Menu
News
All News
Dungeons & Dragons
Level Up: Advanced 5th Edition
Pathfinder
Starfinder
Warhammer
2d20 System
Year Zero Engine
Industry News
Reviews
Dragon Reflections
Columns
Weekly Digests
Weekly News Digest
Freebies, Sales & Bundles
RPG Print News
RPG Crowdfunding News
Game Content
ENterplanetary DimENsions
Mythological Figures
Opinion
Worlds of Design
Peregrine's Next
RPG Evolution
Other Columns
From the Freelancing Frontline
Monster ENcyclopedia
WotC/TSR Alumni Look Back
4 Hours w/RSD (Ryan Dancey)
The Road to 3E (Jonathan Tweet)
Greenwood's Realms (Ed Greenwood)
Drawmij's TSR (Jim Ward)
Community
Forums & Topics
Forum List
Latest Posts
Forum list
*Dungeons & Dragons
Level Up: Advanced 5th Edition
D&D Older Editions
*TTRPGs General
*Pathfinder & Starfinder
EN Publishing
*Geek Talk & Media
Search forums
Chat/Discord
Resources
Wiki
Pages
Latest activity
Media
New media
New comments
Search media
Downloads
Latest reviews
Search resources
EN Publishing
Store
EN5ider
Adventures in ZEITGEIST
Awfully Cheerful Engine
What's OLD is NEW
Judge Dredd & The Worlds Of 2000AD
War of the Burning Sky
Level Up: Advanced 5E
Events & Releases
Upcoming Events
Private Events
Featured Events
Socials!
Twitch
YouTube
Facebook (EN Publishing)
Facebook (EN World)
Twitter
Instagram
TikTok
Podcast
Features
Top 5 RPGs Compiled Charts 2004-Present
Adventure Game Industry Market Research Summary (RPGs) V1.0
Ryan Dancey: Acquiring TSR
Q&A With Gary Gygax
D&D Rules FAQs
TSR, WotC, & Paizo: A Comparative History
D&D Pronunciation Guide
Million Dollar TTRPG Kickstarters
Tabletop RPG Podcast Hall of Fame
Eric Noah's Unofficial D&D 3rd Edition News
D&D in the Mainstream
D&D & RPG History
About Morrus
Log in
Register
What's new
Search
Search
Search titles only
By:
Forums & Topics
Forum List
Latest Posts
Forum list
*Dungeons & Dragons
Level Up: Advanced 5th Edition
D&D Older Editions
*TTRPGs General
*Pathfinder & Starfinder
EN Publishing
*Geek Talk & Media
Search forums
Chat/Discord
Menu
Log in
Register
Install the app
Install
Community
Playing the Game
Story Hour
Adventures in Eberron> Chapter 32 posted 08-08-05>
JavaScript is disabled. For a better experience, please enable JavaScript in your browser before proceeding.
You are using an out of date browser. It may not display this or other websites correctly.
You should upgrade or use an
alternative browser
.
Reply to thread
Message
<blockquote data-quote="skullsmurfer" data-source="post: 2287576" data-attributes="member: 17151"><p><strong>►Running Errands Through Sharn, Chapter 3</strong></p><p></p><p>“Soldier, I am Paragon 146 to 3, formerly of the Cyre's 1st Regiment Longstriders, you may call me Paragon or 146 to 3. Say <strong>clank</strong>, or <strong>shell-head </strong> one more time, and I will endeavor to teach you a very efficient method of turning a man inside-out.” </p><p> </p><p> The guards at the check point stiffened at the threat. War-forged may be free, but not every one of them is so finicky about names. The steady near monotone delivery sent chills down their spines. The guards were so intimidated by the irate war-forged that they did not pay any attention to his hooded and cowled companion.</p><p></p><p> “Wot's dis now? I told ye bean sprouts to watch out for a bloody elf blooded Inquisitive that's pissed off the Flamers, not to harass every citizen that crosses yer path!” Hollered an old soldier with skin like worn leather. He glared at the two guards and then at the war-forged and his companion. “Well, state yer business, I don't got all night!”</p><p></p><p> “Sir! Paragon 146 to 3, Cyre's 1st Regiment Longstriders, Decommissioned, it is a pleasure to meet a fellow veteran. I am currently under contract to escort this human female civilian to her abode. I cannot discuss her personal information, but I have a letter of passage provided by House Cannith.” The officer made a face like a bad smell had just wafted his way. Paragon didn't notice. "I recognize your tabard, sir, the Dog Soldier's are a credit to the City of Sharn. I salute you.” The war-forged clicked his heels at attention and beat his heavy fist against his chest three times. He is saddened that he can no longer give a proper military salute, but he can honor him, one soldier to another.</p><p> </p><p> "146 to 3? Is dat yer service number?" the officer asked.</p><p></p><p> "No sir! It is my score; 146 confirmed kills, 2 failures, and 1 death." The war-forged replied enthusiastically. People rarely ask for his score.</p><p> </p><p> “Sgt. Mogrin Ironson, formerly Sharn Expeditionary,” the veteran saluted, suddenly re-assessing the situation, “I am pleased to meet you son, I heard only an handful of you Longstriders survived Karrnath. I am sorry to detain you, I only need to speak to yer companion and ye can go about yer business.” Only a war-forged would be so non-chalant about being a killer.</p><p> </p><p> “I would prefer not to speak my name sergeant,” the hooded lady spoke with a smooth, refined voice, “my escort has provided you with a letter of passage has he not?” As she said this, she allowed the sergeant to see her face and she extended her hand out to him. He smiled with a wolfish glint in his eyes. On her finger, a signet ring glimmered in the lantern lights.</p><p> </p><p> “Of course, good Lady,” the sergeant said. He kissed the ring, bowing stiffly as she placed a purse in his callused hand. “I would be honored to send one of the lads to light yer way as far as the next check point.” he announced, “None shall impede yer passage.” Behind him, the obviously green recruits couldn't decide whether or not more work for them was a good thing. The sergeant pocketed the purse, staring at the recruits until one of them flinched. </p><p> </p><p> The Lady smiled like an angel as she followed the gawky soldier and his bobbing lantern. She winked at him whenever she caught him looking back. The poor boy was so flustered he couldn't walk straight. Scandalous rumors about young nobles amusing themselves in the rough parts of town are all the rage in Sharn. The local clerics are campaigning to save the morals of the city's youth. No doubt the soldier is making more than a big assumption about this late night escort. The Lady is playing him like a harp. Paragon did his part by following close behind and looking absolutely dangerous. As they came within sight of the next checkpoint , the Lady suddenly pulled the soldier into an alley. The war-forged stood guard.</p><p> </p><p> She pressed him against the wall and kissed him. Her mouth tasted like hot mint tea. He inhaled a subtle, rosy perfume that made his heart beat faster. Her lips are soft and smooth just like the racy romance novels traded in the barracks. His arms wrapped around her waist and placed his trembling hands on her back, beneath her luxurious cloak. He returned the kiss, just how his Paw had told him the day he'd sought advice about courting a lass. He felt like he was flying.</p><p></p><p> A moment later, they were back on the road. He stood much straighter now. His brand new, Sharn issue, square-toed, black leather boots tapped smartly on the cobble stones. The guards making their own assumptions, made wolf calls and waved. The Sergeant told him to wipe his face and made him wait standing nervously at attention. Paragon 146 to 3 stated his business, repeating exactly what he told Sergeant Ironson. The Lady stood improperly close to the blushing soldier. Her fingers brushed his.</p><p> </p><p> The grinning officer clicked his heels. He waved them by without even looking at their letter of passage. As they departed he dismissed the young soldier. The guards sent him off with friendly jibes and a new nickname, <em>Sweet Lips</em>. No doubt the young man has earned a reputation with his fellows. Half an hour later, after a calculated series twists and turns, the Paragon and his companion disappeared into the well-lit streets of the affluent neighborhoods of Sharn. </p><p> </p><p> “So where didya get the Cannith ring?” Asked the changeling as she, now a he, shed the woman's cloak and rearranged his costume.</p><p></p><p> “I retrieved it from my maker, he died in Cyre,” The war-forged answered almost reverently, “The Mournlands were very difficult. It took me a year to find him and give him a proper burial. When I find who did it, I intend to...”</p><p></p><p> “Oh, that's alright!” Gasped the changeling as he nearly threw the ring back. “Too much information, Paragon.” He said, trying not to offend his escort.</p><p></p><p> “Sorry, but you did ask.” said the war-forged as he tucked the precious heirloom away.</p><p></p><p> The changeling, a young lad named Pook, took only a few moments to look just like the Inquisitive Thersyl. He's been impersonating the half-elf for weeks. Now that the Watch and the Silver Flame are after him, it's starting to get scary. Paragon, however, is keeping him on point. Truthfully he is scared, but he is also excited. If he pulls this off, he is going to hit the big time. No more street games and small cons. The others are running around the city being seen wearing the same face. If they can do it, so can he. The gang likes gold, but they like living better.</p><p> </p><p> Paragon slipped into the nearest shadow and slowly faded from view. He watched the crazy young changeling walk into the Sharn City Watch Building no. 462. He is going to turn himself in wearing Thersyl's face.</p><p> </p><p> Pook is an prodigious mimic. He can imitate anyone he has been able to observe for a reasonable amount of time. He's been following Thersyl around for over a year, he is starting to think he is Thersyl. The rest of his gang, Ivor, Patter, and Siff are keeping Thersyl and Theodyl's other appointments throughout the night. The Officer of the Watch has agreed to place him in a deep, quiet cell and take his time with the paperwork. A young and very forward noble woman had asked him for a favor the previous morning; sensitive Cannith business, she had said. He thought of roses as he lit the lantern and walked towards his window. </p><p> </p><p> Paragon waited for the lamp in the Captain's window to flash twice and then skulked off. He has to check on all his other agents and then he has to meet with the real Theodyl. He is playing games on multiple fronts. Flesh people simply can't measure risks intelligently. He worries for his closest friend and Regimental Brother.</p><p> </p><p> Master Sergeant Hinderfast of the Longstriders used to say that stupidity can be cured through proper military training. Paragon 146 to 3 is confident that he can help Theodyl. The Cannith Forges made him a soldier, but the Cyre 1st made him a man. He laughed, sending a cat scurrying for cover. He thought of the beat of marching drums, the sounding or trumpets and the deep resounding cadence of marching feet. Paragon 146 to 3 is still with his fellow Longstriders even if death, time and distance separate them. Sometimes he can feel them as if they were still marching together. The war-forged hummed a lovely marching tune as he broke into a quick jog and continued on with his errands.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="skullsmurfer, post: 2287576, member: 17151"] [b]►Running Errands Through Sharn, Chapter 3[/b] “Soldier, I am Paragon 146 to 3, formerly of the Cyre's 1st Regiment Longstriders, you may call me Paragon or 146 to 3. Say [B]clank[/B], or [B]shell-head [/B] one more time, and I will endeavor to teach you a very efficient method of turning a man inside-out.” The guards at the check point stiffened at the threat. War-forged may be free, but not every one of them is so finicky about names. The steady near monotone delivery sent chills down their spines. The guards were so intimidated by the irate war-forged that they did not pay any attention to his hooded and cowled companion. “Wot's dis now? I told ye bean sprouts to watch out for a bloody elf blooded Inquisitive that's pissed off the Flamers, not to harass every citizen that crosses yer path!” Hollered an old soldier with skin like worn leather. He glared at the two guards and then at the war-forged and his companion. “Well, state yer business, I don't got all night!” “Sir! Paragon 146 to 3, Cyre's 1st Regiment Longstriders, Decommissioned, it is a pleasure to meet a fellow veteran. I am currently under contract to escort this human female civilian to her abode. I cannot discuss her personal information, but I have a letter of passage provided by House Cannith.” The officer made a face like a bad smell had just wafted his way. Paragon didn't notice. "I recognize your tabard, sir, the Dog Soldier's are a credit to the City of Sharn. I salute you.” The war-forged clicked his heels at attention and beat his heavy fist against his chest three times. He is saddened that he can no longer give a proper military salute, but he can honor him, one soldier to another. "146 to 3? Is dat yer service number?" the officer asked. "No sir! It is my score; 146 confirmed kills, 2 failures, and 1 death." The war-forged replied enthusiastically. People rarely ask for his score. “Sgt. Mogrin Ironson, formerly Sharn Expeditionary,” the veteran saluted, suddenly re-assessing the situation, “I am pleased to meet you son, I heard only an handful of you Longstriders survived Karrnath. I am sorry to detain you, I only need to speak to yer companion and ye can go about yer business.” Only a war-forged would be so non-chalant about being a killer. “I would prefer not to speak my name sergeant,” the hooded lady spoke with a smooth, refined voice, “my escort has provided you with a letter of passage has he not?” As she said this, she allowed the sergeant to see her face and she extended her hand out to him. He smiled with a wolfish glint in his eyes. On her finger, a signet ring glimmered in the lantern lights. “Of course, good Lady,” the sergeant said. He kissed the ring, bowing stiffly as she placed a purse in his callused hand. “I would be honored to send one of the lads to light yer way as far as the next check point.” he announced, “None shall impede yer passage.” Behind him, the obviously green recruits couldn't decide whether or not more work for them was a good thing. The sergeant pocketed the purse, staring at the recruits until one of them flinched. The Lady smiled like an angel as she followed the gawky soldier and his bobbing lantern. She winked at him whenever she caught him looking back. The poor boy was so flustered he couldn't walk straight. Scandalous rumors about young nobles amusing themselves in the rough parts of town are all the rage in Sharn. The local clerics are campaigning to save the morals of the city's youth. No doubt the soldier is making more than a big assumption about this late night escort. The Lady is playing him like a harp. Paragon did his part by following close behind and looking absolutely dangerous. As they came within sight of the next checkpoint , the Lady suddenly pulled the soldier into an alley. The war-forged stood guard. She pressed him against the wall and kissed him. Her mouth tasted like hot mint tea. He inhaled a subtle, rosy perfume that made his heart beat faster. Her lips are soft and smooth just like the racy romance novels traded in the barracks. His arms wrapped around her waist and placed his trembling hands on her back, beneath her luxurious cloak. He returned the kiss, just how his Paw had told him the day he'd sought advice about courting a lass. He felt like he was flying. A moment later, they were back on the road. He stood much straighter now. His brand new, Sharn issue, square-toed, black leather boots tapped smartly on the cobble stones. The guards making their own assumptions, made wolf calls and waved. The Sergeant told him to wipe his face and made him wait standing nervously at attention. Paragon 146 to 3 stated his business, repeating exactly what he told Sergeant Ironson. The Lady stood improperly close to the blushing soldier. Her fingers brushed his. The grinning officer clicked his heels. He waved them by without even looking at their letter of passage. As they departed he dismissed the young soldier. The guards sent him off with friendly jibes and a new nickname, [I]Sweet Lips[/I]. No doubt the young man has earned a reputation with his fellows. Half an hour later, after a calculated series twists and turns, the Paragon and his companion disappeared into the well-lit streets of the affluent neighborhoods of Sharn. “So where didya get the Cannith ring?” Asked the changeling as she, now a he, shed the woman's cloak and rearranged his costume. “I retrieved it from my maker, he died in Cyre,” The war-forged answered almost reverently, “The Mournlands were very difficult. It took me a year to find him and give him a proper burial. When I find who did it, I intend to...” “Oh, that's alright!” Gasped the changeling as he nearly threw the ring back. “Too much information, Paragon.” He said, trying not to offend his escort. “Sorry, but you did ask.” said the war-forged as he tucked the precious heirloom away. The changeling, a young lad named Pook, took only a few moments to look just like the Inquisitive Thersyl. He's been impersonating the half-elf for weeks. Now that the Watch and the Silver Flame are after him, it's starting to get scary. Paragon, however, is keeping him on point. Truthfully he is scared, but he is also excited. If he pulls this off, he is going to hit the big time. No more street games and small cons. The others are running around the city being seen wearing the same face. If they can do it, so can he. The gang likes gold, but they like living better. Paragon slipped into the nearest shadow and slowly faded from view. He watched the crazy young changeling walk into the Sharn City Watch Building no. 462. He is going to turn himself in wearing Thersyl's face. Pook is an prodigious mimic. He can imitate anyone he has been able to observe for a reasonable amount of time. He's been following Thersyl around for over a year, he is starting to think he is Thersyl. The rest of his gang, Ivor, Patter, and Siff are keeping Thersyl and Theodyl's other appointments throughout the night. The Officer of the Watch has agreed to place him in a deep, quiet cell and take his time with the paperwork. A young and very forward noble woman had asked him for a favor the previous morning; sensitive Cannith business, she had said. He thought of roses as he lit the lantern and walked towards his window. Paragon waited for the lamp in the Captain's window to flash twice and then skulked off. He has to check on all his other agents and then he has to meet with the real Theodyl. He is playing games on multiple fronts. Flesh people simply can't measure risks intelligently. He worries for his closest friend and Regimental Brother. Master Sergeant Hinderfast of the Longstriders used to say that stupidity can be cured through proper military training. Paragon 146 to 3 is confident that he can help Theodyl. The Cannith Forges made him a soldier, but the Cyre 1st made him a man. He laughed, sending a cat scurrying for cover. He thought of the beat of marching drums, the sounding or trumpets and the deep resounding cadence of marching feet. Paragon 146 to 3 is still with his fellow Longstriders even if death, time and distance separate them. Sometimes he can feel them as if they were still marching together. The war-forged hummed a lovely marching tune as he broke into a quick jog and continued on with his errands. [/QUOTE]
Insert quotes…
Verification
Post reply
Community
Playing the Game
Story Hour
Adventures in Eberron> Chapter 32 posted 08-08-05>
Top