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Quest: The Dragon of the Dungeon

Cordelia

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a part of Quest: The Dragon of the Dungeon, by Script.

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Script holds sovereignty over Cordelia, giving them the ability to make limited changes.

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Cordelia

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Cordelia is a part of Quest: The Dragon of the Dungeon.

1 Places in Cordelia:

15 Characters Here

Samuro Dasin [0] A southerner with a taste for meditation, which cannot be done while the world is burning. Sadly. "You all look like you've never seen an orc with a beard before.."
Coriel [0] A nymph who may or may not have forgotten which gender s/he was born, and who may or may not have a clue regarding societal standards of sexuality.
Sigrid Kazagrim [0] A somewhat-violent lady dwarf out to regain the honor of her clan--and a bit of recognition would be nice, too. DISCLAIMER: Accent is probably not accurate at all.
Caluet Skitterson [0] Armed with a cracking post-pubescent voice and a miserably out-of-tune lyre, Caluet (or 'Loot' as he prefers to be called) is on a perilous mission for adventure, song, and sonnet.
Alex [0] "Did I miss out on the fighting? No? Well, good. Because I came here with my rocks, and I intend to throw them at someone whether there's demons or not!"
Kursh Silvermoon [0] "I shall crush you with all the strength of an avalanche and all the majesty of the Screaming Peaks!"
Ralen Shalnorn [0] A young initiate to the services of Palor and willing to throw himself to the fire in order to save the realm.
Drew [0] Probably the only talking horse in all of Cordelia, Drew was created when a mage went a little bit wild with an animation spell. Suffice it to say, the result was not what he expected at all.
Namira [0] An undead mage, lieutenant of Shard. "Yes, yes; whatever you say, oh almighty giant dragon person. Though you might want to consider just killing them. No? 'Kay."

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#, as written by Gasmask
OOC: Whoops, wrong place for post.

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OOC: Wrong Place Sorry :(

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OOC: Augh, wrong location.

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Drew understood the being in front of him just fine. If one can't understand another language, one could hardly hope to speak it. "I can understand you very well, no speed to speak slowly. If I can speak the language, I can sure as Sharad understand it." Hearing the person's reply, he nodded, seeming to understand it. "Aye, dark elves are renowned for their temper. They are second only to dwarfs in their abrasiveness, or so I've heard. I've never met a dark elf before, but from the name they must either all be evil, or all be brooding. Depends on which kind they are. As to myself, why, my name is Drew, and I believe I'm the only talking horse in all of Cordelia. I'm not only rare, I'm unique as well."

"If you want to know more about me, you'll have to spend some money so I can get some new horseshoes. These ones are worn out from all the traveling and I need new ones. Follow me to the local blacksmith, and I'll tell you about myself." Finishing off the food in the small cloth sack, he got up and beckoned the man to follow him before continuing on his own. Not seeing if the man was there or not, (truly, he didn't really care; Drew loved to talk), he began to speak about his history, starting from the beginning.

"Originally, I was born on a farm in the country far to the east of here, probably farther than you've ever been. I grew up, raised by a loving father and a mother who constantly stopped me from going to the hayfield (though I went anyway). It was fine, until I was set to be auctioned off to someone else. It seemed no one wanted to buy me, and I stood in the dusty barn for years. You would not believe how dusty that thing was; it was as if a giant dust monster from the underground kingdom of Dustopolis decided to pay particular attention to that barn. It was disgraceful. Anyway, a mage eventually bought me and decided to practice his spells around me. Now when you're a clumsy mage, practicing around anything alive is usually a bad idea, but he did it anyway. One day, he tried doing an animation spell on a log, hit me instead, and then the rest is history. Ah, here we are."

It had taken him a little while to get to the blacksmith, but most people learned fast to get out of the way of a horse tha didn't rightly care if it trampled someone. The blacksmith looked pretty nice, with an outdoor entrance and sign showing the stereotypical hammer hitting an anvil. In fact, it seemed almost every blacksmith had that sign. Telling them apart was going to become rather difficult. He noticed the blacksmith, apparently working while a dwarf and some other fellow engaged in conversation. Turning around, he tried to find the man "Hey, where are you?" The crowd was particularly thick and it was hard to find a specific person.

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"He doesnae expect us tae return, is whit Ah hink," the dwarf said conspiratorially, eyeing the weapons that Arrow had pointed out on his person with vague interest. Though they were not the weapons she woluld have used, he was not trying to convince her to do so, so Sigrid saw no reason to give him the same kind of tongue lashing she had just given the blacksmith.

"Do you forge weapons here?"

For some unknown reason, probably something to do with either pride or temper, Sigrid felt the need to answer this question for the human smithy, effectively putting her conversation with Arrow on hold. "Och aye, if ye want tae caa those decrepit huntin' kni'es weapons!" she called out, her expression a cross between her obvious disdain for the man's craft and the pleasure she got from pointing out his flaws. "Ye'd be better aff fightin' bare-handed, unless yoo're skinnin' rats!"

With that, she returned to the previous conversation, regarding the little outburst as though it had never happened. "Ah hink his highness doesnae want tae waste his valuable trained soldiers, but he doesnae want tae be seen as a coward by his fowk. We're cannon fodder, sae he can shaw 'at he's makin' an effort withit losin' anythin' valuable. Or at leest, that's hoo he sees it." The dwarf shrugged her shoulders, a knowing smile on her face. "Way Ah see it, there's naethin' special abit a glaikit dragon, except he has puckle tricks up his sleeve 'at we're nae privy tae. We've got waur in th' lands belaw than ye topsiders gie us credit fur, eh'd wager, an' mair ay 'em besides."

Sigrid had only heard tales of Shard so far, had not seen anything of his handiwork, and as such, she had no idea whether or not he was truly an opponent to be feared. What she did know, however, was that a pair of dwarves could take a scouting company of drow without a problem, and that with the right fighters on the front line, even their matron mothers, high priestesses to the Spider Queen, bent and broke under the might of a dwarven axe. Surely a dragon could not be so much worse than that.


"Oh, that's nothing," Coriel said, excited to be coming along, no matter how brief her conversation with the drow turned out to be. "I mean, at least or--Err, Southerners are supposed to have a vague grasp on language. I saw a talking horse the other day--didn't stop and chat or anything, but you run into just about everybody in this city if you live here long enough, loquacious quadrupeds included. Did you know, there are absolutely know laws written for sentient non-humanoids?" Coriel was feeling talkative--after all, she had just made a new friend!

It had been a long time since she'd had a new friend, she recalled, thinking back on the boy with fond memories. Alright, so he hadn't really been what one could have called a friend, although he probably referred to himself as such. Coriel had been rather close to him, though he had never been a lover or anything like that--he'd been far too weirded out by the nymph's tendency to switch gender without notice, and even with notice, it had a tendency to bother him.

She had decided shortly after his death that love was a fantastic thing, when it happened to someone else. That had been a few years, though, and it was at least time to start making friends again. It was terribly hard to make friends when you were stealing from them, after all, and that had been Coriel's most recent roadblock on the matter.

Or perhaps that was her talking. But if that was the case, she hadn't noticed yet.

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Drew nodded to Vincent as he was lead into the shop. Besides the unruly dwarf and the human off to one side, the shop was pretty empty. This guy must not have gotten many customers, though from what he could hear the dwarf say, she had a good reason as to why. He grew a little nervous; what if this man wasn't a skilled blacksmith? He could fit the shoes wrong and then I could be walking for a limp for weeks. Oh that would be just terrible. I don't want to be known as the only limping talking horse in all of Cordelia. That would ruin my reputation!, he thought to himself on one of his many extended inner monologues that the heroes always did in those stories. At least the ones he had gotten a glimpse of before being summarily kicked out of the book store.

The store itself had some rather plain decor, though it was a blacksmith after all. The walls were all a dingy brown, though in some places you could probably watch the paint peal and find it entertaining. There were axes, swords, throwing dagger,s and various other weapons hanging from the walls as well as lying at ground level. The blacksmith himself was a human, a little short and plump with a pretty big beard. Ah, humans weren't known for their excellent craftsmanship, which was why was this man being ragged for his apparently sub-par quality. He would have to find out, this was interesting. He carefully maneuvered himself around the objects gingerly. He didn't want to stab himself by stepping on one of the those swords after all.

Moving by the dwarf and the human, he turned towards them, making a small clicking noise with his mouth as if he, before emitting a small whistling noise. If they turned around they'd see him walking into the back of the store as usual, as if nothing had happened. It was fun messing with people that way; most people didn't realize it was a horse doing those things after all. After getting into the back, he turned to the blacksmith and said "My friend will be paying for the costs. As for the size I believe I'm a size 7 though you'll have to check." He lamented the fact that there were no laws governing talking horse but there was a standardized method of measuring hoof sizes. This kingdom certainly was a very strange place.

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#, as written by Gasmask
The nagamuri decided it was best to leave. He didn't want a hunting knife. He turned and exited the bar. He watched the streets, the ground crunched beneath his feet. The southerner hated being called an orc. In-fact, the word orc in nagamuri culture was deemed to be highly insulting, people died when they called a Nagamuri an orc. It was dishonorable death to, usually involving an everyday item used to brutally murder or hurt the one who called the slur. Because that's what it was in Nagamuri culture. A racial slur.

Samuro folded his arms. Examining his nails as he watched people pass him. His eyes passing along them. The nagamuri were a rare sight to most people, surprisingly half of the peasants increased their walking speed. Samuro grinned and waited for something to happen.

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After the blacksmith had finished with the horseshoes, Drew wised for the love of Sharad that he could see them and make sure the craftsmanship was up to his standards. It would make for an incredibly bad coincidence if on his journey they broke down right in front of a a really big monster. He had absolutely no wish to become monster-food in some kind of horrid black cook pot, mixed in with some eye of newt. Are there potions that have ingredients made from horses in them? he casually thought as he walked out of the horseshoeing area of the shop and went back to Vincent. That man would be a remarkable source of income for him.

He was about to reply with the statement, even going so far as saying "Well we should get going-" however then the annoying procession of guards with their loud voices marched past the building, looking for all the world like a marching band without instruments, telling everyone within reach to get to an inn before curfew. Turning back to Vincent, he said "apparently to the nearest inn with a dragon's head above the door.I happen to know such a place (you don't get to be a talking horse without walking through the city's streets after all), so follow me and make sure to to tell the owner I'm your horse. I have no money after all."

Heading out of the store he didn't check to see whether Vincent was following him. Truth be told he could probably sneak his way into a stable by knocking the stableboys out cold with his brand new horseshoes. They probably wouldn't suffer any sort of permanent brain damage; probably, at least. He had a slight curiosity of what could possibly cause his untimely doom, but he figured unless it caused a sound that could be heard from the city walls it wouldn't concern him. He causally trotted along like this for a few minutes before getting to an inn called The Dragon's Tail, with the image of a dragon's head at the front. "Ah, this looks to be the place. I hope you have the money to afford a room here because this was closest and I am not walking any farther on account of the threat of my untimely doom looming over my head this very instant."

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Panting, Alex reached the castle walls. The horde of gargoyles had mostly died down (just her luck of course), except for a few stragglers that decided to stick around and see what exactly was running towards the castle. She dispatched them as easily as the others that had met her on the top of the hill (if not faster since she knew what to expect from a measly two of them), and kept up an easy jog into the kingdom itself. It was eerily silent at the moment, and she was trying to soften her footsteps so she could hear more of what was around her. She tried to avoid looking at the bodies of the civilians unfortunate enough to not make it inside before the horde struck, keeping her head down respectfully.
But as she slowed to a walk and passed a house with a shattered window, she was able to listen more closely, and Alex heard some high pitched screeching and inclined her ear to listen.

"Oh, more gargoyles? Okay, so I think I did not miss too much, then. I imagine I made very good time running here as well," She said to herself, feeling the strain in her legs as she continued at a brisk walk towards the horrible sound of the screeching beasts.
She wasn't too sure what she would find, but she drew her sling and prepared a stone just to be ready, because in times like this being ready was what made the difference between life and death.