[ic] nameless III: lost and found
- Thread starter doghead
- Start date
doghead
thotd
in the hill fort ruins.
The goblins visibly tense as Nate approaches and he can hear the soft scrape of blades been drawn. But he manages to get to their campsite without any blood been spilt and the sharman waves him to sit down. She listens to his question, then turns and says something to her companions. There is a brief discussion. On of them seems set against what the sharman is asking, another is cautiously for it. The sharman waves them into silence, and sits without speaking for a while.
"Amoung our kind it is called the beast that sings. What your kind called it is unknown to me. But I know that it was once quite common in the mankind who lived on these plains. But with those that came from the south, the bloodline weakened and died out. Well, all but died out so it would seem."
She gives you a studied look for a moment.
"Amoung the minkind who live to the north, the Bremen I think you call them, it still runs strong so I hear. But I have never seen it myself.
"The beast loves battle, killing, war. It gives you stength and stamina. Initially only for a little while, and once each day. But as it grows in strength, you will be able to call on it more often. As you get tougher, you will be able to endur its presence for longer. But the beast is a selfish master, it does not allow for thoughts or actions much beyond fighting and killing.
"And it does not like to be dismissed. Like a willful worg, it must be broken before you can call yourself its rider. Otherwise, once it gets the scent of blood in its nose ... "
She tails off, finishing the sentence with a shrug.
"Amoung our kind, their are ceremonies and trials for the young goblinkin with the blood which prepare them for when the beast awakes within. But those would be of no help to you. The beast has already awoken. You must find your own way to break it. But until you do, do not call upon it when there is a chance you will find yourself still in its embrace when the last of your opponents falls. And if you do find yourself in that situation, throw away your weapons. It is much harder to butcher your companions with your bare hands.
"You might want to warn your companions as well. My kind would know what they are dealing with, and simply beat the bestial senseless with the haft of their spears. Then we strip them naked, bind them up, and suspend them from a branch for a while. A reminder to keep a tighter leash on themselves.
"But I don't think that your companions would understand if you turned on them.
The goblins visibly tense as Nate approaches and he can hear the soft scrape of blades been drawn. But he manages to get to their campsite without any blood been spilt and the sharman waves him to sit down. She listens to his question, then turns and says something to her companions. There is a brief discussion. On of them seems set against what the sharman is asking, another is cautiously for it. The sharman waves them into silence, and sits without speaking for a while.
"Amoung our kind it is called the beast that sings. What your kind called it is unknown to me. But I know that it was once quite common in the mankind who lived on these plains. But with those that came from the south, the bloodline weakened and died out. Well, all but died out so it would seem."
She gives you a studied look for a moment.
"Amoung the minkind who live to the north, the Bremen I think you call them, it still runs strong so I hear. But I have never seen it myself.
"The beast loves battle, killing, war. It gives you stength and stamina. Initially only for a little while, and once each day. But as it grows in strength, you will be able to call on it more often. As you get tougher, you will be able to endur its presence for longer. But the beast is a selfish master, it does not allow for thoughts or actions much beyond fighting and killing.
"And it does not like to be dismissed. Like a willful worg, it must be broken before you can call yourself its rider. Otherwise, once it gets the scent of blood in its nose ... "
She tails off, finishing the sentence with a shrug.
"Amoung our kind, their are ceremonies and trials for the young goblinkin with the blood which prepare them for when the beast awakes within. But those would be of no help to you. The beast has already awoken. You must find your own way to break it. But until you do, do not call upon it when there is a chance you will find yourself still in its embrace when the last of your opponents falls. And if you do find yourself in that situation, throw away your weapons. It is much harder to butcher your companions with your bare hands.
"You might want to warn your companions as well. My kind would know what they are dealing with, and simply beat the bestial senseless with the haft of their spears. Then we strip them naked, bind them up, and suspend them from a branch for a while. A reminder to keep a tighter leash on themselves.
"But I don't think that your companions would understand if you turned on them.
doghead
thotd
In the hill top ruins
The goblins are moving even before the first light of dawn appears in the sky. They gather up their things and clear away the remains of their campsite in almost complete silence. Their movements are quick and efficient suggesting that they have done this together on more than one occassion.
By the time the sky has brightened enough for those without the benefit of darkseeing to start being able to work by more than touch, the goblins have finished and are gathered in the center of the open courtyard of the ruins. They seem tense and watchful. They cluster together and talk in hissed whispers. The worgs eyes also follow you as you crawl form blankets, pull on gear and pack away what little you have with you. Can they sense their rider's feelings? Or are they just trying to decide how you would go down as breakfast?
As you finish and begin to emerge from the meger shelter of the ruins, the two goblin warriors mount up. The shaman remains standing beside her worg, her two companions flanking her.
"I have been away from my tribe for too long. If I am gone any longer, it will be noticed, and questions would be asked. I can't allow that to happen.
"I came to find you, to tell you of the readings, and to urge you to go to the place that the traitor looks for and to stop him from obtaining what it is that he seeks. All that remains is to pass on the last part. There is no reason for me to go back to your town. And I doubt that you would be able to convince me to do so even if there were good reasons. For most of your kind," and here she slows, as if taking care to get the expression correct, "the only good goblin is a dead one."
The sharman falls silent. The worg at her feet is perfectly still, but thrums with tension. The two riders shift nervously and their fingers curl and uncurl around the haft of the spears that lie across their laps.
The goblins are moving even before the first light of dawn appears in the sky. They gather up their things and clear away the remains of their campsite in almost complete silence. Their movements are quick and efficient suggesting that they have done this together on more than one occassion.
By the time the sky has brightened enough for those without the benefit of darkseeing to start being able to work by more than touch, the goblins have finished and are gathered in the center of the open courtyard of the ruins. They seem tense and watchful. They cluster together and talk in hissed whispers. The worgs eyes also follow you as you crawl form blankets, pull on gear and pack away what little you have with you. Can they sense their rider's feelings? Or are they just trying to decide how you would go down as breakfast?
As you finish and begin to emerge from the meger shelter of the ruins, the two goblin warriors mount up. The shaman remains standing beside her worg, her two companions flanking her.
"I have been away from my tribe for too long. If I am gone any longer, it will be noticed, and questions would be asked. I can't allow that to happen.
"I came to find you, to tell you of the readings, and to urge you to go to the place that the traitor looks for and to stop him from obtaining what it is that he seeks. All that remains is to pass on the last part. There is no reason for me to go back to your town. And I doubt that you would be able to convince me to do so even if there were good reasons. For most of your kind," and here she slows, as if taking care to get the expression correct, "the only good goblin is a dead one."
The sharman falls silent. The worg at her feet is perfectly still, but thrums with tension. The two riders shift nervously and their fingers curl and uncurl around the haft of the spears that lie across their laps.
Maerdwyn
First Post
Fredar, by any measure a junior member of the Seventh, looks uneasily to the half-orc and his other companions for guidance. The look on his face is plain - he's ready to say something, and from the nervousnes in his face, probably something a little rash, but he's holding his tongue in case people who would be more appropriate to speak for the group open their mouths...
Maerdwyn
First Post
...and since they do not, Fredar, sensing the imminent departure of the goblins, says "What if... I... stayed with your men, until your safe return to them. They could camp, hidden within sight of the town, and when everything goes well, both you and I return to our peoples...safely...." Fredar finishes, uncertainly.
doghead
thotd
the hill top ruins.
"You can't be ..." begins Craddoc, but Cromwell holds up a hand for silence.
"By Ketternek, you have my word that I will allow no harm to come to you," snaps Cromwell angrily.
He steps forwards and there is a sudden surge of movement amoung the goblin riders. Spears flick up and snarls rumble from the worgs. The shaman, in an echo of Cromwells motion a moment ago, throws up her hand to still he companions. They obey without a word. But the riders dislike of the situation is clearly written in the lines of their posture, and the worgs pant and paws the ground restlessly.
Cromwell puts up his hands in a placating gesture and takes a step back, his eyes never leaving the shaman.
"I have my orders. Bring you safely to Killingtom for the council to hear your words."
This time Cromwell is careful to keep his voice more even.
"You can't be ..." begins Craddoc, but Cromwell holds up a hand for silence.
"By Ketternek, you have my word that I will allow no harm to come to you," snaps Cromwell angrily.
He steps forwards and there is a sudden surge of movement amoung the goblin riders. Spears flick up and snarls rumble from the worgs. The shaman, in an echo of Cromwells motion a moment ago, throws up her hand to still he companions. They obey without a word. But the riders dislike of the situation is clearly written in the lines of their posture, and the worgs pant and paws the ground restlessly.
Cromwell puts up his hands in a placating gesture and takes a step back, his eyes never leaving the shaman.
"I have my orders. Bring you safely to Killingtom for the council to hear your words."
This time Cromwell is careful to keep his voice more even.
Similar Threads
