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Story Hour
The Blade of Phoee (Updated 12/08/08)
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<blockquote data-quote="Funeris" data-source="post: 2222556" data-attributes="member: 22792"><p><strong>Prelude: Ana (Concluded)</strong></p><p></p><p>Well OaxacanWarrior, thanks for reading. Here's an update <img src="data:image/gif;base64,R0lGODlhAQABAIAAAAAAAP///yH5BAEAAAAALAAAAAABAAEAAAIBRAA7" class="smilie smilie--sprite smilie--sprite8" alt=":D" title="Big grin :D" loading="lazy" data-shortname=":D" /> Just figured I should finish Ana's prelude so I could move on to Cassock's. I'm so psyched to play this Friday.</p><p></p><p>-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p></p><p>Toren tapped his fingers rapidly against the hard oak table. Ana, having known Toren for over seven years, easily recognized the worried quirk for what it was. She slipped backward into her chair, sipping from the crystal wine glass.</p><p></p><p>The entire room was furnished with the most expensive and finest of everything. Exquisitely crafted furniture, padded with the softest down wrapped in silk cases, circled the magnificently carved table. Dwarven runes inlaid the oak table in a spiraling pattern. Ana could not read the Dwarven script but Toren had taught her to distinguish between the written languages. A table as finely crafted as Toren’s centerpiece was easily worth a fortune by itself if only for the script. Items created by the older races, considered contraband, always priced higher on the market. </p><p></p><p>Contraband seemed to be Toren’s favorite means of decoration. Items practically littered his shelves and desks, all from other cultures. Elven script, Halfling script, even the writing of a race of snake-descended people reflected the candlelight. The Elven writing was by far the most beautiful in the flickering light, Ana thought. </p><p></p><p>Her mind drifted back to the glass in her hand. She shifted to empty the remains of the decanter into the crystal. Toren’s drumming cadence filled the edge of her perception again as she swallowed another burst of flavor. Her mentor leapt out of his chair and moved to refill his own glass.</p><p></p><p>Unlike Ana, who reveled in the delightful zest of a fine Elven wine, Toren had long ago grown to cherish a Dwarven brew. Unfortunately his stocks were slowly depleting. The Empire had recently stepped up the holy war against the older races. Dwarven ale was becoming increasingly rare and thus increasingly costly. If Toren could ever adapt to the foul drink of the Orcs, Trolls, or even the sludge the Goblins drank, it would save him a fortune. He smirked in distaste as he refilled his mug.</p><p></p><p>“So, are you going to show it to me, Ana?” Toren queried.</p><p></p><p>The rogue lifted her sack and removed the adamantine box. Carefully, despite its invulnerability, she placed the engraved box on the table. Toren returned to the table, ponderously examining the work of art. His eyes darted over the symbols and runes, memorizing every detail, every edge.</p><p></p><p>“What language is that?” </p><p></p><p>“That is Phoeeic, the writing of the druids.” Toren glanced upward, “You won’t see it much. They voraciously guard their relics. And to find the writing on metal is quite a rarity. They abhor metallurgy even while respecting the necessity of the art.”</p><p></p><p>“So it is worth a lot then?”</p><p></p><p>“Worth more money then I’ll ever see,” Toren responded. “It is definitely unique, to say the least.”</p><p></p><p>“What does it say?”</p><p></p><p>The older rogue chuckled. “If I knew that dear, I’d probably be dead. Druids don’t share their secrets. And the Empire executes them just as often as they do elves and dwarves.” Toren leaned back up, taking a deep swallow of the ale.</p><p></p><p>“How much can you give me for it?” Ana tapped her boot-sole with impatience.</p><p></p><p>“I cannot buy it from you, dear. You can’t sell it in Nordaa Saam.” Her mouth dropped open in protest but Toren interrupted her with a wave of his hand. “By now, Crawson probably already knows that the box in his treasury is a fake. This means, he knows you were in on the heist and that you probably have this artifact. Selling the item in this city, would only bring you a swift death.</p><p></p><p>“Your life is in jeopardy just by staying here. As is mine,” he added with an ironic grin. “What I suggest is that you take the box and leave. At least, for awhile go somewhere safe. When everything calms down, I can send for your return. You do have somewhere you can go, right?”</p><p></p><p>Ana thought for a moment; dreading her decision, dreading her destination. “Yes.”</p><p></p><p>“Good. Where?”</p><p></p><p>She cocked her eyebrow and reluctantly said, “The Town of Green Hills. It’s to the west some distance. It should be small enough that I’ll be safe.”</p><p></p><p>“Good, good. Does anyone else know about your theft?” Toren finished his glass with a gulp.</p><p></p><p>“Only Argot, I needed someone to craft a replica. I paid him well and I trust him. He won’t turn on me.” Ana slid the box back into her pack and readjusted the straps.</p><p></p><p>“A little extra silver will help keep his silence,” Toren claimed. “Go now, Ana. Take my horse. It should help you gain a lead on Crawson’s lackeys.”</p><p></p><p>“Thank you, Toren. I appreciate…everything you’ve done for me.” Ana took a step toward the back door. Toren grabbed her shoulder and gave a quick peck on her forehead.</p><p></p><p>“Safe journey, Ana.” Anastrianna silently exited the room. Removing the empty crystal from the table, Toren waited for the departing sound of hooves.</p><p></p><p>Once sure she had left, the rogue removed his robe and donned his work outfit. Silently he packed the gear he would need and picked up his trusty dagger.</p><p></p><p>“A little extra silver could never hurt.” He smirked as he left to clean up Ana’s mess.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Funeris, post: 2222556, member: 22792"] [b]Prelude: Ana (Concluded)[/b] Well OaxacanWarrior, thanks for reading. Here's an update :D Just figured I should finish Ana's prelude so I could move on to Cassock's. I'm so psyched to play this Friday. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Toren tapped his fingers rapidly against the hard oak table. Ana, having known Toren for over seven years, easily recognized the worried quirk for what it was. She slipped backward into her chair, sipping from the crystal wine glass. The entire room was furnished with the most expensive and finest of everything. Exquisitely crafted furniture, padded with the softest down wrapped in silk cases, circled the magnificently carved table. Dwarven runes inlaid the oak table in a spiraling pattern. Ana could not read the Dwarven script but Toren had taught her to distinguish between the written languages. A table as finely crafted as Toren’s centerpiece was easily worth a fortune by itself if only for the script. Items created by the older races, considered contraband, always priced higher on the market. Contraband seemed to be Toren’s favorite means of decoration. Items practically littered his shelves and desks, all from other cultures. Elven script, Halfling script, even the writing of a race of snake-descended people reflected the candlelight. The Elven writing was by far the most beautiful in the flickering light, Ana thought. Her mind drifted back to the glass in her hand. She shifted to empty the remains of the decanter into the crystal. Toren’s drumming cadence filled the edge of her perception again as she swallowed another burst of flavor. Her mentor leapt out of his chair and moved to refill his own glass. Unlike Ana, who reveled in the delightful zest of a fine Elven wine, Toren had long ago grown to cherish a Dwarven brew. Unfortunately his stocks were slowly depleting. The Empire had recently stepped up the holy war against the older races. Dwarven ale was becoming increasingly rare and thus increasingly costly. If Toren could ever adapt to the foul drink of the Orcs, Trolls, or even the sludge the Goblins drank, it would save him a fortune. He smirked in distaste as he refilled his mug. “So, are you going to show it to me, Ana?” Toren queried. The rogue lifted her sack and removed the adamantine box. Carefully, despite its invulnerability, she placed the engraved box on the table. Toren returned to the table, ponderously examining the work of art. His eyes darted over the symbols and runes, memorizing every detail, every edge. “What language is that?” “That is Phoeeic, the writing of the druids.” Toren glanced upward, “You won’t see it much. They voraciously guard their relics. And to find the writing on metal is quite a rarity. They abhor metallurgy even while respecting the necessity of the art.” “So it is worth a lot then?” “Worth more money then I’ll ever see,” Toren responded. “It is definitely unique, to say the least.” “What does it say?” The older rogue chuckled. “If I knew that dear, I’d probably be dead. Druids don’t share their secrets. And the Empire executes them just as often as they do elves and dwarves.” Toren leaned back up, taking a deep swallow of the ale. “How much can you give me for it?” Ana tapped her boot-sole with impatience. “I cannot buy it from you, dear. You can’t sell it in Nordaa Saam.” Her mouth dropped open in protest but Toren interrupted her with a wave of his hand. “By now, Crawson probably already knows that the box in his treasury is a fake. This means, he knows you were in on the heist and that you probably have this artifact. Selling the item in this city, would only bring you a swift death. “Your life is in jeopardy just by staying here. As is mine,” he added with an ironic grin. “What I suggest is that you take the box and leave. At least, for awhile go somewhere safe. When everything calms down, I can send for your return. You do have somewhere you can go, right?” Ana thought for a moment; dreading her decision, dreading her destination. “Yes.” “Good. Where?” She cocked her eyebrow and reluctantly said, “The Town of Green Hills. It’s to the west some distance. It should be small enough that I’ll be safe.” “Good, good. Does anyone else know about your theft?” Toren finished his glass with a gulp. “Only Argot, I needed someone to craft a replica. I paid him well and I trust him. He won’t turn on me.” Ana slid the box back into her pack and readjusted the straps. “A little extra silver will help keep his silence,” Toren claimed. “Go now, Ana. Take my horse. It should help you gain a lead on Crawson’s lackeys.” “Thank you, Toren. I appreciate…everything you’ve done for me.” Ana took a step toward the back door. Toren grabbed her shoulder and gave a quick peck on her forehead. “Safe journey, Ana.” Anastrianna silently exited the room. Removing the empty crystal from the table, Toren waited for the departing sound of hooves. Once sure she had left, the rogue removed his robe and donned his work outfit. Silently he packed the gear he would need and picked up his trusty dagger. “A little extra silver could never hurt.” He smirked as he left to clean up Ana’s mess. [/QUOTE]
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