Industrygothica's "Those Left Behind" [IC]
industrygothica
Adventurer
This must be the place, the halfling thought to himself. The wooden placard swung from rotting post connected with two rusted rings; an image of a dagger was carved into it. The paint was faded was the halfling could still see the remnants of the vermilion paint lingering on the misshapen blade.
"The Crimson Dagger's where ye wanna go fer excitement," the guardsman at the gate had told him. Friadoc had just reached the entry gates to the city of Irongate today, and the toothless gate man was the first person he saw. "Plenty o' things goin' on down there ye know. Lotsa interestin' folks." The guard smiled an ugly, gap-toothed smile and pointed straight ahead. "Jus' up da road a bit, an' go left on Martrusse. You'd be knowin' the place when ye see it"
The guard's eyes darted furtively back and forth for only a second, and he bent down to the halfling's level. "An' be sure'n tell 'em Kavros sent ye," he added with a wink.
"The Crimson Dagger" Friadoc whispers to himself. With wanderlust in his eyes, he pops another peanut into the air and catches it with his mouth and makes his way to the door.
The halfling managed to sidestep the man coming through the door, and his wonderlust quickly turned into trepitidation as he looked up and saw the beast that had thrown him through it.
A huge, over-muscled half-orc with a broken tusk looked down at him and held the door. "Comin' in or ain't ya?" The grisly voice sank down to the halfling's bones, and as his eyes rested on the unconscious man beside him, he didn't even realize he was walking through the door.
The dwarf sat drunk again at the table in the corner, barely noticing the fight in front of him. He was thinking of Captain Stonebender again, and tryign to wash the memories away; those were dreams that he just wasn't in the mood for tonight.
The large half-orc had invited him to this underground tavern a few weeks ago, and Rogash had been coming ever since. He knew the fights were probably illegal, but the drinks were cheap, and the solitude merciful.
A particularly nasty crash had brought him temporarily out of his stupor and he looked up in time to see the elven man slide face-first down the side of the cage and collapse into a broken heap. This one's over, he thought as he brought his mug up to his cracked lips and drained it completely.
He raised his mug to the serving wench as she made her way through the groping ruffians in the crowd, signalling for another. A hand clasped his shoulder. "Yer up, Dwarf," a voice said.
Rogash, his mug still in the air, turned just enough to see the man who spoke. The fightmaster, Cragen, was a huge man with disfiguring scars covering his most of his body was standing over him, his hand still on his shoulder but not bothering to look down at him.
"Don't wanna," Rogash said as he watched the half-orc drag the lifeless elven body out of the cage door and up the back staircase.
"Yer tab's late, dwarf. Get in the cage." Cragen looked down at him now; his grip tightened on Rogash's shoulder. "That is, unless you'd rather take it to the alley."
Rogash looked up at Cragen; the man's twisted grin was sobering. He weighed his odds, but the two over-sized goons at the door made his decision. Slowly he got up, and made his way to the cage.
"Sure, I know how ye can make some extra gold," said the wiry old man behind the bar. His eyes were shifty, and Rokelsh knew he couldn't be trusted, but he decided to listen anyway, just to hear what he had to say.
"Yer a big fella, look like ye c'n fight." Rokelsh's ears perked. This was getting interesting.
"Looks like there might be room fer ya," The old mad nodded towards the door and watched a corded-muscled half-orc toss a man through the front door of the tavern. He hadn't seen them before, like they appeared from nowhere.
"Don't be worryin'," the man continued. He was drying a row of steins as he spoke. "Ye won't be havin' t'fight with Grunk. Won't be havin' that one on our heads!" He loosed a quick chortle and an impressive glob of spittle sprayed fom his mouth landed on the mug he'd just dried. "But there's others," he said, and he wiped the dripping mound of spit off the mug and set it down with the rest of the clean ones. Rokelsh nodded.
"Good," the man said, and he scurried rat-like over to Grunk and whispered something in his ear. He was back in a flash. "Follow Grunk, he'll show you the way."
Rokelsh followed the solient half-orc through a well concealed dooor behind the bar and down a narrow flight of stairs. Another door met them at the bottom, and Grunk knocked. Three times, a pause, and then twice more, and the door opened. Inside stood two hulking humans, and beyond was a rowdy and drunken crowd. A sullen but able-looking dwarf stood in an open cage in the corner. Grunk extended his hand, "dis way."
The bloodthirsty crowd began to cheer.
It's not supposed to be this way!
That was his last thought as his face slammed into the iron cage, before everything went black. And it was his first thought as he came to his senses just in time to crash face first again into the dirt in front of the Crimson Blade. His equipment came out after him, stirring up the dirt and bringing a tear to his eyes. he looked up, tried to make sense of it all, but everything was a haze. It was all fading, but the pain was searing through his face. White flashes jumped in front of his eyes, but he struggled to stay conscious. He knew someone had done this to him, but why? Where?
A figure emerged from the pain-enduced haze. Slowly, it came to light, and then faded again. He couldn't believe what he was seeing; couldn't believe how he'd sank so low, and that this had done it to him. He tried to say the words, but instead only found himself dreaming.
Several minutes later he snaps awake as two young boys try to relieve him of his purse. They seem to freeze in fear not only of his sudden awakening, but of the horrible condition of his nose, or at least what's left of it.
His eyes dart back and forth between the two boys, and the question burns at his lips. "Where is the halfling?"
#
"The Crimson Dagger's where ye wanna go fer excitement," the guardsman at the gate had told him. Friadoc had just reached the entry gates to the city of Irongate today, and the toothless gate man was the first person he saw. "Plenty o' things goin' on down there ye know. Lotsa interestin' folks." The guard smiled an ugly, gap-toothed smile and pointed straight ahead. "Jus' up da road a bit, an' go left on Martrusse. You'd be knowin' the place when ye see it"
The guard's eyes darted furtively back and forth for only a second, and he bent down to the halfling's level. "An' be sure'n tell 'em Kavros sent ye," he added with a wink.
#
"The Crimson Dagger" Friadoc whispers to himself. With wanderlust in his eyes, he pops another peanut into the air and catches it with his mouth and makes his way to the door.
The halfling managed to sidestep the man coming through the door, and his wonderlust quickly turned into trepitidation as he looked up and saw the beast that had thrown him through it.
A huge, over-muscled half-orc with a broken tusk looked down at him and held the door. "Comin' in or ain't ya?" The grisly voice sank down to the halfling's bones, and as his eyes rested on the unconscious man beside him, he didn't even realize he was walking through the door.
-----------------------------
The dwarf sat drunk again at the table in the corner, barely noticing the fight in front of him. He was thinking of Captain Stonebender again, and tryign to wash the memories away; those were dreams that he just wasn't in the mood for tonight.
The large half-orc had invited him to this underground tavern a few weeks ago, and Rogash had been coming ever since. He knew the fights were probably illegal, but the drinks were cheap, and the solitude merciful.
A particularly nasty crash had brought him temporarily out of his stupor and he looked up in time to see the elven man slide face-first down the side of the cage and collapse into a broken heap. This one's over, he thought as he brought his mug up to his cracked lips and drained it completely.
He raised his mug to the serving wench as she made her way through the groping ruffians in the crowd, signalling for another. A hand clasped his shoulder. "Yer up, Dwarf," a voice said.
Rogash, his mug still in the air, turned just enough to see the man who spoke. The fightmaster, Cragen, was a huge man with disfiguring scars covering his most of his body was standing over him, his hand still on his shoulder but not bothering to look down at him.
"Don't wanna," Rogash said as he watched the half-orc drag the lifeless elven body out of the cage door and up the back staircase.
"Yer tab's late, dwarf. Get in the cage." Cragen looked down at him now; his grip tightened on Rogash's shoulder. "That is, unless you'd rather take it to the alley."
Rogash looked up at Cragen; the man's twisted grin was sobering. He weighed his odds, but the two over-sized goons at the door made his decision. Slowly he got up, and made his way to the cage.
-----------------------------
"Sure, I know how ye can make some extra gold," said the wiry old man behind the bar. His eyes were shifty, and Rokelsh knew he couldn't be trusted, but he decided to listen anyway, just to hear what he had to say.
"Yer a big fella, look like ye c'n fight." Rokelsh's ears perked. This was getting interesting.
"Looks like there might be room fer ya," The old mad nodded towards the door and watched a corded-muscled half-orc toss a man through the front door of the tavern. He hadn't seen them before, like they appeared from nowhere.
"Don't be worryin'," the man continued. He was drying a row of steins as he spoke. "Ye won't be havin' t'fight with Grunk. Won't be havin' that one on our heads!" He loosed a quick chortle and an impressive glob of spittle sprayed fom his mouth landed on the mug he'd just dried. "But there's others," he said, and he wiped the dripping mound of spit off the mug and set it down with the rest of the clean ones. Rokelsh nodded.
"Good," the man said, and he scurried rat-like over to Grunk and whispered something in his ear. He was back in a flash. "Follow Grunk, he'll show you the way."
Rokelsh followed the solient half-orc through a well concealed dooor behind the bar and down a narrow flight of stairs. Another door met them at the bottom, and Grunk knocked. Three times, a pause, and then twice more, and the door opened. Inside stood two hulking humans, and beyond was a rowdy and drunken crowd. A sullen but able-looking dwarf stood in an open cage in the corner. Grunk extended his hand, "dis way."
The bloodthirsty crowd began to cheer.
-----------------------------
It's not supposed to be this way!
That was his last thought as his face slammed into the iron cage, before everything went black. And it was his first thought as he came to his senses just in time to crash face first again into the dirt in front of the Crimson Blade. His equipment came out after him, stirring up the dirt and bringing a tear to his eyes. he looked up, tried to make sense of it all, but everything was a haze. It was all fading, but the pain was searing through his face. White flashes jumped in front of his eyes, but he struggled to stay conscious. He knew someone had done this to him, but why? Where?
A figure emerged from the pain-enduced haze. Slowly, it came to light, and then faded again. He couldn't believe what he was seeing; couldn't believe how he'd sank so low, and that this had done it to him. He tried to say the words, but instead only found himself dreaming.
Several minutes later he snaps awake as two young boys try to relieve him of his purse. They seem to freeze in fear not only of his sudden awakening, but of the horrible condition of his nose, or at least what's left of it.
His eyes dart back and forth between the two boys, and the question burns at his lips. "Where is the halfling?"
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Friadoc
Explorer
Playfully dropping into a fighting stand, with a sly grin on his face, Friadoc balances on the balls of his feet, briefly pushing up to his tipy-toes, before dropping lightly back down and sayingto the half-orc, "Oh, of course, my feet led me here, aiding by Kavros' directions, it'd be an waste to walk on by."
"You should probably get that set," says Friadoc to the unconscious man, as he walks into the offered door. "If not, you'll have a helluva snore."
"You should probably get that set," says Friadoc to the unconscious man, as he walks into the offered door. "If not, you'll have a helluva snore."
Scotley
Hero
Rogash
The dwarf waited for his foe with some trepidation. "Gods, I should have either drank faster or slower," he groans to himself with a bit of a slur. He gets ready to fight as best he can in his present state.
His dark bushy beard erupts from under his helmet like weeds overgrowing a neglected garden. His hair however is carefully braided with purple cloth and gold wire. The purple surcoat covering his breastplate is stained with ale and food and is a little tight over a bit of a beer gut. He holds his fists up with a casual confidence that suggests he's been in more than a few fights. His right hand bares a tattoo of a broad-headed spear with a wavy haft. He spits on the ground and shakes his head as if to clear it. He takes a proper if somewhat wobbly combat stance. His facial expression changes to something between a grin and a grimace as he says, "Come on, let's do this and get it over with."
The dwarf waited for his foe with some trepidation. "Gods, I should have either drank faster or slower," he groans to himself with a bit of a slur. He gets ready to fight as best he can in his present state.
His dark bushy beard erupts from under his helmet like weeds overgrowing a neglected garden. His hair however is carefully braided with purple cloth and gold wire. The purple surcoat covering his breastplate is stained with ale and food and is a little tight over a bit of a beer gut. He holds his fists up with a casual confidence that suggests he's been in more than a few fights. His right hand bares a tattoo of a broad-headed spear with a wavy haft. He spits on the ground and shakes his head as if to clear it. He takes a proper if somewhat wobbly combat stance. His facial expression changes to something between a grin and a grimace as he says, "Come on, let's do this and get it over with."
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industrygothica
Adventurer
Scotley said:
[sblock=ooc]I suppose I might have mentioned that your axe has been checked at the door. Afterall, the owners of this upstanding establishment wouldn't want any blood on their hands, eh? Looks like Rogash will be doing this one the old-fashioned way. On the upside, you've still got your armor (Gotta have something to protect yourself against all those wandering steins!).[/sblock]
industrygothica
Adventurer
Friadoc said:
The giant half-orc holds the door for the halfling and then walks away behind the bar. He stops and whispers something to the spindly barkeep, and then leads a rather large human into a small room behind the bar.
The barkeep nods, and Friadoc notes his shifty grin and furtive eyes. "Good day," he finally says "Grunk tells me it was Kavros that led you to here, eh? Well, we'll have t'give 'em our thanks for the business. What can I get ya?"
Jemal
Adventurer
Rokelsh entered the cage with a small amount of Disdain. This type of combat would not be honourable, he felt it in his bones. The drunken dwarf across the ring hammered the point home as he wobbled forwards. With a Humph, Rokelsh strode forward, looking down at the dwarf who probably wouldn't have been able to reach his face if he jumped. "I apologize for what I must do, sir, but we all need money, no?"
Rokelsh looks around, waiting for a ring bell.
When he hears it (Or if he doesn't hear it and the Dwarf does something), the big man turns swiftly and Barrels his fist into the dwarf's face, following it up by stepping back and kicking the dwarf in the face.
[sblock=ooc]
Couldn't remember if we were supposed to roll for ourselves or not...
Entering combat (Initiative + 3), Two Unarmed strikes: + 10/5, 1d3+4 damage.
AC: 18
[/sblock]
Rokelsh looks around, waiting for a ring bell.
When he hears it (Or if he doesn't hear it and the Dwarf does something), the big man turns swiftly and Barrels his fist into the dwarf's face, following it up by stepping back and kicking the dwarf in the face.
[sblock=ooc]
Couldn't remember if we were supposed to roll for ourselves or not...
Entering combat (Initiative + 3), Two Unarmed strikes: + 10/5, 1d3+4 damage.
AC: 18
[/sblock]
The elf sits up slightly, and tries his hardest to get a grip on the reality before him. He could barely remember the fight in the cage, but why was he there? What was the purpose? He didn't think he'd be in it for the enjoyment, but he couldn't be sure. He couldn't remember his own name at the moment. He stood up slowly, still abit wobbly from the pounding he took, but still managed to fall to one knee. The whole world seems to swim before him as he tried to focus his eye sight to become stable. He rose slowly, and walked insecurely towards the door
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