Ongoing Games (In-Character)Play-by-post games are going on in this forum as we speak (well, read). All threads on this board are actual games, so please, only post on a thread if you are a player of that game.
Psh, all this hiding. Just wait till the guards bring in their dogs.
While the guards are talking about them...in plain sight...Flare drops low and sneaks away before Len's very eyes, never to be seen again.
Standing awkwardly beside the miraculously oblivious guard, her mouth falls open in amazement. There is no way she can duplicate that.
Looks like this is where we part ways, ace. You too, Diddles.
With a heavy grunt, she lowers Ritan and wearily drapes him against Bors' chest. This, of course, reveals Len's halberd, which is unmistakable under its hood and crisscrossed with trails of running blood all the way down the shaft. Only one kind of person would carry that at a time like this...
Watching the guard's eyes shoot open, Len bolts down the hall. The tavern door whisks by as she races hellbent toward the sharp turn at the end. If nothing else, she opened a small window for ace to do something, like rescue the unconscious and otherwise doomed Ritan.
Spoiler
*Len moves at full speed toward the other end of the hall, with the sharp corner*
Flare easier avoids being seen, as the guards are distracted. He ducks into the storage room, behind a crate, leaving Len to fend for herself.
Len leaves Ritan in the arms of Bors the Guard, and sprints down the hallway. The guards are caught off-guard, and she manages to get some good footing ahead of them. Maybe just enough to escape.
Or not.
As she rounds the corner, she comes to another extention of the hall, where before her stands a tall, blonde-haired man with green flowing robes. He wears a badge of Porto Giedion's police force on his shoulder, and holds a small wand in his left hand.
"End of the line." He says in a low, monotone voice.
(Will save, please)
Harold hears some words exchanged and people running about, all going on just outside. The guards are certainly close.
Harold Betruger
Harold sits quietly on the bed in the small room, turning his mandolin over in his hands. He had a crossbow, of course, but that was unthinkable. Far better to just sit still and keep quiet in this room. Just a little longer...
__________________
"Where is the Wisdom of one who only quotes the Wise?" ~Maboroshi
Tossing her willowy hair out of the way, Len lets the still-hooded halberd slide off her shoulder and into her hand, running straight into the teeth of the spell as it takes shape...
Len isn't sure, though. Here's to hoping it isn't a fireball or a sex change, or something.
Spoiler
If I survive, I'd like to work in a non-lethal attack and continue on my merry way:
As Len stands before the robed figure, he throws fourth a fistful of strange powders, followed by a small hand flourish. His words become strangely soothing, and your eyelids become heavy. As much as you want to fight the feeling, you'd rather just ---thump---
Harold can hear the guards down the hall now, speaking with the other man. "She's asleep. Bind her hands, and bring her in with the others. We'll get to the bottom of this."
As the sound of a body being dragged is heard, there are also very distinct footsteps that slowly walk down the hall. A pause.
Suddenly, every single door in the hallway swings open violently, each slamming into the wall of their rooms with such tenacity, that they nearly fly off their hinges. There is a light chill in the air.
Harold Betruger
"Gleep."
Harold tries to suppress the cry as the door to the room slams open, but he jumps a little ways off of the bed. Swallowing, Harold continues to wait, now looking even at the corners of the room, nervously.
__________________
"Where is the Wisdom of one who only quotes the Wise?" ~Maboroshi
Harold Betruger
Harold blows a curl of hair out of his eyes and straightens up. Well, the gig was up. With luck, though, they'd think he was just what he'd been acting like lately; a rather cowardly musician. Certainly not the type to get mixed up in...criminality.
The speech would need work.
The minstel clears his throat and calls out "If I come out of the room, is anyone going to hit me?"
__________________
"Where is the Wisdom of one who only quotes the Wise?" ~Maboroshi
Harold Betruger
"And...No one's going to step on my instrument or break it or not return it to me later, right? Then I'll come right out."
Still a little tense, the handsome youth stands and paces across the wooden floor to the door, his hands carefully away from his sides.
__________________
"Where is the Wisdom of one who only quotes the Wise?" ~Maboroshi
About 10ft away stands the robed figured you saw outside earlier. He studies you carefully, his eyes not even blinking once.
Two more guards arrive, and the robed man turns to them. "Here's another. Take him back, and tell the Marshal I'll be moving ahead. Intelligence reports a secret doorway is around here somewhere - No doubt, the men we are looking for will be found there." He pauses as the two guards come to your side. "No more mishaps - Captain Harris fulfilled that quota already with Mr. Bogger."
Harold Betruger
Harold smiles sheepishly at the guards, and moves to follow. There's a little more spring in his step now that it looks like he'll get a chance to come peacefully after all. He pauses at the doorway to the common room and glances back. Wonder if any of them got away...?
Dismissing the thought, Harold turns again and follows the guards out of the Inn, rubbing the back of his neck. Shouldn't go too bad. Any divinations will prove that I've done nothing wrong, and if anyone can make a speech in his own defense, it's me.
__________________
"Where is the Wisdom of one who only quotes the Wise?" ~Maboroshi
Flare, alone, hides in the storeroom, the door now open wide. Little light comes inside, but any thorough search would leave you found, you're certain. You hear the happenings in the hall quite clearly, and as Harold is taken off, the Wizard peers in your direction.
He mumbles something to himself, and takes a step forward in your direction.
As Flare quietly looks around the storeroom, he notices something "off" almost immediately. There is a small chain that sticks out between two boxes stored on the side of the room, simply sitting loose, with a small cloth tag on the end.
The chain gives away as you pull it, and there is a clanking from the darkness behind the crates. Suddenly, part of the south wall disappears, a passageway revealing itself. In the passageway stands a shadowy man with a dagger at his belt, who is surprised to see you. "Make haste, they are upon us!" he yells down the new corridor. He then draws his blade, and leaps forth to meet you.
((I made some rather...unexpected rolls. Apparently this won't actually need a map))
Before Flare can get his defenses up, and man lunges forth and delivers his blade into his gut, dealing 11 damage (that's a critical). You quickly feel the burden of consciousness slip away, but before you do, you hear another entering the room, and a struggle. There is a call for aid, and then you drift into oblivion.
Flare, Harold and Fargrim all find themselves in a single, small room - though not a cell, it would seem like private holding quarters. Those who fell lie in small, simple beds with clean white sheets - and dressings on any wounds suffered during the fight. Around the room you spot a table with two seats, a closet, and a window just out of standing reach.
Each of you feel very drowsy, and a bit like you've had too much ale. Each of you can also bit a slight itch on your hands, extending down to your elbows.
"Here," Harold was told "you will wait. Witnesses have given many conflicting reports, and we must ask for your full cooperation with our investigation. We will send someone to ask for your statement of what occurred in due time. Please relax as you wait." And here, you have waited...with a few guards just outside, to ensure that's exactly what you do. Though you oddly blacked-out in the room earlier, nothing seems to have changed since, other than the coming of strange symptoms.
You do not have any of your weapons on-hand, but your other possessions appear to be in the room, just at the base of the table.
Elsewhere, Len and Ritan awake to find themselves in a cold, dark cell. They share this place with no one - and it would appear to be the only occupied cell in the entire corridor. You both surmize you were suspected of criminal acts because of the rather literal blood on your hands (though, you are cleaner now).
There are some windows, which reveal that it is late in the day - the pair of you must have been out for some time. You both feel somewhat hung-over, with a great need for rest. An uncontrollable itch suddenly bites into your hands, and down the length of your forearms - and it seems you've developed a bit of a rash.
After a few moments, the loud creak of a door is heard, you hear what you determine to be the footsteps of two people, approaching your cell.
Upon reaching the door, one jingles through a ring of keys, as the other steps into the light, with his arms folded, looking intently at Ritan.
Harold Betruger
Harold shakes his head to try and dislodge the dizziness, but that only makes it worse. Damn, I didn't even get any wine. Still... He looks at the two bed-ridden men in the room. Could be worse.
He stands up and picks up his mandolin from the end of the table tuning the strings as he strolls back to the chair. Easing himself down, Harold begins to strum a soft, soothing melody, evocative of sunlight through curtains and cool smooth stone. Perform: Mandolin - (1d20+8)[26]
__________________
"Where is the Wisdom of one who only quotes the Wise?" ~Maboroshi
As Harold walks, and as he plays his mandolin, he feels his coordination a bit...lacking. Looking at himself, he realizes that he's as clumsy as he would be only after becoming fully intoxicated. His talents, however, do not leave him - it in fact only causes a minor inconvenience. But, doing much else might prove difficult.
Harold Betruger
Harold doesn't look up from his playing, as the tune seems to speak of arched, airy buildings, peaceful and still, the melody as if walking through a hushed cathedral in spring.
"It's a talent," Harold replies, his voice sonorous and hushed "but not my only talent. I didn't think to meet you again, either. What's your name, my hooded friend with the strange orange eyes?"
__________________
"Where is the Wisdom of one who only quotes the Wise?" ~Maboroshi
Flare inclines his head. "Of course. Talents are how we define ourselves. I think everyone has one, that defines them more than anything else that they can do. I'm Flare. Who are you?" His head shifts about the room and he begins to look alarmed. "Where... are we? And where's the woman?"
__________________
Avatar by Dirtytabs - Much gratitude
Deimos' reprimand, the storm of an army, and a grand battle all pass through Fargrims dreams, little painful demons eating at his nose all the while. The dream that stays with him is Faraham's holy blessing - a kiss on the forehead. The pain wakes him.
"My nose..." Fargrim's eyes slowly open to meet the sun peering low through a window. "Am I... No, my nose wouldn't hurt this much if I was dead." His head slowly turns left and right, and he notices the source of the music.
Still a bit dazed, Fargrim forces himself to sit upright. He ignores his cellmate and asks Harold, "Who are you?" Memories slowly creep back - memories of the tavern, of his appointment. "Oh yeah, you were playing the lute. But that got smashed..." That thought opens the floodgates to the rest of his bad memories. "Oh... oh no. I'm in prison, aren't I?" He kneels next to his bed, his eyes closed tight in anxious prayer. "Oh, Faraham, give me the strength to live through this."
Oh, my great brethren, give me the power to escape this.
Spoiler
Fargrim was just hazy on who's performing - I didn't forget the details. Also, Fargrim's praying for spells now. I'll assume he can get them, because he just needs prayer time.
Last edited by ByeLindgren : 07-18-2007 at 10:42 PM.
Harold Betruger
Harold alters the tune, and a raincloud stops the light in the musical abbey, and the flickering of strings suggests a cool rain pattering outside the windows.
"My name's Harold. Harold Betruger. We're somewhere safe, at least. Probably the jail, or the guardhouse. I don't know where she is...but for now all we can do is wait. They'll be coming back soon."
__________________
"Where is the Wisdom of one who only quotes the Wise?" ~Maboroshi
Barely consoled by the distant, plinking sound of a mandolin in the air, Len stares at the floor.
She has seen Guilderian prisons many times when called for by clients--now those are scary places, where the rigors of daily life make mutilation and disfigurement grim certainties.
Even though the main danger in Medician prisons appears to be boredom, she still has that foreign feeling, worry, running around inside her. Ever since that day in the arena when half of her intestines were spilled with a single swipe, in fact, her imagination has found something to terrorize her with.
Its always the same 'something', too.
Len raises her itchy, reddened sword-arm and pores over a long row of black tally marks, sticthing their way up from her wrist nearly to her elbow. Her expression softens with a look of almost feline contentment as her mind drifts elsewhere...
Then, a pair of men approach, and Len sits up. She suddenly notices none other than the rogue she had almost gotten to safety, chained beside her. She is glad she didn't throw him at Bors like she had wanted to.
The men unlock the door and walk in. Showtime.
Last edited by Too_many_tamale : 07-19-2007 at 01:33 AM.
Hands still clasped and eyes still closed, Fargrim mumbles, "I didn't see you... defending yourself. Why are you here, Harold?" He gets up, done with his meditations, and ambles over to where Harold sits. Fargrim's big frame hovers over the small mandolin player as he stares him down as menacingly as possible. "I'll tell you why you're here, Harold. You're here to confirm our side of the story."
He looks over to Flare, then back to Harold. "Those guards were crazy, violent, corrupted by their position. Once that loon threw a dagger, they were going to kill everyone in that tavern. The ones that must have come in later - the living ones, anyway - they're good and upstanding, but not those first guards. Not the guards I saw. Right, Harold?" He grins, much the same grin as when he commanded the captain to flee.
Last edited by ByeLindgren : 07-19-2007 at 04:24 AM.
Harold Betruger
Harold places his fingers against the strings of the instrument, hushing them.
He looks up at the hulking invalid with hazel eyes far more calm that the last time you'd seen them. Shifting his gaze downwards, Harold stares at his toes, moodily.
"In a word, I'm here because of you fellows. The reason I didn't "defend myself" is that I make it a point to only do that when people are attacking me. As to your side of the story," he sighs and massages his eyelids with the palm of his hand. "I'm normally a very honest person, you know, " he says, keeping his expression carefully even. "But I don't think lies would help here any, even if I were so inclined. Drugs, mate. I think we've already had our interrogation. The prudent man, therefore, would take care he doesn't give conflicting testimony."
Harold crosses his arms and leans back moodily in the chair, apparently thinking.
__________________
"Where is the Wisdom of one who only quotes the Wise?" ~Maboroshi
RSS Feeds: 
Re: DeepBlue's Vagabond - Act 1
