman shakes her head.
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man eyes the rugged, dusk-toned man shrewdly.
At your table, the rugged, dusk-toned man says in sirihish, nodding:
"A'right."
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man stands up from a broad table of scarred agafari wood.
The rugged, dusk-toned man pulls a bag from his pack, grinning.
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man says to the furrowed, stubbled man, in sirihish:
"Hey, I need that fruit."
[Another game round has started, and he strives to get people's attention...]
At your table, the rugged, dusk-toned man says in sirihish, shaking his head:
"WAIT! Cactus is gonna fuck th'fruit."
Dubiously, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette asks the gaunt, grungy-bearded man, in sirihish:
"How are you going to fuck a fruit in the ass?"
At your table, the rugged, dusk-toned man says in sirihish:
"For two an' a half small."
The scarred, ebony-haired woman blushes, then blinks.
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman nods to the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette.
Extending his mangled hand, the gaunt, grungy-bearded man says to the rugged, dusk-toned man, in sirihish:
"My mammy didn't raise no fool; I need that sid up front."
At your table, the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman says in sirihish:
"I have ta say.. was thinkin' tha same thing."
The rugged, dusk-toned man asks the gaunt, grungy-bearded man, in sirihish:
"How're y'gonna do it?"
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man says to the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette, in sirihish:
"Like a savage fuckin beast, sir."
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man asks the rugged, dusk-toned man, in sirihish:
"What, don't ya'll Kuraci ever fuck in the ass?"
Bursting into a laugh, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette buries her face against the willowy, grey-streaked man's shoulder.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man again bursts into uproarious laughter.
At your table, the furrowed, stubbled man says in sirihish, looking down at the fruit:
"Fek, yer a juicy one too. At least he'll enjoy it."
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man says, in sirihish:
"All's you gotta do is turn it around and do it from behind."
Smirking, the rugged, dusk-toned man says to the gaunt, grungy-bearded man, in sirihish:
"A'right. "
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman slaps a palm against the table, laughing hard enough to almost lose her seat.
Tossing the sack over, the rugged, dusk-toned man gives some coins to the gaunt, grungy-bearded man.
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man shrugs his gangly shoulders helplessly, callous hand still extended toward the rugged, dusk-toned man.
The rugged, dusk-toned man opens a dusty expansive, crimson-fist emblazoned backpack.
The rugged, dusk-toned man puts his pile of allanaki coins into his dusty expansive, crimson-fist emblazoned backpack.
The furrowed, stubbled man gives his fleshy blue fruit to the gaunt, grungy-bearded man.
At your table, the willowy, grey-streaked man says in sirihish:
"I ain't sure I want to see this."
Amusedly, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette says, in sirihish:
"I thought the boot-licking was good, but -this- is -good-."
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man gets his small stone shotglass from a round, blue-painted table.
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man gets his small stone shotglass from a round, blue-painted table.
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man gets his small stone shotglass from a round, blue-painted table.
At your table, the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman says in sirihish:
"I think I'm about ta be scarred fer life."
The rugged, dusk-toned man watches the gaunt, grungy-bearded man, leaning back.
Patting her chest, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette says to the willowy, grey-streaked man, in sirihish:
"I'll hide your eyes for you. Sir."
At your table, the scarred, ebony-haired woman says in sirihish, grinning at the gaunt, grungy-bearded man:
"Be nice...this is the fruit's first time, ya know."
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man scowls and rummages around the table for a full glass.
At your table, the willowy, grey-streaked man says in sirihish, to the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette:
"Might be you'll have to."
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man stares at the gaunt, grungy-bearded man with full interest.
At your table, the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman says in sirihish:
"No wonder he's fekkin' tha fruit.. if he drank that many shotglasses."
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette says, in sirihish:
"He better not have, I told him not to get drunk."
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man tilts his chin up and drains his small stone shotglass with a bit've a flinch.
At your table, the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman says in sirihish:
"Cactus.. leave some fer tha rest of us ya fekkin' greedy shit."
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar has arrived from the north.
The rugged, dusk-toned man exclaims to the gaunt, grungy-bearded man, in sirihish:
"Get to it!"
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman glances at the rugged, stubble-bearded templar and doubles over in laughter, trying to stand and salute but laughing so hard she misses her chest.
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man places his new stained spiky helmet on his head.
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette says, in sirihish:
"I hope this isn't how long it usually takes him."
At your table, the furrowed, stubbled man says in sirihish:
"S'called foreplay"
The willowy, grey-streaked man asks the gaunt, grungy-bearded man, in sirihish:
"You havin' trouble gettin' it up, lad?"
Unstrapping his stained leather swordbelt, the gaunt, grungy-bearded man drops his leggings to his knees.
At your table, the furrowed, stubbled man says in sirihish:
"You saw how he seduced it...what ya expect?"
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette eases up off of the willowy, grey-streaked man's lap, bows and salutes to the rugged, stubble-bearded templar, and then settles down again.
At your table, the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman says in sirihish:
"In front of tha Lord.. templar...."
The scarred, ebony-haired woman exclaims to the gaunt, grungy-bearded man, in sirihish:
"Let's see some action!"
The willowy, grey-streaked man says to the gaunt, grungy-bearded man, in sirihish:
"Try talkin' dirty to it."
Staring fascinatedly at the gaunt, grungy-bearded man, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette says, in sirihish:
"He's really gonna do it."
The slender, hack-haired man chuckles.
At your table, the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman says in sirihish, idly to the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette:
"Won' hurt the fruit that much from tha looks of it."
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man says, out of character:
"Consent needed."
The rugged, dusk-toned man says, out of character:
"yes, rofl."
The scarred, ebony-haired woman stands and gives a slightly off-balance bow to the rugged, stubble-bearded templar before retaking her seat.
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar says, out of character:
"Ooh, me me! What am I consenting to again?"
The furrowed, stubbled man says, out of character:
"Given"
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman says, out of character:
"go for it, that's my call."
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man says, out of character:
"Uh, yeah."
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette says, out of character:
"Go ahead."
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man says, out of character:
"Fruit sex."
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman says, out of character:
"You'll see :)"
Snickering, the rugged, dusk-toned man says to the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette, in sirihish:
"I -did- pay for th'shit."
The scarred, ebony-haired woman says, out of character:
"Go for it!"
You say, out of character:
"Given."
The reedy, sorrel-skinned woman says, out of character:
"yay for consent"
Tilting her head as she stares at the gaunt, grungy-bearded man, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette asks the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman, in sirihish:
"Is that all of it?"
At your table, the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman says in sirihish, tilting her head sideways:
"I think so..."
The willowy, grey-streaked man says, out of character:
"I'm not sure the fruit is consenting... but go for it."
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar pauses in the entryway, trying to make sense of the scene.
After playing with himself for a moment, the gaunt, grungy-bearded man manages a rather feeble erection.
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette tilts her head even farther, staring blatantly at the gaunt, grungy-bearded man and the hapless fruit.
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man grunts and shoves his thumb deeply into his fleshy blue fruit, pushing a hole out through the other side.
The furrowed, stubbled man shakes his head silently watching the gaunt, grungy-bearded man.
The scarred, ebony-haired woman snorts in laughter, watching the gaunt, grungy-bearded man with the fruit.
At your table, the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman says in sirihish:
"Shit.. the whores tha been chargin' him twenty sid been overchargin' tha man."
The rugged, dusk-toned man watches the gaunt, grungy-bearded man quite closely, laughing the whole time.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man stands from his chair, staring at the gaunt, grungy-bearded man with a can't-look-away-fascination written on his face.
In an artifically high voice, the willowy, grey-streaked man exclaims, in sirihish:
"No! Please! Aiee!"
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman falls out of her chair laughing at the willowy, grey-streaked man's comment.
The slender, hack-haired man laughs loudly at the willowy, grey-streaked man's comment.
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette begins laughing helplessly, batting at the willowy, grey-streaked man's shoulder.
The scarred, ebony-haired woman bursts out laughing.
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man eases his fleshy blue fruit onto his dick and begins to slide it back and forth, face taut with concentration.
The reedy, sorrel-skinned woman moves to the table seeming completely lost at what is going on, but breaks into a guffaw as she draws close enough to see.
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman crawls back into her seat, laughing so hard tears are rolling down her cheeks.
Amongst her laughter, the scarred, ebony-haired woman says to the gaunt, grungy-bearded man, in sirihish:
"Say something to it...show it you love it."
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar's jaw goes slack.
The rugged, dusk-toned man leans back, still laughing.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man clutches his stomach, laughing so hard he falls back into his seat.
Between laughs, the rugged, dusk-toned man exclaims to the gaunt, grungy-bearded man, in sirihish:
"Talk dirty to it!"
The furrowed, stubbled man coughs, holding his stomach.
Grunting loudly, the gaunt, grungy-bearded man smacks the side of his fleshy blue fruit, his hips gyrating rhythmatically.
The slender, hack-haired man glances over at the door way, sees the rugged, stubble-bearded templar's face and nearly falls off his chair laughing.
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman holds her side, wheezing for breath between laughs.
The reedy, sorrel-skinned woman drops to her knees and clutches her stomach, laughing herself to tears.
Laughing helplessly, the willowy, grey-streaked man says, in sirihish:
"Oh... shit... he should've at least bought it dinner first..."
Tears gleaming in her eyes and face flushing, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette just keeps laughing.
The rugged, dusk-toned man holds his gut, shaking his head as he continues to laugh.
The scarred, ebony-haired woman gasps for breath, laughing so hard that tears come to her eyes.
Moaning down at his fleshy blue fruit, the gaunt, grungy-bearded man says, in sirihish:
"Aw baby, mmm.... fuckin'.... yeahhhhhh.... you're almost as good as that kalan I had last week.. Ohhh.. ughh..."
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man rubs helplessly at one streaming eye at a time, his face crimson as he continues to laugh, almost choking.
The willowy, grey-streaked man screams out his laughter, nearly dropping the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette from his lap as he rocks back and forth in his chair.
Tears coming down his cheek, the furrowed, stubbled man says, in sirihish:
"Oh krath."
The slender, hack-haired man clucthes his sides, hanging onto his chair so he wont fall off in his mirth.
Gasping, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette says, in sirihish:
"Hope she took mul mix, I do -not- want to see the product of this union."
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar just stares on in disbelief, speechless.
The scarred, ebony-haired woman slaps her thigh, laughing helplessly.
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman gives in, just resting her arms against the tabletop, laughing and crying as she watches in helpless fascination.
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man vigorously pumps himself a few more times into his fleshy blue fruit before finally exhaling and hunching over, his face flushed and slick with sweat.
Barely able to get the words out, the furrowed, stubbled man asks, in sirihish:
"Anyone hungry?"
To the fruit with a low, slurred drawl, the gaunt, grungy-bearded man says, in sirihish:
"Hope it was as good f'you as it was f'me.."
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette bursts into a fresh gale of laughter at the furrowed, stubbled man's question.
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman bursts into more laughter, rubbing the back of a sleeve across her eyes.
The willowy, grey-streaked man exclaims, in sirihish:
"F...f....fruit salad!"
The slender, hack-haired man gets another look at the rugged, stubble-bearded templar's face, looks back to the gaunt, grungy-bearded man and finally looses the battle, falling off his chair and hitting the floor with a thump.
Finally managing to call out, the rugged, dusk-toned man exclaims, in sirihish:
"One small to whoever eats it!"
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man says to the rugged, dusk-toned man, in sirihish:
"Two."
Silently, the tall, amber-eyed woman comes around the bar and drops her white linen towel upon the tabletop.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man lowers his forehead to a broad table of scarred agafari wood, hiding his face in the crook of his arm, still choking on laughter.
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man suddenly turns, noticing the rugged, stubble-bearded templar and paling.
The tall, amber-eyed woman puts her white linen towel onto a broad table of scarred agafari wood.
Bowing swiftly, the gaunt, grungy-bearded man salutes the rugged, stubble-bearded templar, his pants still at his knees.
Just as silently, the tall, amber-eyed woman walks back to her station behind the bar.
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman bursts into more laughter, slapping a hand against her knee and whimpering in helpless merriment.
The scarred, ebony-haired woman laughs, tears streaming down her face.
The reedy, sorrel-skinned woman wipes tears from her face, still shaking from laughter as she collects herself from the floor.
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette stares at the tall, amber-eyed woman, laughing and wiping her eyes.
Staring over in awe, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar asks the tall, amber-eyed woman, in sirihish:
".. 's anyone ever done anythin' more ridiculous 'n this in yer bar?"
Still on the floor, the slender, hack-haired man clucthes your sides in mirth, rolling with laughter.
The rugged, dusk-toned man bursts into renewed laughter, leaning into a boxy wooden bar.
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man looks down at the rugged, dusk-toned man.
Gravely pouring herself a drink, the tall, amber-eyed woman says to the rugged, stubble-bearded templar, in sirihish:
"Not for a good many years, Lord Templar."
At your table, the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman says in sirihish:
"oh.. oh.... oh.. it hurts..... "
The scarred, ebony-haired woman clutches at her stomach, her breath coming in short gasps.
The willowy, grey-streaked man eventually catches his breath, burying his face in the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette's chest as he wheezes and gasps.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man lifts his face from a broad table of scarred agafari wood, wiping at his streaming eyes and just shaking his head.
Squinting over dubiously, the gaunt, grungy-bearded man asks the rugged, dusk-toned man, in sirihish:
"So do I get two small for eatin' this shit, or what?"
The rugged, dusk-toned man exclaims, in sirihish:
"Best... 'sid... I -ever- spent!"
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman chuckles at the rugged, dusk-toned man.
Yanking up his pants, the gaunt, grungy-bearded man cinches his stained leather swordbelt about his waist.
At your table, the furrowed, stubbled man says in sirihish:
"Best fruit I ever picked."
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette pulls the willowy, grey-streaked man against her, her laughter quieting and shoulders shaking.
Licking at his lips, and finally managing to stop laughing, the rugged, dusk-toned man says to the gaunt, grungy-bearded man, in sirihish:
"Hmm.. one small. I a'ready gave ya' two an' a half, y'greedy fuck."
His voice muffled, the willowy, grey-streaked man says, in sirihish:
"I ain't sure there's any point in playin' anymore. Ain't nothin' gonna top that."
The scarred, ebony-haired woman shakes her head, and wipes her eyes.
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar looks down at the furrowed, stubbled man.
At your table, the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman says in sirihish, between giggles:
"Have.. ta... agree.. with that."
The reedy, sorrel-skinned woman pants for breath, a hand still clutching her stomach as she stares at the table in disbelief.
The slender, hack-haired man's laughter slows, and he is able to climb back up on your chair.
Indignantly as he tilts up his bearded chin, the gaunt, grungy-bearded man says to the rugged, stubble-bearded templar, in sirihish:
"One and a half."
Shaking her head slowly and wiping her eyes, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette says, in sirihish:
"I think we're done with Whira's Luck for the night. That was the best ever."
Shaking his head, the rugged, dusk-toned man says to the gaunt, grungy-bearded man, in sirihish:
"Fuckin' deal."
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man puts his deck of Kruth cards onto a broad table of scarred agafari wood.
The furrowed, stubbled man continues coughing as he wipes the tears from his cheek.
Frowning with disappointment, the caramel, alabaster-haired woman asks, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Wha'I miss?"
Tossing it over, the rugged, dusk-toned man gives some coins to the gaunt, grungy-bearded man.
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar turns away, holding a hand to his face.
The rugged, dusk-toned man exclaims to the gaunt, grungy-bearded man, in sirihish:
"EAT IT!"
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette exclaims to the caramel, alabaster-haired woman, in sirihish:
"Cactus fucked a fruit!"
Teras of laughter drying on her cheeks, the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman says to the caramel, alabaster-haired woman, in sirihish:
"Righ.. here."
Slapping her forehead, the caramel, alabaster-haired woman says, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Oh krath..."
Just as soon as he takes the coins, the gaunt, grungy-bearded man takes a big bite from his fleshy blue fruit and gnashes away at it unflinchingly.
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man eats a portion of his fleshy blue fruit.
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man eats a portion of his partially eaten fleshy blue fruit.
Adding, with renewed laughter, the rugged, dusk-toned man says to the caramel, alabaster-haired woman, in sirihish:
"Now he's gonna ea-"
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man eats a portion of his half eaten fleshy blue fruit.
The rugged, dusk-toned man stops talking, and just laughs.
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar turns back and looks toward a broad table of scarred agafari wood, his face red.
Shaking her head with a somber tone, the caramel, alabaster-haired woman says, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Y'jus' ruined y'chances, Cactus. Y'dumbass."
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man eats a portion of his small portion of a fleshy blue fruit.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man snickers helplessly into his hand.
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man says to the caramel, alabaster-haired woman, in sirihish:
"I'd take a ginka over you any day, baby."
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette stares at the gaunt, grungy-bearded man.
The reedy, sorrel-skinned woman breaks into a fresh round of uncontrollable laughter, hand grasping at the nearest chair back to steady herself.
The scarred, ebony-haired woman laughs.
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman leans against your side, snickering now and then as she watches the gaunt, grungy-bearded man.
The furrowed, stubbled man groans, shaking his head slowly.
Bellowing out, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar shouts, in sirihish:
"FIRST UNIT, AT ATTENTION."
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman stands up from a broad table of scarred agafari wood.
The caramel, alabaster-haired woman snorts softly, giving cactus a disbelieving stare.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man stands up from a broad table of scarred agafari wood.
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman stands up, snapping to attention.
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette hops from the willowy, grey-streaked man's lap.
Abruptly, you stand up from a broad table of scarred agafari wood.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man snaps to attention.
The caramel, alabaster-haired woman snaps to attention.
The scarred, ebony-haired woman remains seated, her laughter fading away.
The reedy, sorrel-skinned woman scurries out of the way, still laughing hysterically.
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette straightens to attention, gaze going to the rugged, stubble-bearded templar.
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man suddenly stiffens to attention, facing the rugged, stubble-bearded templar.
The rugged, dusk-toned man looks up, his laughter suddenly stopping.
Straightening his squaring his shoulders, the willowy, grey-streaked man stands up from a broad table of scarred agafari wood.
The slender, hack-haired man stands at attention, gaze on the rugged, stubble-bearded templar.
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar looks at the gaunt, grungy-bearded man.
Barking out, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says to the gaunt, grungy-bearded man, in sirihish:
"You a soldier or a prostitute, son? GET YER FUCKIN' PANTS BACK ON."
You think:
"Hey, it's not me for once."
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man makes sure his belt is tightly secured.
Flicking a glnce over, you look at the gaunt, grungy-bearded man.
A pair of broad, black obsidian eyes squint forth from slanted sockets
set widely across this tall man's face. Nicks and scrapes adorn his head
from it having been crudely shaven, and aside his from a small rat-tail
dangling down his scrawny neck, his only mane is a gritty sheen of black
stubble. All of his hair has been dispersed around his thick, scabby lips.
A full, stiffly bristled beard puffs out; it is matted with grease, bits of
debris, and is rigid with dried sweat. He is young and mostly free of
scars, although his hands and forearms have numerous lacerations, some more
severe than others. A wound has claimed the tips of the forefinger and
middle finger on his left hand, leaving callous stubs. A crudely-inked
tattoo of a woman, eyes wide with shock, taking it in the rear from a cactus
has been scrawled amongst the scars on his forearm.
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man is in excellent condition.
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man is using:
<worn on head> a new stained spiky helmet
<worn around neck> a stained inky-black leather collar
<slung across back> a double-edged bone shortsword
<worn across back> a round black shield
<worn on left shoulder> a black leather patch with a jade cross
<worn on arms> a pair of leather-reinforced sandcloth sleeves
<worn around wrist> a studded bone bracer
<worn around wrist> a spiked leather bracer
<worn on hands> a set of mesh-covered, tembo-hide gloves
<forearms> a pair of pitted, deep looking scars
<worn around body> a long, hooded aba of black sandcloth
<worn on legs> a pair of leather-reinforced sandcloth leggings
<worn on feet> a pair of knee-high dark leather boots
He is carrying:
nothing obvious
Pointing northwards, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar shouts, in sirihish:
"I'm out there workin' t' get gith killed and yer all in here -- laughin' about some dumbshit havin' sex with FRUIT? You men soldiers or Bynners? For FUCK SAKE!"
Stammering out the words, the gaunt, grungy-bearded man says to the rugged, stubble-bearded templar, in sirihish:
"Th-th-th-they're o-o-on, M-m-M'lord Templar"
The slender, hack-haired man lips twitch.
Flatly, the willowy, grey-streaked man says to the gaunt, grungy-bearded man, in sirihish:
"Shut up."
Staring, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says to the gaunt, grungy-bearded man, in sirihish:
"Did YOU just talk out 'f order? Yer th' LAST one I wanna hear shit from."
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar asks the willowy, grey-streaked man, in sirihish:
"Sergeant! Yer men are t' run three laps between here and th' Gaj, then report to barracks fer inspection. That clear?"
The caramel, alabaster-haired woman glances between cactus and templar with her eyes.
Pursing his thick, busted lips, the gaunt, grungy-bearded man bows his head low and locks his eyes on the ale-stained floor.
Jerking his hand out towards the plaza, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar exclaims to the willowy, grey-streaked man, in sirihish:
"ON THE FUCKIN' DOUBLE!"
Simply, the willowy, grey-streaked man says, in sirihish:
"Fall in, y'all."
The willowy, grey-streaked man bows to the rugged, stubble-bearded templar's in passing, his expression neutral.
The willowy, grey-streaked man nods at the caramel, alabaster-haired woman.
The willowy, grey-streaked man walks north.
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man nods at the caramel, alabaster-haired woman.
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man walks north.
The caramel, alabaster-haired woman walks north.
You follow the willowy, grey-streaked man, and walk north.
[they do some laps]
His expression still blank, the willowy, grey-streaked man says, in sirihish:
"Think I'm gonna call you Fruits from now on, lad."
The caramel, alabaster-haired woman snickers loudly before covering her mouth with her hand.
Hoarsely, the gaunt, grungy-bearded man says to the caramel, alabaster-haired woman, in sirihish:
"That shit'll sober a fella up quick, m'dear."
As she jogs, breathing evenly, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette sings, in sirihish:
"And ooh, Jade Saber lasses, now they're the real thing,
The fiercest, finest, toughest girls that e'er a sword did swing."
Pointing back at the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette sings, in sirihish:
"Untold pleasures you'll achieve if you get one into bed,
Though I'd advise you satisfy, or you'll quickly end up dead!"
Flatly, the willowy, grey-streaked man says, in sirihish:
"One."
In a lowered voice as he jogs along, the gaunt, grungy-bearded man says to the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette, in sirihish:
"I got a cadence, sir."
The willowy, grey-streaked man says, in sirihish:
"Two."
The willowy, grey-streaked man loops yet again.
The willowy, grey-streaked man says, in sirihish:
"Double-time."
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette sings, in sirihish:
"He's a veteran of many years, as you will quickly tell,
When he kicks the enemy's ass up one side, then back down into hell!"
The willowy, grey-streaked man runs north.
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man runs north.
The caramel, alabaster-haired woman runs north.
You follow the willowy, grey-streaked man, and run north.
[eventually they enter the Barrel again]
The veins buldging from his neck, the gaunt, grungy-bearded man shouts, in sirihish:
"Left, right, left, right, left, right... KILL!!"
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman chuckles.
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette laughs and stumbles a step.
The reedy, sorrel-skinned woman collapses into laughter at the shouts.
As he lopes along, the gaunt, grungy-bearded man shouts, in sirihish:
"Left, right, left, right, you know I WILL!"
The scarred, ebony-haired woman giggles again.
The willowy, grey-streaked man jogs right through the tavern, leading a large group of giggling soldiers.
The rugged, dusk-toned man begins to laugh again as the group steps in, despite himself.
The willowy, grey-streaked man runs south.
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man runs south.
The caramel, alabaster-haired woman runs south.
You follow the willowy, grey-streaked man, and run south.
The willowy, grey-streaked man opens his right hand, revealing his small stone shotglass.
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman grins at the willowy, grey-streaked man.
Tossing his head back, the willowy, grey-streaked man drinks brandy from his small stone shotglass.
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man shouts, in sirihish:
"Oh me, we're the infantry -- Oh me, we're the infantry!"
Tossing it over a shoulder as she jogs, the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman discards her small stone shotglass.
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man shouts, in sirihish:
"Gunna show the gith!"
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man shouts, in sirihish:
"What we're trained to be!"
The willowy, grey-streaked man exclaims, in sirihish:
"Hup, two, three four! I'm th' fuckin' hero of th' Copper War!"
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette cheers and whoops.
Singing out as she paces along, the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman shouts, in sirihish:
"An' if they ain' scared of us like they should be;We'll paint like a belshun an set Cactus free."
The willowy, grey-streaked man exclaims, in sirihish:
"Five, six, eight, ten! I killed me a dozen Tuluki men!"
Singing out as she paces along, the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman shouts, in sirihish:
"An' if they ain' scared of us like they should be/We'll paint em like a belshun an set Cactus free."
The slender, hack-haired man chuckles, as he jogs along.
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette presses a hand to her side, laughing and wincing.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man chortles breathlessly.
The willowy, grey-streaked man exclaims, in sirihish:
"Seven, nine, three, two! I killed me one'a them templars too!"
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man's narrow chest rattles with a ragged bout of snickering at the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman's words.
The willowy, grey-streaked man slows as he approaches the dusty, brown-haired soldier.
The willowy, grey-streaked man says, in sirihish:
"Right. Even out, children. Take a minute to catch yerselves."
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman moves over to the side of the road, brushing herself off.
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette nods to the willowy, grey-streaked man and bends over, catching her breath.
The dusty, brown-haired soldier stops using her carru-horn key.
The dusty, brown-haired soldier unlocks the gateway with a carru-horn key.
The dusty, brown-haired soldier opens the gateway.
The dusty, brown-haired soldier steps aside, allowing the willowy, grey-streaked man to pass.
The willowy, grey-streaked man walks north.
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man walks north.
You follow the willowy, grey-streaked man, and walk north.
Sparse sands blow across your path.
A Stonepaved Courtyard [NES]
The stones paving this courtyard are newly cut, rough edges waiting
for the wear that will smooth their grey and black surface. To the east
sits a large barracks, the arms of House Tor carved above them and gleaming
with fresh paint. Along its side is an animal pen, made of wood, which
leans into the shelter of the larger building. Stone walls surround the
courtyard, topped with broken glass to keep away the worst of Allanak's
notorious thieves. A large mural, depicting the siege of the city by
rebel dwarves, their short, squat forms fleeing in terror from Tektolnes'
might in the final stages, has been painted onto the blank stone of one
wall, apparently to serve as inspiration for the troops training here.
The willowy, grey-streaked man is standing here, looking a bit winded.
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man is standing here, looking a bit winded.
- he is carrying a jozhal-hide backpack.
The bushy-browed, gangly half-giant slouches here.
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman has arrived from the south.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man has arrived from the south.
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette has arrived from the south.
The dusty, brown-haired soldier closes the gateway from the other side.
Panting raggedly, the gaunt, grungy-bearded man lopes slowly around in a circle for a while, cooling down.
Passing a few, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette gives some coins to the gaunt, grungy-bearded man.
Sparse sands blow across your path.
A Roomy Barracks [NEW Quit Save]
The thickness of the dull red mud bricks of which this barracks has
been built provides it with a coolness which resists the worst of the
Zalanthan sun. The furnishings are simple: neatly ordered cots sit in rows,
a few with footlockers built into one end, while a large weapons rack hangs
on the wall underneath a wooden frieze depicting the desert, gith, jozhals
and scrabs moving through the dunes. Below the frieze, extending down the
walls and covering the floor, are ceramic tiles composed of all the hues of
the desert: vermilion, bronze, amber, rust, tawny yellow, and ochre. The
tiles are laid in an abstract, undulating pattern reminiscent of rolling
dunes.
Under the weapons rack, a cracked stone storage bin is filled with mismatched armor pieces.
Pushed against a wall, a bone sided chest is filled with desert survival equipment.
Pushed against a wall, a simple wooden chest is filled with raw materials.
The willowy, grey-streaked man is standing here, looking a bit winded.
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man is standing here, looking a bit winded.
- he is carrying a jozhal-hide backpack.
A human soldier of Tektolnes walks along here.
A human soldier of Tektolnes walks along here.
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman has arrived from the west.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man has arrived from the west.
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette has arrived from the west.
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette says to the gaunt, grungy-bearded man, in sirihish:
"Happy birthday to me."
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman grins at the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette.
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman says to the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette, in sirihish:
"Yer birthdays gonna be tha talk of the town fer a long long time."
The willowy, grey-streaked man says, in sirihish:
"Shaddup, y'all."
The willowy, grey-streaked man says to the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette, in sirihish:
"Tell th' Lord Templar we're here."
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette grins at the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman and then looks back to the willowy, grey-streaked man.
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman moves over to formation, snapping to attention and clasping her hands behind her back.
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man opens his mouth toward the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette then clamps it shut, dark eyes shiting to the willowy, grey-streaked man.
The caramel, alabaster-haired woman sighs, lowering her eyes with a dreading expression.
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette nods to the willowy, grey-streaked man, her gaze growing distant.
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette says to the willowy, grey-streaked man, in sirihish:
"Message relayed, sir."
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man steps into line, motioning to the gaunt, grungy-bearded man and the caramel, alabaster-haired woman.
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man swallows hard and stands at parade rest, hands clasped behind his back.
The caramel, alabaster-haired woman steps beside the burn-scarred, curly-haired man, sighing as she places her body into its appropriate position.
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar has arrived from the west.
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar walks north.
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar closes the door from the other side.
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette's gaze follows the templar's path before snapping straight ahead again.
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar opens the door from the other side.
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar has arrived from the north, stalking out with a steel-edged glare.
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman keeps her eyes dead ahead, not even twitching.
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man stares forward with glazed, reddened eyes.
The willowy, grey-streaked man folds his hands at the small of his back.
Looking back and forth, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar asks, in sirihish:
"I'm in the militia barracks, right? This ain't the Byn?"
Looking at the rugged, stubble-bearded templar for just a moment, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette nods.
Looking up and down the line, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar asks, in sirihish:
"You men ARE soldiers? YES 'R NO?"
Firmly, the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman exclaims, in sirihish:
"Yes sir!"
Firmly, the burn-scarred, curly-haired man says, in sirihish:
"Yes my Lord."
Emphatically, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette says to the rugged, stubble-bearded templar, in sirihish:
"Yes, my Lord."
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man shouts, in sirihish:
"Yes Lord Templar!"
The willowy, grey-streaked man says, in sirihish:
"Ayuh."
Snapping up even straighter, you exclaim, in sirihish:
"Yes, Lord Templar!"
The caramel, alabaster-haired woman exclaims, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Yes Lord Templar!"
Glaring up and down the line, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says, in sirihish:
"That's YES LORD TEMPLAR. Least -some- 'f you got 't right."
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar shoots the willowy, grey-streaked man a look, stalking up and down the line, his hands clenched into fists.
After a moment, the willowy, grey-streaked man says, in sirihish:
"Yes, Lord Templar."
The caramel, alabaster-haired woman purses her lips for a moment, before wiping away expression from her features.
With a clenched jaw, the gaunt, grungy-bearded man stands rigidly and stares at a wall with a hard, near unblinking gaze.
Pausing in front of her, barking into her face, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar asks the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman, in sirihish:
"This funny, Nae? You havin' a good ol' time?"
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman exclaims, in sirihish:
"No Lord Templar.. not anymore Lord Templar!"
The slender, hack-haired man eyes slide over to view the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman and the rugged, stubble-bearded templar.
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar grunts and walks on down the line, stopping again in front of the caramel, alabaster-haired woman.
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar asks the caramel, alabaster-haired woman, in sirihish:
"Do you even know how t' talk proper yet?"
With a steady tone, the caramel, alabaster-haired woman says, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Yes Lord Templar, I speak proper."
With a roll of his eyes, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says to the caramel, alabaster-haired woman, in sirihish:
"Proper if yer some kinda Arabet, mebbe."
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette clears her throat very quietly, obviously suppressing a smile.
The caramel, alabaster-haired woman says, in sirihish:
"I do not think so, Lord Templar."
Pointing over at him, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says to the gaunt, grungy-bearded man, in sirihish:
"And YOU. You are the craziest fuckin' person in this barracks, and that's sayin' a LOT."
Wheeling back, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar exclaims to the caramel, alabaster-haired woman, in sirihish:
"I say anything to you, soldier?!"
The slender, hack-haired man mouth twitches a moment, then moves back straight.
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman's eyes shift to the caramel, alabaster-haired woman briefly before snapping back ahead.
Staring forward unblinkingly, voice crisp, the gaunt, grungy-bearded man shouts, in sirihish:
"Yes, Lord Templar!"
Staring ahead with a swallow, the caramel, alabaster-haired woman says, in sirihish:
"No, Lord Templar, you did not."
Gruffly, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says, in sirihish:
"On yer knees! Both 'f you! Take them patches off and toss 'em down in front of ya."
Kneeling down and unstrapping his patch, the gaunt, grungy-bearded man sits down.
Dropping to her knees and reaching for her black leather patch with a jade cross, the caramel, alabaster-haired woman sits down to rest.
Putting it on the ground before him, the gaunt, grungy-bearded man gives his black leather patch with a jade cross to the rugged, stubble-bearded templar.
Quivering, the gaunt, grungy-bearded man kneels, head hung low.
Dropping it promptly, the caramel, alabaster-haired woman gives her black leather patch with a jade cross to the rugged, stubble-bearded templar.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man continues to stare forward expressionlessly.
Looking back up the line, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says, in sirihish:
"And the rest of you, you all ought t' KNOW better. I really thought y'would. Fuck sake, I want ALL 'f you down."
Kneeling at the rugged, stubble-bearded templar's command, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette sits down.
Dropping to his knees, the burn-scarred, curly-haired man sits down.
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman drops to her knees, eyes closing briefly.
Kneeling expressionlessly, you sit down.
Dropping to a knee, the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman sits down.
Staring at a point just over the rugged, stubble-bearded templar's shoulder, the willowy, grey-streaked man sits down.
Letting out a grunt (or maybe a snicker?), the rugged, stubble-bearded templar looks up and down the kneeling line, wordlessly.
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar asks, in sirihish:
"Y'all remind me of my old unit, them farmboys out 'n MENOS. Y'know what th' only difference I can see right now is?"
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette shakes her head very slightly.
Tonelessly, the burn-scarred, curly-haired man says, in sirihish:
"No Lord Templar."
Finally busting out into laughter, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says, in sirihish:
"Those fuckers woulda TOLD me afore they got their 'cruits t' do shit that funny."
Quietly, the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman says, in sirihish:
"No Lord Templar.."
The slender, hack-haired man blinks at the rugged, stubble-bearded templar.
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette bursts into a quiet laugh, dropping her head.
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman glances up briefly, a startled expression on her face.
The caramel, alabaster-haired woman furrows her brow, glancing to the rugged, stubble-bearded templar.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man smiles broadly, dipping his chin.
The willowy, grey-streaked man tilts his head back, exhaling with a huff.
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar laughs and shakes his head for several moments before dropping a hand down into his burned oversized black backpack.
Clearing her throat and looking up to the rugged, stubble-bearded templar, the caramel, alabaster-haired woman asks, in sirihish:
"Ah... Lord Templar...?"
Amusedly, the willowy, grey-streaked man says, in sirihish:
"Didn't nobody think he was actually gonna -do- it 'till he went and dropped his drawers, Lord Templar."
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar pulls a dustcloak out of a burned blue, hooded templar's robe.
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar pulls a dustcloak out of a burned blue, hooded templar's robe.
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman nods in silent agreement with the willowy, grey-streaked man's words.
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman says, in sirihish:
"Then we was laughin' too hard ta really think, Lord Templar."
The caramel, alabaster-haired woman lowers her eyes, her lips twisting.
Kneeling but straight-postured, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette watches the rugged, stubble-bearded templar with a wide smile.
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man keeps his eyes locked on the floor and continues to kneel tensely.
His angry expression from a few moments ago gone completely, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says, in sirihish:
"You men 'r a unit now, I can see that much. That's good, that's what we need against them gith. You fight together 'n fuck around together, you'll all live."
------------
Everyone gets promoted, and gets badges for service. It's only later that Jenneth finds out after they left the Barrel, the Lord Templar Samos was cracking up so hard, he was literally rolling around on the floor. But shhh, he made everyone swear not to tell. ;)
It’s a long log, to get you into the mood of the scene. I apologize for the crappy formatting, but it’s the crazy Arm Original Submissions doing it, not me.
-------
The gaunt, grungy-bearded man has arrived from the north.
At your table, the burn-scarred, curly-haired man...
Continue Reading...The Ballad of High Lord Templar Elithan and the Wyvern by Yseulte
Added on Nov 23, 2009Performed by Pia Konviewdu for Chosen Lord Ranak commemorating the High Templar's fight with the Wyvern.
The sands shaken, the Wyvern did waken,
Its wings unfurl’d and hauled its scaly grey bulk throu’ winds ‘at whirled.
Eyes like the bloody moon up high, it rasped and did cry:
"You're but food, I’ll end you like a kank-fly."
Throu’ visored helm ‘gainst an awful glare did our High Templar stare,
And his fate did now he saw began to glow on the Wyvern's claw.
Power ain’t ‘ford him no shield ‘gainst a light so bright,
Blindin’ him of sight, all moon-white.
With power ‘at split the red sky and laid our legions low as scrubs do lie,
Upon ‘em the abomination did fly.
Inna rush o’ beatin’ wings and a fearsome growl,
The nectar of its maw did spit upon our ranks an ichor so foul.
In multitudes did His soldiers fall, buildin’ a wall o’ blackened flesh,
Crisp'd meat, a dike o’ dead, insufferable heat.
Yet through befoulin’ wafts of tainted smoke,
Tho’ reel our folk might, and scream and choke,
Our crossbows were let fly, loud as any storm's cry,
And the air did sigh with the fall o' our Templar up High.
Inna rush o' steps did drum a sea o' His Common come,
Ain't shield in hand nor spear, we carried His Faithful Lord clear.
Tho' torn and beaten he be, his heart and hand done quicken,
And when his sword done lifted, the beast lay dead and stricken.
‘Ere stood we, a shield ‘round His Faithful Lord,
The shinin’ Common o' His Light.The sands shaken, the Wyvern did waken,
Its wings unfurl’d and hauled its scaly grey bulk throu’ winds ‘at whirled.
Eyes like the bloody moon up high, it rasped and did cry:
"You're but food, I’ll end you like a kank-fly."
Throu’ visored helm ‘gainst an awful glare did our High Templar stare,
And...
Continue Reading...Luir's Outpost Auction & Arena Event [Part 1] by Mansa
Added on Nov 15, 2009In 2004, there was a Recommended Playing Time to play Armageddon, and the event was an Arena Game and Auction in Luir's Outpost. Agent Oseres Kadius, always a party whereever he goes, shows up for fun and to make some deals with House Kurac. This is a -long- log, and is rather raw, but it shows what sort of things happen during a busy event.
>look
The Higher Tier Stands [E]
These are the western and more opulant stands of the fighting pit of
Luir's Outpost, whose black stone walls and strangely horned buildings are
visible to the east. While the walls of the pit below are built of stone,
the stands are wooden. Rows of benches fill the lower section of this area
of the stands, with cleared areas for hawkers and those taking and making
bets. A gracefully canopied section against the uppermost row of the stands
has properly cushioned chairs and is obviously set apart for those of some
standing.
A terrace staircase opens up to the east and leads out of the seating
area and the view below is of the red-stained sands of the fighting pit
itself.
A shadow falls over the area, driving off the uncomfortable heat.
Lined up with the best view of the stage is a cloth-padded wooden bench.
The tall figure in an orange-crested, grey sandcloth cloak is standing here.
The trim, amber-locked woman is sitting on a cloth-padded wooden bench.
The tall figure in an orange-crested, grey sandcloth cloak stands by a figure in a leather duster.
The tall figure in an orange-crested, grey sandcloth cloak is standing here, looking a bit winded.
The very tall figure in a dusty orange-crested, grey sandcloth cloak is standing here.
>l tables
At 1) a cloth-padded wooden bench are:
the trim, amber-locked woman, and a few empty seats.
At 2) a cloth-padded wooden bench are:
the effeminate, pompadoured man, and a few empty seats.
At 3) a cloth-padded wooden bench are:
a few empty seats.
>l e
To the east is the Terrace Overlooking the Fighting Pit.
[Far]
The callous, thorn-inked man is standing here.
The pale, vermillion-eyed man is standing here.
The horribly thin young woman is standing here.
The thick, war-braided young man is standing here.
The flint-eyed, jasper-haired man sits here, smelling strongly of spice.
The slender, raven-haired man is standing here.
The ruddy-hued brown-haired woman is sitting on a long wooden bench.
The horribly scarred, blind man is sitting on a long wooden bench.
The huge figure in a desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak sits quietly on a bench, atching the crowd.
The tall male wearing a thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap is sitting on a long wooden ench.
The tall figure in a dusty set of hooded, shadow-grey robes sits in a bench here.
The small, tanned dwarf sits in the center of the first row of benches.
The blue-eyed dwarven woman oversees the stands here.
[Near]
The tall, willowy woman is standing here.
The tall, spindly man is standing here.
The aquiline, blond man stands sentry here, his blue eyes watchful.
The opaline, frost-haired half-elf is standing here.
The huge figure in an orange-crested, grey sandcloth cloak is standing here.
The gargantuan, blonde-haired man is standing here.
The rugged, dusty-blonde haired man is standing here.
The ragged-maned half-giant is standing here.
The wiry, war-braided young man is standing here.
The weathered young man is standing here.
The tattooed female dwarf is standing here.
The plaited, emerald-eyed woman is standing here.
The small-headed, dark gray dwarf is standing here.
The young gangling man is standing here.
The decrepit-looking, worn dwarf is standing here.
The lithe, brown-haired young man is standing here.
The buxom, red-haired woman is standing here.
The slight, blonde-haired man is standing here.
The whipcord thin man stands here, eyes narrowed.
The fire-haired, ruby-eyed man stands near the railing to the pit.
The rugged, goateed man is standing here.
The runic, blood-toned half-giant is here, looking extremely tense and wild eyed.
The fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf is standing here.
The burly, cobalt-skinned dwarf is standing here.
An obese, beady-eyed man moves around, hawking items from a tray of food.
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"I'll probley be out of the match first round."
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"You're entering?"
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"I guess it wouldnt hurt for maybe a round."
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Five hundred coins per entry, one thousand per team of two."
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"I'll also need names, either stage or real."
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"And I should pay you, sir?"
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Barvel and my self sir"
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"For five hundred coins?"
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"You and barvel?"
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Yes sir, as a team"
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Is that how much it costs to register?"
The trim, amber-locked woman lowers the hood of a sleek, crimson leather duster.
The trim, amber-locked woman tugs down her hood, her features set into hard lines as she gazes down into the fighting pit.
>l fianna
A thick mane of dark amber hair falls past this human woman's shouldersin waves, save for her bangs which are trimmed in spiky chunks to frame theperidot-hued orbs of her glittering eyes. A feral, yellow-green in color,they peer past the long veils of her golden lashes above the refinedcrescents of her cheekbones. A sensuously full mouth resides beneath theaquiline ridge of her nose, shadowed lightly by the slight flare of hernostrils. Accenting the otherwise feminine features of her face with astrong, square line is a stubbornly-set jaw that leads down to her tonedneck and shoulders. Beneath the covering of her tawny-gold skin, her petiteframe is shaped with a layer of toned muscle, giving her small body a solidbut graceful appearance.
The trim, amber-locked woman is in excellent condition.
The trim, amber-locked woman is using:
<worn in left ear> an earring of glittering black glass
<worn in right ear> an earring of glittering black glass
<worn around neck> a bejeweled, black leather choker
<worn across back> a black silk shoulder bag
<worn on right shoulder> a grey leather pauldron
<worn on left shoulder> a grey leather pauldron
<worn around wrist> a twisting, jade serpent
<worn around wrist> a silvery woven, black silk wrap
<worn on right finger> a chunky, topaz-set bone ring
<worn on left finger> a jet-inlaid marble signet ring
<worn around body> a sleek, crimson leather duster
<worn on legs> a pair of tightly-stitched scarlet leather pants
<worn on right ankle> an onyx serpentine anklet
<worn on left ankle> a silvery woven, black silk wrap
<worn on feet> a pair of calf-high scarlet leather boots
The tall figure in an orange-crested, grey sandcloth cloak stares down towards the pit.
Down in the pit someone opens the doors from the other side.
Down in the pit a wild-eyed mul has arrived from the south.
Down in the pit the huge figure in a veiled sandcloth turban has arrived from the south.
Down in the pit The largest of a pack of wild gortok, a beast with feral red eyes turns toward the southern doorway, eyeing a wild-eyed mul.
Down in the pit A wild-eyed mul is shoved roughly onto the sands.
Down in the pit someone closes the doors from the other side.
Down in the pit A wild-eyed mul moves back to back with the huge figure in a veiled sandcloth turban, staring at the pack of gortoks.
Down in the pit A pack of wild gortok circles toward a wild-eyed mul's shout, each beast crouching low and baring its teeth.
>emote slides down along ~bench, crossing an aisle, and over to %fianna bench
The effeminate, pompadoured man slides down along a cloth-padded wooden bench, crossing an aisle, and over to the trim, amber-locked woman's bench.
>sit with fianna
[Standing first]
You sit down on a cloth-padded wooden bench.
The tall figure in an orange-crested, grey sandcloth cloak looks down at you.
The tall figure in an orange-crested, grey sandcloth cloak stares down at you, his hand dropping to your shoulder.
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Next?"
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Hmm, teams of two..."
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"I wish to sign up."
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"One or two."
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"never mind, I need to save my coins"
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"Stand together"
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Aye, no teams of three like the last one?"
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"aye"
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Not unless there is enough interest."
>talk (flashing a grin towards ~fianna) Hey love.
At your seat, you say in cavilish, flashing a grin towards the trim, amber-locked woman:
"Hey love."
Lifting a black eyebrow, the tall figure in an orange-crested, grey sandcloth cloak asks you, in sirihish:
"Yeh there. Th'Advisor tell yeh ya could sit wi' 'er?"
Down in the pit A wild-eyed mul moves forward, slashing out at the lead gortok.
Down in the pit Suddenly, as if on-signal, a pack of wild gortok lunge.
Down in the pit a wild-eyed mul swiftly dodges a pack of wild gortok's hits.
Down in the pit a wild-eyed mul swiftly dodges a pack of wild gortok's hits.
Down in the pit a wild-eyed mul swiftly dodges a pack of wild gortok's hits.
Down in the pit a wild-eyed mul swiftly dodges a pack of wild gortok's hits.
Down in the pit a wild-eyed mul slashes a pack of wild gortok's leg, connecting hard.
Down in the pit a wild-eyed mul swiftly dodges a pack of wild gortok's hits.
Down in the pit a wild-eyed mul swiftly dodges a pack of wild gortok's hits.
Down in the pit the huge figure in a veiled sandcloth turban heroically joins a wild-eyed mul's fight!
Down in the pit the huge figure in a veiled sandcloth turban pierces at a pack of wild gortok's body, nicking him.
Down in the pit a pack of wild gortok swiftly dodges the huge figure in a veiled sandcloth turban's whips.
Down in the pit a wild-eyed mul swiftly dodges a pack of wild gortok's hits.
Down in the pit a wild-eyed mul swiftly dodges a pack of wild gortok's hits.
Down in the pit a wild-eyed mul slashes a pack of wild gortok on his arm, wounding him.
Down in the pit the huge figure in a veiled sandcloth turban tries to kick a pack of wild gortok in the chest, but he steps aside.
Down in the pit a pack of wild gortok swiftly dodges the huge figure in a veiled sandcloth turban's pierces.
Down in the pit a pack of wild gortok swiftly dodges the huge figure in a veiled sandcloth turban's whips.
Down in the pit a wild-eyed mul swiftly dodges a pack of wild gortok's hits.
Down in the pit a wild-eyed mul swiftly dodges a pack of wild gortok's hits.
Down in the pit the huge figure in a veiled sandcloth turban's blow bounces off a pack of wild gortok's tough skin.
Down in the pit a pack of wild gortok swiftly dodges the huge figure in a veiled sandcloth turban's whips.
Down in the pit a wild-eyed mul swiftly dodges a pack of wild gortok's hits.
Down in the pit a wild-eyed mul swiftly dodges a pack of wild gortok's hits.
Down in the pit a wild-eyed mul swiftly dodges a pack of wild gortok's hits.
Down in the pit a wild-eyed mul swiftly dodges a pack of wild gortok's hits.
Down in the pit a pack of wild gortok swiftly dodges the huge figure in a veiled sandcloth turban's pierces.
Down in the pit a pack of wild gortok swiftly dodges the huge figure in a veiled sandcloth turban's whips.
Down in the pit a wild-eyed mul swiftly dodges a pack of wild gortok's hits.
Down in the pit a wild-eyed mul swiftly dodges a pack of wild gortok's hits.
Down in the pit a wild-eyed mul slashes a pack of wild gortok on his leg, wounding him.
Down in the pit a wild-eyed mul swiftly dodges a pack of wild gortok's hits.
Down in the pit a wild-eyed mul swiftly dodges a pack of wild gortok's hits.
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"See you dfown in the ring sarg, good luck."
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Yeh and meh eh? or yeh want teh do singles?"
You hear a woman's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Indeed, this shall be legendary."
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"How about both?"
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"Stand fast!"
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"You and me then?"
Down in the pit a wild-eyed mul swiftly dodges a pack of wild gortok's hits.
Down in the pit a wild-eyed mul swiftly dodges a pack of wild gortok's hits.
Down in the pit the huge figure in a veiled sandcloth turban's blow bounces off a pack of wild gortok's tough skin.
Down in the pit a pack of wild gortok swiftly dodges the huge figure in a veiled sandcloth turban's whips.
Down in the pit One of a pack of wild gortok snaps onto a wild-eyed mul's arm, but is easily thrown aside.
Down in the pit a wild-eyed mul slashes a pack of wild gortok's hand, connecting hard.
Down in the pit a pack of wild gortok lightly hits a wild-eyed mul's foot.
Down in the pit a wild-eyed mul swiftly dodges a pack of wild gortok's hits.
Down in the pit a pack of wild gortok swiftly dodges a wild-eyed mul's slashes.
Down in the pit a pack of wild gortok solidly hits a wild-eyed mul's wrist.
Down in the pit a wild-eyed mul swiftly dodges a pack of wild gortok's hits.
Down in the pit a wild-eyed mul swiftly dodges a pack of wild gortok's hits.
Down in the pit a wild-eyed mul swiftly dodges a pack of wild gortok's hits.
Down in the pit a wild-eyed mul swiftly dodges a pack of wild gortok's hits.
Down in the pit a wild-eyed mul swiftly dodges a pack of wild gortok's hits.
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"'kay."
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"I'll register."
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Yeh teamin' up wit one o' yer 'Bynners?"
Down in the pit a wild-eyed mul swiftly dodges a pack of wild gortok's hits.
Down in the pit a wild-eyed mul swiftly dodges a pack of wild gortok's hits.
Down in the pit the huge figure in a veiled sandcloth turban's blow bounces off a pack of wild gortok's tough skin.
Down in the pit a pack of wild gortok swiftly dodges the huge figure in a veiled sandcloth turban's whips.
Down in the pit a wild-eyed mul swiftly dodges a pack of wild gortok's hits.
Down in the pit a wild-eyed mul swiftly dodges a pack of wild gortok's hits.
Down in the pit the huge figure in a veiled sandcloth turban pierces at a pack of wild gortok's leg, nicking him.
Down in the pit a pack of wild gortok swiftly dodges the huge figure in a veiled sandcloth turban's whips.
Down in the pit a wild-eyed mul viciously slashes a pack of wild gortok on his waist.
Down in the pit a pack of wild gortok swiftly dodges the huge figure in a veiled sandcloth turban's pierces.
Down in the pit a pack of wild gortok swiftly dodges the huge figure in a veiled sandcloth turban's whips.
Down in the pit a wild-eyed mul swiftly dodges a pack of wild gortok's hits.
Down in the pit a wild-eyed mul swiftly dodges a pack of wild gortok's hits.
Down in the pit a wild-eyed mul slashes a pack of wild gortok's hand, connecting hard.
Down in the pit a pack of wild gortok avoids being bashed by a wild-eyed mul, who loses his balance and falls.
Down in the pit a wild-eyed mul swiftly dodges a pack of wild gortok's hits.
Down in the pit a wild-eyed mul swiftly dodges a pack of wild gortok's hits.
The tall, spindly man has arrived from the east.
The opaline, frost-haired half-elf has arrived from the east.
The aquiline, blond man has arrived from the east.
The tall, willowy woman has arrived from the east.
>say (turning around, glacing about the bunch of orange-cloaked figures) Who said that?
Turning around, glacing about the bunch of orange-cloaked figures, you ask, in cavilish:
"Who said that?"
The trim, amber-locked woman lifts a small, golden hand, making a subtle waving gesture.
The very tall figure in a dusty orange-crested, grey sandcloth cloak looks down at you as he shifts his dark gaze away from the pit.
The tall figure in an orange-crested, grey sandcloth cloak dips his head to the trim, amber-locked woman and steps back, retaking his protective position at her back.
Down in the pit a wild-eyed mul swiftly dodges a pack of wild gortok's hits.
Down in the pit a wild-eyed mul swiftly dodges a pack of wild gortok's hits.
Down in the pit a wild-eyed mul swiftly dodges a pack of wild gortok's hits.
Down in the pit a wild-eyed mul swiftly dodges a pack of wild gortok's hits.
Down in the pit a wild-eyed mul slashes a pack of wild gortok's leg, connecting hard.
Down in the pit A pack of wild gortok begins, as a unit, to back away from a wild-eyed mul and the huge figure in a veiled sandcloth turban.
Down in the pit a pack of wild gortok claws a wild-eyed mul's body, inflicting a grievous wound.
Down in the pit a wild-eyed mul gets up and stands to his feet.
Down in the pit a pack of wild gortok swiftly dodges the huge figure in a veiled sandcloth turban's pierces.
Down in the pit a pack of wild gortok swiftly dodges the huge figure in a veiled sandcloth turban's whips.
Down in the pit a pack of wild gortok claws a wild-eyed mul on his leg, wounding him.
Down in the pit a pack of wild gortok viciously claws a wild-eyed mul on his body.
Down in the pit a pack of wild gortok brutally claws a wild-eyed mul on his body.
Down in the pit a thick obsidian longsword clatters to the ground as a wild-eyed mul releases it.
Down in the pit an used large round shield clatters to the ground as a wild-eyed mul releases it.
Down in the pit a wild-eyed mul crumples to the ground.
Down in the pit a pack of wild gortok viciously claws the huge figure in a veiled sandcloth turban on her body.
Down in the pit a pack of wild gortok swiftly dodges the huge figure in a veiled sandcloth turban's pierces.
Down in the pit a pack of wild gortok swiftly dodges the huge figure in a veiled sandcloth turban's whips.
Down in the pit a pack of wild gortok claws the huge figure in a veiled sandcloth turban's body, inflicting a grievous wound.
Down in the pit a pack of wild gortok brutally claws the huge figure in a veiled sandcloth turban on her arm.
Down in the pit a pack of wild gortok viciously claws the huge figure in a veiled sandcloth turban on her body.
Down in the pit the huge figure in a veiled sandcloth turban cries out in pain.
You hear someone cry out in the distance.
Down in the pit a barb-headed, wooden longspear clatters to the ground as the huge figure in a veiled sandcloth turban releases it.
Down in the pit a wickedly barbed net clatters to the ground as the huge figure in a veiled sandcloth turban releases it.
Down in the pit the huge figure in a veiled sandcloth turban crumples to the ground.
The opaline, frost-haired half-elf follows along the tall, spindly man, tring hard not to look into the pit.
Leaning over the rail, the tall, spindly man shouts, in sirihish:
"That -had- to hurt!"
Down in the pit Half of a pack of wild gortok begins to tear at a wild-eyed mul as the rest of the creatures round toward a wild-eyed mul.
Down in the pit a pack of wild gortok claws a wild-eyed mul's body, inflicting a grievous wound.
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Your name, either stage or real?"
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"I got it..Thanks though."
You hear a woman's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"We're all doin' singles."
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Sergeant Seron, of the Tenneshi Guard."
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Good luck to you, Sergeant. I will call you from the pit when its time."
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"How much is it teh enteh both tournaments? A large or five hundred?"
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"I wish to register."
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Five hundred coins and your name."
The trim, amber-locked woman looks up at the tall, spindly man with a flick of her eyes, their gaze hard and jewel-bright.
>eq
You are using:
<worn on head> a large black and white hat
<worn on face> a smooth bone eyebrow ring
<worn around neck> a black silk collar, clasped with an ivory brooch
<worn about throat> a small, wooden whistle
<worn across back> a black silk shoulder bag
<worn on torso> a bloodied tight black silk shirt
<worn on arms> a pair of blue and purple armbands
<worn around wrist> a black silk wrist-wrap
<worn around wrist> a black silk wrist-wrap
<worn on hands> a pair of black silk gloves
<secondary hand> a leather-wrapped glass flask
<worn on right finger> an amethyst-set black bone ring
<worn on left finger> a bone ring
<worn on right finger> a ruby-set black bone ring
<worn on left finger> an embossed, silver signet ring
<worn as belt> a broad, obsidian-buttoned black silk belt
<worn around body> a black hooded silk greatcloak
<worn about waist> a svelte, black spice-kit
<worn on legs> a pair of tight black silk pants
<worn on right ankle> a deep black silk bandana
<worn on left ankle> a deep black silk bandana
<worn on feet> a pair of high, polished black leather boots
>talk (looking back to ~fianna, offering up ~flask) Drink?
At your seat, you say in cavilish, looking back to the trim, amber-locked woman, offering up your leather-wrapped glass flask:
"Drink?"
>i
You are carrying:
187 obsidian pieces
an irrig lamp
At your seat, the trim, amber-locked woman says in sirihish, her voice a quiet hiss:
"No thank you."
The tall, spindly man winks to the trim, amber-locked woman.
You hear a woman's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"The Byn is here when ye can get to us, Qeric-da."
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"I am Joshua Klestion....the wanderer."
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"'Dat was meh plan.. buh seein' yeh beh givin' meh cause tah ask yeh."
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Good luck to you, I will call you when its time."
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Next!"
Down in the pit Half of a pack of wild gortok begins to lose interest in the body of a wild-eyed mul, rounding to the body of a dusty elf.
>emote twists the cap back on ~flask, putting it away
The effeminate, pompadoured man twists the cap back on your leather-wrapped glass flask, putting it away.
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Many thanks."
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"I wish teh register."
>rem flask
You stop using a leather-wrapped glass flask.
>open bag
Ok.
>put flask bag
You put a leather-wrapped glass flask inside a black silk shoulder bag.
>close bag
Ok.
Handlers rush in below, surrounding the pack with long spears as they herd them south.
Down in the pit someone opens the doors from the other side.
Down in the pit A pack of wild gortok growl and snap at the handlers, eventually being herded away.
Down in the pit a pack of wild gortok runs south.
Down in the pit someone closes the doors from the other side.
A crew moves in, dragging the bodies and gear from the blood stained sands below.
The tall, spindly man walks east.
The opaline, frost-haired half-elf walks east.
The aquiline, blond man walks east.
The tall, willowy woman walks east.
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"If I want teh enteh both, I have teh pay how much?"
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"I give ya coins?"
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Aye, alright."
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Five hundred and your name again. I'm afriad I've forgotten it this day."
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Guess ah'll beh seein' yeh on deh battlefield, eh?"
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Hmm..Little Giant...Dat is meh name"
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Ah ain't doubtin' yeh gonna beh 'dere."
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"I have your name and coin already, Regular."
You hear a woman's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Aye, been too long since we locked blades."
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"And he is my partner in the teams match"
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"South and then east."
>open kit
Ok.
>l in kit
In a svelte, black spice-kit (used) :
a small, leather-wrapped bone ember box
a booklet of rolling papers
a pinch of black, viscous spice
a dragon-carved, ivory dagger
>talk (to ~fianna) Smoke?
At your seat, you say in cavilish, to the trim, amber-locked woman:
"Smoke?"
The trim, amber-locked woman's hands fall to ball the leather of her duster beneath them.
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Your name and coin?"
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Hiroshi."
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"The singles and team are seperate. Each will be five hundred if you wish to enter both."
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Ok...Deh Singles den."
You hear a woman's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"We have there enterin' the singles competition, Veric-da."
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"I'd like to register"
At your seat, the trim, amber-locked woman says in sirihish, her gaze flitting sidelong toward you:
"Tho'?"
>nod fianna
You nod to her.
At your seat, the trim, amber-locked woman says in cavilish, nodding quietly:
"Yes, please."
>talk (with a grin) From my brick you haven't had time to see.
At your seat, you say in cavilish, with a grin:
"From my brick you haven't had time to see."
>take booklet kit
You get a booklet of rolling papers from a svelte, black spice-kit.
It is very light.
>take pinch kit
You get a pinch of black, viscous spice from a svelte, black spice-kit.
It is very light.
>emote pulls out a piece of paper, then fills it with ~pinch, rolling it
The effeminate, pompadoured man pulls out a piece of paper, then fills it with your pinch of black, viscous spice, rolling it.
At your seat, the trim, amber-locked woman says in cavilish, shaking her head quietly:
"I've been very busy."
>make smoke booklet pinch
You carefully roll a pinch of spice with a booklet of rolling papers.
>talk (with a grin) So have I, love.
At your seat, you say in cavilish, with a grin:
"So have I, love."
>put booklet kit
You put a booklet of rolling papers inside a svelte, black spice-kit.
>i
You are carrying:
187 obsidian pieces
a solidly packed tube of spice
an irrig lamp
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"How many for the byn?"
You hear a woman's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Three."
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"One moment."
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Fifteen hundred and the names."
You hear a woman's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Akasha o' the T'zai Byn."
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"I know your name, Lieutenant. I meant the other two."
You hear a woman's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"An' these two can title themselves."
You hear a woman's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"And why would we want to do that/"
You hear a woman's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Trooper Lyndra, sir."
You hear a woman's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Give 'em yer coin an' names, Byn."
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Trooper Marook, Byn"
>give smoke fianna
You give a solidly packed tube of spice to the trim, amber-locked woman.
>take box kit
You get a small, leather-wrapped bone ember box from a svelte, black spice-kit.
It is very light.
The trim, amber-locked woman holds a solidly packed tube of spice.
>give box fianna
You give a small, leather-wrapped bone ember box to the trim, amber-locked woman.
>talk Light?
At your seat, you say in cavilish:
"Light?"
The trim, amber-locked woman lifts a small coal from her small, leather-wrapped bone ember box, blowing gently on it to incite it back to a sullen, orange glow.
The very tall figure in a dusty orange-crested, grey sandcloth cloak is gone bathroom.
Bringing the coal to her smoke with the tongs, the trim, amber-locked woman puffs deeply, holding the smoke in her lungs as she hands the coal and box over to you.
The trim, amber-locked woman gives you a small, leather-wrapped bone ember box.
A thin trail of rich, heady smoke trickles from the trim, amber-locked woman's mouth as she smokes a solidly packed tube of spice.
The trim, amber-locked woman's eyes become glassy-red and half-closed.
>put box kit
You put a small, leather-wrapped bone ember box inside a svelte, black spice-kit.
>close kit
Ok.
>listen on
You are already listening.
>talk Do you have any Salarri's entering, love?
At your seat, you say in cavilish:
"Do you have any Salarri's entering, love?"
At your seat, the trim, amber-locked woman says in cavilish, shrugging lightly, her jaw still set in a hard expression:
"One. We're not here for pleasure."
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Five hundred coins, please."
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Yes please."
You hear a woman's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"We wait east until matches are announced?"
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"I'll call your names, matches are not to the death and there will be a one thousand coin fine for unneeded killing."
You hear a woman's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Which was is into the pit?"
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"You can wait in the stands and enjoy the matches. Someone will lead you down."
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Next!"
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"I'd like to register."
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Five hundred and a name, please."
You hear a woman's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Thankee."
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"I have you down."
>talk (nodding lightly, a tired expression about his face) You need to relax, love. Which one is yours?
At your seat, you say in cavilish, nodding lightly, a tired expression about his face:
"You need to relax, love. Which one is yours?"
At your seat, the trim, amber-locked woman says in cavilish, simply:
"The elf."
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"I'd like to register a team and myself for the singles."
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Wha' bout 'im?"
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Fifteen hundred and the names then."
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"You as well."
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Grog of the Sun Legion and Altin of Nenyuk."
>l tall
Hard muscle straps over the stalwart form of this man, coiled visibly
beneath the deeply-bronzed covering of his skin. Thin, black dreadlocks
sprout from his scalp to his lower back, and while most are tied away from
his face with a thin braid of grey leather, a few hang into his narrowed,
crystalline-blue eyes. His features are chiseled and planar, with a craggy
brow, high, jutting cheekbones and a beaky nose that bears a slight hook at
its tip. A shadow of dark stubble traces the square line of his jaw,
defining its strong lines. Twined about the thick muscles of his neck is a
detailed tattoo of a serpent, done in simple black lines. The snake rests
in coils that band about the human's throat before climbing on the right
side to his cheek, where the head of the creature opens in a fanged display
of attack.
The tall figure in an orange-crested, grey sandcloth cloak is in excellent condition.
The tall figure in an orange-crested, grey sandcloth cloak is using:
<worn on head> a blackened horror-visaged helm
<worn on face> a carved, skull-shaped black onyx stud
<worn around neck> an orange-banded, grey chitin gorget
<worn across back> a black-hafted wooden spear
<worn on right shoulder> a black epaulette with one grey shield
<worn on left shoulder> a black epaulette with one grey shield
<worn on arms> a set of tentacle-branded grey leather sleeves
<worn around wrist> an orange-banded, grey chitin bracer
<worn around wrist> an orange-banded, grey chitin bracer
<worn on hands> a pair of spiked, chitin-backed gauntlets
<primary hand> a blackened basket-hilted rapier
<secondary hand> a blackened basket-hilted rapier
<worn around body> an orange-crested, grey sandcloth cloak
<worn on legs> a set of tentacle-branded grey leather leggings
<worn on feet> a pair of spike-toed, thigh-high leather boots
The athletic, serpent-tattooed man lowers the hood of an orange-crested, grey sandcloth cloak.
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Alright. I'll call your name when its time. Good luck."
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Matches are not to the death, there is a one thousand coin fine on accidental death."
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Thank you, Veric-da."
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"YOu are the solo, correct?"
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Aye, and a team with Grog."
Down in the pit the scarred, leathery woman opens the doors from the other side.
Down in the pit the tall, spindly man has arrived from the south.
Down in the pit the opaline, frost-haired half-elf has arrived from the south.
>l 2.tall
Her body is small but her movements graceful. Dark green eyes peer out
through ebony lashes, a slight tilt to their outer corners. Her skin is
soft and only lightly tanned, lips the deep color of crimson. Silken
midnight blue hair falls in soft waves to her knees, brushing over a slim
waist and gently curved hips. Pointed ears poke out from under the delicate
locks of hair.
The tall figure in an orange-crested, grey sandcloth cloak is in excellent condition.
The tall figure in an orange-crested, grey sandcloth cloak is using:
<worn on head> a thick, pale-green cap
<worn on face> a thin, obsidian nose ring
<worn in left ear> a spiral-carved moonstone earring
<worn in right ear> a purple and blue feather earring
<worn around neck> a gurth shell collar
<worn across back> a slender agafari longbow
<worn on right shoulder> a black epaulette with one grey shield
<worn on left shoulder> a black epaulette with one grey shield
<worn around wrist> a glossy, jet-colored shell bracer
<worn around wrist> a green chitin archery brace
<worn on hands> a bloodied pair of fingerless sandcloth gloves
<worn around body> an orange-crested, grey sandcloth cloak
<worn on legs> a pair of dark leather leggings
<worn on right ankle> a purple sandcloth bandana
<worn on left ankle> an onyx serpentine anklet
<worn on feet> a pair of knee-high fringed moccasins
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"What's the prize?"
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Fourhundred of the coins from every beaten enemy and some nice gear from our crafters for the overall winners and best combatants."
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Five hundred and your name, please."
Down in the pit Stepping over a few damp spots, the tall, spindly man moves to look up at the stands.
Down in the pit The tall, spindly man nods thoughtfully.
Down in the pit The opaline, frost-haired half-elf moves in softly behind the tall, spindly man, pulling up her cloak and the hem of her dress from the ground as she walks.
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"Welcome Guests! "
Down in the pit The opaline, frost-haired half-elf quirks a faint hint of a grin.
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"While the combatants prepare, I would like to begin the Auction!"
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"A few items of Kurac's finest!"
The trim, amber-locked woman's gaze flicks eastward.
With a lift of a signet-ringed hand, the trim, amber-locked woman brings her solidly packed tube of spice to her lips, inhaling deeply.
A thin trail of rich, heady smoke trickles from the trim, amber-locked woman's mouth as she smokes a solidly packed tube of spice.
The trim, amber-locked woman's eyes become glassy-red and half-closed.
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Do you wish to enter?"
You hear a woman's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"You the one I enter with?"
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Yes."
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Aye, I'd like to register"
Down in the pit The opaline, frost-haired half-elf nods her head and sets a bag down by the tall, spindly man.
Down in the pit the opaline, frost-haired half-elf drops a large bag.
Down in the pit the opaline, frost-haired half-elf walks south.
>talk (speaking softly) You don't seem to be enjoying yourself, love. Is there anything I can do?
At your seat, you say in cavilish, speaking softly:
"You don't seem to be enjoying yourself, love. Is there anything I can do?"
At your seat, the trim, amber-locked woman says in cavilish, her gaze sliding back to you, her hand betraying a faint shake, voice momentarily rough from the smoke:
"No. There's nothing that can be done."
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"I need five hundred coins each and a name to call you by from the pits."
You hear a woman's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Darani"
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Good luck. I'll call you when its time and there is a one thousand coin fine for accidental deaths."
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Five hundred and your name>"
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Cadet Issek"
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Fighting for Salarr as well, correct?"
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Aye, but solo"
The horribly thin young woman has arrived from the east.
The horribly thin young woman looks about hesistantly.
The horribly thin young woman strolls through the ample crowd over towards you.
>l horribly
You see a thin girl with curly, red hair that appears sparse from lack of
nutrition. Her eyes are inky black and seemingly hollow. Her body is
evenly Krath-tanned. Her nose is plain and small. Her lips are chapped and
curved. She has a round chin, dimpled cheeks, and a freckled face. The
rest of her frame is still that of a young girl.
The horribly thin young woman is in excellent condition.
The horribly thin young woman is using:
<worn on head> a wide-brimmed green and black hat
<worn in hair> a handful of mauve blossoms
<worn around neck> a crystal teardrop pendant
<worn across back> a colorful, glass-beaded shoulder bag
<worn around wrist> a sun and sword embroidered wrist wrap
<hands> a six-pronged star
<worn on left finger> a black marble ring
<worn on right finger> a garnet inlaid bone ring
<worn around body> a hooded, coal-black sandcloth dustcloak
<worn on legs> a svelte, black spice-kit
<worn on right ankle> a string of clay beads
<worn on feet> a pair of leather-thonged sandals
As she nods politely and handing over her sun and sword embroidered wrist wrap, the horribly thin young woman whispers to you in sirihish:
"A gift from the Kurac family."
The horribly thin young woman gives you a sun and sword embroidered wrist wrap.
>emote nods once towards ~horribly
The effeminate, pompadoured man nods once towards the horribly thin young woman.
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"I am offering now a complete set of the Famous Kuraci Desert Gear!"
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"Complete! Boots, leggings, jacket, gloves, sleeves, cap, collar, facewrap and Greatcloak!"
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"The Very Finest made!"
The very tall figure in a dusty orange-crested, grey sandcloth cloak's eyes widen, peering down towards the pit.
The horribly thin young woman strolls through the ample crowd over towards the trim, amber-locked woman.
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in cavilish:
"One hundred!"
>examine wrap
Undyed, beige sandcloth has been folded double to form this simple
wristwrap. The double folds have been sewn together, apart from an opening
on the inner side of the wrap, which functions as a pocket with two bone
buttons to close it. The front of the wrap is adorned by a simple picture
that has been printed upon the sandcloth using dye. The picture shows a
crimson circle symbolizing the red sun, crossed by a stylized sword printed
in black dye.
In a sun and sword embroidered wrist wrap (carried) :
nothing
The horribly thin young woman whispers something to the trim, amber-locked woman.
>value wrap
a sun and sword embroidered wrist wrap would seem to cost about 33 obsidian pieces.
a sun and sword embroidered wrist wrap would seem to weigh 2 stones.
This item appears to have been crafted by the Merchant House of Kurac.
The horribly thin young woman gets a sun and sword embroidered wrist wrap from an expansive, crimson-fist emblazoned backpack.
The horribly thin young woman gives a sun and sword embroidered wrist wrap to the trim, amber-locked woman.
As she stands, the horribly thin young woman says to the huge figure in an orange-crested, grey sandcloth cloak, in northern-accented sirihish:
"I am just passing out gifts on behalf of the Kurac family. It is nothing to be concerned with."
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"We will do this auction for only a few minutes!"
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"No matches to the blood, aye?"
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"To the blood yes, to the death, no."
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Aye then, thanks - I'll wait my turn"
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"All will be given quarter when asked."
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"What beh deh bid?"
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"Please shout your name when you bid, we can't make out faces from down here."
At your seat, the trim, amber-locked woman says in cavilish, relaxing back onto her seat as she looks over her sun and sword embroidered wrist wrap:
"Two of them are fighting."
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Anyone else?"
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Hmm...my turn?"
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Five hundred and a name, please."
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Kune, of Kadius."
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Good luck, I'll call you when its time."
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in cavilish:
"Jom! One hundred!"
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"How much deh bid!?"
>open bag
Ok.
>put wrap bag
You put a sun and sword embroidered wrist wrap inside a black silk shoulder bag.
>close bag
Ok.
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"Please make all bids in the common tongue!"
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"One hundred? I sells for twenty times that! Give me more!"
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"Two!"
Looking up, the trim, amber-locked woman asks the huge figure in an orange-crested, grey sandcloth cloak, in cavilish:
"Will you be fighting?"
Clearing her throat, the trim, amber-locked woman asks the huge figure in an orange-crested, grey sandcloth cloak, in sirihish:
"Will you be fighting?"
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"Four, 'Cruit Gresh!"
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"Give me a name and FIVE!"
>shout Five hundred, Mister O!
You shout in sirihish:
"Five hundred, Mister O!"
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"There is a one thousand coin fine for killing your opponent."
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Aye....We will be directed when it is time?"
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Yes."
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Next!"
The wiry, war-braided young man has arrived from the east.
The wiry, war-braided young man inhales deeply through his nose as he makes his way around a few benches.
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"Someone.... name and SEVEN?"
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"Six.. Jom!"
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"Seven?"
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"800 kalm.... one large?"
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Anyone else entering?"
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"Last call for registering for the matches!"
The wiry, war-braided young man sits down on a cloth-padded wooden bench.
>talk Should we bet?
At your seat, you say in sirihish:
"Should we bet?"
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"One large for the Complete Set?"
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"Once..."
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"Twice"
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"Nine.. Jom!"
The wiry, war-braided young man looks down at the trim, amber-locked woman briefly before turning his attention toward the pits.
The slender dark-eyed elf lowers the hood of an orange-crested, grey sandcloth cloak.
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"Nine...."
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"Once"
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"twice"
At your seat, the trim, amber-locked woman says in sirihish, shrugging:
"We have no need for them. My house makes the best leathers, plates, chains, and we even make cloth armor as well."
>shout Thirteen Hundred, Oseres Kadius!
You shout in sirihish:
"Thirteen Hundred, Oseres Kadius!"
The horribly thin young woman walks over near the huge figure in an orange-crested, grey sandcloth cloak.
The horribly thin young woman gives a sun and sword embroidered wrist wrap to the huge figure in an orange-crested, grey sandcloth cloak.
The horribly thin young woman whispers something to the huge figure in an orange-crested, grey sandcloth cloak.
You overhear the huge figure in an orange-crested, grey sandcloth cloak whisper to the horribly thin young woman, grinning in sirihish:
"Uh. thanks"
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"Thirteen for Oseres Kadius! Very Good!"
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"Once!"
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"Twice"
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"Sold!"
>emote claps his hands together, grinning.
The effeminate, pompadoured man claps his hands together, grinning.
At your seat, the wiry, war-braided young man says in northern-accented sirihish, wiggling his brows alternately as he glances at you:
"Good job, Mr. O."
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"And an excellent deal, at that!"
The horribly thin young woman moves heading towards the athletic, serpent-tattooed man.
You overhear the horribly thin young woman whisper to the athletic, serpent-tattooed man, handing over her sun and sword embroidered wrist wrap in sirihish:
"A gift from the Kurac family."
The horribly thin young woman gives a sun and sword embroidered wrist wrap to the athletic, serpent-tattooed man.
Down in the pit the tall, spindly man picks up a large bag.
>l fianna's wrap
Crafted meticulously from a black-dyed silk, this piece of fabric wraps
around an inner lining of thin, supple leather and can be wrapped about the
wearer's arm or shin. The silk is woven with a thin, shimmering underlayer
of silken threads set in a complex pattern, and is layered so that it can
loosened or tightened to fit snugly by a pair of black ties. Upon close
inspection, a small flap of silk can be seen above an area with a small
amount of extra padding.
>talk (leaning in close to ~fianna) Fianna, love. Where'd you get that wristwrap? From one of my cousins?
At your seat, you say in sirihish, leaning in close to the trim, amber-locked woman:
"Fianna, love. Where'd you get that wristwrap? From one of my cousins?"
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"I will bring your purchase to you, Oseres Kadius."
>shout I'll have more!
You shout in sirihish:
"I'll have more!"
Down in the pit the tall, spindly man walks south.
The horribly thin young woman wanders through the crowd.
The horribly thin young woman gives a sun and sword embroidered wrist wrap to the tall figure in an orange-crested, grey sandcloth cloak.
The horribly thin young woman gives a sun and sword embroidered wrist wrap to the very tall figure in a dusty orange-crested, grey sandcloth cloak.
Taking the wrap, the tall figure in an orange-crested, grey sandcloth cloak glances towards the horribly thin young woman.
To the guards near the trim, amber-locked woman, the horribly thin young woman says, in northern-accented sirihish:
"A gift from the Kurac family."
The huge figure in an orange-crested, grey sandcloth cloak smiles and bobs his head once towards the horribly thin young woman.
The well-toned, blonde woman has arrived from the east.
Looking over the crowd, the well-toned, blonde woman makes her way towards the trim, amber-locked woman.
The well-toned, blonde woman sits down on a cloth-padded wooden bench.
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"Regular Nogen and Trooper Marook, please come the center aisle!"
One of the wiry, war-braided young man's's legs bobs up and down rapidly, his thoughtful gaze locked onto nothing in particular.
The horribly thin young woman looks about the stands.
At your seat, the trim, amber-locked woman says in sirihish, arching a brow:
"I do not think your cousins could stitch such a wristsheathe. This is Salarri. I hope you didn't think we only made bulky, unattractive things."
>talk (shaking his head to ~fianna) Naw, love. Looks something I would wear. I like it.
At your seat, you say in sirihish, shaking his head to the trim, amber-locked woman:
"Naw, love. Looks something I would wear. I like it."
The dusky, jade-eyed man lowers the hood of a dusty orange-crested, grey sandcloth cloak.
The trim, amber-locked woman stops using a silvery woven, black silk wrap.
The trim, amber-locked woman fastens a silvery woven, black silk wrap around her wrist.
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Where beh 'dis 'ere Marook?"
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Trooper Marook here"
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Gentlemen, please come with me."
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Yeh's git yerself ah small 'ead."
The horribly thin young woman moves over near the well-toned, blonde woman.
The horribly thin young woman looks down at the well-toned, blonde woman as she approaches.
The horribly thin young woman whispers something to the well-toned, blonde woman.
The horribly thin young woman gives a sun and sword embroidered wrist wrap to the well-toned, blonde woman.
Her brows lifting, the well-toned, blonde woman looks over at the horribly thin young woman.
At your seat, the trim, amber-locked woman says in sirihish, retying the length of soft black leather and shimmering silk around her wrist with deft fingers:
"You don't want to know how much we sell them for."
The trim, amber-locked woman looks at you with a wan smile.
>talk (with a grin for ~fianna) Awe, love. How much?
At your seat, you say in sirihish, with a grin for the trim, amber-locked woman:
"Awe, love. How much?"
The horribly thin young woman moves from the isles, walking away.
The horribly thin young woman walks east.
The well-toned, blonde woman looks at her sun and sword embroidered wrist wrap carefully.
The slender dark-eyed elf raises the hood of an orange-crested, grey sandcloth cloak.
You hear a woman's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Have you see Merchant Danu?"
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"he's alittle bit of everywhere"
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Try the noble stands"
At your seat, the trim, amber-locked woman says in sirihish, smiling faintly at you:
"Two thousand for each one."
At your seat, the trim, amber-locked woman says in sirihish, wetting her lower lip:
"And that's with a discount."
The well-toned, blonde woman gurgles a broken chuckle.
The tall, spindly man has arrived from the east.
The aquiline, blond man has arrived from the east.
The tall, willowy woman has arrived from the east.
The tall, spindly man moves, smiling to approach you.
The tall, spindly man puts a pile of allanaki coins inside a pair of black sandcloth sleeves.
>tell danu (shaking his head) Danu, You should just get me after.
Shaking his head, you say to the tall, spindly man, in sirihish:
"Danu, You should just get me after."
The tall, spindly man nods politely to you.
The tall, spindly man says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
"I will await your convenience, Oseres."
>tell danu (nodding) I'll probably be getting more, and we'll both have to go to the Nenyuk.
Nodding, you say to the tall, spindly man, in sirihish:
"I'll probably be getting more, and we'll both have to go to the Nenyuk."
The tall, spindly man dips his head politely to the trim, amber-locked woman, then turns to watch the match.>look
The Higher Tier Stands [E]
These are the western and more opulant stands of the fighting pit of
Luir's Outpost, whose black stone walls and strangely horned buildings are
visible to the east. While the walls of the pit below are built of stone,
the stands are wooden. Rows of benches fill...
Continue Reading...Luir's Outpost Auction & Arena Event [Part 2] by Mansa
Added on Nov 15, 2009In 2004, there was a Recommended Playing Time to play Armageddon, and the event was an Arena Game and Auction in Luir's Outpost. Agent Oseres Kadius, always a party whereever he goes, shows up for fun and to make some deals with House Kurac. This is a -long- log, and is rather raw, but it shows what sort of things happen during a busy event.
Down in the pit the slight, blonde-haired man has arrived from the south.
Down in the pit the whipcord thin man has arrived from the south.
Down in the pit the buxom, red-haired woman has arrived from the south.
Down in the pit The slight, blonde-haired man walks to the center of the pit.
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"Ladies and gentlemen, it is my pleasure to announce the first of our pit matches!"
The huge figure in an orange-crested, grey sandcloth cloak flicks a look down into the pit, then raises his eyes again, glancing around quietly.
The dusky, jade-eyed man raises the hood of a dusty orange-crested, grey sandcloth cloak.
The very tall figure in a dusty orange-crested, grey sandcloth cloak looks down at the wiry, war-braided young man as he adjusts his hood.
The well-toned, blonde woman leans forwards noticably, her attention locked onto the pit.
The wiry, war-braided young man spares a brief glance to you before turning his attention toward the center of the pit.
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"On this side we have a man -undefeated- in all of his previous matches!"
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"Especially the ginka sauce matches!"
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"The one! The only! Reeeegggullaaar Noooogggeeen!!"
Down in the pit the fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf has arrived from the south.
Down in the pit The slight, blonde-haired man nods a few times as dozens and dozens of dun clad soldiers hoot and hollar, cheering the fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf on.
>talk (to ~fianna) You know I'll take it, love. I always buy what you have to offer.
At your seat, you say in sirihish, to the trim, amber-locked woman:
"You know I'll take it, love. I always buy what you have to offer."
At your seat, the trim, amber-locked woman says in sirihish, nodding toward you:
"Do you want a pair? Or just one?"
>talk (to ~fianna, his greenish-hued gaze shifting over towards the pit) If you lower the price, I'll take two.
At your seat, you say in sirihish, to the trim, amber-locked woman, his greenish-hued gaze shifting over towards the pit:
"If you lower the price, I'll take two."
At your seat, the trim, amber-locked woman says in sirihish, nodding toward you:
"I'll sell you two for thirty-five hundred."
Down in the pit The fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf trundles out into the fighting pit, raising his free arm up to the crowd as his other holds up his enormous shield.
>emote leans in close to ~fianna
The effeminate, pompadoured man leans in close to the trim, amber-locked woman.
>whi fianna (grinning) How about an exchange for something, other than coin, love?
Grinning, you whisper to the trim, amber-locked woman in sirihish:
"How about an exchange for something, other than coin, love?"
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"'Dis beh ah dwarf tah dwarf match! Ain't gettin' better 'den 'dis 'ere!"
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"And on this side, the scourge of the south! Women love him and men would love to be him! Trooper Marook!"
Down in the pit the small-headed, dark gray dwarf has arrived from the south.
Down in the pit The fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf reaches down beneath the folds of his dun-colored cloak, grasping the hilt of his obsidian blade.
Down in the pit the fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf draws a dusty curved obsidian sword.
Down in the pit The small-headed, dark gray dwarf raises his maces over his head.
Down in the pit The slight, blonde-haired man looks between the fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf and the small-headed, dark gray dwarf.
>emote breathes in slowly, leaning back to look towards the fighting pit.
The effeminate, pompadoured man breathes in slowly, leaning back to look towards the fighting pit.
The trim, amber-locked woman whispers to you in sirihish:
"Like what?"
>tell fianna (with a tired grin) After, love. After.
With a tired grin, you say to the trim, amber-locked woman, in sirihish:
"After, love. After."
The trim, amber-locked woman brushes her silvery woven, black silk wrap with her fingertips.
Down in the pit The small-headed, dark gray dwarf slowly circles left.
Down in the pit The slight, blonde-haired man raises his left hand high.
Down in the pit The fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf grunts with a nod as he crouches down behind his massive shield, twirling the sword at his side.
Down in the pit The slight, blonde-haired man steps back, dropping his left hand.
Down in the pit the slight, blonde-haired man walks south.
Down in the pit the whipcord thin man walks south.
Down in the pit the buxom, red-haired woman walks south.
>emote takes a double take, glancing to ~toned, before looking back towards the fighting pit.
The effeminate, pompadoured man takes a double take, glancing to the well-toned, blonde woman, before looking back towards the fighting pit.
The tall, spindly man moves to sit on a bench and lean over to watch the pit match.
Her fingers tapping on her leg incessantly, the well-toned, blonde woman watches the pit with her complete attention.
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"Begin!"
The wiry, war-braided young man rests his forearms on the stone railing, hunching over as he watches the pit intently.
>listen on
You start trying to listen.
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"Fer deh fists o' stone!"
Down in the pit the fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf swiftly dodges the small-headed, dark gray dwarf's bludgeons.
Down in the pit the fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf parries the small-headed, dark gray dwarf's attack.
Down in the pit the small-headed, dark gray dwarf parries the fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf's attack.
Down in the pit The small-headed, dark gray dwarf side steps and kicks.
Down in the pit the fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf nimbly avoids the small-headed, dark gray dwarf's circle kick.
Down in the pit The fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf sneers as he rears his helmeted head back from the small-headed, dark gray dwarf's backhand, his cuff barely missing his face.
Down in the pit the small-headed, dark gray dwarf parries the fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf's attack.
Down in the pit the fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf parries the small-headed, dark gray dwarf's attack.
Down in the pit the fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf swiftly dodges the small-headed, dark gray dwarf's bludgeons.
Down in the pit the fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf parries the small-headed, dark gray dwarf's attack.
Down in the pit the fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf parries the small-headed, dark gray dwarf's attack.
Down in the pit the fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf slashes the small-headed, dark gray dwarf's body, connecting hard.
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"there ya go Noggen"
>contact veric
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the slight, blonde-haired man with the Way.
>psi Is this to first blood?
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the slight, blonde-haired man:
"Is this to first blood?"
Down in the pit The fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf grunts as he brings his obsidian blade over his head, slamming it down against the haft of the small-headed, dark gray dwarf's mace, then twists to give him another side slash.
Down in the pit the fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf parries the small-headed, dark gray dwarf's attack.
Down in the pit the fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf swiftly dodges the small-headed, dark gray dwarf's bludgeons.
Down in the pit the small-headed, dark gray dwarf tries to kick the fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf in the chest, but he steps aside.
Down in the pit the small-headed, dark gray dwarf parries the fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf's attack.
The well-toned, blonde woman lets out a low whistle.
The tall, spindly man shouts, in sirihish:
"Come on, Noggen!"
At your seat, the wiry, war-braided young man says in northern-accented sirihish, pressing his lips to one side in a slight purse:
"So how do we know if we're fighting for first blood or not?"
Down in the pit the fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf swiftly dodges the small-headed, dark gray dwarf's bludgeons.
Down in the pit the fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf swiftly dodges the small-headed, dark gray dwarf's bludgeons.
Down in the pit The fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf squints as he brings up his shield defensively, knocking away the small-headed, dark gray dwarf's smash as it rings off his knobby-shelled shield.
Down in the pit the fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf parries the small-headed, dark gray dwarf's attack.
Down in the pit the fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf parries the small-headed, dark gray dwarf's attack.
Down in the pit The small-headed, dark gray dwarf slides right and swings a backhand as the fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf passess.
>psi You're doing well, Veric my friend.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the slight, blonde-haired man:
"You're doing well, Veric my friend."
The tall, spindly man looks at the well-toned, blonde woman.
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"Show 'em what Kurac's made of, Nogen!"
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
The slight, blonde-haired man sends you a telepathic message:
"Until one yields."
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
Down in the pit The fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf brings up his stumpy boot as the small-headed, dark gray dwarf's fist just misses him.
Down in the pit the fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf's kick at the small-headed, dark gray dwarf is partially absorbed by his bracer.
Down in the pit the small-headed, dark gray dwarf doubles over in pain from the fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf's powerful side kick.
Down in the pit the small-headed, dark gray dwarf parries the fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf's attack.
Down in the pit the small-headed, dark gray dwarf tries to kick the fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf in the chest, but he steps aside.
Down in the pit the fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf parries the small-headed, dark gray dwarf's attack.
Down in the pit the fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf swiftly dodges the small-headed, dark gray dwarf's bludgeons.
Down in the pit the small-headed, dark gray dwarf parries the fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf's attack.
Down in the pit the fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf parries the small-headed, dark gray dwarf's attack.
Down in the pit the fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf swiftly dodges the small-headed, dark gray dwarf's bludgeons.
>psi Are all of them that way?
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the slight, blonde-haired man:
"Are all of them that way?"
>talk I think All of them are until first yield.
At your seat, you say in sirihish:
"I think All of them are until first yield."
>cease
You dissolve the psychic link.
The well-toned, blonde woman chews on her lower lip.
At your seat, the wiry, war-braided young man says in northern-accented sirihish, slowly nodding as he watches the pit intently:
"I see.."
Down in the pit the small-headed, dark gray dwarf parries the fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf's attack.
Down in the pit the small-headed, dark gray dwarf tries to kick the fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf in the chest, but he steps aside.
Down in the pit the small-headed, dark gray dwarf parries the fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf's attack.
Down in the pit the fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf swiftly dodges the small-headed, dark gray dwarf's bludgeons.
Down in the pit the fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf parries the small-headed, dark gray dwarf's attack.
Down in the pit The small-headed, dark gray dwarf charges forward, his shoulder lowered.
Down in the pit the fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf evades the small-headed, dark gray dwarf's charge, who loses his balance and falls.
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"'Dis one 'ere, ain't no slouch!"
The tall, spindly man winces.
A thin trail of rich, heady smoke trickles from the trim, amber-locked woman's mouth as she smokes a solidly packed tube of spice.
The trim, amber-locked woman's eyes become glassy-red and half-closed.
Down in the pit The fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf brings up his boot at the small-headed, dark gray dwarf's stomach.
Down in the pit the small-headed, dark gray dwarf nimbly avoids the fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf's circle kick.
Down in the pit The small-headed, dark gray dwarf rolls right and stand.
Down in the pit the small-headed, dark gray dwarf gets up and stands to his feet.
Down in the pit the fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf parries the small-headed, dark gray dwarf's attack.
Down in the pit the fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf swiftly dodges the small-headed, dark gray dwarf's bludgeons.
Down in the pit the small-headed, dark gray dwarf tries to kick the fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf in the chest, but he steps aside.
Down in the pit the fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf slashes the small-headed, dark gray dwarf's wrist, connecting hard.
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Someone goin ta be hurtin, and I don' think it goin ta be Nogen"
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"That had to hurt!"
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"A good shot."
Down in the pit The fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf twists his body as he brings his blade dodwn hard against the small-headed, dark gray dwarf's wrist.
Down in the pit the small-headed, dark gray dwarf parries the fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf's attack.
Down in the pit the small-headed, dark gray dwarf tries to kick the fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf in the chest, but he steps aside.
>shout Hurry up!
You shout in sirihish:
"Hurry up!"
The trim, amber-locked woman crushes the end of the smoke beneath the sole of her boot.
Down in the pit the fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf parries the small-headed, dark gray dwarf's attack.
Down in the pit the fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf parries the small-headed, dark gray dwarf's attack.
Down in the pit the fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf viciously slashes the small-headed, dark gray dwarf on his wrist.
Down in the pit The fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf rushes forward at the small-headed, dark gray dwarf with his shield lowered, his boots kiocking up loose earth.
Down in the pit the fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf swiftly dodges the small-headed, dark gray dwarf's bludgeons.
Down in the pit the fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf swiftly dodges the small-headed, dark gray dwarf's bludgeons.
Down in the pit the small-headed, dark gray dwarf evades the fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf's charge, who loses his balance and falls.
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"Altin and Gargon, please come to the center aisle!"
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"several"
You hear a woman's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Nice bet, Lutenant."
Down in the pit the small-headed, dark gray dwarf's attack on the fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf is absorbed by a new enormous, concave tortoiseshell shield.
Down in the pit the fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf swiftly dodges the small-headed, dark gray dwarf's bludgeons.
Down in the pit the small-headed, dark gray dwarf bludgeons the fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf on his leg.
Down in the pit the fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf swiftly dodges the small-headed, dark gray dwarf's bludgeons.
The wiry, war-braided young man's features contort into a mock grimace as he watches blood spew onto the sandy floor of the pit.
Down in the pit the fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf nimbly avoids the small-headed, dark gray dwarf's circle kick.
Down in the pit the fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf parries the small-headed, dark gray dwarf's attack.
Down in the pit the fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf swiftly dodges the small-headed, dark gray dwarf's bludgeons.
Down in the pit the small-headed, dark gray dwarf parries the fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf's attack.
Down in the pit The fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf grunts as the small-headed, dark gray dwarf slams his mace into his leg as he falls, turning to rise to his feet at the last instant.
Down in the pit the fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf gets up and stands to his feet.
At your seat, the trim, amber-locked woman says in sirihish, her voice slightly harshened:
"Is this to the death?"
The tall figure in an orange-crested, grey sandcloth cloak walks east.
At your seat, the well-toned, blonde woman says in northern-accented sirihish, shaking her head:
"None of em are I think"
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"ALtin and the little giant, rather!"
>talk (nodding, his attention on the fighting pit) There's a thousand coin fine, if one dies.
At your seat, you say in sirihish, nodding, his attention on the fighting pit:
"There's a thousand coin fine, if one dies."
The trim, amber-locked woman nods.
Down in the pit the small-headed, dark gray dwarf tries to kick the fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf in the chest, but he steps aside.
Down in the pit the fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf parries the small-headed, dark gray dwarf's attack.
Down in the pit the fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf swiftly dodges the small-headed, dark gray dwarf's bludgeons.
Down in the pit The fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf leans to one side, favoring one foot before bringing up his wavering leg.
Down in the pit The small-headed, dark gray dwarf moves in closer.
Down in the pit the small-headed, dark gray dwarf tries to kick the fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf in the chest, but he steps aside.
Down in the pit the fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf's kick at the small-headed, dark gray dwarf is absorbed by his leggings.
Down in the pit the fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf parries the small-headed, dark gray dwarf's attack.
Down in the pit the fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf parries the small-headed, dark gray dwarf's attack.
Down in the pit the small-headed, dark gray dwarf parries the fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf's attack.
Down in the pit the fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf parries the small-headed, dark gray dwarf's attack.
Down in the pit the fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf swiftly dodges the small-headed, dark gray dwarf's bludgeons.
Down in the pit the small-headed, dark gray dwarf attempts to disarm the fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf, but finds his attack reversed!
Down in the pit the fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf knocks a obsidian-spiked mace from the small-headed, dark gray dwarf's hands and sends it flying west.
A mace comes flying in, landing with a tud.
Down in the pit the fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf swiftly dodges the small-headed, dark gray dwarf's bludgeons.
Down in the pit the fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf parries the small-headed, dark gray dwarf's attack.
Down in the pit the fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf knocks a studded, short-handled mace from the small-headed, dark gray dwarf's hands.
Down in the pit the small-headed, dark gray dwarf panics, and attempts to flee.
Down in the pit the small-headed, dark gray dwarf tries to flee, but is too exhausted!
Down in the pit the small-headed, dark gray dwarf panics, and attempts to flee.
Down in the pit the small-headed, dark gray dwarf tries to flee, but is too exhausted!
Down in the pit the small-headed, dark gray dwarf panics, and attempts to flee.
Down in the pit the small-headed, dark gray dwarf runs south.
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"Well done, Nogen!"
The tall, spindly man shouts, in sirihish:
"Kurac"
>rem whistle
You stop using a small, wooden whistle.
>hold whistle
You hold the whistle.
>emote blows loudly on ~whistle, producing a loud, shrill sound.
The effeminate, pompadoured man blows loudly on your small, wooden whistle, producing a loud, shrill sound.
The well-toned, blonde woman purses her lips.
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"Hurrah fer Nogen and Kurac!"
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Woaa!"
Down in the pit The fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf raises both his arms up as the crowd begins to cheer wildly, the two maces lying forgotten on both ends of the arena floor.
The tall, spindly man pushes off of a cloth-padded wooden bench and rises to his feet.
The tall, spindly man walks east.
The aquiline, blond man walks east.
The tall, willowy woman walks east.
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Any objections to you two matching up next?"
>look
The Higher Tier Stands [E]
These are the western and more opulant stands of the fighting pit of
Luir's Outpost, whose black stone walls and strangely horned buildings are
visible to the east. While the walls of the pit below are built of stone,
the stands are wooden. Rows of benches fill the lower section of this area
of the stands, with cleared areas for hawkers and those taking and making
bets. A gracefully canopied section against the uppermost row of the stands
has properly cushioned chairs and is obviously set apart for those of some
standing.
A terrace staircase opens up to the east and leads out of the seating
area and the view below is of the red-stained sands of the fighting pit
itself.
A shadow falls over the area, driving off the uncomfortable heat.
A obsidian-spiked bone mace lies here.
A couple of cloth-padded wooden benches are here.
The well-toned, blonde woman is sitting on a cloth-padded wooden bench.
The wiry, war-braided young man is sitting on a cloth-padded wooden bench.
The huge figure in an orange-crested, grey sandcloth cloak stands near the amber-locked woman.
The athletic, serpent-tattooed man stands watchfully here, his arms crossed.
The trim, amber-locked woman sits on a bench stiffly.
The tall figure in an orange-crested, grey sandcloth cloak stands near the amber-locked woman.
The very tall figure in a dusty orange-crested, grey sandcloth cloak is standing behind the trim, amber-locked woman.
The wiry, war-braided young man grunts softly as he glances down at a obsidian-spiked mace.
>say (shaking his head) Shit.
Shaking his head, you say, in sirihish:
"Shit."
You hear a woman's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Are you fighting?"
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"He beh puttin up ah good fight, buh ah git deh bigger head!"
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Who'm I fighting?"
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Your man was lucky with that last move.. A fine showing regardless."
The tall figure in an orange-crested, grey sandcloth cloak stops guarding the trim, amber-locked woman.
The tall figure in an orange-crested, grey sandcloth cloak begins guarding the trim, amber-locked woman.
The wiry, war-braided young man begins applauding quietly, its noise quickly lost in the bustling atomosphere around him.
Down in the pit the fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf sheathes a dusty curved obsidian sword.
Down in the pit the fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf picks up a studded, short-handled mace.
Down in the pit the fat-lipped, large-headed dwarf walks south.
>tell kune (pointing over towards ~mace) Kune? Be a dear and pick that up?
Pointing over towards a obsidian-spiked mace, you ask the wiry, war-braided young man, in sirihish:
"Kune? Be a dear and pick that up?"
The wiry, war-braided young man nods simply.
The wiry, war-braided young man pushes off of a cloth-padded wooden bench and rises to his feet.
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"If you two spar regularly then I will rematch, otherwise it is you two."
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"I have faith in him"
The wiry, war-braided young man picks up a obsidian-spiked mace.
>rem whistle
You stop using a small, wooden whistle.
>wear whistle about throat
You tilt your head forward and fasten a small, wooden whistle about your throat.
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Aye, suppose we can have the final right away."
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Is it too late ta.. y'know, enter?"
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Appreciate it"
The wiry, war-braided young man makes his way back toward a cloth-padded wooden bench, offering his obsidian-spiked mace to you.
The wiry, war-braided young man sits down on a cloth-padded wooden bench.
Frowning as the mace soars into the room, the trim, amber-locked woman asks, in sirihish:
"Are they -insane-, tossing weapons about?"
The hearty, thin-lipped man has arrived from the east.
The hearty, thin-lipped man grins.
The hearty, thin-lipped man asks, in sirihish:
"Who grabbed the mace?"
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"No, I will put you in if there is time."
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Aye...First teh disengage from combat eh?"
You hear a woman's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"I heard you swing a might blade?"
>l hearty
This muscular human's body is well-muscled, hours of training evidenced
in the bulging muscles of his arms and legs and neck. Skin burned dark by
Suk-Krath's unforgiving rays wraps his form in a coppery coating, marred and
broken by numerous scars, some faded while others appear more recent. Hard,
emotionless eyes are set beneath thin dark eyebrows and his lips are so
narrow that they are barely more than a darker line of color against the
copper-hue of his face.
The hearty, thin-lipped man is in excellent condition.
The hearty, thin-lipped man is using:
<worn on arms> a pair of grey sandcloth sleeves
<worn on hands> a pair of thick grey leather gloves
<primary hand> a bone bastard sword
<secondary hand> a bone longsword
<worn around body> a hooded, dun-colored dustcloak
<worn on legs> a pair of dark grey sandcloth trousers
<worn on feet> a pair of knee-high grey leather boots
The hearty, thin-lipped man says, in sirihish:
"That needs ta go back to the contestant."
The wiry, war-braided young man raises his obsidian-spiked mace as he glances toward the hearty, thin-lipped man.
The hearty, thin-lipped man nods.
The flint-eyed, jasper-haired man has arrived from the east, striding along smoothly.
The flint-eyed, jasper-haired man looks around briefly, then grunts.
To himself, the flint-eyed, jasper-haired man says, in northern-accented bendune:
"Shit, missed him again."
The hearty, thin-lipped man walks east.
The hearty, thin-lipped man says, in sirihish:
"Gotta love a good pit fight"
The hearty, thin-lipped man grins.
The hearty, thin-lipped man says, in sirihish:
"I'll return his wepaon to him"
The wiry, war-braided young man looks up at the hearty, thin-lipped man with a faint nod as he extends his obsidian-spiked mace.
The hearty, thin-lipped man holds out a hand to the wiry, war-braided young man.
The wiry, war-braided young man gives a obsidian-spiked mace to the hearty, thin-lipped man.
The flint-eyed, jasper-haired man turns to leave.
Striding along smoothly, the flint-eyed, jasper-haired man walks east.
Down in the pit the tall, spindly man has arrived from the south.
Down in the pit The tall, spindly man looks quickly around at the stands.
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"Next item.... a complete set of Kurac's "
>shout I already have that!
You shout in sirihish:
"I already have that!"
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"Tembo-Mesh Armor!"
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"Jom! One hundred!"
With her full lips pressed together, the trim, amber-locked woman leans back into her seat, stroking her silvery woven, black silk wrap.
The huge figure in an orange-crested, grey sandcloth cloak grins briefly, refocusing his expression as he glances about.
The stout, grey-bearded man has arrived from the east.
The hunched, red-skinned mul has arrived from the east.
>talk (to ~kune, with a tired grin) How much did yours go for?
At your seat, you say in sirihish, to the wiry, war-braided young man, with a tired grin:
"How much did yours go for?"
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"Jom. Three."
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"Six pieces.... pus a fine matching cloak!"
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"name five?!"
At your seat, the well-toned, blonde woman says in northern-accented sirihish, thoughtfully as she taps her knee:
"Tembo Mesh eh?"
The trim, amber-locked woman looks up at the wiry, war-braided young man with a sidelong flick of her jewel-hard eyes.
The wiry, war-braided young man looks up at the stout, grey-bearded man with a brief glance.
The stout, grey-bearded man looks around quietly.
At your seat, the wiry, war-braided young man says in northern-accented sirihish, in a simple tone as he runs his fingers along his dusty mesh-covered, tembo-hide gorget:
"I got this and my leggings for six fifty I think.."
The tall figure in an orange-crested, grey sandcloth cloak has arrived from the east.
The tall figure in an orange-crested, grey sandcloth cloak wanders back over to the trim, amber-locked woman's side.
Dipping into a lavish bow, then offering a stiff salute the tall figure in an orange-crested, grey sandcloth cloak strides to the trim, amber-locked woman side ripping down his hood.
>talk (with a smirk towards ~kune) And, you're not bidding?
At your seat, you say in sirihish, with a smirk towards the wiry, war-braided young man:
"And, you're not bidding?"
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"Gresh at four!"
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"Five Jom."
The stout, grey-bearded man walks east.
The hunched, red-skinned mul walks east.
The trim, amber-locked woman looks up and nods as the cloaked figures move back in to her.
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Fine show Noggen"
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"Jom Five! Give me seven!"
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Tank yeh."
At your seat, the wiry, war-braided young man says in northern-accented sirihish, in a simple, lucid tone as he turns his attention back toward the pits:
"I have everything I need."
The cruel-eyed, flaxen-tressed man lowers the hood of an orange-crested, grey sandcloth cloak.
The cruel-eyed, flaxen-tressed man begins guarding the trim, amber-locked woman.
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"Five.... going once!"
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Ah beh needed back down."
>shout Six! Mister O!
You shout in sirihish:
"Six! Mister O!"
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"Seven, Jom."
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"Once on seven!"
With a faint smile, the trim, amber-locked woman says to the cruel-eyed, flaxen-tressed man, in sirihish:
"Hello, sergeant. Glad you could make it."
>shout Seven-fifty, Mister O!
You shout in sirihish:
"Seven-fifty, Mister O!"
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"Once of Seven-fifty for Mister O!"
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"Eight, Jom"
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"Twice"
The well-toned, blonde woman looks up at the cruel-eyed, flaxen-tressed man with a twist of her head.
>shout Nine! Mister O!
You shout in sirihish:
"Nine! Mister O!"
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"Nine-fifty, Jom."
>emote grins, watching towards the fighting pit.
The effeminate, pompadoured man grins, watching towards the fighting pit.
The very tall figure in a dusty orange-crested, grey sandcloth cloak looks down at the cruel-eyed, flaxen-tressed man.
With a beaming grin, the well-toned, blonde woman says to the cruel-eyed, flaxen-tressed man, in northern-accented sirihish:
"Congratulations Sargeant"
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"I have sold this same set to some of you for two large..... give me one large!"
>shout One thousand!
You shout in sirihish:
"One thousand!"
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"One large for the mystery man!"
Gesturing to the cruel-eyed, flaxen-tressed man, the trim, amber-locked woman says to the well-toned, blonde woman, in sirihish:
"Sergeant Darani, Captain Kella has promoted Sergeant Cord. He'll be replacing Sergeant Ferathule when he leaves."
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"One and one, Jom."
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Wha' do ya' think, should I give a crack at tha', Sir?"
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"eleven for Jom... Once!"
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"Twice!"
>talk (grinning) I should really stop.
At your seat, you say in sirihish, grinning:
"I should really stop."
With a dip of his head, the cruel-eyed, flaxen-tressed man says to the well-toned, blonde woman, in northern-accented sirihish:
"Thank you Sargeant."
At your seat, the well-toned, blonde woman says in northern-accented sirihish, nodding her head to the trim, amber-locked woman:
"Good, where is Fer goin?"
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Might be too late, you should speak with Veric-da immediately"
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"Sold to Jom"
>talk What a deal.
At your seat, you say in sirihish:
"What a deal."
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"One and one, Jom.... congratulations."
Down in the pit the tall, spindly man walks south.
The cruel-eyed, flaxen-tressed man dips his head to the huge figure in an orange-crested, grey sandcloth cloak turning back to surveying the surroundings.
The slender dark-eyed elf lowers the hood of an orange-crested, grey sandcloth cloak.
>l cruel
A set of sinister, shooting, cobalt eyes perch above a hooked nose. Longand well-kempt ivory hued hair settles about his head, neat and maintained,while sideburns dissipate as they near his clean-shaven jaw line. Richebony skin fills in the remaining hues of color about his face, excludingthe single depression that rests in the middle of his chin remains ivorycolored. Noticeably powerful shoulders are woven into the frame of thisman, while thick beefy arms drape down from them. Connected to the arms arelarge calloused hands with neatly trimmed fingernails at each fingertip. Achiseled, barrel chest rides atop a flat toned stomach, while below thatrests his proportionate hips. Two legs, like small trunks, hold this man aloft obviously powerful in nature.
The cruel-eyed, flaxen-tressed man is in excellent condition.
The cruel-eyed, flaxen-tressed man is using:
<worn on head> a stained spiky helmet
<worn around neck> a spiked duskhorn collar
<worn on right shoulder> a black epaulette with two grey shields
<worn on left shoulder> a black epaulette with two grey shields
<worn on arms> a set of spiky arm guards
<worn around wrist> a polished duskhorn bracer
<worn around wrist> a gurth shell bracer
<worn around body> an orange-crested, grey sandcloth cloak
<worn on legs> a set of spiky leg guards
<worn on feet> a pair of spiky boots
You hear a woman's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"I can fight you Pendeh."
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"You.. fight me?"
You hear a woman's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"Do you think I can take him?"
You hear a man's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
"possibly"Down in the pit the slight, blonde-haired man has arrived from the south.
Down in the pit the whipcord thin man has arrived from the south.
Down in the pit the buxom, red-haired woman has arrived from the south.
Down in the pit The slight, blonde-haired man walks to the center of the pit.
You hear a...
Continue Reading...The Grey Hunt - Part 2 by Adhira
Added on Nov 15, 2009Precentor Rysha announces the winner of the Grey Hunt - with an unexpected conclusion.
Scene: The Silverwood Estate.
Event: Announcement of the Grey Hunt winner.
Note: Since this was logged by staff thinks and feels which are normally only viewable by the character in question have been left in.
<! As seen by High Precentor Rysha Uaptal>
Whistling lowly, the curvy, jallal-tressed maiden looks up at the short-haired, jade-eyed Lirathan templar.
Nodding deeply to the short-haired, jade-eyed Lirathan templar, the earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar says, in northern-accented sirihish:
"And High Precentor Rysha Uaptal, show them the same attention you have kindly showed to me."
The trim, ashen-skinned man leans back against a long wooden bench and sits up little straighter.
The svelte, top-knotted woman dips her head respectfully to the group approaching the stage.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman's posture straightens, watching the pearl-haired Lirathan templar and the short-haired, jade-eyed Lirathan templar with a respectful, deep inclination of her head.
Bowing his head low as he turns his attention, the stocky, clean-shaven man looks up at the short-haired, jade-eyed Lirathan templar.
The freckled, light-skinned man clears his throat and lowers his head, bending at the waist slightly as well.
The very short and thick male wearing a bloodied runic, fire-scorched mask twitches slightly then looks over and seems to relax.
With a deep bow of her head, the short female wearing a mask of glinting, emerald scales looks up at the short-haired, jade-eyed Lirathan templar.
The curvy, jallal-tressed maiden bows her head completely, but still claps wholeheartedly.
The lofty, cunyati-tanned man thinks:
"Rysha Uaptal... why did I think the High Precentor was Faithful Lady Fyloria?"
The trim, ashen-skinned man thinks:
"Oh fuck."
The earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar lifts her hands for silence, tilting her head gracefully to the newly-entered group.
Someone thinks:
"I... am in the presence of a High Precentor Faithful Lord. I am truly blessed by the Light."
His eyes focusing keenly, the swarthy, aging man looks up at you.
The dusky, sorrel-curled woman thinks:
"Don't look at them! Just sit in their ...fucking serious presence."
The spangled-blond, muscular woman sucks in a gasp, and deeply bows her head.
The short-haired, jade-eyed Lirathan templar clasps her hands before her, standing in front of the small stage.
Someone thinks:
"Eh, I gotta keep better track of this stuff. Could mis-address someone and end up in a real uncomfortable situation."
Short, straight black hair hangs down around this woman's face and falls
around her cheekbones. Her eyes are a rich jade color, round and wide
in shape. She is very taut in stature, with long limbs and delicate
hands and features.
The short-haired, jade-eyed Lirathan templar is in excellent condition.
<neck> a blue and purple inked band
<worn across back> a glossy-grey knapsack
<worn around wrist> a whitened bone key
<left wrist> a silver moon
<worn on hands> a pair of red silk gloves
<worn around body> a hooded, white and gold-trimmed templar's robe
<worn on legs> a pair of white-trimmed, red sandcloth pants
<worn on feet> a pair of soft, white silk boots
The trim, ashen-skinned man swallows then lowers his head once more to the arriving group of templars with a slight tilt at the waist.
The curvy, jallal-tressed maiden thinks:
"High Precentor! What an honor, y'know?"
The lofty, cunyati-tanned man eats his small portion of a thick sausage and cheese sandwich.
The freckled, light-skinned man keeps his gaze lowered, staring directly at a long, white painted table.
Retaking her seat, the earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar sits at a long, white painted table.
With curiously wrinkled brows, head inclining ever so faintly, hesitant, the scruffy, brown-haired youth looks up at you.
The pearl-haired Lirathan templar glances around the crowd, returning a few nods lightly.
With a deep, respectful bow of her head, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette looks up at you.
The short, dusky woman seems still out of shock for a while, among the crowd, then mimics those around her in showing respects toward the templars.
Dipping off in a nod, the spindly, grey-haired man looks up at you.
<< The stocky, clean-shaven man feels really, really, really fucking nervous. >>
<< Someone feels curious indeed. >>
The willowy, brown-haired young man clears his throat and leans forward, his elbows on his knees.
Unclasping it and letting sweat-tangled hair fall to her shoulders, the ethereal, fair-haired woman stops using her black and red fringed headdress.
<< Someone feels gleeful. >>
Someone thinks:
"How many of my brothers and sisters would love to be able to see this?"
The spindly, grey-haired man looks up at the pearl-haired Lirathan templar.
Tossing her head, her black hair cascading back over her shoulders, you say, in sirihish:
"Citizens of Tuluk... Guests... we come now to the announcement of the Hunt."
Dusting the last few crumbs from his hands, the lofty, cunyati-tanned man bows very deeply, to the point of essentially kneeling along with many others in the crowd.
<< The earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar feels a bolt of excitement in your breast. >>
The curvy, jallal-tressed maiden thinks:
"I don't even know who all entered!"
The willowy, brown-haired young man thinks:
"The Hunt?"
The earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar smiles proudly to the ancient, brutally-scarred Jihaen templar.
The very short and thick male wearing a bloodied runic, fire-scorched mask perks up.
At a long wooden bench, the willowy, brown-haired young man speaks, nodding to the short, lithe young man.
Someone thinks:
"Here we go."
<< Someone feels keen, interested excitement. >>
<< The ethereal, fair-haired woman feels dazed. Utterly and completely dazed. >>
The very short female wearing a mask of glinting, emerald scales thinks:
"Rokov. It's gotta be Rokov."
The shaggy-haired, sun-branded man gives his spiced steak to the freckled, light-skinned man.
As the crowd falls silent, the earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar fastens her attention on the stage.
As surreptitiously as he can, the freckled, light-skinned man begins to chew on his baguette of brown bread.
Smearing her spindly hands together the svelte, top-knotted woman casts a glance to the freckled, light-skinned man and then back at the stage.
Dipping her head in the earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar direction, you say, in sirihish:
"Faithful Lady Serilla. Join me."
The dusky, sorrel-curled woman thinks:
"Not Rokov. Not Rokov."
The spangled-blond, muscular woman thinks:
"She's using the lack of decoration to good effect. It looks dignified on her, rather than plain."
The freckled, light-skinned man eats a portion of his baguette of brown bread.
The tiny, reed-like Jihaen templar folds his arms over his chest, staring at the crowd with a somber stoicism that is in direct contrast to his appearance.
Lifting her brows with a gracious nod to you, the earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar stands up from a long, white painted table.
The willowy, brown-haired young man nods slowly to you, quickly straightening his posture and gazing forward fixedly.
The tall, muscular man watches quietly, one corner of his mouth quirking in a faint smile.
The freckled, light-skinned man eats a portion of his half eaten baguette of brown bread.
Someone thinks:
"Fuck me."
Sliding off his shoulder before easing back down, the trim, ashen-skinned man stops using his dusty steel grey duffel bag.
<< Someone feels dazed, dull shock. >>
Her hands clasped behind her back, the earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar steps down the slope to join you, standing back a pace quietly.
The stocky, clean-shaven man thinks:
"There's no second place. At least this won't drag on."
Plopping, the trim, ashen-skinned man sits on a long wooden bench.
The willowy, brown-haired young man thinks:
"You're in trouble"
The dusky, sorrel-curled woman thinks:
"......"
The freckled, light-skinned man thinks:
"I never thought I would ever see them."
The freckled, light-skinned man thinks:
"The High Precentor?"
Dipping her head towards her, you say to the earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar, in sirihish:
"We thank you for the festival you have provided his citizens. As primary recorder for this Hunt we ask that you call each entrant to stand before us."
Nibbling quickly, masked gaze fixed on the stage, the very short female wearing a mask of glinting, emerald scales eats her half eaten ball of soft white cheese.
The tall, muscular man's eyes shift to you as she speaks.
The willowy, grey-streaked man nods over to the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette.
Handing over, the trim, ashen-skinned man gives his dusty steel grey duffel bag to the very short and thick male wearing a bloodied runic, fire-scorched mask.
The curvy, jallal-tressed maiden thinks:
"Where's Valin?"
The trim, ashen-skinned man tips a nod to the very short and thick male wearing a bloodied runic, fire-scorched mask in a slow manner.
The curvy, jallal-tressed maiden begins looking around uncomfortably, her eyes searching the crowd.
The ancient, brutally-scarred Jihaen templar remains stading amidst the crowd by a long, white painted table, his reserved and reverant gaze set on the stage.
Nodding deeply to you as she steps forward, the earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar says, in sirihish:
"In order of recording."
<< Someone feels nervous. >>
Voice lowering, the short, dusky woman whispers something to the sinewy, bald-headed man.
The spangled-blond, muscular woman looks down at the tall, muscular man.
The willowy, brown-haired young man thinks:
"Thought she meant just leave her alone... obviously not."
The chubby, brown-haired man glances to the stocky, clean-shaven man.
Someone thinks:
"Keep quiet, you shit, or you'll get a beating."
<< The trim, ashen-skinned man feels humbled, hopeful. >>
The sinewy, weather-worn man's head turns in causual survey of the crowd, a faint grin on his lips.
Someone thinks:
"Bad fucking timing GO AWAY, woman!"
<< The ethereal, fair-haired woman feels a touch of sympathy for Vash. >>
Shaking his head, as he speaks quietly, the sinewy, bald-headed man whispers something to the short, dusky woman.
Her voice ringing out, the earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar says, in sirihish:
"Vejaan A'jinn of the A'jinn Academy."
The trim, ashen-skinned man thinks:
"Just keep it together, keep Aja in yer thoughts, she trained ya some 'fore all this happened."
The ancient, brutally-scarred Jihaen templar looks down at the tall, muscular man .
The ebon-haired, ruby-eyed man steps forward proudly, moving over near the earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar.
The ebon-haired, ruby-eyed man stands up from a long wooden bench.
The curvy, jallal-tressed maiden thinks:
"Hasn't his family won before?"
The short, dusky woman whispers something to the sinewy, bald-headed man .
Curiously, the spindly, grey-haired man looks up at the ebon-haired, ruby-eyed man .
Inclining her head to the ebon-haired, ruby-eyed man, the earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar says, in sirihish:
"Master Bard Adarana Irofel."
The stocky, clean-shaven man thinks:
"Vejaan's a serious contender. Can't discount him. ALL of these people are potentially going to be pissed at me if I win this."
Someone thinks:
"Huh. Was wonderin' who that guy was."
The shaggy-haired, sun-branded man thinks:
"Ahhh, Aja... will that be the one?"
The spangled-blond, muscular woman looks down at the tall, muscular man.
The sinewy, weather-worn man thinks:
"All this hubub just ta get t'the announcement? Krath, Kurac could do it better."
The short-haired, jade-eyed Lirathan templar keeps her hands clasped before her, watching each contestant as they approach.
Hesitantly, the sinewy, bald-headed man whispers something to the short, dusky woman.
Someone thinks:
"Grey hunt? I really ought to listen more closely to what's happening."
An amethyst-eyed, golden-haired woman has arrived from the east, hurrying in.
The curvy, jallal-tressed maiden thinks:
"Good grief! I should have at least entered, with a list of names like that."
The trim, ashen-skinned man licks his lips quietly as he watches the quiet procession.
The earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar smiles to an amethyst-eyed, golden-haired woman, inclining her head.
The earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar says, in sirihish:
"Advisor Rokov Kurac."
The ebon-haired, ruby-eyed man remains silent and proud, standing with his hands clasped behind his back.
The svelte, top-knotted woman's brow raises in surprise.
The tall, muscular man's eyes move along the entrants as their names are called out.
The short, dusky woman whispers something to the sinewy, bald-headed man .
The curvy, jallal-tressed maiden thinks:
"Oh, like he needs to win anything!"
The stocky, clean-shaven man takes a breath and makes his way down the aisle, approaching the stage.
An amethyst-eyed, golden-haired woman takes her place beside the ebon-haired, ruby-eyed man with a sheepish, nervous smile.
The swarthy, aging man, gives the stocky, clean-shaven man a quick pat, grinning.
The spangled-blond, muscular woman looks up at the ebon-haired, ruby-eyed man.
The sinewy, bald-headed man whispers something to the short, dusky woman .
The very short female wearing a mask of glinting, emerald scales shoots a smile at the stocky, clean-shaven man, tipping an encouraging nod.
At a long wooden bench, the chubby, brown-haired man speaks, chuckling after.
Someone thinks:
"Losing is... so difficult. I have trained my entire life. My tribe has given me strength, wisdom, fortitude. But all these things mean nothing to you."
The stout, heavily-scarred dwarf grins up at the stocky, clean-shaven man , clapping briefly.
<< Someone feels like you are trying to calm your nerves. >>
The short, dusky woman nods once at the sinewy, bald-headed man , straightening the lapels of her sleek, crimson leather duster.
Quietly grabbing his arm, the sinewy, bald-headed man whispers something to the scruffy, brown-haired youth.
Face set in a serious expression, the stocky, clean-shaven man bows his head deeply to the Faithful and moves to stand beside an amethyst-eyed, golden-haired woman.
The spindly, grey-haired man looks up at an amethyst-eyed, golden-haired woman.
The willowy, brown-haired young man thinks:
"Advisor? What kind of a title is that for a hunter..."
You feel a growing sense of anticipation.
The scruffy, brown-haired youth nods softly, swallowing hard.
The willowy, brown-haired young man thinks:
"Ah well..."
The pockmarked, well-toned man looks up at the stocky, clean-shaven man .
The willowy, brown-haired young man thinks:
"You know, there are so many people here..."
The swarthy, aging man chuckles at the chubby, brown-haired man .
The grey-haired, fiery-eyed woman smiles fondly at the ebon-haired, ruby-eyed man from her seat on the bench.
A thin trail of rich, heady smoke trickles from the chubby, brown-haired man 's mouth as he smokes a naked harlot spice pipe.
The willowy, brown-haired young man thinks:
"If they were to just all drop dead and freeze in time, I'd learn more now than most people in a lifetime."
After a beat, the earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar says, in sirihish:
"Recruit Valin of the Sun Legions."
Someone thinks:
"It's tough to read the Chosen Lady though..."
Someone thinks:
"Valin? Seriously?"
The curvy, jallal-tressed maiden thinks:
"He's not here, stupid, I don't know where he went..."
The willowy, brown-haired young man thinks:
"I have no idea how she'll take to my... hobby."
Someone thinks:
"Now wouldn' be the best time ta attack. Not with everyone's attention fixed."
The ancient, brutally-scarred Jihaen templar thinks:
"Private Valin."
The short-haired, jade-eyed Lirathan templar tilts her head, gaze shifting over the curvy, jallal-tressed maiden .
The scruffy, brown-haired youth's jaw flexes and relaxes, his youthful features tense though he attempts the faintest of smiles to offset, gentle brown hues locked upon the earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar as they speak.
<< The shaggy-haired, sun-branded man feels a sense of resignation. >>
The shaggy-haired, sun-branded man thinks:
"So, ka. If that be my life in His service, then so be it. But know that my heart aches for your smile."
The caramel, alabaster-haired woman stands up from a long wooden bench.
The curvy, jallal-tressed maiden clears her throat softly, her eyes unmoving from the earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar .
Her tone formal, the earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar says, in sirihish:
"Thiza of the Al'Seik."
The caramel, alabaster-haired woman walks east.
The pearl-haired Lirathan templar glances over at the sinewy, weather-worn man for a long moment.
Hopping to her feet quickly, the dusky, sorrel-curled woman stands up from a long wooden bench.
The dusky, sorrel-curled woman's head inclines deeply as she walks along, falling in line.
The stocky, clean-shaven man thinks:
"So that's who she is."
The earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar says, in sirihish:
"Ani and Zharal of the Tan Muark."
The curvy, jallal-tressed maiden thinks:
"Stupid, stupid man. We could have won. I could own this place. And renovate it. And make it beautiful. And me beautiful. And have Hlum babies. Beautiful ones. But stupid skips out on us."
<< The stocky, clean-shaven man feels shock. >>
The sinewy, weather-worn man meets the pearl-haired Lirathan templar's gaze for a moment before his attention drifts back through the gathering.
<< The trim, ashen-skinned man feels nervous as Drov. >>
Someone thinks:
"I guess Thiza's pretty nice. Wouldn't be too disappointed if she won it..."
Her face registering clear surprise, then a respectful nod given, as she steps forward, the short, dusky woman says, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Just.. Ani, Faithful Lady. But I will stand for her as she is not here."
<< Someone feels claustrophobia easing in as the crowd tenses. >>
With a milld nod to the short, dusky woman, the earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar says, in sirihish:
"Those are the completed entries recorded officially in the books of our Order."
<< The sinewy, weather-worn man feels a sudden sense of dread. >>
The sinewy, weather-worn man thinks:
"Krath, that was just brilliant."
The scruffy, brown-haired youth curls his lips inward, hesitantly taking a half-step forward beside the short, dusky woman before he controls himself, remaining silent beside the sinewy, bald-headed man .
The earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar says, in sirihish:
"I believe Vash of Salarr has completed the second task, as well."
Her expression gone completely stiff, the short, dusky woman just nods, managing another more polite one as she steps up onto the stage.
Uncertainly, after a moment's pause, the trim, ashen-skinned man stands up from a long wooden bench.
Her shoulders completely tense, the short, dusky woman whispers something to the stocky, clean-shaven man .
The trim, ashen-skinned man makes his way slowly, humbly, through the crowd to stand by the short, dusky woman, giving the earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar and the others a slow, polite nod.
The earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar inclines her head to the row of entrants, turning back to you.
With a benevolent smile, you say to the earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar, in sirihish:
"Thankyou Faithful Lady."
The dusky, sorrel-curled woman's eyebrows rise over her pair of dark-lensed sunslits then immediately drop.
With a smile, the svelte, top-knotted woman looks up at the dusky, sorrel-curled woman.
<< The trim, ashen-skinned man feels nervous as all get out. >>
The lofty, cunyati-tanned man thinks:
"Oh, it'd be pretty wine if Vash won too, I guess."
The stocky, clean-shaven man drops a fraction of a nod as he stands stiff, eyes ahead.
Taking a step away from the stage, motioning to the space on the grass before her, you say, in sirihish:
"As I call you, please step towards me."
Someone thinks:
"PLEASE be Rokov-da or Thiza. They should've chosen one or the other...I hope."
The very short and thick male wearing a bloodied runic, fire-scorched mask leans over his new dusty tortoiseshell and black-leather shield watching the stage carefully.
The earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar steps to the foot of the stage, watching closely.
Someone thinks:
"How are they doing this, I wonder?"
Glancing at the assembled notables, the swarthy, aging man looks up at the pearl-haired Lirathan templar.
The trim, ashen-skinned man straightens up and eases his dusty tortoiseshell and black-leather shield to his side, hand held flat against the other hip.
The curvy, jallal-tressed maiden leans against the stage as she watches, eyes bright with activity.
With a glance towards the ancient, brutally-scarred Jihaen templar, you say, in sirihish:
"First we note that Private Valin made admirable effort, and has proven his loyalty to His Legions and His service. We regret that the Private is no longer considered in contention."
Shifting a bit closer, the very short female wearing a mask of glinting, emerald scales sits on a long wooden bench.
Gaze settling on an amethyst-eyed, golden-haired woman, you say, in sirihish:
"Master Bard Adarana Irofel, please stand before me."
Someone thinks:
"...it just needs to be those two. One of them."
An amethyst-eyed, golden-haired woman moves gracefully to stand before you with a bow of her head.
The pearl-haired Lirathan templar blinks at the ancient, brutally-scarred Jihaen templar.
The freckled, light-skinned man clears his throat, eyes flitting to the stocky, clean-shaven man briefly.
Extending a hand, your ruby crystal pyramid set atop her palm, you say, in sirihish:
"Master Bard, we thank you for your entry, and your loyalty and service to Him. We regret that you are no longer considered a contender."
With barely any sound at all, the stocky, clean-shaven man whispers something to the short, dusky woman .
The curvy, jallal-tressed maiden thinks:
"No longer considered? But-- why? I don't understand."
The trim, ashen-skinned man stands perfectly still, gaze ahead, chest barely lifting with each breath.
You say to an amethyst-eyed, golden-haired woman, in sirihish:
"Take this as a token of your entry, and achievement."
You give your ruby crystal pyramid to an amethyst-eyed, golden-haired woman.
The chubby, brown-haired man taps his naked harlot spice pipe with a finger as he watches.
The short, dusky woman nods shallowly, staring at the proceedings.
His hand slipping from his pocket, the scruffy, brown-haired youth snaps his gloved fingers softly before placing his hand at the small of his back.
Looking over to the trim, ashen-skinned man, you say, in sirihish:
"Vash, please step before me."
An amethyst-eyed, golden-haired woman accepts her ruby crystal pyramid gracefully and moves offstage.
The ancient, brutally-scarred Jihaen templar stands solemnly looking to you with an appreciative nod before turning his attention back to the stage.
The trim, ashen-skinned man tips a very slow nod before taking a breath and careful, determined strides to stand before you.
For a brief moment, the willowy, grey-streaked man looks at the earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar .
The trim, ashen-skinned man tips a low, polite nod to you.
Someone thinks:
"I knew he wouldn't win, but I was impressed with his efforts none the less. I am glad he was given consideration."
The ancient, brutally-scarred Jihaen templar thinks:
"I will have to do something nice for him in honor of it."
Attention focused on her boots, the very short female wearing a mask of glinting, emerald scales chances only the occasional glance to the stage.
The svelte, top-knotted woman touches her hand to the freckled, light-skinned man's only briefly as she studies the event on stage.
With a smile, her gaze set on him, you say to the trim, ashen-skinned man , in sirihish:
"Your effort in this hunt has been noted and appreciated. Know that Tuluk considers you a fine contestant."
Easing onto a seat beside the tall, muscular man, an amethyst-eyed, golden-haired woman sits on a long wooden bench.
The trim, ashen-skinned man starts to lift his gaze to you but instead tips an even deeper nod.
Holding your ruby crystal pyramid towards him, you say to the trim, ashen-skinned man, in sirihish:
"Take this as a token of your achievement and appreciation, you have done well in His eyes."
You give your ruby crystal pyramid to the trim, ashen-skinned man.
The stocky, clean-shaven man thinks:
"... she didn't say he lost."
The trim, ashen-skinned man slowly lifts his hands and accepts his ruby crystal pyramid with claw covered hands, a warm smile creeping over his lips.
With a nod, you say to the trim, ashen-skinned man, in sirihish:
"We regret that you are no longer considered a contestant."
The robust, coppery-curled teen has arrived from the east.
The lofty, cunyati-tanned man thinks:
"Dang, nice prizes. I should just enter this every year."
The trim, ashen-skinned man tips another nod to you then slowly steps back and off to the side.
<< The trim, ashen-skinned man feels content, happy, you did this and you did it well. >>
Looking to the ebon-haired, ruby-eyed man, you say, in sirihish:
"Vejaan A'jinn, please stand before me."
The pockmarked, well-toned man glances to the chubby, brown-haired man, quickly returning his eyes to the stage.
The ebon-haired, ruby-eyed man steps forward, bowing his head respecfully.
Tiptoeing in unobtrusively, the robust, coppery-curled teen sits on a long wooden bench.
For a moment, the very short female wearing a mask of glinting, emerald scales looks up at the ebon-haired, ruby-eyed man.
The freckled, light-skinned man glances towards the ebon-haired, ruby-eyed man, the corners of his mouth turning downwards.
The trim, ashen-skinned man lifts a finger to carefully trace over the edges of his ruby crystal pyramid as he stands some distance from the group of attention.
Her gaze solemn, you say to the ebon-haired, ruby-eyed man, in sirihish:
"Vejaan A'jinn you have lived up to the name of your family. You were a fine entrant and He was pleased."
Leaning over, the robust, coppery-curled teen whispers something to the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man .
Extending your ruby crystal pyramid to him, you say to the ebon-haired, ruby-eyed man, in sirihish:
"We regret you are no longer considered a contestant, take this as a token of our appreciation."
The ebon-haired, ruby-eyed man nods his head deeply to you, taking the pyramid.
You give your ruby crystal pyramid to the ebon-haired, ruby-eyed man.
The freckled, light-skinned man covers his mouth with a gauntleted hand, coughing.
The freckled, light-skinned man thinks:
"YES!"
Leaning close, the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man whispers something to the robust, coppery-curled teen.The svelte, top-knotted woman clasps her hands tightly in front of her.
The scruffy, brown-haired youth's index and middle fingers remain crossed at the small of his back, the other hand still tucked deeply within the pockets of his desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak.
The tall, muscular man stretches, sauntering up towards the stage.
The freckled, light-skinned man thinks:
"Zharal, then. Odd."
The freckled, light-skinned man thinks:
"Odd choice..."
The short, dusky woman glances sidelong to the stocky, clean-shaven man , flashes a brave smile, then steps forward to show respects to the short-haired, jade-eyed Lirathan templar.
The curvy, jallal-tressed maiden thinks:
"When did Zharal get beat out? So it's Ani and Rokov? Gee. What great choices. Not even a citizen among them."
The stocky, clean-shaven man takes a deep breath and steps forward toward the short-haired, jade-eyed Lirathan templar.
Watching the tall, muscular man approach the stage, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette looks at him.
Someone thinks:
"Fuck. At least we have some sort of defensive agreement between each other."
The tall, muscular man steps up onto the stage, moving between the short-haired, jade-eyed Lirathan templar and the stocky, clean-shaven man and the short, dusky woman .
The willowy, grey-streaked man tilts his head, watching the tall, muscular man.
Her brow raising, the svelte, top-knotted woman looks up at the tall muscular man.
The chubby, brown-haired man looks up at the spangled-blond, muscular woman.
The stocky, clean-shaven man pauses, a hand reflexively going beneath his cloak.
The earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar thinks:
"A twist?"
The stocky, clean-shaven man looks up at you.
With a slightly narrowed gaze, the scruffy, brown-haired youth looks at the stocky, clean-shaven man .
Glancing over quickly at the lanky, indigo-tressed woman, the willowy, brown-haired young man quietly exhales and leans forward.
The freckled, light-skinned man looks up at you.
The short-haired, jade-eyed Lirathan templar nods slightly as the tall, muscular man approaches.
The chubby, brown-haired man looks up at you.
The short female wearing a mask of glinting, emerald scales thinks:
"The fuck?"
The earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar tucks her hands into her sleeves, watching silently.
With a curious shift of his gaze, the sinewy, bald-headed man looks up at the tall, muscular man.
The freckled, light-skinned man quirks an eyebrow briefly.
With a glance over, you say to the short-haired, jade-eyed Lirathan templar, in sirihish:
"This one is mine."
Scene: The Silverwood Estate.
Event: Announcement of the Grey Hunt winner.
Note: Since this was logged by staff thinks and feels which are normally only viewable by the character in question have been left in.
Whistling lowly, the...
Continue Reading...Memoir #9 - The Bynner (Marek) by Rairen
Added on Oct 27, 2009In the incident that leads to him becoming Aja's most fascinating student, an Allanaki-born Byn Sergeant illustrates how easily an outlander can upset the fragile calm of Tuluki upper-caste society.
You are Aja, of many peoples.
Objective: To learn to fight - and still be thought weak.
You are 27 years, 1 months, and 206 days old,
The Sun King's Sanctuary [NESWUD]
A polished, white marble floor covers the ground of this expansive room, gleaming under the light of a large glass chandelier that hangs overhead. A semi-circular bar, made of hard-grained wood painted a deep black, extends from the eastern wall, several high-backed barstools sitting around it. The walls of this room are brightly decorated, with several elaborate paintings placed carefully for unobstructed view, and shelves holding many exotic potted plants, blooming with bright red and white flowers. Two large stained-glass windows, decorated with elaborate sun symbols, adorn the northwest and southeast corners of the room.
Several decoratively carved tables fill this room, while a polished leather couch nearly ten cords in length sprawls along the northern wall. A stately spiral staircase sits in the center of the room, winding upwards toward the common rooms of the second floor. The sounds of laughter and music can be heard from a doorway along the western wall, while the scents of cooked meat waft in from the east. A small, straight stairway sits along the northern wall, ending at a slightly raised loft and a large carven baobab door sits in the southern wall, leading out onto the North Road outside.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman nods down to each of the others, a glass of wine deposited in front of them.
You give your finely made glass goblet to the short, dusky woman.
You give your finely made glass goblet to the freckled, light-skinned man.
You give your finely made glass goblet to the spangled-blond, muscular woman.
You give your finely made glass goblet to the robust, coppery-curled teen.
You give your finely made glass goblet to the sinewy, obsidian-haired man.
You think:
"... I'll be poor but popular."
The dragon-tattooed, claw-braided man has arrived from the south.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman relaxes back against the bar with elegant negligence, falling silent as she looks down to the spangled-blond, muscular woman, the robust, coppery-curled teen, and the others at the bar.
Stiffly, the dragon-tattooed, claw-braided man walks towards a black-painted bar.
With a sigh, the dragon-tattooed, claw-braided man sits at a black-painted bar.
At your table, the robust, coppery-curled teen says in sirihish, chuckling at the sinewy, obsidian-haired man:
"The thought counts, though."
Draining it, the short, dusky woman puts her finely made glass goblet onto a black-painted bar.
With a slight lift of her brow when she notices him and a polite nod in greeting, you look at the dragon-tattooed, claw-braided man.
Raven black hair has been twisted tightly into thin braids that dangle down this man's angular head. At the ends of the long braids, his hairs curve sharply, resembling curling claws. An intricate purple inking of a dragon has been tattooed into his dark flesh. The beasts head rests below his right eye and the long body crosses his cheek, the tail curving over his chin and up to his forehead, the tail ending where his hairline starts. His dark brows lay over his light hazel colored eyes on either side of his long nose. His jawbone is covered in dense black stubble which becomes more sparse as it trails down his thick neck. His wide shoulders spread out and hold a pair of heavily muscled arms, scarred forearms and callused hands. His torso is slender and chiseled with long, muscular legs. His features are darkly tanned to an ebon hue except for a few pale scars etched into the rest of his dark skin.
Turning his head, the dragon-tattooed, claw-braided man looks at you.
At your table, the dragon-tattooed, claw-braided man says in southern-accented sirihish, smiling at you:
"Aja."
At your table, the sinewy, obsidian-haired man says in sirihish, dipping his head into a quick nod, grinning:
"Still, knowing that we both drank from stolen cups only add to the evening."
At your table, you say in sirihish, returning the dragon-tattooed, claw-braided man's smile:
"Marek. A pity, you just missed me buying a round of drinks. You'll have to wait until I can gather the courage to do it again."
The dragon-tattooed, claw-braided man gets his leather waterskin from his leather swordbelt.
At your table, the robust, coppery-curled teen says in sirihish, giggling at the sinewy, obsidian-haired man:
"Two misplaced cups for two misplaced people."
At your table, the sinewy, obsidian-haired man says in sirihish, smiling faintly as he sips quietly from his finely made glass goblet:
"I wish it only took courage and not 'sids to be able to afford a round of drinks, 'round here.."
At your table, you say in sirihish, glancing back to the sinewy, obsidian-haired man with his words, amusement in her pale eyes:
"... Courage and 'sid seem to be synonymous, in this case."
At your table, the dragon-tattooed, claw-braided man says in southern-accented sirihish, eyeing you before unplugging his leather waterskin's stopper:
"Well, yeh'll have t'offer me somethin' else, then."
At your table, the spangled-blond, muscular woman says in sirihish, head coming up:
"Huh?"
The dragon-tattooed, claw-braided man looks at the sinewy, obsidian-haired man.
The spangled-blond, muscular woman glances at you.
At your table, the sinewy, obsidian-haired man says in sirihish, chuckling softly as he shakes his head in the robust, coppery-curled teen's direction:
"Everyone commented on our dancing, I'm going to assume that we were not as misplaced in the crowd as we might wish we were.."
At your table, you say in sirihish, head turning as she looks at the dragon-tattooed, claw-braided man, her smile inescapably polite:
"... Is not the pleasure of my company - and of the company of this room - enough to sate you?"
(hemote) The ethereal, fair-haired woman's jaw tenses.
At your table, the dragon-tattooed, claw-braided man says in southern-accented sirihish, lifting a hand to scratch his short beard, leaning over his fist, elbow on a black-painted bar:
"Well, yer company's fine...but I'd be a lot more sated if th'rest of th'company wasn't 'bout."
You think:
"Such... a bold... flirt."
The short, dusky woman flicks ash from her solidly packed tube of spice, staring with droll, dark amusement at the dragon-tattooed, claw-braided man.
At your table, the robust, coppery-curled teen says in sirihish, arching a brow at the sinewy, obsidian-haired man:
"Really? Wasn't expectin' that."
At your table, the short, dusky woman says in sirihish:
"Somehow, I doubt that, Marek."
The ethereal, fair-haired woman looks at the dragon-tattooed, claw-braided man, and then laughs, a gloved hand lifting to her lips, muffling the sound.
A thin trail of rich, heady smoke trickles from the short, dusky woman's mouth as she smokes a solidly packed tube of spice.The short, dusky woman's eyes become glassy-red and half-closed.
The dragon-tattooed, claw-braided man chuckles softly, lifting his other fist to meet the other under his chin.
At your table, the dragon-tattooed, claw-braided man says in southern-accented sirihish, glancing at the short, dusky woman:
"Oh, I'd invite yeh too, Chosen Lady, but tha'd be illegal."
At your table, you say in sirihish, after inclining her head to the short, dusky woman:
"... I believe the Chosen Consort is correct, Marek, though it's been too long since we've spoken. You've been well, I trust?"
At your table, the dragon-tattooed, claw-braided man says in southern-accented sirihish, with a twisted smile:
"Shoulda approached me when yeh had th'chance."
The short, dusky woman's expression darkens with anger and disgust as she stares at the dragon-tattooed, claw-braided man, silently grinding a spice tube out on the bartop.
You think:
"... Soothe, soothe."
At your table, the dragon-tattooed, claw-braided man says in southern-accented sirihish, lifting his shoulders back into a shrug:
"Eh, not as many contracts up here as I'd expected."
At your table, you say in sirihish, in her calm, crystal-like voice as she does... not... look in the short, dusky woman's direction:
"... And I'm sorry for it. Perhaps you would walk with me? I... find I need to stretch my legs."
The spangled-blond, muscular woman taps gloved fingers on the bar, glancing between the short, dusky woman and the dragon-tattooed, claw-braided man.
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
Slowly arching a brow, the dragon-tattooed, claw-braided man looks down at the short, dusky woman.
At your table, the dragon-tattooed, claw-braided man says in southern-accented sirihish, dipping his head to the short, dusky woman:
"'Scuse me, Chosen Consort, no offense meant."
At your table, the dragon-tattooed, claw-braided man says in southern-accented sirihish, to you:
"Aye, let's walk."
In a smooth motion, your flowing white linen skirt
fluttering about her legs, you stand up from a black-painted bar.
At a black-painted bar, the freckled, light-skinned man speaks, nodding towards the dragon-tattooed, claw-braided man.
At a black-painted bar, the short, dusky woman speaks, snapping out.
At a black-painted bar, you overhear the dragon-tattooed, claw-braided man say in southern-accented sirihish, eyeing the short, dusky woman, nodding:
"I was merely statin' tha' yer above me, Chosen Consort...apologies."
The short, dusky woman sends you a telepathic message:
"Is this man valuable to the northern templarate in any way?"
The ethereal, fair-haired woman's steps slow... and then she turns, offering the short, dusky woman and the freckled, light-skinned man a polite nod in passing.
You contact the short, dusky woman with the Way.
At a black-painted bar, you overhear the dragon-tattooed, claw-braided man say in southern-accented sirihish, to the freckled, light-skinned man:
"An' we can do most anythin', Chosen Lord. Scout, hunt, kill, gather, I'm sure we'd be much easier t'place than th'soldiers of Lyksae..."
The spangled-blond, muscular woman's posture changes, tensing and coiled.
You send a telepathic message to the short, dusky woman:
"I fear that they do not confide such matters to me, and I do not know how valuable he is to the Byn."
The dragon-tattooed, claw-braided man stands up from a black-painted bar.
You send a telepathic message to the short, dusky woman:
"For now, I can take him away from you, though, while you... decide."
The short, dusky woman sends you a telepathic message:
"I see."
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
The robust, coppery-curled teen attention lingers on the contents of her finely made glass goblet as she fidgets uneasily.
Adding curtly, the freckled, light-skinned man says, in sirihish:
"And all of the Warriors in my Sept can do that, and keep civil tongues in their heads."
Shrugging his shoulders, the freckled, light-skinned man says, in sirihish:
"Small wonder you have difficulty finding contracts."
You contact the sinewy, obsidian-haired man with the Way.
The spangled-blond, muscular woman stands up from a black-painted bar.
You send a telepathic message to the sinewy, obsidian-haired man:
"My apologies for having to depart so abruptly. I'm certain you understand."
With a smirk, the dragon-tattooed, claw-braided man asks the freckled, light-skinned man, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Aye, perhaps I should turn around'n head back home, hm?"
The spangled-blond, muscular woman moves down the bar and pauses near the dragon-tattooed, claw-braided man.
Inclining his head deeply, the dragon-tattooed, claw-braided man says to the freckled, light-skinned man, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Find m'when yeh think of anythin'."
The dragon-tattooed, claw-braided man looks down at the spangled-blond, muscular woman.
Touching a hand to his elbow, you say to the dragon-tattooed, claw-braided man, in sirihish:
"Not without walking with me first."
The ethereal, fair-haired woman lowers her hand, glancing up to the spangled-blond, muscular woman, as well.
The dragon-tattooed, claw-braided man nods to you, beginning to walk to the doorway.
The short, dusky woman fingers the hilt of her razor-sharp, hawk-etched halfsword, then drops her hand smoothly to the bartop, maintaining a silence.
In her strange thin falsetto, giving weight to the first few syllables, the spangled-blond, muscular woman asks the dragon-tattooed, claw-braided man, in sirihish:
"No offense, Sergeant, but I think you're creating a small disturbance. Perhaps you'd step out and return another time?"
You contact the spangled-blond, muscular woman with the Way.
At a black-painted bar, you overhear the sinewy, obsidian-haired man say in sirihish, smiling curiously in the freckled, light-skinned man's direction, tilting his head to the side:
"Surely you have a stable or two that needs cleaning, Chosen Lord?"
You send a telepathic message to the spangled-blond, muscular woman:
"I'll keep an eye on him, Sid, and let you know where he is if you need him."
Sternly, the dragon-tattooed, claw-braided man looks down at the spangled-blond, muscular woman.
Voice cool, calm, level, the short, dusky woman says to the dragon-tattooed, claw-braided man, in sirihish:
"I would have found that insulting before I was Chosen, Sergeant. Watch your tongue more carefully. You're obviously unfamiliar with northern customs."
The spangled-blond, muscular woman's gaze locks calm and steady on the dragon-tattooed, claw-braided man.
Turning, eyeing the spangled-blond, muscular woman a moment before speaking, the dragon-tattooed, claw-braided man says to the short, dusky woman, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Perhaps yeh could enlighten me."
(hemote) The ethereal, fair-haired woman's hands reach for her hood as she glances between the dragon-tattooed, claw-braided man and the spangled-blond, muscular woman.
The spangled-blond, muscular woman asks the dragon-tattooed, claw-braided man, in sirihish:
"Like I said, no offense. Just trying to keep the peace. But then too, I'm straight serious. Come back another day, huh?"
The dragon-tattooed, claw-braided man says to the short, dusky woman, in southern-accented sirihish:
"'Cause I don't know th'diference between a compliment'n an insult here. They's both seem t'come'n go th'same way."
The short, dusky woman says to the dragon-tattooed, claw-braided man, in sirihish:
"Perhaps you should walk with apprentice Aja Driamusek before you put your dung-covered boot further into that mouth of yours, Sergeant."
Frowning, the dragon-tattooed, claw-braided man walks south.
You follow the dragon-tattooed, claw-braided man, and walk south.
North Road [NESW]
The stark white of this wide stone road lies nestled between the rise and fall of a conglomerated jumble of eclectically styled buildings. Passing through the city, the road is kept clean of any blowing sand and forest debris. The pale backbone cuts a decisive line east across the
bustling metropolis towards what remains of the Old City.
The pale white of the road merges with a newer road just to the east. Further in the distance, the crumbled ruins of the old city can be seen rising up above the newer walls that have been built up around them. Set on the north side of the road is a large two-story tavern. On the south side of the road is a large wagon yard.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman relinquishes her hood, accompanying the dragon-tattooed, claw-braided man with formally correct posture.
The dragon-tattooed, claw-braided man raises the hood of a hooded, brown military aba.
The tall figure in a hooded, brown military aba asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Where yeh wanna walk to?"
His purple-inked dragon-tattooed features twisting into a dark grimace, the tall figure in a hooded, brown military aba says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Allanak'd be a good place t'begin, I'm thinkin'."
The spangled-blond, muscular woman sends you a telepathic message:
"Your solution was a lot more elegant than mine, Bard. Thank you for the help."
With a fixedly polite smile, you ask the tall figure in a hooded, brown military aba, in sirihish:
"... Have you had opportunity to tour the city during your time here?"
The tall figure in a hooded, brown military aba says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"No."
You send a telepathic message to the spangled-blond, muscular woman:
"Elegant, though I would have enjoyed yours more if it could have provoked him into being thrown into the jails. And please, call me Aja. Or Apprentice, if you will use my title."
With a slight nod as she looks out over the commons, you say to the tall figure in a hooded, brown military aba, in sirihish:
"Then let’s walk to the gardens. They've calmed hotter heads than yours."
You are Aja, of many peoples.
Objective: To learn to fight - and still be thought weak.
You are 27 years, 1 months, and 206 days old,
The Sun King's Sanctuary [NESWUD]
A polished, white marble floor covers the ground of this expansive room, gleaming under the light of...
Continue Reading...Memoir #7 - The Student (Peloquin) by Rairen
Added on Oct 27, 2009The escape from Allanak buying her status and a Jihaen patron, Aja uses a mix-up over cloaks to test her most favorite student.
The short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap = Peloquin
The bronzed, stubble-bearded man = Corporal Valin of His LegionsIt is dawn on Nekrete, the 181st day of the Low Sun,
In the Year of Whira's Vengeance, year 38 of the 21st Age.
North Salt Road [NSW]
Rows of pale stones form the backbone for this broad avenue, settled into the ground with graceful fervor. Decorating the edge of the street, the buildings and storefronts are universally adorned with garish and tawdry sculptures, bas reliefs, and murals. The road is filled with a continual throng of humans and demi-humans alike as they scurry about the bustle of daily life.
The sounds of a rowdy commotion spills out onto the streets from the building to the west. A trio of humanoid sculptures are caught before the junction between two roads, the crowds passing around them. An odd-looking sculpture surrounds a stone bench off to one side of the road.
It is a warm day.
Gritty sand blows in from the west, piling in small dunes.
You raise the hood of a hooded, dusky-green cotton cloak.
The bronzed, stubble-bearded man sends you a telepathic message:
"The barracks are slow of late. Thought I could offer you a drink or something? Unless that sounds boring -"
The short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap has arrived from the west.
You send a telepathic message to the bronzed, stubble-bearded man:
"Slow? In truth... Oh, were... you resting recently?"
Steps a touch slower as she lingers in the intersection, you look at the short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap.
Here is a short lissome young man still in the teenage years of development. His soft skin holds a deeply-bronzed tone, making it apparent the young man isno stranger to the savage rays of Suk-Krath. A mass of thick chocolate hairhangs loosely from his head in a slight shag with the occasional clump coveringhis curious deep green eyes which are covered with barely noticeable goldspeckles. Beneath his fine nose lies a soft, gentle-lipped mouth. His chin isslender, with a vaguely squared jawline and completely lacking in any noticeablefacial hair. The young man's slim build shows off what limited muscle he has. His legs are slightly toned and limber however, most likely due to a life ofrunning errands. The short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap is in excellent condition.
The figure in a hooded, dusky-green cotton cloak casts the short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap a shadowed smile.
The bronzed, stubble-bearded man sends you a telepathic message:
"I've been busy in the warrens, why?"
You send a telepathic message to the bronzed, stubble-bearded man:
"A giant roc was seen flying over the city."
The short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap inclines his head politely to you.
The bronzed, stubble-bearded man sends you a telepathic message:
"...Roc?"
You send a telepathic message to the bronzed, stubble-bearded man:
"Yes, a roc. It's a giant... hawk, for lack of better description, if you are unfamiliar with the creature. His Faithful believe it to have been a one-time sighting, but are, I understand, reviewing it."
The figure in a hooded, dusky-green cotton cloak glances skyward, for a moment, with a rueful shake of her head.
You think:
"Valin, decide where you need me."
With a hidden smile, the short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap says to you, in sirihish:
"It was a wild roc."
Glancing down to him a moment before she smiles, again, you say to the short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap, in sirihish:
"... It was. It was."
You think:
"And that was not what I was thinking."
The bronzed, stubble-bearded man sends you a telepathic message:
"When, might I ask?"
With a bemused shake of her head, you say to the short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap, in sirihish:
"... And I should learn to confine my use of the Way to when I am sitting."
You send a telepathic message to the bronzed, stubble-bearded man:
"Yesterday. Just after high sun."
With an apologetic tone, the short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap says to you, in sirihish:
"I am sorry...I've met you before but your name eludes me."
(hemote) The figure in a hooded, dusky-green cotton cloak fights a smile. Oh, does she fight a smile.
With a soft click of her tongue, you say to the short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap, in sirihish:
"... Oh, it's no problem at all. The name's Ameli."
You feel oh, so amused.
You think:
"Let this be a test."
Reaching for his facewrap, the short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap says to you, in sirihish:
"I am Peloquin."
The short, lithe young man stops using his dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap.
The bronzed, stubble-bearded man sends you a telepathic message:
"It is dangerous then...?"
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
Looking down at the short, lithe young man, face shadowed by her hood, you ask the short, lithe young man, in sirihish:
"Oh, that's right. Aren't you an Aide to a Chosen or some such?"
You send a telepathic message to the bronzed, stubble-bearded man:
"That is what His Faithful are endeavoring to discover, but I do not believe they think so."
With a slight smile, the short, lithe young man says to you, in sirihish:
"Faithful Lord Elithan, Miss Ameli."
With a long, drawn out 'oh' sound, you ask the short, lithe young man, in sirihish:
"I see, I see. That's an honor, now. Aren't you a little young to be serving one like him?"
You think:
"This is oddly amusing. I should feign voices more often."
With a sheepish chuckle, the short, lithe young man says to you, in sirihish:
"Probably...but he took me in when my mother died, otherwise I would be homeless. I suppose it is the only thing he could think to do with me until I am old enough to serve the Legion."
With a quiet, rough laugh, you say to the short, lithe young man, in sirihish:
"Is that the way of it? Stuck in the city? Better you'n me, boy."
The tall figure in a long, hooded red and white tabard has arrived from the south.
Sidelong, the tall figure in a long, hooded red and white tabard looks down at the short, lithe young man.
You send a telepathic message to the bronzed, stubble-bearded man:
"Do not recognize me."
The short, lithe young man looks up at the tall figure in a long, hooded red and white tabard.
You send a telepathic message to the bronzed, stubble-bearded man:
"Pass by me without a glance. I'm... giving a test to the Aide."
Along with the short, lithe young man, you look up at the tall figure in a long, hooded red and white tabard.
With a firm nod, the short, lithe young man says to the tall figure in a long, hooded red and white tabard, in sirihish:
"Good day Recruit."
The tall figure in a long, hooded red and white tabard tips his head amiably to the short, lithe young man after a moment.
The figure in a hooded, dusky-green cotton cloak dips her chin down as she nods to the tall figure in a long, hooded red and white tabard.
Calmly, after a moment, the tall figure in a long, hooded red and white tabard says to the short, lithe young man, in sirihish:
"Find my mind later, if you wish to get some training in."
The tall figure in a long, hooded red and white tabard walks west.
You feel highly amused.
The short, lithe young man forms his mouth into a slightly crooked grin in the direction of the departing figure.
The figure in a hooded, dusky-green cotton cloak glances down the road with a snort of laughter.
Turning to look down at him again, you ask the short, lithe young man, in sirihish:
"Is that the sort you want to be like?"
The figure in a hooded, dusky-green cotton cloak straightens her shoulders, puffing out her chest for 'militaristic' posture.
You send a telepathic message to the bronzed, stubble-bearded man:
"You have my deepest thanks, my friend. I believe I owe you a drink when this is done."
Tilting his head halfway, the short, lithe young man says to you, in sirihish:
"No, I don't think I could be as grouchy as Valin."
Making a soft 'Ah...', you ask the short, lithe young man, in sirihish:
"So grouchy, is he? He seems the sort. What are you going to be, then? Have a stick up your arse?"
You think:
"I... don't know how long I can keep this up. Oh, my."
Brightening his deep green eyes, the short, lithe young man says to you, in sirihish:
"I am going to be a good honest man who works for the good of the Ivory and its people."
You think:
"A good answer, a good answer."
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
The bronzed, stubble-bearded man sends you a telepathic message:
"Just doing my job, miss Aja."
The bronzed, stubble-bearded man sends you a telepathic message:
"Good luck with him."
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
Starting to walk again and beckoning to him, you say to the short, lithe young man, in sirihish:
"Right, of course. A real noble sort. Like I said, better you'n me, that's to be sure. Me, give me the grasslands and I'm happy."
The short, lithe young man falls in behind you.
n (with long, quick strides)
North Salt Road [NS]
Rows of pale stones form the backbone for this broad avenue, settled into the ground with graceful fervor. Decorating the edge of the street, the buildings and storefronts are universally adorned with garish and tawdry sculptures, bas reliefs, and murals. The road is filled with a continual throng of humans and demi-humans alike as they scurry about the bustle of daily life.
The murals here are especially well-colored, the bright dye calling attention to a row of exaggerated daily scenes. An enormous sandstone sculpture of a mantis looms over the road from before one of the eastern buildings.
The short, lithe young man places his dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap onto his face.Cloak wrapped tight about her body, you say to the short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap, in sirihish:
"It's the world out there, boy. The world out there that you're missing. And -"
The figure in a hooded, dusky-green cotton cloak takes a few more, long paces and then comes to a quick halt, whirling to look down at the short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap.
You ask the short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap, in sirihish:
"Wait, wait. So you ain't a soldier yet?"
Shaking his head, the short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap says to you, in sirihish:
"I can't be until I am sixteen."
After a stunned silence, you ask the short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap, in sirihish:
"... And so, you're wasting your life in here?"
The figure in a hooded, dusky-green cotton cloak shakes her head, moving forward again with long strides.
(Walking onward and "Ameli" always half a step in front of him...)
The Road of Merchants [NS]
Squat, mud-brick structures adorn either side of this dust-covered street, rising up from the ground at varying intervals. Wide ranging colors can be seen splashed across the vast majority of them, most appearing as brightly painted murals or colorfully woven carpets and tarps. The road itself is comprised of a sullen, yellow sandstone that has been chiseled into neatly rounded blocks before being cobbled into the ground.
A thick wall composed of agafari beams rises up to the east, preventing travel in that direction.
With a slight shrug, the short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap says to you, in sirihish:"No. I am allowed to leave as long as I have someone with me. I can usually get a guard, the Faithful Lord or a recruit to take me out to hunt and such."
The figure in a hooded, dusky-green cotton cloak slows down near a group of people gathered near one wall, one of them gesturing wildly to the sky.
Still walking forward, you ask the short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap, in sirihish:
"Oh, right. A guard. So I suppose you're too kank-shit scared to come out with a real hunter?"
The Road of Merchants [NS]
Squat, mud-brick structures adorn either side of this dust-covered street, rising up from the ground at varying intervals. Wide ranging colors can be seen splashed across the vast majority of them, most appearing as brightly painted murals or colorfully woven carpets and tarps. The road itself is comprised of a sullen, yellow sandstone that has been chiseled into neatly rounded blocks before being cobbled into the ground.
A thick wall composed of agafari beams rises up to the east, preventing travel in that direction.
The figure in a hooded, dusky-green cotton cloak glances over her shoulder and then steps close to the short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap, shadows falling over her face.
You whisper to the short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap in sirihish:"I'm going to go kill that fucking bird."
The Road of Merchants [NES]
Squat, mud-brick structures adorn either side of this dust-covered street, rising up from the ground at varying intervals. Wide ranging colors can be seen splashed across the vast majority of them, most appearing as brightly painted murals or colorfully woven carpets and tarps. The road itself is comprised of a sullen, yellow sandstone that has been chiseled into neatly rounded blocks before being cobbled into the ground.
A path of cobbled, blue-hued stones runs east.
With a distinct frown, the short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap says to you, in sirihish:
"I can go...but I don't want to kill the roc. It's too beautiful and there are so many other purposes for such a creature."
Stopping again with stunned silence, you say to the short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap, in sirihish:
"Better purposes? Name one."
Ruffling his thick chocolate hair briefly, the short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap says to you, in sirihish:
"It could be trained and watch over the passage to the Ivory from atop the fortress to the west."
Silent, again, as she clicks her tongue a few times, you say to the short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap, in sirihish:
"Trained, huh? Bet His Faithful would pay a pretty 'sid for something like, wouldn't they..."
With a meek shrug, the short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap says, in sirihish:
"Probably."
Shoulder almost touching his own, you say to the short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap, in sirihish:
"Well, here's a deal. I take you with, Faithful Aide, we find a roc. I give it a clip to its wing and you help me get a commission with the Faithful."
The short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap asks you, in sirihish:
"Is it safe for me out there Miss Ameli?"
Stopping to spit off to one side, you say to the short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap, in sirihish:
"Sure'n its safe, if you stay with me and don't do nothin' stupid."
You say to the short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap, in sirihish:
"I've been hawk trainin' since you were on all fours. You stay back and down, and ain't nothin'll harm you."
The short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap asks you, in sirihish:
"Well I've got some things to do before I can go on such a big trip...maybe you could wait and I could find your minds in a few days?"
With a slight nod, you ask the short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap, in sirihish:
"I think I can wait that long. We agreed? You'll speak for me?"
You feel suddenly overwhelmed and ill from the heat.
The short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap asks you, in sirihish:
"Yes, but you understand the roc is bigger than you and it's not at all going to be easy to clip?"
The figure in a hooded, dusky-green cotton cloak nods, throwing back her cloak to offer the short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap a white linen-gloved, four-fingered hand.
The harshness in her voice giving way to something softer... and more crystalline, you say to the short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap, in sirihish:
"Yes, I think I know exactly that, Aide."
With a surprised widening of his eyes, the short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap asks you, in sirihish:
"...Aja?"
The figure in a hooded, dusky-green cotton cloak lifts her hands, pulling back the long hood of her cloak.
You lower the hood of a hooded, dusky-green cotton cloak.
You feel a sudden wave of nausea.
Pale eyes studying his face, you ask the short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap, in sirihish:
"... Yes?"
The ethereal, fair-haired woman's lips form a thin line.
The short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap looks at you.
You think:
"Keep... it together..."
You get your leather waterskin from your leather-strapped, rich purple satchel.
Slowly, you drink the water.
Still looking at the short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap, you put your leather waterskin into your leather-strapped, rich purple satchel.
Slouching his shoulders subtly, the short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap asks you, in sirihish:
"Was that a test?"
With a slight nod, you say to the short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap, in sirihish:
"Mm-hmm."
You think:
"I'm going to be sick, but... this lesson is too sweet..."
Rubbing a partially healed wounded on his cheek, the short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap says, in sirihish:
"Busted..."
With another, slight nod, you say to the short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap, in sirihish:
"Mm-hmm."
Her voice softening as she looks to the sky, you say to the short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap, in sirihish:
"I know you must... have things to attend to. We can speak on this later."
You think:
"Please, don't let me faint..."
(hemote) The ethereal, fair-haired woman’s skin pales, sweat glistening on her skin.
With a gentle sigh, the short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap says to you, in sirihish:
"Yes Aja...Light Guide you..."
With a polite nod, you say to the short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap, in sirihish:
"And you... Peloquin."
The short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap walks east.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman waits until the short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap is out of sight before she slumps against the wall.
The short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap = Peloquin
The bronzed, stubble-bearded man = Corporal Valin of His LegionsIt is dawn on Nekrete, the 181st day of the Low Sun,
In the Year of Whira's Vengeance, year 38 of the 21st Age.
North Salt Road [NSW]
Continue Reading...How to Get Involved in Plots by Taven
Added on Oct 24, 2009Time and time again questions that have plagued players have been "How do I get involved in plots?" or "How do I make this role more excited and prevent boredom?" and they've had a whole host of answers. Answers that often get repeated or overlooked because of the sheer amount of other threads and posts on the GDB, making answers almost impossible to find. This article is meant to be a resource for players, where the answers can be easily and quickly found. It uses suggestions from many players in a large range of posts from the GDB, sometimes keeping the original language. Please note that this is player advice and ideas; it's not hard fact supported by staff.
How to get Involved in Plots
- How to get sucked into Plots
- Make your Own RPT
- Involving Yourself in Your Clan
- Don't Forget the vNPCs
Time and time again questions that have plagued players have been "How do I get involved in plots?" or "How do I make this role more excited and prevent boredom?" and they've had a whole host of answers. Answers that often get repeated or overlooked because of the sheer amount of other threads and posts on the GDB, making answers almost impossible to find. This article is meant to be a resource for players, where the answers can be easily and quickly found. It uses suggestions from many players in a large range of posts from the GDB, sometimes keeping the original language. Credit is given under the heading of each section, in italics. Please note that this is player advice and ideas; it's not hard fact supported by staff.How to get sucked into Plots
Most of this comes from the work of Gimfailsette, with some contribution from FiveDisgruntledMonkeysWit.
It's really not HARD to get involved, provided you're not in some incredibly isolated role. Joining a clan can be helpful, but some people join clans and still don't get involved; why is that?
The sekret key to getting sucked into plots: RELATIONSHIPS
If you do not have enough involvement with other PCs, you will not get brought into plots, it's just that simple. It's not that the AREA is boring...it's that you're boring, because you're not connected! So, here's how to get involved with other PCs:
1. Join an active clan as an employee or partisan.
Joining a clan puts you in a position to be noticed by the clan leaders, it gives you an immediate connection to the other employees in the clan, and it gives you potential connections to customers/users of the clan's goods or services. Clans give relationships of all kinds a kick-start.
2. Play in a consistent time frame for a consistent quantity of hours.
If you only have two hours per day to play, fine. But don't then play sometimes in the morning, sometimes in the afternoon, sometimes late at night. Playing those two hours per day at or near peak time, consistently, will assure that you are seeing the same characters on a regular basis and will allow you to develop relationships with them.
3. Play a marginally interesting character.
If you are Redshirt Guard #15 (or Mage #87) who is constantly stoic and doesn't laugh and appears to have nothing to talk about, you will be easily overlooked. Don't be that person. It's not hard to be just a bit more interesting by emoting some, having some quirks, and having some opinions about things. PCs like to hang out with other PCs who are interesting, and it's the people you hang out with who will get you into plots.
Here are a few helpful ideas along those lines:- Don't be just a merchant. Be a merchant/performance artist!
- Don't just be a soldier. Be a soldier/fortune teller!
- Don't just be an aide. Be an aide/crafter/physician/linguist/assassin/you get the point, this is a ridiculously versatile role.
- If your character is only good at one thing then do it for two different people, and be a spy!
4. Cozy up to the clan leaders.
Imm-generated plots are disseminated through clan leaders, who then involve their minions in the plots. If you're not in a clan, or you're not close to the clan leader, you will not be able to take advantage of this connection for getting involved. Making nice with the clan leader is not difficult; it doesn't require ass-kissing or bribery. Mostly what it takes is #2, #3, and #6 on this list; do those things and you will be Right-Hand Minion in very little time.
5. Don't make your character be all about sparring or hunting.
If you log in to spar in the Zalanthan morning hours, but then log out in the afternoon/night because there's "nothing to do," you will miss out. Ditto with hunting. You MUST get your character involved with other characters in order to get included in the fun stuff. Develop rivalries or friendships, find enemies or love interests, sell or buy things from PCs, however you can get involved in relationships with other PCs, DO IT.
6. Ask your clan leaders for things to do.
At first, they will give you completely unimportant but necessary tasks, like buying or selling something at a shop for them. Later, they will give you tasks that necessitate you getting in contact with other PCs, which then gives you a potential opportunity to develop relationships with those PCs. And still later, when you've become trusted, they will give you neat stuff to do like carry sekret messages or spy on someone. EXTRA BONUS to doing tasks for clan leaders: The smart, competent clan leaders will usually give you a nice tip of coinage for your work!
7. When given a task, complete it correctly within the allotted time frame, then immediately report back.
If you're given tasks and you don't complete them, you will never gain the necessary trust with your leaders to be given more important tasks. If you don't report back on your work, you miss out on the opportunity to build trust and also to potentially get 'sids coming your way for a job well done. Plots require lots of things to be done in game, so if you're there to help with the tasks, you'll get involved in the plot.
8. Attend RPTs.
If your clan is having an RPT, then the likelihood is that your presence would be really helpful to the clan leader. (It's hard to accomplish RPT goals when clan members don't attend.) RPTs are often where interesting plot-related information is passed, or seriously freakin' cool stuff happens. So don't miss them.
9. Live a while.
If your character dies immediately, you won't get involved in plots. If your character lives for an RL month or more, then you start to have a much better chance of getting involved in interesting stuff. Other characters are not interested in your character until they've seen them around at least three times in, say, an RL week, because there are just SO many insta-dying characters around, and it's a waste of time and energy to invest in totally new characters...usually. So prove you can live, and relationships and plots will follow.Make your Own RPT
Written completely by Taven.
RPTs, HRPTs, I think what this is all about is having fun in a way that involves other players or clans with some steady, dependable fun events taking place and happening. I agree 100% that it is NOT solely the leader's job to do this. You can think of your own fun and crazy ideas to try and go for. If you don't succeed, then you can say you tried. Here's a few ideas that can lighten up any scene.
Game Night
Having a clan game day/night every few weeks is awesome, too. Kruth, Tek's Tower, whatever. Just go to your nearest tavern, hijack a table, and show all those other sorry little idlers how awesome your clan is. Furthermore, there are things and ideas to do WITHIN that that can be a game night, or any time.
Impromptu Song Contest
Tulukis, find a location for some public singing or dancing. NPCs do it all the time, don't you go telling me it isn't subtle enough. Also, singing and dancing is not just for Tuluki. Making up silly songs on the spot in the group and forcing each other to sing them publicly could be TONS of fun. Dance with someone at the Gaj. Aspire to find a Nakki bard to come and teach you songs, or some tribal to teach you exotic dances. Let other people know of your plans, set up a time.
Impersonation of other city contest/activity
We do silly things like this making fun of the various cities respectively all the time. Starting this up at a dull day in the Gaj (or Sanctuary? Tooth?) would provide a break from the long boring periods. It's also easy to combine with any of the above ides.
Have clan gossip sessions
You think I'm kidding. I'm not. Players often loose interest in clans because they don't SEE anything going on. Tell them just about what they missed, make them want to play more! Make it so Amos down the bar wants a piece of the action, too. Alternately, have just-clan meetings. Talk about policies, about information you know that they should too. Talk about weather or not that new Salarri IS actually crazy, or if so-and-so has a crush on that half-elf.
Tell stories of ages long gone
That's right. You, crazy Fale, you know we commoners can't read. Impress us with your tales from ages past of great Fale parties. Tor, tell your Silvers some war tales so it will trickle down back to the common folk. You, there, old grizzled Bynner! Tell us of days gone by when you had to walk up hill both ways in a sandstorm and fight off defilers. Tuluki, same goes for you. Remember when those 'Nakki invaded? We may be at peace now, but back in my day...
Play "bother the elf" (Or Foreigner, as the case maybe)
Seriously, people. These are ELVES. They aren't PEOPLE. They aren't HUMAN. You Tuluki made subtle snide remarks. 'Nakkis, start a fight! Throw some insults. And beer mugs. Be more creative then the bar-fight echoes. Also, power in numbers. Have a large support group to back you up. Elves seem, to me, to mostly get ignored. Breeds, too. SNEER MORE, PEOPLE. Interact. See just how far you can insult that breed before they loose it and tackle you.
Learning and Teaching
I'm not kidding. Getting taught things is great. Set a clan day (approve it with your leaders, or on the fly) to teach about whatever you can do. Geography, what ARE those cures for anyways, tricks elves might do, wrestling... Don't make it all about the CODE make it about interaction. I have had stellar times where the routine "training" was broken up by some absolutely incredible lessons on these things. I've given some lessons myself.
Alternately, start a teaching group for your spare time. Maybe you always wanted to learn about Geography, and have traveled in your time. Make a group, trade stories and tales. Healer? It's not all about TABLETS. Rumors of cures, charms, and special "remedies" that may or may not have coded value are perfectly good. In the movie Gladiator, they use maggots to eat away the diseased flesh. How come I've never heard even a whisper of someone using that technique ICly? Also, slapping a bandage on something isn't always good. Tell gruesome stories about infection, and talk about how to clean a wound or set a break properly.
Learn about some foreign culture. Ask that Tuluki about why they have those tattoos... Then mock them for it. Is it true that Gith can actually TALK? Go ask that tribal over there. Learn a language. Insult people in that language while claiming it's praise (use with caution, and beware negative side effects). Learn tribal slang or phrases.
Worship your City's King
Yes, that's right. Remember dear old Tektolnes who decides if you LIVE OR DIE? Those people in front of the Dragon aren't kneeling there because it makes them feel good. What about the Sun King? What have you done to show appreciation for HIS Glorious Light, lately? Make a cult. Inspire worship. Make up your own odd rules and beliefs that you spread to others. Do your odd ideas publicly.
It doesn't have to be traditional worship. Dance to the Highlord, or kill a halfling for the Sun King. Be creative. Look at RL and how many religious variants there are. Not in a big city? What do you worship? What's a new way you can worship this?
Host An Event
Yes, even you, Commoner Amos, can Host an Event. Don't have enough food and wine for everybody? Make it a potluck. Don't have the money for l33t prizes? Talk to your local GMH member and discuss making a raffle for an item. How many Maliks would toss fifty 'sid into the pot for a chance at that awesome sword? Or that insanely cool outfit? If they don't go for it, collect the pot first and then get the item.
Organize Co-Clan Games/activities
Ever get to be in a spot where whatever clan you're in seems devoid of all people, but the other similar clan is hopping? Coordinate with your leader and theirs, set up some friendly cross-clan games. Archery contest? Well, our Malik is better then your lame-ass Amos! You could even ask a Templar about setting up some friendly non-bloody Arena games. Everybody who enters will probably have fee to get in, and if the Templar was motivated, they could charge the viewers to watch, too. However, that does open up the opportunity for ‘Sid prizes, ranging from fifty ‘sid to even a large, depending on the event. It's a fun thing for multiple clans, and it gets a Templar 'sid. Who doesn't like that?
Even if it doesn't work, showing interest and ideas is a good start. Just remember, everyone likes money! If there’s other people participating then it makes sense for them to chip in for costs, too. Convince your leader that while you might not have any archery ranges, this clan might, and wouldn't it be good to practice? I'm sure there's non-combat oriented ways to do this too, but usually a clan has at least one combat aspect to it.
Explore
Oh, woe is YOU. You're stuck inside your city, how can "go exploring" POSSIBLY apply to you without getting your PC in trouble? Actually take a moment to look at your city-state with a fresh eye. Those room descriptions? Read them again, sometimes you'll be surprised. For example, just who ARE those templar statues of? What sorts of carvings are in the Gaj-- Are they lewd? If there aren't any lewd ones, why not? Shouldn't you make one? Alternately, exploring doesn't have to be physical. "Explore" your PC's past. What are their vNPC relatives up to? Is it something that can make for an interesting plot in PC-land?
Summing It All Up
I think more challenging then a leader not wanting to get all the work, or a minion struggling to create a RPT/event despite their lack of power is when you just don't HAVE minions/underlings, or a leader. There's a lot of things you COULD do, if there were more people around. I think that's one of the reasons that things never actually happen. Trying to plan more cross-clan events would help solve this, I think. The trouble with that, of course, is that with more people to get "okays" from, then longer everything takes. But it doesn't have to be a BIG thing, it can start small and go from there. It's so easy to get discouraged or bored, it's HARD to plan things and involve others. Keeping at it is an important thing to do. I'd also say that it's easier if you've been in your clan awhile, and have a feel for how things work. It's hard to make things new or exciting if you don't have a good grasp of what "normal" is.Involving Yourself in Your Clan
Work from Helix and Fathi's post.
Characters:
So, if this is a post about plots and clan involvement, then why is the first section about characters? One of the major barriers to having a good time with clans is that oftentimes characters aren't developed enough for them to operate independently of their clan. One of the most important part about playing in a clan is also knowing when not to be working on clan stuff, and that requires having a developed character.
Personality:
As a leader, it can be frustrating to have PCs under you with no ambition or life beyond their clan rank and station. People also seem to expect that they be given these nebulous 'things to do' - often a series of easily (or not so easily) accomplishable tasks that lead up to a bigger task that is an overall goal for the clan or some of the PCs involved in it. Many times what a PC needs to keep 'busy' is simply a more developed personality.
In this case, "personality" is more than just likes and dislikes. It means fleshing out the background - who did your character know, before they were a PC? Who were their friends, their family, where do they come from and what do they want? Goals. Goals, even lofty nearly impossible goals, do more for character development than anything else. This also helps you actually bond with other characters... if you think about how it works in real life - you have the deepest connections with people that you can talk to about a variety of subjects. In Arm - the key is coming up with believable experiences for your character to enable them to have the deep bonds that keep you from getting bored (as the people whom become your characters good friends will often draw you into plots).
The caveat with this is that if you join a clan where there's only two people and you have a strict schedule, you're going to have this problem unless you really, really enjoy solo RP.
Goals:
A range of goals for a character is best. Not just 'I want to become..." type goals, but also character development goals - where do you want your character to go? What do you want your character to accomplish? Allow your character to be shaped and evolve from the events that happen to him. Flesh the character out with thoughts and feels - deciding how they would react to something goes a long way in determining what they want to accomplish. If they 'like' something, they're much more likely to want to pursue something that brings them into contact with what they like. The opposite is true for disliking things.
There's also the concept of having "Things To Do." However - what's much more useful and appreciated is knowing what's going on. Say I'm a clan leader. I have goals X, Y, and Z that I need to accomplish in t amount of time. If you - my loyal and fearless clanmate - know that, then you find an opportunity to advance those goals - in a sense, you're getting "Things To Do" by acting on your own capability and innovation. Rather than sit and wait to be 'assigned' to work on something - figure out what your clan is currently engaged in and then its easy to figure out what you need to be working on - without having to wait for "Things to Do."
Independence:
Don't be afraid to be independent from the clan, either. If you're in a clan that has a tight training schedule but there isn't ever anyone around - address it either IC or OOC on your clan boards. Email your Imm.
Also - mentioning that Storytellers are busy and everything... if you email your imm and say, "Hey, can I do x?" and they don't respond then take what IC steps you need to make it happen, as long as its IC for you to do so. Even if its a 'bad thing', chances are the imm is going to enjoy roasting you alive. If they come back later and say you can't do that, or you shouldn't do that then take that as a lesson learned. But at least you're doing something, and really, if you send in an email about it, they probably aren't going to be (too) angry with you.
Leaders:
As a leader of a clan, here is some extra advice as to what helps with success.
- Have goals:
Have an idea of something that you want to get accomplished. This isn't as easy as it sounds... leaders have to have all the stuff above - they have to be normal characters AS WELL AS be capable of coming up with things for everyone to do. You should have both personal goals and clan goals.
- Be online:
You'd think this was a given. You'd be surprised how many people get intimidated by not really knowing what to do and just stop logging in. Leading characters in Arm is about creating and resolving conflict. You can't do either of those things unless you're online. That's not to say that you can't take time off, or you have to play every day. But you should at least be around fairly frequently. Also, make your leader PC accessible by the rest of the clan. Granted you don't have to be buddies with them, and of course a lot of clans have social structures that would prevent outright friendship or snuggles, but don't isolate yourself from your clannies' PLAYERS. Be around in places where they can find you if they need you or just want to interact some.
- Have a trusty sidekick:
Having a trusted lieutenant goes a LONG way, in my experience. Once you have this - you can direct 'overall' direction for your clan, and allow the lieutenant to be the one who really digs into the details and gets things done. In this way you can focus on higher-level tasks (handling the templars and other nobility) while your lieutenant deals with the scum of the universe (your employees). In this way, you're working as a team at all levels of Arm society. That's hugely important for getting things done, and getting them done fast.
- Be social:
Especially at first, when your character isn't involved in very much... be social. This will quickly embroil you in the political plots of the place that you choose to reside in. Don't be afraid to make blood enemies, and don't be afraid to make trusted friends. Both of those things will generate plots for your players - especially if they feel that their actions are influencing the clan's overall position. Everyone likes to feel important, and everyone likes to feel that their character is doing something large for the clan.
- Delegate:
Giving your underlings jobs and responsibilities not only gives them Things To Do, but it creates a sense of hierarchy and importance. Don't let any members of the team feel like they're stuck in a position where they would be prevented from stepping up and contributing more if they expressed desire to.
- Do things together:
As cheesy as it may sound, palling around with your clannies establishes a sense of unit identity and makes them more likely to stick in the clan long enough for things to develop. Also, I'd imagine any friendly neighborhood staffers would be more apt to play around with six PCs on a hunt in the same place than six PCs in pairs scattered all over.
- Create Atmopsphere:
Develop a clan atmosphere that encourages contributions from the lowliest underlings up to the top of the tower of power. Don't make your clan meetings into "the apped in leaders sit around while everyone else types 'guard man.'"
- Keep staff informed:
Let your clan staffers know what you're up to! If you plan on going out to investigate That Place In The Grasslands/Tablelands/Salt Flats with your hunters, instead of just going out one day, turn it into a mini-RPT. You'll get more people and you're far more likely to get staff attention when your imms know when and where you're gonna be somewhere.
- Stick it out:
There will be rough patches, there will be boring stretches, and there will be stress. But despite all this, there's a special kind of enjoyment that comes from building a group of players from the ground up, sticking together through thick and thin, and cultivating something interesting, multifaceted, and eventually badass.
And one thing, too, that both leaders and minions can keep in mind: clan staffers are here to help you, not screw you out of having fun. If you're bored and you're unable to stir up anything interesting with your PC boss, try emailing your imms and setting something up with an NPC to get some work on the side. Plot AGAINST your PC boss and your imms might just help you out if he's doing that horrible a job.
Don't be afraid to come to the staff with questions, concerns, and frustrations--just sitting around and letting it fester while you play less and less doesn't help anyone in the end, and chances are your admins will have at least -some- input on how to better the situation.Don't Forget the vNPCs
From a post of Tisiphone’s.
Develop your vNPC environment. There was one thread, by way of example, an encounter between one of his characters and that character's father. They didn't get along, and the character was in a foul mood for the rest of the week.
As far as getting into exciting things rather than personal quirks, make mistakes. Get totally sloshed because you're upset with your new life and puke on a noble's shoes. If you're a southerner in Tuluk, bow to a templar; nod to one if vice versa. Fall into a hole, get robbed, go mad (this must be done with utmost care as madness is difficult to fake and only compelling if done correctly), fuck a fruit for money, act bigoted towards elves/'rinthis/gemmers/southrons/northrons/dwarves/all of the above at the same time. Have an emotional breakdown.
Do all of those things at the same time.How to get Involved in Plots
- How to get sucked into Plots
- Make your Own RPT
- Involving Yourself in Your Clan
- Don't Forget the vNPCs
Time and time again questions that have plagued players have been "How do I get involved in plots?" or "How do I make this role more...
Continue Reading...Lucky Charm by Aruna
Added on Oct 24, 2009A trio of gypsies conduct some business with a fellow traveler in the wagonyard of Luir's Outpost.
You step out to...
Luir's Wagon Yard [SW]
This large tract of dry, cracked earth lies just to the northwest of
the west gate of Luirs. To the south, across Steel road, a stables is
easily visble and westward, the inner walls of the outpost loom. The hard
packed soil here shows signs of recent wagon tracks, not yet worn into the
deep ruts that time will surely provide and handlers and caravan members
bustle around at all hours of the day and night.
A large, vividly painted wagon sits here, splashed with eyestartling colors.
A desert-hued agafari wagon, drawn by inix, stands here.
A small courier wagon hitched to four erdlus stands here.
The short, dusky woman lounges against a wagon, ankles crossed.
The slick-haired, rune-nailed man is standing here, looking tired.
The hardy, midnight-curled woman stands here, beside a vividly painted wagon.
The braidlocked, turquoise-eyed woman deboards a vividly painted wagon, munching on your partially eaten honied, seed-encrusted wheat cake.
You eat part of your partially eaten honied, seed-encrusted wheat cake.
After a moment, watching him with a half-grin, the short, dusky woman says to the slick-haired, rune-nailed man, in sirihish:"We do, actually, have good-luck charms. Not so expensive."
You begin speaking sirihish.
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
Moving to loiter near her, you ask the hardy, midnight-curled woman, in sirihish:
"What's new, girl?"
You eat part of your half eaten honied, seed-encrusted wheat cake.
The short, dusky woman sends you a telepathic message:
"This gajo's fucking slimy. How you been?"
Making a warding gesture, the slick-haired, rune-nailed man asks the short, dusky woman, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Have heard stories of Muarki curses all my life in the silt.....you sure this' the real deal?"
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
The red light of Jihae rises over the outpost's southern walls.
Gulping audibly, his adam's apple bobbing in his throat, the slick-haired, rune-nailed man says to the short, dusky woman, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Lemme see one, if you have an ankle charm...."
Putting her hands to her chest, eyes widening in wounded hurt, the short, dusky woman says to the slick-haired, rune-nailed man, in sirihish:
"Curses? Us? Never. We're bringers of laughs and luck. Always."
The braidlocked, turquoise-eyed woman grins toward the short, dusky woman, and shoots a glance to the slick-haired, rune-nailed man.Chuckling, the short, dusky woman turns, grabbing a plank that leans against a vividly painted wagon on the way up the ramp.
The short, dusky woman enters a vividly painted wagon.
Nodding at the ramp, the hardy, midnight-curled woman says to you, in sirihish:
"Flushed a couple of goudra out from the scrub wit' Jisiu there, yesterday."
Lifting her chin, to indicate the departing figure, you ask the slick-haired, rune-nailed man, in sirihish:
"Yer talkin' to the best lucky charm ever there was. Eh?"
The short, dusky woman emerges from a vividly painted wagon.
Licking her lips of crumbs, her eyes narrowing, you say to the hardy, midnight-curled woman, in sirihish:
"Mmm. The things I miss. "
Turning to peer directly into your eyes, the slick-haired, rune-nailed man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"You have.....exquisite eyes."
The slick-haired, rune-nailed man pinches his pair of splotchy purple sunslits up, continuing to look into your eyes.
Looking toward the slick-haired, rune-nailed man as she steps up beside you, the short, dusky woman lets her yellow ceramic charm dangle from a finger.
The braidlocked, turquoise-eyed woman shifts her gaze to send a not-so-sure grin the slick-haired, rune-nailed man's way.The hardy, midnight-curled woman looks from you to the slick-haired, rune-nailed man and chuckles.
Without changing his serene expression, the slick-haired, rune-nailed man lets his pair of splotchy purple sunslits drop back down, covering his eyes once again.
Turning around, the slick-haired, rune-nailed man says to the short, dusky woman, in southern-accented sirihish:
"I'd prefer a charm with Whira's blessings, if you have anything like that....krath knows I'd need to fly if a horror pounced on my skimmer."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the short, dusky woman with the Way.
Glancing at her yellow ceramic charm, the short, dusky woman says to the slick-haired, rune-nailed man, in sirihish:
"Don' have much like that. This's a charm for luck, plain an' simple."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the short, dusky woman:
"Definitely a weirdo. I've been good.. you?"
You dissolve the psychic link.
The slick-haired, rune-nailed man moves one hand over the short, dusky woman's hand in which the charm is held, looking down at his nails.
Giving it a little toss, the short, dusky woman gives her yellow ceramic charm to the slick-haired, rune-nailed man.
The slick-haired, rune-nailed man moves his hand back, and nods once.
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
The short, dusky woman sends you a telepathic message:
"Never complaining. Negotiating. We've got our shiny thing back."
The braidlocked, turquoise-eyed woman pushes the last bit of cake into her mouth, watching the slick-haired, rune-nailed man.
You eat your small portion of a honied, seed-encrusted wheat cake.
You are full.
You are carrying:
a cream-colored japuaar fruit
Dropping it into her pocket, you put your cream-colored japuaar fruit into your desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak.Pressing both his palms around the charm, for a moment, the slick-haired, rune-nailed man asks the short, dusky woman, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Whats it gonna cost me Jisiu?"
The slick-haired, rune-nailed man asks the short, dusky woman, in southern-accented sirihish:
"And more importantly, do you make them in purple? Or blue?"
Tilting her head back, the short, dusky woman says to the slick-haired, rune-nailed man, in sirihish:
"What's good fortune worth to you? We have blue."
Returning it with the flick of a wrist, the slick-haired, rune-nailed man gives his yellow ceramic charm to the short, dusky woman.
Glancing at her yellow ceramic charm, the short, dusky woman asks the slick-haired, rune-nailed man, in sirihish:
"But not with us. What, don' like flashy bright?"
The short, dusky woman sweeps a dubious look up and down the slick-haired, rune-nailed man.
The short, dusky woman sends you a telepathic message:
"Kind of a funny story how we got it, too."
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
Bending forward to unhitch his small crystal pendant, the slick-haired, rune-nailed man asks the short, dusky woman, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Tell you what, I'll pay for the charm, but instead of yours, can you bless mine?"
The slick-haired, rune-nailed man says to the short, dusky woman, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Add a few beads in the string, if you like...."
The slick-haired, rune-nailed man stops using his small crystal pendant.
Tucking it into an inside pocket, the short, dusky woman puts her yellow ceramic charm into her drab, weathered stormcloak.
The great sun rises in the east, turning the scrub plains to gold.
The slick-haired, rune-nailed man extends one hand, his small crystal pendant dangling from it.
The slick-haired, rune-nailed man gives his small crystal pendant to the short, dusky woman.
Head tilted, the short, dusky woman reaches out for the pendant.
The short, dusky woman tucks an ankle up, loosening a strap around it.
The short, dusky woman extinguishes a glowing leather-strapped green glow-crystal.
Grinning crookedly, you ask the short, dusky woman, in sirihish:
"You wanna do't, or should I?"
Turning her small crystal pendant over in her palm, the short, dusky woman says to you, in sirihish:
"You've always been better at it, pretty pena. You an' your eyes."
To the three women standing in a circle, the slick-haired, rune-nailed man says, in southern-accented sirihish:
"If its all the same, I'll go over and stand there....."
Leaning toward you, the short, dusky woman says to you, in sirihish:
"My kisses bring danger, not luck."
The slick-haired, rune-nailed man looks down at his nails, striding off.
The short, dusky woman gives you her small crystal pendant.
The slick-haired, rune-nailed man walks westwards, out of view, behind a wagon.
With a visible show of excitement, the braidlocked, turquoise-eyed woman takes the pendant, gathering it in her palm.
The short, dusky woman grins a little, leaning back and slouching against a vividly painted wagon.
The short, dusky woman intently scans the area.
The braidlocked, turquoise-eyed woman takes a couple of slow breaths and, glancing a bit westward out of the corner of her eye, covers your small crystal pendant with her other hand, rubbing it some between her palms.
Tilting her wide-brimmed, tandu hide hat back for a better view, the hardy, midnight-curled woman watches you.
The short, dusky woman watches with a completely serious face.
Resolutely, the slick-haired, rune-nailed man stands leaning against a wagon, his back against the group of three women.
In a low, serious chanting tone, rubbing the pendant between her hands with her eyes closed, you say, in sirihish:"Mm-bot, sh-ga. Mm-bot, sh-ga. Mmmmm-grtt, sh-gat-daaaaa."
The slick-haired, rune-nailed man buffs his nails on his feather-lined, purple mesh shirt, and then spreads his fingers, looking down at his nails.
The braidlocked, turquoise-eyed woman opens her eyes slowly, her face dead serious, and kisses your small crystal pendant for added luck, before clearing her throat noisily.
A strange sort of sound escapes the short, dusky woman, and she quickly coughs into a fist.
Calling out, avoiding the short, dusky woman's eyes, you say, in sirihish:
"Alright, we're good now."
The slick-haired, rune-nailed man inhales sharply, turns around and strides back.
You think:
"This guy's such an idiot."
His expression neutral, the slick-haired, rune-nailed man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Thank you."
The slick-haired, rune-nailed man extends one palm, face up.
The slick-haired, rune-nailed man opens a blue silk backpack with purple lily embroidery.
The slick-haired, rune-nailed man gets his pile of allanaki coins from his blue silk backpack with purple lily embroidery.
The short, dusky woman smiles winsomely at the slick-haired, rune-nailed man, then adds a little wink.
Smiling with satisfaction, you give your small crystal pendant to the slick-haired, rune-nailed man.
The hardy, midnight-curled woman's eyes follow the pendant as it changes hands.
The sun begins its long voyage across the heavens.
The slick-haired, rune-nailed man crosses his hand over your hand, releasing a clinking of black coins from one palm into the other.
The slick-haired, rune-nailed man gives you 100 coins.
All eyes on him, pulling her hand away, you say to the slick-haired, rune-nailed man, in sirihish:"You'll have to let us know how it serves you, man."
The slick-haired, rune-nailed man drops a mute nod, pulling the string and jerking it over his neck.
The slick-haired, rune-nailed man bows his head, placing his small crystal pendant about his neck.
The slick-haired, rune-nailed man puts his pile of allanaki coins into his blue silk backpack with purple lily embroidery.
The slick-haired, rune-nailed man closes a blue silk backpack with purple lily embroidery.
Trailing her dark gaze up him, the short, dusky woman says to the slick-haired, rune-nailed man, in sirihish:
"A real pleasure, man of Kadius. We'll look for you in Red Storm."
Raising one hand, the slick-haired, rune-nailed man says, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Safe sands at your feet, gypsies...."
The slick-haired, rune-nailed man walks west.
The short, dusky woman smirks hard, turning.
The short, dusky woman enters a vividly painted wagon.
Shooting you a grin, the hardy, midnight-curled woman says to you, in bendune:
"That was good."
The hardy, midnight-curled woman enters a vividly painted wagon.
The braidlocked, turquoise-eyed woman smirks to herself, hopping inside.You step out
to...
Luir's Wagon Yard [SW]
This large tract of dry,
cracked earth lies just to the northwest of
the west gate of Luirs. To the south, across Steel road, a stables
is
easily visble and westward, the inner
walls of the outpost loom. ...
Continue Reading...Mister Gerakis and Misses Mosali by Reiloth
Added on Jul 28, 2009A booth in the Storm's Eye leads to bad blood, quicker than Misses Mosali would care to think.
The gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak = Mister Gerakis
The figure in dusty drab weathered storm-cloak = Misses Mosali of House Salarr
~~
The Tribal Room [N]
Separated from the balcony by a curtain of beaded fringe, this
sparsely furnished room is entirely decorated in a tribal motif. Boldly
painted sandcloth murals totally blanket the walls and are tacked to the
ceiling overhead, concealing the room's artificial construction and giving
an impression of a much larger open-air space. A large, highly decorated
woven mat covers the entire floor, and only a few simple carvings finish out
the decor.
A radiantly woven, golden cloth tapestry is sewn securely to the wall.
A bead and feather adorned rug hanging has been affixed to one wall.
An impressive raptor hide, darkly-stained, has been mounted onto one wall.
Rubbing a huge hand over his squashed, hooked nose, the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"What you .. wanted to talk about?"
Placing both gloved hands atop your sleek, rantarri-headed cane's snarling feline head, easing forward, you say to the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak, in sirihish:
"I would appreciate if'n you could tell me what happened exactly, between you an' my employee, Jorue."
Narrowing an eye beneath the shadows of her sunslits, you say to the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak, in sirihish:
"I'd also prefer th' truth, as I only want t'know what happened. I, and my House, do not mean you harm."
His bushy eyebrows furrowing, the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Uhh.. so you don't know?"
In a calm rasp of a soprano, shifting her weight from right to left though it remains mostly on top of your sleek, rantarri-headed cane, you say to the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak, in sirihish:
"I would just like to hear your side of things."
You say, in sirihish:
"It is only...Fair."
Shrugging his huge shoulders a bit, the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Okay. Your employee Jorue led a Carru at me, which hurt my neck real bad. I moved off a little down the road, and there he went leadin' it my way again."
Clearing her throat roughly, you say to the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak, in sirihish:
"Yes, continue."
Stroking his massive beard and continuing, the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"When I asked him what he was doin', and told him what happened to me, he told me that.. I was too slow and it wasn't his problem. So I kicked his little ass up and down the crack in the shield wall"
With a calm nod, you say to the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak, in sirihish:
"That must have felt good."
Staring down at you, the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Was okay. I was hurtin' at the time, mostly."
North, through a curtain, is On the Balcony.
The curtain is open.
[Far]
Nothing.
[Near]
The battle-scarred, one-legged mul sits here, crutch and inks within reach.
The figure in a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak nods in silence, watching the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak's face intently.
A few massive fingers disappearing in his beard as he scratches himself, the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Sooo.. what Jorue tell you?"
You ask the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak, in sirihish:
"That is it?"
The gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Yeah. That's pretty much it."
Raising a hand from your sleek, rantarri-headed cane, you ask the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak, in sirihish:
"So you did not come back to this Outpost, an' claim Jorue tried to kill you?"
You ask, in sirihish:
"And speak personally with First Sergeant Nahkt, over this matter?"
The gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Didn't I just say he was leadin' Carru to me over and over?"
With a calm smile as the hand droops back to your sleek, rantarri-headed cane, you ask, in sirihish:
"First you say once..And then over and over. Which is it?"
The gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"When did I say once?"
Tilting her head to one side, you ask the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak, in sirihish:
"When did you say otherwise?"
Holding up two fingers at you, the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Two times."
Shrugging casually, you ask the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak, in sirihish:
"Did it ever occur to you that perhaps...The Carru wanted to kill you?"
You ask the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak, in sirihish:
"And Jorue?"
You say, in sirihish:
"That it...In fact...Is a dangerous animal wit' little sense or reason running through its antler'd head."
The gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Where I'm from, that kind of shit gets you killed Missus Mosali."
Shrugging his huge shoulders at you, the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"An I sure didn't like it none."
With an easy nod, sucking a short breath through her flared nostrils, you say to the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak, in sirihish:
"Regardless, I cannot allow for my employees to be harmed, intentionally at tha', without recompense of some shape and form."
The figure in a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak raps a few fingers along the snarling feline head of your sleek, rantarri-headed cane.
Gesturing between you and himself, the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"So uhh.. the inix got back to you didn't it? Recompense right there."
You ask, in sirihish:
"What inix?"
The gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"The black one."
You ask, in sirihish:
"Jorue's inix?"
With a tiny nod, the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Yeah, his inix."
You say, in sirihish:
"That...Is not good enough, unfortunately."
Snapping his fingers loudly, the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak exclaims to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"I got it!"
The gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Gotta large or two I could probably give you. Like 'sid right?"
In a still-calm voice, her chin lowering a fraction of an inch, you say, in sirihish:
"'sid makes problems like these go away, forever. In fact, it'd make it possible for you to still deal with our House."
As an afterthought, her blue eyes widening within the shadows of her sunslits, you say, in sirihish:
"And I do not think we would want these problems, between you and Jorue, to be remembered."
You sigh.
Nodding a bit as he begins to rise from a long woven mat, the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Okay. Salarr thought I was a raider, huh?"
The gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak stands up from a long woven mat.
You say to the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak, in sirihish:
"Y'gotta see it from our point of view, Mister Gerakis."
You say to the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak, in sirihish:
"You attacked a House employee, one way or another. Shit, Jorue could've been a little prick and tried t'lead a Carru into you."
Personally-,, you say to the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak, in sirihish:
"I do not think it was the case. I think it was a misunderstanding."
You say to the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak, in sirihish:
"But, it still cannot stand that a non-afilliated half-giant attacked a member of Salarr, without there being some sort of...Parley."
Holding his massive paws up, palms out, the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"I understand, believe me."
With a simple smile, you say to the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak, in sirihish:
"I have no ill feelings towards you, Mister Gerakis. I have killed friends, over simple misunderstandings. It does not feel good to know the situation is not in your control."
The gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak begins to move toward the curtain, his big bushy eyebrows wrinkling up.
The gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Yeah.. yeah.."
The gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak subdues you.
The gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"I'll tell you though."
The gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"I have been in control."
The gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak attacks you.
The gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak lightly hits your hand.
PANIC! You couldn't escape!
You bludgeon the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak's leg.
You wound the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak on his wrist with your bludgeon.
You silently reach into a leather knife belt and discreetly slide out a dusty vicious claw longknife.
You land a solid stab to the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak's neck.
The gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak's muscles contract, and his body goes rigid.
You wound the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak on his head with your bludgeon.
You stab the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak very hard on his back.
You viciously bludgeon the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak on his head.
The gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak reels from the blow.
You stab the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak very hard on his back.
You wound the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak on his head with a brutal bludgeon.
The gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak's eyes roll back in his head.
The gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak crumples to the ground.
The Tribal Room [N]
Separated from the balcony by a curtain of beaded fringe, this
sparsely furnished room is entirely decorated in a tribal motif. Boldly
painted sandcloth murals totally blanket the walls and are tacked to the
ceiling overhead, concealing the room's artificial construction and giving
an impression of a much larger open-air space. A large, highly decorated
woven mat covers the entire floor, and only a few simple carvings finish out
the decor.
A radiantly woven, golden cloth tapestry is sewn securely to the wall.
A bead and feather adorned rug hanging has been affixed to one wall.
An impressive raptor hide, darkly-stained, has been mounted onto one wall.
The gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak is sleeping here, rigid and unmoving, bleeding profusely.
You look down at the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak.
Before you is an unusually proportioned half-giant. Rather squat for one
of his race, this half-giant is nonetheless packing dense muscle which
bulges grossly to exaggeration wherever the eye can see. His brutish, hairy
features are clearly masculine and a full, bushy beard of coarse dark hair
frames his round face. His hairline recedes nearly over the top of his
head, which bears curly black hair in far less abundance then the lower half
of his face. Beady black eyes peer out from beneath bushy black brows,
appearing like bits of polished obsidian to either side of his squat, hooked
nose. Fine cracks can be seen all over this half-giant male's exposed skin,
appearing almost as a sprawling web over his severely sun-browned skin.
Some cracks in the tough hide seem to be the resting place of bits of
reddish and yellow dust and grit which almost livens the harshly tanned
flesh in a way similar to poorly inked tattoos.
The gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak is in poor condition.
The gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak is using:a dusty bone helmet a dusty dusky-black feather a dusty desert-camouflaged, sandcloth-covered collar a dusty double-layered sandcloth pack a dusty braided leather strap a dusty braided leather strap a new bloodied pair of desert-camouflaged, sandcloth sleeves a spiked, chitin bracer a spiked, chitin bracer a dusty pair of desert-camouflaged, sandcloth gloves a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak a bloodied pair of sand-colored sandcloth pants a dusty pair of sturdy leather boots
He is carrying:
nothing obvious
The figure in a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak's breathing becomes ragged and slow.
The figure in a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak prods the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak's side with a soft booted toe.
Through a curtain to the north is On the Balcony.
The curtain is open.
[Far]
Nothing.
[Near]
The battle-scarred, one-legged mul sits here, crutch and inks within reach.
You are:
Corporal/Hand/Merchant Trainee/Crafter of the House Salarr, jobs: recruiter | leader | banker |
Relationship to the land is neutral.
You are currently speaking sirihish with a tribal accent.
Your mood is neutral.
You are standing.
You are refusing saves on: arrest.
You are not being merciful.
You aren't watching anything in particular.
You stop using your dusty vicious claw longknife.
You carefully snap a dusty vicious claw longknife into a dusty pair of soft, grey-veined black boots.
You are very hungry.
>close curtain north
Ok.
The figure in a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak drops down to a squat in front of the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak.
>draw vicious boots
You reach down and draw a dusty vicious claw longknife out of your boot.
You brandish your dusty vicious claw longknife.
You stop using your sleek, rantarri-headed cane.
You put your sleek, rantarri-headed cane into your dusty steel grey duffel bag.
The figure in a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak straddles the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak's gigantic leg, drawing your dusty vicious claw longknife up from her boot.
You say, in sirihish:
"That wasn't an excellent idea."
You say, in sirihish:
"But i'm going to have to make this quick."
In a low voice, you say, in sirihish:
"I don't know why you did that, but you did."
The figure in a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak rises from the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak's leg.
You say, in sirihish:
"If you wake up..."
You say, in sirihish:
"You will tell all of Kurac and Salarr I murdered you, or tried."
You say, in sirihish:
"Just like Jorue."
You say, in sirihish:
"Unfortunately, I can't let that happen."
The gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak's eyes flutter open.
You say, in sirihish:
"Find my mind, now."
Grating her teeth, you say, in sirihish:
"This very instant."
The figure in a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak draws your dusty vicious claw longknife up.
You begin moving silently toward your victim.
The gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak groans loudly as you thrust your knife up between his ribs.
You inflict a grievous wound on the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak's back with your stab.
The gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak's eyes roll back in his head.
The gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak crumples to the ground.
The figure in a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak repeatedly jabs your dusty vicious claw longknife into the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak's hindquarters, drawing long wounds up and down the small of his back.
The figure in a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak slides your dusty razor-sharp, hawk-etched halfsword deep into the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak's back, severing the spine and pushing it upwards through the mass of intestines and entrails and other, more important organs.
>kill giant
You attack the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak.
You do unspeakable damage to the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak's back with your stab.
You viciously stab the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak on his back.
Drawing the blade out of the giant's back with a wet *SHLUP*, you say, in sirihish:
"Right shame, mate. Coulda just done with a large or two."
~~The gigantic and obese figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak = Mister Gerakis
The figure in dusty drab weathered storm-cloak = Misses Mosali of House Salarr
~~
The Tribal Room [N]
Separated from the balcony by a curtain of beaded fringe, this
sparsely furnished room is entirely...
Continue Reading...Something Wrong with the Unit by Taven
Added on Apr 26, 2009There's been alot of talk about Magickers, and how they're treated. In this log, some of the events behind the murder of the old Vividuian pool keeper are revealed. That murder led to much OOC forum discussion, and this is an interesting history about all that.
There's been alot of talk about Magickers, and how they're treated. In this log, some of the events behind the murder of the old Vividuian pool keeper are revealed. That murder led to much OOC forum discussion, and this is an interesting history about all that.
In addition a number of factor go into this log, and I'm sure each of the players involved would have different views of just what those are. Ruti (the wiry, young man) is a Private in the militia who has an unusually high paranoia about gemmers. Jenneth, whose perspective the story is told from (the slender, hack-haired man) is Ruti's some-times lover, and good friend. Nae (the pale-eyed, blond-braided woman) I think it a Corporal right now. I believe at this time Laila (vibrant, jade-adorned brunette) is the Sergeant of the First Unit of the Jade Sabers.
One of the factors of Laila's play is the belief that the mistake of leaving things glowing on Hodor was a sheerly OOC mistake, and should be overlooked the same way forgetting to sheath weapons or holding a torch should. There could possibly also be the IC reason of that they need to use the mage on this mission, and punishment right now wasn't practical. At the same time, from my perspective, it had already built up too much to be ignored. I'd venture to guess that Ruti's player felt OOCly that gemmed should be treated more strictly about forgetting such things, since of their PC's position and power. ICly, all this had been building up for awhile. Obviously, all the factors haven't been mentioned, but I feel that this was an important preface to add.
<Jenneth:: 123/123hp 117/125st 125/125sn>
A foreign presence contacts your mind.The wiry young man sends you a telepathic message:
"*warm affection and relief* Jen!"You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the wiry young man with the Way.You send a telepathic message to the wiry young man:
"You! You fecker, you keep lettin' th' wall warden drag ya off! *happy*"The wiry young man sends you a telepathic message:
"You with the unit? On patrol? Oy, I've missed you. I've -needed- you."You send a telepathic message to the wiry young man:
"Th' unit, in th' barracks. We're talkin' 'bout Luirs n' shet. You hafta come, ya know. I'm -draggin'- ya along."The wiry young man sends you a telepathic message:
"The Lord Templar ordered the Sergeant to execute me if I fuck up again. You get wall for a few weeks, and everything falls apart."You send a telepathic message to the wiry young man:
".....Wha did you -DO-? *worry*"The wiry young man sends you a telepathic message:
"It's because I don't fancy gemmers. "You send a telepathic message to the wiry young man:
"There's more t' it then tha. Wha happened?"The wiry young man sends you a telepathic message:
"We were out of water in the barracks. I told a gemmer that I was gonna fill the cisterns. She said no, not unless I paid. I told her to stop fucking around. She gave me shit about contracts and money. I talked rude to her. Because a filthy..."The wiry young man sends you a telepathic message:
".... -gemmer-, talking like that to a soldier in His militia? About water for the barracks? And they all down on me--and hard. "You send a telepathic message to the wiry young man:
"Fecker. She a Counciller, 'r wha? Which one? 'Cause she had t' be a counciller, 'r why'd th' Templar get so mad?"The wiry young man sends you a telepathic message:
"Hodor is her name. A Viv."The wiry young man sends you a telepathic message:
"I asked for a transfer. They refused."You send a telepathic message to the wiry young man:
"I've never even feckin' -heard- o' 'er. Why th' feck---? It doesn't make a feck o' sense t' me."The wiry young man sends you a telepathic message:
"Doesn't make sense to me, either. She's Council, aye. But still a gemmer. And I thought--I thought the templar held -us- higher than those fucks. Instead, I been ordered to either be confined to barracks, or ..."The wiry young man sends you a telepathic message:
"... to lower my gaze when I see them. Not to speak with them. And not to -dare- give 'em any hassle. Like a rinthi seeing a nobleman."You send a telepathic message to the wiry young man:
"...To feckin' -lower your gaze-? I mean, feck, an insulted gemmer could do all sorts o' subtle magick shet t' ya, but th' -Templarite- is suppose t'-- Well. Th' -Lord Templar- said tha? N' Laila too?"The wiry young man sends you a telepathic message:
"Sergeant said if I fuck up one more time, I'm done. It's only on account of her that I ain't dead already."You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the wiry young man:
"Feck, Ruti. You really stepped on some toes. Ya need t' make nice wi' someone high-up."The wiry young man sends you a telepathic message:
"I'm getting close to Saya. I've asked her to put a word in for me."You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the wiry young man:
"*faint traces of alarm* Saya? Put in a wor--. Uh. Well. Tha's good."You think:
"Great. Wonderful. Just wha we need. "The wiry young man sends you a telepathic message:
"What? She -seems- a good lass."You send a telepathic message to the wiry young man:
"I'm not sayin' she isn't. I wouldn't say bad things 'bout Samos' girl."The wiry young man sends you a telepathic message:
"You don't like her? There ain't no other way I'm gonna get 'round this, not that I see."You think:
"...Yeah. Well. She feckin' scares me t' death."The wiry young man sends you a telepathic message:
"Jen. I'm putting myself forward in a way that I -never- do. If you know something against her, tell me!"You send a telepathic message to the wiry young man:
"Well. She's a good person t' have on yer side. She'll put in a good word, I'm sure."Terrible, biting sand whips around you.
Caravan Road [ESW]
Stretching itself out here is a long road, paved in rough yellowy
brown sandstone, covered with reddish dust and sand, and wide enough that at
least four caravans could pass through. The sun-browned backs of slaves
march along, carrying goods. The sky's blood-red glory shines from above
the main gate, highlighting its ominously smooth stones.
Shouts and cheers sound from a fenced hardscrabble south of here.
The tall figure in a hooded, sun-patterned aba is standing here.
- she glows with a bright light!
The wiry young man has arrived from the east.The tall figure in a hooded, sun-patterned aba keeps her hood up close.
The tall figure in a hooded, sun-patterned aba walks east.
The slender, hack-haired man blinks.
The wiry young man stops.The wiry young man asks, in sirihish:
"What the fuck was -that-?"East of here is Caravan Road.
[Near]
The thick-limbed, leather-skinned dwarf drags a cart behind him here.The wiry young man says to you, in sirihish:
"That was her. Hodor."You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette with the Way.You suffer from use of the Way.
You exclaim to the wiry young man, in sirihish:
"Hodor? Feck, she's -glowin'-!"The wiry young man says to you, in sirihish:
"Yeah. I noticed."The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman has arrived from the east.
The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman walks west.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette:
"Some fecker is goin' around -GLOWIN'- on th' streets. Think it's a gemmer named Hodor."You say to the wiry young man, in sirihish:
"Feckin' -insane-."Terrible, biting sand whips around you.
Caravan Road [EW]
Stretching itself out here is a long road, paved in rough yellowy
brown sandstone, covered with reddish dust and sand, and wide enough that at
least four caravans could pass through. The sun-browned backs of slaves
march along, carrying goods. The sky's blood-red glory shines from above
the main gate, highlighting its ominously smooth stones.
The wiry young man has arrived from the east.You ask the wiry young man, in sirihish:
"N' -you're- th' one in trouble?"The slender, hack-haired man mutters angrily.
The wiry young man says to you, in sirihish:
"But gemmers are far above me. I can't question them, not even if they're glowing with a bright light walking down the middle of Caravan Road like she was."The wiry young man sends you a telepathic message:
"I mentioned seeing a gemmer glowing with bright light, in the middle of the road. Sergeant said, "Shut the fuck up about gemmers.""The wiry young man sends you a telepathic message:
"You mention it, like you don't know I did. See what she says."You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the wiry young man:
"I already did, eh? Wayed 'er."The wiry young man sends you a telepathic message:
"What'd she say?"You send a telepathic message to the wiry young man:
"Not a feckin' word. Any idea why we're here?"The wiry young man sends you a telepathic message:
"There's something very wrong with the unit, Jen. And yeah. Some Oashi lords are stuck somewhere. Beetles and spiders all around 'em. We're waiting for morning."You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the wiry young man:
"I don't feckin' understand why th' gemmers 'r bein' allowed so loose a rein. They're -dangerous- n' they're feckin' -nothin'-, too. "The wiry young man sends you a telepathic message:
"There's something very wrong with the unit."You send a telepathic message to the wiry young man:
"Aside from th' Gemmer shet?"The wiry young man sends you a telepathic message:
"No. Just that."The tall figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba nods back and leads a yellow sunback lizard up to rest behind the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette.
Just loudly enough to carry over the noise of the street even at this early hour, the tall figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba says to the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette, in sirihish:
"Sorry about earlier."Looking over the group of soldiers, and pointedly at the wiry young man, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette asks, in sirihish:
"Doesn't look like Hodor's glowing to me, is she?"To the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette, frowning, you say, in sirihish:
"She -was- before, n' in th' -middle- o' Caravan. I saw 'er m'self."Wincing at the words, the tall figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba says to the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette, in sirihish:
"I mighta been earlier. Kolt was showin' me some shit, an' sometimes you can't see it from inside."Dipping a nod, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette says to the tall figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba, in sirihish:
"You might have been. And when I let you know, you were concerned about it, seemed to me. Like you already knew that weren't a good thing."The wiry young man sends you a telepathic message:
"She woulda trusted the word of a gemmer over the word of two soldiers, did you see that?"The slender, hack-haired man blinks.
Dipping a quick and fluid nod, the tall figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba says to the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette, in sirihish:
"'course 'tain't a good thing. Gemmers already stick enough in people's collective craw without glowin'."You send a telepathic message to the wiry young man:
"Feck, she just let a -gemmer- walk down CARAVAN's -GLOWIN'-?!"Looking over at the wiry young man and you, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette says, in sirihish:
"Most of the time, folks don't realize they're doing it. You just gotta let them know. It's like people who forget they're holding a knife."The wiry young man sends you a telepathic message:
"There is something very wrong in the unit."The wiry young man says to the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette, in sirihish:
"Yessir. Like holding a knife, sir."Sheepishly, the tall figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba says, in sirihish:
"'cept a whole lot freakier."The pale-eyed, blond-braided woman says, in sirihish:
"And knives don't make nobles freak out and demand yer head as easily."Blinking, you say, in sirihish:
"'Cuse me f' sayin', Sir, but a -gemmer- walkin' down th' street -glowin'- is gonna attract a -feckload- more o' attention."The wiry young man sends you a telepathic message:
"Like holding a knife."Lifting her eyebrows at you, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette asks you, in sirihish:
"Of course they are. But that doesn't mean they're doing it because they're a pathetic idiotic dickwad intent on killing everyone, does it?"You send a telepathic message to the wiry young man:
"I agree. Somethin' is feckin' wrong. There is -no way-. I mean--"The wiry young man sends you a telepathic message:
"Because a glowing gemmer isn't a problem until they start killing. There is something very wrong in the--fuck. You know."You say to the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette, in sirihish:
"N' th' commoners 'd know tha? She could o' incited a panic. 'Member th' boy in th' bazzar saw some gemmer re-appear? Near started a panic there."Pointedly, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette says to you, in sirihish:
"Quit arguing with me about it. I'm saying she DIDN'T KNOW SHE WAS GLOWING. That's no reason to abuse her."The wiry young man sends you a telepathic message:
"Don't push her, Jen. Let it drop. Not a big deal. Just chuckle and shake your head."You send a telepathic message to the wiry young man:
"Sure, Laila could be concerned about th' nobles. "Dipping a nod, you say to the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette, in sirihish:
"Aye, Sir. "You send a telepathic message to the wiry young man:
"--But there is NO way she'd be li' this. No way."You send a telepathic message to the wiry young man:
"So. Th' others, are they--? I mean, they think this is normal, 'r?"The wiry young man sends you a telepathic message:
"Everyone one of 'em but me. And now you."There's been alot of talk about Magickers, and how they're treated. In this log, some of the events behind the murder of the old Vividuian pool keeper are revealed. That murder led to much OOC forum discussion, and this is an interesting history about all that.
In addition a number of factor...
Continue Reading...Zan by Rhyden
Added on Apr 26, 2009After losing another bagful of obsidian coins, the foolish thief Zan is summoned by the Guild Boss Marin. During the meeting, Zan soon learns the punishment for his mistakes and the lack of mercy in the Guild.
The Main Room of the Bard's Barrel [NSW]
A myriad of grinning skulls, each painted with bright colors laid
over the pallid bone, stare down from the broad wooden shelf that lines this
spacious room at eye level. Splashes of blue, green and red cover the clay
brick walls in an enthusiastic but inexpert abstract mural, some spatters of
the same paint dotted across the red tiled floor. The room is filled with
clamor: the clink and clatter of dishes and drinks, instruments being tuned,
scraps of song, and a general constant roar of conversation. A small wooden
stage sits along the northern wall, two ragged velvet curtains framing it,
looped back with blue-dyed ropes. A wide archway leads out onto the dusty
street, while a smaller one to the west provides a glimpse of a smaller,
quieter chamber.
A wall here is designated as a message board.
The wiry, bald man is sitting at a boxy wooden bar.
The light-skinned young man is sitting at a boxy wooden bar.
A lean, grey-eyed bard leans against the stage.
A lean, spike-haired elf drums softly in the corner.
A tall, amber-eyed woman polishes glasses behind the boxy wooden bar.
The husky, weatherworn dwarf is here, seated at a large table, drinking ale.
The huge, sun-bronzed man surveys the room cThe huge, sun-bronzed man surveys the room casually from a table here.
The bald, muscular woman slouches at a large table, drinking ale.
The small, dark-haired man sits at a table in the back, staring into his drink.
The solemn, club-footed man limps slowly along here.
>sit round (grabbing a chair)
Grabbing a chair, you sit at a round, blue-painted table.
>l self
Close-cut, oily black hair sticks out in jagged lengths from this short,
skinny man's head. His dark bushy brows hang over hazel colored eyes, a
small nose centered in his dark skinned, youthful features. His round ears
stick out near the long sable sideburns that trail down his angular cheeks,
developing into a scraggly black beard across his narrow chin, marked by
patches of short stubble. His neck crawls down to his narrow shoulders and
his wiry arms are slim, with little visible muscle. His legs are similar;
slight and bony, like the rest of his lean body.
The figure in a filthy dark, hooded cloak is in excellent condition.
<worn on head> an ancient, battered surmac
<neck> an angular, crescent shaped scar
<worn around body> a filthy dark, hooded cloak
<worn on legs> a pair of grimy linen trousers
<worn on feet> a pair of dark leather footpads
>contact marin
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man with the Way.
>psi Got an update on m'situation, boss.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man:
"Got an update on m'situation, boss."
>psi Y'spoken wit' Gin yet? Maybe y'speakin' wit' Corin right now?
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man:
"Y'spoken wit' Gin yet? Maybe y'speakin' wit' Corin right now?"
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man sends you a telepathic message:
"Do you have my coin?"
>psi A whore stole it from me. Workin' on gettin' it back, boss.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man:
"A whore stole it from me. Workin' on gettin' it back, boss."
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man sends you a telepathic message:
"What's her name?"
>psi Miranda.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man:
"Miranda."
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man sends you a telepathic message:
"Good luck with that. She might stab you in the back."
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
>psi What's dat mean?
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man:
"What's dat mean?"
The light-skinned young man raises the hood of a dusty hooded, sleeveless white sandcloth cloak.
The tall figure in a dusty hooded, sleeveless white sandcloth cloak stands up from a boxy wooden bar.
>think Quit bein' fuckin' subtle.
You think:
"Quit bein' fuckin' subtle."
The tall figure in a dusty hooded, sleeveless white sandcloth cloak walks north.
>cease
You suffer from use of the Way.
You dissolve the psychic link.
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man sends you a telepathic message:
"I'm saying that Miranda is a whore, who's a templar's aide, and likes to stab people."
>contact marin
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man with the Way.
>psi So how y'suggest I get y'coins back from'er, boss?
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man:
"So how y'suggest I get y'coins back from'er, boss?"
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man sends you a telepathic message:
"How'd she steal from you?"
>psi Left m'clothes in'er main room after we fucked while I's gettin' a drink, come back'n m'belt was a lot lighter.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man:
"Left m'clothes in'er main room after we fucked while I's gettin' a drink, come back'n m'belt was a lot lighter."
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man sends you a telepathic message:
"How much did she charge for the fuck?"
>psi Nothin'. Hence why I's call it stealin' from me.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man:
"Nothin'. Hence why I's call it stealin' from me."
The wiry, bald man stands up from a boxy wooden bar.
The wiry, bald man walks west.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man sends you a telepathic message:
"Get your idiot ass to the Folley."
>stand
You stand up from a round, blue-painted table.
>n
[Travelling to the Folley Tavern to meet with Marin]
A Cramped, Dingy Bar [EWU]
Were it not for the sheer overpowering vileness of the air outside,
this small and tightly-cramped room would scarcely seem a breath of
freshness at all. Thick, acrid smoke intermingles with the smell of
unwashed bodies, vomit, cheap booze, and ancient decay in the limited
confines of this room, creating a unique amalgam of foulness that even the
rough sensibilities of a dwarf would quail at. The walls of the room are
short and the roof is relatively low, giving one an acute claustrophobic
feeling that mirrors the feel of the surrounding alleyways with merciless
precision. A few crates are stacked here and there in a seemingly haphazard
array. Whatever their intended purpose, it appears as though patrons have
begun using them as seats in lieu of squatting on the ale-damp floor. The
center of the room draws your attention once your eyes have adjusted to the
change in lighting and reveals a strange stoneworked depression, roughly
three cords deep and ten cords across. Broken stonework sculptures surround
the edges of the depression in a seeming mockery of a gleeful dance.
Several battered crates with a thick slab of pure obsidian draped across
them seem to serve as a makeshift bar in a corner of the room. An equally
battered wooden door is situated just behind it.
Just beside the bar, a loosely hanging rope ladder disappears up into a
jagged hole in the ceiling of the room.
A ladder-backed bone chair sits here.
A ladder-backed bone chair is here standing idly near the wall.
A message board is propped up against a wall.
A multi-ringed dartboard hangs on a wall here.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man is sitting at a sturdy old bar.
The slim, dusky man is sitting at a sturdy old bar.
The tall, scarlet-haired woman is sitting at a sturdy old bar.
The lithe, dark-haired man is sitting at a sturdy old bar.
The muscular, hatchet-faced man stands here by the door.
The long-haired, scar faced man stands by the bar, arms over his chest.
The thick-set, sideburned bartender is here cleaning out mugs with a rag.
The tall and thick male wearing a thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap is standing here.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man shakes his head a bit, looking to you.
>emote walks towards ~bar with a nod to ~marin
The short, black-haired man walks towards a sturdy old bar with a nod to the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man.
>sit bar
You sit at a sturdy old bar.
At your table, the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man says in rinthi-accented sirihish:
"Zan. You need a new name."
At your table, the tall, scarlet-haired woman says in sirihish, nodding down to you:
"'Ey Zan."
>nod corin
You nod to her.
At your table, the slim, dusky man says in rinthi-accented sirihish, nodding to you:
"'ello Zan."
At your table, the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man says in rinthi-accented sirihish, glancing to the lithe, dark-haired man:
"Got an idea for a new name for Zan, Vel?"
>talk (eyes rolling with a grin) Idiot fucktard face?
At your table, you say in sirihish, eyes rolling with a grin:
"Idiot fucktard face?"
At your table, the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man says in rinthi-accented sirihish:
"Fucktard. That's quite a good one."
At your table, the lithe, dark-haired man says in sirihish, looking to you:
"Damn don't know if I can beat that."
The slim, dusky man smirks at you.
The tall, scarlet-haired woman rubs her chin thoughtfully while regarding you before cracking a faint grin.
>talk (pulling a shot-glass off ~bar) I can nick a bagga coins like it weren't m'business...now...-HOLDIN'- onto dem coins...dat's m'problem.
At your table, you say in sirihish, pulling a shot-glass off a sturdy old bar:
"I can nick a bagga coins like it weren't m'business...now...-HOLDIN'- onto dem coins...dat's m'problem."
>keyword shot bar
On a sturdy old bar:
1.shot - a shot-glass
2.shot - a shot-glass
3.shot - a shot-glass
4.shot - a shot-glass
5.shot - a shot-glass
6.shot - a shot-glass
>get 6.shot bar
You get your shot-glass from a sturdy old bar.
It is very light, and full.
>drink shot (with a grunt)
With a grunt, you drink the whisky.
>put shot bar
You put your shot-glass onto a sturdy old bar.
>emote smacks his lips together with a quenching grunt.
The short, black-haired man smacks his lips together with a quenching grunt.
At your table, the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man says in rinthi-accented sirihish:
"Where's my hundred, then?"
>get coins belt
The belt does not contain 'coins'.
>get coins pouch
The pouch does not contain 'coins'.
>get coins cloak
You get your pile of allanaki coins from your filthy dark, hooded cloak.
There were 55 coins.
It is very light.
You are carrying:
55 obsidian pieces
You give the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man 55 coins.
At your table, the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man says in rinthi-accented sirihish:
"What the fuck is this?"
>emote rummages around %cloak pockets.
The short, black-haired man rummages around in your filthy dark, hooded cloak's pockets.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man puts his pile of allanaki coins into his pouched, brown hide belt.
>get knife cloak
You get your clumsy wooden knife from your filthy dark, hooded cloak.
It is very light.
>give knife marin
You give your clumsy wooden knife to the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man.
At your table, the tall, scarlet-haired woman says in sirihish, glancing from you to the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man:
"Oh...So you're.."
>get torch belt
You get your unlit simple, leather-wrapped bone torch from your pouched belt.
It is very light.
The tall, scarlet-haired woman trails off and nods to the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man.
>talk (holding ~torch in front of ~marin) Dat's all I got.
At your table, you say in sirihish, holding your unlit simple, leather-wrapped bone torch infront of the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man:
"Dat's all I got."
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man says to you, in rinthi-accented sirihish:
"Alright, Zan."
>give torch marin
You give your unlit simple, leather-wrapped bone torch to the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man gives you his unlit simple, leather-wrapped bone torch.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man stands up from a sturdy old bar.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man says to you, in rinthi-accented sirihish:
"Up on the Roof."
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man walks up.
>stand
You stand up from a sturdy old bar.
>up
On a Rooftop [D]
This plain red-clay brick roof is really no more than a burned out
second floor of what was once a taller building. Bits of charred remains
are obvious amongst the scattered debris and shards of rock strewn all over
the general area. Despite being hemmed in on three-sides by two story
buildings, the rooftop gives a clear view down into the alleyway below. A
jagged hole in the southeast corner has two bone spikes driven into the
clay, from which a rope-ladder trails downwards.
An empty chipped, red-clay mug has been left here.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man is standing here.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man says to you, in rinthi-accented sirihish:
"Stand still."
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man brandishes his clumsy wooden knife.
>emote sighs, head held downwards with a sigh.
The short, black-haired man sighs, head held downwards with a sigh.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man asks you, in rinthi-accented sirihish:
"Tell me. How much does this hurt?"
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man stabs you very hard on your head.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man swiftly dodges your hit.
You hit the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man, barely grazing his foot.
Your attack on the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man is absorbed by a bloodied padded, grey-veined black tunic.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man swiftly dodges your hit.
>disengage
You stop attacking the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man!
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man stops fighting you.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man stops using his bloodied clumsy wooden knife.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man gives you his bloodied clumsy wooden knife.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man says to you, in rinthi-accented sirihish:
"Don't fuckin' do that."
>sit (holding his bleeding head)
Holding his bleeding head, you sit down.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man says to you, in rinthi-accented sirihish:
"You're lucky I missed your eye."
>emote rubs at his bleeding eyebrow, wincing deeply.
The short, black-haired man rubs at his bleeding eyebrow, wincing deeply.
Exhaling slowly, the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man says to you, in rinthi-accented sirihish:
"I trusted you, Zan. I even gave you products to fence, to make a profit on."
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man says to you, in rinthi-accented sirihish:
"You lost some being mugged. You lost some to a whore."
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man says to you, in rinthi-accented sirihish:
"The next time, I'm going to have to break one of your hands."
>tell marin (hand held against his forehead, blood speeing through his fingers) Uhhh...ah...I...just fuck up bad lots.
Hand held against his forehead, blood seeping through his fingers, you say to the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man, in sirihish:
"Uhhh...ah...I...just fuck up bad lots."
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man nods at you.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man licks his dried lips.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man asks you, in rinthi-accented sirihish:
"What the fuck am I to do with you, Zan?"
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man says to you, in rinthi-accented sirihish:
"You're not producing."
>shout (with an angry, squaky squeal) I don't know!
With an angry, squeaky squeal, you shout in sirihish:
"I don't know!"
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man says to you, in rinthi-accented sirihish:
"Shut up. Please."
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man says to you, in rinthi-accented sirihish:
"Go get the rest of what you owe me, Zan."
>stand
You stand up.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man says to you, in rinthi-accented sirihish:
"We've been looking out for you, and it's not paying."
>em grunts and nods.
The short, black-haired man grunts and nods.
>tell marin It will.
You say to the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man, in sirihish:
"It will."
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man nods at you.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man says to you, in rinthi-accented sirihish:
"Good."
>emote grits his teeth and walks towards the stairway.
The short, black-haired man grits his teeth and walks towards the stairway.
>d (with a determined look on his dirty face)
The Main Room of the Bard's Barrel [NSW]
A myriad of grinning skulls, each painted with bright colors laid
over the pallid bone, stare down from the broad wooden shelf that lines this
spacious room at eye level. Splashes of blue, green and red cover the clay
brick walls in an enthusiastic but...
Continue Reading...Destruction of Steinal by Tektolnes
Added on Apr 1, 2009ok heres the deal, its been more than 1 year so im posting the logs from when i got pissed and blew up steinal 4 the lulz
The mighty Tektolnes is here, draped in power and splendor because he rocks.
He is wearing a cloak of pure awesome.
He is damn fine.
>score
Your are Tektolnes, of many people (type 'tribes' to see your subjugated people).
Keywords: Tektolnes Tek Godzilla Lt. Awesomesauce
Sdesc: the mighty Tektolnes
Objective: branch
Long description: Code Generated Long Description.
You are older than everyone else, which by your race is old (but by appearance you look pretty damn fine).
You are tall, dark, and handsome.
Your strength is absolutely incredible, your agility is absolutely incredible,
your wisdom is absolutely incredible, and your endurance is absolutely incredible.
You are currently speaking sirihish with a Highlord accent.
The mighty Tektolnes says, in Highlord-accented sirihish,
"lol guys ok so how do u liek my new desc? i kept emailin teh staff till they changed it"
The black-robed templar says, out-of-character:
"Dude use ooc for ooc stuff please"
The mighty Tektolnes says, in Highlord-accented sirihish,
"dude fuck off"
The mighty Tektolnes says, in Highlord-accented sirihish,
"i have shit to do"
The mighty Tektolnes waves his hand and utters an incantation.
The black-robed templar disappears in a flash of light, leaving a pile of ash on the ground.
The mighty Tektolnes says, in Highlord-accented sirihish,
"lol"
The mighty Tektolnes says, in Highlord-accented sirihish,
"guess I better get another"
The mighty Tektolnes sends this message to the staff:
"hey guys I just vape'd a blackrobe, pls put up a new call on the bbs for one, tks"
The mighty Tektolnes checks out his profile in a small obsidian mirror.
The mighty Tektolnes wishes he had a command to express how awesome he looks right now.
A human Allanaki lackey has arrived from below.
A human Allanaki lackey says, in southern-accented sirihish,
"Highlord! Steinal has attacked our forces and...practically routed them!"
The mighty Tektolnes says, in Highlord-accented sirihish,
"dude wtf, you didn't bow or anything"
The mighty Tektolnes says, in Highlord-accented sirihish,
"i need to get better lackeys, you guys all suck"
The mighty Tektolnes says, in Highlord-accented sirihish,
"noobs"
The mighty Tektolnes is gone a bit, gotta send off mail to complain about this noob.
The mighty Tektolnes is back.
The mighty Tektolnes says, in Highlord-accented sirihish,
"aight sorry bout that, go ahead"
A human Allanaki lackey says, in southern-accented sirihish,
"They beat our forces off, but we should be able to retaliate, Highlord."
The mighty Tektolnes rolls on the floor, laughing hysterically.
The mighty Tektolnes says, in Highlord-accented sirihish,
"haha"
The mighty Tektolnes says, in Highlord-accented sirihish,
"you said beat off"
The mighty Tektolnes puts on his serious cat face.
The mighty Tektolnes says, in Highlord-accented sirihish,
"ok srsly, let's do something about this"
The mighty Tektolnes says, in Highlord-accented sirihish,
"did we post a call for an rpt?"
The human Allanaki lackey says, out-of-character:
"man you really need to differentiate between IC and OOC"
The mighty Tektolnes says, in Highlord-accented sirihish,
"im sorry"
The mighty Tektolnes says, in Highlord-accented sirihish,
"i cant hear you over my root access to ginka"
The mighty Tektolnes says, in Highlord-accented sirihish,
"continue"
The human Allanaki lackey says, out-of-character:
"they had some kind of RPT already scheduled today. some steinal party or something, a victory"
The mighty Tektolnes says, in Highlord-accented sirihish,
"let's kick some ass then"
The human Allanaki lackey says, out-of-character:
"dude we can't go crash someone else's RPT"
The human Allanaki lackey says, out-of-character:
"that's bad form"
The mighty Tektolnes says, in Highlord-accented sirihish,
"Valasaurus must be extincted, as i am sure you know"
The mighty Tektolnes says, in Highlord-accented sirihish,
"send our army to wipe out the city of Steinal"
The human Allanaki lackey says, in southern-accented sirihish,
"Highlord, we do not have an army. Steinal wiped it out."
The human Allanaki lackey says, in southern-accented sirihish,
"Many of my friends within the militia have lost their lives. They went out to war at your command and gave their lives to the cause. We are recruiting more, but..."
The human Allanaki lackey says, in southern-accented sirihish,
"...it will take a long time before we can really field the amount of soldiers we had. Our forces are cut in half. We have to leave some here to defend our city..."
The human Allanaki lackey says, in southern-accented sirihish,
"...or we might face some risk."
The mighty Tektolnes has lost link.
The mighty Tektolnes has reconnected.
The mighty Tektolnes says, in Highlord-accented sirihish,
"sry, missed that"
The mighty Tektolnes says, in Highlord-accented sirihish,
"look it doesnt matter ill go deal with it"
The mighty Tektolnes says, in Highlord-accented sirihish,
"keep the light on muthafucka"
The mighty Tektolnes waves his hand and utters an incantation.
The mighty Tektolnes disappears from view!
----------
A Massive Square
Crenellated granite and baobab balconies protruded from both the
northern and southern sides of the square, heavy canvas draped over them to keep the nobility and the highest-ranked merchants of Steinal in the shade.
Valasurus is here, addressing a lot of people.
A lot of people are here, adoring Valasurus.
Valasurus says, in Steinal-accented sirihish,
"My people, last week, our armies collided with the forces of Allanak near their black walls. I urged you to support our army's endeavor, and it has..."
Valasurus says, in Steinal-accented sirihish,
...succeeded in a strategic victory that I must report to you:
we have routed Allanak's fighting forces!"
Everyone cheers.
Valasurus says, in Steinal-accented sirihish,
"You have heard the reports of tribes taking back land stolen by the conquering rulers, Tektolnes and Muk Utep. These are not rumors; they are facts proven..."
Valasurus says, in Steinal-accented sirihish,
"...by our own exceptional display of tactics in this, the first battle of the War between Allanak and Steinal."
The air begins to blow more breezily.
People begin to be a little uncomfortable.
Valasurus says, in Steinal-accented sirihish,
"We will press our advantage soon, and destroy the will of Allanak!"
Valasurus pauses to take a breath.
Everyone cheers.
Valasurus says, in Steinal-accented sirihish,
"I promise to you that I will lead you to victory against the Black Menace of Allanak!"
The mighty Tektolnes appears in a flash of light, emerging from a bright pinpoint of a portal.
The mighty Tektolnes says, in Highlord-accented sirihish,
"sup bitches"
The mighty Tektolnes says, in Highlord-accented sirihish,
can a mutha get a mimosa in this bitch?"
Valasurus says, in Steinal-accented sirihish,
"Pride will be your destruction."
The mighty Tektolnes stares strangely at Valasurus.
The mighty Tektolnes says, in Highlord-accented sirihish,
"wat"
Valasurus says, out-of-character:
"dude how the hell did you ever get your role, you are the worst roleplayer of all time"
The mighty Tektolnes says, in Highlord-accented sirihish,
"cast mon un shut the fuck up ~Valasurus"
The mighty Tektolnes says, in Highlord-accented sirihish,
"oops, mischan"
The mighty Tektolnes waves his hand and utters an incantation.
Steinal disappears from view, leaving behind salt and sand and ash.
The mighty Tektolnes says, in Highlord-accented sirihish,
"haha, noobs"
The mighty Tektolnes rolls on the floor, laughing hysterically.
The mighty Tektolnes says, in Highlord-accented sirihish,
"steinal...more like whine all"
The mighty Tektolnes says, in Highlord-accented sirihish,
"cast mon un animate all corpse"
The mighty Tektolnes says, in Highlord-accented sirihish,
"damn it"
The mighty Tektolnes waves a hand, uttering an incantation.
Salt and sand-covered zombies arise from the ground.
The mighty Tektolnes says, in Highlord-accented sirihish,
"ok"
The mighty Tektolnes says, in Highlord-accented sirihish,
"do that michal jackson dance thing"
-----
hope u guys liekd it
-TekThe mighty Tektolnes is here, draped in power and splendor because he rocks.
He is wearing a cloak of pure awesome.
He is damn fine.
score
Your are Tektolnes, of many people (type 'tribes' to see your subjugated people).
Keywords: Tektolnes Tek Godzilla Lt. Awesomesauce
Sdesc: the mighty TektolnesContinue Reading... A Byn in the Arena by Terri
Added on Feb 11, 2009Trooper Shanli had turned down a templar's offer of employment to stay in the Byn, despite a recent demotion from Sargeant. Player of Shanli can't recall why she was demoted. The templar had brought forth someone accusing her of paying him to assault Allanak soldiers.
The white-haired blue skinned woman stops, chest heaving as she bows to the
sleek, jakhal-eyed templar.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar asks the long-armed man, in sirihish:
"Is this the one?"
A man of average height, stand atop his massive feet. His purely white
hair drips down onto his powerful shoulders and cover up his lean neck. His
enormous chest stands out from the rest of his body, showing signs of
extreme labor. Dark black skin covers his entire body and two large scars
are visible on his face. Two intriguing green eyes are set atop a large and
curved nose. Two long legs extend from his torso and are mounted on his two
massive feet. His lengthy arms, extend far below his waist and almost
reaching the knees.
The long-armed man looks relatively fit.
The long-armed man is using:
<worn on torso> a sweat-stained, simple sandcloth shirt
<worn on legs> a pair of light-brown pants
<worn on feet> a bloodied, pair of black shoes
The long-armed man looks toward you and then nods in the direction of the
sleek, jakhal-eyed templar.
You ask the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Lord Templar?"
The long-armed man trembles as a human soldier tightens her grip.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar moves to you a gentle smile on his lips.
You think:
"I'm screwed. Never trust a templar's smile."
The white-haired blue skinned woman looks from the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar
to the long-armed man.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to you, in sirihish:
"My Pretty Shanli, however dissapointed I may be in your decission...
you're not in trouble."
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar asks you, in sirihish:
"You know this man?"
You say to the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"No, Lord Templar. I do not know him."
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar asks you, in sirihish:
"The Byn hates the soldiers for what reason?"
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar paces about, glancing from you to the
long-armed man.
You say to the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Lord Templar? I don't know that the Byn hates soldiers at all."
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar asks you, in sirihish:
"So.. you didn't offer this man sid.. to kill a soldier in His militia?"
You say to the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"No, Lord Templar."
You think:
"Some sort of setup."
Drawing in a long sharp breath, the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to the
long-armed man, in sirihish:
"Sorry.."
The long-armed man mumbles something as he whimpers.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar brings his bloodied, wickedly barbed whip to
bear against the long-armed man.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed man raises a wickedly barbed whip and lashes out at
the long-armed man.
*CRACK* A long, bloody gash opens up on the long-armed man's back.
The white-haired blue skinned woman watches quietly, face neutral in
expression.
The long-armed man yells out in pain as a whip cuts through his flesh.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar asks you, in sirihish:
"Would you like the chance to avenge the lies this man has told against
the noble Byn? Specifically yourself?"
The long-armed man's eyes open and close and drool drips down on the ground.
You say to the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"I'd be delighted, Milord Templar. If ya think it is appropriate."
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to you, in sirihish:
"He attacked soldiers of the city... and tried to cover the act by
saying that the Byn paid him."
The long-armed man twitches and whimpers as his body shivers.
The white-haired blue skinned woman rolls her eyes.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to the long-armed man, in sirihish:
"Not the sort of reputation the Byn needs..."
In an amused tone, you ask the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"As if the Byn gonna do somethin that stupid?"
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to you, in sirihish:
"Well... they did demote you.. but I consider that a far cry from blood
money against His men."
The long-armed man opens his mouth to say something, but fails as his
strength gives out.
Tilting his head, the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar asks the long-armed man, in
sirihish:
"What was that?"
You say to the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"I ain't the kind ta do me Highlord that kinda dishonor, Lord Templar."
Mumbling over a few words, the long-armed man asks, in sirihish:
"yes ... a ..nnd she w..il..te..ll the ...tr . u ... truth?"
The long-armed man groans as streaks of blood flow down his back.
The white-haired blue skinned woman scowls at the long-armed man.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar asks you, in sirihish:
"Arena, public or private?"
You ask the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"How bout the arena, Lord Templar?"
The sun reaches its highest point in the sky.
A final glimmer of light marks the white moon Lirathu's slow descent.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar asks you, in sirihish:
"Public show... or private?"
You say to the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"public, Lord Templar. If it be ya will, of course."
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to you, in sirihish:
"Do you have weapons you can lend the accused? "
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to you, in sirihish:
"never mind... I'll have a couple matches before then."
You say to the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"No, Lord Templar. All I have are my own."
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to you, in sirihish:
"Fall in..."
You now follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to the long-armed man, in sirihish:
"Your' going to be famous... if you win"
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks north.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk north.
Templars' Way [NS]
Templars' Way stretches north and south through the very heart of the
crowded city. The road is made of large, black-colored stones that are
covered with dust, dung, and other unsavory materials. It passes under the
Arena's morbid shadow, a gigantic structure standing to the east. Bustling
with activity, the Commoners' Quarter lies to the west. Crowds pass along
the street, hurrying on errands and avoiding the keen-eyed glances of the
templars and soldiers who use this way.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
The thick-bearded, half giant soldier stands here.
A human soldier of Tektolnes stands here vigilantly.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south.
The human soldier has arrived from the south.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south, dragging the long-armed man behind.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar asks you, in sirihish:
"Oh... to the death.. or no?"
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks north.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk north.
Templars' Way [NS]
Templars' Way stretches north and south through the very heart of the
crowded city. The road is made of large, black-colored stones that are
covered with dust, dung, and other unsavory materials. It passes under the
Arena's morbid shadow, a gigantic structure standing to the east. Bustling
with activity, the Commoners' Quarter lies to the west. Crowds pass along
the street, hurrying on errands and avoiding the keen-eyed glances of the
templars and soldiers who use this way.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
A wide hipped, elven woman with a painted face struts, smiling at people.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south.
The human soldier has arrived from the south.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south, dragging the long-armed man behind.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks north.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk north.
Templars' Way [NS]
Templars' Way stretches north and south through the very heart of the
crowded city. The road is made of large, black-colored stones that are
covered with dust, dung, and other unsavory materials. It passes under the
Arena's morbid shadow, a gigantic structure standing to the east. Bustling
with activity, the Commoners' Quarter lies to the west. Crowds pass along
the street, hurrying on errands and avoiding the keen-eyed glances of the
templars and soldiers who use this way.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
A human soldier of Tektolnes walks along here.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south.
The human soldier has arrived from the south.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south, dragging the long-armed man behind.
The long-armed man raises his gaze toward the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar and almost faints, but keeps conscious.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar asks you, in sirihish:
"Or do you wish it to be a suprise?"
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks north.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk north.
Templars' Way [NSW]
Templars' Way stretches north and south through the very heart of the
crowded city. The road is made of large, black-colored stones that are
covered with dust, dung, and other unsavory materials. It passes under the
Arena's morbid shadow, a gigantic structure standing to the east. Bustling
with activity, the Commoners' Quarter lies to the west. Crowds pass along
the street, hurrying on errands and avoiding the keen-eyed glances of the
templars and soldiers who use this way.
To the west, Miner's Road leads into the reek and constant noise of
the Commoners' Quarter.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
A human soldier of Tektolnes stands here vigilantly.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south.
The human soldier has arrived from the south.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south, dragging the long-armed man behind.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks north.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk north.
Templars' Way [NS]
Templars' Way stretches north and south through the very heart of the
crowded city. The road is made of large, black-colored stones that are
covered with dust, dung, and other unsavory materials. It passes under the
Arena's morbid shadow, a gigantic structure standing to the east. Bustling
with activity, the Commoners' Quarter lies to the west. Crowds pass along
the street, hurrying on errands and avoiding the keen-eyed glances of the
templars and soldiers who use this way.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south.
The human soldier has arrived from the south.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south, dragging the long-armed man behind.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks north.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk north.
Templars' Way [NS]
Templars' Way stretches north and south through the very heart of the
crowded city. The road is made of large, black-colored stones that are
covered with dust, dung, and other unsavory materials. It passes under the
Arena's morbid shadow, a gigantic structure standing to the east. Bustling
with activity, the Commoners' Quarter lies to the west. Crowds pass along
the street, hurrying on errands and avoiding the keen-eyed glances of the
templars and soldiers who use this way.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south.
The human soldier has arrived from the south.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south, dragging the long-armed man behind.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks north.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk north.
Templars' Way [NSW]
Templars' Way stretches north and south through the very heart of the
crowded city. The road is made of large, black-colored stones that are
covered with dust, dung, and other unsavory materials. It passes under the
Arena's morbid shadow, a gigantic structure standing to the east. Bustling
with activity, the Commoners' Quarter lies to the west. Crowds pass along
the street, hurrying on errands and avoiding the keen-eyed glances of the
templars and soldiers who use this way.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
A human soldier of Tektolnes walks along here.
A dark-haired elf staggers along, carrying a load of hides.
The dark, club-footed human slave is here, dragging a boulder.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south.
The human soldier has arrived from the south.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south, dragging the long-armed man behind.
You say to the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Less he tells the truth, I wish ta kill him, Milord Templar"
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar lowers his head.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks north.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk north.
Templars' Way [NSW]
Templars' Way stretches north and south through the very heart of the
crowded city. The road is made of large, black-colored stones that are
covered with dust, dung, and other unsavory materials. It passes under the
Arena's morbid shadow, a gigantic structure standing to the east. Bustling
with activity, the Commoners' Quarter lies to the west. Crowds pass along
the street, hurrying on errands and avoiding the keen-eyed glances of the
templars and soldiers who use this way.
To the west, Stonecarver's Road leads into the reek and noise of the
commoners' quarter.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
A human soldier of Tektolnes walks along here.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south.
The human soldier has arrived from the south.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south, dragging the long-armed man behind.
You say to the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Unless ya do not wish it."
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks north.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk north.
Templars' Way [NS]
Templars' Way stretches north and south through the very heart of the
crowded city. The road is made of large, black-colored stones that are
covered with dust, dung, and other unsavory materials. It passes under the
Arena's morbid shadow, a gigantic structure standing to the east. Bustling
with activity, the Commoners' Quarter lies to the west. Crowds pass along
the street, hurrying on errands and avoiding the keen-eyed glances of the
templars and soldiers who use this way.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south.
The human soldier has arrived from the south.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south, dragging the long-armed man behind.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks north.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk north.
Templars' Way [NES]
Templars' Way stretches north and south through the very heart of the
crowded city. The road is made of large, black-colored stones that are
covered with dust, dung, and other unsavory materials. It passes under the
Arena's morbid shadow, a gigantic structure standing to the east. Bustling
with activity, the Commoners' Quarter lies to the west. Crowds pass along
the street, hurrying on errands and avoiding the keen-eyed glances of the
templars and soldiers who use this way.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south.
The human soldier has arrived from the south.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south, dragging the long-armed man behind.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks east.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk east.
Arena Road [EW]
Arena Road runs along the north of the Arena, home of Allanak's bloody
Games. Even from this distance, the screams of gladiators practicing inside
echo over the polished bone spikes that jut above the stone walls. The
Arena itself has a smooth, polished stone wall, engraved with a variety of
inscriptions, most of them depicting scenes from famous battles and
gladiatorial combats. On the north side of the road sits a row of subdued
looking mud brick buildings, some occupied by merchants during the Games,
and others used to store supplies or house slaves.
The road extends to the east, along the north wall of the Arena,
leading towards the vast entrance. To the west lies Templars' Way,
which leads south towards the Templars' Quarter.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
The short, thick-set templar stands here vigilantly.
The lean, brown-haired slave trots along here.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the west.
The human soldier has arrived from the west.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the west, dragging the long-armed man behind.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to you, in sirihish:
"It is his shame against you.... your choice."
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks east.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk east.
Arena Road [EW]
Arena Road runs along the north of the Arena, home of Allanak's bloody
Games. Even from this distance, the screams of gladiators practicing inside
echo over the polished bone spikes that jut above the stone walls. The
Arena itself has a smooth, polished stone wall, engraved with a variety of
inscriptions, most of them depicting scenes from famous battles and
gladiatorial combats. On the north side of the road sits a row of subdued
looking mud brick buildings, some occupied by merchants during the Games,
and others used to store supplies or house slaves.
The road extends to the east, along the north wall of the Arena,
leading towards the vast entrance. To the west lies Templars' Way,
which leads south towards the Templars' Quarter.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the west.
The human soldier has arrived from the west.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the west, dragging the long-armed man behind.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks east.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk east.
Arena Road [NEW]
Arena Road runs along the north of the Arena, home of Allanak's bloody
Games. Even from this distance, the screams of gladiators practicing inside
echo over the polished bone spikes that jut above the stone walls. The
Arena itself has a smooth, polished stone wall, engraved with a variety of
inscriptions, most of them depicting scenes from famous battles and
gladiatorial combats. On the north side of the road sits a row of subdued
looking mud brick buildings, some occupied by merchants during the Games,
and others used to store supplies or house slaves.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
A squinty-eyed half elf slouches here, watching pedestrians go by.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the west.
The human soldier has arrived from the west.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the west, dragging the long-armed man behind.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks east.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk east.
Arena Road [NEW]
Arena Road runs along the north of the Arena, home of Allanak's bloody
Games. Even from this distance, the screams of gladiators practicing inside
echo over the polished bone spikes that jut above the stone walls. The
Arena itself has a smooth, polished stone wall, engraved with a variety of
inscriptions, most of them depicting scenes from famous battles and
gladiatorial combats. On the north side of the road sits a row of subdued
looking mud brick buildings, some occupied by merchants during the Games,
and others used to store supplies or house slaves.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the west.
The human soldier has arrived from the west.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the west, dragging the long-armed man behind.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks east.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk east.
Arena Road [ESW]
Arena Road runs along the north of the Arena, home of Allanak's bloody
Games. Even from this distance, the screams of gladiators practicing inside
echo over the polished bone spikes that jut above the stone walls. The
Arena itself has a smooth, polished stone wall, engraved with a variety of
inscriptions, most of them depicting scenes from famous battles and
gladiatorial combats. On the north side of the road sits a row of subdued
looking mud brick buildings, some occupied by merchants during the Games,
and others used to store supplies or house slaves.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the west.
The human soldier has arrived from the west.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the west, dragging the long-armed man behind.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks south.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk south.
The Arena Gate [NESWU]
The gate to the arena stands here, open for either a Game or a
gladitorial practice. Sturdy bars stand in front of the gritty sand of the
arena floor, restraining spectators tempted to take a more active part in
the Games. The arena itself sprawls out, its surface covered with blood-
spattered sand. Stairs leading up to the stands of the arena lie to the
east and west, exits to the training cells and cages beyond them.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the north.
The human soldier has arrived from the north.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the north, dragging the long-armed man behind.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks west.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk west.
Entrance to the Stands [ESU]
A stone stairway leads up to the stands, its withered, smooth surface
having known the tread of thousands of feet. Above your head you hear
the jeers and shouts of the spectators, inciting the combatants on the
Arena floor.
A door is on the south wall, and another leads east to the
Arena entrance.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the east.
The human soldier has arrived from the east.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the east, dragging the long-armed man behind.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks south.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk south.
A Torch-lit Hallway [NS]
Lit by flickering torches of styrax wood, this hallway is unfurnished.
The sounds of the stands roofing it, the cries of the arena crowds and the
constant noise of moving feet overhead, echo along its length, the
reverbations amplified by the worn stone flooring underfoot.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the north.
The human soldier has arrived from the north.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the north, dragging the long-armed man behind.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar opens the door.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks south.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk south.
Entrance to the Arena Floor [NESW]
You stand at the entrance to the Arena floor, before a large
metal door through which monsters for the Games are lead through,
in order to meet death at the end of a gladiator's sword. Two doors,
set into the stone wall which holds up the Arena's underside, are
south and west of you, and a tunnel-like hallway leads north toward the
entrance to the Arena stands.
A tarnished brass chain hangs down from the ceiling.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
The flame-color haired templar stands here overlooking the arena beasts.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the north.
The human soldier has arrived from the north.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the north, dragging the long-armed man behind.
You think:
"Other fella's going to probably be a strong killer."
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar pulls on a tarnished brass chain, causing a loud bell to ring up above.
A loud bell chimes, echoing across the city.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar pulls on a tarnished brass chain, causing a loud bell to ring up above.
A loud bell chimes, echoing across the city.
You sit down and rest your tired bones.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the rugged, runic-tattooed man with the Way.
The long-armed man groans as he hears the shrill of a bell.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the rugged, runic-tattooed man:
"I need a witness. Get ta the arena as soon as ya can."
The flame-color haired templar exclaims, in sirihish:
"At once!"
The flame-color haired templar orders that the gith gladiator to be released into the arena.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the rugged, runic-tattooed man:
"I'm ta fight a man who accuses the byn of givin him money to kill soldiers"
You dissolve the psychic link.
You stop resting, and stand up.
The flame-color haired templar exclaims, in sirihish:
"At once!"
The flame-color haired templar orders that a mullish gladiator to be released into the arena.
On The Beast's Chraden: the gith gladiator parries a mullish gladiator's attack.
On The Beast's Chraden: the gith gladiator lightly slashes a mullish gladiator's body.
On The Beast's Chraden: a mullish gladiator swiftly dodges the gith gladiator's slashes.
On The Beast's Chraden: a mullish gladiator nimbly avoids the gith gladiator's circle kick.
On The Beast's Chraden: the gith gladiator slashes a mullish gladiator, barely grazing his body.
On The Beast's Chraden: a mullish gladiator nimbly avoids the gith gladiator's circle kick.
On The Beast's Chraden: a mullish gladiator swiftly dodges the gith gladiator's slashes.
On The Beast's Chraden: a mullish gladiator avoids being bashed by the gith gladiator, who loses his balance and falls.
On The Beast's Chraden: a mullish gladiator swiftly dodges the gith gladiator's slashes.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says, in sirihish:
"I like to give them a little something to watch... before the main event"
On The Beast's Chraden: a mullish gladiator swiftly dodges the gith gladiator's slashes.
On The Beast's Chraden: a mullish gladiator swiftly dodges the gith gladiator's slashes.
On The Beast's Chraden: a mullish gladiator swiftly dodges the gith gladiator's slashes.
The white-haired blue skinned woman nods, chuckling.
On The Beast's Chraden: a mullish gladiator swiftly dodges the gith gladiator's slashes.
On The Beast's Chraden: a mullish gladiator bludgeons the gith gladiator's neck, doing horrendous damage.
On The Beast's Chraden: a mullish gladiator swiftly dodges the gith gladiator's slashes.
The long-armed man coughs.
On The Beast's Chraden: a mullish gladiator bludgeons the gith gladiator on his leg, wounding him.
On The Beast's Chraden: a mullish gladiator swiftly dodges the gith gladiator's slashes.
On The Beast's Chraden: a mullish gladiator swiftly dodges the gith gladiator's slashes.
On The Beast's Chraden: a mullish gladiator parries the gith gladiator's attack.
On The Beast's Chraden: a mullish gladiator bludgeons the gith gladiator on his foot, wounding him.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to the long-armed man, in sirihish:
"Don't worry... your wounds will be tended"
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar pulls on a tarnished brass chain, causing a loud bell to ring up above.
A loud bell chimes, echoing across the city.
On The Beast's Chraden: a mullish gladiator bludgeons the gith gladiator on his leg, wounding him.
On The Beast's Chraden: a mullish gladiator tries to kick the gith gladiator in the chest, but he steps aside.
On The Beast's Chraden: the gith gladiator parries a mullish gladiator's attack.
On The Beast's Chraden: a mullish gladiator knocks the gith gladiator senseless with a brutal circle kick.
On The Beast's Chraden: a bone longsword clatters to the ground as the gith gladiator releases it.
On The Beast's Chraden: the gith gladiator crumples to the ground.
On The Beast's Chraden: a mullish gladiator bludgeons the gith gladiator's head, doing horrendous damage.
On The Beast's Chraden:
The bald, pallid-skinned templar has arrived from the north.
The thick-bearded, half-giant soldier has arrived from the north.
The human soldier has arrived from the north.
You ask the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Lord Templar, ya don't give the kankdroppins that fella said any belief, do ya?"
On The Beast's Chraden: a mullish gladiator walks west.
On The Western Arena Floor: a mullish gladiator has arrived from the east.
Someone sends:
"he's LD"
The bald, pallid-skinned templar glances about slowly, his hands clasped before him.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar exclaims to the bald, pallid-skinned templar, in sirihish:
"Ahhh... Lord Kriztok!"
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to the bald, pallid-skinned templar, in sirihish:
"Just setting up a bit of an honor duel."
The white-haired blue skinned woman bows deeply to the bald, pallid-skinned templar.
Inclining his head as he glances to the arena floor momentarily, the bald, pallid-skinned templar asks the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Indeed? what are the stakes?"
The bald, pallid-skinned templar looks at you.
l pallid before lowering her eyes
A set of dark brown eyes peer out from sunken sockets upon this human's face. His height and weight average for a person of his race, this man's most distinctive feature is his pale white skin, almost appearing as though it lacks pigmentation of any kind. His bald head, lacking growth of any type while hair still does remain upon other parts of his body. Growing from his chin, a stiletto beard, which is long, narrow, black in color, and pointed at the end. His nose is short and pudgy and while it does not extend lengthwise very far, it still remains quite wide and pronounced. The man's limbs show what the rest of his body has already demonstrated. This man is neither overly obese, nor muscular. Instead his build nestles nicely between the two, hiding all definition of muscle while at the same time not hanging loose about him. The bald, pallid-skinned templar is in excellent condition.
The bald, pallid-skinned templar is using:
<worn on head> a blue silk hood
<worn around neck> a medallion of Tektolnes
<worn across back> a gwoshi-hide knapsack
<worn on right finger> an obsidian templar ring
<worn on left finger> a Kadian signet ring
<worn around body> a blue, hooded templar's robe
<worn on legs> a pair of blue silk pants
<worn on feet> a pair of black leather boots
The bald, pallid-skinned templar looks at the long-armed man.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to the bald, pallid-skinned templar, in sirihish:
"Seems this man here claims the Byn, specifically Shanli... paid him to attempt to murder a soldier."
The bald, pallid-skinned templar glances between you and the long-armed man with an extended gaze.
The long-armed man raises his weary eyes to gaze upon the bald, pallid-skinned templar.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to the bald, pallid-skinned templar, in sirihish:
"Shanli wishes to beat him to death, until he speaks the truth..."
With a nod as he regards the long-armed man, the bald, pallid-skinned templar says to the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Excellent, I always enjoy a good fight"
The white-haired blue skinned woman nods, giving the long-armed man a hard stare.
The long-armed man trembles as he hears the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar say a few words.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says, in sirihish:
"Now... lets tend to those lashes."
Nodding to the long-armed man, the bald, pallid-skinned templar asks the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Are you going to give him a weapon?"
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to the long-armed man, in sirihish:
"He can pick from the Gith dead."
The long-armed man coughs.
With a nod, looking to the gate, the bald, pallid-skinned templar says, in sirihish:
"Pity, I was hoping to see them fight it out bare handed."
On The Western Arena Floor: a mullish gladiator walks north.
The First Chraden: a mullish gladiator has arrived from the south.
You think:
"Hope to Tek not."
Pausing, the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to you, in sirihish:
"Up to you..."
The bald, pallid-skinned templar says to the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"It's always pleasant to see someone killed by the raw might of the hand"
Indicating your jagged chitin scimitar, you ask the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"I be a swordsman, Lords Templar. I prefer these, if I may?"
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar nods.
The long-armed man glances at a jagged chitin scimitar and trembles with fear.
The bald, pallid-skinned templar asks the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in an unfamiliar tongue:
"Ii sis'g pu rygh uo i jepsi fkyh koy, qu uuy feryuiu lpa Bon if huslojs qvy ioouiehy wcooz?"
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar calls out for the gates of the arena to be opened.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar opens the gate.
On The Western Arena Floor: the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar opens the gate from the other side.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to the bald, pallid-skinned templar, in sirihish:
"We shall see..."
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to the bald, pallid-skinned templar, in sirihish:
"and since the only reason he picked her was because I gave him the information.... I have no reason to believe him"
The bald, pallid-skinned templar nods his head once, glancing between you and the long-armed man.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks east.
On The Western Arena Floor: the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar has arrived from the west.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk east.
The Arena Floor [NESW]
You are on the west side of the Arena, between the First and Third
Chradens. The screams and cheers emanating from the stands above you
further add to the deadly and decadent mood. The Arena floor is made up of
sand and rocks, as if built directly over the desert that once lay here,
and chitin spikes poke through the ground in various places, threatening
those who are more wary of their opponent than themselves.
The Arena continues to the east, and a giant iron gate lies to your
west, firmly shut, trapping you inside for the spectators' amusement.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the west.
The human soldier has arrived from the west.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the west, dragging the long-armed man behind.
A mullish gladiator has arrived from the north.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks west.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk west.
Entrance to the Arena Floor [NESW]
You stand at the entrance to the Arena floor, before a large
metal door through which monsters for the Games are lead through,
in order to meet death at the end of a gladiator's sword. Two doors,
set into the stone wall which holds up the Arena's underside, are
south and west of you, and a tunnel-like hallway leads north toward the
entrance to the Arena stands.
A tarnished brass chain hangs down from the ceiling.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
A human soldier of Tektolnes stands here vigilantly.
The bald, pallid-skinned templar is standing here.
The thick-bearded, half giant soldier stands here.
The flame-color haired templar stands here overlooking the arena beasts.
On The Western Arena Floor: the half-giant soldier walks west.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the east.
On The Western Arena Floor: the human soldier walks west.
The human soldier has arrived from the east.
On The Western Arena Floor: the half-giant soldier walks west, dragging the long-armed man behind her.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the east, dragging the long-armed man behind.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar calls out for the gates of the arena to be closed.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar closes the gate.
On The Western Arena Floor: the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar closes the gate from the other side.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar dusts the flame-color haired templar off.
Entrance to the Arena Floor [NESW]
You stand at the entrance to the Arena floor, before a large
metal door through which monsters for the Games are lead through,
in order to meet death at the end of a gladiator's sword. Two doors,
set into the stone wall which holds up the Arena's underside, are
south and west of you, and a tunnel-like hallway leads north toward the
entrance to the Arena stands.
A tarnished brass chain hangs down from the ceiling.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
The long-armed man stands here, held by the half-giant soldier.
A human soldier of Tektolnes stands here vigilantly.
A half-giant soldier of Tektolnes stands here impassively.
A human soldier of Tektolnes stands here vigilantly.
The bald, pallid-skinned templar is standing here.
The thick-bearded, half giant soldier stands here.
The flame-color haired templar stands here overlooking the arena beasts.
Handlers move through the arena, corralling the occupants back into the slaves and animal pens.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar calls out for the gates of the arena to be opened.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar opens the gate.
On The Western Arena Floor: the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar opens the gate from the other side.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks east.
On The Western Arena Floor: the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar has arrived from the west.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk east.
The Arena Floor [NESW]
You are on the west side of the Arena, between the First and Third
Chradens. The screams and cheers emanating from the stands above you
further add to the deadly and decadent mood. The Arena floor is made up of
sand and rocks, as if built directly over the desert that once lay here,
and chitin spikes poke through the ground in various places, threatening
those who are more wary of their opponent than themselves.
The Arena continues to the east, and a giant iron gate lies to your
west, firmly shut, trapping you inside for the spectators' amusement.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the west.
The human soldier has arrived from the west.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the west, dragging the long-armed man behind.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks east.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk east.
The Beast's Chraden [NESW]
You are at the Beast's Chraden, a large mound of dirt piled high in the
center of the arena. Set into the top of the mound is a reinforced
trapdoor, from which the beasts and gladiators that fight for the
entertainment of Allanak are herded out of. The ground around this chraden
is a mixture of tanned sand, and dark-red of dried blood; the tell-tale
sign of countless battles fought. The arsign of countless battles fought. The arena continues in all directions.
The body of the gith gladiator fills your nostrils with a morbid stench.
A bone longsword lies here.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the west.
The human soldier has arrived from the west.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the west, dragging the long-armed man behind.
The bald, pallid-skinned templar has arrived from the west.
The thick-bearded, half-giant soldier has arrived from the west.
The human soldier has arrived from the west.
The white-haired blue skinned woman grins down at the dead gith.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar shouts, in sirihish:
"People of Allanak! Today we have a duel! Between one that would Slander the Byn's good name!"
The bald, pallid-skinned templar reaches up, stroking his beard as he looks to the crowd.
A loud bell chimes, echoing across the city.
A loud bell chimes, echoing across the city.
A loud bell chimes, echoing across the city.
The white-haired blue skinned woman looks over the stands calmly.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar shouts, in sirihish:
"The champion for the Byn... Trooper Shanli!"
You think:
"I wish there were Byn up there, present. I just...if I die, I want them ta see it."
The bald, pallid-skinned templar glances towards the body of the gith gladiator for a long moment as he strokes his long, slender beard.
You think:
"An if I live..I want someone ta back up me braggin."
The long-armed man chokes on his saliva as he hears the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar.
The white-haired blue skinned woman smiles.
Motiontioning to the long-armed man, the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar shouts, in sirihish:
"The man accused.. the criminal who claims the Byn hired him to assassinate soldiers.... Dirr...."
The bald, pallid-skinned templar looks at the long-armed man with a momentary gaze.
The long-armed man groans and shakes.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar picks up a bone longsword.
You think:
"Scared as a jozhal. Either he was stupid an manipulated, or he's real good an pretendin."
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to you, in sirihish:
"one weapon only.. keep it remotely fair."
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar gives a bone longsword to the long-armed man.
You say to the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"As ya wish, Lord Templar."
The long-armed man tries to hold on to his bone longsword.
The bald, pallid-skinned templar gathers in his blue, hooded templar's robe, striding westward along the floor.
The bald, pallid-skinned templar walks west.
The thick-bearded, half-giant soldier walks west.
The human soldier walks west.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar gives the half-giant soldier an order.
The half-giant soldier releases the long-armed man, who immediately moves away.
The long-armed man brandishes a bone longsword.
You draw a jagged chitin scimitar.
The long-armed man steps back in fear.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar looks down at the long-armed man.
The white-haired blue skinned woman salutes the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar with the your jagged chitin scimitar.
You shout in sirihish:
"For the Highlord an the T'zai Byn!"
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar shouts, in sirihish:
"In the name of the Highlord! May he with truth... force the other to yeild... or take thier life!"
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar shouts, in sirihish:
"All Hail the highlord!"
The white-haired blue skinned woman turns, watching the long-armed man.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar stops leading the white-haired blue skinned woman.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks west.
The half-giant soldier walks west.
The human soldier walks west.
The half-giant soldier walks west.
The long-armed man mumbles something.
You ask the long-armed man, in sirihish:
"Ya gonna tell the truth?"
The long-armed man says to you, in sirihish:
"I did ... tell it."
The white-haired blue skinned woman crouches, left side towards the long-armed man.
You say to the long-armed man, in sirihish:
"No. I never saw ya before. Nor paid ya money. Ya are a liar."
The long-armed man says to you, in sirihish:
"Ahh ... yer memory is weak."
The white-haired blue skinned woman grins.
The long-armed man says, in sirihish:
"Everything will be found .... sooner or later."
You say to the long-armed man, in sirihish:
"Come an get some, fool."
The long-armed man says, in sirihish:
"if you say so ..."
The long-armed man makes a desperate lunge at you.
You deftly parry the long-armed man's attack.
You deftly parry the long-armed man's attack.
The long-armed man slashes at you, but you dodge out of the way.
The long-armed man swings his bone longsword horizontaly slashing at you.
You deftly parry the long-armed man's attack.
The long-armed man swiftly dodges your slash.
You slash the long-armed man's arm.
The long-armed man raies his bone longsword in an overhead chop bringing it to you.
You nick the long-armed man's leg with your slash.
The white-haired blue skinned woman parries, reversing to catch the long-armed man's arm.
You deftly parry the long-armed man's attack.
You slash the long-armed man's body.
You wound the long-armed man on his head with a brutal slash.
The long-armed man swiftly dodges your slash.
The long-armed man jabs desperatly at you.
You lightly slash the long-armed man's leg.
From the stands over head the stocky, mottled man shouts, " Kick his ass! Murderize him!".
The long-armed man slashes at you, but you dodge out of the way.
You slash the long-armed man very hard on his body.
From the stands over head the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar shouts, " You have the chance to yeild the Truth!".
The long-armed man parries your attack.
The long-armed man swings back in despair.
You deftly parry the long-armed man's attack.
You say to the long-armed man, in sirihish:
"Tell the truth."
You deftly parry the long-armed man's attack.
assess long
The long-armed man is in terrible condition.
The long-armed man does not look tired.
You deftly parry the long-armed man's attack.
You land a solid slash to the long-armed man's body.
The long-armed man shouts, in sirihish:
"Alright I lied"
A loud voice booms from over head: "Shout now you lie, and you may have a chance".
The long-armed man parries your attack.
The long-armed man panics, and attempts to flee.
The long-armed man runs west.
From the stands over head the spidery, black-haired man shouts, " Kill him anyway!".
From the stands over head the stocky, mottled man shouts, " Woooo! Hit him again! Chop his head off!".
You shout in sirihish:
"He admits he lied!"
The Arena Floor [NESW]
You are on the west side of the Arena, between the First and Third
Chradens. The screams and cheers emanating from the stands above you
further add to the deadly and decadent mood. The Arena floor is made up of
sand and rocks, as if built directly over the desert that once lay here,
and chitin spikes poke through the ground in various places, threatening
those who are more wary of their opponent than themselves.
The Arena continues to the east, and a giant iron gate lies to your
west, firmly shut, trapping you insidwest, firmly shut, trapping you inside for the spectators' amusement.
The long-armed man is standing here, bleeding profusely.
The long-armed man sits down.
From the stands over head the stocky, mottled man shouts, " Kill him anyway!".
The long-armed man chokes with pain.
You say to the long-armed man, in sirihish:
"Tell em the truth"
From the stands over head the stocky, mottled man shouts, " Woooo!".
You shout in sirihish:
"What be the will of the Lord Templar?"
The long-armed man shouts, in sirihish:
"I lied .... the Byn had nothing to do with it"
From the stands over head the stocky, mottled man shouts, " Make him pay!".
The long-armed man drops his bone longsword.
The long-armed man stops using a bone longsword.
The long-armed man drops a bone longsword.
The long-armed man faints back and hits the ground.
The white-haired blue skinned woman looks around at the stands.
From the stands over head the stocky, mottled man shouts, " Make him a Byn slave!".
From the stands over head the stocky, mottled man shouts, " Then kill him!".
You sheathe a jagged chitin scimitar.
From the stands over head the stocky, mottled man shouts, " Make him bleed! I want blood!".
You shout in sirihish:
"Lord Templar, what be thy will?"
The long-armed man chokes on his own blood as it spills out of his mouth.
From the stands over head the stocky, mottled man shouts, " BLOOD BLOOD BLOOD!".
The long-armed man coughs, and blood flies in every direction.
You think:
"Now that's a fella needs a life."
From the stands over head the spidery, black-haired man shouts, " (glancing back at the templars) I'll give you five hundred coins to stick your sword into him again. That fight was pathetic!".
The white-haired blue skinned woman shrugs.
You ask the long-armed man, in sirihish:
"Why did ya accuse the Byn? An me?"
From the stands over head the stocky, mottled man shouts, " Stop talking!".
From the stands over head the stocky, mottled man shouts, " Make them fight!".
The long-armed man opens his mouthm trying to mumble out words.
assess long
The long-armed man looks near death.
The long-armed man does not look tired.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar opens the gate from the other side.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar has arrived from the west.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the west.
The human soldier has arrived from the west.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the west.
From the stands over head the stocky, mottled man shouts, " Wooo!".
Coughing, the long-armed man says, in sirihish:
"a ... lie .... to sa ... ve me..h se."
You say, in sirihish:
"I'll kill him if it is ya wish, Lord Templar"
From the stands over head the stocky, mottled man shouts, " YEAH! Execute him! Let's see some blood!".
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to you, in sirihish:
"His life is yours... for the insult."
The long-armed man faints back and his eyes roll closed as streaks of blood flow down his head.
You hit the long-armed man, barely grazing his body.
The long-armed man swiftly dodges your hit.
The long-armed man hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
The long-armed man hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
The long-armed man hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
The long-armed man viciously leaps toward you, but a sweat-stained, new pair of one-striped studded sleeves gets in the way.
The long-armed man deftly avoids your slow kick.
You viciously leap toward the long-armed man, but a bloodied, sweat-stained, simple sandcloth shirt gets in the way.
You hit the long-armed man, barely grazing his body.
The long-armed man hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
The long-armed man hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
The long-armed man gives out a last sighs as hee sees a blade coming.
You hit the long-armed man, barely grazing his body.
The long-armed man swiftly dodges your hit.
The long-armed man hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
The long-armed man hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
You nick the long-armed man's neck with your hit.
The long-armed man swiftly dodges your hit.
The long-armed man's attack on you is absorbed by a sweat-stained, new crimson jakhal-hide jacket.
The long-armed man hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
The long-armed man lunges at you, but his blow is deftly deflected by a sweat-stained, new pair of one-striped studded sleeves.
The long-armed man hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
From the stands over head the stocky, mottled man shouts, " Knock his block off!".
The long-armed man hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
The long-armed man hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
You hit the long-armed man, barely grazing his arm.
You hit the long-armed man, barely grazing his arm.
The long-armed man hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
The long-armed man hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
The long-armed man swiftly dodges your hit.
The long-armed man swiftly dodges your hit.
The long-armed man hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
The long-armed man hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
Your attack on the long-armed man is absorbed by a pair of light-brown pants.
You hit the long-armed man, barely grazing his leg.
The long-armed man crumples to the ground.
From the stands over head the stocky, mottled man shouts, " YEAH!!!! Woooo!".
You draw a jagged chitin scimitar.
You inflict a grievous wound on the long-armed man's neck with your slash.
From the stands over head the stocky, mottled man shouts, " WOO!!!!! Yeah!".
You behead the body of the long-armed man.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar's lips peel back to a thin smile.
You sheathe a jagged chitin scimitar.
You pick up the head of the long-armed man.
It is very light, and empty.
The bald, pallid-skinned templar has arrived from the west.
The thick-bearded, half-giant soldier has arrived from the west.
The human soldier has arrived from the west.
The white-haired blue skinned woman bows, offering the head to the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar.
As he comes to a stop, the bald, pallid-skinned templar asks the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in an unfamiliar tongue:
"Yoa jyqi gei goe hyosj kirn fih Lajs Suhip?"
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to the bald, pallid-skinned templar, in sirihish:
"His life was hers.... for the insult alone.. it was thier duel."
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to the bald, pallid-skinned templar, in sirihish:
"Had she let him live... I would have killed him."
With a nod, the bald, pallid-skinned templar says to the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in an unfamiliar tongue:
"Speca ad deieui heiy juoh yyio zeqotuiq."
From the stands over head the stocky, mottled man shouts, " Yeah!!! That was great!".
Softly, you say, in sirihish:
"He did attack a soldier, after all, Lords Templar. THat's jus' wrong."
From the stands over head the stocky, mottled man shouts, " More more more!".
The bald, pallid-skinned templar says to the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in an unfamiliar tongue:
"A fyrzui gyhifoen ry ooag qajisiu sioiw ki ur eiqam I kyreuha, ojo iui iaat iuki 500 pousg sivafw ro oah."
You think:
"Bet that fella wouldn't think it was so great from in here."
The bald, pallid-skinned templar shrugs lightly, gasting a momentary glance to you.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to the bald, pallid-skinned templar, in sirihish:
"You are so right."
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to you, in sirihish:
"Come, present the head to the noble that wished you to finish the fight."
You think:
"Don't like this. Why isn't it over?"
The petite pale-skinned woman has arrived from the west.
The white-haired blue skinned woman bows to the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar.
Feathery brown hair frames the petite woman's face, falling in a tumble
over her shoulders. Eyes the hue of rich, fertile soil gaze studiously over
a narrow nose and full rosy lips. A short slender scar runs down the side
of her chin, marring her otherwise flawless cream-toned skin. Though small
in stature, she bears well-muscled yet curvaceous lines.
The petite pale-skinned woman is in excellent condition.
The petite pale-skinned woman is using:
<worn around neck> a blue ceramic charm
<worn about throat> an elegant opal brooch
<worn across back> a leather-strapped, rich purple satchel
<worn on arms> a new pair of azure-sigilled black armbands
<worn around wrist> a purple-spiralled bone bracelet
<worn around body> a black and azure hooded cloak
<worn on legs> a deep blue, split silk skirt
<worn on right ankle> a polished, opal-inset charm
<worn on feet> a new pair of knee-high black boots with azure sigils
The petite pale-skinned woman curtsies to the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar and the bald, pallid-skinned templar before approaching you.
You now follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar.
The white-haired blue skinned woman nods respectfully to the petite pale-skinned woman.
Holding a small purse out, the petite pale-skinned woman says to you, in sirihish:
"This is from Lord Hardestadt Oash."
The petite pale-skinned woman gives you 500 coins.
You ask the petite pale-skinned woman, in sirihish:
"Tell him he has me thanks, an I'll drink ta his health, Miss. Does Lord Oash wish the head?"
Tilting his head, the bald, pallid-skinned templar asks the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in an unfamiliar tongue:
"Daj Losf Oihq hurjudotohzo go ujuiqhh yook gegrew?"
The white-haired blue skinned woman slips the pouch into her belt.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar shakes his head to the bald, pallid-skinned templar.
You put a pile of allanaki coins inside a leather swordbelt.
Thoughtfully, the petite pale-skinned woman says to you, in sirihish:
"I can ask him, and let you know. I'm Nari, Aid to House Oash. I didn't get your name.."
The bald, pallid-skinned templar says to the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in an unfamiliar tongue:
"Fui ap iaamju zoet iah syax enasoquhp xig ao axykuia joagigh."
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar nods.
You say to the petite pale-skinned woman, in sirihish:
"I be Shanli, trooper of the Byn."
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says, in sirihish:
"When you are ready to leave the Arena Floor Nari."
Smiling and inclining her head, the petite pale-skinned woman says to you, in sirihish:
"Well met then, Trooper Shanli."
Looking between the petite pale-skinned woman and you, the bald, pallid-skinned templar says, in sirihish:
"This isn't a social club."
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks west.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk west.
Entrance to the Arena Floor [NESW]
You stand at the entrance to the Arena floor, before a large
metal door through which monsters for the Games are lead through,
in order to meet death at the end of a gladiator's sword. Two doors,
set into the stone wall which holds up the Arena's underside, are
south and west of you, and a tunnel-like hallway leads north toward the
entrance to the Arena stands.
A tarnished brass chain hangs down from the ceiling.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
The flame-color haired templar stands here overlooking the arena beasts.
On The Western Arena Floor: the half-giant soldier walks west.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the east.
On The Western Arena Floor: the human soldier walks west.
The human soldier has arrived from the east.
On The Western Arena Floor: the half-giant soldier walks west.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the east.
On The Western Arena Floor: the bald, pallid-skinned templar walks west.
The bald, pallid-skinned templar has arrived from the east.
On The Western Arena Floor: the thick-bearded, half-giant soldier walks west.
The thick-bearded, half-giant soldier has arrived from the east.
On The Western Arena Floor: the human soldier walks west.
The human soldier has arrived from the east.
On The Western Arena Floor: the petite pale-skinned woman walks west.
The petite pale-skinned woman has arrived from the east.
The white-haired blue skinned woman chuckles softly.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar calls out for the gates of the arena to be closed.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar closes the gate.
On The Western Arena Floor: the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar closes the gate from the other side.
The petite pale-skinned woman walks north.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to the bald, pallid-skinned templar, in sirihish:
"Give them something that is entertaining."
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to the bald, pallid-skinned templar, in sirihish:
"You've such a better feel for it than I do."
With a nod, the bald, pallid-skinned templar says to the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Indeed, I'll go grab an elf from the quarter"
The bald, pallid-skinned templar says to the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"I don't want to pay to release the beasts again."
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says, in sirihish:
"Another seems willing to attack the soldiers"
The bald, pallid-skinned templar says to the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"You see, always another"
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks north.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk north.
A Torch-lit Hallway [NS]
Lit by flickering torches of styrax wood, this hallway is unfurnished.
The sounds of the stands roofing it, the cries of the arena crowds and the
constant noise of moving feet overhead, echo along its length, the
reverbations amplified by the worn stone flooring underfoot.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south.
The human soldier has arrived from the south.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks north.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk north.
Entrance to the Stands [ESU]
A stone stairway leads up to the stands, its withered, smooth surface
having known the tread of thousands of feet. Above your head you hear
the jeers and shouts of the spectators, inciting the combatants on the
Arena floor.
A door is on the south wall, and another leads east to the
Arena entrance.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south.
The human soldier has arrived from the south.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks east.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk east.
The Arena Gate [NESWU]
The gate to the arena stands here, open for either a Game or a
gladitorial practice. Sturdy bars stand in front of the gritty sand of the
arena floor, restraining spectators tempted to take a more active part in
the Games. The arena itself sprawls out, its surface covered with blood-
spattered sand. Stairs leading up to the stands of the arena lie to the
east and west, exits to the training cells and cages beyond them.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
The petite pale-skinned woman is standing here.
A veteran mercenary is standing here at attention.
The spidery, black-haired man is standing here.
A veteran mercenary is standing here at attention.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the west.
The human soldier has arrived from the west.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the west.
The bald, pallid-skinned templar has arrived from the west.
The thick-bearded, half-giant soldier has arrived from the west.
The human soldier has arrived from the west.
The white-haired blue skinned woman smiles at the petite pale-skinned woman.
Nodding, the petite pale-skinned woman asks the spidery, black-haired man, in sirihish:
"Saw someone, didn't get a look at him though. The big one, kind of thick around the middle, wearing the sandcloth cloak?"
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar inclines his head.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks north.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk north.
Arena Road [ESW]
Arena Road runs along the north of the Arena, home of Allanak's bloody
Games. Even from this distance, the screams of gladiators practicing inside
echo over the polished bone spikes that jut above the stone walls. The
Arena itself has a smooth, polished stone wall, engraved with a variety of
inscriptions, most of them depicting scenes from famous battles and
gladiatorial combats. On the north side of the road sits a row of subdued
looking mud brick buildings, some occupied by merchants during the Games,
and others used to store supplies or house slaves.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south.
The human soldier has arrived from the south.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks west.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk west.
Arena Road [NEW]
Arena Road runs along the north of the Arena, home of Allanak's bloody
Games. Even from this distance, the screams of gladiators practicing inside
echo over the polished bone spikes that jut above the stone walls. The
Arena itself has a smooth, polished stone wall, engraved with a variety of
inscriptions, most of them depicting scenes from famous battles and
gladiatorial combats. On the north side of the road sits a row of subdued
looking mud brick buildings, some occupied by merchants during the Games,
and others used to store supplies or house slaves.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the east.
The human soldier has arrived from the east.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the east.
The stocky, mottled man has arrived from the west.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks west.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk west.
Arena Road [NEW]
Arena Road runs along the north of the Arena, home of Allanak's bloody
Games. Even from this distance, the screams of gladiators practicing inside
echo over the polished bone spikes that jut above the stone walls. The
Arena itself has a smooth, polished stone wall, engraved with a variety of
inscriptions, most of them depicting scenes from famous battles and
gladiatorial combats. On the north side of the road sits a row of subdued
looking mud brick buildings, some occupied by merchants during the Games,
and others used to store supplies or house slaves.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
A squinty-eyed half elf slouches here, watching pedestrians go by.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the east.
The human soldier has arrived from the east.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the east.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk west.
Arena Road [EW]
Arena Road runs along the north of the Arena, home of Allanak's bloody
Games. Even from this distance, the screams of gladiators practicing inside
echo over the polished bone spikes that jut above the stone walls. The
Arena itself has a smooth, polished stone wall, engraved with a variety of
inscriptions, most of them depicting scenes from famous battles and
gladiatorial combats. On the north side ofgladiatorial combats. On the north side of the road sits a row of subdued
looking mud brick buildings, some occupied by merchants during the Games,
and others used to store supplies or house slaves.
The road extends to the east, along the north wall of the Arena,
leading towards the vast entrance. To the west lies Templars' Way,
which leads south towards the Templars' Quarter.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the east.
The human soldier has arrived from the east.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the east.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks west.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk west.
Arena Road [EW]
Arena Road runs along the north of the Arena, home of Allanak's bloody
Games. Even from this distance, the screams of gladiators practicing inside
echo over the polished bone spikes that jut above the stone walls. The
Arena itself has a smooth, polished stone wall, engraved with a variety of
inscriptions, most of them depicting scenes from famous battles and
gladiatorial combats. On the north side ofgladiatorial combats. On the north side of the road sits a row of subdued
looking mud brick buildings, some occupied by merchants during the Games,
and others used to store supplies or house slaves.
The road extends to the east, along the north wall of the Arena,
leading towards the vast entrance. To the west lies Templars' Way,
which leads south towards the Templars' Quarter.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the east.
The human soldier has arrived from the east.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the east.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks west.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk west.
Templars' Way [NES]
Templars' Way stretches north and south through the very heart of the
crowded city. The road is made of large, black-colored stones that are
covered with dust, dung, and other unsavory materials. It passes under the
Arena's morbid shadow, a gigantic structure standing to the east. Bustling
with activity, the Commoners' Quarter lies to the west. Crowds pass along
the street, hurrying on errands and avoiding the keen-eyed glances of the
templars and soldiers who use this way.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
A dark-haired elf staggers along, carrying a load of hides.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the east.
The human soldier has arrived from the east.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the east.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks south.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk south.
Templars' Way [NS]
Templars' Way stretches north and south through the very heart of the
crowded city. The road is made of large, black-colored stones that are
covered with dust, dung, and other unsavory materials. It passes under the
Arena's morbid shadow, a gigantic structure standing to the east. Bustling
with activity, the Commoners' Quarter lies to the west. Crowds pass along
the street, hurrying on errands and avoiding the keen-eyed glances of the
templars and soldiers who use this way.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
A human soldier of Tektolnes walks along here.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the north.
The human soldier has arrived from the north.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the north.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to you, in sirihish:
"YOu are dismissed... you did a fine show, Shanli..."
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to you, in sirihish:
"Pity you consider yourself so unpolished"
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar stops leading the white-haired blue skinned woman.
You say to the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"I thank ya, for ya faith in me, Lord Templar."
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks south.
The half-giant soldier walks south.
The human soldier walks south.
The half-giant soldier walks south.
The white-haired blue skinned woman smiles to herself as she turns.
The Gateway to the T'zai Byn [ESW]
Massive gray stone arches mark the entrance to the T'zai Byn, also known
as the Allanaki Mercenaries' Guild. A large black banner bearing a purple
dragon hangs proudly across the thick stone wall to the north, while arches
open to the east, south, and west. A heavy wooden gate is set beneath the
eastern arch, while a small courtyard is visible through the western arch.
Warriors' Way lies to the south.
The hustle and bustle of the road to the south can be heard, and a large
amount of traffic passes in that direction. Most of the people here form a
line before the gate to the east.
The obsidian-skinned dwarf is here, holding his swords at the ready.
The solid, sun-darkened half-giant is here, looming over the crowd.
The rugged, war-braided man keeps watch over the courtyard here.
The rugged, gray-haired woman stands beside the massive gate here.
The scar-faced green elf scratches his belly as he keeps watch here.
The hulking, dark gray half-giant stands here, looking around slowly.
The obsidian-skinned dwarf watches as you approach the gate.
Ok.
The rugged, gray-haired woman and you salute each other.
A Stony Path [EW]
Small, sharp gray gravel covers the ground here, forming a path leading
east and west. To the north, a massive gray stone wall rises up perhaps
fourteen cords into the air. To the south, a massive, utilitarian-looking
stone building reaches up into the sky, with arrow slits set at regular
intervals along its length.
Warriors of all kinds walk along here, either striding along to the east
or queuing up to be let out through the gateway to the west.
The rugged, brown-haired woman stands here vigilantly, beside the gate.
The muscular, sandy-brown dwarf is standing here.
The monstrous, battle-scarred mul keeps watch over the path here.
The thick-boned half-giant is here, standing to one side of the gate.
You think:
"Wish the Lieutenant was up, so's I could report."
A Stony Path [NESW]
Small, sharp gray gravel covers the ground here, forming a path leading
east and west. To the north, the path opens up into a large, dusty yard. To
the south, a large hallway marks the entrance to a massive, utilitarian-
looking stone building.
Warriors of all kinds walk along here, either striding along to the east
or queuing up to be let out through the gateway to the west.
The bald, one-eyed man leans against the side of the hall here.
The copper-skinned, claw-scarred elf is here, watching the path.
The muscular, violet eyed woman stands here vigilantly.
The fat-headed, spear-tattooed man chuckles as he talks here.
The robust gray dwarf is standing here, watching the sky.
The Drill Yard [NESW]
This large, dusty yard is set in the middle of several buildings, most
of them fairly tall. The sand underfoot is coarse and gritty, and is caked
with sweat or blood in more than a few places. Various pieces of equipment
are scattered around the area, including some humanoid-shaped practice
targets and wooden practice weapons of all kinds. Several groups of rough-
looking mercenaries are engaged in combat drills, overseen by sergeants
barking out crisp orders, and with a lieutenant or two supervising the
overall situation in this part of the yard.
To the east is a large stone hall filled with trestle tables, and to the
south, the yard meets up with a stony path. The yard continues to the north
and west.
The graceful, golden-haired elf is here, cutting the air with her weapons.
A Stony Path [NESW]
Small, sharp gray gravel covers the ground here, forming a path leading
east and west. To the north, the path opens up into a large, dusty yard. To
the south, a large hallway marks the entrance to a massive, utilitarian-
looking stone building.
Warriors of all kinds walk along here, either striding along to the east
or queuing up to be let out through the gateway to the west.
The bald, one-eyed man leans against the side of the hall here.
The copper-skinned, claw-scarred elf is here, watching the path.
The muscular, violet eyed woman stands here vigilantly.
The fat-headed, spear-tattooed man chuckles as he talks here.
The robust gray dwarf is standing here, watching the sky.
A Large Hallway [NW]
This broad hallway opens up to a stony path to the north, and the rest
of the building to the west. The plain gray flagstones here are heavily
scuffed, with evidence of much repair work to level the stones and fill in
chips and cracks. The traffic is heavy here, with many people seeking both
entry to and exit from the building. Most are dressed in armor, but many
are instead dressed in civilian clothing. Very few would appear to be at
all wealthy.
The grizzled old man scratches at himself idly as he stands here.
The flame-haired elven woman is here, her gaze darting around alertly.
The lithe, obsidian-braided man keeps watch over the hallway here.
The silver-skinned dwarven woman stands here, looking around slowly.
The Main Barracks [EU]
This massive, two-story hall seems to have undergone heavy rebuilding
at some time in the past. Most of the vast room is open air, with the first
story above ground level being nothing more than a balcony of sorts,
several cords wide and running along the walls of the building. Both upper
and lower floors are devoid of furniture, with several hundred grimy
pallets arranged in semi-orderly rows along the walls. Solid stone stairs
lead to the upper level from the western end of the hall. Suspended from
the ceiling, more than twenty-five cords above, is a large black banner
bearing a purple dragon.
The hall appears mostly empty except for a few mercenaries here and
there, mending armor, sharpening weapons, or just talking quietly.
A multi-ringed dartboard hangs on a wall here.
The tall, cleft-lipped man is here, sleeping on a pallet.
The brown-haired, blue-eyed man looks around slowly from his pallet here.
The thin, chestnut-haired woman stands here, watching the stairs.
The grey-maned, wooden-legged man sits here, sharpening a bone-toothed saw.
The dimpled, shaven-headed man looks over a wounded mercenary here.
The Main Barracks [ND]
This massive, two-story hall seems to have undergone heavy rebuilding
at some time in the past. Most of the vast room is open air, with the first
story above ground level being nothing more than a balcony of sorts,
several cords wide and running along the walls of the building. Both upper
and lower floors are devoid of furniture, with several hundred grimy
pallets arranged in semi-orderly rows along the walls. Solid stone stairs
lead to the upper level from the western end of the hall. Suspended from
the ceiling, more than fifteen cords above, is a large black banner bearing
a purple dragon.
The hall appears mostly empty except for a few mercenaries here and
there, mending armor, sharpening weapons, or just talking quietly.
A multi-ringed dartboard hangs on a wall here.
The rugged, runic-tattooed man is sitting on a pallet here, nursing a wound.
The grizzled, long-fingered mercenary sits on a pallet here, tattooing.
You ask the rugged, runic-tattooed man, in sirihish:
"Ya awake yet?"
You think:
"Love to set this head down on his chest, so's when he wakes..."
The white-haired blue skinned woman giggles.
You say to the rugged, runic-tattooed man, in sirihish:
"I got a story ta tell ya, when ya feel up to it, Pavel."
The Main Barracks [EU]
This massive, two-story hall seems to have undergone heavy rebuilding
at some time in the past. Most of the vast room is open air, with the first
story above ground level being nothing more than a balcony of sorts,
several cords wide and running along the walls of the building. Both upper
and lower floors are devoid of furniture, with several hundred grimy
pallets arranged in semi-orderly rows along the walls. Solid stone stairs
lead to the upper level from the western end of the hall. Suspended from
the ceiling, more than twenty-five cords above, is a large black banner
bearing a purple dragon.
The hall appears mostly empty except for a few mercenaries here and
there, mending armor, sharpening weapons, or just talking quietly.
A multi-ringed dartboard hangs on a wall here.
The tall, cleft-lipped man is here, sleeping on a pallet.
The brown-haired, blue-eyed man looks around slowly from his pallet here.
The thin, chestnut-haired woman stands here, watching the stairs.
The grey-maned, wooden-legged man sits here, sharpening a bone-toothed saw.
The dimpled, shaven-headed man looks over a wounded mercenary here.
A Large Hallway [NW]
This broad hallway opens up to a stony path to the north, and the rest
of the building to the west. The plain gray flagstones here are heavily
scuffed, with evidence of much repair work to level the stones and fill in
chips and cracks. The traffic is heavy here, with many people seeking both
entry to and exit from the building. Most are dressed in armor, but many
are instead dressed in civilian clothing. Very few would appear to be at
all wealthy.
The grizzled old man scratches at himself idly as he stands here.
The flame-haired elven woman is here, her gaze darting around alertly.
The lithe, obsidian-braided man keeps watch over the hallway here.
The silver-skinned dwarven woman stands here, looking around slowly.
A Stony Path [NESW]
Small, sharp gray gravel covers the ground here, forming a path leading
east and west. To the north, the path opens up into a large, dusty yard. To
the south, a large hallway marks the entrance to a massive, utilitarian-
looking stone building.
Warriors of all kinds walk along here, either striding along to the east
or queuing up to be let out through the gateway to the west.
The bald, one-eyed man leans against the side of the hall here.
The copper-skinned, claw-scarred elf is here, watching the path.
The muscular, violet eyed woman stands here vigilantly.
The fat-headed, spear-tattooed man chuckles as he talks here.
The robust gray dwarf is standing here, watching the sky.
The Drill Yard [NESW]
This large, dusty yard is set in the middle of several buildings, most
of them fairly tall. The sand underfoot is coarse and gritty, and is caked
with sweat or blood in more than a few places. Various pieces of equipment
are scattered around the area, including some humanoid-shaped practice
targets and wooden practice weapons of all kinds. Several groups of rough-
looking mercenaries are engaged in combat drills, overseen by sergeants
barking out crisp orders, and with a lieutenant or two supervising the
overall situation in this part of the yard.
To the east is a large stone hall filled with trestle tables, and to the
south, the yard meets up with a stony path. The yard continues to the north
and west.
The graceful, golden-haired elf is here, cutting the air with her weapons.
The Drill Yard [NE]
This large, dusty yard is set in the middle of several buildings, most
of them fairly tall. The sand underfoot is coarse and gritty, and is caked
with sweat or blood in more than a few places. Various pieces of equipment
are scattered around the area, including some humanoid-shaped practice
targets and wooden practice weapons of all kinds. Several groups of rough-
looking mercenaries are engaged in combat drills, overseen by sergeants
barking out crisp orders, and with a lieutenant or two supervising the
overall situation in this part of the yard.
To the south, a thick stone wall rises many cords into the air, blocking
your view in that direction, and to the west, part of a rectangular hall
forms the border of this area. The yard continues to the north and east.
The battle-scarred, sun-bronzed man is standing here.
The muscular, gray-hued mul stands here, keeping watch over the yard.
The Drill Yard [NES]
This large, dusty yard is set in the middle of several buildings, most
of them fairly tall. The sand underfoot is coarse and gritty, and is caked
with sweat or blood in more than a few places. Various pieces of equipment
are scattered around the area, including some humanoid-shaped practice
targets and wooden practice weapons of all kinds. Several groups of rough-
looking mercenaries are engaged in combat drills, overseen by sergeants
barking out crisp orders, and with a lieutenant or two supervising the
overall situation in this part of the yard.
To the north lies a dank-looking building, from which emanates a foul
stench of some kind, and, to the west, a stone archway leads into a large
hall. The yard continues to the south and east.
The slim, clear-eyed woman works her way through a weapons drill here.
The night has begun.
You enter a stone archway.
The Exercise Hall [NS]
The walls of this large training hall are lined with sturdy shelves,
tough baobab forms the higher shelves, and plain gray stone the lower
shelves. A variety of training equipment is neatly stacked on the shelves,
mostly stone weights and heavy wooden clubs and staves. Archways to the
north and south lead into smaller halls, and an archway to the east leads
out to a large, dusty training yard.
You drop the head of the long-armed man.
Shown to room as:
The head of the long-armed man is here stuck on a spike.
The Exercise Hall [NS]
The walls of this large training hall are lined with sturdy shelves,
tough baobab forms the higher shelves, and plain gray stone the lower
shelves. A variety of training equipment is neatly stacked on the shelves,
mostly stone weights and heavy wooden clubs and staves. Archways to the
north and south lead into smaller halls, and an archway to the east leads
out to a large, dusty training yard.
The head of the long-armed man is here stuck on a spike.
The white-haired blue skinned woman pulls the head off the spike.
You think:
"I'll hang onto it for a bit, till I can show it ta people"
You pick up the head of the long-armed man.
It is very light, and empty.
The white-haired blue skinned woman stares into your head of the long-armed man's dead eyes.
Softly to the head, you ask, in sirihish:
"Why did ya lie? Did ya think it would save ya?"
You say, in sirihish:
"Shoulda used ya head. It woulda stayed on ya shoulders longer."
The white-haired blue skinned woman stops, chest heaving as she bows to the
sleek, jakhal-eyed templar.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar asks the long-armed man, in sirihish:
"Is this the one?"
A man of average height, stand atop his massive feet. His purely white
hair drips down onto his...
Continue Reading...Rukkian Encounter by Zoltan
Added on Dec 24, 2008Some 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 moccasinsYou 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 bootsHe is carrying:
nothing obviousThe 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 bootsHe is carrying:
nothing obviousThe 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...
Continue Reading...The Legendary "War of the Hairs" by Djamel
Added on Nov 30, 2008An Elkinhym bard lays out an elaborate performance, characteristic of his Circle's forte, ending up in mixed reactions and some words of advice to live by!
This extraordinarily short figure seems as if someone might have
physically compressed an average-sized human into half the size. Starting
from his accordian-like multiple-folded, dusky skin, this man looks like a
child dressed as an adult. His stunted body appears wider than normal, and
his wide-paced stance adds to this effect. His hands and legs are stocky,
and the fingers are stubby little appendages, which appear incapable of
bending, on first glance. A noticeable bulge is visible in the region of
his pelvis and his butt juts out excessively in proportion to his body, as
if more fat was squeezed into that particular area. His head sits atop his
short frame, connected by a thick neck. His facial features appear as if
they are pressed against a glass pane - puffed out cheeks and a sort of a
permanent smile plastered on his partially-open mouth. A thick, felt-like
five-'o'-clock beard covers his face, ending at the temples, contrasting his
bald-shaven and polished scalp. His dark skin is covered with soft, black
hair, engulfing his arms and a little of his hands, and also evident on the
exposed part of his shoulders and neck.
The swarthy, hairy midget is in excellent condition.<worn on head> a crimson, black-trimmed fez with a silver-dyed tassel
<worn across back> a bone-studded backpack
<worn on torso> a padded, numut-adorned black linen vest
<worn on arms> a pair of voluminous, ivory silk sleeves
<worn around wrist> a studded bone bracer
<worn around wrist> a studded bone bracer
<worn on hands> a pair of chitin-plated leather gloves
<primary hand> a dark-oiled, jade-headed cane
<secondary hand> a skull-topped baton
<forearms> a tattoo of three orange triangles
<worn as belt> an ebony pouched belt
<worn about waist> a tough, grey chitin codpiece
<worn on legs> a pair of vivid orange tights
<worn on feet> a pair of turned-toe, ebony silk shoesAt your table, you say in sirihish, wagging one finger towards the jutting-chinned youth:
"You know, if we get a couple of more patrons at the bar, I'll tell you the secret story....of the War of the Hairs....."
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
At your table, the jutting-chinned youth says in southern-accented sirihish, rubbing his hands:
"Ahh, yes."
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
At your table, the jutting-chinned youth says in southern-accented sirihish, to you:
"Tell it now, my friend!"
At your table, you say in sirihish, turning around and pointing a finger at the ropy, grey-skinned man:
"Well, Gull here will have to participate as well...."
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
The blond half-elf has arrived from the south.
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
The blond half-elf sits down at a black-painted bar.
The scarred, ashen-skinned half-elf yawns as he sits back in his seat.
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
The jutting-chinned youth gives a leather spice pouch to the ropy, grey-skinned man.
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
The wiry, stony-eyed man has arrived from above.
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
The scarred, ashen-skinned half-elf looks up at the wiry, stony-eyed man.
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>l
The Sun King's Sanctuary [NESWUD]
A polished, white marble floor covers the ground of this expansive
room, gleaming under the light of a large glass chandelier that hangs
overhead. A semi-circular bar, made of hard-grained wood painted a deep
black, extends from the eastern wall, several high-backed barstools sitting
around it. The walls of this room are brightly decorated, with several
elaborate paintings placed carefully for unobstructed view, and shelves
holding many exotic potted plants, blooming with bright red and white
flowers. Two large stained-glass windows, decorated with elaborate sun
symbols, adorn the northwest and southeast corners of the room.
Several decoratively carved tables fill this room, while a polished
leather couch nearly ten cords in length sprawls along the northern wall. A
stately spiral staircase sits in the center of the room, winding upwards
toward the common rooms of the second floor. The sounds of laughter and
music can be heard from a doorway along the western wall, while the scents
of cooked meat waft in from the east. A small, straight stairway sits along
the northern wall, ending at a slightly raised loft and a large carven
baobab door sits in the southern wall, leading out onto the North Road
outside.
The Tuluk bulletin board is here propped up on a stand.
The wiry, stony-eyed man is standing here.
The blond half-elf is sitting at a black-painted bar.
The scarred, ashen-skinned half-elf is sitting at an intimate, dimly lit table.
The broad-shouldered, bulky man is here, roaming around.
The jutting-chinned youth is sitting at a black-painted bar.
The ropy, grey-skinned man is sitting at a black-painted bar.
A human Tuluki soldier is here, patrolling.
The short haired, heavy-set man stands here mug in-hand.
The tall, well-groomed man sits here on a plush couch.
The gaunt, black-haired man is here, leaning on the bar.
The long-haired, middle-aged man stands behind the counter.
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>The swarthy, hairy midget nods once towards the blond half-elf.
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
The ropy, grey-skinned man shrugs.
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
The wiry, stony-eyed man stumbles down the stairs, holding his head as he makes for a black-painted bar.
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
The wiry, stony-eyed man sits down at a black-painted bar.
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
The tiny, copper-skinned, auburn-haired woman has arrived from the north.
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>At your table, you say in sirihish, towards the blond half-elf:
"Oy Kali, I was just about to tell these guys my famous, War of the Hairs story...."
At your table, you say in sirihish, looking at the wiry, stony-eyed man:
"I think you've heard it before, right Jarihd?"
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
The burly, sun-scorched man has arrived from the south, brushing past a giant pillar of stone at the entrance.
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
The burly, sun-scorched man intently scans the area.
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
At your table, the blond half-elf says in northern-accented sirihish:
"Do I want to hear this?"
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
At your table, the jutting-chinned youth says in southern-accented sirihish, a broad smile upon his lips:
"Tell it Ozymar! Quit stalling!"
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
The burly, sun-scorched man looks over the crowds slowly, his fierce eyes sweeping the environs like a hawk does prey.
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
The ropy, grey-skinned man puts a leather spice pouch inside a bone-studded backpack.
The scarred, ashen-skinned half-elf looks at the ropy, grey-skinned man.
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>At your table, you say in sirihish, nodding:
"Alright, I think we have a good enough group to tell it now...."
Calling out, you say to the burly, sun-scorched man, in sirihish:
"Hey Adriean, come join us at the bar, I'm telling a secret story..."
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>l
The Sun King's Sanctuary [NESWUD]
A polished, white marble floor covers the ground of this expansive
room, gleaming under the light of a large glass chandelier that hangs
overhead. A semi-circular bar, made of hard-grained wood painted a deep
black, extends from the eastern wall, several high-backed barstools sitting
around it. The walls of this room are brightly decorated, with several
elaborate paintings placed carefully for unobstructed view, and shelves
holding many exotic potted plants, blooming with bright red and white
flowers. Two large stained-glass windows, decorated with elaborate sun
symbols, adorn the northwest and southeast corners of the room.
Several decoratively carved tables fill this room, while a polished
leather couch nearly ten cords in length sprawls along the northern wall. A
stately spiral staircase sits in the center of the room, winding upwards
toward the common rooms of the second floor. The sounds of laughter and
music can be heard from a doorway along the western wall, while the scents
of cooked meat waft in from the east. A small, straight stairway sits along
the northern wall, ending at a slightly raised loft and a large carven
baobab door sits in the southern wall, leading out onto the North Road
outside.
The Tuluk bulletin board is here propped up on a stand.
The burly, sun-scorched man is standing here.
The tiny, copper-skinned, auburn-haired woman moves easily from table to table.
The wiry, stony-eyed man is sitting at a black-painted bar.
The blond half-elf is sitting at a black-painted bar.
The scarred, ashen-skinned half-elf is sitting at an intimate, dimly lit table.
The jutting-chinned youth is sitting at a black-painted bar.
The ropy, grey-skinned man is sitting at a black-painted bar.
A human Tuluki soldier is here, patrolling.
The short haired, heavy-set man stands here mug in-hand.
The tall, well-groomed man sits here on a plush couch.
The gaunt, black-haired man is here, leaning on the bar.
The long-haired, middle-aged man stands behind the counter.
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
At your table, the blond half-elf says in northern-accented sirihish:
"This better be more cheerful then your bawdy tales"
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
The jutting-chinned youth gestures invitingly to the burly, sun-scorched man.
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
The scarred, ashen-skinned half-elf looks up at the burly, sun-scorched man.
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
You are getting hungry.
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
At your table, the wiry, stony-eyed man says in northern-accented sirihish, shaking his head, his voice hoarse:
"Don't think I heard it, Ozymar. Do tell."
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
The slim, golden-haired woman has arrived from the east.
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
The ropy, grey-skinned man pushes off of a cushioned, black-painted barstool and rises to his feet.
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>nod jarihd
You nod to him.
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
The scarred, ashen-skinned half-elf gets a stiffly bristled armor brush from a fine pouched belt.
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
The ropy, grey-skinned man turns from the bar over to an intimate, dimly lit table.
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
the scarred, ashen-skinned half-elf scrubs at a pair of scrub-camouflaged, sandcloth sleeves, cleaning it.
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
The scarred, ashen-skinned half-elf puts a stiffly bristled armor brush inside a fine pouched belt.
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
The ropy, grey-skinned man notices the scarred, ashen-skinned half-elf and turns to a highly polished table.
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
The ropy, grey-skinned man sits down at a highly polished table.
At your table, you say in sirihish, rubbing his hands with glee:
"Alright folks, listen carefully, while I recount this secret....."
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
The slim, golden-haired woman walks west.
At your table, you say in sirihish, slapping his hands together once and then opening both his palms:
"Have you ever heard....of the War of the Hairs?"
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
The jutting-chinned youth shakes his head.
With dramatic flair, the swarthy, hairy midget squints one eye comically, and peers at the faces at the bar.
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
At your table, the blond half-elf says in northern-accented sirihish:
"Was that the fashion craze for black hair?"
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
The blond half-elf grins.
At your table, you say in sirihish, shaking his head and continuing:
"No no, tis much.....much deeper than that Kali....."
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
The scarred, ashen-skinned half-elf pushes off of a high backed, cushioned chair and rises to his feet.
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
The blond half-elf chuckles.
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
The scarred, ashen-skinned half-elf walks south.
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
At your table, the blond half-elf says in northern-accented sirihish:
"I will refrain for further comment"
At your table, you say in sirihish, raising one finger:
"Today, I will demonstrate before you all, right here on this bar.....how a pair of hair, will fight......nay....will conduct war with each other."
At your table, you say in sirihish, pointing to the ropy, grey-skinned man and the jutting-chinned youth:
"Since Corvin and Gull are nearest to me, they will be the volunteers....."
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
The slim, golden-haired woman has arrived from the west.
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
The jutting-chinned youth exclaims to the ropy, grey-skinned man, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Come, gull!"
The ropy, grey-skinned man pushes off of a high backed, cushioned chair and rises to his feet.
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>At your table, you say in sirihish, snapping his fingers:
"But....I still need the most important ingredients."
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
The ropy, grey-skinned man turns towards the oad.
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
The ropy, grey-skinned man stealthily moves south.
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
At your table, the jutting-chinned youth says in southern-accented sirihish, glancing south:
"What the..."
The swarthy, hairy midget looks a little dumbfounded.
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>l
The Sun King's Sanctuary [NESWUD]
A polished, white marble floor covers the ground of this expansive
room, gleaming under the light of a large glass chandelier that hangs
overhead. A semi-circular bar, made of hard-grained wood painted a deep
black, extends from the eastern wall, several high-backed barstools sitting
around it. The walls of this room are brightly decorated, with several
elaborate paintings placed carefully for unobstructed view, and shelves
holding many exotic potted plants, blooming with bright red and white
flowers. Two large stained-glass windows, decorated with elaborate sun
symbols, adorn the northwest and southeast corners of the room.
Several decoratively carved tables fill this room, while a polished
leather couch nearly ten cords in length sprawls along the northern wall. A
stately spiral staircase sits in the center of the room, winding upwards
toward the common rooms of the second floor. The sounds of laughter and
music can be heard from a doorway along the western wall, while the scents
of cooked meat waft in from the east. A small, straight stairway sits along
the northern wall, ending at a slightly raised loft and a large carven
baobab door sits in the southern wall, leading out onto the North Road
outside.
The Tuluk bulletin board is here propped up on a stand.
The slim, golden-haired woman is here moving about the room.
The burly, sun-scorched man is standing here.
The wiry, stony-eyed man is sitting at a black-painted bar.
The blond half-elf is sitting at a black-painted bar.
The jutting-chinned youth is sitting at a black-painted bar.
A human Tuluki soldier is here, patrolling.
The short haired, heavy-set man stands here mug in-hand.
The tall, well-groomed man sits here on a plush couch.
The gaunt, black-haired man is here, leaning on the bar.
The long-haired, middle-aged man stands behind the counter.
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
The burly, sun-scorched man glances to a black-painted bar, grunting as he shakes his head dizzily.
At your table, you say in sirihish, shaking his head:
"What a strange man....."
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
At your table, the blond half-elf says in northern-accented sirihish:
"Don't try to include me.."
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
The burly, sun-scorched man walks over to a black-painted bar, taking a seat at the end of the long bar.
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
The burly, sun-scorched man sits down at a black-painted bar.
You ask the burly, sun-scorched man, in sirihish:
"Adriean, you going to join us then?"
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>You nod.
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
At your table, the blond half-elf says in northern-accented sirihish:
"I ain't getting hairy with no one.."
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
The jutting-chinned youth grins.
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Alright then, I'll need a new set of volunteers, Corvin and Jarihd should suffice."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"And now, the most important ingredients of this secret tale....."
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
At your table, the burly, sun-scorched man says in tribal-accented sirihish, as he sinks into the bar lazily:
"I'm here ain' I?"
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"I will need two hairs, of different colours."
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>The swarthy, hairy midget turns to stare at the blond half-elf's blond hair.
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
At your table, the blond half-elf says in northern-accented sirihish:
"Not a chance"
At your table, the jutting-chinned youth says in southern-accented sirihish:
"Come now, Kali. It's only fun."
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>At your table, you say in sirihish, extending one hand, with a mock look of pleading:
"Just a single strand Kali?"
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
At your table, the blond half-elf says in northern-accented sirihish:
"I don't like this.."
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
The blond half-elf pushes off of a cushioned, black-painted barstool and rises to her feet.
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
The blond half-elf walks south.
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
The burly, sun-scorched man glances out to the road, sniggering.
At your table, you say in sirihish, spreading his palms in resignation, accompanied with laughter:
"Krath, folks are mighty nervous about a story."
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>l
The Sun King's Sanctuary [NESWUD]
A polished, white marble floor covers the ground of this expansive
room, gleaming under the light of a large glass chandelier that hangs
overhead. A semi-circular bar, made of hard-grained wood painted a deep
black, extends from the eastern wall, several high-backed barstools sitting
around it. The walls of this room are brightly decorated, with several
elaborate paintings placed carefully for unobstructed view, and shelves
holding many exotic potted plants, blooming with bright red and white
flowers. Two large stained-glass windows, decorated with elaborate sun
symbols, adorn the northwest and southeast corners of the room.
Several decoratively carved tables fill this room, while a polished
leather couch nearly ten cords in length sprawls along the northern wall. A
stately spiral staircase sits in the center of the room, winding upwards
toward the common rooms of the second floor. The sounds of laughter and
music can be heard from a doorway along the western wall, while the scents
of cooked meat waft in from the east. A small, straight stairway sits along
the northern wall, ending at a slightly raised loft and a large carven
baobab door sits in the southern wall, leading out onto the North Road
outside.
The Tuluk bulletin board is here propped up on a stand.
The burly, sun-scorched man is sitting at a black-painted bar.
The wiry, stony-eyed man is sitting at a black-painted bar.
The jutting-chinned youth is sitting at a black-painted bar.
A human Tuluki soldier is here, patrolling.
The short haired, heavy-set man stands here mug in-hand.
The tall, well-groomed man sits here on a plush couch.
The gaunt, black-haired man is here, leaning on the bar.
The long-haired, middle-aged man stands behind the counter.
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
The wiry, stony-eyed man smirks, reaching up to pluck a strand of silky black hair from his head without a wince.
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
At your table, the jutting-chinned youth says in southern-accented sirihish, glaring south:
"Hmm...no fun."
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
At your table, the wiry, stony-eyed man says in northern-accented sirihish:
"My hairs are probably hung over, like I am."
At your table, you say in sirihish, nodding as he looks at the wiry, stony-eyed man:
"Alright we have one black hair...."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Now we need one other color"
The swarthy, hairy midget looks at the jutting-chinned youth and then to the burly, sun-scorched man.
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
The jutting-chinned youth pushes off of a cushioned, black-painted barstool and rises to his feet.
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
The jutting-chinned youth walks up.
The swarthy, hairy midget looks disappointed and sighs, rolling his eyes.
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Damnit, now I'll have to wait until we have a couple of more people, to recount the tale."
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
At your table, the wiry, stony-eyed man says in northern-accented sirihish, laughing softly:
"People are strange, man. I'm all curious now, though."
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>At your table, you say in sirihish, towards the wiry, stony-eyed man:
"I apologize for having you pluck out your hair in vain Jarihd."
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
The burly, sun-scorched man plucks a curly brown strand from his arm, passing it to you.
Through gritted teeth, the swarthy, hairy midget breathes in, nodding thoughtfully.
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
The burly, sun-scorched man grunts as he wipes at his arm, shaking his head.
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"ALright, I guess we can do this between the three of us....."
At your table, you say in sirihish, passing the hair back to the burly, sun-scorched man:
"Here Adriean, you hang on to that hair, while I set it up."
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
The burly, sun-scorched man holds up the ugly curly dark folicle, frowning.
At your table, you say in sirihish, raising one finger:
"THe two of you must promise to me, that you will not recount this tale to anyone....as it is one of my specialities."
At your table, you say in sirihish, towards the long-haired, middle-aged bartender:
"Some wine please Clint....."
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
At your table, the wiry, stony-eyed man says in northern-accented sirihish, chuckling:
"You have my promise."
The swarthy, hairy midget gives many coins to the long-haired, middle-aged bartender in exchange for a goblet of jaluar-wine.
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
At your table, the burly, sun-scorched man says in tribal-accented sirihish, snorting as he leans back into the bar with a grin:
"Fuck that. I'll tell whoever I want."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Now, watch closely, as we get into the details..."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"I'll spill the wine here, on the bar, and make a small puddle...."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Each of you, will then, at my signal, slip in your hairs, from opposite sides."
At your table, you say in sirihish, snapping his fingers theatrically:
"You will then observe.....to your astonishment...."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"THe hairs will first be attracted to each other, and meet each other in the center....."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"And then, suddenly, they will repel each other, declaring war!"
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
The burly, sun-scorched man watches you in sombre silence.
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
The burly, sun-scorched man frowns thoughtfully, scratching his head as he holds the hair in his fingers.
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
The burly, sun-scorched man frowns thoughtfully, scratching his head as he holds the hair in his fingers.
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
The wiry, stony-eyed man watches you, furrowing his brow curiously.
Mutely, the swarthy, hairy midget pours some wine from the goblet, then pausing, and then pouring some more, to add to the spill.
The swarthy, hairy midget nods once in satisfaction.
At your table, you say in sirihish, raising one finger each, on either side of the barstool:
"Alright gentlemen, when I give the signal, slip in your hairs."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Gather in closely, so that you may observe their motion...."
Nodding, the swarthy, hairy midget flips his fingers, signalling to the wiry, stony-eyed man and the burly, sun-scorched man.
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
The wiry, stony-eyed man holds his hand with his strand of hair ready, leaning in close to you and slipping it in at the signal.
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
The burly, sun-scorched man moves in close to you, hunkering over.
At your table, you say in sirihish, beckoning with his hands:
"Come close now, peer into the puddle so you can observe the hairs...."
At your table, you say in sirihish, in an excited shrill:
"Look....look.....they float towards each other.....LOOK...."
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
The burly, sun-scorched man watches his hair and the wiry, stony-eyed man's hair float in the wine.
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
Frowning as he watches, the burly, sun-scorched man says, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"What the.."
The swarthy, hairy midget leans backwards slightly, allowing the wiry, stony-eyed man and the burly, sun-scorched man to observe closely.
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
The very tall male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap has arrived from the south.
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
The tall figure in a hooded, brown military aba has arrived from the south.
At your table, you say in sirihish, with dramatic flare:
"And now, in just a moment, the War will begin!"
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
The tall figure in a hooded, brown military aba sits down at a long, white painted table.
As both the wiry, stony-eyed man and the burly, sun-scorched man lean in over the puddle, the swarthy, hairy midget slaps the wine with an open palm, lettingthe wine splash all over their faces.
The swarthy, hairy midget lets our a roar of laughter as the wine drenches the wiry, stony-eyed man's and the burly, sun-scorched man faces.
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
A deep frown settles on the burly, sun-scorched man's face as wine sluices down his face and drips onto the bar.
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
The wiry, stony-eyed man licks his lips, trying to catch as much wine as possible as he laughs.
At your table, you say in sirihish, licking his lip with a sly, mirthful grin:
"And that my friends....is the famous, War of the Hairs!"
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
Lunging forward and careening into a barmaid, the burly, sun-scorched man exclaims, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"You bastard!"
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
Grinning, the wiry, stony-eyed man says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
"You had me all the way, you short little bastard. That was brilliant."
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
The burly, sun-scorched man knocks over a stool and a set of drinks, collapsing over himself clumsily and crashing to the floor.
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>Patting both the wiry, stony-eyed man's and the burly, sun-scorched man's backs playfully, the swarthy, hairymidget nods, still laughing.
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
Idly, the tall figure in a hooded, brown military aba asks, in northern-accented sirihish:
"so where did the hair end up?"
You say to the burly, sun-scorched man, in sirihish:
"Allow me to make amends, and buy the two of you a drink."
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
The very tall male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap runs up.
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>l
The Sun King's Sanctuary [NESWUD]
A polished, white marble floor covers the ground of this expansive
room, gleaming under the light of a large glass chandelier that hangs
overhead. A semi-circular bar, made of hard-grained wood painted a deep
black, extends from the eastern wall, several high-backed barstools sitting
around it. The walls of this room are brightly decorated, with several
elaborate paintings placed carefully for unobstructed view, and shelves
holding many exotic potted plants, blooming with bright red and white
flowers. Two large stained-glass windows, decorated with elaborate sun
symbols, adorn the northwest and southeast corners of the room.
Several decoratively carved tables fill this room, while a polished
leather couch nearly ten cords in length sprawls along the northern wall. A
stately spiral staircase sits in the center of the room, winding upwards
toward the common rooms of the second floor. The sounds of laughter and
music can be heard from a doorway along the western wall, while the scents
of cooked meat waft in from the east. A small, straight stairway sits along
the northern wall, ending at a slightly raised loft and a large carven
baobab door sits in the southern wall, leading out onto the North Road
outside.
The Tuluk bulletin board is here propped up on a stand.
The tall figure in a hooded, brown military aba is sitting at a long, white painted table.
The burly, sun-scorched man is sitting at a black-painted bar.
The wiry, stony-eyed man is sitting at a black-painted bar.
A human Tuluki soldier is here, patrolling.
The short haired, heavy-set man stands here mug in-hand.
The tall, well-groomed man sits here on a plush couch.
The gaunt, black-haired man is here, leaning on the bar.
The long-haired, middle-aged man stands behind the counter.
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
The burly, sun-scorched man brushes some dust off his knees, cursing up at the barmaid.
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
As he mops his face, the burly, sun-scorched man says, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"You played a trick..I think a -few- drinks will do to make amends.."
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
The burly, sun-scorched man pushes off of a cushioned, black-painted barstool and rises to his feet.
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
The burly, sun-scorched man cleans his face and arm, glaring over at you.
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
The wiry, stony-eyed man wipes his face with the sleeve of his cloak, still chuckling.
You say, in sirihish:
"Krath mate, you dune folks are mighty uppity....relax and sit back down."
Ushering the burly, sun-scorched man's back to the bar, you say, in sirihish:
"It was but a joke...."
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
Waving a hand as he stalks off, the burly, sun-scorched man says to you, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Bah. We cut throat over jokes."
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
Pushing a few patrons from his path, the burly, sun-scorched man walks south.
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
The tall figure in a hooded, brown military aba pushes off of a carved, wooden chair and rises to her feet.
At your table, you say in sirihish, shaking his head:
"What a surly bunch......"
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
The tall figure in a hooded, brown military aba smiles impishly.
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
At your table, the wiry, stony-eyed man says in northern-accented sirihish, snickering:
"You should keep that one for folks with good humor, Ozymar."
At your table, you say in sirihish, nodding at the wiry, stony-eyed man:
"I swear to Utep, thats the first time I've had that reaction...."
111/111H 114/114S 110/119M:walking:sitting>
The tall figure in a hooded, brown military aba says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
"Best be careful.. a mime is a terrible thing to waste.."
The swarthy, hairy midget barks out a loud laugh!
This extraordinarily short figure seems as if someone might have
physically compressed an average-sized human into half the size. Starting
from his accordian-like multiple-folded, dusky skin, this man looks like a
child dressed as an adult. His stunted body appears wider than normal, and
his...
Continue Reading...The Golden Kank, Part 2 by Tortall
Added on Oct 23, 2008The kank comes back, the very next day...
A Bedroom [W]
The woman wearing a purple and green tragedy mask looks around warily.
A golden kank trots up to you and giggles, waving an antennae.
You think:
"I hop..."
You say, in sirihish:
"You're going to get me killed."
A golden kank looks around warily and then giggles, clacking its pinchers.
A golden kank says, in sirihish, "No, you're going to get yourself killed. I'm just your...subconscious!
A golden kank giggles and trots around the room.
You exclaim, in sirihish:
"But I shouldn’t be seeing golden kanks that can talk!"
Frowning as she rubs her head, you say, in sirihish:
"I should probably not talk about it."
A golden kank stops trotting and clacks its pinchers, looking around.
A golden kank grins and looks over at you.
A golden kank says, in sirihish, "Well, you can't get rid of... yourself, can you?"
Sighing dramatically, you say, in sirihish:
"I suppose not."
Almost to herself, you say, in sirihish:
"Well, at least it's -gold-..."
You say, in sirihish:
"You need to be painted purple too. Then we'd match."
You think:
"But where to get paint..."
A golden kank giggles and trots to the bed, lying down on top of it.
A golden kank looks at you thoughtfully.
A golden kank says, in sirihish, "So...that Lord Pretarius is quite the fellow, isn't he?
A golden kank clacks its pinchers and giggles.
You say, in sirihish:
"Yes! He has all my stuff."
Pouting, you say, in sirihish:
"Be needs someone to teach him to be -nice-."
A golden kank nods and giggles.
A golden kank says, in sirihish, "Definitely lacking in the humor department, I'd say."
Her eyes lighting up, you say, in sirihish:
"Maybe -I- could do that! After all, a Fale is the best for that kind of job, wouldn't you say? Of course you would. I just said it, and since you're me..."
The tiny, gold-purple haired woman nods firmly.
A golden kank says, in sirihish, "You know what you need? A party. A great great party, wouldn't that be nifty?"
A golden kank emote nods and clacks its pinchers.
You exclaim, in sirihish:
"Yes! We need a -big- party!"
Thoughfully, you say, in sirihish:
"Although I don't think I can talk him into coming to the one I currently have planned."
A golden kank excitedly, says in sirihish, "Yes! The biggest party ever! You know… he has a big butt, Lord Pretarius does..."
A golden kank giggles and looks up thoughtfully.
Giggling, you exclaim, in sirihish:
"Lord Commander of the Butt!"
A golden kank says, in sirihish, "You know, you're more important than that old fuddy humorless big butted commander anyway!"
A golden kank emote clacks its pinchers and nods affirmatively.
A golden kank says, in sirihish, "You can throw a party this city will never forget, and get Fale in good favor, and everyone will love you and adore you!"
A golden kank jumps down from the bed and trots over to you.
You exclaim, in sirihish:
"Yes! And since -he- won't be there, he'll just look like a stick in the sand!"
A golden kank says, in sirihish, "Exactly! Now, you need to think of some really neat little things we can sell to everyone, and what foods to get, and...dances!"
A golden kank clacks its pinchers excitedly.
You say, in sirihish:
"Foods... Anything with -honey-! Those squashes are really good with honey..."
Making a face, you say, in sirihish:
"They taste -horrible- with out it."
A golden kank says, in sirihish, "You know, you could hire out that popular performing troupe to do a play or something one night of the festival!"
You say, in sirihish:
"Ohhh, yes! There's even a stage at the Barrel too! Perfect."
You say, in sirihish:
"I have such good ideas."
A golden kank says, in sirihish, "Oh, yes! Honey is the best... You should know... You are so smart!"
Nodding, you say, in sirihish:
"That's why I'm so important."
A golden kank clacks its pinchers and giggles.
A golden kank says, in sirihish, "Ok, so, you're the one to bring Fale to the glory it can be! Honey on everything! Boost morale and fun for all!"
A golden kank raises its antennae and waves it with a giggle.
Excidetly, you exclaim, in sirihish:
"Yes!"
A golden kank says, in sirihish, "Kojiro used to talk about some woman... Deihenia or something… maybe she could perform! I hear she's good!"
A golden kank trots around the room, slowly fizzling out of view.
You say, in sirihish:
"Deihenia? Hum... Never heard of her! But I shall... Find her."
.
The tiny, gold-purple haired woman looks around and shrugs.
You feel a slight tingling sensation in your head, which dissolves.
The tiny, gold-purple haired woman blinks at the purple-dreadlocked, dark-skinned woman and the green-haired, green tattooed man as they stare at you.
You ask, in sirihish:
"What? You've never talked to yourself before?"
The tiny, gold-purple haired woman humfs softly, moving to the door.
A Bedroom [W]
The woman wearing a purple and green tragedy mask looks around warily.
A golden kank trots up to you and giggles, waving an antennae.
You think:
"I hop..."
You say, in sirihish:
"You're going to get me killed."
A golden kank looks around warily...
Continue Reading...A Lost Warrior; Part II by Glantimere
Added on Aug 29, 2008There is no rest for the weary, and allanak, under Malenthis Jal's leadership, tries to prove its tenacity in a bold siege after a recent defeat and loss of a commander. (note) I apologize for anything astray in the story itself, it was a long time ago for me, and I had very little in the way of logs to work with, but I did tell a few individuals I would post this before long)
A lost warrior: Part III awoke to hushed murmurs about my tent, and sat up groggily. I reached over, grabbed my sword, and crawled out of my tent slowly. It was dark, I had slept the whole day away. On dark nights like this, without Lirathu or Jihae in the sky, one had to be very careful about wandering too far east of our camp. One misplaced foot would send you over the edge of the chasm.I wiped my eyes with a tired hand, and gazed about the army quietly. Over two-thousand, and all of them looked nervous. I stood for a moment, wondering what I had missed that had them set on guard, until my eye caught sight of three templars near the wagon up against the western cliff wall.There stood the high faithful lady Eunoli, and at her side was the faithful lord Durathar and Faithful lady Felysia. Clearly, something big was happening, and I spotted a jet-braided half-giant not far from me.Crog was a good find. We had found him in the sanctuary on our last trip home to the ivory. Smart, strong, funny. He made life at the camp a lot easier for me. I had helped show him around camp initially, and he was already excelling at his duties."Crog, we moving out?" I asked quietly, stepping up to his side. He turned his head and lifted a hand shortly in greeting, and shrugged. I nodded once, resting a hand on my sword hilt as I looked around.Shoulder is still stiff…Need to get my shield off it…I rolled my right shoulder back, letting the strap fall down my arm, and kneeled down, leaning on my shield for support. A cold breeze drifted out of the cave mouth just east of the camp, and I shivered slightly in the night. The air was heavy with the scent of spice, a peculiar spice favored among the soldiers for its enhancing effect. I had never tried it. I had no need to.I saw young Zeiri, and sighed.I disapproved of his age, but, he knew how to survive. He had even been the one to introduce and show me the camp. I couldn't say anything to him. Sometimes I got the feeling he resented me, even before Curachek died. He had every right to defend his home, the enemy had no mercy or cared what age their blades felled down.In the dark distance, I heard drums. Faint, but they were there. It was drums, or the approach of another one of those cursed lightning storms that had twice assailed our camp now. I glanced over to Eunoli, and frowned, her expression told me all I needed to know.Eunoli opened her mouth to speak, and stopped, her facial expression showing a hint of shock. At that moment, I felt something in my mind, a familiar presence I welcomed."Brothers and Sisters, the enemy marches to meet us with a massive force." I heard echoing through my mind. The ringing in my mind faded quickly, and the other soldiers murmured softly.So it finally draws to a close. We will face the allanaki force at these gates…We will determine the course of the war here.I heard Durathar speaking faintly, but I missed what he said. When he finished, our archer battalions rushed up the catwalk in a strict formation, bow at the ready. I glanced towards our southern gate, where a reserve unit came up to bolster our main force."Form up!" I heard shouted, from a faithful or captain, I am not sure, but orders were orders. Myself, and our main army fell into formation, facing the northern gate. I stood in the vanguard right behind the half-giants. I would be the first to fight.The sun rose slowly, illuminating the camp between the canyon and chasm. It was a glorious sight, seeing our mighty army in such a formation. Durathar marched up and down the foremost line of soldiers, giving them an appraising gaze. I straightened up as his gaze swept over me for a brief moment, and held my head high.Khalise, be with me through this coming battle…If you could ever forgive me for not being with you in your own fight…"Half-giants, to the front!" I heard Durathar shout as a few half-giants in the back instantly hustled forward from the rear. Crog lumbered past, straightening up infront of me.My ring, I can't let them have it back…Ah, Crog."Crog," I said quietly. Crog grunted softly, glancing over his shoulder a bit. "I wear a ring, a witches ring. The only thing they would care to get back from me. If I fall, do not let them have it. Can you do this for me?"Crog frowned, but nodded nonetheless, and turned back to face Durathar. The faithful were speaking in their tongue for awhile, and the sun reached it's highest point in the sky.I wiped my brow, tilting my crimson-winged great helm back a bit. I unbuckled my water skin from my belt, and drank deeply from it.Half a skin left…I can make this last through the fight…refill it later.I wiped my lips with the back of my gloved hand, re-buckling my skin to my belt. We stood in formation for a horribly long time, the heat only seemed to increase as time drew on. I began to tire, my legs felt like stone. Finally, Durathar returned to the front line, and turned to face us, pacing up and down the line."Soldiers of Tuluk, We stand against a massive force! But we will fight, and we will show these bastards their place! If they lose here, they care nothing of it. If –we- lose here, what is going to stop them from turning north!? What is going to stop them from marching on our city!? Fight! Fight for our home, Fight for your loved ones! Fight for our living god the sun-king!" Durathar shouted, his voice reverberating through the camp.The entire force cheered, and I could not help but join them. I drew my sword, raising it high into the air."For the ivory! For the sun king!" I shouted loudly. My voice was loud, and still it was drowned out by the hundreds of others echoing off the canyon wall. As I gazed up at the dark sky, I thought, for a brief moment, I could see the ivory pyramid above us.As our shouts died, so did the first night of our siege, and the enemy drums boomed in the northern canyon. The sounds of marching and officers shouting orders could be heard echoing over our gate.They come, at last.I felt my blood growing hot, knowing the enemy was so close, and both of our armies wanted a fight. Durathar narrowed his gaze at the wooden gate, and paced back over to Eunoli and Felysia. Eunoli's gaze grew distant, and Felysia closed her eyes, remaining still."They have reached the traps…" Felysia said quietly. Almost as soon as she spoke, screams rang out in the canyon north of us, but there was also shouting, it sounded as if they had forewarning of the traps. Durathar turned, and marched up the catwalk to the wall."Fire!" I heard faint shouts echoing from the wall. More screams, and the whistle of arrows filled the sounds of this terrible morning. Suk-Krath was clouded from vision as a volley of arrows came over the wall, and I raised my shield above my head, as did many others.Bastards…I won't be falling that easily!A soldier next to me dropped down to the ground, two arrows in his chest. I gritted my teeth, looking away. The shouting from the others side of the wall came again, much closer now, and it was clear there was confusion among the enemy ranks.Wish I could see what the hell is happening…Larke coughed near me. I hadn't even noticed him before, not until I smelled the spice. He was puffing on his pipe next to me."Ho..shit…They're not gonna get me now…" He said, coughing a few times. I grunted, turning my attention back to the wall. A tuluki soldier shouted out, and flipped back over the wall, his body burned and mutilated.The abominations… I have to face them all eventually. I knew Dran would only be the first.The day lingered on, and not much changed, despite the constant exchange of archer fire. Finally, as the sun slowly lowered behind the dunes and canyons, it seemed the enemy would break through, as I noticed our archers falling back onto the catwalk itself, as if in retreat. Then, I noticed the fiery glow on the wall, illuminating the dark of night.What is that…?I stepped forward out of the line, gazing at the wall, trying to make out this new threat, this hulking inferno that approached the wall slowly. It almost looked like a Braxat.I saw Durathar standing before the inferno, shouting and pointing. A few archers rushed forward, throwing barrels of water at the monstrous braxat, and a roar rocked the canyon, as the light faded quickly. It was soon after this our first glimmer of hope came."It seems they are retreating…" Felysia said quietly, her voice strained. The soldiers relaxed a bit, lowering their shields further as the enemy drums did indeed seem to grow fainter.The army never dispersed, but we talked quietly, tired, and hopeful. It had been over an hour now, but time was passing slowly, the anticipation was gnawing at my mind."Easy enough, we showed them." A soldier near me snickered. I frowned, shaking my head a bit.It can't be that easy…Why bring they're entire force here for one failed charge…?I saw the masked bard, Jochebed as they called him, move up into the lines, looking rather uncertain. He stood next to Zeiri, a blade in hand.The bard…He shouldn't be up here in the front lines with us…He has no other choice now I guess."I'm not going to make it, am I?" I heard Jochebed say softly, almost to himself. "I am no warrior...""If drov comes to meet us, there is nothing we can do in the battle but make him wait a little longer." I said, glancing down to Jochebed. Zeiri looked over at me, a strange look in his eye."It is not Drov we go to meet, mister Kel. Today, we go to meet our destinies." He said, gazing north at the gate. I turned back to the gate as well.Destiny…I should have had mine with Khalise…and I destroyed my own future. The only thing left for me is fate. Is it to die on the field, for my home? Or is it to die alone, with nothing but my honor when I am old and feeble?"They come again…" I heard Felysia say. Eunoli was clearly straining her abilities, and leaned against a sharp-featured soldier near her. Both the faithful ladies were exhausted, it was easy to see, and Durathar was still somewhere on the wall.As dawn broke on our third day at the ready, the shouting of the enemy army rose into a fierce battle cry."They're scaling the walls! Do not let them pass! Use arrows, rocks, barrels, whatever you must to keep them off! They –must- not pass!" I heard Durathar's voice echoing from the wall above."Just give us a tune, Mister Jochebed, remind us what we're fightin' for. Inspire us."" Zeiri said in a wavering voice, staring at the gate. Jochebed nodded in understanding, sheathing his sword, and holding a lute."I understand, Zeiri." Jochebed said, bringing the flute to his lips. Despite the screaming, his song prevailed, and did indeed calm me. It was a soothing tune, invigorating, and it blocked out the sounds of death for a short time. Yet my curiosity got the best of me, I had to move sometime."The Flower of Tuluk shall no longer be trampled...By Allanak's boot...Be her blossom unmarred.." I heard the bard's singular voice prevailing over the chaos. But it faded, only too quickly.I walked forward onto the catwalk, gritting my teeth as I began passing the bodies of fallen comrades. I could no longer hear Jochebed's playing, and reality grasped me once again. I glanced north into the canyon, staying safely behind our archers with my shield raised. I saw something I had never seen in my life.A wall of sand, a wall, covered the roof of the canyon north of the gate, providing cover from our arrows for the enemy. Slowly but surely, the wall moved closer to the gate, as did the enemy. They were coming from the western pass again, but the wall of sand blocked them from sight.Our soldiers climbed up higher onto the canyon wall, and began rolling rocks, boulders, and stones down onto the sand wall. Just before the sand wall and enemy force emerged from the final stretch of the western pass, the sand wall quivered, and collapsed.The boulders tumbled down, and my heart leapt, the enemy was done. Yet it only took me a moment to process why I couldn't see any enemy bodies in the rubble, it was clear that the enemy had withdrawn before the sand wall gave. The western pass was completely cut off now, and the enemy was nowhere in sight. I turned, looking for answers, and walked back down the catwalk to our cheering army. I did not share the feeling of victory, once again."They have lost over a third of their force…The northwestern pass is blocked off…" I heard felysia say. I stood before the templars, behind me, the army was cheering. They clearly only thought of the victory, and not our new position. If the enemy was to the north like I suspected, then it would seem we are completely cut off from suppl-"Brothers and Sisters, we have been cut off from the ivory. The enemy is in the northern canyon between us and the city now. We await word from the commanders at the heart for further orders." A soft voice echoed in my mind, ending my own thoughts for a brief moment. As soon as it had began, the soft ringing was gone, and my mind was my own.Then it had happened. The only possibility from here that I could see was a frontal charge. We had to dislodge them from their position, and break through. It seemed Durathar was of the same mind."Prepare to move!" He yelled. The entire looked confused for a moment, and then fell back into formation, some still holding their content smiles of victory.The faithful spoke in their tongue for a few moments, and Durathar turned, clambering onto a horse's back as he rode to the gates, unlocking them and signaling for two soldiers to open them.We go now…We go to fight, to victory. But for myself, I do not know what lies ahead.I rushed over to the stockade, and leapt onto a kank's back, turning it about quickly, and hurried up to Durathar's flank. Myself and Curachek had been charged with being his personal bodyguards. I had failed Curachek like I had failed Khalise. I had not been there to save him. I swore to myself nothing would happen to Durathar while I lived.We moved quickly out of the north gate, Durathar at the head, and halted, for a brief moment to survey the field and western pass. The pass was completely blocked, and bodies of allanaki soldiers littered the field.Durathar wrinkled his nose in disgust, riding on, and our force marched, perhaps a thousand of us.The three day siege was over. This dawn would bring one filled with blood.I did not see any familiar faces about me, but I knew they were behind me somewhere in our massive force. Our banner flapped in the wind, and all the men now had grim looks on their faces as we rounded a canyon pass that turned west, and saw the enemy camp.The camp was set at a break in the narrow canyon, that spread out in all directions. Durathar scowled, and charged forward after glancing over his shoulder once."Charge!!" Was the only thing I heard, and I was off at his side. We broke into the camp quickly, cutting down the un-suspecting enemy. There were maybe two hundreds soldiers on guard, the rest seemed to be off-duty or sleeping, tired from their attack.I spotted a strange dark skinned breed, glowing strangely. I turned my mount towards him, growling, my mind completely focused on him now.Abomination!"To arms! To arms!" I heard someone shouting near me. I couldn't spot the voice, but time was precious now, I needed to strike not think."Fall!" I shouted, swinging my sword downwards at him. My blade sunk deep into something, but not the breed. A creamy shell flashed around the breed once, and he staggered backwards behind a few other soldiers, more scared than wounded.I glanced north in the fighting, and spotted a small force rushing towards us. All I need to see was a scorpion emblazoned flag billowing above them before I rushed back to Durathar's side. I cut down a soldier near him, and heard a heavy accent shouting near me."Army, Attack!" I heard someone shout in southern-accented sirihish. As I glanced at the voice, I noticed a whole new enemy battalion, nearly as large as ours, hastening to the aid of our enemy. At that moment, the Tor force reached us, further bolstering the enemy force.This is bad…really bad…I need to get Durathar out.I turned, saw Durathar fighting behind me, a small group of the ivory guard near him. He was fine for now. I turned back to the battle. Our front line was trampled over by an overwhelming force, and a tor scorpion rushed at me.The lines of brilliant white and black were slowly but surely turning into a dark scene, as the allanaki force pushed us back further, I didn't realize all those still standing with me were falling.I ducked under a broad swing from the tor, and cut up, sending him falling down to the sand. A 'nakki soldier came in behind me, driving his spear into my side, and I shouted in pain. He shouldn't have let his guard down. As he did, I whipped my blade around right into his neck.Khalise…Give me a few more moments…I glanced over my shoulder, and saw Durathar safely being ushered away by some soldiers. I turned, and parried a blow from another tor, and ripped the spear out of my side. The pain was fierce, and my vision blurred. I used the spear to block another swing from the scorpion, and stabbed in at him with my blade, he jumped back, swatting my own weapon to the side.I growled, and hurled the spear at him, which landed cleanly in his chest, sending his already lifeless body back into a few other soldiers. From the corner of my eye, I could see something huge rampaging towards me, and turned at the last minute, to see a war beetle fly past.It's rider, whom I did not see, stabbed me with a three-fingered rapier in passing, and rode off into the battle somewhere.Then I saw her, her face, so familiar, her sweet gaze. Khalise beckoned me, in the midst of battle, over to her. I knew after a brief moment of shock and longing, that I was dying, mortally wounded. The pain was unbearable, and I sunk to one knee.Everything around me slowed, and Khalise faded slowly from view, and I saw soldiers shouting, brave Tuluki warriors charging past me, straight at the enemy lines. One of them held a banner, a young man, he held it high, and carried it with pride.The banner caught my eye, a sunburst emblazoned cloth. The rays of suk-krath illuminated it, and I felt that perhaps I had fought for something, perhaps I had died for something, something more important than myself.But that thought fled my mind quickly as I saw a huge group of half-giants crash into those brave tuluki warriors, those poor soldiers who would never see home again.I saw a blade arcing down at me, and raised my sword, barely blocking the blow. Blood was trailing from my mouth now, and a foot from my attacker kicked me in the chest, sending me skidding onto my back.My vision blurred again, and I saw a Tor scorpion sneering at me as he swung his sword down again. I remained still, my body would not respond, and all I could do was follow the blade with my eyes as it collided with my chest.The black void enveloped me, and I felt a small measure of peace at last.A lost warrior: Part III awoke to hushed murmurs about my tent, and sat up groggily. I reached over, grabbed my sword, and crawled out of my tent slowly. It was dark, I had slept the whole day away. On dark nights like this, without Lirathu or Jihae in the sky, one had to be very careful...
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