Fantasy Ballad of Renegades

[Corn Orc Vandal]

Khadija Aslan​

Group 1 ( BlueXBlood , Zazz , Xen6n , Aegis )​

"Seems more likely I'd be carrying you," Bal said.

Khadija laughed, light and melodious. A joke? From the gladiator? The thin air must be getting to us both.

"I'm not so proud as you, Bal. My feet would be glad for it," she replied as the group trudged along. the widening mountain path. the warrior grew furtive, secretive.

"You seem to know a lot about these secret folk." Khadija considered this. Her Imperial instructors had known very little about the Order, and any attempt she made at deepening her knowledge failed; there were simply few records concerning the Order in the Academy archives, as if someone tried to wipe them from history altogether. Just myths and rumors remained. What did she truly know of the Order beyond this? Evidently, her companion held some distrust towards them. Following Bal's lead, she lowered her tone, and as an extra precaution, spoke in Orcish.

"In truth, I know very little; no one in Axasterke does. They left the continent many centuries ago," she replied. The half-orc spoke her native tongue with refinement, softening the guttural tongue and smoothing harsh vowels. "They were once saviors of this world, though, and I doubt that has changed. I believe we can trust them."

Head bent in exhaustion, Bal pushed onwards as Khadija lagged behind. She was sick of the mountains. Ready to be anywhere but here. With each step, she felt a growing desire to turn around, an unexplainable urge to leave this place. Just go back to the valley. It was nice there. Before long, the bard had forgotten why she was even on this desolate rock in the first place. She looked around, befuddled, and saw a wagon. Best follow them. Maybe they know the way out. Khadija trailed along, her mind jumbled. Then, there was no more confusion. She remembered. Before her stood a large stone door.

Khadija shot a sly, knowing look at Aris. "More Seeker trickery, eh? I'm growing wise to your Order's ways." She knew little of magic wards, only that they existed, and the bard suspected she'd just barely made it through one. They pressed through the entrance, and Khadija braced herself for every manner of hidden wonder.

Turns out, she needn't have bothered.

The Sanctuary was a decrepit and crumbling place, ruined by time and neglect. Her stomach dropped, and she felt herself questioning the wisdom of coming to this isolated place with total strangers. Can't turn back now.

No fire burned here, no feast laid. The Order was gone, spirited away. Perhaps they travelled with the only two remaining from this sect. Just shades here, shadows haunting the hollow halls. Even the ruins were disappointing to Khadija, a city dweller accustomed to the grandiose monuments and manors of Safir Şehri. Her very presence in this place felt wrong. The ideas she held about the Order perhaps as empty as their home. Still, it was a place to rest. Hopefully. Khadija looked doubtfully to Bal before addressing their hosts.

"Well, I certainly don't think anyone will come looking for us here," she said, doing little to hide her disappointment.

 

[Zazz]

GROUP 2: Corn Orc Vandal BlueXBlood Xen6n Aegis

"-I... very little; no... Axasterke... They left the... many..." Bal'kafaz squinted at the ground, trying to translate what little she could of Khadija's words. "They were... and I... that has... I... we... trust them." The bard spoke differently than orc slaves in Prigalla, more... smoothly.

She was still mulling over the few orcish words she had picked up on when she and Aris opened the door to... not a whole lot. At least, not at first glance. The place was neglected, to put it politely. One look at the other half-orc and Bal'kafaz could see this was not what the bard had been expecting. Aris, on the other hand, was quietly glowing. The gladiator raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, and shrugged at Khadija.

Bal'kafaz brushed aside a large, dusty spiderweb and stepped further into the ruin, moving loose rocks out of her path with her booted feet. She made no effort to be quiet about it; no one had been here for some time. Quite some time. The greenery crept through a gaping hole in the rock ceiling.

"What exactly are we here for?" Bal'kafaz coughed, peering over the time-weathered railing at the moldy tapestries.

 

[Corn Orc Vandal]

Khadija Aslan​

Group 1 ( BlueXBlood , Zazz , Xen6n , Aegis )​

The group stepped deeper into the Sanctuary's ruins, and the interior was no better. Khadija wondered if this dilapidation was another Seeker trick, a way to ward off would-be intruders. Perhaps the glamer spell would wear off, and they would see the true, opulent Sanctuary. Khadija pressed against a crumbling railing to test her theory. The decaying wood snapped in two. No spells here. Just rot. Great. There were glimpses of grandeur and opulence here and there. A gilded column. Stained-glass windows. But this Sanctuary's best days were long behind it. Khadija wondered if this explained why so little of the Order was known anymore. Had they simply faded away, not just in Axasterke, but all of Kirlia? No. Maybe this place was abandoned, but surely there are others. Khadija wondered if the two were even Seekers at all, and not just squatters masquerading as such.

She glanced over at Aris, who, on the contrary, seemed silently pleased to arrive a this crumbling manor. Well, at least one of us is happy.

"What exactly are we here for?" Bal asked. Khadija laughed in disbelief.

"Did the Prigallans rob you of your wits as well as your freedom?" Khadija replied, temper rising. She slipped into Orcish, not intentionally, but out of sheer irritation. "Every Prigallan with a blade is on our trail right now. I know you're ready to embrace death with open arms, but I'm not so keen on crossing paths with him yet. This is the one place they might not find us."

As quickly as her anger came, so too did it leave. She sighed, practically deflating, and pinched the bridge of her nose as her eyes squeezed shut, as if to stop the annoyance from boiling over. It was all too much for her. Khadija thought it'd been a huge stroke of luck, coming across the Seekers and convincing them to let her access their Sanctuary. The Cradle? Here? What a joke. I doubt they even have a rag to bind Bal's wounds. Three more days here I'll have naught but my sleeves left.

"It's fine. It's all fine," Khadija muttered before composing herself. "Well! I'm certainly looking forward to seeing the rest of the grounds, Aris. I believe a tour is in order, no?" She tried to appear jovial, but her effort was half-hearted. Perhaps she could find something of use here. If not information on the Cradle, then at least a chance to rest and reoutfit herself.

 

[BlueXBlood]

Group 2 - Aris, R'hllor, Khadija, and Bal'Kafaz
The Southwestern Sanctuary of the Order ​

Aris took a moment to quietly bask in the atmosphere of the ruined sanctuary. Though beside her, the two half-orcs portrayed their disappointment openly, the Seeker was quite content with the state of things. Where the others saw desolation and abandonment, she saw something to nurture and rebuild, and that was enough to let her look past all that suffocated the remains of the stronghold.

"Well! I'm certainly looking forward to seeing the rest of the grounds, Aris. I believe a tour is in order, no?"

Khadija's words interrupted Aris' moment of engrossment and admiration, earning a quirked eyebrow from the half-elf. She certainly didn't plan on being some hospitable host to the two, so she was forced to ponder whether or not she was really in the mood for such a thing. Reaching into her satchel and retrieving the journal and reed pen, she began to write, displaying the journal to the bard shortly after.

"I'll give you a tour later. I'm going to find my things." She paused... and then wrote just a little more. "You can come with me if you want."

Though it was easy for the words to come off as dry and toneless on paper, the absence of any deliberately cold expressions from the half-elf was almost equivalent to a gentle, inviting gesture, as Aris looked at the bard expectantly. With a motion of her gaze, she gestured toward the gladiator, extending that invitation towards them as well. As she waited for their response, she almost felt embarrassed for attempting to be at least a little amiable, but of course, she refused to let anyone notice. It was the least she could do if she intended to keep to herself after that, anyway...

[ Aegis , Xen6n , Corn Orc Vandal , Zazz ]​

 

[Zazz]

GROUP 2: Corn Orc Vandal BlueXBlood Xen6n Aegis

When Khadija erupted into more Orcish, Bal'kafaz sighed quietly and simply waited for her to finish her tirade, not bothering to try to pick out words. She spoke too fast, and, frankly, she was exhausted. Finally, when the bard finished, Bal' said simply, "I have no idea what you just said."

And walked down the crumbling stairs.

The other two women were communicating through their book again, and Bal'kafaz did not particularly wish to participate in a conversation she could not understand.

The Sanctuary, as she'd heard it called, was a dusty, crumbling mess. But perhaps there were still supplies left from long ago. The gladiator found a broom leaning in a corner, its bristles spotted with mold and layered with dust, and used it to break apart cobwebs in decaying doorways.

 

[Goonfire]

SHERAGA THE LEPER
GROUP 1:
Corn Orc Vandal Daylight Fantasy Tool Aegis

---

"Ah, Kellid. I come from Jarnakkia, neighbor." The pilgrim otherwise remained silent, acting as a barrier for the scholar while they tried to strafe away from the few desperate souls who still dared to stay on the beach. Those plans were made impossible as several others made their way onto the sand, fanning out to surround them and the Kellid woman. Their fancy words did little to veil the banditry taking place.

Obscured by his helmet, his eyes flickered from target to target. Arbalestiers... the crossbows that gave this type of soldier their name were known to pierce wooden doors with their iron bolts. Plate armor was no problem. However, it was nigh impossible to penetrate said armor if there was another body in the way. The drawback weight was at least one thousand pounds, the mechanism of each requiring almost a minute to wind under optimal conditions. At a glance, at least half of these bullies on the ground would make excellent meat shields versus the first volley.

Then, a voice pierced the tense air. A young man dared reason with the ringleader. He carried an air of authority while lacking the pompous undertone of a nobleman—perhaps a military officer. He warned this Mikaela that no more ships may come if she spilled blood on these sands in this moment. This was the pilgrim's moment to chime in...

"It may be worse than that," he declared with great volume and a tone similar to that of the officer, yet gruffer. "You know these markings upon my armor. Pick your battles." As he spoke, he produced a scroll and unfurled it with a flick of the wrist. The faded script upon the water-damaged parchment was ornate, nigh incomprehensible unless one really squinted. "I come bearing holy orders. Move; I wish for salvation to find its way to this godsforsaken place." Whether or not he was bluffing, he hoped it was enough to dissuade the scumbags.

 

[Tool]

GROUP 1
Goonfire Corn Orc Vandal Aegis Daylight Fantasy



Annik watched a willowy.... man? She was pretty sure he was a man..... follow the Sick Man in Yellow Metal. This one had long dark hair, dark as fire-stone. He looked delicate, somehow, and smelled to Annik's nose like mineralish, wet rock and something sharp as cinders. Though he wore what seemed like an absurd number of layers, raven-hair at least did not appear as skittish as his fellows. Was he a companion of the Sick Man in Yellow Metal? He was certainly pretty enough to be someone's companion.

Her Prophesied spoke, then, of being neighbors, seeming neither surprised nor intrigued to find that she was here by prophecy, nor seeming especially interested in what part he supposedly played in it. It was refreshing. Then again, the Sick Man in Yellow Metal was very big - it was entirely possible he'd brushed against prophecy before.

"I have heard of this place, Jarn'kkia, but I have not yet journeyed towards the rising sun long enough to see it."

Even more people spilled onto the beach from somewhere, this stupid island would never run out of people, though these seemed dedicated to surrounding the Sick Man in Yellow Metal, Annik herself, and the raven-hair. Their armor and weapons were worn and bore the blood of metal in places. In Annik's brief experience, warriors were constantly putting oils or fats onto their metal, so their metal would not begin to bleed. As far as she could tell, metal bled all on its own if left alone for too long, and when metal bled its powdery, orangish, brownish blood, it became as weak as a wounded animal. The more the metal bled, the weaker metal became.

Metal bled, which meant metal could be killed.

It was good.

A woman wreathed in wounded metal came and spoke in rapid, arrogant tones, her movements those of one who had not known genuine weakness, had never been brought truly low, despite the mark going from lip all the way up to her temple. Scar-face fancied herself a predator, and perhaps in these, brown, lifeless lands, she was one. Annik tried to follow along with the woman's words, putting them together with only a beat between them.

Annik's parsing gave another man in metal time to come up and try to dissuade the two-hands worth of would-be predators, talking about...... not doing this in front of the ship? Why..... would ships care? Perhaps the ships themselves had spirits, judging those they carried and those upon the shores? The phrase stand down was also spoken by the newest man in metal, though Annik had no idea how one could stand downwards.

For that matter, she had no idea what dying vests had to do with anything. She wasn't even wearing one. None of them were.

The Kellid's clever gaze caught sight of more people on the tops of the buildings, wielding what she recognized as spear throwers.

It was the Sick Man in Yellow Metal's turn to proclaim that he had holy orders.

On..... paper?

His Gods wrote on paper?

Annik's limited interaction with paper had so far left her unimpressed.

It seemed a very fragile way to commune with one's worshipers.

Perhaps the Gods of the Sick Man in Yellow Metal infused the paper with..... strength? Power?

Annik waited a moment to see whether or not the paper would do anything, but it looked...... very paper-like, which was to say flat, filled with marks, and disinclined to do anything on its own but lay there.

Her pale, bright, nearly clear eyes rested for a moment upon scar-face, and then Annik moved quick as a wink, unencumbered by metal (bleeding, shiny, yellow, or otherwise) to point the sharp edge of her spear at scar-face's throat, a sigh's distance from releasing a wash of crimson from behind thin and eager skin.

"You will suffer me." Annik said, quietly, her words for scar-face alone.

The jump of a fluttering pulse in the woman's neck was easy to see, and the fear it implied pleased Annik, even if scar-face was trying to put a brave face on things. A fight between predators was, on some level, always a matter of figuring out who was the better killer. Contempt showed clear on her face. It didn't matter whether or not Annik died on these sands and fed her friendly crows; she was the better killer.

"Your people starve. I have killed wrong men, freed slaves, and fed many."

Annik's eyes narrowed and she stepped forward, even though the edge of her spear didn't budge. This was a weapon with which she had practice.

"I earned a place beside my ancestors, long ago. Have you earned a place beside yours? We will find out together, yes?"

 

[Corn Orc Vandal]

Agonos Isles
Group 1 ( Goonfire , Aegis , Tool , Daylight Fantasy )​

Mikaela's head whipped around to catch Arnou approaching. The young man was not pleased at their antics. He never was, so this came as no surprise to her. The privateer tried to recruit him to their band of brigands when he arrived on the island, with his dazzling armor and strong sword-arm. He refused then, and refused every other offer she made. Too good for them, she figured, some high born brought low. Not low enough, perhaps. Always doing something for those who couldn't do it for themselves. However, coming to the aid of these souls caught her off-guard, and she looked at him with disbelief.

"Newcomers? Have you not seen the corpses littering our streets, flesh rended from bone by human teeth? Maybe you haven't, cloistered away in your high tower, but we've seen them. Known them. And she," Mikaela pointed her broadsword to Annik, "is the one responsible. Perhaps her new friends, too. Sending them away would be a kindness compared to what they truly deserve."

The immense thing in armor spoke. This man gave these brigands the most pause. They understood strength, and knew this giant surely possessed it. Their grime-collared eyes studied him warily, and the sharpshooters trained their sights on his plated chest. No small target.

Mikaela laughed bitterly at his attempt to assert whatever authority his station might lend. "Oh, we know your order well here, Nurite. Did you think you were the first of your kind to arrive? There's even a temple to your god in our beautiful city, tended to by your brothers and sisters. I'm sure they would be very eager to meet you," the bandit spat. The outside world held little influence on the Agonos Isles, though it never stopped the world from trying. Mikaela knew her arbalestiers would make short work of the big man and paid him little heed. Their bolts would punch through both parchment and steel.

Emboldened, she turned again to Arnou, hoping to sway the fighter to their cause, but felt a rush of air and something alien pressing against her neck. Not cold, stinging metal, a sensation she knew all too well. This was jagged, warm with fresh blood. Mikaela's head did not move lest she cut her own throat, but her eyes shifted to meet those of the person who held her life in their hands.

"I earned a place beside my ancestors, long ago. Have you earned a place beside yours? We will find out together, yes?"

The men and women around her raised their weapons, and the crossbows became fixed on Annik. "You won't find the way to your precious ancestors here, savage. This land is cursed. You will rot under an alien sun, far from home, until your bleached bones fall beneath the waves. There you will remain for the rest of time, bound to your remains until the sea grinds you into dust." Mikaela slowly raised her right hand, a small gesture darkened with a certain ambiguity.

The brigands sheathed their weapons.

"Your crows will go hungry. For today." Mikaela took a step back, feeling the pressure on her throat fade away. "Such things are not right, Arnou. They are not right. I thought I knew you, but I've been mistaken before." She shook her head. "Enjoy your feral woman while you can. This southern climate will do her ill." With a whistle, the outlaws disbanded, dissolving back into the city.

A familiar and haunting sound reverberated through the ancient city's ruined streets. The bell rang four times. Tonight, the Agonos Conclave would open their gates.

 

[Nebulous Stars]

Group 4 | Rael, Eibor, and Quart
The Forests Southwest of Iyesgarth ​

Quart had a lot of adjustments to make, first as the bird’s voice rang out she bumped the creature’s categories in her head from animal to person. Next was simply physical, rising to her feet with more ease than she had any right to have, albeit shoulders over hips over feet, betrayed something odd to the way she moved. She took a moment to adjust the fit of her cloak and knock a bit of dirt off from the inside, before fully turning her attention to her surprise visitees.

First to draw the eye was the bird, Eibor, who she now realized rang a bell. The species rather than the individual, but while the academy had been disinterested in most natural philosophy, all manners of magic were paramount. She had never learned the advanced information, but basic spotting and assessment had been covered. Granted, the distinctive tail helped. Their words had inevitably sparked a cold turn in her stomach though.

Already discovered, she had little chance to actually escape ill intent without bloodshed, and neither had really any fault beyond hitting an unknowable sore point. Unable to escape the obvious conclusion, she could only be glad that her body did not grow tired with her mind, as she set her mind to friendly overtures. It had never been her strongest suit.

Still Eibor was at least charming, seeming to have briefly taken the lead from the man that they had spoken to before, Half-elf, quiet, dangerous, armed with a bow which bodes poorly should things sour. She felt a kinship to the scars across his face, each marked unmistakably by history, no matter how different their pasts. Some quiet instinct told her that they might enjoy silence together, but Eiborr had put in the effort, and so she would repay that friendliness.

To begin, she took down her hood, letting the dim light of her hair show in the dark, without a thought paid to the utterly gaunt face thusly revealed, the scar over her eye and the burn on her cheek just visible in the glow. Looking up to the bird in three above she spoke, her voice rough but clear, “I am Quarter Clay, of no place nor people. Better to find friendly company out here than the alternative. Right now the only thing I am in need of is a place to rest for a time, but it is yet to be terribly urgent. Companionship may be welcome, but I am as healthy as can be.”

As if to demonstrate she took a step forward and raised her arms to each side, entirely unconscious of the way her shirt fell empty over a concave stomach, and the skeletal nature of her draped arms. Yet she still held a visible energy and vigor, a strange contradiction, as she lowered her arms and let her cloak settle back over her shoulders, not a shiver to be seen in the cool night air. Risking a joke, she spoke again, “Do you two have an actual camp out here, or is this just some friendly ominous lurking?”

[ LumeNym , @Rusty of Shackleford , BlueXBlood ]​

 

[Xen6n]

​

---

As they struggled to approach the miles-long plates of barren terrain, R'hllor would have to admit that the journey was difficult and that mother nature had little mercy for the travelers. With Aris leading on, R'hllor could see how much she wanted to rest, her steps became uneven and her breathing was becoming audible.

Given that Aris was unfamiliar with these kinds of varying terrains, he could only speculate as to how challenging and uncomfortable it must be for them right now. R'hllor was used to these conditions; he was an experienced traveler in his own way, having encountered and battled through a variety of terrains, from the intense heat and sweltering deserts of Prigalla to the bitter cold blizzards and precipitous hills of the Twin Tusk Mountains. Had it not been for his passion for traveling, the fury of mother nature would have claimed his life long ago.

R'hllor skidded to a stop for a while as the Sanctuary came into view, and he noticed even Aris was in awe at the sight. The Sanctuary was a striking building in the middle of a picturesque setting that managed to blend in with everything around it but attracted the most attention.​

---

R'hllor, as is usual for him, was, to put it mildly, rather silent for the majority of the trip and was mainly lost in thought. It's his way of belittling himself; he thinks about things that are generally out of his control and the future. Even though he is aware of this worrying tendency, he nonetheless decides to carry on.

This would cause him to wonder why he's involved in all of this, why he's fighting, and why he joined the Seekers. He was aware that his goal was to aid the unfortunate who couldn't defend themselves, but to what end? His reason for joining Aris? Her determination to find a place to call home, to get by each day, and to put aside the things she couldn't control inspired him. Though others may not agree, R'hllor clearly looks up to Aris; in fact, he doubts that Aris even realises this. R'hllor was by no means a leader.

He realised that he probably ought to be thankful for it as he watched the others straining to stand again following the dangerous voyage. While he was being a sorrowful snob about his "purpose" and all that nonsense, the others were there doing their best to stick together and keep moving toward a shared objective. The goal might be short term but it was worth achieving for them, so why can't he see that? Why does he continue to strive for control over things that he can never achieve? He had to let go of his ego if he was going to be a team player in this whole thing.

The conversation between the others went over him and R'hllor wasn't able to register anything they said, he hoped he didn't worry Aris from his sudden silence.

R'hllor sensed the humidity and heavy concentration of dust in the air as Aris guided them into the ruined Sanctuary, which had been uninhabited for ages. He moved around the hallway, taking in the intricate architecture that was present throughout the whole structure. Admittedly, it impressed him so immensely that, had he not known any differently, he would have assumed that Divine Intervention had been used to build the Sanctuary.

Being pulled back into reality by Khadija's question of a tour, he listened as Aris replied to Khadija in giving her company along the way as they got their belongings. He arched an eyebrow at Aris at the notion; it was unusual to see Aris seeking companionship, even though Aris had not extended such a kind of cordial invitation before.

‘These two really have grown on her’, R'hllor thought to himself as he smiled softly and turned to face them, thinking. Though he doubts he will ever witness similar behaviour with anybody else, it was a sight to behold and he hoped this will become more prevalent in the future.

“You guys can go ahead, I'll do some cleaning around the place, I heard most Sanctuaries had a grand library, hope the rumours are true.”, he replied a bit giddy at the last part. You could call him a bookworm, but he truly believed that reading was an escape from reality, and he supported the idea of having a hobby that did the same. The world is a piece of shit and life is even worse than that, and it's okay to indulge in something you love and let all of your problems go, even just for a moment. Reading and playing any string instrument, such as his harp, serve as his means of escape in this instance.​

---

Aegis BlueXBlood Corn Orc Vandal Zazz​

---

 

[Zazz]

GROUP 2: Corn Orc Vandal BlueXBlood Xen6n Aegis

___________

Her light sweeping took Bal'kafaz down a corridor to the right of the overgrown main hall. The hallway was spotted with wooden doors, each at varying stages of decay; the hinges screeched in protest as she pushed one open, and Bal'kafaz had to cover her face with her arm to protect her lungs from the cloud of dust the swing of the door stirred into the air. Three pieces of furniture stood against the walls. A wardrobe, a chest, and a bed made with what was once clean, crisp sheets.

Bal'kafaz carefully checked the old wardrobe and chest for anything useful. She found several dead bugs, a whetstone, and a remarkably dust-free, folded shirt. The small stone, she slipped into a pocket. She took the shirt and proceeded to explore the other small rooms.

By the time she returned to the main hall, she had collected several odd items from previous occupants. "Has anyone found a bathing room?" She called loudly, setting her finds on a stair and sitting next to them. "Or a kitchen?"

 

[Corn Orc Vandal]

Khadija Aslan​

Group 1 ( BlueXBlood , Zazz , Xen6n , Aegis )​

Khadija's Orcish outburst fell on uncomprehending ears. "I have no idea what you just said," Bal stated before simply walking off. Khadija cocked her head, watching the gladiator vanish into a nearby room. Does she not speak Orcish? Are Prigallan slaves so divorced from Orcish culture that they've forgotten their own language? Khadija didn't know whether to feel pity for Bal or anger at the Prigallan elves. She chose the latter, a fury the bard was growing more and more familiar with ever since her noble patron, Lady Sevda, was murdered by what had to have been Prigallan assassins. Relations between the two states seemed to be improving, with an unprecedented number of diplomatic marriages between noble houses slated for the coming year. Lady Sevda had been one of those lucky few selected for this auspicious duty. That nearly drove Khadija insane. The bard spent what would be her last night in Safir Sehi planning to beg Lady Sevda not to go through with the arranged marriage.

When she arrived at Sevda's quarters, her body was already cold, but that didn't stop the maids who found Khadija cradling the lady's limp body from calling the guards. She'd been on the run ever since.

And now what are you doing? Stuck at the other end of the world when you should be finding her killers, bringing them to justice. Restoring your name. But no, you're here on this fool's errand trying to undo what cannot be undone.

Khadija wondered if she would find an ally in Bal, someone who shared her hatred of the Prigallans, but she doubted it. The gladiator seemed ready to lay her head down on the chopping block for the next elf she met. Crude Prigallan justice for her transgressions, whatever those were. Khadija realized she had never asked the warrior just why the Prigallans saw fit to execute her by such vicious means. For all Khadija knew, she could be travelling with a deranged killer. The bard decided now was not to ask such questions of Bal, who already seemed irritated by her.

Aris provided the musician with a brief reprieve from her spiraling thoughts with a few lines of text written in her journal.

"I'll give you a tour later. I'm going to find my things. You can come with me if you want."

"Oh, I'd love nothing more. Lead the way, Seeker Aris," Khadija replied. Let's see what kind of condition the rest of this dustheap is in.

From behind them, a voice she hadn't heard since the previous night spoke, nearly startling her.

“You guys can go ahead, I'll do some cleaning around the place, I heard most Sanctuaries had a grand library, hope the rumors are true."

"Hah! If the library's anything like this room, there won't be much left of those books; moth-eaten and water-logged down to the spines, I'm sure," Khadija replied. Unless there was some decrepit librarian creeping around, dutifully tending to the knowledge such a place might hold, Khadija had little hope for any grand library and what it might hold. The bard realized she was in a foul mood, now taking it out on her companions, but she could only acknowledge this, not stop the vicious spiral.

Aris and Khadija ventured further into the Sanctuary, light pouring in from vine-covered windows on either side of them. Unsurprisingly, the rest of the building's condition was little better. Warped floorboards, crumbling masonry, and ruined furniture. She'd known of Safir Sehi poorhouses in better condition.

"Has anyone found a bathing room?" The gladiator shouted in the distance. "Or a kitchen?"

As if you'd know what to do in either, Khadija thought smugly. Shame at these harsh ruminations finally grew larger than the anger boiling within, and the bard checked herself. Enough of that, you privileged little shit.

"Nothing yet!" Khadija called back in a singsong voice. Khadija looked to Aris. "Surely there isn't a bath house in this place?" She asked with a tinge of hope. If she says yes, I just might recant my hatred of the gods.

 

[BlueXBlood]

Group 2 - Aris, R'hllor, Khadija, and Bal'Kafaz
The Southwestern Sanctuary of the Order ​

As the Khadija accepted her offer, Aris flashed a soft smile, though it disappeared as suddenly as it came since the half-elf realized the bard was in no mood to value mere gestures of courtesy. Shutting the journal and returning it to her satchel with its pen, Aris turned towards the left-wing barracks, where she hoped to retrieve her things.

Their navigating of the sanctuary led them through the corridors of the upper floor, which surrounded the main hall, before drawing them into a faintly narrower hallway. Unlike the lower floor, the area through which they walked seemed to be spared from the many miscellaneous rooms one would encounter elsewhere, and in turn, the walls seemed far more intact. It almost began to look safe and clean, though that was only in comparison to the massive debris that decorated the rest of the stronghold.

Once the hallway began to veer to the right, the duo passed by a pair of elaborate doors, both of which hung open to a degree, just enough to let them catch a glimpse of what ruin was inside. As they walked, the window into the rooms panned over the images of large, collapsed bedframes and tapestries along the walls that, astonishingly, seemed to have survived with at least a quarter of their depicted artistry. The floors were carpeted with overgrowth and other signs of decay, but after the rough journey that they endured, it was inhabitable enough.

The hallway then expanded into an open corridor, with the sight of the library visible from below. Aris slowed her pace just to glance down at it, considering the state of it deeply. She didn't dare step into that room when she first arrived, as the floor itself was drowned in wastes of broken furniture, shelves had collapsed on themselves and their contents littered the ground. The railing from the upper floor had fallen into the mess as well, which, with a gesture of caution, Aris advised Khadija to be wary of as they maneuvered around the cavities.

Though far from a complete tour, the little that was displayed was still a depressing sight. In fact, Aris wondered what sort of optimism the desert flower of a half-orc might've been using at that moment to cope with the disappointment. However, as they approached the final set of doors, and the half-elf threw the furthest wide open, there was at least a little hope for comfort.

The two were greeted by a large and spacious room that, truthfully, was not much unlike the others, save for the obvious signs of encampment and the fact that the floor had been almost entirely cleared. Wonderful. The debris all seemed to be gathered in one place, no doubt by the effort of the half-elf when she had stayed here, and at the very center, where a rucksack and the ashy remains of an old campfire sat, the filth and overgrowth were cleaned out, inviting the weary bard to rest somewhere clean, for once.

[ Aegis , Xen6n , Corn Orc Vandal , Zazz ]​

 

[Zazz]

GROUP 2: Corn Orc Vandal BlueXBlood Xen6n Aegis

_____________

Out on the main staircase, the gladiator put her face in her hands and rubbed her temples. This was not her place. She was so far from everything she knew, with people she knew nothing about, in a ruin she had never heard of. She was tired. The face of a fearful boy, surrounded by his slain family, flashed in her mind's eye. Bal'kafaz had no memory of what had occurred; she only knew what she had done by the tenseness of her hands and the warmth of blood on her skin. She didn't know why she did it. She had felt so angry, and...

Alone.

With a heavy sigh, she stood, collecting the few items she had found in the barracks. Bal'kafaz followed the sound of Khadija's voice upstairs, where she found Aris and the bard in a significantly less rundown room. It was larger than those she had found, and looked like someone had camped there much more recently.

"I found these," she announced, most of her finds on top of the bed. Bal' kept hold of the shirt and trousers she had found. "I'm going out to look for water. I heard a stream on the way in."

 

[Rohan]

[✦] Hunadi Dralis- Group 3​

The cool stone bench was soothing against Nadi’s damp palms. From being seasick, to their lovely forced march through the woods and up crumbling steps, Hunadi hadn’t realized how warm he had gotten until comparing himself to the damp cell he and the others had just entered. Resting his head back against the stone, his stomach had finally settled and he was beginning to feel like his normal self. Well, as normal as one can be in this sort of situation.

The other captives made themselves comfortable around the damp room, the beginnings of idle chatter stirring up between the other two as Hunadi studied them with mild interest."So why don't we put together any information we have?" the largest of the group had spoken as the shouts and screams began to build up from the neighboring cells in an agonizing symphony. ” I lost my sense of direction on the first ship.” Nadi spoke, having to raise his voice over the cries and pleading. He didn’t like talking loud, but nobody would hear him if he spoke in his more comfortable, soft tone. ” Sorry..if I got anything on your boots..” he added sheepishly ” Knowing we’re on an island that’s large enough to hold a secondary island, our best bet is to get our directions sorted first and try to get a feel for this..place.” he gestured to their cell, his eyes lifting to the ceiling to examine the water droplets threatening to fall on his head. “ The sooner the better. I’ll bet they’re itching to torture us to death the first chance they get.” The thought made him grimace. Sure, he could handle having his ass handed to him from time to time, but he had never actually toured a torture room or any of it’s furnishings. He had always managed to escape before that fate arrived. That is, until now.

The sound of scribbling caught his attention and he looked through the cell bars to find a scribe, frantically scratching her quill against the pages of a worn records book. "You strangers must all have a story. May I ask where you hail from and why they took you?" she asked, now standing up from her seat at a neglected table and coming towards the cell. Nadi quieted down, not wanting to be the first to answer. Not that he had anything to hide, but his story wasn’t much to share. A thief who was caught being just that- a thief. Not really the adventurous tale one might hope to hear about when meeting strangers. Lowering his eyes from the ceiling, he glanced at his cellmates, curious about their answers. Was he sitting among killers? Strangers with a higher bounty than himself? He waited quietly to hear the answers.

Goonfire AriAriAbabwa escapist
​

 

[Aegis]

Group 2 ( Zazz Corn Orc Vandal Xen6n )​

A disappointment to some, potential to others. The Sanctuary laid itself bare to those who had entered and the solemn stone allowed for them to make up their own mind as to what it had for them. Immediately, the group had split between some of the more adventurous folk, the knowledge seekers, and those searching for a reprieve of comfort from the harshness of the journey they had endured.

Bal had wandered into a yet-abandoned section of housing. Beds laid collapsed or overturned in telling of stories she couldn't even begin to ponder the reality of, but the reality of it was that someone--others, used to sleep in these beds; at some point, this place was a fully functional fortress that housed some of the most courageous and honorable souls of The Order if Khadija, Aris, or R'hllor were to be believed. Regardless, it was a lifetime ago, and as the half-orc dug through the scant remaining belongings she discovered mostly small baubles and personal belongings of little significance. The only item that stuck out was a coin at the bottom of one of the footlockers in the room; its metal surface was carved intricately with iconography that seemed to indicate an origin in Axasterke, yet even the metal itself seemed old.

The smell of mothballed book and rotting wood wasn't a hard one to pick up on in such an enclosed space and R'hllor could follow his nose to a doorway off to his left that sat off of its hinges and leading to a variable mountain of ruins sprinkled with the remains of books. However, aside from the immediate space around the doorway, the water damage to much of the written material wasn't as obvious from such a distance.

As Aris and Khadija made their way to the left-wing barracks, the ruin continued for a ways before giving into a less dilapidated appearance. This area was far enough away from the main breach in the ceiling that little more than a few plants had managed to worm their way inside. Although, the mold was certainly still an aggressive smell that would need to be dealt with before too long. The duo made their way overtop a walkway near the library and peered down on the broken mess of knowledge--many of the rear bookcases away from the door to the main hall were twisted but still upright. However, as they walked across the creaking wood a noise sounded from among the wood, a small skitter. The sound of wood grinding along the ground as though something had accidentally pushed one of the rather large bookcases on accident. Meaning, of course, whatever it was would've had to have been decently large as well. Darkness swelled in the room and took its form in inky black corners that were barely discernable. Although, if one stared for long enough, they could almost swear there were sets of eyes watching them.

Bal soon made her way up and then back down. Having one place with no direction seemed to be disagreeing with her temperament, and she desperately needed something to distract her. Getting water seemed only plausible. Yet, as she journeyed back toward the entrance, she heard a small skitter and gnash almost like mandibles coming from inside the library.

 

[LumeNym]

Group 4 | Rael, Eibor, and Quart
The Forests Southwest of Iyesgarth

A burbling hum came from the pleased Eibor's throat as they watched their guest pull themselves to their feet with a lack of labor that seemed to elude to invisible strings connecting them to an unseen puppeteer. Perhaps that was the true nature of the woman's condition - manipulated from without or within as a puppet devoid of bodily control. If so, then whom, and from where, and for what reason? The bird pondered the new possibility as the woman refitted her cloak and turned her faintly-glowing eyes to them. She certainly had the air of a woman possessed, and yet also a degree of awareness that seemed uncharacteristic of that possibility. They would need to inquire further once the woman was more willing.

The woman took down the hood of her cloak, and Eibor eyed her face and figure with intrigue. Burns, scars, odd joints and bony appendages. Likely lumps and bumps galore hidden beneath the many unfilled folds of her cloak. And her scent was highly unusual too - sickness, but not decay, and weakness, but not lack of energy - and they took in several great whiffs to attempt to categorize it within their mind. Eibor tapped their sensation Memory Band with the tip of their beak, closing their eyes and sifting through it for anything that gave the same impression as the breath currently within their lungs. A single note came into view, an old thought in a strange scrawl that they knew wasn't their own. How fascinating! They would need to try to interpret it when they had more time on their wings, and see if they could piece any of that old Eggbearer's experience back together.

At the woman's unexpected question, a soft mirthful chuckle echoed across the clearing, weaving with the chilling breeze between the leaves. The woman still had energy enough to make fun, and this was a very fine sign of their new friend's health.

"I welcome you, Quarter Clay, to this meeting beneath the boughs of dusk! While I have no need for a camp beyond a place to share tales and song, I believe one will be forthcoming." The bird looked over to their prior companion, silent by the wayside, as if asking for them to make a place for their new friend within their company, before flying down to eye level with Quart and continuing to address them. "I think you'll find that that we are rather friendly ominous lurkers, and you will not be wanting for companionship so long as Eibor remains in your company."

​

[@Rusty of Shackleford , Nebulous Stars ]​

 

[Corn Orc Vandal]

Khadija Aslan​

Group 1 ( BlueXBlood , Zazz , Xen6n , Aegis )​

Khadija slogged after Aris, barely taking in the ruins of the Seeker home. The winding stairs were an affront to her wobbling legs, and there was little for her eyes to take in that wasn't coated in dust, vines, or filth from sources unknown. The occasional glimpse through a moss-covered window offered more for her to admire, a sweeping landscape of grassland with the green Tempest Sea barely visible. She took note of the large stone terrace outside, perhaps the one place within the ruined halls that might hold some fragment of beauty. The wooden floorboards creaked precariously under their feet, and Khadija wondered how much more weight it would take for them to give way completely. I'll have to warn Bal. Wouldn't do with her falling through with her wounds, Khadija thought. Though it would be funny.

They arrived at their apparent destination, yet another ruined room. This one's detritus had ben diligently cordoned off, though, evidence of some kind of inhabitation. So they've been here before, at the very least. Excellent.

"Well," Khadija considered, "These are luxurious accommodations compared to what I've grown accustomed to as of late." She shuddered just at the thought of the flea-ridden inns and filthy alleyways she'd slept in the past month. Khadija slowly settled down into a clean spot on the floor, crossing her legs and as she searched the folds of her voluminous robes. "I doubt my companion will say it, being the brute she is, so I'll say it for the both of us: thank you, for allowing us a brief respite here. We were in... a difficult situation. Aha!" Khadija exclaimed as she finally found what she was looking for. A small leather pouch tied with twine. In her other hand, an elaborately decorated wooden pipe with a red enamel bowl and long stem appeared as if from nowhere. The bard proceeded to pack the pipe with some kind of blueish black herb from her pouch as she continued to speak.

"So, I take it from the state of this place that you and R'hllor have not been here long. What sort of tragedy befell these sad halls? Perhaps a more pertinent question, why are you here? Looking to revitalize this Sanctuary, expand upon lost territory? Search for lost knowledge, maybe?" Khadija's eye brightened when she spoke of the last possibility. Some might have been put off by Aris' quietness, but Khadija found herself enjoying the mute woman's silence. It gave her more of a chance to talk. "I'm sure this place holds many secrets, if one knows where to look, no?"

With the pipe fully packed, Khadija pressed a thumb to the herbs within and blew on it gently as small, red embers formed. She took a tentative puff, blowing a small ring of white smoke through the empty air between herself and Aris before holding out the pipe to the mute Seeker. "Çılgın şeyler. It only grows on the banks of the Karanlik River in Axasterke. An acquired taste, or so I'm told," Khadija explained with a mischievous smile. Behind her, the bard heard some kind of creaking or scuttling, but paid it little mind. The place was falling apart; there was bound to be settling stone or wood falling from the crumbling roof. Heavy footfalls announced another of their party’s arrival, Bal.

“You’re quite the pilferer! Find anything of note? Buried treasure, perhaps?” Khadija commented, loosening up thanks to her pipe. She looked at the stack of goods the gladiator piled onto the bed. It wasn’t much, but more than Khadjia found. The gladiator announced she was leaving, and Khadija instantly groaned in protest.

“Come now, Bal, we’ve only just arrived! We’ve lived in filth for the past week, surely a bath can wait a moment longer. Come, sit with us, tell us your story! I’ve only pieced together bits and pieces from your fevered rants,” Khadija begged playfully. “I may even make a song of it, should you weave a worthy tale.” She didn’t expect this temptation of fame to work on Bal, but deemed it worth a try.

 

[Zazz]

GROUP 2: Corn Orc Vandal BlueXBlood Xen6n Aegis

Bal'kafaz sighed in annoyance. She felt sticky and smelly and itchy; blood from the arena still clung to her clothes. "My armor is out with the animals," she grumbled, leaning back against the wall with her scarred arms crossed over her chest. All she had on her person were her heavy boots and her dagger. But, years of slavery told her to stay put, to do as asked.

"My story... is much like any other with orcish blood in Prigalla. I was sold as soon as my mother's masters saw fit, and I have served since." Bal' glanced out the door at the sudden sounds of life. Perhaps it was R'hllor, moving about in the library. "When you found me in the pit, I was fighting to my death as punishment for three murders."

The more she listened, the less the noises sounded like a person, and more like a creature. "Something else is in this place," she said quietly, unsheathing her dagger and pushing off of the wall. "Listen."

 

[BlueXBlood]

Group 2 - Aris, R'hllor, Khadija, and Bal'Kafaz
The Southwestern Sanctuary of the Order ​

A sharp breath, reminiscent of a chuckle, escaped Aris as she amused herself with Khadija's rather humorous depiction of the gladiator. It was fascinating to her, how two seemingly unlikely individuals could have encountered one another, and how the bard still seemed to consider them companions. Her generous and enduring attitude really did earn a level of respect from the Seeker, which gave her the energy to relax and enjoy Khadija's company and conversation.

As she sat down across from the half-orc, she patiently listened, finding herself in no hurry to respond. In fact, it was rather pleasant that the bard could entertain herself with her own remarks so much, as it left Aris without any major pressure to be responsive. She took out the journal as the half-orc began to ask questions, leisurely articulating her response in the ink, in addition to a comment or two.

"It's funny, the eccentric pairs that fate devises," she wrote, referring to herself and R'hllor as well as Khadija and Bal'. "I can tell the 'brute' will be an interesting companion."

"As for the sanctuary, I intend to do all of those things to some degree. Repairing the sanctuary and discovering its secrets all play a role in refining my own paradise here. I want to make a home of this place, to make way for any other aspirations that follow."

As Khadija offered her the pipe, Aris laid the journal out for her to read, nudging it toward her in an exchange. Before even trying it, though, she took the time to first admire the decorations and patterns that adorned the trinket. The thought of a pipe was somewhat of a novelty in her mind, as she had considered getting one for herself back in Iyesgarth but never had the opportunity to do so. Still, even then, she assumed that what her homeland had to offer couldn't be quite as ornate and fascinating as what Khadija seemed to carry with her. She took a soft breath from the pipe, letting out a steady stream of smoke into the air, the sight pleasing her deeply. She then inclined the pipe toward the half-orc and quirked an eyebrow, inquiring whether or not she wanted it back at this very moment.

Before she could receive a response, though, Bal' finally emerged to join them, laying out her findings on the bed. The Seeker raised her hand casually to greet her before returning her attention to her companion. The bard suggested a story, and Aris was actually quite intrigued by the thought. She rarely found herself in a position to refuse a tale that would go on to enrich her own thoughts later, and this would serve as yet another opportunity to enjoy silence on her part. Bal's recollection of her story, however, was less than entertaining, concise and straightforward. Mildly disappointing, but there was no use in pestering, so the half-elf shrugged it off. Until Bal' mentioned murder, which earned a curious glance from the Seeker. Fun...

With Aris spending most of her attention listening to the two, another series of sounds gradually found their way to her senses. The ease in her expression then began to fade as she allowed her hand to drift toward her revolver. Her eyes fell shut as she concentrated on the strange noise, hoping to determine where it was and what it might be.

"Something else is in this place. Listen."

Aris was listening... and she was ready, should something less-than-friendly show its face.

[ Aegis , Xen6n , Corn Orc Vandal , Zazz ]​

 

[Tool]

GROUP 1

Goonfire Corn Orc Vandal Aegis Daylight Fantasy




Annik felt a twinge of unease at Scar-Face's words - magic was a fuzzy subject, and the Kellid were a deeply spiritual and superstitious people. Despite Annik reading the omens, talking to animals, smelling undeath, and generally being a few degrees to the left of human in a dozen ways, none of that was magical. She was blessed by the Gods of the Wild. Simple.

A few things stopped her from being outright unsettled. First, prophecy had led her here. Second, if there was a curse upon the City, it probably held no sway over creatures of the Wild. Third, she had not yet smelled any trace of undeath, and surely a spirit being bound to its bones would count.

If she had not earned a place by her ancestors, then dying would mean an erasure of Annik altogether. Pure nothingness. Oblivion did not scare the girl, however; she'd known oblivion for ages before she'd been born, and it hadn't bothered her then. Nothing said it would be any different, now..... but taking her place among the spirits of her people would be a wonderful thing.

It would mean getting to see her father, again.

The memory of her first encounter with curses, with undeath was inexorably linked with the darkest Fellfrost days of her youth and the massacre that came to be known as the Winter Culling among her people, inexorably linked with her Father's strong hands and good axe. The death of almost everyone she'd ever known had come from his hands...... and her own. That event came to mind, now, and gave Annik the strength to face the possibility of a curse. The feeling of Wild and cold and ice and rock and snow blew strong in her heart, freedom pounding against her ribcage, and Annik realized she knew something Scar Face did not: Annik carried the North inside. It was in her bones and in her blood, and no damp, warm, salt-crusted land would take it from her.

Scar Face backed down and walked away with her tail between her legs, trying to salvage what little remained of her dignity with a parting jab and telling.... Arnou.... that they were not, in fact, known. He was the one in armor that had come along and tried to convince Scar Face of the judgement of watching boats. Arnou. What an odd name. It reminded her of a wolf sound.

Arrr-nooooo-uuuu.

Annik visibly debated hurling her spear at the woman's back. The larger notions of good and evil were left to the Gods...... but right and wrong were things for men to decide, and Scar Face had been unwise in threatening Annik, without even the courage to die on her feet in proper battle. The girl's ruminations were cut short as the bells rang with their strange, hollow call, making Annik's corvid friends briefly take flight from their food before settling back down to peck and feed. The island land had so far never been quiet. It was constantly noisy, constantly loud. Now, the whole of the city seemed to hold its collective breath, as though waiting for revelation to be bestowed upon pained and desperate faces. When nothing happened, save for the sound echoing across the sands into genuine silence, Annik frowned and straightened.

Scar Face's scent was in Annik's nose, and though she would have no hope of tracking such prey through the city, not with this many smells competing for attention at equal volume (all of it LOUD), it might come in handy should Annik catch Scar Face's odor, later. With the back of her hand, Annik rubbed at her face, tugging her leathers down to reveal sharp, pale features. She looked like a girl of ice and snow.

"I do not understand."

 

[AriAriAbabwa]

Group 3 Goonfire Rohan escapist​

"Trust me, if I knew anything helpful, you'd see me trying to leave you lugs and your ugly mug in the dust!" she answered with a laugh. Jac'aal was by no means easy to miss, and ugly was an understatement. As much as she'd have loved to sit and chat with him over a pint, learning what kind of story his face carried, the Citadel unfortunately was no time or place. "But I don't. Other than the fact we're stuck in this shit hole and on our way to the worst time of our lives."

And to the younger-looking inmate, she could respect his willingness to help. "Soon as possible, more like it! I know how these places work. Breaking our spirits is the first thing they'd wanna do, so we can work like good little puppies." But in contrast to Hunadi, Maude accepted a much more pragmatic mindset. "If you ask me, there's little chance we're leaving this rock alive." If this was indeed her last day of true living, then there were much, much better ways to end it. She glanced across her cellmates. And in an unusually serious tone, she uttered, "If you guys want to at least go down in a fight, rip this choker off of me."

Before anyone had much of a chance to respond, though, the familiar scribe entered the room. If there was anything left to surprise Maude at this point, it was empathy! Faux or not, the amusement showed on her toothy grin as she approached the bars, leaning her head against it to peer down at the scribe. "Wow! Good to know! I thought they were gonna give us back rubs and banquets!"

After a good chortle, Maude kneeled so they were at even height. She might as well spare this girl of trouble. "Prigalla. I've never felt more starved and on the verge of death than at home! I'm curious if this place can get any worse. As for the why..." Maude lit up with pride as if in some celebrity interview. She would have counted down with her fingers, but, well... She at least mimicked the motion with her stumps. "Let's see here... murder, kidnapping, ransom, murder, torture, robbery, blackmail, coercion, murder..." Then a mock realization. "I mean, I've done no wrong my entire life! I'm innocent, I tell ya! Would you be so kind as to let a pure soul free?"

 

[Aegis]

Arnou Sylvain, The Wolf in the West
Agonos Isles, Atychía
GROUP 1 ( Tool Goonfire Daylight Fantasy Corn Orc Vandal )​

Arnou kept a hard demeanor about him as Mikaela spoke of this strange... woman's actions on the island as of late. She had been shaken by his appearance, unnerved by his insistence, but now she seemed to be once again trying to bridge this gap between them and earn his help; although, this time--to admittedly better success as his eyes turned to gauge the pelt-covered girl. There was a wildness to her eyes, a thing that allowed her to see the world in absolutes that little could be done to challenge. That kind of gaze was... dangerous--as much to themselves as it was to everyone around them. The sharpness to his posture seemed to give slightly as he turned slightly to face the accused-cannibal, but still they couldn't be doing this fighting right here and now.

Then, the man in large armor spoke of a holy mission. Nurites had long been on the island on some project crusade against the sickness and hurt that nestled here, but even their intentions were beaten down by the reality of ruthlessness on this island. Truthfully, Arnou couldn't recall the last time he'd seen a Nurite outside of their small sanctuary and if he had then they certainly hadn't made it known who they were. Mikaela seemed emboldened by rebuking the man's supposed authority and turned to face Arnou with renewed vigor before they were both caught off guard by a spear being thrust between the two of them.

Arnou staggered back a step as it rested on Mikaela's throat--anger flaring in his heart as she had just escalated the situation everyone else had tried hard to deescalate. Whatever happened to them now was out of his hands.

Yet, it seemed to work, and Mikaela backed down under the pressure of the threat. The Privateer spat curses at the wild woman before turning to Arnou--seemingly genuine pain in her voice, and called him a traitor in so many words. The Man's lip curled in discomfort as her words unsteadied him from the stability of the foundation of his world for a second. For all the work he had done on the island, he had unknowingly aided in a situation that would begin to turn that around on him. He could see it in the way that Mikaela spoke of him that even if they didn't get along--she knew he could be trusted to do the right thing. Arnou thought he was doing the right thing, but there's a stark difference between stopping a murder and defending a cannibal. The group of brigands would surely be vocal about that in an attempt to ruin his reputation. Regardless, there was still the matter of the boats that tangled the situation into further complication.

He outright chose to ignore what she was implying with the words 'your feral woman' as if they were somehow in league together already.

Mulling it over, The Exiled Lord sighed and let those thoughts drop for now as he let the tension dissipate from his body and turned these new faces, "You've made yourselves dangerous enemies after mere steps onto the island, friends. Either this place will agree with you, or you'll die a mile into the city. I can't decide which it is, yet."

Arnou crossed his arms over his chest and let his eyes match the strange woman's as she seemed to consider him for a moment. If she truly was the cannibal, something needed to be done about it, but for now they needed to get away from here as quickly as they could before they changed their minds, or the desperate came to see what they could filch from the remains after the supposed battle.

"Listen," Arnou once again spoke to them from a place of experience, "I can help you get to wherever it is you're looking to go, but it'll cost you. I trade my time for food, materials, and weapons--in that order. Your money has no value here. I understand you've just been bombarded by a dozen similar requests, but let this experience show that my word is genuine when I say that I'll put your life before mine every time for as long as I am your bodyguard. You seem strong compared to most that show up here, so if that doesn't entice you then at the very least I can promise guidance around the city and the politics that govern it."

Arnou swept his eyes across them gauging their reaction, but kept especially close eyes on the lady's spear, "Oh, I guess I should introduce myself: I'm Arnou. Welcome to the Agonos Isles."

Then, the bell rung four times, "Ah, I see. Looks like the Conclave is letting someone in tonight. If that's why you're here, then you might be in luck."

 

[Daylight Fantasy]

[youtube]1Up9z9G8-E4zmBgk6bKpviS4UFd-IZzM2[/youtub]

Title of Song

Ying Ming-Xia

Group 1 | Tags: Aegis Goonfire Tool Corn Orc Vandal

Curious, Ming-Xia observed the two individuals in front of him, their words flowed and stored into his brain. If it wasn’t for the growing threat of blades and the crowd creating a circle around them, he would’ve contributed a word or two. Their weapons were chipped and broken, clearly the metal blades had experienced a lot with their wielders. Until another lady’s voice rang through their ears. A sigh escaped his lips as he watched the current commotion, the supposed ringleader of the attackers addressed the oddly dressed female occupying the armoured man as the main suspect of leaving half-eaten corpses around the island. Ming-Xia could only watch the events unfold as he stood behind the parties. He couldn’t risk his safety debating nor fighting with the ringleader, nor did he care to. In his mind, Ming-Xia’s sole reason for coming to this isle was simply to find the answers to his array of questions, and nothing else. Yet, the familiar blurb of feeling he wanted to extract from his body, still present.

Ming-Xia was ready to move on from this troublesome situation, lacking the energy to further converse with it. Impatiently crossing his arms, hoping to just walk further to the concave in pursuit of answers to his questions. However, he never took action in his thoughts. The ringleader’s words were still in the air until someone dared challenge the ringleader. He wore lighter armour than the man that was currently accompanying him and the oddly dressed woman. Ming-Xia raised his eyebrow, a reaction to the banter between the less armoured man and the ringleader. HHe definitely perceived the threats as they were, as the words seemed reasonable. Yet, sending them out of the island was too cruel. Without any reasonable transport to send them off would seem like suicide, and settling on the island with all these weaponed people would mean they could get dragged anytime. As long as Ming-Xia stays on the Isle, protection is a big thing for him when facing a potentially dangerous situation.

His gaze slowly crept his way to the lighter armoured male, his demeanour was hard as stone. Ming-Xia was intrigued by the male in light armour; challenging the judgement of the ringleader was certainly a feat. This male made his way up to them, speaking his truth and a request. It was a simple request and was too convenient for Ming-Xia. He had barely been on this Isle for long and he had already had a possible bodyguard option. “Well, it certainly is a pleasure,” Ming-Xia spoke, nodding in a respectful greeting.

Spoiler: uncoded

Curious, Ming-Xia observed the two individuals in front of him, their words flowed and stored into his brain. If it wasn’t for the growing threat of blades and the crowd creating a circle around them, he would’ve contributed a word or two. Their weapons were chipped and broken, clearly the metal blades had experienced a lot with their wielders. Until another lady’s voice rang through their ears. A sigh escaped his lips as he watched the current commotion, the supposed ringleader of the attackers addressed the oddly dressed female occupying the armoured man as the main suspect of leaving half-eaten corpses around the island. Ming-Xia could only watch the events unfold as he stood behind the parties. He couldn’t risk his safety debating nor fighting with the ringleader, nor did he care to. In his mind, Ming-Xia’s sole reason for coming to this isle was simply to find the answers to his array of questions, and nothing else. Yet, the familiar blurb of feeling he wanted to extract from his body, still present.

Ming-Xia was ready to move on from this troublesome situation, lacking the energy to further converse with it. Impatiently crossing his arms, hoping to just walk further to the concave in pursuit of answers to his questions. However, he never took action in his thoughts. The ringleader’s words were still in the air until someone dared challenge the ringleader. He wore lighter armour than the man that was currently accompanying him and the oddly dressed woman. Ming-Xia raised his eyebrow, a reaction to the banter between the less armoured man and the ringleader. HHe definitely perceived the threats as they were, as the words seemed reasonable. Yet, sending them out of the island was too cruel. Without any reasonable transport to send them off would seem like suicide, and settling on the island with all these weaponed people would mean they could get dragged anytime. As long as Ming-Xia stays on the Isle, protection is a big thing for him when facing a potentially dangerous situation.

His gaze slowly crept his way to the lighter armoured male, his demeanour was hard as stone. Ming-Xia was intrigued by the male in light armour; challenging the judgement of the ringleader was certainly a feat. This male made his way up to them, speaking his truth and a request. It was a simple request and was too convenient for Ming-Xia. He had barely been on this Isle for long and he had already had a possible bodyguard option. “Well, it certainly is a pleasure,” Ming-Xia spoke, nodding in a respectful greeting.

 

[escapist]

Jac'aal the Vagabond - Group 3 ​

Jac'aal smirked as he was listening the rather underwhelming answers of his cellmates. He ignored Hunadi's apologize, even if he appreciated, he tried not to think about the chemicals, adorning his worn shoes. He also decided to let Maude's half-insult to whistle away next to his ears because it rhymed and the time wasn't ideal for another verbal fight either. "I'm really blessed with you here, eh?" He exclaimed annoyedly, the cynical smile didn't seem to disappear from his twisted visage. "Not like I'm a big help either. All I know's that I got captured in a town on the West part of the map and there were no islands so we really are damned..." His voice trailed off, letting the more pleasant silence filled the room once again, for a few second.

After the scribe had addressed them, his first few thoughts were a mixture of introduction about where she should shove up her empathy and other, less relevant but equally well-developped curses. Jac'aal practiced that self-control he knew he had never been famous about, muttering his less polite wishes to the mossy, wet walls only. "Patience is the key...I think the old man told me so...yeah..." He nodded to himself silently as Maude walked over to the scribe. "In a place like this even failure needs a month or so, not to mention munching these chains off of me, creating a plan, getting familiar with the environment..." He annoyedly rubbed his face and turned his attention back to the discussion or more like the massive woman's monologue about the crimes she had committed. "Right, just perfect, I bet the other one's a bloody warlock too, he can just hide it pretty well." He mused bitterly, sizing up Hunadi until he realized that the others became quiet, only the distant screams echoed through the air.

"I hope you don't think I'm gonna stand up and greet you!" He barked to the scribe. "But if you're that curious I can share with you the tail of a truly unlucky ma-...well, me:

The hero of the story is me, obviously, and it takes place
in a simple town, not dirtier or more beautiful than any
other. So me, Jac'aal the Vagabond arrived to the town,
since I'm a vagabond as my self-claimed title says, as I
said I arrived and decided to spend my non-existing
coins in the tavern. I acted like I thought and
bought some food and some beer which
now as I'm thinking back wasn't worth the
complications, so as I said I was savouring
that pathetic excuse of food when I
noticed a kind of upheaval
in the tavern
and..."​

The other prisoners' screams of agony sounded almost like music to the listeners in comparison with the winding sentences of the massive monstrosity, laying in the darkest corner of the cell. If one thing became evident to his cellmates from the flood of irrelevant information was the fact that Jac'aal was a horrible storyteller. His gaze wandered around the cell, sometimes he didn't even seem to focus on what he was saying on that raspy, 'colorful' voice.

"I am
not the curious
type unlike someone
else here at the other side of
the cell, just tryin' to mind with my own
business but anyways it seemed like a band of
scums were complaining about the service of the
barmaid or maybe they wanted to buy her other services
and they were so damn loud and rough...they possibly pissed me
off because I made quite the mess, broken wood, teeth and blood everywhere, a regular bar-brawl you know, so as usual I gave myself up to the authorities, hoping for few days in a peaceful cell but instead..."​

Jac'aal finally stopped speaking for a second and dramatically gestured with his arm, presenting the cell for the others.

"The last I'd say false but still legitimized charge what I heard was
witchcraft and well, do I look like a witch?"​

He shaked his head in disbelief and turning his attention back to the mossy wall, elegantly not mentioning those sins that he had committed but hadn't gotten charged for.

Rohan Goonfire AriAriAbabwa
​

[Note: Jac'aal's story isn't supposed to be an avant garde picture-poem or any kind of postmodern piece of art, I simply wanted to make the reading to the reader as annoying as to the cellmates listening Jac'aal. I sincerely apologize for that crime.]

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