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Story Hour
In the Valus - The Heroes of Marchford (Chapter 14 Continues - 12/24/08)
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<blockquote data-quote="Funeris" data-source="post: 2890002" data-attributes="member: 22792"><p><strong>Chapter 13: Family, Responsibility, and Voyage (Continued)</strong></p><p></p><p>Motega glowered as the wind shifted. The priest, Fitz, was suppressed. His stench, the bane of all clerics for one week a month and one month every year, was a fetid rotting scent. His sensitive nose could not take that punishment.</p><p></p><p>With his eyes watering, he turned away in the middle of the talk.</p><p></p><p>Fitz paused and bowed his head. “Er, sorry,” he muttered as he circled downwind of the Rornman.</p><p></p><p>“As I was saying, I don’t think Tobias should have stayed behind.”</p><p></p><p>“It was his decision.”</p><p></p><p>“I don’t disagree. But I worry about our righteous friend.”</p><p></p><p>“He can handle himself.”</p><p></p><p>“Not if the Culites attack in full force.”</p><p></p><p>Motega savored the fantasy of the glorious battle that could occur. In his mind’s eye, Tobias was hurtling into the fray, greatsword cleaving to and fro. Bodies dropped. “It would be a righteous death. He knows the risks.”</p><p></p><p>“Calyx, Raven, Nimrodel, and Ember,” sighed Fitz.</p><p></p><p>“You have a long memory,” the Rornman stated. “We do not know their fates. Perhaps, when this trek to Carnelloe is done, we can find out.”</p><p></p><p>“Carnelloe is far away from our original path.”</p><p></p><p>“Dammit priest!” Motega pulled out the flask and took a long draw. “You’re the voice of reason, especially now that Tobias has left. If you had concerns, you should’ve voiced ‘em back in Minetown.” The Rorn grumbled as the wind shifted again. His eyes watered as he cursed, “And could you stand downwind? Please?!”</p><p></p><p>Fitz moved to comply. </p><p></p><p>The Rorn filled his mouth with the fiery fluid twice more before replacing the flask. “These Carnelloe events may be tied to Minetown.”</p><p></p><p>“The Harpies?”</p><p></p><p>“I doubt such a creature would kidnap a Baronet. That doesn’t mean they’re not working with someone. They could be called upon to serve, just as you call your celestial eagles.”</p><p></p><p>“I think we would have sensed that magic, had it been used.”</p><p></p><p>“Magic isn’t perfect. Anyway, we could use a break from those damned Culites.” Fitz smiled and nodded.</p><p></p><p>“Thanks, Mo.”</p><p></p><p>The Rornman grunted and stalked away from the priest’s stench.</p><p></p><p style="text-align: center"> * * * </p><p></p><p>“Whi’ one are you ‘gain?” The deep, slow voice questioned.</p><p></p><p>Magnus shuddered. He leaned closer to the parchment, scribbling the arcane writing.</p><p></p><p>“<strong>Whi’ one are you ‘gain?!</strong>” The voice bellowed, as if Magnus were deaf, as a gigantic, meaty hand clapped down onto the mage’s shoulder. </p><p></p><p>Magnus grimaced as the perfect symbol was marred. His hand jerked in annoyance, ruining the scroll, ruining the time he had spent. His mind roared in rage. His face flushed. He threw down the parchment and stood up but was still dwarfed by the Gordian. With vehemence he jabbed the quill at the brute. “<strong>Look here, you stupid f*cker! I’ve work to do and I don’t need some retarded, inbred, foreigner ruining this trip for me!</strong>” The mage poked the quill at the mercenary, who did not move. </p><p></p><p>The quill snapped. The mage twitched.</p><p></p><p>“Huh?” The brute questioned.</p><p></p><p>“GAH!” The mage bellowed as he threw down the quill. He snatched his haversack, haphazardly jamming his materials into it. Without a glance back at the Gordian, Magnus stormed away from his seat and toward the stairs leading below deck.</p><p></p><p>The Gordian watched the mage storm off and chuckled. He haughtily strode to his brother and clapped him on the back. “Told you I could f*ck with ‘em.” He held his hand out with a beaming grin.</p><p></p><p>The other brute sighed and handed over a small purse of coin and a half-filled bottle of wine. “Stupid mages,” he grunted.</p><p></p><p style="text-align: center"> * * * </p><p></p><p>Magnus threw the door of the small room open. It swung rapidly, clattering off the wall and bouncing back at the mage. It pounded into his side; in his rage, he ignored the shock and stepped forward.</p><p></p><p>He nearly fell back as a wave of stench billowed into his face. Magnus gagged. On a stray bed along the wall of the room, another of the foreign brutes passed wind. Magnus gagged a second time.</p><p></p><p>The hulking form, larger than even the ones above deck, rolled over. The mage shuddered as a sickle flew from the drunk brute’s sleeping hand. The metal arched over and over before embedding itself up to the hilt in the opposite wall.</p><p></p><p>Magnus twitched. He spun, shaking, and ripped the door open again. Quickly, he stepped through the door, not bothering to gently close the door. It clattered against the hinge.</p><p></p><p>Inside the room, the drunk brute chortled.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Funeris, post: 2890002, member: 22792"] [b]Chapter 13: Family, Responsibility, and Voyage (Continued)[/b] Motega glowered as the wind shifted. The priest, Fitz, was suppressed. His stench, the bane of all clerics for one week a month and one month every year, was a fetid rotting scent. His sensitive nose could not take that punishment. With his eyes watering, he turned away in the middle of the talk. Fitz paused and bowed his head. “Er, sorry,” he muttered as he circled downwind of the Rornman. “As I was saying, I don’t think Tobias should have stayed behind.” “It was his decision.” “I don’t disagree. But I worry about our righteous friend.” “He can handle himself.” “Not if the Culites attack in full force.” Motega savored the fantasy of the glorious battle that could occur. In his mind’s eye, Tobias was hurtling into the fray, greatsword cleaving to and fro. Bodies dropped. “It would be a righteous death. He knows the risks.” “Calyx, Raven, Nimrodel, and Ember,” sighed Fitz. “You have a long memory,” the Rornman stated. “We do not know their fates. Perhaps, when this trek to Carnelloe is done, we can find out.” “Carnelloe is far away from our original path.” “Dammit priest!” Motega pulled out the flask and took a long draw. “You’re the voice of reason, especially now that Tobias has left. If you had concerns, you should’ve voiced ‘em back in Minetown.” The Rorn grumbled as the wind shifted again. His eyes watered as he cursed, “And could you stand downwind? Please?!” Fitz moved to comply. The Rorn filled his mouth with the fiery fluid twice more before replacing the flask. “These Carnelloe events may be tied to Minetown.” “The Harpies?” “I doubt such a creature would kidnap a Baronet. That doesn’t mean they’re not working with someone. They could be called upon to serve, just as you call your celestial eagles.” “I think we would have sensed that magic, had it been used.” “Magic isn’t perfect. Anyway, we could use a break from those damned Culites.” Fitz smiled and nodded. “Thanks, Mo.” The Rornman grunted and stalked away from the priest’s stench. [Center] * * * [/center] “Whi’ one are you ‘gain?” The deep, slow voice questioned. Magnus shuddered. He leaned closer to the parchment, scribbling the arcane writing. “[b]Whi’ one are you ‘gain?![/b]” The voice bellowed, as if Magnus were deaf, as a gigantic, meaty hand clapped down onto the mage’s shoulder. Magnus grimaced as the perfect symbol was marred. His hand jerked in annoyance, ruining the scroll, ruining the time he had spent. His mind roared in rage. His face flushed. He threw down the parchment and stood up but was still dwarfed by the Gordian. With vehemence he jabbed the quill at the brute. “[b]Look here, you stupid f*cker! I’ve work to do and I don’t need some retarded, inbred, foreigner ruining this trip for me![/b]” The mage poked the quill at the mercenary, who did not move. The quill snapped. The mage twitched. “Huh?” The brute questioned. “GAH!” The mage bellowed as he threw down the quill. He snatched his haversack, haphazardly jamming his materials into it. Without a glance back at the Gordian, Magnus stormed away from his seat and toward the stairs leading below deck. The Gordian watched the mage storm off and chuckled. He haughtily strode to his brother and clapped him on the back. “Told you I could f*ck with ‘em.” He held his hand out with a beaming grin. The other brute sighed and handed over a small purse of coin and a half-filled bottle of wine. “Stupid mages,” he grunted. [Center] * * * [/center] Magnus threw the door of the small room open. It swung rapidly, clattering off the wall and bouncing back at the mage. It pounded into his side; in his rage, he ignored the shock and stepped forward. He nearly fell back as a wave of stench billowed into his face. Magnus gagged. On a stray bed along the wall of the room, another of the foreign brutes passed wind. Magnus gagged a second time. The hulking form, larger than even the ones above deck, rolled over. The mage shuddered as a sickle flew from the drunk brute’s sleeping hand. The metal arched over and over before embedding itself up to the hilt in the opposite wall. Magnus twitched. He spun, shaking, and ripped the door open again. Quickly, he stepped through the door, not bothering to gently close the door. It clattered against the hinge. Inside the room, the drunk brute chortled. [/QUOTE]
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