Introduction
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(c) Entity of Sin and Cryptic Worlds
About:
The Chronicles of Varnic: Calitora Prime is a roleplay designed to deliver an epic dark fantasy experience rich with political turmoil, wars between neighboring nations, civil unrest, heavy moral choices, and a world plunged into a state of hatred, destruction, and terror. Old history will reveal itself while new is forged through the actions of the players. Enemies will be made, allies will be gained, and the lands across the story's world will be explored and new discoveries that would not normally be made will be made. The Chronicles of Varnic contains many classic aspects of your typical fantasy world. There are dungeons, quests, and journeys to be explored and completed. Endless possibilities await those that enter the story, collaborate, and build upon an already rich and vibrant world waiting to be unveiled to public eyes.
This roleplay will function off of the Varnic universe concept created by the roleplay's Creator, Entity of Sin, as the basis and standard for the first dimension within the Varnic universe. For a greater explanation of this concept, please refer to the information under the Varnic place information under the Place tab. The world this roleplay will exist on is on the planet called Calitora Prime in the Dimension 1 universe set within Varnic.
Guidelines:
- You are allowed to make a character of any kind that doesn't use magical abilities. The more original the better though so please keep that in mind and I won't accept characters I suspect are a complete rehash of popular anime, movies, and television show characters. Let's try and venture into the realm of originality as much as possible. Profile changes to your character should be announced in the OOC thread. Only one character is allowed per roleplayer until otherwise stated or exceptions are made. Just ask if you have a particular idea in mind.
- Collaborate with one another on everything. This can include additional plot device characters as well and not just story progression. If an idea is liked enough it will be used completely or partially to help progress the roleplay forward in the direction that I want it to be moved in.
- Respect other people. There will be disagreements but I do hope when they happen they will be manageable. God modding, metagaming, or any other form of unauthorized actions that prove harmful to the RP's success, progression, and otherwise enjoyment for all parties involved is strictly punished. This is something I will go to a moderator/admin for if it gets out of hand. Things in this RP are put in place for a reason. Learn to accept it or get the hell out.
- Try to post at least once every 5 to 7 days. I really dislike having to remind people to post. I will kill off someone's character if they aren't posting as often as I would like them or I might make the character go 'missing' for a while until some use can be created. I have no issues of kicking someone out of the roleplay too. So please, post. It isn't that hard of a deadline to meet and it's meant to keep things moving along so the roleplay doesn't die of inactivity. I also don't want to see everyone post around the hour upon every hour. Give others the chance to post and things will run pretty smoothly.
- I am the lord and sheppard of this roleplay. My word is the law. I'm a fair man and don't mind ideas being thrown my way. It is basic to say I have the final word on things but I won't be a dick about it.
- I can't stress this enough. Proofread your posts for grammar and spelling. The extra amount of time you take in doing this will make the post look better overall. I can tell if someone has proofread for grammar and spelling mistakes the first time through. If this means your post is delayed by a day, that's fine. The idea is to keep the quality of posts being made a constant and not drop at all.
- Posting is rather simple. There are two methods to posting under the correct place in the roleplay. You can post through the Activity tab or through the Place tab. If you post through the Activity tab, please make sure that you change the Place through the drop down menu to the correct one. This is to make sure that all the posts are in the correct location. Before you post, double check the name of the place you are posting under so unnecessary posts under the wrong thing are being avoided. Also, this is not a chat based roleplay.
- Enjoy the story that I have presented and take pleasure in collaborating with me in making it that much more epic of an experience!
Progression:
I figured this is something I'll need to cover. Progression into the story is going to be the main focal point of this roleplay. I'm not talking about the story behind each character, those things are minor at best, but mainly the overall story within the world of Calitora Prime of what's going on that the characters are experiencing. So with this in mind I'll be structuring the roleplay into parts, chapters, campaigns, etc. to better organize the progression of the roleplay. I'll make sure that in the Places Tab that each chapter, part, campaign, etc. have objectives listed in their details explaining what needs to happen to end that part of the roleplay and transition into the next. The idea is to make that transition process as seamless as possible. Since this is how things are going to work, I will have to say that if you don't post under the correct Place in the roleplay through the Activity Tab, there is a chance your post will get deleted.
Places Tab:
Official details about specific areas, locations, etc. that I create a Place for under the tab will contain more detailed information about that place, such as official history, lore, etc. Please do refer back to Rule #6 on how to post correctly so all the information of our posts are neatly organized and placed under the correct Place in the roleplay.
Please post under Chapter 1 for the time being in the Places Tab. It will make things a lot easier if we post under the correct location in the roleplay for organization purposes.
Part 1: The Journey
The main characters within this part of the roleplay will experience political corruption, betrayal, deceit, murder, horrifying dungeons, and more. The vast lands that cover Calitora Prime are rich with unknown adventures that will deliver vibrant experiences to everyone's roleplaying experience. During the respective chapters of Part 1, everyone's characters will be exploring the kingdom of Riv'nar, bringing fame and fortune to their name, and becoming the heroes of a kingdom under such political corruption, civil unrest, turmoil, and nearly at war with itself.
Organizations and Power Groups:
I don't expect any of you to be a part of any of these organizations or power groups. These are just notable ones that I've thought up right now.
The Order:
A very protective organization that manages a tight and strict code with the Riv'nar Templar. Only by passing a series of extremely dangerous and nearly impossible feats of ability and strength can one become a Templar. Upon graduation of these trials, the graduate is imbued with a small portion of magic generated by an artifact leftover by Atto, the God of Balance, that was left behind long ago. The exact name of this organization is only known by the members of The Order. Speaking the name to outsiders is strictly forbidden and punishable by execution.
Skyhawk Knights:
This organization of knights track down, capture, and sometimes execute rogue spellcasters within the borders of Riv'nar that refuse to be a part of the Magi Order. Skyhawk Knights aren't exclusive to just humans but to all races that wish to defend Riv'nar from internal conflicts and threats from rogue spellcasters and to bring them to the Magi Order or be executed for their crimes against the kingdom. Templar sometimes aid the Skyhawk Knights but are generally left to their own devices while Skyhawk Knights carry out their individual operations. Skyhawk Knights are made up of only citizens of the higher social classes of Riv'nar's society, such as the high-born. Impeding in the operations of a Skyhawk Knight will generally be met with swift hostility with no questions asked afterwards. The general perception of this organization is looked at with great malice and contempt in how they conduct business on behalf of the kingdom. One of the most common traits among them is their superiority complex and arrogant behavior.
The Royal Family:
The royal family is lead by the king and queen of Riv'nar. This family of pure blood royalty oversees the entirety of their kingdom's laws, borders, trade routes, commerce of all kinds, and management of the armies through seeking council with the high ranking generals. Despite all of this, the appearance they create towards the public is just a mask for a greater ambition than to simply have a powerful nation behind them during rough economical times. There is always the constant threat of the Yaraba and Naga of the Sparrowight marshlands and forests. The royal family is built upon secrets upon secrets and are weaved elaborately with each other to hide any falsehoods around them.
Night Shade Thieves:
Organized and managed by the Drow, the Night Shade Thieves are an organization that are wide-ranging guild of thieves, spies and assassins who perform particularly dangerous, evil-aligned and lucrative ventures. Their activities, unlike those of most thieving guilds, are not limited to a single city and they range the length of the kingdom of Riv'nar territories. The Night Shade Thieves are based in Valmar, in central Fang Forest between the Frozen Kingdom and Ironfist Mountains, where they have a massive training complex and a testing ground for assassins they sponsor. This group was once the thieves guild of Selee, until they were driven out of that city by the Lords of Selee. This secretive organization appears to have reached some sort of agreement with the merchants of Riv'nar, though no one knows of the agreement's contents. Under this pact, the merchant lords leave the Night Shade Thieves alone and are in turn left alone. The Night Shade Thieves operate all over Riv'nar; their trademark is a black silk mask impaled upon a stiletto blade (usually used in assassinations, or left behind at the scene a garrote or poison is employed instead). No names, descriptions, or even numbers of Night Shade Thief agents are known; extremely experienced operators are thought to be few.
Marnina Trading Guild:
This guild was allowed to formed to help regulate the vast network of goods and services being purchased, traded, and acquired by other means that are less lawful to the citizens of Calitora Prime. At first, this guild was mainly to keep the merchants in Riv'nar in check with taxes and pricing of those goods and services. Since that time, the guild has grown to encompass the entire continent of Calitora Prime and help maintain the commerce within all the nations. All races are welcome to join the guild and the guild has a headquarters in each major city of every race. When war breaks out, the guild terminates all business transactions between the warring nations to prevent themselves from being targets of aggression to minimize collateral damage to any product that is being transported.
FAQ Links:
Below will be links to posts in the OOC thread that may help answer questions you have regarding certain topics. Check this section first before posting a question.
Question: (5-23-2011) Are you accepting more roleplayers?
Answer: I don't want to say that I'm not definitely accepting roleplayers. It really boils down to how well you can make your character, talk with me to find out what I need in the roleplay (if I even know that answer), and then being able to play a character of a specific role to give more variety in the roleplay.
Magic System:
Notice: Magic is intended to be rare. Do not expect your character to be allowed to start with magical abilities. In time, any character can gain some kind of magical ability but it will be very unlikely you will start with any or even gain any throughout the entire roleplay. If you have a question regarding something about how magic will function in this roleplay's world/universe, then you need to post that question in the OOC thread so it can be brought to everyone's attention.
How Magic Works:
Magic functions as a mysterious energy source that was created by three The Makers: Atto, God of Balance; Taro, God of Destruction; and Harro, God of Harmony. The artifacts they left behind slowly have passed around the inhabitants of Calitora Prime, become lost, discovered, and then lost again to turn into relics of the past that treasure hunters seek after for their rarity, power, and wealth they possess. It is these objects that have granted the mortal races of Calitora Prime the ability to use magic, study it, and evolve the art into one of their own. Each race has developed their own unique style that is kept secret inside their own circle of rulers, leaders, and elders to maintain an edge against their neighboring nation's own magic.
Magic is imbued into objects to give them a source of extraordinary ability. A spell could be placed on an object to give the object that spell's effect. Once the object uses the spell, it still remains imbued with that magical spell's effect until the object is destroyed itself. The regeneration of the magical energies imbued in an object is determined by the amount of magical energy imbued into the object. The essence of a creature could be used as a component to imbue an object with magic and in turn make that object possessed. The most notable object of Calitora Prime's history is the legendary Ancient Sword called Hellrox. Notably named after the last Ancient King during the dark ages of Calitora Prime.
Below is a listing of the different make ups and categories of spells.
Spell Components:
A spell's components are what you must do or possess to cast it. The Components entry in a spell description includes abbreviations that tell you what type of components it has. Usually you don't worry about components, but when you can't use a component for some reason or when a material or focus component is expensive, then the components are important.
Verbal: A verbal component is a spoken incantation. To provide a verbal component, you must be able to speak in a strong voice. A Silence spell or a gag spoils the incantation (and thus the spell). A spellcaster who has been deafened has a 20% chance to spoil any spell with a verbal component that he or she tries to cast.
Somatic: A somatic component is a measured and precise movement of the hand. You must have at least one hand free to provide a somatic component.
Material: A material component is one or more physical substances or objects that are annihilated by the spell energies in the casting process. Unless a cost is given for a material component, the cost is negligible. Most spellcasters don't bother to keep track of material components with negligible cost.
Focus: A focus component is a prop of some sort. Unlike a material component, a focus is not consumed when the spell is cast and can be reused. As with material components, the cost for a focus is negligible unless a price is given.
Divine Focus: A divine focus component is an item of spiritual significance. The divine focus for a cleric or a paladin is a holy symbol appropriate to the character's faith. For an evil cleric, the divine focus is an unholy symbol. The default divine focus for a druid or a ranger is a spring of mistletoe or holly.
Schools of Magic:
Magic is a complex regulatory system of laws. Each spell has side effects that an individual must understand. A spell can render the caster breathing heavily, immobilized, unconscious, or even dead. Spell casting follows the ancient language of elves. To know a spell you must first understand the language magic is written in. Since magic is such a complex regulatory system of laws, it has been broken up into eight main school categories: abjuration, conjuration, divination, enchantment, evocation, illusion, necromancy, and transmutation. Each category has their own regulatory system of laws that make up the regulatory system.
Duration of spells references to the time needed to cast for a particular spell. The longer the spell cast generally indicates the more powerful the spell is. Magic spells are placed into level brackets to help determine the strength of the spell. Spells range in level from zero to nine in strength of the spell's ability and side effects to the caster. Duration of a spell ranges from a couple seconds upon the words spoken to several minutes afterwards.
Notice: During the point in which someone gains or starts possessing magical abilities will be monitored heavily. These kind of 'powers' can easily be abused and are rarely used correctly. If I find someone abusing this, then I will find a way to remove their powers through the roleplay's story. Magic is fun and having a powerful character is also fun. So let us try and keep the fun in the game as much as possible.
Abjuration: Abjurations are protective spells. They create physical or magical barriers, negate magical or physical abilities, harm trespassers, or even banish the subject of the spell to another plane of existence. Representative spells include Protection from Evil, Dispel Magic, Anti-magic Field, and Banishment.
If abjuration creates a barrier that keeps certain types of creatures at bay, that barrier cannot be used to push away those creatures. If you force the barrier against such a creature, you feel a discernible pressure against the barrier. If you continue to apply pressure, you end the spell.
Conjuration: Each conjuration spell belongs to one of five subschools. Conjurations bring manifestations of objects, creatures, or some form of energy to you (the summoning school), actually transport creatures from another plane of existence to your plane (calling), heal (healing), transport creatures or objects over great distances (teleportation), or create objects of effects on the spot (creation). Creatures you conjure usually, but not always, obey your commands. Representative spells include the various Summon Creature spells, Heal Light Wounds, Raise Dead, Teleport, and Wall of Iron.
A creature or object brought into being or transported to your location by a conjuration spell cannot appear inside another creature or object, nor can it appear floating in an empty space. It must arrive in an open location on a surface capable of support it. The creature or object must appear within the spell's range, but it does not have to remain within the range.
- Calling: A calling spell transports a creature from another plane to the plane you are on. the spell grants the creature the one-time ability to return to its plane of origin, although the spell may limit the circumstances under which this is possible. Creatures who are called actually die when they are killed; they do not disappear and reform, as do those brought by a summoning spell (see below). The duration of a calling spell is instantaneous, which means that the called creature can't be dispelled.
- Creation: A creation spell manipulates matter to create an object or creature in the place of the spellcaster designates (subject to the limits noted above). If the spell has a duration other than instantaneous, magic holds the creation together, and when the spell ends, the conjured creature or object vanishes without a trace. If the spell has an instantaneous duration, the created object or creature is merely assembled through magic. It lasts indefinitely and does not depend on magic for its existence.
- Healing: Certain divine conjurations heal creatures or even bring them back to life. These include heal spells.
- Summoning: A summoning spell instantly brings a creature or object to a place you designate. When the spell ends or is dispelled, a summoned creature is instantly sent back to where it came from, but a summoned object is not sent back unless the spell description specifically indicates this. A summoned creature also goes away if it is killed or if it sustains heavy injuries. It is not really dead when it goes away either. It takes 24 hours for the creature to reform, during which time it can't be summoned again. When the spell that summoned a creature ends and the creature disappears, all the spells it has cast expire.
- Teleportation: A teleportation spell transports one or more creatures or objects a great distance. The most powerful of these spells can cross planar boundaries. Unlike summoning spells, the transportation is (unless otherwise noted) one-way and not dispellable. Teleportation is instantaneous travel through the Astral Plane. Anything that blocks astral travel also blocks teleportation.
Divination: Divination spells enable you to learn secrets long forgotten, to predict the future, to find hidden things, and to foil deceptive spells. Representative spells include Identify, Detect Thoughts, Clairauddience/Clairvoyance, and True Seeing.
Many divination spells have cone-shaped areas. These move with you and extend in the direction you look. The cone defines the area that you can sweep in an area. If you study the same area for multiple minutes (unless otherwise noted), you can often gain additional information, as noted in the descriptive text for the spell.
- Scrying: A scrying spell creates an invisible magical sensor that sends you information. Unless noted otherwise, the sensor has the same powers of a sensory acuity that you possess. This level of acuity includes any spells or effects that target you (such as Darkvision or See Invisibility), but not spells or effects that emanate from you (such as Detect Evil). However, the senor is treated as a separate, independent sensory organ of yours, and thus it functions normally even if you have been blinded, deafened, or otherwise suffered a sensory impairment. Lead sheeting or magical protection (such as Anti-magic Field, Mind Blank, or Nondetection) blocks a scrying spell, and you sense that the spell is so blocked.
Enchantment: Enchantment spells affect the minds of others, influencing or controlling their behavior. Representative spells include Charm Person and Suggestion.
All enchantments are mind-affecting spells. Two types of enchantment spells grant you influence over a subject creature.
- Charm: A charm spell changes how the subject views you, typically making it see you as a good friend.
- Compulsion: A compulsion spell forces the subject to act in some manner or changes the way her mind works. Some compulsion spells determine the subject's actions of the effect on the subject, some compulsion spells allow you to determine the subject's actions when you cast the spell, and others give you ongoing control over the subject.
Evocation: Evocation spells manipulate energy or tap an unseen source of power to produce a desired end. In effect, they create something out of nothing. Many of these spells produce a spectacular effects, and evocation spells can deal large amounts of damage. Representative spells include Magic Missile, Fireball, and Lightning Bolt.
Illusion: Illusion spells deceive the senses or minds of others. They cause people to see things that are not there, not to see things that are there, hear phantom noises, or remember things that never happened. Representative illusions include Silent Image, Invisibility, and Veil. Illusions come in five types: figments, glamers, patterns, phantasms, and shadows.
- Figment: A figment spell creates a false sensation. Those who perceive the figment perceive the same thing, not their own slightly different versions of the figment. (it is not a personalized mental impression.) Figments cannot make something seem to be something else. A figment that includes audible effects cannot duplicate intelligible speech unless the spell description specifically says it can. If intelligible speed is possible, it must be in a language you can speak. If you try to duplicate a language you cannot speak, the image produces gibberish. Likewise, you cannot make a visual copy of something unless you know what it looks like.
Because figments and glamers (see below) are unreal, they cannot produce real effects the way the other types of illusions can. They cannot cause damage to objects or creatures, support weight, provide nutrition, or provide protection from the elements. Consequently, these spells are useful for confounding or delaying foes, but useless for attacking them directly. For example, it is possible to use a Silent Image spell to create an illusory cottage, but the cottage offers no protection from rain. - Glamer: A glamer spell changes a subject's sensory qualities, making it look, feel, taste, smell, or sound like something else, or even seem to disappear.
- Pattern: Like a figment, a pattern spell creates an image that others can see, but a pattern also affects the minds of those who see it or are caught in it. All patterns are mind-affecting spells.
- Phantasm: A phantasm spell creates a mental image that usually only the caster and the subject (or subjects) of the spell can perceive. This impression is totally in the minds of the subjects. It is a personalized mental impression (It's all in their heads and not a fake picture or something that they actually see.) Third parties viewing or studying the scene don't notice the phantasm. All phantasm are mind-affecting spells.
- Shadow: A shadow spell creates something that is partially real from extradimensional energy. Such illusions can have real effects. Damage dealt by a shadow illusion is real.
Necromancy: Necromancy spells manipulate the power of death, unlife, and the life force. Spells involving undead creatures make up a large part of this school. Representative spells include Cause Fear, Animate Dead, and Finger of Death.
Transmutation: Transmutation spells change the properties of some creature, thing, or condition. Representative spells include Enlarge Person, Reduce Person, Polymorph, and Shapechange.
- 25 posts here • Page 1 of 1
The Story So Far... Write a Post » as written by 5 authors
Setting
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In this world, is the destiny of mankind controlled by some transcendental entity or law? Is it like the hand of God hovering above? At least it is true that man has no control; even over his own will.
Vantia is a large town that brings much of its revenue from the gladiatorial arena. It's often a place where much commerce in Cadan is conducted in slave trading, weapons and armor crafting, and lucrative activities of illegal nature. It is a town that many desires can be fulfilled with the proper exchange of coin.
It is here that mercenaries look for new recruits, alchemists venture into shops to acquire items and knowledge, and where adventurers gather to find work. It is here where a new journey takes place for many.
So the chronicles of Varnic begin at the large town called Vantia on Calitora Prime where the roars of the crowd are honored by the blood of warriors spilled on the sandy floors of the arena. You take your seat just in time to see the last round of bloodsport to begin. Both combatants enter the arena at the same time and a single name can be heard chanted by the crowd. You are able to make out the name as 'Artanis'. This is the same name known to many, who favor the games, as the elven gladiatorial champion who has fought in the arena for several hundred years.
The setting changes from Chapter 1: Freedom to Varnic Universe
Setting
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Mertan couldn't help but chant along. He was a captive of the arena's atmosphere.
"Ar-ta-nis! Ar-ta-nis! Ar-ta-nis!" He chanted, looking down at the elven champion.
Mertan had had a great deal of luck to get in. The arena had been filled up quite fast, and Mertan had had himself a front seat.
The last battle of the day, and what a fight it would be. He could actually feel the air buzz with anticipation.
People around him, were finer dressed than he, but he ignored the fact that he looked like a pig in a chicken coop.
Most of the people around him were a little overweight, and wore fine clothes.
Those who sat just besides him all had grimaces. Wrinkling their noses at something, although Mertan couldn't make out what.
Maybe they just allways looked like that... poor souls.
Mertan himself sat with his large backpack at his feet. No need to have it in his lap.
He was absent-mindedly biting at his thumbnail. A bad habit, which he had no intention of breaking.
His short blonde hair shone brightly golden in the sunlight. The source of a lot of dismay among the finer folks around him.
His hair actually DID smell like... goose-fat? And that wasn't the best of smells.
His clothes hanging slackly down, worn out and dirty from the long time on the road. Although his white linen shirt underneath was washed and clean, which of course couldn't be seen from the outside. His appearance was very much in the style of one, who'd won enough to see the fight, by gambling. Which might be true, for all they knew.
He sat there, enthralled by the spectacle, even though the battle hadn't started yet.
But he was interrupted. A sneeze was massing up in the back of his head, and he could but draw back his face in a grimace.
"A-a-a- - - WATCHU!!!" the spittle flew out of his mouth, but luckily for him, no one really noticed. Most were too busy chanting.
Mertan dried off his face, using his sleeve. Then focused back on the arena floor. Hoping that something would happen soon enough.
Time was passing by so slowly when you had to wait.
"Ar-ta-nis! Ar-ta-nis! Ar-ta-nis!" He chanted, looking down at the elven champion.
Mertan had had a great deal of luck to get in. The arena had been filled up quite fast, and Mertan had had himself a front seat.
The last battle of the day, and what a fight it would be. He could actually feel the air buzz with anticipation.
People around him, were finer dressed than he, but he ignored the fact that he looked like a pig in a chicken coop.
Most of the people around him were a little overweight, and wore fine clothes.
Those who sat just besides him all had grimaces. Wrinkling their noses at something, although Mertan couldn't make out what.
Maybe they just allways looked like that... poor souls.
Mertan himself sat with his large backpack at his feet. No need to have it in his lap.
He was absent-mindedly biting at his thumbnail. A bad habit, which he had no intention of breaking.
His short blonde hair shone brightly golden in the sunlight. The source of a lot of dismay among the finer folks around him.
His hair actually DID smell like... goose-fat? And that wasn't the best of smells.
His clothes hanging slackly down, worn out and dirty from the long time on the road. Although his white linen shirt underneath was washed and clean, which of course couldn't be seen from the outside. His appearance was very much in the style of one, who'd won enough to see the fight, by gambling. Which might be true, for all they knew.
He sat there, enthralled by the spectacle, even though the battle hadn't started yet.
But he was interrupted. A sneeze was massing up in the back of his head, and he could but draw back his face in a grimace.
"A-a-a- - - WATCHU!!!" the spittle flew out of his mouth, but luckily for him, no one really noticed. Most were too busy chanting.
Mertan dried off his face, using his sleeve. Then focused back on the arena floor. Hoping that something would happen soon enough.
Time was passing by so slowly when you had to wait.
Setting
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= Gamaliel of Merkhava =
Clouds of dust plumed along the Via Vantia, cluttering the roads with dirt as the sun reached its apogee. It was late noon and the fires of the burning sun's signaled the end of another day. Most arriving traffic proved light as much of the day’s business had concluded and save for the large wagon train occupying the road, few other travelers trekked through this direction of the Vantian way. As the wagons rolled past, the occupant commodities were visible from the iron bars forming around the cages. A towering, cloaked figure watched as the wagons rolled, staring into the frightened pairs of eyes looking back at him from behind the wagon’s cage bars. From their looks of despair and youthful features, the occupants could not have been more than eleven years of age. The figure merely looked on, watching helplessly as the drivers cracked their whips, urging their mounts forwards as several armed escorts flanked the cages.
Slave traders returning from another successful slave run and no doubt setting their eyes upon the Vantian marketplace. Once the precious stock had reached the markets, profits would burden their pouches enough for drink, women, dice, and lavish souvenirs. As the escorts moved past, most eyed his modest entourage of loyal followers, gripping their blades with suspicion as they proceeded further down the Via Vantia. Gamaliel Fureidis, leader of the mounted entourage looked back, returning the favor with a piercingly stare, unyielding to their intimidating stares.
Such a waste … he thought.
Though slavery proved a common aspect of life, the mention of selling living humans to better one’s fortunes disgusted Gamaliel. Shackling an innocent to a life of forced servitude ranked amongst the lowest of scum and for what? Coin? Shifty women? Indulgences of gluttony at the expense of another’s livelihood? Where was law when Riv’Nar’s subjects needed them most? Gamaliel could do nothing for the slaves lest he summon wrath of the Vantian urban constable or the might of a dozen Riv’Narian cohorts snapping at his heels. No, he knew better than to risk upon the pursuance of foolish gallantries and he couldn’t afford to right the countless injustices committed by an army of criminals.
“Sir,” said a voice behind him, “The games commence within the hour; best blood sport of the century.”
Gamaliel turned to find his armored adjutant riding behind himself. Shifting within his saddle, the towering horseman glanced up towards the late noon sun and nodded, rubbing his rust colored beard with acknowledgement.
“We’d best be off then, Maximinius,” he answered firmly, “Alert the guard of our arrival and inform the others we ride for the arena.”
The armored companion nodded and saluted before wheeling the mount around and kicking off in the opposite direction. The retinue of rear following mounted guards set off a moment later, trailing a mountain of dust as they veered off the Via Vantia, following the composed horseman and he galloped off into the setting sun. The bustling town of Vantia stood only a few miles away and further journeying down the Vantian highway proved all that was necessary to reach the Vantian arena.
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The Arena with erupted with electricity as the last round of gladiatorial games commenced. Artanis, the legendary elven gladiator emerged amidst cries of approval to his continued presence.
“Ta-nis, Ta-nis, Ta-nis, Ta-nis,” the crowd screamed, many pumping their fists into the air, others stamping their feet in favor.
Even members of the Arena guard clacked their spear butts at the crowd’s direction, lending support to the undefeated gladiator champion. A figure cloaked in sky blue sat in his seat a few dozen meters away, watching patiently and waiting for the final round’s commencement. The sneeze of a young blonde haired man brought about renewed attention to Artanis and gently retrieving the knots of his silver neck chain, Gamaliel pinned the sapphire embedded ring to his head, offering a blessing from the God of Harmony to guide the elven gladiator to victory. His blessing wadded through a sea of commotion, delivering his words in concentrated grace. When he'd finished, the cloaked man turned and gazed at the sun again, watching and waiting. The sun was setting and the last rays of light shone down near the elf’s position, amplified his presence with a mist of moving dust. The day was good as any to fight glorious battle and there could be only one victor …
Clouds of dust plumed along the Via Vantia, cluttering the roads with dirt as the sun reached its apogee. It was late noon and the fires of the burning sun's signaled the end of another day. Most arriving traffic proved light as much of the day’s business had concluded and save for the large wagon train occupying the road, few other travelers trekked through this direction of the Vantian way. As the wagons rolled past, the occupant commodities were visible from the iron bars forming around the cages. A towering, cloaked figure watched as the wagons rolled, staring into the frightened pairs of eyes looking back at him from behind the wagon’s cage bars. From their looks of despair and youthful features, the occupants could not have been more than eleven years of age. The figure merely looked on, watching helplessly as the drivers cracked their whips, urging their mounts forwards as several armed escorts flanked the cages.
Slave traders returning from another successful slave run and no doubt setting their eyes upon the Vantian marketplace. Once the precious stock had reached the markets, profits would burden their pouches enough for drink, women, dice, and lavish souvenirs. As the escorts moved past, most eyed his modest entourage of loyal followers, gripping their blades with suspicion as they proceeded further down the Via Vantia. Gamaliel Fureidis, leader of the mounted entourage looked back, returning the favor with a piercingly stare, unyielding to their intimidating stares.
Such a waste … he thought.
Though slavery proved a common aspect of life, the mention of selling living humans to better one’s fortunes disgusted Gamaliel. Shackling an innocent to a life of forced servitude ranked amongst the lowest of scum and for what? Coin? Shifty women? Indulgences of gluttony at the expense of another’s livelihood? Where was law when Riv’Nar’s subjects needed them most? Gamaliel could do nothing for the slaves lest he summon wrath of the Vantian urban constable or the might of a dozen Riv’Narian cohorts snapping at his heels. No, he knew better than to risk upon the pursuance of foolish gallantries and he couldn’t afford to right the countless injustices committed by an army of criminals.
“Sir,” said a voice behind him, “The games commence within the hour; best blood sport of the century.”
Gamaliel turned to find his armored adjutant riding behind himself. Shifting within his saddle, the towering horseman glanced up towards the late noon sun and nodded, rubbing his rust colored beard with acknowledgement.
“We’d best be off then, Maximinius,” he answered firmly, “Alert the guard of our arrival and inform the others we ride for the arena.”
The armored companion nodded and saluted before wheeling the mount around and kicking off in the opposite direction. The retinue of rear following mounted guards set off a moment later, trailing a mountain of dust as they veered off the Via Vantia, following the composed horseman and he galloped off into the setting sun. The bustling town of Vantia stood only a few miles away and further journeying down the Vantian highway proved all that was necessary to reach the Vantian arena.
--------
The Arena with erupted with electricity as the last round of gladiatorial games commenced. Artanis, the legendary elven gladiator emerged amidst cries of approval to his continued presence.
“Ta-nis, Ta-nis, Ta-nis, Ta-nis,” the crowd screamed, many pumping their fists into the air, others stamping their feet in favor.
Even members of the Arena guard clacked their spear butts at the crowd’s direction, lending support to the undefeated gladiator champion. A figure cloaked in sky blue sat in his seat a few dozen meters away, watching patiently and waiting for the final round’s commencement. The sneeze of a young blonde haired man brought about renewed attention to Artanis and gently retrieving the knots of his silver neck chain, Gamaliel pinned the sapphire embedded ring to his head, offering a blessing from the God of Harmony to guide the elven gladiator to victory. His blessing wadded through a sea of commotion, delivering his words in concentrated grace. When he'd finished, the cloaked man turned and gazed at the sun again, watching and waiting. The sun was setting and the last rays of light shone down near the elf’s position, amplified his presence with a mist of moving dust. The day was good as any to fight glorious battle and there could be only one victor …
The setting changes from Varnic Universe to Chapter 1: Freedom
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Victory was the only thing that was on Artanis' mind as the crowd roared his name. It made him grin at his opponent as he raised his shield and got ready to clash steel once again. The man in front of him is another champion from the capital city Valedinia of the region Catan that they are currently in. It was rare to find two champions of such high caliber in battle.
A man stood from the pulvinar and raised a hand to the crowd to silence them and took a moment to smile at them and then look down at the warriors before them all.
The man spoke up, “Here two gladiators stand with swords ready! Only one will claim victory and the other shall meet us in the afterlife!” The announcer gave a moment to pause and keep the crowd's attention before continuing.
“Today the gods have honored us with a spectacle of blood by bringing the only undefeated elven gladiatorial champion to clash swords with the champion of Valedinia!”
The crowd started to burst into roars of excitement from what the announcer has said and so he continues before starting the final round of the games. “Gladiators! Begin!” Ordered the announcer and he sat back down with a smile on his face.
Artanis quickly took steps towards his opponent and swung his sword firmly. A clash of steel clang and clattered with the excitement of the crowd fueling both warriors to take the fight to higher levels. Sword met Artanis' shield and his own sword lunged forward and pecked against the opposition's shield. This simple motion of attacks and blocks happened in seconds and Artanis began formulating a strategy to dispatch his enemy and grasp victory once again to hear the excitement of his honorable fans.
In mid thought a shield bash was swung at him but a quick side step was made to avoid the attack. Another swing at him was made but directed towards his shin and was avoided with raising his knee up but was turned into a counter attack by kicking the human champion away and to the ground. This was an opportune time to deliver a finishing blow. The entire time the crowd screams for blood fill the background around them. The arena their stage and the crowd's screams their theme music.
As Artanis moved towards his enemy, the man rolled to his feet and blocked incoming sword slashes with his shield while being knelled, it mattered not as another kick was made against the shield and the man flew back along the sandy floor of the arena. Stamina was already leaving the human gladiator as Artanis' centuries of conditioning were clearly showing. It was no equal contest to pit a man against an overly seasoned elf that has lived and breathed the life of gladiatorial combat.
“Little men should return to their master with tail between legs.” Artanis taunted his opponent with a smirk across his face.
The response he was given was his opponent raising to his feet quickly and moving towards Artanis with a deadly purpose. Sword swung first across the chest but was parried and quickly a shield followed after as the man turned his entire body to create the momentum of the swing in a slashing fashion to add extra damage with the attack. Artanis simply dropped to one knee and impaled the man through the stomach as the opening was created and advantage was taken.
Death was already creeping upon the human champion and the man's weapons dropped to the arena floor as he looked down where Artanis' sword has impaled. “To die in the arena is...” The man said as Artanis withdrew his sword and then slashed the throat of the man. Blood splashed all over the ground with small cool breezes causing the elven warrior's cape to flutter softly on the ground.
The crowd stood up and roared in excitement as Artanis stood and looked around into the crowd raising his sword. Women were showing their chest to him, men were chanting his name, and the children had eyes glazed over with mesmerized admiration. Finally Artanis did turn to his master at the pulvinar with the announcer and watch them both stand with smiles on their faces.
First the announcer spoke, “Again, Artanis honors us with legendary skills of the sword...” The man was interrupted in mid sentence by the crowd begging for Artanis' freedom.
It left everyone in the pulvinar including Artanis inside the arena a bit speechless and very honored. The announcer looked at the master of Artanis and the other man took a step towards the edge of the pulvinar to speak to his gladiator.
“Artanis, is freedom what you desire?” The man held a firm expression that is hard to read but kept it fixated upon the elf.
“I have fought for centuries to honor your house. I have spilled my blood and those of honorable men of worth. My life has been one of blood. It is something I desire if you but will it.” Artanis was breathing heavily from the upcoming information to reach his ears.
“Your tongue speaks truth and so you have won freedom!” Said the former master of Artanis. The words electrocute the crowd to see their favored gladiator gain freedom.
----
One hour later.
Artanis had already packed his belongings and left his master's vila with a fair-well gift from his master: his gladiatorial sword and shield to help him along in his travels through Riv'nar. He even was given coin for the winnings he had previously acquired through his arena victories. It's sum was rather impressive for a freshly freed slave: two hundred sixteen denar; which are gold coins. A drink to celebrate his victory and freedom was in order and what better place to celebrate than at the Bronze Shield Inn that's near the gates of Vantia? Many patrons of the tavern recognized him immediately and greeted him with a warm face. There were satyr and dwarves circled around tables and a few at the front at the counter. There were mostly humans in occupying most of the seats.
Walking to the counter and taking a seat, the warrior ordered up a stiff drink of ale for his celebration. It was time for him to see what the world offered someone like him and what opportunities are available for strength and glory.
A man stood from the pulvinar and raised a hand to the crowd to silence them and took a moment to smile at them and then look down at the warriors before them all.
The man spoke up, “Here two gladiators stand with swords ready! Only one will claim victory and the other shall meet us in the afterlife!” The announcer gave a moment to pause and keep the crowd's attention before continuing.
“Today the gods have honored us with a spectacle of blood by bringing the only undefeated elven gladiatorial champion to clash swords with the champion of Valedinia!”
The crowd started to burst into roars of excitement from what the announcer has said and so he continues before starting the final round of the games. “Gladiators! Begin!” Ordered the announcer and he sat back down with a smile on his face.
Artanis quickly took steps towards his opponent and swung his sword firmly. A clash of steel clang and clattered with the excitement of the crowd fueling both warriors to take the fight to higher levels. Sword met Artanis' shield and his own sword lunged forward and pecked against the opposition's shield. This simple motion of attacks and blocks happened in seconds and Artanis began formulating a strategy to dispatch his enemy and grasp victory once again to hear the excitement of his honorable fans.
In mid thought a shield bash was swung at him but a quick side step was made to avoid the attack. Another swing at him was made but directed towards his shin and was avoided with raising his knee up but was turned into a counter attack by kicking the human champion away and to the ground. This was an opportune time to deliver a finishing blow. The entire time the crowd screams for blood fill the background around them. The arena their stage and the crowd's screams their theme music.
As Artanis moved towards his enemy, the man rolled to his feet and blocked incoming sword slashes with his shield while being knelled, it mattered not as another kick was made against the shield and the man flew back along the sandy floor of the arena. Stamina was already leaving the human gladiator as Artanis' centuries of conditioning were clearly showing. It was no equal contest to pit a man against an overly seasoned elf that has lived and breathed the life of gladiatorial combat.
“Little men should return to their master with tail between legs.” Artanis taunted his opponent with a smirk across his face.
The response he was given was his opponent raising to his feet quickly and moving towards Artanis with a deadly purpose. Sword swung first across the chest but was parried and quickly a shield followed after as the man turned his entire body to create the momentum of the swing in a slashing fashion to add extra damage with the attack. Artanis simply dropped to one knee and impaled the man through the stomach as the opening was created and advantage was taken.
Death was already creeping upon the human champion and the man's weapons dropped to the arena floor as he looked down where Artanis' sword has impaled. “To die in the arena is...” The man said as Artanis withdrew his sword and then slashed the throat of the man. Blood splashed all over the ground with small cool breezes causing the elven warrior's cape to flutter softly on the ground.
The crowd stood up and roared in excitement as Artanis stood and looked around into the crowd raising his sword. Women were showing their chest to him, men were chanting his name, and the children had eyes glazed over with mesmerized admiration. Finally Artanis did turn to his master at the pulvinar with the announcer and watch them both stand with smiles on their faces.
First the announcer spoke, “Again, Artanis honors us with legendary skills of the sword...” The man was interrupted in mid sentence by the crowd begging for Artanis' freedom.
It left everyone in the pulvinar including Artanis inside the arena a bit speechless and very honored. The announcer looked at the master of Artanis and the other man took a step towards the edge of the pulvinar to speak to his gladiator.
“Artanis, is freedom what you desire?” The man held a firm expression that is hard to read but kept it fixated upon the elf.
“I have fought for centuries to honor your house. I have spilled my blood and those of honorable men of worth. My life has been one of blood. It is something I desire if you but will it.” Artanis was breathing heavily from the upcoming information to reach his ears.
“Your tongue speaks truth and so you have won freedom!” Said the former master of Artanis. The words electrocute the crowd to see their favored gladiator gain freedom.
----
One hour later.
Artanis had already packed his belongings and left his master's vila with a fair-well gift from his master: his gladiatorial sword and shield to help him along in his travels through Riv'nar. He even was given coin for the winnings he had previously acquired through his arena victories. It's sum was rather impressive for a freshly freed slave: two hundred sixteen denar; which are gold coins. A drink to celebrate his victory and freedom was in order and what better place to celebrate than at the Bronze Shield Inn that's near the gates of Vantia? Many patrons of the tavern recognized him immediately and greeted him with a warm face. There were satyr and dwarves circled around tables and a few at the front at the counter. There were mostly humans in occupying most of the seats.
Walking to the counter and taking a seat, the warrior ordered up a stiff drink of ale for his celebration. It was time for him to see what the world offered someone like him and what opportunities are available for strength and glory.
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After the great duel, Mertan had been mesmerized. What an awesome show of skill and cunning. The elven champion seemed to know what he was doing, and he did it to perfection.
Mertan wandered out of the arena, trailing after a pair of merchants, who'd just sold a large pack of slaves at the market. Mertan could hear them talk about a specific slave, which they kept, for the sole purpose of sex and abuse. They'd use her as a concubine.
Mertan was a little displeased at hearing such, but coming from a wealthy family himself, he knew that slave concubines were very common. But as he trailed along behind them, they began talking about what they'd do to her, and Mertan was so infuriated about the way they regarded human lives, so he thrust himself forward, and made a violent tackle on the left of the merchants.
"Woah!" was all that could be heard from the left one, as he fell to the ground. The other merchant quickly jumped sideways, to evade the supposed attacker, but when he saw that it was only a boy, he slumped a little down. "What in all of the heavens do you think you're doing boy!" he yelled, as he grabbed Mertan by the collar, and lifted him up.
Mertan was more than a little surprised by the strength of the other merchant, as he was hauled from the ground, and onto his legs. "I don't know." was the only answer Mertan could come up with.
"Use your brain you dumb child!" the merchant yelled into the face of Mertan, spittle flying out. "Fine! I'll try to remember that!" Mertan retorted, his voice dribbling with sarcasm.
At this point, the other merchant was on his feet again, staring at the boy. "Johar. It's just a boy, leave him alone. We got business at the inn... if you get what I mean." the other merchant said, persuading his companion to let go of Mertan.
Mertan dropped to the ground, and the two merchants turned around, and went down towards 'The Silver Lantern' where their caravan was lodged at the moment. Mertan himself turned around on his heel, and started down the other way, searching for a place where he could get some food, and a bed. He was tired after this days travels, and he was still slightly angry at the two merchants.
He finally arrived at something that seemed like he'd like it. It was a tavern, just at the gates of the city. He could hear merry commotion in the inn, and allready out here, he could hear people mutter about Artanis being a customer this evening.
That made Artanis curiosity awake. Was the elven champion really here!? He'd surely have to see him up close. After such a duel, he'd surely be surrounded by adoring fans, but Mertan'd try to get to see the elven champion never the less.
The inn was well filled, when Artanis got in, but he imediatly saw a seat at the side of the inn. He didn't want to sit in a corner, as people usually looked suspicious when they did that. And mostly, there was good reason to be suspicious about them. So Mertan dropped his bag at a seat. The heavy bag made a lot of noise, but was drowned by the conversation and noise from the other customers.
Mertan sat down, leant back, and closed his eyes for a brief moment. But then heard someone swear at the door, only a few yards away from him. Esvild! That stupid ass had been following him since he travelled from home. He'd been his companion and steed, on hs travels here. Now the stupid animal was trying to come inside.
Mertan jumped to his feet, and squezed his way out, to the man who was being bothered by the donkey. "I'm sorry sir, he got a bad habit of doing that." Mertan said, pushing the animal away from the poor man. He grunted some unintelligible words, and then went into the tavern.
Mertan patted the mule on the muzzle, and then tugged it along, inside the taverns stable. Where he gave the reins to a stableboy. He then turned around, and went back inside, only to find someone with his crooked fingers in his bag.
"Hey! Get your dirty fingers out of my satchel!" Mertan yelled, drawing attention to himself from the tables around him. People expected something now. Some action behind the words, and Mertan was afraid that he wouldn't be able to deliver that action. But still, all his belinging were in that satchel. People sat as frozen. Looking at them. Then the man straightened, and replied. "He's a liar! It's my belongings! That little brat stole them from me on the marketplace!" the thief said, now pointing the accusation at a surprised Mertan.
"WHAT!?".
Mertan wandered out of the arena, trailing after a pair of merchants, who'd just sold a large pack of slaves at the market. Mertan could hear them talk about a specific slave, which they kept, for the sole purpose of sex and abuse. They'd use her as a concubine.
Mertan was a little displeased at hearing such, but coming from a wealthy family himself, he knew that slave concubines were very common. But as he trailed along behind them, they began talking about what they'd do to her, and Mertan was so infuriated about the way they regarded human lives, so he thrust himself forward, and made a violent tackle on the left of the merchants.
"Woah!" was all that could be heard from the left one, as he fell to the ground. The other merchant quickly jumped sideways, to evade the supposed attacker, but when he saw that it was only a boy, he slumped a little down. "What in all of the heavens do you think you're doing boy!" he yelled, as he grabbed Mertan by the collar, and lifted him up.
Mertan was more than a little surprised by the strength of the other merchant, as he was hauled from the ground, and onto his legs. "I don't know." was the only answer Mertan could come up with.
"Use your brain you dumb child!" the merchant yelled into the face of Mertan, spittle flying out. "Fine! I'll try to remember that!" Mertan retorted, his voice dribbling with sarcasm.
At this point, the other merchant was on his feet again, staring at the boy. "Johar. It's just a boy, leave him alone. We got business at the inn... if you get what I mean." the other merchant said, persuading his companion to let go of Mertan.
Mertan dropped to the ground, and the two merchants turned around, and went down towards 'The Silver Lantern' where their caravan was lodged at the moment. Mertan himself turned around on his heel, and started down the other way, searching for a place where he could get some food, and a bed. He was tired after this days travels, and he was still slightly angry at the two merchants.
He finally arrived at something that seemed like he'd like it. It was a tavern, just at the gates of the city. He could hear merry commotion in the inn, and allready out here, he could hear people mutter about Artanis being a customer this evening.
That made Artanis curiosity awake. Was the elven champion really here!? He'd surely have to see him up close. After such a duel, he'd surely be surrounded by adoring fans, but Mertan'd try to get to see the elven champion never the less.
The inn was well filled, when Artanis got in, but he imediatly saw a seat at the side of the inn. He didn't want to sit in a corner, as people usually looked suspicious when they did that. And mostly, there was good reason to be suspicious about them. So Mertan dropped his bag at a seat. The heavy bag made a lot of noise, but was drowned by the conversation and noise from the other customers.
Mertan sat down, leant back, and closed his eyes for a brief moment. But then heard someone swear at the door, only a few yards away from him. Esvild! That stupid ass had been following him since he travelled from home. He'd been his companion and steed, on hs travels here. Now the stupid animal was trying to come inside.
Mertan jumped to his feet, and squezed his way out, to the man who was being bothered by the donkey. "I'm sorry sir, he got a bad habit of doing that." Mertan said, pushing the animal away from the poor man. He grunted some unintelligible words, and then went into the tavern.
Mertan patted the mule on the muzzle, and then tugged it along, inside the taverns stable. Where he gave the reins to a stableboy. He then turned around, and went back inside, only to find someone with his crooked fingers in his bag.
"Hey! Get your dirty fingers out of my satchel!" Mertan yelled, drawing attention to himself from the tables around him. People expected something now. Some action behind the words, and Mertan was afraid that he wouldn't be able to deliver that action. But still, all his belinging were in that satchel. People sat as frozen. Looking at them. Then the man straightened, and replied. "He's a liar! It's my belongings! That little brat stole them from me on the marketplace!" the thief said, now pointing the accusation at a surprised Mertan.
"WHAT!?".
The setting changes from Chapter 1: Freedom to Varnic Universe
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= Gamaliel of Merkhava =
After the last arena round had concluded, Gamaliel quietly departed as did much of the crowd. The Colisseum grounds required cleaning and there was little reason for remaining with the main spectacles having exhausted their main attracting tenures. With the fading light, the looming darkness signaled the day’s end, prompting most Vantian street goers, both visitors and residents to return home or run about their evening activities. Naturally, Gamaliel and his retinue retired to the Bronze Inn; an ordinary tavern along Vantia’s market district and a popular destination to Vantia’s out of town visitors. Not sixty yards away, another Inn, named ‘The Talon’s Nest’, rivalled the Bronze, attracting higher end customers, yet times were hard and for a tavern, the Bronze Inn served adequately as customary to its location and purpose. The cheap ale, affordable rooming, low grade whores, busty serving girls, decent evening troubadours, and warm meals were adequate enough and it’d been a long day for Gamaliel and his men. Tired, hungry, and in need of rest, the guard took relief in finally reaching civilization again. Though much was at stake, the weary retinue had spent the better course of a week travelling the countryside and it’d been some time since they’d encountered civilization or rest under a proper roof. Gamaliel’s gambit had paid off and an excessive forced ride through the past two nights had brought them to Vantia.
They were rewarded the privilege of a warm meal and fine drafts afforded by the Inn’s stockades. Gamaliel set about discussing matters with Maximinius and Ennodius and plotting their objectives for coming months. The very existence of the Rivian state became a matter of discussion and aside from their oaths of sworn purpose, the matter of affairs concerning rapid declines in grain harvesting and the sharp rise in food prices also came to bear. It didn’t require much forethought to know that Riv’Nar was floundering and conditions would surely worsen as the months and years progressed. Gamaliel had sat in court circles, listening and watching as the aristocracy sat about their estates, levying exhausting taxes while the Rivian common folk barely scraped enough to survive. Pleas for aid came on deaf ears as the royal family ignored the state of affairs. They built gardens and emptied the treasury, filling the royal palace in wasteful squalor. Even in Vantia, where coin promised comfort, the hardship became evident as more and more beggars roamed the streets.
Enough was enough and the times called for ...
"Hey! Get your dirty fingers out of my satchel!" a voice yelled, over the evening commotion. Gamaliel turned as all chatter ground to a halt.
Customers froze, eyes leaped, and all attention averted in the general direction of a greasy haired teenager standing near the doorway. Many of the dwarves simply rolled their eyes, returning to their drinks as if nothing had ever happened, yet the gaze of many humans remained transfixed upon the greasy haired youth.
"He's a liar,” shouted another voice, pointing towards the greasy youth, “It's my belongings! That little brat stole them from me on the marketplace!"
"WHAT!?" the youth cried, attracting additional odd stares from the evening crowd.
Maximinius eyed Gamaliel, flickering his pugio in readiness, yet the older man raised his arm, ordering the adjutant down in wisdom. The man was clearly lying as evidenced through his suspicious ruffling of the youth’s satchel not several moments ago and it shamed the bearded leader to witness such lowly acts of larcenous crimes. This, however, was not the time for attention, and in silence, Gamaliel looked on; watching and waiting while youth decided his next course of action ...
After the last arena round had concluded, Gamaliel quietly departed as did much of the crowd. The Colisseum grounds required cleaning and there was little reason for remaining with the main spectacles having exhausted their main attracting tenures. With the fading light, the looming darkness signaled the day’s end, prompting most Vantian street goers, both visitors and residents to return home or run about their evening activities. Naturally, Gamaliel and his retinue retired to the Bronze Inn; an ordinary tavern along Vantia’s market district and a popular destination to Vantia’s out of town visitors. Not sixty yards away, another Inn, named ‘The Talon’s Nest’, rivalled the Bronze, attracting higher end customers, yet times were hard and for a tavern, the Bronze Inn served adequately as customary to its location and purpose. The cheap ale, affordable rooming, low grade whores, busty serving girls, decent evening troubadours, and warm meals were adequate enough and it’d been a long day for Gamaliel and his men. Tired, hungry, and in need of rest, the guard took relief in finally reaching civilization again. Though much was at stake, the weary retinue had spent the better course of a week travelling the countryside and it’d been some time since they’d encountered civilization or rest under a proper roof. Gamaliel’s gambit had paid off and an excessive forced ride through the past two nights had brought them to Vantia.
They were rewarded the privilege of a warm meal and fine drafts afforded by the Inn’s stockades. Gamaliel set about discussing matters with Maximinius and Ennodius and plotting their objectives for coming months. The very existence of the Rivian state became a matter of discussion and aside from their oaths of sworn purpose, the matter of affairs concerning rapid declines in grain harvesting and the sharp rise in food prices also came to bear. It didn’t require much forethought to know that Riv’Nar was floundering and conditions would surely worsen as the months and years progressed. Gamaliel had sat in court circles, listening and watching as the aristocracy sat about their estates, levying exhausting taxes while the Rivian common folk barely scraped enough to survive. Pleas for aid came on deaf ears as the royal family ignored the state of affairs. They built gardens and emptied the treasury, filling the royal palace in wasteful squalor. Even in Vantia, where coin promised comfort, the hardship became evident as more and more beggars roamed the streets.
Enough was enough and the times called for ...
"Hey! Get your dirty fingers out of my satchel!" a voice yelled, over the evening commotion. Gamaliel turned as all chatter ground to a halt.
Customers froze, eyes leaped, and all attention averted in the general direction of a greasy haired teenager standing near the doorway. Many of the dwarves simply rolled their eyes, returning to their drinks as if nothing had ever happened, yet the gaze of many humans remained transfixed upon the greasy haired youth.
"He's a liar,” shouted another voice, pointing towards the greasy youth, “It's my belongings! That little brat stole them from me on the marketplace!"
"WHAT!?" the youth cried, attracting additional odd stares from the evening crowd.
Maximinius eyed Gamaliel, flickering his pugio in readiness, yet the older man raised his arm, ordering the adjutant down in wisdom. The man was clearly lying as evidenced through his suspicious ruffling of the youth’s satchel not several moments ago and it shamed the bearded leader to witness such lowly acts of larcenous crimes. This, however, was not the time for attention, and in silence, Gamaliel looked on; watching and waiting while youth decided his next course of action ...
The setting changes from Varnic Universe to Chapter 1: Freedom
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The day was concluding as the sun began to set and people of Vanta continued to scurry about the streets to complete last minute business before meeting their families in their homes. It was warm and the breeze that would horde against the warrior's body attacked him several times as he walked towards the Bronze Shield Inn. A boy, with a very large hound, was running towards Artanis from the direction in which he came from.
“Artanis! May I have words with you?” the boy yelled with onlookers giving the lad a stare of confusion while the hound followed closely after.
Artanis turned and looked at the boy with a blank expression before speaking. “And what purpose would your words serve to the former champion of Vanta?” Artanis spoke as the boy stopped in front of him with the large beast standing as tall as the boy.
“Master forgot to gift you a trophy worthy of freedom. He gifts the mightiest of his trustworthy beasts to give companionship to the former champion.” the lad declared with an expression he would leave now and return back to the vila as instructed.
Artanis' reply was a smile across his face and a nod from the head. The boy smiled up at the tall warrior and turned to run back to his master. A gift well received. Watching the boy run off, Artanis placed a hand on the beast's head and scratched behind the ears.
The animal stood roughly three and a half feet tall, pitch black fur, golden red jewels for eyes, and fangs bright as platinum. It was truly a terrifying animal to look at with such mangy fur that appears to be in dire need of a scrubbing.
Turn on heel and continued walking down the street as people avoided him while the animal followed closely behind. He finally reached his destination and was hearing two individuals arguing over a satchel. With a quick push of the tavern door in, it swung in and smacked the thief in the head. A tumbling sound could be heard behind the door as Artanis stood there with his hound at his side. The sun light glared in through the doorway and all anyone could see is a tall man, with pointed ears, with a dog glaring everyone with murderous eyes.
“What the fuck! I'd have words with the fucking cunt that did that!” the thief yelled from behind the door and as the door shut, the identity of Artanis became apparent.
Murmuring of Artanis' victory in the arena today was being whispered by some of the patrons and now they saw the champion himself. All he did was look down at the black furred beast and motioned him to follow. It did as it was commanded while the warrior walked over to the bar. The animal stood a watchful guard by sitting directly behind its new master.
An employee of the tavern walked in front of Artanis and was going to ask what he would like but the warrior had already made up his mind. “Dragon's Breath and a bowl of water.” were the only things he said.
The water was for the animal and the Dragon's Breath was for him to drink. It was a potent mixture of some of the finest alcoholic drinks created in Vanta and a cup was all anyone needed. The mangy animal behind him lapped up the water from the bowl while keeping his other senses well adjusted to the defense of his master.
The thief had finally stood to his feet and looked at Artanis in rage. “Hey you little fuck!” yelled the man as he took a few steps towards Artanis. The animal stopped drinking from the bowl and stood up snarling violently.
“Artanis! May I have words with you?” the boy yelled with onlookers giving the lad a stare of confusion while the hound followed closely after.
Artanis turned and looked at the boy with a blank expression before speaking. “And what purpose would your words serve to the former champion of Vanta?” Artanis spoke as the boy stopped in front of him with the large beast standing as tall as the boy.
“Master forgot to gift you a trophy worthy of freedom. He gifts the mightiest of his trustworthy beasts to give companionship to the former champion.” the lad declared with an expression he would leave now and return back to the vila as instructed.
Artanis' reply was a smile across his face and a nod from the head. The boy smiled up at the tall warrior and turned to run back to his master. A gift well received. Watching the boy run off, Artanis placed a hand on the beast's head and scratched behind the ears.
The animal stood roughly three and a half feet tall, pitch black fur, golden red jewels for eyes, and fangs bright as platinum. It was truly a terrifying animal to look at with such mangy fur that appears to be in dire need of a scrubbing.
Turn on heel and continued walking down the street as people avoided him while the animal followed closely behind. He finally reached his destination and was hearing two individuals arguing over a satchel. With a quick push of the tavern door in, it swung in and smacked the thief in the head. A tumbling sound could be heard behind the door as Artanis stood there with his hound at his side. The sun light glared in through the doorway and all anyone could see is a tall man, with pointed ears, with a dog glaring everyone with murderous eyes.
“What the fuck! I'd have words with the fucking cunt that did that!” the thief yelled from behind the door and as the door shut, the identity of Artanis became apparent.
Murmuring of Artanis' victory in the arena today was being whispered by some of the patrons and now they saw the champion himself. All he did was look down at the black furred beast and motioned him to follow. It did as it was commanded while the warrior walked over to the bar. The animal stood a watchful guard by sitting directly behind its new master.
An employee of the tavern walked in front of Artanis and was going to ask what he would like but the warrior had already made up his mind. “Dragon's Breath and a bowl of water.” were the only things he said.
The water was for the animal and the Dragon's Breath was for him to drink. It was a potent mixture of some of the finest alcoholic drinks created in Vanta and a cup was all anyone needed. The mangy animal behind him lapped up the water from the bowl while keeping his other senses well adjusted to the defense of his master.
The thief had finally stood to his feet and looked at Artanis in rage. “Hey you little fuck!” yelled the man as he took a few steps towards Artanis. The animal stopped drinking from the bowl and stood up snarling violently.
The setting changes from Chapter 1: Freedom to Varnic Universe
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The shady figure in the corner of the building had not spoken as it watched the odd commotion. It seemed that this tavern could not be peaceful for more than a few minutes before a drunken rogue would begin to stir up trouble. A calloused and rough hand slid out of the dark colored cloak to pick up the glass half filled with amber colored liquid that sparkled in the dim light.
Clink, clink, clink. the slow, tapping against the sparkling glass filled the room. Rhythmically, the shadowed figure jabbed it with a short, clipped finger nail. What had been a filled glass but a few seconds before was nearly half empty, or half full depending upon the way you look at it. The hand slowly let the glass drop, though it was quite a ways away from the table top.
Thump
The glass landed perfectly flat against the wooden table, the liquid not even shaking as the fingers withdrew into the burgundy cloak. It shifted slightly, the figure that is, watching, and waiting. Though, what as there to wait for? A low chuckle slipped from the hooded figure's unseen lips as the other hand slid out to drop a single silver coin onto the table top, the small ding! could be heard as it hit against the side of the crystal glass.
A nervous server tiptoed up to the table, his eyes darting warily as he quickly grabbed the cool metal circle and the half filled glass, scurrying away as fast as a mouse being chased by a cat. As soon as the server's back was turned, the Cloaked one drew itself up, standing slowly, but steadily, not at all tall, nor intimidating. Though the other tavern patrons around it quickly dispersed.
With a flick of the wrist, the hood was shaken off to reveal bright eyes that took everything in what seemed to be a matter of a few moments. The woman who owned these keen visionary tools settled herself at the bar, shaking back her mane of tousled locks, and shoving back what seemed to be the irritating wool of the cloak itself.
"Oi, bartender." She spoke in a crisp voice, no-nonsense type as she banged her fist against the bar's counter, impatient to get on with the day. "Gimme the strongest you've got, I've been goin' easy all night." She drawled softly, perhaps an after effect of the previous drink, or perhaps not.
The bartender poured her a strong smelling drink, shoving it her direction with an annoyed look on his face, sending his hand towards her, palm up, which she graced with another four silver coins which clinked joyfully. The bartender gave a satisfied smirk at this, rushing away for fear that it was too much.
The woman gave a satisfied grunt at this, draining the glass in a single gulp, relishing the nauseating flavor as she slammed the glass back onto the bar counter, shaking it roughly. Her hands quivered after this as she leaned back, sighing, her whole body trembling as she turned her curious gaze about the bar, though she saw nothing in the state she was in.
Pivoting back to the glass she had struck onto the bar counter, she examined it closely, bringing it to her face as she withdrew her hands into her cloak, pulling out a small hammer, smaller than the palm of her hand. She set the glass onto the bar counter once more, drawing her finger along an invisible flaw in the pretty glass.
....Smash! She tapped the hammer against a specific point onto the glass, causing it to break into two neat halves. She grinned at this, slowly sliding the pieces of glass into the folds of her cloak, hooking the hammer back into her belt.
She recieved many stares at this, which she promptly ignored as she heard the bustling voice of someone who sounded less than happy. With a quick gait she turned around, leaning her back against the bar counter, and her elbows propping her upper body weight.
“What the fuck! I'd have words with the fucking cunt that did that!” The obviously angry man seemed to scream at the..Could that be? The victor that had been set free today..What was his name, Artanis. A beast at his side.
“Hey you little fuck!” The man yelled yet again, getting an angry glare from Llyr, her hand sliding down onto her toolbelt, grasping what seemed to be a dagger-like object, an over sized nail. But the beast seemed to have it covered, growling and snarling furiously as the man took a few steps towards Artanis.
Hm..I'm sure he can handle himself.. She reasoned with herself, still watching, waiting. Though her hand hadn't untightened around the nail, razor sharp as she had scraped it against a wall for hours and hours on end to entertain herself.
She'd make herself comfortable washing. Llyr didn't like to get into fights, it brought her adrenaline too high. She prefered to be the amused onlooker, though, sometimes it wasn't too amusing. With a deep sigh, she crossed her ankles, leaning the palms of her hands against her hips, the calloused fingers wiggling gently as she let a small chuckle slide out.
"Hm..This is the reason I don't get out much.." She mused softly as she watched, slightly uneasy, but playing it cool, to a certain extent, the palms of her hands were already sweating, and she'd begun to fidget, a nervous habit. She didn't like suspense..
At all.
Clink, clink, clink. the slow, tapping against the sparkling glass filled the room. Rhythmically, the shadowed figure jabbed it with a short, clipped finger nail. What had been a filled glass but a few seconds before was nearly half empty, or half full depending upon the way you look at it. The hand slowly let the glass drop, though it was quite a ways away from the table top.
Thump
The glass landed perfectly flat against the wooden table, the liquid not even shaking as the fingers withdrew into the burgundy cloak. It shifted slightly, the figure that is, watching, and waiting. Though, what as there to wait for? A low chuckle slipped from the hooded figure's unseen lips as the other hand slid out to drop a single silver coin onto the table top, the small ding! could be heard as it hit against the side of the crystal glass.
A nervous server tiptoed up to the table, his eyes darting warily as he quickly grabbed the cool metal circle and the half filled glass, scurrying away as fast as a mouse being chased by a cat. As soon as the server's back was turned, the Cloaked one drew itself up, standing slowly, but steadily, not at all tall, nor intimidating. Though the other tavern patrons around it quickly dispersed.
With a flick of the wrist, the hood was shaken off to reveal bright eyes that took everything in what seemed to be a matter of a few moments. The woman who owned these keen visionary tools settled herself at the bar, shaking back her mane of tousled locks, and shoving back what seemed to be the irritating wool of the cloak itself.
"Oi, bartender." She spoke in a crisp voice, no-nonsense type as she banged her fist against the bar's counter, impatient to get on with the day. "Gimme the strongest you've got, I've been goin' easy all night." She drawled softly, perhaps an after effect of the previous drink, or perhaps not.
The bartender poured her a strong smelling drink, shoving it her direction with an annoyed look on his face, sending his hand towards her, palm up, which she graced with another four silver coins which clinked joyfully. The bartender gave a satisfied smirk at this, rushing away for fear that it was too much.
The woman gave a satisfied grunt at this, draining the glass in a single gulp, relishing the nauseating flavor as she slammed the glass back onto the bar counter, shaking it roughly. Her hands quivered after this as she leaned back, sighing, her whole body trembling as she turned her curious gaze about the bar, though she saw nothing in the state she was in.
Pivoting back to the glass she had struck onto the bar counter, she examined it closely, bringing it to her face as she withdrew her hands into her cloak, pulling out a small hammer, smaller than the palm of her hand. She set the glass onto the bar counter once more, drawing her finger along an invisible flaw in the pretty glass.
....Smash! She tapped the hammer against a specific point onto the glass, causing it to break into two neat halves. She grinned at this, slowly sliding the pieces of glass into the folds of her cloak, hooking the hammer back into her belt.
She recieved many stares at this, which she promptly ignored as she heard the bustling voice of someone who sounded less than happy. With a quick gait she turned around, leaning her back against the bar counter, and her elbows propping her upper body weight.
“What the fuck! I'd have words with the fucking cunt that did that!” The obviously angry man seemed to scream at the..Could that be? The victor that had been set free today..What was his name, Artanis. A beast at his side.
“Hey you little fuck!” The man yelled yet again, getting an angry glare from Llyr, her hand sliding down onto her toolbelt, grasping what seemed to be a dagger-like object, an over sized nail. But the beast seemed to have it covered, growling and snarling furiously as the man took a few steps towards Artanis.
Hm..I'm sure he can handle himself.. She reasoned with herself, still watching, waiting. Though her hand hadn't untightened around the nail, razor sharp as she had scraped it against a wall for hours and hours on end to entertain herself.
She'd make herself comfortable washing. Llyr didn't like to get into fights, it brought her adrenaline too high. She prefered to be the amused onlooker, though, sometimes it wasn't too amusing. With a deep sigh, she crossed her ankles, leaning the palms of her hands against her hips, the calloused fingers wiggling gently as she let a small chuckle slide out.
"Hm..This is the reason I don't get out much.." She mused softly as she watched, slightly uneasy, but playing it cool, to a certain extent, the palms of her hands were already sweating, and she'd begun to fidget, a nervous habit. She didn't like suspense..
At all.
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When the door hit the thief, Mertan was more than relieved. The thief had dropped the bag, and had turned around in anger. Mertan didn't stop to think twice, he grabbed his bag and backed away from the thief, up to the counter, and against the wall. Trying to stay a little incognito.
He could feel his hands shake, and a little sweat run down his neck, but else he was fine. That was, untill the thief came up to the counter at the bar, and began sneering at the man who'd opened the door into his back. Mertan was afraid he'd be caught at a tavern brawl, but luckily a ... DOG! The blood drained from Mertan's face, as the massive dog sneered at the thief, you could see the fear painted in the face of the smalltime thief. He backed off, which was more than Mertan could. He was paralyzed by fear.
He began hyperventilating, trying to get some air. Looking around the room in panic.
"Why am I allways caught up in this kind of situations? It's not like I've done anything wrong is it? I've not hit anyone, I behave... mostly well and I haven't drugged anyone... yet." he babbled out loud, then caught himself in doing so, and looked down at the floor, although he held an eye on the dog.
As a minute had passed, and the thief had withdrawn, and people seemed to be loosing interest in everything, but the champion, Mertan began to relax slightly, although he was still afraid of the dog.
"You ought to say thanks to the elf... Are you serious? ... Absolutely! He did save your belonging didn't he? ... I suppose you're right. God how awful... I know, how can it be that your morals actually tells you to do something nice? ... It was you, who attacked that merchant you moron!" Mertan thought, taking an unexpected turn.
"Who do you call a blustering moron you selfrighteous little asshole!" He burst out, fortunately not getting as much attention now, as he had had with the thief. Only a pair of curious, or reproachful stares from the surrounding guests, who happened to be a table of dwarves and some satyrs...
"Sorry." muttered to the table, and then turned to look at the elf. He'd have to say something to the elf, anything would do. As long as he didn't make a fool of himself.
On and on went the time, it felt like years, although it was seconds. Mertan had finally built up the courage to go say something, actually he'd like to say anything.
He took a pair of insecure steps over to Artanis, he was scared of the dog, so he kept a little back from Artanis.
"Uhmm excuse me. I'd like to thank you for helping me with that thief back at the door..." Mertan said, looking everywhere but at Artanis, Mertan could actually feel his face reddening. This must've been his worst idea EVER.
He could feel his hands shake, and a little sweat run down his neck, but else he was fine. That was, untill the thief came up to the counter at the bar, and began sneering at the man who'd opened the door into his back. Mertan was afraid he'd be caught at a tavern brawl, but luckily a ... DOG! The blood drained from Mertan's face, as the massive dog sneered at the thief, you could see the fear painted in the face of the smalltime thief. He backed off, which was more than Mertan could. He was paralyzed by fear.
He began hyperventilating, trying to get some air. Looking around the room in panic.
"Why am I allways caught up in this kind of situations? It's not like I've done anything wrong is it? I've not hit anyone, I behave... mostly well and I haven't drugged anyone... yet." he babbled out loud, then caught himself in doing so, and looked down at the floor, although he held an eye on the dog.
As a minute had passed, and the thief had withdrawn, and people seemed to be loosing interest in everything, but the champion, Mertan began to relax slightly, although he was still afraid of the dog.
"You ought to say thanks to the elf... Are you serious? ... Absolutely! He did save your belonging didn't he? ... I suppose you're right. God how awful... I know, how can it be that your morals actually tells you to do something nice? ... It was you, who attacked that merchant you moron!" Mertan thought, taking an unexpected turn.
"Who do you call a blustering moron you selfrighteous little asshole!" He burst out, fortunately not getting as much attention now, as he had had with the thief. Only a pair of curious, or reproachful stares from the surrounding guests, who happened to be a table of dwarves and some satyrs...
"Sorry." muttered to the table, and then turned to look at the elf. He'd have to say something to the elf, anything would do. As long as he didn't make a fool of himself.
On and on went the time, it felt like years, although it was seconds. Mertan had finally built up the courage to go say something, actually he'd like to say anything.
He took a pair of insecure steps over to Artanis, he was scared of the dog, so he kept a little back from Artanis.
"Uhmm excuse me. I'd like to thank you for helping me with that thief back at the door..." Mertan said, looking everywhere but at Artanis, Mertan could actually feel his face reddening. This must've been his worst idea EVER.
The setting changes from Varnic Universe to Chapter 1: Freedom
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= Gamaliel of Fureidis =
Amusement struck as the thief crumpled to the floor, hammered in the face by the Champion Elven Gladiator. If fate hadn’t already done its job, then irony did because as the young man snatched his bag away, the thief crumpled to the floor, earning laughter and ridicule from many human onlookers. As Gamaliel watched with interest, he felt a hand slap his on the shoulder, prompting the leader to turn his head. Flaminius, his second adjutant flipped his head and pointed straight, averting his attention elsewhere. A simple glance in the other direction attracted new interest as five men surrounded a singularly occupied table.
“What’s this,” Gamaliel inquired, sipping his brew?
“Farmers, sir,” the guard replied, “Bloody angry too. I been watching those blokes for a good half hour. Tax dispute by the look of it. Not sure what’ll happen, although I imagine the situation may turn deadly in a matter of minutes.”
“Really …” Gamaliel muttered, facing the farmers surrounding the table. As he listened, Gamaliel turned and
“Listen, all of you," piped the lone man, "You think I don’t also hold a family to feed here? You’re lucky I haven’t reported the annual earnings yet. The collector’s offices demand payments within the following week and if I don’t follow, we’ll rest our heads along a royal pike afore the week’s over. They will gut each of us you hear me and that’s not the worst of it. short of public crucifixion!”
“No," shouted a stalwart sounding farmer, "you listen to me; ya blood sucking, imperial. I’m tired; tired o’bleeding my livelihood so some fucking high-borns may craft some prissy carved palaces. In case you haven’t heard; we’re suffering a bloody famine here. None of our farms yielded even half a decent harvest and here you are, feeding on our scraps.”
Shaking his head, the collector curled his lips in frustration. “I’m sorry Herrenipor; however, you must understand the gravity belaying your families. The royal office of revenue will not tread lightly upon an ‘honest’ shortfall in tax returns. It would land treason upon our heads … which … if you don’t already know is punishable by death!”
“Have you been listening to anything we've been saying these past three hours? The crown's bled us dry! There’s no money to be had, you hear me? ”
“Aye!” shouted another one of the farmers.
“And what good have you done, hm? Something you lot fail to understand is I am merely nothing more than a lowly tax collector and I can offer nothing more to you honest gentlemen. Now please, cease this charade at once. I’ve not come to bargain over matters I have no authority in now if you please, I request that I dine in peace. Good day to you.”
The farmer known as Herrenipor glared at the man sitting at the table, huffing and fuming with a look of vengeful malice in his eyes. Attention had begun to shift over to the table men gathered behind the farmers. Herrenipors faced flushed from a slanderous pink to a shade of puce and the other men had already begun to reach for their weapons.
Suddenly, a blood curdling war cry erupted elsewhere followed by the sound of doors banging against the wall. All attention diverted away from the collector’s table as a grizzly corpulent sized man burst out of the kitchens, brandishing a blood stained meat cleaver in hand. The source of his unexpected entry came in the form a scampering rodent, whom leaped across several tables, in a desperate bid for freedom. Several customers leaped out of the way, knocking over tables and over turning fresh-uneaten meals.
“Die yoo mutton – blooded beast,” screamed the cook as he flew across the room, hacking table rims with little success.
The quick footed rodent continued to leap across tables, evading the deranged cook at every turn, spilling over mugs, and stirring mayhem where ever it scampered. At one point, the furred four legged creature hurled across an unsuspecting noble lady’s chest, forcing a shriek from the poor woman before the cook quickly sank his cleaver across her dress midline. No harm fell upon the lady, although as the mouse scampered away, the lady soon shockingly discovered nothing covering her breasts. As she screamed, angry customers leaped out of their seats, some galvanized by the wanton mayhem the rodent had provoked while others rose out of aggravation by the cook’s lack of consideration. The furry creature had caused wanton, yet had eluded its predators at every turn.
Attempts to kill it proved fruitless, although as the chase prolonged, it became evident that the rodent was running out of running space. A large following of angry men gathered by the time they cornered the scurrying little thing. Tables had over turned, chairs had broken, spoiled food laid wasted along the floor, drinks had spilled everywhere, and fights had broken out amongst several parties. Just when the lunatic mob of customers closed in on little creature, it squeaked frightening, dashing briskly across the floor, waddling past several pairs of feet before scampering up the legs of a lone girl sitting at the bar. Brandishing his cleaver to the girl, the corpulent cook turned to the mob and shouted, “Kill it!” In unison, the mob screamed, charging clumsily in the girl’s direction. Just as the maniacal crowd seemed hellbent on ripping the girl to pieces, Gamaliel stepped in their way, standing firmly in the face of glinting steel ...
Amusement struck as the thief crumpled to the floor, hammered in the face by the Champion Elven Gladiator. If fate hadn’t already done its job, then irony did because as the young man snatched his bag away, the thief crumpled to the floor, earning laughter and ridicule from many human onlookers. As Gamaliel watched with interest, he felt a hand slap his on the shoulder, prompting the leader to turn his head. Flaminius, his second adjutant flipped his head and pointed straight, averting his attention elsewhere. A simple glance in the other direction attracted new interest as five men surrounded a singularly occupied table.
“What’s this,” Gamaliel inquired, sipping his brew?
“Farmers, sir,” the guard replied, “Bloody angry too. I been watching those blokes for a good half hour. Tax dispute by the look of it. Not sure what’ll happen, although I imagine the situation may turn deadly in a matter of minutes.”
“Really …” Gamaliel muttered, facing the farmers surrounding the table. As he listened, Gamaliel turned and
“Listen, all of you," piped the lone man, "You think I don’t also hold a family to feed here? You’re lucky I haven’t reported the annual earnings yet. The collector’s offices demand payments within the following week and if I don’t follow, we’ll rest our heads along a royal pike afore the week’s over. They will gut each of us you hear me and that’s not the worst of it. short of public crucifixion!”
“No," shouted a stalwart sounding farmer, "you listen to me; ya blood sucking, imperial. I’m tired; tired o’bleeding my livelihood so some fucking high-borns may craft some prissy carved palaces. In case you haven’t heard; we’re suffering a bloody famine here. None of our farms yielded even half a decent harvest and here you are, feeding on our scraps.”
Shaking his head, the collector curled his lips in frustration. “I’m sorry Herrenipor; however, you must understand the gravity belaying your families. The royal office of revenue will not tread lightly upon an ‘honest’ shortfall in tax returns. It would land treason upon our heads … which … if you don’t already know is punishable by death!”
“Have you been listening to anything we've been saying these past three hours? The crown's bled us dry! There’s no money to be had, you hear me? ”
“Aye!” shouted another one of the farmers.
“And what good have you done, hm? Something you lot fail to understand is I am merely nothing more than a lowly tax collector and I can offer nothing more to you honest gentlemen. Now please, cease this charade at once. I’ve not come to bargain over matters I have no authority in now if you please, I request that I dine in peace. Good day to you.”
The farmer known as Herrenipor glared at the man sitting at the table, huffing and fuming with a look of vengeful malice in his eyes. Attention had begun to shift over to the table men gathered behind the farmers. Herrenipors faced flushed from a slanderous pink to a shade of puce and the other men had already begun to reach for their weapons.
Suddenly, a blood curdling war cry erupted elsewhere followed by the sound of doors banging against the wall. All attention diverted away from the collector’s table as a grizzly corpulent sized man burst out of the kitchens, brandishing a blood stained meat cleaver in hand. The source of his unexpected entry came in the form a scampering rodent, whom leaped across several tables, in a desperate bid for freedom. Several customers leaped out of the way, knocking over tables and over turning fresh-uneaten meals.
“Die yoo mutton – blooded beast,” screamed the cook as he flew across the room, hacking table rims with little success.
The quick footed rodent continued to leap across tables, evading the deranged cook at every turn, spilling over mugs, and stirring mayhem where ever it scampered. At one point, the furred four legged creature hurled across an unsuspecting noble lady’s chest, forcing a shriek from the poor woman before the cook quickly sank his cleaver across her dress midline. No harm fell upon the lady, although as the mouse scampered away, the lady soon shockingly discovered nothing covering her breasts. As she screamed, angry customers leaped out of their seats, some galvanized by the wanton mayhem the rodent had provoked while others rose out of aggravation by the cook’s lack of consideration. The furry creature had caused wanton, yet had eluded its predators at every turn.
Attempts to kill it proved fruitless, although as the chase prolonged, it became evident that the rodent was running out of running space. A large following of angry men gathered by the time they cornered the scurrying little thing. Tables had over turned, chairs had broken, spoiled food laid wasted along the floor, drinks had spilled everywhere, and fights had broken out amongst several parties. Just when the lunatic mob of customers closed in on little creature, it squeaked frightening, dashing briskly across the floor, waddling past several pairs of feet before scampering up the legs of a lone girl sitting at the bar. Brandishing his cleaver to the girl, the corpulent cook turned to the mob and shouted, “Kill it!” In unison, the mob screamed, charging clumsily in the girl’s direction. Just as the maniacal crowd seemed hellbent on ripping the girl to pieces, Gamaliel stepped in their way, standing firmly in the face of glinting steel ...
The setting changes from Chapter 1: Freedom to Varnic Universe
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The elf stood to address the thief behind him as his dog continued to snarl at the man. Turning around, the tall well built warrior stared down at the thief who happened to be shorter. A glare from the elven warrior pierced through the thief's conviction of stabbing the elf. He had backed down quickly and walked out of the tavern cursing under his breath in anger. It did not take long for the mangy black dog to turn its attention towards the young boy who wanted to thank him for dealing with the thief. A hand was placed on the dog's head and the animal instantly corrected the behavior and went back to drinking from the water bowl.
“Gratitude is not required. My eyes and ears were absent of events between you and that man.” said Artanis with a deep bass filled voice that seemed to thunder out.
Silence fell over the two of them for a moment or two before an oversized man bursts from the depths of the kitchen chasing after a small scampering rodent with meat cleaver in hand. It was a comical scene at best and the dog at elf's feet was getting extremely angry at all the unnecessary noise and snarled at everyone that was contributing to the disturbance.
The event quickly ended with the rodent finding refuge near a woman at the bar. A smirk of amusement sweep across the elf's face as he pointed at the aged soldier that stood erect ,like a barrier, in between the mob and the woman. Smirk of amusement quickly transformed into a flush of admiration towards the man to place himself in harms way for another through the creation of a grin.
“Boy, stay here.” demanded Artanis of the boy while taking steps towards the man who has come to the defense of a woman.
It did not take long for the champion to be standing next to the armed soldier. Eyes shimmering for the blood of anyone who dares step forward and declare their challenge. Hand held firmly on the hilt of his sheathed sword on his back that is shielded by his broad shield. The choice to stand in a situation that would warrant unnecessary combat was a choice he could make at this point with his newly acquired freedom. Even the animal prize stood next to its master and snarled viciously at the mob of patrons.
“Gratitude is not required. My eyes and ears were absent of events between you and that man.” said Artanis with a deep bass filled voice that seemed to thunder out.
Silence fell over the two of them for a moment or two before an oversized man bursts from the depths of the kitchen chasing after a small scampering rodent with meat cleaver in hand. It was a comical scene at best and the dog at elf's feet was getting extremely angry at all the unnecessary noise and snarled at everyone that was contributing to the disturbance.
The event quickly ended with the rodent finding refuge near a woman at the bar. A smirk of amusement sweep across the elf's face as he pointed at the aged soldier that stood erect ,like a barrier, in between the mob and the woman. Smirk of amusement quickly transformed into a flush of admiration towards the man to place himself in harms way for another through the creation of a grin.
“Boy, stay here.” demanded Artanis of the boy while taking steps towards the man who has come to the defense of a woman.
It did not take long for the champion to be standing next to the armed soldier. Eyes shimmering for the blood of anyone who dares step forward and declare their challenge. Hand held firmly on the hilt of his sheathed sword on his back that is shielded by his broad shield. The choice to stand in a situation that would warrant unnecessary combat was a choice he could make at this point with his newly acquired freedom. Even the animal prize stood next to its master and snarled viciously at the mob of patrons.
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The volume of the tavern seemed to up to a roar as Llyr sat quietly, observing the bar in her appropriate, and habitual silence. She hadn't had a lot to drink, meaning she was sober enough to grasp that something was obviously wrong in the room, unlike the man next to her, who seemed to be slobbering drunk, and fast asleep. The snores distracted her, Llyr shot the sleeping, grungy looking man a look that was filled with distaste as well as annoyance, but was unfortunately unnoticed by the slumbering bar patron.
Llyr craned her neck to see what the commotion was about, unable to see in the mass of people that seemed to be screaming, running, ducking, jumping, and hacking away at anything in sight. Llyr sat back to study the situation, though the ruccus around her was proving to be rather distracting to her train of thought. Seeing the cook, with his, blood splattered and rusty cleaver in hand gave Llyr a fine idea on why he would be running around screaming bloody murder.
A mouse. Really? Llyr shook her head ruefully, the hood flapping at her neckline as she shifted into a more adequate position, legs spread, appropriately of course beneath her cloak as her sharp, intelligent eyes pierced the room with a somewhat secretive fashion. The mouse scampered about the room, squeaking in what seemed to be it's own language, though you could tell by the way it squealed that it wasn't too happy about the turn of events, from dinner time to murder.
Llyr felt a bit of sympathy for the mouse as she winced at each bang the wooden tables made when the cook's meat cleaver failed to reach the prospective--rather frazzled and furry--target the mouse. She sighed in sympathy for it, of course not knowing what was to come for herself as she watched it, her hands clenched beneath the cloak in agony for the poor creature.
Llyr analyzed the way the cook held the cooking knife in the palm of his hand and moaned at the waste of energy he used to swing that thing around like a maniac. She positioned her own hand beneath her cloak, keeping her wrist up straight, and her fingers curled gently around the imaginary handle as she swung downwards in a chopping motion towards her left knee. It was a perfectly aimed swing, and she smiled at this, still happy that she had it in her, but her thoughts strayed elsewhere as she caught the flick of the mouse's brown tufted tail.
Poor creature..she thought to herself, though if she were to be true to herself she was bluntly amused. As the cook flung the cleaver in his hand dangerously, it whacked through a lady's blouse, causing it to hang low for all to see, whilst the mouse dashed away once more. Llyr could not help but let a small bout of laughter over take her frame as she watched the lady screech, but the chase was on as the mouse, with the cook in pursuit, ran away once more, coming towards her.
The young maiden--Llyr that is-- felt a rustle of fabric between her crisscrossed calves and let out a squeak of her own as she saw what appeared to be two, bright, onyx colored beads staring back at her. The mouse, and the maiden, were one for but a second as Llyr's heart softened at the sight of the small forbidden creature. Soft, velvety, pinkish ears poked out, straight up, whilst the bristly black whiskers quivered. The small paws shaking gently as it stared out at Llyr forlornly, as though hoping against hope that this youthful face did not want to destroy it like everyone else did.
Llyr scooped it up quickly, surprised that the mouse seemed to consent, huddling in her hands, a little creature that seemed to be full of pure fear. She figured that it was petrified, or paralyzed by the huge amount of stress put onto it's little mind, and little body. Llyr was so entranced by it's tiny perfect features, from its shiny black button eyes, to its long, whip-like tail most likely used for balance and better running. She marveled at its tiny paws, she could have looked at it, studied it forever except--
"Kill it!" The scream broke through Llyr's fast moving thoughts as she looked up to see a mob of rather angry, rather frightening people. Her mind went on fast forward, as though someone had pushed the button that caused Llyr to panic. Jerking backwards, though still cradling the mouse within her open palms she gaped at the crowd of people obviously set on killing the mouse, and not minding chopping off her limbs in the process!
The broad was surprised by the one who stood between her and the highly irritated group of people, a single raise of Llyr's delicate brows would have stated the curiousity, and the surprise that went well with it. Her hands trembled, still cupping over the small, and nearly paralyzed mouth within their vicinity as she watched in wonder as the man, well into his years took charge of the pitiless, and rather chaotic situation, while she hovered in the back of the area.
Yet, even more surprised at the quick turning of events, she recognized the former gladiator Artanis stand, straight, dignified, right next to Gamaliel, but he, she knew who he was. The animal at his side, she did not however. She shuddered as she watched it snarl, it's muscles bunching and quivering, it was a strong creature, she could say that much. She watched it, slightly entranced by those powerful legs, and sharp teeth, before snapping out of it as quickly as it had come. If only she could replicate that power.
Finally, something in Llyr snapped. To say it was good would be a lie, but to say it was bad would also be something less preferable, somewhat of a fib. Her body began to move once more, in a not so robotic way, fluid and graceful as she shifted her weight off of the barstool and onto her feet, gliding to the side of Gamaliel. (Whom she did not know, yet, obviously.) With a swift glance at the taller, rather looming males she cleared her throat, thrusting the mouse roughly back beneath the cloak, while the small mouse didn't seem to protest all too much.
"I'll take care of the mouse, it'll be gone before..Err..It'll be gone." She spoke hesitantly, but proudly, each word pronounced, and accentuated with a slight shaking her head, the noble, defined chin that could only come from a arrogant personality bobbing up and down numerous times before coming to a stop, the straggly and stringy locks of hair that were attached to her head brushing against her cheeks as she faced the crowd, with Gamaliel at her side, though she felt alone once more, as she always did.
A lone farmer pushed his way through the crowd, eyeing Llyr with an intensity that made her very, very uncomfortable. She took a step back, taken aback by this strange twist on events as she stared at him, though he leered at her, an eye closed, his face grizzled and his porkbelly sticking out of his trousers.
"Lady, give me the damn rat and I won't stick my pitchfork in yah'!" He grinned at her again, his mouth filled with yellowed and an assortment of crooked teeth, though it looked like most of them had fallen out. Llyr winced at the wave of bad breathe that washed over her face as she took another step back, lightly tripping over what appeared to be a rock of somesort and tumbling to the ground, still backing away uneasily.
"N-no!" She said, a bit louder this time. The farmer looked taken aback at this, frowning somewhat as he pulled out what looked like a broken piece of glass from his back pocket and holding it at a rather menacing angle from Llyr's perspective. Though she stayed level headed as she glanced at down at her hands. She couldn't do combat at all, she couldn't do anything like that, even to an old man. She was useless in the face of fighting to be sure.
A thousand different scenarious flickered through her mind as she examined the sharp, jagged edge of the makeshift dagger he held possessively in his hand, she felt her brain turn on again, out of its hibernation as she guessed that this had probably been from a broken window, or perhaps something else rather fragile, yet still deadly and wickedly sharp. The farmer grinned menacingly at the girl as he took another step forward, a small, low chuckle slipping out of his cracked chapped lips. Llyr didn't say anything, but if she died by a broken piece of glass, she would never forgive herself.
Ever. But then again, she'd be dead.
The mouse burrowed into her cloak, not sure of what was to come, it was just relieved that there was no cat near by, or anything. But it did smell another animal. Peeking its head out, it squeaked in fright! Diving back into the cloak and huddling there, hoping the animal wouldn't eat it. (The animal being Artanis' creature of course.) With a soft gasp, her breathe slightly less stable than she wanted it to be, Llyr waited for what was to come, because that old farmer looked a lot meaner with a sharp serated edge, than with a bundle of hay in his arms.
Llyr craned her neck to see what the commotion was about, unable to see in the mass of people that seemed to be screaming, running, ducking, jumping, and hacking away at anything in sight. Llyr sat back to study the situation, though the ruccus around her was proving to be rather distracting to her train of thought. Seeing the cook, with his, blood splattered and rusty cleaver in hand gave Llyr a fine idea on why he would be running around screaming bloody murder.
A mouse. Really? Llyr shook her head ruefully, the hood flapping at her neckline as she shifted into a more adequate position, legs spread, appropriately of course beneath her cloak as her sharp, intelligent eyes pierced the room with a somewhat secretive fashion. The mouse scampered about the room, squeaking in what seemed to be it's own language, though you could tell by the way it squealed that it wasn't too happy about the turn of events, from dinner time to murder.
Llyr felt a bit of sympathy for the mouse as she winced at each bang the wooden tables made when the cook's meat cleaver failed to reach the prospective--rather frazzled and furry--target the mouse. She sighed in sympathy for it, of course not knowing what was to come for herself as she watched it, her hands clenched beneath the cloak in agony for the poor creature.
Llyr analyzed the way the cook held the cooking knife in the palm of his hand and moaned at the waste of energy he used to swing that thing around like a maniac. She positioned her own hand beneath her cloak, keeping her wrist up straight, and her fingers curled gently around the imaginary handle as she swung downwards in a chopping motion towards her left knee. It was a perfectly aimed swing, and she smiled at this, still happy that she had it in her, but her thoughts strayed elsewhere as she caught the flick of the mouse's brown tufted tail.
Poor creature..she thought to herself, though if she were to be true to herself she was bluntly amused. As the cook flung the cleaver in his hand dangerously, it whacked through a lady's blouse, causing it to hang low for all to see, whilst the mouse dashed away once more. Llyr could not help but let a small bout of laughter over take her frame as she watched the lady screech, but the chase was on as the mouse, with the cook in pursuit, ran away once more, coming towards her.
The young maiden--Llyr that is-- felt a rustle of fabric between her crisscrossed calves and let out a squeak of her own as she saw what appeared to be two, bright, onyx colored beads staring back at her. The mouse, and the maiden, were one for but a second as Llyr's heart softened at the sight of the small forbidden creature. Soft, velvety, pinkish ears poked out, straight up, whilst the bristly black whiskers quivered. The small paws shaking gently as it stared out at Llyr forlornly, as though hoping against hope that this youthful face did not want to destroy it like everyone else did.
Llyr scooped it up quickly, surprised that the mouse seemed to consent, huddling in her hands, a little creature that seemed to be full of pure fear. She figured that it was petrified, or paralyzed by the huge amount of stress put onto it's little mind, and little body. Llyr was so entranced by it's tiny perfect features, from its shiny black button eyes, to its long, whip-like tail most likely used for balance and better running. She marveled at its tiny paws, she could have looked at it, studied it forever except--
"Kill it!" The scream broke through Llyr's fast moving thoughts as she looked up to see a mob of rather angry, rather frightening people. Her mind went on fast forward, as though someone had pushed the button that caused Llyr to panic. Jerking backwards, though still cradling the mouse within her open palms she gaped at the crowd of people obviously set on killing the mouse, and not minding chopping off her limbs in the process!
The broad was surprised by the one who stood between her and the highly irritated group of people, a single raise of Llyr's delicate brows would have stated the curiousity, and the surprise that went well with it. Her hands trembled, still cupping over the small, and nearly paralyzed mouth within their vicinity as she watched in wonder as the man, well into his years took charge of the pitiless, and rather chaotic situation, while she hovered in the back of the area.
Yet, even more surprised at the quick turning of events, she recognized the former gladiator Artanis stand, straight, dignified, right next to Gamaliel, but he, she knew who he was. The animal at his side, she did not however. She shuddered as she watched it snarl, it's muscles bunching and quivering, it was a strong creature, she could say that much. She watched it, slightly entranced by those powerful legs, and sharp teeth, before snapping out of it as quickly as it had come. If only she could replicate that power.
Finally, something in Llyr snapped. To say it was good would be a lie, but to say it was bad would also be something less preferable, somewhat of a fib. Her body began to move once more, in a not so robotic way, fluid and graceful as she shifted her weight off of the barstool and onto her feet, gliding to the side of Gamaliel. (Whom she did not know, yet, obviously.) With a swift glance at the taller, rather looming males she cleared her throat, thrusting the mouse roughly back beneath the cloak, while the small mouse didn't seem to protest all too much.
"I'll take care of the mouse, it'll be gone before..Err..It'll be gone." She spoke hesitantly, but proudly, each word pronounced, and accentuated with a slight shaking her head, the noble, defined chin that could only come from a arrogant personality bobbing up and down numerous times before coming to a stop, the straggly and stringy locks of hair that were attached to her head brushing against her cheeks as she faced the crowd, with Gamaliel at her side, though she felt alone once more, as she always did.
A lone farmer pushed his way through the crowd, eyeing Llyr with an intensity that made her very, very uncomfortable. She took a step back, taken aback by this strange twist on events as she stared at him, though he leered at her, an eye closed, his face grizzled and his porkbelly sticking out of his trousers.
"Lady, give me the damn rat and I won't stick my pitchfork in yah'!" He grinned at her again, his mouth filled with yellowed and an assortment of crooked teeth, though it looked like most of them had fallen out. Llyr winced at the wave of bad breathe that washed over her face as she took another step back, lightly tripping over what appeared to be a rock of somesort and tumbling to the ground, still backing away uneasily.
"N-no!" She said, a bit louder this time. The farmer looked taken aback at this, frowning somewhat as he pulled out what looked like a broken piece of glass from his back pocket and holding it at a rather menacing angle from Llyr's perspective. Though she stayed level headed as she glanced at down at her hands. She couldn't do combat at all, she couldn't do anything like that, even to an old man. She was useless in the face of fighting to be sure.
A thousand different scenarious flickered through her mind as she examined the sharp, jagged edge of the makeshift dagger he held possessively in his hand, she felt her brain turn on again, out of its hibernation as she guessed that this had probably been from a broken window, or perhaps something else rather fragile, yet still deadly and wickedly sharp. The farmer grinned menacingly at the girl as he took another step forward, a small, low chuckle slipping out of his cracked chapped lips. Llyr didn't say anything, but if she died by a broken piece of glass, she would never forgive herself.
Ever. But then again, she'd be dead.
The mouse burrowed into her cloak, not sure of what was to come, it was just relieved that there was no cat near by, or anything. But it did smell another animal. Peeking its head out, it squeaked in fright! Diving back into the cloak and huddling there, hoping the animal wouldn't eat it. (The animal being Artanis' creature of course.) With a soft gasp, her breathe slightly less stable than she wanted it to be, Llyr waited for what was to come, because that old farmer looked a lot meaner with a sharp serated edge, than with a bundle of hay in his arms.
The setting changes from Varnic Universe to Chapter 1: Freedom
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Seeing how things were turning out, Mertan couldn't help but admire the two gentlemen, who stood up for the damsel in need. "I myself, would never go down to such stupid, and unecesary action." he thought, trying to make some picture of himself as a cold and heartless person. But he instantly remembered the horrible slave traders, and felt an urge to prove his worth.
A chance, that became his rather quickly. An ugly, troll-like farmer had stepped up, to confront the damsel, who'd stepped forth to declare something. Mertan had of course missed it, as his interest was diverted slightly between the mouse and dog. "Damned fourlegs." he muttered.
Mertan took a step forward, and pushed with all his strength at the farmer. The farmer was caught by surprise, but Mertan was nowhere near an adult in strength, and he was merely pushed away. His grim face turned on Mertan, giving him a scowl, that made the blood drain from Mertan's face. He could feel his legs shake faintly. Would the farmer go gut him with the thing in his hand now?
The farmer didn't seem to want to step up, even more so, because Mertan stood so close to the bigger and seemingly much more dangerous men. Mertan himself, could never really be seen as a dangerous, or even threatening person, but those two behind him, were obviously warriors, and equipped like such ones.
With a scowl and a grunt, he stepped a little forth, drawing the crowd behind him, like a herd of cattle. "Then give us that damned rat of yer's, and be done with it." he snapped at them, his friends agreeing loudly behind him. They didn't want to be cowards, but they neither did they want to cross blades with the two larger men, so they just agreed loudly, tryin to whip up the crowd.
Mertan had seen his cut, to quickly scurry around, and behind the two adults. "Oh blasphemous crud in the depths of hell." he cursed under his breath. This was just the kind of trouble he got in all of the time. Lucky thing, that there were some fighters, to keep that nasty looking fella' away.
Mertan looked a little at the crowd, then went back to praying for his life. He felt as though, he should just slit his own throat and be over with the entire thing. Not like anybody'd be there to miss him anyway.
A chance, that became his rather quickly. An ugly, troll-like farmer had stepped up, to confront the damsel, who'd stepped forth to declare something. Mertan had of course missed it, as his interest was diverted slightly between the mouse and dog. "Damned fourlegs." he muttered.
Mertan took a step forward, and pushed with all his strength at the farmer. The farmer was caught by surprise, but Mertan was nowhere near an adult in strength, and he was merely pushed away. His grim face turned on Mertan, giving him a scowl, that made the blood drain from Mertan's face. He could feel his legs shake faintly. Would the farmer go gut him with the thing in his hand now?
The farmer didn't seem to want to step up, even more so, because Mertan stood so close to the bigger and seemingly much more dangerous men. Mertan himself, could never really be seen as a dangerous, or even threatening person, but those two behind him, were obviously warriors, and equipped like such ones.
With a scowl and a grunt, he stepped a little forth, drawing the crowd behind him, like a herd of cattle. "Then give us that damned rat of yer's, and be done with it." he snapped at them, his friends agreeing loudly behind him. They didn't want to be cowards, but they neither did they want to cross blades with the two larger men, so they just agreed loudly, tryin to whip up the crowd.
Mertan had seen his cut, to quickly scurry around, and behind the two adults. "Oh blasphemous crud in the depths of hell." he cursed under his breath. This was just the kind of trouble he got in all of the time. Lucky thing, that there were some fighters, to keep that nasty looking fella' away.
Mertan looked a little at the crowd, then went back to praying for his life. He felt as though, he should just slit his own throat and be over with the entire thing. Not like anybody'd be there to miss him anyway.
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= Gamaliel Fureidis =
As the mob approached, the same tax collector whom Gamaliel watched earlier dove behind the counter settling just behind the young girl. At the same time, another angry mob arrived carrying pitch forks, daggers, knives, sharpened plows, and long poled farming tools. This mob appeared even larger than the first and when each party suddenly realized they shared a common enemy, joined as one. Upon closer inspection, the cook realized he'd become the mob's ring leader, bringing a momentary pause in his actions.
"Hm," he grunted, facing the mob, "Alright mates, seems we've doubled our numbers. Fair enough. Let's wreck the bastards!" Pumping his cleaver in the air, cries of death filled the tavern as numerous pitchfork carrying farmers rallied to the cook's cause. As they converged, the towering figure barred their paths, refusing passage.
“Remove yourselves immediately,” Gamaliel commanded calmly, holding a high chin as a fuming, fork wielding farmer stepped forward, "You will not harm these people for I swear to god, it will mark the end of you.”
"Out of our way, you old bag. We came for the collector, not you," the toothy mouthed farmer spat, raising his fork threateningly.
"Careful Becker," laughed another farmer, "'Think this one's a high born."
"Not a highborn, just a simple commoner such as yourself," the bearded leader answered unflinchingly, "Of course, I'm not immune to the havoc your party brings and in the manner you speak, I trust you won’t mind befriending a Vantian hanging noose. Committing murder isn't a way to live, I assure you, and will only place you in the gallows."
As tensions heightened, the bearded leader stood firmly, unyielding his gaze even in the face of gleaming blades. The situation proved delicate, having soured much of the crowd 's poor spirits. Despite this, Gamaliel continually stared, standing confidently as the mob eyed him. Hesitation circulated through the mob as an entity threatened his right flank. Instinct threatened the draw of weapons, yet discipline reigned supreme, dominating greatly over impulse. Gamaliel stood alertly, expecting an attack as he was flanked, yet as he glanced out from the corner of his eye, recognition surfaced. No attack came as Artanis, the master gladiator, stood beside him; readily willing a fight to any fool dimwitted enough to challenge him. To his rear, another entity deployed, though by his feeble shuffles, he proved no threat to either himself nor his unexpected ally. Momentarily glancing around, he found he was now guarding not 2, but 3 quivering liabilities. The elf’s position only heightened the tensions, yet his presence was still appreciated, if not extremely potent. Should relations sour any further, the elf was unstoppable. Calmly, the towering leader swiveled his head and produced a nod, physically acknowledging the elven companion.
More murmurs surfaced as the toothy farmer prodded his fork closer towards Gamaliel's neckline, gritting his teeth in malice. Just as he seemed bent on stabbing out the leader's gizzard, thoughts of deep regret quickly impressed upon the farmer's face as the elven champion visualized. Embarrassed and frightened, the toothy farmer shamefully eyed his pitchfork, staring weakly into Gamaliel's piercing stare before lowering it altogether. As he did, a blood curdling growl discharged from Artanis' dog. The mob quickly distanced themselves from the pair while standing completely clear of the dog. At the same moment, two dozen heavily suited men assembled around the mob's rear drawing their swords in unison. Members of the mob glanced to one another for support, but upon discovering their companions appeared just as equally baffled as they themselves, slowly backed away. As they all came to their senses, many dropped their weapons, fearfully forming a tight ball as Gamaliel's men dominantly converged. The situation had largely turned in Gamaliel's favor, yet bloodshed was not an acceptable reality. Truthfully, all the bearded figure sought was peace in the face of conflict and raising his right hand, the leader eyed his men, calmly signalling the guard to stand down. For a moment the soldiers seemed ready to assault on command, but as the moments passed it became evidently clear what their leader wanted. Slowly and suredly, the guard sheathed their swords, generating a sigh of heavy relief. A man in the mob whom appeared a little past his prime, shot a shaky finger back and forth between the dog and the bearded leader.
"Tell us, is starvation plausible after losing nearly everything we've worked for? Wasting our lives away also isn't a way to live. In case you haven't heard, the harvest's failed the last several seasons an there's barely 'nough food going around. Can't you see? We're all tired o'serving some lump arsed 'ristocrat when we can't even feed ourselves ya inbred lookin' highborn!"
"Again, I am no highborn and you have nothing to fear. I am merely a commoner as you and I am well aware of the famines you suffer," Gamaliel answered, sighing, "I do ask a simpler question, however. Are we children?! Your drunken feuds nearly cost us our lives much less provoke the town levy's presence. Do none of you lot recall the Mornias Uprising?" Dead silence ensued save the occassional cough or sneeze.
"Hmmm ... as I thought," he muttered, rubbing his chin, "The Uprising remains elusive, after almost three decades."
"Aye," affirmed an older man sporting his back, "Was that Mornian's y'say? I remember visitin' Mornia, though t'was a'many a year ago. Fiery lot o'lads, them Mornians were. Last I heard, them Mornian folk followed some hot headed high born named 1st Viscount Haviv Merkhava. Them Mornians got real antsy after rallying with the Viscount an' they were mighty jumpy after he started openin' his mouth. Don't know what happened next, though; all I remember's tha one day, we couldn't get in t'Mornia, 'an anyone tha tried met a lota Legionaries blockin' th'road. Anyone' caught pokin' around dis'peared. After tha', talk'o'Mornia got reaaaalllll quiet. Some say the quiet t'was brought aboot b'cause of the Viscount's curse. Tha' he tricked all'o'them Mornians out of Mornia. I swear on me'poor mam's grave, tha's all I know."
For a moment, the bearded leader paused as the Viscount's name surfaced, hinting recognition on his face. After a short moment though, composure struck again and Gamaliel chuckled, shaking his head in amusement, "I assure you there was no curse. The Mornian provincials felt exactly as you lot do. They believed the king stripped away their livelihoods without mercy. Also believed their sufferings fell on deaf ears. Before long, they'd scared away every tax collector in sight, refused tax payments, and forged their own method of living. They rallied, rallied in the name of free will and righteous prosperity."
"So you're meaning t'say them Mornians defied the king," the older man inquired?
"Indeed, they did."
More murmurs surfaced as the crowd ignited, roused by Gamaliel's words.
"Sounds awfully bold; practical too! Certainly beats serving an ungrateful greedy lout, I'll say!" shouted a burly artisan, earning whistles and praises from many humans bystanders.
"Ah, yes, so it seems. Yet you haven't learned how the Mornians perished! The uprising brought every damn legion down their throats. The Royal Legions, those whom were sworn to protect the kingdom's subjects slew the Mornians, Riv'Narians to a man. Women, children, the elderly, the sick, the weak; they spared none. The Mornians were Riv'Narian like you and desired a life filled with prosperity. For this, they paid dearly."
After a moment of awe struck silence, Gamaliel smirked as. He had the entire tavern under his wing and they drank in his every word. "Of course, think what you will. Defying the king's taxes may prove highly rational, though I believe forfeiting a life to the gallows proves equally rational, does it not? Either way, I suppose mercy comes in death ... or in life. To each and all, standing before me, I ask you. What do you accomplish butchering one another? Such fury is best served elsewhere and I'm sure you gentlemen realize this. Consider your welfare ... or not." Without another word, the towering figure turned and gave the elf a nod, leaving the audience gaping in wonder ...
As the mob approached, the same tax collector whom Gamaliel watched earlier dove behind the counter settling just behind the young girl. At the same time, another angry mob arrived carrying pitch forks, daggers, knives, sharpened plows, and long poled farming tools. This mob appeared even larger than the first and when each party suddenly realized they shared a common enemy, joined as one. Upon closer inspection, the cook realized he'd become the mob's ring leader, bringing a momentary pause in his actions.
"Hm," he grunted, facing the mob, "Alright mates, seems we've doubled our numbers. Fair enough. Let's wreck the bastards!" Pumping his cleaver in the air, cries of death filled the tavern as numerous pitchfork carrying farmers rallied to the cook's cause. As they converged, the towering figure barred their paths, refusing passage.
“Remove yourselves immediately,” Gamaliel commanded calmly, holding a high chin as a fuming, fork wielding farmer stepped forward, "You will not harm these people for I swear to god, it will mark the end of you.”
"Out of our way, you old bag. We came for the collector, not you," the toothy mouthed farmer spat, raising his fork threateningly.
"Careful Becker," laughed another farmer, "'Think this one's a high born."
"Not a highborn, just a simple commoner such as yourself," the bearded leader answered unflinchingly, "Of course, I'm not immune to the havoc your party brings and in the manner you speak, I trust you won’t mind befriending a Vantian hanging noose. Committing murder isn't a way to live, I assure you, and will only place you in the gallows."
As tensions heightened, the bearded leader stood firmly, unyielding his gaze even in the face of gleaming blades. The situation proved delicate, having soured much of the crowd 's poor spirits. Despite this, Gamaliel continually stared, standing confidently as the mob eyed him. Hesitation circulated through the mob as an entity threatened his right flank. Instinct threatened the draw of weapons, yet discipline reigned supreme, dominating greatly over impulse. Gamaliel stood alertly, expecting an attack as he was flanked, yet as he glanced out from the corner of his eye, recognition surfaced. No attack came as Artanis, the master gladiator, stood beside him; readily willing a fight to any fool dimwitted enough to challenge him. To his rear, another entity deployed, though by his feeble shuffles, he proved no threat to either himself nor his unexpected ally. Momentarily glancing around, he found he was now guarding not 2, but 3 quivering liabilities. The elf’s position only heightened the tensions, yet his presence was still appreciated, if not extremely potent. Should relations sour any further, the elf was unstoppable. Calmly, the towering leader swiveled his head and produced a nod, physically acknowledging the elven companion.
More murmurs surfaced as the toothy farmer prodded his fork closer towards Gamaliel's neckline, gritting his teeth in malice. Just as he seemed bent on stabbing out the leader's gizzard, thoughts of deep regret quickly impressed upon the farmer's face as the elven champion visualized. Embarrassed and frightened, the toothy farmer shamefully eyed his pitchfork, staring weakly into Gamaliel's piercing stare before lowering it altogether. As he did, a blood curdling growl discharged from Artanis' dog. The mob quickly distanced themselves from the pair while standing completely clear of the dog. At the same moment, two dozen heavily suited men assembled around the mob's rear drawing their swords in unison. Members of the mob glanced to one another for support, but upon discovering their companions appeared just as equally baffled as they themselves, slowly backed away. As they all came to their senses, many dropped their weapons, fearfully forming a tight ball as Gamaliel's men dominantly converged. The situation had largely turned in Gamaliel's favor, yet bloodshed was not an acceptable reality. Truthfully, all the bearded figure sought was peace in the face of conflict and raising his right hand, the leader eyed his men, calmly signalling the guard to stand down. For a moment the soldiers seemed ready to assault on command, but as the moments passed it became evidently clear what their leader wanted. Slowly and suredly, the guard sheathed their swords, generating a sigh of heavy relief. A man in the mob whom appeared a little past his prime, shot a shaky finger back and forth between the dog and the bearded leader.
"Tell us, is starvation plausible after losing nearly everything we've worked for? Wasting our lives away also isn't a way to live. In case you haven't heard, the harvest's failed the last several seasons an there's barely 'nough food going around. Can't you see? We're all tired o'serving some lump arsed 'ristocrat when we can't even feed ourselves ya inbred lookin' highborn!"
"Again, I am no highborn and you have nothing to fear. I am merely a commoner as you and I am well aware of the famines you suffer," Gamaliel answered, sighing, "I do ask a simpler question, however. Are we children?! Your drunken feuds nearly cost us our lives much less provoke the town levy's presence. Do none of you lot recall the Mornias Uprising?" Dead silence ensued save the occassional cough or sneeze.
"Hmmm ... as I thought," he muttered, rubbing his chin, "The Uprising remains elusive, after almost three decades."
"Aye," affirmed an older man sporting his back, "Was that Mornian's y'say? I remember visitin' Mornia, though t'was a'many a year ago. Fiery lot o'lads, them Mornians were. Last I heard, them Mornian folk followed some hot headed high born named 1st Viscount Haviv Merkhava. Them Mornians got real antsy after rallying with the Viscount an' they were mighty jumpy after he started openin' his mouth. Don't know what happened next, though; all I remember's tha one day, we couldn't get in t'Mornia, 'an anyone tha tried met a lota Legionaries blockin' th'road. Anyone' caught pokin' around dis'peared. After tha', talk'o'Mornia got reaaaalllll quiet. Some say the quiet t'was brought aboot b'cause of the Viscount's curse. Tha' he tricked all'o'them Mornians out of Mornia. I swear on me'poor mam's grave, tha's all I know."
For a moment, the bearded leader paused as the Viscount's name surfaced, hinting recognition on his face. After a short moment though, composure struck again and Gamaliel chuckled, shaking his head in amusement, "I assure you there was no curse. The Mornian provincials felt exactly as you lot do. They believed the king stripped away their livelihoods without mercy. Also believed their sufferings fell on deaf ears. Before long, they'd scared away every tax collector in sight, refused tax payments, and forged their own method of living. They rallied, rallied in the name of free will and righteous prosperity."
"So you're meaning t'say them Mornians defied the king," the older man inquired?
"Indeed, they did."
More murmurs surfaced as the crowd ignited, roused by Gamaliel's words.
"Sounds awfully bold; practical too! Certainly beats serving an ungrateful greedy lout, I'll say!" shouted a burly artisan, earning whistles and praises from many humans bystanders.
"Ah, yes, so it seems. Yet you haven't learned how the Mornians perished! The uprising brought every damn legion down their throats. The Royal Legions, those whom were sworn to protect the kingdom's subjects slew the Mornians, Riv'Narians to a man. Women, children, the elderly, the sick, the weak; they spared none. The Mornians were Riv'Narian like you and desired a life filled with prosperity. For this, they paid dearly."
After a moment of awe struck silence, Gamaliel smirked as. He had the entire tavern under his wing and they drank in his every word. "Of course, think what you will. Defying the king's taxes may prove highly rational, though I believe forfeiting a life to the gallows proves equally rational, does it not? Either way, I suppose mercy comes in death ... or in life. To each and all, standing before me, I ask you. What do you accomplish butchering one another? Such fury is best served elsewhere and I'm sure you gentlemen realize this. Consider your welfare ... or not." Without another word, the towering figure turned and gave the elf a nod, leaving the audience gaping in wonder ...
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Artanis listened at the bearded human's words and removed his amusing expression to a more serious one. News of famine and harsh times are very familiar to Artanis and reminded him of the genocide of his people so many centuries ago during the Age of Sand. A war that had nearly destroyed an entire race of people and forged the path of another. It was Artanis and his kin that had fought in the war with fellow Riv'narians to crush the threat of the sands; the king among kings; the ancient power of deserts; the Ancient King.
A memory flashed through the mind of Artanis in his days of youth. Artanis and his brother with a couple Riv'narian royal legionaries stood in a chamber with sunlight beaming through holes from the ceiling and fixated on a single location of the chamber – the center. It was this illuminated spot that rested a mound of red sand and a sword hilt was resting in.
A voice roared out and echoed off the circular shaped chamber walls, “You seek strength but seek unmeasurable power. Bend to my will and the world shall be yours.” The voice seemed to not just echo but be several different voices merged as one and speaking in a unified fashion.
The brother of Artanis stepped towards the weapon and drew the sword from the mound of red sand with no hesitation. His desire to defend Riv'nar and the Delryn family from war against the Merhavin family was absolute. The elven brother quickly noticed the red sand started to magically construct, mold, and assemble the dark red steel blade of the weapon.
Another mysterious verse from the chamber rang out, “So the king of sand has been chosen and the Age of Sand has begun.” After the words were spoken the brother of Artanis stared at the rest of his companions with a crazied grin with significant pigment changes of the skin to a darkening hue and hair flushing into a dull gray. It was the first signs an elf makes before turning into a drow and it was Artanis' brother who became the first.
Artanis snapped back to reality as Gamaliel started telling the story of the Mornians. Many of the disputes between humans were of no concern of his but they were fellow Vantians and he cared for them, despite their short comings of intelligent behavior.
As Gamaliel continued to tell the story and mentioned how none of the Mornians were left alive, sweat formed quickly and rolled down his face from the forehead. Needless to say, it left Artanis' mouth gaping open in shock at the realization of who Gamaliel is.
Another memory flashed into the mind of Artanis once more. This memory contained images of his brother wielding the mysterious red bladed sword to skewer dozens of Merhavin soldiers through the use of swinging the weapon towards the Merhavin soldiers and sandy spikes protrude out of the ground and impale the soldiers. The screams of death shortly escaped them and then fell silent to be replaced with the grotesque maddening laugh of Artanis' brother.
At this point the brother's hair had been completely flushed a silvery white and skin completely turned a glossy ebony complexion. The armor of the brother's was even transforming slowly into more of a full suit of plate armor of a tarnished gold coloring. The eyes were burning a hot red and flaring with signs of addiction to magical energies.
Again, Artanis mentally shook himself back to reality and exchanged nods with Gamaliel while wondering how the Merhavin family had survived for centuries while the Delryn family had been rooting their hands firmly into the countrysides. It made him wonder if he and his people fought on the wrong side during the civil war all those centuries ago. It made him curious to see how life would have been different for his people if the Merhavin family had became the victors instead of being nearly wiped out, much like the elven race was during the purging process of Merhavin family members and soon after the elven race. The memories of his people being massacred because of their affinity to consume magical energies to sustain an immortal life was beginning to anger him.
Gazing at all mob of people, Artanis crossed his arms across chest and spoke, “The Mornian's suffered not alone. Tales of my people speak words of genocide. After word of the Mornians were defeated, my people were hunted. Madness had over come wisdom and reason of royal family,” said Artanis with no attempt to hide the pain and hatred in his words.
The peasants looked at each other in disbelief. They could not believe that the royal family was responsible for such horrific acts of barbarism.
“T'ou say your kind were hunted? What words do you have behind the heart beating in your chest?” asked one of the peasants in a very curious manner.
“The royal family wishes not for discovery of such subject. Truth lays with enslavement of all elvish descent to be imprisoned and become constructed spectacles in the gladiatorial arena for all of Riv'nar to watch,” Artanis responded with as he uncrossed his arms and clenched both of his hands into fists tightly.
Another moment of silence struck across the audience as Artanis had finished his story of the fall of his elven people. Though it was only part of the story as it could be continued for hours more in lengthy tales of elvish history. The horrors of how deep his people fell into magical practices in order to survive would only make them shiver in fear and then to realize that some of those individuals are probably still living to this day.
A memory flashed through the mind of Artanis in his days of youth. Artanis and his brother with a couple Riv'narian royal legionaries stood in a chamber with sunlight beaming through holes from the ceiling and fixated on a single location of the chamber – the center. It was this illuminated spot that rested a mound of red sand and a sword hilt was resting in.
A voice roared out and echoed off the circular shaped chamber walls, “You seek strength but seek unmeasurable power. Bend to my will and the world shall be yours.” The voice seemed to not just echo but be several different voices merged as one and speaking in a unified fashion.
The brother of Artanis stepped towards the weapon and drew the sword from the mound of red sand with no hesitation. His desire to defend Riv'nar and the Delryn family from war against the Merhavin family was absolute. The elven brother quickly noticed the red sand started to magically construct, mold, and assemble the dark red steel blade of the weapon.
Another mysterious verse from the chamber rang out, “So the king of sand has been chosen and the Age of Sand has begun.” After the words were spoken the brother of Artanis stared at the rest of his companions with a crazied grin with significant pigment changes of the skin to a darkening hue and hair flushing into a dull gray. It was the first signs an elf makes before turning into a drow and it was Artanis' brother who became the first.
Artanis snapped back to reality as Gamaliel started telling the story of the Mornians. Many of the disputes between humans were of no concern of his but they were fellow Vantians and he cared for them, despite their short comings of intelligent behavior.
As Gamaliel continued to tell the story and mentioned how none of the Mornians were left alive, sweat formed quickly and rolled down his face from the forehead. Needless to say, it left Artanis' mouth gaping open in shock at the realization of who Gamaliel is.
Another memory flashed into the mind of Artanis once more. This memory contained images of his brother wielding the mysterious red bladed sword to skewer dozens of Merhavin soldiers through the use of swinging the weapon towards the Merhavin soldiers and sandy spikes protrude out of the ground and impale the soldiers. The screams of death shortly escaped them and then fell silent to be replaced with the grotesque maddening laugh of Artanis' brother.
At this point the brother's hair had been completely flushed a silvery white and skin completely turned a glossy ebony complexion. The armor of the brother's was even transforming slowly into more of a full suit of plate armor of a tarnished gold coloring. The eyes were burning a hot red and flaring with signs of addiction to magical energies.
Again, Artanis mentally shook himself back to reality and exchanged nods with Gamaliel while wondering how the Merhavin family had survived for centuries while the Delryn family had been rooting their hands firmly into the countrysides. It made him wonder if he and his people fought on the wrong side during the civil war all those centuries ago. It made him curious to see how life would have been different for his people if the Merhavin family had became the victors instead of being nearly wiped out, much like the elven race was during the purging process of Merhavin family members and soon after the elven race. The memories of his people being massacred because of their affinity to consume magical energies to sustain an immortal life was beginning to anger him.
Gazing at all mob of people, Artanis crossed his arms across chest and spoke, “The Mornian's suffered not alone. Tales of my people speak words of genocide. After word of the Mornians were defeated, my people were hunted. Madness had over come wisdom and reason of royal family,” said Artanis with no attempt to hide the pain and hatred in his words.
The peasants looked at each other in disbelief. They could not believe that the royal family was responsible for such horrific acts of barbarism.
“T'ou say your kind were hunted? What words do you have behind the heart beating in your chest?” asked one of the peasants in a very curious manner.
“The royal family wishes not for discovery of such subject. Truth lays with enslavement of all elvish descent to be imprisoned and become constructed spectacles in the gladiatorial arena for all of Riv'nar to watch,” Artanis responded with as he uncrossed his arms and clenched both of his hands into fists tightly.
Another moment of silence struck across the audience as Artanis had finished his story of the fall of his elven people. Though it was only part of the story as it could be continued for hours more in lengthy tales of elvish history. The horrors of how deep his people fell into magical practices in order to survive would only make them shiver in fear and then to realize that some of those individuals are probably still living to this day.
The setting changes from Chapter 1: Freedom to Varnic Universe
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Mertan looked at the elder paladin-like man, who stood up, speaking to the crowd. Not that the speech was very interesting to Mertan, he'd never really heard of the massacre they were talking about, neither did he really care about it. His world was here and now, and not what once were.
He turned around, to look at his bag. It seemed just as full as allways. The crowd seemed to be calming down, so Mertan felt that he should utilize this great opportunity, to sneak out the backdoor. Even though fighting had been avoided, blood would enevitably be shed, and he wasn't going to stand there and wait for it.
If the farmers did indeed rebel, they'd get trampled down by imperial legionaires, and if they didn't they'd see Artanis, the old man, the lady with the mouse and Mertan himself, as the enemies, and a knife in the back didn't sound like a nice thing.
As he backed a little back, he realized that people weren't noticing him. Who would care for an orphaned teenager anyways?
Mertan picked up his bag, and as if by a miracle, it didn't even rattle as it usually did. So with an abnormal stealth, he began sneaking back out, through the kitchen, and out into the yard. From there he'd get his mule, and get the hell out of town.
He looked around in the kitchen. Things were pretty neatly stacked, and everything was in good order. The chef was obviously a perfectionist, and when he'd seen the mouse he'd wanted to clear out the rodent. He must be a chef of great skill, because most cooks didn't care if there was a pair of rodents in the food supply.
Mertan actually regretted that he hadn't ordered something in the tavern, but things had of course changed, so he felt it was best to leave.
As he wandered through the kitchen, his eyes caught sight of a wooden cabinet, with the sign "Spices". He was instantly on the track, he wanted to see if the chef was in possesion of some of the more rare herbs, or even some of the herbs that have magical propeties...
A quick glance at the cabinet, revealed that the side wasn't reinforced very well, or actually made by good southern woodworker. Northern bunch of crap, was the best way to describe it.
He quickly went through his neatly packed satchel, and found his hammer, and a wooden nail. He placed the nail on the slight crack between the side of the cabinet, and the front. A quick hard slam with the hammer, and the first side of the cabinet was loose. Quickly Mertan made sure to do the same with the other sides of the cabinet, and then took of the side panel. He was well trained in woodworking, so it only took him a pair of seconds, as he realised he could just use his chisel, and spare his good wooden nails.
The soothing smell of spices filled the room, as he looked at the many cheramic containers, with both foreign and common spices. Mertan made sure to snatch the ones he allready knew the properties of, and then looked at the topshelf.
As he'd been suspecting, a dozen containers were set there, and they were properly sealed. Mertan quickly made sure to stove them down in his satchel. Now he'd just have to get out of the backdoor, and get to his magnificent steed!
But as destiny has it, there was 2 big dogs in the yard. When he opened the door, he quickly closed it again. He'd have to go out of the main door then.
Again, he sneaked back to the door to the main oom, and opened it up, slightly so he could see what was going on.
"Consider your welfare ... or not" The elder man said, and turned to walk away.
Quickly, Mertan made sure to step up closer to him and Artanis, people seemed to be well entertained by the knights with gleaming swords, that they didn't catch sight of him. Luckily for Mertan. So he quickly paced up behind the old man, to make sure that he could get out of the tavern. The man seemed to be influential, and thus, a good human shield.
He turned around, to look at his bag. It seemed just as full as allways. The crowd seemed to be calming down, so Mertan felt that he should utilize this great opportunity, to sneak out the backdoor. Even though fighting had been avoided, blood would enevitably be shed, and he wasn't going to stand there and wait for it.
If the farmers did indeed rebel, they'd get trampled down by imperial legionaires, and if they didn't they'd see Artanis, the old man, the lady with the mouse and Mertan himself, as the enemies, and a knife in the back didn't sound like a nice thing.
As he backed a little back, he realized that people weren't noticing him. Who would care for an orphaned teenager anyways?
Mertan picked up his bag, and as if by a miracle, it didn't even rattle as it usually did. So with an abnormal stealth, he began sneaking back out, through the kitchen, and out into the yard. From there he'd get his mule, and get the hell out of town.
He looked around in the kitchen. Things were pretty neatly stacked, and everything was in good order. The chef was obviously a perfectionist, and when he'd seen the mouse he'd wanted to clear out the rodent. He must be a chef of great skill, because most cooks didn't care if there was a pair of rodents in the food supply.
Mertan actually regretted that he hadn't ordered something in the tavern, but things had of course changed, so he felt it was best to leave.
As he wandered through the kitchen, his eyes caught sight of a wooden cabinet, with the sign "Spices". He was instantly on the track, he wanted to see if the chef was in possesion of some of the more rare herbs, or even some of the herbs that have magical propeties...
A quick glance at the cabinet, revealed that the side wasn't reinforced very well, or actually made by good southern woodworker. Northern bunch of crap, was the best way to describe it.
He quickly went through his neatly packed satchel, and found his hammer, and a wooden nail. He placed the nail on the slight crack between the side of the cabinet, and the front. A quick hard slam with the hammer, and the first side of the cabinet was loose. Quickly Mertan made sure to do the same with the other sides of the cabinet, and then took of the side panel. He was well trained in woodworking, so it only took him a pair of seconds, as he realised he could just use his chisel, and spare his good wooden nails.
The soothing smell of spices filled the room, as he looked at the many cheramic containers, with both foreign and common spices. Mertan made sure to snatch the ones he allready knew the properties of, and then looked at the topshelf.
As he'd been suspecting, a dozen containers were set there, and they were properly sealed. Mertan quickly made sure to stove them down in his satchel. Now he'd just have to get out of the backdoor, and get to his magnificent steed!
But as destiny has it, there was 2 big dogs in the yard. When he opened the door, he quickly closed it again. He'd have to go out of the main door then.
Again, he sneaked back to the door to the main oom, and opened it up, slightly so he could see what was going on.
"Consider your welfare ... or not" The elder man said, and turned to walk away.
Quickly, Mertan made sure to step up closer to him and Artanis, people seemed to be well entertained by the knights with gleaming swords, that they didn't catch sight of him. Luckily for Mertan. So he quickly paced up behind the old man, to make sure that he could get out of the tavern. The man seemed to be influential, and thus, a good human shield.
The setting changes from Varnic Universe to Chapter 1: Freedom
Setting
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= Gamaliel Furedis =
As the crowds dispersed, the cloaked retainer respectfully pivoted sideways, facing the elven companion with interest. He had not expected the presence of an ally and one such as the gladiator proved quite astonishing indeed. Unpredictably, the ancient champion further elevated his words, paralleling his race’s near demise alongside the fate of Mornia. Truly such despicable attrocities levied further suffering, solving nothing if anything. The genocides were one in the same and Gamaliel greatly admired Artanis’ display, bearing much heartfelt sympathy in light of the elves.
To slay one’s people already condemned those responsible, but to annihilate an entire species as an acceptable verdict? To think his own species held such elitist tendencies sparked shame in so many corners he’d rather perish in guilt than in living through persistently horrifying memories. It embarrassed him to know his own kindred could accomplish such barbarity. That Artanis had spoken at all, let alone mention his race’s near demise must’ve required enormous hardship, elevating his respect for the champion. This quite simply could not have come more strangely, provoking a simple bow of respect from the towering figure.
“Artanis is it? That was a remarkably brave risk you took there and I’m afraid I’m indebted to you. It is rather unfortunate we meet in this light; terrible business, truly.”
As he finished, Artanis’ dog snarled viciously, raising amongst nearby customers, and earning it Gamaliel’s display of interest. Before it went any further, though, Artanis swiftly diffused the tensions through a simple ear scratching method. After greatly the calming the dog’s nerves, Artanis allowed the dog room to sit.
"The debt was not given nor earned,” the champion answered, crossing his arms, “Clear your mind from thoughts of repayment." A smug grin replaced the serious demeanor looming across his face, compelling the retainer to smirk in amusement. Nodding, Gamaliel crossed his arms in succession in preparation to speak when the same pitch fork carrying farmer sauntered past. The man lowered his head in shame, shocked and wide eyed as his near death memories still brewed.
"You," he addressed, stepping forth. "You hesitated earlier. That was not a weakness, my friend; no ... t’was a strength! Granting mercy is never weakness, I assure you. Remember this and you defy fate in the boldest ways."
“I-I’ll remember this and … thank you.” The farmer turned away, shocked and horror empowering his face as thoughts of near - death still freshly brewed from within.
As soon as he respectfully returned towards the champion, the towering retainer came face to face with the tax collector, whom hid frighteningly behind the counter alongside the young mouse carrying woman. The groomed man wore an expression of complete regard as if Gamaliel himself were king.
"Sir, I don't know how to thank you," the collector exclaimed, "You saved my life back there!"
“Please, none of this,” he chuckled, smiling reassuringly, “I’m sure you would’ve done the same.”
"Yes, well I err ... suppose that's true although I've never held bravery as comparable as yours. These simple commoners don't understand; they always believe their financial woes ultimately stem through the lowly tax collectors. What they don’t realize is how little our hands play upon their affairs.”
Smiling, Gamaliel placed a hand along the man’s shoulder, dipping his head low in respect. “Times are difficult, yes, though these people toil under the yokes they plow. Over-taxation harms the people quite as swifty as blades tear the flesh. It is neve-”
“Sir,” a voice, interrupted, “if you may, an occurrence of utmost importance requires your attention.”
“Of course,” Gamaliel replied as his second adjutant materialized from behind, “What is the occasion, Clodianus?”
“Legionaries; fresh arrivals from the look of it.”
“Really …” Gamaliel answered, turning away with interest. As he glanced flankwise, he noticed the presence of several legionaries standing by the tavern’s doorway, strangely accompanied by an officer. Even stranger, the officer’s youthful appearance dazzled him, inducing a slight heart fluttering from within. All talk ground to a halt as attention honed upon the new arrivals; even the dwarves cut their chatter, staring suspicious as the legionaries caught their sight. As tensions mounted, many stared and pointed, wondering what a legionary presence could bring and why …
As the crowds dispersed, the cloaked retainer respectfully pivoted sideways, facing the elven companion with interest. He had not expected the presence of an ally and one such as the gladiator proved quite astonishing indeed. Unpredictably, the ancient champion further elevated his words, paralleling his race’s near demise alongside the fate of Mornia. Truly such despicable attrocities levied further suffering, solving nothing if anything. The genocides were one in the same and Gamaliel greatly admired Artanis’ display, bearing much heartfelt sympathy in light of the elves.
To slay one’s people already condemned those responsible, but to annihilate an entire species as an acceptable verdict? To think his own species held such elitist tendencies sparked shame in so many corners he’d rather perish in guilt than in living through persistently horrifying memories. It embarrassed him to know his own kindred could accomplish such barbarity. That Artanis had spoken at all, let alone mention his race’s near demise must’ve required enormous hardship, elevating his respect for the champion. This quite simply could not have come more strangely, provoking a simple bow of respect from the towering figure.
“Artanis is it? That was a remarkably brave risk you took there and I’m afraid I’m indebted to you. It is rather unfortunate we meet in this light; terrible business, truly.”
As he finished, Artanis’ dog snarled viciously, raising amongst nearby customers, and earning it Gamaliel’s display of interest. Before it went any further, though, Artanis swiftly diffused the tensions through a simple ear scratching method. After greatly the calming the dog’s nerves, Artanis allowed the dog room to sit.
"The debt was not given nor earned,” the champion answered, crossing his arms, “Clear your mind from thoughts of repayment." A smug grin replaced the serious demeanor looming across his face, compelling the retainer to smirk in amusement. Nodding, Gamaliel crossed his arms in succession in preparation to speak when the same pitch fork carrying farmer sauntered past. The man lowered his head in shame, shocked and wide eyed as his near death memories still brewed.
"You," he addressed, stepping forth. "You hesitated earlier. That was not a weakness, my friend; no ... t’was a strength! Granting mercy is never weakness, I assure you. Remember this and you defy fate in the boldest ways."
“I-I’ll remember this and … thank you.” The farmer turned away, shocked and horror empowering his face as thoughts of near - death still freshly brewed from within.
As soon as he respectfully returned towards the champion, the towering retainer came face to face with the tax collector, whom hid frighteningly behind the counter alongside the young mouse carrying woman. The groomed man wore an expression of complete regard as if Gamaliel himself were king.
"Sir, I don't know how to thank you," the collector exclaimed, "You saved my life back there!"
“Please, none of this,” he chuckled, smiling reassuringly, “I’m sure you would’ve done the same.”
"Yes, well I err ... suppose that's true although I've never held bravery as comparable as yours. These simple commoners don't understand; they always believe their financial woes ultimately stem through the lowly tax collectors. What they don’t realize is how little our hands play upon their affairs.”
Smiling, Gamaliel placed a hand along the man’s shoulder, dipping his head low in respect. “Times are difficult, yes, though these people toil under the yokes they plow. Over-taxation harms the people quite as swifty as blades tear the flesh. It is neve-”
“Sir,” a voice, interrupted, “if you may, an occurrence of utmost importance requires your attention.”
“Of course,” Gamaliel replied as his second adjutant materialized from behind, “What is the occasion, Clodianus?”
“Legionaries; fresh arrivals from the look of it.”
“Really …” Gamaliel answered, turning away with interest. As he glanced flankwise, he noticed the presence of several legionaries standing by the tavern’s doorway, strangely accompanied by an officer. Even stranger, the officer’s youthful appearance dazzled him, inducing a slight heart fluttering from within. All talk ground to a halt as attention honed upon the new arrivals; even the dwarves cut their chatter, staring suspicious as the legionaries caught their sight. As tensions mounted, many stared and pointed, wondering what a legionary presence could bring and why …
Former Praetor Kimber Amadrim and her band of twenty loyal legionnaires had been riding tirelessly for the past week, even though the crime had been flawless; Kimber insisted they move quickly away from the scene. Arriving in the bustling town of Vantia just before dusk, Kimber immediately began inquiring a suitable Inn for her men to stay the night. She knew that with the three chests of gold they had hidden in the wagon, having an expensive room for all would be no burden. However Kimber decided it was best to keep the gold hidden for now. After much deliberation with her lieutenant, Elim it was agreed the group would stay at a quaint establishment named The Bronze Inn.
While her soldiers took the horses and wagon around back to the stable, Kimber pulled the hood down of her cloak obscuring her face and walked in alone. Upon entrance Kimber became aware of a disagreement occuring among some pitchfork wielding farmers and two very tall men, the one who had rust colored hair and beard held himself like a commander. And the other appeared to be an-an elf? Kimber elbowed a few grungy looking commoners to better hear what the dispute was.
To her great astonishment the bearded man began speaking of the injustices done to the common even going so far to mention the unfortunate Mornian uprising, he also spoke of heavy taxes the nobles saddled the people with only to build gardens and satisfy their own selfish desires. She was filled with awe that this man would speak so openly against the King, especially since talk of such matters could cause one to be hanged without a trial. As his moving speech concluded the seemingly rabid mob dispersed and only a few remained, perhaps to seek advice or give the man some of their own. To keep his head down and not stir others into rebellious thought.
Kimber left the room unnoticed, which was quite easy since there were still plenty of people milling about. She convened with her band of soldiers who were still unpacking in the stable, telling them of her desire to meet this bold man and finding out who he is; there were a few against it. Seeing as the group needed to keep a low profile after the theft it would not be advantageous to associate with a possible rebel. However Kimber had not gotten to the rank of Praetor simply by her womanly charm, she was an excellent leader and quickly persuaded all twenty to follow her inside the Inn.
The only reason Kimber had not walked up alone to such a man was the fear he would see her as a loyal officer to the King and cut her down without a second thought, she had also taken notice of several armed men watching the bearded man during his speech and looked ready to defend him from the mob if needed.
Kimber strode through the door confidently her soldiers flanking protectively, their hands hovering over their sheathed swords. The officer stopped half-way across the room and spoke in a commanding voice, “Any person not allied with this man here, should leave for their own safety.” Gesturing to the imposing bearded figure with one of her armor incased hands.
The room cleared quickly, none wanting to be present should a battle happen. Kimber shrewdly eyed the bearded man's companions and was shocked beyond words, Artanis the legendary elven gladiator was standing just to the side of the bearded man. Recalling a time in her younger years when she had just been another legionnaire soldier, her battalion had gotten the chance to see the gladiator fight in the mighty Colosseum in Vantia. Never had she imagined to meet him in person.
A deep menacing growl suddenly emanated from the floor, angling her eyes downward Kimber caught sight of a simply massive black hound staring challenging up at her. Resisting her now strong urge to back away from the savage creature she took a few careful steps around the beast and faced the bearded man, at that moment she also noticed a small woman sitting on the bar stool behind the towering men, Kimber was slightly perplexed as to why the woman hadn't fled, it didn't appear as if she was being forced to stay.
Now Kimber simply had to know who the bearded man was and why he had such unique company with him. Using her commanding tone she asked, “Who are you to oppose the King and the way he handles affairs?” Her piercing blue gaze giving nothing away.
While her soldiers took the horses and wagon around back to the stable, Kimber pulled the hood down of her cloak obscuring her face and walked in alone. Upon entrance Kimber became aware of a disagreement occuring among some pitchfork wielding farmers and two very tall men, the one who had rust colored hair and beard held himself like a commander. And the other appeared to be an-an elf? Kimber elbowed a few grungy looking commoners to better hear what the dispute was.
To her great astonishment the bearded man began speaking of the injustices done to the common even going so far to mention the unfortunate Mornian uprising, he also spoke of heavy taxes the nobles saddled the people with only to build gardens and satisfy their own selfish desires. She was filled with awe that this man would speak so openly against the King, especially since talk of such matters could cause one to be hanged without a trial. As his moving speech concluded the seemingly rabid mob dispersed and only a few remained, perhaps to seek advice or give the man some of their own. To keep his head down and not stir others into rebellious thought.
Kimber left the room unnoticed, which was quite easy since there were still plenty of people milling about. She convened with her band of soldiers who were still unpacking in the stable, telling them of her desire to meet this bold man and finding out who he is; there were a few against it. Seeing as the group needed to keep a low profile after the theft it would not be advantageous to associate with a possible rebel. However Kimber had not gotten to the rank of Praetor simply by her womanly charm, she was an excellent leader and quickly persuaded all twenty to follow her inside the Inn.
The only reason Kimber had not walked up alone to such a man was the fear he would see her as a loyal officer to the King and cut her down without a second thought, she had also taken notice of several armed men watching the bearded man during his speech and looked ready to defend him from the mob if needed.
Kimber strode through the door confidently her soldiers flanking protectively, their hands hovering over their sheathed swords. The officer stopped half-way across the room and spoke in a commanding voice, “Any person not allied with this man here, should leave for their own safety.” Gesturing to the imposing bearded figure with one of her armor incased hands.
The room cleared quickly, none wanting to be present should a battle happen. Kimber shrewdly eyed the bearded man's companions and was shocked beyond words, Artanis the legendary elven gladiator was standing just to the side of the bearded man. Recalling a time in her younger years when she had just been another legionnaire soldier, her battalion had gotten the chance to see the gladiator fight in the mighty Colosseum in Vantia. Never had she imagined to meet him in person.
A deep menacing growl suddenly emanated from the floor, angling her eyes downward Kimber caught sight of a simply massive black hound staring challenging up at her. Resisting her now strong urge to back away from the savage creature she took a few careful steps around the beast and faced the bearded man, at that moment she also noticed a small woman sitting on the bar stool behind the towering men, Kimber was slightly perplexed as to why the woman hadn't fled, it didn't appear as if she was being forced to stay.
Now Kimber simply had to know who the bearded man was and why he had such unique company with him. Using her commanding tone she asked, “Who are you to oppose the King and the way he handles affairs?” Her piercing blue gaze giving nothing away.
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Failure!
As the old man in front of Mertan stopped, Mertan could feel his heart sink. The crowd had dispersed, which meant that the cook soon would notice his ruined cabinet.
And legionaires now entered the room. Could his day get any worse.
When she asked all who were not alligned with the old man to leave, Mertan scurried to get out of there, but fell down from the podium, on which the bar was placed. His feet had worked faster than his brain, and he'd tumbled down, knocking down three chairs, and landing headfirst in what seemed to HAVE been a bowl of soup, although it was just a pool of mish-mash on the floor now. "O-ow." he stuttered.
He raised his head slightly, to look at the legionaires. Would they cut everyone of them down, for opposing the king? "E-e-excuse me ma'am." Mertan said, sounding very much like freightened child. "I think the king is great! Can I leave then?" His eyes were pleading for mercy.
He rose from where he'd fallen, and dusted himself off. "If it isn't too much of a problem of course..." he said, only barely getting the words out.
He could feel his legs shiver, and his clothes felt damp with all the sweat. He felt like an animal before it was slaughtered.
He began moving forward, ever so slightly, trying to get closer to the door. If he could get outside, then he'd travel along the highway, untill he got to a place he could study alone. He wasn't much of a people-person anyway, and solitude sounded nice, after all he'd been in for in this stupid town.
As the old man in front of Mertan stopped, Mertan could feel his heart sink. The crowd had dispersed, which meant that the cook soon would notice his ruined cabinet.
And legionaires now entered the room. Could his day get any worse.
When she asked all who were not alligned with the old man to leave, Mertan scurried to get out of there, but fell down from the podium, on which the bar was placed. His feet had worked faster than his brain, and he'd tumbled down, knocking down three chairs, and landing headfirst in what seemed to HAVE been a bowl of soup, although it was just a pool of mish-mash on the floor now. "O-ow." he stuttered.
He raised his head slightly, to look at the legionaires. Would they cut everyone of them down, for opposing the king? "E-e-excuse me ma'am." Mertan said, sounding very much like freightened child. "I think the king is great! Can I leave then?" His eyes were pleading for mercy.
He rose from where he'd fallen, and dusted himself off. "If it isn't too much of a problem of course..." he said, only barely getting the words out.
He could feel his legs shiver, and his clothes felt damp with all the sweat. He felt like an animal before it was slaughtered.
He began moving forward, ever so slightly, trying to get closer to the door. If he could get outside, then he'd travel along the highway, untill he got to a place he could study alone. He wasn't much of a people-person anyway, and solitude sounded nice, after all he'd been in for in this stupid town.
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= Gamaliel Fureidis =
The night progressed noisily as most tavern occupants fled the scene at first chance. Moments before the cozy establishment had brimmed with life. This reversed relatively quickly as the mere presence of Rivian Legionaries frightened many Vantians to their wits. Those unfortunate enough to have remained farthest from the front bolted desperately through the kitchens as the opportunity presented itself. When the dust settled, an awe struck silence ensued, leaving few others besides the Legionaries and Gamaliel’s Guard. The only other occupants appeared in the form of a mass of dwarves, whom completely ignored the encounter as interest waned. They had no business meddling through a purely human affair, having acquired many centuries’ worth of hard earned wisdom as well as a stubbornness the human children continually seemed to lacked. Who blamed them? Human butchered each other for centuries, learning little despite committing continual grievances upon their own. More amusingly, though, as the officer strode forwards, his path altered worryingly at the behest of Artanis’ dog. Gamaliel painfully managed not to smirk, leaning over instead to send the champion a nod of appreciation. Upon finally confronting the chief centurion face to face, the retainer dipped his head respectfully.
“Good evening, Centurion,” he exclaimed, “Is there any matter from which I can assist you?”
“Who are you to oppose the King and the way he handles affairs?” the officer asked authoritatively.
“I’m uncertain what it is you speak of, but I can assure you, I committed no treason if this is what you inquire.”
"E-e-excuse me ma'am," uttered the young unkempt man, "I think the king is great! Can I leave then? If it isn't too much of a problem of course...""
The sudden and rapid appearance of another entity spelled the familiar arrival of Maximinius. His suspicious glare only provoked glares of equal vigor as the legionaries stood ready to fight.
“Leave the boy,” the royal officer asserted positioning beside his superior, “he stands alone in this matter and his associations lie elsewhere.”
As he spoke, the Feenikim Agrianikoi prepared for assembly until Gamaliel once again stood them down. The commander removed his helmet, revealing long flowing red hair and exposing the officer as … a woman. Gamaliel raised his brow quizzically, eyeing Artanis in slight perplexity at the newfound revelation. As he did, the stalwart officer shot a piercing regard in his direction, resulting in the return of an equally piercing stare of his own. He’d not recently encountered an officer of such imposing caliber, save perhaps one and as the thought presented itself, Gamaliel smiled calmly, sighing as attention fell upon his locket. His heart ached and for a moment, visions of blissful longing filled his head. Before his emotions frolicked any further, the retainer crossed his arms and exhaled, shaking his head in wonder.
The centurion’s unexpected arrivals surfaced many questions, instinctually provoking precautionary measures in the event of conflict. Something about this officer intrigued him, surfacing a familiarity he’d believed to have vanished long ago. Her demeanor, preparedness, curt authority, and youth also prompted a surge of interest from the leader and within the hour, they’d both agreed upon initiating a round of affairs.
Discussions seemed to prolong as Gamaliel pressed for details in an attempt to discern what exactly motivated Praetor Kimber. At first, he feared her presence might have originated through a crown sting operation, yet as talks progress he found the possibility of her involvement as a Rivian crown loyalist to seem increasingly daft. From what he could discern, she held no love towards the current Delryn regime and certainly did not inspect his character as suspiciously as a true crown agent would. By the end of their discussions, the matter had settled quite conclusively, integrating the Praetor and her men amongst Gamaliel’s. Quite frankly, the bearded leader still sought answers as to how determined Praetor Kimber really was and to what standards her men retained, but as he reflected further, he had ultimately concluded her importance could only reveal itself in time. The two had covered much over the course of an hour and though an uneasy tension still remained, a display of mutual collectivity prevailed before both parties. This established further through an agreeable hand shake between the two, substantially bolstering their pact.
“I shall cherish your company, Praetor Kimber, however uncertain it maybe. Pressing times lay ahead and you must prepare yourself for the unknown. We’ll speak again at first light, but for now, let us retire; our men require rest as I'm sure you would also. Should you feel informatively inclined, you know where to find me.”
The night progressed noisily as most tavern occupants fled the scene at first chance. Moments before the cozy establishment had brimmed with life. This reversed relatively quickly as the mere presence of Rivian Legionaries frightened many Vantians to their wits. Those unfortunate enough to have remained farthest from the front bolted desperately through the kitchens as the opportunity presented itself. When the dust settled, an awe struck silence ensued, leaving few others besides the Legionaries and Gamaliel’s Guard. The only other occupants appeared in the form of a mass of dwarves, whom completely ignored the encounter as interest waned. They had no business meddling through a purely human affair, having acquired many centuries’ worth of hard earned wisdom as well as a stubbornness the human children continually seemed to lacked. Who blamed them? Human butchered each other for centuries, learning little despite committing continual grievances upon their own. More amusingly, though, as the officer strode forwards, his path altered worryingly at the behest of Artanis’ dog. Gamaliel painfully managed not to smirk, leaning over instead to send the champion a nod of appreciation. Upon finally confronting the chief centurion face to face, the retainer dipped his head respectfully.
“Good evening, Centurion,” he exclaimed, “Is there any matter from which I can assist you?”
“Who are you to oppose the King and the way he handles affairs?” the officer asked authoritatively.
“I’m uncertain what it is you speak of, but I can assure you, I committed no treason if this is what you inquire.”
"E-e-excuse me ma'am," uttered the young unkempt man, "I think the king is great! Can I leave then? If it isn't too much of a problem of course...""
The sudden and rapid appearance of another entity spelled the familiar arrival of Maximinius. His suspicious glare only provoked glares of equal vigor as the legionaries stood ready to fight.
“Leave the boy,” the royal officer asserted positioning beside his superior, “he stands alone in this matter and his associations lie elsewhere.”
As he spoke, the Feenikim Agrianikoi prepared for assembly until Gamaliel once again stood them down. The commander removed his helmet, revealing long flowing red hair and exposing the officer as … a woman. Gamaliel raised his brow quizzically, eyeing Artanis in slight perplexity at the newfound revelation. As he did, the stalwart officer shot a piercing regard in his direction, resulting in the return of an equally piercing stare of his own. He’d not recently encountered an officer of such imposing caliber, save perhaps one and as the thought presented itself, Gamaliel smiled calmly, sighing as attention fell upon his locket. His heart ached and for a moment, visions of blissful longing filled his head. Before his emotions frolicked any further, the retainer crossed his arms and exhaled, shaking his head in wonder.
The centurion’s unexpected arrivals surfaced many questions, instinctually provoking precautionary measures in the event of conflict. Something about this officer intrigued him, surfacing a familiarity he’d believed to have vanished long ago. Her demeanor, preparedness, curt authority, and youth also prompted a surge of interest from the leader and within the hour, they’d both agreed upon initiating a round of affairs.
Discussions seemed to prolong as Gamaliel pressed for details in an attempt to discern what exactly motivated Praetor Kimber. At first, he feared her presence might have originated through a crown sting operation, yet as talks progress he found the possibility of her involvement as a Rivian crown loyalist to seem increasingly daft. From what he could discern, she held no love towards the current Delryn regime and certainly did not inspect his character as suspiciously as a true crown agent would. By the end of their discussions, the matter had settled quite conclusively, integrating the Praetor and her men amongst Gamaliel’s. Quite frankly, the bearded leader still sought answers as to how determined Praetor Kimber really was and to what standards her men retained, but as he reflected further, he had ultimately concluded her importance could only reveal itself in time. The two had covered much over the course of an hour and though an uneasy tension still remained, a display of mutual collectivity prevailed before both parties. This established further through an agreeable hand shake between the two, substantially bolstering their pact.
“I shall cherish your company, Praetor Kimber, however uncertain it maybe. Pressing times lay ahead and you must prepare yourself for the unknown. We’ll speak again at first light, but for now, let us retire; our men require rest as I'm sure you would also. Should you feel informatively inclined, you know where to find me.”
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Mertan was schocked, but scurried out of the door. But as if by a second thought, he felt an urge to just take a small peek at what was going on. Curiosity is a sign of intelligence... right? Or was it a sign of the lack of said thing...
Mertan moved up to the door, which for some reason wasn't closed. Hmmm, does that have anything to do with the fact that people had fled in panic?
He looked in, and watched the old man, and the centurion... centurioness? talk. Eventually it got boring though, so he decided to make his way out of town.
Quickly he found his donkey, saddled up and began riding out of town. No very quickly, but certainly faster than walking. As he moved out, the sun was setting over the country. Not that Mertan cared much for that. He wasn't scared of the dark. One of the few things he wasn't really nervous about anyways.
He moved out of the city-gate, just as the guards closed it off for the night. No merchants had been travelling much out of the gate the last couple of minutes, so why not close anyway?
The paved road he was following were well maintained and also well used. Many places he could see that there were broken cobblestones. The problem was, that the workers who should be fixing it, we're tryig to cope with the famine, by using more time on hunting and gathering than maintaining the roads.
Slowly but steadily, Mertan moved away from the city. He was urging his donkey though. The roaming beggars had a bad habbit of attacking travellers, and Mertan didn't feel like running into such people. Not that he wouldn't be able to fend off such a pair of starved devils, but a good idea is to never challenge fate.
As he got a long way away from the city, he slowed down, he had to find shelter. The best location for that was a grove of trees a good ways away.
Again he set up the pace, and soon he reached the small grove. It was rather peaceful. A single nightingale was giving all it's worth in the treetops, and a small waterhole could provide some... stagnant water. Although water none the less.
Mertan of course jumped down, and began preparing for the night. He tied the donkey to a tree, tugged out his sleepingroll and began gathering tinder for a small fire.
He just HAD to experiment with those assorted spices and ingredients he'd picked up.
But first thing first. He'd need fire and food before any experimenting.
Mertan moved up to the door, which for some reason wasn't closed. Hmmm, does that have anything to do with the fact that people had fled in panic?
He looked in, and watched the old man, and the centurion... centurioness? talk. Eventually it got boring though, so he decided to make his way out of town.
Quickly he found his donkey, saddled up and began riding out of town. No very quickly, but certainly faster than walking. As he moved out, the sun was setting over the country. Not that Mertan cared much for that. He wasn't scared of the dark. One of the few things he wasn't really nervous about anyways.
He moved out of the city-gate, just as the guards closed it off for the night. No merchants had been travelling much out of the gate the last couple of minutes, so why not close anyway?
The paved road he was following were well maintained and also well used. Many places he could see that there were broken cobblestones. The problem was, that the workers who should be fixing it, we're tryig to cope with the famine, by using more time on hunting and gathering than maintaining the roads.
Slowly but steadily, Mertan moved away from the city. He was urging his donkey though. The roaming beggars had a bad habbit of attacking travellers, and Mertan didn't feel like running into such people. Not that he wouldn't be able to fend off such a pair of starved devils, but a good idea is to never challenge fate.
As he got a long way away from the city, he slowed down, he had to find shelter. The best location for that was a grove of trees a good ways away.
Again he set up the pace, and soon he reached the small grove. It was rather peaceful. A single nightingale was giving all it's worth in the treetops, and a small waterhole could provide some... stagnant water. Although water none the less.
Mertan of course jumped down, and began preparing for the night. He tied the donkey to a tree, tugged out his sleepingroll and began gathering tinder for a small fire.
He just HAD to experiment with those assorted spices and ingredients he'd picked up.
But first thing first. He'd need fire and food before any experimenting.
Kimber was apprehensive about letting the un-kept looking young man go; after all there were very few female centurions and the youth had seen right through her masculine façade. If word of her survival reached the wrong ears it would make traveling for her and her group dangerous.
In the end it was best to make a good impression upon the bearded man and his followers; she nodded and allowed the boy to leave.
Removing her helm had a predictable result among the remaining people; even the bearded man seemed surprised at her appearance when a smile came to his face, Kimber knew she still retained her beauty and ability to catch men’s eyes. Looking to Artanis the elven gladiator she was unable to tell whether he was surprised or not to see a female Praetor. He did lift one elegant eyebrow, but that could mean a number of things.
Turning back to the bearded man, she offered they both sit and discuss certain subjects further. Kimber had her legionnaires remain by the door, then lowering her voice so only the two could hear one another. Kimber proceeded delicately with the negotiations taking the better part of an hour; she provided enough information to Gamaliel for him to trust her with a place in his retinue and both gave promises to each other.
Rising from her seat, she shook Gamaliel’s hand indicating their mutual agreement to join forces with Kimber’s gold thrown in to make their travels easier. Kimber actually graced Gamaliel with one of her rare smiles. He had given her a reason to hope for the future of Riv’nar.
“I shall cherish your company, Praetor Kimber, however uncertain it may be. Pressing times lay ahead and you must prepare yourself for the unknown. We’ll speak again at first light, but for now, let us retire; our men require rest as I'm sure you would also. Should you feel informatively inclined, you know where to find me.”
“I agree, we must rest for the night and will continue talks tomorrow.” Kimber replied.
In the end it was best to make a good impression upon the bearded man and his followers; she nodded and allowed the boy to leave.
Removing her helm had a predictable result among the remaining people; even the bearded man seemed surprised at her appearance when a smile came to his face, Kimber knew she still retained her beauty and ability to catch men’s eyes. Looking to Artanis the elven gladiator she was unable to tell whether he was surprised or not to see a female Praetor. He did lift one elegant eyebrow, but that could mean a number of things.
Turning back to the bearded man, she offered they both sit and discuss certain subjects further. Kimber had her legionnaires remain by the door, then lowering her voice so only the two could hear one another. Kimber proceeded delicately with the negotiations taking the better part of an hour; she provided enough information to Gamaliel for him to trust her with a place in his retinue and both gave promises to each other.
Rising from her seat, she shook Gamaliel’s hand indicating their mutual agreement to join forces with Kimber’s gold thrown in to make their travels easier. Kimber actually graced Gamaliel with one of her rare smiles. He had given her a reason to hope for the future of Riv’nar.
“I shall cherish your company, Praetor Kimber, however uncertain it may be. Pressing times lay ahead and you must prepare yourself for the unknown. We’ll speak again at first light, but for now, let us retire; our men require rest as I'm sure you would also. Should you feel informatively inclined, you know where to find me.”
“I agree, we must rest for the night and will continue talks tomorrow.” Kimber replied.
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As time past and the decisions between both of the captains took place. The elven warrior stared at the defected Riv'nar soldiers with a piercing glare. The expression given was hard to measure as hostile or inviting but certainly one that gave the impression to not dare draw steel and provoke a battle if their lives held any value to them. Restraint was exercised in keeping the rage of excitement from over taking his actions. He's reaction to the Riv'nar captain sliding the helmet off and revealing the features of a female did surprise Artanis to degrees more than others but was only acknowledged with a sly smirk across his face. Female warriors always had amused Artanis and they made some of the most interesting companions to travel with.
Only a small tone of their conversation was picked up by the pointed ears of the elven champion, but nothing but a muffled sound could be determined and not notable words. He had been standing at the bar the entire time, no moving from his position nor had the black mangy dog, and just kept a glaring fixated stare at the Riv'nar soldiers. It almost could be considered a form of taunting with a smirk of amusement that their captain is a woman, who are generally regarded as weaklings, but it was her capabilities in battle that perked his interest more than her gender's physical features.
Once, both Gamaliel and Kimber stood, Artanis exchanged eyes with the female captain and then back at the bearded man. Artanis had no intention of joining either of them in an exchange of words at a later date. His desire to travel and fight the kingdom's strongest warriors was the only obsession he had with his newly acquired freedom.
Turning to Gamaliel, Artanis grinned at the man before speaking in his thunderous voice that almost seemed to sound like the voice that would command the heavens themselves, “I shall make my presence absent and continue with my business across the great lands of Riv'nar.” with a nod being given to the man before Artanis unfolded his arms and started climbing his way to the door as each step was claimed and then forgotten. The boots slapped and slammed against the wooden floor loudly, suggesting the warrior's weight also suggested a commanding respect of strength behind them.
Boots hit the cooled dirt ground and air collected against the body's skin to transform into a moisture of sweat beads that roll down the cheeks and become absorbed into the clothing. It was a humid night but also comfortable with the rolling waves of cool breezes gusting through the empty streets of Vantia. It was peaceful, calm, and very orderly. It was the city that Artanis spent many of his years in. Fighting for the amusement of others.
A bark from the black dog, on Artanis' side, shook the warrior back to reality as the animal was given a quick glare from its master. A nod was given as though the two can read each of their minds. Artanis looked down both directions of the street and saw only some dim street lights illuminating the walk ways for late night city guards.
Only a small tone of their conversation was picked up by the pointed ears of the elven champion, but nothing but a muffled sound could be determined and not notable words. He had been standing at the bar the entire time, no moving from his position nor had the black mangy dog, and just kept a glaring fixated stare at the Riv'nar soldiers. It almost could be considered a form of taunting with a smirk of amusement that their captain is a woman, who are generally regarded as weaklings, but it was her capabilities in battle that perked his interest more than her gender's physical features.
Once, both Gamaliel and Kimber stood, Artanis exchanged eyes with the female captain and then back at the bearded man. Artanis had no intention of joining either of them in an exchange of words at a later date. His desire to travel and fight the kingdom's strongest warriors was the only obsession he had with his newly acquired freedom.
Turning to Gamaliel, Artanis grinned at the man before speaking in his thunderous voice that almost seemed to sound like the voice that would command the heavens themselves, “I shall make my presence absent and continue with my business across the great lands of Riv'nar.” with a nod being given to the man before Artanis unfolded his arms and started climbing his way to the door as each step was claimed and then forgotten. The boots slapped and slammed against the wooden floor loudly, suggesting the warrior's weight also suggested a commanding respect of strength behind them.
Boots hit the cooled dirt ground and air collected against the body's skin to transform into a moisture of sweat beads that roll down the cheeks and become absorbed into the clothing. It was a humid night but also comfortable with the rolling waves of cool breezes gusting through the empty streets of Vantia. It was peaceful, calm, and very orderly. It was the city that Artanis spent many of his years in. Fighting for the amusement of others.
A bark from the black dog, on Artanis' side, shook the warrior back to reality as the animal was given a quick glare from its master. A nod was given as though the two can read each of their minds. Artanis looked down both directions of the street and saw only some dim street lights illuminating the walk ways for late night city guards.
The setting changes from Chapter 1: Freedom to Varnic Universe
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The fire was crackling with a homely sound. The darkness outside the grove seemed to be even darker now that he had a campfire. His pot were already over the fire, warming some of the swampwater. Mertan had picked the trick of boiling swampwater before drinking it from an old man he'd been travelling with. In fact it had been the very same man who introduced him to alchemy.
His water had been boiling for a pair of seconds, before he moved it away from the fire. It was pretty hot, but he'd made sure to take the cloth from his satchel and used it to take the pot. He poured up some of the hot water into one of his earthenware cups, then he strew a few leafs into the water. "I wish I had some camomille..." he muttered to himself. Again he looked in his satchel and took out a spoon. It took a little of stirring, but eventually his tea was well distributed and a faint scent of strawberry began to rise from the cup.
As he finnished his cup of tea and the 3 slices of bread with butter and salt, he could feel his fingers itch. The satchel besides him was open, and he could see the small jars of ingredients. Especially the ones with half-magical properties caught his eyes.
As soon as he was all finnished, he poured out most of the water, so only a little reamined on the bottom of his pot. He quickly retrieved a pair of pouches of these potent spices. A dip of his finger into each, told him that his normal supply would be greatly enchanced by this cooks spices.
After a pair of moments of experimenting with small portions of the spices, Mertan decided to go big and make a vial of the strong Palisphaat. Surely it'd be good against a cold or flu. He began mixing the red spice, and soon the air around him were hard to breathe, and his eyes were watering while his nose was running. Simply a cruel way to be using ones evening, but he'd chosen himself...
His water had been boiling for a pair of seconds, before he moved it away from the fire. It was pretty hot, but he'd made sure to take the cloth from his satchel and used it to take the pot. He poured up some of the hot water into one of his earthenware cups, then he strew a few leafs into the water. "I wish I had some camomille..." he muttered to himself. Again he looked in his satchel and took out a spoon. It took a little of stirring, but eventually his tea was well distributed and a faint scent of strawberry began to rise from the cup.
As he finnished his cup of tea and the 3 slices of bread with butter and salt, he could feel his fingers itch. The satchel besides him was open, and he could see the small jars of ingredients. Especially the ones with half-magical properties caught his eyes.
As soon as he was all finnished, he poured out most of the water, so only a little reamined on the bottom of his pot. He quickly retrieved a pair of pouches of these potent spices. A dip of his finger into each, told him that his normal supply would be greatly enchanced by this cooks spices.
After a pair of moments of experimenting with small portions of the spices, Mertan decided to go big and make a vial of the strong Palisphaat. Surely it'd be good against a cold or flu. He began mixing the red spice, and soon the air around him were hard to breathe, and his eyes were watering while his nose was running. Simply a cruel way to be using ones evening, but he'd chosen himself...
- 25 posts here • Page 1 of 1
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Kimber Amadrim of Fellhaven
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An idealist, visionary, statesman, and inspirational general, whom desires the seat of Riv'Nar's throne. He sees many flaws within Riv'Nar's administration and wishes to change both the living standards of the common Rivian and renew Riv'Nar's prosperity
Artanis Nacadius Meridius
A charismatic elven champion that desires nothing more than a glorious death and to be honored for eternity.
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Kimber Amadrim of Fellhaven
A female legionnaire. Battle hardened, expert swordswoman, decent archer.
Gamaliel Fureidis of Merhavin
An idealist, visionary, statesman, and inspirational general, whom desires the seat of Riv'Nar's throne. He sees many flaws within Riv'Nar's administration and wishes to change both the living standards of the common Rivian and renew Riv'Nar's prosperity
Artanis Nacadius Meridius
A charismatic elven champion that desires nothing more than a glorious death and to be honored for eternity.
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Kimber Amadrim of Fellhaven
A female legionnaire. Battle hardened, expert swordswoman, decent archer.
Artanis Nacadius Meridius
A charismatic elven champion that desires nothing more than a glorious death and to be honored for eternity.
Gamaliel Fureidis of Merhavin
An idealist, visionary, statesman, and inspirational general, whom desires the seat of Riv'Nar's throne. He sees many flaws within Riv'Nar's administration and wishes to change both the living standards of the common Rivian and renew Riv'Nar's prosperity
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10 posts · 11 characters present · last post 2011-06-27 20:21:07 »
An original universe concept created by Cryptic Legends.
15 posts · 3 characters present · last post 2011-06-22 07:45:17 »
Part 1: The Journey ↪ Chapter 1: Freedom Owner: RolePlayGateway
A chapter about a village that is stricken with mysterious disease and requires assistance.
0 posts · 7 characters present · last post 1970-01-01 00:00:00 »
Varnic Universe ↪ Part 1: The Journey Owner: RolePlayGateway
This is where all underlining posts for Part 1 of CoV: Calitora Prime will go. Please post here if we are currently in Part 1 of the roleplay.
Fullscreen Chat » Create Topic » The Chronicles of Varnic: Calitora Prime: Out of Character
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The Chronicles of Varnic: Calitora Prime
1, 2, 3, 4, 5by Entity of Sin on Sat Aug 07, 2010 11:29 pm
- 92 Replies
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- Last post by Selene Durlan
on Wed Aug 03, 2011 7:28 pm
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The Chronicles of Varnic: Calitora Prime
Most recent OOC posts in The Chronicles of Varnic: Calitora Prime
Re: [OOC] The Chronicles of Varnic: Calitora Prime
Yes, the GM ended it......But I may be starting something else similar. If I get interest in it.
Re: [OOC] The Chronicles of Varnic: Calitora Prime
Well, er... I can assume by the lack of posting for a whole month that this RP is, in fact, dead? Darn, it looked interesting, too.
Re: [OOC] The Chronicles of Varnic: Calitora Prime
There really isn't a whole lot anyone can do about me leaving the site. Thursday is like.. almost a week away from now. I've got a new computer coming in the mail and once I get it I won't even have time to roleplay anyways. I'll be too busy making youtube videos to really care about roleplaying or this site even less than I do; which currently isn't at all.
EDIT: We'll see what happens. I can't promise anything.
EDIT: We'll see what happens. I can't promise anything.
Re: [OOC] The Chronicles of Varnic: Calitora Prime
Aggg!! You can't leave! :( I can resume my posting starting Thursday, we're going to keep this story rolling! =)
Re: [OOC] The Chronicles of Varnic: Calitora Prime
Selene, that's fine. I've been growing more and more unmotivated to even want to stay on this site. It's become pretty bad lately with all the bullshit going on with a lot of other people on the site. I'm not going to name anyone (no one in my roleplay anyways but just in case someone else reads this post), that really kill any ambition to want to continue roleplaying just by being a stupid fuck. Then there's the laundry list of shitty roleplayers on this site that post up their shitty roleplays (again, no one in my roleplay fits into that category). So it's like if I do want to spend time in another roleplay idea I have to filter out all the losers first before I get the golden eggs.
I've even had to deal with this kind of shit in roleplay communities that claim to have an "advanced literate" status. They suck just as much as other roleplay sites and in some cases a lot more. This isn't taking the community staff into consideration either; which I'm not going to get into publicly. I'm 25, I have better things to do with my time than spend being a part of communities that are pretty much dead with interesting activity.
Not saying I'm leaving Gateway right away but I'm saying this now: I'm leaving Gateway when this roleplay dies. I just think that all of you deserve to know how I feel and that's pretty much the extent of how much I hate this place.
I've even had to deal with this kind of shit in roleplay communities that claim to have an "advanced literate" status. They suck just as much as other roleplay sites and in some cases a lot more. This isn't taking the community staff into consideration either; which I'm not going to get into publicly. I'm 25, I have better things to do with my time than spend being a part of communities that are pretty much dead with interesting activity.
Not saying I'm leaving Gateway right away but I'm saying this now: I'm leaving Gateway when this roleplay dies. I just think that all of you deserve to know how I feel and that's pretty much the extent of how much I hate this place.
Re: [OOC] The Chronicles of Varnic: Calitora Prime
Yes, thanks........
K, *curses* my life just went into a tailspin. I'll let you know if I can pull up and salvage it.
Expect an update from me in a few days if I can continue RPing. Thank you, and I'm sorry. I was really just getting into it. =(
I still have hope though.
K, *curses* my life just went into a tailspin. I'll let you know if I can pull up and salvage it.
Expect an update from me in a few days if I can continue RPing. Thank you, and I'm sorry. I was really just getting into it. =(
I still have hope though.
Re: [OOC] The Chronicles of Varnic: Calitora Prime
Artanis is an elf. Elves can live for thousands of years by feeding off the energies of magical sources. If they consume too much of it they become addicted and turn into a drow. Guess how he has lived for so long while being a valuable gladiator to a master of a gladiatorial school? Why would the family that owned him let their most valuable warrior die of old age? Seems like bad business to me.
Does that answer your question?
Does that answer your question?
Re: [OOC] The Chronicles of Varnic: Calitora Prime
What are you talking about? I still have 5 hours to write a post and still be on time. *smirk*
Okay I'll post, but Gourmet has to go after me! :) And soon.
*Has urge to blame NarrowEye for the slowness* lol! ;)
Whoa! When did Artanis become 657 years old? I think there was some rewriting of history there. -_-
Okay I'll post, but Gourmet has to go after me! :) And soon.
*Has urge to blame NarrowEye for the slowness* lol! ;)
Whoa! When did Artanis become 657 years old? I think there was some rewriting of history there. -_-
Re: [OOC] The Chronicles of Varnic: Calitora Prime
Are we having some kind of tabu against posting? xD
Really! We're never posting, allways waiting for the last one to put on the last post. We'll never get done this way :) Correct me if you think I'm wrong, but shouldn't we just keep posting, and keep some life in this? ^^ Because I'm very much feeling like carrying this quest of epicness forward :)
What I'm trying to say is; Ima write a post :3 and that's before Gourmet writes his! :O !
Really! We're never posting, allways waiting for the last one to put on the last post. We'll never get done this way :) Correct me if you think I'm wrong, but shouldn't we just keep posting, and keep some life in this? ^^ Because I'm very much feeling like carrying this quest of epicness forward :)
What I'm trying to say is; Ima write a post :3 and that's before Gourmet writes his! :O !
Re: [OOC] The Chronicles of Varnic: Calitora Prime
Mertan is NarrowEye's character. We'll pick him up along the way -- even if Mertan doesn't want to come. :)
Once we get to the village things will really pick up. I plan on having everyone spend the night in the village and possibly with one or two posts from everyone will conclude the night (after we get to the village) and then the bulk of Chapter 1 can really move forward. It's going to be rather interesting since I'm going to need to collaborate with everyone openly in OOC to get their posts moving in the correct direction. A good example of this would be Mertan basically working with Gam's healers (medics) in taking care of the sick villagers through the use of potions, medicines, etc. while Artanis and Kimber basically look around for signs of what could be causing the strange epidemic.
Once we get to the village things will really pick up. I plan on having everyone spend the night in the village and possibly with one or two posts from everyone will conclude the night (after we get to the village) and then the bulk of Chapter 1 can really move forward. It's going to be rather interesting since I'm going to need to collaborate with everyone openly in OOC to get their posts moving in the correct direction. A good example of this would be Mertan basically working with Gam's healers (medics) in taking care of the sick villagers through the use of potions, medicines, etc. while Artanis and Kimber basically look around for signs of what could be causing the strange epidemic.
Re: [OOC] The Chronicles of Varnic: Calitora Prime
*Acts shocked* I would never half ass anything, I only full ass stuff! :D
Yippee! It's moving, but I think Mertan left the group....Will we be catching him?
Yippee! It's moving, but I think Mertan left the group....Will we be catching him?
Re: [OOC] The Chronicles of Varnic: Calitora Prime
Just letting all of you know now what my plans are for the bulk of chapter one.
I plan on having a villager run into Vantia screaming about an epidemic in his village, which is south of Vantia by the river, and beg for some assistance. At this point our characters should be jumping on the band wagon to go help out the village. That means Gam and his soldiers move in to help give assistance to the village, Mertan uses his alchemy to help with a cure, and Kimber and Artanis look around for signs that might be causing it.
Now I'm not necessarily going to be giving out how the epidemic started but I will say that it was man made. So yes, there is a conflict that's going to be coming up. Some battles and fight scenes.
I'm going to be posting after Selen does, so let's try and get things moving along in the direction I want things moving. Let's not half ass it either.
I plan on having a villager run into Vantia screaming about an epidemic in his village, which is south of Vantia by the river, and beg for some assistance. At this point our characters should be jumping on the band wagon to go help out the village. That means Gam and his soldiers move in to help give assistance to the village, Mertan uses his alchemy to help with a cure, and Kimber and Artanis look around for signs that might be causing it.
Now I'm not necessarily going to be giving out how the epidemic started but I will say that it was man made. So yes, there is a conflict that's going to be coming up. Some battles and fight scenes.
I'm going to be posting after Selen does, so let's try and get things moving along in the direction I want things moving. Let's not half ass it either.
Re: [OOC] The Chronicles of Varnic: Calitora Prime
=P Fine. Guess I forgot my place there for a moment. I of course serve at your pleasure Entity.
Re: [OOC] The Chronicles of Varnic: Calitora Prime
Uh.. I can talk things over with Gourmet regarding her being attacked by bandits. That idea.. kind of is random to be honest.
I thought I already went over with you the particulars of why you were brought into this roleplay with that specific type of character: to bond with Artanis. Romance is always a possibility, but it isn't going to be a heavily focused or emphasised part of the roleplay. I also don't think she would get as much out of the romantic relationship as she would want as Gamaliel is too busy trying to recruit an army, manage it, and then plan military plans to start a civil war. Now Artanis on the other hand just cares about swinging his sword around, becoming a stronger warrior (at all costs mind you), and basically testing his abilities in combat against only the strongest opponents.
I thought I already went over with you the particulars of why you were brought into this roleplay with that specific type of character: to bond with Artanis. Romance is always a possibility, but it isn't going to be a heavily focused or emphasised part of the roleplay. I also don't think she would get as much out of the romantic relationship as she would want as Gamaliel is too busy trying to recruit an army, manage it, and then plan military plans to start a civil war. Now Artanis on the other hand just cares about swinging his sword around, becoming a stronger warrior (at all costs mind you), and basically testing his abilities in combat against only the strongest opponents.
Re: [OOC] The Chronicles of Varnic: Calitora Prime
Oooo! Thought of this idea last night. So, sometime while they are traveling, Kimber goes to wash herself in a nearby river/creek alone (for obvious reasons. lol), but there are bandits on the other bank. She is without any weapons and only wearing a thin dress shift, they cross and attack.
I was thinking maybe she could reach her sword in time, but the dress keeps wrapping around her legs making it impossible to run and fight properly, and Artanis comes to rescue her, hearing the fight with his awesome elf ears! =D
Or Kimber doesn't reach her sword in time and is grabbed by a bandit, who she proceeds to kick and scratch, which is rather useless since he is much stronger than she. Artanis would be more the hero in this version. I think this will give Artanis and Kimber a great bonding moment. What do you think? =)
I also wanted to ask if there is going to be possible romance between Kimber and Artanis or Gamaliel? =) Hehe!
I was thinking maybe she could reach her sword in time, but the dress keeps wrapping around her legs making it impossible to run and fight properly, and Artanis comes to rescue her, hearing the fight with his awesome elf ears! =D
Or Kimber doesn't reach her sword in time and is grabbed by a bandit, who she proceeds to kick and scratch, which is rather useless since he is much stronger than she. Artanis would be more the hero in this version. I think this will give Artanis and Kimber a great bonding moment. What do you think? =)
I also wanted to ask if there is going to be possible romance between Kimber and Artanis or Gamaliel? =) Hehe!
Re: [OOC] The Chronicles of Varnic: Calitora Prime
Yeah, I talked to him about his post and everything over Steam (video game client on PC) about the posts. Not sure when he'll have his up. After him and you, I'll probably get mine up. Really want to get to the meat and potatoes of Chapter 1.
Re: [OOC] The Chronicles of Varnic: Calitora Prime
You go Entity! =)
I'm ready to roll out boss, man, sir. Just waiting for Gourmet to post first. =)
I'm ready to roll out boss, man, sir. Just waiting for Gourmet to post first. =)
Re: [OOC] The Chronicles of Varnic: Calitora Prime
If anyone saw the person's post that was negative and pretty much spam, it was reported and deleted.
Sorry, if any of you saw it. I'm kind of annoyed that someone had the nerve to randomly post in someone's OOC thread and make claims that the roleplay needs more people in it, more characters, etc. and that one of my guidelines is deterring people away.
I hope that person sees this post of mine and realizes how idiotic they are. They don't know what they're talking about and trying to tell a veteran roleplayer, with over a decade of experience, how to manage one. It's laughable, disrespectful, and I hope that person understands how stupid their behavior has been.
On another note, I do hope everyone can get their posts up soon. I'm not sure where Oxy is right now but we can power play her character along until she gets back. Giving her an extended amount of time to get back into the roleplay or she's out. Her character doesn't old a valuable role right now so it works out.
Sorry, if any of you saw it. I'm kind of annoyed that someone had the nerve to randomly post in someone's OOC thread and make claims that the roleplay needs more people in it, more characters, etc. and that one of my guidelines is deterring people away.
I hope that person sees this post of mine and realizes how idiotic they are. They don't know what they're talking about and trying to tell a veteran roleplayer, with over a decade of experience, how to manage one. It's laughable, disrespectful, and I hope that person understands how stupid their behavior has been.
On another note, I do hope everyone can get their posts up soon. I'm not sure where Oxy is right now but we can power play her character along until she gets back. Giving her an extended amount of time to get back into the roleplay or she's out. Her character doesn't old a valuable role right now so it works out.
Re: [OOC] The Chronicles of Varnic: Calitora Prime
Once the character is accepted into the roleplay, you'll be able to using the Posting tab of the roleplay to submit your posts. I suggest using some kind of word processor to type up your post first.
To integrate the character into the roleplay, I suggest having her walk into the tavern scene and walking to the bar for a drink to relax her nerves or something. That's the best way to integrate her into the story at this point. I can ask Gourmet to have his character take notice of her and suggest a few things to him. Right now we're trying to conclude the scene in the tavern and get to the meat and potatoes of the first chapter.
For specific detail of what each chapter is about, check the Places tab for additional information.
EDIT: Approved the character.
To integrate the character into the roleplay, I suggest having her walk into the tavern scene and walking to the bar for a drink to relax her nerves or something. That's the best way to integrate her into the story at this point. I can ask Gourmet to have his character take notice of her and suggest a few things to him. Right now we're trying to conclude the scene in the tavern and get to the meat and potatoes of the first chapter.
For specific detail of what each chapter is about, check the Places tab for additional information.
EDIT: Approved the character.