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  1. #41

    Default Clan Scorpion Imperial, Sho's Fate, Chapter 10 of many

    Fellowship of the Golden Night
    Clan Scorpion Imperial
    Sho's Fate? Last Chapter of many...

    The sun was about to rise in an hour or so, and Sho was ready to go. He packed all his things, and headed for his ship. Aemilius was stopped and killed, and so was Sho’s sister Axalise. Clan Scorpion Imperial was stopped from taking over Stormreach, and now Sho is the emperor. He was heading to Khorvaire, to the ShadowCrags Mt., where the major city of CSI was located, and then to the Mournlands, to talk to Lord of the Blades into coming to Stormreach and making Ragyr the new seconded in command since Bastard died. Sho sighed. He had lots of work to do. Earlier in the morning, way before the sun was going to rise; Sho got a letter that said he had a hearing with the Silverflame about what will happen to Clan Scorpion in 2 months in Flamekeep. Sho just threw the letter away, he hated the Silverflame.

    Sho boarded his black and green ship. The ship of the emperor. The Drow bowed as he entered, he gave them a wave to get back to getting ready to leave. Sho walked to the cabin of his ship, motioned the captain of the ship to depart, shut his door and sat at his table, facing the window, facing Stormreach, facing the sunrise. He watched the city as the water element and the wind in the sails took the ship away, farther and farther away, from his friends, his former guild, his real home. Sho got up, and shut the curtains to the giant window. Times have changed, life will be different. And he had a promise to keep. Ragyr will be second in command.
    <New player, new characters>
    ~Fellowship of the Golden Night~
    Mystreo~Bard 1/sorcerer 2~The Illusionist
    Lotb~fighter 2/barbarian 1~Lord of the Blades
    Infenetus~Wizard 2~The Unknown

    Crimson Nexus
    Shodrizzin-Rogue 7-The Assassin Pirate

    FAQ to the FotGN on Thelanis

    Surren Darkheart~Sorcerer
    Surrin Darkheart~Fighter
    Surran Darkheart~Rogue

  2. #42
    Community Member Deriaz's Avatar
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    Aug 2006

    Default The Brothers Forged, Chapter 2 cont., Identity Theft

    The Brothers Forged
    Chapter 2, continued
    Identity Theft

    Deriaz scanned the Harbor left and right as he walked. It was becoming standard routine for him. Ranux had been missing for the past few weeks, and Deriaz had no clue where to find him. He had asked around for the short, green Warforged, but no one had seen him. He didn’t want to risk talking to Ranux’s own master, either. Because, he figured, that wouldn’t be suspicious at all.

    After a few moments of walking and looking, he was back on the dock where he had first given the bow to Ranux. Deriaz sighed, and his eyes dimmed. He let his thoughts drift as he stood at the end of the dock, letting the sounds of the crashing waves calm his nerves.

    Footsteps behind him. Heavy. He turned, and saw Ragyr walking towards him, with Sho’s house deed in hand, or whatever it was. He looked determined.

    By instinct, Deriaz saluted Ragyr. “And what do I owe this visit to?” he sighed.

    Ragyr shook his head. “Cut the small talk. Who’s this Ranux?”

    Deriaz blinked in confusion. “Wha-. . . What are you talking about? Did you see him!?”

    “I did. Earlier. Near the Lobster. But that’s—“

    Deriaz pushed by him. Ragyr fell backwards, nearly falling off the dock. He growled. “I’m not through here!” Deriaz continued walking, but Ragyr got up quickly, and chased the blue Forged down. “I said I’m not through!” Deriaz continued walking, seeming intent on finding Ranux. Ragyr, in a fit of rage, grabbed the back of Deriaz’s mask. He tugged, and the knot came undone. The fabric tore off his face, leaving Deriaz’s face exposed.

    Instantly, Deriaz’s arms covered his face, leaving only his eyes exposed again. He whirled around, and glared at Ragyr. “Give it back. You know I can’t walk around without it,” Deriaz hissed. Ragyr only laughed.

    He spun it around in his left hand. “Oh, but see, you forget about the bounties. As much as I’d just love to give it back to you, I have that as a little bonus. Now, hear me out: Who is Ranux?”

    Deriaz sighed, but kept his arms over his face. “He’s just a dock worker. No one important.”

    “Then why are you helping him?”

    Deriaz shrugged. “I. . . Don’t know. Because I can, really.”

    “Because you can. . . Hmph. Right. Now, about that little scene in the tavern. In case you need a refresher, I’m talking about that human you almost murdered. You’re lucky that Jaggie character and those little fleshies were there to stop you, or their poor little runt would have another bounty on his head. What made you act like that?”

    Deriaz shrugged again. “I. . . Don’t know. I just. . . Went crazy, I guess.”

    “Right. Crazy. That’s exactly what you think, isn’t it. . .” Ragyr lowered his voice, “exactly how you used to be. . .”

    Deriaz cocked his head slightly in confusion. “What was that last part?”

    Ragyr shook his head. “Nothing important. You’re absolutely sure that this. . . Ranux. . . Has no other names?”

    Deriaz’s mouth dropped slightly in disbelief. “He’s a dock worker, not a double agent or something. What has gotten into you?”

    Ragyr shrugged. “Spur of the moment, I guess,” he sighed, shoving the mask back into Deriaz. “Take it. I don’t need it now. Cover up your hideous self, and go ahead and look for your little friend.”

    Deriaz nodded as he tied the orange mask back to his face. “You sure you’re alright?”

    Ragyr waved the question away. “Yeah, sure. I’m fine. Go, before I decide to take up that bounty cause again on your head.” Without waiting for an answer, Deriaz scurried away, leaving Ragyr to his own thoughts.

    “. . . Why does that little green Forged remind me so much of. . .” he trailed off, mumbling to himself.
    Thelanis - Warforged Shield of the <Fellowship of the Golden Night>

  3. #43
    Community Member Deriaz's Avatar
    Join Date
    Aug 2006


    The Brothers Forged
    Chapter 2, continued
    Identity Theft

    Deriaz kicked up the dirt as he walked. How could he have been so stupid? He had seen Ranux wandering in the Harbor, and ran to meet him, but a group of adventurers passed between the two. A second later, they had passed, and Ranux was gone. Deriaz was beginning to think he was dealing with a ghost.

    He continued on his non-planned trip, watching the dust kick up around him as he walked. He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he didn’t hear the soft footsteps creeping up behind him. In a moment, a black hand was on his mouth, and it dragged him into a nearby alleyway, close to the Fellowship guild hall.

    The next thing he knew, he felt himself going through the air, and slamming into the wall. His vision blurred as he hit it, and he only saw a black figure wielding a staff charging at him. The staff landed squarely on the side of his neck, sending him toppling over.

    Deriaz rolled quickly away from his attacker as the staff slammed down where he was not a second ago. He shook his head, and his vision began to return. He recognized the figure instantly to be Ragyr, coming at him again with the staff. The air whistled as he brought it down, but Deriaz jerked his hand up, catching it.

    “Are you insane!?” he growled. “You can’t be bold enough to try to kill me again. Not after what happened the last time. You kill me, and you’ve sentenced yourself to a death bed.”

    Ragyr laughed. “I’m not here to kill you. Only to teach a lesson,” he grinned, and his knee jerked up, planting itself firmly in Deriaz’s chest. Deriaz lurched back, and felt the staff collide with the right side of his body, pushing him into the wall.

    <What made you tell her, hm?> he heard Ragyr’s voice echo in his mind. The staff came again, landing in the right side of his body again. <That memory is mine, not yours, to tell. And you just came straight out and told her!>

    Deriaz looked confused through the pain. He responded audibly to Ragyr. “I have no idea what you—“ he started, but a fist in his chest cut him off and sent him backwards.

    <Your conversation with Jaggie. Don’t tell me you already forgot it. The one where you just so casually brought up the memory of a fire?> Ragyr growled, and grabbed Deriaz’s right arm. He straightened it out, and brought the staff upward quickly into Deriaz’s elbow, bending the arm backwards. Deriaz growled in pain, and by instinct, swung at Ragyr with his free fist. The black Warforged only took a step back, dodging the attack easily. Ragyr let go of Deriaz, and spun the staff around.

    <That was my memory, as I said. Not yours. Keep it quiet. I don’t need anyone knowing what I’ve been through,> Ragyr barked, narrowing his eyes at Deriaz.

    Deriaz could only shrug. <But, the memory. . . That fire was huge. And we were running from it—Why?>

    Ragyr responded with the staff. It whistled through the air again, slamming into the right side of Deriaz’s head. The blue ‘Forged fell to the ground in a daze. <I don’t want to talk about it! Just keep it quiet! You understand!?> Deriaz shook his head, trying to get his vision straight again. Ragyr interpreted it as a negative to his question.

    The sound of crackling flame came to Deriaz’s ears, and he looked up in time to see a jet of flames come from Ragyr’s hand. He barely had time to tumble away, though the flames still lapped at the right side of his body. Ragyr quickly turned to a nearby box, and lit it on fire as well. Carefully, yet quickly, he lifted the box, and hurled the flaming object at Deriaz. Deriaz tried to tumble away again, but the box clipped him on the right side of his body. He felt ash and flame cover the right side of him.

    He kicked the box’s flame out, worried more about lighting the building next to them on fire than of Ragyr. When Deriaz looked up again, though, Ragyr was missing, almost as quickly as he had come.

    <I don’t even know you anymore,> he sighed, not caring if Ragyr was listening or not anymore. He got no reply.

    Deriaz collected himself, and brushed himself off. He quietly slipped out of the alleyway, and scanned the cityscape, making sure no one was looking over to see what had just occurred. He only saw a few people, and a rather large, black Warforged questioning a person. Quietly, he moved down the street, and slipped into the Fellowship guild hall. He took a spot against the wall, and—Seeing no one around—untied his mask. Carefully, he began to clean it off.
    Thelanis - Warforged Shield of the <Fellowship of the Golden Night>

  4. #44
    Community Member
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    May 2006

    Default Fellowship of the Golden Night, The Name Project, Forward

    Fellowship of the Golden Night
    The Name Project

    ((An OOC explaination of the project:

    Of late, there's been a lot of talk concerning Sir Lawrence, especially after recent events. This talk is often light hearted and out of character. Some of us even desired to include his appearence and the bizarre happenings in the city in an in-character story. But alas, due to legalities, Sir Lawrence has informed us that he is unable to 'officially' appear as an NPC in any player created DDO stories as it were. So we've found a way 'around' this.

    To understand how this will work, if you've ever read Lord of the Rings, you are aware that Gandalf had several names he was called by various people of middle earth:
    Gandalf, Gandalf Greyhame, Stormcrow, Mithrandir, Incanus, Olyrin, servant of Valar, Tharkun, the white rider, etc.

    Players of the roleplaying guild were asked to submit their take on a nick-name for Sir Lawrence, so that hence forth he could be a working part of the in character stories, without infringing on anything. So far, the established thing about Sir Lawrence is... he is no Deneith. He is more of a supernatural being. Kind of a DDO version of Bacchus really by some standards.

    Stories found here are seperated by author and chapters as necessary, until concluding when the story blurs back into The Ambassadors storyline, as Varro and Uxor's story has always revolved heavily around the in game events. Some of the players offered very literal accounts of the antics in game, while others use a far more liberal explaination.

    Non the less, it should provide you with a lengthy read, and hopefull as good of a time as we experience roleplaying these stories. Enjoy!

    - Merlask
    Ambassador of the Fellowship
    Thank you all!
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  5. #45
    Community Member
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    May 2006

    Default Fellowship of the Golden Night, The Name Project, Volumn I

    Fellowship of the Golden Night
    The Name Project
    Volumn I: The Watcher

    Submitted by Points
    Points meets Sir

    We were all waiting for the big event. My Guild mates and I had gathered in our usual haunt, The Golden Phoenix. Tonight was it. The man, Sir Lawrence was coming to town and word had it that you could win a Vorpal Sickle from him. As a Sickle can be used by anyone and Vorpals cut off people’s heads, everyone wanted to be chosen.

    Points wasn’t sure what would happen but it definitely didn’t go the way he thought. First after much animated discussion with those gathered we decided to go do some Fight Club while we waited for Mr. Big Britches to show up. We had just stripped down and were beginning to descend to the brawling area, when Varro shouts "Oh my god! He’s here!" Now picture five naked adventurers ready to brawl suddenly in the presence of a Lord of Stormreach.

    It was quite comical watching as everyone hurried to dress. Once everyone was properly attired, the introductions began. Varro being the Ambassador introduced himself first and they began a conversation, which ultimately worked into the contest, Trade or No Trade. It was nerve wracking to watch and wonder if I would get a chance at the Sickle. In the end I did not. I was happy for Varro, but as everyone else, I would have liked a shot.

    In the end, Sir Lawrence, a 12 th Order Paladin by my observations, cast numerous Disco balls and everyone danced in celebration. This went on for a few minutes and then he bid us adieu and teleported to another location. At that moment around us appeared a bunch of kobolds. We set upon them immediately before they could assault us. After a few swings it was apparent that these were no ordinary Kobolds. While I was striking fast, hard and well, they seemed little damaged and continued to stand there. I pressed my assault fully expecting they would launch an attack at any moment. I eventually dropped my dancing partner and looked for another. The remaining kobolds seemed well in hand so I took a breather.

    While Varro was hacking at another one, he asked me to see to a new recruit named Jinna who should be walking in at any moment. I turned and searching the bar’s interior found a young woman with a shocked expression on her face observing the carnage. Not wanting to scare her more, I sheathed my weapons and smoothed my hair making sure to blot any blood drops as best I could. Pasting on my biggest smile I approached her. "You must be Jinna…"

    Her near vacant stare captured my eyes. "Is Kobold baiting a common event here in Stormreach?" As kobold screams echoed in the background, I replied, "No tonight is a special occasion. Sir Lawrence was just here and left us a lovely parting gift. As the last one fell, I asked Jinna to a seat so we might talk. I asked her the usual questions. Where was she from? Why did she come to Stormreach? Why did she wish to join the guild? All of these answered while people celebrated victory over the mysterious and menacing standing kobolds. After finishing up the interview and inviting her into the guild, I decided to try my luck with Sir Lawrence in other locations.

    I spent the next hour and a half running throughout Stormreach to try and find him again. I did not, however and returned to the Phoenix, just as everyone had decided to try Sharks and Minnows. We made it to the Hammersmith Inn without incident and all entered the Brawling area. Uxor explained the rules to everyone and we began. A few hours in, I noticed a newcomer. As the Minnow leader it was my job to orient newborn minnows. I hailed him as I approached and Sir Lawrence quickly shook his head, not wanting to be recognized by the others.

    When we finished the run I was surprised to see him still alive. He had made it and lived to swim another round. After a few runs, he finally had enough and spoke briefly to Uxor, Varro, Liyra and I and we thanked him for coming. Liyra was barely able to speak to him and eventually did get singled out for a hello. There were no fireworks when he left this time, except for the swooning ladies. We continued to run for a while longer and were informed that Sir Lawrence observed us for a long time. It was disturbing to think he was watching us running around in our undergarments, but such it is with the Lords of Stormreach.

    Ever since that day, I have thought of Sir Lawrence as ‘The Watcher’.

    - Points DeWay
    Thank you all!
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  6. #46
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    May 2006

    Default Fellowship of the Golden Night, The Name Project, Volumn II

    Fellowship of the Golden Night
    The Name Project
    Volumn II: Dances With Kobolds

    Submitted by Jinna
    ((Here's hoping I made deadline or, if not, that people enjoy this anyway. If it's not clear, it picks up where "Jinna's arrival to Stormreach" leaves off. Apologies to Points and Liyra for not clearing with them how I portray them. I tried to base this off real in-game interactions, so I hope it's at least close to accurate. Also, Jinna appears to have adopted my habit of swearing in "British". If anyone happens to be offended by use of "bloody" as a curse, please let me know, and I'll stop using it.))

    Jinna squared her shoulders and smoothed down her blond hair where it had gotten disheveled in her search of the Marketplace. She took a deep, steadying breath and fixed a warm, friendly smile on her face as she opened the door to the Phoenix. Rule one: always make a good first impression.

    She paused in the doorway to look around, letting her eyes adjust to the interior lighting. None of the patrons near the door looked likely; few were elven and all were too absorbed in their drinks or companions to be waiting for someone. She heard some noise coming from the back of the bar and headed in that direction.

    Jinna found herself approaching a chaotic scene that her mind classified somewhere between a dance party and a bar brawl. A red-haired man caught her eye, striking her as somewhat familiar. Hmm… red hair, strong features, narrow tuft of hair on his chin. Why do I recognize him? Something about the eyes, maybe. After a moment’s contemplation, Jinna cursed herself for an idiot. He looks familiar, does he? Well, I’ve only been seeing his face posted on every wall since I got off the boat. Time to work on those observational skills. At least if Varro’s here, that means I’m probably in the right place.

    Before she had time to berate herself further for her lapse in identification, she was approached politely but cautiously by a pale elven gentleman. “Jinna, I presume?” he asked, greeting her with a slight bow.

    Quickly smoothing her face back into its smile, she responded warmly. “That I am. And can I assume that you would be Fellowship Officer Points?”

    “I do have that honor,” he replied, returning her smile. “I appreciate you meeting me here.” He gestured her to a table and glanced around as if seeking a barmaid before drawing himself up short. “If you’ll forgive the intrusion, there is one small test I’ll need to make before we can speak comfortably.”

    A grinning halfling woman appeared by his side, out of nowhere as far as Jinna could tell. “Can I poke her face, Points? Can I?” she asked eagerly.

    “Poke my face?” Jinna asked, looking between the two in confusion.

    Trying unsuccessfully to gesture the halfling away, Points tendered her an explanation. “A minor precaution to ensure that you are who and what you say you are. We have been infiltrated recently by a shapeshifter, you see.”

    “A shapeshifter?” Jinna responded, eyes widening in shock. “And you can identify one just by touching their face?” Realizing that she had instinctively tensed into a slight crouch, she forced her muscles to return to a casual, relaxed stance.

    “She wears a mask,” the halfling volunteered. “You can’t see it, but you can feel the edge of it.”

    “In that case, you are welcome to feel my face for this mask, although I’d prefer if there weren’t too much poking involved,” Jinna responded, bending down slightly to make the process easier for the halfling.

    “Thank you for being so understanding,” Points said, shifting his posture in a way that suggested he wasn't entirely comfortable with the situation.

    “Not a problem at all,” Jinna replied breezily, standing back up as the halfling woman completed her investigation. “It seems a reasonable security precaution.”

    She was about to suggest they find a table for the drinks and stories portion of the evening when a loud tumult broke out from the crowd they stood on the edges of. Points and the halfling turned to look for its source, his mumbled exclamation dying on his lips as they surveyed the scene.

    What moments before had been a relatively normal, if somewhat chaotic, evening revel had become utterly surreal. A group of odd-looking kobolds stood in a rapidly-clearing circle of floor. Curiously, they appeared to just be standing there, not attacking anyone or fleeing the crowded bar. Turning to ask Points if kobold-baiting was a standard tavern entertainment here, Jinna discovered that both he and the halfling woman had vanished, presumably back into the crowd. She looked back up in time to see the kobolds begin dancing, of all things. A grey-haired man in a brightly-colored robe stood in the middle of them. She saw him strike a dramatic pose as if leading the kobold dance party, but then she blinked and he was gone.


    The rest of the evening was a chaotic blur to Jinna’s recollection. She remembered watching in bewilderment as the crowd alternately danced with and beat on the strange kobolds. Various musicians played competing tunes to spur on both the dancing and the combat. Jinna knew that at some point later in the evening she had been swept out of the Phoenix with the noisy crowd as it relocated en masse to another tavern in a different part of the city. This bar was apparently the site of a favored sport among the Fellowship and its associates, something they called Sharks and Minnows. She grasped the rules rather quickly but opted to remain in the safe “beach” area at the top of the ladder to observe the game for a few rounds.

    Jinna remembered the point at which she had decided to join in as a minnow. She’d shed her uncomfortable chain shirt and left it, her rapier, and her lute in a tidy pile on the “beach” platform while she went to find a place in the minnow pool. Based on her observation period, she had a strategy worked out: stick to the middle of the pack, be unobtrusive, stay light on her feet to dodge unexpected attacks. And it quite possibly would have worked, had she not turned the first corner straight into a magical ice storm. Bloody mages! was her only coherent thought before she hit the floor and blacked out.

    Jinna did not clearly remember regaining consciousness or dragging herself back up the ladder to the “beach” platform, but she must have done so because that was where she found herself sitting now. “I think I should stick to spectating for now,” she mumbled to herself as she blinked repeatedly to try and clear her fuzzy vision. A soft chuckle from nearby told her she wasn’t the only one sitting this round out, but she couldn’t be bothered to turn her head enough to see who it had come from. Not that I’d recognize them anyway, unless it was Varro, Points, or that halfling girl. Hey, I didn’t even get her name. I’ll have to find her and ask, once the world quits moving quite so much.

    Trying to get her eyes to focus properly, she returned to watching the crowd of minnows run by beneath her, studying the details of individual faces to better recognize people later. A slight frown crossed her face as she studied one man who looked vaguely familiar, as if she’d met him in passing. Jinna prided herself on her memory for faces, and to redeem her earlier mistake with Varro (which she passed off as a result of the differences between flat sketches and a real face), she was determined to place this man. Grey hair, dark eyes, silly little beard… Aha! He took off the bright robe to be a minnow.

    “I knew I recognized him,” she mumbled to herself in satisfaction. “That’s Dances With Kobolds down there, that is.” At a remark from whoever else was sitting on the platform with her, she frowned and responded, “No, I do not need to see a cleric about a concussion. I’m not seeing things. Look, he’s right down there.” Jinna stared intently at the minnow pack, ready to point out the strange man as soon as he came into sight, but he never showed up again. She sighed wearily. “Never mind, maybe I did hit my head harder than I realized. I think it’s time for me to find a bed for the night before I start seeing anything else crazy.” She dragged herself to her feet, stuffing her chain shirt untidily into her bag rather than going through the bother of putting it on.

    “But there were kobolds,” she muttered defiantly under her breath as she walked unsteadily out of the tavern. “And he did dance with them.”
    Thank you all!
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  7. #47
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    Join Date
    May 2006

    Default Fellowship of the Golden Night, The Name Project, Volumn III

    Fellowship of the Golden Night
    The Name Project
    Volumn III: Justhere Tawatch and the Titan Wand

    Submitted by Jaggie

    ~~~How Jaggie got the name Justhere Tawatch, and won the Titan wand (twice) pt1~~~

    It was just another normal day in House Phiarlan. Jaggie was sitting in her usually spot, under a great tree, while light glittered down through the purple leaves. Two elven children ran about her in a game of tag while she played them a tune upon her flute. Just a normal day in House Phiarlan.

    Jaggie's flute stuttered to a halt as the Phiarlan main gates clanged so hard against the inner walls of the House that the hinges were feared to snap clean off due to such force. Thralls of armored, blade bearing, beings of all race, creed and origin, stampeded through the gates. Yelling, screaming, arms flailing in the air.

    The two elflings stared wide eyed and pale as the swarm of metal and leather flooded in. Bought children then looked at each other and ran for there distinctive homes, bound to hide underneath there beds the moment they they stepped foot into the door.

    Jaggie rolled into a defensive position as she instinctively reached for her side. She cursed, as always, at herself for never carrying her mace when not out adventuring or slaying the evils that lay beneath Stormreach. She crouched down, picked up a broken tree branch and snapped it in twan over her knee. The two clubs weren't nearly as good as her acid mace, but if any of those warriors came near her they where going to learn a thing or two about attack this city.

    The warriors parted as they ran around the tree. Jaggie starred blankly, her arms slowly sinking down to her sides as the mass flooded past her and turned off towards the arena.

    "What in the name of all Gods?" Has the last armor clad adventurer scurried by Jaggie allowed her two improvised weapons to leave her hands and scooped up her flute again. She could hear cheering and roaring taking place at the arena now. "Some new event? Odd I never heard of any..." She flicked a bet of dirt from her flute and then followed the large dust trail left behind from the passing crowd.

    A speedy line up stood at the arena doors. A funny looking gnome like creature collected peoples names as they entered and wrote them down on little white tags. "Tict, okay next!" The gnome creature slapped the tag onto the halfings chest and shove him through the door. 'I said nest. Yo 'forged. Hurry it up!"

    Jaggie shook her head, realizing she was next in line. "Sorry, I'm.. I'm just here to watch," she blurted.

    "Justhere Tawatch. Ok, next!" He slapped the tag onto her chest and shoved her through.

    "Wait! What-"


    A hugh crowd lined the arena stands. People were pouring out over the walkways and cramming themselves along the arena walls. Jaggie walked about, lost and confused, trying to peel the name tag off her docent. "What's going on?" She noticed a man near the center of the arena floor. Several people surrounded him like annoying flies.


    Everyone stopped in there tracks as they heard the command in there minds. Jaggie stood motionless, her thumb underneath the tag, her yellow eye trained on man dressed in the blue/purple robe.

    The annoying flies buggered off to the stands when Jaggie finally realized she was stile on the arena floor, people where calling and ordering her to get over to the stands." Sorry, sorry," she stopped picking at the tag, took one last look at the man in the center of the arena floor, and ran to the nearest wall.


    "What?" Jaggie turned back around. "Me?"

    "If you win the vorpal I'm gonna laugh so hard," It was the halfling Tict. He chuckled as he shoed Jaggie towards the arena floor once more.

    "Vorpal? I don't understand? What going on?" Jaggie scratched the back of her neck.


    "Uh, hai..." she walked up to the well groomed man. "Hello?"

    "Nice name just here to watch." The man looked up at the 'forged and smirked.

    "heeh... It's true." Jaggie smiled nervously. "What's going on?"

    "Well, I got this wand here." With a snap of his fingers a green wands appeared in his right hand. The top of it had the sculpted head of a titan forged. "It's yours... Unless you want to roll the dice-" He spun a oddly shaped die in his left hand. He then snapped his fingers again and suddenly, in place of the wand, there was a sickle. "and try for the vorpal."

    "Uh.... umm..." Jaggie scratched the back of her neck again.

    "You're going to have to step it up Justhere."

    "Sorry.. Uh.. I'll take the wand. Umm." She shruged, stile confused.


    "Uh.. thank you." She stared at the wand he had placed in her hand as he waved her back to the stands.

    "Be sure to enjoy the show." He flashed another smile to her then snapped his fingers again. Another wand, just like the one he had given Jaggie, materialized in his hand.



    Jaggie sat on one of the lower steps of the stands, fiddling with the strange wand in her hand, watching as people where called up one by one. After a rather short time a number of people seemed to grow bored and started casting random cantrips to entertain their neighbors. Flashing lights and bright colours began to fill the air. Jaggie became mystified with all the noises and colours. It was to much to take. After an hour or two she staggered out of the arena and headed for home. Wand stile in hand, completely and totaly confused on how her normal day in House Phiarlan became a not so normal day talking to a man that smelt like peanut butter and jelly sandwiches....
    Thank you all!
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  8. #48
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    Default Fellowship of the Golden Night, The Name Project, Volumn IV

    Fellowship of the Golden Night
    The Name Project
    Volumn IV: Rainbow

    Submitted by Deriaz

    Deriaz stood in confusion as people ran past him, some of them just flying by, others pushing their way past him. They were coming from both directions. And he was standing in the middle of it, a literal flood of people, if you would.

    Word had spread of some sort of game of hide and seek in Stormreach. As much as he wanted to play, he didn’t think he was good enough to find whomever it was they were seeking. He had tried a few times, running around the town with Blue Line. He felt like he was in the army or something, searching like crazy in every nook and cranny in the Harbor. After a few laps around, the group had gotten tired and went off to fight each other in the Phoenix. Deriaz had remained behind, to continue the search, but in the Marketplace now.

    A small Halfling pushed through his legs, nearly toppling him over. Deriaz didn’t know what the prize was for finding. . . Whoever they were even looking for, but he wasn’t quite sure if it was worth it anymore.

    He crossed his arms. <Hmph,> he thought, <With all these people running around, I wouldn’t be surprised if this figure didn’t even want to be found, now.>

    <Oh, that’s not true,> a second voice came into Deriaz’s head, besides his own. He tried to place it as Ragyr’s, but it wasn’t as deep as Ragyr’s should be. <The people of this realm just aren’t trying hard enough.>

    Deriaz had no idea what was going on, but he decided to go along with it. <Well, you know,> he laughed, <we aren’t exactly the best seekers.> Deriaz grinned at his little joke of insulting the town without them knowing.

    The smile quickly melted away though as the voice thundered through the air. “Deriaz believes that the people of this realm aren’t good seekers! Perhaps he should be proven wrong, as well as in the tavern arenas!” Deriaz’s mouth dropped open at the sound of that. A few people turned and started stalking towards him. Without thinking, he ran. He shoved past anyone in his way, trying to find an escape from the people that were after him. He took a sharp right, heading down into an alleyway.

    The voice came back to his head. <Come to the Lobster here, in a bit.> That was it. No meaning, no hints, just “Come.”

    Deriaz shrugged. <Like I can really say no? You’d probably come find me anyway.> He wandered the alleyway for a bit longer, eventually stumbling out to the Marketplace gates. He walked through and hung a right, leading towards the Lobster. He sighed as he walked through the door to the Lobster, but stopped dead in his tracks a second later.

    There were groups of people here, entering and leaving the tavern brawl area constantly. Deriaz hadn’t heard anything about a tournament. He scanned the tavern quickly, and seeing no one he didn’t recognize, walked into the tavern arena.

    Inside was a group of people, not far away from the ladder, beating each other senseless. Again, no one he didn’t recognize. Deriaz sighed. <So much for “Meet me at the Lobster.”> He turned to leave, but a loud crackle from the arena stopped him. He turned quickly, and saw a man in a robe of many bright colors standing below. The man’s eyes skimmed the crowd above, and he grinned as his eyes fell on Deriaz, but he moved on quickly.

    The man didn’t say a word, but motioned for the group to come down at him. Deriaz shrugged, and followed the group down, wondering if the robed man was insane, taking on a group that large by himself. The group circled him, weapons drawn, but he held no look of fear. Instead, he smirked, and snapped his fingers.

    The air around them crackled, and a massive steel golem appeared above the man. Deriaz recognized it immediately as Arach’s Knight, from inside the Vault of Night. The group immediately pounced on it, but Deriaz stood back, watching. He saw the man walk out of the group, laughing to himself.

    Without thinking, Deriaz yelled to the man. “Hey, uh. . .” Deriaz realized he hadn’t learned the man’s name. He scanned the man quickly, noticing the bright colored robe again. “Hey, Rainbow, you’re the one that told me to come here, weren’t you?” The man stopped, and stared in disbelief at Deriaz, as if the Forged hadn’t just called him that.

    Deriaz drew a sword and rushed the man, swinging wildly at him. He figured, if they were in a tavern arena, it was perfectly fine to do so. He blinked in amazement as the sword went right through the man’s now ghostly image.

    The man, otherwise known as Rainbow, sighed. “Yes, I’m the one that called you here. Now calm down, and have some fun.” He snapped his fingers again as Arach’s Knight fell, and a new creature appeared between Rainbow and Deriaz. A Mind Flayer.

    Deriaz jumped back, not wanting to let another one touch his head again as Fred had, as the group jumped on it. Rainbow was nowhere to be found. In his place, however, different creatures began springing up. A Greater Air Elemental in one corner, a large snake-like lady in another.

    Deriaz walked back towards the ladder, slowly. “I have no idea what I’m getting myself into, here,” he mumbled as he climbed back up the ladder. He climbed the second one, and left the brawl behind him.

    Rainbow was standing in front of him, grinning. “What, leaving so soon?”

    Deriaz nodded. “You’re a madman, and I need to be out looking for someone else.”

    The man frowned. “Well, that’s a shame. Well, hope you had fun,” he grinned again.

    “Oh, yeah, loads,” Deriaz laughed. Rainbow disappeared. A large roar came from the tavern brawl arena for few seconds later.

    Deciding to live than become dragon food, or whatever had just roared, he quickly left the Tavern.
    Thank you all!
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  9. #49
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    Default Fellowship of the Golden Night, The Name Project, Volumn V

    Fellowship of the Golden Night
    The Name Project
    Volumn V: Rainbow Too

    Submitted by Zoltando

    As i was completed my scan of house deneith for the mysterious man offering a reward for finding him I called out clear to my team. If thats clear then check the catacombs you may find him there, Points responded.

    All of a sudden another voice appeared in my head as almost a taunt saying are you sure its clear?

    I whirled around drawing my sword bleeding flame and looked for the voice. hmm where could voicy be. feeling out with the small bit of mental magic he possesed zoltando searched for the voice that seemed to be taunting him. he felt a prescence unlike any before hiding on top of a roof.

    Checking the roof quickly Zoltando saw the sillouete of a human male wearing an almost rainbow colored robe. "insult me will you" said zoltado as he drew the hidden crossbow containing a ready bolt of human slaying. "taunt this" Zoltando roared as he took aim and shot the bolt.

    The figure on the roof slumped to the ground as if dead and faded away. "what" questioned Zolt as he puzzled over the fading of the body. "thats not possible". "Oh but is is" came the joking voice of rainbow from right behind Zoltando. Spinning around Zolt came face to face with what appeared to be a human male but unlike any other.

    Zoltando felt the sheer power that this being radiated and instantly came on defense. "Who are you and why shouldnt I kill you" asked Zolt trying to act confident when he was almost panicking inside. "Oh i doubt you could kill me if you tried" replied rainbow, I just wanted to warn you to check twice for me in hiding.

    "but if your here i found you" said zoltando feeling triumphant. If you say so said rainbow as he faded away. "damn" zolt cursed. An illusion good enough to fool me, thats rare. This hunt is over declared zoltando as he activated his syberis mark of shadow and faded into the darkness of the night.
    Thank you all!
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  10. #50
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    May 2006

    Default Fellowship of the Golden Night, The Ambassadors, Volumn VIII

    Fellowship of the Golden Night
    The Ambassadors
    Volumn VIII "The Avatar and the Augur" Chapter 1
    (This volumn is a part of The Name Project)

    Submitted by Merlask
    *Varro ran the back of his hand across his chin, wiping away the spattering of blood. Despite the pain in his mouth, he grinned at the dwarf with the metal gauntlet for a fist, which had struck him so soundly. Granted, the fellow had needed to hop up onto a chair to reach the lanky minstrel's face... but the strike was well placed. Through a mouth full of salty red fluid, Varro chuckled and mused*
    Varro: Didn't I just say 'no, you may not touch my face'?
    *The dwarf raised both fists* Have at you then shapechanger!
    *It was becoming such a common occurrence that he'd gotten used to the bar fights by now - and how to deal with them.*
    Varro: First off *In an ever so dignified manner, he passed a hand again over his mouth, cleaning up the sanguine humors that spilled forth at his words.* Just because I decline your request does not mean I am the one you are referring to. Next, it would be polite to wait until I'd a chance to set my drink down. Lastly, disputes such as these are nothing which can't be resolved by a little music and dancing. *The whole of his speech, he'd been flamboyantly waving his arms about. With wide and rageful eyes, the dwarf realized Varro had been casting a spell towards the end part of his 'speech.' There was a sparkling, and promptly the dwarf began to uncontrollably do a jig atop the chair*

    *Leaving the fellow to his dancing, Varro clambered up the ladder to the upper level of the Phoenix. He was about to head to the bar for another round of drink from the warforged tender, when a form materialized in front of him. This was not so unusual - folk teleported here, there, and everywhere in the city. Varro moved to go around them to the bar. It was then that Varro got the most distinct feeling that he was being stared at. It was none other than the form of the newly arrived person that met his gaze. The man was wearing a vestment of swirling deep purple and blue hues, and he looked very stately. His hair was short kept, and he bore well groomed mutton chops along his jaw, and a tuft of grey hair upon his chin, not terribly dissimilar to Varro's choice in grooming. He bore a shield with a symbol Varro didn't recognize - yellow, and like the skewered rays of the sun.

    With a smile, Varro gave a bow to the gentleman and motioned for Cog for two rounds of the wine and glowing blue bottle this time. The stranger stared back at him with a knowing smile, but as yet, neither moved nor spoke. Varro went for a table, and gestured forth stranger to have a seat. Varro then decided to address the stranger in the manner he suspected they'd be most accustomed to... mentally.*
    Varro: <Are you quite done with your little show, Mekari? You have to be the most audacious woman in all the plane, especially showing up here of all places after the incident last time>
    *Varro received no reply to his comments except for the continued smiling*
    Varro: <Nice look by the way. I dare say a nice change of pace from that ghastly drow guise. Won't do you much good though. You do realize the minute Uxor shows up here, she'd know it was you.> *He pushed the other glass towards the chair opposite of him, but still got no response.>
    Varro: <Not thirsty? Fine. I can tell you're up to something anyway. What do you want tonight?>
    <You have been chosen> *came the reply to Varro's mind. The bard's demeanor changed at that. In no way did it 'feel' like Mekari in the least. It felt different than any contact of this sort he'd experienced before. Considering the appearance, among other qualities, Varro suspected his guest to be something entirely different.*
    Varro: <Oooh, I see. Well, how interesting to meet an agent of the dreaming dark up close and personal, rather than by proxy. To what do I owe the pleasure, Inspired? What have I been 'chosen' for? I assure you, I am no vessel if that was the meaning.>
    *The smiling man moved towards him, and Varro felt the mental tone become more direct* <You are chosen. The rulers of revelry, of merriment, and of celebration smile upon your works, minstrel of Stormreach. Are you prepared to receive their gifts mortal?>
    *Varro blinked a moment, then started to lightly chuckle*
    Varro: <You're serious? Well, who shall I say is bringing this 'good news' mister...>
    <I am the herald of they who hold you presently in a favored light.>
    Varro: <Eh, right. Well, what say you be a good chap and let me drink in peace, mister nameless herald.>
    *The smile faded from the grey haired man's face* <The favor of the gods is not to be taken lightly.>
    Varro: <Look, I don't know what you are or what plane you come from, but this has been very entertaining. I'm sure you'd enjoy nothing better than seeing me groveling for mercy at your feet, petrified with awe of the gods... but overly forceful presence and telepathy do not a god make. So how about you tell me why you're really here then, hm? Unless this was it, in which case then I KNOW my mother sent you, because it's crazy enough of...>
    *The figure swirled his arms, and there was a burst of twinkling golden light that erupted at the table. Varro shielded his eyes, and recognized the vision and sounds that played about him. It was a sphere of dancing, very much like his own. The lights, hypnotic drumming, and encircling colors were unmistakable. Though Varro found he didn't feel like dancing. The display was enough that he was taken a bit aback by it as he looked round. Then his eyes narrowed on the form, which stood passively before him still.*
    Varro: <Impressive. How did you get around the wardings to cast that? There are protective forces in the city to prevent it, and I'd be interested to know how you mana...>
    *More figures materialized around Varro, and he stood up abruptly at the sight of the pack of kobolds that appeared from, as near as he could tell, thin air. He heard a voice cry out behind him.*
    "Sweet mother of all bearded folk! We're under attack!" *the dwarf he'd set to dancing had broken free of his spell, and apparently come across the scene. Varro threw a glance at the bar, and the sight of Cog cowering back was further confirmation that this indeed was not merely optical tricks visible to Varro alone. Before Varro could say or do anything, the dwarf charged upon the closest of the kobolds with a huge axe in hand. The axe of course had been intended for the minstrel, but the notion was put aside at the unusual appearance of the kobolds in the Phoenix. The little kobold took the blow indifferently, and despite the great strength of the strike, it was barely scratched by the dwarf's efforts.*
    "Demons! Demons have beset the tavern!" *cried the frantically attacking dwarf, who was then joined by several others who, until that moment, had watched all in confusion.
    Varro meanwhile had tried to perform his song to quell the creatures, but they seemed unaffected by the tune. Never before had Varro's song failed him. He backed away from the chaos, almost into the grey stranger. Whirling round, he called forth the full range of his magical prowess upon this strange visitor...
    It was like trying to focus his energy on a void. He could not even feel resistance from the figure to the attempt, as his concentration searched out for something to take hold over. Then the mental voice of the stranger spoke, calling upon Varro by name... by Varro's true name.*

    *Varro dropped the wine glass he'd been holding onto the floor, and he felt hysteria welling up quickly in himself. What was happening? Even if this was not a god, it was certainly someone he could not match. If it were a god...*
    <All of your questions will be resolved> *came the voice in answer to Varro's steadily deteriorating internal monologue. The form of the grey haired being resumed the smiling as Varro rattled off the only intelligible sentences he could manage*
    Varro: <Why are you here? What do you want from me? Who are you? WHAT are you?>
    *The form held up its hand, and Varro stilled his questioning*
    <You are favored, minstrel. As I was explaining before your rudeness, I am the Avatar of Celebration, come to bestow the gifts of They who have chosen you.> *At the mention of his behavior, Varro bowed low to the form, and remained there, staring at the ground. He could think of nothing else in the way of cordial behavior towards a god, in his increasing panic. Why was a god here for him?*
    <I am an Avatar minstrel, not a god. Though I suppose by your fathoming, it is as well to call me one.>

    *Varro's eyes widened as he stared at the ground, knowing with certainty now that whatever passed through his thoughts, this being would know them. He tried to focus on the situation at hand, rather than trying to stuff away fleeting images that the Avatar would have awareness to anyway. The sounds of combat still rang out as the other patrons steadily assaulted the impassive, but formidable, kobold apparitions*
    Varro: <Am I dead?>
    *the figure smiled* <Is that your desire?>
    Varro: <NO no no, let's not jump to wishes and desires. I just don't understand. Why am I favored?>
    *The Avatar chuckled at him.* <Because of your great works among the people.>
    Varro: <But my works have always been...> *'Idiot', Varro told himself. 'There's no playing semantics with a god'.* <My acts haven't been for the 'betterment' of people. That they enjoy a fulfilling day is only an added end result, not my aim.>
    <We are well aware of your aims, Minstrel. Your efforts have called the attentions of my domain, irregardless of what you were intending to do. Now you are given a choice. Accept the gifts I offer and serve... or reject them.>
    Varro: <Serve. What do you mean by 'serve.'?>
    <Serve our domain. You have been chosen.>
    *This brought Varro to look up from his bowing position, and he eyed the Avatar, as well as the golden symbol upon its shield. Before he could take further thought, the Avatar addressed him.* <I will save you the trouble - This is no sign you have come upon ever before in your life time, Minstrel. Pondering the origin of it will prove fruitless. You either wish to accept, or you do not.>
    Varro: <So what you are telling me is... you want me to be some kind of priest, so to speak? Tell me why they have deemed me for this. I am not a particularly religious man. Yes, I have an abstract belief in the powers that be, but I'm no holy man. The festivities I've held in the city were never remotely in honor of the gods. In all honesty, I'm a rather flippant person in terms of loyalties, by the standards of most. Yet you're telling me I am to be chosen of... They who sent you?> *Varro nodded towards the shield symbol.*
    <You discredit yourself Minstrel. It is your free spirit and neutrality that make you an ideal servant. For the domain of celebration knows no good nor evil. The wicked may celebrate as readily as the pure, but for different reasons. The tiny hobgoblin rejoices when it finds pleasure, as would the great scaled dragon. The vampire marvels his triumphs in the hunt no differently than the halfling archer in victory. Now it is time to make your choice.>
    Varro: <If I should refuse?>
    <There will be consequences for accepting, Minstrel. You will be serving the gods until the end of your days on this plane, and perhaps beyond. There are responsibilities... but there is also great joy. Refuse, and nothing ill will come to you of it. However, this opportunity will not be offered again.> *The Avatar held out a hand and in it materialized a scepter with a strange iridescence* <If you accept, you will bare this at all times, as a sign of your devotion. Accept the will of the gods, or deny them.> *The Avatar held up the scepter and awaited his decision.*

    *Varro stood up and took a hesitant step towards the scepter. To serve the domain of celebration... or live his life as he saw fit to. He found that rather than thoughts of what would happen if he said yes, his mind turned to what would be if he did NOT accept. What would he miss out on by declining the offer; the offer of a deity no less?
    Varro: <If I were to choose, there is no going back is there?>
    <No Minstrel. To accept is to undergo all that comes with service to our domain. To deny is to be forever deprived of it. Make your choice.>
    *Varro felt a wave of coldness wash over him, as his hand met the scepter, and he heard the words* <... for all you do for the people.> *and things became a haze. All vision fell away from him, until the only sensation he was left with was the cold, and disorientation.*

    *Varro started up in the bed, shaken awake by the sensation of falling. He realized the cold sensation he felt was Uxor, lying next to him asleep. It took a moment for him to comprehend where he was. He was in his bed at home. It was not yet dawn. Relief washed over him.

    It had been a while since he'd had so vivid a dream. He watched Uxor sleeping, as she shifted somewhat. She must have inched towards him in the night. Her skin was unnaturally cold, like a corpse - but soft - and it was taking him some getting used to. Her icy skin brushing against him must have been what caused him to wake. He started to try and curl up with her again, but she began to fuss, and she scoffed with a hiss - her mute way of showing objection to something - at him. She swatted as if to say 'quit it.' Then Varro felt something beneath the pillow near her that practically cut him. No wonder she was fussing. He must have come to bed with weapon in hand in a drunken state. Why she'd stayed in bed for that was beyond him. Out of a desire to make up for her disrupted sleep, he pulled the thing out, and as it shimmered in his grasp when he pulled it from beneath the pillow, he nearly shrieked at the sight of the iridescent scepter.*
    <You don't want to wake her do you?> *came an alarmingly familiar voice in Varro's head*
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  11. #51
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    Default Fellowship of the Golden Night, The Ambassadors, Volumn VIII

    Fellowship of the Golden Night
    The Ambassadors
    Volumn VIII "The Avatar and the Augur" Chapter 2
    (This volumn is a part of The Name Project)

    *All around him he looked, but Varro didn't see the grey haired man smiling back at him this time. He could hear him however...*
    <I don't have need to appear to you. My physical appearence is unnecessary, and just a courtesy really. But if it's unnerving you so much...>
    *The form of the avatar, in much the same appearence as the dream, materialized sitting in the window sill by the bed.* <Better now, Augur?>
    Varro: <Not really. Actually, worse infact.> *as he tried to keep Uxor covered up. It then dawned on him that it was a silly thing to worry over, for without question the avatar had probably been observing him long before it made its presence known.* <Why did you call me that? Augur?>
    <Because that is who you are now, when you accepted the scepter. Remember?>
    *Varro thought back, trying to recount the dream. More came to his mind suddenly than simply his taking hold of it. Dimly he became aware that there was more to recall of his dream. Through a haze, he remembered being in the Hammersmith, playing a war game with a score of citizens and guildmates. He remembered that the avatar had been there as well, though Varro was the only one aware of it for the most part. That was until another burst of the dancing sphere caught their attention. As he sifted through the visions, he found they led him to his evening with Uxor when he had stumbled into bed. The memory of this aspect of the 'dream' told him that this had been no dream at all. This had been last night.*
    Varro: <What in the name of all gods happened to me? Why is it such a blur? Is it because of...> *Varro nodded to the scepter in his hand.* <this?>
    *The robed avatar seemed amused.* <No actually. You were just extremely drunk. I took the liberty of fending off your hang over for you this morning. Figured you'd need a clear head today.>
    Varro: <Ah. Right.> *he rolled his new title around in his mind... Augur. At least it sounded better than 'priest.' Then he looked at the sleeping Uxor a moment, then back to the grey haird form seated in his window.*
    Varro: <You haven't come to tell me I must undergo some kind of vow of celebacy or something have you?>
    <There are many kinds of celebration Augur. Fortunately for you, that is counted among them.>
    Varro: <Ah. Right... drinking?>
    <Perfectly acceptable.>
    Varro: <You know... this hardly seems a very holy position thus far.> *The bard's eyes narrowed a little in suspicion. There had to be a catch to being the oracle of a god now. No position like that came without some catch.*
    <Oh it will seem that way soon enough. In fact, I have a little task for you.>
    *Varro furrowed his brows a moment, but was distracted by something else about his encounter.*
    Varro: <You don't sound nearly so formal as last night. I rather got the impression you were, well, a demi-god.>
    <Oh I am. There is a time and plac e for formality, you know this. But now that you're past all that induction and free will stuff, I can be more level with you. All the showmanship of it is to impress upon you the importance of what you've undertaken. I mean, how fair would it be of me to come to you and say 'hey son, want in on the favor of a god? You can drink and do everything you want.' You have to have accepted it under the impression of gravity or you would not have been wanted in the first place. Just added precaution. Can't say we didn't warn you.>
    Varro: <A task. What task? Build a temple?>
    <Don't be stupid. If I wanted a temple, I would build one myself. No my new Augur, what is wanted of you is something much more... along your line of work.>
    *Varro glowered at the avatar. He glowered because the tone in his head was the same tone he gave to others when he was up to something.* <I still don't understand why you need me though.>
    <I don't.>
    Varro: <Then why appear to me at all?> *he crossed his arms, glancing down at Uxor to ensure that she hadn't come awake amid his mental conversation with the avatar.*
    <You certainly ask a lot of questions, Augur. I'll humor you though. We don't 'need' you - we simply enjoy rewarding those who show affinity for our domain. Which is why you were selected. Not to mention, the people of this realm are fast forgetting respect for the Gods. Having one of their own to look to, and realize the wonder and joy of celebration, is most beneficial. You realize, however, that having accepted the gift, you are no longer simply an ambassador to your guild, yes? You are an ambassador of the domain of celebration. Hence your title... augur... a tool of the Gods.>
    Varro: <Lovely> *He glowered more so. Then again, he knew this decision would have a price.* <So, what is my first task as Augur?>
    <Well, you already agreed to it last night, but a reminder can't hurt. Check your bags, and you'll understand. Now, my second purpose is to help you with your sparring problem. I am not privy to all of your past Augur, only to that which concerns our portfolio. So why don't you tell me about this bar fighting of yours. If you're going to be our herald, it's not going to bode well to have folks constantly hitting you.>
    Varro: <There was an incident> *He glanced at Uxor again, and the memories of recent events surfaced.* <She, this one here beside me, had a tiff with me over some trust issues. She was under the impression that my mother was some kind of threat to me. It was just misinformation on her part. My mother had a confrontation with her and added fuel to the fire, so to speak, while I was out of town. Apparently she convinced my sleeping friend here that I was dead, and by my mother's hands. It's not a problem that the parent of your new Augur is insane, is it?>
    *The avatar shrugged.* <Never said you were chosen for your breeding, Augur.>
    Varro: <Fair enough. Anyway, when all was said and done, Uxor had organized a search party, and folks were combing the city for any trace of me... or my remains. Now I've diffused the matter with the original seekers, but word of mouth has spread to the far corners of the city. Specifically, the account of my mother Mekari being able to assume different forms. She accomplishes this by means of a mask of disguise. People are now aware of the technique, so what I'm left with is people constantly requesting to paw on my face to validate if I am myself, or the 'shape-changer,' as they've come to call her. I've tried passing word through my ambassador channels... through the guild... but nothing flies as fast as rumor. Half the city thinks I'm dead or still missing.>
    <So what is your plan then, my little oracle?>
    Varro: <I was considering throwing a party. A LARGE party, to let word of that start passing among them.>
    <That is what I like to hear. Since your birthday is fast approaching, I'll give you a few extra trinkets to help fix your event in their minds. It should help stir up conversation.>
    Varro: <How did you know of my birthday?>
    <Demi-god, remember?> *he lightly patted Varro atop the head like an obedient pet.* <the anniversary of one's mortal coming into being is among the greater causes to be festive. You'll catch on faster with some practice. I am curious... regarding your mother. Why not tell the people that she is no threat? Seems to me it would unravel your face petting problem.>
    Varro: <It would - but it would create new problems. Mekari has a way of meddling in my affairs. The fact that the whole city wants to skin her alive keeps her at bay from unannounced visits to me. More over, she IS a threat to others, but not in a traditional sense. But the more leery people are of her, the better for them. So allowing the continued hostility buys me some discord now and again, but ultimately freedom from Mekari. It's somewhat satisfying to beat her at her own games for a change.>
    <Playing people like an instrument?>
    Varro: <I prefer the term 'strategic socializing.'>
    <How interesting you manage to bring people together even while gone.>
    Varro: <That's one way of looking at it. These gifts you mentioned...>
    <Already arranged. All you need do is decide how to distribute them. You'll think of something. That is part of your task - to come up with an appropriate way to distribute the gifts of the Gods. Go take a look.> *the Avatar nodded to his bags, which were sitting across the way on the floor. *

    *Varro carefully slid off the bed, and rooted through his bags. He found several odd looking wands, which he pulled out and inspected. They felt magical to say the least... filled with positive energy no less. Something else caught his eye as he started to gather up the wands. There was a cold metallic gleam in the bag. It looked to be some sort of sickle, not all unlike one of the sickles he often carried with him adventuring in the city. He started to pull it out, and immediately when he grasped it, he felt something from it. Malice. He felt as though he could cleave the life force out of anything that stood against him. Raw power and vicious longing for blood started to overcome him. It was not rage... he'd felt that before. This was something altogether unusual - and enjoyable...
    and terrifying all the same. He could feel ever so clearly that this indeed was something crafted by the Gods.
    He turned to look to the avatar, but the icy gaze of Uxor stared back at him. She was sitting up in the bed, angling her head curiously at him. The avatar was nowhere to be seen. Varro recognized Uxor's expression, and he gathered that she'd probably been awake for longer than he noticed. She wanted to know what he was doing. Now he needed to decide:
    Would he tell her the truth? Deceit and secrets had already created much drama between them. On the other hand, would she believe him if he did tell her the truth? He was going to have to come up with something, for she was already searching out paper and something to write with, and inching closer to him and the sickle.*
    Thank you all!
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  12. #52
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    Join Date
    May 2006

    Default Fellowship of the Golden Night, The Amassadors, Volumn VIII

    Fellowship of the Golden Night
    The Ambassadors
    Volumn VIII "The Avatar and the Augur" Chapter 3
    (This volumn is a part of The Name Project)

    Varro: Sorry if I woke you
    *Uxor was still scouting for something to write upon, but she nodded her head at his side in a questioning way. He was confused by the gesture at first, as he so prominently held the sickle up. Looking down, he realized it was the scepter in his other hand that drew her attention.*
    Varro: Just sorting my bags. I can take it to the other room if it's disturbing your rest *and he stuffed the belongings into his pack and began trying to make for the other room. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Uxor slouch. She was not buying his attempt to play it off.* Fine fine fine. I'll tell you. You're not going to like it though.
    *He picked up the scepter and some parchment for her - he knew she was going to need it after what he had to relate. Taking the scepter back in his hand, it sparkled with radiance, and as he cross the room, a trail of gently drifting glittering embers cascaded behind him. This caught him off guard at first, until he thought on it and remembered that he'd seen it do this before the night he'd gotten it from the avatar. More and more of his evening was coming to his memory. He then sat upon the bed beside her*
    Varro: I just want you to know that before I tell you this, keep in mind... if you were anyone else, I'd dodge the question. There's no easy way to explain it or make it less confusing, so I'm going to be blunt. *he handed her the parchment. She did seem as if she were bracing for what he had to say* Uxor... a deity appeared to me to present me with this *he held the scepter out* if I agreed to continue to support its cause.
    *Uxor sat very still staring at him flatly, then started to write something as he continued to ramble*
    Varro: Well, not so much a deity... an avatar really. I know, it's hard to absorb this, but there's nothing to be done about it now. *he looked to the words on the page she'd written*
    Uxor: "What does it do?"*she was eyeing the scepter curiously*
    Varro: I'm not sure really. Not yet anyway. The avatar didn't really bother to tell me... or if he did, I just haven't remembered yet. *He was inspecting the scepter when he noted Uxor's expression* you know... for someone who just found out I've been visited by a god, you're being awfully calm.
    *Uxor shrugged and wrote* "It is what it is"
    Varro: You think I'm lying *he frowned at her and set the scepter down in his lap, crossing his arms*
    *Uxor shrugged once again* Uxor: "You obviously got the thing from somewhere... you must have your reasons for saying such a thing. So when you're comfortable telling me what really went on, I'll be here. I'm done prying into your dealings against your will. I'm not here to judge you."
    *Varro read the note and scoffed* I'm being serious... truthful even. I'm done with something too Uxor, and that is sheltering you from things.That is really what happened. It was in the Phoenix no less. The avatar bypassed the wards of the city to make a dancing sphere.... there were others there who saw the same. I can prove it to you.
    *Uxor nodded and wrote* "It's ok Varro, you don't have to prove anything to me"
    Varro: You don't believe me obviously. Look, don't give me your fake lip service. I know what I experienced and what I was given!
    *Uxor returned his frown writing* Uxor: "You're getting upset. Something happened no doubt, else you wouldn't have that, and you wouldn't be getting so worked up. But you were very drunk last night. Maybe if you just wait for your head to clear some more and think back on it?"
    Varro: My head's never been so clear thank you very much! If you're trying to attribute this to some kind of drink induced hallucinations, that is a grand drink indeed... for the whole bar saw it too!
    *Uxor sighed* Uxor: "I'm sure it seemed very real, but ..."
    *Varro interjected, seeing what her intent of writing was* I will SHOW you the proof. Prepare yourself for a visit from a higher power!
    *Uxor tried to suppress a smirk, and leaned back playfully, writing* Uxor: "Indeed. Well... you don't have to explain yourself to me. Show me the power of the gods Varro. Let's see what this scepter of yours can do" *she tossed the paper at him with a mischievous grin*
    *Varro flipped the paper back at her and stood up* Fine. Have it your way. I'm sorry to have to do this Uxor, but your lack of faith here is what has brought me to this *he held the scepter aloft, and called very loudly* I am the Augur to the gods! Avatar of Celebration, I invoke your presence! *and he began to ferverently dance about the room*
    *After a few moments of awkward silence, save that of his dancing, he heard Uxor writing again*
    Varro: Any moment now.... *Varro searched with his mind for the Avatar* <Confound it, where are you?!> aaaaaaany time now.... *Varro caught Uxor's glance, which was awash with concern and pity. He stopped dancing and looked around the room. He saw no sign of the Avatar, and heard nothing in his mind*
    Varro: Alright look, just bare with me, I'm a bit new to this Auguring...*he came over to read her note*
    Uxor: "Varro, no offense, but are you aware that insanity is a trait that can be passed from parent to offspring? I can appreciate an unarmored man dancing around as much as the next woman but... this is a little much, even for you."
    *He rolled his eyes* That's it! Get dressed! We're going to find those who can attest to the same. There were demon kobolds in the tavern Uxor... DEMON KOBOLDS! *She humored his request. As he was getting his cloths, he suddenly went for the bag with the sickle in it, pulling it out and bringing it to her* If I'm just 'imagining' this, where did this come from hm? *he held the handle of the sickle out towards her*
    *Uxor's smirk faded as she grasped the sickle. Her expression became more serious, and she reached for the paper to write* "Where did you get this?"
    Varro: From the Avatar I told you. He... *more of the evening came back to Varro now. He remembered the words of the Avatar at the Hammersmith...
    "I hope these go to some well deserving winners..."
    and Varro recalled his pledge to find the means to determine who would receive the gifts.*
    He charged me to find someone worthy to bestow them to.
    *Uxor eyed the sickle suspiciously* Uxor: "Ok. You have encountered someone. These didn't come from nothing. A whole tavern of patrons might have seen it too. But that does not mean it was a god Varro. I have no idea how the one who took my memories from me was able to do such, but by your standard, should I refer to him as a god now too simply because I don't understand? How do you know this wasn't just a more powerful creature having fun with you?"
    Varro: That's a good way of putting it. Uxor, for this being to do and know all he has done, even if he were not a god, it is well enough for me to call him one. I have no means to overcome him.
    Uxor: "That doesn't make it a deity to worship though Varro. For all you know, that scepter there could just be something meant to keep track of you"
    *Varro stood up straight, looking around abruptly at the word spoken in his mind, which he recognized to be none other than the Avatar communicating with him again. He was in part annoyed at the late arrival, but fully relieved by it. He was starting to doubt his sanity*
    Varro: <Thank you, I was beginning to wonder if you would show> *though he as of yet did not see the avatar.* < What do you mean, if I may ask?>
    <That was her name. Coralbina.>
    <Her name? How do you know that?>
    <demigod, remember? I'm privy to the names of all celebrated births, be they great small evil or otherwise.>
    *Varro became aware that he'd become absorbed in his think-speech with the avatar, and Uxor was looking around as if poised to strike something. Uxor awaited an intruder or threat, as she was very aware that whatever force it was Varro had encountered was more than likely speaking with him now. She started to write with her free hand, the other still holding to the sickle out of habit to be armed*
    Uxor: "It's just as likely to be a creature like your mother, or one of her kind, or like the mindflayer in hou..."
    Varro: *he interjected overtop of her writing her suspicions out* Your name was Coralbina.
    *Uxor halted writing abruptly, her eyes going wide, and her body shifted defensively. After a moment, her hand seemed to grip the sickle tighter, and she wrote* "Why did you say that to me?"
    Varro: It was your name... Coralbina. He told me. *Varro smiled proudly. If THAT didn't convince her of the avatar's power, nothing else would.* It's my gift for you. Consider it by his leave to grant me the privilege of telling you.
    *It became apparent to Varro most immediately that saying such had been a mistake. In particular, when he saw the look on Uxor's face as she sprang at him with the sickle in hand. Everything about her radiated that she wanted answers from him... or that he was some threat to her. He stammered back away from her, but she followed after, and with great alarm he realized that the gods sickle was but hairs from his throat. He could sense a want to spill his blood, but it was not coming from Uxor. It was coming from the weapon itself. In Uxor's wrathful hand however, it might not be long before she too would be overcome by the sentiments. The mention of the name had upset her to a dangerous point. Varro gasped under the force of her as she pressed him to the far wall. He always forgot how strong she was.*
    Varro: Wait...wait wait wait, don't. Uxor! You're Uxor and would be forever as far as I'm ConAAA *he tried to recoil as he felt the blade pressing closer. His mind roamed to the avatar* <Little help?> *then back to the angry emotional woman at hand* I don't know what that Coralbina means, but if taking it back would stay your haaaaaaaa *he cried out again, and swallowed hard feeling her press the blade closer. It was becoming difficult to talk now. The weapon had not yet breached his skin, but it soon would. His hoarse whisper came* Please... can explain....*he choked out* Uxor, me! It's ME! <For the love of all gods I'm your friend! > *at that thought, he felt her release hold of him, and she dropped the sickle to the ground. She was crying, looking at him abhorrently. He didn't dare step towards her as he rubbed his throat sucking in air deeply, between which he said* I wasn't trying to upset you Uxor. I was trying to help. I only said it because I thought it would make you happy. I'll never say it again, you can mark my words on that.
    *Uxor seemed almost in a panic as she started to write something, then dropped the paper and writing stick both, and fled the room. Varro didn't bar her escape. He was slightly relieved, however, to hear the door to the spare room slam. At least she'd remained here, and there would be still a chance to smooth things over. Running her off now, after only so recently managing to salvage their friendship, was not his desire in the least. He bent to read what she'd written*
    Uxor: "What are you? Why would you say that to me? Wh"
    <I don't know how wise that was, Augur.>
    *Varro's focus snapped up to the bed, where the avatar sat in his place in the window once more*
    Varro: <If your intention was to get me to do something stupid...mission accomplished.>
    <Mind your tongue. I might be speaking more familiar with you these days, but you've much to learn in the ways of your new found position. I didn't tell you that so that you could spout it off to her. I guess this will just have to be your first taste of what the days to come for you are going to be like. You can't just go rattling off everything you're privy to now Minstrel.>
    Varro: <It's a bit late for the warnings. Speaking of late, that probably would have gone over better if it had come from you and not through me.>
    <I am not your personal summoned companion Augur. If anything, I summon YOU if need be. Best for you to get that straight this instant. Sorry that your discovery comes at the expense of your friend, but you needed to learn the hard way. Not that it wasn't supremely amusing. What's more, I'm not able to just come every time you get yourself into a bind. I may only attend that which is of my domain. Getting yourself killed by your friend with a weapon of the gods is not among that list I'm afraid. So don't get too secure. You are not an immortal Augur.>
    *Varro gathered up the sickle and carefully secured it in his pack once more, not wanting to touch the thing for any longer than he had to, after Uxor's display.*
    Varro: <Then why did you come finally?>
    <Because you need some help managing your new skills. I can see you're somewhat confused on what being an Augur is.>
    Varro: <Well I can only learn what I am taught, and the rest would be experimentation on my part.> *he sat upon the bed with his legs crossed, ready to receive instruction.* <I will be as an open book to you then. Tell me what I need to know, before I manage to make matters worse.>
    <First off, you do realize that you spoke directly with her mind, yes?>
    *The bard had not really noticed it until the avatar made mention of it now. He'd just been so concerned with finding something to say to prevent Uxor from using the weapon on him.* <Well I know now.>
    <Yes, it is among one of your new talents Auguar. The capacity to speak with others directly. Use it sparingly, for few appreciate such forced intrusion, even if it is just to talk something over. So you're not caught off guard by it, you also now have the capacity to speak with great masses of people, and your voice will carry to all of them as clearly as if you were beside them each. It will come to make sense to you in time. As for your scepter, I want you to hold it for a moment. You said you did not know what it is for, so I will show you now.>
    *As instructed, Varro took hold of the scepter, which glowed to shimmering life once again. He watched it, studied it, and listened to the avatar's talk.*
    <I want you to concentrate on thinking of those you know. Picture them vividly, and relax into the feelings of mirth.>
    *His first thoughts were for Uxor, who was in the other room doing who knew what. He tried as hard as he could to think on what she could be doing* <What happens then? I don't feel anything really. I'm trying to relax.>
    <You don't feel anything because she is not celebrating. This scepter will help you to be aware of the locality of others, so long as they are merry or otherwise having some cause to be celebrating in some form. Toasting, dancing, any number of things. Uxor is not celebrating anything right now, hence why you cannot sense her. This is the first day in a very lonely and difficult path Augur. The reaction of your friend there is only a taste of what you will find yourself up against as an Augur. You will be aware of things that most mortals would not be. Blessed in ways they do not understand...and may envy. To be Augur is to give all that you have to the cause of celebration.. You will experience boundless joy, yes. But you will find yourself ostracized as you have never known before. You knew this when you first beheld the scepter, didn't you?>
    *The minstrel could only nod in agreement. There was no possibility of semantics with this entity... god or no god.*
    <Now, unless you have any more matters that you need explained...>
    Varro: <Yes. You say you are privy to all the names of celebrated births. Why did that name upset her?>
    <Ask her yourself. She's your friend. I said I knew the names, not the sentiments of every mortal towards the name of their birth.>
    Varro: <Fair enough.> *he didn't bother to explain his departure from the room. He knew that the avatar would be able to see his intent now as he knocked softly on the door to the spare room, where Uxor had retreated to.*
    Thank you all!
    INTRODUCING: Thelanis Thursdays (Sarlona Sundays now up and running too!)
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  13. #53
    Community Member
    Join Date
    May 2006

    Default Fellowship of the Golden Night, The Ambassadors, Volumn VIII

    Fellowship of the Golden Night
    The Ambassadors
    Volumn VIII "The Avatar and the Augur" Chapter 4
    (This volumn is a part of The Name Project)

    Varro: Uxor... *he searched for something to say, but nothing seemed appropriate for the reaction he had inspired in her. At last he settled on saying* I can't read your notes through the door. *He could hear her on the other side. Varro retrieved more parchment, fresh and unwritten upon, and began to wriggle the page beneath the door* You don't have to face me, but at least explain to me what I've done. When you're finished writing, just slide it back. *He really couldn't recall if she had taken her writing stick with her or not. He hoped so, as the crack was too thin to push it through as well*

    *As the paper disappeared beneath the door, there was a click, and he saw the door shift open slightly*
    Varro: I'm going to presume that is your way of permitting me to come talk with you. *But he put a hand to the door, pressing lightly on it and staying back, so as not to prompt another physical misunderstanding. <At least she doesn't have the sickle this time> he told himself. It was no great comfort, since he was aware that in this room she frequently kept a greatsword.*

    *She was sitting on the guest bed, already set to writing on the paper he'd given. Slowly and non-aggresively Varro slinked across the room, until he arrived beeside the bed. Watching for any sign that she meant to lash out at him, he sat down beside her, and read her note even as she wrote it.*
    Uxor: "This being... This 'avatar' as you call it... I believe you in that you have seen something. That whatever it may be, it is very powerful. I will not, however, call it a god, Varro. That is something I must come to decide for myself. You told me that you were from this plane. That you are a man, and nothing more. Were you lying to me?" *she stopped writing, apparently awaiting an answer before continuing. She didn't look at him.*
    *He started to say 'no,' but came to realize it was more complicated now*
    Varro: What I said is true - I am human. Accepting this gift has granted me a few new...skills, that is true. But if you strike me down, I will fall the same as any other would. You nearly had a first hand demonstration of it. Thank you for stopping. *he rubbed his throat, still feeling for any wound left by the edge of the godly blade. He heard her start writing again*
    Uxor: "When I heard you say it, I knew it was my name. It was frightening. I've never spoken of this before, but it was like the same experience I have when I kiss you"
    *This confused him, and he spoke before her writing progressed*
    Varro: Fear? Kissing me makes you afraid?
    *Adamently she shook her head 'no' and motioned for him to let her finish writing*
    Uxor: "When I... No Varro that isn't it at all. Familiar. When I kiss you, I have feelings and sensations as if I've been kissing you for years. The name, when you said it *she paused trying to put it to words to write* "You know the feeling of recognition - of knowing those letters to be in conjunction with your existance? Hearing you say it to me felt normal. It scared me. It scared me because that is not something you pull from the air. I was afraid that somehow, you knew my memories. That you might somehow have met with the one who took them from me in the first place. MOre over, that maybe you were going ot return me to him. That this being you're talking about WAS him. I realized that I was holding that weapon in there, and the drive to defend myself from you was strong. I heard your voice in my mind, in the way that Mekari had done, but it felt like you so distinctively. It brought me back from where ever the sickle was trying to lead my intent. I needed to step back. The shock of that name... of you and your 'gifts'... your account of this avatar. So much"
    Varro: Why did you come in here to this room? I thought you would have dashed out my front door the way you were looking at me back there.
    *Uxor sighed slowly through her nose.*
    Uxor: "I remembered the last time I was forced out that same door. I remembered the look on your face. I realized what I feel" *she scratched it out to past tense* "what I felt was what you must have felt when you thought I was a traitor to you, and how I had my good intentions for you - just misapplied. So I came in here instead on the chance that there was an explaination. Mostly though, I needed to puzzle over things."
    *The bard read her words gravely*
    Varro: I am sorry to have caused you distress. That isn't what I want for you. We're supposed to be enjoying ourselves. On the bright side, concerning these 'feelings' I've stirred in you, that is good, yes? If you're getting your memory back?
    *Uxor shook her head 'no,' and once more parchment was being written upon*
    Uxor: They're not memories Varro. Just... feelings. I feel a certain emotion, but I don't recall it. I know that to be my name, but that doesn't mean I remember who called me that, nor what my life was when I was known as that."
    Varro: Are the feelings good or ill when you hear the name? *he didn't bother to say it. He knew better than that now.*
    Uxor: "Neither. It just is. I don't know how else to explain it."
    Varro: Would you want me to call you that from now on, knowing as you do that it was your name?
    *She sighed more deeply that time, enough that she had to open her mouth*
    Uxor: "I'm not sure."
    Varro: Then you will be Uxor to me for as long as you desire me to call you that. I am sorry. I just wanted so badly for you to believe in what I've said. You're the one I confide in these days, and if I can't come to you, then there is no one. If you wish to discover this avatar for yourself, I won't press that aspect of it. I will tell you that I may need your help in the coming weeks. This will not be so simple as putting on a few dresses for me as you did for the Fashion Show posters Uxor. I need real help this time. However *he set the scepter aside and faced her fully* if you do not feel that I am being truthful with you... or that I've misrepresented what is happening... I want you to tell me now, and I will never speak of it again to you.
    *Uxor stared at him for some time in silence. After a time, she reached out and touched the side of his face. It was not in the way that so many of the city did, to discern if he were Mekari or not... it was a caress. He closed his eyes halfway to it, and his thoughts turned to her earlier words*
    Varro: What do you feel?
    *She angled her head a little trying to figure out what he was making reference to. This prompted him to lean forward swiftly, but gently, to meet her lips with his own, afterwhich he asked again.*
    Varro: I want to know what it is you feel.
    *The paleness of her face was warmed somewhat as she flushed at the question. For having to spend her existence in writing, being mute, she found it particularly difficult today to communicate her thoughts.*
    Uxor: "I don't know Varro, it's not as simple as a word. It's nothing bad. If anything it's happy feelings. My name now, Uxor, means wife. When I kiss you, it must remind me of whomever it was I was married to before my memories were taken" *she stared at the page, realizing how reading that must make Varro feel. It read as if her mind went somewhere else and she quickly added* "It's not that I'm not here with you when I'm doing it it.."
    Varro: Calm down, I'm not offended if that is what you're thinking. I'm confident enough to share you, even if it is in this case with some feelings of your past. *his mind already was coiling around an idea. Would it work? The only way of knowing wass trying...mentally he reached out for the avatar again*
    Varro: <Are you listening?>
    <For me to know and you to learn.>
    Varro: <No games this time. No scheming. I want to know... you say you are privy to times of celebration and joy, yes?>
    <I am.>
    Varro: <What of her? Are you able to see the joy and mirth of her past?>
    <Yes. I know what you are thinking, and I know you only mean well for her, but consider your actions carefully... in light of the last reaction she had to word of her past imparted by you, Augur.>
    *He didn't need to ask further of the Avatar now.*
    Varro: Uxor, in the same way that I was able to know your name, there is the possibility that I also might be able to find out aobut events of your past. If you have a family still.... who your husband was... many things about your old life. Do you want me to tell you?
    *Uxor sat up straight hearing this.*
    Uxor: "For what purpose?"
    Varro: A gift. A gift for you that no one else can grant you so readily. One that will be yours only if you ask it of me. I don't have your answers yet, but I can get them. I won't bother to do so unless it is at your request though. It is the only thing I can think of to make up for the difficulty of knowing me Uxor.You don't have to decide now but... just know that I offer you this, should you want it.
    *Uxor wrestled in her mind with the answer for this. For the present, she set the paper and writing stick down, shoved aside the scepter, and pulled him to her. With great determination, Uxor tried to think of Varro only, to put all else out of mind, and tried to suppress the dejavu that haunted her affections for him. Did she feel this way because of her past, or because of Varro himself?*
    Varro: <I'll get back with you on that, but if that information is yours, may I be so bold as to ask for it, not for myself, but for her, if it came to it?>
    <You can ask.>
    Varro: <Fair enough.>
    Thank you all!
    INTRODUCING: Thelanis Thursdays (Sarlona Sundays now up and running too!)
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  14. #54

    Default The Halfling War Council In Stormreach #1

    Stormreach has a few "little" problems!


    Stalking past a score of orc guards, the halfling trader Gil felt a little jealous of his brother’s hired thugs. He had no love for Idomeneus to be sure, but the message stated that his business was “urgent.”

    Gil did not like leaving his caravans for long, fearing his workers would steal from him. The last time he went on business, in fact, he’d come back to find many things out of place. He made a mental note, to beat every of his caravan manager’s when he got back, regardless of wrongdoing.

    Entering Idomeneus’ inner most laboratory, he actually gasped at what he saw. Several freshly exhumed bodies were laid out on tables, side by side, along with unrecognizable skeletons whose features had long since rotted away. Gil tried his best not to look uncomfortable, knowing his brother would press any advantage he saw, and stood quietly with his stubby fingers locked together in front of his large belly.

    Idomeneus, the halfling sorcerer, stood over one of the skeletons chanting an incantation. When he was done, he looked up at his brother and smiled an evil and sadistic smile. “My we certainly have let ourselves go…” Ido raised his brows a bit in taunt and question in regards to the amount of weight Gil had allowed himself to put on over the years.

    “G’day to you as well brother.” Gil replied sarcastically. “Now what’s this all about, I got work to do…”

    In reply, Idomeneus, said nothing. Instead, he picked up the bony arm of the skeleton on the table in front of him, and shook it experimentally. When nothing else happened, he seemed a bit disappointed, and moved to a desk drawer to retrieve several things.

    “Tell me Gil,” Idomeneus began as gathered a bag, and several parchments, “How goes your trade business?”

    Gil huffed, “could be better, competition and all, Andair trade ain’t what it used to be.”

    “Interesting,” Idomeneus replied curtly cutting Gil off before he could elaborate further. It was clear the caster was only focussed on his personal agenda. “Here,” he said roughly shoving a small but heavy bag and some maps at Gil. “I have a bit of job for you and the boys.”

    Opening the bag, Gil saw that it was full of gold coins, with instant mistrust he looked up at Idomeneus. “Speak brother, ye got my full attention.”

    Allowing his brother to hold and fondle the large bag of coins had Idomeneus outlined his plans, “You are headed to Stormreach,” He added, “Meet Lerincho and Ryvis who are already in the city waiting for you.

    Gil clutched his bag of gold protectively, “What do we need them for?”

    “Ingredients, my dear boy,” explained Idomeneus. “Ingredients to start a war, to perhaps eliminate your competition, and make your trade caravans so ripe with business, you won’t have to kill your supervisors every time they steal from you.”

    Gil shrank at the thought that his brother might be spying on him. It didn’t matter, he decided. A trade monopoly was just the thing he needed to make himself richer than any man he knew; even the pompous Idomeneus.

    Both men were startled by a scratching sound then, and Idomeneus’ face lit up when he saw his first undead skeletal minion rise from the table. His Sinister laughter grew to a climax as the skeleton lurched over to him. Idomeneus did not even notice that his brother was already gone.

    The Marketplace in Stormreach
    Chapter 1: The Assassin’s Note

    Rain patted softly on the widow of the modest apartment that overlooked the normally bustling Marketplace Area of the City of Stormreach. It was dawn now, or would be soon as the first dim rays of light were threatening to crest the city walls. In fact, most folk in the city proper were still asleep.

    Lessah, however, was not most folk. Instead she sat in her windowsill, with her back against the frame and one knee bent under her resting arm. The window itself was nothing more than you would find in any affordable lodge room. It was small enough to keep out most large humans and big enough for Lessah’s Halfling form.

    Tall for her race, she did not to admit to many people that she was half-human. Her shoulder-length blonde hair was pulled back in its customary half ponytail that allowed much of the under layers of her hair to cascade a bit down her back. Along with her unusual height, Lessah had inherited her mother’s sky-blue eyes. The girl’s facial expressions rarely ranged away from sober and serious.

    In her hand she held an old coin with the emblem of a shield on one side and a sword on the other; normally carried by paladins in the service of Dol Dorn, the god of strength and arms. Lessah was no paladin, but her human mother had been, and the coin had been a parting gift to Lessah. She always carried it as a reminder of her mother’s strength. Turning it over and over in her hand in well-practiced repetition, the girl seemed to take no comfort from the ritual.

    Outside the Marketplace was still and quiet. Only the open-air fruit vendors were just arriving to set up shop for the day. The pre-dawn light had chased most of the less desirable patrons in the city away save for the occasional odd passer-by.

    Out of curiosity she glanced across the room to the halfling-sized bed in the corner, adjacent to her own. The bed was plain, well-made up, and unslept in. Lessah felt a slight pain of worry knowing her cousin had still not yet come home. Lessah thought to herself that the girl would very likely end up pregnant and in dishonor, if she weren’t more careful. It was something Lessah felt she did not have time to address however.

    Removing her head from the frame of the window, she pulled out a note from her pocket and unfolded it. It was one she had read several times, but Lessah read it again as if some new information would come from it.

    “kill her if she jeopardizes the mission
    report to G.Y. in the morning”

    The night before had been difficult, Lessah was hired by one of the local boys to hunt a giant spider and kill it in order to procure the creature’s venom sac, presumably to sell to one of the local alchemists at a profit. She was not accustomed to working within the city limits, choosing instead to act as a scout for many adventuring parties and caravans moving through the Menechtarun Desert. Thinking about her most recent trip to that unforgiving place made Lessah glance down at the still-healing scar on her forearm. A present given to her by a pack of roving gnolls, it was an encounter that had nearly cost the girl more than her favorite delving suit.

    Lessah seethed at such carelessness--her own as well as the assassin hired to kill her and take what she had rightfully stolen. Only a cheaply-hired thug would carry a message that could so easily implicate his employer. That same thug had allowed himself to be caught after being discovered by his quarry. Lessah was not in the habit of assassinating anyone, but she had made an exception for last night’s cutpurse. Lessah felt a tinge of guilt thinking that the Stormreach authorities would soon discover him in an alley behind the Wavecrest Tavern. Closing her eyes, she tried to block out that thought. Instead she was more interested in who would have her followed or killed for something she had already planned on selling anyway. More importantly, why would someone go to such trouble to procure a spider’s venom that was pungent, but by no means deadly?

    Her thoughts along with the quiet of the morning were disturbed by the giggles of a young halfling female. Lessah drew a deep breath, half relieved that Morah was home safe and half annoyed that her cousin would stay out all night. Stashing the note and coin quickly in her pocket, she readied herself for the conversation to follow. Her young and beautiful cousin would not get off so easily this time.

    Lessah repeated a few questions in her mind: Where have you been? With whom? Why were you out all night? Don’t you know no self-respecting Halfling male will accept you as a wife if you continue to do this? With her feet firmly on the floor and her arms crossed in a gesture of disapproval, Lessah listened at what seemed like a herd of buffalo coming up the stairs.

    Morah the Halfling bard burst through the door with a bright smile on her face and danced across the floor to her cousin. The pretty girl stopped after a too elaborate twirl and presented Lessah with a ripe pear that she no doubt had failed to pay for at the fruit vendor.

    “Greetings Lessah!” She practically panted and held the fruit out in presentation. “I brought you some breakfast!” Morah, unlike Lessah, seemed by all appearances to be a full-blooded halfling both in size and demeanor. Her long blonde hair was always in perfect order, even now, after it was clear she had been running through the rain. She had beautiful beige and golden eyes that gave her a distinctive identity along with a well-proportioned figure and pouting lips, which she never failed to use in order to get her way.

    Lessah made no move to retrieve the fruit, nor did she change her judgmental facial expression. The bard failed to notice any signal that she was in disfavor.

    “Not hungry?” She inquired, her face still glowing. Morah dropped her arm after only a moment and placed the fruit in an empty bowl in the center of the small table of the girls’ common room. She produced another pear from the folds of her cloak, and bit into it. “Oh the night I’ve had cousin!”

    “The night is over youngling.” Lessah finally spoke using Morah’s childhood nickname. “The sun crests the city walls as we speak.”

    Morah glanced out the window and rolled her eyes at the rain that had calmed to a soft drizzle. She placed the partially eaten pear into the bowl with its mate. “Stupid rain!” the bard said more to herself than Lessah. She sprang up from the chair she had dropped into, all smiles again, “He kissed me last night Lessah!” The girl could hardly contain her giddiness.

    Lessah tried hard to steel herself for more unwanted information. Gritting her teeth she asked, “and who is HE?”

    Morah looked stricken for half a moment, then easily recovered and smiled again, “Saldez silly!” She giggled slightly and twirled around the room again, the elaborate dance ending in collapse on the girl’s small bed in the corner of the common room.

    Lessah turned, arms still crossed, “I don’t approve of this Saldez, Morah.” Lessah began, “His family’s reputation in the city is precarious at best, and he is known for being…” she paused, trying not to say unkind words, “a ladies’ man.”

    Morah gathered herself in giant ball of sheets and blankets, “you don’t approve of anyone Lessah that is YOUR problem--not mine.” Morah popped her head up from the covers, “I’m meeting him again tonight…” The bard’s beige eyes grew wide with mischief and anticipation and she pulled herself completely under the covers again, squealing in excitement.

    Lessah turned frustrated and sat at the table. She could see out the window that the fully awake sun was lighting up the Marketplace, which had already begun to fill with patrons. Lessah reached into the bowl, grabbed the partially eaten fruit, turned it 180 degrees to the unbitten side, and tasted it. She had too much to worry about today and this situation would have to be dealt with very soon.

    The note left her with many more questions than answers--answers she would have to dig up for herself. Lessah rose from the table, taking the fruit with her. She turned to her cousin.

    “I’ll be back later youngling.” Lessah’s voice trailed off as she realized Morah’s rhythmic breathing meant she had already fallen asleep. A jumble of blankets and soft blonde hair, her angelic face was slightly visible and a smile, even in sleep, ran across her lips. Lessah’s eyes rolled to the ceiling, “Oh never mind!”

    Lessah pried a floorboard of the common room up, taking care to not wake her cousin, and placed the spider venom sac inside the empty space there. She made her way out the door and down to the market, making a mental note to quietly pay the fruit vendor for his unknowing generosity.

    Lessah needed to confer with someone she could trust for discretion and someone who was well versed in the official, as well as the sinister side, of regional politics. So she decided her first stop this morning should be to the Hall of The Order of the Sword and Rose, to see none other than the famous diplomat and ambassador Aribell Kross.

    The Order of the Sword and Rose was an age-old organization charged with the protection of the queen back when the five human nations, known as the Kingdom of Galifar were united under one ruler until a vicious and bloody war tore the kingdom apart. The Order had been revived with the charge of reuniting the five nations and restoring order to the Kingdom of Galifar, which had thus far proven a difficult task.

    Lessah had been hired on a few occasions in the past by the Order, to stealthily seek out information when their Council needed intelligence outside of the confines of local law. Lessah held the Mistress of the Order in great esteem and felt the woman was more likely to help her than to have her arrested.
    Last edited by Lessah; 06-06-2007 at 09:52 PM.

  15. #55

    Default The Halfling War Council In Stormreach #2

    Chapter 2: The Order’s Hall

    Lessah strode into the Order’s Hall, drenched in water from the pouring rain. A massive structure, it once looked to be a grand concert hall, but was converted into the Order’s place of operations. At the center of the hall just before stairs that would lead up to the second level was the reception desk with a young girl sitting behind it. It was rumored that Aribell Kross, the cunning Mistress of the Order, procured the hall in a secret deal with the Coin Lords of Stormreach. But that of course was a rumor and the truth about the building remained a secret to most.

    Ellee sat behind her desk, which was covered in papers and reports that looked to be fresh for the day. Lessah knew at first glance that she was going to have trouble with Aribell’s secretary. She strode confident, but quiet up to the girl’s desk and waited to be acknowledged. After a very long moment, the girl finally looked up at Lessah with a blank expression before suddenly realizing that someone was visiting the Order.

    "Can I help you?" Ellee asked, and paused for a moment. "How rude of me, let me get you a dry towel." Ellee was a girl of slight build, 5'5 with black hair, green eyes, with little tanned skin with some freckles to match. She was a fetching girl, albeit quiet.
    "Yes," Lessah replied with courtesy, "I need to see Aribell Kross… please." She added hastily realizing the girl was in control of her present situation as she reached for the towel.

    "Of course you do." Ellee replied with a hint of sarcasm, "Unfortunately my Lady has not arrived yet, and well… you are a bit early for that." Elle smiled as best she could. She was still adjusting to the job Aribell had given her as secretary. She waved slightly as if to indicate the entire conversation had ended.

    Lessah tried to keep her calm and plead her case, "It is a matter of great importance, I assure you. It is imperative that I speak with the lady of this house as soon as she arrives. I’ll wait if need be."

    Ellee’s response was a hand gesture that indicated the waiting area in the Order’s main study. Lessah had no choice but to comply with the inept girl. Aribell had access to more information than Lessah could hope for. If anyone knew who the mysterious G.Y. was, it would be her.
    As Lessah turned to go, she heard a faint voice from the Order’s Hall entrance.

    "It rains far too much in Stormreach for my taste." The woman was drenched from head to toe. "I really need that glass of milk Ellee." She stepped through the doors, wearing a large trench-like coat that was brown in color with her blonde hair pulled back. She shivered as she walked up to Ellee, noticed the halfling as she approached, and nodded to her secretary. "Do I have a visitor?"
    "Aye Aribell, she is. . ."

    "Well met Lady,” Lessah cut Ellee off before she could say more, “I’m afraid I need your help!" Lessah exclaimed toward Aribell.

    Taking a moment to get a towel from behind Ellee’s desk, Aribell replied, "Please give me just a moment. I would like to dry off." Aribell smiled as she started to go up the stairs to her office. "Give me about five minutes Ellee"

    Lessah gave Ellee a triumphant nod of thanks, which was wordlessly returned with a smile from the secretary. "Please give her just a moment. Aribell’s office is located in the right hallway at the top of the stairs."

    Ascending the stairs towards Aribell’s office Lessah glanced at the different paintings of triumphant battle scenes that rested alongside heroes of The Order. At the top of the stairs, the largest and oldest painting had been lovingly cared for. Held in its frame was a depiction of a beautiful and graceful-looking woman with dark hair, and kind eyes. A crown set atop her head, and the inscription on the bottom of the painting read: Her Majesty Queen Aryana Wynarn.

    Heading toward the right hallway, she passed a giant row of large windows that overlooked the streets of Stormreach, and arrived at the door that had Aribell’s name on the window. Aribell sat neatly behind her desk with a cup of warm milk in one delicate hand. Her hair had been let down as if she had tried to dry it quickly.

    She was perfectly poised for such an early an hour, unquestionably beautiful with blue eyes and blonde hair. She was of average height, but her demeanor and grace made her seem much taller.

    "Hello Lessah," she smiled, "To what do I owe the honor of this visit?"

    "I am afraid you are the only one who can tell me that, my lady."

    Aribell raised a quizzical eyebrow in response. "Sit." she said simply. "Milk?"

    Lessah complied and sat in the chair adjacent to the desk, "Thank you, no. I am likely being followed and I haven’t much time." Not wishing to waste Aribell’s time she reached into her pocket quickly and pulled out the note she looted from the dead cutpurse the night before and explained how she had come to find it.

    Aribell read the note and her eyes narrowed as she reached the end of the letter. Pausing for a moment she passed it back to Lessah, who ended her tale with the stashing of the thug’s body in the Wavecrest alley.

    "Interesting" Aribell remarked thoughtfully. "Tell me Lessah, how do you know this note is even about you?" She waited for the halfling to react and continued, "Had I killed you just now, this note would be about me. Hmm? Tell me, was he human?"

    Lessah nodded a reply, and Aribell continued her questioning. "Think on this Lessah; what will happen when this assassin does not report to his employer? If you are not being followed, you will likely be soon.” Aribell surmised, sipping her milk. “I require some private time to think this matter over more carefully. It would be a good idea to stay close by. Visit me if you find any more news."

    Lessah exited the office obediently and left Aribell to her thoughts. Aribell had much thinking to do indeed. She had compounding problems to the south, with the royal family in the Kingdom of Aundair on the brink war, and a now this. Aribell mused over the possible reasons why someone would go to such great trouble to procure spider venom that they could easily bargain for. She thought to herself that whoever it was must have a greater plan and need an absolute guarantee of discretion.

    The paladin began to jot notes on a piece of parchment paper. She did not yet see the larger picture, but one thing she knew for sure. If the initials were correct on that note, it could mean only one thing--The Halfling War Council had arrived in Stormreach. The question was why were they here, and what did they want?

  16. #56

    Default The Halfling War Council In Stormreach #3

    Chapter 3: Soulgate

    Lessah left Aribell’s office convinced that the powerful woman would do all she could to help. Striding through the guild hall, her keen halfling ears happened to catch pieces of a conversation from the common dining room.

    The girl recognized one voice immediately as her friend Andark, a full-blooded halfling rogue. Lessah had known Andark since coming to Stormreach and his happy-go-lucky nature had always been a source of comfort for her. A handsome lad, Andark had short dark hair and dark, kind eyes. He was unusually adept at making people laugh. In fact he was well known for his palace antics in a short stint of service to the Queen. Peeking into the common area, Andark spied her right away, cut himself off in mid-sentence and walked away from his food to greet the girl.

    “Lessah!” He exclaimed, embracing her in a friendly hug, which Lessah promptly returned. “Where have you been? Not the desert I hope. Dangerous place that desert. Lucrative, but dangerous!” Lessah opened her mouth to speak, but Andark was a too fast for her. “Never mind that! Come. Sit. Have bread with us!”

    Seizing a moment of silence, Lessah interjected, “I am very sorry Andark. I cannot stay. I have pressing business elsewhere…” but the mischievous little halfling was busy readying an all-too-generous plate of bread, cheese, and fresh berries.

    “Don’t you worry about a thing there girlie--I’ll fix you right up!” Andark continued, glossing over Lessah’s words entirely. “Just like her majesty used to say, halflings make the best servants! She got the wee-folks crawling all over the palace you know. Not just jesters like me either! No sir. She’s got cooks, handmaidens and the like. Pretty girls they are as well! Say Lessah, how IS that pretty little sister of yours? I hear she is the most beautiful girl in all of Stormreach.”

    “Actually she’s my cousin. Andark, my apologies, but I really must…” Lessah stopped dead, surprised by the person sitting at the opposite end of the table.
    “You must, you must…” Saldez’s playful green eyes held Lessah’s gaze in a trance. She had never seen him this close before; he was almost as handsome as Morah had described. He had one stripe of bright blonde hair running down the middle of his otherwise bald head, and his thin, but tight clothing revealed him as a well-muscled halfling male in the prime of his life. She knew he was reading her face. She could see too that he caught the angry flash of mistrust in her eyes and cursed herself for dropping her guard.

    “Well met Saldez.” Lessah replied evenly. “I trust your DAY is going well.”
    “Very well indeed, thank you.”

    “As I was saying, Andi, I have a long day ahead of me, and an even longer night. Not everyone has the luxury of watching the dawn break.” Her gaze held his for a moment; he showed no change in his “cat that ate the canary” expression.

    “Good day to you both,” Lessah rose and left the room amidst protests from Andark that she was to come back and eat every bite of food on her plate.

    The rain had all but dissipated into a drizzle now, but the streets were slick and wet with mud. This made Lessah rethink her path to her next location--Soulgate.

    Hopping lightly onto a lamppost and then a sturdy window ledge, she climbed deftly onto the nearest rooftop and hopped her way around to the Market’s east side.

    Lessah knew her friend Gindel, a human ranger and night guard with the port authority of Stormreach, would be home and a bit rested by now. Indeed, she was pleased to see his window standing wide open, even with the rain. She started toward the window and then stopped abruptly, taking note of the anticipation growing in her gut, and a sudden interest in her appearance. Lessah peered into a small puddle of standing water at her reflection and tried to smooth out some of the stray hairs that were flying around her face. She stopped quickly and slammed her fist into the puddle of water so she could no longer see her reflection and hopped lightly through the open window.

    The rogue looked around and saw no one. Gindel’s bed was unmade but the ranger was not in it. Lessah looked around quickly and became concerned that something foul had become of her friend.

    “I hope this visit is for pleasure and not business Lessah…” A strong male voice said from behind her. Lessah closed her eyes and gave a hint of a smile of relief.

    “Hello Ranger.” Lessah turned and there stood Gindel, a handsome and shirtless man leaning one arm casually on the frame of the doorway. He was long with lean muscles, meant for ranging targets rather than melee. His sandy hair hung wet around his face and he dried it as he entered his bedroom. He did not seem surprised or disappointed at the sight of Lessah.

    “Well met my friend,” Lessah actually smiled a tiny smile when she greeted him. “I was in the neighborhood.”

    He cast a sideways glance of disbelief at her as he fished around in a pile of clothing for a clean shirt and put it on.

    Lessah continued, “I wanted to know if you saw or heard anything unusual last night.” She paused, realizing that a trait of a good rogue was the ability to spin intricate webs of lies. But she was never any good at that particular skill. “I heard noises.” Lessah did not even believe the words as she spoke them.

    Gindel eyed her curiously, and smiled, “Perhaps you have a rat problem, Lessah. Have you considered getting a cat?”

    “Gindel please,” the girl pleaded, “I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important.”
    Gindel knew his friend to be unusually serious for a halfling. He studied her for a moment as if to reevaluate the bond of trust between them, and replied,“What is this about Lessah?” She only bit her lip in reply. “You’re not going to tell me are you?”

    She shook her head no, praying he would understand. He seemed to, and he seated himself on his bed and began to explain, “There was a break in last night, one of the docked ships had an item stolen from the Captain’s own quarters.” Gindel idly picked up one of his boots and started cleaning it, “By the time we got there, the Captain and crew refused to file a report, or even say what had been taken.” The handsome ranger shrugged a bit, “My best guess would be that whatever was taken, was illegal in the first place, or stolen.” He paused, “…or both.”

    Lessah took the information in thoughtfully, though she was not well versed in port authority protocol as to what may or may not be illegal. “Where had the ship come from?” She inquired, hoping the ship’s port of origin might reveal something.

    “The Moors,” he answered and cast his eyes to the floor as if to explore that very avenue himself, “but it was a trade ship; any number of things from all over could have been aboard.” He concluded shaking his head a bit as if to dismiss a silent theory.

    She nodded slowly, “Thank you Gindel--I know you don’t have to tell me anything. I promise you I will find out everything I can.”

    She turned on her heel to go out the window, only to be snatched back by her arm in the ranger’s confident grasp. “Promise me you will be careful, Sneak.” He said using the playful nickname he had given her in their early days of adventuring together. But he used it this time in a serious tone.

    Lessah nodded, “I will Ranger, and you do the same.” He released her then and she wasted no time springing out of the window and climbing to the nearest rooftop aware that he would watch her until she was out of sight. She unconsciously tried to make her movements as graceful and acrobatic as possible.

    She was breathing hard when she got to the tailor shop in the Market Bazaar. It had been a few weeks since the incident in the desert that had left her favorite delving suit damaged almost beyond repair. She would need that suit now if she expected to sneak around the more seedy areas of Stormreach and not be easily spotted.

    Inside the shop, a portly halfling tailor in the middle years of his life was busy measuring a boy for a fancy suit. The tailor noticed Lessah right away, and ushered his apprentice over to take his place.

    Ryvis, was wearing a thick, but well-crafted vest of deep velvet and matching leggings. His comparatively thin legs sharply contrasted his thick middle and gave him the appearance of a frog walking upright. His salt and pepper grey hair was matted and mostly under the cover of a forest green cap slightly tilted to one side. He draped his tape measure about his shoulders as he came over to greet Lessah.

    “I had a heck of a lot a trouble fixing that suit this time Less.” He pulled her aside so others in the shop could not hear. “It’s not safe fer ya to go out to that desert ne’ more. I fear ye may be getting yerself killed,” he paused for effect, “or worse.”

    Lessah tried not to look confused, or speculate as to what might be worse than death. She placed her hand on the man’s shoulder. Ryvis had helped her when she was a struggling knave on the streets of the Wavecrest Village, and she felt she could trust him. “No worries my friend, I’ll not be taking the suit to the desert this night.”

    Both of Ryvis’ thick brows rose quizzically. “Are ye in trouble lass?”
    She paused a moment, “No, I don’t think so. But I am going to find out.” Lessah had few friends in Stormreach that she could count on for discretion, and Ryvis was well-versed in all local politics. He secretly made it a point to know the business of most of Stormreach’s prominent citizens. Lessah leaned closer to him and asked in a low voice, “Ryvis, has anyone new come to the city recently, with the initials G.Y.?”

    Ryvis reacted to the name, but it was obvious he tried to recover and hide the fact. He then fixed the girl with a stern gaze,“You’d best keep yer nose outta politics girl. It’s the fastest way to end up dead in this city to be sure.”

    Deciding that the tailor was hiding more information, she changed the direction of the conversation, “How much do I owe you for the suit this time Ryvis?”

    He looked down, stumbling on his words a bit, “I…I have to get it fer ye--wait here.” He disappeared behind a curtain. When he reappeared, he looked even more flustered. He handed over a wrapped package that contained the suit and nodded to her.

    It bothered Lessah immensely that Ryvis did not even attempt to mark up the price of the job by so much as a copper this time nor did he count the handful of coins she gave him. Lessah thought to herself that any halfling who doesn’t ask for more money is definitely hiding something!

    It was high noon. The market was in full swing with people everywhere, haggling over everything from wands to bat guano. On top of all the noise, ever-present drumming filled the giant bazaar area. Lessah had not slept the previous evening, and the drumming, she thought, must be coming from inside her head. She was exhausted, but she had much more to do.

    Suddenly remembering her sleeping cousin, she decided that her apartment was not a safe place for the time being, and that she would have to convince Morah to move to the Hall of The Order for the night. It stood to reason that if Lessah were being followed or in danger, that Morah was in danger as well.

    She went as straight a path as she could to her apartment, thinking that she would rather enjoy waking Morah up from her nap. Perhaps if the girl were too tired tonight, it would help to keep her out of more trouble. Entering the small but functional apartment however, she found her cousin was already gone. Their burlap bag normally used for laundry had been emptied carelessly and was missing also, along with a few of Morah’s more choice possessions. Lessah felt a pain of worry growing in the pit of her stomach. No, it was a different pain…

    Lessah’s head was throbbing, so she sat on her bed and unwrapped the package Ryvis had given her. Ryvis? Yes, he was hiding something wasn’t he? She must go back to the bazaar and trail that tailor wherever he goes. She noticed a slight musty smell on the soft leather suit that had been fashioned from the pelt of a bug-bear assassin, and silently cursed the tailor for not taking better care of the material. The suit itself was a beautiful light grey and made absolutely no sound when Lessah was stealthing in it. She rubbed her aching head. What was that smell?

    Lessah emptied the suit out of the package and onto her bed and crumpled up the brown paper wrapping it had traveled in. That is when she noticed the sticky green ichor on her hands. It was so bright green that it almost glowed. It must have come from somewhere on the packaging.

    The slight pounding of in her head became a war drum, and she simply could not think--could barely move in fact. Her only thought was to reach her wash basin in time to get whatever this was off of her skin, but she was moving dreadfully slow. Her hands and feet felt as if giant boulders were tied to them, and there was a dry sticky feeling in Lessah’s mouth. She needed the basin. Yes, the water would help with this terrible poison. Poison? Her thinking was clouded and the water basin seemed to be miles away from her. The last thing Lessah saw was the floor coming up to greet her, and her eyes closed.

  17. #57

    Default The Halfling War Council In Stormreach #4

    Chapter 4: The Poison

    Lessah opened her eyes, finding her head and torso drenched in water. The basin lay on the floor beside her. She must have knocked it over when she fell. Lessah tried to move and was immediately greeted by the terrible pounding headache again. Although it was nothing compared to the pain she had just experienced. Just experienced?

    Lessah drew in a sharp breath and popped up to look out her window, fearing she had lost too much time. Big mistake! Her headache charged her full on along with a terrible, sick wrenching in her gut, as if someone were punching her repeatedly. She fell back to the floor writhing, a slave to her pain. She was too intently wrapped up in her dilemma even to notice a large pair of boots walking purposefully across the floor towards her.

    By the time she opened her eyes again, she was in her bed. Her hair was slightly damp, and neatly combed, and her bed covers were pulled about her snugly. She could see out her window that the light outside was growing dim--it was evening. “Oh no,” she moaned aloud to no one, or so she thought.

    “Finally,” rang Gindel’s deep tenor voice from across the room. “I was afraid I may have been too late. I have some bread and soup here for you. You should eat something.” Gindel had already taken liberties to prepare food and set Lessah’s table. She sat up remembering the events of the day, and that her mission was far from over.

    “I have to go…” she protested, struggling to climb out of the bed.

    Gindel raised a hand to stop her from saying more, “No, Sneak, you have to eat. You have been poisoned with ichor from the egg of a troglodyte. It has left you weakened.” he explained with a too serious expression. “It is highly illegal to possess such a lethal substance in this city, and the concentration I found on you suggests the ichor has been tampered with to be made much more potent than any normal troglodyte slime. So I will ask you again, to sit down and eat--I need information.” He pulled the chair of her table out in invitation and waited for her to make the obvious choice. “I can have you arrested if you prefer.”

    Lessah could see worry along with confusion on the young ranger’s face, so she crawled out of bed in compliance and sat at the table. The soup was almost clear, but smelled pleasant. Lessah tasted it gingerly at first, and then picked up the bowl to drink from it. She was ravenous for some reason, and the soup really was a comfort. Slowly she started to feel normal again, not so weak. She looked a little uncomfortably at Gindel and spoke, “I don’t know how to thank you Ranger,” she began,“You have saved my life.”

    He smiled a bit, “It is a service you have done for me on many occasions Lessah. Thanks to you I can now confirm that the ship from the Moors is smuggling troglodyte eggs into the Harbor. In small doses the ichor will sicken you to be sure, but in heavy concentrations, as you have seen already, it is lethal.” Then he added gravely, “You are lucky to be alive… halfling luck I expect.”

    “Getting a troglodyte egg does not seem so easy a task.” Lessah mused aloud. Gindel agreed. Lessah tore up bits of bread and threw them into her soup, putting things together in her mind. Most guilds in the city, even the thieves’ guild would not go to such great lengths to simply assassinate someone, unless… “Whoever it is making the stuff, wants someone important dead.” she said aloud. She then told Gindel about the thug and showed him the note she found, which Gindel promptly pocketed after scolding her for not telling him such important information sooner.

    “He may have been after this.” Lessah explained prying up the floorboard where she hid any questionable goods. She noticed right away however, that the space under the floor was empty. “It’s gone…” she said looking up at Gindel.

    The ranger fixed her with a quizzical gaze that melted into a judgmental expression when Lessah explained the story behind the spider’s venom sac. Lessah shrugged and tried to explain that food must go on her table too.

    “Are you sure the assassin was dead Lessah? No bodies have been recovered anywhere in Stormreach. Perhaps he came to claim his bounty,” he paused, thinking, “or perhaps your cousin took it.”

    Lessah shook her head in disbelief of the idea that her cousin would knowingly steal anything outside of a young man’s heart. “There’s more.” Lessah continued, and she told the ranger about the tailor’s strange behavior. “For all I know, he is the one who tried to poison me.”

    Gindel nodded thoughtfully listening to Lessah’s piece of the story. Finally he spoke, “Lessah, does the name Yarbarrow mean anything to you?”

    Lessah shrugged noncommittally, hoping not to give anything away. Of course it did! It was the surname of the man she had always been told was her father. Though the two had never met, Lerincho Yarbarrow, she had always been told was a notorious rogue.

    When she continued to stare blankly at the handsome ranger, he moved on. “Gil Yarbarrow,” Gindel explained, is the head of a group of traders who run most of the routes between here and the kingdom of Aundair. ”

    “I don’t understand.” Lessah asked confused, “How would a trader stand to gain from making a deadly poison?” Lessah searched her mind for more information. The trader would likely try to sell the deadly stuff at great profit, or use it for some greater gain. “Gindel,” she finally asked, looking up sharply, “what would happen if you combined the reduced ichor of troglodyte eggs with the concentrated extract made from a spider’s venom?”

    “I don’t know.” Gindel admitted, “But if the spider venom can be concentrated in the same manner that trog eggs can…”

    “A person would be dead before they hit the ground.” the two said almost together. The pair summarized that it would be an easy way to quietly assassinate someone of great importance from a distance if need be, since only a minute amount of the poison would be needed to kill the intended victim.

    Lessah’s head was suddenly clear, but her heart was pounding. She had to find this Gil Yarbarrow and figure out who or what the target was before someone else ended up dead. A thought entered Lessah’s mind that her cousin might also be in danger. She hoped for the first time that the flighty halfling would actually stay out all night.

    “It’s not safe here Gindel, you should go.” Lessah grabbed her delving suit, and dashed behind her changing curtain.

    “Where are you going Sneak?” Gindel asked. Lessah could sense the tension ease between them a bit.

    “To find that fat tailor. He is hiding more information, and is very likely behind the attempt on my life. I believe I owe him the same favor.” She emerged from behind the curtain and read Gindel’s approving facial expression. The suit left little to the imagination and it was clear that she was a fully-grown halfling woman. Clear that is, to all who could see her. Holstering a pack of daggers on her back, she turned to Gindel, “I owe you my life Ranger. I can never repay you enough for that.”

    “Perhaps to see you a bit more in a less official capacity,” he raised his eyebrows a bit, “and out of danger?”

    Lessah actually smiled at her friend this time. “I’ll meet you at sunrise,” and then added, “if I live.” With that, she sprang into stealth mode and very nearly disappeared before Gindel’s eyes. She was well down the street before he caught a last glimpse of her.

  18. #58
    Community Member Deriaz's Avatar
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    Aug 2006

    Default The Brothers Forged, Chapter 3, Questionable Intent

    The Brothers Forged
    Chapter 3
    Questionable Intent

    The past few weeks seemed to be a blur to Deriaz, and his mind continued to race in an effort to keep up with it. The Lord of Blades had destroyed the guild hall, Ragyr had joined up with him, Ranux was still nowhere to be found, he was still trying to figure out exactly how money worked after Jaggie tried to teach him, Zoltando was out murdering Warforged, Sho was being hounded for what he did in Flamekeep, Uxor was worrying about Varro, he found his mind drifting to Mekari occasionally as well. . . And the list continued.

    He glanced down as he felt a heavy object push against his leg. The large metal dog he had found a few nights ago in the sewer, named Spike by Liyra in the Fellowship, looked up at him, confused. Deriaz reached a hand down, and rubbed the construct’s head. “Don’t worry about me, I’m fine,” he sighed. The dog still looked confused.

    Deriaz moved a few feet ahead, and Spike followed close behind, until the sound of footsteps coming up quickly behind him came to his ears. He turned around in time for Ragyr to practically run into him. Ragyr’s hands wrapped around Deriaz’s arms, and the two stared at each other for a few seconds. Eventually, Ragyr was the first to speak. “Would you stop it!?” he yelled.

    Deriaz blinked in confusion. “Stop? Stop what?” He heard Spike growl behind him, but Deriaz quieted the dog by making the usual sound that Spike responded to: A mix between a hiss and the sound of static. The dog turned quiet instantly, and only looked up at the two in confusion. Deriaz returned Ragyr’s gaze. “What are you talking about? I haven’t done anyt—“

    “The whole thinking thing, that’s what!” Ragyr yelled again. Deriaz felt the hands squeeze in frustration. “You need to just relax, and look alive! Quit worrying about all the stuff, and—“

    “Relax? How can I just relax!?” Deriaz growled, finding himself lost in a fit of frustration. He reached up, and jerked Ragyr’s left hand away from him. “How can I just relax when you’re part of the problem, hm?”

    Ragyr looked confused. “Part of the problem? What the hell are you talking about?”

    “Don’t play stupid. You know exactly what you’re doing,” Deriaz spat, “what with the whole joining Blades little army thing.”

    Ragyr laughed, but kept his firm grip on Deriaz’s right arm. “That’s not something you should be worrying about. I’m fine. You need to get your priorities in order before—“

    “Get my priorities in order,” Deriaz interrupted again, “really? You’re the one who should be worried! That Forged is a madman, and you know it! How can you just join him that easily, after seeing what he did to the guild hall?”

    “—Before you go insane!” Ragyr finished. He narrowed his blood red eyes, glaring in silence to let the effect set in. Moments seemed to pass before Deriaz spoke up again.

    “. . . Insane? Me? Right. I’m fine. Really. I’ve got a lot on my mind, that’s all,” he chuckled. “Insane. . . Hah. You sound like the one who’s going insane.”

    “So you don’t even listen to yourself, hm? The things you babble in your head don’t even make sense anymore! You used to have a clear train of thought, but now it’s like you just spew whatever you please!” Ragyr growled.

    Deriaz stared in confusion. “Babble? It sounds alright to me. . .”

    “Oh, sure, to you. Cause everything sounds alright to you. But one second you’re thinking about Jaggie, then you’re thinking about the mute, and then you’re thinking about me. In one second. Does that sound like it makes any sense?” Deriaz shook his head as Ragyr continued, “Exactly! You need help. And I’ve got just the solution.”

    Deriaz smirked under the mask. “Oh, really, you have the solution? Humor me. Tell me, what is it that you have that could possibly save me from insanity, as you say."

    “Join the Brotherhood. It’s the only way,” Ragyr said under his breath. The dog seemed to pick it up, and it reared back, continuing to growl again.

    Deriaz looked at Ragyr in horror. “You don’t honestly think I’m going to join you and that crazy group of Warforged, do you?” He frowned as Ragyr nodded. “Then you’ve got another thing coming. I’m not going to join. If anything, that would be what drives me insane,” he laughed, and wrenched away Ragyr’s right hand from his arm. “I don’t have any more reason to talk to you,” he sighed, and turned away. He made the hissing sound at Spike again, who quieted immediately, and followed at his heels.

    Ragyr was left, staring after the two as if Deriaz had just slapped him in the face. A fit of rage came over him. “You fool!” he yelled, and ran at Deriaz. Before the blue Warforged could react, Ragyr had him by the neck, and pushed his head into the wall of a nearby alleyway.

    Spike growled and leaped at Ragyr, but the effort was in vain. He spun around quickly, as a staff materialized in his hand. The head of the staff connected to the side of Spike’s airborne body, and the force sent him to the ground, where he lay unconscious. Ragyr turned back to Deriaz, only to find a sword to his face.

    “I only want to talk, runt. Give me another chance. Let me just explain how—“ Ragyr started, but stopped at the look of pure, insane rage in Deriaz’s eyes. He took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves, and started again. “Let me just explain how, uh, how the Brotherhood could help you. Please. I didn’t mean to attack. I just—“ he stopped as the sword pushed closer towards his face.

    Deriaz narrowed his eyes, seeming to judge Ragyr. After a moment, the rage left his eyes, and the sword was lowered. “Fine,” he said quietly, “you want to talk? Then say it now, while you still have the chance.” Ragyr looked around, and pushed Deriaz lightly into the alleyway.

    “Not here, too many people. Just follow me,” he whispered, grabbing Spike’s body and dragging it with. They moved into the alleyway, and around a corner, where no one could see the three. He dropped Spike, letting his head fall to the ground. Calmly, he turned to Deriaz. “Now, then. . . A few things.” Deriaz nodded, and Ragyr held up a finger. “Number one, the Brotherhood would help you to forget Jaggie, the mute, and all those other flesh creatures in that guild. Number two, you would feel at home among others of your own race,” he ignored the rolling eyes on Deriaz’s face, “and number three. . .” he paused.

    Deriaz waited a moment before prodding the final point. “Number three?”

    Ragyr’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t take well to being threatened,” he growled. His left hand thrust outward, and an invisible force of energy ripped the six swords and the tower shield off of Deriaz’s back. Deriaz looked back in surprise as the pieces of metal clattered against the wall, and turned back only to meet a black fist in his face.

    He stumbled backward, feeling punch after punch slam into his body. Eventually, the far wall of the alleyway pushed against his back, and Deriaz found himself defenseless. He reached down to grab the tower shield, but the sound of crackling fire and the heat of flames covered him. “I’ll just leave you to think about it,” he heard Ragyr’s voice over the flame. The heat of it was constant, as if a jet of it was standing in front of him. The pain became so much that he felt his vision begin to fade on the edges, and the ground came up to meet him.

    Ragyr stood with an outstretched hand, frowning at the deed he had just done. He raised a hand to his forehead, feeling slightly off-balance from the pain Deriaz had just received. ‘Must have pushed him a bit far,’ he thought. The purple runes on his body glowed dimly, and white energy pulsed at his hands. Carefully, he repaired himself and Deriaz, but only to the point where the latter would lie in pain for a few hours before he would be moving again. He moved, then, to the construct dog, repairing it to the same level as Deriaz.

    He sighed as he climbed a tower of boxes nearby, not looking back. “You could have made this so much easier,” he muttered under his breath as he took off across the rooftops of Stormreach.
    Thelanis - Warforged Shield of the <Fellowship of the Golden Night>

  19. #59
    Community Member Robi3.0's Avatar
    Join Date
    Jul 2006
    In lab Renegadely Making

    Default The Project Croniciles of a Mercenary Company,The way to Tangleroot, Chapter 1

    The first few days out of Stormreach were about a dreary as Belbe’s mood, she didn’t see her self as a heartless killer. A heartless killer is actually what she felt like right now. Unfortunately right now wasn’t a really good time to feel bad for ones self. The job she had gotten for her friends seem good when they needed a quick getaway. Now however it was becoming more troublesome by the hour. The guide hired for the expedition was a barbarian by the name of Ulf. He might have had a way with directions but it was very obvious that he was far stupider then he clamed he was. Also the other armed guards where humans not more than a few months in to adulthood and Belbe wondered if any of them had seen battle before.

    It was Grimlore and Belbe’s guard shift and they walked in their assigned spots about 15 feet behind Ulf. Of course Kirshank was fast asleep in the back of a wagon he had spent his night watch drinking with a younger guard. It was somewhat cold this morning and Belbe wrapped her thick cloak tightly around her. She looked up to see the Barbarian stop suddenly. She quickly reached and loosened her sword from it’s sheathe; she briefly wished she hadn’t left her shield in the supply wagon. Grimlore who was ahead of her was the first to make it the barbarian. “What is a matter Ulf is your loin cloth giving you a rash or is there a reason we stopped.” Grimlore then pushed himself uncomfortably close to Ulf. Ulf pushed out both his elbows in an effort to reclaim some of his usurped space. Grim didn’t budge. Belbe walked up behind Ulf and in an attempt to defuse the situation she placed her hand gentle on Ulf’s neck as she stepped around to face him. “Mighty Ulf what is wrong here?” Belbe really hoped that she sounded as sincere as it had in her head. Of course Grimlore could have said it and Ulf wouldn’t have noticed a difference. He puffed out his chest and lifted his chin proudly into the air. “That right me are mighty.” Grimlore rolled his eyes and Belbe just stood there emotionless waiting for Ulf to tell them want was the problem. Ulf then looked down at the piece of parchment he was holding and then down each of the forks in the road ahead of them one going right one going left. He then scratched his head. “problem be map broke. Map say go north road not go north it only go left or right.” Grimlore looked up at the raising sun and saw the in fact north was directly ahead of them while the road forked east to west. Grimlore grabbed the parchment the barbarian was staring at and examined it. For once in Grimlore’s life he was amazed that how lucky he and his friends could be. He eyed the Barbarian with shock and more than a hint of anger. “What is going on here you fool? This parchment isn’t a map it is a supply invoice. YOU have been leading us though the wilds with a supply invoice. How stupid are you? I don’t think you can even read.” “I to read” yelled Ulf in protest. “Oh yeah, well what does this say than.” Grimlore handed Ulf back the parchment. “Ulf handled it up to his nose then at arms length as if he were trying to mimic an ancient wizard reading a scroll. “It say go left.”, Ulf declared “No it doesn’t you dumb yokel It’s a supply invoice” Grimlore went to grab it back but Ulf stuffed it in a pouch before Grimlore could make his move.

    “What are you three doing up there?” came the voice of the Head Master of the expedition. He was the academic type, long robes and wire framed glasses perched at the end of a long crooked nose. More trusting of the Barbarian then he should be. “This dumb halfling for brains here is going to get us lost.” Grimlore’s face turned red with anger. The head master stood there calmly for a few moments in order to let Grimlore cool down. “Ulf is a highly qualified tracker and guide. I trust him with my life. It is his job to lead the way; yours is to keep us from getting robbed. GOT IT! The robed gentleman turned around and walked back to the covered wagon he had setup his office in. Ulf stood at the head of the line with a look of triumph on his face. A smirk slit his face as he turned around and waved at the caravan to continue. Grimlore still infuriated took up his position 10 feet behind Ulf. Belbe who was behind Grimlore barely made out his whispered compliant, “I don’t trust this moron with my life,” right before he smashed a large beetle, that crossed his path, flat with his boot.

    For the rest of the day the caravan traveled without incident. Belbe shift end in the late afternoon and she quickly retired to the back of the wagon Kirshank had been sleeping in a few moments before. It was her turn to take the third shift tonight and she wanted to be well rested. She did however worry about leaving Grimlore and Kirshank unsupervised with Ulf; there wasn’t anyway to guess what would happen to Ulf if things went bad.
    there's one thing you never put in a trap if you're smart. If you value your continued existence. If you have any plans on seeing tomorrow then there's one thing you never, ever put in a trap.

  20. #60
    Community Member Deriaz's Avatar
    Join Date
    Aug 2006

    Default The Brothers Forged, Chapter 3 cont., Questionable Intent

    The Brothers Forged
    Chapter 3, cont.
    Questionable Intent

    Deriaz wandered the Marketplace, slightly more confused than he was when he entered the Phoenix Tavern the other day. Jaggie had apparently been looking for him, worried that Ragyr had gotten to him first. As his mind wandered to Ragyr, he heard someone slide off a roof and down to the ground.

    He turned around quickly, to see Ragyr walking casually up to him. He didn’t say a word, but leaned up against the wall of the building Deriaz was standing next to. The two stared at each other for a moment, before one finally spoke up.

    “So. . .” Ragyr coughed. Deriaz nodded, waiting for him to say what he wanted. “. . . About, um, the other day. . . Maybe I went a little overboard.”

    Deriaz laughed. “A bit?” He shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. It’s old news.”

    Ragyr’s eyes widened. “You’re just going to forgive me? That easily?” His eyes widened a bit more as Deriaz nodded. “But I almost killed you and that dog.”

    “But you didn’t, and now I’m up and walking,” Deriaz shrugged. “Look, are you here to say something, or are you just here to apologize?”

    “Wh—“ Ragyr started, but then snapped to attention. “Right, right. I got another idea, actually.”

    “Another idea? This isn’t involving the Brotherhood, now, is it?” Deriaz narrowed his eyes. “I’m not joining them. Jet of flame or not.”

    Ragyr shook his head. “No, no, think of this idea more as a. . . A vacation.”

    Deriaz cocked his head slightly in confusion. “A vacation? Define vacation.”

    Ragyr laughed. “You know. An extended period of time where you just relax and let your thoughts wander—away from the troubles you’re having,” he emphasized, “like with Jaggie and the mute and that whole Fellowship guild.”

    Deriaz shrugged. “This has to do with me going insane again, doesn’t it?” Ragyr grinned, but Deriaz sighed. “Look, I’m not going insane. I’m a bit stressed, but not insane.”

    Ragyr rolled his eyes. “Look, I know insanity. If you don’t recall, I work under an ‘insane’ Forged, remember? Trust me, you’re border-line. A little more, and I think you’d go over the edge.”

    Deriaz laughed. “Alright, this vacation. . . What are we doing?”

    Ragyr grinned. “Glad you’re more open to this idea. Some sort of caravan, needs protection—“ Ragyr continued, though he saw Deriaz’s mask stretch slightly, as if the Forged had something to say, “—but they’re only going on merchant business. They aren’t adventurers. Trust me, with the two of us, there’s nothing that will get past them. You have nothing to worry about.”

    “How long will we be gone?” Deriaz sighed.

    “Ten days, give or take one or two.”

    “Ten days!? You really expect me to forget everything for ten whole days?”

    Ragyr nodded. “Well, honestly, I do,” he groaned at Deriaz’s frustrated gaze. “Look, don’t give me that. Besides, it’ll do you good. Listen. . . It’s not like you’re going to die on this trip. We’ll be fine.”

    Deriaz sighed. “Yeah, sure, whatever. When do we leave?”

    “You’re coming, then?”

    Deriaz nodded. “I just asked when we’re leaving, didn’t I?”

    Ragyr game a wild laugh. “Ah, much better. And I didn’t even have to use force this time! Alright, then, we leave in six days, not counting today.”

    Deriaz nodded, and turned to walk away, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him. He turned to see Ragyr grinning at him, mischievously. The two stared at each other for a few seconds, until Deriaz finally spoke up. “What is it now?”

    “Funny you brought up the Brotherhood a little bit ago. . .” Ragyr chuckled.

    Deriaz turned, giving Ragyr his full attention. “How so? What did I say that was so funny?”

    Ragyr took a few steps back, jumping onto a crate. He looked ready to take his leave. “You know, they got a new member.”

    Deriaz shrugged. “So what? So they got a new member. What do I care?”

    Ragyr frowned. “And I thought you would be one to keep track of your friends.” He quickly leapt onto the roof of the building, and took off.

    “Wh—Ragyr, wait!” Deriaz yelled. He climbed the boxes quickly, but it was in vain. Surveying the rooftops, Ragyr was nowhere to be found.

    'He says I shouldn’t worry much,' Deriaz thought, 'and yet he just makes me worry more. A friend. . .? Who do I know that would join the Brotherhood?'

    He climbed down off of the boxes carefully, and began to walk again. All the while, he couldn’t seem to comprehend who of his friends would willingly join the Lord of Blades army.
    Last edited by Deriaz; 06-03-2007 at 11:33 AM.
    Thelanis - Warforged Shield of the <Fellowship of the Golden Night>

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