Voda Vosa
First Post
Athkatla- Commercial District.
The commercial district of Athkatla 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 traders, 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. Travelers 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.And the corrupt Cowled wizards, arresting anyone casting a single light spell at night, but not messing with powerful spell-casters who have the gold required to be left undisturbed.
Daven the human Bard, at the dark alley.
The Golden city was immense, no city he ever saw was so big, so full of people. If he was to find somehow to get with the fools that were going to Spellhold, the half elf was to move quietly and not call unwanted attention.
After what seemed like 4 hours the bard found himself walking on a shadowy narrow street. As he walked down toward a more lightened path, he was intercepted by a big hulking man, in black clothes, face covered. “What do we have here? The little rat.” The tug said. And there was a moment when Daven failed to notice something really important. A big fist in direct collision with his face.
Oh boy what a punch! Daven fell backwards, stunned and dazed, with the world shaking around him. Several thoughts came around the bard’s mind: The Shadow thieves had found him before he was able to escape Athkatla? Were they going to kill him now? How could he avoid such grim perspective? He managed to stand up, barely, but when he raised his head, the thug had run away. Standing there was a sturdy looking man, probably a sailor of sorts. Shortly after that, an elf arrived the scene, with the looks of a ranger, or something like that, carrying a bow and donning leathers.
Mithalor Shand the human Shaman, at the dark alley.
Mithalor has been in Athkatla for a pair of weeks now. Probably more that he would like, but in all that time, staying alive had proved more important than finding the shadow thieves, and his sister. Perhaps they knew about him and were avoiding him? No, they probably gave him for dead, in that forsaken desert. But somehow he couldn’t locate a single thief, which was at most, ironical, given that he was walking into the city of thieves.
Like any other day, Mithalor stood silent in the merchant plaza, watching people come and go. Then Ashaela whispered something to him. “There, next to the watermelon seller!” The former pirate turned his head and spot a big man, done in black leathers and with the face covered. He was getting into one of the numerous alleys. With supernatural determination, Mithalor crossed the plaza in search for the thief, which didn’t prove easy, since he had to avoid every merchant, cart, clients, children, women… When he reached the alley, he ran down the path to a cross. He saw the furtive figure of the thief disappearing behind a door at the left, and a half elf barely standing, with a nasty punch on the face. He rubs his jab and watches confused at Mithalor. In that precise moment, from behind, Mithalor head a noise, someone approaching. Turning violently, he found an elf, with the looks of a ranger, carrying a bow and donning leathers.
Thurinar the elven Seeker, at the dark alley.
The instrument of the father oak walked the streets of the Amnian capital city, with clear objectives in his mind. There was nothing that would distract this elf from his quest. Finding the shadow thieves would be the logical first step to find his mother, and after that, finding a way to get information about his father destiny. Thurinar got to know… if his father was still alive, he’ll find him. If he had perished in his mission, Thurinar only hoped he had died with honor, in the rage of battle. Somehow he felt he was still alive, but his calculating mind wanted evidence, information.
The commercial district was one of the harder spots to look for somebody or for something, especially for the sneaky men of the Shadow thieves. But today, the first day Thurinar walked into the city, the spirits of nature smiled upon him. Among the general activity of the merchants and traders, his eyes caught a man running, spear in hand, determination in his eyes. Following his eyes, Thurinar saw a man, dressed in black leathers, with the head covered by a Hood, sneaking into one of the alleys of the city. Thinking fast, the elf sprinted behind the spear wielding man.
The seeker entered the alley, and ran several steps behind the man. Further away ran the thief. The black figure turned right on a cross, and was lost to Thurinar’s eyes. When he turned to follow, he found the spear man standing there, in fron of a half elf, who seemed to have received a beating, or at least a hard punch in the face. He’s rubbing his jab, looking confused at the other, whose looks resemble those of a sailor, who turns violently when he hears the elf approaching. The thief is nowhere to be seen.
Cliff the shifter Paladin, at the shop's door
Cliff has been attending to the chapel for the last month. It was harder that it seemed to keep a temple running. But the memories of the charity of the former priest raise the needed strength to pull through the vicissitudes. It was a month after the incident at the chapel that Cliff found the sign. A piece of scroll attached to almost all doors at the commercial district. It said “For those who are skilled in the art of adventuring and overcoming adversity, Athkatla needs your help to recover a lost artifact from within the walls of Spellhold. If you consider yourself a skilled warrior or a competent man or women, report at the government building for sign up.”
In that precise moment, Cliff mind sent flashing memories to him. Flashing images of Spellhold began to appear in front of his eyes, voices and whispers filled his ears, feelings burden his heart. As fast as it started it subsided, leaving the shifter with the impression that he has been there, in Spellhold, that he had walked the silent halls and peaked in dark chambers. But he was another one. Another body, another name, another life.
While he was thinking about this, Cliff was unaware of the proximity of someone: A githzerai woman, staring at the same sign. He had been treated like trash in the city because he was a shifter, now that he sees the githzerai Cliff can only imagine the way people in Athkatla would treat her. As the paladin wondered that, a second newcomer stept to watch at the sing, visibly irated for something. She was a massive dragonborn, dressed in elegant, though stained and ragged tunic.
Izera the githzerai Avenger, at the shop's door
A week wondering the city with no luck. Since she was vomited by the portal in this forsaken city of racist humans, Izera was unable to find a decent paid job. Either she was a woman, and th job required men, or the employer was one of those arrogant fools who didn’t hear reasons and just shouted her to go away because she was a gith. Izera was barely able to get food, since most merchants closed their doors in her face. After a short work as guard in some ass smelling warehouse, Izera was walking on the sunshine of the morning, looking for something to do, something to earn enough to travel back home, to her kin.
Womndering the commercial district, the best place to find things you are not looking for, the githzerai found something strange. A shifter donned in plate armor. Izera had never saw something like that. Her curiosity led her to close to the creature, who was intently reading a sign on the wall. Trying to avoid been seen, she approached from behind, studding this new being. Apparently his kin was covered with hair, and had animalistic features. She didn’t know how would he react if he found her spying at him, so Izera walked a few steps forward, pretending to be interested in the sign too. But the sign was interesting! It said “For those who are skilled in the art of adventuring and overcoming adversity, Athkatla needs your help to recover a lost artifact from within the walls of Spellhold. If you consider yourself a skilled warrior or a competent man or women, report at the government building for sign up.” As she finished reading, another strange creature approached: A scaly reptile-like creature, of impressive size and strength. Apparently it was a female, or something like that, and was reading the sign too. She seemed angry for something, as she mumbled and grunted something, showing her teeth.
Issia Vesper the dragonborn Sorceress, at the shop's door
How dared the humans to treat her like that? Abducting her, hurting her, threatening her, who they think they are? A bunch of book-heads wizards. They just can’t stand to see someone who can manipulate the raw power of the arcane without having to spend decades among dusty tomes, reading until their eyes fell down.
Those and other thoughts crossed Issia’s mind as she walked along the commercial district of Athkatla, after the cowled wizards had released her. But the wizard’s words still tingle in her head. "You have two days to volunteer, or we will meet again..." Damn those wizards. She had to find that place to volunteer and find whatever the Athkatlian wanted from the Wizard’s abandoned prison.
Stomping through one particular street, she found herself staring surprised at an odd pair. A githzerai woman, carrying a huge blade in his back, and a shifter wearing plate armor and a sheathed longsword; both reading a sign on a wall. Being herself treated like scum by the locals, Issia can only wonder how the humans could treat the odd pair. However, as she wandered all this, she catches eye of the sign. It said “For those who are skilled in the art of adventuring and overcoming adversity, Athkatla needs your help to recover a lost artifact from within the walls of Spellhold. If you consider yourself a skilled warrior or a competent man or women, report at the government building for sign up.”
Finally! The answer she was looking for. The dragonborn couldn’t help but to feel the anger growing from within, as she read the sign written by the hatred wizards. Perhaps the odd couple could bring her some assistance; perhaps they were in a similar situation.
Taran Xiloscient, the elven Druid, at the bandit's hideout.
The huge city of Athkatla. The brothers had finally arrived. As they walked the first steps into the city, a pair of wizards dressed in brilliant blue tunics approached them.
“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 a closed, windowless room. After some interrogations and abuses, a tight up looking wizard, 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 magical items given to the brothers 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.
Only one more thing could happen to Taran. As they were trying to find their way to the city gates, to return to the groove, a band of thieves assaulted the brothers. They fought back, but were outnumbered. Presumably one of the thieves manages to sneak behind Taran, and hit him in the head with a mace. The elf fell unconscious, and when he woke up, he found he was alone lying on the street; Twix was nowhere to be found.
As the druid slowly recovered and stood up, he spotted a sneaky black figure, taking a turn on an alley not far from Taran’s position. He run after the man, and watched him disappear behind a door. As he peaked through the cracks of the door, he saw many men standing there. They were too many… Just when the druid though every hope was lost, he heard someone talking, further on the alley, perhaps behind the corner.
[sblock=Taran]If you walk to the corner, you’ll find Mithalor, Thurinan and Daven, feel free to introduce yourself to them as you get there.[/sblock]
The commercial district of Athkatla 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 traders, 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. Travelers 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.And the corrupt Cowled wizards, arresting anyone casting a single light spell at night, but not messing with powerful spell-casters who have the gold required to be left undisturbed.
Daven the human Bard, at the dark alley.
The Golden city was immense, no city he ever saw was so big, so full of people. If he was to find somehow to get with the fools that were going to Spellhold, the half elf was to move quietly and not call unwanted attention.
After what seemed like 4 hours the bard found himself walking on a shadowy narrow street. As he walked down toward a more lightened path, he was intercepted by a big hulking man, in black clothes, face covered. “What do we have here? The little rat.” The tug said. And there was a moment when Daven failed to notice something really important. A big fist in direct collision with his face.
Oh boy what a punch! Daven fell backwards, stunned and dazed, with the world shaking around him. Several thoughts came around the bard’s mind: The Shadow thieves had found him before he was able to escape Athkatla? Were they going to kill him now? How could he avoid such grim perspective? He managed to stand up, barely, but when he raised his head, the thug had run away. Standing there was a sturdy looking man, probably a sailor of sorts. Shortly after that, an elf arrived the scene, with the looks of a ranger, or something like that, carrying a bow and donning leathers.
Mithalor Shand the human Shaman, at the dark alley.
Mithalor has been in Athkatla for a pair of weeks now. Probably more that he would like, but in all that time, staying alive had proved more important than finding the shadow thieves, and his sister. Perhaps they knew about him and were avoiding him? No, they probably gave him for dead, in that forsaken desert. But somehow he couldn’t locate a single thief, which was at most, ironical, given that he was walking into the city of thieves.
Like any other day, Mithalor stood silent in the merchant plaza, watching people come and go. Then Ashaela whispered something to him. “There, next to the watermelon seller!” The former pirate turned his head and spot a big man, done in black leathers and with the face covered. He was getting into one of the numerous alleys. With supernatural determination, Mithalor crossed the plaza in search for the thief, which didn’t prove easy, since he had to avoid every merchant, cart, clients, children, women… When he reached the alley, he ran down the path to a cross. He saw the furtive figure of the thief disappearing behind a door at the left, and a half elf barely standing, with a nasty punch on the face. He rubs his jab and watches confused at Mithalor. In that precise moment, from behind, Mithalor head a noise, someone approaching. Turning violently, he found an elf, with the looks of a ranger, carrying a bow and donning leathers.
Thurinar the elven Seeker, at the dark alley.
The instrument of the father oak walked the streets of the Amnian capital city, with clear objectives in his mind. There was nothing that would distract this elf from his quest. Finding the shadow thieves would be the logical first step to find his mother, and after that, finding a way to get information about his father destiny. Thurinar got to know… if his father was still alive, he’ll find him. If he had perished in his mission, Thurinar only hoped he had died with honor, in the rage of battle. Somehow he felt he was still alive, but his calculating mind wanted evidence, information.
The commercial district was one of the harder spots to look for somebody or for something, especially for the sneaky men of the Shadow thieves. But today, the first day Thurinar walked into the city, the spirits of nature smiled upon him. Among the general activity of the merchants and traders, his eyes caught a man running, spear in hand, determination in his eyes. Following his eyes, Thurinar saw a man, dressed in black leathers, with the head covered by a Hood, sneaking into one of the alleys of the city. Thinking fast, the elf sprinted behind the spear wielding man.
The seeker entered the alley, and ran several steps behind the man. Further away ran the thief. The black figure turned right on a cross, and was lost to Thurinar’s eyes. When he turned to follow, he found the spear man standing there, in fron of a half elf, who seemed to have received a beating, or at least a hard punch in the face. He’s rubbing his jab, looking confused at the other, whose looks resemble those of a sailor, who turns violently when he hears the elf approaching. The thief is nowhere to be seen.
Cliff the shifter Paladin, at the shop's door
Cliff has been attending to the chapel for the last month. It was harder that it seemed to keep a temple running. But the memories of the charity of the former priest raise the needed strength to pull through the vicissitudes. It was a month after the incident at the chapel that Cliff found the sign. A piece of scroll attached to almost all doors at the commercial district. It said “For those who are skilled in the art of adventuring and overcoming adversity, Athkatla needs your help to recover a lost artifact from within the walls of Spellhold. If you consider yourself a skilled warrior or a competent man or women, report at the government building for sign up.”
In that precise moment, Cliff mind sent flashing memories to him. Flashing images of Spellhold began to appear in front of his eyes, voices and whispers filled his ears, feelings burden his heart. As fast as it started it subsided, leaving the shifter with the impression that he has been there, in Spellhold, that he had walked the silent halls and peaked in dark chambers. But he was another one. Another body, another name, another life.
While he was thinking about this, Cliff was unaware of the proximity of someone: A githzerai woman, staring at the same sign. He had been treated like trash in the city because he was a shifter, now that he sees the githzerai Cliff can only imagine the way people in Athkatla would treat her. As the paladin wondered that, a second newcomer stept to watch at the sing, visibly irated for something. She was a massive dragonborn, dressed in elegant, though stained and ragged tunic.
Izera the githzerai Avenger, at the shop's door
A week wondering the city with no luck. Since she was vomited by the portal in this forsaken city of racist humans, Izera was unable to find a decent paid job. Either she was a woman, and th job required men, or the employer was one of those arrogant fools who didn’t hear reasons and just shouted her to go away because she was a gith. Izera was barely able to get food, since most merchants closed their doors in her face. After a short work as guard in some ass smelling warehouse, Izera was walking on the sunshine of the morning, looking for something to do, something to earn enough to travel back home, to her kin.
Womndering the commercial district, the best place to find things you are not looking for, the githzerai found something strange. A shifter donned in plate armor. Izera had never saw something like that. Her curiosity led her to close to the creature, who was intently reading a sign on the wall. Trying to avoid been seen, she approached from behind, studding this new being. Apparently his kin was covered with hair, and had animalistic features. She didn’t know how would he react if he found her spying at him, so Izera walked a few steps forward, pretending to be interested in the sign too. But the sign was interesting! It said “For those who are skilled in the art of adventuring and overcoming adversity, Athkatla needs your help to recover a lost artifact from within the walls of Spellhold. If you consider yourself a skilled warrior or a competent man or women, report at the government building for sign up.” As she finished reading, another strange creature approached: A scaly reptile-like creature, of impressive size and strength. Apparently it was a female, or something like that, and was reading the sign too. She seemed angry for something, as she mumbled and grunted something, showing her teeth.
Issia Vesper the dragonborn Sorceress, at the shop's door
How dared the humans to treat her like that? Abducting her, hurting her, threatening her, who they think they are? A bunch of book-heads wizards. They just can’t stand to see someone who can manipulate the raw power of the arcane without having to spend decades among dusty tomes, reading until their eyes fell down.
Those and other thoughts crossed Issia’s mind as she walked along the commercial district of Athkatla, after the cowled wizards had released her. But the wizard’s words still tingle in her head. "You have two days to volunteer, or we will meet again..." Damn those wizards. She had to find that place to volunteer and find whatever the Athkatlian wanted from the Wizard’s abandoned prison.
Stomping through one particular street, she found herself staring surprised at an odd pair. A githzerai woman, carrying a huge blade in his back, and a shifter wearing plate armor and a sheathed longsword; both reading a sign on a wall. Being herself treated like scum by the locals, Issia can only wonder how the humans could treat the odd pair. However, as she wandered all this, she catches eye of the sign. It said “For those who are skilled in the art of adventuring and overcoming adversity, Athkatla needs your help to recover a lost artifact from within the walls of Spellhold. If you consider yourself a skilled warrior or a competent man or women, report at the government building for sign up.”
Finally! The answer she was looking for. The dragonborn couldn’t help but to feel the anger growing from within, as she read the sign written by the hatred wizards. Perhaps the odd couple could bring her some assistance; perhaps they were in a similar situation.
Taran Xiloscient, the elven Druid, at the bandit's hideout.
The huge city of Athkatla. The brothers had finally arrived. As they walked the first steps into the city, a pair of wizards dressed in brilliant blue tunics approached them.
“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 a closed, windowless room. After some interrogations and abuses, a tight up looking wizard, 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 magical items given to the brothers 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.
Only one more thing could happen to Taran. As they were trying to find their way to the city gates, to return to the groove, a band of thieves assaulted the brothers. They fought back, but were outnumbered. Presumably one of the thieves manages to sneak behind Taran, and hit him in the head with a mace. The elf fell unconscious, and when he woke up, he found he was alone lying on the street; Twix was nowhere to be found.
As the druid slowly recovered and stood up, he spotted a sneaky black figure, taking a turn on an alley not far from Taran’s position. He run after the man, and watched him disappear behind a door. As he peaked through the cracks of the door, he saw many men standing there. They were too many… Just when the druid though every hope was lost, he heard someone talking, further on the alley, perhaps behind the corner.
[sblock=Taran]If you walk to the corner, you’ll find Mithalor, Thurinan and Daven, feel free to introduce yourself to them as you get there.[/sblock]
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