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Post by Renthar on Feb 19, 2013 15:01:41 GMT -5
It was of quiet and comfort, but never safe. A mother's womb, if there ever existed one that was decorated with shattered skulls, rivers of blood, and the screams of regret and lost opportunities. There was no time to pass, only a moment that never ended, lacking continuity or the unwanted interruption of thought. Until once again and eventually, he slowly emerged into reality.
Renthar blinked five times in a row, in order to adjust to his surroundings, followed by a sixth that consisted of each eye at a time for good measure. He was seated at a desk in a small wooden cabin on the outskirts of Minoc, the corpses of its former inhabitants still littering the floor. For a moment, the tall, strange-eyed sorcerer could not recall if he was responsible for their demise, but then realized that either way, he did not particularly care. Instead, his stomach distracting the rest of him with its muted growl, he hungrily reached for the nearby bowl of grapes. Not grapes, he had to remind himself as his tongue probed the surface of the first one to enter his mouth, but eyeballs, the orbs of gypsy seers. He had consumed nearly half of a dozen since earlier that morning, before entering his trance, intent upon unlocking the visions that danced within the realm of his subconscious. For everything was connected, even a stranger such as Renthar.
The piece of paper before him contained eight words or phrases, written in a style he immediately recognized as his own. The tall sorcerer had learned this art of Automatic Writing centuries ago while studying in the Lost City of Wind. An aptly named place, for its inhabitans were all huff-and-no-puff like most Sosarians that practiced the magickal arts, but the talent did seem to have its uses. Renthar slowly looked over the parchment, carefully giving each the proper attention it deserved. And it read thus:
Celestia Red Minalan Does Jon Abbott Taste Like Pork? Shattered Emeralds Duke of the Lost Lands The Camorra Jolicia Unthinkable?!
A small smile appeared upon the face of the strange-eyed sorcerer. Some of these terms were familiar, while the others begged a mystery. After centuries of life, Renthar always appreciated the unknown. And if the dead gypsy eyeballs spoke truly, the first of these signs would commence shortly with --
-- There was a loud knock at the door of the small wooden cabin --
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Post by Judas D'arc on Feb 21, 2013 16:05:36 GMT -5
The bard known as Judas D'arc found it difficult to refuse any request made of him by the master-thief called Shelley. For nearly eleven years, she had been his mentor, his friend, and in her present guise of Evelyn Crowley, his employer at the Emerald Trading Company. There had been disagreements shared and secrets that were not, but that was to be expected over the course of such a lengthy and complicated relationship. What matter most was that Judas trusted Shelley with his life, and even more importantly, with the lives of those he had come to care for. Such faith was far too uncommon in this world. However, at that particular moment, the bard despised his employer and regretted ever having met her, Not truly, but he was far too exhausted and distracted for this latest of errands, and he resented her choosing him for it. The Emerald Trading Company was still investigating the raids against their Vesper merchant partners but had uncovered no solid leads on this mysterious "Camorra" that seemed responsible. Matters involving Aingeal and Minalan had also become far more complicated than originally expected. And then there was also the impending birth of Alisiea's daughter Celestia, and concerns over the demon prophecy she had been linked to. Far too much was taking place for the bard to be trekking through the forests of Samlethe on such a cold, dark night.
When he arrived at the small glade north of the Serpent's Spine, that bard was unsurprised by a scene of complete and utter insignificance. There were no homes or people present, and it was exactly what he had been advised to expect. With his eyes intent on his surroundings, he slowly approached the center of the clearing. Once he had reached the spot, Judas took a deep breath, held it inside of his lungs for a few moments, and then began to hop up and down in place -- five times total and in quick succession.
*THUD*
*THUD*
*THUD*
*THUD*
*THUD*
By the second jump, he became aware it was not earth that lay below his feet, but solid wood. After he had finished, the puzzled bard took a few steps back, his gaze fixed upon the strange section of ground. Within a minute, there was a large scraping sound, and it suddenly flipped open, as if attached by hinges. A trap door, Judas realized, as he prepared himself for what might emerge. Unfortunately, it was not a warm drink or a welcoming smile, but the dangerous end of a heavy crossbow.
"Identity yourself," the gruff voice of a man demanded from below. "Or die."
"Er ... " The bard struggled with a reasonable response. "I was sent to deliver your payment." In order to emphasize his words he began to jingle the pouch of coins at his side. "She sent me."
"Prove it."
"How exactly do I do that?" Judas asked, somewhat exasperated. "The secret knock was not enough?"
Without any warning, a crossbow bolt flew directly past his head. "Last chance."
Judas sighed, and slowly stripped off his tunic. Then he pivoted slightly, pointing his right shoulder, and the well-rendered tattoo of an emerald upon it, towards the hole. "You might require a torch ... "
"Night sight potion," the man replied all matter-of-fact. "Throw me the coins. If any are missing, I'll slit your throat."
The bard did as he was told, and waited patiently as he listened to the other man sift through the gold. All the while, he could not quite dismiss the odd feeling that nagged at the back of his mind. "Do I know you?" He found himself inquiring against his better judgment.
The counting stopped.
"I do not mean to pry," Judas continued. "It is just that there is something about you that seems familiar."
"Don't know anyone," the hole-dweller answered. "Not for a long time."
"Then what is it exactly that you do for our ... mutual friend?" He knew he was pushing, but as usual, he could not help himself.
More silence. Then the unmistakable sound of crossbow being loaded. Followed by one of the worst singing voices that had ever plagued the lands of Sosaria:
I'll go home to my parents, confess what I've done. And I'll ask them to pardon their prodigal son.
Slowly comprehending, Judas continued the tune.
And if they forgive me as oft-times before. Then I promise I'll play the wild rover no more.
And then they joined together to bring the song to its conclusion:
And it's no, nay, never! No nay never no more Will I play the Wild Rover? No nay never no mooooooooooooooooooooore.
Both men burst out laughing, and that was all, until the crossbow-wielder eventually spoke. "Only one man could annoy me so and live to speak of it. That beard makes you even uglier, D'arc."
"And I am glad to ... er ... be in your presence as well." It had been more than eight years since the bard had last encountered the hole-dweller. Sokus was the vicious bastard son of a wealthy Magincian nobleman, and he had decided at an early age that gold was best earned through hard work and by his own two hands, especially if he had the opportunity to raise those hands against another. They had been members of Shelley's little band of rogues, along with Claudia D'estaing, Lucas Drachen, Garrott, and Stower, and the fondest of times had been had by all. But it all fell apart after two assassins from the infamous Library of Scars had been sent after them in retaliation for a failed attempt to sabotage a gem merchant. In his recollection, Judas had always focused upon the tragedy of Claudia's death, often neglecting how the battle had left poor Sokus bereft of his manhood.
"Wouldn't guess, the way you left Magincia without a farewell," the man retorted.
"I apologize, it was just -- "
"Don't be sentimental. Those bastards might've taken my balls," Sokus interjected harshly, "but I'm no woman."
"No, you certainly are not," Judas nodded. "But apparently you are living in a hole. Why is that, exactly?"
"If Shelley hasn't told, "you're not needed to know."
"And the more things remain the same," the bard laughed.
"I'm surprised you're back with her," the hole-dweller stated. "After Claudia and everything."
"An explanation would take days," Judas smiled slightly. "And I know you are short on patience. I will say that I have met a woman and there exists the possibility that I am actually happy for once in my miserable life. This Emerald Trading Company of Shelley has been successful and provides us with the sort of opportunities to act as we need to, and it does not hurt to make a bit of coin."
"Can you describe your woman, naked? It's been years for me."
The bard cleared his throat. "I would rather not, if you do not mind."
"Selfish bastard," Sokus grumbled. "Glad to hear our girl Shelley's doing for herself. About time those Vesper bastards were eating out of her hand, not the other way around."
"Pardon?"
"Don't remember? She was in Vesper before Magincia," the man below explained. "Had a bit of trouble with some merchants not sure of the details. Now they treat this Evelyn Crowley like one of their own. Thought of her tricking them keeps me warm at night. Not like a woman would, but you'll take it however you can when your balls are gone."
As his old friend continued, Judas suddenly recalled an encounter from a few months prior, when he had intruded upon a meeting between Shelley and the fat merchant Cubbins, another of her employees that she often tasked with the gathering of information, at the Ironwood Inn of Vesper:
"I did not expect to find you here," the bard admitted as he approached. "What is it you two are up to?" Before either of them could argue, he was already close enough for a full view of the bed's contents. In addition to the odd assortment of maps, letters, and scrolls, there was a small pile of documents that had been marked with the seal of Vesper's Ministry of Mercantiles. He shot his allies a suspicious look. "In all seriousness, what exactly is this?"
"Ole' bus'ess," Cubbins answered freely.
"From before your time," Shelley briefly glared at the fat man and then added, "or maybe it's from after."
"Sokus," a stunned Judas uttered as he pondered the unthinkable. "Have you ever heard of ... Camorra?"
"Aye," the hole-dweller acknowledged. "My father was one, and my uncle too."
"I thought your father traded in textiles, and your uncle was a Royal Army officer. Why would they be involved with a conspiracy of criminals?!"
But his question went ignored. "Judas, it's time I rest. Good luck to you and that woman of yours."
"Sokus?"
There was no further response, and the trap door began to descend.
"Sokus, please!" The bard practically begged. "Let me down, so we can --"
"No!" Sokus screamed, his voice consumed by rage and madness. "NO ONE COMES INTO THE HOLE!!!"
And then it closed completely, leaving Judas feeling even more exhausted and distracted than he had been at the beginning of the evening.
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Post by Judas D'arc on Feb 23, 2013 20:13:02 GMT -5
Meanwhile in Trinsic ...
"Master Morley?" Pierce attempted to sound concerned as he gently knocked on the door. "Milord, is everything well?" As the innkeeper of the Rusty Anchor, it was his responsibility to attend to the needs of his guests. Especially men such as Morley, an influential spice trader with ties to the guilds of Vesper. But this was still the City of Honor, and neither the Paladins nor the local guard would be pleased to learn about the presence of a whore within his establishment. Ordinarily, Morley completed such interactions within an hour, perhaps two at most, but this time he had been inside for nearly six. Pierce had not recognized the woman from any of the previous visits, but he had also tried to avert his eyes as they passed. At the very least, he could claim ignorance.
His hands shaking, the innkeeper unlocked the door. However, the sight that greeted him was not the carnal scene that he had imagined. The spice trader's corpse, pants down around his ankles, was upon the bed. Most of his head had been shattered, but enough of Morley's smug features remained to positively identify him. There was blood everywhere, but she was nowhere to be found.
Not only did Pierce have a dead patron to deal with, but it was becoming apparent that the Paladins and local guard would indeed learn about the whore at the Rusty Anchor.
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Post by Judas D'arc on Feb 25, 2013 10:29:32 GMT -5
"I received your letter," Judas stated as he made himself comfortable in the chair. Across the desk was Shelley, dressed in her best Evelyn Crowley. It was early morning, and they were seated together inside of her office on the second floor of the Emerald Trading Company's Britain headquarters.
"And I appreciate your quick response," Shelley told him. "I've good news. Cubbins knows a man from Minoc, and he was able to break the code that's been used to communicate with the raiders.
"That was quick," the bard commented, a hint of suspicion in his voice. "What now then?"
"Tell the others to get ready," his employer smiled. "It's time for us to start striking back."
"Very well," he nodded, his expression devoid of any emotion.
Shelley paused to study his face. "Anything the matter, Judas? Your spirits seem to be less than the usual."
"No," the bard quickly shook his head. "Nothing at all."
But much later and eventually, he would come to regret not speaking his mind.
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Post by Julian Randall on Mar 1, 2013 11:54:44 GMT -5
Through no small effort, the man called Julian Randall slowly forced himself out of the bed. The sharp pains that attempted to overwhelm him only served as a reminder of his once broken and still mending body, but he pushed himself to proceed despite them. His present accommodations were prison enough, and there was only so much indignity that he would allow himself to suffer. Once he was standing upon his own two feet, the aching became far less of an obstacle, and he spent the next twenty seven and a half minutes cleaning and grooming and readying himself in the most appropriate attire available. For even after everything, appearances still mattered to him, and he desired to seem at his best for what was about to occur.
It had been a strange year for the once-Magincian nobleman, one that began with triumph but had concluded in failure. During the riots that had plagued Vesper and the rest of Britannia, he had confronted the woman impersonating Lady Alionna Stower and threatened to reveal her deception unless she ceded her membership in the city's Ministry of Mercantiles. After the Justicar had been slain by rioters, Randall had struck a political bargain with Lord Jacob Greyden and assumed the false Stower's former position. Following this, he had met and recruited his valued employee, Erollisi Razil; reunited with only remaining family, his sister's son Chanticleer, selecting him as his heir; and even uncovered a demonic conspiracy that threatened to consume all of Sosaria. But the nobleman's fortunes had suddenly turned without warning. His nephew had apparently been slain and his corpse violated by an abomination. There had been a series of organized raids by brigands against his gem trade. Then finally, there was that terrible night when that dark-haired woman and her skull-faced companion had attempted to end his life. But as always, Julian Randall had endured.
The knock at the door came as expected, although a few minutes later than anticipated. "You may enter," was the nobleman's response.
"They're ready fer ye, milord," the newcomer dressed in dark brown leathers advised as he entered. There was something almost wolf-like in his mannerisms and movements. "An' I've news as well."
"Then be quick about it," Randall demanded. "It would not behoove anyone to keep them waiting."
"Yer nephew's indeed alive," the other man stated. "O' tha' I'm certain. The lad's been bound ta' one Dezera Blackwell, tha' very same wot murdered tha' gypsy girl north o' Vesper last year. An' a former vampire ta' boot. They're trapped under tha' control o' these gits Renthar an' Wolfwood."
A harsh scowl indicated the nobleman's reaction.
"A couple o' deaths," the leather-clad individual continued his update. "Morley o' Trinsic 'ad 'is skull caved in. An' word 'as it yer old friend Lord Rutherford's been slain beneath tha' Den."
"Who is believed responsible?"
"Poor Morley's love fer a nice pair o' tits proved 'is undoing," he explained. Left tha' Keg & Anchor, a workin' lass on 'is arm, an' was found at tha' Rusty Anchor a corpse all 'is lonesome. Tha' city guards still searchin' ta find 'er. As fer Lord Rutherford, I'd be willin' ta' wager a small fortune Crowley an' 'er group responsible."
"Rutherford's dead," Randall mused. "Yet they wish to proceed today regardless?"
"Aye."
"How do you think that speaks towards the outcome?" Randall asked of his visitor.
"Tha' same as always, I figger. At least fer ye, milord" the would-be ranger grinned, before pausing for effect. "It's either life ... or death."
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Post by Judas D'arc on Mar 2, 2013 0:53:19 GMT -5
Meanwhile in Papua ...
Avie of Vesper was becoming increasingly impatient. It was bad enough that she was trapped in this miserable swamp of a town while investigating potential investments, but the terrible service at the Just Inn was simply inexcusable. She had ordered her supper nearly five minutes earlier and yet her plate remained bereft of food. The noblewoman began to complain about the delay to the barkeep, when a vagrant that introduced herself as Margarette approached and offered to fetch the missing meal.
"A pauper in Papua," Avie commented with no small amusement.
Within a minute, the vagrant returned. After gifting a small amount of coin as appreciation, the noblewoman turned to the plate of food that she had been craving for what felt like forever. So enthralled was she by the prospect of finally satisfying her hunger that she failed to notice Margarette creep up from behind and split her skull in two.
And the real tragedy of it was that Avie had died without ever having her supper.
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Post by Chanticleer on Mar 3, 2013 9:48:20 GMT -5
"There is something I must tell you."
Dezera Blackwell told this to him as they sat together on the sofa inside of her house north of Vesper. For weeks, this had been Chanticleer's home, although it was one of the last places he had ever expected to use that word to describe. Months ago, at the behest of his uncle, the man known as Julian Randall, the young warrior had investigated a hidden conspiracy of demons, only to become prisoner of the very same enemy he was attempting to battle. During his captivity, they had violated his very identity by faking his death and instructing one of their abominations to impersonate him. Chanticleer had eventually been freed, only to end up magically enslaved to the mad sorcerer Renthar and the foul lich Dominic Wolfwood, and compelled to do their bidding. Even worse, his very life force had been bound to Blackwell, a dark haired temptress whose tainted past was filled with wanton acts of murder and villainy and deception. Yet, despite this, the young warrior had found himself becoming fond of this woman. She had already proven herself an ally, and he had come to almost consider her a friend.
"Do you remember the discussion we had with Renthar?"
While Chanticleer had been imprisoned and believed dead, his uncle had been attacked at his place of business in Vesper by a skull-faced creature and a dark-haired woman. The former had been identified as a vampire called Nythrax, while the latter had remained a mystery. Until Renthar had recently advised them that he had his suspicions.
"Faeryl mentioned a dark haired female that use to be with them. Named Claudia. I was told that Judas was under a curse during that time frame and used the name Claudia."
But he needed to know more.
"I said I was trying to find out who the woman involved was. They tried to put the blame on Beatrice and Avella at first. All were adamant that Nythrax was the major proponent but they were uneasy. Faeryl finally spoke up and said the only dark haired woman around them at that time was Claudia. None really admitted to anything, but don't you think it sounds... suspicious?"
He nodded slowly, his fists tightly clenched. "Yes," was all he could speak, as he slowly inhaled and exhaled.
"Talk to me, Chanticleer."
He flinched as Dezera placed her hand upon his shoulder. "Why?"
"Because you need to? Because you need to scream? Maybe you need to devise what your next actions are? Anything."
Chanticleer simple looked at her, without a hint of uncertainty in his voice or his expression. "My course of action. It's clear."
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Post by Judas D'arc on Mar 3, 2013 14:58:26 GMT -5
Meanwhile in Moonglow ...
The mercenary Byron was beginning to reconsider the bargain he had struck. For twenty thousand gold pieces and the promise of freedom, he had provided the Emerald Trading Company with information about the attacks that had recently plagued the merchants of Vesper. His mysterious employer was set to attend a meeting in Buccaneer's Den, and Byron had told them the where and the when. But it had been nearly twenty four hours since this was scheduled to occur, and the Emerald Trading Company had failed to return with his gold. If able, the sword-for-hire would have already departed, but he had regrettably agreed to be shackled inside of this abandoned safe house on the southern coast of Verity Isle, so he was forced to wait and hope for their eventual return.
When the front door of the house finally opened, Byron instinctively smiled. But the strange, hooded figure who entered was not at all recognizable. "You with the trading company?" He inquired.
"Not really," replied the newcomer, whose voice and movements marked her as female.
Instead of approaching directly, the hooded figure circled behind him. At the sound of a weapon being drawn, the captive mercenary began to panic and pulled as hard as he could against his shackles.
"Stop!" Byron began to scream in protest. "Stop! Stop!"
But it was not enough to save his life.
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Post by Jolicia on Mar 4, 2013 23:57:37 GMT -5
It had been a long night with little sleep for Jolicia and she was still trying to come to terms with everything that happened. She sat in the main room of their home and wondered if it was still "theirs" at all. So far inside of her own head, she didn't even hear Judas approaching until suddenly she heard his voice.
The conversation was much quieter, calmer than the previous night. Starting with simple pleasantries, as if they were mere friends and not lovers . While one question laid heavily on Judas' mind, Jolicia had several question that needed answered. She knew he loved her and that while she was hurt she still had feelings for, if not loved him as well. Even though Judas' apology was more than heartfelt and she greatly appreciated it, the questions had to be answered. "Can you ... explain at all what was going through your head last night?"
She listened quietly, picking at the edge of the table as Judas spoke. Even answering a few of his own questions along the way. All of his answers made sense to Jolicia for how he was feeling, she just wished he could have expressed them so much earlier than this and perhaps things could have been avoided. He looked to her solemnly, "Do you think ... we have a future?"
Jolicia lifted her head to look at him and spoke quietly, "I need to know if you would let that... happen again."
Judas gripped the back of the chair in front of him, " No ... No, I would not."
She gave a small nod, "Are you willing to try being more... open with me?
He nodded, giving his own retort, "Are you willing to be more ... open to the world?"
While she was tired of this question, she had to answer. Now was not the time for more arguing, "I am willing to try. I can't promise more than that."
*********************************************
Later that evening, Jolicia accompanied Judas to the Salty Dog. Most everyone had gathered after Aingeal's trial and although Judas had given her the short version, it wasn't really something she could focus on at the moment. The evening was turning out to be pleasant enough though until Chanticleer walked through the door.
She wanted to grab Judas and escape out the back while Chanticleer was distracted in conversation, but she knew Judas would have none of that. He hadn't even seen the would be attacker until Jolicia whispered the news to him. They were speaking quietly on what to do next when Chanticleer's voice broke through, "Jolicia." Slowly she glanced back and returned the greeting. Chanticleer looked at her plainly and pointed towards the door, "We will have words." As she got up to follow the warrior outside Judas almost pleaded with her that she didn't have to go, but there was not stopping her now.
The usual Chanticleer banter started but this time Jolicia did her best to hold her temper in check with the young man. They both knew exactly why he was there and she wanted to avoid it at all costs. She also figured Renthar and Dezera painted the situation only in one light, but she had to get him to listen to all that transpired. Thankfully his interest peaked when she mentioned that Judas had actually gone to Vesper that night to let Chanticleer's Uncle kill him.
Giving her only a minute, Jolicia quickly went in to all of the details; explaining the curse, the consequences, his Uncle's part in all of it, and the plan that had been decided on and ultimately failed. What Jolicia had forgotten though was Chanticleer doesn't reason like normal human beings; he is narrow sighted with a large and prideful ego. Managing to keep him distracted for awhile and having already pleaded with him twice, she had successfully kept Chanticleer from entering the tavern. Upon the second attempt however, he stared at her coldly and shook his head, "You've never cared for me. Don't pretend we're friends."
Draxinomen had been standing near them and listening, finally interjecting. Jolicia wasn't paying attention though, her eyes still on Chanticleer and the tavern door, "I'm not pretending. I know what we are. I'm asking you though ..."
Chanticleer broke through to answer the Gargoyle, "Her lover. Assaulted my family. And my honor. I seek satisfaction."
Jolicia's anger started to tick up, "He didn't kill your Uncle. Damnit, why won't you listen?!"
He stared her in the eyes, "Wisperwind. She'd be upset. But she'd recover eventually."
Perhaps this was her chance to change his mind, "You don't know that."
"I am confident."
Jolicia noticed that the few that had been gathered around them, left to go inside. She moved in closer to him, "Chanticleer... I'm begging you..."
The normally stoic young man frowned, "Would you? Give your life? For his?"
Jolicia looked upon the tavern doors a moment, a bit of perspective as the answer that she had been searching for earlier came to her, "Yes."
Chanticleer nodded, "On your knees then." Slowly she kneeled down in front of him, the sound of his sword being drawn ringing in her ears. "Close your eyes." Jolicia surrendered as she closed her eyes and waited, gulping as she felt the tip of his sword against her throat. But her sacrifice didn't come to her. She heard Chanticleer sigh as he sheathed his blade, "Stand." Slowly she looked up at him and stood, wondering if something had sunk in to his brain to make him change his mind. Instead he grabbed her roughly by the arm. Jolicia winced as Chanticleer opened the tavern door and pulled her by the arm inside. Before anything could be said he threw her to the tavern floor, as she fell flat on her face.
Judas rushed to Jolicia's side, kneeling next to her as she coughed. Chanticleer stared at her, "Jolicia. I'll do you this kindness." Hope. A spark of hope that it had worked as she looked back to him and nodded. But again she was denied, "You won't. Have to bear witness."
She pulled herself up and sat on the floor with Judas' help as he looked to the door and frowned, "No wait."
Chanticleer shook his head, "No. That is all." And before she could utter another word he was gone.
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Post by Chanticleer on Mar 5, 2013 10:44:56 GMT -5
"A failed assassination attempt. My uncle is missing. Retaliation is warranted." Once again, Chanticleer was forced to explain his motivation for seeking the death of the bard Judas. During the past day, the mage Jolicia had begged and pleaded, the gypsy Aingeal and the elf Faeryl had promised to stand in his way, the warrior Deraj had spoken of principles, and the huntress Rachael had just seemed indifferent. This time, it was the sorcerer Red Minalan that was engaging the young warrior on the subject.
"Suppose we were to find your uncle?" Red Minalan suddenly asked of him.
Chanticleer paused to consider this unexpected suggestion. "I'd hold my blade. At his request. And his request alone."
"I would do that favor for Judas, I owe him that much," the sorcerer explained. "I've no doubt you would murder the poor bard. He's a musician and storyteller, not a hardened veteran."
"I've no doubt. But I seek not. To slay Jolicia. Or Aingeal. Or Faeryl. As well."
Red Minalan shrugged. "There's a more simple answer to this. Find your uncle."
"If you wish. To save your friend. You find him." The young warrior stated.
"Where was he last?"
"In your hands. Apparently. You've half a month," he warned.
"... and when was he last seen?"
"I know not," Chanticleer replied. "I was asleep. Captive to demons. Erollisi might know."
"Who is Erollisi, and where can I find this person?" Red Minalan questioned between fits of coughing.
"She works. For my uncle."
"In Vesper? Where can she be found?" The sorcerer continued his inquiry.
The young warrior nodded.
"That is where I will begin my search."
"As you say." These were Chanticleer's final words as he exited the room. A reasonable solution had been proposed, one that involved an outcome that he found more than acceptable. Unfortunately for Red Minalan and his friends, even if his uncle could be located, Julian Randall was a hard man who had always been incapable of forgiveness.
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Post by Renthar on Mar 7, 2013 20:14:48 GMT -5
Despite having countless of them to draw upon for comparison, the tall, strange-eyed mage named Renthar was still unequivocally able to state that this day had been one of his best. Within his hands, he held the results of his most recent labors. In his right, he held a small box containing the mood-altering substance known as Euphoria, and in his left, a ruby necklace enchanted with his own twisted power. His only regret was that his custody of both objects was only temporary.
"Yer ready then?" The leather-clad figure asked as he slipped from the shadows. It was late, and they were the only ones present at the Vesper Cemetery. From among the living, at least.
"A bargain IS a bargain," Renthar grinned, as he approached the newcomer and handed over both of his newly-acquired toys.
The Euphoria had been provided by his servant Dezera Blackwell, who had obtained it from a fairy-tale pooka by way of a blood-drinking casino owner. Dezera had proven herself useful, and he appreciated her capacity for both seduction and murder. Part of him lamented that she would inevitably fail him, and then he would be forced to kill her. The same could not be said for her fellow enslaved, the boy knight Chanticleer, a burden that the strange-eyed mage could not wait to be rid of. The ruby necklace had been inspired by a recent magickal collaboration between Renthar, the mystic Jolicia and the sorcerer Red Minalan Zhalfast. Months ago, they had created a talisman capable of trapping a body-swapping mage inside one of his host forms. But eventually, the strange-eyed mage had been able to find other uses for this spellcraft, and he wondered how much Jolicia and Red Minalan would come to regret their role in its inception.
"Ye'll be gettin' yer part soon enough," the leather-clad man stated as he examined both items.
"I'll be waiting with bated breath," Renthar smiled strangely, and then watched as the other man returned to the darkness without a word.
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Post by draxinomen on Mar 8, 2013 14:47:17 GMT -5
The city of Britain is a noisy place, even in the late twilight hours. I walked through the city, taking note as people stared at me or cowered fearfully as I passed. “Monster” a man whispered fearfully, “Demon!” cried another woman, as she pulled her child closer. My wings betrayed my feelings, as they twitched in confused irritation. I took to the sky, settling on the rooftop of the museum to watch and ponder. The talons of my feet tightly grasped the aged brick and mortar beneath me.
I tried to meditate and center myself. A short time I have been away from home, living in this confusing and alien world. Despair and apathy still prevents me from finding my balance, my path back to singularity. The noise of the city below makes peace and concentration impossible: a squalling infant, a drunken man assaulting his own wife, two men arguing with a city guardsman. The noise and chaos are overwhelming, so I decided to visit my new human clan-mates.
At the salty dog, the human Jolicia and an armored knight were engaged in yet another loud and heated argument. As humans tend to do, they dig in and restate their same tired points over and over again. The circle never ends in their oddly-shaped and narcissistic heads. I entered the tavern, and confronted the one known as Judas.
The tongue of my people lacks the structure and form of the human language. There are no rules concerning the arrangement of words, one only needs to come before another when emphasis is needed. To explain it best, it is a matter of poetry. The order and diction of our language is akin to a song, sung from the heart of every gargyl. Human language on the other hand, is clumsy and over-precise, with far too many rules concerning the conjugation of verbs and the crafting of sentences. I always do my best to communicate, but so much is lost in the precise translation.
“To wonder hiu-mon Ju-das, why your kind arguing much so?” Judas turned to look at me, and I continued.
I flicked my wings in irritation, “To explain that gargyl being of one mind, with many thoughts, and singularity. To be too much chaos here.”
Judas looked at me sadly, and said something rather poignant, “Humans have many minds, with far too few thoughts.”
At that moment, the door crashed open, and the armored knight threw Jolicia to the floor.
My wings shuddered at what I had witnessed, “To see how you treat one another hiu-mon. To wonder why your kind considering gargyl being the monsters.”
To this Judas had no answer, he rushed to get Jolicia water, and I sat across from them at the table.
I waited for the two to settle down, before I started. “To need to be honest with you hiu-mon. To inform you that the green gem merchant clan contract with the gargyl being more significant than you realize.”
I secured their attention, and continued, “To tell you that the gargyl race dying. To be true that the homeland Ter-Mur is doomed. To inform you hiu-mon, that our Ilshenar settlement has failed.”
Judas nodded, taking everything in calmly, “To remind you that gargyl are of the singularity; one mind, having many thoughts. To have two thoughts regarding the hiu-mon people. To explain that the first thought being peace and cooperation to solving our problems together. To warn you that the latter thought is war, and conquest of hiu-mon lands.”
Judas interjected, “But we helped your refugees, and cured the plague…”
I bobbed my wings once, in a facsimile of a nod, “To have gratitude hiu-mon, and to be the reason for test of cooperation and peace. To see our hatchlings die in war with daemons daily. To see our precious eggs fall into the yawning void. To see your hiu-mon children living in a land of peace and plenty. To be tired of death and so much dying.”
Without knowing it, my talons tore long, wide grooves into the wooden table. I had momentarily lost control, and I felt shame for doing so. Jolicia flinched, and Judas widened his eyes in disbelief, “You’re telling me this contract with our company a test, and if we fail then there will be war?”
I bobbed my wings in acknowledgement and nodded, “To already have making invasion plans in place hiu-mon. To conquer your heathen shrines, and locking them with magic shields. To shut down your moongates, and cutting off travel. To attack the castle of your king, and throwing hiu-mon governing into chaos.”
They had nothing to say about this, so I continued, “To not be concerning hiu-mon. To be my duty and life ensuring the success of this contract. To be diligent, passionate, and in control. To be in singularity.”
I did not understand why, but Judas looked even more worried and stressed than he did a few moments ago…
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Post by Judas D'arc on Mar 9, 2013 12:05:32 GMT -5
The moment he opened the front door, Judas was greeted with the surprise of a slap across the face. Dawn was still rising, yet this did not prevent his old friend Shelley from forcing her way inside. It had been months since she had appeared to him as her true self, rather than in the guise of the merchant Evelyn Crowley, the owner of the Emerald Trading Company.
"Why didn't you come to me?!" The former thief demanded of the half-awake bard as they stood together in the foyer of his Yew home.
Judas tilted his head in confusion. "I do not -- "
"I've no time for games," she scolded him. "You sent Jolicia to meet with Vincent in Nujel'm, and without a word to me."
"But -- ?!"
"Vincent's dead," she growled angrily. "And Jolicia's been arrested!"
"What -- ?!"
And that was when she told him about Jolicia and Vincent. They had been found naked together in a bed at the Restful Slumber Inn, his throat slit and the dagger in her hand. She had been blamed and arrested for his murder, and would soon face the harsh justice of Nujel'm. There were also rumors linking her actions to the recent deaths of the merchants Morley of Trinsic and Avie of Vesper, holding her responsible for those crimes as well.
"N-no ..." Judas sputtered. "She ... did not do this ..."
Shelley responded with another slap. "I know she didn't, but why in the name of Lord British was she there to begin with?!"
"The raiders ..." He struggled for words, as he felt her breath quicken with panic and the pit at the bottom of his stomach deepen. "... they had left Vincent's goods alone ... but suddenly ..."
"He was targeted," she finished for him. "And he deserved it."
"You --?!"
"Of course it was me," the rogue-turned-merchant rolled her eyes at him. "Maybe Rutherford was set up, maybe he wasn't, but I've no doubt that bastard and his family were involved. What's better revenge than the very same thugs they're using to attack our associates in Vesper?!"
"How -- ?!"
"Your friend Deraj's suggestion," Shelley's lips curled into a smile, "taken another step. With their code deciphered, it was simple to send my own courier with my own instructions. Except, now you and Jolicia have ruined everything and now you've played right into their hands."
"Who -- ?!"
"If you're blinding yourself," she spoke with a mixture of coolness and condescension, "then I'm not the one to tell you." Her expression then softened somewhat. "Why didn't the two of you come to me, Judas?"
His gaze dropped to the floor. "You were ... keeping secrets. The Camorra ... and other things. We thought you ... might be ... responsible."
The hurt and disappointment in her reation were almost palpable. "All I've done is protect you," she glared at him with tears in her eyes. "Yet despite all the history we've shared, this is what you think of me?!"
"Shelley, I --"
Except she would have none of it. "Jolicia, I can't even blame, but you -- you should've known better, Judas. You're a reckless fool, and I'm done."
"Please, Shelley -- "
For the first time in nearly eleven years, Shelley had finally had enough, and with a twinge of regret in her heart, she abandoned Judas to his fate.
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Post by Jolicia on Mar 10, 2013 21:03:11 GMT -5
The small tower was cold and dark, fragments of sunlight just beginning to shine through the slits in the stone walls. Jolicia lay broken on the floor, curled up into a small ball, desperately holding on to the blanket around her. Her arms were shackled to one another, her feet in the same predicament, and her right foot chained to the wall. She awoke with a startle as an overwhelming pain surged through her head, and then the rest of her body followed.
Pain from whatever drug they had slipped her. It was the only thing that could explain why she had been unable to focus on Vincent and her captor. Why she hadn't even seen her captor enter the room. The only reason she had been unable to effectively fight the man off.
Her efforts wasted, unable to focus, balance, or think. Wasted as her clothes had been torn away. Wasted as she screamed for help. Wasted as she was slapped and stabbed. Wasted as she kicked at the man and missed repeatedly. Wasted as she struggled to her feet and charged at him, only to be tossed aside and pinned down. Wasted as she pleaded with a man she had believed good not to defile her. Wasted as her captor had slit the throat of the man who would have assaulted her.
Information, planning, bargaining, and sacrifice, it had all come to this. Her only hope was Judas. Jolicia closed her eyes, trying to picture his face and then started to sob. What she wouldn't give to be back at home with him. But hope was dwindling, and she didn't even know if she wanted to live through this. All she could think of was the last kiss they shared, and a piece of their conversation.
"Perhaps this is not the life for you."
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Post by Chanticleer on Mar 11, 2013 18:06:44 GMT -5
It was late afternoon as he entered the Silver Bow Tavern of Nujel'm, and Chanticleer Reich did not have any expectations for what awaited him inside. The young warrior and Dezera Blackwell had journeyed to the island city at the behest of Renthar, whose foul presence had intruded upon their lives once again.
"I have good news and bad news," the tall mage with the twisted eyes had said, not bothering to conceal the contempt and mockery in his tone. "The good news is, one of you will continue to serve me. The bad news is, the other one will be free." Freedom, it seemed, would soon belong to Chanticleer.
The young warrior had instantly rejected this notion. He had vowed never to abandon Blackwell, and he intended to keep this promise. They were two of unkind, with barely any common ground, and yet their circumstances had forged a kinship between them. Still, she had urged him to accept this escape, arguing that Renthar would inevitably do as he pleased regardless. She was correct in that at least, and soon enough the strange sorcerer had ordered them to the City of Nujel'm, where Chanticleer would attend his mysterious tavern meeting.
"Chanticleer," a familiar voice greeted him. "You've kept me waiting."
It was more than surprise that the young warrior felt. Standing before him was his uncle, the nobleman known as Julian Randall, who had vanished months ago from a healer's bed in Vesper.
"Please sit," his uncle gestured to a nearby table. "We have much to discuss."
Dumbfounded, Chanticleer simply stared at his uncle, until his eyes were drawn to a dark red spot that stained the other man's gloves. "Are you hurt?"
"It's not my own," Randall explained as he seated himself.
The young warrior eagerly joined the table. "Know that I tried. To avenge you."
"I'm aware," the nobleman nodded, "and it's appreciated. I was pleased to learn that you survived that business in Khaldun."
"I've many questions. And my blade thirsts. For vengeance."
"That need not concern you," his uncle stated. "We've already taken care of the mage Jolicia and her bard. She murdered a man and was arrested. He attempted to free her and failed. She's been sequestered elsewhere, and it's unlikely he'll survive the wounds he received when he resisted capture."
"What of this Crowley? The one that employs them."
"She'll soon be done," Julian responded. "As will your troubles. I've reached an accord with this Renthar. He'll soon release his hold, and then you will return to my side."
"As it should be."
His uncle then detailed his plans for their immediate future. They spoke of the Emerald Trading Company's fate, of the new king reigning in Britain, and of the demon threat that remained unfinished. By the time their conversation was finally done, Chanticleer had not noticed his failure to mention Dezera Blackwell, and the vow that he made to her.
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