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riadawn
05-07-2008, 05:53 PM
I had been at sea for better than a week when the lighthouse first came into view. The beacon told me that my path, my destiny, was getting closer. It’s been my experience, that paths are never quite what they seem to be.

As the ship neared the harbor, I could smell the rotten scent of commerce, and crowded streets, and brackish water, all things that went with civilization. I hadn’t spent much time in cities, and times I had, have been less than enjoyable. Usually in the company of one or more members of the local law enforcing militia. Needless to say, I tried not to stay long, and wasn’t welcome back.

I was used to the wilds, the smell of woods in fall, and fresh rain. But, this is where I was supposed to be. I’m willing to shelve my discomfort for time being, to see if she was right.

I unfolded the bit of parchment that the drunken dwarf had given me, and read the single word again. “Wavecrest”.

As far as dwarven fourtune tellers go, she seemed to know what she was talking about. She told me that adventure awaited me in Stormreach, and that my path lead here. She said I would be a fool for ignoring my path. In all honesty, I was never a fan of paths. I tend to make my own. I’ve found that if you stick to the path, you’re likely to be ambushed, beaten, and robbed. I wonder if that’s the point of paths?

I glanced down at the scrap of rough paper again. “Wavecrest”.

It was the name of a small pub on the harbor. A place where heroes met, criminals hid, and fortune waited. I figure I’d been considered a hero by some, a criminal by most, and was always interested in the idea of fortune, so it seemed like as good a spot as any to “find my path”.

My Gods, that sounds trite.

My name is Jahack, and I solve problems, or make them if the money is right. Easier to do both if you’ve got a good crew to help you with the details.

So my only question is, “How do you feel about details?”


((So here lies the deal. A small group, of low level adventurers is forming on Sarlona. A Dedicated Team, meeting on Weds from 7est until ??. Currently there are 3 of us, myself, Roadkill, and Lazarus. We’re looking for more to join in our merry crew. The idea is Light-Med RP, Slow Play, Dungeon Crawling. We’re interested in having a good time, running some quests, and killing some stuff that needs killing. We’re not interested in seeing how quickly we can level, or playing Speedracer through dungeons. Our first meeting is scheduled to be on 20 May @ 7EST. Please PM me if you’re interested, or would like additional information))

Look in the mirror, tell me what you see. Are you a Mercenary, sick of doing dirty work for the Houses? A convict, who ain’t willing to go back on the inside? A two-time loser, who luck has given up on? Or just a guy who’s good in a fight, and don’t mind spilling a little of the red stuff to claim his piece of the pie?

I say, be your own boss.

I say, the law can’t find you if you just keep moving.

I say, luck is a fickle wench, guys like us need to make our own luck.

Welcome to the Wavecrest.

Welcome to Stormreach.

riadawn
05-22-2008, 10:16 AM
The front of the bar seemed to be full of heroes indeed. Young men, with bright armor, and chiseled jaw lines, beating their chests, and drinking their mead. Swapping tales of dragon slaying and maiden rescue.

Heroes.
<spit>
Devil Fodder I say. Only fools are in this thing for glory.
Gods, I need a drink.

I brushed past a young wizard, knocking him over, and spilling his sherry. He glared up at me, and I'm guessing the scars on my face, and my general unwashed and unsavory appearance told him I wasn't worth it, or wasn't to be trifled with. He's right on both accounts. Fighting me will bring him glory, nor fame, and I've been on a damn boat for far too long, and would love nothing more to beat the hell out of something. I moved on as did he.

Near the back of the bar, the lighting was poor. I could pick out cloaks, and daggers, and the smell of cheap tobacco.
<sniff, sniff>
Smells like home.

I pulled up to a table in the corner, and let my eyes adjust. There were maybe a dozen folks, dressed in armour that had seen too many battles, and not enough oil.

A few tables over, sat a Halfling. He was leaned back, strumming a lute, and humming to himself. He stopped to finish his drink, and when it was empty, he scanned the room for the barmaid, who was nowhere to be found. As he stood, I tried to follow his eyes. He locked on to a young warrior, who was nursing a pint of something. The Halfling, closed his eyes, and began to chant something to himself, and made some precise, ,yet seemingly innocuous gestures with his hands. You wouldn't have caught it, if you weren't looking.

Suddenly, the young fighters eyes, glazed over, and he began to walk quickly to the Halflings table. He moved as if being controlled by strings.

As he arrived at the table, like a man on a mission, he set his drink in front of the Halfling, bowed deeply, and turned to walk away.

The Halfling smiled, and began to down the drink…as the fighter came out of his daze.

He shook his head, and looked down at his now empty hand. I could hear him grumble as he searched the room for his missing cocktail. After a minute or so, he saw his empty pint, sitting in front of the very content Halfling, who was trying to retune his lute. The Fighter, now supremely ****ed, stormed across the bar, his hand on the hilt of his sword, and his eyes full of rage.

As he returned to the Halflings table, he slammed his fist down, knocking over both glasses, he got as far as saying "YOU!", before the Halfling struck. In one fluid motion, he slid out of his chair, and drew a mace from beneath his cloak. Before the Fighter had a chance to draw his sword, or even finish his sentence, the small Bard brought his mace down on the mans hand, with a gut wrenching thud. I'm sure that the do-gooders at the front of the bar heard the bones in his mit shatter.

The fighter, clutched the wrist of his ruined hand, and screamed obscenities known only by the highest order of teamsters, coachmen, bandits, and pirates. I was impressed. I think he was considering going for his sword, when he passed out. The Halfling just smirked. He tied his mace back under his cloak, and reached for his lute. He noticed me looking at him, and reached back into the arsenal stored in the recesses of his cloak, waiting for me to make a move.

I raised my hand, and slid him a chair with the toe of my boot.

"Don't suppose you know any gospels" I asked him with a nod.

"Never made it to church much, if you can believe that" he replied as he sat down.

"Well, that don't make you a villain, whaddya drinking?"

NwMacabre
06-30-2008, 08:07 PM
Hey, is this a level 1 group? Also, does it still exist and are you looking for new members?

Arganosh
07-30-2008, 09:40 AM
Howdy, I would be happy to join you folks. I have several characters from 3rd to 8th, or I can start a new one. I have no problem filling a class you are lacking if need be. Just let me know. TCmexman pm'd me and said I should speak to you about joining.