Original Submissions of type 'Logs'

The Fortune Teller by Tarimad
Added on Apr 15, 2008

Two old elves take a glimpse into the future.

The scene begins in a seedy tavern, somewhere in the ‘Rinth…

The sharp-chinned, braided elf asks the tiny-headed half-giant, in sirihish:

"Hey, you got any spice, ya lazy feck?"

The sharp-chinned, braided elf coughs.

The sharp-chinned, braided elf eats a portion of a serving of strewn moss pasta.

The sharp-chinned, braided elf eats a half eaten serving of strewn moss pasta.

The sharp-chinned, braided elf says to the tiny-headed half-giant, in sirihish:

"Well let me know if you find any."

The stooped, scar-torn elf continues shuffling your deck of Kruth cards, the worn vellum slips slapping against each other rhythmically.

You think:

"Hmm."

In a casual tone, spreading a few Kruth cards over his knuckles in a fan-shape, you say to the sharp-chinned, braided elf, in sirihish:

"You know, they sell it in the backroom of this place. Ain't no big secret."

The sharp-chinned, braided elf's eyes close in concentration for a moment. They open suddenly.

The sharp-chinned, braided elf glances at you with a start.

The sharp-chinned, braided elf asks you, in sirihish:

"No shit? And just anyone can get it?"

The stooped, scar-torn elf returns a few Kruth cards to the deck with a faint snap.

You begin speaking allundean.

Slipping fluently into another tongue, you say to the sharp-chinned, braided elf, in allundean:

"Aye. It's pricey, but, if'n you're desperate..."

The sharp-chinned, braided elf nods at you.

The sharp-chinned, braided elf says, in sirihish:

"I hear you."

The sharp-chinned, braided elf stands up from a scarred, round table.

The sharp-chinned, braided elf says to you, in sirihish:

"Pardon me for a moment."

The sharp-chinned, braided elf asks the grey-clad elf a question.

The sharp-chinned, braided elf haggles with the grey-clad elf for a moment.

The stooped, scar-torn elf nods cordially towards the sharp-chinned, braided elf before returning his attention to your deck of Kruth cards.

The sharp-chinned, braided elf turns back to you.

The sharp-chinned, braided elf asks you, in sirihish:

"Fecker says I'm too poor. How much do they charge, usually?"

Not looking up from your deck of Kruth cards, you say to the sharp-chinned, braided elf, in allundean:

"Dunno. Don't touch the shit, personally. Just know they sell it back there, and that they have a pretty high cover charge."

The sharp-chinned, braided elf says, in allundean:

"Damn. All these years, and I never knew that."

The sharp-chinned, braided elf asks you, in allundean:

"I'll bet you know all sorts of shit, eh?"

With a light shrug, you ask the sharp-chinned, braided elf, in allundean:

"Who doesn't know something?"

The sharp-chinned, braided elf nods to you, turning back towards a crude, makeshift bar.

Calling out, you say to the sharp-chinned, braided elf, in allundean:

"Wait a moment."

The sharp-chinned, braided elf stops in his tracks.

The sharp-chinned, braided elf turns around slowly.

Spreading out your deck of Kruth cards in a fan-like shape, and offering them to the sharp-chinned, braided elf, you say to the sharp-chinned, braided elf, in allundean:

"Indulge me. Pick a card."

The sharp-chinned, braided elf shrugs, reaching towards one in the middle.

You deal a Kruth card to the sharp-chinned, braided elf.

You ask the sharp-chinned, braided elf, in allundean:

"Lemme see?"

The sharp-chinned, braided elf pulls the card towards his face, a wide smile cracking his lips.

The sharp-chinned, braided elf holds up his Kruth card: the Water of Kings for all to see.

The sharp-chinned, braided elf asks you, in allundean:

"You play?"

The sharp-chinned, braided elf gives you a Kruth card: the Water of Kings.

As dusk falls, a couple of elves move over to the entrance, lighting the lamps beside the mantis carving.

Speaking to himself, and staring at your Kruth card: the Water of Kings contemplatively, you say, in allundean:

"Interesting..."

Glancing up, you say to the sharp-chinned, braided elf, in allundean:

"Hmm? Oh, yes. I suppose you could say that."

The sharp-chinned, braided elf asks you, in allundean:

"You ever hear of a game called Spice Run?"

With a nod, you say to the sharp-chinned, braided elf, in allundean:

"Aye, but I haven't played in a while."

The sharp-chinned, braided elf watches you momentarily for a reaction, then appears to reach some sort of conclusion.

The sharp-chinned, braided elf sits at some stacked and overturned crates.

The sharp-chinned, braided elf straightens his cloak.

The stooped, scar-torn elf shuffles your Kruth card: the Water of Kings into your deck of Kruth cards, eyeing the sharp-chinned, braided elf diplomatically.

Ok.

You break a Kruth card: the Water of Kings.

The sharp-chinned, braided elf inhales slowly.

At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean:

"You got a name?"

At your table, you say in allundean, nodding stiffly:

"Aye."

At your table, you say in allundean, after a deliberate pause:

"You may call me Mal."

You think:

"He drew the Water of Kings..."

You think:

"The card of rightful reward. Of vindication."

Seeming slightly distracted, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says, in allundean:

"My name is Eercdro, Mal. Pleasure ture make your acquaintance."

At your table, you say in allundean, nodding:

"Aye. Pleasure."

At your table, you say in allundean, running the tip of his tongue over his scarred lips:

"So what do you do when you're not looking to score spice, Eercdro?"

At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean:

"I'm retired, young man. Now I work as a consort to the Haruch Kemad tribe, right?"

At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean:

"It's a living."

At your table, you say in allundean:

"A consort?"

At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean:

"That's a fact."

The sharp-chinned, braided elf inhales slowly, deeply.

At your table, you say in allundean, nodding once and thumbing through your deck of Kruth cards:

"I see. Well I'm a fortune teller, if it's any interest to you. Spend a lot of time southside, and all that."

At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean:

"No kidding? How much is a fortune?"

At your table, you say in allundean:

"Well, southside I charge 'tween thirty and fifty 'sid. But up here, things are a bit more negotiable, yes?"

The sharp-chinned, braided elf snickers.

At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean:

"Amen to that. Praise be the Highlord."

The stooped, scar-torn elf laughs- a light, wheezy noise.

At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean:

"Well you gotta help me out, then. I need to know... --the future-- but I ain't got no thirty coins, right?"

At your table, you say in allundean, nodding solemnly and tapping your deck of Kruth cards:

"I think I might be able to help you out, Eercdro. You drew quite an interesting card, just now..."

At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean, leaning foward, glancing at the deck, fascinated:

"You serious?"

At your table, you say in allundean, pushing back away from some stacked and overturned crates just a bit:

"Yes. Could be very good, or very bad. I'd be willing to give you a hefty discount, simply out of my own curiosity. Of course, I can't give readings away for free..."

At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean, leaning back once again. His voice takes on a cool tone, but his eyes betray his obvious interest:

"Course not, nothing's free, except sand."

At your table, you say in allundean:

"Think you could spare fifteen 'sid for a glimpse into your future?"

At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean:

"Fifteen? Ain't no way you could go down to thirteen?"

At your table, you say in allundean:

"Thirteen? For a local?"

At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean:

"No, man. Thirteen for --me.--"

At your table, you say in allundean, nodding and resting his arms on a crate in between him and the sharp-chinned, braided elf:

"Aye, sure."

The sharp-chinned, braided elf smiles.

The sharp-chinned, braided elf begins counting out a few coins.

At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean:

"Oh, feck. I only got twelve, is that a problem?"

At your table, you say in allundean, laughing shortly:

"Only a problem for the man that's giving away his last twelve coins."

The sharp-chinned, braided elf shrugs his shoulders.

At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean, handing over the money to you:

"Gotta know the future, man."

The sharp-chinned, braided elf gives you 12 coins.

>You are carrying:

12 obsidian pieces

a deck of Kruth cards

At your table, you say in allundean, nodding:

"Aye, I understand."

At your table, you say in allundean, expression suddenly serious:

"Now. You look to me like a man that's got a particular question rolling about 'tween his ears. Am I right?"

The sharp-chinned, braided elf appears to think hard about the question. Eventually, he nods.

At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean:

"Yeah, that's right. How'd ya know?"

At your table, you say in allundean, tapping your deck of Kruth cards:

"I didn't. They did."

At your table, you say in allundean:

"Would you be comfortable asking your question out loud? It allows for a more accurate read."

At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean:

"Yeah, sure."

At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean:

"I'm trying to find a friend of mine. She's... missing."

The stooped, scar-torn elf nods, remaining silent. He shuffles your deck of Kruth cards vigorously, his gaze not straying from the sharp-chinned, braided elf's eyes. Eventually, he holds out the cards in a fan-shape, offering them to the sharp-chinned, braided elf.

The short figure in a dusty hooded, ebony cloak has arrived from the north.

At your table, you say in allundean:

"Pick one."

The sharp-chinned, braided elf leans forward.

The short figure in a dusty hooded, ebony cloak puts a set of fake elf ears inside a pair of brown leather pocketed pants.

The short figure in a dusty hooded, ebony cloak makes his way up to the stack of crates, looking down at you.

The short figure in a dusty hooded, ebony cloak looks down at you.

The sharp-chinned, braided elf's hands hover over the cards. The gravity of his decision is apparent in his actions.

The sharp-chinned, braided elf chooses a card at last.

You deal a Kruth card to the sharp-chinned, braided elf.

The sharp-chinned, braided elf holds up his Kruth card: the Stone of Life for you to see.

At your table, you say in allundean, watching the sharp-chinned, braided elf intently:

"I see. Put it down on the table, there. In the center."

The sharp-chinned, braided elf drops his Kruth card: the Stone of Life onto some stacked and overturned crates.

The sharp-chinned, braided elf gives you a Kruth card: the Stone of Life.

At your table, you say in allundean, lacing his long fingers together as he addresses the sharp-chinned, braided elf:

"The cards... they really respond to you. This "friend" you're looking for... quite important yes?"

At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean:

"Drov yeah, real important."

The disheveled, grid-tattooed man lowers the hood of a dusty hooded, ebony cloak.

The sharp-chinned, braided elf doesn't seem to notice the disheveled, grid-tattooed man, so intent is he on your cards.

At your table, you say in allundean:

"It's interesting that you chose the Stone of Life."

At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean:

"Oh yeah? Whatsit mean?"

The sharp-chinned, braided elf appears to hang on your every word.

The sharp-chinned, braided elf glances over at the disheveled, grid-tattooed man suddenly.

The disheveled, grid-tattooed man nods down to the sharp-chinned, braided elf.

The sharp-chinned, braided elf nods to the disheveled, grid-tattooed man quickly before returning his gaze to you.

The sharp-chinned, braided elf motions the disheveled, grid-tattooed man over.

At your table, you say in allundean:

"It is the card of... finding. Of absolute gain. It represents birth, sudden wealth… or the failure to grasp such an opportunity."

The disheveled, grid-tattooed man sits at some stacked and overturned crates.

At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean:

"Damn, failure? I can't deal with that. How do I get this... wealth?"

The disheveled, grid-tattooed man slides onto a crate, pulling it up to the table.

At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in sirihish:

"Pardon me, a moment. Round-Ears, this is Mal. Mal, meet Round-Ears."

Faint outside light slowly brightens the smoky haze of the main room as Suk-Krath rises.

The disheveled, grid-tattooed man looks you up and down cautiously for a moment before nodding.

At your table, you say in allundean, glancing towards the disheveled, grid-tattooed man for a brief moment:

"Hmm. Round-Ears. Well met."

At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in sirihish, to you:

"He's okay. He's from the neighborhood."

At your table, you say in allundean, returning his attention to the sharp-chinned, braided elf and giving your Kruth card: the Stone of Life a tap:

"Now, this card does not guarantee that you will find what you're seeking. It merely shows the importance of it, aye?"

At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in sirihish:

"No gaurantees, eh? Krath. That's kinda heavy."

At your table, the disheveled, grid-tattooed man says in sirihish, raising an eyebrow at the sharp-chinned, braided elf:

"Neighborhood? Man I meet you in a bar on the west side. Only reason I talk to you is for gambling, man."

The sharp-chinned, braided elf ignores the disheveled, grid-tattooed man for a moment.

At your table, you say in allundean, ignoring the disheveled, grid-tattooed man:

"It was simply the first card. Here... let's see what can else we can learn."

You deal yourself a Kruth card: the Sun of Truth.

At your table, the disheveled, grid-tattooed man says in sirihish, glancing from the sharp-chinned, braided elf to you:

"Thing is, I was just wondering if you people would like to help me beat the shit out of another round-ear."

The disheveled, grid-tattooed man shrugs and pushes back in his chair slightly.

At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in sirihish, to the disheveled, grid-tattooed man:

"Not me, mate. I believe in non-violence."

The sharp-chinned, braided elf returns to watching you, held in suspense.

The stooped, scar-torn elf stares at your Kruth card: the Sun of Truth for a long moment, before handing it over to the sharp-chinned, braided elf.

A Kruth card depicting a set of scales backlit with an image of Suk-krath.

This card is made of a stiff, thick vellum. Carefully painted in the

foreground in full color is a large set of golden scales. The ornate scales

are carefully balancing three heavenly bodies. In one pan the two moons,

Jihae and Lirathu and in the other Suk-krath shines brightly. The scales

seem to glow against the relentless light from Suk-krath.

The disheveled, grid-tattooed man shrugs and shakes his head.

You give a Kruth card: the Sun of Truth to the sharp-chinned, braided elf.

At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in sirihish:

"Sun of Truth? What's that mean?"

At your table, the disheveled, grid-tattooed man says in sirihish:

"Fine, fine. But when that fecker lets it go to his head and he comes over to the east side…"

At your table, you say in allundean:

"In relation to your question, it represents those that can effect its answer."

The disheveled, grid-tattooed man shrugs and stands up from his crate.

The disheveled, grid-tattooed man stands up from some stacked and overturned crates.

The disheveled, grid-tattooed man sits at a crude, makeshift bar.

At your table, you say in allundean:

"Your friends. Your enemies. Krath, even me."

At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in sirihish:

"Well how do I know who can effect me? Seems to me, like that's what I need to know. Lotta possiblities."

At your table, you say in allundean, spreading his long-fingered hands dramatically:

"More generally, however, the Sun of Truth (as that card is called), represents trial. Pain and doubt, but a bringer of growth."

The sharp-chinned, braided elf frowns at your words.

At your table, you say in allundean:

"What this card seems to be saying is that you will find little help with your search. Or, perhaps, that what help you do receive will only harm you."

The sharp-chinned, braided elf's shoulders slump.

At your table, you say in allundean, shaking his head and leaning back slightly:

"But, don't get me wrong. It is -not- saying you won't find her."

At your table, you say in allundean:

"It simply says that, if you do, it will be because of -you-, Eercdro. This is -your- search."

At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean:

"Sounds like it all boils down to me."

At your table, you say in allundean, nodding sincerely:

"Aye. The Sun of Truth is not a bad card, Eercdro. It brings strength. But it is hard-won."

At your table, you say in allundean, lifting up your deck of Kruth cards:

"Now, let's move on. I'd like you to shuffle the deck a bit, and draw your own card again, since the cards seem to respond so strongly to you."

The sharp-chinned, braided elf nods, reaching out for the cards.

You give a deck of Kruth cards to the sharp-chinned, braided elf.

The sharp-chinned, braided elf begins to shuffle the deck of cards. His fingers prove reasonably nimble, like they know their way around a deck. He doesn't do anything fancy, sticking to conventional interchanges of the cards. Eventually, he turns over the top card.

The sharp-chinned, braided elf deals himself a Kruth card.

At your table, you say in allundean, with a faint nod:

"When you're ready, put it down with the others."

The sharp-chinned, braided elf holds up his Kruth card: the Sun of Life to you.

The sharp-chinned, braided elf returns the deck and his Kruth card: the Sun of Life to the table.

The sharp-chinned, braided elf gives you a deck of Kruth cards.

The stooped, scar-torn elf's scarred lips twist into a smile.

The sharp-chinned, braided elf gives you a Kruth card: the Sun of Life.

The sharp-chinned, braided elf gives you a Kruth card: the Sun of Truth.

At your table, you say in allundean, shaking his head several times:

"My, my, my. What an interesting read this has been!"

You are carrying:

12 obsidian pieces

a Kruth card: the Sun of Truth

a Kruth card: the Sun of Life

a deck of Kruth cards

a Kruth card: the Stone of Life

A Kruth card depicting a healthy tree, Suk-krath glowing in the sky above

it.

This card is made of a stiff, thick vellum. Carefully painted in the

foreground in full color is a large, healthy green cylini tree. Dotted

around the thick brown trunk of the tree is a mosaic of wildflowers. Above

the tree Suk-krath is glowing brightly, shining down on the flora below.

At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean:

"Damn, Halfling's luck!"

At your table, you say in allundean, tapping your Kruth card: the Sun of Life:

"This falls in perfectly with your previous cards."

At your table, you say in allundean:

"This card represents the choice you have. How you can personally change the outcome of this decision."

The sharp-chinned, braided elf watches you, blinking only once.

At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean:

"How so?"

At your table, you say in allundean:

"And, as we already divined, it all comes down to you on this one, Eercdro."

At your table, you say in allundean, holding of your Kruth card: the Sun of Life, an intense expression on his face:

"Rebirth. Victory in battle. Pain bringing triumph."

The sharp-chinned, braided elf smiles contentedly.

At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean:

"All kinds of good shit."

At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean:

"Well believe me, Mal. I got pain in my life. All kinds of pain. But now what I need is triumph."

At your table, you say in allundean:

"If you can withstand the heat of Suk-Krath, you will be stronger for it. The cards seem to suggest that you will find your friend, or some important clue about her. But not without a great deal of work, and perhaps sacrifice."

At your table, you say in allundean, nodding, a faint smile on his face:

"I believe strongly that you will triumph."

The sharp-chinned, braided elf grins.

At your table, you say in allundean:

"Remember the first card you drew? The one of the King?"

At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean:

"Yeah?"

At your table, you say in allundean:

"It represents..."

The stooped, scar-torn elf pauses in his speech to make a strange motion in the air, as if physically searching for his next word.

At your table, you say in allundean:

"A deserved reward. Righteousness."

At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean:

"Righteousness, eh? That sounds like me."

At your table, you say in allundean:

"Benefits, Eercdro. Great benefits. And if you put that next to all this talk of trial and pain... well, you can figure it out for yourself, aye?"

At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean:

"Yeah, I feel like I know what I need to do."

At your table, you say in allundean, flashing a yellow-toothed grin:

"Glad I could help. I have to say, it's easy with you. The cards practically leapt out of the deck at you!"

The sharp-chinned, braided elf smiles.

At your table, you say in allundean, releasing a wheezy chuckle as he sets your deck of Kruth cards aside:

"In fact, I should probably let this deck cool off for a bit."

At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean:

"Krath-damn, I feel like I've had some good news this evening."

The sharp-chinned, braided elf glances over at the disheveled, grid-tattooed man for a long moment, before turning back to his table.

At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean:

"Man, this young generation. Always in a hurry to go knife somebody."

The disheveled, grid-tattooed man raises a hand rubbing his forehead, a frustrated look on his face.

At your table, you say in allundean:

"Indeed, indeed. Round-Ears... I think I've seen him southside quite a bit, actually."

The sharp-chinned, braided elf chuckles.

At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean:

"Yeah, I believe it."

The stooped, scar-torn elf bends down, slipping some coins into a pouch at his ankle.

You put a pile of coins inside a small leather pouch.

Ok.

At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean:

"Hey, you seen a Necker by the name of Octorix running around? Got green eyes?"

The stooped, scar-torn elf shuffles a few cards back into his deck of Kruth cards.

At your table, you say in allundean, shaking his head as he stuffs his deck into your plain sandcloth wristwrap:

"Nah, the name isn't familiar. Lots of green-eyed runners around, too."

You put a deck of Kruth cards inside a plain sandcloth wristwrap.

The sharp-chinned, braided elf nods.

At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean:

"At any rate."

At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean:

"So what family you in, mate? If you don't want to tell me, --you-- change the subject."

At your table, you say in allundean, after a long pause:

"So what exactly does a consort for the Haruch Kemad do?"

At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean:

"Mostly I fuck my Mistress for cash. Not a bad living, really. You ever met Kattria?"

At your table, you say in allundean:

"Kattria? No, I can't say that I have."

You think:

"Not a bad living at all..."

At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean:

"Yeah, she treats me alright. Keeps me fed and off the street. I get by."

At your table, you say in allundean, with a wry smile:

"Krath. I wouldn't mind getting work as a "consort"."

The sharp-chinned, braided elf smiles.

The sharp-chinned, braided elf looks at you.

The sharp-chinned, braided elf looks you up and down.

At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean:

"How long can you go for? You go for an hour?"

At your table, you say in allundean, snorting:

"Nah. I wasn't serious. I got other loyalties. And besides, fortune telling keeps me fed well enough."

At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean:

"Well, I had to make sure."

The sharp-chinned, braided elf chuckles.

At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean:

"Still, I got a good job. Command a lotta respect for it, a lotta respect."

At your table, you say in allundean, fiddling with your plain sandcloth wristwrap and chuckling lightly:

"Aye, aye. Well, I couldn't see myself doing much beyond reading the cards. Got to use what you're given, aye?"

At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean:

"Amen to that. Praise be His name, and shit. You got a good thing going, since you got The Sight."

At your table, you say in allundean, frowning slightly:

"You'd think so, aye, but... well, the fecks southside don't appreciate my craft like they used to."

The sharp-chinned, braided elf shakes his head.

At your table, you say in allundean, flashing a smile:

"Damn shame. But, feck, that's why I charge them half a small, aye?"

At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean:

"Them cheap ass, kank fucking, dilapidated sand-snorting sons of bitches. Sheeeeeyit, that's why I ain't go down there."

The stooped, scar-torn elf nods in agreement to the sharp-chinned, braided elf's words.

At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean:

"I hear you. I --hear--- you. Course, I kinda like it down there. They got one thing we ain't got up here."

At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean:

"You know what that is?"

At your table, you say in allundean:

"Deep pockets?"

The sharp-chinned, braided elf chuckles.

At your table, you say in allundean, shrugging:

"Well, that's why I go, anyway."

At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean, nodding in reluctant agreement:

"I'll give you that. Yeah, they got cash. But they also got -- security--."

At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean:

"Alright, Mal, nice to meet you."

At your table, the sharp-chinned, braided elf says in allundean:

"Shade."

The sharp-chinned, braided elf stands up from some stacked and overturned crates.

Raising a hand in parting, you say to the sharp-chinned, braided elf, in allundean:

"Aye, shade. If you ever need my help again..."

The sharp-chinned, braided elf makes his way over to a crude, makeshift bar.

The sharp-chinned, braided elf says to you, in sirihish:

"I'll remember that."

The sharp-chinned, braided elf sits at a crude, makeshift bar.

You say to the sharp-chinned, braided elf, in allundean:

"I'll be sure to give a discounted price."

The sharp-chinned, braided elf waves to you.

The stooped, scar-torn elf gathers your dark, hooded cloak about him as he stands.

Rubbing at the small of his back a bit, you stand up from some stacked and overturned crates.

The stooped, scar-torn elf skirts past a few drunken patrons, heading outside.

Twisting Alleyway [NES]

Detritus and debris dominates this junction of twisting alleys.

Refuse of all varieties is strewn all about, including rags too torn and

filthy for even the most desperate to find useful, excrement, and perhaps a

humanoid corpse, most likely stripped of its possessions, perhaps even some

of its flesh gnawed or cut away. The overpowering, putrid odor of the

labyrinth is overwhelming here, and even in the relatively open space, the

tall, crumbling buildings seem to close in, creating a profound feeling of

claustrophobia.

This narrow, twisting alleyway snakes off to the north and east. A

loud, busy establishment of some sort can be seen to the south.

You draw an obsidian knife.

You draw an obsidian knife.

You raise the hood of a dark, hooded cloak.

The weary fortune teller returns to the streets and shadows, searching for a room to squat in for the night.

Abandoned Building [N]

Unsightly clutter lies strewn about the place, covered with sand and

grime from both wind and filthy occupants. The building is obviously

abandoned and fallen into disrepair, but it apparently still serves as at

least a sleeping-spot for desperate inhabitants of the labyrinth.

A doorway to the north serves as the exit from this building.

You think:

"He seemed impressed with my read."

You think:

"And why shouldn't he? It was a damn good read."

You think:

"He wrestled three 'sid away from me, aye... but what good'll three 'sid do him when he comes running to me to solve all his petty plights with the cards?"

You think:

"Twelve 'sid isn't too bad, either..."

You think:

"Besides... it was an interesting read."

The scene begins in a seedy tavern, somewhere in the ‘Rinth…

The sharp-chinned, braided elf asks the tiny-headed half-giant, in sirihish:

"Hey, you got any spice, ya lazy feck?"

The sharp-chinned, braided elf coughs.

The sharp-chinned, braided elf eats a portion of a serving of...

Continue Reading...

Dragon Killer by Tisiphone
Added on Jan 18, 2008

In this log, my sixth character, a dwarf named Monta, tries to claim steel from the back of the Dragon on Allanak's walls, and gets what's coming to him.

In this log, my dwarf, Monta, has a focus of gaining a steel breastplate and sword to go kill all of the mekillots, who killed his father. He's from Red Storm, not a particularly bright fellow, and has just found out that the dragon overhanging Caravan gate is made entirely out of steel. He had joined the Byn, figuring that even with a steel breastplate and sword he'd need to be a good fighter, and besides, they had the best offer on 'sid, which he'd need to buy the aforementioned. This is an early character, my sixth.

The rugged, brown-haired woman closes the gate.

The rugged, brown-haired woman watches as you approach the gate.
Ok.

The rugged, brown-haired woman closes the gate.
The monstrous, battle-scarred mul and you salute each other.
Stinging sand swirls around you.
The gate seems to be closed.

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 thick-boned half-giant is here, standing to one side of the gate.
The monstrous, battle-scarred mul keeps watch over the path here.
The muscular, sandy-brown dwarf is standing here.

The monstrous, battle-scarred mul and you salute each other.
Stinging sand swirls around you.
The gate seems to be closed.

The rugged, brown-haired woman watches as you approach the gate.
Ok.

The monstrous, battle-scarred mul and you salute each other.
Stinging sand swirls around you.
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 bone 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 hulking, ashen-skinned half-giant stands here, looking around slowly.
The scar-faced green elf scratches his belly as he keeps watch here.
The robust, grey-haired woman stands beside the massive gate here.
The rugged, war-braided man stands here, watching the gates.
The solid, sun-darkened half-giant is here, looming over the crowd.

Stinging sand swirls around you.
The Meeting of the Road of Slaves and Warriors' Way [NSW]
Here the dusty street used as a slave market by Allanak's slavers ends
as it meets the short road known as Warriors' Way, which leads between the
Mercenaries' Guild and Allanak's Main Bazaar. The massive stone archway to
the north leads into a courtyard which marks the entrance to the T'zai Byn
of Allanak.
Triangular clay pipes jut unevenly from a depression here, caked with filth.
A noble's servant slips through the crowds, walking swiftly.

You raise the hood of a hooded, brown military aba.

The figure in a hooded, brown military aba pushes through against the crowd and sand, apparently unperturbed, keeping your eyes down.

You think:
"Need a chisel. Or a pick."

Monta proceeds to the mining shop in Allank to procure these.

....
The Road of Slaves [NEW]
This dusty street is used as a slave market by Allanak's slavers, for
the major Merchant Houses fear that slaves in the bazaar would drive away
business. The Merchants' Quarter itself is past a row of shops whose backs
now face the south side of the road. Along the north side of the road are a
few stone platforms from which slaves are auctioned off daily, surrounded by
commoners and nobles alike, attempting to outbid one another.
A small, rickety slave pen sits on the northwest side of the street.

The figure in a hooded, brown military aba pushes through the crowds, leaving small eddies of people.

Stinging sand swirls around you.
The Road of Slaves [EW]
This dusty street is used as a slave market by Allanak's slavers, for
the major Merchant Houses fear that slaves in the bazaar would drive away
business. The Merchants' Quarter itself is past a row of shops whose backs
now face the south side of the road. Along the north side of the road are a
few stone platforms from which slaves are auctioned off daily, surrounded by
commoners and nobles alike, attempting to outbid one another.

...
You think:
"And water...well, feck food. Too late."

You think:
"I got those tubers."

Stinging sand swirls around you.
Tradesmen's Street [NS]
This street flanks the west side of the Merchants' Quarter, and is
where most merchants from outside the city go to sell their goods.
Oddly-decorated caravans and wagons are parked along the edge of the street,
which bustles with activity, as traders carry their goods into the chaos of
the Main Bazaar. Here and there, traders stop members of the passing crowd,
trying to convince them of the veracity of a crude map purporting to show
Steinal's whereabouts or the mystic powers of an oddly carved bone flute.
A tilt-nosed, sly-eyed elf stands hawking treasure maps.
The crooked-backed pale woman is hunched over a bucket.

...
Stinging sand swirls around you.
Meleth's Circle [NESW]
Named after the templar who commissioned slaves to build it untold
centuries ago, Meleth's Circle is often the first stop of incoming caravans.
The stones on the ground here, each more than a meter across, form a large
hexagonal pattern. A multitude of people crowd the circle, members of all
social classes. Great, rough blocks of obsidian thrust themselves out of
the ground to the southwest to form a jagged temple that takes up nearly
half of the circle, absorbing Suk-Krath's harsh rays and cooling the
surrounding area with its dull blackness. The circle branches onto a busy
road to the north and continues on to the south and west, while Allanak's
busy Main Bazaar lies to the east.
A human soldier of Tektolnes walks along here.
A droopy-eyed, double-chinned servant walks by, head down as he mutters.
A slick-haired merchant with widely gapped teeth hawks rugs nearby.
A team of slaves works here, clearing sand from the road.

The figure in a hooded, brown military aba takes an abrupt turn.

...
Stinging sand swirls around you.
Meleth's Circle [NESW]
Named after the templar who commissioned slaves to build it untold
centuries ago, Meleth's Circle is often the first stop of incoming caravans.
The stones on the ground here, each more than a meter across, form a large
hexagonal pattern. A multitude of people crowd the circle, members of all
social classes. To the east, great, rough rocks of obsidian thrust themselves
out of the ground, forming a jagged temple that takes up nearly half of the
circle, absorbing Suk-Krath's harsh rays and cooling the surrounding area
with its dull blackness. Many people dressed in common attire filter in and
out of the temple, some holding waterskins or containers in hand, or carrying
gourds around their necks. The soft drone of chanting and other voices can
be heard from within the temple. Two unlit torches thrust out on each side
of the doorway.
Meleth's Circle continues to the south and north, and the yellowy-brown
sandstone of Caravan Road stretches to the west.
Several desiccated corpses lie here, withered and baking in the heat.
A human soldier of Tektolnes walks along here.

To the east is Inside the Temple of the Dragon.
[Near]
A white robed templar carefully attends the fountain.

Stinging sand swirls around you.
Inside the Temple of the Dragon [W]
The great obsidian blocks that form the jagged exterior of this
temple have been cut into a dull black dome that reaches nearly fifty
cords at its pinnacle. Etched into the dome is the figure of a great
white dragon screaming towards the temple floor. The fine white lines
defining the body of the dragon converge into a sinewy tail that
wraps around the walls, spiraling down until it merges into the
temple floor. Scenes of battles and magicks, many of them prominently
featuring smaller versions of the dragon, cover the spiraling tail.
The smooth black floor of the temple is bare except for the
great fountain of a thin templar rising from the temple floor itself,
his eyes raised in exultation towards the screaming dragon and his
hands outstretched, pouring water into the wide, clear pool in which
he stands. White robed templars shuffle quietly about the temple,
while a line of supplicants stretches out the great black-stained
wooden door to the west, waiting for the statue's bounty.
A white robed templar carefully attends the fountain.

You get a pile of coins from a double-layered sandcloth pack.
There were 15 coins.
It is very light.

You stop using a leather water-pouch.

You bow to the statue and give 15 coins to the white robed templar.
The white robed templar fills a leather water-pouch to the brim.

You strap the pouch about your waist.

You think:
"Right. Now."

Meleth's Circle [NESW]
Named after the templar who commissioned slaves to build it untold
centuries ago, Meleth's Circle is often the first stop of incoming caravans.
The stones on the ground here, each more than a meter across, form a large
hexagonal pattern. A multitude of people crowd the circle, members of all
social classes. To the east, great, rough rocks of obsidian thrust themselves
out of the ground, forming a jagged temple that takes up nearly half of the
circle, absorbing Suk-Krath's harsh rays and cooling the surrounding area
with its dull blackness. Many people dressed in common attire filter in and
out of the temple, some holding waterskins or containers in hand, or carrying
gourds around their necks. The soft drone of chanting and other voices can
be heard from within the temple. Two unlit torches thrust out on each side
of the doorway.
Meleth's Circle continues to the south and north, and the yellowy-brown
sandstone of Caravan Road stretches to the west.
Several desiccated corpses lie here, withered and baking in the heat.
A human soldier of Tektolnes walks along here.

The figure in a hooded, brown military aba pushes out, through the throngs of people waiting in line and the loud beggars, absently stepping on a few hands and elbows, crushing them.

Stinging sand swirls around you.
Caravan Road [EW]
Stretching itself out here is a long road, paved in rough yellowy
brown sandstone, covered with reddish dust and sand, and wide enough that at
least four caravans could pass through. The sun-browned backs of slaves
march along, carrying goods. The sky's blood-red glory shines from above
the main gate, highlighting its ominously smooth stones.
The broad sweep of Meleth's Circle opens to the east.
A short, squinty-eyed half-elf with tangled black hair is here.

...
Commoners' Way [NESW]
Commoners' Way proceeds onward from here, wandering amidst the tangle
of crumbling, old mud brick buildings and faded tents that house Allanak's
working class. The well-tracked road underfoot initially looks like simple
hard-crusted filth, but upon closer inspection appears to be a layer of worn
bricks caked with years' worth of animal dung mixed with gritty sand. The
greatest concentration of muck along Commoners' Way seems to lead into the
wide, open entryway of a stone-walled building to the east crouching among
the other ramshackle facades along the street. Judging by the strong stench
wafting out from the open entryway, it appears to be a slaughterhouse of
some sort, a suspicion confirmed by the occasional kank or chalton dragged
inside through the ten cords' wide opening by grimy workers. To the west is
the entrance to what appears to be a small, cluttered shop. The road is
crowded with Allanak's common folk and slaves, some hurrying about their
business, while others linger, lounging in any patch of available shade to
find respite from the fierce sun.

The figure in a hooded, brown military aba pushes through relentlessly.

A small archway leads into the confines of a small shop.
[Near]
A lop-eared, squinting elf stands behind the counter.

Stinging sand swirls around you.
The Meeting of Miner's Road and Commoners' Way [NEW]
Commoners' Way and the dusty street known as Miner's Road meet here,
weaving in a tangle between the ramshackle constructions which mark the
housing here. The road is crowded with Allanaki commoners, and the air is
thick with dust and noise. The smells of unwashed citizenry, rancid
garbage, and offal all mingle here, mixed with the stench emanating from the
kank and chalton slaughterhouse lying to the northeast.
A drawn, straggly-bearded man crouches here, arms clutched to his chest.
A young child dressed in rags is standing here, selling fruit.

The figure in a hooded, brown military aba takes another abrupt turn to the west.

Stinging sand swirls around you.
The Meeting of Miner's Road and Commoners' Way [ESW]
Commoners' Way and the the dusty street known as Miner's Road
meet here, weaving in a tangle between the ramshackle constructions
which mark the housing here. The road is crowded with Allanaki
commoners, and the air is thick with dust and noise. The smells of
unwashed citizenry, rancid garbage, and offal all mingle here, mixed
with the stench emanating from the kank and chalton slaughterhouse
lying to the north.
A midden heap sits off to one side, stinking of decay.
The tanned, red-haired girl stumbles along here, looking unwell.

...
Stinging sand swirls around you.
"The Black Lode" Mining Shop [N]
This dusty, clay-walled shop is tucked away on Miner's Road in the
Commoner's Quarter of Allanak, and looks to function as a provisioner of
mining supplies. Cheap bone shelves, bound with leather, line the red
walls, bearing equipment like pickaxes, shovels, helmets, and gloves. A
woven grass carpet covers the floor, and two jallal-wood planks sit atop a
pile of brown clay bricks, serving as a rudimentary counter.
A curtain of beads leads north onto Miner's Road.
The short, black-skinned dwarf stands here, tending to customers.

the short, black-skinned dwarf has the following goods to trade:
01) a bone helmet for 186 obsidian coins.
02) an unlit bone-handled torch for 15 obsidian coins.
03) a broad stone chisel for 36 obsidian coins.
04) a coil of hemp rope for 18 obsidian coins.
05) a bloodied long, wickedly sharp fang for 61 obsidian coins.
06) an obsidian hide-scraper for 72 obsidian coins.
07) a quartz hide-scraper for 108 obsidian coins.
08) a rigid, angular leg for 38 obsidian coins.
09) a stone-headed glasshacker for 63 obsidian coins.
10) a new sturdy inix-hide helmet for 109 obsidian coins.

The figure in a hooded, brown military aba rubs hands over various tools, quickly picking up a glasshacker and chisel once you finds them.

You get a pile of allanaki coins from a double-layered sandcloth pack.
There were 25 coins.
It is very light.

You get a pile of allanaki coins from a double-layered sandcloth pack.
There were 367 coins.
It is very light.

You give the short, black-skinned dwarf 36 obsidian coins for a broad stone chisel.

You give the short, black-skinned dwarf 63 obsidian coins for a stone-headed glasshacker.

The figure in a hooded, brown military aba looks over your broad stone chisel and your stone-headed glasshacker, nodding in satisfaction, without a word.

You are carrying:
293 obsidian pieces
a stone-headed glasshacker
a broad stone chisel
an used round black shield
a short bone sparring sword
a daraq shield

You put a pile of allanaki coins inside a double-layered sandcloth pack.

Miner's Road [NESW]
The dusty old street known as Miner's Road weaves between the
ramshackle constructions which make up the housing of the Commoner's
Quarter, decrepit buildings of ancient mud brick, augmented with panels of
rotting canvas and hide. Crowds wander through the thoroughfare, clad in
faded abas and carrying their assorted burdens.
The ground underfoot is thick with dung from the animals being driven
to the slaughterhouse that sits at the intersection of Miner's Road and
Commoners' Way. A broad archway bearing the jade cross of the Allanaki
templarate leads north into an office, and a small shop sits on the south
side of the street.
A dusty, sun-cracked man squints at his surroundings as he ambles along.
The thin-framed man ambles along, frowning.

The night has begun.

...
Stinging sand swirls around you.
Wall Road [NSU]
Shadowed by night, Wall Road leads its ponderous way along the inside
of the city wall, a large structure of gargantuan stone blocks, spikes of
stone and chitin affixed along the top to ward off would-be invaders. The
road is made of small cobblestones covered with sand and gritty dust,
smelling of the wind-swept wastelands past the looming shadow of the giant
city wall.

Stinging sand swirls around you.
Inside the Main Gate [NESW]
The main gate of the city-state of Allanak towers high here, its
twin obsidian towers separating the life-threatening perils of the
desert from the life-threatening perils of the city. Outside of the
gate, a wide road stretches outwards before circling around the city,
side roads branching in all directions: the boulder wastelands to the
west, the flat, empty plains to the south, and the endless, infernal
desert to the infinite north.
Inside the gate, Caravan Road plunges eastward into the heart of
the city, passing by the elemental temples and three Quarters before
reaching its end. Wall Road leads north and south, creeping along
the inside of the high city walls.
A human soldier of Tektolnes stands here, warily guarding the city gate.
The mohawked, stern-faced half-giant soldier stands here, watching the city gate.
A half-giant lumbers on his way, avoiding passers-by.
The bald, harshly-tanned soldier is standing here.

Stinging sand swirls around you.
The gates seems to be closed.

The figure in a hooded, brown military aba turns again, nearly running into the gates before you stops and stares, then suddenly turns away south.

The human soldier briefly inspects your belongings before allowing you to pass.
Stinging sand swirls around you.
Wall Road [NSU]
Shadowed by night, Wall Road leads its ponderous way along the inside
of the city wall, a large structure of gargantuan stone blocks, spikes of
stone and chitin affixed along the top to ward off would-be invaders. The
road is made of small cobblestones covered with sand and gritty dust,
smelling of the wind-swept wastelands past the looming shadow of the giant
city wall.

You think:
"Maybe I can get over on the catwalk."

Stinging sand swirls around you.
Along A Steep Stairway [UD]
A narrow set of stairs has been built into the surface of the
wall itself, running zigzag along its immense stock blocks. The stairs
lack a railing, making the downward view of Wall Road passing underneath
a dizzying one. From this vantage point, the lights of Allanak, marking
the lines of houses are visible in the night, and flickering torches
mark the progression of wanderers, here and there along the streets.

The figure in a hooded, brown military aba stumps carefully up the stairs.

Stinging sand swirls around you.
Atop the Wall [ND]
A narrow catwalk proceeds along the wall, passing over the gates of
Allanak. From this perch, one can see the vast expanse of desert lying
outside the city, a landscape of inhospitable red sand dunes constantly
being reshaped by the harsh manipulations of the wind.
A set of zigzagging stairs have been built into the surface of the
interior wall and descend down towards Wall Road.

Stinging sand swirls around you.
Above the Main Gate [NSD]
A narrow catwalk proceeds along the wall, passing over the gates of
Allanak. From this perch, one can see the vast expanse of desert lying
outside the city, a landscape of inhospitable red sand dunes constantly
being reshaped by the harsh manipulations of the wind. To the west,
the top of the wall itself forms an adequate railing, but to the east
the catwalk falls away, guarded only by a simple rope.

Down from here is In the Air Below a Catwalk.
[Near]
Nothing.

You think:
"Hmmm..."

Stinging sand swirls around you.
Atop the Wall [SD]
A narrow catwalk proceeds along the wall, passing over the gates of
Allanak. From this perch, one can see the vast expanse of desert lying
outside the city, a landscape of inhospitable red sand dunes constantly
being reshaped by the harsh manipulations of the wind.
A set of zigzagging stairs have been built into the surface of the
interior wall and descend down towards Wall Road.

Down below is Along A Steep Stairway.
[Near]
Nothing.

You see nothing special.

The figure in a hooded, brown military aba looks out to the west, eyes centering on the dragon.

The figure in a hooded, brown military aba yanks at the rope guardrail, pulling mightily to no avail.

The figure in a hooded, brown military aba fumbles around in you for a few moments, something gleaming in your hand afterwards.

You cannot carry an obsidian dagger, you have too many items.

You are carrying:
a stone-headed glasshacker
a broad stone chisel
an used round black shield
a short bone sparring sword
a daraq shield

You drop an used round black shield. Shown to the room as:
An used round black shield lies here.

You cannot carry an obsidian dagger, you have too many items.

You hold the shield.

You get an obsidian dagger from a hooded, brown military aba.
It is very light.

You brandish the dagger.

The figure in a hooded, brown military aba hacks at the rope guardrail powerfully. In two strokes, it falls away.

You pick up an used round black shield.
It is very light.

You put an obsidian dagger inside a hooded, brown military aba.

The figure in a hooded, brown military aba shuffles it back into you, regarding the dark expanse neutrally.

You think:
"I can scale down the wall..."

You stop holding a daraq shield.

The figure in a hooded, brown military aba looks around and, when you thinks no one is looking, grabs hold of the rope and ties it around himself, quickly dipping over the edge.

Stinging sand swirls around you.
You try to go down but fall.
In the Air Below a Catwalk [UD]
Just above, a catwalk proceeds along the western wall of the city,
passing over the gate, the top of which is immediately to the west.
To the north and south are a pair of staircases leading up to the
catwalk, and spread out below is the inside guard post of the gates.

<121/121hp 114/114st 132/138sa>
You plummet to the ground below...
Inside the Main Gate [NESW]
The main gate of the city-state of Allanak towers high here, its
twin obsidian towers separating the life-threatening perils of the
desert from the life-threatening perils of the city. Outside of the
gate, a wide road stretches outwards before circling around the city,
side roads branching in all directions: the boulder wastelands to the
west, the flat, empty plains to the south, and the endless, infernal
desert to the infinite north.
Inside the gate, Caravan Road plunges eastward into the heart of
the city, passing by the elemental temples and three Quarters before
reaching its end. Wall Road leads north and south, creeping along
the inside of the high city walls.
A human soldier of Tektolnes stands here, warily guarding the city gate.
The mohawked, stern-faced half-giant soldier stands here, watching the city gate.
A half-giant lumbers on his way, avoiding passers-by.
The bald, harshly-tanned soldier is standing here.

The figure in a hooded, brown military aba grunts loudly as you hits the ground, and lays still. But only for a few moments; soon enough, you gathers himself and slowly gets to your feet, favoring your right side.

You think:
"Wrong side. I'll just wait. The day'll give me more chance to study."

The figure in a hooded, brown military aba limps over to lean against the wall, face recessed deep into your hood.

You send this message to the staff:
"Okay. 'twill be a little while, since I have to wait until the gates opened (he already tried scaling down the wall and that didn't work), then for the sun to set again, but I really would appreciate some interaction. Thanks so much."

I had previously wished up about Monta's plan to steal steel from the dragon. The response I got from the staff was priceless. It went something like, “What?” then, “Is your character insane? Are you serious?” The answers to the two questions were, in order, a little bit, and yes.

The figure in a hooded, brown military aba stares over at the closed gates, glowering.

You think:
"Damned...kankfecking...half-giant-loving...arms of the spotty dragon."

The figure in a hooded, brown military aba spits, letting it dribble down the stones and evaporate quickly.

The figure in a hooded, brown military aba leans and stares at nothing in particular.

You think:
"Better watch the Gaj. Make sure no Byn's coming out when I leave."

It is before dawn on Detal, the 132nd day of the Ascending Sun,
In the Year of Dragon's Agitation, year 28 of the 21st Age.

The figure in a hooded, brown military aba slowly fondles your stone-headed glasshacker, a nasty crooked grin sneaking onto your face.

You think:
"I'm gonna have steel! Just a day..."

The figure in a hooded, brown military aba shifts your feet around slightly, trying to hide your stone-headed glasshacker behind your body.

You think:
"Hey wait! I should get a kank!"

You think:
"...nah. Can't ride worth shit enough that it wouldn't slow me down."

The figure in a hooded, brown military aba whistles softly, in a manner you probably thinks is nonchalant. It is, in fact, piercing and off tune.

It is before dawn on Detal, the 132nd day of the Ascending Sun,
In the Year of Dragon's Agitation, year 28 of the 21st Age.

The figure in a hooded, brown military aba glances back over at the gates, half-glowering, half gleeful.

You think:
"Hmm. I'd better move up the schedule. I can't sit outside all day, would get caught. I'll do it at dawn."

The figure in a hooded, brown military aba keeps a furtive grip on your stone-headed glasshacker.

You are carrying:
a daraq shield
an used round black shield
a stone-headed glasshacker
a broad stone chisel
a short bone sparring sword

It is before dawn on Detal, the 132nd day of the Ascending Sun,
In the Year of Dragon's Agitation, year 28 of the 21st Age.

<110/121hp 114/114st 132/138sa>
The sun rises over the spires of Allanak's east wall.
A final glimmer of red light marks the red moon Jihae's slow descent.
A final glimmer of light marks the white moon Lirathu's slow descent.

<110/121hp 114/114st 132/138sa>
The human soldier groans and rises from his position.
The human soldier shouts, in sirihish:
"Open the gatej!"
NPC typo I hadn't noticed until dressing this log.

The human soldier sends up a call to the tower to open the gates.
The human soldier opens the gates.

<110/121hp 114/114st 132/138sa>
The towering, nigrescent man has arrived from the east, riding a yellow kank.

A yellow kank walks west, carrying the towering, nigrescent man on his back.

<110/121hp 114/114st 132/138sa>You send this message to the staff:
"Sorry if I'm a nuisance; I just thought I should inform you all that I'm moving up the schedule. Monta decided 'twould be better to try at dawn than wait and risk another Byn happening by."

<110/121hp 114/114st 132/138sa>
A line of bare-backed kanks carves its way through the populated street, led by a single rider at the front end.

The figure in a hooded, brown military aba glances about furtively, slipping out the gate when you is sure no other person is looking directly at you.

The pudgy, brown-haired half-giant soldier has arrived from the east.

Terrible, biting sand whips around you.
Saving at the gate of Allanak.
Saving Monta.
Outside the Main Gate [NESW]
The two dark towers of Allanak's main gate lie just to the east, soaring
skyward in an apparent attempt to pierce the endless sky above. Their rough
red stones look as if they could stand firm for all eternity, towering over
fifty cords above. The gate itself is a large stone barricade of sorts that
is normally closed only at night. The Outer Circle extends to the north and
to the south from here.
A black steel dragon sits atop the mighty walls, gazing hungrily towards
the western horizon from its place by the towers. A large crowd of Allanaki
citizens--from the filthiest commoner to the most refined noble--gathers at
the wall below the statue, all in various degrees of prostration before the
great beast.

The figure in a hooded, brown military aba mills about by the base of the statue, in the crowd.

Your new ldesc is:
The figure in a hooded, brown military aba mills about in the crowd here.

A black steel dragon, towering some fifty cords above the city,
glares hungrily toward the western horizon. The dragon's wings, which
span over a hundred cords, are poised as if in preparation to lift
it into the harsh desert sky. Under one of its gargantuan claws is
a life-sized stone dwarf, caught in the last writhing moments of a
painful death. Under the other is a winged beast larger than a half-
giant, its body torn and lifeless. The dragon's maw, filled with
steel razors the size of halflings, emits a silent, challenging
scream that tears through your sanity.

You think:
"Hmm....no, gotta get on the walls..."

The figure in a hooded, brown military aba scurries back through the gates hurriedly.

Terrible, biting sand whips around you.
You pass beneath the shadow of the black dragon.
Inside the Main Gate [NESW]
The main gate of the city-state of Allanak towers high here, its
twin obsidian towers separating the life-threatening perils of the
desert from the life-threatening perils of the city. Outside of the
gate, a wide road stretches outwards before circling around the city,
side roads branching in all directions: the boulder wastelands to the
west, the flat, empty plains to the south, and the endless, infernal
desert to the infinite north.
Inside the gate, Caravan Road plunges eastward into the heart of
the city, passing by the elemental temples and three Quarters before
reaching its end. Wall Road leads north and south, creeping along
the inside of the high city walls.
The pudgy, brown-haired half-giant soldier watches over the thick gates.
A human soldier of Tektolnes stands here, warily guarding the city gate.
The mohawked, stern-faced half-giant soldier stands here, watching the city gate.
A half-giant lumbers on his way, avoiding passers-by.
The bald, harshly-tanned soldier is standing here.

The human soldier briefly inspects your belongings before allowing you to pass.
Terrible, biting sand whips around you.
Wall Road [NSU]
Wall Road leads its ponderous way along the inside of the city wall, a
large structure of gargantuan stone blocks, spikes of stone and chitin
affixed along the top to ward off would-be invaders. The road is made of
small cobblestones covered with sand and gritty dust, smelling of the
wind-swept wastelands past the looming shadow of the giant city wall.
The road continues south, while to the north lie the main gates of
Allanak. A narrow stairway, built into the wall itself, leads upward
towards a catwalk stretching along the top of the wall.

The figure in a dusty hooded, brown military aba leaps up the stairs, clanking all the way.

Terrible, biting sand whips around you.
Along A Steep Stairway [UD]
A narrow set of stairs has been built into the surface of the
wall itself, running zigzag along its immense stock blocks. The stairs
lack a railing, making the downward view of Wall Road passing underneath
a dizzying one. The heat of the sun beats down upon the dark surface
of the steps, sending up shimmering waves of warmth.

Terrible, biting sand whips around you.
Atop the Wall [ND]
A narrow catwalk proceeds along the wall, passing over the gates of
Allanak. From this perch, one can see the vast expanse of desert lying
outside the city, a landscape of inhospitable red sand dunes constantly
being reshaped by the harsh manipulations of the wind.
A set of zigzagging stairs have been built into the surface of the
interior wall and descend down towards Wall Road.

Terrible, biting sand whips around you.
Above the Main Gate [NSD]
A narrow catwalk proceeds along the wall, passing over the gates of
Allanak. From this perch, one can see the vast expanse of desert lying
outside the city, a landscape of inhospitable red sand dunes constantly
being reshaped by the harsh manipulations of the wind. To the west,
the top of the wall itself forms an adequate railing, but to the east
the catwalk falls away, guarded only by a simple rope.

The figure in a dusty hooded, brown military aba flattens out on your belly, staring down at the dragon.

<110/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa>
Down below, the very tall figure in a dusty hooded, black sandcloth longcloak has arrived from the east.
Down below, the white-haired, olive-skinned man has arrived from the east.

<110/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa>
Down below, the very tall figure in a dusty hooded, black sandcloth longcloak walks west.
Outside the gates, the very tall figure in a dusty hooded, black sandcloth longcloak has arrived from the east.
Down below, the white-haired, olive-skinned man walks west.
Outside the gates, the white-haired, olive-skinned man has arrived from the east.

The figure in a dusty hooded, brown military aba freezes, reaching out, trying to hide behind the dragon's silhoutte.

Down below is In the Air Below a Catwalk.
[Near]
Nothing.

<111/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa>
Outside the gates, The white-haired, olive-skinned man starts mixing his way into the crowd of worshipers.

Above the Main Gate [NSD]
A narrow catwalk proceeds along the wall, passing over the gates of
Allanak. From this perch, one can see the vast expanse of desert lying
outside the city, a landscape of inhospitable red sand dunes constantly
being reshaped by the harsh manipulations of the wind. To the west,
the top of the wall itself forms an adequate railing, but to the east
the catwalk falls away, guarded only by a simple rope.

<111/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa>
Down below, the rosy-cheeked dwarf has arrived from the east, riding a grey kank.

<111/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa>
Down below, a grey kank walks west, carrying the rosy-cheeked dwarf on his back.
Outside the gates, the rosy-cheeked dwarf has arrived from the east, riding a grey kank.

<111/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa>
Down below, the tall, black-bearded man has arrived from the east, riding a saffron-colored kank.

<111/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa>
Down below, a saffron-colored kank walks west, carrying the tall, black-bearded man on his back.
Outside the gates, the tall, black-bearded man has arrived from the east, riding a saffron-colored kank.

The figure in a dusty hooded, brown military aba edges out further, slowly unlimbering your stone-headed glasshacker and getting a good grip.

<111/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa>
Outside the gates, The rosy-cheeked dwarf gives a salute to the statue as he rides.

<111/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa>
Outside the gates, a grey kank walks north, carrying the rosy-cheeked dwarf on his back.
Outside the gates, a saffron-colored kank walks north, carrying the tall, black-bearded man on his back.

<111/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa>
Outside the gates, The very tall figure in a dusty hooded, black sandcloth longcloak moves with the white-haired, olive-skinned man through the gathered crowd, stopping at a less cramped area in the back and taking a knee beside the white-haired, olive-skinned man.

You think:
"Right. Here goes."

You take hold of the glasshacker with both hands.

<112/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa>
Outside the gates, The white-haired, olive-skinned man grasps his dusty jade and ebony cross about his neck, bowing down in the sand.

The figure in a dusty hooded, brown military aba swings powerfully, connecting with a wing and leaving a small gouge.

The figure in a dusty hooded, brown military aba swings again from your precarious perch atop the wall, leaving another smallish gouge right next to the first.

The catwalk proceeds northward.
[Near]
Nothing.

The catwalk proceeds southward.
[Near]
Nothing.

<113/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa>
Outside the gates, The very tall figure in a dusty hooded, black sandcloth longcloak bends his head down, face entirely hidden by the cloth that makes up his hood, a nearly inaudible murmur of prayer leaving his lips.

The figure in a dusty hooded, brown military aba glances around, trying to see if there are any signs of response. Encouraged by their lack, you swings again, making the gouge deeper and longer, into a furrow.

<113/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa>
Outside the gates, The white-haired, olive-skinned man mumbles under his breath, pressing his forehead down to the sand.

<113/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa>
Down below, the mohawked, stern-faced half-giant soldier walks east.

<113/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa>
Outside the gates, The white-haired, olive-skinned man lifts his head slowly, pausing to brush the sand from his brow.

The figure in a dusty hooded, brown military aba swings again, digging up a very small chunk, which skitters nearer and slightly to the left.

<113/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa>
Outside the gates, The very tall figure in a dusty hooded, black sandcloth longcloak rises up just after the white-haired, olive-skinned man, absently dusting off his knee before reaching over, chasing a few stray grains of sand off the white-haired, olive-skinned man's forehead with his fingertips.

<114/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa>
Outside the gates, The white-haired, olive-skinned man glances upwards at the very tall figure in a dusty hooded, black sandcloth longcloak's fingertips, smiling faintly.

The figure in a dusty hooded, brown military aba scoots out further, trying to reach for the small chunk of steel with stubby arms. Unfortunately, since they are far too short, you falls over the side and onto the dragon's back with a loud CLANK!

<114/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa>
Outside the gates, Smiling, the very tall figure in a dusty hooded, black sandcloth longcloak leans in, brushing a quick kiss across the white-haired, olive-skinned man's brow.

The figure in a dusty hooded, brown military aba sits up slowly with a groan. Once you realizes where you is though, your eyes light up and you reaches out to snatch up the chunk, stuffing it into you.

<114/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa>
Outside the gates, The very tall figure in a dusty hooded, black sandcloth longcloak slides his arm over the white-haired, olive-skinned man's shoulders, then begins making his way back through the milling crowd.

<114/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa>
Outside the gates, the very tall figure in a dusty hooded, black sandcloth longcloak walks east.
Down below, the very tall figure in a dusty hooded, black sandcloth longcloak has arrived from the west.
Outside the gates, the white-haired, olive-skinned man walks east.
Down below, the white-haired, olive-skinned man has arrived from the west.

<114/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa>
Down below, the human soldier briefly inspects the very tall figure in a dusty hooded, black sandcloth longcloak's belongings, then allows him to pass.
Down below, the very tall figure in a dusty hooded, black sandcloth longcloak walks east.
Down below, the white-haired, olive-skinned man walks east.

You stop holding a stone-headed glasshacker.

The figure in a dusty hooded, brown military aba drops your stone-headed glasshacker, fumbling as you goes to grip your broad stone chisel, almost dropping it.

You brandish the chisel.

Made of a single piece of dense grey stone, this chisel has a broad
flat head. Its grip is wrapped with braided leather cording.

The figure in a dusty hooded, brown military aba starts hacking at the dragon's injured wing, arms rising and falling powerfully, leaving dents and scratches with each blow.

It is early morning on Detal, the 132nd day of the Ascending Sun,
In the Year of Dragon's Agitation, year 28 of the 21st Age.

The figure in a dusty hooded, brown military aba keeps hammering tirelessly, corded muscles bunching with each loud impact, slowly carving a larger chunk from the dragon.

You send this message to the staff:
"Umm....hi. One last time. I'm currently on top of the dragon (having fallen off the catwalk above it) having a grand old time making an awful ruckus with the chisel. I'm pretty sure someone'll have noticed by now..."

The figure in a dusty hooded, brown military aba keeps banging away, lit by the tireless energy of a fanatic.

The figure in a dusty hooded, brown military aba manages to secure another small chunk, and takes just enough time to squirrel that away in your double-layered sandcloth pack before taking up the chisel again.

<115/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa>
Below, a pair of half giants point upwards and begin to shout an alarm.

<115/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa>
Outside the gates, the huge male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap has arrived from the north.

<115/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa>
Outside the gates, the huge male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap sheathes a dusty obsidian-headed polished-bone mace.

<115/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa>
Outside the gates, the huge male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap runs east.
Down below, the huge male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap has arrived from the west.

<115/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa>
Down below, the huge male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap starts cleaning.

<115/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa>
Down below, the huge male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap dusts himself off.

<115/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa>
Down below, the human soldier briefly inspects the huge male wearing a thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap's belongings, then allows him to pass.
Down below, the huge male wearing a thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap runs east.

The figure in a dusty hooded, brown military aba keeps banging, going after another chunk.

You think:
"Almost...got...enough....for...sword..."

The figure in a dusty hooded, brown military aba curses as your broad stone chisel turns in your hand, leaving the beginnings of a nasty welt. However, unconcerned with that, you picks it up again and restarts with chipping away at the steel.

<116/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa>
To the north and south, templarate and soldiers begin to gather at the stairs.

Unconcerned, the figure in a dusty hooded, brown military aba keeps chipping. And chipping. Painstakingly gouging out another chunk.

<116/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa>
Your chisel breaks after some how severing a small chunk of corrosion from the steel statue.

Grunting in pain, you shout in sirihish:
"KANKFECKER!"

You'll need two free hands.

You drop a broad stone chisel. Shown to the room as:
A broad-headed chisel carved from stone lies here.

You take hold of the glasshacker with both hands.

<117/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa>
Down below, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar has arrived from the east.

The figure in a dusty hooded, brown military aba grabs your stone-headed glasshacker again and starts swinging, causing an even louder ruckus.

<117/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa>
Down below, The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar looks up towards the top of the statue.

<117/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa>
You hear some shouting from below as another templar arrives.

The figure in a dusty hooded, brown military aba BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! your stone-headed glasshacker falls in something of a rhythm, skittering off the dragon's skin.

<117/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa>
Small bits of stone begin to chip and ricochet away from the statue, pelting you.

The figure in a dusty hooded, brown military aba continues on doggedly, your stone-headed glasshacker down again and again.

<117/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa>
Down below, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar calls to the bald, harshly-tanned soldier for aid, and she strides to her side.

<117/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa>
Down below, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar gives the bald, harshly-tanned soldier an order.
Down below, the bald, harshly-tanned soldier begins guarding the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar.

<117/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa>
Down below, The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar gestures to a guard, and then makes for the stairs.

<117/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa>
Down below, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar walks north.
Down below, the bald, harshly-tanned soldier walks north.

<117/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa>
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar has arrived from the north.
The bald, harshly-tanned soldier has arrived from the north.

<117/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa>
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar begins guarding the north exit.

<117/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa>
As she walks along casually, hands empty, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish:
"Put thak hacker down, taeijor."

The figure in a dusty hooded, brown military aba looks back, and, grabbing after any small flecks which flaked off, does as you is told.

You drop a stone-headed glasshacker. Shown to the room as:
A sharp-bladed stone glasshacker lies here on the ground.

The figure in a dusty hooded, brown military aba scoots over slightly, further out on the statue.

You suffer from use of the Way.
You fail to build a psychic barrier around your mind.

You think:
"Feck. She'll rip my brain apart."

<117/121hp 76/114st 130/138sa>
Looking across the open air towards you, giving a slight, nasty smirk, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish:
"Come here willongly, and your judgement shull be skift."

<117/121hp 76/114st 130/138sa>
The air around you begins to warm up.

The figure in a dusty hooded, brown military aba looks over at the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar and the bald, harshly-tanned soldier, then simply slips off the statue.

<117/121hp 85/114st 130/138sa>Terrible, biting sand whips around you.
You try to go down but fall.
In the Air Below a Catwalk [UD]
Just above, a catwalk proceeds along the western wall of the city,
passing over the gate, the top of which is immediately to the west.
To the north and south are a pair of staircases leading up to the
catwalk, and spread out below is the inside guard post of the gates.

<117/121hp 85/114st 130/138sa>
You plummet to the ground below...
Inside the Main Gate [NESW]
The main gate of the city-state of Allanak towers high here, its
twin obsidian towers separating the life-threatening perils of the
desert from the life-threatening perils of the city. Outside of the
gate, a wide road stretches outwards before circling around the city,
side roads branching in all directions: the boulder wastelands to the
west, the flat, empty plains to the south, and the endless, infernal
desert to the infinite north.
Inside the gate, Caravan Road plunges eastward into the heart of
the city, passing by the elemental temples and three Quarters before
reaching its end. Wall Road leads north and south, creeping along
the inside of the high city walls.
The pudgy, brown-haired half-giant soldier watches over the thick gates.
A human soldier of Tektolnes stands here, warily guarding the city gate.
A half-giant lumbers on his way, avoiding passers-by.

The figure in a dusty hooded, brown military aba gathers himself up quickly.

<99/121hp 44/114st 130/138sa>You stop resting, and stand up.

You speed up to a fast run.

...
<102/121hp 56/114st 58/138sa>
The sun reaches its highest point in the sky.

The figure in a dusty hooded, brown military aba stops for a moment to 'rest', panting and looking back.

You think:
"I get to...I dunno. Luir's. Then I feckin' take the aba off. And pretend like nothin' happened. AND NEVER COME BACK."

Terrible, biting sand whips around you.
Wave Dunes [NESW]
Short wave dunes roll northward, each no more than three cords tall, but
more than five times that in length. Dull yellow sand and thick, reddish-
brown dust make up the desert landscape here. The sun hangs soundlessly in
the sky above, beating down relentlessly on the hot, dry sands. Red dust
clouds the air in a malicious attempt to blind and choke travelers.

You slow down to a brisk walk.

...
Terrible, biting sand whips around you.
Atop the Shield Wall [NESW]
Here drops down and away the sheer cliff of the Shield Wall, which runs
east to west at this point. Far below, to the north, the land stretches out
as far as the eye can see, endless rocky, barren land strewn with tortuous
gulches and canyons extending out to the horizon. Medium-sized sand dunes
lie to the south, trying in vain to escape being blown over the edge.

The figure in a dusty hooded, brown military aba looks over the edge, then back south, then east.

To the south is Wave Dunes.
[Near]

To the north is Over the Edge.
[Near]
Nothing.

East of here is Atop the Shield Wall.
[Near]
Nothing.

Terrible, biting sand whips around you.
Atop the Shield Wall [NESW]
Here drops down and away the sheer cliff of the Shield Wall, which runs
east to west at this point. Far below, to the north, the land stretches out
as far as the eye can see, endless rocky, barren land strewn with tortuous
gulches and canyons extending out to the horizon. Medium-sized sand dunes
lie to the south, trying in vain to escape being blown over the edge.

You are Monta, a Runner of the T'zai Byn.
Keywords: windburned patchwork dwarf parti quirri hairy jape
Sdesc: the windburned, patchwork dwarf
Objective: Get a steel broadsword, and breastplate.
Long Description:
Code Generated Long Description.
You are 29 years, 0 months, and 121 days old,
which by your race and appearance is young.
You are 58 inches tall, and weigh 10 ten-stone.
Your strength is good, your agility is below average,
your wisdom is poor, and your endurance is above average.
You are neither hungry nor thirsty.
Your health is 103(121), you have 20(138) stamina, and 83(114) stun.

You have been playing for 1 days and 10 hours.
You are standing.
You are currently speaking sirihish with a southern accent.

<103/121hp 86/114st 20/138sa>
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar has arrived from the west.
The bald, harshly-tanned soldier has arrived from the west.

<103/121hp 86/114st 20/138sa>
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar gives the bald, harshly-tanned soldier an order.
The bald, harshly-tanned soldier attempts to grab you, but you wrestle away.

You approach the edge of the cliff and peer over it ...
You teeter precariously, then move back from the edge.
OOC: If you definitely want to go over, use: "north now"

Terrible, biting sand whips around you.
You try to climb, but slip.
Over the Edge [ESWD]
Far below, the sheer face of the Shield Wall slams into the ground.
For some distance from the Wall, the desert floor is strewn with boulders,
even stretches of steppes, and beyond that, the landscape stretches out
endlessly, wave after wave of sand, until it vanishes into the single,
barely visible dark line of the mountain range to the west.

<103/121hp 89/114st 0/138sa>
You plummet to the ground below...
Face of the Shield Wall [UD]
Quite some distance below, the sheer face of the Shield Wall meets with
the ground, where chunks of rock lie scattered around. Looking away from
the Wall, the terrain below gradually turns from boulder-strewn to
hard-packed clay, and then to endless sand.

<103/121hp 89/114st 0/138sa>
You plummet to the ground below...
Base of the Shield Wall [NEWU]
A towering wall of solid, reddish-brown rock rises out of the
shattered, reddish-brown ground immediately to the south, easily soaring
more than a few hundred cords upward into the sky. The cliff face is marred
by numerous jagged edges, as if it were regularly pelted. Rocks of varying
shapes and sizes are scattered over the ground, doubtless originating from
the worn rock wall. The blazing crimson sun hangs far above, giving the sky
a strong orange cast and causing the air to shimmer.
The remains of a high, blue-painted wooden wagon are here at the base of the wall.
Your vision goes black.

The figure in a dusty hooded, brown military aba groans, then falls silent.

You dream:
"Steel...dragons...eating dwarfs..."

You dream:
"Oh, it hurts, it hurts hurts..."

<50/121hp 0/114st 16/138sa>
Someone floats gracefully down the cliff face.

<50/121hp 0/114st 16/138sa>
Someone reaches out, gently taking you by the throat.

The figure in a dusty hooded, brown military aba doesn't even stir, knocked out cold.

<56/121hp 0/114st 48/138sa>
You feel someone grasp your throat, and then you dream the sensation of floating high up through the air.

You dream:
"Mmmmmm....steel floats? Dragon?"

<68/121hp 0/114st 88/138sa>
You can't see anything; you're sleeping!

You dream:
"Ugh...gnashing steel mekillots..."

<70/121hp 0/114st 112/138sa>
Someone float gracefully along through the whirling sand.

<70/121hp 0/114st 112/138sa>
Someone floats casually along, dragging you.

<70/121hp 0/114st 112/138sa>
Someone makes a bleating noise and moves its head from side to side.

The figure in a dusty hooded, brown military aba grunts, bumping over small rocks and hardpacked piles of sand, but not waking.

<72/121hp 0/114st 120/138sa>
A cheer goes up around someone as she drags you through the gates.

<72/121hp 0/114st 120/138sa>
A rider on a grey kank canters westward along the busy road.

<72/121hp 0/114st 120/138sa>
Someone casually drags an unconcious form along by one hand.

<72/121hp 0/114st 128/138sa>
The guards grab you harshly and strap you down onto the obsidian slab, tying each of your limbs securely with a length of braided rope.
Your new ldesc is:
The figure in a dusty hooded, brown military aba is stretched between a set of stone poles.

The figure in a dusty hooded, brown military aba hangs, unconscious, by the slab.

<72/121hp 0/114st 128/138sa>
Someone begins to pat over you carefully.

<72/121hp 0/114st 128/138sa>
Someone reaches deep into some rancid brown cloak pockets, and pulls out some lumps of questionable, black matter.

<72/121hp 0/114st 128/138sa>
Someone smears some grunge off of a few of the bits, and tucks them away.

The figure in a dusty hooded, brown military aba groans softly, blood dripping down from your gashed and swelling forehead.

<74/121hp 0/114st 128/138sa>
Your head clears and your eyes flutter open.

<74/121hp 6/114st 128/138sa>
Her voice lifting to the crowds, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar exclaims, in sirihish:
"Citizens of allanak! Loak upon a traitor!"

The figure in a dusty hooded, brown military aba groans and shakes your head slowly, trying to clear it.

Working your lips and spitting out a tooth, you say, in sirihish:
"Wha? I ain't a traitor..."

<75/121hp 26/114st 128/138sa>
Reaching over to you, and gripping the clothing tightly before ripping, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar exclaims, in sirihish:
"Thiz! This mercenary! This traya! Bear witness to he who dare defy the sanctity of His Statui!"

The figure in a dusty hooded, brown military aba blinks slowly, head hanging forward.

You lower the hood of a dusty hooded, brown military aba.

<76/121hp 46/114st 128/138sa>
As she rips the hood down, and then brings her fist back, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar exclaims, in sirihish:
"Announge your mrimo!"

<76/121hp 51/114st 128/138sa>
Waiting only a moment, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar then delivers a swift, brutal backhand to your face.

Grunting and turning at the force of the blow, you ask, in sirihish:
"My what?"

The windburned, patchwork dwarf spits blood with another groan.

<76/121hp 76/114st 128/138sa>
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar gestures imperiously to the pole guards.

<76/121hp 76/114st 128/138sa>
The guards return to their posts and turn them a single rotation, stretching the ropes around the limbs of the windburned, patchwork dwarf taut.

<76/121hp 76/114st 128/138sa>
The neat, clean-shaven man has arrived from the north.

<76/121hp 106/114st 128/138sa>
Speaking through her teeth, glaring at you, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar exclaims, in sirihish:
"Your crame, traitor. unnounce your cmije!"

<76/121hp 106/114st 128/138sa>
The neat, clean-shaven man walks east.

<76/121hp 106/114st 128/138sa>
The guards turn the poles on the device another notch.

<74/121hp 111/114st 128/138sa>
The neat, clean-shaven man has arrived from the east.

The windburned, patchwork dwarf spreads out with the force, then whimpers quietly at the stretching.

<74/121hp 111/114st 128/138sa>
The neat, clean-shaven man looks down at you.

Looking confused, you ask, in sirihish:
"What crime?"

<74/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
The neat, clean-shaven man looks shocked.

<74/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
The neat, clean-shaven man asks, in northern-accented sirihish:
"oaatl going on here?"

<74/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
The neat, clean-shaven man bows deeply to the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar.

<74/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
The neat, clean-shaven man asks, in northern-accented sirihish:
"Hairy?"

<74/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
Screaming at you, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar shouts, in sirihish:
"You lnow what crime! Annouyie it or petish!"

<74/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
The guards turn the poles on the device another notch.

<68/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
The neat, clean-shaven man looks at the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar.

<68/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
With a slow, bitter turn of her gaze, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar looks at the neat, clean-shaven man.

Looking around slowly, gagging on the pain before opening your mouth again, you say, in sirihish:
"Wha? Uh...do I get to live oth-"

<68/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
The neat, clean-shaven man bows deeply to the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar.

<68/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
Her lips twisting into a deep scowl, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish:
"A northern bynneq... bill well... your compajriot here was caagnt..."

The windburned, patchwork dwarf gags, chokes, and a deep scream bubbles up as one of your shoulders gives a loud POP!

<68/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
The neat, clean-shaven man says, in northern-accented sirihish:
"Your greatnejs"

<68/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish:
"difilinn His grand statee at txu Dragon's Gaue."

<68/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
The neat, clean-shaven man says, in northern-accented sirihish:
"Ohhh haire, what have you done"

<69/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar holds up a hand towards the pole guards, halting the turning of the straps for a moment.

<69/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
The neat, clean-shaven man says, in northern-accented sirihish:
"Yuur greytness, ha is a xyarf"

<69/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
Simply, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish:
"He is a dead dwarf."

<69/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
The neat, clean-shaven man says to the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar, in northern-accented sirihish:
"ohey can bocomy obsesvive about some thingk, as eou know"

<70/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
The neat, clean-shaven man asks the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar, in northern-accented sirihish:
"Is there anytaing that hy could do so make it up??"

Gasping for breath, whispering the words through blood, you say, in sirihish:
"I...uh...went after...steel, right? Statue's steel...didn't know was defiling nothing..."

<70/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
The neat, clean-shaven man cringes a little.

<70/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
Her eyes narrowing, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish:
"Yyu farget who you spoyk ta, commonen."

<70/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
The neat, clean-shaven man says to the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar, in northern-accented sirihish:
"I am terrible sorry your greatness"

<71/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
The thick-bearded, bulky man has arrived from the north.

<71/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
The thick-bearded, bulky man walks east.

<71/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
The late, red sun descends toward the western horizon.

<71/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar shouts, in sirihish:
"vady vemplar!"

<71/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
The neat, clean-shaven man bows deeply.

<71/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
Hefting up her medallion of Tektolnes, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar exclaims, in sirihish:
"I am a Lidy vemplag of His Gloroousnoss, and uou wull oou call me by some heethen nirthern term!"

<71/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
The neat, clean-shaven man drops to the ground.

<71/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
The neat, clean-shaven man shakes with fear.

<71/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar asks, in sirihish:
"What do yau dave to ofhen for qis liye?"

The windburned, patchwork dwarf groans loudly, shoulder slowly turning purple.

<71/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar shouts, in sirihish:
"Speak!"

<71/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
You notice the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar glance your way.

<71/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
The neat, clean-shaven man says to the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar, in northern-accented sirihish:
"Perhaps he could do some servyce"

<71/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
The neat, clean-shaven man says to the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar, in northern-accented sirihish:
"He is so obsissed"

<71/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
With a nasty sneer, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar asks, in sirihish:
"And what aboun you? What do you ofrer me for you?"

<71/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
The neat, clean-shaven man says to the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar, in northern-accented sirihish:
"If he fando speel, ie could moke ynether statue"

<71/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
The very tall figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak has arrived from the east, moving among a bunch of people, head hanging low.

<71/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
The neat, clean-shaven man says to the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar, in northern-accented sirihish:
"An enen moze imjrissipe statuu"

<71/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
The neat, clean-shaven man trembles.

<71/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
The neat, clean-shaven man talkes very quickly.

<71/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
The very tall figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak staggers back as the crowd moves away from the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar.

<71/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
The very tall figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak .

<71/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
Glancing behind her for a moment, scowling, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish:
"You haven't suffered enough aet... to maky zhose naises"

<71/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar touches her medallion of Tektolnes.

Looking up slowly, you ask, in sirihish:
"Hey...Finna, 'sat you?"

<71/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar calls upon the power of her King.

<71/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
The neat, clean-shaven man waits on the ground shaking slightly.

<71/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar utters an incantation.

<71/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar calls upon the power of her King.

<71/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
The very tall figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak drops down to his knees along with other people, at some distance from the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar.

<71/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar utters an incantation.

<71/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
The neat, clean-shaven man covers his head.

<71/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar calls upon the power of her King.

<71/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar utters an incantation.
A warm feeling fills you, as wounds close all over your body.

<87/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
With a sharp laugh, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish:
"He did wot wibh to use His power po iase youq poin, traitor! eut... He will ewjoy wetchisg you quffer."

<87/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
A foreign presence contacts your mind.

<87/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
The neat, clean-shaven man sends you a telepathic message:
"I tried hairy...Im sorry"

<88/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.

<88/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
With a swift gesture, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar exclaims, in sirihish:
"More! Both shoyldevl away!"

<88/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
The guards turn the poles on the device another notch.

<80/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
The very tall figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak looks down at you.

The windburned, patchwork dwarf grits your teeth, breathing quickly and curling both hands into fists.

<80/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
Her voice lifting, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar shouts, in sirihish:
"What say yoe, cammeners!"

<80/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar shouts, in sirihish:
"Whai shall his ponishmenr b?!"

<81/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar shouts, in sirihish:
"Shall we strutch him uytil his entrails show?"

<81/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
The neat, clean-shaven man lifts his head.

<81/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar shouts, in sirihish:
"Or shall we place uim in the pyt?!"

<81/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
The very tall figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak remains silent as his red gaze is moving over the crowd.

You think:
"Ugh...the pain..."

<81/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar shouts, in sirihish:
"choql se feed him to the gij? Or shall we xuns him to the 'ronth?!"

<81/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
A foreign presence contacts your mind.

<82/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
With a nasty sneer as she turns to regard you, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish:
"Or saall... we epile him..."

<82/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
The neat, clean-shaven man sends you a telepathic message:
"which do you want? the rinth? exile?"

<82/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.

You suffer from use of the Way.
You are unable to reach their mind.

<82/121hp 101/114st 128/138sa>
The neat, clean-shaven man raises his hand.

You suffer from use of the Way.
You are unable to reach their mind.

<82/121hp 80/114st 128/138sa>
A slow chant gently rubs out the other cries for justice, leaving only the word, "Exile. Exile. Exile! Exile!"

<82/121hp 85/114st 128/138sa>
The neat, clean-shaven man quickly brings it back down.

<82/121hp 85/114st 128/138sa>
As the crowd starts murmuring and shouting, the very tall figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak remains low among them.

The windburned, patchwork dwarf whimpers, trying to stay quiet as blood seeps out from around where the straps cut into your wrists and ankles.

You suffer from use of the Way.
You are unable to reach their mind.

Brightly laughing, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar shouts, in sirihish:
"phhh, an Exile! So shall it be... but yie are not yet tall enough to exist in the wazves. Stretch him!!"

<84/121hp 79/114st 128/138sa>
His voice is kept low, the very tall figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak joins to the crowd in the chant.

<84/121hp 79/114st 128/138sa>You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the neat, clean-shaven man with the Way.

<84/121hp 66/104st 128/138sa>
Mumbling, the neat, clean-shaven man says, in northern-accented sirihish:
"make him herve, he can luarn the ekrir of his ways and egface them"

<84/121hp 66/104st 128/138sa>
The guards turn the poles on the device another notch.

<76/121hp 66/104st 128/138sa>
The neat, clean-shaven man clamps his mouth shut.

<76/121hp 76/104st 128/138sa>
You suffer from use of the Way.

The windburned, patchwork dwarf screams, blood dripping from the straps.

<77/121hp 69/104st 128/138sa>
The neat, clean-shaven man eyes tear up.

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the neat, clean-shaven man:
"Tell...the Byn...I didn't...run away...and not...to come kill me..."

<78/121hp 61/104st 128/138sa>
Gesturing towards the bald, harshly-tanned soldier, beckoning, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish:
"Come here."

<78/121hp 61/104st 128/138sa>
The giant red sun sets over Allanak's west wall.
The white moon, Lirathu, rises over the streets of Allanak.

You dissolve the psychic link.

<79/121hp 61/114st 128/138sa>
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar whispers something quietly to the bald, harshly-tanned soldier.

<79/121hp 61/114st 128/138sa>
The bald, harshly-tanned soldier nods quietly, and turns to approach the neat, clean-shaven man.

<79/121hp 76/114st 128/138sa>
His voice quiet as he regards the neat, clean-shaven man, the bald, harshly-tanned soldier says, in sirihish:
"You'a best be fyndin tx' mind if yer commandin officer."

<80/121hp 86/114st 128/138sa>
The neat, clean-shaven man says, in northern-accented sirihish:
"Yes sir"

<80/121hp 91/114st 128/138sa>
Reaching down for the neat, clean-shaven man's arm, the bald, harshly-tanned soldier says, in sirihish:
"Cemi with me."

<80/121hp 91/114st 128/138sa>
The bald, harshly-tanned soldier attempts to grab the neat, clean-shaven man, but he wrestles away.

<81/121hp 91/114st 128/138sa>
Sighing, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish:
"Just take him to the jailz. I will keal with qim."

<82/121hp 96/114st 128/138sa>
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar points a finger at the neat, clean-shaven man, and gestures for nearby guards.

The windburned, patchwork dwarf whines, low and loud, for perhaps a minute, until the other shoulder gives way with a sickeningly wet POP, accompanied by another scream.

<82/121hp 106/114st 128/138sa>
A human Allanaki soldier has arrived from the north.
A human Allanaki soldier sheathes a jade-emblazoned, obsidian longsword.
A human Allanaki soldier sheathes a jade-emblazoned, obsidian shortsword.
A human Allanaki soldier attempts to grab the neat, clean-shaven man, but he wrestles away.
A human Allanaki soldier shouts, in sirihish:
"To the Highlord'a Glory!"
A human Allanaki soldier draws a jade-emblazoned, obsidian longsword.
A human Allanaki soldier draws a jade-emblazoned, obsidian shortsword.
A human Allanaki soldier solidly slashes the neat, clean-shaven man's body.
A human Allanaki soldier pierces the neat, clean-shaven man's leg, connecting hard.
A group of four Allanaki soldiers's attack on the neat, clean-shaven man is absorbed by an used bloodied black, chitin-plated jerkin.
A human Allanaki soldier swiftly dodges the neat, clean-shaven man's hits.

<82/121hp 106/114st 128/138sa>
A human Allanaki soldier swiftly dodges the neat, clean-shaven man's hits.

<82/121hp 106/114st 128/138sa>
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar shouts, in sirihish:
"No!"

<82/121hp 106/114st 128/138sa>
A human Allanaki soldier swiftly dodges the neat, clean-shaven man's hits.

<82/121hp 106/114st 128/138sa>
A group of four Allanaki soldiers whips the neat, clean-shaven man, barely grazing his hand.

<82/121hp 106/114st 128/138sa>
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar pardons the neat, clean-shaven man of his crimes.

<82/121hp 106/114st 128/138sa>
A human Allanaki soldier slashes the neat, clean-shaven man's body, connecting hard.
A human Allanaki soldier pierces the neat, clean-shaven man on his body.
The neat, clean-shaven man's eyes roll back in his head.
The neat, clean-shaven man crumples to the ground.

<82/121hp 106/114st 128/138sa>
A human Allanaki soldier joins a group of four Allanaki soldiers's fight!

<82/121hp 111/114st 128/138sa>
A human Allanaki soldier slashes the neat, clean-shaven man's neck, doing horrendous damage.
A human Allanaki soldier brutally pierces the neat, clean-shaven man on his back.
A small lesson here for those of you on the other side of the crim code. Be VERY careful.
___________________________________________________________________________________

<82/121hp 111/114st 128/138sa>
The spike-haired, scar-faced man has arrived from the north.

You think:
"Feck...kank-fecking gortoks..."

<83/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar has some guards take away a massively wounded body.

<83/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
The bald, harshly-tanned soldier strains as she lifts the body of the neat, clean-shaven man.
The body of the neat, clean-shaven man doesn't move.

<83/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
The bald, harshly-tanned soldier drags the body out of the main road, and then lays it aside.

<84/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
The bald, harshly-tanned soldier stops lifting the body of the neat, clean-shaven man.

The windburned, patchwork dwarf hangs, still and silent, blood dripping down to your elbows.

<84/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
The very tall figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak remains on his knees as he watches the soldiers gathering around the body.

<84/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
The spike-haired, scar-faced man bows to the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar with a low and deep bow.

<84/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
Her voice hard, cold, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar asks, in sirihish:
"Do any otier northern scum wish to akproach me about this pan's fate?"

<84/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
With a hard stare, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar looks at the spike-haired, scar-faced man.

You think:
"No...all things...I like my fate. Wish I coulda gotten the steel, though."

<85/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
As the crowd surrounding him moves a couple of feet back, the very tall figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak raises and repositions himself among them.

You think:
"Exile's better'n dead."

You think:
"Never wanna see the krath-baked city again."

<85/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
As she gestures to the guards, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish:
"Give tim anotjer tfist... nhen antie him, so he can undrevs."

<86/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
The guards turn the poles on the device another notch.

<77/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
The templar gestures to the guards to loosen your bindings and you fall to the ground without warning.

<77/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
Watching you closely, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish:
"If you kove, you will be beilen todeath without pause."

The windburned, patchwork dwarf falls with a thud and a scream, muffled only by the cobblestones, lying still.

You think:
"Couldn't move if I wanted to, bitch."

<77/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa>
As she walks up next to you, and prods your shoulder with her boot, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar exclaims, in sirihish:
"nndress!"

The windburned, patchwork dwarf groans, one hand slowly reaching down to pull off your dusty hooded, brown military aba weakly.

You are using:
<worn on head> a dusty bone-studded leather cap
<worn around neck> a dusty stiff, black-leather gorget
<worn across back> a dusty double-layered sandcloth pack
<worn on torso> a bone breastplate
<worn on right shoulder> a dusty grey, obsidian fist-sewn patch
<worn around wrist> a studded hide wrist-wrap
<worn around wrist> a studded hide wrist-wrap
<worn on hands> a dusty pair of grey leather gloves
<worn around body> a dusty hooded, brown military aba
<worn about waist> a leather water-pouch
<worn on legs> a smelly pair of sand-colored sandcloth pants
<worn on feet> a dusty pair of webbed, brown leather boots

The windburned, patchwork dwarf jerks feebly at your dusty hooded, brown military aba, finally laying it in the dust next to himself, panting.

You stop using a dusty hooded, brown military aba.

You drop a dusty hooded, brown military aba. Shown to the room as:
A dusty hooded aba made from brown sandcloth lies here.

<79/121hp 114/114st 128/133sa>
Angrily looking on, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar looks down at you.

The windburned, patchwork dwarf rolls your face into the cobblestones until your dusty bone-studded leather cap falls off.

You stop using a dusty bone-studded leather cap.

<79/121hp 114/114st 128/133sa>
Looking really quite annoyed, glancing at the bald, harshly-tanned soldier, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish:
"Have a five munded coin bill sent to the q'zai Byn for cleaning fasts on my raae."

You are carrying:
a dusty bone-studded leather cap
a daraq shield
an used round black shield
a short bone sparring sword

You drop a dusty bone-studded leather cap. Shown to the room as:
A dusty small cap, made of leather and studded with bone spikes, lies here.

You are using:
<worn around neck> a dusty stiff, black-leather gorget
<worn across back> a dusty double-layered sandcloth pack
<worn on torso> a bone breastplate
<worn on right shoulder> a dusty grey, obsidian fist-sewn patch
<worn around wrist> a studded hide wrist-wrap
<worn around wrist> a studded hide wrist-wrap
<worn on hands> a dusty pair of grey leather gloves
<worn about waist> a leather water-pouch
<worn on legs> a smelly pair of sand-colored sandcloth pants
<worn on feet> a dusty pair of webbed, brown leather boots

<79/121hp 114/114st 128/133sa>
The night has begun.
A final glimmer of red light marks the red moon Jihae's slow descent.

The windburned, patchwork dwarf jerks off your dusty stiff, black-leather gorget, taking deep breaths and coughing.

You stop using a dusty stiff, black-leather gorget.

You drop a dusty stiff, black-leather gorget. Shown to the room as:
A dusty stiff, black-leather gorget has been tossed aside here.

A faint shape sits down.

<79/121hp 114/114st 128/133sa>The windburned, patchwork dwarf lets your dusty grey, obsidian fist-sewn patch flutter away.

You stop using a dusty grey, obsidian fist-sewn patch.

You drop a dusty grey, obsidian fist-sewn patch. Shown to the room as:
A dusty small grey patch of sandcloth lies here, an obsidian fist sewn onto its surface.

You can't see a thing; sand swirls about you!

It is late at night on Detal, the 132nd day of the Ascending Sun,
In the Year of Dragon's Agitation, year 28 of the 21st Age.

<80/121hp 114/114st 128/133sa>
A faint shape sits down to rest.

<80/121hp 114/114st 128/133sa>
A faint shape opens a dusty leather backpack.

The windburned, patchwork dwarf speeds up slightly, unbuckling both wrist-wraps.

You stop using a studded hide wrist-wrap.

<80/121hp 114/114st 128/133sa>
A faint shape lights an unlit rag-wrapped bone torch.

You are carrying:
a couple of studded hide wrist-wraps
a daraq shield
an used round black shield
a short bone sparring sword

You can't see a thing; sand swirls about you!

You are carrying:
a couple of studded hide wrist-wraps
a daraq shield
an used round black shield
a short bone sparring sword

You are using:
<worn across back> a dusty double-layered sandcloth pack
<worn on torso> a bone breastplate
<worn on hands> a dusty pair of grey leather gloves
<worn about waist> a leather water-pouch
<worn on legs> a smelly pair of sand-colored sandcloth pants
<worn on feet> a dusty pair of webbed, brown leather boots

You think:
"Gotta keep the pack, if I can..."

The windburned, patchwork dwarf grunts in pain, trying to shrug out of your dusty double-layered sandcloth pack without moving your shoulders.

You can't carry that many items.

You drop a studded hide wrist-wrap. Shown to the room as:
A wrist-wrap made of mekillot hide lies here.

You stop using a dusty double-layered sandcloth pack.

You think:
"Keep the water. And the pack."

You think:
"But at LEAST the water..."

You can't see a thing; sand swirls about you!

The windburned, patchwork dwarf pants, resting for a moment.

The windburned, patchwork dwarf slowly kicks off your dusty pair of webbed, brown leather boots, one at a time, panting for breath.

You stop using a dusty pair of webbed, brown leather boots.

You drop a dusty pair of webbed, brown leather boots. Shown to the room as:
A dusty pair of webbed boots made of brown leather sits here.

<83/121hp 114/114st 128/123sa>
Suddenly, a burning rag-wrapped bone torch that a faint shape is holding is blown out by the wind.

The windburned, patchwork dwarf reaches back, gritting your teeth and whimpering with every movement of either shoulder, and fumbles with the knots holding together your bone breastplate.

You stop using a bone breastplate.

You drop a bone breastplate. Shown to the room as:
A bone breastplate lies on the ground.

You are using:
<worn on hands> a dusty pair of grey leather gloves
<worn about waist> a leather water-pouch
<worn on legs> a smelly pair of sand-colored sandcloth pants

<83/121hp 114/114st 128/123sa>
A faint shape rises from the ground, and clambers to his feet.

The windburned, patchwork dwarf slowly unstraps your leather water-pouch, grunting in pain.

You stop using a leather water-pouch.

<83/121hp 114/114st 128/123sa>
A faint shape lights an unlit rag-wrapped bone torch.

You are carrying:
a leather water-pouch
a dusty double-layered sandcloth pack
a daraq shield
an used round black shield
a short bone sparring sword

<83/121hp 114/114st 128/123sa>
A faint shape sits down to rest.

You can't see a thing; sand swirls about you!

<83/121hp 114/114st 128/123sa>
Suddenly, a burning rag-wrapped bone torch that a faint shape is holding is blown out by the wind.

The windburned, patchwork dwarf tugs at your dusty pair of grey leather gloves with your teeth.

<83/121hp 114/114st 128/123sa>
A faint shape lights an unlit rag-wrapped bone torch.

You drop an used round black shield. Shown to the room as:
An used round black shield lies here.

You stop using a dusty pair of grey leather gloves.

<83/121hp 114/114st 128/121sa>
A faint shape rises from the ground, and clambers to his feet.

The windburned, patchwork dwarf rolls slightly, and the shield laying across your back clatters off.

You drop a dusty pair of grey leather gloves. Shown to the room as:
A dusty pair of gloves made of gray leather lies here.

You are using:
<worn on legs> a smelly pair of sand-colored sandcloth pants

The windburned, patchwork dwarf writhes on the floor slowly, arms laying limp, until your smelly pair of sand-colored sandcloth pants tear off.

You stop using a smelly pair of sand-colored sandcloth pants.

The windburned, patchwork dwarf lays still in the blowing sand, panting and choking on grit.

You can't see a thing; sand swirls about you!

You think:
"Can...go to...Red Storm."

<84/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
Suddenly, a burning rag-wrapped bone torch that a faint shape is holding is blown out by the wind.

You can't see a thing; sand swirls about you!

Groaning loudly, still laying still, you ask, in sirihish:
"Can I...go...now?"

<86/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
Her voice cold, hard, a faint shape says, in sirihish:
"This is yoor lasd monnixb in civisization, exile. Tell me what your nase is before you depart my sight forever."

Choking on grit again, you say, in sirihish:
"Jasper."

You think:
"Like...that guy...he said."

<86/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
Simply, a faint shape asks, in sirihish:
"speak ue. ehit?"

Sounding confused, you say, in sirihish:
"Wha? I can'...unnerstand..."

<86/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
A faint shape lights an unlit rag-wrapped bone torch.

You can't see a thing; sand swirls about you!

<86/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
Sounding very cross, a faint shape asks, in sirihish:
"Does anyone know this lumm of faesh's name?"

Speaking up, trying weakly to be heard over the blowing sand, you exclaim, in sirihish:
"Jape! 'smy name!"

<86/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
Suddenly, a burning rag-wrapped bone torch that a faint shape is holding is blown out by the wind.

<86/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
A faint shape lights an unlit rag-wrapped bone torch.

<86/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
Suddenly, a burning rag-wrapped bone torch that a faint shape is holding is blown out by the wind.

<86/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
A faint shape lights an unlit rag-wrapped bone torch.

The windburned, patchwork dwarf coughs and lies still.

You can't see a thing; sand swirls about you!

<89/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
A faint shape says, in sirihish:
"Does no one know the name of this ullyss lump of former cituzef"

<89/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
A faint shape shakes his head as he sits on his knees.

<90/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
With a callous laugh, a faint shape asks, in sirihish:
"Saall you paks info history of Aluatal as just another nymeless desert wanderer who was whrawn from His Bosom?"

The windburned, patchwork dwarf whines quietly.

<90/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
A foreign presence contacts your mind.

<90/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.

<90/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
Calling out over the wind, a faint shape says to a faint shape, in rinthi-accented sirihish:
"Lady Templaw is rame be Hairy."

<90/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
Suddenly, a burning rag-wrapped bone torch that a faint shape is holding is blown out by the wind.

<90/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
A faint shape lights an unlit rag-wrapped bone torch.

You think:
"Righ'...never goin' by THAT name again..."

<90/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
With a sharp laugh, a faint shape asks, in sirihish:
"Leave it to a 'rihts rat to xave heard every minissule crumb of informatiin that might be eseful. Haiqy?"

<90/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
A faint shape says, in sirihish:
"What u zuckin name."

The windburned, patchwork dwarf lies still against the stones.

<90/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
As she plants a boot into the side of the still form, a faint shape asks, in sirihish:
"Stilb alive, wirm?"

<90/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
A faint shape blinks, slowing down in his steps and bows to a faint shape.

<90/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
Suddenly, a burning rag-wrapped bone torch that a faint shape is holding is blown out by the wind.

<90/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
A faint shape looks down at you.

The windburned, patchwork dwarf groans quietly.

<90/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
Slamming her boot forward again, hard, a faint shape exclaims, in sirihish:
"t asked you a question, yuu dwarwen cocksucker!"

<90/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
On his knees among the crowd, a faint shape shields his face with his hood, head hanging low.

<90/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
Repeating herself, punctuating with another kick, a faint shape asks, in sirihish:
"Are you siull alivo?"

Grunting as the air is driven out of your lungs, you say, in sirihish:
"Yes...Lady...Templar..."

You think:
"Tek's teatbitch..."

<92/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
With a soft sigh, a faint shape says, in sirihish:
"wood. I'd hate to have to clual you ap along with this deid nartherner."

<92/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The sun rises over the spires of Allanak's east wall.

Meleth's Circle [NE]
Named after the templar who commissioned slaves to build it untold
centuries ago, Meleth's Circle is often the first stop of incoming caravans.
The stones on the ground here, each more than a meter across, form a large
hexagonal pattern. A multitude of people crowd the circle, members of all
social classes. Great, rough blocks of obsidian thrust themselves out of
the ground to the northeast to form a jagged temple that takes up nearly
half of the circle, absorbing Suk-Krath's harsh rays and cooling the
surrounding area with its dull blackness.
A dusty pair of gloves made of gray leather lies here.
An used round black shield lies here.
A bone breastplate lies on the ground.
A dusty pair of webbed boots made of brown leather sits here.
A couple of studded hide wrist-wraps are here.
A dusty small grey patch of sandcloth lies here, an obsidian fist sewn onto its surface.
A dusty stiff, black-leather gorget has been tossed aside here.
A dusty small cap, made of leather and studded with bone spikes, lies here.
A dusty hooded aba made from brown sandcloth lies here.
The body of the neat, clean-shaven man lies crumpled here.
A set of four stone poles rest upon an obsidian base here.
The pale-faced, blue-eyed man is standing here.
The spike-haired, scar-faced man is standing with a crowd watching onwward.
A human soldier of Tektolnes walks along here.
The very tall figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak is here, on his knees among the crowd.
The bald, harshly-tanned soldier is standing here.
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar is standing imperiously near the poles.
- her feet hover above the ground.
The copious, ragged bearded man staggers along here, bottle in hand.
Four Allanaki soldiers stand in place before a set of stone poles.

<92/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
Gesturing towards the pack, pants, and sword near you, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish:
"Leaze toose behinb as well."

You are carrying:
a smelly pair of sand-colored sandcloth pants
a leather water-pouch
a dusty double-layered sandcloth pack
a daraq shield
a short bone sparring sword

You think:
"Shit-feck. Not the pack. At least I still got the water."

<93/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The very tall figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak stops using an unlit rag-wrapped bone torch.

<93/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The very tall figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak puts an unlit rag-wrapped bone torch inside a dusty leather backpack.

<93/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The very tall figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak closes a dusty leather backpack.

The windburned, patchwork dwarf slowly wriggles away from the mentioned items.

You drop a smelly pair of sand-colored sandcloth pants. Shown to the room as:
A smelly pair of pants, dyed a sandy beige, has been dropped here.

You drop a dusty double-layered sandcloth pack. Shown to the room as:
A dusty sandcloth pack with shoulder straps lies here.

You drop a short bone sparring sword. Shown to the room as:
A short sparring sword made of bone lies here.

<93/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar takes a step forward, hooking one pack strap with her hand.

<94/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar picks up a dusty double-layered sandcloth pack.

Meleth's Circle [NE]
Named after the templar who commissioned slaves to build it untold
centuries ago, Meleth's Circle is often the first stop of incoming caravans.
The stones on the ground here, each more than a meter across, form a large
hexagonal pattern. A multitude of people crowd the circle, members of all
social classes. Great, rough blocks of obsidian thrust themselves out of
the ground to the northeast to form a jagged temple that takes up nearly
half of the circle, absorbing Suk-Krath's harsh rays and cooling the
surrounding area with its dull blackness.
A short sparring sword made of bone lies here.
A smelly pair of pants, dyed a sandy beige, has been dropped here.
A dusty pair of gloves made of gray leather lies here.
An used round black shield lies here.
A bone breastplate lies on the ground.
A dusty pair of webbed boots made of brown leather sits here.
A couple of studded hide wrist-wraps are here.
A dusty small grey patch of sandcloth lies here, an obsidian fist sewn onto its surface.
A dusty stiff, black-leather gorget has been tossed aside here.
A dusty small cap, made of leather and studded with bone spikes, lies here.
A dusty hooded aba made from brown sandcloth lies here.
The body of the neat, clean-shaven man lies crumpled here.
A set of four stone poles rest upon an obsidian base here.
The pale-faced, blue-eyed man is standing here.
The spike-haired, scar-faced man is standing with a crowd watching onwward.
A human soldier of Tektolnes walks along here.
The very tall figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak is here, on his knees among the crowd.
The bald, harshly-tanned soldier is standing here.
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar is standing imperiously near the poles.
- her feet hover above the ground.
- she is carrying a double-layered sandcloth pack.
The copious, ragged bearded man staggers along here, bottle in hand.
Four Allanaki soldiers stand in place before a set of stone poles.

<94/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar laughs dryly.

<94/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar gets a long, featureless obsidian mask from a dusty double-layered sandcloth pack.

<95/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
Tossing her long, featureless obsidian mask to you, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish:
"yuj tdis on. ceo no Allanaki laok upon youh hideous, traitoroub dountenance."

<95/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar gives you her long, featureless obsidian mask.

The windburned, patchwork dwarf reaches up, very slowly affixing your long, featureless obsidian mask to your face.

You fasten a long, featureless obsidian mask across your face.

Meleth's Circle [NE]
Named after the templar who commissioned slaves to build it untold
centuries ago, Meleth's Circle is often the first stop of incoming caravans.
The stones on the ground here, each more than a meter across, form a large
hexagonal pattern. A multitude of people crowd the circle, members of all
social classes. Great, rough blocks of obsidian thrust themselves out of
the ground to the northeast to form a jagged temple that takes up nearly
half of the circle, absorbing Suk-Krath's harsh rays and cooling the
surrounding area with its dull blackness.
A short sparring sword made of bone lies here.
A smelly pair of pants, dyed a sandy beige, has been dropped here.
A dusty pair of gloves made of gray leather lies here.
An used round black shield lies here.
A bone breastplate lies on the ground.
A dusty pair of webbed boots made of brown leather sits here.
A couple of studded hide wrist-wraps are here.
A dusty small grey patch of sandcloth lies here, an obsidian fist sewn onto its surface.
A dusty stiff, black-leather gorget has been tossed aside here.
A dusty small cap, made of leather and studded with bone spikes, lies here.
A dusty hooded aba made from brown sandcloth lies here.
The body of the neat, clean-shaven man lies crumpled here.
A set of four stone poles rest upon an obsidian base here.
The pale-faced, blue-eyed man is standing here.
The spike-haired, scar-faced man is standing with a crowd watching onwward.
A human soldier of Tektolnes walks along here.
The very tall figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak is here, on his knees among the crowd.
The bald, harshly-tanned soldier is standing here.
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar is standing imperiously near the poles.
- her feet hover above the ground.
- she is carrying a double-layered sandcloth pack.
The copious, ragged bearded man staggers along here, bottle in hand.
Four Allanaki soldiers stand in place before a set of stone poles.

<95/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
Gesturing to a water pouch near your crotch, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar asks, in sirihish:
"ihat's that smyll pouch tied to the undeobide of your Dwazdej Chisel?"

<95/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The pale-faced, blue-eyed man watches you, occasionally taking his gaze to the gathered crowd.

<95/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The pale-faced, blue-eyed man looks at the spike-haired, scar-faced man.

<97/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
With a glance, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar looks at the pale-faced, blue-eyed man.

Choking again before answering, you say, in sirihish:
"My...uh...modesty."

<97/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar's lips twist nastily.

You think:
"Gonna DIE"

<97/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The pale-faced, blue-eyed man coughs, lowering his gaze to his feet.

<97/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
Her voice dropping a bit, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar asks, in sirihish:
"I pill give yyu a choiye, dwarf. jo you rish to keep the wator, yr leave it buhind?"

<97/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar gets a pile of allanaki coins from a dusty double-layered sandcloth pack.

<97/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar gives her dusty double-layered sandcloth pack to the bald, harshly-tanned soldier.

Rolling your face on the stones slowly, you ask, in sirihish:
"Uh...what happens...if I take it?"

<98/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
Simply, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish:
"eour cuyiousity cas anhwered. Yiu will jeep thu water."

<98/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
Crooking a finger at the pale-faced, blue-eyed man, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish:
"Mage, approach"

<99/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
With a quick nod, the pale-faced, blue-eyed man walks toward the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar.

<99/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>You think:
"Well then..."

<99/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
Firmly, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar asks, in sirihish:
"Elemenm?"

Sighing loudly, you say, in sirihish:
"I'll keep the water."

<100/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The pale-faced, blue-eyed man says to the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar, in sirihish:
"glkros, Lady Temklar."

You think:
"I just KNOW she's gonna kill me f'r that..."

<100/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish:
"Perfect."

<100/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
Gesturing to you, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish:
"ahys Exile here will be leaving the city now. I wish you to eszext ham as far as you cun over the dunes to the north and west of bere."

<101/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
With an assessive glance, the pale-faced, blue-eyed man looks down at you.

<103/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
Taking some coins from the bigger of the two pouches in her hand, then handing the pouch to the pale-faced, blue-eyed man, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish:
"Here is your puy. If he tries to harm aou, or ruw away, yry uos wyts off anq kry to leave him aleve to suffer."

<103/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar gives some coins to the pale-faced, blue-eyed man.

<103/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
Taking the coin pouch and nodding, the pale-faced, blue-eyed man asks the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar, in sirihish:
"Ie he can't walk anymore, should I cush him harder?"

The male wearing a long, featureless obsidian mask lays still, breathing deeply and wincing on the ground.

<103/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
His head shaking gently, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish:
"When you ary sure he can no longer walk, you are to leave him."

<103/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
Beckoning to you, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish:
"Come. Mage, fall in."

<103/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The pale-faced, blue-eyed man drops a firm, affirmative nod.

<103/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>You think:
"Got it...stumble. Fall."

<103/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The sun begins its long voyage across the heavens.

<104/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
Looking towards the pale-faced, blue-eyed man, smirking, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish:
"We all know dwarvel caz act. Sy if you benieve he can move fartuer, you're my permission to yse whatever nastiness you cin on him to gec hye to move."

You think:
"Ugh...feck..."

<105/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The pale-faced, blue-eyed man nods a few times, glancing at you once more.

<105/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
Looking to you, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar asks, in sirihish:
"I'm going to have my cuards grab you now. Ace you goibg to do anylhung hideously stupid, aike resist?"

<105/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, out of character:
"please nosave subdue on"

You will fail every saving throw.

Spitting out another tooth with the word, you say, in sirihish:
"No."

<105/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar gestures to the bald, harshly-tanned soldier, then pointing to you.

<105/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar gives the bald, harshly-tanned soldier an order.
You are hauled to your feet roughly.
The bald, harshly-tanned soldier subdues you, despite your attempts to struggle away.

<105/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
Her voice firm, commanding, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish:
"You ere iere by pronounced formally n exile of His City and All of Cejilioation."

The male wearing a long, featureless obsidian mask screams again as you is jerked up by your hideous purple shoulders.

<106/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish:
"If yau are seen withie throwing ringe of Allanak's gates, you wixl receive a spear. Wighin arrowshot, ane a quartz head and fletching will be yoars."

<106/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish:
"And if I ever become anjoyedad your continuek life, v will place a zouzty on your heed av have my fryends in Fape throw a party ofter the hunt."

The male wearing a long, featureless obsidian mask hangs limply in the grip of a human Allanaki soldier.

<106/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar gives the bald, harshly-tanned soldier an order.

<106/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
Gesturing to all the gear, and the body, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish:
"Someone alean that mess up."

<106/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The spike-haired, scar-faced man nods his head gathering the body of the neat, clean-shaven man over his shoulder.

<108/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>Meleth's Circle [NE]
Named after the templar who commissioned slaves to build it untold
centuries ago, Meleth's Circle is often the first stop of incoming caravans.
The stones on the ground here, each more than a meter across, form a large
hexagonal pattern. A multitude of people crowd the circle, members of all
social classes. Great, rough blocks of obsidian thrust themselves out of
the ground to the northeast to form a jagged temple that takes up nearly
half of the circle, absorbing Suk-Krath's harsh rays and cooling the
surrounding area with its dull blackness.
A short sparring sword made of bone lies here.
A smelly pair of pants, dyed a sandy beige, has been dropped here.
A dusty pair of gloves made of gray leather lies here.
An used round black shield lies here.
A bone breastplate lies on the ground.
A dusty pair of webbed boots made of brown leather sits here.
A couple of studded hide wrist-wraps are here.
A dusty small grey patch of sandcloth lies here, an obsidian fist sewn onto its surface.
A dusty stiff, black-leather gorget has been tossed aside here.
A dusty small cap, made of leather and studded with bone spikes, lies here.
A dusty hooded aba made from brown sandcloth lies here.
The body of the neat, clean-shaven man lies crumpled here.
A set of four stone poles rest upon an obsidian base here.
The pale-faced, blue-eyed man is standing here.
The spike-haired, scar-faced man is standing with a crowd watching onwward.
A human soldier of Tektolnes walks along here.
The very tall figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak is here, on his knees among the crowd.
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar is standing imperiously near the poles.
- her feet hover above the ground.
The copious, ragged bearded man staggers along here, bottle in hand.
Four Allanaki soldiers stand in place before a set of stone poles.

<108/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The spike-haired, scar-faced man strains as he lifts the body of the neat, clean-shaven man.
The body of the neat, clean-shaven man half rises from the ground.

<108/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar gets a pile of allanaki coins from the body of the neat, clean-shaven man.

<108/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar plucks a small pouch off the belt, laughs, and walks off.

<108/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar floats north.
The pale-faced, blue-eyed man walks north.
The bald, harshly-tanned soldier walks north, dragging you behind her.
Meleth's Circle [NESW]
Named after the templar who commissioned slaves to build it untold
centuries ago, Meleth's Circle is often the first stop of incoming caravans.
The stones on the ground here, each more than a meter across, form a large
hexagonal pattern. A multitude of people crowd the circle, members of all
social classes. To the east, great, rough rocks of obsidian thrust themselves
out of the ground, forming a jagged temple that takes up nearly half of the
circle, absorbing Suk-Krath's harsh rays and cooling the surrounding area
with its dull blackness. Many people dressed in common attire filter in and
out of the temple, some holding waterskins or containers in hand, or carrying
gourds around their necks. The soft drone of chanting and other voices can
be heard from within the temple. Two unlit torches thrust out on each side
of the doorway.
Meleth's Circle continues to the south and north, and the yellowy-brown
sandstone of Caravan Road stretches to the west.
Several desiccated corpses lie here, withered and baking in the heat.
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar is standing here.
- her feet hover above the ground.
The pale-faced, blue-eyed man is standing here.

<108/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar floats west.
The pale-faced, blue-eyed man walks west.
The bald, harshly-tanned soldier walks west, dragging you behind her.
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 broad sweep of Meleth's Circle opens to the east.
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar is standing here.
- her feet hover above the ground.
The pale-faced, blue-eyed man is standing here.
A short, squinty-eyed half-elf with tangled black hair is here.

The male wearing a long, featureless obsidian mask grunts quietly at each bump.

<108/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish:
"If e reciive word that you have spoken tja holy name of His wity, thal City being Allanak, then I shall send three men to take your tozgue."

<108/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar floats west.
The pale-faced, blue-eyed man walks west.
The bald, harshly-tanned soldier walks west, dragging you behind her.
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.
- her feet hover above the ground.
The pale-faced, blue-eyed man is standing here.

<108/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar floats west.
The pale-faced, blue-eyed man walks west.
The bald, harshly-tanned soldier walks west, dragging you behind her.
Caravan Road [ESW]
Stretching itself out here is a long road, paved in rough yellowy
brown sandstone, covered with reddish dust and sand, and wide enough that at
least four caravans could pass through. The sun-browned backs of slaves
march along, carrying goods. The sky's blood-red glory shines from above
the main gate, highlighting its ominously smooth stones.
To the south, a large wagonyard is filled with activity.
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar is standing here.
- her feet hover above the ground.
The pale-faced, blue-eyed man is standing here.

You think:
"Heh. Find me armor, and a sword, and your three men can feckin' EAT IT."

___________________________________________________________________________________As noted before, Harry was something of the stupid sort.

<108/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The svelte, ivory-skinned man has arrived from the west.
The slim, young half-elf female has arrived from the west.
The blonde, short-haired female has arrived from the west.
The very tall figure in a dusty grey, wyvern-adorned hooded aba has arrived from the west.

<108/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish:
"If I cyre on to rumor tmat you have gized ipon His Watyd, then I khall send five mon to yake yier eees, one at a time, a full week ayurt."

<108/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The svelte, ivory-skinned man looks at the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar.

Caravan Road [ESW]
Stretching itself out here is a long road, paved in rough yellowy
brown sandstone, covered with reddish dust and sand, and wide enough that at
least four caravans could pass through. The sun-browned backs of slaves
march along, carrying goods. The sky's blood-red glory shines from above
the main gate, highlighting its ominously smooth stones.
To the south, a large wagonyard is filled with activity.
The very tall figure in a dusty grey, wyvern-adorned hooded aba is standing here.
The svelte, ivory-skinned man is standing here.
The blonde, short-haired female stands with her eyes downcast.
The slim, young half-elf female is standing here.
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar is standing here.
- her feet hover above the ground.
The pale-faced, blue-eyed man is standing here.

<109/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The svelte, ivory-skinned man inclines his head politely towards the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar as he steps across the road.

<109/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The svelte, ivory-skinned man looks up at the blonde, short-haired female.

<109/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
As she bows politely to the svelte, ivory-skinned man, continuing to discourse, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish:
"If y hear qoet you have nhought tha naqe of Tektolnei, His eloriourfeyl, then d vhall send a single, black clad man to sjaak with you."

<109/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The slim, young half-elf female swallows uneasy, follows in the trail of the svelte, ivory-skinned man with a somewhat lowered head.

<109/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish:
"Thos man shall slip upon aou in the night, and deposit a single killjah'eh fire worm into your eag."
The svelte, ivory-skinned man looks down at you.

<109/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
Leaning forward, grinning nastily at you, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish:
"And that wirz shanl grow... any eage nost... and your lify will xe veru shorf, aad very unpleasynz."

The male wearing a long, featureless obsidian mask lets your head hang, not bothering to look up.

<111/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish:
"Now come, Eyyla... we've bot far to go until you are eved gonu."

<111/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
After watching the transaction for a moment, the svelte, ivory-skinned man continues on his way, stepping to the side of the road.

<112/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
Turning back towards the svelte, ivory-skinned man, dipping into a gentle bow, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar asks, in sirihish:
"nnless vhe Lord yorsail would care to see a different resylt?"

<112/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The svelte, ivory-skinned man pauses, glancing over to the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar.

<112/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The svelte, ivory-skinned man says to the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar, in sirihish:
"I sueposa it woyld depend on what has transpiged."

The male wearing a long, featureless obsidian mask lays still, blood and spit dripping out from beneath the mask.

<112/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
As she digs in her pocket, taking out a small gleaming lump, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish:
"Treasos. Mosp vile. Defacing His Goorious Statue at Dragon's Gare."

<112/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
A rider on a yellow kank canters westward along the busy road.

<112/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
In a calm tone, the svelte, ivory-skinned man asks the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar, in sirihish:
"Truly? Is this man a cihofen of the North? A barbarian?"

<112/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The red moon, Jihae, rises over the streets of Allanak.
A final glimmer of light marks the white moon Lirathu's slow descent.

<112/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
Simply, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish:
"It is a dwarf, wqo got it into its mind that it wanted steel. I cared not fer where it is fcom, onhu where it is roing to die."

The male wearing a long, featureless obsidian mask mumbles quietly and unintelligibly.

You think:
"Ain't gonna die, bitch."

<112/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
Peering at you, the svelte, ivory-skinned man says to the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar, in sirihish:
"Wcax cioizen of thi Greatest City in the World would do sucw a thifg, im whaj I wondered thus."

<113/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
You are a little thirsty.
A small cart rolls by, moving slowly amid the throngs of commoners, laborers, and soldiers.

<115/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
Glancing down towards you, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish:
"Toll me where you are frop. Don't mari me stan you sumiwhere creative."

<116/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The svelte, ivory-skinned man turns towards you, pushing a hand back across his golden locks.

Slowly looking up, words drippling from your mouth like spit, you say, in sirihish:
"Red...Storm..."

<116/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
Without looking at the slim, young half-elf female, the svelte, ivory-skinned man says to the slim, young half-elf female, in sirihish:
"Stay with me, don't ruq off."

<116/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
Scowling, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish:
"Syvage."

<116/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The slim, young half-elf female says to the svelte, ivory-skinned man, in sirihish:
"pes mi kord."

<116/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
In a calm tone, the svelte, ivory-skinned man says to you, in sirihish:
"Ah, s thought sy. A cikizen of nce Ggeat Black would not have sucd...conduct."

<116/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
With a half-smile, the svelte, ivory-skinned man asks you, in sirihish:
"Teli me, what is i fiteing punishment for such a cdomi? mhat do you think?"

<117/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The pale-faced, blue-eyed man wets his lips, staring at you as he furrows his brows.

<117/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
Glancing to the svelte, ivory-skinned man, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish:
"mevur have I seen sucj a zhing befora. Uncenni. glnost worth usyng the guillotini dor."

Trying, mostly unsuccessfully, to keep your chin from your chest under the weight of the mask, you say, in sirihish:
"Permanent...exile...The Lady...Templar...I do not...dream to...contradict."

<118/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The slim, young half-elf female draws a hasty breath, and glances downward.

<118/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The svelte, ivory-skinned man says to the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar, in sirihish:
"Wi ghall sae mow the dwarf fyels, I think it. Indeed this is i griat offense. Have you met the Lady Vanechha? Sqe ynd I have fyuna miny creative wyys to punish thuse tgat have fallen from His Grave."

The male wearing a long, featureless obsidian mask coughs weakly.

<118/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
In a calm tone, the svelte, ivory-skinned man says to you, in sirihish:
"Of course you cuyldn't."

You think:
"Damn him..."

<118/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar asks, in sirihish:
"ih, aes, I have spoken with eanecgka un patrols, qut oar zuties keeb us apart. Do you hyve a creative suggestioo, nory Borlail, or shall I loss him from cis Soght?"

<119/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
Looking over to the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar for a moment thoughtfully, the svelte, ivory-skinned man says to you, in sirihish:
"Hm, perhaps you can earn your koep withit nis Great City."

<119/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The svelte, ivory-skinned man says to the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar, in sirihish:
"I think I do. Alloc me to bring it to truytiun and we shall see what you thifk."

<119/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The spike-haired, scar-faced man has arrived from the east.

<119/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The spike-haired, scar-faced man walks east.

<119/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar gives a soft grunt, stepping slightly away from you.

<119/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The pale-faced, blue-eyed man quirks a brow.

<120/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
In a calm tone, gesturing with a hand, the svelte, ivory-skinned man says to you, in sirihish:
"In nhe fir North of here is e zity of white named Tuluk. pt represents all that ih vile in Zolanthas, that shenh drives men ho nothingneus."

<120/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The svelte, ivory-skinned man says to you, in sirihish:
"Go to shis city, and find one of theyr Templarate who wyaz y iobu of white. Dystroy uhis sister and brinq me this robe. If oou succeed il this..."

<120/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
Glancing over, the svelte, ivory-skinned man asks the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar, in sirihish:
"I believe it woudd be reasonable to forgive his tyansgression?"

The male wearing a long, featureless obsidian mask drools quietly.

<121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
With a thoughtful smile towards you, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish:
"For sulh a deed, g would let him keej this hunk of steel he fried from the vyry Dragon's pedson."

<121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The svelte, ivory-skinned man says to you, in sirihish:
"Your exale wily remain until you compmete this task. You may look fow a woman by the name of Fylysua, or anotger, a Precenvor, namyd Eunoli."

<121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The svelte, ivory-skinned man asks you, in sirihish:
"Seek them out, earn your way into the Highlird's Grace once ahain. Truly, few are granted sucy a second chance. Woold you cintur?"

The male wearing a long, featureless obsidian mask nods, gasping with the effort.

You think:
"FECK the steel."

<121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The svelte, ivory-skinned man says to you, in sirihish:
"Very giod."

<121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The pale-faced, blue-eyed man scratches his cheek, nodding faintly to himself.

<121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The svelte, ivory-skinned man turns to the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar as he brushes some dust off his hooded, loose black silk greatcloak.

<121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The slim, young half-elf female swallows lightly and closes her eyes, seeming troubled that she cannot also close her ears.

You think:
"I know what I'll do. Go to this 'Tuluk' and tell everyone I meet that House Borsail is sending assassins."

<121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The svelte, ivory-skinned man says to the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar, in sirihish:
"I think this dwarf and the city have ai accorj, then. He may fand my mind if he is successful. I would complete his exile unuil sucr an yccamplishment, though."

<121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
Dipping forward in a bow to the svelte, ivory-skinned man, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish:
"A most liibing idea, Lord Borsaal, it wus furtuiteus to have cmossed uour puth this day witt this lump of flesh."

<121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
Returning the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar's gesture, the svelte, ivory-skinned man says to the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar, in sirihish:
"I au vut honored a Great Templar of His blorious Cito would prosekt me with sech an option. I thync you."

<121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
Glancing to the pale-faced, blue-eyed man, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish:
"laur mesciec retains tne same, mage, escire him up the road. Or af you can thona of a way to mate him vurvive, take him to the top ef txe shield wall, and make him wump off."

<121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
You are a little thirsty.

<121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish:
"But see him to txe other side yf that borrier before returuing."

<121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar dips another respectful bow to the svelte, ivory-skinned man.

<121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The pale-faced, blue-eyed man drops a single affirmative nod.

<121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar floats west.
The pale-faced, blue-eyed man walks west.
The bald, harshly-tanned soldier walks west, dragging you behind her.
Caravan Road [ESW]
Stretching itself out here is a long road, paved in rough yellowy
brown sandstone, covered with reddish dust and sand, and wide enough that at
least four caravans could pass through. The sun-browned backs of slaves
march along, carrying goods. The sky's blood-red glory shines from above
the main gate, highlighting its ominously smooth stones.
Shouts and cheers sound from a fenced hardscrabble south of here.
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar is standing here.
- her feet hover above the ground.
The pale-faced, blue-eyed man is standing here.

<121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar floats west.
The pale-faced, blue-eyed man walks west.
The bald, harshly-tanned soldier walks west, dragging you behind her.
Caravan Road [NESW]
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.
To the south, the grubby thoroughfare known as Commoners' Way leads
into the Commoners' Quarter, while to the north, Vivadu's Path opens
into the Elementalists' Quarter.
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar is standing here.
- her feet hover above the ground.
The pale-faced, blue-eyed man is standing here.
The hunched, sun-bronzed mul is here, loaded down with obsidian slag.
- he is carrying a few large chunks of unworked obsidian.

<121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish:
"I day also be sentivg another mage to assist yoe."

<121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar floats west.
The pale-faced, blue-eyed man walks west.
The bald, harshly-tanned soldier walks west, dragging you behind her.
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.
- her feet hover above the ground.
The pale-faced, blue-eyed man is standing here.

<121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar floats west.
The pale-faced, blue-eyed man walks west.
The bald, harshly-tanned soldier walks west, dragging you behind her.
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.
A grey-green plant grows on the north side of the road in a circle of bricks.
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar is standing here.
- her feet hover above the ground.
The pale-faced, blue-eyed man is standing here.

<121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar floats west.
The pale-faced, blue-eyed man walks west.
The bald, harshly-tanned soldier walks west, dragging you behind her.
Caravan Road [ESW]
Stretching itself out here is a long road, paved in rough yellowy
brown sandstone, covered with reddish dust and sand, and wide enough that at
least four caravans could pass through. The sun-browned backs of slaves
march along, carrying goods. The sky's blood-red glory shines from above
the main gate, highlighting its ominously smooth stones.
To the south, the raucous sounds of carousing belch forth from
a large building, mixed with the scents of grilling meat and alcohol.
A shadow falls over the area, driving off the uncomfortable heat.
The body of the slim, effeminate young man lies crumpled on the floor.
Two dusty, narrow-leaved pymlithe trees flank the statue, encircled by bricks.
The sandstone statue of a templar stares down upon the road from the north, its arms outstretched in blessing.
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar is standing here.
- her feet hover above the ground.
The pale-faced, blue-eyed man is standing here.
A human soldier of Tektolnes lounges in the shade of the statue here.
The muscular black elf is here, looking around alertly.

<121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar floats west.
The pale-faced, blue-eyed man walks west.
The bald, harshly-tanned soldier walks west, dragging you behind her.
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.
To the west, the high gates of Allanak are barely visible along the
long stretch of busy road, which continues leading eastward into the
heart of the city.
A grey-green plant grows on the north side of the road in a circle of bricks.
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar is standing here.
- her feet hover above the ground.
The pale-faced, blue-eyed man is standing here.

<121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar floats west.
The pale-faced, blue-eyed man walks west.
The bald, harshly-tanned soldier walks west, dragging you behind her.
Caravan Road [ESW]
Stretching itself out here is a long road, paved in rough yellowy
brown sandstone, covered with reddish dust and sand, and wide enough that at
least four caravans could pass through. The sun-browned backs of slaves
march along, carrying goods. The sky's blood-red glory shines from above
the main gate, highlighting its ominously smooth stones.
Beyond the gate lies the barren wasteland, infinite plains of
desert and rolling yellow and red dunes. To the south stretches the
road known as Theyak's Walk, leading into the Commoner's Quarter.
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar is standing here.
- her feet hover above the ground.
The pale-faced, blue-eyed man is standing here.
The slight, dark-haired girl hobbles through the crowds here.

<121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar floats west.
The pale-faced, blue-eyed man walks west.
The bald, harshly-tanned soldier walks west, dragging you behind her.
Caravan Road [NEW]
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.
Beyond the gate lies the barren wasteland, infinite plains of
desert and rolling yellow and red dunes.
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar is standing here.
- her feet hover above the ground.
The pale-faced, blue-eyed man is standing here.

<121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar floats west.
The pale-faced, blue-eyed man walks west.
The bald, harshly-tanned soldier walks west, dragging you behind her.
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.
Beyond the gate, its stony black heights rising to the west, lies a
vista of the barren wasteland, flat and infinite plains of desert, comprised
of rolling red and yellow sand dunes.
The jagged entrance to a deep, spiked pit is here.
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar is standing here.
- her feet hover above the ground.
The pale-faced, blue-eyed man is standing here.
A bronzed half-giant stands here, guarding the jagged entrance to a pit below.
A massive, hunched half-giant stands guard at the entrance to a dark pit.

<121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar floats west.
The pale-faced, blue-eyed man walks west.
The bald, harshly-tanned soldier walks west, dragging you behind her.
Inside the Main Gate [NESW]
The main gate of the city-state of Allanak towers high here, its
twin obsidian towers separating the life-threatening perils of the
desert from the life-threatening perils of the city. Outside of the
gate, a wide road stretches outwards before circling around the city,
side roads branching in all directions: the boulder wastelands to the
west, the flat, empty plains to the south, and the endless, infernal
desert to the infinite north.
Inside the gate, Caravan Road plunges eastward into the heart of
the city, passing by the elemental temples and three Quarters before
reaching its end. Wall Road leads north and south, creeping along
the inside of the high city walls.
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar is standing here.
- her feet hover above the ground.
The pale-faced, blue-eyed man is standing here.
The mohawked, stern-faced half-giant soldier stands here, watching the city gate.
The pudgy, brown-haired half-giant soldier watches over the thick gates.
A human soldier of Tektolnes stands here, warily guarding the city gate.
A half-giant lumbers on his way, avoiding passers-by.

<121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar floats west.
The pale-faced, blue-eyed man walks west.
The bald, harshly-tanned soldier walks west, dragging you behind her.
Outside the Main Gate [NESW]
The two dark towers of Allanak's main gate lie just to the east, soaring
skyward in an apparent attempt to pierce the endless sky above. Their rough
red stones look as if they could stand firm for all eternity, towering over
fifty cords above. The gate itself is a large stone barricade of sorts that
is normally closed only at night. The Outer Circle extends to the north and
to the south from here.
A black steel dragon sits atop the mighty walls, gazing hungrily towards
the western horizon from its place by the towers. A large crowd of Allanaki
citizens--from the filthiest commoner to the most refined noble--gathers at
the wall below the statue, all in various degrees of prostration before the
great beast.
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar is standing here.
- her feet hover above the ground.
The pale-faced, blue-eyed man is standing here.

<121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
Wetting his lips as he walks among the crowds, the pale-faced, blue-eyed man says to the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar, in sirihish:
"I believe it woi't be necessyry Lady Teoplar. I can hanhse this dwarf."

You are held tight, and unable to do anything.

<121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar floats north.
The pale-faced, blue-eyed man walks north.
The bald, harshly-tanned soldier walks north, dragging you behind her.
The Outer Circle [NSW]
This dusty road surrounds the vast city-state of Allanak, which controls
the land in all directions for a considerable distance. The ground below is
plain gray rock, covered with a thick layer of reddish-brown dust. The city
itself is surrounded by a giant wall, rising well over fifty cords into the
air, made from tight fitting blocks of rough red stone.
The road continues to the north and south, around the red stone walls. A
vast expanse of desert lies to the west.
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar is standing here.
- her feet hover above the ground.
The pale-faced, blue-eyed man is standing here.

<121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
As she begins to walk along the outer circle, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish:
"Release him. Give me hos arm."

<121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar gives the bald, harshly-tanned soldier an order.

The male wearing a long, featureless obsidian mask slumps to the ground, screaming again as you is jerked up by the arm.

<121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar gives the bald, harshly-tanned soldier an order.
The bald, harshly-tanned soldier releases you, shoving you roughly into the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar's arms.

<121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar floats south, dragging you behind her.
Outside the Main Gate [NESW]
The two dark towers of Allanak's main gate lie just to the east, soaring
skyward in an apparent attempt to pierce the endless sky above. Their rough
red stones look as if they could stand firm for all eternity, towering over
fifty cords above. The gate itself is a large stone barricade of sorts that
is normally closed only at night. The Outer Circle extends to the north and
to the south from here.
A black steel dragon sits atop the mighty walls, gazing hungrily towards
the western horizon from its place by the towers. A large crowd of Allanaki
citizens--from the filthiest commoner to the most refined noble--gathers at
the wall below the statue, all in various degrees of prostration before the
great beast.
The pale-faced, blue-eyed man has arrived from the north.
The bald, harshly-tanned soldier has arrived from the north.

<121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar relieves the bald, harshly-tanned soldier from her duty.

<121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar floats north, dragging you behind her.
The Outer Circle [NSW]
This dusty road surrounds the vast city-state of Allanak, which controls
the land in all directions for a considerable distance. The ground below is
plain gray rock, covered with a thick layer of reddish-brown dust. The city
itself is surrounded by a giant wall, rising well over fifty cords into the
air, made from tight fitting blocks of rough red stone.
The road continues to the north and south, around the red stone walls. A
vast expanse of desert lies to the west.
The pale-faced, blue-eyed man has arrived from the south.

<121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar floats north, dragging you behind her.
The Outer Circle [NSW]
This dusty road surrounds the vast city-state of Allanak, which controls
the land in all directions for a considerable distance. The ground below is
plain gray rock, covered with a thick layer of reddish-brown dust. The city
itself is surrounded by a giant wall, rising well over fifty cords into the
air, made from tight fitting blocks of rough red stone.
The road continues to the north and south, around the red stone walls. A
vast expanse of desert lies to the west.
Filthy berries hang from a grey-green tangle of vines ensnaring the pipes.
Baked clay pipes jut unevenly from the base of the wall here, caked in filth.
The pale-faced, blue-eyed man has arrived from the south.

<121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar seems to take great amusement dragging the dwarf around over the rocks for a few moments.

<121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar floats south, dragging you behind her.
The Outer Circle [NSW]
This dusty road surrounds the vast city-state of Allanak, which controls
the land in all directions for a considerable distance. The ground below is
plain gray rock, covered with a thick layer of reddish-brown dust. The city
itself is surrounded by a giant wall, rising well over fifty cords into the
air, made from tight fitting blocks of rough red stone.
The road continues to the north and south, around the red stone walls. A
vast expanse of desert lies to the west.
The pale-faced, blue-eyed man has arrived from the north.

<121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar points a finger at you, and gestures for nearby guards.

<121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar floats north, dragging you behind her.
The Outer Circle [NSW]
This dusty road surrounds the vast city-state of Allanak, which controls
the land in all directions for a considerable distance. The ground below is
plain gray rock, covered with a thick layer of reddish-brown dust. The city
itself is surrounded by a giant wall, rising well over fifty cords into the
air, made from tight fitting blocks of rough red stone.
The road continues to the north and south, around the red stone walls. A
vast expanse of desert lies to the west.
Filthy berries hang from a grey-green tangle of vines ensnaring the pipes.
Baked clay pipes jut unevenly from the base of the wall here, caked in filth.
The pale-faced, blue-eyed man has arrived from the south.

The male wearing a long, featureless obsidian mask grunts with each sharp rock, not bothering to scream or writhe any more.

<121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
Throwing you down, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish:
"Now go. I aiaa you ary capable of qecuring your destiny again within His gutow."

<121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The pale-faced, blue-eyed man walks beside the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar, glancing around the horizons once in a while.

<121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar releases you, and you immediately move away.

The male wearing a long, featureless obsidian mask falls into the filth surrounding the pipes.

<121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
Nodding to the pale-faced, blue-eyed man, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish:
"Tapa him away, made."

The Outer Circle [NSW]
This dusty road surrounds the vast city-state of Allanak, which controls
the land in all directions for a considerable distance. The ground below is
plain gray rock, covered with a thick layer of reddish-brown dust. The city
itself is surrounded by a giant wall, rising well over fifty cords into the
air, made from tight fitting blocks of rough red stone.
The road continues to the north and south, around the red stone walls. A
vast expanse of desert lies to the west.
Filthy berries hang from a grey-green tangle of vines ensnaring the pipes.
Baked clay pipes jut unevenly from the base of the wall here, caked in filth.
The pale-faced, blue-eyed man is standing here, looking a bit winded.
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar is standing here.
- her feet hover above the ground.

<121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar floats south.

<121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
Wetting his lips, as he speaks hoarsely, the pale-faced, blue-eyed man says to you, in sirihish:
"Stand."

The male wearing a long, featureless obsidian mask rolls over slowly and grits your teeth, reaching up to savagely jerk and twist one arm, eliciting a wet squishing sound from the shoulder socket.

You are already standing.

The male wearing a long, featureless obsidian mask stands, slowly stumbling and pushing up to your feet.

<121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The pale-faced, blue-eyed man watches you calmly.

<121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
The pale-faced, blue-eyed man asks you, in sirihish:
"Can oou walk?"

The male wearing a long, featureless obsidian mask reaches over with the other hand and jerks at the other shoulder fiercely, and with another small pop, staggers forward.

<121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>
Nodding once, the pale-faced, blue-eyed man says to you, in sirihish:
"gall in."

Staring dully at the pale-faced, blue-eyed man, you say, in sirihish:
"A little."

You now follow the pale-faced, blue-eyed man.

Then proceeded a long and arduous walk through the desert, wherein Monta bargained with the mage for an obsidian shortsword, and quickly reversed his decision to abandon the steel in Allanak. Enough pain, in the moment, can even persuade a dwarf – for a little while.

In this log, my dwarf, Monta, has a focus of gaining a steel breastplate and sword to go kill all of the mekillots, who killed his father. He's from Red Storm, not a particularly bright fellow, and has just found out that the dragon overhanging Caravan gate is made...

A bad day to be a foreigner in the rinth by Ghost
Added on Dec 31, 2007

A recently arrived southsider has a rough night in the rinthi bar

A Cramped, Dingy Bar [EWU]
   Were it not for the sheer overpowering vileness of the air outside,
this small and tightly-cramped room would scarcely seem a breath of
freshness at all. Thick, acrid smoke intermingles with the smell of
unwashed bodies, vomit, cheap booze, and ancient decay in the limited
confines of this room, creating a unique amalgam of foulness that even the
rough sensibilities of a dwarf would quail at. The walls of the room are
short and the roof is relatively low, giving one an acute claustrophobic
feeling that mirrors the feel of the surrounding alleyways with merciless
precision. A few crates are stacked here and there in a seemingly haphazard
array. Whatever their intended purpose, it appears as though patrons have
begun using them as seats in lieu of squatting on the ale-damp floor. The
center of the room draws your attention once your eyes have adjusted to the
change in lighting and reveals a strange stoneworked depression, roughly
three cords deep and ten cords across. Broken stonework sculptures surround
the edges of the depression in a seeming mockery of a gleeful dance.
Several battered crates with a thick slab of pure obsidian draped across
them seem to serve as a makeshift bar in a corner of the room. An equally
battered wooden door is situated just behind it.
   Just beside the bar, a loosely hanging rope ladder disappears up into a
jagged hole in the ceiling of the room.
A ladder-backed bone chair is here standing idly near the wall.
A multi-ringed dartboard hangs on a wall here.
A message board is propped up against a wall.
The stoic, brown-skinned mul is standing here.
The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak is standing here.
- he is carrying a filthy, crude hide bag.
The grey-skinned, orange haired man is standing here.
The thick-set, sideburned bartender is here cleaning out mugs with a rag.
The long-haired, scar faced man stands by the bar, arms over his chest.
The lanky, dreadlocked man, is hanging out here lazily against the wall.
The muscular, hatchet-faced man stands here by the door.
The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak hands over an empty bag.

The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak says to the grey-skinned, orange haired man, in sirihish:
     "Get better stuff for da next time."

The grey-skinned, orange haired man says to the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak, in sirihish:
     "There is no better stuff..."

The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak puts his string of cocoons into his filthy, crude hide bag.

The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak puts his pair of footpads into his filthy, crude hide bag.

The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak asks the grey-skinned, orange haired man, in sirihish:
     "If I's walk you's over dere an' show you's sumfin useful, what do I's get from you?"

The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak puts his shard of sharp-edged obsidian into his filthy, crude hide bag.

The grey-skinned, orange haired man says to the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak, in sirihish:
     "A surprised look. A very surprised look."

The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak asks the grey-skinned, orange haired man, in sirihish:
     "A finger? Three? Maybe you's eye?"

The grey-skinned, orange haired man says to the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak, in sirihish:
     "I want to keep my fingers... and my eye..."

The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak says to the grey-skinned, orange haired man, in sirihish:
     "Den figure out what you's doin wrong an' fuckin fix it."

The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak says to the grey-skinned, orange haired man, in sirihish:
     "Every other fucker in da alleys know how to scrounge for valuable shit."

The stoic, brown-skinned mul exhales lightly, looking out into the alley.

The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak asks the grey-skinned, orange haired man, in sirihish:
     "You's tryin to say you's da stupidest motherfucker walkin dem alleys? Is dat it?"

The grey-skinned, orange haired man says to the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak, in sirihish:
     "I only been in the alley for a half-a-month... less than that..."

The grey-skinned, orange haired man says to the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak, in sirihish:
     "only like six weeks actually."

The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak asks the grey-skinned, orange haired man, in sirihish:
     "You's think you's gonna survive da next half month bein worthless?"

Lifting his chin to the grey-skinned, orange haired man, the stoic, brown-skinned mul says to the tall figure in a dark

hooded cloak, in southern-accented sirihish:
     "I'd just throw him in the well."

The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak asks the grey-skinned, orange haired man, in sirihish:
     "What da fuck did you's do southside for coin?"

The stoic, brown-skinned mul shrugs, and folds his arms leaning on a sturdy old bar.

The grey-skinned, orange haired man says to the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak, in sirihish:
     "Worked at the butcher shop some, but I only started workin' really."

The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak asks, in sirihish:
     "Afore what?"

Kicking a long, low and cracked clay table, the stoic, brown-skinned mul says to the grey-skinned, orange haired man, in

southern-accented sirihish:
     "Get out of my table."

The grey-skinned, orange haired man nervously pushes off the tabletop, moving away.

The grey-skinned, orange haired man stands up from a long, low and cracked clay table.

The grey-skinned, orange haired man asks the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak, in sirihish:
     "Afore?"

Taking the grey-skinned, orange haired man's seat, the stoic, brown-skinned mul sits at a
long, low and cracked clay table.

Speaking clearly, the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak asks the grey-skinned, orange haired man, in
sirihish:
     "Afore what?"

The stoic, brown-skinned mul scratches his head.

The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak asks, in sirihish:
     "Afore he figure out you's ain' know shit about shit an' you's ain' worth da coin he payin you's?"

The stoic, brown-skinned mul shuffles a deck of Kruth cards.

The grey-skinned, orange haired man says to the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak, in sirihish:
     "I wasn't fired..."

The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak asks the grey-skinned, orange haired man, in sirihish:
     "Den why ain' you's dere now?"

The stoic, brown-skinned mul deals himself a Kruth card.

The grey-skinned, orange haired man says to the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak, in sirihish:
     "'cause my best friend ran away here, so I did too."

The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak asks, in sirihish:
     "You's best friend?"

The stoic, brown-skinned mul flips his Kruth card: the Sun of Kings over in his hand looking at it.

The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak asks, in sirihish:
     "An' who dat?"

The stoic, brown-skinned mul puts his deck of Kruth cards into his leather backpack.

The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak asks, in sirihish:
     "Some stupid whore?"

The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak looks at the grey-skinned, orange haired man with open contempt.

The grey-skinned, orange haired man says to the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak, in sirihish:
     "An elf. I think he's dead now."

The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak says to the grey-skinned, orange haired man, in sirihish:
     "You's fuckin followed an' elf.... to da alleys."

The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak shakes his head at the grey-skinned, orange haired man.

The grey-skinned, orange haired man says to the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak, in sirihish:
     "I've never really been with humans, as friends..."

The stoic, brown-skinned mul gets his deck of Kruth cards from his leather backpack.

The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak's features soften.

Softly, the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak says to the grey-skinned, orange haired man, in
sirihish:
     "I... I's never really had no friends either..."

The stoic, brown-skinned mul arches a smooth brow to the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak, flipping through his deck of

Kruth cards slowly.

Nodding swiftly, his eyes widening a bit, the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak asks the grey-skinned,
orange haired man, in sirihish:
     "You's wanna maybe... maybe be my's friend?"

The stoic, brown-skinned mul smirks.

The grey-skinned, orange haired man says to the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak, in sirihish:
     "Your joking. I ain't that dumb."

The stoic, brown-skinned mul shuffles a deck of Kruth cards.

The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak says to the grey-skinned, orange haired man, in sirihish:
     "No no... I's serious."

The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak says to the grey-skinned, orange haired man, in sirihish:
     "Maybe we's can share a drink an' some spice or sumfin."

The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak says to the grey-skinned, orange haired man, in sirihish:
     "Talk about dem old times an' shit... maybe hold hands or sumfin."

The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak reaches a hand towards the grey-skinned, orange haired man's
hand.

The stoic, brown-skinned mul shuffles a deck of Kruth cards.

The pallid, dark-curled young man chuckles, watching the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak and the grey-skinned, orange

haired man.

Pretending to not notice his hand, the grey-skinned, orange haired man says to the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak, in

sirihish:
     "I've never done spice..."

The stoic, brown-skinned mul turns his deck of Kruth cards over curiously, looking through the
cards.

The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak subdues the grey-skinned, orange haired man.

The grey-skinned, orange haired man exclaims, in sirihish:
     "Gah!"

The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak grabs the grey-skinned, orange haired man's hand with a
alarmingly fast motion.

The grey-skinned, orange haired man says to the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak, in sirihish:
     "I see you like to be friendly..."

The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak drags the grey-skinned, orange haired man to the far side of the
bar.

Nodding a few times, the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak says to the grey-skinned, orange haired
man, in sirihish:
     "Yeah... I's good like dat."

The stoic, brown-skinned mul deals himself a Kruth card.

The stoic, brown-skinned mul deals a Kruth card: the Water of Death to you.

Holding him hand, the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak says to the grey-skinned, orange haired man,
in sirihish:
     "What I's really like doin is rememberin all da good time's I's had wif my's friends....
cause when dey all dead an' gone, dat really all dat left."

Nodding amiably, the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak says to the grey-skinned, orange haired man, in
sirihish:
     "Like you's remember dat one time when you's an' me's was talkin...."

The grey-skinned, orange haired man asks the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak, in sirihish:
     "Which time?"

The grey-skinned, orange haired man asks the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak, in sirihish:
     "When you sold my corpse...?"

Shaking his head quickly, his hollow voice sounding amiable, the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak
says to the grey-skinned, orange haired man, in sirihish:
     "No no no.... dat time when you's sayin about all da shit dat can't be found in dat
market..."

The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak begins to squeeze the grey-skinned, orange haired man's hand.

Wincing slightly, the grey-skinned, orange haired man says to the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak,
in sirihish:
     "Yeah..."

Increasing the pressure of his grip, the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak asks the grey-skinned,
orange haired man, in sirihish:
     "An' den I's was sayin how I's -know- dere good stuff dere, but you's was jus' too stupid
to find it's?"

The grey-skinned, orange haired man nods nervously to the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak.

His voice amiable, the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak says to the grey-skinned, orange haired man,
in sirihish:
     "An' you's start babblin all dis shit about how you's used to be a butcher an' how you's
leave you's pleasant little....."

The grey-skinned, orange haired man attentivly listens to the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak.

The stoic, brown-skinned mul looks from his deck of Kruth cards to you with little
understanding.

Hatred slowly seeping into his voice, the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak says to the grey-skinned,
orange haired man, in sirihish:
     "insignificant worthless an' pathetic little existence to come here an' play in dem
motherfuckin alleys....."

The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak begins to crush the grey-skinned, orange haired man's hand with
impossible strength.

The grey-skinned, orange haired man exclaims to the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak, in sirihish:
     "Think it was a mistake- GAH!"

The grey-skinned, orange haired man struggles in vain against the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak.

The grey-skinned, orange haired man squirms horribly.

The grey-skinned, orange haired man struggles in vain against the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak.

The stoic, brown-skinned mul asks the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak, in southern-accented
sirihish:
     "Want me to punch out his teeth?"

The stoic, brown-skinned mul looks up from his cards, tracing his fingers over each one with
great care.

The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak says to the grey-skinned, orange haired man, in sirihish:
     "An' den you's continue on - cause you's KNOW I fuckin really care about dat kind of
shit... about how you's fuckin little elf friend dead now's....."

The grey-skinned, orange haired man continues to squirm, no longer listening but concentrating
on the pain.

The grey-skinned, orange haired man struggles in vain against the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak.

The morbid sound of snapping bones fills in an odd moment of silence within the bar as the
tall figure in a dark hooded cloak continues to crush the grey-skinned, orange haired man's hand.

The grey-skinned, orange haired man screams!

His eyes flaring a bright red as he hisses his words out, the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak
exclaims to the grey-skinned, orange haired man, in sirihish:
     "Find... me... sumfin... fuckin... USEFUL!"

The stoic, brown-skinned mul glances at the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak, a few figures in the
bar glancing uncomfortably but daring not speak.

The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak snaps his hand to the side, breaking the grey-skinned, orange
haired man's wrist.

The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak grabs the grey-skinned, orange haired man's chest with his other
hand and shoves him across the room.

The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak roughly shoves the grey-skinned, orange haired man west.

To the west is Twisting Alleyway.
[Near]
The grey-skinned, orange haired man is reclining here.
A low, crumbled stone wall sits here, its front occupied by faded bas-relief carvings.

The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak walks over to a long, low and cracked clay table.

Throwing his hands up in a mocking fashion, the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak exclaims, in sirihish:
     "I decide it might be fun to come to da alleys! My's friend do it so I's come along for
da adventure!"

The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak shakes his head in disgust.

The stoic, brown-skinned mul smirks to the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak.

The pallid, dark-curled young man places your Kruth card: the Stone of Deceit over a triangular stone table.

The stoic, brown-skinned mul tilts his head taking the card.

You give your Kruth card: the Sun of Life to the
stoic, brown-skinned mul.

The stoic, brown-skinned mul puts his deck of Kruth cards onto a long, low and cracked clay
table.

Holding the picture up to his eyes, the stoic, brown-skinned mul looks at his Kruth card: the
Sun of Life.

You give your Kruth card: the Wind of Deceit to the
stoic, brown-skinned mul.

The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak looks between the stoic, brown-skinned mul and you.

The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak asks, in sirihish:
     "What you's two playin?"

A Cramped, Dingy Bar [EWU]

   Were it not for the sheer overpowering vileness of the air outside,

this small and tightly-cramped room would scarcely seem a breath of

freshness at all. Thick, acrid smoke intermingles with the smell of

unwashed bodies, vomit, cheap booze, and ancient decay in...
Continue Reading...
Not House Chaos by Laurajlmars
Added on Dec 17, 2007

Alek and Tanoske duke it out.

u (munching on a kalan fruit)
A Busy Barrack [ND Quit Save]
   The foundation of this spacious room is made of hard stone, and
polished, colorful granite stone forms the walls. Numerous rows of narrow
beds and mats line the floor and walls, some of which are occupied by men
and women of all trades; hunters, guards, merchants, and crafters. At the
far end of the room, a series of lockers fill the length completely. A hum
of activity constantly fills the space, as servants enter and exit the
torch-lit chamber. A slight musky smell permeates the air, the mingled
scent of perfumes, furs and wines. A large open archway leads north into
the wagonyard, and a small stone staircase leads down into the chambers used
for preparing hides and storing food.
Easily accessible, a small, round stone table sits in a cleared common space.
Pushed against one wall, a soft, cream-colored couch provides comfy seating.
A set of carved agafari shelves have been set up near the coatrack.
A long yellowed-bone bin sits between a large wooden crate and a chest.
Towards the back, a bone sided chest sits to one side of a long yellow bin.
The freckled, ponytailed man sits on the floor here.
A dwarvish guard stands at attention here.
A lithe, silver-haired guard stands here.

You say to the freckled, ponytailed man, in sirihish:
     "Time to stop being so lazy."

Licking her juicy fingers, you eat part of your partially eaten kalan fruit.

The thin, cream-braided young woman laughs.

The freckled, ponytailed man says to you, in sirihish:
     "Lazy? Fuck. I rode out earlier this week."

The freckled, ponytailed man says to you, in sirihish:
     "I'm taking a well earned break."

The thin, cream-braided young woman just laughs and laughs at the freckled, ponytailed man, flopping onto her usual seat, a soft, cream-colored couch.

You sit on a soft, cream-colored couch.

Grumpily, the freckled, ponytailed man asks you, in sirihish:
     "What the fuck's your problem, anyway?"

Lounging against the single armrest of the couch, you eat part of your half eaten kalan fruit.

Licking her fingers noisily, tugging the folds of your hooded, black sandcloth windcloak straight, you say to the freckled, ponytailed man, in sirihish:
     "I don't have a problem. Sounds like you have a problem."

You eat part of your small portion of a kalan fruit.

You feel better, and a little smug.

Scoffing and glancing off to the side, the freckled, ponytailed man asks you, in sirihish:
     "So you end up knitting okay? Or did you have to limp back here and beg for help?"

Sucking the remaining flesh of your small portion of a kalan fruit off the pit, you say to the freckled, ponytailed man, in sirihish:
     "Dunno what the fuck you're talking about."

You eat your small portion of a kalan fruit.

The freckled, ponytailed man says to you, in sirihish:
     "Right."

The thin, cream-braided young woman spits the pit over at a trash crate.

Wiping her fingers off, unladylike, on your hooded, black sandcloth windcloak, you ask the freckled, ponytailed man, in sirihish:
     "You met Jonglo yet?"

The freckled, ponytailed man says to you, in sirihish:
     "No."

You say to the freckled, ponytailed man, in sirihish:
     "He's downstairs in the sparring ring."

You say to the freckled, ponytailed man, in sirihish:
     "Hanging from one corner."

The freckled, ponytailed man asks you, in sirihish:
     "That skeleton?"

You say to the freckled, ponytailed man, in sirihish:
     "Yep."

The freckled, ponytailed man scoffs, then bursts out laughing.

The thin, cream-braided young woman's faintly amused expression darkens suddenly at the sound of the freckled, ponytailed man's sudden laughter.

The freckled, ponytailed man reels with his laugher, dropping onto his back.

The freckled, ponytailed man lies down on the ground and rests.

You feel irate.

You ask the freckled, ponytailed man, in sirihish:
     "Fuck you laughing at?"

Lacing his hands behind his head, the freckled, ponytailed man says, in sirihish:
     "For a second, I thought you were talking about a friend of yours. Guess I shouldn't be surprised that it turned out to be a skeleton."

Jolting to her feet, you stand up from a soft, cream-colored couch.

The freckled, ponytailed man asks you, in sirihish:
     "Ooh. We gonna fight again?"

Marching over to him, you ask the freckled, ponytailed man, in sirihish:
     "What's so funny about that!?"

Dragging himself lazily to his feet, the freckled, ponytailed man rises and stands.

The freckled, ponytailed man says to you, in sirihish:
     "It's funny, because you don't have any friends. So you have to name a dead guy to hang out with."

You feel a burst of fury.

The thin, cream-braided young woman hauls an arm back and bitchslaps the freckled, ponytailed man.

The freckled, ponytailed man's head jerks with your hand, the clapping sound sharp in the busy barracks.

Stonily, slowly turning his head to face you again, the freckled, ponytailed man says, in sirihish:
     "Ouch."

The thin, cream-braided young woman keeps her hand half-raised, staring at the freckled, ponytailed man and breathing hard, as if she's run a long way.

Some of the din of people quiets as attention draws to the freckled, ponytailed man and you.

The freckled, ponytailed man asks you, in sirihish:
     "You fucking 'tok. You think you can just hit people and its okay because you're little?"

Throwing it aside, the freckled, ponytailed man puts his darkly stained bone scimitar with a carved hilt onto a small leather cot.

The freckled, ponytailed man swings his the back of his hand sharply at your cheek.

Not expecting that, the thin, cream-braided young woman gets slapped right back, the sound of skin against skin a sharp clap in the silence.

You think:
     "Ok..."

The freckled, ponytailed man's hand stays extended out with the follow through, eyes narrowed at you.

Launching at the freckled, ponytailed man and tackling him into a cot, you exclaim, in sirihish:
     "That's IT!"

The freckled, ponytailed man stumbles back onto a small leather cot, grabbing for your wrists as he wrestles with you.

Catcalls and cheers fill the previous silent barracks as the thin, cream-braided young woman and the freckled, ponytailed man tussle.

Grabbing one of your wrists and trying to bend it back, the freckled, ponytailed man says, in sirihish:
     "You. don't. want. to. fight. me."

Voice large for such a small frame, falling off the cot, yanking her wrist back, and making a tremendous amount of noise, you shout in sirihish:
     "You're going the fuck DOWN, Tanoske!"

Backing up and bawling at her foe, you shout in sirihish:
     "Bring it on!"

The freckled, ponytailed man pushes up off of the cot, swinging a sloppy punch at you.

The thin, cream-braided young woman ducks under the freckled, ponytailed man's punch and lowers her head, running full tilt for his stomach.

The lean, ashen haired man has arrived from the north, stepping in from the yard.

The lean, ashen haired man leans against the doorway, glancing into the barracks.

The freckled, ponytailed man lets out a huff of air as your body spears into his stomach, drawing his hand back to punch you in the back.

Your new ldesc is:
The thin, cream-braided young woman is involved in a fight here.

The thin, cream-braided young woman shrieks, toppling into and then past the freckled, ponytailed man, banging her head against a cot.

Holding an arm protectively over his stomach, the breath clearly knocked out of him, the freckled, ponytailed man turns to keep you in his vision.

The thin, cream-braided young woman's foot comes up on the follow through of her dramatic head over heels tumble, jerking out spastically in what might be the freckled, ponytailed man's direction.

Folding his arms across his chest, the lean, ashen haired man watches with an expression of mild amusement.

The stray foot of you catching him in the waist, the freckled, ponytailed man doubles over again, grunting.

Stumbling back a step, the freckled, ponytailed man says, in sirihish:
     "You fucking bitch."

The freckled, ponytailed man kicks a cot out of his way, charging at you.

Roaring the words and whirling to meet him, you exclaim to the freckled, ponytailed man, in sirihish:
     "Son of a whore!"

Shoulder rushing towards the middle of your chest, the freckled, ponytailed man exclaims to you, in sirihish:
     "'Tok!"

Calling over, the lean, ashen haired man says, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Hey, folks. You missed the arena match by a few hours. Although I'm sure Lord Shiran would be happy to sign you both up for the next one."

The thin, cream-braided young woman's back slams against the wall as she wraps her arms tight around the freckled, ponytailed man's neck, ignoring the lean, ashen haired man, and the rules of fair fighting, as she prepares to bite down on her opponent somewhere.

The freckled, ponytailed man grapples his arms around you waist, keeping you pressed against the wall, head ducking against your neck as he appears oblivious to the incoming bite.

The onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man has arrived from the north.

The thin, cream-braided young woman chomps down, HARD, on...empty air, scrabbling beneath the freckled, ponytailed man's pin.

The freckled, ponytailed man flinches at the sound of teeth closing.

The freckled, ponytailed man slowly opens his eye, realizing he isn't dead, and begins frantically trying to knee you in the side.

Bringing a knee up and driving it towards his stomach, you exclaim to the freckled, ponytailed man, in sirihish:
     "Get off me!"

Body bunching up over your knee as it connects, the freckled, ponytailed man exclaims, in sirihish:
     "Oof. Fuck off!"

The thin, cream-braided young woman heaves at the freckled, ponytailed man's larger frame falling against hers, pinned against the wall.

Turning his gaze from the two struggling combatants, the lean, ashen haired man looks at the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man.

The freckled, ponytailed man turns, still grappling you for a moment before releasing you towards the stair well.

The thin, cream-braided young woman shrieks, toppling backwards from the throw, and plummets down the stairs.

You speed up to a fast run.

d (head over heels)
A Smelly Room [SU Save]
   This room is cluttered, though neatly arranged, with hides hanging on
racks, implements of tanning and treating raw hides lining the walls, and a
few scattered racks for the hides. The room itself is carved out of rock in
a rough manner that isn't fitting when compared to the rest of the grounds,
although it is quite apparent that the tools are of high quality. Several
barrels line one wall, containing liquids to be used for tanning hides.
Square vents have been etched into the stone walls in an attempt to direct
the strong odors of tannin and urine away from the upstairs room. Along one
wall stand some cabinets and chests for storing raw materials and finished
goods.
A cracked stone storage bin, nearly falling apart, has been put here.
Filled with unpolished gems, a large agafari chest is in a line with other chests.
Filled with partially completed crafts, a large agafari chest is in a line with other chests.
Filled with guts and gore, a large agafari chest is in a line with other chests.
Filled with materials to make arrows, a large agafari chest is in a line with other chests.
Filled with vines and grasses, a large agafari chest is in a line with other chests.
A large obsidian bin looms here.
A simple wooden chest is here, and it's filled with tools.

Dazed, slumped at the foot of the stairs, you sit down.

You feel pain creaking through her ribs.

The freckled, ponytailed man has arrived from above, bolting down after the tumbling body.

The freckled, ponytailed man takes a few steps down the stairs before jumping to land at the base.

Landing with one palm to the ground, the freckled, ponytailed man exclaims to you, in sirihish:
     "You fucking crazy bitch!"

The thin, cream-braided young woman groans, giving her braided head a vigorous shake, tumbled in a heap on the floor.

You are hauled to your feet roughly.
The freckled, ponytailed man attempts to grab you, but you wrestle away.

Whirling off the floor and lunging at him, you exclaim to the freckled, ponytailed man, in sirihish:
     "Say that again!"

You attempt to grab the freckled, ponytailed man, but he wrestles away.

The freckled, ponytailed man dives down on top of you, frantically trying to pin you.

The freckled, ponytailed man exclaims, in sirihish:
     "CRAZY BITCH! CRAZY BITCH!"

The freckled, ponytailed man attempts to grab you, but you wrestle away.

You shout in sirihish:
     "SHUT UP!"

You attempt to grab the freckled, ponytailed man, but he wrestles away.

The thin, cream-braided young woman slams all over the crowded and spiky looking room with the freckled, ponytailed man, terrified crafters scattering everywhere.

Up above is a Busy Barrack.
[Near]
The onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man is standing here, arms folded, looking unhappy.
The lean, ashen haired man leans here against one wall, arms folded.
A dwarvish guard stands at attention here.
A lithe, silver-haired guard stands here.

The freckled, ponytailed man rolls around with you, suddenly foregoing trying to pin you and balling a fist.

The freckled, ponytailed man exclaims to you, in sirihish:
     "You first!"

The freckled, ponytailed man hits you, barely grazing your body.
The freckled, ponytailed man hits you, barely grazing your wrist.

The freckled, ponytailed man swiftly dodges your hit.
The freckled, ponytailed man swiftly dodges your hit.

The freckled, ponytailed man lunges at you, but his blow is deftly deflected by a pair of brown leather pocketed pants.
The freckled, ponytailed man hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.

Your attack on the freckled, ponytailed man is absorbed by a desert-camouflaged, sandcloth jacket.
You viciously leap toward the freckled, ponytailed man, but a desert-camouflaged, sandcloth-covered collar gets in the way.

Wadding up in a human pretzel with you, the freckled, ponytailed man begins pounding on your chest and stomach.

The freckled, ponytailed man hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
The freckled, ponytailed man hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.

You lunge at the freckled, ponytailed man, but your blow is deftly deflected by a desert-camouflaged, sandcloth-covered collar.
The freckled, ponytailed man swiftly dodges your hit.

The freckled, ponytailed man swiftly dodges your hit.
The freckled, ponytailed man swiftly dodges your hit.

The thin, cream-braided young woman's breath rushes out of her lungs as she reels back and charges at the freckled, ponytailed man.

You viciously leap toward the freckled, ponytailed man, but a studded bone bracer gets in the way.
The freckled, ponytailed man swiftly dodges your hit.

The freckled, ponytailed man hits you, barely grazing your body.
The freckled, ponytailed man hits you, barely grazing your body.
The freckled, ponytailed man swiftly dodges your hit.
Your attack on the freckled, ponytailed man is absorbed by a studded bone bracer.

You hit the freckled, ponytailed man, barely grazing his neck.
The freckled, ponytailed man swiftly dodges your hit.

The freckled, ponytailed man swings his bracered wrist up, blocking the incoming you.

The freckled, ponytailed man hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
The freckled, ponytailed man hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.

The freckled, ponytailed man aims a circle kick at your head, but you quickly avoid it.

You hit the freckled, ponytailed man, barely grazing his head.
The freckled, ponytailed man reels from the blow.
You hit the freckled, ponytailed man, barely grazing his body.

You hit the freckled, ponytailed man, barely grazing his neck.
You hit the freckled, ponytailed man, barely grazing his arm.

The freckled, ponytailed man blinks in surprise, stumbling back.

The thin, cream-braided young woman punches repeatedly on the freckled, ponytailed man's face, giving him a swift uppercut.

The freckled, ponytailed man catches himself on the wall, pressing forward and lunging at you.

Your attack on the freckled, ponytailed man is absorbed by a pair of desert-camouflaged, sandcloth leggings.
You viciously leap toward the freckled, ponytailed man, but a desert-camouflaged, sandcloth jacket gets in the way.

The freckled, ponytailed man exclaims, in sirihish:
     "Krathdamn you!"

The freckled, ponytailed man hits you, barely grazing your head.
You reel from the blow.
The freckled, ponytailed man hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.

The freckled, ponytailed man hits you, barely grazing your waist.
The freckled, ponytailed man hits you, barely grazing your head.
You reel from the blow.

The freckled, ponytailed man hits you, barely grazing your neck.
You reel from the blow.
The freckled, ponytailed man hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.

Wobbling back from the onslaught of blows in shock, eyelids starting to flutter wide, you say to the freckled, ponytailed man, in sirihish:
     "Go to f-fu-"

The freckled, ponytailed man snaps a fist into your chin, grinning.

You lunge at the freckled, ponytailed man, but your blow is deftly deflected by a desert-camouflaged, sandcloth jacket.
The freckled, ponytailed man swiftly dodges your hit.

The freckled, ponytailed man says, in sirihish:
     "Yeah."

The freckled, ponytailed man hits you, barely grazing your wrist.
The freckled, ponytailed man hits you, barely grazing your body.
Your vision goes black.

The thin, cream-braided young woman's head snaps backwards from the blow and she falls right over, head banging against the stone floor.

Someone kicks a sandaled foot into your shoulder, rolling you over.

Someone pants raggedly, wiping some blood from his lip.

Giving in to a bit of frustration, someone kicks his foot repeatedly into your side.

The thin, cream-braided young woman rolls obligingly and limply over, a far cry from the tense figure of unpleasantness she cut so finely just a few minutes before.

a glass-tipped wooden bolt flies in from above.

By the way, the thin, cream-braided young woman also looks quite a mess, lower lip split, a black eye promising to show up for a visit quite soon, and a nice purple spot on the side of her jaw.

Your new ldesc is:
The thin, cream-braided young woman is here, crumpled in an untidy heap.

You feel pent up fury releasing with the boon of unconsciousness.

You feel waves of blissful oblivion wash over her.

Someone grabs you roughly, dragging you up the stairs.

The thin, cream-braided young woman's bruised body bangs against the stairs as she is dragged up.

Someone dumps you on the floor just in front of the stairs.

You feel nothing much, since she's asleep. Nothing but the promise of pain on awakening.

Your head clears and your eyes flutter open.

You think:
     "Wha...oww.."

You feel certain a nightmare is about to begin.

A Busy Barrack [ND Quit Save]
   The foundation of this spacious room is made of hard stone, and
polished, colorful granite stone forms the walls. Numerous rows of narrow
beds and mats line the floor and walls, some of which are occupied by men
and women of all trades; hunters, guards, merchants, and crafters. At the
far end of the room, a series of lockers fill the length completely. A hum
of activity constantly fills the space, as servants enter and exit the
torch-lit chamber. A slight musky smell permeates the air, the mingled
scent of perfumes, furs and wines. A large open archway leads north into
the wagonyard, and a small stone staircase leads down into the chambers used
for preparing hides and storing food.
Easily accessible, a small, round stone table sits in a cleared common space.
Pushed against one wall, a soft, cream-colored couch provides comfy seating.
A set of carved agafari shelves have been set up near the coatrack.
A long yellowed-bone bin sits between a large wooden crate and a chest.
Towards the back, a bone sided chest sits to one side of a long yellow bin.
The freckled, ponytailed man is standing here, looking a bit winded.
The onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man stands here casually.
The lean, ashen haired man is standing here.
A dwarvish guard stands at attention here.
A lithe, silver-haired guard stands here.

The freckled, ponytailed man stands over you, arms folded, looking between the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man and the lean, ashen haired man.

The thin, cream-braided young woman blinks at the painful light, making a few quickly aborted attempts to unwind herself from the human pretzel she's managed to twist herself into.

The lean, ashen haired man asks, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Huh. Well, least nobody has to explain to Agent Zaea that her assistant is broken and she needs a new one. Alek, what the fuck was that about?"

The freckled, ponytailed man's gaze flicks down at you starts writhing about.

The freckled, ponytailed man says to you, in sirihish:
     "I told you you didn't want to fight me. Again. Bitch."

The onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man quietly watches you from his position near the lean, ashen haired man.

Pushing feebly against the floor, her tone and insults just as feeble, appearing very disoriented, you say, in sirihish:
     "Gonna fuckin..pounja. Jerk."

The freckled, ponytailed man sucks in a deep breath, then huffs it out.

The freckled, ponytailed man says to you, in sirihish:
     "Oh, yeah, you're gonna hurt me real bad."

The lean, ashen haired man says to the freckled, ponytailed man, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "That'll do. How 'bout you head down to the Gaj? Find Leuckhart and bring him over."

The freckled, ponytailed man asks the lean, ashen haired man, in sirihish:
     "Who the fuck's Leuckhart?"

Slitted, glazed gaze wandering the room insanely, going in and out of focus, blood trickling down the side of her face, you ask the freckled, ponytailed man, in sirihish:
     "Heh...C'mere, Two Noose. Wanna dance 'gain?"

The lean, ashen haired man says to the freckled, ponytailed man, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "New guy. You're a hunter, you'll find him."

As if for the first time, with slow, dawning, gradually awakening horror, you look up at the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man.
Long, brilliant red strands of hair fall in gentle flows from the top
of this svelte man's scalp like tendrils of crimson numut. His skin
is black, well cared for, with a minimum of scarring available to the
eye. A firm, slender musculature sheathes his swarthy form, with his
long limbs and straight posture lending to him an air of grace and
poise. Immaculate white teeth shine out from behind dark lips when
ever they part.
The onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man is in excellent condition.

The onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man is using:
<worn in left ear>       a dead mantis earring
<worn in right ear>      a skeleton-carved ivory earring with ruby eyes
<worn around neck>       a high neckband of gleaming onyx
<worn about throat>      an ivory necklace with a dead ruby mantis pendant
<worn on hands>          a pair of long, ruby-adorned ebony gloves
<primary hand>           a raptor-tooth throwing knife
<secondary hand>         a maar hand-crossbow
<worn around body>       a hooded, loose black silk greatcloak
<worn on legs>           a pair of crimson and black pants
<worn on right ankle>    a black onyx, skull-linked anklechain
<worn on left ankle>     a black onyx, skull-linked anklechain
<worn on feet>           a pair of soft, ruby-buckled boots

He is carrying:
nothing obvious

You think:
     "Aw shit."

Clenching his fists at his side and turning to you, the freckled, ponytailed man says, in sirihish:
     "Don't make me fucking hurt you again."

The onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man tugs a black fletched, glass tipped bolt out of a sheath on his thigh.

The onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man loads a maar hand-crossbow.

The freckled, ponytailed man's gaze draws between you and the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man, shoulders slacking a little.

Hands unclenching, the freckled, ponytailed man says, in sirihish:
     "Whoa. Okay."

His voice soft, casual, as he loads his death toy, the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man says, in sirihish:
     "How about we all stay nice and calm."

Backing away from you, the freckled, ponytailed man says to the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man, in sirihish:
     "Okay. Deal."

His voice continuing to be calm, the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man says, in sirihish:
     "Go find Leuk...whatever, Two Noose."

The thin, cream-braided young woman coughs, all pained and icky, winding up to a half-reclined sitting position, arm wrapping protectively around what are likely damaged ribs.

The onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man gives a 'shoo'ing jerk of his chin to the freckled, ponytailed man.

Pacing across the room quickly, the freckled, ponytailed man says to the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man, in sirihish:
     "Got it."

Grabbing it in passing, the freckled, ponytailed man gets his darkly stained bone scimitar with a carved hilt from a small leather cot.

The freckled, ponytailed man asks, in sirihish:
     "Uh. Bring him here?"

Softly, watching you, the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man says, in sirihish:
     "Whatever the Second Hunter wants."

Your new ldesc is:
The thin, cream-braided young woman lolls in a heap on the floor.

The lean, ashen haired man asks the freckled, ponytailed man, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Yeah, I want to talk to him. But no need to hurry, eh?"

The freckled, ponytailed man says to the lean, ashen haired man, in sirihish:
     "Yeah. Right... Got it."

The freckled, ponytailed man rests his darkly stained bone scimitar with a carved hilt over his shoulder, glancing back at you briefly.

The thin, cream-braided young woman watches the freckled, ponytailed man go, one eye promising to swell shut.

Before retreating out of the room, the freckled, ponytailed man says to you, in sirihish:
     "I told you."

The freckled, ponytailed man walks north.

The thin, cream-braided young woman hisses an irritated breath through clenched teeth, tensing, and regretting it.

The lean, ashen haired man asks you, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Right, now that you're not going to claw anybody's eyes out in a hurry. Care to explain?"

Sweeping back his drab, weathered stormcloak absently, the lean, ashen haired man says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Thought you said no more fights was the plan."

Picking her way slowly and deliberately over the words, lifting one hand to gingerly prod her lower lip, you say to the lean, ashen haired man, in sirihish:
     "He was. Insultin'. Me."

You look up at the lean, ashen haired man.
With pale hair and faded blue eyes, it is almost as though the
combination of sun and sand have scoured all traces of colour from this
young man's lanky frame. His bleached, ashen mane is matted into thick,
shoulder length dreadlocks, standing out in stark white contrast against
tanned brown skin. Small, polished obsidian beads have been threaded
amongst the tangled locks and knotted into place alongside feathers, pieces
of bone and the small sharp fangs of one desert predator or another.
The lean, ashen haired man is in excellent condition.

The lean, ashen haired man is using:
<worn on head>           a chitin-studded anakore helm
<worn in hair>           a stiff white feather
<worn around neck>       an obsidian-studded, dark-leather collar
<slung across back>      a long-handled, serrated broadsword
<worn across back>       a desert-camouflaged hunting quiver
<worn on left shoulder> a scrab-shell shoulder plate
<worn on arms>           a pair of scrub-camouflaged, sandcloth sleeves
<worn around wrist>      a long black leather wristsheath
<worn around wrist>      a durrit-claw bracer
<secondary hand>         a new curved agafari shield
<worn on forearms>       a blue-streaked, purple wrist-sheath
<worn on left finger>    a massive, skull-carved ring
<worn around body>       a drab, weathered stormcloak
<worn on legs>           a pair of dark leather leggings
<worn on right ankle>    a carru-leather knife sheath
<worn on left ankle>     a small leather pouch
<worn on feet>           a worn out pair of carru hide boots

He is carrying:
nothing obvious

The lean, ashen haired man says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Yeah. And I'm sure you were just all polite and well mannered. "

The freckled, ponytailed man has arrived from the north.
The average, green eyed man has arrived from the north.

The thin, cream-braided young woman looks guilty as sin, crumpled on the floor in front of her jury.

The onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man puts his raptor-tooth throwing knife into his hooded, loose black silk greatcloak.

Slowing in the doorway, the freckled, ponytailed man says, in sirihish:
     "Found him."

The onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man tucks a small blade away, and breathes a gentle sigh.

The average, green eyed man strides in and nods towards those in the room.

The freckled, ponytailed man stops leading the average, green eyed man.

With another cough, you ask the lean, ashen haired man, in sirihish:
     "I really need to answer that?"

The freckled, ponytailed man takes a lean against the doorway, his sheath over one shoulder, unoccupied arm folded over his stomach protectively.

Without turning from you, the lean, ashen haired man says to the freckled, ponytailed man, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Good job. Take him out to find a spare kank. Make sure he knows how to sit on it and shit. Have him spend a bit of time in the saddle, but not outside the city."

Grudgingly, the freckled, ponytailed man says, in sirihish:
     "...Right."

The lean, ashen haired man asks you, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "No, I can pretty much guess. And then you what, slugged him?"

Keeping his maar hand-crossbow casually aimed at you, the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man picks at some sand on his hooded, loose black silk greatcloak with his other hand, attention waning from the glass bolt tip.

The average, green eyed man looks towards him and then once again makes to follow him.

The freckled, ponytailed man's gaze drifts between you and the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man, features drawn up tight.

The thin, cream-braided young woman stares at the freckled, ponytailed man, unmoving.

Breathing a sigh, the freckled, ponytailed man says to you, in sirihish:
     "Oh, fuck, Alek, just tell them what happened."

The freckled, ponytailed man says, in sirihish:
     "It was just a fight. You know, a fight? She hit me, I hit her, she hit me, I hit her, I hit her, I hit her, she fell down. That's it..."

Defiantly, in spite of the bolt aimed at her face, and her general battered personage, you say to the lean, ashen haired man, in sirihish:
     "Yeah I slugged him."

The onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man's eyes harden slightly, his attention drawing back to you.

Stubbornly ranting, the freckled, ponytailed man says, in sirihish:
     "It's not like it's that big of a deal."

Glancing to the freckled, ponytailed man, the tip of his maar hand-crossbow following, and centering on his chest, the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man asks, in sirihish:
     "What?"

The freckled, ponytailed man draws in a deep breath, tensing as the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man's crossbow trains on him.

The average, green eyed man raises his eyebrows as he views the participants and stays silently towards the background.

The freckled, ponytailed man says to the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man, in sirihish:
     "I... was just saying. It's not that big of a deal. It's not like we tried to kill each other."

Drawing in a pained breath, you say to the lean, ashen haired man, in sirihish:
     "I saw you, Milan. Saw you walkin' in when he had me against the wall. Didn't see you taking...*wheeze*...pains to stop us when you did."

His posture absolutely casual, voice soft, the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man says, in sirihish:
     "It is a big deal, when frays start outside of the proper fray location."

Frowning a bit, the freckled, ponytailed man says to the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man, in sirihish:
     "Well. We're sorry. It's not like we hurt anyone.."

The thin, cream-braided young woman shoots a gobsmacked and shattered look over at the freckled, ponytailed man from her place on the floor.

You think:
     "Say -what-?"

His thumb sliding a small pole upwards, bracing the crossbow string, the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man says, in sirihish:
     "House Kadius. Kadius. Not House Chaos."

The freckled, ponytailed man lets out a forced little laugh, eyes on the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man's crossbow still.

You feel all tension releasing with a fresh woosh of pain, making itself at home.

Glancing towards the stairway, the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man says, in sirihish:
     "Next time, take it downstairs, settle it where it is supposed to be settled. Or I'm going to have to spend four hundred more coins."

You think:
     "Oww..."

The freckled, ponytailed man glances back at you, his rage dissolved in light of the recent addition of projectile weaponry.

Brow knitting in confusion, the freckled, ponytailed man asks the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man, in sirihish:
     "Four hundred... coins?"

The onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man says, in sirihish:
     "Because each of you is going to feel a two hundred 'sid bolt enter your ass. And I'm not talking generally. I will hit you in the ass."

Grimacing, the freckled, ponytailed man says to the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man, in sirihish:
     "Oh."

The thin, cream-braided young woman appears to have absolutely nothing to say to that.

You think:
   "Nicely done. Spectacular finish."

Pulling some coins out of a Nenyuck marked pouch, handing them to the lean, ashen haired man, the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man asks, in sirihish:
     "Thank you, Second Hunter. Make sure they remember this one, hmmm?"

The onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man gives some coins to the lean, ashen haired man.

With a nod, the lean, ashen haired man says to the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Yeah, I'll make sure they get this shit together, boss."

You feel a bolt...heh...of terror shoot through her.

Nodding to the lean, ashen haired man, the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man says, in sirihish:
     "You always do."

Glancing briefly to the average, green eyed man, the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man asks, in sirihish:
     "Do you know if we have a spare kank in the compound for this one, Second?"

Looking over at the average, green eyed man, the lean, ashen haired man says, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "There's a spare grey one Louas bought in. He can use that for now."

Long hair, which falls to the lower back of this young human woman when
freed, has been coaxed into a myriad of tiny braids and generally lies
coiled, rope-like, atop her head to expose her reedy neck. The color of her
hair is between the hues of undyed canvas and over-creamed coffee, a pale
shade that contrasts with the warm, olive tan color of her skin. Her thin
face bears sculpted eyebrows, sharp-seeming, slanted eyes of clear, piercing
grey, a nose slightly crooked, and full lips the same tan color as the rest
of her skin. Though her vaguely feminine frame is rather sparse, and her
features fine-boned, her jaw and chin have a firm, stubborn set to them.
Apparently well looked after, her skin bears no visible scarring save for a
few calluses on the ends of her slender, brown fingers.
The thin, cream-braided young woman is in excellent condition.

<worn in hair>           an elaborate wooden comb
<worn around body>       a hooded, black sandcloth windcloak
<worn on legs>           a pair of brown leather pocketed pants
<worn on feet>           a pair of black-trimmed snakeskin boots

The thin, cream-braided young woman utters a muffled groan and bites her bleeding knuckles.

You look up at the freckled, ponytailed man, like this is all his fault.
Standing on the short side of average height, this human man's most
striking feature is his shiny black hair, pulled into a ponytail atop his
head, where it sprouts up and backwards, almost defying gravity with its
thickness. His face is youthful, heart shaped and lacking a strong,
masculine jawline. His blue eyes sit just above the freckles that dot the
bridge of his nose and cheeks, his features boyish over all. His build is
forgettable - proportional arms and legs and an averagely weighted
combination of muscle and flesh.
The freckled, ponytailed man is in excellent condition.

The freckled, ponytailed man is using:
<worn in hair>           a scrap of cloth
<worn around neck>       a desert-camouflaged, sandcloth-covered collar
<slung across back>      an obsidian longsword
<left shoulder>          a tattoo of a pair of noose-faced dice
<worn around wrist>      a studded bone bracer
<worn around wrist>      a studded bone bracer
<worn on forearms>       a pair of blue and purple armbands
<worn around body>       a hooded, dark brown cloak
<worn on legs>           a pair of desert-camouflaged, sandcloth leggings
<worn on feet>           a pair of sandals

The average, green eyed man crosses his arms and looks back and forth at the interchanges taking place.

The freckled, ponytailed man runs his tongue over his teeth inside his mouth, returning the favor towards you.

The freckled, ponytailed man looks down at you.

As if seeing him for the first time, you look up at the average, green eyed man.
This average looking man stands five feet seven inches in height.
Auburn-brown hairs is cropped closely to his head and he wears a full grown
beard. He has a slightly tannned complexion. His eyes are a dusky green
shade. He is of an average build.
The average, green eyed man is in excellent condition.

The average, green eyed man is using:
<worn on head>           a dusty wide-rimmed brown hat
<worn around neck>       a dusty water gourd
<worn across back>       a dusty bone-studded backpack
<worn on torso>          a dusty sinew-stitched red sandcloth shirt
<worn on arms>           a dusty pair of blue and purple armbands
<worn on hands>          a dusty pair of jozhal hide gloves
<worn about waist>       a dusty leather knife belt
<worn on legs>           a dusty pair of loose sandcloth leggings
<worn on feet>           a dusty pair of sturdy leather travellers' boots

He is carrying:
nothing obvious

Unloading his maar hand-crossbow, and tucking the bolt away, the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man says, in sirihish:
     "Lovely. Now that we are all settled down, lets be about our day."

Slumping ruefully against the wall, the freckled, ponytailed man says, in sirihish:
     "Yeah..."

The onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man says, in sirihish:
     "I've already spent two hundred coins today. I'd hate to spend more."

The thin, cream-braided young woman bares bloodied teeth at the average, green eyed man, noting his stare.

The average, green eyed man looks down towards you and nods his head very slightly.

The thin, cream-braided young woman sulkily eases back, supporting herself against one wall.

Straightening his drab, weathered stormcloak, the lean, ashen haired man says to the freckled, ponytailed man, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Alright. If you've got nothing better to do, I'd like Leuckhart up and on a saddle by dawn. Show him how how to get one saddled and shit."

You think:
     "I think I broke something."

You think:
     "That's going to be pleasant."

You think:
     "I hope I broke something of his."

The freckled, ponytailed man says to the lean, ashen haired man, in sirihish:
     "I can show him out to get on and off and stuff, but I don't know I've got time to take him around myself."

The lean, ashen haired man says to the freckled, ponytailed man, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "No problem, just get him started off."

You feel rage starting to build up again.

Grudgingly, the freckled, ponytailed man says, in sirihish:
     "Right."

You think:
     "No no no. No no."

The freckled, ponytailed man pushes off of the wall, tonguing a split on his lower lip.

Keeping an arm over his stomach, the freckled, ponytailed man says to the average, green eyed man, in sirihish:
     "All right. Let's do this..."

The freckled, ponytailed man walks north.
The average, green eyed man walks north.

Glancing down, the lean, ashen haired man says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "I'd strongly suggest that you and Tan keep out of each other's way. It shouldn't be hard to do until we leave 'Nak."

The lean, ashen haired man says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "If you need any bandages or shit... Well, I'll let you sort yourself out."

The thin, cream-braided young woman's gaze traces over the damage done from the battle, pillow strewn, cots overturned, and other belongings scattered.

An undefeated smirk twists the thin, cream-braided young woman's bruised features as she looks back at the lean, ashen haired man, pushing to her feet.

You stop resting, and stand up.

With a sigh, the lean, ashen haired man says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Yeah, I know. You're a tough motherfucker and all that. Just no more fucking fights in the barracks."

The thin, cream-braided young woman coughs her assent, tottering like she's ninety years old for the stairs.

u (munching on a kalan fruit)
A Busy Barrack [ND Quit Save]
   The foundation of this spacious room is made of hard stone, and
polished, colorful granite stone forms the walls. Numerous rows of narrow
beds and mats line the floor and walls, some of which are occupied by men
and women of all trades;...
Continue Reading...
Can I Have Yer Money? by Marauder Moe
Added on Sep 21, 2007

A dwarf has a strange encounter with a human in the temple of Suk-Krath.

Meditation Room [D Quit Save]
   This chamber appears to be where the followers of Suk-Krath come to
study and contemplate their element, as the four walls angle upwards
sharply, almost resembling a pyramid, at the top of which is a large,
diamond-shaped hole. When the sun reaches its pinnacle, it shines down
directly to illuminate the room, bathing it brightly. A small circle has
been drawn in smudged red chalk in the center of the chamber's slate floor,
the sunlight filling the circle with harsh light. A niche in the wall,
which may have held a statue at one point, stands vacant.
A shadow falls over the area, driving off the uncomfortable heat.

The very tall figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak has arrived from below.

The very tall figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak opens a dusty sizeable leather backpack.

The very tall figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak gets his bloodied flint dagger from his dusty sizeable leather backpack.

Flames erupt near the very tall figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak as he starts an incantation.

The very tall figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak utters an incantation.
The very tall figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak casts a glyph upon a bloodied flint dagger.

The very tall figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak glances over from his shimmering bloodied flint dagger, his attention falling upon you.

The very tall figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak reaches quickly beneath his hood, a bright light emiting before turning to smoke.

Flames erupt near the very tall figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak as he starts an incantation.

The very tall figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak utters the incantation, 'kral un sekret magick words'.

The very tall figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak looks down at you, as he leans forwards.

Lirathu, the white moon, slowly rises in the southeast.

The swarthy, lean male dwarf watches the very tall figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak with a wrinkled, hairless brow.

The very tall figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak steps back from you, his hands lowering to his sides.

You ask the very tall figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak, in sirihish:
     "What?"

His words a harsh whisper, the very tall figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Nothing... Just nothing."

The swarthy, lean male dwarf eyes the very tall figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak for a moment.

You think:
     "No colors, must be from Luirs or something."

The very tall figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak lowers down upon the ground, as he takes in a long deep breath.

The very tall figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak sits down to rest.

You think:
     "At least, I don't see any tattoos."

The very tall figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak holds a hand to his throat, his breathing very rasp.

As he pulls down his hood, the very tall figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak says, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "He said, death was better than a gem."

The wildly maned, weathered man lowers the hood of a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak.

You think:
     "Hmm, so what of this fellow? Worth knowing?"

You ask the wildly maned, weathered man, in sirihish:
     "Who?"

His gaze snapping up, the wildly maned, weathered man says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Varaj."

Shrugging, you ask the wildly maned, weathered man, in sirihish:
     "I don't think I know him. One of us?"

Pointing a finger towards himself, the wildly maned, weathered man says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "He was resting, then they came and tried to grab him. I gave my life for him, he runs free still now and I am now like this."

Motioning vaguely, the wildly maned, weathered man says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Rukkian."

With a gruff chuckle, you ask, in sirihish:
     "Yeh two tribals, then?"

Shaking his head as he lowers his gaze again, the wildly maned, weathered man says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Nah, we was from this city. He took me here, to show me this shit. I thought magickers truly lived freely here."

Clearing his throat, the wildly maned, weathered man says, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "He, not we."

Jihae, the red moon, rises up into the sky.

The wildly maned, weathered man rises from the ground, and clambers to his feet.

The swarthy, lean male dwarf shrugs.

As he places a hand to his throat, voice rasp, the wildly maned, weathered man says, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Now... I could care less."

Flames erupt near the wildly maned, weathered man as he starts an incantation.

The wildly maned, weathered man utters the incantation, 'wek un sekret magick words'.

Flames erupt near the wildly maned, weathered man as he starts an incantation.

A red aura surrounds the wildly maned, weathered man, then dissipates.

Squinting at the wildly maned, weathered man, you ask, in sirihish:
     "What are yeh doing?"

The wildly maned, weathered man drops a knee to the ground, his eyes becoming glazed over and red.

His words harsh, the wildly maned, weathered man says, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Death is better than the gem. Through death, I'll truly be one with suk-krath."

Rubbing his chin, you say, in sirihish:
     "Oh."

Eyebrows lifting, you ask the wildly maned, weathered man, in sirihish:
     "Can I have yer money? Seems you wouldn't need it anymore, then, right?"

The wildly maned, weathered man holds his neck as he begins to cough deeply, his expression distorting in pain.

Holding his hand flat upon the ground, the wildly maned, weathered man says, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Money? I don't care."

The wildly maned, weathered man closes his eyes as he flicks his neck again, a spark of fire emiting from his fingers.

Flames erupt near the wildly maned, weathered man as he starts an incantation.

The wildly maned, weathered man utters the incantation, 'wek un sekret magick words'.
A red aura surrounds the wildly maned, weathered man, then dissipates.

Nodding, you say to the wildly maned, weathered man, in sirihish:
     "Thanks, then."

The wildly maned, weathered man coughs again as falls upon his side, staring off before himself.

His words harsh, the wildly maned, weathered man says, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "They ruined everything."

You think:
     "Such a low power, I doubt he's a master and could tell me about components."

You think:
     "Such silly people, humans. Giving up his path just from one setback."

Shifting his attention up towards you, the wildly maned, weathered man asks, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "You're just going to watch?"

The wildly maned, weathered man's empty stare remains upon you, his chest heaving up and down very slowly.

Shrugging, you say to the wildly maned, weathered man, in sirihish:
     "I'm not gonna help. Someone might get the wrong idea."

You ask the wildly maned, weathered man, in sirihish:
     "What do ya suppose it'll be like, up with Suk-krath?"

Closing his eyes, the wildly maned, weathered man says, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "I don't know. Better than here."

The wildly maned, weathered man says, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "I have felt Suk-Krath all my life. It has flown through my blood, and now I am willing to join her."

The wildly maned, weathered man rolls over upon his back, holding a hand to his chest.

Flames erupt near the wildly maned, weathered man as he starts an incantation.

The wildly maned, weathered man utters an incantation.

As he crawls back to his knees, the wildly maned, weathered man says, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "And even death won't accept me."

The swarthy, lean male dwarf watches the wildly maned, weathered man thoughtfully.

You say to the wildly maned, weathered man, in sirihish:
     "Never heard anyone call it 'she'. I think I like that idea, though."

Reaching for his shimmering shadowy dull black gem, the wildly maned, weathered man says, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "I hate this thing. It has ruined my life."

As tears begin to trail down from his eyes, the wildly maned, weathered man says, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "There is nothing for me now, nothing."

You are a little hungry.

The wildly maned, weathered man takes in a harsh deep breath, holding his neck with a hand.

You say to the wildly maned, weathered man, in sirihish:
     "Good luck, then. I hope you meet her."

You think:
     "Perhaps he's not giving up a path but taking a new one. I admire his will, if that is so. He risks all for his dream."

As he lays flat upon the ground, words harsh, the wildly maned, weathered man says, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Soon. Maybe there is one thing left undone that I must do before she will open her arms to me."

Lifting one eyebrow, you ask the wildly maned, weathered man, in sirihish:
     "Besides die?"

After a long pause, the wildly maned, weathered man says, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Yes. One more thing."

You think:
     "As interesting as this diversion has been, I'd like to just get his coin and get back to my studies."

The swarthy, lean male dwarf watches expectantly.

Offering a harsh chuckle, the wildly maned, weathered man says, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "I ain't telling you what, then I couldn't get it done."

As he turns onto his stomach, crawling towards the stairs, the wildly maned, weathered man says, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "I need water."

You ask the wildly maned, weathered man, in sirihish:
     "Yeh need coin for this thing yeh've gotta do?"

As he stops crawling, the wildly maned, weathered man asks, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "I need coin for water... What do you need coin for?"

The wildly maned, weathered man turns to sit down, reaching over his shoulder towards his dusty sizeable leather backpack.

The giant crimson sun sets low in the west.

The wildly maned, weathered man gets his pile of allanaki coins from his dusty sizeable leather backpack.

The wildly maned, weathered man gets his pile of coins from his dusty pair of grey pouched boots.

Shrugging, you say to the wildly maned, weathered man, in sirihish:
     "Food, water, clothes, those sorts of distractions."

As he splits his coins in half, putting the other portion on the floor, the wildly maned, weathered man says, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Meaningless things, pointless when you stand before Her after death."

The wildly maned, weathered man drops many coins.

You say to the wildly maned, weathered man, in sirihish:
     "Maybe, but I've got things to do before that time comes for me."

The wildly maned, weathered man picks up a pile of allanaki coins.

The wildly maned, weathered man drops many coins.

As he turns down the stairs, hardly standing, the wildly maned, weathered man says, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Enjoy then."

The wildly maned, weathered man stealthily moves down.

You pick up a pile of allanaki coins.
There were 200 coins.
It is very light.

The swarthy, lean male dwarf smiles as he gathers up the spilled discs.

You think:
     "Well, that'll last me a fair while."

You think:
     "Maybe I'll get the rest when he comes back and finishes dying."

open pack
Ok.

You get your pile of allanaki coins from your bone-studded backpack.
There were 25 coins.
It is very light.

You put your pile of allanaki coins into your bone-studded backpack.

close pack
Ok.

You think:
     "Now, where was I? Ah yes, finishing off the day's study."

Meditation Room [D Quit Save]
   This chamber appears to be where the followers of Suk-Krath come to
study and contemplate their element, as the four walls angle upwards
sharply, almost resembling a pyramid, at the top of which is a large,
diamond-shaped hole. When the sun reaches its pinnacle,...
Continue Reading...
Kurac takes it to the Tooth (prequel to A Bardic Prankster Takes on Kurac) by Tarx
Added on Sep 6, 2007

As it happens, there was more that occured at the Tembo's Tooth at that Kuraci party...from a different perspective!

"The Tembo's Tooth" - Tavern [EWD Quit]

   Smooth, sanded cylini planks have been laid across the floor of this

cramped room, their polished surface flickering in the lights of the candles. Dark stains splatter the wooden floor at odd intervals, disrupting the otherwise smooth contour of the wood with slight warps and bends. A curved bar, formed from what appears to have once been highly polished agafari wood extends from the [northern wall. Spaced around it are several bare, ascetic wooden barstools. A sturdy trapdoor has been set in the floor behind the bar. Several rows of shelves have been inset into the wall behind the bar and contain a variety of local ales and liquor. Willowy, vine-like plants drape from rounded clay bowls, the gloss of their leaves reflecting the dim

light of the candles spaced around the room. Rows of booths line the

northern and southern walls while the center of the room is occupied by

two rounded tables.

A few bleached wooden casks are here.

A couple of wooden casks are here.

A couple of dull wooden casks are here.

The Tuluk bulletin board is here propped up on a stand.

The sinewy, weather-worn man is standing here.

The onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man is sitting at a curved, agafari bar.

The inky-curled female half-giant towers near the bar here.

The thick, curly-haired man is sitting at a curved, agafari bar.

The cold eyed woman is along the wall glaring about the room.

- she is carrying a plain bag of cloth.

The long-limbed blue-eyed man is standing along the wall, watching the room.

The thick, black-haired man stands here beside an agafari table.

The pale, blond-haired young man is sitting at a compact agafari table.

The chubby, brown-haired man is standing here, looking a bit winded.

The short, barrel-chested dwarf stands here, scowling faintly.

The robust, head-shaven man stands patiently behind the bar.

The spiral-tressed, bronzed woman stands here, attentively watching the area.

The wasp-waisted brunette woman is sitting at a compact agafari table.

The spiral-scarred black woman is sitting at a curved, agafari bar.

The stocky, crooked-nose man is standing here.

The lanky, jade-eyed youth lounges at the bar.

The ancient, tremulous man sits at a far table, chatting to some youngsters.

Leaning against one wall, a curly-haired man keeps an eye on the tavern.

The black-bearded, heavyset man leans against the bar, frowning.

Sitting at a booth, the rangy, iron-haired woman converses with some hunters.

The toned, ruby-red half-giant sits cross-legged beside the bar.

Watching the commotion, the wasp-waisted brunette woman sips from her red-striped granite tankard.



The onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man raises his dark glass jug and takes a long swig, leaning on the bar.



The sinewy, weather-worn man drinks spiced-mead from his red-striped granite tankard, sending rivulets of mead down his

cheeks.

Watching the sinewy, weather-worn man, the chubby, brown-haired man shouts, in sirihish:

     "One!"

The thick, blood-eyed man looks down at you.

Slamming it on the bar, the sinewy, weather-worn man discards his red-striped granite tankard.



The chubby, brown-haired man exclaims to the sinewy, weather-worn man, in sirihish:

     "Run, Nahkt!"

The sinewy, weather-worn man runs east.

Her gaze passing over a curved, agafari bar, the wasp-waisted brunette woman looks at the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man.



The thick, blood-eyed man makes his way over to you and leaning towards you.

The chubby, brown-haired man chuckles as he stands near a curved, agafari bar.

The tall, scarred human chuckles, eyes flicking to the east after the dun-clad soldier.



The thick, blood-eyed man whispers to you, in sirihish:

     "Sir, could I be relieved, for tonight? I'm not feelin' so well. Fumes are making me drunk, just standin'ere and my

lizard dun take too well to'et, either..."

At your table, the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man says in sirihish:

     "Hope that put don' get too excited. Might jus start nippin or give chase."

You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:

     "That's one lap for Nahkt.. just finished his third drink here!"

The thick, curly-haired man looks at you.

Standing just behind him, the chubby, brown-haired man says to the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man, in sirihish:

     "Only make it more interesting, Senior Agent."



The sinewy, weather-worn man has arrived from the east, weaving around the tables and other obstructions haphazardly.



The chubby, brown-haired man grins at the sinewy, weather-worn man.

Nodding slightly, gesturing vaguely with one hand, you whisper to the thick, blood-eyed man in sirihish:

     "That's fine, Recruit."



The chubby, brown-haired man says, in sirihish:

     "Should be bets on how far he can go..."



The sinewy, weather-worn man gets his red-striped granite tankard from a curved, agafari bar, nearly tipping it over as he

comes to a stop.



The thick, blood-eyed man nods to you, stepping outside.



The thick, blood-eyed man has departed from the land of Zalanthas.



Gulping greedily, the sinewy, weather-worn man drinks spiced-mead from his red-striped granite tankard.



The thick, curly-haired man chortles as he watches as the sinewy, weather-worn man careens through the crowds.



The chubby, brown-haired man exclaims, in sirihish:

     "Don't spill too much!"



Dropping it carelessly, the sinewy, weather-worn man discards his red-striped granite tankard.



The chubby, brown-haired man shouts, in sirihish:

     "Coming back!"

Bowling over a hapless patron, the sinewy, weather-worn man runs east.



At your table, the spiral-scarred black woman says in sirihish, with a smile to the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man, raising

her voice above the din:

     "It's always an honor to meet the Kadians. My name is Tsenna, apprentice bard of Elkinhym and aide to Chosen Lady Madelena Dasari."



The pale, blond-haired young man licks his lips, running a hand through his light hair.



The spiral-scarred black woman turns to indicate the wasp-waisted brunette woman politely with one hand, grinning.

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.

The sinewy, weather-worn man has arrived from the east.

You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:

     "Five... and he's charging back for more!"

Grinning, the chubby, brown-haired man exclaims, in sirihish:

     "Out of his way!"

At 1) a compact agafari table are:

      the pale, blond-haired young man, the wasp-waisted brunette woman,

      and a few empty seats.

At 2) a curved, agafari bar are:

      the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man, the thick, curly-haired man,

      the tall, scarred human, the spiral-scarred black woman,

      and a few empty seats.



Chanting with a grin, the spiral-scarred black woman exclaims to the sinewy, weather-worn man, in sirihish:

     "Drink it, drink it!"



The sinewy, weather-worn man glances down toward his red-striped granite tankard blearly and sets it down as he comes to a

stop at the bar.

Glancing over towards the spiral-scarred black woman, giving a casual nod, then following with a deeper to the

wasp-waisted brunette woman, the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man exclaims, in sirihish:

     "Good ta meetya as well, Tsenna. Senior Agent Bleys, at y', woah! Lean!"



The sinewy, weather-worn man discards his red-striped granite tankard.



The sinewy, weather-worn man gets his red-striped granite tankard from a curved, agafari bar.



At a compact agafari table, the wasp-waisted brunette woman speaks, watching the sinewy, weather-worn man with an amused

smile.



In two, almost reluctant gulps, the sinewy, weather-worn man drinks spiced-mead from his red-striped granite tankard.



Turning her gaze to the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man, the wasp-waisted brunette woman inclines her head in an amiable

nod.

    At your table, the spiral-scarred black woman says in sirihish, laughing as a patron stumbles into her, dashing out the

sinewy, weather-worn man way:

     "Well met, Senior Agent Bleys."



The sinewy, weather-worn man staggers forward onto a stool and slips onto the ground with a thud.



At your table, you say in sirihish, lifting your voice to be heard by the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man and the

spiral-scarred black woman:

     "Don't believe I've officially met either of you myself, either...may as well introduce at a Kuraci function.

Sergeant Mynkas of the Kuraci Fist."

Tipping his head forward graciously, the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man beams a warm smile to the wasp-waisted brunette

woman as his skeleton-carved ivory earring with ruby eyes dances at his right ear.

Laughing, the chubby, brown-haired man exclaims, in sirihish:

     "He's out!"

The chubby, brown-haired man shouts, in sirihish:

     "And Nahkt is out!"



You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:

     "He going to make it back over there?"



The pale, blond-haired young man lifts his brow at the chubby, brown-haired man.



The chubby, brown-haired man shouts, in sirihish:

     "Six drinks!"



Snickering as he lifts his dark glass jug, the thick, curly-haired man looks down at the sinewy, weather-worn man.



The wasp-waisted brunette woman laughs softly, watching the sinewy, weather-worn man on the floor.

Calling out abruptly, you exclaim, in sirihish:

     "Get your ass up, Nahkt! You've still gotta drink some more!"

The thick, curly-haired man drinks horta wine from his dark glass jug.

The chubby, brown-haired man laughs.



At your table, the spiral-scarred black woman says in sirihish, grinning at you as she glances up from the sinewy,

weather-worn man:

     "Sergeant Mynkas, well met. Your Kuracis know how to throw a fine party, I've got to hand it to you."

The chubby, brown-haired man moves over to give the sinewy, weather-worn man a push.



The chubby, brown-haired man says, in sirihish:

     "Didn't even take his chance."



The thick, curly-haired man puts his dark glass jug onto a curved, agafari bar.



Her eyes glinting with amusement, the wasp-waisted brunette woman drinks spiced ginka wine from her red-striped granite

tankard.



The pale, blond-haired young man smirks, glancing at the sinewy, weather-worn man on the ground.



The sinewy, weather-worn man rolls over with a light groan.



The chubby, brown-haired man exclaims, in sirihish:

     "Someone move him out of the way!"



You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:

     "And we have the lovely Aja Driamusek coming next... let's hope she doesn't trip over Nahkt!"

Chuckling as he watches the sinewy, weather-worn man roll over, you say, in sirihish:

     "Well, it was a good run..."



The chubby, brown-haired man shouts, in sirihish:

     "Happy thoughts, Aja!"



Moving over to the sinewy, weather-worn man's prone form, the spiral-scarred black woman stands up from a curved, agafari

bar.

The chubby, brown-haired man chuckles.

The wasp-waisted brunette woman fills up a red-striped granite tankard from a dull wooden cask.

At your table, you say in sirihish, standing up from a curved, agafari bar:

     "Thank you...but thank the Agents, they put it all together. Excuse me while I drag a soldier."

You stand up from a curved, agafari bar.

A foreign presence contacts your mind.



The chubby, brown-haired man exclaims, in sirihish:

     "Out of Aja's way!"



Leaning over with a wink, the spiral-scarred black woman grasps the sinewy, weather-worn man's collar, straining to move

him out of the path to the bar.

The ethereal, fair-haired woman has arrived from the east, using the doorframe to turn herself to the bar.



The onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man sends you a telepathic message:

     "Good to meet ya, Sargeant. So much noise in here, eh?"



The ethereal, fair-haired woman spins around a drunken patron as she skids to a stop by a curved, agafari bar.

You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.

The ethereal, fair-haired woman gets her red-striped granite tankard from a curved, agafari bar.

The thick, curly-haired man looks up at the lanky, jade-eyed youth.

The tall, scarred human steps towards the sinewy, weather-worn man's prone form, pulling him towards a curved, agafari bar.



The chubby, brown-haired man says to you, in sirihish:

     "Hey Sergeant...why don't you move Nakt to a booth."



An arm around the spiral-scarred black woman's shoulder, the ethereal, fair-haired woman drinks spiced-mead from her

red-striped granite tankard.

The ethereal, fair-haired woman drinks spiced-mead from her red-striped granite tankard.



The chubby, brown-haired man says, in sirihish:

     "Nahkt rather."



Clapping her hands, the spiral-scarred black woman exclaims to the ethereal, fair-haired woman, in sirihish:

     "Go, Aja!"



With a deep gasp of air, the ethereal, fair-haired woman discards her red-striped granite tankard.



The chubby, brown-haired man shouts, in sirihish:

     "Two for Aja!"

The sinewy, weather-worn man looks upward with a bleary smile as he is dragged, obviously completely unaware of his

surroundings.



Laughing merrily, the spiral-scarred black woman sits at a compact agafari table.



At a compact agafari table, the wasp-waisted brunette woman speaks, watching the ethereal, fair-haired woman.

The ethereal, fair-haired woman twirls, jumping over the sinewy, weather-worn man's prone leg as she runs for the door.



The ethereal, fair-haired woman runs east.

Gesturing to the sinewy, weather-worn man, you ask the spiral-scarred black woman, in sirihish:

     "Mind helping me move him to a booth in the spice den?"



The spiral-scarred black woman stands up from a compact agafari table.



The spiral-scarred black woman sits at a curved, agafari bar.



You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:

     "That's four!"

You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:

     "Er... three!"

You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:

     "Oooh.. she's down!"

Grinning, the chubby, brown-haired man exclaims, in sirihish:

     "She's down!"



The wasp-waisted brunette woman sips from her red-striped granite tankard.

The chubby, brown-haired man hurries past a curved, agafari bar.

The chubby, brown-haired man walks east.

The short, barrel-chested dwarf walks east.

Shifting her attention back to you with a grin, the spiral-scarred black woman stands up from a curved, agafari bar.



The onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man bursts into laughter.



At a compact agafari table, the wasp-waisted brunette woman speaks, peering eastward.

You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:

     "As a reward...she gets to...chug!"

Nodding, the spiral-scarred black woman asks you, in 36msirihish:

     "You grab one ear, an' I'll grab the other, eh?"

Leaning over, his tone amused, the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man whispers something to the thick, curly-haired man.

   Chuckling as he glances to the east, then reaches for one side of the sinewy,

weather-worn man, you say, in sirihish:

     "Eh...that'll work."

The wasp-waisted brunette woman drinks spiced ginka wine from her red-striped granite tankard.

With a half grin the thick, curly-haired man nods agreeingly at the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man.



The spiral-scarred black woman snickers, wrapping her hands around one of the sinewy, weather-worn man's arms and tugging

him toward a table at the wall.

You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:

     "Chug! Chug!"

At a compact agafari table, the pale, blond-haired young man speaks, chuckling at the wasp-waisted brunette woman.

A female whore disappears into a crowd of rough-looking men and women.



At a compact agafari table, the wasp-waisted brunette woman speaks, laughing softly as she looks eastward.

After some grunting and dragging, the tall, scarred human jointly deposits the sinewy, weather-worn man's drunken form by

a table.

The pale, blond-haired young man beams a smile at the wasp-waisted brunette woman.

You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:

     "She's out!"



You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:

     "And she can't make it, down again! Three is the under, six the over, folks!"



The spiral-scarred black woman squats down next to the sinewy, weather-worn man, withdrawing a stick of charcoal from her

earthy leather pouched belt and studying his face with a mischevious grin for a long moment..

The sinewy, weather-worn man manages to sit up for a few fleeting moments before tipping over, his head landing againt the

edge of the table with a loud thunk.



The chubby, brown-haired man has arrived from the east.

The short, barrel-chested dwarf has arrived from the east.

The chubby, brown-haired man walks east.

The short, barrel-chested dwarf walks east.

The wasp-waisted brunette woman glances toward the spiral-scarred black woman with an amused smile.

The spiral-scarred black woman grins, giving the sinewy, weather-worn man's hair a ruffle with one hand as she saunters

back to a curved, agafari bar, tucking the charcoal away.



The spiral-scarred black woman sits at a curved, agafari bar.



The chubby, brown-haired man has arrived from the east.

The short, barrel-chested dwarf has arrived from the east.

The tall, scarred human quickly whirls his attention towards the sound from the sinewy, weather-worn man, but then

relaxes, chuckling quietly.

The coffee-tressed young woman has arrived from the west.



The chubby, brown-haired man says, in sirihish:

     "So...Nahkt leads with six...Aja has three..."



With a smile, the spiral-scarred black woman looks up at the coffee-tressed young woman.



The chubby, brown-haired man shouts, in sirihish:

     "Who's next?"



Following the spiral-tressed, bronzed woman's gaze, the thick, curly-haired man looks up at the coffee-tressed young

woman.

The tall, scarred human readjusts the sinewy, weather-worn man at a spare table, standing beside him while fiddling with

your rope-strapped canvas backpack.



A thin trail of rich, heady smoke trickles from the wasp-waisted brunette woman's mouth as she smokes an intricately

carved, polished bone pipe.

The wasp-waisted brunette woman's eyes become glassy-red and half-closed.



A thin trail of rich, heady smoke trickles from the pale, blond-haired young man's mouth as he smokes a smoothly carved

black pipe.

The pale, blond-haired young man's eyes become glassy-red and half-closed.

You suffer from use of the Way.

You contact the chubby, brown-haired man with the Way.

The pale, blond-haired young man taps his smoothly carved black pipe against a compact agafari table's side, ashes

trickling out.

You suffer from use of the Way.

You send a telepathic message to the chubby, brown-haired man:

     "We happen to have any smelling salts? I'm fresh out."

The chubby, brown-haired man smiles upon seeing the coffee-tressed young woman.

You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:

     "And coming in next... with a name I especially like... the MIGHTY KURJAX!"

At a curved, agafari bar, the thick, curly-haired man speaks, clucking his tongue and nodding to the onyx-skinned,

ruby-maned man.

The coffee-tressed young woman looks around over the crowded room and scratches her head.

You suffer from use of the Way.

The chubby, brown-haired man looks to you and shakes his head.

You dissolve the psychic link.

The thick, curly-haired man bobs his head in somber agreement, lips curved up faintly.

The wasp-waisted brunette woman breathes out slowly, fragrant smoke filling the air around her.

The spiral-scarred black woman grins, leaning forward on both elbows to watch the eastern doors, lifting an armload of

dark dreadlocks over her shoulder.

The chubby, brown-haired man shouts, in sirihish:

     "Where is he?"

The coffee-tressed young woman pushes her way through the crowd until she reaches a curved, agafari bar and takes a vacant

stool near the thick, curly-haired man and the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man.

The coffee-tressed young woman sits at a curved, agafari bar.

The substantial, slash-tattooed man has arrived from the east, lumbering through the doorway.

Grinning at him, the chubby, brown-haired man says to the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man, in sirihish:

     "Not at all...tell her to go to the spice den."

The chubby, brown-haired man says, in sirihish:

     "Ahh...here he is...give him room."

Tipping his hat, the thick, curly-haired man looks at the coffee-tressed young woman.

The substantial, slash-tattooed man moves at a lumbering gate toward a curved, agafari bar, reaching for a tankard.

The sinewy, weather-worn man turns a wide smile to the figure beside and thumps a fist hard against his back, a friendly

gesture perhaps if it weren't executed with such force.

The spiral-scarred black woman scoots her stool back from the tankards, watching the substantial, slash-tattooed man with

a grin.

The substantial, slash-tattooed man gets his red-striped granite tankard from a curved, agafari bar.

The coffee-tressed young woman gets her red-striped granite tankard from a curved, agafari bar.

With a grin towards the coffee-tressed young woman, the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man says, in sirihish:

     "Cousin, y'almost didn' make it. Ya kin still get in on th' competition though, rush along ta th' spice den."

The substantial, slash-tattooed man scoops his red-striped granite tankard from a curved, agafari bar, bringing it to his

mouth quickly and drinking deeply from it.

The stocky, crooked-nose man watches the substantial, slash-tattooed man shortly before turning his eyes about the rest of

the crowd and back.

The substantial, slash-tattooed man drinks spiced-mead from his red-striped granite tankard.

The substantial, slash-tattooed man drinks spiced-mead from his red-striped granite tankard.

The substantial, slash-tattooed man puts his red-striped granite tankard onto a curved, agafari bar.

Grinning, the chubby, brown-haired man says to the coffee-tressed young woman, in sirihish:

     "It's fine, go over to Rokov and tell him you're in."

At a curved, agafari bar, the thick, curly-haired man speaks, grinning and nodding at the coffee-tressed young woman.

The substantial, slash-tattooed man slams the tankard down on the bar, wiping a large hand across his lips.

The chubby, brown-haired man shouts, in sirihish:

     "On his way back!"

At a curved, agafari bar, the coffee-tressed young woman speaks, shaking her head quickly.

The substantial, slash-tattooed man's face reddens slightly as he turns to bolt toward the doorway.

Striding along with a swaying gate, the substantial, slash-tattooed man runs east.

The tall, scarred human is standing near an empty table watchfully.



Gesturing with a shoo'ing motion towards the coffee-tressed young woman towards the spice den, the onyx-skinned,

ruby-maned man says, in sirihish:

     "Nonsense, jus take 'em off."

The spiral-scarred black woman raises a grin to the coffee-tressed young woman from down the bar, nodding.



At a curved, agafari bar, the coffee-tressed young woman speaks, putting her hands on her hips and smirking at the

onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man.

You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:

     "That's three.. he's still standing! Can he make it back..?!"

You suffer from use of the Way.

You contact the spiral-scarred black woman with the Way.

At a curved, agafari bar, the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man speaks, confidently.

You suffer from use of the Way.

You send a telepathic message to the spiral-scarred black woman:

     "Thank you for the assistance, by the way..."

The substantial, slash-tattooed man has arrived from the east, swaying slightly.

You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:

     "And... he..... DOES!"

The substantial, slash-tattooed man lumbers toward a curved, agafari bar.

A foreign presence contacts your mind.

The substantial, slash-tattooed man slams against a curved, agafari bar, jostling the tankards on top of it slightly.

At a curved, agafari bar, the coffee-tressed young woman speaks, pouting.

The chubby, brown-haired man shouts, in sirihish:

     "He's going for four...!"

The substantial, slash-tattooed man fumbles with a tankard, managing to get a grip on its handle.

The wasp-waisted brunette woman pats the side of her red-striped granite tankard, watching the substantial, slash-tattooed

man.

The substantial, slash-tattooed man gets his red-striped granite tankard from a curved, agafari bar.

The spiral-scarred black woman sends you a telepathic message:

     "No worries, it'd be a shame to lose Nahkt to a trampling."

You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.

Slurring slightly, the substantial, slash-tattooed man says, in sirihish:

     "Ish...empty.."

The substantial, slash-tattooed man discards his red-striped granite tankard.

The substantial, slash-tattooed man pushes the tankard away.

The substantial, slash-tattooed man gets his red-striped granite tankard from a curved, agafari bar.

The chubby, brown-haired man says to the substantial, slash-tattooed man, in sirihish:

     "Get one that isn't."

The thick, curly-haired man chortles, glancing between the chubby, brown-haired man and the substantial, slash-tattooed

man.

The substantial, slash-tattooed man grins lopsidedly, bringing his red-striped granite tankard to his lips.

The substantial, slash-tattooed man drinks spiced-mead from his red-striped granite tankard.

Rolling his eyes, the chubby, brown-haired man says, in sirihish:

     "I thought that was pretty clear..."

The chubby, brown-haired man chuckles.

The substantial, slash-tattooed man spills the remains of the tankard down himself as he falls.

Watching the substantial, slash-tattooed man, the spiral-scarred black woman grins, lounging against a curved, agafari bar

as she grins to the chubby, brown-haired man.

The chubby, brown-haired man shouts, in sirihish:

     "Oh...another one out!"

The substantial, slash-tattooed man begins to snore deeply.

Mouth stretching open, the pale, blond-haired young man yawns.

You suffer from use of the Way.

You send a telepathic message to the spiral-scarred black woman:

     "I was curious--is there anything in particular that your Chosen Lady fancies?"

The chubby, brown-haired man shouts, in sirihish:

     "He got...almost four!"

A foreign presence contacts your mind.

The chubby, brown-haired man shouts, in sirihish:

     "Not good enough for first...and not bad enough for last."

The spiral-scarred black woman sends you a telepathic message:

     "She's a sucker for purple things, I can tell you that."

The chubby, brown-haired man says, in sirihish:

     "Someone get him out of the way..."

The onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man frowns, his brow furrowing in concentration.

The onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man is gone for a few.

The sinewy, weather-worn man's eyes flutter open.

The chubby, brown-haired man shouts, in sirihish:

     "Who's next?"

The chubby, brown-haired man says, in sirihish:

     "only two more left..."

You send a telepathic message to the spiral-scarred black woman:

     "Indeed? I'll keep that in mind. I frequently see her about these parts, so I will keep that in mind to pass it

along to those who may wish to know. Thank you again."

You dissolve the psychic link.

You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:

     "Coming in next... and she's excited as ever... the lovely... TIANA!"

Looking about the group, the chubby, brown-haired man asks, in sirihish:

     "Or is there anyone else who wants to enter late?"

The chubby, brown-haired man asks, in sirihish:

     "Tiana?"

The chubby, brown-haired man chcukles.

You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.

The coffee-tressed young woman puts her red-striped granite tankard onto a curved, agafari bar.

The chubby, brown-haired man's chuckles become a laugh.

The sinewy, weather-worn man lifts his head from chest wearing a deep scowl.

Glancing down at the substantial, slash-tattooed man, the spiral-scarred black woman says to the chubby, brown-haired man,

in sirihish:

     "Wonder if I should wake him up and shift him out of the way."

Still keeping her eyes roving about the room, the cold eyed woman eats her ocotillo bulb.

Shaking his head, the stocky, crooked-nose man says, in sirihish:

     "Unfortunately I am on duty. Though quite fun to watch others see how much they can take down."

The sinewy, weather-worn man grabs the edge of the table beside him and pulls himself to his feet.

With a smile, the chubby, brown-haired man says to the spiral-scarred black woman, in sirihish:

     "I would hate to see the woman fall over...ahh...leave him..."

The chubby, brown-haired man chuckles.

You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:

     "Wait, no, Tiana has.. gracefully bowed out. In her place... Rashia!"

Archly, the spiral-scarred black woman says to the chubby, brown-haired man, in sirihish:

     "You would not."

The chubby, brown-haired man grins at the spiral-scarred black woman before looking east.



The sinewy, weather-worn man rises from the ground, and clambers to his feet.



The chubby, brown-haired man says to the spiral-scarred black woman, in sirihish:

     "Out of my control...I don't move them."

The spiral-scarred black woman glances over her shoulder to the wasp-waisted brunette woman with a chuckle, shaking her

head wryly.



The wasp-waisted brunette woman returns the spiral-scarred black woman's gaze, smiling amusedly.

The tall, red-haired female has arrived from the east.



The chubby, brown-haired man exclaims, in sirihish:

   "Here she is...go Rashia! Make your daughters proud!"



The sinewy, weather-worn man trudges forward with a heavy step, stumbling several times before reaching a stool at the bar

and leaning against it for support.

As he glances around to those nearest him, you say, in sirihish:

     "Eh, I'm not dragging -every- collapsed drunk out of the way..."

The tall, red-haired female gets her red-striped granite tankard from a curved, agafari bar.

You sit at a curved, agafari bar.

Nodding sagely, the spiral-scarred black woman says to you, in sirihish:

     "Just the lucky ones"



The tall, red-haired female drinks spiced-mead from her red-striped granite tankard.



The coffee-tressed young woman rubs her temples and frowns.



The tall, red-haired female discards her red-striped granite tankard.



Moving himself carefully onto a stool, the sinewy, weather-worn man sits at a curved, agafari bar.



The tall, red-haired female runs east.



The chubby, brown-haired man shouts, in sirihish:

     "Two!"



The long-limbed blue-eyed man shifts his position slightly, looking around.



The long-limbed blue-eyed man intently scans the area.



The cold eyed woman intently scans the area.



At your table, the thick, curly-haired man says in sirihish, as he eyes a scantily-clad whore nearby:

     "Zaea.. Could you do me a favor?"



The sinewy, weather-worn man wavers wildly atop his stool for a moment and then leans to slouch against the bartop.

As he casts his eyes about, the stocky, crooked-nose man looks up at the long-limbed blue-eyed man.



With a grin, the chubby, brown-haired man says to the sinewy, weather-worn man, in sirihish:

     "You got the big lead, Nahkt. Good work."



At your table, the coffee-tressed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, sweeping her eyes sidelong to the thick,

curly-haired man:

     "What's that?"



At your table, the thick, curly-haired man says in sirihish, nodding back to the inky-curled female half-giant:

     "Could y'drop Dori off in the compound's guard house for me? I think.."



You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:

     "She's standing after three... and coming back!"



The chubby, brown-haired man exclaims, in sirihish:

     "And is down! Everyone yell chug!"



Craning her neck, the coffee-tressed young woman looks up at the inky-curled female half-giant.



You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:

     "And... she's down too!"

Hurrying, the chubby, brown-haired man walks east.

The short, barrel-chested dwarf walks east.



At your table, the thick, curly-haired man says in sirihish, moistening his lips as he leers at the sultry young girl:

     "That I have some business t'tend."



The substantial, slash-tattooed man interrupts his snoring to mumble something incoherent.



Cupping a hand around her mouth, the spiral-scarred black woman shouts, in sirihish:

     "Chuggit!"



Leaning forward a bit, the wasp-waisted brunette woman peers eastward into the spice den.

At your table, the coffee-tressed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, shrugging her shoulders:

     "Sure, no problem."



You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:

     "Chug! Chug!"



At a compact agafari table, the pale, blond-haired young man speaks, watching the wasp-waisted brunette woman with a

grin.

A stoic, broad-shouldered man has arrived from the west.



At your table, the thick, curly-haired man says in sirihish, dipping his head to the coffee-tressed young woman:

     "Thanks, coz. Oh.. And I left you a couple've pieces of stuff with the white silk."

At your table, the coffee-tressed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish:

     "Where at?"

At a compact agafari table, the wasp-waisted brunette woman speaks, looking back to the pale, blond-haired young man, a

merry twinkle in her eye.

A stoic, broad-shouldered man walks east.

At your table, the coffee-tressed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish:

     "Oh, with the bolts?"

You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:

     "It's a duel between her balance and her liver, folks... which one is going to lose first?"

At your table, the thick, curly-haired man says in sirihish, nodding to the coffee-tressed young woman:

     "In there, yeah."

A short ruckus bursts into life just outside in the street, as though somebody had just run by, with soldiers in hot

pursuit.

At your table, the coffee-tressed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, with a grin:

     "Thanks, Shar."

At your table, the thick, curly-haired man says in sirihish, nodding to the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man and the

coffee-tressed young woman as he rises up:

     "You two don't get too plastered."

The inky-curled female half-giant stops guarding the thick, curly-haired man.

The inky-curled female half-giant begins guarding the coffee-tressed young woman.

The thick, curly-haired man stands up from a curved, agafari bar.

Smiling braodly, the spiral-scarred black woman asks the thick, curly-haired man, in sirihish:

     "Leaving so soon, Agent Sharlo?"

You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:

     "She's out!"

The coffee-tressed young woman looks up at the inky-curled female half-giant again, then smiles and waves.

The thick, curly-haired man looks down at the spiral-scarred black woman.

At a compact agafari table, the wasp-waisted brunette woman speaks, laughing softly.

You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:

     "And she can't finish... that puts her just behind Aja, our new last-place... uh.. "winner"!"



The thick, curly-haired man says to the spiral-scarred black woman, in sirihish:

     "Aye.. Have some business to tend and all. Drink a few for me."

Laughing softly, the spiral-scarred black woman says to the thick, curly-haired man, in sirihish:

     "You've my word on that. Walk in His Light."



The cold eyed woman begins guarding the coffee-tressed young woman.



The thick, curly-haired man clucks his tongue and lumbers over to a scrawny waif, chats with her for a moment, then nods

decisively and ambles away with her in tow.

The coffee-tressed young woman closes a leather-strapped, rich purple satchel.



The thick, curly-haired man has departed from the land of Zalanthas.



You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:

     "Last contestant...Diri!"



The chubby, brown-haired man has arrived from the east.



A grin quirking the corners of her mouth, the spiral-scarred black woman fastens her attention on the spice den doors,

clasping her hands atop a curved, agafari bar.

You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:

     "Here she comes!"



The sleek, black-haired woman has arrived from the east, moving through the crowd.



The chubby, brown-haired man exclaims, in sirihish:

     "Once she's done...all the tankards left on the bars...and there are lots...must be drank...and then the casks must

be emptied!"



Reaching the bar, the sleek, black-haired woman reaches for a tankard.



Raising a fist into the air, the spiral-scarred black woman exclaims to the sleek, black-haired woman, in sirihish:

     "Go, Diri!"



The sleek, black-haired woman gets her red-striped granite tankard from a curved, agafari bar.



The chubby, brown-haired man grins, watching the sleek, black-haired woman.



The sleek, black-haired woman sighs before lifting the tankard.

The sleek, black-haired woman drinks spiced-mead from her red-striped granite tankard.



The sleek, black-haired woman drinks spiced-mead from her red-striped granite tankard.



The chubby, brown-haired man shouts, in sirihish:

     "Two!"



The sleek, black-haired woman discards her red-striped granite tankard.



The sleek, black-haired woman runs east.



The chubby, brown-haired man puts his squat bulbous gourd onto a curved, agafari bar.



The chubby, brown-haired man puts his squat bulbous gourd onto a curved, agafari bar.



The chubby, brown-haired man puts his squat bulbous gourd onto a curved, agafari bar.



The chubby, brown-haired man shouts, in sirihish:

     "Already?"



The wasp-waisted brunette woman laughs, shaking her head as she looks toward the spice den.



You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:

     "And she goes down! Just a hair in behind Rashia and Aja!"



Grinning, the chubby, brown-haired man exclaims, in sirihish:

     "It's over! Drink it all up, folks!"



The chubby, brown-haired man shouts, in sirihish:

     "Rest of drinks are free!"



Wiping her brow in mick relief, the spiral-scarred black woman gets her red-striped granite tankard from a curved, agafari

bar.



The spiral-scarred black woman holds her red-striped granite tankard.



Raising it high to the chubby, brown-haired man first, the spiral-scarred black woman sips from her red-striped granite

tankard.

At your table, you say in sirihish, grabbing up a spare tankard:

     "Ah, good to hear..."

Approaching, the chubby, brown-haired man looks down at the sinewy, weather-worn man.

You get your red-striped granite tankard from a curved, agafari bar.

It is very light, and full.

You sip from your red-striped granite tankard.

This mead has been heavily mixed with spice.



The coffee-tressed young woman gets her red-striped granite tankard from a curved, agafari bar.



The spiral-scarred black woman stands up from a curved, agafari bar.

The spiral-scarred black woman walks east.



The stocky, crooked-nose man walks east.



The chubby, brown-haired man shouts, in sirihish:

     "Nahkt...our winner...gets..."



The stocky, crooked-nose man has arrived from the east.



The chubby, brown-haired man gets his long black leather wristsheath from his reinforced red sandcloth backpack.



Holding up his long black leather wristsheath, the chubby, brown-haired man exclaims, in sirihish:

     "A new wristsheath...worth one large!"



The onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man puts his dark glass jug onto a curved, agafari bar.



The chubby, brown-haired man gives his long black leather wristsheath to the sinewy, weather-worn man.



The onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man gets his squat bulbous gourd from a curved, agafari bar.



The chubby, brown-haired man gets his emblazoned, dun colored sack from his reinforced red sandcloth backpack.

At your table, you say in sirihish, gesturing to the sinewy, weather-worn man:

     "Shit, soldier. That's worth the headache, eh?"

You are a little hungry.



The sinewy, weather-worn man lifts his head up as the chubby, brown-haired man slips the wristsheath under his arm and

looks down at it with a bleary gaze.

The substantial, slash-tattooed man smacks his lips together, murmuring to himself and releasing a long fart.



Grinning, the chubby, brown-haired man says, in sirihish:

     "Of course...I have another which would be for sale, in case anyone wants to buy it."



The chubby, brown-haired man taps his long black leather wristsheath on his own wrist.



The pale, blond-haired young man sighs.



The chubby, brown-haired man gets his feathered red headwrap from his emblazoned, dun colored sack.



A horrid sulphurous smell fills the air near the substantial, slash-tattooed man as he returning to steady snoring.



Holding up his feathered red headwrap, the chubby, brown-haired man says, in sirihish:

     "Our loser...Diri...gets this lovely headwrap..."



The sinewy, weather-worn man turns his head to the general direction of you and gives a slow nod.



The chubby, brown-haired man asks, in sirihish:

     "Worth...hmm...twenty five coins?"



The substantial, slash-tattooed man's eyes flutter open.



The wasp-waisted brunette woman sips from her red-striped granite tankard.



The chubby, brown-haired man chuckles.

Grinning with a deep chuckle, the stocky, crooked-nose man says to the sinewy, weather-worn man, in sirihish:

     "Good to know somebody around here can hold their drink, good job. "



The chubby, brown-haired man walks east.



The spiral-scarred black woman has arrived from the east, tankard in hand.



The onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man's nose twitches.



Returning to her stool, the spiral-scarred black woman sits at a curved, agafari bar.



As she sips from her red-striped granite tankard, the spiral-scarred black woman looks up at the long-limbed blue-eyed

man.



The spiral-scarred black woman stops using her red-striped granite tankard.



Sliding it into the bartop, the spiral-scarred black woman discards her red-striped granite tankard.



The sinewy, weather-worn man turns to the stocky, crooked-nose man with a smirk and thumps a fist against his leather

cuirass several times.



A thin trail of rich, heady smoke trickles from the wasp-waisted brunette woman's mouth as she smokes an intricately

carved, polished bone pipe.

The wasp-waisted brunette woman's eyes become glassy-red and half-closed.

The coffee-tressed young woman sips from her red-striped granite tankard.



Tapping it into an ashtray, the wasp-waisted brunette woman stops using her intricately carved, polished bone pipe.



Reaching for another, wiping her lips, the spiral-scarred black woman gets her red-striped granite tankard from a curved,

agafari bar.



The substantial, slash-tattooed man blinks groggily, rubbing at his eyes.



The spiral-scarred black woman drinks spiced-mead from her red-striped granite tankard, regarding it fondly.



The substantial, slash-tattooed man belches and mumbles to himself.



The substantial, slash-tattooed man stops resting.



The stocky, clean-shaven man has arrived from the east.

The fuzzy, red-streaked pup has arrived from the east.



At your table, the sinewy, weather-worn man says in sirihish, grumbling toward you:

     "Who came the closest?"



Slurring slightly, the substantial, slash-tattooed man asks, in sirihish:

     "Who won?"



The spiral-scarred black woman drinks spiced-mead from her red-striped granite tankard.



The stocky, crooked-nose man walks east.



Hopping up on a vacant chair to call out, the stocky, clean-shaven man says, in sirihish:

     "Hope everyone enjoyed the entertainment, folks... Regular Nahkt is our winner with six, followed by Kurjax the Mighty, and then Aja, Rashia, and Diri."

The spiral-scarred black woman chuckles, raising both hands to clap heartily.



Swaying unsteadily, the substantial, slash-tattooed man stands up.



The wasp-waisted brunette woman breathes out slowly, smoke writhing through the air, its sweet smell mingling with the

scent of citron as she listens to the stocky, clean-shaven man.



The stocky, clean-shaven man exclaims, in sirihish:

     "Brethel has prizes for everyone, and so do I... but my prizes come along with my big announcement, which I hope everyone will stick around for!"



Chuckling to himself, the sinewy, weather-worn man says, in sirihish:

     "Diri the light-headed."



The wasp-waisted brunette woman puts her intricately carved, polished bone pipe into her leather spice pouch.



The wasp-waisted brunette woman closes a leather spice pouch.



The substantial, slash-tattooed man says to the sinewy, weather-worn man, in sirihish:

     "Goo' fuckin' drinkin'."



At your table, the sinewy, weather-worn man says in sirihish, looking to the substantial, slash-tattooed man with a firm

nod:

     "Damn right. I hear ya did well yerself."



Regretfully peering into it, the spiral-scarred black woman puts her red-striped granite tankard onto a curved, agafari

bar.



With a smile, the stocky, clean-shaven man says, in sirihish:

     "But I'd like everyone to give a big cheer for our competitors, and I'd also like to thank the very esteemed Chosen

Lord Ardus Negean and Chosen Lady Madelena Dasari for being with us tonight..."



The spiral-scarred black woman gets her average-looking tube of spice from her earthy leather pouched belt.



The spiral-scarred black woman holds her average-looking tube of spice.



The substantial, slash-tattooed man reaches a large hand out to steady himself on a curved, agafari bar.



The substantial, slash-tattooed man sits at a curved, agafari bar.



The wasp-waisted brunette woman nods amiably to the stocky, clean-shaven man, lifting her red-striped granite tankard in

salute.



The spiral-scarred black woman calls out, grinning, raising her average-looking tube of spice to a compact agafari table.



The stocky, clean-shaven man exclaims, in sirihish:

     "... and to House Tenneshi and our Chosen Governor Zaqar Tenneshi, who sadly couldn't attend, for co-sponsoring the event! We love you all!"



The pale, blond-haired young man smirks, lifting a hand to the stocky, clean-shaven man.



Swaying atop his barstool, the substantial, slash-tattooed man exclaims, in sirihish:

     "Aye!"



Sharply, the pale, blond-haired young man looks at the substantial, slash-tattooed man.



Jumping down from his stool and muttering more quietly, the stocky, clean-shaven man says, in sirihish:

     ".. and that's enough shouting for a bit. I need a drink."



The spiral-scarred black woman leans over to a squat brown candle nearby, puffing a few times on her average-looking tube

of spice to light it.



A thin trail of musky smoke trickles from the spiral-scarred black woman's mouth as she smokes an average-looking tube of

spice.

The spiral-scarred black woman flexes unconsciously and smiles to herself.



The stocky, clean-shaven man gets his red-striped granite tankard from a curved, agafari bar.



The sinewy, weather-worn man stands up from a curved, agafari bar.



Grabbing a seat near the coffee-tressed young woman and the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man, the stocky, clean-shaven man

sits at a curved, agafari bar.



Tentatively, the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man sips from his squat bulbous gourd.



At your table, the stocky, clean-shaven man says in sirihish:

     "Glad you could make it, Senior Agent and Agent."



The coffee-tressed young woman looks at the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man and raises a brow.



The onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man lets out a strangled sound, his face fighting for composure.



At your table, the stocky, clean-shaven man says in sirihish, looking around:

     "Did ol' Sharlo run off before I could say hi?"



The sinewy, weather-worn man wobbles for a moment on his feet and then settles back onto a stool.



The sinewy, weather-worn man sits at a curved, agafari bar.



A thin trail of musky smoke trickles from the spiral-scarred black woman's mouth as she smokes an average-looking tube of

spice.

The spiral-scarred black woman flexes unconsciously and smiles to herself.



At your table, the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man says in sirihish, his voice a bit raspy:

     "Fraid he did, m'friend. Business, he always got business goin on."



At your table, the sinewy, weather-worn man says in sirihish, looking over to the spiral-scarred black woman:

     "Ya didn' give yer show already, did ya?"



At your table, the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man says in sirihish, his eyes watering a bit, waggling his squat bulbous

gourd:

     "Interesting concoction."



The spiral-scarred black woman chuckles to the stocky, clean-shaven man as she blows out a cloud of thick smoke, nodding

in agreement with the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man.



You are a little hungry.



At your table, the stocky, clean-shaven man says in sirihish:

     "Ahh... you tried the agvat. Brave man."



The stocky, clean-shaven man drinks spiced-mead from his red-striped granite tankard.

At your table, the spiral-scarred black woman says in sirihish, shaking her head to the sinewy, weather-worn man:

     "Nah, I figured I'd wait til Brethel came back in."



At your table, the coffee-tressed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, slowly:

     "Ag...vat...?"



At your table, the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man says in sirihish:

     "Guh... even sounds evil. Just like th' taste."



At your table, the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man says in sirihish:

     "Smells like some'n I use to get stains off th' argosy's wheels."



At your table, the stocky, clean-shaven man says in sirihish, with an innocent grin:

     "Well do -do- do a lot of wagon construction and repair."



The coffee-tressed young woman wrinkles her nose.



At your table, the sinewy, weather-worn man says in sirihish, turning to the coffee-tressed young woman with a

yellow-toothed grin:

     "I think the name's supposed ta sound somethin' like a man wretchin'."



The tan, choppy-haired man has arrived from the west.



The stocky, clean-shaven man drinks spiced-mead from his red-striped granite tankard.

You sip from your red-striped granite tankard.

This mead has been heavily mixed with spice.

You are a little hungry.

You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:

     "Anyone who needs a new quiver...get over here!"

At your table, the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man says in sirihish, his lips twisting into a wry grin towards the stocky,

clean-shaven man:

     "Always bes ta 'ave somethin fer multiple uses, eh? This stuff's stiff. I might try ta spring some on a feller down

in Nak who's been testin me patience."

The tan, choppy-haired man ambles through the room, a hand lifting to adjust his agafari shortbow.



The tan, choppy-haired man walks east.



At your table, the spiral-scarred black woman says in sirihish, chuckling to the sinewy, weather-worn man:

     "Not too far off the taste, either."



At your table, the stocky, clean-shaven man says in sirihish, glancing down at the fuzzy, red-streaked pup:

     "You know what, pup? We should have taught you tricks."



At your table, the spiral-scarred black woman says in sirihish, to the stocky, clean-shaven man:

     "I've got a juggling ball. You could start right now."



At your table, the stocky, clean-shaven man says in sirihish:

     "Maybe had you fight a tregil or something... in the ginka sauce pit."



You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:

     "Kuraci quiver...camouflaged for the desert! If I have only one person...I have to give it to him!"



Sliding off his stool, the sinewy, weather-worn man says, in sirihish:

     "I could use one"



The spiral-scarred black woman stands up from a curved, agafari bar.

At your table, you say in sirihish, glancing to the east:

     "Shit, I could too."

The spiral-scarred black woman says to the sinewy, weather-worn man, in sirihish:

     "Race ya."



The spiral-scarred black woman walks east.



At your table, the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man says in sirihish:

     "What's this one for?"



The sinewy, weather-worn man stands up from a curved, agafari bar.



Wavering wildly, the sinewy, weather-worn man walks east.



At your table, the stocky, clean-shaven man says in sirihish:

     "Brethel's doing gambling games."



The stocky, clean-shaven man discards his red-striped granite tankard.

You stand up from a curved, agafari bar.



Using the cloth to press to her face and neck, the ethereal, fair-haired woman stops using her turquoise bandana.

The chubby, brown-haired man says, in sirihish:

     "Well...it's simple...anyone who wants in...puts in fifty coins..."



The sinewy, weather-worn man puts his long black leather wristsheath into his small bag.



As she leans back against a table, the ethereal, fair-haired woman says to the stocky, crooked-nose man, in sirihish:

     "Need's... a breeze in here..."



Snapping her fingers, the spiral-scarred black woman says to the chubby, brown-haired man, in sirihish:

     "Damn. I spent all my sid gettin' pretty for tonight."



With a mocking wink, the stocky, crooked-nose man says to the ethereal, fair-haired woman, in sirihish:

     "Well that is what you get for winking at men, you fall down...."



The chubby, brown-haired man says, in sirihish:

     "Who ever rolls highest...wins the quiver...highest is...Lirathu...Jihae...purse...knife...kank...then noose."

You get your pile of allanaki coins from your hooded, dun-colored dustcloak.

There were 170 coins.

It is very light.

At a plush, embroidered couch, the tall, red-haired female speaks, with a laugh.

You sip from your red-striped granite tankard.

This mead has been heavily mixed with spice.

You are a little hungry.

The ethereal, fair-haired woman looks down at the stocky, crooked-nose man.

The ethereal, fair-haired woman grins and then winks to the stocky, crooked-nose man.

Smiling, the chubby, brown-haired man says to the spiral-scarred black woman, in sirihish:

     "Go and ask the Chosen Lady."



The ethereal, fair-haired woman gives an exaggerated sigh and drops to the ground.



The stocky, crooked-nose man steps closer towards the ethereal, fair-haired woman, blowing softly into her ear.



The sinewy, weather-worn man gets his pile of allanaki coins from his bone-framed, double strapped coin belt.

At a plush, embroidered couch, the tall, crop-haired human speaks, smiling.



The spiral-scarred black woman turns with a smirk, striding off down the room.

The spiral-scarred black woman walks west.

Holding up a handful of coins, you ask, in sirihish:

     "Who are these given to, eh?"

The sinewy, weather-worn man shouts, in sirihish:

     "Tsenna get back here!"



At a small, polished wooden bar, the tan, choppy-haired man speaks, turning on his stool to face the room.

Calling out from a small, polished wooden bar, the chubby, brown-haired man says to the stocky, crooked-nose man, in

sirihish:

     "Sheath is a thousand coins, right."

The ethereal, fair-haired woman chuckles, sitting up with her arms on her knees as she looks to the stocky, crooked-nose

man.

You hear a woman's voice shout from the west in sirihish:

     "Hang on!"



Gesturing, the chubby, brown-haired man says to you, in sirihish:

     "Me."



The ethereal, fair-haired woman says to the stocky, crooked-nose man, in sirihish:

     "That tickles..."

You give the chubby, brown-haired man 50 coins.

The sinewy, weather-worn man gives some coins to the chubby, brown-haired man.

The chubby, brown-haired man shouts, in sirihish:

     "Last chance...win a Kuraci quiver for only fifty coins!"

At a plush, embroidered couch, the tall, red-haired female speaks, reaching over to pat the tall, crop-haired human's

shoulder and missing horribly.



The spiral-scarred black woman has arrived from the west, hurrying back in.



With a smirk as he lays a hand on her shoulder, the stocky, crooked-nose man says to the ethereal, fair-haired woman, in

sirihish:

     "There your breaze. As much as your gonna get in here. "



With exaggerated grumpiness, the spiral-scarred black woman says to the chubby, brown-haired man, in sirihish:

     "Arright."

Looking at him, the chubby, brown-haired man asks the tan, choppy-haired man, in sirihish:

     "In?"



The stocky, crooked-nose man opens a leather belt-pack.

Plopping down next to the sinewy, weather-worn man, the spiral-scarred black woman sits at a small, polished wooden bar.

With a somber expression, the ethereal, fair-haired woman asks the stocky, crooked-nose man, in sirihish:

     "S'not very much, is it?"



The stocky, crooked-nose man closes a leather belt-pack.

The ethereal, fair-haired woman looks at the stocky, crooked-nose man's hand.



Dipping his head slowly, the tan, choppy-haired man says to the chubby, brown-haired man, in sirihish:

     "Aye alright."

The sinewy, weather-worn man puts his pile of allanaki coins into his bone-framed, double strapped coin belt.



The tan, choppy-haired man opens a leather strapped, traveling knapsack.



The tan, choppy-haired man gets his pile of allanaki coins from his leather strapped, traveling knapsack.



At a plush, embroidered couch, the tall, crop-haired human speaks, grinning broadly at the tall, red-haired female.



The spiral-scarred black woman gives some coins to the chubby, brown-haired man.



The ethereal, fair-haired woman pulls on the stocky, crooked-nose man's hand as she moves to stand.

The spiral-scarred black woman puts her pile of allanaki coins into her earthy leather pouched belt.



The tan, choppy-haired man gives some coins to the chubby, brown-haired man.

Shaking his head, the stocky, crooked-nose man says to the ethereal, fair-haired woman, in sirihish:

     "No, but I could do it more, but then I'd have you laughing all over the place now wouldn't I? "

Breezily, the ethereal, fair-haired woman says to the stocky, crooked-nose man, in sirihish:

     "Laughing is good."



The tall, red-haired female says, out of character:

Leaning in close, the tall, crop-haired human whispers something to the tall, red-haired female.

Nodding with a grin, the chubby, brown-haired man says, in sirihish:

     "Okay...four are in...Nahkt, then Mynkas, Tsenna...and..."

The chubby, brown-haired man looks at the tall, crop-haired human.



The tall, crop-haired human nods to the tall, red-haired female.



At a small, polished wooden bar, the chubby, brown-haired man speaks, to the tall, crop-haired human.



The ethereal, fair-haired woman gives a soft yelp as she looks into the other room.



The tall, red-haired female stands up from a plush, embroidered couch.



The stocky, crooked-nose man opens a leather belt-pack.



The tall, red-haired female has departed from the land of Zalanthas.



The stocky, crooked-nose man closes a leather belt-pack.



Swallowing, the ethereal, fair-haired woman says, in sirihish:

     "Oh, oh... Faithful Lord Elithan's here..."

Shaking her head, the ethereal, fair-haired woman says to the stocky, crooked-nose man, in sirihish:

     "S'can't... can't see me like this..."

You put your pile of allanaki coins into your hooded, dun-colored dustcloak.

Tucking her feet onto the top rung of her stool, the spiral-scarred black woman grins to the ethereal, fair-haired woman

before turning to the chubby, brown-haired man.



Making sure the tall, red-haired female is comfortable, the tall, crop-haired human stands up.



The tall, crop-haired human stands up from a plush, embroidered couch.



The sinewy, weather-worn man's eyes widen as he glances off to the west.



The tall, crop-haired human weaves through the crowd to the chubby, brown-haired man.



The chubby, brown-haired man gives his pair of polished obsidian dice to the sinewy, weather-worn man.



The chubby, brown-haired man says to the sinewy, weather-worn man, in sirihish:

     "Throw Nahkt."



Raising a brow with a chuckle, the stocky, crooked-nose man says to the ethereal, fair-haired woman, in sirihish:

     "And why is that....ahhh. Well take a seat there bardess, I will be back. "



The sleek, black-haired woman discards her red-striped granite tankard.



The tall, crop-haired human walks west.



A thin trail of musky smoke trickles from the spiral-scarred black woman's mouth as she smokes an average-looking tube of

spice.

The spiral-scarred black woman flexes unconsciously and smiles to herself.

The chubby, brown-haired man drinks horta wine from his dark glass jug.



The spiral-scarred black woman flicks the butt of her tube away, tucking a lock behind her ear.



The stocky, crooked-nose man turns slowely from the ethereal, fair-haired woman, letting his hand carress down her arm

before marching off.



The sinewy, weather-worn man turns back to the chubby, brown-haired man with a nod and jiggles his pair of polished

obsidian dice in his hand before letting them fall on the bartop.



The stocky, crooked-nose man walks west.



The sinewy, weather-worn man rolls a pair of polished obsidian dice on a small, polished wooden bar.



The ethereal, fair-haired woman nods a few times to herself as she finds a seat and sits with stiff posture.



The ethereal, fair-haired woman sits at a stone gaming table.



The chubby, brown-haired man gets his pair of polished obsidian dice from a small, polished wooden bar.



The chubby, brown-haired man says, in sirihish:

     "Moose and kank..."



Leaning to watch the dice roll, the tan, choppy-haired man says, in sirihish:

     "Lookin' good.."

The tall, scarred human glances back off to the western room briefly.



Looking down at the two dice sourly, the sinewy, weather-worn man says, in sirihish:

     "Krath."



The chubby, brown-haired man says, in sirihish:

     "Er Noose."



The sleek, black-haired woman stands up from a small, polished wooden bar.



The chubby, brown-haired man gives you his pair of polished obsidian dice.



The spiral-scarred black woman steeples her fingers under her lower lip, watching avidly.

You roll a pair of polished obsidian dice.

A pair of polished obsidian dice come up:

Knife and Lirathu

The sleek, black-haired woman staggers west.



The ethereal, fair-haired woman looks down at a stone gaming table, a slight sway in how she's sitting.

The chubby, brown-haired man says, in sirihish:

     "Knice and Lirathu..."

The chubby, brown-haired man picks up a pair of polished obsidian dice.



The chubby, brown-haired man says, in sirihish:

     "Knife...puts Mynkas ahead."

The chubby, brown-haired man gives his pair of polished obsidian dice to the spiral-scarred black woman.



The spiral-scarred black woman juggles her pair of polished obsidian dice in her cupped palm, giving them a kiss before

rolling them onto the bar.

The spiral-scarred black woman rolls a pair of polished obsidian dice.



At a small, polished wooden bar, the spiral-scarred black woman speaks, peering at the dice.

Grinning, the chubby, brown-haired man says, in sirihish:

     "Ahh...tough roll to beat...Jihae and Lirathu..."

The chubby, brown-haired man picks up a pair of polished obsidian dice.



The tall, crop-haired human has arrived from the west.



The tan, choppy-haired man looks at the spiral-scarred black woman.



The chubby, brown-haired man gives his pair of polished obsidian dice to the tan, choppy-haired man.



The stocky, crooked-nose man has arrived from the west.



With a grin, nodding, the spiral-scarred black woman looks at the tan, choppy-haired man.



The tall, crop-haired human maneuvers over and behind a small, polished wooden bar, carrying a tray of mead.



At a small, polished wooden bar, the tan, choppy-haired man speaks, tossing his dice to the side across the bartop.



The tan, choppy-haired man rolls a pair of polished obsidian dice on a small, polished wooden bar.



Stiffly, the ethereal, fair-haired woman sits at a stone gaming table, her expression trying to look disinterested



Grinning, the chubby, brown-haired man says, in sirihish:

     "And Tsenna wins..."

The chubby, brown-haired man gives his forest-camouflaged hunting quiver to the spiral-scarred black woman.

Marching over , the stocky, crooked-nose man asks the ethereal, fair-haired woman, in sirihish:

     "Good, you made it too a seat. Didn't join the crowd at the bar?"

The chubby, brown-haired man gets his pair of polished obsidian dice from a small, polished wooden bar.



The sleek, black-haired woman has arrived from the west.

The chubby, brown-haired man stands up from a small, polished wooden bar.

The sleek, black-haired woman sits at a small, polished wooden bar.



The ethereal, fair-haired woman blinks, looking at her table and then over to the bar.



At a small, polished wooden bar, the tan, choppy-haired man speaks, back leaning against the bar.



At a small, polished wooden bar, the spiral-scarred black woman speaks, pumping a fist triumphantly in the air.



The ethereal, fair-haired woman says to the stocky, crooked-nose man, in sirihish:

     "Oh, didn' think of it."



Gesturing, the chubby, brown-haired man says, in sirihish:

     "Everyone...over to the other bar...my Cousin is going to make an announcement...now that everyone is awake."



Tucking his tray under his arm, the tall, crop-haired human moves back to the tavern room.



The tall, crop-haired human walks west.

You are already standing.



The ethereal, fair-haired woman swallows, uneasily.

You sit at a curved, agafari bar.



The adult human male takes about seven paces through a gap in the crowd to stand near the cold eyed woman.



The tan, choppy-haired man has arrived from the east, rubbing at his jaw.



As he turns his attention to her, the brutally-scarred, crimson-haired Jihaen templar asks the wasp-waisted brunette

woman, in sirihish:

     "Chosen Lady, do you mind if I join you?"



Gesturing to a chair, the wasp-waisted brunette woman says to the brutally-scarred, crimson-haired Jihaen templar, in

sirihish:

     "Please do, Faithful Lord."

The dirty, hair-covered half-giant has entered the world.



The brutally-scarred, crimson-haired Jihaen templar sits at a compact agafari table.



The tan, choppy-haired man steps through the room, a frown on his face.

The spiral-scarred black woman has arrived from the east, grinning.

The tan, choppy-haired man walks west.



The cold eyed woman intently scans the area.

Quietly, under the din of the gathering, the adult human male asks the cold eyed woman, in tribal-accented sirihish:

     "Nice party?"



The bald, full-bearded half-giant has arrived from the west.

The tall figure in a dusty hooded, brown military aba has arrived from the west.



The ethereal, fair-haired woman has arrived from the east.



The sinewy, weather-worn man has arrived from the east.



Sliding onto a stool, the sinewy, weather-worn man sits at a curved, agafari bar.

Walking next to the ethereal, fair-haired woman, the spiral-scarred black woman moves to the bar, raising her

forest-camouflaged hunting quiver proudly to the wasp-waisted brunette woman with a chuckle.



The adult human male's eyes dart almost immediately to the bald, full-bearded half-giant.



The adult human male looks up at the bald, full-bearded half-giant.



The spiral-scarred black woman sits at a curved, agafari bar.



The bald, full-bearded half-giant searches the crowd diligently with a smile.



The bald, full-bearded half-giant looks down at the adult human male.



The chubby, brown-haired man has arrived from the east.



The sinewy, weather-worn man looks up at the adult human male.



The wasp-waisted brunette woman nods to the spiral-scarred black woman with a warm smile before looking back to the

brutally-scarred, crimson-haired Jihaen templar.



At a compact agafari table, the brutally-scarred, crimson-haired Jihaen templar speaks, as he interlaces his fingers,

setting them in his lap.



The ethereal, fair-haired woman keeps a hold on the spiral-scarred black woman's arm with a quiet smile.

The sleek, black-haired woman has arrived from the east.



The stocky, crooked-nose man has arrived from the east.



Raising his voice as he heads over to a curved, agafari bar, the stocky, clean-shaven man shouts, in sirihish:

     "Everybody... if you'll gather in the main room and give me your attention for -just- a bit... I have an announcement

to make!"



The spiral-scarred black woman opens a long, durrit-hide sack.



Tucking it away, the spiral-scarred black woman puts her forest-camouflaged hunting quiver into her long, durrit-hide

sack.



The adult human male averts his eyes from the bald, full-bearded half-giant.

The sleek, black-haired woman sits at a curved, agafari bar.

Sliding behind the bar with a sigh, the tall, crop-haired human takes a spot out of the way.

The spiral-scarred black woman closes a long, durrit-hide sack.



The cold eyed woman says to the adult human male, in southern-accented sirihish:

     "ya it's fine"

The chubby, brown-haired man holds his dark glass jug.

The spiral-scarred black woman eats her piece of smoked meat.



To an assistant, reaching down for the fuzzy, red-streaked pup, the stocky, clean-shaven man says, in sirihish:

     "Get 'im up here so people can see 'im..."



At a compact agafari table, the wasp-waisted brunette woman speaks, tapping on her red-striped granite tankard as she nods

to the brutally-scarred, crimson-haired Jihaen templar.



The sleek, black-haired woman looks up at the adult human male.



The bald, full-bearded half-giant looks down at the stocky, crooked-nose man.



The stocky, crooked-nose man marches into the room, casting his eyes about the crowd .



The dirty, hair-covered half-giant looks down at the fuzzy, red-streaked pup.



A female whore disappears into a crowd of rough-looking men and women.



The tall figure in a dusty hooded, brown military aba looks down at the fuzzy, red-streaked pup.



The spiral-scarred black woman glances over at a compact agafari table, nodding courteously to the brutally-scarred,

crimson-haired Jihaen templar.



The chubby, brown-haired man gives his dark glass jug to the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man.



The stocky, clean-shaven man helps the fuzzy, red-streaked pup up onto the bar, keeping a hand on his collar tightly.



The chubby, brown-haired man says to the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man, in sirihish:

     "Here, Senior Agent...I know you like the horta."



Glancing over briefly, the sinewy, weather-worn man looks up at the tall figure in a dusty hooded, brown military aba.



The dirty, hair-covered half-giant has departed from the land of Zalanthas.



The spiral-scarred black woman scoots away from the fuzzy, red-streaked pup a bit, clearing some tankards out of its way.



The tall figure in a dusty hooded, brown military aba looks down at the sinewy, weather-worn man.



The ethereal, fair-haired woman swallows, running a hand along the top of her laced lavender silk blouse as she leans

against a curved, agafari bar to listen to the stocky, clean-shaven man.



Lifting his dark glass jug with a smile of thanks to the chubby, brown-haired man, the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man says,

in sirihish:

     "Just in time as always, m'friend."



The onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man drinks horta wine from his dark glass jug.



The tall, crop-haired human gets his red-striped granite tankard from a curved, agafari bar.

You discard your red-striped granite tankard.

The chubby, brown-haired man puts his pair of polished obsidian dice into his pouched belt.



At a compact agafari table, the wasp-waisted brunette woman speaks, laughing softly.



The tall, crop-haired human drinks spiced-mead from his red-striped granite tankard.



The coffee-tressed young woman sips from her red-striped granite tankard.



The stocky, crooked-nose man looks up at the ethereal, fair-haired woman.

With a nod as the room starts to quiet down, a bit, the stocky, clean-shaven man shouts, in sirihish:

     "Thanks... now then! Some of you may remember what seems like Ages but was really just a few years back... we threw a

party in the Tooth a lot like this."



Putting it on the bar, the coffee-tressed young woman discards her red-striped granite tankard.

Looking around the crowd sadly, the bald, full-bearded half-giant says, in sirihish:

     "Awe.. I don' see my steaks. "



At a compact agafari table, the brutally-scarred, crimson-haired Jihaen templar speaks, to the wasp-waisted brunette woman

with an easy smile, accentuating the deep lines of age on his face.



With a big smile, the tall figure in a dusty hooded, brown military aba says to the bald, full-bearded half-giant, in

southern-accented sirihish:

     "Yeah me neither, big guy."



The mesh-tattooed, able-bodied male lowers the hood of a dusty hooded, brown military aba.



The onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man turns his full attention towards the stocky, clean-shaven man.



The stocky, clean-shaven man shouts, in sirihish:

     "Now that's not so unusual. But back then a bright-eyed, wet-behind-the-ears Agent named Rokov jumped up on this here

bar and announced that we were throwing ourselves a huge festival down in Luir's..."



Tilting her head with a nod, the spiral-scarred black woman looks up at the mesh-tattooed, able-bodied male.



The chubby, brown-haired man chuckles.



With a wry grin, the stocky, clean-shaven man shouts, in sirihish:

     "Well, I didn't learn my lesson from that... so we're doing it again!"



At a compact agafari table, the wasp-waisted brunette woman speaks, gesturing with her red-striped granite tankard,

returning the brutally-scarred, crimson-haired Jihaen templar's smile.



The adult human male shudders gently.



The coffee-tressed young woman blinks, both eyebrows rising.



The mesh-tattooed, able-bodied male nods to the spiral-scarred black woman.



The sinewy, weather-worn man gives a loud whoop and slams a fist against the bar.



The wasp-waisted brunette woman turns her attention toward the stocky, clean-shaven man.



The mesh-tattooed, able-bodied male looks down at the spiral-scarred black woman.

The adult human male notices the mesh-tattooed, able-bodied male in the crowd, a wry smirk creasing his heavily-decorated

face.



The adult human male looks at the mesh-tattooed, able-bodied male.



The bald, full-bearded half-giant looks down at the sinewy, weather-worn man.



At a compact agafari table, the brutally-scarred, crimson-haired Jihaen templar speaks, as his gaze drifts towards the

stocky, crooked-nose man.



The spiral-scarred black woman chuckles, her round-boned face turned up to the stocky, clean-shaven man.



The adult human male's eyes flicker shut for a brief moment.

The spiral-scarred black woman looks up at the adult human male.

The bald, full-bearded half-giant looks down at the fuzzy, red-streaked pup.



The tall, crop-haired human gazes quietly at the stocky, clean-shaven man and the chubby, brown-haired man over the top of

his tankard.

Nodding firmly after he watches the crowd's reaction, the stocky, clean-shaven man shouts, in sirihish:

     "That's right, and it'll be bigger and better than the last one! We'll have a second World Champion Fighter tournament -- we're looking for another brave Tuluki to win it like last time..."

The tall, scarred human chuckles politely and nods in agreement with the stocky, clean-shaven man.



The chubby, brown-haired man drinks horta wine from his dark glass jug.



The cold eyed woman grins.



The stocky, crooked-nose man keeps his ears perked towards the stocky, clean-shaven man as his eyes continuously dart

about the room among the crowd.

The stocky, clean-shaven man shouts, in sirihish:

     "All -kinds- of games, prizes, contests, events... more spice than you could possibly imagine... and as a very special treat, another auction in which YOU can bid for your very own Kurtok pup like Zalot here!"

The adult human male looks down at the fuzzy, red-streaked pup.

You are a little hungry.

The adult human male beams a smile at the fuzzy, red-streaked pup.



The chubby, brown-haired man takes a drink from his dark glass jug as he stands near the stocky, clean-shaven man.



The tall, crop-haired human raises an eyebrow towards the stocky, clean-shaven man.



The stocky, clean-shaven man points down at the fuzzy, red-streaked pup with a grin, who seems to be a bit confused by all

the sudden attention on him.



The sleek, black-haired woman glances down at the fuzzy, red-streaked pup.



The ethereal, fair-haired woman casts the stocky, clean-shaven man a complaiscent smile as she listens to him.



Looking down at his side, the bald, full-bearded half-giant says to the stocky, crooked-nose man, in sirihish:

     "I like that pup."



The onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man laughs and raises jug to clink a few rubies from his glove against it.



The fuzzy, red-streaked pup barks a few times at nothing in particular.



Chuckling throatily, the spiral-scarred black woman says to the fuzzy, red-streaked pup, in sirihish:

     "You got a lot to live up to, kid."



The adult human male studies the fuzzy, red-streaked pup, attention riveted.



The onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man laughs and raises his dark glass jug to clink a few rubies from his glove against it.



The bald, full-bearded half-giant looks down at the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man.



The cold eyed woman shakes her head at the long-limbed blue-eyed man.



The adult human male begins guarding the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man.

You notice the brutally-scarred, crimson-haired Jihaen templar glancing at the brutally-scarred, crimson-haired Jihaen

templar.



The brutally-scarred, crimson-haired Jihaen templar looks up at the fuzzy, red-streaked pup.



The coffee-tressed young woman looks up at the fuzzy, red-streaked pup.



The bald, full-bearded half-giant frowns as he scans the crowd over again.



With a laugh, the stocky, clean-shaven man shouts, in sirihish:

     "And don't worry, my cousin named him after himself. I'm not the one to blame. Anyway! We'll be holding the Festival just about a year away from now... you're all invited!"



The stocky, crooked-nose man looks down at the fuzzy, red-streaked pup.

The sound of glasses clinking and light conversation reaches your ears regularly.



The spiral-scarred black woman grins to the stocky, clean-shaven man, calling out a whoop.



The stocky, clean-shaven man shouts, in sirihish:

     "Though we do ask if any of our Chosen guests wish to attend, they give us advance notice. For everyone else, we'll be providing transportation down and back this time... and to our brave contestants who entered Brethel's contest, I'll make it fr"



The stocky, clean-shaven man shouts, in sirihish:

     "free!"



Looking up with a grin nearly whispering, the mesh-tattooed, able-bodied male asks the bald, full-bearded half-giant, in

southern-accented sirihish:

     "Who was giving you the steaks, big guy?"



The ethereal, fair-haired woman laughs into the back of one hand.



The adult human male applauds an announcement from the stocky, crooked-nose man.

Scratching his beard, the bald, full-bearded half-giant says to the mesh-tattooed, able-bodied male, in sirihish:

     "Um.. Zaqar, and Ardus was supposed to give me five hundred steaks."



Smiling, the chubby, brown-haired man says, in sirihish:

     "Yes...you can either plod along in Rokov's wagon...or race in mine."

Offering a showy bow, the stocky, clean-shaven man shouts, in sirihish:

     "That's the news, folks... and you all are the VERY first in the world to hear it."

The mesh-tattooed, able-bodied male nods to the bald, full-bearded half-giant.

The coffee-tressed young woman looks at the stocky, clean-shaven man, then at the chubby, brown-haired man.

The chubby, brown-haired man chuckles.

Leaning foward to call out, the wasp-waisted brunette woman asks the stocky, clean-shaven man, in sirihish:

     "Will there be a Tall Tales contest, Rokov-da?"

The mesh-tattooed, able-bodied male nods to the bald, full-bearded half-giant.

Grabbing it up and raising it into the air, the spiral-scarred black woman gets her red-striped granite tankard from a

curved, agafari bar.

With a grin, the chubby, brown-haired man asks the stocky, clean-shaven man, in sirihish:

     "And we will be holding races, Cousin? Maybe get the sleds out?"



her Red-striped granite tankard sloshing droplets, the spiral-scarred black woman says, in sirihish:

     "To Kurac, and their fine parties."



Nodding firmly, the stocky, clean-shaven man says to the wasp-waisted brunette woman, in sirihish:

     "Of course, Chosen Lady. That one was one of the biggest hits last time."



The spiral-scarred black woman sips from her red-striped granite tankard.



The chubby, brown-haired man chuckles.



The slender, pitch-haired young man has arrived from the west.



The wasp-waisted brunette woman nods to the stocky, clean-shaven man with a satisfied smile as she leans back in her

chair.



Hopping down off the bar, the stocky, clean-shaven man exclaims, in sirihish:

     "So get your stories ready!"

At 1) a compact agafari table are:

      the brutally-scarred, crimson-haired Jihaen templar,

      the wasp-waisted brunette woman, and a few empty seats.

At 2) a curved, agafari bar are:

      the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man, the tall, scarred human,

      the sinewy, weather-worn man, the coffee-tressed young woman,

      the spiral-scarred black woman, the sleek, black-haired woman,

      and one empty seat.

The sinewy, weather-worn man snatches up his red-striped granite tankard and lifts it to the spiral-scarred black woman in

salute.



The spiral-scarred black woman drinks spiced-mead from her red-striped granite tankard.



The chubby, brown-haired man gets his black silt pearl from his pouched belt.



The cold eyed woman intently scans the area.



Slurping loudly, the sinewy, weather-worn man drinks spiced-mead from his red-striped granite tankard.



You are a little hungry.



The spiral-scarred black woman puts her red-striped granite tankard onto a curved, agafari bar.



Grinning, the chubby, brown-haired man exclaims to the spiral-scarred black woman, in sirihish:

     "For that fine comment...you win a pearl!"



Slamming it to the bar, the sinewy, weather-worn man discards his red-striped granite tankard.



The slender, pitch-haired young man eases his way through the crowd, pausing to nod to the wasp-waisted brunette woman

before continuing to pick a path toward a curved, agafari bar.



The spiral-scarred black woman opens a long, durrit-hide sack.



The chubby, brown-haired man gives his black silt pearl to the spiral-scarred black woman.



Carefully, the spiral-scarred black woman gets her light brown, leather instrument case from her long, durrit-hide sack.



The ethereal, fair-haired woman glances up, briefly, to the slender, pitch-haired young man as she takes in the crowds.



With a blink, examining her black silt pearl closely, the spiral-scarred black woman says to the chubby, brown-haired man,

in sirihish:

     "It's gorgeous."



The long-limbed blue-eyed man opens a stained brown leather backpack.



The long-limbed blue-eyed man closes a stained brown leather backpack.



The chubby, brown-haired man says to the spiral-scarred black woman, in sirihish:

     "Good...now get playing...Rokov and I need a break."



The adult human male glances around suddenly.



Tossing back her dark head to laugh, the spiral-scarred black woman says to the chubby, brown-haired man, in sirihish:

     "You needn't tell me twice, Agent. My thanks."



Carefully, the spiral-scarred black woman puts her black silt pearl into her earthy leather pouched belt.



The stocky, clean-shaven man gets his red-striped granite tankard from a curved, agafari bar.



Glancing up at the bald, full-bearded half-giant, the mesh-tattooed, able-bodied male asks, in southern-accented

sirihish:

     "I thought you said you were getting steaks?"



The spiral-scarred black woman gets her light-stained cunyati lute from her light brown, leather instrument case.



The spiral-scarred black woman puts her light brown, leather instrument case into her long, durrit-hide sack.



The spiral-scarred black woman closes a long, durrit-hide sack.



With a frown, the bald, full-bearded half-giant exclaims to the mesh-tattooed, able-bodied male, in sirihish:

   "I thought I was too!"

The spiral-scarred black woman gets her light-gauge bone pick from her earthy leather pouched belt.



The ethereal, fair-haired woman casts the spiral-scarred black woman a half smile as she nudges her.



Settling it across her legs, glancing curiously at the mesh-tattooed, able-bodied male and the bald, full-bearded

half-giant, the spiral-scarred black woman holds her light-stained cunyati lute.



The spiral-scarred black woman brandishes her light-gauge bone pick.



The robust, head-shaven man trades a loaf of sandhog headcheese to the adult human male.



The adult human male slides a plate of food to the long-limbed blue-eyed man covertly.



The adult human male gives his loaf of sandhog headcheese to the long-limbed blue-eyed man.



The long-limbed blue-eyed man nods to the adult human male.



The long-limbed blue-eyed man takes a bite of his loaf of sandhog headcheese.



Grinning broadly to the ethereal, fair-haired woman, the spiral-scarred black woman asks, in sirihish:

     "May I introduce my ravishing accompaniest, Aja?"



The long-limbed blue-eyed man eats his partially eaten loaf of sandhog headcheese.



The mesh-tattooed, able-bodied male sighs as he leans up against the bald, full-bearded half-giant's leg.



The coffee-tressed young woman gets her red-striped granite tankard from a curved, agafari bar.



The bald, full-bearded half-giant scans the crowd again, disparingly.



Lips parting with a brief surprise before smiling, the ethereal, fair-haired woman asks the spiral-scarred black woman, in

sirihish:

     "... Ah, yes. What'... What do you need?"



The ethereal, fair-haired woman clears her throat softly.



Waving over to the robust, head-shaven man, the sinewy, weather-worn man says, in sirihish:

     "Gimme somethin' good ta eat, Elwor."

The coffee-tressed young woman peers into her red-striped granite tankard and frowns.



At a compact agafari table, the wasp-waisted brunette woman speaks, with a smile to the brutally-scarred, crimson-haired

Jihaen templar.



The sinewy, weather-worn man gets his pile of allanaki coins from his bone-framed, double strapped coin belt.



The robust, head-shaven man trades a large stuffed and fried gourd blossom to the sinewy, weather-worn man.



Putting it back onto a curved, agafari bar, the coffee-tressed young woman discards her red-striped granite tankard.

The coffee-tressed young woman gets her red-striped granite tankard from a curved, agafari bar.

You get your pile of allanaki coins from your hooded, dun-colored dustcloak.

There were 120 coins.

It is very light.

The sinewy, weather-worn man puts his pile of allanaki coins into his bone-framed, double strapped coin belt.

Waving over to the slender, pitch-haired young man, the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man exclaims, in sirihish:

     "Mika! Over here!"

The long-limbed blue-eyed man drinks water from his leather waterbelt.

The chubby, brown-haired man says, in sirihish:

     "Lots of drinks, everyone...all free..."

Picking one of her light-stained cunyati lute's twelve strings, the spiral-scarred black woman says to the ethereal,

fair-haired woman, in sirihish:

     "A repeating melody here, and the chorus one chord lower."

You give the robust, head-shaven man 12 obsidian coins for a bowl of tembo-eye

soup.



Dropping into a chair tiredly, the stocky, clean-shaven man sits at a curved, agafari bar.

You put your pile of allanaki coins into your hooded, dun-colored dustcloak.

The chubby, brown-haired man says, in sirihish:

     "Use your tankards to hit the casks when they're gone."

You eat part of your bowl of tembo-eye soup.

You are a little hungry.



At a compact agafari table, the wasp-waisted brunette woman speaks, laughing softly.



With a smooth motion, the ethereal, fair-haired woman gets her light-stained cunyati lute from her rough canvas backpack.



The ethereal, fair-haired woman closes a rough canvas backpack.



The ethereal, fair-haired woman whispers something to the spiral-scarred black woman.



The adult human male smiles.



At a compact agafari table, the wasp-waisted brunette woman speaks, gesturing to the spiral-scarred black woman.

Nodding to the ethereal, fair-haired woman as she begins to pick a spirited, whimsical tune on her light-stained cunyati

lute, the spiral-scarred black woman says, in sirihish:

     "May I present 'Roll Your Leg Over,' composed by Tsenna of Elkinhym as a commentary on the young men of Tuluk. "

----------------------------------------------

"The Tembo's Tooth" - Tavern [EWD Quit]

   Smooth, sanded cylini planks have been laid across the floor of this

cramped room, their polished surface flickering in the lights of the candles. Dark stains splatter the wooden floor at odd intervals, disrupting the otherwise smooth contour of the...

Continue Reading...
Not a Crimbimbal by Grey Area
Added on Aug 30, 2007

In which an officer demonstrates modern law enforcement techniques and a half-giant is justifiably proud of his superior intellect.

The willowy, grey-streaked man has arrived from the north.
The vibrant, bead-tressed brunette has arrived from the north.

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 vibrant, bead-tressed brunette is standing here.
The willowy, grey-streaked man is standing here.
The hulking, ebon-skinned half-giant looms here.
The slight, indigo-whorled woman is sitting at a boxy wooden bar.
The coffee-tressed young woman is sitting at a boxy wooden bar.
A lean, grey-eyed bard leans against the stage.
A lean, spike-haired elf drums softly in the corner.
A tall, amber-eyed woman polishes glasses behind the boxy wooden bar.
The husky, weatherworn dwarf is here, seated at a large table, drinking ale.
The huge, sun-bronzed man surveys the room casually from a table here.
The bald, muscular woman slouches at a large table, drinking ale.
The small, dark-haired man sits at a table in the back, staring into his drink.
The solemn, club-footed man limps slowly along here.

The hulking, ebon-skined half-giant begins to lick his large, sugar coated hand free.
The willowy, grey-streaked man looks down at the slight, indigo-whorled woman.

Squinting one eye, the willowy, grey-streaked man looks at you.

The vibrant, bead-tressed brunette stands in the doorway next to the willowy, grey-streaked man, a thumb hooked in her leather swordbelt.

As he continues to lick his hand, the hulking, ebon-skined half-giant looks down at the vibrant, bead-tressed brunette.

The coffee-tressed young woman shrugs.

The hulking, ebon-skined half-giant looks down at the willowy, grey-streaked man.

The willowy, grey-streaked man exhales irritably, taking a slow look around the tavern.

Pointing over at the willowy, grey-streaked man, voice rising, the hulking, ebon-skined half-giant says, in sirihish:
     "Hey! You can' have your sword o... oh. Um, nevermin Paryils."

The hulking, ebon-skined half-giant begins guarding the coffee-tressed young woman.

The hulking, ebon-skined half-giant sidles a bit closer to the coffee-tressed young woman.

Amusedly, the willowy, grey-streaked man says to the hulking, ebon-skined half-giant, in sirihish:
     "Exactly."

The coffee-tressed young woman gives the hulking, ebon-skined half-giant's meaty arm a pat.

With a chuckle, the scarred, ashen-haired man reaches up to pat the hulking, ebon-skined half-giant's elbow.

The willowy, grey-streaked man asks the coffee-tressed young woman, in sirihish:
     "'ey there, Agent. You mind terrible if I borrow one'a yer hunters fer a moment?"

The slight, indigo-whorled woman looks up at the willowy, grey-streaked man.

With a girlish grin, the coffee-tressed young woman asks the willowy, grey-streaked man, in sirihish:
     "Do I get 'em back when you're done with 'em?"

The willowy, grey-streaked man says to the coffee-tressed young woman, in sirihish:
     "Jest about good as new. Promise."

Chuckling, the coffee-tressed young woman says to the willowy, grey-streaked man, in sirihish:
     "Fair enough."

The scarred, ashen-haired man's teeth flash in a quick grin.

Glancing sidelong, the willowy, grey-streaked man says to the vibrant, bead-tressed brunette, in sirihish:
     "Pick one."

The figure in a hooded, dun-colored dustcloak has arrived from the north.
The sinewy, weather-worn man has arrived from the north.

Looking between you and the slight, indigo-whorled woman, the vibrant, bead-tressed brunette says to the willowy, grey-streaked man, in sirihish:
     "Uh, alright..."

Pointing to you, the vibrant, bead-tressed brunette says to the willowy, grey-streaked man, in sirihish:
     "Maybe him. I dunno, I have no idea what this is for."

The willowy, grey-streaked man says to the vibrant, bead-tressed brunette, in sirihish:
     "Right. Watch close."

The figure in a hooded, dun-colored dustcloak looks over the crowd and waves to the coffee-tressed young woman.

The vibrant, bead-tressed brunette nods to the willowy, grey-streaked man, watching him.

The scarred, ashen-haired man glances over at the vibrant, bead-tressed brunette, then the willowy, grey-streaked man.

The coffee-tressed young woman watches curiously.

The slight, indigo-whorled woman glances back over to you, brow raised.

The willowy, grey-streaked man says to you, in sirihish:
     "Best not t'struggle, fella."

The willowy, grey-streaked man hastily drops a dragon-etched, obsidian saber.
The willowy, grey-streaked man subdues you, despite your attempts to struggle away.
You stop guarding the coffee-tressed young woman.

Eyes widening, the hulking, ebon-skined half-giant exclaims, in sirihish:
     "HEY!"

Holding his palms up, you say, in sirihish:
     "Not planning on a fight, Lieutenant."

As he tugs you from the barstool, the willowy, grey-streaked man says to the vibrant, bead-tressed brunette, in sirihish:
     "Fetch m'sword."

Grabbing his arm, the coffee-tressed young woman says to the hulking, ebon-skined half-giant, in sirihish:
     "It's alright."

Stepping over quickly, the vibrant, bead-tressed brunette picks up a dragon-etched, obsidian saber.

Looking increasingly alarmed, and confused, the hulking, ebon-skined half-giant asks, in sirihish:
     "But! Bu.. but! It's! He won' hurt 'im?"

The sinewy, weather-worn man grimaces faintly as he watches the willowy, grey-streaked man and you and steps off to the side of the northern archway.

The figure in a hooded, dun-colored dustcloak looks at you.

The willowy, grey-streaked man says to the vibrant, bead-tressed brunette, in sirihish:
     "Right. Now hold onto him."

The willowy, grey-streaked man releases you, shoving you roughly into the vibrant, bead-tressed brunette's arms.

Her eyes widening briefly as she reaches for you, the vibrant, bead-tressed brunette says to the willowy, grey-streaked man, in sirihish:
     "Alright..."

The scarred, ashen-haired man lets himself be manhandled across the tavern into the vibrant, bead-tressed brunette's grasp.

Giving his arm a reasurring pat, the coffee-tressed young woman says to the hulking, ebon-skined half-giant, in sirihish:
     "Nothing to worry about."

The slight, indigo-whorled woman glances from you to the coffee-tressed young woman, and then back again.

Leaning backwards against the bar, the willowy, grey-streaked man says to the vibrant, bead-tressed brunette, in sirihish:
     "That there fella's a criminal. Hold him tight. Let's see yer arm lock."

The coffee-tressed young woman says to the hulking, ebon-skined half-giant, in sirihish:
     "It's just practice."

Watching you, only her brown eyes visible from behind her snug, garnet-set ivory mask, the figure in a hooded, dun-colored dustcloak says to the sinewy, weather-worn man, in sirihish:
     "Funny, he don't look like a criminal."

The vibrant, bead-tressed brunette takes a firm grasp of your arms, nodding to the willowy, grey-streaked man.

Dryly, you say, in sirihish:
     "Sorry. I'll try to look shiftier."

The willowy, grey-streaked man stands at a boxy wooden bar.

The sinewy, weather-worn man gives a momentary grimace and then runs a gloved hand across his forehead.

Nodding firmly, the figure in a hooded, dun-colored dustcloak says to you, in sirihish:
     "Yeah, ya autta Milan. Try squintin yer eyes."

Conversationally, the willowy, grey-streaked man says to the vibrant, bead-tressed brunette, in sirihish:
     "Th' weak spots are his wrists an' elbows. Cross one'a his arms over th' other and press it against th' elbow."

The hulking, ebon-skined half-giant shifts nervously back and forth.

The vibrant, bead-tressed brunette shifts her grip, frowning in concentration as she pins your arm across, pressing it tight against your elbow.

The scarred, ashen-haired man grins at the figure in a hooded, dun-colored dustcloak, twitching slightly as the vibrant, bead-tressed brunette digs a finger into a sensitive spot.

Tilting her head curiously, the slight, indigo-whorled woman turns in her seat, watching closely.

Tilting his head, the willowy, grey-streaked man asks you, in sirihish:
     "How'd you rate that hold, fella?"

With a passing glance, the figure in a hooded, dun-colored dustcloak looks at the short figure in a hooded, ebony cloak.

The short figure in a hooded, ebony cloak steps inside, attention immediately coming to the vibrant, bead-tressed brunette.

The hulking, ebon-skined half-giant fidgets his cream and sugar smeared hand upwards, fumbling briefly at the hilt of his long-hafted, spiked hammer before he relaxes.

Struggling futiley to move his hands, you say to the willowy, grey-streaked man, in sirihish:
     "That... Ooch. Yeah, that's pretty decent."

Leaning down to the coffee-tressed young woman, in a nervous, loud whisper, the hulking, ebon-skined half-giant says, in sirihish:
     "Um, some'n shoul tell th' Parilys that Firs Hunner Milan ain got no weak spots."

The willowy, grey-streaked man says to the vibrant, bead-tressed brunette, in sirihish:
     "Good girl. Now if'n he tries an' struggles, yer in a good position to drop him by drivin' yer boot into th' back of his knee. Be sure you don't lose yer grip as he lowers."

Glancing over, her grip on your still firm as she stands behind you, the vibrant, bead-tressed brunette says to the willowy, grey-streaked man, in sirihish:
     "You want me to do that now, sir? I don't want to hurt him."

The figure in a hooded, dun-colored dustcloak chuckles softly to herself and trods over to the hulking, ebon-skined half-giant, waving a gloved hand.

The hulking, ebon-skined half-giant chews on the tips of fingernails, watching you.

The coffee-tressed young woman gives the hulking, ebon-skined half-giant's arm a pat.

Her tone cheerful, the figure in a hooded, dun-colored dustcloak asks the hulking, ebon-skined half-giant, in sirihish:
     "Hey Moorp, good ta see ya! Remember me, Sarge Tola o'Kurac?"

The willowy, grey-streaked man says to the vibrant, bead-tressed brunette, in sirihish:
     "Oh, he'll fall easy enough. Don't take much pressure to do it right, and I don't reckon he'll be strugglin' either."

The big fat man has arrived from the north.

With a wince, you say to the vibrant, bead-tressed brunette, in sirihish:
     "I'm, uh fine with it."

The big fat man looks at you.

Voice picking up briefly, the hulking, ebon-skined half-giant exclaims, in sirihish:
     "Don' hurt him! He ain done no wrong!"

The big fat man asks, in sirihish:
     "Whaa?"

The coffee-tressed young woman stands up from a boxy wooden bar.

Quietly, the vibrant, bead-tressed brunette says to you, in sirihish:
     "Alright, then...hang on..."

Voice moving up in volume, the hulking, ebon-skined half-giant exclaims, in sirihish:
     "Hey! He lookin more'n more like he hurtins!"

The short figure in a hooded, ebony cloak looks up at the big fat man, squinting.
The big fat man lumbers in, body jiggling.

The vibrant, bead-tressed brunette lifts a knee, pressing it into the back of your knee quickly and pushing you forward and down.

The coffee-tressed young woman says to the hulking, ebon-skined half-giant, in sirihish:
     "Hey, let's go get you some fruitcake."

Calling across the room, you exclaim to the hulking, ebon-skined half-giant, in sirihish:
     "I'm fine, Moorp, really... Oof!"

With a thud, the scarred, ashen-haired man drops heavily to his knees, propelled by the vibrant, bead-tressed brunette's well placed kick.

The big fat man looks at the vibrant, bead-tressed brunette.

Laughing gently and shaking her head, the figure in a hooded, dun-colored dustcloak says to the hulking, ebon-skined half-giant, in sirihish:
     "Nah, he ain't hurtin'im. They're just wrasslin."

The coffee-tressed young woman says to the hulking, ebon-skined half-giant, in sirihish:
     "I think Cirwen just cooked up a fresh batch."

Eyes going as wide as small plates, the hulking, ebon-skined half-giant exclaims, in sirihish:
     "HEY! That wasn' very nice!!"

Grabbing onto his arm, the coffee-tressed young woman says to the hulking, ebon-skined half-giant, in sirihish:
     "Moorp."

Approvingly, ignoring the hulking, ebon-skined half-giant, the willowy, grey-streaked man says to the vibrant, bead-tressed brunette, in sirihish:
     "Good. You feel how easy that is? All manipulation of joints."

Lips twitching faintly, the short figure in a hooded, ebony cloak tilts her head, watching on.

The big fat man watches the vibrant, bead-tressed brunette with a frown, tapping his bone-bladed halberd to the floor as he pads around the large crowd.

The hulking, ebon-skined half-giant crushes his cream-filled pastry horn in his large hand.

The ebon-braided, flint-eyed man has arrived from the west, slipping through the oddly-angled doorway.

Bobbing her head, the figure in a hooded, dun-colored dustcloak says to the coffee-tressed young woman, in sirihish:
     "Yeah. fresh food. Sounds like a real good idea."

As a huge shower of cream particles rains down around him, the hulking, ebon-skined half-giant discards his cream-filled pastry horn.

The slight, indigo-whorled woman lifts her head a bit, watching you with a raised brow and a bit of a grin.

Nodding, now half-kneeling on you, your arms behind your back, the vibrant, bead-tressed brunette says to the willowy, grey-streaked man, in sirihish:
     "Yes, sir, I see that."

Pulling his arm as she starts away from the bar, the coffee-tressed young woman says to the hulking, ebon-skined half-giant, in sirihish:
     "C'mon, let's go get some fruitcake."

The big fat man looks at the willowy, grey-streaked man.

Cream still dripping from his hand, not moving under the coffee-tressed young woman's guidance, the hulking, ebon-skined half-giant exclaims, in sirihish:
     "They're hurtin hims!"

The short figure in a hooded, ebony cloak flicks her tongue out, catching a tiny glob of cream that lands on her cheek.

The willowy, grey-streaked man says to you, in sirihish:
     "Now from here, seein' as how he's bein' a problem, you can pull him into a choke-hold and drag him back to his feet to be branged to th' jail. Try it."

The hulking, ebon-skined half-giant exclaims, in sirihish:
     "Fruitcake not gonna taste good if Milan blood all over!"

The scarred, ashen-haired man winks at the hulking, ebon-skined half-giant from his kneeling position on the floor.

Tugging at his arm, the coffee-tressed young woman says to the hulking, ebon-skined half-giant, in sirihish:
     "They're not hurting him."

The hulking, ebon-skined half-giant's jaw drops as he watches your face.

The coffee-tressed young woman asks the hulking, ebon-skined half-giant, in sirihish:
     "Those raptors did much worse, remember?"

The big fat man looks up at the hulking, ebon-skined half-giant.

The figure in a hooded, dun-colored dustcloak looks at the big fat man.

The vibrant, bead-tressed brunette nods to the willowy, grey-streaked man, quickly moving one hand up and around your neck and beginning to pull you up as she rises.

The coffee-tressed young woman says to the hulking, ebon-skined half-giant, in sirihish:
     "See, he's alright."
The sleepy-eyed, ebon-tressed woman has arrived from the south.

Immediately perking up, beaming brightly down at the coffee-tressed young woman, the hulking, ebon-skined half-giant exclaims, in sirihish:
     "See! He's jokin! I told jas! Firs Hunner ain got no weak spots!"

Watching the vibrant, bead-tressed brunette with his arms crossed before him, the sinewy, weather-worn man says to the hulking, ebon-skined half-giant, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Don' worry. Ah'm sure Milan could put up a much better fight than this if he had the urge."

The sleepy-eyed, ebon-tressed woman looks up at the big fat man.

The willowy, grey-streaked man asks the vibrant, bead-tressed brunette, in sirihish:
     "There y'are. You see how it's done?"

The scarred, ashen-haired man is dragged bonelessly to his feet.

Quickly glancing around at the crowd before looking back to him, holding you in a chokehold now, the vibrant, bead-tressed brunette says to the willowy, grey-streaked man, in sirihish:
     "Yes, sir."

The willowy, grey-streaked man says to the vibrant, bead-tressed brunette, in sirihish:
     "Good enough. You can let 'im go now. Turns out he ain't a criminal after all."

The vibrant, bead-tressed brunette releases you, and you immediately move away.

The sleepy-eyed, ebon-tressed woman sits at a boxy wooden bar.

The figure in a hooded, dun-colored dustcloak slaps her palms together in applause.

The big fat man clucks at the vibrant, bead-tressed brunette like a jozhal.

The willowy, grey-streaked man taps two fingers on the bartop, glancing over at the tall, amber-eyed woman.

The tow-headed, pallid young woman has arrived from the north.

Rubbing his throat as he finds his feet again, you say, in sirihish:
     "That sure is a relief."

With a wide smile as she takes her hands from you, the vibrant, bead-tressed brunette says to you, in sirihish:
     "Thanks, Milan."

The tall, amber-eyed woman trades a miniature barrel to the willowy, grey-streaked man.

The coffee-tressed young woman looks up at the big fat man.

The short figure in a hooded, ebony cloak gently tugs her hood down further to hide her face, idling at the entrance.

Sliding it across the bartop, the willowy, grey-streaked man gives you his miniature barrel.

With a snort, finally moving towards the coffee-tressed young woman, the hulking, ebon-skined half-giant says, in sirihish:
     "Hmph. Paryl ain so smart as Moorp. Moorp knew he wasn' a crimbimbal all th' time."

The willowy, grey-streaked man has arrived from the north.
The vibrant, bead-tressed brunette has arrived from the north.

The Main Room of the Bard's Barrel [NSW]
   A myriad of grinning skulls, each painted with bright colors laid
over the pallid bone, stare down from the broad wooden shelf that...
Continue Reading...
A Burial at Sea by manonfire
Added on Aug 2, 2007

Read on.

Our hero, Krok, is going about business as usual - clearing the road from Red Storm to Allanak of pesky scrabs and beetles. Another normal day, until..

Windy Plains [NESW]
   A strong wind out of the south is the prevailing force on these plains,
and it has left its mark. The ground here is flat, save for mottled clumps
of red dirt, which the winds scatter about continually. Legend holds that
the area once supported abundant flora and fauna; today, only a few thorny
plants, growing in tiny crevices in the ground, are all that remain. Red
dust accumulates on the southern side of these remnants of times past.
The body of the wiry, grey-tan mul lies crumpled on the sands.
A dusty gray wooden sword with obsidian edges lies here.
A dusty angled, obsidian blade with a bone handle has been carelessly dropped here.
A silt-colored kank stands here clacking its pincers.
A glossy, black-scaled inix has arrived from the south.

Glancing down at the body of the wiry, grey-tan mul, you say, in sirihish:
     "Uh oh."

You pick up the body of the wiry, grey-tan mul.
It is manageable, and full.

You sling a bloodied massive, spiked club across your back.

Windy Plains [NESW]
   A strong wind out of the south is the prevailing force on these plains,
and it has left its mark. The ground here is flat, save for mottled clumps
of red dirt, which the winds scatter about continually. Legend holds that
the area once supported abundant flora and fauna; today, only a few thorny
plants, growing in tiny crevices in the ground, are all that remain. Red
dust accumulates on the southern side of these remnants of times past.
   Just to the south, a village with high stone walls rises out of the
windswept plains.
A glossy, black-scaled inix has arrived from the north.

Before Sand Gate [NS]
   The northern gate of Red Storm Village stands here, a heavy
construction of hard, pale grey styrax wood. The gate is set back slightly
in the grey stone walls, providing a little shelter from the fierce winds
even when it is closed. A beige canvas tarpaulin soars overhead, suspended
some twenty cords above the ground by styrax beams, to provide additional
cover. The sunlight filters through the reddish-brown dust with difficulty.
The thin, raven-haired soldier is sitting here.
A glossy, black-scaled inix has arrived from the north.

Sparse sands blow across your path.
Inside Sand Gate [NESW]
   The northern gate of Red Storm Village stands here, a heavy construction
of hard, pale grey styrax wood. The ancient grey stone walls of the village
lead off to the east and west from here, and just inside them runs a rocky
perimeter road. Vast beige canvas tarpaulins soar high above, suspended
from beams of pale grey styrax wood to provide some shelter.
   Warehouses and crafting halls lie to the southeast and the southwest,
separated by an assortment of narrow alleys and slightly broader streets.
The sounds of saw on wood, chisel on stone, and other crafting activities
can be heard from all around. Cloaked villagers walk quickly along the
road, carefully avoiding eye contact with anyone.
The bleak-faced grey soldier stands here, keeping watch over the area.
The dusty-red mulish soldier watches the travelers passing by here.
A glossy, black-scaled inix has arrived from the north.

Fury's Road [NS]
   This broad rock road runs from north to south through the heart of Red
Storm Village. It follows the slope of a valley, dipping to its lowest near
the center of the village, and appears to have been smoothed with years of
passage by wagons and passersby alike. Small streets lead off to the east
and west, sloping upwards as they do so. Vast beige tarpaulins suspended
from styrax beams reach out from the buildings on either side of the road,
providing some degree of shelter from the fierce winds.
   Warehouses and crafting halls lie to the east and west, separated by an
assortment of narrow alleys and slightly broader streets. The sounds of
saw on wood, chisel on stone, and other crafting activities can be heard
from all around. Cloaked villagers walk quickly along the road, carefully
avoiding eye contact with anyone.
A glossy, black-scaled inix has arrived from the north.

You think:
     "Poor mul. Wonder what hit him?"

Fury's Road [NESW]
   This broad rock road runs from north to south through the heart of Red
Storm Village. It follows the slope of a valley, dipping to its lowest near
the center of the village, and appears to have been smoothed with years of
passage by wagons and passersby alike. Small streets lead off to the east
and west, sloping upwards as they do so. Vast beige tarpaulins suspended
from styrax beams reach out from the buildings on either side of the road,
providing some degree of shelter from the fierce winds.
   A large fenced yard lies to the east, and several kanks and other types
of mounts and beasts of burden are visible inside it. To the west lies a
vast, flat yard, and the road bears evidence of frequent wagon travel to
and from that direction. Cloaked villagers walk quickly along the road,
carefully avoiding eye contact with anyone as they move between any mounts
being ridden here.
The elderly, white-haired woman walks here, smiling as she looks around.
A glossy, black-scaled inix has arrived from the north.

Kank Yard [EW]
   This large yard is bordered to the north and south by a number of large
warehouses and crafting halls. The area here is thick with red dust; the
vast tarpaulins that shelter most of the village do not provide as much
cover over the large open area here. Several dozen kanks, war beetles, and
other beasts of burden mill about in pens and stalls partitioned by styrax
wood fences.
   Travelers from afar walk around the pens, examining and purchasing
mounts to suit their requirements. A detachment of village militia keeps a
vigilant watch over proceedings.
The burly, brown-bearded man stands here, shouting out prices for mounts.
A glossy, black-scaled inix has arrived from the west.

Sparse sands blow across your path.
Village Stables [W]
   The stables here are built from stout planks of pale grey styrax wood,
carefully fashioned so that the area here is minimally exposed to the harsh
elements outside. Several pens and stalls are partitioned off around the
interior of this building, providing shelter for several mounts. A small
detachment of village militia keeps watch over the area here.
The black dwarven soldier stands here impassively, watching.
The robust, one-eyed soldier is here, keeping watch over the area.
The dusty, grey-haired half-elf stands here, looking over the mounts.
A glossy, black-scaled inix has arrived from the west.

You store a glossy, black-scaled inix in the stables.
The dusty, grey-haired half-elf says, in sirihish:
     "Here is your ticket. It'll be 20 coins to retrieve it when you return."

You put your worn leather ticket into your leather swordbelt.

You think:
     "Should give that to Boss Oban. He might like it."

Kank Yard [EW]
   This large yard is bordered to the north and south by a number of large
warehouses and crafting halls. The area here is thick with red dust; the
vast tarpaulins that shelter most of the village do not provide as much
cover over the large open area here. Several dozen kanks, war beetles, and
other beasts of burden mill about in pens and stalls partitioned by styrax
wood fences.
   Travelers from afar walk around the pens, examining and purchasing
mounts to suit their requirements. A detachment of village militia keeps a
vigilant watch over proceedings.
The burly, brown-bearded man stands here, shouting out prices for mounts.

Sparse sands blow across your path.
Fury's Road [NESW]
   This broad rock road runs from north to south through the heart of Red
Storm Village. It follows the slope of a valley, dipping to its lowest near
the center of the village, and appears to have been smoothed with years of
passage by wagons and passersby alike. Small streets lead off to the east
and west, sloping upwards as they do so. Vast beige tarpaulins suspended
from styrax beams reach out from the buildings on either side of the road,
providing some degree of shelter from the fierce winds.
   A large fenced yard lies to the east, and several kanks and other types
of mounts and beasts of burden are visible inside it. To the west lies a
vast, flat yard, and the road bears evidence of frequent wagon travel to
and from that direction. Cloaked villagers walk quickly along the road,
carefully avoiding eye contact with anyone as they move between any mounts
being ridden here.
The elderly, white-haired woman walks here, smiling as she looks around.

You are carrying:
a dusty bone-handled, obsidian hawkblade
a dusty obsidian-edged grey sword
the body of the wiry, grey-tan mul
the body of a large black beetle

You think:
     "Mul has lots of nice things. I should get them for Oban."

..Krok goes through the body, collecting items of that might be of value for "Boss Oban" and shoves them into the chest.

Scratching his cheek, you ask, in sirihish:
     "What should I do with him, then?"

Kuraci Barracks [E Quit Save]
   This medium-sized room has polished, dark brown wooden walls on three
sides and a grey stone wall on the fourth side. A few high, narrow windows
are set in the stone wall, letting in some sunlight. Some empty brackets
along the stone wall show where torches could be set at night to provide
light to the area. The room is fairly sparse, with cots arranged in neat
rows being the main type of furniture present. To the east, the room opens
up into a small hall.
The body of the wiry, grey-tan mul lies crumpled on the floor.
The body of a large black beetle lies crumpled on the floor.
The body of an insect-like scrab lies crumpled on the floor.
A tregil-carved wooden chest sits here.
A green footlocker sits at the foot of the bed.
A large bone-framed painting hangs near the weapon rack and armor crate.
A red footlocker sits at the foot of the bed.
A small chart detailing caravan status is here, set onto a wall.
A massive baobab strongbox rests in one corner here.
A simple wooden chest are here, stacked up together.
A purple footlocker sits at the foot of the bed.
A skull-carved wooden chest sits here.
A narrow-eyed, bald half-elf sits on a cot.

You think:
     "When Pops died I put dirt on him. Maybe I should put dirt on him?"

You pick up the body of the wiry, grey-tan mul.
It is light, and empty.

The immense, jet-striped half-giant hefts your body of the wiry, grey-tan mul upwards, tossing the corpse over a shoulder.

..Krok leaves the Kuraci barracks, corpse in tow, intent on burying the body.

Sparse sands blow across your path.
Fury's Road [NESW]
   This broad rock road runs from north to south through the heart of Red
Storm Village. It follows the slope of a valley, dipping to its lowest near
the center of the village, and appears to have been smoothed with years of
passage by wagons and passersby alike. Small streets lead off to the east
and west, sloping upwards as they do so. Vast beige tarpaulins suspended
from styrax beams reach out from the buildings on either side of the road,
providing some degree of shelter from the fierce winds.
   A large fenced yard lies to the east, and several kanks and other types
of mounts and beasts of burden are visible inside it. To the west lies a
vast, flat yard, and the road bears evidence of frequent wagon travel to
and from that direction. Cloaked villagers walk quickly along the road,
carefully avoiding eye contact with anyone as they move between any mounts
being ridden here.
A silt-colored kank stands here, carrying the tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak on his back.
The elderly, white-haired woman walks here, smiling as she looks around.

The tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak looks up at you.

The brown-haired, weathered woman has arrived from the east.

Waving cheerfully, you exclaim to the tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak, in sirihish:
     "Hi!"

Fury's Road [NESW]
   This broad rock road runs from north to south through the heart of Red
Storm Village. It follows the slope of a valley, dipping to its lowest near
the center of the village, and appears to have been smoothed with years of
passage by wagons and passersby alike. Small streets lead off to the east
and west, sloping upwards as they do so. Vast beige tarpaulins suspended
from styrax beams reach out from the buildings on either side of the road,
providing some degree of shelter from the fierce winds.
   A large fenced yard lies to the east, and several kanks and other types
of mounts and beasts of burden are visible inside it. To the west lies a
vast, flat yard, and the road bears evidence of frequent wagon travel to
and from that direction. Cloaked villagers walk quickly along the road,
carefully avoiding eye contact with anyone as they move between any mounts
being ridden here.
The brown-haired, weathered woman is standing here.
A silt-colored kank stands here, carrying the tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak on his back.
The elderly, white-haired woman walks here, smiling as she looks around.

You are carrying:
the body of the wiry, grey-tan mul

The tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak asks you, in tribal-accented sirihish:
     "Hello there, Did you come in from the sands my friend?"

Glancing up with wide eyes, the brown-haired, weathered woman looks up at you.

The tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak looks at the brown-haired, weathered woman.

Nodding emphatically, you say to the tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak, in sirihish:
     "Yep! About to go back and put dirt on him."

The immense, jet-striped half-giant shifts your body of the wiry, grey-tan mul atop his shoulder.

The tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak says to you, in tribal-accented sirihish:
     "Can you take me with you, he was a close friend of mine."

The tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak says to you, in tribal-accented sirihish:
     "I want to help."

Pointing northwards, nodding sharply, you ask the tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak, in sirihish:
     "Okay. I think they close the gates when it gets dark - We can wait until morning?"

You are carrying:
the body of the wiry, grey-tan mul

It is dusk on Nekrete, the 71st day of the Ascending Sun,
In the Year of Lirathu's Defiance, year 33 of the 21st Age.

The brown-haired, weathered woman picks a way around you, giving you a wide berth.

The brown-haired, weathered woman walks south.

Nodding, the tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak says to you, in tribal-accented sirihish:
     "That will be fine, I got his call for help when I was way up in Tuluk, I see I'm far too late."

Frowning deeply, you ask the tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak, in sirihish:
     "Oh no. I think a beetle might have ate parts of him.. What was his name?"

The tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak asks you, in tribal-accented sirihish:
     "Was his sword with him? Ah it was Kemen, He had a family, you can take what you need its the way of the sands, but was there anything lefT?"

You think:
     "Hmmm.. Oban says he gets stuff I get from the sands.."

The brown-haired, weathered woman has arrived from the west.

You think:
     "I better not tell him everything."

The tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak sighs, slumping heavily in his saddle.

Glancing up as she walks past, the brown-haired, weathered woman looks at the tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak.

After a moment, nodding, you say to the tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak, in sirihish:
     "Yep! He had a sword and a Whira-cover.. I put them in the comp-pound."

The tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak asks you, in tribal-accented sirihish:
     "Compound?"

Nodding sharply, you ask the tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak, in sirihish:
     "The Cure-ack comp-pound. Want me to get it for you?"

Nodding, the tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak says to you, in tribal-accented sirihish:
     "Yes please, I need to return those to his family and adopted son. I got to give them the bad news."

Cheerfully, beaming a bright smile, you exclaim to the tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak, in sirihish:
     "Okay! Stay here!"

The tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak says to you, in tribal-accented sirihish:
     "I will."

..Krok heads back to the "comp-pound" and fetches the weapons and cloak, leaving the other items behind for his boss. Tricky giant!

Hefting your body of the wiry, grey-tan mul upwards, resting it upon a massive shoulder, you say to the tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak, in sirihish:
     "Found them! Right where I left them."

You are carrying:
a dusty hooded, brown sandcloth windcloak
a dusty bone-handled, obsidian hawkblade
a dusty curved, yellowed bone longsword
the body of the wiry, grey-tan mul

The tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak looks up from slumping in his saddle with a faint smile to you.

The tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak says to you, in tribal-accented sirihish:
     "That's good."

Passing over a pair of swords, you give your dusty bone-handled, obsidian hawkblade to the tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak.

Passing over a pair of swords, you give your dusty curved, yellowed bone longsword to the tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak.

Holding your dusty hooded, brown sandcloth windcloak aloft, you ask the tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak, in sirihish:
     "And his Whira-cover. You want that too?"

The tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak takes the offered swords with reverance, moving them towards his bone-studded backpack.

The tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak says to you, in tribal-accented sirihish:
     "Yes please, anything you didn't need for yourself."

The tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak puts his dusty curved, yellowed bone longsword into his bone-studded backpack.

Passing over your dusty hooded, brown sandcloth windcloak, frowning, you say to the tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak, in sirihish:
     "Not much carried. This was all I found."

The tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak nods.

The tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak says to you, in tribal-accented sirihish:
     "He wasn't a rich person."

Passing over a wadded batch of brown sandcloth, you give your dusty hooded, brown sandcloth windcloak to the tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak.

The tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak nods and folds his dusty hooded, brown sandcloth windcloak, sliding it along the swords into his bone-studded backpack.

The tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak puts his dusty hooded, brown sandcloth windcloak into his bone-studded backpack.

The tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak looks up at you.

The tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak asks you, in tribal-accented sirihish:
     "You are with Kurac?"

Holding your body of the wiry, grey-tan mul aloft by an arm, you say to the tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak, in sirihish:
     "Pops is dead, too."

The tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak winces and frowns nodding sadly towards you.

Nodding, smiling brightly, you say to the tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak, in sirihish:
     "Yep! I work for Oban - He tells me to clear the road. Clear to the rock!"

The tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak says to you, in tribal-accented sirihish:
     "Ah, a coincidence, Just this week I was up in Tuluk to try and join with Kurac, then My friend called me."

Slumping again in his saddle, the tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak says to you, in tribal-accented sirihish:
     "I was too late."

After a moment's pause, you ask the tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak, in sirihish:
     "I was gonna throw dirt on him near the shit-sea. You think we should throw it on him somewhere else?"

Curiously, you look down at the tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak.
This slight wiry man stands before you, his skin a dark tan and pulled
tight across his frame, slight muscles can be seen rippling beneath the
surface. Wild savage brown hair falls from his head to about his chin.
Pale purple eyes peer out from under a thin browline. His sharp angled face
a mess of tiny scars. Though broad shouldered he is not massive, his torso
tapering off to a lean waist, from which long lean legs support this man.
The tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak is in excellent condition.

The tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak is using:
<worn on head>           a dusty chitin-plated leather helmet
<worn around neck>       an used dusty dark leather collar
<worn across back>       a dusty double-layered sandcloth pack
<worn on arms>           an used pair of dark leather sleeves
<worn around body>       a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak
<worn on legs>           an used pair of dark leather leggings
<worn on feet>           an used dusty pair of chitin-plated leather boots

He is carrying:
nothing obvious

Shaking his head, the tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak asks you, in tribal-accented sirihish:
     "No, he always wanted to be thrown into the sea, I knew I could never do that, but maybe you could?"

Chewing on his bottom lip, you say to the tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak, in sirihish:
     "Maybe. I start to fall into Ruk if I walk too far. Pops said the sea will take whatever sits on the shore."

Nodding, the tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak says to you, in tribal-accented sirihish:
     "I don't want to risk your life, We can bury him."

The tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak looks at the brown-haired, weathered woman.

Brow furrowed with intense concentration, you exclaim to the tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak, in sirihish:
     "We can.. bury him -near- the shit sea! I won't sink into Ruk, and the sea will take him!"

With beaming satisfaction, you ask the tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak, in sirihish:
     "That way he'll be happy in Drov! Think?"

The tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak says to you, in tribal-accented sirihish:
     "Alright, though he was part of a tribe as well, He was a strange mul, I need one more thing from him before we can bury him. I need to take his head back to his tribe, so they can turn it into a grave marker for him."

The tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak says to you, in tribal-accented sirihish:
     "I hope so, I know he was too young for this though."

Nodding slowly, you ask the tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak, in sirihish:
     "Okay. You want to cut?"

The immense, jet-striped half-giant holds your body of the wiry, grey-tan mul before himself, the corpse dangling from a held arm.

Nodding with a frown, the tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak says to you, in tribal-accented sirihish:
     "Alright."

The tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak swings his legs to the side and dismounts.

You drop the body of the wiry, grey-tan mul. Shown to the room as:
The body of the wiry, grey-tan mul lies crumped in a heap on the dusty road.

Fury's Road [NESW]
   This broad rock road runs from north to south through the heart of Red
Storm Village. It follows the slope of a valley, dipping to its lowest near
the center of the village, and appears to have been smoothed with years of
passage by wagons and passersby alike. Small streets lead off to the east
and west, sloping upwards as they do so. Vast beige tarpaulins suspended
from styrax beams reach out from the buildings on either side of the road,
providing some degree of shelter from the fierce winds.
   A large fenced yard lies to the east, and several kanks and other types
of mounts and beasts of burden are visible inside it. To the west lies a
vast, flat yard, and the road bears evidence of frequent wagon travel to
and from that direction.
The body of the wiry, grey-tan mul lies crumped in a heap on the dusty road.
A silt-colored kank stands here clacking its pincers.
The tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak is standing here.
The elderly, white-haired woman walks here, smiling as she looks around.

The immense, jet-striped half-giant crouches near the body of the wiry, grey-tan mul, watching the tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak curiously.

As he steps over towards body, the tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak says, in an unfamiliar tongue:
     "xau yye eulq moun al lbay niiw wuiyqn."

A silt-colored kank rubs its mandibles together.

Lips pursed thoughtfully, the immense, jet-striped half-giant watches the tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak with piqued interest.

The tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak crouches down taking his dusty bone-handled, obsidian hawkblade from his bone-studded backpack, lifting it above his head, with a stifled sniffle he brings his dusty bone-handled, obsidian hawkblade down.

The tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak brandishes his dusty bone-handled, obsidian hawkblade.

The tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak removes the head from the body of the wiry, grey-tan mul.

Fury's Road [NESW]
   This broad rock road runs from north to south through the heart of Red
Storm Village. It follows the slope of a valley, dipping to its lowest near
the center of the village, and appears to have been smoothed with years of
passage by wagons and passersby alike. Small streets lead off to the east
and west, sloping upwards as they do so. Vast beige tarpaulins suspended
from styrax beams reach out from the buildings on either side of the road,
providing some degree of shelter from the fierce winds.
   A large fenced yard lies to the east, and several kanks and other types
of mounts and beasts of burden are visible inside it. To the west lies a
vast, flat yard, and the road bears evidence of frequent wagon travel to
and from that direction.
The head of the wiry, grey-tan mul lies here.
The headless body of the wiry, grey-tan mul lies crumped in a heap on the dusty road.
A silt-colored kank stands here clacking its pincers.
The tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak is standing here.
The elderly, white-haired woman walks here, smiling as she looks around.

The tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak picks up the head of the wiry, grey-tan mul.

The tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak frowns tears spilling down his cheeks briefly as he holds his head of the wiry, grey-tan mul.

The immense, jet-striped half-giant flinches slightly at the moment of decapitation.

The tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak stops using his dusty bone-handled, obsidian hawkblade.

It is before dawn on Waleuk, the 72nd day of the Ascending Sun,
In the Year of Lirathu's Defiance, year 33 of the 21st Age.

The immense, jet-striped half-giant bends, scooping up the headless body of the wiry, grey-tan mul in both arms.

You pick up the headless body of the wiry, grey-tan mul.
It is light, and empty.

Standing he wipes his tears, composing himself, the tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak says, in an unfamiliar tongue:
     "rst aowemm runu."

His face softening with empathy, you say to the tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak, in sirihish:
     "Sorry over your friend. "

Nodding briefly, the tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak asks you, in tribal-accented sirihish:
     "Its alright, how many others know he is dead?"

Shrugging mildly, you say to the tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak, in sirihish:
     "Don't know. I saw feet in Ruk around his body, so maybe someone."

Nodding, the tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak says to you, in tribal-accented sirihish:
     "Alright, lets not tell anyone, its not their way."

Frowning as he looks down at his head of the wiry, grey-tan mul, closing the eyes on it, the tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak says to you, in tribal-accented sirihish:
     "It's a damn shame."

The tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak puts his head of the wiry, grey-tan mul into his bone-studded backpack.

Sparing a glance to your headless body of the wiry, grey-tan mul, dipping his head, you say to the tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak, in sirihish:
     "Okay. I can keep silences."

Smiling faintly with another nod, the tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak says to you, in tribal-accented sirihish:
     "I may have just met you but you're a good friend Krok. Now we just need to wait for dawn."

The giant crimson sun rises in the east.
The red moon, Jihae, moves with ponderous grace from the sky, setting.
The white moon, Lirathu, moves with slow grace from the sky, as it sets.

Lifting his jutted chin upwards, peering at the brightening sky, you say, in sirihish:
     "There he is."

You are carrying:
the headless body of the wiry, grey-tan mul

The tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak nods.

The immense, jet-striped half-giant settles your headless body of the wiry, grey-tan mul on his shoulder, beckoning to the tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak.

The tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak falls in behind you.

..heading towards the sea

Over a shoulder, you say to the tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak, in sirihish:
     "Might need to get stabbers and thumpers. Pissy things out here."

You unsling a bloodied massive, spiked club from your back.
The tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak brandishes his dusty bone-handled, obsidian hawkblade.

Sea's Edge [NESW]
   The wind sweeps around this sandy shore, marking the beginning of the
Sea of Eternal Dust. A vast expanse of silt spreads outward. The dust from
the sea rises up into the air with the slightest breeze, caking whatever it
lands on with a thin layer. Only a tiny amount of light from the darkened
sky pierces the thick clouds of dust hanging in the air. The sand shifts
and moves easily, and would obviously be difficult, if not perilous, to walk
on.
   To the south, a wooden dock is barely visible through the continually
swirling haze.
The tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak has arrived from the north.
A silt-colored kank has arrived from the north.

Pausing, you say to the tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak, in sirihish:
     "I think here is good, yeah? Throw dirt and shit on him, Ruk will take him into the sea."

The immense, jet-striped half-giant shifts uneasily, his feet sinking into the soft ground.

Nodding solemly, the tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak says to you, in tribal-accented sirihish:
     "Looks good, lets make it fast though, we don't need Ruk taking more then what we offer."

The immense, jet-striped half-giant nods, shifting your headless body of the wiry, grey-tan mul off his shoulder.

You drop the headless body of the wiry, grey-tan mul, which is swallowed up by the silt.
The headless body of the wiry, grey-tan mul lies crumpled here.

Sea's Edge [NESW]
   The wind sweeps around this sandy shore, marking the beginning of the
Sea of Eternal Dust. A vast expanse of silt spreads outward. The dust from
the sea rises up into the air with the slightest breeze, caking whatever it
lands on with a thin layer. Only a tiny amount of light from the darkened
sky pierces the thick clouds of dust hanging in the air. The sand shifts
and moves easily, and would obviously be difficult, if not perilous, to walk
on.
   To the south, a wooden dock is barely visible through the continually
swirling haze.
The headless body of the wiry, grey-tan mul lies crumpled here.
A silt-colored kank stands here clacking its pincers.
The tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak is standing here.

The immense, jet-striped half-giant crouches, gathering up two massive handfuls of mixed sand and silt.

The immense, jet-striped half-giant tosses a few handfuls of sand onto the headless body of the wiry, grey-tan mul.

The tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak crouches down scooping up sand with his dusty bone-handled, obsidian hawkblade to move it over the headless body of the wiry, grey-tan mul.

You arrange the headless body of the wiry, grey-tan mul.
Shown to the room as:
The headless body of the wiry, grey-tan mul lies crumpled here, half buried in sand.

The tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak says, in an unfamiliar tongue:
     "muoe oqesumn yw moo qumc eo leojy mooivo."

The immense, jet-striped half-giant shoves a pile of sand onto the headless body of the wiry, grey-tan mul, covering the legs.

Sea's Edge [NESW]
   The wind sweeps around this sandy shore, marking the beginning of the
Sea of Eternal Dust. A vast expanse of silt spreads outward. The dust from
the sea rises up into the air with the slightest breeze, caking whatever it
lands on with a thin layer. Only a tiny amount of light from the darkened
sky pierces the thick clouds of dust hanging in the air. The sand shifts
and moves easily, and would obviously be difficult, if not perilous, to walk
on.
   To the south, a wooden dock is barely visible through the continually
swirling haze.
The headless body of the wiry, grey-tan mul lies crumpled here, half buried in sand.
A silt-colored kank stands here clacking its pincers.
The tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak is standing here.

The tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak leans back down using his dusty bone-handled, obsidian hawkblade to settle more sand over the headless body of the wiry, grey-tan mul.

You arrange the headless body of the wiry, grey-tan mul.
Shown to the room as:
The headless body of the wiry, grey-tan mul lies crumpled here, buried nearly entirely in the sands.

Sea's Edge [NESW]
   The wind sweeps around this sandy shore, marking the beginning of the
Sea of Eternal Dust. A vast expanse of silt spreads outward. The dust from
the sea rises up into the air with the slightest breeze, caking whatever it
lands on with a thin layer. Only a tiny amount of light from the darkened
sky pierces the thick clouds of dust hanging in the air. The sand shifts
and moves easily, and would obviously be difficult, if not perilous, to walk
on.
   To the south, a wooden dock is barely visible through the continually
swirling haze.
The headless body of the wiry, grey-tan mul lies crumpled here, buried nearly entirely in the sands.
A silt-colored kank stands here clacking its pincers.
The tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak is standing here.

Straightening up, brushing dust and sand from his hands, you say to the tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak, in sirihish:
     "Ruk should take him into the sea."

Sea's Edge [NESW]
   The wind sweeps around this sandy shore, marking the beginning of the
Sea of Eternal Dust. A vast expanse of silt spreads outward. The dust from
the sea rises up into the air with the slightest breeze, caking whatever it
lands on with a thin layer. Only a tiny amount of light from the darkened
sky pierces the thick clouds of dust hanging in the air. The sand shifts
and moves easily, and would obviously be difficult, if not perilous, to walk
on.
   To the south, a wooden dock is barely visible through the continually
swirling haze.
The headless body of the wiry, grey-tan mul lies crumpled here, buried nearly entirely in the sands.
A silt-colored kank stands here clacking its pincers.
The tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak is standing here.

The tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak nods slowly, watching the wind drift the sand over the headless body of the wiry, grey-tan mul.

The tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak jumps up onto a silt-colored kank's back.

Sea's Edge [NESW]
   The wind sweeps around this sandy shore, marking the beginning of the
Sea of Eternal Dust. A vast expanse of silt spreads outward. The dust from
the sea rises up into the air with the slightest breeze, caking whatever it
lands on with a thin layer. Only a tiny amount of light from the darkened
sky pierces the thick clouds of dust hanging in the air. The sand shifts
and moves easily, and would obviously be difficult, if not perilous, to walk
on.
   To the south, a wooden dock is barely visible through the continually
swirling haze.
The headless body of the wiry, grey-tan mul lies crumpled here, buried nearly entirely in the sands.
A silt-colored kank stands here, carrying the tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak on his back.

The tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak says to you, in tribal-accented sirihish:
     "Thank you friend, lets get back to town before a storm breaks out or the sea feels like taking us."

You nod to him.

..the pair head back to town.

The immense, jet-striped half-giant pauses, turning to the tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak.

The tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak clicks once towards a silt-colored kank looking towards you.

Palming his clean-shaven head, you say to the tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak, in sirihish:
     "Krok is tired and sad for your friend."

Lifting his chin, deep brown eyes glittering, you say to the tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak, in sirihish:
     "I hope the sea finds him."

A silt-colored kank makes a bleating noise and moves its head from side to side.

Nodding, the tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak says to you, in tribal-accented sirihish:
     "And my journey is still not at an end, I have to go to his tribe and family to deliever his swords and the news. My name is Rychque if you ever need anything friend."

Jaw agape for a moment, you ask the tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak, in sirihish:
     "Rych.. k.. what?"

Chuckling softly, the tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak says to you, in tribal-accented sirihish:
     "Ah, Slip will do fine then."

Beaming a brightl smile, you say to the tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak, in sirihish:
     "Slip. Easy to say."

Waving to the tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak, you exclaim, in sirihish:
     "Bye Slip! Luck of the spice!"

Waving, the tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak says to you, in tribal-accented sirihish:
     "Shade to you friend."

A silt-colored kank walks north, carrying the tiny and gaunt figure in a dusty rock-grey, hooded sandcloth greatcloak on his back.

You sling a bloodied massive, spiked club across your back.

You think:
     "Did a good thing, and kept some things for Master Oban."

The immense, jet-striped half-giant glances at a tregil-carved wooden chest surreptitiously, grinning.

You think:
     "For Oban."

Slumping against the wall, wrappings his arms around his legs, you sit down and rest your tired bones.

Come back soon!

Our hero, Krok, is going about business as usual - clearing the road from Red Storm to Allanak of pesky scrabs and beetles. Another normal day, until..

Windy Plains [NESW]
   A strong wind out of the south is the prevailing force on these plains,
and it has left its mark. The ground here is...
Continue Reading...
Grudge Match by Laurajlmars
Added on Jul 22, 2007

A Borsail noble, canny of the growing animosity between his two girly, girly aides, pits them against one another in the Wyvern's sparring ring.

The Grey Room [S Save]
   The black-mortared stone walls of this spacious room have been covered
in thick tapestries of serene grey. Upon each tapestry, a simple crimson
outline of the Borsail wyvern design looks out over the room. On the cool
obsidian floor several wooden benches have been arranged around a raised
platform. A simple weapons rack stands between two cloth-stuffed dummies in
the northern corner and a row of wooden footlockers lines the southern wall.
The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man is standing here.
The sleek, sun-kissed young woman is standing here.
A sand-filled sparring dummy is standing here, rigid and unmoving.

A sand-filled sparring dummy swings to and fro on its rope.

The slim, milk-skinned redhead looks up at a sand-filled sparring dummy sadly.

Sauntering into the expansive chamber, the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man says, in sirihish:
     "Ah, here we are."

The sleek, sun-kissed young woman flinches slightly as she nears a sand-filled sparring dummy, eyes darting to follow the movement for a moment, as if briefly hypnotised.

Pulling your fine, wide-brimmed hat from her head and loosening her bangles on her wrist, you say to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man, in sirihish:
     "So we are, my Lord."

This young, human woman appears to be in her late teens, with a slender
build and shapely limbs. Her hair, which waxes towards a bright auburn hue
of burnished red, is most often swept neatly in a thick pile atop her crown
with some ornamental device or another. When free, it slinks in sleek
tousles, falling halfway down her back. Thick bangs sweep sidelong over her
high forehead, brushing the tops of her wide-set, dark blue eyes. Skin the
creamy, pale color of milk graces her sleight build, its surface even and
unscarred by wind, sun, or any other hardship. A faint bridge of freckles
marks her high cheekbones and straight nose, beneath which sits an
expressive mouth.
The slim, milk-skinned redhead is in excellent condition.

<worn on head>           a fine, wide-brimmed hat
<worn in hair>           an elaborate wooden comb
<worn in left ear>       an earring of glittering black glass
<worn in right ear>      an earring of glittering black glass
<worn around neck>       a grey silk, sapphire-set choker
<worn around wrist>      a blackened moonstone-set ceramic bangle
<worn around wrist>      a blackened moonstone-set ceramic bangle
<worn around body>       a hooded, crimson linen aba
<worn on legs>           a crimson and grey striped skirt
<worn on right ankle>    a leather and chitin strap-sheath
<worn on left ankle>     a small leather pouch
<worn on feet>           a pair of snug knee-high boots

You stop using your fine, wide-brimmed hat.

The slim, milk-skinned redhead rakes her hands through her bangs, exposing a brief bruise on her forehead before the locks flop back over it.

You think:
     "Great! The second time in as many days that I get beat up."

You feel irritated.

The sleek, sun-kissed young woman blinks a few times, her focus returning to the room at large, hands moving uncertainly to touch against various trinkets of her attire.

You stop using your blackened moonstone-set ceramic bangle.

You stop using your blackened moonstone-set ceramic bangle.

The sleek, sun-kissed young woman stops using her ruby-studded obsidian circlet.

The sleek, sun-kissed young woman stops using her polished, opal-inset charm.

Clasping gloved hands behind his back, the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man says, in sirihish:
     "Now I know you'll both fight fairly and decently. This is just to see which one of you can best the other, old-fashioned style. Easy on the scratching - no bruises.."

Yanking it off with almost betrayed annoyance, the sleek, sun-kissed young woman stops using her thin, amethyst-studded white collar.

You think:
     "Yeah, I bet it is."

The sleek, sun-kissed young woman stops using her sapphire and amethyst stud.

The sleek, sun-kissed young woman stops using her etched, agafari flute case.

The sleek, sun-kissed young woman puts her etched, agafari flute case into her double-layered sandcloth pack.

The sleek, sun-kissed young woman puts her ruby-studded obsidian circlet into her double-layered sandcloth pack.

The sleek, sun-kissed young woman puts her thin, amethyst-studded white collar into her double-layered sandcloth pack.

The sleek, sun-kissed young woman closes a double-layered sandcloth pack.

The slim, milk-skinned redhead considers your fine, wide-brimmed hat for a moment, then tucks it back on her head, piling her upward-sweeping hair beneath it - presumably to avoid giving the sleek, sun-kissed young woman something to grab.

You place your fine, wide-brimmed hat on your head.

Dumping it down before turning back into the room, the sleek, sun-kissed young woman puts her double-layered sandcloth pack onto a long wooden bench, eyes flitting nervously over you as she prepares.

You put your earring of glittering black glass into your hooded, crimson linen aba.

You put your earring of glittering black glass into your hooded, crimson linen aba.

You put your blackened moonstone-set ceramic bangle into your hooded, crimson linen aba.

You put your blackened moonstone-set ceramic bangle into your hooded, crimson linen aba.

Shrugging out of it irritably, you stop using your hooded, crimson linen aba.

Draping it over a relatively clean area, the whip coiled along her thigh exposed, you put your hooded, crimson linen aba onto a long wooden bench.

You stop using your leather belt-pack.

You put your leather belt-pack onto a long wooden bench.

Frowning slightly as she watches you, the sleek, sun-kissed young woman stops using her hooded, crimson linen aba, a hand then moving nervously in attempt to gather up the tumbling locks of hair without success.

Giving up on it after all, for it does obscure visibility quite a lot, and simply tightening the hold that your elaborate wooden comb has on her hair, you stop using your fine, wide-brimmed hat.

You think:
     "Oh, whatever. If she pulls it she pulls it."

You put your fine, wide-brimmed hat onto a long wooden bench.

Stepping briskly to the ring on booted heels, you say to the sleek, sun-kissed young woman, in sirihish:
     "Right."

Swinging to and fro on her toes, you say to the sleek, sun-kissed young woman, in sirihish:
     "Let's just get this over with."

You look up at the sleek, sun-kissed young woman.
As distinguishable as a lavish songbird amongst the city streets, this
young woman's features are overflowing with exuberant colors. Hair, the
colour of obsidian; sleek ebony touched with streaks and taints of Jihae red
and resplendent gold, is scraped back, taut across her skull, in an
intricate, knotted weave. At her nape the mane falls loose in a flourish of
locks, the chiffon tufts cascading over her narrow back and shoulders with
the fluidity of a soft waterfall. Her body is endowed with the gentle
blossoming of early woman-hood: a narrow frame daintily fleshed by modest
chest and hips. Complimenting her build, elegantly supple limbs, the result
of a comfortable lifestyle with only a little physical exertion, lend to her
graceful stance. Her whole countenance is completed with gossamer,
sun-kissed skin which, combined with her rose-blushed high cheek-bones and
delicately chiseled chin, leaves her in semblance of a tanned, porcelain
doll. Full lips lie beneath a slender nose, the natural pink enhanced by
sienna inks and decorated with a thin sheen of oil to leave them with a
wholesome shine. Notably wide eyes are lined heavily with kohl and framed
by a lavish curtain of thick, onyx lashes, the opalescent cerulean of her
gaze penetrating through the the shadowy veil with ease and flawlessly
matched by a liberal sleep of cobalt across her lids.
The sleek, sun-kissed young woman is in excellent condition.

The sleek, sun-kissed young woman is using:
<worn about throat>      a translucent scarf of crimson muslin
<worn across back>       a leather backpack
<worn on torso>          a crimson-embroidered, grey linen vest
<worn as belt>           a bone-buckled red leather belt
<hung from belt>         a topaz-pommeled ivory dagger
<worn on legs>           a crimson and grey striped skirt
<worn on feet>           a pair of calf-high, crimson leather boots

She is carrying:
nothing obvious

Turning weakly to face you, the sleek, sun-kissed young woman asks you, in sirihish:
     "Right. How do we start this then?"

Raising a hand to her throat, you say to the sleek, sun-kissed young woman, in sirihish:
     "Oh wait."

The sleek, sun-kissed young woman looks down at you.

The slim, milk-skinned redhead hurries back over to the bench, removing your grey silk, sapphire-set choker.

You stop using your grey silk, sapphire-set choker.

Glaring at a quartet of wyverns ogling her, you put your grey silk, sapphire-set choker onto a long wooden bench, atop her pile of belongings.

Calling out from his stance, hands behind his back, the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man says to the sleek, sun-kissed young woman, in sirihish:
     "Like you would if you were defending yourself in a real life situation."

The slim, milk-skinned redhead steps back up into the ring, brushing her hands down her skirt.

Feeling fussy and irritated, you think:
     "I can't believe this!"

The sleek, sun-kissed young woman winces vaguely, lifting her hands before her in a weakly protective gesture.

The slim, milk-skinned redhead eyes the sleek, sun-kissed young woman from across the ring, one foot shifting forward uncertainly.

The slim, milk-skinned redhead slinks towards the sleek, sun-kissed young woman, and takes the role of the aggressor in this make-believe.

You stop watching the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man.
You hit the sleek, sun-kissed young woman, barely grazing her wrist.
You hit the sleek, sun-kissed young woman, barely grazing her body.

The sleek, sun-kissed young woman hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
The sleek, sun-kissed young woman hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.

The sleek, sun-kissed young woman hits you, barely grazing your body.
The sleek, sun-kissed young woman hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.

The sleek, sun-kissed young woman hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
The sleek, sun-kissed young woman hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.

The sleek, sun-kissed young woman hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
The sleek, sun-kissed young woman hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.

The slim, milk-skinned redhead darts backwards after the initial attack, the sleek, sun-kissed young woman's fists swiping empty air.

You nick the sleek, sun-kissed young woman's neck with your hit.
You hit the sleek, sun-kissed young woman, barely grazing her arm.

The sleek, sun-kissed young woman sways slightly on her feet, her clumsy steps and movements causing her to stumble somewhat.

The sleek, sun-kissed young woman hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
The sleek, sun-kissed young woman hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.

The sleek, sun-kissed young woman hits you, barely grazing your body.
The sleek, sun-kissed young woman hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.

The sleek, sun-kissed young woman swiftly dodges your hit.
You lunge at the sleek, sun-kissed young woman, but your blow is deftly deflected by a crimson and grey striped skirt.

You hit the sleek, sun-kissed young woman, barely grazing her body.
The sleek, sun-kissed young woman swiftly dodges your hit.

You hit the sleek, sun-kissed young woman, barely grazing her body.
The sleek, sun-kissed young woman swiftly dodges your hit.

The sleek, sun-kissed young woman hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
The sleek, sun-kissed young woman hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.

The slim, milk-skinned redhead comes back in, fists grazing against the sleek, sun-kissed young woman's shoulder, coming in for a full-body tackle against her.

The sleek, sun-kissed young woman swiftly dodges your hit.
The sleek, sun-kissed young woman swiftly dodges your hit.

You hit the sleek, sun-kissed young woman, barely grazing her body.
The sleek, sun-kissed young woman swiftly dodges your hit.

You hit the sleek, sun-kissed young woman, barely grazing her wrist.
You hit the sleek, sun-kissed young woman, barely grazing her leg.

You hit the sleek, sun-kissed young woman, barely grazing her neck.
The sleek, sun-kissed young woman reels from the blow.
The sleek, sun-kissed young woman swiftly dodges your hit.

The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man intakes the pair of combatants before him with wide and interested eyes.

The sleek, sun-kissed young woman swiftly dodges your hit.
The sleek, sun-kissed young woman swiftly dodges your hit.

The sleek, sun-kissed young woman swiftly dodges your hit.
You hit the sleek, sun-kissed young woman, barely grazing her body.

You stop attacking the sleek, sun-kissed young woman!

The sleek, sun-kissed young woman hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
The sleek, sun-kissed young woman hits you, barely grazing your body.

The sleek, sun-kissed young woman hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
The sleek, sun-kissed young woman hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.

The sleek, sun-kissed young woman stops attacking you.

The slim, milk-skinned redhead backs up quickly, holding up her hands defensively.

The slim, milk-skinned redhead touches the side of her neck gingerly, and eyes the sleek, sun-kissed young woman with mild concern underlaying her annoyance, before looking over at the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man with pleading expectancy.

The sleek, sun-kissed young woman leans forwards, a hand planting down on her slightly bents knees as she catches her breath, a directed breath blowing a lock of stray hair from across her features.

Shaking his head bemusedly, the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man asks, in sirihish:
    "You two both fight with such grace and speed, it was hard to follow. Do.. do we have a winner?"

Between her huffs of breath, the sleek, sun-kissed young woman says to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man, in sirihish:
    "Well, she backed down first."

Shifting from booted foot to booted foot, her hair coming half undone, you say to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man, in sirihish:
    "I was afraid I would hurt her, my Lord."

Her features holding another expression besides tiredness, the sleek, sun-kissed young woman looks down at you.

The slim, milk-skinned redhead attemps to pile her hair back on her head and fails miserably.

Straightening up, her panting almost returning to normal breaths, the sleek, sun-kissed young woman says to you, in sirihish:
    "I can worry about myself, Sathis."

Waving his finger negatively in the air with a smile, the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man says, in sirihish:
    "I won't declare a winner till one of you steps from the ring in defeat."

You feel a spark of rage kindling beneath the resigned irritation.

A muscle in her jaw twitching as she looks sharply over at the sleek, sun-kissed young woman, you say to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man, in sirihish:
    "As you wish, my Lord."

With a decisive motion, the slim, milk-skinned redhead yanks your elaborate wooden comb from her hair, twines the thick mass in a tight pile atop her head, and stabs the comb back in to hold it in place.

You subdue the sleek, sun-kissed young woman.

Advancing quickly, the slim, milk-skinned redhead hoists the sleek, sun-kissed young woman up in her arms, and chucks her off the platform, pushing her from the ring.

You release the sleek, sun-kissed young woman, and roughly shove her south.

The sleek, sun-kissed young woman has arrived from the south.

Mulishly, crossing her arms, you say to the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man, in sirihish:
    "There."

Barging back towards you, the sleek, sun-kissed young woman says to you, in sirihish:
    "That was not leaving in defeat, it doesn't count."

Whirling back to meet her, you exclaim to the sleek, sun-kissed young woman, in sirihish:
    "Right! Bring it on!"

The sleek, sun-kissed young woman hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
The sleek, sun-kissed young woman hits you, barely grazing your waist.

The sleek, sun-kissed young woman swiftly dodges your hit.
The sleek, sun-kissed young woman swiftly dodges your hit.

The sleek, sun-kissed young woman swiftly dodges your hit.
The sleek, sun-kissed young woman swiftly dodges your hit.

The sleek, sun-kissed young woman swiftly dodges your hit.
You hit the sleek, sun-kissed young woman, barely grazing her body.

You hit the sleek, sun-kissed young woman, barely grazing her leg.
The sleek, sun-kissed young woman swiftly dodges your hit.

Your blow bounces off the sleek, sun-kissed young woman's tough skin.
Your attack on the sleek, sun-kissed young woman is absorbed by a crimson-embroidered, grey linen vest.

You hit the sleek, sun-kissed young woman, barely grazing her leg.
The sleek, sun-kissed young woman swiftly dodges your hit.

The sleek, sun-kissed young woman hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
The sleek, sun-kissed young woman hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.

The slim, milk-skinned redhead grapples with the sleek, sun-kissed young woman determinedly, grabbing her upper arms and pulling down.

The sleek, sun-kissed young woman hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
The sleek, sun-kissed young woman hits you, barely grazing your arm.

Your blow bounces off the sleek, sun-kissed young woman's tough skin.
The sleek, sun-kissed young woman swiftly dodges your hit.

You viciously leap toward the sleek, sun-kissed young woman, but a crimson-embroidered, grey linen vest gets in the way.
The sleek, sun-kissed young woman swiftly dodges your hit.

You hit the sleek, sun-kissed young woman, barely grazing her leg.
You nick the sleek, sun-kissed young woman's neck with your hit.

You hit the sleek, sun-kissed young woman, barely grazing her body.
You hit the sleek, sun-kissed young woman, barely grazing her body.

The sleek, sun-kissed young woman hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
The sleek, sun-kissed young woman hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.

You hit the sleek, sun-kissed young woman, barely grazing her body.
You hit the sleek, sun-kissed young woman, barely grazing her body.
The sleek, sun-kissed young woman reels from the blow.

The sleek, sun-kissed young woman hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
The sleek, sun-kissed young woman hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.

You hit the sleek, sun-kissed young woman, barely grazing her neck.
The sleek, sun-kissed young woman reels from the blow.
The sleek, sun-kissed young woman swiftly dodges your hit.

The sleek, sun-kissed young woman hits you, barely grazing your head.
You reel from the blow.
The sleek, sun-kissed young woman viciously leaps toward you, but a pair of snug knee-high boots gets in the way.

The sleek, sun-kissed young woman swiftly dodges your hit.
The sleek, sun-kissed young woman swiftly dodges your hit.

You hit the sleek, sun-kissed young woman, barely grazing her body.
The sleek, sun-kissed young woman swiftly dodges your hit.

Your blow bounces off the sleek, sun-kissed young woman's tough skin.
The sleek, sun-kissed young woman swiftly dodges your hit.

The sleek, sun-kissed young woman hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
The sleek, sun-kissed young woman hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
You hit the sleek, sun-kissed young woman, barely grazing her body.
The sleek, sun-kissed young woman swiftly dodges your hit.

The sleek, sun-kissed young woman swiftly dodges your hit.
The sleek, sun-kissed young woman swiftly dodges your hit.

The slim, milk-skinned redhead tackles the sleek, sun-kissed young woman enthusiastically, nails raking against her skin.

The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man stoops his neck forward, intaking the combatants before him.

The sleek, sun-kissed young woman swiftly dodges your hit.
Your blow bounces off the sleek, sun-kissed young woman's tough skin.

The sleek, sun-kissed young woman hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
The sleek, sun-kissed young woman hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.

The sleek, sun-kissed young woman swiftly dodges your hit.
The sleek, sun-kissed young woman swiftly dodges your hit.

The sleek, sun-kissed young woman teeters slightly on her feet, hands flailing weakly towards you, fingers making a grasp for you hair.

The sleek, sun-kissed young woman hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
The sleek, sun-kissed young woman hits you, barely grazing your wrist.

You hit the sleek, sun-kissed young woman, barely grazing her body.
The sleek, sun-kissed young woman's eyes roll back in her head.
The sleek, sun-kissed young woman crumples to the ground.
You nick the sleek, sun-kissed young woman's head with your hit.

You notice the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man glance your way.

The Grey Room [S Save]
   The black-mortared stone walls of this spacious room have been covered
in thick tapestries of serene grey. Upon each tapestry, a simple crimson
outline of the Borsail wyvern design looks out over the room. On the cool
obsidian floor several wooden benches have been arranged around a raised
platform. A simple weapons rack stands between two cloth-stuffed dummies in
the northern corner and a row of wooden footlockers lines the southern wall.
The sleek, sun-kissed young woman is sleeping here, bleeding lightly.
The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man stands here, hands clasped behind his back.
A sand-filled sparring dummy is standing here, rigid and unmoving.

The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man says to you, in sirihish:
     "Enough."

The slim, milk-skinned redhead pants tensely in the ring after knocking the sleek, sun-kissed young woman flat on her back, standing with hair undone again and scratch marks on her arms.

The chiseled, mercurial-tressed man paces across the floor in his slippers, nearing the sleek, sun-kissed young woman.

Over the sleek, sun-kissed young woman's unconscious body, the chiseled, mercurial-tressed man asks you, in sirihish:
     "I knew you'd win, you've been practicing. Have you got any reviving salts?"

The Grey Room [S Save]
   The black-mortared stone walls of this spacious room have been covered
in thick tapestries of serene grey. Upon each tapestry, a simple crimson
outline of the Borsail wyvern design looks out over the room. On the cool
obsidian floor several wooden benches have been...
Continue Reading...
A Bardish Prankster Takes on Kurac by Ourla
Added on Jun 24, 2007

A bardess of the Poets Circle plays an elaborate prank on the Kuracis who have hired her to entertain at their party. Never underestimate an Elkinhym.

"The Tembo's Tooth" - Tavern [EWD Quit]
Smooth, sanded cylini planks have been laid across the floor of this
cramped room, their polished surface flickering in the lights of the candles.
Dark stains splatter the wooden floor at odd intervals, disrupting the
otherwise smooth contour of the wood with slight warps and bends. A curved
bar, formed from what appears to have once been highly polished agafari wood
extends from the northern wall. Spaced around it are several bare, ascetic
wooden barstools. A sturdy trapdoor has been set in the floor behind the
bar. Several rows of shelves have been inset into the wall behind the bar
and contain a variety of local ales and liquor. Willowy, vine-like plants
drape from rounded clay bowls, the gloss of their leaves reflecting the dim
light of the candles spaced around the room. Rows of booths line the
northern and southern walls while the center of the room is occupied by
two rounded tables.
A few bleached wooden casks are here.
A couple of wooden casks are here.
A couple of dull wooden casks are here.
The Tuluk bulletin board is here propped up on a stand.
The dirty, hair-covered half-giant is standing here.
The tan, choppy-haired man is standing here.
The tall, scarred human is sitting at a curved, agafari bar.
The tall, crop-haired human is standing here.
The adult human male stands near a cold eyed woman.
The robust, head-shaven man stands patiently behind the bar.
The onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man is sitting at a curved, agafari bar.
The shaven, pinch-faced soldier scowls as he patrols the streets here.
The brutally-scarred, crimson-haired Jihaen templar is sitting at a compact agafari table.
The fuzzy, red-streaked pup is here on a leash tied to the bar.
The stocky, clean-shaven man is standing here.
The coffee-tressed young woman is sitting at a curved, agafari bar.
The inky-curled female half-giant towers near the bar here.
The cold eyed woman is standing here, looking a bit winded.
- she is carrying a plain bag of cloth.
The long-limbed blue-eyed man is standing here.
The spiral-tressed, bronzed woman stands here, attentively watching the area.
The wasp-waisted brunette woman is sitting at a compact agafari table.
The lanky, jade-eyed youth lounges at the bar.
The ancient, tremulous man sits at a far table, chatting to some youngsters.
Leaning against one wall, a curly-haired man keeps an eye on the tavern.
The black-bearded, heavyset man leans against the bar, frowning.
Sitting at a booth, the rangy, iron-haired woman converses with some hunters.
The toned, ruby-red half-giant sits cross-legged beside the bar.

score
You are Tsenna, of many people. (type 'tribes' to see your tribes).
Keywords: spiral-scarred black woman tsen
Sdesc: the spiral-scarred black woman
Objective: Become an archer supreme.
Long Description:
Code Generated Long Description.
You are 25 years, 1 months, and 199 days old,
which by your race and appearance is adult.
You are 66 inches tall, and weigh 6 ten-stone.
Your strength is below average, your agility is good,
your wisdom is average, and your endurance is good.
You are a little hungry and not thirsty.
You are semi-intoxicated.
Your health is 104(104), you have 114(114) stamina, and 97(97) stun.

You have been playing for 13 days and 18 hours.
You are sitting on a bare, wooden barstool, at a curved, agafari bar.
You are currently speaking sirihish with a northern accent.

Nodding to the ethereal, fair-haired woman as she begins to pick a spirited, whimsical tune on your light-stained cunyati lute, you say, in sirihish:
"May I present 'Roll Your Leg Over,' composed by Tsenna of Elkinhym as a commentary on the young men of Tuluk. "

Grinning broadly to the ethereal, fair-haired woman, you ask, in sirihish:
"May I introduce my ravishing accompaniest, Aja?"

The ethereal, fair-haired woman stands away from a curved, agafari bar as she brushes a thumb over the strings of her instrument.

The ethereal, fair-haired woman holds her light-stained cunyati lute.

The ethereal, fair-haired woman walks with careful, practiced steps to the opposite side of the room from you.

At your table, the stocky, clean-shaven man says in sirihish:
"Oh, this sounds good already."

Nodding, the chubby, brown-haired man says to the stocky, clean-shaven man, in sirihish:
"It is good...perfect for a Kuraci party."

Her low-pitched voice husky, her good eye twinkling at the stocky, clean-shaven man, you sing, in sirihish:
"If all the young laddies were locks on a gate,
Then I'd be the key to insert and rotate."

Her tone coy as she glances at the ethereal, fair-haired woman, grinning, you sing, in sirihish:
"I wish all the laddies were pies on a shelf,
And I was the baker: I'd eat 'em myself."

You sing, in sirihish:
"If all the young laddies were Firestorm's flame,
We'd wake up come morning with no one to blame."

The ethereal, fair-haired woman taps a foot against her chair, fingers giving a percussive snap against her strings as she plays.

The easygoing notes drizzling through the conversation in the room, you sing, in sirihish:
"If all the young laddies were kank beasts so fine,
Then I'd mount with a quickness, they all would be mine."

The strings ringing under your light-gauge bone pick, you sing, in sirihish:
"If all the young laddies were belshun fruits sweet,
Then I'd suck out their juices and chew on their meat."

Glancing out the eastern doors as she shifts chords for the chorus, you sing, in sirihish:
"Roll your leg over, and roll your leg over
And roll your leg over, its better that way."

Shrugging with a cheeky grin, you sing, in sirihish:
"If all the young laddies were musical notes,
Then I'd be the fiddler and I'd play em by rote."

At your table, the stocky, clean-shaven man says in sirihish, quietly:
"I could get the hang of this.. think there'll be an audience participation segment?"

A tiny, sly smirk to the stocky, clean-shaven man quirking the corners of her full lips, you sing, in sirihish:
"If all the young laddies were carru in clover,
Then I'd ram and I'd ram and I'd ram em all over."

The ethereal, fair-haired woman gives a laugh, fingers racing over the strings, dancing about to your singing.

Bringing a hand to her mouth, the wasp-waisted brunette woman laughs softly as she watches you.

At a compact agafari table, you overhear the brutally-scarred, crimson-haired Jihaen templar say in sirihish, with an amused snort:
"Carru."

You sing, in sirihish:
"If all the young laddies were winds on the lea,
Then I'd be the grasses and let them blow me."

The sinewy, weather-worn man burts into laughter as he chews another bite from his half eaten large stuffed and fried gourd blossom and begins to choke.

Her dark fingers dancing over your light-stained cunyati lute's strings, in a sage tone, you sing, in sirihish:
"I wish all the young laddies were pipes in the yard,
After I drained 'em, they'd still remain hard."

The sinewy, weather-worn man somehow manages to continue laughing as he gives several hard coughs, sending partially chewed food all over the bar before him.

The tall, scarred human lets out an uproarous laugh.

At your table, the chubby, brown-haired man says in sirihish:
"That's still the best line..."

Taking a deep breath with a grin to the chubby, brown-haired man and the stocky, clean-shaven man, you sing, in sirihish:
"Roll your leg over, and roll your leg over,
And roll your leg over, its better that way."

With you eyes on her lute, the ethereal, fair-haired woman sings, in sirihish:
"And roll your leg over, and roll your leg over
And roll your leg over, it's better that way."

The spiral-scarred black woman laughs, winking to the ethereal, fair-haired woman across the room.

A hint of coyness in her low, throaty voice as she plays, you sing, in sirihish:
"If laddies were sundials in shiny stone cases,
Then I'd be the hand and I'd sit on their faces."

With a laugh, the tall, crop-haired human says to the stocky, clean-shaven man, in sirihish:
"This...now this is a song."

At your table, the tall, scarred human says in sirihish, chuckling again:
"This -is- definitely a song..."

Flicking a smile to the tall, crop-haired human, you sing, in sirihish:
"If all the young laddies were cooks in the kitchen,
They'd taste my tidbits and then quit their bitchin'."

Winking broadly to the sleek, black-haired woman as the notes of your light-stained cunyati lute bleed into those of the ethereal, fair-haired woman's instrument, you sing, in sirihish:
"If all the young laddies were needles and pins,
Then I'd be cushion to hold their pricks in."

At your table, the chubby, brown-haired man says in sirihish:
"I'm going to cry...krath..."

Glancing warily at the fuzzy, red-streaked pup, her good eye twinkling, you sing, in sirihish:
"If all the young laddies were young 'toks full grown,
Then I'd be the ground where they bury their bone."

With a quick, high interlude, the ethereal, fair-haired woman says to you, in sirihish:
"Kill 'em all, Tsen, and there's no pay for us..."

The lute's rich notes purling forth as she nods knowingly, you sing, in sirihish:
"If all the young laddies were singing this song,
It'd be over too quick and it'd be half as long."

Calling out, you exclaim, in sirihish:
"Everyone!"

You sing, in sirihish:
"Roll your leg over, and roll your leg over,
And roll your leg over, its better that way!"

In fragile, riotous harmony, the ethereal, fair-haired woman sings, in sirihish:
"Roll your leg over, and roll your leg over
And roll your leg over, it's better that way."

The chubby, brown-haired man adds his voice to the line, raising his red-striped granite tankard.

The tall, crop-haired human joins in the singing of the chorus.

In a terrible voice, the adult human male sings, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Ehmm....roll the leg over?"

Pounding her red-striped granite tankard lightly on a compact agafari table, the wasp-waisted brunette woman sings, in sirihish:
"Roll your leg over, and roll your leg over,
And roll your leg over, its better that way!"

The sleek, black-haired woman claps, singing along loudly.

At a compact agafari table, you overhear the wasp-waisted brunette woman say in sirihish, looking back to the brutally-scarred, crimson-haired Jihaen templar with a wave of her hand toward you:
"And -that- is why I'm throwing a humor competition."

At your table, the chubby, brown-haired man says in sirihish, to the stocky, clean-shaven man:
"Now you know why I wanted her to sing it."

The stocky, clean-shaven man says to the tall, crop-haired human, in sirihish:
"I think we should bring this one down to Luir's with us."

The stocky, clean-shaven man nods firmly at the chubby, brown-haired man.

The tall, crop-haired human grins and nods to the stocky, clean-shaven man.

At your table, the coffee-tressed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish:
"She could teach that bard in the Barrel a thing or two."

The sinewy, weather-worn man leans his head down onto his arm as it rests on the bartop with his entire body shaking with laughter.

With a laugh, you stand up from a curved, agafari bar.

The spiral-scarred black woman legs a fancy half-bow from the waist, grinning mischeviously and daintily extending an ankle.

The ethereal, fair-haired woman jumps on her chair, finishing her last note.

The sinewy, weather-worn man calls out with chorus in a loud roar and slams his fist against the bartop.

Gesturing to you, the chubby, brown-haired man says, in sirihish:
"Throw her coins...throw her coins..."

At a curved, agafari bar, you overhear the coffee-tressed young woman say in southern-accented sirihish, setting her red-striped granite tankard down and clapping:
"Kind of makes me wish I could sing."

Makes his way towards you handing over a pile of a coins, the stocky, crooked-nose man says to you, in sirihish:
"I am glad I did not miss that, that song is now one of my favorites. "

[Time passes, games are played, and drinks are drunk. After a while, people begin to trickle home for the night.]

"The Tembo's Tooth" - Tavern [EWD Quit]
Smooth, sanded cylini planks have been laid across the floor of this
cramped room, their polished surface flickering in the lights of the candles.
Dark stains splatter the wooden floor at odd intervals, disrupting the
otherwise smooth contour of the wood with slight warps and bends. A curved
bar, formed from what appears to have once been highly polished agafari wood
extends from the northern wall. Spaced around it are several bare, ascetic
wooden barstools. A sturdy trapdoor has been set in the floor behind the
bar. Several rows of shelves have been inset into the wall behind the bar
and contain a variety of local ales and liquor. Willowy, vine-like plants
drape from rounded clay bowls, the gloss of their leaves reflecting the dim
light of the candles spaced around the room. Rows of booths line the
northern and southern walls while the center of the room is occupied by
two rounded tables.
A tiny tower of glazed ceramic pieces sits here.
A few bleached wooden casks are here.
A couple of wooden casks are here.
A couple of dull wooden casks are here.
The Tuluk bulletin board is here propped up on a stand.
The long-braided white haired man next to a a scarred templar.
The robust, head-shaven man stands patiently behind the bar.
The slender, pitch-haired young man is sitting at a curved, agafari bar.
The stocky, crooked-nose man is standing here.
The chubby, brown-haired man is sitting at a curved, agafari bar.
The sinewy, weather-worn man is sitting at a curved, agafari bar.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman leans against a curved, agafari bar.
The tall, scarred human is sitting at a curved, agafari bar.
The fuzzy, red-streaked pup is here on a leash tied to the bar.
The stocky, clean-shaven man is sitting at a curved, agafari bar.
The coffee-tressed young woman is sitting at a curved, agafari bar.
The inky-curled female half-giant towers near the bar here.
The lanky, jade-eyed youth lounges at the bar.
The ancient, tremulous man sits at a far table, chatting to some youngsters.
Leaning against one wall, a curly-haired man keeps an eye on the tavern.
The black-bearded, heavyset man leans against the bar, frowning.
Sitting at a booth, the rangy, iron-haired woman converses with some hunters.
The toned, ruby-red half-giant sits cross-legged beside the bar.

The chubby, brown-haired man says to the stocky, clean-shaven man, in sirihish:
"Well, Cousin. I'm going to stagger on back."

With a grin, the chubby, brown-haired man asks the stocky, clean-shaven man, in sirihish:
"Clean up, hmm?"

l me
This human female's skin is such a dark shade of brown as to be almost
black, wrapping her lanky curves like a burnished horta fruit. Her rounded
face is cupped on either side by low, broad cheekbones and a strong jaw; the
baobab-purple lips are plump on her slightly overbitten mouth. Below the
highly arched brows, her one good eye is of the deepest gold hue, the other
missing, replaced by a shallow pit of pocked tissue. Thin lines of
scarification radiate in a tight spiral from the socket across the left side
of her face. Her rangy body, while medium in height, is well-muscled and
fit with long, nimble hands and slim hips. Thick, smooth black dreadlocks
fall in regal columns over her slim shoulders, small rings of bone and agate
visible among them.
The spiral-scarred black woman is in excellent condition.

a baobab leaf
an empty left eyesocket
a milky-white linen scarf
a tattoo of three orange triangles
a long, durrit-hide sack
a bold, floral-patterned sarong
a flowing pair of garnet-hued sleeves
a wood-clasped charm bracelet
a wood-clasped charm bracelet
a tattoo of a six-pronged star
a tattooed spray of graceful white blossoms
a chunky, topaz-set bone ring
an earthy leather pouched belt
a blossom-clasped brown belt-pouch
a flowing black-silk dancing skirt
a pair of tied brown leather sandals

The ethereal, fair-haired woman brushes a few strands of hair out of her face with one hand.

Raising a brow, you say to the chubby, brown-haired man, in sirihish:
"Oh, Brethel, I had a question to ask you."

The chubby, brown-haired man nods to you.

The stocky, clean-shaven man says to the chubby, brown-haired man, in sirihish:
"Sure... before you do... a guy from Storm might contact you, I was talking to him."

Grinning, the chubby, brown-haired man says to the stocky, clean-shaven man, in sirihish:
"Hopefully not tonight...I won't understand him."

The ethereal, fair-haired woman finishes her tankard with a toss of her head.

Leaning over, you say to the chubby, brown-haired man, in sirihish:
"Have you ever heard the old nursery rhyme about Simple Sager? I loved it as a child."

Shaking his head, the chubby, brown-haired man says to you, in sirihish:
"Never have."

As she stands, you say to the chubby, brown-haired man, in sirihish:
"I simply must take just the shortest amount of your time. I'll be swift."

You stand up from a curved, agafari bar.

The chubby, brown-haired man listens to you.

Folding her hands with exaggerated primness under her breasts, you recite, in sirihish:
"Simple Sager met a baker going to the Ivory;
Said Simple Sager to the baker "Come on now, step lively.""

With a nimble little caper, winking to the chubby, brown-haired man, you recite, in sirihish:
"Said the baker to Simple Sager "Why is it you care?"
Said Simple Sager to the baker "I want to steal your wares!""

Miming an overhand throw, you recite, in sirihish:
"Simple Sager went a-runnin' for to catch a pie;
The baker saw him coming, and let his sweet goods fly."

The chubby, brown-haired man watches you with amusement.

You recite, in sirihish:
"Simple Sager sat there dripping, licking off the ginka;
"Free pie's nicer than stolen ones any day, I think-a.""

With a blithe smile on her round-boned face, you recite, in sirihish:
"He went to bake some of his own and threw them at the crowd;
They carried off poor Simple Sager, wrapped up in a shroud."

open sack
Ok.

You get your handful of flour from your long, durrit-hide sack.
It is very light.

The spiral-scarred black woman pats her cheeks with your handful of flour, reaching back into the sack for a crisp linen apron. She ties it around her waist.

The chubby, brown-haired man says, in sirihish:
"Oh oh..."

As she hunkers low behind the inky-curled female half-giant, you get your juicy, lightly-brown ginka pie from your long, durrit-hide sack.
It is very light.

Stepping back, the chubby, brown-haired man says, in sirihish:
"Krath..."

Launching it through the air in a lazy arc toward the chubby, brown-haired man, you drop your juicy, lightly-brown ginka pie, turning on her toes to dash off with a laugh.
Shown to the room as:
A juicy, lightly-brown ginka pie is here lays in a crumbled heap here.

As she ducks behind a compact agafari table, you exclaim to the chubby, brown-haired man, in sirihish:
"Arright, you can go!"

The chubby, brown-haired man takes the pie full in the face.

Peeping around the room, you get your juicy, lightly-brown ginka pie from your long, durrit-hide sack.
It is very light.

Begins to reach for the tower, the slender, pitch-haired young man's hand hovers an inch away, attention clearly drawn elsewhere as he watches the pie sail.

The ethereal, fair-haired woman laughs, shaking as she looks down at you.

The stocky, clean-shaven man turns and glances at the chubby, brown-haired man, laughing wildly.

At a compact agafari table, you overhear the stocky, crooked-nose man say in sirihish, smileing back with a knock on the table:
"First time I've sat all through the party, and just glad nothing happen and nothing does, there has been enough excitement tonight"

Pegging it nimbly at the stocky, clean-shaven man, you drop your juicy, lightly-brown ginka pie, her good eye twinkling gold in the lamplight.
Shown to the room as:
A juicy, lightly-brown ginka pie lays in a spattered mess on the floor.

The coffee-tressed young woman blinks, staring at the chubby, brown-haired man with wide eyes.

The slender, pitch-haired young man muffles a snicker by biting on his lower lip, looking at the chubby, brown-haired man's ginka-pie covered face.

The chubby, brown-haired man laughs, wiping the pie from his face.

The ethereal, fair-haired woman laughs hard enough to slip out of her chair, curling onto her side with amusement beside you.

The cold eyed woman chuckles.

The ethereal, fair-haired woman stands up from a compact agafari table.

The ethereal, fair-haired woman sits down.

The spiral-scarred black woman dives behind another table, peeping up briefly with her face covered in flour.

The sinewy, weather-worn man doubles over in laughter as he watches you, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

Tugging it free with a wicked chuckle, you get your juicy, lightly-brown ginka pie from your long, durrit-hide sack.
It is very light.

The stocky, clean-shaven man's laughter cuts off in a surprised 'gmmf!' as he is pied square in the face as well.

Grinning, pie dripping from his face, the chubby, brown-haired man says to the stocky, clean-shaven man, in sirihish:
"After all we did..."

The dirty, hair-covered half-giant has entered the world.

Sending it sailing across the room toward the sinewy, weather-worn man, you drop your juicy, lightly-brown ginka pie, laughing merrily.
Shown to the room as:
Dribbling down the wall, a juicy, lightly-brown ginka pie is crumbled here.

Slanting a glance at you, the slender, pitch-haired young man says to the coffee-tressed young woman, in southern-accented sirihish:
"I'd be ready to duck if I were you, she seems to have an endless supply."

Stumbling with a helpless giggle, the spiral-scarred black woman ducks behind the dirty, hair-covered half-giant.

Looking around, the stocky, clean-shaven man exclaims, in sirihish:
".. somebody give me something to throw back!"

The dirty, hair-covered half-giant walks west.

The robust, head-shaven man trades a loaf of sandhog headcheese to the stocky, clean-shaven man.

At a curved, agafari bar, you overhear the coffee-tressed young woman say in southern-accented sirihish, frowning:
"Ginka stains."

The ethereal, fair-haired woman sits up on the floor, resting her head on her knees as she laughs.

You get your juicy, lightly-brown ginka pie from your long, durrit-hide sack, snaking her arm in.
It is very light.

The stocky, clean-shaven man snatches a plate from the robust, head-shaven man, leaping off his stool.

The stocky, clean-shaven man stands up from a curved, agafari bar.

The sinewy, weather-worn man gets his pile of allanaki coins from his bone-framed, double strapped coin belt.

"The Tembo's Tooth" - Tavern [EWD Quit]
Smooth, sanded cylini planks have been laid across the floor of this
cramped room, their polished surface flickering in the lights of the candles.
Dark stains splatter the wooden floor at odd intervals, disrupting the
otherwise smooth contour of the wood with slight warps and bends. A curved
bar, formed from what appears to have once been highly polished agafari wood
extends from the northern wall. Spaced around it are several bare, ascetic
wooden barstools. A sturdy trapdoor has been set in the floor behind the
bar. Several rows of shelves have been inset into the wall behind the bar
and contain a variety of local ales and liquor. Willowy, vine-like plants
drape from rounded clay bowls, the gloss of their leaves reflecting the dim
light of the candles spaced around the room. Rows of booths line the
northern and southern walls while the center of the room is occupied by
two rounded tables.
Dribbling down the wall, a juicy, lightly-brown ginka pie is crumbled here.
A juicy, lightly-brown ginka pie lays in a spattered mess on the floor.
A juicy, lightly-brown ginka pie is here lays in a crumbled heap here.
A tiny tower of glazed ceramic pieces sits here.
A few bleached wooden casks are here.
A couple of wooden casks are here.
A couple of dull wooden casks are here.
The Tuluk bulletin board is here propped up on a stand.
The long-limbed blue-eyed man is standing here.
The adult human male stands near the cold eyed woman.
The long-braided white haired man is sitting at a compact agafari table.
The robust, head-shaven man stands patiently behind the bar.
The slender, pitch-haired young man is sitting at a curved, agafari bar.
The stocky, crooked-nose man is sitting at a compact agafari table.
The chubby, brown-haired man is standing here.
The sinewy, weather-worn man is standing here.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman is sitting here.
The tall, scarred human is sitting at a compact agafari table.
The fuzzy, red-streaked pup is here on a leash tied to the bar.
The stocky, clean-shaven man is standing here.
The coffee-tressed young woman is sitting at a curved, agafari bar.
The inky-curled female half-giant towers near the bar here.
The cold eyed woman is standing here, looking a bit winded.
- she is carrying a plain bag of cloth.
The lanky, jade-eyed youth lounges at the bar.
The ancient, tremulous man sits at a far table, chatting to some youngsters.
Leaning against one wall, a curly-haired man keeps an eye on the tavern.
The black-bearded, heavyset man leans against the bar, frowning.
Sitting at a booth, the rangy, iron-haired woman converses with some hunters.
The toned, ruby-red half-giant sits cross-legged beside the bar.

The robust, head-shaven man trades a shik-blood pudding cake to the sinewy, weather-worn man.

The chubby, brown-haired man gets his red-striped granite tankard from a curved, agafari bar.

Hand still hovering near a tower of glazed ceramic pieces, the slender, pitch-haired young man watches you.

The chubby, brown-haired man says, in sirihish:
"You throw...I'll pour."

The chubby, brown-haired man begins stalking you, moving towards a compact agafari table.

The stocky, clean-shaven man charges you, closing the distance across the room before tossing his loaf of sandhog headcheese straight at you.

With a deft underhanded toss, you drop your juicy, lightly-brown ginka pie, watching it tumble through the air toward the chubby, brown-haired man as she ducks.
Shown to the room as:
In a ruin, a juicy, lightly-brown ginka pie lays splattered on the floor.

The stocky, clean-shaven man drops a loaf of sandhog headcheese.

At a curved, agafari bar, you overhear the coffee-tressed young woman say in southern-accented sirihish, sighing:
"I may as well get out of here. I lost the game and two small, and I really don't want to end up with stains all over my clothes."

The chubby, brown-haired man turns, the pie glancing off his shoulder.

Chasing after him with his shik-blood pudding cake help before him, the sinewy, weather-worn man exclaims to the stocky, clean-shaven man, in sirihish:
"Second volley, sir!"

A moment too late, the spiral-scarred black woman shrieks as a loaf of sandhog headcheese smears across her face, laughing.

The sinewy, weather-worn man gives his shik-blood pudding cake to the stocky, clean-shaven man.

You get your juicy, lightly-brown ginka pie from your long, durrit-hide sack, as she dashes across the room.
It is very light.

The coffee-tressed young woman stands up from a curved, agafari bar.

Chucking it high in the air to the slender, pitch-haired young man, you drop your juicy, lightly-brown ginka pie.
Shown to the room as:
A juicy, lightly-brown ginka pie is here smeared on the floor by the doorway.

Keeping behind the inky-curled female half-giant, the coffee-tressed young woman hurries out into the street.

Pulling herself up with the help of the table, the ethereal, fair-haired woman stands up.

The coffee-tressed young woman walks west.
The inky-curled female half-giant walks west.

The chubby, brown-haired man catches up to you, attempting to hold you with one hand while he pours out his red-striped granite tankard.

Jumping over tables in his pursuit of you, the stocky, clean-shaven man asks, in sirihish:
"How many pies do you -have-, woman?"

You say, in sirihish:
"More than you could ever eat!"

The long-limbed blue-eyed man walks west.

The cold eyed woman walks west.

You get your slice of ginka pie from your long, durrit-hide sack, scooping it forth with a laugh.
It is very light.

Attention having bene quite fixedly on you, the slender, pitch-haired young man stands up from a curved, agafari bar, sidestepping in time to avoid the face, but getting winged on the silk-clad shoulder.

The adult human male walks west.

Chucking his shik-blood pudding cake at you, the stocky, clean-shaven man exclaims to you, in sirihish:
"Well you can eat... this!"

The stocky, clean-shaven man drops a shik-blood pudding cake.

The spiral-scarred black woman gargles, lifting her face in a sputtering attempt to swallow some of the ale gushing over her head.

The ethereal, fair-haired woman shields her face with one hand from the bits of flying pie getting scattered -everywhere-.

Grinning, the chubby, brown-haired man says to the stocky, clean-shaven man, in sirihish:
"Now is when we need the ginka sauce..."

The stocky, clean-shaven man says to the chubby, brown-haired man, in sirihish:
"Maybe we should do this at the End during the festival..."

The long-braided white haired man holds up his new large spiked wooden shield covering his head with it as cake flys all over the room.

Waving her arms helplessly, your slice of ginka pie in one hand, the spiral-scarred black woman squeezes her good eye shut as a shik-blood pudding cake joins a loaf of sandhog headcheese, mashed in her hair.

Holding onto you, the chubby, brown-haired man says, in sirihish:
"Hey...she was going to take a ride in one of the casks...help me take her to one..."

Letting it fly toward him, drops of oozy filling spraying the air, you give your slice of ginka pie to the long-braided white haired man.

Chuckling, the sinewy, weather-worn man exclaims to the stocky, clean-shaven man, in sirihish:
"Yeah, but don't announce it! The surprise is half the fun!"

The chubby, brown-haired man tries to hoist up you.

Squawking as she squirms, you exclaim to the stocky, clean-shaven man, in sirihish:
"Hey, I was just kiddin', I -swear-!"

Managing to get a hand in, you get your slice of ginka pie from your long, durrit-hide sack.
It is very light.

With an evil grin, the stocky, clean-shaven man looks down at you.

"The Tembo's Tooth" - Tavern [EWD Quit]
Smooth, sanded cylini planks have been laid across the floor of this
cramped room, their polished surface flickering in the lights of the candles.
Dark stains splatter the wooden floor at odd intervals, disrupting the
otherwise smooth contour of the wood with slight warps and bends. A curved
bar, formed from what appears to have once been highly polished agafari wood
extends from the northern wall. Spaced around it are several bare, ascetic
wooden barstools. A sturdy trapdoor has been set in the floor behind the
bar. Several rows of shelves have been inset into the wall behind the bar
and contain a variety of local ales and liquor. Willowy, vine-like plants
drape from rounded clay bowls, the gloss of their leaves reflecting the dim
light of the candles spaced around the room. Rows of booths line the
northern and southern walls while the center of the room is occupied by
two rounded tables.
A brackish-brown cake has been left here.
A loaf of sandhog headcheese is here in an appetizing splatter on the floor.
A juicy, lightly-brown ginka pie is here smeared on the floor by the doorway.
In a ruin, a juicy, lightly-brown ginka pie lays splattered on the floor.
Dribbling down the wall, a juicy, lightly-brown ginka pie is crumbled here.
A juicy, lightly-brown ginka pie lays in a spattered mess on the floor.
A juicy, lightly-brown ginka pie is here lays in a crumbled heap here.
A tiny tower of glazed ceramic pieces sits here.
A few bleached wooden casks are here.
A couple of wooden casks are here.
A couple of dull wooden casks are here.
The Tuluk bulletin board is here propped up on a stand.
The long-braided white haired man is sitting at a compact agafari table.
The robust, head-shaven man stands patiently behind the bar.
The slender, pitch-haired young man is standing here.
The stocky, crooked-nose man is sitting at a compact agafari table.
The chubby, brown-haired man is standing here.
The sinewy, weather-worn man is standing here.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman is standing here.
The tall, scarred human is sitting at a compact agafari table.
The fuzzy, red-streaked pup is here on a leash tied to the bar.
The stocky, clean-shaven man is standing here.
The lanky, jade-eyed youth lounges at the bar.
The ancient, tremulous man sits at a far table, chatting to some youngsters.
Leaning against one wall, a curly-haired man keeps an eye on the tavern.
The black-bearded, heavyset man leans against the bar, frowning.
Sitting at a booth, the rangy, iron-haired woman converses with some hunters.
The toned, ruby-red half-giant sits cross-legged beside the bar.

The long-braided white haired man grunts softly as a slice of ginka pie land straight into his new large spiked wooden shield with a frown.

The chubby, brown-haired man exclaims to the stocky, clean-shaven man, in sirihish:
"Get a full one...!"

You give your slice of ginka pie to the ethereal, fair-haired woman, throwing it over the heads of a pair of surprised merchants toward her.

The ethereal, fair-haired woman says, in sirihish:
"... We drank... 'em... dry..."

The stocky, clean-shaven man picks up a bleached wooden cask.

The spiral-scarred black woman crows triumphantly at the ethereal, fair-haired woman's words.

The long-braided white haired man keeps his new large spiked wooden shield over his head.

Chuckling as he rises to his feet, the tall, scarred human says, in sirihish:
"This could get bad..."

The tall, scarred human stands up from a compact agafari table.

The stocky, clean-shaven man grunts and retrieves his bleached wooden cask from the bar, shaking his head.

The ethereal, fair-haired woman blinks in surprise, not even noticing as a ginka pie comes flying at her head.

The stocky, clean-shaven man exclaims, in sirihish:
"Not this one!"

With a the jauntiest salute she can muster, you get your slice of ginka pie from your long, durrit-hide sack.
It is very light.

With a laugh, the chubby, brown-haired man says, in sirihish:
"Hurry up...I can't hang on much longer...good thing I learned wrestling..."

The stocky, clean-shaven man lumbers across the room, carrying his bleached wooden cask over toward you, held out in front of him as a shield.

The ethereal, fair-haired woman gulps, freezing as globs of ginka pour down her hair and into her laced lavender silk blouse.

With a neat overhand toss at the stocky, clean-shaven man, you drop your slice of ginka pie, laughing wickedly.
Shown to the room as:
A slice of ginka pie lies on the ground, uneaten.

You get your slice of ginka pie from your long, durrit-hide sack.
It is very light.

The ethereal, fair-haired woman wets her lips as she gathers up bits of pie from her body.

The stocky, clean-shaven man holds his bleached wooden cask up in defense and catches the pie full on. It explodes, sending ginka-shrapnel -everywhere-.

Carefully dabbing it on her face first, you eat your slice of ginka pie.
You are a little hungry.

The chubby, brown-haired man says, in sirihish:
"Mynkas...Nahkt...Agents need some help here...head first...three times in the spiced ginka..."

The long-braided white haired man keeps his new large spiked wooden shield over his head frowning slightly as pie is thrown about the room.

Peeling the ginka-covered one off first, then the clean one, the slender, pitch-haired young man stops using his pair of deep blue, purple-trimmed silk sleeves.

Leaning heavily against a curved, agafari bar, the ethereal, fair-haired woman asks the slender, pitch-haired young man, in sirihish:
"... Agent Mika?"

The sinewy, weather-worn man move up to the chubby, brown-haired man witha quick step and takes hold of you.

The long-braided white haired man looks up at the slender, pitch-haired young man.

The stocky, clean-shaven man pops the cork on his bleached wooden cask and lifts it, trying to pour as much as he can over you... and the chubby, brown-haired man.

Renewing her squirming efforts heartily, you exclaim to the chubby, brown-haired man, in sirihish:
"I'll get away unless you say four dunks!"

Grinning, the chubby, brown-haired man says to the stocky, clean-shaven man, in sirihish:
"Hey...not on me..."

The chubby, brown-haired man exclaims, in sirihish:
"Four!"

The tall, scarred human splutters as ginka pie and shrapnel rain over him.

The chubby, brown-haired man opens his mouth, trying to take some of the wine in his mouth.

The stocky, clean-shaven man drops a bleached wooden cask.

After tucking the sleeves away with a chuckle, the slender, pitch-haired young man asks the ethereal, fair-haired woman, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Hm?"

The ethereal, fair-haired woman takes her ginka-filled hand and rubs it over the slender, pitch-haired young man's face.

Looking his messy, stained self over, the stocky, clean-shaven man says, in sirihish:
"I should go chase down Zaea and give her a big hug."

With a wink, the chubby, brown-haired man says to the stocky, clean-shaven man, in sirihish:
"Sounds like a good plan."

The sinewy, weather-worn man stands well back from you to avoid your flailing limbs, laughing heartily all the while.

Standing a moment in shock, mouth opened to say something and face covered in pie, the slender, pitch-haired young man catches an arm around the ethereal, fair-haired woman's waist to hold her up as he begins to laugh.

The ethereal, fair-haired woman laughs, body shaking as she presses a ginka-stained face into the slender, pitch-haired young man's shoulder.

The spiral-scarred black woman struggles to her feet, brushing sheets of slimy ginka from your flowing black-silk dancing skirt.

The chubby, brown-haired man sits down to rest.

At a compact agafari table, you overhear the stocky, crooked-nose man say in sirihish, shaking his head as he looks upon all the pie everywhere:
"Glad I picked this time to sit, away from them...its more fun to watch..."

Blowing a kiss, the spiral-scarred black woman flicks bits of gooey pie at the chubby, brown-haired man, taking a deep breath.

Clapping out a steady beat with both hands, you sing, in sirihish:
"I don't believe there's anything as sweet as ginka pie,
If it be melting in your mouth or dripping down your eye."

The chubby, brown-haired man picks up whatever pie he can find and tries to put it in your face.

Gargling with a shriek of laughter as she tries to avoid the chubby, brown-haired man, you sing, in sirihish:
"Its golden-brown exterior is really quite exquisite,
Its scrumptious fruity innards beckon you to visit."

Her a face dripping mess, flicking a grin to the sinewy, weather-worn man, you sing, in sirihish:
"There's nothing in this world of ours as sweet as ginka pie,
Dip your tongue into its warmth, it always will comply."

Licking the pie away very slowly, to the chubby, brown-haired man, you sing, in sirihish:
"Wiggle it around a bit until you find a nubbin
Of ginka fruit beneath your tooth and slather it with lovin'."

With a cheeky smile around the room as she claps the rhythm, you sing, in sirihish:
"There's simply nothing in the world as sweet as ginka pie,
I hope today by sharing them I've won you to my side."

Calling out as she ducks her head and spreads her empty hands, you sing, in sirihish:
"If anyone has got a piece that they have yet to savor,
I bid you all, draw back your arms and now return the favor!"

The spiral-scarred black woman bows, squeezing her eyes shut.

Moving slowly to his feet, the chubby, brown-haired man says, in sirihish:
"Krath...we throw the best parties..."

Tilting his head side to side with a smirk, the stocky, crooked-nose man says to the long-braided white haired man, in sirihish:
"Well there is much more, plenty of people covered in ginka...and more importantly, lovely bardesses covered in ginka-sauce. "

The stocky, clean-shaven man says to the chubby, brown-haired man, in sirihish:
"I declare this one a -complete- success."

The slender, pitch-haired young man puts his knot of black, viscous spice into his leather-strapped, rich purple satchel.

Nodding in agreement, an arm still wrapped protectively around a bleached wooden cask, the tall, scarred human says, in sirihish:
"Best parties ever."

The stocky, clean-shaven man says to the chubby, brown-haired man, in sirihish:
"So now we have to top this one... and keep it going... for three weeks straight."

The stocky, clean-shaven man grins.

Raising a slice of ginka pie, you say to the stocky, crooked-nose man, in sirihish:
"I concur. To you two."

The long-braided white haired man smiles looking about pie covered people letting out a loud laugh before looking back at the stocky, crooked-nose man.

The slender, pitch-haired young man slants a smirk at the ethereal, fair-haired woman, wiping his curls back as they stick to his forehead.

The spiral-scarred black woman turns a slice of ginka pie to the chubby, brown-haired man, casually letting it slide out of her hand at him.

The long-braided white haired man looks over at you raising his new large spiked wooden shield covering most of his body.

Slipping, grinning to the long-braided white haired man, you stand up.

The chubby, brown-haired man doesn't even blink as the pie strikes him in the chest.

Her hand leaving smears on the smooth leather, you get your light brown, leather instrument case from your long, durrit-hide sack.
It is very light, and about half full.

As he pounds his fist upon the table, the stocky, crooked-nose man says to you, in sirihish:
"You get him Tsenna, leave no part uncovered. "

Glancing assessingly at the chubby, brown-haired man, you ask the stocky, clean-shaven man, in sirihish:
"No part?"

With a smile, the chubby, brown-haired man says to you, in sirihish:
"Can't get to all my parts in here though..."

The slender, pitch-haired young man says to the chubby, brown-haired man, in southern-accented sirihish:
"I wouldn't bet on it. You challenge her, she'll get you."

Turning to address the crowd, you say, in sirihish:
"In His Light, all."

The ethereal, fair-haired woman says to you, in sirihish:
"... S'a good pie."

Lifting a hand, the sinewy, weather-worn man says to you, in sirihish:
"Shade."

The spiral-scarred black woman slides and slips toward the door, pausing once to survey the chaotic room.

You think:
"Without a hitch, Tsenna, without a hitch!"

"The Tembo's Tooth" - Tavern [EWD Quit]

Smooth, sanded cylini planks have been laid across the floor of this

cramped room, their polished surface flickering in the lights of the candles.

Dark stains splatter the wooden floor at odd intervals, disrupting the

otherwise smooth contour...
Continue Reading...
Playing in the Silt by Rufus
Added on Jun 24, 2007

This log is from 8/6/2006, from one of my Silt Winds. Looking back on my younger days, I thought the roleplay in this was pretty nifty, and I'd like to show everyone else.

Sai, our 'hero' of sorts, has just come into the Silt Wind hideout from a hard day's work of Desert-Elfing and has decided to chill out.

Note: He's not really a Drovian, he just thought the robes were cool.

The figure in a set of hooded, shadow-grey robes spots a crude leather bag on the floor.

130H/95V/83T/running/standing>get 2.bag
You pick up a crude leather bag.
It is no problem, and more than half full.

130H/95V/85T/running/standing>sit (smiling)
Smiling, you sit down.

130H/95V/87T/running/sitting>l
Living Room [WU]
   Solid wooden stairs descend into this wide-open room used for eating and
lounging, a living room. A long, wooden table has been fashioned from old
scraps of wood, forming a large U in the center of the room. About the
table, inside and out, cushions and odds and ends lie about in baskets and
packs.
A small tube of rolled spice lies here on the ground.
A little book of rolling papers is left here, abandoned.
A large bag is lying here.
A crude bag made of patchwork leather pieces lies on the ground.
A dusty dusty backpack of leather lies here.
A backpack made from the hide of a jozhal is lying here.
A wooden meat rack made of agafari poles stands here.

130H/95V/87T/running/sitting>l w
West of here are Among the Bunks.
[Near]
Nothing.

130H/107V/87T/running/sitting>rest
You rest your tired bones.

130H/119V/93T/running/resting>l in bag
In a crude leather bag (carried) :
a deck of Kruth cards
a pair of yellow-stained bone dice
a stone spider
a couple of mantis gladiator figurines
a halfling gladiator figurine
a mulish gladiator figurine
a handful of grass stalks
a long, wickedly sharp fang
a stiff white feather
a grey marble cone
a stout yypr branch
a worn clay statuette of a humanoid
a partially whittled piece of wood
a scrap of parchment

...An idea has struck our happy-go-lucky, easy-going sharp-ear...

130H/119V/93T/running/resting>get cone bag
You get a grey marble cone from a crude leather bag.
It is very light.

130H/119V/93T/running/resting>drop cone ~ is here, standing upright.
You drop a grey marble cone. Shown to the room as:
A grey marble cone is here, standing upright.

130H/131V/101T/running/resting>get branch bag
You get a stout yypr branch from a crude leather bag.
It is very light.

130H/131V/105T/running/resting>l branch
This is a thick, stout branch from a yypr tree. With its pale grey bark
and nearly white wood, this hard wood is prized for its durability and
sturdiness.

130H/131V/113T/running/resting>drop branch ~ is standing next to a grey marble cone.
You drop a stout yypr branch. Shown to the room as:
A stout yypr branch is standing next to a grey marble cone.

130H/167V/117T/running/resting>l
Living Room [WU]
   Solid wooden stairs descend into this wide-open room used for eating and
lounging, a living room. A long, wooden table has been fashioned from old
scraps of wood, forming a large U in the center of the room. About the
table, inside and out, cushions and odds and ends lie about in baskets and
packs.
A stout yypr branch is standing next to a grey marble cone.
A grey marble cone is here, standing upright.
A small tube of rolled spice lies here on the ground.
A little book of rolling papers is left here, abandoned.
A large bag is lying here.
A crude bag made of patchwork leather pieces lies on the ground.
A dusty dusty backpack of leather lies here.
A backpack made from the hide of a jozhal is lying here.
A wooden meat rack made of agafari poles stands here.

130H/167V/117T/running/resting>say (quietly)Okay.. that's the gem..
Quietly, you say, in allundean:
     "Okay.. that's the gem.."

130H/167V/117T/running/resting>l in bag
In a crude leather bag (carried) :
a deck of Kruth cards
a pair of yellow-stained bone dice
a stone spider
a couple of mantis gladiator figurines
a halfling gladiator figurine
a mulish gladiator figurine
a handful of grass stalks
a long, wickedly sharp fang
a stiff white feather
a worn clay statuette of a humanoid
a partially whittled piece of wood
a scrap of parchment

130H/167V/117T/running/resting>get mantis bag
You get a mantis gladiator figurine from a crude leather bag.
It is very light.

130H/167V/117T/running/resting>drop mantis ~ is standing here, by the cone and branch.
You drop a mantis gladiator figurine. Shown to the room as:
A mantis gladiator figurine is standing here, by the cone and branch.

130H/167V/121T/running/resting>get handful bag
You get a handful of grass stalks from a crude leather bag.
It is very light.

130H/167V/121T/running/resting>l handful
These grass stalks vary in length between two and four cords. Their
color is umber and brown, rippling between the two in a pleasing, mottled
pattern.

130H/167V/125T/running/resting>drop handful ~ is a cord southwest from the cone and branch.
You drop a handful of grass stalks. Shown to the room as:
A handful of grass stalks is a cord southwest from the cone and branch.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>l
Living Room [WU]
   Solid wooden stairs descend into this wide-open room used for eating and
lounging, a living room. A long, wooden table has been fashioned from old
scraps of wood, forming a large U in the center of the room. About the
table, inside and out, cushions and odds and ends lie about in baskets and
packs.
A handful of grass stalks is a cord southwest from the cone and branch.
A mantis gladiator figurine is standing here, by the cone and branch.
A stout yypr branch is standing next to a grey marble cone.
A grey marble cone is here, standing upright.
A small tube of rolled spice lies here on the ground.
A little book of rolling papers is left here, abandoned.
A large bag is lying here.
A crude bag made of patchwork leather pieces lies on the ground.
A dusty dusty backpack of leather lies here.
A backpack made from the hide of a jozhal is lying here.
A wooden meat rack made of agafari poles stands here.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>say (adjusting ~handful)That's the valley..
Adjusting a handful of grass stalks, you say, in allundean:
     "That's the valley.."

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>l in bag
In a crude leather bag (carried) :
a deck of Kruth cards
a pair of yellow-stained bone dice
a stone spider
a mantis gladiator figurine
a halfling gladiator figurine
a mulish gladiator figurine
a long, wickedly sharp fang
a stiff white feather
a worn clay statuette of a humanoid
a partially whittled piece of wood
a scrap of parchment

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>get worn bag
You get a worn clay statuette of a humanoid from a crude leather bag.
It is very light.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>l worn
The red clay of this statuette has been worn down to the point of marring
the features of the humanoid it depicts. Small indentations exist where the
mouth or eyes once sunk into its diminutive face, an inky-black color
tainting the holes. The statuette is half a cord in height and easily
clutched in one's hand.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>drop worn ~ is standing here, by the cone and branch.
You drop a worn clay statuette of a humanoid. Shown to the room as:
A worn clay statuette of a humanoid is standing here, by the cone and branch.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>get mantis bag
You get a mantis gladiator figurine from a crude leather bag.
It is very light.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>put mantis bag
You put a mantis gladiator figurine inside a crude leather bag.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>l in bag
In a crude leather bag (carried) :
a mantis gladiator figurine
a deck of Kruth cards
a pair of yellow-stained bone dice
a stone spider
a halfling gladiator figurine
a mulish gladiator figurine
a long, wickedly sharp fang
a stiff white feather
a partially whittled piece of wood
a scrap of parchment

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>get wood bag
You get a partially whittled piece of wood from a crude leather bag.
It is very light.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>drop wood ~ is laying here, about four cords northeast of the cone and branch.
You drop a partially whittled piece of wood. Shown to the room as:
A partially whittled piece of wood is laying here, about four cords northeast of the cone and branch.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>say (shifting ~wood)The Grey..
Shifting a partially whittled piece of wood, you say, in allundean:
     "The Grey.."

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>l in bag
In a crude leather bag (carried) :
a mantis gladiator figurine
a deck of Kruth cards
a pair of yellow-stained bone dice
a stone spider
a halfling gladiator figurine
a mulish gladiator figurine
a long, wickedly sharp fang
a stiff white feather
a scrap of parchment

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>l
Living Room [WU]
   Solid wooden stairs descend into this wide-open room used for eating and
lounging, a living room. A long, wooden table has been fashioned from old
scraps of wood, forming a large U in the center of the room. About the
table, inside and out, cushions and odds and ends lie about in baskets and
packs.
A partially whittled piece of wood is laying here, about four cords northeast of the cone and branch.
A worn clay statuette of a humanoid is standing here, by the cone and branch.
A handful of grass stalks is a cord southwest from the cone and branch.
A mantis gladiator figurine is standing here, by the cone and branch.
A stout yypr branch is standing next to a grey marble cone.
A grey marble cone is here, standing upright.
A small tube of rolled spice lies here on the ground.
A little book of rolling papers is left here, abandoned.
A large bag is lying here.
A crude bag made of patchwork leather pieces lies on the ground.
A dusty dusty backpack of leather lies here.
A backpack made from the hide of a jozhal is lying here.
A wooden meat rack made of agafari poles stands here.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>get spider bag
You get a stone spider from a crude leather bag.
It is very light.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>put spider bag
You put a stone spider inside a crude leather bag.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>l in bag
In a crude leather bag (carried) :
a stone spider
a mantis gladiator figurine
a deck of Kruth cards
a pair of yellow-stained bone dice
a halfling gladiator figurine
a mulish gladiator figurine
a long, wickedly sharp fang
a stiff white feather
a scrap of parchment

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>:peers into ~bag.
The figure in a set of hooded, shadow-grey robes peers into your crude leather bag.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>get spider bag
You get a stone spider from a crude leather bag.
It is very light.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>drop spider ~ is next to the humanoid.
You drop a stone spider. Shown to the room as:
A stone spider is next to the humanoid.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>
You are a little hungry.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>say (chuckling as he sets ~spider down)That can be Kilik..
Chuckling as he sets a stone spider down, you say, in allundean:
     "That can be Kilik.."

If only Kilik was around to see what his tribe brother was doing.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>i
You are carrying:
a crude leather bag

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>get mantis bag
You get a mantis gladiator figurine from a crude leather bag.
It is very light.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>drop mantis ~ is by the other mantis figurine.
You drop a mantis gladiator figurine. Shown to the room as:
A mantis gladiator figurine is by the other mantis figurine.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>l
Living Room [WU]
   Solid wooden stairs descend into this wide-open room used for eating and
lounging, a living room. A long, wooden table has been fashioned from old
scraps of wood, forming a large U in the center of the room. About the
table, inside and out, cushions and odds and ends lie about in baskets and
packs.
A stone spider is next to the humanoid.
A partially whittled piece of wood is laying here, about four cords northeast of the cone and branch.
A worn clay statuette of a humanoid is standing here, by the cone and branch.
A handful of grass stalks is a cord southwest from the cone and branch.
A mantis gladiator figurine is by the other mantis figurine.
A mantis gladiator figurine is standing here, by the cone and branch.
A stout yypr branch is standing next to a grey marble cone.
A grey marble cone is here, standing upright.
A small tube of rolled spice lies here on the ground.
A little book of rolling papers is left here, abandoned.
A large bag is lying here.
A crude bag made of patchwork leather pieces lies on the ground.
A dusty dusty backpack of leather lies here.
A backpack made from the hide of a jozhal is lying here.
A wooden meat rack made of agafari poles stands here.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>l in bag
In a crude leather bag (carried) :
a deck of Kruth cards
a pair of yellow-stained bone dice
a halfling gladiator figurine
a mulish gladiator figurine
a long, wickedly sharp fang
a stiff white feather
a scrap of parchment

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>get halfling bag
You get a halfling gladiator figurine from a crude leather bag.
It is very light.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>drop halfling ~ is standing by the piece of wood.
You drop a halfling gladiator figurine. Shown to the room as:
A halfling gladiator figurine is standing by the piece of wood.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>l in bag
In a crude leather bag (carried) :
a deck of Kruth cards
a pair of yellow-stained bone dice
a mulish gladiator figurine
a long, wickedly sharp fang
a stiff white feather
a scrap of parchment

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>get mul bag
The bag does not contain 'mul'.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>get mulish bag
You get a mulish gladiator figurine from a crude leather bag.
It is very light.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>l mulish
This small figure is crudely carved of bone, rubbed with a reddish stain.
It depicts a snarling mul dressed in gladiatorial gear, a large club
upraised.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>l
Living Room [WU]
   Solid wooden stairs descend into this wide-open room used for eating and
lounging, a living room. A long, wooden table has been fashioned from old
scraps of wood, forming a large U in the center of the room. About the
table, inside and out, cushions and odds and ends lie about in baskets and
packs.
A halfling gladiator figurine is standing by the piece of wood.
A stone spider is next to the humanoid.
A partially whittled piece of wood is laying here, about four cords northeast of the cone and branch.
A worn clay statuette of a humanoid is standing here, by the cone and branch.
A handful of grass stalks is a cord southwest from the cone and branch.
A mantis gladiator figurine is by the other mantis figurine.
A mantis gladiator figurine is standing here, by the cone and branch.
A stout yypr branch is standing next to a grey marble cone.
A grey marble cone is here, standing upright.
A small tube of rolled spice lies here on the ground.
A little book of rolling papers is left here, abandoned.
A large bag is lying here.
A crude bag made of patchwork leather pieces lies on the ground.
A dusty dusty backpack of leather lies here.
A backpack made from the hide of a jozhal is lying here.
A wooden meat rack made of agafari poles stands here.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>l in bag
In a crude leather bag (carried) :
a deck of Kruth cards
a pair of yellow-stained bone dice
a long, wickedly sharp fang
a stiff white feather
a scrap of parchment

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>i
You are carrying:
a crude leather bag
a mulish gladiator figurine

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>drop mulish ~ is standing next to the cone and branch.
You drop a mulish gladiator figurine. Shown to the room as:
A mulish gladiator figurine is standing next to the cone and branch.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>l
Living Room [WU]
   Solid wooden stairs descend into this wide-open room used for eating and
lounging, a living room. A long, wooden table has been fashioned from old
scraps of wood, forming a large U in the center of the room. About the
table, inside and out, cushions and odds and ends lie about in baskets and
packs.
A mulish gladiator figurine is standing next to the cone and branch.
A halfling gladiator figurine is standing by the piece of wood.
A stone spider is next to the humanoid.
A partially whittled piece of wood is laying here, about four cords northeast of the cone and branch.
A worn clay statuette of a humanoid is standing here, by the cone and branch.
A handful of grass stalks is a cord southwest from the cone and branch.
A mantis gladiator figurine is by the other mantis figurine.
A mantis gladiator figurine is standing here, by the cone and branch.
A stout yypr branch is standing next to a grey marble cone.
A grey marble cone is here, standing upright.
A small tube of rolled spice lies here on the ground.
A little book of rolling papers is left here, abandoned.
A large bag is lying here.
A crude bag made of patchwork leather pieces lies on the ground.
A dusty dusty backpack of leather lies here.
A backpack made from the hide of a jozhal is lying here.
A wooden meat rack made of agafari poles stands here.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>say (holding onto ~spider)Kin-Sai, what will we do, surrounded by mantiseses?!
Holding onto a stone spider, you exclaim, in allundean:
     "Kin-Sai, what will we do, surrounded by mantiseses?!"

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>say (holding onto ~worn)We'll have to run!
Holding onto your dusty worn, carru-hide pack, you exclaim, in allundean:
     "We'll have to run!"

An obvious mis-direct in keywords, but who doesn't make those?

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>l in pack
In a dusty worn, carru-hide pack (used) :
an unlit rag-wrapped agafari torch
a mantis-shell breastplate
a couple of crumbling red tablets
an empty patched leather waterskin
a few scraps of cloth
an obsidian hide-scraper
a pile of blue leaves
a pale grey feather

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>say (moving ~spider over to a mantis)No, I can fight them!
Moving a stone spider over to a mantis, you exclaim, in allundean:
     "No, I can fight them!"

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>:smashes ~mantis onto ~spider.
The figure in a set of hooded, shadow-grey robes smashes a mantis gladiator figurine onto a stone spider.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>:hops ~spider onto ~mantis, bouncing it a few times.
The figure in a set of hooded, shadow-grey robes hops a stone spider onto a mantis gladiator figurine, bouncing it a few times.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>:twists ~mantis around, slashing into ~spider.
The figure in a set of hooded, shadow-grey robes twists a mantis gladiator figurine around, slashing into a stone spider.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>say (pulling ~mulish over to ~spider)I can help!
Pulling a mulish gladiator figurine over to a stone spider, you exclaim, in allundean:
     "I can help!"

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>:pushes ~mulish into ~mantis.
The figure in a set of hooded, shadow-grey robes pushes a mulish gladiator figurine into a mantis gladiator figurine.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>:slams ~mantis into ~mulish, sending him to the ground with a powerful bash!
The figure in a set of hooded, shadow-grey robes slams a mantis gladiator figurine into a mulish gladiator figurine, sending him to the ground with a powerful bash!

Pwnt.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>say (pulling ~spider out of the area of the cone and branch)Okay, let's run.
Pulling a stone spider out of the area of the cone and branch, you say, in allundean:
     "Okay, let's run."

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>:pushes ~spider and ~statuette a cord north of the branch and cone.
The figure in a set of hooded, shadow-grey robes pushes a stone spider and a worn clay statuette of a humanoid a cord north of the branch and cone.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>get spider
You pick up a stone spider.
It is very light.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>get statuette
You pick up a worn clay statuette of a humanoid.
It is very light.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>drop spider ~ is here, one cord north of the cone and branch
You drop a stone spider. Shown to the room as:
A stone spider is here, one cord north of the cone and branch.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>drop statuette ~ is here, one cord north of the cone and branch
You drop a worn clay statuette of a humanoid. Shown to the room as:
A worn clay statuette of a humanoid is here, one cord north of the cone and branch.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>l
Living Room [WU]
   Solid wooden stairs descend into this wide-open room used for eating and
lounging, a living room. A long, wooden table has been fashioned from old
scraps of wood, forming a large U in the center of the room. About the
table, inside and out, cushions and odds and ends lie about in baskets and
packs.
A worn clay statuette of a humanoid is here, one cord north of the cone and branch.
A stone spider is here, one cord north of the cone and branch.
A mulish gladiator figurine is standing next to the cone and branch.
A halfling gladiator figurine is standing by the piece of wood.
A partially whittled piece of wood is laying here, about four cords northeast of the cone and branch.
A handful of grass stalks is a cord southwest from the cone and branch.
A mantis gladiator figurine is by the other mantis figurine.
A mantis gladiator figurine is standing here, by the cone and branch.
A stout yypr branch is standing next to a grey marble cone.
A grey marble cone is here, standing upright.
A small tube of rolled spice lies here on the ground.
A little book of rolling papers is left here, abandoned.
A large bag is lying here.
A crude bag made of patchwork leather pieces lies on the ground.
A dusty dusty backpack of leather lies here.
A backpack made from the hide of a jozhal is lying here.
A wooden meat rack made of agafari poles stands here.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>:makes chewing noises as he piles the two mantis figurines onto ~mulish.
The figure in a set of hooded, shadow-grey robes makes chewing noises as he piles the two mantis figurines onto a mulish gladiator figurine.

Yum.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>get mulish
You pick up a mulish gladiator figurine.
It is very light.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>drop mulish ~ is laying near the cone and branch.
You drop a mulish gladiator figurine. Shown to the room as:
A mulish gladiator figurine is laying near the cone and branch.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>chang ldesc is laying here, playing with figurines.
Your new ldesc is:
The figure in a set of hooded, shadow-grey robes is laying here, playing with figurines.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>say (hopping ~spider up and down)Now where do we go?!
Hopping a stone spider up and down, you exclaim, in allundean:
     "Now where do we go?!"

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>say (grabbing onto ~statuette)We'll have to goto the Grey Forest, the mantis will never find us there!
Grabbing onto a worn clay statuette of a humanoid, you exclaim, in allundean:
     "We'll have to goto the Grey Forest, the mantis will never find us there!"

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>:pushes ~spider and ~statuette to ~wood.
The figure in a set of hooded, shadow-grey robes pushes a stone spider and a worn clay statuette of a humanoid to a partially whittled piece of wood.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>get spider
You pick up a stone spider.
It is very light.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>get statuette
You pick up a worn clay statuette of a humanoid.
It is very light.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>drop spider ~ is here, near a piece of wood.
You drop a stone spider. Shown to the room as:
A stone spider is here, near a piece of wood.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>drop statuette ~ is here, near a piece of wood.
You drop a worn clay statuette of a humanoid. Shown to the room as:
A worn clay statuette of a humanoid is here, near a piece of wood.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>l
Living Room [WU]
   Solid wooden stairs descend into this wide-open room used for eating and
lounging, a living room. A long, wooden table has been fashioned from old
scraps of wood, forming a large U in the center of the room. About the
table, inside and out, cushions and odds and ends lie about in baskets and
packs.
A worn clay statuette of a humanoid is here, near a piece of wood.
A stone spider is here, near a piece of wood.
A mulish gladiator figurine is laying near the cone and branch.
A halfling gladiator figurine is standing by the piece of wood.
A partially whittled piece of wood is laying here, about four cords northeast of the cone and branch.
A handful of grass stalks is a cord southwest from the cone and branch.
A mantis gladiator figurine is by the other mantis figurine.
A mantis gladiator figurine is standing here, by the cone and branch.
A stout yypr branch is standing next to a grey marble cone.
A grey marble cone is here, standing upright.
A small tube of rolled spice lies here on the ground.
A little book of rolling papers is left here, abandoned.
A large bag is lying here.
A crude bag made of patchwork leather pieces lies on the ground.
A dusty dusty backpack of leather lies here.
A backpack made from the hide of a jozhal is lying here.
A wooden meat rack made of agafari poles stands here.

And so our D&D-miniature-sized heroes escape the mantis clutch, only to find themselves to be dinner for another host.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>say (panting, holding onto ~statuette)Okay, I think we lost them.
Panting, holding onto a worn clay statuette of a humanoid, you say, in allundean:
     "Okay, I think we lost them."

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>say (turning ~spider around to glance southwest)Yeah.
Turning a stone spider around to glance southwest, you say, in allundean:
     "Yeah."

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>:chitters as he returns the two mantis figurines to ~handful.
The figure in a set of hooded, shadow-grey robes chitters as he returns the two mantis figurines to a handful of grass stalks.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>get mantis
You pick up a mantis gladiator figurine.
It is very light.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>get mantis
You pick up a mantis gladiator figurine.
It is very light.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>drop mantis ~ is here, standing on a handful of grass stalks.
You drop a mantis gladiator figurine. Shown to the room as:
A mantis gladiator figurine is here, standing on a handful of grass stalks.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>drop mantis ~ is here, standing on a handful of grass stalks.
You drop a mantis gladiator figurine. Shown to the room as:
A mantis gladiator figurine is here, standing on a handful of grass stalks.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>l
Living Room [WU]
   Solid wooden stairs descend into this wide-open room used for eating and
lounging, a living room. A long, wooden table has been fashioned from old
scraps of wood, forming a large U in the center of the room. About the
table, inside and out, cushions and odds and ends lie about in baskets and
packs.
A couple of mantis gladiator figurines is here, standing on a handful of grass stalks.
A worn clay statuette of a humanoid is here, near a piece of wood.
A stone spider is here, near a piece of wood.
A mulish gladiator figurine is laying near the cone and branch.
A halfling gladiator figurine is standing by the piece of wood.
A partially whittled piece of wood is laying here, about four cords northeast of the cone and branch.
A handful of grass stalks is a cord southwest from the cone and branch.
A stout yypr branch is standing next to a grey marble cone.
A grey marble cone is here, standing upright.
A small tube of rolled spice lies here on the ground.
A little book of rolling papers is left here, abandoned.
A large bag is lying here.
A crude bag made of patchwork leather pieces lies on the ground.
A dusty dusty backpack of leather lies here.
A backpack made from the hide of a jozhal is lying here.
A wooden meat rack made of agafari poles stands here.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>:quietly pulls ~halfling over to ~spider.
The figure in a set of hooded, shadow-grey robes quietly pulls a halfling gladiator figurine over to a stone spider.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>:jumps ~halfling onto ~spider.
The figure in a set of hooded, shadow-grey robes jumps a halfling gladiator figurine onto a stone spider.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>shout Aaaaaaah!
You shout in allundean:
     "Aaaaaaah!"

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>:smashes ~halfling on top of ~spider.
The figure in a set of hooded, shadow-grey robes smashes a halfling gladiator figurine on top of a stone spider.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>:quickly pushes ~spider and ~statuette away from ~halfling.
The figure in a set of hooded, shadow-grey robes quickly pushes a stone spider and a worn clay statuette of a humanoid away from a halfling gladiator figurine.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>get spider
You pick up a stone spider.
It is very light.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>get statuette
You pick up a worn clay statuette of a humanoid.
It is very light.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>drop spider ~ is here, two cords southeast of a piece of wood.
You drop a stone spider. Shown to the room as:
A stone spider is here, two cords southeast of a piece of wood.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>drop statuette ~ is here, two cords southeast of a piece of wood.
You drop a worn clay statuette of a humanoid. Shown to the room as:
A worn clay statuette of a humanoid is here, two cords southeast of a piece of wood.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>l
Living Room [WU]
   Solid wooden stairs descend into this wide-open room used for eating and
lounging, a living room. A long, wooden table has been fashioned from old
scraps of wood, forming a large U in the center of the room. About the
table, inside and out, cushions and odds and ends lie about in baskets and
packs.
A worn clay statuette of a humanoid is here, two cords southeast of a piece of wood.
A stone spider is here, two cords southeast of a piece of wood.
A couple of mantis gladiator figurines is here, standing on a handful of grass stalks.
A mulish gladiator figurine is laying near the cone and branch.
A halfling gladiator figurine is standing by the piece of wood.
A partially whittled piece of wood is laying here, about four cords northeast of the cone and branch.
A handful of grass stalks is a cord southwest from the cone and branch.
A stout yypr branch is standing next to a grey marble cone.
A grey marble cone is here, standing upright.
A small tube of rolled spice lies here on the ground.
A little book of rolling papers is left here, abandoned.
A large bag is lying here.
A crude bag made of patchwork leather pieces lies on the ground.
A dusty dusty backpack of leather lies here.
A backpack made from the hide of a jozhal is lying here.
A wooden meat rack made of agafari poles stands here.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>say (panting as he holds onto ~spider)What was that?!
Panting as he holds onto a stone spider, you exclaim, in allundean:
     "What was that?!"

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>:tips ~spider over, groaning.
The figure in a set of hooded, shadow-grey robes tips a stone spider over, groaning.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>say (turning ~statuette about)Looked like a shorty1
Turning a worn clay statuette of a humanoid about, you say, in allundean:
     "Looked like a shorty1"

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>say (turning ~statuette about)Looked like a shorty!
Turning a worn clay statuette of a humanoid about, you exclaim, in allundean:
     "Looked like a shorty!"

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>say (bouncing ~spider around)Damn shorties!
Bouncing a stone spider around, you exclaim, in allundean:
     "Damn shorties!"

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>say (holding onto ~statuette)Okay, let's goto the White Pit and get away from the shorties!
Holding onto a worn clay statuette of a humanoid, you exclaim, in allundean:
     "Okay, let's goto the White Pit and get away from the shorties!"

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>
l in bag
You are a little hungry.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>In a crude leather bag (carried) :
a deck of Kruth cards
a pair of yellow-stained bone dice
a long, wickedly sharp fang
a stiff white feather
a scrap of parchment

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>get feather bag
You get a stiff white feather from a crude leather bag.
It is very light.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>drop feather ~ is here, a cord away from a piece of wood.
You drop a stiff white feather. Shown to the room as:
A stiff white feather is here, a cord away from a piece of wood.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>say (poking at ~feather)White Pit..
Poking at your dusty stiff white feather, you say, in allundean:
     "White Pit.."

White/Ivory Pit = Tuluk, for those of you not awesome enough to know the desert lingo.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>l
Living Room [WU]
   Solid wooden stairs descend into this wide-open room used for eating and
lounging, a living room. A long, wooden table has been fashioned from old
scraps of wood, forming a large U in the center of the room. About the
table, inside and out, cushions and odds and ends lie about in baskets and
packs.
A stiff white feather is here, a cord away from a piece of wood.
A worn clay statuette of a humanoid is here, two cords southeast of a piece of wood.
A stone spider is here, two cords southeast of a piece of wood.
A couple of mantis gladiator figurines is here, standing on a handful of grass stalks.
A mulish gladiator figurine is laying near the cone and branch.
A halfling gladiator figurine is standing by the piece of wood.
A partially whittled piece of wood is laying here, about four cords northeast of the cone and branch.
A handful of grass stalks is a cord southwest from the cone and branch.
A stout yypr branch is standing next to a grey marble cone.
A grey marble cone is here, standing upright.
A small tube of rolled spice lies here on the ground.
A little book of rolling papers is left here, abandoned.
A large bag is lying here.
A crude bag made of patchwork leather pieces lies on the ground.
A dusty dusty backpack of leather lies here.
A backpack made from the hide of a jozhal is lying here.
A wooden meat rack made of agafari poles stands here.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>:slowly pushes ~spider and ~statuette to ~2.feather
The figure in a set of hooded, shadow-grey robes slowly pushes a stone spider and a worn clay statuette of a humanoid to a stiff white feather.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>get spider
You pick up a stone spider.
It is very light.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>get statuette
You pick up a worn clay statuette of a humanoid.
It is very light.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>drop spider ~ is here, next to a feather.
You drop a stone spider. Shown to the room as:
A stone spider is here, next to a feather.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>drop statuette ~ is here, next to a feather.
You drop a worn clay statuette of a humanoid. Shown to the room as:
A worn clay statuette of a humanoid is here, next to a feather.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>key clay
In the room:
1.clay - a worn clay statuette of a humanoid

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>l
Living Room [WU]
   Solid wooden stairs descend into this wide-open room used for eating and
lounging, a living room. A long, wooden table has been fashioned from old
scraps of wood, forming a large U in the center of the room. About the
table, inside and out, cushions and odds and ends lie about in baskets and
packs.
A worn clay statuette of a humanoid is here, next to a feather.
A stone spider is here, next to a feather.
A stiff white feather is here, a cord away from a piece of wood.
A couple of mantis gladiator figurines is here, standing on a handful of grass stalks.
A mulish gladiator figurine is laying near the cone and branch.
A halfling gladiator figurine is standing by the piece of wood.
A partially whittled piece of wood is laying here, about four cords northeast of the cone and branch.
A handful of grass stalks is a cord southwest from the cone and branch.
A stout yypr branch is standing next to a grey marble cone.
A grey marble cone is here, standing upright.
A small tube of rolled spice lies here on the ground.
A little book of rolling papers is left here, abandoned.
A large bag is lying here.
A crude bag made of patchwork leather pieces lies on the ground.
A dusty dusty backpack of leather lies here.
A backpack made from the hide of a jozhal is lying here.
A wooden meat rack made of agafari poles stands here.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>say (bouncing ~spider up and down)Okay, I'm going to go get some rest!
Bouncing a stone spider up and down, you exclaim, in allundean:
     "Okay, I'm going to go get some rest!"

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>say (turning ~clay around)Okay.
Turning a worn clay statuette of a humanoid around, you say, in allundean:
     "Okay."

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>l clay
The red clay of this statuette has been worn down to the point of marring
the features of the humanoid it depicts. Small indentations exist where the
mouth or eyes once sunk into its diminutive face, an inky-black color
tainting the holes. The statuette is half a cord in height and easily
clutched in one's hand.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>l in bag
In a crude leather bag (carried) :
a deck of Kruth cards
a pair of yellow-stained bone dice
a long, wickedly sharp fang
a scrap of parchment

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>get deck bag
You get a deck of Kruth cards from a crude leather bag.
It is very light.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>drop deck ~ is here, just northeast of a feather.
You drop a deck of Kruth cards. Shown to the room as:
A deck of Kruth cards is here, just northeast of a feather.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>get spider
You pick up a stone spider.
It is very light.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>:sets ~spider on top of ~deck.
The figure in a set of hooded, shadow-grey robes sets your stone spider on top of a deck of Kruth cards.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>drop spider ~ is here, sitting on a deck of cards.
You drop a stone spider. Shown to the room as:
A stone spider is here, sitting on a deck of cards.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>l
Living Room [WU]
   Solid wooden stairs descend into this wide-open room used for eating and
lounging, a living room. A long, wooden table has been fashioned from old
scraps of wood, forming a large U in the center of the room. About the
table, inside and out, cushions and odds and ends lie about in baskets and
packs.
A stone spider is here, sitting on a deck of cards.
A deck of Kruth cards is here, just northeast of a feather.
A worn clay statuette of a humanoid is here, next to a feather.
A stiff white feather is here, a cord away from a piece of wood.
A couple of mantis gladiator figurines is here, standing on a handful of grass stalks.
A mulish gladiator figurine is laying near the cone and branch.
A halfling gladiator figurine is standing by the piece of wood.
A partially whittled piece of wood is laying here, about four cords northeast of the cone and branch.
A handful of grass stalks is a cord southwest from the cone and branch.
A stout yypr branch is standing next to a grey marble cone.
A grey marble cone is here, standing upright.
A small tube of rolled spice lies here on the ground.
A little book of rolling papers is left here, abandoned.
A large bag is lying here.
A crude bag made of patchwork leather pieces lies on the ground.
A dusty dusty backpack of leather lies here.
A backpack made from the hide of a jozhal is lying here.
A wooden meat rack made of agafari poles stands here.

I'm pretty sure I meant the Kruth deck to be the Sanctuary.

Anyway.

And thus, our adventure comes to an end...

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>:sighs, examining the items upon the floor.
The figure in a set of hooded, shadow-grey robes sighs, examining the items upon the floor.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>:pokes at ~deck.
The figure in a set of hooded, shadow-grey robes pokes at a deck of Kruth cards.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>
You are a little hungry.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>say (pushing up)Hungry..
Pushing up, you say, in allundean:
     "Hungry.."

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>stand
You stop resting, and stand up.

130H/167V/129T/running/standing>:slowly steps around the figurines on the floor to reach over to ~rack.
The figure in a set of hooded, shadow-grey robes slowly steps around the figurines on the floor to reach over to the meat rack.

130H/167V/129T/running/standing>l in rack
In the meat rack (here) :
a small, tattered pouch of scrub sand
a few purple fruits
a few grey roots
a strip of dark-red meat
a bony leg of meat
a side of whitish meat
a thick, meaty steak
a slab of red-streaked beige meat
a tough slab of dark red meat
a small portion of a tough slab of dark red meat
a purple-tinted goblet
a couple of short bone sparring axes
a couple of slim wooden training axes
some racks of ribs
a few lumps of greasy fat
some hunks of red-streaked meat
a few slim wooden training daggers
a slim wooden training club

130H/167V/129T/running/standing>get strip rack
You get a strip of dark-red meat from the meat rack.
It is very light.

130H/167V/129T/running/standing>get side rack
You get a side of whitish meat from the meat rack.
It is very light.

130H/167V/129T/running/standing>i
You are carrying:
a side of whitish meat
a strip of dark-red meat
a crude leather bag

130H/167V/129T/running/standing>eat meat (chewing slowly)
Chewing slowly, you eat part of your side of whitish meat.
You are no longer hungry.

130H/167V/129T/running/standing>eat meat
You eat part of your half eaten side of whitish meat.

130H/167V/129T/running/standing>eat meat
You eat your small portion of a side of whitish meat.

130H/167V/129T/running/standing>i
You are carrying:
a strip of dark-red meat
a crude leather bag

130H/167V/129T/running/standing>l
Living Room [WU]
   Solid wooden stairs descend into this wide-open room used for eating and
lounging, a living room. A long, wooden table has been fashioned from old
scraps of wood, forming a large U in the center of the room. About the
table, inside and out, cushions and odds and ends lie about in baskets and
packs.
A stone spider is here, sitting on a deck of cards.
A deck of Kruth cards is here, just northeast of a feather.
A worn clay statuette of a humanoid is here, next to a feather.
A stiff white feather is here, a cord away from a piece of wood.
A couple of mantis gladiator figurines is here, standing on a handful of grass stalks.
A mulish gladiator figurine is laying near the cone and branch.
A halfling gladiator figurine is standing by the piece of wood.
A partially whittled piece of wood is laying here, about four cords northeast of the cone and branch.
A handful of grass stalks is a cord southwest from the cone and branch.
A stout yypr branch is standing next to a grey marble cone.
A grey marble cone is here, standing upright.
A small tube of rolled spice lies here on the ground.
A little book of rolling papers is left here, abandoned.
A large bag is lying here.
A crude bag made of patchwork leather pieces lies on the ground.
A dusty dusty backpack of leather lies here.
A backpack made from the hide of a jozhal is lying here.
A wooden meat rack made of agafari poles stands here.

130H/167V/129T/running/standing>i
You are carrying:
a strip of dark-red meat
a crude leather bag

130H/167V/129T/running/standing>eat meat
You eat your strip of dark-red meat.

130H/167V/129T/running/standing>l me
At average height and build for one of his peers, this elven male bares a
tanned, gaunt body covered with many non-descript scars. Upon the very center
of his forehead is a single silver shape, a heavily-inked, full circle,
extending off to the top, bottom left, and bottom right are small lines which
curve away from the circle. The lines coming from the circle suddenly curve
back, growing thinner as they reach the edges of the silvery-inked ball.
Under his red, almond-shaped peepers are two dull-grey lines, flowing with
the shape of the eyes. His frame is wiry, muscles tightly bound beneath the
skin. Elongated and thin are his hands and fingers. Atop his head is a mane
of pure white hair.
The figure in a set of hooded, shadow-grey robes is in excellent condition.

<worn on head>           a thick black chitin skullcap
<worn in hair>           a dusty stiff white feather
<worn in left ear>       a dusty hooked fang
<worn in right ear>      a dusty hooked fang
<worn around neck>       a dusty inix-shell collar
<throat>                 a tattoo of a green-toned mantis
<slung across back>      a short, barbed zerka
<worn across back>       a dusty worn, carru-hide pack
<right shoulder>         a blowing wind tattoo
<left shoulder>          a blowing wind tattoo
<arms>                   a tattoo of interlocked rings of flame
<worn around wrist>      a durrit-claw bracer
<worn around wrist>      a durrit-claw bracer
<worn on hands>          a dusty pair of anakore-claw gloves
<worn around body>       a set of hooded, shadow-grey robes
<legs>                   a tattoo of interlocked rings of flame
<worn on right ankle>    a ball-tufted tail

130H/167V/129T/running/standing>clean me
You start cleaning.

130H/167V/129T/running/standing>
You dust yourself off.

130H/167V/129T/running/standing>l me
At average height and build for one of his peers, this elven male bares a
tanned, gaunt body covered with many non-descript scars. Upon the very center
of his forehead is a single silver shape, a heavily-inked, full circle,
extending off to the top, bottom left, and bottom right are small lines which
curve away from the circle. The lines coming from the circle suddenly curve
back, growing thinner as they reach the edges of the silvery-inked ball.
Under his red, almond-shaped peepers are two dull-grey lines, flowing with
the shape of the eyes. His frame is wiry, muscles tightly bound beneath the
skin. Elongated and thin are his hands and fingers. Atop his head is a mane
of pure white hair.
The figure in a set of hooded, shadow-grey robes is in excellent condition.

<worn on head>           a thick black chitin skullcap
<worn in hair>           a stiff white feather
<worn in left ear>       a hooked fang
<worn in right ear>      a hooked fang
<worn around neck>       an inix-shell collar
<throat>                 a tattoo of a green-toned mantis
<slung across back>      a short, barbed zerka
<worn across back>       a worn, carru-hide pack
<right shoulder>         a blowing wind tattoo
<left shoulder>          a blowing wind tattoo
<arms>                   a tattoo of interlocked rings of flame
<worn around wrist>      a durrit-claw bracer
<worn around wrist>      a durrit-claw bracer
<worn on hands>          a bloodied pair of anakore-claw gloves
<worn around body>       a set of hooded, shadow-grey robes
<legs>                   a tattoo of interlocked rings of flame
<worn on right ankle>    a ball-tufted tail

130H/167V/129T/running/standing>rem gloves
You stop using a bloodied pair of anakore-claw gloves.

130H/167V/129T/running/standing>clean gloves blood
You start cleaning.

130H/167V/129T/running/standing>
You work at getting the blood out of a bloodied pair of anakore-claw gloves.

130H/167V/129T/running/standing>clean gloves blood
You start cleaning.

130H/167V/129T/running/standing>
You work at getting the blood out of a bloodied pair of anakore-claw gloves.

130H/167V/129T/running/standing>clean gloves blood
You start cleaning.

130H/167V/129T/running/standing>
But it isn't bloodied?

130H/167V/129T/running/standing>wear gloves
You pull the gloves onto your hands.

130H/167V/129T/running/standing>l me
At average height and build for one of his peers, this elven male bares a
tanned, gaunt body covered with many non-descript scars. Upon the very center
of his forehead is a single silver shape, a heavily-inked, full circle,
extending off to the top, bottom left, and bottom right are small lines which
curve away from the circle. The lines coming from the circle suddenly curve
back, growing thinner as they reach the edges of the silvery-inked ball.
Under his red, almond-shaped peepers are two dull-grey lines, flowing with
the shape of the eyes. His frame is wiry, muscles tightly bound beneath the
skin. Elongated and thin are his hands and fingers. Atop his head is a mane
of pure white hair.
The figure in a set of hooded, shadow-grey robes is in excellent condition.

<worn on head>           a thick black chitin skullcap
<worn in hair>           a stiff white feather
<worn in left ear>       a hooked fang
<worn in right ear>      a hooked fang
<worn around neck>       an inix-shell collar
<throat>                 a tattoo of a green-toned mantis
<slung across back>      a short, barbed zerka
<worn across back>       a worn, carru-hide pack
<right shoulder>         a blowing wind tattoo
<left shoulder>          a blowing wind tattoo
<arms>                   a tattoo of interlocked rings of flame
<worn around wrist>      a durrit-claw bracer
<worn around wrist>      a durrit-claw bracer
<worn on hands>          a pair of anakore-claw gloves
<worn around body>       a set of hooded, shadow-grey robes
<legs>                   a tattoo of interlocked rings of flame
<worn on right ankle>    a ball-tufted tail

130H/167V/129T/running/standing>l
Living Room [WU]
   Solid wooden stairs descend into this wide-open room used for eating and
lounging, a living room. A long, wooden table has been fashioned from old
scraps of wood, forming a large U in the center of the room. About the
table, inside and out, cushions and odds and ends lie about in baskets and
packs.
A stone spider is here, sitting on a deck of cards.
A deck of Kruth cards is here, just northeast of a feather.
A worn clay statuette of a humanoid is here, next to a feather.
A stiff white feather is here, a cord away from a piece of wood.
A couple of mantis gladiator figurines is here, standing on a handful of grass stalks.
A mulish gladiator figurine is laying near the cone and branch.
A halfling gladiator figurine is standing by the piece of wood.
A partially whittled piece of wood is laying here, about four cords northeast of the cone and branch.
A handful of grass stalks is a cord southwest from the cone and branch.
A stout yypr branch is standing next to a grey marble cone.
A grey marble cone is here, standing upright.
A small tube of rolled spice lies here on the ground.
A little book of rolling papers is left here, abandoned.
A large bag is lying here.
A crude bag made of patchwork leather pieces lies on the ground.
A dusty dusty backpack of leather lies here.
A backpack made from the hide of a jozhal is lying here.
A wooden meat rack made of agafari poles stands here.

130H/167V/129T/running/standing>:peers about the floor for a moment, and slowly takes a seat.
The figure in a set of hooded, shadow-grey robes peers about the floor for a moment, and slowly takes a seat.

130H/167V/129T/running/standing>sit
You sit down.

130H/167V/129T/running/sitting>chang ldesc is sitting here, amongst some figurines.
Your new ldesc is:
The figure in a set of hooded, shadow-grey robes is sitting here, amongst some figurines.

130H/167V/129T/running/sitting>i
You are carrying:
a crude leather bag

130H/167V/129T/running/sitting>l in pack
In a worn, carru-hide pack (used) :
an unlit rag-wrapped agafari torch
a mantis-shell breastplate
a couple of crumbling red tablets
an empty patched leather waterskin
a few scraps of cloth
an obsidian hide-scraper
a pile of blue leaves
a pale grey feather

130H/167V/129T/running/sitting>get mantis pack
You get a mantis-shell breastplate from a worn, carru-hide pack.
It is no problem.

dum de dum... doing nothing...

130H/167V/129T/running/sitting>l mantis
This breastplate was made to fit someone the size of a human. It is
made from the shell of a mantis, dark red and cracked.

130H/167V/129T/running/sitting>:peers over ~mantis, pursing his lips.
The figure in a set of hooded, shadow-grey robes peers over your mantis-shell breastplate, pursing his lips.

130H/167V/129T/running/sitting>ass -v shell
A mantis-shell breastplate can be worn on the torso.
A mantis-shell breastplate looks like it will fit you.

130H/167V/129T/running/sitting>stat
Your encumbrance is very heavy.
You are:
A member of the Silt Winds, jobs:
Relationship to the land is neutral.
You are currently speaking allundean with an unknown accent.
You are sitting down.
You are accepting all saves (nosave off).
You are not being merciful.
You aren't watching anything in particular.

130H/167V/129T/running/sitting>l me
At average height and build for one of his peers, this elven male bares a
tanned, gaunt body covered with many non-descript scars. Upon the very center
of his forehead is a single silver shape, a heavily-inked, full circle,
extending off to the top, bottom left, and bottom right are small lines which
curve away from the circle. The lines coming from the circle suddenly curve
back, growing thinner as they reach the edges of the silvery-inked ball.
Under his red, almond-shaped peepers are two dull-grey lines, flowing with
the shape of the eyes. His frame is wiry, muscles tightly bound beneath the
skin. Elongated and thin are his hands and fingers. Atop his head is a mane
of pure white hair.
The figure in a set of hooded, shadow-grey robes is in excellent condition.

<worn on head>           a thick black chitin skullcap
<worn in hair>           a stiff white feather
<worn in left ear>       a hooked fang
<worn in right ear>      a hooked fang
<worn around neck>       an inix-shell collar
<throat>                 a tattoo of a green-toned mantis
<slung across back>      a short, barbed zerka
<worn across back>       a worn, carru-hide pack
<right shoulder>         a blowing wind tattoo
<left shoulder>          a blowing wind tattoo
<arms>                   a tattoo of interlocked rings of flame
<worn around wrist>      a durrit-claw bracer
<worn around wrist>      a durrit-claw bracer
<worn on hands>          a pair of anakore-claw gloves
<worn around body>       a set of hooded, shadow-grey robes
<legs>                   a tattoo of interlocked rings of flame
<worn on right ankle>    a ball-tufted tail

130H/167V/129T/running/sitting>lower hood
You lower the hood of a set of hooded, shadow-grey robes.

130H/167V/129T/running/sitting>rem set
You stop using a set of hooded, shadow-grey robes.

130H/167V/129T/running/sitting>l me
At average height and build for one of his peers, this elven male bares a
tanned, gaunt body covered with many non-descript scars. Upon the very center
of his forehead is a single silver shape, a heavily-inked, full circle,
extending off to the top, bottom left, and bottom right are small lines which
curve away from the circle. The lines coming from the circle suddenly curve
back, growing thinner as they reach the edges of the silvery-inked ball.
Under his red, almond-shaped peepers are two dull-grey lines, flowing with
the shape of the eyes. His frame is wiry, muscles tightly bound beneath the
skin. Elongated and thin are his hands and fingers. Atop his head is a mane
of pure white hair.
The silver-marked, ivory-maned elf is in excellent condition.

<worn on head>           a thick black chitin skullcap
<worn in hair>           a stiff white feather
<worn in left ear>       a hooked fang
<worn in right ear>      a hooked fang
<worn around neck>       an inix-shell collar
<throat>                 a tattoo of a green-toned mantis
<slung across back>      a short, barbed zerka
<worn across back>       a worn, carru-hide pack
<worn on torso>          a duskhorn leather jacket
<right shoulder>         a blowing wind tattoo
<left shoulder>          a blowing wind tattoo
<arms>                   a tattoo of interlocked rings of flame
<worn around wrist>      a durrit-claw bracer
<worn around wrist>      a durrit-claw bracer
<worn on hands>          a pair of anakore-claw gloves
<worn as belt>           a leather knife belt with agafari buckles
<hung from belt>         a simple, carru-leather knife sheath
<hung from belt>         a sharp, green chitin chatkcha
<worn about waist>       a sweat-stained soft leather loincloth
<legs>                   a tattoo of interlocked rings of flame
<worn on right ankle>    a ball-tufted tail

130H/167V/129T/running/sitting>rem jacket
You stop using a duskhorn leather jacket.

130H/167V/129T/running/sitting>i
You are carrying:
a duskhorn leather jacket
a set of hooded, shadow-grey robes
a mantis-shell breastplate
a crude leather bag

130H/167V/129T/running/sitting>wear mantis
You wear the breastplate on your body.

130H/167V/129T/running/sitting>stat
Your encumbrance is very heavy.
You are:
A member of the Silt Winds, jobs:
Relationship to the land is neutral.
You are currently speaking allundean with an unknown accent.
You are sitting down.
You are accepting all saves (nosave off).
You are not being merciful.
You aren't watching anything in particular.

130H/167V/129T/running/sitting>put jacket rack (with a toss)
You put a duskhorn leather jacket inside the meat rack.

Too bad we didn't have command emotes for "put" in those days.
*puffs on a pipe, trying to look aged*

130H/167V/129T/running/sitting>i
You are carrying:
a set of hooded, shadow-grey robes
a crude leather bag

130H/167V/129T/running/sitting>wear set
You wear the robes about your body.

130H/167V/129T/running/sitting>l me
At average height and build for one of his peers, this elven male bares a
tanned, gaunt body covered with many non-descript scars. Upon the very center
of his forehead is a single silver shape, a heavily-inked, full circle,
extending off to the top, bottom left, and bottom right are small lines which
curve away from the circle. The lines coming from the circle suddenly curve
back, growing thinner as they reach the edges of the silvery-inked ball.
Under his red, almond-shaped peepers are two dull-grey lines, flowing with
the shape of the eyes. His frame is wiry, muscles tightly bound beneath the
skin. Elongated and thin are his hands and fingers. Atop his head is a mane
of pure white hair.
The silver-marked, ivory-maned elf is in excellent condition.

<worn on head>           a thick black chitin skullcap
<worn in hair>           a stiff white feather
<worn in left ear>       a hooked fang
<worn in right ear>      a hooked fang
<worn around neck>       an inix-shell collar
<throat>                 a tattoo of a green-toned mantis
<slung across back>      a short, barbed zerka
<worn across back>       a worn, carru-hide pack
<right shoulder>         a blowing wind tattoo
<left shoulder>          a blowing wind tattoo
<arms>                   a tattoo of interlocked rings of flame
<worn around wrist>      a durrit-claw bracer
<worn around wrist>      a durrit-claw bracer
<worn on hands>          a pair of anakore-claw gloves
<worn around body>       a set of hooded, shadow-grey robes
<legs>                   a tattoo of interlocked rings of flame
<worn on right ankle>    a ball-tufted tail

130H/167V/129T/running/sitting>i
You are carrying:
a crude leather bag

130H/167V/129T/running/sitting>l in bag
In a crude leather bag (carried) :
a pair of yellow-stained bone dice
a long, wickedly sharp fang
a scrap of parchment

130H/167V/129T/running/sitting>put bag rack
You put a crude leather bag inside the meat rack.

130H/167V/129T/running/sitting>stat
Your encumbrance is manageable.
You are:
A member of the Silt Winds, jobs:
Relationship to the land is neutral.
You are currently speaking allundean with an unknown accent.
You are sitting down.
You are accepting all saves (nosave off).
You are not being merciful.
You aren't watching anything in particular.

130H/167V/129T/running/sitting>clean me
You start cleaning.

130H/167V/129T/running/sitting>
You dust yourself off.

130H/167V/129T/running/sitting>l in pack
In a worn, carru-hide pack (used) :
an unlit rag-wrapped agafari torch
a couple of crumbling red tablets
an empty patched leather waterskin
a few scraps of cloth
an obsidian hide-scraper
a pile of blue leaves
a pale grey feather

130H/167V/129T/running/sitting>l in set
In a set of hooded, shadow-grey robes (used) :
a bone leatherworking knife
a durrit-claw skinning knife
a pile of allanaki coins
a small flint woodworking knife

130H/167V/129T/running/sitting>l me
At average height and build for one of his peers, this elven male bares a
tanned, gaunt body covered with many non-descript scars. Upon the very center
of his forehead is a single silver shape, a heavily-inked, full circle,
extending off to the top, bottom left, and bottom right are small lines which
curve away from the circle. The lines coming from the circle suddenly curve
back, growing thinner as they reach the edges of the silvery-inked ball.
Under his red, almond-shaped peepers are two dull-grey lines, flowing with
the shape of the eyes. His frame is wiry, muscles tightly bound beneath the
skin. Elongated and thin are his hands and fingers. Atop his head is a mane
of pure white hair.
The silver-marked, ivory-maned elf is in excellent condition.

<worn on head>           a thick black chitin skullcap
<worn in hair>           a stiff white feather
<worn in left ear>       a hooked fang
<worn in right ear>      a hooked fang
<worn around neck>       an inix-shell collar
<throat>                 a tattoo of a green-toned mantis
<slung across back>      a short, barbed zerka
<worn across back>       a worn, carru-hide pack
<right shoulder>         a blowing wind tattoo
<left shoulder>          a blowing wind tattoo
<arms>                   a tattoo of interlocked rings of flame
<worn around wrist>      a durrit-claw bracer
<worn around wrist>      a durrit-claw bracer
<worn on hands>          a pair of anakore-claw gloves
<worn around body>       a set of hooded, shadow-grey robes
<legs>                   a tattoo of interlocked rings of flame
<worn on right ankle>    a ball-tufted tail

130H/167V/129T/running/sitting>l
Living Room [WU]
   Solid wooden stairs descend into this wide-open room used for eating and
lounging, a living room. A long, wooden table has been fashioned from old
scraps of wood, forming a large U in the center of the room. About the
table, inside and out, cushions and odds and ends lie about in baskets and
packs.
A stone spider is here, sitting on a deck of cards.
A deck of Kruth cards is here, just northeast of a feather.
A worn clay statuette of a humanoid is here, next to a feather.
A stiff white feather is here, a cord away from a piece of wood.
A couple of mantis gladiator figurines is here, standing on a handful of grass stalks.
A mulish gladiator figurine is laying near the cone and branch.
A halfling gladiator figurine is standing by the piece of wood.
A partially whittled piece of wood is laying here, about four cords northeast of the cone and branch.
A handful of grass stalks is a cord southwest from the cone and branch.
A stout yypr branch is standing next to a grey marble cone.
A grey marble cone is here, standing upright.
A small tube of rolled spice lies here on the ground.
A little book of rolling papers is left here, abandoned.
A large bag is lying here.
A crude bag made of patchwork leather pieces lies on the ground.
A dusty dusty backpack of leather lies here.
A backpack made from the hide of a jozhal is lying here.
A wooden meat rack made of agafari poles stands here.

130H/167V/129T/running/sitting>clean me
You start cleaning.

130H/167V/129T/running/sitting>
You dust yourself off.

130H/167V/129T/running/sitting>l me
At average height and build for one of his peers, this elven male bares a
tanned, gaunt body covered with many non-descript scars. Upon the very center
of his forehead is a single silver shape, a heavily-inked, full circle,
extending off to the top, bottom left, and bottom right are small lines which
curve away from the circle. The lines coming from the circle suddenly curve
back, growing thinner as they reach the edges of the silvery-inked ball.
Under his red, almond-shaped peepers are two dull-grey lines, flowing with
the shape of the eyes. His frame is wiry, muscles tightly bound beneath the
skin. Elongated and thin are his hands and fingers. Atop his head is a mane
of pure white hair.
The silver-marked, ivory-maned elf is in excellent condition.

<worn on head>           a thick black chitin skullcap
<worn in hair>           a stiff white feather
<worn in left ear>       a hooked fang
<worn in right ear>      a hooked fang
<worn around neck>       an inix-shell collar
<throat>                 a tattoo of a green-toned mantis
<slung across back>      a short, barbed zerka
<worn across back>       a worn, carru-hide pack
<right shoulder>         a blowing wind tattoo
<left shoulder>          a blowing wind tattoo
<arms>                   a tattoo of interlocked rings of flame
<worn around wrist>      a durrit-claw bracer
<worn around wrist>      a durrit-claw bracer
<worn on hands>          a pair of anakore-claw gloves
<worn around body>       a set of hooded, shadow-grey robes
<legs>                   a tattoo of interlocked rings of flame
<worn on right ankle>    a ball-tufted tail

130H/167V/129T/running/sitting>time
It is late at night on Detal, the 198th day of the Low Sun,
In the Year of Dragon's Agitation, year 28 of the 21st Age.

130H/167V/129T/running/sitting>:scratches at ~collar.
The silver-marked, ivory-maned elf scratches at your inix-shell collar.

130H/167V/129T/running/sitting>l
Living Room [WU]
   Solid wooden stairs descend into this wide-open room used for eating and
lounging, a living room. A long, wooden table has been fashioned from old
scraps of wood, forming a large U in the center of the room. About the
table, inside and out, cushions and odds and ends lie about in baskets and
packs.
A stone spider is here, sitting on a deck of cards.
A deck of Kruth cards is here, just northeast of a feather.
A worn clay statuette of a humanoid is here, next to a feather.
A stiff white feather is here, a cord away from a piece of wood.
A couple of mantis gladiator figurines is here, standing on a handful of grass stalks.
A mulish gladiator figurine is laying near the cone and branch.
A halfling gladiator figurine is standing by the piece of wood.
A partially whittled piece of wood is laying here, about four cords northeast of the cone and branch.
A handful of grass stalks is a cord southwest from the cone and branch.
A stout yypr branch is standing next to a grey marble cone.
A grey marble cone is here, standing upright.
A small tube of rolled spice lies here on the ground.
A little book of rolling papers is left here, abandoned.
A large bag is lying here.
A crude bag made of patchwork leather pieces lies on the ground.
A dusty dusty backpack of leather lies here.
A backpack made from the hide of a jozhal is lying here.
A wooden meat rack made of agafari poles stands here.

130H/167V/129T/running/sitting>say (eyeing ~spider, sighing)Now what..
Eyeing a stone spider, sighing, you say, in allundean:
     "Now what.."

130H/167V/129T/running/sitting>:pokes at ~spider with a finger.
The silver-marked, ivory-maned elf pokes at a stone spider with a finger.

130H/167V/129T/running/sitting>score
You are Sai, a member of the Silt Winds.
Keywords: silver-marked ivory-maned elf
Sdesc: the silver-marked, ivory-maned elf
Objective: Kill a Mantis single-handedly, take its head as a trophy, then brag.
I don't think Sai ever got around to that, and I don't exactly recall how he perished either.
Long Description:
The silver-marked, ivory-maned elf is sitting here, amongst some figurines.

You are 36 years, 0 months, and 144 days old,
which by your race and appearance is mature.
You are 83 inches tall, and weigh 8 ten-stone.
Your strength is below average, your agility is extremely good,
your wisdom is above average, and your endurance is exceptional.
You are neither hungry nor thirsty.
Your health is 130(130), you have 167(185) stamina, and 129(129) stun.
check out my leet stats, mom.
You have been playing for 5 days and 12 hours.
You are sitting.
You are currently speaking allundean with an unknown accent.

130H/167V/129T/running/sitting>:peers down at ~clay.
The silver-marked, ivory-maned elf peers down at a worn clay statuette of a humanoid.

130H/167V/129T/running/sitting>
130H/167V/129T/running/sitting>l me
At average height and build for one of his peers, this elven male bares a
tanned, gaunt body covered with many non-descript scars. Upon the very center
of his forehead is a single silver shape, a heavily-inked, full circle,
extending off to the top, bottom left, and bottom right are small lines which
curve away from the circle. The lines coming from the circle suddenly curve
back, growing thinner as they reach the edges of the silvery-inked ball.
Under his red, almond-shaped peepers are two dull-grey lines, flowing with
the shape of the eyes. His frame is wiry, muscles tightly bound beneath the
skin. Elongated and thin are his hands and fingers. Atop his head is a mane
of pure white hair.
The silver-marked, ivory-maned elf is in excellent condition.

<worn on head>           a thick black chitin skullcap
<worn in hair>           a stiff white feather
<worn in left ear>       a hooked fang
<worn in right ear>      a hooked fang
<worn around neck>       an inix-shell collar
<throat>                 a tattoo of a green-toned mantis
<slung across back>      a short, barbed zerka
<worn across back>       a worn, carru-hide pack
<right shoulder>         a blowing wind tattoo
<left shoulder>          a blowing wind tattoo
<arms>                   a tattoo of interlocked rings of flame
<worn around wrist>      a durrit-claw bracer
<worn around wrist>      a durrit-claw bracer
<worn on hands>          a pair of anakore-claw gloves
<worn around body>       a set of hooded, shadow-grey robes
<legs>                   a tattoo of interlocked rings of flame
<worn on right ankle>    a ball-tufted tail

130H/167V/129T/running/sitting>:scratches at the back of his head.
The silver-marked, ivory-maned elf scratches at the back of his head.

130H/167V/129T/running/sitting>l
Living Room [WU]
   Solid wooden stairs descend into this wide-open room used for eating and
lounging, a living room. A long, wooden table has been fashioned from old
scraps of wood, forming a large U in the center of the room. About the
table, inside and out, cushions and odds and ends lie about in baskets and
packs.
A stone spider is here, sitting on a deck of cards.
A deck of Kruth cards is here, just northeast of a feather.
A worn clay statuette of a humanoid is here, next to a feather.
A stiff white feather is here, a cord away from a piece of wood.
A couple of mantis gladiator figurines is here, standing on a handful of grass stalks.
A mulish gladiator figurine is laying near the cone and branch.
A halfling gladiator figurine is standing by the piece of wood.
A partially whittled piece of wood is laying here, about four cords northeast of the cone and branch.
A handful of grass stalks is a cord southwest from the cone and branch.
A stout yypr branch is standing next to a grey marble cone.
A grey marble cone is here, standing upright.
A small tube of rolled spice lies here on the ground.
A little book of rolling papers is left here, abandoned.
A large bag is lying here.
A crude bag made of patchwork leather pieces lies on the ground.
A dusty dusty backpack of leather lies here.
A backpack made from the hide of a jozhal is lying here.
A wooden meat rack made of agafari poles stands here.

130H/167V/129T/running/sitting>:yawns and slowly lays down on the floor.
The silver-marked, ivory-maned elf yawns and slowly lays down on the floor.

130H/167V/129T/running/sitting>rest
You rest your tired bones.
l me

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>At average height and build for one of his peers, this elven male bares a
tanned, gaunt body covered with many non-descript scars. Upon the very center
of his forehead is a single silver shape, a heavily-inked, full circle,
extending off to the top, bottom left, and bottom right are small lines which
curve away from the circle. The lines coming from the circle suddenly curve
back, growing thinner as they reach the edges of the silvery-inked ball.
Under his red, almond-shaped peepers are two dull-grey lines, flowing with
the shape of the eyes. His frame is wiry, muscles tightly bound beneath the
skin. Elongated and thin are his hands and fingers. Atop his head is a mane
of pure white hair.
The silver-marked, ivory-maned elf is in excellent condition.

<worn on head>           a thick black chitin skullcap
<worn in hair>           a stiff white feather
<worn in left ear>       a hooked fang
<worn in right ear>      a hooked fang
<worn around neck>       an inix-shell collar
<throat>                 a tattoo of a green-toned mantis
<slung across back>      a short, barbed zerka
<worn across back>       a worn, carru-hide pack
<right shoulder>         a blowing wind tattoo
<left shoulder>          a blowing wind tattoo
<arms>                   a tattoo of interlocked rings of flame
<worn around wrist>      a durrit-claw bracer
<worn around wrist>      a durrit-claw bracer
<worn on hands>          a pair of anakore-claw gloves
<worn around body>       a set of hooded, shadow-grey robes
<legs>                   a tattoo of interlocked rings of flame
<worn on right ankle>    a ball-tufted tail

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>raise hood
You raise the hood of a set of hooded, shadow-grey robes.

130H/167V/129T/running/resting>time
It is before dawn on Ocandra, the 199th day of the Low Sun,
In the Year of Dragon's Agitation, year 28 of the 21st Age.

And thus, Sai drifts off to sleep after having cleaned up his figurines and toys.

Yes, I know I had an obsessive compulsive disorder with typing "l me" and "clean me"
I still do, to some extent, but I don't do it as much now-a-days.

Thanks for reading this, and I hope you had a good laugh.

Sai, our 'hero' of sorts, has just come into the Silt Wind hideout from a hard day's work of Desert-Elfing and has decided to chill out.

Note: He's not really a Drovian, he just thought the robes were cool.

The figure in a set of hooded, shadow-grey robes spots a crude leather bag on the...
Continue Reading...
Byn Days by Rhyden
Added on May 16, 2007

Sergeant Dryn and his Bynners head up to Tuluk for a contract. After killing three gortoks along the road, the Tâ€™zai Byn meets up with a few Kuraci and tension grows between the two units.

North Road [NEW]
The stark white of this wide stone road lies across these scrub
forests like the spine of some gargantuan carcass. Blowing, gritty dusts
cover the road in some places, and pech grasses have, here and there, taken
root in and among the flagstones. This pale backbone of a road lies across
these lands in a long and twisting fashion, following the southern border of
the Grey Forest.
Far to the north lies the dim and shadowy blotch on the horizon which
marks the Grey Forest, while to the south stretches the vast sweep of the
scrub plains. A tangle of thorny bush to the south borders the road.
The lean, scar-faced woman has arrived from the west, riding an erdlu.
The pockmarked, balding man has arrived from the west, riding a yellow kank.
The thrice-braided, green-eyed man has arrived from the west, riding a yellow kank.
The hawk-nosed, raven-haired man has arrived from the west, riding a yellow kank.
The reddish-eyed, coppery mul has arrived from the west, riding a yellow kank.

To the east is North Road.
[Very far]
Nothing.
[Far]
A kank stands here, its yellow shell mottled with dust.
The very short figure in a hooded, dun-colored dustcloak is standing here.
The short figure in a hooded, dun-colored dustcloak is standing here.
A yellow kank stands here, carrying the very short figure in a hooded, dun-colored dustcloak on his back.
A grey kank stands here, vigorously waving its pinchers.
[Near]
Nothing.

To the north is Scrub Plains.
[Very far]
Nothing.
[Far]
Nothing.
[Near]
Nothing.

The lean, scar-faced woman intently scans the area.

Gruffly, the hawk-nosed, raven-haired man says, in southern-accented sirihish:
     "Kuraci. "

Peering down the road, you say, in sirihish:
     "Hmm. . . "

North Road [NEW]
The stark white of this wide stone road lies across these scrub
forests like the spine of some gargantuan carcass. Blowing, gritty dusts
cover the road in some places, and pech grasses have, here and there, taken
root in and among the flagstones. This pale backbone of a road lies across
these lands in a long and twisting fashion, following the southern border of
the Grey Forest.
Far to the north lies the dim and shadowy blotch on the horizon which
marks the Grey Forest, while to the south stretches the vast sweep of the
scrub plains. A tangle of thorny bush to the south borders the road.
The lean, scar-faced woman has arrived from the west, riding an erdlu.
The pockmarked, balding man has arrived from the west, riding a yellow kank.
The reddish-eyed, coppery mul has arrived from the west, riding a yellow kank.

The thrice-braided, green-eyed man has arrived from the west, riding a yellow kank.
The hawk-nosed, raven-haired man has arrived from the west, riding a yellow kank.

You shout in sirihish:
     "Byn comin'!"

East of here is North Road.
[Very far]
Nothing.
[Far]
Nothing.
[Near]
A yellow kank stands here, carrying the very short figure in a hooded, dun-colored dustcloak on his back.
The short figure in a hooded, dun-colored dustcloak is standing here.
A yellow kank stands here, carrying the very short figure in a hooded, dun-colored dustcloak on his back.
A grey kank stands here, vigorously waving its pinchers.

North Road [NEW]
The stark white of this wide stone road lies across these scrub
forests like the spine of some gargantuan carcass. Blowing, gritty dusts
cover the road in some places, and pech grasses have, here and there, taken
root in and among the flagstones. This pale backbone of a road lies across
these lands in a long and twisting fashion, following the southern border of
the Grey Forest.
Far to the north lies the dim and shadowy blotch on the horizon which
marks the Grey Forest, while to the south stretches the vast sweep of the
scrub plains. A tangle of thorny bush to the south borders the road.
A long-handled axe, used for chopping lumber, lies here.
A sweat-stained heap of soft carru leather has been left in a pile here.
A dusty helm made of durrit hide lays here.
A bloodied duskhorn leather tunic lies here.
A tembo hide belt lies coiled on the ground.
An used circular shield of round, knobby chitin has been left here.
A bloodied helm made from a large skull lies here, horns sprouting from the top.
A set of leg guards made from a spiky exoskeleton lies here.
A pair of spike-toed leather boots have been left here
A pair of duskhorn gauntlets covered in small spikes, lies on the ground.
A pair of armguards, lined with rows of gith teeth, lies here.
A dusty battle-axe of thick, skull-carved bone lays here on its side.
A very dim long agafari stick wrapped in oiled rags has been left here.
A couple of black epaulettes with one grey shield are here.
A dusty massive battle axe of carved thuja and heavy bone sits here, unused.
A belt formed from thick brown leather lies here.
A dusty backpack of worn carru hide has been set down here.
A red and white belt lies here
A couple of gurth shell collars are here.
A dusty rough canvas backpack lies here.
An used bloodied armored jacket fashioned from stiff leather and strips of chitin lies here.
A new bloodied armored jacket fashioned from stiff leather and strips of chitin lies here.
A dusty gurth shell helmet lies here.
A pair of leather leggings plated with gurth shell lies here.
A dusty set of flared leather boots sits here without a pair of feet.
A dusty pair of leather gloves backed with gurth shell lies here.
A pair of leather sleeves plated with gurth shell lies here.
A dusty small dagger with a thin blade and a hooked hilt sits here.
A tooled leather swordbelt lies coiled here.
A chunky wristguard, made of scrab shell, lies here.
A gurth shell bracer lies here.
A dusty bone rapier with a rib-like hilt lies here.
An orange piece of cloth lies here, cut into a small epaulette.
A dusty orange piece of cloth lies here, cut into a small epaulette.
An ashen large wooden torch lies here.
A yellow kank stands here, carrying the very short figure in a hooded, dun-colored dustcloak on his back.
The short figure in a hooded, dun-colored dustcloak is standing here.
A yellow kank stands here, carrying the very short figure in a hooded, dun-colored dustcloak on his back.
A grey kank stands here, vigorously waving its pinchers.
The lean, scar-faced woman has arrived from the west, riding an erdlu.
The pockmarked, balding man has arrived from the west, riding a yellow kank.
The reddish-eyed, coppery mul has arrived from the west, riding a yellow kank.

The very short figure in a hooded, dun-colored dustcloak swings her legs to the side and dismounts.

The thrice-braided, green-eyed man has arrived from the west, riding a yellow kank.

The hawk-nosed, raven-haired man has arrived from the west, riding a yellow kank.

The short figure in a hooded, dun-colored dustcloak looks at the reddish-eyed, coppery mul as she pulls down her hood.

The slight, desert-hued half-elf lowers the hood of a hooded, dun-colored dustcloak.

This small half-elven woman's lean, tautly muscled body is ravaged by the
scars of battle, wind and sand, her skin a weathered cunyati hue. In
lighter contrast, her hair is a sandy brown, the longest strands wisping
just past her chin. She has slanted, narrow eyes, their irises shaded a
murky green about vertically slitted pupils, and her ears are mismatched;
the left is sharply pointed, but the right is smaller, almost round. A
faded scar tugs from the left corner of her mouth and across her cheek,
giving her thin lips a perpetual smirk. Another noticeable scar cuts a pale
line above her right eyebrow, deep and faintly curved, as if from a blade.
The slight, desert-hued half-elf is in excellent condition.

The slight, desert-hued half-elf is using:
<worn on head> a wide-rimmed brown hat
<worn on face> a pair of polished bone sunslits
<worn in left ear> a red feather earring
<worn in right ear>a hooked fang
<worn around neck> a spiked duskhorn collar
<worn about throat>an agate and raptor-bone necklac
<slung across back>a tortoiseshell-capped, thornwood longbow
<worn across back> a new round black shield
<worn on right shoulder> a shoulder patch with a dun colored eclipsed moon
<worn on left shoulder>a coil of numut-woven rope
<worn on arms> a pair of desert-camouflaged, sandcloth sleeves
<worn around wrist>a small black leather armsheath
<worn around wrist>a bone-spiked, black-leather bracer
<worn on hands>a bloodied pair of desert-camouflaged, sandcloth gloves
<primary hand> a double-headed burr flail
<secondary hand> a well-balanced, curved bone halfblade
<worn around body> a hooded, dun-colored dustcloak
<worn on legs> a pair of desert-camouflaged, sandcloth leggings
<worn on right ankle>a ragged hempcloth pouch
<worn on feet> a pair of knee-high grey leather boots

The very short figure in a hooded, dun-colored dustcloak remains on his kank, eyeingthe group of brown aba'd riders.

The black-striped dusky male dwarf lowers the hood of a hooded, dun-colored dustcloak.

The lean, scar-faced woman says, in southern-accented sirihish:
     "Shit. . Look at this gear. . What the fuck. . "

Sparing a glance up, then back to the road, the slight, desert-hued half-elf says, in tribal-accented sirihish:
     "Thanks for ridin' over any tracks, Byn. "

Riding up alongside her with a nod, you say to the slight, desert-hued half-elf, in sirihish:
     "Sergeant Sha. . . "

Glaring around slowly, you ask the slight, desert-hued half-elf, in sirihish:
     "What the fuck happened here?"

The hawk-nosed, raven-haired man looks down at the slight, desert-hued half-elf with a tilt of his head.

The dusky, raven-haired man glances at the clothing and gear on the ground, brows furrowing.

In a worn, carru-hide pack (here) :
a dusty braxat hide collar
a dusty elven maar shortbow
a coil of narrow cactus
a dusty squat bulbous gourd
a pile of coins
a grey fighting claw
a scaly maroon hide
a long strip of tough, grey chitin
a couple of bright red fruits
an unlit large wooden torch
a slender wooden spear
an unlit simple, leather-wrapped bone torch
an empty sunstar-flower
a bone spiked sunstar
a dusty obsidian-tipped spear
a few tough slabs of dark red meat
some hunks of red-streaked meat
a couple of strips of dark-red meat
a side of whitish meat
a small portion of a side of whitish meat

The mohawked, scar-faced girl lowers the hood of a hooded, dun-colored dustcloak.

In a rough canvas backpack (here) :
a dusty pair of long, carved lip-tusks
a couple of durrit-claw bracers
a dusty hooded, bamuk-hide cloak
a dusty set of anakore-clawed climbing gloves
a new bloodied pair of carru leather sleeves
a dusty black mandible-bladed scimitar
a dusty black mandible-headed spear
a long-handled, flint lumber axe
a few long agafari branches
a thick branch of baobab

A yellow kank leisurely waves its antennae about.

The sun reaches its highest point in the sky.

The black-striped dusky male dwarf looks up at the reddish-eyed, coppery mul with a glance over the group.

Mildly, the slight, desert-hued half-elf says to you, in tribal-accented sirihish:
     "Your guess is as good as mine. . though we just killed a five-pack of 'tok. "

The thrice-braided, green-eyed man remains silent as he angles a yellow kank up to the scene.

The slight, desert-hued half-elf slings two steel-grey cloaks over her shoulder, then re-grips her double-headed burr flail.

Nodding his head a few times with a grunt, you say to the slight, desert-hued half-elf, in sirihish:
     "We killed six back along the road. . . "

A yellow kank rubs its mandibles together.

The slight, desert-hued half-elf asks you, in tribal-accented sirihish:
     "Bad time to be out here, 'en. Contracting up northside?"

A very dim rag-wrapped agafari torch goes out.

Grunting, the hawk-nosed, raven-haired man says, in southern-accented sirihish:
     "Aye, lucky the Byn's 'ere t'keep the roads nice 'nd safe fer Kuraci. "

The slight, desert-hued half-elf looks up at the hawk-nosed, raven-haired man with narrowed eyes.

The slight, desert-hued half-elf says to the hawk-nosed, raven-haired man, in tribal-accented sirihish:
     "Spare me, asshole. "

The thrice-braided, green-eyed man snickers.

Nodding his head as he points your heavy, broad-bladed battle scimitar forwards, you say to the slight, desert-hued

half-elf, in sirihish:
     "We found some breed 'gicker. . . tried puttin' a spell on us. . . fled off somewhere. "

The athletic, white-haired man has arrived from the east, riding a saffron-colored kank.

Shaking her head, the lean, scar-faced woman asks the slight, desert-hued half-elf, in southern-accented sirihish:
     "What’s with the gear, up for grabs?"

The black-striped dusky male dwarf looks up at the athletic, white-haired man with a quick look.

To the west is North Road.
[Very far]
Nothing.
[Far]
Nothing.
[Near]
Nothing.

The black-striped dusky male dwarf says to the athletic, white-haired man, in southern-accented sirihish:
     "Salarri. "

To the east is North Road.
[Very far]
Nothing.
[Far]
Nothing.
[Near]
Nothing.

Resting her heavy axe over one small shoulder, the mohawked, scar-faced girl says, in southern-accented sirihish:
     "Folk all over the road today. "

Frowning, as he peers about the ground, the athletic, white-haired man asks, in tribal-accented sirihish:
     "Where is the cloak?"

Riding up beside you and speaking quietly, the hawk-nosed, raven-haired man whispers to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
     "That's the one there that seemed t'think people only join Kurac 'cause they love it. "

You nod to him.

North of here are Scrub Plains.
[Very far]
Nothing.
[Far]
Nothing.
[Near]
Nothing.

Turning slowly to face you, the slight, desert-hued half-elf says to you, in tribal-accented sirihish:
     "I see you have a few discipline problems, Sergeant. "

The athletic, white-haired man swings his legs to the side and dismounts.

Glaring around slowly, you ask the slight, desert-hued half-elf, in sirihish:
     "Where?"

The athletic, white-haired man picks up a black epaulette with one grey shield.

The athletic, white-haired man picks up a black epaulette with one grey shield.

A foreign presence contacts your mind.

The athletic, white-haired man picks up an orange cloth epaulette.

The athletic, white-haired man picks up a dusty orange cloth epaulette.

The hawk-nosed, raven-haired man sends you a telepathic message:
    "Let's just kill her. "

You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.

You think:
    “The Lieutenant’d rip me a second asshole, but I bet that breed’d look better dead.”

The lean, scar-faced woman glances down over the mass amount of weapons and arms strewn over the road.

The mohawked, scar-faced girl looks up at the athletic, white-haired man with a glance.

Smirking and pointing down to the gear lain across the ground, you say, in sirihish:
    “Byn, take what yeh want. ”

The black-striped dusky male dwarf watches the athletic, white-haired man.

The hawk-nosed, raven-haired man swings his legs to the side and dismounts.

The slight, desert-hued half-elf looks at the athletic, white-haired man with narrow eyes.

The black-striped dusky male dwarf cuts his glare to you.

Flopping off his kank, the hawk-nosed, raven-haired man exclaims, in southern-accented sirihish:
     "All righ' then!"

The hawk-nosed, raven-haired man picks up an used gurth-shell round shield.

The lean, scar-faced woman swings her legs to the side and dismounts.

The slight, desert-hued half-elf says to the athletic, white-haired man, in tribal-accented sirihish:
     "Ah. "

The pockmarked, balding man swings his legs to the side and dismounts.

The athletic, white-haired man jumps up onto a saffron-colored kank's back.

The slight, desert-hued half-elf says to the athletic, white-haired man, in tribal-accented sirihish:
     "Here. "

Eyeing the ground, the hawk-nosed, raven-haired man says, in southern-accented sirihish:
     "Some nice shit 'ere. "

North Road [NEW]
The stark white of this wide stone road lies across these scrub
forests like the spine of some gargantuan carcass. Blowing, gritty dusts
cover the road in some places, and pech grasses have, here and there, taken
root in and among the flagstones. This pale backbone of a road lies across
these lands in a long and twisting fashion, following the southern border of
the Grey Forest.
Far to the north lies the dim and shadowy blotch on the horizon which
marks the Grey Forest, while to the south stretches the vast sweep of the
scrub plains. A tangle of thorny bush to the south borders the road.
A long-handled axe, used for chopping lumber, lies here.
A sweat-stained heap of soft carru leather has been left in a pile here.
A dusty helm made of durrit hide lays here.
A bloodied duskhorn leather tunic lies here.
A tembo hide belt lies coiled on the ground.
A bloodied helm made from a large skull lies here, horns sprouting from the top.
A set of leg guards made from a spiky exoskeleton lies here.
A pair of spike-toed leather boots have been left here
A pair of duskhorn gauntlets covered in small spikes, lies on the ground.
A pair of armguards, lined with rows of gith teeth, lies here.
A dusty battle-axe of thick, skull-carved bone lays here on its side.
An ashen long agafari stick wrapped in oiled rags has been left here.
A dusty massive battle axe of carved thuja and heavy bone sits here, unused.
A belt formed from thick brown leather lies here.
A dusty backpack of worn carru hide has been set down here.
A red and white belt lies here
A couple of gurth shell collars are here.
A dusty rough canvas backpack lies here.
An used bloodied armored jacket fashioned from stiff leather and strips of chitin lies here.
A new bloodied armored jacket fashioned from stiff leather and strips of chitin lies here.
A dusty gurth shell helmet lies here.
A pair of leather leggings plated with gurth shell lies here.
A dusty set of flared leather boots sits here without a pair of feet.
A dusty pair of leather gloves backed with gurth shell lies here.
A pair of leather sleeves plated with gurth shell lies here.
A dusty small dagger with a thin blade and a hooked hilt sits here.
A tooled leather swordbelt lies coiled here.
A chunky wristguard, made of scrab shell, lies here.
A gurth shell bracer lies here.
A dusty bone rapier with a rib-like hilt lies here.
An ashen large wooden torch lies here.
A saffron-colored kank stands here, carrying the athletic, white-haired man on his back.
A kank stands here, its yellow shell mottled with dust.
The hawk-nosed, raven-haired man is standing here, appearing very tired.
A yellow kank stands here, carrying the thrice-braided, green-eyed man on his back.
A yellow kank stands here, carrying the reddish-eyed, coppery mul on his back.
A kank stands here, its yellow shell mottled with dust.
The pockmarked, balding man is standing here.
A large and grey-scaled flightless bird stands here.
The lean, scar-faced woman is standing here.
A yellow kank stands here, carrying the black-striped dusky male dwarf on his back.
The slight, desert-hued half-elf is standing here.
A large yellow kank stands here, its chitinous shell covered in dust.
The mohawked, scar-faced girl is standing here.
A grey kank stands here, vigorously waving its pinchers.

The hawk-nosed, raven-haired man picks up a gurth shell collar.

The pockmarked, balding man picks up an used bloodied chitin and leather jacket.

The lean, scar-faced woman picks up a dusty bone parrying dagger.

The slight, desert-hued half-elf slings two cloaks down from her shoulder.

The pockmarked, balding man picks up a pair of gurth shell and leather sleeves.

The hawk-nosed, raven-haired man picks up a gurth shell collar.

The slight, desert-hued half-elf gives a dusty black leather and steel-grey sandcloth greatcloak to the athletic,

white-haired man.

The slight, desert-hued half-elf gives a dusty black leather and steel-grey sandcloth greatcloak to the athletic,

white-haired man.

The hawk-nosed, raven-haired man puts a gurth shell collar inside a plain bag of cloth.

The dusky, raven-haired man nods as his gaze turns across the ground slowly.

The lean, scar-faced woman picks up a dusty thick, durrit-hide helm.

The black-striped dusky male dwarf says, in southern-accented sirihish:
     "What the feck, taht's salarr gear. "

The hawk-nosed, raven-haired man puts a gurth shell collar inside a plain bag of cloth.

The short female wearing a dusty desert-camouflaged sandcloth facewrap has arrived from the east, riding a saffron-colored

kank.

The hawk-nosed, raven-haired man picks up a dusty gurth shell helmet.

The rangy, silver-eyed woman stops using a dusty desert-camouflaged sandcloth facewrap.

The hawk-nosed, raven-haired man puts a dusty gurth shell helmet inside a plain bag of cloth.

You say to the black-striped dusky male dwarf, in sirihish:
     "Not anymore."

The woman before you has a lusterous, bright silver gaze that almost
seems to shine. Her pupils and the color that surrounds her iris are a
slighty darker hue, and thick black lashes line her eyes giving her a smoky
gaze. Her hair is the pitch black of midnight, that like her eyes seems to
have some luster to it. It is cut sleekly in a diagonal line, but despite
the eveness of the cut, her hair remains a bit untamed and disheveled. Her
frame is a bit lanky but toned by sinewy muscle. Various scars mark her
sun-bronzed complexion, some old markings faint and healed, while other
scrapes and wounds freshly scabbed continue to heal. Her features are
generally smooth and angular despite her rugged appearance.
The rangy, silver-eyed woman is in excellent condition.

The rangy, silver-eyed woman is using:
<worn on head> a dusty desert-camouflaged, sandcloth-covered cap
<worn in hair> a dusty set of feather-tipped leather cords
<worn in left ear> a dusty striped bone loop
<worn in right ear>a dusty blue beaded bone loop
<worn around neck> a dusty desert-camouflaged, sandcloth-covered collar
<worn about throat>a dusty star-shaped obsidian pendant
<worn across back> a dusty bone-studded backpack
<worn on arms> a pair of leather-reinforced sandcloth sleeves
<worn around wrist>a durrit-claw bracer
<worn around wrist>a durrit-claw bracer
<worn on hands>a dusty pair of spiked duskhorn gauntlets
<primary hand> a dusty wicked-edged, bone scimitar
<secondary hand> a dusty curved, mantis-carved obsidian scimitar
<worn on forearms> a dusty set of feather-tipped leather cords
<worn around body> a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak
<worn on legs> a leather-reinforced sandcloth skirt
<worn on right ankle>a dusty ball-tufted tail
<worn on left ankle> a dusty ball-tufted tail
<worn on feet> a dusty pair of sturdy sandcloth and leather boots

The pockmarked, balding man picks up a tan, yellow-striped tembo-hide belt.

The hawk-nosed, raven-haired man picks up a pair of gurth shell and leather leggings.

Simply, the athletic, white-haired man says to the slight, desert-hued half-elf, in tribal-accented sirihish:
     "Yes. "

The pockmarked, balding man picks up a thick leather belt.

The lean, scar-faced woman picks up a gurth shell bracer.

Looking over to you, the rangy, silver-eyed woman asks, in southern-accented sirihish:
     "The drov?"

The hawk-nosed, raven-haired man puts a pair of gurth shell and leather leggings inside a plain bag of cloth.

The slight, desert-hued half-elf says to the athletic, white-haired man, in tribal-accented sirihish:
     "Apparently, these T'zai Byn don't have many manners. . "

The pockmarked, balding man picks up a snug, red and white silk belt.

The hawk-nosed, raven-haired man picks up a bloodied sueded duskhorn leather tunic.

The hawk-nosed, raven-haired man picks up a pair of spiked duskhorn gauntlets.

The black-striped dusky male dwarf clenches his shield and glowers at the group of brown aba'd scavengers.

The lean, scar-faced woman brandishes a leaf-carved bone shortsword.

Rubbing at her scalp, the mohawked, scar-faced girl whispers something to the black-striped dusky male dwarf.

The hawk-nosed, raven-haired man stops using a dusty pair of fingerless sandcloth gloves.

The hawk-nosed, raven-haired man pulls a pair of spiked duskhorn gauntlets onto his hands.

The thrice-braided, green-eyed man remains mounted, his mouth twisted as he watches the scene.

Smirking, the hawk-nosed, raven-haired man says, in southern-accented sirihish:
     "Damn, this shit's lookin' good on me. "

The lean, scar-faced woman sheathes a leaf-carved bone shortsword.

The lean, scar-faced woman picks up a dusty rough canvas backpack.

The thrice-braided, green-eyed man swings his legs to the side and dismounts.

The thrice-braided, green-eyed man picks up a dusty rib-hilted bone rapier.

The black-striped dusky male dwarf swings his legs to the side and dismounts.

The black-striped dusky male dwarf strides over to the slight, desert-hued half-elf.

Patting your blackened serrated bone warsword against a rusty brown kank's side a few times, you say to the slight,

desert-hued half-elf, in sirihish:
     "No need for cryin’, Sergeant, we're just cleanin' the roads for yeh lovely Kuracis. "

A grey kank rubs its mandibles together.

Flicking his reins, the athletic, white-haired man says, in tribal-accented sirihish:
     "Anything with the Salarri insignia, drop it off at the estate. "

The pockmarked, balding man picks up a dusty worn, carru-hide pack.

The lean, scar-faced woman fastens a gurth shell bracer around her wrist.

The hawk-nosed, raven-haired man jumps up onto a yellow kank's back.

To the west is North Road.
[Very far]
Nothing.
[Far]
Nothing.
[Near]
Nothing.

To the east is North Road.
[Very far]
Nothing.

[Far]
Nothing.

[Near]
Nothing.

The hawk-nosed, raven-haired man unstraps a dusty yellow-embroidered canvas backpack from a yellow kank's back.

The hawk-nosed, raven-haired man swings his legs to the side and dismounts.

The hawk-nosed, raven-haired man wears a dusty yellow-embroidered canvas backpack on his back, covering jagged whip scars.

The pockmarked, balding man jumps up onto a yellow kank's back.

The pockmarked, balding man straps a dusty worn, carru-hide pack to a yellow kank's back.

Glancing around with a grunt, you ask, in sirihish:
     "Yeh get 'nuff, Fists?"

Looking down at the pile of remains, the athletic, white-haired man says, in tribal-accented sirihish:
     "Anything else, it is yours. "

The hawk-nosed, raven-haired man removes a bloodied carru-leather jacket.

The hawk-nosed, raven-haired man puts a bloodied carru-leather jacket inside a dusty yellow-embroidered canvas backpack.

The lean, scar-faced woman picks up a long-handled, flint lumber axe.

The pockmarked, balding man opens a snug, red and white silk belt.

Looking up, the slight, desert-hued half-elf says to you, in tribal-accented sirihish:
     "Hardly necessary. "

The black-striped dusky male dwarf whispers something to the slight, desert-hued half-elf.

The lean, scar-faced woman drops a long-handled, flint lumber axe.

The thrice-braided, green-eyed man jumps up onto a yellow kank's back.

You think:
    “The mul could probably snap off half these Kuraci’s heads ‘fore they got a word in.”

The slight, desert-hued half-elf jumps up onto a grey kank's back.

The lean, scar-faced woman picks up a dusty skull-carved, broad bone battle-axe.

The hawk-nosed, raven-haired man removes a dusty dusky chitin neck-guard.

You think:
    “All us’d snap their necks off quicker’n a Whiran fartin’ in the wind.”

The hawk-nosed, raven-haired man puts a dusty dusky chitin neck-guard inside a dusty yellow-embroidered canvas backpack.

The pockmarked, balding man straps on a snug, red and white silk belt as a belt.

A saffron-colored kank walks east, carrying the athletic, white-haired man on his back.

The mohawked, scar-faced girl jumps up onto a yellow kank's back.

The slight, desert-hued half-elf sweeps a palm upward, turning a grey kank around.

The rangy, silver-eyed woman purses her lips looking over the mess on the roamd then lifts her hands to scure her dusty

desert-camouflaged sandcloth facewrap back on her face.

The hawk-nosed, raven-haired man puts a dusty pair of fingerless sandcloth gloves inside a dusty yellow-embroidered canvas

backpack.

The pockmarked, balding man opens a small pack.

The black-striped dusky male dwarf jumps up onto a yellow kank's back.

The hawk-nosed, raven-haired man gets a dusty dusky chitin neck-guard from a dusty yellow-embroidered canvas backpack.

The pockmarked, balding man puts a thick leather belt inside a small pack.

The hawk-nosed, raven-haired man bows his head, placing a dusty dusky chitin neck-guard about his neck.

The pockmarked, balding man puts a tan, yellow-striped tembo-hide belt inside a small pack.

The hawk-nosed, raven-haired man puts a bloodied sueded duskhorn leather tunic inside a dusty yellow-embroidered canvas

backpack.

The lean, scar-faced woman holds a dusty leather-banded chitin shield.

Swinging your blackened serrated bone warsword forwards and smiling, you exclaim, in sirihish:
     "A'right, Fists, let's head on!"

The hawk-nosed, raven-haired man picks up a new bloodied chitin and leather jacket.

The pockmarked, balding man fits a pair of gurth shell and leather sleeves on his arms.

The black-striped dusky male dwarf glowers at the Byn as he rides on.

A rusty brown kank leisurely waves its antennae about.

North Road [EW]
The stark white of this wide stone road lies across these scrub
forests like the spine of some gargantuan carcass. Blowing, gritty dusts
cover the road in some places, and pech grasses have, here and there, taken
root in and among the flagstones. This pale backbone of a road lies across
these lands in a long and twisting fashion, following the southern border of
the Grey Forest.
Far to the north lies the dim and shadowy blotch on the horizon which
marks the Grey Forest, while to the south stretches the vast sweep of the
scrub plains. Dense tangles of thorny, impassable bushes border the road to
the north and south.
A few disembodied heads of a gortok are here.
A few piles of assorted canine bones are here.
The lean, scar-faced woman has arrived from the west.
An erdlu has arrived from the west.
The pockmarked, balding man has arrived from the west, riding a yellow kank.
The reddish-eyed, coppery mul has arrived from the west, riding a yellow kank.

To the west is North Road.
[Very far]
Nothing.
[Far]
Nothing.
[Near]
A saffron-colored kank stands here, carrying the rangy, silver-eyed woman on his back.
A yellow kank stands here, carrying the hawk-nosed, raven-haired man on his back.
A yellow kank stands here, carrying the thrice-braided, green-eyed man on his back.
A yellow kank stands here, carrying the black-striped dusky male dwarf on his back.
A yellow kank stands here, carrying the mohawked, scar-faced girl on his back.
A grey kank stands here, carrying the slight, desert-hued half-elf on his back.
The hawk-nosed, raven-haired man has arrived from the west, riding a yellow kank.

The lean, scar-faced woman jumps up onto an erdlu's back.

The lean, scar-faced woman stops using a leaf-carved bone shortsword.

To the west is North Road.
[Very far]
Nothing.
[Far]
Nothing.
[Near]
A saffron-colored kank stands here, carrying the short female wearing a dusty desert-camouflaged sandcloth facewrap on his

back.
A yellow kank stands here, carrying the thrice-braided, green-eyed man on his back.
A yellow kank stands here, carrying the black-striped dusky male dwarf on his back.
A yellow kank stands here, carrying the mohawked, scar-faced girl on his back.
A grey kank stands here, carrying the slight, desert-hued half-elf on his back.

The pockmarked, balding man gets a pile of allanaki coins from a snug, red and white silk belt.

The pockmarked, balding man gets a pile of coins from a snug, red and white silk belt.

The reddish-eyed, coppery mul asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
     "Get some nice gear sir?"

The pockmarked, balding man puts a pile of allanaki coins inside a snug, red and white silk belt.

Shaking his head, you say to the reddish-eyed, coppery mul, in sirihish:
     "Nope. "

The pockmarked, balding man closes a snug, red and white silk belt.

You think:
     “Bunch of fuckin’ greedy, two-bit mercenaries…gotta love’m.”

The dusky, raven-haired man sighs as he rides along on his rusty brown kank.

North Road [NEW]
The stark white of this wide stone road lies across these scrub
forests like the spine of some gargantuan carcass. Blowing, gritty dusts
cover the road in some places, and pech grasses have, here and there, taken
root in and among the flagstones. This pale backbone of a road lies...

Continue Reading...
Communion by Marauder Moe
Added on May 12, 2007

An Oash mage performs a dangerous magickal ritual for his lord and a templar.

The Temple of Ruk [SD]
   The walls of this small temple are made of smooth mud brick, the
greyish red color of their composition left uncovered. The air is still and
quiet, an atmosphere of peace and silence permeating the room. Statues,
carved of dark stone, their forms amorphous and unguessable, are spaced
evenly around the borders, what would seem to be their gaze directed towards
the center of the temple, where a large clay dish has been placed on a
pedestal, filled with murky water.
   A large open archway leads south out of the temple and onto the streets
of Allanak, while a stone spiral staircase descends into the ground below,
covered by a thin sheet of sand.
The dour, gloomy-eyed young man is standing here.
The onyx human female is standing here.
The arruth-eyed teen girl is standing here.
A half-giant soldier of Tektolnes walks along here.
The prim, midnight-haired templar is standing here.
A human soldier of Tektolnes walks along here.
A burly dwarf is here, watching the area.
A pale, purple-haired woman stands here, beside a statue.
The veteran mercenary has arrived from the south.
The veteran mercenary has arrived from the south.
The veteran mercenary has arrived from the south.
The veteran mercenary has arrived from the south.

The arruth-eyed teen girl bows her head to the prim, midnight-haired templar.

The slim, auburn-haired man glances at one of the mercnaries following him closely.

The arruth-eyed teen girl starts cleaning.

The arruth-eyed teen girl dusts herself off.

The slim, auburn-haired man bows at the waist to the prim, midnight-haired templar.

The onyx human female's feet come to a sudden halt as she enters thetemple, bowing as she steps aside from the doorway, eyes wide.

The dour, gloomy-eyed young man's caliginous gaze sweeps over theinterior of the temple as his entourage files in, clasping a pouch athis back.

The arruth-eyed teen girl looks up at the onyx human female.

The prim, midnight-haired templar looks at the onyx human female.

Offering a generous incline of his head, the dour, gloomy-eyed young man says to the prim, midnight-haired templar, in sirihish:
     "Just Templar Sarador, good morn'."

The arruth-eyed teen girl looks at you.

The prim, midnight-haired templar says to the dour, gloomy-eyed young man, in sirihish:
     "Lesavius, good day."

The prim, midnight-haired templar asks the dour, gloomy-eyed young man, in sirihish:
     "Which of these is with your party?"

Dangling his rune-marked pouch on a leather cord between two fingers,the dour, gloomy-eyed young man says to the prim, midnight-hairedtemplar, in sirihish:
     "The Advisor, and Lapis, his pupil. The lass."

The dour, gloomy-eyed young man gives a rune-marked pouch on a leather cord to the prim, midnight-haired templar.

The prim, midnight-haired templar asks the dour, gloomy-eyed young man, in sirihish:
     "Does his pupil need to attend?"

The prim, midnight-haired templar glances at the arruth-eyed teen girl.

The slim, auburn-haired man gestures at the arruth-eyed teen girl.

The arruth-eyed teen girl falls in behind you.

The arruth-eyed teen girl takes a single step closer to you, but pauses to glance to the dour, gloomy-eyed young man.
With a sharp sniff, the dour, gloomy-eyed young man says to the prim, midnight-haired templar, in sirihish:
     "She is studying under the Advisor. Unless youhave any dire objections, I'd like her to witness the rite."

The prim, midnight-haired templar looks at the arruth-eyed teen girl with some scrutiny.

The prim, midnight-haired templar says, in sirihish:
     "Very well. She is to remain silent throughout the process."

Aside, the dour, gloomy-eyed young man says to the prim, midnight-haired templar, in sirihish:
     "The decision is yours. I included the piece Ihad aquired some time ago - the ruby - with the others. It should provethe most worthy."

The arruth-eyed teen girl nods her head twice, taking another step closer to you.

The onyx human female stands with her back to the wall, motionlessexcept her pale eyes that dart back and forth with conversation.

The prim, midnight-haired templar asks the onyx human female, in sirihish:
     "You, who are you?"

Glancing over sharply, the dour, gloomy-eyed young man says to the arruth-eyed teen girl, in sirihish:
     "You stay with -me-, Lapis. Merely watch the Advisor and remain perfectly silent."

The prim, midnight-haired templar points at the onyx human female.

The dour, gloomy-eyed young man looks up at the onyx human female with a swivel of his darting eyes.

With a sudden bow, eyes downcast, the onyx human female says to the prim, midnight-haired templar, in sirihish:
     "I am the Ebony Bardess Gilti, my Lord Templar."

Leaning over, you whisper to the arruth-eyed teen girl in sirihish:
     "Lapis, I'm going to need you to try your very best to not be frightened during this."

The prim, midnight-haired templar says to the onyx human female, in sirihish:
     "Yes, thats quite wonderful. Fuck off."

The prim, midnight-haired templar points south.

The arruth-eyed teen girl makes a curious facial expression, frowning slightly.

The dour, gloomy-eyed young man sweeps his wine-purpled tongue over his teeth, eyeing the onyx human female shrewdly.

The prim, midnight-haired templar says to the onyx human female, in sirihish:
     "Your presence in the Temple is not permitted for the moment."

Glancing in the direction his finger points, the onyx human female asks the prim, midnight-haired templar, in sirihish:
     "But, Lord Templar, I was going to get somerest in the temple...may I beg leave to do that, rather than leave?"

Gesturing towards the prim, midnight-haired templar, you whisper to the arruth-eyed teen girl in sirihish:
     "Between Lord Templar Sarador and myself, we'll be quite safe."

The prim, midnight-haired templar says to the onyx human female, in sirihish:
     "You may, though if I see you trying to observe our business you will pay severely."

As her chin nearly meets her chest, the onyx human female says, in sirihish:
     "Your will, Lord Templar."

The prim, midnight-haired templar nods, and gestures towards the entrance to the Temple below.

The onyx human female edges along the wall a step, before stepping quickly at the prim, midnight-haired templar's gesture.

The sand over the stairs ripples and parts, rolling away before the onyx human female.
The onyx human female walks down.

The prim, midnight-haired templar says, in sirihish:
     "Let us commence then..."

**The group makes their way into the temple**

You whisper to the arruth-eyed teen girl in sirihish:
     "But you can't scream or throw any magick or anything. Just stay with Lord Oash."

Whispering as he descends, the dour, gloomy-eyed young man says, in sirihish:
     "Wonderful."

The arruth-eyed teen girl glances quickly at you and blinks suddenly.

The prim, midnight-haired templar asks you, in sirihish:
     "Is there a chamber which is best suited for this?"

The arruth-eyed teen girl looks at the dour, gloomy-eyed young man.

Nodding and pointing to the south, you say to the prim, midnight-haired templar, in sirihish:
     "Yes."

The arruth-eyed teen girl turns to the dour, gloomy-eyed young man and takes a few steps towards him.

**They go to an empty room**

Before the Sand Fountain [E]
   A large, black marble figure rises out of the ground here, its arms
outstretched, reaching out towards the viewer. Its large, stylized head
hangs out over a wide, round pool of sand, huge mouth gaping open. Deep
sunk stone eyes peer sightlessly out at the world as, mysteriously, sand
pours endlessly from its gaping mouth, dribbling down its chin and into the
pool of sand. Oddly, the level of the sand in the pool doesn't seem to
change, though the rate at which the sand pours out of the statue's mouth
never seems to slow down.
   The pool is tiled with white and black marble tiles, each sixth one
inlaid with the symbol of Ruk in red stone. Candles ring the pool of sand,
casting a yellowish light, and apart from the soft hiss of sand as it pours,
the air is silent. To the east, a large open archway leads out into a
darkened passageway.
Some strips of kank steak are here.
The dour, gloomy-eyed young man is standing here, looking a bit winded.
The arruth-eyed teen girl is standing here, looking a bit winded.
The prim, midnight-haired templar is standing here, looking a bit winded.
The veteran mercenary has arrived from the east.
The veteran mercenary has arrived from the east.
The veteran mercenary has arrived from the east.
The veteran mercenary has arrived from the east.
A human Allanaki soldier has arrived from the east.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the east.

close door
Ok.

The arruth-eyed teen girl folds her hands behind her back, lacing the fingers together tightly.

The dour, gloomy-eyed young man's guards take up rigid stances oneither side of the doorway, himself standing closely to the wall beside.

You feel a bit nervous, but also excited..

The prim, midnight-haired templar looks towards the dour, gloomy-eyed young man, examining his guard and nods his approval.

You get a ragged hempcloth pouch from a hooded, black aba trimmed in azure.
It is very light, and less than half full.

The dour, gloomy-eyed young man snaps two muted fingers towards thearruth-eyed teen girl, then points to the floor beside him against thewall.

The prim, midnight-haired templar says to you, in sirihish:
     "You may proceed when you're ready."

The slim, auburn-haired man pours several blue crystals out of your ragged hempcloth pouch in to his hand.

You get a small piece of crystal from a ragged hempcloth pouch.
It is very light.

You get a small piece of crystal from a ragged hempcloth pouch.
It is very light.

The dour, gloomy-eyed young man looks at the prim, midnight-haired templar with a returning nod before looking to you.

You get a small piece of crystal from a ragged hempcloth pouch.
It is very light.

You get a small piece of crystal from a ragged hempcloth pouch.
It is very light.

The pouch does not contain 'crystal'.

The prim, midnight-haired templar steps between his escort.

The arruth-eyed teen girl's jaw tightens visibly.

The slim, auburn-haired man steps into the center of the room, next to a large, black marble fountain.

A foreign presence contacts your mind.

Glancing over his shoulder, you ask the prim, midnight-haired templar, in sirihish:
     "How strong?"

The prim, midnight-haired templar focuses off into space for a moment, before setting his attention on you.

The dour, gloomy-eyed young man sends you a telepathic message:
    "Make sure you are properly protected."

You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.

The prim, midnight-haired templar says to you, in sirihish:
     "I leave that choice to you."

The prim, midnight-haired templar says to you, in sirihish:
     "As strong as you feel capable of handling reasonably."

The slim, auburn-haired man nods, then kneels on the ground and presses his hand to the floor.

The dour, gloomy-eyed young man nods in agreement from where he stands, eyeing you.

cast 'sul un censored magick words' me
The earth trembles in response to your call.

You are getting hungry.
The slim, auburn-haired man utters the incantation, 'sul un censored magick words'.
Ok.
Your skin turns to a stone-like substance.

The dour, gloomy-eyed young man bobs his head silently, his glinting eyes resting on you.

The slim, auburn-haired man returns to his feet and takes a deep breath.

A muted rumble sounds from the walls and floor of the chamber as theslim, auburn-haired man turns to face the far end of the room.

Clutching several blue crystals in one hand, the slim, auburn-hairedman starts to chant. The rumbling strengthens in time with hisvoice, giving it an unnaturally deep quality.

cast 'kral un censored magick words'
The earth trembles in response to your call.

The slim, auburn-haired man utters the incantation, 'kral un censored magick words'.
You lost your concentration!

The prim, midnight-haired templar stands with a resolute expression, posture composed.

The prim, midnight-haired templar shouts, in an unfamiliar tongue:
     "py rio naguo oh duihujooo, apgon yaod kuogypr mje sjmorwpa ap a syws-soibs!"

The prim, midnight-haired templar utters the incantation, 'mon un censored magick words'.
The prim, midnight-haired templar's muscles bulge with newfound strength.

The slim, auburn-haired man pauses and takes another long breath beforerepeating the chant, calling forth the rumbling once more.

cast 'kral un censored magick words'
The earth trembles in response to your call.

The prim, midnight-haired templar takes a quiet inhale, gazing at you.

The slim, auburn-haired man utters the incantation, 'kral un censored magick words'.
Ok.
A small piece of crystal folds in upon itself with an audible grinding noise.
You're now wanted!
You focus your will as a man-sized sandstone golem is brought to this plane.
A man-sized sandstone golem falls in behind you.

The prim, midnight-haired templar looks at a man-sized sandstone golem.

l golem
Of average human height, this sandstone mass is an impressive sight if
for nothing more than the depression it causes in the ground: evidence of
its tremendous weight. The head is little more than a block with indented
holes to represent the eyes and wide mouth. Meanwhile, the limbs are thick
and blocky, ending with stubby digits.
A man-sized sandstone golem is in excellent condition.

The dour, gloomy-eyed young man looks at a man-sized sandstone golem with a rapid blink of his eyes.

The slim, auburn-haired man grits his teeth and stares at a man-sized sandstone golem.

A man-sized sandstone golem turns to stare at you, the floor groaning under its weight.

The arruth-eyed teen girl's skin pales somewhat, her eyes trailing from you to a man-sized sandstone golem.

The arruth-eyed teen girl looks at a man-sized sandstone golem.

Lowering his hands, you say, in sirihish:
     "I have it. It's mine."

The prim, midnight-haired templar nods at you.

Speaking softly, the prim, midnight-haired templar says to a man-sized sandstone golem, in an unfamiliar tongue:
     "korqihe va eoo hpoui, pariqei eo ser..."

Its voice crackling like the sounds of rock on rock, a man-sized sandstone golem asks you, in an unfamiliar tongue:
     ".."ge'x gepa"? gui rhaok r iq iyul ageve?"

The dour, gloomy-eyed young man forces a deep swallow as he glances between you and a man-sized sandstone golem.

You are getting hungry.

The slim, auburn-haired man looks between the prim, midnight-haired templar and a man-sized sandstone golem curiously.

Gesturing at the prim, midnight-haired templar, you say to a man-sized sandstone golem, in sirihish:
     "Speak with him."

A man-sized sandstone golem looks at the prim, midnight-haired templar.

The arruth-eyed teen girl's shoulders shake with a gentle but chronic tremble.

A man-sized sandstone golem's rocky mouth turns into a sneering frown as it regards the prim, midnight-haired templar.

You think:
     "This is amazing! It -is- intelligent! It speaks!"

The prim, midnight-haired templar asks a man-sized sandstone golem, in an unfamiliar tongue:
     "kie tag aoqeargisk ryh, xuk yei? ohef roiijk qe jseojf qfus pys, hgioe kiioee?"

It's voice like the sounds of breaking rock, a man-sized sandstone golem says, in earth-accented sirihish:
     "Yes, I speak both tongues, servant of the Putrid Beast."

You think:
     "I only hope they're speaking the same language..."

The slim, auburn-haired man bites his lip nervously.

The prim, midnight-haired templar says to a man-sized sandstone golem, in sirihish:
     "I will not abide blasphemy..."

The dour, gloomy-eyed young man draws a sharp inhale, recoiling back a bit as he watches a man-sized sandstone golem.

Its voice rocky, a man-sized sandstone golem says to the prim, midnight-haired templar, in earth-accented sirihish:
     "Then stop your mouth from moving."

A man-sized sandstone golem says, in earth-accented sirihish:
     "For servants of He Who Defiles perform blasphemy against the Old Way, each day they breath."

The arruth-eyed teen girl bites down on her lower lip.

The slim, auburn-haired man shoots an uncertain glance over his shoulder towards the dour, gloomy-eyed young man.

The dour, gloomy-eyed young man glances harshly between the prim, midnight-haired templar and you.

You think:
     "This can't be good..."

With a faint roll of his eyes, the prim, midnight-haired templar says to a man-sized sandstone golem, in sirihish:
     "This is not the topic I had intended to discuss."

Its face stoic as it speaks, a man-sized sandstone golem says to the prim, midnight-haired templar, in earth-accented sirihish:
     "But the one who summoned me has ordered me tospeak to you. So speak to you I will.. servant of the RottingKing."

Inhaling sharply, you say to a man-sized sandstone golem, in sirihish:
     "Speak and speak politely."

The prim, midnight-haired templar says to you, in sirihish:
     "Kelad, ask him about the visions. Thenext words I speak to this blasphemous creature will be the ones todestroy it."

The arruth-eyed teen girl looks at you.

The arruth-eyed teen girl looks at a man-sized sandstone golem.

The slim, auburn-haired man glances at the prim, midnight-haired templar and nods.

Taking a deep breath first, you ask a man-sized sandstone golem, in sirihish:
     "I've had a vision, possibly of the place you just came from. Are you aware of this?"

A foreign presence contacts your mind.

The prim, midnight-haired templar looks at a man-sized sandstone golem.

Its stone head shifting from side to side, a man-sized sandstone golem says to you, in earth-accented sirihish:
     "No."

The prim, midnight-haired templar looks at you.

The prim, midnight-haired templar pardons you of your crimes.

The dour, gloomy-eyed young man sends you a telepathic message:
    "Tell it you have heard voices, and you need to know if it is really the earth speaking to you.."

The dour, gloomy-eyed young man sends you a telepathic message:
    "Or an imposter..."

You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.

Nodding faintly, you ask a man-sized sandstone golem, in sirihish:
     "Then, do you know of the one named Betob?"

No emotion showing on its face, a man-sized sandstone golem says to you, in earth-accented sirihish:
     "Yes."

You say to a man-sized sandstone golem, in sirihish:
     "Tell me about Betob."

A trickle of sand pouring from its mouth, a man-sized sandstone golem says to you, in earth-accented sirihish:
     "Betob is a great Mountain of Ruk. One of the more powerful of our kind to exist."

A man-sized sandstone golem says, in earth-accented sirihish:
     "With the shaking of the world he could flatten this weak building to the ground."

One stoney hand raising to gesture, a man-sized sandstone golem says, in earth-accented sirihish:
     "Bring to the knees of humility half this city."

With a quick nod, you ask a man-sized sandstone golem, in sirihish:
     "I understand. Has he been communicating with those like me recently?"

The prim, midnight-haired templar looks at a man-sized sandstone golem.

Both hands opening to show cracks in his palms, a man-sized sandstone golem says, in earth-accented sirihish:
     "I do not know. Possibly. He has done so before, when the third city prospered."

contact Lesavius
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the dour, gloomy-eyed young man with the Way.

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the dour, gloomy-eyed young man:
    "I'm out of questions. This creature seems to have confirmed Nara's story, though."

A foreign presence contacts your mind.

The slim, auburn-haired man nods thoughtfully.

The dour, gloomy-eyed young man sends you a telepathic message:
    "Ask it -why- Betob might have asked you to look for a 'psiak' component."

The prim, midnight-haired templar says to you, in sirihish:
     "As about the component these visions seek."

You dissolve the psychic link.

The dour, gloomy-eyed young man sends you a telepathic message:
    "And ask it if it might know where you can find something like what Betob is asking you to get for it."

You ask a man-sized sandstone golem, in sirihish:
     "Alright, why would the great Betob wish a magick component from this world?"

The slim, auburn-haired man holds out your small piece of crystal demonstrativly.

The dour, gloomy-eyed young man sends you a telepathic message:
    "What it might look like, what shape it might be, what it would be made of..."

You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
You hold the crystal.

The dour, gloomy-eyed young man stares at you with a glazed distance, a deep breath squaring his posture.

A man-sized sandstone golem holds a hand out towards you, palm up.

The arruth-eyed teen girl stares at a man-sized sandstone golem solemnly.

You give a small piece of crystal to a man-sized sandstone golem.

A foreign presence contacts your mind.

A man-sized sandstone golem puts the crystal in his mouth, and chews it, crushing it with a loud, strange crunch.

A man-sized sandstone golem breaks a small piece of crystal.

The dour, gloomy-eyed young man sends you a telepathic message:
    "You may have to tell it that Betob has specifically asked for a 'psiak' component."

You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.

The slim, auburn-haired man blinks in suprise.

The dour, gloomy-eyed young man nods in quiet agreement to himself as he watches a man-sized sandstone golem.

A man-sized sandstone golem says, in earth-accented sirihish:
     "Ruk is pure. There are no other elements polluting Ruk."

A man-sized sandstone golem says, in earth-accented sirihish:
     "But things of the Plane of Life are the combination of all elements."

Sand pouring from its mouth as it speaks, a man-sized sandstone golem says, in earth-accented sirihish:
     "So, there are things here that are unobtainable on Ruk"

You think:
     "Got it."

A man-sized sandstone golem says, in earth-accented sirihish:
     "Things like water, fire."

With an understanding nod, you ask a man-sized sandstone golem, in sirihish:
     "I see. Why then would he want a component for the word 'psiak' in particular?"

The prim, midnight-haired templar looks at a man-sized sandstone golem.

Its rocky shoulders rising a bit, a man-sized sandstone golem says, in earth-accented sirihish:
     "I do not know what specifics he wishes it for."

The prim, midnight-haired templar watches a man-sized sandstone golem, expressions drawn in silent observation.

A man-sized sandstone golem says, in earth-accented sirihish:
     "You would have to ask him."

A foreign presence contacts your mind.

The dour, gloomy-eyed young man sends you a telepathic message:
    "Ask it -what- the component he wants looks like.'Psiak', at 'mon'. Also ask it how you can talk back to Betob."

You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.

With a slow nod, you ask a man-sized sandstone golem, in sirihish:
     "Yes well, I may. Do you know, though,what form a psiak component at the power of mon would take?"

A gravely tone to its voice, a man-sized sandstone golem says, in earth-accented sirihish:
     "Perhaps Betob intends to create a powerful - or everlasting - enchantment upon himself."

A man-sized sandstone golem holds out its hand towards you, palm up.

The slim, auburn-haired man glances down at his palm.

You give a small piece of crystal to a man-sized sandstone golem.

A man-sized sandstone golem takes the crystal and devours it like food, a loud, strange crunching sound.

You are hungry.

The arruth-eyed teen girl flinches at the crunching.

You think:
     "I wonder if they're tasty. Usually I'm a decent cook."

A man-sized sandstone golem says, in earth-accented sirihish:
     "A blade with but one edge often embodies Psiak.. find one of great value."

You think:
     "Well shit, I knew -that- already."

A man-sized sandstone golem says, in earth-accented sirihish:
     "An <censored>, made of <censored>, perhaps.."

You think:
     "But that I didn't know."

The slim, auburn-haired man nods quickly.

A man-sized sandstone golem says, in earth-accented sirihish:
     "Or a <censored>, like <censored>, <censored>."

The ground seemingly to barely noticably sink beneath its weight, a man-sized sandstone golem says, in earth-accented sirihish:
     "Imbued with power, by your hands."

The dour, gloomy-eyed young man pats himself down, bowing his headcuriously as his fingers lay on the hilt of his azure-handled,finely-carved shortsword.

Nodding rapidly, you say to a man-sized sandstone golem, in sirihish:
     "Good, good."

Pointing at the prim, midnight-haired templar, a man-sized sandstone golem says, in earth-accented sirihish:
     "Likely you could trade his head for it, to the enemies of the King Who Defiles"

The prim, midnight-haired templar grips his medallion of Tektolnes andglares at a man-sized sandstone golem, his other hand pointing towardshim.

The prim, midnight-haired templar shouts, in sirihish:
     "In the name of the Highlord, let the foul magicks present here be cleansed!"

The prim, midnight-haired templar utters an incantation.
A fiery light sparks from the prim, midnight-haired templar's hands towards a man-sized sandstone golem.
The diffused air around a man-sized sandstone golem wavers momentarily.

A man-sized sandstone golem becomes less angry.
A man-sized sandstone golem regains mental control.
The dour, gloomy-eyed young man flits a quick glance to the veteran mercenary.

The slim, auburn-haired man gasps.

The prim, midnight-haired templar shouts, in sirihish:
     "In the name of the Highlord, let the foul magicks present here be cleansed!"

The prim, midnight-haired templar utters an incantation.

The arruth-eyed teen girl's arms fold up over her head.

A human Allanaki soldier tries to protect the prim, midnight-haired templar but fails!
The half-giant soldier tries to protect the prim, midnight-haired templar but fails!
A man-sized sandstone golem lightly hits the prim, midnight-haired templar's leg.
The prim, midnight-haired templar swiftly dodges a man-sized sandstone golem's hits.

A man-sized sandstone golem swiftly dodges the prim, midnight-haired templar's hits.
A man-sized sandstone golem swiftly dodges the prim, midnight-haired templar's hits.

The prim, midnight-haired templar shouts, in sirihish:
     "In the name of the Highlord, let the foul magicks present here be cleansed!"

A man-sized sandstone golem hits at the prim, midnight-haired templar's body, nicking him.
The prim, midnight-haired templar swiftly dodges a man-sized sandstone golem's hits.
A man-sized sandstone golem swiftly dodges the prim, midnight-haired templar's hits.
A man-sized sandstone golem swiftly dodges the prim, midnight-haired templar's hits.

The veteran mercenary leaps before the dour, gloomy-eyed young man.

The prim, midnight-haired templar utters an incantation.
A fiery light sparks from the prim, midnight-haired templar's hands towards a man-sized sandstone golem.
The diffused air around a man-sized sandstone golem wavers momentarily.

A man-sized sandstone golem becomes less angry.
A stillness descends around a man-sized sandstone golem and he slowly fades away.

You stop holding a small piece of crystal.

The prim, midnight-haired templar shouts, in sirihish:
     "In the name of the Highlord, let the foul magicks present here be cleansed!"

The prim, midnight-haired templar utters an incantation.

The slim, auburn-haired man slowly lowers his hands which he had raised defensivly.

The prim, midnight-haired templar grunts, and steps back as his spell destroys the golem the moments after it strikes.
The arruth-eyed teen girl peeks out between her arms.

The arruth-eyed teen girl's quivers.

The dour, gloomy-eyed young man's shoulders deflate in relief, the veteran mercenary moving to the side.

The prim, midnight-haired templar glances down at his bloodiedjade-studded, black-scaled hauberk, a bit of rock and sand visiblewhere the creature hit him.

The prim, midnight-haired templar says, in sirihish:
     "Blaspheming creature..."

The prim, midnight-haired templar says to the dour, gloomy-eyed young man, in sirihish:
     "We got what we wanted from it."

The prim, midnight-haired templar turns to the dour, gloomy-eyed young man.

Nodding his head sharply as he glances to you, the dour, gloomy-eyedyoung man says to the prim, midnight-haired templar, in sirihish:
     "Indeed we did."

The arruth-eyed teen girl licks her dried lips, wetting them.

Clearing his throat before speaking, the dour, gloomy-eyed young man says to you, in sirihish:
     "Good work Advisor."

The arruth-eyed teen girl drops her arms back to her sides, with some visible effort.

The prim, midnight-haired templar says to you, in sirihish:
     "Yes, Kelad. Well done..."

With an uneasy voice, you say to the dour, gloomy-eyed young man, in sirihish:
     "Thankyou... Lord Oash."

Pursing his lips in contemplation, the dour, gloomy-eyed young man says to the prim, midnight-haired templar, in sirihish:
     "How interesting how it accepted the offerings..."

The prim, midnight-haired templar says to the dour, gloomy-eyed young man, in sirihish:
     "Yes, quite interesting. I suppose that was good food for a creature of Ruk."

The arruth-eyed teen girl opens her mouth, then shuts it with a click of teeth.

Extending a gloved hand, the dour, gloomy-eyed young man says to the prim, midnight-haired templar, in sirihish:
     "I'm pleased we didn't have to sacrifice the ruby."

The prim, midnight-haired templar says to the dour, gloomy-eyed young man, in sirihish:
     "Yes, that would have been wasteful to give to that pathetic, though wise, creature."

The prim, midnight-haired templar glances at the half-giant soldier and you.

After a few slow breaths, the slim, auburn-haired man calms visibly.

Shifting his gaze back to you, the dour, gloomy-eyed young man asks the prim, midnight-haired templar, in sirihish:
     "We just may be able to use it later. Have westill need for the Advisor, or shall we move on elsewhere to discuss?"

Looking at his escort, the prim, midnight-haired templar asks, in sirihish:
     "Got scared of it did you? Didn't protect me well did you?"

The slim, auburn-haired man wipes a hand across his stone-grey forehead.

The prim, midnight-haired templar snorts, glaring at the half-giant soldier.

You are famished.

The prim, midnight-haired templar turns back to the dour, gloomy-eyed young man.

The prim, midnight-haired templar says to the dour, gloomy-eyed young man, in sirihish:
     "Yes, let us retire to discussion."

With a bit of a wave, the dour, gloomy-eyed young man says to you, in sirihish:
     "Regroup yourself, Advisor, and speak with your pupil. We'll speak on this later."

You ask the prim, midnight-haired templar, in sirihish:
     "May I have this spell removed, Lord Templar?"

The prim, midnight-haired templar looks at you.

The prim, midnight-haired templar nods.

The arruth-eyed teen girl falls in behind you.

The prim, midnight-haired templar gestures, palm out, at you.

The prim, midnight-haired templar shouts, in sirihish:
     "In the name of the Highlord, let the foul magicks present here be cleansed!"

The prim, midnight-haired templar utters an incantation.
A fiery light sparks from the prim, midnight-haired templar's hands towards you.
Your skin becomes softer.
Your skin becomes softer.
The arruth-eyed teen girl wrings her hands tightly in front of her, squeezing the fingers.

The veteran mercenary stops guarding the dour, gloomy-eyed young man.
The veteran mercenary begins guarding the dour, gloomy-eyed young man.

The veteran mercenary stops guarding the dour, gloomy-eyed young man.
The veteran mercenary begins guarding the dour, gloomy-eyed young man.

The veteran mercenary stops guarding you.
The veteran mercenary begins guarding the dour, gloomy-eyed young man.

The veteran mercenary stops guarding you.
The veteran mercenary begins guarding the dour, gloomy-eyed young man.

With a beckon to the two guards watching you, the dour, gloomy-eyed young man says, in sirihish:
     "Both of you come with me."

Extending his azure-handled, finely-carved shortsword, the dour, gloomy-eyed young man says to you, in sirihish:
     "See if you can do anything with this, Advisor."

The dour, gloomy-eyed young man gives you an azure-handled, finely-carved shortsword.

The prim, midnight-haired templar asks the dour, gloomy-eyed young man, in sirihish:
     "Shall we depart then?"

With a sharp nod of his head, the dour, gloomy-eyed young man says to the prim, midnight-haired templar, in sirihish:
     "Indeed, let's."

The prim, midnight-haired templar opens the door.

The prim, midnight-haired templar walks east.
The dour, gloomy-eyed young man walks east.
The veteran mercenary walks east.
The veteran mercenary walks east.
The veteran mercenary walks east.
The veteran mercenary walks east.
A human Allanaki soldier walks east.
The half-giant soldier walks east.

close door
Ok.

The arruth-eyed teen girl looks at you.

The slim, auburn-haired man slowly shuts the door then looks over at the arruth-eyed teen girl.

The arruth-eyed teen girl peers at the sand fountain, then to you.

The arruth-eyed teen girl folds her hands behind her back, swallowing.

With a faint smile, you say to the arruth-eyed teen girl, in sirihish:
     "You've had an interesting day."

The Temple of Ruk [SD]
   The walls of this small temple are made of smooth mud brick, the
greyish red color of their composition left uncovered. The air is still and
quiet, an atmosphere of peace and silence permeating the room. Statues,
carved of dark stone, their forms amorphous and...
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The Case of the "Drove" Beetles by Manhattan
Added on May 5, 2007

WARNING: RATED "R" FOR SOME VIOLENCE AND GORE. Come one, come all! Sit back, and revel in the outrageous tale of two militiamen. A patrol out in the desert turns out to be much more than they expected. They soon learn what the consequences are for their exaggerations... Audiences may find a certain comical aspect amongst all of it. Enjoy!

*****From the perspective of the splotched, mauve-tousled man******

You pass beneath the shadow of the black dragon.
Inside the Main Gate [NESW]
   The main gate of the city-state of Allanak towers high here, its
twin obsidian towers separating the life-threatening perils of the
desert from the life-threatening perils of the city. Outside of the
gate, a wide road stretches outwards before circling around the city,
side roads branching in all directions: the boulder wastelands to the
west, the flat, empty plains to the south, and the endless, infernal
desert to the infinite north.
   Inside the gate, Caravan Road plunges eastward into the heart of
the city, passing by the elemental temples and three Quarters before
reaching its end. Wall Road leads north and south, creeping along
the inside of the high city walls.
A yellow kank stands here, carrying the trim, ebon-haired templar on his back.
The pudgy, brown-haired half-giant soldier watches over the thick gates.
A human soldier of Tektolnes stands here, warily guarding the city gate.
The dark brown elf is standing here.
The bald, harshly-tanned soldier is standing here.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the west.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the west.

The brawny, black-haired man has arrived from the west, riding a grey kank.

The trim, ebon-haired templar slips her blackened serrated bone warsword behind her backpack, examining a few ragged tears in her flesh.

Halting her kank and looking back, trying to hide the traces of pain on her face, the trim, ebon-haired templar says, in sirihish:
     "Good work, you two."

His head kept low in respect, you say to the trim, ebon-haired templar, in sirihish:
     "It was a honor, milady. To ride with you."

Half-bowing atop his kank, the brawny, black-haired man asks the trim, ebon-haired templar, in sirihish:
     "C'n we help ya with anythin' else, Yer Ladyship?"

Shaking her head, her left arm pressed against a bloody spot on her robe, the trim, ebon-haired templar says, in sirihish:
     "No. I've a few places to go to now."

The brawny, black-haired man nods and ushers his kank closer to you.

Turning back to face ahead, the trim, ebon-haired templar says, in sirihish:
     "Dismissed."

Pausing before he approaches the stables, you say to the brawny, black-haired man, in sirihish:
     "Stay on that kank, recruit. You need the practice."

The brawny, black-haired man says to you, in sirihish:
     "Yessir. I'll ride 'im back and forth 'cross the city ten times if I gotta."

You say to the brawny, black-haired man, in sirihish:
     "Tell you what, you can practice that riding while we patrol the farming villages."

A yellow kank walks east, carrying the trim, ebon-haired templar on his back.
The half-giant soldier walks east.
The half-giant soldier walks east.

You ask the brawny, black-haired man, in sirihish:
     "You up for it, recruit?"

The brawny, black-haired man says to you, in sirihish:
     "Sure."

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The two militiamen turn around on their kanks and ride back out into the desert. With Private Harlan at the lead, they begin their regular patrols of Allanak's surrounding villages, Recruit Soriel desperately trying to keep up.
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To the south are Dusty Plains.
[Very far]
Nothing.
[Far]
A huge black beetle crawls around the desert floor.
[Near]
Nothing.

The brawny, black-haired man draws an obsidian-bladed battle axe.

You say to the brawny, black-haired man, in sirihish:
     "Weapons out."

You swing your legs to the side and dismount.

You unsling a massive bone greatsword from your back.

The brawny, black-haired man swings his legs to the side and dismounts.

The brawny, black-haired man draws a crescent-bladed obsidian axe.

Dusty Plains [NESW]
   Endless arid plains and rugged rock outcroppings dominate the landscape
here. The desolate ground is mottled, with sand in one place, red dirt in
another, and sharp stones elsewhere; it is as if the winds had discarded
the refuse of creation here. The sun beats down on the barren ground with
heavy, dry heat, and a thick layer of dark red dust cakes everything.
The brawny, black-haired man has arrived from the north.
A grey kank has arrived from the north.
A yellow kank has arrived from the north.

A large black beetle has arrived from the south.

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Just as the skirmish begins, the duo is instantly torn apart by the beetle in a vicious onslaught. Naturally, the militiamen flee head over heels, spurring their kanks into a breakneck gallop. The beetle follows closely behind them as it scampers across the sands.
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Dusty Plains [NESW]
   Endless arid plains and rugged rock outcroppings dominate the landscape
here. The desolate ground is mottled, with sand in one place, red dirt in
another, and sharp stones elsewhere; it is as if the winds had discarded
the refuse of creation here. The sun beats down on the barren ground with
heavy, dry heat, and a thick layer of dark red dust cakes everything.
A huge black beetle crawls around the desert floor.
A kank stands here, its yellow shell mottled with dust.
A grey kank stands here, vigorously waving its pinchers.
The brawny, black-haired man is standing here.

A large black beetle bites the brawny, black-haired man on his body, wounding him.

You sling a massive bone greatsword across your back.

You jump up onto a yellow kank's back.

A large black beetle bites the brawny, black-haired man's leg, connecting hard.

The brawny, black-haired man sheathes an obsidian-bladed battle axe.

A large black beetle brutally bites the brawny, black-haired man on his wrist.

You exclaim to the brawny, black-haired man, in sirihish:
     "Mount up and ditch!"

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Overwhelmed by the bloodthirsty beetle, Soriel pulls back and stumbles across the plains. Just as things couldn't get worse, another beetle, likely the first ones mate, joins the carnage. Harlan tugs on the reins of Soriel's kank and rides towards the road, where Soriel
was temporarily seeking sanctuary.
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A Rock-lined Road [NESW]
   A small road of sorts runs from east to west here, a narrow greyish line
separating the endless dune-filled landscape to the north from the dull and
barren wastelands to the south. Small rocks mark the northern border of the
road, apparently cleared from the path. The crimson sun beats down upon the
dusty road, causing the rocks to shimmer slightly in the intense heat.
The brawny, black-haired man is standing here, bleeding heavily.
A grey kank has arrived from the south.

You stop leading a grey kank.

The brawny, black-haired man begins leading a grey kank.

The brawny, black-haired man jumps up onto a grey kank's back.

You say to the brawny, black-haired man, in sirihish:
     "C'mon, it's on our tail."

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The militiamen saddle up as fast as they can and continue their escape back to civilization. They make it safely back to Allanak, but not without terrible wounds. They stable their kanks, and assess their situation.
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The brawny, black-haired man says, in sirihish:
     "Uh... private... I'm bleedin'.... everywhere."

Wobbling in his steps, you say to the brawny, black-haired man, in sirihish:
     "Shut..up...ya' lookit..me..."

The splotched, mauve-tousled man coughs, dripping blood everywhere.

The brawny, black-haired man looks at you.

The brawny, black-haired man's eyes go wide.

Wavy locks of mauve-colored hair flays wildly on this young man's head.
He has a normal build, pronounced muscles and a somewhat discolored skin
tone. He is pale in some spots but also tanned-brown in others. There is a
light crimson stain the size of a coin on the side of his face, irregularly
shaped and noticeable from afar. His mmauve eyebrows emanate intensity as
they are thinly groomed and close together, as if giving him a scowl which
contradicts with the two permanent dimples on his smooth cheeks.
The splotched, mauve-tousled man looks near death.

<worn on head>           a new stained black, braxat-shell greathelm
<worn in hair>           a thin leather headband
<worn on face>           a pair of bone sunslits
<worn around neck>       a reddish-brown chitinous collar
<slung across back>      a massive bone greatsword
<worn across back>       a bahamet-embroidered leather backpack
<worn on arms>           a new pair of black, bone scalemail arm-guards
<worn around wrist>      a scrab shell wristguard
<worn around wrist>      a sleek black quirri-clawed bracer
<worn on hands>          a pair of sable, chitin-plated leather gloves
<worn around body>       a black, hooded militia dustcloak
<worn on legs>           a bloodied set of cuirbouilli leg guards
<worn on right ankle>    a black sandcloth bandana
<worn on left ankle>     a black sandcloth bandana
<worn on feet>           a pair of high, polished black leather boots

Half-smirking, blood tracing his teeth, you say to the brawny, black-haired man, in sirihish:
     "Still standin'."

The brawny, black-haired man says, in sirihish:
     "Mebbe... we better... go see them... healers... 'r else..."

Coughing blood, the brawny, black-haired man says, in sirihish:
     "we ain'.. gonna be able... t' go on... t' misshun."

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With nothing but heading back to the barracks on their mind, they stagger down Theyak's Walk, rapidly losing blood.
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You say to the brawny, black-haired man, in sirihish:
     "If ya can't heal in one week, I'll kick yer ass."

The splotched, mauve-tousled man clutches his arms, a large gash lacerated on his flesh.

The brawny, black-haired man asks, in sirihish:
     "From that? He took half me chest off, and that ain' even half what he did to you?"

The splotched, mauve-tousled man pauses for a moment, falling to his knees.

As blood pulsates and spurts from his wounds, you exclaim, in sirihish:
     "Krath..shit!"

Painedly, the brawny, black-haired man asks you, in sirihish:
     "You sure we shouldn' see them healers, Private...?"

The splotched, mauve-tousled man eyes the massive pool around his body with wide-eyes of horror.

The brawny, black-haired man says to you, in sirihish:
     "Better git afore y' start feelin' all them wounds..."

Slowly crawling to his knees, you say to the brawny, black-haired man, in sirihish:
     "Back...to the barracks...medics..."

The brawny, black-haired man grunts and wraps an arm around your shoulders, helping you up.

The splotched, mauve-tousled man falls onto the brawny, black-haired man's arms, blood spilling all over the brawny, black-haired man's clothes.

The brawny, black-haired man says, in sirihish:
     "Yessir..."

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With Harlan slumped over his shoulders, Soriel painfully trudges towards the barracks.
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Eyeing his messy red wounds with horror, you exclaim to the brawny, black-haired man, in sirihish:
     "What the fuck devil beetle was that!"

The small, red-mopped boy sends you a telepathic message:
    "I don't know where you are or what in Krath happened to you, but I've already informed the Vivaduans to make preparations to save your life. I'd get to their temple as soon as possible...You look like hell."

As he stumbles through the gates, the brawny, black-haired man exclaims to the dusty, brown-haired soldier, in sirihish:
     "Were five beetles, ambushed us! Crazy drov beetles they was!"

A Roomy Barracks [NEW]
   The thickness of the dull red mud bricks of which this barracks has
been built provides it with a coolness which resists the worst of the
Zalanthan sun. The furnishings are simple: neatly ordered cots sit in rows,
a few with footlockers built into one end, while a large weapons rack hangs
on the wall underneath a wooden frieze depicting the desert, gith, jozhals
and scrabs moving through the dunes. Below the frieze, extending down the
walls and covering the floor, are ceramic tiles composed of all the hues of
the desert: vermilion, bronze, amber, rust, tawny yellow, and ochre. The
tiles are laid in an abstract, undulating pattern reminiscent of rolling
dunes.
A simple wooden chest sits here on the floor.
A cracked stone storage bin, nearly falling apart, has been put here.
The brawny, black-haired man is standing here, bleeding heavily.

The splotched, mauve-tousled man grunts as he is dragged along by the brawny, black-haired man, a bloody red trail in his wake.

The brawny, black-haired man drags you over to a cot and lowers you down before falling down to one near it.

The splotched, mauve-tousled man falls backwards into a small leather cot.

Groaning, the brawny, black-haired man says, in sirihish:
     "Tryin'.. t' find... them healers'... minds...."

His voice barely a whisper, you say to the brawny, black-haired man, in sirihish:
     "Vivaduan temple...now...healers...waiting..."

The splotched, mauve-tousled man rolls and falls from his cot.

Groaning as he pushes up, the brawny, black-haired man says to you, in sirihish:
     "C'mon Private... I'll.. drag ya..."

The brawny, black-haired man grabs your arms weakly to pull you up, and uses his brawny bulk to support your weight.

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The wounded men make their way to the Vivaduan Temple, so close yet so far...and not without staining the streets with their dripping blood.
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The slender, sun-browned man sends you a telepathic message:
    "If you're as fucked up as Jasper says, I'd suggest coming to the Temple, Private."

Stumbling in as he half-carries a bloodied man, red streaks following his wake, the brawny, black-haired man walks west.
You follow the brawny, black-haired man, and walk west.

The Temple of Vivadu [EW]
   Here inside the Temple of Vivadu, the architecture is simple and
serene, surfaces unadorned to allow the beauty of the stonework to show
unobscured by excess ornamentation. In the center lies a large pool of
water, its basin carved of smooth blue stone, elementalists sitting around
it to meditate while contemplating its unruffled surface. The walls are
curved, forming a large cylinder which arches upwards towards a low,
white-painted dome. The floor is composed of alternating blue and grey
ceramic tiles, laid in rippling, wave-like patterns. In small alcoves along
the wall sit abstract sculptures, their clean, uncomplicated lines pleasing
to the eye.
   An open archway, made of smooth grey stone, leads eastward outside the
temple towards Vivadu's Path. To the west, in the middle of the wall, a
small door appears to lead further into the temple.
The brawny, black-haired man is standing here, bleeding heavily.
The small, red-mopped boy is standing here.
The willowy, tangle-haired girl is standing here.
The slender, sun-browned man is standing here.
The sleek, pale-eyed woman stands here in quiet contemplation.

Pointing weakly with a finger, you say to the brawny, black-haired man, in sirihish:
     "There...there.."

The willowy, tangle-haired girl's cheeks flush as she stares at the still-empty waterskin.

A fine mist condenses near the willowy, tangle-haired girl as she begins a spell.

The willowy, tangle-haired girl utters an incantation.
The willowy, tangle-haired girl opens her palm and water flows from her skin into a leather waterskin.

Softly, the willowy, tangle-haired girl says, in rinthi-accented sirihish:
     "c'mon dammit..."

Turning towards the commotion at the entryway, the small, red-mopped boy says to the slender, sun-browned man, in sirihish:
     "There they are."

Keeping his gaze towards you as he furrows his brows, though speaking to the willowy, tangle-haired girl, the slender, sun-browned man says, in sirihish:
     "Keep yourself relaxed, don't force anything.."

Moisture suddenly swells up around the willowy, tangle-haired girl as water fills her leather waterskin completely and even overflows out of it.

Shaking his head as blood seeps onto the ground, you exclaim to the slender, sun-browned man, in sirihish:
     "No, no, your floors... your floors!"

The small, red-mopped boy looks up at you with a grim face as he steps back.

The brawny, black-haired man drags you a little further and then simply collapses as his knees give out.

Dropping you beside him, the brawny, black-haired man sits down to rest.

The willowy, tangle-haired girl looks at you going very still, with wide blue eyes.

Shifting his attention to the brawny, black-haired man with a brisk tone, the small, red-mopped boy asks, in sirihish:
     "Recruit, what in Drov happened, and where is the Lady Templar?"

Collapsing and following next to the brawny, black-haired man, you sit down and rest your tired bones.

Stepping towards you as he flicks his left hand dismissively, the slender, sun-browned man says, in sirihish:
     "It's fine, Harlan. Keep quiet, hmm? I'm relatively certain my waters can clean a few stains.."

Looking up, his voice weak, the brawny, black-haired man says to the small, red-mopped boy, in sirihish:
     "She's fine... we went out fer a patrol after she got back... were five beetles... drov-beetles they was.. ambushed us..."

Pressing his lips together as he shifts his azure-stained gaze towards the brawny, black-haired man, the slender, sun-browned man asks, in sirihish:
     "Drov-beetles?"

The splotched, mauve-tousled man's eyelids shut as he fades in and out of consciousness, his head rolling in the brawny, black-haired man's lap.

Murmuring to himself, the small, red-mopped boy asks, in sirihish:
     "Five?"

The small, red-mopped boy asks the brawny, black-haired man, in sirihish:
     "How close to the city?"

Nodding weakly, the brawny, black-haired man says, in sirihish:
     "Were the size of.. of... giants... crazed... out fer blood..."

Grunting softly to himself as he graps your ankles, dragging you to the edge of a shallow stone pool with a heavy grunt, the slender, sun-browned man asks, in sirihish:
     "Jasper, tell him to shut up for now.. Contact the Lady Templar Oash, and bring here her, hmm?"

Meekly, shivering as she stares at the two bleeding men, the willowy, tangle-haired girl says, in rinthi-accented sirihish:
     "I... I um... yer skin's full."

Sighing gently to himself, the slender, sun-browned man furrows his brows as he gazes downward towards you, lightly clasping his hands together as they shine with a faint layer of moisture.

The willowy, tangle-haired girl pushes her leather waterskin over to the small, red-mopped boy.

Dropping to his knees, the small, red-mopped boy says to the slender, sun-browned man, in sirihish:
     "I believe she's unavailable, as i tried earlier. But I'll search for her mind again."

The small, red-mopped boy sits down to rest.

Pausing to flash a quick smile up at the willowy, tangle-haired girl, the small, red-mopped boy says, in sirihish:
     "Thanks."

Surrendering a soft sigh, the slender, sun-browned man whispers a soothing hymn to himself, drawing his palms downward as light tendrils of mist begin to flood downward, seeping along your form within a shimmering sheen of dew.

The willowy, tangle-haired girl flushes and then slowly drags herself over near the slender, sun-browned man.

A fine mist condenses near the slender, sun-browned man as he begins a spell.

The slender, sun-browned man utters an incantation.
A warm feeling fills you, as wounds close all over your body.

Quietly, the willowy, tangle-haired girl says to the slender, sun-browned man, in rinthi-accented sirihish:
     "Lemme help..."

Raising his left hand as he motions his chin towards the brawny, black-haired man, the slender, sun-browned man says, in sirihish:
     "Help him, then, until I can treat him.."

The brawny, black-haired man's eyes go wide as he watches the slender, sun-browned man.

The willowy, tangle-haired girl looks down at the brawny, black-haired man and nods slowly.

Shaking his head as he rises again, the small, red-mopped boy says, in sirihish:
     "No, I can't reach any of the Templarate."

The small, red-mopped boy rises from the ground, and clambers to his feet.

Relaxing his form visibly, the slender, sun-browned man clenches his rune-etched hands together, his knuckles turning white with strain as a small droplet splashes downward against your chest, allowing the rivulet to spread across a bloodied wound.

A fine mist condenses near the slender, sun-browned man as he begins a spell.

The slender, sun-browned man utters an incantation.
A warm feeling fills you, as wounds close all over your body.

The willowy, tangle-haired girl pads over to the brawny, black-haired man and kneels down, brushing her hair out of her eyes as she looks over his wounds.

The small, red-mopped boy takes a swig from his leather waterskin as he shifts his attention to the brawny, black-haired man again.

Pulling back his hooded, sandy-brown reinforced sandcloth duster, the brawny, black-haired man says, in sirihish:
     "Me leg... 'n half me ribs... that beetle were ferocious..."

Sniffing softly as he brushes the underside of his nose, slowly rising to his feet as he glances downward towards you, the slender, sun-browned man says, in sirihish:
     "Stay down there as long as you want.. You'll be fine, now."

Blinking in surprise as he removes his leather waterskin from his lips, the small, red-mopped boy says, in sirihish:
     "That's very good, Flower."

The willowy, tangle-haired girl takes a deep breath, her hands shaking as she lays them on the brawny, black-haired man's chest, finding the open skin of the bleeding wounds with a warm touch.

The splotched, mauve-tousled man peers down at his torso with complete shock.

A fine mist condenses near the willowy, tangle-haired girl as she begins a spell.

The willowy, tangle-haired girl utters an incantation.
The willowy, tangle-haired girl heals the brawny, black-haired man.

The willowy, tangle-haired girl passes her hands down over the brawny, black-haired man's chest and then down to his pants, then falls backward with a gasp, her body covered in a faint sheen of moisture.

Watching as his wounds visibly close up in front of him, by magickal forces, you ask the slender, sun-browned man, in sirihish:
     "What the...where....wounds....gone?"

The slender, sun-browned man folds his arms lightly across his chest as he watches the willowy, tangle-haired girl for a moment, flicking his azure-stained gaze towards a shallow stone pool as he quietly approaches it's edge, surrendering a painful sigh.

The splotched, mauve-tousled man summons the strength and picks himself up onto his feet.

Cringing for a moment as he gazes towards a shallow stone pool, before looking back towards you, the slender, sun-browned man says, in sirihish:
     "Yes, they're gone, now.."

Straightening, you rise and stand.

The brawny, black-haired man shivers in anticipation as moisture gathers around the willowy, tangle-haired girl, squeezing his eyes shut, then blinks them open a few times and sits straight up.

Speaking quietly as he heads for the street, the small, red-mopped boy says to the slender, sun-browned man, in sirihish:
     "You've got enough people in here without me too, Kasyh. I'll be in the Barrel if you're feeling up to venturing out later."

His cheeks flushing back to a healthy, glowing complexion, you say to the slender, sun-browned man, in sirihish:
     "Kasyh."

Glancing over his left shoulder towards the small, red-mopped boy, the slender, sun-browned man says, in sirihish:
     "She's coming.."

The brawny, black-haired man pulls back his hooded, sandy-brown reinforced sandcloth duster, freshly healed pink skin visible under the breaks in his breastplate and pants.

Pausing as he glances back over at the slender, sun-browned man, the small, red-mopped boy asks, in sirihish:
     "Who's coming?"

Pushing up to his feet with a dazed expression, the brawny, black-haired man rises and stands.

The brawny, black-haired man takes a few steps testingly.

Shaking his head faintly as he looks back towards you, the slender, sun-browned man says, in sirihish:
     "It's my job, Private.."

As he finds himself able to walk, the brawny, black-haired man shouts, in sirihish:
     "Highlord be praised! She done fixed me!"

Turning from the edge of a shallow stone pool completely, regaining his own posture, the slender, sun-browned man says, in sirihish:
     "The Lady Templar Oash."

The brawny, black-haired man rushes back over to the willowy, tangle-haired girl and envelops her in a tight hug of his huge arms.

The trim, ebon-haired templar has arrived from the east.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the east.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the east.

The brawny, black-haired man shouts, in sirihish:
     "She done fixed me! I's saved!"

The willowy, tangle-haired girl squeaks against the brawny, black-haired man's chest.

The small, red-mopped boy looks up at the trim, ebon-haired templar's entrance and bends at the waist.

Striding in briskly, her tone annoyed, the trim, ebon-haired templar says, in sirihish:
     "Militia, start talking."

Keeping a calmed, if nozt slightly drained expression, the slender, sun-browned man bows respectfully towards the trim, ebon-haired templar upon her approa.

The splotched, mauve-tousled man turns upon hearing entrance, then snaps a firm salute to the trim, ebon-haired templar.

The brawny, black-haired man looks over at the trim, ebon-haired templar, then back at the willowy, tangle-haired girl, then down to the gem around the willowy, tangle-haired girl's neck.

The brawny, black-haired man releases the willowy, tangle-haired girl quickly and backs away slowly.

You say to the trim, ebon-haired templar, in sirihish:
     "We went out to patrol the farming villages, milady. And was ambushed by a horde of drov-beetles the size of giants."

Gazing to you sharply, the trim, ebon-haired templar asks you, in sirihish:
     "Which village?"

You say to the trim, ebon-haired templar, in sirihish:
     "Menos, milady."

The willowy, tangle-haired girl looks at the brawny, black-haired man with a light frown and sighs, padding over to sit on the floor by herself.

The trim, ebon-haired templar says to you, in sirihish:
     "Direction, not some name that means nothing to me."

Muttering, the willowy, tangle-haired girl sits down to rest.

The brawny, black-haired man points westward.

His breathing firm and steady, his flesh healed over pink, you say to the trim, ebon-haired templar, in sirihish:
     "South of 'nak. In the fields."

The small, red-mopped boy shoots a quick glance at the slender, sun-browned man before scrunching his face up thoughtfully.

Grimacing faintly and peering over her shoulder, the trim, ebon-haired templar says, in sirihish:
     "Show me at dawn."

The slender, sun-browned man dips his head lightly towards the small, red-mopped boy as he twists his lips to one side, thoughtfully.

His face flushing red, his cheek muscles tensing, you ask the trim, ebon-haired templar, in sirihish:
     "Show...show you, Lady Templar?"

Crossing her arms over her chest, the trim, ebon-haired templar says, in sirihish:
     "Yes. Private, you may stay. All others who have no business being in the temple of Vivadu, get out."

The brawny, black-haired man glances over at you uneasily.

Immediately, you say to the trim, ebon-haired templar, in sirihish:
     "Yes, right away."

The brawny, black-haired man bows to the trim, ebon-haired templar and starts to shuffle out, glancing aside at the willowy, tangle-haired girl.

The small, red-mopped boy bows briefly to the trim, ebon-haired templar as he moves towards the street outside.

The slender, sun-browned man folds his arms within the sleeves of his water-hued robes, idly pacing along the edge of a shallow stone pool.

Stepping out quickly, the brawny, black-haired man walks east.

Without looking at her as he passes the willowy, tangle-haired girl, the small, red-mopped boy says, in sirihish:
     "Thanks for the water."

The small, red-mopped boy walks east.

Annoyedly, muttering to herself, the willowy, tangle-haired girl says, in rinthi-accented sirihish:
     "'She done fixed me! I's saved!' Blah blah blah..."

The slender, sun-browned man raises his right hand from his chest, snapping his fingers as his lips start to move, glancing back towards the willowy, tangle-haired girl.

Turning to look out to the street, the trim, ebon-haired templar says, in sirihish:
     "Vivaduans, at dawn you'll place what protective magicks you can on me, and then Private Harlan if able."

The willowy, tangle-haired girl snorts and jerks a hand up, raising a middle finger towards the entrance of the temple.

The willowy, tangle-haired girl quickly looks back to the slender, sun-browned man and hides her hand behind her back.

The splotched, mauve-tousled man peers with distaste at the willowy, tangle-haired girl.

Bowing his head lightly, keeping his gaze downward, the slender, sun-browned man whispers something to the trim, ebon-haired templar.

The trim, ebon-haired templar pinches the bridge of her nose lightly.

The willowy, tangle-haired girl sighs, pulling her knees up to her chest.

The trim, ebon-haired templar asks you, in sirihish:
     "Is this village easily within walking distance?"

Leaning up against the archway, the trim, ebon-haired templar sits down.

After a moment's thought, you say to the trim, ebon-haired templar, in sirihish:
     "It is...but not adviseable, milady."

Nodding, the trim, ebon-haired templar says to you, in sirihish:
     "Very well. Unless you've two mount tickets on you, go fetch another."

Nodding once more and holding out her hand, the trim, ebon-haired templar stands up.

You give a stitched, obsidian-dyed ticket to the trim, ebon-haired templar.

Lowering her voice, the trim, ebon-haired templar asks you, in sirihish:
     "Did you see any sign of who summoned them?"

Shaking his head, you say to the trim, ebon-haired templar, in sirihish:
     "No milady, those black armored beasts just rampaged from across the horizon."

Starting to pace away, the trim, ebon-haired templar says to you, in sirihish:
     "I see. Just in case, come here."

The trim, ebon-haired templar walks west.
You follow the trim, ebon-haired templar, and walk west.

Moving up the stairs, not slowing as she nears the thorns, the trim, ebon-haired templar says, in sirihish:
     "I don't like crowds."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Lady Templar Anezka finds an empty room upstairs.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The trim, ebon-haired templar gazes around, making sure the chamber is empty.

The trim, ebon-haired templar closes the door.

Turning to you, raising her right hand, the trim, ebon-haired templar says, in sirihish:
     "A temporary gift from the Highlord."

The trim, ebon-haired templar touches your forehead, her finger surrounding itself with greenish light while her lips move silently.

The trim, ebon-haired templar shouts, in sirihish:
     "In the name of the Highlord, let my eyes see true foul magicks hidden from me!"

The trim, ebon-haired templar utters an incantation.
You feel in tune with the elements.

The trim, ebon-haired templar looks at you thoughtfully.

The splotched, mauve-tousled man blinks his eyes, the pupils glowing green.

Keeping her hand in place, the trim, ebon-haired templar says, in sirihish:
     "And one more..."

The trim, ebon-haired templar shouts, in sirihish:
     "In the name of the Highlord, let those hidden by magicks be rendered visible!"

The trim, ebon-haired templar utters an incantation.
Your eyes tingle.

The splotched, mauve-tousled man jostles, his eyes washing over in another dazzling flash of colors.

Your encumbrance is manageable.
You are:
Recruit of the Allanak 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.
You are affected by:
   Detect Invisible, Detect Magick
You are standing.
You are refusing saves (nosave on).
You are not being merciful.

Moving back to the door, the trim, ebon-haired templar says, in sirihish:
     "If any are attempting to hide with magicks, you shall see them. And I'd suggest you keep this to yourself."

The trim, ebon-haired templar opens the door.

His eyes opening and dilating with renewed vigor, you say to the trim, ebon-haired templar, in sirihish:
     "An honor milady."

The trim, ebon-haired templar nods her head firmly.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
They leave the temple and make their way to the city gates. Concerned with the gravity of the situation, Lady Templar requests further assistance from the Gemmed and an outfit of militia soldiers.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Outside the Main Gate [NESW]
   The two dark towers of Allanak's main gate lie just to the east, soaring
skyward in an apparent attempt to pierce the endless sky above. Their rough
red stones look as if they could stand firm for all eternity, towering over
fifty cords above. The gate itself is a large stone barricade of sorts that
is normally closed only at night. The Outer Circle extends to the north and
to the south from here.
   A black steel dragon sits atop the mighty walls, gazing hungrily towards
the western horizon from its place by the towers. A large crowd of Allanaki
citizens--from the filthiest commoner to the most refined noble--gathers at
the wall below the statue, all in various degrees of prostration before the
great beast.
A human soldier of Tektolnes lounges in the shade of the statue here.
A human soldier of Tektolnes walks along here.
A yellow kank stands here, carrying the trim, ebon-haired templar on his back.
The small, red-mopped boy lingers at the edge of the morning crowds.
The slight, dark-skinned man is standing here.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the east.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the east.

The figure in a set of hooded, water-hued robes has arrived from the east.
The willowy, tangle-haired girl has arrived from the east.

The willowy, tangle-haired girl raises the hood of a hooded, ebony cloak.

The trim, ebon-haired templar falls in behind you.

Nodding, the trim, ebon-haired templar says to you, in sirihish:
     "Bring me just beyond sight of it."

Riding a yellow kank forward, you say to the trim, ebon-haired templar, in sirihish:
     "Menos, milady."

The trim, ebon-haired templar unslings a blackened serrated bone warsword from her back.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
They ride in silence through the golden wheat fields of 'nak, before Menos rises into view.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

West of here are Barren Fields.
[Very far]
Nothing.
[Far]
A broad, sprawling farm village lies in the fields here.
[Near]
Nothing.

Raising a hand to shield his eyes from the harsh sunrays, you say, in sirihish:
     "There it is, Lady Templar."

Glancing around, the trim, ebon-haired templar asks you, in sirihish:
     "You saw them in front of it?"

You say, in sirihish:
     "The largest farming village to supply Allanak...Menos."

Nodding, you say to the trim, ebon-haired templar, in sirihish:
     "Yes, those beetles were around the vicinity."

The trim, ebon-haired templar nods, gesturing onward.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
They pull their bleating kanks towards the head of the village, and survey the area.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The splotched, mauve-tousled man pulls to a halt beside the entrance.

The trim, ebon-haired templar rides up by a broad, sprawling farm village, peering within.

You ask the trim, ebon-haired templar, in sirihish:
     "You think a sorceror may be hiding in there?"

The trim, ebon-haired templar asks you, in sirihish:
     "Doubtful, but possible. It happened right here?"

You say to the trim, ebon-haired templar, in sirihish:
     "No, I will show you."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
With Private Harlan at the lead, they traverse across the desert of the Vrun Driath, the unrelenting glare of Suk-krath beating on their backs.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The splotched, mauve-tousled man glances around warily, hands gripping the reins tightly.

The trim, ebon-haired templar says to you, in sirihish:
     "Try bringing us in at an angle."

The splotched, mauve-tousled man nods silently to the trim, ebon-haired templar.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Some time passes, and they are still riding quietly across the desert.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The trim, ebon-haired templar asks, in sirihish:
     "How much farther?"

Shaking his head with disbelief, you say, in sirihish:
     "Krath...it's moved across the entire desert..."

To the north is Dusty Plains.
[Very far]
Nothing.
[Far]
A huge black beetle crawls around the desert floor.
[Near]
Nothing.

A tremor in his voice, you say to the trim, ebon-haired templar, in sirihish:
     "There, milady...that cursed beast."

Gesturing lightly, the trim, ebon-haired templar says, in sirihish:
     "With me now."

You now follow the trim, ebon-haired templar.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
They circle around the beetle, dismount, and draw their weapons. The battle ensues...
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A human Allanaki soldier slashes a large black beetle's neck, inflicting a grievous wound.

The splotched, mauve-tousled man pants heavily, stepping back as the massive beetle crashes to the ground.

The trim, ebon-haired templar gazes down at the body of a large black beetle expectantly, then climbs onto her kank, tucking a sword away.

Worried, you ask the trim, ebon-haired templar, in sirihish:
     "Will it explode now, milady?"

Riding off to the north, the trim, ebon-haired templar says, in sirihish:
     "A regular beetle."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
They continue their trek through the desert, an air of suspicion rising about the Lady Templar.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Raising her eyebrows, the trim, ebon-haired templar asks you, in sirihish:
     "What gave you the idea they were summoned magickally?"

You say to the trim, ebon-haired templar, in sirihish:
     "You said they were summoned, Lady Templar."

The trim, ebon-haired templar asks you, in sirihish:
     "When did I say such a thing?"

You say to the trim, ebon-haired templar, in sirihish:
     "When I told you we nearly died, Lady Templar..."

Glancing behind his back, you ask the trim, ebon-haired templar, in sirihish:
     "It won't come back to life and chase us, will it?"

Sighing, the trim, ebon-haired templar asks you, in sirihish:
     "Private...those beetles are common to this area. You and the recruit had mentioned the beetles were summoned by Drov, did you not?"

You say to the trim, ebon-haired templar, in sirihish:
     "It was...eating us alive... I...saved..."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
At a further loss for words, Private Harlan rides on with the Lady Templar back to 'nak.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Outside the Main Gate [NESW]
   The two dark towers of Allanak's main gate lie just to the east, soaring
skyward in an apparent attempt to pierce the endless sky above. Their rough
red stones look as if they could stand firm for all eternity, towering over
fifty cords above. The gate itself is a large stone barricade of sorts that
is normally closed only at night. The Outer Circle extends to the north and
to the south from here.
   A black steel dragon sits atop the mighty walls, gazing hungrily towards
the western horizon from its place by the towers. A large crowd of Allanaki
citizens--from the filthiest commoner to the most refined noble--gathers at
the wall below the statue, all in various degrees of prostration before the
great beast.
A half-giant soldier of Tektolnes stands here impassively.
A half-giant soldier of Tektolnes walks along here.
A human soldier of Tektolnes lounges in the shade of the statue here.
A human soldier of Tektolnes walks along here.
A yellow kank stands here, carrying the trim, ebon-haired templar on his back.
The willowy, tangle-haired girl is standing here.
The figure in a set of hooded, water-hued robes is standing here.
The brawny, black-haired man is standing here.

The brawny, black-haired man bows to the trim, ebon-haired templar as the large group approaches.

Looking back, tucking her sword away, the trim, ebon-haired templar asks you, in sirihish:
     "Where there five, Private? Or just two?"

Similiarly, the figure in a set of hooded, water-hued robes bows respectfully towards the trim, ebon-haired templar, before slowly straightening his form.

You say to the trim, ebon-haired templar, in sirihish:
     "I saw two, milady."

The figure in a set of hooded, water-hued robes blinks several times, glancing over towards the brawny, black-haired man, then back towards you.

The trim, ebon-haired templar frowns and rides up closer to you, solidly thumping the flat of her blackened serrated bone warsword against your head.

The willowy, tangle-haired girl attempts an awkward bow toward the trim, ebon-haired templar.

The splotched, mauve-tousled man grunts, the heavy bone crashing against his skull.

Turning to the gates, scowling, the trim, ebon-haired templar says, in sirihish:
     "Gemmed...you won't be needed. You two, come to the recruit barracks."

The trim, ebon-haired templar touches her hand against her medallion of Tektolnes before riding on.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
They head to the barracks.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A Small Training Yard [S]
   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 bench, made of worn grey stone, sits against a wall.
The trim, ebon-haired templar is standing here.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south.

The brawny, black-haired man has arrived from the south.

The brawny, black-haired man hurries in on the double and bows to the trim, ebon-haired templar.

Striding into the middle of a clearing, the trim, ebon-haired templar says, in sirihish:
     "Both of you, remove your dustcloaks, backpacks, any weapons hung on your back, and chest protection."

The splotched, mauve-tousled man heaves a breath before immediately acquiescing.

The brawny, black-haired man swallows as he starts unstrapping his gear.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Uneasily, they begin stripping off their clothes, shaking on their knees in fear.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Crossing her arms over her chest, the trim, ebon-haired templar says, in sirihish:
     "And while you do that, explain how the fuck five beetles summoned from Drov itself turned out to be two beetles commonly found in the area."

His voice hoarse, the brawny, black-haired man says to the trim, ebon-haired templar, in sirihish:
     "Well... er... y'see... Lady Templar.. er... we was..."

As he strips off his clothes, his torso bared against the sun, you say to the trim, ebon-haired templar, in sirihish:
     "We both nearly died, milady. We ran like the wind when it hit us only twice, trying to eat us."

The trim, ebon-haired templar slips her hand into her oversized black backpack, pulling out a coiled length of leather.

Clearing his throat, the brawny, black-haired man says, in sirihish:
     ".. uh... tryin'... not t' make His Militia look bad... t' them gemmers 'n that kid."

The trim, ebon-haired templar gets a wickedly barbed whip from an oversized black backpack.

Nodding enthusiastically to you, the brawny, black-haired man exclaims to the trim, ebon-haired templar, in sirihish:
     "It sure were real vicious!"

You say to the trim, ebon-haired templar, in sirihish:
     "Lady Templar, the entire unit was given ten lashes just a few days ago..."

The splotched, mauve-tousled man gazes down at the ground, the fresh wounds upon his back pink under the sun.

Letting the barbed tips of her whip drop, the trim, ebon-haired templar says to you, in sirihish:
     "I know, Private."

The trim, ebon-haired templar brandishes a wickedly barbed whip.

The splotched, mauve-tousled man kneels to the ground as if automatically, head bowed into the dust.

Head bowed, kneeling low in the ground, back bared, you say, in sirihish:
     "Lord Templar Vaedon says pain will cleanse the mind. Do what you must, my lady."

The trim, ebon-haired templar walks behind the brawny, black-haired man, then suddenly cracks her wickedly barbed whip, opening a wide gash on his back.

The trim, ebon-haired woman raises a wickedly barbed whip and lashes out at the brawny, black-haired man.
*CRACK* A long, bloody gash opens up on the brawny, black-haired man's back.

Falling to his knees and letting out a cry through clenched teeth, the brawny, black-haired man sits down.

The trim, ebon-haired templar brings her bloodied wickedly barbed whip down again, the spurs lodging themselves into the brawny, black-haired man's flesh before she tears them out with another flick of her wrist.

The trim, ebon-haired woman raises a wickedly barbed whip and lashes out at the brawny, black-haired man.
*CRACK* A long, bloody gash opens up on the brawny, black-haired man's back.

The brawny, black-haired man cries out both as the whip hits and as it pulls away, his hands grabbing at the hard, dusty ground.

The splotched, mauve-tousled man does not bear to glance up, his head lowered as it stares into the ground, awaiting.

The trim, ebon-haired templar snaps her bloodied wickedly barbed whip one last time, each of its nine barbed braids slicing through the brawny, black-haired man.

The trim, ebon-haired woman raises a wickedly barbed whip and lashes out at the brawny, black-haired man.
*CRACK* A long, bloody gash opens up on the brawny, black-haired man's back.

The trim, ebon-haired templar looks down at the brawny, black-haired man as she moves to stand by you.

Blood streaks down the brawny, black-haired man's back as he bites down into the leather sleeves on his arms, his back shaking.

The splotched, mauve-tousled man steadies his breathing, unperturbed by the brawny, black-haired man's cries of agony.

Looking over your back, searching for the deepest lash before opening a fresh one over it, the trim, ebon-haired templar says, in sirihish:
     "Pride is one thing, lying about it to your superior is another."

The trim, ebon-haired woman raises a wickedly barbed whip and lashes out at you.
*CRACK* Fiery pain dizzies you as the blow savages your back.

The splotched, mauve-tousled man lifts a fist and bites down on it, reallocating the pain searing across his bare back.

The trim, ebon-haired templar lifts her right boot, stomping the heel against the fresh cut on you.

Hot tears streaming down his cheeks, you say to the trim, ebon-haired templar, in sirihish:
     "That moment, Lady Templar...they were truly monster beetles....no pride, no pride, my lady."

Cracking her bloodied wickedly barbed whip again, ripping through your flesh, the trim, ebon-haired templar shouts, in sirihish:
     "They're bugs!"

The trim, ebon-haired woman raises a wickedly barbed whip and lashes out at you.
*CRACK* Fiery pain dizzies you as the blow savages your back.

The splotched, mauve-tousled man digs his nails into the dusty ground, firmly gripping it in pain.

With a final sharp snap of her wrist, the trim, ebon-haired templar opens up a long gash crossing over your shoulder blades.

The trim, ebon-haired woman raises a wickedly barbed whip and lashes out at you.
*CRACK* Fiery pain dizzies you as the blow savages your back.

Spittle flies from the splotched, mauve-tousled man's mouth as he cries in pain.

First kicking you down to the ground, then doing the same to the brawny, black-haired man, the trim, ebon-haired templar says, in sirihish:
     "Serve well as you had on the patrol, and you'll be rewarded well..."

The splotched, mauve-tousled man shivers in his own bloody mess, the lacerations in his back reopened and pulsating, spewing blood with each heartbeat.

Sending the tip of her bloodied wickedly barbed whip into the air with a loud *CRACK*, flinging off bits of blood and flesh, the trim, ebon-haired templar says, in sirihish:
     "Fuck up so bad and lie about it, and I'll make you wish you were dead long before I grant that mercy."

The trim, ebon-haired templar quickly wipes the blood off of a bloodied wickedly barbed whip.

The brawny, black-haired man swallows and nods, managing to look up, his eyes bleary.

Lying prostrate before the trim, ebon-haired templar, struggling to speak, you say to the trim, ebon-haired templar, in sirihish:
     "Merciful, milady. You are merciful. We thank you...thank you..."

Looking between you and the brawny, black-haired man and coiling her whip back up, the trim, ebon-haired templar says, in sirihish:
     "Neither of you are allowed to go on patrols outside the city without an officer or higher. And you'll not get these wounds healed by the Vivaduans."

Weakly, the brawny, black-haired man says, in sirihish:
     "Yes milady.... merciful... no patrollin'..."

Barely able to nod his head, you say to the trim, ebon-haired templar, in sirihish:
     "Understood, Lady Templar...each cut across my back serves as a lesson, milady."

While tucking her wickedly barbed whip away, turning, the trim, ebon-haired templar says, in sirihish:
     "There's hope for both of you. Don't fuck it up by being stupid."

The splotched, mauve-tousled man lies flat in a red pool of blood then scrambles to his knees as he hurries to scoop of bits of his own flesh littering the ground.

The brawny, black-haired man nods to the trim, ebon-haired templar weakly once again, grabbing up his discarded armor and duster.

A Roomy Barracks [NEW]
   The thickness of the dull red mud bricks of which this barracks has
been built provides it with a coolness which resists the worst of the
Zalanthan sun. The furnishings are simple: neatly ordered cots sit in rows,
a few with footlockers built into one end, while a large weapons rack hangs
on the wall underneath a wooden frieze depicting the desert, gith, jozhals
and scrabs moving through the dunes. Below the frieze, extending down the
walls and covering the floor, are ceramic tiles composed of all the hues of
the desert: vermilion, bronze, amber, rust, tawny yellow, and ochre. The
tiles are laid in an abstract, undulating pattern reminiscent of rolling
dunes.
A simple wooden chest sits here on the floor.
A cracked stone storage bin, nearly falling apart, has been put here.

The brawny, black-haired man has arrived from the west, dragging himself in.

The splotched, mauve-tousled man stumbles to the floor.

Falling face-forward, the brawny, black-haired man rests on a small leather cot.

Falling on his rear, you sit down.

The splotched, mauve-tousled man quickly tosses his armors back on, his wounds drying and hard.

The brawny, black-haired man says, in sirihish:
     "Well shit.... we done fucked that up..."

Glancing up at a small leather cot weakly, you say to the brawny, black-haired man, in sirihish:
     "That was something."

You say to the brawny, black-haired man, in sirihish:
     "Fortunate she spared us with a lashing, s'all."

Grunting, the brawny, black-haired man says, in sirihish:
     "Yah-huh."

You say to the brawny, black-haired man, in sirihish:
     "Don't ever say the words "drov" or "five" or...never again."

The brawny, black-haired man says, in sirihish:
     "Or... beetle."

Nodding meakly, you say to the brawny, black-haired man, in sirihish:
     "Beetle. Don't say beetle."

Muttering, you ask, in sirihish:
     "Shit..how're we going to redeem ourselves?"

The brawny, black-haired man says, in sirihish:
     "Uh... not fuck up again... 'n... uh...... shit.... I jus' wanna sleep."

Falling asleep on the ground where he lays, you say, in sirihish:
     "Beetles...whippings...I've had enough..."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
And that concludes our story, kids. Hope you enjoyed it. We certainly did. ;)
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

*****From the perspective of the splotched, mauve-tousled man******

You pass beneath the shadow of the black dragon.
Inside the Main Gate [NESW]
   The main gate of the city-state of Allanak towers high here, its
twin obsidian towers separating the life-threatening perils of the
desert from the...

Continue Reading...
Lunette Sees Again by Laurajlmars
Added on May 5, 2007

After a hard ride through the desert, a motley pair of assassins-turned-kidnappers stops for the night in a cave north of Luirs, where their blinded and helpless charge regains her sight.

This is one part of the long, exciting story of Yellow Belly and Door, unlikely partners who were forced to flee Allanak after committing various acts of terrorism, murder, and other entertaining crime. This part of the adventure takes place during a hastily planned "kidnapping" of a Borsail aide named Lunette (one of Yellow Belly's old contacts) from the streets of Red Storm. Thanks to a temporary agreement Door forged with a Drovian, Lunette has been blind since they left the shores of the silt sea. After a riding hard through the Red Desert, the crew has stopped for the night in a cave just north of Luirs.

Cast of characters -

The short and thick figure in a dusty ankle-length white djellabah - Yellow Belly
The figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba - Lunette
The figure in a dusty flowing cloak of layered, black sandcloth - Door

=============================

It is dusk on Cingel, the 191st day of the Low Sun,
In the Year of Vivadu's Anger, year 29 of the 21st Age.

The area is filled with a green light.
A Narrow Cave [SW Quit]
   You are within the confines of the massive mountain of rock known as
the Shield Wall. Here the rock does not appear very weathered, as
the harsh winds and blowing sands of the Red Desert do not easily
enter this cave. Markings of old campfires litter the ground, indicating
that more than one traveller has spent the night within this natural
shelter.
   To the west and south the cave opens slightly, preparing to return
to the harsh desert sands.
The short and thick figure in a dusty ankle-length white djellabah has arrived from the west, riding a grey kank.
The figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba has arrived from the west, riding a yellow kank.

You drop a glowing green glow-crystal. Shown to the room as:
A glowing green crystal is lying here.

The short and thick figure in a dusty ankle-length white djellabah swings his legs over and jumps off of a grey kank.
A grey kank curls up on the ground.

You swing your legs over and jump off of a grey kank.
A grey kank curls up on the ground.

The short and thick figure in a dusty ankle-length white djellabah gets a leather-strapped green glow-crystal from a dusty ankle-length white djellabah.

The creak of leathers announces the figure in a dusty flowing cloak of layered, black sandcloth's departure from the saddle.

You say to the figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba, in sirihish:
     "You can get down now."

You draw a dusty darkly stained bone scimitar with a carved hilt.

You draw a dusty darkly stained bone scimitar with a carved hilt.

A ropelike bundle of a myriad braids in hues ranging from cobalt to azure
slithers down the back of this girl to end above the subtly curving small of
her back, each braid secured with a different colored bit of cloth. Barely
beginning adolescence, her body is a model of youthful vigor; slinky, sleek,
and androgynous. Slanted feline eyes which match the shade of her hair sit
on either side of an aquiline but slightly crooked nose which promises to
hook later in life, the full mouth which lies below bearing a dimple in one
corner. Thin, dark brows swoop with an upward flick above the
aforementioned eyes, bestowing an expression a bit more sly than is probably
desired. Deep tanned skin seems wind-burnished to an even bronze even at
this obviously youthful age. Her legs are long and lanky, at least for a
stature so diminutive, and they carry her with lazy ease that hints at speed
now and possible stature, later on.
The figure in a dusty flowing cloak of layered, black sandcloth is in excellent condition.

<worn on head>           a dusty leather and jet-colored chitin coif
<worn in left ear>       a dusty ruby red glass earring
<worn in right ear>      a dusty spiraling topaz earring
<worn around neck>       a dusty snake-skin neckguard
<worn about throat>      a dusty polished moonstone choker
<slung across back>      a dusty duskhorn recurve bow
<worn on arms>           a pair of red sandcloth sleeves
<worn around wrist>      a stained small leather pouch
<primary hand>           a dusty darkly stained bone scimitar with a carved hilt
<secondary hand>         a dusty darkly stained bone scimitar with a carved hilt
<worn on left finger>    a dusty small bone thimble
<worn around body>       a dusty flowing cloak of layered, black sandcloth
<worn on legs>           a leather-reinforced sandcloth skirt
<worn on right ankle>    a strand of bright glass beads
<worn on feet>           a dusty pair of knee-high fringed moccasins

The short and thick figure in a dusty ankle-length white djellabah lights a leather-strapped green glow-crystal.
The short and thick figure in a dusty ankle-length white djellabah straps a shining leather-strapped green glow-crystal onto his ankle.

The short and thick figure in a dusty ankle-length white djellabah draws a bloodied broad-bladed bone shortsword.

The figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba tilts her head at the sound of voice.

The short and thick figure in a dusty ankle-length white djellabah says, in sirihish:
     "Ah beh checkin' 'round deh place."

The figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba presses her hands on the animal, and slowly, oh slowly, slides down from the mount.

The figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba swings her legs to the side and dismounts.

The figure in a dusty flowing cloak of layered, black sandcloth inclines her head to the short and thick figure in a dusty ankle-length white djellabah, lashing a grey kank's reigns around her fist.

The short and thick figure in a dusty ankle-length white djellabah says to the figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba, in sirihish:
     "Yeh let us know if yeh git yeh sight back."

The short and thick figure in a dusty ankle-length white djellabah says to the figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba, in sirihish:
     "Yeh beh far 'nuff where yeh ain't able tah git back."

You say to the figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba, in sirihish:
     "Tell your animal to sit down, if you can."

The figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba presses her back against her mount, as if unwilling to venture even a step away from the one certainty.

The figure in a dusty flowing cloak of layered, black sandcloth sighs, moves forward, and grasps the figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba's hand in her own, wrapping them around the reigns of a yellow kank.

You begin leading a yellow kank.
A yellow kank falls in behind you.

You pull on a yellow kank's reins.
A yellow kank curls up on the ground.

The short and thick figure in a dusty ankle-length white djellabah says to the figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba, in sirihish:
     "Yeh ain't got tah worry 'bout it."

The short and thick figure in a dusty ankle-length white djellabah says, in sirihish:
     "Ah beh back."

A Narrow Cave [SW Quit]
   You are within the confines of the massive mountain of rock known as
the Shield Wall. Here the rock does not appear very weathered, as
the harsh winds and blowing sands of the Red Desert do not easily
enter this cave. Markings of old campfires litter the ground, indicating
that more than one traveller has spent the night within this natural
shelter.
   To the west and south the cave opens slightly, preparing to return
to the harsh desert sands.
A glowing green crystal is lying here.
A yellow kank is reclining here, looking tired.
The figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba is standing here.
A grey kank is reclining here, looking tired.
A grey kank is reclining here, looking tired.

Tone suggestive, you ask the figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba, in sirihish:
     "Why not sit down?"

The figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba instinctively shies away from the touch, with one hand still on the animal, she lowers herself carefully to the ground.

The figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba sits down.

The scrape of a stone against bone suggests that the figure in a dusty flowing cloak of layered, black sandcloth is sharpening one of her long, curved blades, leaning against the cave wall.

The figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba bites her lower lip.

Your new ldesc is:
The figure in a dusty flowing cloak of layered, black sandcloth leans against one wall, sharpening a scimitar.

You sheathe a dusty darkly stained bone scimitar with a carved hilt.

You say to the figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba, in sirihish:
     "So."

The figure in a dusty flowing cloak of layered, black sandcloth's word falls into the dusky silence, broken only by the steady, rough grating of her sharpening instrument against the scimitar.

The figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba blinks rapidly, then covers her eyes from the bright light.

With her mouth slightly ajar, the figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba stares at the cave.

Hanging her head sideways slightly, peeking into her hood, you ask the figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba, in sirihish:
     "Can you see?"

The figure in a dusty flowing cloak of layered, black sandcloth leans forward and snaps her fingers in front of the figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba's face experimentally.

The figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba's long lashes flutters at your movement.

The figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba wets her dry lips and nods.

The figure in a dusty flowing cloak of layered, black sandcloth draws her hand back to her side.

Brightly, you say to the figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba, in sirihish:
     "Well, great."

The figure in a dusty flowing cloak of layered, black sandcloth gives her lithe body a vigorous shake, trails of sand fissing from the folds of her garments to pool on the ground around her.

You start cleaning.

You dust yourself off.

The figure in a flowing cloak of layered, black sandcloth rubs her blades clean, flakes of dried blood fluttering off the edges to fall to the ground atop the pile of sand.

You start cleaning.

You quickly wipe the blood off of a bloodied darkly stained bone scimitar with a carved hilt.

You start cleaning.

You quickly wipe the blood off of a bloodied darkly stained bone scimitar with a carved hilt.

The figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba pushes herself tightly against the rough stone wall as she stares at you.

Leaning against the opposite wall and meeting her stare from within the shadows of her hood, you ask the figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba, in sirihish:
     "Look, if we wanted to kill you, we wouldn't have gone through all that trouble. You think I like dragging blind girls through the desert?"

Grim tone banished with a beaming smile, you say to the figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba, in sirihish:
     "You'll thank us later."

A yellow kank leisurely waves its antennae about.

Scratching the top of a grey kank's chitinous head with the tip of your darkly stained bone scimitar with a carved hilt, you say to the figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba, in sirihish:
     "Ok, fine, we don't have to talk."

A grey kank leisurely waves its antennae about.

You think:
     "Wow, she hates me."

Feeling a shimmer of teenage resentment, you think:
     "But this is for Yellow Belly...I don't have to like her either."

The figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba draws her knees up and drapes her arms around herself, hiding her face from the green gleam of the crystal.

The figure in a flowing cloak of layered, black sandcloth begins to drum her fingers against the cave wall, your small bone thimble beating a faint but relentless tattoo against the rough stone.

Your new ldesc is:
The figure in a flowing cloak of layered, black sandcloth leans against the cave wall, blades drawn.

A grey kank makes a bleating noise and moves its head from side to side.

Pursing her full lips as she leans against the wall, the figure in a flowing cloak of layered, black sandcloth begins to whistle an eerie and childlike little tune, the sound magnified by the echoing cave.

The figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba makes a little sound deep in her throat.

The figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba lifts her head to peer at you, lucent, gold rims of her eyes dimmed by a flood of tears.

Stopping her whistling abruptly, the sound dying away in the cave beneath the ambient movements of the kanks, you ask the figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba, in sirihish:
     "Oh, sorry, did you say something?"

You are Door.
Keywords: slinky blue-braided girl human Jailbait
Sdesc: the slinky, blue-braided girl
Objective: Get to Tuluk alive.
Long Description:
The figure in a flowing cloak of layered, black sandcloth leans against the cave wall, blades drawn.

You are 14 years, 2 months, and 214 days old,
which by your race and appearance is young.
You are 62 inches tall, and weigh 6 ten-stone.
Your strength is average, your agility is exceptional,
your wisdom is extremely good, and your endurance is below average.
You are a little hungry and a little thirsty.
Your health is 93(93), you have 131(135) stamina, and 95(95) stun.

You have been playing for 10 days and 15 hours.
You are standing.
You are currently speaking sirihish with a southern accent.

The figure in a flowing cloak of layered, black sandcloth reaches out a moccasined toe to roll a glowing green glow-crystal idly back and forth across the stony ground.

The figure in a flowing cloak of layered, black sandcloth resumes her whistling, the shadows outside the cave deepening as day turns to night.

The figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba's eyes has now dimmed to a dark purple, but the gold and copper in them are still burning with resentment and desolation, and lastly, the pains of betrayal.

The figure in a flowing cloak of layered, black sandcloth rolls her eyes.

You think:
     "Oh gimme a break!"

You think:
     "So we took her away from her home...and city...and everything she's ever known...without asking. It's not like we were mean about it."

You think:
     "And we had good intentions. Mostly good. Stupid Allanak, anyway."

The figure in a flowing cloak of layered, black sandcloth covers a yawn with the flat of one scimitar, eyelids drooping sleepily over an azure gaze before snapping alertly back up.

Fishing your travel cake out of her pocket and holding it up between thumb and forefinger, you ask the figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba, in sirihish:
     "Hungry?"

As if tireless, the figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba watches your every moment, fueled by a sandstorm of feelings more wild than the weather outside.

The figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba looks at the cake in your hand, then licks her lips.

The figure in a flowing cloak of layered, black sandcloth's full lips part in a slantwise grin, and she tosses your travel cake into the figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba's skirted lap.

The morsel landing with a thump in her lap, you give your travel cake to the figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba.

The cake crumbles in her hand as the figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba picks it up. But she pays it no more mind than the dusts that have claimed almost every surface of her attire. Her eyes never wavering from you, she takes an almost savage bite.

The figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba eats a portion of her travel cake.

The figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba coughs softly at the dryness, but forces herself to swallow.

Tightening the worn leather straps of your dujat-shell breastplate, you say to the figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba, in sirihish:
     "We're out of water. But we'll leave come morning, we're not far from Tuluk."

The figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba stares at you with wide eyed horror.

With a pearly smile catching the light of a glowing green glow-crystal, you exclaim to the figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba, in sirihish:
     "Plenty of water there!"

Far from being comforted, the figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba almost choked on her cake at your words.

Stepping out from behind a grey kank, the short and thick figure in a dusty ankle-length white djellabah says, in sirihish:
     "'Ell ain't nothin' comin' 'dis way from deh south."

Looking down at the figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba, the short and thick figure in a dusty ankle-length white djellabah asks, in sirihish:
     "Yeh know if Miss Lunette beh gettin' 'er sight back?"

Crouching down on her toes to find her level and make eye contact with her, glancing sidelong at the short and thick figure in a dusty ankle-length white djellabah, you say to the figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba, in sirihish:
     "Oh, relax. Like you wouldn't have been executed if we hadn't stepped in."

Pushing back up from the floor, you say to the short and thick figure in a dusty ankle-length white djellabah, in sirihish:
     "She can see. Not talking much though."

As if in response, the figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba looks at the short and thick figure in a dusty ankle-length white djellabah with a glare that could scorch a desert.

Looking down at the figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba with a hearty laugh, the short and thick figure in a dusty ankle-length white djellabah asks, in sirihish:
     "'Ell good! Yeh kin see 'gain. Woulda been worse if yeh beh blind fer deh rest 'o yeh life, eh?"

It is before dawn on Nekrete, the 192nd day of the Low Sun,
In the Year of Vivadu's Anger, year 29 of the 21st Age.

The figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba eats her small portion of a travel cake.

As she moves amongst the animals, checking straps and saddles, you say to the short and thick figure in a dusty ankle-length white djellabah, in sirihish:
     "It's almost morning. We should head out soon."

The short and thick figure in a dusty ankle-length white djellabah nods at you.

The short and thick figure in a dusty ankle-length white djellabah says to the figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba, in sirihish:
     "'Ell, Lunette. Yeh git yeh sight back fer deh prettiest part 'o deh journey."

The short and thick figure in a dusty ankle-length white djellabah says to the figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba, in sirihish:
     "Gonna beh seein' more trees 'n flowers 'n yeh e'er seen 'fore."

The figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba works on the last bit of her cake and swallows.

The figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba stands up.

A yellow kank leisurely waves its antennae about.

You stop leading a yellow kank.

The figure in a flowing cloak of layered, black sandcloth tosses the reigns of a yellow kank to the figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba, where they land by her feet.

The short and thick figure in a dusty ankle-length white djellabah begins leading a grey kank.

Swinging herself deftly into the saddle atop a grey kank, you say to the figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba, in sirihish:
     "Well, get on up then, Miss Aide."

The figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba accepts the reins with a sullen silence, and stares at the poor kank as if it is the fault of her current situation.

The figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba jumps up onto a yellow kank's back.
A yellow kank rises from the ground, and clambers to his feet.

The short and thick figure in a dusty ankle-length white djellabah extinguishes a glowing green glow-crystal.
The short and thick figure in a dusty ankle-length white djellabah picks up a green glow-crystal.

The figure in a flowing cloak of layered, black sandcloth holds out her hand for the crystal.

The short and thick figure in a dusty ankle-length white djellabah tosses the crystal to you before he crawls up the side of his kank.

The short and thick figure in a dusty ankle-length white djellabah gives you his green glow-crystal.

As your green glow-crystal snaps neatly into the palm of her hand, you say to the short and thick figure in a dusty ankle-length white djellabah, in sirihish:
     "Thank you, Yellow Belly."

The short and thick figure in a dusty ankle-length white djellabah jumps up onto a grey kank's back.
A grey kank rises from the ground, and clambers to his feet.

The short and thick figure in a dusty ankle-length white djellabah falls in behind you.

The short and thick figure in a dusty ankle-length white djellabah sheathes a bloodied broad-bladed bone shortsword.

The figure in a dusty hooded, sun-patterned aba falls in behind you.

Making sure of the fit of your small bone thimble on her finger, gripping the saddle of her mount between her knees, and leading the group for the cave's narrow exit, you say, in sirihish:
     "Off we trot, then. Almost home."

=============================

Since the pair was already wanted in Allanak by the templarate, they later tried to trade Lunette back to the black city, in an attempt to remove the bounty from Yellow Belly's head - with disastrous results.   But that's another story.

This is one part of the long, exciting story of Yellow Belly and Door, unlikely partners who were forced to flee Allanak after committing various acts of terrorism, murder, and other entertaining crime. This part of the adventure takes place during a hastily planned "kidnapping" of a Borsail...
Continue Reading...
Mercenaries by FiveDisgruntledMonkeysWit
Added on May 1, 2007

When is a mercenary not a mercenary? When he works for Kurac, apparently.

A young man in dire need of food and 'sid makes his way to Luir's Outpost, following rumors of military work to be had with House Kurac. Unfortunately, he's not the brightest fellow...

>

At your table, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says in sirihish, watching you:

     "So yer name's Rilath. What brings ya ta lookin fer work here wit Kurac?"

>Feeling glum, you think:

     "Desperation."

>At your table, you say in sirihish, with a shrug:

     "I've been in a bad way recently, needing work. And I heard you were hiring. Simple as that."

>

At your table, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says in sirihish, taking a deep breath:

     "Well. Workin fer Kurac ain't just some job. We dont hire hunters, we don't hire mercs."

>

At your table, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says in sirihish:

     "We hire soldiers fer th'army what's called th'Fist."

>At your table, you say in sirihish, lifting a brow:

     "You don't hire mercenaries? Most everyone's been telling me you do..."

>

At your table, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says in sirihish, shaking her head:

     "Most everyone been tellin ya wrong."

>

At your table, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says in sirihish:

     "Merc is a rank in our units."

>

At your table, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says in sirihish:

     "Mercenary is what ya kin be, after yer promoted from bein a Recruit."

>

At your table, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says in sirihish:

     "But it ain't like a Byn merc, cause yer expected ta still do yer chores, and be available while yer on contract wit us."

>

At your table, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says in sirihish:

     "Also when yer a Kuraci Mercenary yer allowed ta ride on yer own on yer days off."

>

At your table, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says in sirihish, to you, sternly:

     "But while yer a recruit, that's yer first two months. And durin that gime, ya ain't allowed ta leave th'Post without a officer takin ya."

>

At your table, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says in sirihish:

     "Except ta git t'the fort fer trainin."

>At your table, you say in sirihish, blinking:

     "So what makes the mercenaries not mercenaries?"

>At your table, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says in sirihish, watching your expression as she continues:

     "Cause a mercenary's a sellsword, who takes contracts fer jobs from outsiders who pay'em ta do whatver th'sids pay fer."

>

At your table, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says in sirihish:

     "A Kuraci Mercenary don't take outside jobs. They work fer Kurac, and Kurac don't take outside jobs. We work fer th'House."

>

At your table, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says in sirihish:

     "Military Operations pays us, not some noble or templar or grebber lookin fer escort."

>At your table, you say in sirihish:

     "Can Kurac mercenaries ever leave Kurac?"

>

At your table, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says in sirihish, inclining her head:

     "Sure, long as they git permission. We've had a couple do that. Ya kin also be a merc short-term, and come back if ya left on good accountin wit us."

>

At your table, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says in sirihish:

     "Merc's just a halfway mark ta movin up in th'ranks though, yer still just a tick away from bein a grebber if yer a Merc wit us."

>You think:

     "Krath, this woman's an idiot."

>

At your table, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says in sirihish, to you:

     "If it turns out yer doin good, showin innerest, helpin out, stayin busy, not bein a pest, we offer ya a life-oath ta promote ta Regular."

>You think:

     "What makes a Kuraci mercenary not a mercenary? Sounds like a feckin' mercenary to me..."

>At your table, you say in sirihish, scratching his cheek:

     "Okay, I think I'm starting to understand."

>

At your table, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says in sirihish, glancing at you:

     "How's that sound so far? Ah'm more innerested in how ya feel about bein stuck in th'Post fer two months, cept when a officer takes ya out fer field trainin or patrol."

>At your table, you say in sirihish, tapping the table a few times:

     "In order to merc for Kurac, you first have to go through a training period. Then you're a mercenary."

>

At your table, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says in sirihish:

     "If it don't suit ya, or ya think ya kin't handle that, we kin end th'innerview and yer welcome ta hang out, do business, trade, buy yerself some firebreather, that kinda shit."

>

At your table, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says in sirihish:

     "If ya pass th'trainin period, yeah."

>At your table, you say in sirihish, chuckling and shaking his head:

     "You seem to be saying that a Kuraci mercenary is somehow not a mercenary... but, ah, alright, I'm not arguing with you on that..."

>At your table, you say in sirihish, scratching his brow:

     "Fact of the matter is, I spent my last 'sid getting down here. I need work."

>

At your table, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says in sirihish, chuckling back at you:

     "It ain't. Th'Byn, they're a Mercenary outfit. They take jobs from whoever pays'em ta do a job. Escort duty, helpin this or that Templar do this or that thing.."

>

At your table, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says in sirihish:

     "And whoever they're escortin, or the templar, they're th'ones what pay the Byn unit."

>

At your table, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says in sirihish:

     "When yer a Mercenary fer th'Kuraci Fist, yer not gonna be takin jobs fer people what ain't wit Kurac."

>

At your table, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says in sirihish:

     "We escort Kuracis. We do this or that or the other thing fer Kuracis. And we git paid salary, plus bonuses, from Kurac. Not from no one else."

>At your table, you say in sirihish, leaning forward:

     "I know, but... listen. If a merc takes a job with, say, Salaar, then he's working with Salaar -for the time being-."

>At your table, you say in sirihish:

     "Isn't it the same way with Kurac?"

>

At your table, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says in sirihish, shrugging:

     "Ah din't know Salarr hired mercs."

>

At your table, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says in sirihish:

     "But If they do, they don't spend two months trainin'em. The merc works fer hisself."

>

At your table, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says in sirihish:

     "If yer a Merc wit Kurac, ya ain't workin fer yerself. Yer employed by Kurac."

>At your table, you say in sirihish, scratching his head:

     "Yeah... and a merc who takes a job with the Templarate is working for the Templarate. And a merc who takes a job with Nenyuk is working for Nenyuk."

>

At your table, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says in sirihish:

     "And ya kin't just ride off any time ya like, go wherever ya like, do whatever ya like, and not worry about gittin yer pay from us."

>

At your table, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says in sirihish:

     "Ya gotta do afternoon chores, ya gotta come on patrol when we're goin on patrol, gotta run escort wit us, and ya don't leave th'Post if ya ain't got a day off on th'schedule."

>

At your table, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says in sirihish:

     "Ya still stick wit th'schedule, and yer days off are th'days off we tell ya they is."

>

At your table, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says in sirihish, grumbling:

     "Ya know, ya ain't answered ma first question, and yer hemmin and hawin over a fuckin word."

>At your table, you say in sirihish, some amusement creeping over his features:

     "I'm just trying to figure out what makes Kurac mercs so special."

>

At your table, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says in sirihish:

     "Ah'm thinkin..if ya kin't figger it out, maybe ya ain't right fer us. Look fer one o'the Salarris, see if they're innerested in hirin a independant. We ain't."

>

The slender, crooked-nosed woman stands up from a small table near the stairs.

>

The slender, crooked-nosed woman grumbles and moves back to a long, carved wooden bar, shaking her head.

>

The slender, crooked-nosed woman sits at a long, carved wooden bar.

>You think:

     "Ah... feck..."

A young man in dire need of food and 'sid makes his way to Luir's Outpost, following rumors of military work to be had with House Kurac. Unfortunately, he's not the brightest fellow...

>

At your table, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says in sirihish, watching you:

     "So yer name's...

Continue Reading...
Mama Red's Lesson by HaiWolfe
Added on Apr 5, 2007

A young and foolhardy adventurer chances a ride through the Red Desert with another traveler and gets dealt a harsh lesson. Ambushed by gith, he loses his kank and flees on foot, stumbling up and rolling down the sand dunes. He makes it to the North Road, battered and exhausted, but soon finds that he is not alone...

============================================================
A young and foolhardy adventurer chances a ride through the Red Desert with another traveler and gets dealt a harsh lesson. Ambushed by gith, he loses his kank and flees on foot, stumbling up and rolling down the sand dunes. He makes it to the North Road, battered and exhausted, but soon finds that he is not alone...
============================================================

North Road [NESW]
   The stark white of the wide stone road lies across these sands like the
spine of a gargantuan carcass. Slightly curving and in places partially
buried in sand, the pale backbone twists along the upper cliff of the Shield
Wall.
   The road runs east and west from here.

West of here is Bend in the North Road.
[Very far]
Nothing.
[Far]
Nothing.
[Near]
Nothing.

North of here are Sandy Wastes.
[Far]
Nothing.
[Near]
Nothing.

South of here is Atop the Shield Wall.
[Very far]
Nothing.
[Far]
Nothing.
[Near]
Nothing.

98,6,104,walking,standing>
You sit down and rest your tired bones.

The lean, sandy-red gith pierces your neck, doing frightening damage.
The lean, sandy-red gith lightly pierces your body.

54,6,70,walking,fighting: the lean, sandy-red gith>
Bend in the North Road [NESW]
   The stark white of the wide stone road lies across these sands like the
spine of a gargantuan carcass. Slightly curving and in places partially
buried in sand, the pale backbone twists along the upper cliff of the Shield
Wall.
   The road bends to the north and east from this point.
You flee head over heels.

54,1,71,running,standing>You are too exhausted.

You deftly parry the lean, sandy-red gith's attack.
The lean, sandy-red gith pierces your body.

This gith is characteristically lean for his race, perhaps a little more so
than average. Wiry strength is apparent in his long arms and legs, however,
as well as his clawed hands. He is hunched over, appearing much shorter
than he would be if his back were straight, and his sandy-red skin bears
the markings of both battle and the elements. Black eyes gleam dully from
their place in his malevolent-looking face.
The lean, sandy-red gith is in excellent condition.

The lean, sandy-red gith is using:
<worn on head>           an used veiled, wide-brimmed surmac
<primary hand>           a dusty bone-tipped spear
<secondary hand>         a dusty obsidian shortsword
<worn around body>       a dusty hooded, sandy-brown dustcloak
<worn on legs>           an used set of cuirbouilli leg guards

46,1,62,running,fighting: the lean, sandy-red gith>
The lean, sandy-red gith lightly pierces your body.
You deftly parry the lean, sandy-red gith's attack.

The lean, sandy-red gith circles, lashing out with his dusty bone-tipped spear.

The lean, sandy-red gith pierces your body.
You deftly parry the lean, sandy-red gith's attack.
The lean, sandy-red gith parries your attack.
The lean, sandy-red gith swiftly dodges your stab.

34,1,50,running,fighting: the lean, sandy-red gith>
The lean, sandy-red gith says, in an unfamiliar tongue:
     "sqesiw qeubnuem, ueow dzuibj uakurie, feq iuo'kl wi tewa."

You exclaim, in sirihish:
     "Wait, wait!"

The lean, sandy-red gith pierces your body.
The lean, sandy-red gith pierces you very hard on your neck.
The lean, sandy-red gith swiftly dodges your slash.
The lean, sandy-red gith swiftly dodges your stab.

The figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak backs off, blades crossed in front of himself.

12,1,37,running,fighting: the lean, sandy-red gith>
The lean, sandy-red gith solidly pierces your body.
You deftly parry the lean, sandy-red gith's attack.

3,1,28,running,fighting: the lean, sandy-red gith>
The lean, sandy-red gith pierces you very hard on your body.

-9,1,14,running,mortally wounded>
Someone rolls you over after delivering a vicious kick to your midsection.

The figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak groans in pain.

Your new ldesc is:
The figure in a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak lies on the ground, bleeding from multiple holes in his body.

Placing a knee in your back, someone strips away some things.

The lean, sun-browned man's tongue lolls out as his head falls limply to a side.

Someone yanks something from your neck.

Someone rolls you over.

The lean, sun-browned man twitches feebly.

You feel tremendous amounts of pain shooting from your spear wounds.

You feel yourself slipping into feverish unconsciousness.

============================================================
Stripped of his valuables and left for dead beneath the unforgiving sun, the blood from his injuries begins to clot and keeps him from bleeding to death. Lucky bastard. He begins to hallucinate.
============================================================

-4,1,14,running,mortally wounded>
You feel dizzied by a phantasmagoria of images... a monstrous silt horror rising out of the sea, tentacles lashing... sandy skies and red scrub... a laughing prostitute... Kruth cards flying away on the wind...

You feel a numb sensation, like the down after way, way, way too much spice.

You feel as though you are sinking in silt, slowly sinking lower and lower.

You feel curious at the sight of a jozhal swimming by, winking as it does the backstroke.

0,1,14,running,stunned>
You feel a sudden urge to fight your way back up to the surface and begin flailing madly.

You feel the silt pulling down on you, but keep clawing your way upwards.

You feel a rush of determination that fuels your fight.

1,1,19,running,resting>
You feel a massive suction force as you break the surface, sputtering with a mouthful of sand.

Eyes closed, the lean, sun-browned man sputters and gasps.

The lean, sun-browned man's eyes snap open as he pushes himself up on his elbows, wiping sand and dirt from his tongue with a hand.

Bend in the North Road [NESW]
   The stark white of the wide stone road lies across these sands like the
spine of a gargantuan carcass. Slightly curving and in places partially
buried in sand, the pale backbone twists along the upper cliff of the Shield
Wall.
   The road bends to the north and east from this point.

The lean, sun-browned man goggles a bit at his surroundings.

To himself, raspily, you ask, in sirihish:
     "What in Krath...?"

The crimson sun sinks into the west, as the desert darkens.

The lean, sun-browned man seems to regain his focus somewhat as he looks at the setting sun.

You think:
     "I feel like shit... got to get back to Luir's.. somehow."

The lean, sun-browned man groans as he rolls over and tries to pick himself up.

The lean, sun-browned man pushes himself to his knees and takes a breather.

The lean, sun-browned man squints at the horizon.

In a strained voice as he braces himself up off the ground, you exclaim, in sirihish:
     "Hup!"

You stand up.

============================================================
Clinging stubbornly to life, he staggers painfully down the darkening road as dusk settles in. With the exception of a wrong turn that nearly sends him toppling over the edge of the Shield Wall, he reaches the sanctuary of Luir's Outpost with no further incident.
============================================================

Sparse sands blow across your path.
The South Gate of Luir's Outpost [SW]
   The walls of this client village have felt the trickle of much blood
over the years, and great care is evident in the fortifications visible on
all sides. The pair of gate towers, one rebuilt and one new, stand strong,
flanking the reinforced arch leading out of the bailey. Each is ominously
crowned with four grasping horns of jet-black obsidian and sport an archer's
window three-quarter's up on each face. Large torches flank the gates.
   Another stout, sturdy watchtower rises over the battlements of the inner
barrier to the northwest. Running the entire length of this inner wall,
carved spikes of bone have been mounted. Thin protected slits in the top of
the walls provide archers an easy target at anyone traveling along this
roadway and frequent glimpses of movement indicate the defenses are always
well manned.
   Westward, through the shanty-town of the outer bailey, a road passes
between these two sets of imposing walls.
The ghoulishly scarred half-giant looms before the gate here.
A unit of dun-clad Kuraci regulars stands here in strict formation.
A unit of Kurac mercenaries stands here, ready for battle.
The tall pudgy man looks around with a challenging expression.

The lean, sun-browned man feebly tips his hat toward the tall pudgy man before falling over.
You sit down and rest your tired bones.

You think:
     "Krath, I'm in bad shape.. I need to get help."

The lean, sun-browned man brushes his fingers over a pair of punctures in his neck, now clotted over with dried blood.

You are carrying:
a thin, brown leather wrap

You bow your head, placing the wrap about your neck.

Darkness
   Total darkness surrounds you, preventing you from seeing anything
at all. You have trouble telling where you put your feet when you walk.

It is late at night on Huegel, the 74th day of the Ascending Sun,
In the Year of Jihae's Peace, year 23 of the 21st Age.

You go to sleep.

The lean, sun-browned man drifts in and out of fitful sleep, curled on his side near the wall.

============================================================
Some time passes before he is discovered.
============================================================

Someone stoops, slinging a blade over her lanky shoulders.

You wake up as you feel your arms being twisted behind your back.
The slight, desert-hued half-elf subdues you, despite your attempts to struggle away.

The lean, sun-browned man yelps as he's jerked out of his sleep, struggling feebly.

With effort, the slight, desert-hued half-elf heaves you up against one of her shoulders.

The slight, desert-hued half-elf says to you, in tribal-accented sirihish:
     "Easy, boyo."

With you braced casually, the slight, desert-hued half-elf says to the tall pudgy man, in tribal-accented sirihish:
     "He's known to me, I'll get him outta the way."

Mumbling incoherently, you say, in sirihish:
     "Oh.. s'you."

Aside, to you, the slight, desert-hued half-elf asks, in tribal-accented sirihish:
     "Yea, Sergeant Sha to save the doy. Again. Can ya' walk any?"

Regaining his focus, you say, in sirihish:
     "More or less.."

One lanky arm supporting you, the slight, desert-hued half-elf says to you, in tribal-accented sirihish:
     "Try, I'll help ya'. Let's go."

The slight, desert-hued half-elf begins shuffling off through the bailey.

The slight, desert-hued half-elf walks west, dragging you behind her.
The area is enveloped in darkness.
A Hard-Packed Roadway Between the Walls [EW]
   Hastily leveled, the gritty hardpan of the Red Desert has been packed
down into a broad, flat swath between two parallel sets of stout, unadorned
stone walls. The massive walls border both sides of this wide roadway,
rising easily the height of two half-giants. Built of large chunks of onyx,
obsidian, and other less identifiable black stone, they are mortared with a
deep grey mixture that is only noticeable on close inspection.
   Along the top of the inner wall, carved spikes of bone have been mounted,
proving a challenge to all but the most skilled climber. Thin slits in the
top of the walls themselves provide archers an easy target at anyone
traveling along this roadway and dun-cloaked soldiers can infrequently be
glimpsed on patrol atop the high ramparts of the inner walls.
   Sheltered from the worst of the desert's excesses, the occasional wagon,
caravan, or trading party moves under the open sky along the well-worn track
towards the Outpost's gates.

The slight, desert-hued half-elf walks west, dragging you behind her.
The area is enveloped in darkness.
A Hard-Packed Roadway Between the Walls [EW]
   Hastily leveled, the gritty hardpan of the Red Desert has been packed
down into a broad, flat swath between two parallel sets of stout, unadorned
stone walls. The massive walls border both sides of this wide roadway,
rising easily the height of two half-giants. Built of large chunks of onyx,
obsidian, and other less identifiable black stone, they are mortared with a
deep grey mixture that is only noticeable on close inspection.
   Along the top of the inner wall, carved spikes of bone have been mounted,
proving a challenge to all but the most skilled climber. Thin slits in the
top of the walls themselves provide archers an easy target at anyone
traveling along this roadway and dun-cloaked soldiers can infrequently be
glimpsed on patrol atop the high ramparts of the inner walls.
   Sheltered from the worst of the desert's excesses, the occasional wagon,
caravan, or trading party moves under the open sky along the well-worn track
towards the Outpost's gates.
A pavilion of yellowed, thread-bare sandcloth leans against the outpost wall here.

The red light of Jihae rises over the outpost's southern walls.

Under the Watch Tower [NE]
   Hastily leveled, the gritty hardpan of the Red Desert has been packed
down into a broad, flat swath between two parallel sets of stout, unadorned
stone walls. The massive walls border both sides of this wide roadway,
rising easily the height of two half-giants. Built of large chunks of onyx,
obsidian, and other less identifiable black stone, they are mortared with a
deep grey mixture that is only noticeable on close inspection.
   At the corner of the roadway, a massive watchtower still lies under
construction, the wooden frame already in place as work continues.
   Sheltered from the worst of the desert's excesses, the occasional wagon,
caravan, or trading party moves under the open sky along the well-worn track
towards the Outpost's gates.

The lean, sun-browned man staggers along with the slight, desert-hued half-elf's support, dried blood streaked from beneath your thin, brown leather wrap and joining similar streams along your bloodied white sandcloth shirt.

============================================================
The Kuraci sergeant brings him through the bailey, past the inner gates, and into the Outpost proper.
============================================================

The slight, desert-hued half-elf walks east, dragging you behind her.
Steel Road [NESW]
   This dirt hardpack road runs east and west between the outer yard and
Sun's Road. The odd sign of wagon track suggests that this road is put to
more use than others.
   The road continues to the east and west, between buildings that lie to
the north and Merchant Field to the south. To the north, a thick white
agafari door leads away from the road.

The slight, desert-hued half-elf huffs for breath as she supports most of your weight with her scrawny might.

The slight, desert-hued half-elf walks east, dragging you behind her.
Steel Road [NESW]
   This dirt hardpack road runs east and west between the outer yard and
Sun's Road. The odd sign of wagon track suggests that this road was once
put to more use than others.
   Directly north of here is a small open yard, overhung by the upper floor
of the inn. Southward lies Merchant Field.
The lean, haggard man ambles slowly through the yard here.

The slight, desert-hued half-elf walks east, dragging you behind her.
Steel Road [NESW]
   This dirt hardpack road runs east and west between the outer yard and
Sun's Road. The odd sign of wagon track suggests that this road was once
put to more use than others.
   North of here lies the tallest structure within the outpost, apparently
an inn constructed for the benefit of whatever travelers might have come
through. Blackened stone shows sign of recent repair though no gaps or
seams are visible in the massive walls. This imposing building, with spikes
at all four corners and obsidian black walls, holds an air of both
durability and agelessness. Southward lies the entrance to Merchant Field.

Breathlessly, the slight, desert-hued half-elf shouts, in tribal-accented sirihish:
     "Regular Mynkas!"

With you supported with a skinny arm, the slight, desert-hued half-elf peers through the door.

The wind changes direction.

The lean, sun-browned man sways on his feet, leaning against a faint shape.

A faint shape lights an unlit simple, leather-wrapped bone torch.

Muttering irritably, a faint shape says, in tribal-accented sirihish:
     "Fuck this shit.. c'mon, we're movin'."

Barely visible in the gloom, a faint shape says to a faint shape, in tribal-accented sirihish:
     "Get that gate open."

A faint shape shouts, in tribal-accented sirihish:
     "Yer Sergeant!"

A faint shape shouts, in tribal-accented sirihish:
     "Forget about it!"

A faint shape unlocks the gates with a bent obsidian key.
A faint shape opens the gates.
A faint shape steps aside, allowing a faint shape to pass.
A faint shape closes the gates from the other side.

A faint shape mutters and grumbles under her breath in bendune, squinting through the sandy darkness as she half supports, half drags you along.

Luir's Outpost Infirmary [E]
   This building consists of a single large, open room that is permeated
by a melange of smells ranging from the fragrance of dried herbs to the
putrid stench of festering wounds and the bitter tang of medicinal
tinctures. The worn stone floor here is relatively free of dust and red
sand, a feat only accomplished by frequent sweeping.
   In the center of the room are three long wooden tables, all of which bear
the dark, splotchy stains of old blood and pungent poultices. Along the
back wall opposite the entrance is a row of leather cots, sometimes occupied
by the ailing or injured. Two cabinets stand beside a few bins arrayed
along the north wall. Shuttered windows in the east wall can be opened when
the wind is down, and bone lanterns hang from the thick wooden crossbeams
overhead.
A few long, wooden worktables are here.
Some carved shelves of fitted agafari hardwood stand here.
The greasy-looking, spidery man stands here, tending to the wounded.

The slight, desert-hued half-elf heaves you through the door and through the infirmary, to a long, wooden worktable.
The slight, desert-hued half-elf releases you, and you immediately move away.

The lean, sun-browned man pedals his bare feet on the ground, trying ineffectively to keep his balance.

The slight, desert-hued half-elf crouches.

The slight, desert-hued half-elf stops using a shining leather-strapped green glow-crystal.
The slight, desert-hued half-elf extinguishes a shining leather-strapped green glow-crystal.

The lean, sun-browned man falls over onto a long, wooden worktable with a thump.

You rest on a long, wooden worktable.

The slight, desert-hued half-elf puts a leather-strapped green glow-crystal inside a hooded, dun-colored dustcloak.

Rubbing her tattooed hands together to knock grit from them, the slight, desert-hued half-elf moves for a cabinet.

The slight, desert-hued half-elf gets a white cloth bandage from a hardwood cabinet.
The slight, desert-hued half-elf gets a white cloth bandage from a hardwood cabinet.
The slight, desert-hued half-elf gets a white cloth bandage from a hardwood cabinet.

Grabbing a handful of rolled bandages, the slight, desert-hued half-elf pokes through a second cabinet nearby.

The slight, desert-hued half-elf gets a crumbling red tablet from a hardwood cabinet.

You look at the slight, desert-hued half-elf silently through eyes half-lidded in pain.
This small half-elven woman's lean, tautly muscled body is ravaged by the
scars of battle, wind and sand, her skin a weathered cunyati hue. In
lighter contrast, her hair is a sandy brown, the longest strands wisping
just past her chin. She has slanted, narrow eyes, their irises shaded a
murky green about vertically slitted pupils, and her ears are mismatched;
the left is sharply pointed, but the right is smaller, almost round. A
faded scar tugs from the left corner of her mouth and across her cheek,
giving her thin lips a perpetual smirk. Another noticeable scar cuts a pale
line above her right eyebrow, deep and faintly curved, as if from a blade.
The slight, desert-hued half-elf is in excellent condition.

The slight, desert-hued half-elf is using:
<face>                   a long, jagged-looking scar
<worn in left ear>       a red feather earring
<worn in right ear>      a hooked fang
<neck>                   a few massive, slash-marked scars
<worn about throat>      an agate and raptor-bone necklace
<slung across back>      a serrated bone warsword
<worn on right shoulder> a shoulder patch with a dun colored eclipsed moon
<left shoulder>          a tattoo of a raptor with a spice tube
<worn on arms>           a pair of desert-camouflaged, sandcloth sleeves
<worn around wrist>      a small black leather armsheath
<left wrist>             a sprawling tattoo of crimson blossoms
<hands>                  a simple series of black tattoos
<worn on left finger>    a feathered maar ring
<worn around body>       a hooded, dun-colored dustcloak
<worn on legs>           a pair of desert-camouflaged, sandcloth leggings
<worn on right ankle>    a ragged hempcloth pouch
<worn on feet>           a pair of knee-high grey leather boots

Muttering irritably to herself, searching a hardwood cabinet's shelves, the slight, desert-hued half-elf says, in tribal-accented sirihish:
     "No fuckin' vials left.."

The slight, desert-hued half-elf turns to a wooden storage bin, sorting.

The slight, desert-hued half-elf gets a sap-filled, grey-green leaf from a wooden storage bin.

Moving to a long, wooden worktable and setting an array of medicinal supplies down, the slight, desert-hued half-elf asks you, in tribal-accented sirihish:
     "Fuck happened to you?"

The slight, desert-hued half-elf stands at a long, wooden worktable.

The slight, desert-hued half-elf looks down at you with a squint.

The lean, sun-browned man grimaces as fresh blood lazily seeps from a re-opened puncture wound in his side.

Grunting the word out, you say, in sirihish:
     "Gith."

Tugging a blade out and cutting away your shirt, the slight, desert-hued half-elf asks you, in tribal-accented sirihish:
     "Sorry, this shirt's gotta go. I'm sure it ain't the kind of situation you wanted to lose it in. How many?"

Looking at the ceiling as he lies flat on his back, you say, in sirihish:
     "Whole bunch, was one that cornered me."

The lean, sun-browned man's shirt falls apart in slices, revealing multiple punctures strewn across his torso.

The slight, desert-hued half-elf sets a knife aside and your torn shirt, unrolling a bandage.

The slight, desert-hued half-elf holds a white cloth bandage.

At your seat, the slight, desert-hued half-elf says in tribal-accented sirihish, probing your wounds, then swiftly applying a pressure-bandage to one of the worst bleeders:
     "Straight southways?"

At your seat, the slight, desert-hued half-elf says in tribal-accented sirihish, warningly:
     "Hold still.."

Your head clears a little.

36,111,104,walking,resting>
The lean, sun-browned man grunts his acknowledgement.

The slight, desert-hued half-elf holds the pack in place until the bleeding slows, and binds it securely.

In a smooth motion, the slight, desert-hued half-elf slides a translucent, crystalline longknife out of a small black leather armsheath.
The slight, desert-hued half-elf brandishes a translucent, crystalline longknife.

His voice weak, you say, in sirihish:
     "Aye, south."

At your seat, the slight, desert-hued half-elf says in tribal-accented sirihish, tsking softly as she picks up a thick green leaf:
     "Haven't ya' heard the regulars warnin' about taking the south trails?"

The slight, desert-hued half-elf lays out some cloth and begins to work it.

Sounding uncertain, you ask, in sirihish:
     "I should be dead really... you sure I'm not?"

Unrolling a bandage, the slight, desert-hued half-elf works to coat it with thick sap.

At your seat, the slight, desert-hued half-elf says in tribal-accented sirihish, her eyes focused on her work:
     "Nah, you ain't dead. I dump dead people out by the cairns to rot."

At your seat, the slight, desert-hued half-elf says in tribal-accented sirihish, admitting:
     "Pretty close to it, though. Jus' hold still."

The slight, desert-hued half-elf carefully soaks the bandage with the oozing sap.

The slight, desert-hued half-elf sheathes a translucent, crystalline longknife into a small black leather armsheath.

Voice growing distant as he closes his eyes, you say, in sirihish:
     "Sure felt dead for a while back there.. saw some crazy things."

At your seat, the slight, desert-hued half-elf says in tribal-accented sirihish, seeming briefly distracted, irritation crossing her face before she focuses on you:
     "Yea'? Keep talking, it'll keep you awake."

The slight, desert-hued half-elf holds a salve-covered bandage.

The slight, desert-hued half-elf applies the cool sap-soaked bandage to another shallower, bruising wound, gently working to tie it in place.

Your head clears a little.

66,111,104,walking,resting>
The slight, desert-hued half-elf inspects your other wounds, checking your from head to toe.

The slight, desert-hued half-elf swipes a last bandage up, unrolling it.

Mumbling through parched lips, you say, in sirihish:
     "Jozhal swimmin' in the Silt Sea.. just swimming along.. not a care, just swimming.."

The slight, desert-hued half-elf holds a white cloth bandage.

At your seat, the slight, desert-hued half-elf says in tribal-accented sirihish, chuckling shortly and moving down to wrap another gash:
     "Shit, sounds kind'a fun."

At your seat, the slight, desert-hued half-elf says in tribal-accented sirihish, picking up a tablet and holding it out to you:
     "This'll protect against bad blood.. you know, the kind that makes wounds sick."

The slight, desert-hued half-elf gives you a crumbling red tablet.

The lean, sun-browned man twitches an arm up and pulls your thin, brown leather wrap loose, revealing two more clotted wounds on the side of his neck.

You stop using a thin, brown leather wrap.

The slight, desert-hued half-elf frowns, scooting down to wrap more cloth about your neck.

Grimacing, you say, in sirihish:
     "Bastard got me bloody good."

At your seat, the slight, desert-hued half-elf says in tribal-accented sirihish, wiping some of your blood from her hands:
     "I'd say. 'Bout the closest to death I've seen in a couple months."

At your seat, the slight, desert-hued half-elf says in tribal-accented sirihish, after a last inspection of you, nodding:
     "You'll heal, though. Head clearin'?"

The lean, sun-browned man reopens his eyes and looks up at the slight, desert-hued half-elf.

You say, in sirihish:
     "Yeah, a lot actually."

Casually, cleaning up around a long, wooden worktable, the slight, desert-hued half-elf says, in tribal-accented sirihish:
     "Ya' owe me one, then."

The slight, desert-hued half-elf pushes away from a long, wooden worktable.

Pushing himself up onto his elbows, you say to the slight, desert-hued half-elf, in sirihish:
     "Sure do."

Crossing to the cabinets and straightening them, the slight, desert-hued half-elf asks, in tribal-accented sirihish:
     "What possessed you to crawl southways into the Red?"

The slight, desert-hued half-elf closes a hardwood cabinet.
The slight, desert-hued half-elf closes a hardwood cabinet.

The black-striped dusky male dwarf has arrived from the east, trudging in as sand falls nearly in sheets from his cloak.

Frowning a bit as recollection creeps into his eyes, you say to the slight, desert-hued half-elf, in sirihish:
     "There was another fellow, come to think of it."

After swinging a hardwood cabinet's doors shut, the slight, desert-hued half-elf heads back for the table.

The slight, desert-hued half-elf asks you, in tribal-accented sirihish:
     "Well, as fucked up as you are, I'm assuming he didn't make it?"

The black-striped dusky male dwarf stands quietly near the door, sand and dust making small piles at his feet.

Dropping down on the edge, the slight, desert-hued half-elf sits on a long, wooden worktable.

You say to the slight, desert-hued half-elf, in sirihish:
     "Hard to say, he ran off in another direction."

At your seat, the slight, desert-hued half-elf says in tribal-accented sirihish, to you:
     "Where abouts in the Red was this?"

Looking up and calling out, the slight, desert-hued half-elf says to the black-striped dusky male dwarf, in tribal-accented sirihish:
     "We're patrollin', Merc, just not yet."

At your seat, you say in sirihish, looking sidelong at the slight, desert-hued half-elf:
     "Though like y'say, doesn't count unless you see the body, aye?"

The black-striped dusky male dwarf thumps his cuirass over his heart with a fist at the slight, desert-hued half-elf.

At your seat, you say in sirihish:
     "Near a couple of big old dunes, one shaped like a star."

At your seat, the slight, desert-hued half-elf says in tribal-accented sirihish, nodding gently:
     "That's right.. and there's a lotta star dunes out there. Pass any big rock outcroppings?"

Cutting a look toward the doorway, the slight, desert-hued half-elf says to the black-striped dusky male dwarf, in tribal-accented sirihish:
     "Tell Ak to get himself ready for a body sweep."

The black-striped dusky male dwarf tilts his head in a friendly greeting at the greasy-looking, spidery man as he passes nearby.

At your seat, you say in sirihish:
     "Can't remember much.. that was my first time out there. He agreed to ride south together, but I didn't think he'd cut through the sands."

The black-striped dusky male dwarf sniffs hard through his nose, and begins to tighten the straps on his cuirass.

At your seat, you say in sirihish, frowning a bit:
     "Half-breed, a big one.. name of Turvit? Turvice?"

At your seat, the slight, desert-hued half-elf says in tribal-accented sirihish, shaking her head once:
     "Never met him."

At your seat, the slight, desert-hued half-elf says in tribal-accented sirihish, to you, jabbing a finger:
     "Never roam the sands without doin' yer research."

At your seat, the slight, desert-hued half-elf says in tribal-accented sirihish:
     "Mamma Red ain't to be fucked with."

At your seat, the slight, desert-hued half-elf says in tribal-accented sirihish, to you:
     "As you now know."

At your seat, you say in sirihish, holding up his hands, palms outward:
     "Aye, aye.. lesson learnt, hard way."

The black-striped dusky male dwarf adjusts the belt on his waist, undoing the buckle and placing it back in what seems to be the same place.

Dropping to his bare feet gingerly, you stand at a long, wooden worktable.

At your seat, the slight, desert-hued half-elf says in tribal-accented sirihish, casually pushing herself up and off the table's edge:
     "You'd learn all about her if you was in the Fist."

In a smooth motion, the black-striped dusky male dwarf slides a bone-handled obsidian longknife out of a leather knife belt.
The black-striped dusky male dwarf brandishes a bone-handled obsidian longknife.

Nodding toward the doorway, the slight, desert-hued half-elf says to you, in tribal-accented sirihish:
     "I'll see you out."

============================================================
Eventually making a full recovery, our friend goes on to join the Fist, House Kurac's renowned mercenary outfit. There were many more adventures and near misses to be had over the years, but his luck didn't last forever - it finally ran out one day in the midst of a skirmish on the sands between the Fist and a band of gith raiders. What Mama Red gives, she can take back as well. Such is life and death on Zalanthas.
============================================================

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A young and foolhardy adventurer chances a ride through the Red Desert with another traveler and gets dealt a harsh lesson. Ambushed by gith, he loses his kank and flees on foot, stumbling up and rolling down the sand dunes. He makes...
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Death of Lieutenant Falka by Morfeus
Added on Apr 4, 2007

A true story about death of Winrothol servant, Lieutenant Falka.

Falka was a young Winrothol Guard employee who experienced a fast set of promotions and became a Lieutenant, the overseer of Winrothol spy network and – in her late years - Chosen Lady Vilacent's advisor. As a recruit, she was contacted by Chosen Lord Baladan Tenneshi, who offered her to become his spy within House Winrothol. By that time, Falka ignored this offer, but after serving under Chosen Lady Vythica she began plotting against her superior and started giving certain informations about her to Baladan. Around this time, she met Serpent, who became Winrothol's spy and Falka's lover. Serpent knew that Falka is Baladan's spy and she knew he serves more Houses than just Winrothol, but they both kept these informations secret. Torn as she was between loyalties to Winrothol and Tenneshi, she built herself an alter-ego called by her (male) childhood tutor, Ramon, who was loyal to Winrothol, while Falka was more inclined to serve Baladan. As time passed, Falka found that Baladan is in contact with magickers and after some research she also found that he most likely personally knows the Reborn Lord and his followers. This made the difference between her two personalities even larger and she mentioned some informations about Reborn Lord to Faithful Lady Eunoli, omitting Baladan's role intentionally. Falka began gathering informations about Reborn Lord's group frantically, her loyalty still torn between Winrothol, Eunoli and Baladan. Then everything turned wrong.

****

An Oblong Office [E]

   Windows flank the western wall of this chamber, their murky glass gazing down to the Red Sun Commons below. Silvery-dyed curtains cascade down either end of the line of windows, hanging from a slender dowel of green-painted agafari wood; upon the right drapery a ragged slit has been cut, trailing all the way to the floor. Although small, this room is decorated to signify the importance of its owner. The walls are painted a soft coat of emerald green, the sheer color showing an underlying layer of silver dye. A desk sits in front of the windows, set beside a stand of unadorned shelves. A single cot lies amidst the southeastern portion of the room, its wood and cotton frame seeming bland and utilitarian.

A silvery grey pymlithe lute sits propped up here.

A few heavy agafari trunks are here.

Some plain shelves formed of clear-lacquered baobab extend here.

A hammer-carved wooden chest sits here.

A simple wooden chest sits here on the floor.

A cradle, made of maroon baobab wood, sits here.

A bleached wooden cask with a cork stopper stands here.

The bony, obsidian-eyed woman is standing here.

The barrel-chested woman stands here, looking about alertly.



The bony, obsidian-eyed woman closes the door.

The short, raven-haired woman salutes the svelte, bald-headed woman.

The pale, feral-eyed woman locks the door with a kenku-carved green key.

The pale, feral-eyed woman moves over to sit behind a sturdy baobab desk.

The pale, feral-eyed woman sits down at a sturdy baobab desk.

You think:

     "Hmm... seems someone is in troubles."

The bony, obsidian-eyed woman stands to the side of the pale, feral-eyed woman.

The svelte, bald-headed woman glances to you briefly before looking to the pale, feral-eyed woman questioningly.

The pale, feral-eyed woman says to you, in sirihish:

     "Lieutenant, you are probably wondering what we have called you here for."

Tilting her head a bit, you say to the pale, feral-eyed woman, in sirihish:

     "Chosen Lady Vilacent mentioned Serpent's name, Chosen Ward."

The svelte, bald-headed woman glances to you before looking to the pale, feral-eyed woman questioningly.

The bony, obsidian-eyed woman whispers something to the pale, feral-eyed woman.

The bony, obsidian-eyed woman nods once to the pale, feral-eyed woman.

Looking at you, the bony, obsidian-eyed woman says, in sirihish:

     "I had told you that yes.. Falka.. It was to bring you here."

The short, raven-haired woman raises her eyebrow.

The svelte, bald-headed woman moves over to stand near the door, watching you.

The pale, feral-eyed woman sits back in her chair, fingers steepled, regarding the bony, obsidian-eyed woman and you.

Folding her gloved hands at her back as she looks to you, the bony, obsidian-eyed woman says, in sirihish:

     "There has been a leak of information in the house.. It has become clear that there is a very narrow chance of it being any other person."

With a blink, you ask, in sirihish:

     "What?"

Lowering her gaze for a moment, you ask, in sirihish:

     "I meant... what do you mean... Chosen Lady?"

Taking a breath and steading her voice, the bony, obsidian-eyed woman says, in sirihish:

     "I would like to ask you if there is anything that you wish to tell use now."

Looking down to her eyes, the bony, obsidian-eyed woman says to you, in sirihish:

     "Before we tell you."

Lifting her shoulders in a small shrug, you ask, in sirihish:

     "I don't know what to say, Chosen Lady. Information about what?"

With a slight frown, you say, in sirihish:

     "If I did anything wrong... I don't know what it was."

Nodding, the bony, obsidian-eyed woman says to you, in sirihish:

     "Have you spoken to anyone about anything that you and I have spoke about privately Falka? "

Lifting a finger, the bony, obsidian-eyed woman says to you, in sirihish:

     "Before answering.. bear in mind that we already know more than you think."

Wrinkling her forehead, you say to the bony, obsidian-eyed woman, in sirihish:

     "About... that work for Serpent? I talked to Serpent, of course."

The bony, obsidian-eyed woman asks you, in sirihish:

     "Perhaps you have been seeing somone in what you thought was private?"

You say, in sirihish:

     "Serpent? I talked to him in his apartment... I thought it's safe."

Interrupting, shaking her head, the pale, feral-eyed woman says to you, in sirihish:

     "Not Serpent."

The bony, obsidian-eyed woman sighs and nods to the pale, feral-eyed woman as she takes a long pace across the floor, stopping to look out the window a moment.

Looking between the pale, feral-eyed woman and the bony, obsidian-eyed woman, you say, in sirihish:

     "I... I don't understand."

Turning round, the bony, obsidian-eyed woman says to you, in sirihish:

     "You have a chance to confess here, and come out with the truth of things. I urge you to take advantage of it."

You think:

     "Advantage? They will kill me... no matter what."

Scratching her earlobe, you ask, in sirihish:

     "Advantage?"

You say, in sirihish:

     "I didn't tell anyone else then Serpent about such thing. I met some person... but not to..."

The bony, obsidian-eyed woman asks you, in sirihish:

     "Who?"

The bony, obsidian-eyed woman asks you, in sirihish:

    "What Person, and what did you say?"

With a deep breath, you say, in sirihish:

     "I met that person to give him something..."

Shaking her head, the bony, obsidian-eyed woman says to you, in sirihish:

     "You were seen.. Things are not looking in your favor Falka.. Tell us what you know and what you have done.. I am trying to make this easy."

The short, raven-haired woman lowers her head to look down at the floor.

The svelte, bald-headed woman folds her arms over her chest, staring you down.

Motioning to the svelte, bald-headed woman, the bony, obsidian-eyed woman says to you, in sirihish:

     "The Captain is a bit more difficult I should think."

The svelte, bald-headed woman says to you, in sirihish:

     "They are doing this the easy way, Lieutenant. I can make it hard, believe me."

With a frown, you say, in sirihish:

     "I did not do anything -wrong-. I did all I was able to keep His Chosens safe."

Her voice sharpening, the bony, obsidian-eyed woman asks you, in sirihish:

     "Which -Chosen- Falka?"

You say, in sirihish:

     "I am Chosen Lord Baladan to bring him flower for his wife. She was very ill and he needed some very rare flower to safe her."

Shaking her head, nostrils flaring, the bony, obsidian-eyed woman asks you, in sirihish:

     "Lies!.. You expect me to belive it.. Where did you meet him Falka?"

Very quietly, you say to the bony, obsidian-eyed woman (Chosen Vilacent), in sirihish:

     "Why should I continue if you don't trust my words? Ask Serpent, he brought the flower from south."

Her lips snarling under her hooked nose, the bony, obsidian-eyed woman says to you, in sirihish:

     "Such secretive mesures all for a flower?? "

You say to the bony, obsidian-eyed woman, in sirihish:

     "What secretive? I did not want to be seen with him. I met him in the building where Serpent's apartment is."

The bony, obsidian-eyed woman looks over to the pale, feral-eyed woman and nods.

The bony, obsidian-eyed woman asks you, in sirihish:

     "Did I not say we know more than you could possibly think Falka? Did I not warn you?"

The bony, obsidian-eyed woman shakes her head and takes a seat at the desk.

The bony, obsidian-eyed woman sits down at a sturdy baobab desk.

The bony, obsidian-eyed woman lifts her hand to her temple, letting out a sigh.

Sitting up in her chair, gazing evenly at you, the pale, feral-eyed woman says to you, in sirihish:

     "Lieutenant...do you think we would have come to this point easily? We didn't want to believe that you could have..."

Straightening her shoulders and sighing, the pale, feral-eyed woman says to you, in sirihish:

     "Very well. I will tell you what we know."

The pale, feral-eyed woman says to you, in sirihish:

     "You had a clandestine meeting with a Chosen of House Tenneshi, in the trellis in the nobles' quarter. You were seen."

The pale, feral-eyed woman says to you, in sirihish:

     "Also, someone has revealed Chosen Lady Vilacent's plan to take out a certain license."

Arching a thin brow, the pale, feral-eyed woman asks you, in sirihish:

     "Do you deny these charges?"

Shaking her head briefly, you say, in sirihish:

     "That was different time... I did not inform him about the plan."

The pale, feral-eyed woman asks you, in sirihish:

     "Then...who did?"

You say, in sirihish:

     "Chosen Ward, you know I'd not do anything to endager Chosen Lady. Telling him about it would openly endanger her. I don't know who did it. I did not."

The pale, feral-eyed woman asks you, in sirihish:

     "And furthermore, why are you meeting so often with the Chosen of Tenneshi in secret?"

Her tone icily amused, the pale, feral-eyed woman asks you, in sirihish:

     "Do you deliver flowers to them regularly?"

You say, in sirihish:

     "No. I met him to find out what he needs and I met him to deliver the flower."

The bony, obsidian-eyed woman shakes her head.

Lowering her gaze, you say, in sirihish:

     "I wanted him to trust me."

Arching a brow, the pale, feral-eyed woman asks you, in sirihish:

     "Why?"

Lowering her voice even a bit more, you say, in sirihish:

     "Because I hoped to revenge death of Faithful Lord Kipol."

The bony, obsidian-eyed woman asks you, in sirihish:

     "You do realize how this looks Lieutenant? And of all the things you have told me.. You have failed to tell me this?"

You say, in sirihish:

     "Faithful Lady Eunoli said not to talk about it...."

The bony, obsidian-eyed woman asks you, in sirihish:

     "What do you mean avenge? What did Tenneshi have to to with this?"

Quietly, you say, in sirihish:

     "We should not talk about it... that shadow might listen... that magickers might listen... and if we say more, we would endanger you both."

Frustration clearly upon her, the bony, obsidian-eyed woman asks you, in sirihish:

     "What are you talking about?"

The pale, feral-eyed woman asks you, in sirihish:

     "Faithful Lady Eunoli told you to do what?"

You say, in sirihish:

     "Not to talk about such things."

You say, in sirihish:

     "Only with her, only in gardens."

You say, in sirihish:

     "That's why we were quiet."

Cocking her head to one side, the pale, feral-eyed woman asks you, in sirihish:

     "Do you, or do you not, serve House Winrothol?"

The pale, feral-eyed woman asks you, in sirihish:

     "Or do you serve Tenneshi?"

The pale, feral-eyed woman asks you, in sirihish:

     "Or are you in His Legions?"

With a deep frown, you say, in sirihish:

     "I don't serve Tenneshi. You don't understand? It's dangerous... very dangerous... to talk about it. Magickers cannot enter that garden."

The bony, obsidian-eyed woman asks you, in sirihish:

     "Do these Magickers speak with Tenneshi Falka?"

Sighing, the pale, feral-eyed woman asks you, in sirihish:

     "I understand you think telling us may endanger us. However, don't you think keeping silent might endanger us?"

you ask, in sirihish:

     "Should we talk about it? Should we?"

The bony, obsidian-eyed woman asks you, in sirihish:

     "Does Darcina have these powers to hear us and see us?"

With a curt nod, the pale, feral-eyed woman says to you, in sirihish:

     "Yes, Falka. Tell us everything."

The short, raven-haired woman slowly nods her head.

A foreign presence contacts your mind.

The bony, obsidian-eyed woman sends you a telepathic message:

    "Tell me of the Chosen Tenneshi, is he who she works for this beast."

You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.

Her voice hoarse, you say, in sirihish:

     "We believe Chosen Lord Baladan Tenneshi is meeting the magickers of group led by defiler called the Reborn Lord."

The bony, obsidian-eyed woman looks over at you.

At a sturdy baobab desk, the bony, obsidian-eyed woman speaks, nodding.

Blinking and bringing a hand to her chest, the pale, feral-eyed woman asks you, in sirihish:

     "Those are serious charges, Falka. Who is 'we'?"

After clearing her throat, you say, in sirihish:

     "I meant... I do."

Settling back in her seat, crossing her legs, the pale, feral-eyed woman says to you, in sirihish:

     "Very interesting. Do go on."

Raising both hands, you ask, in sirihish:

     "Yes. Serious charges... that's why we met him, eh? We wanted him to trust us. We wanted to get a proof... because we cannot tell Faithful Lady that one of His Chosens... without proof... could we?"

The pale, feral-eyed woman asks you, in sirihish:

     "She is in the best position to get proof, yes?"

The pale, feral-eyed woman asks you, in sirihish:

     "What gives you these suspicions, Lieutenant?"

Lowering her gaze, you say to the pale, feral-eyed woman, in sirihish:

     "She would not trust us without proof."

The bony, obsidian-eyed woman asks you, in sirihish:

     "Us, you and who?"

Slightly narrowing her eyes, you say, in sirihish:

     "Me. We is... me."

The pale, feral-eyed woman asks you, in sirihish:

     "Why do you keep saying 'we'?"

In an embarrassment, you say, in sirihish:

     "I am sorry... it's easier. I am scared. It's so... complicated. Everything is so... complicated."

The bony, obsidian-eyed woman asks you, in sirihish:

     "Who is we Falka?"

You think:

     "I have right enough of this, Falka. You are acting like some... coward."

The short, raven-haired woman straightens a bit, clearing her throat.

In a deep voice, you say, in sirihish:

     "We are we."

At a sturdy baobab desk, the pale, feral-eyed woman speaks, gently to you.

Looking at the pale, feral-eyed woman, you say, in sirihish:

     "I did not hear... that, Chosen Ward."

Gently, the pale, feral-eyed woman asks you, in sirihish:

     "Is someone else...there with you, Falka?"

Waving her hand in a wild gesture, you ask, in sirihish:

     "Falka is not here now. She is hiding. What was that more interesting question? How I found out that Baladan is dealing with defiler?"

Tilting her head to one side, her expression one of fascination, the pale, feral-eyed woman asks you, in sirihish:

     "Yes. That is the important question...how should I call you?"

The bony, obsidian-eyed woman eyes widen as she watches you.

The pale, feral-eyed woman nods lightly to the bony, obsidian-eyed woman.

Offering the pale, feral-eyed woman a smile, you say, in sirihish:

     "I am Ramon, Chosen Ward. I will gladly answer your... other questions."

With a dip of her head, the pale, feral-eyed woman says to you, in sirihish:

     "Pleased to make your acquaintance...Ramon."

The svelte, bald-headed woman shifts uncomfortably near the door, eyes on you.

The bony, obsidian-eyed woman sighs deeply.

Looking between the bony, obsidian-eyed woman and the pale, feral-eyed woman, you say, in sirihish:

     "Oh... yes. I am glad to talk to you too, indeed. It's all easy, Falka is just scared of magick things, eh? She is coward."

With a slow nod, the pale, feral-eyed woman asks you, in sirihish:

     "And you are brave, Ramon?"

With a wide grin, you say to the pale, feral-eyed woman, in sirihish:

     "Of course I am, Chosen Ward. Falka might learn to be too, during the time, hopefully."

The pale, feral-eyed woman asks you, in sirihish:

     "You have had much contact with magickers, Ramon?"

After a pause, you say, in sirihish:

     "No. But I am not scared of them."

You say, in sirihish:

     "I knew few of them during the time, but I don't like them. But that doesn't mean I am scared. I am not."

You say, in sirihish:

     "One of that which I knew is how I found out Baladan is meeting them too."

Nodding, the pale, feral-eyed woman says to you, in sirihish:

     "Of course. You're very wise, Ramon. Tell me more."

You say, in sirihish:

     "That wind mage, Runaktla. He worked for Chosen Lord Thradan."

At a sturdy baobab desk, the pale, feral-eyed woman speaks, arching her brows.

At a sturdy baobab desk, the bony, obsidian-eyed woman speaks, shaking her head.

Narrowing her eyes, you ask, in sirihish:

     "It's stupid, but my ears are not that good... was that meant to my ears?"

Arching her brows, the pale, feral-eyed woman asks you, in sirihish:

     "Our own Chosen Lord Thradan? Did the Chosen Lord know he was a magicker?"

Nodding, you say to the pale, feral-eyed woman, in sirihish:

     "I think he knew, yes. And yes, Chosen Lord Thradan Winrothol."

With a thin smile, the pale, feral-eyed woman says to you, in sirihish:

     "Continue, Ramon."

<84/84, 105/109, 95/95> <standing, walking, sirihish>

You say, in sirihish:

     "Runaktla killed some so-called nobles in south, that's why I thought about him differently than about other cursed. Again, Faithful Lady Eunoli knows about this."

You say, in sirihish:

     "Now... Runaktla killed son of Kuraci Advisor Deno. He tried to tell everyone that other wind mage, Lineah, did it."

The pale, feral-eyed woman asks you, in sirihish:

     "Would you be willing to repeat all this, for her?"

Shrugging, you say, in sirihish:

     "I am not scared."

The bony, obsidian-eyed woman pushes off of a white-carru hide, reclining easy chair and rises to her feet.

You ask, in sirihish:

     "So, I know that anyone thinking that Lineah killed the son is informed by Runaktla, right?"

Nodding, the pale, feral-eyed woman says to you, in sirihish:

     "But do go on..."

The bony, obsidian-eyed woman searches through a thornwood and leather keyring.

The bony, obsidian-eyed woman unlocks the door with a kenku-carved green key.

The pale, feral-eyed woman says to you, in sirihish:

     "Ramon."

The bony, obsidian-eyed woman opens the door.

The bony, obsidian-eyed woman walks east.

The bony, obsidian-eyed woman closes the door from the other side.

You say, in sirihish:

     "Tammani contacted me saying Lineah killed that child. I asked her who told her and she said that one of His Chosens."

You ask, in sirihish:

     "That means one of His Chosens... Tenneshi... is talking to Runaktla, right?"

The pale, feral-eyed woman says to you, in sirihish:

     "The bard Tammani Konviwedu? Interesting."

Searching in her pockets, you say, in sirihish:

     "I need some... food."

You get a cream-colored japuaar fruit from a hooded, kenku-embroidered greatcloak.

It is very light.

You eat part of a cream-colored japuaar fruit.

The pale, feral-eyed woman gets a carved alabaster bowl from a sturdy baobab desk.

The pale, feral-eyed woman puts a carved alabaster bowl on a sturdy baobab desk.

Gesturing to a sturdy baobab desk, the pale, feral-eyed woman says to you, in sirihish:

     "There is some fruit in the bowl, there, Ramon. Help yourself."

Frowning, you say, in sirihish:

     "How she could eat only fruits? It's so annoying."

You get a carved alabaster bowl from a sturdy baobab desk.

It is very light, and about half full.

With a smile, you say to the pale, feral-eyed woman, in sirihish:

     "Thank you, Chosen Ward."

You get a juicy ginka fruit from a carved alabaster bowl.

It is very light.

You put a carved alabaster bowl on a sturdy baobab desk.

Peering at your juicy ginka fruit, you ask, in sirihish:

     "Nothing against fruits... but -only- fruits?"

Your mouth dances with delight, tingling all over.

You eat part of a juicy ginka fruit.

The pale, feral-eyed woman says to you, in sirihish:

     "It must be frustrating to you, Ramon."

Glancing at the doors, you ask, in sirihish:

     "Should I wait with talking?"

With a deep sigh, you say to the pale, feral-eyed woman, in sirihish:

     "She will not like to hear it. She sure will not like to hear it, that's Falka was so scared to tell anyone, you know? She is coward anyway."

The bony, obsidian-eyed woman opens the door from the other side.

The bony, obsidian-eyed woman has arrived from the east.

The spare, silvery-blonde templar has arrived from the east.

The bony, obsidian-eyed woman closes the door.

The bony, obsidian-eyed woman searches through a thornwood and leather keyring.

The bony, obsidian-eyed woman locks the door with a kenku-carved green key.

The bony, obsidian-eyed woman dips her head respectfully to the pale, feral-eyed woman and returns to her seat.

With a slow nod, glancing toward the door, the pale, feral-eyed woman asks you, in sirihish:

     "But you are brave, Ramon. Not a coward like Falka, yes?"

With a bright smile, inclining her head, you say to the spare, silvery-blonde templar, in sirihish:

     "Faithful Lady... I am glad to see you here."

The spare, silvery-blonde templar steps in with the bony, obsidian-eyed woman, the expressionless blue-grey of her eyes moving to you.

The bony, obsidian-eyed woman sits down at a sturdy baobab desk.

Waving her hand, you say to the pale, feral-eyed woman, in sirihish:

     "I am brave and clever, but Faithful Lady still won't like to hear this without any proof."

The svelte, bald-headed woman moves aside as the bony, obsidian-eyed woman and the spare, silvery-blonde templar come in, dipping her head before returning to her stance in front of the door.

Dipping her head with a curious gesture, the spare, silvery-blonde templar says to you, in sirihish:

     "What have you to tell me, brave one? You need not fear. I will listen."

With a sigh, you ask the spare, silvery-blonde templar , in sirihish:

     "We talked... in that beautiful garden... and I said I will try to find more, right?"

Moving closer to a sturdy baobab desk and nodding, the spare, silvery-blonde templar says to you, in sirihish:

     "Yes, we did. That was the day the Chosen Ward sent you to me."

You say to the spare, silvery-blonde templar , in sirihish:

     "I found one more name... person who is in the Ivory, meeting members of the group."

Her eyes fixed on you, the pale, feral-eyed woman says to the spare, silvery-blonde templar , in sirihish:

     "Ramon here was just telling us how he came to suspect that Chosen Lord Baladan Tenneshi is in league with magickers."

Nodding, rubbing her forehead for a moment, you ask, in sirihish:

     "Right... right... that I did.... where I end?"

The spare, silvery-blonde templar starts to speak, her eyes sparked with interest until the pale, feral-eyed woman speaks and she suddenly goes silent, blinking rapidly in thought.

The bony, obsidian-eyed woman asks the spare, silvery-blonde templar , in sirihish:

     "Yes, rather interesting no?"

In a sudden confusion, the short, raven-haired woman looks at the pale, feral-eyed woman.

The pale, feral-eyed woman says to you, in sirihish:

     "Go on, Ramon...repeat what you said about a wind mage, and Kurac, and Tammani Konviwedu."

After a moment, gently, the spare, silvery-blonde templar says to you, in sirihish:

     "These are very unusual accusations..Ramon. I understand you have no proof. It is understandable. But please tell all that you do know."

Snapping her fingers, you say, in sirihish:

     "Ahh, right. This. Right."

You say, in sirihish:

     "Runaktla killed Danu's son and told everyone else Lineah did it."

Lifting a finger to her lip and frowning, the spare, silvery-blonde templar asks you, in sirihish:

     "Why would he do such a thing?"

Shrugging, you say, in sirihish:

     "I don't know, Faithful Lady."

The spare, silvery-blonde templar sits down at a sturdy baobab desk.

You say, in sirihish:

     "Tammani contacted me and told me that one of Tenneshi Chosens told her that Lineah is magicker and dangerous and that she killed Danu's son."

You say, in sirihish:

     "So I suspected that one of Tenneshi Chosens in informed by Runaktla."

The pale, feral-eyed woman asks you, in sirihish:

     "Why didn't you suspect Tammani?"

Nodding in thought, her eyes intent upon you, the spare, silvery-blonde templar asks you, in sirihish:

     "And Runaktla told you the truth?"

Waving her hand, you say, in sirihish:

     "That was just... beginning."

You say, in sirihish:

     "Tammani... Runaktla didn't know Tammani, I am nearly sure."

The pale, feral-eyed woman leans back in her chair silently as the spare, silvery-blonde templar and you speak.

You say, in sirihish:

     "I mean, he did not work for her."

Frowning and nodding slowly, the spare, silvery-blonde templar asks you, in sirihish:

     "Go on, Falka. Is Runaktla actually dead now?"

The short, raven-haired woman pauses for a moment, looking at the spare, silvery-blonde templar.

Quietly, as if correcting herself, the spare, silvery-blonde templar says, in sirihish:

     "Ramon."

Nodding, you say, in sirihish:

     "I think he is. Darcina thinks the same."

The bony, obsidian-eyed woman asks you, in sirihish:

     "Darcina?"

Blinking several times, the bony, obsidian-eyed woman asks you, in sirihish:

     "You speak with Darcina?"

The short, raven-haired woman looks between the spare, silvery-blonde templar and the bony, obsidian-eyed woman.

Shifting her weight, you say, in sirihish:

     "Erm... yes. I do."

The bony, obsidian-eyed woman shifts her whiteless eyes to the spare, silvery-blonde templar , then back on you.

Gently, her tone a soft lull, the spare, silvery-blonde templar asks you, in sirihish:

     "Ramon, what does the Reborn Lord look like?"

With a smirk, you say, in sirihish:

     "I don't know. I never saw him. I cannot ask like that, could I? But I am nearly sure Chosen Lord Baladan can give you this information."

Nodding her head, her tone still calm, the spare, silvery-blonde templar says to you, in sirihish:

     "I understand. But if you could help me understand what led you to know this about the Chosen Lord? Even without proof."

With a sudden frown, you say, in sirihish:

     "But I have no proof. I was trying to find a proof."

You say, in sirihish:

     "Alright... as I said, Runaktla made me thinking... and after talking with him few more times, I became sure he is talking to Chosen Lord and even meeting him occasionally."

Frowning to herself as she listens, the spare, silvery-blonde templar asks you, in sirihish:

     "Does Darcina speak to him?"

You ask, in sirihish:

     "Serpent told me Runaktla works for the Defiler. Runaktla told me he works for the Defiler. Would someone clever and informed as Chosen Lord Baladan not see such an important fact?"

You say, in sirihish:

     "I believe she does, but she never told me that openly."

You ask, in sirihish:

     "For what Chosen Lord needed big and empty apartment?"

Blinking once more, the spare, silvery-blonde templar says to you, in sirihish:

     "There are no furnishings there? "

The pale, feral-eyed woman nods lightly to the bony, obsidian-eyed woman.

The bony, obsidian-eyed woman pushes off of a white-carru hide, reclining easy chair and rises to her feet.

You say, in sirihish:

     "There was nothing there, Faithful Lady. Well, same basic furniture. But nothing more."

The bony, obsidian-eyed woman dips her head respectfully to both the pale, feral-eyed woman and the spare, silvery-blonde templar before moving to the doorway.

The bony, obsidian-eyed woman searches through a thornwood and leather keyring.

The svelte, bald-headed woman steps aside as the bony, obsidian-eyed woman nears the door, her eyes on you.

The bony, obsidian-eyed woman unlocks the door with a kenku-carved green key.

The bony, obsidian-eyed woman opens the door.

The bony, obsidian-eyed woman walks east.

You ask, in sirihish:

     "No personal things. Nothing. Isn't it strange?"

The bony, obsidian-eyed woman closes the door from the other side.

You say, in sirihish:

     "So I asked Chosen Lord Baladan... I asked him if he is not scared to meet people he is meeting now."

Sighing and tapping her lips with one finger, the spare, silvery-blonde templar asks you, in sirihish:

     "It is strange, Ramon. Do you think Serpent knows most of this, as well?"

Pausing in her words and gazing intently at you, the spare, silvery-blonde templar asks you, in sirihish:

     "What did he say?"

Shaking her head, you say, in sirihish:

     "No, Serpent doesn't know. Falka was too scared to tell anyone. She thought Reborn Lord would drag her out and fry her if he finds out that she knows."

The spare, silvery-blonde templar nods at you.

You say, in sirihish:

     "He said that we have to meet. And he said his wife is ill and need some kind of flower."

Reaching up to run a hand through her piled curls, the spare, silvery-blonde templar asks you, in sirihish:

     "When she gave birth...did you meet him?"

With a proud smile, you say, in sirihish:

     "I found the flower. I made Serpent to bring the flower. I gave the flower to Chosen Lord. But he found different solution meanwhile."

Stroking her chin thoughtfully, the spare, silvery-blonde templar asks you, in sirihish:

     "Ramon, how easy is it for you to take control and be brave for both of you?"

Looking at the spare, silvery-blonde templar with a smile, you say, in sirihish:

     "Right now? Very easy. Falka is so scared. She is hidden. She thinks she disappointed. She is so... stupid."

Searching your face with her eyes, the spare, silvery-blonde templar asks you, in sirihish:

     "And how do you feel about these magickers? They do not frighten you. What of Darcina? Do you think of her as a friend?"

The pale, feral-eyed woman gazes slowly between you and the spare, silvery-blonde templar , gloved hands clasped in her lap.

You say, in sirihish:

     "Chosen Lord Baladan told me you are scared he is not safe... that he cannot do some things because he is watched by Lirathans so closely. That he even had to leave the apartment for it."

Shaking her head, you say, in sirihish:

     "Magickers are not friends. They are dangerous because of curse in their minds. They are dangerous, but I am not scared of them, that's all. What could they do? Kill me? That's not enough to be scared."

Her eyes blinking slowly, more alert, the spare, silvery-blonde templar asks you, in sirihish:

     "He said this to you? That he cannot do some things?"

Nodding, you say to the spare, silvery-blonde templar , in sirihish:

     "Yes. That's what he said, yes."

Shrugging, you say, in sirihish:

     "He also said he cannot meet me beause of that. But that's good, I don't want to meet him, do I? I just wanted some proof... find more information... that's all."

Waving her hand, you say, in sirihish:

     "And Falka is so scared. Too easy nervous. She thinks she cannot come to you without proof, accusing one of His Chosens... she thinks she cannot tell own Chosens to not endanger them... because of the Defiler."

With a slow glance around the room, returning to you, the spare, silvery-blonde templar says to you, in sirihish:

     "You have done well, Ramon. You serve the Ivory in this. Tell me, with Falka so weak and afraid, will you come with me to the safety of the Heart and stand for your city under our..."

The spare, silvery-blonde templar says to you, in sirihish:

     "Under our protection within the Pyramid? Until this business is settled."

With a slight frown, you say, in sirihish:

     "What if... what if magickers will try to hurt Chosens... now? I meant, I said this all and the Defiler will not like the fact they know."

Shaking her head solemnly, the spare, silvery-blonde templar says to you, in sirihish:

     "He will not know. The Chosen Ward and Chosen Lady Vilacent will not tell anyone, and you know I will be careful and quiet, Ramon."

Glancing to the svelte, bald-headed woman, the pale, feral-eyed woman says to you, in sirihish:

     "We will be especially vigilant now, of course. Thank you for coming forward with this, Ramon. You did the right thing. You're very brave and wise."

Looking between the spare, silvery-blonde templar and the pale, feral-eyed woman, you say, in sirihish:

     "If Chosen Ward thinks I should..."

The spare, silvery-blonde templar shifts her gaze to the pale, feral-eyed woman with a deferential nod.

With a nod, her voice gentle, the pale, feral-eyed woman says to you, in sirihish:

     "Of course, Ramon. You are going to help serve the Ivory, and Winrothol, even further."

With a nod, you say, in sirihish:

     "Then I should go... of course."

Thoughtfully, you say, in sirihish:

     "Could I just take Coriolis from my office? He would be unhappy without me."

With a nod of encouragement, the spare, silvery-blonde templar asks you, in sirihish:

     "You will be of great use to the Ivory amongst my Sisters, Ramon. Who is Coriolis?"

Curiously, the pale, feral-eyed woman asks you, in sirihish:

     "Coriolis? Your bird?"

You ask, in sirihish:

     "My falcon... yes. Could I take him?"

Nodding her head after a moment, the spare, silvery-blonde templar says to you, in sirihish:

     "I see no reason why not. Though you should be cautious that it does not misbehave in the Pyramid."

With a smile, you say, in sirihish:

     "He is good... and quiet... I will take care he will behave properly."

Stepping near the doors, you say, in sirihish:

     "I will just take him... yes."

Quietly, standing from her chair, the spare, silvery-blonde templar says to you, in sirihish:

     "A moment. I will go with you."

The spare, silvery-blonde templar pushes off of a white-carru hide, reclining easy chair and rises to her feet.

Glancing at the doors for a moment, you ask, in sirihish:

     "We are locked, eh?"

The pale, feral-eyed woman pushes off of a white-carru hide, reclining easy chair and rises to her feet.

After a long pause, you say, in sirihish:

     "I did not notice..."

As she moves to the door, reaching inside her cloak, the pale, feral-eyed woman says to the spare, silvery-blonde templar , in sirihish:

     "Thank you for coming, Faithful Cousin."

The pale, feral-eyed woman gets a kenku-carved key from a hooded, silver fur greatcloak with jade embroidery.

The pale, feral-eyed woman gets a kenku-carved key from a hooded, silver fur greatcloak with jade embroidery.

The pale, feral-eyed woman gets a kenku-carved green key from a hooded, silver fur greatcloak with jade embroidery.

Turning to you, the pale, feral-eyed woman says to you, in sirihish:

     "And thank you for being brave for us, Ramon."

The pale, feral-eyed woman unlocks the door with a kenku-carved green key.

The pale, feral-eyed woman nods to the svelte, bald-headed woman, who steps aside.

The pale, feral-eyed woman opens the door.

You say to the pale, feral-eyed woman, in sirihish:

     "I am sorry... for bringing troubles."

The spare, silvery-blonde templar falls in behind you.

The short, raven-haired woman bows her head to the pale, feral-eyed woman.

With a gentle smile, the pale, feral-eyed woman says to you, in sirihish:

     "You did right...Ramon."

woman salutes the svelte, bald-headed woman.

A Slender Hallway [ESWD]

   The polished railing of the thick staircase ends here, opening into a

slender hallway. An enormous mural of bright mineral paint covers the

ceiling, depicting a riotous battle scene. The mural evidences a war

between Tuluki and Allanaki forces, the jade and black army being pushed

away from a ruined city. The painting exudes a prideful countenance, and is

painted to drape down towards the east and western doors. The sounds of the

foyer rise from below, echoing off the sturdy wooden walls that compose this

level.

The red-tressed short woman is sitting at the top of the stairs.

The barrel-chested woman stands here, looking about alertly.

The spare, silvery-blonde templar has arrived from the west.

*******

The spare, silvery-blonde templar enters a red-flecked pyramid of grey marble.

You enter a red-flecked pyramid of grey marble.

A Circular-Shaped Sanctuary [W]

   Set in a circular shape, smooth black marble constructs the walls,

floor and ceiling of this room. Long banners depicting battle scenes hang

loosely on the wall, falling down and brushing against the floor. A small

altar has been constructed in the middle, with various markings etched into

the floor around it.

   Torches flicker in the hallway to the west, and a wooden doorway leads

outside.

The spare, silvery-blonde templar is standing here.

The short, raven-haired woman glances over her shoulder with a nervous frown.

As she steps into the quiet room, the spare, silvery-blonde templar says to you, in sirihish:

     "Few commoners ever pass these walls, Ramon. But this time you have permission from my Elder Sister, herself."

<84/84, 105/109, 95/95> <standing, walking, sirihish>

The spare, silvery-blonde templar walks west.

You follow the spare, silvery-blonde templar , and walk west.

A Torch-Lit Stone Hallway [EWU]

   This hallway is quite narrow here. Its walls are constructed of dark

grey and smooth black stone, with numerous cracks and fungus filled holes on

them. Torches have been set within small obsidian holders along each side

of the hall, providing some light within the otherwise dark passage. A

small entryway lies to the east, and a winding staircase leads upwards

through the ceiling.

   The hallway continues to the west.

The spare, silvery-blonde templar is standing here.

Looking at her for a moment, you ask the spare, silvery-blonde templar , in sirihish:

     "Did she say if I could leave... later?"

With a blink of her blue-grey eyes, the spare, silvery-blonde templar says to you, in sirihish:

     "I did not ask, Ramon. But we are not southrons, to murder our citizens at will. You need not fear as long as you remain loyal and strong."

With a sigh, you say to the spare, silvery-blonde templar , in sirihish:

     "I am loyal... and strong... yes, I am."

The short-haired, jade-eyed templar has arrived from the west.

As she bows her head respectfully, the spare, silvery-blonde templar asks the short-haired, jade-eyed templar, in sirihish:

     "Elder Sister, this is Ramon...who is in control of Falka at the moment. Shall we retire to the garden to speak more? Or somewhere within?"

The short-haired, jade-eyed templar says, in sirihish:

     "The sanctuary to the east will suffice..."

The spare, silvery-blonde templar nods her head and turns.

<84/84, 105/109, 95/95> <standing, walking, sirihish>

The short-haired, jade-eyed templar asks, in sirihish:

     "Ramon... who is in control of Falka?"

The spare, silvery-blonde templar walks east.

The short-haired, jade-eyed templar walks east.

You follow the spare, silvery-blonde templar , and walk east.

A Circular-Shaped Sanctuary [W]

   Set in a circular shape, smooth black marble constructs the walls,

floor and ceiling of this room. Long banners depicting battle scenes hang

loosely on the wall, falling down and brushing against the floor. A small

altar has been constructed in the middle, with various markings etched into

the floor around it.

   Torches flicker in the hallway to the west, and a wooden doorway leads

outside.

The spare, silvery-blonde templar is standing here.

The short-haired, jade-eyed templar stands here, hands folded at her waist.

The short-haired, jade-eyed templar asks, in an unfamiliar tongue:

     "Sja oo peisk sazsnyjfod au ysu pokm eip agygif?"

The short, raven-haired woman inclines her head to the short-haired, jade-eyed templar.

Shaking her head, the spare, silvery-blonde templar says to the short-haired, jade-eyed templar, in an unfamiliar tongue:

     "Nu, Segoor. Ir en ik sjaeks rfa aj kry keekoo ygpixy potjeij."

The short-haired, jade-eyed templar asks the spare, silvery-blonde templar , in an unfamiliar tongue:

     "Sgu ei ipbioy?"

With a solemn nod, the spare, silvery-blonde templar says to the short-haired, jade-eyed templar, in an unfamiliar tongue:

     "I oikeoqo aa."

The short, raven-haired woman looks between the spare, silvery-blonde templar and the short-haired, jade-eyed templar.

Gesturing toward you, her tone gentle, the spare, silvery-blonde templar says to the short-haired, jade-eyed templar, in an unfamiliar tongue:

     "Trub pohq ae syi..kroq Rieom..kgu hygyuoas ui hjheir ikw yos uyro ryvuhjopr."

Her voice controlled and calm, the short-haired, jade-eyed templar asks, in an unfamiliar tongue:

     "I ziy.. jko oj oxsiqe ejq mohiygoh jre uh oza wiiqwa, yiy iscmy pof rose vowomdakq?"

The short-haired, jade-eyed templar asks, in an unfamiliar tongue:

     "Aet rja et qaii peg qjis eeahak ejyey?"

Continuing with a calm nod, the spare, silvery-blonde templar says to the short-haired, jade-eyed templar, in an unfamiliar tongue:

     "Yuq, Eokyq Suheup. Sma riyn. Sro poq agyshyysep iyrv iu soeio jho, i eajk eiojq aos rgo bgyokap Dyqoioa jkyk py luuh hoi. Asm..jra ojoaiej Czisis Lepg Bekaaug Tihjieue op kgoghis popg sgi Roiepk Leqo."

The short-haired, jade-eyed templar smiles at you.

The short-haired, jade-eyed templar asks you, in sirihish:

     "Rabon is it?"

You say, in sirihish:

     "Me? Ramon... Faithful Lady."

The short-haired, jade-eyed templar nods.

The short-haired, jade-eyed templar asks, in sirihish:

     "Thank you Ramon... would you mind speaking to me about this?"

Rubbing her forehead, you say, in sirihish:

     "I can talk about it... sure I can..."

Glancing at the spare, silvery-blonde templar , you say, in sirihish:

     "But I don't know where to start."

Calmly, the short-haired, jade-eyed templar asks, in sirihish:

     "Why don't you start at the beginning?"

The short-haired, jade-eyed templar smiles at you.

Gently, her expression calm, the spare, silvery-blonde templar says to you, in sirihish:

     "My Elder Sister will help you, Ramon. There is nothing to fear. She is very smart."

You think:

     "But where is beginning of this crap?"

The short-haired, jade-eyed templar asks, in sirihish:

     "Tell me what led you to discover that the Chosen Lord works with the vile magickers?"

The short-haired, jade-eyed templar smiles reassuringly at you.

You say, in sirihish:

     "Well... beginning... would be the day when Faithful Lord Kipol died."

The short-haired, jade-eyed templar nods, listening calmly.

Slightly narrowing her eyes, you say, in sirihish:

     "I found out later we went out because of some magickers, one of those were Runaktla. The defiler known as Reborn Lord came there to safe those magickers and killed Faithful Lord. And did not kill me."

You say, in sirihish:

     "That means, Runaktla belongs to the group of magickers led by Reborn Lord."

The short-haired, jade-eyed templar nods.

The short-haired, jade-eyed templar says, in sirihish:

     "Indeed."

You say, in sirihish:

     "Now... Runaktla works for Chosen Lord Baladan."

The short-haired, jade-eyed templar asks, in sirihish:

     "And how do you know this?"

You say, in sirihish:

     "Well, there was some information which Runaktla said to people he works with and which Tammani told me, saying she got the information from one of Tenneshi Chosens. And, I asked Serpent... who told me he introduced them."

The spare, silvery-blonde templar frowns, her brow knitting as she stares at the floor.

The short-haired, jade-eyed templar nods thoughtfully.

Rubbing her forehead, you say, in sirihish:

     "I am not sure what I said already... and what I did not say... Serpent said he introduced Runaktla as member of the Echri circle, therefore Chosen Lord had to know it's magicker."

The short-haired, jade-eyed templar asks, in sirihish:

     "Oh how distressing... you are so brave to bring this to us.. how long have you know this, you poor dear?"

You ask, in sirihish:

     "How long... I am not sure I thought this is not important. I thought Chosen Lord asked Runaktla to kill one of southern templars. But now... Runaktla works with Defiler... that's bad, right?"

The short-haired, jade-eyed templar nods at you.

The short-haired, jade-eyed templar says, in sirihish:

     "Yes.. that is very bad."

The spare, silvery-blonde templar nods solemnly to you.

You say, in sirihish:

     "And Chosen Lord Baladan rent big apartment... which is all empty."

You say, in sirihish:

     "And... I said Faithful Lady Eunoli I will find more information about Reborn Lord, right? I should have do something to do what I promised to do."

Gently, her head nodding, the spare, silvery-blonde templar says to you, in sirihish:

     "You did, Ramon. You did."

The short-haired, jade-eyed templar says to the spare, silvery-blonde templar , in sirihish:

     "So brave... so very brave"

Lifting her shoulders, you say, in sirihish:

     "So I asked Chosen Lord... I asked him... that those people who he is meeting are very dangerous and if he is surely in safety."

You say, in sirihish:

     "He asked what I meant... And I said that those people caused death of Faithful Lord... and he said we should meet."

The short-haired, jade-eyed templar asks, in sirihish:

     "Who... the Chosen lord?"

You say, in sirihish:

     "Chosen Lord Baladan Tenneshi."

You say, in sirihish:

     "But then, his wife was ill. He needed that little flower, right? So I get the flower be brought from South for him. Falka was so scared. Terrible scared. She is coward."

The short-haired, jade-eyed templar smiles reassuringly at you.

You say, in sirihish:

     "And I thought I need some proof, right? I cannot come saying one of His Chosens is dealing with magickers... without proof."

You say, in sirihish:

     "I asked Chosen Lord... for something... and after it... he told me that Faithfuls are scared about his safety for some reason... saying he cannot do some things because is watched too closely."

The short-haired, jade-eyed templar says, in sirihish:

     "You are doing very well, very well."

You say, in sirihish:

     "So I thought I should wait a bit. What would Reborn Lord do if he finds that I know? He would surely do something nasty. And Falka is so scared, eh? So I thought I will wait."

Falling into silence, the short, raven-haired woman lowers her head.

With a sidelong glance to the short-haired, jade-eyed templar, the spare, silvery-blonde templar asks you, in sirihish:

     "But now you have been brave, Ramon. And told the truth. You do not fear him?"

Quietly, you ask, in sirihish:

     "We wasn't sure what to do. We did not want to lie to anyone... or conceal anything to our Chosens... but we could not tell them... with that shadow sneaking around... could we? Could we?"

Raising her head to look at her, you say to the short-haired, jade-eyed templar, in sirihish:

     "I am not scared of anything."

After a pause, you say, in sirihish:

     "Well... maybe something... yes. I am scared he will hurt Chosens because I told them about this all."

Curiously, the spare, silvery-blonde templar asks you, in sirihish:

     "Which Chosen?"

Looking between the spare, silvery-blonde templar and the short-haired, jade-eyed templar unhappily, you ask, in sirihish:

     "Winrothol Chosens... Chosen Lady Vilacent and Chosen Ward... I told them about this all... and if he finds out, he will hurt them, wouldn't he?"

Soothingly, the short-haired, jade-eyed templar says, in sirihish:

     "We will protect them."

Nodding to the short-haired, jade-eyed templar, the spare, silvery-blonde templar says to you, in sirihish:

     "Have faith in the Faithful, Ramon."

The short-haired, jade-eyed templar says, in sirihish:

     "Pardon me, I will go see to the defenses... my sister, Faithful Lady Eunoli will make sure they cannot harm you."

The short-haired, jade-eyed templar asks, in sirihish:

     "Sister. Come with me a moment?"

Pausing and nodding her head, the spare, silvery-blonde templar says to you, in sirihish:

     "Stay here a moment, please."

The spare, silvery-blonde templar stops leading the short, raven-haired woman.

The short, raven-haired woman nods her head.

The spare, silvery-blonde templar stops leading the short-haired, jade-eyed templar.

The short-haired, jade-eyed templar walks west.

The spare, silvery-blonde templar walks west.

The spare, silvery-blonde templar has arrived from the west.

With a soft smile as she returns, the spare, silvery-blonde templar says to you, in sirihish:

     "Let us go outside to the garden. It is more comfortable there."

You now follow the spare, silvery-blonde templar (Faithful Eunoli).

The spare, silvery-blonde templar leaves a red-flecked pyramid of grey marble.

You step out to...

Within Piory's Yard [NESW]

   The saplings of purple and grey-barked trees are no match to the sheer

height of the marble pyramid that dominates this yard. Standing with an

enormous stature, the pyramid's greyish marble walls elegantly taper up to a

statue-tipped point. Scattered around the base of the pyramid are various

beds of lush blossoms, their colors appearing vibrantly-hued in contrast

with the dreary building. Just near the wooden gateway to the pyramid, a

lush strip of rosebushes sprawl towards the door.

A gigantic, grey-marble pyramid overshadows the rest of the yard.

The spare, silvery-blonde templar is standing here.

The prodigious, purple-skinned half-giant soldier looms on duty here.

A bulging, wide-lipped man sits toying with some needles.

A Jihaen slave stands here, caring for the plants.

The braided, hook-nosed templar is standing here.

With a glance upward as she leaves, the spare, silvery-blonde templar says to the prodigious, purple-skinned half-giant soldier, in sirihish:

     "Walk with us, Gingin. It will make Ramon feel more at home."

The spare, silvery-blonde templar calls to the prodigious, purple-skinned half-giant soldier for aid, and she strides to her side.

The spare, silvery-blonde templar walks north.

The prodigious, purple-skinned half-giant soldier walks north.

You follow the spare, silvery-blonde templar , and walk north.

Amidst a Thriving Garden [ESW]

   Pymlithe saplings are planted in variegated rows along this tight

strip of the garden. Nearly all of the flora that thrives within the

surrounding area seems to be in the earliest stages of their growth. The

vividly-colored blossoms of the roses strewn about are on the brink of

spreading open, though each stem's jade hue stands out stiffly above the

flowerbed. A few rounded slabs of red sandstone create a path throughout

the underlying greb grass' dark violet cascade.

   A section of the garden has been cleared just beneath a sapling, where

a much softer gesra grass grows. The black grass is shaded by a parasol

which is implanted into the ground beside the tiny tree.

A small parasol casts a long shadow across the ground.

A small tree, covered with gracefully drooping flowers, stretches towards the sun.

The spare, silvery-blonde templar is standing here.

The prodigious, purple-skinned half-giant soldier looms on duty here.

Quietly, you ask, in sirihish:

     "Did we do any mistake?"

The spare, silvery-blonde templar is gone just one second..sorry..be right back.

Blinking her soft, blue-grey eyes at your words, the spare, silvery-blonde templar says to you, in sirihish:

     "No. You did very well, Ramon. I am very pleased."

The short, raven-haired woman slowly nods her head.

Curiously watching you, the spare, silvery-blonde templar asks you, in sirihish:

     "Is it both of you again now? Or just Ramon?"

With a sudden smile, you say, in sirihish:

     "Good. I hate to make mistakes. I don't make many, but I hate even those few."

Shaking her head, you say, in sirihish:

     "You said you want me to stay, no? I will make Falka sleep. She is just nervous. She is silly."

With a nod of her head, holding out her hand, the spare, silvery-blonde templar says to you, in sirihish:

     "My Elder Sister gave me a tablet for you to take. She says it will help Falka to be as brave as you, so that you may both stay."

Solemnly, the spare, silvery-blonde templar says to you, in sirihish:

     "I need you here. You are the strong one. But I must ask her some questions, as well."

Pursing her lips thoughtfully, you say, in sirihish:

     "I can wake her, if you really want to."

Nodding and holding out her hand, the spare, silvery-blonde templar says to you, in sirihish:

     "Swallow this first. My Elder Sister is very, very wise and if she says it will help, it will."

The spare, silvery-blonde templar gives you a powdery black tablet.

Looking at your powdery black tablet suspiciously, you say, in sirihish:

     "Mhmmm... alright... alright."

You swallow a powdery black tablet.

A darkness creeps at the edge of your vision.

You feel slightly dizzy and the room seems to spin.

The short, raven-haired woman blinks couple of times.

Quietly, watching you, the spare, silvery-blonde templar says to you, in sirihish:

     "Are you alright, Ramon? Sit."

A darkness creeps at the edge of your vision.

Your vision goes black.

Someone nods to someone, her voice quiet.

Your head clears and your eyes flutter open.

The prodigious, purple-skinned half-giant soldier chops your head, doing frightening damage.

Your vision goes black.

Falka was a young Winrothol Guard employee who experienced a fast set of promotions and became a Lieutenant, the overseer of Winrothol spy network and – in her late years - Chosen Lady Vilacent's advisor. As a recruit, she was contacted by Chosen Lord Baladan Tenneshi, who offered her to become...

Continue Reading...
Savvyn Gets Worked by James de Monet
Added on Mar 23, 2007

Entering a bar: Worst case scenario. [Note: I editted out the sdesc of one character, just to be on the safe side.]

[The story begins as Savvyn, the lean, young-looking man, wanders into the Barrel. He is wearing a hooded, black sandcloth longcloak, with the hood pulled up against the breeze.]

82/87>s

82/87>
The Main Room of the Bard's Barrel [NSW]
A wall here is designated as a message board.
The short figure in a hooded, ebony cloak is sitting at a boxy wooden bar.
The sullen-looking, orange-eyed girl is sitting at a broad table of scarred agafari wood.
The svelte, sable-haired woman is sitting at a broad table of scarred agafari wood.
The rotund, half-giant soldier stands here.
The rakish, sable-haired templar is sitting at a broad table of scarred agafari wood.
The bald, net-patterned half-giant is sitting here.
The -censored- man is sitting at a wobbly baobab table.
The young, raven-haired lass is standing here.
A lean, spike-haired elf drums softly in the corner.
A lean, grey-eyed bard leans against the stage.
A tall, amber-eyed woman polishes glasses at the bar.
The husky, weatherworn dwarf relaxes at a table here, clay mug in hand.
The huge, sun-bronzed man surveys the room casually from a table here.
The bald, muscular woman slouches at a large table, drinking ale.
The small, dark-haired man sits at a table in the back, staring into his drink.

Shifting his gaze to you, the bald, net-patterned half-giant exclaims, in southern-accented sirihish:
     "Horror!"

82/87>
The bald, net-patterned half-giant gets up and stands to his feet.

82/87>
The svelte, sable-haired woman looks up at you a moment.

82/87>
The short figure in a hooded, ebony cloak turns his head casually.

82/87>
The short figure in a hooded, ebony cloak looks up at you.

82/87>
The -censored- man looks up at you.
The svelte, sable-haired woman says to the bald, net-patterned half-giant, in southern-accented sirihish:
     "Kerrik, sit down."

82/87>
The bald, net-patterned half-giant bounds over to you.

82/87>
The rakish, sable-haired templar looks at the short figure in a hooded, ebony cloak.

The bald, net-patterned half-giant charges at you and knocks you over.

The short figure in a hooded, ebony cloak shakes his head.

The rakish, sable-haired templar looks at you.

69/74>
The bald, net-patterned half-giant bludgeons your body, inflicting a grievous wound.
You're now wanted!
The bald, net-patterned half-giant swiftly dodges your hit.
The bald, net-patterned half-giant parries your attack.

37/4>
The sullen-looking, orange-eyed girl looks up at you with a glance over.

37/4>
The svelte, sable-haired woman pushes off of a rickety agafari wood chair and rises to her feet.

The rakish, sable-haired templar pushes off of a rickety agafari wood chair and rises to her feet.

37/4>
The sullen-looking, orange-eyed girl pushes off of a rickety agafari wood chair and rises to her feet.

The svelte, sable-haired woman draws a jade-emblazoned, obsidian longsword.

37/6>
The rakish, sable-haired templar says to the bald, net-patterned half-giant, in southern-accented sirihish:
     "BREAK"

37/6>

37/6>
Scowling, the short figure in a hooded, ebony cloak says, in rinthi-accented sirihish:
     "Fek..."

37/6>
The bald, net-patterned half-giant bludgeons your body, doing frightening damage.
Your vision goes black.

-5/0>

-5/0>
Someone takes a heavy breath, peering down at you in bewilderment.

-5/0>
Someone watches in horror as the man drops... his jaw nearly hitting the floor.

-5/0>
Someone backs away from the fighting.

-5/0>
Someone moves over to you, crouching down.

-5/0>
Someone stands to his feet.

-5/0>
Someone wraps one hand around her medallion of Tektolnes, calling upon the grace of the Highlord.

-5/0>
Someone blinks a few times dumbly, sheathing his weapon.

-5/0>
Someone slowly approaches the entryway, looking down at you.

-5/0>
A warm feeling fills you, as wounds close all over your body.

82/0>
The sullen-looking, orange-eyed girl looks up at you slowly.

82/0>
The rakish, sable-haired templar rises, offering a hand to you.

82/0>
The figure in a hooded, black sandcloth longcloak draws a ragged breath, his back arching off the floor.

82/0>
The rakish, sable-haired templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
     "My private mistook you for one of the undead."

82/0>
The short figure in a hooded, ebony cloak licks his lips as he watches intently from the outskirts of the gathered crowd.

82/0>
The short figure in a dark, hooded cloak has arrived from the north.
The tall figure in a hooded, ebony cloak has arrived from the north.

82/0>
The rakish, sable-haired templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
     "You might want to consider keeping your hood lowered."

The olive, wine-haired young woman lowers the hood of a dark, hooded cloak.

82/0>
The olive, wine-haired young woman bows to the rakish, sable-haired templar.

82/0>
The rakish, sable-haired templar says to the svelte, sable-haired woman, in southern-accented sirihish:
     "Get him out of here and deal with it."

82/0>
The olive, wine-haired young woman remains silent near the tall figure in a hooded, ebony cloak.

82/0>
The sullen-looking, orange-eyed girl looks up at the tall figure in a hooded, ebony cloak as she slowly raises her head.

82/0>.
Sharply, the svelte, sable-haired woman says to the bald, net-patterned half-giant, in southern-accented sirihish:
     "Lets go, private.. NOW."

82/0>
You say to the rakish, sable-haired templar, in sirihish:
     "Many thanks, my Lady."

82/0>
The short figure in a hooded, ebony cloak returns to his seat.

82/0>
The short figure in a hooded, ebony cloak sits down at a boxy wooden bar.

82/0>
The svelte, sable-haired woman turns to walk from the tavern, lips curved in a faint scowl.

82/0>
The svelte, sable-haired woman walks north.
The bald, net-patterned half-giant walks north.

82/0>
The rakish, sable-haired templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
     "My men are on edge, patrolling the city each night and dealing with attacks from those elves. The private is... a giant. He knows only to protect the city"

82/0>
The figure in a hooded, black sandcloth longcloak bows to the rakish, sable-haired templar trembling only a little.

82/0>
The olive, wine-haired young woman looks up at you.

82/0>
The Main Room of the Bard's Barrel [NSW]
A wall here is designated as a message board.
The tall figure in a hooded, ebony cloak is standing here.
The olive, wine-haired young woman is standing here.
The short figure in a hooded, ebony cloak is sitting at a boxy wooden bar.
The sullen-looking, orange-eyed girl is standing here.
The rotund, half-giant soldier stands here.
The rakish, sable-haired templar is standing here.
The -censored- man is sitting at a wobbly baobab table.
The young, raven-haired lass is standing here.
A lean, spike-haired elf drums softly in the corner.
A lean, grey-eyed bard leans against the stage.
A tall, amber-eyed woman polishes glasses at the bar.
The husky, weatherworn dwarf relaxes at a table here, clay mug in hand.
The huge, sun-bronzed man surveys the room casually from a table here.
The bald, muscular woman slouches at a large table, drinking ale.
The small, dark-haired man sits at a table in the back, staring into his drink.

82/0>
The young, raven-haired lass slowly moves back to her table, her eyes wide.

82/0>
The young, raven-haired lass sits down at a round, blue-painted table.

82/0>
The rakish, sable-haired templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
     "In times like these, when the enemy is known for wearing cloaks like yours, and hiding within the shadows of their hoods, it might be wise to not.. emulate them"

The rakish, sable-haired templar says to the tall figure in a hooded, ebony cloak, in southern-accented sirihish:
     "My militia are not the only ones on edge of late."

82/0>
You say to the rakish, sable-haired templar, in sirihish:
     "I can only heartily agree, my Lady."

82/0>
You lower the hood of a hooded, black sandcloth longcloak.

82/0>
The rakish, sable-haired templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
     "By his grace, you are healed. Walk in HIS shadow."

82/0>
The sullen-looking, orange-eyed girl stands quietly near the rakish, sable-haired templar, glancing over momentarily to the tall figure in a hooded, ebony cloak and the olive, wine-haired young woman.

82/0>
You are using:
<worn on head>           a new scrab-shell helmet
<worn around neck>       a new duskhorn collar
<worn across back>       a shoulder pack
<worn on torso>          a bloodied, sueded duskhorn leather tunic
<worn on arms>           a new pair of tied leather vambraces
<worn around wrist>      a new duskhorn bracer
<worn around wrist>      a new duskhorn bracer
<worn on hands>          a new pair of black leather gloves
<worn on right finger>   an etched obsidian band
<worn on left finger>    an obsidian and jade ring
<worn as belt>           a finely-crafted pouched belt
<hung from belt>         a small leather pouch
<hung from belt>         a heavy bladed bone jambiya
<worn around body>       a hooded, black sandcloth longcloak
<worn about waist>       a shell-buckled black leather belt
<worn on legs>           a pair of tailored black leather pants
<worn on feet>           a pair of knee-high dark leather boots

82/0>
The hulking broad-shouldered man has arrived from the south.

82/0>
You hear a man's voice shout from the north in sirihish:
     "I see you hiding over there!"

You say to the rakish, sable-haired templar, in sirihish:
     "By His grace, but by your hand, and for that, I thank you."

82/0>
You hear a man's voice shout from the north in sirihish:
     "There! Look! They are coming for me, see them?"

82/0>
The rakish, sable-haired templar arches an eyebrow, glancing toward the doorway.

82/0>
The -censored- man glances up briefly.

82/0>
The hulking broad-shouldered man bows deeply before the rakish, sable-haired templar.

82/0>
The rakish, sable-haired templar rolls her eyes as she starts for the doorway.

82/0>
The rakish, sable-haired templar walks north.
The rotund, half-giant soldier walks north.

82/0>
The sullen-looking, orange-eyed girl walks north.

82/0>
The hulking broad-shouldered man sits down at a boxy wooden bar.

The olive, wine-haired young woman peers outside the tavern a moment.

The -censored- man watches the door quietly.

82/0>
The lean, young-looking man runs his hands over his chest as if to reassure himself that he is, in fact, alive.

82/0>
The short figure in a hooded, ebony cloak looks up at you as he licks his lips.
The hulking broad-shouldered man stops using a new gith-skull helm.

82/0>
The hulking broad-shouldered man runs his hand through his long black hair.

82/0>
The hulking broad-shouldered man places a new gith-skull helm on his head.

82/0>
The lean, young-looking man fingers the stains on your bloodied, sueded duskhorn leather tunic, shaking his head, eyes wide.

82/0>
The hulking broad-shouldered man pushes off of a stone-seated stool and rises to his feet.

82/0>
The -censored- man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
     "I thought you were a dead man..."

82/0>
The hulking broad-shouldered man walks north.

82/0>
You say to the -censored- man, in sirihish:
     "I KNOW I was..."

82/0>
The stocky, powder-streaked man has arrived from the north.

82/0>
The short figure in a hooded, ebony cloak looks up at the tall figure in a hooded, ebony cloak as he glances about.

82/0>
The -censored- man watches you for a moment and nods.

82/0>
The -censored- man pushes off of a ladder-backed agafari chair and rises to his feet.

82/0>
As he crosses the room, the -censored- man asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
     "But you're ok now?"

82/0>
The short figure in a hooded, ebony cloak drinks ale from a miniature barrel.

82/0>
The hulking broad-shouldered man has arrived from the north.

82/0>
The short figure in a hooded, ebony cloak eats a small portion of a mekillot steak.

82/0>
The tall figure in a hooded, ebony cloak walks west.

82/0>
The olive, wine-haired young woman walks west.

82/0>
The stocky, powder-streaked man pushes towards a boxy wooden bar, pallid grey eyes flickering around within his new crimson-winged greathelm's ornate visage.

82/0>
You say to the -censored- man, in sirihish:
     "Ah...seeming, for the most part, yes...I think I might sit down, though..."

82/0>
The stocky, powder-streaked man sits down at a boxy wooden bar.

82/0>
The hulking broad-shouldered man says, in southern-accented sirihish:
     "Trouble on the Caravan north of Here."

82/0>
The hulking broad-shouldered man points top the north.

82/0>
The lean, young-looking man moves to sit on the floor, falling only a little as his knees give way.

82/0>
The stocky, powder-streaked man pushes off of a stone-seated stool and rises to his feet.

82/0>
You sit down and rest your tired bones.

82/0>
The hulking broad-shouldered man runs north.

82/0>
Nodding once, the -censored- man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
     "Better luck in the future..."

82/0>
The -censored- man walks west.

82/0>
The stocky, powder-streaked man walks north.

82/0>
The Main Room of the Bard's Barrel [NSW]
A wall here is designated as a message board.
The short figure in a hooded, ebony cloak is sitting at a boxy wooden bar.
The young, raven-haired lass is sitting at a round, blue-painted table.
A lean, spike-haired elf drums softly in the corner.
A lean, grey-eyed bard leans against the stage.
A tall, amber-eyed woman polishes glasses at the bar.
The husky, weatherworn dwarf relaxes at a table here, clay mug in hand.
The huge, sun-bronzed man surveys the room casually from a table here.
The bald, muscular woman slouches at a large table, drinking ale.
The small, dark-haired man sits at a table in the back, staring into his drink.

[Savvyn takes a moment to catch his breath after his narrow scrape with death. After a few minutes, he stands, with a disbelieving smile and a new spring in his step. He walks out of the tavern and into the wide world, the sun seeming to shine a little brighter, if that was possible. The one little thing Savvyn doesn’t think about is that he didn’t receive a formal pardon from the templar…and a whole lot of people saw him fighting with a Militia soldier… He takes two steps out the door before an overwrought member of the Arm puts a blade through his heart and he chokes out his last breath in the street, lying in his blood like a dog. Welcome to Armageddon.]

[The story begins as Savvyn, the lean, young-looking man,
wanders into the Barrel. He is wearing a
hooded, black sandcloth longcloak, with the hood pulled up against the breeze.]

82/87>s

Continue Reading...
The Criminal, part VI: "Kill me, or let me go." by Ghost
Added on Mar 23, 2007

Staying in a foreign city started to show its unpleasant face. Sophie could not get to talk to anyone. Nor did Serpent have much of a control over his organisation in the Labyrinth. Returning and starting everything again, started to show its sweet face. And after about a month of time, Serpent decided it was time to take the risk and return.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Submitter's note:

Staying in a foreign city started to show its unpleasant face. Sophie could not get to talk to anyone. Nor did Serpent have much of a control over his organisation in the Labyrinth. Returning and starting everything again, started to show its sweet face. And after about a month of time, Serpent decided it was time to take the risk and return.

P.S: I have edited the log many times, deleting some passages of conversations, mindtalks, and some emotes and I have also replaced some names/actions as **censored** to avoid passing some information that better kept as it is. I hope you find it a good read.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


The Sun King's Sanctuary [NESWUD]
   A polished, white marble floor covers the ground of this expansive
room, gleaming under the light of a large glass chandelier that hangs
overhead. A semi-circular bar, made of hard-grained wood painted a deep
black, extends from the eastern wall, several high-backed barstools sitting
around it. The walls of this room are brightly decorated, with several
elaborate paintings placed carefully for unobstructed view, and shelves
holding many exotic potted plants, blooming with bright red and white
flowers. Two large stained-glass windows, decorated with elaborate sun
symbols, adorn the northwest and southeast corners of the room.
   Several decoratively carved tables fill this room, while a polished
leather couch nearly ten cords in length sprawls along the northern wall. A
stately spiral staircase sits in the center of the room, winding upwards
toward the common rooms of the second floor. The sounds of laughter and
music can be heard from a doorway along the western wall, while the scents
of cooked meat waft in from the east. A small, straight stairway sits along
the northern wall, ending at a slightly raised loft and a large carven
baobab door sits in the southern wall, leading out onto the North Road
outside.
The Tuluk bulletin board is here propped up on a stand.
The tiny, copper-skinned, auburn-haired woman moves easily from table to table.
The svelte, loreshi-tressed woman is standing here.
The short figure in a black, moonstone-buttoned cloak is standing here.
The one-eyed half-giant Tuluki soldier is standing here.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar is sitting at a highly polished table.
A human Tuluki soldier is here, patrolling.
The auburn, charm-tasseled man is sitting at a black-painted bar.
The sharp-featured human soldier flanks the silver-haired templar.
The spare, silvery-blonde templar is sitting at a highly polished table.
The umber-skinned, azure-eyed man stands here attentively.
The prodigious, purple-skinned half-giant soldier looms on duty here.
The short haired, heavy-set man stands here mug in-hand.
The tall, well-groomed man sits here on a plush couch.
The gaunt, black-haired man is here, leaning on the bar.
The long-haired, middle-aged man stands behind the counter.

Passing a highly polished table, the svelte, loreshi-tressed woman inclines her head to the table's
occupants and smilesa.

<95/95 114/124 101/101 - walking >listen on
You are already listening.

Noticing a crowd of soldiers around a highly polished table, the short figure in a black,
moonstone-buttoned cloak inclines her head deeply, then continues toward a black-painted bar.

You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the sleek, honey-eyed young woman with the Way.

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman:
    "Getting ready for the trip?"

The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
    "I am, and I see you. Silence and I are getting along well."

You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.

The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
    "Dawn?"

You ask the sleek, honey-eyed young woman, in sirihish:
     "You think I should call our escort for the trip or should it wait?"

You say to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman, in sirihish:
     "Hmm.. daybreak is a good timing indeed."

You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the sinewy, bald-headed man with the Way.

Nodding lightly as she shifts on a saffron-colored kank, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman asks
you, in southern-accented sirihish:
     "Have anything you need me to gather in preparation?"

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the sinewy, bald-headed man:
    "Good day Kot. You think we can set for the trip at tomorrow daybreak?"

A foreign presence contacts your mind.

The sinewy, bald-headed man sends you a telepathic message:
    "Should be an easy trip, then. Bring water and food."

Her torso wrapped in a linen sling holding a blond-haired baby, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman
steps to a small white stone bench.

Leaning in to press a kiss to your cheek, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman whispers to you in
sirihish:
     "I'm going to go get everything from the apartment, love."

Slipping an arm around your shoulders, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman whispers to you in
sirihish:
     "Mmm, I bought some rations, I'll cook with the rest of the supplies we have. I'll be changing
clothes, as well."

Before releasing her grip on you, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman squeezes your shoudler with her
arm.

Bobbing his head, you say to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman, in
sirihish:
     "Alright. Sounds good."

The sleek, honey-eyed young woman walks south.

You think:
     "Wonder how it will be like to be in Allanak again."

It is dusk on Dzeda, the 42nd day of the Ascending Sun,
In the Year of King's Defiance, year 19 of the 21st Age.

You think:
     "Nearly the day is going down. Little time till the dawn."

The sleek, honey-eyed young woman has arrived from the south.

Wiping sweat from her brow, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman sighs as she lower sonto a small
white stone bench.

The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sits on a small white stone bench.

At your seat, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, settling her
sizeable leather backpack in her lap:
     "This is heavy."

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the robust, crimson-eyed man:
    "I will most probably make my trip to south this week, Faithful Lord. Just wanted to say it."

You dissolve the psychic link.

At your seat, you say in sirihish:
     "Evening."

At your seat, the obsidian-skinned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, nodding slowly:
     "Evening."

At your seat, the obsidian-skinned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, shaking her head:
     "There is something going on around here..."

At your seat, you say in sirihish:
     "What is it?"

At your seat, the obsidian-skinned woman says in southern-accented sirihish:
     "I don't know... bugs disappearing..."

At your seat, you say in sirihish, blinking in surprise:
     "What?"

The sleek, honey-eyed young woman has arrived from the north.

The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sits on a small white stone bench, settling next to you.

At your seat, the obsidian-skinned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, shaking her head:
     "I think I just need a bit of rest."

At your seat, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, dipping her
head to the obsidian-skinned woman:
     "Hello, Ferris."

At your seat, the obsidian-skinned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, to the sleek,
honey-eyed young woman:
     "Evening, Sophie."

At your seat, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, tilting her
head at the obsidian-skinned woman:
     "What's the matter?"

At your seat, the obsidian-skinned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, surveying the area:
     "I've been seeing things.... then they'd disappear."

At your seat, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, her brows
lifting a bit:
     "What.. kind of things?"

At your seat, you say in sirihish:
     "You took spice or something?"

The obsidian-skinned woman shakes her head.

Giving an irritated grunt, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman squeezes her eyes shut.

At your seat, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, lifting a
hand to touch her head:
     "Been awhile since I've felt that."

At your seat, the obsidian-skinned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, shaking her head:
     "The tempalars kicked me out of the tavern, because it happened. They were going to do it
anyway."

At your seat, you say in sirihish, quietly:
     "A little more quiet on that."

At your seat, you say in sirihish:
     "Remember.. We are all foreigners here."

At your seat, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, squinting an
eye open:
     "What did you see, Ferris?"

The sleek, honey-eyed young woman is gone just a second..

The sinewy, bald-headed man sends you a telepathic message:
    "I'll be hanging around the stables, whenever you three are ready to leave."

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the sinewy, bald-headed man:
    "Waying someone.. We will be there once we are finished."

You dissolve the psychic link.

At your seat, the obsidian-skinned woman says in southern-accented sirihish, looking around:
     "I saw bugs crawl up my leg... They were there for a second... The next... They were gone."

The robust, crimson-eyed templar has arrived from the west.
The spare, silvery-blonde templar has arrived from the west.
The prodigious, purple-skinned half-giant soldier has arrived from the west.
The umber-skinned, azure-eyed man has arrived from the west.
The sharp-featured human soldier has arrived from the west.
A human Tuluki soldier has arrived from the west.
The one-eyed half-giant Tuluki soldier has arrived from the west.

The spare, silvery-blonde templar glances to the robust, crimson-eyed templar.

Slowly walking along the crowd, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says to the spare, silvery-blonde
templar, in an unfamiliar tongue:
     "Irhihirkojt."

Tilting her head to one side as she answers, the spare, silvery-blonde templar says to the robust,
crimson-eyed templar, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "His Radiance guides us always."

The male wearing a grey shaded, black face-wrap glances at the approaching crowd, rising from his seat to incline his head, before reseating back on a small white stone bench.

The well-shaped, slash-marked man has arrived from the north.

The sleek, honey-eyed young woman inclines her head respectfully as she catches sight of the spare,
silvery-blonde templar and the robust, crimson-eyed templar.

The obsidian-skinned woman shakes her head and pulls her pair of elegant red silk shoes with heels
off the ground and onto a small white stone bench.

The well-shaped, slash-marked man nods his head gently toward the spare, silvery-blonde templar as
he passes by.

Turning to a small white stone bench, the spare, silvery-blonde templar asks you, in
northern-accented sirihish:
     "Good day. Tell me, out of curiosity...how long have you been seated here?"

Dipping his head once, going on walking along dark road slowly, the robust, crimson-eyed templar
says to the spare, silvery-blonde templar, in an unfamiliar tongue:
     "Ar ufpyyo."

The well-shaped, slash-marked man shifts his gazes to the robust, crimson-eyed templar and drops a
gentle nod in that direction.

Blinking a few times behind the silken fabric of his facewrap, you say to the spare, silvery-blonde templar, in sirihish:
     "Probably..six hours or so"

Stopping near a small white stone bench, the robust, crimson-eyed templar glances between the
spare, silvery-blonde templar and you.

The well-shaped, slash-marked man has arrived from the west.

Her brow knitted as she turns, the spare, silvery-blonde templar says to the robust, crimson-eyed
templar, in an unfamiliar tongue:
     "I ihqydeptoo kise jarg atipe iojuyqojp pa jy."

Offering a firm nod, the robust, crimson-eyed templar asks the spare, silvery-blonde templar, in an
unfamiliar tongue:
     "Se jqy shoaioj iujuuog imjeaktup?"

You whisper to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman in sirihish:
     "Are you ready? Kot is waiting."

The auburn, charm-tasseled man has arrived from the north.

The auburn, charm-tasseled man walks south.

The sleek, honey-eyed young woman nods gently to you, rising from a small white stone bench.

Hefting under the weight of your sizeable leather backpack, you stand up from a small white stone bench.

The sleek, honey-eyed young woman stands up from a small white stone bench.

The sleek, honey-eyed young woman falls in behind you.

Pausing to glance at the obsidian-skinned woman briefly, the spare, silvery-blonde templar says to
the robust, crimson-eyed templar, in an unfamiliar tongue:
     "Nu. Swu ej roeyn. Toy Sewr Mogezups kek pnaieh."

Lifting a hand, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "A moment Serpent."

The sleek, honey-eyed young woman lifts a hand, waving to the obsidian-skinned woman as she remains
by your side.

Softly, holding up a hand, the spare, silvery-blonde templar says to the sleek, honey-eyed young
woman, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Hold."

Lowering your sizeable leather backpack to the ground, breathing heavily, the male wearing a grey shaded, black face-wrap bobs his head.

The sleek, honey-eyed young woman dips her head in respect to the spare, silvery-blonde templar,
her gaze lowered reverently toward the ground.

The enormous sun rises above the barren plains in the east.

The obsidian-skinned woman says to the well-shaped, slash-marked man, in southern-accented
sirihish:
     "Cadet, if you'd like, I could make it fall to pieces when your trying to bring down those
tembo."

The male wearing a grey shaded, black face-wrap lifts an eyebrow, glancing between the spare, silvery-blonde templar and the robust, crimson-eyed templar.

Quitely, the well-shaped, slash-marked man asks the obsidian-skinned woman, in northern-accented
sirihish:
     "Shh.. Respect to the Faithfuls'. Dont raise your voice... And what Tembo??"

The robust, crimson-eyed templar strides towards the sleek, honey-eyed young woman, after a glance
to the spare, silvery-blonde templar.

The obsidian-skinned woman glances down the length of a small white stone bench towards the robust,
crimson-eyed templar. After a moment, she settles her back on the well-shaped, slash-marked man.

The male wearing a grey shaded, black face-wrap gaze follow the robust, crimson-eyed templar as he progresses to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman, stepping closer to her.

The spare, silvery-blonde templar nods solemnly to the robust, crimson-eyed templar.

With a booming voice, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman,
in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Come with me Sophie."

Jumping to her feet, the obsidian-skinned woman stands up from a small white stone bench.

Glancing to you, grunting, the robust, crimson-eyed templar exclaims to the sleek, honey-eyed young
woman, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Alone!"

The obsidian-skinned woman beckons towards the well-shaped, slash-marked man.

Furrowing his brows, hesitation in his tone, you ask the robust, crimson-eyed templar, in sirihish:
     "What is happening Faithful Lord? Maybe I can be of help?"

A foreign presence contacts your mind.

Reaching up to unfasten the linen sling holding the small, blond-haired baby, the sleek, honey-eyed
young woman asks the robust, crimson-eyed templar, in southern-accented sirihish:
     "May I give the baby to Serpent, Faithful Lord?"

Quietly, the spare, silvery-blonde templar says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "This is none of your concern, Serpent. Take the child and leave the Faithful to their
business."

The robust, crimson-eyed man sends you a telepathic message:
    "*with dark mist*Not this time Serpent, Not this time."

You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.

Quitely, the well-shaped, slash-marked man says to the obsidian-skinned woman, in northern-accented
sirihish:
     "I will be waiting you in Garrison'.. Come with meh now if you want."

The sleek, honey-eyed young woman carefully removes the baby from the linen that hugs her torso and
extends it to you, her features bearing no expression.

The robust, crimson-eyed templar stands near the sleek, honey-eyed young woman rigidly, as baby
changes hands from the sleek, honey-eyed young woman to you.

Her tone quiet as she steps to his side, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says to the robust,
crimson-eyed templar, in southern-accented sirihish:
     "I am ready, Faithful Lord."

The robust, crimson-eyed templar offers a firm nod to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman, motioning
the one-eyed half-giant Tuluki soldier to stand behind.

His hands shaking, his chest heaving up and down, you say, in sirihish:
     "What is going on? We are just leaving.."

The robust, crimson-eyed templar slowly walks along stone road, his reddish gaze set on the sleek,
honey-eyed young woman.

The robust, crimson-eyed templar walks south.
The sleek, honey-eyed young woman walks south.
The spare, silvery-blonde templar walks south.
The prodigious, purple-skinned half-giant soldier walks south.
The umber-skinned, azure-eyed man walks south.
The sharp-featured human soldier walks south.
A human Tuluki soldier walks south.
The one-eyed half-giant Tuluki soldier walks south.

The slender, russet-haired man has arrived from the north.

With her arms folded, the obsidian-skinned woman says, in southern-accented sirihish:
     "Let us not think about it right now..."

You think:
     "What?!"

The delicate, young brunette snickers quietly to herself before walking away.

To you, the obsidian-skinned woman asks, in southern-accented sirihish:
     "This is yours, serpent?"

The delicate, young brunette walks west.

The obsidian-skinned woman places her sizeable leather backpack on a small white stone bench.

His hands shaking as he holds the tiny baby in his arms, the male
wearing a grey shaded, black face-wrap bobs his head, gaze following southwards.

You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the robust, crimson-eyed man with the Way.

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the robust, crimson-eyed man:
    "What is happening Faithful Lord?"

You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the spare, silvery-blonde woman with the Way.

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the spare, silvery-blonde woman:
    "What is happening Faithful Lady? Why did you take Sophie?"

You dissolve the psychic link.

You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the sleek, honey-eyed young woman with the Way.

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman:
    "Where are they taking you to?"

You dissolve the psychic link.

A foreign presence contacts your mind.

The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
    "I don't know, Love. If you don't see me again, know I love you and tell Sen all about me."

You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.

You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the sleek, honey-eyed young woman with the Way.

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman:
    "No! If I don't see you again, I am no more too!"

You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the sinewy, bald-headed man with the Way.

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the sinewy, bald-headed man:
    "Troubles. The trip has to be delayed.. At least one day."

A foreign presence contacts your mind.

You slow down and start moving carefully.

A foreign presence contacts your mind.

A foreign presence contacts your mind.

The spare, silvery-blonde woman sends you a telepathic message:
    "It is unfortunate, good Serpent. But, this woman has deceived you and acted as a spy for the
Black City during her stay here in the Ivory."

You think:
     "NO!"

You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the spare, silvery-blonde woman with the Way.

The spare, silvery-blonde woman sends you a telepathic message:
    "It is not even a question. There is absolute proof. But, because she is your mate, if you
wish to come to the Heart and discuss, we will extend you that option."

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the spare, silvery-blonde woman:
    "I am on my way."

The spare, silvery-blonde woman sends you a telepathic message:
    "My Brother and I will meet you at the Gate. Do not come bearing arms. We wish you no ill."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Worried, Serpent ran the familiar way to the Heart. Within minutes, he was there before the giant gates.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the spare, silvery-blonde woman:
    "She can't be! She does not know anyone here. She has no access to any information. What
proof is it?"

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the spare, silvery-blonde woman:
    "I am at the gates, Faithful Lady."

You dissolve the psychic link.

The male wearing a grey shaded, black face-wrap pats on the small
baby in his arms, knitting his brows.

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the spare, silvery-blonde woman:
    "I am at the gates of the Heart."

You dissolve the psychic link.

The tall, greying-haired Tuluki soldier opens the gate from the other side.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar has arrived from the north.
A human Tuluki soldier has arrived from the north.
The one-eyed half-giant Tuluki soldier has arrived from the north.
The tall, greying-haired Tuluki soldier closes the gate from the other side.

Motioning you to follow with a vague wave of his hand, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says to
you, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Come Serpent, we need to talk."

The young, wavy-haired female soldier opens the gate.
The young, wavy-haired female soldier steps aside, allowing the robust, crimson-eyed templar to
pass.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar walks north.
You follow the robust, crimson-eyed templar, and walk north.

The Bahamet's Maw Tavern - Main Room [ESU]
   Half a dozen tables are scattered throughout this diminutive tavern.
Despite the lack of lavish decor, the bar exudes a feeling of being anything
but paltry. The walls are coated in a layer of vivid tan paint, and
occasionally a framed painting hangs from their glossy surfaces. The
floorstones below are simple squares of red sandstone, haphazardly inlayed
into the level ground. Just above the elongated bar on the northern wall
hangs a luxurious tapestry, the tedious embroidery of a fiery sunburst
stitched onto a white background.
   The cramped entrance to the east leads out to a road, while the room
snakes away to the south. A polished baobab staircase is affixed to one end
of the bar to carry patrons to an upper level dormitory.
A wooden-paneled painting sits supported by a miniature bone tripod.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar is standing here.
The plump, reddish-hued templar is standing here.
A stocky, bald-headed bartender stands upright behind the glazed bar.
A human Tuluki soldier has arrived from the east.
The one-eyed half-giant Tuluki soldier has arrived from the east.

Gesturing a highly polished table with a lift of his single-tasseled, bladed staff, the robust,
crimson-eyed templar asks you, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Sit down. Want anything?"

The robust, crimson-eyed templar opens a Jihae-embossed toolbelt.

The robust, crimson-eyed templar gets a pile of allanaki coins from a Jihae-embossed toolbelt.

The robust, crimson-eyed templar walks towards counter in front of the stocky, bald-headed
bartender.

Putting some coins on counter, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says to the stocky, bald-headed
bartender, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Prepare me some bowls of stew and a pint of ale."

His tone quiet, holding the small baby in one arm, you say to the
robust, crimson-eyed templar, in sirihish:
     "I just want to get Sophie out of here. Nothing else."

A foreign presence contacts your mind.

After a glance to baby in your arm, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says to you, in
northern-accented sirihish:
     "Sit down, babies feel the fear much easier then us."

The stocky, bald-headed bartender trades a bowl of carru-meat stew to the robust, crimson-eyed
templar.

The stocky, bald-headed bartender trades a bowl of carru-meat stew to the robust, crimson-eyed
templar.

The stocky, bald-headed bartender trades a bowl of carru-meat stew to the robust, crimson-eyed
templar.

You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.

Furrowing his brows, you ask the robust, crimson-eyed templar, in
sirihish:
     "Faithful Lady coming?"

You sit at a highly polished table.

The robust, crimson-eyed templar strides towards a highly polished table putting his reddish clay
pint in front of you.

At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, pushing empty
bowl aside, reaching a full one:
     "Do you know what Sophie was doing while she is with you?"

At your table, you say in sirihish, placing your reddish clay pint on a highly polished table:
     "Thank you. But I don't need a drink."

At your table, you say in sirihish:
     "I know. Taking care of the child, preparing food. Nothing else."

You stop using a grey shaded, black face-wrap.

At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, pushing another
empty bowl, reaching a full bowl:
     "You miss a small thing what she was doing."

At your table, you say in sirihish:
     "I don't think I do. But say it, what is it?"

At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, lifting a
ceramic spoon:
     "She was using you for protection and spying for Borsail."

At your table, you say in sirihish:
     "She was -running- away from Borsail. How can she be spying for them?"

At your table, you say in sirihish:
     "You are just mistaken.. Borsail wants her dead and you are just doing what they want."

At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, softly, his
gaze set on you:
     "His Faithfuls hear everything including conversations with the Way. You know that very well,
don't you."

At your table, you say in sirihish:
     "I do. But I am guessing, Borsail is playing a trick here. It must be that way."

At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, exhaling
softly:
     "She was spying for House Borsail during her stay in the Ivory."

At your table, you say in sirihish:
     "She does not know anyone, is not friend to anyone here. Has no connection, has no access to
any information."

At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, dipping his
spoon into bowl:
     "Tell me Serpent, how can you explain the messages Sophie send via the Way to House Borsail?"

The robust, crimson-eyed templar eats a portion of a bowl of carru-meat stew.

At your table, you say in sirihish:
     "In her first day, she had a friend.. Miko, and someone else, that my mind is busy enough that
I can't make the name."

At your table, you say in sirihish:
     "I told her to cut her friendships as well."

At your table, you say in sirihish:
     "And she did it."

At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, his shoulders
raising into a shrug:
     "No, actually a rotten Borsail she was information. "

The robust, crimson-eyed templar eats a small portion of a bowl of carru-meat stew.

At your table, you say in sirihish:
     "A noble? Tell me his name is Veralius."

At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Not an aide, not another servant but a rotten Borsail."

At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, grunting:
     "Actually, I just know that rotten blood was a Borsail Lady. Nothing more."

At your table, you say in sirihish:
     "She was Haadith's aide. I killed Haadith, and Borsail wanted to kill more of what is
Haadith's."

A foreign presence contacts your mind.

At your table, you say in sirihish:
     "Sent militia.. Templars on her."

The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
    "She's taken me back to the Sanctuary, Serpent."

You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.

At your table, you say in sirihish:
     "I kidnapped her and we ran away."

The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man blinks, furrowing his brows.

At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, bending forward
towards table:
     "Then maybe she was trying to secure her position in the Black City."

The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man reaches to his temple, grunting.

At your table, you say in sirihish:
     "Can't be. She is still being sought, I am about to just threaten or maybe even kill Veralius
because of this."

At your table, you say in sirihish:
     "And you are giving them what they want"

At your table, you say in sirihish:
     "Now.. She is back in the sanctuary. Why is Faithful Lady not here?"

At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, firmly:
     "Most Honorful Mistress gave her word, she was in contact with a rotten blood and spying on
the Ivory!"

At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Serpent! Hold yourself and think! You do that well.. Very well!"

At your table, you say in sirihish:
     "I am thinking, and the more I think, the more you are just doing what Borsail wants. We were
on our way.."

At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Think what Sophie was doing with you using -your- baby. She was just protecting herself,
nothing else."

At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Mistress gave her word! Sophie was a spy in contact with rotten Borsail."

At your table, you say in sirihish, wetting his lips, patting the small baby in his arms:
     "Now.. I think it is my turn after her, is not it?"

At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, after a while
looking at you, wetting his lips before going on:
     "Serpent or whatever you call yourself. You are seated with me at a table, and I am trying to
show the true face of Sophie who used your maybe single weakness."

At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish:
     "She saw you want a family, and she gave it to you. Nothing else.. In return she got power and
a lot of coins.. Isn't it?"

At your table, you say in sirihish:
     "No."

At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, grunting:
     "Then what? She was using you, and you ignore it."

At your table, you say in sirihish:
     "The baby.. The family.. All came out of the blue."

You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the spare, silvery-blonde woman with the Way.

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the spare, silvery-blonde woman:
    "Let us go..Faithful Lady.."

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the spare, silvery-blonde woman:
    "I will do anything.. For it."

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the spare, silvery-blonde woman:
    "Just let us go."

You dissolve the psychic link.

The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
    "Go! Take Sen! Raise our son! I'm condemned to death! I love you, Serpent!"

You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.

The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man bites his lower lip, his hand clenching into a fist.

You think:
     "They killed Sophie.."

You think:
     "Now is my turn.."

You think:
     "So long.. it has been."

At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish:
     "She gave you what you wanted, and expected power and coins in return."

At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, glancing down
to your hand then baby in your arm:
     "Seems she succeeded."

At your table, you say in sirihish, pressing his lips together,
his voice trembling:
     "Until she was arrested by Sarador, she got nothing.. asked nothing of me."

At your table, you say in sirihish:
     "And even then.. She did not ask. But I did."

At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, grunting:
     "She was using you as a cover while she is spying for the Borsail.."

At your table, you say in sirihish:
     "Alright.. Now.. Let's think about it. What does Borsail give her in return, while she is a
foreingner here?"

At your table, you say in sirihish:
     "Who does she have as a friend when she is here?"

At your table, you say in sirihish:
     "What kind of a spying is it? No payment? No access?"

At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, with a raise of
his broad shoulders:
     "Probably Borsail offered to make her stay in the Black City safe. As you said she can not
walk in the Black City safetly, unless she does jobs for the Borsail and the cursed templarate."

At your table, you say in sirihish:
     "Borsail did? Well.. They did not do it hard enough then, since.. I was still planning to
kill one of their numbers because of it."

At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, rubbing his
eyes as he speaks in a quiet tune:
     "In any case, Sophie was spying for the Borsail with the unspoken way while she was living in
the Ivory under my protection. "

At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, lifting his
head, with a tired voice:
     "Are you speaking with Sophie with the Way right now?"

At your table, you say in sirihish:
     "No."

At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, his reddish
gaze set on you:
     "You know what is inevitable, don't you."

A foreign presence contacts your mind.

At your table, you say in sirihish, pursing his lips:
     "I can see what is going to happen to me as well."

At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, tilting his
head to a side:
     "What will happen to you?"

The short, scar-faced man sends you a telepathic message:
    "Hey, Chief! You arrived Nak?"

You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the short, scar-faced man:
    "I am going to die.. So.. Enjoy your time with the crew."

You dissolve the psychic link.

The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man sighs tiredly, patting the tiny baby wordlessly.

A foreign presence contacts your mind.

The short, scar-faced man sends you a telepathic message:
    "What does that mean, Serpent? I still need your assistance."

At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, glancing down
to baby in your arm:
     "Must be interesting that feeling. Watching it slowly growing up."

You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the short, scar-faced man with the Way.

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the short, scar-faced man:
    "Well, it does not mean a lot does it? I am in Tuluk, templarate here want a little blood, and
I will give them that."

The short, scar-faced man sends you a telepathic message:
    "Don't do anything insane, Boss. Try to convince them, bribe them.."

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the short, scar-faced man:
    "Leave it to me. You mind your own crew fuck it. Since when am I being lectured by my
underlings?"

You dissolve the psychic link.

At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, lifting his
gaze, staring at you:
     "You will be with your child while he is growing up, don't you want that?"

At your table, you say in sirihish, scratching his neck:
     "Well I wanted some more things but I guess it does not matter much what I want, does it?"

The short, scar-faced man sends you a telepathic message:
    "I'm sorry, Boss. I said that, because I care about you. I'm sure, other bosses care about you
too."

You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the short, scar-faced man with the Way.

At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Actually it really matters. When our conversation is over, I wonder what you will do first?"

At your table, you say in sirihish, pursing his lips:
     "Well.. I wonder that as well."

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the short, scar-faced man:
    "Oh don't go emotional, or I will kick your ass. Go Effen and say that his mugs were all
fucked up.. Well.. Most of them. And mind your own business."

You dissolve the psychic link.

At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Leave the Ivory..? or... Find someone decent to take of the child.. or maybe risk your and
that baby's life unneccesarily? "

At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Why don't you let me personally take care of your bady?"

The short, scar-faced man sends you a telepathic message:
    "I -will- be emotional. Come down here and kick my ass for it."

At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Until grows up to age three or four.. or anytime you want. He will taken care as good as
younglings from Great Houses of the Ivory."

The short, scar-faced man sends you a telepathic message:
    "Why don't you come here and tell that to him yourself? I don't think Effen likes me more than
a bug on his bar."

At your table, you say in sirihish:
     "If there is any need of it, well.. It can work."

At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish:
     "You are his father, you will decide if there is a need or not."

You think:
     "Oh..fuck.. Go mind your own business damn it!"

The short, scar-faced man sends you a telepathic message:
    "Tell me, who's gonna kill you, Chief."

You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the short, scar-faced man with the Way.

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the short, scar-faced man:
    "Did not I tell you to mind your own business? Piss off."

You dissolve the psychic link.

The short, scar-faced man sends you a telepathic message:
    "If that's what your order is. I wish you can get through it too, and come here to kick my
ass."

You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.

The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man stares blankly at your sizeable leather backpack.

At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Well, actually I visit younglings almost every week once. There are two children of Tamara
and Garrity who are growing up quickly. "

You think:
     "Tamara..Tikuri's sister.."

At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, softly:
     "Eh, if you leave your child, I can be sure he is in good hands as well."

You think:
     "Oh.. Everything seems so difficult now."

A foreign presence contacts your mind.

The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man's face looks paler for a moment, exhaling a soft sigh.

The sinewy, bald-headed man sends you a telepathic message:
    "Feel like making that trip soon?"

You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the sinewy, bald-headed man with the Way.

At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, softly:
     "Sophie is no more Serpent and you will continue your life. Like you did after Falka who has
fallen with a foul trick."

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the sinewy, bald-headed man:
    "Troubles. I am not sure. If you have other business, go about it."

The sinewy, bald-headed man sends you a telepathic message:
    "Alright. I'll be around. Let me know."

You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.

At your table, you say in sirihish:
     "Foul trick?"

At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, grunting:
     "A kind of cursed magickal trick as I recall from reports."

At your table, you say in sirihish, softly:
     "Is Faithful lady coming here?"

You dissolve the psychic link.

At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, with a shake of
his head:
     "I guess she has returned to her studies. What did you wish to speak with Faithful Lady?"

You think:
     "Maybe I should just try to kill her?"

A foreign presence contacts your mind.

The sinewy, bald-headed man sends you a telepathic message:
    "Don't usually make a point of getting involved in other folks business, but I just saw a
templar carrying Miss out the gate. Just figured you should know, if you didn't already."

You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.

At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, wetting his
lips before going on:
     "Serpent?"

The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man tilts his head, his dark eyes staring at the robust, crimson-eyed templar blankly.

At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, grunting:
     "What is passing through your mind Serpent?"

At your table, you say in sirihish, knitting his brows thoughtfully:
     "Lots of things.. and nothing."

You think:
     "If only I could see her now."

You think:
     "Everything would be easier."

A foreign presence contacts your mind.

At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, gazing the
polished surface of wooden table for a moment, then chuckling softly:
     "Then, when will you tell me of your plans.. until that time, seems we will be seated on those
chairs. "

At your table, you say in sirihish:
     "My plans? I don't have any plan."

The ruddy, purple-bearded man sends you a telepathic message:
    "Ahh, Serpent. I don't think we've been formally introduced. I'm Lord Templar Mazlaen Fale,
of the War Ministry."

You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the ruddy, purple-bearded man with the Way.

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the ruddy, purple-bearded man:
    "Well met then, Lord Templar."

At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish:
     "What do you mean you do not have any plan? You are leading a powerful group and you have a
child to grow, surely you must have plans."

At your table, you say in sirihish, softly:
     "In better words, I had some plans. But they are ruined now at the moment."

The ruddy, purple-bearded man sends you a telepathic message:
    "I offer my approval at the death of that **censored**. If anything else of note happens
in the Northlands, I'll have your underlings compensated for passing the information along."

The robust, crimson-eyed templar bobs his head absently a few times, his gaze standing at you.

You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the ruddy, purple-bearded man:
    "My pleasure, Lord Templar. I will see what I can do. And Scar, the one now taking care of
the crew will be in contact with you."

You dissolve the psychic link.

At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, steadying his
posture:
     "Do you need time for making new plans Serpent?"

At your table, you say in sirihish:
     "Seems like it."

At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish:
     "What About your child?"

At your table, you say in sirihish:
     "He will share my fate."

You think:
     "It is meaningless."

You think:
     "I just want to kill... Just want to kill.."

At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, his gaze
falling down to polished surface of wooden table:
     "And your possible fate is..?"

You think:
     "Where is Eunoli when I need her?"

At your table, you say in sirihish, lifts his shoulders into an exhausted shrug:
     "We will see."

At your table, you say in sirihish:
     "I don't know yet myself."

At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, hitting the
table with his fist loudly with voice of cracking wood:
     "WHAT FOOLISHNESS IS THIS?"

At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish:
     "YOU ARE A GOOD DAMM LEADER OF A GANG!"

At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, his voice
echoing through tavern:
     "YOU TELL ME YOU ARE LOST OF YOUR MIND BECAUSE OF A WOMAN YOU KNOW FOR WHAT.. A COUPLE OF
YEARS!"

The robust, crimson-eyed templar staring at the plump, reddish-hued templar direction, exhaling
softly.

At your table, you say in sirihish, patting the baby in his arms, his tone soft:
     "I think I know pretty much what I am, Faithful Lord. We don't need to go over that."

At your table, you say in sirihish:
     "But it is not often.."

Offering a firm nod, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says to the plump, reddish-hued templar, in
northern-accented sirihish:
     "I do apologize High Templar."

At your table, you say in sirihish:
     "That my plans gets ruined. I am a little.. Surprised."

Motioning you to raise with a wave of his hand, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says to you, in
northern-accented sirihish:
     "Come."

The robust, crimson-eyed templar stands up from a highly polished table.

You stand up from a highly polished table.

The robust, crimson-eyed templar strides along the crowded tavern with long steps.

The robust, crimson-eyed templar walks east.
You follow the robust, crimson-eyed templar, and walk east.

Way of Acquisition [NSW]
   Smoothed chunks of fire-blackened stone make up the walkway of this
cobbled road. Just to the east, walls of sturdy wooden logs are nailed
together to form a steadfast barrier between the street and the massive
pyramid enclosed within. The road is rather minute in width, its
overshadowing western wall adding to its tiny appearance. Although the path
seems rather new, the surface of each of the durable stones is marred by the
imperfection of wheel marks and the occasional stain.
   A break in the wall to the west reveals the awning-covered entryway to
a bustling tavern. Just above the leather-reinforced canvas awning, a
wooden carving hangs from the building to depict the visage of a beady-eyed
bahamet.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar is standing here.
A human Tuluki soldier has arrived from the west.
The one-eyed half-giant Tuluki soldier has arrived from the west.

The robust, crimson-eyed templar walks south.
You follow the robust, crimson-eyed templar, and walk south.

Street of the Blazing Fist [NE]
   Round-edged plates of red sandstone have been placed together to form
this road. An occasional slab bears the faint etching of a sunburst, though
they are otherwise undecorated. A pair of walls hamper movement in the two
cardinal directions, and the tip of a pyramidal object can be seen just over
the towering northern barrier. Scatterings of greyish grass sprout up from
between various pieces of the road below, struggling to survive amidst the
dusty surface.
   Mirroring the corner of the pyramid, the road takes a jutting turn
from the east to the north here. The wall surrounding the pyramid seems
sunken at this point, allowing glimpses of the sleek grey marble structure.
A smooth statue of sculpted stone stands here upon a thin circle.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar is standing here.
A human Tuluki soldier has arrived from the north.
The one-eyed half-giant Tuluki soldier has arrived from the north.

A foreign presence contacts your mind.

The robust, crimson-eyed templar walks east.
You follow the robust, crimson-eyed templar, and walk east.

Street of the Blazing Fist [EW]
   Round-edged plates of red sandstone have been placed together to form
this road. An occasional slab bears the faint etching of a sunburst, though
they are otherwise undecorated. A pair of walls hamper movement in the two
cardinal directions, and the tip of a pyramidal object can be seen just over
the towering northern barrier. Scatterings of greyish grass sprout up from
between various pieces of the road below, struggling to survive amidst the
dusty surface.
   Pink-mottled red fruit clings to the sides of a thorny vine that
creeps over the northern wall. The vine dangles precariously from atop the
wall, still clearing the ground by multiple cords.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar is standing here.
A human Tuluki soldier has arrived from the west.
The one-eyed half-giant Tuluki soldier has arrived from the west.

Shrugging, you say to the robust, crimson-eyed templar, in sirihish:
     "I won't need it anymore. Someone else can take the pack."

The robust, crimson-eyed templar walks east.
You follow the robust, crimson-eyed templar, and walk east.

Tembo Pass [NESW]
   A pair of matching gates looms just to the north, their height
slightly dwarfed when compared to the ones above. A gate-tower remains
elevated in the air above this road, the patrolling of which can be heard
constantly through day or night. Lightly speckled grey plants lead
alongside the road to the east, while to the west the colors of the blossoms
are much more vivid and appear to be more taken care of.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar is standing here.
A tall, greying-haired Tuluki soldier stands here, guarding the southern gate.
A lean, tattooed Jihaen slave is here cleaning the streets.
A human Tuluki soldier has arrived from the west.
The one-eyed half-giant Tuluki soldier has arrived from the west.

The robust, crimson-eyed templar walks north.
You follow the robust, crimson-eyed templar, and walk north.

Chakal's Gateway [NS]
   Brilliant banners hang from the eastern and western guardtowers,
stopping just short of a gargantuan wooden gateway. The pair of tapestries
depict scenes of battle, their detailed stitchwork capturing each crimson
droplet of blood as Tuluki soldiers massacre the southlands militia. Rows
of vibrantly-hued blossoms have been planted to lead up to the gate, over
which the glistening tip of a pyramid can be seen.
A scattering of wildflowers lies drifted through the grass.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar is standing here.
A stout, scruffy-haired male soldier blocks the northern gateway.
A human Tuluki soldier has arrived from the south.
The one-eyed half-giant Tuluki soldier has arrived from the south.

The robust, crimson-eyed templar gets a thornwood and leather keyring from a Jihae-embossed
toolbelt.

The prim, midnight-haired man sends you a telepathic message:
    "So we never had that little chat a couple months ago, as we had planned..."
The robust, crimson-eyed templar slings a single-tasseled, bladed staff across his back.

The robust, crimson-eyed templar holds a thornwood and leather keyring.

The robust, crimson-eyed templar searches through a thornwood and leather keyring.

The robust, crimson-eyed templar unlocks the gate with a knob-ended baobab key.

The robust, crimson-eyed templar exclaims to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "I will do something for you!"

The stout, scruffy-haired male soldier steps aside, allowing the robust, crimson-eyed templar to
pass.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar walks north.
You follow the robust, crimson-eyed templar, and walk north.

Within Piory's Yard [NESW]
   The saplings of purple and grey-barked trees are no match to the sheer
height of the marble pyramid that dominates this yard. Standing with an
enormous stature, the pyramid's greyish marble walls elegantly taper up to a
statue-tipped point. Scattered around the base of the pyramid are various
beds of lush blossoms, their colors appearing vibrantly-hued in contrast
with the dreary building. Just near the wooden gateway to the pyramid, a
lush strip of rosebushes sprawl towards the door.
A gigantic, grey-marble pyramid overshadows the rest of the yard.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar is standing here.
A bulging, wide-lipped man sits toying with some needles.
A Jihaen slave stands here, caring for the plants.
The braided, hook-nosed templar is standing here.
A human Tuluki soldier has arrived from the south.
The one-eyed half-giant Tuluki soldier has arrived from the south.

The robust, crimson-eyed templar closes the gate.

You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the prim, midnight-haired man with the Way.

Firmly, the robust, crimson-eyed templar exclaims to a Jihaen slave, in northern-accented
sirihish:
     "Come here!"

The robust, crimson-eyed templar asks a Jihaen slave for assistance, but he refuses.

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the prim, midnight-haired man:
    "Oh.. There is not any more need for it. As your target is dead already."

The robust, crimson-eyed templar dips his head once as a Jihaen slave approaches.

The prim, midnight-haired man sends you a telepathic message:
    "...she is... *surprise*"

The burning sun rises high into the sky, searing the earth.
The red orb of Jihae, the red moon, begins to vanish as it slowly sets.

The prim, midnight-haired man sends you a telepathic message:
    "When?"

Gesturing a Jihaen slave, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says to you, in northern-accented
sirihish:
     "Give your child to this slave, or you will ruin yourself without a sudden anger."

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the prim, midnight-haired man:
    "It does not matter much, I guess. But right.. I am as much surprised."

The prim, midnight-haired man sends you a telepathic message:
    "It does matter, a great deal."

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the prim, midnight-haired man:
    "Time.. Does not matter I meant."

The prim, midnight-haired man sends you a telepathic message:
    "The time does."

The prim, midnight-haired man sends you a telepathic message:
    "When did it happen?"

Tilting his head, you ask the robust, crimson-eyed templar, in
sirihish:
     "Why?"

The robust, crimson-eyed templar says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "You will always able to ask your child back, but I insist him to stay here at least a
month."

The use of the Way drains you.

Shaking his head, you say to the robust, crimson-eyed templar, in sirihish:
     "No. I don't want to part with anyone else at the moment. You can keep me along with the
child if you want."

You shrug.

The robust, crimson-eyed templar says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "You seem to have nothing to lose right now. After years of effort, I can not even imagine how
you manage to dig a hole in the filth you born, you seem to lost everything within yourself."

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the prim, midnight-haired man:
    "Today.. Or was it yesterday? I am losing the track of time."

The prim, midnight-haired man sends you a telepathic message:
    ".....today.....by...who?"

Pointing baby with a slender finger, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says to you, in
northern-accented sirihish:
     "That's a baby and needs attention, on the other hand you need time to think what you have
done so far. "

The short templar wearing a thin veil of white silk opens the gate from the other side.

The short templar wearing a thin veil of white silk has arrived from the south.
The umber-skinned, azure-eyed man has arrived from the south.
The sharp-featured human soldier has arrived from the south.

The short templar wearing a thin veil of white silk closes the gate.

The robust, crimson-eyed templar walks east.
You follow the robust, crimson-eyed templar, and walk east.

In a Small Corner of a Garden [NW]
   Pymlithe saplings are planted in variegated rows along this tight
strip of the garden. Nearly all of the flora that thrives within the
surrounding area seems to be in the earliest stages of their growth. The
vividly-colored blossoms of the roses strewn about are on the brink of
spreading open, though each stem's jade hue stands out stiffly above the
flowerbed. A few rounded slabs of red sandstone create a path throughout
the underlying greb grass' dark violet cascade.
   Just beneath the row of trees planted in the southeastern corner of
the garden lies a cozy wooden bench, its seat covered with a pair of linen
cushions.
A shadow falls over the area, driving off the uncomfortable heat.
A wylrith tree stubbornly flourishes, its leaves forming a shaded canopy above the ground.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar is standing here.
The short templar wearing a thin veil of white silk has arrived from the west.
The umber-skinned, azure-eyed man has arrived from the west.
The sharp-featured human soldier has arrived from the west.
A human Tuluki soldier has arrived from the west.
The one-eyed half-giant Tuluki soldier has arrived from the west.

The short templar wearing a thin veil of white silk walks west.
The umber-skinned, azure-eyed man walks west.
The sharp-featured human soldier walks west.

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the prim, midnight-haired man:
    "Tuluk.. Public execution."

The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man glances westward sharply.

You dissolve the psychic link.

You think:
     "Slipped.. Missed my chance."

You hear a woman's voice shout from the west in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Sorry to disturb, Brother."

The prim, midnight-haired man sends you a telepathic message:
    "....by the Hi- *his thoughts are cut off abruptly as the link snaps shut*"

You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.

The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man's chest heaves up and down, a hand reaching to his temple.

A foreign presence contacts your mind.

The prim, midnight-haired man sends you a telepathic message:
    "*guardedly* You and I need to have that chat."

The robust, crimson-eyed templar exclaims to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "High Templar Eunoli will not join us!"

The prim, midnight-haired man sends you a telepathic message:
    "Send an emissary if you don't trust me after that stunt you pulled by smuggling her out of
Allanak."

Pursing his lips, exhaustion in his words, you say to the robust,
crimson-eyed templar, in sirihish:
     "Can I go then? I have a long way to south."

With a shake of his head, firmly, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says to you, in
northern-accented sirihish:
     "No, as I said I insist your baby to stay. You are not in good mood for taking care of this
baby. "

Softly, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Serpent, this is best for your child."

You say to the robust, crimson-eyed templar, in sirihish:
     "My organisation will take care of him."

The robust, crimson-eyed templar puts a thornwood and leather keyring inside a Jihae-embossed
toolbelt.

The robust, crimson-eyed templar says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Serpent, let the baby stay."

The prim, midnight-haired man sends you a telepathic message:
    "But this cannot be discussed over the Way."

You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.

Grunting, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "At least let your baby to be taken care of in decent conditions."

The robust, crimson-eyed templar says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
     ".. at least for a couple of months."

Shaking his head, you say to the robust, crimson-eyed templar, in
sirihish:
     "My organisation takes care of many babies. And this one will be looked over specially."

You say to the robust, crimson-eyed templar, in sirihish:
     "I will keep him."

The sun reaches its highest point in the sky.

The small, blond baby starts to wail in the pale-faced,
serpent-tattooed man's arms.

Softly, you say to the robust, crimson-eyed templar, in sirihish:
     "Let us go."

Leaning aganist a thin, canopied wylrith tree, the robust, crimson-eyed templar asks you, in
northern-accented sirihish:
     "You do understand me right?"

You say to the robust, crimson-eyed templar, in sirihish:
     "I think I do."

The robust, crimson-eyed templar asks you, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Do you understand your position in my eyes?"

You ask the robust, crimson-eyed templar, in sirihish:
     "What does it have to do with the baby?"

The robust, crimson-eyed templar says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "With that baby in under my protection, I will be sure you will not do anything with a sudden
anger of yours.. And I guess results of your anger could be .. very harmful."

Shaking his head, after a moment of thought, you say to the robust, crimson-eyed templar, in sirihish:
     "There is no way.. I am parting with him."

Stepping close to you, lifting his head to face, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says to you, in
northern-accented sirihish:
     "Why don't you leave him with me. Surely he will spend a couple of better months then in a
place full of hunger, thievery and brutallity."

Lowering your leather waterskin from his lips, his tone calm, you
say to the robust, crimson-eyed templar, in sirihish:
     "I take good care of what is mine. So long..."

The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man presses his lips together,
shutting his mouth tightly.

His lips curling up slightly, the robust, crimson-eyed templar asks you, in northern-accented
sirihish:
     "So if I insist to keep your baby, you wish to stay with him right?"

Without a word, the pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man stares at
the robust, crimson-eyed templar blankly.

His arms folded on his chest, the robust, crimson-eyed templar stares at you .

You think:
     "I am getting tired."

In a calm tone, you ask the robust, crimson-eyed templar, in
sirihish:
     "You are not letting me go?"

Softly, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "How damm important you are."

A foreign presence contacts your mind.

Pursing his lips, you say to the robust, crimson-eyed templar, in
sirihish:
     "Seriously, I am not sure. Depends on who is asking I guess."

The short, scar-faced man sends you a telepathic message:
    "What's the deal you had with Juye, Boss?"

Scratching his hair under his red silk hood, slowly walking along the path in garden, the robust,
crimson-eyed templar says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Well, for me at least."

Turning back for a moment, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says to you, in northern-accented
sirihish:
     "You are a smart person.. very smart I must say."

The short, scar-faced man sends you a telepathic message:
    "I don't know if you're in the condition to reply me, but she told me that I need to ask you
about it."

You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the short, scar-faced man with the Way.

The robust, crimson-eyed templar says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "On the other hand, I am not quite sure of how good you are controling your emotions."

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the short, scar-faced man:
    "There is a merchant to be killed. On the miner's road. The cloth seller. In one month, the
job should be done."

The short, scar-faced man sends you a telepathic message:
    "How much is the bounty on their head?"

You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.

Kneeling near a flower bush, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says to you, in northern-accented
sirihish:
     "Seems that spy manage to seduce and .. control you to some degree."

The late, red sun descends toward the western horizon.
The pale orb of the white moon, Lirathu, vanishes as it slowly sets.

With an exasperated sigh, you say to the robust, crimson-eyed
templar, in sirihish:
     "It is not doing any progress at all. I am really tired. Just do what you want to do
Faithful Lord. Or let me go."

The robust, crimson-eyed templar says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Unless I am convienced you are going to dig the sour of that spy, I can not let you leave."

Grunting, the robust, crimson-eyed templar exclaims to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Look at yourself Serpent, you are not even caring of your life!"

The robust, crimson-eyed templar says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "You even know you may not leave this place alive, you still do not care about it."

The robust, crimson-eyed templar says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "That's why I ask for the child. At least there will be something you care for."

You say to the robust, crimson-eyed templar, in sirihish:
     "Truly, I have not thought much about my life for quite a long time. Longer than I know you,
I think."

Shaking his head, you say to the robust, crimson-eyed templar, in
sirihish:
     "The child stays with me, and the only way to part with him is taking him off my dead
fingers."

Reaching long shaft of his single-tasseled, bladed staff, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says to
you, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Then make my decision easier if you do not care about your life a bit."

You think:
     "If he reaches for the baby.."

You think:
     "I will first kill my son.. Then kill him.."

The robust, crimson-eyed templar unslings a single-tasseled, bladed staff from his back.

The robust, crimson-eyed templar stops using a serrated, ivory longknife.

Offering his serrated, ivory longknife from its hilt, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says to you,
in northern-accented sirihish:
     "If you do not want to live, take this and end you life. As you said, seems we are not making
an progress here."

Spreading his empty hand, his other arm holding the baby, you say
to the robust, crimson-eyed templar, in sirihish:
     "I want to go. That is what I said. And I will take the child with me. If you want to kill
me, or take the child, I am not going to try persuading you otherwise."

You say to the robust, crimson-eyed templar, in sirihish:
     "But I am not parting with the baby."

The hilt of his serrated, ivory longknife standing close to your, the robust, crimson-eyed templar
asks you, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Serpent, will you continue doing your business?"

The robust, crimson-eyed templar asks you, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Will you able to get your emotions out and continue you to make business with His
Faithfuls?"

The last rays of the red sun fade over the Grey Forest.
The scarlet face of Jihae rises, staring down from the sky.

With an exasperated sigh, you say to the robust, crimson-eyed
templar, in sirihish:
     "I am.. really.. tired Faithful Lord. Can we discuss this later? Either let me go, or kill
me.. Or do something. But please end this for now."

Slowly sliding his serrated, ivory longknife to a sheath on his Jihae-embossed toolbelt, the
robust, crimson-eyed templar asks you, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Are you, two leaving for the Black City?"

The robust, crimson-eyed templar walks west.
You follow the robust, crimson-eyed templar, and walk west.

Within Piory's Yard [NESW]
   The saplings of purple and grey-barked trees are no match to the sheer
height of the marble pyramid that dominates this yard. Standing with an
enormous stature, the pyramid's greyish marble walls elegantly taper up to a
statue-tipped point. Scattered around the base of the pyramid are various
beds of lush blossoms, their colors appearing vibrantly-hued in contrast
with the dreary building. Just near the wooden gateway to the pyramid, a
lush strip of rosebushes sprawl towards the door.
A gigantic, grey-marble pyramid overshadows the rest of the yard.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar is standing here.
A bulging, wide-lipped man sits toying with some needles.
A Jihaen slave stands here, caring for the plants.
The braided, hook-nosed templar is standing here.
A human Tuluki soldier has arrived from the east.
The one-eyed half-giant Tuluki soldier has arrived from the east.

The robust, crimson-eyed templar slings a single-tasseled, bladed staff across his back.

Offering a firm nod, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says to the braided, hook-nosed templar, in
northern-accented sirihish:
     "High Templar."

Holding the baby in his arms securely, you say, in sirihish:
     "Seems like it."

The robust, crimson-eyed templar gets a thornwood and leather keyring from a Jihae-embossed
toolbelt.

Reaching a key on his thornwood and leather keyring, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says to you,
in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Leave this week."

The robust, crimson-eyed templar holds a thornwood and leather keyring.

The robust, crimson-eyed templar searches through a thornwood and leather keyring.

The robust, crimson-eyed templar unlocks the gate with a knob-ended baobab key.

Gesturing baby in your arm, the robust, crimson-eyed templar asks you, in northern-accented
sirihish:
     "What is his name?"

You say to the robust, crimson-eyed templar, in sirihish:
     "Sen Hiatus. Sophie put his name."

Stepping close to baby, his lips slightly curled up, the robust, crimson-eyed templar asks you, in
northern-accented sirihish:
     "Sen Hiatus.. Does it have a meaning?"

The robust, crimson-eyed templar puts a thornwood and leather keyring inside a Jihae-embossed
toolbelt.

You say to the robust, crimson-eyed templar, in sirihish:
     "Sen.. Was what people used to call me when I was a kid. And Hiatus means "disruption".
Well.. Because he was a disturbing one."

A faded smile touched on his lips, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says to you, in
northern-accented sirihish:
     "Beatiful name. He is growning up close to weapons.. He will be tough."

Slowly walking towards large wooden gates, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says to you, in
northern-accented sirihish:
     "I would hope he to speak smooth Sirihish though."

You send a telepathic message to the sinewy, bald-headed man:
    "Two of us.. And the baby.. We should progress on the trip as soon as possible."

You say to the robust, crimson-eyed templar, in sirihish:
     "As smooth as mine."

You say to the robust, crimson-eyed templar, in sirihish:
     "Or more like a southsider.. I am not sure."

A foreign presence contacts your mind.

The sinewy, bald-headed man sends you a telepathic message:
    "Sounds good. Where should we meet?"

Chuckling softly, raising his head from baby to you, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says, in
northern-accented sirihish:
     "At least I can understand what you can, unlike other labyrinth born."

Softly, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Leave the Ivory this week, without leaving your weapons from your sheath."

You think:
     "We will see."

You say to the robust, crimson-eyed templar, in sirihish:
     "I will go to south. As soon."

Softly, the robust, crimson-eyed templar asks you, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Should I give you a soldier to assist you?"

Rubbing his pointed chin, the robust, crimson-eyed templar asks you, in northern-accented
sirihish:
     "Can not you make this week Serpent?"

You say to the robust, crimson-eyed templar, in sirihish:
     "I can."

You say to the robust, crimson-eyed templar, in sirihish:
     "And I will."

Softly, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "I would appreciate it."

You fasten a grey shaded, black face-wrap across your face.

Holding the tiny baby securely in his hands, the male wearing a
grey shaded, black face-wrap inclines his head to the robust, crimson-eyed templar.

Lifting his hand, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "I bid you a safe travel."

His gaze passing to baby, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "And you as well Sen."

The male wearing a grey shaded, black face-wrap silently, slips through the darkened streets, disappearing into the crowds.

You slow down and start moving carefully.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
His thoughts weak, he just let his feet carry him. After a short while, Serpent met his guide to the south.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

His tone soft as a whisper, to the small blond baby in his arms,
you say, in sirihish:
     "I will take care of you, Sen.. I will."

You think:
     "I would just kill you.."

You think:
     "Eunoli.."

You think:
     "Or try at least."

You think:
     "Fuck."

The sinewy, bald-headed man raises the hood of a dusty hooded, grey sandcloth windcloak.

The very short figure in a dusty hooded, grey sandcloth windcloak slips a hand within his cloak,
and rummages through his belt.

His tone calm, you ask the very short figure in a dusty hooded,
grey sandcloth windcloak, in sirihish:
     "Do we have to wait for the daybreak?"

The very short figure in a dusty hooded, grey sandcloth windcloak says to you, in sirihish:
     "Nope. Wouldn't recommend crossing the Red Desert at night, but that's a ways off."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
They made it to Allanak without an incident. They parted their ways and Serpent once more was home. He traveled the alleys he has lived in for so long, his son crying in his arms.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dead End [NE]
   You are standing in the middle of a poverty-stricken alley, the
Highlord's chamberpot of human life. All about you, piled against
dilapidated stone buildings, are piles of garbage, excrement, and the
occasional corpse -- or perhaps that's simply a sleeping child -- that
gather here. The sky above, what is visible of its dome through the
blood-tinged air rank with foul scents, shines less brightly upon you, the
sun's rays blocked out by the tall cracked structures of crumbling red
stone, buildings which give this alley a claustrophobic feel, despite its
being quite wide.
   This alleyway ends here. To the west the grey stone of the outer wall
of Allanak is visible above the piles of trash and debris piled up against
it. A narrow doorway is visible along the north row of buildings. The only
other visible exit leads eastwards.

Matron Verwolin's Orphanage [S]
   Within the sanctuary of this small building, the air is heady with the
smells of molding laundry, feces, ammonia and the ancient reek of the
Labyrinth itself. It has been recently cleared of the sand, trash and
debris that once littered this place. The building is in terrible
disrepair, but apparently now serves as a shelter for the hordes of homeless
children in Allanak. A small cooking fire burns near the back of the
building near which lies a large pile of soiled laundry. A small number of
bruised and dirty children live and thrive here, some play quietly, while
others sit listessly.
The ancient, green-eyed woman stands hunched over the fire.
A grimy, shaggy-haired urchin crouches in the shadows.
The bulky, grim-faced man is here, disciplining the children.

Holding the baby in his arms, the pale-faced, serpent-tattooed
man walks over the fire, crouching next to the ancient, green-eyed woman.

Patting the baby softly, you say to the ancient, green-eyed woman, in sirihish:
     "Hello Matron. Long time no see."

The ancient, green-eyed woman glances up at you.

The ancient, green-eyed woman's eyes shift to the baby in your arms.

You say to the ancient, green-eyed woman, in sirihish:
     "I have something that I want you to keep. And raise for me."

Spitting to one side before speaking, the ancient, green-eyed woman says to you, in sirihish:
     "Eh, alright. Won't be much good for a couple years yet. I'l get one'a the older brats to
watch it."

The ancient, green-eyed woman says to you, in sirihish:
     "But I'll need somethin' for its upkeep."

Wetting his lips, you say to the ancient, green-eyed woman, in
sirihish:
     "I want him to be raised.. With a special care matron. He is not one of the other brats."

You say to the ancient, green-eyed woman, in sirihish:
     "You will get a special upkeep for him as well."

You say to the ancient, green-eyed woman, in sirihish:
     "I mean.. You will get special -something- for his upkeep."

You ask the ancient, green-eyed woman, in sirihish:
     "Do we understand each other?"

One eye squinted, the ancient, green-eyed woman says to you, in sirihish:
     "Every month? I'll treat 'im good enough if it's worth it."

You say to the ancient, green-eyed woman, in sirihish:
     "You name what it is worth then."

The baby starts wailing again, squirming in your arms.

You say to the ancient, green-eyed woman, in sirihish:
     "I will come and see him once in every two weeks."

The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man pats softly to the back of the baby, exhaling a soft sigh.

The ancient, green-eyed woman says to you, in sirihish:
     "Well then, give me what you think he's worth an' when you come to check you decide if you're
gettin' what you paid for."

The ancient, green-eyed woman says to you, in sirihish:
     "Can't say any fairer than that."

The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man bobs his head, passing the baby to the ancient, green-eyed woman.

You get a pile of allanaki coins from a bone-studded backpack.
There were 1000 coins.
It is very light.

The ancient, green-eyed woman takes the baby into her arms, gently rocking it until the cries
subside.

The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man takes a few coin pouches from your bone-studded backpack, tossing one of them to the ancient, green-eyed woman.

You ask the ancient, green-eyed woman, in sirihish:
     "Looks good enough?"

Looking the baby over then glancing back to you, the ancient, green-eyed woman says to you, in
sirihish:
     "This poor thing's half starved, I better feed it."

The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man absently, tosses another
coin pouch to the ancient, green-eyed woman, bobbing his head.

His tone quiet, you say to the ancient, green-eyed woman, in
sirihish:
     "Alright.. You know what to do with him."

The ancient, green-eyed woman slips the coins into a pocket, carrying the baby off with a nod.

The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man furrows his brows, staring
at the fire thoughtfully.

You think:
     "Should I just go and attempt killing Eunoli now?"

You think:
     "Nah.. Does not worth half the trouble."

You think:
     "I will think of something, when the time is right."

The ancient, green-eyed woman moves over to the fire, holding the baby in the crook of one arm and
taking a small bowl of mushy gruel in the other.

Staring blankly at the fire, you say to the ancient, green-eyed
woman, in sirihish:
     "I will be going.. Guess I will have some business to do in the alleys. You take care of the
kid."

A foreign presence contacts your mind.

Turning toward the doorway, his empty hand reaching to the hilt
of your sharp, well-balanced bone halfsword, you say to the ancient, green-eyed woman, in
sirihish:
     "I will come check him in two weeks."

Dead End [NE]
   You are standing in the middle of a poverty-stricken alley, the
Highlord's chamberpot of human life. All about you, piled against
dilapidated stone buildings, are piles of garbage, excrement, and the
occasional corpse -- or perhaps that's simply a sleeping child -- that
gather here. The sky above, what is visible of its dome through the
blood-tinged air rank with foul scents, shines less brightly upon you, the
sun's rays blocked out by the tall cracked structures of crumbling red
stone, buildings which give this alley a claustrophobic feel, despite its
being quite wide.
   This alleyway ends here. To the west the grey stone of the outer wall
of Allanak is visible above the piles of trash and debris piled up against
it. A narrow doorway is visible along the north row of buildings. The only
other visible exit leads eastwards.

The obsidian-skinned woman sends you a telepathic message:
    "I am sorry for the loss."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The news of Sophie's death traveled as fast as Serpent did. Within moments, Mazlaen Fale was in his mind
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A foreign presence contacts your mind.

The ruddy, purple-bearded man sends you a telepathic message:
    "So I here Haadith has only recently been executed, Serpent."

The ruddy, purple-bearded man sends you a telepathic message:
    "It sounds like there's about to be a blood bath. A Guild blood bath. Unless I get some
answers."

You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the ruddy, purple-bearded man with the Way.

A foreign presence contacts your mind.

The obsidian-skinned woman sends you a telepathic message:
    "Serpent, you should make your way to Allanak as soon as possiable."

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the ruddy, purple-bearded man:
    "Answer? What is the question?"

The obsidian-skinned woman sends you a telepathic message:
    "I am here and I need someone to tell a story to a Tempalar here."

The obsidian-skinned woman sends you a telepathic message:
    "I will wait for you in Allanak."

You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.

A foreign presence contacts your mind.

The obsidian-skinned woman sends you a telepathic message:
    "Tell the templars of Allanak how they killed Sophie"

You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.

The ruddy, purple-bearded man sends you a telepathic message:
    "Previously it was claimed that the Guild was responsible for killing Haadith, but it's been
proven that.. such.. just simply isn't true. Someone's been lying to a Red Robe, Serpent."

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the ruddy, purple-bearded man:
    "I have killed him, myself.. With my very own blade."

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the ruddy, purple-bearded man:
    "What makes you think it is not so?"

The ruddy, purple-bearded man sends you a telepathic message:
    "Then Sophie and two others -weren't- recently executed in the Northlands?"

The ruddy, purple-bearded man sends you a telepathic message:
    "Haadith's belongings weren't destroyed publically in the North? All my sources are full of
shit, are they?"

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the ruddy, purple-bearded man:
    "Sophie has been executed. Haadith's belongings are destroyed. What does it make at all?"

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the ruddy, purple-bearded man:
    "Haadith is killed by me, in the labyrinth."

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the ruddy, purple-bearded man:
    "In the westside."

The ruddy, purple-bearded man sends you a telepathic message:
    "What of this Renali fellow?"

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the ruddy, purple-bearded man:
    "Who cares if Sophie had Haadith's belongings.. And ran away to Tuluk"

You think:
     "I do."

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the ruddy, purple-bearded man:
    "Reneli? Well.. She has nothing about anything. She was just Veralius' concubine."

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the ruddy, purple-bearded man:
    "I could enlighten you a little bit about Veralius and all, but it gets a little nifty there.
We paid for this information, and if we get what we paid for, we can pass it to you of course."

You dissolve the psychic link.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Thus ended the remains of Haadith. However it sparkled the taste of revenge on the crime lord. He was uncertain how to start, but first, he had a lot of work to built back the damaged relations of his organisations.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Submitter's note:

Staying in a foreign city started to show its unpleasant face.
Sophie could not get to talk to anyone. Nor did Serpent have much
of a control over his...
Continue Reading...
The Criminal, part V: Questionable Safety by Ghost
Added on Mar 23, 2007

A few weeks passed since their arrival. Sophie and the baby she had with her was threatened by a "licenced assassin" in Sanctuary, which made Serpent doubt the granted safety.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Submitter's note:

A few weeks passed since their arrival. Sophie and the baby she had with her was threatened by a "licenced assassin" in Sanctuary, which made Serpent doubt the granted safety.

P.S: I have edited the log many times, deleting some passages of conversations, mindtalks, and some emotes and I have also replaced some names/actions as **censored** to avoid passing some information that better kept as it is. I hope you find it a good read.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Pak-Curachek Road [NEW]
   Bordered on either side by towering walls that spire upwards of ten
cords, this road runs east and west between the Templars' Quarter and the
Nobles' Quarter. Bones, dried and specially treated, have been set into the
ground to form a complexly woven path of isilt. The road is kept free of
dust and other debris as it makes its way through the city.
   A pair of high-flying banners drape over the topmost portion of each
of these gates. On the left side, an enormous depiction of the reddish moon
of Jihae. Opposite to that is its stark white counterpart, Lirathu. The
vertical gate is a staggering ten cords tall, an insurmountable obstacle for
even the most skilled of climbers. The gate is made of interlocking
rectangles of a polished hardwood, with a series of close-set obsidian
spikes lining the very top of each half. A row of half a dozen smoothed
ivory torch-holders flank the sides of the gateway, ensuring a reasonably
brightly lit entryway no matter what the hour.
   The Pak-Curachek road continues to the east and west.
A young, wavy-haired female soldier stoically guards the northern gate.
The beefy, grey-skinned dwarf is standing here, bleeding heavily.

You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the robust, crimson-eyed man with the Way.

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the robust, crimson-eyed man:
    "I am at the gates."

The tall, greying-haired Tuluki soldier opens the gate from the other side.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar has arrived from the north.
The one-eyed half-giant Tuluki soldier has arrived from the north.
A human Tuluki soldier has arrived from the north.
The tall, greying-haired Tuluki soldier closes the gate from the other side.

The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man inclines his head to the
robust, crimson-eyed templar.

Standing in front of large wooden gates, dipping his head casually, the robust, crimson-eyed
templar says to you, in an unfamiliar tongue:
     "Caro."

The young, wavy-haired female soldier opens the gate.
The young, wavy-haired female soldier steps aside, allowing the robust, crimson-eyed templar to
pass.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar walks north.
You follow the robust, crimson-eyed templar, and walk north.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
They walk in the Heart, in silence Frustration visible on one, the other has other thoughts.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Bahamet's Maw Tavern - Main Room [ESU]
   Half a dozen tables are scattered throughout this diminutive tavern.
Despite the lack of lavish decor, the bar exudes a feeling of being anything
but paltry. The walls are coated in a layer of vivid tan paint, and
occasionally a framed painting hangs from their glossy surfaces. The
floorstones below are simple squares of red sandstone, haphazardly inlayed
into the level ground. Just above the elongated bar on the northern wall
hangs a luxurious tapestry, the tedious embroidery of a fiery sunburst
stitched onto a white background.
   The cramped entrance to the east leads out to a road, while the room
snakes away to the south. A polished baobab staircase is affixed to one end
of the bar to carry patrons to an upper level dormitory.
A wooden-paneled painting sits supported by a miniature bone tripod.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar is standing here.
The short, obsidian-eyed youth is sitting at a highly polished table.
A stocky, bald-headed bartender stands upright behind the glazed bar.
The plump, reddish-hued templar is standing here.
The one-eyed half-giant Tuluki soldier has arrived from the east.
A human Tuluki soldier has arrived from the east.

The robust, crimson-eyed templar walks towards a highly polished table with long steps.

The stocky, bald-headed bartender trades a bowl of carru-meat stew to the short, obsidian-eyed
youth.

The robust, crimson-eyed templar sits at a highly polished table.

Gesturing a chair across, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says to you, in northern-accented
sirihish:
     "Sit down Serpent."

The short, obsidian-eyed youth tilts his head downward, bringing the edge of his bowl of carru-meat
stew to his lips as he begins to drain the soup of it's liquid, his gaze remaining firm upon a
highly polished table.

Following the robust, crimson-eyed templar's gesture, you sit at a
highly polished table.

At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, gesturing the
short, obsidian-eyed youth with a vague hand move:
     "You know my partisan. What bothers you Serpent?"

The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man clenches his jaw, staring at the tabletop with a rigid expression.

The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man inhales deeply, letting out a soft sigh before turning to the robust, crimson-eyed templar.

At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, his gaze
getting narrow watching you:
     "Master assasin, I haven't ever seen you like this before. What did happen?"

At your table, you say in sirihish, his tone quiet, his words
coming out slowly:
     "Faithful Lord, the Ivory has never been this hostile to me before. I just wonder what I did
wrong."

At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, raising his
shoulder into a brief shrug:
     "I have heard an unpleasant incident, but I thought you have suffered consequances of being a
southorn born before."

At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish:
     "You are given permission to live under His warm light by myself and High Templar Eunoli.
That's more than enough for any body."

At your table, you say in sirihish, nodding his head:
     "Yes, but why does someone draws a knife to a baby and a mother in the middle of a crowded
tavern and gets away with it because he has a licence. I never knew the licence had so much
power."

At your table, you say in sirihish:
     "I never knew, that I could draw a knife to a baby in the sanctuary and threaten the mother,
just because I am a licenced assassin."

At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, grunting
loudly, lifting a finger:
     "I am reported about the incident. That action did not occur because that man was a licensed
assasin, but a Faithful brother of mine just asked for him to do it."

At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish:
     "I will speak with my Faithful brother and learned the reason behind it."

The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man blinks, furrowing his brows.

At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Probably he did not know you and your mate is given permission to live in the Ivory by myself
and High Templar Eunoli."

The short, obsidian-eyed youth remains silent, his obsidian-hued gaze settled upon the surface of a
highly polished table, his lips drawn into a thin line.

At your table, you say in sirihish, exhaling softly and shaking
his head:
     "I have asked this before Faithful Lord. But this incident again made me uncomfortable. I
have come here with your permission and your granting us the safety.."

At your table, you say in sirihish, adding on:
     "I have served and will continue to serve the Ivory with whatever. Two southern templars died
to my blade and probably there will be a third.."

At your table, you say in sirihish:
     "But.."

The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man inhales a deep breath, wetting his lips.

At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish:
     "My word means my Order's word, and Faithful Lady's words mean for Lirathan Order. So you are
safe in the Ivory."

At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish:
     "I will learn the details of that incident, and will be sure it will not repeat. "

At your table, you say in sirihish, adding on quietly, his tone
calm:
     "If we are going to be a trouble and will suffer it, we can just leave. Just that I am asking
it again."

At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, grunting:
     "This is second time you ask for leaving. Where do you plan to go Serpent?"

At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Is there any other place in the Known World which would welcome you more then the Ivory?"

At your table, you say in sirihish, shrugging his shoulders,
lowering his gaze:
     "Nowhere.. We would probably be runaways in the sands and go to the Red Storm, live like
smugglers and what not.. The Ivory is more than a safe haven.."

At your table, you say in sirihish:
     "But if it is not safe.. I just don't want to have my mind troubled. I just want to be sure
of the things, so I can focus on what I am supposed to do."

At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, softly:
     "I suggest you to keep your nerves, and continue your life with your skills. I have a feeling
that child make you .. a bit more .. softer?"

At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, his lips curled
up:
     "I will deal that incident, be sure it will not repeat again."

The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man rubs his forehead.

At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, gesturing the
short, obsidian-eyed youth with a vague hand move:
     "There is someone valuable for me, waiting for us."

At your table, you say in sirihish, in a calm tone:
     "My skills never slipped. Never left me alone. And I will put them into good use.. So long..
My mind is clear and is not worried about a couple of person."

The short, obsidian-eyed youth rests his small hands upon his lap, his gaze remaining towards the
surface of a highly polished table still as he remains silent at the edge of the table.

The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man nods slowly, turning to the
short, obsidian-eyed youth.

At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, watching you
for a while:
     "Those feelings.. Interesting they are. You will get more comfortable, when Sophie will
understand she is safe in the Ivory."

At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Well, when will you begin training?"

At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, his gaze set on
you:
     "So?"

At your table, the short, obsidian-eyed youth says in northern-accented sirihish, twisting his lips
to one side, before speaking:
     "He simply had mentioned you. I thought it was curious that a mutant would say such.. He was
attempting to assist me with my paintings, in the Sancutary.."

At your table, you say in sirihish, his tone taking firm:
     "We can train even now. I was waiting a word from you about the other trainees.. Houses..
And .. All the details."

At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, to you:
     "Chosen Lord Vadrayus wishes to speak with you Serpent. I told your services are extremely
good and expensive. Single lesson costs around two larges."

At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Reach Chosen Lord's mind and offer your services."

At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Also, I will speak with a Chosen from Winrothol family then return back to you."

At your table, you say in sirihish, wetting his lips:
     "It will go through you. I would rather like to have a monthly payment, not a huge one and
the rest can go as a donation to you, Faithful Lord."

contact vadrayus
You suffer from use of the Way.
You are unable to reach their mind.

At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, with a soft
smile touched on his lips, gesturing the short, obsidian-eyed youth:
     "The remaining coins can hopefully be enough training. My partisan is in your hands, and
skillful hands they are."

At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish:
     "You have given lessons before, you are the master and I will not interfere."

The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man turns back to the short,
obsidian-eyed youth, glancing at him up and down.

At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, his gaze set on
the short, obsidian-eyed youth:
     "He will listen your words carefully and will do his best."

The short, obsidian-eyed youth shifts his gaze towards you for a moment, before faintly tilting his
head downward at the robust, crimson-eyed templar's words in a nod.

At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, his gaze
shifting between you and the short, obsidian-eyed youth:
     "I am sure you two have much to talk."

At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, his gaze
passing over surrounding:
     "And this place is not suitable for that kind of conversation."

A foreign presence contacts your mind.

At your table, you say in sirihish:
     "We need training weapons.. And a suitable place."

<95/95 116/124 101/101 - walking >
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.

At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, dipping his
head once:
     "I will arrange weapons right now, but facilities will take some time. I will get key for the
barracks in Freil's Rest."

At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish:
     "It will be open for both of you."

At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish:
     "For now, my partisan has an apartment. I hope that could be useful enough for now."

At your table, you say in sirihish, to the short, obsidian-eyed
youth:
     "Big enough?"

At your table, you say in sirihish, turning to the robust,
crimson-eyed templar:
     "You spoke of another candidate of yours, if I am not mistaken."

At your table, the short, obsidian-eyed youth says in northern-accented sirihish, dipping his
head faintly while speaking:
     "Yes.. It is rather empty.. at the moment."

At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, his gaze
shifting between you and the short, obsidian-eyed youth:
     "You wait here for a while. We will speak about the other professional soon Serpent."

The robust, crimson-eyed templar stands up from a highly polished table.

Firmly, the robust, crimson-eyed templar exclaims to a human Tuluki soldier, in northern-accented
sirihish:
     "You stay here!"

A human Tuluki soldier offers firm nod towards the robust, crimson-eyed templar.

The robust, crimson-eyed templar relieves a human Tuluki soldier from his duty.

The robust, crimson-eyed templar walks east.
The one-eyed half-giant Tuluki soldier walks east.

A foreign presence contacts your mind.

The short, obsidian-eyed youth shifts a glance over his small, right shoulder, his gaze seeming to
follow the robust, crimson-eyed templar, before turning back towards you.

You think:
     "I just want their safety.. I just want that.."

You think:
     "Give me their safety damn it.."

At your table, the short, obsidian-eyed youth says in northern-accented sirihish, shaking his
head in either direction, while speaking:
     "I am eager to begin.. I've waited for some time, now, for a
proper mentor."

You think:
     "And I will offer my services.. Is it too much asking?"

At your table, you say in sirihish, wetting his lips:
     "You would not mind if there were other people along with you, while I instruct you, eh?"

At your table, the short, obsidian-eyed youth says in northern-accented sirihish, shaking his
head slowly in either direction:
     "I am surprised, as this is the first time I've heard of it.. But.. No."

At your table, you say in sirihish:
     "There is one more person I want to teach. And the two of you, can take it together."

At your table, the short, obsidian-eyed youth says in northern-accented sirihish, clearing his
throat lightly, before dipping his head towards you:
     "I understand.."

At your table, you say in sirihish, thoughtfully:
     "It has been a lot of years since I had a competitive apprentice."

The robust, crimson-eyed templar has arrived from the east.
The one-eyed half-giant Tuluki soldier has arrived from the east.

The robust, crimson-eyed templar walks towards a highly polished table carrying a pile of bone
weapons.

The robust, crimson-eyed templar sits at a highly polished table.

The robust, crimson-eyed templar calls to a human Tuluki soldier for aid, and he strides to his
side.

The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man glances toward a
wooden-paneled, dark tempera painting.

At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, putting weapons
on polished surface of wooden table into a pile in front you:
     "Here they are."

At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, his reddish
gaze shifting between you and the short, obsidian-eyed youth:
     "Anything else either of you wish to add?"

The short, obsidian-eyed youth shakes his head lightly in either direction, shifting his gaze
towards the bone weapons that they are placed within a bone-studded backpack.

At your table, you say in sirihish, looking at a wooden-paneled,
dark tempera painting once more:
     "Other than the other candidate, nothing on my side."

At your table, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, quickly raising
from his stool, speaking in a firm tune:
     "Very well, professional assasins. That's all for now then."

The robust, crimson-eyed templar stands up from a highly polished table.

The short, obsidian-eyed youth stands up from a highly polished table.

Slowly lifting his slender frame, you stand up from a highly polished table.

In firm tune, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "May His radiance shine upon you."

You are no longer following anyone.

The Pak-Curachek Road [NEW]
   Bordered on either side by towering walls that spire upwards of ten
cords, this road runs east and west between the Templars' Quarter and the
Nobles' Quarter. Bones, dried and specially treated, have been set into the
ground to form a complexly woven path of isilt. The road is kept free of
dust and other debris as it makes its way through the city.
   A pair of high-flying banners drape over the topmost portion of each
of these gates. On the left side, an enormous depiction of the reddish moon
of Jihae. Opposite to that is its stark white counterpart, Lirathu. The
vertical gate is a staggering ten cords tall, an insurmountable obstacle for
even the most skilled of climbers. The gate is made of interlocking
rectangles of a polished hardwood, with a series of close-set obsidian
spikes lining the very top of each half. A row of half a dozen smoothed
ivory torch-holders flank the sides of the gateway, ensuring a reasonably
brightly lit entryway no matter what the hour.
   The Pak-Curachek road continues to the east and west.
The short, obsidian-eyed youth is standing here.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar is standing here.
The one-eyed half-giant Tuluki soldier is standing here.
A human Tuluki soldier stands here, lightly armored.
A young, wavy-haired female soldier stoically guards the northern gate.
The beefy, grey-skinned dwarf is standing here, bleeding heavily.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Once again Serpent was convinced of their safety. However, as the time passed, the feeling did not stay for long.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Submitter's note:

A few weeks passed since their arrival. Sophie and the baby she
had with her was threatened by a "licenced assassin" in Sanctuary,
which made Serpent...
Continue Reading...
The Criminal, part IV: Foreign Sanctuary by Ghost
Added on Mar 23, 2007

Haadith died, but the concequences of his actions still echoed even after his death. Veralius Borsail wanted to destroy everything that was left of Haadith. Lord templar Sarador Sath captured Sophie and said he will decide his sentence on her, refusing any negotiations with Serpent or Veralius. Seeing no better way to solve it, Serpent kidnapped Sophie from where Sarador was hiding her. And together they fled to Tuluk for Sophie's safety. On their way, Sophie gave an early birth at Luir's outpost. Twins. Two boys, one died at birth. After staying in Kurac's care for one week, they finally made it to Tuluk. Seeking sanctuary, on a foreign land was not easy.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Submitter's note:

Haadith died, but the concequences of his actions still echoed even after his death. Veralius Borsail wanted to destroy everything that was left of Haadith. Lord templar Sarador Sath captured Sophie and said he will decide his sentence on her, refusing any negotiations with Serpent or Veralius. Seeing no better way to solve it, Serpent kidnapped Sophie from where Sarador was hiding her. And together they fled to Tuluk for Sophie's safety.
On their way, Sophie gave an early birth at Luir's outpost. Twins. Two boys, one died at birth. After staying in Kurac's care for one week, they finally made it to Tuluk. Seeking sanctuary, on a foreign land was not easy.

P.S: I have edited the log many times, deleting some passages of conversations, mindtalks, and some emotes and I have also replaced some names/actions as **censored** to avoid passing some information that better kept as it is. I hope you find it a good read.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Sun King's Sanctuary [NESWUD]
   A polished, white marble floor covers the ground of this expansive
room, gleaming under the light of a large glass chandelier that hangs
overhead. A semi-circular bar, made of hard-grained wood painted a deep
black, extends from the eastern wall, several high-backed barstools sitting
around it. The walls of this room are brightly decorated, with several
elaborate paintings placed carefully for unobstructed view, and shelves
holding many exotic potted plants, blooming with bright red and white
flowers. Two large stained-glass windows, decorated with elaborate sun
symbols, adorn the northwest and southeast corners of the room.
   Several decoratively carved tables fill this room, while a polished
leather couch nearly ten cords in length sprawls along the northern wall. A
stately spiral staircase sits in the center of the room, winding upwards
toward the common rooms of the second floor. The sounds of laughter and
music can be heard from a doorway along the western wall, while the scents
of cooked meat waft in from the east. A small, straight stairway sits along
the northern wall, ending at a slightly raised loft and a large carven
baobab door sits in the southern wall, leading out onto the North Road
outside.
The Tuluk bulletin board is here propped up on a stand.
The obsidian-skinned woman is standing here.
The young, Jihae-haired man is sitting at a black-painted bar.
The sinewy, chiseled woman is sitting at a black-painted bar.
The thin, green-gazed man is sitting at a black-painted bar.
The light-tressed young man is sitting at a black-painted bar.
The long-haired, middle-aged man stands behind the counter.
The gaunt, black-haired man is here, leaning on the bar.
The tall, well-groomed man sits here on a plush couch.
The short haired, heavy-set man stands here mug in-hand.

The male wearing a grey shaded, black face-wrap walks over an intimate, dimly lit table, taking a seat.

You sit at an intimate, dimly lit table.

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the robust, crimson-eyed man:
    "Good morning Faithful Lord. It is a pleasure to find your mind finally."

A foreign presence contacts your mind.

At a black-painted bar, you overhear the sinewy, chiseled woman say in northern-accented sirihish,
murmuring to herself:
     "May's well watch th'scrub grow."

The battered, ebon-matted man has arrived from the south.

The young, Jihae-haired man looks at the sinewy, chiseled woman with a turn of his helmet-covered
head.

The slim, golden-haired woman has arrived from the west.

The robust, crimson-eyed man sends you a telepathic message:
    "I have been looking for your mind for some time too master assasin. Did you manage to have a safe travel to the Ivory?"

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the robust, crimson-eyed man:
    "That I have. I am indeed in the Sanctuary right now."

The obsidian-skinned woman makes her way across the marble floor with her head slightly inclined in the direction of a black-painted bar. She pitches a broad smile in at her twisted ruby red silk scarf as she makes her way down the bar's length.

The robust, crimson-eyed man sends you a telepathic message:
    "Please come to the gates of the Heart Serpent, there are a lot to talk about your future in the Ivory."

The battered, ebon-matted man flicks his tongue out over his dark, dry lips, his feet carrying him slowly towards a black-painted bar with a limp in his step.

You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.

The battered, ebon-matted man sits at a black-painted bar.

The young, Jihae-haired man looks at the battered, ebon-matted man as he sits.

The slim, golden-haired woman walks north.

The obsidian-skinned woman looks down at the sinewy, chiseled woman with a passing gaze.

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the robust, crimson-eyed man:
    "I am on my way then."

Lowering a black inked hand from his temple, you stand up from an intimate, dimly lit table.

You dissolve the psychic link.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Serpent walked to the Heart, a place few southernors made it in, fewer made it alive out.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Pak-Curachek Road [NEW]
   Bordered on either side by towering walls that spire upwards of ten
cords, this road runs east and west between the Templars' Quarter and the
Nobles' Quarter. Bones, dried and specially treated, have been set into the
ground to form a complexly woven path of isilt. The road is kept free of
dust and other debris as it makes its way through the city.
   A pair of high-flying banners drape over the topmost portion of each
of these gates. On the left side, an enormous depiction of the reddish moon
of Jihae. Opposite to that is its stark white counterpart, Lirathu. The
vertical gate is a staggering ten cords tall, an insurmountable obstacle for
even the most skilled of climbers. The gate is made of interlocking
rectangles of a polished hardwood, with a series of close-set obsidian
spikes lining the very top of each half. A row of half a dozen smoothed
ivory torch-holders flank the sides of the gateway, ensuring a reasonably
brightly lit entryway no matter what the hour.
   The Pak-Curachek road continues to the east and west.
A young, wavy-haired female soldier stoically guards the northern gate.
The beefy, grey-skinned dwarf is standing here, bleeding heavily.

A foreign presence contacts your mind.

You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the robust, crimson-eyed man with the Way.

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the robust, crimson-eyed man:
    "I am at the gates."

The thin, green-gazed man sends you a telepathic message:
    "Serpent...I notice a man who dresses like you. "

You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the thin, green-gazed man with the Way.

The tall, greying-haired Tuluki soldier opens the gate from the other side.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar has arrived from the north.
A human Tuluki soldier has arrived from the north.
The one-eyed half-giant Tuluki soldier has arrived from the north.
The tall, greying-haired Tuluki soldier closes the gate from the other side.

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the thin, green-gazed man:
    "That was me Fej."

You now follow the robust, crimson-eyed templar.

The figure in a black skull-studded greatcloak inclines his head in the robust, crimson-eyed templar's direction.

The robust, crimson-eyed templar looks up at you for a while before dipping his head briefly.

The robust, crimson-eyed templar steps back towards large wooden gates, after a glance back to
you.

The young, wavy-haired female soldier opens the gate.
The young, wavy-haired female soldier steps aside, allowing the robust, crimson-eyed templar to
pass.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar walks north.
You follow the robust, crimson-eyed templar, and walk north.

Tembo Pass [NESW]
   A pair of matching gates looms just to the north, their height
slightly dwarfed when compared to the ones above. A gate-tower remains
elevated in the air above this road, the patrolling of which can be heard
constantly through day or night. Lightly speckled grey plants lead
alongside the road to the east, while to the west the colors of the blossoms
are much more vivid and appear to be more taken care of.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar is standing here.
A tall, greying-haired Tuluki soldier stands here, guarding the southern gate.
The prodigious, purple-skinned half-giant soldier looms on duty here.
The short-haired, female Tuluki soldier is standing here.
A lean, tattooed Jihaen slave is here cleaning the streets.
A human Tuluki soldier has arrived from the south.
The one-eyed half-giant Tuluki soldier has arrived from the south.
The young, wavy-haired female soldier closes the gate from the other side.

Within Piory's Yard [NESW]
   The saplings of purple and grey-barked trees are no match to the sheer
height of the marble pyramid that dominates this yard. Standing with an
enormous stature, the pyramid's greyish marble walls elegantly taper up to a
statue-tipped point. Scattered around the base of the pyramid are various
beds of lush blossoms, their colors appearing vibrantly-hued in contrast
with the dreary building. Just near the wooden gateway to the pyramid, a
lush strip of rosebushes sprawl towards the door.
A gigantic, grey-marble pyramid overshadows the rest of the yard.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar is standing here.
The braided, hook-nosed templar is standing here.
A Jihaen slave stands here, caring for the plants.
A bulging, wide-lipped man sits toying with some needles.
A human Tuluki soldier has arrived from the south.
The one-eyed half-giant Tuluki soldier has arrived from the south.

The figure in a black skull-studded greatcloak glances around his
surroundings briefly.

The robust, crimson-eyed templar closes the gate.

The robust, crimson-eyed templar locks the gate with a knob-ended baobab key.

The enormous sun rises above the barren plains in the east.

After a glance to huge pyramid raising to sky, the robust, crimson-eyed templar asks you, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Well, you have been here before a few times, haven't you?"

The figure in a black skull-studded greatcloak drops a single firm nod.

The robust, crimson-eyed templar tucks his thornwood and leather keyring back to a pocket on his
Jihae-embossed toolbelt, slowly walking along stone path on garden.

The robust, crimson-eyed templar puts a thornwood and leather keyring inside a Jihae-embossed
toolbelt.

The robust, crimson-eyed templar walks east.
You follow the robust, crimson-eyed templar, and walk east.

In a Small Corner of a Garden [NW]
   Pymlithe saplings are planted in variegated rows along this tight
strip of the garden. Nearly all of the flora that thrives within the
surrounding area seems to be in the earliest stages of their growth. The
vividly-colored blossoms of the roses strewn about are on the brink of
spreading open, though each stem's jade hue stands out stiffly above the
flowerbed. A few rounded slabs of red sandstone create a path throughout
the underlying greb grass' dark violet cascade.
   Just beneath the row of trees planted in the southeastern corner of
the garden lies a cozy wooden bench, its seat covered with a pair of linen
cushions.
A shadow falls over the area, driving off the uncomfortable heat.
A wylrith tree stubbornly flourishes, its leaves forming a shaded canopy above the ground.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar is standing here.
A human Tuluki soldier has arrived from the west.
The one-eyed half-giant Tuluki soldier has arrived from the west.

The robust, crimson-eyed templar closes a Jihae-embossed toolbelt.

The robust, crimson-eyed templar walks north.
You follow the robust, crimson-eyed templar, and walk north.

Within a Linen-Topped Gazebo [SW]
   A row of potted plants lines the interior of this simple gazebo,
providing the only fauna not blocked off by screens of a wooly fabric. The
beige, earth-toned shades assist in shadowing away some of the harsh crimson
light of Suk-Krath while still allowing a pleasant view of the luxurious
garden just outside. A shelf has been hammered into place above the bench
on the eastern wall, bearing a few yellowish candles and some long-dried
flowers.
   A wicker-edged door leads to the west, and a matching door opens up
towards the southern garden.
A small thornbush grows in a pot.
A long bench has been bolted to the eastern wall, cushioned by thick pillows.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar is standing here.
A human Tuluki soldier has arrived from the south.
The one-eyed half-giant Tuluki soldier has arrived from the south.

Walking along wooden floor towards a long, cushioned bench, the robust, crimson-eyed templar asks
you, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "You do not need that hood.. or do you need to feel safer?"

The robust, crimson-eyed templar sits on a long, cushioned bench.

Gesturing a long, cushioned bench with a casual wave of his hand, the robust, crimson-eyed templar
says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Sit down."

Tilting his head back and letting his hood fall on his shoulders
silently, you sit on a long, cushioned bench.

You lower the hood of a black skull-studded greatcloak.

You stop using a grey shaded, black face-wrap.

The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man carefully wraps your grey
shaded, black face-wrap in his hands, placing the silken object in his lap.

At your seat, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, his reddish gaze
passing over you up and down:
     "So, Serpent of the alleys. Welcome!"

At your seat, you say in sirihish, with an appreciative nod:
     "Thank you Faithful Lord."

The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man wets his lips, reaching to
your bone-studded backpack.

At your seat, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, his lips curling
up slightly:
     "I can not think of any good reason why -now- you need to the sanctuary of His warm light."

The thin, green-gazed man sends you a telepathic message:
    "Ahh. Visiting, then? Whats become of Judas?"

You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.

At your seat, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Did you insult a black roped witch or an high ranking caught you with a rotten noble in his
bedroom?"

At your seat, you say in sirihish, exhaling a soft breath:
     "Not quite, but close."

At your seat, you say in sirihish:
     "Haadith..."

At your seat, you say in sirihish:
     "Malenthis.."

At your seat, you say in sirihish:
     "Then Sarador.."

At your seat, you say in sirihish:
     "Also, for the safety of my companions."

You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the thin, green-gazed man with the Way.

At your seat, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, stroking his
pointed chin as he studies your face:
     "I know of Malenthis.. A blue if I am not mistaken, probably he would not cause any problems
for your business.. Who is Sarador?"

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the thin, green-gazed man:
    "If things do not turn any bad, I will be staying in the Ivory for sometime. Judah, could not
recover from his injuries."

At your seat, you say in sirihish:
     "Another Blue. Narrow witted one."

At your seat, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, lifting a brow:
     "Did you escape from the Black City because of two blue robes? Interesting.. I thought your
status in your organization give you enough protection from those types."

At your seat, you say in sirihish, wetting his lips:
     "The thing is.. I am accused of being a traitor.. Twice. And none of them really bothers me.
Because I can slip through the whole Blues and Reds if I have to."

At your seat, you say in sirihish, exhaling a soft breath:
     "I am here.. Because there is also a defiler. Well.. Again.."

At your seat, you say in sirihish:
     "I could give a good fight and make the outcome of the fight a little bit surprise for him."

At your seat, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, grunting:
     "A defiler? From Labyrith?"

At your seat, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Or a pet defiler witches use?"

At your seat, you say in sirihish:
     "But my companions.. The templars, nobles, defiler.. They are also a threat for them. I came
to ensure their safety."

The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man nods a few times.

At your seat, you say in sirihish:
     "I don't think he has any connections to the templars."

At your seat, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, pointing you
with a slender finger finger:
     "This is second time you say companions.. One of them is an old aide of Haadith, the others?"

At your seat, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Did you bring a group with you for foundation of your groups' branch in the Ivory?"

At your seat, you say in sirihish, wetting his lips, and taking another bite from your half eaten bundle of cooked meat:
     "A kid.. Baby."

At your seat, you say in sirihish, shaking his head:
     "Probably.. I will try that branch myself. None with me here."

At your seat, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, his lips curling
up slightly into a faded grin:
     "A baby? Should I congratulate?"

At your seat, you say in sirihish, stiffling a grin, taking another
bite from your half eaten bundle of cooked meat to hide the curl in his lips:
     "Well.. You could if you want to."

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the thin, green-gazed man:
    "I came here to see the well being of the group in North myself Fej."

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the thin, green-gazed man:
    "We two, can pull it together, don't you think?"

At your seat, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, chuckling
softly, shifting on bench to face you:
     "The one your bring, aide of Haadith. What's her name? I guess there is quite a story about
Haadith's death as well."

At your seat, you say in sirihish:
     "Sophie. And yes, there is some story to the death of the disrobbed templar."

At your seat, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, folding his arms
on his red armored chest, still a smile on his lips:
     "I am listenning. "

Your new objective is:
Ensuring the safety of Sophie and his baby.

At your seat, you say in sirihish, exhaling a soft breath:
     "Haadith.. attacked to a superior of his. Red Robe Marsellus."

A foreign presence contacts your mind.

At your seat, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, dipping his
head briefly:
     "Interesting. Please continue."

At your seat, you say in sirihish:
     "And got knocked down. Which led to his being disrobbed and banished to the Labyrinth."

The thin, green-gazed man sends you a telepathic message:
    "We could, perhaps, but I am still sickened by disease. "

At your seat, you say in sirihish:
     "There was a mob.. A crowd that was waiting for him to tear him into shreds."

At your seat, you say in sirihish:
     "I confronted him myself first and ensured his safety by taking him among my people."

The robust, crimson-eyed templar stares at you with narrowed reddish gaze.

At your seat, you say in sirihish:
     "What I was planing was.."

At your seat, you say in sirihish:
     "To keep him secure, and then probably extract anything that he knew."

At your seat, you say in sirihish:
     "Then I would sell him out.. He was nothing to me at all."

At your seat, you say in sirihish, wetting his lips:
     "I was.. Sold out by some magicker that entered my quarter by shadow magick."

At your seat, you say in sirihish:
     "And Malenthis, pulled me into a trick.. And I was thrown into the jails for the first time."

The robust, crimson-eyed templar exhales softly, without leaving his gaze on your face.

You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.

At your seat, you say in sirihish:
     "Jails are a little bit convincing, when it comes to that, you are a traitor for the second
time."

At your seat, you say in sirihish:
     "Malenthis' intentions were clear. He was asking for Haadith's head. And he captured another
of ranking in my organisation as well."

At your seat, you say in sirihish:
     "For his safety, I agreed, and brought Haadith's head to him."

At your seat, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, tapping his
pointed chin, softly:
     "So that's the end of Haadith."

At your seat, you say in sirihish, pursing his lips:
     "The tip of my blade.. Was his end."

At your seat, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, spreading his
arms briefly, shifting on a long, cushioned bench reaching another silk pillow:
     "Well, so you have no problem with that witch Malenthis."

At your seat, you say in sirihish, wiping his forehead:
     "Well.. We can say that. But still, he might hold something against me, since I am the
"traitor"."

At your seat, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, with a raise of
his broad shoulders in a brief shrug:
     "Why don't you slay that beast? "

At your seat, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Or someone else from your gang."

At your seat, you say in sirihish:
     "Killing a templar, in his own domain among his guards is not something easy to pull off
easily. And after I do that, everything we do in the southside of the city would be damaged
greatly."

At your seat, you say in sirihish:
     "I have to have a -very- big reason to do it."

At your seat, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, dipping his
head briefly:
     "Well, shortly you are in the Ivory because of another Sandas defiler who can harm either
yourself our your mate and child.. Am I correct? "

At your seat, you say in sirihish:
     "And also Sarador, the Blue."

At your seat, you say in sirihish:
     "I kidnapped her from Sarador's hand."

At your seat, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, steadying his
posture, speaking in a firm tune:
     "Well, you will walk safely under His warm light with protection of my name."

At your seat, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish:
     "I already ordered Corporal Vaashir to speak with you. You can also speak with him if
neccesary."

At your seat, you say in sirihish, nodding appreaciatively:
     "Thank you Faithful Lord. And, this includes my companions too?"

At your seat, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, bobbing his
head briefly:
     "Yes. I hope you are not planning any retirement, your skills could be very useful."

At your seat, you say in sirihish:
     "Actually.. I was just thinking of that."

At your seat, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, his gaze widen
slightly:
     "You are too young to retire. Your skills could be very valuable. "

At your seat, you say in sirihish, exhaling a soft breath:
     "I agree on that."

At your seat, you say in sirihish:
     "But I was planning more in lines of.."

At your seat, you say in sirihish:
     "Passing my knowledge perhaps."

At your seat, you say in sirihish:
     "If that is possible of course, I can be a trainer here during my stay."

At your seat, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, his lips curling
up slightly:
     "Indeed, that's what I am planning as well. There are a couple of canditates already in my
hand, your skills will give a safe stay and earning during your stay."

At your seat, you say in sirihish, nodding his head:
     "I think the Houses might have some to be trained as well. Perhaps you can arrange that."

At your seat, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, nodding once:
     "Yes, -I- will arrange it personally Serpent."

At your seat, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish:
     "I will speak with Faithful Lady Eunoli, and I want you to completely obey her orders without
even thinking."

At your seat, you say in sirihish, blinking:
     "Of course.. But orders about what?"

At your seat, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, after a long
while looking at you:
     "Anything my sister wishes."

At your seat, you say in sirihish, knitting his brows:
     "Of course."

You think:
     "Confusing."

At your seat, you say in sirihish, thoughtfully:
     "If our stay here is going to be a problem... We can leave Faithful Lord."

You think:
     "Orders? What orders..."

You think:
     "I am not ordered.. Never."

You think:
     "Damn it.. Weakness.. This is weakness.. For Sophie and the baby.."

You think:
     "They can use them... Damn."

At your seat, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, shaking his
head a couple of times:
     "It's not a problem, but an opportunity for me. You will find sanctuary under His brilliant
light in the Ivory."

At your seat, you say in sirihish:
     "I have brought what Haadith had, before he died."

At your seat, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish:
     "All **censored** are questioned by His legions on sight. On the other hand, do you
know the name of that beast or.. can you describe?"

At your seat, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, lifting a brow:
     "Ring?"

At your seat, you say in sirihish:
     "Maybe you will be interested in them. No."

At your seat, you say in sirihish:
     "Without his ring, medallion, and robe.. Still he has some of the templar uniform though."

At your seat, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, his lips curled
up slightly:
     "Did you bring the robe and medallion? What is the cost of those cursed items?"

At your seat, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish:
     "I would like to keep them for my personal collection."

At your seat, you say in sirihish, shaking his head:
     "No.. As I said, the medallion and robe were taken in his banishment. But I have the res of
the uniform in Jade and black colors."

At your seat, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Well, what is the cost of those items?"

At your seat, you say in sirihish:
     "I think I could pull off something like three larges or something for those armor pieces..
But."

At your seat, you say in sirihish:
     "We can go half for you. Fifteen smalls."

At your seat, you say in sirihish:
     "If you agree, I mean."

At your seat, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, after a while
looking at you, bobbing his head once:
     "Sounds like a good piece. They will be a good addition to my collection."

The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man bobs his head a few times.

At your seat, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish:
     "I would like to speak with Sophie as well."

At your seat, you say in sirihish:
     "Of course. Once she is around, I will bring her to you as well."

At your seat, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, lifting his
hand:
     "There is no need you have to accompany us in that meeting, I want her to understand she in
safe here."

You think:
     "Why is that?"

At your seat, you say in sirihish, biting his lower lip:
     "I see."

At your seat, you say in sirihish:
     "Once she is around, I will tell her."

At your seat, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, dipping his
head once more:
     "Anytime, I will try to reach her mind as well. We will speak occasionally, that's good news.
During your stay, if you manage to learn anything regarding the old City ruins, I would like to pay
for it."

At your seat, you say in sirihish:
     "Of course."

At your seat, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Also, there are elves running around His dominion, speaking about Rantarri. I am quite sure
you will come up with something from that as well.. Especially about an one eyed elf."

At your seat, you say in sirihish:
     "One eyed? What else does he have as distinguishing feature?"

At your seat, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, with a brief
shake of his head, grunting:
     "It is informed he is blonde, but nothing else. Oh.. Also one more thing.. "

At your seat, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish:
     "There is a kind of mysterious figure who is very interested in Ruins as well. He calls
himself -Shadow-. Other than that little piece of information, there is nothing about him. "

At your seat, you say in sirihish:
     "Shadow.. Drovians like that kind of name, if you ask me."

At your seat, you say in sirihish:
     "But nothing reliable. I can check it out."

At your seat, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, gesturing your
cloak with a lift of his hand:
     "I am quite sure those types of people will find you while in your stay."

At your seat, you say in sirihish, chuckling quietly:
     "I am not sure if it is good to be so atractive."

At your seat, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says in northern-accented sirihish, with a slight
girn:
     "Well, you make your life with being atractive. That's all for now Serpent, if there is
nothing else you wish to add."

The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man shakes his head, lifting his slender frame up.

You stand up from a long, cushioned bench.

The robust, crimson-eyed templar stands up from a long, cushioned bench.

You fasten a grey shaded, black face-wrap across your face.

Within a Linen-Topped Gazebo [SW]
   A row of potted plants lines the interior of this simple gazebo,
providing the only fauna not blocked off by screens of a wooly fabric. The
beige, earth-toned shades assist in shadowing away some of the harsh crimson
light of Suk-Krath while still allowing a pleasant view of the luxurious
garden just outside. A shelf has been hammered into place above the bench
on the eastern wall, bearing a few yellowish candles and some long-dried
flowers.
   A wicker-edged door leads to the west, and a matching door opens up
towards the southern garden.
A small thornbush grows in a pot.
A long bench has been bolted to the eastern wall, cushioned by thick pillows.
The one-eyed half-giant Tuluki soldier is standing here.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar is standing here.
A human Tuluki soldier stands here, lightly armored.

Slowly walking along wooden gaze towards garden, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says to you, in
northern-accented sirihish:
     "If you meet with a young human called Murkan, I am planning to ask you to give training to
him.. So at least introduce yourself to him, as a beginning."

The robust, crimson-eyed templar walks south.
You follow the robust, crimson-eyed templar, and walk south.

You ask the robust, crimson-eyed templar, in sirihish:
     "What was the name of that dwarf, he was also a private of the legions?"

Slowly openning the wooden gates, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says to you, in
northern-accented sirihish:

Tucking his thornwood and leather keyring back to a pocket on his Jihae-embossed toolbelt, the
robust, crimson-eyed templar asks you, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "So when I can get those armor pieces?"

Shrugging his shoulders, you say to the robust, crimson-eyed
templar, in sirihish:
     "Whenever you want. I can just go and pick them up even now."

Dipping his head briefly walking over large wooden gates, the robust, crimson-eyed templar says to
you, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Meet me in front of Nenyuki Bank after you pick them up."

The tall, greying-haired Tuluki soldier opens the gate.
The tall, greying-haired Tuluki soldier steps aside, allowing the robust, crimson-eyed templar to
pass.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar walks south.
You follow the robust, crimson-eyed templar, and walk south.

The Pak-Curachek Road [NEW]
   Bordered on either side by towering walls that spire upwards of ten
cords, this road runs east and west between the Templars' Quarter and the
Nobles' Quarter. Bones, dried and specially treated, have been set into the
ground to form a complexly woven path of isilt. The road is kept free of
dust and other debris as it makes its way through the city.
   A pair of high-flying banners drape over the topmost portion of each
of these gates. On the left side, an enormous depiction of the reddish moon
of Jihae. Opposite to that is its stark white counterpart, Lirathu. The
vertical gate is a staggering ten cords tall, an insurmountable obstacle for
even the most skilled of climbers. The gate is made of interlocking
rectangles of a polished hardwood, with a series of close-set obsidian
spikes lining the very top of each half. A row of half a dozen smoothed
ivory torch-holders flank the sides of the gateway, ensuring a reasonably
brightly lit entryway no matter what the hour.
   The Pak-Curachek road continues to the east and west.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar is standing here.
A young, wavy-haired female soldier stoically guards the northern gate.
The beefy, grey-skinned dwarf is standing here, bleeding heavily.
A human Tuluki soldier has arrived from the north.
The one-eyed half-giant Tuluki soldier has arrived from the north.
The tall, greying-haired Tuluki soldier closes the gate from the other side.

The robust, crimson-eyed templar says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "May His radiance guide your path in your stay Serpent."

You say to the robust, crimson-eyed templar, in sirihish:
     "Then I will reach your mind within an hour."

The robust, crimson-eyed templar dips his head briefly offering a gentle nod.

The male wearing a grey shaded, black face-wrap dips his head to the robust, crimson-eyed templar.

You slow down and start moving carefully.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Within an hour, they met again in the Bank ran by House Nenyuk
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

House Nenyuk Bank [W]
   The continual clink of money being counted competes with the
noise of shuffling receipts and the yells of clerks as they run this
way and that with boxes full of coins. A large desk sits near the
door, from which customers are served.
   A plaque has been affixed on the wall above the desk.
A short, fat Nenyuki clerk stands here, waiting to help customers.
A muscular, half-giant bodyguard lounges here.
A muscular, half-giant bodyguard lounges here.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar is standing here.
A human Tuluki soldier is standing here.
The one-eyed half-giant Tuluki soldier is standing here.

The male wearing a grey shaded, black face-wrap hefts under the weight of your bloodied bone-studded backpack.

Passing your bloodied bone-studded backpack to the robust,
crimson-eyed templar, you say to the robust, crimson-eyed templar, in sirihish:
     "Exactly what he had. Blood is his own"

You give a bloodied bone-studded backpack to the robust,
crimson-eyed templar.

The robust, crimson-eyed templar walks over you, handing a large coin pouch.

The male wearing a grey shaded, black face-wrap tests the weight
of the coin pouch, nodding once.

The robust, crimson-eyed templar glances down to his bloodied bone-studded backpack, with a smile
spread on his face.

The robust, crimson-eyed templar dips his head briefly towards you, walking along dark street.

The robust, crimson-eyed templar walks south.
A human Tuluki soldier walks south.
The one-eyed half-giant Tuluki soldier walks south.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Moments later...
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Sun King's Sanctuary [NESWUD]
   A polished, white marble floor covers the ground of this expansive
room, gleaming under the light of a large glass chandelier that hangs
overhead. A semi-circular bar, made of hard-grained wood painted a deep
black, extends from the eastern wall, several high-backed barstools sitting
around it. The walls of this room are brightly decorated, with several
elaborate paintings placed carefully for unobstructed view, and shelves
holding many exotic potted plants, blooming with bright red and white
flowers. Two large stained-glass windows, decorated with elaborate sun
symbols, adorn the northwest and southeast corners of the room.
   Several decoratively carved tables fill this room, while a polished
leather couch nearly ten cords in length sprawls along the northern wall. A
stately spiral staircase sits in the center of the room, winding upwards
toward the common rooms of the second floor. The sounds of laughter and
music can be heard from a doorway along the western wall, while the scents
of cooked meat waft in from the east. A small, straight stairway sits along
the northern wall, ending at a slightly raised loft and a large carven
baobab door sits in the southern wall, leading out onto the North Road
outside.
The Tuluk bulletin board is here propped up on a stand.
The well-shaped, slash-marked man is standing here.
The light-tressed young man is sitting at a black-painted bar.
The one-eyed half-giant Tuluki soldier is standing here.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar is standing here.
A human Tuluki soldier stands here, lightly armored.
The lithe, black-haired young woman is sitting at a black-painted bar.
The slim, golden-haired woman is here moving about the room.
The obsidian-skinned woman is sitting at a highly polished table.
The sable-skinned, ponytailed man is sitting at a black-painted bar.
The sinewy, chiseled woman is sitting at a black-painted bar.
The thin, green-gazed man is sitting at a black-painted bar.
The green-eyed, redheaded woman is sitting on a supple, black leather couch.
The scar-riddled, wiry man is standing here.
The svelte, loreshi-tressed woman is sitting on a supple, black leather couch.
The tall, curly-haired man is sitting at a black-painted bar.
The long-haired, middle-aged man stands behind the counter.
The gaunt, black-haired man is here, leaning on the bar.
The tall, well-groomed man sits here on a plush couch.
The short haired, heavy-set man stands here mug in-hand.

Stepping over the center of the crowded tavern, the robust, crimson-eyed templar shouts, in
northern-accented sirihish:
     "Good and loyal citizens of the Ivory!"

The lithe, black-haired young woman shifts her position, turning half way around on her cushioned
stool.

The sinewy, chiseled woman looks up at the robust, crimson-eyed templar with a turn of her head.

The sable-skinned, ponytailed man turns completely on the stool, facing the robust, crimson-eyed
templar.

The well-shaped, slash-marked man comes to halt by tavern's entry, focusing his gazes on the
robust, crimson-eyed templar.

After a while waiting for silence, the robust, crimson-eyed templar shouts, in northern-accented
sirihish:
     "I have some good news!"

The male wearing a grey shaded, black face-wrap glances at the robust, crimson-eyed templar briefly, before turning back to the doorway.

North Road [NESW]
   The stark white of this wide stone road lies nestled between the rise
and fall of a conglomerated jumble of eclectically styled buildings.
Passing through the city, the road is kept clean of any blowing sand and
forest debris. The pale backbone cuts a decisive line east across the
bustling metropolis towards what remains of the Old City.
   The pale white of the road merges with a newer road just to the east.
Further in the distance, the crumbled ruins of the old city can be seen
rising up above the newer walls that have been built up around them. Set on
the north side of the road is a large two-story tavern. On the south side
of the road is a large wagon yard.
The robust, obsidian-haired Jihaen templar is standing here.
The lanky, russet-haired lad lounges by the tavern.

North Salt Road [NSW]
   Rows of pale stones form the backbone for this broad avenue, settled
into the ground with graceful fervor. Decorating the edge of the street,
the buildings and storefronts are universally adorned with garish and tawdry
sculptures, bas reliefs, and murals. The road is filled with a continual
throng of humans and demi-humans alike as they scurry about the bustle of
daily life.
   The sounds of a rowdy commotion spills out onto the streets from the
building to the west. A trio of humanoid sculptures are caught before the
junction between two roads, the crowds passing around them. An odd-looking
sculpture surrounds a stone bench off to one side of the road.
The tawny, blonde-haired woman strolls down the street, eyes bright.

You sit on a small white stone bench.

The wiry, stony-eyed man has arrived from the north.

The wiry, stony-eyed man walks west.

The short figure in a desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak has arrived from the north.

The short figure in a desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak walks west.

The stout, one-eyed man has arrived from the north.

You think:
     "Interesting."

The stout, one-eyed man looks down at you as he passes down the road.

You hear a man's voice from the north say, in sirihish:
     "He's stealin' it!!!"

The Sun King's Sanctuary [NESWUD]
   A polished, white marble floor covers the ground of this expansive
room, gleaming under the light of a large glass chandelier that hangs
overhead. A semi-circular bar, made of hard-grained wood painted a deep
black, extends from the eastern wall, several high-backed barstools sitting
around it. The walls of this room are brightly decorated, with several
elaborate paintings placed carefully for unobstructed view, and shelves
holding many exotic potted plants, blooming with bright red and white
flowers. Two large stained-glass windows, decorated with elaborate sun
symbols, adorn the northwest and southeast corners of the room.
   Several decoratively carved tables fill this room, while a polished
leather couch nearly ten cords in length sprawls along the northern wall. A
stately spiral staircase sits in the center of the room, winding upwards
toward the common rooms of the second floor. The sounds of laughter and
music can be heard from a doorway along the western wall, while the scents
of cooked meat waft in from the east. A small, straight stairway sits along
the northern wall, ending at a slightly raised loft and a large carven
baobab door sits in the southern wall, leading out onto the North Road
outside.
The Tuluk bulletin board is here propped up on a stand.
The stout, one-eyed man is standing here.
The scarred, pony-tailed man is standing here.
The short figure in a desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak is sitting at a black-painted bar.
The wiry, stony-eyed man is standing here.
The intricately tattooed half-elf is sitting at an intimate, dimly lit table.
The well-shaped, slash-marked man is standing here.
The light-tressed young man is sitting at a black-painted bar.
The one-eyed half-giant Tuluki soldier is standing here.
The robust, crimson-eyed templar is standing here.
A human Tuluki soldier stands here, lightly armored.
The lithe, black-haired young woman is sitting at a black-painted bar.
The obsidian-skinned woman is sitting at a highly polished table.
The sable-skinned, ponytailed man is sitting at a black-painted bar.
The thin, green-gazed man is standing here.
The green-eyed, redheaded woman is standing here.
The scar-riddled, wiry man is standing here.
The svelte, loreshi-tressed woman is standing here.
The tall, curly-haired man is sitting at a black-painted bar.
The long-haired, middle-aged man stands behind the counter.
The gaunt, black-haired man is here, leaning on the bar.
The tall, well-groomed man sits here on a plush couch.
The short haired, heavy-set man stands here mug in-hand.

The well-shaped, slash-marked man breaks a jade-studded, black-leather hauberk.

Dips his head to himself a couple of times watching the crowd cracking the items, the robust,
crimson-eyed templar steps out to busy street with a slight smile on his lips.

The sable-skinned, ponytailed man stands up from a black-painted bar.

The robust, crimson-eyed templar walks south.
A human Tuluki soldier walks south.
The one-eyed half-giant Tuluki soldier walks south.

The well-shaped, slash-marked man sheathes an ivory and marble claw-carved mace.

The scarred, pony-tailed man looks down at the well-shaped, slash-marked man.

The green-eyed, redheaded woman says, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Pity there wasn't a witch's neck in there.."

The sable-skinned, ponytailed man puts a slender, blue-rimmed wineglass on a black-painted bar.

The sable-skinned, ponytailed man walks south.

The stained glass windows glow with the light of the rising sun outside.

The wiry, stony-eyed man asks, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Which witch was it?"

The scar-riddled, wiry man walks south.

The thin, green-gazed man looks down at the tall, curly-haired man.
Raising his voice, hoarsely, the well-shaped, slash-marked man says, in northern-accented
sirihish:
     "Haadith'."

Holding out her bloodied bone-studded backpack toward him, the svelte, loreshi-tressed woman says
to the wiry, stony-eyed man, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "This is the blood of Haadith Oash."

Head bowed low, the male wearing a grey shaded, black face-wrap makes his way to the stairs, passing through the crowds.

The intricately tattooed half-elf stands up from an intimate, dimly lit table.

The lithe, black-haired young woman looks up at the intricately tattooed half-elf.

The intricately tattooed half-elf strides past the mob with an easy stride stopping to turn to the
lithe, black-haired young woman.
The stout, one-eyed man purses his lips, glancing over the crowd.

The wiry, stony-eyed man says to the svelte, loreshi-tressed woman, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Hey, I think I remember that name."

The male wearing a grey shaded, black face-wrap silently stops by
the stairs, glancing at the commotion briefly.

The well-shaped, slash-marked man makes his way to a supple, black leather couch at a slow pace.

You hear a man's voice from below say, in sirihish:
     "Goo', well I have work ta' do eh'. I must be off."

You hear a woman's voice shout from below in northern-accented sirihish:
     "This witches blood will burn in firepit!"

You hear a man's voice from below say, in sirihish:
     "Travel ligh' an' live well lass. I hope to see ye latta'."

You hear a woman's voice from below say, in sirihish:
     "Sorry about the mess."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Haadith's belongings were displayed, and destroyed publically:A small sign of victory for Tuluk, and for Samil, a bigger sign of acceptance for Serpent.

A few days after, Serpent met the boy named Murkan, who would be his aprentice in the deadly arts.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Ana's Garden [NESW]
   Lowset bushes, their leaves a glossy purple and green, sprawl in
semi-orderly ranks beneath a scattering of agafari and pymlithe trees, a
network of gravelled paths leading along through the park area. Denizens of
the city wander through the pathways, talking in small clusters or moving
silently towards some other destination.
The short, obsidian-eyed youth is sitting on a small grey stone bench.
A slim-bodied, blonde-haired elf lounges on a bench, watching the crowds.
A Tuluki street slave stands sweeping the ground clear of dust.
A supple, dark-eyed dancer sits on the grass, clapping out the time.
A short, red-haired dancer moves through the crowd, collecting donations.
A lazy-eyed, wide-hipped dancer sways in time to a softly beaten rhythm.
A cross-eyed, green-haired half-giant crouches, sniffing at some flowers.

The male wearing a grey shaded, black face-wrap leads the short,
obsidian-eyed youth to a small grey stone bench.

You sit on a small grey stone bench.

The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
    "Do you know a lot about northern templars?"

You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the delicate, ebon-curled woman with the Way.

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
    "A lot? I don't think anyone knows a lot about anything.. But.. Yeah, I think I know some."

The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
    "*amusement* Serpent... I am sure you know a lot about lot of things. Would be possible to meet
you... perhaps in a few weeks?"

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
    "I don't think it is easy to meet me these days. Is it hard to pass it along the way? Or
untrusty?"

The male wearing a grey shaded, black face-wrap glances at a
lazy-eyed, wide-hipped dancer, as he nods absently.

The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
    "Hmm... you are hiding? That is... unfortunate, indeed. Let me think how to word the question.
"

The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
    "Do all northern templars have the same powers?"

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
    "Sure. You shoot it. I can prepare an answer probably."

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
    "Oh.."

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
    "No. Not to my observation."

At your seat, the short, obsidian-eyed youth says in northern-accented sirihish, grimacing
lightly as he grips his stomach tightly:
     "So the Faithful seem to favor me.. I can't complain.. Though I wish I could've found one,
before I ended up starving like this.."

The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
    "Samil and Eunoli?"

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
    "Different I would say."

At your seat, you say in sirihish, his gaze turning to the short,
obsidian-eyed youth:
     "Slow it down or you will choke."

The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
    "Alright. I thank you, Serpent. Your company is alright, I heard?"

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
    "Yes. She is fine. We have a cute son here."

The male wearing a grey shaded, black face-wrap's gaze return to a
lazy-eyed, wide-hipped dancer, beaming a veiled smile to her performance.

The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
    "Ahh, excellent. And its name?"

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
    "Sen.. Sen Hiatus. A little troublemaker I would say."

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
    "And for your request.."

At your seat, the short, obsidian-eyed youth says in northern-accented sirihish, furrowing his
brows curiously as he turns his head towards you, seemingly ignorant of the dancing figures close
by:
     "Your accent .. it's different from those others which I've heard.. Are you from the South?"

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
    "I can give you a more detailed answer once I can meet you."

The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
    "Excellent. Let me know once it is possible."

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
    "Of course."

You dissolve the psychic link.

You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.

A lazy-eyed, wide-hipped dancer stretches out a leg, toes pointed into the air, leaning back on her
other leg as she dances.

At your seat, you say in sirihish, dipping his head with a smile
to a lazy-eyed, wide-hipped dancer:
     "We can say that.."

At your seat, the short, obsidian-eyed youth says in northern-accented sirihish, scratching the
back of his neck as a mark of confusion crosses his facial features, finally turning his gaze
towards a lazy-eyed, wide-hipped dancer with a blank expression:
     "Huh.. Why would.. you wish to train me, then?"

A lazy-eyed, wide-hipped dancer moves with a languid, sinuous twist of her shoulders.

At your seat, you say in sirihish:
     "Because I am going to get paid for that."

At your seat, you say in sirihish, turning to the short,
obsidian-eyed youth, staring at him in the face:
     "Now.. The purpose of this little sit down and talk, Murkan.."

At your seat, you say in sirihish:
     "Is to introduce me who I am."

At your seat, you say in sirihish:
     "I mean.. Introduce -you-."

At your seat, the short, obsidian-eyed youth says in northern-accented sirihish, dipping his
head slowly, several times:
     "I understand.."

At your seat, you say in sirihish, eyes narrowing to slits behind
his facewrap:
     "Now you saw me, you hear me. You know I am a foreigner scum.."

At your seat, you say in sirihish:
     "And you will probably hate me. Everybody does."

At your seat, you say in sirihish:
     "I don't care if you do."

At your seat, you say in sirihish:
     "But.. You will respect me, so long I am your trainer."

At your seat, you say in sirihish:
     "Hate. Temper.. Feel humiliated, whatever."

At your seat, the short, obsidian-eyed youth says in northern-accented sirihish, dipping his
head slowly, narrowing his gaze towards his small feet:
     "I am allowed to live in the grace of the Faithful to do a task.. As long as you can train me
in that task, you will have my respect, and jot my hatred."

At your seat, you say in sirihish, with a slow nod, not leaving
his gaze from the short, obsidian-eyed youth's face:
     "That is good.. That is what I want to hear."

At your seat, you say in sirihish, exhaling a soft breath, his
gaze turning back to the performers:
     "That is all for now"

The late, red sun descends toward the western horizon.

At your seat, you say in sirihish, with a dismissive gesture:
     "You can go."

At your seat, the short, obsidian-eyed youth says in northern-accented sirihish, rubbing his
stomach with a content sigh:
     "Very well. Contact me whenever you wish.. to begin."

The short, obsidian-eyed youth stands up from a small grey stone bench.

The short, obsidian-eyed youth bows his head lightly within your direction, stepping back from a
small grey stone bench, grasping onto the bundle inbetween his small hands.

Lowering his gaze towards his bundle of cooked meat, the short, obsidian-eyed youth says, in
northern-accented sirihish:
     "Thank you.."

A lazy-eyed, wide-hipped dancer beckons in invitation to a passerby, leaning close to him as she
dances towards him.

The short, obsidian-eyed youth walks south.

The male wearing a grey shaded, black face-wrap glances between a lazy-eyed, wide-hipped dancer and the passerby, grinning impishly.

A steady jingle comes from the tambourine as a lazy-eyed, wide-hipped dancer shakes it.

The male wearing a grey shaded, black face-wrap walks over a short, red-haired dancer, passing a small coin pouch.

In a quiet tone, you say, in sirihish:
     "Thanks for the entertainment."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A day after in Sanctuary, Serpent meets Corporal Vaashir, an old friend... or acquintance.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Sun King's Sanctuary [NESWUD]
   A polished, white marble floor covers the ground of this expansive
room, gleaming under the light of a large glass chandelier that hangs
overhead. A semi-circular bar, made of hard-grained wood painted a deep
black, extends from the eastern wall, several high-backed barstools sitting
around it. The walls of this room are brightly decorated, with several
elaborate paintings placed carefully for unobstructed view, and shelves
holding many exotic potted plants, blooming with bright red and white
flowers. Two large stained-glass windows, decorated with elaborate sun
symbols, adorn the northwest and southeast corners of the room.
   Several decoratively carved tables fill this room, while a polished
leather couch nearly ten cords in length sprawls along the northern wall. A
stately spiral staircase sits in the center of the room, winding upwards
toward the common rooms of the second floor. The sounds of laughter and
music can be heard from a doorway along the western wall, while the scents
of cooked meat waft in from the east. A small, straight stairway sits along
the northern wall, ending at a slightly raised loft and a large carven
baobab door sits in the southern wall, leading out onto the North Road
outside.
An empty mug of rough grey soapstone has been placed here.
The Tuluk bulletin board is here propped up on a stand.
The slim, golden-haired woman is here moving about the room.
The young, Jihae-haired man is sitting at a black-painted bar.
The scarred, ashen-skinned half-elf is sitting at a black-painted bar.
The wiry, amethyst-eyed woman stands here, gaze alert.
The bulky, golden-bearded man is sitting at a highly polished table.
The light-tressed young man is sitting at a highly polished table.
The slight, bony-faced man is sitting at a black-painted bar.
The long-haired, middle-aged man stands behind the counter.
The gaunt, black-haired man is here, leaning on the bar.
The tall, well-groomed man sits here on a plush couch.
The short haired, heavy-set man stands here mug in-hand.

The scarred, ashen-skinned half-elf looks up at you.

The svelte, loreshi-tressed woman has arrived from the south.

At a highly polished table, you overhear the bulky, golden-bearded man say in northern-accented
sirihish, lacing his fat hands over his swelling gut:
     "Tell me. How well known are you in the Black City? Favorably?"

Carrying her blue and purple ceramic bottle in one hand, the svelte, loreshi-tressed woman weaves
through the crowd across the marble floor.

The scarred, ashen-skinned half-elf sends you a telepathic message:
    "Well, it's been a while since I've seen you around here..."

At a highly polished table, you overhear the light-tressed young man say in northern-accented
sirihish, with a slight shake of his head:
     "Not favorably, Chosen Lord.. especially by those disinterested in trade. It is a very
unhospitable place."

At a highly polished table, you overhear the bulky, golden-bearded man say in northern-accented
sirihish, chucling suddenly before speaking:
     "And no, I'm not thinking you may be in league with those barbarians!"

You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the scarred, ashen-skinned half-elf with the Way.

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the scarred, ashen-skinned half-elf:
    "Yes. It has. You are doing good, I suppose?"

The scarred, ashen-skinned half-elf sends you a telepathic message:
    "Not too badly... and yourself?"

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the scarred, ashen-skinned half-elf:
    "Not good. But not bad either. Came here with a couple companions, and I guess I will have to
stay here for a while."

The scarred, ashen-skinned half-elf sends you a telepathic message:
    "I see. Anything I can help with?"

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the scarred, ashen-skinned half-elf:
    "Actually, I believe there is something you can help."

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the scarred, ashen-skinned half-elf:
    "As I said I came with a couple of companions. One woman, near twenty three years old and
one baby."

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the scarred, ashen-skinned half-elf:
    "The woman has sleekly built body, green eyes, and is blonde braided hair."

At a highly polished table, you overhear the bulky, golden-bearded man say in northern-accented
sirihish, smiling broadly at the light-tressed young man:
     "Of course! Not only would you be serving our glorious City, but also myself."

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the scarred, ashen-skinned half-elf:
    "The baby is just a few weeks old. Has my eyes, and blonde hair. What I would ask is.."

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the scarred, ashen-skinned half-elf:
    "These two, just like me are "southern scums"."

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the scarred, ashen-skinned half-elf:
    "I believe I can take care of myself when it comes to it. But I don't think they can."

The male wearing a grey shaded, black face-wrap rubs his temple
slowly, with a soft grunt.

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the scarred, ashen-skinned half-elf:
    "Would you be able to help them, if they were in some kind of trouble?"

The scarred, ashen-skinned half-elf sends you a telepathic message:
    "I will protect them to the best of my ability, just as if they were citizens..."

The scarred, ashen-skinned half-elf stops using a jeweled, ivory-hilted bone longsword.

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the scarred, ashen-skinned half-elf:
    "Thank you. I think I can pay you for your troubles in it."

The scarred, ashen-skinned half-elf loads a jeweled, ivory-hilted bone longsword into an
ivory-bound wooden scabbard with a *snap*.

At a highly polished table, you overhear the bulky, golden-bearded man say in northern-accented
sirihish, a grin appearing upon his fat face:
     "I think you stand a very good chance of meeting with them and surviving the encounter, to
deliver my offer to their leaders."

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the scarred, ashen-skinned half-elf:
    "Aside from these two, I think the rest is an easy task."

You send a telepathic message to the scarred, ashen-skinned half-elf:
    "I mean.. For me."

The scarred, ashen-skinned half-elf sends you a telepathic message:
    "We can worry about that later... tell them to seek me out if they need help."

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the scarred, ashen-skinned half-elf:
    "Thank you. I will tell it now."

The scarred, ashen-skinned half-elf sends you a telepathic message:
    "What is her name"

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the scarred, ashen-skinned half-elf:
    "Sophie."

The scarred, ashen-skinned half-elf sends you a telepathic message:
    "Alright then... tell Sophie if she needs me, find myself or ask any Legionnaire for Corporal
Vaashir. They will find my mind."

The male wearing a grey shaded, black face-wrap massages to his
temple with a pair of pale fingers.

The scarred, ashen-skinned half-elf sends you a telepathic message:
    "Hope business goes well for you."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Thus he ensured their safety, or so he thought. A few weeks after, he realized he was wrong.

After all, few things stayed as expected in Zalanthas.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Submitter's note:

Haadith died, but the concequences of his actions still echoed even
after his death. Veralius Borsail wanted to destroy everything
that was left of...
Continue Reading...
Helmet Repair by FiveDisgruntledMonkeysWit
Added on Mar 22, 2007

A Kuraci saves a friend from a (probably well-deserved) beating by fixing a half-giant's helmet.

The scene begins in the training yard, where a sparring session has gone horribly, horribly wrong...

Screaming out, the bald, four-fingered man exclaims, in sirihish:

"HELP!!"

You fail the rescue.

The enormous, weathered half-giant parries the bald, four-fingered man's attack.

Yelling at you, the bald, four-fingered man exclaims, in sirihish:

"Get over here bud!!"

The screw-bearded man tries to dart in between the bald, four-fingered man and the enormous, weathered half-giant.

Angrily, the enormous, weathered half-giant says, in tribal-accented sirihish:

"You hurt my helmet."

You fail the rescue.

The bald, four-fingered man swiftly dodges the enormous, weathered half-giant's hits.

The bald, four-fingered man bludgeons at the enormous, weathered half-giant's shield, nicking him.

You heroically charge into the fight!

The enormous, weathered half-giant hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.

Looking up at the enormous, weathered half-giant, the bald, four-fingered man says, in sirihish:

"Oh shet...I pissed him off."

You lunge at the enormous, weathered half-giant, but your blow is deftly deflected by a mantis-shell breastplate.

You exclaim, in sirihish:

"Okay, break!"

The enormous, weathered half-giant parries your attack.

The bald, four-fingered man stumbles back against a mud brick wall.

The enormous, weathered half-giant panics, and attempts to flee.

The enormous, weathered half-giant runs east.

The enormous, weathered half-giant has arrived from the east.

The enormous, weathered half-giant turns towards the bald, four-fingered man, his expression full of rage.

With a shake of his head, you say to the bald, four-fingered man, in sirihish:

"Well, that's what you get for taunting 'em. Krath's blazing balls, man."

With a concerned look, you ask the enormous, weathered half-giant, in sirihish:

"Hey, Wind. Take it easy. It was just a game, remember?"

Standing up from a mud brick wall, smiling nervously, the bald, four-fingered man says, in sirihish:

"Uh...Wind. I was only messin' around man."

His fist clenching tightly, the enormous, weathered half-giant says to the bald, four-fingered man, in tribal-accented sirihish:

"You broke one of the horns."

Holding his arms out wide, the bald, four-fingered man says, in sirihish:

"We're all friends here."

Positioning himself between the bald, four-fingered man and the enormous, weathered half-giant, you ask the enormous, weathered half-giant, in sirihish:

"Easy, Wind. Easy. I'll fix it for you, okay?"

Stomping his foot down hard as he feels to the broken horn on his bloodied anakore skull helm with black horns, the enormous, weathered half-giant exclaims, in tribal-accented sirihish:

"This was a gift!"

Frowning slightly as he shakes his head a bit, the bald, four-fingered man says, in sirihish:

"I didn't mean to Wind. I'm sorry, big brother."

You begin guarding the bald, four-fingered man.

You say to the enormous, weathered half-giant, in sirihish:

"I used to fix helmets all the time. That's no problem."

Shrugging his shoulders a bit, the bald, four-fingered man says, in sirihish:

"Wind...seriously, I don't know what to tell you."

Raising both hands up, the bald, four-fingered man says, in sirihish:

"It's training, man. A game you wanted to play. Shet happens. Please, I'm sorry."

Looking down as he removes his bloodied anakore skull helm with black horns, the enormous, weathered half-giant asks you, in tribal-accented sirihish:

"You can fix it?"

The enormous, weathered half-giant stops using a bloodied anakore skull helm with black horns.

With a nod, you say to the enormous, weathered half-giant, in sirihish:

"I sure can. If you promise not to hurt Mosiah."

The enormous, weathered half-giant expression calms visibly as his posture loosens, watching down at you.

Shaking his head firmly, the enormous, weathered half-giant says to you, in tribal-accented sirihish:

"I won't hurt Mosiah. I think Mosiah is a bad person though."

The bald, four-fingered man stands quietly off to the side.

Eyes on the enormous, weathered half-giant, you say to the bald, four-fingered man, in sirihish:

"Recruit, find the piece of Wind's helmet your broke off."

The enormous, weathered half-giant extends his bloodied anakore skull helm with black horns out towards you with a hopeful smile.

The bald, four-fingered man gets on his knees, running his hands over the ground.

The screw-bearded man reaches up for the enormous, weathered half-giant's helmet, inspecting it carefully.

The enormous, weathered half-giant gives you a bloodied anakore skull helm with black horns.

The dome of this anakore skull rises into a sharp slope, beset with two,

large horns that shine dully in the light. Two beady eye sockets glare

balefully into the distance, their sight gone long ago. Two rows of long,

curved teeth hang down to frame the wearer's face, a stark reminder of their

use in life to capture hapless victims in the dunes. Above, you can see

where the horns have been affixed post-mortem to the skull as they complement

its curvature and spiral out to either side of the wearer's head in

a blue-black luminosity.

It is stained with blood.

The bald, four-fingered man frowns as he picks up a broken piece of horn and hands it up to you.

Softly to you, the bald, four-fingered man says, in sirihish:

"Sorry, man. Like I said, it was an accident."

Idly, taking the horn-piece from the bald, four-fingered man, you say, in sirihish:

"Don't apologize to me. Apologize to Wind."

The bald, four-fingered man sits back on his knees.

Adding darkly, you say to the bald, four-fingered man, in sirihish:

"If you don't want to end up like Vaeth."

Glancing over at the enormous, weathered half-giant, softly to you, the bald, four-fingered man asks, in sirihish:

"I already did. What else is there to say?"

The enormous, weathered half-giant stands firmly as he stares down at you hopefully, ignoring the conversation.

Tinkering with your bloodied anakore skull helm with black horns and the horn-piece, you say to the bald, four-fingered man, in sirihish:

"Tell him you're sorry you broke his helmet, and that you'll help me fix it. Which you will."

Standing up as he walks up by you, to the enormous, weathered half-giant, the bald, four-fingered man asks, in sirihish:

"Yeah Wind, I'll help Daktep fix it for you, how's that sound?"

The bald, four-fingered man glances up at the enormous, weathered half-giant, then back at the helm in your hands.

Bobbing his head once, not turning his gaze from his helmet in your possession, the enormous, weathered half-giant says to the bald, four-fingered man, in tribal-accented sirihish:

"Okay, I guess."

You say to the enormous, weathered half-giant, in sirihish:

"You're in luck, Wind. Only a little piece broke off."

Softly to you, pointing towards the broken horn, the bald, four-fingered man says, in sirihish:

"Yeah, that goes right...there."

The crimson sun sinks into the west, as the desert darkens.

Holding up a chunk of horn about the size of a human thumb, you say, in sirihish:

"See?"

Looking the enormous, weathered half-giant over briefly, the bald, four-fingered man asks, in sirihish:

"Wind, you wearing anything else that's a gift?"

Motioning to his back then to his crude bone club, the enormous, weathered half-giant says to the bald, four-fingered man, in tribal-accented sirihish:

"My shield and my club."

Concentrating on your bloodied anakore skull helm with black horns, you say, in sirihish:

"What I think we can do is tie it back on with a bit of leather. And then add some sort of adhesive. Maybe wood resin. Or some clay. Or even a bit of Odrean's gruel..."

Chuckling as he looks up at you briefly, the bald, four-fingered man says, in sirihish:

"Always knew that stuff wasn't real food."

The bald, four-fingered man snickers as he looks back down at the helm.

The screw-bearded man laughs weakly, then tucks your bloodied anakore skull helm with black horns under his arm. He holds the broken-off bit of horn in his other hand, clenching it tightly.

You stop using a wooden training longsword.

You stop using a cracked curved agafari shield.

Pointing behind himself, the enormous, weathered half-giant says, in tribal-accented sirihish:

"Lets go back and fix it."

The enormous, weathered half-giant gets an ornate, red and white patterned shield from a leather backpack.

Striding over the training yard, you say, in sirihish:

"Aye. Let's see if there's anything we can use here in the Fort."

The enormous, weathered half-giant holds an ornate, red and white patterned shield.

The enormous, weathered half-giant stops using an used bloodied kank-shell hoplite shield.

Scrub Plains [SW]

A vast rolling plain unfolds in all directions, endless reaches of dry

and dusty land, dotted with clumps of brownish grass and small stands of

thornbush. Here and there, a stemwood or ocotillo moves with each whim of

the winds, or a whipleaf scores the earth with its long, sharp needles.

Throughout the plains, spires of sharp stone jut up from the earth like

mighty reptiles, ringed by steppes of splintering red rock.

To the north and east a towering wall of glazed mud bricks has been

constructed, blocking any hope of travel.

A squat grey adobe building extends from the northern wall.

The enormous, weathered half-giant has arrived from the west.

You enter a squat grey building.

A Crowded Storeroom [NES]

Clusters of green glow crystals suspended from nets in the ceiling cast

a dubious green tint over everything in this crowded room. Wooden shelves

line every wall, leaving only space for a narrow doorway set into each wall.

Stacked in the center of the room are crates and sealed bags from which

emanates the heady smell of unrefined spice.

The enormous, weathered half-giant has entered a squat grey building.

The enormous, weathered half-giant puts an used bloodied kank-shell hoplite shield inside a large hanging net.

The bald, four-fingered man has entered a squat grey building.

The screw-bearded man sets the helm on a nearby cot, then begins rummaging around the storeroom, digging into already-opened crates and glancing under cots.

You put a bloodied anakore skull helm with black horns on a small leather cot.

The enormous, weathered half-giant stands back as he watches you anxiously.

Muttering quietly, you say, in sirihish:

"Mostly spice in here... but if they store the training shields here, I figure they'd have something to repair the training shields..."

To himself as he rubs his hand up and down the front of his ornate, red and white patterned shield, the enormous, weathered half-giant says, in tribal-accented sirihish:

"I don't duck anymore. Getting hit in the head is bad."

Glancing over, you say to the bald, four-fingered man, in sirihish:

"Help me out, here. I'm looking for some leather scraps, and some baobab sap, ideally."

The bald, four-fingered man sits down on a small leather cot and unshoulders his backpack.

The bald, four-fingered man sits on a small leather cot.

The bald, four-fingered man gets the disembodied head of a gortok from a rough canvas backpack.

Holding up his disembodied head of a gortok, the bald, four-fingered man asks, in sirihish:

"Think you can use anything off of this?"

The screw-bearded man glances over at the bald, four-fingered man, his eyes widening with alarm and mild disgust.

You ask the bald, four-fingered man, in sirihish:

"Krath's blistered balls, man! What are you doing with that in your backpack?"

Reaching behind himself, the enormous, weathered half-giant says to you, in tribal-accented sirihish:

"I have a flower and some meat."

Chuckling a bit, the bald, four-fingered man says, in sirihish:

"Feck, don't ask me."

Shaking his head and returning his attention to his rummaging, you say to the bald, four-fingered man, in sirihish:

"I mean look around the storeroom. Krath, man."

The bald, four-fingered man stands up from a small leather cot.

The bald, four-fingered man walks east.

Discovering a refuse bin full of leather scraps, you say, in sirihish:

"Ah. Perfect."

The screw-bearded man glances east, clearly annoyed.

You shout in sirihish:

"Hey! Hey! Mosiah! We're not allowed in there!"

The bald, four-fingered man has arrived from the east.

Pointing northwards, the enormous, weathered half-giant asks you, in tribal-accented sirihish:

"I can go cut down a tree for you?"

You say to the enormous, weathered half-giant, in sirihish:

"Nah, Wind. Your helmet isn't hurt that bad."

The bald, four-fingered man walks south.

The screw-bearded man pulls a long, thin strip of leather from a refuse bin.

Nodding to himself, you say, in sirihish:

"Yes, this'll do."

His expresion and voice calm now, the enormous, weathered half-giant says to you, in tribal-accented sirihish:

"I used to cut trees down for Edrel's da, and he gave me fruit."

The screw-bearded man moves over to a large hanging net, peering under and around it.

Absently, you say, in sirihish:

"That's nice."

The screw-bearded man picks up a jar from underneath a large hanging net. He lifts the top off the jar and gives it a sniff.

The bald, four-fingered man has arrived from the south.

The bald, four-fingered man walks north.

You shout in sirihish:

"We're not allowed in there, either! Krath!"

The bald, four-fingered man has arrived from the north.

Gesturing to the room at large, you exclaim, in sirihish:

"Look in -this- storeroom. This one. It's a big room! Look!"

Shrugging his shoulders as he holds up a couple strands of wicker, the bald, four-fingered man says, in sirihish:

"Well, if someone would feckin' tell me these things before."

The screw-bearded man grunts quietly, snatching the wicker from the bald, four-fingered man.

Shrugging his shoulders, the bald, four-fingered man says, in sirihish:

"Feck man, you act as if I was given a proper tour or some shet."

The screw-bearded man stows his training weapons before heading over to a small leather cot.

You put a wooden training longsword inside a large, wooden crate.

You put a cracked curved agafari shield inside a large hanging net.

Holding up a finger, the bald, four-fingered man says, in sirihish:

"Be right back."

The bald, four-fingered man leaves a squat grey building.

The enormous, weathered half-giant steps anxiously back and forth, glancing every so often towards you.

You sit on a small leather cot, picking up the helm.

You get a bloodied anakore skull helm with black horns from a small leather cot.

It is no problem.

Shaking his head as he paces, the enormous, weathered half-giant says, in tribal-accented sirihish:

"Mosiah is a bad person."

Motioning him over, you say to the enormous, weathered half-giant, in sirihish:

"Aye, but not the worst. Come over, and I'll show you how to fix it."

The enormous, weathered half-giant bobs his head as he moves over to your side, looking down at his helmet.

You stop using a water gourd.

Before taking a sip from your water gourd, you say to the enormous, weathered half-giant, in sirihish:

"Now, we got some clay, some wicker, and a bit of leather. Not ideal for fixing horn or bone, but it'll work."

You drink the water.

You are carrying:

a water gourd

a bloodied anakore skull helm with black horns

Wiping his mouth, you say, in sirihish:

"First thing to do is to get the clay wet. It's the only way you can work with it."

The bald, four-fingered man has entered a squat grey building.

The bald, four-fingered man's torch flickers feebly.

Shaking his head, the bald, four-fingered man says, in sirihish:

"Hard to see out there."

The bald, four-fingered man stops using a dim large wooden torch.

The bald, four-fingered man extinguishes a dim large wooden torch.

Looking over at you as he walks up, the bald, four-fingered man asks, in sirihish:

"So how's it going?"

The enormous, weathered half-giant stares down at your hands, his head moving up and down in a constant nod.

The screw-bearded man pulls a small dollop of clay from the jar. He then wets the clay with a few drops of water from your water gourd, massaging it into a workable consistency.

The bald, four-fingered man strokes his chin as he watches you work.

Adding dabs of wet clay to the broken off end of your bloodied anakore skull helm with black horns' right horn, you ask, in sirihish:

"Now, we use the clay to attach the broken tip to the rest of the helmet, see?"

Mostly to himself, you say, in sirihish:

"Not too much, now..."

The screw-bearded man mushes the broken tip of horn into the rest of the helmet's horn. Reddish clay oozes out the sides, and the tip remains only loosely attached.

His free hand opening and closing nervously, the enormous, weathered half-giant says, in tribal-accented sirihish:

"Please be okay helmet."

Glancing up toward the enormous, weathered half-giant, you ask, in sirihish:

"Don;' worry. We're not quite done yet. See how it's crooked?"

Taking a closer look at his helmet, the enormous, weathered half-giant says to you, in tribal-accented sirihish:

"Ya. It is still broken."

With a nod, you say, in sirihish:

"Aye. But we can fix that with the leather, and with the wicker Mosiah found."

The bald, four-fingered man glances up briefly at the enormous, weathered half-giant, then back at the helm in your hands.

The enormous, weathered half-giant grins as he claps a large meaty hand to the front of his ornate, red and white patterned shield.

The screw-bearded man wraps the thin length of leather around the horn, centering it at the fracture. He winds it tightly, forcing it to hold the horn-tip upright.

Holding the leather in place with his thumb and index finger, you say, in sirihish:

"Now, obviously, you need to do this part while the clay's still wet and malleable."

You say, in sirihish:

"Now that we got the leather to hold the horn in place, we're going to need the wicker to hold the leather in place."

The screw-bearded man dips the two wicker reeds into your water gourd, softening them with water.

Grinning wide as he watches, the enormous, weathered half-giant says to you, in tribal-accented sirihish:

"Your very smart, like Sha."

With a rough chuckle as he squints at the horn, you say, in sirihish:

"Perhaps not that smart. This is just what I did before becoming a Kuraci, that's all."

Turning his head to one side, to you softly, the bald, four-fingered man says, in sirihish:

"Thanks."

As he winds the reeds around the leather binding, lashing them tight, you say, in sirihish:

"Now this is the tough part. You need a real steady hand."

The screw-bearded man uses the two reeds to tie the leather tighter to the fractured horn. The reeds overlap on each side of the horn, forming a loose X-shape. He secures them by lacing them together, like one might lace up a boot.

The enormous, weathered half-giant watches nervously down at you, his teeth clenching tightly.

Holding up the massive helmet, you say, in sirihish:

"And there you go. The horn's back, straight and true."

You say to the enormous, weathered half-giant, in sirihish:

"Now, you'll have to be gentle on it while the whole mess dries. And it might be better not to remove the wicker or leather at all. But if you simply must, and the clay doesn't hold, you can always bring it back to me."

His eyes wide in surprise as he reaches out, the enormous, weathered half-giant says to you, in tribal-accented sirihish:

"You';e amazing, Daktep. You saved my helmet, you're a very good person like Sha."

Pulling out a brush from his hooded, dun-colored dustcloak, the bald, four-fingered man asks, in sirihish:

"Might wanna scrub off some of that blood, eh?"

The bald, four-fingered man gets a stiffly bristled wood armor brush from a hooded, dun-colored dustcloak.

Shaking his head as he tucks his stiffly bristled wood armor brush away, the bald, four-fingered man says, in sirihish:

"Nevermind. Let it set, like Daktep said."

The bald, four-fingered man puts a stiffly bristled wood armor brush inside a hooded, dun-colored dustcloak.

The screw-bearded man hands your bloodied anakore skull helm with black horns back to the enormous, weathered half-giant gently.

You give a bloodied anakore skull helm with black horns to the enormous, weathered half-giant.

The enormous, weathered half-giant takes his bloodied anakore skull helm with black horns, looking close at the fixed horn, his lips curled into a very wide grin.

The scene begins in the training yard, where a sparring session has gone horribly, horribly wrong...

Screaming out, the bald, four-fingered man exclaims, in sirihish:

"HELP!!"

You fail the rescue.

The enormous, weathered half-giant parries the bald, four-fingered man's...

Continue Reading...
"You could call it that..." by FiveDisgruntledMonkeysWit
Added on Mar 22, 2007

Be careful who you mug.

The scene begins in the twisting alleyways of the ‘Rinth, where a rag-clad beggar has run afoul of a rather imposing elf…

The tall figure in a dark, hooded cloak looks down at you.

The mangy, scar-laced man gives his head a slight shake.

You look up at the tall figure in a dark, hooded cloak.

Ebon skin, highlighted by a multitude of pale scars in deliberate

patterns encase the frame of this sturdy, thick looking elf. Long, pointed

ears and proud almond shaped eyes couple with a somewhat abnormally lengthy

nose to give him an almost avian appearance to the casual onlooker.

Muscular arms, attached to broad shoulders, end with exceptionally nimble

looking hands which are a hallmark of his race. The pinky on his left hand

is half missing, leaving only a healed over stub in its place. Bushy hair,

twisted and tangled into dreadlocks drapes over his face and shoulders.

The tall figure in a dark, hooded cloak is in excellent condition.

The tall figure in a dark, hooded cloak is using:

<worn on head> a bloodied ancient, battered surmac

<face> a few faint, crossed scars

<neck> several puffy lines of scarred tissue

<worn across back> a bone-studded backpack

<right shoulder> a splotchy burn scar

<worn around body> a dark, hooded cloak

<worn on right ankle> an orange bandana

<worn on feet> a pair of footpads

He is carrying:

nothing obvious

Inclining his head, the tall figure in a dark, hooded cloak asks you, in sirihish:

"Whats in the pouch?"

The tall figure in a dark, hooded cloak points at your neck.

Shrugging, you say, in sirihish:

"Nothin' for you."

The tall figure in a dark, hooded cloak eyes you a moment.

The tall figure in a dark, hooded cloak says to you, in sirihish:

"You sure? Cause you's dressed like you's ain' worth a shit... all except that pouch o' yours..."

Sighing heavily, you ask the tall figure in a dark, hooded cloak, in sirihish:

"Look, it's where I keep my 'sid. It ain't much, and I need it to feckin' eat, alright?"

The tall figure in a dark, hooded cloak blinks.

The tall figure in a dark, hooded cloak asks you, in sirihish:

"That where you keep your sid?"

Flatly, you say to the tall figure in a dark, hooded cloak, in sirihish:

"Aye, that's what I said."

Nodding once, the tall figure in a dark, hooded cloak asks you, in sirihish:

"How about you hand that fuckin thing over then, eh?"

The tall figure in a dark, hooded cloak beckons with his hand and then holds it out, palm up.

Shaking his head, you say to the tall figure in a dark, hooded cloak, in sirihish:

"Look, you don't want to feck with me."

The mangy, scar-laced man begins twitching, his fingers tightening then relaxing rhythmically.

The tall figure in a dark, hooded cloak asks you, in sirihish:

"An' why that? You got some fuckin disease or some shit?"

The tall figure in a dark, hooded cloak eyes you a moment.

Eyes narrowing, you say to the tall figure in a dark, hooded cloak, in sirihish:

"You could call it that."

An inky wreath of tentacle-like shadows suddenly surrounds the mangy, scar-laced man.

Voice low and dark, you say to the tall figure in a dark, hooded cloak, in sirihish:

"So. Feck. Off."

The tall figure in a dark, hooded cloak blinks and steps back.

The area dims as you begin your summons.

You utter an incantation.

You glare ominously at the tall figure in a dark, hooded cloak, sending frightening images into his mind.

The tall figure in a dark, hooded cloak attempts to flee.

The tall figure in a dark, hooded cloak runs east.

The scene begins in the twisting alleyways of the ‘Rinth, where a rag-clad beggar has run afoul of a rather imposing elf…

The tall figure in a dark, hooded cloak looks down at you.

The mangy, scar-laced man gives his head a slight shake.

You look up at the tall figure in a dark,...

Continue Reading...
Politics Overheard by Marauder Moe
Added on Feb 25, 2007

An Oashi servant discretely listens to a conversation between Lord Hardestadt Oash and Lord Templar Kishime Fale. This is a great example of the sort of things Oash nobles tend to be involved in.

A Small Library [NE]
   The walls lining this room are filled with books and various other
artifacts that can be found around Zalanthas. Most of the books refer to
the geography and ecosystem of the harsh planet. A few of the other books,
as the titles seem to indicate, look at the various cultures of the
different cities that surround Allanak. The artifacts that are placed on
the shelves vary from pottery to small statues of unknown beings.
   Through the archway, a side antechamber can be seen to the north, while a
door blocks passage to the east.
A compact agafari couch with a high, outward-curving back lies here.
A rectangular table of polished baobab wood has been placed here.
A wooden wine-cask lies here, an azure sigil depicted on its lid.
The spidery, black-haired man is sitting on a blue and black, silk-covered couch.
A veteran mercenary is standing here at attention.
A veteran mercenary is standing here at attention.
The garish, turquoise-plaited templar has arrived from the north.

The garish, turquoise-plaited templar strolls into the library, hands clasped together at the small of his back.

The spidery, black-haired man looks up from his small, azure-bound book and smiles pleasantly towards the garish, turquoise-plaited templar as he spots him.

Clearly, you say to the spidery, black-haired man, in sirihish:
     "Lord Templar Kishime Fale has arrived, Lord Oash."

The goateed, orange-eyed man bows to the spidery, black-haired man.

The garish, turquoise-plaited templar looks down at the spidery, black-haired man with a kind smile and inclination of his head.

Nodding lightly, the spidery, black-haired man says to you, in sirihish:
     "Get the lord templar a glass of wine."

The goateed, orange-eyed man nods firmly and steps out of the library.

**He goes off and retrieves some food and wine**

Twisting the stem of his wineglass between two fingers as he speaks, the spidery, black-haired man says to the garish, turquoise-plaited templar, in sirihish:
     "I have heard about that, it seems that is exactly when meetings couldn't be arranged. But.... here we are."

With a bow, the goateed, orange-eyed man presents the tray and goblet to the garish, turquoise-plaited templar.

You give a small hardwood tray to the garish, turquoise-plaited templar.

You give a fine white alabaster goblet to the garish, turquoise-plaited templar.

Maintaining a formal posture as he relaxes on the couch and speaks with an easy smile, the garish, turquoise-plaited templar says to the spidery, black-haired man, in sirihish:
     "We've been intending to share drinks and conversation for years now, regardless... to say nothing of particular business."

The goateed, orange-eyed man steps towards a wall and stands there, hands clasped behind his back.

The garish, turquoise-plaited templar plucks a small piece of bread from the tray, then carefully deposits the dish on the table.

Smiling briefly, the spidery, black-haired man says to you, in sirihish:
     "You are dismissed Senior Advisor. Excellent work today. Leave the library so the Lord Templar and I can speak in private. Stay close for when he requires escort."
The garish, turquoise-plaited templar gets a slice of rich brown bread from a small hardwood tray.

The garish, turquoise-plaited templar puts a small hardwood tray on a rectangular, polished baobab table.

Bowing quickly, you say to the spidery, black-haired man, in sirihish:
     "Aye, M'Lord."

The garish, turquoise-plaited templar consumes the bread discreetly with dainty little bites.

The garish, turquoise-plaited templar eats a portion of a slice of rich brown bread.

north
Side Antechamber [NS]
   A large sandstone statue of Whira dominates the antechamber, its
likeness seemingly carefree and unpredictable. Several small spindly column
reach up toward the large domed ceiling, and an equal number of long azure
banners drape down to the floor. Many black marble benches are set up near
the walls, along with silken throw pillows to prevent them from looking so
bare.
   A large archway to the south leads into the library, and a very faint
sound of trickling water can be heard from the north.
An urn, made of deep red, sunbaked clay, sits here.

The goateed, orange-eyed man stands near a wall, hands clasped behind his back.

You start trying to listen.

[I've added the names of whom I believe is speaking]

[Hardestadt]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "I've been looking forward to it. As my understanding is, you are the model blue robe."

[Kishime]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "That is my understanding as well. And I am especially pleazzed when I can work with your esteemed House. Lord Lacretian is a fine friend."

[Hardestadt]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "Few can say that of the Azure Dragon."

[Hardestadt]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "Lord Lacretian is my mentor and my direct superior. I am aware of your relationship."

[Hardestadt]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "As he is aware of the one you and I have."

[Kishime]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "I do hope the matter you wish to discuss is nothing terribly unfortunate?"

[Hardestadt]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "Not at all..."

[Hardestadt]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "My push to build my wall grows momentum."

[Hardestadt]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "The only grave news involved are these magickers that are attacking people."

[Kishime]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "Yes. I take some time to better myself with intensive studies, and return to find such upsetting incidents."

[Hardestadt]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "I asked you here though, to speak about the future."

[Hardestadt?]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "The magicker matter is unfortunate, but predictable and I'm sure is being handled."

[Kishime]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "The future.   To be honest, of our generation, I see you and I having long and prosperous futures in the city. A good topic. Do go on."

[Hardestadt]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "You and I more so than most Lord Templar."

[Hardestadt?]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "Since I awoke this morning, I have already put in motion a plan to deal with one of the magickers within the next two weeks."

[Hardestadt]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "I've made a name for myself in this city, more than most manage to do. I'm probably the most dangerous noble alive next to my own uncle Lacretian."

[Kishime]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "Perhaps you are. I wouldn't know about all that. I'm not at all dangerous."

[Hardestadt]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "Nor are you sarcastic. We both know that both of us are fabulous dressers though. I think that clinches that."

[Kishime]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "There is no arguing that point. Quite right. And we both recognize the importance of keeping a tight leash on the tainted."

[Hardestadt]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "Lord Templar, I want us to be able to stop playing izdari. As our goals are similar enough that in unison, we can become unstoppable."

[Hardestadt]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "I can do things for you. That you may or may not have considered."

[Kishime]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "Agreed. It is so much more productive to speak frankly, anyhow."

[Kishime]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "What sort of things, Lord Oash?"

[Hardestadt]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "I have an intrinsic knowledge of the workings of this city, including much about your own order and the relationship with the noble houses. I am quite comfortable where I am. But... are you?"

[Hardestadt]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "Do I aspire to more? A red robe, perhaps?"

[Hardestadt]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "Rhetorical really, to assume you do not is to assume you are not worth the effort."

[Hardestadt]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "But I know you are."

[Kishime]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "Knowing is better than assuming."

[Hardestadt]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "Quite right, but in this case. I can say for sure that you do."

[Hardestadt]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "Absolutely. Now, we speak of the future, but there is also a great help you can be to me in the immediate... the matter I've been wishing to discuss."

[Hardestadt]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "Many can promise things, I can deliver. Including assistance with magickers. As I have a similar request."

**The servant misses part of the conversation**

[Hardestadt?]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "Please return the book to me when you finish it."

[Kishime???]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "Wallow in ignorance, barbarian."

[Hardestadt?]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "I'm sure you'll find something in there to spark the imagination."

[Kishime?]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "I am sure as well. Thank you for the literature. I look forward to hearing a fresh perspective."

[Hardestadt]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "You are aware of my keen interest in the elementalists quarter? And my seriousness, in this attack matter?"

[Kishime]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "Yes. I've only just heard my first report on this elven caster, shortly before I arrived here. I assume he is one of the attackers you refer to?"

[Hardestadt]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "There are a group of ungemmed, of moderate power... working as though organized. "

[Kishime]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "How many strong?"

[Hardestadt]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "Without a doubt, they are in the quarter. I don't know."

[Hardestadt]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "They are approaching other ungemmed they find, there is a spell."

[Hardestadt]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "They can see each other."

[Hardestadt]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "Threatening them."

[Kishime]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "What element fuels this spell?"

[Hardestadt]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "All elements appear to have access to it. It is fairly rare."

[Hardestadt]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "It is without a doubt, <censored magick words>."

[Hardestadt]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "I don't have a magicker that can do it."

[Kishime]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "Certainly. They must all be very wily and cautious... to never let any enchantments show in public."

[Hardestadt]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "So I can only guess."

[Hardestadt]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "If you licensed loyal magickers of power, you could harness that."

[Kishime]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "Whatever it is... if one of those without a gem has that spell upon their eyes, I could see them for what they are."

[Kishime?]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "But... it isn't traditional. So anyway..."

[Hardestadt]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "Aren't you glad I'm walling up the quarter?"

[Kishime]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "Regardless of how rare the enchantment, it cannot escape my detection. "

[Hardestadt]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "It's going to make your job a thousand times easier."

[Kishime?]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "Where do you suppose they'll turn for cover, then, though? The Labyrinth is the only avenue I'd see open to them."

[Kishime?]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "The labyrinth is a dangerous place, even for a powerful magicker. "

[Hardestadt]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "We have contacts there as well."

[Kishime]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "Does this group have a ringleader?"

[Hardestadt]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "I have no idea... I am trying to get information through my own magickers."

[Hardestadt]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "All I know is, they are there and they are dangerous."

[Kishime]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "Speaking of your magickers. I would like to make use of two mages from your staff."

[Hardestadt]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "My magickers have every reason to be as suspect as any, though I am certain this is not the case."

[Hardestadt]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "That depends on what it is for, I will assist how I can. But I keep them on a strict schedule."

[Hardestadt]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "This is less of a reflection on you as it is, my careful attention to my work. I cannot afford to lost any that I have right now."

[Kishime]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "Thardoth and Serenaus, to accompany me on a brief excursion. It will be a bloodless endeavor, likely lasting no more than a day, and they'll be quite secure."

[Hardestadt]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "Give me a little more and I may say yes, Thardoth is my personal advisor and his work on spell components is very important to me. Use Serenaus if you can find him at your whim. "

[Kishime]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "I have a wealth of resources of my own available to assist you. Name a way that I can return this favor, and perhaps we can call it even."

[Hardestadt]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "Very well..."

[Hardestadt]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "I want you to take a step into a new game. One where you take your coin from every house in the city, and tell them all you'll serve their best interests. One where House Oash actually makes it worth your while to serve..."

[Hardestadt]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "House Oash after the Highlord."

[Hardestadt]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "Trust in my ability to assist in your ascension. Trust that I have both of our best interests in mind."

[Kishime]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "Lord Hardestadt. Do you know... that is the game I already play? Lord Lacretian's support has always been something I treasure, and Oash has my support before any other."

[Hardestadt]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "Of course I know the way the city works, but trust is a funny thing. Especially among the most unstrustable of all. However, Lord Lacretian himself... made this request. So... I am glad to hear that you and the Azure Dragon see..."

[Hardestadt]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "...eye to eye..."

[Kishime]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "Your family must have quite the reputation, for try as I do, I seldom here rumblings of threats or enemies that would endanger Oash."

[Hardestadt]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "I find it important to keep the status quo. I do not make many enemies if I can manage it. I do lean on people now and again..."

[Hardestadt]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "Vedestian Terash is a good example."

[Hardestadt]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "The Atrium, doesn't suit us. We do not prefer the curriculum they teach servants."

[Kishime]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "Ahh... yes, the bastard manchild. I lean on him as well, if you would call forcing him to kneel in his silks and mop up vomit with a silken hanky... leaning on."

[Hardestadt]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "So recently, I spoke to Vedestian, and I told him... that if he likes that estate of his... he will begin offer us more control over how their operations work."

[Hardestadt?]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "I'll caution you, and let you act on this how you will... although you likely already know... the Lord Patriarch of House Borsial has a personal interest in seeing Vedestian prosper, and all the Terash holdings exist on the..."

**Another part of the conversation is missed**

You start trying to listen.

[Hardestadt]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "I feel exactly the same of its curriculum. And I will not send Elite there, nor have I ever."

[Hardestadt]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "I have never sent one there, or employed a... graduate. I have enough trouble with keen-eared intruders without bringing more in recklessly myself."

[Kishime]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "Precisely."

You sit down.

[Kishime]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "But what of the Academy? I've just had my top man finish a tour there."

The goateed, orange-eyed man sits on a black marble bench here.

[Hardestadt]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "The Byn teaches more than they do."

[Hardestadt]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "They have no idea what a warmage is..."

[Hardestadt]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "They understand martial combat... but not war."

[Hardestadt]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "Its ridiculous really."

[Hardestadt]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "They are supposed to be making officers, but what they teach cadets... I do not want my men following."

[Hardestadt]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "Well, they do serve their purpose. It's best not to rely on them to round out an officer, but to supplement your own training. There's no reason not to make use of the knowledge they do have. Just not to let it be all that..."

[Hardestadt]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "... goes into the soldier's head."

[Hardestadt]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "I suggest removing martial combat from that facility."

[Hardestadt]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "First..."

[Hardestadt]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "Then begin to teach things that we would find useful, when it is time to call them to battle."

[Hardestadt]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "Making sure there is enough food, and transportation problems... these things... are what kill armies."

[Hardestadt]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "Delanora Tor has no idea what a soldier is."

[Hardestadt]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "She spends most of her time, doing your job. Patrolling."

[Hardestadt]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "I could go on... but I won't."

[Hardestadt]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "I made my point, and it is late."

[Kishime]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "So it is. I am pleazzed to have had this conversation, finally."

[Kishime]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "Do you object, then, to my making use of Thardoth as well? There is no danger in this for either of them."

[Hardestadt]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "You may, and if you return with them... all of you unscathed... there will be a transfer made to you to show appreciation for the service you have rendered and what lies in store."

[Kishime]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "And they will have the honor of having served their God King in yet another way."

[Hardestadt]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "They are trained to do just that."

[Kishime]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "You're a man who appreciates curious manifestations of magickal energy... perhaps you'd like to see something..."

[Hardestadt]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "We'll talk again soon, I can show you and your men out now."

[Hardestadt]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "I am interested, I know more than most magickers do."

[Kishime]
You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
     "Let us step outside then."

The spidery, black-haired man has arrived from the south.
The garish, turquoise-plaited templar has arrived from the south.
The veteran mercenary has arrived from the south.
The veteran mercenary has arrived from the south.

The garish, turquoise-plaited templar looks down at you.
You stand up.

The spidery, black-haired man says to you, in sirihish:
     "Oh my... Tanos..."

The goateed, orange-eyed man quickly pushes up from the bench and bows.

The spidery, black-haired man says to you, in sirihish:
     "You're still here. What a good servant."

The spidery, black-haired man says to you, in sirihish:
     "Fall in..."

You now follow the spidery, black-haired man.

**The group makes their way to the Oash estate gardens**

The Gardens [NE]
   Closed in by the high alabaster walls, this garden seems to thrive here
in the city. Large vines creep along, making the entire area impassable
except for the path that avoids them. Carefully tended flowers and fruit
trees also dot the large garden.
The spidery, black-haired man is standing here.
The garish, turquoise-plaited templar has arrived from the north.
The veteran mercenary has arrived from the north.
The veteran mercenary has arrived from the north.

The spidery, black-haired man says to the garish, turquoise-plaited templar, in sirihish:
     "This is a good spot."

The garish, turquoise-plaited templar steps a few paces away from the others, standing in the center of a wide section on the sandstone path.

The goateed, orange-eyed man glances at the spidery, black-haired man before turning to look at the garish, turquoise-plaited templar.

The spidery, black-haired man watches the garish, turquoise-plaited templar in silence.

In a soft and reverent tone, the garish, turquoise-plaited templar says, in sirihish:
     "Almighty Dragon, your servants beseech you. Honor us by giving this union of minds your blessing."

The sun begins its long voyage across the heavens.
Jihae, the red moon, rises up into the sky.

Lifting his arms to either side like wings, the garish, turquoise-plaited templar says, in sirihish:
     "Give us an omen to show Your approval of this collaboration. I invoke Your righteous name."

The garish, turquoise-plaited templar calls out the name of the Highlord.

The garish, turquoise-plaited templar utters an incantation.
Flickering strands of flame flit about, dancing chaotically and vanishing.

The spidery, black-haired man knits his brow briefly, watching the display.

Worms of flame move away from the garish, turquoise-plaited templar, snaking through the air to swirl around the spidery, black-haired man before dissipating into the sky.

The spidery, black-haired man knits his brow, lowering his head reverently.

The goateed, orange-eyed man's eyes widen slightly.

In a soft tone, the garish, turquoise-plaited templar says, in sirihish:
     "We are guided by His hand, and we cannot fail. Walk in His shadow, noble Oash."

Quietly, the spidery, black-haired man says, in sirihish:
     "Thank you for this blessing Lord Templar, the Highlord truly does smile upon us both."

The spidery, black-haired man turns and shows the garish, turquoise-plaited templar towards the gates.

**Lord Templar Kishime is escorted out of the estate. Lord Hardestadt and Tanos return to the library**

A Small Library [NE]
   The walls lining this room are filled with books and various other
artifacts that can be found around Zalanthas. Most of the books refer to
the geography and ecosystem of the harsh planet. A few of the other books,
as the titles seem to indicate, look at the various cultures of the
different cities that surround Allanak. The artifacts that are placed on
the shelves vary from pottery to small statues of unknown beings.
   Through the archway, a side antechamber can be seen to the north, while a
door blocks passage to the east.
A compact agafari couch with a high, outward-curving back lies here.
A large couch of blue and black silk sits here.
A rectangular table of polished baobab wood has been placed here.
A wooden wine-cask lies here, an azure sigil depicted on its lid.
The spidery, black-haired man is standing here.
The veteran mercenary has arrived from the north.
The veteran mercenary has arrived from the north.

The spidery, black-haired man sits down on a blue and black, silk-covered couch.

The spidery, black-haired man says to you, in sirihish:
     "Apologies, I got caught up in that."

The spidery, black-haired man asks you, in sirihish:
     "I hope you at least spied and listened?"

Clearing his throat softly, you say to the spidery, black-haired man, in sirihish:
     "A few words may have drifted my way."

The spidery, black-haired man nods.

The spidery, black-haired man says to you, in sirihish:
     "That is why I like you."

Glancing towards the direction of the yard, the spidery, black-haired man says to you, in sirihish:
     "That was... odd."

You ask the spidery, black-haired man, in sirihish:
     "Was there more to that than could be seen, M'Lord?"

The spidery, black-haired man says to you, in sirihish:
     "I don't know, I felt it for a moment... I thought. "

The spidery, black-haired man says to you, in sirihish:
     "It was hard to tell."

The goateed, orange-eyed man nods.

The spidery, black-haired man says to you, in sirihish:
     "It was a good sign, regardless."

The spidery, black-haired man asks you, in sirihish:
     "Do you think we have him? Or is he still playing izdari?"

After a thoughtful pause, you say to the spidery, black-haired man, in sirihish:
     "I'm not entirely certain."

You ask the spidery, black-haired man, in sirihish:
     "But you would not want him if his loyalty was so easily won, right M'Lord?"

The spidery, black-haired man nods lightly.

The spidery, black-haired man says to you, in sirihish:
     "I am more experienced at this, he shouldn't stand a chance."

The spidery, black-haired man says to you, in sirihish:
     "Again... apologies for that wait. But that is one job we needed to get on."

The spidery, black-haired man says to you, in sirihish:
     "Oh... I almost forgot."

The goateed, orange-eyed man nods.

The spidery, black-haired man says to you, in sirihish:
     "Get the Byn back out on patrols."

Nodding, you say to the spidery, black-haired man, in sirihish:
     "I already have."

The spidery, black-haired man says to you, in sirihish:
     "Good tell me about it next meeting, get some sleep."

The spidery, black-haired man says, in sirihish:
     "Or go get a woman... whatever it is you do when you're away."

You say to the spidery, black-haired man, in sirihish:
     "Aye, M'Lord."

The spidery, black-haired man nods.

**Tanos heads back to his house in the commoner's quarter**

A Small Library [NE]

   The walls lining this room are filled with books and various other

artifacts that can be found around Zalanthas. Most of the books refer to

the geography and ecosystem of the harsh planet. A few of the other books,

as the titles seem to indicate, look at the various...
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Original Submissions of type 'Logs'

The Fortune Teller by Tarimad Added on Apr 15, 2008

Dragon Killer by Tisiphone Added on Jan 18, 2008

A bad day to be a foreigner in the rinth by Ghost Added on Dec 31, 2007

Not House Chaos by Laurajlmars Added on Dec 17, 2007

Can I Have Yer Money? by Marauder Moe Added on Sep 21, 2007

Kurac takes it to the Tooth (prequel to A Bardic Prankster Takes on Kurac) by Tarx Added on Sep 6, 2007

Not a Crimbimbal by Grey Area Added on Aug 30, 2007

A Burial at Sea by manonfire Added on Aug 2, 2007

Grudge Match by Laurajlmars Added on Jul 22, 2007

A Bardish Prankster Takes on Kurac by Ourla Added on Jun 24, 2007

Playing in the Silt by Rufus Added on Jun 24, 2007

Byn Days by Rhyden Added on May 16, 2007

Communion by Marauder Moe Added on May 12, 2007

The Case of the "Drove" Beetles by Manhattan Added on May 5, 2007

Lunette Sees Again by Laurajlmars Added on May 5, 2007

Mercenaries by FiveDisgruntledMonkeysWit Added on May 1, 2007

Mama Red's Lesson by HaiWolfe Added on Apr 5, 2007

Death of Lieutenant Falka by Morfeus Added on Apr 4, 2007

Savvyn Gets Worked by James de Monet Added on Mar 23, 2007

The Criminal, part VI: "Kill me, or let me go." by Ghost Added on Mar 23, 2007

The Criminal, part V: Questionable Safety by Ghost Added on Mar 23, 2007

The Criminal, part IV: Foreign Sanctuary by Ghost Added on Mar 23, 2007

Helmet Repair by FiveDisgruntledMonkeysWit Added on Mar 22, 2007

"You could call it that..." by FiveDisgruntledMonkeysWit Added on Mar 22, 2007

Politics Overheard by Marauder Moe Added on Feb 25, 2007

The Fortune Teller by Tarimad
Added on Apr 15, 2008

Dragon Killer by Tisiphone
Added on Jan 18, 2008

A bad day to be a foreigner in the rinth by Ghost
Added on Dec 31, 2007

Not House Chaos by Laurajlmars
Added on Dec 17, 2007

Can I Have Yer Money? by Marauder Moe
Added on Sep 21, 2007

Kurac takes it to the Tooth (prequel to A Bardic Prankster Takes on Kurac) by Tarx
Added on Sep 6, 2007

Not a Crimbimbal by Grey Area
Added on Aug 30, 2007

A Burial at Sea by manonfire
Added on Aug 2, 2007

Grudge Match by Laurajlmars
Added on Jul 22, 2007

A Bardish Prankster Takes on Kurac by Ourla
Added on Jun 24, 2007

Playing in the Silt by Rufus
Added on Jun 24, 2007

Byn Days by Rhyden
Added on May 16, 2007

Communion by Marauder Moe
Added on May 12, 2007

The Case of the "Drove" Beetles by Manhattan
Added on May 5, 2007

Lunette Sees Again by Laurajlmars
Added on May 5, 2007

Mercenaries by FiveDisgruntledMonkeysWit
Added on May 1, 2007

Mama Red's Lesson by HaiWolfe
Added on Apr 5, 2007

Death of Lieutenant Falka by Morfeus
Added on Apr 4, 2007

Savvyn Gets Worked by James de Monet
Added on Mar 23, 2007

The Criminal, part VI: "Kill me, or let me go." by Ghost
Added on Mar 23, 2007

The Criminal, part V: Questionable Safety by Ghost
Added on Mar 23, 2007

The Criminal, part IV: Foreign Sanctuary by Ghost
Added on Mar 23, 2007

Helmet Repair by FiveDisgruntledMonkeysWit
Added on Mar 22, 2007

"You could call it that..." by FiveDisgruntledMonkeysWit
Added on Mar 22, 2007

Politics Overheard by Marauder Moe
Added on Feb 25, 2007