Well, my turn...
The Suel in the Corner
The young Suel in the dirty leather clothing had been in Diamond Lake for about a month when the incident finally happened. During that time, he'd mostly spent his days in the Feral Dog, drinking and doing the odd bit of scribe work. People had whispered rumors about him--linking him with everybody to the Scarlet Brotherhood to the Circle of Eight--but as he quietly did nothing but drink, keep to himself, and occasionally write letters for people, they soon died away. For the most part.
The brothers Skale were among the exceptions. While they weren't sure what he was, they knew that Suel were rich, and that he doubtless had a horde of money somewhere. Money he could probably be... persuaded to give to people who used the right amount of physical force. Like, for example, the Skale brothers.
On the night in question, Ieng Bal had just finished his fifth mug of ale, and was starting to mutter an ancient Flannish song about dying young and horribly, when the two burly men walked purposively to his table. As they stopped before it, glaring at him menacingly, Ieng turned to look at them, puzzled. "Can I help you gentlemen?"
Rory Skale, the elder, meaner brother, looked down at the rather unkempt young man. "To yer feet, Suel. Yer comin' with us..."
Ieng blinked at that. "Hmmmm. No, no, I don't think I will."
Ory Skale, the younger, angrier brother, glared at him. "Look, you, you've got a choice! Ya can take it here, or someplace quiet!" He leaned forward. "If ya take it someplace quiet, it will go easier for ya."
Ieng regarded him calmly. "So, you two are going to beat me up?"
Rory shook his head. "No. We're going to beat the Nine Hells out of ya," he stated with a certain sadistic glee.
Ieng considered this for a moment then glanced up at him. "That does sound unpleasant." He looked around the tavern. "Is there a reason for this?"
"We don't like the way you look," said Rory calmly.
"And we think we'd like the way yer money looks," added Ory with chuckle.
Rory shot his brother a disapproving glance as Ieng blinked. "Money? What money?" The Suel shook his head. "I have money? That's odd, I've been buying my liquor on credit tonight..."
"Don't play stupid," said Rory. "Yer a Suel. Yer loaded with cash."
"Am I?" muttered Ieng. "Dear me..." He stood up, somewhat unsteadily, and gazed at his two would-be assailants. "Tell me--are you aware of the works of the Archpriest Canara of Ulm?"
The Skale brothers' faces went slack with bafflement. "Ehh?" said Orry.
"He was a great theologian, who used to wonder over divine riddles," explained Ieng. "One of them was 'can a man be damned through no fault of his own'? This feels like that sort of situation." A slight smile came to his face. "You seem to think that because I'm a Suel, I'm rich. I can assure you that's not the case. No, being Sueloise has not made me wealthy." He calmly raised a hand, which quickly became engulfed in a pale green flame. "What it has made me is heir to a thousand millenias worth of dark and arcane knowledge," he noted, his voice shifting from honey to iron. "It has given me knowledge of hideous things to do to those who wrong me, a hundred agonies that each make death seem a sweetness to be longed after! So, my thuggish friends, do you really think I'm worth your time to harrass? Is the paltry number of coins I possess worth the state of your immortal soul? IS IT?" The fire was burning in Ieng's eyes now, his entire countence one of infernal malice.
The Skale brothers decided to abandon their plan. And the Feral Dog. Post-haste.
As he stood there, burning with unholy power, Ieng suddenly realized that every eye in the place was on him. "Don't mind me, folks," he noted, allowing the power within him to fall. He sat back down in his chair. "I seek no trouble." Slowly, the patrons of the bar went back to their business.
That night, Ieng went to his rented room with a curse and scowl. While he was very fond of the extensive line of credit he now had at the Feral Dog, he'd been hoping to escape all notice--to find some quiet place to hole up in and let himself be buried away from the world. I came so far to escape it, he thought. Traveled so far to find a place where I would not be Mad Kalos Bal's son, not the boy of man so wicked the Scarlet Brotherhood threw him out, and Iuz wouldn't even let him past his borders. But in the end, I can't escape myself. He took off his shirt, and glanced at the mark of demonic hand still on it. His mind fell back to that horrible night, the cultists chanting, his father waving the knife in the air, as he stood there, naked, small and afraid. He remembered the demon pressing its hand to his chest. 'With this mark I swear covenant to thy son', the demon's horrific voice reverberated in Ieng's head. 'In all hours, my power shall be with him, to guide him through dark places, as a sign of my love for thee. And his power shall be a reflection of my glory, his victories a praise to my might.'
Ieng shuddered. Can a man be damned through no fault of his own, Canara? Oh, yes, Archpriest, oh yes.... He shut his eyes, and leaned weakly against the wall. And too often in this world my damnation is also my salvation... He took a deep breath, and went to his bed, though he was certain sleep would not come easily tonight, and what little he got would not be restful.
[sblock]Basically, 1st lvl warlock, human. I'd also like to take Fiendmarked from the first Regional Greyhawk feats article, if that's okay. So, did I do good?[/sblock]
The Suel in the Corner
The young Suel in the dirty leather clothing had been in Diamond Lake for about a month when the incident finally happened. During that time, he'd mostly spent his days in the Feral Dog, drinking and doing the odd bit of scribe work. People had whispered rumors about him--linking him with everybody to the Scarlet Brotherhood to the Circle of Eight--but as he quietly did nothing but drink, keep to himself, and occasionally write letters for people, they soon died away. For the most part.
The brothers Skale were among the exceptions. While they weren't sure what he was, they knew that Suel were rich, and that he doubtless had a horde of money somewhere. Money he could probably be... persuaded to give to people who used the right amount of physical force. Like, for example, the Skale brothers.
On the night in question, Ieng Bal had just finished his fifth mug of ale, and was starting to mutter an ancient Flannish song about dying young and horribly, when the two burly men walked purposively to his table. As they stopped before it, glaring at him menacingly, Ieng turned to look at them, puzzled. "Can I help you gentlemen?"
Rory Skale, the elder, meaner brother, looked down at the rather unkempt young man. "To yer feet, Suel. Yer comin' with us..."
Ieng blinked at that. "Hmmmm. No, no, I don't think I will."
Ory Skale, the younger, angrier brother, glared at him. "Look, you, you've got a choice! Ya can take it here, or someplace quiet!" He leaned forward. "If ya take it someplace quiet, it will go easier for ya."
Ieng regarded him calmly. "So, you two are going to beat me up?"
Rory shook his head. "No. We're going to beat the Nine Hells out of ya," he stated with a certain sadistic glee.
Ieng considered this for a moment then glanced up at him. "That does sound unpleasant." He looked around the tavern. "Is there a reason for this?"
"We don't like the way you look," said Rory calmly.
"And we think we'd like the way yer money looks," added Ory with chuckle.
Rory shot his brother a disapproving glance as Ieng blinked. "Money? What money?" The Suel shook his head. "I have money? That's odd, I've been buying my liquor on credit tonight..."
"Don't play stupid," said Rory. "Yer a Suel. Yer loaded with cash."
"Am I?" muttered Ieng. "Dear me..." He stood up, somewhat unsteadily, and gazed at his two would-be assailants. "Tell me--are you aware of the works of the Archpriest Canara of Ulm?"
The Skale brothers' faces went slack with bafflement. "Ehh?" said Orry.
"He was a great theologian, who used to wonder over divine riddles," explained Ieng. "One of them was 'can a man be damned through no fault of his own'? This feels like that sort of situation." A slight smile came to his face. "You seem to think that because I'm a Suel, I'm rich. I can assure you that's not the case. No, being Sueloise has not made me wealthy." He calmly raised a hand, which quickly became engulfed in a pale green flame. "What it has made me is heir to a thousand millenias worth of dark and arcane knowledge," he noted, his voice shifting from honey to iron. "It has given me knowledge of hideous things to do to those who wrong me, a hundred agonies that each make death seem a sweetness to be longed after! So, my thuggish friends, do you really think I'm worth your time to harrass? Is the paltry number of coins I possess worth the state of your immortal soul? IS IT?" The fire was burning in Ieng's eyes now, his entire countence one of infernal malice.
The Skale brothers decided to abandon their plan. And the Feral Dog. Post-haste.
As he stood there, burning with unholy power, Ieng suddenly realized that every eye in the place was on him. "Don't mind me, folks," he noted, allowing the power within him to fall. He sat back down in his chair. "I seek no trouble." Slowly, the patrons of the bar went back to their business.
That night, Ieng went to his rented room with a curse and scowl. While he was very fond of the extensive line of credit he now had at the Feral Dog, he'd been hoping to escape all notice--to find some quiet place to hole up in and let himself be buried away from the world. I came so far to escape it, he thought. Traveled so far to find a place where I would not be Mad Kalos Bal's son, not the boy of man so wicked the Scarlet Brotherhood threw him out, and Iuz wouldn't even let him past his borders. But in the end, I can't escape myself. He took off his shirt, and glanced at the mark of demonic hand still on it. His mind fell back to that horrible night, the cultists chanting, his father waving the knife in the air, as he stood there, naked, small and afraid. He remembered the demon pressing its hand to his chest. 'With this mark I swear covenant to thy son', the demon's horrific voice reverberated in Ieng's head. 'In all hours, my power shall be with him, to guide him through dark places, as a sign of my love for thee. And his power shall be a reflection of my glory, his victories a praise to my might.'
Ieng shuddered. Can a man be damned through no fault of his own, Canara? Oh, yes, Archpriest, oh yes.... He shut his eyes, and leaned weakly against the wall. And too often in this world my damnation is also my salvation... He took a deep breath, and went to his bed, though he was certain sleep would not come easily tonight, and what little he got would not be restful.
[sblock]Basically, 1st lvl warlock, human. I'd also like to take Fiendmarked from the first Regional Greyhawk feats article, if that's okay. So, did I do good?[/sblock]
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