pseudo-Ceramic DM (Rd 1 started)
- Thread starter Sniktch
- Start date
Jameumz
First Post
Here goes nothin':
"If the Shining Wing wants their bit o' treasure back, I'm only for doing it if the price meets the effort." spat Sparrow, sullenly plodding along. Without warning, he pitched forward over a protruding tree root, nearly falling on his face. "And I deem this a lot of effort."
Uthoule Langston had long since abandoned pity for her halfling friend, who'd been complaining since the three set out on foot from the city of Tankton. Obviously acclimated to a more urbane environment, the leather-clad halfling demonstrated an abundance of difficulty with weeds and brush, punctuating each stumble and blunder with a dramatic sigh.
Rynvesi, on the other hand, glided effortlessly through the wood with the practiced grace befitting an elf. He tolerated the blustering halfling with stoic patience and paid more attention to the half-elf, Uthoule. He bore her no malice or indignation for her mixed heritage, and, in fact, found her compellingly attractive in her own, dark-featured way. He met the two of them as a seperate volunteer for the task, and quite liked the company.
[The_Blue_Unicorn-1026091427.jpg, picture 2]
Each of the three reflected inwardly on the assignment sanctioned to them by the Shining Wing, the High Holy Order of Tankton. Several weeks prior, the Order had been the target of an obscure assassin cult, known only as the Lavere Tong. The Archprelate and several of his bishops were butchered, and the Order's prized relic, the Alumnitis Brooch, was stolen. The brooch, reknowned for its healing and restorative properties, was also the divine focus and symbol of the Shining Wing, a polished water sapphire inset with the visage of the fabled unicorn. The quest bestowed on them was to locate and reacquire this artifact, and return it to its rightful owners.
The Tong, recognized only by the ceremonial tattoo of a bloodied dagger crowned with runes on the palm of their weapon hand, were bloodthirsty and capable opponents. The acquisition would not likely prove an easy task, coupled with the complication that they only had vague directions to follow to find their elusive quarry.
[TWIP_2003_0116_LEAD.jpg, picture 4]
As the day petered out and the sun slowly resigned itself to being swallowed by the horizon, the stalwart group made camp on a stretch of flat grasslands. Only a nearby pond, home to a small population of loons, broke the monotony of the ground and the somber silence. The birds' hollow and mournsome calls did little for the trio's spirits, and echoed for hours into the oppressive dark like a foreboding omen. Sleep that evening was fitfully empty, and far from fruitful.
The sun to their backs, the three continued their journey the next day in pensive moods.
The ambush that afternoon showed promise, in its own odd sort of way. The sudden absence of natural animal sounds were their only warning, and the elf was the first to act without surprise. His hands were a blur to his belt, and with a dagger in each hand, he plunged his blades into the chest of a masked assailant before the assassin even emerged fully from the grass. With a deft twist, he set himself for the next opponent.
Sparrow rolled headlong between the legs of a man draped only in a loincloth, slashing at tendons as he tumbled. He took a nick on the cheek for his trouble, and kipped to his feet to finish the job. "The lasses at the Holt wouldn't approve of what you just did." he admonished as he ran the staggered assassin through with his rapier. Wiping the blood from his face on his sleeve, he added, "And you won't find me a simple fat, lazy priest."
The half-elf wasn't as fast to react to the danger, and was cuffed from behind. She rolled on her back in an attempt to defend herself just in time for the cultist to land atop her. A splash of drool hit her face as he cackled insanely, and he raised a serrated knife to do her in. His neck abruptly sprouted a crossbow bolt, and the assassin pitched over. Uthoule's eyes followed the line of fire, and saw Sparrow grinning mischeviously at her.
"I've got a feeling we're on the right trail, missus. We can go as soon as you're done sayin' goodbye to your mate." he winked, and broke into a screaming sprint for safety when she lunged at him.
[frog1_med.gif, picture 1]
Rynvesi spotted the idol first. The elf raised his arm to signal a halt, and pointed at the stone colossus before them. "We draw nigh of our destination. What you behold is a depiction of their hungry deity; a marker, and a warning to trespassers. This, friends, is Booglamesh. The domain of the Lavere Tong is close."
"Zounds, e's ugly!" breathed Sparrow, his eyes taking in the immensity of statue... a leering, infernal thing with a gaping maw, embedded into the ground. His gaze slowly trickled down. "And get a load of the size of that -"
"Not here, peck." Uthoule warned, and a stern look from Rynvesi seconded the decree.
The trio cautiously picked their path around the idol, wary of observation and more surprise. The grass, already sparse, gave way to dirt and more rock, and before long they found the entrance to the warrens of the Lavere Tong.
A barrage of stifling conditions assailed the three as they entered. The tunnelway was narrow and cramped, and the balmy internal heat resulted in a gauzy vapor of fog. The far-off beat of ceremonial drums was constant, occasionally accompanied by low chanting. Uthoule suppressed a shudder and drew her sword, and the other two followed suit.
The trek inward was tedious, and the trio had to backtrack several times and struggled to keep their bearings. At long last, they moved with sight of what appeared to be a large central chamber. Pulling his dark cloak closer, Sparrow agreed to scout.
The chamber looked like nothing less than an abattoir, and stank of cheap death. Even the mist seemed to take on a taint of red. Figures, both clothed and unclothed milled about, oblivious to the presence of the halfling. Mustering all the stealth he was capable of, Sparrow stalked across the floor, using stacks of crates as cover.
On the far side of the room sat a cracked stone altar, defiled with giblets and strings of entrails. Resting forlorn in the mess, as if tossed there without a thought, lay the relic brooch. The halfling briefly considered a plan of grabbing the sapphire and dashing, but decided against it when he compared his chances to the throng of cultists present. The best plan in the halfling's mind was to alert the two elven-bloods, and he skittered back to where he'd left them.
Rynvesi and Uthoule were each in the custody of several large guards. Figuring that discretion was the better part of valor, Sparrow allowed himself to be detained in the same fashion.
The triad were dragged before a thin elderly man bedecked in gaudy jewelry and a headdress of feathers and rodent skulls. His voice was a wheezing, toothless exhale. "The penalty for treshpashers ish confinement and death." Several in the crowd of gathered cultists cheered and clapped their hands.
"You can do your worst, scum." sneered Uthoule, attempting to sound brave and buy some time. "But your filthy schemes are nearing an end."
"You are mistaken, lady," Rynvesi spoke up. "The Alumnitis Brooch shall remain in the bloody clutch of the Lavere Tong, and they will continue to strike down the unfit."
Sparrow turned an incredulous glance on the elf. "What was that?"
Rynvesi tipped his head to his captors, and they released their hold on his arms. With a powerful stride, he positioned himself in front of Uthoule and the halfling.
[bloodyknife.jpg, picture 3]
Slowly, tauntingly, the elf pulled at the drawstrings of his travel gloves, loosened the fingers, and then removed them entirely. He gently caressed each of their cheeks in turn, the telltale gory-knife-and-rune branding on the palm of both hands now obvious.
"This perfomance is at an end." the elf informed the two, Sparrow only standing agape as the half-elf shrieked curses at Rynvesi and struggled to free herself. "I will return to the Order with a woeful tale of ambush and murder from which I was the only survivor, a victim of sheer luck." He smiled ruefully, "Luck that I'm afraid you won't be sharing."
Thick bands of cloth were roughly tied around their eyes, condemning them to the sounds of the drums.
"If the Shining Wing wants their bit o' treasure back, I'm only for doing it if the price meets the effort." spat Sparrow, sullenly plodding along. Without warning, he pitched forward over a protruding tree root, nearly falling on his face. "And I deem this a lot of effort."
Uthoule Langston had long since abandoned pity for her halfling friend, who'd been complaining since the three set out on foot from the city of Tankton. Obviously acclimated to a more urbane environment, the leather-clad halfling demonstrated an abundance of difficulty with weeds and brush, punctuating each stumble and blunder with a dramatic sigh.
Rynvesi, on the other hand, glided effortlessly through the wood with the practiced grace befitting an elf. He tolerated the blustering halfling with stoic patience and paid more attention to the half-elf, Uthoule. He bore her no malice or indignation for her mixed heritage, and, in fact, found her compellingly attractive in her own, dark-featured way. He met the two of them as a seperate volunteer for the task, and quite liked the company.
[The_Blue_Unicorn-1026091427.jpg, picture 2]
Each of the three reflected inwardly on the assignment sanctioned to them by the Shining Wing, the High Holy Order of Tankton. Several weeks prior, the Order had been the target of an obscure assassin cult, known only as the Lavere Tong. The Archprelate and several of his bishops were butchered, and the Order's prized relic, the Alumnitis Brooch, was stolen. The brooch, reknowned for its healing and restorative properties, was also the divine focus and symbol of the Shining Wing, a polished water sapphire inset with the visage of the fabled unicorn. The quest bestowed on them was to locate and reacquire this artifact, and return it to its rightful owners.
The Tong, recognized only by the ceremonial tattoo of a bloodied dagger crowned with runes on the palm of their weapon hand, were bloodthirsty and capable opponents. The acquisition would not likely prove an easy task, coupled with the complication that they only had vague directions to follow to find their elusive quarry.
[TWIP_2003_0116_LEAD.jpg, picture 4]
As the day petered out and the sun slowly resigned itself to being swallowed by the horizon, the stalwart group made camp on a stretch of flat grasslands. Only a nearby pond, home to a small population of loons, broke the monotony of the ground and the somber silence. The birds' hollow and mournsome calls did little for the trio's spirits, and echoed for hours into the oppressive dark like a foreboding omen. Sleep that evening was fitfully empty, and far from fruitful.
The sun to their backs, the three continued their journey the next day in pensive moods.
The ambush that afternoon showed promise, in its own odd sort of way. The sudden absence of natural animal sounds were their only warning, and the elf was the first to act without surprise. His hands were a blur to his belt, and with a dagger in each hand, he plunged his blades into the chest of a masked assailant before the assassin even emerged fully from the grass. With a deft twist, he set himself for the next opponent.
Sparrow rolled headlong between the legs of a man draped only in a loincloth, slashing at tendons as he tumbled. He took a nick on the cheek for his trouble, and kipped to his feet to finish the job. "The lasses at the Holt wouldn't approve of what you just did." he admonished as he ran the staggered assassin through with his rapier. Wiping the blood from his face on his sleeve, he added, "And you won't find me a simple fat, lazy priest."
The half-elf wasn't as fast to react to the danger, and was cuffed from behind. She rolled on her back in an attempt to defend herself just in time for the cultist to land atop her. A splash of drool hit her face as he cackled insanely, and he raised a serrated knife to do her in. His neck abruptly sprouted a crossbow bolt, and the assassin pitched over. Uthoule's eyes followed the line of fire, and saw Sparrow grinning mischeviously at her.
"I've got a feeling we're on the right trail, missus. We can go as soon as you're done sayin' goodbye to your mate." he winked, and broke into a screaming sprint for safety when she lunged at him.
[frog1_med.gif, picture 1]
Rynvesi spotted the idol first. The elf raised his arm to signal a halt, and pointed at the stone colossus before them. "We draw nigh of our destination. What you behold is a depiction of their hungry deity; a marker, and a warning to trespassers. This, friends, is Booglamesh. The domain of the Lavere Tong is close."
"Zounds, e's ugly!" breathed Sparrow, his eyes taking in the immensity of statue... a leering, infernal thing with a gaping maw, embedded into the ground. His gaze slowly trickled down. "And get a load of the size of that -"
"Not here, peck." Uthoule warned, and a stern look from Rynvesi seconded the decree.
The trio cautiously picked their path around the idol, wary of observation and more surprise. The grass, already sparse, gave way to dirt and more rock, and before long they found the entrance to the warrens of the Lavere Tong.
A barrage of stifling conditions assailed the three as they entered. The tunnelway was narrow and cramped, and the balmy internal heat resulted in a gauzy vapor of fog. The far-off beat of ceremonial drums was constant, occasionally accompanied by low chanting. Uthoule suppressed a shudder and drew her sword, and the other two followed suit.
The trek inward was tedious, and the trio had to backtrack several times and struggled to keep their bearings. At long last, they moved with sight of what appeared to be a large central chamber. Pulling his dark cloak closer, Sparrow agreed to scout.
The chamber looked like nothing less than an abattoir, and stank of cheap death. Even the mist seemed to take on a taint of red. Figures, both clothed and unclothed milled about, oblivious to the presence of the halfling. Mustering all the stealth he was capable of, Sparrow stalked across the floor, using stacks of crates as cover.
On the far side of the room sat a cracked stone altar, defiled with giblets and strings of entrails. Resting forlorn in the mess, as if tossed there without a thought, lay the relic brooch. The halfling briefly considered a plan of grabbing the sapphire and dashing, but decided against it when he compared his chances to the throng of cultists present. The best plan in the halfling's mind was to alert the two elven-bloods, and he skittered back to where he'd left them.
Rynvesi and Uthoule were each in the custody of several large guards. Figuring that discretion was the better part of valor, Sparrow allowed himself to be detained in the same fashion.
The triad were dragged before a thin elderly man bedecked in gaudy jewelry and a headdress of feathers and rodent skulls. His voice was a wheezing, toothless exhale. "The penalty for treshpashers ish confinement and death." Several in the crowd of gathered cultists cheered and clapped their hands.
"You can do your worst, scum." sneered Uthoule, attempting to sound brave and buy some time. "But your filthy schemes are nearing an end."
"You are mistaken, lady," Rynvesi spoke up. "The Alumnitis Brooch shall remain in the bloody clutch of the Lavere Tong, and they will continue to strike down the unfit."
Sparrow turned an incredulous glance on the elf. "What was that?"
Rynvesi tipped his head to his captors, and they released their hold on his arms. With a powerful stride, he positioned himself in front of Uthoule and the halfling.
[bloodyknife.jpg, picture 3]
Slowly, tauntingly, the elf pulled at the drawstrings of his travel gloves, loosened the fingers, and then removed them entirely. He gently caressed each of their cheeks in turn, the telltale gory-knife-and-rune branding on the palm of both hands now obvious.
"This perfomance is at an end." the elf informed the two, Sparrow only standing agape as the half-elf shrieked curses at Rynvesi and struggled to free herself. "I will return to the Order with a woeful tale of ambush and murder from which I was the only survivor, a victim of sheer luck." He smiled ruefully, "Luck that I'm afraid you won't be sharing."
Thick bands of cloth were roughly tied around their eyes, condemning them to the sounds of the drums.
randomling
First Post
I'm really, really sorry 
...but real life has suddenly appeared and hit me over the head with a mallet. I've been running around like a maniac all day! I was going to write tonight, but it's 1.30am and between sleep and writing, sleep is winning.
I'm going to have to default, sorry Ashy (and sorry Sniktch). Next time I'll make sure I have time!
...but real life has suddenly appeared and hit me over the head with a mallet. I've been running around like a maniac all day! I was going to write tonight, but it's 1.30am and between sleep and writing, sleep is winning.
I'm going to have to default, sorry Ashy (and sorry Sniktch). Next time I'll make sure I have time!
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