"Nothing to go back to, sir . . . just here to help."
Durkik Forgeheart nods in thanks to the elf, and then ushers Jess to keep the cart moving. Throughout the rest of the evening's journey, the captain allows the elf to ride in peace and does not broach any further conversation. After many hours of shouting the city declarations, he's just as well not continue on with additional speaking anyway.
Eventually, the day's duty wraps up as the cart rolls to the gates of the Ministry of War. It is here that Jess hands the reins off to one of the stableboys, and Forgeheart climbs down from the back. He walks over to the tailgate, where Warrick still sits, unsure of what to do with the rest of his night. "End of the line, my friend. I'm sure I'll be seeing you back here in two days. You care in that time."
The ruddy dwarf smiles a bright but tired smile, then turns to go into the Ministry. However, before he can take more than two steps, a figure steps out from the evening's shadows, and Durkik is taken aback.
"Would'ya take an ol' dwarf to the fields 'f battle once more, fer the glory 'f Moradin and fer his own personal salvation?" says the old dwarf before him. Durkik's eyebrows raise in surprise, but then it immediately turns into a guffah and he walks over to his old friend. "Hah ha!!! You wish to join us, Firebelly you old dog? Now that is a proposition that I think we can certainly accept." He continues to laugh and he clasps a hand on the shoulder of Gombar, then turns to face the elf that sits no more than three paces away. "Another one you'll be fighting with, good sir!" he says to Warrick. "You'll all have hundreds of best friends once this battle is through." He guffahs again, and glances back and forth between Warrick and Gombar.
"Don't mention friends of arms. They don't endure long." The dwarf says with a sad grim. But his face seems to get some light and a spark of happiness "But enough 'f me ol' mumbin'. I'm Gombar Firebelly, Eye of Moradin, as some say, makin' fun 'f me." he points the scar that took his right eye. "'f course Moradin's not missing his eyes, like that other deity. Wha's about a cuple of ales to cheer up tha spirit, ah? Goes on me"
__________________ English is NOT my native language!
Mri'Thas: "Useless primates... " Sheng Zim: "Your existence brings the world out of balance. The chaos I bring shall revert it; unfortunately, your soul will be destroyed in the process."
-------------------------------------- Tuk Heavy Hands Apeldan: "Trolls are afraid to cats. Good to know" (Yttermayn's "Saga of the Dragon Cult") Cnosos: "I bet there's plenty of wonderful devices in that ship. Let's scavenge them at once!" (Blackrat's "After Earth") Metliz: Sounds like fun! (Arkandus's "The First") Thok: "Thok eats a lot, Thok big. Thok not good at first impressions." (MnL's "Valley of the Dead")
"Just a moment." tells Chris to the elf. He stand up and walk to the Michelle and Gloomblade. He first speak to the half-orc "Sorry to interrupt." he then turn toward Michelle "I would like to have a few words with you." he then look around, seeing the place getting more crowded. The crowd have start again to speak and the noise start to be louder. Loud enough to not be overheard except by anyone near, in that case, Gloomblade.
Chris look at Gloomblade a moment before speaking. "I heard you were member of the Lost Ones." Chris tells, keeping his voice low. "It's been a month that I'm in this city. I might not be aware of all the unwritten rules, so I wonder what I have done to have these three over my head. If I have done something to your organization, I would like to know, and I would like to know if you are recruiting at the moment."
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Tresa rose from her bleeding knees and clutched her warhammer, now returned to its normal size, close to her breast. Even with her eyes closed as she said a heartfelt prayer of thanks, she could still just make out the dwindling glow of Pelor’s light upon her weapon.
So her God had answered, it was now time to prepare. She gathered up her few belongings and headed for the door. Once she had told Brother Aenir of her decision she could leave him to the few duties which remained to the local priesthood whilst she organised herself once more for battle.
She would need armour. Her own she had long ago given away. And some stout boots! She looked down at her woven sandals and smiled, No, these would never do.
She stood on the steps of the temple and breathed in the aromas of Nine Bells. The smell of filth and decay drifted past her nose. Also the whiff of burning wood and turf, overlain by the various incenses of the temples. The effect was almost overpowering and she almost missed it - the acrid taste on the back of the throat of verdant leaf!
Her eyes darted around the dark of the alleyway and her keen eyes saw them - the halfling dealer and his bald customer.
"In Pelor's name, beggone! Do not peddle your sickening wares in the shadow of Summer's grace!" Tresa waved her hammer at the couple, and the halfling turned and ran up the alley. The priestess strode down to confront the customer but saw at once that he was not what he had seemed at first. He might have been one of the local farmers except that he bore a pendant of Moradin. A pendant of a size and quality that denoted perhaps a man of the cloth.
"It is a bad time for many here, good sir. A bad time for many."
She moved closer, puzzled by something about his appearance. He had the look of a cleric, but also of a fighter …and there was something else…
“I am Sister Tresa, until a few moments ago a priestess of Pelor here in Nine Bells. And now a just another of Pelor’s humble servants, ready to serve His Grace in these current difficulties. There will be fighting and death - I fear much of both - and I hope to be able to bring healing and succour to those striving to save their world from the oncoming darkness.”
“You, Sir, have the look of a seeker about you. But a seeker after what, I wonder? Is there anything I can do to aid you before I take up the task appointed for me?”
Ralak-Nul notices the half-orc disengaging from the druid and beginning to speak to the other half-orc. He continues observing for a bit. However, the bar quickly begins to crowd. As it is difficult to continue observing, he decides to walk up to the unoccupied elf woman. The one with the collar. The one who might be some sort of odd shapeshifter. Having decided on this course of action, he crosses the establishment."Greetings." He sits down, waiting for a response. Let her think him a harmless bar-crawler, perhaps. Unlikely, but it could happen.
Wendigo was about to speak to the halfling, looks up as the woman scolds him, sending him scurrying away like a rat. As the radiance fades from the woman's warhammer, the shifter contemplates her intently.
Surely a woman of the priesthood, Pelor by the look of her, would not turn away a poor and obviously hungry halfling. Is this what things were like everywhere outside the monastery?
"I am Wendigo but first I must ask you why you turned away the halfling. His ribs could be seen through his sparse clothes. Have you no food to spare for the poor?"
Leaning on his staff, he strokes his beard thoughtfully. His hand wanders down to grasp the symbol of Moradin around his neck.
"There must be something about me," Gala says to her new table companion. "I wander into a Dwarf village, and I've yet to have a conversation with a dwarf." She laughs to herself, though the laugh is an uncomfortable one, and emerges in short spurts, a series of high-pitched barks, as her lips pull back into something that might be a smile.
As she looks at the half-orcs, standing by the bar, their shoulders pressed against the ceiling beams, she wonders how bad her conversation has to have been. Gala licks the back of her hand, and pulls it past her ear, smoothing her short hair, and begins to speak again.
"I don't know when I've last seen a drow on the surface. What are you doing here? Have you heard anything about the orc advance?" She's trying to be nonchalant, but she's not a great liar, and even the mention of the orcs brings back the burning feelings inside, as she remembers all she has lost, all they have taken from her.
As Gala reaches for her drink, she knocks it over, spilling the dwarven ale over the table, the puddle advancing towards her new companion. "Ach. Sorry," she says, reaching with her hands to try to stop the liquid's advance, unsuccessfully.
She can make the distinction with the half-orcs. That's easy enough, when you know what to smell for. But with the drow it is different. They don't brhave as nature tells them; they choose not to. Gala stares at her new companion, shaking the beer from her hands, but not wiping it on herself. Gala is ready. It wasn't a good bluff, and the dark elf probably sees it for what it is, a sort of test. But she wants to know how he will react.
Michelle excuses herself from her scarred drinking companion to speak to the other half-orc.
"OH don't ye be worrien 'bout them, handsome, I did'n even recognize them, an if I don't know a thief in this town, 'e aint worth knowin or worryin bout." She crosses her arms and nods her head, obviously a bit drunk, though when she glances over at the drow now speaking to the elven lady with the collar, it appears that she may not be as intoxicated as she appears.
Bringing her eyes back to Chris, she smiles - a smile as intoxicating as anything else being served in Krunk's that night. "Nuff about them, though. Why don't you join Gloomy and I for a drink? That way if'n any more come in wondering what happened to the first, I can 'splain for both you AND Drunkie.. er, Krunkie." She giggles a bit and motions back to where the other half-orc is sitting, but her eyes glance back to the drow once more, and her smile slips for just a moment..
Chris look at Gloomblade a moment before speaking. "I heard you were member of the Lost Ones." Chris tells, keeping his voice low. "It's been a month that I'm in this city. I might not be aware of all the unwritten rules, so I wonder what I have done to have these three over my head. If I have done something to your organization, I would like to know, and I would like to know if you are recruiting at the moment."
Overhearing the conversation between Chris and Michelle, the Half-Orc watched both some interest.
It was at that moment that Gloomblade realized that perhaps there was some significance to that strange snake tattoo he'd been given in prison. Or maybe it was nothing at all.
__________________ He knows the score... he gets the women... and he kills the bad guy. If you hire him to kill the bad guy... better make damn sure the bad guy isn't you! EN World Community Supporter
Currently running "In the Shadow of Giants" [OOC] | [IC] | [RG]
Last edited by Insight; 12th May 2009 at 07:23 PM..
Reason: clarification from velmont
OOC: My bad, I wanted to say that he looked at Gloomblade a moment before he start to speak to Michelle. I must tell it is not clear. He did that because Chris knew Glommblade could overhear the conversation and he was evaluating you before speaking.
__________________ Living ENWorld di Senzio's Magical Shop, the best place to buy and sell magical items in Orussus
"Tregar! Tregar! Open the darned door, will ye. I can see your light, and I can hear your hammer so I know ye're in there."
"I have a little job for ye, Tregar. Shouldn't take long and ye can gat back to whatever else ye have to do."
Inside, Tregar had only recently awoken from his dream, lying on his side and shaking, covered in a cold sweat, despite the relative warmth of the shop. Lifting his head off of the ground, bits of dust and soot clinging stubbornly to the dwarf's greying beard, Tregar looks around confused for a moment.
"By the Creator! Can't people read!" Tregar curses to himself as he struggles to a standing position, his knees not what they used to be. This getting old didn't agree with him, but his mind was still sharp and more focused now than it used to be.
"Alright, I'm coming, hold yer britches" his voice slipping back into the accent that he struggled for years to overcome, hoping to better acclimate himself with this town.
Marching over to the door, the bedraggled dwarf peeks through the window and seeing his guest, Tregar is glad he decided to answer. Opening the portal, Tregar waved in Henry, he knew the individual well, having long heard the tale of the poleaxeman's generosity to the poor souls in the Nine Bells area.
"I don't have much time, but what in the name of the Soul Forger brings you down to my humble shop" Tregar asked the man with respect in his voice.
The dwarven captain had no more questions or comments, likely uncomfortable with the answers he had received . . . or at least that was as Warrick had thought. Nevertheless, the captain had allowed himto stay on the wagon for the rest of the journey, and surprisingly, nothing else happened along the way.
Warrick had all of his possessions with him, which wasn't very much, but it was enough. The elf had wanted to throw everything away . . . but his training had been too well conditioned in him . . . he was almost always prepared. Bow over his shoulder, twin blades at his sides, a pack on his back and a belt pouch on his waist . . . all were in muted greens and greys, blending in but not standing out.
The ranger did a quick inventory of his goods as he stood from the cart as the vehicle had arrived at its final destination for the evening. Never much for words, Warrick nodded his gratitude and agreement that he would be at the specificed location at the appointed time . . . just as he had relaxed his vigil on the shadows . . . something had emerged from them.
Warrick didn't jump, his only reaction was to place his hand on one of the blades at his side, and widen his vision to include the newcomer emerging from the shadows, perfectly ready to kill it or die trying. Again . . . it was unnecessary.
"Warrick Steel," the elven replied sketching a small bow from his waist at the new dwarf's introduction. "Ale works," Warrick added at the offer. It was a strange sort of circle that his day had taken . . . he had left an early morning ale to ride in the cart, and to the ale he was returning.
I'll need to stay cautious with that girl. thought Chris as he looks at Michelle going back toward Gloomblade. He decides to accept her offer and come back to her. He makes a sign to Sessie and ask for another mug of ale, not taking care of the one he left at Gala's table. "Since when elf and drow chat together? I thought they were enemies by nature." asks Chris to Mivchelle and Gloomblade.
__________________ Living ENWorld di Senzio's Magical Shop, the best place to buy and sell magical items in Orussus
Mri'Thas: "Useless primates... " Sheng Zim: "Your existence brings the world out of balance. The chaos I bring shall revert it; unfortunately, your soul will be destroyed in the process."
-------------------------------------- Tuk Heavy Hands Apeldan: "Trolls are afraid to cats. Good to know" (Yttermayn's "Saga of the Dragon Cult") Cnosos: "I bet there's plenty of wonderful devices in that ship. Let's scavenge them at once!" (Blackrat's "After Earth") Metliz: Sounds like fun! (Arkandus's "The First") Thok: "Thok eats a lot, Thok big. Thok not good at first impressions." (MnL's "Valley of the Dead")
As the sentence is passed down, the ever present smile crumbles a moment. For once, the Liberator of Overlook is speechless. No one would have heard him anyway with the ruckus the announcement made. Women bemoaned his fate. A few were angry or inspired enough to "join 'im myself". But the star of the show was silent.
Still remanded to the court, Darr brooded. Even Big Jack, who know now would be the time to strike, stayed away. It was this way for some time, before Darr stood up on his stool and began to speak. His tone was low at first, but soon it was fiery, impassioned, any no one could stop listening who tried.
The morrow will come, and like all the morns before it, the uncaring sun shall gaze down on the trivials of history. But is it trivial to us? No, my friends! Each day to that that live is a struggle, a struggle for life! A struggle of righteousness! A struggle to make our mark before it is erased from history! All men and women great and small strive to make their place under the sun, be they jailed or jailor. Was not the last King of Nerath a small man who quaked in fear within his heart but charged blindly at the gnoll hordes of the Vale of Crimson? Was not Sir Trakad, drunkard and womanizer, responsible for sealing the darkness at the Rift on the Shadowfell by giving of his own life? The great are small and the low are mighty, and all of us will make the mark history demands of us! So, when the morrow comes, and the sun comes blithely again to gaze down on us, I will look up proudly, eyes straight at the uncaring star, and shout, 'I am Dorn Tirae, son of Overlook, and I am here as history demands!
Borra Proudstone, hidden in the stairwell just long enough, smiled to herself.
__________________ stonegod -- LEB judge and spawn of Khyber since 2005 (Blog)
The drow warrior notes the odd laughing of his strange table companion. Yep, she's the jackal alright. The sudden motion startles him a moment, but he soon realizes it for what it is. It's just ale. Harmless. "To answer your questions: I know nothing about the orc advance save for what the dwarf told me this morning. If you haven't noticed, I'm rather new in this town." He stops, noticing the sudden flood of emotion. She's not a survivior of the Lolthite attacks, is she? Well, there's not much I can do about that, I guess... He notices the rehead's observation of him. "Who's the redheaded woman?" he asks, not taking his eyes off the were-jackal or the redhead. Either one could be a potential enemy. And there was only one way to deal with enemies: make sure they did not live to see the next sunrise. He hoped they weren't. But, just in case, his sword hung loose in its scabbard. It would prove to be an interesting night.
"I beg your forgiveness, Master Tregar but I believe my need is urgent. I do not know if you are aware of the call to arms that has been issued this night but I have decided...I have to..."
The big man's voice died away as he sought for a way to explain his need.
"'Tis a long story, sir, but at the end, it is that I wish to join the call-up. However, long ago I gave away my halberd when I left...my former employ. I have this poleaxe which I use at the abattoir but although the balance is very good it is not what I am accustomed to. I was hoping you could perhaps change the head..."
His look was one of pleading and Tregar, nay anybody with an ounce of sense, could tell there was a tale worthy of a bard lurking behind this simple request. It was something in the eyes.
"I am Wendigo but first I must ask you why you turned away the halfling. His ribs could be seen through his sparse clothes. Have you no food to spare for the poor?"
Tresa smiled a sad, wistful smile. "My dear Wendigo, of course we have food to spare for all who ask. And had that poor unfortunate only asked, he would have been fed and, if it was available, I would have found him clean clothes to wear and a palliasse for him to lay his head. And I have no doubt that in a day or two he will be back here and that is precisely what will happen."
Tresa sat down upon the step of the temple door and invited Wendigo to join her.
"Unfortunately tonight food was the last thing on his mind. He was trying to sell you, or anyone else who passed, a powerful narcotic designed to cloud the senses and delude the user into believing he was all-knowing and all-powerful. For many who use it the end result is death."
A soft sniff was heard as she wiped away a tear.
"It is an evil thing and so it is to be fought against wherever possible. The tragedy is that those who use it, and many of those who sell it, are just poor unfortunate souls who, despite all, still deserve our pity and compassion."
"I chased him away to show my anger at what he was selling and not to show any anger towards him personally. And, as I said, if he were to return tomorrow, without the drug, I would clasp him to my bosom, feed him and care for him."
Her voice grew stronger and yet it held an obvious note of sadness.
"I say I, but in fact it would be another of my brethren for from tomorrow I will no longer be here. I do not know if you have heard about the coming orc invasion but I intend to offer my services to the Watch. I will be sad to leave here but my God has made my duty clear."
She motioned towards the still faintly glowing hammer.
"And you, Wendigo, what brings you here at such a time?
Wendigo listens to the priestesses response to his genuine concern. "What you did is correct. You cannot hold the hand of those that break the law, they will not accept help unless they want it themselves."
The shifter sits down next to Tresa. "Enlightenment is sought by many. There are many ways to achieve it, some shorter than others, but they come with risks. Once the halfling realizes this, then he is on his way to true enlightenment."
The shifter takes off his holy symbol, looking at shiny metal, polishing it on the edge of his shirt. "I am here for I seek the Temple of Moradin here in the city. My home has been attacked and I seek aid. I have heard of orcs gathering, they could be the culprit. I fear what I would find should I enter the walls of the monastery."
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