Come one, come all...

[Shivertongue]

Well, dang... things move fast here. Trying to decide where Aes and Zeith should come back in, and how...

[Sir Jerric]

I'd be satisfied with Zeith staying in control of the body, and he was so busy hiding that he didn't get very involved in the fighting. Perhaps he ran upstairs to jump out the broken window, but got pinned down by the crossbowmen until Zakk and Vhalin cleared them? And once the coast is clear, Zeith is free to exit and follow Korb, perhaps at a safe distance? Claim to be on Zakk's side?

I don't know how you want to run the character's relationships, so I can't offer too many suggestions for that part.

Also, BreathTaker makes a good point. Vhalin might need to nip off to pickup his own travel supplies from the inn he had been staying at. Place doesn't seem like it will be secure enough now that the city's under attack. Hopefully, the army will keep the foes busy away from the estate for at least a little while. But if they made a tactical stab at the nobility . . .

And the whole moving fast bit is a little relativistic. This thread has been running for two and a half weeks, and we're just leaving the tavern. =)

Edited July 11, 2014 by Sir Jerric

[Shivertongue]

Zeith has no problem being a coward in a situation beyond his control - he may be a rogue, but he's more of a conman rogue than a swashbuckling, backstabbing rogue. I suppose I could write them coming back together - because showing how that works is important, I feel - and then have him win the "coin toss" and remain in control, and then run off and hide.

 

Although, if Swimmingly is cool with it, I was thinking he could be one of Zeith's "friends" in this city. Whether that is an actual friend or a "friend" Zeith doesn't know he pissed off, would be up to Swim. xD

[Swimmingly]

I'd wouldn't mind it if Zeith knows exactly what he did to piss of Korb, but Korb remembers it as great fun - maybe a refreshingly original con scheme that Korb caught onto, then played along with just to see how it ended. He revealed that he knew exactly what was going on just before the payoff, and Zeith skipped town? How does that work?

Also, yeah, let's get everyone to the mansion. We can do a little timeskip, assume that everyone has gone to get what they need.

Finally, does anybody object to Bent and Marie staying on as cannon fodder/snarky henchmen for a while?

Korb sat in the wicker chair, sipping from a glass of water and panting like a winded horse.

Saluard sat in stony silence across from him, looming disapprovingly in his captain's uniform, hands clasped on the knob of his cane like a vengeful angel gripping a sword.

"Well," Korb began brightly, "How have things been going at home?"

Saluard's eyes glinted. He was a tall man, and though he was nearing 60, his hair was black as tar and unruly as a boy's, despite his best efforts.

"My lord," Saluard began, clipping each syllable as if was pruning a branch, "I was awoken this morning by a serving girl who had brought you your breakfast at the normal hour only to find your bed empty. When I questioned the men under my command, they reported that you had jogged out the door, tipped them each a schooner, and asked them not to wake me on account of my health." He shifted his grip on his oak cane; the wood creaked. "That was at three hours past midnight."

Korb grinned and nodded. "It's important that a man of your age gets his sleep, Captain."

Sauard's cane creaked again, and Korb considered the amount of pressure one would need to elicit a response from an aged piece of solid oak.

"Furthermore," Saluard went on, "I sent an entire cohort of your guard to comb the markets where you normally run. You were not there. I personally interview your tailor. You had visited him only an hour earlier. I sent runners to the nobility, and, of them, only Count Alucard had seen you, at the Gods' Vinery for a meeting."

Korb shrunk, just a little.

"I had the guards comb the area from there outwards, but they found nothing. Now, as the city comes under attack, you come sprinting through the gates, no doubt having charged across half the city."

Saluard stopped speaking, but Korb could hear the silent question.

What the hell happened?

Korb drained the water. His legs ached pleasantly; he'd pushed himself hard to get here in time.

He explained.

By the time he got to the meeting with Zakk, Saluard's glare could have heated iron. By the time he finished, it could have melted it to slag.

Saluard stood up.

"What," he asked, voice shuddering with steely control, "is the point of a guard if you don't let me guard you?"

Korb frowned. Saluard sat down.

"I see your point, Captain. Now, would you care to tell me why none of the aforementioned guard was waiting at the gates when I walked in?"

"I sent them to fight to defend the city, my lord," Saluard said. "As is your duty as a Duke."

Korb nodded. "So how would you like to meet our companions?"

Saluard frowned. "Where?"

"Behind me a ways. One of them is named Zeith."

The look on Saluard's face was worth the entire ordeal so far.

Okay, so, notable features of the estates: No guards, has vineyards, white mansion, and the good Saluard. He never did like Zeith, and that was before he realised the man was conning them.

[BreathTaker]

Zakk strolled in to the estates looking impressed at what he saw, a Vineyard that seemed to stretch forever grew here giving off the pleasant aroma of grapes almost ready for harvest. Zakk breathed the smell in and smiled, too bad this place was probably going to burn if the army couldn't stop the orcs. Zakk looked ahead of him and saw a lantern lit on the porch with two figures standing in the light, one was small and sitting and the other one was about Zakk's own height with a similar build, standing and seemingly glaring at the smaller, Heh, must be Korb's head of security, poor bastard Zakk thought with a chuckle. 

 

A few moments later Zakk walked up the steps on to the porch, the tall one turned quickly with an angry glare on his face and raised an eyebrow questioningly at the man who stood before him. Zakk had stopped on the way over to the estate to pick up his stuff. He now wore a long black leather jacket, black leather fingerless gloves and a wide brimmed black hat like what the ranch owners here in the Southern parts wore with the sides rolled up. He also carried a large rucksack on his back that surprisingly didn't seem full of weapons.

 

To Saluard, Zakk looked like a hobo. Long beard, dark clothes and a large bag. That's how Zakk liked it on the rare occasion he decided he didn't need to be noticed. "Name's Zakilan Dush-Zharum  of the Blacklock Clan from Zaradin in the north at your service," Zakk said, bowing deeply.

[Swimmingly]

As Zakk, clad in worn-looking black leather, introduced himself to Saluard, Bent and Marie walked out of the dark street, looking respectively appriciative and suspicious of the estate. The larger man was carrying a pair of burlap sacks under his arms and still wore Korb's jacket, though he'd put a shirt on over the bandages underneath and had cut off the sleeves of the finer garment. Marie carried only a leather satchel and her jagged dagger, the latter unsheathed and hanging from her waist. Her serving girl's skirt had been replaced with a pair of thick trousers.

Korb raised his eyebrows at the mismatched pair. "You have everything you need, then?"

Marie nodded. "Clothes, bandages, some herbs. Bent's cudgels and Barb, here." She patted the dagger.

"And your things," Bent added. He shifted the larger bag.

Korb nodded. "Put that down somewhere and go to the pavilion, friend. We'll be meeting there."

Bent nodded again, set the sacks down on the grass, and walked off, following Marie. Korb noted that she hadn't put down her dagger - Barb, she called it. He really should get Vhalin to show her how to use that thing. Come to think of it, he needed to learn how to fight - yet another thing to remember.

Korb leaned over and undid the drawstring on one of the sacks Bent had brought back. After he'd spotted the army, he'd clambered down from the roof in a panic, yelling madly. The voice in his head had then sworn at him until he calmed down. Zakk had suggested they all gather their belongings and meet at his mansion, and Korb had given the address.

Then he'd visited a few shops.

Most of the shopkeepers he'd found at that hour had been either frantically packing their bags or soundly asleep, preparing to flee the city. The former had sold him anything he asked for for a fraction of its normal price, glad to have a lighter bag and heavier purse, and the latter had fairly quickly transitioned to other kind once he had Bent smash their doors open and wake them up.

The result was this sack.

It was filled, primarily, with books. Korb, Marie and Bent trailing behind, had dashed through several booksellers, grabbing anything on sight enchantments, enchanted weapons, maps of Silari, maps of the world, language manuals of every sort and a few oddballs suggested by the voice in his head, such as "Surviving for Idiots", "Turning in Their Graves: Collected Biographies of Noteworthy Necromancers (vol. XI)", and a self-help book that seemed to be about freeing and obeying your inner voice, complete with meticulous descriptions of every blood rite required.

He couldn't take it all, of course, but one or two might have the information he needed.

Korb had just started stacking them on the grass according to subject, touching the hilt of his cane occasionally to read titles in the dim light, when Zakk wandered over, looking curiously at what Korb was doing.

"What's this then laddie?" Zakk asked.

Korb looked up. "I'm simply trying to decide which to take," he said. "I would very much like to know what on earth is going on with my cane, but I honestly know nothing about enchantments or such."

Zakk chuckled. "I know a wee bit about magic myself you know," he said, squeezing a fist. The temperature dropped a few degrees, then rose as he opened his palm again.

Korb raised his eyebrows, then shrugged and handed the cane to Zakk. "Can you tell me anything about this?" he asked.

Whatever properties you want to give the sword, BT, please don't give it any that are focused on combat - I want a tool that aids perception, not a weapon. Thanks

[Matrim Bloody Cauthon]

Mat rode into the estate looking around cautiously. He dsmounted carefully favoring his left side. Good i found you guys, he said in a tired voice. Zakk would you mind telling me what exactly is going on? Mat asked, pulled his ashandarei out of the old lance holder on the saddle.

Korb noticed there was also a black longbow and a quiver of arrows slung from the saddle. Sitting behind the saddle was a a couple of saddle bags bulging from the contents inside.

[BreathTaker]

Zakk looked down at the cane that Korb handed him, "That's a mighty peculiar Ru.... whoa!" He said as he grabbed the handle and the night sky suddenly became clear, he imagined it would have been dimmer to someone who hadn't been raised in the deeper parts of the world. He tossed the cane up and caught it by the middle, "I need some light and some tools from my pack," he bent down and rifled through his back until he pulled out a rolled up leather carrying case full of strange looking instruments. "I'm also a researcher, you might have even grabbed one of my books, Artifacts of the Ancient World or Stuff full o' Magic,  That second part is what it's called for Dwarves. Ya see, I study all different types of magic but enchantments on tools are my favorite, actually I picked this off of our orc friend back there," Zakk reached into the bag and withdrew a long rusted chain that seemed to glow faintly. 

 

While Zakk was speaking, Mat trotted into the area on his horse looking the worse for where and asked Zakk what was going on, "Well Mat, old friend. It looks like ye jus' got dragged inta another adventure," He chuckled. "By the way Korb, do you have anything to drink, perhaps a pale ale from the guards? I tend to research better with a drink." At that he walked into the dining area of the house passed a servant, setting the cane and his tools as well as the chain on a large towel he asked the servant to place down. He turned the lamp up a smidge and sat down, getting right to work. 

 

"Well, this cane is definitely enchanted," He said, staring at the rune on the cane through a magnifying glass, "It looks to be... yes I suspected as much, Elvish. But not, methinks, for and Elf. It looks like it was crafted by Night Elves who, as you know, don't need assistance seeing in the dark. It was probably made for a neighboring king or a human ally. This rune though isn't just Nightsight, it's modified somehow, you see a Nightsight rune looks like this," Zakk picked up a pencil and quickly drew out a similar looking tune on a piece of paper. He then pulled a small book of runes out and quickly flipped through the pages, "Aha!" he exclaimed when he found what he was looking for, "Of Course!" Zakk said after taking a drink of his recently delivered beer. "You see this here?" he asked Korb, showing him another rune that he drew on the paper, "That there is the Night Elf rune for Truth, combined with the Nightsight rune make Truesight. Not only does a spell like this improve night vision but it allows you to see people for who they truly are, sounds handy... but it's strange, when I grab the handle it only increases night vision, perhaps if I..." Zakk started to pull the slender blade out of the cane when suddenly everything became sharper and almost blindingly bright. The rune on the cane started to glow brightly, the Truth augmentation more so the the rest. He turned and looked at Korb but what he saw shocked him. There seemed to be a faint aura around the little man, not bright like an angels but enough to reveal he was a good man, if a foolhardy one.  It also revealed to Zakk Korb's love of adventure and danger as well as drink. 

 

Zakk pulled the cane out a bit more but his vision was so enhanced he had to slam the blade home lest his head explode from the headache, "That, my boy, is something to keep handy. But never draw it fully for know not what it'll do. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a new friend to inspect and probably clean." At that Zakk turned back to the table, pulled out a wire bristled brush, a small vile of red liquid and the long chain. "Dragon's blood," Zakk said at Korb's questioning glance, "It's known to have many properties but cheif among those to the Dwarves is a rust remover." He sprinkled a few drops on the bristles of the brush and began to clean, not studying the runes etched on the links so that he didn't get distracted. After the whole thing was gleaming silver again the chain was obviously glowing a pale blue but it still seemed weak somehow. 

 

Zakk took a few minutes to study the chain and then began to laugh, "Do ye know what this is laddie?" He asked, looking at Korb like a child who had been given a new toy, "It's a Dwilek Snake Chain. It's probably older than that there cane ye got. The Dwilek people were the great-great-grandaddies of the Dwarves. A Snake Chain was the favored weapon of Dwilek Berserkers, it was said to be as though it was alive and would move and strike at the wielder's very thought. This one is almost out of juice and I won't be able to charge it properly for another few months, until the moon and stars are in their proper places but it should have just enough power to..." Zakk stood up, took off his duster and grabbed the chain. The chain didn't move but it seemed to somehow come alive. Zakk flicked it towards himself and the weapon lifted from the table and began to swing diagonally up Zakk's chest, the first rotation narrowly  missing Korb's nose until the final link hit Zakk in the middle of the chest and stuck to the rest of the chain, "hahaha!" Zakk giggled like a schoolboy, gathered his things and ran outside to join the rest of the crew.

 

Hope that's good Swims, I probably won't use the chain as a weapon very much but it could come in handy in a tight situation.

[Matrim Bloody Cauthon]

Korb d'you think that marie has a poultice or something for my ribs? Mat asked. I saw that kick coming but was too late to block it. Even as long as ive had this im still not used to it. He muttered, rubbing his eye patch. Every once in a while something on the left seems to be moving slower than it is.

Edited July 12, 2014 by Matrim Bloody Cauthon

[Swimmingly]

That's great BT, and it leaves something to be discovered about the sword. I suppose it can be fully drawn at a properly dramatic moment. I like the Nightelf origin, maybe we can explore that later as well.
 
Mat, would you mind using commas and quotation marks in your posts? It kind of gets hard to read, without punctuation.
 
Once everyone's ready, we can decide where we want to go with this RP. Are we going to take to the seas, striking the invading navy from behind? Travel into the desert to recover a lost artifact of power? Dive back into the city, conquering the invading force with subterfuge? Strike at the source, far across the ocean? Any ideas would be great.
 
"...slower than it is," Mat was saying. He looked a mess, hair mussed, eye missed, and his ribs apparently a mass of pain. Korb could sympathize; he felt the bruises on his back and face keenly, and the swelling had begun to close his left eye. The last time he'd seen Mat, the boy had just been woken up from a hard blow by several slaps and a pint of cold cider to the face.
 
"I'll see what the good lady can do," Korb answered. "I don't honestly know her skill with herbs. Marie!"
 
At the sound of her name, Marie came meandering over, rubbing the hilt of Barb distractedly. "M'lord?" she asked, eyes wandering up and down Mat's battered form appreciatively - then, noting the missing eye and the bruises, a touch sympathetically.
 
"Do you, perhaps, have any skill with medicine and physicking?" Korb asked her.
 
"Me ma showed me a thing or two; I expect I remember enough for Master Cauthon here." She could see where this conversation was going, apparently.
 
"Excellent! Would you be so kind as to wrap his ribs, then? He took a hard blow back at your tavern."
 
"Ain't my tavern no longer," she protested, but she was already towing Mat towards her sack of belongings by the arm. "I'll see what I can do for you, then."
 
Mat stumbled away, expression torn between interest and prudent wariness. The way that Marie kept stroking Barb with the hand she wasn't holding him with probably had something to do with it - but he didn't seem the type to be scared off by a woman who knew her way around knives, and Marie probably didn't even know how to use the thing.
 
Curious, Korb slowly drew his sword - he really should name it one of these days, considering that it was enchanted and all.
 
The night grew brighter as the sword came out further, and the ghosts started appearing. Korb pulled it a bit further - further than he ever had before, just at the edge of his tolerance - and watched the images wrap around Mat.
 
He was a huge, indistinct bird, feathers black and blue with bright white markings. Looking closer, the markings seemed square, with black tufts flickering in and out of existence like pips on a die. The motion of the bird about him left a strange trail, as if the ghost was leaving ghosts of its own, and they had flickering feathers too, in the shape of dice and cards and turning wheels.
 
At the boy's ankle, a chain was tied, floating as if underwater. The chain degraded as it stretched further back, little necklaces and knots of cord dangling off of it like feelers on a root, but most notable was a brittle shard of metal welded in a few feet behind. Only the gemstone in the pommel was intact, and that glinted with a ruby light. Korb tried to imagine what it meant - had the boy been attached to a dagger in the past? Was that why he found Marie's fixation disturbing?
 
A problem for another time. He sheathed the sword, the white light and ghosts fading to a simple grey in the night. Korb kept his hand on the hilt, for now, though he knew he probably shouldn't come to depend on the assistance. Still, in the company he was keeping, a little supernatural ability was practically required.
 
Korb turned back to his books - he had sorted through them well enough. They lay on the ground in two rough stacks - the ones he'd decided were useless, and, more neatly organised, the ones he thought he could use on the journey.
 
Out of these, he picked four: A heavily annotated merchant's atlas, probably sold off by a retiring trader after, if the density and content of the notes meant anything, a long and less than legal career;  Surviving for Idiots, a frank and practical manual on common sense; A Brief History of the Night-Elves; and the necromancers' biography. The last he'd rationalized as useful against a necromantic threat. Honestly, though, he just liked it - it was well written.
 
They still made a seven- or eight-pound pile, but Korb could bear it, so long as they might come in handy. If worst came to worst, they'd have something to start fires with.
 
Saluard limped over with the help of his cane. He'd been managing the people as they arrived, but nobody was coming through the gates right now.

 
"May I ask what this madness you're attempting is?" he spoke in a low voice. "M'lord?"
 
"A business venture, Captain," Korb answered. "One I happen to be leaving on."
 
"With this crowd of ruffians? They're hardly a cohort of bodyguards - they'll worry about their own safety before yours."
 
"Saluard, old friend, trust me on this. These gentlemen are Heroes, with a capital H. They might not follow conventional morality, or military tactics, but they have a remarkable ability to do what they set out to - which, in this case, includes protecting me."
 
"And if they slit your throat as soon as you've handed over a bank slip to fund them?"
 
"They won't, my dear fellow. I know it."
 
"How?"
 
"Because you'll be coming along, of course."
 
Saluard glared, and the silence stretched out like taffy, thick and dark.
 
"I'm crippled, M'Lord," he said, finally.
 
Korb shook his head. "Not good enough, friend. I know it doesn't pain you anymore, and you move faster with your good leg and that cane than many with two strong legs. You know how to train people, and it will be your personal duty to whip me, Marie, Bent, and anybody else that asks for it into fighting shape, as well as being the only person I'll be able to trust completely."
 
"And do I have a choice in this matter?" Saluard asked. He seemed resigned.
 
"Of course, Captain. But we both know what you'll chose, anyway."
 
Saluard sighed and nodded. "I'll see about getting you three proper weapons, then."
 
And with that, he turned and limped back to the mansion, using his cane like a third leg. He stopped halfway and gave a servant some instructions; the man walked over to stand guard by the gates and direct everyone to the pavillion.
 
Korb began to follow Saluard. He would need to start the servants working on assembling supplies for the adventure from the pantries and storehouses, and the sooner, the better.
 
They would be off before the sun fell again.

Edited July 12, 2014 by Swimmingly

[BreathTaker]

When Zakk reached the pavilion he chose an area a little way away from everyone else and sat on the grass with his legs crossed. He was pretty beaten up but it wasn't anything he couldn't handle. The strong beer as well as the ecxcitement earlier had helped numb the pain but he needed something more.

 

As he sat he drew Reaver and laid her across his legs. He reached in to his bag and pulled out a stone as well as a small bottle of a dragon's blood and melted troll fat mixture and a rag. He methodically began sharpening and oiling his sword in an almost meditative way. The  blackened two foot long blade was dwarven made and therefore didn't actually need sharpening or oiling but it helped Zakk to focus and just slightly speed up his healing process. After a few minutes the smaller of the bruises had healed as well as some of the minor cuts and scrapes. The cracked ribs were now partially mended, enough to ease the pain and his headache was gone. He opened his and smiled, "Ah, 'at's a bit better," he said as he pulled out his flask of rum and took a swig. 

 

After Zakk got done meditating he reached in to his pack (It's a big bag btw) and pulled out a odd shaped hardened leather case. When he opened it he revealed a dwarven bow with a strange quiver attached to the side. The arms of the bow were metal and covered in dwarven ruins and the ends had pulleys on them. The strings were dragon tendon, the shafts of the arrow were dragon bone and the heads were mithril broadheads. 

[Swimmingly]

By the way, I haven't mentioned this yet, but feel free to do what you will with Saluard, Marie, and Bent. If you really must kill them, I suppose you could, though it should be for a good reason.

[Matrim Bloody Cauthon]

Mat came stumbling out of the house. He stood and looked around, saw Zakk and went and sat next to him. "What's the plan now?" He asked. "I dont know about you but sitting here waiting for that army to find us and cut us up into little pieces is not on my to do list."

Edited July 12, 2014 by Matrim Bloody Cauthon

[Sir Jerric]

"Must insist. Others here to arrangement with duke. His arrangement with self is made. Would speak to his captain of guard, if pleased."

 

The liveried man gave in. He directed Vhalin to the mansion, warning the ranger to announce himself at the door and to not touch anything. Vhalin shrugged his pack into alignment on his shoulders and marched up the paved drive, casting a glance at the pavilion the servant had been so insistent about him going to. Several of the people from the inn had yet to arrive. But then again, Vhalin had not wasted time crossing the city to retrieve his supplies.

 

Vhalin stepped up to the smaller doors and knocked. A servant arrived promptly, looking around with a slightly bemused expression. Vhalin cleared his throat, startling the man. "May speak to captain of guard?"

 

The servant recovered quickly. "Do you have an message for him?"

 

"The duke hired for a bodyguard. Would prefer to clear with captain. Would you direct, please?"

 

The servant bowed, and led Vhalin along a side passage and into a much plainer area of the mansion. The man leaned into a doorway. "Captain, I have a, um, halfling here? Says M'lord hired him as a bodyguard?"

 

Vhalin stepped past the servant, taking in the tall, black-haired man. The captain showed a definite limp as he turned, leaning on his cane and looking exasperated. Vhalin spoke first. "Am called Vhalin, captain. Traveling ranger. Duke Korb hired before started collecting others."

 

"Did he." The captain's voice was completely flat. "I'll be out to the pavilion in a few minutes to lay things straight with you heroes."

 

Vhalin broke in. "If captain spares a minute, would like to be clear with you."

 

The captain's knuckles turned white around the top of his cane, and his voice held an irony that was less than amused. "Wearing that mask and hood, halfling?"

 

Vhalin pulled the veil back over his head, sweeping the hood along with it. The air felt notably cooler, and his nose and whiskers tingled with the sudden removal of the cloth he'd been wearing all day. He also had to blink a few times as his eyes adjusted to the increased light. The captain stood silent, only the wideness of his eyes betraying his shock. The servant stepped back, and Vhalin turned an ear to his gasp.

 

Vhalin smiled, knowing the effect his fangs left against the backdrop of dark fur. "Not halfling, captain. May have heard of Lebaiym?"

 

"Ah, no. Or, not much. Rumors from dwarven traders." The captain was attempting to reassess him, and clearly was coming up blind.

 

"You ask dealers in glass and ceramics, might learn something. As for self, am ranger: guide of caravans, hunter of dark beasts. Agreed to protect duke, but he is . . . unbalanced?" Vhalin wasn't certain that was the right word. "Perhaps 'not clear'? Am apologizing. Not familiar with your Common."

 

"The duke is not one for straight answers." The captain said, still wary.

 

Vhalin nodded. "Yes. Asked why he needed bodyguard, not answering three times. Then walked into rough tavern and collecting more strangers."

 

"I assumed he had done something like that."

 

"Took long time to convince duke to not wave money around thugs. And then raiders came, had to fight away."

 

The captain looked almost ready to pull his hair out, but he held himself at attention. He eyed Vhalin carefully, his mouth set in a grim line. "Ranger, you said?"

 

"Yes, captain. Twenty years as military scout and caravan guide." Vhalin bowed, and rose to look the captain straight in the eye. "At your service."

 

"Saluard. Captain of von Shwartmeyer's personal guard." His grip on the cane had relaxed. "Go wait with the others. I'll expect a report from you later."

 

"Yes, captain." Vhalin bowed again and stepped out, almost before the servant moved. Saluard did not appear to trust him, but he had offered a trial. Nice to know that someone around here had good judgment.

 

-----

There you have it. Vhalin has at last removed his hood and veil. The question is, what did you pick up about his physical description? =)

By the way, if anyone wants some more concise information about Vhalin, I've placed a summary in my first post and linked it in my signature.

Characters on site:

Vhalin, about to approach the pavilion.

Korb and Saluard are in the mansion, preparing for the journey.

Zakk and Matt are at the pavilion.

Bent and Marie are also at the pavilion.

There is room for Korb to arrive at the pavilion before Vhalin, depending on how much time he is spending giving orders and other preparations. Or they could meet at the front door on the way over. Saluard wasn't quite through yet, and Vhalin distracted him.

Characters missing:

Zeith / Aesalyn

XiaoLi

Karya

Tool

I recommend that everyone at least post enough of a check-in to bring your characters to the estate. You'll have a much harder time explaining how you followed if you don't come to the planning scene. Plus, I'd like the extra input about where the story goes from here.

[Swimmingly]

The closet in the corner slid wide open, and Korb stepped out jauntily, grinning with triumph.

 

"See, Captain? You can trust the fellow!"

 

"Korb," Saluard began slowly, then corrected himself, "my lord, did this person, by any chance at all, show you their face before this?"

 

Korb frowned. "Now that you mention it..."

 

"And did they, in fact, do anything but take your money and go along with your... inadvisable plans simply because the alternative was to be left behind?"

 

Korb's frown grew a touch petulant, and he shook his head. "But that's exactly what I hired him to do!"

 

"You hired him to guard you," Saluard growled. He took a limping step towards Korb. "You got yourself attacked by the first damnation party of raiders out of that army, and I have no doubt that you almost got that man killed by proximity to your buffoonery. I know you, Shwartmeyer. Keeping you safe is like knocking a kitten away from a hot stove." He leaned in close, cane creaking. "You haven't been rotting burned! You think it's all valour and adventure out there!"

 

Korb stepped back. The way that man loomed...it reminded Korb of his father, for some reason. The man had been twice the fool with half the guile of his son, by all accounts, and just because he'd painted his fool's mask with a permanent scowl hadn't made it any better.

 

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. Nothing flippant bubbled out.

 

Saluard nodded gravely, only a hint of surprise glinting in his eyes. He hobbled off towards the armoury. "Come with me.  You'll need something better than that twig if you're to stay alive around those heroes." He hadn't spit the last word out, exactly. It just fell with a little more force.

 

"That," he paused, "hairy person. He said he's a ranger. You saw him fight?"

 

Korb nodded, glad to move the conversation along. "He took down a roof full of bowmen and half an orc, that I saw. That fellow is terrifying to watch, once he gets started." Dark slingstones flying with twice the force of a spell. Crimson daggers and the swirling, ragged cloak. Korb shivered. Saluard's little speech was having unpleasant effects on his memories of the past two hours.

 

Saluard glanced at him. "Half an orc? Who got the other half?"

 

"I had Bent jump the fellow. I think Vhalin finished him off after that. He held him off for two or three minutes."

 

Saluard frowned again. "That brings me to my next problem." He took out a key and opened a scarred door, releasing a whiff of oil and iron.

 

Saluard limped through, pausing for a moment, and Korb followed. "As far as I can tell, you hired a street thug and a serving girl on some whim. It's far from the most unusual thing you've done...my lord. However," and he turned, features glinting with reflected light, "it was an... a ...dangerous, risky decision, and they may yet be an issue."

 

Korb raised his eyebrows. "You have the right to restrain or fire them if you think you'll need to, if that's what you're getting at. The same goes for anybody we're travelling with, assuming you can take them or talk them down."

 

Saluard looked satisfied. "Thank you, my lord."

 

There was not one whiff of irony in that last statement. There was so little, in fact, it was practically invisible.

 

Saluard picked up a canvas sack from the floor, then stopped in front of a rack hung with daggers. They ranged from four-inch needles, to heavy knives, to gleaming blades two feet long. He reached out for a utilitarian number, about a foot in length and with a well-worn hilt, tossed it in his palm, then slid it into a sheath. He buckled the sheath onto a thick leather belt and handed it to Korb.

 

Needless to say, it didn't go particularly well with the jacketless suit Korb was currently wearing. Bent still had the missing bit on as a vest, and fine silk shirts didn't go well with scarred leather belts. That didn't make the weight of blade on his hip any less comforting.

 

Not that he knew how to use it, that was.

 

Then something occured to him. "Saluard," Korb asked, "Why not give me a sword?"

 

The wild-haired guard snorted. "You? Fight with a sword? No, you don't know how. You'd end up cutting yourself. A dagger's lighter, easier to use." He glanced at the sword-cane Korb carried in one hand. "You might want to learn to use that, though. The sword's probably useless, but it's metal. It's got some weight to it. You can use the cane as a club."

 

"It's magic, actually," Korb mentioned.

 

"Really, lord? What does it do, then? Poison wounds? Throw lightning? Talk?"

 

"This little fellow lets you see in the dark. And, apparently, he blinds you if you try to draw him too far."

 

Saluard sighed - a barely audible noise. "I should have guessed, knowing you. You would find the only useless magic sword in the city, wouldn't you?"

 

Korb shrugged. "I wouldn't really say 'useless', friend. I saw through a shapeshifter with it, and I think it acts like a telescope."

 

"Well, if it's not too delicate, you can hit things with it."

 

Sometimes, Saluard was so pragmatic, you could nearly smell it. He turned back to the rack, then sheathed and took several more daggers - one of the ones nearly the size of a sword, and a few that resembled thick, slightly bent kitchen knives more than anything. One of these, he handed to Korb.

 

"I already have one, Saluard." Korb said.

 

"The first one was for fighting. This is for everything else. A bit of sharp steel is always useful."

 

Saluard called over a servant, then dictated a list of things to bring to the pavillion, packed as tightly as possible. It was surprisingly short, considering - only a couple hundred pounds or so of food, clothing, and gear. Some of the food seemed odd - vegetables, raw meat. When Korb asked about it, Saluard smiled.

 

"That dwarf dabbles in ice magic, doesn't he? We can use his arcane arts to keep some food fresh."

 

He finished dictating the list, then told the man to gather all the staff on the estates as soon as possible in the pavilion. Yes, even in the winery. No, he didn't have to do everything himself. Yes, this was urgent, so go already you rotting fool.

 

They walked back out of the house, Saluard limping gracefully.

 

At the door, Vhalin, hood off, fell into step - he'd been waiting for his employer to exit, it seemed. He eyed the dagger at Korb's belt with narrow pupils.

 

"You know how to use that, duke?" he asked.

 

"Nope!" Korb said, lapsing back into his normal expression. "I'm sure I'll figure it out as we go along, though!"

 

Saluard sighed again. "I'll be teaching him, mister Vhalin, unless you'd rather be the one responsible for beating some sense into him."

 

"It seems that job would be a mighty task indeed, captain."

 

Korb hurried ahead before he heard any more. The less he heard, the less he'd bruise his pride, and he had a feeling that particular part of him was going to be rather battered over the next few days.

 

We're about ready to start the brainstorming for where we want to take this thing, in the black and the blue, so Come One, Come All, and quickly.

Edited July 16, 2014 by Swimmingly

[BreathTaker]

As Zakk and Mat sat in the grass of the pavilion a servant came up with a pack and asked Zakk if he could preserve its contents. "That Saluard's a smart man," Zakk said, looking at Mat. "I freeze my own meat to keep it from spoiling, I'll do it lass." He said as he stood up and stuck his left hand into the bag filled with wax paper wrapped cuts of meat. The air around Zakk grew drier and warmer as he drew the moisture and chill out of the air for his work. "You'd think it would be easier to just hunt for our food, but we've too large a party to rely on venison and birds alone. The deer in this part o' the world are small and lithe. Plus we may have to get out through the water, which don't bother me at all." He said to Mat after he finished his work. 

 

As Zakk spoke, a short figure approached. It was too dark for Mat to make anything out but Vhalin and Zakk looked each other in the eye and Zakk nodded in respect. It turned out Zakk was right about Vhalin, his kind had delt with Dwarves often but Zakk could still not place a name to the race. "Ho, Vhalin!" Zakk called, more for Mat's sake than Vhalin's. It's good to see you lad, I heard you got yourself into quite a tussle" He said, the last part was in common Dwarvish to see if the smaller creature understood him.

[Sir Jerric]

What's this? Nobody has any guesses about Vhalin's appearance? Alright then, I'll make it easy on you people.

Behold! I have created an image for ease of reference. =)

Feedback on the quality can be left on the Gallery page, to avoid derailing the thread.

Edited July 17, 2014 by Sir Jerric

[BreathTaker]

I pictured the Raccoon from Guardians of the Galaxy haha

[Swimmingly]

Bent sat cross-legged and listened to the cries of a dying city.

It was faint. The vineyard-covered hills blocked sound well. The red glow in the sky could have been the sunrise, if it had been a few hours later.

Still, the occasional rumble drifted across, carried on the ocean breeze. The sounds might have been thunder - with the magic that was being thrown around, some of them probably were.

Bent was older than he looked. His family always had been, since before they arrived in Silari, mongrels with just a hint of immortality in their veins. Bent had known his great-great-great grandfather as a child, though the man had been mad with dementia.

Going on six decades, though he looked only twenty-five or so, Bent had an old man's memories of the city. He had worked the docks, cleaned the streets, been a bodyguard and a hired foot soldier in three different gangs. He had turned to petty crime, and tried going legitimate four times over.

And all of his life, he'd fought and begged, cleaned and loved on Silarni cobbles. The pidgin of the docks, the sibilant hiss of the lizardfolk, and the odd lick of a foreign tongue had all built up on him like rings on a tree. He could think of any point in a the vast, grimy maze that made up Silari and walk there without thinking. It made a curious mongrel of his soul - immortal dispassion, mortal desires, and the thick, grimy taste of Silari plastered thickly over it all.

So, while he sat on the pavillion floor, rage burned in him. Even through the dispassionate screen of immortal blood, he could feel it. It told him to make the raiders pay for what they'd done to his home. It made him feel like the red glow blazing behind the hills was scorching his skin. It made him want to weep as he remembered the dockside taverns and little pawnshops, probably raided and smashed by now.

But his mongrel blood burned, froze, and left him with nothing but a dampness in the corners of his eyes.

Maybe the family had been right to leave, all those years ago. He'd sat on the wharf and watched as the ship sailed away, six generations of lost mongrels packed onto a boat to hell-knew-where. They had said that they were looking for their homeland. Bent had told them that he'd found his.

He knew he was going to die someday. That was something precious to him, in a dark way. The dispassion of immortals ran in their veins as sure as an unnatural death - they knew they could cheat death forever, if they were careful enough, and so they feared it. That sort of fear would drive any sentient being insane, without a mental defence. It took away their passion and hunger for life and left them with a need to survive, instead.

But Bent was not immortal, just long-lived. He could stare at the certain death a century or two away and accept the destination. He could live, because he could die. Whatever his blood whispered, he wouldn't live forever. He could act freely, knowing it was the best option.

Beside him, Marie snored. She had put her back to a pillar, hand to her dagger, and given him a look that said exactly why and how she would use it. That taken care of, she had drifted off.

Didn't she care? She had grown up in Silari too, probably. When they had gone to pick up her little trunk of herbs, it had been the only thing in her rooms worth more than the junk it was made of. She would have had to fight tooth and nail to get a position as lucrative and respectable as a serving girl.

Why didn't she care?

Maybe she did. And maybe Bent was a sentimental old fool. It was easy for many to hate the city that turned them to crime and pettiness, or kept them scrabbling against bare stone.

The fool noble strutted into the pavilion looking mildly offended. Deep in conversation behind him, Vhalin and the captain walked out of the darkness, and Zakk called out a greeting to the ranger. He lapsed into Dwarvish near the end - "How did your fight go?", or something along those lines. Vhalin replied, but Bent wasn't paying attention; Korb had sauntered up in front of Marie and himself. He wore a knife on his belt proudly, like a child displaying a trophy.

"My friends!" he exclaimed. Everything this man did was an exclamation. Bent wondered how much of it was an act, like a frog puffing himself up - or a spider weaving a web. "I trust you are well, and ready to depart?"

Bent shrugged, reached out, and closed two fingers around Marie's dagger. He eased it from her grip, then shook her shoulder. The girl snapped awake, clenched her hand, and swung the hand that had held Barb as if to stab him.

"Marie?" he rumbled. "Lord Korb's asking if you're ready?"

The girl nodded sharply, then snatched her weapon from Bent's hand, stood up, and stretched. "When do we leave?" she asked.

Korb gestured in apology with his cane, bowing slightly like an actor finished delivering a monologue. "As soon as we know where we might be going, my girl. If you'd like to make a suggestion, I advise that you come to the table as soon as is convenient."

"And me?" Bent asked.

Korb smiled a touch indulgently. "If you would so like, Mister Bent, please join us."

Rotted gods, but the man was irritating. Hopefully Bent could avoid contact with him. However, the gold schooner still weighed down his pocket, which itself was on a vest tailored from Korb's jacket - he had to repay his debts.

In any case, he needed this man if he was to take his city back. Bent would tolerate him and keep him safe until then. With Saluard and Vhalin at his side, he'd stop the buffoon from getting himself killed. Every person had redeeming qualities; he'd learned that in a place where it paid to keep them buried deeply.

Korb's would show.

Maybe.

Bent stood and walked slowly to the table. He sat down, Marie joining him, and watched Korb as he slid in at the head, thumb rubbing the hilt of that cane.

It would just take time.

Thought I'd do some back story and motivation for Bent, here. Hope it's all right.

Edited July 17, 2014 by Swimmingly

[BreathTaker]

Zakk noticed everyone from the pavilion heading inside so he piled his stuff up and waved for Mat to follow. As they were walking inside Zakk signaled to a serving lady to please bring him a beer, when he received the cloudy yellow liquid he gripped the glass and chilled its contents. Zakk chose a seat with his back to the wall and between two windows when he sat down. Once everyone was seated he looked at Korb and spoke, "Personally I believe we should get out of here as fast as possible," he said looking around for agreement, "We could take the Western Passage around the Inner Sea to the North, but the would take us days, maybe even weeks out of the way. The best way would be to quietly go a couple towns over and buy passage across the sea to it's Northern shores. It will still be almost a weeks travel with good winds but it's faster and it's usually easier to spot a boat in the water than it is to spot orcs in the brush." Zakk took a drink of his beer and sat back.

 

As you can see, I'm voting for sea because I came up with a wicked idea last night. I think we should wait just a little bit longer for others to get here. Also, there is a reason that Zakk drinks so much.

[Sir Jerric]

Written in reply to Zakk's earlier conversation.

So that brawler mage had more dwarf to him than just his braided beard and drinking habits. Vhalin's surface Common was still shaky. Having the option of using Dwarvish could be useful in a pinch. "The the tussle was made more complex than necessary, thanks to an unfortunate selection of garments." Vhalin flipped the still unhemmed edge of his shortened cloak. "That has been rectified. You did well on those crossbows."

Vhalin has an oddly soft accent when speaking Dwarvish, and the base tonality of his native tongue still is highly noticeable. But he doesn't have the issues of grammar. He learned Common from the dwarves just before coming to the surface.

As for story suggestions, I am fine with any initial direction. I haven't solidified any plans for Vhalin yet, so he'll go along with the ride for the present.

It occurs to me that the "big bad leads an army against the world" is a commonly used story. What do you think of three big bads fighting to find and obtain a McGuffin? Well of Ascension used a three way conflict to give the heroes more options. I'll also suggest that only two of the big bads have massive armies. The third can be a crafty sneak.

And because discovery writing is the nature of the game, I don't want to know who the third is yet. It can be fun to get "tricked" by the sudden betrayal of an ally. At this point, I'd be fine with blaming the Silari raid on the big necromancer and "discovering" later that the second big bad is at fault.

Lastly, I want to warn everyone that I am going to be very busy for the next nine or ten days. I may sneak in a few posts from my phone, but don't expect much. Feel free to spot Vhalin in background conversations with Saluard, but try not to engage him in too much direct dialogue since I won't be able to reply promptly.

Edit: Five days and no replies? My story ideas aren't that intimidating, are they? Feel free to tell me to lighten up and just let events roll where they will. Won't bother me none.

Edited July 23, 2014 by Sir Jerric

[BreathTaker]

HELLO???? IS ANYONE THERE?

[Swimmingly]

Marginally, it seems. Maybe if we can lay out a clear plan for what we want to do next? I say give BT the decision, him being the GM and all.

[BreathTaker]

I know Quietcontrary will be posting here soon, but no definite when. I want to go on to the ocean. We can travel by horse to the west in a three day hard ride to beat the orcs and catch a ride on a rum runner boat or something (Zakk needs booze, not in an alchy way, I mean it powers his magic. Hard Alcohol is basically mana and beer is health but only in small amounts.) I have also come up with a lot more info on Zakk if anyone is interested while we wait for the others because his character is the main character in my book I'm planning out. 

 

The ocean will be the fastest way the cross where we need to because the city we are in is on the tip of basically a HUGE laggon or peninsula. We probably will run into some orcs on a faster boat and MAYBE!!! a Leviathan/Kraken if y'all think it's feasible.

Edited July 24, 2014 by BreathTaker

[Matrim Bloody Cauthon]

I say we go by ocean, maybe to a remote island that is the only land we see after weeks at sea.

 

There haven't been any posts on this in a week so I don't expect a reply soon.