You are here: Home --> Forum Home --> Recent posts by Vanadia
Topic: Continuing Where We Last Left Off Q&A
Subject: It's the Thunder Brothers from Inuyasha!
Recognized the ugly one right away  The other one's William Shatner, Brom...all those dramatically unnecessary pause. if you need a more comtemporary reference, try Horatio Cain on Miami CSI...hehe
Dapple's all for rejoining the party...not taking those two on her own! (How does one backstab a floating mark, anyway?)
Posted on 2008-11-19 at 12:08:46.
Edited on 2008-11-19 at 12:08:57 by Vanadia
|
Topic: Continuing Where We Last Left Off
Subject: Drip, drip, drip
“You are correct Lord Dwan I should know better then to fall asleep, whatever the subject of discussion may be. To you and all gathered, but the mage and his bird, I apologize for doing just that and ask your forgiveness. Good luck to you, my friends on this mission.”
With his apology given and without another word said the big ex-gladiator turned and left the room.
Dapple watched the big man gather his wounded pride and leave, and she shook her head slowly within her hood before quietly slipping away herself. Padding through the quiet streets, taking the darkest path out of habit, she pondered the contradictions that the gladiator showed to the world. His bravery was never in question, yet he often showed a rashness that was at odds with surviving in a gladiatorial ring. Before becoming a crowd favourite, as his reputation would suggest, he would have faced the jeers and taunts of a fickle crowd, yet he reacted to today’s strange prank like, well…
A girl. A silly foolish girl, like someone we once knew, didn’t we, little monster? the dry voice coiled around Dapple’s cold heart and squeezed to remind her of old hurts. Still, he is not used to freedom, and he is exploring what that means. Freedom to take a job or not, freedom to make a wise decision, or a foolish one.
“None of us are free,” Dapple muttered to herself, sidestepping the sprawled body of a drunk. “You taught me that well enough.” She then set Maximus aside and checked the body for coin and other valuables, happily finding enough to pay for a supper.
For despite the spread at Dwan’s, Dapple was hungry, and another trip meant long days on short rations. She waged a constant battle with her frame, her cursed birthright making her slender and small when she needed to be strong, with a certain bulk to discourage and intimidate the bullies of the city’s dark underbelly. Climbing walls and walking rooftops needed strength so she worked out continuously, building muscle that would melt away without constant vigilance. This required food to fuel all this work, and protein to put muscle where it didn’t want to be.
Dapple spotted a tavern sign ahead and hastened her steps. Inside, she ordered a large dinner, digging in with a single-minded purpose that didn’t even really taste the food. The bar maid had looked at the “young boy’ dubiously when she’d ordered, but the proffered coin sweetened her mood. Watching the small fellow put away a substantial amount of food, and ask to buy whatever cured dry sausages they had (the spicier the better), she grinned and put both hands on her hips. “Boys is always hungry, what with all the growing they have to do. You must eat your folks outta house and home, eh?” she laughed, reaching out to ruffle the “lad’s” hair, before a glare from the boy changed her mind.
The next morning, Dapple met the others at Dwan’s stables, slipping out of the last bit of shade to take her share of the potions and the reins of her borrowed horse. She spent a little time re-distributing the dried meat, jerky and cured sausages from her backpack to the horse’s saddlebags, slipping a smallish link to Sunset to gnaw while waiting to leave. She greeted everyone with a perfunctory nod, noting Maximus’ presence without comment.
Free to change his mind, too…
The first few days of travel were almost peaceful for the little thief. Away from the intrigues and dangers of the city, but not yet facing the horrors that lay ahead, Dapple was free to simply be. No fear to push aside, no anger to bury before it could burn away her calm, she felt nothing within and it was….good. While the dead voice would never allow her to let down her guard completely, the nights in the Waymeet were not the agony of enforced closeness that they had been before, and Dapple even found herself chatting quietly with Kilgim one night, debating the various methods of gem grading.
Still, the nights, and then the days grew progressively colder, and once the rain started, Dapple started reconsidering this whole “countryside” nonsense. She was cold all the time, and even trudging alongside her horse to get her blood moving didn’t help. Her cloak clung to her uncomfortably and her blond curls melted in the rain, hanging dead straight on either side of her face, making her check continuously that her ears were covered. The dampness made her healing injuries ache again, and she was so pale with cold that the fading bruises on her face appeared livid once more. Sunset took to huddling inside Dapple’s clothing, as far from the wet and cold as possible, and the little thief took to poking the slumbering dragonet periodically to make sure she hadn’t smothered, earning the occasional nip for her trouble.
She was so miserable that she didn’t even protest when Char came to check on her and Sunset. She’d normally bristle at his perceived protectiveness of her, but the wet made the saddle bindings tricky to buckle, and she didn’t want to suffer the indignity of falling off her horse.
Meeting the refugees made Dapple realize she was feeling sorry for herself. She had a horse, warm, if somewhat damp clothing and plenty of food. These people had nothing, and were terrified, as well. Arien was clearly outraged at the plight of the villagers and solicited the opinions of the party about proceeding straight on, or cutting across the countryside, and she hid a sigh of relief when Char veto’d the cross country route, Freeing Kilgim and his pony from the bramble and mud of off trail riding would not have been fun.
Still, Char suggested scouting ahead, and Dapple perked up. A chance to get off a horse and walk through streets again, albeit muddy village streets, was appealing, if only to get her blood moving again. When Char signalled his readiness, Dapple followed, cloak wrapped close and daggers loosened in their sheathes.
Posted on 2008-11-19 at 02:07:28.
|
Topic: A Cold Day in Hell
Subject: Looky-Lou
Charlie entered the lab with the others, pistol at the ready and senses alert to react to any stimulus. She verified her portion of the lab as the team did the sweep, then relaxed marginally as she and the others found no immediate threat.
There had once been a threat, however, as Charlie looked down at what could only be described as ET in a can. The LT bent in close for a look, so Charlie didn’t crowd him, but she took in with her eyes as much as she could, taking an inventory of features and comparing them with any record she may have come across in her wandering around classified databases. Oh, make no mistake, there had been sightings and strange events over the years, and the military, bureaucratic hive-beast that it was, had its share of carefully documented, then promptly filed and ignored, occurrences of a bizarre and possibly extraterrestrial nature.
The LT didn’t seem inclined to continue onto the administrator’s office until he’d had his look see at the alien, so Charlie waited with a patience that might have surprised the others, if they hadn’t already realized she was a mass of contradictions. Still, when her hands-off review of the alien completed, she put the same laser focus on looking at the contents of the room.Unlike the others, she hadn’t been here before, and as always, the tech was hungry for data – whether it made sense or not.
Posted on 2008-11-18 at 17:39:25.
|
Topic: The Embodiment - A FUZIONfantasy Game
Subject: Bull-fighting is a Drannese sport, yes?
Caterina paced backwards about the room, its layout etched in her memory, and shook out her swordarm. She still held the tray in her left hand, and realized that it had been foolish to risk injury in order to snatch it up. The creature’s strength made a mockery of her thought to use it as a shield, and she could only hold it by one end or the other, making it impossible to add her arm’s strength to its blocking power.
Still, her golden eyes narrowed as she considered her foe, watching as it prepared to advance, the creature was fighting with two weapons, and so, it was best if she did, too. It was attacking solely with the black dagger, using the greatsword solely for defence, and Caterina could only conclude that the dagger was either poisoned, or enchanted. The creature plainly wished to kill her, but by the dagger, not the sword. She had to use that against the creature, somehow.
She moved deeper into the room in such a way as to place a couch between herself and the creature, where her sword’s reach was still deadly but the dagger would be less effective, being at the far end of the creature’s reach. When the “bull-crow” slashes at her with the dagger, Caterina will swing at it with the tray, intending to deflect it, and bring her sword arm in and up in a thrust at it’s chest and belly.
Posted on 2008-11-16 at 17:33:19.
|
Topic: The Embodiment Q&A
Subject: sorry
With Will sick and his baptism yesterday, we were swamped...I owe posts everywhere! We are in combat, though, and I know you like that played out carefully, so I can manage a quick post.
Questions: Is the drawing room on the main floor (I hope) or on a higher level? Is my warhorse (Rico) in the stables? As a trained warhorse, I am assuming that he is not tied up or locked in (who's gonna try to steal him?) and that he's trained to respond to a summons (a whistle, perhaps?)
Will post a third round based on those answers
Posted on 2008-11-16 at 17:12:07.
|
Topic: Wanna hear some crazy stuff?
Subject: Cold? In Alabama?
You're kidding, right?
Personally, I think it's your guardian angel. Since he's also a DM ('cause that only makes sense), he likes to play with your mind a bit before saving your *ss.
Posted on 2008-11-13 at 17:48:31.
|
Topic: The Embodiment - A FUZIONfantasy Game
Subject: Distantly, trumpets blare
The crackling of the fire was a soothing counterpoint to Caterina’s thoughts. The room had always been cozy, the fireplace offsetting any chill from the large windows, glazed with precious glass, and was filled with memories of a patient girl, practicing over and over the tiny stitches for which the women of Aguilera D’Oro had been famous.
Had been. Every last member of the Aguilera D’Oro household had been slaughtered, save one, and years of swordwork had made her hands strong, but too inflexible to work a slender needle. Still, the room had been a favourite place, and since no-one had been actually killed in this room on that fateful day, Caterina could still find solace in its feminine air.
It was never easy being home, where Caterina had lost so much. Her family, the household staff (many of whom counted as family; so many generations had served), all had perished for one man’s pride, and while she’d managed to hire new staff over the years, they weren’t family. They feared her, somewhat, as many people did, for what had happened to her, and what she’d become. Caterina had survived a great tragedy, yet it marked her, and people avoided its taint when they could, as if tragedy and ill-fortune were contagious. And yet, they loved her, as the Hand of Rydor, the steely arm of justice and defender of the weak. Whether she wanted it or not, whether she deserved it or not, she was held to a high standard, placed atop a pedestal of adoration.
Neither the fear nor love had anything to do with Caterina herself, the person inside the symbols of tragedy and justice. Only two people had seen past the mantle of righteousness to the woman who wore it: Ethain as her squire-turned-manservant, and then Zin Raida. Even now, Caterina’s blood stirred at the thought of the man, his deep voice, bottomless eyes, and an intellect as keen as his sword. They’d much in common, being warriors of noble birth, and even as he pursued her with evident passion, he’d understood the responsibility of her destiny. Her life was not her own, given to Rydor and Merca, yet he seemed content to enjoy what time she had for herself.
That is, until he’d vanished, without a word, without a letter, with even his own staff silent on the matter. Caterina had suffered yet another loss, and while the people of Drannon saw only the serenely resolute visage they had always seen, Caterina ached within.
“Was I presumptuous, Lord Rydor, in hoping for love? Is there nothing of my life that I can call my own, that I can give freely of another?” she murmured, knowing the keep to be empty of all save Ethain. “I have been your loyal servant, forged of faith, tempered by training, and never have I asked for anything for myself. I have never regretted any of it, but some days, the armour weighs heavily upon me. Grant me your grace, oh Lord, that I may not question your Mercy.”
Even lost in her thoughts, a part of her remained alert, and the crash of crockery brought her back to the here and now instantly. Only Ethain had remained behind on this Festival night, and the careful lad was as likely to drop something this spectacularly as Caterina was likely to take up the scarves and bells of a courtesan.
Training took over, and Caterina glided to the hallway, sheathed sword in hand. Training kept her moving forward even as she took in the crumpled form of her dear manservant, nay friend, at the feet of a monstrosity. Her throat ached with the tears she could not allow, and she promised to grieve Ethain later, once she’d avenged him.
She drew her sword and tossed the sheath aside, and murmured a quick prayer to Rydor to steel her arm and harden her flesh to the blows of evil (Note to DM….not sure what benefit piety conveys on a god’s holy warrior…I’m hoping to cast the clerical equivalent of Armour on myself). She knew she would have to adjust her fighting style to account for her unarmoured and shieldless state, and the hallway would not make that easy. She’d need room to bring speed and agility into play against her foe’s bulk and superior reach.
“You are to die now, Knight,” the creature retched forth a challenge, drawing a long, thin black dagger from behind its waist. “This was intended for you: Compliments of the Eloquent Mask of Obarin.”
“I’ll be sure to repay the compliment, fiend, just as soon as I send you back to hell!” Caterina responded, darting forward as if to strike. Before she was in reach, however, she reached out to grab the dropped tray, then retreated, intending to draw the monster into the drawing room to battle.
(OOC: won’t take combat too far; that should be enough for the opening round).
Posted on 2008-11-09 at 16:57:40.
|
Topic: The Embodiment Q&A
Subject: Working up a post now
Work has been both more dramatic and more mundane than usual, and I have little energy left at the end of the day.
Posted on 2008-11-09 at 15:41:58.
|
Topic: The Embodiment Q&A
Subject: Nice!
Now I remember how i was a little intimidated to play Caterina...them's some pretty high standards to keep!
I won't try to post tonight....I've posted to two other games and should move onto less fun, but more urgent things like paying bills, but know that I'll be pondering a post!
Posted on 2008-11-04 at 01:35:02.
|
Topic: Continuing Where We Last Left Off
Subject: Can monsters giggle?
When Maximus charged Matthias, and the others rushed to intervene, Dapple briefly considered involving herself, but decided one small rogue squished among burly fighters and various spellslingers didn’t have much to contribute, and merely sidestepped out of the way. She made sure to give herself an unobstructed view, however, being quite certain that things were about to become quite interesting.
When Matthias disappeared, sending Maximus crashing into a visibly startled Terrin Have I ever seen such a thing? Dapple wondered), the thief went stock still, her expression blank and wide-eyed. Her head slowly scanned across the room, taking in Matthias and Gwanele grappling on the floor, Kilgim and Arien tumbled together and maximus in a towering rage. She blinked once, twice, before turning away and hunching her shoulders, bringing scarred hands to her face. Those not preoccupied with the spectacle before them may notice her frame shaking slightly as muffled choking sounds come from beneath the thief’s hood.
“ENOUGH!” Dwan shouts as he smashed his hand down on his desk, “I understand the need to melt down some tin as much as anyone but we have serious business here. So unless I need to find another team, can we settle down and go conserve our energy of the enemy! Maximus! I expect you to stay awake when I summon you. Matthias! Gwanele! If you two could stop acting like elves, I would like to get on with this.”
Dapple turns back to look at the leader of Irongate, a faint smirk on her otherwise stony face. She shrugs, as if the antics of the others mean nothing to her, and listens to the rest of the briefing with arms crossed and head tilted. By the time Dwan asks if there are any more questions, Dapple’s already slipped into the shadows of the room, and if nothing of interest is asked by the others, she’ll leave before the others have finished their farewells.
Posted on 2008-11-04 at 01:18:09.
|
Topic: The Guiding Light Q&A
Subject: Apologies
I finally posted, and it's really not much more than a single action, but I'll use combat as an excuse....homelife is good, but just about everything else is chaotic these days, and time is my most scant resource.
Posted on 2008-11-04 at 00:51:07.
|
Topic: The Guiding Light
Subject: Combat post
En’Aranthea watched solemnly as priest and mage began their arcane work. She had her skills, they had theirs, and a wise leader valued all parts to be played in a battle. She would not count herself wise – she had too few years on her yet – but she could hope.
Unlike a sword thrust or parry, where results are immediate and obvious, it took a few moments to see any results of their waiting, and the bladesinger could see Tal’Anor straining against the leash of his own restraint. The pirates began to slump, however, and the big paladin, trusting either to his armour or Varuna’s prayer against crossbow bolts, moved quickly to subdue the remaining guard.
With Tal’Anor serving as a distraction, En’Aranthea moved to climb the tower as quickly as possible, trusting to her mottled armour to render her hard to see. Her intent is to subdue the sentry in the tower before he can raise the alarm and wake the unenchanted sleepers.
Posted on 2008-11-04 at 00:49:36.
|
Topic: Totally Random Thoughts
Subject: Don't ask me how my day was....
Why is it a bad thing to kill co-workers? or even maybe just the cow-orkers?
Posted on 2008-11-04 at 00:34:15.
|
Topic: He he
Subject: Getting old is better than the alternative
But hey, doesn't mean I have to grow up 
Welcome, emybear and Bromern sons 1 & 2....I just wish we could convince Mighty Miss V to come around the Inn. She'll play tabletop readily enough (and has to be one of the best mages I've ever seen) but has resisted our enticing.
Maybe now that there are players her age here....
Posted on 2008-10-26 at 00:16:30.
|
Topic: Voyages of Rocinante - Serenity/Firefly RPG
Subject: Moving forward
Willow saw the header of the message awaiting her and was momentarily puzzled, wondering why Auntie Sun was contacting her so soon after a visit. The kitten! Wasn’t that a hundred years ago?
The wave started and the picture resolved itself on an extreme closeup of Sunni’s nose, tilted upwards as the little woman strained to be in the frame of the picture. A giant finger obscured the screen as it tapped the screen twice, the impact booming through the audio, but when the finger withdrew, the image framed Sunni’s face almost perfectly.
‘Hallo? Is this thing on? I just want to…oh, hello darling! I don’t see you in forever and now we are chatting like the girls in the back of the class room! I am sure Usha should be so lucky to hear from you so often. No, don’t look like that, silly dumpling, Usha loves you in her own way.
Now, you wanted Auntie Sun to find about a lost puss, and you know I m too busy for such silliness, but for you, darling, I move mountains! Mountains! But never you mind, because it was no work to find out. Senator’s girl has a kitty she can’t find, and he’s offering 1000 credits for it’s return. This is foolishness, darling, because unless the furball poops golden turds shaped like Buddha himself, there’s no reason why Senator can’t get himself a replacement puss and save himself all kinds of trouble. Of course, now you can’t find a single cat in town, everyone’s bought ‘em up to get the reward. It’s total madness, darling and it wearies me. If anyone had asked me….Oh dear, I must go…I smell coriander being put in the soup and it’s way too soon! Talk to you so….”
Willow smiled fondly at the screen as the little woman’s image shrank and became a white dot on the screen. Watching Auntie Sun was nearly as exhausting as being in person with her, and Willow realized that she was, in fact, quite worn out. It had been a long day, and she had an early morning appointment. Still, she had work to do. She keyed up the Companions’ Client Registry, hoping her credentials still worked, and began the careful process of removing her makeup while the system searched for the information she requested.
She paused, one false eyelash perched on a fingertip, when some Ludlows came up and others did not. Daddy was a bad man, black marked for hurting a Companion, and Willow shivered with revulsion. Number one son appeared to be cut of a different cloth, and was actually well regarded by several Companions. Willow looked over his profile, the file containing his preferences, favoured techniques, and saw a conservative man aspiring to the finer things in life, even if he wasn’t quite sure what those things were.
No sign of the brothers Willow knew, but she wasn’t surprised by that. They hardly struck her as the sort that could attract a Companion, even if they had scraped together enough scrimshaw to pay the fee. A few keystrokes and more passwords got her into another area of the database, one filled with miscellaneous information filed away by the thousands of Companions and those employed by the Order. Filled with facts, rumours and bits of gossip, the ‘coffee house” was a place to post information that was not directly related to a client, but might be useful to know.
Willow had progressed to brushing out her hair when Ermest and Ethan finally bubbled to the surface of gossip. These two seemed to have a wrongness about them, like their father, but wanted to be as unlike him as much as possible. “Families are complicated,” Willow murmured to herself as jade eyes scanned the various entries that pieced together lives of petty crime.
It was then that Willow could hear the sounds of the ship opening the cargo door, the metallic clang felt by her skin as much as she heard it, and she made her way to the kitchen to find Wyatt. She smiled at the sight of Trish tending to Asher, and the young man sheepishly claim he was better now, thank you, but gestured to Wyatt to come close.
She wrapped her arms around herself, the simple cotton robe ghostly in the ship’s lights, and told Wyatt what she’d learned about the Ludlows, and described her encounter with the bounty hunter outside. “I don’t think I should go out anymore, Captain-San, I may run into that bounty hunter where he doesn’t expect to see a goodtime girl. I also think a place likes this gets wilder with the night, and ladies retire early.”
Posted on 2008-10-26 at 00:10:51.
|
Topic: Voyages of Rocinante - Serenity/Firefly RPG
Subject: Back posting again
Willow’s return to the ship with Asher was only complicated slightly by the Kid’s growing inebriation; she’d seen him down Wild Turkey in the bar and only knew the fresh night air would have a compounding effect. It wasn’t the first time she’d been escorted by someone in their cups, however, some clients, especially first-timers, would partake of liquid courage, either in the party spirit or to calm their nerves.
Part of a Companion’s training was to subtly guide a client, with words, gestures, body language and gentle touch; with a drunk one, the techniques were just less subtle. Fortunately, Asher was a friendly, harmless drunk, and if his grip on her sometimes drifted into the inappropriate while trying to keep his balance walking, Willow reminded herself that it was just because every little stone and change in grade in their path was leaping up to meet Asher’s boots. She responded with good humour at his conversation, even laughing merrily at a few absurdities, but kept her eyes moving all the way to the ship.
As they approached the ship, Willow noticed that the other ship had departed, and two others had arrived, but thought little of it. For all the others talked of this class or another, they were just ships to the former Companion: large ones, little ones, luxurious ones and scrappy ones that still managed to gallop through the Black. Outside of the smallest ship Willow’d ever seen was a man in red and gold body armour, and as he approached them, Willow shifted her body so that it appeared as if the two of them might be tipsy, holding each other up instead of just Asher. She hung her head a little, letting the fall of hair from her updo obscure her face, and “accidently” knocked Asher’s hat so that it did the same to his face.
“Excuse me? Wonder if you might help me?” He asks pleasantly enough as he approaches. “There might be a cash reward for you if you can.”
“Cash? Reward?” Willow squeaked, stopping when it was clear he wasn’t going to let them pass. ‘Lemme see. I can always use a little more cash. Hang on, honey, we’ll party in a mo” The last was said to Asher, as Willow reached for the paper that was being shoved into her face anyway.
She squinted at the pictures on the printout, and let her puzzlement telegraph from her eyes and face. “Have you seen these two? They were last seen in a Firefly transport? Love to chat with the crew of that ship there, but it is closed up tight.”
“No, gorram it, don’t know these two. Sure would’ve liked the money, just the same,” Willow answered poutily, ignoring the unspoken question about Rocinante .
“Much obliged.” He says taking back his notice. ‘Guess I will go look around town then. Good Evening Miss, Sir.”
Willow waved him off, her gestures sloppy, and gathered her “client” back up to walk away. She continued past the Rocinante until the bounty hunter was out of sight, then doubled back to the cargo door, and rapped lightly to alert Trish.
Posted on 2008-10-25 at 19:26:16.
|
Topic: Totally Random Thoughts
Subject: mmmmm
coffee and babiesboth smell good.
random post from william: dw3y6vb r y rb c
Posted on 2008-10-22 at 10:29:29.
|
Topic: Totally Random Thoughts
Subject: mmmph
Why does my cat hate me?
Posted on 2008-10-21 at 00:43:06.
|
Topic: Voyages of the Rocinante - Firefly RPG QnA
Subject: Math not my strong suit
But our profit for this trip appears to be in negative numbers....maybe Willow needs to find a client on this dustball?
Posted on 2008-10-16 at 02:44:19.
|
Topic: Voyages of Rocinante - Serenity/Firefly RPG
Subject: A well timed quickie can be good, too
(OOC: There was a lot of interaction and back posting, so I won’t repeat it all here, but add enough to move Willow forward)
Willow exchanged pleasantries with the men playing cards with JW, remembering Bayley and charming the two new men with smiles and warm conversation. When JW offered to walk her and her party out, she acquiesced gracefully and made her goodbyes to James. Outside, JW spoke to them in a low voice about the Ludlows, and Willow could see the captain’s unease under his poker face. He managed a casual farewell, though, thanking JW for the heads up before turning Willow and Asher back towards Rocinante .
“That was disturbin’,” he said in a low voice, and Willow had to agree. Rarely in her sheltered life had the jade eyed beauty felt so lost and threatened, and while she seemed outwardly calm, she held Wyatt’s (and later, Asher’s ) arm more tightly than her wont. She listened to the captain while pushing the panic down deep, and had to agree with most of his plans. Most of them.
“I can look into the Ludlows more; there are some databases I can access that aren’t normally open to most. When we thought the one was a lone low-life, I didn’t bother, but with a high ranking father….let me see what I can find. As for our morning plans, I think I can manage the council meeting after meeting with the shepherd, but I wouldn’t have you planning to be with me, Captain-San. The invitation was for me, and the Tong may let you join me, or not. Best if we don’t protest overmuch their decision, hmm?”
Willow cocked her head to look sidelong at the captain as she spoke, and watched his jaw tighten as he chewed over her words. (OOC: Leaving room for a back post)
Back at the ship, Willow gave Trish a quick hug, but let Asher bring her up to speed on the happenings, knowing Trish would come find her for details as soon as she learned Sam had been hurt. Willow used the scant moments to stroke her computer terminal to life, finding the wave marked for her and opening it to read the contents. After that, she intended to look in the Companions Client Registry for any information on the Ludlows.
Posted on 2008-10-11 at 14:13:30.
|
Topic: The Embodiment Q&A
Subject: Yeah, I recycle charries...
especially if I really put a lot into them and then didn't have an opportunity to do much with them. That time was my fault, as I couldn't put as much time into the game, and since she was the central character to an epic...the game kinda faltered after that. I still feel guilty, so this can be redemption for both Caterinas.
Posted on 2008-10-11 at 13:27:54.
|
Topic: Voyages of the Rocinante - Firefly RPG QnA
Subject: absurd moment
Just read through the posts and realized Willow was being passed from arm to arm...I'm beginning to feel like a parrot! WraaaawwwK!
Posted on 2008-10-11 at 13:19:57.
|
Topic: The Embodiment Q&A
Subject: in case Brom approves
Caterina Luisa Maria, the last scion of the House of Aguila d’Oro of Drannon, strode through the Halls of Rydor, her booted feet sending echoes along the polished marble floors, the metallic whisper of polished half plate armour a further rippling disturbance in the hallowed air. With each stride, long blue-black hair streamed away from her face, the high cheekbones and proud nose jutting from smooth olive skin, golden eyes holding her destination in their shimmering depths.
Each step brought the raven-haired paladin to the altar of Rydor, but as the tall strong warrior moved forward in body, her mind moved back in memory, to this day ten years ago.
It had been the day before her sixteenth birthday, hers and her twin brother’s, Antonio Felipe, and a day of much preparation. On the morrow, Antonio was to be acclaimed as a paladin of Rydor, and she was to take solemn vows as a cleric of Merca, forswearing hearth and home as one of the Order of Faithkeepers. As heir to the Aguila d’Oro Keep and lands, Antonio Felipe would remain behind and complete his education at home, but Caterina would be leaving after the feast, headed for Throthgard.
A serious girl, who had excelled at her studies of law and history, Caterina had resented being sent to town to buy yet more fripperies that she would never wear. Her father had insisted, however, thinking it a proper paternal indulgence on a daughter he was to proudly lose to Merca. Caterina dutifully left the Keep with her duena, Mariana, but quickly left the road for the local swimming hole, for a last swim and taste of freedom. In their post swim state, clothes dripping, unbound wet hair down their backs, the two girls had been returning to the Keep, meaning to sneak in and address their attire before presenting an old, never-worn frock to Don Marco Antonio as the day’s new treasure. When they heard the sound of horse hooves pounding down the road from the Keep, the girls moved off the road and hid, rather than be seen in their improper state, but at the sight of the many fighters, grim and bloody, Caterina’s heart froze.
The two girls raced home as soon as they dared come out of hiding, and there they found a sight forever emblazoned upon Caterina’s soul. Every man, woman and child, from Don Marco to the cook’s newborn baby daughter, were dead, cut down where they stood. Children sheltered in the mother’s arms had been run through, and the women’s throats were cut. Caterina’s father and brother, dressed in sturdy clothes to move tables and raise banners alongside their people, were almost unrecognizable, so mercilessly had the unarmed men been butchered.
Mariana had gone into hysterics, and Caterina, her own eyes streaming scalding tears, had needed to slap the girl several times before she would quiet enough to listen. “Take your horse, Mariana, and go to Casa D’Estoban, quickly and quietly by the servants’ path. He and Father had their differences, but he is a good man, and will see to … our family. Go now, I must do something before I can follow.”
Without a further word or glance at the shaken girl, Caterina had gone to her brother’s room, across the hall from her own. There, she had wiped the shameful tears from her face, and girded herself in her dead twin’s armour, the two siblings so alike that it fitted her almost as well as it had him. Drawing his sword from the scabbard, she had shorn her woman’s hair to a nobleman’s length before tucking it into the eagle-crested helm. She then went to the family chapel, dedicated to Rydor and Merca, (Justicia y Deber traced beneath the Golden Eagle crest of the family) and laid her shorn hair on the altar, before going down on one knee. There she had prayed, “Lord God Rydor, Lord of Justice and Giver of Law, murder most foul has been done this day, to those who followed you and your sister Merca, Chancellor of Light. I offer you both my worthless life, surrendered to your Will, that I may be allowed to see Justice done, by my own hand and in Thy Name. Guide my hand and strengthen my arm, and my life shall be yours when my last enemy falls. “ In response, Caterina felt a cold hard strength pour into her, and the knowledge of swordplay and tactics, the heart of her brother’s studies, bloomed within her, and she knew that her prayer had been heard.
Running out to the stables (the armour an unaccustomed weight), Caterina saddled Rico, Felipe’s Andalusian warhorse, a big black stallion with a star blaze on his forehead. Rico pounded down the road in pursuit of the riders, and his superior stride soon brought Caterina within sight of them. She drew her sword as she closed the distance, and felt horror as they turned off the road in the direction of Casa D’Estoban, Don Marco’s closest neighbour and friend. Was Don Stephano the next target, or…Rydor forgive her, had he sent them?
Some of the riders in the back of the pack heard Rico’s furious hoofbeats and looked back, seemingly to see the boy they had just slain, riding in pursuit. They shouted and turned to face the lone rider, weapons drawn. The pack stopped its forward motion, but one rider continued on, redoubling his horse’s speed with shouts and lashes of his crop.
Caterina felt Rydor’s strength flowing through her as she rode through the crowd, her sword cleaving flesh as blows rang harmlessly off her armour. Rico whirled to face the mass of men and horses again, and Caterina had enough horsemanship to sense the tensing of his muscles in time. Powerful hindquarters bunching, the massive warhorse reared up, fore hooves lashing, and crow-hopped forward, crushing one man’s face and killing another man’s horse with a steel-edged hoof. Dropping back to all fours, Rico battered his way through the horses once more, and Caterina’s sword dispensed holy judgement freely, men and horses falling before her.
At last, Caterina’s tear streaked face looked upon the dead and feebly moving, and she turned Rico’s head once more towards Casa D’Estoban, to complete her life’s task. Don Stephano’s servants fled before her grim eagle’s eyes of gold, but the guards, seeing a slight boy begrimed with blood and dust, but somehow larger than life, simply fell back before her, but circled behind to follow her. She knew within herself, that she would not leave this place alive, and an angry joy filled her at the thought. Let House Aguila D’Oro perish in the single day, in a glorious fight for justice.
Her purposeful stride rang through the stone corridors as she made her way to the Grand Hall, and was not surprised to see Don Stephano awaiting her. His face, much to her surprise, bore signs of horror and sadness, and she realized that he was dressed in simple house robes, not attired for riding or battle. Nay, it was his son, Benito Luis, standing him before him, breathless, leather armour covered in the blood of her father and brother, who gazed back at her, his face covered in sweaty fear, as he saw Felipe’s ghost advance upon him.
“No, Felipe, no! I had to do it! Honour demanded it! I went to your father, man to man, and asked for Caterina’s hand in marriage, but he laughed at me! Said she was given to a greater destiny, and the likes of a man such as I would not stand in her way, “ he turned to his father Don Stephano, beseeching him for understanding, “It was an insult to our honour, Father! How could I not react?”
Don Stephano, aged twenty years in a day, shook his head sadly as tears started to gather in his eyes. “Never with murder, my son. Oh Benito, why did you not speak with me? Caterina could never be yours,” the tall man, shoulders newly stooped, turned to the armoured figure before them. “What must be done, Felipe?”
Caterina swept the helm from her head and tossed it aside, letting the two men know that flesh and grieving blood stood before them. Her face set in righteous anger, full lips thinned to an angry line, her rich voice proclaimed that Rydor would see justice done, and that she would avenge her family. At this Benito laughed, his atavistic fear disappearing as he realized that he faced a young untrained girl.
“We shall see about that, my betrothed! I wanted your hand to gain your lands, your fair face and form were merely nice additions to the sum. Now that the House of Aguila D’Oro lies dead, the lands will be ours, nonetheless. I can kill you now, or take you to our rooms, and we can be wed tomorrow…”
Caterina cried out at this, disgust and fury sweeping her blade out before her as she rushed at the laughing, insolent face. Benito drew his own sword and ran forward to meet her. Don Stephano held up his hands to forestall the advancing guards, his face grave and sad, tears rolling down to the salt and pepper of his mustache and goatee.
Two blades met with a crash; all the room’s light flickered along two deadly edges. Benito was a trained warrior but was surprised by the strength and fury of the maiden before him. He parried her thrust, blocked the next one, then began to push her backwards; his own strength and thwarted designs lighting a fire in his sword arm. Parrying desperately as she pedaled backwards, Caterina prayed fervently to Rydor, calling upon him this last time for aid in seeing justice done. As her back met the cold stone wall and Benito’s eyes gleamed with the triumph of having trapped her, Caterina’s prayers were answered as new strength flowed through her, and her armour seemed to shimmer with a royal purple hue. She blocked a killing blow from Benito easily, Rydor’s strength buoying her, and launched a fresh assault, blade flashing as it rang along Benito’s sword edge to reach past his defenses and cut deep into the flesh of his stomach. Open mouth gouting blood, Benito fell to his knees, one hand fruitlessly trying to hold the gaping wound closed, the other dropping the sword to reach beseechingly at his father.
Don Stephano gazed down at his son, felled in fair combat by the woman he had wronged, and turned away, waving a dismissal to the guards. Bent with new age, the old man made his painful way to the door and left, closing the door with tragic finality. Caterina looked down at the man she had known most of her life, as neighbour and friend, prank player with her brother, stealer of apples from orchards, and the murderer of all she loved. His life’s blood washed over her feet as she removed her dead brother’s armour, plain metal once more, her limbs aching with a weariness that Rydor’s blessing had held at bay.
The trembling maiden, heartsore and weary unto death, had one last task before her. As the light faded from Benito’s eyes and his soul winged it’s way to D’hurgen’s lands, Caterina set the sword pommel on the bloody flagstones, and held the keen blade in both hands, swordtip just piercing the soft flesh of her belly. “I offered my life, Lord Rydor, in return for justice. You have kept your promise, now do I fulfill mine. Forgive me, Lady Merca, a life in service to you was all I had ever wanted, but it was not to be.”
Caterina tried to bend her knees, to put her body’s weight upon the sword tip and send the blade home to her heart, but she could not, her flesh had turned to iron.
She looked up to see two shining figures before her, an older man in plain plate mail, aged face lined with care but still full of the strength of the warrior, and a tall, imperious red-haired woman, girded in gleaming armour of red burnished steel. Both were surrounded with a golden nimbus of light, and their faces were alight with pride and love.
That is for Us to decide, is it not? You offered your life to us, and We shall receive it, in duty, in honour and sacrifice, but not the sacrifice that you think. We have discussed this, and Our Sister agrees; you shall be our Hand, and in serving Us, you serve Her, as well. Rise now, child, and take up thy sword in Our Name.
Caterina’s eyes refocused on the present as she found herself before the Altar of Rydor, it’s gleaming marble surface a pool gathering the sunlight streaming through high open windows. Gazing upwards to the polished scales and burnished warhammer, the lithe paladin knelt once more before her God, as she had so many years before, touching forehead, lips and heart with a gauntleted hand.
"Your Hand I became, Lord Rydor, with years of training in battle by day, and studying Thy word at night. These long years made me into the strong paladin in truth that Thy strength let me be, briefly, the day my old life died. I have traveled the lands in Thy Name, dispensing justice and mediating disputes with the help of Thy Wisdom. I feel that I am ready, though I know not for what… Into Thy hands, I commend my spirit, oh Lord, for I know not the road before me."
Posted on 2008-10-10 at 15:03:06.
Edited on 2008-10-11 at 13:38:48 by Vanadia
|
Topic: The Embodiment Q&A
Subject: Sent you a PM
What's your character's name?
Caterina Luisa Maria Aguilera D'Oro
Three words to describe her disposition:
Spiritual, deliberate, contemplative
How she feels about people:
Caterina has a duty to protect justice is all it's forms, and so will place herself between innocents and injustice without a moment's hesitation. That ideal has come at a bit of a cost: having lost her entire family in a single day, Caterina turned to Rydor for justice, and has never looked back. As with most religious aesthetics, she can seem remote and cold, but those who know her know that it is duty and compassion that keeps her passion bound behind armour.
What she values most:
Justice, duty and sacrifice.
The person she values most:
Hard to say...I reserve the right to revisit this question
Her most valued possession:
Her holy symbol of Rydor.
Her general philosophy (alignment):
Lawful good. The needs of the individual are nothing compared to the greater good of all.
Posted on 2008-10-10 at 14:56:46.
|
Topic: Continuing Where We Last Left Off Q&A
Subject: I said as much!
And hey, if I suddenly found myself humiliated and covered in pink dust and a mage's familiar mocked me...I'd be blaming the mage!
Posted on 2008-10-10 at 14:44:01.
|
| |
View/Edit Your Profile | Staff List | Contact Us
Use of the RDINN forums or chatrooms constitutes agreement with our Terms of Service.You must enable cookies and javascript to use all features of this site.
|
|
What game do you own the 
Return to Charadun - Q&A
The Morphing Game
Return to Charadun - Recr
