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Topic: Beneath Shadowed Skies...
Subject: Post in the works.
Raen looked from one to the other, both Basque and Arback shrugged a little and caught a glance between the two of them. The man in the bandana scooped another helping of egg into his open mouth and chewed vigourously before swallowing. The armored woman ran a few fingers through her auburn hair as the rest looked on.
“I know it,” came the rasp of the kobold. Raen’s face soured a bit, but she bit her tongue from lashing out at the creature. She may have apologized for her reactions, but that did not mean that she had not meant them. “I was whelped here, in the warrens beneath the Twisted Horn.”
He reached out a single claw and traced a place on the map that was out on the table. The same one they had retrieved the night before after being briefed on the mission they had volunteered for.
“And I’ve hunted many times beyond the forest’s end. I can lead you this far, tell you where enemies dwell and how best to avoid them, to here,” tapping his foreclaw on the map twice. “Where the ice desert beckons, and it will be a short trail to return to the lands of men.”
’And just what aren’t you telling us?’ thought Raen sharply, her eyes narrowing as she stared at the kobold. She refused to even think of his name, Vyarp, as if doing so conceded some measure of her private struggle against him. She remained silent, however, offering Basque the chance to seize the decision before more questions could arise about the route.
“It’s decided, then!” said Basque, shoving a final spoonful of egg into his waiting mouth. He gulped that down and took a swig of his ale before continuing.
“We’ll break for the north as soon as we’re set and ready to go. I, myself, don’t have any preparations to make before we depart, but if anyone else does it’s the time to take care of them. Let’s meet at the northern gates in an hour.”
Raen pursed her lips in thought as some of the others gathered their things, sharing pleasantries before leaving the tavern or doing what they needed. Her thoughts roamed for a while as she finished her own meal. The bread was almost stale, but one gets what they pay for and this wasn’t the most expensive meal on the tavern’s menu by far.
Finally she had finished, all the others had already left. Raen set aside her plate that had held the food and left the payment for her meal with one of the passing serving-girls. All of the things that she had wanted to bring would be beyond her measly funds now, after a night spent in comfort and a good meal, the remaining Rommels would have to be saved. There was a single item worth purchasing though that Raen would surely do well with.
The streets of the city were just as busy as any other day, even though Raen felt something different about being outside. Perhaps it was simply nerves or anticipation, but the young woman could not shake the feeling that something was amiss. The Blazing Heretic had been on the water, not exactly in the northern end of the city and so what she wanted was not likely to come without a few trails to follow and Raen simply did not have that kind of time nor skill.
She stepped off of the cobble streets that lead to the northern gate and into a pub room. A slim brunette slipped beyond a pair of swinging doors that separated the commons area from the practical side of the business. Her arms were full with a tray carrying the remains of a few meals. A crust of bread fell to the floor unnoticed by her, but quickly snatched in a flash of fur and tail.
Raen scowled for a moment at the rodent’s appearance. There have to be a large amount of the creatures before they begin appearing so boldly at this time of day, even for such generous scraps. The place was not exactly a royal’s bedding, but it was still a place where travelers from the north would stop.
A scrawny man stood with his back to the small counter that had two large stools before it, obviously for the regulars. He polished a single mug with a damp rag that Raen could have guessed needed a wash from more than another emptied ale stein. But it wasn’t the cleanliness of his establishment that drew her there.
He turned his jaw to her and she could see the scruff about his chin matched the high cheekbones and deep-set eyes. He smiled at seeing another pretty woman in his bar, and Raen quirked a corner of her mouth acknowledging him, but quickly leaving her face blank again as she pulled out the stool with her booted toe, sitting down and leaning on her elbows.
“What can I do for ye, lass?” asked the tender, his voice a little nasally. The dark coarse hair that topped his head and lined his jaw in a spotty scruff added to the sense that he was as much of a rat as the creature that had snatched the crust from the floor. “A drink, perhaps? Most of the men who come through here wouldn’t say no to that at any time of day.”
“Nay. Your ale does not interest me. Your talk, however, might,” said Raen. She drew back her right hand, fingering a rommel in her cloak pocket, preparing to draw one or two out should it come to that. “I have to travel north, and being the first stop in the city on that route inwards, perhaps you know something of the… countryside…”
Sometime later…
Raen walked up to the Northern gates with a little spring in her step. This was exciting, leaving on what could be a grand adventure. She preferred thinking of the task that way rather than imagining a gruesome and lonesome death in some far off land.
Many of the others were already waiting at the gates and the armored woman joined them. She sat on her pack staring down the road to the north. Raen pondered the information that she had sought, speculating on what might be going on in the others’ minds.
It was not too long before she counted heads and came up one short. A moment later she realized that she had forgotten to count herself and chuckled softly as she stood and shouldered her backpack.
“Well, we might as well be off, right?” she asked generally. A few others nodded and shifted their own luggage about their backs.
The adventure had begun, albeit silently. Raen made little to no conversation during the initial miles that the group put behind them. A steady increase in the distance from the city lent to a change in the terrain that everyone seemed to notice. The fighter heard more than watched as Celene, the dancer, became agitated. It was a mental note Raen made about the woman that might be important later.
Midway through the afternoon, the others made motion to stop for a brief lunch. While Raen would rather have continued on with the hike, there was no harm in stopping and much more harm to be done fighting about such a trivial thing. After a quick bite, they were on the road again.
The party passed a few other groups, many in wagons laden with goods for market. Many pairs of eyes stared in their direction as the group walked onwards. Raen stared back more often than not, trying to piece together the emotions behind the stares. Sometimes she saw awe, sometimes she saw fear, but mostly it was too hard to distinguish the two. At very least there were no hateful eyes for her as the wagons and horsemen passed. She thought she saw a few directed at the others, however, and that could be understood.
Beyond the light lunch, the group didn’t stop for any lengthy period of time, continuing on until the air began to cool and the horizon glowed a soft orange hue. Beyond the roadside was a bluff, a stand of birch that would make an ideal place to camp. The idea was unanimous as the group spread through the bluff, eventually settling on the eastern side.
Soon, Raen had kindled a fire with the armfuls of wood dropped by Arback. The deadfall cracked and popped as the moisture left in the wood steamed out in a thin wisp of smoke. Raen turned away from the fire, looking out into the flat farmlands that permeated this area. She munched on a light dinner, a piece of drying bread and a few dried fruits.
We’ll likely figure out our logistics en route, thought the young woman. Food would become an issue beyond the flatlands and into the Icereach. It would still be days or possibly weeks before they reached that great expanse, however, so the thought was tucked away, making room for more pertinent issues.
“Basque, what shall our rotas be? We shall need a watch during the night, if not two,” Raen asked plainly to the young man. He was handsome in his own right, but Basque’s worth had yet to be proven. He seemed competent, yet Raen remained unsure. The first day was over, but it would be the first night that would be the true trial.
((okey done.))
Posted on 2007-10-25 at 12:57:22.
Edited on 2007-10-30 at 16:38:09 by Vilyamar
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Topic: RDINN Feature Updates/ Suggestions/ Bugs
Subject: The only downside
Only downside is that if one topic gets posted in twice in the same day and nothing else, its difficult to see changes, but I like the idea of giving more exposure. Its a small price to pay to actually click twice to see if something has been done since you posted.
Posted on 2007-10-22 at 22:40:06.
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Topic: Hockey Season!!!
Subject: Leafs? ewww
Jets all the way. Too bad they live in phoenix now. And they suck there.
New Jerseys? Poop I say.
Looking forward to some good games in the west. But it'll be interesting to see what happens to some of the crap clubs in the south. Bettman (idiot) will likely stick with his force-the-hand motto and move the Leafs south...
Posted on 2007-09-25 at 04:01:14.
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Topic: Beneath Shadowed Skies...
Subject: Another Epic
Basque held Arback in a hold about the neck, the angry dwarf ignorant of the fact that his struggles put further restraint on the flow of blood through his thick neck. Raen stepped between the struggling pair on Arback’s target, pushing on the arms of the dwarf, just below the shoulders with enough force to prevent any further movement forward. His face had by now turned a dark reddish purple.
The reckless tossing of the dwarf’s body against the holds slowed and lessened in voracity and as silence reigned over the room for a few moments, Basque broke his hold on Arback, letting the dwarf fall forward. Raen caught the dwarf, stopping his falling charge before he took more than a few steps and then righted himself. Arback scowled and turned away as Basque commented, “ That could have been easier, I think.”
The last of the Starbreaker clan dropped himself heavily onto the chair while Basque readjusted his bandana and everyone else took up places near where they had originally sat. A small chuckle and come from Celene, the frivolously dressed dancer, and Raen scowled for that. This was not amusing.
“You can say that again,” she said, speaking in a light and airy tone. “We’re all adults here, right? I think…”
The woman looked at the kobold when she said this, unsure quite of what constituted the equivalent of a human adult among their kind.
“We should get some rest, and make our way out in the morning,” she suggested.
The young man named Basque nodded slightly in agreement with the statement, as it was true in the fullest.
“Right. Let’s put this aside, all right? Arlaun told us we’ve got a tough road to walk. Let’s do it together, not having to look over our shoulders,” said Basque before going over to his chair and picking up a brown rucksack with a bedroll lashed to its top. He slung his belongings over his shoulder after righting the chair it had been hanging from. The chair had been overturned during the struggle with Arback and Vyarp.
“Let’s meet back here at sun-up, all right? I’ll see you then.”
With that, Basque opened the door and walked out and down the hallway from whence they all had come. Arback jumped down off his seat and slammed the already-open door back on its hinges, letting it fly back and crash against the wall. As the door swung back, leaving a small dent in the walling, Arback’s footsteps echoed down the hall even as he descended the stairs.
A raucous cheer filtered around the doorway from the common room downstairs and Celene stood, smiling as if nothing but pleasantries had been exchanged. Raen wasn’t sure if she would, or could, come to like the woman, with her flippant attitude. “Going to have a glass of wine, then bed down. Blessed sleep, everybody.”
The absurdly large woman who had threatened Raen simply nodded and left quickly afterwards. There was little to say. Raen checked her dagger once more, glancing over at the kobold, Vyarp he had named himself. She would remember, though to use it was another thing entirely.
As the others, too, made their own way out, Raen silently shouldered the pack she had brought and placed the rogue strand of hair behind her ear with a gloved hand. It was dark already and the sun would rise sooner than she would wish. A few torches in closed lantern cages flickered in the hallway as she made her way down to the common room. Immediately she regretted leaving through the common place in the inn, and even though many folk were beyond comprehending their surroundings from inebriation, the young warrior thought she could feel eyes following her out the door.
Quick steps and dodging a now barely smiling waitress brought Raen to the tavern door. Her hand pulled on the handle and held the wooden barrier as she turned her head, taking one last look into the obliviously joyous faces of the drunkards, two of which were dancing upon a pair of tables, nude, or nearly there, and spilling ale all over while more patrons cheered them on.
A hop took Raen over a puddle of sick in the street just outside the door to the Blazing Heretic. Street lamps flickered every so often as she made her way down the street. Raen drew her hood quickly after exiting the inn. The night was not cold, but better for men of the night to see her greatsword and dagger rather than her long ponytail. It would not do to be assaulted and robbed this night, nor arrested for slaying a citizen, no matter how poor or decrepit they may be.
It was a short walk to the inn she had stayed at the previous night and with a little luck Raen made it there without being accosted as well as finding a room vacant. She dropped two Rommels into the hand of the innkeeper and took the single iron key that would unlock her room.
The room was simple and unadorned, except for a piece of glass on the wall and single window. Some sounds of the night and dark alleys drifted up and through the walls, but it was quieter than the woods. Raen placed her things in the footlocker and clicked the lock shut, including most of her clothing. The room wasn’t the most expensive on the lot, but the bedding was fresh at least.
She removed her armor and placed it in a neat pile near the bed. Any sneak-thieves would have to be well practiced to remove the weighty breastplate and the miscellaneous accessories that went with the set without making any noise. Raen smirked to herself, admiring the clever pile.
Ever since that little bastard, curse him, tried to steal my set on the road. Her memories recalled the night she’d woken up to find half her armor missing… and in a pile neatly under a neighbors tent. After that she’d engineered a stack of her gear so that it was pretty difficult to pull any pieces out without causing the whole thing to crash. Saved me from having to track down three more thieves after that, so I count it as worth the trouble every time.
Blowing out the lamp that sat on the lone bedside table, Raen slipped between the covers and the mattress, letting the night slip away into blessed sleep.
~~~~~~~~
Morning came bright and the young woman was up just before dawn, gathering her collection of gear and items quickly. The room provided a small basin of water and a pane of reflecting glass on the wall for the resident. Raen splashed some of the cold water onto her face, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. A light red glow had begun to cut through the predawn light as the sun started its journey across the sky for another day.
Her thoughts turned to the task and journey that lay ahead and also of the previous nights’ events.
A kobold! How could such a vile creature come to this expedition? Perhaps it was a mistake on the part of the Zantrical agents, thinking that it was a Halfling in its guise and stature. A short and scrawny Halfling, but it is plausible, she thought. The others obviously have no knowledge or dealings with such evil creatures, though if it proves somewhat trustworthy, the relation could prove useful in the future.
Raen audibly scoffed at the thought. A trustworthy kobold? That was like calling a rabid wolf tame.
She dressed quickly and returned the room key to the innkeeper downstairs. Politely declining the offer to stay for breakfast in the already bustling common room, Raen promptly dressed and left the tavern door, hanging on the threshold to stare back for a moment. It would be the last time she woke from a night alone in warm comfort and relative safety for some time.
The trek back to the Blazing Heretic wasn’t long in the new light of the dawn. People moved about the streets, beginning their daily chores and duties. Several shopkeepers could be seen cleaning and preparing to open the shops to sell their wares once again.
Raen followed a bearded fellow into the commons of the inn, taking only a quick glance to see where the rest of the party had seated themselves. It was fairly easy to find them.
“Didn’t care to set me a plate?” he very nearly roared over the din and clatter of patrons scoffing a meal of bread, cheese and ale mostly. Most of the others had already assembled and either ordered or sat with nothing in front of them. Raen quickly ordered a simple meal from a serving girl before joining the others.
“All right.” Basque said briskly as Arback’s plate and mug were seated on the table, into which he immediately tore into. “There are two main routes we can take; the Western road, through Dari, and up through the Selethinian southlands. Or, we can take the Northern pass, going across the colder tundra near the Icereach, cut through Arthemia, and continue along the northern borders to get right to Caraboln. Myself, I’d prefer the northern route – “
“Agreed!” came a quick response, which included small bits of ham, from Arback. The spray produced a quirked eyebrow from Raen and a giggle from Celene. Raen’s simple meal of bread, cheese and fresh milk arrived and she chomped on a fresh bread end.
A route to the West would be relatively easier on their feet, not to mention the possibility of latching behind a trade caravan for a small notion of security and possible wages. The route, while popular, tended to also attract bandits and known dangers well along the route. It would take longer, though, than the trek through the wilds immediately north.
I’m not sure I’d trade the possible security of a caravan for the adventure of this Northern route. Raen contemplated the thought as she swallowed a draught out of the stein of milk, placing the nearly empty container back on the counter with a clunk.
“Afore we begin our journey, I wish to apologize to you all for my hasty actions of late,” Raen said, albeit with a little hesitation. “My… experience with the kobold creatures has never been pleasant. I am called Raen Strider.”
“Does either of you boys know anything about this northern route?” inquired Raen. “The western road, while holding the dangers of banditry and being a little longer, at least it is known danger we pass.”
(Down 2 rommels for the room, since I'm assuming that it costs the same as in the PHB and a couple silver dimes for the simple meal. Raen doesn't care which route but would like to hear their pros for the northern route.)
Posted on 2007-09-14 at 19:33:19.
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Topic: Champions of Nomachron: Return to Arms (Mature)
Subject: Mass Shield of Faith
Paorn winced in reflex as the darkened Fellblade rent into flesh and skittered off of bone. The dwarven cleric tightened his grip upon the wooden symbol hanging upon his chest. Denev would be needed longer tonight than many nights before.
“Tai-laan!”
Paorn’s gaze was fixed generally upon the melee before him before he heard Atharam’s cry. Pain rippled beneath the steel, or perhaps mithril, exterior borne by the knight in the face of such danger. The lad’s gaze, too, dropped to that of the young woman as the Herald stared intently upon its prey.
His flaming sword had bit into the otherworldly flesh of the Herald, leaving a seared wound that shone slightly compared to the dark that seemed to collect about Vangal’s Herald. A slight sheen appeared around the holy symbol, filtering through the dwarf’s fingers. The same sheen appeared about the demon as Paorn called out against its presence, threatening to bind the demon in agony, but it wasn’t about to become that easy. With a growl audible across the campsite, the sheen broke, but the damage would be done.
Donia, too, used enough magical temptation to coax a lance of ice that slammed into the demon’s hide, shattering into thousands of pieces. Then came the despair.
The light of Atharam’s sword seemed to dim along with the silvery sheen of moon and stars above. Hopelessness crept across what seemed to be Paorn’s very being, filling him with dread. He could see his broken body, cast about and toyed with before those terrible eyes, burning yet cold, alive yet not, his very soul undone by the cruelty of the abyss.
The strength in his knees nearly left him then, almost bringing him down to the ground in prayer for the sanctity of his soul regardless the danger his companions, and indeed, likely, the future of the Free Nations. But he felt a surge of his own, independent thought rush through his being. Refocused, his eyes caught the red glow of the Herald’s own fiery orbs.
“Denev grant us strength,” said the dwarf, again gripping the holy symbol of Denev tightly. He could feel the earth beneath his feet, smell the damp morning dew before it completely fell upon the thin leaves of the brush, trees and grasses. A single small piece of parchment was produced from one of his pockets. The writing was scripture and he whispered the simple words aloud. As he did, a dull green enveloped first the lettering then spreading through the paper itself. Soon the entire parchement was consumed in the dull nutty green. A pale light once again shone through his rough hand and similar lights, all in the symbol of Denev, shone upon the breasts of Donia, Tai-lann, Atharam and Drake. With the protection of Denev, hopefully they would survive this encounter.
Looking down at the paper, it was once again a simple piece of parchment, unadorned with script or ink and even then a bit flimsy. As if it had aged hundreds of years in a dry tomb only now seeing the sky and moisture again. A subtle gust of wind picked it up and it fell to dust, the magic of Denev taken all its strength to protect Paorn’s companions.
Paorn watched as Atharam spun Raykel, moving as quickly as the tired horse could to move between the Herald and Tai-lann.
Foolish lad, thought the dwarf. Letting love cloud yer better judgement.
Again.
“Get back ye durned fool!” yelled Paorn. “That ain’t fine wine coming from those spikes, ye water-walking buffoon!”
Edging closer to where Tai-lann now crawled, Paorn scrambled to find another prayer. All he could think of was the Nimbus spell that was usually useful in most encounters. Calling for a third time, Paorn saw his surroundings become illuminated as a nimbus of light surrounded him.
((Paorn will cast Mass Shield of Faith then move to Tai-lann but will use two turns of full movement to go the long way around. Not sure what he can do though because of the magic. He casts Nimbus of Light in the third round of combat. Yea sorry the chronology of the post is a bit out, just wanted to get something in.))
Posted on 2007-08-31 at 13:10:17.
Edited on 2007-08-31 at 13:13:01 by Vilyamar
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Topic: yet another movie thread...
Subject: PL again
I KNEW it was Spanish. My pops was watching it and said "Oh its in Italian" so I took his word for it, since its in WW II Italy.
We couldn't tell, since I was reading the Subtitles the entire time and a couple things in Spanish/Italian sound quite similar to the untrained ear (damn romantic languages, all so flowery and flourished).
Posted on 2007-08-27 at 21:57:02.
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Topic: Champions of Nomachron: Return to Arms (Mature)
Subject: Does this do for you?
A brief white cloud hovered in front of the bearded face that sat quietly in the dark. Rough hands lay one upon the other over a thick but solid girth, covered by a loosely belted piece of armor. The chestpiece rose and fell a small distance, giving away the presence of life in the stunted man, or rather, the dwarf.
Paorn Earthborer’s beard tangled in a mat of twisted braids was the least of his worries at this time of night. For days on end the party he was with had been hunted by every last manner of beast and orc-friend that existed this side of the Mithril City. Of how many days exactly, he had lost count. All that the cleric of Denev knew was that they were about a days journey, perhaps a little more at their current pace, from the friendly mountains of Nabaresh and the home of his cousins.
Provided, of course, that they still live.
The grim thought had passed through Paorn’s mind more than once since they had begun their reckless flight across the face of the continent and country formerly known as Trice. Disaster after disaster had befallen them since Paorn had first set out from the Trice’s walls on a mission to the razed city of Stratford. Now most of the countryside, including the capital, Trice, had been lost. Small bands of survivors were rumored to be about, but even then, nothing was certain these days. The lust for blood from their enemies was certainly intense and no one could imagine how far it would take them.
This night was like so many others that had passed. Gathering the civilian folk, setting the wards and pushing out as much purified food and drink as was possible whilst still retaining some semblance of supply and energy should they be forced into combat. They had not seen a skirmish for a few days, and even though they were close to the safety of the mountains, everyone had been on edge. Tension nearly crackled. No real rest would be gained this night.
Paorn wasn’t usually a light sleeper, mostly a forcive habit these days. Survival was more important than sleep, even though they remained firmly entwined with one another. At one side he kept his hammer, a Denevian weapon he had been gifted long ago. On the other he kept a rapier he had purchased while on the island nation of Aleria. The boy Kaelyn had shown him the use of the blade while his soul had been trapped within the royal blade Kaelyn had used. The quickness defied even the most veteran of soldiers, and though not a gambling man, Paorn had sometimes fooled unwary foes into a quick end, either to life or pocketbook, with his rapier in hand.
The dwarf’s eyes fluttered for a moment then blinked obviously before he yawned and rubbed sleep from his sockets. Stretching his arms and short legs, Paorn grumbled and shook his head. He looked again at the fingers of his left hand as he waved them in front of his face. This arm he had lost once, on travels to ask the aid of the elements in the conflict. The tale of its recapture was… a long one and he pushed the memories aside as he scrambled to his feet. The shield he had been laying on, Shockwave, had ironically been given by the same man who had seemingly betrayed the Trician nation and all that Paorn had worked for. Still he carried it. The item had been useful in the past and would be useful still.
Tightening straps as he walked a short way across the camp, Paorn turned his head. He could see relatively well in the natural dark, a gift of the blood that ran in his veins. The sight of Atharam, standing as resolute as always, was an easy one to pick out, even on a night with only a little star and moonlight shining from behind interspersed clouds.
But less than ten paces in the dark and Paorn stopped, removing shield and blade, dropping the roll he had been sleeping on. A wail sounded. One of the wards had been breached and every man, woman and child in their small caravan of refugees awoke and grabbed hold of whatever they had. Needless to say, this was not much by now, many personal possessions left behind or shoved aside for more water or food or simply less weight to bear over the many miles they had already walked.
A deep purple light, nearly indistinguishable at first, began to flood the clearing. Its source began as a small pinprick in the air, bulging randomly as its amorphous form either peeled back reality or forced its way into it.
“Damnit,” came a whisper from across the way. Donia Moonflower, a mage and a friend, worked her hands rapidly, drawing sigils and symbols and reciting incantation after incantation. Paorn let out a silent prayer that her work would result in some change in the growth of the purple light, now nearly 10 feet in height and well larger than any party or man would require. It continued to grow and Paorn saw Donia shake her head and step back, lips moving in either a curse or a prayer. Probably both.
Paorn’s shield went up instinctively now and the light exploded, purple haze clouding everyone’s vision as the creature before them materialized into reality. As the cleric looked back he realized that creature was an overstatement. The abomination before the refugees was a hideous thing, fearsome to the last detail.
“Vangal’s own,” said the dwarf, not so quietly this time. “The true abyss has come to bear. Barriers of the ancient ones have not only weakened, but rather are almost completely gone!”
Now all the remained of the light was the fiery essence behind the demons eyes. Darkness soon clutched at the terrified refugees and one of the children screamed. Paorn could see Atharam mounting his horse, Raykel, barking orders to the only two armed guardsmen that had been among the Tricians with them. At least, the only guardsmen left. Tai-lann, youthful, skilled and sometimes quite foolish young woman, also leapt to her feet.
Damnit, they mean to fight the blasted thing, Paorn thought. He racked his thoughts for the readings that he had done upon the Heralds of Vangal. He remembered their hatred, and he remembered their danger. But something irked him. There was something else, something about the blade that she bore. The Fellblade.
“Beware the Blade of the Herald!” Called out the dwarf. He could not be sure of what the blade actually did, only that its danger was great, as great as the being itself. “Donia, if ye know anything about that thar blade, ye’d best be speakin’ up now!”
As it was, Paorn laid a prayer our to Denev. Her aid would be required, and Paorn knew in his heart that this being was not one of the natural earths, therefore not one that would be welcomed there. Paorn felt the anger of the soil and the rage of the trees and creatures about him, boiling and piling upon him. This anger, this power, was what fueled his call to earth.
“Daemon Inferis!” cried the dwarf, white-hot power burning in him as he directed it towards the Herald of Vangal, hoping to burn the demon from the inside out. “Be wary, you young fools! Being the hero is no good if you are the martyr!”
((Paorn casts Demon Dirge. Hopefully its actually a demon. Do I get two actions if I don't move? Or did I already move? not sure. If Paorn has something left and doesn't have to concentrate on the spell (gotta check that), he'll cast Mass Shield of Faith, which I also have to check on but its too late to do that now.))
Posted on 2007-08-24 at 08:14:17.
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Topic: yet another movie thread...
Subject: Pan's
Just rented Pan's Labyrinth, an Italian foreign film praised for its special effects. While they were good, it wasn't quite what I was expecting, though nevertheless good.
The Nazi-era style reminded me of Life is Beautiful (another Italian film from a couple years ago).
Also, as my father pointed out, its quite similar to the Christian version of the story of the son of God.
Posted on 2007-08-19 at 00:38:55.
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Topic: Champions of Nomachron: Return to Arms
Subject: It was 1
1 year into the war...
Posted on 2007-08-17 at 16:29:14.
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Topic: Beneath Shadowed Skies...
Subject: Screw it I posted.
Chapter 2: Rough Starts
“Woman, what in the nine hells do you think he is doing here? Obviously he was selected to go on this mission of quest or whatever the hell it is along with the rest of us.”
The words, pompous as they were, came from the mouth of one of the unintroduced. By the look of him, Raen guessed he was half-human, half-elven in blood. He tapped his pipe as he leaned forward to continue his rant about her behaviour.
“Now, if I were you, I would put that dagger away. He received the same seal as us, and is just sitting in a damn chair. If you try and kill him, and I say try because I don’t know what he is packing, but if you do try and do kill him, I don’t think that the Zantrical will be too happy. Ya know, since selections are over and everything. They would be one short, and plans would be screwed.”
“I wouldn’t want to get the Zantrical mad. They have powerful people amongst their ranks, and I’m sure they could have you dealt with very quickly. Now, stop threatening everyone else who is different, sit down and shut up. That chair is probably Zantrical property, too, and I know I wouldn’t like you to kill one of my hired sell swords, AND broke my chair, too,” he said with a puff of smoke. Sitting back puffing upon his pipe and looking perfectly relaxed about the excellent speech he had just made, the unknown mage took his attention immediately away from Raen who stood staring dumbstruck at the man who spoke oddly and seemed to act with the wisdom of a the door with which they passed upon entry.
“And, sir, if I be you,” retorted Raen, “I mayhap would have spent a little less time in my tower reading upon such creatures as we may be encountering and rather been outside defending the flocks against raiders such as we may see at the present.”
Raen had barely shifted her stance and attention back to the kobold who crouched upon the chair, either confused, petrified or belligerent and ignorant of its danger when the large woman, who towered even over the men in the room such as Basque, spoke up to her.
“Violence in the peace tent, no matter the structure is heretical. Would you curse this voyage before it begins by so hastily spilling blood?” Said the woman, spinning a javelin between her large forefinger and thumb. Her hands were well worn, muscles large and breasts tight against her chests, even more so than Raen, though they were still larger simply due to sheer size.
“The half-breed speaks the truth. If we’re to travel together, there needs to be a level of trust,” spoke the large woman as she removed the javelin and twirled it about her hand. “If that means being a big sister and beating that trust into you, then by all means step up and lets get down to the nitty gritty.”
“You speak of trust as if you took it to bed with you and made love to each form, barbarian,” spat Raen. “Respect is earned through sweat and blood, neither more nor less of either. Trust once broken takes a lifetime to repair. His kinds broke the trust of my people generations ago by stealing from out fields and culling our flocks. When they encroach upon your lands and begin the kill the beasts you rely on to survive, you may speak of trust and the ‘nitty gritty’.”
Raen did not move, simply shifting the dagger in her hand, spinning it so that the hilt of the blade reversed sides several times. The situation was tense, and perhaps she began to think her reaction harsh and over what was needed in such a place. But still, how could a kobold be chosen for this journey? The race was loathsome and thoroughly evil, or at least in her experience. None of these people had ever encountered one, of that she was sure by the fact that they had stood up for the creature.
The heel of her left and rear foot began to slide backwards towards the chair as the dwarf, Arback, howled at the site of the kobold, leaping to his feet beside Raen. There was no turning back now, as apparently the dwarf had a deeper seed of hatred towards the kobold than even she. Or perhaps it was simply his robust nature, being a dwarf, to be loud and overbearing in all things. Raen could not tell. If nothing else, he was now an ally in this, the first conflict of the journey.
“Since when do they let these fiends into anything ‘cept cellars and latrines?!” He bellowed, deep voice rumbling and bringing all eyes to his stout frame. His hand sat upon the head of an iron war hammer upon his belt and he looked about to draw it as well.
“Cool it!” called Celene, stepping in front of Vyarp. Again, all eyes shifted, following each action in a very slow, choppy moving scene. “Nobody is hurting anybody, got it?”
The large barbarian woman now stood in front of her chair, still twirling a javelin and looking down up Raen as others moved to get in, behind or speak.
Basque, the first to introduce, and probably the most likely to be disappointed no matter the outcome of this current battle of words and races, found himself on his feet now, shouting, “Weapons away!”
Raen could feel his eyes on here and as she and the brute were the only two holding any, it was safe to assume he meant them. However, Raen’s eyes did not move this time, not away from the threat that made itself very apparent in the barbarian’s eyes and expression.
“Maybe you had a bad time with kobolds in the past, miss, but that doesn’t nail him to be just like those who did you wrong. You, too, Arback. I’d hoped could get to know each other peacefully and civilly here. Its not too late for that!” He said, worry for violence on the edge of his tone.
Raen held back, not moving, still staring at the woman who would fight her over this challenge of a race far beneath her knowledge and stature. But it was not her move to make, not this time, as Arback surged forward, short legs pounding across the wooden floor to shove Celene out of the way and swing at the kobold.
“Don’t care lad! These buggers collapsed the tunnels onto the ‘eads of my kindred sixty-some years ago! Its thanks to his kind that I’m the last of the Starbreakers!” Arback cried. Raen could hear the anguish in his voice, as difficult as it was to discern from the loud rumblings of the enraged dwarf. Her jaw dropped open as she heard the statement. The villagers had lost some lives to kobold raids, but it had not been more than one or two in her lifetime. Kobolds were generally in and out quietly or too stupid or hungry to be organized enough to mount a proper and deadly attack. Arback’s concern was terrible and more personal than hers.
Raen’s mind switched gears then. If this dwarf was indeed the last of the Starbreaker clan, she would not let it be on her conscious that this be his final act, drawing blades against a creature upon the dawn of a fresh journey, even a kobold. She quickly flipped the dagger in her hand, sheathing it at her belt from where she had taken it, and stepped forward to grab Arback and restrain him.
“Arback, calm thyself. This is not the place nor time to bring about the end of your lineage! Save your honor for a battle more deserving. When money speaks, the truth stays silent,” grunted Raen through breaths as she tried to help Basque restrain the dwarf.
Posted on 2007-08-17 at 05:57:23.
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Topic: Champions of Nomachron: Return to Arms
Subject: ur soexcited!
Youare forgettingyour spaces!
Posted on 2007-08-16 at 21:10:21.
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Topic: Champions of Nomachron: Return to Arms
Subject: which avenue?
Where do you want to see these things posted? here or PM?
Posted on 2007-08-14 at 19:18:24.
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Topic: Your Opinion?
Subject: no problemo
anytime
Posted on 2007-08-14 at 18:46:23.
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Topic: Your Opinion?
Subject: Thoughts on Artemis Dark
sorry Grey, got real busy with Lessons that week and never got back to stuff.
Let's see:
Other than editing it to look nice on these forums:
What's the deal here? Is this two separate consciousnesses? or is it Phillip hallucinating and in the city at the same time?
Borders on too confusing, almost too many elements of the story packed in there. The "... * ..." lines need to be done tastfully in the actual text (I.E.:
Philip Dark – some people in his circle liked to call him Philip Darkness – bit into the back of his hand, his teeth breaking the skin. Blood painted his lips. He snapped his hand away, staring at the palm.
… lines of perfect blue …
Time may have stopped, and he cocked his head back, wiping his lips with the back of his sleeve. With eyes darting, he ran. He ran as the streaks of park lights blurred past him.)
Otherwise it can get quite cluttered with this "flashes". As I read it, I would like to think of a cut-scene in a movie, with the majority of the scene with Phillip and then flashes into a dreamscape, slightly blurred, not quite coherent place that has these clues as to what is happening elsewhere. Possibly giving clues to madness in Dark.
Careful at the end. "It was over" is too definite for me. I would prefer it to be hanging, especially if this is a prologue. Leave the question to whether it is over or not to the end of the book, not the end of the beginning unless you are planning on doing a "re-telling" story. Even then, The End is at the the end right?
SEcond last line is confusing, maybe reword it?
Posted on 2007-08-14 at 17:10:06.
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Topic: Beneath Shadowed Skies...
Subject: Ch. 1 - The Beginning
The staircase was wooden and unadorned as Raen scaled to the top and entered a plain hallway with a simple wooden floor. A hollow sound resonated through the floor boards as her boots struck with the heel then toe. Scuff marks showed leading into some of the doorways beyond her.
A single figure cloaked in the articles of the Zantrical stood in her way, two open doors on either side of him telling the signs that there were in fact two groups that had been set aside. A sense of caution piqued in Raen though she faltered only a single step when she figured that there had been two paths to take. Before she could make a decision, however, a hand directed her through the doorway to her right, and into one of the inn’s rooms.
The doorway, not thoroughly solid as any weather-bearing door would expect to be, stood open on its hinges until finally a small figure scurried through, huddling beneath the folds of its cloak, the door closing behind him by the Zantrical agent. Raen had already take a seat between the strangers. The chairs and an elaborate desk that stood out from the modest coverings on the wall were the only furnishings within the room. Raen’s eyes glanced over each face and body, noting who was here, and almost as importantly, who was not. It wasn’t an odd group, though she knew nothing of what professions or talents the others possessed and so could not tell what skills they would have to work with.
Her brothers had told her she could have been a general if she had only been born a boy. Each of the other seven was doing the same scan of her and the others. They could almost have been a group of wolves placed together, each eyeing each other to find which might have been the weakest member to support. Or maybe the first member they would eat.
Raen started when the door clicked open and shut swiftly behind a red-haired man dressed in the robes of the Zantrical. He stood no taller than eight hands, his build disguised by the flowing black and purple cloth adorned with the Zantrical’s mark, a Raven, on his left shoulder. He, too, studied each of them. Raen watched his eyes move along each person, up and down, sizing them like cattle for the slaughter. The feeling bordered on uncomfortable and Raen could feel annoyance towards the man’s demeanor. He seemed to put off an air of superiority, above those who had been chosen to become the fodder that would pave the way for their grasp and influence.
Raen’s lips drew thin as he took two steps forward to the center of the small semi-circle they had formed with the chairs. Raen’s right hand returned to her left upon her right knee upon pushing a few strands of hair back behind her ear. Her right leg upon her left in as modest a way as was possible wearing her armor and breeches, Raen listened intently to the man.
“Good evening to you all. My name is Arlaun, though that is not the matter of importance here. What is important is that you have been selected for this expedition into the unknown,” he proclaimed in a voice that stayed simple and true. Arlaun’s expression never changed and though his voice was not quite monotone, it did not change much either. Very plain, yet informative, was his voice and effective in getting the message across.
“As you’ve been informed, you’ll be traveling to a distant region, one that has not been charted for many generations, and certainly by nobody from our lands. The map found has been fortune for us, for it is a chance to stake out territory for our guild, for our people.”
“This is the chance of a lifetime, for it is an opportunity to not only see an ancient part of this world, but to also lay claim to what you may find there. The condition is that you must bring proof of your arrival there, and you must establish yourselves there in the name of the Zantrical.”
“I shall not lie to you; this is not expected to be easy. The journey is long, and will take you to the best protected harbour owned by the guild. As we are not resident in a coastal nation, that port lies in Galia. From here to Caraboln will be a journey of eight hundred miles, and from there, the travel across the sea shall be commenced by Captain Ahram of the Tidal Marauder. He will get you to the lost continent which we seek.”
Eight hundred miles! thought Raen. The number sped through her head quickly. She had a small aptitude for numbers, being able to count and multiply distances and times well. Going the other way was sometimes tricky, but she could manage, especially with pen and ink. At least 40 days of travel on foot. Perhaps more.
As the numbers ran through Raen’s mind, the man turned away for a moment, drawing something from within his robes. Raen’s hand edged slightly towards a dagger hilt that sat in her boots, eyes intent on the man’s back. Only did Raen relax when the click of a lock being turned and the wooden slide of a door stopped and Arlaun turned back with a set of rolled and sealed declarations. Each wax seal bore the mark of the Raven, for the Zantrical.
“These are your fare across the sea. They will gain you passage, and will earn you the protection of the Marauder. The seal must not be broken, or they become void thereafter. Give it to Ahram, and he shall give you your voyage.
“As you know, your reward is a handsome monetary reward, and all the benefits of Zantrical guild membership. What you find out there is yours to keep as well. The value of this reward goes without question, and is due only to the brave and brilliant.”
Arlaun smiled slightly and took a step backwards. “You may depart when you are ready. Teamwork will be important to your success. The roads are long, but they are of your choosing. We will eagerly be awaiting your return to the port at Caraboln with news of your voyage. May the gods guild you on your way.”
Arlaun turned and exited the room without hurry, though with purpose. He left the door open, showing an empty hall and an empty doorway beyond and an empty room beyond that. As his purple robes fluttered behind his steps, Arlaun disappeared down the hallway, the last sounds being his footsteps on the stairs. No one within the small inn’s room moved or spoke.
They all slowly looked at one another, not wanting to be the one to first break the silence that was laid over the gentle raucous from downstairs in the tavern. It was the young man whose head was covered in a bandana that first spoke.
Shifting forward on the chair, he spoke with a native accent, “Well, since we’re travelin’ together, I think this is a good time to at least get each other’s names. I’m Basque. Its nice to meet you all.”
Seated beside him, the dwarf scratched his beard with grubby fingers and huffed deeply. “My name is Arback, of the Starbreaker clan.”
On the other side of the seating area, the lovely woman smiled sweetly and tilted her head, allowing her light brown hair to fall to the side. “I’m Celene Rivercrest. My pleasure.”
Raen had taken a seat beside the dwarf who had introduced himself as Arback. She, herself was reluctant to be anywhere but last in calling out her name. Even though these people were those chosen to become this party from many applicants below, she had no clue as to what the process for selection had been. For all she knew any one person here could have been general street urchins that had been dragged in for filler, with personal views that were not upheld by the rest of the common people.
The next to speak was another young woman, who also wore a set of armor, yet carried no visible blade. Unlikely that she was a thief, but what sort of warrior would carry no tools? Several thoughts ran through Raen’s mind as the woman opened her mouth to speak.
“I am Reya Crystallis.” She spoke plainly, without accent belonging to anywhere, or perhaps to everywhere and Raen could not place her birthplace. “Wandering healer.”
Her name was of interest, but solely because it closely resembled her own. Raen looked the woman over more carefully this time, noting clothing. The absence of a weapon made a little more sense if she claimed to provide assistance to those without health. It would also explain the symbol of the gods lying upon her breast. Raen wasn’t sure, but she had heard the name Mirros associated with the symbol of crossed hands.
Before anyone else could move or speak, it was the small figures turn at introductions. The scroll it held passed from hand to hand as it removed its gloves, though Raen was not sure of what to expect from the creature, what she did see was far from what she had even thought of.
One glove, then the other, was removed showing scaly, taloned fingers. Raen was too much in shock at seeing the talons of a kobold to do anything while it spoke.
“My name is Vyarp Longtooth, of the tribe of the Twisted Horn. If you need a trapper, scout, knife fighter or archer then I’m your man,” came the words, guttural, high-pitched and disgusting to Raen. She stood sharply, knocking back her chair as it rocked on its rear legs, threatening to fall back before clattering onto all fours again. A quick hand drew a dagger from her belt and held it within her left grasp.
“Kobold,” hissed Raen, though not moving forward as Vyarp crouched on his chair. “What business do you have here? Which band of thieves cut throats to send you on this task?”
(Playing this out. RP time peoples! As you can see, Raen has not had...pleasant... experiences with kobolds before.)
Posted on 2007-08-14 at 16:53:24.
Edited on 2007-08-15 at 22:34:58 by Vilyamar
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Topic: Champions of Nomachron: Return to Arms
Subject: when levelling
nothing special at level 10 right? No feats, so ability scores I don't think.
Don't think I had much to do with that. Our inventories and such may be updated, but I'm not sure how thats going to happen.
Posted on 2007-08-13 at 01:37:43.
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Topic: Champions of Nomachron: Return to Arms
Subject: I'm gonna need Paorn
I need my sheet too pls.
Posted on 2007-08-09 at 06:20:54.
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Topic: Champions of Nomachron: Return to Arms
Subject: W T F!?
I uh... kinda lost my arm... I might need to know if I got it back.
P.S. Does the name "Return to Arms" mean I found it and got it reattached?
Posted on 2007-08-07 at 08:24:40.
Edited on 2007-08-07 at 08:25:53 by Vilyamar
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Topic: Champions of Nomachron: Return to Arms
Subject: ZOMG THE 1 ARMED DWARF!
I left this with one arm  . I want it back >:|
Posted on 2007-08-07 at 01:24:57.
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Topic: Your Opinion?
Subject: opinions re: New book - New Chapter
1) White space. lol.
I'll edit more in when I read it.
Posted on 2007-07-25 at 18:04:15.
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Topic: RDINN Feature Updates/ Suggestions/ Bugs
Subject: hmm
Is there anyway to tag links so that they have a coloured dot before them (or maybe a coloured link) that gives the general family or genus that the topic belongs to (Q/A vs Recruitment; General vs. Creativity)?
Posted on 2007-07-25 at 02:03:14.
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Topic: Beneath Shadowed Skies...
Subject: Intro Part Uno
Raen shivered suddenly in the back of the wagon as a cool gust of wind blew up behind the small caravan, ruffling the canvas sheets that were loosely tied back behind her. Her armor rattled as her right hand shot out to grasp the wooden frame and her left tightened its grip on the step she sat on while the whole wagon bounced about through a series of potholes and ruts left from last week’s rains. The crisp early morning was cool enough, despite how late it was already in the year. Some farmers used to say that crisp mornings this late meant a wet summer. Others said it meant a dry one. Raen was pretty sure than neither knew what they were talking about.
Superstitious old fools, most of them anyways. The young woman shook her head as the thought ran through her mind, bringing back a few jilting memories of a home she’d been trying to forget. Her auburn hair had been pulled back this morning into a single horse-tail and the fraying ends began to tickle the side of her neck and shoulder before she reached up and brushed it aside. The hand quickly returned to grasping the wooden seat since the wagon had come across another set of ruts and now bounced merrily along towards the city of Sankrist.
“Hey! Strider!” called a voice from the front of the bouncing wagon. Raen’s head snapped up as she heard the voice of her current employer call the name she had taken since she started out on the roads and a guard-for-hire. She pushed up off the back of the wagon, landing on the ground with a soft thud before grabbing her sheathed greatsword by the encased blade and turning towards the front of the wagon.
Raen trotted up along side before coming even with the head of the wagon where Talim Hawkins sat, his long salt and pepper beard resting easily on his wide girth. Rough, tanned hands grasped the leather reins that controlled the single beast pulling the wagon, a dull mare the man called ‘Missus’. Talim said it reminded him of his first wife.
“This city here be as far as I need yer services, lass. Sankrist is where I be spending me summers,” said the merchant as Raen walked beside him. It would still be another couple of days worth of travel, and another couple of coins in her pocket yet. The guard shrugged at her employer’s statements.
“I never expected this to be a long task, sir, though it was enjoyable enough. I’ve never been to anyplace as large as Sankrist before and it shall be enjoyable to spend some time there,” Raen said, her gaze moving away from the road ahead to peer over her shoulder at the path they had just traveled.
“If ye need anything, lass, before we part ways, just ask and ah’ll see what I can be doing for ye,” Talim drawled, his hand stroking the rough beard a few times before returning to the reins. A bird sang its song for all to hear while the wagon and pair bounced past. The rattle of the iron pots inside startled it and its fellows, causing a flurry of motion as they all fluttered out from the treetops to fly southwards over the small hilltop and brush.
“It seems like we’ll be battening down the wagon tonight, sir,” Raen mentioned turning back to facing the road ahead once more. “A storm is coming up on us from the west.”
Talim turned his shoulders to get a look through the open back of the wagon he drove.
“Indeed, we will, lass,” he said with a sigh, turning back to snap the reins thrice to encourage Missus along the road. “Hop back aboard, we’ll make haste ‘afore the storm forces our stop…”
~~~~~~~
A little hop and Raen landed on the other side of a rather large pool of clear rainwater that filled a depression in the paved streets of Sankrist. Still people bustled about, taking to their daily errands and tasks as the evening wore on past dusk. The new-summer sun was just setting beyond western horizons, leaving long shadows to cast the scenery in deep purple and vivid orange hues. Albeit the scenery was not the same as the rolling hills to the West where Raen hailed from, but it was… different in this light. Almost as beautiful as it was foreboding for the young woman who’s first time in a large city meant confusion and awe.
Raen continued her walk down the paved street, looking at all the different peoples who passed. The city was mostly human for what she saw, though here and there she spotted a dwarf or an elf. These other races hurried quicker through the streets, an eye out on everyone they passed.
A city of trade, a city of distrust, thought Raen and raised her eyebrows over a pair of fellows arguing outside the door of a shop. One wore a dirtied white apron and was cursing at the other who held his nose high for a small time as he turned his copper topped head and marched down the street with both hands in his pockets, soon scowling at the stones passing beneath his feet.
Raen stood watching the young man for some time. He had been nice to look at for a time, though it might have been more pleasant to see him in better spirits. She frowned to herself as she began to turn about and continue on, except she found herself turning into an outstretched hand that disappeared quickly into a dark sleeve.
She looked once into the shadow of the cowl before looking back and reaching up to take the rough piece of scribe. The neatly inked words were in common, which Raen had learned a few years back. Her village had used a version of the language that was slightly different here and there, though fundamentally the same except for a few expressions and definitions.
Raen stuffed the small piece of parchement into a homemade pocket in her cloak. She would read it later. The first order of business was to seek out a suitable place to stay for the night. It was the 3rd day into Demarches and that time was nearly spent. The shadows were lengthening quicker by the minute and Raen swung her head about as she paced down the cobblestones trying to locate a sign that might call for travelers.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The following day passed without event and Raen found herself wandering the markets once again, peering at all the strange sights that accompanied one’s first visit to such a large habitation such as Sankrist. The young woman stopped briefly at several stands and merely browsed over the handful of interesting trinkets and pottery in a merchant’s square. Her curiosity was quickly sated, however, and Raen found that once she had finished brushing the crumbs from her lap, all that remained of the crusty roll purchased for an afternoon snack, she was quite bored.
Almost in absence of thought, Raen placed her hands into a pocket of her cloak. The soft weave of the pocket contrasted sharply with the rough, oiled wool that made up the traveler’s gift and rain’s bane that many people carried in this part of the world when going abroad. Many townsfolk would also own a piece much like her own, to keep off the indignant weather should they need to move about during the cold winters or one of the unpredictable summer storms.
A crumpled piece of parchement, which Raen had hurriedly shoved in this very pocket the day before brushed against the knuckles of her hand and the fingers opened to close about the piece and pulled it out and into the sun. The crinkles and creases from its hapless adventure within the pocket had to be smoothed out on top of Raen’s thigh before the page could be properly read. Though Raen’s skills with letters were not equal to those monks or scholars who read scripture during temple sessions or the mages and wizards who kept much to their own towers in this day and age, she was, at very least, proficient enough to understand the common forms used in this region.
Seeking assistance in search of grandeur.
Famed Veytheir explorer Jacques le Vert, notorious adventurer and treasure hunter, has recently made known an ancient map that reveals the continent as it was a hundred years ago, but for one critical difference; an island cluster off the northern coast of Galia. As this does not match any modern maps, it is a chance to spike out and claim territory in the name of our guild.
A call is being issued out to those with hearts of steel, with brawn and intellect, daring enough to challenge the unknown, to set out to a lost land to lay claim and see what has not been seen in over a century. Any who accept, and return with information regarding this new land, as well as proof to back the claim, will be rewarded with one thousand Rommels, as well as immediate membership into the ranks of our guild.
Any who are interested are to assemble at the Blazing Heretic Inn and Tavern in the Harbour District on the eve of the 5th of Mairon. An interview and selection process shall thereupon be conducted.
~A.
Raen read and re-read this note twice over beyond the first, too astonished at her luck of employment opportunities. Finally, a true adventure and quest beyond being a simple sell-sword to traveling merchant trains. A quick glance skyward told her that the daylight was not yet spent in whole and there was still time. She stood quickly, nearly bowling over a young man as he plodded along, head down with two eyes on his paces.
Raen promptly apologized, holding out one hand to steady and grasp the young man whose look of surprise and awkward step backwards nearly sent him off into the way of several servants dragging a wagonload of goods up the cobbled street. She stopped in shock when she glimpsed his face; it was the young man she had seen the day before, arguing with the baker.
“My apologies, sir,” said Raen quickly. “But could you provide me with the date? My travels have left me without count of late.”
“Today be the 5th of day of Mairon, miss,” said the young man, who Raen now saw was barely out of boyhood, having seen perhaps 14 winters. His clothing was worn and well-used, what color it had previously been she could not truly say for it now was a washed out grayish blend of threads. She quickly thumbed him a silver piece for his trouble, smiling at him as he smiled shyly back, turning on his heels a hurrying away without another word.
Raen took note of the date and with another glance skyward, began to make her way back towards the tavern she had spent the previous night to collect her few belongings. Nightfall would come shortly and she wished not to fall in late…
(Intro finished...finally. Post coming soon and below).
Posted on 2007-06-29 at 02:36:49.
Edited on 2007-08-03 at 05:31:14 by Vilyamar
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Topic: **Noldaria*Final War**
Subject: Nada here comrade.
A light thud was all the escaped the landing of the monk. No lights, no movement, no sound. Nothing had escaped the area known as Kal Ajin Ruins while Vilyamar surveyed it from his lookout point upon the hilltop. The night air was cool and a small breeze rustled the forest cloak against his legs.
As he returned, a small ruffle of feathers let him know the proximity of Orion. Vilyamar rounded the hill to see Scourge and Orion together where he had left them. Elandor was not with them, though that was to be expected. The kender would not be moving nearly as swiftly as he had or Orion could.
Fifteen minutes, thought the monk. Of which 8 have passed.
"There was nothing. No lights, no movement, no sound. I saw the buildings, or what I can only assume were buildings. Perhaps this place had been a fortress at one point in its existence. Now... now it is barely dust and stone," said the half-elf, running his fingertips gently across the roughened edge of the wall.
"While we wait a little while longer for our friend, what did you happen to spy from your higher vantage point, Orion?" Vil asked.
Posted on 2007-06-26 at 03:29:54.
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Topic: Your Opinion?
Subject: Way better.
Honestly, with that extra bit, it makes the entire thing way better. It provides a much clearer scene especially the conflict.
I pretty much got from the first one that it was supposed to "flash back" to the past leading up to the prologue scene, finishing it out in some dramatic confrontation at the end. This raises more intruiging "why" and "who" and "what" questions than before. I think I would keep reading from this.
The longer version focuses MUCH more on the characters than on the environment, which should be the intention of a mystery/dark drama, I think anyways.
Other suggestions: "Dizzily" is an awkward word. I'd remove it like in the previous version.
"Inside the backpack is reason" A BILLION TIMES BETTER LINE!! RIGHT THERE!!
I still giggle at the "STELLA!" moment your character "Stewart" has. I would still keep all mentions of him to Stewart, rather than Stew here. Save Stew for your more friendlier flashback.
If it goes to print you gonna mention Vilyamar? :p. That would be kinda weird.
Posted on 2007-06-22 at 01:35:03.
Edited on 2007-06-22 at 01:38:37 by Vilyamar
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Topic: Your Opinion?
Subject: Duh msg subject.
Nice Grey. I read it over and perhaps its just me, but I think the scene is pretty dark and foreboding. Either make it really Dark (thunderstorm) and put more emphasis on "pounding rain" or bigger swells or more wind or something to make the environment even more "out to get them" or pull it back a notch and make it "greyer" or more hazy. Add fog or some element that provides a seclusion for 'Stewart' especially as he is going to the lighthouse.
Perhaps he "looks up only to see a the beacon cutting through the sheets of rain". Or he can barely see the beacon cutting through the fog as it spins on its axis.
Intensify your environment for more suspense.
Perhaps leave his name as Stewart not "stew" as you mention. It leaves him distanced somewhat. "Stew" could be saved for a flashback or as a reference to him from another, closer, character.
hrmm...
The character seems slightly delusional or disoriented at the beginning, but at the end it really seems closer to a death-illusion. Too quick of a transition maybe? Maybe tone down his mania at the end there.
I would need a little more to catch me onto the next chapter, perhaps a darker scene or more intruiging character. A little less mania might do the trick.
Just my opinions.
Posted on 2007-06-20 at 22:56:40.
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The Morphing Game
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