Original Submissions of type 'Logs'
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The Criminal, part III: "I am sorry old friend." by Ghost
Added on Feb 7, 2007Leaving Rocker in the dungeons, Serpent is sent out to finish Haadith. To save his man from the prison, he had to give up on the old friend
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Submitter's note:
This is the final part of the story of the fall of Templar Haadith Oash of Allanak. Here, in the final part, you will see how the story ends.
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.
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* Leaving Rocker in the jails, Serpent heads to the alleys in search of Haadith. The sanctuary
* he provided, would also be the place where he could find his old friend.
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A Cluttered Office [WD]
This tiny square chamber is unfurnished save for a battered desk
behind with a few crates serving as seating behind it. The room has no
visible exits, save back to the bar and contains no windows. Dust clings
heavy in the air and there is a smell of decay and rot about the place that
has likely been present for centuries. The stone walls are stacked with
battered crates, all arranged in a haphazard fashion and tilting madly in
several different directions.
A pink-flowered plant is rooted here, its leaves exuding a sharp scent.
A gwoshi carved wooden chest sits here.
A couple of open shelved cabinets are here.
A large wooden crate is here, stacked neatly in the corner.
A rough hide sleeping mat lies on the floor here.
The short, scar-faced man is sitting at a long, low and cracked clay table.
The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak is sitting at a long, low and cracked clay table.
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man walks over a long, low and cracked clay table, setting over a crate.
The short, scar-faced man gets a large bag from a bone-studded backpack.
You sit at a long, low and cracked clay table.
Rummaging around his large bag, the short, scar-faced man sits at a long, low and cracked clay
table.
Slim of build and soft of feature, this man's unscathed pale skin
wraps
itself delicately around high, well-born features. Boyishly smooth, his
face is comely in Zalanthan terms, neither overly obese nor malnourished,
but is rounded in way that would indicate he was clearly well fed but has
avoided the pitfalls of gluttony. His set of piercing jade eyes, are framed
by thick, black lashes and he most notably seems almost with out trace of
scar or line of age. His long, ebony hair, is well lathered with sweet
scented oils and has been brushed straight to luxurious shine then twisted
into a soft braid and is often tossed delicately behind his shoulder.
The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak is in excellent condition.
The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak is using:
<worn on face> a thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap
<worn across back> a bone-studded backpack
<primary hand> a sharp, well-balanced bone halfsword
<worn around body> a dusty dark, hooded cloak
<worn on legs> a pair of patched sandcloth pants
<worn on feet> a dusty pair of black, soft leather boots
The short, scar-faced man takes his blue silk sash out of his large bag, eyeing at the short figure
in a dusty dark, hooded cloak.
The short, scar-faced man holds a blue silk sash.
At your table, the short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak says in southern-accented sirihish:
"So..."
The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak looks at the short, scar-faced man.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the gargantuan, battle-scarred mul with the Way.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the gargantuan, battle-scarred mul:
"Hork.. With me?"
The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak eyes the short, scar-faced man's sash for a moment,
before flickering his gaze to you.
The short, scar-faced man looks at you awaiting.
Easily, but with some hestiation, the short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak says to you, in
southern-accented sirihish:
"We need to talk."
You send a telepathic message to the gargantuan, battle-scarred mul:
"In case Haadith comes out of the office, don't let him out."
You dissolve the psychic link.
At your table, you say in sirihish, to the short figure in a dusty
dark, hooded cloak:
"Yes. We need."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"about the lessons I guess."
The short, scar-faced man puts a blue silk sash inside a large bag.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the short, scar-faced man with the Way.
The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak places his hands on the table, and pushes to his
feet slowly.
The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak stands up from a long, low and cracked clay table.
The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Alone..."
The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak turns his gaze to the short, scar-faced man.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the short, scar-faced man:
"After I nod, count to three in yourself, and then hold the door."
At your table, the short, scar-faced man says in sirihish, resting his palms at a long, low and
cracked clay table:
"Shall I take my leave, Chief?"
You dissolve the psychic link.
Gesturing at the empty seat, you say to the short figure in a
dusty dark, hooded cloak, in sirihish:
"Take a seat, we can send this one out."
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak pauses near the door, turning to you.
The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
"I am napping for a small bit.. it's been too much this week.. life has.."
The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak sits at a long, low and cracked clay table.
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
Nodding to you, the short, scar-faced man stands up from a long, low and cracked clay table.
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:
"Watch me.. When you see me rising to my feet, hold the door."
You dissolve the psychic link.
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
You say to the short, scar-faced man, in sirihish:
"That thing looks nice."
The *censored* Magicker sends you a telepathic message:
"Boss you know any way of getting this gem off my neck without killing me?"
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
Before heading for the door, with a nod, the short, scar-faced man asks you, in sirihish:
"Yes, indeed. I guess, I'll give it after your talk with him. Hmm?"
Wetting his lips, you ask the short, scar-faced man, in sirihish:
"Well.. You saw Rocker?"
You are using:
<worn in hair> a thin leather headband
<worn around neck> a soft, grey-veined black neckband
<worn across back> a bone-studded backpack
<secondary hand> a translucent, crystalline longknife
<worn as belt> a finely-crafted pouched belt
<worn around body> a black skull-studded greatcloak
<worn about waist> a thin pouched belt
<worn on legs> a set of soft, grey-veined black leg-wraps
<worn on feet> a pair of soft, grey-veined black boots
At your table, the short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak says in southern-accented sirihish,
turning to the short, scar-faced man:
"Where did you get it?"
Turning back, when he reaches the door, with a shake of his head, the short, scar-faced man says to
you, in sirihish:
"No. I don't know what he's up to."
Mercy on.
The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak raps his fingers nervously over a long, low and
cracked clay table, eyes flickering rapidly between the short, scar-faced man and you.
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man's eyes flickers back to the short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak.
At your table, you say in sirihish, turning to the short figure in
a dusty dark, hooded cloak:
"I am sorry old friend.. But things are turning bad. You are aware of it?"
You stand up from a long, low and cracked clay table.
You reach down and draw a razor-sharp, hawk-etched halfsword out of your boot.
You brandish the halfsword.
You begin moving silently toward your victim.
The short, scar-faced man begins guarding the west exit.
The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak groans loudly as you thrust your halfsword up between
his ribs.
The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak's eyes roll back in his head.
A sharp, well-balanced bone halfsword clatters to the ground as the short figure in a dusty dark,
hooded cloak releases it.
The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak crumples to the ground.
The short, scar-faced man draws an obsidian dagger.
The short, scar-faced man draws an obsidian dagger.
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man shakes his head, crouching near the short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak.
The short, scar-faced man looks down at the short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak standing at
his position near door.
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man touches to the short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak's neck, biting his lower lip.
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man quietly whispers under his breath, shaking his head.
You wound the short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak on his
back with a brutal stab.
Eyeing at the body of the soft-featured, black-haired man, with a grin, the short, scar-faced man
says to you, in sirihish:
"Clean job, Boss! "
Exhaling a soft sigh, you sit at a long, low and cracked clay
table.
You think:
"Could not learn to read and write fully."
The short, scar-faced man sheathes an obsidian dagger.
The short, scar-faced man sheathes an obsidian dagger.
The short, scar-faced man stops guarding the west exit.
The short, scar-faced man walks back toward a long, low and cracked clay table, stopping just to get
a sharp, well-balanced bone halfsword.
The short, scar-faced man picks up a sharp, well-balanced bone halfsword.
The short, scar-faced man puts a sharp, well-balanced bone halfsword on a long, low and cracked clay
table.
At your table, the short, scar-faced man says in sirihish, spitting on the body of the
soft-featured, black-haired man:
"So, what now?"
At your table, you say in sirihish, exhaling a soft breath:
"Nothing. I will get Rocker out of the Jail."
You stand up from a long, low and cracked clay table.
At a long, low and cracked clay table, you overhear the short, scar-faced man say in sirihish,
frowning:
"Is he in the jail?"
You nod to him.
Standing from a long, low and cracked clay table, the short, scar-faced man asks you, in sirihish:
"What do you want me to do with the body?"
You say to the short, scar-faced man, in sirihish:
"I will take off the head, and you drag the body.. To out.. I don't know."
Nodding, the short, scar-faced man says to you, in sirihish:
"Alright, it'll be done, before you're back with Rocker."
You say to the short, scar-faced man, in sirihish:
"There is the carpet in the cabinet.. Clean it in the southside.. To the Globulu..Whatever the
fuck's name."
The short, scar-faced man looks up at you lifting his gaze from the body of the soft-featured,
black-haired man, then nods.
You get a small pack from an open shelved cabinet.
It is very light, and empty.
You put a small pack inside an open shelved cabinet.
Gazing to an open shelved cabinet, the short, scar-faced man exclaims to you, in sirihish:
"Alright, Chief!"
You get a hooked knife from a gwoshi-hide knapsack.
It is very light.
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man kneels down next to the body of the soft-featured, black-haired man.
You brandish the knife.
You behead the body of the soft-featured, black-haired man.
A Cluttered Office [WD]
This tiny square chamber is unfurnished save for a battered desk
behind with a few crates serving as seating behind it. The room has no
visible exits, save back to the bar and contains no windows. Dust clings
heavy in the air and there is a smell of decay and rot about the place that
has likely been present for centuries. The stone walls are stacked with
battered crates, all arranged in a haphazard fashion and tilting madly in
several different directions.
The head of the soft-featured, black-haired man lies here.
The headless body of the soft-featured, black-haired man lies crumpled here.
A pink-flowered plant is rooted here, its leaves exuding a sharp scent.
A gwoshi carved wooden chest sits here.
A couple of open shelved cabinets are here.
A large wooden crate is here, stacked neatly in the corner.
A rough hide sleeping mat lies on the floor here.
The short, scar-faced man is sitting at a long, low and cracked clay table.
You pick up the head of the soft-featured, black-haired man.
It is very light, and empty.
You put the head of the soft-featured, black-haired man inside a
small pack.
You sit at a long, low and cracked clay table.
The short, scar-faced man stands by the headless body of the soft-featured, black-haired man, watching you in silence.
Glancing at the headless body of the soft-featured, black-haired man, you say to the short,
scar-faced man, in sirihish:
"You can take him out."
contact malenthis
You suffer from use of the Way.
You are unable to reach their mind.
The short, scar-faced man dips a nod to you, and kneels by the headless body of the soft-featured,
black-haired man.
The short, scar-faced man strains as he lifts the headless body of the soft-featured, black-haired
man.
The headless body of the soft-featured, black-haired man half rises from the ground.
The short, scar-faced man opens the door.
You say to the short, scar-faced man, in sirihish:
"And the sash.. Leave it in the chest if you want."
Holding the headless body of the soft-featured, black-haired man at the ankles, nodding, the short,
scar-faced man exclaims to you, in sirihish:
"I'll do it, when I'm done with this, Chief!"
The short, scar-faced man stands up from a long, low and cracked clay table.
The short, scar-faced man stealthily moves west, dragging the headless body of the soft-featured,
black-haired man behind him.
The short, scar-faced man closes the door from the other side.
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man rubs his forehead.
Your new objective is:
Delivering Haadith's head.
The short, scar-faced man opens the door from the other side.
The short, scar-faced man has arrived from the west.
The short, scar-faced man closes the door.
The short, scar-faced man walks over to a long, low and cracked clay table, checking the pockets of
his dusty dark, hooded cloak.
You send this message to the staff:
"Alright. For the sake of saving someone from boredom, there is someone in the jails, put
there till I deliver someone's head to the templarate. The pc templar said giving other templars
will work. Now both the templar and the prisoner..."
You send this message to the staff:
"Is there a chance I deliver the head to an NPC templar, explain the situation, and the PC is
taken off? For his playability issue, just for that. The prisoner and the templar PC. Both are logged off.Or do we have to wait for them both?"
The short, scar-faced man sits at a long, low and cracked clay table.
At your table, the short, scar-faced man says in sirihish, eyeing his blue silk sash in his hands,
with a broad grin:
"Maybe you might want to have a closer look on them, hmm?"
You say to the short, scar-faced man, in sirihish:
"Not now. I will go and get Rocker out."
You stand up from a long, low and cracked clay table.
Wiping his nose, you say to the short, scar-faced man, in sirihish:
"I will go and get him out."
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 multi-ringed dartboard hangs on a wall here.
A message board is propped up against a wall.
The lanky, dreadlocked man, is hanging out here lazily against the wall.
The muscular, hatchet-faced man stands here by the door.
The long-haired, scar faced man stands by the bar, arms over his chest.
The very short and thick male wearing a grey shaded, black face-wrap is standing here.
The thick-set, sideburned bartender is here cleaning out mugs with a rag.
Brown drops slowly fall from the edge of a cask behind the bar, forming slowly from some unseen
leak.
A staff member sends:
"We'll watch the situation, but probably better if both are on. If he is stuck in there a long
time we'll release him."
You send this message to the staff:
"Hmm.. I will deliver the head to an NPC templar then. And tell him the situation. I plan to
log out soon. And will email the time he got in the jail, and the delivery time. The rest is up to
you and them I guess."
A staff member sends:
"That's great. Can you please email a log of the delivery to naiona@ginka.armageddon.org,
halaster@ginka.armageddon.org and the mud?"
You send this message to the staff:
"Of course. I will cc to my clan imms as well."
A staff member sends:
"Thanks!"
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
The barrel-chested, dark-curled man sends you a telepathic message:
"Serpent. Interested in yet another bounty on a foolish sharp-ear?"
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the barrel-chested, dark-curled man with the Way.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the barrel-chested, dark-curled man:
"*Exhaustion* Sure.. Sure my Lord. There are lots of bounties these days. just on my way
delivering another head now. Who is the target?"
You hear a man's voice from the west say, in sirihish:
"Please, please, have pity on me."
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* Exhausted, Serpent walked back once more into the crowds of people. This time carrying
* the bag, that would set his man free from the dungeons, to end the hunt on his organisation.
* Meanwhile, his mind was still searched with other business offers.
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The barrel-chested, dark-curled man sends you a telepathic message:
"You know of an elf who calls himself Scar? He dresses like he's from the alleys. He has
yellowed eyes that are dull and lackluster, vacant?"
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the barrel-chested, dark-curled man with the Way.
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
The short, scar-eyed man sends you a telepathic message:
"Serpent. Do you have my head?"
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the barrel-chested, dark-curled man:
"Name I heard.. Also heard of the yellow eyed elf.. But never saw him myself. I will see what I
can dig up my Lord."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the short, scar-eyed man with the Way.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the short, scar-eyed man:
"Am I in my good day today? I was just on my way. Where do you want it?"
You dissolve the psychic link.
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
The short, scar-eyed man sends you a telepathic message:
"The gates of the Templars Quarters will be fine."
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
The barrel-chested, dark-curled man sends you a telepathic message:
"Oh. And I've the feeling he may decide to watch me, from time to time. Just another place to
check for him."
Silently, the pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man makes his way out
of the crowds.
The short, scar-eyed templar looks up at you.
The short, scar-eyed templar lowers the hood of a blue, hooded templar's robe.
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man holds your small pack out,
giving a rough shake to it.
Extending your small pack to the short, scar-eyed templar, you say
to the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Here is what you want."
The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
"Think there's an elf .. by the name of Scar trailing me, weapons out.. he's roaming around, I
know."
You give a small pack to the short, scar-eyed templar.
The short, scar-eyed templar gives a small pack to the half-giant soldier.
You now follow the short, scar-eyed templar.
The short, scar-eyed templar gives the half-giant soldier an order.
The half-giant soldier gives a small pack to the short, scar-eyed templar.
The short, scar-eyed templar peers into his small pack, smiling thinly.
The short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Excellent work, Serpent."
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man exhales a soft breath.
You say to the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Anytime, my Lord."
The short, scar-eyed templar gets the head of the soft-featured, black-haired man from a small
pack.
The short, scar-eyed templar puts the head of the soft-featured, black-haired man inside a small
pack.
The short, scar-eyed templar gets the head of the soft-featured, black-haired man from a small
pack.
The short, scar-eyed templar frowns, holding up his head of the soft-featured, black-haired man.
To his head of the soft-featured, black-haired man, holding it up by its hair, the short, scar-eyed
templar says, in southern-accented sirihish:
"You were always an idiot, Haadith."
The short, scar-eyed templar puts the head of the soft-featured, black-haired man inside a small
pack.
Lightly, the short, scar-eyed templar exclaims, in southern-accented sirihish:
"In you go!"
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man watches the short, scar-eyed
templar silently.
The short, scar-eyed templar closes a small pack.
A human soldier sends up a call to the wall to close the gates.
A human soldier closes the gate.
The short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Come...I'll give you what we agreed upon, and end this useless antipathy between us."
The short, scar-eyed templar walks north.
A human Allanaki soldier walks north.
The half-giant soldier walks north.
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man shuffles throught he crowds, following after a faint shape.
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* Quickly, in the escort of two soldiers, the templar and Serpent walk to the bazaar, and to the Nenyuki bank
----------------------------------------------
You follow a faint shape, and walk east.
House Nenyuk Bank [W]
This large mud brick building is lit with irrig lamps, a pale greenish
light fighting back the darkness seeping in through the doorway. A few
scribes sit towards the back of the room, making notation after notation in
fine, spidery handwriting, totting up the series of debits and credits
making up the finances of House Nenyuk. Behind the scribes, rows and rows
of locked wooden boxes are stacked in haphazard order. Near the door sits
the main clerk, flanked by guards, the desk in front of him littered with
transaction slips written on agafari paper.
The short, scar-eyed templar is standing here.
A heavy-set House Nenyuk banker sits behind a desk.
A tall, ash-haired guard watches her surroundings intently.
A human Allanaki soldier has arrived from the west.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the west.
Thoughtfully, as he makes his way to the Nenyuki banker, the short, scar-eyed templar asks you, in
southern-accented sirihish:
"So....how did the killing go?"
Looking at the desk idly, you say to the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Just one hit.. And he hit to the ground."
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man rubs his temple, knitting his brows.
The short, scar-eyed templar gives you 13000 coins.
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man lifts the bag, testing its weight.
You say to the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Looks heavier than I thought."
Nodding, the Nenyuki banker tells you, 'Thanks for your business.'
Smiling briefly, the short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"It is. I want you to understand that I hold no grudge."
You hear a man's voice shout from the west in southern-accented sirihish:
"Imported materials! Rare items!"
The short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"We can work together...or against each other. One way is profitable for us both...the other,
we simply end up killing one another."
With bow of his head, you say to the short, scar-eyed templar, in
sirihish:
"And I want you to know, that I apreciate your intelligence."
The short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Before the end of the day...hopefully the hour...any hunt against your people will be
ceased."
The short, scar-eyed templar nods at you.
You ask the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"And when will Rocker return where he is supposed to be?"
The short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"I'll see that he's immediately released...and can get you your lost items back, if you wish."
You say to the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"It would be very good indeed my Lord, if you would be that kind. I rather like my blades, if
you don't mind."
You hear a man's voice shout from the west in southern-accented sirihish:
"No blades can pierce these armors!"
The short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Rocker may have been transferred to another cell...so it may take a bit to release him, but he
should be out safe and sound."
The short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"I never got to torturing him...I'm fairly certain nobody else has, either."
Nodding, you say to the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"So he truly was a guest then.. I see."
Nodding to you, the short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"I need to go by the Quarter, and get this taken care of. I'll find your mind when I'm going to
go by the jails to pick up your weapons."
You say to the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Thank you My Lord. It has been a good week.. For forming such an allience."
With a thin smile, the short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Indeed, it has."
You hear a man's voice shout from the west in southern-accented sirihish:
"Imported materials! Rare items!"
You are no longer following anyone.
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man steps aside from the doorway, peering outside.
The short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Walk in His shadow, Serpent. You've done a great job. "
The short, scar-eyed templar walks west.
A human Allanaki soldier walks west.
The half-giant soldier walks west.
---------------------------------------------------
* Thus ended the story of Serpent's old friend, Lord Haadith Oash of the Blue. The effects of his
* final actions echoed for quite sometime even after his death. Meanwhile, Serpent found a new
* allience in the templarate. Due to some unfortunate events following afterwards, however, it did
* not grow strong. But in the end, little turn out as expected in Zalanthas.
---------------------------------------------------
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Submitter's note:
This is the final part of the story of the fall of Templar Haadith Oash
of Allanak. Here, in the final part, you will see how the story
ends.
I have edited the...
Continue Reading...Brawl at the Post by Delirium
Added on Feb 6, 2007Tempers flare at the Storms End erupting into entertainment for all.
Note: This log shows the use of the 'brawl' code in a RP'd scene. Warning - violence and strong language may offend some people.
[From the viewpoint of the slight, desert-hued half-elf]
The Storm's End Tavern [NESWU]
This building evidences the same architectural principles as the inner
wall and gate towers, but to a much lesser degree. Its horns and spiked
flanges have either been worn with time or were designed to a more subtle
appearance. Inside, veins of obsidian run along the ceiling and walls,
generating the impression of a cold, stony skin, black-blooded and evil.
A massive wooden bar, stained to a deep grey and lacquered to a mirror
shine, dominates the eastern half of the room. An image of an eclipsed
sun, the paint vivid and fresh, blazes along the front of the bar, the rays
reaching the full length of it. The walls appear to have been scrubbed
till they shine with the deep malevolence only limitless black can hold.
A stone stairway curls around itself, spiraling up through the veined
ceiling. To the north, an impressive archway leads the way to a
laughter-filled spice den.The stout, one-eyed man is sitting at a long, carved wooden bar.
The inked, scar-skinned half-elf is standing here.
The sanguine-mohawked half-elf is sitting at a rounded agafari table.
The tiny, brown-skinned dwarf is sitting at a long, carved wooden bar.
The tall, pierced woman is sitting at a long, carved wooden bar.
The ivory-maned, pallid-toned woman leans against the bar, surveying the
room.
The stocky, clean-shaven man is sitting at a long, carved wooden bar.
The darkly tanned innkeeper stands here, wiping his hands on his apron.
The muscular, blue-eyed man stands quietly beside the bar here.
A burly half-giant soldier with a flat nose stands hunched here.
Pushing against the bar with her sueded palm, the slight, desert-hued
half-elf studies the tavern.
The inked, scar-skinned half-elf makes his way over to the darkly
tanned innkeeper, with a deep nod to the stocky, clean-shaven man as
he approaches a long, carved wooden bar.
The tall, pierced woman asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"What do ya think halfie? Ya like 'em young and clumsy, or old
and experienced?"
The inked, scar-skinned half-elf gets a pile of allanaki coins from a
thin pouched belt.
A thin trail of odorless smoke trickles from the stocky, clean-shaven
man's mouth as he smokes a naked harlot spice pipe.
The stocky, clean-shaven man's expression becomes lighter.
The stout, one-eyed man snickers, shaking his head.
Very, very softly, curling a spiked hand firmly to her shoulder, you
say to the tall, pierced woman, in sirihish:
"I think I told you not to call me halfie."
You say to the tall, pierced woman, in sirihish:
"An' if you bring up that topic to me again.."
The inked, scar-skinned half-elf speaks to the darkly tanned innkeeper
for a moment, with a glance to you and a firm grip on his serrated
spike-hilted longknife.
The tiny, brown-skinned dwarf's tongue flicks across his lips as he
straightens slightly in his seat.
The tall, pierced woman looks up at you.
You feel barely restrained, sparked-off rage.
The darkly tanned innkeeper trades a glass flagon to the inked,
scar-skinned half-elf.
The darkly tanned innkeeper trades a glass flagon to the inked,
scar-skinned half-elf.
Her dark face tight with rage, the slight, desert-hued half-elf
appears to stop herself, words bitten back.
Putting her hand on your hand, the tall, pierced woman says to you, in
southern-accented sirihish:
"I think you're a little confused."
The sanguine-mohawked half-elf rests her dull gaze briefly on a long,
carved wooden bar.
Snarling briefly, the slight, desert-hued half-elf snatches her hand
from the tall, pierced woman's touch.
You stalk up to the tall, pierced woman and reach down, grabbing for
her.
You grab the tall, pierced woman's shoulder roughly.
Through her teeth, you say to the tall, pierced woman, in sirihish:
"I don't LIKE you."
Making his way back to a rounded agafari table, the inked,
scar-skinned half-elf keeps an eye on a long, carved wooden bar.
The tall, pierced woman says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Well I -love- you."
The stout, one-eyed man peers over at the commotion.
Sitting on a seat, the inked, scar-skinned half-elf sits at a rounded
agafari table.
The sanguine-mohawked half-elf plants her hand on a rounded agafari
table, barely shifting her weight to her feet.
The stout, one-eyed man chuckles roughly.
With a firm nod, the inked, scar-skinned half-elf gives his glass
flagon to the sanguine-mohawked half-elf.
Her jaw muscles tense and voice even, shaking with restrained rage,
you say to the tall, pierced woman, in sirihish:
"You have no idea how stupid that was of you."
At a long, carved wooden bar, you overhear the tiny, brown-skinned
dwarf say in mirukkim, to himself:
"Not goilg to ninm rdih I'm ajjir hime."
You say, in sirihish:
"I'm going to pretend you never said it."
At a rounded agafari table, you overhear the inked, scar-skinned
half-elf say in sirihish:
"Weakes' stuff we go here."
The sanguine-mohawked half-elf tears her gaze from a long, carved
wooden bar, tentatively reaching for her glass flagon with her bony
fingers.
The stocky, clean-shaven man looks between the tall, pierced woman and
you, letting his naked harlot spice pipe hang out the corner of his
mouth.
Pushing your hand off her shoulder again, the tall, pierced woman says
to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Ya see, what ya told me is that ya weren't gonna help save me
from some assrape if I called ya halfie again."
Releasing her grip on the tall, pierced woman's shoulder, slowly, the
slight, desert-hued half-elf slides a step back.
The tall, pierced woman says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"I appreciate the thought, but I'm perfectly capable of savin'
myself."
The stout, one-eyed man arches a high brow.
You feel difficulty restraining her set-off emotions, memories of
Pendeh and intense emotional pain roaring through her.
The sanguine-mohawked half-elf turns her eyes helplessly back to a
long, carved wooden bar, her expression held close and tight.
With a broad smile, the tall, pierced woman asks you, in
southern-accented sirihish:
"So why don't ya just keep on not savin' me from the molesters,
and I'll keep on sayin' whatever I damn please, alright?"
The darkly tanned innkeeper scratches his jaw, leaning one elbow down
on the bar as he watches you and the tall, pierced woman.
The slight, desert-hued half-elf closes one hand into a spiky fist
and lifts it to her forehead, taking a long, deep breath.
At a rounded agafari table, you overhear the sanguine-mohawked
half-elf say in sirihish, murmuring scratchily aside to the inked,
scar-skinned half-elf:
"This happen a lot?"
Her voice tremoring with held-back rage, you say to the tall, pierced
woman, in sirihish:
"You keep runnin' that mouth, sugar."
The inked, scar-skinned half-elf shakes his head, then takes a sip
from his glass flagon.
The inked, scar-skinned half-elf sips from his glass flagon.
Under his breath, the darkly tanned innkeeper says, in sirihish:
"Wouldn't risk it meself."
You think:
"Swear t'fuck.. I -try- to behave.."
The tall, pierced woman asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"And ya keep strokin' that chip on your shoulder.Ya might want
ta just ease it off, eh?Eh?"
At a long, carved wooden bar, you overhear the stout, one-eyed man say
in sirihish:
"That's some shit if I've ever seen it."
At a long, carved wooden bar, you overhear the stocky, clean-shaven
man say in northern-accented sirihish, looking down at his naked
harlot spice pipe:
"I got one puff of this left. One of you needs it."
You think:
"Some fucking cunt comes along.."
The sanguine-mohawked half-elf lifts her glass flagon cautiously to
her parched lips.
The sanguine-mohawked half-elf sips from her glass flagon.
The darkly tanned innkeeper whistles, shaking his head slightly.
Muffling a scream of rage in the back of her throat, the slight,
desert-hued half-elf jerks her fist back as if to strike, nostrils
flaring as she hangs it there.
At a long, carved wooden bar, you overhear the stout, one-eyed man say
in sirihish:
"Hey Sid... know when you've gone too far."
The ivory-maned, pallid-toned woman walks north.
The tall, pierced woman inclines her head, her smile vanishing.
The tall, pierced woman stands up from a long, carved wooden bar.
Unflexing her hand and pointing at the tall, pierced woman, you say
to the stocky, clean-shaven man, in sirihish:
"That... CUNT.. better not say another.. word to me."
Staring at you, the tall, pierced woman says to you, in
southern-accented sirihish:
"Look here, look here."
The tall, pierced woman takes a step closer to you.
The stout, one-eyed man shakes his head.
The sanguine-mohawked half-elf merely watches the tall, pierced woman
from beneath the shadowy brim of her dusty wide-rimmed leather hat.
The tall, pierced woman says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"I'm sorry."
At a long, carved wooden bar, you overhear the stout, one-eyed man say
in sirihish:
"She's done."
You grab a rough clay mug of ale and hurl it at the tall, pierced
woman's
head.
Clay shatters as the mug breaks into pieces on impact. Nice shot!
Roaring as she pounces for the tall, pierced woman, you shout in
sirihish:
"SORRY!"
The inked, scar-skinned half-elf looks up at the tall, pierced woman
from his seat at a rounded agafari table.
Swiping for her, you exclaim to the tall, pierced woman, in sirihish:
"I'll show you fucking sorry, you 'tok faced bitch!"
You grab her by the shoulders and bring a knee up sharply into her
abdomen.
The tall, pierced woman groans loudly and doubles over.
The stocky, clean-shaven man grits his teeth.
The tall, pierced woman blinks in confusion, slowly putting a hand to
her bleeding brow.
At a long, carved wooden bar, you overhear the stout, one-eyed man say
in sirihish, jerking his thumb over his shoulder:
"She got that tok faced bitch from me."
The tiny, brown-skinned dwarf knocks aside a bit of clay that settles
beside his spot at a long, carved wooden bar.
You exclaim to the tall, pierced woman, in sirihish:
"You have no idea!None!No FUCKING idea what you're saying!"
The inked, scar-skinned half-elf sheathes a serrated spike-hilted
longknife.
The tall, pierced woman looks around in a daze, gaze slowly focusing on
you.
Advancing in a sparked-off, wild rage, you exclaim to the tall,
pierced woman, in sirihish:
"You ever had a mate, woman?!"
At a rounded agafari table, you overhear the sanguine-mohawked
half-elf say in sirihish, nearly whispering to the inked, scar-skinned
half-elf:
"Who that woman Sha is mauling?"
Grasping for the tall, pierced woman's collar, you shout in sirihish:
"Someone you loved more than life itself?!"
You step in close and drive an elbow into her ribs.
The tall, pierced woman grunts softly, swaying on her feet as she
struggles to breathe.
At a long, carved wooden bar, you overhear the stout, one-eyed man say
in sirihish:
"Oh great she's got her started on all the kanks on her back."
Her voice slurred, the tall, pierced woman says to you, in
southern-accented sirihish:
"Ya... ya hit me."
Pushing up, the stocky, clean-shaven man says to you, in
northern-accented sirihish:
"Sergeant. You knocked 'er senseless. She probably can't even hear
you."
Jerking her face close to hers with her fist, you say to the tall,
pierced woman, in sirihish:
"I--"
Leaning over, the inked, scar-skinned half-elf whispers something to
the sanguine-mohawked half-elf.
You feel her blind rage abruptly snap out.
The tall, pierced woman wheezes, her face turning blue as she
struggles to breathe.
Abruptly calming, cool and distant as she jerks her collar again,
then shoves her away, you say to the tall, pierced woman, in sirihish:
"I warned you, bitch."
At a long, carved wooden bar, the stout, one-eyed man speaks, shrugging.
The stocky, clean-shaven man stands up from a long, carved wooden bar.
You think:
"Fuck.."
Leaning over herself, the sanguine-mohawked half-elf whispers
something to the inked, scar-skinned half-elf.
Spluttering blood, the tall, pierced woman suddenly lurches over and
seizes you.
Whirling, the slight, desert-hued half-elf faces the tall, pierced
woman.
Her eyes wild, the tall, pierced woman says to you, in
southern-accented sirihish:
"No.Never.No one that would ever love me."
Nostrils flaring, you say to the tall, pierced woman, in sirihish:
"Get away from me."
You feel intense pain.
A bit of drool coming from her lips, the tall, pierced woman says to
you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"I didn't need that, I just wanted a baby."
The stout, one-eyed man watches from over his shoulder.
You feel another edgy burst of anger at the mention of children.
A mul, clad in the garb of the desert traveller and bearing a huge
hammer on his back, moves through the crowd.
Still holding onto you, the tall, pierced woman says to you, in
southern-accented sirihish:
"But I can't have that, cause they beat me so I could never have
that, just like you."
At a long, carved wooden bar, the stout, one-eyed man speaks, shaking his
head.
The tall, pierced woman collapses at your feet.
The tall, pierced woman sits down to rest.
Wordlessly, the slight, desert-hued half-elf stares down at the tall,
pierced woman.
You think:
"You expect me to feel pity for you, woman?"
You feel intense hatred.
Mumbling imperceptably, the tall, pierced woman says, in
southern-accented sirihish:
"Just like ya did now."
Unconsciously, the inked, scar-skinned half-elf's lips pull back in a
slight snarl as he watches you and the tall, pierced woman.
The stout, one-eyed man says to you, in bendune:
"Knocked the cunt right out of her, looks like."
Kicking her away from her and stalking off, you say to the tall,
pierced woman, in sirihish:
"Maybe you should work on keeping your fucking mouth shut."
The tiny, brown-skinned dwarf sucks air through his teeth, back
against the lip of a long, carved wooden bar.
The tall, pierced woman curls up into a fetal position as she is kicked.
Shoulders taut with anger as she heads for the door, you say, in
sirihish:
"I have no pity for you."
s (to the dark street)Note: This log shows the use of the 'brawl' code in a RP'd scene. Warning - violence and strong language may offend some people.
[From the viewpoint of the slight, desert-hued half-elf]
The Storm's End Tavern [NESWU]
This building evidences the same architectural principles as the inner
wall and...
Continue Reading...The Criminal, part II: Tricked. by Ghost
Added on Feb 6, 2007After the pass of two weeks of Zalanthan time, The Fallen Templar Haadith still has not been found. His former collegue Templar Malenthis Jal calls Serpent to send him after Haadith's tail.
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Submitter's note:
This log is the second part of the story of the fall of Templar Haadith Oash of Allanak. In his time, Haadith Oash was a rather short-tempered, or one may call, a nasty templar, had been involved in many plots/projects, touched many PCs whether for good or ill. Here, I am giving you a snippet of events that had transpired, giving some light to his collegues work to erase him completely from the power struggle.
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.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Gesturing to a plain baobab table, the short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented
sirihish:
"Take a seat."
With a nod, you sit at a plain baobab table.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the thin, ebony-skinned man with the Way.
The short, scar-eyed templar sits at a plain baobab table.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the thin, ebony-skinned man:
"Rocker.. His name.. Try reaching his mind."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the thin, ebony-skinned man:
"I am in Templar's company now."
You dissolve the psychic link.
At your table, the short, scar-eyed templar says in southern-accented sirihish, to you, with a dip
of his head:
"How has business been?"
At your table, you say in sirihish, rubbing his temple:
"Thank you for asking my Lord. It is good, that we occasionally continue taking contracts..
The new ones grow, and it goes on."
At your table, the short, scar-eyed templar says in southern-accented sirihish:
"Good...as I mentioned before...there is a reward out for the traitor, Haadith. "
At your table, the short, scar-eyed templar says in southern-accented sirihish:
"The Templarate was expecting him to die when he was expelled into the 'rinth."
At your table, you say in sirihish, wetting his lips:
"Five larges, if I heard it right."
At your table, the short, scar-eyed templar says in southern-accented sirihish, dipping his
head slightly:
"Yes. Though...I think I might double it, just to see him die."
At your table, you say in sirihish, dipping his head briefly:
"Surely. In my streets, he is an easy target."
At your table, you say in sirihish, If-:
"he is in the streets though."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"I mean -If- he is in the streets though."
The short, scar-eyed templar nods.
At your table, the short, scar-eyed templar says in southern-accented sirihish:
"Surely, he'd be easy to spot."
At your table, the short, scar-eyed templar says in southern-accented sirihish:
"However, I've heard rumors that he's managed to escape into the deserts somehow."
At your table, you say in sirihish, furrowing his brows:
"Possible."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Sewers lead to the sands."
At your table, the short, scar-eyed templar says in southern-accented sirihish, nodding:
"Yes...I've heard. I'm thinking I might impliment a plan to patch up that hole in the
wastes..."
At your table, the short, scar-eyed templar says in southern-accented sirihish, thoughtfully, to
you:
"What do you think of that?"
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"How much time passed.. Two weeks by now?"
At your table, the short, scar-eyed templar says in southern-accented sirihish, nodding to you:
"Yes, two weeks..."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"If he aimed for the sands, he is probably out of that hole by now."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"He would not survive the sewers for two weeks to my guess anyway."
At your table, the short, scar-eyed templar says in southern-accented sirihish, nodding to you, with
a frown:
"Yes, he mentioned that he knew the layout of the sewers during his explorations while
protected with magicks."
At your table, you say in sirihish, pursing his lips:
"Red Storm.. Luirs. Some caves the hunters use.. Those can be his current hide out."
At your table, the short, scar-eyed templar says in southern-accented sirihish, to you:
"Well, we're reasonably certain he's alive. Its doubtful he, an Oash, is living with the
elves."
At your table, the short, scar-eyed templar says in southern-accented sirihish, nodding firmly:
"We searched some nearby caves when we heard he may have fled the 'rinth...so far to no
avail."
At your table, you say in sirihish, thoughtfully:
"There are.. Some hiding places in the sewers where one can live his entire life though..
Maybe.. He did not make it to the sands."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Just a possibility."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"In case, he found any such location."
The short, scar-eyed templar purses his lips, and nods.
At your table, the short, scar-eyed templar says in southern-accented sirihish:
"Well...the Red Robes wish him dead...at any cost."
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man scratches his jawline.
You think:
"But the red robes sent him alive.."
You think:
"I can kill himm.. In several weeks."
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man scratches the single scar on
his cheek, a thoughtful look on his dull black gaze, as he nods once.
The short, scar-eyed templar holds up a hand, with a shrug, and a sigh.
At your table, the short, scar-eyed templar says in southern-accented sirihish, to you, his
head cocked:
"What are you thinking...or scheming, hmm?"
At your table, you say in sirihish, wetting his lips, and
shrugging:
"Well.. Time may be an issue here..."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"But I can outright say, I will kill him for you."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"I -will-, if someone does not do it first."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"The thing is, I have places to look, hunt, keep his track."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"But there is too little place he can get away."
At your table, the short, scar-eyed templar says in southern-accented sirihish, nodding slightly to
you:
"Mmm, hmm."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"He can just delay."
At your table, the short, scar-eyed templar says in southern-accented sirihish:
"Give me a timetable...when do I get his head?"
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man exhales a soft breath,
furrowing his brows.
At your table, you say in sirihish, wetting his lips:
"A month is my current guess. Ask me that time, and I will give you a more solid answer."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Does it make the things too complicated?"
At your table, the short, scar-eyed templar says in southern-accented sirihish, tilting his
head back and forth:
"Yes, a bit. I was thinking before the end of the day, myself."
At your table, the short, scar-eyed templar says in southern-accented sirihish, raising a finger to
you:
"One moment."
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man lifts an eyebrow, nodding
slightly.
The short, scar-eyed templar stands up from a plain baobab table.
The short, scar-eyed templar points a smooth, obsidian orb at the pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man
and says 'mon'.
You feel a surge of energy enter your body, causing you to jerk spastically.
The energy drains from your body, and your body ceases to respond.
>stat
Archon of the The Guild, jobs: recruiter | leader |
Relationship to the land is neutral.
You are currently speaking sirihish.
You are affected by:
Paralyze
You are resting.
You are not refusing saves (nosave off).
You are not being merciful.
Smiling briefly, the short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Never lie to me, Serpent."
The short, scar-eyed templar gives the half-giant soldier an order.
You are hauled to your feet roughly.
The half-giant soldier subdues you, despite your attempts to struggle away.
The short, scar-eyed templar walks east.
The half-giant soldier walks east, dragging you behind him.
The Gladiator and the Gaj Tavern -- Main Room [NES]
This common room composes the bulk of the Gladiator and the Gaj
Tavern, a bustling establishment founded in the Year of Suk-Krath's
Defiance of the 19th age. A cacophony of sounds fills the inn, from the
busy murmur of the many merchants that frequent the location to the
howling of the crowd, greeting the arriving news of the latest arena
fight, to the drunken whine of the hundreds of commonfolk that have made
the place famous. Stout wooden beams support the panelled roof of the
room, each bearing many drawings carved by the patrons of the tavern.
An agafari-wood bar dominates the western side of the room, the shelves
behind it supporting the weight of many alcoholic beverages. Wood and
stone tables with matching chairs are strewn all over the chamber in
clusters as to allow waiters and waitresses to circulate with ease. A
raised platform has been erected in the northeastern corner for the
messengers and hawkers hired by the establishment that relay the latest
news from the arena.
To the north, a scarred tarp of carru hide leads out onto the busy
Caravan Way. Flickering yellow and orange light spills out from the
southern room of the tavern, where the meals are prepared and where
travellers may roast their raw meat for free. Eastwards lies the public
sleeping area, while a door lies behind the bar, most likely a back
room.
A wall here is designated as a message board.
The short, scar-eyed templar is standing here.
A human soldier of Tektolnes walks along here.
The towering, golden-haired half-giant is here, crouched beside a table.
The hairy, dark-skinned woman watches the room from beside the bar here.
The lean, sun-reddened woman laughs as she talks at a large table here.
A dark-skinned human barkeep stands behind the bar.
The brutally-scarred orange dwarf sits here at a table, drinking heavily.
The angular, silver-eyed man is here, leaning casually against a wall.
The short, scar-eyed templar points a finger at you, and gestures for nearby guards.
______________________________________
They move directly to the jails, the templar leading the way, Serpent held by the magicks and the soldiers, they make it to the dungeons with no struggle.
----------------------------------------
The short, scar-eyed templar walks east.
A human Allanaki soldier walks east.
The half-giant soldier walks east, dragging you behind him.
Allanaki Jail [NESW]
Large blocks of red stone make up the walls of this building, the same
type used to make the city walls most certainly, since they look so similar.
This center room of the building is totally devoid of furnishings, save a wide
bench along the east wall. Cells lie to the north and south, both of which
issue forth the smell of filth and rot.
The short, scar-eyed templar is standing here.
A human soldier of Tektolnes walks along here.
A surly, half-giant member of the Allanaki militia is here, acting as jailer.
The short, scar-eyed templar gives the half-giant soldier an order.
A soldier shoves you towards the surly, half-giant jailer.
The surly, half-giant jailer summons a pair of soldiers, who strip you of your weapons.
The surly, half-giant jailer opens the northern door, and throws you inside.
the surly, half-giant jailer closes the door from the other side, and you hear a key turn in its
lock.
A small window on the cell door opens, flooding the room with light before closing again.
Darkness
Total darkness surrounds you, preventing you from seeing anything
at all. You have trouble telling where you put your feet when you walk.
The surly, half-giant jailer opens the cell door, and you are hauled out.
Allanaki Jail [NESW]
Large blocks of red stone make up the walls of this building, the same
type used to make the city walls most certainly, since they look so similar.
This center room of the building is totally devoid of furnishings, save a wide
bench along the east wall. Cells lie to the north and south, both of which
issue forth the smell of filth and rot.
A half-giant soldier of Tektolnes walks along here.
The short, scar-eyed templar is standing here.
A human soldier of Tektolnes walks along here.
A surly, half-giant member of the Allanaki militia is here, acting as jailer.
The surly, half-giant jailer closes and locks the cell door, and motions to a soldier.
A soldier grabs the pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man around the arm, and escorts him to the west.
A soldier takes you by the arm, and escorts you to the gate.
Templars' Way [NSW]
Templars' Way stretches north and south through the very heart of the
crowded city. The road is made of large, black-colored stones that are
covered with dust, dung, and other unsavory materials. It passes under the
Arena's morbid shadow, a gigantic structure standing to the east. Bustling
with activity, the Commoners' Quarter lies to the west. Crowds pass along
the street, hurrying on errands and avoiding the keen-eyed glances of the
templars and soldiers who use this way.
Directly south stands the gate to the Templars' quarter, its carved
stone form arching overhead. West Dragon's Path runs along a wall that
stretches to the west, enclosing the Templar's quarter and separating it
from the noise and filth of the Commoners' quarter, which lies to the
northwest.
A human soldier of Tektolnes stands here, guarding the Templar Quarter.
The tall, slight man is standing here.
A human soldier sends up a call to the wall to close the gates.
A human soldier closes the gate.
stat
Archon of the The Guild, jobs: recruiter | leader |
Relationship to the land is neutral.
You are currently speaking sirihish.
You are affected by:
Paralyze
You are standing.
You are not refusing saves (nosave off).
You are not being merciful.
contact effen
You can't move.
The short, scar-eyed templar opens the gate from the other side.
The short, scar-eyed templar has arrived from the south.
A human Allanaki soldier has arrived from the south.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south.
The short, scar-eyed templar gives the half-giant soldier an order.
The half-giant soldier subdues you, despite your attempts to struggle away.
The short, scar-eyed templar points a finger at you, and gestures for nearby guards.
You think:
"Wait.."
The short, scar-eyed templar looks up at you.
You think:
"Wait.."
You think:
"Wait for it.."
Tisking, and shaking his head, the short, scar-eyed templar asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Not a very smart Jailer, is he?"
You think:
"Wait for it damn it."
The short, scar-eyed templar gives the half-giant soldier an order.
A soldier shoves you towards the surly, half-giant jailer.
The surly, half-giant jailer summons a pair of soldiers, who strip you of your weapons.
The surly, half-giant jailer opens the northern door, and throws you inside.
the surly, half-giant jailer closes the door from the other side, and you hear a key turn in its
lock.
A small window on the cell door opens, flooding the room with light before closing again.
Darkness
Total darkness surrounds you, preventing you from seeing anything
at all. You have trouble telling where you put your feet when you walk.
You think:
"Wait for it.."
A small window on the cell door opens, flooding the room with light before closing again.
You think:
"You don't know how we can work this out..damn it."
A small window on the cell door opens, flooding the room with light before closing again.
Someone closes the door.
Stepping close to you, and hissing in your ear, a male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Hello, Serpent."
A male voice shouts, in southern-accented sirihish:
"In the name of the Highlord, let the foul magicks present here be cleansed!"
Someone utters an incantation.
Your body relaxes, and you can move again.
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man coughs, dropping to his
feet.
A male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"I suppose you're wondering why you're here."
Wiping his mouth, gasping for breath, you say, in sirihish:
"I am quite.. impressed my Lord. I have to say."
Someone closes something.
A male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Well. I -am- the Lord Templar Malenthis Jal."
Piercing wails of torment flood into the cell from one nearby.
A male voice asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Ahh...did you hear that?"
His chest heaving up and down, you say, in sirihish:
"I am.. cursing myself.. Why I did not ally myself with you in the first place."
You say, in sirihish:
"Oh? Of course, my Lord."
A male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"That may be a very familiar sound to you in the near future."
A male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Yes? I'm quite surprised, myself...Haadith was always an idiot."
rest
You sit down and rest your tired bones.
A male voice asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Do you know why you're here?"
On his knees, his breathing slowing down, you say, in sirihish:
"I am wondering it."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the thick-set, sideburned bartender with the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the thick-set, sideburned bartender:
"I am dying Effen. In the dungeons.. In Malenthis' hand. Templar Malenthis Jal."
A pained, wailing moan echoes down from another cell.
Smiling briefly, a male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Oh...come now...take a guess."
Pursing his lips, sitting more comfortably on the dirty floor, you ask, in sirihish:
"Well.. Let's see.. You don't like to wait one month?"
A male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Mmm...close."
Wetting his lips, you ask, in sirihish:
"You want to have something today. Closer?"
A male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Much closer."
Exhaling softly, you say, in sirihish:
"Well.. Ideas are running through my mind Lord Templar. Clearly.."
His voice lowering to a quiet low, the sounds of ruffling silk as if he's crouching down to your level, a male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"I'm sure there are."
A male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"You see, Serpent...I know where Haadith is."
Raising his finger to his lips, in a mock-whisper, a male voice exclaims to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Shhh! Don't tell! Its a secret!"
Coughing a few times, and wiping his mouth, you say, in sirihish:
"Oh.. My Lord, do not insult my intelligence. Please."
You say, in sirihish:
"Maybe I made a dumb mistake."
You ask, in sirihish:
"A big one. Eh?"
A male voice says, in southern-accented sirihish:
"A -very- big one."
You say, in sirihish:
"But that made me know you bettr."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the sleek, honey-eyed young woman with the Way.
Nodding slightly, a male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"I'm certain it did...let me show you something..."
A male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Ah...well, you won't be able to see it in this light."
You send a telepathic message to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman:
"I think, Sophie.. I will die today at Malenthis hands. Keep the coins for the child, that I gave you."
Someone opens something.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman:
"If you can't do it, give the child to the Rocker.. Or whoever in the Guild's control."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman:
"I love you."
You dissolve the psychic link.
The sound of unrolling parchment fills the air as someone unrolls his something.
A male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"I know you can't see it..but in my hands is a scroll. I assure you, I can read it just fine in this light."
Curiously, a male voice asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Would you like to know what it says?"
With a nod, exhaling softly, you say, in sirihish:
"I am all too curious about it."
With a soft chuckle, a male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"It says, simply: Lord Templar Malenthis Jal has been credited with learning that the Guild may be involved with somehow hiding and protecting Haadith while in the 'rinth. "
A male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Therefore, the Blue robes of the War Ministry are given instructions any and all Guild members we know are to be detained, tortured, and killed untill Haadith is captured or killed."
Pursing his lips, you say, in sirihish:
"Quite informative."
The sound of parchment crinkling as he seems to poke his something, a male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Yes. Theres this little bit at the bottom that also says we're supposed to inform you of why."
You ask, in sirihish:
"So.. Forgive my curiosity, but.. Why?"
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the thick-set, sideburned bartender with the Way.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the thick-set, sideburned bartender:
"Tell all the Guilders to step back into the rinth and do not go out."
A male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Because you've been harboring a fugitive the Templarate wants dead. Don't try to deny it. I know."
Exhaling a soft breath, you say, in sirihish:
"So my Lord.. I am assuming..."
A male voice asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Yes?"
Adding on, you say, in sirihish:
".. You will eventually get Haadith. Through me."
Lifting a shoulder in a shrug, a male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"We know his exact location...think of it as a...sound business choice."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the soot-stubbled, jet-curled man with the Way.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the soot-stubbled, jet-curled man:
"Do not step to the southside.. At all.. And tell all the guilders to do the same."
A male voice says, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Consider it: either his head is given to me...or his living body..."
A male voice says, in southern-accented sirihish:
"OR...a Legion of troops descends upon the Labyrinth, gets him anyway..."
You say, in sirihish:
"Head is easy. I don't like run aways, and chasing. I am a little old for that I guess."
Wetting his lips, you say, in sirihish:
"Legions.. No don't go over that."
You say, in sirihish:
"You will lose more than you think.. Believe me."
You say, in sirihish:
"After you strike me with your keen intelligent side, I would not want that."
Exhaling a soft breath, you say, in sirihish:
"Easy thing."
You say, in sirihish:
"There is always an easier way, and you know it."
A male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Yes...a few casualties would be taken..perhaps some less-than-expendables. "
A male voice says, in southern-accented sirihish:
"There is. It involves Rocker."
You say, in sirihish:
"Rocker can't kill him."
A male voice asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Then you'll simply find someone who can, won't you?"
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man shakes his head to either sides.
You say, in sirihish:
"That is exactly -me- you are talking about."
You say, in sirihish:
"I can kill him. Rocker is not enough of a killer."
Sighing, a male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"A pity, then, for the GUild. You're going to be here...likely getting tortured, and eventually killed."
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man grunts softly.
A male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Meanwhile, all the Blue robes of the wWar Ministry are going to be on the streets, pulling in all their contacts, and everyone they know from the Guild..."
A male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"And that list is...quite substantial."
You ask, in sirihish:
"My Lord, just think on.. What you really want. You want Haadith, yes?"
A male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Yes. And I'd love to maintain good relations with The Guild."
A male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"However...the Guild has proven itself to be a less than reliable business partner."
You say, in sirihish:
"Your way, Rocker can lose him.. Wounded.. Or gets himself wounded.. And your target runs away. These are possible."
A male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"And I don't mean to myself. I mean to the Templarate."
Shaking his head, you say, in sirihish:
"Let me say my offer."
A soft chuckle echoing in the dark dungeon, a male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"...I'm listening."
You say, in sirihish:
"Lets go to Nenyuk.. I will give you ten larges, your bounty.. I will then head to rinth, take off a head. Bring it back. And take my ten larges back."
You say, in sirihish:
"Haadith does not worth ten."
You say, in sirihish:
"Not in his current state"
Nodding slowly, a male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Mmmm...an interesting offer."
You say, in sirihish:
"So it is sure I will bring it back."
A male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Sadly, I've known far too many criminal types who've given me similar offers, and gone and buggered off."
A sigh echoing through the cold dungeon air, a male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"...I never hear from them again."
A male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"You've proven yourself to be less than trustworthy. I'd need a larger marker."
Exhaling softly, you say, in sirihish:
"Oh come now.."
You say, in sirihish:
"You are getting Haadith for no charges.. And just the same day you want."
A male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Perhaps Rocker will still be of use. We'll do it your way...but you'll have Rocker present himself to me before I release you."
An odd scratching noise is heard on the outside of the cell door.
A male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Rocker will be a...guest...of the Templarate, untill I see Haadith's head."
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man scratches his jawline.
A massive half-giant soldier walks by, glaring into the cell before moving on.
You say, in sirihish:
"By a -guest-, I hope we are having the same idea."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the soot-stubbled, jet-curled man with the Way.
Offering a laugh, a male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Use your imagination. Perhaps it will give you incentive."
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man chuckles quietly.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the soot-stubbled, jet-curled man:
"Rocker.. I might have a way out."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the soot-stubbled, jet-curled man:
"It is through you."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the soot-stubbled, jet-curled man:
"They want me to kill Haadith. And you in the meanwhile will take my place."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the soot-stubbled, jet-curled man:
"When Haadith dies, they will release you."
A male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"I'll let you think about it for a few minutes."
Someone opens the door.
You say, in sirihish:
"Alright.. You have it."
Light pours into the dungeon as someone opens the door.
A male voice asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Hmm?"
You say, in sirihish:
"Just some light.. I guess Rocker is trying to find my mind."
A male voice says, in southern-accented sirihish:
"I'll see what I can do."
You say, in sirihish:
"Er.. "
You get a leather-strapped green glow-crystal from a black
skull-studded greatcloak.
It is very light.
You light a leather-strapped green glow-crystal.
The area is filled with a green light.
You fasten a shining leather-strapped green glow-crystal around your right ankle.
The Dungeons of Allanak [S]
The solid stone walls of this massive chamber rise up twenty cords, to
accommodate the larger criminals of the city's streets. The floor has
been laid with the same stone used in making the walls, and is covered
with decades, possibly centuries, of filth. There are no furnishings
here, nor any windows for lighting.
Several tiny, dead cockroaches are here.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the soot-stubbled, jet-curled man:
"You can get to my mind now"
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
You stop using a shining leather-strapped green glow-crystal.
You extinguish a shining leather-strapped green glow-crystal.
The area is enveloped in darkness.
The soot-stubbled, jet-curled man sends you a telepathic message:
"I'm ready, Boss... They gonna let me take some spice with me, to pass the hours? ....I don't wanna spend too long in that fucking hole, mind you."
You send a telepathic message to the soot-stubbled, jet-curled man:
"Oh.. Let me see. Stay in my mind."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the short, scar-eyed man with the Way.
Someone opens the door from the other side.
You send a telepathic message to the short, scar-eyed man:
"You don't mind if he takes some spice with him? He says, if it takes too long in a hole, he needs it."
The area is filled with a yellow light.
The short, scar-eyed templar has arrived from the south.
A human Allanaki soldier has arrived from the south.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south.
The short, scar-eyed templar closes the door.
His scarred brows raised, the short, scar-eyed templar asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Are you serious?"
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
Tiredly, the pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man leans his back to the cell wall.
The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
"Ahh... Serpent."
Shaking his head slightly, the short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"I don't believe you're in a position to make many demands."
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the soot-stubbled, jet-curled man with the Way.
Narrowing his good eye, the short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Particularly illegal ones."
With a sigh, rubbing his temple, you say to the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Let me tell that to him."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the soot-stubbled, jet-curled man:
"Rocker.. It won't take long."
The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
"I have a question for you."
You dissolve the psychic link.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You are unable to reach their mind.
The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
"...once you have a free moment to answer it."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the delicate, ebon-curled woman with the Way.
The soot-stubbled, jet-curled man sends you a telepathic message:
"I'm ready, then. I trust you, Boss."
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"Oh.. Shoot is fast, because I am about to die, my lady."
The sepia-skinned, blue-eyed man sends you a telepathic message:
"If you have need of me, I'm available in the temple. Also, what is our stance on the situation Haadith?"
Rubbing his temple, you say to the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Not too eager, but he believes I will not make it long."
The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
"Die? Why?"
Dipping his head slightly, the short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Naturally."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"It is a loooong story my Lady."
The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
"Did anyone tried to hire the Guild to kill Sophie?"
Pushing up the dirty floor, you rise and stand.
The short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Tell me...who else has come into contact with Haadith...."
The short, scar-eyed templar asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"And what were you planning on doing with him?"
You say to the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"No one else.. Just the eastsider undead magickers tried to buy him."
You say to the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"And my idea was to extract information from him, in the meanwhile."
The short, scar-eyed templar tisks, shaking his head.
You say to the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"One month is enough for it. You know."
Leaning over to you, the short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Between you and I...he doesn't know much."
The short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"You would have been beter off selling him to the undead eastsider magickers."
Pursing his lips, you say to the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"With your keen side, my Lord, I am more inclined to believe you anyways."
With a thin smile, the short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Oh. Now you're just blowing smoke up my ass."
You say to the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"By the way, your guards are overpaid."
You say to the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"I am stripped off my weapons twice.. Yet I still have two with me."
The short, scar-eyed templar asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Really?"
You say to the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Guess they are for the target."
Pointing down to your boots, the short, scar-eyed templar asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Not in your boots are they?"
You say to the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"You are really keen."
The soot-stubbled, jet-curled man sends you a telepathic message:
"So? Am I meeting you, or should I run off for some snatch before they lock me up?"
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
You ask the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"So.. Where should Rocker come?"
The short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Have him meet me at the gates to the Templars quarters."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the soot-stubbled, jet-curled man with the Way.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the soot-stubbled, jet-curled man:
"Come to the Templar's quarter gates."
You dissolve the psychic link.
You hear a screeching sob from outside the cell as another prisoner is taken to their cell.
You now follow the short, scar-eyed templar.
Chuckling slightly, and holding up a hand, the short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"You'll be staying here, I'm afraid."
You are no longer following anyone.
The short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Not that I don't trust you...but I'd be a fool to let you go before I had the marker."
Glancing where the sound comes, you say to the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Oh.. This is a very crowded place by the way. I have not ended up here much."
The short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Yes...quite. That might be one of your associates."
Leaning back to the wall, and sitting on the dirty floor, you sit down and rest your tired bones.
Shaking his head, you say to the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"I don't think so. But who knows."
The short, scar-eyed templar lifts a shoulder in a shrug.
You say to the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Alright my Lord. I am waiting."
The short, scar-eyed templar opens the door.
The short, scar-eyed templar walks south.
The area is enveloped in darkness.
Someone closes the door from the other side.
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
contact shareyn
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:
"No.. No one."
A small window on the cell door opens, flooding the room with light before closing again.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"Forgive the delay in the answer, I was a little busy near dying."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"Hmm.. By the way, have I told you are very beautiful?"
You get a leather-strapped green glow-crystal from a black skull-studded greatcloak.
It is very light.
You light a leather-strapped green glow-crystal.
The area is filled with a green light.
You fasten a shining leather-strapped green glow-crystal around your right ankle.
The Dungeons of Allanak [S]
The solid stone walls of this massive chamber rise up twenty cords, to
accommodate the larger criminals of the city's streets. The floor has
been laid with the same stone used in making the walls, and is covered
with decades, possibly centuries, of filth. There are no furnishings
here, nor any windows for lighting.
Several tiny, dead cockroaches are here.
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
You stop using a shining leather-strapped green glow-crystal.
You extinguish a shining leather-strapped green glow-crystal.
The area is enveloped in darkness.
You put something inside a black skull-studded greatcloak.
The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
"..."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"Anyway.. Maybe I don't die. But to answer your question.."
The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
"Is your situation better?"
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"No. We have no contract on Sophie."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"My situation? Not very much. But a little."
You are getting hungry.
The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
"What would you want to not accept any?"
A small irrig beetle hovers along the ceiling, splashing the walls with a faint green light before flitting away.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"Accept what? Offer?"
A tiny, brown cockroach scuttles to the middle of the floor, stops, then falls over dead.
The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
"Yes. It is possible someone will come and ask. I want Sophie alive."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"Forgive my curiosity.. I don't usually ask it but, this is a dying man's wish yes? What do you mean exactly? Who will come and why?"
The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
"I think there are two important man who might want to see her dead. Lord Templar Malenthis
might be a one of them."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"For what? Just to give a kick on Haadith?"
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"And is the other one Veralius?"
The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
"Yes."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"Yes to what?"
The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
"Yes, the second one could be my Lord Cousin Veralius."
The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
"I want Sophie alive. So I thought pay for her protection might be a good step."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"The usual protection payment, we can count for her. Since she is additional head, and is no advisor, we will ask for an additional one large per year."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"Sound good?"
The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
"Yes."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"Good. Next time the time for renewing the deal comes, you better add it and say the reason to the collector."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"If I die, the one after me will still hold onto the deal."
The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
"How is your dying going?"
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"Hmm.. A little slow and boring I should say."
The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
"I meant... do not you want to share the story? Maybe I can do something..."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"Well.. You can.. Maybe."
Piercing wails of torment flood into the cell from one nearby.
The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
"Mhmmm?"
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"Malenthis has half the mind to kill me, the other half is making a deal. Though, after I complete his deal.."
You are getting hungry.
A group of shuffling footsteps moves by the door of the cell.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"He still might consider killing."
The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
"What kind of deal is that?"
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"If you want me alive, I don't know if you do, you can give him the idea maybe.. That there are somethings I have done and doing for you maybe. I am not sure if it will work at all. Maybe you should just watch. Both works."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"Ahh.. Nothing. Just killing Haadith."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"He wants it today."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"I still like you either way, my Lady."
The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
"Well... why your superiors do not do something?"
The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
"If he decides to make a deal with you, cannot you... avoid him?"
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"My superiors are probably into someting now. They will do something after I die eventually. Guess it will be still convenient but a little late."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"Oh.. I can kill Haadith. Today."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"The thing is, he can kill me after the delivery of the head."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"The fun part of the dealings with templars is that. They always have a surprise in their sleeves."
The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
"Umm... question is... why will you deliver the head yourself?"
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"Hmm.. Good question. I don't know."
The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
"You know where Haadith is?"
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"Hmm.. Kind of."
The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
"And Malenthis knows you do?"
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"Yes. You are on the right track."
The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
"Which is the reason he wants you to die? Or is there anything else?"
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"There is a little more detail too, but we can pretty much say that is the reason."
The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
"Hmm,,"
The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
"Irritating."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"Oh.. I would not want someone beautiful like you to be irritated my Lady."
The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
"I would not want someone capable like you to die for a stupidity, Serpent."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"I am flattered, my Lady. Thank you."
You are hungry.
You think:
"Need to eat."
A small window on the cell door opens, flooding the room with light before closing again.
You dissolve the psychic link.
Someone opens the door from the other side.
Someone closes the door.
Darkness
Total darkness surrounds you, preventing you from seeing anything
at all. You have trouble telling where you put your feet when you walk.
A male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"An interesting little enforcer you have there, Serpent."
Blinking his eyes as the darkness resettles, you say, in sirihish:
"Hmm? He is."
The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
"Oh well. I will wish you luck. I am not sure what can I do more right now... hmmm... I will try something, though."
A male voice asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Tell me...what will you be doing, now that he's taken over your crew?"
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
You say, in sirihish:
"I am already doing what I will be doing. Supervising him."
A male voice asks, in southern-accented sirihish:
"And I imagine a few other crews at that, hmm?"
A male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"He seems to think that what the Templarate is doing is a mistake."
You ask, in sirihish:
"Oh?"
Nodding slightly, a male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Yes. He seems to think if we attack the Guild...many will die, all over."
A male voice asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Do you have a similar point of view?"
Bobbing his head slightly, you ask, in sirihish:
"Well.. Kind of. That is why I just said to go on the easier way, have not I?"
A male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Mmm. Indeed."
Shrugging his shoulders in the darkness, you say, in sirihish:
"My idea."
A male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Yes. Which is why I'm so hestant to go with it."
A male voice says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Afterall, my orders remain...and I've managed to to capture -two- notorious Guilders in one afternoon."
A male voice asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Perhaps I should skip it, and go on to the torture and death part?"
A commanding voice echoes through the shadows outside the cell, followed by cries of pain and
several cracks of a whip.
Pursing his lips, you say, in sirihish:
"Well.. I am sure it will be amusing. To torture two people, and have fun. But I think you are smarter than that."
You say, in sirihish:
"You can always have your fun with easy targets."
You say, in sirihish:
"But not all of them can give you your target."
A male voice says, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Indeed."
A male voice says, in southern-accented sirihish:
"I'll give you half of a week to bring me his head."
Leaning back and resting his head over the dirty wall, you ask, in sirihish:
"Come now my Lord. Do you really believe you need some deadline to make sure what you want?"
A male voice says, in southern-accented sirihish:
"After that...I'm not certain that my generous protection will be able to hold out...and Rocker - and any other Guilders I find - may begin paying."
You say, in sirihish:
"I will give you today."
A male voice says, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Oh, good. Well, lets get started, then."
Someone lights something.
The area is filled with a yellow light.
The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
"That is me, Serpent. I was just wondering how are you doing."
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:
"Still debating if I should die or live my Lady. How are you doing?"
You dissolve the psychic link.
The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
"Sitting in a garden and enjoying weather."
The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
"I am honestly curious if you will get away or not."
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:
"Sounds delicius."
The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
"Oh yes, I bet you would like to be here too."
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
"-Relief flooding her thoughts- Krath, love.."
The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
"Nice spot to see people wandering around without be seen."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"I love the sound of it."
The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
"Hmm... yes. Indeed."
Smiling thinly, the short, scar-eyed templar asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Shall we?"
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the delicate, ebon-curled woman:
"Oh.. I think I am moving."
You dissolve the psychic link.
You stop resting, and stand up.
You start trying to listen.
The short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"I'll leave you to go...track down your prey."
You now follow the short, scar-eyed templar.
The short, scar-eyed templar pardons you of your crimes.
The short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Your weapons...describe them to me, and I'll see that you get them back."
You say to the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Hmm.. A few throwing knives, dyed in black. One short spear. One crystalline longknife, made of salt worm tooth."
The delicate, ebon-curled woman sends you a telepathic message:
"Moving? There are few things I can see under that word."
Wiping his face, you say to the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"Oh.. Nice meeting you again, by the way, my Lord."
The short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"The feeling is very mutual. I do hope a minimally bloody resolution can be found."
The short, scar-eyed templar nods at you.
The short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"The guards will see you out. I'll fetch the knives."
The short, scar-eyed templar stops leading the pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man.
You say to the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"There are a few more I guess.. But I am not worried about them."
The short, scar-eyed templar opens the door.
The short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Ahh, fine then. I'll just see you out."
The short, scar-eyed templar walks south.
A human Allanaki soldier walks south.
The half-giant soldier walks south.
The surly, half-giant jailer opens the cell door, and you are hauled out.
Allanaki Jail [NESW]
Large blocks of red stone make up the walls of this building, the same
type used to make the city walls most certainly, since they look so similar.
This center room of the building is totally devoid of furnishings, save a wide
bench along the east wall. Cells lie to the north and south, both of which
issue forth the smell of filth and rot.
A half-giant soldier of Tektolnes walks along here.
The short, scar-eyed templar is standing here.
A human soldier of Tektolnes walks along here.
A surly, half-giant member of the Allanaki militia is here, acting as jailer.
The surly, half-giant jailer closes and locks the cell door, and motions to a soldier.
A soldier grabs the pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man around the arm, and escorts him to the west.
A soldier takes you by the arm, and escorts you to the gate.
Templars' Way [NSW]
Templars' Way stretches north and south through the very heart of the
crowded city. The road is made of large, black-colored stones that are
covered with dust, dung, and other unsavory materials. It passes under the
Arena's morbid shadow, a gigantic structure standing to the east. Bustling
with activity, the Commoners' Quarter lies to the west. Crowds pass along
the street, hurrying on errands and avoiding the keen-eyed glances of the
templars and soldiers who use this way.
Directly south stands the gate to the Templars' quarter, its carved
stone form arching overhead. West Dragon's Path runs along a wall that
stretches to the west, enclosing the Templar's quarter and separating it
from the noise and filth of the Commoners' quarter, which lies to the
northwest.
A human soldier of Tektolnes stands here, guarding the Templar Quarter.
The tall, slight man is standing here.
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man blinks.
You are already standing.
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man scratches his head.
You slow down and start moving carefully.
Stinging sand swirls around you.
Templars' Way [NS]
Templars' Way stretches north and south through the very heart of the
crowded city. The road is made of large, black-colored stones that are
covered with dust, dung, and other unsavory materials. It passes under the
Arena's morbid shadow, a gigantic structure standing to the east. Bustling
with activity, the Commoners' Quarter lies to the west. Crowds pass along
the street, hurrying on errands and avoiding the keen-eyed glances of the
templars and soldiers who use this way.
A branded, heavily-scarred mul moves down the road, looking determined.
The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
"-Her thoughts filled with emotion- I -love- -you-. PLEASE keep.. alive."
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Thus Serpent is released to hunt down his old friend, and thus get his best man to be released. There is little time, and little choice.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Submitter's note:
This log is the second part of the story of the fall of Templar Haadith
Oash of Allanak. In his time, Haadith Oash was a rather
short-tempered, or one may call,...
Continue Reading...The Criminal, part I: Fallen Templar by Eru
Added on Feb 6, 2007A templar of Blue gets disrobed, and is banished to Labyrinth. There he meets an old friend.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Submitter's note:
This log is part of the story of the fall of Templar Haadith Oash of Allanak. In his time, Haadith Oash was a rather short-tempered, or one may call, a nasty templar, had been involved in many plots/projects, touched many PCs whether for good or ill. Here, I am giving you a snippet of events that had transpired, giving some light to him getting disrobed and fallen from the Highlord's grace.
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.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A Cluttered Office [WD]
This tiny square chamber is unfurnished save for a battered desk
behind with a few crates serving as seating behind it. The room has no
visible exits, save back to the bar and contains no windows. Dust clings
heavy in the air and there is a smell of decay and rot about the place that
has likely been present for centuries. The stone walls are stacked with
battered crates, all arranged in a haphazard fashion and tilting madly in
several different directions.
The large oval of a pale gold carpet is spread across the floor.
A pink-flowered plant is rooted here, its leaves exuding a sharp scent.
A gwoshi carved wooden chest sits here.
A couple of open shelved cabinets are here.
A large wooden crate is here, stacked neatly in the corner.
A rough hide sleeping mat lies on the floor here.
<95/95 111/124 75/101 - sneaking >
The slight, wispy-bearded half-elf sits at a long, low and cracked clay table
<95/95 111/124 80/101 - sneaking >op door
Ok.
<95/95 111/124 83/101 - sneaking >w
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 multi-ringed dartboard hangs on a wall here.
A message board is propped up against a wall.
The very short and thick male wearing a grey shaded, black face-wrap is standing here.
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 thick-set, sideburned bartender is here cleaning out mugs with a rag.
The muscular, hatchet-faced man stands here by the door.
The scarred, well-muscled man sends you a telepathic message:
"Serpent. As it happens, I have some information for you."
With the coming of night, darkness steals over the Labyrinth.
At your table, the short, scar-faced man says in sirihish:
"Hey, Chief!"
The scarred, well-muscled man sends you a telepathic message:
"I have learned that a man formerly known as Lord Templar is to be banished to the Labyrinth."
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man blinks, rubbing his temple.
The scarred, well-muscled man sends you a telepathic message:
"Now, he is only Haadith. If you have anything you wish of him..I would suggest that you welcome him to our part of the city."
At your table, the short, scar-faced man says in sirihish, to the thick-set, sideburned bartender:
"Pass me an ale, Effen."
The thick-set, sideburned bartender trades a chipped, red-clay mug to the short, scar-faced man.
The scarred, well-muscled man sends you a telepathic message:
"He has been removed from the templarate. What you do with him is up to you. I'd suggest that you don't let him fall into anyone else's hands, though."
The scarred, well-muscled man sends you a telepathic message:
"That is all."
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the scarred, well-muscled man:
"Of course.. I will reach to him right away and accept him."
You dissolve the psychic link.
You stand up from a sturdy old bar.
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man grunts.
His chest heaving up and down, the pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man walks over the battered doorway.
The muscular, hatchet-faced man nods at you.
Ok.
The muscular, hatchet-faced man nods at you.
A Cluttered Office [WD]
This tiny square chamber is unfurnished save for a battered desk
behind with a few crates serving as seating behind it. The room has no
visible exits, save back to the bar and contains no windows. Dust clings
heavy in the air and there is a smell of decay and rot about the place that
has likely been present for centuries. The stone walls are stacked with
battered crates, all arranged in a haphazard fashion and tilting madly in
several different directions.
The large oval of a pale gold carpet is spread across the floor.
A pink-flowered plant is rooted here, its leaves exuding a sharp scent.
A gwoshi carved wooden chest sits here.
A couple of open shelved cabinets are here.
A large wooden crate is here, stacked neatly in the corner.
A rough hide sleeping mat lies on the floor here.
The slight, wispy-bearded half-elf is sitting at a long, low and cracked clay table.
Uttering a loud curse, you rest on a rough hide sleeping mat.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the soft-featured, black-haired man with the Way.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the soft-featured, black-haired man:
"Whenever you need a help, your old friend is here at your side.. Just wanted to say that. I think it should mean something."
The slight, wispy-bearded half-elf asks you, in northern-accented sirihish:
"Something happen t'ya?"
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
The soft-featured, black-haired man sends you a telepathic message:
"*pain, desperation* I can pay you...Whatever you want....please..."
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the soft-featured, black-haired man:
"Come to the Labyrinth.. I will provide you the sanctuary you need."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the soft-featured, black-haired man:
"Come to the Elementalists quarter.. Near the temple of Whira."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the soft-featured, black-haired man:
"Before the false wall. I will take you in."
You stand up from a rough hide sleeping mat.
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 multi-ringed dartboard hangs on a wall here.
A message board is propped up against a wall.
The short, scar-faced man is sitting at a sturdy old bar.
The very short and thick male wearing a grey shaded, black face-wrap is standing here.
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 thick-set, sideburned bartender is here cleaning out mugs with a rag.
The muscular, hatchet-faced man stands here by the door.
<95/95 119/124 33/101 - sneaking >close door
Ok.
You say to the short, scar-faced man, in sirihish:
"Tell everyone to keep the alleys safe.. All the Blood.. Whoever you can fimd."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the soft-featured, black-haired man with the Way.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the soft-featured, black-haired man:
"Or tell me your place.. I will come and pick you up."
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
The soft-featured, black-haired man sends you a telepathic message:
"I'm at the entrance to Hathors. I'll hold you to nothing but the knowldge that if they haven't
emptied by bank account, it still contains a great deal."
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
* Confused, Serpent moved through the familiar alleys, making his way as fast as *
* possible to meet his old acquaintance that was once Lord Templar Haadith Oash. *
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Hathor's Way [NS]
This wide, dusty road -- named after a deceased Templar -- leads north
toward the poor, crime-infested section of Allanak, the Labyrinth, or as
most of its denizens call it, the 'rinth. Old, crumbling red-clay brick
buildings flank this throughfare on either side where piles of broken stone,
filthy rags and old bones lie strewn up against them. Thick dust and
the sickeningly sweet-smelling air do little to ease your state of mind.
Hathor's Way runs north and south from here, amidst the crumbling
buildings of the Labyrinth.
A blue silk sash lies here.
A half-giant soldier of Tektolnes walks along here.
The soft-featured, black-haired man is standing here.
Slim of build and soft of feature, this man's unscathed pale skin
wraps itself delicately around high, well-born features. Boyishly smooth, his
face is comely in Zalanthan terms, neither overly obese nor malnourished,
but is rounded in way that would indicate he was clearly well fed but has
avoided the pitfalls of gluttony. His set of piercing jade eyes, are framed
by thick, black lashes and he most notably seems almost with out trace of
scar or line of age. His long, ebony hair, is well lathered with sweet
scented oils and has been brushed straight to luxurious shine then twisted
into a soft braid and is often tossed delicately behind his shoulder.
The soft-featured, black-haired man is in excellent condition.
The soft-featured, black-haired man is using:
<worn on head> a bloodied glossy-black, chitinous helmet
<worn on face> a carved carru-skull face-guard
<worn around neck> a bloodied dusky chitin neck-guard
<worn on torso> a jade-studded, black-leather hauberk
<worn on arms> a pair of jade-studded, black-leather sleeves
<worn on legs> a pair of jade-studded, black-leather leggings
<worn on feet> a green-toned pair of chitin shell boots
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
The soft-featured, black-haired man spits at the half-giant soldier's feet and turns bravely toward
the alley.
Pointing northward, the half-giant soldier says to the soft-featured, black-haired man, in
sirihish:
"You go in."
The soft-featured, black-haired man says to the half-giant soldier, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Fucking traitors...The lot of you."
You say to the soft-featured, black-haired man, in sirihish:
"Fall in."
You speed your pace a little.
The half-giant soldier growls and starts to reach for his heavy bone, jade-emblazoned greatsword.
The soft-featured, black-haired man pauses his eyes falling on you, widening with fear.
The soft-featured, black-haired man falls in behind you.
Head down, the soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Just promise me it will be quick."
You say to the soft-featured, black-haired man, in sirihish:
"You have too much valuables on you. I will have you dress up like any other one resident
here, so you won't get mugged on the way."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the slight, wispy-bearded half-elf with the Way.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the slight, wispy-bearded half-elf:
"Vlen.. Bring a set of outfit.. Quick! Near the Templar statue.. Now!"
You dissolve the psychic link.
Crude Intersection [NSW]
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.
Alleyways run north and west from this dilapitated intersection. A
wider throughfare opens up to the south.
The headless and crumbling statue of a templar sits off to the side of the alley, one of its
outstretched arms missing.
The soft-featured, black-haired man is standing here.
The soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"What? "
You say to the soft-featured, black-haired man, in sirihish:
"Don't."
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
You ask the soft-featured, black-haired man, in sirihish:
"Where are you going?"
The slight, wispy-bearded half-elf sends you a telepathic message:
"Somethin' more than what I'm wearing? I'll grab it anyhow..."
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
Eyes flickering around widly, the soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"I...Don't...Know..."
You say to the soft-featured, black-haired man, in sirihish:
"We will move to the safety of my people."
You say to the soft-featured, black-haired man, in sirihish:
"Wait a little.. It will be alright."
Breathes heavily, clasping his chest, the soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Traitors...Traitors..."
The soft-featured, black-haired man says, in southern-accented sirihish:
"All of them..."
In a calm tone, you say to the soft-featured, black-haired man, in sirihish:
"You will take your revenge. Just relax."
In a calm tone, you say to the soft-featured, black-haired man, in sirihish:
"You need a shelter now."
Clasping his head, the soft-featured, black-haired man says, in southern-accented sirihish:
"She was in my mind..."
You ask the soft-featured, black-haired man, in sirihish:
"Who?"
The soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"So powerful...more powerful then I could have imagined..."
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man blinks a few times.
The soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Marsellus...Maewon."
Stepping away from you, the soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented
sirihish:
"You have no reason to help me...Why....What do you want..."
The soft-featured, black-haired man grasps at his finger and realizes with a sudden horror that
nothing is there.
Tilting his head, you say to the soft-featured, black-haired man,
in sirihish:
"You are a good tool. We can help each other."
You hear a man's voice from the west say, in sirihish:
"At the entrance to Hathor's Way, he said..."
The slight, wispy-bearded half-elf has arrived from the west.
The short, scar-faced man has arrived from the west.
The soft-featured, black-haired man looks down at the short, scar-faced man.
The slight, wispy-bearded half-elf opens a dusty leather strapped, traveling knapsack.
Lifting a hand at the approaching figures, you say, in sirihish:
"Give the pack."
The short, scar-faced man looks up at the soft-featured, black-haired man as he approaches.
The slight, wispy-bearded half-elf says, in northern-accented sirihish:
"I just grabbed what I could find...pants and a smock."
The slight, wispy-bearded half-elf gets a pair of patched sandcloth pants from a dusty leather
strapped, traveling knapsack.
The soft-featured, black-haired man breath quickens as his eyes dart with every sound.
The slight, wispy-bearded half-elf gives you a pair of patched sandcloth pants.
The slight, wispy-bearded half-elf gets a stained ragged linen smock from a dusty leather strapped,
traveling knapsack.
The slight, wispy-bearded half-elf gives you a stained ragged linen smock.
Sighing, the slight, wispy-bearded half-elf says, in northern-accented sirihish:
"Damn, wasn't sure what ya needed...I got some spare boots. He could wear mine for a bit."
The slight, wispy-bearded half-elf raises the hood of a dusty dark, hooded cloak.
You say to the figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak, in sirihish:
"Give me your cloak, if you did not bring any. Give a pair of boots too"
The figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
"Eh...just hope I get 'em back."
The slight, wispy-bearded half-elf lowers the hood of a dusty dark, hooded cloak.
The slight, wispy-bearded half-elf stops using a dusty dark, hooded cloak.
The slight, wispy-bearded half-elf gives you a dusty dark, hooded cloak.
Shaking his head quickly his face still panicked, the soft-featured, black-haired man exclaims to
you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Wait, wait, wait...Whats wrong with this...This is excellent gear...?!"
The short, scar-faced man exclaims, in sirihish:
"If you wait a little, I've left some gear in one of the buildings, Chief!"
The soft-featured, black-haired man exclaims to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"These boots cost near two hundred sid!"
Turning to him, you say to the soft-featured, black-haired man, in
sirihish:
"Till we get to safety, dress like we do. Then you can wear them again."
The slight, wispy-bearded half-elf stops using a dusty pair of black, soft leather boots.
His expression paled with fear and miscomprehension, the soft-featured, black-haired man stares at
you.
The slight, wispy-bearded half-elf grudgingly pulls of his boots and tosses them on the ground in
front of the soft-featured, black-haired man.
The slight, wispy-bearded half-elf drops a dusty pair of black, soft leather boots.
The slight, wispy-bearded half-elf gets a pair of smooth grey-hide footpads from a dusty leather
strapped, traveling knapsack.
The slight, wispy-bearded half-elf slips his feet into a pair of smooth grey-hide footpads.
With a nod, you say to the soft-featured, black-haired man, in
sirihish:
"Till we get to the shelter. Just till then. You can keep your nice gears with you, I am not
going to ask them"
The soft-featured, black-haired man clasps at his chest, his eyes filled with panick.
The slight, wispy-bearded half-elf looks at the soft-featured, black-haired man with an appraising
squint.
Turning to the slight, wispy-bearded half-elf and the short,
scar-faced man, you say, in sirihish:
"You two.. Go back. The rest of it, I wil lhandle myself."
You say, in sirihish:
"If you see Rocker.. Tell him to find me. Or any other of the Blood."
To your ear, the short, scar-faced man whispers to you in sirihish:
"Tell him to put all into some pack, Boss."
The slight, wispy-bearded half-elf says to the soft-featured, black-haired man, in
northern-accented sirihish:
"I'd put that cloak on quick...try t'cover anything flashy."
You say, in sirihish:
"You see Rocker or any other of the Blood, tell them to find me."
Alley [EW]
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 runs fairly straight, heading in an east-west direction.
A dusty pair of soft, black leather boots lies here.
The short, scar-faced man is standing here.
The slight, wispy-bearded half-elf is standing here.
The soft-featured, black-haired man is standing here.
His expression grim, the soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented
sirihish:
"No...I can apologize...They let me live."
His expression grim, the soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented
sirihish:
"He'll forgive me...He'll forgive my insolence..."
Shaking his head, you say to the soft-featured, black-haired man,
in sirihish:
"You can.. But not now. Not now."
The short, scar-faced man nods to you, then flashes a grin to the soft-featured, black-haired man,
inclining his head.
The slight, wispy-bearded half-elf nods to you, then turns, ducking warily down the side of the
shadowy street.
"Just give it an ease.. Let it pass.. Sometime."
Bursting with anger, the soft-featured, black-haired man exclaims, in southern-accented sirihish:
"They can't do this!!!"
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man watches the soft-featured, black-haired man, his brows furrowed.
The short, scar-faced man stops and glances back over his shoulder.
Shaking his head as the flash of anger passes and only weariness remains, the soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"I'm sorry....Whatever you want...Don't leave me here...please."
The sun rises, filling the sweltering streets of the 'Rinth with heat.
The short, scar-faced man sheathes an obsidian dagger.
The short, scar-faced man sheathes an obsidian dagger.
The short, scar-faced man stealthily moves east.
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man exhales a soft sigh.
You pick up a dusty pair of black, soft leather boots.
It is very light.
You say to the soft-featured, black-haired man, in sirihish:
"Come.. We need to get this over with quick."
The soft-featured, black-haired man stumbles behind you, whimpering softly.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
* They move a little deeper into the alleys, to somewhere relatively safer. *
* The ex-templar's thoughts and speech carrying little coherence as he finds*
* it hard to believe what has been transpiring around him. *
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Dead End [S]
Worn and cracked walls of red-clay brick and old stone flank the sides
of this narrow and twisting alleyway. Trash, excrement and old gnawed bones
lie in scattered heaps on the hard-packed earthen ground giving off foul,
sickly odours that thicken the air with the telltale reek of disease. The
entire length of the alley lies in shadow, the sky being but a narrow crack
overhead between the shattered tops of leaning ramshackle buildings. The
air hangs thick and deathly still, as if even Whira found it too repellent a
place to move about in.
The alley comes to an abrupt end here. A section of the western wall,
however, seems to have recently collapsed exposing a parallel alleyway on
the other side that one might be able to crawl through to.
The soft-featured, black-haired man is standing here.
You say to the soft-featured, black-haired man, in sirihish:
"Looks clear."
His voice hoarse, the soft-featured, black-haired man whispers to you in sirihish:
"the templarate....Nobility...."
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man stares at the soft-featured, black-haired man, his brows furrowed.
Shaking his head softly, the soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"I'm sorry...."
You say to the soft-featured, black-haired man, in sirihish:
"It is alright. We are not dead people here."
You give a pair of patched sandcloth pants to the soft-featured, black-haired man.
Staring at you with pleading eyes, the soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"I can still be of use to you....I can fight..I'm trained....And I can read....I'm literate..."
The soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Please...You're not going to kill me are you? Please? "
You say to the soft-featured, black-haired man, in sirihish:
"You are useful, old friend.. I know that."
The soft-featured, black-haired man frowns with disgust as he holds his pair of patched sandcloth pants.
You say to the soft-featured, black-haired man, in sirihish:
"I could kill you way befoe it I wanted."
You say to the soft-featured, black-haired man, in sirihish:
"Even when you were still a templar."
Almost afraid of the pants, the soft-featured, black-haired man says, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Oh...These are utterly vile..."
Chuckling quietly, you say to the soft-featured, black-haired man, in sirihish:
"Just for a while. You will still have the chance to keep your nice leggings."
The soft-featured, black-haired man coughs bitterly, pulling off his pair of jade-studded, black-leather leggings with a painful frown.,
----------------------------------------------------------------------
* A short time passes as the old templar changes his outfit, looking *
* more like a rinth dweller than a noble born in the end. *
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Slim of build and soft of feature, this man's unscathed pale skin
wraps
itself delicately around high, well-born features. Boyishly smooth, his
face is comely in Zalanthan terms, neither overly obese nor malnourished,
but is rounded in way that would indicate he was clearly well fed but has
avoided the pitfalls of gluttony. His set of piercing jade eyes, are framed
by thick, black lashes and he most notably seems almost with out trace of
scar or line of age. His long, ebony hair, is well lathered with sweet
scented oils and has been brushed straight to luxurious shine then twisted
into a soft braid and is often tossed delicately behind his shoulder.
The soft-featured, black-haired man is in excellent condition.
The soft-featured, black-haired man is using:
<worn around body> a dusty dark, hooded cloak
<worn on legs> a pair of patched sandcloth pants
<worn on feet> a dusty pair of black, soft leather boots
You ask the soft-featured, black-haired man, in sirihish:
"Do you have any weapon, old friend?"
Shaking his head his eyes wide with panic, the soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in
southern-accented sirihish:
"Nothing...My ring...He took it..."
Slipping beyond the horizon, Jihae fades from the sky's stage.
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man nods once.
Looking at his hands, the soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented
sirihish:
"My power.....all gone...."
> draw sword
You draw a sharp, well-balanced bone halfsword.
You stop holding a sharp, well-balanced bone halfsword.
You begin guarding the soft-featured, black-haired man.
You drop a sharp, well-balanced bone halfsword. Shown to the
room as:
A sharp, bone halfsword lies here.
You say to the soft-featured, black-haired man, in sirihish:
"Take it."
The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
"*Her thoughts holding confusion* Seems I'm, not employed by Haadith, any longer.. I.. don't
know what's going on.."
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
You say to the soft-featured, black-haired man, in sirihish:
"I will give you a pack.. Once we get to my tavern."
The soft-featured, black-haired man nods nervously at you.
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:
"Haadith is no longer a templar. He is in the labyrinth now.. Banished."
You dissolve the psychic link.
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man exhales a soft sigh.
The soft-featured, black-haired man gives you a jade-studded, black-leather hauberk.
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
The soft-featured, black-haired man puts a smelly glass vial inside a dusty dark, hooded cloak.
Nodding to a sharp, well-balanced bone halfsword, you say to the
soft-featured, black-haired man, in sirihish:
"Now.. Take it."
The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
"Are they going to banish me?"
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the sleek, honey-eyed young woman with the Way.
The soft-featured, black-haired man nods a few times, with a desperate acknowledgement.
The soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Yes...yes..."
The soft-featured, black-haired man picks up a sharp, well-balanced bone halfsword.
The soft-featured, black-haired man brandishes a sharp, well-balanced bone halfsword.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman:
"No. I don't think it has anything to do with you my love."
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
"-I- am -his- aide. It seems that it could have to do a lot with me.."
You say to the soft-featured, black-haired man, in sirihish:
"Raise your hood.. That will make you look more like a regular folk."
Keeping his gaze ahead, you say to the soft-featured, black-haired man, in sirihish:
"Don't think we will have any trouble.. After all, you are with me."
Whimpering after you, the soft-featured, black-haired man says, in southern-accented sirihish:
"What a fitting end.....for a vile bastard...."
The soft-featured, black-haired man nods a few times to you, his head lowered, face slick with sweat.
Turning halfway to check the soft-featured, black-haired man, the pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man keeps along the twisting alleys.
Keeping your razor-sharp, hawk-etched halfsword at his side, the pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man drops a single nod at the short figure in a dark, hooded cloak.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
* Each step cautious, eyes scanning their surroundings with utmost alertness
* they start moving again, this time to a more familiar place for almost
* all the alley dwellers: Folley.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
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 multi-ringed dartboard hangs on a wall here.
A message board is propped up against a wall.
The very short and thick male wearing a grey shaded, black face-wrap is standing here.
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 thick-set, sideburned bartender is here cleaning out mugs with a rag.
The muscular, hatchet-faced man stands here by the door.
The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak has arrived from the west.
The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak follows you into the dingy bar his head lowered submissively.
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man walks into the cramped room, eyes passing through few rough figures.
Raising his voice over the crowd, you say to the thick-set, sideburned bartender, in sirihish:
"Effen.. Give us a couple of ales."
You give a chipped, red-clay mug to the short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak.
You hold the mug.
With a nod to the thick-set, sideburned bartender, the pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man walks toward the battered door.
The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak accepts his chipped, red-clay mug face shadowed by the hood of his cloak.
Leaning close to him, you whisper to the muscular, hatchet-faced man in sirihish:
"I got a new friend, and he needs to get in badly."
You initiate the short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak into 'The Guild'.
The muscular, hatchet-faced man nods at you.
Ok.
The muscular, hatchet-faced man nods at you.
A Cluttered Office [WD]
This tiny square chamber is unfurnished save for a battered desk
behind with a few crates serving as seating behind it. The room has no
visible exits, save back to the bar and contains no windows. Dust clings
heavy in the air and there is a smell of decay and rot about the place that
has likely been present for centuries. The stone walls are stacked with
battered crates, all arranged in a haphazard fashion and tilting madly in
several different directions.
The large oval of a pale gold carpet is spread across the floor.
A pink-flowered plant is rooted here, its leaves exuding a sharp scent.
A gwoshi carved wooden chest sits here.
A couple of open shelved cabinets are here.
A large wooden crate is here, stacked neatly in the corner.
A rough hide sleeping mat lies on the floor here.
The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak has arrived from the west.
Following you, the short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak takes his place at a long, low and cracked clay table, hands clutching his chipped, red-clay mug.
The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak sits at a long, low and cracked clay table.
The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak places his elbows on the table, and laws his face in
his hands.
The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak says, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Why did they let me live...surely...."
The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak says, in southern-accented sirihish:
"I'm too dangerous alive..."
You give a bone-studded backpack to the short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak.
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Here .. Your things."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"So... Want to talk a little?"
At your table, the short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak says in southern-accented sirihish, clasping his face with panic and shame:
"What is there to say..."
At your table, the short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak says in southern-accented sirihish:
"I'm humbled you've let me live this long..."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"What happened and you ended up in my side of the city?"
At your table, the short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak says in southern-accented sirihish, shaking his head:
"I don't know...I couldn't take it...The traitors...The double alliances...."
At your table, the short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak says in southern-accented sirihish:
"They were lecturing me....the pure hypocrisy of that fucking lecture!"
At your table, the short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak says in southern-accented sirihish:
"I couldn't take it....When she entered my mind, I snapped...I tried to kill them both...Both Reds..."
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man toys with your chipped, red-clay mug, staring at the short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak in the face.
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"You attacked them openly?"
At your table, the short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak says in southern-accented sirihish, with a moan:
"No...Never..."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the sleek, honey-eyed young woman with the Way.
At your table, the short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak says in southern-accented sirihish:
"In the Quarter....A closed room, just the three of us."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman:
"Haadith is here.. Seemingly he did something himself. Not you involved in it."
At your table, the short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak says in southern-accented sirihish, near sobbing:
"What have I done....."
The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak lays his face onto his hands, his nails digging into his forehead.
The soft-featured, black-haired man lowers the hood of a dusty dark, hooded cloak.
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Just three of you? Then what happened? What lecture was it?"
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
"Veralius...."
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
"He paid me...."
The soft-featured, black-haired man grits his teeth, for a moment before swallow.
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man furrows his brows, tilting his head as he listens to the soft-featured, black-haired man.
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
"Did he say what he did?"
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
"Veralius paid me to kill a senior of his house, fifty large..."
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
"Someone found out...Told Marsellus..."
The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
"As a precaution. I emptied my place.. incase they go searching for anyone."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman:
"He is saying."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman:
"Seemingly, he attemted to kill a borsail senior."
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
"He sat there and chatised me for it....But months before he had praised me for what happened with Tor...It was the same fucking thing..."
The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
"Him or not, they always seek someone to blame. A Borsail senior? Veralius?"
The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
"He told me not to go to Veralius.."
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
"But now the heat was on him, and he was with the red that the fucking traitor reports too...And they sat and accused me of treason..."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman:
"Veralius is just another noble. Not a senior."
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
"So I decided to test the strength of their authority..."
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
"I set the Highlord's flames on him..."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"On Marsellus?"
The soft-featured, black-haired man nods firmly, his eyes taking on a malevolent, empty stare.
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"I see."
sip mug
This tastes like ordinary ale.
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
"But he didn't flinch, he was barely harmed....He crushed me with his bare hands."
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man blinks, scratching his scarred cheek absently.
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
"I've seen men's flesh burned away by such..."
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
"He is truly HIS chosen...I have sinned greater then any have ever..."
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
"And now I have been cast away.....With the outcasts..."
At your table, you say in sirihish, pursing his lips:
"Unfortunate."
The soft-featured, black-haired man wipes sweat from his face, his expression grim.
The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
"Wonder if I ought to just stay here.."
The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
"Unsafe for me to venture out?"
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman:
"Want to see your former employer? Nah.. It is nothing about you."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman:
"All he did was his own doing."
At your table, you say in sirihish, exhaling a soft breath:
"You are safe here."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"You are safe out in the bar as well."
You think:
"I will learn how to read and write. By you."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"You will be safe in the streets, so long you don't flash out your southsider side."
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, shaking his head:
"There is a recruit....Named Tada...He might be loyal...Perhaps Dasyk as well..."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Or look too rich to anyone."
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
"Or Sophie...poor Sophie."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"I know them. I can check them out."
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
"In the streets..? I have to leave here??!!"
The soft-featured, black-haired man eyes widen with a sudden fear.
At your table, you say in sirihish, a cloud of concern coming to his face:
"Do you think they will go after Sophie?"
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"No.. You can live here all the way. I meant if you want to step out."
The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
"I don't mind seeing him. What do you think he'll say?"
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, shaking his head:
"No...No they wouldn't ...I told her to go to Palimus...But what if he's with them..."
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, grasping his head:
"Fuck!"
At your table, you say in sirihish, shaking his head:
"Nah.. She does not need to go anyone."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Just that.. Will she be put guilty because of your situation?"
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
"I don't know..."
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man knits his brows thoughtfully.
The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
"Do I need to change or anything?"
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
"Bloody hell....Maybe they won't tell anyone....Perhaps they'll make some story to protect the reputation of the Blue."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Do you want to see Sophie now? I can bring her here very quick as well."
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, shaking his head:
"No! No...I can't take the shame of it all..."
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
"Tell her I've died...I was killed..."
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
"I have to get out of this city....They'll all know me here."
At your table, you say in sirihish, shaking his head:
"No need for it, old friend. In the wilds you will be found, humiliated, tortured and face worse than death."
The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
"So wait before I go to the whiran temple?"
The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
"I want to see him, I worked ofr him for about two years!"
The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
"Tell him too bad."
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, shaking his head and lowering his shoulders:
"And what will I do here?"
At your table, you say in sirihish, licking his lips:
"I am a curious mind, old friend."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"I always wanted to learn.. How to read a text.. Or write."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"I wanted to learn your strange tongue as well. I have heard it so much.. So many templars I have seen, and heard talking."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Yet.. Without someone teaching, it did not go well at all."
The soft-featured, black-haired man runs his bare hand over his face, smearing a mix of dirt and grim over his face.
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Also.. I would not like to see an old friend, being turned into a trash in the streets."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"I can grant you the protection."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"And.. You said you have been trained."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"You can perhaps train my little boys?"
The soft-featured, black-haired man shakes his head his eyes going wild.
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
"I...I...I...I can't..."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Why?"
The soft-featured, black-haired man touches his forehead, narrowing his brow.
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
"Kerne...The Mul...Tada reports he's killing everyone."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"See.. You also have some loyal friends. You can always be helpful."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"And I can help you take your revenge.. On veralius."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"In time."
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
"The Highlord...If I taught such things...."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Highlord did not kill you.."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"But sent you here."
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
"A greater sin then ever has been...."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Perhaps he wanted you to teach me those things?"
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, shaking his head:
"As punishment...."
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
"No..."
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
The amber skinned, tattooed male sends you a telepathic message:
"Borsail barracks is open! Kerne went crazy in there"
At your table, you say in sirihish, folding his arms over his chest:
"How do you know it is not so?"
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
"I'm at the temple of Whira."
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, his eyes weary and beaten:
"I don't....I'm wretched...No better then the infidels..."
At your table, you say in sirihish, putting a black inked hand on the soft-featured, black-haired man's shoulder:
"Sophie is in my mind. Nearly crying to see you.. She says all those years, she served you,
and she wants to be at your side now."
The soft-featured, black-haired man closes his eyes.
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"I can take her here for a short time. Real short."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Want it?"
The soft-featured, black-haired man nods a few times at you.
The soft-featured, black-haired man eyes light up with a sudden rage.
The soft-featured, black-haired man shouts, in southern-accented sirihish:
"You are right! "
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Be at ease."
Pointing at you, the soft-featured, black-haired man exclaims to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"You are right!"
The soft-featured, black-haired man exclaims to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"I was right about the sword! The Mul's escaped! I told them!"
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man tilts his head.
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Sword?"
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman:
"Wait.. I will come and pick you up."
The soft-featured, black-haired man asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"You were at the fucking arena were you not?"
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Yes."
The soft-featured, black-haired man asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"You saw the sword the gifted the Mul?"
You think:
"No..I did not."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"what about it?"
Shaking his head, the soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"I told them not to give it away. It was too powerful."
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man blinks a few times.
The soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"It would fall into the hands of our enemies, and now it has."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"So.. Mul is .. oh.. That won't work."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Mul is a mindless slave. They would not think it is an enemy."
The soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"What? Don't be daft..."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Besides, probably that mul has killed more Borsail even now."
You dissolve the psychic link.
The soft-featured, black-haired man asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Wht?"
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
At your table, you say in sirihish, shrugging:
"A raging mul..in Borsail estates.. Who would he kill first? Borsail."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"So.. Borsail is not enemy, because they are the ones dying now."
The amber skinned, tattooed male sends you a telepathic message:
"That Mul, Kerne, that won the metal sword, just faught himself free of the Borsail barracks, Outside the barrack is a dead body with a full outfit of Crimson Wyvern stuff"
The soft-featured, black-haired man exclaims to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"And? What is your point...The sword, you don't know what it does!"
The amber skinned, tattooed male sends you a telepathic message:
"And just me around..How much will that score?"
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"But a mul can enrage with or without any sword. It does not mean the sword."
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the amber skinned, tattooed male with the Way.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the amber skinned, tattooed male:
"Fifteen smalls."
You dissolve the psychic link.
Shaking his head, the soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"You don't understand....I was right."
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"I understand. I am telling you..."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"They won't understand."
You think:
"I have no fucking idea .."
The soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Of course....But the sword...It's a **censored**...The wielder ********censored********"
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
His tone becoming serious, the soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented
sirihish:
"It is the ultimate weapon against *****censored*****"
At your table, you say in sirihish, pursing his lips:
"And against the **censored**"
The soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Right....But I *told* them not to let it go...to destroy it...But Malenthis and his
pride...his ambitions."
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man furrows his brows.
The soft-featured, black-haired man asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Do you recall when I last threatened you?"
At your table, you say in sirihish, chuckling quietly:
"Yes. How can I forget."
The soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"It was over that..."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Really? Why did not you just fucking say it? I had no idea."
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man chuckles quietly.
The soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"I thought you sought it...I entered Tada into the contest, so pumped up on Rukian magicks I thought he'd kill them all."
The soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"But Malenthis foiled it....and Kerne won."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Hmm.. Maybe I could just enter the arena, and win it.. Damn."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"I did not know that was the prize."
Shaking his head, the soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"To be fair I didn't trust you."
The soft-featured, black-haired man puts a carved carru-skull face-guard inside a bone-studded backpack.
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"On what?"
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"You would not give me the sword if I won it?"
The soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"To trust you to win and then give me the sword."
The soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Fuck no...I just told you, I wanted it destroyed."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Oh.. I see."
The soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"For this very reason. Who knows who get it from the Mul."
At your table, you say in sirihish, with a nod:
"I guess Templarate will get it back."
The soft-featured, black-haired man asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"How?"
The soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Wait..."
The soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"If we could summon the mul as an friend...the three of us..."
The soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"And the sword..."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Wait here a few moments. I will get Sophie. She is outside."
The soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Quite an alliance."
The soft-featured, black-haired man nods once, settling back into his seat.
You stand up from a long, low and cracked clay table.
The soft-featured, black-haired man shoulders slump at mention of the name.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
* The old templar is left to his own thoughts, as the crime lord leaves *
* through the cramped door to fetch the clueless woman waiting outside. *
* For a few moments, the office was empty save for the shadow of the *
* noble born, cast upon in the cracked table in the flickering light of *
* the solitary candle. *
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man beckons the short figure in an inky-black, hooded sandcloth greatcloak with a black inked hand.
The short figure in an inky-black, hooded sandcloth greatcloak falls in behind you.
Her tone soft, the short figure in an inky-black, hooded sandcloth greatcloak says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Hello, darling."
The figure in a dark, hooded cloak quickly walks into the debris, guiding the short figure in an inky-black, hooded sandcloth greatcloak behind him.
You initiate the short figure in an inky-black, hooded sandcloth greatcloak into 'The Guild'.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The figure in a dark, hooded cloak walks over the battered door, nodding at the muscular, hatchet-faced man.
The muscular, hatchet-faced man nods at you.
A Cluttered Office [WD]
This tiny square chamber is unfurnished save for a battered desk
behind with a few crates serving as seating behind it. The room has no
visible exits, save back to the bar and contains no windows. Dust clings
heavy in the air and there is a smell of decay and rot about the place that
has likely been present for centuries. The stone walls are stacked with
battered crates, all arranged in a haphazard fashion and tilting madly in
several different directions.
The large oval of a pale gold carpet is spread across the floor.
A pink-flowered plant is rooted here, its leaves exuding a sharp scent.
A gwoshi carved wooden chest sits here.
A couple of open shelved cabinets are here.
A large wooden crate is here, stacked neatly in the corner.
A rough hide sleeping mat lies on the floor here.
The soft-featured, black-haired man is sitting at a long, low and cracked clay table.
Stepping quietly in behind you, the short figure in an inky-black, hooded sandcloth greatcloak
reaches her hands up.
The short figure in an inky-black, hooded sandcloth greatcloak stops using a white silk veil, revealing a pair of pale, faint looking scars.
The sleek, honey-eyed young woman lowers the hood of an inky-black, hooded sandcloth greatcloak.
The soft-featured, black-haired man slumps backward in his chair, turning his face from the sleek, honey-eyed young woman and closing his eyes.
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man gestures at an empty crate at a long, low and cracked clay table.
The sleek, honey-eyed young woman looks down at the soft-featured, black-haired man with a hesitant shift of her gaze.
Leading the sleek, honey-eyed young woman to it, you sit at a long, low and cracked clay table.
The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sits at a long, low and cracked clay table.
His voice ragged, the soft-featured, black-haired man says to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Sophie..."
The soft-featured, black-haired man manages a nod to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman, his face slick with dust and sweat.
At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, watching the soft-featured, black-haired man, her features uncertain:
"Besides the circumstances.. are you.. alright?"
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man folds his arms over his chest.
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, straightening his chair:
"I'm well enough...I've gracious hosts..."
At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, nodding to the soft-featured, black-haired man, her eyes shifting to you:
"Thank you.."
The droplet-tattooed, swarthy man sends you a telepathic message:
"Serpen', I hear yeh picked up a nice new friend t'night. I should be warnin' yeh.."
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
The droplet-tattooed, swarthy man sends you a telepathic message:
"This'un is gonna be too hot for yeh t'hold onta. Get wha' yeh can from 'im, 'cause yeh prob'ly gonna 'aveta sell 'im out. Don't bring none'a tha' heat onta us."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the droplet-tattooed, swarthy man with the Way.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the droplet-tattooed, swarthy man:
"Just want to learn what he knows. I always wanted to learn how to read and ride. And learn
what the fuck those templars talk about. Then he can die easy."
The droplet-tattooed, swarthy man sends you a telepathic message:
"*amusement* Hah..yeh gonna learn t'read? Yeh mus' think yeh smart."
You chuckle.
A Cluttered Office [WD]
This tiny square chamber is unfurnished save for a battered desk
behind with a few crates serving as seating behind it. The room has no
visible exits, save back to the bar and contains no windows. Dust clings
heavy in the air and there is a smell of decay and rot about the place that
has likely been present for centuries. The stone walls are stacked with
battered crates, all arranged in a haphazard fashion and tilting madly in
several different directions.
The large oval of a pale gold carpet is spread across the floor.
A pink-flowered plant is rooted here, its leaves exuding a sharp scent.
A gwoshi carved wooden chest sits here.
A couple of open shelved cabinets are here.
A large wooden crate is here, stacked neatly in the corner.
A rough hide sleeping mat lies on the floor here.
The sleek, honey-eyed young woman is sitting at a long, low and cracked clay table.
The soft-featured, black-haired man is sitting at a long, low and cracked clay table.
The sleek, honey-eyed young woman looks up at you her attention lifting to you.
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man grunts, lowering onto a crate.
You sit at a long, low and cracked clay table.
You give a bundle of cooked meat to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman.
Softly, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Thank you."
You give a bundle of cooked meat to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman.
The soft-featured, black-haired man sighs for a moment, his gaze flickering from you to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman.
At your table, you say in sirihish, offerin your bundle of cooked meat:
"Want to eat, old friend?"
Wrapping her bundle of cooked meat, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman lifts a piece of the smoked meat to her mouth.
The sleek, honey-eyed young woman eats a portion of a bundle of cooked meat.
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
"I could barely hold it down I think..."
At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, smacking her
lips softly:
"It's not bad, actually.."
The sleek, honey-eyed young woman eats a portion of a partially eaten bundle of cooked meat.
You put a bundle of cooked meat on a long, low and cracked clay table.
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"If you want.. You can take it."
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, shaking his head at the sleek, honey-eyed young woman:
"You shouldn't be here...Don't share in my punishment...You have a child to consider."
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
"If it's found that you're with me...."
The soft-featured, black-haired man shakes his head a few times.
Thoughtfully, the pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man stares at the sleek, honey-eyed young woman's abdomen.
At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, shaking her head at the soft-featured, black-haired man:
"It won't be found out, I made the decision..."
You eat part of a bundle of cooked meat.
Lifting another piece of the cooked meat to her lips, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman glances toward you.
The sleek, honey-eyed young woman eats a portion of a half eaten bundle of cooked meat.
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man chews thoughtfully, lifting his gaze to meet the sleek, honey-eyed young woman's own.
You eat part of a partially eaten bundle of cooked meat.
At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, smirking faintly as she shakes her head:
"Wasn't two days ago, I was yelling at recruit Tada in the Barrel, hope he doesn't.. nevermind. He'll leave me be, I'm sure."
At your table, you say in sirihish, chuckling quietly:
"I can spank his ass if that is the trouble."
At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, shaking her head at you:
"Naah, he was just gawking. I told him my concerns."
The sleek, honey-eyed young woman eats a portion of a half eaten bundle of cooked meat.
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
"Concerns?"
At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, nodding at the soft-featured, black-haired man:
"Didn't appreciate his gawking and remarks. Sounded like he was still a Bynner. But.. it's nothing any of us can help, now."
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
"He'll be useful in the long run...He loves his black coins..."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Who does not?"
You eat part of a half eaten bundle of cooked meat.
At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, sighing softly as she rubs her hand over her belly:
"And women, it seems.. so.. you're going to stay here? In the allies?"
Silently, the pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man drops a single nod at the sleek, honey-eyed young woman.
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"He is in safety."
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, wiping his face:
"For now..."
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
"I've destroyed everything else....It's all gone now."
At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, turning to beam you a smile:
"Thank you for taking him in."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"You don't have any employer, I am assuming?"
You eat part of a half eaten bundle of cooked meat.
You eat part of a small portion of a bundle of cooked meat.
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, eyes flickering to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman:
"Who did you get to take you in?"
At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, nodding at you, then giving the soft-featured, black-haired man a glance:
"That's true.. right? Nobody.. nobody is to be found.."
At your table, you say in sirihish, shrugging:
"It can go this way."
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
"Palimus...He's the only one I could think of....Or the merchant houses. You must denounce me Sophie..."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"No no.. Not so fast."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"She is not supposed to know about your fate yet."
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
"Yes, I was about to say..."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"IF she suddenly knows everything, it means.. Yeah.. You know what."
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman:
"Play ignorance and when they tell you, denounce what I've done. It's vile...."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"She will be one among the populace.. Whatever the commons know, she will know and then she will move accordingly."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Right."
Her green-eyed gaze shifting between the soft-featured, black-haired man and you, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman nods slowly.
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
"If you don't you'll share my fate..."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"I will take care of until then. Nothing to worry about."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"I mean.. I can take care of her as well."
The soft-featured, black-haired man nods a few time to you, rubbing his head.
At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, nodding slowly:
"Alright.. I will do so.."
At your table, you say in sirihish, gesturing at the wrapped cooked meat on a long, low and cracked clay table:
"Take that, old friend. If you don't eat now, you will eat sometime later."
The soft-featured, black-haired man reaches out, taking something reluctantly from a long, low and cracked clay table.
The soft-featured, black-haired man gets a bundle of cooked meat from a long, low and cracked clay table.
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"I will stash some more meats and stuff into the bags on the this table. There is also clean water in one of them."
The soft-featured, black-haired man chews slowly at the dried meat, wincing a bit.
The soft-featured, black-haired man drinks ale from a chipped, red-clay mug.
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"There is also spice. But don't be sniffing it without asking. I like to keep track of it."
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man exhales softly.
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, nodding a few times easily:
"Of course...."
The soft-featured, black-haired man drinks ale from a chipped, red-clay mug.
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
"Think.. we ough tto tell him?"
At your table, you say in sirihish, gesturing at the cabinets:
"You can take anything you like from those as well."
Rubbing his temple, the pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man shrugs at the sleek, honey-eyed young woman.
asses -v haadith
He appears in adulthood for his race.
He is slightly shorter than you.
He is slightly heavier than you.
The soft-featured, black-haired man is in excellent condition.
The soft-featured, black-haired man does not look tired.
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, rubbing his temple in pain:
"I need to think....I can't stay in Allanak...Surely you've another place..."
The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
"You tell him, I'll run out the door to get a headstart.."
The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
"*Amusement*"
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
"Perhaps that filthy Red Storm village...Or the Outposts....Someone is going to recognize me here..."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Who are you waying to?"
Turning to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman, the pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man blinks at her.
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
"I'm trying to reach Tada....To see if they captured to Mul."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Stay here for a while..Till the southside gets a little easy, then I can guide you to Red Storm."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"But I am telling you, the alleys are safe, so long you play by the rules."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Red storm is no better. If the north hears about it, they will just attempt to capture you."
Sitting quietly, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman lifts a hand to rub at her neck.
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"But in my streets, no one can touch anything, if I don't approve it."
The soft-featured, black-haired man glances down at his sharp, well-balanced bone halfsword with some anxiety.
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man glances at the sleek, honey-eyed young woman sidelong.
The cerise-haired young woman sends you a telepathic message:
"Serpent, we've got thief problems at Terash. A neck stole some things from Proprietor Enlil. Any suggestions?"
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the cerise-haired young woman with the Way.
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, eyes settling on her:
"Sophie...."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the cerise-haired young woman:
"There is more trouble around.. I thought.. Kerne was on rage killing half the city with his shining metal sword."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the cerise-haired young woman:
"You caught him?"
The cerise-haired young woman sends you a telepathic message:
"*softly* He's dead, aye."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the cerise-haired young woman:
"What happened to the sword?"
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Kerne is dead."
The cerise-haired young woman sends you a telepathic message:
"Any idea why? The sword is safe."
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
"And the blade?"
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the cerise-haired young woman:
"At Borsail? Is it?"
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the cerise-haired young woman:
"Or templarate?"
The cerise-haired young woman sends you a telepathic message:
"I turned it over to my Lord Commander."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"In Borsail Lord commander's hands."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the cerise-haired young woman:
"I see."
At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, turning her attention to the soft-featured, black-haired man:
"Yes..?"
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, slamming his hand onto the table:
"Blast!"
The cerise-haired young woman sends you a telepathic message:
"He'll see that it is where it needs to be, such things are far beyond my experience. Krath...
I cannot believe I held a metal sword. Insane. Any ideas on how to catch an elf?"
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the cerise-haired young woman:
"How to catch an elf is easy. Just go to barrel and hold one tight."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the cerise-haired young woman:
"But the one that thieved, well.."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the cerise-haired young woman:
"Does Terash know what he looks like?"
The cerise-haired young woman sends you a telepathic message:
"I don't know."
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the cerise-haired young woman:
"There are lots of elves.. Need to have an idea which one got lifted."
You dissolve the psychic link.
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, touching his face suddenly his fingers tracing his own eyes:
"The last of HIS touch.....Gone..."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"What? What was it"
The soft-featured, black-haired man leans backward in his chair, slumping lifelessly.
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
"My ability to see the unseen....The effects still lingered."
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
"But it's gone now..."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Come now.. You are still someone of note withouth his touch and shit."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"You are trained."
At your table, you say in sirihish, with a twinkle in his eyes:
"You are literate."
Listening, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman peers btween you at the soft-featured, black-haired man.
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"We can help each other.. Old friend."
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, lifting his sharp, well-balanced bone halfsword and looking at it warily:
"I used to think these primitive..."
The swarthy, fork-bearded man has entered the world.
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, to you:
"I have nothing else..."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"With that primitive thing.. I killed a templar once."
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
"Come? "
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
"A member of HIS Templarate?"
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Nah.."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"But who cares? Who touched to who and what."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"A templar with his Higlord or Muk balls or whatever.. Still bleeds, and that thing makes it
bleed."
At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, peering at the soft-featured, black-haired man:
"You've still that gift I gave you? That seems like that would.. hurt.."
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman his eyes heavy with guilt:
"They took it....I'm sorry..."
The sleek, honey-eyed young woman shakes her head silently to the soft-featured, black-haired man, her hands still folded over the slope of her midsection.
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"You are on the safe hands, friend. We help each other, we stick together. And we will find a way to get your revenge someday."
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, shaking his
head:
"But do I want it...I'm confused...My god has forsaken me...."
Yawning, the swarthy, fork-bearded man stretches his hands, waking up from a rough hide sleeping mat.
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
"I've blasphemed....But I still live....And the sword, I was right about it...It should have
been..."
Gesturing at the battered door, you ask the swarthy, fork-bearded
man, in sirihish:
"Give us some moment, alright?"
The soft-featured, black-haired man looks up at the swarthy, fork-bearded man quieting down, and turning his eyes on him.
The swarthy, fork-bearded man nods absent-mindedly, heading for the door.
The sleek, honey-eyed young woman looks up at the swarthy, fork-bearded man with a slight turn of her head.
The swarthy, fork-bearded man opens the door.
The swarthy, fork-bearded man walks west.
The swarthy, fork-bearded man closes the door from the other side.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the swarthy, fork-bearded man with the Way.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the swarthy, fork-bearded man:
"You did not see anything in the office, alright Jubal?"
You dissolve the psychic link.
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
The swarthy, fork-bearded man sends you a telepathic message:
"Right boss - the office was empty - as usual!"
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man lowers a black inked hand from his temple.
The soft-featured, black-haired man exhales for a moment, shaking his head.
The cerise-haired young woman sends you a telepathic message:
"Black hair and recessed yellow eyes is what Reneli says the elf looks like. That help, Serpent?"
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"You can rest here, I will keep leaving edibles on the table.. Maybe some coins if you want to go and get some drink.. You can wander in the alleys, if you are any curious about it."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Just don't try something too early."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the cerise-haired young woman with the Way.
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, eyes settling on you:
"Try something?"
Sighing softly, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman watches the soft-featured, black-haired man for a quiet moment.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the cerise-haired young woman:
"Better."
At your table, you say in sirihish, shrugging:
"Don't know. Taking a walk to southside and spitting on Veralius."
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
"Veralius didn't betray me...He's as guilty as I...Likely he might join us..."
The soft-featured, black-haired man chuckles for a moment, the first sign of a smile forming on his lips.
The cerise-haired young woman sends you a telepathic message:
"He have a name?"
A brow quirking, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman watches the soft-featured, black-haired man quietly still.
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"I hope he does. We need a better dartboard anyway."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the cerise-haired young woman:
"No. But I will have it looked around."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the swarthy, fork-bearded man with the Way.
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
"Alright then...I'm past this whimpering kank-shit. If it's here I am, with or without the
Highlord, Haadith Oash is Haadith Oash."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the swarthy, fork-bearded man:
"An elf.. Black hair and yellow eyes.."
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
"What do you want from me, in exchange for my place in your "organization"?"
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
"Or our alliance...however you want to call it."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the swarthy, fork-bearded man:
"Is doing nicking on the protected people. Pass the word around, and lets see who this elf is and what he is up to."
Listening, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman smiles faintly as she sits perched on a crate.
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"I said it already.. You can do anything you like that is to start with.."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"But I am a curious mind, old friend."
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, nodding once:
"Good, so am I. "
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"And also.. You can maybe help train my boys around."
At your table, you say in sirihish, wiping his nose:
"Hmm.. Thinking about it..."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"You can go out in the alleys, and make sure no southsider or the eastsider starts shit around."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"That is basically any Blood does."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"I mean... Blood.. A gang."
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
"I'll need to lay low, I think for a while. Until rumors get around that I'm dead."
The swarthy, fork-bearded man sends you a telepathic message:
"Gotcha boss, I'll spread tha word. By the way, there's an in'erestin fella out here - who jest
might be lookin fer a job. Sounds like he's from the rinth too - want me ta talk to him?"
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"That is fine."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the swarthy, fork-bearded man:
"Sure."
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, lifting halfsword:
"But here's are the terms. You teach me to stay alive, how to better use this pin prick, I'll teach you want you want to know. "
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
"And when you've learned all you like....You let me go..."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Of course."
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
"He acts as if he's a prisoner."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"All too easy old friend."
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, pushing himself to a straighten position:
"How is Sadie? Doing well I hope?"
The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
"Who is Sadie?"
The sleek, honey-eyed young woman peers toward you curiously.
At your table, you say in sirihish, chuckling quietly:
"Quite a pretty woman is not she? Not seeing her around much lately. She is always somewhere else."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Nierse was around though. This week we had a little walk around."
You dissolve the psychic link.
The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
"It's fine, Serpent."
At your table, you say in sirihish, to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman:
"Sadie..is my superior.."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Well.. Was. I don't know where she stands now."
The sleek, honey-eyed young woman nods toward you as she smooths a hand idly over her inky-black, hooded sandcloth greatcloak.
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man scratches his jawline.
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
"So...Now that we're on the level..."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Nierse."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"The one you accused of being a slaver so long."
You chuckle.
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
"No, no...I meant undead elves...."
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
"But I don't doubt it...One needs to press the buttons he has..."
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
"No, you mentioned not long ago that another undead elf has surfaced, did you not?"
At your table, you say in sirihish:
" Oh, **censored**. You sought him."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Died in **censored**."
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
"Yes, I'd heard that."
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
"Funny, I'm much less interested in kill such a creature now....."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Mistress is kicking I heard.. Though did not see."
At your table, you say in sirihish, exhaling softly:
"An undead can be a little trouble, old friend.. Though they are not yet."
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
"You need a **censored**..."
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, with asmirk:
"**********CENSORED***************************"
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man scratches his chin.
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
"When *******Censored***********....They die...Instantly."
At your table, you say in sirihish, repeating slowly:
"**censored**.. So we shall have."
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
"Thats how Malenthis killed that **censored** Lordling so easily. Word has it he was **censored**..."
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
"All it took was one word..."
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man scratches his jawline.
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, chuckling slowly:
"Why do you think I was so desperate to get into the Alley's to meet, them? "
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Nah.. Not to meet."
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, nodding:
"Every strength has it's weakness..."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"I just wanted to go a brief history."
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
"Hmmm....Yes. The source of such things....Do you still think it's those Nilazi?"
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"I do."
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
"That I have little understanding of...Nilaz is the one element with which I am the most unfamiliar."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Ahh.. Alright then."
The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sits quietly, listening to the two banter.
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:
"You want to say anything to him?"
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
"You getting ready to take me back?"
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman:
"I am just asking if you want to tell him about the kid."
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, closing his eyes for a moment:
"Defilers.....There are some running about these Alleys I assume?"
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Not nowadays.. There is one magicker I know of.. Using drovian magick at least, but can be something bigger."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Not sure."
Lifting a glance to you, then shifting it to the soft-featured, black-haired man, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman draws her lips to one side thoughtfully.
The soft-featured, black-haired man nods a few times easily.
The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
"What do you think he'll say? I don't mind telling him, now that he can not do anything about it.."
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, eyes flickering to you:
"I have a curious mind as well"
You chuckle.
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"And what does it wonder now?"
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
"How truly different can it be from what I once held in my hand."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman:
"I don't know. I don't mind telling him either"
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
"Perhaps this time without a leash...."
The soft-featured, black-haired man runs a thumb over his chest were once hung a large medallion.
At your table, you say in sirihish, scratching his jawline:
"How are you going to learn it?"
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, wetting his lips:
"I don't know...the method for invocation of such things....I still know it....But the power...His power is gone."
At your table, you say in sirihish, furrowing his brows:
"Now you got me even more curious."
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
"Yes....These defilers....They summon magicks without the aide of Tektelones...."
At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, clearing her
throat softly as she sits up on the crate, her eyes still firmly fixed upon the soft-featured, black-haired man:
"Haadith, my days as your aide were.. and forever will be my most pride-filled. I'd never
imagined that my studies would take me to your hands."
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man glances at the sleek, honey-eyed young woman sidelong.
Cutting off, the soft-featured, black-haired man turns his gaze to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman.
At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, glancing toward you with a soft smile:
"I never did you wrong in my services, infact, I kept myself isolated from most everyone I met."
The soft-featured, black-haired man remains silent, listening to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman.
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man returns the sleek, honey-eyed young woman's smile, a thoughtful look crossing his face.
At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, peering back at the soft-featured, black-haired man as she draws in a soft breath:
"There was a man who did treat me right and spark my interest as I so desired. And I am having his child. You know him."
The swarthy, fork-bearded man opens the door from the other side.
The swarthy, fork-bearded man has arrived from the west.
The sleek, honey-eyed young woman reaches over to give your arm a light pat, her eyes remaining on the soft-featured, black-haired man.
The swarthy, fork-bearded man closes the door.
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, dipping his head:
"Of course."
The swarthy, fork-bearded man staggers in bleeding profusely, and collapses on the mat.
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
"Wait..."
The swarthy, fork-bearded man sleeps on a rough hide sleeping mat.
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man grunts.
The sleek, honey-eyed young woman looks down at the swarthy, fork-bearded man her attention straying.
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman, gesturing to you:
"It's his?"
With an angry glare, you exclaim, in sirihish:
"Fucking shit.. My carpet!"
You stand up from a long, low and cracked clay table.
You dissolve the psychic link.
You pick up a pale gold oval carpet.
It is no problem.
The soft-featured, black-haired man looks down at the swarthy, fork-bearded man.
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man shakes your pale gold oval carpet, cursing as he brushes off some blood droplets.
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man glares at the swarthy, fork-bearded man.
The soft-featured, black-haired man lifts his brow, ignoring the commotion and watching the sleek, honey-eyed young woman.
At a long, low and cracked clay table, you overhear the sleek, honey-eyed young woman say in southern-accented sirihish, tearing her gaze from the swarthy, fork-bearded man:
"It.. is. No matter what was happening.. do not think that he ever asked of my dealings,
never. He just ..was there. I'm not sorry. I'm very proud."
At a long, low and cracked clay table, you overhear the soft-featured, black-haired man say in southern-accented sirihish, shaking his head:
"Not the Tor privates?"
At a long, low and cracked clay table, you overhear the soft-featured, black-haired man say in southern-accented sirihish, rolling backward in his chair:
"For fucks sake....Who would have guessed."
Muttering angrily as he walks over an open shelved cabinet, glaring at the swarthy, fork-bearded man, you say, in sirihish:
"You are so going to pay for this."
At a long, low and cracked clay table, you overhear the sleek, honey-eyed young woman say in southern-accented sirihish, motioning to you:
"He never had interest in what I ever was doing for you, and I was never telling. No.. the Tor
private.. I was avoiding him at the time that it seems that I concieved.."
You put a pale gold oval carpet inside an open shelved cabinet.
Breaking his gaze from the sleek, honey-eyed young woman, the soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Congratulations."
At a long, low and cracked clay table, you overhear the sleek, honey-eyed young woman say in
southern-accented sirihish, lifting her hands to her cheeks her as peers at the soft-featured,
black-haired man:
"I wouldn't have. I.. just.. it was both of us.. he carried a table for me.. once."
Shooting an angry glare at the swarthy, fork-bearded man, you sit at a long, low and cracked clay table.
At your table, you say in sirihish, turning to the soft-featured, black-haired man, his features easing down slightly:
"Oh.. Thank you."
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, waving his hand with dismissal:
"Oh it hardly matters now, does it? If nothing else it's a bit convenient..."
At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, lowering her hands to smile toward the soft-featured, black-haired man:
"It seems so. Definately in your favor."
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
"Seems we're one big happy fucking family now..."
Moaning weakly, the swarthy, fork-bearded man turns around, coughing out some blood in his spit.
At your table, you say in sirihish, giving a gentle pat on the sleek, honey-eyed young woman's abdomen, chuckling quietly:
"It seems so."
Hearing a few moans, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman turns her head to glance over her shoulder at the swarthy, fork-bearded man.
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man stiffles a chuckle, taking his hand back over a long, low and cracked clay table.
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, eyes
narrowing on serpent:
"Well, I guess sending her to overhear your conversations was fairly futile."
At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, turning to peer up at you:
"He was to be a teacher to me, in the art of killing, but.. I'm not in such a condition.."
At your table, you say in sirihish, blinking:
"Sending her to what?"
The soft-featured, black-haired man offers you something that reassembles a grin.
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
"Once or twice, she never came back with anything. I could never understand why...."
The soft-featured, black-haired man offers a smile to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman.
At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, shaking her head at the soft-featured, black-haired man:
"No, no.. it's because I couldn't get anything."
At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, reaching a hand to poke at your ribs:
"We don't deal in business together."
At your table, you say in sirihish, blinking rapidly, then slowly:
"Huh? Oh..."
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, waving his hand over the table:
"Doesn't matter. Still you should have told me you were getting handy with a knife."
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman:
"I would sent you after Malenthis..."
The soft-featured, black-haired man nods to you.
You chuckle.
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Malenthis would eat her in the breakfast."
At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, shaking her head again:
"I'm not handy.. not yet. I was too developed.. when I asked him. We knew I was expecting, by then.."
At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, beaming you a grin:
"A gave quite a few men to be here. What's a few more, eh?"
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"It is not an easy feat to pass through a templar's guards, knock him down and get away with it."
At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, motioning with a hand:
"Perhaps.. since it is me.. he would hav eleft his guards elsewhere, hmm?"
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman:
"My thoughts....But still...He has a toy that makes him very dangerous."
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, to you:
"How much would it have cost? Theoretically...If all this hadn't have happened...and I asked for Malenthis' head?"
At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, peering back at the soft-featured, black-haired man:
"Malenthis asked me once if you'd died yet because his aide wasn't showing and he wanted me as
his. Pissed me off greatly.... what's his toy..?"
At your table, you say in sirihish, exhaling a soft breath:
"Depends."
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman:
"A sphere...He can summon **censored** with it....Very dangerous."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"I thought you had it."
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
"Fuck no. He'd be dead already."
Her brows lifting, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman nods toward the soft-featured, black-haired man.
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
"And so would Marsellus for that fucking matter."
At your table, you say in sirihish, with a grunt:
"Malenthis is not an easy feat. He would require a lot of hard work.. but maybe somethig in
the lines.. Like thirty, might get us on the work."
At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, curiously:
"Want me to ask to be his aide? He wanted me sooo bad.."
At your table, you say in sirihish, turning to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman:
"You want to be?"
At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, shrugging:
"My way to help or something of the like?"
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, shrugging:
"I can see how it matters anymore....If it's what you wish. Having you as an aide to another
Templar would certainly be beneficial..."
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
"Especially one that holds such a precious tool.."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Tool?"
Nodding slowly, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman chew she rbottom lip in thought.
At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish:
"The sphere.."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Oh.. right.."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"The sphere."
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
"You know..."
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
"As I recall...Malenthis once said there is an entrance to ****censored*****
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Yes. I think there is."
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
"If Tada or Dasyk stay loyal...They can get Militia cloaks."
The soft-featured, black-haired man opens his hands easily.
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
"If Malenthis bled, I could rest easy in my disgrace."
At your table, you say in sirihish, scratching his jawline:
"Yes. Something to be considered. Well.. Militia cloaks are everywhere, we don't need Tada or Dasyk doing it."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"But we can ask them to help in the work."
At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, glancing at you:
"If I remember corectly.. you're friends with Dasyk?"
At your table, you say in sirihish, waving a hand dismissively:
"Something to be considered in the future."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Huh? Yes.. Kind of."
At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, her eyes squinting:
"I -think- I saw you both speaking once.. ahh.."
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
"Dasyk's loyalty to me is questionable..."
At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, chuckling:
"Guess I have to start being nice to Tada..."
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
"If it were Kuroi...."
At your table, you say in sirihish, turning to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman:
"No."
The soft-featured, black-haired man sighs for a moment, his face going long.
Glancing at the soft-featured, black-haired man, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman bobs her head.
At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, lifting her shoulders in a mild shrug:
"I'm suprised Tada has lasted since the death of that Borsail."
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
"Well...He did have my protection...."
At your table, you say in sirihish, to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman:
"Well.. Tada has a fool's luck somewhere. Fool's mouth as well."
At your table, you say in sirihish, breaking into a chuckle:
"I was so laughing, when he shouted at Kerne."
At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, nodding at you:
"You're the rest why I got so mouthy with him. Better me than you."
At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish:
"What did he shout?"
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, to you:
"Still, he crushed that Wyvern. Five years of training....to Tada's one."
At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Something like, ill bred bastard..monster? Like that."
The soft-featured, black-haired man nods once to you.
At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, waving a hand:
"All those Borsails ... slavers or guards.. they seems to be the sneaky types, rather pride
themselves in other things than what their house wants or needs..."
At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, nodding at you:
"Ahh, yes.. I heard that..I was trying to comfort Iyn and Miko."
At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, wetting his lips:
"Tada will make a good enforcer. He just needs motivation, and discipline."
Tendrils of whispery shadow coils through the cracks in the table briefly, as though someone's
fingers were attempting to claw their way through before being dispelled by the flickering
torchlight.
At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, smirking:
"It's true what I hear of Borsail, they hire whom they can get their hands on.. in the Gaj, in the street, where ever.."
The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man slams his hand over a long,low and cracked clay table.
With a grunt, you say, in sirihish:
"Fuck..."
The soft-featured, black-haired man lifts his chin, pushing his chair away from a long, low and cracked clay table.
Peering toward the cracks in the table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman draws in a slow breath.
The soft-featured, black-haired man asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"What?"
The soft-featured, black-haired man grip tightens on his sharp, well-balanced bone halfsword.
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
At your table, you say in sirihish, peering beneath a long, low and cracked clay table:
"It is ***censored***. He is here."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the *****censored***** with the Way.
The sleek, honey-eyed young woman nods lightly toward you, her lips drawing to one side.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the ****censored****:
"Get.. Out of my office."
In a smooth motion, the pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man twirls your razor-sharp, hawk-etched halfsword in his hand, stabbing it over a long, low and cracked clay
table where the shadowy form was.
....
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* After the arrival of the magicks the situation got a little bit confusing. But it
* somehow settled well in the end. A crime lord, and an ex Lord Templar: two old friends,
* one burning with revenge and regain what was once his but now lost to him, one seeing some
* profit out of this, settled an agreement. At least for a while. Though, in the end,
* nothing turned out to be as expected.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Submitter's note:
This log is part of the story of the fall of Templar Haadith Oash of
Allanak. In his time, Haadith Oash was a rather
short-tempered, or one may call, a nasty...
Continue Reading...Meat Tree Seeds by Anon
Added on Dec 25, 2006A half-giant gives a physician a gift that keeps on giving - or so the elf told him.
The six-fingered half-giant has arrived from the north, a strong scent of dung following him.
The six-fingered half-giant heads over to his cot, men all about the barracks busy preparing for the night.
Leaning down beside his cot with a weary groan, the six-fingered half-giant sits down.
You put a scrap of cloth inside a hooded, kenku-stitched jade cloak.
Glancing about, the six-fingered half-giant asks, in sirihish:
"Anyone seen sarje Akim?"The mottled, tow-haired young man leans back and twists a bit, his back cracking. Reaching forward, he closes the lid of the trunk that he'd been sitting in front of, and starts to rise.
As he gets to his feet, you say to the six-fingered half-giant, in sirihish:
"I certainly haven't."
Pursing his lips and then nodding to you, the six-fingered half-giant says, in sirihish:
"Ok."
Your small stone mortar cradled in one hand, you stand up from a simple wooden stool.
The mottled, tow-haired young man nods slightly to the six-fingered half-giant and walks over to a heavy agafari cabinet.
You stop using a red stone pestle.
You put a small stone mortar inside a heavy agafari cabinet.
You put a red stone pestle inside a heavy agafari cabinet.
The six-fingered half-giant asks you, in sirihish:
"Were you smashing plants?"
Turning away from a heavy agafari cabinet and grinning, you say to the six-fingered half-giant, in sirihish:
"Yes, I was."
Nodding his head with a very serious expression, the six-fingered half-giant says, in sirihish:
"That's good, I still like smashing mutts best, but plants is good too."
Nodding, you say to the six-fingered half-giant, in sirihish:
"Smashing mutts is possibly more satisfying. But I don't believe I would be any good at it."
Suddenly sitting upright, the six-fingered half-giant exclaims, in sirihish:
"Oh! I forgot!"
The six-fingered half-giant stands up.
The six-fingered half-giant starts to dig through the pouches on his white and flame-red pouched leather belt.
The six-fingered half-giant shakes a pouch into one hand.
The mottled, tow-haired young man blinks, watching the six-fingered half-giant.
The six-fingered half-giant gets a handful of deep red seeds from a white and flame-red pouched leather belt.
The six-fingered half-giant gets a handful of deep red seeds from a white and flame-red pouched leather belt.
The six-fingered half-giant holds his hand out towards you, leaning down so that the massive paw hovers just a cord before you.
As he holds his handful of deep red seeds out, the six-fingered half-giant says, in sirihish:
"I got them for you"
Cupping his hands and holding them up towards his hand, you ask the six-fingered half-giant, in sirihish:
"For me? Thank you.. where did they come from?"
Flipping his hand so that the seeds spill into your grasp, the six-fingered half-giant says to you, in sirihish:"They are special, they are meat trees, I had to trade some meat, but we got a good deal, these will make much more meat."
The six-fingered half-giant gives you his handful of deep red seeds.
Sounding somewhat skeptical, as he peers at the seeds in his hands, you ask the six-fingered half-giant, in sirihish:
"'Meat' trees?"
A deep red, almost crimson in color, these tiny seeds are the size of pinheads. Their surface is glossy and smooth. Split open, they reveal a bland white inner flesh, which smells faintly bitter.
Nodding his head firmly, the six-fingered half-giant says to you, in sirihish:
"Oh yes, they'll grow into many times more meat then I had to give them"
The mottled, tow-haired young man shifts the bulk of the seeds to one hand, though a couple spill out onto the floor. Ignoring the escapees for the moment, he picks up one seed between two fingers of his free hand and examines it more closely.
Crushing the seed between his fingertips and sniffing cautiously at it, you say to the six-fingered half-giant, in sirihish:
"I.. see. I suppose I shall have to find a place to plant them, then."
You think:
"Meat trees, eh?"
With a beaming smile, the six-fingered half-giant says to you, in sirihish:
"Yes, they will be great"The six-fingered half-giant heads back a few paces and slumps down against a wood-framed cotton cot again.
Glancing up at him, you ask the six-fingered half-giant, in sirihish:
"So you traded for them? You didn't find them yourself?"
The six-fingered half-giant sits down.
Nodding his head, the six-fingered half-giant says to you, in sirihish:
"Yup"
You think:
"What a load of nonsense."
Nodding slowly, you ask the six-fingered half-giant, in sirihish:
"I see. And the person who you traded with told you this.. meat tree story?"
You think:
"Bitter.. hmm.. a purgative, perhaps? Or a poison. There is often little difference."
Nodding his head quickly, the six-fingered half-giant says to you, in sirihish:
"Yeah, explained how much meat we'd get, much more then if I only got coins."
Wrinkling his nose at the squashed seed and absently wiping its remnants off on your pair of rough canvas pants, you ask the six-fingered half-giant, in sirihish:
"Of course. Do you remember who this trader was? A longneck, perhaps?"
Feeling amused, you think:
"A meat tree."
Lifting a hand to push his white, tembo-hide helmet to the side as he scratches beneath it, the six-fingered half-giant says, in sirihish:
"Ummm.. yeah.. tiny little necker.. very good friendly for a necker"
You think:
"I knew it."
The mottled, tow-haired young man chuckles quietly and nods, his eyes still on your handful of deep red seeds.
You say to the six-fingered half-giant, in sirihish:
"I'm sure. Do you happen to remember what he looked like? I'd like to find out a bit more about these, ah, meat trees."
Pursing his lips and pinching his entire expression as if in deep contemplation, the six-fingered half-giant exclaims, in sirihish:
"His... ear... no... both ears.. yes! Both ears were pointy!"
The six-fingered half-giant gives you a sagely nod.
Glancing up briefly, his lips twisting into a smirk, you say to the six-fingered
"Both of them? Well, he should be easy enough to find."
Staring at you with no real intent other then looking forwards, the six-fingered half-giant says, in sirihish:
"Yes, that will make it easy."
After a moment of consideration, the six-fingered half-giant says, in sirihish:
"He was also very small.. smaller then me"
Feeling progressively more amused, you think:
"Oh dear. Still, he's been bred for a purpose, and it isn't to think."
Nodding with an exaggerated slowness, you say to the six-fingered half-giant, in sirihish:
"Oh, good. Very good. If you can think of anything else, be sure to let me know."
You think:
"Now, what to do with these berries?"The six-fingered half-giant purses his lips and squints his eyes, a tense moment of indepth thought passes, and he tightens up against himself slightly, eyes deeply glazed.
Crouching down, taking care not to spill any more berries from his cupped palm, the mottled, tow-haired young man picks up the few that had fallen to the floor earlier and returns them to the pile.
After a long moment of silence, the six-fingered half-giant says, in sirihish:
"He... was... an..."
Biting out the word slowly, the six-fingered half-giant says, in sirihish:
"An elf... with..."
The mottled, tow-haired young man slowly straightens back up and glances at the six-fingered half-giant.
Straining almost, the six-fingered half-giant says, in sirihish:
"Pointy.. ears..."
Helpfully, you ask the six-fingered half-giant, in sirihish:
"And shorter than you?"
The six-fingered half-giant nods his head slowly, looking pleased.
The six-fingered half-giant exclaims, in sirihish:
"Exactly!"
Looking relieved as he straightens up and leans back from his tense moment, the six-fingered half-giant says, in sirihish:
"We are a good team"
Inclining his head towards him, you say to the six-fingered half-giant, in sirihish:
"Yes, thank you. That was very helpful."
The mottled, tow-haired young man looks down at your handful of deep red seeds for a moment, then crosses the room towards the row of trunks.
You think:
"I'm sure I can find something to do with them. Later."
You put a handful of deep red seeds inside an inix-rib trunk.
The mottled, tow-haired young man rummages around inside one of the trunks, clearing a space before carefully depositing the handful of seeds inside. Turning away, he wipes his hands clean on your pair of rough canvas pants.
The mottled, tow-haired young man waves his hand at the six-fingered half-giant and quietly walks towards the entry hall.
The six-fingered half-giant has arrived from the north, a strong scent of dung following him.
The six-fingered half-giant heads over to his cot, men all about the barracks busy preparing for the night.
Leaning down beside his cot with a weary groan, the six-fingered half-giant sits down.
You put...
Continue Reading...A Figure in the Alleyway by Koala
Added on Jul 18, 2006Scene: On Hathor's way -next to the headless templar statue-, the dirty and old way leading into the dark corners of the 'Rinth. Plot: Our character is very angry with a Templar who killed a 'Rinthi teen, who was loyal to him.
Scene: On Hathor's way -next to the headless templar statue-, the dirty and old way leading into the dark corners of the 'Rinth.
Plot: Our character is very angry with a Templar who killed a 'Rinthi teen, who was loyal to him.
---The scar-faced, bulky man glances along the alleyway, then slowly strides along the crumbling, dirty road.
---You think:
"Fecking Templars! They think they know everything about this krath-damn city..."---Grunting, the scar-faced, bulky man approaches to the headless templar statue.
---Looking at the headless statue, raising his clenched fist upwards, you exlaim in sirihish:
"Bah! What the Drov are you doing here!---You think:
"Killing one of my kind for fun... You fecking bastard..."---As his chest is moving up and down with a sudden anger, the scar-faced, bulky man starts turning around the headless templar statue, cursing out loud.
---Coming out from an old building, a few dark hooded figures appears at the corner of the crumbling road, looking at the scar-faced, bulky man.
---Pointing his gloved index finger at the gathering cloaked people, you shout in sirihish:
"You! Listen carefully... Today they made a mistake... A terrible mistake and I will make sure that they will suffer the consequences of this."---You shout in sirihish:
"I swear that the ones who made you suffer, will suffer at my hands... Now, remember and tell to the others what I tell you here today."---While the cloaked figures were shooting blank expressions to each other, the scar-faced, bulky man finishes his sentence and pauses for a while.
---Starting out loud, lowering his hand, pointing his feet with his gloved index finger, you shout in sirihish:
"I stand here, with my axe."---Raising his head towards the ruined buildings, his voice is even higher, you shout in sirihish:
"If you wanna face."---Turning around himself slowly, his dark gaze landing down to the newly arrived folk at the opposite corner of the alleway, you shout in sirihish:
"Come here and show your face."---His voice echoing between ruined buildings, shadows moving slowly around, you shout in sirihish:
"Know my name if you can not dare to face."---Standing alone, in the middle of trash piles and ruined buildings, some long tailed rats fleeing from corner to corner, you shout:
"It's Scarface."---The scar-faced, bulky man adjusts your grey kank shell shield, then reaches up to the hilt of your obsidian-bladed battle axe and firmly grabs it with your grey-veined, black gloves.
---You unsling an obsidian-bladed battle axe from your back.
---As the scar-faced, bulky man is observing his surrounding with his dark eyes, the quiet murmur coming from the gathered people slowly fades away.
---The scar-faced, bulky man sets your obsidian-bladed battle axe over his right shoulder and approaches to the group, then speaks directly to their eyes.
---Rolling your obsidian-bladed battle axe over his right shoulder, you shout in sirihish:
"Templars talk much showing their fancypants."---Some people dispatching from the group, keeping the distance with the scar-faced, bulky man, you shout in sirihish:
"If they had courage to walk in the alleys."---Stopping at short distance from the remaining people, gesturing the headless templar statue with your obsidian-bladed battle axe, you shout in sirihish:
"They would meet my axe, getting their heads."---The scar-faced, bulky man joins to the laugther breaking out from the crowd, resting your obsidian-bladed battle axe back to his right shoulder.
---After silencing the crowd, raising your grey-veined black gloves up to the air, you shout in sirihish:
"Now... Go back were you come from and tell to others that Scarface will be here to protect you from those -fecking- Templars..."---While another laugther breaking through the gathered crowd, whispers travelling along, the scar-faced, bulky man turns toward the crumbling, dirty road, heading north.
Scene: On Hathor's way -next to the headless templar statue-, the dirty and old way leading into the dark corners of the 'Rinth.
Plot: Our character is very angry with a Templar who killed a 'Rinthi teen, who was loyal to him.
---The scar-faced, bulky man glances along the alleyway, then slowly...
Continue Reading...
