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  1. #11
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    ° Ignore Zweischneid
    "Crude weapons! But weapons at least!"
    Absentmindedly, Mordras skillful plays with the carving knive, letting the small blade dance up, down and around in mesmerizing patterns.


    "But since we can defend ourselves at least. Manke naa lye autien? - Where are we going now?

    "My armor is like tenfold shields, my teeth are swords, my claws spears, the shock of my tail a thunderbolt, my wings a hurricane, and my breath death"

    -- Smaug, the Dragon, "The Hobbit"

    Games

    Benedict in 8 years ago, the world ended... [4E]:IC
    Bheazir, Rebel of Evenfall in Redclaw's Young Rebels: OCC; IC
    Imrahil in Keep on the Shadowfell: OCC; IC
    Koryo of Tiger's Rest in Path of Enlightment: IC
    Khoros, of House Tharashk in Keep on the Shadowfell: OOC; IC
    Mordras Blackleaf in Stranded - Lost and confused: OCC; IC
    Ruthear ar'Thar in Gaming w/Jemal Past Tense: OCC; IC

 

  • #12
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    ° Ignore nonamazing
    Cyrial has been quiet so far, listening carefully to the others but refraining from joining the conversation. I didn't really get off on the right foot with Fodor, and I don't want to run the risk of annoying him...better for me to hang back, and let him get more comfortable with the others. I'll step up when the time is right.

    As the others are discussing weapons and passing around the crude carving knife, Cyrial does speak up briefly: "Um...Mordras? May I see that knife for a moment when you're done?"

    Spoiler:
    Cyrial will carve a simple holy symbol of Sehanine, so that he can have an implement for his powers. He'll tuck it under his shirt once he's finished.

  • #13
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    ° Ignore Rayex
    Keira

    You had recieved - yet another - commendation for your bravery in the field. Thinking that this time, perhaps your father would finally be proud of you. These days, it was the only thing you wanted. Before you joined the military service he used to praise you all the time, but now that had changed. Having no idea why it was so, you were ever trying to achieve more, to be better than before. His praise means - everything - to you these days.
    Proudly showing your father your last achievement, your dreams come true. He smiles brightly and tells you how proud he is. He beckons you closer, to embrace you. Bursting with joy, you almost run the poor man down. It was as you remembered it - years ago - his embrace. Warm, comforting...

    Your right side explodes in pain, and a cold whisper in your ear; "You are not my daughter. She always made me proud, you have done nothing but disapoint me. You are not my daughter." As he pulls back, you look down to see the hilt of a dagger sticking out from below your ribcage. You close your hands around it, and tries to pull it out. Your strength has abandoned you though, and you can do nothing but wrap your hands around it. Looking up at your father, your knees buckle. Falling to the floor, you whisper; "Father..."

    --------

    Waking up to a scream, your dream still fresh in your mind, you sit up. Looking around you, you see people rushing towards a forest. You're on a beach. That's weird.
    Something is going on up there, but you are not sure what it is. Still shaking from the memories of the dream, you take your time and take a closer look at your surroundings. Surely the Silver Swan must have met a disasterous fate, but you cannot locate any signs of a wreckage. You also realize with a shock that your belongings are gone. Including your priced halberd.
    A little while later, the captain comes down from the forestline and starts to bring some order to the the chaotic ramblins of the passangers from the ship.

    Spying you through the crowd, the captain comes to you and ask if you are OK. Telling her you are, she responds; "Good. I'm sending out a few scouting parties. If you don't mind, I would like you to fo with one of them, they could need your leadership. Please?"

    You agree, and she tells you that they are preparing to move into the forests now, and that you should hurry to catch them before they move on.



    As you are finishing up your preparations with the crafting of crude weapons, a young tiefling woman comes from the beach.

  • #14
    A serious scowl creases the brow of the tiefling woman walking near the water. She has ripped two strips of cloth from the hem of her once pristine white cloak of an Ibenhold officer. She dips the cloth in the salty waves then wraps her fists as she saunters up the sand toward the group. She looks over the group and raises an eyebrow at the Bugbear. "You do know that a twig ain't too much good in a brawl?" She pans over the group again. "And we are only going to check out the woods not charging off to war against the legions. Pack up your crap and get your asses in gear. We are wasting valuable time. Time I intend on spending on a feather mattress in Ibenhold I ain't seen in two fortnights." She does not wait long before she is past the group and heading for the treeline.

  • #15
    "If you don't have any other weapons, a twig is better than nothing, right?" Tara states, glancing around the others for confirmation. "Besides this place is dangerous, just look what happened earlier. So getting some sort of weaponry who need such to defend themselves might not be a bad idea."

  • #16
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    ° Ignore Kaodi
    " Swinging ' the Twig, ' " says Fodor, hefting his massive quarterstaff, " Is but the least of my skills. "

    He seems to be a little nonplussed that the tiefling has not even bothered to introduce herself. But he smiles grimly and says nothing else, following the woman, but keeping his eyes open. No good to charge into the fray just to get killed because you did not think ahead.
    -Kaodi

    Good name in man and woman, dear my lord,
    Is the immediate jewel of their souls.
    Who steals my purse steals trash; 'tis something, nothing;
    'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands;
    But he that filches from me my good name
    Robs me of that which not enriches him
    And makes me poor indeed.

    -Iago, Shakespeare's Othello, Act III. Scene III. Lines 180-186.

  • #17
    The tiefling soldier looks at Fodor with a wry smile "I was hoping you would say that." She stops near the edge of the sand and rounds on a heel. She admonishes herself silently for forgetting that these are just a bunch of civilians and not a properly trained military unit. She nods in agreement toward Tara and shows her the improvised 'gauntlets' she quickly made. "I am Sergeant Keira Orus, Citizen Soldier of the 3rd battalion "the mighty snakes". Sorry for my rashness I am just a little grumpy, for obvious reasons. I just know that the longer we sit on this hot sand the longer it will take before we find food and water or possibly civilization. I'll keep watch while you guys finish up." That nightmare has her all turned around. She usually does not come across this harsh or impetuous. She whispers to herself as she watches the trees. "What would Da think of you now you silly girl? Running off half cocked with a bunch of civies to get them killed. Tight'n up!"

  • #18
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    ° Ignore Zweischneid
    'Beautiful work! Beautiful work indeed!"
    Modras complements Cyrial's craftsmanship as he takes back the small blade and tucks it into his belt.

    "And welcome to you Lady Keira! Saesa omentien lle - a pleasure meeting you."
    the slender Eladrin adds, eyeing the new arrival with clear, silver-blue eyes.

    "A penance for action is certainly admirable. But with your expertise in military affairs, I am sure you will appreciate that proper prepardness can decide a turn of battle, as well as a quest."

    Looking out to the line of trees he adds quietly.
    "And often as not by some minor advantage too, one that may have appeared insignificant. To succeed - in a fight or in life - one needs to be ready. Ready in order to strike when the opportunity arises. Ever ready.. as not to be overwhelmed when events unfold..."

    "My armor is like tenfold shields, my teeth are swords, my claws spears, the shock of my tail a thunderbolt, my wings a hurricane, and my breath death"

    -- Smaug, the Dragon, "The Hobbit"

    Games

    Benedict in 8 years ago, the world ended... [4E]:IC
    Bheazir, Rebel of Evenfall in Redclaw's Young Rebels: OCC; IC
    Imrahil in Keep on the Shadowfell: OCC; IC
    Koryo of Tiger's Rest in Path of Enlightment: IC
    Khoros, of House Tharashk in Keep on the Shadowfell: OOC; IC
    Mordras Blackleaf in Stranded - Lost and confused: OCC; IC
    Ruthear ar'Thar in Gaming w/Jemal Past Tense: OCC; IC

  • #19
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    ° Ignore nonamazing
    "T-thank you, Mordras. I'm surprised myself--I've never tried this sort of thing before. Perhaps my goddess guides my hand..," Cyrial says, his voice trailing away. The small holy symbol, carved from sun-blackened wood, is smooth and elegant, its appearance a stark contrast to the crude knife used to create it.

    Cyrial ties the symbol onto a thin strip of leather, placing the makeshift amulet around his neck and hiding it beneath his shirt.

  • #20
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    ° Ignore Kaodi
    Fodor grabs a few more supplies and hastily constructs another spear and sling for Sergeant Otus.

    " I think that we are sufficiently prepared now, " he says as he puts on the finishes touches. " I would not be surprised if we were to encounter any strange matter of beast in the excursion. Whatever it was that managed to do this to use surely would have have much problem with procurring specimens. So, if I may suggest it, no one let disturbance go unnoticed once we enter the forest. "

    He hands the crude weapons to Keira and says, " Let us get going then, I suppose. It is of no use to consume more time here now that we are armed. Please lead the way. I am thankful that someone with experience and charisma is here to lead us into actual encounters, as my intellect can only compensate so much for my uninspiring presence. "
    -Kaodi

    Good name in man and woman, dear my lord,
    Is the immediate jewel of their souls.
    Who steals my purse steals trash; 'tis something, nothing;
    'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands;
    But he that filches from me my good name
    Robs me of that which not enriches him
    And makes me poor indeed.

    -Iago, Shakespeare's Othello, Act III. Scene III. Lines 180-186.

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