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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Paka" data-source="post: 910180" data-attributes="member: 100">Story Post #3Sad Father Durannil Feyworth of the High Clouds stood at a full three feet. Still, as the old Gnome stood beneath the dark splendor of Theros Obsidia he felt small. He wished he were on the deck of his ship, Feya’s Sacrifice. He felt sure of himself there, sailing the Ebron Sean down to the Rivers in the south. Lately, though, even on the river, he had felt small. His son, Thanil, stood just under three feet and had his mother’s green eyes. Thanil’s hair was shaved because the young Gnomes felt it made them faster swimmers. Quickly they were ushered past the beggars by a squad of Orcs with breast plates stained with blood. Durannil knew that was the tradition of the Mother of Blood tribe. He looked over at his son and tried to work up a smile for his boy's sake but couldn’t make it happen. Together they were locked into a guest quarter and told not to leave. The list for what the tower will need for summer was almost completed and it was the High Clouds who brought it across the sea. Durannil wondered if this would be the last time he would ever see his son. “You won’t be joining me on the barge,” he explained to Thannil. “Why not?” “My business won’t allow for it. There is a Legate traveling with some Orcs and others. They will be making their way along the eastern rim of the Ebron Sean, what the humans called the Pellurian.” Thannil nodded and his father reminded himself again that his son wasn't a boy anymore. “You will go with them and look up your auntie once you reach Baden’s Bluff. The Bluff is a good place for a young Gnome, a good place to seek your own fortune. It is time for such things.” He wanted to say things to his son, tell him that he missed his mother and that sometimes he reminded him of her so much it made him ache. They silently sat in the cell until an Orc summoned Thannil to meet the Legate and his men-at-arms before they left on their overland trip. A mastiff whose shoulder was as high as Thannil’s head led him down the dark halls to a Legate’s private room. Introduction to the Gnomish Rogue on the Charismatic PathThannil observed his new traveling companions carefully. The Northman, introduced as Karhoun, was a brute, six spans high with a shaved head and blonde beard. He noticed that a space was on his left cheek where no hair would grow, perhaps a scar. Karhoun wore wool clothes in muted colors and had notched weapons on his belt. Prince Vorden was the first Elf he had ever met who he wasn’t smuggling illegally on a boat. He wore a red metal skull cap with a deep crimson robe. His bow and sword were jeweled, little as that meant nowadays. Thannil had heard older Gnomes talk about how pretty stones once were a sign of wealth. In this Last Age a sign of wealth is food or a few goats. When Thannil looked at the Elf and Man he felt the tickle in his head, the knowledge that these were two who wanted to see Theros Obsidia fall, to kill Orc and Goblin and other Shadow Minions. He knew that they were in the oath room a week ago with him. They were noble. They had heard the call. He sighed in relief. The mastiff turned to the other man in the room and spoke, “Here’s the Gnome.” The other man had no such shred of nobility. He wore his black hair short and was beginning his first beard. On his back were the newly spun robes of a Legate with a red collar, close to his throat. On his hip was a shiny new morning star. Unaros spoke to the Gnome in Trader’s Tongue, “I am Unaros, newly frocked Shadow Legate. We will leave at first light tomorrow for the Bluff. You may spend the night here with Karhoun and Prince Vorden.” Karhoun looked at the eating dagger on Thannil’s hip and spoke, “Should we equip him?” Unaros responded, “With what?” The Dornishman shrugged. “We might meet trouble on the road. It is a long journey.” “That is why we are traveling with the Orcs. No, I won’t arm this merchant. I wish to pray to the Shadow for a safe journey. Good night.” As the Legate left his slave scurried after him. Thannil hadn’t even known he was in the room but the Halfling slave exited behind the Legate, eyes downcast. They were all left in the room alone. Slowly and deliberately, Karhoun silenced Thannil’s questions by putting his finger to his lips and said, “We’ll talk later.” Vorden looked tired and rubbed the bandage over his left hand where his finger used to be.  He asked, “You speak Erenlander?” The Gnome nodded. “Good, do you have any gear on your ship you’d like to fetch?” “I’d like my shortsword.” The both shook their heads, “Not a good idea right now. When we kill a Goblin, that will be your gear.” “Maybe my bedroll for the road.” They walked him to the ship and while aboard the Freya’s Revenge for the last time he tried to get some food off of the quartermaster who sternly but kindly refused him and wished the young Gnome a safe journey over land. Vorden, the Crimson Prince saw to other business. Prince Vorden’s Other Business Kaza was a dirty little boy. He saw the one the Orcs called the Little Elf.  He had never seen colors like the ones on the Elf's robes anywhere but in a sunset. He must have food, Kaza thought and approached him for alms. Vorden was looking at the written signs he had posted in all over the shanty town surrounding Theros Obsidia. He noticed that Orc were standing guard over them, making sure none of the populace could read the words. After a short and frustrating parley with a pipe-smoking Orc warding his sign, he walked away, shaking his head. Tired of the squalor he almost tripped over the little boy asking for food, “Hey mister, some food for me or my ma?” He looked down at the boy and surmised that the child looked healthy enough. “I need someone to carry my things, boy. Do you know who I am?” “You’re the one the Orcs call, Little Elf. Do I get food?” “Hm, is that what the Orcs call me? We will go on a long journey and yes, I will feed you while you are under my car.” Kaza thought about this and said, “You’d better talk to my ma.” Kaza’s ma lived under an old fruit cart, set up to keep the weather off of them. It was hell in the winters but the summer rains were mostly off of their backs. When she saw the Elf she was scared. Kaza had done something and this creature was going to take him away. She had heard stories about how the Witch Queen came in the night to take children away from their parents, leaving only wood in their place. “Madame, I would like to employ your son.” She shooed Kaza down the street and spoke, “He don’t do things like that but I do. For a day’s food I’ll see that your needs are met, master. Let’s just wait until Kaza is out of earshot.” Comprehension and sadness dawned over Vorden. “No, ma’am, that is not what I mean. I mean I want to take him away.” She murmered, “He’s all I have.” That sentence sat between them until the Elf broke the silence, “Kaza can have a better life than this. It will be a dangerous road but I will keep care of him.” She shook her head. When they parted company, Kaza walked away with the Prince Vorden. His new master claimed that Kaza wasn’t a slave but Kaza didn’t really understand the difference, nor did he care either way. When they got to Baden’s Bluff (wherever that was) his new master had said that Kaze would be able to send for his mother if he saved enough. His mother was given a week’s dry rations in return for allowing an Elf to walk away with her son. She hoped the old wives’ tales she’d heard about the Witch Queen were false. The boy was brought into the tower.  Vorden, not knowing how else to let Orcs know not to kill the child, put his Wizard Mark on Kaza’s hand. Given explicit instructions to bathe before he returned, the child was left alone in his new home. Meeting at the Grove The trees were all about a hundred years old, almos the same age as Prince Vorden, the Crimson Prince.  The elder trees had been cut down in the sacking of Highwall to feed the fires. Izrador had wanted the smoke of Highwall to be seen from the southern Pellurian shores where the mass of three armies awaited. It was a safe place to talk freely. Thannil, the Gnomish Merchant, Prince Vorden, the Elven Channeler and Karhoun Esben, the Dornish Wildlander discussed the coming journey. Oddly the human preached patience and the Elf wanted blood. Karhoun wanted to get to Baden’s Bluff safely with the Legate and set up safely, knowing that life on the road would be difficult. The Elf wanted to kill the Legate at first opportunity. He said that they needed a plan, a signal a swift action to break the yoke of tyranny. The Gnome wanted to play evil against evil, let Orcs and Legates and Goblins do the work they didn’t have to. Karhoun expressed worry concering the Astirax now inhabiting Olin's immense mastiff body, “That thing is scary and I’m not sure who is in charge, the Legate or the Demon.” Vorden nodded agreement, “I’m not sure who is in charge and furthermore I’m not sure if it matters.” Karhoun began to rant, “That thing said it was in the Erethor with its former master but its body was killed. That means if we just kill the damned thing on the trail it is going to float back here and tell everyone that we went renegade. Killing the Legate and Orcs in their sleep is signing our execution notice.” They argued more about pride, how much longer they could live in the Shadow and a concise plan of action. Vorden mentioned how when they were discussion the journey he had wanted to go west around the Pellurian, make his way to the Erethor. Karhoun expressed his doubts that their reception by the Elves would be a warm one. In the end no clear decisions were made. They would leave tomorrow at first light and when the time came would take action. None of them knew when that time would come, all they knew is they hoped it came soon. They had all seen their fathers twisted by Shadow and many of them had known their mothers killed by it. They knew one thing: They were tired of waiting. Tomorrow they would go east along the shores of the Pellurian Sea. The first town they would come to was Whitecliff, once the trading capitol of the north, now an abandoned and perfectly preserved ghost town squatted by Goblins and frequented by smugglers and bandits. (Note: Again we only had about an hour to game due to Real Life stuff but I felt we covered a fair amount of ground and these past two weeks will serve as good prelude-style introductions. Hopefully, the tone has been adequately set. Next week I am eager to get along with the journey. Truth is, I wanted to start this week but there just wasn't time. Brandy is talking about playing an Orc, which should be interesting. If she is going to play I'll make her character up with her before the game day to save time for GAMING. Thanks for reading.)</blockquote>

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