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  1. - Top - End - #31
    Barbarian in the Playground
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    Default Re: War of the Burning Sky: IC

    Must must have been overeager. That must have been it. Nearly an entire season without a decent battle, and when one finally appears, he ends it immediately. The orc's skull caving in at the force of his blow had a delightfully nostalgic quality to it. Krog'mar had not been one of the veterans who had fought his kin in the north. He might have known better than to use force against him if he had. At least he had done as Rantle asked, and made it quick. And he approved, judging by his raucous laughter.

    Just after the orc warrior had fallen, he knew he'd have to engage the rest of them. He readied himself to charge the people on the wagon, but before he could take a single step, a low, bass-pitched shout erupted from that direction, followed by a red beam of fire from the top of the hill. It missed the bowman by mere inches, but the following explosion of sound certainly didn't.

    After their wise surrender, Hákon couldn't help but be a little disappointed. However, with Regesia's forces not far away, it was only a matter of time before he got to use his arms for more than scaring people. With the battle concluded, he looked down at the orc's body one more time, and spoke solemnly in giant. "<You died in battle. There is no greater honor.>"

    Hákon almost balks as he's offered the small rope from Rantle, but he grasps it in his large hands nonetheless. He pulls a small length of it taut, and grins at their captives. This was going to be like threading a needle with mole hair. At Rantle's question, he keeps his gaze fixed on the mercenaries. "Thieves..." He starts with emphasis. "Lose their hand."

    Seeing no rush at the moment, he takes his time in searching them, and then with binding their wrists together in the front, not wanting to overlook anything or make a mistake.

    Spoiler: Actions
    Show
    Hákon takes a 20 on both Searching the mercenaries and then with his Use Rope check to bind them.

    This makes his Search check a 22, and his Use Rope a 20. Any weapons he finds he tosses aside on the ground out in the open. If he finds a dagger or something like it, he keeps one for himself.

  2. - Top - End - #32
    Barbarian in the Playground
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    Default Re: War of the Burning Sky: IC

    On the man, Hákon finds a shortbow and quiver with ten arrows, two daggers, a shortsword, a sap and a purse with ten silver pieces. He is wearing studded leather armor underneath a set of cold weather gear. Beneath the woman's floor-sweeping jacket, Hákon finds four throwing axes, a shortsword, a sap, two thunderstones and a purse with five gold pieces. On the inside of lining of her jacket are six pockets of varying shapes, two of which are occupied with a wand and a potion. Even the half-jotunn can tell that the leather, while mundane and useless for protection, is of particularly fine craft. She wears a chain shirt.

    As her hands are bound, the woman scowls and spits on Hákon. Rantle chuckles heartily and steps forward to gently stroke the prisoner's cheek with the flat of his ax blade. "Who paid you?" he asks gently. She sneers and turns her head away. Rantle responds by backhanding the exposed cheek hard with gauntleted hand. "WHO PAID YOU?" he asks again, a little less gently. The woman cries in pain and shies away from her inquisitor, but it is the man next to her who speaks. "A... a Jägaren. Human. Named Guthwulf." The woman has begun shaking, eyeing Rantle's ax anxiously. The rebel smiles cheerfully, "There. That was not so difficult was it?"

    He sighs and turns to face the billowing plume of smoke rising in the West to contemplate before speaking, "It occurs to me that you two are not only thieves... by stealing these, you have declared yourselves enemies of the city; strangers in my home. By taking these supplies, you might as well have slit the throats of a hundred men and women and children yourselves.." He turns to stare at the two prisoners with a maddened stare now, "There is only one suitable punishment for such villains..."

    The stare continues and he allows the two to twist at the thought of the unsaid, but perfectly understood. He smiles once again, showing off an ever-changing temperament, "However... you did not succeed and you volunteered information without much resistance. I would like to think that I am a gracious man. You have commited two crimes... but you need only be punished for one. Which do you choose?

    He points the ax at the woman and stares expectantly. Using her bound hands to rub her rapidly bruising cheek, the woman glances from her companion to Rantle, she sobs and quitely whispers, "...thievery. I accept judgement for theft."

    The rebel nods with a little too much cheerful enthusiasm, "As you wish!" He pulls a desiccated stump out from the assembled barricade and plants it in front of the woman. Coming behind her, he kicks the back of her knees, forcing her to kneel and gestures to Hákon to pull the rope taught so that both her arms and hands are laid flat out on the face of the stump. The woman stares up in confusion and fear at Rantle, "But... " Rantle cuts her off before she can protest any further. "You stole two things my dear. The supplies, of course. But also hope. The hope of a people who face an army of ten thousand crazed, maniacal earth-worshipers who would rape our women, enslave our children, and slaughter our sons and fathers; all this not for the gods, but in the name of a half-man who is cold and dead in the ground." He practically spits as his speech grows in volume and animation before it comes to a climax. "Two thefts," He shouts in her face, raising middle and index fingers, "Two hands." The woman immediately cries in horror at the judgment and in a panic, attempts to wriggle free from the bonds, but they are fastly tightened about her small wrists.

    The red-headed war hero now comes to stare pointedly at Jerid, after he's descended from the bluff. Silently, he offers the farmer his ax. The implication is obvious.
    Last edited by Redshaw; 2014-08-14 at 12:20 PM.

  3. - Top - End - #33
    Dwarf in the Playground
     
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    Jerid carefully descended the bluff once the battle was over. He could hear Rantle interrogating the prisoners, but had a hard time making out what was said while, at the same time, trying to keep himself from tumbling head over heels to the bottom. As he reached the bottom, he saw the woman, confused and with both her hands pulled taught on a stump, with Rantle shouting in her face.

    "You stole two things my dear. The supplies, of course. But also hope. The hope of a people who face an army of ten thousand crazed, maniacal earth-worshipers who would rape our women, enslave our children, and slaughter our sons and fathers; all this not for the gods, but in the name of a half-man who is cold and dead in the ground. Two thefts. Two hands."

    So they were to be punished for thievery. An odd choice. Jerid was certain Rantle was going to execute them. It was even more surprising when Rantle offered Jerid his axe. He didn't know whether to be flattered at Rantle's trust or repulsed that he would have to perform the grisly deed. The thought made him uneasy, and it showed on his face, but he quickly fought that off, took the axe, and approached the kneeling woman.

    Jerid couldn't help but glare at the woman. How dare she threaten his home and family. He couldn't agree more with what Rantle said about her. She stole the hope from his people, and therefore deserved everything that was about to happen to her. Seeing her sobbing before him brought a sort of grim satisfaction for what he was about to do. Oh yes, she deserved all of this.

    As he began to raise the axe, another thought started to nag away at his mind. This was a woman, tied, and helpless before him. Where was the honor in this? He thought he heard a voice in his head, that of his father speaking to him many years ago, "Never dishonor a woman, Jerid," he could hear him say, "They can be the greatest gifts the gods can give you. Respect them, honor them, treat them well, and they will do the same for you."

    Jerid's arms hesitated as the thoughts continued. How could he say that? This woman brought dishonor upon herself, and there were many others like her. They were not uncommon, and they faced every punishment that men did. Why would his father say this to him? He had to know it didn't apply to all. However, it wasn't as if his words were false. He remembered how his father treated his mother. He treated her well, very well, and she never forgot it. She who was always understanding, always forgiving, even when they had their rough moments. Jerid looked down again at the woman struggling to free herself, the fear readily apparent in her eyes. He wondered what his parents would think if they were here to see this. His mother, at least, would be appalled, and he realized that cutting this woman's hands off may not be a dishonor to her, but it would dishonor his mother, and Jerid couldn't bear to do that.

    It took Ankou to break him out of his reverie. The urging was simple: stop daydreaming and cut her hands off. He realized that he had been standing there with the axe raised for much longer than he had anticipated. "Rantle, I...," he said lowering the axe, "...I-I can't do it." Reluctantly, he tossed the axe aside, adding, "I won't do it."
    Last edited by PersonofJid; 2014-08-19 at 03:55 PM.
    Be happy. Be mad. Be happily mad.


  4. - Top - End - #34
    Barbarian in the Playground
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    Hákon begins tossing the armaments into a pile nearby, though taking the short sword and 'sheathing' it in his belt for himself. He even removes their armor, but allows them their warm clothing. He adds a lecherous smirk and a light chuckle when taking the woman's armor off. Defeat was always demeaning, more so for women.

    When he came to the woman's armaments, he couldn't hide the surprise on his face when he found the throwing axes. Hákon assumed daggers for her, but her weapon of choice was stronger than her male compatriot's. "A shame you didn't get to use these, kona, these are weapons of a warrior." He took her finely crafted coat as well, while too big for him, perhaps one of his number might find use for it. He threw it in a separate pile with the armor. Binding her hands was a little more colorful, as she finally showed some spirit and spit on him. He thought about hitting her for it, but he'd allow her the defiance for now. "Careful, kona, you don't want to make it tempting for us to sell you as a pleasure slave."

    Rantle's interrogation peaked Hákon's interest, though. He hated Jägaren. They had slain Álfdís, the vǫlva who had taken charge of his education when he stayed with his giant kin. Among many others. Any who called upon magic seemed particularly vulnerable to them. Guthwulf was not a familiar name to him, though.

    Things took a strange turn as Rantle had the thieves select what they wanted to be punished for. With binding up their hands as they had, Hákon thought they were going to return them to town for an official trial. Metting out justice here and now seemed a bit strange. Was he toying with them? He recalled Asgeir offering to let some female captives go if they agreed to lie with him. He would kill them afterwards.

    "You stole two things my dear. The supplies, of course. But also hope. The hope of a people who face an army of ten thousand crazed, maniacal earth-worshipers who would rape our women, enslave our children, and slaughter our sons and fathers; all this not for the gods, but in the name of a half-man who is cold and dead in the ground."

    "Two thefts," Rantle shouted in her face, raising middle and index fingers, "Two hands."

    Or maybe he hated them so much he wanted them to suffer. Definitely not something Hákon would do, but that's a matter of preference. They'd certainly earned this treatment. A look of doubt graced his face for only a moment, as he pulled the rope taught as instructed by the red-haired warrior. Understanding dawns on him as Rantle offers his axe to Jerid. He wanted to test the lad. See what his character was.

    Jerid tossed the axe aside, after a few moments of a terrified woman squirming underneath the shadow of it. Hákon liked the farmer.
    Last edited by Greymane; 2014-08-20 at 01:51 AM.

  5. - Top - End - #35
    Barbarian in the Playground
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    Rantle sighs with disappointment, striding over to pluck the ax up off the ground. He steps toward Jerid, ax gripped, his hands lifting to take the farmer's cheeks in both palms. Jerid feels the cold flat of the ax blade stinging against his face as its owner's green eyes peer deeply into his own. A few moments pass like this, the extremist staring as deeply as he may into Jerid's eyes, searching for who knew what, before eventually he releases his grasp to step back. "You have your father's eyes, he says simply before turning around and chopping the ax downward, cleanly severing the woman's hands at the wrist. Blood splatters across the wooden stump and stains the purity of the white snow. The woman offers gutteral crying as she curls onto the ground, binding rope slipping off her stumps.

    Spoiler: Jerid
    Show
    It occurs to you now that, in Gate Pass, these two would be considered war criminals, according to custom. It would be the duty of every civilian to either capture or kill these thieves. If turned over to the law, there would be no trial; there would only be an execution. After all, it is war time. Though there is no legal precedent for torture.


    Able grows immediately green-faced, glancing nervously at Rantle and then to his compatriots; the question he has is unsaid but obvious: is this right? If Rantle notices the wizard's queasiness, he does not show it. Instead he points the blood-baptized ax head at the remaining prisoner, unsaid question once again put forth. The prisoner stares at the woman writhing on the ground with a pale face but neutral expression. He then looks at Rantle and tilts his chin up proudly, chest puffing before responding, "...I choose death."

    Rantle smiles, not sadistically, but compassionately. He steps forward to clasp the thief's shoulders as though he were a comrade. "What is your name?" he asks. "Bimfur," replies the prisoner. Rantle nods his head and steps back to take a position near the stump. Bimfur follows, keeping his head upward and forcing himself to smile. "Bare witness, brothers, Rantle bellows ceremoniously, "Though he led a life of dishonor, he has chosen to die a man with faith in his heart." Bimfur comes to stand before the stump and then kneels. Rantle offers the flat of his ax blade toward the man's face, who bows to willingly kiss the cold metal. Rantle then offers a dagger to the man; no one may enter Ysgard unless they die with weapon in hand. Bimfur takes the dagger with both hands and clutches it with all his strength against his chest. "May Dáin and the All-Father see your bravery, Bimfur. And may Death grant you Ysgard." Cold tears begin running down Bimfur's cheeks, but he does not sob. The doomed man lays his face against the blood-dampened stump and Rantle takes a position for a clean stroke. The executioner looks around, capturing the eyes of each of his companions, "For his sake, do not look away. He goes to meet the gods." And with that, the large man lifts his ax and brings it down swiftly. There is a wet thump and Bimfur's head rolls off into the snow.

    Were it not for the still-bleeding woman's sobbing, silence would fill the canyon. Rantle stains the tips of his index and middle finger's with Bimfur's blood, seeping from the corpse's neck, and draws a crimson line across the brow of his forehead, speaking a quiet prayer to himself.

    Able looks to be in the verge of losing his breakfast. Borg, however, grunts and lifts a hand to point toward the Western sky. All now notice what he sees: a triangular black dot in the sky. It might be an eagle, were it not so large. It must be miles away.

    Spoiler: Hakon
    Show
    You recognize this from your first encounter with a Ragesian show of force. Wyvern-riders are an elite division of Ragesian soldiers used as both advanced scouts and shock-troopers in combat. The mounts are a horrifying foe and the riders themselves are exceedingly dangerous in martial combat. Though it's difficult to see at this distance, you feel in your heart as though this is the identity of the distant intruder.
    Last edited by Redshaw; 2014-12-15 at 11:11 PM.

  6. - Top - End - #36
    Dwarf in the Playground
     
    MindFlayer

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    Jerid could only look on in horror as Rantle severed the woman's hands. He knew this was a possibility, and he knew Rantle's reasoning. Yet, as he watched the scene unfold before him, he felt something break. He was no stranger to violence. He had protected his home from the odd brigand and wild animal, and he'd even see his father slay a man to defend their home. He knew criminals deserved punishment. But this? There was no honor in is, be they war criminals or not.

    It took a moment for Jerid to finally break from his stupor. That is, once he noticed that the woman was bleeding out on the snow. "No. No, no, no-no-no. What have you done?!" He rushed forward trying to do anything he could to stop the bleeding.

    Spoiler: Action
    Show
    Attempting a raw Heal check (1d20)[15]


    As Rantle finishes executing the other prisoner, a cold fury becomes evident on Jerid's face. "You heartless, hypocritical, cretin. You offer her to suffer only the sentence for thievery and instead you give her death."
    Be happy. Be mad. Be happily mad.


  7. - Top - End - #37
    Barbarian in the Playground
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    Hákon's hand snaps back as the rope he was holding gives way as the woman's hands are severed. They dangle for a moment before the giant drops them into the snow. He grunts and unties his handiwork from around the grisly hands and lets them lie. If the woman lived, she would never have a normal life again. It would have been better for her to have died in battle. Krog'mar's fate was to be envied now.

    The next captive wisely chose to die immediately. Wandering the mountain with no hands and bleeding to death must have seemed the worse of the two punishments. Hákon folded his arms stared into the eyes of a doomed man. All of this ceremony over the execution of prisoners reminded him of home, only those were sacrifices. These were punishments. Rantle loves the gods, maybe even considered himself to be doing their work. He wondered if that was how the man would justify atrocities- should he ever commit them.

    The half-giant watches Bimfur's head roll away from his body, and listened to Jerid's protests. Their business. Now, Hákon had his own grim work to perform. He pulled out the short sword he had taken from their captives, and went to the fallen orc's body, and plunged it into his chest. He needed his heart.

    It's then that he notices the dark, familiar shape in the sky. He curses in giant, and leaps from his position, dashing to where he had placed their spoils and grabbing them. "Vi mĺste gĺ! We must leave right now! We have no rocks and no jötunn! That winged beast will be on us if it sees us, and we must return to the city!" He takes their spoils and throws them into the cart. An offering to Thrym would have to wait. Hákon hoped he understood.
    Last edited by Greymane; 2014-08-22 at 08:53 PM.

  8. - Top - End - #38
    Barbarian in the Playground
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    As Jerid successfully staunches the arterial blood spurts emptying out from the woman's wrists, Rantle claps his hands in applause. " Ha! So you do have some fighting spirit." The man wags his finger as though the farmer were some pet that had misbehaved, "We must still wonder if you have no appetite for this work, but at least you are not apathetic."

    Able rushes to Jerid's side, attempting to aid the man in sustaining the woman's life, "We can lift her into the cart..." Borg, who has descended the bluff as well, has begun searching the bodies of the dead, removing armaments and weapons. Rantle spits onto the snow, "Why bother? Not only is she a coward; she is a dead woman anyway. She would be hung by the neck from the portcullis if we took her back, as a gift for kindly Vöra and a warning for our future besiegers." The alleged cretin turns to face the distant drake, "...if, however, you are earnest in your altruism, Jerid, her best chances would be for the Ragesians to find her." Rantle strokes his beard and a smile splits his face, "...in fact, that may be suitable. This way they might know that it is not helpless peasants and craftsmen they fight, but an entire city of skalds and shieldmaiden. They might even let her live... or they might feed her to the lindwyrm." He gestures toward the West as he speaks. "The Jägare are not famous for their pity.

    He turns to Jerid and shrugs, "Her fate is in your hands, son of Sigimund. End her suffering now or extend it; make your decision swiftly. It is as Hákon says: we must avoid the lindwyrm and make haste for Gate Pass." Rantle leaps up into the cart and so does Hundur the wolf. Borg, after throwing his ransacked claims from the dead into the wagon, takes the remaining horse - the one which bore Krog'mar. Lotho licks at the blood in the snow idly for a few moments before taking flight above the wagon. Able looks to Jerid for direction, "...this... this isn't right. Is it? What do we do? Gabal never said anything like this would happen."

    The woman shivers and whimpers helplessly in Jerid's arms, her skin pale and covered in sweat. Though the bleeding has stopped, she seems barely able to respond to stimulus, shock and pain overloading her system.
    Last edited by Redshaw; 2014-12-15 at 11:16 PM.

  9. - Top - End - #39
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    Jerid had no idea what a lindwyrm was, and at this point he didn't care. All that mattered was keeping her alive. "Help me lift her into the cart," he motions for Able to help him. For Jerid, there wasn't even a choice in the matter, "I'm taking her with us, and the city doesn't need to know about her. As far as they're concerned she's a common thief who has already paid for her crimes. What possible harm can she do to the city now? Besides, they seem to be in the habit of pardoning thieves," he would say this, giving Rantle a none-too-friendly stare. His meaning is obvious.

    "As for the Ragesians," Jerid would say trying to lift the woman into the cart, "they already know we're not helpless. We drove them out, after all. A wounded mercenary lying in the snow is not going to intimidate them, and if you don't believe me, perhaps you should ask some. We are traveling with two of them."

    Spoiler: Actions
    Show
    Provided that Able helps, Jerid would lie her down where it seems the most comfortable. He has no idea how to treat shock, and therefore wouldn't think to do anything else. However, he would offer his own cloak as an extra precaution against the cold, even though she is still in her own cold weather clothing. He'll roll for saves against the cold.
    Last edited by PersonofJid; 2014-08-27 at 01:22 AM.
    Be happy. Be mad. Be happily mad.


  10. - Top - End - #40
    Barbarian in the Playground
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    Rantle shrugs indifferently, taking reigns in hand as the woman's shivering body is loaded into the cart, "As you wish, master Jerid. My quarrel with the bitch was severed with her hands."

    Able lifts her into the cart with Jerid, but immediately steps away grimacing as he notices the blood which stained his robes during the process. It takes some fancy horsemanship to guide the wagon about in the narrow canyon, but the thief guides them like an old farmhand.

    Able struggles to lift himself into the cart, falling on the first attempt and covering his rump in snow. He is successful on his second try, though he is clumsy in mounting. Hundur licks the half-elf on the cheek when he falls prone next to the wolf.

    Bringing the cart about the corner of the canyon and out of immediate sight of the lindwyrm, Rantle peers back, "It is a day's travel to Gate Pass. Forgive me, Hákon, I do not think there is room for you in the cart now." Borg, mounted on his new horse, keeps a position about fifty feet toward the rear of the wagon so that he might spot any followers.

    Able catches Jerid's eye and speaks quietly, though not so silently that everyone else cannot hear, "What's a lyndworm? And what are we going to do with her? Rantle says she'll hang. How do we get her past the gate? There were so many guards. By the gods, what if they hang us too?! They might think we're helping her. By the gods! We are helping her!" As the half-elf works himself into a panic, the wagon-driver begins singing a song to himself as much to everyone else. It is a slow-paced and lonely song.

    It becomes apparent that the once clear, beautiful sky you greeted the day with has since grown overcast with gray clouds and whipping winds that speed through the canyons of the mountains. Snow begins to fall, delicately landing in place or melting on your heads and shoulders. The dreadful weather does little to improve the mood of anyone.
    Last edited by Redshaw; 2014-08-27 at 02:30 AM.

  11. - Top - End - #41
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    Jerid tried to be strong, but eventually he began to shiver, having given his cloak as a blanket to cover the woman. "You don't have to continue to help if you don't want to, Able," he would say, trying to stop the wizard from panicking, "I won't blame you if you denied ever helping her, but for what it's worth...thank you. You've been far kinder than I would've expected, and you didn't have to be." He gives a small laugh as a thought comes to mind, "I never thought I'd be saying that to a Gabalist." He starts to rub his hands in an attempt to keep warm, especially once the winds pick up. "I'll take responsibility for her. You do what you think is best. As for your first question: I have no idea what a lyndworm is."

    Spoiler: Actions
    Show
    Survival: (1d20+4)[12]
    Fort vs Cold (if necessary): (1d20)[3] (+4 if Survival is successful)
    Last edited by PersonofJid; 2014-08-29 at 03:11 PM.
    Be happy. Be mad. Be happily mad.


  12. - Top - End - #42
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    Able blushes in the face of Jerid's compliment, "No. You are right. She is our responsibility now."

    Rantle sighs dramatically and glances back at his companions, Jerid in particular. "I would remind you that this thief did not steal a loaf of bread or wheel of cheese to feed a starving family. She did not lighten the load of a fat, greedy merchant to clothe a naked man. She did not kidnap babe magicians, such as kind Able, to make the world a safer place." As he speaks, his voice raises in volume, but not in anger so much as in emphasis; he speaks well, with passion and from the heart. Reigns in one hand, he uses the other to lift a corner of the tarp, revealing the payload: crates. "Elixers, Jerid. Staves and wands. Arms of mystical power. Tools with which to fight the venomous lyndworms and the rock-hurling jotunn and the bloodrage berserkers and the undying mammoths and the stone-crumbling firebombs and the mage-hunting Jägare and the dragons." He hisses this last word for emphasis, "In a blizzard she would have stolen our bear skins and wind shields. In a famine she would have stolen your very family's tills and grain seeds." He turns to refocus on driving the cart.

    Able glances at Rantle and then back to Jerid for direction. The man's words appear to have affected and even shaken the wizard, "...I don't... I want to help, Jerid. I really do, but..." He swallows and very pointedly looks away from Jerid, "...maybe..." The thought is not voiced, but the question is obvious. Able's resolve is deserting him.
    Last edited by Redshaw; 2014-08-27 at 07:05 PM.

  13. - Top - End - #43
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    Hákon grunts and nods in affirmation at Rantle. No, he wouldn't be able to travel on the wagon. A gift of heritage. The spoils having been thrown into the wagon, the fire-haired warrior turned the wagon around, took off down the road. The half-giant followed, managing to keep pace by virtue of his longer strides. Seeing Able fall off the horse would have normally elicited a chuckle from him, but he eyes the sky continually, more worried about the venomous winged beast there. He had seen them before, and while his giant-kin were able to fight them off spectacularly well, he was not as skilled in hurling boulders and rocks as his brethren. Fighting one in these conditions would be difficult. He pulls a javelin out and holds it; it was no boulder, but it would have to do.

    Hákon was having a difficult time understanding Jerid's desire to save the woman. She had her chance to surrender the cart peaceably, and she received a punishment fitting for her crimes. Its execution was perhaps a little more cruel than necessary, but that hardly mattered. Far worse things could have been meted out to her in a time of war. Was it pity, perhaps? Or perhaps his resolve for violence was weak? He did manage to miss in their battle. Perhaps it was not an accident? If that's the case, he is squandering his gifts.

    At Able's wavering resolve, Hákon's frustration finally peaked. "Stop it, elfling." He spoke haltingly. "At least have the courage to stand by your convictions. Going back and forth is cowardice of character. As strange as his stance is, at least the farmer has strength to stand by his beliefs." The giant then faces Jerid. "You're bringing only trouble with you, farmer. She stole, she was caught, and she was punished for her crimes. We live, and die, with the consequences of our actions. The skalds will not sing of you heroically returning with a wounded thief, alive because you took pity with only her own choices to blame." He turned his gaze back towards the sky. "I hope you understand what you'll be returning home to with this decision."

    He keeps his gaze fixed on the sky, and addresses Able again. "And a lyndwyrm, elfling, is a great winged beast, with scales as hard as steel, and talons as sharp as blades. Its barbed tail strong enough to pierce the strongest of armor, and is quite venomous." He turns to the elven mage. "Some say they are related to mighty dragons."
    Last edited by Greymane; 2014-08-27 at 06:12 PM.

  14. - Top - End - #44
    Dwarf in the Playground
     
    MindFlayer

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    Jerid doesn't even bother to meet Rantle's glance, "Then you should have executed her. Her crime demanded it, and I would not have objected. However, if you feel like you can give a criminal like her mercy by sparing her that fate, then I can do likewise."

    He does meet Hákon's eye, however, and nods in understanding. "I know. Believe me, I do, but I couldn't leave her to die. If I did, I felt I would've dishonored my family, and what Jägare would spare a mercenary who failed in their charge and was rendered useless? I'll admit, I pity her, but it felt like the right thing to do."

    He reaches out and removes the red cloth emblazoned with the black horse from the woman's clothing. He stares at it for a few seconds before throwing it away. "A little kindness goes a long way. Saving her life could be the one thing that will change her for the better."
    Last edited by PersonofJid; 2014-08-29 at 03:33 PM.
    Be happy. Be mad. Be happily mad.


  15. - Top - End - #45
    Barbarian in the Playground
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    Default Re: War of the Burning Sky: IC

    Able shrinks in the face of Hákon's lecture, sinking into his robes as deeply as he may. "I... I'm sorry..." is all he can muster in response.

    Jerid's riposte, surprisingly, earns no heart-felt speech or patronizing lesson from Rantle. The man seems content to let the argument drop and soon the commute falls into silence. As the hours slip by, the weather only grows worse; rolling cloud blot out the sun and the pitch-colored pillar of smoke to the West disperses into the air, creating a polluting smog that becomes trapped underneath the thick cloud cover. Though they are miles behind you, the wretched stink of an army camp fills your noses and seeps into your pours. No songs are sung and no stories are shared to help the time pass; the day is drudgery.

    At one point, the monotony of the traverse is broken by the blood-curdling roar of something horrible and reptilian. The sound causes the wagon's horse to stir nervously and Rantle tugs on the reigns himself so that he might look back. He sees what you all see: unwelcoming dark skies and distant flashes of lightning, but nothing with wings.

    Ten hours pass, yet it feels as though it has been ten days by the end of them. But, ten days or ten hours, your travel eventually comes to an end.


    You find some relief in staring at the walls of Gate Pass. The city, from the outside, is imposing; its walls are massive and thick, armed guards patrolling all along its battlements and ballistae and catapults permanently festooned into architecture. Besides the wall itself, the road leading to its gate is harsh and narrow, craggy outcroppings and cliffs making it impossible for formed ranks to march against the city. How could any army, even an army of ten thousand men, march against this wall? But then again, it was been done before. Chunks of the wall were still missing from the last siege, though repairs have continued daily in the last forty years since the city's first occupation.

    Humans didn't always live in Gate Pass; it was common knowledge that the dwarves constructed the city over a thousand years ago, its massive walls designed to withstand rampaging hordes of goblins, giants and orcs. Nobody knows what happened to the reclusive dwarves that built the incredibly fortified city, but there are theories that its tall walls could do little against the irresistable breath of fierendraken - the red dragons who descended to steal the vast wealth the dwarves harvested from the depths of the Jotun-Tooth mountains. Today, the mines have long since been sealed, the fierendraken are nowhere to be found and the only thing that remains of the dwarves is the beautiful architecture and the mostly harmless ghosts that appear to haunt the city's new residents from time to time. Children of the city spend a fair amount of their time exploring the nooks and cracks of the city, seeking out entrances to the mines below where it is rumored that a dragon's ransom of gold is hidden.

    A high-pitched screech above you captures your attention and you are treated to a view of three gryphon-riders, the city's proud vanguard, flying over the walls on a patrol. Customarily, it is a good luck to have a gryphon fly over your head in Gate Pass (and even luckier to receive a gift of excrement from one).


    As you approach the city, you are halted by the picket men some several yards down from the main entrance. "Halt," he commands, clad in armor that has not been polished in some time. He approaches cautiously, spear in hand, before smiling in recognition. "...I see." The smile broadens more widely and he turns to wave back at the fellow guardsmen, "The Resistance strikes again!" There is a small cheer in response; luckily, these are the same guards whom were on post the previous night, aware of your mission and all to eager to see your return. They share their rations and their congratulations with you all, begging that you stay and tell the tale of how the supplies were recovered. Rantle politely declines the requests, claiming the necessity for a speedy delivery. Some of the guards cast wary eyes at the sight of the pale, but breathing woman in the cart, but are too happy to see your return to question it.

    Before you enter the city, Rantle retrieves a sack of what can only be a generous amount of coinage and tosses it to Borg, who still remains mounted on the horse. The tracker catches it, lifts the sack in recognition of Rantle, and then turns to ride off into the mountains, Hundur following closely behind.

    As you come close to the walls, you all feel senses of electric warmth fall over your bodies; though you are unable to detect the nature of this sensation, you feel as though you are passing through several magical protection layers before being granted access. You enter the gates to find yourself in the Western most section of the city. In peace time, this is a relatively busy district, littered with cheap vendors and poorly trained street performers, eager to greet and liberate coin from passer-throughs. But this is not peace time and the square is littered with soldiers, equipment and moving wagons. It occurs to you now that tomorrow is New Year's Eve and, traditionally, the Festival of Dreams. In all years before this, the square would be adorned with colorful kites, painted pottery intended for wish-holding and sugar-coated breads. But not this year; it will be the coldest, dreariest Festival of Dreams in nearly half a century.

    Rantle turns in his seat, capturing the attention of all still remaining with the cart, "You've done well. All of you... he stares at Jerid as he says this last part. "All was achieved and more. The spoils from the battle are yours to take and barter as you wish. Tonight and tomorrow are yours to do with as you will, but I have another mission for the three of you." His voice lowers now, eyes glancing to the left and right conspiratorially, "Be at the Poison Apple Pub tomorrow, an hour before midnight."

    Spoiler: Jerid
    Show
    You know the Poison Apple Pub is a tavern found three districts in from the Western wall. It was owned by a man named Trehan, who was taken under the protection of the city guard, until such a time he might be questioned by the "representatives" of the Ragesian Empire, and found innocent of hostile collusion. Upon his arrest, his wife sent their children to live with friends in the countryside, while she herself took up arms with the Resistance.

    Legally, Gate Pass is an ally of the Ragesian Empire, and there are those among your government who openly welcome the coming occupation force. Seeds have been let in and the Jägare have a small, but influential political grip on the city.

    Withe exception for students of Gabal's school and ordained clerics, spell-casters are legally considered "invalids" within city walls.


    Rantle glances at the wounded woman still in his cart, "...and deal with her, Jerid. I hope I don't have to warn you against bringing her tomorrow night..." Despite the gravely worded caution, Rantle smiles and then slaps the reigns of his wagon so that it might begin moving again.

    It is evening and the night is yours.
    Last edited by Redshaw; 2014-11-13 at 11:56 PM.

  16. - Top - End - #46
    Barbarian in the Playground
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    Hákon nods his head and gives a neutral grunt as a response to Jerid. Allowing the conversation to die there. The lad was naive. He'll learn soon enough, and it wasn't going to be Hákon who dragged him into the light of understanding. He doesn't even acknowledge Able response. The elfling was young, too. Locked inside of a tower to learn magic apparently didn't leave much time to learn about the world around it.

    The journey was long a dull. The trek was easier on the road, but Hákon found himself going through more water than he would've liked. He supplemented his waterskin with snow occasionally. A potentially lethal practice to someone without his ancestry to ward off cold, and not something he would attempt if they were further north.

    The reptilian roar sets him immediately on edge, and he grips his javelin even tighter, scanning the skies for its source. Finding nothing leaves him both disappointed and paranoid. The rest of the journey is a boring mess of drudgery. The atmosphere wasn't even good for singing. They won, they succeeded in their mission. And yet the quivering mess of a thief in the wagon punctuated the whole journey with uncertainty and anxiety.

    At seeing the city of Gate's Pass, his heart stirred. The unwelcoming sight it gave from the approach always made him smile. It wasn't the sort of defenses his kin would ever create. His human tribe would always move away from danger, and the giants had no need for large steel or stone walls. In truth, it was reminiscent of something the perfidious dwarves would create, or perhaps the sons of Surtr. Either way, it was a testament to what even the small races were capable of. He tried to imagine giants attacking such a fortification, and could only see failure. Hearing the winged gryphons screeching above their heads, they seemed the least threatening to giants. Hákon really wanted to know what they tasted like after being cooked over a spit, though. Bird? Or big cat? Perhaps both.

    At the joyous greeting from the guards, Hákon's face finally breaks into a grin. Finally a good mood is to be had. As Borg is payed and leaves, the half-giant offers him a respectful nod. They never spoke, but Hákon now decided he liked his bearing.

    Being given free reign over the spoils, and the freedom of the night, Hákon takes the throwing axes and the purse with five gold coins, tucking the gold into his pack, and leaving the axes on his belt for now. He continues grinning and gives both Jerid and Able hardy slaps on the back. "He's right, we did well! Celebrate tonight! War on the horizon, and diminished festival is no reason not to drink your fill after a good raid!" be chuckles gregariously as he leaves their company for now.

    Spoiler: Actions
    Show
    Hákon is going to first look for weapons merchants, if any still exist in the town, anyone who's been to the north. He's hoping (likely in vain), that he'll find weapons sized for a giant. Regardless of success or failure, his next stop is the One to Go.
    Last edited by Greymane; 2014-09-01 at 12:50 AM.

  17. - Top - End - #47
    Dwarf in the Playground
     
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    The argument seemed to have come to a close. Jerid was grateful. He had either made his point or the others didn't think it worth it to argue anymore. Either way, it didn't matter. They weren't going to talk about it anymore.

    Jerid didn't mind the silence so much. It was the wind coupled with the cold that made the journey miserable. Upon hearing the blood-curdling roar, he felt that he might get a chance to move and warm himself, but was only met with disappointment when nothing appeared. This was going to be a long trip.

    Seeing the gate to Gate Pass brought little comfort. He had passed this way many times; the grandeur of the fortifications having lost their wonder. Instead they brought a sense of dread. What was he going to do about the woman? How would he explain what happened, if they asked? What would Rantle try to do? In the end, he figured he would have to face the consequences of this action, whatever it might be. Fortunately, the guards didn't pay the woman much mind. However, Jerid's heart skipped a beat when they asked to hear the tale of their success. He readied himself to face whatever happened, but Rantle insisted they keep moving. The hero's action took Jerid completely by surprise. Whatever their disagreement, it seemed Rantle was willing to respect Jerid's decision.

    Jerid only nods at Rantle's dismissal. He may respect the man, but that didn't mean he had to like him. He removes the woman from the cart and sets her down before dividing up his share of the spoils. Jerid takes the chain shirt, the two thunderstones, the woman's long coat, and the potion, leaving the rest for Able. Hákon's slap nearly causes him to drop everything, and he hastily secures the thunderstones lest they fall and accidentally detonate. "I'll do my best, Hákon, but I don't think I'll have much time for celebration." As he picks up the woman, he nods a farewell to both Hákon and Able, "Until tomorrow."

    About the time Jerid is out of sight of his companions, he quietly laments over the dreary state of the city. The Festival of Dreams was always his favorite time of the year. Though he doubted his urn would ever be opened, it was still something to look forward to. That, at least, gave him some comfort. The city needed something to take it's mind off the coming war. Any festival, even a bleak one, is still better than having no festival at all. As he thinks this, his thoughts turn to the woman in his arms. Here was a soul who could not participate in the festivities. No hands means no means to write a dream and put it in an urn. He felt another wave of pity tug away at his heartstrings, and he silently cursed himself. "Maybe Hákon is right. Maybe Rantle is right. Maybe I am being too soft-hearted." Still...no one should be left out of a festival. Least of all, this one. Another kind deed wouldn't hurt. He can harden his heart tomorrow after the celebrations are over.

    "Woman," he says as he tries to get her attention, "What is your name?" His voice is kind and sincere, "...and what is your dream?"


    Spoiler: Actions
    Show
    Jerid will look for anyone willing to buy the thunderstones and the chain shirt, then he will head to the nearest temple of Pelor. If there isn't one, then he'll go to the nearest temple of any good aligned deity, or to Olidammara, whichever is closer. He'll pay for whatever care is needed to treat her shock and whatever else she is suffering from due to losing her hands. He won't ask them to restore her hands, however.
    Last edited by PersonofJid; 2014-08-31 at 04:53 PM.
    Be happy. Be mad. Be happily mad.


  18. - Top - End - #48
    Barbarian in the Playground
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    Default Re: War of the Burning Sky: IC

    Spoiler: Merchandise
    Show
    You find that merchants, in preparation for wartime, are unwilling to buy armaments of any sort. However, you are led in the direction of an army quarter master who is willing to purchase the goods at a 25% upgrade of the usual bartering price for armor and weapons. If the quartermaster does possess giant-sized weapons, he's not selling any of his stock.



    Spoiler: Jerid: The Woman's Jacket
    Show
    The jacket can be worn over light armor, but not medium or heavy. It is a masterwork garment that holds up to 15 pounds of equipment, and it can hold items of a size similar to light weapons or smaller, including potions and wands. Pulling these items from the jacket does not provoke an attack of opportunity. Hiding an object inside the jacket gains a +4 bonus on the hide check. It weighs 3 pounds.



    Hákon, Jerid and Able are all stopped at the interdistrict gates on their way toward the inner portion of the city, each one of them guarded by at least twenty armed men and a sergeant. Hákon is requested to submit to a search of his belongings, though nothing is confiscated. There is some light questioning regarding the wounded woman, but seeing that she is already being tended for, the posts decide not to take on responsibility for her well-being.

    As Hákon splits from the group, Able mutters a quiet farewell and makes his own way deeper into the city. He undoubtedly returns to the safety of the war school where he lodges. He leaves you a quieter, more somber wizard, head no longer held high and shoulders sagging. The voyage into the mountains appear to have changed him.

    The 'One to Go' is a seedy tavern one interdistrict gate in from the Western most entry gate. It is built against a series of walls paralleling the elvish ghetto of the district. There are three known elf ghettos within the city and though Hákon's typical haunt is in close proximity of one, the giant has never actually seen it. The elves prefer their privacy and isolate themselves by hiding entrances to the ghetto behind secret doors which humans and orcs (and giants, in this case) are aught to not notice.

    Hákon may notice that the door has been replaced since his last visit; this one thicker and of better lumber. The tavern itself is lightly populated and even though there is a fire in the hearth, it feels almost as cold inside as it does outside. A trio of elves in shoddy clothes sit in a corner, muttering in their ancient tongue and playing a game with wooden dice. The half-elvish musician who commonly plays in the evening time is nowhere to be found and even red-cheeked Brom, the ever half-drunk barkeep, is sober tonight. He stares at nothing while wiping a glass with a rag foul enough that it might be used to clean a latrine as often as it cleans dishes. Still, Hákon's arrival does bring some cheer to the otherwise dour mood of the bar. Brom forces a smile, "Hákon! Come to drink me out of house and home again, no doubt!" An incredibly bushy eyebrow lifts as he spies the shield on Hákon's back. "I see you brought back the door. I hope you brought enough Emperors to pay for the new one." "Emperor" is a colloquial term for gold currency featuring a profile of Coaltongue; another remnant of the last occupation that the city has ironically embraced as custom.

    ***

    Jerid's question causes the woman to stir. As she does, she gains recovery of her legs and comes to stand, leaning more than a little on the farmer for support. His question washes over her unanswered, perhaps she did not hear or perhaps she did not care to respond. Still, she does not resist the man's guiding efforts.

    The church of Mora is not as popular these days as it was before the occupation years ago, though the griffon riders, vanguard of the Gate Pass military, still bear her sun on their tabards. Faith shifted toward a more militant aspect and the churches of the All-Father, Dáin and Sigarda; some might even argue that Kordo has become more popular. Still, the temple to Mora remains tall and in good upkeep, no doubt in thanks to the generous donations from Knights of the Aquiline Cross, who revere sweet Nuala, generous Gylfi and wise Mora as the patrons of their order's altruistic quest.

    Spoiler: Jerid's Knowledge: Knights of the Aquiline Cross
    Show
    The Knights of the Aquiline Cross are clerics and paladins who see healing as the best way to fight evil. They cannot refuse using their healing powers to those who ask (though they're not required to heal enemies who have not surrendered). They may be found anywhere, though most often in human-settled lands. Followers of the order who maintain their vow of healing are said to miraculously survive injury, as if they simply do not bleed from seemingly fatal wounds. Knights of the order quest to locate the Aquiline Heart, a healing relic said to have been torn from the chest of a mighty eagle by a fierce dragon.


    The temple is found six gates into the city and with each gate, there is less and less military presence. But the streets are nearly empty, covered in snow and ice. There are no decorations, there are no vendors selling hot and sweet drinks, there are no magic shows or musicians. Just the cold and the dread of coming battle.

    The temple is a warm difference to the dread outdoors. It is constructed into the side of the city's wall and is quite tall, several bridges from its upper stories connecting with other neighboring buildings. The inside is warm and populated by the homeless and the scared. A young priest, bearing the tabbard of the Aquiline Cross entertains a gaggle of children with a beautific rendition of the age-old fairy tale.


    "Two of the primordial elemental forces, their hunt and chase of each other created the sun and the moon, storms, lightning, thunder, and fire.

    For the Dragon, the water’s Kraken was bane, impossible to reach and fight. The Worm of the earth was too simple a foe, completely blind and unable to fight back, too slow to flee. So the dragon fought the Eagle of sky and wind, swift and nimble, soft and hard to grasp.

    For the Eagle, both sea and stone proved no sport, barely able to give chase. The Worm was too hard-mantled to be hurt, too lumbering to give chase, too dim to ever be a challenge. The Kraken was trapped in the depths, and was like grass under the wind, always moving, but never damaged. So the Eagle provoked the Dragon of blaze and quickfire, long and sinuous, trailing flame from its whipping tail, its heat able to sear the Eagle’s wings and to bear the Dragon aloft to give chase.

    Legend says they flew in chase and pursuit before mankind was born, spanning the world eight times. The Eagle always evaded the Dragon, dancing higher into the clouds than the Dragon’s heat could carry it. But one long day, in a land where the sun’s warmth did not fade, the Dragon’s wile overcame its hunger, and it let the Eagle alone for a day. When the Eagle looked for the Dragon, to see why it would not give chase, it found the serpent sleeping in a molten canyon rift.

    The Eagle questioned the Dragon from the clouds above, “Why do you not chase me today? Have our eight flights around the world tired you? I see that you sleep. Perhaps you’re not the challenge I thought you were!”
    The priest changes his tones and accent to represent the characters. The eagle is feminine and haughty. The dragon, tempestuous but refined, with rolling syllables and bass vobrato.

    “You do not know your head from my tail,” the Dragon laughed. “In my chases, I have nipped at you, seared your wingtips, and scalded your belly even when you tried to trick me into the ocean. But never has the opposite been true. I grow bored.”

    The Eagle dived under a low anvil cloud to hear better. “What do you mean? I have seen you hungering for a bite of my thigh, a lick of my breast. You have not yet won.” And with that, the Eagle began to wheel away, until it heard the Dragon’s laugh.

    “You are not worth pursuit. Where are the wounds on my scales from your talons’ rake? Where do my eyes scar from your bite? I could sooner create warriors to hunt me than expect a challenge from you.” (And this was the Dragon’s only mistake, because with that sentence, it gave the gods the idea to create men, who even to this day do hunt for Dragons.)

    The Eagle spun in the air in dismay. “I am not made to fight. My wings are fragile, my tail for swiftness, not made to crush life from prey, or to crack the air with a whiplash.”

    The Dragon said, “And that is why I will sleep here until something worth hunting arrives. Perhaps the Kraken will play with you, child.”

    The Eagle crackled with thunder in anger. “I am no child! I have claws, and a beak as sharp as the Southern Wind! Lightning strikes at my call, and gales will tear down mountains at my command!”

    Finally, the Dragon raised its head, looking at the raging storm surrounding the Eagle. The Dragon lowered its gaze in a shrug. “Yet you still have not harmed me.”


    The story-teller pauses to notice Jerid, smiles, and stands to approach him, much to the vocal complaint of his audience. He hushes them and focuses on the woman in Jerid's company, "...I see." He is young, quite young, but his eyes possess a wisdom in them that even a blind man would see. He possesses an angelic beauty, his hair an unearthly shining gold and his eyes as blue as sapphires."Welcome, traveler, to the temple of Pelor." He takes the woman's scabbed wrists in his hands and closes his eyes. As he does so, he continues the story aloud.

    With a cry of challenge, the Eagle sent down a stroke of lightning, striking the Dragon’s left arm and spraying magma to the wind. Roaring in pain, the Dragon rose into the air, and the Eagle dove, eager to prove its strength. But the Dragon dodged the Eagle’s claws, and twisted its neck away from the Eagle’s bite. Then the Dragon flew away, carrying its flaming tail close across its own belly. The Eagle gave chase.

    Swifter than the Dragon, the Eagle caught up and tried to attack, but always the Dragon would evade an attack, or shove the Eagle out of reach, then fly on, letting the Stormchaser Eagle give chase. Over and again, the Eagle would try and fail to strike a blow upon the Dragon. In its frustration, it shook loose many feathers, which fell across the world as the Eagle tried to wrestle the Dragon.

    They crossed the world in the chase, and slowly the Flameset Dragon began to tire, the pain from the Eagle’s first lightning bolt finally having a toll. The Dragon flew back to its lair and dove into a wide tunnel that lead into the earth. The Eagle dove after, sure that the Dragon would soon be too weak to fend it off, but it was only after a long chase deep into the tunnel that it noticed how narrow the tunnel walls were. The Dragon could slither through the passage easily, but the Eagle only barely had enough room to lance its great wings. Afraid of going much deeper, the Eagle gave one last great flap, then pressed its wings to its body and dove for the Dragon.
    The man's hands have begun to glow and energy shifts from his finger tips into the woman's wrists.

    And it was just then that the Dragon let loose its flaming tail.

    Unable to dodge, the Eagle flew into the fire, which seared its eyes and blinded it. Before it could turn to flee, the Dragon had its coils wrapped around the Eagle, squeezing out its life. The Eagle’s screams echoed through the tunnels, and with one swift bite, the Dragon tore out the Aquiline Heart. At the first taste of blood upon its tongue, the Dragon felt a great power tingling through its body, giving it strength. Its flesh began to change, and wings began to grow from its back. The Dragon discarded the dying husk of the Eagle, and dropped the still beating heart protectively in its coils, then began to lick the blood from the walls and floor, every moment feeling itself growing stronger.

    Then came the rumbling voice of the Worm. “You have killed the Eagle, and now you grow too strong. I can feel it through my skin, and if you do not leave, I shall bring down stone upon you. This is my realm, and none defy me.”
    The glowing energy dies and as it does, the woman's stumps have collected flesh. Her hands are not restored, but the wounds have sealed. He turns to focus once more on the children, coming to walk among them and touching each of their heads as he speaks.

    But the Worm was blind, and with another bite from the heart, the Dragon gained mastery of sound. In the voice of the Eagle it said, “You are mistaken, oh Worm. Our chase simply led us deep into your realm as it never has before. Hear me now, I am well, but if you command it, we will leave.”

    The Worm was suspicious, but it could still feel two hearts beating, so it moved to let the Eagle and the Dragon pass back up the tunnel. The Dragon lifted the body of the Eagle, and carefully held the Aquiline Heart in its teeth, then started to leave.

    But as the Dragon passed, the Worm said, “You must never fight so dangerously. If one of us were to grow too strong, we would have to destroy that threat. Your fight has endangered the balance. Remember that before you fight again.”

    The Dragon left quickly without another word, but it knew that despite the great desire it held for the blood and flesh of the Heart, it could not destroy the Heart, or else the Worm would know, and it and the Kraken would destroy the Dragon. So the Dragon, strong now with its new body, swift as the wind and dangerous as flame, buried the Eagle’s body in a land halfway around the world from its lair. Then the Dragon hid the Aquiline Heart near its lair, but in a place even it would not be tempted to feed upon it.

    Then, fearful of its remaining companions, the Worm and the Kraken, the Dragon returned to its lair to sleep, content to bask in its new strength and power."


    At the tale's conclusion, the children smile and whisper to one another. The young priest stands, "And so, children, we must remember: much like Emperor Coaltongue, the dragon became the strongest creature in the world. It also teaches us that those with too much power risk being turned upon by those around them. Would that the old Emperor heeded this tale, perhaps he would yet still rule."

    The children applaud at the conclusion of the tale, which the priest accepts graciously, bowing generously. The audience then disperses to find their mothers and fathers, who gather at the rear of the temple in prayer and quiet conversation in the intimate coziness of the temple. The priest approaches Jerid and the woman once more, "I apologize for dividing my attention. She has wounds that I cannot heal... and not just her hands, I fear." The woman stares silently forward.

    "There is no charge. Dark days approach and I believe that only kindness will see us past them. If you must offer an exchange, there is a collection box at the front."
    Last edited by Redshaw; 2014-12-23 at 01:09 AM.

  19. - Top - End - #49
    Dwarf in the Playground
     
    MindFlayer

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    Oct 2007
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    Default Re: War of the Burning Sky: IC

    Jerid more than welcomed the warmth inside the temple. The atmosphere inside, filled with the fearful and the needy, actually gave him hope that he would find help here. He waited patiently, listening in while the priest told the grand tale. It was one Jerid had heard many times before, and he hoped he would get the chance to hear it many more times hence. Everything seemed uncertain right now, but having something familiar helped to ease the tension.

    Jerid could only watch and steady the woman as the priest healed her hands, but the priest's comment afterward only served to confuse him. "I don't understand. What other wounds does she have? Is she sick?" His mind frantically tried to think of an explanation. It did not occur to Jerid the other dangers of being so severely injured. It was possible that she contracted some sickness during the journey home. Wounds, even bound ones, could still become infected if not properly treated. The priest could have only healed the wound, but not the disease. Or perhaps it was something else. She had not spoken since the interrogation, and she had been in a delirium during the whole rest of the journey. Did the trauma of losing her hands somehow take away her ability to talk, or was she so emotionally scarred that she had lost her mind? Was it both? "What am I going to do? What more can I do?" Jerid didn't know. He truly, honestly didn't know.
    Last edited by PersonofJid; 2014-09-12 at 02:46 AM.
    Be happy. Be mad. Be happily mad.


  20. - Top - End - #50
    Barbarian in the Playground
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    Default Re: War of the Burning Sky: IC

    The priest smiles generously, reaching out hand with thin fingers and oddly well-manicured nails to touch Jerid. Should the farmer allow it, the contact would instill an almost immediate sense of peace and tranquility within the man, as if all the troubles of the present were eons away. The battle is over, for now. There is nothing left to be done. "Be at peace, sir. You have done all you can. I speak of wounds within." He points to his forehead, "Here." He points to his heart, "And here."

    He now gestures toward the temple's entrance, "You may stay here for the night, if you desire, though I imagine more of the flock will gather here as the hour of besiegement approaches. You may be comfortable elsewhere." The woman swallows nervously at the prospect of leaving and mouths a protest, though no words come out. Whatever trauma she suffered in the mountains, it keeps her from speaking aloud now.

    "When in doubt," the priest turns and gestures above toward the candlelit carvings of Pelor and his martyrs, permanently and beautifully captured in the architcture of the temple's ceiling. In the center of the temple's ceiling sits a massive, bright orb, unflickering and brilliant - not at all unlike the sun which Pelor holds in his domain."Look to the Gods."
    Last edited by Redshaw; 2014-09-13 at 02:25 PM.

  21. - Top - End - #51
    Dwarf in the Playground
     
    MindFlayer

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    Default Re: War of the Burning Sky: IC

    The priest's advice was...oddly comforting. Unnaturally so. However, considering he was looking for comfort, he decided not to worry about it. Maybe that was also a part of the priest's influence; Jerid didn't know. After a minute or so, he realized he was thinking about it too much and decided to just go on.

    Jerid arched a brow at the woman's silent protest. She seemed very much awake and alert now. Perhaps it was only her ability to speak. "I think staying here would be best. She doesn't seem to want to leave, and I think she'd be safer here, and more welcome, than anywhere else I can think of." Yes, the thought seemed the most rational. Yet as Jerid looked around, he couldn't help but feel that there had to be something else he could do. The priest gestured towards the center orb, "Look to the Gods," he said, but it was the sight of an urn that caught Jerid's attention. An urn...he hadn't written in his yet. Perhaps the Gods could be of help.

    Jerid turned to leave, but stopped as he passed the donation box. Pulling out the money he received after selling his share of the loot (about 105 gp), he donated all of it to the temple. Then returning to the priest, he offered the woman's jacket. "This belongs to her. Please, make sure that she's taken care of." Then, as an afterthought, he removed the necklace that bore Ankou, giving that to the priest as well, "And give her this. I will return for it in the morning."

    As he turned to leave once more, he focused his thoughts to his psicrystal, "Ankou, I want you to keep tabs on things while I'm away. Watch over her as you would me. Alert me if there's any danger. I'll be back tomorrow." He could feel the psicrystal's silent affirmation, "Oh," he added before stepping out the door, "Try to learn her name."

    Spoiler: DM
    Show
    Jerid will be travelling to the cave where he found the Trillith. Oh, and just so you know, Ankou isn't powerful enough to move or speak telepathically yet. His method of communication is all through thoughts, feelings, and impressions. Still, he will try to do exactly as Jerid instructed him with single-minded determination.
    Be happy. Be mad. Be happily mad.


  22. - Top - End - #52
    Barbarian in the Playground
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    Default Re: War of the Burning Sky: IC

    The priest clutches the necklace as though it were a robin's egg and bows deeply before the psion, his left hand forming a symbol of peace by straightening the index and middle fingers, while clenching the remaining, "May the sun always shine on your path, goodsir."

    By the time Jerid arrives at the Southern gate, leading to the outlying farms of his family and the caves hidden within the cliffs, night has fallen completely. Jerid finds himself standing before a barred gate with at least forty men patrolling its length and guarding its entrance. It would appear as if the city has closed itself for the night. Not an uncommon practice, especially with looming battle.

  23. - Top - End - #53
    Dwarf in the Playground
     
    MindFlayer

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    Default Re: War of the Burning Sky: IC

    Jerid stared at the closed gate and the large number of guards patrolling it. It would seem that his plans would have to wait until morning. Until then, he would have to find a place to spend the night. Fatigue had begun to weigh heavily on him. Yes, sleep sounded very good right now.

    Spoiler: Actions
    Show
    Jerid will find the closest inn to rest in for the night. Returning to the temple right now would be too awkward. He has no other business tonight. Tomorrow morning he will return to the temple like he said he would.
    Last edited by PersonofJid; 2014-09-18 at 07:14 PM.
    Be happy. Be mad. Be happily mad.


  24. - Top - End - #54
    Barbarian in the Playground
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    Spoiler
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    He will sell the throwing axes to the quartermaster, gladly.


    Hákon squints his eyes at the wall surrounding the elvish ghetto, on his way to the tavern. Elves were small and fragile, but quick and clever, and their women had an otherworldly but alluring quality to them. He liked the idea of finally spotting one of the ways into their quarter, but it wasn't something he was overly concerned about. He had never dealt much with them, and didn't expect that to change anytime soon. He had difficulty relating to a people who wouldn't laugh at a bawdy joke over some mead, and preferred quiet conversation and wine. Able seemed nice enough, but then he was a mutt, much like Hákon himself was. Perhaps he enjoyed a bawdy joke over some wine.

    The One to Go was a seedy tavern, but Hákon's favorite stomping ground. Its reputation for harboring thieves and criminals never bothered him, but maybe that's because he never put much stock in the town's laws themselves. Men will do what they must to get by, and no ordinance, law, or punishment was going to change that unless it wielded enough influence to stop it altogether, either by uniting the people together under complete benevolent rule under a universally loved and respected ruler, or violently snuffing out all thoughts of dissension.

    He opened the new door a little rougher than he needed to, but he wanted to check it was as strong as it looked. Satisfied it didn't rip off its hinges, he marches into the tavern. He'd hoped the bard would be here, not only for some good music after a successful raid, but so Hákon could tell him about it, and spread his name and his deeds. Although smashing one orc, even a supposed veteran of the Regesian army, was not much, his story needed to start somewhere in these southern lands.

    Hákon grins mischievously at Brom, in spite of the the quiet and somber mood of the tavern itself, as he approaches the bar itself. "Aye, Brom, aye! Though I still think you should get your coin from the carpenter who sold you the first door!" the half-giant pats the his 'shield' as he sets it down next to the bar just before he takes a seat. He reaches to his belt and takes out the coinpurse with five gold coins he liberated in the ambush earlier and sets it on the counter. "I trust this'll be enough for the door and my drinks tonight?" He chuckles.

    Spoiler: Actions
    Show
    Cursory spot check to locate an elven ghetto entrance (even though I'm certain a Search would be required)

    Perception:(1d20+6)[19]

  25. - Top - End - #55
    Barbarian in the Playground
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    Default Re: War of the Burning Sky: IC

    Brom takes one of the offered coin and bites into it with blackened teeth. Satisfied with the quality of the currency, the man stashes the coins behind the counter and pours a large drinking horn of mead for the giant; the quality of the drink is questionable and might definitely be accused of having been watered down. An hour passes without incident, Brom idly chatting up Hákon and taking care to keep the customer topped off with honeyed wine.

    Hákon never hears her approach, but a tug at the belt draws his attention. There is a tiny hand wrist-deep into his pockets, searching for whatever it might find. At the other end of the hand is a face the giant knows only too well. Marna, muddy haired, bruised knees and missing more than a few of her milk teeth. Her hair is cut short to make it difficult to grab and wears pants, which are undoubtedly easier to run in than a dress; to most, she would be easily confused for a boy. She wields a finely kept short sword, which on her small frame is proportionate to a longsword. She offers a gap-toothed grin upwards with all the innocence of an imp.

    "Um... hello."


    Spoiler: Hakon's search
    Show
    The cursory search finds no doors
    Last edited by Redshaw; 2014-09-23 at 03:30 PM.

  26. - Top - End - #56
    Barbarian in the Playground
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    Default Re: War of the Burning Sky: IC

    The quality of the drinks were always in question with Brom, but sometimes it's the location, not the drink itself. Going elsewhere for a drink would be more of a hassle for Hákon. Poor drinks was an acceptable trade for better company. And the finer taverns and alehouses usually discouraged his exuberant patronage. The half-giant happily drinks and talks his time away with anyone willing to listen and share a mug.

    Feeling the all-too-familiar sensation of one's pockets being rifled though, he immediately turns about at the would-be thief. Hákon's hands immediately dart all over his pockets and satchels, making sure nothing important was taken. "Dĺlig tutta!" He exclaims at the familiar face, glaring at the young urchin girl. Marna. This wasn't the first time the little girl had rifled through his pockets, and there was no telling what she'd gotten away with in the past while he was sodden with drink. Despite that, he liked the lass. She respected nobody, and knew how to take care of herself. So well in fact, she was a big reason Hákon himself had a livelihood here. The colossal half-giant levies his bold glare at the girl for a brave, but ultimately scant few seconds before it breaks into a grin. "How are ya, tutta? If you're runnin' and ducked here to hide, I'm not saving your sorry hide again!"

  27. - Top - End - #57
    Barbarian in the Playground
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    Default Re: War of the Burning Sky: IC

    Marna offers a devil-may-care giggle and wiggles up onto a bar stool next to the giant. Hákon may notice that this behavior has only recently been developing in the time they've known together; typically Marna is very cautious to stay out of arm's reach of every body. Perhaps she has slowly grown to trust the half-giant. She flicks a copper piece onto the bar and Brom responds by planting a mug of watered down mead in front of the lass. "As if I'd need you to protect my skinny ass," she always did have a foul mouth. The lass is forced to use both hands to pick up the mug - which is almost too large for her - in order to tilt its lip back far enough for her to drink. Mead dribbles down her chin onto her filthy clothes and she wipes it off dramatically with the back of her arm.

    She leans out towards Hákon and grins conspiritorally, "Besides, my Teeth tell me that it's you who might be in the Dragon's mouth. Not me." Among the underworld of Gate Pass, there are few crews that live up to the reputation of pocket-fishing and secret-stealing as Marna's infamous Anklebiters gang; a rabid assortment of orphans and run-aways. "Normally I'd want an Emperor for this kind of grit. But I do owe you, sooo..."

    Marna pauses, tipping her head as if to consider offering a different charge, before shaking it dismissively. "Sod it. Word’s spread fast and that idiot Renard Woodsman has been swift to politically separate his gang of Horses from the thieves in the mountain, but also has declared war on Rantle, his boys, and some pet jotunn of his for the 'insult of false accusation.' It doesn't make him any more popular than he is already and nobody believes him, but he’s got the coin, the muscle and enough guards in his pocket to get away with it. He’s also got a new pet himself."

    She tips the mug again to precariously drink, "Kratos. Ragesian. New in town. Some say he's the bastard son of a Ragesian general. Others say he's the bastard son of a witch. All seem to agree, he's one bastard of a fighter." She shrugs, "Maybe you two bastards can have a bastard fight to see who's a bigger bastard, you fat bastard."
    Last edited by Redshaw; 2015-01-02 at 08:05 PM.

  28. - Top - End - #58
    Barbarian in the Playground
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    Default Re: War of the Burning Sky: IC

    The blue giant laughs off Marna's warnings, confident in his abilities and entertained by her voraciousness. The night slips along easily enough, Hákon hardly having a difficult time entertaining himself with the lack of large company. At some point Marna slips off into the night and by the time he himself is ready to leave, Brom has already swept the floors and cleaned the mugs.

    The giant stumbles out of the bar, humming a drunken war shanty as he saunters his way to the shack he calls home. Unfortunately for Hákon, getting there requires stepping through many back alleys and side streets. Typically, the giant has little to worry from pick pockets and muggers, who prefer to target easier marks than him. But this morning, blue light just beginning to wash the city in a morose hue, Hákon finds himself surrounded in a cutthroat alley by men with dark cloaks and murderous intent.

    The giant shakes his head, attempting to clear his mead-soaked mind as he recognizes the immediate peril. A stray dog barks, a blade sings at is unsheathed, blood splatters on frost-rimed cobblestone.

    ***

    Jerid wakes with a start. It is not bad dreams that stirs the man, but an immediate, tearing emotion of both horror and confusion. Not his own, but Ankou's.

    Spoiler: Distance
    Show
    The Inn Jerid resides in is 3/4ths of a mile from the Temple.
    Last edited by Redshaw; 2014-11-17 at 02:54 PM.

  29. - Top - End - #59
    Dwarf in the Playground
     
    MindFlayer

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    Default Re: War of the Burning Sky: IC

    Jerid didn't know how long he slept, but it wasn't long enough in his eyes. Fighting off his drowsiness, he tried to focus on the surge of emotions that woke him. Whatever caused it was strong enough to rouse him from the deepest part of his rest. It felt familiar, and yet intensely alarmed. Something was very wrong, but what could...?

    Ankou!

    Once the realization finally clicked, Jerid grabbed his things and was out the door of the inn as fast as his legs could carry him. Ankou was in trouble, and that meant the woman was in trouble. There was no time to waste.

    Spoiler: Actions
    Show
    He's heading back to the Temple of Pelor. He'll be looking for either the priest who he gave Ankou to, or the woman as soon as he gets there.
    Last edited by PersonofJid; 2014-11-18 at 04:36 PM.
    Be happy. Be mad. Be happily mad.


  30. - Top - End - #60
    Barbarian in the Playground
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    Default Re: War of the Burning Sky: IC

    Snow has purified the city's streets and the sun would barely be visible cresting the eastern gate, were it not for the thick, broiling clouds that polluted the sky in all directions. Puffs of fog escapes Jerid's breath as he moves through the streets, crunching sounds echoing beneath each foot step; before long the snow will melt and then freeze, making the cobblestone dangerous to tread.

    The streets are nearly abandoned at this hour, save for huddled guards and stubborn merchants who make shop despite there being no customers. A great pillar of smoke has begun arising in the west and it can only be assumed to originate from the besieging army; they must be near.

    But priorities first: Jerid's second soul's terror calms as he draws near the temple, replaced by despair. There are a mixture of tracks moving in and out of the cathedral's entrance, leading in different directions. Jerid enters to find some refugees sobbing and clutching their children close, but besides that there is no sign of a struggle. A quick search reveals that Ankou is on top the collection box but neither the girl nor the priest are where Jerid left them.

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