Come one, come all...

[Swimmingly]

Korb looked up.

"Why, a duke, of course. I'm afraid you'll have to look elsewhere for someone to blame for the laws here, though. I don't sit on any of the councils."

He left out the fact that most of those who did owed him enough favours that, should he wish it, he could probably effectively control the city for a few months without a single jot of military force. Not that he'd ever leveraged that sort of thing - any more than strictly necessary.

"I'm afraid my family has degenerated to little more than glorified vinters, and, alas, I have no heirs," he added.

[BreathTaker]

"Uh..." Zakk grunted at the last statement with confusion, looking around anxiously. "I'm sorry lad but I cannae help ye with 'at last part." Zakk backed up a step, thoroughly freaked out, thinking Korb had made a pass at him.

[Swimmingly]

Korb looked confused for a moment, then realisation dawned on his face. He laughed.

"Not what I meant to say."

[Sir Jerric]

Vhalin stayed out of the way as his client took advantage of the armored giant's generosity. He settled himself against a nearby wall and watched as the tavern steadily filled. The bartender's hasty hire of extra hands drew in a steady influx of rough-looking men. Vhalin watched them all warily as they jostled to reach the bar, the bar were Korb had planted himself and downed tumbler after tumbler of various heady brews. The sour-sweet scent of rotted fruits and grains reached through his veil and made his stomach twist. Perhaps he was fortunate that he hadn't eaten for several hours.

Korb ordered yet another round of something, and Vhalin saw the dark-haired woman's embroidered red slip through the crowd and round the bar. Vhalin seized the opportunity of a just vacated bar stool to see over the bar. The woman presented a drink to Korb while bantering with the drunken brawler. Korb accepted the drink, and Vhalin frowned. Surely the woman did not work for the tavern, or she would have been assisting earlier.

Before Vhalin got any farther with that lie of thinking, Korb dashed the large mug's contents across the woman's face. Almost half the tavern fell silent. The brawler stood and grabbed Korb by the collar, hauling the noble off his feet and demanding an apology. Vhalin stood motionless on the stool, hands at his weapons, but the brawler mage released Korb and stood over him, face livid. Korb made a quip, and the brawler lifted him again.

Vhalin shook his head slowly as the crazy noble finally took the hint and made a floridly formal apology to the dripping woman. Perhaps he should give the man's coin back and call it a night. Korb was clearly trying to create his own trouble.

"Wait, did you say Von Shwartmeyer?" Zakk said, "I've heard that name before. Tell me, lad, what is your job here in this wonderful town?"

Korb looked up. "Why, a duke, of course."

Vhalin let the rest of his client's words wash past him as he took in this statement. This crazy man--a noble who ran about unguarded in the rough neighborhoods of Silari, who hired total strangers out of the stalagmites--this man was one of the city's elite? Dukes were second in rank only to the king, if he had the titles straight. Surely this Korb was among the lowest of the dukes, if duke he was. And if he was a duke . . .

Vhalin looked again at the crowd that now packed the tavern. This place could get unpleasant any moment now. "Lordship. This place being not good for discussion. Far too many crowds. If not your manor, ask a private room?"

Edited July 6, 2014 by Sir Jerric

[BreathTaker]

"The little one is right, Korb," Zakk said, careful not to bring up the title again lest he have to detract from his beer by beating some young drunk hoodlum soundly over the head. Zakk noticed the strange accent in which the veiled... person?... spoke in. His father's people frequently had dealings with the some of the Underfolk such as gnomes and Zakk had gone with his grandfather more than once to the middling regions of the deep but he wasn't quite able to pinpoint the accent. He looked at Vhalin cautiously, "Yer an interesting one ain't ye?" Zakk asked. "It's settled then. X, Mat, Makaz(Tool in Dwarvish), let's get out of this hole before it gets too rough even for me," at that He lifted up his lukewarm beer and slammed it in one fell swoop and started for the door.

 

Quiver, your Pali could have just decided to sit back and watch things unfold from the back like Mary did and maybe she could follow us to Korb's estate only to get noticed by Vhalin and his honed senses.

 

Also, when I said Zakk wasn't drunk, I wasn't in denial. He's basically a quarter dwarf and three quarters Scot, he can throw down... he was getting pretty buzzed though so I may or may not have been exaggerating his prowess a wee bit. Zakk also starts to speak in Dwar-glish when he's buzzed hence calling Tool Makaz

 

Edit: I will be using a mixture of Khazdul and Warhammer dwarvish, whichever fits my needs really. If anyone want to know which one I'm using I'll post it in blue. I will not use it frequently and I will always let everyone know what I said in blue.

Edited July 7, 2014 by BreathTaker

[Swimmingly]

Korb nodded, springing to his feet, tripping, landing in a push-up and throwing himself dizzily back to his feet.

So, perhaps that brandy had been stronger than he thought, after all. He leaned on the ornate sword-cane for support before he fell again.

"If Zakk can vouch for you, come one come all! To my...thing. House. Estates! Yes! We'll wake up hungover and grimly discuss the fate of the world over tea and ill-considered cures! I might even be sober!"

Korb hiccuped, made an expansive gesture, then continued.

"You! Tool! Please look threatening!"

He wheeled toward the door and staggered through, Vhalin hurrying behind, a muffled sigh squeezing out from beneath the veil.

And then the voice returned.

Ten thousand gods, you've done it now, it said, chewing the words like a tender side of beef. We're going to die. Duck.

Korb ducked. A crossbow bolt breezed through his hair, scraping a thin cut across his scalp, and smashed into the cobblestones, throwing up sparks. Korb flung himself backwards, bouncing off Zakk as he left through the door, but even as he pinwheeled to the ground - again - Korb heard a strangled scream. Either Vhalin was doing his job very astutely, or the quite contrary-looking woman whom he'd drenched earlier had slipped out earlier.

Of course, the latter option could also explain the presence of the assailant in the first place.

Probably not, though. He had apologised.

[BreathTaker]

Reserved. I have an idea but on my phone. Nobody post relating to the attack,if youre going to post back up about ten minutes

[Swimmingly]

Personally, I only do this from my phone. It flows more easily for quick fun stuff like this; and I think I write better when it takes slightly longer to write sentences. Edited July 7, 2014 by Swimmingly

[BreathTaker]

Go ahead then if you have an idea

[+Quitecontrary]

The sword cane could be it. Not green eyes though. She is a nine-tailed white vixen. Her real eyes are blue. Understood on the ten minutes BT.

XiaoLi was shocked not because of the water but because for a second, she felt herself about to change back. She almost cried out in panic until she realized it was momentary. She also saw that the nobleman saw the change.

How did he--?, she thought before she saw the cane under the table. Being of the forest, she recognized it as Delight of the Eyes. Rowan Wood. Witchbane. It came to mind an old rhyme they used to sing, long ago.

Rowan tree, red thread

Holds the witches all in dread.

That cane is powerful protection.

She looked around at the silence in the tavern, time slowing. Nothing like a drenched woman to stop revelry, she smiled to herself. She was almost tempted to let the wet clothes stay plastered to her, but figured it wouldn't do for anyone's peace of mind to see her in that state. By the time Zakk put the Duke down, she had dried herself with her power.

Ah, sweet Zakk. He was so ready to defend her honor was he? Maybe she should reward him one day.

She was right about the Duke though. He is not what he seems.

[Swimmingly]

Breath, I was just making an idle comment. Please, do yours.

[BreathTaker]

Sorry, I'm back

 

Zakk grabbed Korb and literally tossed him behind Tool and the gang. He pulled Reaver from her home on his back and prepared a decently powerful defense spell. After a second of looking around at street level he heard the distinct sound of a crossbow twang and jumped out of the way just in time for the bolt to dig in to the heel of his boot

 

Zakk came up out of the roll and sprayed a wall of ice in front of the gang, "There, that should give us enough time for..." Suddenly two crossbow bolts broke through the ice, the first fell immediately after shattering the wall; the second, however flew right between Zakk's legs and grazed his thigh. "Blood and Death!" Zakk yelled out as he ran back into the bar after the group. He slammed the door shut and blocked it with a nearby table. "I can't see anyone out there on the rooftops," He said, peaking through a window and ducking just in time for a bolt to shoot through and slam in to the bar. "Everybody get out, party's over, sorry lads!" He yelled as he crawled away from the window, all the other patrons in the bar got up and slowly made their way out the back door as though this sort of thing happened every day... then again.

 

"As I was sayin'," Zakk continued after everyone had left, "I cannea see anyone out there so it's either a really sneaky human- unlikely- or an elf. An elf, that's been taken by the Shadow." Zakk paused for a moment before looking at Korb, "Or... you REALLY ticked off a bunch of sneaky humans AND elves and there are actually TWO groups from whom we're ta save yer scrawny hide from"

 

Before an answer could come for Korb the door exploded with a force so great the whole building shook, and in the doorway stood an Orc that was almost the same size as Zakk. The Orc was wearing a Troll skull helmet, had a large jagged blade in one hand and a heavy length of chain in the other. "Great, thought Zakk."

 

 

 

Contrary to the Walking Dead, a powerful enough crossbow is not silent, even the new ones. Also, remember, this is a mini boss so let's get a couple people to attack and fail before we beat the baddie down.

Edited July 7, 2014 by BreathTaker

[Sir Jerric]

If anyone is wondering why the combat rules I suggested, they are derivatives of several story-telling techniques. The core is the concept of try-fail cycles. The character is more interesting for having tried, failed, and not given up. Failure raises the stakes, as one failure means more are possible. The victory will be more satisfying for the sensation of earning it.

There is also a "rule" that says you should throw away your first few ideas, because they are too obvious. In our combat rules, I am inviting you to use those first ideas, and to fill in why they aren't going to work. You can run this in many ways. You could be taking your character down a notch, exposing their own weaknesses. You can add more skill or ability to the boss, giving them immunities or resilience to your mode of attack. You can make the boss smarter, applying existing attributes in interesting ways.

In short, don't think that these failures are about making us weak. This is about making an interesting story by having strong enemies.

BreathTaker is using the try-fail concept to good effect in his post. He tries to deal with the crossbows by dodging, making an ice wall, and barricading the door, each of which in turn fail to deal with the threat. Note how the threat seems more dangerous with each step, and yet Zakk is still moving and thinking fast, staying a little ahead of the foe. Well done!

And I'm going to remind everyone that mister blade-and-chain orc might have fired one crossbow, but there were two shots on the ice wall breach. And strong crossbows do not reload fast, so we might have all five shots from different weapons / users as a minimum foe count. I recommend that the crossbowmen be classed as expendables, just to avoid bogging everything down.

Vhalin walked out on Korb's heels, and when the first bow cable snapped taut he threw himself into a roll. He noted in passing that Korb had stumbled on the threshold or something, and had already dropped to a crouch. Vhalin stopped his tumble in a patch of shadow cast by a pillar supporting the tavern's awning, lying low to allow his grey cloak to blend into the semi-irregular cobbles.

Another twang allowed him to estimate the bowman's position, the roofline across the street. He couldn't move yet, though. Something would need to draw eyes away from the front of the tavern before he could risk moving.

He lay facing away from the door, so he had to rely on sound for the next moments. A whoosh blended with a crystalline crackle, followed by two more bow cables and the sound of shattering ice, some of the tinkling shards spinning out into his field of vision. A thud as the door was slammed shut and a heavy clatter as something hit the inside of the door. One more crossbow, this one shattering a window shutter.

The series of shots did little to reassure Vhalin. The shots had come from at least three positions. And since none of the shots had struck armor of flesh, he had to assume he had no allies outside the tavern. What a great way to start.

A heavy stride moved behind him, and he gathered himself to spring clear. A mighty blow crashed through the door, and Vhalin's reflexes took over. In a bound, he cleared most of the width of the tavern and a fraction of a second more had him in the dubious shelter of the alley. At least the alley was heavily shadowed, so he wouldn't stand out to the crossbowmen behind him. But he could see quite clearly that the towering figure in the alley had picked him out against the lamp lit street behind. And that sword did not look friendly.

[Swimmingly]

Korb ran.

Well, to be accurate, he stumbled, tumbled, leapt, and cowered his way back to the bar, before diving behind the solid oak furnishing and clutching his cane to his chest.

Someone had just tried to kill him.

It wasn't the first time, of course, but all the other times had been thugs seeing a mark and going after it. This had the air of a coordinated attack - had someone finally realized how dangerous he was, politically? Or were these someone else's enemies, laying a trap that he'd stumbled into?

Bottle, the voice in his head urged him. Throw a bottle.

Korb ignored it, as he usually did. Then he realised what it had said - not cursing him for stupidity, but giving actual, rational advice.

Here goes, he thought.

Korb picked up a bottle of brandy, stood up from behind the bar, and hurled it at the hulking orc.

It glanced off his elbow, smashed into the wall, and sprayed dark liquid everywhere. The orc turned to react, knocking tables over as he swung his sword, and a candle somehow stayed alit despite its flight.

The tiny flame struck the wall with a spray of white wax, and then the brandy exploded. Flames grew and grasped the wooden wall, sinking teeth into the boards and sending a wave of heat across the room. The orc didn't seem concerned; he was the one guarding the only exit of a burning building, now.

[Sir Jerric]

A big orc guarding the burning exit of a building crowded with drunken riffraff. I am suddenly glad that Vhalin is stuck outside. =)

And this is the same tavern from the earlier fight, so that orc only thinks the door is the only exit. Three people have gotten in without using the door so far.

[Matrim Bloody Cauthon]

sorry about the confusion earlier guys.

 

blood and bloody ashes Zakk how come whenever I see you there is always something trying to kill us Mat yelled, diving away from the door.

 

as he hit the floor he rolled back to his feet and spun facing the orc just in time to catch the sword on the haft of his ashandarei. he spun the blade around to hit the chain out of the way. that left him to block the sword again.

 

hey guys a little help here, Mat grunted. he was a blur blocking and counterstriking barely managing to hold his own. until the orc lifted his foot and kicked mat in the chest. Mat went flying back and slammed into the wall.

 

Was that better?

Edited July 7, 2014 by Matrim Bloody Cauthon

[Swimmingly]

That's better - though some punctuation would be much appreciated.

Jerric, I hope you don't mind me using the enemy you set up?

The young man with the spear distracted the orc, keeping the chipped blade from touching him, barely, as they dueled over a floor littered with shards of glass and lapping flames. The orc swiveled, a strangely graceful move, and timed a strike with his sword so that the spearman had to bring both arms up to block. As that happened, the orc slammed his foot outward. It connected with a sickening noise, sending the spearman back flailing until he slammed into the bar. Korb darted around, grabbed the limp body of the young man, and dragged him laboriously around to the shelter of the bar while the orc turned to face Zakk and Tool.

Korb slapped the man. Nothing. He was out cold. Another slap, then a third, and, finally, Korb resorted to alcohol abuse. He dragged a cask of cider so the spigot leaned over the spearman's face, then set it pouring down in a chilly, apple-scented stream.

The spearman twitched, then woke suddenly, fingers spasming and shoving himself out of the stream as he dove for his spear. He held it up, apparently ready to slice Korb up, but Korb was already scuttling down the the steps to the cellar. It was up to the man whether he wanted to rejoin the fight and get himself killed or find safety in the cellar.

Below, it was dark, dank, and cool as that autumn night so long ago in the north, though orange light and roars of rage and pain seeped through the door onto the first few steps. Beyond that, it was dark as a crypt to Korb's flame-blinded eyes.

Your cane, the voice whispered. Hold the hilt, now! Rotted land, do I need to tell you whenever you should do something sensible?

Korb obeyed, still a little dizzy from the drink and the shock. As his fingers closed around the engraved metal, the room sprung into visibility. It wasn't illuminated by a sudden source, or even bright; it merely looked as if he'd spent half an hour here and his eyes had adjusted. Everything was painted in shades of gray, except for the light burning through the door at the top of the stairs.

Four people hid down here: The serving girl, grim-faced and clutching a broom like a quarterstaff; the two thugs the barman had hired to bring casks of drink up earlier, lounging in the corner and helping themselves to what stock remained in the huge casks; and the barman himself, rocking by the wall, tears gleaming on his face as he whispered the words to "All the Gems in the Clear Night Sky".

"Who's that, then?" the serving girl whispered harshly. "I see your weapon; draw it and I brain you. Fair?"

Korb nodded, then agreed aloud when the serving girl didn't react. His night vision was already better than hers, apparently, with the aid of the cane - though he'd probably ruined theirs by opening the door as he came down, anyway.

Told you so, the voice muttered, smugly.

"I am Korb von Shwartmeyer, goodwoman, " Korb announced to the serving girl, "and I have no intention of harming you or any person here."

The girl snorted. "A Duke, in here? Well, it wouldn't be the strangest thing tonight."

Korb moved carefully down the last few steps, and the girl stepped to the side, broom still held high. He hurried to the barman, switching his cane to his left hand and patting the man on the cheek. "Look here, good fellow, it's awful what's happening to your lovely establishment, but I really must know whether there's a way out down here."

The barkeeper shuddered and stopped singing. "Bastard!" he swore.

Korb tilted his head, surprised.

"Beg your pardon?" he asked, trying to keep a polite tone.

"You bastard heroes. The one with the runes all over, he knocked a hole in my rooms upstairs. Barely an hour later and yer..." he sniffled, "yer burning my bar, smashing my drink, and prancing...into...my...cellar."

He looked up, teeth gritted. "My...rotted...cellar."

An amused voice sounded in Korb's mind. Step back.

Then, with absolutely no warning at all, the barkeeper hurled himself upwards and outwards, fists balled and angry. He struck Korb once in the cheek before Korb managed to stumble away, shouting, left hand still clutching his cane.

"A gold schooner for whoever restrains this man!" Korb shouted.

One of the thugs in the corner stepped forward, but his partner grabbed his shoulder. As Korb dashed around the cellar, crazed barkeep on his tail, the two negotiated who got to take the job.

"Two!" the one who had stepped forward first called, as Korb dived beneath a cask of beer, rolling and jumping up on the other side.

"Deal, but," Korb grabbed a support beam and swung himself in a turn, "One of you guards me until we get back," he tried to hide behind the serving girl, receiving a thwack with the broom for his trouble, "to safety."

The crazed bartender leapt and brought Korb down hard on the floor, flailing fists against his back and neck. The blows continued for a long three seconds, then suddenly stopped, strangled yells filling the room. One of the thugs, the smaller one, held the bartender with one arm, restraining him. Korb handed the man a pair of schooners, one of which he flipped to his partner. In the dark, the thug missed the catch, cursing.

Korb walked over, bent, and picked up the white-gold coin, pressing it into the man's palm.

"You'll be my bodyguard, then?" he asked the huge figure.

The man shrugged. "Sure, I guess. Name's Bent." He held out a massive hand.

Korb shook it. Not something most of the peerage would stoop to, but Korb was emphatically not most of the peerage. "Korb. Is there a way out of here?"

Bent shrugged again, the motion easy as breathing. "Couldn't say. Ask her, maybe?" He gestured to the serving girl, who still watched the cellar door with broom upraised.

"I'll tell you if I can come with," the girl answered, surly.

"Deal," Korb spoke, sharply. He could get rid of these two when it was time, but it couldn't hurt to bring them along. "Your name?"

"Marie," the girl spat, somehow making the soft sound hard as baked clay and twice as brittle. "Let's go."

Marie led the two of them, Korb and Bent, to a great barrel set against the back wall, dusty and ancient. Her hands swept along the grain of the wood for a moment, then pushed. A section of the wood fell inwards, revealing an interior dark as smooth wine even to Korb's enhanced eyes. She stepped through the doorway, felt around for a moment, and struck something, spraying four bursts of sparks into the blackness before the torch caught, illuminating a short tunnel through the rock, moving up stairs. They ascended into an alley near the bar, their torchlight spilling out and illuminating a desperate scene.

Vhalin fought for his life. His daggers whistled like far-off music, catching the quick percussion of the orc's blade as skillfully as a master musician, but the orc was stronger, had a longer reach, and was nearly as fast. Though the short, veiled ranger scored dozens of hits, they landed on the orc's wrists and arms, glancing off armour or only spraying small bursts of blood into the air - the orc was evidently in a frenzy, ignoring pain. Korb stood useless for a full second, gaping at the dance of blades being held in the shadows beside the burning inn, before the voice, grating as usual, butted in.

Use Bent, you idiot!

"Bent!" Korb snapped, stepping aside to let the big man through. "Knock out the big one!"

Bent nodded, smiled, and dashed forward, drawing a knife in his left hand and pulling something that gleamed close to his knuckles onto his right. He threw himself into the air with the aspect of a practiced mugger, and smashed his right knuckles, shimmering with brass, into the orc's skull. The huge creature staggered back, stumbling from surprise and swinging wildly, and Vhalin darted forward like a wraith, stabbing the orc's torso quicker than Korb could make out. Bent fell back as well, breathing heavily.

"Hurt, my good man?" Korb asked distractedly as Vhalin finished off the beast.

"Bastard sliced my ribs," Bent muttered. "I'll live."

"Can you bandage it yourself?" Korb asked.

Bent hesitated, then answered. "No."

"I'll do it," Marie called. She sighed, short and angry. "Take off your shirt."

Bent blinked. "What-"

Marie glowered, and Bent did as asked. Marie proceeded to tear the shirt into strips and bandage Bent neatly.

"Now," she said, to Korb this time. "Give 'im your jacket."

It was Korb's turn to blink. "My-"

Marie actually growled, this time.

Korb gave Bent his jacket. The fine cloth fit on the huge man with painful-looking tightness, but it seemed to be holding the bandages in place better than any knot.

"Good." Marie nodded curtly, then walked forward to see if Vhalin was injured. Korb made a painful noise as she jostled him on a bruise the barkeeper had inflicted, which she ignored for the melodrama it was.

Korb crept back into the passage, gesturing for Bent to stand guard while the ranger dealt with the remaining attackers.

Well, Korb thought - his own voice, fortunately, sounding in his thoughts - I have three pressing issues.

Marie gestured at a shallow cut on Vhalin in the background. He seemed embarrassed as she craned to get a good look at it, and tried to turn away; Marie, however, grabbed him roughly. The short man froze, as if unsure what to do.

First, this rotted voice.

That's me!, it chimed in.

Care to offer an explanation? Korb asked.

Silence.

Second, the cane.

Korb lifted the thing to eye level, letting go of the hilt in the process. As he did, his vision faded slowly back to normal, though it still seemed brighter.

The cane itself was made of a smooth, pale wood, new-looking by the sharp edges of it and devoid of any ornament except for a single wavering ridge about halfway down, as well as a curling flair by the base. The hilt seemed made of several metals: Steel for the body, but that was fitted with something rougher and duller, as well. The main engraving seemed done in silver or an alloy, with fittings for the leather grips in brass. When Korb drew the blade, grasping the hilt again, his vision grew as sharp as it had been in the cellar, than sharper - almost painfully so. Ghosts of images began to flit about everyone in his field of view - Bent was followed by a heavy, metallic shadow, Marie's limbs and torso glimmered with hints of leather armour, Vhalin had the coils of a vast, but somehow delicate snake wrapped about him. Details grew stronger, sharper, then faded to white, until only the ghosts were left, growing larger, more vibrant.

Korb slammed the blade back into the cane. He'd only drawn the thing about six inches - he couldn't imagine using it bare. Even touching the hilt, now, he could see the shapes of things hanging around their owners, and the shadows seemed as insubstantial as gauze.

What had possessed the tailor to give this to him? One thing was certain - he wouldn't be sticking anybody with it. It would probably blind him to try it. Bludgeoning, it seemed, was the way to go with this cane.

Third, the little group Zakk had assembled. They, and now himself, possibly even Marie and Bent, were going to be doing something extraordinary - the sort of thing that whispered its way through the grapevine of the nobility every few weeks, heroes out doing deeds and saving the world, or the city at any rate. What's more, they usually got rich doing it.

Korb was already rich.

But he could use the excitement.

He looked at the burning inn, the corpse of the orc, the thrashing forms still fighting behind the flames.

He wondered if there was such a thing as too much excitement.

The voice in his head - the other voice - laughed grimly.

Oh, shut up, he thought.

Hmm. Sorry about the word count on this one.

Edited July 8, 2014 by Swimmingly

[Sir Jerric]

My first reaction was that you had Vhalin fighting the orc for a unrealistically long time, but then I realized that I had a few handy excuses for why Vhalin would have a hard time finishing it quickly. So the section through the orc's death works nicely.

Unfortunately, the section you edited in threw off all the stuff I had been preparing, so I'm contradicting some of that. I like the idea of Korb exploring the sword-cane's effects and such, but this alley is not the time and place for so much standing about, as the following should explain.

The big man lunged out from the shadows of the alley and smashed his fist into the side of the orc's head. The orc staggered and swung it's blade around to fend the man off, giving Vhalin the break he'd been waiting for. The black blade punched through the leather breastplate with only the barest hint of resistance, and dark blood flowed as the orc collapsed.

Vhalin looked again at the band that Korb had led out of a hidden cellar door. "Put light away," he hissed. "Bows on other roofs, will watch for who won duel. Stay near wall." He lifted his hand to point down the alley, the motion throwing his cloak wide. That reminded him of why he'd been so hard pressed in the first place.

He bent and wiped his sword clean on the orc's leggings and put it away, drawing a dagger instead. The hood was handy, but this ankle length cape was horrendously impractical in a fight. He reached around under his arm and punched the dagger blade through the thick wool at about elbow height. The heavy fabric parted with the barest whisper as he brought the dagger around to the front, swapped hands, and repeated the motion on the other side.

Over half the cloak crumpled to the alley floor, freeing Vhalin's arms. He scooped up the remnant, and after a moment's consideration, divided it into two strips before sheathing his weapon. As he wound the thick cloth around his forearms, he scanned the alley carefully.

The other sword's hilt lay about halfway out across the alley. The glass blade had shattered from a poorly redirected strike--the first of the times the cloak had almost gotten him killed. There were three fragments he could see, spread over the alley floor, the farthest against the other wall.

Vhalin looked up at the far roofs, lit by the burning front of the tavern. The flames had spread across most of the front of the building by now, providing ample light. Enough that the contrast of the shadowed alley would be nigh impenetrable, now that that torch was sheltered--or put out, it didn't matter which.

One of Korb's band moved toward him, and he turned. The woman looked to be a server from the tavern, her stained, near-white apron almost shining in the dimness. He hissed wordlessly, gesturing for her to stand against the wall.

She stepped back, but frowned. "Did you take any injuries?" she said, looking pointedly at the bulky wraps he was just finishing.

"No," Vhalin said. "Take off apron before bows see. Too bright." He looked back across the street, moving away from the wall with delicate steps.

She wasn't so easily put off. "Then why the--"

"Armor. Thick cloth turn a sword or soft a club. Shh." Vhalin had sighted one of the archers. The figure had a hand raised, trying to block the bright flames to see into the alley better. Vhalin moved back to the wall and uncoiled his sling. "Back," he told the woman as he loaded the weapon. This time she cooperated.

I don't know if you've ever tried cutting cloth like I described. It isn't that easy, unless you are using the equivalent of surgical knives. I hinted at this property back when Vhalin assessed Tool's armor, in case anyone is interested. But despite the keen edge, Vhalin's shortened cloak is going to need a hem job.

A properly wielded sling can deliver a similar stopping power to a small modern handgun. And Vhalin has had many years of practice.

His plan is to plug the archer while the crossbow is not aimed and before the archer's eyes adjust. Then he will quickly reclaim the fragments of his broken weapon and confirm that the four pieces make a complete set (they do), then rejoin Korb, recommending that they move out the other end of the alley.

And I plan to get some sleep before work tomorrow. Nighty-night!

Edited July 8, 2014 by Sir Jerric

[Swimmingly]

Well, I think the whole scene with the cane takes only ten or twenty seconds, and Korb has not demonstrated prudent use of time when things seem perilous in the past, so I'll keep it. Even if the blocking doesn't exactly add up, we can preserve the shape of the story even with a few minor contradictions.

However, I might have Korb retreat to the passageway to check out his cane.

 

Also, BT, you might want to do something about that fire, with your ice magic and all.

 

Unless the strong elemental opposition weakens them to the point that you have to consider more mundane solutions, like running for your life.

 

And isn't Tool basically a bunch of metal wrapped around bundles of animated wood fiber? Flammable wood fibre? I mean, it's not like we can't repair him later.

 

Fuel for thought.

Edited July 8, 2014 by Swimmingly

[Sir Jerric]

Gotten a little quiet 'round these parts. =)

On review, you're right about the minimal discrepancy. Main points that I changed from your post are the warning and placement of the light source, and the interaction between Marie and Vhalin.

Ghosts of images began to flit about everyone in his field of view - Bent was followed by a heavy, metallic shadow, Marie's limbs and torso glimmered with hints of leather armour, Vhalin had the coils of a vast, but somehow delicate snake wrapped about him. Details grew stronger, sharper, then faded to white, until only the ghosts were left, growing larger, more vibrant.

Might I ask what you are getting at with the serpent symbolism? I'd like to know whether it fits into my character design or not.

I don't feel a particular need to keep posting,since I'd rather allow the interior of the tavern catch up to Swim and myself. I'd guesstimate that we've moved Korb and Vhalin at least a couple of minutes ahead of events inside the tavern. Two minutes is a lot of time in combat. And two minutes is a good bit of time for a fire to spread in dry wood.

[Swimmingly]

It's vague, chulldung symbolism that can be interpreted any way you chose. Korb is not particularly good at that sort of thing, anyway. If you, or anybody else, would like to chose something else for Korb to see on their or any other character, please go ahead, but I thought the image of the snake wrapped around Vhalin worked. I can even have the images change depending on the situation, though I'll probably try to follow a consistent theme - Bent might have metallic shades, Marie might get images associated with protection, Vhalin might get venomous animals, Tool will probably have multifaceted or manyheaded things, Zakk can have wind and weather phenomena, Xi will consistently get a fox, due to her true nature, but details will change on everything. Besides, Korb is only going to draw the thing far enough to see the shades when he needs to see past illusions, or has no other way of assessing a person - touching the hilt works for most circumstances.

 

And, yeah, it's too quiet here. I want to get moving with things, but unless Zakk and co. are much worse at survival than I assumed, they should be busting out of there on a wave of ice any moment now.

Edited July 9, 2014 by Swimmingly

[BreathTaker]

Sorry everyone been sick as a dog

 

Zakk jumped back as the fire erupted around him, quick thinking allowed him to prepare a spell as well as think of a plan of action against this blasted orc causing mayhem. Finally the spell was ready and Zakk sprayed ice across the base of the fire, suffocating it. There was just enough moisture left in the air that it worked, barely.

 

With a sigh of relief and smile on his lips he jumped at the orc. Reaver drawn and thirsty with both hands and eyes streaming a glowing blue mist, he landed about three feet from the orc, the two mountains stood motionless for a moment, sizing each other up. Rusted piece of scrap in his main hand and a chain he knows how to use in his off hand, ok I can work with this Zakk thought to himself as everything froze for a moment, time hadn't really stopped so much as Zakk's years of training allowed him to assess the situation and react. 

 

"Alright ye bleedin piece o' slag, let's get this out" Zakk growled as he deftly swung his blade in an arc for right to left. The orc blocked the swing with his own sword, letting out the discordant ring of impure metal that only a dwarf would notice. As the orc blocked the swing Zakk punched him in the face with his frosty left hand. The creature's nose shattered and blood smeared across his face as well as frost, blinding the orc temporarily. Zakk took the opportunity to give himself some room, "Cover me!" He yelled behind to his friends as he laid his shoulder in to the beast and tackled him through the wall that hadn't been destroyed yet, Poor bastard of a barkeep Zakk thought with a smirk as they rolled into the street. 

 

As Zakk started to push himself up,  a chain wrapped around his right forearm, damnation! The bugger's quick he thought as his arm was yanked out from under him. He rolled onto his back and drew a large dagger the was attached to his chest  just in time to block the orc's swing as it stood over him. Immediately, Zakk kicked the orc in the groin and rolled back over his head and onto his feet, right next to where Reaver lie on the ground. He scooped up his trusty blade and sliced at where the orc was standing before the roll but Zakk hit nothing but air. Out of nowhere a chain wrapped around Zakk's ankle, threatening to pull him down again, "Hehe, fool me once lad." Zakk laughed as he kicked in the opposite direction, pulling the orc to him. The orc released his chain and swung his sword overhead with both hands, a clumsy, dangerous and angry move. Zakk pulled Reaver into a guard with the edge facing the oncoming strike, Zakk smiled to himself as the blades collided and the orc's sword shattered. The orc backed away in shock, dropping what was left of the sword, "No can be!" The orc yelled in a gutral cry. Zakk stood from his block and smiled, Frosty vapor rose from his glowing blue eyes and came out of his mouth like some kind of ice dragon. He kicked the orc in the chest, breaking several ribs and sending his opponent flying. When Zakk caught up, Reaver was home on his back, he reached down, ripped off the troll skull helmet and pulled the dying beast close by his chest plate, "What's yer name laddie?" Zakk asked in a cold but controlled anger, "Name is... is... Grontak," The orc managed to sputter, "Well, Grontak I'm goin' to do ye a favor and send ye ta yer god," and in a flash the dagger Zakk had used earlier was sliding across Grontak's throat, bleeding him out. 

 

Zakk stood and walked away from the dead orc, ready for more blood. As he walked back towards the tavern he noticed the chain sitting on the ground giving off a strange, yet incredibly faint glow. "What the?" Zakk said to himself as he bent down and picked up the chain, "Huh, it's bleedin enchanted!" He chuckled to himself, "I can use this." 

 

Before Zakk got the chance to do anything, another bolt crashed into the wall of a nearby home, reminding Zakk of the other enemies. He scanned the area and spotted a goblin sniper on the roof of a nearby building who seemed to be aiming at the front door of the Tavern. Zakk ran to the nearest building, and using the boxes and gutter outside he began to scale the wall all the way to the roof. Once on the roof he crouched down and held his new chain in both hands. Quietly, he sneaked (is that even a word) up on the enemy and wrapped the chain around the diminutive throat of the tiny goblin, silently strangling the flailing monster until it finally went limp and died. 

 

Edit: Proofread and added some stuff

 

If anyone is interested in what Reaver looks like, it's basically the Reaver Cleaver from Zombie Tools. I will be owning one soon.

Edited July 10, 2014 by BreathTaker

[Swimmingly]

Hope you're feeling better, BT!

Korb touched the hilt of his sword, startling slightly as the entire night lit into patches of colour and grey before him. Legion of gods, but still wasn't used to that.

The players were illuminated, grey figures slinking through the shadows, hunting one another. On the rooftops, about a dozen crossbowmen crouched behind chimneys or lay down in the shadows, trying to keep out of sight. Vhalin was picking them off with his sling, but they were learning, keeping down while the ranger's sling blurred in a deadly arc.

When the wall of the inn burst outwards, showering shards of ice, wood, and ember over the street, with two brawling figures within, Korb stumbled backwards and fell. Every ache in his body, from the bruises on his back to the swelling on his face, blossomed as he jarred the cobbles roughly, and Korb let out a soft, pathetic whimper. He wasn't used to pain.

Bent stood over him, looking vaguely concerned and more than slightly ridiculous in his freshly tailored nobleman's jacket and blood-soaked, bandaged chest. "You all right, then?" he asked.

Korb raised an eyebrow, immediately regretting it; the barkeeper had blacked his eye very effectively. "Are you going to help me up, Bent? It's generally considered polite."

Bent shrugged with that easy, fluid motion, massive shoulders rippling under the jacket. He held out a bearlike palm and hoisted Korb to his feet with a quick jerk."Here ye go, sir," he said. The irony in his voice was so well hidden, it was barely there.

Korb clamped his jaws shut to avoid another whimper. It squealed out anyway, the noise like a kicked pig.

He wondered what Bent thought of him.

He thinks you're an idiot noble down on his luck and deep in his cups, the voice said.

It was probably right. But Korb had something most nobles didn't.

No common sense whatsoever.

And that is why Korb gestured Bent to follow in his velvet jacket as he scuttled across the alleyway to the door set in the other side; it lead into a cobbler's shop.

Korb knockef sharply, giving it a few whacks with the end of his cane for good measure. After a few seconds, the door opened a bare inch - the man must have been watching the fight through the window.

"What do you want?" a thin voice asked.

Korb reached into his trouser pocket, drawing out a silver coin - a corathen and balancing it on the point of one finger.

"We're just passing through, friend, and we'd like the privilege of passing through your establishment."

The cobbler considered the coin for a moment, then spoke.

"Two coracles per person."

Korb thought about haggling, then shrugged and nodded. He counted out four coracles from a pocket and handed them over.

"Four?" Marie said crossly, behind him. "What am I, the dog?"

Korb cocked his head.

"You want to come, Marie? You wouldn't rather go back to the cellar? It looks like the fire's gone out in the inn."

"It gonna be dangerous?"

Korb shrugged, trying to emulate Bent's movement. That man had a good shrug. "It well could be."

Marie grinned, and gestured with the black serrated dagger she held in her right hand. It was nearly the length of a short sword, with a sharp, cutting edge and a jagged, duller one. She must have found it on the orc Vhalin had killed. "Then I'm ready, ain't I?"

For the first time, her voice carried more than scorn and brusqueness.

Korb shivered.

Then he handed over another two coins. It couldn't hurt.

----

Korb had to take his hand off the hilt of his cane to climb out the window, and it made every muscle in his body ache, but running kept his legs strong and it was only a short clamber. The cane dangled from a piece of cord he'd bought off the cobbler inside, tied to his belt, and it knocked against his leg as he hoisted himself onto the roof.

Gods, but it seemed dark already without the cane to help.

Korb stood up and touched the cane, sending the shadows in the night fleeing into a shade of grey. His vision at a distance crystallized as well, giving him the sense of small details even a long ways away.

He had intended to come up here partly to watch the fight from a safe place and partly to warn the others if he saw a crossbowman taking a shot, but Vhalin - perhaps with help - had taken care of them one way or another by the time Korb got into position. Down below, Vhalin and Zakk spoke, the former fidgeting uncomfortably.

Behind, Bent heaved himself over, then bent to give Marie a hand.

Korb ignored them and let his new vision carry his gaze over the city.

He could see the fine estates growing wines on the edge of the desert, and the citadel set into the small, humpbacked mountain three kilometres into the sands. He saw the lizard slums and the nicer neighbourhoods, laid out like patchwork.

And then he saw the blazing ships and huge, hulking war galleys in the harbour. He saw the streams of orcs, men, and darker things pouring off the boats to burn the Docks and clash with the guard. He saw the Silarni armies marching through the streets, and the ballistae that scorched them, the magic that flew between the invading navy and the shore like a roll of thunder.

Whoever was hunting them hadn't sent a few dozen men and orcs.

They'd sent an army.

Korb turned slowly around.

Marie smiled as she adjusted her grip on the dagger, grin like a white enamel mask.

"I don't think I'll be working' as a barmaid much longer," she said.

[Sir Jerric]

(Note: my phrasing might not carry this tone, but know that I am in a good mood, and chuckling about the ironies I am attempting to address.)

"You're new here, I assume?"

The stranger looked down, seeming to shrink a little. "Yes, Lordship. This is much easy to tell?"

 

Marie gestured at a shallow cut on Vhalin in the background. He seemed embarrassed as she craned to get a good look at it, and tried to turn away; Marie, however, grabbed him roughly. The short man froze, as if unsure what to do.

 

Down below, Vhalin and Zakk spoke, the former fidgeting uncomfortably.

I know I said that Vhalin would not growl at a noble, and that he is uncertain about cultural norms, but ever since, your descriptions seem to cast him as being shy or timid in every conversation. Which really isn't what I'd been trying to go for. The discrepancy between the cowering little cloaked man and the elite warrior who duels with orcs, wipes out a squad of crossbowmen with a sling, and inspires visions of venomous creatures is quite amusing.

 

To help with the future descriptions, I'll set out a few more character attributes for your reference.

Vhalin is 43 years old. He joined the army at age 17, and served for 9 years, primarily as a long-range scout. Following that, he began guarding merchant caravans, and quickly moved up to guiding them. He is an elite among those who travel the underworld.

But for all of that, he is also dedicated to his religious principles. He is confident, and considerate of others. He has a great deal of common sense and practical experience.

He knows that offending people and picking fights is an impractical method of getting his way, beyond the chance of injury that comes with such behavior. He prefers not to waste energy on arguments and confrontations. He will step aside, or bow out, to avoid wasting time on people who aren't going to listen.

In a foreign society, he is not certain what behaviors are going to be taken the wrong way, so he tries to be careful about his words and gestures. People who observe this see him as excessively stiff and formal.

He is not intimidated by threats, or boldness, or much of anything. He is respectful of authority, and he is respectful of knowledge. He is willing to assume that unless he is the expert on the subject at hand, other people may know more and are therefore worthy of respect. People who act the fool, on the other hand . . . well, at least Korb has power to balance that scale. =)

 

Copy that lot into your references for writing Vhalin, and you shouldn't have too much trouble. And instead of venomous creatures, perhaps the great cats might fit the character portrayal I'm using a little better? He isn't quite that disdainful, but it's close enough. =)

 

In other news, Yay for progress! Vhalin recovered his broken equipment after using the first sling stone as cover fire, but he had to go back to slinging because the fire was put out. I don't know what he and Zakk are supposedly talking about. Any ideas, BreathTaker?

I vote for skipping more or less directly to Korb's estates, because the tavern area is dull, and the street fighting will just be more of the same. If you want to add some color to the journey, that can always be done in past tense. Any takers? =)

[BreathTaker]

I also vote for getting out of town. Also on the way to Korbs estate Zakk disappeared for about ten minutes and shouted back up with a large pack that he hid in his cache outside.