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Post by Julian Randall on Mar 19, 2013 15:33:52 GMT -5
"Yer sure o' this?" The leather-clad warrior questioned. "I 'ave ta admit, been expectin' more o' a fight."
"Perhaps she truly cares for the bard and his woman," the proud nobleman responded. "Or perhaps she's accepted her disadvantage."
The two men, Julian Randall, an aristocratic merchant of Magincia, and Johnson, a loyal hireling from the region of Cove, were seated together for the breakfast inside the dining hall of the Nujel'm Restful Slumber. The former consumed his poached eggs and assortment of fruit at a slow and deliberate pace, while the latter hungrily devoured the strips of bacon and fried sausages that covered his plate. Their mannerisms and breeding could not have been more incompatible, but the nobleman and the leather-clad warrior were nonetheless united in purpose. And those intentions included the downfall of the woman known as Evelyn Crowley, the elusive owner of the Emerald Trading Company.
"She's up ta' somethin'," Johnson muttered between mouthfuls of food, not even bothering with utensils.
"Your marking," Randall interrupted, disregarding the other man's comment and pointed to his wrist. "I've never noticed."
Straight-faced, his hireling pushed back his sleeve and fully revealed the tattoo that adorned his forearm. It was the rendering of a small crooked dagger. "Nothin' o' particular relevance."
"With respect to your concerns," the nobleman stated, before pausing for a sip of water. "This woman has offended in every manner imaginable. Years ago, she ruined a business proposition of mine, then sent an assassin after my head. I encountered her again last year in Vesper, impersonating the identity of a dead woman far above her station. She sent brigands after my caravans, and then another attempt on my life. Even if the bard was a puppet, he still dared to aim a bow at me, and he led that abomination to my door. Once and for all, this conflict requires ending, and on my terms."
'ope yer right, milord," Johnson remarked, before savaging a particularly greasy link of sausage.
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Post by Julian Randall on Mar 22, 2013 11:15:06 GMT -5
"You've disappointed." A harsh, blue-eyed stare accompanied the proud nobleman's stern rebuke.
It was late for the man known as Julian Randall and his loyal hireling Johnson, as they stood together upon the Vesper docks, awaiting the arrival of their ship. The Sosarian calendar may have marked the arrival of spring, but the remnants of winter still lingered with the cold night air. The two men were discussing the events of earlier that evening, and one of them was not entirely pleased.
"I dinna see why," the leather-clad warrior countered. "Yer stolen property's been returned, Firefly's proven 'er reputation, an' Crowley's dead. I 'ave ta' confess, I wasn't expectin' 'er so meek an' skittish."
"The orc," Randall scowled. "My victory was tainted by its presence."
"Ye asked, an' I delivered." Johnson shrugged. "We've different ways o' doin'."
"Next time," the former Magincian scolded, "Demonstrate better judgment."
"Speakin' o' next, wha' now?"
"We will arrange for all charges to be dropped against Jolicia," the nobleman responded.
"Tha' wise?" The hireling questioned.
"I honor my agreements," his employer stated bluntly. "Speaking of such, contact the sorcerer. Tell him our business is concluded, and I'll have my nephew released from his foul enslavement. Provide him with access to our library, but under guard. He's permitted to remain for up to eight hours, and may leave with one text of his choice, no more."
"An' tha' bard?" Johnson asked curiously.
"It's time."
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Post by Deraj on Mar 22, 2013 18:59:24 GMT -5
Sitting upon a bed in his chamber, Deraj carefully wrapped bandages over cleaned wounds. Nearby, a trail of armor leading to the door remained stained with blood, most of it his own. It had been a long day. The sound of the waves in the bay outside his home combined with his exhaustion invoked a sense of tranquility, but this was disturbed by the thought of recent events. Until today, he had remained relatively uninterested in the outcome, despite his sincere concern for his missing friends, knowing that every man and woman rests in the bed they make. Now, however, it had become deeply personal. Before his eyes, Evelyn Crowley was struck down in cold blood; every painful second of the scene played out in his mind, and now just as then, it played as if time had slowed down, with Deraj unable to act quickly enough in Evelyn's favor. Every fact of this strange tale lined up in his mind:
-Jolicia, found lying in bed next to a dead man. Aside from the fact that murder is not within her character, what fool of a murderer would kill a man, then lie down next to him for the night rather than get away? Jolicia is no fool.
-Randall using Jolicia's fate as a bargaining chip with Evelyn, to acquire all of the assets of the Emerald Trading Company. How very convenient. His connection to the murder is likely.
-Chanticleer's rantings. The fool gave it all away. His very refusal to see the larger picture at hand painted a perfect illustration of his uncle's relentless quest for vengeance. His hatred of Evelyn and Judas could not be mistaken. How did I not see Evelyn to be so exposed in such a clear setup?
-Judas' disappearance. Escaped with assistance? Grievously injured? Randall's quest for vengeance against him? Randall must have him.
-Evelyn's murder. Murdered in cold blood, by a traitor and Randall's lackey. There is no doubt about his connection to Vincent's murder anymore.
He slowly laid down in his bed, minding the pain of his injuries, and gradually drifted off into a deep sleep. It had been a hard battle, but Randall had overplayed his hand. He was caught in his own web without even knowing it. All Deraj would have to do is toss him a light so that he may see his own unfortunate position.... and once he was through with Randall, the nobleman will wish he was dead.
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Post by Rachael Freeman on Mar 25, 2013 8:13:58 GMT -5
I am sometimes known by the code name; “Firefly.” At least that was the name I used for my most current job. When I worked for the Court of Queen Dawn I was often referred to, in hush, back room tones as; “The Remover of Inconvenient Obstacles.” I am, in short, a hired assassin.
Even as a young girl I was excellent with the bow. I have forgotten how many archery contests I won back then, but my father would brag to anyone who would listen about my prowess. At fourteen I left my father’s farm and enlisted in the Britannia Guard where my skill with the bow was quickly notice by my superiors. Over the three years I served in the Guard, I was given some of the more dangerous assignments. Infiltration, intelligence gathering. And when it became necessary for me to kill; I killed from a distance. Silent. Deadly accurate. But, I had trouble with authority and was eventually dishonorably discharged for “conduct unbecoming,”
After leaving the Guard, I wandered the world picking up the odd job now and again. During my travels, I developed a taste for the more expensive trappings life had to offer. Fine food, drink, clothes, lodgings and men. Eventually I became involved in the Bain Chosen Wars. Having no political interest in, or loyalty to, the reasons or goals behind the war, I was freed to fight for either side, depending on which was willing to pay the higher price for my skills. When the wars were over, I took to traveling again. I enjoyed the freedom both my money and my particular skill set afforded me. I could choose to take on a job or simply board the next ship to; wherever.
Later, I discovered that, during this time, my name had been mentioned numerous times at the Court of Queen Dawn. Apparently, several of the Lords of the Court had been aware of my record during my service to the Guard. Being ambitious men with many enemies they were quite willing to overlook my indiscretions and questionable service record for the opportunity to rid themselves of a few troublesome “enemies.” I soon found myself being contacted, indirectly, by a number of Lords of the Court. Their requests were simple and none of them ever balked at my price. I was never interested in the “why” regarding their requests. Only the "who, when and where". And always, the money. And the money at the Court of Queen Dawn was always very, very good.
Upon the death of Queen Dawn, my services were called upon less and less and when it became clear that I might be caught up in the net of Martial Law imposed by the new Regent, I left Britain and spent a great deal of time in Tokuno where I could move about with impunity since that Empire had little love for the mainlanders or their politics. It was during my time in Tokuno that I perfected my archery skills through the study of Kyudo and began the study of close-quarter combat.
When martial law was finally lifted and a new King ascended to the throne, I returned to Britain and, once again, began my search for work. I had been in the city only a week when a man approached me one evening during supper. I was, naturally, wary at first, since he appeared to know a great deal more about me than I was comfortable with. But, during the course of our conversation, I came to understand he was familiar with my former work at Queen Dawn’s Court. He offered me an opportunity to make some money and, although the amount would be much less than I was accustom to, there would be “steady work” if I was interested. After giving the matter a few days thought, I agreed.
The assignment was to infiltrate the Emerald Trading Company and gather intelligence about the people and practices within the company. For this I would be paid a reasonable amount that would, he promised, increase as time went on and, if I proved my value to him and his organization, other, more lucrative “assignments” would be available. As usual, I was not the least bit interested in his motives or goals; only in the money. It was not necessary for me to make friends of the people in the ETC or become romantically involved with any of them unless it would provide additional information. That, however, never happened since I felt an intimate relationship with any of the members of that company would compromise my position and my own personal policy. Once hired by the company I began gathering the intelligence requested. Names of the principal owners and operators along with their positions within the company. Names and activities of the employees and their relationships with each other. I was to submit a report each week at a secret location where I would be met by a different person each time. I would turn over my report and receive a check for my efforts. This went on for several months before new requests were given me. These requests required my specialized skill set for which I would be handsomely rewarded. Again, I was not interested in the “why” behind the request, only the “who, where and when.” These “special” requests took me from Trinsic to Papua to New Magincia and Britain and for each I was well paid. The question of trust never entered the equation as I had been provided several pre-planned scenarios designed to instill the trust of my co-workers and the managers of the company. Trust was never something I gave much thought to as my former employers never required such a close personal infiltration with the target. But, as a tool in the tool-box of espionage and assassination, trust could be useful.
Did I feel bad about my involvement in the eventual demise of Evelyn Crowley? Not in the least. When I slit her throat that evening in Vesper, she meant nothing more to me than a paycheck. A means to an end. A job. As far as the others were concerned? They seemed decent enough folk, but betraying them was only part of a larger picture, for there was the promise of even more lucrative work in the future.
I have since changed my name and appearance and have taken an “extended holiday” in a location where the sun is warm, the accommodations luxurious, the men handsome and the wine … perfect. I will, eventually, return to the mainland where you might see me having a glass of wine in some out of the way tavern or … should it become necessary … you might not see me at all.
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Post by Chanticleer on Mar 28, 2013 15:29:17 GMT -5
The morning sun was shining, an ogre's corpse was at his feet, and Chanticleer Reich stood at a crossroads. Not a symbolic one, for the young warrior had no patience for such thoughts, but the actual one located northeast of the City of Britain and west of the City of Vesper. Further east, there was refuge and desire. Behind him, there were accusations and betrayal. Far and away, and in the lands of Felucca, there lingered the promise of happiness abandoned. The path before him, it led only to the inevitable. With a scowl upon his face and a heavy in his heart, Chanticleer returned to his mount.
As he rode, the brooding warrior considered that which was most recent. A mere month ago, he was still magically enslaved by the foul sorcery of Renthar and Wolfwood, and his life force bound to his fellow thrall, the dark-haired temptress Dezera Blackwell. Although Chanticleer had initially rejected this arrangement, he also valued the friendship he had formed with Blackwell. Once his uncle, the nobleman known as Julian Randall, had bargained for his freedom, the young warrior had vowed to release her as well. But came the day that Renthar severed their bond, the dark-haired temptress had forgiven Chanticleer's failure and surrendered any hope of escape for herself. Their mutual affinity had survived, but it was never to be the same, and the young warrior knew he could not return to her.
Following this, he had been dragged into the dispute between Julian Randall and Evelyn Crowley of the Emerald Trading Company. At the urging of Aingeal, a bare-foot witch he had known in Ashencrosse, Chanticleer had traveled to Britain as an assurance of Randall's honor. But the Emerald Trading Company had misinterpreted the very literal meaning to his uncle's words, and when an ambush left Crowley a corpse, they looked to his nephew to punish. Those he had once considered friends or allies -- Aingeal, the principled Deraj, the elf Faeryl, and the water-boy-turned-knight Lanavar -- had conspired to confine him. After the prior imprisonment he had suffered, this was an unthinkable outcome. Fortunately, their efforts proved unsuccessful and his friend Erollisi had defended him, Half-Human Alastair and Lucas had supported him, and both Faeryl and Lanavar had subsequently apologized. Then Aingeal had accused the young warrior of murdering Red Minalan, and most ignored how he had been defending Water Boy from the mage's wrath, as well as Erollisi and Lanavar's roles in the battle, and Chanticleer was done with Britain.
Then there was Wisperwind, who had pledged her heart and begged him to stay. Of this, he could ponder no longer.
When he arrived at the outskirts of Vesper, the young warrior felt a familiar numbness settle. Shortly, he would assume his role as Julian Randall's heir. To learn his gem trade and become successor in his dealings. To marry a noblewoman and spawn a brood of children worthy enough to continue the Reich name. To fulfill the promise he had made months ago. While circumstances had previously prevented him, he had now exhausted all justifications. From this point onwards, the terms of his life would be dictated by an uncle who had always scorned him, until misfortune had left them both with only the other to call family. What those fools in Britain had failed to understand that no one, not even Crowley and all her minions, despised Julian Randall ...
... as much as Chanticleer.
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Post by Renthar on Mar 31, 2013 9:56:46 GMT -5
The tall, strange-eyed mage called Renthar inhaled deeply, eagerly taking in one final breath of a place even older than he was, as his mind attempted to commit all of its details to memory. Eight hours was not nearly enough, and Renthar silently promised himself that he would find a way to return. Most of the texts he discovered on the hidden library's shelves were positively ancient, with no other copies likely in existence. It was an offense against knowledge and reason to leave them in the hands of these ignorant, arrogant noblemen. But this was the bargain the strange-eyed mage had struck, and at the urging of one of two leather-clad men that had been tasked with supervising him, he left the ancient library behind.
As the trio neared the location's exit, they encountered another half of a dozen wearing the same dark leathers as Renthar's keepers. They were led by a bald warrior with wolf-like mannerisms. "Hope ye found it all ta' yer likin'," he addressed their visitor in his thick accent.
"Everything the Lord Uncle claimed," the tall mage smiled strangely.
Johnson shrugged before issuing an order to his underlings. "If he's more than tha' single book on 'im, ye'll slit 'is throat."
"Don't you employ any women?" Renthar quickly interjected as the leather-clad mercenaries began to thoroughly search his possessions. "These days, I prefer blonde, busty, and squeaky clean between the legs. Although, my tastes sometimes lean towards the Tokunese and graceful."
Once they were finished, and only the single book was discovered upon his person, their leader turned to the strange-eyed mage. "One more bit o' business."
"More?" Renthar sighed dramatically. "Fair and square, I released your boy knight in exchange for Jolicia's life and a peek at the Camorra's library. What else can there possibly be?"
"The bard," Johnson reminded him. "We sent 'im ta' ye fer safe-keepin'. Once Crowley fell, ye were supposed ta' deliver 'is 'ead. Yet ye 'aven't."
"I do hate to disappoint," the tall mage grinned. "But I'm afraid I must."
"Ye dinna want ta' be crossin' us," The leather-clad warrior stated. He nodded to his fellows, and eight men drew their weapons at once.
"I fully intended to," Renthar countered, "But then Jolica did her very best to convince me otherwise. Give me the opportunity to do the same for you."
"Doubtful," Johnson smirked. "Ye've a minute 'fore ye take 'is place."
In fact, the tall, strange-eyed mage ended up speaking for a full five minutes. And when he was finally finished, not only was he permitted to leave that hidden place both alive and unharmed, but it appeared more than likely that he had been able to persuade the other man to his point of view.
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Post by Julian Randall on Apr 9, 2013 11:30:47 GMT -5
Dawn broke, and the man known as Julian Randall dined alone. The proud nobleman appreciated the comfort and solitude of his room at Nujel'm's Restful Slumber, especially after recent events:
- The confrontation with Trent Rutherford and his lackeys within the Camorra.
- The release of his nephew from enslavement by sorcerers.
- The punishment of the false Evelyn Crowley, also called Shelley, for her many transgressions.
In accomplishing all of these, Randall had finally succeeded in restoring his pride, his fortune, and his legacy. Yet there was no end to the numerous matters that required his attention, most importantly the one that would confine him in Nujel'm for the foreseeable future. At least the former Magincian was comforted by the knowledge that his other affairs would not go unattended. His hireling Johnson, though brutal and ill-mannered, was capable of keeping the rest of the Camorra preoccupied. With the ever-reliable Erollisi at his side, his nephew Chanticleer was learning to oversee their business concerns in Vesper. Although Randall still needed a suitable candidate to wed the boy for the creation of future generations of their family, he did not think it a difficult task as long as his nephew kept his mouth closed. And there was still the problem of the gypsy child and her demon threat, but the sorcerer Renthar had already made certain promises in regards to that.
The proud nobleman finished his breakfast and returned to the missive that had arrived during the night. Cleaning his hands, he unraveled the parchment once more and read it over:
Your offer of truce has been accepted.
*signed* Jolicia, Emerald Trading Company
Randall shook his head in disgust, before crumpling the note with both hands. He had never been one to coddle his enemies, even after their defeat. However, following particularly enlightening conversation with the aforementioned Renthar, Johnson had proposed this truce, and the former Magincian had initially opposed it. Many of Crowley's lackeys, including the bard Judas, the mage Jolicia, and the rogue Lucas, either remained unpunished or had not suffered enough. The remnants of the Emerald Trading Company had spurned his offer of employment, and were no doubt plotting some form of retaliation. But his hireling had proven persuasive, and he had finally relented. For now there would be peace, and if they dared cross him again --
-- well, Julian Randall had already crushed them once, and a second victory was simple enough to achieve.
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Post by Judas D'arc on Apr 17, 2013 16:26:54 GMT -5
A early-afternoon walk across Yew, a simple wandering along its worn paths and in-between its many trees. Hardly a noteworthy act, but for the bard Judas D'arc, who had recently been far from mobile, it was an achievement that deserved at least some recognition. He had spent his morning under the care of Dannik, the guild master of the Deep Forest Healing. Although the man's lack of wrinkles or gray hairs upon his head might leave an impression otherwise, Dannik was an accomplished and experienced healer. After a thorough examination, he advised Judas, without a sliver of doubt to his diagnosis, that the fingers of his left hand, left knee, and right eye had mended. The healer had also concluded that his right hand and right knee had also significantly improved. While the bard might continue to suffer a slight limp and a dull aching in the affected areas for awhile yet, a full recovery was more than possible. Pleased with this news, Judas had demonstrated his gratitude with a contribution of coin far beyond the meager compensation that Dannik charged for his services. And as he continued his journey home, the bard tried his best to reflect upon the events that had led him to now.
-- the cold expression of Julian Randall, devoid of any emotion, as he delivered his savage beating, each blow punctuated by Jolicia's anguished screams and the scent of Rachael Freeman's smoke-filled, casual amusement --
Freedom from captivity had eventually come, but not without a price, and since his return to the Emerald Trading Company, Judas had attempted to adapt as much as his broken body would allow. Evelyn Crowley, their former employer, was no longer among them, yet the bard was pleased that it had not been necessary to mourn her. While the company had been forced to surrender its most valuable assets, including those lucrative trading agreements with the merchants of Vesper that had been at the center of the dispute with Julian Randall, not everything was gone. Both the company name and the Britain shop had belonged to Crowley's personal estate, and their enemy had demonstrated little interest in their Ter Mur service contract or the personal investments of the Lady Avella Isilian. The Emerald Trading Company had elected to carry on despite what had occurred, but it was more than business matters that troubled Judas and his thoughts.
-- he stared upon the crooked dagger of dark-haired salvation through blood-stained eyes, the gentle arousal of her healing touch upon the cold dungeon floor --
The bard had never imagined owing anything to Dezera Blackwell, much less his life. She was a formerly a woman of many bad things, and he had been responsible for the night that Paine had removed her head. Upon her unnatural return to life, his attempts at reconciliation had proven fruitless. After Rachael Freeman's treachery, the bard had been delivered to the strange-eyed sorcerer Renthar to await Randall's call for his execution, and Renthar had named Dezera his prison guard. Surprisingly, she had demonstrated a genuine interest in his well-being, and circumstances had led to an unexpected affection between them. Judas did not regret anything that had passed between them; instead, he was grateful that Dezera had delivered his warning to Shelley before it was too late.
-- four simple words, and Jolicia slipped far from this place, yet willing to do whatever he bid --
Renthar had been an occasional ally, but never a true friend, yet he had bargained with Randall to spare Jolicia's life. The strange-eyed sorcerer had also altered her memories, making her less susceptible to the trauma she had suffered. Old betrayals and violations, past loves, and time mispent with the vampires of Draven no longer seemed to weigh upon her. The bard did not trust Renthar or his motivations, and was far from comfortable with the new-found closeness between the woman he loved and the strange-eyed sorcerer. Still, for the sake of her sanity, he would play along as best he could. Fortunately, this influence appeared to work both ways, for it was Jolicia that had persuaded Renthar to defy Randall and spare Judas from an untimely death.
-- but at that moment, they were finally reunited, and nothing else mattered --
As each cautious step carried him closer to his destination of home, the bard Judas D'arc could not help but smile to himself. Despite his recent experiences, he could find no excuse in his heart for misery. There remained much to concern him, but such was the path that he had chosen. The proud Julian Randall, his vicious hireling Johnson, the traitorous Rachael Freeman, and all of the nobles that were part of the Camorra might have escaped justice for the present, but Judas knew that it would eventually find them. Besides, what was the point of bitterness and rage, when he still possessed his life, his love, and a place to belong? The bard realized that not all would agree, and that some might even call him foolish or unrealistic. But he preferred to believe in better things, because for Judas ...
... the alternative was unthinkable.
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Post by Renthar on Apr 22, 2013 11:40:34 GMT -5
The small tower was empty and quiet, as it had been for weeks. This had been the place where the tall, strange-eyed mage called Renthar had imprisoned the mage Jolicia to keep her safe from plans of the Proud Uncle, Julian Randall, and his Camorra. During their time together, Jolicia had shared much with Renthar, each night revealing another intimate detail of her troubled life. Through his manipulation and magic, she had left the tower a stronger woman, and most importantly, one that was beholden to him. As the tall, strange-eyed mage sat on the edge of the bed she once occupied, he found himself briefly missing her, and their conversations about that island she treasured so much. But he quickly pushed those wicked thoughts from his mind, and returned to the task before him.
In his hand, Renthar held a piece of paper that contained eight words or phrases, the consequence of an exercise in the art of automatic writing that he had undertaken two months prior. His strange-eyes slowly reviewed the list, as he carefully considered what had been revealed of each.
- Celestia
The child of the gypsy girl had finally arrived, along with the demons that pursued her. Something must be done.
- Red Minalan
A pity his warning had not been heeded. But dead is dead, and door nails best forgotten.
- Does Jon Abbot Taste Like Pork?
One day, he would know, and that day was yet to come.
- Shattered Emeralds
Their employer might have been slain, but they were merely bent, not broken.
- Duke of the Lost Lands
A title spoken in jest. That was all.
- The Camorra
The Proud Uncle and his allies were a trifle, but their library invaluable.
- Jolicia
She was spared and saved and his, none of these small accomplishments.
- Unthinkable?!
This one was puzzling. What exactly was unthinkable? Something that had already occurred, or an event that still might? Was it one of the above, or all or none of them? For the tall, strange-eyed mage called Renthar, whose vast imagination was tempered only by his overwhelming sense of indifference, there was no outcome that could be deemed unacceptable. Except, of course, for ...
THE END
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