dice
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Post by dice on May 23, 2018 0:36:56 GMT -5
Welcome, Ladies and Gentlemen to the Storm Over Itor!
It is a time of great trouble in Itor. Places of ancient evil long dormant have once again begun to show signs of life, and politicians are too embroiled in their own wars to do anything about it.
Goblins claiming to hail from the long-abandoned fortress of Darkstone have attacked a small village in the south and the villagers cry out for help. Will you aid them, or be tempted by whatever evils lie in wait within the gray brick walls of Darkstone Fortress?
Beyond the fortress, great evils are brewing in the world. The barbarians to the north have reported strange ships flying foreign flags traversing their frigid waters under cover of darkness, and the elves have reported strange tidings from the wood. Are all these events connected? Perhaps.
~Rules~
1) Absolutely NO trolling within this thread.
2) Keep all OOC chatter to a minimum. Only use OOC notes if accompanied by an IC post.
3) No godmoding.
4) The GM - that's me - is the ultimate authority in this RPG. The GM has the final say in everything.
5) ALL CHARACTER SHEETS MUST BE SENT TO ME VIA PM OR FACEBOOK MESSENGER FOR APPROVAL.
~Setting~
Set in the year 1342. Long after the subsiding of the Vandarian crusades and the Mithril Accords. Lord Draxton Vandar IV Rules over the continent of Vandar, the fourth in a long line of Vandar rulers who gained a foothold after the Vandarian crusades in 1243. The Wood King Loriel et'Valle rules over the Elves to the northwest, Ragnar Strongsong the Barbarians to the north, and Trade Prince Iskiir Von'Elterbrand speaks for the Trade Council of Calimshan.
Political turmoil has been building for months as the Vandarian armies once more stand at the ready, their eyes set on the territory of the Trade Council of Calimshan, and the Elves of Elvandar stand ready to defend the Trade Council, and the Barbarians are itching for a fight of any sort. While the major politicians are embroiled in their wars. Several small settlements along the southern coast of Vandar have been attacked by various beasts claiming they come from the fortress of Darkstone, nestled between the Low Marshes and the Summerstone Peninsula. The Dwarves of the Lonely Mountain refuse to help, thinking the cries of the villagers a ploy, and the Everlife Forest is all but empty, all of its inhabitants standing with the Elves of Elvandar to the North.
Now the citizens of several small settlements on the worlds southern tip turn to the rest of Itor, crying out for any who may come and help them. Adventurers, mercenaries, and traveling sorcerers looking for work are sure to find it there and handsomely paid as well.
~Character Sheet Template~
*character image (optional)*
*character theme music (optional)*
Character Summary:
Name/Title:
Age:
Sex:
Species:
,Occupation:
Height:
Appearance:
Weapons:
Equipment:
Description of Abilities:
Personality:
Biography:
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Arcane
Citizen
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Post by Arcane on May 26, 2018 17:40:08 GMT -5
Character Sheet
Character Theme Song: "I" -TYR
Name: Vasilios- Greek meaning With Royal Blood
Title: Banished Prince
Age: 40 years old
Sex: Male
Species: Minotaur
Occupation: None; Previously a Prince
Height: 7'7
Weight: 410lbs
Appearance: Large! Albino fur/skin, pink/red eyes, Cloven Hooves (Feet), claw-like hands, head of a bull, 5ft horns point forward and are extremely sharp, left horn is damaged broken at about halfway and jagged, Bovine tail, fur on the upper body is thick (around the head and neck) it gradually thins around the shoulders turning into human hair, thick hair turns shaggy once more at the waist and thickens around loins and legs with tufts at the end of the tail and around hooves.
Weapons: Flail. Great War Axe. Horns also used as weapons.
Equipment: Almost nothing. Loin cloth at waist. No armor. No helmet.
Description of Abilities: No magic. Melee damage is great, but can be easily dodged if the opponent is fast. Covers ground quickly because of massive size. Not extremely intelligent. Struggles with being lawful. Rage when defeat is imminent and/ or loyal friends are in trouble.
Personality: Quiet. Loyal to very few. Travels alone unless he has found friends he can trust. Tries to do good and stay law abiding, but struggles daily.
Bio: Born to the King of his clan. Prince Vasilios was next in line to inherit the throne. His clan worshipped the dark goddess Xaona. He grew up surrounded by evil. This was the way of his clan. He knew no other way. He and his brother were always very close. His brother teased him about stealing the throne from him, all in good fun. Humans had stolen from the clan and as revenge the Minotaurs stole a human child. They would torture her during the night. Her screams could be heard for miles. The humans would return the stolen treasure, but the Minotaurs would not relent. They did not release the child and continued to torture her until her demise. Vasilios did not understand why his clan would do such a thing. They had gotten their treasures back, yet they killed the girl. He was ashamed and tried to voice his opinion to his father. The king had heard enough and struck him down. His horn had broken about half way down. Jagged sharp edges formed. His brother watched, but did not help. He could not believe his own brother had not helped him, or even stand up for him. He left with the deceased girl and returned her to the humans. The humans however, blamed Vasilios for the killing and chased him away. Vowing to kill any Minotaur they would see, including calves. He returned home and the entire clan circled him. His brother and father stood before him and told him he had been banished. His brother spoke loudly and said: "Your banishment will pass to further generations." The clan then began to push him into the Dark Woods. He was alone now. He now wanders trying to constantly do good to try and undo the evils his clan had done. He constantly thinks about returning as one of them. It is hard to put aside his primal instincts and dark Goddess attachment, so occasionally he dreams of being as evil as them. He dreams of returning home. He can not. He must prove there is good in the Minotaurs. There must be a way to overcome.
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Post by darthvoxyn on Jun 6, 2018 16:26:26 GMT -5
Name/Title: Absalom Blackfire Age: 45 Sex: Male Species: Fallen Aasimar Occupation: Mercenary Height: 6 ft 2 Appearance: Long Red hair (Black turns black when wings are revealed) down passed his shoulders, Purple eyes, pale skin, black feathered wings with a 14 foot wingspan. Wears plated mail armor, black boiled leather leg guards over simple pants, and black leather boots. Weapons: longsword Sedethul, Dagger, Magic Equipment: Plated mail armor (for reference look at Stannis Baratheon's armor), longsword, dagger Description of Abilities: Evocation magic has always come easily to Absalom who from a young age was able to throw bolts of fire. His magic as always manifested as a black flame which is where he got his surname. Aside from Fire Bolt he also learned Hellish Rebuke and Cure Wounds as well has healing hands which comes naturally to all Aasimar. He is able to see up to 60 feet in the dark though he cant see color in the dark and because of his celestial heritage he is resistant to necrotic and radiant attacks. In melee combat he favors the one handed longsword always keeping the longsword his father gifted him as a young man. He is ambidextrous so he can use his sword in either hand and if a second sword is available to him use two swords at once. Personality: While most Aasimar are deeply religious Absalom is not, all the horrible things that happen in the world that he’d learned about in school and later the horrible things he’d seen on his travels have lead him to believe that the gods can't be relied on and you and those you trust are the only ones you can count on. Absalom is a very loyal person, once you’ve earned his trust and respect you are basically family to him. Absalom is a mercenary first so he never does a job for free though he will do it for cheap if it is a good cause like say someone's child has been kidnapped and it's a poor family and he is the kind of person where the end justifies the means so torture and killing are always options to him. biography: Absalom was born the oldest of three children. His father was a wealthy merchant and his mother, who was also an Aasimar was a healer in Port Eldrath. Absalom had two younger sisters, Arael and Hael who he was very close with growing up. When they each became adults his father gave them each a sword he had gotten on one of his many business trips, choosing to give Absalom a beautiful longsword called Sedethul. While his younger sisters chose to become traveling paladins wandering the land protecting the less fortunate from evil and healing the sick and injured Absalom who had never had any real faith in the gods due to all the horrible things that happen in the world chose to become a sell sword and bounty hunter, he traveled the land hunting down criminals and and putting down bandit camps and insurrectionists. On one job he tracked down a warlock had been kidnapping villagers for his experiments. The warlock fought hard and before he died he used the last of his energy to blast Absalom with all the dark magic he had left targeting his soul hoping the darkness would poison his soul and kill him. Absalom was able to react in time to stop the bulk of the attack but quite a bit had still hit him before he was able to block it and it resulted in a darkening of his soul which turned him into a Fallen Aasimar.    Absalom Arael Hael
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Post by patrickx31 on Jun 10, 2018 20:27:12 GMT -5
  Name/Title: Nemeia Angelbane Age: 23 Sex: Female Species: Tiefling ,Occupation: Merc, but sometimes hangs around morgues and help out. Height: 5'10 Appearance: Red skin color, ram-like horns; spiked tail. Demonic look with crimson eyes. Weapons: spear, magic Equipment: light weight armor, and spear Description of Abilities: Some would say a spear needs to be handled with strength, others precision. Nemeia falls along the latter. Cause while she doesn't have strength, she clearly makes it up in speed and cunning. Highly intelligent. Especially of the undead. Thanks to her infernal heritage, Nemeia has superior vision in dark and dim conditions. She can see in dim light within 60 feet of her as if it were bright light, and in darkness as if it were dim light. However, she can’t discern color in darkness, only shades of gray. And she has a natural resistance to fire. Can also speak, read, and write Common and Infernal. Personality: Cautious, lack of trust in people, the way she puts on an act to please the people she hates would seem to border on sociopath. Biography: An only child with just herself and her mother Dameia. It was a hard and poor life but they made the most of it. Even when the other species of Vandar viewed their kind with scorn, Dameia would hold her tight and would tell her all sorts of "counters'. "Don't worry Nemeia. They're jealous that our horns are stylish." This would no doubt make the young Tiefling laugh, but it always put her at ease. However, even this peace would not last as one night, her mother never came back home from her usual last minute dinner shopping. So the worried girl would search for her mother. She searched and searched until she saw a crowd on onlookers hanging over a dead body...her mother's body. It was beaten, her clothes tore. It was obvious what happened. Nemeia ran over and tried to wake her dead mother up. But it was no use and everyone seemed as though this was a blessing. "Another devil finally returned to hell." This infuriated the girl to no end, but she didn't care about them. She wanted her mother back. Which led to her coming across necromancy. This was it. This was the answer she was looking for. With this magic, bringing back her mother wouldn't be impossible. School/Specialization: Necromancy |
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dice
Citizen
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Post by dice on Jun 10, 2018 21:10:58 GMT -5
IC: None
The Low Marshes, Just South of Bogbreach, 1342
The impending war had caused a boom in the demand for mercenary work. Something that the young tiefling, Nemeia Angelbane, certainly did not mind. Word had come by way of the raven to her at her residence in Blackreach begging for her aid in the marshes. She found herself even now re-reading the tattered and yellowed slip of parchment that she had received, trying to make sense of the request. "To whom it may concern:" The letter began, the ink on the page smudged but legible, "the most renowned hired blade in the east, Nemeia Angelbane." The header came to a close at that and with naught but a short space between the lines of words scrawled on the page, the body of the message began. "Mighty Nemeia, we, the citizens of the Low Marshes call out to you for aid in a time of darkness. Something most foul has taken root deep in the marshes, and it strikes fear into the hearts of even the most fearless warriors we have to offer. Whatever this creature may be, it has grown bold as of late and has begun to make incursions into town under cover of darkness, taking with it livestock, crops, and even people. We have exhausted all of our personal resources in attempts to eradicate the beast, but all our missions into the swamp have come to naught. Our population dwindles, and by the day we come closer and closer to total eradication. You are our last hope for salvation, please heed our call, and come to the aid of the people of the marshland." With that, the letter ended, marked by a crude wax stamp and a stain of mud on the bottom left corner of the parchment.  The young tiefling had indeed decided to come to the aid of the people of the marsh, and within a fortnight gathered her things and began the journey to the southernmost tip of the world. The journey so far had taken 9 days, and Nemeia had just yesterday reached the edge of the bogland that comprised the Low Marshes. With each step, her mud-caked boot sunk into the soft grass beneath them; flies buzzed around her head at every moment, and oh the stench. The thick air around her smelled of sulfur, and the corpses of beings long lost to the Marsh. It burned the nostrils just to take a breath, but breathing through the mouth was not a much better alternative. At least another 3 days travel would be needed to reach the town lodged deep within the bounds of the bogland, by Nemeia's count. 3 more days of stinking putridity traveling through the marshes. The beaten path to the town was barely visible through the much and withered grasses, but was easy enough to follow if one paid attention. The day's travel had brought Nemeia nearly a quarter of the way through the marsh by her calculations, and traveling in the swamps alone at night was more than ill-advised. It was deadly. The waning shafts of the evening sun shone through the treetops, casting rays of gleaming light through the patchy canopy and cascading to the most earth at Nemeia's feet. Camp would need to be made soon, but finding somewhere suitably out of the way and dry was sure to be a challenge. TAG: patrickx31 ,
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dice
Citizen
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Post by dice on Jun 11, 2018 3:04:07 GMT -5
Kalarel The Vile, Scion of Teorr
Name:
Kalarel The Vile Age:
90 Sex:
Male Species:
Human (Lich) Occupation:
N/A Height:
6'1" Weight:
146 Physical Description:
Kalarel is tall and skeletally thin. His hands are frail and shaky, fingernails seemingly unclipped for millennia and his skin is seemingly starting to rot away. He moves as if his feet never truly touch the ground, seeming to glide across the ground rather than walk. Kalarel's voice seems to emanate from the nothingness of his hood, raspy and echoing it strikes fear into the hearts of those that hear it. Clothing:
Kalarel the Vile is ever cloaked by his midnight black robes in the design of the old kingdom. The edges of the sleeves, the hem of the robes, and the edges of the hood are worn and tattered. Chains and runes are draped across his robes haphazardly, the runes glow a fiery orange, the chains sharp on the edges and almost rectangular. The shoulders of his cloak are pointed, backed by jutting spikes of dark iron. Those who view Kalarel never forget the sight, and he is dressed to ensure this. Weapons:
Weapons are beneath Kalarel, all the once-man carries are his various dark tomes and spellbooks within the folds of his tattered robes, and various spell components held in pouches that dangle from the belt at his waist. Description of Abilities:
Kalarel is an immensely powerful necromancer, and he ambitiously follows the path of the dark arts. He holds dominion over those both dead and alive, kills those who would dare question him with the flick of a wrist and raises them as undead minions to serve in his scourge armies. Those who serve Kalarel well are guarded against death with utmost certainty; by the use of Kalarel's dark magic he can bring those who have died back to life as if they had never fallen, and grow clones of himself and others as a safeguard against death. Bio:
(Large details have been left out to keep from any accidental Meta-gaming)
Kalarel is born of royal blood. From birth, he was educated by the best tutors in Itor, and even in his young age, his immense intelligence shone through. Kalarel took a keen interest in magic after reading about the great wizards of the Vandarian Crusades and the power they held to devastate entire armies at the utterance of a select few arcane words, and so he was tutored in the ways of the basic magic of all the schools except one. The forbidden school. Necromancy. The way of the dark arts was very intentionally obscured from Kalarel's knowledge, and this forbiddance only fostered curiosity among the young magic user; Curiosity that would fester for years unchecked in the mind of young Kalarel. From the young age of 9, Kalarel found that he cared naught for life human or non, and really only wished to advance his own studies and magical tutelage. He often practiced his more destructive spells on wildlife found around the castle, frying squirrels and various avian creatures with basic spells like firebolt and lightning bolt. This only served to give young Kalarel a taste of death, and the knowledge to purvey it.
A decade passed, and Kalarel was set to rise to the throne of all Vandar the next year, Kalarel had excelled in his magic abilities as well as in his studies for years, progressing past the knowledge of even the tutors his parents could find and assign to the teaching of the budding young mage, leaving Kalarel on his own to advance his studies further. Under cover of darkness, Kalarel had begun to sneak into the castle library and scour the forbidden spellbooks that were specifically kept away from him throughout his formative years in the hope that it would prevent Kalarel from falling to darkness. Keeping Kalarel from falling into darkness was exactly the opposite of what keeping the dark arts from him did. Kalarel was enthralled by the new and powerful magic that was detailed in the various runebound spellbooks which he sifted through night after night in the dark recesses of the castle library.
Mere weeks remained until Kalarel was set to become King of Vandar, but he was having none of it. Kalarel once more left his chambers under the cover of night and made his way into the castle library one final time. This night, however, Kalarel had no intent to return to his quarters, instead, he stored the dark tomes that he had scoured for many moons past in the folds of his robes, threw up his hood, and made off into the night, never again to be seen by his family or the staff of the castle.
For years, Kalarel hid deep within the Everlife Forest, living off of the land, and taking shelter in a small hut that he fashioned from fallen debris and other materials scavenged from the forest floor. Eventually, Kalarel learned of a spell long lost to the ages that would be the key to his triumph. Kalarel traveled the land as best he could over the following months, scouring libraries across the world for any sign that could lead him to his bounty, the one spell to rule them all. Eventually, Kalarel learned enough about the spell, its vocal and material components, and the many other requirements and costs to finally begin the incantation.
Now, unnoticed to the rest of the world, Kalarel travels Itor, collecting bodies for an unknown and nefarious purpose, returning to the Everlife Forest with cartloads of corpses to be used in his grand scheme. School/Specialization:
Necromancy (Level 10) |
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dice
Citizen
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Post by dice on Jun 14, 2018 2:08:06 GMT -5
IC: Riclamin FalconsflightThe Bard's Tale Tavern, Summerstone, Vandar It had been a long and tiresome day for Absalom and Vasilios. A day of travel in fact. Their feet ached and their stomachs cried out for food that wasn't dried and preserved. The two had decided to break for the night in Summerstone, at The Bard's Tale Tavern, and as they walked in, the smell of food instantly caught their attention. Smoke hung low in the air inside the small tavern, both from the long pipes that several of the patrons smoked and from the fires in the kitchen. The innkeeper bustled around behind the scuffed bar at the front of the tavern, his head balding and his protruding gut bouncing around as he moved; cleaning glasses, setting plates of steaming food on the bar, communicating with the serving lads and ladies. The man looked as if he would be jolly under any normal circumstance, smile lines evident on his plump cheeks. But he was very obviously not jolly. He was terrified. At the other end of the tavern, a halfling garbed in vibrant reds and golds stood on a small stage built up against the wall. In his hands was a small lute, he was playing and singing a merry song that seemed to tell the tale of another halfling man who absconded with a lovely elven woman. The crowd eagerly participated when they could. "Now hear ye all you rascals, with your bellies full of pie,
and listen to this tale of old where the hero’s four feet high!" He sang "He’s a master of concealment, and an adept at disguise,
which he uses when he’s sneaking past a husband’s watchful eye! He’s slain many a villain, be it dragon wolf or wizard, And he’s looted chests, of all the best of treasures he could find! He’s the undefeated champion, of adventure war and passion, and he sings this song as he goes along with a fiddle and a pipe" He continued, the crowd joining in for the chorus as if they had heard the song thousands of times before. "The Grass is Green, The Air Is Clean, a sweet lass by my side, there ain’t nobody looking so,I squeeze her rump behind! The world is full of monsters vile but they ain’t here at the time, so lift your roast, and propose a toast to these drunken friends of mine!" The whole tavern erupted in joyful cries and laughter. Except for the table in the far corner; there sat four rather unsavory looking gentlemen, clad in rough leather armor, weapons leaning against the wall behind them. They obviously wanted nothing to do with the merriment that the rest of the taverners were so eager to participate in. These men were obviously not of the local crowd. Bandits, perhaps? Bounty hunters? As Absalom and Vasilios approached the Innkeeper, asking for food and lodging, he spoke in a hushed tone, careful to avoid eye contact "No rooms. You can have food, drink, anything you want, all on the house. Just please don't kill anyone."
TAG@arcane, darthvoxyn ,
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Arcane
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Post by Arcane on Jun 15, 2018 15:39:03 GMT -5
IC: Vasilios The Bard's Tale Tavern, Summerstone, Vandar Walking into the tavern Vasilios ducked through the doorway. Not many places were made for his height and weight. He knew this, so ducking when entering and exiting a building was almost a habit now. He inhaled deeply as the scent of freshly cooked food hit his nostrils. They flared. Hot, steamed breath exited as he exhaled. His stomach grumbled and his mouth watered. "Mmmm. Absalom? Can we get some of this delicious food? My stomach is so very hungry." He asked as he took another deep breath in. The wear and tear of traveling was obvious when looking at him. Though he was not wearing much in the way of clothes or armor, his hide and fur made up for it. The men in the corner did not bother him too much. He knew of the evils in this world. He was all to familiar. He would keep an eye on them, however. The bartender spoke in a hushed tone, quickly, and averting his gaze. Vasilios nudged Absalom. "Why is this guy so hush-hush?" He glanced at the menu upon the wall behind the bar. His stomach grumbled again. "Come oooonnnnnnn, Absalom! Please?! Surely we can spare some coin?" He sounded like a wounded animal. All the whimpering and whining. His tail flicked and he shook his head, impatient. He crossed his arms and snorted. Tag: darthvoxyn dice |
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Post by darthvoxyn on Jun 15, 2018 18:26:20 GMT -5
IC: Absalom Blackfire Location: The Bards Tale Tavern, Summerstone Vandar Looking back around the tavern then specifically at the group of people off to the side avoiding the rest of the people. He couldn't tell who they were but they're probably why the barkeeper seems so nervous. "I think the reason he's so hush hush is because of those men over their." He said quietly to Visilios. Reaching down into the bag on his hip he pulled out two bags of gold and looked at them. Taking the one that said Visilios he handed it to his hungry companion. "Buy what you wish my friend, after the long day we've had we need food. As long as those men over their behave themselves then we won't have a problem." He quickly turned to the barkeeper and addressed him. "Non sense my friend, we'll pay for what we get. I'd like some mead and a chicken please." He then turned and sat at a table where he could see the bar and keep an eye on the men in the corner. Tag: dice , Arcane , |
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Post by patrickx31 on Jun 17, 2018 23:34:29 GMT -5
IC: Nemeia AngelbaneThe Low Marshes, Just South of Bogbreach, 1342This place at the moment was hell to the young tiefling. And considering her appearance, one would believe that she was have an idea on what hell is actually like. But with the humidity, the foul stench and the dead loitered around...she wasn't exactly wrong on the mark. "The flattery. I can't believe I fell for the flattery. The most renowned hired blade in the east. Ha!" Mocking the letter as she waved her hand to swat away the insects. And of course, nighttime was approaching and she hasn't spotted a suitable place to properly camp for the night. So she conceited to the idea that she would just have to make a camp at the next best thing. So Nemeia looked around and began eyeing the arched trees. Perhaps they would keep her dry for the night? It was better than nothing at this point. So the woman went towards the most stand aloneish, giant arching tree she would spot and headed towards it. dice, |
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dice
Citizen
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Post by dice on Jun 18, 2018 22:59:57 GMT -5
IC: Riclamin FalconsflightThe Bard's Tale Tavern, Summerstone, Vandar, 1342 "Nonsense my friend, we'll pay for what we get. I'd like some mead and a chicken please." Absalom told the skittish bartender, who responded with a simple nod, looking to Vasilios questioningly as Absalom turned and found a seat. The Bard was seemingly bringing his song to a close, the chorus repeating several times with various levels of laughter and crowd participation, and as the crowd quieted down, the brigands in the corner seemed to look at Vasilios, turn back to their comrades, talk amongst themselves, look back, taking in the powerful form of the Minotaur once again, and gathering their things, preparing to leave. Before they did, however, the serving lady, a large woman with flowing, shoulder-length red hair dressed in a blue dress with white trimmings around the collar and the half sleeves that covered her arms down to her elbows, approached Absalom, "Chicken and mead, mi'lord?" She asked, a gleaming silver tray in her hands, steam spiraling from a golden brown bird on an engraved steel plate; next to it was a large wooden mug overflowing with the foamy head of what looked to be mead. "A good choice if I do say so m'self. Chicken 'ere is the best this side of the spire. Mead is damn good too!" She smiled, setting down the tray in front of Absalom before walking back into the kitchen through a swinging wooden door a few feet right of the bar. Meanwhile, Vasilios's whining had done well to attract attention to himself and Absalom. Many of the patrons who sat along the outside walls of the building smoking their long wooden pipes peered over at the two intently. It certainly wasn't often that the people of Summerstone saw beings that weren't of Human, Elven, or even Dwarven descent, a minotaur was sure to be an attraction.
TAG Arcane, darthvoxyn,
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Arcane
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Post by Arcane on Jun 19, 2018 14:36:59 GMT -5
IC: Vasilios The Bard's Tale Tavern, Summerstone, Vandar, 1342 Vasilios took the coin purse from Absalom and nodded to the bartender. "Do you have any large animals prepared?" He asked as the people stared. "And a gallon of Mead." He paused and looked around. The people were all staring at them. Him, if he were to be specific. "Please." He said gingerly. "I mean no one any harm." His large stature and gruff appearance were always an issue with other species. Being a Minotaur had it's downfalls. Especially when the rest of your species commit such awful atrocities. He looked toward the men in the corner. They have been watching him a bit closer than the rest of the bar. "Absalom." He began. "Tell them I don't mean any harm." He looked to his friend for assurance. "I think we should also rent a room." He continued to watch the other patrons at the bar. He didn't want any trouble. He wouldn't hurt any Innocents, that he knew for sure. TAG: dice darthvoxyn |
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Post by darthvoxyn on Jun 19, 2018 17:08:50 GMT -5
IC: Absalom Blackfire Location: Bards Tale Tavern, Summerstone Vandar Taking a drink of the mead Absalom glanced back at the men in the corner, they seemed to be getting ready to leave. "Guess they decided a place with a Minotaur isn't a place they want to start trouble." Absalom said quietly to himself then looked back at the barkeeper. "Visilios means no harm to anyone here I assure you my friend, he's quite friendly. We're just tired and hungry after a long days travel. Are you sure there are no rooms available? It doesn't even need beds we just need a spot to sleep." Ripping off a leg from the chicken and Absalom took another look around the tavern, everyone was glancing at them which came to no surprise to him, a man and a Minotaur traveling together tended to draw attention though the people of the tavern seemed more curios than anything about Visilios, probably means they don't see many if any Minotaur's in these parts. Taking a bite of the leg Absalom was surprised at how good it was. "Guess the serving lady wasn't kidding." He said to himself. Still warm, juicy, and lightly salted he looked up at Visilios. "You might want to order a chicken along with whatever you get my friend." Tag: dice, Arcane, |
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dice
Citizen
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Post by dice on Jun 19, 2018 18:50:12 GMT -5
IC: NoneThe Low Marshes, Just South of Bogbreach, 1342 "The flattery. I can't believe I fell for the flattery. The most renowned hired blade in the east. Ha!" The young tiefling said to herself, mocking the letter that the desperate people of the marsh sent as a request for her aid.
The stench of the swamp was overwhelming, even when the baking rays of the sun weren't amplifying the putridity. The bubbling stagnant waters that lined the path made finding suitable camping arrangement difficult, and the gnarled trees around made finding somewhere within the canopy even harder, though sleeping on a tree branch out of the wet and dangerous swamps below.
After some thorough searching in the darkness that quickly befell the marshland when the sun no longer glistened in the top of the trees that covered overhead, Nemia was able to locate a suitable tree to make camp. The ancient thing was tall, its gnarled roots seeming ran for miles under the swampy land that it called its home. Damp moss hung from the branches like a tapestry that was long past its colorful prime. A suitable low hanging branch was easy to find, and after the rough, flaking bark was cleared away it would surely make fore adequate sleeping arrangements. Though nearly anything would be preferable to lying in the much on the forest floor.
The night was young, but the noise of the nocturnal predators of the swamp was already beginning. Marsh stalkers, Vandarian Owls, various deadly snakes, and insects, but in the tree, far above the domain of such predators, Nemia would be safe from their attacks.
The night passed without incident luckily for Nemia, and as the morning sun broke the distant horizon, once more bathing the forest in the orange light of the dawn, glistening shafts of sunlight breaking through the mossy canopy, and the heat of the sun strengthening the sulfurous stink of the swamp. Another day of travel, if not two would be required to reach the people of the marsh, though traveling under cover of night was an option, it was a perilous one. The heat would be absent, but the predators and other dangers lurking in the dark would not be. Though finding another spot as fortuitous as this would be considerably more difficult the deeper Nemia got into the swamp. Maybe reaching the village without having to spend another night exposed to the elements would be the best option?
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Post by patrickx31 on Jun 25, 2018 16:47:50 GMT -5
IC: Nemeia Angelbane The Low Marshes, Just South of Bogbreach, 1342 Nemeia would weigh her options and ultimately continue the trek in the night. She figured with her night vision the reward of finishing the travel by tomorrow was too good to pass up. But Nemeia did pull out her spear. Cause she knew what this decision meant. dice, |
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dice
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Post by dice on Jul 11, 2018 0:19:20 GMT -5
IC: Drahz VonElterbrand
The Bard's Tale Tavern, Summerstone, Vandar 1342
"No." The terrified innkeeper repeated again "No rooms" His gaze shifted around wearily as if he were searching for something... or someone. "A large animal and a gallon of mead? Let me see what I can do, my friend." The man finished, turning to the barmaid. Sweat collected on the rotund man's hairy brow and he hurriedly wiped it away with a towel from behind the bar, desperate to keep some semblance of calm. He whispered something in the lithesome woman's ear to which she simply nodded and set off for the kitchen. Meanwhile, the rough looking men across the room from the two finished putting together their things and stood to leave. As the trio walked to the bar, one of the men, a tall, tan gentleman with scruff growing on his chin of about 5 days of age called across the tavern to Vasillios, "Mean no 'arm my feckin arse!" He yelled, his accent thick, and indicative of his Vandarian heritage. "I've seen o' yer kind afore! Tearin' children from their parents they were!" he continued, pointing a weathered finger at Vassilios, the thick leather glove on his hand only covering up to the knuckles. Suddenly, a man who looked to be about 40 stood up near the stage, waving a hand in exasperation in the direction of the leather-clad ruffian, "Ahh shut yer fockin trap, Drahz!" He called "Yer good for nothin' but kissin' Lord Vandar's toes!" The crowd gathered around the stage erupted in laughter at the man's statement. The antagonizer, apparently Drahz, was none too amused. "Watch yer clever mouth, bitch!" he called in retort, reaching for his belt where a simple and time-worn shortsword hung in a sheath of leather, now cracking with age. The blade was out in a flash and Drahz was quickly advancing on the man near the stage, his lackeys in tow, a club and a dagger in hand respectively. "Come 'ere ye fockin cowardly bastard!" The man by the stage called, seemingly exhilarated by the imminent conflict. As the brawl broke out, the brightly clad halfling on the stage struck up another song, one of beating drums and a soaring melody on his lute. The small man seemed accustomed to bar brawls and was reveling in the opportunity to provide musical accompaniment to the fighting. A true bard was he. As Drahz approached his opponent he was struck in the side of the face with the unexpected fist of one of the villagers, the unfortunate young combatant was swiftly run through with Draz' blade, slumping lifelessly to the floor with a yelp. The battle was in full swing within seconds, and the innkeep was quaking with fear. TAG: Arcane, darthvoxyn,
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Post by Arcane on Jul 11, 2018 23:56:16 GMT -5
IC: Vasilios The Bard's Tale Tavern, Summerstone, Vandar 1342 Vasilios stood silently. His eyes met the pointed finger of the man. The sounds of the bar died down to a whisper in his head. He flinched as the man spoke. He knew his kind were beasts in every measure of the word. His kind was evil. His eyes met the man's. Pure hatred could be seen. That man loathed the Minotaurs and with good reason. He stood there at the bar silently. No words were spoken. He was in a daze. His head was cloudy until another bar patron bumped into him while joining the fray. He knew this brawl must be stopped. The bar tender quivering with fear had made Vasilios upset. He was sick of fear. He was sick of being labelled a monster because of the rest of his kind. He had had enough. He threw his hooves down onto the bar. A loud gutteral growl came from deep within his chest. "ENOUGH!!" He roared, almost primal in sound. He would not hurt innocents. He would not steep to the lowest of his kind. He snorted and spit as he screamed. Breathing heavy he left his hooves upon the bar, now splintered beneath him. His eyes remained shut. Tail hung low. "No more fighting." His tone now changed to a sort of sadness. "No more fighting over me." TAG: dice darthvoxyn |
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Post by darthvoxyn on Jul 12, 2018 1:12:48 GMT -5
IC: Absalom Blackfire The Bard's Tail Tavern, Summerstone, Vandar 1342 "Can we not get one night of peace? Is that too much to ask?" Absalom said to himself as the tavern erupted into a big brawl. Just looking at the mob of fighting people he took another drink of his mead, contemplating weather he should just ignore it and try to relax for the time. He then saw Drahz, the guy that started this whole mess, get hit in the head and then turn and stab young villager that hit him. "OK, no." He said as he stood up then bolted through the crowd evading all the fighting people and grabbing the young man that was stabbed. Absalom glared up at Drahz, the coward can't win in a fair fight so he is using his sword. Taking a deep breath Absalom's eyes began to glow a bright Amethyst, black running through his normally red hair like water down a pipe. As the last of the red had left his hair his massive wings, black as the night with streaks of silver, materialized on his back and with a single flap of his wings launched himself across the room out of the fight and just behind Visilios. "Visilios, if you would be so kind can you please go to the door make sure those three don't leave, I would like a word with that Drahz guy when this is done, assuming someone doesn't kill him in the fight." Absalom said as he tore open the young villagers shirt to get a better look at the wound which was very deep. Closing his eyes and taking another breath he began to use the spell cure wounds, his hands being consumed by a white fire he then put his hands on the stab wound. "Hopefully this works." Noticing Visilios hadn't moved at all Absalom tried to get his attention. "Visilios? Hey Visilios can you hear me?" No sooner had he gotten the last word out that Visilios stomped his hooves. " ENOUGH!!!!" Visilios roared at the top of his lungs catching Absalom off guard and making him jump. Quickly regaining his composure he resumed trying to heal the villager while he heard Visilios telling everyone to stop fighting, noticing the sadness in his tone Absalom could tell he was upset. "And you hurt his feelings." Absalom said quietly to himself. "That is another thing I'm going to have to punch you for now Drahz."
TAG: dice, Arcane
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Post by dice on Jul 17, 2018 2:37:15 GMT -5
IC: Drahz VonElterbrand
The Bard's Tale Tavern, Summerstone, Vandar 1342
The brawl had erupted in the blink of an eye. The three ruffians from the corner had drawn weapons and begun to paint the oaken floors of the tavern crimson with the blood of the townsfolk. The simple farmers and shopkeepers that made up Summerstone stood no chance against the road worn and experienced bandits that followed Drahz. Those who jumped from the crowd to face the men fell quickly to their battle-worn blades. By the time Vasilios had made sense of the situation half a dozen lay in agony on the floor of the Bard's Tale Tavern. "ENOUGH" Vasilios erupted. The combatants didn't listen. The battle raged on, and more men threw themselves at Drahz's crew. What did stop the battle was Absalom and his wings. The amethyst glow of his eyes, the angelic wings of midnight black that erupted from his back, the leap that the towering man made directly into the fray. The fighting halted for just that moment as Absalom landed in front of Drahz and his kin with a hollow thud. Drahz looked to Absalom with disgust and fury. "Two freaks ta' kill eh?!" He cried with almost excitement, his voice low and gruff. His confidence was quickly taken from him, however, when he found himself flung to the floor when Absalom lunged once more out of the fight, carrying with him the lifeless corpse of the young boy who had attacked Drahz a few moments prior. The boy was gone, his lifeblood spilled too quickly from the gaping wound in his chest for anyone to do anything, even Absalom and his healing magic. The white flame that covered Absaloms hands was ineffective, the boy was dead. Across the room, the brawl was beginning to subside, the villagers realizing that they were but lambs to the slaughter against the bandits had forgone their quest for justice and scurried back to their respective tables. The upbeat song of the brightly clad minstrel subsided into the softer melodies that they had heard since they entered the Tavern. The only combatants left were Drahz, his lackeys, the original man who had stood for Vasilios, and Vasilios and Absalom themselves. The rotund barman cowered still behind the large bar that Absalom had ordered from before, and the other tavern staff hid in the kitchen, terrified to take part in the battle in any way. With the subsiding of the main battle now, Drahz and his men stalked towards Absalom and Vasilios, murder in their eyes. "Ohoho..." Drahz cooed "Now you sick fuckin' freaks are gonna get it." The men took another step towards the two, "Thought you could humiliate me, did ya?" He laughed "You're gonna learn what happens to people who fuck with us." Drahz brought a gloved hand to his face, wiping away a trickle of blood that ran from the corner of his mouth, peering afterwards at the crimson stain left on the backside of his hand, "Come on then!" He called, extending his muscular arms to his sides, beckoning Absalom and Vasilios to fight "Come and get me!"TAG: Arcane, darthvoxyn,
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dice
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Post by dice on Jul 17, 2018 13:11:38 GMT -5
IC: None
The Low Marshes, The City of the Swamp, 1342
The trek through the night Nemia knew would be a dangerous one indeed. Fortunately for her, however, she was not far from the City of the Swamp when the sun's last rays disappeared behind the trees. The night was still young when the lights of the city broke through the treeline, the flickering orange of the fires that lined the city, intended to keep the nocturnal predators of the swamp at bay were a guiding light to the young Tiefling and brought her safely to the edge of the town.
The town was far from extravagant, huts cobbled together of loosely stacked branches from the many trees that grew in proximity to the city, roofed with various long growing grasses and grains. Windows were without glass, simply sections cut from the walls to allow light into the homes during the day. Doors were hung with no precision, loosely fitting the doorframes they were made for. All of the houses were built in a semi-circle around the town center where a large bonfire burned, bathing the small collection of huts with a flickering orange glow.
It seemed that the people of the swamp were not expecting Nemia so early, and all but the watchmen on the makeshift walls had already retired for the night. "Hail!" An older man called from atop the wall, The man held a crude spear in his right hand, leaning on it like a staff. He was garbed in padded leather armor with a plated helmet stored in the crook of his arm. "Who might you be, mi'lady, comin' inta town at this hour? Don't you know that strange things go bump in the night around these parts?" The wall that the man stood atop of was made of semi-straight poles, stuck deep into the soft earth of the swamp and sharpened at the tips to prevent climbing. It seemed as if some kind of crude battlement had been constructed behind the poles that ran the lenght of the wall, allowing the guards sight over the barrier. At the moment it seemed, however, guards was a loose term, Nemia could only see one man atop the battlements, no others patrolling the city or even walking the perimiter. It seemed the town had become... shorthanded, very quickly.
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Post by Arcane on Jul 17, 2018 14:35:05 GMT -5
IC: Vasilios The Bard's Tale Tavern, Summerstone, Vandar 1342 Vasilios heard the hateful words and watched as this man killed another. He was no longer an innocent. He was a murderer. Vasilios snorted as the brawl grew quiet. He walked to the front of the door and blocked the exit. His height and weight made it so that no one would be able to push through him. He stood there, arms crossed, silent, watching the men move about the bar but not taking his eyes off of them for even a second. The men came close and spoke to them both. Vasilios glanced toward Absalom as the men continued to make threats. "My friend, I am tired and sore," he began softly. "But the men here need to die." He uncrossed his arms, lowered his head, and spoke firmly. "We should rid this town of it's filth before moving on." Vasilios stood with his head bowed. His hooves scraping the wooden floor of the tavern. He shook his head as drool flung from his lips with wet snot from his nose. The dust flew from his coat like a camel back into town from a long trip through the desert. He could feel the rage build inside of him. He would unleash it at these men if his friend gave him the signal. He grumbled and growled waiting for his chance at the murderous trio. Behind him the wind howled against the door. It sounded like a storm was approaching, making the need for a bed even greater. TAG: dice darthvoxyn |
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Post by darthvoxyn on Jul 21, 2018 1:27:50 GMT -5
IC: Absalom Blackfire The Bard's Tale Tavern, Summerstone, Vandar 1342 It became apparent quick that the healing spell wasn’t working, the boy was dead. I could hear Drahz rambling in the background but what he was saying I didn’t care to listen. What did get my attention however was Visilios walking over to the door then turning to talk to me.
“My friend, I am tired and sore, but the men here need to die. We should rid this town of it’s filth before we move on.” He said firmly. Just looking at Visilios I could tell he was pissed.
“Now now my friend.” I said as I stood to face the three men. “While it is true that the world would be better off if we just killed these men here and now, I don’t think we should kill them. I think after we’re through with them we should leave their fate to the townsfolk who's kin these men just killed.”
Now that I could actually get a good look at them and based off of their behavior here these three were definitely bandits. Drahz was the largest of the three standing at roughly 6 feet tall while the other two were probably about 5’9 or 5’10. They only had leather armor and their weapons weren’t much to look at but the three of them could still be dangerous so I should still be a bit cautious. Standing tall with my wings stretching out from their resting position and drawing my longsword I began to smile when Drahz held his arms out beckoning us to fight them.
“Besides.” I said with a chuckle. “The bar keeper kindly asked us not to kill anyone, but that doesn’t mean we can’t have some fun and hurt them a lot.” I quickly turned to face them again and threw my hand forward sending a fire bolt directly at Drahz. The fire had started a red but by the time it left my hand my magic had filtered though it and turned the flame black as coal. With the bolt loosed I quickly shifted into a guard position with my longsword in hand waiting to see their move. Tag: dice , Arcane |
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Post by patrickx31 on Jul 22, 2018 22:21:40 GMT -5
IC: Nemeia AngelbaneThe Low Marshes, The City of the Swamp, 1342" Hail!" An older man called from atop the wall, The man held a crude spear in his right hand, leaning on it like a staff. He was garbed in padded leather armor with a plated helmet stored in the crook of his arm. This would prompt Nemeia would immediately look up towards the source of the voice. Only seeing the man standing on the wall. The tiefling would give her surroundings a quick glance to see whether there were more. Which to her surprise...there wasn't. "Hell yeah! That's why I made my way here is quick as possible." Slamming her spear securely on the ground beside her. "The name's Nemeia Angelbane! I was summoned here because of a problem in this town." Making the tone of her voice clear and to the point. "And given your lack of personnel, I came not a moment too soon correct?" dice,
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dice
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Post by dice on Jul 26, 2018 23:22:10 GMT -5
IC: Drahz VonElterbrand
The Bard's Tale Tavern, Summerstone, Vandar, 1342
“Now now my friend.” Absalom said calmly to Vasilios “While it is true that the world would be better off if we just killed these men here and now, I don’t think we should kill them. I think after we’re through with them we should leave their fate to the townsfolk who's kin these men just killed.” Absalom finished, looking the three men up and down, examining each of them separately. " 'Urt me eh?" Drahz Sneered "You think you can- GAHH!" The man cried out in agony, his words cut off mid-sentence by the bolt of scorching black flame that impacted his chest, leaving a patch of singed leather where the flame licked his breastplate. The spattering dissipation of the bolt of flame was enough to set the grease laden locks that fell over his shoulders aflame, causing the large man to emit more screeches of agony as he fell to the floor, patting his flaming head in an attempt to douse the flames. Meanwhile, Drahz's companions looked on with expressions that mixed both anger and fear before looking to Absalom and charging forward in unison, both swinging their crude weapons for his head. At the back of the tavern, the minstrel was keeping his upbeat song going, while onlookers cheered on the battle. Some, very brave, villagers looked as if they intended to aid in the parties efforts, Drahz becoming engulfed in flames only bolstering their resolve. The older man who had originally antagonized the group and a younger boy emerged from the wall of tavern-goers, armed with chairs and candlesticks. The younger of the two looked to the slumped form on the floor at Absalom's feet and cried out in desperation to what one could only assume was a close friend or brother "Fjord!" He cried, looking from his friend back to the three leather-clad warriors who were advancing quickly on Absalom, anger taking his face and bolstering his will to fight. TAG darthvoxyn, Arcane,
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dice
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Post by dice on Jul 28, 2018 1:32:04 GMT -5
IC: Talisen Fretwith
The City of the Swamp, The Low Marshes, 1342
"The name's Nemeia Angelbane! I was summoned here because of a problem in this town." That was all the aging guardsman needed to hear. Before Nemia could even finish her announcement, he had disappeared behind the wall, and shortly after, the large gate that stood a few feet before Nemia creaked open slowly, revealing the town in further detail. The crackling bonfire that blazed in the center of town, the muddy tracks left by the waning population of the city, the few patches of grass left in between the huts. "Right this way, m'lady. The mayor will be wantin' ta speak with ya." The man said, walking around the front of the now ajar gate, gesturing for Nemia to follow. The man turned, satisfied that Nemia would be on his heels, and began off through the city, towards the largest hut in the town, it's door was fitted more closely to the frame, the windows were cleaner, the roof not as wilted. This was the closest thing to a 'home' to be found in the City of the Swamp. The guard approached the house, glancing quickly back to Nemia before turning to the door and knocking firmly. "Mayor Quickfoot! The mercenary you sent for has arrived!" There was a rustling from inside the house, and the voice of a woman could be heard from just behind the door, "Oh yes, yes! I'll be out in a moment Talisen. You may return to your post." She said. The guard nodded and turned back towards the wall. He looked to Nemia and gave a cordial nod before pushing past her and trudging back across the town to the battlements where Nemia first saw him.
Not but a few moments after the guard left, the door to the house swing open into the frame, inside the home stood a halfling woman in a dark dress, hanging to the floor to obscure even her feet. "Oh hello there!" She began "Please do come in. Tell me of your travels!"TAG: patrickx31,
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