Come one, come all...

[Swimmingly he/him]

What did I get wrong here? Could you correct me so I can edit it?

Edit: tried to fix the fight.

Edited June 27, 2014 by Swimmingly

[BreathTaker he/him]

I wasn't wearing any armor and after he kicked me into the top floor I was out. But Dreamingofcheese's charcter seems to be a giant sentient shardplate who kills the poor bastard pretty quickly so it kind of looks like I might have summoned it and jumped from the top. I don't think you should change it, it shows that the Duke didn't see the whole fight and is just putting things together... so for the record Zakk was beating the snot out of the lizard bare handed but with ice on (He is dwarvish after all) ALSO FOR THE RECORD, ZAKK IS 3/4 CELT HUMAN AND 1/4 DWARVISH that's why he's only six foot instead of ridiculous tall, it also means he gets mad pretty easy but can have a good time. In this world I would like the Celts to be more of the modern dramatization of them. Big, loud and love to love fight and drink. Usually pretty reclusive. I think the Celts would live in the forests near the mountains and a Celt/Dwarfborn is not uncommon in that area, neither is a Celt/elf because they are pretty much a culmination of both Dwarvish and Elvish races. Make sense? I would like to make maybe a list of different races we would like to run into along this trip. 

 

Also, I think I've decided that before any MAJOR progression into the story, I would either like a message or blue text here so I can decide if that's way I feel it should go. Sound good everybody?

Edited June 27, 2014 by BreathTaker

[Sir Jerric he/him]

Not bad, Swimmingly. I enjoyed the world building in particular. And thanks for choosing to encounter Vhalin. But you did skip a few details in describing him.

First, you missed the size differential. Vhalin is not easily described as a hulking figure unless you are a housecat. In a collision, Korb is likely at least half again Vhalin's weight and his center of gravity would be over Vhalin's head height. Far from bouncing off, Korb would plow through him and face plant in the street beyond. You should consider slowing down first. =)

Also, you overlooked the pattern of attitude in my post. Vhalin would not growl at Korb. He is a tiny person in a foreign land and tends to assume that he has made yet another cultural misstep. His response would be "Apologize, lordship." once he saw Korb's clothing. He might even give you a hand up if you did choose the face plant approach.

See where that scene adjustment takes us, and I'll be back to post Vhalin's response in a few hours.

[Swimmingly he/him]

I was trying to convey the scene more authentically from the Duke's point of view - if someone clanks, they've got weapons and armour, if they've got arms and armour, they probably can use them, if they can, they might, if they do, the duke is dead. Add shrouded figure and a voice that sounds growly whether apologising or threatening and you have a terrified Duke overestimating the threat level of everything - though, to be fair, that's a legitimate response to nighttime on the Docks. I rewrote that trying to make it more obvious that the Duke's a bit of an unreliable narrator in the heat of the moment, though.

[Shivertongue he/him]

Working on another post, but just want to say that I absolutely adore Korb, and considering how Zeith tends to get along with the nobles of most cities, there's a decent chance he and Korb have met before.

 

And considering how Zeith tends to get along with the nobles of most cities, there's a good chance that meeting was not pleasant. xD

[Sir Jerric he/him]

I also enjoy the excellent third-limited narration that Korb is providing. I'll throw in a request for Vhalin's voice to become practically growl-free once Korb has had some time to settle down.  His accent is gruff, but slightly tonal. Excusing the fact that Vhalin doesn't sing much, he'd be most comfortable in the tenor range.

---

The magic-wielding man in the leather vest had barreled back out as the lizardman reached the tavern's threshold. Again they tumbled into the street, the brawny man's frost magic clearly giving him an edge as the two brawled.

 

Running footfalls gave Vhalin a few moments warning. His spin saved him from a direct hit, though the club glanced across his mailed chest. Then his assailant plowed full on into him. Vhalin used his rotation to absorb the momentum, while a swiftly closed fist relieved the tumbling attacker of his weapon.

 

Vhalin staggered to a halt facing the lamp post. The weapon he now held was . . . a gilded cane? He turned to see a fine-dressed man rolling over on the cobblestone street, now much disheveled by the fall. "What was . . . are you . . . ?" Vhalin didn't know what to make of this.

 

The man quickly regained his feet, then cast about looking for something. Vhalin relaxed as the man finally recognized that his cane was in Vhalin's hand. Clearly this had not been an attack. Vhalin let to cane fall and roll toward the strange nobleman.

 

"Good evening, friend," the man said, voice and hands shaking from his tumble. He bent to collect the cane. "How do you feel about making a few coins tonight?"

 

Vhalin blinked. Not the sort of question he had expected. He wasn't certain that he had expected a question, even. "Am in no swift hurry. May ask from what cause you run?"

---

In case anyone hasn't caught on, the sloppy grammar in Vhalin's dialogue is deliberate. He started learning Common about eight months ago, and assuming it is anything close to English, his capacity might be considered impressive. If he gets to hang around you people enough, I plan to migrate his syntax to express your influence. =)

[BreathTaker he/him]

Where is Dreaming?

[Sir Jerric he/him]

In my post? Swim had Zakk out in the street fighting the sslyssin who had kicked him, so I showed Zakk's exit from the tavern. Vhalin has yet to set eyes on Dreaming's character, as it/him remains inside the building with Shiv, Quiver, and QC's characters. I don't want to try involving it/him until he comes back to describe it/him. And a name would be really handy too. That first-person perspective was interesting, but just a little short on useful hooks.

Exit: Forgot to mention Quiver. Sorry.

Edited June 28, 2014 by Sir Jerric

[Swimmingly he/him]

Korb stared at the short fellow for a moment. He seemed strangely apologetic, but there was something about the way he moved - he was dangerous, even if he was loathe to admit it.

"You're new here, I assume?"

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

His voice wasn't really that growly, more gruffly singsong, and he was calling Korb 'Lordship' unironically in the Docks. Korb was beginning to like this man, though he wasn't exactly the most threatening of fellows to look at. He'd do until Korb could get into a tavern or inn - he glanced at the sadly disrepaired and unjustly abused example that the two fighters brawled in front of - and, well, Korb made too much money anyway. He could take this stranger in under his wing. Hopefully the several knives concealed about his person wouldn't poke out feathers, so to speak.

By all the ten thousand gods on this rotting world, have you gone insane?!, a voice inside him screamed. Noble's suit at night on the Docks and you're taking knife-happy foreigners "under your wing?" How on earth have you not died yet?!

As he had for the vast majority of his life, Korb ignored the voice. Audacity was the soul of ambition, after all.

Besides, Korb hadn't had any real fun in a while. He was exactly where he wanted to be in life, and had spent the last five years working to maintain that place.

Capacity. That was what his goal had been. Second best at everything, so he had the capacity to take action.

What good is capacity alone?

Done rationalising the stupidity he was about to exhibit, Korb cleared his throat, turned to the side slightly, and took a swig from the small vial of wine his tailor had sewn into his sleeve.

Gods, but that man was good at his job. Korb recognised the vintage - his own.

"Just a little, my man, but for all the right reasons. My name is Korb - just Korb, please, as I'd rather not be mistaken for somebody important - and I'd like to purchase your services as a bodyguard for tonight, and possibly longer."

Korb settled back, hands on the hilt of his sword-cane, trying his best to hide the silver gilding while not looking like he was hiding anything. His clothes made him stick out like a silver pin in a pigsty, but every little bit helped. Over the short stranger's shoulders, the brawl seemed to have cleared up, leaving cracked cobblestones and a thick, patchy rime of frost across the ground.

The stranger seemed to consider the offer for a few moments - or perhaps he was simply arranging the words in his head - and spoke.

Whatever the vast and world shattering evil we're looking to rebuff is, could it start by doing something unspeakable to Korb's estates? He needs some motivation beyond "because things happened and I was bored" to join the crew, though that's good enough for now. Doesn't need to happen right away, of course, but that's a plot event we might want to aim for - maybe Korb asks everyone to meet him at his estate after a mad frenzy of hiring everyone threatening in sight as a bodyguard?

Also, to clarify what I've imagined for Silari, it's an old city, founded as a trading colony four hundred years or so ago. Conquered by the Vrumeyan empire, the locals were mostly subjugated by the colonizing upper class, and put to work building the trade industry. However, when the city declared independence and fought off the ragged Vrumeynan navies that came to reclaim them, several locals managed to become officers in the military and were subsequently made into low nobles, though a few originally lower class ethnic Vrumeynans number among them as well (counts and some barons). The high nobles (dukes and high barons) came from the upper class ethnic Vrumeynans, as did the king. In recent years, however, the merchant class has been surging, the chief among them garnering wealth and political power to rival the nobility, becoming a faction of their own (the merchant lords). Among the Docks and surrounding area, there are a variety of ethnic and political factions, the primary one being the Lizardmen. It's good to remember, however, that the vast majority of Lizardmen in the city are really just lower-class immigrants, trying to scrape by despite a human-dominated political scene. Anyone want to change details?

Edited June 28, 2014 by Swimmingly

[dreamingofcheese he/him]

NAME: Tool

Age: 200

Ht: 9ft

Wt: 500 lbs

Tool stands nine feet tall and is covered in obsidian and steel plates. His ghulra (rune mark on forehead) is purple.

Description on website.

Warforged are bulky humanoids covered in plates of metal and stone. A skeleton of these materials supports woody fiber bundles that comprise a warforged's muscular system. Warforged bodies have an internal network of tubes filled with a bloodlike fluid that nourishes and lubricates their systems. Their powerful arms end in hands that each have two fingers and one thumb, and each of their feet has two broad toes.

Warforged heads have simple humanlike features. They have heavy brows, hinged toothless jaws, and no noses. A warforged's eyes sometimes glow when he or she experiences certain intense emotions. The forehead of each warforged bears a unique rune called a ghulra. These ghulra help give warforged a sense of individuality.

[BreathTaker he/him]

I like it dreaming

[Swimmingly he/him]

Huh, I should do one of these too.

Name: Korb von Shwartmeyer, Duke

Age: 32

Height: 5 ft 10 in

Weight: 152 lbs

Race: Human, Vrumeynan ethnic, Silarni national

Class: Runner. He really needs to learn to handle himself in a fight sometime, and has since he was 10. Seriously, get some lessons.

Description: Slight, with short black hair, light brown eyes, and delicate fingers, he has excellent fitness and can run extremely, though by no means inhumanly, quickly. You could call him an athlete, but he might be insulted. Or not. You never really can tell with the man.

Duke Korb von Shwartmeyer is a man who likes opportunity. On the long term, his plans involve setting himself up to be able to grab any low-hanging fruit as it appears; in practice, that requires him to prune the branch very carefully and thus miss many of the actual fruits. (Overextended metaphors ftw.)

On the very short term, he tends to be impulsive, doing frankly idiotic and life-threatening things just to prove he can, often expending inordinate amounts of resources to conceal his actions from the world afterwards. Somehow, this has not spiraled out of control. Yet.

Though he acts a bit of a buffoon, he can be rather crafty when he needs to, and has a way of gathering people around him that fit his plans remarkably - or perhaps he's simply very good at adapting his plans to the people around him. Again, with the Duke, it's hard to tell.

He wears nobles' suits (currently in a Revolutionary Revival style with a faux-colonial era sword-cane engraved in silver) chosen, tailored, and adapted to his specific tastes by a tailor who's name he forgot after the first meeting, nearly a decade ago, and so has since greeted with "My friend!". Enthusiastically. The man's name is probably scribbled all over the von Shwartmeyer ledgers (he ruins his suits doing something stupid nearly every other day), but the Duke hasn't bothered to check. He's got people to do that for him.

I should probably mention here that anyplace in Silari Korb calls the Docks probably refers to the vast swathe of the city occupied by the less-than-middle-class citizens. His inability to distinguish poor but orderly and dangerously lawless neighbourhoods has him wandering in and out of them all like a headless chicken, in fact. For example, the tavern on Crafter's Row is, according to Korb, in the Docks - but it's the edges, and it's pretty safe there. He really didn't need to hire a bodyguard yet.

Edited June 28, 2014 by Swimmingly

[dreamingofcheese he/him]

Sorry I forgot class and backstory.

Class: monk/bodyguard/souljar

Released at the great signing. Once gaurd of the famous general Old Boot. The dwarven master of the shieldwall. Then the signing changed everything my master decided he wasn't going to lay down arms. I watched this old man lead a guerilla army, shock and burnt ground tactics. He was so effective that he brought shame to his former king. The king went to war with the Boot until he was out maneuvered. Pinned to white bluff with no escape he gave a speech sealing his army to death.

But old Boot had other plans. He sold some ancient dwarven relic to a powerful Mage. Giving him and a select few an out, a portal, to another land. This one. Upon entering this new realm I watched my master celebrate a great coup. He sacrificed his army and received a new power one that left to grow would change this place. Necromancy. All the souls of the army imbued into himself.

He promised me a place in his family but at the time of crossing he changed. I knew the only way to be free was to slay the man I was built to protect.

He died forty seconds after he entered. His friends died before they knew they were betrayed.

But something terrible happened during my master's death and his friends death. They were transfered into me.

I bare the souls of 3604 beings. Most are rageful and seek dominance. They have successful three times. Each added hundreds of more souls to my core.

Only hours of meditation can keep me, me.

Then I was found by an old soul. A woman so ancient that the stars call her milk sister.

She taught me of people and how to become as them.

She told him to observe.

He chose the inn, bought it then gifted it to a family under one condition leave the large Suit of armor alone.

[BreathTaker he/him]

Zakk looked around and noticed a GIANT suit of armor and stammered, "Uh, 'scuse me? Yeah, hey, where in name of Damnation did you come from?" he said, knocking on the shoulder plate of the creature. Looks dwarvish made to me but it's WAY too big to be he thought to himself as he inspected the metal, some of the patterns on the armor looked familiar to him but they weren't from a clan he recognized.

[Sir Jerric he/him]

So the noble was running from some kind of trouble, was he? A bad bet? Still, in a city this segregated, Vhalin did not think it likely he would find many offers for employment. And there was no telling how long his quest would take. Might as well get some income while he had the chance.

"Am called Vhalin. A ranger in your words. Willing to assist your lordship, though am not knowing what you consider threatening?"

[dreamingofcheese he/him]

Tool looks down at Zakk.  For a single moment the Master raises up and screams in my head.  Uncontrolled hand grabs where my temple would be if I had flesh.

"Sometimes," Tool looks closer past the marks and runes. "Sir Dwarfish, I have been in Damnation."

Tool walks over to the innkeeper, handing over a small envelope, which held the title and proof of the Bribe.  The Human who was the son of the man I made the deal with takes ownership with a tremor in his hand.

Tool returns to the partial dwarf and looks closer at the runes.  A Mage of some sort might be able to help, though from the look.  He had the mercenary look, nonstandard uniform and weapons.  

"I am Tool." My voices sound like four people talking at once, woven into a single voice.  "Are you a Merc Captain?"

Edited June 28, 2014 by dreamingofcheese

[BreathTaker he/him]

" My name is Zakk, I'm actually a wanderer across the world trying to stop a great evil from destroying our home." Zakk looked at the suit of armor, "Say, you look like you can handle yourself in a scrap, would like to join me in my quest?"

[dreamingofcheese he/him]

Tool watches the eyes.  A small spark of his soul can be seen.  This man is better then Master, but it still can end with me rusting and him rotting.  What would happen to my comrades?

Two men enter, wearing aprons reading "Belush Sausages.  Local."  They lift the lizard's corpse and nods towards the tavern keeper.  They then depart.  Tool thanks his creator for not needing to eat.

"What is the Danger?"

Edited June 28, 2014 by dreamingofcheese

[BreathTaker he/him]

"It is a Darkness creeping over the land, poisoning the crops and the animals." Zakk said in a hushed tone while stepping around the... Sausage guys? Zakk shivered at the implication. "But that isn't all, for some reason i have a feeling there is something bigger than just a plague at work here, it feels... created... some how, it definitely has the feel of necromancy to me but i can't be too sure." Zakk looked at X and then at Tool, "Well, now you know so what say you? Will ye join my cause?"

[dreamingofcheese he/him]

"Necromancers?" Tool cant keep the anger from entering his voice. "Here in this land? Can I not escape, will I never be free?"

Tool takes a moment to think on the request.  He draws the question to his comrades.  The soldiers agree with cheers and a disturbing agreement from the Master.  What would the Master believe he would achieve?  Could this course of action bring a True death to him or a Rebirth.

"The only request I have," Tool sighs "Don't let me kill another Necromancer.  I cant allow another one inside me."

[BreathTaker he/him]

Zakk raised an eyebrow at the Alphonse haha Suit of armor but decided that now was not the time to ask disturbing questions, but it was definitely the time to ask a question, "Tool, is your only form a nine foot tall suit of armor? or would you be able to transfer into say... a smaller plate? I only ask because you are quite HUGE! If not, there's not problem, I'm sure we can find a way to  make you look less... well... more... ah blast it I don't know what I'm trying to say" Zakk finally spit out grumpily. "Hey, 'tender, can I get another dark one please?"

[dreamingofcheese he/him]

"Ah... You see my maker built me for.. How do you say it?  Determent? Proactive protection?  Well you see I was suppose to be seen."

Tool watches his new teammate down to quickly a tar like substance.

"Do you people really enjoy that stuff?

[BreathTaker he/him]

After a satisfying burp Zakk chuckled, "Most people don't, no, but then again I'm not most people. Personally, I love the stuff. As for the general hugeness of yerself, I guess there's nothin' we can do about it. Say, making something ridiculously huge-ish as protection seems a very Drawrven thing to do, are you Dwarven made?" Zakk again inspected Tool's runes and markings.

[dreamingofcheese he/him]

Tool shrugs.

"Master will never tell me. The marks on me are in my Master's hand. Your runes do they serve a purpose?"

[Swimmingly he/him]

"Excellent, goodman Vhalin!" Korb exclaimed, tapping the cobbles with his cane and striding forwards, pulling a large, worn white gold coin - a schooner - from a pocket in his sleeve. With a flick of his finger, he sent it spinning at the smaller man's head. It flashed in the lamplight for a fraction of a second.

Then Vhalin's hand whipped around in an inhuman blur, catching the disk between two fingers while a dagger leapt into the other one. Korb backed away a half-step as Vhalin examined the coin. The ranger hastily resheathed his dagger, mumbling apologies.

Korb held up a languid hand. "I'm sorry for that, friend. Just testing your reflexes. Something of an interview, if you will - and you passed, believe me."

Vhalin laughed suddenly, a surprisingly musical tenor. "I see! Is game, yes, like...catch-sticks, perhaps?" He affected a wistful tone. "Was much good..." He seemed to trail for a moment. "Here," he called, flinging the schooner back at Korb with a piercing force.

The white-gold disk bounced off Korb's left shoulder with a bruising thump, and Korb swore loudly.

"Rotted land!"

Vhalin looked up hopefully. "Was good throw, yes?"

Korb almost told the fellow that, no, it wasn't a game, but he didn't have the heart. "Ah...um, yes, that was a good throw - yes, very good. But...don't try that with anyone else, it's very complicated who starts it and all that let's go inside shall we?"

He patted the creature's back with a little more force than necessary, rubbing his bruising shoulder, then bent, picked up the coin, and pressed it into Vhalin's hand as they entered the inn. There were the usual stains and blood of a Docks inn, and a bar with, stooped over it, an eclectic and varied selection of individuals, anyone of whom could probably macerate his ribcage one way or another with minimal effort.

Korb smiled, his new bodyguard trotting in on his heels. This was going to be interesting.

Wait a minute - there drinking idly - was that Zeith? Had the bastard finally made his sorry way back to Silari? Korb grinned wider and stared at the man until he looked. The expression writ on his face could have bought a small kingdom.

BreathTaker, can you maybe do a plot post outlining what's happening apocalypse-wise, once everyone's dandy with one another?

Edited June 29, 2014 by Swimmingly