Game Thread South, across the Middle Sea - Page 7 - RPG Crossing
RPG Crossing Home Forums Create An Account! Site Rules & Help

RPG Crossing
Go Back   RPG Crossing > Games > Dungeons & Dragons: 5e > In the Coils of Veles
twitter facebook
0 6 3 0
... raised for charity (includes promised matching)!
: +

Notices

Reply
 
Thread Tools
  #91  
Old Aug 2nd, 2021, 10:43 PM
DaysUntold's Avatar
DaysUntold DaysUntold is offline
Community Supporter
 
Tools
User Statistics
Last Visit: Dec 3rd, 2021
RPXP: 16489
DaysUntold DaysUntold DaysUntold DaysUntold DaysUntold DaysUntold DaysUntold DaysUntold DaysUntold DaysUntold DaysUntold
Posts: 2,564

Nae’laa's head spun as tales wove around accusations bundled with incoherence. More than once, she thought about fleeing, stopped only by a torn and strange sense of loyalty. The quickly approaching guards didn't help the matter. It is hard to imagine that such a spectacle would go unnoticed.

So instead, she stood frozen like a fragile deer, staring at the scene with far less reaction than the situation deserved, all things considered. Perhaps that lent credence to the situation, but she couldn't take credit for her performance. Her mind was racing at such a speed that she could barely process what was happening.

Relief flooded through her as the watchmen left, seemingly characterized quite adeptly by the minotaur who came to their rescue. She would have to remember to speak with him later, should the opportunity arise. In the meantime, though, it seemed as if Zenda had other plans for them.

She followed, reluctantly, staying towards the back of the group in case the situation should go south.

Awkwardness set in quickly as Azar turned and apologized. The wizard shifted uncomfortably and turned to Bato as if searching for some sort of escape or reassurance... a fruitless attempt to be sure. So, she was stuck in something between a grimace and a smile far too long. It wasn't until the woman turned away that she allowed herself to relax slightly, cursing the years of isolation for her social ineptitude.

"Keep him?" she finally chimed in, despite herself. "Does he even want to be here? Would our employer even allow such an addition?"

She blushed at her perceived outburst, though her voice was no louder than anyone else's. She quickly realized she was also speaking as if he weren't there, but couldn't bring herself to correct her error.

StatBlock
 
__________________
Officially back starting 11/1.

Last edited by DaysUntold; Aug 2nd, 2021 at 10:43 PM.
Reply With Quote
  #92  
Old Aug 5th, 2021, 02:12 PM
Strangemund's Avatar
Strangemund Strangemund is offline
Your Local Cryptid
 
Tools
User Statistics
Last Visit: Dec 4th, 2021
RPXP: 6407
Strangemund Strangemund Strangemund Strangemund Strangemund Strangemund Strangemund Strangemund Strangemund Strangemund Strangemund
Posts: 1,270
New party member unlocked...
right-aligned image
Kazimir wasn’t the sort to stare, but be still his blackened heart, without the smoke and mirrors, Azar was something else. Scaled like a golden serpent. Eyes red like a baleful flame. A young, lithe thing compared to ole Red, but no less dangerous from the way she held herself like a pointed dagger. She was a venomous beauty, one that could poison a man’s heart just as easily as his cup. Which seemed to be the running theme here. A bunch of beautiful lasses gathered together. Each queerer than the last. Kazimir knew he joked about The Sighing Lady being a circus troupe, he just didn’t realize how true it was until he saw them all standing together. All they were missing was the lion, but he supposed big, mean, and furry could make it work, with the right wig, of course.

"Okay, let’s talk." Kazimir covered himself as Azar glanced him up and down, suddenly feeling very exposed. "I suggest we start by deciding whether we should kill this one."

Ah soddin’--! They were the murderous kind! Quickly, talk your way out of this, Kazimir, use your elven charms. "I vote no," Kazimir blurted out, hand raised and all. "Maybe Imma bias opinion, but murderin’ sounds like a lotta work. Way easier to just bribe me. In fact, I’ll just pretend ye bribed me, and be on me merry way right now." As Kazimir turned around to walk away, dusting his hands at a job well done, he walked smack dab into the wall of meat that was Batoyangi. The bloody bastard blocking the only way out. Kazimir gave him a weak smile, and stepped back, slowly and carefully, just in case he felt a wee bit nippy. "Apologies, laddie, didn’t see ye there…"

By the Nine Realms, he was stuck here, wasn’t he? A cursory glance around the bottom deck proved a hopeless endeavor. All the crates and boxes they carried across the water were already hauled topside. Barely anywhere for him to squirrel away and hide behind that they wouldn’t discover immediately. And the hub-bub above would drown out his screams for help. Damn sailors were naturally outright loud bastards. He supposed he could pretend to have a heart attack and hope for the best. It worked with bears, and they weren’t nearly as terrifying as these lasses.

Just as Kazimir was trying to figure out the best way to act out his sudden and tragic death, Red--bless her beautiful, foolish head--unleashed hell upon Azar.

"Kill I should think you would want to kiss him. The oh so conveniently placed savior who just happened to be lingering on deck at the exact moment you tried to lead our companions astray…" They must never know the truth. "Oh. So that's it!" Red sneered at Azar in disgust, while Kazimir cut his eyes between the two, slowly realizing that his luck was turning, as Red’s wild paranoia went from a fun show to sweet, sweet opportunity. "Now that you have been caught with your hand in the cookie jar, you want to quietly eliminate your co-conspirator? Worse, you expect me to do your dirty work for you?" Red stormed off with an insulted laugh, and dug into a nearby pack. "Not a chance!"

Kazimir quirked a brow at the paperwork Red held in front of her, acting as though it were a holy parchment rather than a dusty pile of papers. With a mighty air, she threw her shoulders back, and held her head high, as she announced for all to hear in a voice that was disturbingly watcher-like. "Under the authority granted me by Her Most Gracious Excellency, Casmara Moshiri Azrabahir, The Scaled-Heart Sultana of the Glorious Empire of Mharot, Voice of the Morza, Defender of the Golden City of Harkesh, Bearer of the Breath, and Humble Daughter of Great Azuran, I place you under arrest." Oh by the gods, it was worse than he thought! They weren’t murderers! They were politicians! "You may consider yourself in the custody and under the protection of the Scaled Throne (in exile). You are a material witness...and I will take it very, very personally if something should happen to my witness."

"Wait, what was that last part?" Kazimir gave a confused half-smile, half-frown, trying his best to process what ole Red just told him. "Did ye just arrest me? Ye cannae do ‘at. Ye have no authority here. Right?" He glanced uncertainly at the Badlands Witch and sourpuss Azar. His smile faltered, just a little, as he repeated. "...right?" But the looks on their face said plenty. She had, in fact, arrested him. Claimed him as a material witness to a crime that only existed in her most paranoid dreams. That wasn’t fair at all! He hadn’t done anything wrong (this time)! In fact, he was downright saintly, helping them out of a nasty jam, while his own bacon was frying.

Running a hand through his red hair, Kazimir wore a grim expression. Being arrested by such high-tier officials was almost as bad as getting gutted by Fun-Gus. Freedom was all he ever had in the hundred years he lived. Nothing else mattered as much. Not when it was all so fleeting-- the heartbreaks, the deaths, and homes lost-- came and went as easily as a passing breeze. And yet, here he was, collared and leashed like a bloody dog, because he couldn’t keep it in his pants. Somewhere in the Nine Realms, Loki must have been having a good laugh at his expense.

"'Oh that's just racist.'Kazimir of… the Pointed-ears." Kazimir glanced up from his brooding, only to quirk a brow at the disgusted shudder that ran up and down Azar’s small frame. "I… will come back to you." Kazimir gave a look to Batoyangi that said ‘What the hell was that for?’ before he realized that Azar was apologizing to the others. He snorted softly, more than a little insulted she brushed him off so quickly when she was the one who threatened to murder him and got him arrested. For nothing, by the way, as all he had done was help with her shoddy lying. Although apparently that wasn’t the only thing she needed help with-- her apologies were a sorry thing to behold, too.

By the time Azar made her way back around to him, Kazimir was prepared. He folded his arms across his chest. All five feet of him looked up at her expectantly, as he wasn’t going to settle for anything less than the best.

But then Azar startled him by doing the one thing he didn’t prepare for-- being genuine.

It disarmed Kazimir.

He thought for sure she was going to spin this as his fault. But no. She was sorry he was here. Because it meant he’d face bigger dangers than Fun-Gus, the Scarlet Blade, or the Rat King combined. That he’d regret his time with them, not because of the lies, the paranoia, or the deceit, but because whatever quest they were on was bigger than them.

Kazimir said nothing. He cupped his hand over his mouth, as his squinty eyes seemed distant. As if his thoughts were miles and miles away from here. No doubt Azar thought him overwhelmed by the truth. Her promises more than he knew to handle. He’d need time to adjust, she’d think, to absorb his newfound pains, all the while oblivious to the wild, mad smile that stretched from pointed ear to pointed ear on his handsome face.

"So are we keeping him?" asked Bato, noticing the smell of fear and grief started to fade on the blue-stained elf. A new scent was brewing. Something far more familiar to the ex-pit fighter. Unbridled excitement.

"Keep him?" The Badlands Witch, known as Nae’laa, stepped up to Kazimir’s defense, and caught his eyes as she looked at him. And for a moment, she swore she saw something other than surprise in his grey eyes. Not fear, not grief, but joy. "Does he even want to be here? Would our employer even allow such an addition?"

Kazimir couldn’t have asked for a better opening.

"Aye, it is a troublin’ thing, it is." Kazimir sighed and drooped his head low, shaking his head as he put his blue-stained hands on his hips. The perfect picture of sadness. Sullen right down to his leathered boots. "Stolen away from me home, like a babe from a cradle. Oh, sweet, sweet Candano, tears me heart apart to say goodbye to her. All the friends I have made. Me dearest love I’ll never see again…" He bit his knuckle to keep himself from crying, and turned away, just in case ole Red and Azar were checking for his crocodile tears. "But I understand what must be done. What part I must play. An’ who am I to deny officials from the Scaled Throne? I am just wee simple man, born from the elven glades o’ Allegedly, Elven. It means 'spilled milk.'Leche Derramada. Aye, I’ll accept the fate thrusted upon me by Kazimir definitely winked at her, when he thought no one else was looking.my callous associate Azar…"

"An’ I thank you, Red--nay, Zenda, was it?" He threw a silvered smile her way, Kazimir bowing in a formal manner that didn’t suit his greasy nature. "Ye spared me life in more ways than one, Miss Zenda. It is a kindness I hope to return one day."

Popping back up to his feet, Kazimir clapped his hands together, and grinned at all four of them like a fox let loose in a hen house. "Now! Anyone here know how to play a game o' Hnefatafl?"
__________________
Status: *Dabs*
DMing: And the Devil Dances Beneath a Mosaic Sky
Characters: Thunder in the Morning - Harp Strum - Captain Tavosh - Kazimir
Reply With Quote
  #93  
Old Aug 7th, 2021, 10:34 PM
4eyedBadger's Avatar
4eyedBadger 4eyedBadger is offline
Community Supporter
 
Tools
User Statistics
Last Visit: Dec 1st, 2021
RPXP: 7570
4eyedBadger 4eyedBadger 4eyedBadger 4eyedBadger 4eyedBadger 4eyedBadger 4eyedBadger 4eyedBadger 4eyedBadger 4eyedBadger 4eyedBadger
Posts: 2,223
The Sighing Lady, Candano docksThe sun dips beneath the western edge of the disc that is the world of Midgard, leaving the mortal realms in the shadow of the Summer Lands for another day. Kazimir emerges from the cabin where his loose captivity was declared by Zenda and climbs the steps back to the deck. Standing on the polished wood, looking up at the masts reaching toward the starry sky, and the furled sails that will power his flight from Candano, from Scarlet, from Gus’ decidedly un-”fun” knives, Kazimir’s keen elvish eyes widen in the starlight.

His gaze quickly shifts to the lighthouse. Gus is not there. He scans the partially deserted streets nearby, peering into the shadows between warehouses and offices. A large figure is retreating deeper into the darkness. It might be the trollkin cutter. Kaz can’t say for sure in the brief second he sees the shadowy outline. But whether it is or isn’t, the charismatic scoundrel has no doubt that he is being watched even now.

Heavy hoof-steps behind him cut short Kaz’s vigil. He turns, expecting to see Milkharem or one of the other minotaur crewmen he’d seen struggling with the mule that is now penned at the aft deck. What he sees instead is enough to send his ready smile overboard in an instant.

Vrakiras Roshgazi stands feet taller than Kazimir, but even if they were matched in height, the silverback minotaur bosun would be double the elf’s size by virtue of his thickly muscled, bullish body. Vrakiras says nothing for the first few seconds, taking in Kaz’s startled reaction, allowing the intimidatingly tense atmosphere to build between them.

"I am Vrakiras," says the bull. "I am responsible for maintaining discipline on board The Lady." His silver-haired chest muscles ripple as he leans closer to Kaz. "You have breached that discipline once by boarding this deck without the permission of her officers. For that, I would throw you over the railing." The minotaur’s huge bicep flexes as he punctuates the statement with a gesture toward the seaward railing on the port side. "But Captain Del Magrina has ordered my forbearance in giving you to the sea, on account of our passengers’ ignorance of maritime tradition. I assure you, this is a temporary indulgence."

With that, the bosun turns and stomps across the deck toward the stern, the boards creaking under his weight.

The night passes, and the recently-revealed constellation of Velles serpentines across the dark sky, nearly unseen behind the Warrior, the Maiden, and the Bull.

The Next Morning: Marksday, the 21st of Thunders
left-aligned image
Skhrin Vat, the last watchman of the night, puts out the deck lanterns as the sun re-emerges in the east from its journey across the hidden “other side” of the world. As he does every morning, the ratfolk crewman greets the light of Khors’ chariot with an upturned face, doffing his leather cap with clawed hands. His beady, rodent eyes are far more suited to the night. But something about the day calls to Skrihn, and his hairless tail flicks behind him in satisfaction.

This last moment of the night, or first moment of the day, is his own. The crew are not awake yet. He is the sole emissary of The Sighing Lady to each dawn.

His nose crinkles slightly in the cool morning air. An alarming scent is carried on the breeze from behind him. The faintest hint of smoke. Turning quickly, Skrihn Vat relaxes when he sees Nae’laa emerge from the ladder to the deck. These passengers will take some getting used to.

"Morning," the ratfolk squeaks. His tone is not unfriendly, despite the interruption to his morning ritual. "The Captain asked if the ‘commodations are accep..."

A strong gust of wind interrupts the scene, whipping Nae’laa’s flowing garments and causing the ember-like fissures in her skin to flare brightly with the infusion of oxygen. The sound of rushing air builds upon the deck and loose articles of paper and ends of coiled rope are tossed about in a circular pattern. The light morning fog on the water is drawn up by the whirlwind, spinning within it and lending it a wispy, silvery semblance of corporeality.

The swirling air beats past the ears of Skrihn and Nae’laa, whooshing and whistling in its constant rush. The sound builds to a near constant drone, and then, subtle modulations carry a voice upon the wind. "Siraati," says the voice on the wind, speaking in the primordial language of the elements. "I am Builder of Dunes, a servant of the Lords of Wind." The modulated vibrations carry a tone of formality. "The emissary of The Prophet in Valera has charged me with bearing this package to you and your companions."

As the elemental wind speaks, from among the swirling papers and articles flying haphazardly around Nae’laa, one small package in plain brown paper diverges from the circuitous route of the rest, moving through the air toward her slender hand of ash and fire.

* * *

As the whirlwind rushes off across the open water to the north, Skrihn Vat looks at Nae’laa with a cocked head and curious eyes. "There were words in that...thing." Then his eyes move hungrily down to the package. "What manner of treasure would require such a courier, eh?"

The package itself is rather small; a few inches on any side and perhaps an inch thick. It feels like cloth beneath the brown paper, with a crinkle of parchment as well. The whole thing is tied with simple string of braided hempen strands.

 


* * *

The sun rises on the day, heating the bleached sandstone of the coast and the salty waters alike. The choppy sea glitters like the desert sands, the waters undulating from its unfathomable depths further east.

The Rubeshi ship has gone during the night. In the pre-dawn darkness of his hammock, Batoyangi had heard the malevolent moan from the east, where the slaver had lain at anchor. The mournful, painful sound had receded into the darkness, heading south by the gnoll’s estimation.

For their part, the officers and crew of The Sighing Lady seem glad of the departure of the behemoth vessel. Even surly Mister Sartori spares a laugh at the empty sea in that direction. "Bless whate’er wind carried that monstrosity from these shores."

Around noon, there is another departure from Candano’s harbor. The square-sailed al-Badawi casts off her lines and moves through the channel toward the deep water. Several hundred yards away, Azar can just barely see a black, feline form along the gunwale of the Nurian trader. A distant paw is raised in farewell, and then the ship turns south toward the desert lands, obscured by the shimmering heat of midday.

Ceresday, the 22nd of ThundersAnother night, and the moon is visibly past full. The waning gibbous orb looks down upon the final preparations for the lengthy voyage east. Mister Vat must share the dawn this morning, as the crew prepares for departure in the pre-dawn.

Arnau Sartori barks orders from the aft deck, tugging his big mustache in frustration or anticipation. But he seems pleased to be finally getting underway, as if the extra day at shore was a personal weight.

Vrakiras Roshgazi watches the preparations silently, lending his strong arm to the harder tasks and laughing with the crew. Any shirkers feel his eyes upon them quickly, however, and double their efforts to avoid the big minotaur’s ire.

Captain Thiagro del Magrina surveys the activity from the sterncastle. He inspects the work of his officers and crew with satisfaction, occasionally straightening a line or checking the oil of the ballista. Seeing Zenda step on deck, he smiles formally, nodding. "At last, we depart. May Hecate grant us both her divine luck in this journey."

OOC
 

Last edited by 4eyedBadger; Aug 7th, 2021 at 10:43 PM.
Reply With Quote
  #94  
Old Aug 9th, 2021, 08:12 AM
Lazer's Avatar
Lazer Lazer is offline
Community Supporter
 
Tools
User Statistics
Last Visit: Nov 30th, 2021
RPXP: 14016
Lazer Lazer Lazer Lazer Lazer Lazer Lazer Lazer Lazer Lazer Lazer
Posts: 3,517
Despite what Azar had considered to be her best efforts the tension in the little cabin was palpable. Fortunately Azar had bought a book, so she hid herself in the little bunk and read. Well, more precisely, she tried to read, but she found her concentration wanting and only managed a few chapters during the first day.

As the sun was going down that night she grabbed her hat and donned her sailor woman disguise before going back up on deck. Grabbing a mop, she busied herself swabbing as she watched the sky turning from orange to red and then purple. There was a bank of clouds inland which continued to glow even after the sun had gone down, so she put the mop away and sat on a pile of ropes and stared out over the city.

Her thoughts kept turning to the previous day, and how close they had come to the mission collapsing. They had already lost one member of the team and it had been no more than a claw from them all dissolving, and she couldn't help thinking that it had been her fault. She had admitted as such to the others in an attempt to put things right, but that had been only partially successful. What could be done? No matter how long she thought on it she could come up with no answer to that question.

She found herselfUsing a combination of Prestidigitation and Control Flames. kindling the smallest flame she possibly could on the gunwale in front of her, blackening the wood and causing a needle-thin stream of smoke to rise hypnotically from it. As her thoughts turned she absent-mindedly impelled the flame to move around the face of the wood.

The thing which was bothering her the most, she realised, was when she tried to consider what she could have done differently. Given the information that she had at the time, it seemed perfectly reasonable to suspect Zenda and Batoyangi of betrayal. Should she have acted as though she hadn't noticed for the sake of harmony within the ship? That course of action seemed to invite trouble.

Noticing that it was getting a little cold, she extinguished the flame and then stopped, gazing at the pattern that it had made on the wood. She had always known that fire was a force of creation as well as destruction, it had been drilled into as a youth, but she had never before seen such a vivid demonstration of that. Shrugging, she stood to go back inside but was brought up short as she saw the bosun, Vrakiras, growling at Kazimir. She smiled as she padded quietly up behind the elf.

"We have a saying, where I am from," she said, hoping to make the man jump, "'out of the flame and into the maw'. It refers to somebody trying to avoid being roasted by a dragon, for their struggles only to be rewarded by being eaten. Perhaps it doesn't translate well."

She walked to the hatch without looking back.


She was woken by a door opening, and her eyes flicked open instantly. She sat up, looking around, and saw that Nae'laa had gone. Her eyes narrowed for an instant and then she had to smile to herself. This was one of those moments when she had to pretend that her companion couldn't be plotting against them. She swung her legs out of the bunk and looked at the door as she tried to think of innocent things that the Jinnborn could be doing so early in the morning.

Perhaps she needs to pee, she thought, but for some reason it wasn't convincing. Why was it not convincing? Everyone pees, and most do it first thing in the morning. It is normal. So why must I always think the worst?

The answer was immediate; because I have too often been proven correct.

But for the sake of harmony, she put the thought out of her mind, for now. Instead she collected some of the ingredients that she had bought the previous day and went to the galley where she busied herself preparing a simple porridge with honey and some herbs for flavour. The only pots on the ship were huge so she ended up making far more than she had intended and offered some to any sailors who were around to use it up. They seemed grateful, for the most part, which was nice, and she soon found that most of the crew had queued up for some, so she had to make a second batch for the others.


At some point during the tumult she must have missed Nae'laa coming back in, because when she took some bowls into their little cabin she had returned bearing the awaited package.

"Yes, very useful," she said, having read the note. "So we don't even need to survive beyond finding our prize to complete our mission. The Sultana is wise."

There was no hint of bitterness in her voice; this simply made good sense. Azar had never harboured any illusions in regards to not being expendable.

"I think Nae'laa should hold on to it. If we get in a fight it will be Batoyangi and Zenda who will be at the front, so they shouldn't take it and I… may have trouble in the Empire."

Then, seeing the hungry look on Kaz's face she added, "…and you are a prisoner, and I suspect you would sell it at the very first opportunity you found."


She spent the remainder of the day avoiding Zenda once again, and had found a quiet spot at the back of the hold where she could be alone with her thoughts. She found herself becoming slightly obsessed with burning pictures into any flat expanse of wood that she could find, prompting the miniscule flame to dance around and around like a spinning top and leaving in its wake snarling dragons. With practice she found that she could prompt the flame to split into two, curling off to mark both sides of a scale before joining back up at the other side. She marked barrel after barrel before realising that the hold was starting to smell heavily of smoke, which the crew may not appreciate, so she retreated to the cabin and her book.

The Baroness of the title was abhorrent. She thought nothing of her duty to glorify her realm or that of her king, instead indulging her own whims and fancies on every page. She never seemed to be concerned about what her peers would think and yet she obsessed over impressing her underlings, whom she chose not for their skills but merely for their blonde hair and chiseled musculature, which was a good way to end up with a court full of spies! Azar had seen many styles of ruler in her time, and in her considered opinion this was no way to run a satrapy... and yet it was strangely compelling. The Baroness seemed to have no end to her carnal desires and ended up in some incredibly compromising situations, yet no assassin had attempted to end her life. Perhaps the author was ignorant of the true life of a noble, or perhaps she had simply chosen to omit that aspect of it, Azar couldn't say, but it was actually quite refreshing.

Now that she had become comfortable with the premise of the book she found that she was tearing through the pages and finished it by lamplight in her bunk that evening. Afterward she lay there, breathing heavily, the book on her chest and the images of the final scenes alive in her mind. The Baroness had done nothing to redeem herself, and yet Azar felt like she would miss this woman that she didn't even know, who probably didn't even exist.

As she drifted into sleep Azar dreamed that she was the Baroness, and that every man she deigned to meet had long blonde hair, piercing blue eyes and an eager attitude.

 

 
__________________
Current status: The weeks are passing me by just now with few opportunities to post. I'll try to catch up but I'm happy for my characters to be DMPC'd this month if necessary. Sorry!

Last edited by Lazer; Aug 27th, 2021 at 09:36 AM.
Reply With Quote
  #95  
Old Aug 10th, 2021, 05:43 PM
DaysUntold's Avatar
DaysUntold DaysUntold is offline
Community Supporter
 
Tools
User Statistics
Last Visit: Dec 3rd, 2021
RPXP: 16489
DaysUntold DaysUntold DaysUntold DaysUntold DaysUntold DaysUntold DaysUntold DaysUntold DaysUntold DaysUntold DaysUntold
Posts: 2,564

Nae’laa struggled with the growing tension between the members of the guild. She’d been on her own long enough that tension in such a fashion seldom meant progress and more often meant that danger was looming, that it was time to leave. She fought the instinct, however, though she could never quite put her finger on why and the longer she searched for the answer the more elusive it appeared to be.

Once more, chasing mirages at the edge of her vision.

She sat up on deck, avoiding the cramped corners that had been given them. Cramped quarters reminded her all too much of father’s wagon, pulled by great lumbering beasts and lurching too and fro much as the ship did beneath her. Instead, she found comfort in the open sky and the water that seemed to spread from them in every direction. Her anxiety regarding the prospect of drowning had not exactly dissipated. Instead, it heightened her appreciation for those who traversed the waves.

As much as she longed for the openness of the deck, the prying eyes and looming city left her feeling exposed. Paranoia crept up and chewed on her until she finally gave up and retreated to their room

With a sigh, she dug through her pack and began transcribing the spell she had found into her spellbook before resuming her attempt to copy the logbook.She was so engrossed in her work that she didn’t notice the others as they came and went from the small space.




Nae’laa emerged early from the confined hold in which they slept. She would have slept on the deck, had she her preference, but at least she’d managed to get a couple hours of sleep. This morning though, it felt as if the open air called to her. She exited the room as quietly as she could, stepping onto the deck with relief as the sun peeked above the horizon. Skrihn greeted her, but she had no time to respond before the wind whipped around her, invigorating her and waking her more surely than a splash of cold water.

As if spurred on by her eagerness, a new, yet familiar, voice spoke to her.

“I recall you,” she replied quietly, “I believe, from when I was a child.” A hint of unsureness pulled at her, but she pushed it aside. “Thank you, Builder of Dunes,” she added, unsure if she was thanking him for the package or the reminder of a time before.

At Skrihn’s comment, she couldn’t help but smile. “Not a treasure, I’d imagine, but rather the promise of adventure,” she answered somewhat cryptically, “which, I suppose, is a treasure all it’s own.”




Nae’laa all but ran back to their cabin, plopping down unceremoniously on her bunk as she carefully opened the package that had arrived. By then, others were waking and she made no effort of hiding that which she found within. The fabric mesmerized her and the jhinnborn found herself running the fabric between her fingers, admiring its construction and the unique pearlescence that set it apart from anything that she had ever seen before.

She passed the note around, barely even noting the disturbing observation that Azar made. Her mind was already racing at the implications and limitations of the item in her hand. Her first instinct was to experiment with the item, to test its boundaries, but she held herself back.

Nae’laa was shocked at Azar’s suggestion and, to be honest, the level of trust that it seemed to convey, and she looked around waiting for someone to object. If no one did, she’d store it away until she could look at it again later.

When the time came to depart, she found herself as eager to set sail as the captain himself. There was an unease about sitting like prey next to the city for too long and the promise of open waters equally excited and terrified her.


StatBlock
 
[/QUOTE]
__________________
Officially back starting 11/1.

Last edited by DaysUntold; Aug 10th, 2021 at 05:45 PM.
Reply With Quote
  #96  
Old Aug 13th, 2021, 05:42 PM
Vislands's Avatar
Vislands Vislands is offline
Blue Mage
 
Tools
User Statistics
Last Visit: Dec 3rd, 2021
RPXP: 12946
Vislands Vislands Vislands Vislands Vislands Vislands Vislands Vislands Vislands Vislands Vislands
Posts: 3,793
It was the most peaceful time in their journey yet, The Sighing Lady cutting through the waves and leaving behind the discord that had infected the group. While Batoyangi had a taste for blood, he was not one of those fighters who could not settle into rest and relaxation. With the contingent of minotaur aboard, the crew of The Sighing Lady did not lack for muscle, so the gnoll was free to lean upon the railing of the deck and look out to sea, taking in the smells and sights, enjoying the feeling of vast freedom.

It was in this mood of restiveness that he approached Zenda, finding her easily by following the scent of most love-sick smelling of the crewmen. Her weapons, the curious curved blades hung from her hip and Bato gestured to them, grinning. "Where did you learn to fight with those blades like that?" He thumped his chest. "The Great Bato has fought his share of graceful fighters, but you dance while you cut."

Bato is not much interested in the arrival of their gift. He sniffs it, wrinkling his nose at the odd scent before handing it to Nae'laa as Azar instructed. Let them play with the arcane gadgets. Bato had everything he needed right here.

At another point, the gnoll found the newest edition to their group, a prisoner no less. The slick talking Kazimir seemed adept at worming himself into places, but Bato found him amusing and now that their relation to each was clear the gnoll approached him with no hostility, a tongue lolling slightly from his mouth in an affable effect that was only slightly ruined by glimpses of his sharpened teeth.

"You speak the Imperial Tongue, elf?" The gnoll yipped and growled at Kazimir, seeing recognition on the bluish elf's face and continuing. "I am Batoyangi, the Constrictor. A toothy grin. We must share a drink soon, elf. Your stories amuse me."


OOC
 
Reply With Quote
  #97  
Old Aug 14th, 2021, 03:26 AM
hafrogman's Avatar
hafrogman hafrogman is offline
Community Supporter
 
Tools
User Statistics
Last Visit: Dec 3rd, 2021
RPXP: 17639
hafrogman hafrogman hafrogman hafrogman hafrogman hafrogman hafrogman hafrogman hafrogman hafrogman hafrogman
Posts: 3,073
Zenda, Swordswoman of Ishadia
right-aligned image
Zenda was left only partially satisfied by the emergency meeting she had called. As things wound to a close, she could not help the feeling that some of the participants were secretly laughing at her. Her father used to do the same thing, outwardly pretending to listen to her concerns, but inwardly smirking at her impotent outrage. It was infuriating, and she longed to draw her blades and carve Azar into pieces. Just what was the damned witch's play, here? She was trying to present herself as the aggrieved party? As if a simple apology could paint over the treason she had just attempted. 'Sorry about that knife in your back. I thought you looked itchy.'

Grinding her teeth in frustration, Zenda let herself be temporarily distracted by Kazimir's attempt to steer the discussion away to some game or other. She knew better than to play a game, she had spent too much time in the dens of iniquity of her homeland, watching men gamble away their lives on games of chance. What kind of person would entrust their life to a roll of the dice? Still, she listened to him describe the game with half an ear. You could learn much about a man by feigning interest in his hobbies.

The next day was a tense one among the party. The air had certainly not yet been cleared, and she and Azar spent much of the time avoiding each other. Or rather Azar spent most of the day avoiding Zenda, while Zenda spent much of the day trying to keep a furtive eye on the dragon sorceress. Her supposed prisoner was left to his own devices, while the swordswoman fixated on her Mharoti rival. At one point she thought she had caught the woman trying to set the boat on fire... probably not intending an actual conflagration, but a distraction or diversion, perhaps? Even just the smell of smoke could start a panic onboard a ship. Strange to do it while still at port, though. Zenda waited until there was something more concreate to accuse Azar with, but instead her quarry spoke briefly to Kazimir, then went below decks without further pyrotechnics. Zenda was just quick enough, closing within earshot to overhear the offered words...

'Out of the flame and into the maw', indeed.

Approaching the bard from behind, Zenda spoke softly, offering her own views on the Mharoti idiom in Kazimir's ear.

"Teeth or fire. What a choice, eh? Interesting that even among her kind, they realize that dealing with dragons only ever ends in one way." She shrugged expressively. "Perhaps that alone should be a word of caution against trusting the scale-kin in the first place..."

Rather than letting herself be drawn into another conversation with the self-professed elf and his greasy looks, Zenda simply sashayed away after her little bon mot. She found herself back by the spot that Azar had been burning early, and knelt to inspect the damage. Of all the things she expected to find... art was not on the list. She idly ran a finger along the fine lines etched into the wood and took a moment to admire the pattern. The subject matter left much to be desired, but the skill was undeniable. Zenda was a little surprised that the Sultana spared time for one of her slaves to cultivate such a talent... Perhaps there was more to Azar than met the eye. But then again... perhaps there wasn't.



When the Sultana's gift arrived, Zenda gathered briefly with the others to discuss. it. She might not have trusted the Mharoti witch, but she could not fault in Azar's logic. Swordswoman and sorceress could not trust each other. Kazimir could not be trusted by anyone, and Bato was... Bato. That left Nae'laa as the neutral, mutually acceptable choice. She nodded in agreement. "A good choice. I approve."

Truly, it seemed that the bag was useful, but not in such a way that mattered for most of the time. Moving items so quickly across the world was quite the feat, but it would avail them little in their day to day tasks, or in the heat of battle.



Even Zenda's rampant paranoia faltered in the heat of yet another Candano afternoon, and she found herself lounging idly, having giving up her vigil. It was then that Bato approached her with his curisosity. She had originally written the gnoll off as a conversationalist, by and large. But his Mharoti was not hindered by his teeth as his use of the common tongue was. And he had picked the one topic that seemed to interest them both equally. After a mere moment's hesitation, she unlimbered one of her matched blades and offered it, hilt first, to the pit fighter.

"I was trained, from my youth, to fight with any number of weapons. Scimitar, spear, bow... the weapons of my people. But also many others, taken from invaders or purchased from travelers, so no weapon is truly foreign. But these were a gift, a matched pair from the eastern lands. For years they hung on my father's wall. Once I was grown, I took them as my own. They match my personal style, as you have noted... so in some ways I taught myself. But building upon the foundations that came before."



The next day finally arrived, not a moment too soon, and Zenda joined the Captain on the deck. She inclined her head in del Magrina's direction as he offered his blessing. "May the gods smile upon us and put the winds at our back."

OOC
 

 
__________________
Back. Slowly catching up.

Characters: Del CorganIris KetteringCaleb ShawDeirdre VenteuseYrena
ZendaSquire GainsboroBaruuk TalonfaceKonstantin LumynMarisol d'Arabeth

Last edited by hafrogman; Aug 14th, 2021 at 03:38 AM.
Reply With Quote
  #98  
Old Aug 26th, 2021, 12:50 AM
Strangemund's Avatar
Strangemund Strangemund is offline
Your Local Cryptid
 
Tools
User Statistics
Last Visit: Dec 4th, 2021
RPXP: 6407
Strangemund Strangemund Strangemund Strangemund Strangemund Strangemund Strangemund Strangemund Strangemund Strangemund Strangemund
Posts: 1,270
A couple of busy days...
People all day today....
right-aligned image
’I hate when he does that,’ thought Kazimir, squinting hard at Candano’s lighthouse for the ugly mug that was Fun-Gus’s. He didn’t see hide or hair of him anywhere in the shadows. The Trollkin long gone from his hideout. Which didn’t sit right with Kazimir, not one bit. That sodding boogeyman was probably back at Scarlet’s side, spinning all manners of lies about him into her beautiful bovine ear. Lies that he’d have a hard time refuting while he was under ship arrest. But it wasn’t like he could slip out unnoticed. Even now he was being watched from afar by the lasses’ overgrown guard dog. That Batoyangi, as they called him, stared at him from across the deck, chewing on something pink and bloodied, unflinching in his watch. He didn’t know what it was he ate, but Kazimir had a feeling it was better not to know. Or ask for that matter.

Despite that, though, he supposed it was smarter he stayed here. But only by the tiniest margin! The tiniest.Being arrested by politicians was better than being strung up by Scarlet’s men. And that was the fate that awaited him in Candano. It was a hard thing to admit, but it was true. Scarlet’s demand was a fool’s errand right from the start. Nobody in Candano had that kind of money, nobody but the merchants, and they put their gold in their ships rather than their purses. Naw, he was meant to die here, a day from now. A memorable lesson for anyone who was foolish enough to play games in her crimson-stained court, like he had.

A real shame.

He rather liked it here.

Kazimir heaved a heavy sigh as he took a long, hard look at Candano, his home for the last three months. He wondered if anyone would miss him. Probably a few sorry sods who didn’t know better. Like Siegfried, the old Northman, who liked Kazimir even though he knew he was no elf, just a liar with a lot of charm. He’d miss him. Probably because it’d be the last time that old bastard played a mean game of Hnefatafl before the valkyries took him home. And then there was Affer. He always acted like Kazimir was a nuisance. A stranger. But he knew Affer would miss him, eventually. He’d not miss the trouble Kazimir brought to his door, no sir, but he’d miss the stories. The jokes. The wonders Kazimir promised existed outside his cozy little barbershop. It would all be gone without him.

He wondered if Scarlet would miss him, even just a little.

He knew they didn’t end things on great terms. Less so after she went and sucked Fun-Gus to slit him open like a gutted pig. But maybe in ten years or so she’ll think back on him fondly. Remember the good times they had. The tender embraces they shared beneath Candano’s moonlight, when it was just them versus the world. It wasn’t his fault he got nervous about talk about marriage. She didn’t get the name The Scarlet Blade for nothing, you know? I mean. He knew that. It’s what he liked about her. But for arse’s sake, she kept the skulls of her exes in the wine cabinet. All ten and a half of them! What he was supposed to do, not panic? Not move out in the middle of the night? Not send her a singing telegram that they were ‘over’?

"Well, ‘at last bit coulda been done better." Kazimir muttered to himself, "Kid was sorely off-key. Hurt me ears hearin’ him hit that high note. Good prices, though."

The thunderous thump of hoofsteps coming up behind him drew Kazimir away from his reminiscing. He thought for a sliver of a second it was Milkherem come to celebrate his stay on the The Sighing Lady. Drinks in hand. Mood ripe with mirth. All that good stuff that his soul desperately needed. But that hope died in the angry blacks of a bull straight out of Kazimir’s worst bovine-related nightmares. Kazimir froze up against the ship’s rail. Concern mixed with confusion fleeting across his face as the silverback minotaur said not a word to him as he glowered down at him. Snorting a hot puff of steam from his bovine nose that made Kazimir really wish he wasn’t born a redhead.

Kazimir glanced nervously around him. Half-hoping that his captors were about to swoop in and save him from whatever this was when the silverback minotaur finally spoke. "I am Vrakiras," he half-growled at Kazimir, his voice rough like gravel, and hardly pleasing to the ears. Which he figured was the point given his intimidating size. "I am responsible for maintaining discipline on board The Lady." Did his abs just wink at him?! "You have breached that discipline once by boarding this deck without the permission of her officers. For that, I would throw you over the railing."

Kazimir tore his eyes from the bulging muscles that made him feel only slightly inadequate at his own slender figure, and raised his hands up to protect himself from the accusation and Vrakiras’ sweeping arm. Kazimir ducking just as it moved to gesture over to the dreary black sea. "Wait wait wait! I assure ye, good ser, I am innocent as a lamb! I only came aboard ‘cuz I was--"

Vrakiras didn’t care for Kazimir’s excuses. In fact, he didn’t even seem to hear Kazimir, as the minotaur continued uninterrupted. "But Captain Del Magrina has ordered my forbearance in giving you to the sea, on account of our passengers’ ignorance of maritime tradition. I assure you, this is a temporary indulgence."

"Right," Kazimir forced a smile, nodding in agreement to Vrakiras thinly veiled threat to be a good lil’ laddy while he was on board. "Understood, ser. No worries, ser. Ye won’t even know I was here, ser." Whether Vrakiras believed that or not, Kazimir didn’t know, but he left all the same, stomping off to his next victim.

Kazimir released his held breath, and slumped over the ship railing. What was it with people threatening him today? And for things he (technically) didn’t even do! And why didn’t the dog step in!?

"We have a saying, where I am from." Kazimir jumped out of his skin, startled by the second person to sneak up on him, and by pure bad luck, slammed his knee into the hard ship rail. He swallowed a foul Northern Tongue curse, biting the inside of his cheek to keep himself from squawking like a plucked hen. With tears stinging his eyes, he threw a dirty look at the culprit who startled him only to realize it was Azar, disguised again. And not too bad a disguise, either. He wouldn't have recognized her if it weren't for her voice. "’out of the flame and into the maw'. It refers to somebody trying to avoid being roasted by a dragon, for their struggles only to be rewarded by being eaten. Perhaps it doesn't translate well."

"Sounds like an optimistic bunch," Kazimir grunted, his smile pained but nevertheless still frustratingly charming. He quirked a brow as Azar slipped away just as quickly as she appeared. Barely sparing him another second after rudely sneaking up on a man alone with his thoughts. He shook his head in disappointment, sinking himself onto a nearby crate, before he shuffled through his tunic for his flask. "I dun get her at all. I have been nuttin’ but saintly. Unless…" He didn’t sleep with a grandparent of hers, did he? No, no. There was no way. But then again, he was pretty sure he was slumming it up in the Empire eighty years ago. Or maybe that was an opium-induced dream he had. Still, he should definitely check, just to be sure this wasn’t another Huldeva incident--

"Teeth or fire. What a choice, eh? Interesting that even among her kind, they realize that dealing with dragons only ever ends in one way."

"By Odin’s knotted beard!" Kazimir jumped again. His flask flung into the air as he didn’t hear Zenda sneak up behind him. And with a splash, it landed in the water. Gone forever. Kazimir closed his eyes with a grimace, and muttered a defeated, "Evenin’, Red..."

As Kazimir looked longingly over the ship’s edge, Zenda picked up where she left off with her words of advice. Kazimir didn’t exactly get what she meant. His heart elsewhere. At the bottom of the drink, where his flask made its final rest. God rest its beautiful soul. But he still turned his attention to her when she whispered in his ear. "Perhaps that alone should be a word of caution against trusting the scale-kin in the first place…" Kazimir blinked. Then blinked again as Zenda left just as Azar had. Not a word more spared for the blue-stained elf.

He snorted softly, half-amused, half-frustrated at what the two put him through tonight. Mostly because it was all for naught. Don't get him wrong. Kazimir was many things. A liar. A cad. And sometimes a fair-weather lover. But he was no fool. The way the lasses talked, down in the brig, it painted a vivid picture of what he’d face on their travels. Dangers that were vastly different from Scarlet and her men. More legend than idle tavvy chatter. And while it was true that trusting Azar was a trial in itself, it was not because of her scales. Never in a million years would he blame her for her scales. Kazimir more than happy to distrust her and dislike her because of who she was as a person. She was owed that at least. They all were, Kazimir thought, at least once in their long life.

"Queer folk…" Kazimir laid back on his crate, staring up at the stars that twinkled overhead. Unchanging, just as he was. For the last hundred years, each and every star remained the same. Familiar faces he knew he could rely on. At least until he got a better idea of what to do with his newfound 'friends'. Kazimir smiled. "But so am I, eh, universe? A pretty good fit, dontcha think? I imagine we’ll have a few growin’ pains but otherwise…"

They’ll help him finish his masterpiece just fine.

He could feel it in his bones.




That night Kazimir dreamt of the Song.

It was the first time in months since he dreamt it.

It was beautiful in its madness.

Beautiful.

Like the end of the world...




It was his last day in Candano. His last moment to shine on the shores of the port city before he was whisked to unknown waters. Kazimir was absolutely excited about the whole affair. Giddy like a kitten at all the possibilities that awaited him tomorrow morn. But first things first, he needed his stuff. All his personal belongings were held up at The Beheaded Rooster. His clothes. His trinkets. His precious works of art. All of it was tucked away into the tippy-top room of the red-hatched roof tavern that was unfortunately smack dab in the middle of Scarlet’s turf. Even if he was allowed to head ashore, Kazimir had a sneaking suspicion one or two not-so-friendly faces were waiting for him to cross her border.

But such sour news turned sweet the moment Milkherem the Unyielding Hoof made an appearance at breakfast, and greeted Kazimir with a teeth-chattering slap to the back.

After Kazimir’s show of grace yesterday, the two became fast friends. Which was more or less fated, as neither were quick to forget the other’s kindness. And it was because of that good luck Kazimir didn’t need to spin any manner of tale when it came to asking help from Milkherem. All he had to do was say he couldn’t do it himself and promise his newfound friend two kegs worth of liquor if he gathered his things for him. It was only until after Milkherem was halfway down the gangplank did he tell Kazimir he would have done it for free.

"You sly sunnova bastard, you!" Kazimir hollered after him, cursing him with every name in the book with all the affection his crooked little heart could offer. Milkherem just waved from the crowds, matching Kazimir’s grin with one of his own.

But at least that was taken care of.

The downside was that it left Kazimir to twiddle his thumbs until Milkherem came back. Kazimir unable to skip on to his second order of business until then. Which was only a problem due to the fact that Kazimir was already bored stiff being stuck on the ship. He wasn’t expected to work for his stay yet, mostly ‘cuz he tried to stay out of the ship captain’s sight to avoid actual work. Which left him wandering through the various levels of the The Sighing Lady, trying to waste enough time before he could really start shaking things up here for the better.

It was right around then that the lasses and Batoyangi suddenly gathered together for a meeting below deck. It was unexpectant, as Kazimir was pretty sure they all hated each other. And yet he was curious enough about the whole that Kazimir followed them down below. Admittedly, he was kinda surprised they didn’t shoo him away when he snuck his way onto a bunk to watch the show unfold. But he half-suspected it was because they were already busy discussing some sort of secret package that was delivered to Nae’laa.

Kazimir didn’t get what the big deal was. It looked like an ordinary bag to him. Nothing he hadn’t seen before. And whatever magic properties the letter promised was a lie he heard plenty from South Sea con men. But apparently, Kazimir stared too long at the bag, apparently, his squinty eyes furrowed into nothingness was enough for Azar to warn him against ill-doing.

"…and you are a prisoner, and I suspect you would sell it at the very first opportunity you found."

Kazimir gasped in shock, and muttered in a voice ripe with indignation. "First off, hurtful." He touched his heart in mock pain. "And secondly, I dun steal. I am a bard by trade. The only crimes I commit--besides the one I am currently held hostage here fer--is stealin’ hearts o’ fair maidens wit me lyrical genius." He turned away from Azar, his nose thrown up in the air in a haughty manner that was downright laughable. "Iffin’ that’s a crime, then lock me up! I’m guilty as charged!"

Safe to say, they didn’t lock him up. In fact, they all but went their separate ways after it was settled that Nae’laa would hold the bag. Kazimir also left, shortly after, but only because he didn’t want to prove Azar right by sticking around. After all, he did think about slipping a lewd drawing into the bag, just to see what would happen…

The next few hours were uneventful. Kazimir chatted up a few sailors, urging them to stick around the ship once the sun was set. Watched his captors share a rather friendly conversation in the language of Dragons before Kazimir skipped off when they both realized he understood them. He smiled and ignored the inane insults of the wet-earred sailor that tried to make a fool of him yesterday. Until finally Kazimir was drowning in a sea of boredom, ready to do just about anything to make all this waiting worthwhile.

Anything.

Birds of a feather...
 

Let's get plastered...
 

Dead as a doorknob...
 


__________________
Status: *Dabs*
DMing: And the Devil Dances Beneath a Mosaic Sky
Characters: Thunder in the Morning - Harp Strum - Captain Tavosh - Kazimir

Last edited by Strangemund; Aug 26th, 2021 at 11:18 AM.
Reply With Quote
  #99  
Old Sep 4th, 2021, 06:01 AM
4eyedBadger's Avatar
4eyedBadger 4eyedBadger is offline
Community Supporter
 
Tools
User Statistics
Last Visit: Dec 1st, 2021
RPXP: 7570
4eyedBadger 4eyedBadger 4eyedBadger 4eyedBadger 4eyedBadger 4eyedBadger 4eyedBadger 4eyedBadger 4eyedBadger 4eyedBadger 4eyedBadger
Posts: 2,223
EmberFrom the bottom stair, Ember peers into the dark hold of The Sighing Lady. In this form, Nae’laa’s tiny elemental companion is a hunter. His long, lithe body is ostensibly that of a weasel. But the fiery orange stripe of fur down his back, set against the coal black of the rest of his pelt marks him as something else as well. He doesn’t remember much from his life before the jinnborn wizard of flame called him to serve her. But he can still feel the fire of that other place within him.

Ember’s eyes aren’t especially strong in the darkness of the hold. But he has other tools. Silently, he listens to the open space in the distance. Somewhere ahead, a lantern is lit. He can smell the faint burning of the oil and see the light beyond the crates. He hears the creak of the wood as the merchant vessel carves her way through the surface of the great Middle Sea; Rising. Falling. Pitch and yaw. His hunting grounds are in constant motion, but over the last many days of the voyage Ember has learned to filter out the regular rhythms. He hears nothing else.

Moving quickly but stealthily away from the bottom stair, across the open space toward the dark stacks of barrels and crates. Toward what called his other sense down here. Something sweet! Ember can smell it, even in the stale air this deep within the ship.

Ember stops beside the cargo. He lifts his tiny nose into the air to try to catch more of the scent. It is definitely coming from deeper into the hold.

scrape

The small sound is nearly imperceptible, but his keen weasel ears perk. He does not move for many seconds, until the regular motion and sounds are the only thing he perceives. Well...that and the smell of his saccharine quarry.

With another nearly silent sprint, Ember finds himself at the aft of the hold. The smell is strong. It is above him. He lifts his nose as high as he is able, then raises up his front legs slightly to gain even more height. There! On top of a lone barrel that stands on end like a makeshift table, in the light of a hanging lantern, sits a metal plate with a large, hot slice of fruit pie! The fork is abandoned.

Hungrily, Ember moves closer. Nobody is around. A few errant crumbs on the planks of the hold give the weasel a delicious taste of what awaits him on top of the barrel! He places his front paws on the side of the barrel, his claws digging in as he prepares to climb.

Scrape...scrape

Ember freezes. He turns his head quickly toward the sound. There is movement near the stacked cargo! Not the heavy footfalls of the humans or the heavier hoofbeats of the minotaurs. This is the light scrabble of sharp claws on wood!

Then they emerge. Two of them! Their eyes almost glow yellow in the poor light of the lantern. Their coarse fur is matted with bilge water and dirt. Their sharp incisors are revealed as they sniff the air here as well. Rats!

Two big rats step into the space. They see Ember, then their eyes track up to his destination and the slice of pie that almost hangs tantalizingly over the edge of the barrel. On the scale of tiny creatures, the shrieks of the rats as they charge is nearly a roar!

battle map

The Sighing Lady, nine days out from the port of CandanoOver a week at sea and the passengers and crew of The Sighing Lady have settled into a comfortable routine of meals, dice, stories, song, study, and work. Captain del Magrina allows the crew a single drink at the evening meal every other day. Vrakiras makes it quite clear to Kaz that the prohibition applies to him as well, and that he will consider any breach a personal affront.

The captain, Skrihn Vat, and Vrakiras have spent much time in the wardroom, so much of the running of the ship is left to Mister Sartori, whose face grows more sour by the day. There are whispers among the crew about the captain’s absence, but there is also work enough to keep their mind from such petty concerns.

The minotaurs in particular grow sullen and quiet as the second week at sea begins. In those rare moments of leisure, they can often be seen along the starboard gunwale, staring across the waves somberly. Or into the clouds warily.

It is the ninth night of the voyage, near midnight, by Azar’s estimation, when the entire ship is awakened by a deep, resonant note from a horn above deck. The note holds for near half a minute. Then a pause. Then the note begins again, and sustains for another half minute.

The sound of rousing voices and boot falls on the sleeping decks herald the crews awakening. Outside the door of the guest cabin, the passage of many bodies can be heard heading up the stairs to the main deck.

There is a pounding on the locked door. "All hands muster on deck," calls a voice through the thick wood. It sounds like Milkherem, and his tone is grave.

Minutes later, emerging onto the deck of the ship beneath an unusually dark sky, a strange sight greets the passengers and crew; Captain del Magrina stands on the foredeck, looking out over the assembly. He wears his dress uniform, buttons and boots polished to high shine. His stiff collar rises high behind his neck, a brilliant white. The scabbard and hilt of his sword twinkle like stars in the lantern light.

Beside him stands Vrakiras Roshgazi, silver bull bosun of The Sighing Lady. He stands tall, at attention. A large, curved horn…much larger that his own that are attached to his bovine head…rests in the crook of his muscular arm. The horn is brass, but fashioned to resemble an animal horn. Carved along its entire length are a complex series of lines. At first, Zenda thinks it is a language. But when the light hits it just right, she sees the marking pattern for what it is. A maze!

Above the ship, the moon is dark. At its newest phase, the orb is little more than a circle of absent stars as it makes its way stealthily across the sky.

The sea itself is calm. The dark waters lap at the sides of the ship as though trying to escape drowning in their own cavernous darkness beneath. A wispy blanket of mist sits upon the water. To the south, the mists are thicker, obscuring vision.

But to the southwest, an orange light rises into the dark night. Batoyangi’s keen eyes mark it for what it is; a pillar of fire on a dark shore.

"The alchemists keep the restless dead at bay," says an old, ruddy-nosed sailor from beside the gnoll. He spits into the water, then looks abashed at himself for doing so. Batoyangi can just barely make out the shapes of ruined buildings in the light of the distant fire.

"Gramvar," says del Magrina when the assembly is complete. "Burned by the dragons and left a smoldering ruin." His voice is officious, like a priest at a burial. "Nothing living roams those streets any longer. The lives of thousands were snuffed out by the flame drakes in minutes. Thousands!" His voice takes on anger, but a measured anger.

"The people of Kyprion had no time to mourn," continues the captain. "Their wardens contain the spirits of Gramvar to the ruins, hunting what wanders too far into the countryside. Their queen is nearly besieged, begging for relief from the fleets of Triolo." There is grumbling amongst the minotaurs at the mention of the patron state of the minotaur island.

del Magrina raises his voice over the rumblings. "That relief will not come soon! And while they wait, the people of Chamiras die beneath the whips of the Mharoti, fortifying the city for their captors."

The human crew begins to look uncomfortable. Arnau Sartori scowls.

The captain looks toward the human men and women. "It is not just the bull-folk who suffer. The dragons consider all the non-scaly races to be inferior. Only worthy of serving! And it will not stop with them!"

The handsome nobleman of Capleon looks less a captain of the sea this night, and more a captain of soldiers. His eyes find Batoyangi, then Zenda. "Kyprion was not the first land to fall." Now he looks to Nae’laa, Kazimir, and Azar, as well as the rest of the crew. "And the dragons’ hunger will not be sated here!"

Some of the crew has their passions stirred up, and some shouts of assent greet the captain’s fierce gaze.

"We are Capleoni. And we are free! We owe fealty to none but our own hearts." More cheers, from human and minotaur alike. "But my heart will not allow me to blindly pass by the suffering of a noble people and do nothing! Many of us have served together for years. We have faced storms and death together. We have repelled boarders together. We have committed shipmates to the depths together. And I will not ignore the plight of any of my crew."

Sartori’s scowl deepens, but del Magrina pays him no heed, focusing instead on the upturned faces of the minotaurs. "I will strike a blow against oppression. We cannot liberate an entire land ourselves, my friends. But we can liberate their heart and give them hope to continue their fight!"

The minotaurs, every last bull and cow, cry out in their braying way! Their chests fill and their hooves stamp with anticipation. Several of the humans join in and shout, but most look unsure. It is them that the captain addresses now.

"This is a merchant vessel. I do not lead you to war. But, by the will of Hecate, for one night I would lead you to battle. To strike a spark on this land. The Lady fan that spark, and perhaps it will grow into a flame that can burn even a dragon!"

voyage map

OOC
 
Reply With Quote
  #100  
Old Sep 4th, 2021, 12:31 PM
Lazer's Avatar
Lazer Lazer is offline
Community Supporter
 
Tools
User Statistics
Last Visit: Nov 30th, 2021
RPXP: 14016
Lazer Lazer Lazer Lazer Lazer Lazer Lazer Lazer Lazer Lazer Lazer
Posts: 3,517
The Seminary was quiet, far more quiet than it should have been. Where were the voices of the dozens of children? Where was the constant crackle of flame? The whip-cracks? The moaning? Azar was walking down a short vaulted-stone corridor. There was a reinforced wooden door at the end of it and it was open just a crack. That was unusual too, the Master never left his door open!

Azar crept tentatively forward, her bare feet pattering on the roughly-hewn stone. As she passed each darkened alcove she couldn't help but peer into the shadows, almost expecting to see… something. She wasn't sure what. Alcove after alcove passed, far more than there should have been, and then suddenly she was at the door. She reached out tentatively and then stopped with her hand on the rough wood. She should go back. It was better not to be here. She had to blend in, except during the testing, only coming to the notice of the masters through excellence.

Despite every iota of her will urging her back, her small hand pushed the door open. Gliding through she looked furtively around, taking in the marble colonnades and silken draperies. She felt no surprise to find that she was not in Satra bin-Riks' room, this was the Adelian Palace. Specifically, she found herself in the Sultana's salon. The Lady Casmara sat at a small table placed in the centre of the area where she usually received guests. She gazed at herself in a large mirror and was tugging a brush through her hair, a look of distress on her face. Azar rushed forward and took the brush from her hands, gently but firmly pulling it down the length of the Sultana's long black tresses.

"Back so soon, Azar?" the Sultana's reflection asked her. She inclined her head in deferential agreement.

"My lady needs me," she said.

"And what do you need, Azar?"

Azar paused to consider the question, and when she looked at her hand once again it held not the brush, but a long curved dagger.

"Is this what you want?" Casmara was looking at her hungrily, but only now did Azar realise that something was wrong. The sultana's hair was not black, it should be white-blonde and when she looked into the eyes which should have been ice-blue all that she could see was a pool of inky blackness which seemed to suck her in.

"The choice is yours,"the sultana-who-was-not said.

"But…" Azar's objection died on her lips as a loud baying filled the room. She looked up to see a flash of blue as Annicrat roared from the balcony.

The dream dissolved and Azar realised that it was no dragon-roar that she could hear, but some kind of note on a horn. She took a long breath and let the dream go, standing in one fluid motion as she caused all of the lamps in the room to spring alight. Somebody was knocking insistently and urging them onto the deck so she hurriedly splashed some water on her face, donned her slippers and then grabbed her hat from beside the cot. She had grown accustomed to wearing no disguise amongst this small group, but she couldn't possibly let the crew see her heritage.

"What can be so important?" she asked the others, "If we were under attack I would expect more urgency, and yet they wake us in the dead of night."

For a moment she wondered if they had discovered her art somewhere on the ship and were considering it vandalism and opting for some nautical version of justice, but she put the thought aside as ludicrous. She had done no permanent damage, no sane person would be so concerned with a few flamed etchings.

She clumped up the steep stairs and into the dark of a cloudless and nearly moonless night. Above her the stars were a breathtaking wash of mottled colours and she took several moments just to enjoy them. With a sigh she pulled her eyes away and joined the crew who were congregated at the starboard side of the ship. They were all gazing out into the night and the mood was definitely somber. She followed their gaze, seeing orange flame dancing off in the distance. Wasn't there some story of fires at nights on the ocean? Some superstition that sailors worried about? But that line of thought was quickly quashed as a sailor commented on its cause.

Alchemists? Restless dead?

Her stomach went icy cold as she suddenly had an inkling of what they were looking at. Could it be?

"Gramvar," said del Magrina, as though he had read her mind. Some part of her continued to follow his words, automatically parsing and cataloguing them, but for the most part she was lost in memory. The charming little harbour where Rafolo had bought her a live oyster, insisting it would be hiding a pearl for her. Of course it wasn't, and he had threatened to keep buying them, one after another, until they found one that did. Or the charming little seaside tavern in which Rafolo and Markos had introduced her to the local liquor, zikana. Minstrels, strumming enthusiastically, had wandered between tables, and they had watched the local fishermen relax, having sold their catch, by diving bare-chested from the nearby cliffs. The town had been so full of life, and now they had to summon huge pillars of fire to prevent the bodies of those same people from taking their revenge upon the living.

She found that her jaw muscles were aching as she kept it clenched shut to prevent her lip from trembling. Tears boiled and evaporated as soon as they left her eyes, leaving dark residue behind on her skin. Her fingernails dug into the palm of her hands, a pain much sharper and more intense than that of her jaw, but still not enough to overcome the rage she was feeling.

Finally the captain's words started to penetrate her thoughts. He was trying to stir the crew to action! She could feel the fire inside of herself responding; yes, burn them all! But the rational part of her looked on in disbelief.

"You wish to strike a spark?" she found herself growling when del Magrina had finished his speech. "You? One little merchant crew? When the entire island of Kyprion could do nothing but watch?"

She shook her head, a look of disgust on her face.

"I knew the people of Gramvar, a little. I visited there recently and there will always be a part of it in my heart. What was done…"

No words seemed strong enough for the emotions she was feeling but she let them play out plainly on her face, letting the whole crew see the outrage and grief that she was experiencing.

"Throwing your own lives away will not bring back Gramvar. Pouring your blood into the harbour will not liberate the people of Chamiras. What is done, is done, and the best you can hope for is to not be noticed by the dragons. That is how you survive. That is the only victory possible."

 

 
__________________
Current status: The weeks are passing me by just now with few opportunities to post. I'll try to catch up but I'm happy for my characters to be DMPC'd this month if necessary. Sorry!

Last edited by Lazer; Sep 4th, 2021 at 12:38 PM.
Reply With Quote
  #101  
Old Sep 7th, 2021, 03:27 AM
Vislands's Avatar
Vislands Vislands is offline
Blue Mage
 
Tools
User Statistics
Last Visit: Dec 3rd, 2021
RPXP: 12946
Vislands Vislands Vislands Vislands Vislands Vislands Vislands Vislands Vislands Vislands Vislands
Posts: 3,793
Perhaps Batoyangi the Constrictor knew more of the central tongue than he let on, or perhaps it was simply because he too knew the lash of dragon-kind, the undying storm of rage of which he had only been able to release droplets. On the shore he could see more lights and outlines of buildings, enough now that he had an idea of what the rest of the city must look like. Ruin.

The bellow of pain and defiance rang out from the Minotaur and while the men yelled, Bato howled his infernal howl downward, into the planks below. There was no doubt that he was with them, and an invisible boundary that had been maintained so far in the sea journey between the gnoll gladiator and the bovine warriors and crewmen melted.

The gnoll stood and made to go move among them, when the witch began to speak. Bato turned to her, his small triangular ears turning to attention, his instincts sniffing for one of her deceptions, another paranoid scheme. But, instead he could smell the sulphuric smell of her tears as they evaporated on her cheek. Bato could rarely tell what that dragon-blooded woman was thinking, but rage recognized rage.

Instead of a sharp reprisal in the imperial tongue, Azar felt the weight of a large bestial hand on her shoulder. He said nothing to the mage nor looked at her, but stood behind her left side, an unmovable presence, looking on towards the faces of the captain and the crew, many of which had stopped and turned at Azar's outburst. Bato looked to del Magrina, then drew his shield of hardened leather from his back.

It was weathered, similar to a rectangular kite in shape and threatening by how much evidence of its survival marred its surface: countless scratches and wounds crisscrossed the dark, well oiled, leather, and deep red stains splattering so much of its surface that the shield itself had taken on the dark red aspect of injury. The chef had his knives, the blacksmith her hammer. The Constrictor's instrument of purpose, the purpose being death - Adarga.

The gnoll grinned, then sniffed the air. His central tongue was rough, half-gibbering. But understandable. "Howww will you do this, Captain?"



OOC
 

Last edited by Vislands; Sep 8th, 2021 at 04:55 PM.
Reply With Quote
  #102  
Old Sep 8th, 2021, 02:47 PM
hafrogman's Avatar
hafrogman hafrogman is offline
Community Supporter
 
Tools
User Statistics
Last Visit: Dec 3rd, 2021
RPXP: 17639
hafrogman hafrogman hafrogman hafrogman hafrogman hafrogman hafrogman hafrogman hafrogman hafrogman hafrogman
Posts: 3,073
Zenda, Swordswoman of Ishadia
right-aligned image
"Azar is right, Captain." Zenda shook her head ruefully. "What can one little merchant crew hope to accomplish? Keep your head down, don't get noticed, don't rock the rock the boat. At least..." At this, the swordswoman whirled in place dramatically, facing the crew now. "...that is what they want us to think, isn't it?" The look she flashed the Mharoti sorceress was one of unashamed self-satisfaction, not unlike that of a cat who has gotten into the cream. "The tyrants and despots of the world would like nothing better than for all the people to submit... stop struggling... give up. But why?" The Ishadian spread her hands in a questioning gesture, but did not wait for an answer. "Because they know. They gained their power through violence, but they keep it through fear and intimidation! They want... no, they need everyone to be scared of them. Because they know that if everyone stood together, united... then their reigns of terror would come to close."

Zenda was pacing back and forth along the planks of the deck now, feeling the stir of action in her own blood, her voice raising in crescendo. "What can one group do against the might of an empire? Well, I'll tell you!" She balled up one fist, raising it in front of her. "We can give them a bloody nose!" She dropped her voice lower, a stage whisper, still loud enough to carry. "Now, a bloody nose might not seem like much against a dragon... but it serves a purpose. It reminds the rest of the world that the dragons can bleed! They are not gods, despite what they might want us to believe. The time has come to teach the nations of Midgard that fact. Remind them that scales can be cracked, wings can be torn and dragons can be slain!"

The Ishadian dancer drew one hooked blade, and held it above her head. It was the merest act of will to summon forth the radiance from her soul and lime the sword's edge in glowing light. "I will go with you, Captain. We may not win a war this night. But I will gladly help you light the spark."

OOC
 

 
__________________
Back. Slowly catching up.

Characters: Del CorganIris KetteringCaleb ShawDeirdre VenteuseYrena
ZendaSquire GainsboroBaruuk TalonfaceKonstantin LumynMarisol d'Arabeth

Last edited by hafrogman; Sep 8th, 2021 at 02:51 PM.
Reply With Quote
  #103  
Old Sep 10th, 2021, 02:13 PM
4eyedBadger's Avatar
4eyedBadger 4eyedBadger is offline
Community Supporter
 
Tools
User Statistics
Last Visit: Dec 1st, 2021
RPXP: 7570
4eyedBadger 4eyedBadger 4eyedBadger 4eyedBadger 4eyedBadger 4eyedBadger 4eyedBadger 4eyedBadger 4eyedBadger 4eyedBadger 4eyedBadger
Posts: 2,223
The Sighing Lady, midnight on the first day of GoldflowerThe handsome merchant captain’s smile is a mixture of relief and enthusiasm as he nods appreciatively at Zenda’s fiery speech. The smile hardens with resolve as he brings his clenched fist across his chest in salute to Batoyangi.

"When the dragons burned Gramvar," says del Magrina, gesturing toward the ruins and the pillar of fire on the distant coast. "The people of Chamiras, minotaur and man, came to their aid." His tone is somber, but filled with resolve. "And when they did, an entire legion of Mharoti emerged from the fog in the south to sack Chamiras. The battle was a slaughter."

At this, Bato can hear the deep rumblings of bovine anger from the bulls.

"Within days," continues the captain. "Aarush Vadula, the red dragon commander, put hundreds of minotaurs to death. She strung up their corpses in the streets and the squares. Hung them from the walls. Placed them in the houses of their families. Draped them over wells and dropped them into the cisterns. None are allowed to disturb her ”rotting herd” on pain of death. The survivors are forced to live and walk among their dead, as a reminder that they are all expendable to their new masters." del Magrina does not hide his disgust. He gives a respectful pause of silence for the dead before speaking again.

"But the Horned Governor of Chamiras, the bull Yikashata…she kept alive." There is a tinge of pity in these words. "Keeping him chained within her quarters in the occupied Palace of Palms, Vadula tortures him nightly, letting his screams of pain and despair echo across the city for all to hear." del Magrina’s hand clenches around the hilt of his sword.

"The people of Chamiras are broken. The rest of Kyprion are nearing despair, as their queen waits for Triolan aid that will not come. Tonight, I would strike a blow for Kyprion. Under the dark moon of the Lady of Shadows, I will enter Chamiras!" His voice grows louder, as the herd among the crew low their assent. "I will enter the Palace of Palms! And I will free Yikashata! I will show the dragons…and the minotaurs…that the fight is not gone from those who oppose tyranny!" Cheers rise up from minotaurs and men!

But not all are convinced.

"Chamiras is a fortress," says Arnau Sartori, shaking his head. The Sighing Lady’s first mate looks hard at his captain. "For two months they’ve been digging! Enough earthworks and trenches and funneling palisades to eat up a dozen companies!" Some of the more reticent human crew nod their assent at this. "And Chamiras is almost two days south, with flights of the fire-spitters in the air and I dare say more’n one scaly swimmer in the water, watching the approach." He spits over the railing, careful not to disrespect the deck of their ship. "You’d not set your foot on the land before they killed us all."

The captain has a heavy, but genuine smile for his first mate. "You are not wrong, my friend," he says. "…if we were to approach as a company of men would. But there is another way." At this, he looks to Vrakiras Roshgazi.

The big, silver bull looks hard at Sartori. The distant fire reflects red in his large, bovine eyes. "The Labyrinth," he says. Some of the older minotaurs suddenly cease their excited braying. But Vrakiras goes on. "The magic of The Great Maze will carry us into Chamiras, below the very palace itself."

Even those humans who had been enthused up until this point now look somewhat confused.

"The great mazes of my people are more than halls of stone. They are more than crypts for our ancestors or vaults for our treasures." Vrakiras raises his muscular arms. His eyes take on a fervor. "The mazes connect us. From the ancient cities of Roshgazi and Cindass, to Vespras, the City of Song, even to Chamiras. It connects our past and our present. Wherever my people dwell long, we add on to The Maze. It is one Maze. One Labyrinth. Transcending Midgard and time. And it will carry us beneath the Mharoti legion to strike a blow for our people!" He is looking directly at the assembled minotaurs now, almost daring them to deny the power of The Maze.

None do. Even the humans fall silent.

del Magrina steps past Vrakiras again and takes up his speech. "They call us jambuka. Jackals. Well, the jackal is a hunter! Running far by night in small packs to take down prey many times larger than themselves." He smiles, that handsome, aristocratic smile of a charismatic noble. "Let us become the jackal, and teach them to fear it!"

Now the cheers erupt! Calloused hands raise in fists and heavy hooves stomp the deck.

Finally, the old, ruddy-nosed sailor who had first greeted Azar and Zenda in the hold, the night they had fought the Wharf Rats, speaks up over the dying shouts. "An’ how do we enter this maze, Cap’n?"

The captain nods appreciatively at the old sailor. "There is an entrance there, Mister Mendogen." He draws his gleaming sword and points it toward the dark shore, with its silhouettes of ruined buildings and flickering shadows in the orange light of the fires. "In the necropolis of Gramvar."

OOC
 

Last edited by 4eyedBadger; Sep 10th, 2021 at 02:14 PM.
Reply With Quote
  #104  
Old Sep 15th, 2021, 07:50 AM
Lazer's Avatar
Lazer Lazer is offline
Community Supporter
 
Tools
User Statistics
Last Visit: Nov 30th, 2021
RPXP: 14016
Lazer Lazer Lazer Lazer Lazer Lazer Lazer Lazer Lazer Lazer Lazer
Posts: 3,517
Azar was reeling at Zenda's speech. First she had seemed to be agreeing with Azar, a wonder in its own right! But the words which followed hit right to the bone of the Mharoti agent.

"…They gained their power through violence, but they keep it through fear and intimidation!"

Azar had been the very agent of fear and intimidation that Zenda was talking about. It had been bred into her, then drummed in to her constantly all through her childhood. The dragons were to be feared, none could stand against them, they and their kin were superior and none could deny it. Her head reeled as the tiny seed of doubt which had lodged in her some months ago started to blossom.

"…they need everyone to be scared of them. Because they know that if everyone stood together, united... then their reigns of terror would come to close."

Could that be true? The dragons were powerful and their advance across the continent seemed unstoppable, but if they truly were invincible, why did they need people like Azar spreading fear? Why did they have a security apparatus at all, spies and interrogators weeding out disidents? If they didn't fear the Jambuka, why?

And still Zenda's words pummeled her, making her sit heavily on the balustrade at the side of the ship.

"…They are not gods, despite what they might want us to believe."

Not gods, no, but surely close enough. Surely much closer to those beings than they were to such vermin as humans or minotaurs?

But they had brought down two wyverns themselves back in Candano. Perhaps not true dragons, but certainly far beyond a single human. And yet a small group working together had bested them.

Such thoughts were swept away as del Magrina began to tell the story of the decimation of Gramvar. In her mind she could see Rafolo, the fool, leading the Watch in battle, heedless of any personal danger. She could see him on the walls, sword raised defiantly as he exhorted his troops on and was engulfed by dragon fire. It would have served him right, the damned buffoon! He should have run! But she knew that he would have been too honourable for that.

She listened with numb detachment to the story, how the ones who went to aid Gramvar were tricked and their own home was taken right out from under them, and then how they were treated afterwards. She knew the orthodox view in the Empire that you must impose your will on the subjugated immediately, you must cow them, make the thought of resistance unthinkable. But now she wondered why that was so important. The only reason she could think of was fear. The dragons, for all their power and ferocity, truly feared humans. Perhaps not as individuals, but as a cohesive force. Zenda was right.

The captain had riled up his men now, and Azar listened as he laid out his plan. She looked at the others, at Bato and Zenda who had already thrown their lot in with these new rebels, at Nae'laa and Kaz who were, like her, watching on the periphery. They had their own mission to accomplish, they must not be sidetracked, especially by something so dangerous and foolish as this!

And yet the fire burned hot in her, the very part of her that she had inherited from the dragons. It roared in her breast, demanding to be unleashed, demanding vengeance.

And now she realised that the only thing holding it back was her fear, the fear which had been so carefully cultivated and reinforced her whole life. As a slave Azar had been special, not since she was a small child did she feel the cold bite of a manacle on her skin, but she realised now that the chains holding her in check had been of a different sort. Steel would never have held one such as she, they needed chains in her head, they needed her to be scared.

And just like that she chose to let the fear go, she slipped the chains and stood tall on the deck, letting the disguise drop so that everyone could see what she was.

"I know Gramvar," she said to del Magrina, trying not to snarl the words as the anger overtook her. "I should go, and pity any Mharoti who get in my way!"

 

 
__________________
Current status: The weeks are passing me by just now with few opportunities to post. I'll try to catch up but I'm happy for my characters to be DMPC'd this month if necessary. Sorry!

Last edited by Lazer; Sep 22nd, 2021 at 08:59 AM.
Reply With Quote
  #105  
Old Sep 17th, 2021, 12:57 AM
Vislands's Avatar
Vislands Vislands is offline
Blue Mage
 
Tools
User Statistics
Last Visit: Dec 3rd, 2021
RPXP: 12946
Vislands Vislands Vislands Vislands Vislands Vislands Vislands Vislands Vislands Vislands Vislands
Posts: 3,793
Batoyangi laughed at the dragon-blooded sorceress sudden declaration, a horrifying sound halfway between shrill squeals and a deep whooping growl. He pointed Adarga out onto the dark sea, towards the ruined land and the entrance that awaited them there. They would have to wade through the shambling undead and hopefully many, many Mharoti soldiers. A wicked grin spread across the gnoll's face and strands of thick salivation gathered about his jaws. He could hardly wait.

He spent enough nights stalking the sandy streets of Sarkland, doling out brutalization at the instruction of his so-called 'Master', acting as another finger of power for the Edjet, spreading his influence and advancing his agenda. It was time that he did that for himself.

"To...shore?" This he said to the captain and Vrakiras and it was clear from the ex-pit fighter's posture, pointed out towards the distant coast that he was asking how they would make that move, from here on the Sighing Lady to there, undetected. Once they got there he knew what to do, but the sea was not his domain.



OOC
 
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 03:38 PM.
Skin by Birched, making use of original art by paiute.(© 2009-2012)


RPG Crossing, Copyright ©2003 - 2021, RPG Crossing Inc; powered by vBulletin, Copyright ©2000 - 2021, Jelsoft Enterprises Ltd. Template-Modifications by TMB