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High Seas Shenanigans (Updated: 12/04/05)
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<blockquote data-quote="Emperor Valerian" data-source="post: 2468365" data-attributes="member: 15043"><p>I have yet to play Halo... and I’m afraid to, because I think I’d become addicted as well. <img src="data:image/gif;base64,R0lGODlhAQABAIAAAAAAAP///yH5BAEAAAAALAAAAAABAAEAAAIBRAA7" class="smilie smilie--sprite smilie--sprite1" alt=":)" title="Smile :)" loading="lazy" data-shortname=":)" /></p><p></p><p><strong>Meeting the Baron</strong></p><p></p><p>“Um...” the attendant stuttered, his face as white as his powdered wig with the initial fear that Viktalia had felt only minutes earlier on seeing the huge metallic man. Part of her sympathized with him, though even after spending a few moments with Visiel, she realized the warforged was <em>not</em> a mere iron golem, or some dangerous behemoth.</p><p></p><p><em>He seemed genuinely happy that I greeted him like a person and didn’t run away or complain about him,</em> she thought, <em>if these ‘warforged’ have feelings, I suppose.</em></p><p></p><p>Despite having hung around sailors and the sea for most of her life, she had never heard of, nor seen, anything like the great metallic being standing next to her. <em>Maybe its something only here in the Empire...</em></p><p></p><p>“I wish to speak with the Baron. I wish to join his command as a salvage expert,” Visiel’s metallic voice boomed. “These comrades were deployed here before me. They also wish to join his command.” Viktalia felt the yellow eyes within Visiel’s steel skull looking down at her.</p><p></p><p>“Ah!” the attendant said rather nervously. “Um... let me consult with...um...my...um... I’ll return shortly!” Quickly he dashed back towards the manor, his long, garishly colored formal coat flapping behind him. A few minutes passed, before the man returned, his face composed, his gait more assured. As he drew up to the gate, he bowed.</p><p></p><p>“I have been instructed to bring you immediately forthwith to His Eminence.” His eyes, formerly wide with fear, now flashed towards Siran with the pomposity a butler would normally possess. “Sir, please make sure your boots are clean before entering the Baron’s residence.” With a similar restored air of command, he ignored the cleric’s rather foul response.</p><p></p><p>“Please, follow me.”</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>Visiel mustered a gigantic metallic smile as the great metal gates of the Baron’s manor swung wide. The butler had returned, not as fearful as before.</p><p></p><p><em>The Baron ordered him to let us in. Which may mean the Baron is ready to accept me into his command, and begin to issue orders to me.</em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>At last, I’ll have some tasks to complete!</em></p><p></p><p>The attendant lead the small group along a path surrounded by well manicured flowers and trees, then underneath the immense columns of pink marble, a door made of solid ebony and rare teakwood beckoning them to enter. The doors swung wide, revealing a large entry hall, an elegant stairway at the far end, with a huge expanse of white and black chequered marble in between.</p><p></p><p>First the woman who called herself Viktalia, then the cleric calling himself Siran stepped in following the attendant. Visiel ducked his head to squeeze through the doorway, but as his foot came to rest on the first marble tile, a huge, sickening crack echoed through the hall. Immediately, Visiel halted.</p><p></p><p><em>This stone cannot support my weight, and it looks to be the rare stone that humans prize. While I don’t think I’ll ever understand why this stone is much more prized than iron and steel, I should not proceed any further... I might damage his floor even more, and it is never good to have a commander angry at you...</em></p><p></p><p>When Visiel looked up, the butler had once again stopped in dismay, staring at the lone broken tile of marble. Gently, Visiel backed away into the doorway.</p><p></p><p>“I am sorry. It appears the rock will not support my weight, so I shall wait here to minimize further damage,” he announced. The attendant nodded, and dashed off to fetch the Baron and bring him there, before anything else was accidentally destroyed.</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>“Baron Rafael Dice the Third, Lord of Blackmoor Manor, the Elestrean Isles, Navigator of the Kubalian Sea!”</p><p></p><p>The attendant turned aside, and bowed deeply as a rather short man, clad in a bright yellow coat, a red undershirt and red hose emerged from a doorway above. His face was round, his jet black mustache long and finely trimmed to points that ended on each side a good six inches from his face. Unlike the attendant, the Baron wore no powdered wig, but instead a full wig of dark brown hair that hug to the middle of his back in rich, luxuriant curls. As he walked towards the stairs, Siran could hear the Baron’s diamond tipped cane rap against the stone floor, a solitary noise that implied harsh dignity.</p><p></p><p><em>So this is the great Rafael Dice... I do have to say, he’s shorter than I expected, but at least he carries himself...</em> Siran started to think, until the Baron reached the stairs and began to stumble downwards. Immediately the gloved hand that held the cane reached for the bannister, letting the diamond tipped item tumble downwards. Siran the drinker immediately recognized the stumbling gait as one he himself often fell into after a night filled with far too much brandy. As if to confirm his suspicions, the Baron’s other hand, formerly behind his back, shot out sideways for balance, a golden goblet likely full of whatever alcohol had made him smashed teetering precariously in its grasp.</p><p></p><p>“Greeshings and Salushayshans!” the Baron’s voice, an otherwise deep and commanding baritone, slurred with drunken abandon. “By the Seven Perfect Notes!” he swore, slipping unexpectedly down the last two stairs and barely managing to keep himself from tumbling to the ground. After taking a full minute to recover, the Baron looked up, his eyes unfocused, staring at the party.</p><p></p><p>“Whaddaya want? Juric, whadda these peoples want again?” A gloved hand went towards the wig, and scratched it so vigorously that it slid out of place.</p><p></p><p>“They are the people seeking positions on board Lord Daod’s vessel, M’lord,” the butler said, nodding and bowing as if the Baron’s luscious state was a normal occurrence.</p><p></p><p><em>Baron Rafael Dice... the drunk...</em> Siran sighed, only partly because of the state of his future boss. <em>I should have known. If he was as good as everyone said, he wouldn’t be here in Erelion... he’d be in the capital, dining with the Imperial family and other hobsnobs.</em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>God be praised, I certainly end up with the foulest of luck,</em> he mentally grunted. He closed his eyes momentarily. <em>St. Heraclius, if this is going to be a test... you sure have found a doozy for me...</em> As the Barons waddled closer, Siran couldn’t resist, and stood slightly on his tiptoes to see what was in the cup.</p><p></p><p><em>Rich red hue... dammit! Formorteran brandy! Why can’t I have some?</em></p><p></p><p>“Ah... a quarstermaster, a...um...” the Baron slowed his speech down, annunciating every word as if his life depended on it. They were still slurred. “What...um... who did Cecil need again?”</p><p></p><p>“Lord Daod required a quartermaster, and a ship’s carpenter, M’lord,” the attendant replied. “You yourself earlier today also said you were looking for someone to head salvage operations as well, M’lord.”</p><p></p><p>“Ah!” the Baron’s face lit up like a clown’s. “Yesh... who heresh the quarstermaster?”</p><p></p><p>“Um... I will be, M’lord,” Viktalia said slowly. In his drunken state, the range of emotions the Baron went through was quite apparent, his face slowly changing from surprise, to disbelief, to finally a lecherous smirk.</p><p></p><p>“Sure ya will,” he grinned, “You’ll keep morale high,” he laughed before stumbling around to face the butler. “Go an..ah... get the paper things...” The inebriated inspection continued, as the Baron reached the massive metal behemoth, still standing dutifully in the doorway.</p><p></p><p><em>I think our friend didn’t like that last comment much,</em> Siran thought, trying to suppress a smirk of his own at the Baron’s comment. Viktalia for her part squirmed a bit, but to Siran’s disappointment, she kept her mouth shut.</p><p></p><p>“Eh!” the Baron stumbled to a halt, a finger shakily pointing at Visiel’s hulking arm. “You’re shiny, you know zat?”</p><p></p><p>“By polishing my exterior, I ensure that maintenance issues can be kept at a minimum,” the warforged rumbled in reply.</p><p></p><p>“’Maintenansh ishues kept at a mini...mini...minizum,” the Baron turned with a giggle. “Bring him on! Bigsh and nashty brute like him could make a good slalvager... and really mesh up someone’s day. And... oh, yoursh a cleric.”</p><p></p><p>When the noble stopped in front of Siran, the cleric’s nose was assaulted with the sweet, taunting smell of his favorite drink, only inches from his face as the Baron swayed in front of him.</p><p></p><p>“Cleric of St. Heraclius, yes, m’lord. As well as conossieur of fine liquers,” Siran added with a smile, and the Baron smiled. <em>Take a hint, Your Sloshness...</em></p><p></p><p>“Con...Con... Brandy Expert! Good! Good good good... Juric... sign this man up as...”</p><p></p><p>“Do you have experience in carpentry, sir?” the attendant asked.</p><p></p><p>“Served as Ship’s Carpenter on the frigate Vynystra two years ago, and saw service at the Battle of Gravlin,” Siran replied. It’d been the first time he’d been noticed... after a Kandoran galleon swept by and raked his ship, Siran had found himself the most senior person below decks. Rather adroitly he’d managed to not only recover, but got the gun crews working again to the point they raked the galleon in return. Normally such gallantry might have got a promotion, or even the command of his own ship, but Siran had only joined the Navy months earlier... he wasn’t even an officer.</p><p></p><p><em>Bah... damn Navy.</em> </p><p></p><p>The butler nodded, not knowing the background of Siran's lone sentence, and soon Siran’s name, along with the name of the each of the other party members, was inked into a crew roster list...</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Emperor Valerian, post: 2468365, member: 15043"] I have yet to play Halo... and I’m afraid to, because I think I’d become addicted as well. :) [b]Meeting the Baron[/b] “Um...” the attendant stuttered, his face as white as his powdered wig with the initial fear that Viktalia had felt only minutes earlier on seeing the huge metallic man. Part of her sympathized with him, though even after spending a few moments with Visiel, she realized the warforged was [i]not[/i] a mere iron golem, or some dangerous behemoth. [i]He seemed genuinely happy that I greeted him like a person and didn’t run away or complain about him,[/i] she thought, [i]if these ‘warforged’ have feelings, I suppose.[/i] Despite having hung around sailors and the sea for most of her life, she had never heard of, nor seen, anything like the great metallic being standing next to her. [i]Maybe its something only here in the Empire...[/i] “I wish to speak with the Baron. I wish to join his command as a salvage expert,” Visiel’s metallic voice boomed. “These comrades were deployed here before me. They also wish to join his command.” Viktalia felt the yellow eyes within Visiel’s steel skull looking down at her. “Ah!” the attendant said rather nervously. “Um... let me consult with...um...my...um... I’ll return shortly!” Quickly he dashed back towards the manor, his long, garishly colored formal coat flapping behind him. A few minutes passed, before the man returned, his face composed, his gait more assured. As he drew up to the gate, he bowed. “I have been instructed to bring you immediately forthwith to His Eminence.” His eyes, formerly wide with fear, now flashed towards Siran with the pomposity a butler would normally possess. “Sir, please make sure your boots are clean before entering the Baron’s residence.” With a similar restored air of command, he ignored the cleric’s rather foul response. “Please, follow me.” Visiel mustered a gigantic metallic smile as the great metal gates of the Baron’s manor swung wide. The butler had returned, not as fearful as before. [i]The Baron ordered him to let us in. Which may mean the Baron is ready to accept me into his command, and begin to issue orders to me. At last, I’ll have some tasks to complete![/i] The attendant lead the small group along a path surrounded by well manicured flowers and trees, then underneath the immense columns of pink marble, a door made of solid ebony and rare teakwood beckoning them to enter. The doors swung wide, revealing a large entry hall, an elegant stairway at the far end, with a huge expanse of white and black chequered marble in between. First the woman who called herself Viktalia, then the cleric calling himself Siran stepped in following the attendant. Visiel ducked his head to squeeze through the doorway, but as his foot came to rest on the first marble tile, a huge, sickening crack echoed through the hall. Immediately, Visiel halted. [i]This stone cannot support my weight, and it looks to be the rare stone that humans prize. While I don’t think I’ll ever understand why this stone is much more prized than iron and steel, I should not proceed any further... I might damage his floor even more, and it is never good to have a commander angry at you...[/i] When Visiel looked up, the butler had once again stopped in dismay, staring at the lone broken tile of marble. Gently, Visiel backed away into the doorway. “I am sorry. It appears the rock will not support my weight, so I shall wait here to minimize further damage,” he announced. The attendant nodded, and dashed off to fetch the Baron and bring him there, before anything else was accidentally destroyed. “Baron Rafael Dice the Third, Lord of Blackmoor Manor, the Elestrean Isles, Navigator of the Kubalian Sea!” The attendant turned aside, and bowed deeply as a rather short man, clad in a bright yellow coat, a red undershirt and red hose emerged from a doorway above. His face was round, his jet black mustache long and finely trimmed to points that ended on each side a good six inches from his face. Unlike the attendant, the Baron wore no powdered wig, but instead a full wig of dark brown hair that hug to the middle of his back in rich, luxuriant curls. As he walked towards the stairs, Siran could hear the Baron’s diamond tipped cane rap against the stone floor, a solitary noise that implied harsh dignity. [i]So this is the great Rafael Dice... I do have to say, he’s shorter than I expected, but at least he carries himself...[/i] Siran started to think, until the Baron reached the stairs and began to stumble downwards. Immediately the gloved hand that held the cane reached for the bannister, letting the diamond tipped item tumble downwards. Siran the drinker immediately recognized the stumbling gait as one he himself often fell into after a night filled with far too much brandy. As if to confirm his suspicions, the Baron’s other hand, formerly behind his back, shot out sideways for balance, a golden goblet likely full of whatever alcohol had made him smashed teetering precariously in its grasp. “Greeshings and Salushayshans!” the Baron’s voice, an otherwise deep and commanding baritone, slurred with drunken abandon. “By the Seven Perfect Notes!” he swore, slipping unexpectedly down the last two stairs and barely managing to keep himself from tumbling to the ground. After taking a full minute to recover, the Baron looked up, his eyes unfocused, staring at the party. “Whaddaya want? Juric, whadda these peoples want again?” A gloved hand went towards the wig, and scratched it so vigorously that it slid out of place. “They are the people seeking positions on board Lord Daod’s vessel, M’lord,” the butler said, nodding and bowing as if the Baron’s luscious state was a normal occurrence. [i]Baron Rafael Dice... the drunk...[/i] Siran sighed, only partly because of the state of his future boss. [i]I should have known. If he was as good as everyone said, he wouldn’t be here in Erelion... he’d be in the capital, dining with the Imperial family and other hobsnobs. God be praised, I certainly end up with the foulest of luck,[/i] he mentally grunted. He closed his eyes momentarily. [i]St. Heraclius, if this is going to be a test... you sure have found a doozy for me...[/i] As the Barons waddled closer, Siran couldn’t resist, and stood slightly on his tiptoes to see what was in the cup. [i]Rich red hue... dammit! Formorteran brandy! Why can’t I have some?[/i] “Ah... a quarstermaster, a...um...” the Baron slowed his speech down, annunciating every word as if his life depended on it. They were still slurred. “What...um... who did Cecil need again?” “Lord Daod required a quartermaster, and a ship’s carpenter, M’lord,” the attendant replied. “You yourself earlier today also said you were looking for someone to head salvage operations as well, M’lord.” “Ah!” the Baron’s face lit up like a clown’s. “Yesh... who heresh the quarstermaster?” “Um... I will be, M’lord,” Viktalia said slowly. In his drunken state, the range of emotions the Baron went through was quite apparent, his face slowly changing from surprise, to disbelief, to finally a lecherous smirk. “Sure ya will,” he grinned, “You’ll keep morale high,” he laughed before stumbling around to face the butler. “Go an..ah... get the paper things...” The inebriated inspection continued, as the Baron reached the massive metal behemoth, still standing dutifully in the doorway. [i]I think our friend didn’t like that last comment much,[/i] Siran thought, trying to suppress a smirk of his own at the Baron’s comment. Viktalia for her part squirmed a bit, but to Siran’s disappointment, she kept her mouth shut. “Eh!” the Baron stumbled to a halt, a finger shakily pointing at Visiel’s hulking arm. “You’re shiny, you know zat?” “By polishing my exterior, I ensure that maintenance issues can be kept at a minimum,” the warforged rumbled in reply. “’Maintenansh ishues kept at a mini...mini...minizum,” the Baron turned with a giggle. “Bring him on! Bigsh and nashty brute like him could make a good slalvager... and really mesh up someone’s day. And... oh, yoursh a cleric.” When the noble stopped in front of Siran, the cleric’s nose was assaulted with the sweet, taunting smell of his favorite drink, only inches from his face as the Baron swayed in front of him. “Cleric of St. Heraclius, yes, m’lord. As well as conossieur of fine liquers,” Siran added with a smile, and the Baron smiled. [i]Take a hint, Your Sloshness...[/i] “Con...Con... Brandy Expert! Good! Good good good... Juric... sign this man up as...” “Do you have experience in carpentry, sir?” the attendant asked. “Served as Ship’s Carpenter on the frigate Vynystra two years ago, and saw service at the Battle of Gravlin,” Siran replied. It’d been the first time he’d been noticed... after a Kandoran galleon swept by and raked his ship, Siran had found himself the most senior person below decks. Rather adroitly he’d managed to not only recover, but got the gun crews working again to the point they raked the galleon in return. Normally such gallantry might have got a promotion, or even the command of his own ship, but Siran had only joined the Navy months earlier... he wasn’t even an officer. [i]Bah... damn Navy.[/i] The butler nodded, not knowing the background of Siran's lone sentence, and soon Siran’s name, along with the name of the each of the other party members, was inked into a crew roster list... [/QUOTE]
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