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Story Hour
Dusk in the land of Fading Stars - Femerus' Story hour (updated 2-20-03)
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<blockquote data-quote="Femerus the Gnecro" data-source="post: 370625" data-attributes="member: 2381"><p>Chapter 4, Part 1: Tobias</p><p></p><p>Days pass, and Darumont continues along its daily routine. Still in search of steady income, the team takes another freelance job from the Sweeps. According to the sweeps, orc raiding parties have been sending into the area around Darumont for some time, though the city itself is too easily defended to be in any real danger. Incongruously, the party chooses to police a local carnival rather than eliminating this orcish threat. </p><p></p><p>Of course, as the saying goes… luck favors fools and small children.</p><p></p><p>The carnival is unremarkable, sporting a normal variety of typical carnival-ish accoutrements. </p><p></p><p>For two or three days the party acts as guards: breaking up fights, preventing cheats from gambling, chasing down pickpockets and making sure drunks are sent home without disrupting the festivities. Everything progresses smoothly up until the last evening of the carnival, during the closing-time roundup.</p><p></p><p>*** </p><p></p><p>There is very little light left… the torches are sputtering and the moon has barely risen above the treetops. The carnival has ended, taking with it an inordinate amount of alcohol and worthless trinkets… the one helping to enhance the ‘value’ of the other. Towards the southeastern corner of the fairgrounds, the party gratefully rests their tired feet, indulging in a late dinner after having spent an entire day involved in what Saryna refers to as “worthless, menial boredom.”</p><p></p><p>It doesn’t take long, however, for their relatively peaceful dinner to be interrupted by one of the carnival supervisors.</p><p></p><p>“Whatta ya sittin’ around for? There’s still a drunk takin’ up space over by the bar. Get him outta here… <em>then</em> you can sit on your worthless butts and eat!”</p><p></p><p>Instead of merely clocking the offensive man, Saryna decides to work off her bad mood on the drunk, whom she expects to provide as satisfying a crunch as the smelly, fat supervisor. The rest of the party decides to let her handle the situation herself, expecting some free entertainment from Saryna’s lack of tact. They are not disappointed.</p><p></p><p>The first thing Saryna notices as she approaches the drunk man is that he’s armed . Though she doesn’t expect much resistance, she loosens her longsword in its sheath just in case he decides to try and attack her. As she moves closer, she begins to hear mumbling, as though the man is talking to himself.</p><p></p><p>“*mumble*.. reporting for duty! Life is… the empire. MY life IS… the empire. *mumble* no… FOR the empire. My life… for the empire. Reporting… give me my duty.”</p><p></p><p>Saryna approaches cautiously. “Excuse me, but the carnival is closed. You have to leave now.”</p><p></p><p>The man gives Saryna a blank stare, and takes another chug from his empty mug before shouting at Saryna. “No… I am… a solder… soldier! A sssolider never leafs… his post. I will offend my posht with my last *belch* breath… even if that means fffighting… all tree of you! Now begone, bench!”</p><p></p><p>Uproarious laughter from her companions serves only to deepen Saryna’s dour mood, and her hand darts to her sword, though she does not draw it. Lucien, seeing that Saryna is quickly losing her cool, forces the others to stop eating and assist her. After all, a dead drunk might well keep them from getting paid.</p><p></p><p>As Lucien approaches with the others in tow, Saryna attempts to reason with the man.</p><p></p><p>“You can’t stay here. If you don’t leave, I’ll be forced to remove you, and I don’t relish doing that… erm… much.” The drunk growls at her.</p><p></p><p>“You… are not shupposed to be here. Now go, and let me fulfill my doodie! An offisher never leavsh his poscht!” With that, the man slams his mug down on the table, sending up a fair amount of splinters. Then, sitting up straight, he salutes, and almost falls backwards off of his bench.</p><p></p><p>Kerim, suppressing a giggle, walks up to the man. “Excuse me… did you say that you were on duty? Wouldn’t your post be back in the empire?”</p><p></p><p>“No! My poast is right here! I WILL NOT dessert it.” As he speaks, the man points to a post at the edge of the fairgrounds. “See? My phost!” The man settles back into his bench, quite pleased with himself.</p><p></p><p>Finally, Saryna’s temper bursts. “I’ve had enough of this loon. I say we lay him flat and carry him to the nearest inn. Let him sleep it off in a barn.” Without waiting for a consensus, Saryna draws he sword and approaches the man, intent on smacking him upside the head with the flat of the blade. The man seems unaware.</p><p></p><p>As Saryna swings downwards, however, a short sword somehow intercepts the path of her blade, and a deft maneuver sends her longsword spinning off into the night. The drunk man glares at Saryna, sword drawn. Despite his stupor, the sword does not waver an inch.</p><p></p><p>“You schouldn’t have done that.”</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Femerus the Gnecro, post: 370625, member: 2381"] Chapter 4, Part 1: Tobias Days pass, and Darumont continues along its daily routine. Still in search of steady income, the team takes another freelance job from the Sweeps. According to the sweeps, orc raiding parties have been sending into the area around Darumont for some time, though the city itself is too easily defended to be in any real danger. Incongruously, the party chooses to police a local carnival rather than eliminating this orcish threat. Of course, as the saying goes… luck favors fools and small children. The carnival is unremarkable, sporting a normal variety of typical carnival-ish accoutrements. For two or three days the party acts as guards: breaking up fights, preventing cheats from gambling, chasing down pickpockets and making sure drunks are sent home without disrupting the festivities. Everything progresses smoothly up until the last evening of the carnival, during the closing-time roundup. *** There is very little light left… the torches are sputtering and the moon has barely risen above the treetops. The carnival has ended, taking with it an inordinate amount of alcohol and worthless trinkets… the one helping to enhance the ‘value’ of the other. Towards the southeastern corner of the fairgrounds, the party gratefully rests their tired feet, indulging in a late dinner after having spent an entire day involved in what Saryna refers to as “worthless, menial boredom.” It doesn’t take long, however, for their relatively peaceful dinner to be interrupted by one of the carnival supervisors. “Whatta ya sittin’ around for? There’s still a drunk takin’ up space over by the bar. Get him outta here… [i]then[/i] you can sit on your worthless butts and eat!” Instead of merely clocking the offensive man, Saryna decides to work off her bad mood on the drunk, whom she expects to provide as satisfying a crunch as the smelly, fat supervisor. The rest of the party decides to let her handle the situation herself, expecting some free entertainment from Saryna’s lack of tact. They are not disappointed. The first thing Saryna notices as she approaches the drunk man is that he’s armed . Though she doesn’t expect much resistance, she loosens her longsword in its sheath just in case he decides to try and attack her. As she moves closer, she begins to hear mumbling, as though the man is talking to himself. “*mumble*.. reporting for duty! Life is… the empire. MY life IS… the empire. *mumble* no… FOR the empire. My life… for the empire. Reporting… give me my duty.” Saryna approaches cautiously. “Excuse me, but the carnival is closed. You have to leave now.” The man gives Saryna a blank stare, and takes another chug from his empty mug before shouting at Saryna. “No… I am… a solder… soldier! A sssolider never leafs… his post. I will offend my posht with my last *belch* breath… even if that means fffighting… all tree of you! Now begone, bench!” Uproarious laughter from her companions serves only to deepen Saryna’s dour mood, and her hand darts to her sword, though she does not draw it. Lucien, seeing that Saryna is quickly losing her cool, forces the others to stop eating and assist her. After all, a dead drunk might well keep them from getting paid. As Lucien approaches with the others in tow, Saryna attempts to reason with the man. “You can’t stay here. If you don’t leave, I’ll be forced to remove you, and I don’t relish doing that… erm… much.” The drunk growls at her. “You… are not shupposed to be here. Now go, and let me fulfill my doodie! An offisher never leavsh his poscht!” With that, the man slams his mug down on the table, sending up a fair amount of splinters. Then, sitting up straight, he salutes, and almost falls backwards off of his bench. Kerim, suppressing a giggle, walks up to the man. “Excuse me… did you say that you were on duty? Wouldn’t your post be back in the empire?” “No! My poast is right here! I WILL NOT dessert it.” As he speaks, the man points to a post at the edge of the fairgrounds. “See? My phost!” The man settles back into his bench, quite pleased with himself. Finally, Saryna’s temper bursts. “I’ve had enough of this loon. I say we lay him flat and carry him to the nearest inn. Let him sleep it off in a barn.” Without waiting for a consensus, Saryna draws he sword and approaches the man, intent on smacking him upside the head with the flat of the blade. The man seems unaware. As Saryna swings downwards, however, a short sword somehow intercepts the path of her blade, and a deft maneuver sends her longsword spinning off into the night. The drunk man glares at Saryna, sword drawn. Despite his stupor, the sword does not waver an inch. “You schouldn’t have done that.” [/QUOTE]
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Dusk in the land of Fading Stars - Femerus' Story hour (updated 2-20-03)
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