Introduction
WELCOME TO CHROME
Long ago in the 1st age, thousands of years ago...
The World of Chrome where created by the mighty god Patron, the lord of Life and Order. But his brother Kyros was furious believing Chrome to be an abomination that was unworthy of existence. So Kyros descended upon Chrome and raised an endless army of monsters to do his bidding. He went forth conquering the land. One by one the kingdoms of Chrome fell to the might of the Kyrosian Hordes.
But when all hope seem lost and the darkness fell upon the world, the last free kingdom of Altiair united the civilized races and raised an army equal in strength to the might of the endless Kyrosian Hordes. During the final battle on the Jerichon Wastes the united armies of Chrome defeated Kyros and his horde of monsters. With a single word, the united force shouted in one voice and the dark lord was banished into the fiery chasm of the Fallen Realm. Forever to be known as the
Fell Lord of the Abyss...
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It is now the 5th age, 6000 years since the fall of Kyros...
The world keeps on spinning as it always has. Adventurers seek to make Chrome a better place and the deities continue to fight for supremacy. The legend of the Fell Lord Kyros and his fall has become exactly that. A legend, a myth, a story told around fires in the black of night. Even the gods and goddesses of the Spirit Realm have forgotten about the fallen god. Trapped in the Fallen Realm, forever trying to escape the bottomless pit.
But now, a group of loyal Drow sorcerers have endured an ancient ritual. Long forgotten among the land of the living. This ritual has raised the Fell Lord Kyros from the shadows. Walking the land in secret, attempting to raise another horde of outcasts and monsters to his cause.
A group of heroes has been summoned to a meeting at the city of Metrea, capitol of the Republic of Ebony by a mysterious entity.
Will this team of adventurers work together in hunting down the fallen god before he raises an army large enough to conquer the world?
OR
Will Chrome once again fall under the wrath of the Fell Lord?
Long ago in the 1st age, thousands of years ago...
The World of Chrome where created by the mighty god Patron, the lord of Life and Order. But his brother Kyros was furious believing Chrome to be an abomination that was unworthy of existence. So Kyros descended upon Chrome and raised an endless army of monsters to do his bidding. He went forth conquering the land. One by one the kingdoms of Chrome fell to the might of the Kyrosian Hordes.
But when all hope seem lost and the darkness fell upon the world, the last free kingdom of Altiair united the civilized races and raised an army equal in strength to the might of the endless Kyrosian Hordes. During the final battle on the Jerichon Wastes the united armies of Chrome defeated Kyros and his horde of monsters. With a single word, the united force shouted in one voice and the dark lord was banished into the fiery chasm of the Fallen Realm. Forever to be known as the
Fell Lord of the Abyss...
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
It is now the 5th age, 6000 years since the fall of Kyros...
The world keeps on spinning as it always has. Adventurers seek to make Chrome a better place and the deities continue to fight for supremacy. The legend of the Fell Lord Kyros and his fall has become exactly that. A legend, a myth, a story told around fires in the black of night. Even the gods and goddesses of the Spirit Realm have forgotten about the fallen god. Trapped in the Fallen Realm, forever trying to escape the bottomless pit.
But now, a group of loyal Drow sorcerers have endured an ancient ritual. Long forgotten among the land of the living. This ritual has raised the Fell Lord Kyros from the shadows. Walking the land in secret, attempting to raise another horde of outcasts and monsters to his cause.
A group of heroes has been summoned to a meeting at the city of Metrea, capitol of the Republic of Ebony by a mysterious entity.
Will this team of adventurers work together in hunting down the fallen god before he raises an army large enough to conquer the world?
OR
Will Chrome once again fall under the wrath of the Fell Lord?
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
THESE ARE ALL THE PLAYABLE RACES WITHIN CHROME
HUMAN
Main trait: Adaptable
Life span: 80-100 years
Average Height: 5'2"-6'2"
Average Weight: 100-200 lbs
Humans in Chrome are widespread, can be found in most regions and, in general, are fierce and disagreeable, which can sometimes lead certain other races to view them with contempt. They are renowned for their diversity and ambition, and although they lack specialization, they can excel in many areas. Regardless of their precise origins, humans have been undeniably successful. While hardly the only dominant race of Chrome, humans are one of them and the most recent to obtain dominance. In spite of this strength, or perhaps because of it, humanity is an eternally fractured and divided race, broken up into over a dozen ethnic offshoots. It is believed that this is in part because humanity, unlike most other races, did not emerge as a whole but rather in several places at once, thereby resulting in its diversity.
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ELF
Main Trait: Perceptive
Life span: 1200-1500 Years
Average Height: 5'10-6'2"
Average Weight: 100-150 lbs
Also called eladrin, elves are graceful, intelligent beings, with a greater capacity for intelligence than most humanoid races while also possessing an agility far greater then that of most races. Eladrin are also unusually strong-willed and have a natural resistance to the effects of enchantment spells. They also have no need for sleep in the same way most humanoids do, instead “trancing.” While in a trance, eladrin remain fully aware of their immediate surroundings. Furthermore, High elves
need only rest for four hours to get the same effect that most other humanoids get from six hours of sleep.
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DWARF
Main Trait: Hardy
Life Span: 185-200 years
Average Height: 4'2"-4'8"
Average Weight: 150-200 lbs
Traditionally, clan allegiance and caste placement meant everything among the dwarves, but as their civilization has declined from constant war with the Orc and Goblin hordes, the 5 Dwarf Clans remain stronger then they have ever been. Although bloodline is still a mark of pride for a dwarf from a particularly strong clan, personal accomplishments also have great importance.
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HALFLING
Main trait: Optimistic
Life span: 120-135 years
Average Height: 3'10"-4'2"
Average Weight: 70-100 lbs
Halflings are by nature joyful and friendly in their dealings with others. Because they live in a world where they are surrounded by larger creatures, halflings tend to avoid notice, often deliberately, or at the very least, act cordial towards the larger races. Halflings appear deceptively harmless, meaning they are often beyond the notice of enemies that might otherwise pose a threat to them. The halfling mind is practical and halflings concern themselves with their immediate surroundings. They take pleasure in simple things, with few aspiring to greatness in the same manner as humans.
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DRAGONBORN
Main Trait: Honor
Life span: 385-400 years
Average Height: 6'0"-6'6"
Average Weight: 180-240 lbs
To a dragonborn, honor is more important than life itself. First and foremost, honor is tied to battlefield conduct. Adversaries should be treated with courtesy and respect, even if they are bitter enemies. Caution and discretion are key to a warrior’s survival, but fear is a disease and cowardice is a moral failing. The drive to behave honorably extends into the rest of a dragonborn’s life: Breaking an oath is the height of dishonor, and attention to honesty extends to every word. A commitment made must be carried out. Ultimately, a dragonborn takes responsibility for his or her actions and their consequences.
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GNOME
Main Trait: Creative
Life Span: 185-200 years
Average Height: 3'4"-3'8"
Average weight: 60-80 lbs
Gnomes are an intelligent and innately curious race and have a strong affinity for all thing magical, particularly the arcane. Gnomes may lack the drive and ambition of other races, particularly humans, but their creativity gives them a strong ability for ingenuity. Most gnomes are content to live simple lives, acquiring knowledge merely as a hobby but others explore lost ruins, delve deep into the heart of the world, and conduct dangerous research in their unquenchable thirst for knowledge, leading more than a few to an untimely demise.
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MINOTAUR
Main trait: Strong Willed
Life span: 125-140 years
Average Height: 6'6" - 7ft
Average Weight: 200-235 lbs
Minotaurs embody the tension between civilization and savagery, discipline and madness, for they stand in two worlds. Tugged toward violence but bound by conscience, numerous minotaurs are driven to rise above their dark impulses. Such a minotaur seeks the balance between the monstrous and the refined. Innumerable minotaurs give in to the temptations staining their souls and find themselves thralls to Phaalos, the Horned King and creator of their race. Minotaurs must struggle to become more than the beasts they resemble or else succumb to the demonic brutality they despise.
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CYCLOPS
Main Trait: Passionate
Life span: 320-335 years
Average Height: 7-8 ft
Average Weight: 250-300 lbs
Cyclops are a fierce, unrelenting people. They are skilled combatants and vicious warriors, using every weapon in their arsenals against foes. They are often seen as cruel or evil, although actually they are just chaotic and ruthless, which, according to some, is hardly better. They are very protective of their friends and make great allies, But they still have a unpredictable personality. Cyclops are found in a variety of areas within Chrome, they are wanderers and never stay in the same place for longer then a few weeks. Although their single eye is over three times as large as a human's eye, they still have inferior vision to a human. They also have a fiery passion for warfare, and can sometimes be seen training for days at a time.
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HYBRID RACES
There are five types of Hybrids:
Half Elf - Half-elves, being half-breeds, have no true homelands, though half-elves are common in some regions in Chrome. They usually adopt the dress and hairstyles of the culture they were raised among. However, it is also fairly common for half-elves raised among humans to wear elven clothing in order to proudly display signs of their dual heritage. Regardless of what they wear, half-elves stand out a crowd through the combination of physical distinctiveness and force of personality.
Half Orc - Half-orcs have a strength uncommon to most humans, though comparable with orcs. Half-orcs are less durable than their full-blooded kin, however, though they tend to be more dexterous and indeed, more so than most other humanoids. Half-orcs also have a resilience unique to them and when gravely injured, simply seem all the more determined to win, as though the blows had, in fact, empowered them. The half-orc personality tends to be short tempered and sullen, though half-orc mental capabilities are often underestimated and members of the race are often significantly more cunning than full-blooded orcs. More often than not, half-orcs prefer simple pleasures such as feasting, singing, wrestling, or wild dancing to refined pursuits such as poetry or philosophy.
Half Goblin - Half-Goblins stand between 4'6"-5'6" and usually weigh between 80-130 lbs, they are children of a human and a Goblin. Rather a rare occurrence, but still happens from time to time. For some reason goblin features almost always win out over human ones in a Half-Goblin’s physical appearance, the one the few exceptions to this rule being hair. Whereas goblins are often bald, Half-Goblins will usually have a full head of hair (which is usually black), though facial hair is extremely rare for some reason. Other than this, they look almost exactly like a regular goblin. A Half-Goblin who is not part of regular goblin culture tends to be an outsider. Due to their physical similarities with normal goblins, they meet with a large amount of distrust and hostility. They do not like goblins, but, unlike Half-Ogre/Half-Troll, it is usually an active disgust towards their goblin kinfolk as opposed to fear that they feel. A Half-Goblin out in the wider world will often denounce their goblin kin entirely, looking towards other races for friendship and moral guides.
Half Ogre - Half-Ogres stand about 6'6"-7'6" and a half feet and usually weigh between 150-200 are as versatile in personality as their human parents, as they are in most things. Their Ogre heritage leaves them more likely to be angrier, more brutish, and less patient. A half-ogre raised among ogres would suffer in the pack as being considerably smaller and able to be picked upon, leaving them often needing to prove themselves before they earn any respect. This can end a Half-ogres life prematurely. Among humanoid civilizations, they are often an unwanted blemish on society. Much like Half-orcs, but far less common, Half-ogres have no place they can easily call home. Half-Ogres are larger than the average human, but much smaller than the average Ogre. They are more thickly built than their human parent and reflect their ogre parent's muscle, but are often more gifted by the aesthetic of their human parent. Half-Ogre's skin tones range from yellow to dark blue and their hair can be any color of their parents.
Half Troll - Half-Trolls stand between 7-8'6" feet and usually weigh between 160-220 pounds. Half-trolls usually have human-like skin with greenish or grayish tones. They tend to have less hairs than a human and no body hair at all, their teeth are usually exaggerated usually with large lower fangs that jut out only slightly resembling a troll's tusks, and their hands bear a resemblance to trollish claws. A half-troll is considered ugly in human and trollish standards, being either too human or too bestial. Half-trolls natural traits actually define their personality, they are tough and rather smart. They are able to survive through most sicknesses.
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HUMAN
Main trait: Adaptable
Life span: 80-100 years
Average Height: 5'2"-6'2"
Average Weight: 100-200 lbs
Humans in Chrome are widespread, can be found in most regions and, in general, are fierce and disagreeable, which can sometimes lead certain other races to view them with contempt. They are renowned for their diversity and ambition, and although they lack specialization, they can excel in many areas. Regardless of their precise origins, humans have been undeniably successful. While hardly the only dominant race of Chrome, humans are one of them and the most recent to obtain dominance. In spite of this strength, or perhaps because of it, humanity is an eternally fractured and divided race, broken up into over a dozen ethnic offshoots. It is believed that this is in part because humanity, unlike most other races, did not emerge as a whole but rather in several places at once, thereby resulting in its diversity.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
ELF
Main Trait: Perceptive
Life span: 1200-1500 Years
Average Height: 5'10-6'2"
Average Weight: 100-150 lbs
Also called eladrin, elves are graceful, intelligent beings, with a greater capacity for intelligence than most humanoid races while also possessing an agility far greater then that of most races. Eladrin are also unusually strong-willed and have a natural resistance to the effects of enchantment spells. They also have no need for sleep in the same way most humanoids do, instead “trancing.” While in a trance, eladrin remain fully aware of their immediate surroundings. Furthermore, High elves
need only rest for four hours to get the same effect that most other humanoids get from six hours of sleep.
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DWARF
Main Trait: Hardy
Life Span: 185-200 years
Average Height: 4'2"-4'8"
Average Weight: 150-200 lbs
Traditionally, clan allegiance and caste placement meant everything among the dwarves, but as their civilization has declined from constant war with the Orc and Goblin hordes, the 5 Dwarf Clans remain stronger then they have ever been. Although bloodline is still a mark of pride for a dwarf from a particularly strong clan, personal accomplishments also have great importance.
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HALFLING
Main trait: Optimistic
Life span: 120-135 years
Average Height: 3'10"-4'2"
Average Weight: 70-100 lbs
Halflings are by nature joyful and friendly in their dealings with others. Because they live in a world where they are surrounded by larger creatures, halflings tend to avoid notice, often deliberately, or at the very least, act cordial towards the larger races. Halflings appear deceptively harmless, meaning they are often beyond the notice of enemies that might otherwise pose a threat to them. The halfling mind is practical and halflings concern themselves with their immediate surroundings. They take pleasure in simple things, with few aspiring to greatness in the same manner as humans.
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DRAGONBORN
Main Trait: Honor
Life span: 385-400 years
Average Height: 6'0"-6'6"
Average Weight: 180-240 lbs
To a dragonborn, honor is more important than life itself. First and foremost, honor is tied to battlefield conduct. Adversaries should be treated with courtesy and respect, even if they are bitter enemies. Caution and discretion are key to a warrior’s survival, but fear is a disease and cowardice is a moral failing. The drive to behave honorably extends into the rest of a dragonborn’s life: Breaking an oath is the height of dishonor, and attention to honesty extends to every word. A commitment made must be carried out. Ultimately, a dragonborn takes responsibility for his or her actions and their consequences.
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GNOME
Main Trait: Creative
Life Span: 185-200 years
Average Height: 3'4"-3'8"
Average weight: 60-80 lbs
Gnomes are an intelligent and innately curious race and have a strong affinity for all thing magical, particularly the arcane. Gnomes may lack the drive and ambition of other races, particularly humans, but their creativity gives them a strong ability for ingenuity. Most gnomes are content to live simple lives, acquiring knowledge merely as a hobby but others explore lost ruins, delve deep into the heart of the world, and conduct dangerous research in their unquenchable thirst for knowledge, leading more than a few to an untimely demise.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
MINOTAUR
Main trait: Strong Willed
Life span: 125-140 years
Average Height: 6'6" - 7ft
Average Weight: 200-235 lbs
Minotaurs embody the tension between civilization and savagery, discipline and madness, for they stand in two worlds. Tugged toward violence but bound by conscience, numerous minotaurs are driven to rise above their dark impulses. Such a minotaur seeks the balance between the monstrous and the refined. Innumerable minotaurs give in to the temptations staining their souls and find themselves thralls to Phaalos, the Horned King and creator of their race. Minotaurs must struggle to become more than the beasts they resemble or else succumb to the demonic brutality they despise.
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CYCLOPS
Main Trait: Passionate
Life span: 320-335 years
Average Height: 7-8 ft
Average Weight: 250-300 lbs
Cyclops are a fierce, unrelenting people. They are skilled combatants and vicious warriors, using every weapon in their arsenals against foes. They are often seen as cruel or evil, although actually they are just chaotic and ruthless, which, according to some, is hardly better. They are very protective of their friends and make great allies, But they still have a unpredictable personality. Cyclops are found in a variety of areas within Chrome, they are wanderers and never stay in the same place for longer then a few weeks. Although their single eye is over three times as large as a human's eye, they still have inferior vision to a human. They also have a fiery passion for warfare, and can sometimes be seen training for days at a time.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
HYBRID RACES
There are five types of Hybrids:
Half Elf - Half-elves, being half-breeds, have no true homelands, though half-elves are common in some regions in Chrome. They usually adopt the dress and hairstyles of the culture they were raised among. However, it is also fairly common for half-elves raised among humans to wear elven clothing in order to proudly display signs of their dual heritage. Regardless of what they wear, half-elves stand out a crowd through the combination of physical distinctiveness and force of personality.
Half Orc - Half-orcs have a strength uncommon to most humans, though comparable with orcs. Half-orcs are less durable than their full-blooded kin, however, though they tend to be more dexterous and indeed, more so than most other humanoids. Half-orcs also have a resilience unique to them and when gravely injured, simply seem all the more determined to win, as though the blows had, in fact, empowered them. The half-orc personality tends to be short tempered and sullen, though half-orc mental capabilities are often underestimated and members of the race are often significantly more cunning than full-blooded orcs. More often than not, half-orcs prefer simple pleasures such as feasting, singing, wrestling, or wild dancing to refined pursuits such as poetry or philosophy.
Half Goblin - Half-Goblins stand between 4'6"-5'6" and usually weigh between 80-130 lbs, they are children of a human and a Goblin. Rather a rare occurrence, but still happens from time to time. For some reason goblin features almost always win out over human ones in a Half-Goblin’s physical appearance, the one the few exceptions to this rule being hair. Whereas goblins are often bald, Half-Goblins will usually have a full head of hair (which is usually black), though facial hair is extremely rare for some reason. Other than this, they look almost exactly like a regular goblin. A Half-Goblin who is not part of regular goblin culture tends to be an outsider. Due to their physical similarities with normal goblins, they meet with a large amount of distrust and hostility. They do not like goblins, but, unlike Half-Ogre/Half-Troll, it is usually an active disgust towards their goblin kinfolk as opposed to fear that they feel. A Half-Goblin out in the wider world will often denounce their goblin kin entirely, looking towards other races for friendship and moral guides.
Half Ogre - Half-Ogres stand about 6'6"-7'6" and a half feet and usually weigh between 150-200 are as versatile in personality as their human parents, as they are in most things. Their Ogre heritage leaves them more likely to be angrier, more brutish, and less patient. A half-ogre raised among ogres would suffer in the pack as being considerably smaller and able to be picked upon, leaving them often needing to prove themselves before they earn any respect. This can end a Half-ogres life prematurely. Among humanoid civilizations, they are often an unwanted blemish on society. Much like Half-orcs, but far less common, Half-ogres have no place they can easily call home. Half-Ogres are larger than the average human, but much smaller than the average Ogre. They are more thickly built than their human parent and reflect their ogre parent's muscle, but are often more gifted by the aesthetic of their human parent. Half-Ogre's skin tones range from yellow to dark blue and their hair can be any color of their parents.
Half Troll - Half-Trolls stand between 7-8'6" feet and usually weigh between 160-220 pounds. Half-trolls usually have human-like skin with greenish or grayish tones. They tend to have less hairs than a human and no body hair at all, their teeth are usually exaggerated usually with large lower fangs that jut out only slightly resembling a troll's tusks, and their hands bear a resemblance to trollish claws. A half-troll is considered ugly in human and trollish standards, being either too human or too bestial. Half-trolls natural traits actually define their personality, they are tough and rather smart. They are able to survive through most sicknesses.
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- 24 posts here • Page 1 of 1
The Story So Far... Write a Post » as written by 11 authors
Setting
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METREA CITY, REPUBLIC OF EBONY
Year: 692(fia)(fia=5th age)
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It's the middle of the night, as you glance up at the moon you estimate it's roughly 3am. The streets are deserted accept for a handful of random individuals going about their business. You remember several weeks ago when you woke up and found a letter addressed directly to you. The moment you touched it, you felt a powerful urge to read it and was compelled to follow its instruction.
The handwriting was very unique and it was hard to understand but you understood three major details. It requested that you head to the city of Metrea and seek out the "Outlands Tavern" at the edge of the city. It asked for you to be there on this exact day promptly at 3am. But most importantly, it said that it was a matter of life and death, a situation that needed to be addressed quickly by all and with action. You were not sure who sent the letter as it was signed. "With deepest respect."
You journeyed to this place and as you study the central community board for this particular neighborhood, you see the exact same handwriting. It is a simple white piece of parchment, on it was written in the Common-tongue of Ebony, Come to the me, we have much to discuss..."
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After searching for a few minutes and asking commoners for directions, you eventually find the Outlands Tavern, it appeared that several other were also looking for this place as a variety of strangers where scattered around this place. It is large and spacious. But as you walk in through the door you receive many strange looks but they quickly look away. It was clear that you were not the strangest being to enter this place. It was warm, you noticed the circle of fire in the center of the large room. Giving a dim orange light to the entire building. This was probably the most diverse place in Metrea.
It may have been a quiet night outside, but as soon as you step into the tavern there is a flurry of activity. You glance to the far left and a massive 8'2" Half-Troll is arm wrestling with a just as large Half-Ogre. At the bar you see a mix of Humans, Halflings, Dwarves, an assortment of Hybrids and a large Minotaur near the edge of the bar, minding his own business. In the far back you see a cyclops in the kitchen, cooking what smells like a horrid concoction.
Behind the bar were three Humans, a Half-Elf and another Cyclops who was very clumsy and was constantly spilling the customers drinks by accident. But never mind this absurd scene. You remembered something in the letter about seeking the largest booth in the far right corner. Several others begin entering the tavern, just as strange and unique as the others. They seem to be just as confused and strange as you did. Some of them began to scatter across the tavern apparently looking for the same person who had sent you that letter.
Back near the wall you see the Half-Troll had beat his Half-Ogre friend and had now started a fight. Knocking over tables and chairs. Pretty much causing a heep of chaos. You noticed the 2 cyclops, both in the kitchen and behind the bar promptly march towards them and pretty much throw them out the door. "AND STAY OUT!" The Cyclops from the kitchen had said in a coarse, deep voice. After all this commotion the tavern finally began to settle again back into it quiet and miserable self. There seemed to be a sad reason behind the naming of this sad place. Outlands Tavern, a fitting name...
But when then you saw it, in the corner of your eye...
A lowly individual clothed in pure white robes with a large hood covering their face. They were sitting in a very large circular table Capable of fitting at least 20 Humans. Some made you realize that this was exactly the person who you where supposed to be looking for. Several others seemed to notice as well and collectively you made your way to the booth. The individual looked to be about 7ft tall but they made no attempt to reveal their true identity. As more of you continue to arrive you sit down at the booth. Cautiously at first but something made you feel welcomed by this strange being...
Year: 692(fia)(fia=5th age)
________________________________________________________________________________________________________
It's the middle of the night, as you glance up at the moon you estimate it's roughly 3am. The streets are deserted accept for a handful of random individuals going about their business. You remember several weeks ago when you woke up and found a letter addressed directly to you. The moment you touched it, you felt a powerful urge to read it and was compelled to follow its instruction.
The handwriting was very unique and it was hard to understand but you understood three major details. It requested that you head to the city of Metrea and seek out the "Outlands Tavern" at the edge of the city. It asked for you to be there on this exact day promptly at 3am. But most importantly, it said that it was a matter of life and death, a situation that needed to be addressed quickly by all and with action. You were not sure who sent the letter as it was signed. "With deepest respect."
You journeyed to this place and as you study the central community board for this particular neighborhood, you see the exact same handwriting. It is a simple white piece of parchment, on it was written in the Common-tongue of Ebony, Come to the me, we have much to discuss..."
______________________________________________________________________________________________________
After searching for a few minutes and asking commoners for directions, you eventually find the Outlands Tavern, it appeared that several other were also looking for this place as a variety of strangers where scattered around this place. It is large and spacious. But as you walk in through the door you receive many strange looks but they quickly look away. It was clear that you were not the strangest being to enter this place. It was warm, you noticed the circle of fire in the center of the large room. Giving a dim orange light to the entire building. This was probably the most diverse place in Metrea.
It may have been a quiet night outside, but as soon as you step into the tavern there is a flurry of activity. You glance to the far left and a massive 8'2" Half-Troll is arm wrestling with a just as large Half-Ogre. At the bar you see a mix of Humans, Halflings, Dwarves, an assortment of Hybrids and a large Minotaur near the edge of the bar, minding his own business. In the far back you see a cyclops in the kitchen, cooking what smells like a horrid concoction.
Behind the bar were three Humans, a Half-Elf and another Cyclops who was very clumsy and was constantly spilling the customers drinks by accident. But never mind this absurd scene. You remembered something in the letter about seeking the largest booth in the far right corner. Several others begin entering the tavern, just as strange and unique as the others. They seem to be just as confused and strange as you did. Some of them began to scatter across the tavern apparently looking for the same person who had sent you that letter.
Back near the wall you see the Half-Troll had beat his Half-Ogre friend and had now started a fight. Knocking over tables and chairs. Pretty much causing a heep of chaos. You noticed the 2 cyclops, both in the kitchen and behind the bar promptly march towards them and pretty much throw them out the door. "AND STAY OUT!" The Cyclops from the kitchen had said in a coarse, deep voice. After all this commotion the tavern finally began to settle again back into it quiet and miserable self. There seemed to be a sad reason behind the naming of this sad place. Outlands Tavern, a fitting name...
But when then you saw it, in the corner of your eye...
A lowly individual clothed in pure white robes with a large hood covering their face. They were sitting in a very large circular table Capable of fitting at least 20 Humans. Some made you realize that this was exactly the person who you where supposed to be looking for. Several others seemed to notice as well and collectively you made your way to the booth. The individual looked to be about 7ft tall but they made no attempt to reveal their true identity. As more of you continue to arrive you sit down at the booth. Cautiously at first but something made you feel welcomed by this strange being...
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(SIDE NOTE)
Please no 1 liners. I am sure you are capable a more then that. :v)
"You will meet a tall, dark stranger."
"To think I would wake up at such an ungodly hour to meet a person I have absolutely no knowledge of!" "Yet here I am staring down a dead end street, at a dead end tavern, in a dead end part of town." "Heh, some people know how to pick venues." "If this was so important then why pick the most roughest, most loudest, and most hostile place in the city?" "Someone in there is either a genius or a lunatic, how lucky do you think I am to have the former?" All of this was abuzz within Lukas's mind, as he entered the Outlands Tavern, "Not even poets could have done better." Lukas spoke as he read the sign. He then entered the rough bar to see it ablaze with activity, mostly coming from the ruffians having a contest. "A Half-Troll and a Half-Ogre?" "Never thought one would see such outcasts in a city like Metera but hey anything is possible." Luckily the large beings where thrown out by even larger beings. "Cyclops too?" "This place just seems to get better and better." "Nothing but drunks, murderers, thieves, and thugs in this place." "Talk about a home for the downtrodden, I should feel welcomed." "With this dreary decor, I would be down on my luck as well!"
After some moments of quiet observations he began to notice other strangers arriving. Already the frequent visitation of people gave him the sinking feeling that something bad was going to occur. He was beginning to regret even coming here. He should have just left that damn letter alone. Who cares if it mysteriously appears, just leave it be! But no his curiosity got the better of him, he had to unravel some of the mystery. For all he knew it could have been a break through in his search. Of course that's him thinking optimistically, which hardly ever crosses his mind. He knew full well it wasn't going to be anything helpful, but hey your supposed to open up every letter you get, right? Despite the regret of poking his nose in a curiously placed letter, sparking the scientist in him, he had to see where this door led, if anywhere. Yet, it would seem this door was to a place he didn't want to go. He contemplated leaving.
Then came the crescendo, the already cliche mystery man sitting there in the corner. A Man for some reason is some how invisible to everyone else except the person he is expecting. Well, with such a compelling plot how could one turn away? Lukas against his better judgement came to sit by the table with the, rather tall man in white, and it would seem he was to be accompanied with other strangers. Compared to the white, Lukas wears a rust colored piece of plate armor that seems to glow with a very dim brownish radiance. In fact his whole person seemed to be permanently colored brown, his hair, trousers and tunic scream brown. Even his tabard was discolored with what seemed like it was aged with rust, much like his armor. Yet, his armor isn't depreciated or mistreated. It was very clean and well taken care of, it just appears very old. The only thing that upsets the common theme of a dreary brown, where his hauntingly pale, green eyes. So light they seemed to pop out, yet the green made an enduring presence, despite it appearing flushed. Then the depressing tone was quickly returned with the deep bags underneath his eyes.
This man is young but already appears to be of an older generation. He is a man that looks disheveled and deeply troubled. Someone who doesn't seem to get enough sleep at night. Or even gets enough Sun. But most of all he looks like a man who doesn't want to be here and is definitely not amused. Still Lukas remains as he waits for the others to sit down. Whether he wants to admit it or not, the mystery man seemed to be very welcoming, or at least that's how he feels. He just hopes he has something important to say, otherwise he isn't going to be happy to find out he wasted his time.
Across the plains of the Republic of Ebony, a single figure wandered. Most people that caught glimpses of this vagabond were rather shocked to see someone traversing the terrain on their own without any sort of guide except for the wind; then again, most people had more important business to attend to than to bother with a simple traveller and wonder what their purpose and goals were. It did not matter to much to the vagabond, though--there was something on her mind at this particular point in time, and she was more focused on the journey ahead of her than on the people she passed.
The first thing that the people noticed were the crimson scales that covered her entire body--this easily allowed people to label her as dragonborn, one of the daughters of Helm that displayed their prowess for the world to see. Of course, the snout and the tendrils cascading from the back of her head and the claws also spoke volumes about her origins and who she was.
The second thing that people noticed were the two weapons that this dragonborn carried on her back. An ornate, oddly-curved blade with strange runes and leather-wrapped bones holding the whole thing together, coupled with an equally-menacing bow carved out of blackened wood and accented with what appeared to be bones, gave the appearance that this wanderer knew how to take care of herself in situations that called for a bit of violence.
In one claw she held a weathered piece of paper, the writing seemingly incomprehensible at first glance. She had no idea as to how this letter came to be in her possession, nor who had delivered it to her out in the middle of nowhere, nor any idea why she had been 'lucky' enough to receive a letter in the first place. After reading it over, she had discovered that there was to be a meeting at a tavern near Metrea City--something in the manner of a "life-or-death" situation that required her assistance. Normally, she would not have given much thought to the ordeal, but this... This letter had some sort of weight to it that she had never seen nor felt before, and there was something that was driving her to investigate the tavern and the reason behind the letter.
Finally, the tavern was within sight, even under the glow of the moonlight. It stood in a seedier part of the outskirts, which probably explained the stench and the large figures fighting through the window. Despite her unease, she felt compelled to still venture into the place, if only to investigate and see what was inside. She was immediately hit by the overwhelming scent of mead and sweat mixed with a bit of blood--typical for an interracial tavern, she figured. Strange, though, that she appeared to be the only dragonborn in the entire establishment; there were even cyclops and minotaur here already, but none of her kind. The dragonborn shrugged, not really caring too much for the lack of her reptilian kin--she had been used to not meeting with others of her kind for some time, and she was not expecting to meet up with any of them in the near future.
In the very back of the room, a white-robed individual sat at an overwhelmingly large booth that could fit an entire party. From where she stood, she could not make out any detail on a face, but he seemed big, even by dragonborn standards. Near him sat a human, looking somewhat disgruntled and disheveled in rust-colored armor--she could tell that he looked rather skeptical about the robed figure, but for some reason she was drawn to him and the booth in the back of the room. Making her way between the drunken revelry and the brawling patrons, the dragonborn took a seat in the booth, making sure to sit near the robed figure to try and get a look at its face.
She passed a quick glance to the human at the table--nothing too amicable or hostile, just something to acknowledge his existence. The dragonborn was not sure how intimidating she must have looked with the weapons on her back, but it was fair to say that she was one of the more dangerous-looking creatures in the tavern. It would be interesting indeed to see what this stranger was looking for out of her.
Kahreb Feathercloak
Kahreb entered the bar and had to fight the urge to leave immediately. There was noise everywhere and the stench didn’t help either. He felt nauseous and leaned against a wall, taking deep breaths. After a minute or so he regained his composure and surveyed the scene, doing his best to avoid eye contact with the dwarves. They usually disliked his kind. At least the bar looked decent enough. The varied races is would mean he’d enjoy at least a bit less attention than usual. He pulled his hood back and took his brown traveling cloak off; fully revealing his face and the rest of his attire. He wore his traditional cloak of feathers, the rest of his clothes were nothing more than rags. In his right hand he held a tall, oaken stick. His left hand rested on the dagger at his side. No doubt jokes about birds would soon ensue at the expense of his feathered cloak. Hoping to avoid hearing these jokes for the hundredth time he quickly moved through the bar, ducking just past the half-ogre and half-troll before they were kicked out. He couldn’t help himself but smile; at least he wouldn't be the first one to get thrown out tonight. Now that was something new.
When he saw others drinking he contemplated getting a beer. It would definitely help him calm down, but with a task still before him, it might be better to wait. Besides, getting a beer would mean he’d have to face a bartender, preferably not the Cyclops, and draw the attention. Not all the beer in the world was worth that. Better to wait until after the meeting. By then the place would surely be emptier or at least have more sleepy and drunk customers than now.
Kahreb wondered why he was here. Yes, he wanted to help people, but going to a big city? It was the middle of the night and the place was already too crowded for him. He was definitely not at ease here. He contemplated running away. After all multiple people seemed out of their depth, just like Kahreb himself. They too had probably been asked to come here. Surely one measly half-goblin would not make the difference? Surely running away would make no difference to the writer of the letter? He could go help someone else, somewhere less crowded.
Then he saw the man in white and all his reservations disappeared. He seemed more welcoming than anyone else before in his life. Kahreb had to fight back the tears as he hurried towards the man and sat down, a slight smile on his face. He was now out of sight and in seemingly friendly company. Maybe coming here hadn’t been such a bad idea after all. The other two seemed intimidating though. He gave them a cautious look, followed by a quick nod. It would be best to remain on good terms with them. The dragonborn looked like she could tear him in half without breaking a sweat. As for the human, well, he his entire attire might be covered in rust, but he still looked like a capable fighter. Without a doubt more capable than Kahreb. The half-goblin quickly shifted his focus to the table before him, nervously fidgeting with his fingers.
Ro pulled the letter from its envelope again, scanning the words over mostly out of boredom as she sat on the back of a halfling trade wagon. She had hitched a ride under the (false) claim that the road had a bit of a bandit infestation lately and that she would guard them and keep them safe should the fiends show up. It was a white lie really, no one was losing out, and if bandits or some other source of trouble -did- show up Ro would certainly deal with them, she just didn't feel like walking that day.
"Tch." The letter annoyed her. This complete stranger was asking for her help without so much as a mention of a reward. Does this fool take me for a charity or something? An irritated sigh escaped her lips as she continued to read. Life and death? That's awfully dramatic, and whom is this a life and death matter for exactly? She shook her head as she folded the letter up again. She truly wanted to just crush the thing up into a ball and toss it to the side of the road but... Something stopped her, she simply couldn't bring herself to do it. This mystery author here is lucky I happened to be close by... Oh well, suppose I was a bit bored anyways. She slipped the letter back into her pocket before leaning back on her hands, idly watching the sky as they travelled down the bumpy road.
Several hours later they arrived at the outskirts of Metrea. With a wave and wishes of good luck Ro hopped off from the wagon and made her way into the city. The area the tavern was in was the type Ro usually avoided, dirty, rowdy, and smelly. It wasn't hard to get directions to the tavern, but Ro took her time getting there. Taverns were generally not places Ro was fond of even under the best of conditions, and this place... The "Outlands Tavern" seemed to be an exact concoction of everything Ro hated about taverns. She stared the door down for several moments before adjusting her clothing, securing her belongings and her rapier, and grudgingly opening the door.
The place somehow defied even Ro's worst expectations. The stench, the noise, everything about it repulsed her. Despite her immense desire to vacate the place, something in the back of her head pushed her onward. She moved quickly between the patrons, not even sparing them a glance as she searched for whoever had called her here. And there he was, an absolutely conspicuous man dressed wholly in white. Ro was surprised she hadn't noticed him the instant she had entered the tavern. As she approached the large table she noticed the man in white was not alone, sitting with him were three others. A man, a dragonborn, and a... Goblin? This is getting stranger by the second.
After briefly eyeing the others over Ro took a seat, seemingly relieved to not be in the midst of the chaos that flooded the rest of the tavern. The four of them seemed to be content to simply sit in silence. Lively bunch... She dismissed the thought with a shrug and leaned back in her chair, arms crossed as she muttered to herself. "So a man, a dragonborn, a half-elf, and a goblin walk into a bar... Can't say I've heard this one before."
Iriesys Laughshield
Something about this whole ordeal rubbed her the wrong way, entirely. If it wasn't the fact that this damnable letter arrived in her own bloody room at the random inn she had been staying at then it was a matter of simply not trusting others. Besides those points, it absolutely begged her attention. She could feel her legs aching to move the instant her eyes devoured the words inked onto the parchment. Adrenaline flooded her veins, bidding that time should move swifter so that she might uncover the secrets behind this mystery sooner! Well, that and money. The prospect that this might entail some sort of payoff in cashy-money already made her coin purse feel a little lighter than it should have been. With that kind of possibility at stake, what sort of reasonable entrepreneur would she be to simply ignore such a deliciously enticing reward?
Obviously a dumb or dead one. Iriesys happened to be neither nor, and so she went.
The tavern was nothing the Sly Jewel was unfamiliar with, she'd spent many nights amidst this kind of rabble in her earlier years back before she'd attained a reputation and a clientele. In a way, it actually made her a tad nostalgic. Admittedly, she was more well off than she had been, but something about this particular scene felt familiar and homey to her. This was already shaping up to be one of those rare occasions when Iriesys felt her inward ice melting a little. She rolled her shoulders, as if shrugging off the weight of her constant companion: paranoia. The pauldrons of her leather armor shifted noiselessly as she did, the lightweight buckles and straps neither clanking or stretching against these motions. The shirt beneath the armor was a rich woodland green, and her pants a simple earthy brown, alike to the color of her boots. From the front of her belt there hung a long and thin - for her size - dagger, the leather-bound hilt was angled toward her right hand. This unusual positioning would permit Iriesys to draw the weapon already prepared for an upward sting should she need to attack.
She watched the row between the two hybrids with little interest and no other visible emotion besides the raising of an eyebrow. As soon as it was settled she began to walk calmly toward the bar, her eyes roaming and absorbing her environment for signs of who had summoned her to this hovel. There! She caught the figure, robed in white, seated alone at a table. Her brow knit itself as she pondered how somebody would wish to come to this place dressed so conspicuously.. unless they had no reason to fear being seen by any other than those they had called. Damn, she thought to herself, This is shaping up to be more interesting than I'd imagined.
As she was a gnome, Iriesys was forced to climb up to sit on a stool that those of larger races could simply seat themselves on without issue. Gaining the attention of one the cyclops handling the drinks. "Might I trouble you for a pint of beer, sir?" She asked in a musical voice, a warm smile on her lips and a sparkle in her eyes. The buffoon fumbled to do as she asked, making it harder for her to hold her countenance as she swore louder and more creatively inside the confines of her own mind with every mistake the brute made. At last he set the flagon down before her, and she dipped her head graciously as she dropped a coin to clatter onto the counter, "Thank you very kindly, sir." Without spilling a drop, the bounty hunter clambered down from the stool and returned her attention to the figure at its table - and the assemblage that had seated themselves there by now.
Oh, glory be! This is to be a fellowship's venture, then? My luck impoves! Her mental voice was more caustic than acid, and almost did to melt her smile as she seated herself at the table. Of course, her size once again presented an issue. Rather than simply sitting down, Iriesys was forced to rest on her knees, keeping her upper body propped up to see over the lip of the table. After sipping carefully from her flagon, the gnome looked around more openly at this assorted band of misfits, analyzing each in turn. She made sure to sit some distance away from the.. goblin.. and paid very little mind to the human and the half-elf. Neither really interested her all that much. The Dragonborn, on the other hand, was cause for curiosity. There was something about that race that Iriesys both admired and loathed in the same instance. They were powerful, but also arrogant. She decided to remain silent for the time being, resigning to speak until words were necessary, and wondered if more were to arrive for this gathering.
Favorin Elenron
What am I doing here? I didn't have to follow this letter's trail... I didn't have to do anything. I could have just lied under that tree and died, while they were still beating me, I didn't have to take this letter and go. So what am I doing here?
Favorin angled her head towards the sky, realizing that she was just on time, with plenty to spare; she could do whatever she pleased in this bar. At the time, it seemed to be sitting, as she had walked farther than she wished to - but she knew, it would be the usual nothing. At least she knew that she had the choice.
When she turned to move forward, she felt herself being inhibited, and found that the hood of her cloak was caught on a wooden sign. She tore it off, and felt the fibers rip, as if a part of her had ripped away with the threads. Favorin pulled the hood back up quickly, and she moved towards the door, trying to not lose her nerves. She dodged two large figures barreling towards her, questioning how she did it, as she watched that it was a half-ogre and a half-troll. She dived into the bar beneath the open arm of a cyclops, and let out a breath, feeling her muscles relax already.
She then removed the hood once more. If she could avoid all the attention in the room, she would. She then began to contemplate stepping forward to grab a beer; the thought of both the bartender and the line of people told her no. Favorin then looked around the room, almost feeling herself shrink into nothing, so nervous to be here.
Why did that person choose me? I'm only a sorcerer, so what? I've heard of much more powerful than me. I've heard of so many more people worthy than me, all with homes. So why me?
She sighed once more, and looked around the room, until she noticed a small table in the back room. And, the unusual man seeming to lead the table; she noticed that he was wearing white, though it was all she could see from the front of the room. Many people sat around him; she noticed a dragonborn, looking ready to kill her in a heart beat, and other creatures around her. Especially the human.
She'd had enough of them, lately; more than enough. As she sat down at the table, she almost cast him a glance, but decided against it as she looked at the people around here.
Maybe I'm out of place. Maybe they'll tell me to leave. Maybe they'll know that I'm not actually who they thought I was, that they realized inviting me was a mistake, that they'll just throw me out...
What am I doing here? I didn't have to follow this letter's trail... I didn't have to do anything. I could have just lied under that tree and died, while they were still beating me, I didn't have to take this letter and go. So what am I doing here?
Favorin angled her head towards the sky, realizing that she was just on time, with plenty to spare; she could do whatever she pleased in this bar. At the time, it seemed to be sitting, as she had walked farther than she wished to - but she knew, it would be the usual nothing. At least she knew that she had the choice.
When she turned to move forward, she felt herself being inhibited, and found that the hood of her cloak was caught on a wooden sign. She tore it off, and felt the fibers rip, as if a part of her had ripped away with the threads. Favorin pulled the hood back up quickly, and she moved towards the door, trying to not lose her nerves. She dodged two large figures barreling towards her, questioning how she did it, as she watched that it was a half-ogre and a half-troll. She dived into the bar beneath the open arm of a cyclops, and let out a breath, feeling her muscles relax already.
She then removed the hood once more. If she could avoid all the attention in the room, she would. She then began to contemplate stepping forward to grab a beer; the thought of both the bartender and the line of people told her no. Favorin then looked around the room, almost feeling herself shrink into nothing, so nervous to be here.
Why did that person choose me? I'm only a sorcerer, so what? I've heard of much more powerful than me. I've heard of so many more people worthy than me, all with homes. So why me?
She sighed once more, and looked around the room, until she noticed a small table in the back room. And, the unusual man seeming to lead the table; she noticed that he was wearing white, though it was all she could see from the front of the room. Many people sat around him; she noticed a dragonborn, looking ready to kill her in a heart beat, and other creatures around her. Especially the human.
She'd had enough of them, lately; more than enough. As she sat down at the table, she almost cast him a glance, but decided against it as she looked at the people around here.
Maybe I'm out of place. Maybe they'll tell me to leave. Maybe they'll know that I'm not actually who they thought I was, that they realized inviting me was a mistake, that they'll just throw me out...
How she had ever found time to squeeze in one last fight for the day still escaped the Half-Orc to some degree. There were fresh bruises on her left arm and shoulder - from driving it into her opponent.. several times - her bottom lip had a healing gash in it, dried blood staining her chin, and her hair was still clinging to her forehead and cheeks from a generous layer of perspiration. Never one to really worry too much about her appearance, Marsaadi had paid the cut no mind. Not to mention her pride in bearing wounds from battle openly! If anything, she enjoyed the numbing ache still present in the flesh. It would certainly make eating and drinking certain things more interesting (if they didn't kick on their own, they would have a reason to, now)!
The strange note, upon waking and reading it, had given Marsaadi a few moment's pause to think it over. She had even searched her quarters for any signs of an intruder, and asked throughout the inn if anybody had been seen entering her room during the night. The answer had been a universal "no" that sent her back to her room both somewhat downcast and intensely curious. There had not been a question in her mind over whether or not she would go as the message requested. But, she had never been one to turn down a competition, and she retained her previous engagement honorably until it was ended - ended swiftly, actually. She'd made sure of that, rather than drawing it out as she preferred to.
The Laughing Warrior made her way into the tavern with a lively but contained gait, already grinning at the look and feel of the venue. While it didn't have quite the spark she preferred, it certainly did have an organic energy that charged her in its own unique way. Her great-sword Öthundr hung behind her back, sheathed in a special harness and sheath of steel and leather buckles and belts to accommodate its size and weight. Sizing up the patrons scattered about the blazing fire pit, it was not difficult to tell who she was here to meet. Already there was a sizable group seated at the table - including a Dragonborn! She had to fight the urge to simply walk over immediately, as her throat was feeling rather dry. Only half-reluctantly, Marsaadi went to the bar and ordered a flagon of ale first. She tipped the brew back even as she crossed the tavern to the table, nearly slamming the container down on the wood as she seated herself and bowed her head in a respectful greeting. She made note of at least two other half-breeds present - the signs she had been able to memorize throughout her life - an elf, a gnome and a human.
And then there sat the Dragonborn, as she lived and breathed! Marsaadi could hardly believe her good fortune. She had always been fascinated by the powerful reptilians of Essim, though had never come across one during her travels. After another hearty draught, she loudly declared, "Well, if this isn't the most miss-matched band I've ever laid eyes on!" Dipping her head back and laughing boisterously, she raised her flagon high, "And well met, all of you!"
Foostus the Minotaur
Foostus grimaced as he approached the wide gates to Metrea City. He had a feeling this wasn't going to go well. Still, in his thirty years of life, he had never once turned down a request for aid of any kind. Of course, he could count the number of times he had ever been asked for aid on one hand. But it was the principle of the thing that mattered. As he had expected, the guards at the gate jolted in surprise as he came within the light of their torches. He carried no light himself, and so most likely appeared like some demonic specter from the deep night.
Weapons were immediately readied, a bushel of spears was suddenly leveled towards him. He snorted, and continued forward until the sharp tips began to gouge into his flesh. Looks of horror spread across the faces of the men holding the spears, and they backed away. His massive hand tightened around the battle-axe resting on his shoulder. He stood a full foot and a half over the tallest guardsman, and was easily twice as broad. He prepared to lash out. It would be easy, he would snap their flimsy spears to pieces with one arc of his axe, then butcher fools where they stood. How dare they attempt to bar him passage?
"Examine your thoughts."
The question shot unbidden through his mind like a splash of cold water. What was he doing? Had he seriously been considering slaying these men? He shook his head, trying to clear himself of the bloodlust. It had come on him so suddenly, without any warning at all. He was shocked, and ashamed of himself.
He lowered his axe, placing the head against the ground and resting his hand on the bottom of the haft.
"Apologies." He began, his deep voice rumbling up from his chest. "You startled me."
The fear, and suspicion, didn't leave the guards' faces.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________
Foostus slunk through the shadows of the city as best he could manage with his size. He tried to stay away from the main thoroughfares as much as possible, and was pleased to note that most residents had retired for the night. It had been quite a feat to convince the guards to allow him inside the city. He had a suspicion that the only reason he was given passage was the fear the guards had of what might happen if they refused. Sometimes, being a monster had its benefits, especially in negotiations. He followed the directions he had memorized from the note, and quickly found his destination.
"Outlands Tavern." He said aloud.
Indeed, the name fit the establishment. Located on the outskirts of the grand city, the building appeared like it would have been just as at home in the wilds of Jericho. He walked forward, his heart-rate increasing as he approached the tavern. He really hated this kind of scene, the noise, the ruckus, the potential for violence, it had a bad affect on him. Still, he had been called here for a reason, that he was sure of.
Foostus passed through the doors, which were abnormally large, and was immediately caught off guard. The place was a mad-house. Beings of every race and kingdom caroused around the tavern. His eye was drawn to the bar, where spotted a member of his kin. Immediately, his pulse spiked, his hand tightening around his axe. Their eyes met, the other Minotaur gave him a nod of acknowledgement. Foostus let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding in.
"Well, if this isn't the most miss-matched band I've ever laid eyes on!" Dipping her head back and laughing boisterously, she raised her flagon high, "And well met, all of you!"
Foostus's bovine head swiveled around to address the voice. The speaker appeared to be human at first glance, but after a few moments, Foostus recognized her as a half-orc. A half-breed, he hadn't come across many, but had always found their company refreshing. It was nice to speak to someone who understood what not having a home or people to turn to was like.
He took in the whole company that sat at the table around her. Her words had been true, Foostus had certainly never seen anything like them before. Something, he wasn't sure what, made him certain that this was what his letter had been about. He shrugged, and advanced towards the table. He wished there was some way he could make his weapon less threatening, but there wasn't much he could do with the axe. Its size and weight, which would seem preposterous and unwieldy to any but the largest of races, wasn't crafted for friendly discourse. It was made to be intimidating. Still, he attempted to carry it low by his waist, his hand closing around the haft close to the head.
There were a few chairs left, and he picked one that gave him some room from the others. It groaned in protest at his weight, and actually began to snap. Foostus stood up quickly, a bit put out, and slid the chair away from the table. It looked like he would be standing for now. His eyes scanned over the group, finally resting on the figure in white who seemed to preside of the gathering.
He said nothing. Partly because he found it rude to speak to your host before they addressed you, and also because he had no idea what to say.
Human cities were quite interesting. Not as grand as Draconic cities nor as elegant as elven ones but they certainly had a particular charm that Amnetas found fascinating. The sheer diversity present in most pleased him to no end, such intriguing things to observe. Even at night they had certain sort of character to them and Metrea was no different. Splendid example: somewhere nearby was what sounded like a collection of dwarves singing one of their folk songs. What a catchy tune it was! Amnetas found himself silently singing along.
In this part of city the roads, alleys and walkways had no uniformity. One could walk down a cobblestone road, turn to find a brick one and end up on an dirt path before they even realized it. The architects of Athero and other great Draconic sprawls would have a mild fit at such randomness; Amnetas considered it great fun to see what came next. The sprinkling of light here and there was not enough to illuminate this part of this city but that didn't bother Amnentas, he didn't even need his night vision. No, the Bored Sage had his own light source.
Born from the zenith of his mage's staff, warm white light set awash over his person and his immediate surroundings as he traversed the outskirts of Metrea. Just as much for the benefit of others as his own. Many races didn't take to well to running into an 6'8" bipedal reptile in the dark. Dragonborn tended to intimidate the smaller species of Chrome with their sheer size and build. Amnetas was taller then average for his kind(not the tallest Dragonborn around. Oh, no indeed, Master Rakha was seven foot two. Now that was a tall Dragonborn!) so he tended to frighten other races even more. Which was very irksome. Amnetas meant no harm in these lands, at least not at this present hour, and he very much wanted to interact with other species at a closer level. He didn't need to scare the objects of his interest away just by standing there, now did he?
How tiresome...
"S'cuse me, m'lord." Pulled out of his inner ramblings by a voice distinctly lower to the ground than himself Amnetas looked behind him to find a - what he could only assume to be - young halfling standing just inside the radius of light cast by his staff. He figured the little creature was maybe in his mid twenties but he couldn't be sure, Amnetas still had trouble judging the age of other species. "Greetings, little one," came Amnetas' polite acknowledgement.
"Pard'n me, m'lord. If Oi could 'ave a momen' 'f yer toim?" The halfling said, seemingly unafraid of Amnetas' immense presence. How very fitting it was that the smallest of creatures seem to show the most courage!
This one's accent was strange to Amnetas even by the standards he was used to hearing from other races. He had heard verities of this dialect before but even still it took him a moment to translate. Nodding his mighty head in acknowledgement after a brief pause.
With a bit less spunk than before the halfling bowed his head in what Amnetas has come to recognize as, in this case, a sign of respect, "If ye wou'd, may...may Oi wal' wif ye for a spell?" Amused by the little creature's choice of words but deciding not to bring it up the Kaitos Des of Essim cocked his head up and to the side, peering down on the halfling. Realizing this was likely scaring the little one by the way its eyes widened, Amnetas let out a warm chuckle(laughter was universal across almost every species Amnetas has found). "My dear friend, if I might answer your query with another: why do you seek my company?"
Looking positively ashamed of himself the halfling spoke just barely loud enough for Amnetas to hear, "This is terribly 'mbarrassin', m'lord, but Oi 'ave a dreaded fear 'f th' da'k. Ye were th' firs' person Oi've seen wif loit 'eadin' this way fer nearly an hour."
Amnetas let out a puff of air from his snout in deep amusement. How ironic that the being before him could stand up to a Dragonborn without fear yet felt dread by the coming of night! All a matter of perspective he supposed. Admitting a deep rumbling, good natured chuckle, "My friend, I believe I can help you with that," he proclaimed with mirth. Cupping his fingers to his palm and bringing the hand to his lips, Amnetas took in a breath as he channeled some of his magical energy. Blowing into his fist for a good five seconds as he watched his hand began to glow. With some gusto he flung out his hand releasing a ball of warm orange light. It floated down to hover above the now amazed little halfling's head.
"By my honor this will see you home," boasted the Dragonborn with a good amount pride.
Staring at the ball of light with wonderment, the wee one tentatively reached out his hand to touch it as if believing it was all in his imagination only to to draw his hand back the instant his fingers brushed against it. The halfling slowly stepped back outside the radius of of Amnetas's light only to watch in amazement as the little ball bobbed it's way after him, casting its own glow. Summoning up his courage the creature ran a good forty feet away before turning to watch with delight as the ball not only stayed with him but cast a comfortably large radius of light.
Running back to the Dragonborn and putting a thankful hand on the upper knee of one of Amnetas's digitigrade legs, "Th-thank ya, m'lord. Thank ye! Yer koindness moves me!" Exclaimed the little halfling in gratitude. Amnetas simply chuckled in merriment as he watched the little man scamper off.
-----
Approaching his destination Amnetas thought to the curious note currently nestled in one of his pockets. Whoever wrote it spent a great deal of time to get it to him. It was quite obvious that it came to him through some form of magic, equally as obvious was the enchantment that came with it. Indeed it was the 'smell' of the arcane that woke him up on that fateful night.
After days of discussion, debate and study with his Order Amnetas was ready to set off. As he prepared a member of the Council of Dracan themselves came to give Amnetas her blessing, truly a great honor indeed. If the old Deadiilus didn't think important events were transpiring before, he did now. Obviously the Council knew more than he was told but that didn't matter much to Amnetas -- he was there to observe, to act and to speak in the Council's name as all Kaitos Des have done.
He was Their will and would act accordingly.
Still, he found it positively delightful how much effort the mystery letter sender went through to get the message to him. And to think they could snare him with their little enchantment. Please, he was a 362 year old Dragonborn wizard. You honestly think he'd be swayed so easily? Ha! Well...he was still here. So it didn't matter if the enchantment worked or not they were getting what they wanted. Hm...
Well played, good sir or madame!
Ah there it was: the Outlands Tavern. The place practically oozed character. Even from here the sounds of chatter, fighting and singing met Amnetas's ears and the smell of blood, sweat and cheap mead permeated the air. Amnetas liked this place. 'Blowing out' the light of his staff as he approached the door the exciting sounds of commotion became ever louder until, finally, he entered the tavern.
Ah what a sight: members of almost every race intermingling without a care. The tune of five different songs competing and clashing against one another. Oh and let's not forget the actual clashes. Looking around some people shied away from him in fear, some gave him a look of challenge but most...most showed him no acknowledgement at all. Oh, Amnetas really liked this place!
Tracking down his table by the obvious magical presence in the tavern, Amnetas approached only to be stopped by a drunken elf that fell off his chair to the Dragonborn's taloned feet. Looking down at the drunkard amusedly, "Pardon me, my good man." Fluttering his eyes open the elf looked up at Amnetas and after a pause...screamed, stumbled to his feet and scurried out the door.
Grumbling to himself, Amnetas approached the table, catching sight of the man in white. Cloaked and under shadow the person's features were impossible to make out by Amnetas' vision. He expected magic to have a hand in that but he didn't care enough to extend his senses and attempt to peer through the haze. All would become clear in due time.
As he looked about, observing each of the individuals present, the old reptile couldn't help but think how excellent of a collection as gathered! Such a party could offer him an assortment of opportunities to watch interracial interactions! Look, there was even a Minotuar. Splendid! Amnetas tired of being the tallest individual around.
Most interesting however was his fellow Dragonborn sitting quietly on the far side of the table. Not expecting to see one here Amnetas' mind was flooded with thoughts of home. Wishing to deliver a traditional cue of greetings but thinking better of it, Amnetas opted to connect to her telepathically. It felt good to speak familiar Draconic again even if it was only a mental whisper, "Honored greetings, my sister. Helm has smiled on us this day."
Preferring to stand, Amnetas walked to the far corner of the table near the being in white. Making sure to remain a respectful distance away. Looking over the rest of the party once more and with a nod of his head, "I am Amnetas kes Jaagon of Essim and I offer you all my greetings."
This should be interesting.
Setting
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THE REPUBLIC OF EBONY
METREA CITY/THE OUTLANDS TAVERN
As more of you continue to arrive the figure in white waved their gloved hand speaking a few words in a language that you didn't quite understand. It was melodious, as if they were speaking with a silver tongue. Within moments you feel a slight vibration emanating from them. Those of you who are skilled in magic instantly recognize this as a "Silence Ward". An invisible dome which blocks all forms of sound from escaping. That way those outside the dome can't hear what is being talked about. As you come to grips with the reality that this is some sort of magic user, the figure pulls off their white hood and reveals their identity.
The first thing stray thought that enters your mind is beautiful. There was no word in any mortal language which could describe what this being was. She had the face of an elf, but there was something completely unique. Her face was made of pure diamonds, clear and see through in appearance. Shining and reflecting the dull orange color of the outlands tavern. Her eyes where like deep blue sapphires which made eye contact with every one of you. . When she casually removed her gloves, her hands where also made of pure diamond, with razor sharp talons made of ruby. As fluid in motion and agility as any elf. Her hair was made of brilliant green emeralds. Several others in the bar glanced over but they didn't pay much attention. The Silence Ward must have used some sort of illusion magic to hide her appearance to the others in the tavern.
This creature, standing 7ft tall and made of diamonds spoke with the voice of a angel. "Felhvusel ynajelhelnl act fanniunl bnus aban. Sz casel il Alynah, yrel haly ub yrel Velhellyiah navel act I as ujelnmuzelt yray zuo rajel vusel. Bun yisel il ub yrel elllelcvel act tanxcelll ral vusel oquc yrel hact" Then in the common tongue she repeated herself. "Welcome travelers and warriors from afar. My name is Astraviim, the last of the Celestial race and I am overjoyed that you have come, for time is of the essence and darkness has come upon the land."
The group is silent for a moment taking in the awe inspiring sight. Astraviim the last of the celestial race sat before you all and continued to study your reactions. Each time she made eye contact with you it felt like a thousand knives burrowing into your skull. She smiled and continued talking as if nothing unusual had happened. "I apologize if I speak poorly in this tongue but I am still in the process of learning it. It is a rough and coarse language. Unlike Celestial, which as many of you know is the tongue of the Spirit Realm. My people long ago adopted this speech."
Even without speaking in her native language, Astaviim still managed to speak in a song like voice. Perfect to the ears and like poetry. She seemed kind in nature, but something about this strange being brought a thought of warning. If she was the last of her race then you had to ask yourself. What happened to the rest of them? The Celestials were not a race that you were familiar with and this women was obviously not telling you something. The mysterious grin on her face was proof of that.
METREA CITY/THE OUTLANDS TAVERN
As more of you continue to arrive the figure in white waved their gloved hand speaking a few words in a language that you didn't quite understand. It was melodious, as if they were speaking with a silver tongue. Within moments you feel a slight vibration emanating from them. Those of you who are skilled in magic instantly recognize this as a "Silence Ward". An invisible dome which blocks all forms of sound from escaping. That way those outside the dome can't hear what is being talked about. As you come to grips with the reality that this is some sort of magic user, the figure pulls off their white hood and reveals their identity.
The first thing stray thought that enters your mind is beautiful. There was no word in any mortal language which could describe what this being was. She had the face of an elf, but there was something completely unique. Her face was made of pure diamonds, clear and see through in appearance. Shining and reflecting the dull orange color of the outlands tavern. Her eyes where like deep blue sapphires which made eye contact with every one of you. . When she casually removed her gloves, her hands where also made of pure diamond, with razor sharp talons made of ruby. As fluid in motion and agility as any elf. Her hair was made of brilliant green emeralds. Several others in the bar glanced over but they didn't pay much attention. The Silence Ward must have used some sort of illusion magic to hide her appearance to the others in the tavern.
This creature, standing 7ft tall and made of diamonds spoke with the voice of a angel. "Felhvusel ynajelhelnl act fanniunl bnus aban. Sz casel il Alynah, yrel haly ub yrel Velhellyiah navel act I as ujelnmuzelt yray zuo rajel vusel. Bun yisel il ub yrel elllelcvel act tanxcelll ral vusel oquc yrel hact" Then in the common tongue she repeated herself. "Welcome travelers and warriors from afar. My name is Astraviim, the last of the Celestial race and I am overjoyed that you have come, for time is of the essence and darkness has come upon the land."
The group is silent for a moment taking in the awe inspiring sight. Astraviim the last of the celestial race sat before you all and continued to study your reactions. Each time she made eye contact with you it felt like a thousand knives burrowing into your skull. She smiled and continued talking as if nothing unusual had happened. "I apologize if I speak poorly in this tongue but I am still in the process of learning it. It is a rough and coarse language. Unlike Celestial, which as many of you know is the tongue of the Spirit Realm. My people long ago adopted this speech."
Even without speaking in her native language, Astaviim still managed to speak in a song like voice. Perfect to the ears and like poetry. She seemed kind in nature, but something about this strange being brought a thought of warning. If she was the last of her race then you had to ask yourself. What happened to the rest of them? The Celestials were not a race that you were familiar with and this women was obviously not telling you something. The mysterious grin on her face was proof of that.
How splendid! Amnetas expected something interesting and, well, he got it. Celestial, eh? How curious. Never before had he seen something so exotic - he'd seen stranger things to be sure(the aftermath of Ckylex's little escapade with the Staff of Gorath comes to mind. Peculiar time that was) but certainly nothing as exotic. Oh, this exquisite beauty hurt to look at, too! Feisty little minx. Though he did feel a bit of embarrassment for assuming she was a he.
All-and-all, Amnetas was delighted, but he was also cautious. You could call him many things, but “fool” was not one of them.
He wondered if the Council of Dracan knew of this. He wouldn't be surprised if they did. The Council communed with The Great Helm himself, they seemed to know things no mortal mind should know. Did they plan this? And if so, what significance to Essim did it hold? Amnetas would find out soon, he suspected.
He too wondered of this Celestial; this Astraviim. Her history. Her culture. Her purpose and reason. These and other questions flashed through his mind. And again, with a shrug, he expected he'd discover all this and more as time marched forever on. Amnetas closed his eyes and stood in an almost meditative trance that, for those viewing from outside, seemed to only last moments but within the ebony-carved doors of his mind time seemed to pass slower. To collect his thoughts, to watch, to sense. To observe.
With a chuckle Amnetas opened his eyes. What an effective ward this Astraviim had created around them. He'd seen few so potent! Oh, and how this Celestial glowed with the arcane. What a gorgeous sight he witnessed, even more stunning than the sight before his “waking” eyes!
Amnetas found this creature quite curious, indeed.
Taking a bow and using the most ancient of Draconic, "I make my honored greetings to you, Lady Astraviim. I trust your time in our plane has been pleasant?" He trusted she understood.
Just a soon as she had lowered her flagon, two more approached and joined their group. First, a minotaur. Marsaadi had battled minotaurs before, both in the ring and on the field of battle. She had first learned to shed their blood in the name of Ebony, and later that some could truly be respected- her bias against the minotaurs had long ago faded into a faint tainting toward the back of her mind. Lingering vestiges did remain, but so few that they were hardly worth giving mind to. Such an act would only empower that negativity - that mental weakness - which was the last thing she wished to do. With a firm, friendly nod the Laughing Warrior quietly acknowledged the minotaur's presence, even raising her next drink to him before pouring it down her throat. Rivulets of ale escaped the corners of her mouth and dripped from her chin, and she wiped at these with the back of her hand.
The second Dragonborn made her heart skip a beat. Two? Two?! Great gods and demons, was this an event! This one was obviously male, and exuded age and mystical power. Before she could even greet him, the one who had called this ragtag party to attendance spoke. Her head whipped about, eyes locking with a steely gaze onto the strange figure. She could feel the electric ripple of power filling the air around her. Marsaadi had never had the talent, but she could always feel such forces when they were in use. She had always figured anyone would be able to sense it in the air. It was palpable- pure energy ripped from the fabric of the universe to weave a new pattern as it was bidden.
Despite herself, she could not contain her surprise as this being's identity. She had never heard of this race, before! How was that possible? Agape and in shock, Marsaadi could neither respond nor look away, even as staring grew to be mildly uncomfortable. Astraviim was like nothing she could have ever imagined, not even in her dizziest daydreams. Still, there was something that rubbed her the wrong way. At the very back of her mind apprehension spread like a cancer. Not knowing why this concern suddenly arose, she mostly ignored it. Of course, that did not mean it went away. There was something here that just felt.. off. Her skin crawled and her muscles itched in much the same way as they had many years ago before her first real battle. Whatever was coming.. it was going to be big. Marsaadi was willing to bet very, very good money on that possibility.
It had been 3:07 in the morning when Terra Fizz awoke to a strange sound in the morning. Terra was used to all the sounds her small village made. In the night, it was almost silent. Yet, the noise had been right outside her door. Her short and fat father slept soundly and didn't stir at the sound. Terra, overwhelmed by curiosity, tiptoed out of her bedroom, carrying a metal rod she had screwed off of her bed post for protection. But only a letter sat by the mail slot in the door. She didn't usually get mail and most certainly not at three in the morning. She first assumed it was for her father, but opened it anyway. Inside, she found it addressed to her. But, the handwriting was difficult to understand. The words that stood out were "life or death matter". She was supposed to go somewhere and it was obviously urgent.
So, that is how she ended up here. Terra didn't belong in a bar, yet she wasn't afraid. She was just... curious. She tiptoed around the men who were hardly sober. She watched as fights broke out and men were banished from the bar. Everything here was completely foreign. She wondered if returning to her father would be the smartest thing to do, but she had escaped and come so far. She sighed, hopelessly about to turn for the door. But then she noticed a figure in a white hood watching her. It was surrounded by lots of people, which made her a bit nervous. Most of them could sit on her and kill her, being so small. But, she seemed to feel welcomed by the figure. So, curiosity defeating caution once again, she walked to the booth.
Sliding in the enormous booth, she stared into the eyes of the stranger who didn't feel too strange and ignored the others. She didn't say a word, and Terra desperately wanted to appear strong and... non naive.
"What's their best drink?" she asked, trying to sound tough. The woman had an expression on his face revealing he was amused, but not in much of a joking mood.
"Water," she said, dryly. Terra crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair. "Do you know why you're here?" she asked. Terra shrugged.
"I got a creepy letter telling me to be here at this time. And my guess is that was your doing." The man nodded, almost asking her with her expressions to tell him more. "But why I'm here... what I'm here for, I don't know."
"What's your name, kid?"
"I'm Terra Fizz," she said. The woman nodded.
"Would you conciser yourself one to run away from danger?"
"No, ma'am."
The woman smiled for the first time since their discussion. Terra wasn't sure she liked her smile now that she had seen it. It was a tad bit creepy.
"Then stay with me, Terra."
So, that is how she ended up here. Terra didn't belong in a bar, yet she wasn't afraid. She was just... curious. She tiptoed around the men who were hardly sober. She watched as fights broke out and men were banished from the bar. Everything here was completely foreign. She wondered if returning to her father would be the smartest thing to do, but she had escaped and come so far. She sighed, hopelessly about to turn for the door. But then she noticed a figure in a white hood watching her. It was surrounded by lots of people, which made her a bit nervous. Most of them could sit on her and kill her, being so small. But, she seemed to feel welcomed by the figure. So, curiosity defeating caution once again, she walked to the booth.
Sliding in the enormous booth, she stared into the eyes of the stranger who didn't feel too strange and ignored the others. She didn't say a word, and Terra desperately wanted to appear strong and... non naive.
"What's their best drink?" she asked, trying to sound tough. The woman had an expression on his face revealing he was amused, but not in much of a joking mood.
"Water," she said, dryly. Terra crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair. "Do you know why you're here?" she asked. Terra shrugged.
"I got a creepy letter telling me to be here at this time. And my guess is that was your doing." The man nodded, almost asking her with her expressions to tell him more. "But why I'm here... what I'm here for, I don't know."
"What's your name, kid?"
"I'm Terra Fizz," she said. The woman nodded.
"Would you conciser yourself one to run away from danger?"
"No, ma'am."
The woman smiled for the first time since their discussion. Terra wasn't sure she liked her smile now that she had seen it. It was a tad bit creepy.
"Then stay with me, Terra."
The dragonborn watched as the group continued to grow around the table--first, a few that appeared intimidated by the repitilan visage and the weapons on her back. A goblin--or was it a half-goblin? She could never tell; they looked the same to her--trembled in fear at her presence as it took a seat at the large booth. Soon afterward, a young-looking humanoid with strikingly elvish features sat at the booth as well, commenting on the strange gathering of creatures thus far.
It was to only grow more unconventional from this point forward. A few moments later, a spritely figure climbed her way up onto the comfortable seats of the booth and eyed the others before fixing her gaze straight on the dragonborn. Was she studying her? It was true, her kind was not exactly common around these parts; then again, gnomes were not either--or was she a halfling? Either way, she allowed the small humanoid to get her kicks by staring and examining all she wanted. Better to get that out of the way at the beginning than have to deal with it later...
Now there was an elf--she looked so out of place in this tavern! Almost as if her skin was paper-thin and her bones were made of glass! Perhaps it was a mistake after all--until she made her way and squeezed into the booth after the youngling. After the elf, a surly-looking humanoid with a flagon of ale and a cheerful attitude to go with it--perhaps she was inebriated by this point and came over by mistake, but the smell of alcohol did not waft too thick from her pores... One greeting and one swig of mead later, she was content with sizing up the others at the booth, letting a bit of enthusiasm show when she got a good look at the dragonborn.
Heavy footsteps alerted the others to the next member to join their little gathering--an unusual specimen, considering this newcomer was a heavy musclebound minotaur hefting a rather impressive-looking axe. No stranger to formidable weaponry, the dragonborn nodded slowly toward the bull-creature, approving the size and sharpness of the blades. Perhaps she would speak with him about his weapon later--she knew that those of his species were rather fond of combat, although they were prone to letting it escalate out of hand quickly if given the chance...
"Honored greetings, my sister. Helm has smiled on us this day." A new voice--one that spoke in a familiar tongue rang through her mind as she looked over her shoulder and watched another reptilian walk toward the group. He carried himself with prestige and status, something that all dragonborn were apt to do at time--this one, however, seemed to be rather justified in doing so... There was a definite air of importance around this one--perhaps she would inquire further in the future when there was not pressing business to attend to. Still, she felt it necessary to reply to his greeting.
"May his breath inspire your purpose, honored elder." One of the benefits of another member of her species being present--instant telepathic communication. No use speaking draconic to those that could not understand it at this point, especially to those that already felt intimidated by her presence.
Before she could ask anything further of him, she watched the robed creature mutter something almost incomprehensible before the rest of the world grew quiet. They continued to do what they had been doing before, yet there was no noise that escaped their lips or punches. Most intriguing--magic she had never witnessed before. Just who was this mysterious host?
The de facto leader removed the hood that covered its face, revealing something rather unexpected: a face made of diamond, with sapphires for eyes and rubies for taloned claws. She--the unusual creature had the voice of a female--began to speak in a language she had never heard before nor could even begin to comprehend. When the diamond-faced woman began to speak in the common tongue, however, the dragonborn's heart began to slow. This woman--Astraviim, she called herself--was a celestial, the last of her kind from what she had explained briefly before apologizing for her "butchering" of the common tongue. There was most definitely something otherworldly about her voice; perhaps to human ears it was heavenly and almost intoxicating, but to her it was merely refined. Perhaps if she was able to speak in draconic, there would be something more to it...
Still, something ate away at the back of the dragonborn's mind--what exactly was this Astraviim, and what did she want? What had happened to her home realm and her fellow celestials to require assistance from their particular plane? Why these people in particular? How had the celestial known where to leave the letter that piqued her interest? What could a dragonborn like her possibly do for a being like this? There were details that were missing from all of this--so many details that could potentially cause this entire scenario to bite them in the behind.
The other dragonborn--Amnetas, he had called himself--greeted the celestial in draonic, a standard welcome used by their kind to non-dragonborn of respect and power. This Astraviim was most definitely worthy of this respect, that was certain. The female dragonborn, however, remained silent, content with listening and gauging the reactions of the others to this extraplanar creature. This is what she was used to doing: watching and waiting. It was a skill she honed during her hunting, and many of the scenarios with others proved to be rather similar to hunting in some respects. Stay patient, and the prey would reveal itself to you. This was rather similar to these people and the celestial--all would potentially be revealed in time as long as she was patient and observed but did not interfere...
When the second dragonborn and the minotaur arrived Kahreb started to wonder whether he was at the right place. Surely no one was planning on making him side with all these people? The whole notion was simply absurd. If one of them sidestepped during battle, he might get squashed underneath their feet, or hooves. The idea of being Kahreb the Flat didn't really appeal to him. Still, at least the stranger seemed nice, though the ward she had just summoned made him slightly uneasy. Arcane magic was a fickle thing. Then again, the idea of suddenly getting up and leaving wasn’t particularly appealing either. He might as well stay around a little while longer.
Then the stranger revealed herself Kahreb was overtaken by a feeling of complete awe. She was simply beautiful, such a perfect creature. She was unlike anything he had ever seen but this only added to her appeal. Not even in the woods had he ever encountered something as alluring. She was too tall for his liking, but almost everything was too tall in the half-goblin’s eyes. Kahreb noticed he was staring with an open mouth, so he quickly shut it and looked back to the table, a flush creeping across his cheeks. He hoped she would forgive his impudent ogling. His doubts were omnipresent once more. Why would someone like him ever be invited by someone so dazzling?
Then she started to speak. At first a shiver ran down his spine but when she spoke in common, a awestruck smile crept across Kahreb’s face. It seemed this was the right table after all. Even better, she was glad he was here. Now that was something he didn’t hear every day. He wanted to tell her she wasn’t butchering the Common tongue at all. How much of an honour it was to be here in the presence of a woman as herself. However, before he could bring himself to utter a few words the tall dragonborn spoke. His greeting was calmer and politer than Kahreb’s greeting would have ever been. At least he assumed it was. He wasn't too familiar with draconic greetings, but it had sounded friendly. Other people always made it look so easy. He suppressed a sigh, though he was partially relieved. At least he could now remain silent and observe. Her smile, while wondrous, was also slightly alarming. No doubt she was holding something back. It was nothing new for Kahreb, there were always wheels within wheels, but an ulterior motive combined with her magic prowess might be a cause for concern.
She reminded him of a Venus Flytrap and that wasn't a comforting idea either. All too attractive, but deadly once its prey has been charmed. And charmed he had been, perhaps too much. Kahreb scratched his head. His feelings of adoration and his mindless obeying of the letter were atypical for him. He placed his hands under the table and made a warding gesture, hoping he would not live to regret coming here.
Natothim protect me. Please…
Then the stranger revealed herself Kahreb was overtaken by a feeling of complete awe. She was simply beautiful, such a perfect creature. She was unlike anything he had ever seen but this only added to her appeal. Not even in the woods had he ever encountered something as alluring. She was too tall for his liking, but almost everything was too tall in the half-goblin’s eyes. Kahreb noticed he was staring with an open mouth, so he quickly shut it and looked back to the table, a flush creeping across his cheeks. He hoped she would forgive his impudent ogling. His doubts were omnipresent once more. Why would someone like him ever be invited by someone so dazzling?
Then she started to speak. At first a shiver ran down his spine but when she spoke in common, a awestruck smile crept across Kahreb’s face. It seemed this was the right table after all. Even better, she was glad he was here. Now that was something he didn’t hear every day. He wanted to tell her she wasn’t butchering the Common tongue at all. How much of an honour it was to be here in the presence of a woman as herself. However, before he could bring himself to utter a few words the tall dragonborn spoke. His greeting was calmer and politer than Kahreb’s greeting would have ever been. At least he assumed it was. He wasn't too familiar with draconic greetings, but it had sounded friendly. Other people always made it look so easy. He suppressed a sigh, though he was partially relieved. At least he could now remain silent and observe. Her smile, while wondrous, was also slightly alarming. No doubt she was holding something back. It was nothing new for Kahreb, there were always wheels within wheels, but an ulterior motive combined with her magic prowess might be a cause for concern.
She reminded him of a Venus Flytrap and that wasn't a comforting idea either. All too attractive, but deadly once its prey has been charmed. And charmed he had been, perhaps too much. Kahreb scratched his head. His feelings of adoration and his mindless obeying of the letter were atypical for him. He placed his hands under the table and made a warding gesture, hoping he would not live to regret coming here.
Natothim protect me. Please…
Favorin Elenron
Favorin felt her heart almost seize itself in fear, and turned her head away from the table, in an attempt to breathe slower. She felt as if the world was spinning around her, just too close to crashing, and let herself steady for a few moments. She had no idea what had caused this; certainly, she wasn't the most calm of her family, but she couldn't remember the last time this had happened to her. I can only hope these questions will be answered by our... host.
As Favorin turned back to the table, her eyes widened, watching the Celestial with more than fear. It was awe, respect, wonder, curiosity... The diamonds of her skin, the emeralds of her hair, the sapphires of her eyes. Her character seemed to be embodied by her appearance. Fragile, and misleading. Favorin turned her head once more - away from the table - as she pondered the situation.
She looked back in just a moment, as the Celestial started speaking, and introduced herself as Astraviim. The words sounded like her mother's harp, and just for a moment, she wished that she would never stop speaking. That she would sing just as her own mother would, of ancient races and ancient cities, of war and love.
Favorin was filled with discomfort once she stopped speaking, and nervously running her fingers through her hair, hoping that nobody had noticed her thoughts. It would certainly be most embarrassing to her here; she was still so young, it couldn't possibly be a surprise, but the notion of being thought of less than what she already was, was not pleasant.
She looked around the table, as if trying to avoid the wandering eyes of sapphire, but eventually she met eyes with her host. Favorin was still for only a moment, before she bowed her head softly with respect, and her eyes wandered on. She felt a breath release; one that she wasn't aware she was holding.
Her host was hiding too much for herself to be calm. What was it that she wished to hold secret from the group that she had commanded the presence of?
Favorin was ready to reply to her kind words, but decided against it, leaning back in her chair and letting her eyes wander around the room. She'd let others speak for her. And if what she wanted to hear wasn't said, maybe then she'd find her own courage to say the words she hoped would work.
Put simply, Ro was dumbstruck. A raised brow and her mouth slightly agape. What... She shook her head and sighed. Well... At least this is looking to be... Interesting. She examined the being before them, a celestial? It looked like something out of a story, a ridiculous story. But there it was before her, real as real could be, no illusions, nothing. Well... I guess this must actually be important then if a creature like this went through the trouble of calling... She looked over the rag tag crew of people assembled at the table. A group like this together... And if she really is a Celestial I can't even begin to imagine what sort of things she could reward us with.
Images of ancient artifacts and objects of power filled her mind and brought a smile to her face. Then again... If she's calling -us- for help something must be seriously messed up. This realization banished the happy thoughts of loot from her mind. She crossed her arms as she began to think. Whatever it is she wants us to do, it's most certainly going to be dangerous. Well, I suppose I should at least hear her out first.
Everything about this Astraviim was pleasant and Ro didn't like it. She wanted to get away from this creature and she was growing inpatient. She placed her elbow down on the table and rested her chin in her hand whilst her other hand began to drum along the wooden surface idly. To most observers she would almost appear bored, but in truth she was simply trying to distract herself while she waited for Astraviim to continue.
Iriesys Laughshield
This all screamed for her to get away. She wanted to flee, to remove herself from this place and the presence of this.. this.. this thing! It looked beautiful, yes, but from Iriesys' experience the more beautiful something seemed to be then the more dangerous it was. And, very possibly, the more deceiving. A pretty mask helped to hide a dirty face, didn't it? An ugly soul with buried secrets. Skeletons kept in the closet.. or in unmarked graves out back. Either way, no matter the metaphor, the Sly Jewel did not like this at all. Not one little bitty bit. Suddenly the thought of adventure and the promise of a hefty payment felt just a little too weighty for her, which was something she never thought she would ever resort to thinking. But, there it was.
This stinks, she thought with an inaudible huff. Her eyes slid around the assortment of misfits, taking in the various degrees of apprehension and awe. The ones who showed distrust - or nothing at all - she felt a little spark of respect for. At least they seemed to keep their wits about them in the face of this "Celestial". The ones who were caught up by its mesmerizing looks she scoffed at silently. She felt no pity for them, and why should she? If they were stupid enough to be led into thinking any good could come of this Astraviim then they deserved to get killed over it- or at least seriously maimed. At least that way they would learn something rather than just die, Iriesys supposed.
Redirecting her amber orbs to the Celestial, the bounty hunter peered at her from over the lip of her flagon as she slowly sipped at her mead. She narrowed her gaze for a moment, but not enough that she forget her ruse. Pretending might not even matter, she thought. If this being was powerful enough, it might be able to know what she was thinking with just a simple glance! Or less, come to consider. Well, even then, it didn't mean she should just bare herself to the rest of these strangers. Taking up a far more neutral face and tone of voice, Iriesys said, "You are quite the magnificent specimen, milady. Humbly, I greet you." She even stood up in her seat for a moment to bow politely, and then calmly settled back down. The question still nagged at her, though, and begged her to remain: just what did Astraviim want with them? Specifically with Iriesys, herself.
"Oddities"
Lukas watched as more beings arrived at this, blooming large table. It was not just the sheer amount of people that decided to arrive at this rendezvous, but the sheer diversity. It would seem nearly every civilized race could be represented here. What were they suppose to be, adventures or dignitaries? This most certainly looked like a diplomatic meeting, albeit a frugal one. He was not disturbed by the varying races, he has long since found no use in racism. Such biases are an inhibitor of free thought, which is detrimental to a seeker of truth. While he will admit, he doesn't like the loud, bellowing of the Half-Orc here. Despite this, even now the secrets are piling up just what are they suppose to do?
Lukas's mind even drifted into thinking about home. This odd gathering has oddly enough reminded him of home. He doesn't why but it just did. Perhaps it has something to do with their anonymous host. Which is at the epicenter of this fiasco, what is the biggest secret here? This would be answered when the Host, or Hostess he should say revealed herself. "A Celestial here?" "Talk about a fall from grace." Lukas thought. He will admit the being was pleasant to the eye, and despite his skepticism and cautiousness, he was notably calm. This figure must have a calming presence, Lukas suspects magic is involved. Lukas would love to understand such arcane secrets, but alas he just doesn't have the aptitude for such things. His future lies in science, not magic, that he is sure of. Even magic wielders haven't reversed a state of undeath, there would be nothing of use for him there.
What really surprised Lukas the most that everyone is strangely accepting of this. In what way is this normal? Have they all really lived such wild lives that this does not register as an oddity? He finds rather disturbing that everyone seems so calm with this, heck even accepting of it like the Dragonborn the exudes arcane knowledge. In the face of these developments Lukas had to perturb this situation. "I'm sorry, sorry, Astraviim was it?" Lukas spoke, he sounded harried and jittery. "I mean no disrespect but...I must be blunt," Lukas spoke, he was rather animated with his speech, using hand signs and his arms, "Why are you here?" "Shouldn't that in of itself be a signal for alarm?" "Hm?" He hummed as he spoke, sort of addressing everyone here. "I'm sure I'm not alone in being a bit disturbed here, right?" He speech was becoming slightly more rapid, as he nervously laughed.
"Like you there on your elbows," He spoke towards Ro. "I even see some hints of distress from the Elven Maiden," He pointed towards Favorin, "Even the Goblin seems disturbed for Patron's sake!" "So I am sorry if I am coming off as intrusive and impudent, but I humbly ask to learn more of you, Celestial," He spoke as he waved his finger about as he pointed at Astraviim, "And about whatever darkness is supposedly happening." "Which mind you didn't leave my thoughts at all." Lukas spoke as he sounded calm and sat back in the seat. He didn't care if he was a bit overbearing, he had to have more information because this whole situation was suspicious. He understands nothing is as it seems. Even through out that speech, he still felt calm, even though it may have been interpreted differently. He awaited to see if he would have his answers, either way the conversation goes, he will have answers to one of his questions. Even questions he didn't specifically voiced.
THE REPUBLIC OF EBONY
METREA CITY/THE OUTLANDS TAVERN
Astraviim sat in silence as the group pestered her with questions of who she was, why she was there and what the problem was. As the group settled down a bit, she closed her deep sapphire eyes and took a deep breath. "Words are not entirely capable of explaining everything. Therefore, I will show you." She opened her eyes and within moment you felt magic once again surround her. Some sort of illusion.
You feel a rush of bitter cold air blow past you and you find yourself floating above a massive desert wasteland. The black ice wastes. You see the fog clear and you realize you are hovering over a battlefield. One side you see the ancient Altiairan Army, with all the civilized races united against the opposing threat. There must have been tens of thousands of them. On the other side you see something truly horrifying. A horde of powerful monsters. Goblins, Orcs, Ogres, Trolls, Snakeborn, etc. But leading this army was a dark figure wreathed in shadow and covered in black armor. With a loud roar both armies charged forward and fought for the fate of Chrome.
Out of nowhere you hear the voice of Astraviim, calm and filled with sorrow. "This is the legendary battle of Jericho. I'm sure you have all heard stories of the fallen god Kyros? Well let me enlighten you, that was not a story at all. It was ancient history. When the battle was drawing to an end with Kyros victory. The united force of Altiair shouted a single word in one voice. Within moments a giant chasm opened up around the Kyros hordes and he was banished to the fallen realm."
As you continue watching the scene fades and you are again in the outlands tavern. Astraviim had liquid diamond tears running down her clear face. She quickly wiped the tears from her eyes and returned to face the group. "I was there you know, I fought in that battle six-thousand years ago along with the rest of my people. But now the wretched fell lord Kyros has risen again. Seeking to raise another army of monsters just as he did before."
METREA CITY/THE OUTLANDS TAVERN
Astraviim sat in silence as the group pestered her with questions of who she was, why she was there and what the problem was. As the group settled down a bit, she closed her deep sapphire eyes and took a deep breath. "Words are not entirely capable of explaining everything. Therefore, I will show you." She opened her eyes and within moment you felt magic once again surround her. Some sort of illusion.
You feel a rush of bitter cold air blow past you and you find yourself floating above a massive desert wasteland. The black ice wastes. You see the fog clear and you realize you are hovering over a battlefield. One side you see the ancient Altiairan Army, with all the civilized races united against the opposing threat. There must have been tens of thousands of them. On the other side you see something truly horrifying. A horde of powerful monsters. Goblins, Orcs, Ogres, Trolls, Snakeborn, etc. But leading this army was a dark figure wreathed in shadow and covered in black armor. With a loud roar both armies charged forward and fought for the fate of Chrome.
Out of nowhere you hear the voice of Astraviim, calm and filled with sorrow. "This is the legendary battle of Jericho. I'm sure you have all heard stories of the fallen god Kyros? Well let me enlighten you, that was not a story at all. It was ancient history. When the battle was drawing to an end with Kyros victory. The united force of Altiair shouted a single word in one voice. Within moments a giant chasm opened up around the Kyros hordes and he was banished to the fallen realm."
As you continue watching the scene fades and you are again in the outlands tavern. Astraviim had liquid diamond tears running down her clear face. She quickly wiped the tears from her eyes and returned to face the group. "I was there you know, I fought in that battle six-thousand years ago along with the rest of my people. But now the wretched fell lord Kyros has risen again. Seeking to raise another army of monsters just as he did before."
Foostus the Minotaur
Foostus had remained in stoic silence while the others erupted in confusion about the identity of their hostess. He was no less taken aback than the rest of them, but he kept his peace. A Celestial? He had heard of them, in half-whispered stories told around a crackling fire in the night. Still, to confront one in person, this was a lot to take in.
"So I am sorry if I am coming off as intrusive and impudent, but I humbly ask to learn more of you, Celestial," He spoke as he waved his finger about as he pointed at Astraviim, "And about whatever darkness is supposedly happening." "Which mind you didn't leave my thoughts at all."
Foostus glanced towards the human. He sounded slightly shaken, which was completely understandable. He agreed with him, and sent an acknowledging nod in his direction.
As the group settled down a bit, she closed her deep sapphire eyes and took a deep breath. "Words are not entirely capable of explaining everything. Therefore, I will show you." She opened her eyes and within moment you felt magic once again surround her. Some sort of illusion.
......
As you continue watching the scene fades and you are again in the outlands tavern. Astraviim had liquid diamond tears running down her clear face. She quickly wiped the tears from her eyes and returned to face the group. "I was there you know, I fought in that battle six-thousand years ago along with the rest of my people. But now the wretched fell lord Kyros has risen again. Seeking to raise another army of monsters just as he did before."
Foostus stood for a few moments more, dumbfounded by what he had just witnessed. He had just watched a battle that had taken place in ancient history, nigh on six thousand years in the past. He felt humbled to have been given such an honor, but also slightly perturbed.
He unconsciously released a snort and spoke up for the first time since he had arrived.
"So. Let us assume what you are saying is true, Celestial. What exactly do you want us to do about it, if I may ask?" His voice, which rumbled out of his chest, sounded like two rocks being ground together.
He maneuvered his axe over and set it as lightly as he could onto the table. He drew one massive hand up and fiddled with his steel nose ring, a trademark sign that he was mulling something over.
"I have no connections. No family, no friends, no status in Hedrock. I cannot raise an army for you, I am an outcast amongst my own people. All I have is my axe, that is all I can offer you. Also I'm sure that, as old a being as you are, you know of the... issues... that those of my people who defy the Horned King struggle with. Are you sure it would be wise to include me?"
Foostus was quite sure that everyone at the table understood what he was speaking of. They all seemed quite seasoned wanderers, and had no doubt heard of his kind. Some had probably faced them in combat. Still, he felt the need to make it clear now, so that no one would be surprised later; if something went wrong.
He glanced around the table, feeling his gaze drawn towards the half-orc and human. Out of all the party, he felt that these two would be the most likely to hold reservations against him.
A few of the patrons around the table had begun to show a few signs of grumbling and reservations. In particular, the elf and the goblin seemed rather apprehensive to much, let alone wished to stay with this gathering. The small spriteling--or what is a gnome?--stood up and began to flatter the celestial; the dragonborn had no idea if this was something to do with the guest's charm or whether it was out of her own volition... although she had the sneaking suspicion that it was more the former than the latter. Still, the smaller folk were rather adept at keeping their actions and motives hidden... The dragonborn would have to keep an eye on her in the future.
Still, it was not the gnome that caught her off-guard, but rather the burly human in the rust-colored armor that spoke first. Apparently his mind was not at ease with any of this, trying to understand what the celestial's purpose here was and vocalizing everyone's concerns that lingered in the backs of their minds. Of course, Astraviim's appearance was cause enough for alarm, as the human pointed out--if she was the last of her kind, as she claimed to be, then something must surely be amiss, especially if she would stoop so low as to gather a random group of strangers for mercenary work...
Astraviim sighed and twirled her hands through the air, summoning those around the table to a new plane, one where tens of thousands of creatures charged at one another, screaming bloody murder and death to the opponents that they faced down. The air was slightly crisp but it felt as if the dragonborn was frozen to the core. The celestial began to speak of this battle--the Battle of Jericho, which Astraviim further mentioned being a part of nearly six thousand years ago. Another chill flashed down the dragonborn's spine--this could not have been real, could it? It was merely a story, a myth... right?
The scene slowly faded back to that of the tavern; the familiar smell of blood and ale wafted back to the dragonborn's nose and she shuddered slightly. That had all been an illusion, yet it had felt so real! What sort of magic was this creature capable of, and why was she asking the ragtag group of adventurers are the table for her assistance if she had this much power on her own?
"So. Let us assume what you are saying is true, Celestial. What exactly do you want us to do about it, if I may ask?" The minotaur finally spoke after releasing a snort. To be honest, this question had been plaguing the mind of the dragonborn ever since she had come to the table. What were they compared to this creature, indeed... "I have no connections. No family, no friends, no status in Hedrock. I cannot raise an army for you, I am an outcast amongst my own people. All I have is my axe, that is all I can offer you. Also I'm sure that, as old a being as you are, you know of the... issues... that those of my people who defy the Horned King struggle with. Are you sure it would be wise to include me?" The minotaur continued, as if to emphasize his confusion as to why they were all there.
The dragonborn had to admit, though, that she had not seen a minotaur that took the time to think about the reasons as to why they were going to fight. This was something new... something rather unexpected, but something rather welcoming. She watched as he gently placed his axe on the table just to emphasize the size. It was indeed a mighty weapon--perhaps she would have the honor of seeing how well he wielded it; whether he flew into a murderous blood rage because of it, though, remained to be seen...
The dragonborn stood up, hunching over the table with her arms straight and hands flat against the surface. "I must agree with the minotaur... All you have shown us is that you are a quasi-mythical being with abilities in magic beyond our mortal comprehension, nothing more. If there is something that must be done by us mortals, get on with it and tell us instead of weaving tales of grand battles and evil entities of lore...
"...which brings me to my next question--why rely on a group of mortals seemingly chosen at random? Some of us may be honorable, but there are those that have been branded outcast, those that would wish harm upon their kin, some that would steal the clothes off our backs given the chance..." She looked toward the celestial with furrowed brow. "We have been given no pertinent information as to our mission, save for this location for the meeting and the fact that we are being greeted by a celestial. Either get on with what you require of us or I will make my leave."
Lukas Reinhardt
Lukas was nothing short of amazed at how the world around him changed. Such powerful magics, he has heard of such powerful illusion techniques, but nothing on this scale. It had a whole new dimension to it, perhaps he is mistaken. After all he hasn't faced much magic users, only more or less prepared against those who use dark arts, like necromancy and demon summonings. Maybe his inexperience with magic is getting the better of him, perhaps this is normal. Who would know? Perhaps the Dragonborn fellow with the staff? Still this vision felt so real, as if he could reach out and touch the figures within. The vision soon faded and Lukas was left stunned. As he looked around it would seem some of the guests were more attuned or desensitized to such things. They seemed some what surprised but those that spoke seemed unreasonably calm. Perhaps this is normal.
He watched the others and was surprised of the articulation from the Minotaur. Something Lukas was unaware of that could happen. Still his previous thoughts are based on prejudice and he should realize, Minotaurs like Humans, can be different. Still it would seem Minotaur is more concerned of his belonging. Which Lukas is always in thought of. Such a motley crew, what good is he to these people. Sure he can fight, but such an odd gathering, just what is the Celestial thinking? Within little time the female Dragonborn spoke. Her concerns also followed with his own. What was the Celestial hinting at? Does this mission have something to do with such ancient tales, that seem more myth than historical? The appearance of a Celestial already makes him question what he saw, actually happened and not contrived.
Also the Dragonborn's questioning also has Lukas wondering the honesty of their host. She is most likely hiding something, the urgency of her letter without any real cause. The nondescript location set amongst an unusual place. And of course this gathering of a variety of beings. Why such diversity? Wouldn't a group of any members of beings suffice? Variety could have been found, but this group is so different amongst each other. At most there are only two of a single race, other wise we all seem to come from different walks of life. It can't just be mere coincidence this group was not intended of being so diversified. Lukas wonders what the Celestial wants them to do about this supposed problem. Feeling as if he couldn't really add anything of worth at the moment, he awaited for the Celestial to answer. Depending on where this leads will he speak if something doesn't quite fit into place.
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View All » Add Character » 14 Characters to follow in this universe
Newest
Amnetas kes Jaagon
"That's a nice statue you have there, friend. But, it looks like it could do with some exercise."
Marsaadi Songdeath
"Are you not entertai- Oh, who am I fooling. I don't care, just fall down and bleed to death already."
Aristeia kes Faduhrhos
"Prove yourself to me, then we shall talk."
Hamish MacGruddy
"A swiped pint between friends is better than a spilled tankard between enemies."
Foostus
"Don't push it."
Favorin Elenron
"What? What do you mean, you're only a friend?"
Iriesys Laughshield
"Who do you want me to be? I can make myself into your every desire- at a price."
Terra Fizz
"Strength is the measure most care about. Should we not care more for compassion?"
Trending
Hamish MacGruddy
"A swiped pint between friends is better than a spilled tankard between enemies."
Amnetas kes Jaagon
"That's a nice statue you have there, friend. But, it looks like it could do with some exercise."
Aristeia kes Faduhrhos
"Prove yourself to me, then we shall talk."
Terra Fizz
"Strength is the measure most care about. Should we not care more for compassion?"
Foostus
"Don't push it."
Favorin Elenron
"What? What do you mean, you're only a friend?"
Iriesys Laughshield
"Who do you want me to be? I can make myself into your every desire- at a price."
Marsaadi Songdeath
"Are you not entertai- Oh, who am I fooling. I don't care, just fall down and bleed to death already."
Most Followed
Aristeia kes Faduhrhos
"Prove yourself to me, then we shall talk."
Terra Fizz
"Strength is the measure most care about. Should we not care more for compassion?"
Hamish MacGruddy
"A swiped pint between friends is better than a spilled tankard between enemies."
Amnetas kes Jaagon
"That's a nice statue you have there, friend. But, it looks like it could do with some exercise."
Foostus
"Don't push it."
Favorin Elenron
"What? What do you mean, you're only a friend?"
Iriesys Laughshield
"Who do you want me to be? I can make myself into your every desire- at a price."
Marsaadi Songdeath
"Are you not entertai- Oh, who am I fooling. I don't care, just fall down and bleed to death already."
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