Bubbalicious
First Post
Rel said:
No, but he's DAMNED hard to hit!!!
The Heroes of Icemist (SmallBeginnings 2)- Interlude update 2/21/2008!
No, but he's DAMNED hard to hit!!!
Bubbalicious
First Post
We're all still just waiting (like, 6 months now) for Enk to get off his butt and post an installment. He says they have a bunch written and want to be able to post a bunch consecutively, but right now I think people would settle for one installment a month (as opposed to two a year). 
Enk&D'Shai
First Post
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*****
Interlude:
The thug picked idly at the bandage wrapped loosely around the stump of his little finger and grimaced in pain. Its loss hadn’t hurt at first: the beggar’s small sword had been exceptionally sharp. Searing the wound to stop the bleeding, however, had brought the type of pain that reminded him he was still alive – a useful reminder, as the infection from the grime from the sewer was almost certain to cost him more than his finger if he didn’t beg, borrow, or steal enough coin to “donate” to some random temple for the healing favor of some god or another.
If he concentrated, he could almost feel the phantom digit when he made a fist. The thought made him grimace again, this time in cold, slow anger. Still, the pain and the anger served to keep the thief’s mind occupied enough not to dwell on his current surroundings: an opulent antechamber decorated with a score what Nevik supposed were priceless paintings and sculptures of persons he did not recognize.
Nevik had never been comfortable among the wealthy. He was a product of the back alley, the whorehouse, and the gutter and he knew it. More importantly, he was comfortable with it. By his fifth summer he had learned that life was worth only as much coin as it could swindle, steal, or kill for. Coin was Nevik’s only friend, and the only master he served. But the wealthy – the noble – were something entirely different. Since his first brush with the nobles he had seen thieves, killers, and con artists, but the wealthy played at these as if they were sport. They would wage a fortune to gain an intangible ounce of prestige, and would murder simply to advance position. Nevik might have been a low life son-of-a-whore, but at least his brand of thievery made sense.
“You are summoned.” Nevik’s hand snapped toward the hilt of his knife as he whirled, his body tense at the thought that someone – anyone - could approach him unheard and unnoticed. A hulking one-eyed guard stood not a pace away. For a moment the two locked eyes, staring each other down in an unspoken contest of dominance. The guard smiled, showing a crowd of filed teeth that seemed ready to spill out from behind the man’s lips, and Nevik looked away with a shudder.
“You will follow me and touch nothing.”
Nevik attempted to answer. His agreement caught in his throat as he glanced back at the guard, whose one remaining eye bored a hole through the smaller man. The thug stifled another shudder and fixed his gaze on the one point of the overpowering visage that did not send a shudder down his spine: a gem encrusted eye patch. The guard paused for a moment, then turned and strode down the hallway.
With the cyclop’s back turned, Nevik’s quickly sized up his unnerving escort. The man was burly and tall, taller even than the half-orc who had caught him in the sewers and a good deal bulkier. But the guard’s size belied deft and agile movement, and the larger man made no sound despite the heavy plate armor he wore. The thug’s eyes reflexively roamed over the armor’s joints looking for places in which he could slip a blade if the meeting with his employer turned sour; he found none. The longer he looked at the metal suit the more it looked like a second skin, seemingly formed of a single piece of pliant yet strong steel.
Nevik’s ever-present frown deepened as he realized that even the element of surprise wouldn’t be enough to even the odds; he began instead looking for escape routes from the labyrinth of hallways his employer called home. After several twists and turns the guard stopped before a pair of heavy and intricately carved doors. Without bothering to turn, the guard stuck out an arm and pushed them easily open. The thief stepped through the opening, doing his best to avoid the cyclop’s gaze, and walked cautiously into the room. If the guard noticed he gave no indication, and closed the door with a seemingly purposeful thud.
The room was surprisingly small considering the grandeur of its double doors. It was also barren – a marked contrast to the overpowering opulence to which Nevik had been subjected. It’s only contents were a heavy writing desk, a single chair, and a tall and ornate fireplace that took up one full wall of the room. In front of the fireplace stood a rangy armor-clad man with his hands clasped behind his back. Despite the fire roaring in the fireplace, the chamber was eerily cold. For a moment, Nevik thought he could see his breath.
You sent for me, Master Vith…?” he began.
“Captain!” the warrior corrected without turning to face the thief.
“Apologies,” Nevik said hurridly, “Captain Vithseer. I didn’t realize you still used the title since your dismissal.” The thug regretted the words almost immediately. In the short time he and the other Tridents had worked for the man he had proven… sensitive about the manner in which he left the service of the King.
The Captain turned slowly, settling himself in the single chair as he stared at the thief. Nevik avoided the gaze even more fervently than he had the cyclop’s: the guard’s had been unsettling, similar in feeling to what he felt in an enemy gang’s territory, but the Captain looked at him as if he were a piece of spoiled meat. “I have a new army now, Nevik. One that rivals the Torian Brigades and the Ionian Cavalry combined.” The thug could feel the warrior’s eyes reading him as if his thoughts were written in bold script across his chest. “I had counted you among that number. Are you no longer?”
“Yes, I… I mean no, Captain. I mean I didn’t know that I had agreed to… But with the amount you are paying I just assumed that…”
The Captain chuckled. The laugh sounded mirthless and dead. “You serve only one master, Nevil Nine Fingers,” the thief grimaced as he realized he was picking at the bandage again, and frowned in frustration and shame, “gold. I knew that when I first compacted with you and your fellows.” The warrior raised finger and pushed back the thief’s head until their eyes locked. “But I have not brought you here to recount the past. I brought you here to offer you a future: something greater than gold.”
“I don’t understand,” said the thief, suddenly aware of an uncomfortable ache in the pit of his stomach, as if he had waged all of his coin on a single throw of fair bones.
“Power!” Captain Vithseer’s eyes widened and glinted in the firelight as he continued in a whisper. “What do you wish for most?”
“Gold,” he said uncertainly.
“A lie,” said the Captain. “A means to an end. What do you wish for most?” The question was insistent.
“To lead the Tridents,” he lied again, “and the Blades and the Shadows.”
“It is only a small part of what awaits if you tell me the truth. What do you wish for most?”
Nevik looked at his hand and flexed, no longer wincing in pain. “I wish for revenge! I want that beggar and his backward friends to pay for what they did to me!” He was seething now, breathing heavily through clenched teeth, his unease about the offer swept aside in a red blaze of anger.
“Again, what do you wish for most?”
“Revenge! Give me my revenge!” he shouted, staring into the Captain’s eyes, now merely echoes of the flames licking from the hearth behind him. “Give me the power to take my revenge!”
The room went suddenly dark, as if the fire had been snuffed, but the flame’s roar did not abate. Instead it grew, consuming the Captain’s chilling chuckle.
In the blackness of the roaring fire, Nevik screamed.
The light returned gradually, leaving long and receding shadows that shrank to nothingness as the fire re-lit the room. Captain Vithseer sat at the desk, staring at a sheet of parchment. He took a nearby candle, lighting it in the fireplace, dripped a dollop of wax onto the document, and sealed it using his thumb. With a silent nod he rose and stepped toward the door, his only company his nine fingered shadow.
End of Interlude
*****
Next time: Can things get even worse for the Heroes? Will they finally figure out what dastardly villian dogs their steps? Tune in next time for "Rel is a No-Good Shiftless Bum," or "No; Really; We Mean It," and see!
Boooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooop!
Beep!
Beep!
This is a test and only a test of the emergency posting system. If this had been an actual post you would have been instructed to read the following post and reply with comments. Once again this is a test of the emergency posting system. This test is brought to you by the letters E and D, and the number 527. This concludes our test. We now return you to your regular programming.
Beep!
Beep!
Boooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooop!
*****
Interlude:
The thug picked idly at the bandage wrapped loosely around the stump of his little finger and grimaced in pain. Its loss hadn’t hurt at first: the beggar’s small sword had been exceptionally sharp. Searing the wound to stop the bleeding, however, had brought the type of pain that reminded him he was still alive – a useful reminder, as the infection from the grime from the sewer was almost certain to cost him more than his finger if he didn’t beg, borrow, or steal enough coin to “donate” to some random temple for the healing favor of some god or another.
If he concentrated, he could almost feel the phantom digit when he made a fist. The thought made him grimace again, this time in cold, slow anger. Still, the pain and the anger served to keep the thief’s mind occupied enough not to dwell on his current surroundings: an opulent antechamber decorated with a score what Nevik supposed were priceless paintings and sculptures of persons he did not recognize.
Nevik had never been comfortable among the wealthy. He was a product of the back alley, the whorehouse, and the gutter and he knew it. More importantly, he was comfortable with it. By his fifth summer he had learned that life was worth only as much coin as it could swindle, steal, or kill for. Coin was Nevik’s only friend, and the only master he served. But the wealthy – the noble – were something entirely different. Since his first brush with the nobles he had seen thieves, killers, and con artists, but the wealthy played at these as if they were sport. They would wage a fortune to gain an intangible ounce of prestige, and would murder simply to advance position. Nevik might have been a low life son-of-a-whore, but at least his brand of thievery made sense.
“You are summoned.” Nevik’s hand snapped toward the hilt of his knife as he whirled, his body tense at the thought that someone – anyone - could approach him unheard and unnoticed. A hulking one-eyed guard stood not a pace away. For a moment the two locked eyes, staring each other down in an unspoken contest of dominance. The guard smiled, showing a crowd of filed teeth that seemed ready to spill out from behind the man’s lips, and Nevik looked away with a shudder.
“You will follow me and touch nothing.”
Nevik attempted to answer. His agreement caught in his throat as he glanced back at the guard, whose one remaining eye bored a hole through the smaller man. The thug stifled another shudder and fixed his gaze on the one point of the overpowering visage that did not send a shudder down his spine: a gem encrusted eye patch. The guard paused for a moment, then turned and strode down the hallway.
With the cyclop’s back turned, Nevik’s quickly sized up his unnerving escort. The man was burly and tall, taller even than the half-orc who had caught him in the sewers and a good deal bulkier. But the guard’s size belied deft and agile movement, and the larger man made no sound despite the heavy plate armor he wore. The thug’s eyes reflexively roamed over the armor’s joints looking for places in which he could slip a blade if the meeting with his employer turned sour; he found none. The longer he looked at the metal suit the more it looked like a second skin, seemingly formed of a single piece of pliant yet strong steel.
Nevik’s ever-present frown deepened as he realized that even the element of surprise wouldn’t be enough to even the odds; he began instead looking for escape routes from the labyrinth of hallways his employer called home. After several twists and turns the guard stopped before a pair of heavy and intricately carved doors. Without bothering to turn, the guard stuck out an arm and pushed them easily open. The thief stepped through the opening, doing his best to avoid the cyclop’s gaze, and walked cautiously into the room. If the guard noticed he gave no indication, and closed the door with a seemingly purposeful thud.
The room was surprisingly small considering the grandeur of its double doors. It was also barren – a marked contrast to the overpowering opulence to which Nevik had been subjected. It’s only contents were a heavy writing desk, a single chair, and a tall and ornate fireplace that took up one full wall of the room. In front of the fireplace stood a rangy armor-clad man with his hands clasped behind his back. Despite the fire roaring in the fireplace, the chamber was eerily cold. For a moment, Nevik thought he could see his breath.
You sent for me, Master Vith…?” he began.
“Captain!” the warrior corrected without turning to face the thief.
“Apologies,” Nevik said hurridly, “Captain Vithseer. I didn’t realize you still used the title since your dismissal.” The thug regretted the words almost immediately. In the short time he and the other Tridents had worked for the man he had proven… sensitive about the manner in which he left the service of the King.
The Captain turned slowly, settling himself in the single chair as he stared at the thief. Nevik avoided the gaze even more fervently than he had the cyclop’s: the guard’s had been unsettling, similar in feeling to what he felt in an enemy gang’s territory, but the Captain looked at him as if he were a piece of spoiled meat. “I have a new army now, Nevik. One that rivals the Torian Brigades and the Ionian Cavalry combined.” The thug could feel the warrior’s eyes reading him as if his thoughts were written in bold script across his chest. “I had counted you among that number. Are you no longer?”
“Yes, I… I mean no, Captain. I mean I didn’t know that I had agreed to… But with the amount you are paying I just assumed that…”
The Captain chuckled. The laugh sounded mirthless and dead. “You serve only one master, Nevil Nine Fingers,” the thief grimaced as he realized he was picking at the bandage again, and frowned in frustration and shame, “gold. I knew that when I first compacted with you and your fellows.” The warrior raised finger and pushed back the thief’s head until their eyes locked. “But I have not brought you here to recount the past. I brought you here to offer you a future: something greater than gold.”
“I don’t understand,” said the thief, suddenly aware of an uncomfortable ache in the pit of his stomach, as if he had waged all of his coin on a single throw of fair bones.
“Power!” Captain Vithseer’s eyes widened and glinted in the firelight as he continued in a whisper. “What do you wish for most?”
“Gold,” he said uncertainly.
“A lie,” said the Captain. “A means to an end. What do you wish for most?” The question was insistent.
“To lead the Tridents,” he lied again, “and the Blades and the Shadows.”
“It is only a small part of what awaits if you tell me the truth. What do you wish for most?”
Nevik looked at his hand and flexed, no longer wincing in pain. “I wish for revenge! I want that beggar and his backward friends to pay for what they did to me!” He was seething now, breathing heavily through clenched teeth, his unease about the offer swept aside in a red blaze of anger.
“Again, what do you wish for most?”
“Revenge! Give me my revenge!” he shouted, staring into the Captain’s eyes, now merely echoes of the flames licking from the hearth behind him. “Give me the power to take my revenge!”
The room went suddenly dark, as if the fire had been snuffed, but the flame’s roar did not abate. Instead it grew, consuming the Captain’s chilling chuckle.
In the blackness of the roaring fire, Nevik screamed.
The light returned gradually, leaving long and receding shadows that shrank to nothingness as the fire re-lit the room. Captain Vithseer sat at the desk, staring at a sheet of parchment. He took a nearby candle, lighting it in the fireplace, dripped a dollop of wax onto the document, and sealed it using his thumb. With a silent nod he rose and stepped toward the door, his only company his nine fingered shadow.
End of Interlude
*****
Next time: Can things get even worse for the Heroes? Will they finally figure out what dastardly villian dogs their steps? Tune in next time for "Rel is a No-Good Shiftless Bum," or "No; Really; We Mean It," and see!
Dungannon said:
Okay a short recap
Our Heroes
1) Ander (played by Enkhidu) - An Ionian youth who escaped to Tor to avoid murder charges. Under the study of the northern Ranger Icemantle Ander has become an expert tracker and hunter capable of surviving the harsh tundra and its inhabitants. His guilt and self doubt keep him from being anything more than an emotional hermit.
2) Aurora (played by Aurora) - A Torian native whose halfelven mother died during childbirth but has left her with an unusual gift. She has shown a natural spellcasting talent that has only been seen once before, wielded by the Lightning Lord Dunlor. Aurora is currently missing and is thought to be in league with the mage killers by the Torian Government.
3) Ashrem (Played by fett527) - A catperson, feloine, from the Mist Isle, who fought in first demon war. During that time though he found killing to be beneath his status as an artist and tried to defect only to have his unit slaughtered by demonic forces because he left his post. As he tried to return to aid his comrades he lost consciousness and awoke to find that several years had passed. Ashamed of his actions, Ashrem lived in seclusion, disquised as a begger, in Icemist the town where he awoke. He has recently decided that he cannot hide form his past and wants to return home to atone for his sins, but he he has found that the feloines are no more. That the end of the demons wars came with a high price, including the disappearance of his home isle.
4) "Pack" (Played by Bubblicious) - An orphan left in the town of Icemist, Pack is know for three things; his enormous backpack which is stuffed with various odds and ends, his oversized Brother Worm, and his limitless imagination. A natural storyteller and performer Pack had delighted the citizens of Icemist for years with his antics and acrobatics, but when he helped saved the children from an evil ritual, he awakened the epic poet within himself that yearns for more than menial performances. Pack is the emotional glue that binds the heroes together, even when they don't want to be.
5) Brother Theobald (Played by Tim) - An aged priest who wanted nothing more that to farm his land and settle into obscurity, but the Gods had other plans. Blessed by Zuras the Storm god, Theo defended the walls of Tor during the Demon Wars leavuing the village of Icemist to be overrrun, including his wife who refused to leave the small village undefended despite her father's request. Theo could not turn away the call since he was a chosen one, a full priest. That decision has haunted him since his wife's death and caused him to turn away from his faith (or more aptly his organized faith in the church), but the recent events have strengthed his faith in his god and in himself and he is realizing that his god's views and the church's view may not be the same thing.
6) Worm (Played by SilentJon) - Another of Icemist's orphan, Worm is a halforc with a chip on his shoulder. Although he has been shown favor by most of the citizens of Icemist, a select few of the upper class singled him out for "special" (read unfair) treatment. Worm focused on this attention and let it build within him and when he was not allowed to go and achieve the glory of rescueing the children along with his brother, it spilled over. Worm is out to prove that he is worth more than any two men alive and will stop at nothing to gain the glory he so richly deserves.
The Story
Kids get kidnapped for a demonic ritual, heroes go and save them. (See Book 1) Aurora gets an offer to go back to the mage academy (she had been kicked out before for having unnatural power). Theo is heading back to Tor to hand his holdings over to his nephew when the group gets word that Aurora is missing. The team hurries to Tor to find that Aurora's sponsor has been murdered along with several other high mages. Aurora is a suspect, but so is Ander (is the fame of Icemist preceeding our heroes?). While investigating the heores befriend a Halfogre, Grogger, who claims to be a descendant of Trennor (The legend of Trennor is one of the oldest and greatest legends - A knight who singlehandedly held a mountain pass for two weeks against an invading demon horde.) The heores find an old sword in the basement that may have once belonged to the famed hero and continue thier quest. The heores soon find that they are wanted for murder and are dogged every step of the way as they search for clues until Theo's father-in-law betrays them and allows the Iron Wolves to ambush them in the Catacombs of the church.
1) Will Ander survive the clutches of the Iron Wolves?
2) Will Pack, Worm and Ashrem escape the sewers in time to help him?
3) What will his father's betrayel do to Theo's already frail faith of the church?
4) What has happene to the nine-fingered assassin and who is Vithsere?
5) What secret does the Blade of Trennor hold?
6) Where is Aurora? and why was she kidnapped?
7) Will Enk and D'Shai ever post again?
8) Was the Demonic ritual in Icemist a part of a larger plot that our heroes now find themsleves immersed in?
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