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The Heroes of Icemist (SmallBeginnings 2)- Interlude update 2/21/2008!
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<blockquote data-quote="Enk&amp;D'Shai" data-source="post: 3406655" data-attributes="member: 7569"><p><strong>And now a word from our sponsors...</strong></p><p></p><p>Boooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooop!</p><p></p><p>Beep!</p><p></p><p>Beep!</p><p></p><p>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.</p><p></p><p>Beep! </p><p></p><p>Beep! </p><p></p><p>Boooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooop!</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>*****</p><p></p><p><strong>Interlude:</strong></p><p></p><p>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.</p><p></p><p>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.</p><p></p><p>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 <em>noble</em> – 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. </p><p></p><p>“You are summoned.” Nevik’s hand snapped toward the hilt of his knife as he whirled, his body tense at the thought that someone – <em>anyone</em> - 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.</p><p></p><p>“You will follow me and touch nothing.”</p><p></p><p>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.</p><p></p><p>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.</p><p></p><p>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.</p><p></p><p>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.</p><p></p><p>You sent for me, Master Vith…?” he began.</p><p></p><p>“Captain!” the warrior corrected without turning to face the thief.</p><p></p><p>“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.</p><p></p><p>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?”</p><p></p><p>“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…”</p><p></p><p>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.”</p><p></p><p>“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.</p><p></p><p>“Power!” Captain Vithseer’s eyes widened and glinted in the firelight as he continued in a whisper. “What do you wish for most?”</p><p></p><p>“Gold,” he said uncertainly.</p><p></p><p>“A lie,” said the Captain. “A means to an end. What do you wish for most?” The question was insistent.</p><p></p><p>“To lead the Tridents,” he lied again, “and the Blades and the Shadows.”</p><p></p><p>“It is only a small part of what awaits if you tell me the truth. <em>What do you wish for most?</em>” </p><p></p><p>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.</p><p></p><p>“Again, <em>what do you wish for most?</em>”</p><p></p><p>“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!”</p><p></p><p>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. </p><p></p><p>In the blackness of the roaring fire, Nevik screamed.</p><p></p><p>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.</p><p></p><p></p><p><strong>End of Interlude</strong></p><p></p><p></p><p>*****</p><p></p><p>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!</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Enk&D'Shai, post: 3406655, member: 7569"] [b]And now a word from our sponsors...[/b] 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! ***** [b]Interlude:[/b] 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 [I]noble[/I] – 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 – [I]anyone[/I] - 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. [I]What do you wish for most?[/I]” 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, [I]what do you wish for most?[/I]” “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. [b]End of Interlude[/b] ***** 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! [/QUOTE]
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