Siege Of Bordrin's Watch

Insight · May 10, 2009

Jemal said:
"Aye, tis a popular place... Krunk's that is, not the prison." Michelle grinned - Of course she'd never been there, but not for lack of the guards trying.
"Though now ya've gone and got a girl curious as to what had ya in there in the first place, Nasty little hole like that.." She sets down her second cup and raises her eyebrows expectantly

Gloomblade finished his whiskey and tapped the bar counter twice, indicating to Sessie that he'd like to have another.

"Funny thing is," the Half-Orc replied. "I don't 'zactly know."

He extended a hand. "Name's Gloomblade. I know, I know. Sounds like some sorta warrior-poet who's had too much white wine and finds 'imself dancin' atop a church spire..." He paused, wondering if the metaphor would sink in.

"I woke up in Sub Saan Prison, nothin' on me but my birthday suit," he continued. "The boys, they gave me this Gloomblade name, as well as the multitude of cuts and scars yerr eyes're tracin' all over my face an' neck right about now."

Kobold Stew · May 10, 2009

It’s always a funny sight, when you’re in a dwarven village. I think they do it deliberately, but the surface buildings are always built so humans have to bend their neck: five-and-a-half-foot doorframes, beam construction so that there are always obstacles, stools and tables just a little too small. Underground is different of course – there they want to impress. But when it’s a surface building, it’s like some dwarf architect one night was talking to a gnome, and they engineered the biggest practical joke among the civil races.

Take this place, for instance – a human and now two half orcs are in the place, keeping a low profile by beating up… well, pretty much anybody, it seems. The human worries me. She saw me, Galatea thinks to herself. The comment about the color is well enough, but the adjective…

”Perhaps you’d all like to sit down” she says to the half orcs and the redhead. She is trying to be firm, but her voice lacks conviction. ”You’re attracting attention.”

Gala points to a couple of cut stumps that serve as extra stools, stacked against the wall. She rubs her chin, pausing to notice that her muzzle doesn’t have fur. It’s been a while since she was in this body for any real length.

The half-orcs she can make sense of. She knows that they are different from the foe this village faces – they smell different, and loath though they may be to admit it, they act civilized. And she knows that the dwarves in their hearts know it too – even if surface prejudices might show themselves differently, given the tensions in the air, on this night especially.

But the woman worries her. Michelle, she had introduced herself as. She had seen me, thinks Galatea, and she wants me to know that she’s seen me. Is it just showing off? Or just a warning, that I'd better cover my tracks more carefully. Need to get the scent of her... too many people here; not like at home.

”My name,” she says deliberately, ”is Galatea. Why don’t you tell me what those boys there on the floor wanted?”

The Digger · May 10, 2009

"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."

Henry hammered once again on the smith's door. Now that his decision had been made he wanted to get on with it, and quickly. He wasn't 100% certain when things were going to kick off but he wanted to be ready.

"I have a little job for ye, Tregar. Shouldn't take long and ye can gat back to whatever else ye have to do."

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Tresa still knelt. Her bones ached and her head was spinning. In her mind's eye she could see the guards fall, battered to death by the power of her hammer. She could feel their dying breath on her face. She could feel their eyes drilling into her; "Why us?" they screamed into her very soul.

Tears poured from her eyes, her nails dug into her palms, causing blood to drip to the floor.

How could she go back to that? She was no soldier like Henry. She was a priest of Pelor. She was supposed to stop suffering when she found it - not smash skulls. She was supposed to show kindness and mercy not beat folk to death.

...

The Litany of Pelor said "Be Watchful against Evil". It did not say grind your enemies into the dust.

...Be Watchful...Be Watchful...

As these words rang in her head she was aware of a warming in her belly. A warming which grew and grew, reaching to all parts of her body.

A soft ringing came to her ears and a glow caught her attention.

Glancing over to the wall where her old warhammer hung she realised that that was the source of sound and light. As she watched, the hammer shrank, smaller and smaller, until it was no larger than her hand, and then, upon the miniature head, appeared a sun disc, symbol of her God, and she knew the answer to her prayer.

WarlockLord · May 11, 2009

Ralak-Nul, Drow Rogue

It was yet another day when the dark elf heard the call to arms. It had only been a few days since the drow had arrived in this city, and already the death toll was at one. An unfortunate encounter with a thug in one of the many alleyways of the Blister. It is very difficult to restrain oneself when a group of thugs attacks you with the intent of killing you and taking your money. Naturally, the rogue had not, with the end result being a fat thug being disemboweled by rapier, and a flying dagger taking off the ear of a second. You see, Ralak-Nul was a wandering sellsword. Except, unlike many warriors who valued a fair fight, Ralak was a fan of stealth, trickery, and running your opponent through when his back was turned.

The next day, the drow learned the bad news. Apparently the thugs were with some local thieves guild, The Lost Ones. The fat man was the son of the boss, in fact. And so the dark elf went looking - not specifically for an escape, per se, but a tactical retreat. Then he heard the call to arms. It would be rather foolish to attack a member of the militia, and joining up seemed the safest way to survive.

And so, this day the drow was going about tryng to find where to sign up. A jackal walked by. "What the hell? A collared jackal? Who the heck keeps that for a pet?". The situation continued to get weirder, as some woman cloaked in shadow walked by. It is amazing what people will ignore focused in their own microcosms. The drow forgot about the odd duo for a few hours, until he walked by the Salty Mug and saw Shadow Chick...and an elf woman with the same collar, speaking to a pair half-orcs. The curious drow decided it was time for a drink, and entered the tavern. "Water, please," he said to the bartender, sitting at the counter and observing the strange quartet.

stonegod · May 11, 2009

Dorn's cell was crowded. Street ruffians, a few drunks, the normal social detritus. The half-elf moved through them with ease, a smile and look of confidence high on his face.

A trio of thugs moved to block his path. The two behind him were sewer rats. Nothing to be concerned with. But Big Jack.... Big Jack was big. A minotaur with a mean streak and a broken-off left horn. He'd lost it in a wager, it was said.

Dorn had been the caller of that wager.

The big creature snorted. Fancy seeing you here, Dorn. Too bad the guards are a bit busy. Too bad for you. Big Jack flexed his muscles. The big bovine tried a double-handed chop, which hit Dorn hard, almost reeling him.

Touching the blood on his cheek, Dorn shook his head. You don't think I have friends in here, Big Jack? Those that crave justice are never without allies. Those that know truth are always protected! With a quick gesture, a wall of thunder smashed into the three thugs around him, shoving the rats into pillars and knocking them cold while pushing Big Jack into a throng of beggars, ruffians, and others who had all known the help of the Liberator of Overlook. Big Jack's cow eyes looked frightened as the mass descended on him.

The guards were there quickly, and Big Jack mostly suffered bruises. But it was his ego that was really hurt. As for Dorn, he just sat down with a smug smile and waited his sentence.

Velmont · May 11, 2009

"Yeah..." replies Chris. He make a sign to Sessie to bring him another ale. He then sits down next to the elf. "You've witness what happen. I know as much I you. They came here, treating me, they look like they wanted my skin just because I look like an orc. I must tell too many of my kind decide to go into the orcish society, as it is easier to have respect. You just need to prove you are as string as them, but they are too barbarish, I prefer the cities, even if they don't welcome me.

The only thing that bother me, it is they are member of the thieves guild. So behind that, they might had another motive I am not aware." He pause a moment as Sessie put the mug of ale on the table. Chris gives a few coppers to pay and take a sip. "Damn that war make me nervous. I'm here, talking to an elf I don't even know about me." He tells to himself before turning his attention again at the elf. "No offense intended... but your kind generally show indifference to mine, and they probably think the worst of us like humans. But I'm aware an individual is not necessarily like the common of his race. And you seems more open minded... or you have interest in me."

DEFCON 1 · May 11, 2009

"Interesting crew ya got in tonight, Krunkie."

The voice came out of nowhere, just as the hobgoblin was depositing the first unconscious form on the cobblestones of the street. Krunk immediately snaps his head up and cranes his neck around looking for the young woman... despite the fact he should have known he wouldn't. After all, he's never once seen the human female when she hasn't wanted to be seen.

"It is, what it is, 'Shell." Krunk says, right as he hears the door to the Mug closes behind him, the shadowy form having gotten past him and into the tavern without him seeing. Krunk sighs and closes his eyes tight shut, shaking his head and then turning around to reenter the building. It's going to be one of those nights...

He pushes on the door and rejoins the crowd that has overtaken the Mug. Sessie is still behind the counter pouring shots of the good whiskey, the halfork speaking with an elven woman over by one of the tables, and of course, there's Miss Darkness herself, Michelle, actually now in view and already in deep conversation with a second halfork, this one scarred to high heaven. Krunk walks back over to the bar and grabs ahold of the second dazed form and pulls the boy to his feet. "Shelly... I know you've run with the Losties... let the boys back home know that I had nothing to do with these three getting gakked, okay? Last thing I need is for your boys to get rambunctious now that all our guards will be heading into the Stonehome." He begins walking back to the front door, but turns and addresses the entire bar. "As a matter of fact, if any of you either run with the Lost Ones or having something going on against them... do me a favor and take your problems outside, okay? Two days time most of you are gonna be outta here and I don't wanna be left holding the bag cause you had difficulties with each other."

Just as he exits the door to dump the second body... in walks a drow with a sword strapped to his hip... unfortunately just three seconds too late to have heard his speech about those with Lost One difficulties. Yup, it's going to be a long night at the Mug.

DEFCON 1 · May 11, 2009

Two hours following the arrival and departure of Robin, holding the brand new and wonderfully forged scythe in his young hands... Tregar is back at his spot on the rug in deep meditation. In less than two days, he will be joining so many others at Caer Overlook, giving of himself for the protection of all. Moradin has been watching over this city for eons, and he's owed his livelihood to the god's blessing... so it is only right that in his service he return.

It is deep into the evening's meditation that the dwarf is suddenly struck in a manner that he was not expecting. To his surprise, Tregar's vision begins swirling, even with his eyes closed, and the blacksmith cannot help but grab his head. By Moradin's hand... he screams to himself in his own mind, and suddenly the darkness of his home is replaced with another sight. A sight beyond sight. There is a building. Built into the mountainside. A monastery. One that he is familiar with, dedicated to the warriors in Moradin's name. The Monastery of the Sundered Chain.

And as his vision moves in at a high speed towards the front gates, the details come into focus. The monastery has been overrun. With orcs. And the Order has been destroyed.

With a flash, Tregar's vision snaps back into his dark room, and the invoker begins breathing hard. As one of Moradin's conduit to the living world, Tregar's been given this view of part of what they are up against. And as he stands up to shake some of the cobwebs away, a phantom voice echoes within his mind...

One of the monks is on his way here... a shifter... a member of the Sundered Chain... and a fist of Moradin...

DEFCON 1 · May 11, 2009

Wendigo winds his way through the effluvium that is the mass of humanity within the Nine Bells. He was told upon his arrival in Overlook that the city's nine temples were found together in an area called the Divine Knot in the nine Bells district... but he had no idea of the poverty and disease with which the people here were riddled with.

The bald shifter places his hand upon the symbol around his neck as he tries in vain to find the temple dedicated to Moradin. Unbeknownst to him, this particular temple has been abandoned for several years, because those of the faith moved on to the monastery from which he had just come or worship at the Stone Anvil in the center of the city. Instead, only Bahamut, Pelor, Kord, Erathis, the Raven Queen, and, oddly, Zehir-- remain, but with small clergies and smaller congregations.

"You want some verdant leaf?" comes a voice from behind Wendigo, and as he turns, he sees a ragged halfling standing in the dark alley... his clothing in tatters, his face dirty and pocked. The squat little man shows him a cloth which holds a powerful narcotic called 'verdant leaf', and the shifter can see that the halfling is desperate to make what little money he can off of his find. However, before he can respond, another voice rings out from the steps of the building to which this alley runs next. "In Pelor's name, beggone! Do not peddle your sickening wares in the shadow of Summer's grace!" The dwarven woman motions with her warhammer at the halfling, and the cretin quickly yelps and scatters back up the alley. Wendigo notices the warhammer has a residual glow to it... as though it shines with a slight inner light. He notes this internally and sees Tresa take a few steps down to the garbage-strewn street, and address him formally. "It is a bad time for many here, good sir. A bad time for many."

DEFCON 1 · May 11, 2009

"Dorn Thirae, please rise..."

Her Honor Borra Proudstone sits upon the high bench that looks down upon the peoples in the court. The half-elf nonchalantly climbs to his feet, the smirk on his face provoking the same rise in irritation in those who see it. It is always bothersome to see someone who is that confident and that sure of himself, because the odds of having any sort of meaningful conversation is almost negligable. However, in this case, Madam Proudstone has the floor to herself, so while a conversation with the rabble-rouser would be pointless, at least he will have to listen to what she has to say, if only for a few minutes.

"I find myself in an interesting position right now, Mister Thirae. You claim to want the best for this city... and yet decry the evidence that it is soon to be under attack. Well, under attack if the army before us can make their way through the mountains of Stonehome, that is." She stares directly at the half-elf, carefully weighing her words for as much of an impact as they could possibly have... knowing full well it probably would still be not much. "You, and your 'friends'... those that hang around outside Cadrick's Boarding House... have been shouting your agenda for years now. And though your caterwauling has gained you some notoriety... enough for you to acquire the nickname 'The Liberator of Overlook'... you unfortunately have not gained something more important. Perspective. You've spent so much time here in the city looking outwards, you've forgotten what our lands look like from beyond. Perhaps if you see what is out there waiting to bust through our walls, you might understand just a little bit more."

The judge raises her hand to quiet down the few murmurs of curious discussion, and begins her sentencing. "Therefore, I find the defendant 'Guilty', and sentence him to serve in the city's militia for the next 30 days, starting with the gathering here at High Hall tomorrow. Perhaps when you see this 'hoax' up close and personal... you'll come to realize that what we all do is for the protection of us all. Serve us well, Mister Thirsae. Your sword arm will be defending us, as well as your own self."

"Court is adjourned." *wrap*