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Pledge of Tyranny (updated November 13)
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<blockquote data-quote="genshou" data-source="post: 2979497" data-attributes="member: 13164"><p>Just as Evendur had told, they traveled for half a mile on that street, pushing through the throng. The people here were poorer, and beggars teemed along the edges. “We are entering a poor section of the city,” Evendur shouted over the din as they moved to the right side of the street. He was the further of the two from the buildings, weaving his way through the crowd with effortless nimbleness. “I find it odd that a shop like that would exist this far into a slum, don’t you? This ‘Melthym’ must be some sort of strange fellow to place a magic shop in this area. Do you think he’s a powerful magus, or one whose powers are less of use to heroes of legend?”</p><p></p><p>Shirl ducked beneath a broken sign and then turned her face slightly toward him, her right eye closed slyly. “You think too much… you know that?”</p><p></p><p>Evendur grinned and winked. “Of course I do! Constant thinking is more than my specialty; why not take advantage of my greatest asset? Besides… someone has to use their brain now and again to cover for everyone who doesn’t.” He indicated the majority of people on the street with a sweeping gesture. “If everyone in the world applied critical thought to their activites a few more times each day, the world would be a much more rational place. Why, just think of what good a keen mind will do for a working man alone! And applied to adventuring, you’ll find my intellect will come in quite handy.”</p><p></p><p>Shirl laughed for a moment. “I suppose that’s true… but I think most people would be driven insane by your constant thinking.” She nudged him playfully, but woefully overestimated his mass, and he was thrown into the side of a passing cart.</p><p></p><p>Evendur rebounded painfully. “Ow… careful with that!” As he moved back to Shirl’s side, she noticed something in his palm. He moved his arm between them and cupped his palm so she could see the nectarine held in it.</p><p></p><p>She narrowed her eyes. “Where did you--oh, so you’re a…” She lowered her voice. “A thief?”</p><p></p><p>Evendur grimaced. “I really don’t like that word. It’s only a thing or two every now and then, and never anything expensive. Want one? I grabbed two.”</p><p></p><p>She glanced at his other, open hand. “Where’s the other one? Never mind, I don’t need to know.” She snatched the fruit from his offering hand. “Thanks.” She bit into the succulent, juicy fruit slowly, savouring its freshness. “So… if you don’t like the name ‘thief’, then what do you call yourself?”</p><p></p><p>Evendur shook his head slowly. “I really don’t know. But I’m no common pickpocket. Hell, I’m not really a thief even in the adventuring sense. I couldn’t disarm a trap designed by an ogre, and I know just enough about lock picking to know I don’t stand a chance.” He paused for oratory effect. “I think of myself as a swashbuckler, nimble, and full of charm. Of course, it’s difficult to really bring about derring-do with only a few silvers to my name.” He brought the other palmed nectarine to his mouth and took a bite. That didn’t stop him from continuing with his explanation. “I’m really more of a warrior than a thief, you know. I have no idea where it comes from, but I know a bit about using staves.”</p><p></p><p>She smiled. “Yes… you are amazing with that weapon. You know, we’re very similar in that regard. I am also more trained in the ways of war than would seem to be the case. This thing isn’t just for show like it would be for most bards,” she said, pointing down to the bladed whip coiled and sheathed on her belt.</p><p></p><p>“I noticed,” Evendur remarked as he scanned the street corner they were approaching. “There. See it? Melthym’s Exotic and Esoteric Imports.” It was a small shop, easy to miss if one were to be simply strolling by. But in the window was the buckler Evendur had seen while scrying. “See that? The vision was true after all. Let’s go inside and see what sort of man this Melthym is.”</p><p></p><p>The door to Melthym’s Exotic and Esoteric Imports was ornate, appearing to have been carved out of ivory, and with intricate detail. There was something… strangely familiar about the runes carved into the door, Evendur noticed. He shrugged and reached out to push the door open, seeing no hinges on the outside and assuming they were on the other side of the door.</p><p></p><p>A mouth formed in the middle of the door. “Eww! Don’t touch me with those grubby fingers, you unwashed lout!” Evendur jumped back in alarm. “That’s right. You stay away… <em>far</em> away!”</p><p></p><p>Evendur and Shirl looked around them. No one else seemed to notice the talking door. Shirl gasped. “That’s… strong magic! It’s as if no one else even notices this building exists!”</p><p></p><p>Evendur grinned. “Oh, so you finally noticed? We are the only ones who see this shop. Judging by the various wards placed on it,” he pointed at the mouth in the door, “its owner doesn’t like to have unexpected visitors.” He turned back to the door. “Well? It’s apparent you don’t want me to touch you, so… I’d suggest you open, and quickly.” He reached out toward the door menacingly, and reaching menacingly to open a door was not something that happened to this door very often.</p><p></p><p>“Ehhn! No! Keep those unclean hands away!” it shouted, but in vain, for Evendur made no pause. “If you lay hand on me, I shall—“</p><p></p><p>Evendur interrupted the door. “What will you do? Shout at me some more? Open, or I’ll rub these filthy hands all over you.”</p><p></p><p>The door squealed in protest and finally gave way just before Evendur touched it. It first slid backward, and then to the side, as though being carried on some sort of track. “Elaborate,” Evendur remarked, impressed with the craftsmanship. Now that the door was open, they could see inside the store. The room within was small, less than twenty feet square, and stuffed with arcane paraphernalia the likes of which the two had never seen. Against one wall were several cloaks and mantles. Lining another was a shelf full of vials containing liquids of all hues. Everything inside the room was arranged according to some perfect organizational scheme. Two unostentatious wooden doors were set in the far wall, leading to rooms further within. There was no sign of the store’s owner.</p><p></p><p>As soon as the two had entered the building, the door slid into position again behind them. Evendur glanced out the window, then blinked and looked out again. Shirl looked at him in confusion. “Uhh, Evendur? What are you looking at?” She glanced outside, and started when she realized she was gazing not on a Waterdhavian street, but a primaeval landscape of crags and volcanoes (and many craggy volcanoes). “Wow… is that… an illusion?”</p><p></p><p>Her question was never answered, however, because the two were interrupted by the sound of one of the interior doors creaking open to reveal a tall, thin, and frail elderly man with slicked-back white hair and a well-groomed goatee. Though his manner of dress was immaculate, with his spotless white robes, his deep-set cyan eyes carried a spark of madness. “Well, well,” he mused in a voice akin to that of Christopher Lee. “More intruders? I can’t say this is entirely unexpected. Very well… let’s begin!” He lifted his mouth in an expression of wicked glee, as his hands twisted in arcane gestures. As he gestured, a regular triangle inscribed in a circle appeared in the air in front of him, formed of some sort of black energy…</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="genshou, post: 2979497, member: 13164"] Just as Evendur had told, they traveled for half a mile on that street, pushing through the throng. The people here were poorer, and beggars teemed along the edges. “We are entering a poor section of the city,” Evendur shouted over the din as they moved to the right side of the street. He was the further of the two from the buildings, weaving his way through the crowd with effortless nimbleness. “I find it odd that a shop like that would exist this far into a slum, don’t you? This ‘Melthym’ must be some sort of strange fellow to place a magic shop in this area. Do you think he’s a powerful magus, or one whose powers are less of use to heroes of legend?” Shirl ducked beneath a broken sign and then turned her face slightly toward him, her right eye closed slyly. “You think too much… you know that?” Evendur grinned and winked. “Of course I do! Constant thinking is more than my specialty; why not take advantage of my greatest asset? Besides… someone has to use their brain now and again to cover for everyone who doesn’t.” He indicated the majority of people on the street with a sweeping gesture. “If everyone in the world applied critical thought to their activites a few more times each day, the world would be a much more rational place. Why, just think of what good a keen mind will do for a working man alone! And applied to adventuring, you’ll find my intellect will come in quite handy.” Shirl laughed for a moment. “I suppose that’s true… but I think most people would be driven insane by your constant thinking.” She nudged him playfully, but woefully overestimated his mass, and he was thrown into the side of a passing cart. Evendur rebounded painfully. “Ow… careful with that!” As he moved back to Shirl’s side, she noticed something in his palm. He moved his arm between them and cupped his palm so she could see the nectarine held in it. She narrowed her eyes. “Where did you--oh, so you’re a…” She lowered her voice. “A thief?” Evendur grimaced. “I really don’t like that word. It’s only a thing or two every now and then, and never anything expensive. Want one? I grabbed two.” She glanced at his other, open hand. “Where’s the other one? Never mind, I don’t need to know.” She snatched the fruit from his offering hand. “Thanks.” She bit into the succulent, juicy fruit slowly, savouring its freshness. “So… if you don’t like the name ‘thief’, then what do you call yourself?” Evendur shook his head slowly. “I really don’t know. But I’m no common pickpocket. Hell, I’m not really a thief even in the adventuring sense. I couldn’t disarm a trap designed by an ogre, and I know just enough about lock picking to know I don’t stand a chance.” He paused for oratory effect. “I think of myself as a swashbuckler, nimble, and full of charm. Of course, it’s difficult to really bring about derring-do with only a few silvers to my name.” He brought the other palmed nectarine to his mouth and took a bite. That didn’t stop him from continuing with his explanation. “I’m really more of a warrior than a thief, you know. I have no idea where it comes from, but I know a bit about using staves.” She smiled. “Yes… you are amazing with that weapon. You know, we’re very similar in that regard. I am also more trained in the ways of war than would seem to be the case. This thing isn’t just for show like it would be for most bards,” she said, pointing down to the bladed whip coiled and sheathed on her belt. “I noticed,” Evendur remarked as he scanned the street corner they were approaching. “There. See it? Melthym’s Exotic and Esoteric Imports.” It was a small shop, easy to miss if one were to be simply strolling by. But in the window was the buckler Evendur had seen while scrying. “See that? The vision was true after all. Let’s go inside and see what sort of man this Melthym is.” The door to Melthym’s Exotic and Esoteric Imports was ornate, appearing to have been carved out of ivory, and with intricate detail. There was something… strangely familiar about the runes carved into the door, Evendur noticed. He shrugged and reached out to push the door open, seeing no hinges on the outside and assuming they were on the other side of the door. A mouth formed in the middle of the door. “Eww! Don’t touch me with those grubby fingers, you unwashed lout!” Evendur jumped back in alarm. “That’s right. You stay away… [I]far[/I] away!” Evendur and Shirl looked around them. No one else seemed to notice the talking door. Shirl gasped. “That’s… strong magic! It’s as if no one else even notices this building exists!” Evendur grinned. “Oh, so you finally noticed? We are the only ones who see this shop. Judging by the various wards placed on it,” he pointed at the mouth in the door, “its owner doesn’t like to have unexpected visitors.” He turned back to the door. “Well? It’s apparent you don’t want me to touch you, so… I’d suggest you open, and quickly.” He reached out toward the door menacingly, and reaching menacingly to open a door was not something that happened to this door very often. “Ehhn! No! Keep those unclean hands away!” it shouted, but in vain, for Evendur made no pause. “If you lay hand on me, I shall—“ Evendur interrupted the door. “What will you do? Shout at me some more? Open, or I’ll rub these filthy hands all over you.” The door squealed in protest and finally gave way just before Evendur touched it. It first slid backward, and then to the side, as though being carried on some sort of track. “Elaborate,” Evendur remarked, impressed with the craftsmanship. Now that the door was open, they could see inside the store. The room within was small, less than twenty feet square, and stuffed with arcane paraphernalia the likes of which the two had never seen. Against one wall were several cloaks and mantles. Lining another was a shelf full of vials containing liquids of all hues. Everything inside the room was arranged according to some perfect organizational scheme. Two unostentatious wooden doors were set in the far wall, leading to rooms further within. There was no sign of the store’s owner. As soon as the two had entered the building, the door slid into position again behind them. Evendur glanced out the window, then blinked and looked out again. Shirl looked at him in confusion. “Uhh, Evendur? What are you looking at?” She glanced outside, and started when she realized she was gazing not on a Waterdhavian street, but a primaeval landscape of crags and volcanoes (and many craggy volcanoes). “Wow… is that… an illusion?” Her question was never answered, however, because the two were interrupted by the sound of one of the interior doors creaking open to reveal a tall, thin, and frail elderly man with slicked-back white hair and a well-groomed goatee. Though his manner of dress was immaculate, with his spotless white robes, his deep-set cyan eyes carried a spark of madness. “Well, well,” he mused in a voice akin to that of Christopher Lee. “More intruders? I can’t say this is entirely unexpected. Very well… let’s begin!” He lifted his mouth in an expression of wicked glee, as his hands twisted in arcane gestures. As he gestured, a regular triangle inscribed in a circle appeared in the air in front of him, formed of some sort of black energy… [/QUOTE]
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