For More Than Glory

[Memnus]

Where we now stand

The heavy metal doors swing open, and everybody is afforded a view of the room within. The square room is barren and empty, except for an iron cage against the wall. A human figure lies in chains in the cage, unconscious, a set of plate mail discarded at his feet. His sword and shield, and a selection of other weapons, lie at his feet - fat lot of good they'll do him while his arms are manacled above his head. As you enter, he stirs and looks up...

(This is Sly's new character, by the way.)

 

[crystorix]

Rolf flies into the room cautiously and circles around the perimeter, wary for an ambush, leaving those following him to deal with the man in the cage for now.

 

[evandariel]

The man in the cage's eyes flitter open for a moment, and he looks relieved to see Rolf's shape emerge in the doorway. He then slips back into unconsciousness, his head hitting the floor with a stark ring that seems too loud in the total silence since the battle.

((I am not going to RP anymore until Sunday evening. I caught a very bad case of the flu and have been bedridden since monday. I will let you know if I can't make the game, but I'm pretty sure I will be able to. Sorry guys.))

 

[Arkhandus]

After a long period of hesitation, or perhaps surprise, by everyone else, Argus decides he's stood around waiting long enough. So the usually-quiet ex-monk enters the room behind Rolf and walks over to the shackled man. "Looks harmless. Maybe another victim of whoever Helmhold was dealing with..........when he wasn't himself." Argus examines the man's shackles and such for a time as he speaks. "But for what purpose was he shackled here? The only other humans we've seen down here were impaled on torches. Maybe this one was to be food of sorts for that winged woman, if she truly was some sort of fiend, or perhaps the captor thought he knew something that was valuable to her?" Argus tries forcing the cage open, or tearing the shackles out of their sockets, in case they might not be secured too well, and grunts. "Mind giving a hand? I don't think we need to worry about this man in his condition."

 

[Memnus]

Fleck releases his mental grip on Meier's drink, and the ale goes back to tasting like ale. He laughs at the human's reaction to the demonstration. "Many people don't realize that there are actually four sorts of magic. This tongue doesn't have the words to distinguish them as well as some, but the four types translate roughly as the Talent, the Skill, the Gift, and the Call." He takes a sip of his drink, and plows onward, not really noticing if he loses anybody, or if anybody's even interested. "The Talent is innate, and cannot be taught. Most have at least a little, but few have much more than that. The Skill, my personal field, is learned through study and experimentation. The Gift is only granted by the gods, and would be out of mortal reach without them. Kirran is the expert on that. The Call is like the Gift, but granted to those close to nature. There's debate as to where it actually comes from, and I wouldn't know." He nods to Rolf, then takes another sip of his drink.

 

[evandariel]

Enoch joins the others as Fleck discusses the sources and types of magic, a slight thrill running through him that signals a warning from his god, and he remains silent. He nods to those who see his approach and aside from that is nothing more than a solid, silent support, like an old rock formed from blowing winds and flowing waters, seeming there having been there forever and to remain for quite some time more before the elements brush it to the ground.

 

[Rish]

Kirran snorts as he recognizes the familiar beginnings of Fleck's rambles. "Now see what you've done, Helmhold? We'll never get him shut up now." He makes as if to pitch another rolled-up bit of napkin at Fleck, then thinks better of it. " 'Gift.' Feh. You must be worse off for rambling topics than usual, if you've started calling me an expert on anything."

 

[Memnus]

"Expert or not, I'm sure you can guess what would happen if you stopped giving Felicitas his share of the credit for what you do. Anyway, the word's not quite right for it, but it's not my fault this language can't translate grellanperric right."

 

[Emiricol]

Meier grins, a lopsided expression that manages to convey both bemusement and curiosity at the same time.

"So you call this The Skill... I believe every chef should learn that skill. No need for a cook when we have a talented - sorry, SKILLED - gnome in the party I seem to have joined."

Meier looks around the table briefly before sipping his ale once more.

 

[crystorix]

"Strange that you differentiate between this Gift and Call, Fleck. I was unaware of any debate, but I've had little formal training. As far as I'm aware, my power comes from Nylaethia, as Kirran's comes from Felicitas."