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Post by Deleted on Nov 25, 2012 22:17:01 GMT -8
[bgcolor=black] Half Elf/Mage. A small figure stepped in the doorway of a missing door. She wore a grey tinted cloak, completely covering her as if she meant to stay hidden. She allowed her head to rise for a few seconds, her light grey eyes scanning over the chaotic room but she seemed to take no notice to the commotion. Her eyes stopped as she found the bar.
Her head was back down. She hurried through the crowd of people, keeping to herself as much as possible. She seemed to whimper each time she bumped into something, muttering a barely audible "sorry" as she continued on her way. She was completely oblivious to all the mess around her, even stepping in a puddle of milk and not noticing the squish under her torn apart shoes. She was only focused on making her way to the bar.
She approached, and paused, shaking slightly as if she were too scared to speak. Actually, there was no "as if", it was the truth of it. The small, fragile looking girl was frightened of speaking. She looked up, her grey eyes watering a little as she tried to muster up the courage to speak.
"W..." She choked on her word and blushed. "Water please." She whimpered quickly, lowering her head as soon as the words escaped.
She didn't even look back up to check to see if the barkeep had heard her. She didn't even look to see if there was a barkeep. She just stood there, awkwardly waiting for the water. A pale hand sneaked out of her cloak and brushed back her coal black hair. As she brushed her hair back a small creature slipped out from under her grey cloak. It seemed to be as oblivious as the young girl, only noticing one thing; spilt milk. The creature let out a very faint mew as it waddled over to the milk, and as all kittens do, began to lap it up.
The girl's eyes widened as she turned around, squatting and trying to grab the kitten but it was out of her reach. She then stood up, seeing the spilt milk she had stepped through, her eyes panned up and she finally noticed that she hadn't opened a door, she noticed an out cold bartender, she noticed that...something was everywhere...
She began to shake a little and now was debating on rather she should leave the kitten and run or some how sneakily grab the kitten without being noticed by anyone.
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Post by Mhairyn "Aryn" Dirson on Dec 2, 2012 18:50:06 GMT -8
The finger which had unfortunately made contact with the human mage suddenly drew back, the wrist which maneuvered it twisting with the dexterity and speed of her elven forbearer so that her bloody palm was facing, and then slapping, into the half-drows chest as he invaded the private conversation; the Word for the ward had already slipped through the broken warrior's parched lips, and though she honestly tried to cancel it - reflexes being what they were - was otherwise incapable of negating the entire thing: the drow would find himself pushed back several paces in the direction Airan's palm was facing.
"Apologies, Ser Drow-kin, however you are uninvited to this conversation," she whispered, drawing her hand back to her side as her mismatched eyes flicked in his general direction. "Please keep your distance or the next one will be unaltered." With her eyes back on the mage, who now seemed somewhat fretful, the paladin struggled to convert the expression on her face from frustration to one of gentle patience, a virtue she did not currently strive to uphold. Confident that she and John were now granted a bit of privacy, she once more gestured toward the blade sheathed at his hip.
Licking her lips to wet them, she regarded him with an uncharacteristic kindness. "What you have on your hip is a very dangerous artifact. I am bound by duty to relieve you of it and seek its immediate destruction; the Order to which I have pledged my life demands it may be so, and I am granted any power I deem necessary to ensure the completion of my mission.
"This Blade was created from the despair of the dead and dying for use by a necromancer to further his own power. It feeds off the emotions of the living, the magic in the environment, and the very life-force which currently holds it." The timbre of her voice grew as she spoke, her directive coming back to her the moment she rekindled the spark of her purpose within. By now, her voice had lost all traces of its hoarseness, beckoning to the ears of all who remained. "It must be destroyed before it consumes each and every living being on this earth!"
Standing erect, she took a step back from the mage and pivoted slowly, capturing the gaze of any who looked. "However, I am without a party! He," she gestured with a wide sweeping of the arm toward the dead man in the pool of gore at her feet, "must be avenged. Justice must be served."
Airan came to a stop facing the half-orc, chest heaving with the emotion she did not know she could possess. She needed help on this one, and in all likelihood, was being hunted by the remainder of her order for her defection, so she could not go to them; not only were they too far to get to, but they were too bridled by tradition and rules, something she had always struggled to conform to. "Rewards, of any nature, will be given to those who assist. Do I have your axe?"
sent from my notsosmartphone
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Post by Deleted on Dec 3, 2012 6:24:13 GMT -8
There were a lot of words being thrown around. It was giving him a headache. Bodies exploding, angry explanations, and lack of drink had a way of sobering a man up. He awkwardly pushed himself into a sitting position and regarded the angry woman somewhat before him.
She was throwing words around. Ones meant to drive men into action; vengeance, justice, rewards. That last one was all he needed to hear. He did not know the man now decorating the bar, nor did he care much for the dispensing of justice. But as a mercenary the promise of gold went a long way.
"I seem to have misplaced my axe, but if you've got the coin then you've got my knife." He struggled to his feet, adopting a shaky, semi-competent pose. He threw a lazy salute, "Otter, of the Thirteenth Company," he stifled a burp. Or possibly vomit. It wasn't pleasant, regardless. "At your service."
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Post by Mhairyn "Aryn" Dirson on Dec 15, 2012 12:52:08 GMT -8
Bump?
sent from my notsosmartphone of breakingthingsness
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Post by Deleted on Dec 15, 2012 23:00:09 GMT -8
THE STALKER WAS A CLEVER ONE. Having used magic to push away the drow before he was able to use him as a shield, John was now quite fretful. She was undoubtedly thinking of many nasty things to do to the poor mage. It would probably begin with skinning him alive piece by piece and letting the exposed parts fester with disease. Then there would be the daily beatings. THEN SHE WOULD CALL HIM MEAN NAMES AND TAUNT HIM WITH A GLASS OF MILK THAT WAS JUST OUTSIDE OF HIS REACH. She would probably even spill it just to hurt his feelings more.
Noticing that she now didn't seem to angry, John was able to recognize this tactic. She was undoubtedly trying to lure him away with the offer of candy. It was a tricky tactic and one that had fooled John many times. BUT FOOL JOHN 35 TIMES THEN SHAME ON YOU. BUT HE WON'T BE FOOLED AGAIN...unless there was pie too. For pie was tricky and could take even the most prepared mage by suprise.
Listening to the stalker tell him that the knife was dangerous. That plus summarize a lot of information about the knife which he already knew in even more detail (It was a very detailed report on the Blade of Woe. It even helped to get him a scholarship to the mage academy), John decided that he would inspect the blade with his MAGICAL ITEM DETECTING ABILITIES.
While the stalker lady gave her speech and was approached by one of the bar patrons, John began using the specialized magic detecting abilities that he had developed over many years of hard work. Taking the knife out of the sheath and observing it, John made a few 'Hmmmm' sounds as he nodded his head (this was a very important first step). John then waved it around and observed the blade with interest. Then carefully putting the blade to his ear, John listened to it. BUT NOW IT WAS TIME FOR THE FINAL AND MOST IMPORTANT STEP. For bringing the blade close to his face, John would sniff the blade and make another "Hmmmmm' sound (He used to actually taste it but after one particular incident which had ended very badly he actually managed to retain the lesson of not tasting random items that have reality altering properties to them...and also not to go around tasting random items that someone thinks may have reality altering properties...in fact it was a good rule of thumb to not go around tasting random items in general.)
Having performed this process and placed the knife back in a sheath, John had come to a conclusion. This was undoubtedly the Blade of Woe. Although John was fairly certain that he could taste a bit of anger in there. Not to mention some despair, a pinch of madness and 3/4ths a cup of screaming at the top of one's lungs while being eviscerated by a pack of demonic wolves on a full moon in the middle of a forest during winter. But it was mostly woe. Although there still was a remote chance that it was the Blade of Despair. But given the facts that seemed unlikely so it would be a safe assumption to treat it as the Blade of Woe.
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Post by Mallach Dirson on Dec 21, 2012 10:03:03 GMT -8
[bgcolor=000000] Long over due! What was this? Magic? Madness. Suddenly, the Warlock found himself sliding backward and when the spell had faded, he continued to slide uncontrollably, the floor was covered in bits of person, goo, puss and blood. Of course he was slipping and sliding! Eventually he came to an all but sudden stop, as his feet slipped out from under him and he landed upon his back side with a violent thud. "Ouch.." He shot daggers at the woman whom did this to him, flames burning in the darkness of his eyes, darkness began to creep out from around him as his temper took hold, but then.. He took a breath, the darkness, along with the flames burning in his eyes subsided. And he stood calm, filthy but calm. "You have my skill, blood and flesh." He replied to the female's ask for aid. He would get his revenge for the embarrassment he had suffered and she would burn in an unholy fire as he savored his prize. "And my staff, of course."
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Post by Bard "Dual-Strike" Alrikson on Dec 22, 2012 18:09:42 GMT -8
When it was clear that the alcohol he so desperately wanted was not forthcoming, Graven hopped over the bar, snatched a mostly unsplattered tankard, filled it, and started drinking again; essentially right where he had left off before the exploding man had made his appearance. Graven ignored the rest of the babbling in the room, watching a drow with a leather fetish stroll into the bar. More magey looking folk appeared, but the barbarian had little care for them. Lesser minds feared magic. Graven was just wary of it. He drank some more ale as the distraught woman put on a show an threw about some lore. Dagger of Woe? That meant little to nothing to Graven, however, when she mentioned rewards, THAT caught his attention. He refilled his tankard and gave the half-elf, who was a good foot and a half short than he was, an appraising look.
"Rewards you say? Well now...how could I say no to that? I suppose that if your party's going to be made of boney mages, squishy wizards, and a BDSM fan, then I guess you WILL need someone who happens to know their way around an axe." He drained his tankard and gave the assembled party a wicked, cocky grin. "Count me in."
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Post by Deleted on Dec 22, 2012 18:17:23 GMT -8
The satyr stumbled over, his pockets were nigh-on empty.
"Excuse me m'am, but I wish to join you on this quest."
He needed the fresh air and the loot. Besides, adventuring was why these taverns existed. Hopefully he would be accepted. Even if he did vomit every few minutes. Indeed *BLEEEHHH*. Yes, there we go again.
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Post by Deleted on Dec 26, 2012 17:03:37 GMT -8
[bgcolor=black] She decided. The small girl took a deep inhale and ran forward, crouching down, grabbing the small kitten and gathering it back into her grey cloak. She decided this place was way too dangerous for her. She began to scurry off when she heard a woman speaking of some dagger and some quest.
The girl turned her eyes to this strange woman. A quest? Anira wanted so bad to go on this quest with her but that life…that life was long in her past. But wait…
The grey eyes squinted, trying to focus on the figure the woman was speaking to. Anira’s eyes widened as she stepped forward.
“J-…John?” Her small voice spoke out over the crowd of people.
Suddenly it clicked. Quest, magic, dagger? Zombie…body.
“John!” The girl’s voice was changed. It was loud now.
She proceeded towards the man. “John! You better not be getting yourself into trouble again!” She marched up to him, a pale hand once more sneaked out from her grey cloak and pushed down the hood around her head, showing the coal black hair that ran along her face.
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Post by Deleted on Jan 2, 2013 18:08:52 GMT -8
Looking at the volunteers who were going to help the stalker lady in her quest for...something, John came to a conclusion. It was that the drow mage was extremely odd and seemed to be fond of giving away his blood and flesh. Plus he didn't even offer his internal organs or nails which were the most valuable parts of a person for cursing and spellcasting.
However John's attention was soon drawn away from this particularly odd mental tangent by a scolding voice. A voice that had terrorized John for many years. A voice that had him quaking in fear and terror whenever it was raised. But it couldn't be that voice. For the owner of that voice would have no reason to be at the bar. BUT MAYBE IT WAS HER AND SHE HAD COME TO HELP JOHN WITH HIS INVESTIGATION. But if that was the case then she wouldn't be that angry.
Turning to face Anira, John's expression quickly became that of horror (he may have nearly soiled himself out of fear too). For there was one thought that was going through his mind. Said thought was about his lifespan which was about to become much much shorter. Recoiling in fear at Anira, John unfortunately had no one to hide behind in fear. "I'MSORRYPLEASEDON'THURTME." John blurted out in pure mortal terror. Shaking in fear, John hoped that the stalker lady or one of the newly recruited people would save him from the horrific fate of one of Anira's angry lectures.
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Post by Mhairyn "Aryn" Dirson on Jun 24, 2013 13:30:22 GMT -8
Without further mention of the incident, the half-elf turned on her heels, and, bypassing the smouldering remains of her longtime friend, halted. She bent down and almost reverently cradled the breastplate, or what was left of it, before she made to exit the tavern. "You have an hour," she said, "to gather what you require and meet me at the stables." She paused just before the sad door that had once blocked out the weather, as though debating what she would be saying next. "If you have family, best to say goodbye." Without waiting for a response, ill or not, she stepped through the threshold and into the rain. Okay, so, here's the dealio. If you are still interested, post a sort of exit below, or shoot me a pm if you don't have the time to post a post, and I will continue with your characters in mind in a week or so, probably. My next post will be a direct continuation from this one until the party has arrived, so please plan accordingly. If there is no longer any interest, I will be a sad, sad Frox. ;-;
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Post by Deleted on Jun 25, 2013 18:04:19 GMT -8
An hour? Ha! That was more than enough time to vomit out this poison and sober up. Or, at the very least, stumble his way to the stables drunk and full of sick. Whichever. He wasn't picky.
He patted his pockets, checked the bags upon his belt, and smiled when he produced a couple coins. He looked about for a table to place them on, then shrugged and dropped them into the muck about his feet. Satisfied, he stumbled out of the inn. A Company man always pays what he owes.
Next stop, the stables! Or... or maybe a bucket, first.
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Post by Deleted on Jun 26, 2013 10:15:18 GMT -8
The opening of the door created a rush of cool air into the tavern, the breath that the saytr desired. Reese (for that was his name) bolted into the open.
He would spend the next half hour grazing and drinking rainwater before cleaning himself up and moving to the stables.
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