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Post by Calefrun on Aug 1, 2011 21:49:27 GMT -5
As the sun slowly rose over the horizon, casting its golden light over the country of Balaeruid, a new day began for the human race, and the sky above the capital city of Cimanor looked particularly beautiful this morning. However, despite the scenery, all was not well in the human kingdom. In the northeastern-most part of the country, war has raged for hundreds of years against the orcs of Murzulbag, with neither side gaining or losing much land. In order to keep the east supplied with the resources it needs to continue the war, the government of Balaeruid has been steadily raising taxes in the west. This has caused much discontent amongst the western villages, and now a small rebellion has begun, and is quickly gaining in strength. Civil war is beginning to look inevitable, and the occurrence of such a war would cripple the country to the point that they would surely be overtaken by the orcs.
Within Cimanor's massive castle, which employed an odd fusion of ancient stonework and more modern metal, the King of Balaeruid sat upon his throne, surrounded by white-bearded advisers. Each argued his own idea for how the civil war could be avoided, and pointing out flaws in each of the other solutions besides their own. The king, a slightly fat man of thirty-four years, remained silent, however from the scowl that was forming on his round face, it was clear that his patience with the old men was wearing thin.
“ENOUGH!!” He suddenly bellowed, and the bickering men ceased immediately. He continued, though now with a much calmer tone, “Tell me... are you men by any chance familiar with the legend of the Gem of Valpadur?”
On of the advisers responded, “That old story? I'm sure we're all familiar with it, but I'm afraid that I don't see how it's relevant in this situation, your majesty.” The king stood from his throne, and slowly moved to stand in front of one of the large windows in the room which overlooked the castle courtyard, casting a shadow across the room in the early morning light.
Without facing the other men, the king said, “It is said that the gem granted a single elf the power to fight back hordes of the undead, saving the living races of the world from utter annihilation.” After pausing for a moment, he continued, “Imagine- if we could somehow obtain this gem, it would be possible to silence this foolish rebellion, and get rid of those brutish orcs once and for all.” The advisers exchanged glances, the looks on their wrinkled faces betraying the worry they all shared for the king's mental health following his statement.
“Errr...” one of them began carefully, “Sire, are you trying to suggest that we use additional resources, something we don't have to spare to begin with, to search for a mythical gem from a bedtime story? Wasn't this jewel supposedly lost in the Forbidden Lands, a place nobody has dared to go in longer than any man can remember?” The king thought for a moment.
“Offer a reward,” he said casually. “Any man who brings me the gem shall receive wealth beyond his wildest dreams. We won't spread our forces to search for it, but is some vagabond happens to find it and bring it here, all of our problems will be taken care of.” The group of advisers sighed collectively.
“Yes, your majesty.”
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By mid-afternoon, fliers advertising the reward for finding the gem were posted all throughout Cimanor. One such flier had fallen from the wall that it had been posted on, and a sudden gust of wind blew it directly into the face of a young man. This man, whose name was Cale Efrun, was eighteen years of age, and had spent most of his life living in a farming village a good ways to the northwest of Cimanor. Cale stood at a slightly above-average height, and was fairly muscular from years of farm work. His dark brown hair was a bit unkempt, and after having gone a few days without a shave, he was beginning to form the workings of a beard upon his chin.
Cale's village had been hit particularly hard by the increased taxes, and his family found that they were having difficulty making ends meet. Cale, who had always yearned for adventure, eagerly volunteered to journey to Cimanor in search of some way to bring in extra money for his family. So far, he had found no luck. He hadn't been able to find a job in the city, and it wasn't as though opportunities to find fortune would just slap him in the face. Until now, that is. He pulled the flier away from his face and examined it. A large grin spread across his face as he realized that this was just the opportunity that he had been waiting for.
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Meanwhile, in a nearby tavern, Enieyla Mantiel, an elven druid, sat a table, silently observing he partner, a dwarf by the name of Khelor Bisig, as he drank what was, in her opinion, an obscene amount of ale. At this point, he was drunk enough that occasionally when he took a swig of his drink, he would spill some onto his red beard, which hung braided in front of his chest. Enieyla had no taste for the stuff, and while her eyes watched Khelor, she was aware that the attention of the human men in the tavern was entirely upon her. At the age of twenty seven, Enieyla was very beautiful, even by elven standards. She had light skin, and light brown hair which hung down to her waist. Her bright blue eyes shone like some sort of jewel, and the dress she wore presently only served to add to her beauty. She was used to being stared at by human men wherever she went, and it had long since stopped bothering her.
Khelor suddenly slammed his mug onto the table, splashing ale onto the table's surface. “Whasa matta?” He asked in a slightly irritated tone, “You don't wanna drink? We dun get ta' relaxsh like thish often, make the mosht of it while ya can.” Enieyla closed her eyes and sighed.
“You know that I don't like to drink,” she said coldly. “That stuff tastes awful. Besides, just because we're not searching for something right not doesn't mean that we should just take it easy. Need I remind you that someone beat us to that last treasure?” The life of a treasure hunter could be hard, especially when your partner insisted on spending much of the money that you gained on booze.
Khelor shakily pointed a thick finger at her and said, “Ya need ta learn ta lighten up. Ya dun need ta be sho uptight all tha- WHAZZAT?” he suddenly swung his arm around so that he was pointing at a flier on the wall. Enieyla stood and crossed the room to where the flier was located.
After examining the advertisement, she said to herself, “Now THIS is interesting...”
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Post by Mizagium on Aug 2, 2011 1:39:11 GMT -5
Mattias Sandar, to put it frankly, stank. Now, whether it was a good stink or a bad stink depending on whom was voicing their (much unnecessary) opinion. To the upper class, who frequented the nondescript Gnomish workshop, the boy stank like filth and squalor - just like all of the commoners and working class. To member of the working class, Matt stank like a man who working hard to survive in an unfair society dominated by rich families who looked down on the ones who kept them aloft. To Miadabel Mordath, the Gnome mechanic who owned the shop and trained the boy, he stank of oil, grease, and sweat - the way a proper mechanic should.
Matt didn't even notice the smell anymore; he was too spellbound by the cuckoo clock that lay eviscerated on his work table. Something about the device was causing it to run nearly a second too slow - unacceptable for a true mechanic, but only barely noticeable to the untrained. In fact, the only reason it was even with him was because the damn cuckoo bird had stopped appearing out of its home (the gears just needed some grease) but when Matt examined it, he noticed the glaring glitch and set to mending it at once. All the sounds and chaos of the world outside faded away in the sheer order of machines.
So what was the flaw?
And then he saw the rusty gear. It still moved in time, but each tick was ever so slower than the last - almost immeasurable, even for him. But those lost nanosconds added up over years. Satisfied, he removed the faulty piece and replaced it with a shiny (well, not rusty) new one. He pocketed the rusty one as it wouldn't be of any use anymore. In ten minutes, the clock was running better than ever.
All the chaos of the outside world returned as a wave crashing down on him. It took a moment, but eventually he discerned that most of the noise was caused by a decent sized crowd outside the shop - right before the old Gnome pulled the workshop door shut.
"What's going on out there, master?"
"Some foolishness about the king and a quest - I don't know."
"A royal quest?" Matt wasn't as familiar with Balaerudian history as he would like to be, but he only remember hearing about a royal quest once from his grandfather - during his grandfather's time. If it truly was a royal quest then it certainly was something to be excited about. Master Miadabel had different ideas.
"You know, Matty, maybe this quest thing isn't so bad?" He stroked his chin and bushy mustache. "A lot of mercenaries, treasure hunters, and bored noble sons will take part in this. Which means they'll need their weapons refurbished. And guess where they'll bring them?"
The human apprentice rolled his eyes. "Master Midabel's - "
"Master Miadable's Magnificent Mecahnics!"
The old Gnome mechanic shuffled off, chuckling to himself, leaving Matt to man the workshop alone.
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Clara Lux, drifter, studied the poster dictating the royal quest for the Gem of Valdapur. It was a fool's errand and she knew it - everyone knew it, but the prospect of gold and adventure was enough to lure most to the table. But not her. She didn't give two shits about the kingdom or money. Or even adventure. No, what go her was the end result of the quest: vengeance on the Orcs.
"What's with her?" someone whispered from across the tavern. Without moving her eyes, she knew exactly where he was seated.
"She's some half-blood from the borderlands."
"Don't look like no half-elf to me."
"No, idiot: half-orc!"
Silence, then: "What the hell is she doing here? Shouldn't she be over in Murzulbag with the rest of the stinking beasts?"
"Easy, man. I hear when she was twelve she killed all the other kids in her village before disappearing into the woods."
"Nah, man, she was fourteen, and I hear she killed her grandparents, too."
"No shit!"
That was about all she could take. Clara stood abruptly, taking the poster with her - and the tavern went silent. She knew what they were looking, in sequence: her skin color, her pistol, her sword, her eyes, her skin. Indifferent to their baseless judgmental glares, she swept out of the tavern and onto the Cimanorian streets. Very subtly, the crowd parted away from her - just enough where they didn't bump into her.
That suited her just fine: she knew where she was going, so as long as they stayed out of her way...
The workshop wasn't exactly tucked away in the city, it just didn't stand out from the buildings around it. There were at least four other shops she passed along the way, but only this one was maintained by a Gnome - and Gnomes were the greatest mechanics in the world; her pistol was Gnome-crafted (she assumed, since she had taken it off a dead Gnome traveler some years back).
She knocked on the door and was answered with a shout from inside, "We're open!"
It wasn't a Gnome that greeted her, but a human boy. Staring at her. "Do you have a problem?"
-
Matt seemed to have lost his voice when she entered the shop. She was beautiful, despite not conforming to traditional human notions of beauty. Her hair was short, rather than long; her skin dark, rather than fair; her clothes comfortable and fictional, rather than stuffy and fancy. She looked confident and self-assured (maybe even a little bitchy) rather than timid and meek. Nothing about her should have been attractive to him - and yet there he was, staring open-mouthed. Dumbstruck.
Lovestruck.
She asked the question again. "Do you have a problem?"
This time he blushed and sputtered out a few syllables that might have been mistaken for an Ogre's grunts. He was only able to tear his eyes away from hers when Miadabel burst into the room.
"Please excuse my apprentice," he soothed. "He's doesn't have many manners you see: family of farmhands, his. Does good work, but not much else. Pay him no mind." Master Mordath shot him a look.
"Uh! For-forgive me!" He inclined his head and scurried away.
-
"Terribly sorry about him," Miadabel apologized again.
"Forget it," Clara said shortly. "I get it a lot. They say you're the best in the city, Mordath the Magnificent." He grinned. "Talk is cheap; is it true?" Before he could answer, she drew her pistol. Admirably, he refrained from flinching. "Can you identify this pistol?"
"Hm." He leaned in closer. "I did not draft it myself, so I can't identify it personally...but it is of Gnomish origin. A Sorth-Winston model, if I'm not mistaken. Decent gunsmiths, but not the best, if you don't mind me saying."
"Good enough." She flipped it around and presented it to him. "It needs a tune up. How soon can you have it done?"
Taking the pistol carefully, the Gnomes turned it over, examining it from every angle. "Hm. A tune up is different than a repair: we take the entire firearm apart and clean and oil every part we can. Some might need replacing, which increases the cost."
"Do it. How much and how long?"
He paused. "Matthias!"
"Yes, master?" The boy reappeared at once, his goggles hanging limply around his neck.
"How long would it take you to give this lady's pistol a complete tune up?"
Smartly, Matt avoided looking her in the eye. "I can have it down by the end of the day."
Even Miadabel was stunned. "Is that so? End of the day...or you have to pay the cost."
"Oh, no," Clara cut in, "That's not - "
"Done," Matt agreed.
"There you have it, miss. My apprentice here will have your pistol cleaned and repaired by the end of the day - or it's free!" He handed the gun off to Matt and shooed him along.
Matt began at once with a wide smile on his face. His heart thumped in his chest like it was about to burst out.
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Major Xeno
Aspiring Author
Master of Fire
A Perfect World makes a Horrible Story
Posts: 639
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Post by Major Xeno on Aug 2, 2011 18:53:22 GMT -5
A low fire flickered against the darkness of the cold woods, erratically beating out a tempo against the solemn old trunks. It was old fire, now, having burned for hours before.
Beating against the ground, ringing in the night, horses thundered towards the fire, their riders forcing them faster, faster, to save this poor lost soul.
The Captain cursed, a late patrol was the worst time to find a lost stranger in these lands. And that fire was started hours ago, he judged quickly. They would be lucky to find traces of the man's pack by now. Another lost to the raiders, the Captain swore.
Drawing closer, the horses cried out as their trained noses smelled corpse-flesh, warning their riders of the undead monstrosities close by. The riders picked up speed; perhaps they might be lucky enough to catch the raiders with the man’s body, and stop them from taking another into the Black Lands!
But when the Black Guard drew close, they gasped, as their horses reared up in protest.
The firelight gleamed as it reflected off pools of waste-water, the foul slurry that some of the Undead monster turned into when killed the second time. Bones were littered across the scene, some gleaming with the polish of long years, and some still covered in fresh flesh from their recent Second Birth.
And in the center of the camp, calming wiping the blood and ooze off his sword with the ease of long experience, an armor-clad man looked up from his seat, the orange-and-white helm’s eyeglass locating them effortlessly.
“Can I help you?” the man inquired from his seat of piled bones.
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Post by Myrdraxxis on Aug 2, 2011 22:43:59 GMT -5
The lower district of Cimanor was possibly the seediest place in existence. Cimanor was an enormous city, and with it came an equally large underbelly, the side of the city that brought out less than pleasant company. The lower district of Cimanor was a dark place, shaded by the tall buildings, bridges and general development that grew Cimenor outward. Kazamir always found it to be a marvel. It was a populated place, yet he'd never been anywhere else that felt so empty.
His prey was flagging, finally. Kazamir had chased him for nearly an hour, from a market near the upper district to here, calmly biding his time. THe man no doubt thought that he could tire his hunter out by running through the maze-like streets. Kazamir let him think that; The mage had not felt exhaustion since his death.
The man slowed, and finally stopped, leaning against the all of a small house. His breath came in short pants, eyes darting around quickly. "...ehehe, finally lost it." he grinned in triumph.
"Are you quite confident of that?" Kazamir spoke in a cold, metallic voice, stepping out from his hiding spot. The man froze, eyes widening in fear.
"How?" he whispered.
"Hm, I suspect you'll never know."
He cast a spell, just as the man turned to run. The ground around the man's feet were covered in ice, freezing him in place. He stumbled, choking out a horrified sob. Kazamir regarded him for a moment.
"Any last words?" he asked, as a large shard of ice materialized in front of him.
"G-go to hell, monster!" the man sobbed. Wordlessly Kazamir shot the ice shard at him. It struck the man in the forehead, killing him instantly. Kazamir nodded and began walking away. He'd never bothered to learn the target's name. It was irrelevant.
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Kazamir almost found it amusing, the way people stumbled over themselves to get out of his way. He strode purposefully down one the streets of Cimanor, given a wide berth by the other citizens on the streets. Some whispered in hushed, alarmed tones. Many of the looks he got were fearful ones.
It was the mask. Couldn't have been anything other. Kazamir gave a hidden grin. They would all be even more terrified if they ever saw what Kazamir looked like under his mask. the living really did amuse him so.
It had been almost a full two years since Kazamir came to Cimanor. He didn't particularly like the city, but it had its uses, and there was no shortage of work to be done. Kazamir had made a good living in the seedier side of the city, as a hired mage and part-time assassin. It was tedious work at times, but every so often the rewards were worth it. The last target had been worth a few million gold -though he had to wonder how important such an expensive target was- and Kazamir had been able to buy a small mansion in the upper district. It gave him enough space and privacy to continue his magical studies unmolested.
Kazamir turned and entered the main city square, quickly noting that there were a great many people gathered. "Curious." he muttered, his voice coming out in a metallic rasp. He moved closer, and others quickly moved out of the way. He read the flier over quickly.
'Interesting.' the mage thought. This was worth looking into. But first, he needed some repairs.
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Teryal was, once again, utterly and hopelessly lost. "This city," he muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair in exasperation. He hadn't been here more than two weeks, yet he was already feeling overwhelmed the the sheer presence of the place. He frowned. This was ridiculous. He was a dragon! He shouldn't brought low by something like a human city.
He walked through the city aimlessly, not entirely sure what to do.
Watch, observe, and interact if need be. That's what he was supposed to do. Yet so far he hadn't been sure what he was supposed to be observing! The Order had put him here for a reason, but for the life of him Teryal couldn't figure out what it was.
He found humans to be a bit on the odd side. They had such strange customs and mannerisms. Especially the females. For some reason whenever he walked by a group of the youths, they would stare or giggle at him. Utterly puzzling.
It was by mere coincidence that he noticed the flier stapled to the wall of the produce stall that he was passing. He paused, reading it over. Now this was interesting. Definitely worth looking into. He knew what the Gem of Valpadur was. What intrigued him was why the humans would want it. Mind made up, Teryal turned and began walking towards the inn that he used as his home.
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Post by Damien on Aug 3, 2011 20:03:18 GMT -5
Ethan awoke from his nap beneath a large oak tree in a small thicket outside of Cimanor. He yawned as he gazed through an open patch in the treetops. The sun was shining brightly, and it was rather warm out. Most people would have worn lighter clothes, but not Ethan. As usual, he wore his red robes trimmed in golden yellow. These robes were made of a thick material, and, as usual, Ethan wasn't even sweating.
Ethan was at one with the heat and the sun. One might say he even held dominion over part of it.
Ethan was a pyromancer: a master of the element of fire...or at least, pseudo-master in his case. He was very powerful, but his stronger spells still eluded his control.
"Such a beautiful day," he said to himself. "And here I am, sitting here, lazing the day away. I might as well go into the city, see what's going on today."
He got up, brushed himself off, and walked straight towards the city gates.
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Ethan walked through the gate and found himself in what appeared to be the lower district.
This place looks disgusting, he thought to himself, ...and dangerous. With these nice robes, I'll probably be marked as a target to get pick-pocketed...or worse. He chuckled inwardly at the notion. He could see the general direction of the upper district and began walking that way.
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Post by Calefrun on Aug 4, 2011 15:40:43 GMT -5
Reward! Any who find and bring the legendary Gem of Valpadur to the King of Balaeruid will receive riches beyond his wildest dreams! So go, adventurer's! For Adventure! For wealth! For Balaeruid!
Cale had probably read the flier a hundred times since he found it. He had examined every detail of it, from the shape and size of the text, to the texture of the parchment it was printed on. For the past half hour, his mind had been wholly consumed by thoughts of adventure, and it hadn't even occurred to him to think about how he would go about acquiring the gem. All that passed through his mind were fantasies of epic battles, in which he slew thousands of orcs by himself, and all of the various sights he would see on such an adventure. He hadn't even been paying attention to where he had been going, and had just been wandering the streets of Cimanor aimlessly, his eyes glued to the advertisement. It was a miracle that he hadn't run into any- THUD!
The inevitable finally happened, and he walked straight into the door of “Master Miadabel Mordath’s Magnificent Mechanics,” and for the second time today the flier collided with his face. He stumbled backwards, and fell flat on his back and into the street with an “Umph!”, the back of his head colliding with the hard stone. He was vaguely aware of the laughter of the crowd nearby, who had temporarily forgotten about the excitement of the quest for the gem upon witnessing his blunder. He felt blood pooling up on the ground behind his head, and he blacked out.
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Among those that witnessed Cale's fall were Khelor and Enieyla, who were exiting the tavern.
“Ahaha! Look at that idiot!” Khelor exclaimed as he pointed in Cale's general direction, still quite drunk. Enieyla didn't reply, but instead just looked at Cale's collapsed form. Her eyes slowly moved from him to the flier he had carried, which had landed a little ways away from where he fell. Still not saying anything, she began quickly walking in that direction. She noticed that this time nobody looked at her; apparently the unconscious boy was more interesting. “Hey, where are ya goin'?” Khelor inquired, and he staggered after her.
Upon reaching Cale, the elf knelt down and tilted his head to examine the wound. He wasn't badly injured, but he was loosing a good amount of blood. She produced a small bag from within a satchel that she carried at her side. She removed some herbs from the bag, closed it, and returned it to the larger bag, which was filled with various other herbs which had a variety of purposes. She pressed the soft leaves gently onto the injury, and focused some of her energy into them. There was a slight green glow, which faded away after a few seconds. Enieyla removed the leaves, and while his hair was still wet with blood, the boy's injury was gone.
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Cale opened his eyes slowly, and the first thing he saw was the face of an elf, and the most beautiful living being he had ever laid eyes upon. Her eyes looked directly into his own, and he felt that his mind was numb. He doubted that it was from the injury.
“You're... gorgeous.” he managed to say.
Enieyla rolled her eyes and stood up without saying anything to him. She had enjoyed the brief amount of time she had gone without some idiot human man making such a remark. She turned away from him and walked back to Khelor, who had given up on trying to make it across the street and had instead sat down to drink some ale which he had brought with him out of the tavern.
The elven druidess turned her head slightly and said to the human, “I've completely healed your injuries, so you can get up now. Try to watch where you're going next time.” With that, the crowd returned to clamoring over the quest.
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Post by Mizagium on Aug 5, 2011 12:50:25 GMT -5
Matt paused halfway through dissecting the pistol when he heard the thud outside the shop. Seeing that neither Master Mordath nor Clara were watching him, he quickly stepped away from his work, opened the door a crack, and peered out. A slightly dazed-looking young man was in the process of picking himself up off the ground.
"Um," Matt said. "Are you okay?"
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Although Matt hadn't seen her slip away, Clara Lux had indeed left the mechanic shop as soon as the Gnome has passed the job off to his wide-eyed apprentice. While she herself didn't trust the boy not to completely wreck her firearm (which, she reflected, wouldn't be that big of a loss since she had stolen the thing in the first place and could easily filch another one) the Gnome trusted the boy - and a Gnome would never hand off a job to a Human unless they were sure it would get done.
Especially not a Gnomish firearm.
She restlessly spun her mug of ale around a few times. She couldn't wait to get out of the city. It smelled like smoke and oil and sweat and waste. But mostly, it smelled of Humans. Maybe that was the Orcish in her, but she hated the smell of large groups of Humans - and cities were the largest of them all.
Absently, she noticed an Elfish woman talking to a Dwarfish man outside the tavern. One of them was holding a flier that advertised the royal quest. Clara narrowed her eyes.
Competition.
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"Hey, Laurel."
"Yeah, Hardy?"
"What are we doing?"
"Digging a tunnel."
The two Undead men paused in their work. It was pitch black, but their eyes had long since adjusted. They had no tools, but they had hands and couldn't feel the pain of digging through layers or rock and soil.
"Why?"
"Because the others need a way out from behind the wall."
"Oh, okay." They resumed their endless task. A few minutes later, Hardy spoke again.
"Hey Laurel?"
"Yeah, Hardy?"
"You think they forgot about us?"
"...Just keep digging."
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Post by Calefrun on Aug 7, 2011 13:29:26 GMT -5
"Errr... yeah, I think I'm fine," Cale said, embarrassed. He stood up. "I guess I just wasn't looking where I was going."
A little ways away, Enieyla and Khelor had melded with the crowd. Or at least, as well as an elf and a dwarf can hide in a crowd of humans and gnomes. Enieyla stood silently, watching Cale out of the corner out of her eye. She wasn't sure why she had helped this human. It's not like he would have died from a bump on the head and a few scratches. It was just.... she sensed something different about this one. She wasn't sure what it was, but it intrigued her.
Khelor suddenly spoke in a hushed tone, sounding much more sober than he had for the past two hours, "We're being watched." Enieyla whirled around, and saw that her companion was correct. It appeared to be... a half orc? Those were uncommon, especially in the human capital. "Hey, you!" he yelled through the tavern's open window at Clara, "Is there something we can help you with?"
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There was another young man who was witnessing all of this. Physically, he looked very similar to Cale, albeit thinner and less muscular. He had long black hair which matched his dark eyes, and a cleanly shaven face. He was on his way to pick up some groceries when he spotted Cale standing up. “Is that....?” he said to himself. Not wanting to greet the boy without being sure, he decided to get closer and wait until he knew if it really was his brother he saw before him.
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Major Xeno
Aspiring Author
Master of Fire
A Perfect World makes a Horrible Story
Posts: 639
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Post by Major Xeno on Aug 7, 2011 23:26:57 GMT -5
Leaves rustled in the rustic Elven village with the breeze, the serene peacefulness of the forest-loving race infusing the very air.
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
Curious elves gathered ‘round the village smithy, where a curious human was hard at work. He brought the hammer down again, sparks flying. The elves were intrigued by the novelty of a human within their border, but the presence of a bored-looking member of the Black Guard reassured them, and they quickly went on their way.
All except for one, who stayed to watch through the afternoon and right into the long hours of the night, when the human finally ceased his work. Stripped down to a pair of rugged trousers and a sleeveless work shirt, the human tossed the calipers and small hammer to their bin, sweat and stink rolling off him. He lifted up his final object of the day, and set it aside, discarding his curiously slim pair of gloves. Drawing forth a cask from within his pack, he then set to the last step of his repair, the re-painting of the shoulder pauldron’s pristine color and coat of arms.
The member of the Black Guard had long since nodded off in his corner, and thus didn’t notice when the human calmly gathered up his armor, swaddled it in his travelling bag, before walking off without a moments hesitation.
Xxxx
And so the human left the village, to return to Cimanor, as per a rather interesting message he had been handed, indicating that large groups of bounty hunters and adventurers would soon be trying their best to enter the Forbidden Lands. His contact in Cimanor had suggested that he, a veteran fighter of Undead, might find his skills in demand.
But he had barely walked fifteen minutes when he heard a slight snap of a twig breaking. In a quiet motion, the human slid his pack off its loop and onto the ground, drawing his freshly cleaned sword and grasping his shield. His armor was still in its bundled components, but the man’s traveling clothes, which doubled as his under-armor, was more than enough for a casual fight, if there was such a thing.
“Come out.” the man called, lowering himself into a combat stance, shield at the ready.
There was no response, except a lack of response.
“I know you are there,” the man continued, his voice calm and steady. “You are good, but you are a novice. Your cloak whips at your pants, and your weapon’s sling is loose, and it bangs against your shoulder.”
A moment of silence.
Then a woman dressed as an Elf walked onto the path. She was dressed in dark woodsman’s gear, almost as if one of the Elvish wanderers, the elusive Rangers. But she was no Elf, and not even an experienced traveller, at that.
The man loosened his grip on his blade, flipping it around in his hand and sheathing it.
“Why have you followed me?” the man asked.
“You are human in Elvish lands.” the woman replied in fluent Elvish, the accent perfect.
“As are you.” the man replied in Common. The woman paused for a moment, betraying her surprise.
“Why are you here?” she switched tactics.
“To search. You?”
“None of your business.” she shot back, temper lacing her words.
“You watch me for hours, follow me out of the village and stalk me. I answer your question, but you do not answer mine.”
The woman paused again, debating in her mind.
“To hide.”
Her answer caught the man off guard.
“From what?”
“None of your business!” she snapped, suppressed rage from her tongue. As she spoke, she gestured wildly, making a cutting motion with her hand, tossing her dark cloak open. The man’s eyes widened slightly, the pieces falling in place. He replaced his shield to its travel position and hefted up his pack, starting down the road towards the woman. She tensed, but he stopped clear of her.
“Throne, you’re just a girl.” he whispered, his eyes clouded, and his expression full of … pity?
“I am twenty-five!” the female retorted.
“And you are in Elvish Lands, in Milanian, masquerading as one of them.”
The girl had no retort for that.
“Come on, girl.” the man said softly, holding out a hand. “You can come with me, and nothing will harm you ever again, I swear.”
The girl tried to look aloof, but nodded, tears starting to leak out of her eyes.
Together they walked down the road to the ferry landing, the warrior with his pack, and the girl with hers.
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Major Xeno
Aspiring Author
Master of Fire
A Perfect World makes a Horrible Story
Posts: 639
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Post by Major Xeno on Aug 23, 2011 0:53:28 GMT -5
(lol double-post)
The so-called Imperial ferry, a long disputed international relations nightmare, was a majestic creation, underappreciated though it may be. It was a deceptively small, fast little clipper, with different interpretations to both races.
To the humans, it was a holdover to the days before steam-powered boats, when human shipwrights worked fingers to the nub and minds to tax so that they could catch the ever-elusive attention of the military’s acquisitions office. Every angle was considered, truly enormous amount of sail rigs tested, only to yield the clipper. It wasn’t the fastest of the designs, nor the strongest or even carried the most cargo. Yet it was the best of all worlds, fast yet strong, small yet spacious. It could never carry as much cargo as the mighty steam-ships of the human kingdom of Balaeruid. But for a small ferry, just large enough to transport the small numbers of half-elves that decided to move between Milanian and Balaeruid.
To the elves, the ferry was a necessary change, one brought about by the horror of the Undead Plague. Elvish messengers were very fleet-of-foot, but due to old hatreds, an elvish messenger would not be welcome running through the countryside of Balaeruid. To this effect, the Ferry’s two end points were a small elvish outpost and one of the Balaeruid Navy’s larger Naval bases. As such, the base was directly connected to a perfectly straight section of the Balaeruid railway system, which led straight to Cinamor. Tickets were pricey, but to many half-elves, it beat traveling across Balaeruid to get to Milanian.
And to Eugan Chelkar and his companion, the Ferry represented the best way into and out of Milanian without being found as pure-humans. The ferry operators had seen many half-elves come their way before, some embracing their elven heritage though born in Balaeruid, and some taking a little bit of that human tendency to overcompensate with them. A man in full-plate was unusual, but not worth too much trouble, and a lithe woman in Elvish garb and accent was simply another passenger. The crew assumed that the Lady was a pureblood Elf and the man her half-blood guide.
Thusly, none of the crew bothered Chelkar or the Lady while they stayed beneath deck. However, this did not mean that their trip was a social one. Abbie, for her part, was silent and contemplative, as she played with one of her knives absentmindedly. Looking up from he was carefully applying a black painted sigil with a delicate brush Chelkar chuckled.
“What’s so funny?” Abbie asked, ceasing her handling.
“Only a knife.” Chelkar stated. Abbie looked confused.
“When you fight, a couple of knives aren’t going to stop someone from caving in your skull.” Chelkar explained, as if to a son. “You’re going to wanted something with a little more staying power, something that’ll put a man down much quicker that sticking him with a pointy shard of metal.”
“You run around with a larger pointy shard of metal, what’s the difference?” Abbie pointed out, gesturing with her knife.
“The difference, kid, is that I ‘run around’ in full plate armor, when not many still do.” Chelkar said, lifting his half-painted pauldron for emphasis.
“So what?” Abbie retorted. “It’s not like you have an extra set of armor and another pig-sticker stashed in that backpack of yours!”
“Well, you could have asked…” Chelkar responded calmly, pulling something out from under his bunk and tossing it lightly to Abbie.
Abbie squeaked like a surprised elephant, dropping her knife and clumsily catching the wrapped bundle. Carefully, almost hesitantly, she pulled back layers of soft cloth swaddling the long whatever-it-is-thingy. First, a lovingly molded wooden stock appeared, Abbie’s eyebrows rising and her eyes widening as a beautiful lever-action rifle. An ammo belt and a shoulder sling followed quickly after.
“Really? For me?” she whispered, slowly sliding her hand down the barrel.
“As you pointed out, I do not happen to have another set of armor in my care, and even if I did, I doubt anyone on this continent could wear it.” Chelkar smiled, but fell back in surprise as Abbie dove across the cabin and tackled Chelkar, hugging him.
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Post by Calefrun on Aug 23, 2011 14:03:11 GMT -5
(Double posting is cool, but what would be even better is if some people posted at all )
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Post by Myrdraxxis on Aug 23, 2011 19:26:26 GMT -5
(college is time-consuming, bro)
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Post by Mizagium on Aug 23, 2011 22:41:23 GMT -5
Matt gave the kid a look, then the sign - and shrugged. "Well, I'm glad. Pretty sure Master Mordath will be happy to not have a lawsuit on his hands." He chuckled, only half joking. "They your friends?" He indicated the dwarf and the elf.
~~~~~
Clara Lux considered the dwarf carefully. "No, I don't think so, dwarf. And if you want to keep what little height you have left, then you'll keep on going."
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Major Xeno
Aspiring Author
Master of Fire
A Perfect World makes a Horrible Story
Posts: 639
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Post by Major Xeno on Aug 23, 2011 23:20:02 GMT -5
(As ironic as this is, Discussion Forum is there for a reason.)
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Post by Myrdraxxis on Aug 24, 2011 22:21:48 GMT -5
Kazamir strode down the street, pausing at the corner. The shop should be around here somewhere if his memory served him rightly...ah, there it was. Kazamir noted that there was a rather strange group of people standing outside of the shop. Two young men -one that Kazamir recognized as Mordath's apprentice- as well as a young woman, an elf and a dwarf.
"Boy." he spoke to Matt as he approached, focusing his piercing red gaze on the lad. "Is Master Mordath in? I have need of him."
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Post by Calefrun on Sept 21, 2011 18:23:15 GMT -5
Cale glanced at the pair Matt was referring to. "No," he said, "I've never met them before. But the elf saved me from further embarrassment and a trip to the doctor." He paused a moment, watching the elf. “Of course,” he added, “I certainly wouldn't mind becoming friends with her.”
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Khelor jumped to his feet, a wide grin on his bearded face. “Them's fightin' words!” he exclaimed. He drew his axe and slid into his fighting stance.
Displaying no emotion aside from mild annoyance, Enieyla asked her companion, “Is this really necessary?”
“Of course it is! I'm not just gonna let such an insult slide! This lass needs to be taught a lesson!” he replied without turning to her.
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Post by Mizagium on Sept 21, 2011 22:57:47 GMT -5
Matt snickered at the way the boy said "friends". He knew the feeling. "I'm Matt, by the way. Matt Sandar, assistant to Master Mordath." He glanced over at the man who asked, well demanded to know whether or not Master Mordath was in.
"Yeah, he's inside in his office.." He opened the door a crack. "Shop's open. Go right on in and take a left. First door on your right."
~~~~~
Clara Lux was on her feet in an instant, dagger and pistol drawn and the latter aimed at the enraged dwarf. Six shots was all she had at the moment; she hadn't gotten around to acquiring more ammunition since arriving in Cimanor. But six were all she needed. the dwarf didnt' look like much.
"Your move, small-fry." She smirked.
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Post by Myrdraxxis on Sept 21, 2011 23:07:05 GMT -5
Kazamir nodded, gazing at the small group for a long moment before stepping inside. He glancing around, admiring all of the works that were strewn about the shop before continuing down the hall. He paused at the door, knocking lightly as he entered.
Usually he didn't bother with common courtesy with mere mortals, but he owed Mordath at least that much.
"Mordath." He said, stepping inside. "I have a job for you."
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Post by Calefrun on Sept 21, 2011 23:45:17 GMT -5
“Nice to meet you, Matt. My name's Cale.”
Hearing his brother's name, Andraerl Efrun decided it was time to make his presence known. He stepped forward and placed a hand on Cale's shoulder. The latter whirled around to see his older brother face to face.
Shocked, he asked, “Andraerl? What are you doing here? Who's helping mom and dad with the farm? How long have you been standing there?”
Andraerl started to answer, then noticed the ruckus out in the street. “I can answer your questions later, perhaps now we should do something about your friends?”
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“Ya don't have to tell me twice!” Khelor yelled enthusiastically as he ran forward at a speed one wouldn't expect from one so small and round. He dove through the window and rolled behind Clara to avoid being shot, then took a swing at her legs, his axe moving with enough force to crush boulders- the result of years of nonstop combat.
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Major Xeno
Aspiring Author
Master of Fire
A Perfect World makes a Horrible Story
Posts: 639
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Post by Major Xeno on Sept 22, 2011 22:59:20 GMT -5
Abbie couldn’t help but tense up a little bit when they entered Cimanor, bad memories returning to her in a flash. She hunched slightly as they left the relative safety of the armored train, but straightened quickly, lest Chelkar see and wonder why.
Across the busy terminal, a pair of eyes lowered as they saw Abbie, still in her authentic Elvish Ranger gear. She’d apparently picked up a rifle on the way too, the thug mused. Still, the boss would want to hear about this. The thug really didn’t care when the bitch escaped, but if she was stupid enough to come back into town wearing the same clothes as when she left, the boss’s men’d catch her sooner or later. Blowing out the last of his cigarette, the thug departed with a cheery thought. Maybe the boss’d let him go first when they got the bitch back.
“Well,” said Chelkar, crossing his arms. “This is it. Cimanor city.”
He snorted derisively.
“Sure has grown since I was here last,” he mused. “First object is to find my contact. Letter he sent said he’d be in the Hanged Man tavern, between the slums and the merchant district.”
Abbie frowned. Chelkar wasn’t the most verbose of people; so giving her directions meant that he’d be going somewhere else.
“And where will you be going?” she inquired, leaning against the side of the wall.
Chelkar turned his bucket of a helmet to look at her, then he chuckled.
“I’ll be going to the Cimanor Library. I’ve got a good friend who works there, and I promised I’d always update him with my stories and findings while I’m traveling.”
Abbie nodded, apprehension growing on her. If Chelkar left her alone, then things wouldn’t be so good if his men found her. Still, she’d been training like the Elf told her; she should be able to evade them if the need came.
“Okay.” Abbie responded, unable to shake that feeling in her gut.
Chelkar tossed Abbie a little pouch, before he headed off to the arcane section of town. Abbie caught it easily, opening it and finding a small amount of gold and a note.
Sanctuary Inn and Pandemonium Weapons are owned by two good friends of mine, and will give you discount prices if you tell them you know me. Get some food at the Inn, my friend likes to talk and I may be a while. The names of the Innkeeper is Jamella, the Smith is Halbu. When you talk to them, be polite. Halbu has a small package he has been keeping for me for a while now. If you could pick it up on your way, I would appreciate it.
Grumbling lightly about being sent on a errand, Abbie headed off, her earlier fears forgotten quickly.
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