In the Valus - The Heroes of Marchford (Chapter 14 Continues - 12/24/08)
TheYeti1775
Adventurer
I know he went to see the Omen on Friday night, Happycat told me that much.
Yeti
Yeti
Funeris
First Post
Chapter 13: Family, Responsibility, and Voyage (Continued)
I didn't forget you. I never forget you, my loyal readers.
Unfortunately, I had been busy. Long story short, Happycat's brother is being re-deployed to Iraq for another year. We had to see him before he left. Familial obligations, ya know.
So, its short...but we're nearing the end of this chapter...only four or five posts away now, I'd guess. This is just a modification of Destan's post to our group board. I cut off the end, so that I can expound a bit...and did some minor editting. Its always good to have a little more practice.
-----------------------------------------------------------
The next morning was one of farewells.
Captain Dougal spent the morning in private conversation with his sergeant, until he and most of his horsemen thundered northward toward Rhelm. The town grew quieter, possibly less secure, without their presence.
Tobias walked the three toward the docks. Lady Carnelloe waved from the prow of a large, bulky river barge. Her eyes were alight with hope. If nothing else, it appears one woman was made happy with the decision.
Tobias shook Motega’s, Fitz’s and finally Magnus’ hands in turn. "I'll be fine," he murmured. The paladin’s face held a look he had not worn too often. They all have difficulty accepting the fact he wants to stay in Minetown, but he seems set upon that path.
So be it.
Tobias strode away toward the keep, leaving his friends in a circle of silence.
Fitz sighed. "Three of us, now. Where there used to be eight."
Motega shrugged, grabbing his pack, and makes his way up the barge's gangway. Fitz followed and, then Magnus.
As the young wizard was about to step aboard, a lone horseman comes thundering back. Ebbem, Dougal’s mage, rode onto the wooden planking and hands Magnus a scroll. "Your letter, signed by the Captain. Might help with some nobles, but don't bet on it. Rhelm is far away from some of the fiefs."
Magnus grinned and nodded his thanks.
The Lady Carnelloe showed the three Heroes to their room. The room was a cramped, square den
beneath the barge's topside deck. A thin trail of water seeped through the walls. At least the dampness kept the room at a comfortable temperature. The day promised to be a hot one.
The Heroes turned as one as a retching sound drifted through the other side of the wall followed closely by a gaggle of laughter. A questioning look was shared.
Motega quirked an eyebrow. "Either someone's got the plague, or someone had a rough night."
Almost on cue, the door bursts open. Fitz and Motega leapt up armed, even as Magnus readied a spell. A tall, thin Gordian wobbled into the frame of the doorway. Actually, the man was too large for the doorway to frame him. He ducked, still managed to bump his head on the frame, and stumbled in to collapse on the nearest straw pallet.
"Mind...mind if I sleep some here? Damn bastards won't leave me be,” he slurred.
Fitz frowned. "You are sick?"
"Mmmm, could say that. Too much-"
"Drink." Motega finished. The Rornman shook his head. The smell of alcohol was nearly overpowering. "I think I'm gonna head topside."
Magnus followed Motega out, a humored smirk on his face. Fitz, accustomed to the smell of
battlefield rot and his own suppression, was less bothered. The priest sat and began to murmur a prayer to Ceria. When the Windword finishes, he looked toward the Gordian. "I am Fitz, a priest of Ceria."
His introduction was greeted only by a low moan.
"You are?"
“Still drunk," the Gordian slurred. “Name’s Drake.”
Fitz considered casting a minor healing spell on the man, then decided against it. He shifted to his feet, grabbed his scythe, and moved to stand with his fellows.
The barge pushed out into Raider's Bay and began a slow journey northward. Five oarsmen worked either side of the vessel, save when the ship skimmed along a sandbar, and they had to break out poles to make better time.
It was going to be a long trip.
I didn't forget you. I never forget you, my loyal readers.
Unfortunately, I had been busy. Long story short, Happycat's brother is being re-deployed to Iraq for another year. We had to see him before he left. Familial obligations, ya know.
So, its short...but we're nearing the end of this chapter...only four or five posts away now, I'd guess. This is just a modification of Destan's post to our group board. I cut off the end, so that I can expound a bit...and did some minor editting. Its always good to have a little more practice.
-----------------------------------------------------------
The next morning was one of farewells.
Captain Dougal spent the morning in private conversation with his sergeant, until he and most of his horsemen thundered northward toward Rhelm. The town grew quieter, possibly less secure, without their presence.
Tobias walked the three toward the docks. Lady Carnelloe waved from the prow of a large, bulky river barge. Her eyes were alight with hope. If nothing else, it appears one woman was made happy with the decision.
Tobias shook Motega’s, Fitz’s and finally Magnus’ hands in turn. "I'll be fine," he murmured. The paladin’s face held a look he had not worn too often. They all have difficulty accepting the fact he wants to stay in Minetown, but he seems set upon that path.
So be it.
Tobias strode away toward the keep, leaving his friends in a circle of silence.
Fitz sighed. "Three of us, now. Where there used to be eight."
Motega shrugged, grabbing his pack, and makes his way up the barge's gangway. Fitz followed and, then Magnus.
As the young wizard was about to step aboard, a lone horseman comes thundering back. Ebbem, Dougal’s mage, rode onto the wooden planking and hands Magnus a scroll. "Your letter, signed by the Captain. Might help with some nobles, but don't bet on it. Rhelm is far away from some of the fiefs."
Magnus grinned and nodded his thanks.
The Lady Carnelloe showed the three Heroes to their room. The room was a cramped, square den
beneath the barge's topside deck. A thin trail of water seeped through the walls. At least the dampness kept the room at a comfortable temperature. The day promised to be a hot one.
The Heroes turned as one as a retching sound drifted through the other side of the wall followed closely by a gaggle of laughter. A questioning look was shared.
Motega quirked an eyebrow. "Either someone's got the plague, or someone had a rough night."
Almost on cue, the door bursts open. Fitz and Motega leapt up armed, even as Magnus readied a spell. A tall, thin Gordian wobbled into the frame of the doorway. Actually, the man was too large for the doorway to frame him. He ducked, still managed to bump his head on the frame, and stumbled in to collapse on the nearest straw pallet.
"Mind...mind if I sleep some here? Damn bastards won't leave me be,” he slurred.
Fitz frowned. "You are sick?"
"Mmmm, could say that. Too much-"
"Drink." Motega finished. The Rornman shook his head. The smell of alcohol was nearly overpowering. "I think I'm gonna head topside."
Magnus followed Motega out, a humored smirk on his face. Fitz, accustomed to the smell of
battlefield rot and his own suppression, was less bothered. The priest sat and began to murmur a prayer to Ceria. When the Windword finishes, he looked toward the Gordian. "I am Fitz, a priest of Ceria."
His introduction was greeted only by a low moan.
"You are?"
“Still drunk," the Gordian slurred. “Name’s Drake.”
Fitz considered casting a minor healing spell on the man, then decided against it. He shifted to his feet, grabbed his scythe, and moved to stand with his fellows.
The barge pushed out into Raider's Bay and began a slow journey northward. Five oarsmen worked either side of the vessel, save when the ship skimmed along a sandbar, and they had to break out poles to make better time.
It was going to be a long trip.
Funeris
First Post
Chapter 13: Family, Responsibility, and Voyage (Continued)
Not too long. Eh...guess I'm not in a writing mood yet again.
-------------------------------------------------------------
Sleep or death seemed the only choices. Yet, the Gordian Drake maintained some semblance of consciousness beneath his heavy lids, behind the shifting kaleidoscope of memories and thoughts of his alcohol-drowned mind.
His memories, often stirred by the drink, focused again on the defining moments of his life.
Barbarians, mercenaries or worse, others labeled his race. But they had an honor the greedy, finicky Rhelmsmen could never understand.
The Bear. His dreams always returned to that gigantic, black beast.
He had been fourteen, not yet a man, and still a runt among his clan. They had given him a sickle, a simple farming tool, and sent him into the fierce Gordian wilderness. A winter so harsh, no Rhelmsman could have survived. A Rornman could have, but they had thicker blood than those of Rhelm.
He had been fourteen and on his own, traversing the sharp inclines and scavenging for food. Instructed to not return, he traveled until he had conquered the beast that walked both in his soul and upon the lands of men. His ancestors were to guide him in his quest and so he was given neither sustenance nor protection aside from the rusted blade.
Naked, he had stalked the forests until the beast found him.
It found him on the seventh day. The bear had awoken hungry during the middle of its hibernation. Out of the cave it had charged the man-child.
In that moment, Drake had felt the spirits of his ancestors guiding his hand. He had known fear as he slid under a swiping claw. He had tasted blood as the rough sickle rubbed through the fierce hide.
He felt and tasted both again. His inebriated hands struggled to unbind the weapons that were hidden under the cloak he slept in.
The blade had tripped the bear up, allowing the boy to move past, unharmed. The beast’s momentum carried the bear forward and Drake found himself in the air. The sickle plunged down into the base of the beast’s skull.
As one, they fell.
The sickle dug deeper.
And then Drake was alone, atop his kill. The fierce winds, numbing his body, forced him into action. Calling upon his ancestors’ guidance, he peeled the flesh from the creature, wrapping himself. He severed the meaty thighs and cooked them over a fire he had started with naught but flint.
Drake found his strength.
His hands released the sickle and the francisca as he rolled about on the small cot.
His family had crafted a proper cloak from the fur of the bear upon his return. He had been gifted the two magnificent weapons he yet carried: A francisca and a sickle; both handles ended in a fierce bear’s face. And the Gordian had entered manhood as a respected member of his clan.
Those years had faded fast.
Drake shifted painfully in his half-sleep to his side. His stomach twisted and lurched, his lips parting to spill a torrent of warm fluid into his black beard and onto the cot. With a moan, the Gordian rolled onto his back again.
The world was twisting, his memories tearing forward to the present. He pushed himself up onto his elbows with a sudden startled alertness.
Drake knew where he was and knew that the Heroes where on board. For a moment, he felt compelled to pull himself up and introduce himself properly. As he shifted, another bout of vertigo gripped his stomach. His head wrenched to the side.
Hot liquid spilled onto the floor and unconsciousness pulled the giant man into slumber.
Not too long. Eh...guess I'm not in a writing mood yet again.
-------------------------------------------------------------
Sleep or death seemed the only choices. Yet, the Gordian Drake maintained some semblance of consciousness beneath his heavy lids, behind the shifting kaleidoscope of memories and thoughts of his alcohol-drowned mind.
His memories, often stirred by the drink, focused again on the defining moments of his life.
Barbarians, mercenaries or worse, others labeled his race. But they had an honor the greedy, finicky Rhelmsmen could never understand.
The Bear. His dreams always returned to that gigantic, black beast.
He had been fourteen, not yet a man, and still a runt among his clan. They had given him a sickle, a simple farming tool, and sent him into the fierce Gordian wilderness. A winter so harsh, no Rhelmsman could have survived. A Rornman could have, but they had thicker blood than those of Rhelm.
He had been fourteen and on his own, traversing the sharp inclines and scavenging for food. Instructed to not return, he traveled until he had conquered the beast that walked both in his soul and upon the lands of men. His ancestors were to guide him in his quest and so he was given neither sustenance nor protection aside from the rusted blade.
Naked, he had stalked the forests until the beast found him.
It found him on the seventh day. The bear had awoken hungry during the middle of its hibernation. Out of the cave it had charged the man-child.
In that moment, Drake had felt the spirits of his ancestors guiding his hand. He had known fear as he slid under a swiping claw. He had tasted blood as the rough sickle rubbed through the fierce hide.
He felt and tasted both again. His inebriated hands struggled to unbind the weapons that were hidden under the cloak he slept in.
The blade had tripped the bear up, allowing the boy to move past, unharmed. The beast’s momentum carried the bear forward and Drake found himself in the air. The sickle plunged down into the base of the beast’s skull.
As one, they fell.
The sickle dug deeper.
And then Drake was alone, atop his kill. The fierce winds, numbing his body, forced him into action. Calling upon his ancestors’ guidance, he peeled the flesh from the creature, wrapping himself. He severed the meaty thighs and cooked them over a fire he had started with naught but flint.
Drake found his strength.
His hands released the sickle and the francisca as he rolled about on the small cot.
His family had crafted a proper cloak from the fur of the bear upon his return. He had been gifted the two magnificent weapons he yet carried: A francisca and a sickle; both handles ended in a fierce bear’s face. And the Gordian had entered manhood as a respected member of his clan.
Those years had faded fast.
Drake shifted painfully in his half-sleep to his side. His stomach twisted and lurched, his lips parting to spill a torrent of warm fluid into his black beard and onto the cot. With a moan, the Gordian rolled onto his back again.
The world was twisting, his memories tearing forward to the present. He pushed himself up onto his elbows with a sudden startled alertness.
Drake knew where he was and knew that the Heroes where on board. For a moment, he felt compelled to pull himself up and introduce himself properly. As he shifted, another bout of vertigo gripped his stomach. His head wrenched to the side.
Hot liquid spilled onto the floor and unconsciousness pulled the giant man into slumber.
TheYeti1775
Adventurer
"F***in Gordian's"
Yeti
Yeti
TheYeti1775
Adventurer
Yes he does deserve a bumping for today, as more insight to the Heroes three there be.
Tonight's should be a decent long one. I know Friday he might be a little late on, mainly due to content and the fact I will be feeding him at my house.
Yeti
Tonight's should be a decent long one. I know Friday he might be a little late on, mainly due to content and the fact I will be feeding him at my house.
Yeti
hobbit_killer
First Post
Heroes Three?
Don't you think this new Drake character could be a hero too?
Don't you think this new Drake character could be a hero too?
TheYeti1775
Adventurer
Like he could replace Tobias. humpf Nothing but a Gordian Mercanary.hobbit_killer said:Heroes Three?
Don't you think this new Drake character could be a hero too?
So sayth Magnus.
Yeti
Funeris
First Post
Drake made a fine replacement for Toby as far as battle-prowess goes. He had his signature moves and they didn't fail. Unfortunately, his personality did not match the paladin's. But if it had, why would I have even brought him in.
I had my fill of righteousness. After time, righteousness tastes just as bitter as everything else.
Magnum...*cough*...I mean Magnus was just jealous of Drake's skills.
~Fune
I had my fill of righteousness. After time, righteousness tastes just as bitter as everything else.
Magnum...*cough*...I mean Magnus was just jealous of Drake's skills.
~Fune
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