[Game Thread] Chapter I

[Cheaplaffs]

The livliness of spring has long been sucked away from the trees and now the world is grey and orange and brown. Autumn is most frightening in Europa, wedged between the still of winter and the heat of summer. The air is brisk, enough for your breath to be visable, and a sharp wind has persisted for days following the last rainstorm of the year.

The countryside frontier, despite its dying appearances, is rife with activity. Farmers and merchants are hastily working to fill their quota by the end of the profit season, and the city streets are noisy and crowded with celebrations and fall festivals.

Yet every now and again the band will strike silent and a chilling hush will fall over the masses. The cry of a wolf in the distance... a strange noise from the woods...

Constant reminders of the kind of world in which you live.

Once you have completed your character sheet, place yourself somewhere within Europa. You may wish to set your character already on a goal or quest of their own, which is fine. The more detail you give me, the more I can work with.

[Davey Bones]

Sharimel began her day at the convent as usual. She awoke early to tend to her chores. Despite her standing in the convent as a mid-level sister, she still put her cloak on the same way as every other sister did. Except that she wore her armor under it. She hated that part. It was clumsy and heavy, and she was not naturally strong or particularly dexterous to begin with. She had a sharp mind, and knew that she was protected by a Higher Power, and relied on the spells she was granted to keep her aim true and body safe in combat. But after all she had been through, she would never walk around, even during the day, without it. Much as she would never enjoy shaving her head once a week, but knew it was a necessity in these days. The time for flowing locks and fancy gowns was long over for Sharimel.

Today was a day to work with the newer sisters in the art of healing, a skill at which she excels. Later in the day would be more time for combat practice, and her gear was never far, but for now, she sits and says a devotion, centers herself, and goes down to the kitchen for a bite to eat before instruction begins....

[TCSilvermane]

The day was darkening, nearing its end. Children rushed back to their homes, eager to be off the streets where the monsters could get them. Fathers and mothers returning from their days labor hurried them back inside their houses. If you listened close enough, you could even hear the click of locks or the slamming of a wooden crossbar across a door. The streets were not safe at night.

Which is why Maeva didn't plan on being on the streets.

Perhaps rent a room? Mmm, or share one? Do I really wish to deal with that tonight? Avoiding the busiest of walkways, Maeva nonchalantly made her way toward the Rat's Claw, the only inn within the town. She had seen many a town in her travels, but this one was particularly dirty. Trash littered the alleys, the squeak of rats audible in some of the darker ones. The buildings were dingy and falling into disrepair, shutters hanging from a single hinge, shingles blackened with age. Shadowy illumination was provided by a lantern or a street lamp here and there, but this served only to enhance the gloom. Sunken eyes passed over her, unconcerned with a single female roaming the streets. The oppressive, heavy feeling told the entire story. These people had lost the will to live. How pathetic.

Maeva arrived near the center of the town, to where the inn surely sat. All these towns were the same. Inn at the center, lightly fortified in the possibility of the worst case scenario. There it was, building larger then the rest. It was slightly cheerier then the rest of the town, but only in the way that a zombie wears bright colors as opposed to drab grays. Peering at the sign swinging slowly back and forth, Maeva could barely make out a name and symbol. The Rat's Claw. How... delightful.

A gruff looking man was just closing the doors for the night as Maeva approached. Sprinting to the door, she called to him.

"Waaaaaaaait! You wouldn't leave me... shivering on the roadside... would you?" Reaching the door, she bent over, leaning on her knees and panting hard for his benefit. She nearly wretched at the mans odor as it reached her nose. General filth mixed with cheap booze. Hopefully all it would take is a few words with this one. Maeva looked up and forced a smile at the disgusting man.

"Oooooh thank you! I thought I would of had to sleep on the dirt!" Straightening, she noticed his eyes roaming her body, undressing her mentally. Ugh, I really hope it only takes a word or two. "Sir? May I come in? It is starting to get chill." Faking a small shiver, she waited for his response.

The unwashed inn keepers eyes snapped up toward her, actually noticing her as a person. He grinned, showing several missing teeth as he stood aside. Maeva moved past him and into the interior of the inn. He spoke for the first time as she moved by him.

"Er, miss, yer wouldn't 'appen to be short on coin, would ya? If ya are, I could make a exception." Maeva jumped a little as his leathery hand slapped her rear harshly. Keeping a cool head, she simply spoke over her shoulder, a small hint of an edge detectable in her voice.

"Terribly sorry, but I will be paying with coin tonight." Not giving him a chance to reply, Maeva moved away from the offender and scanned the room for a potential target. She didn't actually HAVE any coin. At this exact moment anyways.

The inn was what you would expect. A thin layer of smoke hung in the atmosphere from the many pipes that were lit. Tables made of dark and warped wood were scattered in a seemingly random fashion around the area. The flooring was old, made of the same worn wooden planks as the tables. Few lanterns were lit for they would simply have to be put out soon anyways. A few patrons ate some colorless stew from chipped ceramic bowls, their faces saying that it tasted as bad as it looked. A staircase was located to the back left, presumably leading upstairs to the guest rooms. Next to it was a bar style counter where a few men sat conversing about a harvest or something equally uninteresting. The innkeeper had moved back behind the counter and was eying her longingly, the wrinkles on his skin enunciated by the frustration showing on his face. The few patrons that had enough wits about them to notice anything other than themselves were eyeballing her in the same manner as the innkeeper. None of these presented a good mark though. All exposed, all in a group of two or more, and not nearly drunk enough.

Except that one. A single large man in a shadowy corner mulled over his ale, an aura of despair hanging about him thicker than Maeva had encountered in this shantytown so far. There were several large tankards on the table with him, indicating he had been drinking for quite a while, and a bit of drool flowed from the corner of his mouth. This would be a perfect opportunity. He was completely smashed and probably wouldn't even be aware of her presence. In addition to all this, he also sat on the edge of the bench seat. She wouldn't even have to show him what she looked like. Maeva did not like to take unneeded chances however.

She sauntered over to him, not overtly showing herself, but staying within his vision enough to reveal that she was there. It didn't really seem like he cared however. Sitting next to the drunk male, she reached her arm around him and covered his eyes while her own searched for a small leather pouch she knew he carried.

Speaking in a low, sultry tone, Maeva began talking to the man. "Shhhh. I saw you sitting over here all by yourself and thought I would come to cheer you up." There! On his right hip, closest to her. Simple leather strap, easily undone. "Do you like poetry? I can read you some right now, and perhaps give you a private reading later." Not waiting for an answer, Maeva leaned in and whispered in his ear the language that she had learned upon coming into her power.

Whats this? Whats this?
The clouds skitter across the sky,
but why do they twinkle so?
To hold your complete attention

Her hands immediately moved to his coin purse. Moving quickly, she unclasped the buckle and pocketed the leather back. By its weight it did not contain much, but it would be more then adequate for her current purposes. Maeva made a quick and agile escape before the man recovered from the combination of her magic and his drunkenness. Approaching the bar counter, she looked straight at the filthy barkeep, drew forth a few coins and placed them on the counter. He stared back with equal intensity, his pride wounded from her rejection.

"Room for one please. With a deadbolt. If that costs extra, Ill pay."

She would not have this one sneaking into her bed during her sleep.

Notes Arcanae Language = RED The Noble Tongue = BLUE

[copatt]

Liz awakes, as she has every morning since coming to the convent, well before dawn. Before she even stands up from the woven mat that serves as her bed, she takes a few minutes to stretch, first her legs, all the way down to her toes which she fans wide, then her arms, all the way up to her laced-together fingers which she pops in unison.

Standing, Liz splashes a bit of water, left over from the prior evening on her face, and slips into the simple grey smock, her only clothing here. The sisters of the convent dress simply enough for sure, but as a servant-penitent, Liz dresses more simply still. At least I don't have to shave my head. How mannish. Liz lifts a strand of her limp brown hair in front of her eyes. God, how I would love a mirror. Of course, if I had one, I doubt I would like what I see any more. I probably would want to shave this dreadful hair. Oh well, enough primping.

Before she leaves the room, Liz kneels by her bed and offers a quick prayer to the savior, thanking him in particular for saving her from her old life as a sorceress. I can't believe I'm doing this simply because I have been told to. I'm not sure I even believe in the savior. One thing I know for certain though is that the sisters here have no idea how long I actually spend on morning prayers.

Her morning prayers behind her, Liz makes her way up to the convent kitchen. She arrives about the same time as another woman, Molly McGee, a few years older than herself, also doing time here as a servant-penitent for witchcraft. Poor bumpkin. I really have nothing in common with her- nothing excpet the brands on our cheeks anyway- she probably owned a cat, mixed up a couple of healing poultices, and had the misfortune of living next to an incompetent farmer. Good morning Molly. Sleep well? I don't even know why I try to make smalltalk with her.

Before long, the first of the sisters arrives in the kitchen, a woman that Liz recognizes as a battle-priestess by the name of Sharimel. Morning sister, Liz mumbles, her head bowed, will you be taking breakfast with the other sisters in the dining hall or should I get you something now?

[Davey Bones]

Please, Liz, how many times have I asked you to stop bowing when there are no other sisters around? Sharimel sighs, weary and uncomfortable at this daily exercise. She understands that some of these girls have come in broken, but she hated the forced respect. You know I don't rest on formality, Liz, I never have. I have no pretense that I am anything above my station. And a true servant will never expect others to bow and scrape at her feet.

She grabs the nearest bowl and serves herself, eyeing the girl. I'll eat in here. Will you be coming to my lesson later today? I'll be showing you some uses for common herbs. I do think you're quite ready to begin learning some sort of trade, and now is a good time to select one.

[Sporatik]

An almost involuntary grin spreads across Jacob's face briefly as he spots a clever woman rob a drunk of his coin. She does not hold his attention for long though, as his tongue swipes across the smoking paper and his nimble fingers roll and seal the herb.

"Yes indeed, never in all my days have I seen such a poor crop, I swear." Jacob speaks loudly, in almost a mocking tone.

Elliot turns his head, not bothering with a response. Jacob can tell his brother is growing wearisome of their facade of a conversation, and would much rather be doing something; preferably violent.

"Patience brother..." Jacob mutters, placing the cigarette he just rolled between his lips.

Dropping his head, Jacob closed his eyes, the smoke still held in his lips.

"O Christ, our lord and savior, please grant my eyes light enough to see through the shrouds of darkness, and reveal the evil we shall smite in your name; amen." [Detect Evil]

He mouths the same prayer he had a thousand times, different wording but the meaning was the same. Jacob would not consider himself a holy man, or a priest of God or Christ. After years of service to God, Jacob has yet to be granted the same abilities as other brothers of the cloth. The reason for this, he's told, is his lack of faith. For a man who's spent his entire life serving the will of God, being told that he lacks faith was devastating, and remains to be so to this day. There is a difference, they said, between believing, and knowing. His endless service to God is still not enough to atone for the sins he's committed.

Regardless of this, Christ answered his prayer, and soon the Rat's Claw was aglow with holy light. Every person in the room shed a different color, except for the pair of men sitting at the middle of the bar. Jacob could see right through their skins, and knew the terrible evils the lurked underneth.

"That's them," Jacob mutters to his brother before lighting the cigarette, exhaling a tremendous cloud of smoke that pooled and billowed over his head. "You're on."

[copatt]

In her previous life, Liz would not have thought much about this woman, any of these sisters, but under her current, dire circumstances, she could not help but like Sharimel. Plus, it never hurts to have a figure of authority on your side. On mention of the herbalism class, Liz's eyes widen with sheer happiness. Work with herbs and alchemy represented Liz's last connection to the magical arts she once pursued with intense vigor. Of course sister, I would love to attend the class.

Most pretenses of forced respect behind her, Liz disapears into the pantry, speaking over her shoulder to Sharimel. Don't go anywhere yet. I've got something for you. When Liz returns, she tosses Sharimel a fresh green apple. Not too many of these, certainly not enough for all of the sisters, but you should take this one. It'll go well with the porridge- or taste good this afternoon.

Liz leans over the table and continues her conversation with Sharimel. So, what herbs will you be lecturing on today sister? Also, are there any chores that you would like my help with after I finish serving breakfast? It's weird, I thought I would be worked like a slave when I was sent here, and in a way I am, but the sisters work hard too, and there's actually surprisingly little to do- still, what in the Savior's name am I doing asking for work. Stupid girl, you are embracing their mindeset. Stupid girl.

Oh, sister, one more thing, Liz hesitates, no, actually nevermind, I'll talk to you about it after class, or maybe during chores.

[omglolnub]

Jared knelt down, fondling a charred piece of wood. The piece of wood came from what was once an inn, the same inn he had been drinking at on that day...damn that day. He took another swig from the bottle of whiskey he was holding before dropping the piece of wood. All around him lay destruction, the town he had once called home, now ash and broken walls. He was on the brink of tears, the anger was swelling up so strong inside him, and he remembered. He remembered why he now does what he does, and why he always returns to this forsaken place.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of something, and bent down to examine it. It was the metal remains of a crucifix, the same one he had worn that day. Upon seeing it, a single tear escaped him, and he spat down on it, muttering under his breath, bastard. God had forsaken them here, given them hope, given them a chance, just to rip it from them. Hell, he wasn't even sure there was a God, and if there was he though, he was a cruel bastard for creating such a wretched world.

He took one last swig from his whiskey, and then tossed the empty bottle into the air. He dove to where his rapier laid, picked it up, and drew it faster then most people could see. He whipped the blade out and caught the bottle out of the air, the rapier sticking up into it through the bottleneck. With a fluid motion he flicked it off of the sword, and into a nearby wall, where it shattered into many tiny pieces. He sheathed his sword and laid it down, picking up his claymore.

He spent the next few minuets practicing the maneuvers he knew well, and preparing a few combos he knew to use if he saw combat today. He gracefully swung the sword as he danced around the remains of his campfire from the night before. Most people avoided the night at all cost, and for them a night outside was suicide. Jared, however, welcomed the danger. It also seemed even monsters had forsaken this area, making it forgotten to all but Jared and his men.

When he had finished he went to where his breastplate laid. It was very special to him, for not only was it made of an incredibly lightweight material, it had been given to him by his master as a gift on the advent of his death. It had been given to him by his master, and to him by his master, and now it was his. Not having time for a formal student, he wondered what he would do with it when he died, but now was not the time to worry about that. He donned the armour, and strapped his swords to his belt and back.

He had about a seventeen hour trek before him, to a small port city on the islands eastern coast. He had been hired by someone, but had not been told what he was doing. He didn't like this job for two reasons, he didn't know it, and it was sending him off island. The second part was unsurprising, most were, but not knowing was a general no-go for him. However, whoever needed something done was paying well, and so he went against what he would normally do.

He walked along the road, and it obviously hadn't been traveled by many for years. The path was overgrown and although nothing jumped out at him, he always knew there was something lurking just beyond the treeline. He traveled for many hours, stopping only when the sun was high in the sky, to drink a meal of whiskey from one of his two remaining bottles.

He reached the port city late, and only made it to the inn half an hour before closing time. He was supposed to meet his contact here, and from here he would be told what he was actually to be doing, he hoped. He chose a table in the corner as he had been told to, and pulled out the bottle he had drank form earlier, waiting for something to happen.

[Davey Bones]

Sharimel smiled at the girl's thoughtfulness as she pockets the apple for a snack later. Well, Liz, my focus today, as usual, will be on the healing applications of various herbs. I try to avoid more alchemical uses, since, well.. Sharimel's face darkens for a moment... Since it tends to remind many of our young women of skills they no longer have. And if we are to succeed in returning you to some semblance of your former life, I prefer we do it in a way which avoids bitterness and anger. Sharimel looks at Liz with something close to pity in her eyes. I don't always agree with how things happen, but they happen nevertheless. It is my most sincere hope that we sisters can at least give you back something in exchange for what was taken from you...

[copatt]

Healing, of course, not exciting, but admittedly not something I know a great deal about- and it will almost certainly prove useful at some point. Liz's features darken for a moment at mention of what was taken from her- only everything- but she manages to maintain a pleasant tone. Of course sister, I still look forward to your lessons.

Liz turns away from the woman, her gaze on her bare feet- not even allowed the simple ammenity of a pair of shoes as a servant-penitent- If you'll excuse me sister, I must see to breakfast for the other sisters now.

[Davey Bones]

Sharimel just shakes her head and leaves the kitchen area for the gardens to pick some herbs.

She understands the need to control the gifts of those who have them, but often finds herself wondering why on Earth these women have their gifts ripped form them instead of having them put to good use. After all, if she could be taught magic, imagine what could happen if people with a gift were to be trained.

[Cheaplaffs]

Liz Copatt - remember to set your character sheet to public so I can review it. A hush falls over the mess hall as one of the higher-ranking priests enter. Everyone who's able rises from their seat and not a soul says a word. Its not normal for the high priests to be here while the servants were dining. You get the sense that this is important, too. The expression on the young man's face is very serious. "I require a volunteer. This person must be willing to ask few questions, and do exactly as is instructed. Your reward will be reconciliation." This may be just the opportunity you're looking for. A chance to prove your loyalty to the church... or at the very least, prove you're worth forgiveness.

Sharimel While collecting herbs in the church's garden, you notice one of the higher-ranking priests, a woman named Gabrielle, approach and give you a soft, yet serious smile. The kind that betrays the fact that she has something very critical to say. "Sister, the convent has need of you. I pray you follow me to the council chambers, where you shall be briefed. This is a matter of great concern." It would be best to drop what you're doing and comply immidiately, even though it will certainly mean missing the morning's alloted lessons. However, the look on Gabrielle's face, though well concealed, is very troubled. This may be more serious than another sister falling too ill to perform her duties...

[Cheaplaffs]

Jared In perhaps forty-five minutes, you spot an individual enter the bar wearing the recognizable seal indicated in the summons. He sits in front of you, though the hood he wears over his head conceals his true identity. Only his unshaven mouth is visable as he speaks. What he says depends on your character. Do you still plan on going the partisan route? Or is Jared now a freelance mercenary?

[copatt]

Like the other servants-penitent in the mess hall, Liz rises to silently greet the priest as he enters. Liz's eyes are lowered, but not still, shifting back and forth from her porridge to her bare toes and back again. Volunteer...ask a few questions...exactly as instructed...reconciliation.

When thepriest finishes speaking, the servants-penitent continue to stand quietly, none of them daring to look up. After what seems forever, Liz raises her hand. I might be interested in volunteering brother. I would just need to know more of what will be required.

OOC- Character sheet made public. Sorry about delay.

[Cheaplaffs]

Brothers Grim Almost as if he can pick up on their scent too, Patches lifts his head up from the dirty floor and growls, the skin on his black and white nose curling up to reveal canines. "Easy, boy." Is all the taller of the brothers says, his voice low, just above a deep grumble. These were the two they were looking for - just as per the description, and now confirmed by Jacob's divination. The aura of evil eminated from these two like a beacon. They sure didn't look like much - more like a pair of grimey peasents. But appearances aren't everything. Almost on cue, the big man steps right up to the two men and uncorks a vial of blessed holy water, dumping its contents on thier heads. Screaming, their skin smoking and burning, the two make a break for it. By reflex, Patches starts barking and takes off after them, Elliot close in toe. These two must be scouts, since they clearly were human. Their evil taint could originate from many different sources, but to be sure, they would have to track them to their master's lair.