Original Submissions of type 'Logs'
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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... Memoir #5 - The Silver Scorpion (Iaelimar) by Rairen
Added on Mar 16, 2009Now a servant-slave who tends to the Tor Academy barracks, Aja receives an unexpected visit from the Silver Scorpion overseeing her captivity.
It is dawn on Yochem, the 18th day of the Low Sun,
In the Year of Drov's Agitation, year 35 of the 21st Age.
You are Aja, Apprentice of the Bards of Poets' Circle.
Objective: To survive Allanak.
You are 23 years, 0 months, and 153 days old,
A Large Work Room [NS Save]
Tall walls of red stone rise upwards proudly, proclaiming their protection of the entrance hall to a large building. The floor is made up of tightly fitted black stone slabs, carefully hewn into square tower shields. Upon each of the shields is a finely etched scorpion, the small grooves kept free of sand by constant vigilance. A long table of baobab runs north to south, before the western wall. Upon the table are a variety of tools for repairing armor and weapons. Before the eastern wall is a long counter, topped with grey slate acting as a work area. Positioned carefully along the east and western walls are jade sconces cupping small crystals, casting a pale green light across the chamber.
The immense, braid-bearded man has arrived from the north.
The sturdy, black-skinned dwarf closes the door from the other side.
Pausing her work, the ethereal, fair-haired woman straightens and casts the immense, braid-bearded man a polite smile.
The immense, braid-bearded man halts within the door, pulling off his ruby-red, scorpion-emblazoned plate helm and tucking it under his arm before running a gauntleted hand over his bald head that glistens with sweat.
The immense, braid-bearded man stops using his ruby-red, scorpion-emblazoned plate helm.
Her broom held loosely at her side, you ask the immense, braid-bearded man, in sirihish:
"... Is all well?"
Glancing over the room, the immense, braid-bearded man asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Morning, Aja. Everything well?"
With a flicker of amusement in her pale eyes, you say to the immense, braid-bearded man, in sirihish:
"Yes, Silver. Thank you for asking."
Nodding once, the immense, braid-bearded man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Good, good."
The ethereal, fair-haired woman watches the immense, braid-bearded man with patient attention, her broom relaxed at her side and the barest hint of a smile toying at the corner of her mouth.
You notice: The immense, braid-bearded man looks you over carefully, thin lips pursing briefly.
As he moves forward with slow steps, the immense, braid-bearded man looks down at you.
(hemote) From beneath her collar, the ethereal, fair-haired woman swallows, a subtle waver to her flawless posture.
Moving around you slowly, the immense, braid-bearded man asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"How long have you been in confined space now, Aja? Two years? Three?"
The ethereal, fair-haired woman's head inclines back to keep her eyes on the immense, braid-bearded man's own, curiosity evident enough in them.
In her soft, crystal-like voice, you say to the immense, braid-bearded man, in sirihish:
"Yes, I believe so. Time passes strangely here."
The ethereal, fair-haired woman turns her head, keeping her eyes on the immense, braid-bearded man, although she doesn't move from her spot.
(hemote) The ethereal, fair-haired woman's brow knits ever so slightly.
Nodding his head lightly, shifting his grip on his ruby-red, scorpion-emblazoned plate helm, the immense, braid-bearded man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"I imagine. Seeing Suk-krath's light is not the same as being under it."
Coming to a halt directly beside you, turning his broad form to face your side, the immense, braid-bearded man asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"How do you feel about that confinement?"
Gaze flickering, just for a second, as she studies his features, you ask the immense, braid-bearded man, in sirihish:
"I feel as I must, that it is a necessity. Why this line of questioning, Silver?"
(hemote) A subtle tension rests in the ethereal, fair-haired woman's shoulders.
Seemingly ignoring your question, the immense, braid-bearded man asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"All this time. Krath. I've heard of no attempts to escape. Have there been any?"
Her posture flawlessly correct, motionless save for the slight rise and fall of her chest, you say to the immense, braid-bearded man, in sirihish:
"None."
(hemote) The ethereal, fair-haired woman's jaw tenses.
You notice: The immense, braid-bearded man's amber eyes flicker over you again, his weight shifting.
His voice and expression unchanged, the immense, braid-bearded man asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Why not?"
You notice: The immense, braid-bearded man leans forward the slightest bit, his attention unwavering on you.
Her voice crystalline, calm, you say to the immense, braid-bearded man, in sirihish:
"Because it would not be the right decision."
You feel warm. Very, very warm.
You think:
"What a foolish answer..."
Tilting his head to the side, the immense, braid-bearded man asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Why not?"
Voice softening a touch, patient, you say to the immense, braid-bearded man, in sirihish:
"Because I want to go home, and because I owe the Warlord my life. I would have no hope for life as a fugitive from this one."
A few distracting strands of hair fall across the ethereal, fair-haired woman's eyes, but she makes no move to brush them away.
A gauntleted hand lifting to flick against your collar, the immense, braid-bearded man asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"You hope for release, then?"
(hemote) The ethereal, fair-haired woman's head jerks, ever so slightly, the immense, braid-bearded man's motion sparking a reaction from her.
Patient fascination in her pale eyes as she watches him, you say to the immense, braid-bearded man, in sirihish:
"Always."
Moving slowly around in front of you, then turning to face you again, head tilted forward for his amber eyes to blaze into your features, the immense, braid-bearded man asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Enslaved for spying, yes? What makes you so sure release will be coming?"
Her head craning back as far as it will permit to be able to meet his eyes, you say to the immense, braid-bearded man, in sirihish:
"I have no assurance. No promise. I have only hope... and I was not enslaved for spying."
The last words of the ethereal, fair-haired woman's come at a crisper tone.
Squinting suddenly, the immense, braid-bearded man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"I was told differently. Educate me, if you will."
In her soft, crystal-like voice, you say to the immense, braid-bearded man, in sirihish:
"I would not presume to do so. If I were a spy, Silver, it would have been death and not slavery that entrapped me. The accusation has been made often, but never substantuated, as I have insisted upon..."
Voice softening, you say to the immense, braid-bearded man, in sirihish:
"... innocence."
Deep voice even as he remains still with attention set on you, the immense, braid-bearded man asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Often. Why should you be enslaved while every other northern worker and visitor remains free, here?"
(hemote) The tension in the ethereal, fair-haired woman's neck spreads to her shoulders.
Pale eyes flickering down to his chin, you say to the immense, braid-bearded man, in sirihish:
"I cannot speak to that."
You feel a flash of pain.
You notice: The immense, braid-bearded man's amber eyes shift subtly back and forth, looking directly into each of your own intently.
(hemote) The ethereal, fair-haired woman's hand tenses around her broom, knuckles growing a paler shade of white.
Your mood is now hurt and defensive.
Features turning slightly to the side before he leans in slightly, the immense, braid-bearded man asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Explain that. You can't, won't, or there is no answer?"
Crystalline voice fracturing, just a touch, you say to the immense, braid-bearded man, in sirihish:
"I do not know the answer and I will not speculate as to my Lord's motivations."
The ethereal, fair-haired woman's head cants the opposite direction to accomodate the immense, braid-bearded man's motion, her gaze meeting his own once again.
You feel your heart pounding.
Narrowing his gaze as he leans in further, his deep voice lowering with the proximity of his features to your own, the immense, braid-bearded man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Do you know how release is even considered, Aja? What makes an owner feel it is earned? That..."
The immense, braid-bearded man says, in southern-accented sirihish:
"...word, 'earned', is a clue."
Her gaze steady, serene, although her voice becomes forced, you say to the immense, braid-bearded man, in sirihish:
"By good service, I believe is the answer."
Voice lowering, you whisper to the immense, braid-bearded man in sirihish:
"Why this line of questioning?"
(hemote) The ethereal, fair-haired woman's posture is rigid now and still - although, her breathing is a shade faster than it was previously.
A hand lifting to your collar again, keeping your features in place as he straightens again, the immense, braid-bearded man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Good service, and trust. Trust is earned in itself. Good service is recognized step by step."
Lowering his hand slightly, glancing down at the open palm before it returns to his side, the immense, braid-bearded man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Soon, a page of the Warlord will be coming into contact with you. You will be accompanying the Warlord on a trip."
Amber eyes intent on you, the immense, braid-bearded man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"It is the first step, a first motion of true trust, on his part. I -will- be watching you like a verrin hawk of your plains watches its prey to insure it is not betrayed."
With the immense, braid-bearded man's hand away from your scorpion-emblazoned slave's collar, the ethereal, fair-haired woman gives only a shallow nod of acknowledgment, her pale eyes resuming an attentive polity.
With a slight lift to her brow, you say to the immense, braid-bearded man, in sirihish:
"... Silver, a day may come when you no longer feel it necessary to intimidate me into good behavior. It is my sincere hope that it comes soon."
Lifting his ruby-red, scorpion-emblazoned plate helm back over his head, the immense, braid-bearded man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"The -possibility- of your release begins here. An attempt to escape results in less favorable consequences. Use the chances you're give-..."
The immense, braid-bearded man places his ruby-red, scorpion-emblazoned plate helm on his head.
(hemote) The ethereal, fair-haired woman's posture remains tensed, muscles rigid from her neck and down through her arms and shoulders.
Watching him still, you say to the immense, braid-bearded man, in sirihish:
"... Thank you for the advice, Silver."
Attention unwavering, the immense, braid-bearded man asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"This is my investigation, Aja. This is my warning, my advice. This is me working for security. That statement does nothing to prevent further 'intimidation', only your actions will. Clear?"
A soft breath of air escaping her lips, you say to the immense, braid-bearded man, in sirihish:
"Silver, you speak of things I know well and will speak on them again, I have no doubt. But as I hope for release, I must also hope that you see me as something other than a woman trying to kill you."
Your mood is now wearied.
Glancing you over, the immense, braid-bearded man asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"If I ignored possibilities that did not seem likely based on appearance, I would not be a Silver, nor would I likely be alive, Aja. Now...are we clear, that I -will- be observing you closely?"
Voice level as she inclines her head to him, you ask the immense, braid-bearded man, in sirihish:
"I would have it no other way, Silver. If... I might ask, this trip - What is its destination?"
You think:
"Impossible southern soldiers."
His features impassive as he eyes you, the immense, braid-bearded man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"The Warlord's page will give you that information if he deems it necessary. You may resume your work, Aja."
As he turns back to the door, striding briskly, the immense, braid-bearded man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Good work."
The faintest hint of a smile crossing her lips, you say to the immense, braid-bearded man, in sirihish:
"... Be well, Silver. And thank you for your company."
The immense, braid-bearded man opens the door.
The immense, braid-bearded man walks north.
Features serene, the ethereal, fair-haired woman stares after the door before returning mechanically to her work.
It is dawn on Yochem, the 18th day of the Low Sun,
In the Year of Drov's Agitation, year 35 of the 21st Age.
You are Aja, Apprentice of the Bards of Poets' Circle.
Objective: To survive Allanak.
You are 23 years, 0 months, and 153 days old,
A Large Work Room [NS Save]
...
Continue Reading...Memoir #4 - The Senior Lady (Ceylara) by Rairen
Added on Mar 16, 2009The conclusion of an exercise in Stockholm Syndrome, a Senior Lady of Borsail demonstrates how to break a northern slave.
(Aja has spent more than two months locked in a single room, with company scarce and no sun or moons to tell day and night apart. At the last meeting with her Senior Lady, she broke into hysterics, mind crumbling at this timeless existence. She’d begged her new mistress for sunlight. That was four weeks ago.)
Servants' Quarters [E Quit Save]
In comparison with some of the other rooms onboard the wagon, this one would seem to have little in the way of accommodations. That comparison aside, these quarters are actually far from spartan. Ten moderately cushioned cots line the east wall, at the end of each is a simple wooden chest. Some wall-mounted torches flicker over two simple tables along the north wall. A thick gizhat-skin rug lines the middle of the floor, its crimson hue seeming darker in the torchlight.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman looks at the ceiling as she walks, her features serene.
You think:
"Flawless peace."
You think:
"How often I once wished for this."
You think:
"What will I do when it goes away?"
The ethereal, fair-haired woman doesn't turn around when she reaches the opposite wall. She bends back, both hands pressing to the floor.
After executing a crisp handstand, the ethereal, fair-haired woman turns and lands on her feet, again, to continue her walk.
You feel strained.
The slight, silver-crowned woman has arrived from the east.
The feminine, smooth-featured man has arrived from the east.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman pauses her 'stroll' to dip into an eloquent bow in the slight, silver-crowned woman's direction.
You think:
"Flawless."
Regarding the bow, the slight, silver-crowned woman looks at you.
Voice soft as she straightens, you say to the slight, silver-crowned woman, in sirihish:
"A pleasure to see you, my Lady."
(hemote) The ethereal, fair-haired woman's eyes are lined by dark cricles.
You feel nervous.
With a fond little smile, the slight, silver-crowned woman asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Of course it is. Exercise once again, hm?"
Amusement creeping into her eyes, you say to the slight, silver-crowned woman, in sirihish:
"... Yes, my Lady."
The ethereal, fair-haired woman touches your slave's collar, shifting it to the other side of her neck before folding her hands in front of her.
Glancing aside at the muscled man with a patchwork face for a moment, then back, the slight, silver-crowned woman asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Are you getting adequate rest?"
With practiced ease, you say to the slight, silver-crowned woman, in sirihish:
"It is more than peaceful here, my Lady. Thank you for the inquiry."
You think:
"She'll see through this like clear glass."
Your mood is now eager.
Recollecting herself as she gestures with one hand, you ask the slight, silver-crowned woman, in sirihish:
"My apologies. May I offer you a seat?"
Blinking suddenly, the slight, silver-crowned woman says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"I may have to cut this visit shorter than I intended. But come."
You now follow the slight, silver-crowned woman.
The slight, silver-crowned woman beckons the muscled man with a patchwork face.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman takes a step forward, caution as well as curiosity in her smile.
Moving to the door, the slight, silver-crowned woman says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"I gave my word to you on something, and so I shall keep it."
The slight, silver-crowned woman walks east.
You follow the slight, silver-crowned woman, and walk east.
(Walking... outside... through the arabet to the gardens...)
You feel hopelessly overjoyed.
Crystal-like voice too-level, you say to the slight, silver-crowned woman, in sirihish:
"How... kind of you to remember."
You think:
"... Pymlithe..."
Looking aside with a lifted brow, the slight, silver-crowned woman asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Don't you think?"
Cracking a smile, you say to the slight, silver-crowned woman, in sirihish:
"Only when you wish me to."
You feel deliriously happy.
Her expression souring a bit, the slight, silver-crowned woman says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"This is hardly the attitude I would expect when receiving a gift."
With a glance to her, her tone gentle, you say to the slight, silver-crowned woman, in sirihish:
"My Lady, I hardly know how to thank you appropriately."
(hemote) A subtle tension rests in the ethereal, fair-haired woman's neck.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman casts the doorway a casual glance.
As she steps out into the light and off the boarding plank, the slight, silver-crowned woman says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Humble respect is a good start."
The slight, silver-crowned woman leaves a massive, dark-crimson araba.
(hemote) The ethereal, fair-haired woman takes in a deep breath.
In a soft voice, her attention torn between her and the wagon house, you say to the slight, silver-crowned woman, in sirihish:
"As you wish, my Lady."
You feel jittery.
Your mood is now deliriously happy.
It is a cool night.
The sky is clear.
A cool breeze blows from the east.
Jihae, the red moon, is high in the sky.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman looks up at the sky, features serene.
Walking down the flagstone byway, the slight, silver-crowned woman says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"It will be dawn soon."
The ethereal, fair-haired woman swallows, the hands clasped behind her back holding tighter to each other.
After a pause, crystal-like voice tranquil, you ask the slight, silver-crowned woman, in sirihish:
"Of what day?"
Quietly, the slight, silver-crowned woman says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
The ethereal, fair-haired woman nods, once, in acknowledgement as she looks back to the sky.
(hemote) The ethereal, fair-haired woman's eyes narrow, her jaw clenched tight.
You feel overjoyed, miserable...
Stepping out toward the tiled courtyard, the slight, silver-crowned woman asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Before I took you into my grace, did you enjoy this city?"
Strain in her soft tone, you say to the slight, silver-crowned woman, in sirihish:
"I had little opportunity to experience it, my Lady."
Looking ahead, chin lifted as she watches the sky above, you say to the slight, silver-crowned woman, in sirihish:
"I spent most of my time in the compound."
Quietly, walking across the tiled courtyard, the slight, silver-crowned woman says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Perhaps one day you shall see more from my side."
The Central Courtyard [NESW]
Leaping, cavorting waters dance in the light of Suk-krath before musically plunging back into a marble fountain. The random tessellations of the courtyard's flagstones seem to take on a mosaic pattern around its center, flaring out from the fountain circle like waves of flame from the disk of the sun. The entire Borsail estate is laid out before the eyes here. To the west is the central wing, the windows of its second story gazing down upon the courtyard from their point of vantage above the colonnade of a verandah. The estate's gates loom further to the east, between a guard house and wagon house, while the courtyard extends to the north and through the House gardens to the south, before reaching the two flanking wings.
(hemote) The ethereal, fair-haired woman's pale gaze wavers, the transluscent color shimmering.
After another pause, her steps timed to match her own, you say to the slight, silver-crowned woman, in sirihish:
"If you feel me an appropriate companion, I would be delighted to join you."
(hemote) The ethereal, fair-haired woman swallows, taking in a deep breath through her nose.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman watches the marble fountain, head turned away from the slight, silver-crowned woman.
With a small smile, the slight, silver-crowned woman says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Not so much a companion, girl. But an attendant."
Gesturing toward a marble fountain, the slight, silver-crowned woman says, in southern-accented sirihish:
"I thought you might find this a pleasing sight."
With an affirming noise, you say to the slight, silver-crowned woman, in sirihish:
"It is, my Lady. More than pleasing."
(hemote) Subtle creases line the ethereal, fair-haired woman's forehead.
You think:
"Sweet Krath..."
Recollecting herself, a slight hitch to her crystalline voice, you say to the slight, silver-crowned woman, in sirihish:
"The entire estate is very lovely, my Lady. You must be very proud."
You think:
"... It's beautiful..."
Looking towards you, the slight, silver-crowned woman says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Out here, in the open.. this is your future, girl. Your old life is past. But you shall enjoy a new one. In the glow of my radiance, you might enjoy an existance few common souls could ever dream of."
Taking a few steps closer to the fountain and letting its mist blow across her face, the slight, silver-crowned woman says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"I take pride in my heritage, yes."
With soft anguish, never quite looking at her, you whisper to the slight, silver-crowned woman in sirihish:
"I don't..."
(hemote) The ethereal, fair-haired woman's jaw tenses.
Turning and looking at you with a lifted brow, the slight, silver-crowned woman says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Go on."
The ethereal, fair-haired woman turns, arms folded over her waist as she takes in the rest of the estate.
In a firmer voice, the tension in it seeming to run down her neck and into her shoulders, you say to the slight, silver-crowned woman, in sirihish:
"... I am very... happy... to be able to see this, my Lady."
You think:
"Don't touch me."
Passing servants in crimson livery and collared slaves, some bare-skinned and others in silks, make wide circles as they pass around the slight, silver-crowned woman's entourage, pausing to bow low to her.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman stands motionless, wind tossing her hair about her face.
You think:
"I'm too..."
You feel ... overwhelmed.
Her tone soft and even somewhat gentle, the slight, silver-crowned woman says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"You seem too tense. I do not think that is what you began to say. Try again."
Chin lifting, further rigidity rising to her posture, you say to the slight, silver-crowned woman, in sirihish:
"Perhaps, my Lady, but the... meaning is the same. I'm... overwhelmed by your consideration."
(hemote) The ethereal, fair-haired woman swallows before letting an inaudible breath escape her lips.
You feel like sobbing.
Stepping closer and looking into your eyes, the slight, silver-crowned woman asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"I'm sure you are. But what was it you were going to say?"
Looking away, pale eyes disrupted by unfallen tears, you say to the slight, silver-crowned woman, in sirihish:
"I'm not certain. Some thoughts never have words... are never put to words."
Soft, pained, you say to the slight, silver-crowned woman, in sirihish:
"I don't... understand you. I don't... deserve this... So many I don'ts, my Lady. I don't think I know all of them."
Gently, in the tone a mother would speak to a child, the slight, silver-crowned woman says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"I would not expect you to know. Come with me."
The ethereal, fair-haired woman inhales and nods, eyes turned again to the sky and away from the slight, silver-crowned woman.
Gazebo [NE]
A small gazebo, carved of pymlithe wood, its surface gracefully greyed by the touch of time, sits nestled among a cluster of blossoming trees, the clouds of flowers almost obscuring its roof. Two carved wooden benches, softened with a myriad of tiny overstuffed silk pillows, sit adjoining each other inside it. The air is sweet with the fragrance of the flowers, a heady almost intoxicating aroma which permeates the gazebo. Latticed sides allow glimpses of the garden to the north and east while still providing the occupants with a modicum of privacy. The softly rustling branches overhead are the only sound which competes with the glass wind chimes which hang from the eaves, singing softly.
A set of glass wind chimes sounds softly in the breeze.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman turns her head, recognition in her eyes.
You think:
"... pymlithe..."
The slight, silver-crowned woman makes her way over to a bench, waiting for the feminine, smooth-featured man to brush off its surface before she takes a seat.
The slight, silver-crowned woman sits on a carved cylini bench.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman looks up at a set of glass wind chimes as she walks toward the slight, silver-crowned woman, but doesn't sit.
Nodding at a spot down the bench from herself, the slight, silver-crowned woman says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"You may sit."
After turning a cautious glance down to the slight, silver-crowned woman, you sit on a carved cylini bench.
(hemote) The ethereal, fair-haired woman brushes a hand over the silk of the pillow at her side.
At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, quietly:
"Confusion is natural for you. I imagine it may need to run its course."
At your seat, you say in sirihish, with a forced humor:
"My Lady, I suspect that this may be a... very long course to run here."
At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, with a soft chuckle:
"Perhaps. But I shall help it along as I can. Some things need to be broken down before they can be rebuilt."
The ethereal, fair-haired woman sits with flawless poise as she looks straight ahead, taking in the trees on the opposite side of the gazebo.
At your seat, you say in sirihish, wavering:
"Thank... you, my Lady."
At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, in a gentle, soothing voice:
"You need to let me help, though, sweet. Some things I cannot force. Others I cannot. Trust is in the latter."
At your seat, you say in sirihish, looking down at her hands, linked around one knee:
"... Why desire my trust, my Lady? It's yours if you desire it - it is already yours, in fact - but why desire it in the first?"
(hemote) The ethereal, fair-haired woman swallows, her breathing deep and level.
You feel overwhelmed.
At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, leaning back and turning her own hazel gaze out towards the gardens:
"If I do not have it, I cannot give you much else than you have now. I cannot move this forward any farther, as I would like to."
At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, softly:
"I exist to be adored. That is why the Highlord brought me into being... to receive the adoration of all His city and the awe of the foreigners, in His name. How can I be what I am if I cannot hold the trust of my own slaves?"
At your seat, you say in sirihish, brushing a regrowing strand of hair away from her cheek:
"... You have it, my Lady. How are you asking me to prove this?"
The ethereal, fair-haired woman closes her eyes for a quiet moment, features never losing their accustomed serenity.
At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, looking toward you:
"There is so much tension in you. So much stammering. You remind me of a crystal glass when I watch you... so close to simply breaking, but holding back, as if you are afraid to trust me to pick up the pieces."
At your seat, you say in sirihish, looking at the trees again when her eyes reopen:
"It is my place to carry burdens, my Lady, not share them. Your respect I desire, greatly."
At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, reaching out to rearrange the shortened strands of your hair behind your ear:
"Your burdens are of interest to me. Especially now, when you are so utterly dependent on my care."
At your seat, you say in sirihish, eyes closing at the slight, silver-crowned woman's touch, shoulders tensing, almost flinching back:
"I've... told... you, my Lady. I'm... happy..."
(hemote) The ethereal, fair-haired woman's steady breathing hitches, shuddering.
At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, pausing the motion of her hand:
"Yet simple words are still so hard. Why?"
At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, softly, her eyes locked on you:
"Have I not taken you in when you should have been executed? Have I not sheltered you, supported you? I have been your savior, yet you are still so frightened."
At your seat, you say in sirihish, faltering, one damaged hand holding lightly to the side of her face:
"Simplicity does not... mean ease, my Lady. You have... done all of these things and more, I know."
At your seat, you say in sirihish, with a sound like a groan, head bowing:
"It's not... fear that stills my voice..."
At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, tilting her head curiously:
"Then what?"
The ethereal, fair-haired woman laughs, a heart-broken sound as she bends forward, arms folding on her knees as she buries her face into them.
In a voice of complete misery, you whisper to the slight, silver-crowned woman in sirihish:
"I'm... s-so... happy to be here..."
The ethereal, fair-haired woman shudders, back arching with quiet gasps for air as she sobs into her arms.
At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, scooting down the bench and leaning down closer to you, her voice soothing, but probing:
"And it shames you. You're having trouble accepting it in the midst of what you knew before."
At your seat, you say in sirihish, body still bent as she presses fingers into her eyes, ineffectively pushing back tears:
"Worse... I'm not ashamed at all."
At your seat, you say in sirihish, no composure in her tear-stained, haunted face:
"I... don't... know how to serve you..."
At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, brushing a hand through your hair:
"Then.. why so sad? Serve me as I ask for it."
One of the ethereal, fair-haired woman's hands forms a tight fist, while the other continues to swat at the tears sliding down her face.
At your seat, you say in sirihish, with a helpless gasp of air, so very much like a laugh:
"I'm not... sad. I'm so... happy to be here..."
The ethereal, fair-haired woman gives another low noise, like a groan, and turns, pressing her forehead into the slight, silver-crowned woman's leg.
At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, not shifting away, glancing down at you in curious sympathy:
"You should be, sweet. Keep talking. It will help us, knowing all this."
At your seat, you say in sirihish, with a feverish voice, broken by quieting sobs:
"It's so... perfect..."
Her voice rough, you whisper to the slight, silver-crowned woman in sirihish:
"The wind... the sky... the flowers in the air..."
(hemote) The ethereal, fair-haired woman's tears are hot, sinking into the material covering the slight, silver-crowned woman's leg.
You whisper to the slight, silver-crowned woman in sirihish:
"Thank you..."
At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, patting your shoulder gently:
"I did tell you I would show you."
A tragic smile lingers on the ethereal, fair-haired woman's lips as she sits up, keeping flushed features and swollen eyes averted from the slight, silver-crowned woman.
The slight, silver-crowned woman gives the wet stain on her pair of silver-stitched, crimson-silk pants a brief glance, then reaches out to brush your tears away.
At your seat, you say in sirihish, with a soft, lyrical laugh, one hand reaching to still the slight, silver-crowned woman's hand:
"I'm... sorry... I... tried to not."
At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, with an amused laugh:
"It's just silk."
At your seat, you say in sirihish, rolling her reddened eyes skyward for a moment, knuckles wiping at them as she smiles:
"I meant the tears, my Lady. I'm not hysterical by nature."
At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, shaking her head:
"I understand. I think.. you needed it."
At your seat, you say in sirihish, with a quirk of a smile hand lowering to gesture to the gardens:
"I needed this. There are so few things... but I needed this."
At your seat, you say in sirihish, casting the slight, silver-crowned woman a side-long, tear-streaked glance:
"... Thank you."
At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, dipping her head a bit as she smiles at you:
"I gave my word. Trust in me. Enjoy what you have here."
The ethereal, fair-haired woman relaxes back, reclining with casual elegance as her drying eyes look over the gardens.
At your seat, you say in sirihish, in a soft, gentle tone:
"As you wish, my Lady."
At your seat, you say in sirihish, amusement warming her voice:
"I've... been tasked with harder trials than that..."
At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, perking her sculpted brows:
"Oh? Such as?"
At your seat, you say in sirihish, looking back to the slight, silver-crowned woman, her smile warm if still weak from tears:
"Harder than being asked to savor kindness, charm, and beauty? I believe the majority of my adult education has been less... pleasantly phrased."
At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, to you, tilting her head:
"I would have you tell me of that education, actually."
At your seat, you say in sirihish, with a curious inclination of her head:
"... Of the Circle?"
At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, shrugging:
"All of it. Tell me the story of before."
At your seat, you say in sirihish, a rueful touch to her smile as one hand rubs the back of her neck, beneath your slave's collar:
""The story of before." That almost sounds like a song."
At your seat, you say in sirihish, in her soft, crystal-like voice:
"I don't know how much you know, my Lady. There are six Circles among my kin, and I am of the Driamusek."
At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, with a small smile:
"It almost does, doesn't it? Perhaps I shall have you sing for me one day."
At your seat, you say in sirihish, with a nod to the slight, silver-crowned woman:
"If you desire it, but singing was never my strongest virtue."
You think:
"... song bird..."
You think:
"... "A perfect pitch...""
(hemote) A shadow crosses the ethereal, fair-haired woman's thoughtful eyes and fades away again.
You think:
"Never again."
At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, with a shrug:
"For now the story shall suffice."
At your seat, you say in sirihish, hand brushing the silk pillow at her side:
"My mother was a Driamusek, and she decided that I would follow her. My entire life has been spent a bard, my Lady."
At your seat, you say in sirihish, in a patient tone:
"We all have our strengths and weaknesses, but there are six main areas of study. We call them "Arcs"."
At your seat, you say in sirihish:
"Music, Song... Words, Acting, Lore, and Blades.."
At your seat, you say in sirihish:
"A Master excels at all of them."
The slight, silver-crowned woman listens with thoughtful attentiveness, her gaze straying between you and the rest of the garden.
At your seat, you say in sirihish, arms folding over her waist without a drop of rigidity in them:
"Each of the Circles has their preferences... the Elkinhym, for example, do everything with a humorous bent."
At your seat, you say in sirihish, with a tragically lovely smile:
"My kin are much less... entertaining. We are the... teachers, in many respects. Tutors of the Chosen - ah, my pardon, of the nobility there."
At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, her brows lifting quickly at that:
"Really? Did you tutor any yourself?"
At your seat, you say in sirihish, with a shake of her head:
"Oh, certainly not. Not as an Apprentice, no, but I did have the opportunity to teach some of the younger bards."
At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, with a blink, holding up a hand:
"Wait.. wait. You mean to tell me that the fake nobles have themselves tutored by commoners... and not even common servants of their own family?"
At your seat, you say in sirihish, turning to address the slight, silver-crowned woman now, with a polite confusion:
"Yes, my Lady. In matters of etiquette, diplomacy... dance and music, many have had my kin as instructors."
At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, trying to restrain her amusement, though a few giggles bubble out anyway:
"Etiquette? Diplomacy? -Commoners-?"
At your seat, you say in sirihish, with evident mirth in her pale eyes:
"... Have you found my company so distasteful that the mere thought of being tutored by one of my superiors is unbelievable?"
At your seat, you say in sirihish, shaking her head, smiling to herself:
"This place is so strange. In ways you, my Lady, are closer to your commoners than they would ever dream, and in others... It's challenging to navigate the boundaries of polite interaction."
At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, biting back a grin:
"The taste of your company has nothing to do with it at all. Think of what you're saying. That a common, lesser form of being would actually... actually be able to -instruct- a supposed noble.."
At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, shaking her head in sheer amusement:
"It's unthinkable. It's such a blatant contradiction. How could a superior caste take instruction from something beneath them?"
At your seat, you say in sirihish, with a great deal of fondness and no sign of offense:
"And yet, I do not lie, my Lady. We cannot teach them how to lead, but for the lesser parts - those we can teach, while our leaders focus on other affairs."
You think:
"Such an incredibly strange place I've found."
At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish:
"And even... about politics? Etiquette? What would a commoner know of such things, and how they apply to the life of supposed nobility?"
At your seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, turning her focus back to you:
"I know you speak the truth. But surely you see the contradiction, the silliness of it."
At your seat, you say in sirihish, with a gentle, if apologetic, smile:
"I can see the... point you make, but I think I would have more to learn here - about how you live - before I'll be able to understand, I think."
Rising from her seat, the slight, silver-crowned woman says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"You'll tell me more about this later. And we shall help you to understand the fallacies and contradictions."
Pacing out of the gazebo, the slight, silver-crowned woman says, in southern-accented sirihish:
"For now... I have other business."
Falling into step at her side, you say to the slight, silver-crowned woman, in sirihish:
"I'll... look forward to it."
Servants' Quarters [E Quit Save]
In comparison with some of the other rooms onboard the wagon, this one would seem to have little in the way of accommodations. That comparison aside, these quarters are actually far from spartan. Ten moderately cushioned cots line the east wall, at the end of each is a simple wooden chest. Some wall-mounted torches flicker over two simple tables along the north wall. A thick gizhat-skin rug lines the middle of the floor, its crimson hue seeming darker in the torchlight.
(hemote) The ethereal, fair-haired woman sighs as she steps back into the room.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman turns, dropping into a polite bow before the slight, silver-crowned woman.
Remaining in the doorway, the slight, silver-crowned woman says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Rest well."
Straightening, you say to the slight, silver-crowned woman, in sirihish:
"Be well, my Lady."
With a small smile, the slight, silver-crowned woman says, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Always."
The slight, silver-crowned woman turns, motioning her guards to follow as she steps out.
(Aja has spent more than two months locked in a single room, with company scarce and no sun or moons to tell day and night apart. At the last meeting with her Senior Lady, she broke into hysterics, mind crumbling at this timeless existence. She’d begged her new mistress for sunlight. That was...
Continue Reading...Memoir #3 - The Conflicted Slave (Lao) by Rairen
Added on Mar 16, 2009Exiled and captured in the south, Aja awaits her fate in her make-shift, windowless cell aboard the Borsail argosy.
You are Aja, of many people. (type 'tribes' to see your tribes).
Objective: To survive Allanak.
You are 20 years, 2 months, and 60 days old.
It is dusk on Ocandra, the 155th day of the Ascending Sun,
In the Year of Suk-Krath's Slumber, year 32 of the 21st Age.
Servants' Quarters [E Quit Save]
In comparison with some of the other rooms onboard the wagon, this one would seem to have little in the way of accommodations. That comparison aside, these quarters are actually far from spartan. Ten moderately cushioned cots line the east wall, at the end of each is a simple wooden chest. Some wall-mounted torches flicker over two simple tables along the north wall. A thick gizhat-skin rug lines the middle of the floor, its crimson hue seeming darker in the torchlight.
The muscled man with a patchwork face looms here, features impassive.The ethereal, fair-haired woman sits up at the sound of the door, sliding out of the cot in a smooth motion.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman has half dropped into a bow before noticing the braid-bearded, auburn-haired man.
With a small smile, the braid-bearded, auburn-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Good morning, Aja."
The braid-bearded, auburn-haired man looks down at you.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman straightens, pulling down on the hem of your trim black linen vest as she inclines her head to the braid-bearded, auburn-haired man with a polite smile.
You ask the braid-bearded, auburn-haired man, in sirihish:
"Good... morning, Lao. How do you do?"
(hemote) The ethereal, fair-haired woman clears her throat softly.
You think:
“Of all the underhanded ways to find out what time it is...”
As he looks about the room, the braid-bearded, auburn-haired man asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Hmm, thus far, thus good, I do suppose. And how about you?"
Regarding him with her quiet thoughtfulness, you ask the braid-bearded, auburn-haired man, in sirihish:
"Good, I suppose, as well. To what do I owe the pleasure?"
As he moves to one of the tables, the braid-bearded, auburn-haired man asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"I said I would come to visit, did I not?"
Taking a step after him, a hint of a smile in her tone, you say to the braid-bearded, auburn-haired man, in sirihish:
"You did, but that does not mean that you would."
As he pulls a chair out, the braid-bearded, auburn-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"I've often found in life that false promises oft come back to bite you, in the end."
Settling on a chair, the braid-bearded, auburn-haired man sits down.
Taking a seat opposite the braid-bearded, auburn-haired man, you sit down.
As she crosses her legs, you say to the braid-bearded, auburn-haired man, in sirihish:
"Mm. I've been told many things for why people would seek my company, but... never... out of fear that I might bite them."
The ethereal, fair-haired woman casts the braid-bearded, auburn-haired man a mirthful glance.
You feel like screaming.
With a mournful shake of his head, the braid-bearded, auburn-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Never fun getting bitten."
With a soft click of her tongue, you say to the braid-bearded, auburn-haired man, in sirihish:
"I can't say I've had the experi - Oh, wait. No. My sister did once. I believe you may be right."
The braid-bearded, auburn-haired man drums fingers against a sold shape beneath his aba.
The braid-bearded, auburn-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"I've an answer, to a concern of yours."
Voice softening, you ask the braid-bearded, auburn-haired man, in sirihish:
"... Oh?"
With a light nod, the braid-bearded, auburn-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"It would see that you have pleased the great Lady thus far. She has chosen for you to live."
With a hint of a smile, you say to the braid-bearded, auburn-haired man, in sirihish:
"For now, at least. Thank you for looking into this for me."
Reaching into the folds of his aba, the braid-bearded, auburn-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"She has also decided to make you her own."
Brow creasing, you ask the braid-bearded, auburn-haired man, in sirihish:
"... I beg your pardon?"
Her gaze both thoughtful and appraising, you look at the braid-bearded, auburn-haired man.
A slender form wrapped in swarthy skin, this young man appears more frail than hearty. Standing a bit taller than most at around five cords, a bow of his rangy shoulders shortens him some. His thick auburn hair is kept tied back with a leather thong and falls to his shoulder blades. Sunken eyes of a deep blue shade stand in contrast of the otherwise angular features of his face and high forehead. The point of his chin can be made out beneath long beard that covers just his lower jaw, through the three braids it has been parted in to. Thin lines of dark red and blue whorl across his cheeks, dipping down to his neck and curling around to the small of his back.
Removing the ring from within his aba, the braid-bearded, auburn-haired man sets it down atop the table. He looks down at it for a long moment, with a slight furrow of brow and purse of lips.
Running a finger along his slave's collar, the braid-bearded, auburn-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"A personal slave, of the great Lady."
Watching the braid-bearded, auburn-haired man's hands, with practiced calm, you say to the braid-bearded, auburn-haired man, in sirihish:
"I... see."
Looking back up to him, you ask the braid-bearded, auburn-haired man, in sirihish:
"Like you?"
The braid-bearded, auburn-haired man stares at his slave's collar for a long moment, before slowly lifting his gaze, looking at you with that same small furrow of brow.
The braid-bearded, auburn-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Like me."
(hemote) The ethereal, fair-haired woman's gaze softens, just for a moment.
(And then he changes the subject, the conversation ranging from gardens to Tuluk to philosophy. They banter for hours, or what she guesses to be hours, with that ring of bone laying unmentioned between them, until, finally...)
In a smooth motion, her hip coming to rest against the side of the small table, you stand up.
The braid-bearded, auburn-haired man watches you with a touch of curiosity in his expression.
You notice: The braid-bearded, auburn-haired man frowns, just a bit, as his eyes float down to the collar set atop the table.
"Will you pardon me? Your... wit exhausts my mental reserves."
The ethereal, fair-haired woman trails off, as she glances down to the top of the table.
The braid-bearded, auburn-haired man takes in a slow breath, fingers closing around the collar as his gaze slowly lifts to you.
You ask the braid-bearded, auburn-haired man, in sirihish:
"... I suppose we should take care of that bit of business, hm?"
The braid-bearded, auburn-haired man's face seems to drain of expression as he nods slowly, his chair easing back.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman glances from the ring, up his hands to his face.
The braid-bearded, auburn-haired man stands up.
You contact the braid-bearded, auburn-haired man with the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the braid-bearded, auburn-haired man:
"Don't look so forlorn. It's... nothing. A triviality."
The collar held rather tightly in his right hand, the fingers of his left slowly flexing and relaxing, the braid-bearded, auburn-haired man approaches you, then steps around you, turning to stand behind you.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman stands motionless, save for the slight rise and fall of her chest, head turned to one side to look over her shoulder at the braid-bearded, auburn-haired man.
The braid-bearded, auburn-haired man's jaw sets, the movents of his hand stiff as his thumb flips the catch, opening the collar.
(hemote) The fingers of one of the ethereal, fair-haired woman's hands press into the table enough to turn her skin white at the fingertips.
The braid-bearded, auburn-haired man avoids your eyes as he raises his slave's collar. With an efficiency of movements, he brings the collar to your neck, and with the faintest of flinches, snaps it shut.
You bow your head, placing your slave's collar about your neck.
Voice fragile, even soothing, you say to the braid-bearded, auburn-haired man, in sirihish:
"... See? No matter at all."
The braid-bearded, auburn-haired man's hand lingers for a moment, palm brushing against your shoulder, before it lowers to his side.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman swallows, the soft skin of her throat rising and falling.
This collar is the type normally worn by a slave. It is made of heavy bone, to serve as a constant reminder to the slave of the weight of their responsibility to the master. It has a sturdy clasp on the rear of the collar, reminding the slave that they are in service until released.
His own voice somewhat hoarse, the braid-bearded, auburn-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"No matter at all."
Shifting her weight to no longer lean against the table, you say to the braid-bearded, auburn-haired man, in sirihish:
"... I thought you were the one who said we were all slaves."
The ethereal, fair-haired woman turns, looking up to the braid-bearded, auburn-haired man.
"It's heavy. You've carried this for too long."
His voice brusk as he turns, still avoiding you gaze, the braid-bearded, auburn-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"All all have weights that we must bare. I hope that your sleep is restful."
In her soft, crystal-like voice as she remains motionless, you say to the braid-bearded, auburn-haired man, in sirihish:
"... Let it go, Lao. And... enjoy a peaceful rest."
You notice: The braid-bearded, auburn-haired man stiffens at the gentleness of your tone.
(hemote) The ethereal, fair-haired woman's jaw is tensed, the rigidity extending down her neck and into her shoulders.
The braid-bearded, auburn-haired man starts to lift a hand, perhaps to your shoulder. But then, without a word, he finishes his turn, and crosses the room to the door, his abnormally jerky movements filled with tension.
The braid-bearded, auburn-haired man walks east.
You think:
"... Some mountains are harder to understand than others."
The ethereal, fair-haired woman glances to the door with a thoughtful tranquility.
You are Aja, of many people. (type 'tribes' to see your tribes).
Objective: To survive Allanak.
You are 20 years, 2 months, and 60 days old.
It is dusk on Ocandra, the 155th day of the Ascending Sun,
In the Year of Suk-Krath's Slumber, year 32 of the 21st Age.
Servants' Quarters [E...
Continue Reading...Memoir #2 - The Stranger in the Storm (Sand) by Rairen
Added on Mar 16, 2009A stormy evening in a long week of wind-swept skies makes friends out of the most unlikely of people.
It is dusk on Barani, the 21st day of the Low Sun,
In the Year of Suk-Krath's Slumber, year 32 of the 21st Age.
It is a warm night.
The sky is clear.
A mighty gale wind screams out of the south.
(On the streets near the Sanctuary...)
The twiggy, vividly-inked man wanders north along the road.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman walks, a hand along the wall for support as the winds push her forward.
The twiggy, vividly-inked man chuckles and shakes his head.
The twiggy, vividly-inked man exclaims to you, in sirihish:
"Ya'll make it lass, just keep goin'!"
The ethereal, fair-haired woman looks up to the twiggy, vividly-inked man, clearly having trouble standing as she smiles.
Sighing briefly, the twiggy, vividly-inked man asks you, in sirihish:
"Ya need a hand?"
Voice lifting to be heard above the winds, you say to the twiggy, vividly-inked man, in sirihish:
"Oh, laugh it up, my friend..."
The twiggy, vividly-inked man walks across the road towards you, offering a hand as the wind blows his hair and cloak about him.
Resting her back against wall as she smiles to him, you say to the twiggy, vividly-inked man, in sirihish:
"I live in the Circle... I couldn't take you so far away."
The ethereal, fair-haired woman stumbles, righting herself with a brief flicker of annoyance.
Raising his voice as he nears, the twiggy, vividly-inked man asks you, in sirihish:
"Oh, bother, I could spare an hour or two. And if I don't..ya'd never tell me another story, yeah?"
You now follow the twiggy, vividly-inked man.
The twiggy, vividly-inked man offers his arm to you for support, his other holding his cloak.
With what seems like laughter, although its too soft to hear, you say to the twiggy, vividly-inked man, in sirihish:
"Perhaps..."
The ethereal, fair-haired woman takes the twiggy, vividly-inked man's arm, wrapping both hands around it.
You contact the twiggy, vividly-inked man with the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the twiggy, vividly-inked man:
"I'll owe you a great debt for this."
Though not really a whisper as he raises his voice, the twiggy, vividly-inked man whispers to you, in sirihish:
"Come now, think nothin' of it."
The twiggy, vividly-inked man pats your hand with a smile befoe walking eastward.
(The walk back to the Circle...)
The twiggy, vividly-inked man pushes along though the wind threatens to push him into one of the northern walls.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman's hair is flung about her face as she clings to the twiggy, vividly-inked man's arm like a lost reed.
The twiggy, vividly-inked man sends you a telepathic message:
"As I said, think nothing of it. You gave me good company, so this is me paying -my- debt in return."
You send a telepathic message to the twiggy, vividly-inked man:
"I think... my conversation comes easier than this walk. You do a good service to a bardess, my friend."
The twiggy, vividly-inked man sends you a telepathic message:
"Then remember me, and way my sorry sweat stained ass when you next perform so that I may watch."
You send a telepathic message to the twiggy, vividly-inked man:
"You have my word."
The twiggy, vividly-inked man peers to the east but instead turns northward with the wind whipping heavily against his back.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman drags her heels to keep from being flung forward by the winds.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman's arms tighten around the twiggy, vividly-inked man's own.
You notice: The twiggy, vividly-inked man pulls his arm close, and thereby pulls you towards him.
The twiggy, vividly-inked man sends you a telepathic message:
"Keep close, or the winds will carry you off, like some loreshi reed, lass."
The twiggy, vividly-inked man squints as some sand and debris are blown down the road then proceeds to the east.
You send a telepathic message to the twiggy, vividly-inked man:
"... I'm lucky I can bear burdens with grace, or this would be mortifying, I think - although better than when I'm dropped to my knees from a sudden gust."
You notice: The twiggy, vividly-inked man tightens his lanky arm against the wind as he walks along.
The twiggy, vividly-inked man sends you a telepathic message:
"To your knees, lass? Now that's... hmm, nevermind that."
The twiggy, vividly-inked man chuckles to himself, though the sound is lost in the wind.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman walks with her head lowered, face half-turned to use the twiggy, vividly-inked man's shoulder as a shield.
The twiggy, vividly-inked man peers about as his shocks of hair are blown awry by the heavy winds.
The twiggy, vividly-inked man looks to the east then to the north and nods to himself brusquely.
(hemote) A brief, flickering, relieved smile crosses the ethereal, fair-haired woman's lips.
Looking around quietly, the twiggy, vividly-inked man asks you, in sirihish:
"Almost...there...ya holdin' up?"
Voice blurring with the winds, you say to the twiggy, vividly-inked man, in sirihish:
"Onl... ... cause of you."
The twiggy, vividly-inked man chuckles to himself then turns to the east.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman shakes her head a few times.
Stepping out of the gusting winds, the twiggy, vividly-inked man walks south.
You follow the twiggy, vividly-inked man, and walk south.
A Gated Entry [NS]
This small entrance is dominated by a large wooden gate. The gate was devised of long turned cylindrical posts. Painted white, there are no clues as to which type of wood was used, but each post is thick and strong. A bone panel is home to an oddly shaped keyhole. A small bush stands on either side of the gate, bracketing it.
The twiggy, vividly-inked man relaxes visibly and shakes his clothing lightly with his hands.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman lets out a soft breath as she loosens her grip on the twiggy, vividly-inked man's arm.
His hair all sorts of wild as he casts a bright smile, the twiggy, vividly-inked man says to you, in sirihish:
"There! We survived! A tale to tell of things to be told...as tales...and...told, yeah."
Softly, you say to the twiggy, vividly-inked man, in sirihish:
"This isn't my House, but... it does well enough."
The twiggy, vividly-inked man asks, in sirihish:
"Wait...not?"
The ethereal, fair-haired woman runs a hand through her hair, pulling the tangled strands away from her face.
The twiggy, vividly-inked man says, in sirihish:
"Oooooh, oh oh yes."
The twiggy, vividly-inked man bites his lower lip then looks to the north.
The twiggy, vividly-inked man asks, in sirihish:
"Onward then?"
With amused confusion, you say to the twiggy, vividly-inked man, in sirihish:
"No, I rent an apartment in the Driamusek House... and you have remarkable patience."
With a grand gesture, you say to the twiggy, vividly-inked man, in sirihish:
"... If we must."
Looking back at you as he raises his eyebrows, the twiggy, vividly-inked man says to you, in sirihish:
"Patience? This? I walked to Luir's, half-ran, and back a few days later. This? This is nothin'."
The twiggy, vividly-inked man waves his hand at the door as though at a buzzing kankfly and chuckles.
With soft amusement to herself, you say, in sirihish:
"Well, I'm glad I rate better than a trip to Luir's."
The twiggy, vividly-inked man winks at you then cocks his head to the north.
The twiggy, vividly-inked man says, in sirihish:
"Let's be off, lass."
The ethereal, fair-haired woman restrings her arms around the twiggy, vividly-inked man's own.
The twiggy, vividly-inked man pulls you close as he gazes about the circle.
The twiggy, vividly-inked man glances at his hooded, dusky-green cotton cloak in passing then continues on his way.
The twiggy, vividly-inked man looks about then nods to himself before turning west.
Pulling herself up on his arm to speak near his ear, you whisper to the twiggy, vividly-inked man in sirihish:
"South side... near the Ghaati."
Raising his hand to point a finger with due diligence and regality, the twiggy, vividly-inked man shouts, in sirihish:
"TO THE GHATTI!"
The ethereal, fair-haired woman flinches, lowering her face again at a sharp wind, even as she laughs.
The twiggy, vividly-inked man nods firmly then continues on through the circle.
The twiggy, vividly-inked man pushes through the garden as the grass blows through the trees.
The twiggy, vividly-inked man squints his eyes, though lessening that as the wind dies a bit.
Close to the twiggy, vividly-inked man's side, the ethereal, fair-haired woman does her best to avoid scattered debris tossed by the winds.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman smiles, with evident relief.
The twiggy, vividly-inked man moves towards a purple brick building, giving a sharp, loud noise of finding.
The Courtyard of Driamusek Circle [Leave]
Lavender and amethyst marble pavestones form the flooring of this small but crowded courtyard, lined with small, silver-barked saplings, their leaves adrift with pale white blossoms. Servants rush to and fro on errands while a few bards sit on the steps leading up to the entrance, competing with their instruments. Unlike most of the other buildings of Poets' Circle, this building is made solely of claybrick, making its architecture short and squat, although sturdier than most. Above the wide front door, glazed onto a white ceramic plate, is the symbol of Driamusek Circle: a purple cross.
The austere, stiff-necked man is here, disdainfully watching his surroundings.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman lets out a deep breath - and then inclines her head to the austere, stiff-necked man with a respectful motion.
Stepping into the courtyard, the wind a bit shielded, the twiggy, vividly-inked man says, in sirihish:
"There..here..and yes."
You whisper to the twiggy, vividly-inked man in sirihish:
"Master Olide..."
Tipping his head politely , the twiggy, vividly-inked man says to the austere, stiff-necked man, in sirihish:
"Master Olide, let me thank ya for allowin' such a lass as this to give me such wonderful company"
You notice: The twiggy, vividly-inked man winks faintly at you as he grins.
Not releasing her firm grip on his arm as she pulls him -away- from the austere, stiff-necked man, you say to the twiggy, vividly-inked man, in sirihish:
"Ah... thank you, my friend. I do owe you greatly."
Hair scattered about her face, you ask the twiggy, vividly-inked man, in sirihish:
"Will you be well to get to work, or did you need to rest a moment?"
Turning into you and shaking his head, the twiggy, vividly-inked man whispers to you, in sirihish:
"Nah, not at all, ya paid any debt with yer wit, lass."
Looking back to the outside and blowing air out of his cheeks, the twiggy, vividly-inked man asks you, in sirihish:
"I think I should work...or starve and die without water, lass. But perhaps another time, yeah?"
With soft amusement, you say to the twiggy, vividly-inked man, in sirihish:
"Not at all. Driamusek are born witless. We've no talent for humor."
The twiggy, vividly-inked man chuckles as he looks back at you.
With a deep nod, you say to the twiggy, vividly-inked man, in sirihish:
"It would be a pleasure. Please be safe."
Nodding in return, the twiggy, vividly-inked man says to you, in sirihish:
"Take care, and until next time, lass, be safe in His Light."
The ethereal, fair-haired woman smiles, brushing a few of the tangled strands of hair away from her face as she nods to the twiggy, vividly-inked man.
You say to the twiggy, vividly-inked man, in sirihish:
"His Light guard you, friend."
The twiggy, vividly-inked man nods, pulling his arm back and smiling as he backs away to the entrance.
The twiggy, vividly-inked man winks at you then turns to walk out, pulling his cloak about his body tightly.
The twiggy, vividly-inked man leaves a purple brick building.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman turns, straightening your laced lavender silk blouse as she slips inside the House.
You think:
"What a day..."
It is dusk on Barani, the 21st day of the Low Sun,
In the Year of Suk-Krath's Slumber, year 32 of the 21st Age.
It is a warm night.
The sky is clear.
A mighty gale wind screams out of the south.
(On the streets near the Sanctuary...)
The twiggy, vividly-inked man wanders north...
Continue Reading...Memoir #1 - The Elven Seeker (Tuha) by Rairen
Added on Mar 16, 2009A chance encounter on the streets of Tuluk leads a Circle Apprentice to challenge an uncomfortable question: What do you do when an elf outranks you?
It is dusk on Huegel, the 74th day of the Descending Sun,
In the Year of Suk-Krath's Slumber, year 32 of the 21st Age.
You are Aja, Apprentice of the Bards of Poets' Circle.
Objective: To become the Heart and Soul of Tuluk
You are 19 years, 2 months, and 210 days old.
North Road [NESW]
The stark white of this wide stone road lies nestled between the rise and fall of a conglomerated jumble of eclectically styled buildings. Passing through the city, the road is kept clean of any blowing sand and forest debris. The pale backbone cuts a decisive line east across the bustling metropolis towards what remains of the Old City. The pale white of the road merges with a newer road just to the east. Further in the distance, the crumbled ruins of the old city can be seen rising up above the newer walls that have been built up around them. Set on the north side of the road is a large two-story tavern. On the south side of the road is a large wagon yard.
The slender, fine-featured elf has arrived from the north.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman stops just before crashing into the slender, fine-featured elf.
You look up at the slender, fine-featured elf.
Standing a little over five cords in height, this male elf's presence is by no means imposing. Fine features adorn his prominently elvish facade, framed by a sleek mane of sand-hued hair. His build complements his lissome effigy, his form seemingly composed of little more than sparsely fleshed-out bone. His curious eyes are ever so slightly mismatched. One remains an amber hue, whilst the other bears a subtle hint of green. Tattoos common to Gol Krathu are apparent upon this elf's copper-toned skin, almost lost in the myriad of colorful inks that mark his flesh.
Voice soft, you say, in sirihish:
"Oh... pardon."
The slender, fine-featured elf steps out from the tavern, pausing as he passes you.
To you with an easy smile, the slender, fine-featured elf asks, in sirihish:
"Everything alright there, Aja?"
A few drops of sweat glistening at her collarbone, you say to the slender, fine-featured elf, in sirihish:
"Of course, Seeker. Thank you for asking."
The ethereal, fair-haired woman looks up at the slender, fine-featured elf with a patient expression, a flush at her neck and cheeks.
Steping to one side to circle you closely, the slender, fine-featured elf says, in sirihish:
"You seem a little, worried..."
Looking up to him without moving, you say to the slender, fine-featured elf, in sirihish:
"If I do, I apologize for it."
The slender, fine-featured elf appears at your left shoulder.
Posture straightening, you ask the slender, fine-featured elf, in sirihish:
"A prank, Seeker?"
(hemote) The ethereal, fair-haired woman's jaw tenses.
To you, taking a step back, the slender, fine-featured elf says, in sirihish:
"Oh no, I wouldn't be -that- obvious, Aja. Plus there are far more interesting targets that yourself. You'd probably apologise afterwards..."
The ethereal, fair-haired woman looks up at the slender, fine-featured elf, over her shoulder now, with a quiet smile.
You say to the slender, fine-featured elf, in sirihish:
"If you say so, Seeker. I would hate to ruin your jokes."
The slender, fine-featured elf pipes a brief chuckle.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman turns, resting her back against the wall of the Sanctuary.
Her expression patient, once again, you ask the slender, fine-featured elf, in sirihish:
"... Did I distract you from your business?"
The slender, fine-featured elf looks down at you.
(hemote) A subtle tension rests in the ethereal, fair-haired woman's neck.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman folds her hands in front of herself.
(hemote) A few strands of hair, sticky with sweat, cling to the ethereal, fair-haired woman's neck.
Smirking, the slender, fine-featured elf says, in sirihish:
"My business varies, I doubt you could distract me for long if I had something important to do."
Inclining her head in agreement, you say to the slender, fine-featured elf, in sirihish:
"Of course, Seeker."
A grin creeping between his lips, baring his narrow teeth, the slender, fine-featured elf says, in sirihish:
"You agree with most things I say, it seems."
Returning the slender, fine-featured elf's grin with a faint smile, you ask the slender, fine-featured elf, in sirihish:
"Should I disagree with them?"
The ethereal, fair-haired woman inclines her head to one side, pale eyes still watching the slender, fine-featured elf.
His mismatched eyes lighting up for a second, the slender, fine-featured elf asks, in sirihish:
"Perhaps, but then you would have to apologise for all our disagreements, hmm?"
With a correct nod, you say to the slender, fine-featured elf, in sirihish:
"Yes, of course. It would be a source of conversation."
(hemote) The crisp aroma of mint still clings to the ethereal, fair-haired woman.
You think:
"I will survive this and be stronger for it."
After a short pause, tilting his head a touch, the slender, fine-featured elf asks, in sirihish:
"No... it wouldn't be a good source of conversation...?"
Blinking, you say to the slender, fine-featured elf, in sirihish:
"I said it would be a source of conversation. Not that it would be a good one."
To you, pouting his lips curiously, the slender, fine-featured elf asks, in sirihish:
"A terrible one?"
Pale gaze dropping to the slender, fine-featured elf's lips, you say to the slender, fine-featured elf, in sirihish:
"I don't know. I could find a conversation with you terrible."
You say to the slender, fine-featured elf, in sirihish:
"Could... not find, I mean."
The ethereal, fair-haired woman frowns.
To you, snapping his fingers with an edgy grin, the slender, fine-featured elf asks, in sirihish:
"Aha! You have said something I might deem as offensive, hmm? You'd better apologise, or should you?"
Forehead creasing, you say to the slender, fine-featured elf, in sirihish:
"Do you need me to apologize? I thought you found it terrible."
The ethereal, fair-haired woman glances to the slender, fine-featured elf's hand and then back up to his face.
The slender, fine-featured elf tilts his head a moment, rubbing his cheek.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman tilts her head in the opposite direction.
Suddenly, with a bright smile, the slender, fine-featured elf says, in sirihish:
"A most interesting thing, you are. I am hungry."
The slender, fine-featured elf turns elegantly on his heel.
A smile crossing her lips, you say to the slender, fine-featured elf, in sirihish:
"Thank you, Seeker."
The slender, fine-featured elf walks north.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman exhales, relief in her expression.
You think:
"I wonder if that means he'll kill me."
You think:
"... I really can't do this to myself."
North Salt Road [NSW]
Rows of pale stones form the backbone for this broad avenue, settled
into the ground with graceful fervor. Decorating the edge of the street,
the buildings and storefronts are universally adorned with garish and tawdry sculptures, bas reliefs, and murals. The road is filled with a continual throng of humans and demi-humans alike as they scurry about the bustle of daily life.
The sounds of a rowdy commotion spills out onto the streets from the
building to the west. A trio of humanoid sculptures are caught before the junction between two roads, the crowds passing around them. An odd-looking sculpture surrounds a stone bench off to one side of the road.
Sitting on the bench, the ethereal, fair-haired woman crosses her legs at the ankle and stretches them in front of her.
The slender, fine-featured elf has arrived from the west.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman looks up at the sky from her seat.
Lowering her gaze, you look up at the slender, fine-featured elf.
Approaching a small white stone bench, the slender, fine-featured elf says, in sirihish:
"Well if you aren't just everywhere..."
Mirth in her eyes for just a moment, you say to the slender, fine-featured elf, in sirihish:
"No, I'm only here. I give my word."
The slender, fine-featured elf narrows his eyes with a thin smile.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman casts the slender, fine-featured elf a lovely smile, her expression attentive.
Glancing left, then right with a grin, the slender, fine-featured elf says, in sirihish:
"That'd be the right answer, my dear. Any other and we had a witch's execution..."
With a sage nod, you say to the slender, fine-featured elf, in sirihish:
"Yes, I know."
Crossing her legs as she clasps her hands over one knee, you ask the slender, fine-featured elf, in sirihish:
"... Is all well, Seeker?"
The slender, fine-featured elf casts a puzzled expression, jutting a long, thin arm out to one side.
(hemote) The wind causes strands of the ethereal, fair-haired woman's hair to brush against her face and shoulders.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman looks down the length of the slender, fine-featured elf's arm.
With a flick the slender, fine-featured elf turns his hand, producing his red bone flute.
You notice: The slender, fine-featured elf bites his lip.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman looks back to the slender, fine-featured elf with the appropriate degree of admiration.
To you, giving his red bone flute a short twirl, the slender, fine-featured elf says, in sirihish:
"Yet this is not a foul practice... but an artful one. My, sometimes I confuse even myself..."
The slender, fine-featured elf smirks.
With a polite smile, you ask the slender, fine-featured elf, in sirihish:
"Should I be confused as well?"
You think:
"... Oh, he should be very careful."
The slender, fine-featured elf sits on a small white stone bench.
You think:
"And so should I, thinking of it."
At your seat, you say in sirihish, turning her head to look at the slender, fine-featured elf:
"Do you wish me to go, Seeker?"
At your seat, the slender, fine-featured elf says in sirihish, grinning as he quirks a thin, sandy eyebrow:
"Would you if I asked?"
At your seat, you say in sirihish, also lifting a slender eyebrow:
"Yes, of course - unless you wish me to ignore you, of course."
At your seat, the slender, fine-featured elf says in sirihish, to you, his eyes blazing a moment:
"Wrong, see. The correct reply would be "Naff off, neck!"."
At your seat, you say in sirihish, with a slight nod as she looks back to the slender, fine-featured elf:
"I'll try to remember that."
To you, scooching back on the bench, the slender, fine-featured elf says, in sirihish:
"Don't bother, eh? You'll save yourself an apology."
At your seat, you say in sirihish, with a shrug of her slender shoulders:
"As you wish, of course, Seeker."
(hemote) The ethereal, fair-haired woman's cloak brushes against the slender, fine-featured elf's back.
At your seat, the slender, fine-featured elf says in sirihish, musing:
""As you wish.".... Sands, if all the apprentices said that I'd have Krath on a stick."
At your seat, you say in sirihish, with flickering mirth:
"An interesting wish."
You think:
"I will not die."
You think:
"I will not fail."
You think:
"I will not lose."
At your seat, the slender, fine-featured elf says in sirihish, to you, lowering his gaze:
"So, what were you planning to do all alone on this bench, hmm?"
(The pesky thing evidently having no plans of leaving her be, Aja continues speaking with him. Noticing discomfort for the first time in his cool demeanor, she takes a different tact, using the Way.)
You notice: The slender, fine-featured elf swallows briefly.
You contact the slender, fine-featured elf with the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the slender, fine-featured elf:
"... Have I done something wrong, Tuha?"
The slender, fine-featured elf narrows his eyes curiously at you.
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
The slender, fine-featured elf sends you a telepathic message:
"What are you doing in my head?"
The ethereal, fair-haired woman continues to look at the slender, fine-featured elf, a slight crease to her forehead.
You send a telepathic message to the slender, fine-featured elf:
"Displeasing you, it seems."
The slender, fine-featured elf sends you a telepathic message:
"*with a hint of mirth* Better apologise, hmm? That'd be Seeker, and all."
You send a telepathic message to the slender, fine-featured elf:
"*sharing your amusement* If you wish. Do you?"
The slender, fine-featured elf sends you a telepathic message:
"No. Perhaps... It doesn't matter."
You send a telepathic message to the slender, fine-featured elf:
"... Why doesn't it matter?"
The slender, fine-featured elf glances off for a second, appearing distracted.
You notice: The slender, fine-featured elf peeps back at you a moment.
You notice the slender, fine-featured elf start watching you.
(hemote) With the slender, fine-featured elf's gaze turned, the ethereal, fair-haired woman's lets out a long, soft breath.
(hemote) The crisp aroma of mint surrounds the ethereal, fair-haired woman.
(hemote) A few strands of hair cling to the ethereal, fair-haired woman's neck and the side of her face.
The slender, fine-featured elf sends you a telepathic message:
"Beacause it's in my head, Master What-his-face Driamusek can't hear you..."
You send a telepathic message to the slender, fine-featured elf:
"Do you believe Master Olide would approve of my behavior?"
You notice: The slender, fine-featured elf's nostrils flare briefly.
(hemote) A subtle tension rests in the ethereal, fair-haired woman's neck.
The slender, fine-featured elf's eyes fall half-closed with a faint smile.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman continues to regard the slender, fine-featured elf with a patient expression, her hands folded on her lap.
The slender, fine-featured elf sends you a telepathic message:
"He'd hate it. Chattering away with a Rusarla elf. It'd drive them all mad."
You send a telepathic message to the slender, fine-featured elf:
"It is possible. Why are you doing it?"
The slender, fine-featured elf sends you a telepathic message:
"Doing what?"
You send a telepathic message to the slender, fine-featured elf:
"Chattering away at a Driamusek bardess, Seeker."
The slender, fine-featured elf sways his head elegntly from one side to the other.
The slender, fine-featured elf sends you a telepathic message:
"Because I wish to."
(hemote) A brief, slender smile toys at the corner of the ethereal, fair-haired woman's mouth.
You notice: The slender, fine-featured elf lips twitch.
You send a telepathic message to the slender, fine-featured elf:
"Very well."
You send a telepathic message to the slender, fine-featured elf:
"Do I cause you discomfort, Tuha?"
The slender, fine-featured elf sends you a telepathic message:
"Being chased by seven gortoks caused me discomfort once. You are far from it."
You send a telepathic message to the slender, fine-featured elf:
"*mirth crossing her thoughts* Far from seven?"
You send a telepathic message to the slender, fine-featured elf:
"... Six?"
The slender, fine-featured elf sends you a telepathic message:
"Perhaps one, though it'd have to be a rather dazzling gortok."
The ethereal, fair-haired woman inclines her head to the slender, fine-featured elf in a polite, respectful gesture.
You send a telepathic message to the slender, fine-featured elf:
"Thank you, Seeker."
You send a telepathic message to the slender, fine-featured elf:
"We've talked for hours and said almost nothing. A remarkable accomplishment, even for two bards."
The slender, fine-featured elf sends you a telepathic message:
"I'm the best at talking in circles by far, my dear Aja."
You send a telepathic message to the slender, fine-featured elf:
"So I'm discovering. Why?"
The slender, fine-featured elf sends you a telepathic message:
"*with a soft mental giggle* Because that's how I work, Aja. Circles avoid a direction."
(hemote) A few drops of sweat glisten at the ethereal, fair-haired woman's collarbone.
You send a telepathic message to the slender, fine-featured elf:
"Don't you get dizzy?"
The slender, fine-featured elf gaze lingers on your neck.
The slender, fine-featured elf sends you a telepathic message:
"Sometimes."
Brow creasing, the ethereal, fair-haired woman breaks her attentive regard of the slender, fine-featured elf to glance down at your laced lavender silk blouse.
You send a telepathic message to the slender, fine-featured elf:
"Circles never end, do they, no matter what might cross their path."
The ethereal, fair-haired woman adjusts the clasp of your airy, white cotton cloak as she returns to regarding the slender, fine-featured elf attentively.
The slender, fine-featured elf sends you a telepathic message:
"Oh, circles can be broken, that I'm sure of. I'm just not to clued up on how."
You send a telepathic message to the slender, fine-featured elf:
"Nor I, Seeker."
You send a telepathic message to the slender, fine-featured elf:
"Nor have I particular desire to learn."
The slender, fine-featured elf sends you a telepathic message:
"True. But you have desire to break circles, perhaps. Though perhaps I just have the desire to continue along them..."
You send a telepathic message to the slender, fine-featured elf:
"No, Seeker. I have no interest breaking circles. It is not in my nature."
Gaze growing more intent, you look up at the slender, fine-featured elf.
You notice: The slender, fine-featured elf breathing grows a touch deeper.
You think:
"Yes... you hear me..."
The slender, fine-featured elf returns your gaze for a brief moment.
The slender, fine-featured elf sends you a telepathic message:
"It was never my nature..."
Before moving on, the coffee-tressed young woman looks down at the slender, fine-featured elf.
The slender, fine-featured elf glances up with a wary eye.
You send a telepathic message to the slender, fine-featured elf:
"You understand. I could try to discover what breaks a circle, what causes it fear, what brings it joy... but I will not. It has no purpose for me."
(hemote) The ethereal, fair-haired woman swallows, the hollow of her throat deepening with the motion.
The slender, fine-featured elf sends you a telepathic message:
"And I. Though I do not worry about purpose. Little we do has purpose. We do things because we have to, not because we want to."
The slender, fine-featured elf feigns adjusting his elegant white velvet hat, his eyes flicking to you every so often.
(What do you do when an elf outranks you? You show composure, enough sardonic humility to entice, and establish a rule that poses no threat to the pointy-eared bastard.
Perhaps the more interesting question, however, is how did the conversation end…)
The ethereal, fair-haired woman returns the tall, aquiline-faced elf's gaze before looking over to the slender, fine-featured elf.
The slender, fine-featured elf sends you a telepathic message:
"He says he'll trade these mushrooms for you."
The tall, aquiline-faced elf eyes you a moment.
You send a telepathic message to the slender, fine-featured elf:
"Why, I wonder where he would get the idea that you would have the right to make such a trade."
The slender, fine-featured elf sends you a telepathic message:
"Sand hoppers think I'm some kind of king elf, I suppose. It's the hat."
You think:
“Damn all elves.”
(… But that’s an entirely other story.)
It is dusk on Huegel, the 74th day of the Descending Sun,
In the Year of Suk-Krath's Slumber, year 32 of the 21st Age.
You are Aja, Apprentice of the Bards of Poets' Circle.
Objective: To become the Heart and Soul of Tuluk
You are 19 years, 2 months, and 210 days old.
North Road...
Continue Reading...A Militia Training Session: Shields by Taven
Added on Mar 16, 2009A lesson from one Private Jenneth breaks up the monotony of sparring in the life of the Arm of the Dragon. Here, he shows recruits how to more effectively use a shield.
In the Arm of the Dragon, sparring usually starts at dawn and ends at highsun.
This is an extended sparring session, where recruits Sett and Lucien learn
shield use, as taught by one Private Jenneth. Private Nadim looks on.--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Glancing over, the tousled, bronzed young man asks you, in sirihish:
"So, what's your opinon on what Lucien and Sett need to work on, Jen?"The tousled, bronzed young man puts his short bone sparring sword into a large obsidian bin.
The tousled, bronzed young man puts his used large round shield into a large obsidian bin.The wild-haired, lanky man looks over to you.
You say to the tousled, bronzed young man, in sirihish:
"Well, I'd say Lucien did a good job lookin' out f' 'is comrade, tried ta rescue 'im when 'e was down. Sett kept at it, nice n' determined. He could use some pratice on th' shield work, n' Lucien'd probably benifit a demistration too, I'd..."
You say to the tousled, bronzed young man, in sirihish:
"say tha's where we should head f' today."
Grinning, the tousled, bronzed young man says to you, in sirihish:
"My thoughts exactly. Was explaining that to a Tor cadet earlier, too."
The tousled, bronzed young man asks you, in sirihish:
"You wanna go through it with them?"
The athletic, dusky man nods slowly to you.
You say to the tousled, bronzed young man, in sirihish:
"Ayep, would love ta."
Easing down, the tousled, bronzed young man sits on a worn stone bench.
Pushing up, you stand up from a worn stone bench.
A Small Training Yard [S Save]
This dusty square yard is enclosed by sturdy-looking stone walls topped
with shards of broken glass. The walls appear to be either fairly new or
relatively well maintained, though they bear a number of rough scuff marks
and scratches. The ground is hard-packed and fairly flat, allowing the dust
to tell its tale of combats fought here. To the north, a wooden weapons
rack is set along the wall, and to the south, a small wooden gate opens up
into a courtyard.
A shadow falls over the area, driving off the uncomfortable heat.
A large obsidian bin looms here.
The tousled, bronzed young man is sitting on a worn stone bench, looking a bit winded.
The athletic, dusky man is reclining here, bleeding lightly.
The wild-haired, lanky man is reclining here, bleeding lightly.
The tousled, bronzed young man says, in sirihish:
"Floor's yours."
The wild-haired, lanky man rises from the ground, and clambers to his feet.
You say to the wild-haired, lanky man, in sirihish:
"Alright, step up n' show me how ya stand ta use your sheild n' shet if I was ta attack ya."
The wild-haired, lanky man nods, stepping into the circle, close to you.
You say to the wild-haired, lanky man, in sirihish:
"Wait, hang on a mite."The wild-haired, lanky man raises up his shield, bringing it up to deflect an illusional blow.
The slender, hack-haired man jogs to a large obsidian bin.
The wild-haired, lanky man pauses mid-action.You get your short bone sparring sword from a large obsidian bin.
The slender, hack-haired man jogs back to the sparring circle, giving the wild-haired, lanky man a nod to continue.
You brandish your short bone sparring sword.
The wild-haired, lanky man nods, going back through the motion of the block, using his shield to deflect the blow, bending his knees slightly.The athletic, dusky man watches the wild-haired, lanky man intently, scratching his cheek.
The late, red sun descends toward the western horizon.
You say to the wild-haired, lanky man, in sirihish:
"Alright, let's see how'd ya do wi' an actual blow. I'm gonna go slow-motion wi' m' sword, n' you move ta block. I'll be lookin' ta see how it strikes th' shield n' shet, your stance, and such."
The wild-haired, lanky man nods.
The slender, hack-haired man moves slowly with your short bone sparring sword in a slash at the wild-haired, lanky man.
The wild-haired, lanky man slowly brings up his shield, bending his knees to lessen the impeact, and hitting the sparring sword with his new daraq shield to knock it away.
With a smile, you say to the wild-haired, lanky man, in sirihish:
"Not half bad."
The wild-haired, lanky man shrugs, a smile creeping across his face.
To the group at large, you ask, in sirihish:
"So, can any o' you tell me what Sett --you can answer too, Sett-- wha was good, n wha needs work?"
The wild-haired, lanky man shrugs agin.
Pointing at the wild-haired, lanky man's legs with his short bone sparring spear, the athletic, dusky man says, in sirihish:
"It's good that he bent his knees. Keeps him from falling over if he was hit really hard."
With a nod, you ask the athletic, dusky man, in sirihish:
"Aye, quite right. Anythin' else?"
Shruging, the wild-haired, lanky man says, in sirihish:
"Guess that since I met the blow with the shield I could controll it more, instead of just getting hit."
The athletic, dusky man says, in sirihish:
"Also, how he hit your sword with his shield, instead'a letting you hit his shield with your sword. Leaves an opening for Sett to counter-attack."
The wild-haired, lanky man nods to the athletic, dusky man.
You say, in sirihish:
"Aye, tha's wha ya want ta aim f'. One thing ya've got ta watch out f' though is where the blade hits-- Sett, you're catchin' it in th' center more. In a battle, tha'd put extra pressure in, in can even get ya knocked o'er easier. Ta prevent..."
You ask, in sirihish:
"...tha, ya tryin' catch it on th' side, n' angle it slight, so it'd slip off, eh?"
Noding, the wild-haired, lanky man says to you, in sirihish:
"Yeah, that makes sense."
The athletic, dusky man nods slowly, watching you intently.
Positioning your new round black shield, you say, in sirihish:
"Th' other thing, is you're holdin' th' shield a bit close li' this when yer in combat."
The wild-haired, lanky man nods at you.
The slender, hack-haired man holds your new round black shield further away from you, at mid-height.
Shaking his head and rising to his feet, the tousled, bronzed young man says, in sirihish:
"Alright."
The tousled, bronzed young man stands up from a worn stone bench.
You say, in sirihish:
"If ya hold it a bit further away, it'll make it so ya can move it ta deflect easier."
The tousled, bronzed young man says, in sirihish:
"Lieutenant's up, Jen. Either we finish quick or finish it tommorow morning, else you know he'll have us whipped for going into their leave."
It is dusk on Terrin, the 200th day of the Ascending Sun,
In the Year of Dragon's Slumber, year 39 of the 21st Age.
You say to the tousled, bronzed young man, in sirihish:
"We'll finish quick now, I've Wall Duty."
The tousled, bronzed young man says to the athletic, dusky man, in sirihish:
"I'll run ya through it tommorow morning, if we got a chance."
You say to the wild-haired, lanky man, in sirihish:
"Thing ya've probably got th' idea. Just hold y' shield once li' I said, then I'd do another slow-blow, n' ya can go f' leave."
The athletic, dusky man folds his arms across his chest, watching the wild-haired, lanky man.
The slender, hack-haired man slowly slashes out at the wild-haired, lanky man with your short bone sparring sword.
The wild-haired, lanky man brings his shield up as he bends his knees. He lifts the shield to the sword, aiming it at the side of the shield, as to deflect it away.
Smiling, you say to the wild-haired, lanky man, in sirihish:
"Aye, very good. Now you'll just have ta be able ta do it fast, but tha'll come wi' time n' pratice."
You instruct the wild-haired, lanky man in the skill of 'shield use'.
The wild-haired, lanky man says to you, in sirihish:
"Thanks for the assistance, Jenneth."
You ask the athletic, dusky man, in sirihish:
"Would ya li' ta try too?"
Shrugging, the athletic, dusky man says to you, in sirihish:
"Yeah, sure, if you got time."
With another smile, you say to the wild-haired, lanky man, in sirihish:
"Aye, no trouble."
The athletic, dusky man strides into the sparring circle quickly, in front of you.
Waving and headin off, the wild-haired, lanky man says, in sirihish:
"See you two. I'm headin' to the Gaj."
The wild-haired, lanky man runs south.
The slender, hack-haired man waits for the athletic, dusky man to take a stance.
The athletic, dusky man crouches low, holding his daraq shield out a few inches away from his body.
The athletic, dusky man rises slightly, angling his daraq shield back towards him just a bit.
The slender, hack-haired man slahses out slowly with your short bone sparring sword.
The athletic, dusky man moves his large round shield forward, striking out at your sword with the side of his large round shield.
Smiling, you say to the athletic, dusky man, in sirihish:
"You'll want ta make sure you're bendin' your knees a bit more on th' impact, but otherwise all good, I'd say."
You instruct the athletic, dusky man in the skill of 'shield use'.
Nodding quickly, the athletic, dusky man says to you, in sirihish:
"Yeah, I'll put more work inta it."
The athletic, dusky man says to you, in sirihish:
"Thanks for staying to practice."
You say to the athletic, dusky man, in sirihish:
"Aye, no problem. 'Cuse me though, Wall Warden's a-waitin'."
Nodding while showing a slight wave, the athletic, dusky man says to you, in sirihish:
"Yeah, you go ahead. Wouldn't want to see you punished for being too late."
In the Arm of the Dragon, sparring usually starts at dawn and ends at highsun.
This is an extended sparring session, where recruits Sett and Lucien learn
shield use, as taught by one Private Jenneth. Private Nadim looks...
Continue Reading...This is What Happens to Looters by Taven
Added on Mar 16, 2009The Gith War is over, but the corpses of the dead still litter the streets in large piles. Looting corpses, any corpse, is a crime for which the sentance is death.
Told by the perspective of one Private Jenneth. The Lord Templar Samos Rennik
deals with a looter. Corporal Laila and Private Farran are also present, as
well as a few bystandards.---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A Small, Dusty Plaza [NESW]
Crowds choke this plaza, stirring up thick dust and fine, silty sand
into the air, already thick with the odors of the lives conducted here. The
ground underfoot is simple, hardpacked dirt, worn smooth with footsteps, but
with an occasional jagged crack or pile of offal that keeps the traveller's
step wary. Slightly taller buildings surround this plaza, many of them
featuring balconies fluttering with the laundry which has been hung out to
air in the fierce sun.
A pile of black sandcloth lies here in a heap.
An unlit bone-handled torch is lying here.
Some worn out pairs of braxat-hide pants are here.
Some used large round shields are here.
An used bloodied large round shield lies here.
A couple of worn out braxat-hide jackets are here.
A few worn out bloodied braxat-hide jackets are here.
Some used sets of cuirbouilli sleeves are here.
A few obsidian-tipped spears are here.
Some crude, twisted bone shortbows are here.
An unadorned black belt lies here.
An empty brownish-grey bottle, its side labelled with the Oash sigil, sits here.
Some leather knife belts are here.
The head of the tattoo-covered, dark-orange gith lies here.
An used bloodied set of cuirbouilli leg guards is lying here.
A sprawling heap of corpses lay littered along the war-torn street.
Some used bloodied bone helmets are here.
A few used bone helmets are here.
Triangular clay pipes jut unevenly from a depression here, caked with filth.
Several bone-handled obsidian longknives are here.
Some broken pipes, largely obscured by a midden heap, reveal a gaping hole.
The ebon-braided, scar-riddled man is standing here.
The petite, jet-haired young woman is standing here.
The dark, purple-inked man is standing here.
The short, fire-blackened woman is standing here.
The spartan, silt-toned man is standing here.
The massive, black-bearded man is standing here.
The scrawny, unkempt youth is standing here held by the burn-scarred, curly-haired man.
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette is standing here.
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar is standing here.
A tiny kank-fly buzzes through the air.
A lithe, obsidian-eyed woman lounges near the tavern entrance.
A clay-stained human potter sits here on a woven mat of grass.
Walking over with his narrow, etched bronze longsword held level at the scrawny, unkempt youth's gut, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says to the burn-scarred, curly-haired man, in sirihish:
"Hold 'im easy, now."
Briefly, you look down at the scrawny, unkempt youth.
The scrawny human before you seems to be rather young, with nary a patch
of facial hair on him. His hair is an unkempt mess of dark brown that
covers his ears, matching long, slitted eyes of the same hue. His cheeks
are gaunt, and his ribs can clearly be discerned. His lips are cracked and
chaffed rather badly, as likely from the lack of moisture. His limbs are
long and dangly, ending in long-fingered hands.
The scrawny, unkempt youth is in excellent condition.The scrawny, unkempt youth is using:
<worn in right ear> a loop of bleached bone
<worn around neck> a triangular black pendant
<worn on feet> a pair of polished black bootsHe is carrying:
nothing obvious
Eyeing the scrawny, unkempt youth, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette says, in sirihish:
"Was picking up militia cloaks. Worst fucking kind of looter."
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man fixes the scrawny, unkempt youth's arms firmly behind him, one of his hands gripped on each of his elbows.
The scrawny, unkempt youth grins widely, attempting to put on his best face.
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar brandishes his narrow, etched bronze longsword in both hands.This is an ornately-crafted longsword made of the metal bronze. Three
cords in length, the deadly-sharp blade of this weapon gleams brightly
whenever light reflects on it. It appears to be one solid piece of metal,
with a high-quality leather wrapped around the hilt to provide a good grip.
Just above the hilt, at the base of the blade, many tiny runes have been
etched into the metal, the sum of them forming a thick, swirling pattern.
The sword seems to weigh considerably less than it should and is
inexplicably well-balanced.
The petite, jet-haired young woman leans against a blood caked door to the west, scratching her cheek.
Arms languidly folding over his bloodied black-stained brigandine cuirass, the ebon-braided, scar-riddled man watches on unflinchingly.
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar eyes the scrawny, unkempt youth's legs for a few moments, then with a mighty swing, cleaves his narrow, etched bronze longsword in a side-swiping arc, aimed to sever one leg at the knee.
The scrawny, unkempt youth grimaces, face still attempting to maintain a brave front.
Whistling low, the massive, black-bearded man says, in sirihish:
"That'll leave a mark."
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette watches impassively as the rugged, stubble-bearded templar's sword cuts through the scrawny, unkempt youth's flesh and bone.
The muscles in the burn-scarred, curly-haired man's arms cord as he leans back slightly, suddenly supporting the scrawny, unkempt youth's weight.
The dark, purple-inked man winces a bit, watching as the blade cleaves into flesh.
One side of her mouth twisting in a half-scowl, the short, fire-blackened woman props herself against the ebon-braided, scar-riddled man's shoulder.
The slender, hack-haired man winces, then straightens.
With a thin, emotionless smile, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says to the burn-scarred, curly-haired man, in sirihish:
"Alright. Drop 'im."
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar slings a narrow, etched bronze longsword across his back.
The scrawny, unkempt youth face turns tight, features still struggling to maintain the semblance of a grin.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man releases the scrawny, unkempt youth, who immediately moves away.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man drops the scrawny, unkempt youth unceremoniously.
The scrawny, unkempt youth stumbles onto the ground in a heap, sprawled on the floor.
Raising his hands, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar exclaims, in sirihish:
"Citizens... THIS 's what happens t' looters!"
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette sheathes an obsidian-headed, jade-emblazoned mace.
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar calls out the name of the Highlord.
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar utters an incantation.
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar spews a bright orange fire from his mouth at the scrawny, unkempt youth, and his body ignites!.
The short, fire-blackened woman's eyes go three times their normal size.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man falls back a few steps quite abruptly.
The slender, hack-haired man eyes widen.
The spartan, silt-toned man says to the short, fire-blackened woman, in sirihish:
"Mind yourself.. Midge."
The dark, purple-inked man's eyes grow large, and he steps back.
The dragon-tattooed, claw-braided man has arrived from the north.
The crescent-faced half-giant has arrived from the north.
The hale, scarlet-haired woman has arrived from the north.
You look down at the scrawny, unkempt youth.
The scrawny human before you seems to be rather young, with nary a patch
of facial hair on him. His hair is an unkempt mess of dark brown that
covers his ears, matching long, slitted eyes of the same hue. His cheeks
are gaunt, and his ribs can clearly be discerned. His lips are cracked and
chaffed rather badly, as likely from the lack of moisture. His limbs are
long and dangly, ending in long-fingered hands.
The scrawny, unkempt youth is in excellent condition.
He writhes in agony as orange flames immolate his body.The scrawny, unkempt youth is using:
<worn in right ear> a loop of bleached bone
<worn around neck> a triangular black pendant
<worn on feet> a pair of polished black bootsHe is carrying:
nothing obvious
The petite, jet-haired young woman jumps, pressing further against the door.
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar closes his mouth and licks his lips, a bit of smoke trailing from his nostrils.
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man hastily backs away from the legless, burning form of the scrawny, unkempt youth.
The scrawny, unkempt youth winces as his skin sears, lips attempting to fix themselves back into a smile.
Flatly, the orange flames reflecting in her eyes, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette says to the scrawny, unkempt youth, in sirihish:
"I hate that fucking smile."
Turning away from the burning form of the scrawny, unkempt youth, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar asks, in sirihish:
"Anyone ELSE want t' loot my fallen soldiers?"
Impassively, the massive, black-bearded man looks at the scrawny, unkempt youth.
The ebon-braided, scar-riddled man stands by, impassively, watching the scrawny, unkempt youth with a malicious half-sneer.
Watching closely as the flames writhe and flicker, the short, fire-blackened woman looks at the scrawny, unkempt youth.
The spartan, silt-toned man simply lays a hand on the hilt of his light bone straight-sword, looking simply toward the rugged, stubble-bearded templar, apparently doggedly paying attention to his words.
The orange flames surrounding the scrawny, unkempt youth burn him with a hiss!
The orange flames surrounding the scrawny, unkempt youth burn him with a hiss!
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette shakes her head, gaze set steadily on the scrawny, unkempt youth as he burns.
The massive, black-bearded man raises a hand before his face, shielding his eyes from the blaze.
The slender, hack-haired man turns a green hue at the smell of burning flesh.
You feel sick.The dragon-tattooed, claw-braided man winces, watching the scrawny, unkempt youth.
The hale, scarlet-haired woman cringes a bit as she watches the scrawny, unkempt youth sizzle.
Sneering, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette says to the scrawny, unkempt youth, in sirihish:
"Burn, fucker."
Sighing, the massive, black-bearded man says to the scrawny, unkempt youth, in sirihish:
"C'mon, lad. At least scream a little bit."
With a quick sudden jump back, the tall figure in a loose, off-white sandcloth robe looks down at the scrawny, unkempt youth.
The trim, jet-bearded young man lowers the hood of a loose, off-white sandcloth robe.
The orange flames surrounding the scrawny, unkempt youth burn him with a hiss!The petite, jet-haired young woman watches the flames in silence, staring at the scrawny, unkempt youth with a bored expression.
As the fires around the scrawny, unkempt youth twist higher, the short, fire-blackened woman tugs her hood up, shielding her face.
The short, fire-blackened woman raises the hood of a drab, weathered stormcloak.
The slender, hack-haired man continues to look green, putting a hand over your nose.
The scrawny, unkempt youth closes his eyes slowly, face already somewhat permanently etched into the smile as his skin turns a charred hue.
The trim, jet-bearded young man bows to the rugged, stubble-bearded templar silently as he watches the scrawny, unkempt youth burn.
Smiling weakly as tears stream down his cheeks, the scrawny, unkempt youth says, in sirihish:
"...thank you Highlord. Release me from this mortal coil."
Curtly, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette exclaims to the scrawny, unkempt youth, in sirihish:
"Highlord's got nothing for your kind! Faithless!"
The burn-scarred, curly-haired man spits with an expression of contempt in the general direction of the scrawny, unkempt youth.
The dark, purple-inked man leans against the wall, watching in silence.
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette spits at the scrawny, unkempt youth disgustedly.
Summarily, tipping his fine, wide-brimmed hat, the massive, black-bearded man says to the rugged, stubble-bearded templar, in sirihish:
"Good form, m'Lord."
The orange flames surrounding the scrawny, unkempt youth burn him with a hiss!
The ravaging fires burning the scrawny, unkempt youth suddenly die out with a wisp of smoke.
Darkly, the ebon-braided, scar-riddled man says to the short figure in a drab, weathered stormcloak, in sirihish:
"Fawkin' deserves it. Pair'a Rinthis came inna th'armorshop earlier while I was conversin' wit' Kench, tried pawnin' off Gith shit. HATE that shit. Wanted t'punch 'em in th'throat."
The slender, hack-haired man blinks at the dissipated fire.
The short figure in a drab, weathered stormcloak acknowledges the ebon-braided, scar-riddled man with a halfassed mumble of agreement.
Staring down at the blackened, charred form that used to be the scrawny, unkempt youth, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says, in sirihish:
"Huh. Most of 'em just kill 'emselves. Amazed he handled th' pain."
The scrawny, unkempt youth eyes flutter open slowly, eyes fixed on the sky.
You think:
"...There is something WRONG with him..."
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette sneers again at the scrawny, unkempt youth.The rugged, stubble-bearded templar walks over and raises his boot over the scrawny, unkempt youth's head.
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar neatly kicks the scrawny, unkempt youth's head into pieces.
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar's stomp crushes the blackened skull in half.
The swarthy, aging man pauses, eyeing the commotion a moment, his scented, jade and black handkerchief held over his nose and mouth.
The dark, purple-inked man steps awat as bits of charred flesh, skull, and brain splatter against the area he was standing moment before.
With a half-smirk, the ebon-braided, scar-riddled man looks at the body of the scrawny, unkempt youth.
Flicking a nod at the body of the scrawny, unkempt youth, the massive, black-bearded man says, in sirihish:
"T'Drov with yeh, lad."
Addressing the crowds with narrowed eyes, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says, in sirihish:
"THAT is what I'll do t' any feckers who loot any 'f th' heroes that gave their lives fer us."
The hale, scarlet-haired woman pulls the hem of her aba over her face, grimacing, eyes still stuck on the charred remains.
The vibrant, jade-adorned brunette nods to the rugged, stubble-bearded templar.
Kicking the husk of the body of the scrawny, unkempt youth, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says, in sirihish:
"You 'n yer friends 're gonna scream a lot worse 'n that spiced up fuck."
Eyes following the voice, the swarthy, aging man looks at the rugged, stubble-bearded templar.
The petite, jet-haired young woman sneers at the smoking body, standing from her lean on the door to tap her boot and rid it of a clump of burned hair and brain.
Gruffly, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says, in sirihish:
"Soldiers, take care 'f this shit here."
Bowing her head, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette says to the rugged, stubble-bearded templar, in sirihish:
"Yes, my Lord."
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar stalks up the plaza, making his way through the crowd.
Told by the perspective of one Private Jenneth. The Lord Templar Samos Rennik
deals with a looter. Corporal Laila and Private Farran are also present, as
well as a few bystandards.---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A Small, Dusty Plaza [NESW]
...
Continue Reading...A Tuluki Play by Rairen
Added on Mar 16, 2009Four bards reopen the Uaptal Theater.
It is dusk on Dzeda, the 218th day of the Descending Sun,
In the Year of Ruk's Reverence, year 48 of the 21st Age.
On A Broad, Sweeping Stage [NESW]
A great deal of labor appears to have gone into making this stage appear to resemble a picturesque scene in the middle of a rolling, grass-filled plain. The backdrop has been painted with vibrant tones, the grasses a russet red and dusky green. The sky glows a subdued red above the portrait of rolling grasses, with a faint smudge or two against the sky suggesting some bird of prey or kylori, aloft in the distance. The stage planks have been covered with broad strips of red and green canvas, rocks, and potted plants native to the region. From slender, silvery ropes, seperate from the backdrop itself, vibrant depictions of Lirathu and Jihae hang from the catwalks above the stage, huge against the painted sky.
Standing to the side, the vigorous, maroon-haired man silently whispers to a couple of nearby tribal-clad men and women.
The shaggy-haired, sun-branded man walks to the center of the stage, sitting with two men in tribal armor. One hand lifts finger pointed at another man's chest, his mouth open as if to speak.
Moving to the center of the stage, the immense, rune-inked man crosses his legs and settles down to his ankles, attention focused on the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man.
Stilling at one side of the stage, the ethereal, fair-haired woman watches as men and women - nine in all - follow onto the stage, all armed to the teeth, and fall motionless.
Turning to the audience, voice crisp in the clear air of the theater, you say, in sirihish:
"Many ages ago, the north called itself the home of twelve peoples, twelve tribes, divided in rivalry, ancient hatreds, and war."
With a sweeping gesture over the silent stage toward the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man, you say, in sirihish:
"The leader of the most powerful of these tribes, a man of the Twin Warlocks, called a gathering, a summit, the first such meeting within living memory."
Archness carrying across her firm tone, you say, in sirihish:
"His enemies came, they all came to see one another in the flesh and to talk on the fragile balance of power - and on rumors, whispered on the winds, of foreign threats."
The ethereal, fair-haired woman turns to survey the stage and, when she does so, the people on it come to life, muttering and sneering, while the sound of creaking armor fills the air.
The vigorous, maroon-haired man looks slowly from side to side, steady gaze drifting across the faces of the nearby men and women.
With a sneer turned into a proud expression, the vigorous, maroon-haired man whispers something to the bearded, six-fingered man, followed by a slow, confident shrug.
The shaggy-haired, sun-branded man's lips move harshly, his finger jabbing towards the chest of the man across from him.
In a mock-whisper to the sallow, watery-eyed young man, the vigorous, maroon-haired man says, in sirihish:
"This news from the northwest.. They say people flock to him."
Turning to the blonde-haired, lanky human, eyes narrowed, the vigorous, maroon-haired man asks, in sirihish:
"Can you believe his demands?"
The immense, rune-inked man warms his hand-and-a-half over an imaginary flame, gaze flickering in purse-lipped silence around the stage.
Breaking from his conversation, his tone one of absolute authority, the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man says, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"The Twin Warlocks do not submit to faceless warlords."
Tilting his chin upwards, the immense, rune-inked man appears to listen with a stern and intent frown. He wrinkles his hand within his leather, spike-covered cestus, the leather creaking like an old door.
Decisively speaking over the murmuring of the other armed men and women, his voice a warning growl, the immense, rune-inked man says to the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man, in sirihish:
"The Dawn Watchers do not submit."
Fist clenching atop a knee as his booming bassitone barks out a warning, the immense, rune-inked man exclaims to the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man, in sirihish:
"I will take three hundred blades and sever his head for this insolence, for the glory and honor of my people!"
Chin held high, the vigorous, maroon-haired man sweeps in from the side of the stage to the center, his gait confident in the midst of the group.
Half-turning to the immense, rune-inked man, the vigorous, maroon-haired man says, in sirihish:
"So much honor for such a little pup? Before you start chasing bones, you should learn to catch your tail first."
His tattooed visage recoiling into a defensive look of disdain, the immense, rune-inked man's narrowed gaze trails over the vigorous, maroon-haired man.
Fully turning to the immense, rune-inked man, voice a mock-whisper, the vigorous, maroon-haired man says, in sirihish:
"For I know the Arrows mean to threaten you when you go. Do not let them..."
At the vigorous, maroon-haired man's words, the immense, rune-inked man's posture relaxes; suddenly seeming distracted, he inhales deeply as his gaze falls to the floor - considering.
Gaze sweeping across the gathering of people, a lingering smile on his lips, the vigorous, maroon-haired man says, in sirihish:
"Friends, it takes but a single, steady hand to swat a fly. You can raise your armies, but the Elves of Mallok will stop this by raising a finger."
The vigorous, maroon-haired man draws a dujat-tooth longknife.
His smile sly, the vigorous, maroon-haired man wraps his fingers around the hilt of his longknife, adjusting his grip.
His voice barreling into the conversation remorselessly, his tone cold and disdainful, the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man says, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Let it be done, if you mean to do it. You talk too much, but know that when your scheme fails, the Twin Warlocks will be there to finish what you could not."
The shaggy-haired, sun-branded man smiles fiercely at the vigorous, maroon-haired man, a harsh laugh barking from his lips as he sneers.
The vigorous, maroon-haired man stands defiantly as several of the tribal men and women laugh and shout out in agreement with the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man's remarks.
From the stage, men and women cry out cheers, shoving forward, fists raised - and freeze, motionless save for the ethereal, fair-haired woman who steps away from her tranquil corner.
Idly, unhurried, you say, in sirihish:
"They left that day, twelve tribes under twelve banners. They saw to crops, to hunting, to old wars and rivalries that extended across generations."
Pausing at the side of the roughened, dark-featured man, studying him, picking at one of his sleeves, you say, in sirihish:
"And still, word of this man from the northwest continued, as people whispered of his growing strength, of the armies that followed him."
Touching a gloved hand to the shoulder of the roughened, dark-featured man, you say, in sirihish:
"And then, one day, the sentries of the furthest reaches of the western lands were heard from no more."
At the ethereal, fair-haired woman's touch, the roughened, dark-featured man crumples to the floor at her feet.
Already moving past the roughened, dark-featured man, weaving through the frozen warlords, you say, in sirihish:
"The defeat was swift, unyielding... and soon, two tribes - cousins to that already lost - fell under the sunlight banner of the man of the northwest."
The ethereal, fair-haired woman's hands brush across the shoulders of two others as she passes. They collapse to the floor behind her, and the helmet of one comes loose, skidding across the stage, stopping just at the edge.
Slowing beside the short, athletic woman and tracing the back of a finger along her face, you say, in sirihish:
"An emissary from a fourth tribe came distraught to the halls of the Twin Warlocks, covered in blood."
Gently, shaking her head, you say, in sirihish:
"With her last breath, she recounted how her people had fallen, swept aside by the armies of the north."
Eyes drifting closed, the short, athletic woman drops to the stage, falling away from the ethereal, fair-haired woman's hand.
Stepping over the short, athletic woman and speaking conversationally, you say, in sirihish:
"It was later that the tribal leaders remaining met again under the roof of the Twin Warlocks."
Pausing astride the slender, dark-eyed woman and the blonde-haired, lanky human, you say, in sirihish:
"The talk was of a truce, an end to a brutal, relentless skirmish between two rivals that encompassed the remaining tribes..."
Trailing off to glance, amusedly, between the two warlords who remain locked in a fierce, frozen snarl, you say, in sirihish:
"... but the specter of these armies from the north lingered throughout the negotiations."
Smirking, the ethereal, fair-haired woman gives an impatient, dismissive wave of her hand when she turns her back to the others on her way toward an empty edge of the stage. Behind her, once-motionless warlords slouch into wary glares, weight shifting without ease.
His hands clasped firmly on his belt as he regards blonde-haired, lanky human and the slender, dark-eyed woman, the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man says, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"... Is this at an end, then, or do we bring our swords to this fight and bring you both to your knees?"
Glancing at one another first, blonde-haired, lanky human and the slender, dark-eyed woman turn to the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man and nod, their eyes lowering submissively.
His voice a growling sigh, chin tilted down as he speaks to the vigorous, maroon-haired man, the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man says, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Your swatted fly has bested four tribes. That is some finger you point."
With a coy smile, the vigorous, maroon-haired man says, in sirihish:
"Time, old friend. All things take time. It is no failure, when all he has taken from those tribes is land as fertile as stone. When all he has taken from us is a lot of scheming, plotting idiots we are better off without."
The immense, rune-inked man crosses his massive, rune adorned arms over each other, dull gaze on the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man. His armor clatters as he shifts his weight.
All around the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man, the other leaders laugh and snort at kyrith words, many shaking their heads or turning their backs on him.
Chin lifting with a note of pride, offering a dismissive wave of his hand, the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man says, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"It is no matter. The madman's forces are extending. Tiring. They will be easy to pick apart now that he has wasted his time on fools."
Placing a half-hand to his chest and resting the other reassuringly on his shoulder as he speaks solemnly, the immense, rune-inked man says to the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man, in sirihish:
"Let my strength join with yours. We can conquer him together and divide those lands for our people."
The shaggy-haired, sun-branded man opens his mouth as if to speak, one hand lifting.
Before the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man can speak, the vigorous, maroon-haired man says, in sirihish:
"Do you hear that? The pup wishes to fight with the kiyet lion. I suppose, though, that as the lion turns gray, so do its armies, too..."
The immense, rune-inked man's mountain of a body quakes for a moment in almost tangible rage. He turns his head slowly to glare at the vigorous, maroon-haired man.
His words coming only after a long moment's stare, a sneer in both eyes and tone, the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man says, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"You will hold your tongue before I slice it out. You are in my home, and my gray forces have kept yours at bay for many ages, elf of Mallok. We will stop him."
Clasping his hand over his heart with a nod to the immense, rune-inked man, voice like a grim rasp of sand against stone, the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man says, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"And you will see to your own people. The winds say that your southern fields burn and your tribe flees to the east."
Slamming his leather, spike-covered cestus into his chest, raising it as if to hit the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man, the immense, rune-inked man shouts, in sirihish:
"Lies! And I will cut the throat of them who says such!"
The shaggy-haired, sun-branded man rocks back, his head craning up to look at the immense, rune-inked man.
Pounding his leather, spike-covered cestus into his chest repeatedly and speaking bitterly after a quick gulp, nostrils flaring, the immense, rune-inked man exclaims, in sirihish:
"Let the northman come to -me- first, and I will show you how pups fight!"
At the sight of the immense, rune-inked man's threatening move, the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man's leaders step forward, their weapons drawing.
One hand grasping a longknife, the other on his hip, the vigorous, maroon-haired man stands silent with a smug expression plastered across his features as he watches the others.
Even after everything goes still, the ethereal, fair-haired woman's laughter rings across the stage.
Holding her sides, the laughter melting away into a too-chipper voice, you say, in sirihish:
"There was blood shed that day, and the young leader of the Dawn Watchers left in disgrace."
Moving forward, the humor to her eyes gone as if it had never been, you say, in sirihish:
"And, still, the invading army marched south, sweeping over the tribes until its mysterious leader turned his gaze east."
The ethereal, fair-haired woman snaps her fingers, and five people fall to the ground behind her.
Waiting for the clatter of fallen weaponry to fade before speaking in a crisp voice, you say, in sirihish:
"Word reaches the leader of the Twin Warlocks of the movements of the northern army, of its unending victories, of the people who pledge themselves to its leader."
Pointing a finger at the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man, you say, in sirihish:
"He leaves his lands, crossing into those owned by the Dawn Watchers and pays call to their young leader, locked in preparations for war and in counsel with the Elves of Mallok..."
The immense, rune-inked man's cestus lowers, his back turns to the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man and he stares off past the stage, his gaze contemplative and thought-stricken.
The shaggy-haired, sun-branded man walks towards the immense, rune-inked man, frustration evident on his features as he regards him. His bootfalls fall heavily on the stage, his hands clasped behind his back.
Voice quietly neutral, though his eyes speak of legions of accusations, the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man says, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Your people are surrounded on three sides."
His visage heavy and subdued as he tilts his chin towards his shoulder, though not enough to lift his gaze, the immense, rune-inked man asks the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man, in sirihish:
"Yes. Why do you darken my door and bring your armies to my border, Warlock?"
Crossing his arms over his chest resolutely, the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man says, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"We march on him, while his army is extended."
With long, slow shakes of his head, the vigorous, maroon-haired man says, in sirihish:
"You plan to march -against- him? He is too powerful, old man. You should be raising defenses."
Snapping a snort of barely contained fury and loathing, eyes flashing dangerously, the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man says, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"What would you know of battle, elf? You cannot even kill a single man."
With languid ease, the vigorous, maroon-haired man says, in sirihish:
"Pieces take time to be put into place. He is vulnerable now and more exposed. He will fall. It is as sure as the setting of the sun he marches under."
Glaring darkly at the ground, his broken chin staunchly craned to the side as his fist tightens within his leather, spike-covered cestus, the leather cracking loudly, the immense, rune-inked man says to the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man, in sirihish:
"I knew of your coming, Warlock. You will not take these lands from us."
His voice nearly a shout, imploring with mad reasoning, the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man says, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Don't you see what is happening? People go to him, would die for him. He has stone and wood for weapons. -I- must face him."
Turning now to face the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man cautiously, his gaze unwavering as it meets his, the immense, rune-inked man says to the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man, in sirihish:
"As you said, I should see to my people. And so help me... If I must fight he and you -both-...I will."
Shaking his head faintly, the immense, rune-inked man says to the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man, in sirihish:
"You will not fight him through my lands, Warlock."
His tone a defeated husk as his head dips down, braids and beads clattering against his breastplate, the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man says, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"You can't win. I've lead my people since before you were born. You are not strong enough. Do not... die for this."
Narrowing his gaze, the immense, rune-inked man makes a dismissive and derisive swipe of his hand, pointing the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man to the exit.
With the three players standing frozen on the stage, a triangle of ill-will and dark looks, the ethereal, fair-haired woman steps away from the stage, striding for the vigorous, maroon-haired man.
Encircling him, you say to the vigorous, maroon-haired man, in sirihish:
"So clever, you were, false counselor. Filling the tribes with lies, causing chaos and division."
Stopping at his side, moving her mouth close to his pointed ear, you say to the vigorous, maroon-haired man, in sirihish:
"Hoping... yearning... that this man from the north might conquer your rivals, and that then you in turn could defeat him."
Lifting a gloved hand, turning his face to look at her, at her arrogant snarl of a smile, you say to the vigorous, maroon-haired man, in sirihish:
"No, he would not die at your hand... and he has no place for treachery in his dominion."
Leaning in, pale eyes sardonic, arch, the ethereal, fair-haired woman presses her lips to the corner of the vigorous, maroon-haired man's mouth.
Legs collapsing beneath him, the vigorous, maroon-haired man falls to the ground, dagger still tightly clasped in his hand.
Already moving past the vigorous, maroon-haired man, her stride quick and sure toward the immense, rune-inked man, you say, in sirihish:
"They could not understand you, young one. But he did, this man from the north."
Words coming faster as she cups his face in both hands, you say to the immense, rune-inked man, in sirihish:
"He understood your mind, your skill... and when you fought, it was with respect."
Expression softening, the ethereal, fair-haired woman gives the immense, rune-inked man's nose a light tap with the back of a finger; the smile she gives him is a solemn one, an assuring one.
His eyes filled with defeat and emotion the immense, rune-inked man falls to his knees, his leather, spike-covered cestus slipping from his hand and falling to the stage in a loud *WHAP*.
Her steps silent on the stage littered with the fallen, the ethereal, fair-haired woman lets her hand fall away from the immense, rune-inked man, alone on his knees, and takes up quiet watch over the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man in solitude.
With the grace of a warrior of many years, though his face betrays that he is surrounded on all sides, the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man walks through the fallen, nearly without noticing them.
The shaggy-haired, sun-branded man reaches for a carved drinking horn, embossed with ivory at the open end, and pulls it into his grasp meditatively.
Thoughtfully, the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man says, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"It is quiet, now, before the dawn. What are you thinking, man of the north, as you sleep tonight? You are not in your own bed, not in the hall that was built by your forebearers and their forebearers before them."
The shaggy-haired, sun-branded man paces slowly among the bodies of the fallen, eyes unseeing as he speaks to himself, the drinking horn nearly forgotten in his hands.
Looking down at the fallen and seemingly noticing them for the first time, the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man says, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Your ancestors don't watch over this battlefield. You don't fear."
The shaggy-haired, sun-branded man stops, his heavy tread ceasing and leaving only ominous silence as he cranes his head back, looking upwards, a tiny mote of life against the backdrop of the dead.
A harsh, bitter laugh eminating from his throat, the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man says, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"No, you don't do that. Your armies are camped on the horizon. I can hear them. I can hear their joy."
The shaggy-haired, sun-branded man nods to himself, as though to some great and insidious wisdom, his brows coming together like knotted cords.
Clasping the drinking horn to his chest as he looks upwards, the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man says, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"We should have spoken. Tonight, before the dawn. I should have looked on your face and known what you were. Known what I should have been."
The shaggy-haired, sun-branded man makes a move to half-raise the drinking horn, then stops, shaking his head. His eyes close, the hand at his side clenching into a fist.
You feel your heart beginning to beat again. To pound.
His voice a hoarse rasp, the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man says, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Come, share a drink with me. While your armies toast tales of bloodshed and valor, drink to your conquest. I should salute your triumph, the age of peace to come - long may you preserve it."
Drinking horn held in his hand as his spreads his arms plaintively, the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man looks up into the farthest rows of the audience.
His voice so light, it might only be a thought, though it rings through the air, the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man says, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Don't fail them, these people I have loved. They will look to you for strength, for solace, for security. End this as you began."
The shaggy-haired, sun-branded man lifts the horn over his head, his voice the dusty, terrible growl of approaching doom, and speaks softly into the stillness.
With an almost false cheer, the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man says, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"In farewell, then, I propose a toast. A toast of endings. To the lesser one. To the last to face you, the last of my time."
Nearly without pause, the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man drains the horn and wipes the froth from his beard, snarling a warcry as he yanks his saber-bladed agafari bardiche from his back, eyes glaring defiantly.
As the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man walks towards the edge of the stage, the butt-end of his weapon strikes the wood with a sharp -thunk- with every pace. As he nears the edge, he sags against its haft, stumbling to the ground before going still.
Silence reigns over the stage, everything still and at peace. Only then, is it broken by muted applause from the the ethereal, fair-haired woman, gloves softening the accolade she offers to the fallen players.
It is dusk on Dzeda, the 218th day of the Descending Sun,
In the Year of Ruk's Reverence, year 48 of the 21st Age.
On A Broad, Sweeping Stage [NESW]
A great deal of labor appears to have gone into making this stage appear to resemble a picturesque scene in the middle of a rolling,...
Continue Reading...Of Kadian Racks and Chests by Medena
Added on Feb 18, 2009A noble, a templar and a merchant discuss the relative merits of Kadian armour racks and chests.
At your table, the dusky, curly-haired man says in sirihish, curiously, as his eyes are drawn to your hair:
"Hmm...perhaps some sort of headdress, as well? With feathers, and the like, my Lady?"
At your table, the dusky, curly-haired man says in sirihish:
"I was only wondering--we happen to have something like that on display, if you enjoy feathers, my Lady Fale..."
At your table, you say in sirihish, tilting her head from side to side as she speaks:
"I do already own many elaborate feathered headpieces."
The dusky, curly-haired man nods at you.
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar has arrived from the west.
A human Allanaki soldier has arrived from the west.
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"The gown, of course, will be fitted to me, I know, but even so I would like something of a style which shows off my form to advantage."
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar mutters to himself, swatting dust off of his dusty frame as best he can.
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar starts cleaning. The rugged, stubble-bearded templar dusts himself off. Strapping it to the back, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar puts his enormous, concave tortoiseshell shield into his oversized black backpack.
At your table, the dusky, curly-haired man says in sirihish, nodding briefly a few times, pursing his lips:
"Of course, my Lady. I`ll detail this out specifically with our folk, and make sure we get something that will, ah, demonstrate that. "
Lifting up a hand to wave in a graceful sweep, you say to the rugged, stubble-bearded templar, in sirihish:
"Look Lord Samos, the Kadian is still here and not even bound yet."
Strolling over to a large round table in the center of the room, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says to you, in sirihish:
"Enraptured by yer beauty, no doubt."
The rugged, stubble-bearded templar looks down at the dusky, curly-haired man.
The dusky, curly-haired man dips his head into a respectful nod towards the rugged, stubble-bearded templar, remaining at his seat near you.
Grinning up at him, then patting at the boots near her hand on the table, you say to the rugged, stubble-bearded templar, in sirihish:
"Look at the delightful riding boots I have acquired."
Grinning, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says to you, in sirihish:
"Sure are very comfortable `n colorful-lookin`."
After a thoughtful glance at the dusky, curly-haired man, turning back to him, you say to the rugged, stubble-bearded templar, in sirihish:
"Were you in need of Flop? I believe I am done with him for now."
Snickering, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says, in sirihish:
"Flop."
Suddenly patting the chair beside her, you exclaim to the rugged, stubble-bearded templar, in sirihish:
"Oh, and please do sit! You must think me most dreadfully rude!"
Resting a hand on a chair, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar asks the dusky, curly-haired man, in sirihish:
"So you said you got an armor stand fer me... but Zaea don` wanna show me `er rack?"
Smiling and shaking his head, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar sits at a large round table in the center of the room, beside you.
Her voice rising into a squeal of giggling laughter, you say to the rugged, stubble-bearded templar, in sirihish:
"Is that what you asked? To see her rack? How delightfully entertaining."
A group of merchants makes their way up the stairs, talking amongst themselves.
At your table, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says in sirihish, with a shrug of his shoulders:
"I don` understand why she got so nervous. I mean, where`s a better place fer my spear `n a Kadian rack, huh?"
At your table, the dusky, curly-haired man says in sirihish, with a nod, a muscle near the corner of his mouth twitching:
"Armor stand, yes, my Lord Templar--and I tried to explain that, but..."
At your table, the dusky, curly-haired man says in sirihish:
"...she and the House seem to think that Salarr knows their racks pretty well. They put all sorts of things in them all the time."
The quiet bartender wipes the bar down with a dirty rag.
At your table, you say in sirihish, after a wink at the rugged, stubble-bearded templar, looking at the dusky, curly-haired man askance:
"Are you saying then that Salarr has better racks than Kadius?"
At your table, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says in sirihish, suppressing a grin across his hard-lined face:
"Well `f yer admittin` that Kadians ain` as familiar with racks `s Salarri... guess I gotta believe ya."
At your table, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says in sirihish, frowning:
"Kinda hurt, though. Reckoned most common folks `d love t` show me their racks."
At your table, the dusky, curly-haired man says in sirihish, his tone exceptionally dry as he replies to you:
"Quality over quantity, I think...they have a lot of racks, but none that look especially decent. We -could- make up a one all special for you, but it`d be really more of a cabinet."
At your table, the dusky, curly-haired man says in sirihish:
"It all depends on how you feel about racks. If you`ve seen one, have you really seen them all, my Lord Templar?"
At your table, you say in sirihish, raising her eyebrows up exceptionally high, then lowering them, her lips twitching as she speaks:
"A cabinet sounds rather dreary as compared to a rack. Quite humdrum. Not a rack at all but merely a chest."
At your table, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says in sirihish, shaking his head:
"Oh, no, son. Nah. There`s some ravishin`ly sumptuous racks out there I just dream `f seein`."
At your table, the dusky, curly-haired man says in sirihish, shrugging his shoulders lightly:
"But a chest of some definite qualities...very...ample. Able to deal with anything, not just weapons, that are put into it..."
At your table, the dusky, curly-haired man says in sirihish, as he shifts his gaze back to the rugged, stubble-bearded templar:
"That -is- an option, my Lord Templar--if you`d like to look at a Kadian chest. I`d have to place the order for it."
At your table, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says in sirihish, to the dusky, curly-haired man, blithely:
"How much it cost t` look at a Kadian chest these days?"
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"It surely does not cost anything to just look? If I were a Kadian, I`d be falling all over myself to show you my chest."
At your table, the dusky, curly-haired man says in sirihish, shrugging his shoulders once again:
"My Lord Templar, probably more than peeking at a Salarri rack. But like I said. Ample...very ample. Multi-purpose."
At your table, the dusky, curly-haired man says in sirihish:
"In truth, we do have a chest up in the warehouse now, one that even locks."
At your table, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says in sirihish, waving a hand dismissively:
"Rather see a nice rack. Was countin` on it. I gonna get a discount on my armor stand cos there`s no rack like Sparkles said she`d show?"
A slim half-elf server carefully carries a sizzling plate of Allanak flame cheese over to a table.
At your table, the dusky, curly-haired man says in sirihish, bobbing his head towards the rugged, stubble-bearded templar easily:
"That was the discount, my Lord Templar. I hate to leave a customer wanting anything..."
At your table, the dusky, curly-haired man says in sirihish:
"...originally, was going to be sold for seven small and a half small."
At your table, the dusky, curly-haired man says in sirihish, scratching at his chin thoughtfully:
"But, my Lord, since we`ve done business before a few times..."
At your table, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says in sirihish, with a slow nod:
"Ahh. I see. How much it gonna cost me now again, with th` discount?"
At your table, the dusky, curly-haired man says in sirihish, clearing his throat:
"I`ll sell it at six and a half small."
At your table, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says in sirihish:
"What a deal."
At your table, you say in sirihish, tittering softly, her glance both bemused and questioning on the rugged, stubble-bearded templar:
"Is that a deal?"
At your table, the dusky, curly-haired man says in sirihish, as he shifts his gaze to the rugged, stubble-bearded templar and nodding:
"Always glad to make deals for future business, my Lord Templar."
At your table, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says in sirihish, to you, not really hiding a smirk:
"Well, I mean, I was expectin` two things `n got one, but... well, a whole small discount. Means I can spend th` fine I got from that thievin` elf on booze now."
At your table, the dusky, curly-haired man says in sirihish, clearing his throat hesitantly:
"Shall we go get it for you--or shall I get it and bring it here, my Lord?"
At your table, the rugged, stubble-bearded templar says in sirihish:
"Yeh... bring `t here."
At your table, the dusky, curly-haired man says in sirihish, gaze turning to you:
"Is that all you have for me, Lady Fale?"
At your table, you say in sirihish, swishing your thin, jade and black bone fan toward the dusky, curly-haired man:
"Yes Flop, I did say so. Until you have some gowns for my perusal."
The dusky, curly-haired man rises to his feet, bowing deeply to you and the rugged, stubble-bearded templar.
At your table, the dusky, curly-haired man says in sirihish, curiously, as his eyes are drawn to your hair:
"Hmm...perhaps some sort of headdress, as well? With feathers, and the like, my Lady?"
At your table, the dusky, curly-haired man says in sirihish:
"I was only wondering--we...
Continue Reading...A Byn in the Arena by Terri
Added on Feb 11, 2009Trooper Shanli had turned down a templar's offer of employment to stay in the Byn, despite a recent demotion from Sargeant. Player of Shanli can't recall why she was demoted. The templar had brought forth someone accusing her of paying him to assault Allanak soldiers.
The white-haired blue skinned woman stops, chest heaving as she bows to the
sleek, jakhal-eyed templar.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar asks the long-armed man, in sirihish:
"Is this the one?"
A man of average height, stand atop his massive feet. His purely white
hair drips down onto his powerful shoulders and cover up his lean neck. His
enormous chest stands out from the rest of his body, showing signs of
extreme labor. Dark black skin covers his entire body and two large scars
are visible on his face. Two intriguing green eyes are set atop a large and
curved nose. Two long legs extend from his torso and are mounted on his two
massive feet. His lengthy arms, extend far below his waist and almost
reaching the knees.
The long-armed man looks relatively fit.
The long-armed man is using:
<worn on torso> a sweat-stained, simple sandcloth shirt
<worn on legs> a pair of light-brown pants
<worn on feet> a bloodied, pair of black shoes
The long-armed man looks toward you and then nods in the direction of the
sleek, jakhal-eyed templar.
You ask the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Lord Templar?"
The long-armed man trembles as a human soldier tightens her grip.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar moves to you a gentle smile on his lips.
You think:
"I'm screwed. Never trust a templar's smile."
The white-haired blue skinned woman looks from the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar
to the long-armed man.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to you, in sirihish:
"My Pretty Shanli, however dissapointed I may be in your decission...
you're not in trouble."
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar asks you, in sirihish:
"You know this man?"
You say to the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"No, Lord Templar. I do not know him."
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar asks you, in sirihish:
"The Byn hates the soldiers for what reason?"
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar paces about, glancing from you to the
long-armed man.
You say to the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Lord Templar? I don't know that the Byn hates soldiers at all."
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar asks you, in sirihish:
"So.. you didn't offer this man sid.. to kill a soldier in His militia?"
You say to the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"No, Lord Templar."
You think:
"Some sort of setup."
Drawing in a long sharp breath, the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to the
long-armed man, in sirihish:
"Sorry.."
The long-armed man mumbles something as he whimpers.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar brings his bloodied, wickedly barbed whip to
bear against the long-armed man.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed man raises a wickedly barbed whip and lashes out at
the long-armed man.
*CRACK* A long, bloody gash opens up on the long-armed man's back.
The white-haired blue skinned woman watches quietly, face neutral in
expression.
The long-armed man yells out in pain as a whip cuts through his flesh.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar asks you, in sirihish:
"Would you like the chance to avenge the lies this man has told against
the noble Byn? Specifically yourself?"
The long-armed man's eyes open and close and drool drips down on the ground.
You say to the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"I'd be delighted, Milord Templar. If ya think it is appropriate."
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to you, in sirihish:
"He attacked soldiers of the city... and tried to cover the act by
saying that the Byn paid him."
The long-armed man twitches and whimpers as his body shivers.
The white-haired blue skinned woman rolls her eyes.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to the long-armed man, in sirihish:
"Not the sort of reputation the Byn needs..."
In an amused tone, you ask the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"As if the Byn gonna do somethin that stupid?"
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to you, in sirihish:
"Well... they did demote you.. but I consider that a far cry from blood
money against His men."
The long-armed man opens his mouth to say something, but fails as his
strength gives out.
Tilting his head, the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar asks the long-armed man, in
sirihish:
"What was that?"
You say to the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"I ain't the kind ta do me Highlord that kinda dishonor, Lord Templar."
Mumbling over a few words, the long-armed man asks, in sirihish:
"yes ... a ..nnd she w..il..te..ll the ...tr . u ... truth?"
The long-armed man groans as streaks of blood flow down his back.
The white-haired blue skinned woman scowls at the long-armed man.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar asks you, in sirihish:
"Arena, public or private?"
You ask the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"How bout the arena, Lord Templar?"
The sun reaches its highest point in the sky.
A final glimmer of light marks the white moon Lirathu's slow descent.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar asks you, in sirihish:
"Public show... or private?"
You say to the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"public, Lord Templar. If it be ya will, of course."
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to you, in sirihish:
"Do you have weapons you can lend the accused? "
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to you, in sirihish:
"never mind... I'll have a couple matches before then."
You say to the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"No, Lord Templar. All I have are my own."
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to you, in sirihish:
"Fall in..."
You now follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to the long-armed man, in sirihish:
"Your' going to be famous... if you win"
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks north.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk north.
Templars' Way [NS]
Templars' Way stretches north and south through the very heart of the
crowded city. The road is made of large, black-colored stones that are
covered with dust, dung, and other unsavory materials. It passes under the
Arena's morbid shadow, a gigantic structure standing to the east. Bustling
with activity, the Commoners' Quarter lies to the west. Crowds pass along
the street, hurrying on errands and avoiding the keen-eyed glances of the
templars and soldiers who use this way.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
The thick-bearded, half giant soldier stands here.
A human soldier of Tektolnes stands here vigilantly.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south.
The human soldier has arrived from the south.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south, dragging the long-armed man behind.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar asks you, in sirihish:
"Oh... to the death.. or no?"
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks north.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk north.
Templars' Way [NS]
Templars' Way stretches north and south through the very heart of the
crowded city. The road is made of large, black-colored stones that are
covered with dust, dung, and other unsavory materials. It passes under the
Arena's morbid shadow, a gigantic structure standing to the east. Bustling
with activity, the Commoners' Quarter lies to the west. Crowds pass along
the street, hurrying on errands and avoiding the keen-eyed glances of the
templars and soldiers who use this way.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
A wide hipped, elven woman with a painted face struts, smiling at people.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south.
The human soldier has arrived from the south.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south, dragging the long-armed man behind.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks north.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk north.
Templars' Way [NS]
Templars' Way stretches north and south through the very heart of the
crowded city. The road is made of large, black-colored stones that are
covered with dust, dung, and other unsavory materials. It passes under the
Arena's morbid shadow, a gigantic structure standing to the east. Bustling
with activity, the Commoners' Quarter lies to the west. Crowds pass along
the street, hurrying on errands and avoiding the keen-eyed glances of the
templars and soldiers who use this way.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
A human soldier of Tektolnes walks along here.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south.
The human soldier has arrived from the south.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south, dragging the long-armed man behind.
The long-armed man raises his gaze toward the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar and almost faints, but keeps conscious.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar asks you, in sirihish:
"Or do you wish it to be a suprise?"
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks north.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk north.
Templars' Way [NSW]
Templars' Way stretches north and south through the very heart of the
crowded city. The road is made of large, black-colored stones that are
covered with dust, dung, and other unsavory materials. It passes under the
Arena's morbid shadow, a gigantic structure standing to the east. Bustling
with activity, the Commoners' Quarter lies to the west. Crowds pass along
the street, hurrying on errands and avoiding the keen-eyed glances of the
templars and soldiers who use this way.
To the west, Miner's Road leads into the reek and constant noise of
the Commoners' Quarter.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
A human soldier of Tektolnes stands here vigilantly.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south.
The human soldier has arrived from the south.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south, dragging the long-armed man behind.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks north.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk north.
Templars' Way [NS]
Templars' Way stretches north and south through the very heart of the
crowded city. The road is made of large, black-colored stones that are
covered with dust, dung, and other unsavory materials. It passes under the
Arena's morbid shadow, a gigantic structure standing to the east. Bustling
with activity, the Commoners' Quarter lies to the west. Crowds pass along
the street, hurrying on errands and avoiding the keen-eyed glances of the
templars and soldiers who use this way.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south.
The human soldier has arrived from the south.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south, dragging the long-armed man behind.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks north.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk north.
Templars' Way [NS]
Templars' Way stretches north and south through the very heart of the
crowded city. The road is made of large, black-colored stones that are
covered with dust, dung, and other unsavory materials. It passes under the
Arena's morbid shadow, a gigantic structure standing to the east. Bustling
with activity, the Commoners' Quarter lies to the west. Crowds pass along
the street, hurrying on errands and avoiding the keen-eyed glances of the
templars and soldiers who use this way.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south.
The human soldier has arrived from the south.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south, dragging the long-armed man behind.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks north.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk north.
Templars' Way [NSW]
Templars' Way stretches north and south through the very heart of the
crowded city. The road is made of large, black-colored stones that are
covered with dust, dung, and other unsavory materials. It passes under the
Arena's morbid shadow, a gigantic structure standing to the east. Bustling
with activity, the Commoners' Quarter lies to the west. Crowds pass along
the street, hurrying on errands and avoiding the keen-eyed glances of the
templars and soldiers who use this way.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
A human soldier of Tektolnes walks along here.
A dark-haired elf staggers along, carrying a load of hides.
The dark, club-footed human slave is here, dragging a boulder.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south.
The human soldier has arrived from the south.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south, dragging the long-armed man behind.
You say to the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Less he tells the truth, I wish ta kill him, Milord Templar"
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar lowers his head.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks north.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk north.
Templars' Way [NSW]
Templars' Way stretches north and south through the very heart of the
crowded city. The road is made of large, black-colored stones that are
covered with dust, dung, and other unsavory materials. It passes under the
Arena's morbid shadow, a gigantic structure standing to the east. Bustling
with activity, the Commoners' Quarter lies to the west. Crowds pass along
the street, hurrying on errands and avoiding the keen-eyed glances of the
templars and soldiers who use this way.
To the west, Stonecarver's Road leads into the reek and noise of the
commoners' quarter.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
A human soldier of Tektolnes walks along here.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south.
The human soldier has arrived from the south.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south, dragging the long-armed man behind.
You say to the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Unless ya do not wish it."
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks north.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk north.
Templars' Way [NS]
Templars' Way stretches north and south through the very heart of the
crowded city. The road is made of large, black-colored stones that are
covered with dust, dung, and other unsavory materials. It passes under the
Arena's morbid shadow, a gigantic structure standing to the east. Bustling
with activity, the Commoners' Quarter lies to the west. Crowds pass along
the street, hurrying on errands and avoiding the keen-eyed glances of the
templars and soldiers who use this way.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south.
The human soldier has arrived from the south.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south, dragging the long-armed man behind.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks north.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk north.
Templars' Way [NES]
Templars' Way stretches north and south through the very heart of the
crowded city. The road is made of large, black-colored stones that are
covered with dust, dung, and other unsavory materials. It passes under the
Arena's morbid shadow, a gigantic structure standing to the east. Bustling
with activity, the Commoners' Quarter lies to the west. Crowds pass along
the street, hurrying on errands and avoiding the keen-eyed glances of the
templars and soldiers who use this way.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south.
The human soldier has arrived from the south.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south, dragging the long-armed man behind.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks east.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk east.
Arena Road [EW]
Arena Road runs along the north of the Arena, home of Allanak's bloody
Games. Even from this distance, the screams of gladiators practicing inside
echo over the polished bone spikes that jut above the stone walls. The
Arena itself has a smooth, polished stone wall, engraved with a variety of
inscriptions, most of them depicting scenes from famous battles and
gladiatorial combats. On the north side of the road sits a row of subdued
looking mud brick buildings, some occupied by merchants during the Games,
and others used to store supplies or house slaves.
The road extends to the east, along the north wall of the Arena,
leading towards the vast entrance. To the west lies Templars' Way,
which leads south towards the Templars' Quarter.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
The short, thick-set templar stands here vigilantly.
The lean, brown-haired slave trots along here.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the west.
The human soldier has arrived from the west.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the west, dragging the long-armed man behind.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to you, in sirihish:
"It is his shame against you.... your choice."
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks east.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk east.
Arena Road [EW]
Arena Road runs along the north of the Arena, home of Allanak's bloody
Games. Even from this distance, the screams of gladiators practicing inside
echo over the polished bone spikes that jut above the stone walls. The
Arena itself has a smooth, polished stone wall, engraved with a variety of
inscriptions, most of them depicting scenes from famous battles and
gladiatorial combats. On the north side of the road sits a row of subdued
looking mud brick buildings, some occupied by merchants during the Games,
and others used to store supplies or house slaves.
The road extends to the east, along the north wall of the Arena,
leading towards the vast entrance. To the west lies Templars' Way,
which leads south towards the Templars' Quarter.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the west.
The human soldier has arrived from the west.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the west, dragging the long-armed man behind.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks east.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk east.
Arena Road [NEW]
Arena Road runs along the north of the Arena, home of Allanak's bloody
Games. Even from this distance, the screams of gladiators practicing inside
echo over the polished bone spikes that jut above the stone walls. The
Arena itself has a smooth, polished stone wall, engraved with a variety of
inscriptions, most of them depicting scenes from famous battles and
gladiatorial combats. On the north side of the road sits a row of subdued
looking mud brick buildings, some occupied by merchants during the Games,
and others used to store supplies or house slaves.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
A squinty-eyed half elf slouches here, watching pedestrians go by.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the west.
The human soldier has arrived from the west.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the west, dragging the long-armed man behind.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks east.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk east.
Arena Road [NEW]
Arena Road runs along the north of the Arena, home of Allanak's bloody
Games. Even from this distance, the screams of gladiators practicing inside
echo over the polished bone spikes that jut above the stone walls. The
Arena itself has a smooth, polished stone wall, engraved with a variety of
inscriptions, most of them depicting scenes from famous battles and
gladiatorial combats. On the north side of the road sits a row of subdued
looking mud brick buildings, some occupied by merchants during the Games,
and others used to store supplies or house slaves.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the west.
The human soldier has arrived from the west.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the west, dragging the long-armed man behind.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks east.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk east.
Arena Road [ESW]
Arena Road runs along the north of the Arena, home of Allanak's bloody
Games. Even from this distance, the screams of gladiators practicing inside
echo over the polished bone spikes that jut above the stone walls. The
Arena itself has a smooth, polished stone wall, engraved with a variety of
inscriptions, most of them depicting scenes from famous battles and
gladiatorial combats. On the north side of the road sits a row of subdued
looking mud brick buildings, some occupied by merchants during the Games,
and others used to store supplies or house slaves.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the west.
The human soldier has arrived from the west.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the west, dragging the long-armed man behind.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks south.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk south.
The Arena Gate [NESWU]
The gate to the arena stands here, open for either a Game or a
gladitorial practice. Sturdy bars stand in front of the gritty sand of the
arena floor, restraining spectators tempted to take a more active part in
the Games. The arena itself sprawls out, its surface covered with blood-
spattered sand. Stairs leading up to the stands of the arena lie to the
east and west, exits to the training cells and cages beyond them.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the north.
The human soldier has arrived from the north.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the north, dragging the long-armed man behind.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks west.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk west.
Entrance to the Stands [ESU]
A stone stairway leads up to the stands, its withered, smooth surface
having known the tread of thousands of feet. Above your head you hear
the jeers and shouts of the spectators, inciting the combatants on the
Arena floor.
A door is on the south wall, and another leads east to the
Arena entrance.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the east.
The human soldier has arrived from the east.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the east, dragging the long-armed man behind.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks south.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk south.
A Torch-lit Hallway [NS]
Lit by flickering torches of styrax wood, this hallway is unfurnished.
The sounds of the stands roofing it, the cries of the arena crowds and the
constant noise of moving feet overhead, echo along its length, the
reverbations amplified by the worn stone flooring underfoot.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the north.
The human soldier has arrived from the north.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the north, dragging the long-armed man behind.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar opens the door.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks south.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk south.
Entrance to the Arena Floor [NESW]
You stand at the entrance to the Arena floor, before a large
metal door through which monsters for the Games are lead through,
in order to meet death at the end of a gladiator's sword. Two doors,
set into the stone wall which holds up the Arena's underside, are
south and west of you, and a tunnel-like hallway leads north toward the
entrance to the Arena stands.
A tarnished brass chain hangs down from the ceiling.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
The flame-color haired templar stands here overlooking the arena beasts.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the north.
The human soldier has arrived from the north.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the north, dragging the long-armed man behind.
You think:
"Other fella's going to probably be a strong killer."
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar pulls on a tarnished brass chain, causing a loud bell to ring up above.
A loud bell chimes, echoing across the city.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar pulls on a tarnished brass chain, causing a loud bell to ring up above.
A loud bell chimes, echoing across the city.
You sit down and rest your tired bones.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the rugged, runic-tattooed man with the Way.
The long-armed man groans as he hears the shrill of a bell.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the rugged, runic-tattooed man:
"I need a witness. Get ta the arena as soon as ya can."
The flame-color haired templar exclaims, in sirihish:
"At once!"
The flame-color haired templar orders that the gith gladiator to be released into the arena.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the rugged, runic-tattooed man:
"I'm ta fight a man who accuses the byn of givin him money to kill soldiers"
You dissolve the psychic link.
You stop resting, and stand up.
The flame-color haired templar exclaims, in sirihish:
"At once!"
The flame-color haired templar orders that a mullish gladiator to be released into the arena.
On The Beast's Chraden: the gith gladiator parries a mullish gladiator's attack.
On The Beast's Chraden: the gith gladiator lightly slashes a mullish gladiator's body.
On The Beast's Chraden: a mullish gladiator swiftly dodges the gith gladiator's slashes.
On The Beast's Chraden: a mullish gladiator nimbly avoids the gith gladiator's circle kick.
On The Beast's Chraden: the gith gladiator slashes a mullish gladiator, barely grazing his body.
On The Beast's Chraden: a mullish gladiator nimbly avoids the gith gladiator's circle kick.
On The Beast's Chraden: a mullish gladiator swiftly dodges the gith gladiator's slashes.
On The Beast's Chraden: a mullish gladiator avoids being bashed by the gith gladiator, who loses his balance and falls.
On The Beast's Chraden: a mullish gladiator swiftly dodges the gith gladiator's slashes.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says, in sirihish:
"I like to give them a little something to watch... before the main event"
On The Beast's Chraden: a mullish gladiator swiftly dodges the gith gladiator's slashes.
On The Beast's Chraden: a mullish gladiator swiftly dodges the gith gladiator's slashes.
On The Beast's Chraden: a mullish gladiator swiftly dodges the gith gladiator's slashes.
The white-haired blue skinned woman nods, chuckling.
On The Beast's Chraden: a mullish gladiator swiftly dodges the gith gladiator's slashes.
On The Beast's Chraden: a mullish gladiator bludgeons the gith gladiator's neck, doing horrendous damage.
On The Beast's Chraden: a mullish gladiator swiftly dodges the gith gladiator's slashes.
The long-armed man coughs.
On The Beast's Chraden: a mullish gladiator bludgeons the gith gladiator on his leg, wounding him.
On The Beast's Chraden: a mullish gladiator swiftly dodges the gith gladiator's slashes.
On The Beast's Chraden: a mullish gladiator swiftly dodges the gith gladiator's slashes.
On The Beast's Chraden: a mullish gladiator parries the gith gladiator's attack.
On The Beast's Chraden: a mullish gladiator bludgeons the gith gladiator on his foot, wounding him.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to the long-armed man, in sirihish:
"Don't worry... your wounds will be tended"
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar pulls on a tarnished brass chain, causing a loud bell to ring up above.
A loud bell chimes, echoing across the city.
On The Beast's Chraden: a mullish gladiator bludgeons the gith gladiator on his leg, wounding him.
On The Beast's Chraden: a mullish gladiator tries to kick the gith gladiator in the chest, but he steps aside.
On The Beast's Chraden: the gith gladiator parries a mullish gladiator's attack.
On The Beast's Chraden: a mullish gladiator knocks the gith gladiator senseless with a brutal circle kick.
On The Beast's Chraden: a bone longsword clatters to the ground as the gith gladiator releases it.
On The Beast's Chraden: the gith gladiator crumples to the ground.
On The Beast's Chraden: a mullish gladiator bludgeons the gith gladiator's head, doing horrendous damage.
On The Beast's Chraden:
The bald, pallid-skinned templar has arrived from the north.
The thick-bearded, half-giant soldier has arrived from the north.
The human soldier has arrived from the north.
You ask the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Lord Templar, ya don't give the kankdroppins that fella said any belief, do ya?"
On The Beast's Chraden: a mullish gladiator walks west.
On The Western Arena Floor: a mullish gladiator has arrived from the east.
Someone sends:
"he's LD"
The bald, pallid-skinned templar glances about slowly, his hands clasped before him.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar exclaims to the bald, pallid-skinned templar, in sirihish:
"Ahhh... Lord Kriztok!"
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to the bald, pallid-skinned templar, in sirihish:
"Just setting up a bit of an honor duel."
The white-haired blue skinned woman bows deeply to the bald, pallid-skinned templar.
Inclining his head as he glances to the arena floor momentarily, the bald, pallid-skinned templar asks the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Indeed? what are the stakes?"
The bald, pallid-skinned templar looks at you.
l pallid before lowering her eyes
A set of dark brown eyes peer out from sunken sockets upon this human's face. His height and weight average for a person of his race, this man's most distinctive feature is his pale white skin, almost appearing as though it lacks pigmentation of any kind. His bald head, lacking growth of any type while hair still does remain upon other parts of his body. Growing from his chin, a stiletto beard, which is long, narrow, black in color, and pointed at the end. His nose is short and pudgy and while it does not extend lengthwise very far, it still remains quite wide and pronounced. The man's limbs show what the rest of his body has already demonstrated. This man is neither overly obese, nor muscular. Instead his build nestles nicely between the two, hiding all definition of muscle while at the same time not hanging loose about him. The bald, pallid-skinned templar is in excellent condition.
The bald, pallid-skinned templar is using:
<worn on head> a blue silk hood
<worn around neck> a medallion of Tektolnes
<worn across back> a gwoshi-hide knapsack
<worn on right finger> an obsidian templar ring
<worn on left finger> a Kadian signet ring
<worn around body> a blue, hooded templar's robe
<worn on legs> a pair of blue silk pants
<worn on feet> a pair of black leather boots
The bald, pallid-skinned templar looks at the long-armed man.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to the bald, pallid-skinned templar, in sirihish:
"Seems this man here claims the Byn, specifically Shanli... paid him to attempt to murder a soldier."
The bald, pallid-skinned templar glances between you and the long-armed man with an extended gaze.
The long-armed man raises his weary eyes to gaze upon the bald, pallid-skinned templar.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to the bald, pallid-skinned templar, in sirihish:
"Shanli wishes to beat him to death, until he speaks the truth..."
With a nod as he regards the long-armed man, the bald, pallid-skinned templar says to the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Excellent, I always enjoy a good fight"
The white-haired blue skinned woman nods, giving the long-armed man a hard stare.
The long-armed man trembles as he hears the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar say a few words.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says, in sirihish:
"Now... lets tend to those lashes."
Nodding to the long-armed man, the bald, pallid-skinned templar asks the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Are you going to give him a weapon?"
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to the long-armed man, in sirihish:
"He can pick from the Gith dead."
The long-armed man coughs.
With a nod, looking to the gate, the bald, pallid-skinned templar says, in sirihish:
"Pity, I was hoping to see them fight it out bare handed."
On The Western Arena Floor: a mullish gladiator walks north.
The First Chraden: a mullish gladiator has arrived from the south.
You think:
"Hope to Tek not."
Pausing, the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to you, in sirihish:
"Up to you..."
The bald, pallid-skinned templar says to the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"It's always pleasant to see someone killed by the raw might of the hand"
Indicating your jagged chitin scimitar, you ask the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"I be a swordsman, Lords Templar. I prefer these, if I may?"
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar nods.
The long-armed man glances at a jagged chitin scimitar and trembles with fear.
The bald, pallid-skinned templar asks the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in an unfamiliar tongue:
"Ii sis'g pu rygh uo i jepsi fkyh koy, qu uuy feryuiu lpa Bon if huslojs qvy ioouiehy wcooz?"
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar calls out for the gates of the arena to be opened.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar opens the gate.
On The Western Arena Floor: the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar opens the gate from the other side.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to the bald, pallid-skinned templar, in sirihish:
"We shall see..."
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to the bald, pallid-skinned templar, in sirihish:
"and since the only reason he picked her was because I gave him the information.... I have no reason to believe him"
The bald, pallid-skinned templar nods his head once, glancing between you and the long-armed man.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks east.
On The Western Arena Floor: the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar has arrived from the west.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk east.
The Arena Floor [NESW]
You are on the west side of the Arena, between the First and Third
Chradens. The screams and cheers emanating from the stands above you
further add to the deadly and decadent mood. The Arena floor is made up of
sand and rocks, as if built directly over the desert that once lay here,
and chitin spikes poke through the ground in various places, threatening
those who are more wary of their opponent than themselves.
The Arena continues to the east, and a giant iron gate lies to your
west, firmly shut, trapping you inside for the spectators' amusement.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the west.
The human soldier has arrived from the west.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the west, dragging the long-armed man behind.
A mullish gladiator has arrived from the north.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks west.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk west.
Entrance to the Arena Floor [NESW]
You stand at the entrance to the Arena floor, before a large
metal door through which monsters for the Games are lead through,
in order to meet death at the end of a gladiator's sword. Two doors,
set into the stone wall which holds up the Arena's underside, are
south and west of you, and a tunnel-like hallway leads north toward the
entrance to the Arena stands.
A tarnished brass chain hangs down from the ceiling.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
A human soldier of Tektolnes stands here vigilantly.
The bald, pallid-skinned templar is standing here.
The thick-bearded, half giant soldier stands here.
The flame-color haired templar stands here overlooking the arena beasts.
On The Western Arena Floor: the half-giant soldier walks west.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the east.
On The Western Arena Floor: the human soldier walks west.
The human soldier has arrived from the east.
On The Western Arena Floor: the half-giant soldier walks west, dragging the long-armed man behind her.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the east, dragging the long-armed man behind.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar calls out for the gates of the arena to be closed.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar closes the gate.
On The Western Arena Floor: the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar closes the gate from the other side.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar dusts the flame-color haired templar off.
Entrance to the Arena Floor [NESW]
You stand at the entrance to the Arena floor, before a large
metal door through which monsters for the Games are lead through,
in order to meet death at the end of a gladiator's sword. Two doors,
set into the stone wall which holds up the Arena's underside, are
south and west of you, and a tunnel-like hallway leads north toward the
entrance to the Arena stands.
A tarnished brass chain hangs down from the ceiling.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
The long-armed man stands here, held by the half-giant soldier.
A human soldier of Tektolnes stands here vigilantly.
A half-giant soldier of Tektolnes stands here impassively.
A human soldier of Tektolnes stands here vigilantly.
The bald, pallid-skinned templar is standing here.
The thick-bearded, half giant soldier stands here.
The flame-color haired templar stands here overlooking the arena beasts.
Handlers move through the arena, corralling the occupants back into the slaves and animal pens.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar calls out for the gates of the arena to be opened.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar opens the gate.
On The Western Arena Floor: the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar opens the gate from the other side.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks east.
On The Western Arena Floor: the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar has arrived from the west.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk east.
The Arena Floor [NESW]
You are on the west side of the Arena, between the First and Third
Chradens. The screams and cheers emanating from the stands above you
further add to the deadly and decadent mood. The Arena floor is made up of
sand and rocks, as if built directly over the desert that once lay here,
and chitin spikes poke through the ground in various places, threatening
those who are more wary of their opponent than themselves.
The Arena continues to the east, and a giant iron gate lies to your
west, firmly shut, trapping you inside for the spectators' amusement.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the west.
The human soldier has arrived from the west.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the west, dragging the long-armed man behind.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks east.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk east.
The Beast's Chraden [NESW]
You are at the Beast's Chraden, a large mound of dirt piled high in the
center of the arena. Set into the top of the mound is a reinforced
trapdoor, from which the beasts and gladiators that fight for the
entertainment of Allanak are herded out of. The ground around this chraden
is a mixture of tanned sand, and dark-red of dried blood; the tell-tale
sign of countless battles fought. The arsign of countless battles fought. The arena continues in all directions.
The body of the gith gladiator fills your nostrils with a morbid stench.
A bone longsword lies here.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the west.
The human soldier has arrived from the west.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the west, dragging the long-armed man behind.
The bald, pallid-skinned templar has arrived from the west.
The thick-bearded, half-giant soldier has arrived from the west.
The human soldier has arrived from the west.
The white-haired blue skinned woman grins down at the dead gith.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar shouts, in sirihish:
"People of Allanak! Today we have a duel! Between one that would Slander the Byn's good name!"
The bald, pallid-skinned templar reaches up, stroking his beard as he looks to the crowd.
A loud bell chimes, echoing across the city.
A loud bell chimes, echoing across the city.
A loud bell chimes, echoing across the city.
The white-haired blue skinned woman looks over the stands calmly.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar shouts, in sirihish:
"The champion for the Byn... Trooper Shanli!"
You think:
"I wish there were Byn up there, present. I just...if I die, I want them ta see it."
The bald, pallid-skinned templar glances towards the body of the gith gladiator for a long moment as he strokes his long, slender beard.
You think:
"An if I live..I want someone ta back up me braggin."
The long-armed man chokes on his saliva as he hears the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar.
The white-haired blue skinned woman smiles.
Motiontioning to the long-armed man, the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar shouts, in sirihish:
"The man accused.. the criminal who claims the Byn hired him to assassinate soldiers.... Dirr...."
The bald, pallid-skinned templar looks at the long-armed man with a momentary gaze.
The long-armed man groans and shakes.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar picks up a bone longsword.
You think:
"Scared as a jozhal. Either he was stupid an manipulated, or he's real good an pretendin."
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to you, in sirihish:
"one weapon only.. keep it remotely fair."
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar gives a bone longsword to the long-armed man.
You say to the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"As ya wish, Lord Templar."
The long-armed man tries to hold on to his bone longsword.
The bald, pallid-skinned templar gathers in his blue, hooded templar's robe, striding westward along the floor.
The bald, pallid-skinned templar walks west.
The thick-bearded, half-giant soldier walks west.
The human soldier walks west.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar gives the half-giant soldier an order.
The half-giant soldier releases the long-armed man, who immediately moves away.
The long-armed man brandishes a bone longsword.
You draw a jagged chitin scimitar.
The long-armed man steps back in fear.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar looks down at the long-armed man.
The white-haired blue skinned woman salutes the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar with the your jagged chitin scimitar.
You shout in sirihish:
"For the Highlord an the T'zai Byn!"
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar shouts, in sirihish:
"In the name of the Highlord! May he with truth... force the other to yeild... or take thier life!"
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar shouts, in sirihish:
"All Hail the highlord!"
The white-haired blue skinned woman turns, watching the long-armed man.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar stops leading the white-haired blue skinned woman.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks west.
The half-giant soldier walks west.
The human soldier walks west.
The half-giant soldier walks west.
The long-armed man mumbles something.
You ask the long-armed man, in sirihish:
"Ya gonna tell the truth?"
The long-armed man says to you, in sirihish:
"I did ... tell it."
The white-haired blue skinned woman crouches, left side towards the long-armed man.
You say to the long-armed man, in sirihish:
"No. I never saw ya before. Nor paid ya money. Ya are a liar."
The long-armed man says to you, in sirihish:
"Ahh ... yer memory is weak."
The white-haired blue skinned woman grins.
The long-armed man says, in sirihish:
"Everything will be found .... sooner or later."
You say to the long-armed man, in sirihish:
"Come an get some, fool."
The long-armed man says, in sirihish:
"if you say so ..."
The long-armed man makes a desperate lunge at you.
You deftly parry the long-armed man's attack.
You deftly parry the long-armed man's attack.
The long-armed man slashes at you, but you dodge out of the way.
The long-armed man swings his bone longsword horizontaly slashing at you.
You deftly parry the long-armed man's attack.
The long-armed man swiftly dodges your slash.
You slash the long-armed man's arm.
The long-armed man raies his bone longsword in an overhead chop bringing it to you.
You nick the long-armed man's leg with your slash.
The white-haired blue skinned woman parries, reversing to catch the long-armed man's arm.
You deftly parry the long-armed man's attack.
You slash the long-armed man's body.
You wound the long-armed man on his head with a brutal slash.
The long-armed man swiftly dodges your slash.
The long-armed man jabs desperatly at you.
You lightly slash the long-armed man's leg.
From the stands over head the stocky, mottled man shouts, " Kick his ass! Murderize him!".
The long-armed man slashes at you, but you dodge out of the way.
You slash the long-armed man very hard on his body.
From the stands over head the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar shouts, " You have the chance to yeild the Truth!".
The long-armed man parries your attack.
The long-armed man swings back in despair.
You deftly parry the long-armed man's attack.
You say to the long-armed man, in sirihish:
"Tell the truth."
You deftly parry the long-armed man's attack.
assess long
The long-armed man is in terrible condition.
The long-armed man does not look tired.
You deftly parry the long-armed man's attack.
You land a solid slash to the long-armed man's body.
The long-armed man shouts, in sirihish:
"Alright I lied"
A loud voice booms from over head: "Shout now you lie, and you may have a chance".
The long-armed man parries your attack.
The long-armed man panics, and attempts to flee.
The long-armed man runs west.
From the stands over head the spidery, black-haired man shouts, " Kill him anyway!".
From the stands over head the stocky, mottled man shouts, " Woooo! Hit him again! Chop his head off!".
You shout in sirihish:
"He admits he lied!"
The Arena Floor [NESW]
You are on the west side of the Arena, between the First and Third
Chradens. The screams and cheers emanating from the stands above you
further add to the deadly and decadent mood. The Arena floor is made up of
sand and rocks, as if built directly over the desert that once lay here,
and chitin spikes poke through the ground in various places, threatening
those who are more wary of their opponent than themselves.
The Arena continues to the east, and a giant iron gate lies to your
west, firmly shut, trapping you insidwest, firmly shut, trapping you inside for the spectators' amusement.
The long-armed man is standing here, bleeding profusely.
The long-armed man sits down.
From the stands over head the stocky, mottled man shouts, " Kill him anyway!".
The long-armed man chokes with pain.
You say to the long-armed man, in sirihish:
"Tell em the truth"
From the stands over head the stocky, mottled man shouts, " Woooo!".
You shout in sirihish:
"What be the will of the Lord Templar?"
The long-armed man shouts, in sirihish:
"I lied .... the Byn had nothing to do with it"
From the stands over head the stocky, mottled man shouts, " Make him pay!".
The long-armed man drops his bone longsword.
The long-armed man stops using a bone longsword.
The long-armed man drops a bone longsword.
The long-armed man faints back and hits the ground.
The white-haired blue skinned woman looks around at the stands.
From the stands over head the stocky, mottled man shouts, " Make him a Byn slave!".
From the stands over head the stocky, mottled man shouts, " Then kill him!".
You sheathe a jagged chitin scimitar.
From the stands over head the stocky, mottled man shouts, " Make him bleed! I want blood!".
You shout in sirihish:
"Lord Templar, what be thy will?"
The long-armed man chokes on his own blood as it spills out of his mouth.
From the stands over head the stocky, mottled man shouts, " BLOOD BLOOD BLOOD!".
The long-armed man coughs, and blood flies in every direction.
You think:
"Now that's a fella needs a life."
From the stands over head the spidery, black-haired man shouts, " (glancing back at the templars) I'll give you five hundred coins to stick your sword into him again. That fight was pathetic!".
The white-haired blue skinned woman shrugs.
You ask the long-armed man, in sirihish:
"Why did ya accuse the Byn? An me?"
From the stands over head the stocky, mottled man shouts, " Stop talking!".
From the stands over head the stocky, mottled man shouts, " Make them fight!".
The long-armed man opens his mouthm trying to mumble out words.
assess long
The long-armed man looks near death.
The long-armed man does not look tired.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar opens the gate from the other side.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar has arrived from the west.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the west.
The human soldier has arrived from the west.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the west.
From the stands over head the stocky, mottled man shouts, " Wooo!".
Coughing, the long-armed man says, in sirihish:
"a ... lie .... to sa ... ve me..h se."
You say, in sirihish:
"I'll kill him if it is ya wish, Lord Templar"
From the stands over head the stocky, mottled man shouts, " YEAH! Execute him! Let's see some blood!".
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to you, in sirihish:
"His life is yours... for the insult."
The long-armed man faints back and his eyes roll closed as streaks of blood flow down his head.
You hit the long-armed man, barely grazing his body.
The long-armed man swiftly dodges your hit.
The long-armed man hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
The long-armed man hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
The long-armed man hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
The long-armed man viciously leaps toward you, but a sweat-stained, new pair of one-striped studded sleeves gets in the way.
The long-armed man deftly avoids your slow kick.
You viciously leap toward the long-armed man, but a bloodied, sweat-stained, simple sandcloth shirt gets in the way.
You hit the long-armed man, barely grazing his body.
The long-armed man hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
The long-armed man hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
The long-armed man gives out a last sighs as hee sees a blade coming.
You hit the long-armed man, barely grazing his body.
The long-armed man swiftly dodges your hit.
The long-armed man hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
The long-armed man hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
You nick the long-armed man's neck with your hit.
The long-armed man swiftly dodges your hit.
The long-armed man's attack on you is absorbed by a sweat-stained, new crimson jakhal-hide jacket.
The long-armed man hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
The long-armed man lunges at you, but his blow is deftly deflected by a sweat-stained, new pair of one-striped studded sleeves.
The long-armed man hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
From the stands over head the stocky, mottled man shouts, " Knock his block off!".
The long-armed man hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
The long-armed man hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
You hit the long-armed man, barely grazing his arm.
You hit the long-armed man, barely grazing his arm.
The long-armed man hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
The long-armed man hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
The long-armed man swiftly dodges your hit.
The long-armed man swiftly dodges your hit.
The long-armed man hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
The long-armed man hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
Your attack on the long-armed man is absorbed by a pair of light-brown pants.
You hit the long-armed man, barely grazing his leg.
The long-armed man crumples to the ground.
From the stands over head the stocky, mottled man shouts, " YEAH!!!! Woooo!".
You draw a jagged chitin scimitar.
You inflict a grievous wound on the long-armed man's neck with your slash.
From the stands over head the stocky, mottled man shouts, " WOO!!!!! Yeah!".
You behead the body of the long-armed man.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar's lips peel back to a thin smile.
You sheathe a jagged chitin scimitar.
You pick up the head of the long-armed man.
It is very light, and empty.
The bald, pallid-skinned templar has arrived from the west.
The thick-bearded, half-giant soldier has arrived from the west.
The human soldier has arrived from the west.
The white-haired blue skinned woman bows, offering the head to the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar.
As he comes to a stop, the bald, pallid-skinned templar asks the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in an unfamiliar tongue:
"Yoa jyqi gei goe hyosj kirn fih Lajs Suhip?"
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to the bald, pallid-skinned templar, in sirihish:
"His life was hers.... for the insult alone.. it was thier duel."
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to the bald, pallid-skinned templar, in sirihish:
"Had she let him live... I would have killed him."
With a nod, the bald, pallid-skinned templar says to the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in an unfamiliar tongue:
"Speca ad deieui heiy juoh yyio zeqotuiq."
From the stands over head the stocky, mottled man shouts, " Yeah!!! That was great!".
Softly, you say, in sirihish:
"He did attack a soldier, after all, Lords Templar. THat's jus' wrong."
From the stands over head the stocky, mottled man shouts, " More more more!".
The bald, pallid-skinned templar says to the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in an unfamiliar tongue:
"A fyrzui gyhifoen ry ooag qajisiu sioiw ki ur eiqam I kyreuha, ojo iui iaat iuki 500 pousg sivafw ro oah."
You think:
"Bet that fella wouldn't think it was so great from in here."
The bald, pallid-skinned templar shrugs lightly, gasting a momentary glance to you.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to the bald, pallid-skinned templar, in sirihish:
"You are so right."
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to you, in sirihish:
"Come, present the head to the noble that wished you to finish the fight."
You think:
"Don't like this. Why isn't it over?"
The petite pale-skinned woman has arrived from the west.
The white-haired blue skinned woman bows to the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar.
Feathery brown hair frames the petite woman's face, falling in a tumble
over her shoulders. Eyes the hue of rich, fertile soil gaze studiously over
a narrow nose and full rosy lips. A short slender scar runs down the side
of her chin, marring her otherwise flawless cream-toned skin. Though small
in stature, she bears well-muscled yet curvaceous lines.
The petite pale-skinned woman is in excellent condition.
The petite pale-skinned woman is using:
<worn around neck> a blue ceramic charm
<worn about throat> an elegant opal brooch
<worn across back> a leather-strapped, rich purple satchel
<worn on arms> a new pair of azure-sigilled black armbands
<worn around wrist> a purple-spiralled bone bracelet
<worn around body> a black and azure hooded cloak
<worn on legs> a deep blue, split silk skirt
<worn on right ankle> a polished, opal-inset charm
<worn on feet> a new pair of knee-high black boots with azure sigils
The petite pale-skinned woman curtsies to the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar and the bald, pallid-skinned templar before approaching you.
You now follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar.
The white-haired blue skinned woman nods respectfully to the petite pale-skinned woman.
Holding a small purse out, the petite pale-skinned woman says to you, in sirihish:
"This is from Lord Hardestadt Oash."
The petite pale-skinned woman gives you 500 coins.
You ask the petite pale-skinned woman, in sirihish:
"Tell him he has me thanks, an I'll drink ta his health, Miss. Does Lord Oash wish the head?"
Tilting his head, the bald, pallid-skinned templar asks the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in an unfamiliar tongue:
"Daj Losf Oihq hurjudotohzo go ujuiqhh yook gegrew?"
The white-haired blue skinned woman slips the pouch into her belt.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar shakes his head to the bald, pallid-skinned templar.
You put a pile of allanaki coins inside a leather swordbelt.
Thoughtfully, the petite pale-skinned woman says to you, in sirihish:
"I can ask him, and let you know. I'm Nari, Aid to House Oash. I didn't get your name.."
The bald, pallid-skinned templar says to the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in an unfamiliar tongue:
"Fui ap iaamju zoet iah syax enasoquhp xig ao axykuia joagigh."
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar nods.
You say to the petite pale-skinned woman, in sirihish:
"I be Shanli, trooper of the Byn."
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says, in sirihish:
"When you are ready to leave the Arena Floor Nari."
Smiling and inclining her head, the petite pale-skinned woman says to you, in sirihish:
"Well met then, Trooper Shanli."
Looking between the petite pale-skinned woman and you, the bald, pallid-skinned templar says, in sirihish:
"This isn't a social club."
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks west.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk west.
Entrance to the Arena Floor [NESW]
You stand at the entrance to the Arena floor, before a large
metal door through which monsters for the Games are lead through,
in order to meet death at the end of a gladiator's sword. Two doors,
set into the stone wall which holds up the Arena's underside, are
south and west of you, and a tunnel-like hallway leads north toward the
entrance to the Arena stands.
A tarnished brass chain hangs down from the ceiling.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
The flame-color haired templar stands here overlooking the arena beasts.
On The Western Arena Floor: the half-giant soldier walks west.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the east.
On The Western Arena Floor: the human soldier walks west.
The human soldier has arrived from the east.
On The Western Arena Floor: the half-giant soldier walks west.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the east.
On The Western Arena Floor: the bald, pallid-skinned templar walks west.
The bald, pallid-skinned templar has arrived from the east.
On The Western Arena Floor: the thick-bearded, half-giant soldier walks west.
The thick-bearded, half-giant soldier has arrived from the east.
On The Western Arena Floor: the human soldier walks west.
The human soldier has arrived from the east.
On The Western Arena Floor: the petite pale-skinned woman walks west.
The petite pale-skinned woman has arrived from the east.
The white-haired blue skinned woman chuckles softly.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar calls out for the gates of the arena to be closed.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar closes the gate.
On The Western Arena Floor: the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar closes the gate from the other side.
The petite pale-skinned woman walks north.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to the bald, pallid-skinned templar, in sirihish:
"Give them something that is entertaining."
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to the bald, pallid-skinned templar, in sirihish:
"You've such a better feel for it than I do."
With a nod, the bald, pallid-skinned templar says to the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Indeed, I'll go grab an elf from the quarter"
The bald, pallid-skinned templar says to the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"I don't want to pay to release the beasts again."
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says, in sirihish:
"Another seems willing to attack the soldiers"
The bald, pallid-skinned templar says to the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"You see, always another"
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks north.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk north.
A Torch-lit Hallway [NS]
Lit by flickering torches of styrax wood, this hallway is unfurnished.
The sounds of the stands roofing it, the cries of the arena crowds and the
constant noise of moving feet overhead, echo along its length, the
reverbations amplified by the worn stone flooring underfoot.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south.
The human soldier has arrived from the south.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks north.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk north.
Entrance to the Stands [ESU]
A stone stairway leads up to the stands, its withered, smooth surface
having known the tread of thousands of feet. Above your head you hear
the jeers and shouts of the spectators, inciting the combatants on the
Arena floor.
A door is on the south wall, and another leads east to the
Arena entrance.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south.
The human soldier has arrived from the south.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks east.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk east.
The Arena Gate [NESWU]
The gate to the arena stands here, open for either a Game or a
gladitorial practice. Sturdy bars stand in front of the gritty sand of the
arena floor, restraining spectators tempted to take a more active part in
the Games. The arena itself sprawls out, its surface covered with blood-
spattered sand. Stairs leading up to the stands of the arena lie to the
east and west, exits to the training cells and cages beyond them.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
The petite pale-skinned woman is standing here.
A veteran mercenary is standing here at attention.
The spidery, black-haired man is standing here.
A veteran mercenary is standing here at attention.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the west.
The human soldier has arrived from the west.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the west.
The bald, pallid-skinned templar has arrived from the west.
The thick-bearded, half-giant soldier has arrived from the west.
The human soldier has arrived from the west.
The white-haired blue skinned woman smiles at the petite pale-skinned woman.
Nodding, the petite pale-skinned woman asks the spidery, black-haired man, in sirihish:
"Saw someone, didn't get a look at him though. The big one, kind of thick around the middle, wearing the sandcloth cloak?"
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar inclines his head.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks north.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk north.
Arena Road [ESW]
Arena Road runs along the north of the Arena, home of Allanak's bloody
Games. Even from this distance, the screams of gladiators practicing inside
echo over the polished bone spikes that jut above the stone walls. The
Arena itself has a smooth, polished stone wall, engraved with a variety of
inscriptions, most of them depicting scenes from famous battles and
gladiatorial combats. On the north side of the road sits a row of subdued
looking mud brick buildings, some occupied by merchants during the Games,
and others used to store supplies or house slaves.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south.
The human soldier has arrived from the south.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks west.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk west.
Arena Road [NEW]
Arena Road runs along the north of the Arena, home of Allanak's bloody
Games. Even from this distance, the screams of gladiators practicing inside
echo over the polished bone spikes that jut above the stone walls. The
Arena itself has a smooth, polished stone wall, engraved with a variety of
inscriptions, most of them depicting scenes from famous battles and
gladiatorial combats. On the north side of the road sits a row of subdued
looking mud brick buildings, some occupied by merchants during the Games,
and others used to store supplies or house slaves.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the east.
The human soldier has arrived from the east.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the east.
The stocky, mottled man has arrived from the west.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks west.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk west.
Arena Road [NEW]
Arena Road runs along the north of the Arena, home of Allanak's bloody
Games. Even from this distance, the screams of gladiators practicing inside
echo over the polished bone spikes that jut above the stone walls. The
Arena itself has a smooth, polished stone wall, engraved with a variety of
inscriptions, most of them depicting scenes from famous battles and
gladiatorial combats. On the north side of the road sits a row of subdued
looking mud brick buildings, some occupied by merchants during the Games,
and others used to store supplies or house slaves.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
A squinty-eyed half elf slouches here, watching pedestrians go by.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the east.
The human soldier has arrived from the east.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the east.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk west.
Arena Road [EW]
Arena Road runs along the north of the Arena, home of Allanak's bloody
Games. Even from this distance, the screams of gladiators practicing inside
echo over the polished bone spikes that jut above the stone walls. The
Arena itself has a smooth, polished stone wall, engraved with a variety of
inscriptions, most of them depicting scenes from famous battles and
gladiatorial combats. On the north side ofgladiatorial combats. On the north side of the road sits a row of subdued
looking mud brick buildings, some occupied by merchants during the Games,
and others used to store supplies or house slaves.
The road extends to the east, along the north wall of the Arena,
leading towards the vast entrance. To the west lies Templars' Way,
which leads south towards the Templars' Quarter.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the east.
The human soldier has arrived from the east.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the east.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks west.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk west.
Arena Road [EW]
Arena Road runs along the north of the Arena, home of Allanak's bloody
Games. Even from this distance, the screams of gladiators practicing inside
echo over the polished bone spikes that jut above the stone walls. The
Arena itself has a smooth, polished stone wall, engraved with a variety of
inscriptions, most of them depicting scenes from famous battles and
gladiatorial combats. On the north side ofgladiatorial combats. On the north side of the road sits a row of subdued
looking mud brick buildings, some occupied by merchants during the Games,
and others used to store supplies or house slaves.
The road extends to the east, along the north wall of the Arena,
leading towards the vast entrance. To the west lies Templars' Way,
which leads south towards the Templars' Quarter.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the east.
The human soldier has arrived from the east.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the east.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks west.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk west.
Templars' Way [NES]
Templars' Way stretches north and south through the very heart of the
crowded city. The road is made of large, black-colored stones that are
covered with dust, dung, and other unsavory materials. It passes under the
Arena's morbid shadow, a gigantic structure standing to the east. Bustling
with activity, the Commoners' Quarter lies to the west. Crowds pass along
the street, hurrying on errands and avoiding the keen-eyed glances of the
templars and soldiers who use this way.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
A dark-haired elf staggers along, carrying a load of hides.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the east.
The human soldier has arrived from the east.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the east.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks south.
You follow the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, and walk south.
Templars' Way [NS]
Templars' Way stretches north and south through the very heart of the
crowded city. The road is made of large, black-colored stones that are
covered with dust, dung, and other unsavory materials. It passes under the
Arena's morbid shadow, a gigantic structure standing to the east. Bustling
with activity, the Commoners' Quarter lies to the west. Crowds pass along
the street, hurrying on errands and avoiding the keen-eyed glances of the
templars and soldiers who use this way.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar is standing here.
- a ball of green light floats about his head.
A human soldier of Tektolnes walks along here.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the north.
The human soldier has arrived from the north.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the north.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to you, in sirihish:
"YOu are dismissed... you did a fine show, Shanli..."
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar says to you, in sirihish:
"Pity you consider yourself so unpolished"
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar stops leading the white-haired blue skinned woman.
You say to the sleek, jakhal-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"I thank ya, for ya faith in me, Lord Templar."
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar walks south.
The half-giant soldier walks south.
The human soldier walks south.
The half-giant soldier walks south.
The white-haired blue skinned woman smiles to herself as she turns.
The Gateway to the T'zai Byn [ESW]
Massive gray stone arches mark the entrance to the T'zai Byn, also known
as the Allanaki Mercenaries' Guild. A large black banner bearing a purple
dragon hangs proudly across the thick stone wall to the north, while arches
open to the east, south, and west. A heavy wooden gate is set beneath the
eastern arch, while a small courtyard is visible through the western arch.
Warriors' Way lies to the south.
The hustle and bustle of the road to the south can be heard, and a large
amount of traffic passes in that direction. Most of the people here form a
line before the gate to the east.
The obsidian-skinned dwarf is here, holding his swords at the ready.
The solid, sun-darkened half-giant is here, looming over the crowd.
The rugged, war-braided man keeps watch over the courtyard here.
The rugged, gray-haired woman stands beside the massive gate here.
The scar-faced green elf scratches his belly as he keeps watch here.
The hulking, dark gray half-giant stands here, looking around slowly.
The obsidian-skinned dwarf watches as you approach the gate.
Ok.
The rugged, gray-haired woman and you salute each other.
A Stony Path [EW]
Small, sharp gray gravel covers the ground here, forming a path leading
east and west. To the north, a massive gray stone wall rises up perhaps
fourteen cords into the air. To the south, a massive, utilitarian-looking
stone building reaches up into the sky, with arrow slits set at regular
intervals along its length.
Warriors of all kinds walk along here, either striding along to the east
or queuing up to be let out through the gateway to the west.
The rugged, brown-haired woman stands here vigilantly, beside the gate.
The muscular, sandy-brown dwarf is standing here.
The monstrous, battle-scarred mul keeps watch over the path here.
The thick-boned half-giant is here, standing to one side of the gate.
You think:
"Wish the Lieutenant was up, so's I could report."
A Stony Path [NESW]
Small, sharp gray gravel covers the ground here, forming a path leading
east and west. To the north, the path opens up into a large, dusty yard. To
the south, a large hallway marks the entrance to a massive, utilitarian-
looking stone building.
Warriors of all kinds walk along here, either striding along to the east
or queuing up to be let out through the gateway to the west.
The bald, one-eyed man leans against the side of the hall here.
The copper-skinned, claw-scarred elf is here, watching the path.
The muscular, violet eyed woman stands here vigilantly.
The fat-headed, spear-tattooed man chuckles as he talks here.
The robust gray dwarf is standing here, watching the sky.
The Drill Yard [NESW]
This large, dusty yard is set in the middle of several buildings, most
of them fairly tall. The sand underfoot is coarse and gritty, and is caked
with sweat or blood in more than a few places. Various pieces of equipment
are scattered around the area, including some humanoid-shaped practice
targets and wooden practice weapons of all kinds. Several groups of rough-
looking mercenaries are engaged in combat drills, overseen by sergeants
barking out crisp orders, and with a lieutenant or two supervising the
overall situation in this part of the yard.
To the east is a large stone hall filled with trestle tables, and to the
south, the yard meets up with a stony path. The yard continues to the north
and west.
The graceful, golden-haired elf is here, cutting the air with her weapons.
A Stony Path [NESW]
Small, sharp gray gravel covers the ground here, forming a path leading
east and west. To the north, the path opens up into a large, dusty yard. To
the south, a large hallway marks the entrance to a massive, utilitarian-
looking stone building.
Warriors of all kinds walk along here, either striding along to the east
or queuing up to be let out through the gateway to the west.
The bald, one-eyed man leans against the side of the hall here.
The copper-skinned, claw-scarred elf is here, watching the path.
The muscular, violet eyed woman stands here vigilantly.
The fat-headed, spear-tattooed man chuckles as he talks here.
The robust gray dwarf is standing here, watching the sky.
A Large Hallway [NW]
This broad hallway opens up to a stony path to the north, and the rest
of the building to the west. The plain gray flagstones here are heavily
scuffed, with evidence of much repair work to level the stones and fill in
chips and cracks. The traffic is heavy here, with many people seeking both
entry to and exit from the building. Most are dressed in armor, but many
are instead dressed in civilian clothing. Very few would appear to be at
all wealthy.
The grizzled old man scratches at himself idly as he stands here.
The flame-haired elven woman is here, her gaze darting around alertly.
The lithe, obsidian-braided man keeps watch over the hallway here.
The silver-skinned dwarven woman stands here, looking around slowly.
The Main Barracks [EU]
This massive, two-story hall seems to have undergone heavy rebuilding
at some time in the past. Most of the vast room is open air, with the first
story above ground level being nothing more than a balcony of sorts,
several cords wide and running along the walls of the building. Both upper
and lower floors are devoid of furniture, with several hundred grimy
pallets arranged in semi-orderly rows along the walls. Solid stone stairs
lead to the upper level from the western end of the hall. Suspended from
the ceiling, more than twenty-five cords above, is a large black banner
bearing a purple dragon.
The hall appears mostly empty except for a few mercenaries here and
there, mending armor, sharpening weapons, or just talking quietly.
A multi-ringed dartboard hangs on a wall here.
The tall, cleft-lipped man is here, sleeping on a pallet.
The brown-haired, blue-eyed man looks around slowly from his pallet here.
The thin, chestnut-haired woman stands here, watching the stairs.
The grey-maned, wooden-legged man sits here, sharpening a bone-toothed saw.
The dimpled, shaven-headed man looks over a wounded mercenary here.
The Main Barracks [ND]
This massive, two-story hall seems to have undergone heavy rebuilding
at some time in the past. Most of the vast room is open air, with the first
story above ground level being nothing more than a balcony of sorts,
several cords wide and running along the walls of the building. Both upper
and lower floors are devoid of furniture, with several hundred grimy
pallets arranged in semi-orderly rows along the walls. Solid stone stairs
lead to the upper level from the western end of the hall. Suspended from
the ceiling, more than fifteen cords above, is a large black banner bearing
a purple dragon.
The hall appears mostly empty except for a few mercenaries here and
there, mending armor, sharpening weapons, or just talking quietly.
A multi-ringed dartboard hangs on a wall here.
The rugged, runic-tattooed man is sitting on a pallet here, nursing a wound.
The grizzled, long-fingered mercenary sits on a pallet here, tattooing.
You ask the rugged, runic-tattooed man, in sirihish:
"Ya awake yet?"
You think:
"Love to set this head down on his chest, so's when he wakes..."
The white-haired blue skinned woman giggles.
You say to the rugged, runic-tattooed man, in sirihish:
"I got a story ta tell ya, when ya feel up to it, Pavel."
The Main Barracks [EU]
This massive, two-story hall seems to have undergone heavy rebuilding
at some time in the past. Most of the vast room is open air, with the first
story above ground level being nothing more than a balcony of sorts,
several cords wide and running along the walls of the building. Both upper
and lower floors are devoid of furniture, with several hundred grimy
pallets arranged in semi-orderly rows along the walls. Solid stone stairs
lead to the upper level from the western end of the hall. Suspended from
the ceiling, more than twenty-five cords above, is a large black banner
bearing a purple dragon.
The hall appears mostly empty except for a few mercenaries here and
there, mending armor, sharpening weapons, or just talking quietly.
A multi-ringed dartboard hangs on a wall here.
The tall, cleft-lipped man is here, sleeping on a pallet.
The brown-haired, blue-eyed man looks around slowly from his pallet here.
The thin, chestnut-haired woman stands here, watching the stairs.
The grey-maned, wooden-legged man sits here, sharpening a bone-toothed saw.
The dimpled, shaven-headed man looks over a wounded mercenary here.
A Large Hallway [NW]
This broad hallway opens up to a stony path to the north, and the rest
of the building to the west. The plain gray flagstones here are heavily
scuffed, with evidence of much repair work to level the stones and fill in
chips and cracks. The traffic is heavy here, with many people seeking both
entry to and exit from the building. Most are dressed in armor, but many
are instead dressed in civilian clothing. Very few would appear to be at
all wealthy.
The grizzled old man scratches at himself idly as he stands here.
The flame-haired elven woman is here, her gaze darting around alertly.
The lithe, obsidian-braided man keeps watch over the hallway here.
The silver-skinned dwarven woman stands here, looking around slowly.
A Stony Path [NESW]
Small, sharp gray gravel covers the ground here, forming a path leading
east and west. To the north, the path opens up into a large, dusty yard. To
the south, a large hallway marks the entrance to a massive, utilitarian-
looking stone building.
Warriors of all kinds walk along here, either striding along to the east
or queuing up to be let out through the gateway to the west.
The bald, one-eyed man leans against the side of the hall here.
The copper-skinned, claw-scarred elf is here, watching the path.
The muscular, violet eyed woman stands here vigilantly.
The fat-headed, spear-tattooed man chuckles as he talks here.
The robust gray dwarf is standing here, watching the sky.
The Drill Yard [NESW]
This large, dusty yard is set in the middle of several buildings, most
of them fairly tall. The sand underfoot is coarse and gritty, and is caked
with sweat or blood in more than a few places. Various pieces of equipment
are scattered around the area, including some humanoid-shaped practice
targets and wooden practice weapons of all kinds. Several groups of rough-
looking mercenaries are engaged in combat drills, overseen by sergeants
barking out crisp orders, and with a lieutenant or two supervising the
overall situation in this part of the yard.
To the east is a large stone hall filled with trestle tables, and to the
south, the yard meets up with a stony path. The yard continues to the north
and west.
The graceful, golden-haired elf is here, cutting the air with her weapons.
The Drill Yard [NE]
This large, dusty yard is set in the middle of several buildings, most
of them fairly tall. The sand underfoot is coarse and gritty, and is caked
with sweat or blood in more than a few places. Various pieces of equipment
are scattered around the area, including some humanoid-shaped practice
targets and wooden practice weapons of all kinds. Several groups of rough-
looking mercenaries are engaged in combat drills, overseen by sergeants
barking out crisp orders, and with a lieutenant or two supervising the
overall situation in this part of the yard.
To the south, a thick stone wall rises many cords into the air, blocking
your view in that direction, and to the west, part of a rectangular hall
forms the border of this area. The yard continues to the north and east.
The battle-scarred, sun-bronzed man is standing here.
The muscular, gray-hued mul stands here, keeping watch over the yard.
The Drill Yard [NES]
This large, dusty yard is set in the middle of several buildings, most
of them fairly tall. The sand underfoot is coarse and gritty, and is caked
with sweat or blood in more than a few places. Various pieces of equipment
are scattered around the area, including some humanoid-shaped practice
targets and wooden practice weapons of all kinds. Several groups of rough-
looking mercenaries are engaged in combat drills, overseen by sergeants
barking out crisp orders, and with a lieutenant or two supervising the
overall situation in this part of the yard.
To the north lies a dank-looking building, from which emanates a foul
stench of some kind, and, to the west, a stone archway leads into a large
hall. The yard continues to the south and east.
The slim, clear-eyed woman works her way through a weapons drill here.
The night has begun.
You enter a stone archway.
The Exercise Hall [NS]
The walls of this large training hall are lined with sturdy shelves,
tough baobab forms the higher shelves, and plain gray stone the lower
shelves. A variety of training equipment is neatly stacked on the shelves,
mostly stone weights and heavy wooden clubs and staves. Archways to the
north and south lead into smaller halls, and an archway to the east leads
out to a large, dusty training yard.
You drop the head of the long-armed man.
Shown to room as:
The head of the long-armed man is here stuck on a spike.
The Exercise Hall [NS]
The walls of this large training hall are lined with sturdy shelves,
tough baobab forms the higher shelves, and plain gray stone the lower
shelves. A variety of training equipment is neatly stacked on the shelves,
mostly stone weights and heavy wooden clubs and staves. Archways to the
north and south lead into smaller halls, and an archway to the east leads
out to a large, dusty training yard.
The head of the long-armed man is here stuck on a spike.
The white-haired blue skinned woman pulls the head off the spike.
You think:
"I'll hang onto it for a bit, till I can show it ta people"
You pick up the head of the long-armed man.
It is very light, and empty.
The white-haired blue skinned woman stares into your head of the long-armed man's dead eyes.
Softly to the head, you ask, in sirihish:
"Why did ya lie? Did ya think it would save ya?"
You say, in sirihish:
"Shoulda used ya head. It woulda stayed on ya shoulders longer."
The white-haired blue skinned woman stops, chest heaving as she bows to the
sleek, jakhal-eyed templar.
The sleek, jakhal-eyed templar asks the long-armed man, in sirihish:
"Is this the one?"
A man of average height, stand atop his massive feet. His purely white
hair drips down onto his...
Continue Reading...Hitting the Soft Spots by Cutthroat
Added on Feb 11, 2009One soldier + one fresh body + one halfsword + one codpiece = one self-training session in the dealing of death.
You are Lucien, of many people. (type 'tribes' to see your tribes).
Keywords: athletic dusky man Lucky
Sdesc: the athletic, dusky man
Objective: Work as a Private in the Allanaki militia.
Long Description:
Code Generated Long Description.
You are 27 years, 0 months, and 71 days old,
which by your race and appearance is adult.
You are 69 inches tall, and weigh 7 ten-stone.
Your strength is average, your agility is extremely good,
your wisdom is extremely good, and your endurance is below average.
You are neither hungry nor thirsty.
Your health is 89(89), you have 67(120) stamina, and 87(87) stun.
You have been playing for 17 days and 11 hours.
You are standing.
You are currently speaking sirihish with a southern accent.
Your encumbrance is light.
You are:
Recruit of the Allanaki Militia Recruits, jobs:
Private / Archer / Soldier / Black Soldier / Clerk / Praetorian Guard of the Arm of the Dragon, jobs:
Relationship to the land is neutral.
You are currently speaking sirihish with a southern accent.
Your mood is neutral.
You are standing.
You are accepting all saves (nosave off).
You are being merciful.
You aren't watching anything in particular.
This adult human male stands slightly above four and a half cords tall. His lean, limber legs with large feet contribute much to his height. His torso is narrow at the bottom but widens around the shoulders. His long, sinewy arms are packed with well-built muscle. His hands are large, and each have long, slender fingers sprouting from them. His dark brown skin stretches over his well-formed musculature. His rounded face and thin neck are covered by a full dark beard. His thin, chapped lips are surrounded by his facial hair, and his pronounced Adam's apple is partially covered by it. His nose is large but flat, resting between two dark brown eyes. Two thick black eyebrows hang over his eyes, with hair growing between them. The hair on the top of his head is as dark as onyx and hangs naturally at his head's back and sides, messily cut at his shoulders. Two round ears partially poke out of his hair from either side of his head.
The figure in a black, hooded militia dustcloak is in excellent condition.
<worn on head> a simple black helm
<worn around neck> an inky-black leather collar
<slung across back> a blackened slim bone rapier
<worn across back> a jade-emblazoned, hoplite shield
<worn on left shoulder> a black sandcloth sash
<worn on arms> a pair of inky-black leather sleeves
<worn around wrist> an inky-black leather bracer
<worn around wrist> an inky-black leather bracer
<worn on hands> a pair of inky-black leather gloves
<worn on forearms> a leather and chitin strap-sheath
<worn around body> a black, hooded militia dustcloak
<worn on legs> a pair of inky-black leather leggings
<worn on right ankle> a black sandcloth bandana
<worn on left ankle> a black sandcloth bandana
<worn on feet> a pair of knee-high dark leather boots
The figure in a black, hooded militia dustcloak wipes his brow with the back of his hand as he moves to the door of the abandoned hovel.
You lower the hood of a black, hooded militia dustcloak.
You drop the body of the grey-eyed human.
You arrange the body of the grey-eyed human. Shown to the room as:
The body of the grey-eyed human is lying on the floor here.
A Small Empty Room [N Quit]
The stone walls of this room have been painted a dull white which has already begun to peel and crack from the heat of the sun to reveal grey stone underneath it. There is a small wooden door to the north, which appears to be the only exit.
The body of the grey-eyed human is lying on the floor here.
Leaning against the wall, you sit down and rest your tired bones, sliding down slowly.
You think:
"Dragging that body along with Trea was hard work."
You are using:
<worn on head> a simple black helm
<worn around neck> an inky-black leather collar
<slung across back> a blackened slim bone rapier
<worn across back> a jade-emblazoned, hoplite shield
<worn on torso> an inky-black leather vest
<worn on left shoulder> a black sandcloth sash
<worn on arms> a pair of inky-black leather sleeves
<worn around wrist> an inky-black leather bracer
<worn around wrist> an inky-black leather bracer
<worn on hands> a pair of inky-black leather gloves
<worn on forearms> a leather and chitin strap-sheath
<worn as belt> a leather swordbelt
<hung from belt> a blackened serrated bone halfsword
<hung from belt> a blackened serrated bone halfsword
<worn around body> a black, hooded militia dustcloak
<worn about waist> a tough, grey chitin codpiece
<worn on legs> a pair of inky-black leather leggings
<worn on right ankle> a black sandcloth bandana
<worn on left ankle> a black sandcloth bandana
<worn on feet> a pair of knee-high dark leather boots
It is dusk on Yochem, the 7th day of the Descending Sun,
In the Year of Silt's Agitation, year 42 of the 21st Age.
In a leather swordbelt (used) :
some dried kalan chips
a pile of allanaki coins
a leather ticket
a red rose
a dusty purple glow-crystal
a thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap
The athletic, dusky man reaches behind your black, hooded militia dustcloak.
You get your thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap from your leather swordbelt.
It is very light.
You are carrying:
a thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap
a half eaten kalan fruit
a partially eaten kalan fruit
You think:
"I'm gonna get blood splattered on me, and smells coming at me like they were trying to kill me."
Strapping it on, you fasten your thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap across your face, tying a strap behind his head.
You think:
"Because, today... I am going to be tearing this body apart like it was a real, living thing."
You stop resting, and stand up.
The male wearing a thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap frowns faintly as he walks along the perimeter of the room, running his hand along the wall.
You think:
"I gotta find something to prop this poor bastard on."
The male wearing a thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap smiles as his gloved hand runs into a small bone hook on the wall, close to the ceiling.
You are carrying:
a half eaten kalan fruit
a partially eaten kalan fruit
You think:
"Great. I can hook this guy up onto that, but I need something sturdy to hold him in place."
The male wearing a thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap grins a bit as he reaches under your black, hooded militia dustcloak, towards his leggings.
You think:
"I got an idea..."
The male wearing a thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap grunts as he reaches for his crotch, loosening something.
You stop using your tough, grey chitin codpiece.
The male wearing a thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap pulls your tough, grey chitin codpiece out from under your pair of inky-black leather leggings.
l codpiece
Tough grey chitin, flexible yet tough, has been hardened with something, and been molded into a crotch piece to protect the jewels of men. It has a leather cord looped through about ten drilled holes so that it can be tied about the waist and pulled up through the legs.
The male wearing a thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap pulls on your tough, grey chitin codpiece's leather cord to test its tension, then walks up to the body of the grey-eyed human.
The male wearing a thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap hefts up the body of the grey-eyed human by the shoulder, and slings your tough, grey chitin codpiece around the body of the grey-eyed human's neck.
You think:
"Now, if I do that..."
The male wearing a thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap grunts as he pulls up on the body of the grey-eyed human, and drags him toward the hook on the wall.
The male wearing a thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap hefts up the body of the grey-eyed human, and allows it to hang on the hook by your tough, grey chitin codpiece's straps.
You arrange the body of the grey-eyed human. Shown to the room as:
The body of the grey-eyed human is hanging from a hook on the wall, by a codpiece with leather straps.
A Small Empty Room [N Quit]
The stone walls of this room have been painted a dull white which has already begun to peel and crack from the heat of the sun to reveal grey stone underneath it. There is a small wooden door to the north, which appears to be the only exit.
The body of the grey-eyed human is hanging from a hook on the wall, by a codpiece with leather straps.
The male wearing a thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap steps away from the body of the grey-eyed human, towards the door, and reaches under your black, hooded militia dustcloak.
You draw a blackened serrated bone halfsword.
The male wearing a thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap walks up to the body of the grey-eyed human, and moves it around to make sure that its back is facing towards the wall.
You think:
"Good. Now it's hanging out there."
The male wearing a thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap steps backwards towards the door, eyeing the body of the grey-eyed human carefully.
You think:
"Great. It looks steady, and I shouldn't have any trouble with it now."
The male wearing a thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap walks up to the body of the grey-eyed human slowly, your blackened serrated bone halfsword held down at his side.
You think:
"Approaching from the front, act like nothing's wrong."
You think:
"Then..."
The male wearing a thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap suddenly raises your blackened serrated bone halfsword and jabs directly for the body of the grey-eyed human's throat.
Some darkening blood starts to sputter as the male wearing a thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap plunges your blackened serrated bone halfsword's cord-long blade through the body of the grey-eyed human's throat.
The male wearing a thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap grins broadly as he twists your blackened serrated bone halfsword, causing a circular gash to form in the body of the grey-eyed human's dead, fleshy neck.
You think:
"Yeah... that's how it's done."
The male wearing a thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap pulls your blackened serrated bone halfsword back, and steps away slowly, towards the door.
You think:
"Good. Now usually smart people wear a nice, thick gorget to protect their necks. Rarely does anyone protect the armpit, and that is a very weak spot."
The male wearing a thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap raises your blackened serrated bone halfsword up to his eye level, looking down the blade towards the body of the grey-eyed human's shoulder.
You think:
"It's tricky getting there. I'm bound to miss if I rush this."
You think:
"But, let's try it anyhow."
The male wearing a thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap takes a few long running steps towards the body of the grey-eyed human, your blackened serrated bone halfsword held out and ready to strike.
The male wearing a thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap presses your blackened serrated bone halfsword directly into the body of the grey-eyed human's shoulder, then the features behind his mask seem to curl into a dissatisfied grimace.
You think:
"As I expected."
The male wearing a thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap pulls your blackened serrated bone halfsword out of the body of the grey-eyed human's shoulder, and he steps backwards towards the door.
The male wearing a thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap holds your blackened serrated bone halfsword behind his back as he walks slowly towards the body of the grey-eyed human.
You think:
"Again, slow on the approach..."
The male wearing a thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap pulls your blackened serrated bone halfsword out from behind him, holding it out to his side as he thrusts your blackened serrated bone halfsword in a curving path towards the body of the grey-eyed human's underarm.
You think:
"Be quick on the draw, then..."
The male wearing a thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap plunges your blackened serrated bone halfsword straight into the body of the grey-eyed human's right underarm, then twists it around, the serrated edges causing a gash to form.
The male wearing a thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap frowns as the body starts to shake, and the hook snaps, causing the body of the grey-eyed human and your tough, grey chitin codpiece to fall to the floor.
You arrange the body of the grey-eyed human. Shown to the room as:
The body of the grey-eyed human is slumped to the floor, a codpiece strapped around his neck.
A Small Empty Room [N Quit]
The stone walls of this room have been painted a dull white which has already begun to peel and crack from the heat of the sun to reveal grey stone underneath it. There is a small wooden door to the north, which appears to be the only exit.
The body of the grey-eyed human is slumped to the floor, a codpiece strapped around his neck.
Walking to the body of the grey-eyed human, you say, in sirihish:
"Well, this is a sight indeed."
The male wearing a thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap reaches for the body of the grey-eyed human's neck, pulling off your tough, grey chitin codpiece.
You arrange the body of the grey-eyed human. Shown to the room as:
The body of the grey-eyed human is slumped to the floor, leaning against the wall.
A Small Empty Room [N Quit]
The stone walls of this room have been painted a dull white which has already begun to peel and crack from the heat of the sun to reveal grey stone underneath it. There is a small wooden door to the north, which appears to be the only exit.
The body of the grey-eyed human is slumped to the floor, leaning against the wall.
The male wearing a thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap flips your tough, grey chitin codpiece around as he turns for the door, tucking away your blackened serrated bone halfsword.
You sheathe a blackened serrated bone halfsword.
You think:
"That's all for today."You are Lucien, of many people. (type 'tribes' to see your tribes).
Keywords: athletic dusky man Lucky
Sdesc: the athletic, dusky man
Objective: Work as a Private in the Allanaki militia.
Long Description:
Code Generated Long Description.
You are 27 years, 0 months, and 71 days old,
which by...
Continue Reading...Byn Tales IV: The Hawk and The Songbird by Evil Erdlu
Added on Feb 9, 2009Clubbing others in the head is not enough for this dwarf. He aims even more brain damage with his stories.
You ask the lean, white-haired man, in sirihish:
"Story time?"You get your pair of chitin-banded gauntlets from your double-layered sandcloth pack.
It is very light.You pull your pair of chitin-banded gauntlets onto your hands.
The lean, white-haired man says to you, in sirihish:
"I don't have one to tell."You say to the lean, white-haired man, in sirihish:
"I made up one..."You sit at a long, chipped stone table.
At your table, the lean, white-haired man says in sirihish:
"Sure lets hear it."At your table, the lean, white-haired man says in sirihish:
"This another Bob story?"
At your table, you say in sirihish, placing his palms on the table:
"Once upon a time, there was a hawk in the endless scrubs of the northern lands..."At your table, you say in sirihish, shaking his head:
"Nay.. Bob's been killed by Exile after he joined Salarr."At your table, the lean, white-haired man says in sirihish:
"Hah Bob finally died..."At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Anyway.. The hawk indeed liked good music, and the most he delighted was the beautiful singing of a grey-headed songbird."At your table, you say in sirihish, after smacking his lips:
"He really did want to be friends with the songbird and one day, he approached."At your table, you say in sirihish, grinning:
"The songbird nearly took flight in haste when hawk spoke. "I want to be only friends.." said hawk."At your table, you say in sirihish:
"The songbird didn't believe. Hawks always ate the smaller birds and why wasn't that a trick, a cheap one at that?"At your table, you say in sirihish, nodding slowly:
"Days and days passed, hawk pursued the songbird. He never did harm, only tried to convince the poor little bird that he was after the songbird's songs, not his flesh."At your table, you say in sirihish:
"At last, the songbird got convinced, they became friends and started wandering together. Songbird ate in relief that the hawk was protecting him and he sang to the hawk all the time."At your table, you say in sirihish, eyes grown a bit:
"But.. one day.. A defiler decided to play a little trick to the local humans.. He created an immense, magickal storm. Lightning flashed everywhere, the scrub caught fire and dust and sand covered the sky."At your table, you say in sirihish:
"The poor hawk and the songbird found sanctuary in the hollowed trunk of an ancient agafari tree. Days have passed but the unnatural storm didn't seem to cease."At your table, you say in sirihish:
"One day, while the songbird was singing a lovely song the hawk exploded.. He said "You're giving me headache with all the chirping! Shut up!" and ate the songbird."The lean, white-haired man chuckles.
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"So, the lesson learned is; if you're food for someone, keep away."The barrel-chested, freckled dwarf smiles proudly.
You ask the lean, white-haired man, in sirihish:
"Story time?"You get your pair of chitin-banded gauntlets from your double-layered sandcloth pack.
It is very light.You pull your pair of chitin-banded gauntlets onto your hands.
The lean, white-haired man says to you, in sirihish:
"I...
Continue Reading...Byn Tales III: Mellie the Dwarf by Evil Erdlu
Added on Feb 9, 2009The stew of Byn is as thick as a dwarf's skull.. But maybe it contains spice one wonders, hearing what this dwarf has to say.
As he wanders over to a long, chipped stone table, you ask the lean, white-haired man, in sirihish:
"New story?"You sit at a long, chipped stone table.
The barrel-chested, freckled dwarf offers a nod at the straight-backed, scar-faced man.
The lean, white-haired man says to you, in sirihish:
"Nah nothing new here."The straight-backed, scar-faced man nods at you.
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Then shall I tell one?"At your table, the straight-backed, scar-faced man says in rinthi-accented sirihish:
"Fecking got my shield tailored instead of repaired, like an idiot."The barrel-chested, freckled dwarf bobs his head to a side.
At your table, the straight-backed, scar-faced man says in rinthi-accented sirihish:
"Now I gotta pay for both, and Salarr wants 90 sid to repair it. Ninety bleeding sid."At your table, the straight-backed, scar-faced man says in rinthi-accented sirihish, exasperatedly:
"Tell me a story, get my mind off it."At your table, you say in sirihish, with a grunt:
"I can't get my bracer from the tailor. I don't have the money for it for long.."At your table, you say in sirihish, after a sigh:
"Anyway..."At your table, you say in sirihish, after licking his lips:
"Once upon a time, there was a dwarven woman called Mellie.. She was very very beautiful."At your table, you say in sirihish, eyes narrowed:
"Not that you humans can understand, but her head was in perfect shape, her breasts the size of melons and her waist was just as thick as it should be.. Anyway..."At your table, you say in sirihish, looking around:
"Her aim in life was to get married to the strongest being in the known world.. So she believed, what's stronger than the sun?"At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Years and years she seeked the correct Suk-Krathi, then she paid him all her belongings to make her speak to the sun itself..."At your table, you say in sirihish, shaking his head:
"Sorrily, sun's answer was simple; "Seek the storms, Mellie. Because they cover me up whenever they want. When it comes to might, they are stronger.". Mellie decided sun was telling the truth."The straight-backed, scar-faced man chuckles as he listens to your tale, motioning to the buxom, brown-haired maidservant.
The buxom, brown-haired maidservant spoons some thick, chunky liquid from her pot into a bowl, and serves a bowl of stew for the straight-backed, scar-faced man.
The straight-backed, scar-faced man eats a portion of his bowl of stew.
The straight-backed, scar-faced man eats a portion of his partially eaten bowl of stew.
The straight-backed, scar-faced man eats a portion of his half eaten bowl of stew.
The straight-backed, scar-faced man eats a portion of his small portion of a bowl of stew.
The straight-backed, scar-faced man eats his small portion of a bowl of stew.
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"So, she found an Elkran this time. She paid all the gems she found for four years. She started speaking to the storms after a rituel."At your table, you say in sirihish, with a wide grin:
"Storm didn't believe he was the strongest being, too. He said wind can sweep him all the way across the known world, so Mellie should seek the wind."At your table, you say in sirihish, patting on his chest:
"Dwarves never give up. So Mellie found a whiran this time, offered him all the money she gathered from five years of tailoring. Yada yada, she spoke to the wind. This time wind declared; mountain is stronger than the..."At your table, you say in sirihish:
".. wind, because mountain never bows down to even the strongest of the wind."The barrel-chested, freckled dwarf falls silent a moment, then proceeds.
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Then... Mellie found a dwarven Rukkian and slept with him several times to pay for a rituel to speak to the mountain."At your table, you say in sirihish, shaking his head:
"Again, mountain said: 'A dwarf digs me down all the way for years, extracting the gems deep within me. I can do nothing to stop him. He's stronger than I am.'"At your table, you say in sirihish:
"So..."At your table, you say in sirihish, after a chuckle:
"Mellie got married to a filthy dwarven miner who had the crazy idea that he can find metal deep within the mountain. They had six children."At your table, you say in sirihish:
"End of story..."The barrel-chested, freckled dwarf smiles proudly.
The straight-backed, scar-faced man laughs.
The straight-backed, scar-faced man asks you, in rinthi-accented sirihish:
"The size of melons, you say?"At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Yes, I dislike large breasts."As he wanders over to a long, chipped stone table, you ask the lean, white-haired man, in sirihish:
"New story?"You sit at a long, chipped stone table.
The barrel-chested, freckled dwarf offers a nod at the straight-backed, scar-faced man.
The lean, white-haired man says to you, in...
Continue Reading...Byn Tales II: The Bahamet and The Hawk by Evil Erdlu
Added on Jan 22, 2009Our stumpy Bynner seems to have more stories...
You say, in sirihish:
"Story time..."You stop resting, and stand up.
The barrel-chested, freckled dwarf moves for his backpack.
You pick up a double-layered sandcloth pack.
It is no problem, and more than half full.You pull your pair of chitin-banded gauntlets onto your hands.
The barrel-chested, freckled dwarf walks back to his spot.
You sit down.
The lean, white-haired man asks you, in sirihish:
"So what is this new story?"You say to the lean, white-haired man, in sirihish:
"Bahamet Bob and the Hawk, the new story is.."You ask the lean, white-haired man, in sirihish:
"Since I'm broke, I don't feel like going to a tavern or something. Tell it here?"The lean, white-haired man says to you, in sirihish:
"Sure."The barrel-chested, freckled dwarf nods with a grin.
The anakore-visaged, barrel-chested dwarf puts his small bone vial into his pouched, sturdy leather tool belt.
Voice soft, you say, in sirihish:
"Once upon a time, there was a vicious bahamet, Bahamet Bob.. He was fond of his might and fierce claws."The anakore-visaged, barrel-chested dwarf asks you, in northern-accented sirihish:
"Ye' ever seen a bahamet?"You say, in sirihish:
"Less known fact is, Bob always delighted the taste of fresh hawk eggs."You say to the anakore-visaged, barrel-chested dwarf, in sirihish:
"Pictures, eh? Close up? Thankfully not."Nodding, the anakore-visaged, barrel-chested dwarf says, in northern-accented sirihish:
"Forsooth, they be even nicer in person."The anakore-visaged, barrel-chested dwarf nods.
You say, in sirihish:
"Even though really tiny, Bob often spent a good time hunting eggs from hawk nests."The anakore-visaged, barrel-chested dwarf gets his new stained black, scalemail breastplate of bone from his large bag.
The anakore-visaged, barrel-chested dwarf wears his new stained black, scalemail breastplate of bone on his body, covering a series of bloody-inked handprints.
The anakore-visaged, barrel-chested dwarf gets his pair of one-striped studded sleeves from his large bag.
The anakore-visaged, barrel-chested dwarf fits his pair of one-striped studded sleeves on his arms, covering a twisting chain of black and grey ink.
The anakore-visaged, barrel-chested dwarf gets his durrit-claw bracer from his large bag.
The anakore-visaged, barrel-chested dwarf gets his durrit-claw bracer from his large bag.
You say, in sirihish:
"One day, really frustrated with her two hundredth egg to Bob, mama hawk decided this should stop."The anakore-visaged, barrel-chested dwarf fastens his durrit-claw bracer around his wrist, covering a simple, single stripe tattoo.
The anakore-visaged, barrel-chested dwarf fastens his durrit-claw bracer around his wrist, covering a simple, single stripe tattoo.
Grinning, you say, in sirihish:
"She was a wise hawk, she knew the only thing that can overcome Bob should be humans."You say, in sirihish:
"So, she flew over the ivory city of Tuluk, in wait."Eyes narrowed, you say, in sirihish:
"When she saw a silk-clad merchant preparing to hand an armored human a pouch.."With a downright motion of his hand, you say, in sirihish:
"Swoosh... She dived, caught the pouch and flew away."Nodding a few times, you say, in sirihish:
"She kept in sight of the yelling and pursuing humans, though. She wanted them to follow her."You say, in sirihish:
"She slowly made her way to Bahamet Bob, with the armored human and a few of his friends behind."The barrel-chested, freckled dwarf lets out a soft sigh.
You say, in sirihish:
"Her plan was making the humans hunt down the bahamet to retrieve back the pouch but... You know, Bahamet Bob never loses."The lean, white-haired man asks the anakore-visaged, barrel-chested dwarf, in sirihish:
"So you think Bob gets killed?"Quickly, you say, in sirihish:
"Bob ate the heads of the humans, then the hawk."The barrel-chested, freckled dwarf smiles proudly.
You say, in sirihish:
"Eh, I made it up just yesterday.. I know it can be improved."The lean, white-haired man asks you, in sirihish:
"What do big fight scene?"The lean, white-haired man asks you, in sirihish:
"No fight scene that is. He just up and bites off their heads?"You say, in sirihish:
"It's a fucking bahamet! He does so indeed. Those are just measly humans.. Err.. current company not included for the last remark."The barrel-chested, freckled dwarf grins again, revealing crooked, yellow teeth.
You say, in sirihish:
"Story time..."You stop resting, and stand up.
The barrel-chested, freckled dwarf moves for his backpack.
You pick up a double-layered sandcloth pack.
It is no problem, and more than half full.You pull your pair of chitin-banded gauntlets onto your hands.
The...
Continue Reading...The Meeting of the Allanaki Senate in the Year 28 of the 21st Age by ale six
Added on Dec 24, 2008The following is a log of the meeting of the Allanaki Senate in the 28th Year of the 21st Age, as seen through the eyes and ears of Lady Ceylara Borsail. The meeting took place shortly after the Copper War. As is usual for Senate meetings, the Senators of each House debate issues on the floor, while lower ranking nobility, their servants, and members of the merchant houses observe from the balcony above.
Cast of Major Characters on the balcony:
the short, scar-eyed templar - Great Lord Templar Malenthis Jal, the Red
the warbraided, smoke-eyed man - Warlord Kharad Tor
the slight, silver-crowned woman - Lady Ceylara Borsail (her perspective)
the svelte, ivory-skinned - Lord Sahale Borsail
the plump, prismatic-haired woman - Lady Lapitia Fale
the lofty, hazel-skinned man - Advisor Diarev Salarr
the thick, curly-haired man - Overseer Sharlo Kadius
the willowy, onyx-haired teen - Merchant Dueden Kadius
the stocky, clean-shaven man - Agent Rokov Kurac
the chubby, brown-haired man - Agent Brethel Kurac
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A Wide, Lanturin Balustrade [ED]
The recessed details of the fluted ceiling disappears within the confined
shadows of the darkness above while the effigy of a jade cross dominates
the obsidian floor below. Its maw opened in a scowling snarl, a massive
obsidian dragon head glares out across the Senate chambers from the western
wall. Directly beneath the dragon's head lies a stage made from crimson
grained lanturin wood. Situated in the center of the stage is a sheer,
obsidian podium while behind it, directly beneath the dragon head, sit three
massive obsidian thrones.
The balcony itself is formed from the same lanturin wood as the stage
below, each plank laid out with masterful care. Twisting jade rails rise
upwards with authority from the edge of the balcony to form an august,
malachite balustrade. Latifolous tables, one for each of the nine noble
Houses of Allanak, sit interspersed across the balcony. Formed from ebon
stained baobab, they have been draped with silks dyed to match the various
colors of each House.
The aquiline, blond man stands sentry here, his blue eyes watchful.
The stocky, clean-shaven man is sitting on a carved cylini bench.
The slender, raven-haired lass is standing here.
The feminine, smooth-featured man stands watchfully here.
The sinuous, wyvern-branded female is sitting on a carved cylini bench.
The svelte, ivory-skinned man is sitting at an elegant, baobab table.
The tall figure in a dusty grey, wyvern-adorned hooded aba is standing here.
The balding, sun-scarred man stands here, watching attentively.
The lofty, hazel-skinned man is sitting on a carved cylini bench.
The towering, black-skinned man stands here.
The willowy, onyx-haired teen is standing here.
The pallid, serpentine inked man is standing here.
The thick, curly-haired man is sitting on a carved cylini bench.
A half-giant soldier of Tektolnes walks along here.
The short, scar-eyed templar is standing here.
The bald, eye-scarred half-giant is standing here.
The very short and thick figure in a scorpion-emblazoned, smoky-grey cloak is standing here.
The warbraided, smoke-eyed man is standing here.
The tall and thick figure in a scorpion-emblazoned, smoky-grey cloak is standing here.
The obese, bald man is sitting on a carved cylini bench.
The lissome, kohl-eyelined man is standing here.
The plump, prismatic-haired woman is standing here.
The short, barrel-chested dwarf stands here, scowling faintly.
The chubby, brown-haired man is standing here.
The plump, prismatic-haired woman sends the lissome, kohl-eyelined man a fond smile as she moves between the rows of tables and finally settles at one.
Settling silently by the stocky, clean-shaven man, the willowy, onyx-haired teen sits on a carved cylini bench.
In the amphitheater below, the silver-haired, one-eyed woman says, announcing to the floor:
"The balcony is full, and the nobility has arrived to witness."
The warbraided, smoke-eyed man draws out a chair for himself at a table draped in ruby red, black and silver silks.
You send a telepathic message to the austere narrow-eyed woman:
"You have Great Lord Jal's support, my Lady Senator. He had one other issue."
Down on the Senate floor, The silver-haired, one-eyed templar makes her way to a small table in the back.
The thick, curly-haired man sits hunched over with his forearms resting on his thighs, eyes skittishly darting about.
At your table, the svelte, ivory-skinned man says in sirihish, softly:
"Now, I must admit, I am excited."
You send a telepathic message to the austere narrow-eyed woman:
"He says he's negotiated a deal with Kurac granting us fortifications in Ten Sarak, and two million sid over twelve years instead of the five hundred thousand at once."
Down on the Senate floor, Working with the stunted, silver-haired old man, the austere narrow-eyed woman unfurls a number of parchments and scrolls.
The sinuous, wyvern-branded female glances down the length of her bench, nodding cordially to the lofty, hazel-skinned man.
You send a telepathic message to the austere narrow-eyed woman:
"He asked that you take this in consideration, and vote favorably for them."
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
Tipping a light nod back, smiling, the lofty, hazel-skinned man looks at the sinuous, wyvern-branded female.
At your table, you say in sirihish, quietly:
"It's just amazing."
Down on the Senate floor, Retaining a stiff posture, the thin, silky black-haired man taps a foot as he watches the short, bearded man.
At your table, you say in sirihish, to the svelte, ivory-skinned man, staring down at the floor in wistful awe:
"I'd give anything to be down there."
At your table, the svelte, ivory-skinned man says in sirihish, softly, to you:
"Yes, you are so quiet, you must just be amazed."
Down on the Senate floor, The short, bearded man sets a large sheaf of paper on the podium before him, bowing respectfully to the silver-haired, one-eyed templar.
At your table, the svelte, ivory-skinned man says in sirihish, offering a smile to you:
"You will be, someday."
The austere narrow-eyed woman sends you a telepathic message:
"I do not believe that is on the agenda this meet. But yes, we will ally ourself with the Lord Templar of the Red after this, should everything work as planned - so long as the agreement does not harm Borsail."
You send a telepathic message to the austere narrow-eyed woman:
"Yes, my Lady. If there's any other aid I can give, please let me know."
At a carved cylini bench, you overhear the obese, bald man say in sirihish:
"This is exciting"
At a carved cylini bench, you overhear the thick, curly-haired man say in cavilish, quietly to the obese, bald man:
"To.. say the least, good Sadyr."
At a carved cylini bench, you overhear the obese, bald man say in sirihish:
"considering I was selling earrings a few days ago, this seems like some sort of vaunted dream"
The plump, prismatic-haired woman curls her fingers toward the lissome, kohl-eyelined man, beckoning him closer.
Down on the Senate floor, The short, bearded man clears his throat, looking out across the Senate floor.
In the amphitheater below, the short, bearded man says:
"My Lords and Ladies, Lady and Lord Templars, the emergency Senate Meet held on this day of Ocandra, the 166th day of the Low Sun, In the Year of Dragon's Agitation, year 28 of the 21st Age is now open."
Down from here is an Obsidian-Tiled Debate Floor.
[Near]
The silver-haired, one-eyed templar is standing here.
A bristling-bearded, jutnosed man sits at a table at the back.
The wisp-thin, narrow-nosed man sits at a table at the back.
The point-nosed, fine-boned man sits at a table at the back.
The austere narrow-eyed woman is standing here.
The slender, fair-haired woman sits at a table in the back.
The silvery-haired, wiry man sits at a table.
The stunted, silver-haired old man is standing here.
The grim, hawk-eyed man rests a hand on a weapon's pommel as he stands here.
The thin, silky black-haired man is standing here.
The tall, rakish man is here.
A thin, jet-haired page fidgets in his seat near the back.
The angular red-haired man stands here.
A slim, blond-haired scribe sits writing quickly.
The imposing, ivory-haired man stands, hands clasped behind his back.
The balding, pot-bellied man is here.
The angular, jet-haired templar is standing here.
The short, bearded man stands behind a small podium.
The elderly, big-boned woman is standing here
A slight woman, hair the color of fire, watches from her table.
The sleek, fine-boned man sits at a table here.
A lop-jawed, black-haired woman sits listening at her table.
A short, brown-bearded man stands quietly here.
A white-haired matron sits listening, hands folded before her.
A chunky-faced, brazen-haired page stands waiting near the back of the chamber.
A lean, long-haired scribe sits taking notes.
A small, elderly woman sits quietly knitting at her table.
A small, red-haired page moves quietly about the chamber.
A lanky, hard-faced guard waits near a doorway.
The pensive, small-statured man stands with rigid posture, holding parchments.
At your table, the svelte, ivory-skinned man says in sirihish, to you:
"Cousin Halrum couldn't attend?"
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Apparently not."
At your table, the svelte, ivory-skinned man says in sirihish, nodding:
"Unfortunate."
At a carved cylini bench, you overhear the thick, curly-haired man say in cavilish, in a low murmur:
"Very few common men have this sort of-- that's the House Tor Senator, I believe.."
At a carved cylini bench, you overhear the obese, bald man say in sirihish:
"What is the emergency anyway?"
At a carved cylini bench, you overhear the thick, curly-haired man say in cavilish, quietly:
"Speak cavilish good Sadyr.. I do believe, it all ties in with the war."
The lissome, kohl-eyelined man makes another step towards the plump, prismatic-haired woman, hands remaining within his pockets.
Rising gracefully from his bench, the lofty, hazel-skinned man stands up from a carved cylini bench, and, walking at a quiet stroll, approaches the bench where the stocky, clean-shaven man sits.
The plump, prismatic-haired woman whispers something to the lissome, kohl-eyelined man.
At a carved cylini bench, you overhear the stocky, clean-shaven man say in sirihish, quietly:
"Too bad we didn't get that collar off beforehand."
At a carved cylini bench, you overhear the chubby, brown-haired man say in cavilish, to the stocky, clean-shaven man:
"Not much we can do about it now."
At a carved cylini bench, you overhear the stocky, clean-shaven man say in cavilish:
"Guess not."
The svelte, ivory-skinned man sends you a telepathic message:
"Can you understand the Kuraci?"
The slight, silver-crowned woman nods at the svelte, ivory-skinned man lightly.
The svelte, ivory-skinned man sends you a telepathic message:
"So can I. They think themselves away from our ears."
The svelte, ivory-skinned man chuckles, his gaze falling to the amphitheater below.
Turning away from the crowded bench, the lofty, hazel-skinned man sits on a carved cylini bench, and returns to his old seat.
The lissome, kohl-eyelined man dips a silent nod to the plump, prismatic-haired woman, his gaze wandering westwards for a moment.
In the amphitheater below, the short, bearded man says, his voice booming out across the floor:
"As always, if you wish to speak to a proposal please have your scribes contact me and I shall announce you."
At a carved cylini bench, you overhear the obese, bald man say in cavilish:
"So sir, do they not allow a member of each great house onto the senate floor? Perhaps you yourself may one day be down there"
At a carved cylini bench, you overhear the thick, curly-haired man say in cavilish:
"I can't seem to find our House's patriarch.. Solken Kadius.. down yonder.."
At a carved cylini bench, you overhear the thick, curly-haired man say in cavilish:
"Ahhh there he is.. sitting in the back.."
At a carved cylini bench, you overhear the obese, bald man say in cavilish:
"I am glad that Kadius is represented and sitting proudly where it should be"
At a carved cylini bench, you overhear the thick, curly-haired man say in cavilish:
"As are all the Great Houses, rightfully so."
In the amphitheater below, the short, bearded man says:
"The first issue: Whether or not to levy a half-MILLION 'sid fine against House Kurac for their involuntary assistance to the Tulukis during the war. Proposed by Lady Templar Maewon Borsail."
At an elegant, baobab table, you overhear the warbraided, smoke-eyed man say in sirihish, keeping his voice a low wheezy breath:
"He has been informed."
At an elegant, baobab table, you overhear the short, scar-eyed templar say in sirihish, rubbing his jawline:
"Good. Now we simply need to get the rest of the Senators aboard."
In the amphitheater below, the short, bearded man says, " Lady Templar Maewon, the floor is now yours."
At your table, the svelte, ivory-skinned man says in sirihish, calmly, looking over towards you:
"Where is Borsail's representation? Can you see it?"
Down on the Senate floor, The short, bearded man inclines his head deeply to the silver-haired, one-eyed templar.
The chubby, brown-haired man grimaces, glancing to the stocky, clean-shaven man.
The bald, eye-scarred half-giant blinks, looking from the floor to the short, scar-eyed templar and back again, his brow furrowing in confusion.
Down on the Senate floor, The silver-haired, one-eyed templar clears her throat, standing up from her seat, quickly moving to the podium.
At a carved cylini bench, you overhear the obese, bald man say in cavilish:
"This really is an awe inspiring sight."
At a carved cylini bench, you overhear the obese, bald man say in cavilish:
"Perhaps the very highlight of my bleak existance thusfar, in fact it is."
The thick, curly-haired man lifts a finger to his lips and gazes down with rapt attention.
At your table, you say in sirihish, quietly:
"Lady Cyriaca is down there standing... beside Lord Vedelarin, I think, and..."
Down on the Senate floor, The wisp-thin, narrow-nosed man swallows, looking uncomfortable as he gazes in the direction of the silver-haired, one-eyed templar.
At your table, the svelte, ivory-skinned man says in sirihish, nodding:
"Ah, there, now I see them."
In the amphitheater below, the silver-haired, one-eyed woman says:
"Senators of Allanak! I will be brief.."
Down on the Senate floor, The slender, fair-haired woman closes her eyes briefly before focusing on the silver-haired, one-eyed templar.
At an elegant, baobab table, you overhear the warbraided, smoke-eyed man say in sirihish, rasping softly:
"Lady Senator Khymera Rennik has always supported military expansion."
In the amphitheater below, the silver-haired, one-eyed woman says:
"During the Red Desert War, it was discovered that Tulukis forces were being resupplied by sending their caravans around, and through, Luir's Outpost."
The warbraided, smoke-eyed man's focus shifts attentively to the senate floor.
The austere narrow-eyed woman sends you a telepathic message:
"Curious, dear. Have you any thoughts on this issue?"
You send a telepathic message to the austere narrow-eyed woman:
"I think Kurac would have been quite willing to buy our vote off, my Lady. They may still be."
You send a telepathic message to the austere narrow-eyed woman:
"But then... voting against a resolution like that in the face of the Great Lady herself... we'd need a few very good reasons to defend them."
In the amphitheater below, the silver-haired, one-eyed woman says:
"We understand that they never lent the Tulukis direct support.."
You notice: The willowy, onyx-haired teen glances tensely at the stocky, clean-shaven man and the chubby, brown-haired man to either side of her.
In the amphitheater below, the silver-haired, one-eyed woman says:
"We also understand that House Kurac could never stand up to the forces of Tuluk should Tuluk attempt to strong-arm them into complying."
At an elegant, baobab table, you overhear the short, scar-eyed templar say in sirihish:
"Well, that works in our favor. The Kuraci also offered to grant us information on the Tulukis and give quiet aid, though...I'm not certain how much we can trust that."
At an elegant, baobab table, you overhear the short, scar-eyed templar say in sirihish:
"The important parts are the extra income to the city, as well as the free supplies."
At an elegant, baobab table, you overhear the warbraided, smoke-eyed man say in sirihish, rasping softly:
"I quite agree, though I am not familiar enough with any of the other Senators to contact them directly during a session."
In the amphitheater below, the silver-haired, one-eyed woman says:
"Nevertheless, they aided the enemy, even if unintentionally. Due to their inability to stop it, or control it, the templarate does -not- consider their actions treason."
Down on the Senate floor, The slender, fair-haired woman sits a little forward on her seat, fingers wringing together.
In the amphitheater below, the silver-haired, one-eyed woman says:
"We do however consider their actions reckless and deterimental to the well-being of the city-state of Allanak, and propose the half-million coin fine as punishment."
At a carved cylini bench, you overhear the stocky, clean-shaven man say in cavilish, to the chubby, brown-haired man, quietly:
"When did wagons -ever- get through Luir's?"
The chubby, brown-haired man looks to the stocky, clean-shaven man and shakes his head.
In the amphitheater below, the silver-haired, one-eyed woman says:
"With the understanding, they are not traitors."
Down on the Senate floor, The silver-haired, one-eyed templar nods her head once, stepping away from the podium.
The austere narrow-eyed woman sends you a telepathic message:
"See if you can get them to agree to return any escaped slave with our markings without complaint."
The austere narrow-eyed woman sends you a telepathic message:
"And the promise of a new, ten year slave purchasing agreement."
You send a telepathic message to the austere narrow-eyed woman:
"Understood, my Lady."
Her gaze lifting from the senate floor momentarily, the plump, prismatic-haired woman looks up at the half-giant soldier, with obvious surprise.
At a carved cylini bench, you overhear the obese, bald man say in cavilish:
"Half a million coins, I cannot comprehend so much."
At an elegant, baobab table, you overhear the short, scar-eyed templar say in sirihish, frowning slightly:
"Is there an Oashi up here?"
At an elegant, baobab table, you overhear the warbraided, smoke-eyed man say in sirihish, with a brief glance around:
"I see none."
At an elegant, baobab table, you overhear the short, scar-eyed templar say in sirihish, thoughtfully:
"Mmm. I see none, though I do see a Fale..."
At an elegant, baobab table, you overhear the short, scar-eyed templar say in sirihish:
"What's her name over there?"
At an elegant, baobab table, you overhear the warbraided, smoke-eyed man say in sirihish, hoarsely:
"Lapitia."
You send a telepathic message to the chubby, brown-haired man:
"Brethel. Ten years of exclusive slave purchases from my House, and any slaves with our markings found in Luir's returned to us, and I can get you our Senate vote."
You send a telepathic message to the chubby, brown-haired man:
"I suggest you act quickly before they're finished speaking."
In the amphitheater below, the short, bearded man says:
"Lord Senator Purod Fale, the floor is now yours."
Down on the Senate floor, The silvery-haired, wiry man clears his throat.
The plump, prismatic-haired woman sits up in her chair, her face flushing with rising colour.
Down on the Senate floor, The silvery-haired, wiry man clears his throat a few more times, putting down a wineglass on his table as he swaggers to the podium.
At your table, the svelte, ivory-skinned man says in sirihish, chuckling:
"He is staying in character for the Fale, it seems."
You notice: The willowy, onyx-haired teen purses her lips faintly, watching the floor intently.
At an elegant, baobab table, you overhear the warbraided, smoke-eyed man say in sirihish, softly:
"Perhaps he already is opposing."
In the amphitheater below, the silvery-haired, wiry man says:
"My fellow beautiful senators.."
Down on the Senate floor, The silvery-haired, wiry man waves his hands around wildly as he speaks.
Down on the Senate floor, The thin, silky black-haired man snorts quietly.
The ghostly, smoke-tressed woman sends you a telepathic message:
"Good luck with your proposal child."
The slight, silver-crowned woman scowls suddenly.
The svelte, ivory-skinned man sends you a telepathic message:
"What is the matter?"
The slight, silver-crowned woman shakes her head minutely.
You think:
"Blasted witch Felysia. Not going to even respond."
In the amphitheater below, the silvery-haired, wiry man says:
"Can you blame Kurac for being the poor, poor victims of bullying at the hands of Tuluk?!"
Down on the Senate floor, The morose, white-haired matron flushes slightly as the silvery-haired, wiry man speaks.
Down on the Senate floor, The austere narrow-eyed woman leans over and whispers quietly to the stunted, silver-haired old man with a roll of her eyes.
The warbraided, smoke-eyed man grins quietly to himself.
Down on the Senate floor, The slender, fair-haired woman focuses all her attention on the silvery-haired, wiry man, hands clasped tightly in her lap.
In the amphitheater below, the silvery-haired, wiry man says:
"Really.... poor, little House Kurac! They couldn't stop such mighty enemy as the Tuluki army."
In the amphitheater below, the silvery-haired, wiry man says:
"House Fale thinks that Kurac had no choice in the matter.. and really.."
You send a telepathic message to the chubby, brown-haired man:
"Are you passing that on, Brethel?"
Down on the Senate floor, The wisp-thin, narrow-nosed man casts a nervous glance at the slender, fair-haired woman.
Down on the Senate floor, The silvery-haired, wiry man clears his throat a few more times, wiping at his nose.
The stocky, clean-shaven man sighs, cupping his chin with a palm.
The willowy, onyx-haired teen whispers something to the stocky, clean-shaven man.
The sinuous, wyvern-branded female leans forward on her bench, elbows resting on her knees as she peers intently at the speaker below.
The ghostly, smoke-tressed woman sends you a telepathic message:
"I wonder if Malenthis will flee the balcony like he's fled everything else?"
You feel like finding the ghostly, smoke-tressed woman and throwing her off the balcony.
The plump, prismatic-haired woman lets out an audible sigh, her chest rising and falling as she settles back in her chair.
In the amphitheater below, the silvery-haired, wiry man says:
"I suggest that the Tuluki supply lines never even went -through- Luir's Outpost.. they went -around- it!"
In the amphitheater below, the silvery-haired, wiry man says:
"Kurac has no control or say-so over that!"
The svelte, ivory-skinned man clasps his hands to his center, chuckling as he looks down on the amphitheater floor.
You send a telepathic message to the stocky, clean-shaven man:
"Rokov, I told you cousin this as well. Ten years exclusive slave purchases from my family, and any slaves with our markings found in Luir's returned to us."
You send a telepathic message to the stocky, clean-shaven man:
"Give us that and our speaker will vote for you."
Softly, the bald, eye-scarred half-giant asks the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Uhm...Great Lord...kin I's ask ya sumpin'?"
At an elegant, baobab table, you overhear the short, scar-eyed templar say in sirihish, gesturing towards the balcony:
"Well...will your Senator speak?"
Distractedly, the short, scar-eyed templar asks the bald, eye-scarred half-giant, in sirihish:
"Hmm? Yes, what is it?"
At an elegant, baobab table, you overhear the warbraided, smoke-eyed man say in sirihish, rasping softly:
"He has not responded to me, Lord Templar. I cannot anticipate his actions. Lord Dhon is quite the independant thinker. The best I could do was inform him."
The bald, eye-scarred half-giant whispers something to the short, scar-eyed templar.
Down on the Senate floor, The morose, white-haired matron looks at the wisp-thin, narrow-nosed man, her gaze penetrating and scornful.
The lissome, kohl-eyelined man glances down at the plump, prismatic-haired woman, rubbing a small brow with his thumb.
In the amphitheater below, the silvery-haired, wiry man says, with a smug grin:
"House Fale thinks levying such a fine is foolish, and irresponsible."
The stocky, clean-shaven man sends you a telepathic message:
"Will pass it on to my Senior Agent, my Lady."
Down on the Senate floor, The silvery-haired, wiry man swaggers back to his table, taking his seat, sipping a glass of wine.
The plump, prismatic-haired woman's magenta painted lips twitch ever so slightly.
In the amphitheater below, the short, bearded man says, turning to give a bow to the thin, silky black-haired man:
"Lord Senator Oash, the floor is now yours."
At an elegant, baobab table, you overhear the short, scar-eyed templar say in sirihish:
"Mm."
Down on the Senate floor, The thin, silky black-haired man crosses the floor with a quick, clipped stride, and stands before the podium.
The svelte, ivory-skinned man's face nearly imperceptibly darkens as he leans back in the chair, overlooking the Senate floor.
Down on the Senate floor, Tightlipped, the thin, silky black-haired man looks about the chamber.
Down on the Senate floor, The elderly, big-boned woman shakes her head quietly.
At your table, you say in sirihish, with a faint grin:
"I wonder if it's coincidence that the "Elite Guard Noble" and his cask-filling cousin aren't here."
The sinuous, wyvern-branded female smirks faintly.
At your table, the svelte, ivory-skinned man says in sirihish, flashing a smile towards you:
"Yes, I noticed no Oash representation up here, how unfortunate they are not taking up space at a table."
You think:
"Idiots both, Oash was smart not to bring them to embarass themselves in front of everyone."
The obese, bald man looks down interested, pursing his lips gently.
In the amphitheater below, the thin, silky black-haired man says:
"Oash has had a long, beneficial history with Kurac. The day is dark, indeed, when I must ignore that relationship today, in face of their actions."
The short, scar-eyed templar purses his lips.
The warbraided, smoke-eyed man folds his arms over his chest as he watches the proceedings, his right foot soundlessly tapping under the table.
The bald, eye-scarred half-giant frowns a moment, pushing back to his feet slowly and resuming his scan over the balcony.
In the amphitheater below, the thin, silky black-haired man says:
"Kurac, as you all are well aware, are clever, sharp-witted people. They would not let themselves succumb under Tuluk's grips easily. Unless they were willing to. Rememeber, they did have a choice in turning to us for aid..."
The chubby, brown-haired man whispers something to the stocky, clean-shaven man.
You overhear the stocky, clean-shaven man whisper to the chubby, brown-haired man, in cavilish:
"Yeah, she told me too - informed Talia-di."
The stocky, clean-shaven man whispers something to the chubby, brown-haired man.
You overhear the stocky, clean-shaven man whisper to the chubby, brown-haired man, in cavilish:
"But if I hadn't already screwed up once today, I'd probably take it."
In the amphitheater below, the thin, silky black-haired man says, shaking his head:
"It's a pity they didn't. We would not have to struggle with this issue today. But their actions speaks for themselves. They allowed Tuluk to take advantage of them..."
Down on the Senate floor, The austere narrow-eyed woman shoots a glance up to the witnesses above before turning back and speaking quietly with the stunted, silver-haired old man.
You send a telepathic message to the austere narrow-eyed woman:
"I informed both Agents up here, my Lady Scribe. They said they'd contact their Senior. Nothing back yet."
In the amphitheater below, the thin, silky black-haired man says:
"This fine is a hefty price to pay, indeed, but I believe it will do to cancel out their errors."
Down on the Senate floor, The thin, silky black-haired man steps from the podium and returns to stand by his table.
The chubby, brown-haired man whispers something to the stocky, clean-shaven man.
The stocky, clean-shaven man whispers something to the chubby, brown-haired man.
You think:
"All that whispering back and forth... looks like they're at least considering."
Sitting primly on the bench with the stocky, clean-shaven man and the chubby, brown-haired man, the willowy, onyx-haired teen gives them a sidelong glance, then returns her intent focus to the floor.
You overhear the chubby, brown-haired man whisper to the stocky, clean-shaven man, frowning, in cavilish:
"I cannot even find Talia-di's mind."
You think:
"Then again, that doesn't sound so good."
The thick, curly-haired man scrunches his brow, eyes shifting back and forth as he sits silent and pensive.
Down on the Senate floor, A lop-jawed, black-haired woman glances around the room, scanning the faces of each senator in turn.
Down on the Senate floor, The short, bearded man looks across the room, giving a brief nod of his head.
At an elegant, baobab table, you overhear the warbraided, smoke-eyed man say in sirihish, rasping softly:
"I'm speaking with him now. How would it be done, Lord Templar? Ammend the current proposal, or vote it down and broker the deal separately?"
In the amphitheater below, the short, bearded man says, " The matter of fining Kurac a half million sid will now be put to the vote."
At an elegant, baobab table, you overhear the short, scar-eyed templar say in sirihish, gazing over the balcony:
"I would ammend. It doesn't matter, however it gets done..."
In the amphitheater below, the short, bearded man says, " House Borsail, how say you?"
At a carved cylini bench, you overhear the stocky, clean-shaven man say in cavilish:
"Well there's that."
The svelte, ivory-skinned man leans forward with interest.
At an elegant, baobab table, you overhear the short, scar-eyed templar say in sirihish:
"They'd likely be more willing to pay out if this doesn't go through."
You send a telepathic message to the austere narrow-eyed woman:
"Still nothing, Lady Scribe."
Down on the Senate floor, The austere narrow-eyed woman glances to the witnesses with a smirk and then turns to the front.
The chubby, brown-haired man whispers something to the stocky, clean-shaven man.
The sinuous, wyvern-branded female peers intently at the ongoings below.
In the amphitheater below, the austere narrow-eyed woman says:
"House Borsail votes yes. Fine them."
You send a telepathic message to the austere narrow-eyed woman:
"We gave them a chance, did we not?"
The slight, silver-crowned woman lifts her shoulders in a shrug toward the stocky, clean-shaven man and the chubby, brown-haired man.
The lofty, hazel-skinned man sits forward in his seat, looking intently past the twisted jade balcony-rail.
At a carved cylini bench, you overhear the obese, bald man say in cavilish:
"I think the fine is the right course of action personally"
The willowy, onyx-haired teen sucks in a breath, watching the floor.
The thick, curly-haired man stares at the obese, bald man.
In the amphitheater below, the short, bearded man says:
"House Valika, how say you?"
Down on the Senate floor, The sleek, fine-boned man clears his throat.
In the amphitheater below, the short, bearded man says:
"Oh hmm, they asked last time, shall we do that again?"
In the amphitheater below, the sleek, fine-boned man says:
"House Valika votes yes. Fine them."
The short, scar-eyed man sends you a telepathic message:
"Lady Ceylara. That was most certainly -not- the vote I was looking for. Could you explain?"
You send a telepathic message to the short, scar-eyed man:
"I'm not in constant contact with her, Great Lord, but I did pass along your message - I thought the deal you had worked out would be a separate proposal?"
In the amphitheater below, the short, bearded man says:
"House Oash, how say you?"
In the amphitheater below, the thin, silky black-haired man says, clearing his throat:
"Oash concurs. Fine them."
The thick, curly-haired man taps his forehead and nods encouragingly to the obese, bald man before looking back to the senate floor.
In the amphitheater below, the short, bearded man says:
"House Fale, how say you?"
You feel happily surprised.
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Fale ahead of Kasix? Did they drop the Kasix down a notch?"
The slight, silver-crowned woman grins.
At your table, the svelte, ivory-skinned man says in sirihish, in a calm tone:
"As it should be."
The stocky, clean-shaven man bites down on his lower lip, sitting calmly.
At your table, the svelte, ivory-skinned man says in sirihish, clasping his hands together:
"They're in trouble, hm."
The warbraided, smoke-eyed man uncrosses, then refolds his arms over his chest.
In the amphitheater below, the silvery-haired, wiry man says:
"House Fale votes against it, we shouldn't fine them."
In the amphitheater below, the short, bearded man says:
"House Kasix, how say you?"
In the amphitheater below, the elderly, big-boned woman says:
"Kasix votes fine them."
At a carved cylini bench, you overhear the obese, bald man say in cavilish:
"How will this affect Kurac?"
The lissome, kohl-eyelined man sends a brief glance in the willowy, onyx-haired teen's direction.
In the amphitheater below, the short, bearded man says:
"House Rennik, how say you?"
Down on the Senate floor, The slight, fiery-haired woman shifts her eyes around the room.
In the amphitheater below, the slight, fiery-haired woman says:
"Fine them."
The lofty, hazel-skinned man shakes his head slowly, hitting at his low-set forehead with a lace-gloved hand.
In the amphitheater below, the short, bearded man says:
"House Tor, how say you?"
In the amphitheater below, the short, brown-bearded man says:
"House Tor votes against the motion."
At a carved cylini bench, you overhear the obese, bald man say in cavilish:
"Oh my, that is a shame, one does not like to see misfortune on anyone."
The willowy, onyx-haired teen lets out a long, low sigh, lips pursed into a tight line.
Down on the Senate floor, A lop-jawed, black-haired woman counts quickly on her fingers and blanches.
In the amphitheater below, the short, bearded man says:
"House Jal, how say you?"
In the amphitheater below, the morose, white-haired matron says:
"Who are we to stand against popular opinion. Fine them."
The short, scar-eyed man sends you a telepathic message:
"I must say I'm...highly...dissapointed."
The short, scar-eyed man sends you a telepathic message:
"I spent a month in terse negotiations with House Kurac, and your House doesn't even -mention- my proposal?"
The short, scar-eyed templar shoots a dark glance towards you, his lone eye narrowing.
The warbraided, smoke-eyed man looks at the stocky, clean-shaven man, with a short sidelong glance.
At a carved cylini bench, you overhear the obese, bald man say in cavilish:
"Wonderfully honest."
You notice: The willowy, onyx-haired teen grinds her teeth.
At a carved cylini bench, you overhear the stocky, clean-shaven man say in cavilish, simply:
"Well there's that."
Silently, the willowy, onyx-haired teen reaches out and squeezes the stocky, clean-shaven man's shoulder.
The svelte, ivory-skinned man looks over towards the short, scar-eyed templar for a moment curiously, then back to the Senate floor.
You send a telepathic message to the short, scar-eyed man:
"I passed along exactly what you said to her and nothing else, my Lord. You said a favorable vote, not to propose it... please excuse me, I'll ask our speaker for clarification."
The slight, silver-crowned woman frowns and furrows her brow, staring down at the table.
In the amphitheater below, the short, bearded man says:
"House Sath, how say you?"
In the amphitheater below, a lop-jawed, black-haired woman says:
"Fine them fine them.. yes."
The short, scar-eyed man sends you a telepathic message:
"How, exactly, is something supposed to get a favorable vote, IF IT ISN"T PROPOSED."
The short, scar-eyed templar snarls to himself, pounding his fist onto an elegant, baobab table.
The slight, silver-crowned woman jumps in her seat.
You send a telepathic message to the austere narrow-eyed woman:
"Now Great Lord Jal is angry with us for not proposing his amendment, Lady Scribe -- but he never requested we do so."
The warbraided, smoke-eyed man shakes his head to himself.
At an elegant, baobab table, you overhear the short, scar-eyed templar say in sirihish:
"Moronic senators."
In the amphitheater below, the short, bearded man says:
"House Kurac is hereby fined a half million sid for their involuntary assistance to the Tulukis in the war. The final count was fifteen in favor, three against. "
At a carved cylini bench, you overhear the stocky, clean-shaven man say in cavilish:
"Fifteen to three? How does that math work?"
At a carved cylini bench, you overhear the obese, bald man say in cavilish:
"Have Kadius voted yet? Do Kadius receive a vote?"
The willowy, onyx-haired teen whispers something to the stocky, clean-shaven man.
At a carved cylini bench, you overhear the thick, curly-haired man say in cavilish:
"We are merely there in token, good Sadyr.. merely in token.."
At a carved cylini bench, you overhear the obese, bald man say in cavilish:
"Better than not being there at all."
At an elegant, baobab table, you overhear the warbraided, smoke-eyed man say in sirihish, rasping softly:
"A real missed opportunity."
At an elegant, baobab table, you overhear the short, scar-eyed templar say in sirihish:
"We shall see. The battle isn't over."
At an elegant, baobab table, you overhear the warbraided, smoke-eyed man say in sirihish:
"Perhaps the terms of their payment can be manipulated to fall in line with your alternative."
At an elegant, baobab table, you overhear the short, scar-eyed templar say in sirihish, nodding, over to the warbraided, smoke-eyed man:
"Yes, that may be far more favorable."
The svelte, ivory-skinned man sets a hand on your shoulder lightly, looking downward before removing it.
Down on the Senate floor, The short, bearded man rubs a hand through his short beard, turning the page of his large sheaf of papers.
Down on the Senate floor, The silver-haired, one-eyed templar glances at several scribes who furiously write on parchment scrolls.
The stocky, clean-shaven man glances back at the short, scar-eyed templar, with a blink.
Down on the Senate floor, The austere narrow-eyed woman bends over her pile of parchment, shuffling through them with the stunted, silver-haired old man.
The austere narrow-eyed woman sends you a telepathic message:
"Proposing it? I thought it was something unrelated. Does that mean he no longer wishes our support for his legacy?"
You send a telepathic message to the austere narrow-eyed woman:
"I'll relay it back to him. I'm somewhat confused, my Lady."
At a carved cylini bench, you overhear the chubby, brown-haired man say in cavilish, to the stocky, clean-shaven man before shrugging:
"Well...glad I didn't agree to Borsail...didn't make a difference anyway..."
The svelte, ivory-skinned man sends you a telepathic message:
"Ah, as I thought, Kurac's only real interest in us was to move our vote, and they could probably care less now."
At a carved cylini bench, you overhear the stocky, clean-shaven man say in cavilish:
"It may have if we'd had an answer."
At a carved cylini bench, you overhear the stocky, clean-shaven man say in cavilish, to the chubby, brown-haired man:
"If she'd said something to us, we could have agreed, maybe the other Senators would have followed Borsail's lead the other way."
At a carved cylini bench, you overhear the chubby, brown-haired man say in cavilish:
"Never know now."
Quietly, you whisper to the svelte, ivory-skinned man in sirihish:
"The Lady Scribe told me to offer them a deal in exchange for our vote, but I got no reply."
You whisper to the svelte, ivory-skinned man in sirihish:
"Seems like they didn't either."
The svelte, ivory-skinned man inclines his head towards you, expression thoughtful.
At your table, the svelte, ivory-skinned man says in sirihish, to you, calmly:
"In retrospect, maybe that is for the best, though."
In the amphitheater below, the short, bearded man says:
"Proposal Two: Whether or not to name Malenthis Jal a "Hero of Allanak", which means a statue would be made of him and a street named after him. Proposed by Lord Senator Jethan Oash."
In the amphitheater below, the short, bearded man says:
"Lord Senator Oash, the floor is now yours."
Down on the Senate floor, The thin, silky black-haired man approaches the podium in clipped strides.
The sinuous, wyvern-branded female permits herself a glance at the short, scar-eyed templar.
The warbraided, smoke-eyed man nods a few times, then flashes the short, scar-eyed templar a quick smile and turns his attention to the podium below.
You notice: The willowy, onyx-haired teen's young face remains set in a faint frown as she watches the proceedings below.
In the amphitheater below, the thin, silky black-haired man says:
"Malenthis has been a friend to us all for years, and his recent triumph in taking the copper mine is a small testament to his accomplishments. Vote against him, and you vote against Allanak."
You send a telepathic message to the short, scar-eyed man:
"*a bit of confusion* We were both under the impression this was an unrelated matter, Great Lord. The Lady speaker asks if this means you no longer wish support for your legacy?"
The short, scar-eyed man sends you a telepathic message:
"Well. It isn't a total loss, I suppose. Provided the end terms of the payment still fall into line."
The short, scar-eyed man sends you a telepathic message:
"Perhaps offer an alternative, yes, to the final fine. Pay all now, or two million over twelve years...or something."
The short, scar-eyed man sends you a telepathic message:
"...Mmm. I'm disspointed in this matter, but I may still offer support. I imagine this next meeting will be very important."
Down on the Senate floor, The thin, silky black-haired man smirks, slapping the top of the podium, and steps away to return to his position by his table.
At an elegant, baobab table, you overhear the warbraided, smoke-eyed man say in sirihish, rasping softly:
"Succinct and poignant."
At an elegant, baobab table, you overhear the short, scar-eyed templar say in sirihish, nodding to the warbraided, smoke-eyed man:
"Let's hope they're all that way."
At an elegant, baobab table, you overhear the warbraided, smoke-eyed man say in sirihish, with a nod and a short gruff chuckle:
"Indeed."
The chubby, brown-haired man nods to the stocky, clean-shaven man.
In the amphitheater below, the short, bearded man says:
"Lady Senator Pro Tem Borsail, the floor is yours."
Down on the Senate floor, The austere narrow-eyed woman clears her throat and bows her head to the assemblage.
At a carved cylini bench, you overhear the obese, bald man say in cavilish:
"What is this vote about sir?"
At a carved cylini bench, you overhear the thick, curly-haired man say in cavilish, quietly:
"The Great Lord Malenthis Jal.. we have the honor of sharing his Grace in this very balcony. Valiantly, he fought back the Northern forces in the Red Desert.."
At a carved cylini bench, you overhear the obese, bald man say in cavilish:
"He has the bearing and manner of a great man, that much is for sure."
The thick, curly-haired man nods in deep agreement with the obese, bald man.
The short, scar-eyed man sends you a telepathic message:
"Perhaps -now- may be a good time to bring up the idea, and my great skills at negotiation. Or...something."
You send a telepathic message to the short, scar-eyed man:
"I'll hurry and pass the message on."
Down on the Senate floor, The austere narrow-eyed woman glances up toward the witnesses briefly before making her way to the podium.
You send a telepathic message to the austere narrow-eyed woman:
"I'll just relay what he says, my Lady:"
You send a telepathic message to the austere narrow-eyed woman:
"It's not a total loss provided the end terms of payment fall into line, he's disappointed, but still offers support..."
The austere narrow-eyed woman sends you a telepathic message:
"Will he support me or not? I can speak ill or I can speak fair. That is the only question. Yes, or no."
In the amphitheater below, the austere narrow-eyed woman says:
"Lords and Ladies, Borsail has long known of the work of Lord Templar Malenthis Jal of the Red..."
Down on the Senate floor, The elderly, big-boned woman crosses her arms and drums her fingers on her shoulder.
You think:
"She's waiting on me, this back and forth will take forever."
You send a telepathic message to the austere narrow-eyed woman:
"Yes."
Down on the Senate floor, The austere narrow-eyed woman nods to herself and continues in a more swift manner.
In the amphitheater below, the austere narrow-eyed woman says:
"But, we have been impressed with the Lord Templar. His courage and bravery in the recent altercation against the traitors of the north is singular amongst those of this age."
At your table, the svelte, ivory-skinned man says in sirihish, gesturing with a hand:
"That is the new Senator?"
At your table, you say in sirihish, distractedly:
"That's Lady Scribe Cyriaca.. she's not our Senator officially, yet."
The svelte, ivory-skinned man nods towards you, falling silent.
You send a telepathic message to the short, scar-eyed man:
"*her thoughts dizzied* She already had to speak, all she had time to ask was whether you would support her or not, yes or no. I told her yes. We can work out an amendment later, I hope."
Down on the Senate floor, The short, bearded man clears his throat, shuffling the sheaf of paper on the podium.
The short, scar-eyed man sends you a telepathic message:
"Well? Have her go on. Vote yes, and I support - and consider bringing in the idea."
Down on the Senate floor, The austere narrow-eyed woman gestures up toward the witness stand with a grand sweep of one arm.
At a carved cylini bench, you overhear the obese, bald man say in cavilish:
"I believe House Kadius should act upon these issues here today sir, in one shape or form."
At a carved cylini bench, you overhear the thick, curly-haired man say in cavilish, quietly:
"For now.. we shall observe.. yes."
In the amphitheater below, the austere narrow-eyed woman says:
"Who amongst you can fault such heroism and sacrifice? Not Borsail. We stand for Allanak. We stand for our Highlord."
In the amphitheater below, the austere narrow-eyed woman says:
"We say.. YES. Vote yes on this issue."
The short, scar-eyed templar smiles, glancing over to you.
Down on the Senate floor, The austere narrow-eyed woman turns and gives a respectful bow of her head toward a spot in the witness area.
In the amphitheater below, the short, bearded man says:
"Lord Senator Valika, the floor is now yours."
The slight, silver-crowned woman glances toward the short, scar-eyed templar and bows her head.
At your table, you say in sirihish, wincing:
"Krath but I could use some water."
At your table, the svelte, ivory-skinned man says in sirihish, softly:
"I should have brought some. Should I send Linae?"
At your table, you say in sirihish, shaking her head:
"I can manage."
The sinuous, wyvern-branded female sends you a telepathic message:
"I don't mind fetching some water. I have some myself, but I couldn't expect you to drink from my waterskin."
Down on the Senate floor, The austere narrow-eyed woman makes her way back to her table and settles next to the stunted, silver-haired old man.
Down on the Senate floor, The sleek, fine-boned man stands up, hurridly making his way to the podium.
In the amphitheater below, the sleek, fine-boned man says:
"House Valika also believes in the Highlord and Allanak, and would vote for the city.."
In the amphitheater below, the sleek, fine-boned man says:
" ..which most assuredly is -against- such a ludicrous measure!"
Down on the Senate floor, The sleek, fine-boned man holds up his hand, fingers spread.
The slight, silver-crowned woman blinks.
In the amphitheater below, the sleek, fine-boned man says:
"Here's why:"
The short, scar-eyed templar frowns.
Down on the Senate floor, The slender, fair-haired woman sits still in her seat at the back of the room, her gaze still set on the floor.
The svelte, ivory-skinned man blinks, surprise falling over his features.
In the amphitheater below, the sleek, fine-boned man says:
"Malenthis is a failure. What did he really accomplish?"
The warbraided, smoke-eyed man's chin lifts as he observes the speaker below curiously.
Down on the Senate floor, The stunted, silver-haired old man snorts quietly.
At your table, you say in sirihish, murmuring softly:
"Valika always did have such an eccentric side."
The thick, curly-haired man glances about nervously, seeming uncomfortable.
In the amphitheater below, the sleek, fine-boned man says:
"The Tulukis controlled the mine for the vast majority of the war, taking nearly -all- the worth from it"
Down on the Senate floor, The sleek, fine-boned man shakes his head.
In the amphitheater below, the sleek, fine-boned man says:
"We got their LEFTOVERS!"
In the amphitheater below, the sleek, fine-boned man says:
"Do you think Allanak is worthy of .. LEFTOVERS?!"
Down on the Senate floor, The short, brown-bearded man shifts in his seat, glancing up to the balcony above.
In the amphitheater below, the sleek, fine-boned man says:
"House Valika does not. If you crunch the numbers - which of course we have - you will fine one glaring truth:"
In the amphitheater below, the sleek, fine-boned man says:
"The city has lost considerable money from this war."
At a carved cylini bench, you overhear the stocky, clean-shaven man say in cavilish:
"Oh fuck, I'm so tempted to shout at that."
In the amphitheater below, the sleek, fine-boned man says:
"The value retrieved from what was left was far LESS than the loss of life of troops!"
At a carved cylini bench, you overhear the stocky, clean-shaven man say in cavilish, biting down on his lip, hard:
"Won't..."
At a carved cylini bench, you overhear the willowy, onyx-haired teen say in cavilish, squeezing the stocky, clean-shaven man's shoulder firmly:
"Yes.. don't."
At a carved cylini bench, you overhear the obese, bald man say in cavilish:
"Sometimes the act is more important than the reward"
At your table, the svelte, ivory-skinned man says in sirihish, leaning back, his voice calm:
"Did not expect that, what a move."
The short, scar-eyed templar raps his fingers along the top of an elegant, baobab table.
One of the plump, prismatic-haired woman's kohl-etched eyebrows jerks upward with surprise as she listens.
Down on the Senate floor, The austere narrow-eyed woman speaks suddenly, out of turn, her voice rising to a near shout.
In the amphitheater below, the austere narrow-eyed woman says:
"Who dares say that the Highlord lost!? This is nonsense!"
At your table, the svelte, ivory-skinned man says in sirihish, shaking his head:
"Here we go."
The pallid, serpentine inked man shifts uneasily, standing closer to the thick, curly-haired man and the willowy, onyx-haired teen as the man below speaks.
Down on the Senate floor, The short, bearded man's voice carries over the fracas.
In the amphitheater below, the short, bearded man says:
"Lord Senator Valika has the floor."
Down on the Senate floor, The sleek, fine-boned man grins smugly.
Down on the Senate floor, The morose, white-haired matron glances at the thin, silky black-haired man, her eyes roaming over his face.
The sinuous, wyvern-branded female wrinkles her brow, peering down at the floor below with an expression of surprise and confusion.
Down on the Senate floor, The austere narrow-eyed woman grumbles and retakes her seat, face reddened.
In the amphitheater below, the sleek, fine-boned man says:
"At any rate, those are House Valika's thoughts."
Down on the Senate floor, The sleek, fine-boned man qiuckly makes his way back to his seat.
Down on the Senate floor, The point-nosed, fine-boned man looks around, trying to look small as the proceedings happen around him.
Down on the Senate floor, The thin, silky black-haired man glares at the sleek, fine-boned man.
In the amphitheater below, the short, bearded man says:
"Lady Senator Jal, the floor is now yours."
At your table, you say in sirihish, glancing at the svelte, ivory-skinned man, quietly:
"That may have been in err."
Down on the Senate floor, The morose, white-haired matron rises to her feet as the room becomes quiet, pausing a beat to let it build.
At your table, the svelte, ivory-skinned man says in sirihish, nodding towards you:
"Which? The outspoken comment or Valika's statement?"
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Well both, definitely, but I was referring to her interruption."
Murmuring very quietly, you whisper to the svelte, ivory-skinned man in sirihish:
"But still, better to have her down there than Visandach."
At your table, the svelte, ivory-skinned man says in sirihish, nodding slightly:
"It illustrates, in a way, what we feel about the matter. It is a difficult argument since it concerns devotion to Allanak as well as an examination of facts."
Down on the Senate floor, Walking forward to speak, the morose, white-haired matron looks down for a moment before turning to address the room.
In the amphitheater below, the morose, white-haired matron says:
"Financial losses are not the only measure of success. There were not only losses on the side of Allanak, but on the side of Tuluk as well."
In the amphitheater below, the morose, white-haired matron says:
"If one were to look at the whole of it, as one should..."
Down on the Senate floor, The morose, white-haired matron looks around the room, her piercing gaze striking key faces.
The slight, silver-crowned woman's gaze drops to the pale scar on her left palm as she leans back in her seat.
The svelte, ivory-skinned man watches you thoughtfully for a moment, then turns his gaze to the Senate floor again.
In the amphitheater below, The morose, white-haired matron says:
"The end result of this is very beneficial to Allanak. And Lord Templar Malenthis Jal has served as an exemplary member of The Highlord's Gracious Templarate."
In the amphitheater below, The morose, white-haired matron says:
"Regardless what others would have you believe, he is very worthy of award and reward for his accomplishments this day."
Down on the Senate floor, A bristling-bearded, jutnosed man scribes a note down, passing it down to the sleek, fine-boned man with a knowing look.
Down on the Senate floor, Defiantly, the morose, white-haired matron strides slowly back to her seat.
In the amphitheater below, the short, bearded man says:
"The matter will now be put to the vote."
In the amphitheater below, the short, bearded man says:
"House Borsail, how say you?"
Glancing briefly and subtly his way, the willowy, onyx-haired teen looks at the svelte, ivory-skinned man.
Down on the Senate floor, The austere narrow-eyed woman casts a derisive glance toward the Valika congregation.
Down on the Senate floor, The sleek, fine-boned man winks at the austere narrow-eyed woman.
In the amphitheater below, the austere narrow-eyed woman says:
"House Borsail says yes."
The svelte, ivory-skinned man inhales sharply, peering at the floor.
In the amphitheater below, the short, bearded man says:
"House Valika, how say you?"
The short, scar-eyed templar gazes into the amphiteater, nodding slightly.
At your table, you say in sirihish, grimly:
"So much for sharing living arrangements with Valika while we get the new Estate built."
At your table, the svelte, ivory-skinned man says in sirihish, to you:
"Yes, that's about out of question now."
In the amphitheater below, the sleek, fine-boned man says:
"Valika of course says no."
In the amphitheater below, the short, bearded man says:
"House Oash, how say you?"
In the amphitheater below, the thin, silky black-haired man says:
"We say yes."
In the amphitheater below, the short, bearded man says:
"House Fale, how say you?"
In the amphitheater below, the silvery-haired, wiry man says, with a yawn:
"Hunh? Oh.. uhm.. yes. Fale says yes. What am I voting on? Oh, Malenthis.. yes!"
You notice: The willowy, onyx-haired teen leans forward slightly.
You notice: The willowy, onyx-haired teen shakes her head wryly.
In the amphitheater below, the short, bearded man says:
"House Kasix, how say you?"
In the amphitheater below, the elderly, big-boned woman says:
"Kasix votes yes."
In the amphitheater below, the short, bearded man says:
"House Rennik, how say you?"
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"That's the second time Fale voted -ahead- of Kasix."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"I love that. That's superb."
At your table, the svelte, ivory-skinned man says in sirihish, to you:
"I'm telling you, the Fale Estate is very nice."
At a carved cylini bench, you overhear the willowy, onyx-haired teen say in cavilish, smirking gently:
"I wish Lord Senaj Fale was here to see this."
In the amphitheater below, the slight, fiery-haired woman says:
"We say no."
In the amphitheater below, the short, bearded man says:
"House Tor, how say you?"
In the amphitheater below, the short, brown-bearded man says:
"House Tor says yes."
At an elegant, baobab table, you overhear the short, scar-eyed templar say in sirihish, smiling thinly, glancing over to the warbraided, smoke-eyed man:
"Well, the most important vote of the evening is going well."
At an elegant, baobab table, you overhear the warbraided, smoke-eyed man say in sirihish, returning the short, scar-eyed templar's smile:
"Was there ever really any doubt?"
In the amphitheater below, the short, bearded man says:
"House Jal, how say you?"
In the amphitheater below, the morose, white-haired matron says:
"House Jal votes Yes."
In the amphitheater below, the short, bearded man says:
"House Sath, how say you?"
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Who else voted no? Rennik?"
At your table, the svelte, ivory-skinned man says in sirihish, nodding to you:
"Rennik said no."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Rennik is worthless too."
In the amphitheater below, a lop-jawed, black-haired woman says:
"Y-yes? Yes. We vote yes."
The slight, silver-crowned woman giggles.
The slight, silver-crowned woman clears her throat quickly.
You think:
"For Highlord sake, Lara... even if she -is- Sath, she's a Senator. Remember your station."
You think:
"... soon enough you'll be down there to giggle at her on the floor, anyway."
In the amphitheater below, the short, bearded man says:
"Malenthis Jal is declared a Hero of Allanak, this motion is passed thirteen votes for, five against."
The obese, bald man smiles.
Not too loudly, the lofty, hazel-skinned man looks towards the short, scar-eyed templar and claps his lace-gloved hands for a few moments.
The very short and thick figure in a scorpion-emblazoned, smoky-grey cloak and the tall and thick figure in a scorpion-emblazoned, smoky-grey cloak snap to attention and bow towards the short, scar-eyed templar in unison.
Down on the Senate floor, The short, bearded man lifts his head to look over at the silvery-haired, wiry man.
Down on the Senate floor, the silvery-haired, wiry man nods.
At an elegant, baobab table, you overhear the short, scar-eyed templar say in sirihish, clapping his hand firmly on the top of an elegant, baobab table:
"Good! Remind me to drown a few Valika and Rennik later."
At an elegant, baobab table, you overhear the warbraided, smoke-eyed man say in sirihish, inclining his head deeply:
"Congratulations, and yes."
Standing and bowing briefly, calling out across the balcony, you say to the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Congratulations, Great Lord Jal, our Hero."
Looking over to the short, scar-eyed templar, inclining his head politely, the svelte, ivory-skinned man says to the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Congratulations, Great Lord."
The short, scar-eyed templar returns a few polite nods and smiles, standing briefly from his table and waving around.
The slight, silver-crowned woman raises from her bow and retakes her seat.
The sinuous, wyvern-branded female claps her hands together softly a few times, noiselessly and merely a gesture.
The bald, eye-scarred half-giant scoots back a bit as the short, scar-eyed templar stands, looking quickly at surrounding tables.
The short, scar-eyed templar retakes his seat, nodding slightly.
At a carved cylini bench, you overhear the stocky, clean-shaven man say in cavilish:
"I still don't understand the math. Do the higher tier houses get more votes?"
At a carved cylini bench, you overhear the stocky, clean-shaven man say in cavilish:
"If the top three get three, the middle three get two, and the lower three get one... that adds up to eighteen, so... yeah."
At a carved cylini bench, you overhear the stocky, clean-shaven man say in cavilish:
"That must be it."
At a carved cylini bench, you overhear the willowy, onyx-haired teen say in cavilish, softly:
"That must be it, yes. This is, of course, my first Senate meeting."
In the amphitheater below, the short, bearded man says:
"A late proposal has been accepted. House Fale proposes a city festival to celebrate our Victory. Lord Senator Fale, the floor is yours."
Down on the Senate floor, The silvery-haired, wiry man starts making his way to the podium with a swagger.
Down on the Senate floor, The silvery-haired, wiry man nods up towards the balcony.
Glancing around the balcony, the lofty, hazel-skinned man turns to look back at the Senate floor.
In the amphitheater below, the silvery-haired, wiry man says:
"Now that House Fale is.. er... Now that the city is half a million 'sid richer..."
The plump, prismatic-haired woman sits erect, lowering her her extravagantly feathered fan to her lap to peer down at the floor with renewed interest.
Down on the Senate floor, The elderly, big-boned woman chuckles quietly at her seat.
In the amphitheater below, the silvery-haired, wiry man says:
"I suggest we have a grand festival! Let's celebrate our new hero! House Fale proposes a festival which we will, of course, take care of."
At an elegant, baobab table, you overhear the warbraided, smoke-eyed man say in sirihish, with a gesture towards the floor:
"I knew they would do this... use the money for a festival."
Down on the Senate floor, The silvery-haired, wiry man nods once, reclaiming his seat.
Down on the Senate floor, The short, bearded man spares a quick glance around the chamber.
At an elegant, baobab table, you overhear the short, scar-eyed templar say in sirihish:
"I suppose there may still be a chance to bring in the proposal..."
At an elegant, baobab table, you overhear the short, scar-eyed templar say in sirihish, with a shrug:
"But honestly, it matters little at this point."
In the amphitheater below, the short, bearded man says:
"House Borsail, how say you?"
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"No discussion?"
Down on the Senate floor, The austere narrow-eyed woman glances up as if not paying attention.
In the amphitheater below, the austere narrow-eyed woman says:
"Oh.. yes, of course. Borsail votes yes."
In the amphitheater below, the short, bearded man says, " House Valika, how say you?"
In the amphitheater below, the sleek, fine-boned man says, " House Valika says fine.. yes, we support a festival."
The slight, silver-crowned woman frowns to herself.
You think:
"It seems like she's not doing so well down there."
At your table, the svelte, ivory-skinned man says in sirihish, nodding:
"I suppose not, it isn't really something that can be argued against, I think."
In the amphitheater below, the short, bearded man says:
"House Oash, how say you?"
At an elegant, baobab table, you overhear the warbraided, smoke-eyed man say in sirihish, rasping softly:
"I am surprised that Kurac did not speak before that first vote."
Down on the Senate floor, The thin, silky black-haired man sighs, rolling his eyes.
At an elegant, baobab table, you overhear the short, scar-eyed templar say in sirihish, glancing over to the warbraided, smoke-eyed man:
"They don't get to. Only Senators can speak, remember?"
At an elegant, baobab table, you overhear the short, scar-eyed templar say in sirihish:
"If I could, -I- would have spoken before the Senate."
At an elegant, baobab table, you overhear the warbraided, smoke-eyed man say in sirihish:
"I thought the Merchants had speaking rights, but no vote."
At an elegant, baobab table, you overhear the short, scar-eyed templar say in sirihish, to the warbraided, smoke-eyed man:
"If the Senators decide they do, I suppose so,yes."
In the amphitheater below, the thin, silky black-haired man says, frowning:
"Oash votes no"
At a carved cylini bench, you overhear the stocky, clean-shaven man say in cavilish, flatly:
"Great. Five hundred thousand sid festival. Yaaaaay."
At a carved cylini bench, you overhear the chubby, brown-haired man say in cavilish, to the stocky, clean-shaven man:
"Well...maybe we can convince House Fale to have us open a tent for the festival...and earn some of that coin back."
The lissome, kohl-eyelined man smiles vaguely to himself.
In the amphitheater below, the short, bearded man says:
"House Fale, how say you?"
The warbraided, smoke-eyed man nods a few times agreeably, then looks down at the silvery haired man below.
In the amphitheater below, the silvery-haired, wiry man says:
"Uhm.. no? Hah, just kidding. YES!"
The stocky, clean-shaven man sighs, just staring at his lap.
You notice: The willowy, onyx-haired teen smirks faintly.
In the amphitheater below, the short, bearded man says:
"House Kasix, how say you?"
At your table, the svelte, ivory-skinned man says in sirihish, curiously:
"Why would House Oash vote against it?"
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Probably because they'd rather the money go toward gemmers, or something."
The svelte, ivory-skinned man laughs lightly at your response, inclining his head in agreement.
In the amphitheater below, the elderly, big-boned woman says:
"Kasix votes yes."
In the amphitheater below, the short, bearded man says:
"House Rennik, how say you?"
In the amphitheater below, the slight, fiery-haired woman says:
"Yes, of course."
In the amphitheater below, the short, bearded man says:
"House Tor, how say you?"
In the amphitheater below, the short, brown-bearded man says:
"Tor says Yes."
In the amphitheater below, the short, bearded man says:
"House Jal, how say you?"
In the amphitheater below, the morose, white-haired matron says:
"Jal votes no."
At your table, the svelte, ivory-skinned man says in sirihish:
"Why did the Great Lord's own House vote against it? Very strange."
In the amphitheater below, the short, bearded man says:
"House Sath, how say you?"
In the amphitheater below, a lop-jawed, black-haired woman says:
"Yes, why not?"
The slight, silver-crowned woman blinks, glancing toward the warbraided, smoke-eyed man a moment.
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Tor voted yes. I would have thought they'd want the money used toward the military."
The plump, prismatic-haired woman blinks several times before raising her extravagantly feathered fan to flutter with agitation beneath her chin.
At your table, the svelte, ivory-skinned man says in sirihish, inclining his head:
"Yes, but Fale offered to put forth the cost for it."
The plump, prismatic-haired woman titters very softly behind her extravagantly feathered fan.
The short, scar-eyed man sends you a telepathic message:
"I've been thinking..."
The short, scar-eyed man sends you a telepathic message:
"I'm going to fully endorse your Senator. You can take the proposal under consideration. I think it may be fine without it, though."
In the amphitheater below, the short, bearded man says:
"The motion is passed, fourteen in favor, four against."
You contact the short, scar-eyed man with the Way.
In the amphitheater below, the short, bearded man says:
"The last proposal today is: Whether or not all elemental magick should be totally outlawed from the city-state of Allanak proposed by Borsail. "
The svelte, ivory-skinned man rubs his fingers together, leaning up in his chair.
In the amphitheater below, the short, bearded man says:
"Lady Senator Pro Tem Borsail, the floor is yours."
Down on the Senate floor, The austere narrow-eyed woman rises from her chair and gathers several sheaths of parchment, approaching the podium.
Down on the Senate floor, The thin, silky black-haired man's expression narrow into a scowl.
The lofty, hazel-skinned man firms his jaw, frowning thoughtfully as he studies the senate floor closely.
The thick, curly-haired man cracks a toothy grin as he cuts his eyes over to the lofty, hazel-skinned man.
Down on the Senate floor, The austere narrow-eyed woman clears her throat, glancing into the gallery.
The short, scar-eyed man sends you a telepathic message:
"Let me know, either way."
You send a telepathic message to the short, scar-eyed man:
"Of course, Great Lord. I'll let her know, though I think it'd be best to wait, this will be an important speech."
The short, scar-eyed man sends you a telepathic message:
"Of course. Better untill later...if at all."
The short, scar-eyed man sends you a telepathic message:
"Plenty of time to discuss it later."
Ending his frown to grin faintly back, the lofty, hazel-skinned man looks at the thick, curly-haired man.
In the amphitheater below, the austere narrow-eyed woman says:
"Lords and Ladies, who amongst us cannot say that we have not suffered enough from these dangerous creatures?"
At your table, the svelte, ivory-skinned man says in sirihish, in a calm tone:
"This will be the most controversial, I think it."
At your table, you say in sirihish, softly:
"This is an important speech for her."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Not only because of the subject, but because of the election too."
At your table, the svelte, ivory-skinned man says in sirihish:
"It is, and for the House Borsail."
In the amphitheater below, the austere narrow-eyed woman says:
"Time after time, we hear tales of horrible things done by these gemmed, and though punishment comes swiftly...Borsail says it should NOT BE POSSIBLE."
Down on the Senate floor, The austere narrow-eyed woman speaks more swiftly, her voice rising.
At your table, you say in sirihish, to the svelte, ivory-skinned man, shaking her head:
"It's not going to pass, that was never a question -- but how she argues it is much more important, that's what I'm paying attention to."
At your table, you say in sirihish, nodding lightly:
"I like the force."
At your table, the svelte, ivory-skinned man says in sirihish, to you, tone calm:
"Yes, I know that - it's the wording that's important, as you say."
The warbraided, smoke-eyed man leans back in his chair, crossing one foot up onto the opposite knee.
At your table, the svelte, ivory-skinned man says in sirihish:
"Powerful, and convincing, so far."
In the amphitheater below, the austere narrow-eyed woman says:
"The nobility of Allanak should not be forced to deal with this rabble of magick users. They should be outlawed immediately. We saw the power they can draw in recent events. It CANNOT BE ALLOWED."
At your table, the svelte, ivory-skinned man says in sirihish, calmly:
"The stress on the end of each statement reiterates the subject and carries the power of the statement."
In the amphitheater below, the austere narrow-eyed woman says:
"Who amongst you wishes your aides to rub elbows with some creature that might place a curse upon your Noble Family? Who amongst you wishes your guards forced to deal day to day with those who take part in dangerous ritual?"
Down on the Senate floor, The austere narrow-eyed woman brings her hand down on the podium in a slam.
In the amphitheater below, the austere narrow-eyed woman says:
"Who amongst you will not speak to end the dangerous practice of allowing these gemmed to mingle with the normal citizens of Allanak? Who, I ask?"
Down on the Senate floor, The austere narrow-eyed woman sighs and gathers her papers, making her way back to her table.
At your table, the svelte, ivory-skinned man says in sirihish, nodding his agreement, calmly:
"House Oash should not be able to stand against that, I think it."
At your table, the svelte, ivory-skinned man says in sirihish:
"Very well done."
In the amphitheater below, the short, bearded man says:
"Lord Senator Oash, the floor is now yours."
The warbraided, smoke-eyed man's gaze tracks the austere room's course back to her table.
Down on the Senate floor, The thin, silky black-haired man pace across the floor, mounts the stage and stands by the podium.
The warbraided, smoke-eyed man's gaze tracks the austere woman's course back to her table.
The chubby, brown-haired man absently touches his leather collar with a jade cross on it as he watches the senate floor.
The thick, curly-haired man exhales, seeming pensive as he gazes down toward the podium.
Down on the Senate floor, Pitching his voice to be heard in the farthest reach of this chamber, the thin, silky black-haired man appears calm.
The willowy, onyx-haired teen leans forward, watching the floor below with intent interest.
In the amphitheater below, the thin, silky black-haired man says:
"This is an emotional topic for us all. Most of you know Oash employs magickers."
In the amphitheater below, the thin, silky black-haired man says:
"That does not mean we are utterly comfortable with it. No."
You send a telepathic message to the austere narrow-eyed woman:
"Not that you need to hear it from me, my Lady, but that speech was astoundingly excellent."
You send a telepathic message to the austere narrow-eyed woman:
"Sahale and I are both incredibly impressed... it's clear to me that I could learn a great deal from you."
You send a telepathic message to the austere narrow-eyed woman:
"I don't mean to intrude any longer. Great Lord Jal says you have his full support, and that he thinks he may be able to settle things without a new proposal anyway."
In the amphitheater below, the thin, silky black-haired man says:
"Over the past many generations, we - not just Oash, but others within the other families and the templarate - have sought to control them. And we have, successfully."
In the amphitheater below, the thin, silky black-haired man says:
"The Templarate have a tool to control them, as well.."
Down on the Senate floor, The thin, silky black-haired man taps his throat.
Down on the Senate floor, The austere narrow-eyed woman snorts and bends, speaking softly to the stunted, silver-haired old man.
At your table, you say in sirihish, speaking up sharply, but quietly:
"As well? The templarate should be the -only- ones controlling them. They're tools. Not people."
In the amphitheater below, the thin, silky black-haired man says:
"Should we let a few, rare wild mages who lack the self-restraint and control spoil our interaction with them?"
Down on the Senate floor, The thin, silky black-haired man holds up a finger.
In the amphitheater below, the thin, silky black-haired man says:
"Although they are dangerous, they are largely useful to us all. Where would we be if we didn't have mages to assist us in our warfare with Tuluk?"
The warbraided, smoke-eyed man's foot taps soundlessly under the table again as he watches the senate floor.
In the amphitheater below, the thin, silky black-haired man says, shifting his eyes to Rennik and Jal's tables:
"Or water for your plants and to cleanse."
Down on the Senate floor, A lop-jawed, black-haired woman fidgets with her hands on her lap.
In the amphitheater below, the thin, silky black-haired man says, gazing over to Tor's table:
"Or Krath to aid you with combat?"
The svelte, ivory-skinned man exhales, his discontented gaze on the floor below, expression calm.
In the amphitheater below, the thin, silky black-haired man says:
"I say this. If we ban mages from the city, we will see an increaes in magickers who aren't under our fine city's control."
In the amphitheater below, the thin, silky black-haired man says:
"They will go ungemmed. Who controls them then?"
Down on the Senate floor, The thin, silky black-haired man pauses, sweeping his hand dramatically.
In the amphitheater below, the thin, silky black-haired man says, " Think on that."
Down on the Senate floor, The thin, silky black-haired man steps off the stage, striding back to his table.
At your table, the svelte, ivory-skinned man says in sirihish:
"Alternatively, we could just kill them all."
At your table, you say in sirihish, softly:
"I'd rather see them gemmed and out of Oash's control. And in chains."
At an elegant, baobab table, you overhear the short, scar-eyed templar say in sirihish, to the warbraided, smoke-eyed man:
"Have you spoken to Smoke?"
At an elegant, baobab table, you overhear the warbraided, smoke-eyed man say in sirihish, nodding to the short, scar-eyed templar:
"Once, since we returned. But we've been without because of a change in House policy."
At an elegant, baobab table, you overhear the warbraided, smoke-eyed man say in sirihish, nodding to the short, scar-eyed templar:
"We haven't openly employed mages for some ten years now. Which is not necessarily to say that is an indication of our opinion of them within the city."
In the amphitheater below, the short, bearded man says:
"Lady Senator Kasix, the floor is now yours."
Down on the Senate floor, The elderly, big-boned woman stands from her seat and waddles forward with obvious age.
In the amphitheater below, the elderly, big-boned woman says:
"If these abominations are being so well controlled, then why are they being allowed to breed within our walls? "
In the amphitheater below, the elderly, big-boned woman says:
"They are monsters and they should be outlawed. You cannot control a monster. They are bad breeding. Plain and simple."
In the amphitheater below, the elderly, big-boned woman says:
"It is a threat to leave them in this city or out of it."
At an elegant, baobab table, you overhear the short, scar-eyed templar say in sirihish, to the warbraided, smoke-eyed man, his brows raised:
"Oh?"
Down on the Senate floor, The silvery-haired, wiry man's eyes widen a little.
At a carved cylini bench, you overhear the willowy, onyx-haired teen say in cavilish, murmuring idly:
"Mm.. maybe they'll pass a motion that gemmed mages can't breed, or something."
At a carved cylini bench, you overhear the willowy, onyx-haired teen say in cavilish:
"At least it'd cut down on the population."
At a carved cylini bench, you overhear the stocky, clean-shaven man say in cavilish:
"It'll make it so there's less gemmers."
At a carved cylini bench, you overhear the stocky, clean-shaven man say in cavilish:
"And more rogues in the tablelands."
At your table, the svelte, ivory-skinned man says in sirihish:
"I didn't expect Kasix to support us."
Down on the Senate floor, the pot-bellied, black-robed templar has arrived from the east, striding in confidently.
Down on the Senate floor, The short, bearded man jerks upright, eyes widening.
In the amphitheater below, the short, bearded man says, " Announcing Lord Parduashin Rennik the Black - High Commander of the City Ministry!"
At a carved cylini bench, you overhear the willowy, onyx-haired teen say in cavilish:
"I suppose they ..."
In the amphitheater below, the elderly, big-boned woman says:
"There is no assurance that Oash - or anyone else can offer that will tru----"
Looking down at the Senate floor, the lofty, hazel-skinned man gasps abruptly.
Down on the Senate floor, The pot-bellied, black-robed templar walks across the floor and onto the stage.
Down on the Senate floor, The short, bearded man falls to his knees, bowing low on the ground.
The willowy, onyx-haired teen trails off, eyes turning wide and round.
The svelte, ivory-skinned man blinks, leaning forward.
The short, scar-eyed templar blinks, gazing into the amphiteater.
Down on the Senate floor, The sleek, fine-boned man raises a brow in surprise.
Down on the Senate floor, The elderly, big-boned woman goes abruptly silent, bowing before the pot-bellied, black-robed templar.
The sinuous, wyvern-branded female gazes intently down at the floor, mouth opening.
The stocky, clean-shaven man gasps.
Down on the Senate floor, The austere narrow-eyed woman blinks in obvious shock and rises swiftly from her seat with the stunted, silver-haired old man struggling upward as well. Together, the pair bow deeply, almost touching the floor with their heads.
Down on the Senate floor, The thin, silky black-haired man kneels on one knee, bowing reverently.
Grunting softly, the short, scar-eyed templar says, in sirihish:
"Bow."
The warbraided, smoke-eyed man lightly clears his throat, back straightening as he looks down to the stage.
You stand up from an elegant, baobab table.
The sinuous, wyvern-branded female stands up from a carved cylini bench.
Down on the Senate floor, The short, brown-bearded man rises swiftly, moving into a deep bow towards the door.
The warbraided, smoke-eyed man stands up from an elegant, baobab table.
The svelte, ivory-skinned man stands up from an elegant, baobab table.
Over his shoulder to the group, the short, scar-eyed templar says, in sirihish:
"Bow, now."
The willowy, onyx-haired teen rises swiftly, bowing deep toward the floor.
Down on the Senate floor, The silvery-haired, wiry man startles, quickly bowing.
The sinuous, wyvern-branded female kneels down, touching her forehead to the floor.
The short, scar-eyed templar stands up from an elegant, baobab table.
Pushing her chair back abruptly, the plump, prismatic-haired woman stands up from an elegant, baobab table.
Rising swiftly, the lofty, hazel-skinned man stands up from a carved cylini bench.
The slight, silver-crowned woman drops to her knees, head bowed toward the senate floor.
The thick, curly-haired man stands up from a carved cylini bench.
The obese, bald man stands up from a carved cylini bench.
The lissome, kohl-eyelined man gasps, his eyes widening before he suddenly drops to his knees.
The pallid, serpentine inked man bows down toward the senate floor.
The short, scar-eyed templar drops to a knee, bowing towards the amphitheater.
Dropping to his knees and placing his head to the ground, the thick, curly-haired man sits down.
Down on the Senate floor, The pot-bellied, black-robed templar moves across the stage at a pace which is neither hurried nor leisurely for his stature.
Down on the Senate floor, The silver-haired, one-eyed templar bows deeply.
The plump, prismatic-haired woman lowers into a deep bow, her head nearly touching the table before her.
The stocky, clean-shaven man stands up from a carved cylini bench.
Kneeling in a bow, the stocky, clean-shaven man sits down.
The svelte, ivory-skinned man pushes to his feet, bowing fully and reverenty towards the Senate floor.
In unison with his hooded guards, the warbraided, smoke-eyed man bows deeply up on the balcony.
The obese, bald man gets on his knees, and place shis head on the floor.
Down on the Senate floor, Along with the tall, rakish man, the slight, fiery-haired woman bows deeply.
The bald, eye-scarred half-giant glances down to the short, scar-eyed templar before following suit, dipping to his knees.
Down on the Senate floor, The pot-bellied, black-robed templar steps up to the podium.
Down on the Senate floor, The elderly, big-boned woman steps aside, her face red and eyes downcast.
Looking down past the jade rail, the lofty, hazel-skinned man takes a step away from it and bows extremely deeply, closing his eyes.
In the amphitheater below, the pot-bellied, black-robed templar says:
"Be seated."
Down on the Senate floor, The slender, fair-haired woman falls to the floor, forehead touching the ground, a bristling-bearded, jutnosed man, the point-nosed, fine-boned man and the wisp-thin, narrow-nosed man following suit.
The sinuous, wyvern-branded female sits on a carved cylini bench.
Down on the Senate floor, The elderly, big-boned woman makes her way back to her seat and sits.
Down on the Senate floor, The sleek, fine-boned man clears his throat, reclaiming his seat.
Down on the Senate floor, The austere narrow-eyed woman rises, the shock still visible on her face while retaking her chair.
Down on the Senate floor, The pot-bellied, black-robed templar places his hands upon an obsidian podium, looking around the Senate chamber.
Down on the Senate floor, The thin, silky black-haired man occupies a vacant seat.
Picking up his feather-trimmed, dark purple hat and dusting it off, the lofty, hazel-skinned man slowly returns to the wooden bench.
The warbraided, smoke-eyed man holds his bow statuesquely, war-braid off his shoulder and hanging in front of him.
Down on the Senate floor, The short, bearded man rises slowly, stepping back to a fair distance behind the podium.
The chubby, brown-haired man rises and bows with all the others before returning to his seat.
The plump, prismatic-haired woman sits at an elegant, baobab table.
The slight, silver-crowned woman rises slowly, face pale as she reclaims her seat.
You sit at an elegant, baobab table.
The lissome, kohl-eyelined man presses his forehead onto the floor, his black-feathered, purple hat slipping from his ebon mane.
In awe, the svelte, ivory-skinned man stumbles after you.
The thick, curly-haired man sweats profusely, his face twisted with awe and flushed red as jihae.
The obese, bald man sits on a carved cylini bench.
The warbraided, smoke-eyed man sits at an elegant, baobab table.
The short, scar-eyed templar sits at an elegant, baobab table.
Down on the Senate floor, The slight, fiery-haired woman slips down into her seat, watching the pot-bellied, black-robed templar with awe.
In the amphitheater below, the pot-bellied, black-robed templar says, " Senators, Templars, Lords and Ladies."
The willowy, onyx-haired teen rises silently and settles back on a carved cylini bench, still gaping in shock at the floor.
The svelte, ivory-skinned man sits at an elegant, baobab table.
Slowly reclaiming his seat, the stocky, clean-shaven man sits on a carved cylini bench.
The pallid, serpentine inked man returns to a straight position, assuming a watchful attitude by the Kadius bench once again.
The svelte, ivory-skinned man holds a hand to his mouth, his other hand trembling slightly as he looks down at the floor.
In the amphitheater below, the pot-bellied, black-robed templar says, " This proposal to outlaw elemental magicks from his city is sheer folly."
Down on the Senate floor, The pot-bellied, black-robed templar pauses deliberately, scanning the faces of the senators assembled.
Down on the Senate floor, The short, brown-bearded man averts his gaze, looking down at the floor.
In the amphitheater below, the pot-bellied, black-robed templar says:
"I would like to remind the members of this esteemed body that the comforts and public services provided to all of the citizens by the City Ministry, as with all things, have a cost."
You think:
"Well that's all he needs to say."
Down on the Senate floor, The austere narrow-eyed woman averts her gaze, face reddened.
Down on the Senate floor, The silvery-haired, wiry man nods slowly as he listens to the pot-bellied, black-robed templar.
The stocky, clean-shaven man glances aside at the willowy, onyx-haired teen and the chubby, brown-haired man, looking afraid to even open his mouth.
In the amphitheater below, the pot-bellied, black-robed templar says:
"The City Ministry takes full advantage of the abilities of elementalists, whenever possible, to minimize costs."
The willowy, onyx-haired teen's grey-green eyes are riveted with obvious fascination upon the Senate floor below.
Down on the Senate floor, The pot-bellied, black-robed templar gestures over towards the table of House Valika with a hand.
In the amphitheater below, the pot-bellied, black-robed templar says:
"To cast aside these elementalist resources would require the City Ministry to procure suitable replacements."
The chubby, brown-haired man sits on the edge of his seat, watching.
Down on the Senate floor, Paling, the wisp-thin, narrow-nosed man, a bristling-bearded, jutnosed man, and the point-nosed, fine-boned man all sink low into their chairs, sweat beading instanstly on thier foreheads.
The lissome, kohl-eyelined man lifts his head from the floor hesitantly, casting a glance over the assembled tables before rising slowly.
Down on the Senate floor, The sleek, fine-boned man nods reverently as he is acknowledged.
Down on the Senate floor, The pot-bellied, black-robed templar points upward with an index finger.
In the amphitheater below, the pot-bellied, black-robed templar says:
"Replacements which would come at a significantly higher cost."
Down on the Senate floor, A bristling-bearded, jutnosed man's hands shake, rattling a parchment before he quickly puts it down on a table.
You think:
"This is terrible. Now what does she do?"
Down on the Senate floor, The pot-bellied, black-robed templar opens his hands wide, spreading them out palms upturned.
You think:
"She either votes against her own proposal or against the word of a Black."
In the amphitheater below, the pot-bellied, black-robed templar says:
"Clearly, the City Ministry budget would require additional funds to keep his Highlord's city maintained at the same levels he has decreed for it."
You think:
"Either way they'll note the weakness."
Down on the Senate floor, The slender, fair-haired woman twists her bone ring with an eclipse signet on her finger, her face pale as she stares down at the table.
The warbraided, smoke-eyed man's gaze sweeps critically over the guards and merchants assembled on the balocny, then returns to the speaker below.
Down on the Senate floor, The pot-bellied, black-robed templar holds a fist in the air before himself.
The slight, silver-crowned woman reaches a hand down below the table, feeling for the svelte, ivory-skinned man's hand.
In the amphitheater below, the pot-bellied, black-robed templar says:
"Should this measure be enacted..."
Down on the Senate floor, The silvery-haired, wiry man gulps.
Down on the Senate floor, The pot-bellied, black-robed templar taps the top of an obsidian podium with the tip of his index finger.
The thick, curly-haired man seems unable to bring himself to gaze at the senate floor, instead staring at the floor with an expression of utter horror.
You notice: Slowly, a wince settles on the lofty, hazel-skinned man's face.
In the amphitheater below, the pot-bellied, black-robed templar says:
"I would be remiss in my fiduciary duty to his Highlord if I didn't introduce a measure to reallocate funds to the City Ministry budget from House stipends."
Down on the Senate floor, The sleek, fine-boned man blinks in surprise.
Down on the Senate floor, The pot-bellied, black-robed templar steps away from an obsidian podium.
You think:
"They may even fine us for proposing it."
Down on the Senate floor, The point-nosed, fine-boned man suddenly looks very uncomfortable in his stiff, ruffled black lace collar, adjusting it carefully.
Down on the Senate floor, The short, brown-bearded man frowns, head jerking up as he looks over to the pot-bellied, black-robed templar.
Down on the Senate floor, The short, brown-bearded man quickly lowers his head.
Down on the Senate floor, The austere narrow-eyed woman takes a sudden interest in turning her shimmering, diamond-laden obsidian bracelet, staring red-faced at the gleaming object.
Down on the Senate floor, The pot-bellied, black-robed templar walks across the stage in a manner similar to his arrival.
Down on the Senate floor, The silvery-haired, wiry man looks like he wants to cry.
Down on the Senate floor, the pot-bellied, black-robed templar walks east.
The warbraided, smoke-eyed man stands up from an elegant, baobab table.
The warbraided, smoke-eyed man bows stiffly as the black-robed templar below departs, then retakes his seat.
Down on the Senate floor, The short, brown-bearded man rubs a hand over his face.
The warbraided, smoke-eyed man sits at an elegant, baobab table.
The svelte, ivory-skinned man breathes heavily, clasping his other hand to his palm and stopping its movement.
The willowy, onyx-haired teen whispers something to the stocky, clean-shaven man.
The stocky, clean-shaven man nods wordlessly at the willowy, onyx-haired teen.
The short, scar-eyed templar stands up from an elegant, baobab table.
The slight, silver-crowned woman stares gaping at the senate floor, her expression a mix of shock and fear.
Down on the Senate floor, The short, bearded man starts to speak, his words stammering.
Down on the Senate floor, The short, bearded man swallows, gathering up a sheaf of parchments with shaking hands.
The obese, bald man opens his mouth to say something but no words emerge.
A smile crossing his lips, the short, scar-eyed templar sits at an elegant, baobab table.
In the amphitheater below, the short, bearded man says:
"The matter will now be put to the vote."
In the amphitheater below, the short, bearded man says:
"House Borsail, how say you?"
Down on the Senate floor, The austere narrow-eyed woman opens her mouth once before her voice is heard.
At your table, you say in sirihish, softly, barely getting the words out:
"No. She has to say no."
In the amphitheater below, the austere narrow-eyed woman says:
"House Borsail...respectfully...votes yes."
The sinuous, wyvern-branded female sits rigidly on a carved cylini bench, gaze and expression distant.
The willowy, onyx-haired teen's jaw drops.
The slight, silver-crowned woman's jaw drops.
In the amphitheater below, the short, bearded man says:
"House Valika, how say you?"
At a carved cylini bench, you overhear the willowy, onyx-haired teen say in cavilish:
"Fek me!"
The warbraided, smoke-eyed man purses his lips, one gloved hand rubbing over his mouth and jaw.
Down on the Senate floor, The sleek, fine-boned man smiles wryly.
The svelte, ivory-skinned man shivers visibly, gripping the edge of the table.
The lofty, hazel-skinned man stares at the senate floor wide-eyed, jaw dropping and hands slapping his knees.
At a carved cylini bench, you overhear the chubby, brown-haired man say in cavilish, shaking his head:
"Unbelievable."
In the amphitheater below, the sleek, fine-boned man says:
"House Valika... votes AGAINST the proposal."
You feel like hiding under the table.
In the amphitheater below, the short, bearded man says:
"House Oash, how say you."
In the amphitheater below, the thin, silky black-haired man says:
"Oash has another reason to vote against this. Against."
The willowy, onyx-haired teen claps a palm over her agape mouth.
At a carved cylini bench, you overhear the obese, bald man say in cavilish:
"Oh my, oh my, oh my my my."
The sinuous, wyvern-branded female clenches her fists, knuckles whitening as she slowly forces her gaze to the Senate floor.
Face paling three shades blancher than normal, the slight, silver-crowned woman just stares down at the senate floor toward the austere woman.
At your table, the svelte, ivory-skinned man says in sirihish:
"They...she..how..."
Down on the Senate floor, The thin, silky black-haired man glances at the austere narrow-eyed woman.
The warbraided, smoke-eyed man shakes his head as he watches the senate floor.
In the amphitheater below, the short, bearded man says:
"House Fale, how say you?"
Down on the Senate floor, The austere narrow-eyed woman straightens in her chair and holds her posture erect, staring toward the podium.
Down on the Senate floor, The silvery-haired, wiry man is seen picking up some dice, blushing.
Down on the Senate floor, The silvery-haired, wiry man clears his throat.
The plump, prismatic-haired woman shoots a discreet glance toward your table, taking in your ashen face before returning her attention to the senate floor.
In the amphitheater below, the silvery-haired, wiry man says:
"After what the City ministry told us? Oh.. uhm.. we vote in favor of whatever he said. So.. against"
The svelte, ivory-skinned man puts a hand on his head, leaning back against the chair and exhaling.
The sinuous, wyvern-branded female swallows thickly.
In the amphitheater below, the short, bearded man says:
"House Kasix, how say you?"
The lofty, hazel-skinned man closes his mouth again.
In the amphitheater below, the elderly, big-boned woman says:
"House Kasix votes... yes.. for the proposal... "
Down on the Senate floor, The elderly, big-boned woman glances at the austere narrow-eyed woman.
At a carved cylini bench, you overhear the lofty, hazel-skinned man say in sirihish, staring down at the senate floor:
"What?!"
You feel a bit of relief.
At your table, you say in sirihish, softly:
"At least we're not alone."
The warbraided, smoke-eyed man smirks quietly to himself.
Down on the Senate floor, The austere narrow-eyed woman seems to relax slightly and nods her head toward the elderly, big-boned woman.
In the amphitheater below, the short, bearded man says:
"House Rennik, how say you?"
In the amphitheater below, the slight, fiery-haired woman says:
"We say no."
At your table, the svelte, ivory-skinned man says in sirihish, words slow and broken:
"Yes, but we are silenced. "
At an elegant, baobab table, you overhear the short, scar-eyed templar say in sirihish, Smiling over to the warbraided, smoke-eyed man:
"Money heals all wounds."
Down on the Senate floor, The tall, rakish man waves a hand.
At your table, you say in sirihish, her voice mute:
"I guess it's.. true. What they say."
At your table, you say in sirihish, to the svelte, ivory-skinned man, trying to smile:
"About... about imitations."
At an elegant, baobab table, you overhear the warbraided, smoke-eyed man say in sirihish, rasping softly:
"I knew Kasix liked to emulate Borsail, but that was surprising."
A silk-gloved hand still clapped over her mouth, the willowy, onyx-haired teen just stares at the Senate floor.
In the amphitheater below, the short, bearded man says:
"House Tor, how say you?"
In the amphitheater below, the short, brown-bearded man says:
"Tor votes against this proposal."
At an elegant, baobab table, you overhear the short, scar-eyed templar say in sirihish, nodding slightly:
"Well, that about does it."
At your table, you say in mirukkim, quietly:
"Krath, Sahale, we're so fucked."
At your table, the svelte, ivory-skinned man says in mirukkim, looking over to you, eyes hardened:
"I know..we have a lot to talk about..when we return."
The obese, bald man nods gently, as though it is all he can do.
The thick, curly-haired man quivers with fear, seeming distraught and uncertain.
At a carved cylini bench, you overhear the chubby, brown-haired man say in cavilish, to the stocky, clean-shaven man:
"This one isn't our worries...good thing."
In the amphitheater below, the short, bearded man says:
"House Jal, how say you?"
Down on the Senate floor, The morose, white-haired matron glances at the austere narrow-eyed woman, then quickly away.
Down on the Senate floor, The austere narrow-eyed woman glances toward the morose, white-haired matron and crosses her arms.
In the amphitheater below, the morose, white-haired matron says:
"Jal abstains."
In the amphitheater below, the short, bearded man says:
"House Sath, how say you?"
Down on the Senate floor, The thin, silky black-haired man scoffs loudly.
Down on the Senate floor, The austere narrow-eyed woman rolls her eyes and bends to speak with the stunted, silver-haired old man.
At an elegant, baobab table, you overhear the warbraided, smoke-eyed man say in sirihish:
"One abstention."
In the amphitheater below, a lop-jawed, black-haired woman says:
"Sath votes n...."
Down on the Senate floor, A lop-jawed, black-haired woman glances at the austere narrow-eyed woman.
In the amphitheater below, a lop-jawed, black-haired woman says:
"Yes."
Down on the Senate floor, The austere narrow-eyed woman turns her narrowed eyes on a lop-jawed, black-haired woman and nods.
The lissome, kohl-eyelined man takes intent interest in his boots, the thick lines of kohl around his eyes intense against the colourlessness of his visage.
The sinuous, wyvern-branded female blinks.
At a carved cylini bench, you overhear the stocky, clean-shaven man say in cavilish:
"If a Black had come up to speak out against us I would just jump over the railing and get it over with."
The slight, silver-crowned woman leans back in her seat, her slender brows furrowing.
Composed once again, the willowy, onyx-haired teen removes her hand from her mouth and pats the stocky, clean-shaven man's shoulder with it.
In the amphitheater below, the short, bearded man says:
"The motion to outlaw elemental magick from the city has failed. Six votes in favor, eleven against."
Down on the Senate floor, The silvery-haired, wiry man wipes his brow.
At a carved cylini bench, you overhear the chubby, brown-haired man say in cavilish, eyes widening:
"What? Is that more votes of yes?"
At an elegant, baobab table, you overhear the short, scar-eyed templar say in sirihish:
"It's as I thought. I should have placed some bets on this meeting."
At an elegant, baobab table, you overhear the short, scar-eyed templar say in sirihish:
"I was only surprised by the first vote."
Down on the Senate floor, The short, bearded man glances around the chamber, his hands shaking slightly as he gathers up his sheaf of parchment.
In the amphitheater below, the short, bearded man says, " I declare this Meet over."
Cast of Major Characters on the balcony:
the short, scar-eyed templar - Great Lord Templar Malenthis Jal, the Red
the warbraided, smoke-eyed man - Warlord Kharad Tor
the slight, silver-crowned woman - Lady Ceylara Borsail (her perspective)
the svelte, ivory-skinned - Lord Sahale Borsail
the plump,...
Continue Reading...Byn Stories I: The Bahamet and the Gimpka Rat by Evil Erdlu
Added on Dec 24, 2008The bardic spark may enlight the mind of a shitcloak? Maybe once in a blue moon...
At your table, the wiry, bearded man says in sirihish:
"Either'a you got stories?"At your table, you say in sirihish, mumbling:
"I kin make up one.."You stop using your chitin-studded anakore helm.
The barrel-chested, freckled dwarf wipes some sweat off his scalp.
The lean, white-haired man reaches up and scratches his cheek.
At your table, you say in sirihish, after a moment of silence, grinning widely:
"Did you hear the story of the gimpka rat and the bahamet?"The lean, white-haired man shakes his head.
At your table, you say in sirihish, grin widening:
"Of course you didn't.. I just made it up a few moments ago..."At your table, you say in sirihish, after clearing his throat:
"Eh.. lemme start.. Once upon a time, far north in the lands of the wild elves, lived a bahamet."The lean, white-haired man turns his full attention to you.
At your table, you say in sirihish, arching his arms to sides:
"Huge and proud, he stalked his hunting grounds every day, devouring anything of any size."At your table, you say in sirihish:
"One day, he saw a small gimpka rat and a teenager elf running after it."At your table, you say in sirihish, eyes narrowed:
"The bahamet was not hungry.. But still he felt mercy for the rat and backhanded the poor elf a few leagues away."At your table, the wiry, bearded man says in sirihish, regarding you levelly:
"Mate, you absolute shit at tellin' stories."At your table, you say in sirihish, voice joyful:
"With joy, the gimpka rat said; "You saved my life! You saved my life! I will remember it and will save your life one day."..."At your table, you say in sirihish, to the wiry, bearded man:
"Listen.. I'm making it up.. Of course it won't be a great story."The lean, white-haired man chuckles as he glances between you and the wiry, bearded man.
At your table, the wiry, bearded man says in sirihish:
"Says who? Gotta be plenty of stories 'at happened 'round for tha' tellin'."At your table, you say in sirihish, after a moment's silence:
"Eh.. The bahamet laughed so hard that the land shuddered. He was proud, so proud that he never thought he would ever need a gimpka rat..."At your table, you say in sirihish, keeping on without a stop:
"Days have passed. A dwarven stone elementalist named Alabaster decided, he could summon great magicks if he could acquire a bahamet's eyes. And so, he started preying upon our poor bahamet."At your table, you say in sirihish, head bobbed to a side:
"Magickers, even dwarven ones are not that stupid to face a bahamet openly of course.. So instead one day he suddenly made the vines move and empower with magick, entangling the bahamet."At your table, you say in sirihish:
"He was readying to summon his defiling power upon our poor bahamet but the gimpka rat, that gimpka rat the bahamet saved saw the situation."At your table, you say in sirihish:
"He dashed in haste and gnawed at the tendrils, saving the bahamet just in time."At your table, you say in sirihish, with a wide smile:
"Then the bahamet ate the head of the dwarven magicker."At your table, the lean, white-haired man says in sirihish:
"Well at least there was a happy ending."At your table, the wiry, bearded man says in sirihish, dubiously:
"Yeh, mate, like I said. You utter shit at tellin' tales."At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Then... You think the bahamet understood his mistake and knew even the weakest can aid so not to be undermined?"At your table, you say in sirihish, shaking his head:
"No.. The bahamet was hungry.. He ate the gimpka rat too.. That's the end."The barrel-chested, freckled dwarf smiles proudly.
The lean, white-haired man chuckles.
At your table, the lean, white-haired man says in sirihish:
"Well he's better at telling a tale than me."
At your table, you say in sirihish, idly, at the wiry, bearded man:
"Eh.. Shit or not shit.. If I'm not going to shovel it, I don' care."At your table, the wiry, bearded man says in sirihish:
"Either'a you got stories?"At your table, you say in sirihish, mumbling:
"I kin make up one.."You stop using your chitin-studded anakore helm.
The barrel-chested, freckled dwarf wipes some sweat off his scalp.
The lean,...
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...Lapitia and Thialle: Marital Bliss? (Part I) by Medena
Added on Nov 30, 2008Very soon after his marriage to Lady Lapitia Fale, Lord Thialle Fale (formerly Borsail) was arrested and thrown in the Highlord`s Dungeons. As the scene begins, Lady Lapitia, believing him to be still locked up in the dungeons, is in his room going through his things.
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man sends you a telepathic message:
"Lapitia."
The plump, prismatic-haired woman darts from the room.
You contact the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man with the Way.
You think:
"Like he knew...like he knew I was there."
You send a telepathic message to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man:
"Thialle."
You feel your heart pounding in your chest.
The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man sends you a telepathic message:
"Do something unpredictable for me."
You send a telepathic message to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man:
"Very well."
The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man sends you a telepathic message:
"I haven`t got any specific suggestions, I merely imply.. say something unexpected."
You send a telepathic message to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man:
"I wanted to say how distressed I am that my beloved husband, our marriage as yet unconsummated, lies languishing in that filthy dungeon."
A titter spills out of the plump, prismatic-haired woman`s twisted lips.
The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man sends you a telepathic message:
"Now that is rather unexpected. Indeed, given our last conversation. And the one before that and the one before and on and on."
You send a telepathic message to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man:
"What was it that you did in the wine cellar, Thialle? I really must know."
The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man sends you a telepathic message:
"Did in the wine cellar? I`ve not stepped foot in the wine cellar since the first day I arrived in your Household."
The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man sends you a telepathic message:
"Where are my rings, Lapitia? In predictable, unsurprising fashion they were taken from me during incarceration - and in no small hurry either."
The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man sends you a telepathic message:
"And by `no small hurry` I do mean conveniently quickly. Who`s profitting from this outrage?"
You send a telepathic message to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man:
"You really do disappoint me. A simple, unembroidered denial is singularly unentertaining. If you were going to lie you might have at least invented some fanciful story."
You send a telepathic message to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man:
"You... your rings? The family ring for example?"
The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man sends you a telepathic message:
"You`ve suddenly become predictable again. Let me make something very clear.."
The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man sends you a telepathic message:
"I swear upon the noble blood in my veins, upon my very loins even, that I did nothing in the cellar."
The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man sends you a telepathic message:
"As to my rings. Oh, let`s see. The family ring, the other silver band I owned. Why, even my Scorpion academy ring. What vile band of imps took even that, pray tell?"
You send a telepathic message to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man:
"So much for your ... what was it you called it? Your telepathic oath? There are witnesses that say otherwise as to your actions in the cellar."
You send a telepathic message to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man:
"You went to the Tor academy?"
The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man sends you a telepathic message:
"Just like there are witnesses that I was dead?"
You send a telepathic message to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man:
"Thialle, I am among those who witnessed your dead corpse lying on the upstairs landing."
The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man sends you a telepathic message:
"It should be appallingly evident by now that some .. thing .. has caused a vile raucous in your Household. A thing posing as me, evidently."
The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man sends you a telepathic message:
"Have you ever heard of the Borsail quarantine practices? Rest assured, if there were magick in me, I`d have been cleansed from my family long, long ago."
You send a telepathic message to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man:
"Well, you have no doubt employed some without such quarantine."
The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man sends you a telepathic message:
"And you, my Lady, are no doubt making rash assumptions."
You send a telepathic message to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man:
"I am going into the cellar now. Most dreadfully curious."
[Lapitia has by this time moved to the entry to the wine cellar.]Kitchen [SWD]
Large but simple, this kitchen appears to have been designed to allow
large quantities of food to be easily prepared. Large brick ovens for
preparing cooked meals are set into the north wall while counters, shelves
and cabinets are set into all of the other walls. The room smells strongly
of smoke.
A small wooden door is set in the south wall, and another in the west
wall, both between counters and shelves.
A wide-mouthed cistern, carved of stone, rests here.
The short, plump purple-braided woman is here, overseeing a pack of Kadian cooks.A wooden trapdoor has been mounted in one corner.
The trapdoor is closed.
The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man sends you a telepathic message:
"Why don`t you go to the first floor instead?"
You send a telepathic message to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man:
"*ripples of amusement* I am on the first floor right now. Naturally, one must pass along the first floor in order to get to the cellar."
The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man sends you a telepathic message:
"Unless you`ll run round and cavort wildly like a barakhan with its head lopped off at the sight of me."
The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man sends you a telepathic message:
"Not the ground floor, the first floor. Upstairs."
You send a telepathic message to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man:
"You... you are .. there?"
The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man sends you a telepathic message:
"Have you not heard? I was just escorted by a retinue of servants and a Whatsit. Now I reside in a new prison. House Fale."
You feel a wave of panic.
You think:
"WHAT!?!"
You send a telepathic message to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man:
"That... that is ridiculous! Ridiculous! What do you hope to accomplish with such ... such vain attempts at trickery? I was just there!"
The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man sends you a telepathic message:
"Lapitia, stop being frantic. I was in the bathroom only moments ago. Fine, meet me there then."
You exclaim, in sirihish:
"No!"
Feeling hysteria choking your throat, you think:
"What am ... what am I going to do?"
The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man sends you a telepathic message:
"Seriously. This is becoming really rather boring, Lapitia."
The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man sends you a telepathic message:
"I haven`t even got access to wine! How utterly un-noble."
Sinking onto the bottom step, you sit down.
The plump, prismatic-haired woman`s hands clench and unclench fitfully.
The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man sends you a telepathic message:
"~frazzled by impatience~ Fine, whatever."
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
You think:
"He is attempting to torment me. It cannot be true."
You dissolve the psychic link.
You are unable to reach their mind.
You exclaim, in sirihish:
"Someone... someone must know. Damn it!"
You exclaim, in sirihish:
"Damn him!"
You contact the sturdy, midnight-haired woman with the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the sturdy, midnight-haired woman:
"Markie... there you are. Where ... where are you?"A foreign presence contacts your mind.
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
The sturdy, midnight-haired woman sends you a telepathic message:
"Currently in the Traders, my lady. I was... hoping to catch Lord Fale."
The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man sends you a telepathic message:
"Are you going to meet me or not? You do know you can ask any sycophant of the House if I was brought in."
You send a telepathic message to the sturdy, midnight-haired woman:
"Have you... have you seen any parties, any groups of people moving toward the estate?"
The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man sends you a telepathic message:
"There is no food on this side of the mansion and the servants aren`t particularly eager to bring me any, besides."
You dissolve the psychic link.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man with the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man:
"Where? Where are you?"
The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man sends you a telepathic message:
"The ground floor, I told you! I went to the bathing chambers."
The sturdy, midnight-haired woman sends you a telepathic message:
"No, my lady, it`s storming pretty bad."
The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man sends you a telepathic message:
"Do be a kind wife and bring some food, some wine. I`m on the verge of wilting, literaly, to death."
You send a telepathic message to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man:
"There now. I have caught you in ... in your foolish prevarications. What have you been doing all this time in the bathing chambers?"
The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man sends you a telepathic message:
"Waiting for you, like I said."
You send a telepathic message to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man:
"What was said when you were released?"
The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man sends you a telepathic message:
"Not a word. Doubtless they intend to execute me still but have granted me the imprisonment due to one of my station."
The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man sends you a telepathic message:
"Must we converse telepathically, Lapitia?"
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man:
"No. I shall come then. Perhaps you would care for a few of the treats still left over from the party?"
The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man sends you a telepathic message:
"I`m in no mood to beg for specifics. A meal will suffice."
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
Colour slowly seeps back into the plump, prismatic-haired woman`s face.
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man sends you a telepathic message:
"Lapitia."
The plump, prismatic-haired woman darts from the room.
You contact the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man with the Way.
You think:
"Like he knew...like he knew I was...
Continue Reading...Lapitia and Thialle: Marital Bliss? (Part II) by Medena
Added on Nov 30, 2008Thialle claims to be starving after his sojourn in the dungeons and so Lapitia gets a tray of food prepared for him and, accompanied by her bodyguard, takes it to him in the locked, private wing of the Fale mansion.
You lock the door with a key of faceted amethyst glass. - *click*
You say, in sirihish:
"This way, Chaiten."A Small Purple Tiled Bathing Chamber [N]
Small pieces of purple tile, spotted with green, have been laid together
to cover the floor and walls of this room. A tiny windowed alcove has been
set into the west wall, allowing a small stream of light to filter in. A
circular-shaped bathing tub has been set in the room`s center, standing
about two cords high, with a jozhal-mouthed faucet hanging into the tub.
The room slopes downward a bit where it meets up with the tub, and a small
hole is beneath the tub, acting as a drain for water to run down into it.
A couple of racks filled with soaps, perfumes and towels have been hung
on the walls, and a smaller door stands on the north wall, leading out into
a hallway.
A green stone incense burner has been set here.
An unlit candle, striped in vivid purple and green, is here.
The shapely, brunette young woman is here, drying down the floor.
The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man is sitting on a circular-shaped green stone bathing tub.
Standing well back at the doorway, you look down at the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man.
Unfolding his leg as he sits upon the edge of a newly filled bathtub, the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man looks up at you.
A slender, purple and green clad servant slips near the open door from the outside for a moment, putting something down, before making a rapid departure.
Her lips pressing upward into a semblance of a smile, voice rich and throaty, you say to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man, in sirihish:
"Well. You do look... well."
Motionless atop his perch, equipped with an expressionless visage, the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man says to you, in sirihish:
"Mm, so good of you to notice, my Lady."
Flicking a finger toward the shapely, brunette young woman, you say to the green-haired, green tattooed man, in sirihish:
"Give the slave the tray I personally had prepared."
The green-haired, green tattooed man dips a slow nod to you, keeping himself alertly positioned between you and the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man as he holds out his large tray.
The green-haired, green tattooed man gives his large tray to the shapely, brunette young woman.
Affecting innocent posture with a short shrug, the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man says to you, in sirihish:
"Well, one never can be too certain, can they? Uhatu - test my food for poison."
The shapely, brunette young woman compliantly slices apart a portion of food from the plate at random and consumes slowly.
The shapely, brunette young woman eats a portion of her grilled, spicy carru steak.
A genuine sound of amusement bubbles up from the plump, prismatic-haired woman`s magenta lips.
Bowing low as she proffers the food, the shapely, brunette young woman gives her large tray to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man.
Draping an arm over the nearby towel rack, leaning back against the doorframe, you ask the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man, in sirihish:
"Now why would I bother having you poisoned if you are to be executed, anyway?"
Countenance as bleak as granite, the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man promptly delves into the meal seated in his lap.
Through mouthfuls of hurriedly downed food, the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man says to you, in sirihish:
"I said most likely - and I wasn`t accusing you of anything, my Lady."
The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man eats his small portion of a plate of tender ribs smothered in honey and kalan sauce.
The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man eats a portion of his ball of soft white cheese.
With a throaty chuckle as she watches him eat, you say to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man, in sirihish:
"You certainly do seem to have a healthy appetite."
Her lips quirking upward, a trace of laughter dotting her words, you say to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man, in sirihish:
"Though, I must say, you do look quite a bit ... healthier than the last time I saw you."
Ravenously lapping his fingers clean, not bothering to make eye contact, absorbed in his meal, the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man says to you, in sirihish:
"Try enduring a week in an unlit cell."
Icily landing his gaze up at you, the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man asks you, in sirihish:
"My, you suddenly seem rather unafraid of me being .. whatever it is I`m accused of being. Why the sudden change of heart, my Lady?"
Still leaning against the doorframe in an elaborately casual pose, you ask the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man, in sirihish:
"So, have they said for what crime you are to be executed?"
Swiftly rising from his perch, the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man says to you, in sirihish:
"I`ve had enough of this talk."
The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man stands up from a circular-shaped green stone bathing tub.
Edgy, a short, tow-headed boy creeps into the room, then rushes towards a spiral-carved green stone incense burner with a small smoking lump.
The plump, prismatic-haired woman quickly untangles her arm from a hanging accessories rack and stands erect.
A puff of smoke issues forth from a spiral-carved green stone incense burner.
Racing, the small, tow-headed Fale boy races out into the hall, shrieking.
The plump, prismatic-haired woman makes an unobtrusive signal with two fingers toward the green-haired, green tattooed man.
The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man observes the doorway in which you stand, gauging the remaining space left.
The green-haired, green tattooed man draws a half-step nearer to you.
Eyebrows upraised, you ask the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man, in sirihish:
"Whatever are you staring at?"
The plump, prismatic-haired woman casts a glance over her shoulder toward the hallway.
Left hand held aloft, cradling his large tray, the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man says to you, in sirihish:
"I`m wondering if you`re going to let me pass, or if you`ve more insults to assail me with."
The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man says to you, in sirihish:
"Because if you`re quite finished, I think I`ll go seek more congenial company."
A puff of smoke issues forth from a spiral-carved green stone incense burner.
Tossing her head back to let a tinkling laugh spill forth, you say to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man, in sirihish:
"You are free to pass. Please do."
Clicking fingers, you say to the green-haired, green tattooed man, in sirihish:
"Come, Thialle is daunted by our presence."Small Hallway [NESW]
This narrow hallway stretches to the north and south, its floor and
walls constructed of sturdy agafari wood. The solid wood has been polished
to a lustrous glow. A purple glass lamp hangs from the western wall beside
a doorframe which shows signs of having been repaired. The floor seems to
have been polished, although a few scuff marks are evident, along with a
long skid that goes all the way up and down the hall. South of here, a
simple bathing chamber can be seen, and northward is a flight of stairs.
Lain side by side near the southern door are curly-toed embroidered slippers.
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man sends you a telepathic message:
"~condescendingly~ Predictable."You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man has arrived from the south.
The shapely, brunette young woman has arrived from the south.
Stabbing a finger in the air towards curly-toed embroidered slippers, the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man asks the shapely, brunette young woman, in sirihish:
"Uhatu, are those mine?"
Bobbing a rapid nod, staring vacantly at the slippers, the shapely, brunette young woman says, in sirihish:
"Yes, master, if you wish them."
The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man says to the shapely, brunette young woman, in sirihish:
"Fine, whatever. It isn`t as though I own anything anymore anyway. Having been robbed by a band of homonculi."
Wafting his naked hand through the air, the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man says to the shapely, brunette young woman, in sirihish:
"Bring them to me."
Returning to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man, the shapely, brunette young woman kneels and brings up a slipper, cupped in her hand.
Laughter spraying out, you say to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man, in sirihish:
"A band of what? What a lovely command of words you have. I have always admired that in you."
With a slight huff, the shapely, brunette young woman says, in sirihish:
"An advantage of education."
The shapely, brunette young woman looks up at the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man`s face, eyes wide and hopeful.
Blinking dully at you, the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man says to you, in sirihish:
"At least you`ve steered away from being predictable, my Lady."
Though her brow crinkles, the plump, prismatic-haired woman`s expression remains unperturbed, a flicker of amusement in her slate-grey eyes.
Blinking with exaggerated surprise, you ask the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man, in sirihish:
"Oh? How so?"
Contriving a fragile smile aimed upon her, the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man says to the shapely, brunette young woman, in sirihish:
"Quite right, my belonging, my pet."
The shapely, brunette young woman lets a smile of warmth cross her vacant face.
Lazing his shoulders in ascent, the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man says to you, in sirihish:
"Because I didn`t expect you to say something like that, naturally. Certainly not at this moment."
Lifting one shoulder with a silky slither, you say to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man, in sirihish:
"I have never been daunted about commenting on that which I admire."
Grasping the proffered slippers with one hand yet observing you, the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man says to you, in sirihish:
"Nevertheless, I didn`t see that one coming."
The shapely, brunette young woman twitches suddenly then shakes her head.
The shapely, brunette young woman gives her curly-toed embroidered slippers to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man.
The plump, prismatic-haired woman`s eyes narrow as she focusses on the shapely, brunette young woman briefly.
You think:
"She behaves as if in some sort of thrall."
Twisting the pair round in his hand ponderously, the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man says to the shapely, brunette young woman, in sirihish:
"My, these are better laundered than the ones I have on."
Stepping out of them and expecting the shapely, brunette young woman to retrieve them, the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man stops using his pair of black silk slippers.
Securing each on, one at a time with a wriggle of naked toes, the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man slips his feet into his curly-toed embroidered slippers.
The shapely, brunette young woman remains on one knee, head bowed before the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man.
Bleakly, the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man says to you, in sirihish:
"Homonculus, the word was homonculus."
Rolling a chubby, manicured finger toward him, you ask the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man, in sirihish:
"Oh, Thialle! Did you ... had you made any headway with contacting one of the Great Lords?"
The shapely, brunette young woman twitches suddenly then shakes her head.
The shapely, brunette young woman shakes slightly, smacking at the back of her neck before then pulling an ivory comb out of her belt.
The plump, prismatic-haired woman shoots the shapely, brunette young woman another quick, discreet glance.
Distractedly averting his gaze from where it had been, fixed on your hips, the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man asks you, in sirihish:
"Hmm? To what end?"
The shapely, brunette young woman moves around behind the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man, and begins to gently comb at the gnarled, damp silvery locks.
The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man inches his head to better accomodate the shapely, brunette young woman`s maneuvering of an ivory comb.
Beginning to sing ever-so-lightly, the shapely, brunette young woman continues to work the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man`s hair with tender, gentle strokes, working out the snarls.
Pressing her lips forward, an exasperated hiss of breath sounding, before quickly repressed, you say to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man, in sirihish:
"Why about the emerald, of course."
The shapely, brunette young woman shakes her foot suddenly.
Cocking his head sideways suggestively, streams of hair drawn through the teeth of her comb, the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man says to you, in sirihish:
"In a manner of speaking, I did."
The shapely, brunette young woman stomps briefly downward, her sound muffled by the carpeting as she continues to work the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man`s hair.
Spoken over his right shoulder, the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man asks the shapely, brunette young woman, in sirihish:
"You`re still.. itchy, aren`t you?"
Looking frightened, the shapely, brunette young woman exclaims, in sirihish:
"It`s not my fault! It`s this terrible place, master!"
Turning further to address her in coaxing, sweet tones, the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man says to the shapely, brunette young woman, in sirihish:
"I know, my pet. I know. I had terrible itches -- no, downright painful ones, right before I was incarcerated."
Chuckling quietly, her accustomed smile plumping at her cheeks, you say to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man, in sirihish:
"And please do tell me of the manner? And do summon forth some deliciously eloquent words to describe its manner."
The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man says to the shapely, brunette young woman, in sirihish:
"Middle Nobles were never very good at quarantining out pests and vermin from their estates."
Slapping one thigh agitatedly with her hand, her smile growing taut, you ask the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man, in sirihish:
"Thialle, the manner of speaking?"
As she continues to groom the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man, the shapely, brunette young woman says, in sirihish:
"The Senior Lady once said to me that Fale is wonderful because Fale lets all the proper born and loyal houses know precisely how to not act, master."
Returning his focus of coal-dark orbs upon you, the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man asks you, in sirihish:
"Oh, the emerald was it?"
With a backwards swat of his hand behind him, the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man says to the shapely, brunette young woman, in sirihish:
"Hush, Uhatu."
The shapely, brunette young woman melodramatically ducks the back-swatted hand, and continues to groom at the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man`s hair, resuming her humming.
Tittering softly, her gaze shooting past him to the shapely, brunette young woman, you say to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man, in sirihish:
"Do you spend time tutoring her in things to pop out with at odd moments? Some sort of signal you give to let her know which statement? How very clever of you."
Shrugging as he towers before her, undergoing her grooming, the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man says to you, in sirihish:
"Sometimes I do indeed puppeteer her every reply to enhance my own words. As fate would have it, she`s acting of her own accord right now."
The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man says to the shapely, brunette young woman, in sirihish:
"Uhatu, find Lapitia`s mind."
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
The shapely, brunette young woman nods towards the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man.
Frowning at him, you ask the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man, in sirihish:
"What is your game?"
Canting his head leftward with an expansive spill of hair, the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man says to you, in sirihish:
"Oh come, it isn`t as though I pretend to know yours, Lapitia."
The shapely, brunette young woman peeks briefly out from behind the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man, continuing to groom.
Strolling over to the staircase, placing a hand on the large knob at the end of the balustrade, you ask the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man, in sirihish:
"Well, I suppose it matters not what -your- game is, does it? Since I seem to hold all the cards, as it were?"
The shapely, brunette young woman sends you a telepathic message:
"*a mental projection of pure animalistic lust and a satisfaction of being. A sensation of being bent forward and used carnally by the silver-haired man standing in front of her*"
Twin moles elevating as he shifts his eyebrows queryingly, the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man asks you, in sirihish:
"You do?"
Her nose crinkling delicately, you say to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man, in sirihish:
"How disgusting."
The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man asks you, in sirihish:
"How is that question disgusting?"
Eagerly downing as much as his mouth can accomodate in one gulp, the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man drinks water from his purple-tinted goblet.
Flicking her hand up from the balustrade, turning on a booted heel, you say to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man, in sirihish:
"You have gone too far."
Clicking fingers to one side, the plump, prismatic-haired woman strides down the hallway.
Wetting his lips clean, the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man says to you, in sirihish:
"I don`t understand."
[Lapitia leaves Thialle in the hallway and goes for the main part of the mansion.]
You hear a man`s voice shout from the south in sirihish:
"Lapitia, wait!"
You search through an etched, amethyst key-ring, looking for the key.
You unlock the door with a key of faceted amethyst glass. - *click*
You lock the door with a key of faceted amethyst glass. - *click*
****
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man sends you a telepathic message:
"Lord Templar Samos was suspiciously curious at why you might be interested. I had ensured him it was only due to its colour."
Snapping out her words through clenched lips, you say to the green-haired, green tattooed man, in sirihish:
"Instruct all the Warwhatsits, indeed, all the staff to be wary when they open any of the doors into the private wing."
You contact the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man with the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man:
"I had not known that Lord Samos had been elevated to the position of Great Lord. I really must send him my congratulations, along with a nice gift."You dissolve the psychic link.
You build a psychic barrier around your mind.
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
You think:
"How truly disgusting an image that was."
You think:
"I feel quite ill now."
[She gets some food to settle her stomach and takes it out to the garden.]
****
Your psychic barrier is crushed!
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man sends you a telepathic message:
"You didn`t think I actually knew any Reds personally? Of course I inquired through him."
You contact the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man with the Way.
The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man sends you a telepathic message:
"You are so versed in satisfying me one moment, then turning me despondant and crestfallen the next, Lapitia."
You send a telepathic message to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man:
"Ceylara was personally acquainted with many."
The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man sends you a telepathic message:
"Well as fate would have it, my name is not Ceylara."
The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man sends you a telepathic message:
"Thank Tektolnes!"
You send a telepathic message to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man:
"Please do have your nasty little toy withdraw her mind from mine."
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
You send a telepathic message to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man:
"I am still nauseated by the lingering image."
The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man sends you a telepathic message:
"She really is acting of her own accord, my Lady Wife. Would you like me to have her punished?"
You send a telepathic message to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man:
"Yes."
The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man sends you a telepathic message:
"Fine. Now, might I inveigle you to an uninterupted conversation?"
The plump, prismatic-haired woman takes up a wooden spoon from the plate on her lap and then attacks your stuffed ginka fruit.
Jabbing up an overflowing spoonful, you eat part of your stuffed ginka fruit.
You send a telepathic message to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man:
"To what end, Thialle?"
The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man sends you a telepathic message:
"Lapitia, honestly."
You send a telepathic message to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man:
"I shall be very busy for the next while giving instructions for the lovely, intimate meal with Lord Samos that has been postponed too many times now."
You dissolve the psychic link.
You build a psychic barrier around your mind.
You lock the door with a key of faceted amethyst glass. - *click*
You say, in sirihish:
"This way, Chaiten."A Small Purple Tiled Bathing Chamber [N]
Small pieces of purple tile, spotted with green, have been laid together
to cover the floor and walls of this room. A tiny windowed alcove...
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...Songs of the Ghost of Gol Krathu by Djamel
Added on Nov 30, 2008An undertuluki "patron" has hired a pair of Poet's Circle bards, to formulate songs about what can only be called an "urban legend" of Tuluk. The bards gather to give him a private performance of their creations.
A Secluded Alcove [S]
Separated from the main room by a curtain of beaded fringe, this booth
provides a small measure of privacy. The haze of sweet spice smoke mixed
with the exotic seasonings of the food combine in an aroma that is almost
intoxicating by itself. Benches made of thickly stuffed, dun-colored tandu
leather line each side of this booth and a sturdy table made of thick cylini
planks stands between them. The walls behind the benches are covered with a
worn sandcloth tapestry depicting a raging sandstorm on one side and a wagon
caravan on the other. Hanging from the wall in between is the bleached
skull of some large grasslands creature.
The wrinkly, long-armed dwarf is standing here.
The svelte, loreshi-tressed woman is standing here.The wrinkly, long-armed dwarf moves to a baobab booth.
The svelte, loreshi-tressed woman closes the curtain.
The wrinkly, long-armed dwarf sits on a baobab booth, plopping down.
The wrinkly, long-armed dwarf asks, in northern-accented sirihish:
"Aright... which one of ya wanna go first?"The svelte, loreshi-tressed woman looks down at you.
Grinning, you ask, in sirihish:
"Ladies first?"The wrinkly, long-armed dwarf nods.
The wrinkly, long-armed dwarf shifts his attention to the svelte, loreshi-tressed woman.
Shrugging her shoulders, the svelte, loreshi-tressed woman says, in northern-accented sirihish:
"Why not."The svelte, loreshi-tressed woman opens a battered, hard-shelled leather instrument case.
The svelte, loreshi-tressed woman gets a simple gith-skull drum from a battered, hard-shelled leather instrument case.
The svelte, loreshi-tressed woman closes a battered, hard-shelled leather instrument case.
The svelte, loreshi-tressed woman holds a simple gith-skull drum.
The svelte, loreshi-tressed woman says, in northern-accented sirihish:
"At first I came up with something rather elaborate, then I realized that most people probably wouldn't understand the allusions, and it would be more difficult to remember."The svelte, loreshi-tressed woman says, in northern-accented sirihish:
"And then I scrapped that in favor of something a little more direct and simple."The wrinkly, long-armed dwarf rests both his hands on the head of his bone-pommeled agafari cane, centering it in front of himself as he nods.
The swarthy, hairy midget moves away from the center of the alcove, making space for the svelte, loreshi-tressed woman.
Thumping her fingers against the taut hide covering her simple gith-skull drum, producing a light, catchy rhythm, the svelte, loreshi-tressed woman sings, in northern-accented sirihish:
"It's guaranteed you'll never meet...Someone else quite as discrete..."Punctuating her words periodically with a slightly harder strike against her simple gith-skull drum's skin, the svelte, loreshi-tressed woman sings, in northern-accented sirihish:
"Sure and true of foot is he... He does not want, you will not see..."The swarthy, hairy midget taps his foot, following the svelte, loreshi-tressed woman's tune, without interfering in the performance.
Slapping her palm flatly against her simple gith-skull drum to produce a deeper sound, the svelte, loreshi-tressed woman sings, in northern-accented sirihish:
"When business comes, and you're in need... Just seek the Ghost and then take heed..."Thumping the tips of her fingers lightly against her simple gith-skull drum again, the svelte, loreshi-tressed woman sings, in northern-accented sirihish:
"He'll help you for a modest fee...And fit your needs right to a tee..."The wrinkly, long-armed dwarf quietly bobs his head to the beat as he watches the svelte, loreshi-tressed woman play.
Tapping out a more staccato rhythm against her simple gith-skull drum, the svelte, loreshi-tressed woman sings, in northern-accented sirihish:
"His Dead can also service you...He is the Ghost of Gol Krathu..."her Simple gith-skull drum thudding dully as she slaps her open palm against it, the svelte, loreshi-tressed woman sings, in northern-accented sirihish:
"When business comes, and you're in need...Just seek the Ghost, and then take heed."Resting her hand against her simple gith-skull drum's skin to silence it, the svelte, loreshi-tressed woman bows her head.
The wrinkly, long-armed dwarf smiles as his hands clap together very slowly.
The swarthy, hairy midget waits for the wrinkly, long-armed dwarf to react and then joins in the clapping.
The wrinkly, long-armed dwarf says to the svelte, loreshi-tressed woman, in northern-accented sirihish:
"Short, to the point."The svelte, loreshi-tressed woman opens a battered, hard-shelled leather instrument case.
The svelte, loreshi-tressed woman puts a simple gith-skull drum inside a battered, hard-shelled leather instrument case.
The svelte, loreshi-tressed woman closes a battered, hard-shelled leather instrument case.
The wrinkly, long-armed dwarf nods a few times, shifting his gaze to you.
The swarthy, hairy midget nods silently, moving into the svelte, loreshi-tressed woman's spot.
The svelte, loreshi-tressed woman steps aside.
With a wide grin, the wrinkly, long-armed dwarf says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
"Yer on shorty."Clearing his throat, you exclaim, in sirihish:
"Pleasure!"The swarthy, hairy midget breathes in, closing his eyes for a moment.
In a soft, hiss of a tone, expanding his chest as he takes in a breath, you say, in sirihish:
"Dark as deepest shade of night,"You say, in sirihish:
"His very presence met with fright,"Raising a finger, you say, in sirihish:
"Stalking those who carry a light,"Smiling, you exclaim, in sirihish:
"Never known to loose a fight!"Shaking his head, you say, in sirihish:
"People dont know when he's near,"You say, in sirihish:
"Always thinking of him with fear,"You say, in sirihish:
"Killing ones that we hold dear,"You say, in sirihish:
"Never has his eyes felt tear."In a hushed tone now, you say, in sirihish:
"Assassin, whose name is lost,"You say, in sirihish:
"His love for the "game" never exhaust,"You say, in sirihish:
"For the thrill-of-the-kill, caring most,"The wrinkly, long-armed dwarf nods slowly as he regards you.
With narrowed, menacing eyes, chanting now, you say, in sirihish:
"Emotionless, fallen Ghost."You say, in sirihish:
"The Ghost of Gol Krathu is his name,"You say, in sirihish:
"And his band following in his fame,"You say, in sirihish:
"The Dead calling out in his name,"You say, in sirihish:
"Your life, death? Never will be the same."In a chanting tone now singing the chorus, you sing, in sirihish:
"Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide,"You sing, in sirihish:
"The Ghost and his Dead have never been denied,"You sing, in sirihish:
"Whether in Tuluk topside or underside,"Bowing as he spreads his ends, you sing, in sirihish:
"Your only way out is to be with him allied!"The wrinkly, long-armed dwarf grins, chuckling mildly to himself.
The wrinkly, long-armed dwarf pinches his chin, glancing at the svelte, loreshi-tressed woman thoughtfully.
The wrinkly, long-armed dwarf shifts his gaze from the svelte, loreshi-tressed woman back to you.
The wrinkly, long-armed dwarf says, in northern-accented sirihish:
"Hmm... both are real good."The swarthy, hairy midget smirks at the wrinkly, long-armed dwarf.
The wrinkly, long-armed dwarf says, in northern-accented sirihish:
"I liked both."Glancing at the svelte, loreshi-tressed woman, the wrinkly, long-armed dwarf says, in northern-accented sirihish:
"But I liked your's just a little bit more."Hopping down, the wrinkly, long-armed dwarf stands up from a baobab booth.
Her dark brows rising, the svelte, loreshi-tressed woman says to the wrinkly, long-armed dwarf, in northern-accented sirihish:
"Oh... Thank you."The wrinkly, long-armed dwarf exclaims, in northern-accented sirihish:
"But!"The wrinkly, long-armed dwarf says, in northern-accented sirihish:
"I think I'm gunna use both songs."Chuckling, you exclaim to the wrinkly, long-armed dwarf, in sirihish:
"Ahhhh, here's the But!"The wrinkly, long-armed dwarf asks, in northern-accented sirihish:
"Either of you willing to perform it?"Looking to you, the svelte, loreshi-tressed woman says, in northern-accented sirihish:
"A very big But indeed."The wrinkly, long-armed dwarf says, in northern-accented sirihish:
"I'll pay for each performance."The swarthy, hairy midget laughs heartily, twisting around to glance down at his butt.
The svelte, loreshi-tressed woman nods.
The wrinkly, long-armed dwarf reaches under his his hooded, sandy-brown dustcloak, pulling two large pouches from his ebony pouched belt.
The wrinkly, long-armed dwarf gives some coins to the svelte, loreshi-tressed woman.
The svelte, loreshi-tressed woman says to the wrinkly, long-armed dwarf, in northern-accented sirihish:
"Thank you."Accepting the pouch, you say to the wrinkly, long-armed dwarf, in sirihish:
"Generous of you mate, I appreciate it."The wrinkly, long-armed dwarf says to the svelte, loreshi-tressed woman, in northern-accented sirihish:
"That's including the original fee, I don't think I paid you fer that."Hefting the pouch in his hand, you ask the wrinkly, long-armed dwarf, in sirihish:
"What do you propose to pay for live performances Driggs?"With a shake of your head, the svelte, loreshi-tressed woman says to the wrinkly, long-armed dwarf, in northern-accented sirihish:
"No, I just assumed you were going to give it at once."The svelte, loreshi-tressed woman opens a bone-framed, double strapped coin belt.
The wrinkly, long-armed dwarf says, in northern-accented sirihish:
"I got some business, we'll talk about preformaces later when I get some things figured out."The svelte, loreshi-tressed woman puts a pile of allanaki coins inside a bone-framed, double strapped coin belt.
The swarthy, hairy midget nods and raises your dark-oiled, jade-headed cane, touching it to his forehead.The wrinkly, long-armed dwarf says to the svelte, loreshi-tressed woman, in northern-accented sirihish:
"Ok, you don't have to perform it. Just asking ya if you're willing to perform it"The wrinkly, long-armed dwarf says to the svelte, loreshi-tressed woman, in northern-accented sirihish:
"I'll take that as a no."The svelte, loreshi-tressed woman says to the wrinkly, long-armed dwarf, in northern-accented sirihish:
"I can arrange for it to be sung in public occasionally by others as well."The wrinkly, long-armed dwarf says to the svelte, loreshi-tressed woman, in northern-accented sirihish:
"Oh? that sounds excellent."A smile touching her lips, the svelte, loreshi-tressed woman says to the wrinkly, long-armed dwarf, in northern-accented sirihish:
"I've a few friends who love to do street performance."The wrinkly, long-armed dwarf says to the svelte, loreshi-tressed woman, in northern-accented sirihish:
"Good, that'd work well."You say to the wrinkly, long-armed dwarf, in sirihish:
"And with both Tammani and me, and some other street performers all doing it, no one will trace it...."The wrinkly, long-armed dwarf says, in northern-accented sirihish:
"We'll talk about it later, I'm sure you two got things to go to and such, I won't keep ya."You say to the wrinkly, long-armed dwarf, in sirihish:
"Aye, till later then."The wrinkly, long-armed dwarf shrugs his stocky shoulders.
The svelte, loreshi-tressed woman says to the wrinkly, long-armed dwarf, in northern-accented sirihish:
"It has been a pleasure."The wrinkly, long-armed dwarf nods to you and the svelte, loreshi-tressed woman.
The wrinkly, long-armed dwarf moves to the curtain.
The wrinkly, long-armed dwarf walks south.
A Secluded Alcove [S]
Separated from the main room by a curtain of beaded fringe, this booth
provides a small measure of privacy. The haze of sweet spice smoke mixed
with the exotic seasonings of the food combine in an aroma that is almost
intoxicating by itself. Benches made of thickly...
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...The Golden Kank, Part 1 by Tortall
Added on Oct 23, 2008Lady Kelbina Fale has been visiting with Pertarius Borsail. He thinks Fale is little more that commoners, and she is arguing with him. While they speak she sees something odd...
You think:
"If me leaves me in here I shall never forgive him."You think:
"Actually I probably will."The tiny, gold-purple haired woman sighs softly.
Noble's Quarters [W]
Lavish drapes of linen highlighted by strips of satin frame the two large
windows in the starboard wall, while a pair of heavy shutters can be swung
closed for protection. Lush curtains partition the room into three sections,
each with a wide, low-set bed, a small chiffarobe, and its own decoration.
Silk-covered pillows line the base of the remaining wall, more for style
than practicality.
A leather-strapped, rich purple satchel is here sitting atop the cloak.
A purple and green silk cloak bearing the Fale sigil is here tossed casually over a pillow in a corner.The blocky, rawboned man has arrived from the west.
The blocky, rawboned man walks over toward a row of silken pillows, extending his wyvern and scorpion-etched wineglass out to you.
The blocky, rawboned man sits down to rest, upon a silk-covered pillow.
The blocky, rawboned man holds a wyvern and scorpion-etched wineglass.
The blocky, rawboned man sips from the glass.
The tiny, gold-purple haired woman nods to the blocky, rawboned man, smiling as she bring the wineglass to her lips.
You hold the glass.
This tastes like strongly spiced brandy.
The blocky, rawboned man closely eyes you.
Furrowing his thick brows as he reaches out to graze your cheek with his fingertips, the blocky, rawboned man says to you, in sirihish:
"You are such a beautiful woman, Kelbina."Her eyes meeting the blocky, rawboned man's, you ask the blocky, rawboned man, in sirihish:
"Then why do you insist I call you Lord Commander when I have been calling you Lord Pretarius?"The blocky, rawboned man says to you, in sirihish:
"I preferred the formality, and it would serve to let a certain person think a certain way about my affiliation with you."Frowning deeply, the blocky, rawboned man says to you, in sirihish:
"Now why did you.. you prefer the company of that man Amos, over mine."The blocky, rawboned man exclaims to you, in sirihish:
"One could hardly even call him a man!"Simply, you say to the blocky, rawboned man, in sirihish:
"He likes to laugh, and doesn't glare at me when I flirt with him in public."Grinning slightly, you say, in sirihish:
"And he likes shopping."The blocky, rawboned man shifts on his pillow, his face reddening as he brings his wyvern and scorpion-etched wineglass to his lips.
The blocky, rawboned man drinks spice brandy from a wyvern and scorpion-etched w
ineglass.The blocky, rawboned man says to you, in sirihish:
"He is commoner filth, and consistently late, and far too feminine."The blocky, rawboned man smacks his lips loudly, peering into his wyvern and sco
rpion-etched wineglass.Shaking a white-knuckled fist, the blocky, rawboned man exclaims to you, in siri
hish:
"I am Borsail! I expect more than his half-assed service!"The blocky, rawboned man stops using a wyvern and scorpion-etched wineglass.
A golden kank prances behind the blocky, rawboned man and waves its pinchers.
The blocky, rawboned man sets his wyvern and scorpion-etched wineglass down upon the floor.
Raising her voice slightly, you say to the blocky, rawboned man, in sirihish:
"He can not help if the crafters are slow......"The tiny, gold-purple haired woman blinks, looking around.
The blocky, rawboned man drops a wyvern and scorpion-etched wineglass.
The blocky, rawboned man's face swirls into a green and purple mirage, before turning normal again.
The blocky, rawboned man says to you, in sirihish:
"And you, you believe you can mock my title, and get away with it."A golden kank waves its pinchers and giggles, nibbling on the blocky, rawboned man's hair.
Blinking a few times before glaring at him, you say to the blocky, rawboned man,
in sirihish:
"I have never mocked your title. I simply never liked calling you by it. It made me feel like I was employed under you, which I am not."Continuing, you exclaim to the blocky, rawboned man, in sirihish:
"You may not see us Fales as equals, but we are pretty Krath darned close!"A golden kank nods agreeably, turning and prancing off.
The tiny, gold-purple haired woman's eyes bulge as she stares at the blocky, rawboned man's head.
Lips twisting into a sneer, the blocky, rawboned man asks you, in sirihish:
"How -dare- you say something like that?"Still staring intently at the top of his head, you ask the blocky, rawboned man, in sirihish:
"Uh, what?"A tiny cockroach scuttles over the blocky, rawboned man's shoulder, pausing to wave.
A tiny cockroach scuttles down the blocky, rawboned man's arm beneath his shirt.
Narrowing his eyes, the blocky, rawboned man asks you, in sirihish:
"What are you looking at?"The tiny, gold-purple haired woman screams, her eyes on the blocky, rawboned man's arm as she scrambles backwards.
The blocky, rawboned man turns an incredulous look down on his arm.
A tiny cockroach scuttles back up the blocky, rawboned man's shoulder and looks at you, screaming.
A tiny cockroach giggles and scurries off, dissolving.
The tiny, gold-purple haired woman yelps.
You say, in sirihish:
"IT'S A ROACH! IT-"
Frowning, you say, in sirihish:
"it's gone."
The blocky, rawboned man's fatty lips twitch as he slowly rises to his feet.
You say to the blocky, rawboned man, in sirihish:
"I didn't know roaches could giggle."
The blocky, rawboned man rises from the ground, and clambers to his feet.
You feel a tingling sensation in your head, which slowly clears.The tiny, gold-purple haired woman frowns, rubbing her head.
Scowling, the blocky, rawboned man says to you, in sirihish:
"On your knees, and kiss my boots madwoman."
Faintly, you say to the blocky, rawboned man, in sirihish:
"I think someone was messing with my mind..."
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
The purple-dreadlocked, dark-skinned woman(guard) sends you a telepathic message:
"The gardener here is rather cute...although I'd rather be smoking spice. *laughs warmly*"
The purple-dreadlocked, dark-skinned woman(guard) sends you a telepathic message:
"*musingly* Are you having fun? I hope so... because this is boring."
The tiny, gold-purple haired woman giggles.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You are unable to reach their mind.The blocky, rawboned man says to you, in sirihish:
"You Fales have never been very sound of mind."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You are unable to reach their mind.The purple-dreadlocked, dark-skinned woman sends you a telepathic message:
"I'll just pick on Chaiten...*giggles*"
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
Sighing as she pushes to her feet, you exclaim to the blocky, rawboned man, in sirihish:"I mean I think something -else- was messing with my mind... There was a golden kank dancing behind you, and then a roach was crawling on your shoulder and down your arm!"
Scowling down on you, the blocky, rawboned man asks you, in sirihish:"Didn't you hear me, girl?"
Lifting an eyebrow, you ask the blocky, rawboned man, in sirihish:
"About kissing your boots?"
You say to the blocky, rawboned man, in sirihish:"I shall not do anything of the sort. Furthermore, I am not one of your guards that you can order around."
Turning his back to you as he reaches under his black silk robe, the blocky, rawboned man says to you, in sirihish:"No, of course not."
Quietly, you say to the blocky, rawboned man, in sirihish:
"I did not mean to offent or mock your title with the way I said it. If it sounded like that I apologize."
His large hand stilling under his black silk robe, the blocky, rawboned man says to you, in sirihish:
"You should have known. Known not to insult, and better respect your betters."
Sharply, the blocky, rawboned man says to you, in sirihish:
"Do as I told you, Kelbina! With how often you flap your tongue, your words have no meaning to me."
Calmly, you say to the blocky, rawboned man, in sirihish:"I am sorry Lord Commander, but I will not kiss your boots. Although Fale is only a Middle House, it is still a House."
The blocky, rawboned man draws a chitin-bladed khopesh longknife.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You are unable to reach their mind.The blocky, rawboned man whirls around to face you, jabbing his chitin-bladed khopesh longknife out into the air.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the purple-dreadlocked, dark-skinned woman with the Way.The blocky, rawboned man exclaims to you, in sirihish:
"I won't be denied, Kelbina!"
The use of the Way drains you.
The use of the Way drains you.
Your vision goes black.You can not maintain your psionic contact.
Someone stares down on you, exhaling loudly as he lowers his chitin-bladed khopesh longknife.
Someone makes his way toward someone with you stretched between his arms.Your head clears and your eyes flutter open.
The tiny, gold-purple haired woman groans softly, her eyes half-open.
The Waiting Room [NSU]The glossy russet tiles of the floor and white stuccoed walls
brighten the character of this waiting room outside the Borsail office.
A lavish tapestry covers much of the eastern wall, rising above a low
table and collection of chairs extending from the southeastern corner.
Tall, shuttered windows admit cool drafts of air, while turning the
crimson sun aside from the elegant jade statues upon pedestals close by.
Narrow stairs ascend from the guard station in the northwestern
corner, and broad doors lead north to the estate's gates outside and
south into the office.
A somber sentry of House Borsail stands here, relaying messages.
The purple-dreadlocked, dark-skinned woman is standing here.
The green-haired, green tattooed man is here, watching the area carefully.
Peering down on you, the blocky, rawboned man asks you, in sirihish:"Are you alright?"
The tiny, gold-purple haired woman blinks at the blocky, rawboned man.
The blocky, rawboned man releases you, and you immediately move away.The blocky, rawboned man sets you on your feet gently.
Griping his arm as she steadies herself, you say to the blocky, rawboned man, in sirihish:"Um, I think so..."
The blocky, rawboned man says to you, in sirihish:
"I believe your men here, can help you to your Estate."
The blocky, rawboned man says to you, in sirihish:"Perhaps you should get some rest.."
The tiny, gold-purple haired woman nods lightly to the blocky, rawboned man.
The purple-dreadlocked, dark-skinned woman quickly moves over to you, taking her arm gently.
The blocky, rawboned man clasps his hands at his rear.
Quietly, you say to the blocky, rawboned man, in sirihish:
"I'm sorry for what's been said here today."
The blocky, rawboned man nods wordlessly to you.Straightening, you ask the blocky, rawboned man, in sirihish:
"Show me out, if you would?"
[She leaves the estate with her two guards, leaving one to go about his business, the other to accompany her to her room...]A Bedroom [W]
The tiny, gold-purple haired woman groans.
Lowing herself onto a four-poster agafari wood bed, you ask the purple-dreadlocked, dark-skinned woman, in sirihish:
"Thank you, if you'll wait outside my rooms please?"
The tiny, gold-purple haired woman turns over in a four-poster agafari wood bed, mumbling to herself.
Sitting up suddenly, you exclaim, in sirihish:
"My cloak and satchel!!"
The tiny, gold-purple haired woman stumbles out of a four-poster agafari wood bed, throwing open the door.
Upstairs Hallway [ESWD]
You exclaim to the purple-dreadlocked, dark-skinned woman, in sirihish:
"All my stuff! It's in the Borsail estate!"
The tiny, gold-purple haired woman grips the doorframe, swaying slightly.
Lifting a free hand to her head, you say to the purple-dreadlocked, dark-skinned woman, in sirihish:"Would you ask Waesnert or Larielle to speak with Lord Pretarius? I... I don't think I can talk
with him any time soon."
A Bedroom [W][She lays down for a while and then gets up....]
Templars' Way [NES]
You exclaim to the human soldier, in sirihish:
"Excuse me!"
You say to the human soldier, in sirihish:
"Have you seen a templar about? I wish to speak to one if possible...."
The human soldier walks south.The tiny, gold-purple haired woman rolls her eyes.
[She walks to...]
'The Trader's Inn' [WU]
You sit down at a large round table in the center of the room.
You feel a slight tingling sensation in your head.
[She begins walking again...]Meleth's Circle [NE]
You feel a slight tingling sensation in your mind.
The tiny, gold-purple haired woman frowns, rubbing her head.Caravan Road [EW]
A golden kank trots in front of you, clacking its pinchers.
The tiny, gold-purple haired woman yelps, looking around.
A golden kank yelps, looking around, clacking its pinchers.
A golden kank stops and faces you, giggling.
Blinking at a golden kank, you ask, in sirihish:"You! How did you get in there with out Lord Pretarius seeing you?"
A golden kank giggles and turns, clacking its pinchers wildly and racing off.
You think:
"I must be losing my mind."
You think:
"No more spice."
[She contunes walking...]
The Gladiator and the Gaj Tavern -- Main Room [NES]
You ask the petite, honey-haired young woman, in sirihish:
"Pearl! Can I sit?"
The dark, cold-eyed man says to the petite, honey-haired young woman, in sirihish:
"I hope you get it back then."
Standing and curtsying to you before reseating herself, the petite, honey-haired young woman says, in sirihish:
"Of course, my lady."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Get back what?"
The dark, cold-eyed man looks down at you.
At your table, the petite, honey-haired young woman says in sirihish, glancing at her hands:"Just that my face wrapping that belonged to Lord Ihsahn was stolen."
The dark, cold-eyed man moves back over to the table and offers you a bow.At your table, you say in sirihish, frowning:
"How horrible."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"It's not even worth all that much."
At your table, the petite, honey-haired young woman says in sirihish, nodding:
"The thief is in jail though, and he says if he gets out he'll sell it back to me."
At your table, you say in sirihish, smiling at the petite, honey-haired young woman:"That's good... Ah, you haven’t seen a golden kank around... Have you?"
At your table, the petite, honey-haired young woman says in sirihish, blinking at you:
"You lost a golden kank?"
The dark, cold-eyed man moves over beside the petite, honey-haired young woman and stands quietly.
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Nooo, but there was a golden kank... And it -waved- to me."
At your table, you say in sirihish, frowning:
"And played with Lord Pretarius's hair."
The petite, honey-haired young woman says to the dark, cold-eyed man, in sirihish:
"Cestian? You don't have to stand there..."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"And it -giggled-!"
The petite, honey-haired young woman blinks at you.
At your table, the petite, honey-haired young woman says in sirihish:
"You were smoking spice, weren't you?"
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"And that was at the Borsail estate... There was also a roach on Lord Pretarius's shoulder... But he didn't even notice it!"
At your table, you say in sirihish, shaking her head:"No, I havn't smoked anything in over a month!"
The petite, honey-haired young woman covers her mouth with her hand.
You feel your chair shaking beneath you.
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"I was just walking down the road to come here, and saw the kank again!"
At your table, you say in sirihish, rubbing her head:
"And my head keeps feeling funny."
The dark, cold-eyed man slides into a seat.
The dark, cold-eyed man sits down at a bare agafari table.
At your table, the petite, honey-haired young woman says in sirihish, glancing to you:
"Are you sure you're not ill?"
A tiny cockroach scurries up the petite, honey-haired young woman's arm and waves to you.
At your table, you say in sirihish, chewing on her lower lip nervously:
"I hope not."
A tiny cockroach jumps down and scurries across the floor.
A golden kank trots into the room and over to the bar, standing on its back legs and looking around.
Pointing twards a long, scarred bar of agafari wood, you exclaim, in sirihish:
"There it is!!"
The petite, honey-haired young woman blinks at you.
The petite, honey-haired young woman turns to stare at a long, scarred bar of agafari wood.
A golden kank clacks its pinchers and looks around the room.
The orange-eyed, blue-haired elf looks down at you.
The petite, honey-haired young woman says to you, in sirihish:
"My lady...that's just the bar."
You ask the petite, honey-haired young woman, in sirihish:
"No, no, it's standing -at- the bar! You don't see it?"
The petite, honey-haired young woman squints at a long, scarred bar of agafari wood.
The orange-eyed, blue-haired elf raises an eyebrow, looking around.
The huge and thin elf looks up to you and scratches his head.
The petite, honey-haired young woman asks you, in sirihish:
"My lady, have you been drinking?"
A golden kank lowers and trots next to the petite, honey-haired young woman, clacking its pinchers with a giggle.
You say to the petite, honey-haired young woman, in sirihish:
"Um... Lord Commander gave me some wine...."
You exclaim, in sirihish:
"EEK! LOOK OUT!"
You exclaim to the petite, honey-haired young woman, in sirihish:
"It's going to snap your head off!"
Frowning slightly to herself, the petite, honey-haired young woman says to you, in sirihish:
"Lady Kelbina...did you see this kank before then? No...its alright..its not there..."
A golden kank waves an antennae and giggles.
A golden kank says, in sirihish, "She's cute, but...not my type.."
Glancing to the dark, cold-eyed man, the petite, honey-haired young woman says, in sirihish:
"I don't even know who to call."
Frowning into your wyvern and scorpion-etched wineglass, you say to the petite, honey-haired young woman, in sirihish:"I think I saw it before I took a sip... But that's all I've have...."
To the air next to the petite, honey-haired young woman, you say, in sirihish:
"I should hope not."
A golden kank giggles and trots over to you, waving an antennae over the wineglass.
The petite, honey-haired young woman says to you, in sirihish:
"We'll take you to your estate. It can't go there.."
A golden kank says, in sirihish, "You would think the Borsails would have better wine. And he thinks he is above you... Ffft! Your brandy beats his any day."
Wailing, you exclaim to the petite, honey-haired young woman, in sirihish:
"Yes it can!"
The long haired, tall woman looks at you.
To the air next to herself, you exclaim, in sirihish:"He sure won't be getting any more of -that-!"
A golden kank nods emphatically, clacking its pinchers.
A golden kank giggles and turns, trotting out of the inn.
Looking over at you, the dark gray, indigo-haired elf slowly shakes his head.
The tiny, gold-purple haired woman blinks, gazing out the door.
Calling out to the tavern, the husky, spike-haired man says, in sirihish:
"If anyone is in need for some antipoison tablets, just come see me at the bar. Thirty sids to save your life."
You feel a slight tingling sensation in your head, which slowly dissapates.
The slender, glowing-eyed girl peers up at the purple-dreadlocked, dark-skinned woman as she combs through her hair, smirking lightly.
You say, in sirihish:
"It's gone."
The petite, honey-haired young woman rubs her forehead.
The purple-dreadlocked, dark-skinned woman stares down at the slender, glowing-eyed girl and returns the smirk amusedly.
You exclaim to the petite, honey-haired young woman, in sirihish:
"I think it's a mindbender!"
Nodding slowly, the petite, honey-haired young woman asks you, in sirihish:
"Lady Kelbina... I think maybe you should go home and rest a bit... the kank?"
The orange-eyed, blue-haired elf turns his head, looking at you.
The purple-dreadlocked, dark-skinned woman grins to herself and looks around the room.
The tall, azure-eyed man looks down at you.
Rubbing her head, you say to the petite, honey-haired young woman, in sirihish:"My head keeps tingeling when I see the kank and the roach..."
The petite, honey-haired young woman furrows her brow.
The angular-faced, slate-eyed man looks at the tall, azure-eyed man.
The slender, glowing-eyed girl shifts her gaze to you as she continues to comb through her hair and hum softly.
Nodding quietly, the petite, honey-haired young woman says to you, in sirihish:
"Then you need to report it to the templarate."
Moaning, you exclaim to the petite, honey-haired young woman, in sirihish:
"I can't find a templar!"
At your table, the dark, cold-eyed man says in sirihish:"M'lady, You're seeing things."
At your table, you say in sirihish, faintly:
"Yes, I belive I am...."
The petite, honey-haired young woman asks you, in sirihish:
"Tell Hacket. He's supposed to protect you, yes?"
At your table, you say in sirihish, pushing to her feet:
"I'm going to go back to Traders...."
The petite, honey-haired young woman nods at you.
The petite, honey-haired young woman says to you, in sirihish:"Be careful, my lady."
The tiny, gold-purple haired woman wonders in a daze out the door, prushing past the tarp.
You can't see a thing!
Terrible, biting sand whips around you.
You can't see a thing!You exclaim, in sirihish:
"Ha! Let's see the kank in -this- weather!"
Terrible, biting sand whips around you.
You can't see a thing!The tiny, gold-purple haired woman coughs and sputters as sand gets in her mouth.
You think:"Never talk in a sandstorm."
[She walks for a while...]'The Trader's Inn' [WU]
You dust yourself off.
You sit down at a large round table in the center of the room.
The tiny, gold-purple haired woman looks around nerviously.
You think:"I hope the kank doesn't come in here...."
You think:
"If me leaves me in here I shall never forgive him."You think:
"Actually I probably will."The tiny, gold-purple haired woman sighs softly.
Noble's Quarters [W]
Lavish drapes of linen highlighted by strips of satin frame the two large
windows in the starboard wall, while...
Continue Reading...This is a holdup!!! by Tarx
Added on Apr 20, 2008In Zalanthas, life sucks--and then someone tries to steal your sid.
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*****Working for House Kadius had its ups and downs, as this burgeoning merchant discovers.*****
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You think:
"Fuck storms. Always happening up here...why is it so bad here?"Terrible, biting sand whips around you.
You can't see a thing; sand swirls about you!You think:
"It's not fucking Red Storm."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 solemn, club-footed man limps slowly along here.
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 is here, seated at a large table, drinking ale.
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 figure in a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak has arrived from the north.
The figure in a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak starts cleaning.
The figure in a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak dusts herself off.
The figure in a burned drab, weathered stormcloak walks south.
Sighing as he sits back down at a boxy wooden bar, you say, in sirihish:
"Fuck tha'."You sit at a boxy wooden bar.
eq
You are using:
<worn on head> a dusty loose blue linen surmud
<worn about throat> a dusty water gourd
<worn across back> a dusty large chalton-hide backpack
<worn on torso> a trim cobalt vest
<worn on arms> a pair of blue and purple armbands
<worn around body> a dusty embroidered white crepe caftan
<worn on legs> a pair of blue linen pants
<worn on feet> a dusty pair of sandcloth and leather bootsYou start cleaning.
You dust yourself off.
The figure in a burned drab, weathered stormcloak has arrived from the south.
The figure in a burned drab, weathered stormcloak starts cleaning.
The figure in a burned drab, weathered stormcloak dusts herself off.
The figure in a burned drab, weathered stormcloak brushes her self off, sprinkling dust onto the floor.
The female wearing a burned thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap lowers the hood of a burned drab, weathered stormcloak.
The female wearing a burned thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap sits at a boxy wooden bar.
Tugging it down to her neck, the sinuous, olive-skinned woman stops using her burned thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap.
At your table, you say in sirihish, shifting his gaze to regard the sinuous, olive-skinned woman:
"Evenin'."
It is late at night on Yochem, the 161st day of the Low Sun,
In the Year of Jihae's Reverence, year 34 of the 21st Age.
At your table, the sinuous, olive-skinned woman says in sirihish:
"Evenin'."
At your table, the sinuous, olive-skinned woman says in sirihish, half-turning in her seat to look out at the plaza:
"Bad storm out there."
The tan, blonde man has arrived from the north.
At your table, you say in sirihish, with a half-hearted grunt:
"Yah. I noticed...got m' ass back in here."
At your table, the sinuous, olive-skinned woman says in sirihish:
"Yeah."
The tan, blonde man suddenly pulls out a crossbow.
The tan, blonde man exclaims, in sirihish:
"This is a holdup!"
The tan, blonde man exclaims, in sirihish:
"Hands in the air, packs on the ground!"
The sinuous, olive-skinned woman looks at you.
The sinuous, olive-skinned woman looks up at the tan, blonde man.
The tan, blonde man looks down at the sinuous, olive-skinned woman.
The tan, blonde man exclaims, in sirihish:
"I'm not messing around here!"
Pushing up from her seat, the sinuous, olive-skinned woman stands up from a boxy wooden bar.
The sinuous, olive-skinned woman draws an obsidian-headed polished-bone mace.
The sinuous, olive-skinned woman draws an obsidian halfsword.
The tan, blonde man steadies himself and takes aim.
The sinuous, olive-skinned woman narrowly avoids a dusty small cynipri crossbow fired by the tan, blonde man.
The sinuous, olive-skinned woman swiftly dodges the tan, blonde man's hits.
The sinuous, olive-skinned woman swiftly dodges the tan, blonde man's hits.
The tan, blonde man attempts to flee.
The tan, blonde man runs west.
The sinuous, olive-skinned woman walks west.
The sinuous, olive-skinned woman has arrived from the west.
The dusky, curly-haired man peers up towards the west with an incredulous expression on his face.
Scratching her head, the sinuous, olive-skinned woman says, in sirihish:
"Bizarre."You look up at the sinuous, olive-skinned woman.
A light, short scar marks the base of this woman's chin and extends
diagonally to just under her jaw. The rest of her face is comparatively
unremarkable, set with a small nose, dull brown eyes, high, stern-looking
cheek bones, and thin eyebrows. Well-groomed though unbound brown hair
falls down to the middle of her back, curled carefully behind her gently
pointed ears at the sides so as to be kept of her sight. Beneath her olive
skin is lean, sinuous musculature, conspiring with her slender frame to lend
her a fluid, graceful look.
The sinuous, olive-skinned woman is in excellent condition.The sinuous, olive-skinned woman is using:
<worn on head> a burned bone-studded leather cap
<worn in hair> a stiff, white-petalled flower
<worn in left ear> a rose-carved green marble earring
<worn in right ear> a rose-carved green marble earring
<worn around neck> a stiff, black-leather gorget
<worn about throat> a water gourd
<slung across back> a curving bone shortbow
<worn across back> a stained double-layered sandcloth pack
<worn on left shoulder> a stained orange cloth epaulette
<worn on arms> a pair of leather-reinforced sandcloth sleeves
<worn around wrist> a studded hide wrist-wrap
<worn around wrist> a studded hide wrist-wrap
<worn on hands> a bloodied pair of grey leather gloves
<primary hand> an obsidian-headed polished-bone mace
<secondary hand> an obsidian halfsword
<worn around body> a burned drab, weathered stormcloak
<worn on legs> a stained pair of leather-reinforced sandcloth leggings
<worn on feet> a pair of carru hide bootsShe is carrying:
nothing obvious
At your table, you say in sirihish, blinking:
"did...wh...did you kill him?"
Shaking her head, the sinuous, olive-skinned woman says, in sirihish:
"No. I don't know where he went."
You think:
"I'll find his ass."
The sinuous, olive-skinned woman sheathes an obsidian-headed polished-bone mace.
The sinuous, olive-skinned woman sheathes an obsidian halfsword.*****************************************************************************
*** Time passes ***
*****************************************************************************
At your table, you say in sirihish, frowning deeply:
"Hmm..."
The sinuous, olive-skinned woman sits at a boxy wooden bar.
At your table, you say in sirihish, frowning towards the sinuous, olive-skinned woman:
"I saw 'im run out inta the storm."
At your table, the sinuous, olive-skinned woman says in sirihish:
"You did?"A wide archway leads out onto a busy, dusty plaza.
[Very far]
The figure in a dusty set of hooded, silver-slashed robes is standing here.
The tanned, red-haired girl stumbles along here, looking unwell.
[Far]
A rag-clad elvish child runs along, playing with a ball.
A line of lizards is carved atop a red sandstone wall.
[Near]
A clay-stained human potter sits here on a woven mat of grass.
A lithe, obsidian-eyed woman lounges near the tavern entrance.
The figure in a dusty set of hooded, silver-slashed robes has arrived from the north.The figure in a dusty set of hooded, silver-slashed robes starts cleaning.
At your table, you say in sirihish, bobbing his head in agreement:
"Or at least, heard 'im. I dunno if ya ken jump offa th' balcony...but..."
The figure in a dusty set of hooded, silver-slashed robes dusts himself off.At your table, you say in sirihish, shrugging:
"'eard a clutter off t' the north. Figgered it might be him."
At your table, the sinuous, olive-skinned woman says in sirihish:
"Huh."
The figure in a set of hooded, silver-slashed robes steps further into the room and pulls a chair back from a broad table of scarred agafari wood.
The figure in a set of hooded, silver-slashed robes sits at a broad table of scarred agafari wood.
At your table, you say in sirihish, sighing:
"Didja get a good look at 'im?"
At your table, the sinuous, olive-skinned woman says in sirihish:
"Yeah. Blue eyes, crooked nose, light hair."
At your table, the sinuous, olive-skinned woman says in sirihish:
"Fairly non-descript, otherwise."
You think:
"I wonder..."
At your table, you say in sirihish, rubbing at his temples as he glances down to a stone-tipped bone bolt:
"Shit. Think we shoul' find a templar's mind?"
The sinuous, olive-skinned woman stands up from a boxy wooden bar.
The sinuous, olive-skinned woman picks up a stone-tipped bone bolt.
It is before dawn on Huegel, the 162nd day of the Low Sun,
In the Year of Jihae's Reverence, year 34 of the 21st Age.
The sinuous, olive-skinned woman sits at a boxy wooden bar.
At your table, the sinuous, olive-skinned woman says in sirihish, looking her stone-tipped bone bolt over:
"If you know any."
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.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You are unable to reach their mind.You think:
"Well fuck, come on. Templarate? Heeeeello?"
You are unable to reach their mind.You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar with the Way.
The sinuous, olive-skinned woman stands up from a boxy wooden bar.
The sinuous, olive-skinned woman peers around at the crowd.
The sinuous, olive-skinned woman intently scans the area.
The sinuous, olive-skinned woman stands at a boxy wooden bar.
The sinuous, olive-skinned woman leans her hip against the a boxy wooden bar.
Pulling it up to her nose, the sinuous, olive-skinned woman places her burned thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap onto her
face.At your table, the female wearing a burned thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap says in sirihish, with a smirk:
"Ah well. This bolt'll sell for at least twenty 'sid."You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar:
"There's a fella out running around trying to rob people!"
At your table, you say in sirihish, touching his temples with one hand:
"Foun' a templar...yanno, th' one stationed on Caravan Way. Jus' east o' the Gaj? Mebbe we can go explain things up t' them."You dissolve the psychic link.
The female wearing a burned thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap says to you, in sirihish:
"Really? Yeah, alright."
The female wearing a burned thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap says to you, in sirihish:
"I think the man was just crazy, personally. It may not be worth the time of the templarate ... but who knows."
The female wearing a burned thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap raises the hood of a burned drab, weathered stormcloak.
The figure in a burned drab, weathered stormcloak asks you, in sirihish:
"Does he have time to talk to us?"
The tall, brutish man has arrived from the west.You stand up from a boxy wooden bar.
Shrugging, you say, in sirihish:
"Not sure. We ken try."It is dawn on Huegel, the 162nd day of the Low Sun,
In the Year of Jihae's Reverence, year 34 of the 21st Age.
The figure in a burned drab, weathered stormcloak falls in behind you.******************************************
****They walk to where the templar is.****
******************************************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 auburn-haired, blue-robed templar is standing here.
The thick-limbed, leather-skinned dwarf drags a cart behind him here.
The figure in a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak has arrived from the east.
The figure in a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak whispers to you, in sirihish:
"I think you should probably do the talking."The dusky, curly-haired man nods to the figure in a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak, clearing his throat and bowing
towards the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar.
You look up at the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar.
Long locks of auburn-brown hair adorn this human woman's head, falling to
the small of her back. Her face is dainty and elegantly-lined, with high
cheekbones and thin, dark brown eyebrows. Her pale gray eyes survey her
surroundings, at the same time somehow seeming melancholy and devoid of
emotion. Her shoulders are fairly broad, and her frame appears athletic,
though not heavy or particularly muscular.
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar is in excellent condition.The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar is using:
<worn on head> a blue silk hood
<worn in hair> a painted bone hairclasp
<worn around neck> a medallion of Tektolnes
<worn across back> an oversized black backpack
<worn around wrist> a grey granite bracelet
<worn around wrist> a thin, carved, white marble bracelet
<worn on right finger> a silver and marble signet ring
<worn on left finger> an obsidian templar ring
<worn around body> a blue, hooded templar's robe
<worn on legs> a flowing, blue silk skirt
<worn on feet> a pair of black leather bootsShe is carrying:
nothing obvious
The figure in a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak bows to the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar with you.
The figure in a dusty set of hooded, silver-slashed robes has arrived from the east.
The figure in a dusty set of hooded, silver-slashed robes walks west.
The black-eyed, elven man has arrived from the east.
The black-eyed, elven man walks west.
Clearing his throat once more, you say to the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar, in sirihish:
"My Lady Templar....ah...we kinna ran inta this fella tryin' t' steal our shit. He ran off, though..but..."
The black-eyed, elven man has arrived from the west.
The black-eyed, elven man walks east.Blinking a few times towards the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar, you say to the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar, in
sirihish:
"Err...well, I'll come find a templar 'at's not busy, sorry t' bother ya, my Lady Templar."
***************************************************
**** The two head back to the Bard's Barrel. ****
***************************************************
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 tall figure in a dusty hooded, dun-colored dustcloak is standing here.
The figure in a dusty hooded, dun-colored dustcloak is standing here.
The solemn, club-footed man limps slowly along here.
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 is here, seated at a large table, drinking ale.
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 figure in a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak has arrived from the north.Shaking his head, you say, in sirihish:
"Guess we'll wait till we fin' someone."
You sit at a boxy wooden bar.You start cleaning.
You dust yourself off.
Looking her stone-tipped bone bolt over, the figure in a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak says to you, in sirihish:
"I'm going to see how much this fetches."
The figure in a dusty hooded, dun-colored dustcloak looks down at you.
The tall figure in a dusty hooded, dun-colored dustcloak starts cleaning.
The tall figure in a dusty hooded, dun-colored dustcloak dusts herself off.
The figure in a dusty hooded, dun-colored dustcloak starts cleaning.
The figure in a dusty hooded, dun-colored dustcloak dusts herself off.
Gazing around the room, the figure in a hooded, dun-colored dustcloak says to the tall figure in a hooded, dun-colored dustcloak, in sirihish:
"Might be we'll find someone in th'Gaj lookin ta join. It's just th'regulars here taday."
The figure in a hooded, dun-colored dustcloak walks north.
The tall figure in a hooded, dun-colored dustcloak walks north.
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
The sinuous, olive-skinned woman sends you a telepathic message:
"I found him, he's in the Bazaar. I don't know what to do, though."You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the sinuous, olive-skinned woman with the Way.You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the sinuous, olive-skinned woman:
"Hmm...keep track of him? I'll keep trying to find a templar."You dissolve the psychic link.
You think:
"Hmm...fuck, we -do- need a templar."You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the sinuous, olive-skinned woman with the Way.You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the sinuous, olive-skinned woman:
"No luck yet. I don't know what to do, either..."
You dissolve the psychic link.
The sinuous, olive-skinned woman sends you a telepathic message:
"He's gone."*****************************************************************
*****************************************************************You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the sinuous, olive-skinned woman with the Way.The sinuous, olive-skinned woman sends you a telepathic message:
"I found him again, he's out in the wastes. A gemmer and I have caught him."You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the sinuous, olive-skinned woman:
"Oh, good. Well, do what you want. I'll be glad to have him out of comission."You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
You dissolve the psychic link.
************************************************************************************************
*****Working for House Kadius had its ups and downs, as this burgeoning merchant discovers.*****
************************************************************************************************
You...
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