D&D 4th Edition Red, Taran, Orim you're up[IC -D&D 4e: Forgotten Realms-] A Paid Trip to Spellhold


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    Red, Taran, Orim you're up[IC -D&D 4e: Forgotten Realms-] A Paid Trip to Spellhold

    This will be the IC thread for A paid Trip to Spellhold
    Last edited by Voda Vosa; Sunday, 16th August, 2009 at 11:08 PM.
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    Amn-Athkatla- Commercial District.

    The commercial district of Akathla is a huge clear space surrounded by a round building in which diverse stores open their doors to the customer. The central area is plagued with ambulatory sellers, small merchant stands and lots of people, buying and selling goods. The activity here boils at a never seen rhythm, and goes on all day long, from sunrise to sunset.
    But today is not like any other day... Wait, actually it is like any other day. Travellers arrive to the city gates with hopes of greatness and found only death in a dark alley, or a charlatan merchant that leaves them with empty pockets, even the Cowled wizards arresting anyone casting a single light spell at night.


    North Entrance of the Commercial district.

    Immarael the Eldarin sorcerer.

    Eldarins have come to be a common sight in Athkatla, so Immarael and the caravan were mostly ignored when they came through the city exterior gate. After delivering the goods in the indicated warehouse, work made by the caravan muscles -see “not Immarael”-, the humans often took a time to relax before departing again. Immarael got used to that, and eventually had some fun in those moments.
    But as humans say “Good lives short” and from one moment to another, it was time to deliver the second pack of goods, this time in the commercial district: Barrels of Dalelands’ most refined beer.
    But this one was not so easy. There were no guards this time in the interior walls of the commercial district, something odd. The door was barred closed, something even more odd. And there were those men, dressed in black with pointy swords, hidden behind the street corners and walls. That was not odd, it was bad.
    As each of you took your weapons, the bandits attacked without mending with words. The fight was a tough one, Immarael and his comrades duel the bandits in the fray, but where outnumbered, and although many of the nasty fellows fell under the caravan men’s steel, the athkatlians slew the Daggerdale men, until there was just Immarael’s emotionless face, and bloodied sword separating them from their loot.
    The bandits, close to the eldarin, but couldn’t see what was happening behind them. Immarael saw that behind the door, something shiny was approaching, and covered himself just in time. A ball of fire exploded on the door, sending blazing splinters all around, caught the bandits in a fire inferno.
    Before falling unconscious, Immarael saw a cowled figure standing among the remains of the door, beholding the scene, and how it tured back and walked away. The sound of the surprised crow was the last thing that the eldaring heard.

    How much time passed? Who knows? You wake up in the arms of strange looking man. Or was he an elf? Both? Maybe, you are not sure. He seems concerned, but relief that you opened your eyes.


    Julian the Half-elf Bard

    After the wake of dawn Julian was staring at the huge walls of the city of Athkatla. The guards were very instructive and told him to move on before they smack him up with their halberds. And off he went inside the city, no knowing where to go or what to do.
    The Golden city was immense, no city he ever saw with his parents was so big, so full of people. Wanderlust moving his feet, the bard wandered around every block, talking to everyone he saw, and learning every tale people had to tell.
    After what seemed like 4 hours (and where actually 6) the bard found himself walking on a shadowy narrow street. As he walked down toward a more lightened path, he was intercepted bi a big hulking man, in black clothes, face covered. “What do we have here? A little rat.” The tug said. And there was the moment when Julian failed to notice something really important. A big fist in direct collision with his face.
    Oh boy what a punch! Julian fell backwards, stunned and dazed, with the world shaking around him.
    But something else happened, instead of taking his stuff, the tug turned arund and walked away. Seconds later Julian understood that there were several bandits, heading to the same location he did.
    Still shaking off the confounding effects of his brain crashing with his skull like a hammer on an anvil, Julian saw and heard what could have been a battle, clash of steel, pain screams. Much like the time when those bandits assaulted his camp. Flashes of memory of that day got in the middle of his confusion, to worsen things, if possible.
    After a couple of seconds, the street was silent again, and Julian recuperated fro the shock. He got closer to the spot, peaking from the corner. There were many bandits dead on the ground, and many other men, different men, not from Amn. There was that eldarin, sword in hand, standing between the bandits and a wagon full of barrels. The nasty fellows were approaching the feyish man, and then BOOM! An orange blast of light from the door behind the bandits, sending blazing splinters all around, caught them in a fire inferno. The eldarin saw the damn thing coming and took cover just in time. Surprised, the half-elf just heard: “... The house wont tolerate such behaviour from the shadow thieves to our merchants...” from the other side of the burning pieces of door, but was unable to see anyone. He caught eye of a bandit, running like hell, and disappearing in the streets.
    The disoriented bard couldn’t do anything but kneel ext to the eldarin to check him out.
    After a few moments, he was opening his eyes, even more disoriented than Julian.


    Athkatla- South entrance of the Commercial district.


    Grendel Holylight the shifter Cleric

    Perspectives looked just fine. Approaching from the south, Grendel didn’t found much trouble i the roads that led to the golden city of Athkatla. The main South Gate was impressive. But more impressive were the attitudes of the guards.
    With dislike in their eyes, they initially push Grendel out, away from the gates. “This is a civilized city, not a jungle beast, stay away.” Said one of them.
    But Grendel’s education paid him well. After a few phrases, the guards realized that this shifter was more educated than them. Which of course irritated them.
    One of them leaved his weapon a side, and raised his fists, ready to engage Grendel in a brawl fight. Tricky thing, shifters have claws.
    The beaten up guard fell to the ground unconscious. Not a good first impression.
    Scared, the second guard took his weapon, and tried to kill the shifter. But once again, diplomacy saved Grendel’s skin. The guard took him inside to the vigilance tower, where he was interrogated by a cowled man, with wide blue robes. After some spells were cast by this strange person, Grendel was released, with the warning of not getting into troubles.
    The Golden city was immense, nothing he ever saw was so big, so full of people. Wanderlust moving his feet, the holy man wandered around every block, amazed by the proportion of the human metropolis.
    Not used to spot the dangerous areas of a city, Grendel quickly found himself taunted by a pair of tugs. They were hidden among some crates in a dark alley, next to a tavern of sorts.
    The shifter growls low, awaiting the worse. As the pair of tugs approach, from the tavern door, comes flying an... an eldarin? Yes those feyish creatures Grendel had saw in his trips to the Wealdath. He never saw any of those flying, and this one probably didn’t fly either, he just had his ass thrown out from the tavern in just the precise moment. The Eldarin landed on the pair of tugs, knocking them out instantly, as they hit the solid rock of the ground with their heads.
    Dusting off, the eldarin stands up.


    Athkatla- South entrance of the Commercial district- Shifting Sands Tavern

    Soveliss the Eldarin Warlord.


    After a tough day, working for worthless humans in the markets, guarding a warehouse for two hours, and bodyguard of a tight up banker, Soveliss needed a drink. He wasn’t one of those drunkies that lived in the bar, but after a couple of month in Athkatla he developed a taste for that mid-afternoon drink. Eldarins have come to be a common sight in Athkatla, so Soveliss was mostly ignored when he prompted into this tavern. He had never come to this one in particular, but he didn’t feel like walking into the commercial district again.
    Minding his own business, the eldarin overheard a conversation taking place on a nearby table.
    “... And then we burned the hole place to ashes. Was fun I tell you. Petty we didn’t get the old man”
    “Yea, well, boss is going to paid us anyway, so what does it matters? That cranky meatbag’s not going to do anything.”
    “True. Besides he has no one left, we took care of that.”

    The pair of nasty fellows were talking about that man, Perkiss, who was supposed to teach him all about tactics and combat. Those bastards were the responsible of the three months of misery he has been living! Raising from his chair, Soveliss took the bad guy’s table and turned it upside down, spilling their drinks and stuff.
    “Wha...” one of the managed to say, before the eldarin delivered a punch in his face, making the human fall backwards on his chair.
    But the other one, swept Soveliss feet, and the eldarin fell to the ground. Helpless, the young fey was lifted and threw by the window by the two tugs.
    Luckily he landed over something soft. More tugs. These ones looked more “roguish”, with masks. Fortunately the collision knock them out as their heads hit the stone pavement.
    Dusting his clothes off, Soveliss looked into the tavern, but the murderers weren’t there.
    When the eldarin crouched to grab the things he lost during his “fly”, he catches a furtive presence at the corner of his eye. The eldarin raises quickly to see a hairy shifter, standing in front of him.


    “Red” the elven Invoker

    As any other day since you remember (About a couple of weeks that is) you’ve been helping Gob, the barkeeper of the Shifting Sands tavern. Busy with the cleaning, Red, as everyone called her, was moping next to a table with a pair of nasty humans whom were usual customers, and next to an eldarin man sitting on the bar, who she’d never seen before.
    As Red raised her hear to head to the kitchen, she grasped a portion of the conversation:
    “... And then we burned the hole place to ashes. Was fun I tell you. Petty we didn’t get the old man”
    “Yea, well, boss is going to paid us anyway, so what does it matters? That cranky meatbag’s not going to do anything.”
    “True. Besides he has no one left, we took care of that.”

    At that point, and as the elf woman turned to walk away, the eldarin took the guy’s table and turned it upside down, spilling their drinks and stuff.
    “Wha...” one of the managed to say, before the eldarin delivered a punch in his face, making the human fall backwards on his chair.
    But the other one, swept his feet, and the eldarin fell to the ground. Helpless, the young fey was lifted and threw through the window by the two tugs.
    Shocked, you see how the tugs walk to the backside of the tavern, after nodding to the bartender; seconds later Red hears the back-door closing.
    Reacting as quick as she possibly could, the read haired girl ran to the door, and once again, she was taken by surprise, as she found the eldarin, standing in front of a half-beast man, a shifter. In the ground, and presumably unconscious, there were two thieves, identifiable by their clothes.


    Athkatla- Commercial District.

    Twiixt the shifter Warden and Taran the elven Druid

    The road to Athkatla was peaceful and uneventful, but once within the city walls, problems came, one after another. First and most important, the Cowled wizards.
    Moments after the two brothers were walking the commercial district, a pair of wizards dressed in brilliant blue tunics approached them, with crystal orbs floating around their heads.
    “You are in possession of prohibited items of arcane nature. As you are obviously strangers to our city...” the mages glanced at Twiixt with distasteful eyes “...we can’t expect you to know our laws, but since you are into our city, and violating our laws, you’re going to be arrested. Thank our superior for that, in other situations you’ll not be treated with such courtesy, my savage infractors.” Not waiting a reply, the wizards cast a spell, and the next thing you knew was that you were teleported to some room in the heart of wherever the cowled wizards headquarters are.
    After some interrogations and abuses, a tight up looking wizard, this one evidently older that the pair that arrested you, starts looking at your belongings, that were previously removed and spread on a table. Each item the man took in his hand, was bathed by a dim light, as the mages chanted a few words.
    He seemed to be searching something, as he separated the mundane things from the amulets and magica items given to you by the druids of the groove.
    The search continued, until the old sage placed his liver spotted hand on the cutting of the strange plant. Smiling with satisfaction, the wizard ordered that the magical items should be confiscated and you should be released. The plant, he said, was to be more closely examined. After a short chanting, the wizards teleport you back to the commercial district.
    The cutting lost, along with the entrusted items from the grove, the brothers looked at each other, completely hopeless. But the amnians didn’t give them much time to think. Being teleported by a cowled wizard means only one thing: You are a criminal of some sort. And even worse if you are a hairy thing, or have pointy ears! Yeiks!
    People ignored them in the best of cases, and merchants closed their shacks when they approach.
    It wont be easy to ask these people directions about the Druidic grove, nor anything else.
    They tried to ask almost everyone, but no one answered, if you don’t consider insults an answer of course.
    Eventually they came across a bald man, dressed in heavy clerical tunic, showing the symbol of Aumator. Followed closely by a man of gangly body, almost lost in the folds of his grey cloak. His piercing eyes, too blue to be human, dart about furtively. His gray skin and dull white markings obscure his features.
    When the brothers ask the man for directions he smiles at them “Dear friends, Aumator does not smile upon you today, since the druids you seek are no longer within the walls of the golden city.” He said making a gesture with his hand. “I heard that they were searching for the cause of some strange plague that was no natural. They seek my counsel about that, and my divinity, Lord Aumator, revealed me in a dream, that whatever is causing this plague, resided in the far island in which lies the wastes of the ancient Spellhold.”
    Amazed by this priest humbleness, they thanked the man, and prepare to leave in the next ship to that island. But suddenly both remembered they didn’t have the cutting of the strange plant. Not good.
    The insightful man that the brothers had in front of them, quickly understood the dire situation of the pair, and yet again, he offered his help. “May be this holy avenger could help you in your quest.” The priest turns to the grey deva, and says “My friend, I have but one last task for you. Aid these people in finding their comrades, that’s the last order I give to you.” The bald man turns to the elf and shifter. “I’m afraid I’m running short of time my friends, I’ll be going, I wish you luck in your quest, and may Aumator bless you.”
    With a short bow, the man walked away, and was lost to sigh among the crowd of people. The brothers were left alone with this being, this deva, and with the renewed hope and kind words of the Aumator priest.


    Orim Tyudek the deva Avenger

    The last week in Athkatla was not so bad. The deva took many bad employments before, serving some worthless bastards, who saw his assassin skills, and not the holy warrior he was. Nothing was like before. Decadence, total lack of morality and principles.
    Torm was a relief after a day in Athkatla, the golden city, although Orim was not a complete devote. His failed mission had stained his soul, his very personality affected by the death of what he was supposed to protect. Maybe he should have never embrace the holy path, maybe he should just became an assassin, and earn money killing people. It would had been simpler. It would had been easier.
    About seven days ago, a priest, of the church of Aumator, came seeking for his services. Orim thought that this was just another of those corrupted priests, seeking personal benefit, rather than illumination.
    But Orim didn’t had all the answers, since this man surprised him. This bald holy man was as kind as a person can be, and the tasks he entrusted Orim brought flashes of memory from his first quests as an avenger. These were worthy tasks for an avenger. Orim felt like in the old days, before his great faliure.
    Even with the grim personality of the deva, the priest of Aumator developed a good friendship in so few days.
    The seventh day, as both of them were walking in the commercial district, basking in the afternoon sun, they encounter another strange pair wandering the streets of the city. A shifter and an elf, of wild appearance, both of them being completely ignored and not treated good by the locals. Hopeless they approached the priest, asking for the directions of the Druidic groove of the city.
    He smiles at them “Dear friends, Aumator does not smile upon you today, since the druids you seek are no longer within the walls of the golden city.” He said making a gesture with his hand. “I heard that they were searching for the cause of some strange plague that was no natural. They seek my counsel about that, and my divinity, Lord Aumator, revealed me in a dream, that whatever is causing this plague, resided in the far island in which lies the wastes of the ancient Spellhold.”
    The priest and you quickly understood the dire situation of the pair, and yet again, the man offered his help. “May be this holy avenger could help you in your quest.” The priest turns to Orim, and says “My friend, I have but one last task for you. Aid these people in finding their comrades, that’s the last order I give to you.” The bald man turns to the elf and shifter. “I’m afraid I’m running short of time my friends, I’ll be going, I wish you luck in your quest, and may Aumator bless you. We’ll meet again”
    With a short bow, the man walked away, and was lost to sigh among the crowd of people. The deva was left alone with this odd pair, a shifter and an elf, and with a new quest from the Aumator priest.
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    Grendel took in a long breath it seemed only to spit upon the bodies of the unconscious human attackers.... Soon though he remembered his teachings on manners and looked to the eladrin that just may have saved his hide... he offered the man a hand up and smiled softly... his appearance.. at least his features still looked primal.... yet his words flowed like rogue scholar...

    You may have just saved my life friend eladrin... nice flying leap you did there I must say.. I'm thoroughly impressed yes yes... impressed is the word I think I wanted.. thank you..." the shifter said... his voice had trailing tones of primal force to it but it was evident that he had worked hard in his lessons to speak clearly and without his heady earthen accent.....
    Last edited by Rathan; Friday, 3rd April, 2009 at 05:08 AM.
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    Immarael (Male Eldarin Sorcerer 1) HP:26 Def: 12 - 12/12/16

    Immarael groans loudly as he gingerly props himself up on one arm and gently rubs the large bleeding spot on his head where wooden shrapnel found a violent home.

    "The hells.... Arhhhhh!!! My head!"

    The Eladrin groans some more as the numbness slowly recedes from his body to leave a slowly throbbing mass of soreness and pain.

    He thinks to himself that perhaps coming here was not such a good idea as he works hard to see through the pain to focus on the person who seems to be tending to him.

    He says quietly "Are there any left alive?"
    Last edited by FreeXenon; Friday, 3rd April, 2009 at 09:58 PM.

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    "Red" - Female Elven Invoker

    Red was tired, mopping and waiting tables was long work . . . and utterly boring. The young elven woman felt she should be doing something else, somthing noteworthy, then smiled to herself. Red was certain that there were likely a hundred waitresses thinking they were meant for something more.

    Suddenly, the bar got a good bit more exciting as tables flew and punches were thrown, and Red only thought for a moment that she would be the one to have to clean things up before turning her attention to the young eladrin that had been tossed out by some ruffians.

    The young female tucked a riotous auburn curl behind her ear and looked out into the street to see the eladrin and some thieves. "Either you made really really quick work of those thieves . . . or someone else . . . ," Red paused seeing the shifter, gulping.

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    "Uhm," the wild elf said "you can call me Taran. This is my brother Twiixit. How can you help us?" The elf wears hide armor, on his back an unstringed longbow and a backpack. His darkgreen hair has some plants woven in and he fixes the deva with his amber eyes.
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    Orim spoke in a hoarse whisper, "I can help in the only way I know how. There is much to be said for specialization. While it is not my area of expertise, I suggest me get to the docks and determine when that ship is leaving."
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    Grendel looked up at the elven woman with long auburn hair in the window and almost freezes. That blasted scholar never taught him how to deal with beautiful women. Grendel nodded softly and looked down slightly before getting the courage to look back up... Well m'lady he sure did fly a good bit there.. and landed on these tugs here about to accost me... I owe him much thanks... are either of you hurt... I am a priest I can heal you..." the shifter says as if he'd just stepped out of some sort of school rather than the forests and from a tribe a savage animals.
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    Julian Drake

    Julian stared at the eladrin, suprised he still lived. "Thank Sune your alright. I saw one run off, but I don't believe your in any shape to give chase." Julian stood up, offering his hand and a smile to the man on the ground "The name's Julian Drake, at your service."
    "And right now I think you could use a healer." He added, pointing to the gash in the man's head.

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    "Red" - Female Elven Invoker

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    Red paused a moment, drinking in the calm nature of the shifter and the general sense that the trouble had ended, before glancing down at the once flying eladrin then back to the shifter. "They do say that timing is everything," Red offered. "I'm fine, unless you've got something there for tired feet and blisters on your hands from mopping all day. This one," glancing down at the eladrin, "I'm not so certain is fine."

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