RPG Crossing Home Forums Create An Account! Site Rules & Help

RPG Crossing
Go Back   RPG Crossing > Games > Dungeons & Dragons 5e > The Last Journey
twitter google facebook

Notices

Reply
 
Thread Tools
  #286  
Old 11-14-2017, 08:51 AM
gotha's Avatar
gotha gotha is offline
Ancient Dragon
 
Tools
User Statistics
Last Visit: 01-18-2018
RPXP: 1086
gotha gotha gotha gotha gotha gotha gotha gotha
Posts: 833
When Gren was a young child, before the Ash burned their way through the Whitehearts he remembered going hunting with his uncle, not hunting, ferreting. His uncle would search for a rabbits barrow and then find all the entrances, blocking them with rocks or net. He would then release his hungry weasel. The weasel would violent killed a rabbit sending the others fleeing into the nets. After the nets were taken and battered until all life in the furry creature ceased. This is all Gren could think about the deeper they went into the mountain. Gren was a creature of the fields and forest, with infinite routes to flee, this to Gren seemed more a cage.

Gren's rest was sporadic, the stone roof being a poor substitute for the vastness of the nights sky. Then their was the foreboding feeling like something was watching them, some presence was with them. Not with them, staring down at them. As Gren's mind circled around its paranoia ferrets became eagles, eagles perched up high staring down at their prey till finally Gren could bare it no longer and had to put his thoughts to rest.

Gren got up and sat his bony rear end down on the cold stone, ruffling his clothes under him for some cushion. He quieted his mind and placed his palms down beside him, digging them into the rocky surface until he could feel the stones chill slowly seep into his being. Then he let himself expand, deep into the rock letting himself feel the forces around him. He waited, attuned to the moment, trying to scast detect magictare back at whatever voyeur took pleasure in watching him.
Reply With Quote
  #287  
Old 11-28-2017, 06:49 PM
ByronBulb's Avatar
ByronBulb ByronBulb is online now
Bright spark.
 
Tools
User Statistics
Last Visit: 01-18-2018
RPXP: 6322
ByronBulb ByronBulb ByronBulb ByronBulb ByronBulb ByronBulb ByronBulb ByronBulb ByronBulb ByronBulb ByronBulb
Posts: 3,897
The hospitality of others, unasked for, is a curious curse. Some find it welcoming, and in turn welcome the benefits bestowed upon them out of such. Others, unused to consideration of any sort, are instead discomfited further through no malice but the caprice of their own souls. Waking early, and feeling himself entombed beneath the great weight of rock on all sides, Hansi learned of himself come morning that he was ill built for the receipt of unconditional welcome. As he exited his sleeping quarters, he noted the gentle light of dawn filtering down through the cunning assemblies their guide of the night before had explained. The light within the mountain was slight, to be sure, but one could navigate easily enough by it. Certainly though it would increase as the sun rose in the heavens. Through whatever divine ingenuity had guided their hand, the residents of this place had managed over their long centuries of shaping to make of it a space only marginally dimmer than the surface world.

A desire to return to recognised forms overtook him. So Hansi, with his pike and his blade, went forth into the belly of the mountain in search of someplace where he might be himself again, alone. He was frustrated at every turn in this ambition. At every crossroad it seemed he was to run across another member of the Stone Shields. Each of whom bore similar features to those of Astrid, his companion in the sacrificial march. The rawness of his nerves as he progressed perhaps contributed to the perception that each of these was in their individual fashion an imperfect replica of she who had accompanied him hence from their beginning at Truce, in the centre of Ragnari. Hansi did his best to navigate the bowels of the mountain under his own direction, his residual Greyfeyn inclination driving his feet to continue long after his mind had recognised the fact of his disorientation. The halls he walked were carved over with long generations of memory, inscribed into the primal rock as signifiers that went well beyond simple direction. To the foreign eye the thousand-handed scratchings upon every wall and ceiling were no more than background noise. to those raised within the mountain they were all of them a map extending backward through history.

This indecipherable system, Hansi was able to conclude with some despair, could not have evolved out of simple chance. Though the walls above now seemed near impregnable, they surely would have been less so in times past. Any invading force mighty enough to make it past those warding curtains of stone would then find themselves presented with the riddle of these myriad passages beneath the earth. With his mind keyed already to the possibilities of military tactics, Hansi who had been of the Greyfeyn gained a new appreciation for the cunning work that had been done upon this stone. Any guerrilla force familiar with these passages would be formidable indeed. So much so perhaps, that the entire mountain might need to be brought down upon their heads before they could be scoured entirely from the warren. Even if victory could be achieved short of such improbably drastic measures, there would be months of bloody fighting in the unfamiliar dark before the halls would again be quieted of the ring of steel, and the sobs of the dying.

Chance then, more than anything else, was what led Hansi to his desired goal. Providence favoured the chosen, perhaps offering up a measure of mercy that their eventual fate might seem the less cruel for its bestowal. Bewildered by the inscribed tapestry upon every surface, Hansi found himself in yet another indecipherable crossroad. He stared for a moment in the one direction, and then for twice that length in the other. The stone yielded no secrets for all his gazing. A hand fell upon his shoulder, light as a dried leaf, shocking Hansi from his reverie. When he turned, the owner proved to be ancient indeed. The man was wizened beyond credibility, his skin parched and wrinkled as though the stone had drawn every ounce of moisture from him. The only evidence of moisture was in fact the sightless and rheumy eyes set deep within the cracked mask age had made of his visage. For all that this intruder upon Hansi's directionless solitude was ancient, and seemingly blind, the grip on his shoulder was sure. When his own gaze strayed downward and away from those sightless and watering orbs, Hansi saw that the other hand of the old one was held by a girl child of perhaps seven summers.

"You were right, grandda. He's another of them from beyond the mountain." The child spoke with the clear piping tones of innocence. Her elder, who she named grandda, smiled off into the mid-distance. he disengaged his aged fingers from her tiny grip, and tousled her hair without pause to search for it. "Of course he is pet. You did well to find him so quickly, what a clever girl you are." Uncannily, the elder's sightless eyes met Hansi's own and held them. "I am Mimir, and you have been looking for my charge. Come." The pair turned from Hansi and walked away with the tottering gait of the terminally elderly, and the immature. With few other avenues to explore he was left with little option but to follow. The pair led him down several side passages, each of which was possessed of innumerable branches and turns. Finally one opened into a spacious area filled with latticed shelving that stretched off into the gloom. Each hex shaped aperture contained a minimum of one tightly curled scroll, and from what Hansi could see many were packed with far more than just the one. "These are the Stone Shield archives, Hansi of the chosen. You are welcome here to learn of us what you will."

~

Though she knew it not, Billie Blue was first of her cohort to rise in the morning. The uncertainties of the night before had made even the spacious appointments of her room seem a crypt to the Red. Through an exercise of sheer will she had been able to drift away into the oblivion of sleep, but even that refuge had proved to be a partial respite. Even as she dreamed of the stars they became watching eyes. The vast canopy of the heavens closed in, wrapped her up in bindings of infinite darkness and eventually consumed every remaining point of light. It was in the presence of this residual sense of dread that she then rolled from her stone pallet come dawn. Her morning ablutions took only the space of a few minutes, and returned a semblance of balance to the young warrior. She might have found herself in surroundings entirely alien to those which she had known all the years of her life, but the familiar repetition of those cleansing rituals dispelled some measure of her discomfort.

Stepping from her sleeping chamber, Billie was just in time to spy Hansi exiting the barracks. Her companion seemed perhaps even more dishevelled than usual, and so the call of greeting died in her throat before it could be voiced. It seemed she was not alone in having slept poorly during the night. Though she wished not to intrude, her own residual edginess prompted Bille to follows after the Greyfeyn on his morning trek through the mountain depths. The Snapping Turtle knew when to pick his moments, and Billie blue had learned those lessons perhaps better than any other among the Reds of her age. This was why she had been chosen. So she followed, nodded upon passing Stone Shields as they went, but remained far enough that her warding shadow did not intrude upon her companion in his solitary passage.

I was surprising indeed, then, when the paper soft touch fell upon her shoulder. Mimir, the elder, and his granddaughter came upon her first as she trailed after Hansi. The blind ancient and his diminutive guide took her down the brief passage to their archives, bidding her entertain herself as she wished while they fetched the other that walked in search of their treasures that morning. Billie was no mystic herself, but she had seen evidence enough of the sacred mysteries in her years to know that these pair were not simple librarians. She did as they had suggested, inspecting the massed scrolls upon the hexagonal lattice shelving with fascination, but remained always close to whence she had entered in case they should return. When they did, with Hansi in turn, her patience was rewarded.
Quote:
Originally Posted by Billie
"Mornin', Hansi,"
~

The poorest rest of all perhaps was that suffered by Gren. Torn between the traditions of obliterating flame and peaceful cohabitation, and attuned to imbalances of nature by his initiation into the druidic mysteries, the sense of observation drove him awake in the night's darkest hour. The rock walls might have seemed a prison, but they at least muffled his preparations as he set about readying himself to pursue whatever intruder had interrupted his dreams. He marked the bare floor with soft white stone in glyphs of tracing, and burned a small parcel of hair, herbs, and fat with conjured flame in the centre of this traced pattern. As the fumes filled his sleeping chamber, Gren's eyes rolled back into his skull until nothing showed but the whites.

Again he was in the realm of the unconscious, but this time with the power to pursue for himself. Where before the eagles he had sensed at the periphery of his muddied awareness had seemed set to hunt him, now they were vehicles for his own perception. He leapt like a spark between them, as though their ethereal feathers were kindling and he an ember building to a raging inferno. Northward they carried him, toward the rim of the world. Until suddenly he came upon a great and impassable barrier from which he was thrown back with disorienting violence. The Gren-spark plummeted earthward like a comet from the heavens, until at the point of impact all the ground opened up to swallow him in darkness.

He found himself metamorphosed, rather than extinguished. There he hung, in a great and cavernous void of utter black. His body suspended by a web of golden strands that coiled in alien glyphs below the surface of his translucent flesh as well as above. For all the dark about this spectacle, he was a riot of perception. His body was a body a thousand thousand times its own size, and though immobile he saw though innumerable beetle black and shining eyes studded throughout his totality. He was agonising chaos made manifest. He burned in cold pulses of racing fire.

Gren came gasping out of his trance; his muscles aching with a rictus imposed soreness. His stomach heaved with the disorienting shift of perception. Glimmers of his cryptic vision were still flashing behind his half-closed lids even as he retched an empty stomach into the basin meant for his cleansing. His senses seemed frayed raw to the point of over sensitivity. Outside, even with the insulation of stone, he heard the sounds of the others waking.
__________________
GM: The Last Journey
Status: house-hunting continues, your patience is appreciated!
everybody equal always

Last edited by ByronBulb; 11-28-2017 at 10:20 PM.
Reply With Quote
  #288  
Old 11-28-2017, 07:52 PM
Wynamoinen's Avatar
Wynamoinen Wynamoinen is offline
Eternal Bard
 
Tools
User Statistics
Last Visit: 01-17-2018
RPXP: 7212
Wynamoinen Wynamoinen Wynamoinen Wynamoinen Wynamoinen Wynamoinen Wynamoinen Wynamoinen Wynamoinen Wynamoinen Wynamoinen
Posts: 2,523
Hansi trudges his way through the mazelike stone warrens. His lips purse tighter and tighter as frustration mounts, and a stray grumble can be heard when he reaches another eerily similar intersection with eerily similar people. But he presses on.

The solution to not-enough walking, is to walk some more. This stone-maze seems unfair. Or dishonorable. Is it? I'll need to ponder. At least it isn't full of pony-riders. He walks some more. He nods to the sentries, but generally does not give a greeting, unless one is given first to him. He walks.

The hand on his shoulder startles him. Luckily for everyone involved, it is hard to quick-draw either a pike or a Claymore. He takes his hands off his weapons almost as soon as he places a hand on top of them.

"Oh! Apologies," he rumbles, seeing the invalid and the little girl. He looks confused at their talk of 'seeking their charge', but they are not simulacra of Astrid, so that is comforting. "Very well," is his response, and he follows. When they enter the scriptorium, he can't help but gasp in amazement. He looks around in wonder, knees almost shaking. It's overwhelming. He never imagined such a place. The defensive labyrinth pales in comparison.

Back home, he had three books. They were illicit, and scorned, and hidden in shame. They were also, as far as he knew, the greatest repository of knowledge in the Dectal mountains. He still has them. Those stories sometimes mention a library, but they are always irrelevant. They are tedious side-notes, from which adventure and adventurers fled. But a library is glorious, Hansi learns.

"I... this is... thank you, Sir Mimir, Lady, uh..." he realizes he doesn't know the girl's name, "my friend." He sets his weapons down - if there is one place where it is safe and worthy to do that, it must be here - and he begins randomly pawing through the tomes. He realizes, in a few minutes time, that this sort of overwhelming place must have a deep and arcane system of organization - a system he knew nothing about.

"Tell me, Mimir. I would like to read your epics - the heroic tales of the Stone Shields. When and why was the fortress created? What great battles and heroes made the redoubt necessary, and what battles were fought in its defense? Who sallied out, and who held its breaches?"

Almost to himself, he adds, "How could anyone possibly read and know all this? My reading is low, and my writing is bad, and slower. If only I could copy some tiny pieces, for my travels." As soon as Hansi is pointed to the right spot, Hansi will sit down, and not move until he is all but dragged out. He informs Billie of such:

"Good morning, Billlie the Blue Red. I shall be here until duty calls us to present ourselves to the court" he shudders "and to trials. Would you like to join me? I know little of horse-chivalry, less of honorable castle defense, and least yet of these strangely uniform mountaintop people. You are welcome to join me, and learn."

 
__________________
GM of Chosen of the Elements and Assault Squad: Princess

Last edited by Wynamoinen; 11-28-2017 at 08:40 PM.
Reply With Quote
  #289  
Old 11-29-2017, 05:18 PM
Avner's Avatar
Avner Avner is online now
Peace was never an option
 
Tools
User Statistics
Last Visit: 01-18-2018
RPXP: 18256
Avner Avner Avner Avner Avner Avner Avner Avner Avner Avner Avner
Posts: 17,892
Rhangar stretched his arms wide as he awoke in the mountains of the Great Eagle slowly bringing himself back to the reality of all that had changed in these past days. Rhangar was no longer Rhangar-wolf but instead a great falcon and the ranger had just started to piece together what that actually meant. Washing the sleep from his face he suddenly felt it the stone beneath him had somehow changed, it pulsed and trickled with life, with purpose. Looking over toward his friend he called to him.

"Do you feel it too?"he asked questioningly. The falcon let out a squawk of confirmation as it perched itself on Rhangar's shoulder.

Rhangar squatted down and put his hand to the ground as if to attempt to feel it with more purpose. Yes there was definitely something awoken here, but what? There was only one way to find out. Quickly the ranger gathered his things and started to make his way to meet the others. They for sure had all made their own observations and hopefully it could bring them some purpose. It did not take long to leave the entrance of the caves and return to where the champions had gathered.

"My companions. Well met, tell me to you feel the living stone this morning? I believe the Great Eagle is trying to tell us something."
__________________
Due to a change in circumstances my presence here will be limited until further notice.
Reply With Quote
  #290  
Old 11-30-2017, 09:56 AM
gotha's Avatar
gotha gotha is offline
Ancient Dragon
 
Tools
User Statistics
Last Visit: 01-18-2018
RPXP: 1086
gotha gotha gotha gotha gotha gotha gotha gotha
Posts: 833
Sweat, heat, chills and aches attacked Gren all at once as he tried to grasp what he had just saw. Whatever it was, it was not meant for human perception and his mind came close to breaking as it tried to comprehend. "Only the gods can kill a man with his own awareness" the words circled through Grens head, memories drudged up from his past, from before the Ash. Spoken by a father or uncle, a man Gren once looked up to, as they watched Whiteheart shaman trying to commune with the Gods. There was always a madness to shamen, and now Gren was beginning to understandwhy. Gren was once destined for that insanity, that was before the fire burnt all.

Gren slowed, concentrating on his breathing, allowing his brain simplify and let go. They are watching us. This was something Gren was always told, something he knew, but until now he never fully understood.

Gren dragged himself up, still gasping as the smoke dissipating around him, his clothes soggy with his own sweat. He sat for a second letting the present settle itself in and pushing the Gods further into the back of his mind. The voices of his companions outside seemed to beckon him, a strange driving urge to be among-st the familiar. In a frantic stumbling daze he got up and followed their chatter, the sound of a young girl and elderly man also bouncing off the stone walls.

His legs fumbled beneath him as he made his way through the labyrinth. Following the voices like crums to salvation, all a haze, his mind still stuck halfway between reality and his vision. Soon the sound of his companions stopped moving and grew louder as he approached. He shuffled into the library, his lower and upper body seemly loosely connected like a drunk, his eyes glazed over.

The site of all the books only brought something new for Gren to comprehend. "Answers!!" Gren mumbled as he stumbled to a shelf, his prior visions rushing forward again looking for something that might unlock their mystery.

"North, boundaries, edge of the world, gods, us....." Gren muttered incoherently as he fumble from shelf to shelf, his fingers grazing book bindings, looking for something that might give him answers.

Last edited by gotha; 11-30-2017 at 01:11 PM.
Reply With Quote
  #291  
Old 11-30-2017, 04:17 PM
Wynamoinen's Avatar
Wynamoinen Wynamoinen is offline
Eternal Bard
 
Tools
User Statistics
Last Visit: 01-17-2018
RPXP: 7212
Wynamoinen Wynamoinen Wynamoinen Wynamoinen Wynamoinen Wynamoinen Wynamoinen Wynamoinen Wynamoinen Wynamoinen Wynamoinen
Posts: 2,523
Hansi spends as much time as he can, flipping through the earliest lore of the Stone Shields.
Thrain, EaglebourneThe scrolls are uniform in hailing the glory of the founder of the tribe, the first recipient of the Gift: Thrain, Eaglebourne, bearer of the first Stone Shield. He was grand beyond telling, and the glory of the people of old. Heroic, in every sense of the term.

But the tales of Thrain (the first, it seems also, of Astrid's line?) do not capture Hansi's imagination. He is too mythic, too grand, too distant. These stories are mostly interesting to Hansi for what they leave out. The Stone Shields of the time were not much different from the Greyfeyn of present day. A people, clinging to the side of a mountain, desperately scraping a life from the land while fending off the terrors and trials of the world. They barely merit a mention in the stories. Their lot was hard, and long, and apparently not worth the scribe's telling. All but invisible.

Hansi imagines that the tales of the exploits of Thrain are well-known in the halls of the Eyrie. It would be polite to ask about him. Hansi tries to remember to do that. But in Hansi's assessment, the true foundational figure, the one from which he has much to learn, came later.
VarinFor four generations, the Stone Shield people foraged and scrounged and survived. In the fifth generation came Varin, descendant of Thrain, and bearer of the Gift. Varin, Hansi reckons, was a true hero of the PEOPLE, where Thrain was really a hero of the GODS - virtually an avatar, it seems, of the Great Eagle. It was Varin that solidified the permanent place of the Stone Shields in Ragnari. It was he who founded their seat of power, the Eyrie. And he performed true and good acts of chivalry, and honor, and valor.

In the time Hansi has to read, he gleans that the story of Varin goes as such:

Varin was a respected and strong leader of his people. Young, but wise beyond his years. His people had fended off raids from nearby tribes for years. Word came, one winter, that the nearby tribes - all of them, all at once - were gearing up to assault the Stone Shields, come Spring. This was unprecedented, and an existential crisis. The Stone Shields were still subsisting on the mountainside, exposed. If the scouts were right, the tribes would come from all sides, even over the Mountain itself. They needed to prepare. Varin ordered that a barricade be built, to be defended and defensible on all sides. This barricade was the foundation of the great Stone Fortress that still stands, today. In his wisdom, Varin saw that if the Stone Shields were to survive into the ages, they must have such a stronghold.

Spring came, and so did the assault, as foreseen. From the western flank came the mighty Cave Bear tribe (at the end of the tale, they are wiped out, Hansi reflects. Did their absence create room for Gren's Deer folk, and thence the Burning Ash?). From the east came the lithe Mountain Lion tribe. From the north, over the mountain, came the Snake. The tale says that this day, the day that sealed the fate of Varin and his people, was exactly 100 years from the day that Thorin first set foot upon the mountain.

The Stone Shields were already adept pony-masters. As dawn broke and the opposing forces converged, Varin nobly rode forth at the head of a pony-mounted charge. It was the perfect picture of chivalry and honor. With his noble bearing, strong arm, and the blessing of the Eagle, he led his people to meet the Cave Bear. The tribe was decimated, its remnants scattered to the four winds, never again to re-assemble. Varin was the picture of elegance and savage violence, and he emerged from the slaughter unharmed, vanquishing the strongest of the three enemy tribes as if he was scything down wheat.

But strength is not all it takes to win the day. The Snakes swept down from the heights, and the Mountain Lions held back, waiting to pounce. Varin was forced to charge, on pony back, up the mountain to meet the Snake. This was a noble task that he undertook without a second thought. But such a charge was tactically unsound. His forces struggled up the mountain as the Snake came down, like an avalanche. The Stone Shields again found victory, but this battle was not elegant, nor did Varin emerge unharmed. His pony was slain beneath him. On foot, Varin laid waste to his enemy, but he took blow after blow, bleeding and breaking in the process.

The Snake was vanquished, but the Stone Shield was battered, and the Mountain Lion awaited. Varin called forth this thanes. He bid them: those of you with family, or with promises that you cannot break, return to the barricade. Hold it, and swear now to build it, strengthen it, and love it. The rest of you, stand with me. We will meet the Mountain Lion, and we will not flee. We will stand, until we cannot stand any more. Tears were shed, oaths were sworn, and the doomed last regiment of Varin strode forth. They found a position outside their people's walls, and they stood. The Mountain Lion tribe pounced. Varin's regiment made the Mountain Lion pay five lives for every Stone Shield that fell. But the Lions paid this price, and Varin, last of all, fell beneath the claws of the foe.

This glorious last stand was enough. The Stone Shields behind the wall were able to hold the remainder of the attackers off, and they vanquished the tribe, thus establishing their people as a lasting force in Ragnari. Such was the legacy of one of the greatest knights in history, Varin of the Stone Shields.

Can the Greyfeyn learn from this? We - they - speak as if our place is fixed, the stockade and barricade of the world. Can we be more? Can we build, can we flourish? Must we - they - have a leader such as Varin? Perhaps I can strive to have half his valor. But I cannot lead them. I am but a sacrifice. Can they learn this lesson, when we return for Badger's blessing?
__________________
GM of Chosen of the Elements and Assault Squad: Princess

Last edited by Wynamoinen; 11-30-2017 at 04:25 PM.
Reply With Quote
  #292  
Old 12-02-2017, 04:22 AM
Xian's Avatar
Xian Xian is online now
Community Supporter
 
Tools
User Statistics
Last Visit: 01-18-2018
RPXP: 23174
Xian Xian Xian Xian Xian Xian Xian Xian Xian Xian Xian
Posts: 8,793
Astrid Stone Shield... Queen ElinorThey group had gathered in the most unexpected of places in the sanctuary of warriors... a library of the records and stories of the Stone Shields. It is in this place that the guardian of that knowledge watched the companions quietly from the shadows and as they spoke and voraciously dove into the books and scrolls contained within a slight smile graced her lips before she walked out to greet the heroes. Those who would recall from the introductions at court would have recognized the figure that emerged to be that of Queen Elinor, Astrid mother. If any of the companions rose or made mentioned of her position she would dismiss it graciously as she looked upon each.

Quote:
Originally Posted by Rhangar
"My companions. Well met, tell me to you feel the living stone this morning? I believe the Great Eagle is trying to tell us something."
right-aligned image

"Wisely said, Chosen... much more than you may realize. Quite unlike what the more conservative members of my tribe would have us believe that those outside of the confines of Stone Shields lands to be... barbarians... with no sense of continuity or history. I can see that you, as likely my daughter has as well, are different and exceptional in your own ways." Elinor says with a smile at the eagerly opened books and lore that laid in front of the companions, with Hansi and Gren in particular catching her eye. "Perhaps it is not surprising as likely this is why Destiny has plucked you as Chosen... just as it picked my daughter and youngest child from amongst my sons to perform the task of ensuring the survival of Ragnari because it is not what is the most apparent and tangible things which Destiny has selected you all."


"Do you wish to truly know our history? My daughter has deemed each of you to be worthy by choosing to accompany you on this journey and trust with you with her life... so if you so desire, then come honored Chosen, let me show you our history... our true history." Elinor beckoned to those that wished to follow. To those that accompanied her, Elinor pointed and traced lovingly to the countless engravings that adorned the wall of the mountain and the keep. "The true history... the narrative of the Stone Shields is not kept on these transient and fragile paper where they may be changed on the whim of a pen or succumb easily to the ravages of time. Our true history... our true narrative is carved into the enduring stone of the Great Eagle's mountain... unchanged from the time it was engraved. Even in the unlikely event our tribe should face defeat and our keep taken, our legacy... our heritage will not so easily be erased. For as long as our history endures... the Stone Shields will endure. Times and the people change, but the mountain and stone will remain enduring and unchanging. It is my sacred duty and every Queen before and every one that will follow to lay our history into the heart of these mountains."

Elinor led the Chosen throughout the halls and showed the history of the Stone Shields outside to the vast bastions of the keep of the hold they had been brought. It laid out the battles much as the accounts that Hansi had read but with far less embellishment. Thrain was honored as the initial savior of the Stone Shields and brought them to the mountain and saved the clan from initial destruction and laid down the foundations for the great keep that now contained their history. However the Clan had chosen to sequester themselves in the hallowed keep and their enemies grew strong. It was then Varin that lead them back from out of the bowels of the mountain. Varin was also honored on the walls for his heroics, but they were due to tactical innovation versus superhuman fortitude. It was the first time that the Stone Shield had mastered mounted combat and in particular mounted archery... it was this added mobility and lethality that allowed them to defeat their foes against such insurmountable odds. Varin did lead the charge that shattered the enemy lines at the cost of his life and those that followed him on it that allowed the rest of the Stone Shields to rally and then rout the enemy host to secure the Stone Shield's lands and position in Ragnari. This and other battles, Elinor lead them through lovingly laid down in stone, in both picture and script. Another wall held the legend of The Great Eagle and of his consort, Eluna. Elinor smiled as she described the divine queen of the Stone Shields as she then lead the group to the heart of the keep. Along the wall were carved out reliefs, forty four of them.

"This the place where each of The Great Eagle's Chosen come to carve out the stone for their shield... a sacred place intended for the Chosen... but you are Chosen are you not?" Elinor laughed as she described the place. "Forty three Chosen have become The Great Eagle's captains in his divine host... and now my daughter."

She paused at the mention of Astrid and then motioned and led the Chosen back to the main part of the keep that overlooked the entire castle.


"Perhaps some of you wondered why a people committed to the worship of the Great Eagle would sequester ourselves in the bowels of the mountain and earth." Elinor laughed as she spread her arms and relished in the feel of the wind on her face. She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. Elinor turned around as she opened her eyes and smiled and pointed to the "The short answer is that we don't... the rest of the Sky Eagle's people... the Stone Shields live under his vigilant eye in the sky. This keep is the home of the ruling House, but rule of the Stone Shields is as much a duty as it is a privilege. The king and queen and the ruling house are the appointed the guardian of our heritage and the garrison of the House's army. Our ascension ritual ensures that we remain ever ready and strong to protect that which is most important to us. Iron sharpens iron as the saying goes..."

The group came to the training grounds... warriors of all kinds were exercising and going through their morning ritual. One the warriors easily recognized by her pale blonde hair and the familiar ferocity in which she drilled as her shield and spear fending off multiple opponents. At the break, Astrid removed her helm and looked up onto the walls to see her mother and her Chosen companions. She smiled and waved to them.

"As a queen and a woman, I could not be more proud and honored by Astrid's ascension as the Chosen... the first woman ever to do so." Elinor said sadly as she watched her daughter smile and wave at her before she bowed and choked out a swift farewell and retreated to the interior of the keep again. "Yet in my heart as a mother... I did not wish this for her... the day she won was the saddest in my memory. May The Great Eagle forgive me. Please take care of her for me... Chosen."

 


 
__________________
Posting Status: Having some unexpected medical issues... Posting significantly impacted, but working towards recovery.
DM:The Forsaken Plane: The Plane of Elder Evils
"The only way to do the impossible is the to believe that they are possible."

Last edited by Xian; 12-02-2017 at 04:27 AM.
Reply With Quote
  #293  
Old 12-14-2017, 09:56 PM
ByronBulb's Avatar
ByronBulb ByronBulb is online now
Bright spark.
 
Tools
User Statistics
Last Visit: 01-18-2018
RPXP: 6322
ByronBulb ByronBulb ByronBulb ByronBulb ByronBulb ByronBulb ByronBulb ByronBulb ByronBulb ByronBulb ByronBulb
Posts: 3,897
Unfamiliar with the layout of the tunnels he may have been, but Rhangar was of the Ulv'Skogen. He was a hunter and a tracker born, and so his companions’ location did not elude him for long. The scope of this subterranean edifice had seemed intimidating at first, but as he paced its halls he came to understand a measure of the logic that underlay its construction. The deeper tunnels would have required stone to be ferried out to the surface, which in turn would have been utilised in the construction of the keep. This meant that he was easily able to determine which passages were for cart traffic and which were meant only for humans. The former, he surmised, must lead mainly to the surface and to storage areas such as armouries and kitchens. The latter to sleeping quarters such as the one from which he had come, or to communal areas.

Having determined this it was easier than ever to follow the spoor of his fellow chosen to the archives, where he found most of them gathered among the shelves and scrolls.

~

Though he searched frantically within the archives for gods and answers, Gren found little to still his frantic mind before the queen arrived. The Stone Shield records were far more concerned; it seemed, with embellished military accounts and other documents of that like. They had little curiosity for what lay beyond the Northern plain, in the Realm of the Gods. Far more concerned were they with the strengthening and management of this mountain which had been gifted them by their great spirit. The images revealed by his ritual scratched at the interior of his mind like a rat trapped beneath a bowl. What they could possibly portend though, he had no earthy idea.

~

Hansi's curiosity was far better rewarded than his young companion's. What he sought, he found in abundance. Mimir's archives brimmed over with as many different versions and accounts of Stone Shield history that it seemed almost a repository for the writings of every would-be historian the tribe had ever produced. In fact, when the keeper was questioned about this his answer was a dry and ancient chuckle. "There are as many histories as there are hands to write them, and eyes to read. It is for our minds to determine what we do, or do not believe to have occurred." The record keeper patted a wall with one near-translucent hand. "Stone is a fact, sky is a fact. Everything else only exists in here." His index finger pointed to Hansi's temple. Mimir's mouth twisted into a gap-filled and gentle smile. "You will learn this when you are old like me. Facts are too ancient to comprehend. It is for the young to fill themselves with everything the world has, as though it becomes more real to know it as such."

It seemed as though the elder might continue, but before he could the lady Elinor arrived. "My queen. I hope you have not spent too long in search of our guests. They have seen fit to honour my humble archives with a visit this morning. I will keep them from you no longer."

~

Ceallach woke last of the chosen, after his companions had already exited the barracks. This was only appropriate, for he had stayed awake far later than any other of them. Extricating himself from the warm entanglement of the still sleeping warrior that shared his pallet, the Wind Runner champion rose. He poured a measure of water from the pitcher provided and cleansed himself, before drinking from what remained. Quietly, he pulled on his seal leathers and gripped greim-ga. While the rest of his belongings could remain where they were, he would not let the mother's tooth lie unattended. That would not be fitting of its worth.

On exiting his quarters it was evident that the other chosen were gone about their business. The doors to their own sleeping chambers were ajar by degrees, evidencing their abandonment. Though he knew not where they had gone, whether they had together or separately, it hardly mattered to him. Humming cheerfully, Ceallach wandered out into the belly of the mountain in search of food and company. The walls caught his voice and threw it back in comforting fashion. The effect was not unlike that of the many sea caves in which he and his had taken shelter over the years. Though, he mused, those were ocean-carved by the mother's will. These were shaped by the hands of landsfolk.

Pausing in his passage, Ceallach ran his free hand over the carvings in the rock. Instinctively he recognised what he found there, for he bore its like inked into the very skin that he wore. This was a history, he knew in his bones, etched into the depths of the earth so that it might never be forgotten. He bellowed with laughter at the pleasure this realisation brought. These mountain dwellers were not so different from his own proud people, though they expressed themselves differently. This tale would make for a great verse in the long song when it came time for their journey to bring them back among the Wind Runners.

His laughter drew attention, an old man and his granddaughter. In his distraction Ceallach had not noticed their approach. While he spoke with the near-blind elder the little one stared silently and unselfconsciously at the tapestry of his exposed skin. With the wisdom of a child it seemed that she too saw the similarities between the images he wore and those that surrounded them. As luck would have it, the elder knew of his companions' passage within the mountain, and so Ceallach bade the pair farewell before making to join with the others. He did not question this turn of fortune. They were chosen, after all, it was their fate to be together.

~

Queen Elinor's sorrow hung in the air for a moment, before being replaced by a determinedly happy expression. "Do not let my mother's concern worry you, chosen. Like my daughter you are all no doubt champions in your own right. The spirits that guard Ragnari demand only the strongest of blood for the sacrifice. You would not have been chosen were you less than worthy." She turned to lead them back into the mountain. "Come, this is to be a day of celebration! The main dining hall has been made ready for a great feast, and when the sun grows low over the mountain it will be time for you all to face the Great Eagle's trial."

~

The hall had indeed been prepared for their arrival. It seemed as though a full half the population of the great stone fortress occupied its vastness. Figures bustled about the aisles between the tables that ran its length, laying plates and baskets full of food along their surfaces. The air of the hall echoed with the cacophony of a thousand voices, each vying to be heard over the crying of the next. Scents too competed with one another, the rich aroma of roasted flesh mixing with that of freshly baked loaves. Nothing seemed to have been spared in assembling this display, and a display it was indeed, one of jaw dropping proportion. The Stone Shields had evidently been saving supplies the entire time since their last chosen had gone to the gods in order to be able to welcome another group of sacrifices.

Queen Elinor smiled at the obvious disbelief displayed be several chosen. "There will be hungrier times to come after this. We Stone Shields think it only fair that our tribe should sacrifice something ourselves, if it should make you stronger on the next leg of your journey." A subtle gesture of her hand sent a pair of nearby warriors running to announce the group's arrival with the ringing of another hidden gong. The ripples of this sound preceded them as Elinor led the party to the head of the room, bringing a respectful silence to quiet the din. The head table ran perpendicular to the others occupying the hall, raised by a small step so that all there might see those that dined with their king. At the centre of this, facing the chosen, sat king Thorin of the Stone Shields in ceremonial garb. At his left was an empty seat, which the queen made her way to before helping her husband up with a steadying hand. One seat beyond her sat Alessar, who rose also and offered the group a nod. On Thorin's right sat another son, who bore the aspect of his father and brother, but with a grimmer set to his features by far. This one, Vergas, remained seated while his father spoke.

"You are welcome among the Stone Shields, chosen of Ragnari!" Though the king was obviously of declining health, his voice rang out strong and clear in the air of the hall. There was no doubt that even those farthest from him would have no trouble catching his words. "Come, take your place at my table. Perhaps you will grace us with a few words in exchange for the bounty offered?" A roar of approval greeted this suggestion; it seemed for all the world as though every throat in the hall cried out to hear from these curious strangers fate had brought among them. Steadying himself on the back of his chair, Thorin raised his free hand to again bring silence to the room.

OoDMI took the liberty of fast-forwarding things a little bit. Please assume that everyone's gathered together now. As always, feel free to flashback if you like.
__________________
GM: The Last Journey
Status: house-hunting continues, your patience is appreciated!
everybody equal always
Reply With Quote
  #294  
Old 12-15-2017, 08:01 PM
Wynamoinen's Avatar
Wynamoinen Wynamoinen is offline
Eternal Bard
 
Tools
User Statistics
Last Visit: 01-17-2018
RPXP: 7212
Wynamoinen Wynamoinen Wynamoinen Wynamoinen Wynamoinen Wynamoinen Wynamoinen Wynamoinen Wynamoinen Wynamoinen Wynamoinen
Posts: 2,523
Hansi smiles and nods, graciously but mutely, as the Queen (a Queen? THE Queen!) comes, shows them much of the stronghold, and then guides them to the Great Hall. The throng, and the bounty, is a spectacle that Hansi can barely comprehend, much less respond to in a gracious way.

Then the King (a King? THE King!) greets them, and hails them, and calls for a speech. And the Queen smiles and nods. And the Thanes, and the servants, and the children, and the elders, they all roar for a speech. It's Truce all over again, but on a grander, more terrifying scale! At least no one is presently threatening to cut him and pour water over him. All the same, he blanches and staggers a step, as if dealt a physical blow.

Stupid! Mute! Idiot! Be a hero, fool! Meet the Challenge! Tell tales! You know what they want to hear. You know what YOU would want to hear! So say it, dummy!

It's true, he certainly knows what he would want to hear. Tales of glory, tales of chivalry. Promises of sacrifice, and victory, and pain. The end of a story, and the start of another. But how do the Stone Shields want to hear these things? He's got passing knowledge, now, of their history. Varin still spins in his mind, but Thrain is the great culture-hero of their people. Surely, HE is who they want to hear of, whatever is Hansi's opinion of each.

The pikeman steps forward. He raps the butt of his pike on the flagstones and clears his throat. "Stone Shields! Thank you for your... hospitality. For this glorious welcome. I have come here, and I have learned of your Heroes. I can only hope that We Chosen can be a tenth of who your Great Thrain was. Laying waste to his Challengers. Cleaving through the Mountain...uh..."

He befuddles himself in their Lore, so new to him, mixing up the two great heroes "...riding before the dawn to meet the charge, holding to the last in the sunset, um..." He stops, realizing what a gross error he has made, before a huge crowd. A crowd that has certainly, to the last child, heard these tales since they were in the cradle. He shakes his head, and his eyes water in embarrassment. A tear threatens to drop down his clean cheek.

"No. That's not right. I'm sorry. I... I can only pledge to be me, and to do my best. But, but..." he looks back to the other Chosen, as if they can save him from the mire he's sunk himself into. "But, I can pledge to do my best. Even unto my death, as your Varin did. If by my blood and my life, I can protect your Astrid, I shall. Just as she has bled for me, already. I swear... I swear that we WILL create a place, our Ragnari, where the people can prosper. As did your grand Varin. And, and, I will stand before the Spirits, and do as they command. And lay waste to all Challengers. As did your Great Thrain. I will hold against anyone who would challenge our mission - mine, and your Astrid's, and Gren's and Ceallach's, and Rhangars and... um, other-Rhangar's, and Billie Blue's - all of ours mission. I will hold against any challengers here and now. I will hold against any Greyfeyn. Or Burning Ash, or Unclanned. For our Quest WILL succeed, and the spirits WILL be appeased. I swear it! Who would challenge it?"

He glares around with a somewhat wild look in his eyes, as if he expects someone to actually rise up, here and now, and throw down. Hansi feels an urge to stare down Astrid's brother, if only he knew what he looked like.
__________________
GM of Chosen of the Elements and Assault Squad: Princess
Reply With Quote
  #295  
Old 12-16-2017, 05:26 AM
gotha's Avatar
gotha gotha is offline
Ancient Dragon
 
Tools
User Statistics
Last Visit: 01-18-2018
RPXP: 1086
gotha gotha gotha gotha gotha gotha gotha gotha
Posts: 833
Gren had found no comfort in the words of the library and with each failure his mind numbed to the scratching. Stories of heros and battles flew in through his head and out again, offering no answers to what he had saw. It wasn't until he heard his own name mentioned by the familiar voice of Hansi, in the pikeman's booming awkwardness that he snapped from his zombie like trance. He looked around at the feast and the festivities surrounding him, trying to recall the passage of time from the library to the present. When Hansi finished he meekly raised his glass trying to fit into the crowd, but even now all he could spare was half his attention, the question from before still ate at his skull. Hansi speech about challenges and gods only made the urges more intense. His eyes just stared blankly at his surroundings as questions continued to circle in his head, only broken when friends or others called on him for questions at which he would nod or smile before giving himself over to the pondering once again.
Reply With Quote
  #296  
Old 12-18-2017, 09:20 AM
secretID's Avatar
secretID secretID is offline
Community Supporter
 
Tools
User Statistics
Last Visit: 01-18-2018
RPXP: 946
secretID secretID secretID secretID secretID secretID secretID secretID
Posts: 2,781
By the time Billie reached the great hall, she had little appetite, and in fact an encroaching nausea. Each new aspect of this tribe, each new encounter and setting, increasingly disoriented her, undermined her beliefs, and offended her sensibilities.

When she was led through the labyrinthine hallways – themselves foreign, overwhelming and oppressive – she had hoped it was toward a simple meal, or perhaps to another place of repose like the bathing pool. Instead, she was presented with the library, a large chamber dedicated to nothing but the storage of writings. Few members of Billie’s village were fully literate; Billie herself knew only the few symbols she had briefly studied and learned on her own when she was a child, playing with them like amusing toys. Among the Red, writing was a simple practicality, but here it was preserved as if it could sustain people, enshrined as if it had independent identity and power. When her companions eagerly reached for some of the scrolls, Billie felt some shame at her ignorance, but also a discomfort with what looked like a waste of resources.

If waste it was, it was nothing against the opulence of the feast in great hall – and the hall itself. The Red held celebrations, but always in the open air, largely because their buildings were too small and poorly furnished. Food played a part, but it was nothing like this presentation.

In all, Billie had much preferred her time on the trail to her experience so far with the Stone Shield; she would have preferred to eat and sleep beside a campfire to the honors shown the party this night.

But most discomfiting of all of this was the sudden demand for public speaking. The Red had no trouble talking – Billie could list several in her village who were happy to spend an hour making sounds and saying little – but it was a different matter to take the floor and speechify to a crowd this size. In fact, the Red idiom for it, “climbing the Turtle,” was mildly pejorative. Every Red village had but a few people prone to that behavior, most of them the community leaders, for better or worse. Billie herself had spoken publicly only once in her life, in probably the most difficult moment of her life: when she stood before the assembled qalits to defend her resistance to the passive life of the born sacrifice and to make her case for the opportunity to join The Iron Red. Her cause prevailed that time, but likely despite her arguments, not because of them.

Billie drew some comfort from Hansi’s somewhat stumbling example. But now all eyes were on her, and whatever her judgments of the Stone Shield’s customs, Billie did not want to be rude. She stood.

“This is a fine feast you have here,” she said, far too quietly for much of the hall to hear, “and we appreciate it. We can use some good food after our travels.” Billie paused for a moment, then responded to a few calls of "speak up!" “Your home is very nice," she half-shouted. "And we like Astrid very much – she’s a good fighter. Thank you.” Billie sat to quarter-hearted cheers and looked down at her plate.
Reply With Quote
  #297  
Old 12-18-2017, 03:50 PM
Avner's Avatar
Avner Avner is online now
Peace was never an option
 
Tools
User Statistics
Last Visit: 01-18-2018
RPXP: 18256
Avner Avner Avner Avner Avner Avner Avner Avner Avner Avner Avner
Posts: 17,892
Rhangar approached the others with his companion on his shoulder. As they spoke of the library his interest wavered, he did not understand why one would spend time to read in a book when they can learn all they need to from the land. Sure his people had a written language, it was rarely used and kept for mostly religious or momentous records to be passed down through cave writings and leather inscriptions. Nothing to the level of this library.

The ranger mostly hung to the back until he was called over to the feast. Like any animal he knew to eat while he had the chance, so for both him and Rhangar-Falcon it was no issue. "Thank you greatly for your food and a seat at your table."he said as he dove into the meal. Ripping of an occasional piece of meat to throw toward his companion who was now perched on the back of the chair beside him. "They are right, Astrid represents your clan well. I strive to do for my clan as she has done for yours."
__________________
Due to a change in circumstances my presence here will be limited until further notice.
Reply With Quote
  #298  
Old 01-08-2018, 09:49 PM
ByronBulb's Avatar
ByronBulb ByronBulb is online now
Bright spark.
 
Tools
User Statistics
Last Visit: 01-18-2018
RPXP: 6322
ByronBulb ByronBulb ByronBulb ByronBulb ByronBulb ByronBulb ByronBulb ByronBulb ByronBulb ByronBulb ByronBulb
Posts: 3,897
Stone Shield hospitality and Stone Shield discipline, these were what greeted the offered words of Ragnari's chosen. Whatever nervousness it was that confounded Hansi's tongue in its attempt to relate their own journey to the trials of this people's cultural heroes went all but unremarked upon. In the silence between his stumbling and stammering, and the challenge that followed, there was only the voice of a lone child to note his mistake. Even this was quickly shushed into silence. The chosen had made their way to this place on their own merit, and would travel far farther beyond these walls with nothing more to sustain them than the same. They were not to be paraded like some procession of oddities for the amusement of their hosts. They were honoured, and if the Stone Shields knew one thing above all else; it was honour.

Where his mistakes went without notice, what Hansi spoke next did not. As the first words of his challenge broke the awkward silence the very air of the hall took on an aspect of attentiveness. It seemed the very stone from which the space had been carved bent its attention to these words, and to the promise that they entailed. The Stone Sheilds, and their cavernous fortress too absorbed all that was said there, treasured it even. Four hundred and some pewter pitchers raised at the conclusion of Hansi's speech, and crashed against the benches set out so near one another that the gesture might have been practiced. Might have been practiced, were it not for the desperate spontaneity of that which inspired the gesture.

The rhythmic percussion of drinking vessels against wood continued, and grew louder, as first Billie and then Rhangar added their own contributions alongside Hansi's. As the chosen spoke more of the Stone Shields took up the beat that had been begun in answer to Hansi's challenge. The Greyfeyn felt his upper arm gripped by strong and calloused fingers, as he was ushered gently to a seat at the long table. Ceallach's voice spoke in his ear, full as it always was of barely contained humour. "You should sweat less, brother-mine. We are not on trial here in this mountain. They think us a part of their history, and they are not wrong. You made good account of yourself. Enjoy what is offered while there's the chance to. There is o cassava here, I think, and there will no doubt be hungry days ahead of us." Guiding Hansi into a seat, Ceallach gripped his companion's shoulder firmly enough to bruise a weaker man.

The Wind Runner sacrifice turned himself to Thorin and his queen Elinor, offering them the best approximation of a bow that his rude manners allowed. After this he rotated on one heel, stomping his free foot to halt his spin when he faced the crowd that filled the hall. With both hands he raised mighty greim ga above his head, holding the shaft of the weapon parallel to the floor. For a heartbeat and a half he held this pose, then brought the heel of the mother's tooth down upon the stone so as to join and match the clapping of drinking vessels that filled the hall. "A song, Stone Sheilds; most gracious hosts!" Ceallach bellowed that his voice might be heard over the growing cacophony. His exuberance was enough to quell the most of this, and so his next words came softer than those which preceded them. "A song of your Astrid, and of Rhangar, and Billie, And Hansi, and Gren too. Who have been my brothers and sisters in battle and travel both, and whose deaths with mine will invigorate the earth that all might prosper!"

Out on the plain where law is strength
and justice deals at a pike-length
four blooded brothers with sisters two
met outcast madness, and madness slew.

Where illness wore the guise of right
these six outnumbered tried their might
of steel, and storm, and root, and flame
of edged steel, and hunter's aim.

They faced unclanned beyond their number
but 'neath this tide would not fall under
the foe believed their cause was right
to spread their sickness, starve, and blight.

It would not be, the choice was made
so chosen readied spear and blade
they conjured forth their spirits proud
and one by one they felled the crowd.

For long they hewed, they hacked, and battled
and wounds unnumbered tried their mettle
the earth itself ran slick with blood
that day of killing, before the flood.

Ragnari's chosen would not there fall
upon the hill, they six stood tall
they pierced and battered, slew and burned
so their purposed journey be preserved.

These six before you, the spirit's chosen
will travel plains, mountains, and ocean
in our hearts beat the blood of all
with our deaths, the world's may yet be stalled.

As his song fell away into the silence that followed, brash Ceallach betrayed a moment's uncertainty. It was visible to none but his companions, who had known him close enough these past weeks to see through the facade of bravado that overlaid it. Yet, it was visible still, and they had among them eyes enough to note it, and ears as well. "It is only a poor song, I am afraid. I am only a novice, after all." Whatever ears the muttered protest might have been meant for, none beyond the platform heard. The percussion had resumed with the conclusion of the final verse, and so had the innumerable cries of the Stone Shield's appreciation. Only the booming of the lord Thorin's voice was sufficient to calm this excitement.

"A fine offering, do you not agree; my Stone Shields?" For all his age, Thorin's query seemed to shake the room with its power. Even so, it was dwarfed by the cry of affirmation that answered. For several heartbeats the belly of the mountain echoed with a thousand voiced all reverberating and building upon one another until it seemed as though the very earth clamoured its joy that the chosen had taken their time to speak within it. Thorin let this go on for as long as his people willed, old though he was, the lord of the mountain knew well when to let the crowd have their way, and when to tighten the leash. Balancing himself upon his chair back, he gestured for silence with his free hand, and in a few moments his command was granted.

"Eat now, and know that this bounty of the earth is only ours by the sacrifice of those last chosen. This bread and flesh is their gift to us, and we share it now with these newest six who have come from us and come among us! Feast, people of the Great Eagle, and be joyous. For there will be a tomorrow, and another after, and it is because of these six that we may see again the sun rise." With this it seemed the last of Thorin's strength gave out. All that kept the king from utter collapse was the steadying grip of his queen, who helped her husband down into his seat as gently as she was able. The rest of the hall's occupants seemed not to notice this; instead they renewed the hubbub of babble that had been put on pause for the preliminary spectacle.

Drums of skin stretched over wood frames, and horns of hollowed bone started up i. n the far reaches of the hall. The Stone Shields did not often use such instruments for more than militaristic purpose, but this had not stunted their ability. A natural exuberance, perhaps made greater by the suppression of their typical discipline, leant a vibrant energy to the music. Soon the hall was again alive with voices and music, and the sounds of enthusiastic feasting. A pale king Thorin rested in his chair throughout this; recouping the energy he had expended to rouse his people to this. Elinor paid her husband quiet attention, subtly keeping his weakness from the gathered mass. To her left Alessar joked with his sister as he ate. To their father's right the older son, Vergas, ate and watched the chosen in silence. Particularly his gaze fell again and again upon the youngest of them, on Gren, and on his ashen markings in particular. Alone of the Stone Shields it seemed that Astrid's eldest brother bore no welcome in his heart for the chosen of Ragnari. In fact, as he stared them down one by one, it seemed he had for them little but suspicion.
__________________
GM: The Last Journey
Status: house-hunting continues, your patience is appreciated!
everybody equal always

Last edited by ByronBulb; 01-08-2018 at 09:58 PM.
Reply With Quote
  #299  
Old 01-09-2018, 01:31 AM
gotha's Avatar
gotha gotha is offline
Ancient Dragon
 
Tools
User Statistics
Last Visit: 01-18-2018
RPXP: 1086
gotha gotha gotha gotha gotha gotha gotha gotha
Posts: 833
The circus of thoughts running through Gren’s head slowly trickled into emptiness as weariness began to take his mind. Throughout the festivities Gren sat, an empty vessel parroting those around him, his eyes lazily weaving between happenings as they unfolded. After the King had departed and the ceremony was left to roam free wherever the drunken banter shall take it, Gren sat silent his eyes softly staring at the wall in front of them, letting his surroundings rush in and out, his senses free of mental judgement.

In the periphery of these surroundings Gren could feel a burning gaze glaring his his direction. Gren slowly pivoted his neck, his eyes lackidazily rolling upwards meeting his voyeurs stare dead on. At any other time Gren’s eyes would dart downwards, like a litters runt submitting to his siblings. Gren’s mind though was too weary for such calculations and instead met burning stone with a lazy gaze. Like a pampered house cat his eyes sat unyielding locked in Vergas direction, unconcerned with their intent.

Slowly his hands raised up, and rubbed his ashen marks. Not in any display of strength, merely the fact his slow mind had finally grasped what had drawn the Vergas’s attention. Quietly Gren covers his marks with his baggy suite and his gaze once again takes its resting position on the wall in front of him.
Reply With Quote
  #300  
Old 01-09-2018, 10:02 AM
Avner's Avatar
Avner Avner is online now
Peace was never an option
 
Tools
User Statistics
Last Visit: 01-18-2018
RPXP: 18256
Avner Avner Avner Avner Avner Avner Avner Avner Avner Avner Avner
Posts: 17,892
Rhangar sat at the table as he enjoyed the feast, his companion perched on his shoulder has he through up bits of meat and other scraps for the hawk to quickly chomp down. He took a sip of the wine they had offered them as he enjoyed the song by Ceallach giving out a hearty cheer at the end to show his appreciation raising his glass in toast to the adventure it so described. When the King once again began to give them praise Rhangar withdrew to his more humble self. It was one thing to mutually celebrate their success, it was another to flaunt it in a request for praise. The ranger was there for a reason and none of it involved others approval. Not that he minded the attention, he just would never embrace it.

As the feast continued on Rhangar kept to himself or at least it seemed. He finshed filling both him and his soul brother before making his way around the great hall. His eyes were keen as the hawk that accompanied him and he often kept his gaze on Vergas. One thing Rhangar had observed about the suspicious types, they often had something of their own to hide. It was usually the birth of such a personality, imposing their sins on others. The Rangers job had been to keep watch, to keep the others safe, and he continued to do so.
__________________
Due to a change in circumstances my presence here will be limited until further notice.
Reply With Quote
Reply

Thread Tools

Posting Rules
You may not post new threads
You may not post replies
You may not post attachments
You may not edit your posts

BB code is On
Smilies are On
[IMG] code is On
HTML code is Off



All times are GMT -4. The time now is 08:06 PM.
Skin by Birched, making use of original art by paiute.(© 2009-2012)


RPG Crossing, Copyright ©2003 - 2018, RPG Crossing Inc; powered by vBulletin, Copyright ©2000 - 2018, Jelsoft Enterprises Ltd. Template-Modifications by TMB