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Out of nowhere comes a voice, "Where am i? Uhh i supposed to be at some court thing but all i remember is being offered another beer and always excepting. WHAT THE HELL! ITS DARK!! Then you see one of the palidins saddle bags flip up and a small head looking out. A strange thing too becuase the gnome has odd golden eyes and green hair and is wearing just a plain shirt and pants. He stares at the adventuring party and says ,"This is akward. Ooh whos saddle bag is this and-WOW what a horse!as he looks over the edge. He climbs up onto the saddle and you see he is incredibly short even for a gnome. He is smiling and his face is quite fine but blod is on his front shirt and it is obviosoly not his. He looks around,"So does anyone know about a court and where it is? wait, where am i? oh yeah nice to meet you all i am Chuck Norris.Smiling at the party and looks kinda worried when he looks at the palidins holy symbol.
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"Ok so what did you get to hit?" "I rolled a 1 again..." "That is your sixth one!!" "It's not me it's the sword, it's a cursed magic item!!"
Loge stares likewise at the odd gnome, taking solace from the fact that there is actually someone he can, literally, look down upon. Loge, always the opportunist, walks over puts his arm around the gnome's shoulder.
"Greetings! The name's Loge Codicus. And I am here to enlighten you!"
Loge puts his arm around the gnome's shoulder, guides him off to the side, and leans in conspiratorially.
(Whisper to Chuck)
Spoiler
"Now Chuck, I'm guessing that the court you mean is actually the Council of Hothmalor back there," Loge whisperers to him. "They've just recruited us to go hunt down some goblins up north. I'd advise you to come along, especially since the paladin has a violent streak and you were just found in her saddlebags." Loge jerks his thumb at Daiyanissa. "She acts nice but don't let that fool you. You seem smart; stick with me and we'll be bound to get something nice, and by nice I mean expensive, out of this."
((OOC: I found the necklace and what class are you, wg?))
((OOC: Greetings, Wingover. I apologize for Neshi's reaction--- he is very jumpy, to say the least...))
Presently…
“Shards of…!” Neshi swears abruptly as the gnome, ‘Chuck Norris’ pops out of the paladin’s saddlebag. He just barely manages to restrain himself from drawing his sword at the strange, small creature. His brow furrows as he tries to make sense of the gnome’s fast-talking.
He frowns at the unsavory story and scowls at the bloodstains across Chuck’s shirt. Neshi draws his khopesh slowly and gets off his donkey. He throws a glance at Daiyanissa and asks, “Milady, is this thy slave or thy captive?”
He tightens his grip on his weapon and further inquires of the gnome, his nostrils flaring, “Or art thou a fugitive criminal, fleeing the chains of justice? Shalt thou tell us that the blood on thy tunic is but pig’s blood and ye took a tumble through the market? And saith thou that thee’d took some ale yestereve… be thy judgment flawed, then? And what manner of creature art thou--- never have I seen nor heard of thy kin nor thy kith…?”
A little earlier…
Spoiler
As Daiyanissa pumped her fist in the air, the steel of the gauntlet caught the noontide sun and gave off a dazzling shimmer. Neshi blinked against the sudden flare and then…
The lush green grass at his feet shriveled away and the rich soil choked into motes of dust and a sea of sand. The bushes became briars and the strange-smelling trees lost many limbs and became majestic palms.
His current companions’ complexions grew dark and bronzed and in mere heartbeats become like his own. Their clothing became loose cloaks and burnooses and veils and masks, the better to guard against the suddenly searing sun.
Glancing over at Daiyanissa, Neshi gasped as her fiery, copper-hued hair suddenly glowed with a golden light and doubled in length, the very tips of it brushing her knees. The sword across her back grew curved like his own and Neshi’s jaw dropped when she glanced at him for her face was alabaster-fair and glowed with divine radiance.
He almost reached out in an embrace, whispering, “D… milady Ankhutar, thou hast returned!” But then he stopped when her mount, a massive hawk-headed sphinx whinnied, snickered and bent down to chew a stray tuft of grass.
The present flooded back to Neshi and he snapped to attention rather awkwardly. His face was grim once more as he slammed a fist into his breastplate in salute. “I shall follow thy lead, milady.” Then, he turned to his companions and said, “If ever ye be injured, I pray thee come unto me and gladly receive the healing light of Horus-Re most holy”
Just after the Council Meeting, browsing through the Royal Armoury…
Spoiler
...Sorry. Please wait. This part is still under construction.
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Hey, you. Yes, you. Come on. SMILE.
Daiyanissa, shocked to find a gnome in her saddlebags, reached out and wrapped her delicate fingers around his neck in a tight grip. Leaning closer to him she growled,"What the hell are you doing in my bags?" still angry, she didn't even try to detect evil ((ooc: i don't know your char's alignment)), and threw the gnome to the ground. "I will thank you kindly to stay the hell out of my stuff. AND off of my horse" She turned and mounted.
After Her group was at ready, she noticed a parchment sticking out of the Gnome's pocket, similar to her own. She sniffed at the realization that he was now one of her group. So be it. But she was keeping an eye on him.
"Let's be off!" She commanded, and went to the front of the group to Lead. She started to go through the North Gate when she had an odd feeling course through her veins. She quickly looked back at the men following her, oddly nervous about some of them. She knew Martin was a good fellow, and Neshi. But That Loge fellow was a very suspicious man, and the Gnome gave her a shiver. She was still undecided on Yorrick, he seemed a very nice young warrior, not afraid to get dirty, She liked that. But Not enough was known about the man.
She continued to Guide Sir Micheal up the slight slope of the road. Deep in thought, but continuously looking for something to go wrong, she contemplated the drastic turn her life had taken in the past two days. 'Some Change is good...', she reminded herself warily.
"So... can i have a horse? Can i have a drink, man im thirsty is that a bar!! Lets stop thier! Why isnt anyone listening to me. why do you all talk slow and whats with the armour i dont need armour im too slick. Thats right im a pro at fighting. HIYAH!As he leaps off the palidins horse straight towards the dirty warrior.
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"Ok so what did you get to hit?" "I rolled a 1 again..." "That is your sixth one!!" "It's not me it's the sword, it's a cursed magic item!!"
As the procession heads through the gate Loge takes up his rightful place - sitting in the back of the horse drawn wagon provided by Hothmalor. As he begins to get comfortable he sees the ever-eccentric Chuck resume his antics.
"Oi! Dai! Is there a map or something of where we're heading? It's kind of hard to hunt for hobgoblins if we have no idea where we're going, and we'll obviously need a plan." Loge yells out, half legitimate interest, half trying to distract her so she doesn't kill the resident fool.
"So... can i have a horse? Can i have a drink, man im thirsty is that a bar!! Lets stop thier! Why isnt anyone listening to me. why do you all talk slow and whats with the armour i dont need armour im too slick. Thats right im a pro at fighting. HIYAH!As he leaps off the palidins horse straight towards the dirty warrior.
Irritated, Daiy's left eyebrow began to show a slight twitch. 'Calm down, Calm down. One of the Lord's creatures, he is not trying to kill your senses with his stupidity...' She looked back to see him jumping around, bragging about his fighting abilities. Having heard about enough, she turned her horse towards the jumpy gnome. "Ok, So your fighting skills are top notch, eh? How would you fare against a crossbow bolt? Or an Arrow that you don't even hear coming? Did you think that you could challenge them to a bar fight? Ready to knock those pieces of wood out with your fists? Surely some kind of armor could not go amiss, even for a gnome of your abilities?" She said sarcastically, Ready to throttle the little ball of annoyance. She looked him in the eyes with confidence and challenge, "And might you consider hushing your shrill little voice? We are in Territory that could be filled with Hobgoblins at the ready to kill us all, and I am not going to let them down one of us, not while Im in charge. If you keep this up though, I may have to rethink a few things." She whispered harshly. Giving him one last cold look, she turned and went back to the front.
She took a few deep breaths to calm herself, and replied readily to Loge, "The Council said up near the North Gates, in the Caves. As far as I know, there are only one set of caves up this way. We can wing it farther then that, For the Hobgoblins anyways."
Neshi keeps his khopesh at the ready, wary of the shady character that the gnome presents. Nudging his donkey lightly with his knees, he hums an old marching shanty...
Ho! Day
Shall come
Again!
Keep faith!
And march!
Ho! Day
Shall come
Again!
Keep faith!
And March!...
Onwards, ever onwards he marches, following the maiden of light.
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Hey, you. Yes, you. Come on. SMILE.
Well, if he really is as good at fighting as he says, then we've received some much-needed help. If not, his noble sacrifice in battle buys us some time... Why am I thinking like this?
Martin hangs his head and concentrates on how to win the upcomming battle.
Neshi blinks against the westering sun and heaves a sigh.
So much had changed in the ages that he had slept in stone and yet, it seemed that much more had remained the same. Avarice and wickedness still abounded. As always, it was an uphill battle for the forces of light for 'tis easier for one to destroy the light within than to defeat the darkness without...
Shards! Is it in pondering these questions of conscience that one falls from grace, or is it the will of Ra made true by the hue of Djauwety that mortals should upon these inquiries wonder... for how else could we discern the difference from light and dark?
And so 'tis that knowledge of this new world, this new age, I seek... but whom shall I ask?
He gazes over his companions and tries to gauge who of them will most likely yield the most moon-truth.
At the prospect of asking the quirky gnome, he snorts… and then rethinks. Did he not mention that he was good at fighting? To fight, and fight well while that small… but then, ‘tis not of fighting that I seek to ask…
The small fellow, the one called Loge, lounges in the sled-that-rolls, his mop of brown hair bouncing every so often. He was the one who procured beer that tasted like camel’s spit back at the wayfarers’ rest-house. Looking him over, Neshi judges him adept at sneaking and scouting… but then, he smells like a scorpion…
At the head of the column, astride her stripeless zebra, Daiyanissa’s stance is rigid and alert. Ever and anon, her head moves, her gaze likely scanning the horizon for signs of an ambush. “Never interrupt a superior officer, boy, especially when they be on point! Only ask questions in the tent of the high-ups, never on the field!”, he heard his father’s voice shouting in his ear.
Neshi’s eyes drift to the broad back of the fighter who called himself ‘Yorrick’. He was surely a man of might and a wandering warrior with as many glorious tales as he had scars. Neshi smiles nostalgically, reminiscing that in such respects, Yorrick is not unlike Khur-kol of old. His smile swiftly turns bitter when he suddenly realizes that Yorrick is no Khur-kol, just as Daiyanissa is no Ankhutar...
His heart rebukes his reason and his mind turns away in shame.
Spoiler
His last meeting with then-Captain Khur-kol flashes before his eyes.
It was a windy morn and Re had yet to rise. Neshi looked up into his tall friend's eyes, shadowed within the burnoose. They clasp arms in the manner of affable warriors and Neshi's elbow suffers from the bigger man's iron grip.
“So, this is it, then, Captain?” he asks, releasing Neshi’s arm.
“Aye. No more do I find mine zeal under Nimlot’s banners but beneath those of a higher power, Horus-Re. But still, I cherish mine memories and am proud of when I served Nimlot’s Nome” Neshi replied, squinting against the rising of both sand and sun.
“If anything I’ve learned, here at Sanctum, ‘tis that salvation is true and there is power in prophecy…” Captain Khur-kol punched his former commanding officer’s shoulder and said rather jokingly, “But methinks we shall meet again. Though pass a thousand battles over strange lands, we shall meet again”
The memory passed and then he recalled once more, but yestereve or so it seemed to him that he was torn from the world in a flaring fire. He recalled Lightbringer Ankhutar’s last despairing words to him as he had gasped his final question ere he died--- whether he will meet her again in this life or the next…
Hers was the last voice that he heard before he embraced an eternity of oblivion. “Perhaps we shall… But if we do not, and my claws tell me that we shall not… live your life, Neshi! Love on, for love is the one true light!”
But then, is it mere coincidence that two whom I loved, now seemingly arisen like the scarab from the worm, now walk and speak and act almost as… as had they a thousand years gone?
Neshi shook his head and made the Sign of the Falcon upon his breast. The heart oft knows doom ere it falls but the mind knows what doom it be, or so saith the old proverb. Am I then a fool for trusting mine heart over mine mind? Is Daiyanissa a reincarnation of milady Lightbringer and is Yorrick the same of Khur-kol? But then he pushes aside these grave thoughts and turns back to examining his current companions and seeing which would most likely yield the most wisdom of this new age...
Two men are there left. One seems to be absorbed in his own thoughts, the one they call ‘Zimdo’. ‘Tis best to leave him to his rest, methinks…
And so that leaves Martin. Neshi does not know whether it is a mirage or sweat that blurs his vision of the man called Martin. Recalling what he saw of him earlier in the day, he recalls a the attire and speech of a man of wisdom, a mage, mayhap…
Neshi decides and nudges his loudly-braying mount to where Martin is and says, “Hail to thee, Martin. I see thou art some sage or man of wisdom in these parts. Wouldst thou mind if I make of thee some inquiries regarding our quest?”
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Hey, you. Yes, you. Come on. SMILE.
After a long day of riding, Daiy decided that upon the dusk, resting would be a good idea. She had pushed them hard today, and they needed some time to camp. "OK Folks! We had a good day today! Let's set up camp!", She stopped her horse and turned around to face them all, "The faster we get this done, the faster you get some sleep. Ok, Loge, you and Chuck go get some firewood. Yorrick, brush down the animals, Martin, make a site for the fire to go in, and once they get the wood, get it lit. Zimbo, go look around, maybe there's some rabbit or something for a fresh dinner. Neshi, you're with me. We are going to set up the Tents and bedrolls" She looked intensely at them all, "Ok, move on!"
She dismounted Sir Micheal and led him over to a nearby river, unloading him herself and brushed him down. She carried his saddle and bags back to the camp, leaving him on his own to roam. "Don't worry Yorrick, I can handle him. You might want to let those other animals out to pasture as well." She went up to scratch under the Donkey's chin, "They won't run"
She went back to where Neshi stood, Smiled and picked up a tent. "Im not sure if you know these or not, but we are going to set them all up, I'll show you." They spent the next little while laughing at his attempts at her modern tents, but eventually got everything set up. "You can have my tent" she told him as she stood up.
Spoiler
Not sure if you bought a tent or not... if you did i apologize... same with knowing what they are...if you did, im sorry.
"Well, you all can do what you wish, I'll stand watch tonight." She walked over to a Log and sat down. She withdrew her sword and polish and started to clean it. 'Cleanliness is next to Godliness' she thought as she worked in silence.
Martin looks up at Neshi and smiles. "I guess you could call me that. What do you need to know?" A man of wisdom. I like that. Neshi inquires as to the nature of 'hobgoblins,' and Martin responds, "Well, I've never actually seen them myself, but I've read a few tales involving them. If I can infer anything from those old tales, hobgoblins are a tough, wicked race who fight hard and well. Then again, they always seem to lose to the valiant heroes..."
((Now))
Martin haphazardly makes the site. I think I know what I'm doing... After a couple of minutes of guesswork, Martin successfully completes the task and awaits the firewood. I hope one of them has some way of starting this fire...
Last edited by ByeLindgren : 07-01-2007 at 04:27 PM.
If Neshi's complexion is but a tad fairer than dark clay, all would have marvelled at his beet-red flush. He grinds his teeth both in shame and frustration.
How much longer shall the lady suffer for my incompetence? How much more dishonor shall stain my blood from depriving her of what is hers by right?
The plates of his armor jangle loudly as he stalks up to Daiyanissa's seat. His scowl deepens as he ponders how best to put forth his case. "When in doubt, charge", he heard his grandfather's voice advise him.
And so it is that he sits down heavily at her side, heaving a mighty sigh.
Shhhhkpp... shhhkp... shh...
The fair hand with the rag stops polishing the blade of the great sword. She looks up at him, her gaze enough inquiry.
Neshi averts his gaze and cracks his knuckles nervously. "Milady," he starts.
"I have been a soldier since my thirteenth Flood. 'Tis nigh unto ten years that I've marched and fought under my... former lord's banners"
His pace picks up as he reflects on his memories. His confidence builds as he recalls a past age of glory. "My father served in Nimlot's Guard, as did my mother. His father before him served the great Nomarch faithfully and well... as did his father before him, and his father..."
Neshi nods and smiles ever so slightly at his family's pride. "I began my duties in the Guard as a Sentinel at the camel corrals and then as a grunt in the soldiery. At eighteen Floods, I was promoted to Captain over the Third Scorpions Division and then the Amun Corps"
He blows another sigh through his wide nostrils, marvelling at the cold air that turns his breath into mist. "My point is, milady, I am no longer a green grunt who complains at every foot-prick. I was a captain and a veteran of the War of Shadows. Of course I can take care of myself!"
He places his hand over her hand and her sword. "Mayhap I can help thee with thy leadership... and perhaps other things as well?"
(OOC: Dialogue coloring for later)
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Hey, you. Yes, you. Come on. SMILE.
He places his hand over her hand and her sword. "Mayhap I can help thee with thy leadership... and perhaps other things as well?"
(OOC: Dialogue coloring for later)
She looked back down to her sword, his rough, dark hand in such contrast to her small fair ones. A small smile crept on her lips, barely noticeable to anyone who might look upon the scene. Her eyes threatened to mist, she blinked it away and looked up to him. His kind gray eyes full of pride and frustration, trying to help her. She was torn inside at his offer, she knew not of how he could defend against their evils, but she wanted to trust him. She gave a slight nod to him, and looked back down to her sword. She tried to speak, but she hesitated. Focusing on his hand she tried again,".....What do you mean, other things as well?" she asked quietly.
She studied his hand, her eyes following the lines and traces the old cuts and scars that told of his life in the military. She wondered if he felt anything from their touch, she wondered if he was as distracted as she was.
She may not have spent her whole life in training with generations of family in the military, but she knew what she was doing....sort of. She was winging it, Knowing that the group needed a leader, someone to take charge of this ragtag bunch of misfits. She didn't have his obvious concentration or training, she COULD use his help. But to show weakness was not in her blood, weakness could only end in challenge.
And yet....
She wanted to trust him. She wanted to forgo all of her training that told her not to trust, to protect but never to trust. Her mind was screaming to stop, to retreat to go back into blank nothingness. But her very soul urged her to act like a human being. Her emotions wanting to break free of her tight rein on them, her heart wanting to trust. Her internal struggle was not very apparent, other then her silence.
She wanted him to know. That was it. She couldn't let herself be torn apart by rules and arguments from within.
"You know what?" she asked quietly, but with an inner strength she pulled from deep within her. "I think I need a little help. I don't know what is going on right now, I am feeling many different emotions. You aren't like most people, are you?" She quickly looked up to his eyes, and shot down to his hand again, answering her own question immediately, "No, of course you aren't. But the real question is why." She was silent for a moment, then starting "And I can't answer that. So i guess what i want to know the answer to right now is, Why do you want to help me, with other things??" She raised her eyes to meet his, an eyebrow raised in skepticism.
Martin lies next to the site, gazing past the dusk sky and into his memories.
Rolling hills, peace and comfort. For some reason, I can only remember my home in black and white. There is no vibrance, no warmth, no nostalgia to cling to. With this comes some relief and some disturbance. Disturbance... Someone's coming.
As Loge and Chuck return with firewood, Martin stands up to greet them. "Ah, one of you must have a light! Quickly now, let's get this fire lit before Daiyanissa and Neshi return."
"Daiyanissa. Paladin of Torm, Protector of the Light.", the woman had replied, after sizing up Yorrick and judging his appearance to be inconsequential to his nature. She did not accept the proffered hand, instead choosing to look him straight in the eye.
The state of his appearance finally dawned on him. Covered in blood and market waste from the gutter, bruised and battered from last night's brawl, and eye sockets sunken from days of little rest. "Ach. Well, I never was good with these... finer details of social situations. Don't blame her for not shaking m'hand!" he thought to himself, chuckling a little.
The paladin, Daiyanissa, was saying something about the council being in a meeting. Yorrick's attention rapidly faded, his focus fluttering away from the woman before him, soaring upwards through the sky, breaking through the roof of the clouds, and then plunging back down to earth; resting upon the strange weapon girded to the belt of the still-silent foreigner. The strange "sickle-sword" fascinated Yorrick, and he wondered how it would be wielded in combat. The blade seemed to be based on the sickle, and yet the edge was on the outside of the curve. A quick flicker of sunlight lit up the blade, showing off its wicked edge for all to see. A passing cloud blocked the sunlight, and Yorrick was snapped back to attention as the sky darkened momentarily and the blade became luminous no more.
As his mental flight ended and he returned to the paladin before him, he was momentarily startled to notice that her hand was extended. "What did I miss?!" he thought, panicked that she might take offence to his drifting mental state. "Ah, the letter!"
Recovering with as much grace as he could, still hoping that the paladin had been too caught up in her own words to notice his fickle sense of patience, he handed over the letter after a brief pause.
"Yeah, looks like your with us." she said, sighing silently, "One of two options, go and get yourself cleaned up, as we leave shortly for the outskirts of the city, or get in there and make yourself known to the council, as they are providing you all horses and other equipment. I suggest you go introduce yourself, Tell them I sent you in and not to worry."
"Haha, I'm not one much for meetings! I just noticed I'm in rather great need of a bath, shave, and a nice, long armor polishing, so I'll pass. I doubt they're not going to notice I'm here; after all, they found me out in the middle of nowhere with me leaving no indication of my whereabouts. Either they've got an uncanny knack for finding people that don't want to be found, or they've got a pretty sizable information network. I'm fairly sure they ain't gonna miss me not coming into the council chamber. I'm sure they know I'm around anyway." Yorrick replied, slightly bemused by his own laid-back approach to the whole affair. A realization flashed through his head, perhaps a little late, that his approach towards things weren't going to win him any friends. This insight was, indeed, a mere flash, as he proceeded in his series of bizarre remarks and musings.
"Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to find a fountain to dive into."
On that note, Yorrick took his leave of the scene; or, it should be said, attempted to. The pause he had taken to talk to his new allies had proven to be fatal for his battered body. As he swiveled around and lifted his right foot to step, a sharp pain knifed its way through the muscles of his leg, from hip to ankle. An attempt to gingerly favour his foot did not go well, and the impact of boot against cobblestone sent rippling shockwaves of pain clean through his right side. His reflexes failed him once again, but his fall was slow. So slow, that he could see the ants scurrying over the cobblestones to get out of the way of the falling warrior.
"Not again....." he groaned, picking himself up slowly and limping back off in the direction he had come.
Before they passed from sight, he turned around and glanced back at the pair. Something tugged at his heartstrings, pulse rapidly increasing for a fleeting instant in time. A sense of familiarity shocked his consciousness, akin to a series of rapid, crushing blows from a sword. Mentally staggered, he stumbled, not able to rebalance his mind and heart. Was it a friend? Friends? He had no such thing, did he?
And, just as quickly as they had come, those alien thoughts passed from his mind. All that was left was an overwhelming sense of loss, and he could not puzzle out why. A lone tear trickled down his cheek, for all he could feel now was sadness, an empty hollow inside his heart.
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"Nor... th... gate! North... gate!" Yorrick gasped. His lungs were on fire as he took multitudes of breaths, legs pumping in a mad sprint towards his destination.
After cleaning himself off a bit in a nearby fountain, much to the distaste of passerbys, he'd dropped in quickly at the council hall to find out what exactly he was doing here. His clothes were still soiled from the gutter and days of nervous perspiration, but at least his face and armor looked a bit more presentable.
"Heh, that councillor looked a little... confused." he thought. "Suppose he's used to more competent fellows than myself!"
"But, really, why am I here? I've been wandering with no purpose for that long... But, somehow, being here feels... right."
He passed through the gates with no incident, the seal on the letter apparently granting him ease of passage. Sprinting as fast as he could for a sustained period, he rushed to catch up to his erstwhile allies.
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Blazing sun. The smell of death.
No. The smell of undeath. The sickly smell of necromancy, the tainted air surrounding the bound spirits of the dead.
His vision cleared, blur fading to sharpness, revealing the scene before him. He stood in a ravine, a mere dozen warriors at his side. Before them advanced a fearsome horde, many score of fiendish constructs, decaying bodies risen from the dead to wreck havoc amongst the living. This would be their final battle, assuredly, and they would fall here, in this ravine. They could only hope, through their valor and through their bravery, that they might delay the hordes long enough for the refugees to make their way to the city.
Ah, the fair city of Efer-nim. He knew he wouldn't see it again, but that their sacrifice had saved the lives of others was reward enough. He knew that the city would remain ever-engraved in his mind; he had no need to see it again. The only family he had left were those that stood ready by his side at this moment. His truest friends were by his side and they would go down together, fighting for their people; he would not ask of the gods, even if they were alive, for a better death.
As his comrades; no, his family; readied their khopesh and shields, he tightened his grip on the strange two-handed weapon he wielded. A three-foot wooden shaft connected to a long, curved blade at the end. A strange sword, perhaps a polearm, he could easily split a shield in twain with it. His captain, his truest friend, had laughed at him for it; but his doubts had been silenced when they had gone toe-to-toe in training. He had to grin at the memory; the shock on his friend's face had been too much!
The undead charged forward. The sound of scores of skeletal limbs and decaying feet thumping against the desert ravine floor was deafening. The red stone beneath became dust, massive red-tinted clouds rapidly obscuring the sun. He lunged forward at the first attacker, his hook-sword crunching through the infernal construct before him. As shattered bone flew through the air, he spun around to face his next opponent. His hook-sword swished through the air, cleaving the decaying body before him, sickly flesh flying in the air.
He spun around once more, and a sickly sense of realization sunk into the pit of his stomach. The dozen had been surrounded already, and there was little that could be done now. He felt the cold, cruel iron bite into him, again and again, shallow slash upon shallow slash, slowly wearing him down. In the end, he could hardly stand; blood loss and the constant pain threatened to overtake him. He could no longer hear the sounds of battle; all he could hear was the thundering beat of his heart, the liquid vitality of his remaining blood. The sick thrill of battle was the only thing keeping him alive.
But, just as all seemed lost, a searing flash of white light blinded him, as if a star had fallen upon the battlefield. When his eyesight was restored, there was not a single fiend before him. Gladly thanking the dead gods, he fell to the ground, collapsing from his wounds.
Yorrick paused to shake the strange thoughts from his mind. "... What was that?" he thought, as he resumed his sprinting.
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A musical sound. Chirping. Birds.
The man opened his eyes. Above him was a glorious oak tree, branches filled with leaves of lush green. Many birds were perched atop the branches, small little things, fragile, white-headed and blue-breasted. Their song was so sweet; it reminded the man of the dream he had been having.
What was that dream, again? For some reason, his memory was retreating from him. He lunged for it. It took flight, soaring ever higher in the sky. All he could do now was to grasp at the few feathers of enlightenment that remained. He gathered them up greedily. But, try as he might, he could not piece together the bird from the mere sheddings it had left behind.
Mission. Purpose. Darkness.
He could not gather any more. He could remember a voice. But he could not remember the sounds it had made, nor the tone, nor the pitch, nor the intent.
He tried to remember, to remember something, to remember the past. He could remember nothing. He couldn't remember a name, even. All he could feel was loss.
As he picked himself up slowly and began to trudge out of the forest, perhaps towards civilization, if such a thing existed, he began to cry. Not a single tear, but a multitude, a downpour of melancholy and regret. He was not one to cry often, that much he knew. But he could not stop the tears, no matter how hard he tried.
He forced himself to speak. The will to speak cut through his sobbing, and the words flowed off his tongue without incident. "I can only hope my purpose will become apparent."
With those words, he felt reassured; he knew he had a purpose, a mission, some reason for who and what he was. It would be revealed to him, sometime, someday, somewhere, he knew. And perhaps his past would be shown to him too.
He smiled and walked on.
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Yorrick had managed to rejoin the group eventually. Instead of announcing his precense, he had simply slipped into marching behind them. They'd notice him eventually, he was sure of that. He was just thankful that the running was over.
He could not bring himself to approach the adventurers that would be his allies. Whenever his first memory invaded his consciousness, he could feel nothing but sadness. Perhaps he had been optimistic then, but how could he feel that way now, a year later? He was a man without a past. But why? Had he forced himself to forget it? Had he been a vile fiend in his previous life? He had nothing. Nothing to go by, nothing to mold himself. He had only himself and his convictions, his moral code that he had snatched from his retreating memories. He had not found the mission, the purpose. He had found only a name given to him by a dying old man, and the natural aptitude he had found with his sword.
When the march stopped for the day, Yorrick stopped with them. He received his orders from the paladin gladly, enjoying the chance to spend time with the animals. He was not one to ride, preferring instead his own feet. But he did enjoy animals, for reasons unexplained. Much like those birds, those white-headed blue-breasted birds, he felt some sort of kinship; perhaps it was simply that they seemed to understand him. Perhaps they knew something about him that he didn't.
As he completed his task, he looked towards the foreign warrior. He wondered if the man was like him, without a past, without a purpose. No, he seemed like he knew his place in the world; he was driven, knowing. But why did he seem so familiar, like a kindred soul? No. Stupid thought. He was nothing at all like Yorrick. Nothing at all. No one could be. They were just fellow warriors. That was all.
"Right?" he thought to himself. He returned to the brushing, concentrating at the task at hand, a wistful half-smile on his face.
Neshi's face twists in bafflement and answers her question with a question, "Why not, milady?"
This time around, he gathers the grains of his courage and turns, locking her blue eyes with his own grey ones. "A storm that in the heavens brews, is naught but a raised sword upon the earth" so did go the sage saying... But then, do I... should I expect a fight? She seems blest by Ankhutar herself and yet "Ever must a warrior 'ware and worry"... Shards of the abyss! Unto the breach, sally I once more...
Rallying his resolve against a tide of doubts and falling back up on the teachings preached at Sanctum, he says to her again, "Why not? Why should I not help you? Do folk in this day and age need reasons for... hospitality and virtue?"
His momentum building, he continues, "Milady, if thou wouldst not take mine offer of aid as 'tis, then, mayhap..." He winks good-naturedly then, recalling the contestation of but last night, "Mayhap I'll help thee perforce... like how thou didst coerce me into accepting thy chivalry but yestereve"
"Of... other things, well, give me some menial labor thou'dst fain pass on or art weary of and I'll gladly take thy task for thee", Neshi concludes.
"Blessed Bast!" He suddenly swears with a peal of barely suppressed laughter following shortly thereafter. "How I ramble... I hope I disturb thee not, milady"
Neshi smiles and says, "Thou'd asked why 'tis that I help thee" He leans back with the contented sigh of one who enjoys telling stories. Bringing out the phial of hallowed water that Daiyanissa'd presented him, he brings it to the light, swirls it delicately then puts it back into his pouch. "When thee this gave, thou said thy patron, Torm, is the 'Loyal Fury'. Mine lord, Horus-Re, has a title akin to that of thine--- 'The Lord of Vengneance and Virtue'"
Licking his cracked lips, he pops open his waterskin and takes a sip, swillng the water slowly, then swallowing the small gulp. "Methinks that Horakhe's full tale must await a time not of trouble, a time when we are at ease and we are not within the realm of dread foes. Suffice it to say, milady, one of the tenets I was taught was that of, 'Why seek vengeance upon thy foe if thou hast not proven thyself worthy through virtue? If thou art virtuous, why seek vengeance at all? For valor and for honor, 'tis"
Neshi heaves another sigh that condenses into mist in the cold Northern air. "Forgive me mine loquacity, milady. The High Ones at Sanctum had always said that I would make a better templar than a minister"
He shrugs with a rueful grin. "Well, I tried. How about we settle on the ageless adage, 'Virtue is its own reward'?"
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Hey, you. Yes, you. Come on. SMILE.
Finally breaking out in a smile, she turned towards him with her white teeth sparkling in a radiant smile. She broke out in a few giggles and looked him in the eye. "Well I guess I can't say no if you put it like that. Although I never shied from hard work. I guess I've been a bit of a grumpy guss as of late, am I correct?" Still smiling she looked over at Yorrick, "Does he seem familiar to you? I feel like I know him" She started polishing her sword again, happy to be doing something with her hands.
"You know that feeling? The one that you feel like you know someone you've never met? It's strange, i feel like i'm a different person, not much different mind you, but feelings." She shook her head slightly, her smile smaller now. "I guess I'm just rambling, never mind me." Her face was growing redder by the moment at her revelation. "Maybe I will take you up on that help. We can alternate guard duty, Alternate sleeping in the tent maybe? I still don't mind sharing."
She folded up the rag she was using to clean her sword, and sheathed the sword. Done with that she pulled out one of her trail rations. "Want to share? I can't finish these things." She smiled and handed him a bar. "It's ok, you're not putting me out. I honestly can't eat everything that they pack for me" She stuck out her tongue playfully after she took a bite out of her bar.
I'll take watch. Ooooooh ooooooh cani take watch? im really good at watching things and i'll fight it too unless it has cake. Do you think it will have cake? ahh who cares, well maybe i do but, before we all go to sleep does any one wanna spar? i got a quarter staff around here either that or its a walking stick. How bout it? How bout you umm yorrick is it? We can have a freindly spar but no pointed blade put into skin unless you get called a name.If not Sigh* i guess i could just watch the camp so i can protect you all" He flexes and then looks at everyone. Then looking around for a qaurter staff or stick that would serve as the same thing for a qaurter staff is basically a stick. When finding one he looks back ready to fight and his A.d.d actions goes from his eyes and you see many years of wisdom shining in his eyes and he looks dead serious.
I think of myself highly for i dont think of the cup half full or half empty i merley think of the glass itself i do not care of others expectations. Thats how you can live a good and self pitty life! Without pitty you may battle for longer becuase you care not if you do wrong yet you strive for your own expectations. So thats what i would like to do know please. In a battle ready stance he is looking to see if anyone wishes to spar.
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"Ok so what did you get to hit?" "I rolled a 1 again..." "That is your sixth one!!" "It's not me it's the sword, it's a cursed magic item!!"
Damn you cant fight... you a spellcaster? I can cast spells too.did you know that any who come on yorrick bring it. Show me what you got, im ready. Please Daiy dont brake this up, this is as serious as your code of honor for your palidinhood, and if you question my style of fighting its like me questioning your faith. It truly hurt me when you used sarcasm on my fighting. I was trying to be protective of my freinds. I thought freinds didnt make fun of eachother daiy??Looking serious at her with so many years in his eyes that he seems double his age and he then looks to yorrick "Come on big guy show me what you got, no lethal damage though.
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"Ok so what did you get to hit?" "I rolled a 1 again..." "That is your sixth one!!" "It's not me it's the sword, it's a cursed magic item!!"
((So we notice seven hobbos. Can I get a general layout of everyone's positions? My action depends heavily on the positions of our assailants. Anyway, I assume it's time to roll initiative.))
Assuming those javelins are thrown at Chuck, as a free action, Martin yells "HOBGOBLINS!" as loud as he can. Assuming some are thrown at him, he instead yells "AHHH!!"
Spoiler
Initiative: (1d20+2)[12]
Last edited by ByeLindgren : 07-03-2007 at 12:54 AM.
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Re: lich ruler
