Fantasy Aether: The Age of Light

[Avari]

Name: Lissa
Location: Alcamoth | Market District | Alleyway
Time: 11:25am

Salia rushed into the alley that the pair had vanished into, and she could hear angry shouts and swearing. The elf found half a dozen young humans who had probably just finished their studies for the day angrily gesticulating after Lissa. She was already out the alley, dancing between members of the crowd. Far ahead of both of them, Grorbath was already rounding the next corner.

“Watch where you’re fucking going!” one of them bellowed, a dark haired scraggly man who had been knocked down in the rush. The elf hopped around them, still staring down the alley at Lissa who was about to turn the corner as well. She had dropped well behind now, fifty meters at least. She wondered for a moment how on earth a Dwarf could run so fast. Lissa wasn’t running with her blade out at least - that would have created a whole other set of issues.

A couple of dusty looking construction workers laughed as they began to secure a makeshift wooden door over a wall around a building site - one of Alcamoth giant new towers, that was nearing completion. They were looking relaxed - probably the end of their shift - so they were unprepared for Grorbath, who barged straight into them. One was punched in the stomach, the other caught a solid blow from the dwarf’s shoulder as he launched past. They stumbled aside, and he pulled the door open again.

The workmen staggered back to their feet and cursed him with the fluency of long practice. The younger man - an elf with a shaved head - had been the one to be punched in the stomach. He attempted to grab Grorbath by grabbing on to his Cleric robes when Lissa approached at full pelt and ordered him to stand aside. The dwarf staggered at the door, fumbling with a basic latch and padlock that had been fitted. He glared at Lissa and threw something black at the floor. Lissa jumped aside with a surprised yell, bumping into the two construction workers. The small black ball promptly exploded into a cloud of acrid smoke. Grorbath took his chance in the confusion, almost wrenching the door of its basic hinges as he dived into the construction site.

The smoke quickly subsided, and Lissa made after him - she was briefly prevented from doing so as the two workers made to grab her, and she shook them off with a violent, swift shake of her shoulders. That’s when they saw her sword, half pulled from its scabbard. They backed away, raising their hands.

“Great choice boys,” Lissa said, and disappeared into the building site, still in pursuit.

Salia pounded up ther street to the door, and waved at the pair.

“Church business!” She snapped at them, as they made to block her too. Technically it wasn’t untrue.

“It ain’t safe to go wonderin’ about in there!” The older of the two workers said, his eyes red from the Dwarf smoke bomb. “I’ll have to let the boss know abou’ this -”

“I don’t need his permission,” Salia snapped at him, already halfway to the door herself. “Just leave it to us. Is anyone else in there?”

“We’re the last...ma’am. But most of the floors ain’t in yet. It’s mostly just scaffolds from the sixth floor.” said the younger one. Eager to sound helpful.

“Great,” she said, grabbing the door handle. “Don’t worry about the guards, they’re already on their way - just stay down here, alright?”

She slammed the door behind her before they had a chance to object.


--

Location: Alcamoth | Market District | Construction Site
Time: 11:30am



Salia could hear running on the floors above her, Boots on stone. She scanned around quickly, spotting a gap in the wall that led to a stairwell. Stone stairs made a four sided spiral up into the tower. There were no rails in place, so she hugged the wall, staying well away from the edge where flight by flight, the drop became sheerer and more disorienting. Her lungs were starting to burn as she approached the tenth floor. Beyond the next landing was the scuffling sound of boots on stone again. She slowed her progress and peered out carefully, dagger in hand.

The midday sun fell in a shaft of light, angled through the whole area. Wooden supports with thick rope to strengthen it against the central stone column. Salia could see through the floor, and again through the next three floors below that. On a cross-beam in the centre stood Lissa. She was balanced, blade drawn, seemingly unconcerned with the terrifying drop below her.

Grorbath has picked his own way carefully across the framework of connecting stone girders, and now scrambled over the partly constructed exterior wall and onto the raised wooden and metal framework that surrounded the tower. He was using both his hands to balance, and then to grasp the scaffolding and hoist himself up to the ledge. His stained robes rippled in the breeze that blew through the carcass of the building.

No way out.

Lissa must have been thinking exactly the same thing. “C’mon Grorbath,” she called across to him. “Where ya gonna go from here?”

The Dwarf peered behind himself, looking shaken, out across the Marketing district - the crowds below looking like ants. Salia shuffled carefully into the room, clutching to the wall to steady herself - she had never been good at heights. Lissa had not moved from her rather precarious position in the centre, holding her blade in a one handed grip. It glowed a dim white in the darkness of the Tower. Grorbath looked even more horrified when he saw the elf appear behind his primary predator - but quickly turned his attention back to Lissa.

“OK. You checked out the view,” Lissa called to him. “And ya know you’re not going anywhere.”

“T-that blade is...a f-fascinating item,” Grorbath’s managed to stutter. “It’s from M-Magruhdul...I always w-wondered where you got it from, l-lass.”

“I’d be worrying more about where it’s going. Now - step back from the building. Away from the edge. Carefully.”

“I...uh... think I’m safer where I am. Why don’t we just... chat right here?”

Lissa didn’t lower her blade. Salia could tell that she was smiling grimly. “So maybe we start with the obvious stuff. Like, where’s the ring you stole from me?”

“I-t was never y-yours to begin with, lass. W-we should have never gone to that ruin.”

“Where’s the ring, Grorbath?”

“I...was going to s-sell it. Church is t-too d-dangerous for someone like m-me these days. That new Grand C-cleric can see everything. O-organization wasn’t paying enough for information anymore.. I-I was g-oing to use the money to go back to Gulorum and live like a king.”

“How’d that work out?” Lissa asked impatiently.

The Dwarf raised his pudgy hands to his eyes, as if he was suddenly experiencing a migraine. “It...it whispered to me. It...told me things...” He opened his mouth, then shut it. He grimaced. “I...I had to get rid of it.”

“You WHAT?”

Grorbath flinched at that. “I...I sold it. Man named Samuel. I couldn’t...live with it. The things it showed me...”

The breeze through the building had begun to stiffen now. The tails of Lissa’s coat were flapping in the wind, but her stance remained steady. There was a long, terrible pause.

“Just....come away from the edge you bloody fool. I ain’t gonna kill ya, alright? We’ll... work this out."

Grorbath laughed at that. He took another look backwards into the street far below.

“It’s... too late for me. I...can’t go on with the truth. I...know what’s comin’ see? I know what happened...it’s...all I lie. All of it.”


“Just come away from the edge.”

Grorbath looked calm now. He studied his feet for a moment, as if he had never seen them before. Salia felt Lissa tense up. “Stop fooling around.”

He looked up from his boots. He stared past Lissa. Past Salia. He smiled.

“I wish you luck in the battles to come lass.” he said simply.

Grorbath allowed himself to fall. His feet didn’t move, his arms remained calmly by his side. He just dropped backwards, as though it was a trust excerise and someone was going to catch him.

But no one could.

Grorbath closed his eyes as he plunged backwards, head first, and tumbled to his death.

Note

Grorbath's body is going to land in the market. There will naturally be mass panic and confusion. It'll be about 2-3 minutes before the Paladins that Lucina sent are on the scene. There will be screams for a healer.

 

[Pai Chan]

Aurora ordered a refill of her drink and was finally getting comfortable when a commotion seemed to, suddenly, erupt. Aurora turned to see their waitress’ tray fall to the floor and with it her and others drinks. The rowdy crowd of drunks seemed to enjoy the sudden spark of energy in the tavern but Aurora already had her eyes searching for the culprit responsible. She was tired of outsiders doing whatever they pleased in her city. Aurora turned to the two men she was sitting with without taking her eyes off of a woman who seemed to be apologizing for the incident. It seemed like it was just a simple mistake of clumsiness. Aurora almost let herself calm down until she heard a shout and the woman in question seemed to dart out of the tavern.

“I’ll be right back…” Aurora muttered through gritted teeth to the other clerics and lept out of her chair to chase after lass that was ruining her evening.

The crowd was already thick to begin with due to the events that brought in all manner of foreigners. But now it seemed to double with everyone trying to get a view on whatever was going on. Aurora had to practically push and shove her way through everyone. No one made room for the girl because no one was looking her way to see a cleric was approaching to investigate. That was the only clue that let Aurora feel she was going in the right direction because everyone seemed to have their attention on the same thing.

After pushing and plowing her way through, what felt like the entire city, Aurora was surprised that a man actually approached her as if he had been waiting for her appearance. They young man had some black powder residue clinging to him while also looking confused and panicked.

“Cleric, we need your help!” The young one called out, trying to be heard amongst the crowd. “There seemed to be two women chasing one of your own up the scaffolds. They said it was ‘church business’”. A cleric being chased? By two women? Aurora guessed that was the voice she heard shouting at the tavern and the second woman was the one the mage tried chasing after. Aurora cut her eyes at the young man and jabbed a finger into his chest.

“You let them by you on something like that?” Aurora yelled at him and backed him against the door that led into the tower that was being constructed. “You see two people who aren’t dressed in our colors chasing someone who is and you let them on by you without doing so much as lifting a finger? Now opened the door before I lose my mind!”

“W-well, I--” The man stammered when there was a unison of horrified screams. Aurora turned around just in time to see a flash of white and blue just before hearing, as much as feeling, the loud sound of something slamming against the pavement.

Aurora stood in silenced shock at she looked down at who seem to fall from the sky. The crowd was just as stunned as she was and there was hardly a sound until the reality of what happened sunk in. Then the cries and yelling began. Suddenly there was an series of questions constantly being asked throughout the crowd of people.

Who did this? Why? Did he jump? Was he pushed? A dwarf? What happened? Is there a healer nearby?

They were all questions Aurora wanted to know as well.

“Back!” Aurora shouted with her eyes still on the lifeless dwarf. The crowd grew quiet again and did as they were told while the girl knelt down beside him. She put a hand on his chest but felt nothing resembling life force in the man. Aurora already knew she wouldn’t. She then looked amongst the crowd.

“Someone get help. Call for the guards.” She said in a calm voice and stood back to her feet. She unsheathed her blade and spun around pointing it straight at the young man’s chest. “You are now an accomplice murder along with whomever else let that cleric’s pursuers past them. I suggest you remain here because I have your face memorized and if you run, I will find you and everyone who worked at this site will face judgement.”

 

[Locklaklazarii]

Name: Einarr & Dain
Location: Alcamoth->Trapdoor Drinker
Time: 11:30 am
(I'll edit the colors and such tommorrow)

Einarr got up from his table too his items in hand and made his way to the tall talking stranger from just moments ago, "It sounds like you're a man who knows a lot about this city are you not?" not even waiting for a response to the question he quickly asked the man, "You know of these games yes? Where would I be able to sign up for them?" none of what he said was smooth, in fact it was rough and blunt as was his delivery.

"And exactly why do you think I give a bloody damn about the games? Do I look like a public official or some shit to you?" The Prince of Thieves asked, a slight sneer twisting his lips as he looked the rather dirty man up and down. And dirty to the point that it made the Traphole Drinkers patrons look like germaphobic nobles. "I ain't got nothing ta do with the games, kiddo. You get me?"

Boasting a severly confused and contorted expression, Einarr began to think throuhg what the man had said to him and as he did so replied to each point as he was able, "You deal in money so I would assume you'd be interested in a large scale even at which many rich people would be easy targets, as well as betting, scamming and very many types of deals and interactions that someone of your... profession would have interest. Why would I think that you are an official, I mean you didn't hide the fact that you were a theif or shady buisnessman of some sort I mean you outright advertised it, and why would I think you're some shit? I mean granted you don't look the most groomed, but neither am I and you don't smell any different than the streets, then again I guess that is where people dump their chamber pots." His constant talking and rambling kept flowing without a filter as he thought allowed, he was still very visable and audibly perplexed, "Why would I take you? Why don't you have anything to do with the games?" Einarr was quite clearly lost in this conversation.

At first, Dain was going to kill the man for insulting him and his grooming habits, but stayed his hand from grabbing the dagger as the boy continued. He's a fucking moron, Dain thought to himself as a wane smile spread across his face. "You're one of them special people I heard about, aren't you? Ya, ya, of course you are. Look buddy, I was using an expression. You know, when you say one thing and mean a whole different thing? Anyway, you asked some questions so I'll answer. I personally do not care about the games because I've got others assigned do all the things you mentioned, and because I've already signed up. When I asked if I looked like an official, I meant did it appear as though I had some innate knowledge about the games? And some shit can be used as an expression that means or something. I my mustache and hair are very well groomed, thank you very much, and Iactually happen to clean myself once in a while, unlike you."

"Besides that, I advertised the fact of my employ in order to gain their trust, so that I could possibly use them for more important things than just killing some mobster or stealing some shit from an old guy in the future. Besides, if they'd refused my offer, I would of had them filled with crossbow bolts. Kinda like the predicament you're in." Dain would finally finish, as dozens of ports would open in what had once seemed to be completly solid walls, revealing the very ends of many crossbows that would all aim at the savage. "So, you wanna make a deal? Because I can't let you out of here alive unless I know for certain you won't reveal my location to the guards. Whether it be because you work for me, you have enough gold to buy your silence for a lifetime, or because you'll never speak again. The choice. Is. Yours."

Einarr smirked and chuckled a bit internally, if there was one thing he knew it was arrows and bowmen, he had seen plenty to know that crossbows were inaccurate weapons, and in the multidirectional position there was no way that this 'Prince of Theives' could garuntee that if a man directly in front of him was hit he would not also be. He saw it as a bluff but decided to continue to play along as if Dain were in control in this situation, and if he were crazy enough he would be in control. "I mean it did as I assumed you knew the goings on in this city that you work out of, and according to you, you have signed up for the games which would mean that I was right, you do have knowledge about the games, infact the exact knowledge that I want. As to your mustache and hair, I think you need a way in order to stop it from tangling and that is what it seems that it is doing." he largely ignored the insult as he didn't care about it. "Why would you go into a meating with the first thought of killing the other person, seems like you'd end up leaving a trail of bodies or a trail of people who are suspicious of the fact that you are so readily able to kill them? Any how, if you don't want your identity revealed you ever thought of picking possibly a less public place to announce it? Just a thought, but I won't talk if you just give me how to register for the games, give me money if you want, incriminate me, do whatever to tie me with you and insure your identity. I just want to know how to enter the games, you give me that and I'll pretend as if this never happened." Einarr raised his hands casually at the end hoping that that would mark as some sort of surrender, and so his hands were free if this unkempt prince were truly a madman.

"By the fucking gods, you're insufferable. I ain't prancing around telling everybody I meet that I've got a bloody crossbow pointed at them, or a dagger ready to go into their back. I mean, you can never tell where the next betrayal will come from, so you've always got to be ready. Just. In. Case." Dain explain as he slowly drew his dagger, using it to pick under his fingernails. "I haven't got any fucking tangles in my fucking hair or my fucking mustache, and that's fucking that," He said rather plainly, attempting to control his anger. All he wanter to do was kill the fucker, but his better instinct told him not to. At least, not in the pub. The blood'd ruin the wood finishing, and probably a bit of carpet too if the boys weren't careful. After all, it's happened before.

After a moment, the thief would the tell the wildman what he had wanted to know.

"Happy? Now get the fuck out of my pub, and don't come. Oh, and tell anyone about me, and you won't last very long here." After a moment, he would say one more thing, before walking into a nearby doorway.

"Eyes will be watching,"

With that Einarr left in order to sign up for the archery tournament to win some extra money and possibly get himself out there.

 

[Lefic]

Name: Lynn Drewrith
Location: Mapleleaf Estate
Time: 11:50 AM


While Lynn walked through the streets, the sun was still shining bright. "Mapleleaf Estate... Mapleleaf Estate," the elf muttered over and over again, racking her brains, trying to remember the exact location of it. While walking down a narrow side street, her eyes were drawn to a small, yelllowed square of paper rustling in the breeze. It was one of the notes she left around the city for the Enderarch Explorers to see. "Ah! I remember... From here, this way," she murmured. The only female member of the Enderarch Explorers had a habit of talking to herself—especially when she was by herself.

Having recalled the directions, the elf moved with more confidence. Her movements were swift yet the sounds of her footsteps seemed to be swallowed by the cobblestone. Lynn's head was bowed so the cloak would cover her face but she was still able to deftly navigate herself to the estate.

Standing a safe distance away as to not come across as suspicious but close enough to see the gate clearly, Lynn examined it carefully. Two guards, she thought, obviously not paying attention. Keeping to the wall, Lynn stalked away until she could see the other side of the building. Here, the walls were higher but there were no guards. She scanned the area again. There was nobody except for a few homeless children. They're nothing to worry about, she thought before approaching the wall.

Lynn grazed the wall with her hand, feeling for sections where the wall would jutt out. As she looked up, her hand would raise higher too. After finding a strong hold in the wall, she used her arm strength to pull herself up and her feet scrabbled at the wall before finding a foothold. This continued on as she used her legs to push herself up and her arms to hold on and pull. At last, she came to the top and wrapped one hand, then the other hand around metal bars at the top of the gate. Then, the elf's feet slipped and she was just dangling in the air. She swallowed hard. The sweat collecting on her palms was making it harder to hold on. Tightening her grip, she straightened her legs and used the angle to walk up the wall. She flung her leg over the ledge and hauled the rest of her body up. Her lithe body allowed her to slip between the bars mounted at the top of the barrier.

From her vantage point, she could see that none of the windows on this side of the building were the room of Cian. Crawling around, still on the edge of the wall, Lynn confirmed that Diarmaid Cain wasn't in his estate—probably out drinking or on business. When she came around to the last side of the building, she spotted three dogs feeding down below. Their noses twitched and, as their heads jerked upwards, they began to bark. Quickly, the elf leaped across into the closest windows which was thankfully open. Most likely, a maid opened the window to air out the room and forgot to close it.

Looking out of the window, Lynn could see that one of the guards left his post to see what the commotion was. She breathed a sigh of relief, "Just in time..."

Sneaking stealthily around the house, Lynn made mental notes of which parts of the house had the most valuables in them. She had to stop herself from whistling as she saw explored the extravagant rooms of the estate. It was mostly empty, except for a few maids who were easy enough to hide from by ducking behind walls. The elf was just about to exit when a harsh voice sounded from behind her.

"You!"

Lynn flinched at the sharp voice. She slowly turned around to face the owner of the voice. The human woman before her was elderly, yet strong. Her face was weatherbeaten; countless lines of experience were etched into this woman's face. Her eyebrows seemed to be constantly furrowed. The old woman was wearing a neat maid uniform that was free of wrinkles. Lynn fiddled with her forelock out of nerves. "Sorry. The guards let me in. I was meant to find somebody but I couldn't," she made up.

The old woman sighed. "Of course you did," the elder muttered. "I wasn't expecting you for another 30 minutes... Tsk! Look at the state of you! With yer grubby clothes... Must be some street rat again..."

Lynn smoothed down her cloak, somehow feeling ashamed in front of this senior. If this were a normal situation, the elf would've had a few strong words for this woman but this wasn't a normal situation—she had to somehow play this off.

The grey-haired crone narrowed her eyes. "Alright. Come'ith me. You needta wear yer uniform," she said, and beckoned for Lynn to follow.

"What should I refer to you as?" Lynn inquired.

"Miss Farraway. And your name is Alice Roan, I expect?"

Lynn nodded. Miss Farraway led her into a changing room. Inside were multiple identical maid uniforms hung up on a rack. Miss Farraway's, however, was different—probably in order to show superiority. Lynn slipped into the uniform. It was quite long and got in the way of her feet. The elf piled all her clothes into a wicker basket.

"Come on, come on," said the elderly woman, dragging Lynn by the arm. The elf was led to a room on the first floor. It was a large, impressive home library. "I want you to dust these shelves!" said the elderly woman, shoving a duster into the younger girl's hands.

The books were in perfect condition, as if they were untouched—which they probably were. The thin layer of dust reinforced this. Rich bastards, she thought, completely disregarding the fact that in Vakaris she was rich, buying books just to show off how rich they are.

"Stop daydreaming! You're not doing it properly!" sounded the sharp voice.

Lynn snapped out of her thoughts. She put her effort into dusting the numerous bookshelves, using her keen eye to look out for any spots she missed. Miss Farraway, was watching with her hands on her hips but wasn't scolding the elf anymore.

The senior harrumphed and announced, "I'll leave you to this. You better be done in 15 minutes," and left.

Lynn continued dusting for about four more minutes, constantly looking behind her and keeping an ear out. I haven't heard any footsteps for a while, she's probably gone somewhere else. Ducking her head out of the door, the elf could see no other person. After laying the duster on a desk, the elf crept out and tiptoed up the stairs. Once she was in the changing room, she grabbed hold of the wicker basket containing her clothes and held it in her arms. "No time to change," she muttered, "I've gotta get out of here as quick as I can." She held the wicker basket with both hands and walked with purpose, as if she was going to wash some clothes.

She breathed a sigh as she walked out of the estate but tensed up again as she approached the gate. The guards stopped her.

"Who're you?" asked the first guard who didn't recognise this new face. He knew all of the maids here; he'd already tried flirting with all of them.

"Alice Roan," Lynn said, mimicking a soft voice, "I just started today. Perhaps Miss Farraway told you about me?"

Miss Farraway had told the guard about an Alice Roan and that he should let her in when she comes to the gate. What confused the guard, though, was that he didn't remember letting this girl in. He shook his head, dismissing the idea. He thought that she probably came in while he was sleeping on the job.

At that moment, another girl wandered up to the gate. She was a fair-haired human who was slightly taller than Lynn. "Hello," said the blonde, "I'm Alice Roan. I came here for the maid job."

The guard's head snapped towards Lynn but before he could grab her, the elf tucked the basket under her arm, lifted the dress out of the way of her feet and ran. She was already out of the area and the guards knew they wouldn't be able to catch her.

Walking up to a beggar, Lynn handed the young boy a few coppers. She explained everything she saw at Diarmaid's Cain's house and made the boy repeat it so she knew that he'd get the message across correctly. "Get this message to Cain," she said and patted the boy on the back. The young boy went running off to deliver the message to the King of Thieves.

Lynn gave herself a few minutes to catch her breath and changed back into her regular clothes in an alleyway.

 

[The_Omega_Effect]

Location: Gypsy's Gaze
Time: 11:00 a.m.

Andwyn looked after Aurora as she left, confused as he was completely oblivious everything that was going on outside of their table. He just did not like messing with other people's business when they are complete strangers. After Aurora had gone a certain distance away, a distance where she could not hear him talking, he quickly turned to Dominicanes and then started speaking.

"Are you two like friends or something?" he said, placing his glass of lemonade on the table.

"Friends? I wouldn't think so," Dominicanes replied, the flush that was upon his face finally dissipating, "We would be more intellectual rivals then anything else really Andywn. We have different viewpoints on how heretics should be dealt with, as when you gave your own opinion on it, which I found to be very enlightening. My friend Sixtus, though you didn't meet him, would be a "friend" in the idealogical sense, while I can imagine he would want to be something more than friends with her!"

"I guess that makes sense. It just seemed that you two knew each other before. And as for your friend, you better just tell him to give up. I don't really think she is the right type of person to try to be "more than friends" with, if you catch my drift. Just a waste of time. Some people put up so many barriers between them and others, hiding behind serious attitudes and whatnot, that they convince themselves to just keep everyone away. Good thing you do not take this "church duty" thing as seriously as her. Too many paladins and clerics already do so. It is just overdoing it if you ask me." He leaned back, crossing his arms.

"Well, it's not that I take my own duties less seriously than her, " he retorted, somewhat offended by that remark but he knew what Andwyn was inferring, "It's more the idea in what manner do we take our duties seriously. Aurora shows great zeal for the Church and in that regard I cannot fault her in any degree. However, in that zealousness she possess and those that are like her possess, they lose their sense of compassion, their sense of companionship with other members of our race and many others who have fallen as pray to the heretics. Lacking this compassion, they view such people as abominaions that need to be smit from the Earth. In this sense, they lack compassion and mercy, and fail to see that under circumstances that could have well applied, it could have been them that would have been at the mercy of the Church. Thus I believe, that those in the military arm of the Church should show a great deal more compassion and discern those heretics who would recant of their errors and reintegrate themselves into the Church, from those who feign repentance and corrupt it from within."

Andwyn was a bit unnerved by the thought of people like Aurora thinking that those people unfortunate enough to be branded heretics had to be "smit from the earth". He thought that they too were people who only needed to be reminded of their humanity. Was it hypocritical to think of the overzealous church people in such regard without thinking that they too might have been forced into such a position unwillingly? They could've been a victim too. On the other hand however, Andwyn was tempted to point, out that in a certain sense, Aurora was correct. There were indeed certain people as Dominicanes had mentioned who would feign having been restored to proper orthodoxy only for them to corrupt other members of the Church from the inside out. Would Aurora be correct in believing that these people be eliminated? Yes. Did he believe that every other heretic was of the same character and thus deserved the same fate? He did not. However much he may have wanted to point this out to Dominicanes, he didn't; it would be bad enough to find himself the enemy of one faction within the Church, even worse to find himself the opponent of both. "Seems like you have quite a strong opinion on the matter. Strong opinions like that only polarise people you know. What do you aim to accomplish?"

Andwyn was quite correct in his assumption; Dominicanes did indeed hold a very polarising position within the Church but in his own opinion, he felt it somewhat necessary for someone to hold such a position, lest an innocent soul be lost when they wished to be reconciled to proper communion with the Church. "You are quite correct Andwynyn in what you say," Dominicanes accepted, a smile spliting open his face, "But I believe that is necessary for me to hold this position, as controversial as it is among the Clerics. For if the Paladins were to go and mindlessly slaughter an entire village for the simple reason of them all being heretics, what are the odds we would ever hear about it as a tragedy than as a triumph? For what if everyone of those people, unlikely as it is but I believe that it is the position we ought to hold, pleaded with them for mercy, for clemency? Would they have granted it? I would think not and I would like to change that attitude, the Gods willing, but to make sure that Paladins and all those who deal with heretics are able to discern the willing from the obstinate."

"Seems like everyone but me has some big goal that they are working towards to change everything. I'll admit, it does sound like a unique one when in a setting like this one. You seem to be the only person who wants this. Well, you and your friend Sixtus right?"

"Sixtus?" Dominicanes answered, amused at the thought of Sixtus being a colleague in regards to his position, "No, by the Gods no, he would very much be on the other end of the spectrum with Aurora and her ilk. That is why whenever we meet each other we always tend to have debates about it. Speaking of Sixtus, I best go find to see that he's taking of his preparations dutifully. Andwyn, it was a pleasure talking to you and I hope to do so again in the foreseeable future. For now, I must head off, may the Gods be with you!" With his saying goodbye, Dominicanes grabbed his crosier and hobbled off as quickly as a man with a limp possibly could in search of Sixtus to see if his preparations were being done to a proper degree.


Dominicanes has left the party.

"See you later then..." Andwyn was a little bit upset at being abandoned to sit at the table alone. But he did not mind it as much after a moment or two as he was pretty much used to it. He wondered where Aurora had gone off to, guessing that she saw some "UNRIGHTEOUS INJUSTICE" and decided to go and stop said injustice herself. Andwyn gulped down the rest of his drink and sat the glass back down on the table. He then heard an object slam down onto the pavement followed by a unison of scream and general commotion from the outside. This grabbed the attention of a lot of people in the tavern. Andwyn had no doubt in his mind that Aurora had something to do with it and so he left the tavern and went towards the sound, along with the rest of those in the tavern bored enough,

After walking outside, he saw Aurora put a sword to the chest of a young man, near the dead body of a dwarf. People generally let him move to the front of the crowd, due to him dressing in the church's colours. He then waited for her to stop threatening the boy and walked forward. "What is going on here?"


Larry Pai Chan Avari

 

[Keidivh]

Name: Belegor Ironhammer
Location: Trapdoor Drinker --> Arena
Time: 11:30-12:00

After his unexpected meeting the 'King of Thieves', Belegor went back to his original task, signing up for the tourney. It was far more honest work than being the lackey to some master thief, and more importantly it paid much better. Royal Tourneys were few and far in between, but Belegor had heard of the past prizes. Ornate sets of plate armor, a sack of gold that could set a man up for life, and once an actual enchanted artifact. Granted it was pitiful as far artifacts go, but it was still worth a fortune. Hmm, I wonder if they'll be sore about me selling the prize right afterwards? Hope not, cause that's exactly what'll be happening.

Scratching at his bearded chin as he mulled over his potential winnings and how best to use them. His thoughts were interrupted by by screams and hysteria that had erupted in the nearby market. Without a second thought the Dwarf made his way to the scene, pushing past the shocked folk, some crying, others looking as if they were about to toss up their breakfast. Grudge Bearer remained in his hands, emerald eyes scanning for any potential signs of trouble. He was always drawn to it, part of the reason he made such a damn fine explorer. Folk couldn't get far unless they had an innate desire danger. Course it was just as likely to get you killed, but that didn't make it any less of a thrill.

Eventually his eyes caught sight of the tragedy that had caused this ruckus, a Dwarf garbed in the colors of the Church lay dead on the pavement. Blood and gore spattered around him, making it obvious his death was caused by a less than pleasant tumble. With no evident danger Belegor rested his hammer back onto his shoulder and backed away, eyes still resting on the dead Dwarf.

"Another step closer to the void for us... Rest in the arms of the ancestors lad." Letting out a heavy sigh, golden bearded Dwarf turned to leave the scene. A couple of Clerics had already arrived on the scene, and he knew better than to get wrapped up in Church business. Not to mention with the way the Elven girl was tossing around accusations he'd be likely to be burnt for heresy just for being in the vicinity. "Tch, fucking zealots."

Leaving behind the excitement and blood, the journey to the Arena commenced, which thankfully wasn't interrupted by brutish mercenaries or grizzly homicides. Alcamoth seemed to be going down hill since last time he had visited.

It wasn't that long before his destination came into view. Located in one of the innard tiers, the Arena was a massive structure, it's stone a glistening white, its surfaces covered with murals of past wars, of the epic and horrific battles from the War of Cinders, the bloody wars against the Orcs. Then there was the massive archway that acted as the entrance, solid wooden gates barring entrance and a contingent of guards ensuring it remains that way. In front of the gate sat a single table, where a squirrely looking fella sat at, scratching his pristine, dark brown hair, sunken brown eyes scanning over the rosters list for the upcoming event. His face looked somewhat pallid, and occasionally his eyes slid shut before snapping back open. A testament to the grueling hours he had worked to get this massive event together.

The poor bastard was so out of it the lad didn't even realize a Dwarf stood before him until Belegor rested the head of his hammer on the ground, a loud thud grabbing his attention.

"Ugh, gods preserve me, the tourney isn't until the day of the wedding, and I'm just about done telling illiterate fools that fact. And no, you can't place any bets. If that's all, I'll bid you good day, and good riddance." With a wave of his hand the tired human went back to looking over his roster, expecting the nuisance to depart. That wouldn't be the case however.

"Heh, well aren't ye just a little ray of sunshine? I'm actually not here to place bets or watch the fights though lad, I'm here to sign up and knock a few heads around." Hearing this human looked up, weary eyes scanning over the man before him as he had just took note of his presence. After a moment he gave a nod, seemingly satisfied with what he saw.

"Name?"

"Belegor Ironhammer... Is that honestly all it takes to sign up?"

"Generally I'd do more of a background check, ask you questions, perhaps even have you spar someone, but the truth of the matter is I'm just to tired to go through all that shite. Sides I've a knack for spotting warriors, and you have the look about you. And if I'm wrong you'll come out with a few broken bones, so I'm not to concerned. Make sure you arrive a few hours beforehand to prepare yourself."

Stepping away from the table, Belegor began making his way back to the Drakefall Tavern. Such a productive morning called for a hearty meal and a few mugs of ale to top it off.​

 

[Avari]

Time: 11:45am
Location: Alcamoth Markets



Knight-Captain Rhyder pushed through the sizable crowd that had gathered at the market, his face even more grim than usual - cursing the fact they hadn’t reached the area in time. His fellow Paladins were already breaking up the rabble with equal parts calm precision and calculating intimidation. Rhyder snarled at the unfortunate ones who didn’t move out of his way fast enough - going as far as to simply barge them out the way.

“Move! Make room!” he ordered, his tone snappish.

The scene that greeted him was chaotic. An Elf, also in Cleric robes had her blade up at a young man’s throat, who was covered in soot and gibbering wildly. He quickly searched his memory, looking to attach a name to the familiar looking woman. Was it Abigail? Aurora? Then he saw the body. Broken and bloody. The once proud white and blue robes of a Church Cleric soiled with dirt and blood, the Dwarf’s face was an unrecognizable bloody mess where it had clearly taken the full force of the impact. He grimaced, and glanced over his armored shoulder at his second in command - a blonde woman in lighter armor, her facial expression matching his own. She looked up at the half constructed tower he had fallen from.

“...Did he jump?”

“Save the conjecture for the investigation, Lieutenant. Set up a perimeter until we get the body moved. Send word to the Knight-Commander and the Grand Cleric.”

“Yes Sir,” She replied, already moving to follow out his orders - her fellow paladins pushing the gathered crowds back and blocking out the view.

Rhyder smartly stepped forward, leaning down to inspect the body.

“What a mess.” He sighed, then he glanced up at the Elf. The man she had at knife-point was still rambling, looking horrified. He was wearing the grubby uniform of a construction worker.

“Blade down lass,” He ordered. “We’ve got the place surrounded, he isn’t going anywhere.”

Pai Chan

 

[MagicPenguin]

Character: Arryn Blacksmith
Location: Industrial Level; Hogan's Forge; Workshop
Time: 1:50 PM

...clang...clang...clang...clang...

The mesmerizing sound of hammer on metal rang throughout the forge in a steady rhythm, like the heartbeat that pumped the blood through Arryn's veins and sustained his very life. The sweltering heat given off by the oven and the heavy gloves, apron and goggles he wore were nearly enough to overwhelm his body, drenched in sweat, but he paid the oppressive warmth of his surroundings no mind. The heat didn't exist. Hogan, working his own metal not far away, didn't exist. Neither the sun outside nor the windows through which its light entered the room existed. The room itself didn't exist. Arryn's own thoughts didn't even exist. Nothing existed at all. Nothing except for the metal, the anvil it sat upon, the tongs used to hold it, the forge used to heat it, and the hammer used to beat it.

…clang...clang...clang...clang...Arryn...

Slowly, carefully, lovingly, he shaped the block of iron and steel into a shape that only vaguely resembled a sword's blade. It would take hours for it to assume the form it was ultimately destined to assume. The constant swinging motion of the heavy hammer in his hand caused Arryn's fatigued arms to cry out in protest. Arryn didn't listen, of course. Pain didn't exist, after all, nor did the body that claimed to feel it.

...clang...clang...clang...clang...Arryn!...

When the metal became too cold to continue shaping with his hammer, he'd pick it up with his tongs and return it to the heat of the forge. He'd wait and watch with the patience of a dutiful parent observing his child for the metal to resume its malleable state so that he could continue to mold it. It was the golden-red-orange color he was waiting to see, the one that would let him know the iron was hot enough and it was time to continue; the most beautiful color in the world. Redder and more brilliant than the shine of the setting sun in the night sky, as pleasing to his trained eyes as the excited blush in the cheeks of the fairest maiden. When he saw that sublime shade take hold of the iron, a color that no artist would ever be able to truly reproduce upon a canvas, he knew it was time to swing his hammer once more.

...clang...clang...clang...attention, boy!...clang...

“ARRYN!”

The blacksmith woke from his trance-like state with a start at the loud bang caused by Hogan's hammer upon the side of Arryn's anvil. Suddenly, everything around him came into sharp focus once more. The heat of the forge, the weight of his hammer, and Hogan's angry eyes staring deadly daggers straight into his own. And the pain shooting through his tired arms. Yeowch. He'd felt it countless times before; the soarness in his muscles was a nearly constant companion to him over the years. He could bear it easily, but it was always jarring how suddenly it seemed to appear after finishing in the forge.

“Sorry, Master. Did you need something?”

The dwarf's angry expression melted into an easy, affectionate, perhaps somewhat exasperated smile “Ach, child, I'll never get over how focused you become once you set your mind to something. It's like you leave Aether to occupy another planet all your own. Come, Arryn, it's time you took a break. You're like to push yourself to exhaustion without ever realizing it at the rate you're going.”

“Hm? It can't have been more than an hour, Master Hogan. I can keep going a while longer.”

“An hour? Try five, kid. It's nearly two hours past midday already! I won't hear any arguments about it. Go get yourself some lunch. Take a walk outside for a bit to cool down from working in this heat all morning. Ya got one hour, got it? You be back by 3:00, or you'll have me flute to answer to. Understood?”

Arryn nodded and carefully removed his apron, gloves and goggles. He slipped his hammer in the loop at his belt on the hip opposite his knife. “I'll be back on time, you can count on that. My hearing depends on it.”

Hogan's smile broadened and he reached up to pat his large apprentice on the back. It was almost a comical sight, the short dwarf stretching nearly to the tips of his toes just to reach the tall man's shoulder. “Aye, I know ya will, lad. You've always been a dutiful boy, not one to slack. Well? Off with ya, then!” he said with a wave of his hands.

Arryn stepped out the door of the forge leading to the foyer, where he saw two regulars, some relatively high ranking paladins, sitting on the couch drinking some tea and talking amongst themselves. They were presumably here to place some orders for weapon or armor repairs, as usual. They were waited on by Lena, a baker's daughter who lived in one of the middle class housing levels a few layers beneath the industrial one the forge occupied. She was looking for a way to make some extra cash for her family and wasn't interested in working in the bakery, so Hogan paid her to watch the front desk and take orders while he and Arryn did the work in the forge. She was a cheerful girl with long, blonde hair about the length of her shoulder blades in a practical braid over her shoulder and a simple brown commoner's dress. “Finally coming up for some air, eh, Arry?” she asked him without looking up from the paperwork in front of her as he approached her desk from behind.

“Good day, Lena. Yeah, I'm going to take a walk down to the markets and see about lunch. I'll be back in about an hour to get back to it.”

“Have fun. Don't do anything I wouldn't do, big boy” she said as she looked up at him with a wink and a playful smirk. Sheesh. He was just going out for lunch, not for a night on the town. Lena always seemed to be up for a good time in a tavern no matter what time of day it was and she apparently assumed the same about everyone else. She didn't seem to take anything too seriously. She was pretty stubborn, though, and had a good head for numbers, which made her pretty adept at dealing with customers and haggling prices with them.

He nodded amiably to the customers in greeting, not wanting to interrupt their conversation by saying hello. They were debating who would win the upcoming tournament as Lena wrote up their orders and prepared to quote them prices. He left them to it and stepped out into the street.

The cool air outside was a refreshing change of pace from the sweltering heat inside the building's forge. Some might find it a bit chilly, but Arryn was comfortable in just his simple cotton t-shirt after long hours next to the hot oven. The carpenters and painters and masons and other craftsmen of the industrial levels were hard at work inside or out of their shops. Arryn waved and greeted some he knew by name as he made his way down the main street to the markets in the levels below, the handle of his hammer swaying at his side as he walked.

The industrial levels of Alcamoth were near the very top of the city. The upper-class markets where Arryn headed to get his lunch were a bit below them. The only levels that were above the industrial were the aristocratic living quarters and the apex containing the Grand Chapel where the wedding would be held, the library, and the royal palace itself. Oddly enough, though they were placed at a higher layer than the industrial levels or any of the middle or lower class living quarters, the aristocratic quarters were filled with mansions that were frequently empty save staff hired for maintenance and upkeep in their employers' absence. These empty mansions were reserved for high ranking noble families from other regions of Aether who needed a place to stay when they made their royal visits to the city to see the king a few times a year. With the king's wedding on the horizon, they were currently packed to the gills.

The whole arrangement baffled Arryn. How could these bluebloods pay for sprawling mansions they would rarely ever stay in while the poor in the peasants' quarters at the city's lowest levels lived in dirty, often unsafe tenements? And that was if they were lucky; some children, like Arryn in his youth, were frequently forced to sleep in the streets for lack of living space. It was appalling. Was it really any wonder some of the common people felt so out of touch with the ruling class and the Church that they would sooner join the gangs that made up this shady “Organization” than look to their leaders for help?

After about 10 minutes of walking, the blacksmith turned himself from such bitter thoughts as he reached the markets and found some kind of commotion going on. There was a huge crowd gathered around a building that was apparently under construction. There was a general feeling of unease Arryn could feel buzzing throughout the masses, a sense of anxiety and fear that seemed to waft from the people in waves. Arryn couldn't see what the crowd was gawking at from where he was, but it must be serious, he figured, because there was a group of armed paladins trying to keep folks away from whatever was over there.

He originally intended just to find a stall to buy a few sausages at and then head straight back, but with all the tension and hubbub, it might be difficult to make it through the press of the crowd to find a vendor. Plus, he didn't want to linger too long in any area with this many paladins mulling about. His childhood instincts still hadn't left him, and to a street rat who stole for survival, paladins were the one thing you wanted to avoid above all else. It might not be totally rational, he recognized, since he hadn't done anything wrong, but, well...best to avoid them.

Instead, Arryn pushed his way through the dense crowd to the Drakefall Tavern, trying not to push too hard lest he accidentally knock someone over and hurt them. Big and strong as he was compared to everyone else, he often had to take such care, as if everyone was a delicate porcelain figurine that might break if he handled it too casually. The Drakefall Tavern was a pub nearby where he and Hogan usually went out to relax when the festive mood took them. It was about 2:15 when he found an empty bar stool and the proprietor of the bar, a young, red-haired elf named Dhalia, came over to greet him.

“Well, if it isn't little Arry! I didn't take you for the day drinking type. Something got you down?” She stopped suddenly and her eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Wait...Hogan isn't with you is he? He better not be or I swear I'll...”

Arryn cut her off before she could finish verbalizing that thought and slapped a few copper down on the bar. “No, Dhalia, he's not here. It's just me looking for a nice, big chicken leg and a cold mug of ale if you have 'em to spare.” Arryn chided himself internally for ordering ale midday, especially after he had mentally berated Lena just fifteen minutes earlier for her unhealthy habit of doing the same. He was in a tavern, though, even if he hadn't meant to be in one, so he might as well have a drink, he thought ruefully. One mug couldn't hurt.

The elf's hard face lost its tense glare and she let loose a sigh of relief. “Oh, is that all? Well, thank Zanza above for that. You tell that old bastard that if he ever tries to play that flute in here again I'll shove it so far up his ass that he'll be farting notes in g-minor. That'd be an improvement over how bad he usually plays. If you can even call what he does 'playing,'” she grumbled angrily.

She still hadn't forgiven Hogan for those broken windows, it seemed. Arryn tried to change the subject. “Do you know what's going on with the paladins and the crowd out there, Dhalia? It looks like something pretty serious happened.”

“A cleric died. Fell from up on that huge building they're putting up. No one's quite sure what happened, but some people are calling it a murder. They already arrested some of the workers who were on the site. As 'accomplices,' they said.” She lowered her voice and leaned in to whisper to Arryn conspiratorially. “And that isn't even the worst part. They say the one who died was a dwarf” she said sadly.

Arryn grimaced. Dwarves were a once plentiful race, but now they only numbered in the hundreds. They were endangered, all but doomed to be wiped out within the next few centuries. If a person of any other species had been the victim of this incident, it would have been a tragedy for his or her family. Every time a dwarf died, however, it was a tragedy for his entire race. Just one step further down the inexorable road to extinction. Arryn couldn't help but to picture Hogan right then, lying dead from a long fall at the center of that huge crowd he saw in the markets moments ago.

“Well, enough about that,” Dhalia said as she pocketed Arryn's copper. “I'll get your food and drink.” She walked back toward the kitchen.

What could possibly have happened up on that building? How was he going to tell Hogan about it? The dwarf wasn't usually one to wear his emotions on his sleeve, but Arryn knew Hogan would be heartbroken about the death of his kinsman. What with there being so few dwarves left, it was all but certain his master had known the man who died personally.

Dark thoughts chased themselves around in circles within Arryn's head as he waited for Dhalia to return with his lunch.

Keidivh

 

[Pai Chan]

Time: 11:45am
Location: Alcamoth Markets
​

Not long after Aurora held her sword at the man did she hear a familiar voice.

"What is going on here?" Andwyn asked.

"There's been a very possible murder and I'm holding this man and his crew as partly responsible for one of our fellow cleric's death." Aurora answered without turning around and kept the man in her icy glare. A moment later other voices could be heard giving orders. The paladins had arrived and Knight Captain Rhyder, himself, made an appearance. He inspected the body before addressing Aurora.

“Blade down, lass,” He ordered. “We’ve got the place surrounded, he isn’t going anywhere.” Aurora did as she was told and sheathed her sword.

"Captain," She addressed the man, finally turning her attention away from the young worker. "according to witnesses two women chased the dwarf into the scaffolds. I suspect that it was they that led to the cleric's death after cornering him towards the top. I only caught a glance at one of the girls and tried chasing after her but I was too late. I believe they may be in the tower since no one has come out or in since the murder unless there are other entrances or exits." Aurora took a moment to take in a breath. "That is all I have to report Knight Captain." Aurora hoped that the killers were caught and it helped that the Knight Captain Rhyder was the one to show up. He was another person that Aurora admired although not anywhere near as much as the Grand Cleric. But she respected the man in the sense that he was devoted to the church and had, practically, unrivaled swordsmanship. Even though he didn't know it, Rhyder was the reason Aurora decided to pick up the sword in the first place. But it was the lieutenant that taught Aurora how to use a blade since the Knight Captain's sword would hardly favor a woman.

 

[Avari]

Time: 11:55am
Location: Alcamoth Markets

Rhyder considered the elf for a moment as the construction worker was promptly pulled away for questioning. "Your name is Aurora, is it not? I'd remember that continence anywhere. You've done good work here, made our jobs a little easier."
The Paladin gestured to one of his colleagues - a mammoth of a man, who's scarred face was set and grim. "Get the Tower sealed off. I want every floor checked - top to bottom."
The man saluted, slamming his fist across his armored chest. "At once, captain."

Rhyder turned back to the body, two more paladins were already approaching with a pile of black sheets and a stretcher to cover the corpse from view.
"We're getting the body moved back to the Chapel. This is the Grand Cleric's jurisdiction, no doubt they'll be an investigation. She may wanna speak to you and your..."
He gestured to Andwyn. "...friend here. Gods know if anything will come of it this side of the wedding, but at least we have leads. Time will tell if there was foul play."

The Paladin gave the Clerics a respectful salute - one for those considered to be brothers and sisters of the Church.
"May the light guide you, friends."

The_Omega_Effect Pai Chan



---


I have two more posts planned today, one for 3ish, one for 6ish. If anyone has any posts they need to get out before hand, lemmie know

 

[Keidivh]

Characters: Belegor Ironhammer; Arryn Blacksmith
Location: Drakefall Tavern
Time: 2:30 PM

It didn’t take long for Belegor to make his way back to the middle tier of Alcamoth where the Drakefall Tavern was located. While hardly as prestigious as the upper tier, it held its own charms. Bustling markets sprawled throughout the area where the commonfolk could barter and find essentials, craftsman of all kinds plowed their trades, the sound of thundering hammers from nearby forges, the enticing aroma of freshly baked bread carried on the breeze from nearby bakeries. Or if you were unlucky the smell of a nearby tanners hut. And you’d be hard pressed to find a place with more taverns in a condensed area. Seemed like there were more of them than shrines to the Empires gods. The common man’s true house of worship if there ever was one.

As he was making his way towards the Drakefall however, Belegor couldn’t help but feel as if eyes were tracking him, and possibly had been for some time. He couldn’t rightly say why, but a life spent exploring ruins and dungeons gave you sharp senses, and he knew better than to ever pass them off as nothing. Whistling a simple marching tune from Gulorum so as to appear relaxed, his eyes began carefully scanning the crowds. Yet nothing stood out of the ordinary. A few construction workers were heading back from lunch and a few drinks judging by the way they stumbled about. A young girl trotted along with a large basket of clothes to be washed, a couple of beggars sat on the street corners. Nothing out of the ordinary. Until he saw them. Beady red eyes coming from a cramped alleyway, staring into him with an intense hunger. It’s shadowed form was hunched, claws digging deep into the dirt. Looking down to his pouch, Belegor’s callused fingers began fumbling for some shot, yet when he looked back up it was gone, some stray mutt taking a snooze in the place he saw the beast. “Fucking Cinders...” He muttered under his breath, sweat clinging to his weathered skin. His eyes remained on the alley for a time, trying to make sense of what just happened. Fatigue is all. Been running none stop since I left that gods forsaken place. Just need to get some more bloody sleep.

Wiping the sweat from his brow, Belegor entered the Drakefall, eager to drink a few pints of ale to drown out the memory of whatever the hell he just saw. The familiar sight and sounds of his home away from home did much to ease his mind. It wasn’t the most prestigious of establishments, but you’d be hard pressed to find better service. Dhalia took a great deal of pride in her work there, which was hardly a surprise considering how much her mother had put into it. A roaring fireplace was set up on the right side along with plenty of booths and chairs, providing a rather cozy and comfortable atmosphere, while the left was taken up mostly by the stage that Dhalia had installed but a couple years ago for bards and musicians to perform and spin songs to entrance their inebriated crowd. Along the walls meanwhile were various trophies gifted to the place by none other than Gulorum’s Seekers. Goblin, beast and monster skulls adorned the walls, all having fallen victim to the Seekers at one point or another. It helped to set Drakefall apart from the many other inns and taverns in the district, and it didn’t hurt that the fiery redhead of an elf could spin quite the tall tale.

“See that Goblin skull? That was taken from Gnarlfang the Malevolent, killed a whole company of knights! It took an entire wagon full of Dwarf fire to fell the beast!"

“Oh you want to know about Nasty Nellie eh? Ah what a battle that was. That monster had the ability to turn invisible, and had claws that could rend through plate armor! Course Nellie had never met a Dwarven rifle before! That humbled the bitch.”

“Ah, and who could forget the Killer Rabbit. You laugh, but this thing is responsible for the death of countless adventurers. It’d jump up and bite a mans head clean off! It was only when the Seekers set off a barrel of Dwarf Fire blessed by the Church itself did it fall!”

Honestly it had reached the point where Belegor and the Seekers could hardly find the stories plausible, yet the customers seemed to eat that kind of shite up! They craved the extraordinary, and seemed content to not ask questions and just imagine the incredible adventures that lied beyond the walls of their fair city. Not that any of them would dare to seek it out mind you.

“Well look what we have here. Ye manage to make it back without falling on yer ass again Belegor?” Dhalia quipped, a playful smirk on her lips as she set down a juicy leg of chicken and mug of ale before her hulking customer. The smirk faded slightly, a look of worry in her expressive sapphire eyes. “Why’re ye so pale dear? Looks like you’ve seen a wraith?”

Belegor simply waved off her concerns as he approached the bar, taking a stool next to the large man before tossing some coppers onto the table, just enough for some mutton, a pint of ale and a generous tip. “Don’t get your ears tangled in bunch lass, just a bit peckish is all, apparently that biscuit wasn’t enough to hold me over. This dashing Dwarf requires some meat to get him through the day!” While not entirely satisfied with his answer, the elf decided not to press the issue further, going to get his lunch together after sweeping up her payment.

“Well, while your waiting you could say hi to Arryn. Ya know, the lad you’re sitting right next to.”

Emerald eyes went wide with surprise before looking over to the man beside him, and sure as stone saw the hulking frame of Arryn, the best human blacksmith in Aether. Not that the boy would ever admit it, not one to brag of his own achievements. But simply the fact he was Hogan’s apprentice spoke volumes, being he was one of the finest smiths outside Gulorum. Having known him for over a decade, Belegor had taken a shine to the young blacksmith apprentice during his visits to Hogans Forge. While he wasn’t the most sociable lad and often seemed distracted, he was a sharp kid with a good head on his shoulders.

“Well shave my beard and call me an Elf!” Belegor exclaimed before embracing the towering brown haired man, and receiving a stale biscuit to the head for the Elf comment from Dhalia.

“Ha, by the ancestors it’s grand to see ye laddie! Good to know your still a head taller than a man in full plat armor, ye sure yer da didn't have some giants blood in him?" A hearty laugh escaped the him before he released the smith, giving him a hard pat on the shoulder, a large smile having replaced the weary look that was there moments before.

Focused as Arryn was on his ruminations about the dead dwarf in the upper markets, he hadn't even noticed the entrance of Belegor Ironhammer, second-in-command of the Gulorum Seekers, treasure hunter extraordinaire, and surely one of the fiercest warriors alive, until the dwarf all but jumped on him in an affectionate hug that might have been enough to break his ribs if he'd been a smaller man. Belegor and his father, Durin, were old friends of Hogan from before Arryn started as his apprentice and they paid him a visit whenever they passed through town. Arryn had never been the adventurous sort himself, even as a child, but the exciting stories of monsters, ruins, knights, heroism, and life-or-death battles the Seekers brought with them whenever they came to the Forge were enough to inflame any teenage boy's imagination. They were like a bard's epic tale of the Age of Heroes and the War of Cinders come to life. There was a time, after his first meeting with the Seekers when he was only thirteen or fourteen, that he was convinced he wanted to emulate them when he grew older and have harrowing adventures of his own. Perhaps he could even place a skull or two of his own up on the Drakefall's wall.

Of all the Seekers, no one was more supportive of his boyish ambitions than the leader's son, Belegor, who seemed to derive great amusement from Arryn's innocent desire to follow in his footsteps. The cheery dwarf even taught Arryn a few of the basics of fighting with a hammer. After that, Arryn became so smitten with the man that he ended up sneaking out one night to follow him to a tavern against Hogan's explicit orders to stay home at the Forge. When he was found out, instead of scolding the boy, Belegor let loose his hearty, bellowing laugh and ordered him the biggest tankard of ale the bar had to offer. “A rite of passage,” he'd said with a silly grin, “for any man who wants to ride with the Seekers!” That was Arryn's first drink. It was in the very tavern in which they now sat, now that he thought about it.

Of course, all that talk of adventuring was just a child's fancy; it was to be a quiet life in the forge for him, well away from all the danger and excitement Belegor and the Seekers sought on a near daily basis.

“Belegor,” exclaimed Arryn with surprise and an excited smile, “you're just about the last person I expected to meet today! I didn't know you were back in Alcamoth already! I thought your last expedition was supposed to take longer. How long have you been in town? How did everything go? Did you manage find what you were looking for?”

Arryn knew precious little of the Seekers' last expedition—not where they were headed nor what they expected to find--but when he saw them last a few months back, he had the impression that Belegor's father thought it was going to be a big one, something he believed would change their fortunes forever. After the ill fate befallen by the Dwarven cleric, their race's fortunes could certainly use a little changing, and Arryn would welcome some good news.

Despite having settled down into a life of peace and relative safety, Belegor could sense the young man before him still had the desire to see the greater world, to delve into the ruins that he had told the lad about when he was a tyke. The way his face lit up, the way he incessantly asked for every detail of their expeditions. He would have made a fine explorer if given the proper training. Course then he’d likely be a rotting corpse in the Deluge with Shamblers snacking on him.

Happy as he was to see the smith, Belegor couldn’t hold back the heavy frown that came over his face at hearing his inquiries. Imagining Arryn's face fall into a grim look of horror, it was difficult to muster up the will to tell him. Turning towards his arrived meal, he grabbed his mug staring into the drink as he tried to think of how to say what had happened. That he was the last Seeker, that his father and kin that treated him like their own had been butchered. This silence didn’t go unnoticed by Arryn, his smile falling into a look of concern, his lips pressed into a thin line. He was a sharp kid, and was likely already putting two and two together.

Dhalia stood in silence as she waited to see how Belegor would react his lingering silence causing an air of tension to grow in what should have been a joyful reunion. “Come now Arryn, d-don’t be pestering him with all these questions. The poor mans had a long enough journey and-"

“We failed.” The Dhalia’s voice failed her as Belegor interjected, sapphire eyes glistening as she was forced to think of what had happened. Arryn dragged his callused hands over his face, muttering a curse under his breath as Belegor continued.

“Everything had gone smoothly enough on our journey to Beneth Tha'lan. Suffered casualties, but that’s to be expected in the Deluge. Undead, giant insects, disease. They took their toll, but we cut our way through it all like shot through plate mail. Course what we hadn’t expected was Lord Devon and his sycophants. Tracked us all the way through the Deluge, and once we reached the ruins they attacked. That was a bloody fucking scrap I’ll tell ye, but that was just the start of it. While we were busy butchering each other something had stirred in the ruins before us, smelled the blood being spilt. I n-never seen anything like it in me life lad. Stood well over ten feet tall, its limbs looked like gnarled, dead wood, a massive beast skull for a head, draped in bloody skins from both beast and man. And those gods forsaken eyes… That’s when the slaughter began. Started tearing both of our parties asunder, but the Seekers bore the brunt of it. Devon escaped along with a handful of men, but not before placing a damn bolt in me own fathers back.” Belegors hands trembled as he spoke, knuckles turning white as he neared its end before the mug in his hand gave in, crushed in his palms and cutting into his flesh.

“Gods Belegor!” Dhalia exclaimed as she grabbed a wet rag, quickly going about cleaning off his fresh wound. Arryn remained silent, his head hung low, brown locks covering his eyes.

“I don’t know how I survived. I barely recall how I even got out of the Deluge. I was the only one who did though…” His niece gave his hand a sympathetic squeeze, unable to find any words that could properly console him. As if there were any that could.

He could only imagine what Hogan would say, losing dozens of Dwarven lives in that dead land. He’d be heart broken.

“I shoulda listened to the old man at yer forge boy, many Dwarves would still be alive then.”

Arryn was at a loss for words. What did one say to a man who had lost his family, his friends, and his entire company in one fell swoop? And to lose them all to treachery at the hands of his fellow dwarves of all things...Arryn couldn't imagine the pain Belegor must be enduring. All the blacksmith could do for a moment as he fumbled for something to say was to stare woefully at the broken mug in Belegor's hand, at the blood that seeped from the palm of his callused fist onto the table beneath him.

“I don't know what to say, Belegor,” said Arryn, “except that I'm sorry. Poor words, but they're all I have.” He took a deep drink from his mug before he went on. He chose his next words carefully. “You know that if there's anything we can do, anything at all, you are always welcome at Hogan's Forge. Hogan'll be devastated by this loss, yes, but overjoyed that you, at least, are still alive. After all,as long as you still draw breath, so too does your father's and the Seekers' memory, as well as their legacy. I'm sure Hogan would say the same." He tried to make the last part sound reassuring, though it was difficult to keep his tone positive in the face of such an awful tragedy.

Arryn caught Dhalia's eye and placed some more coppers on the table, motioning with his eyes to Belegor's broken mug. She seemed to catch his meaning; she took the coppers and moved to get Belegor a fresh drink. Arryn might not know the best words to use, but at least the two of them could share a beer to honor the memory of all the good men and women of Gulorum's Seekers that were lost before their time.

A somber smile crept onto his face at Arryn’s words, and the fresh mug he ordered for him. Flexing his now bloody hand, Belegor grabbed his ale and drunk deep, foam clinging to the top of his lip as he drained the mug. It was true, as long as he or his father had survived, hope was not lost for his people. It was a small comfort however when faced with the deaths of so many of those who were dear to him. But no sacrifice was too great to secure the future of his people. He just had to keep telling himself that. Maybe eventually I’ll believe it.

Placing down a single silver, Belegor tapped the counter signaling for Dhalia to keep the ale coming. “Get some for yerself as well dear.” For a moment she seemed as if she was about to protest, she wasn’t the type of girl to drink on the job. This resolve quickly faded away though at the sight of Belegor’s pleading look, and her own need to dull her senses from this less than joyous day.

“And thank ye Arryn, it’s… It’s good to know I still have kin here to rely on. About the only ones I have left.” For a time the bar fell silent as the three stared blankly into their drinks between sips, a moment of silence to come to terms with the tremendous loss they had endured. It wasn’t until a few minutes later that Belegor decided to break the silence, unable to stand the depressing mood any longer. This wasn’t what any of the Seekers would have wanted, their friends moping about. They would want them getting smashed, singing rousing songs of their deeds!

Running his hand through his golden beard that stretched near to his feet as he sat, Belegors eyes came across a patched part of the wall roughly the size of a man, which brought to mind a rather pleasant and raucous memory. “Heh, you remember when we put that hole in the wall?” Belegor gestured towards it, causing both Arryn and Dhalia to look up from their drinks. Immediately a scoff came from their Elven patron, sapphire eyes rolling.

“Tch, you kidding? My ma didn’t shut up about that for years! ‘I’ll tell you something Dhalia, I love Durin and his band of pint sized trouble makers, but if they put another man through my wall, I’ll kick their asses one by one!’ And I didn’t even get to see the scrap!”

A rumbling laugh came from Belegor as he recalled how Dhal’s mother never let them live that incident down. “Well, to be fair, it wasn’t necessarily one of the Seekers who’d dunnit.” Glancing over to Arryn, the Dwarf smirked when he saw a light blush develop on his cheeks.

“Ah, now how’d that all start…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Drakefall Tavern was having one of the busiest nights it had seen in months, with every stool, chair and booth occupied by patrons. Tessa, Dhalia’s mother ran about like a madwoman, carrying more food and drink than seemed humanly possible. Course this what happened when the Seekers came back into town, and Tessa wasn’t about to complain. They’d proven themselves to be loyal, profitable customers, and treated her and Dhalia like kin.

Meanwhile at the bar, Belegor was pressing another mug of ale into young Arryn’s hands. At fifteen years of age, he was more than old enough to handle a few pints, especially considering he dwarfed most men who were a decade older than him. “Come on lad, don’t be squeamish! Ye already proven that you can handle a few pints.” Arryn accepted gratefully. He already had at least three huge mugs (or was it four?) and he was definitely starting to feel lightheaded, but the young teenager was eager to prove his manhood to the Seekers he'd come to idolize.

While they were enjoying themselves, a few more customers entered, though they looked far from pleasant folk, each dressed in dirty mail and leather armor, the leader of the rabble bearing a particularly nasty scar across his face, with an equally ugly sneer plastered on it. Well now, don’t they look like a joy to be around.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I'm not sure I care for that mischievous grin smeared all over Belegor's face whenever he tells this story, thought the hulking blacksmith back in the present day, a little abashed all over again just thinking about how that night played out. All the same, he found it hard not to smile himself as the dwarf recounted the tale. That was one wild night, from what little he could remember of it.

Arryn jumped in to help Belegor tell the story when he got to the part about the rowdy knights who came stumbling in already half drunk. “Aye, that was a mean lot, wasn't it? Took one look about the place and started barking orders like they owned it.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He remembered how the arrogant pricks started making all kinds of noise about how they worked for the king and everyone ought to kiss their boots in gratitude for keeping the peace. They found themselves a table by threatening a few patrons who already had one. Then they started yelling orders at the barmaids waiting on the tavern's customers as if the women were their personal servants. The bastards even had the temerity to start ogling the prettier ones openly. If that had gone on any longer, Arryn wouldn't have been surprised if the leader--a bulky, bearded, and horribly scarred man by the name of Arnolf with a massive longsword strapped to his back that was almost certainly compensating for something--started fondling them as well.

Fortunately, it didn't come to that. Arnolf caught a glimpse of Arryn's large frame sitting at the bar with Belegor and the Seekers and just couldn't hold himself back. “Oy! Big man! I remember you! Don't you work up at that fancy shmancy forge in the upper industrial level with that cheap ass Dogan or Blogan or whatever!?”

Belegor and the Seekers shot the man a dark look, but they didn't do anything as yet. Perhaps they were just waiting to see what Arryn would do. They must have been disappointed, because the boy didn't bother to give him the response he was looking for. He'd endured much worse than this idiot when he lived in the slums and he was here to have a good time, not get into a brawl with a bunch of shit-faced morons.

When Arnolf saw he got no reaction out of the boy, he walked on over. He pushed brusquely past the Seekers in his way, all of whom looked like they wanted to take their hammers to his head like it was an overripe melon in a silly clown's street performance. Before they could put the drunken idiot in his place, though, Belegor held up his hand from where he sat in the stool next to Arryn to stop them. He simply watched the ensuing dialogue between Arnolf and Arryn intently. Arryn didn't understand why he'd done that at the time, but looking back now it was probably because he was waiting for Arryn to punch the fucker out himself.

“'Ey, I was talkin' to you, assface. I went lookin' in that old fuck's forge for a new set of steel plate and y'know what he had the balls to tell me? He said it would cost six gold! Six gold! Now, I don't know about you, but I just think that's way too much for a lil set of armor. I think that old dwarf's just gone and lost all his marbles in his old age, whaddya think, eh?”

Arnolf was close enough to Arryn now that he could smell the alcohol on his breath. Or, he WOULD be able to if not for the overpowering scent of body odor that followed him wherever he went. Instead of responding, the fifteen year old simply swallowed his anger and took a drink from his mug. He'll go away eventually, once he sees he can't provoke me, he thought.

“What're you, deaf? Or just dumb? I asked you a question, Stumpy!” Arryn still didn't bother to even look at the man. Instead, he took another swig from his mug. Arnolf just shrugged and continued his story. “Now, I wouldn't even mind that the dwarf asked that much for a set of steel plate; rich folk need a place to buy armor too, I s'pose. But then later after I tell this story in a few pubs, I hear this story down in the Trapdoor Drinker about how Chogan's apprentice used to live down there in the slums with the rest of the filthy little urchins. Now, me, I'm just thinkin' to myself, 'how does that dwarf get off askin' me, a hardworkin', loyal king's man, for six gold for a stupid set of armor when he's already givin' free room and board to some putrid stinkin' street rat from who-gives-a-fuck who only lived this long by stealin' from his betters?' That just doesn't seem fair, now does it, laddie? I think you woulda just been better off findin' a quiet place to lay down and die what so you wouldn't have to trouble us normal folk anymore with your thievin' than to go and get a free lunch from some senile old cocksucker.”

Arryn's face might have been carved from stone for all the expression it displayed. He was seething inside, but he was determined not to give this guy the angry reaction he was looking for.

Belegor, on the opposite side of the blacksmith from Arnolf, still hadn't said a word, but Arryn remembered the anger he could feel wafting in waves from the burly dwarf. Finally, at this point, he spoke. “Arryn, boy,” he said low enough that Arnolf couldn't hear, “if you let scum like this walk all over ye once, he ain't just gonna walk away and let ye be. He'll come lookin' to walk all over ye again in due time, mark me words. Once a doormat, always a doormat. Put this fool in his place and show him yer no doormat, lad!”

Arnolf was still going on loudly in Arryn's ear to his right. “Aw, forget it,” he said with a mock exasperated tone, “It's almost too easy, pickin' on a big, simpleminded brute like you. Why, it's right unknightly of me. I oughta have more pity for the handicapped, dimwitted as y'are.” He took one last look around him at all the dwarves surrounding him and looked like he was ready to walk back over to his men getting drunk at their table. Before he did, he had one more witticism to leave in his wake. “Do me a favor and give Nogan a message, wouldja? Tell 'im Arnolf said he oughta go off to Gulorum and die quietly with the rest of his blasted race of tiny bearded buttfuckers. Alcamoth don't need the likes o' them cloggin' its streets. Hell, if you love 'em so much, lackwit, you can feel free to take all these little friends you have here and go off to Gulorum to go extinct right along with 'em!” He laughed uproariously at his own sick humor.

That did it.

Between Arnolf's insults in his right ear, Belegor's words in his left, and the encouraging warmth of the alcohol buzzing through his veins, Arryn could no longer tolerate this drunken sot and his awful, barely-coherent rambling. His body moved before his mind knew what it was doing. He stood from his stool abruptly, grabbed the laughing Arnolf by the collar of his shirt with his left hand, drew back the massive fist of his right, and let fly with all the force he could bring to bear right at the bridge of the man's ugly, scarred nose. Arnolf went flying nearly halfway across the room, blood and teeth trailing behind him to mark his trajectory. His momentum was arrested only by the wooden tavern wall into which he soon found his head firmly lodged, right beneath Nasty Nellie's huge grinning skull. His body dangled uselessly beneath him. Arryn might have thought him dead if he hadn't heard Arnolf's pitiful groaning after his short flight was all over.

For a moment, the Drakefall Tavern's common room was completely silent, everyone staring dumbfounded at Arnolf's broken body stuck in the wall. You might have heard a pin drop. The silence was only broken when Belegor broke into that great, bellowing laugh of his. He clapped Arryn on the shoulder forcefully. “WAAAH HA HA HA! Nice shot, lad! Nice shot! Why, I don't think I coulda done it any better meself!”

One of the Seekers Arnolf had pushed past earlier turned to the man's companions at their table in the corner. “How 'bout you lads?” he said, hoisting his hammer threateningly over his shoulder. He gestured to Arnolf's body jammed headfirst into the far wall and said “you want somma what he got?”

A look of pride came over Belegor’s face as Arryn began to retell the story up to when he decked that scum Arnolf, planting his ugly mug into the wall where it belonged. Arryn’s calm and kind demeanor was endearing, and something which was a rarity in Aether, and Belegor had come to value it. But he and the Seekers wouldn’t be around forever, and he wanted to ensure the boy could stand for himself. All the muscle in the world wouldn’t help you if you weren’t willing to use it. And that’s just what Arryn did, though his technique needed some refining.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Phaha, I’ll tell ya, I’ll never forget the look on his mates faces when they saw their boss into a new wall ornament. Fit in nicely with the rest of the trophies in me own humble opinion.”

But of course that was hardly the end of that night’s entertainment. While Belegor was busting a gut laughing at Arryn knocking the lights out of some seasoned soldier in a single blow, Alrick, a Dwarf warrior with a braided, fiery red beard and a temperament to match was challenging Arnolf’s crew who were all still gawking at their incapacitated leader. He could hardly hold it against the Dwarf, Arnolf prodded the Minotaur with insulting their peoples plight. Now it was time for them to get the horns.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Arnolf’s crew managed to pull themselves out of their stupor at last, the second in command, a burly looking human with a bushy manling beard began to reach for the axe on his back. “Fucking pint sized shits! We’ll gut you all and then cave in that brats skull! We’ll burn this entire fucking shithole to the-“ That was about all he got out before a bar stool crashed into the man sending him reeling to the ground, a splash of crimson coming from his face where the wood bit into him. Alrick was quite clearly done with talking, it was time to make these bastards.

“All right lads, let finish what our chap Arryn here started and show these beardless whelps a proper Dwarven scarp! Man who knocks out the most teeth will get a whole keg of Gulorum Mead courtesy of yours truly!"” Alrick didn’t need any further encouragement, turning to the nearest soldier and riving his fist into the mans gut, forcing him to keel over before the Dwarf grabbed his head and drove his knee into it. The rest of the Seekers eagerly joined the growing brawl, many patrons running to hide behind the bar as the dining area was consumed by vicious fights.

Arryn seemed hesitant a moment in continuing the fight, senseless violence wasn’t something he cared for in the slightest. But this wasn’t senseless, these men were pitiless bigots who insulted his friends and talked shit about his mentor. Grabbing a nearby mug, he quickly drained it of its contents before tossing smashing it into a nearby soldiers face.

Belegor meanwhile had squared off against two soldiers, blocking their clumsy strikes as best he could before he saw an opening, giving a swift kick to the Elf’s crotch, sending him to the ground with a less than manly wail. As he warded off the Elf’s friend he looked over to Arryn and saw him squaring off one on one with a lithe human who was managing to weave around Arryn’s bone breaking jabs, getting in a few nasty hits right into the boys kidneys and even a solid knock to the face.

“Come now lad, watch where his body’s leading him. Anticipate where the bugger is and level him!” Arryn winced as the skinny bloke got another good hit on his side, but gave a nod towards Belegor to indicate that he understood. Taking a moment, the smith apprentice focused on the movements of his opponent, biding his time until he got an idea of his movements. Anticipating his next movement, Arryn wound up and unleashed a devastating jab into the mans stomach, his strike hitting true. Reeling from the hit, the smith decided to follow up, grabbing the mans head before smashing headbutting him, foreheads colliding with a sickening crack. While the soldier was laying on the ground in a deep peaceful black out, Arryn now found himself with a splitting headache. Hmm, something didn’t go right there.

“Pha, the hell was that kid? You trying to give yerself a concussion?” Looking over, Arryn saw that Belegor was chastising him while holding his opponent, or perhaps more accurately victim, in a headlock. Shaking his head, the Dwarf strode up to him, dragging along his captive before giving a proper demonstration of a head-butt. Releasing the man for a moment, he quickly grabbed his shoulders, and smashed his forehead against the poor boys nose, a burst of blood coming from his nose that was accompanied by a crunching sound. "Y'see, boy? You aim for the soft nose with yer hard forehead. Noses are all cartalidge, soft as hell and break real easy. Butt hard foreheads like you did, and ya got yerself one hell of a headache!" Arryn hoped he would remember all this advice in the morning.

With that the fighting largely died down, the Seekers coming out as the clear winners of the incident. Wiping some of the blood of his tattooed face, Belegor took a seat beside Arryn, the two catching their breath for a moment before they looked at each other and broke out into laughter.

“How is it that every time you drag me out from the forge we seem to get in more trouble than the last time?” Arryn asked before wincing from the pain still radiating in his skull, taking a moment to gently rub his temples. Another few mugs of ale'll fix that right up, he thought with amusement.

“Well I figure you spend so much time working with that forge of yours, I got to make your time off as exciting as possible!” Taking a moment to survey the carnage of the brawl and listening to the pained groans of the ruffians, he gave a satisfied nod of approval. “I’d say I’ve done a fine job of that… You did well tonight lad, stood up for yourself and your friends. Makings of a great man right there.”

Arryn tried to shrug off the compliment, saying anyone would have done it, but the small smile on his face showed that he took a hint of pride in what he had done. It was a picturesque ending for a perfect night.

“BELEGOR! YOU AND YOUR SEEKERS WRECKED MY FUCKING BAR!” The two men winced as they heard the less than pleased voice of Tessa echoing through the tavern.

“Is it odd I’m more terrified of her than that gang of ruffians?” Arryn asked as he prepared for a thorough scolding. Belegor simply chuckled as he braced himself for the same.

“Lad, it’d be odd if you weren’t.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Honestly,” Dhalia chimed in back in the present, “between you Seekers and your barfights and that Hogan and his 'flute,' I don't know how this bar is still standing after all these years! You dwarves are going to send me off to be with me poor old mother 'fore long, just see if you don't!” She said this with a good natured smile and a chuckle that let the two know she was only joking.

Belegor was still laughing so hard at their shared memory that Arryn thought he might start shooting his ale out of his nose. His roaring laughter caused his mighty blonde beard to vibrate like a massive bush caught in an earthquake. “That was a night to remember, I tell ye, Arryn! The Seekers were in rare form! How many o' those jackasses do y'think Alrick managed to send to the healers all by himself, eh? I'll never forget the look on that soldier's face when he threw that stool right at him mid-sentence! Took him right in the nose, it did! Smashed into a million pieces! He was probably sneezin' splinters for weeks!” That started him laughing all over again, though there was a quick and almost imperceptible flash of sadness in his eyes when he couldn't entirely fight off the image of Alrick in his last moments as his entire body was consumed in a single, horrifying gulp.

Well, Arryn thought with a smile as he placed his finished chicken bone on the plate before him and reached for the last of his ale, at least he's in a good mood again. Almost seems just like his old self, thinking about the good times. Hell, even I feel better now. Belegor always was like that, he reflected. His jovial nature was contagious and it was impossible to stay depressed for long whenever he was around.

“Hogan was so mad when he saw my black eye after I got back. He was even angrier when your mother sent him the repair bill for the damaged wall the very next day, Dhalia. He had me making nothing but horseshoes, belt buckles, and boot spurs for weeks. I thought he'd never let me leave the workshop again!” Arryn laughed at the memory right along with Belegor. Good times.

“Ah, by the way, speaking of the workshop, you know the king commissioned Hogan to make the weapon that's to be awarded to the victor of the wedding tournament. Hogan, in his infinite wisdom, left the crafting of the sword to me. Are you entering, Belegor?”

“Aye, lad. Just signed up before I came here, in fact. I'm hopin' to use that prize money to restart the Seekers, maybe do some recruiting and fund a few simple expeditions to get us started. I haven't given up on the dream just yet. It'll take more than some nasty Wetlands beast and a crooked, kinslaying politician to get the better of ol' Belegor Ironhammer!” he nearly roared. He certainly wasn't lacking for passion, Arryn mused.

“I see,” said Arryn. “Well, it was supposed to be an ornamental sword, something for rich people with too much time on their hands to put on their walls and gawk at for generations instead of use in a fight. Since you're going to enter, though, I might just have to give it a bit sharper an edge. That means you best win, Belegor. I wouldn't want to give such a nice piece of steel to just anyone.”

“Oho! A free sword from the best forge in the city? Now there's something to look forward to. Between that and the prize money, the Seekers' future is all but assured! Leave it to me, lad. I'll show all those young bucks a thing or two about how a dwarf does battle.”

“Say, Arry,” interrupted Dhalia. “I don't mean to spoil the festive mood here, but shouldn't you get back to the forge if you have such an important job to do? It's nearly three already,” she said, pointing to the pocket watch in her hand that indicated it was 2:50. “You can't laze around drinking all day like some dwarves I know” she said, shooting a playful grin in Belegor's direction.

"I'd be offended, but the lass speaks the truth." Belegor chimed in, a large smirk on his face as he hoisted yet another mug of his favorite beverage as if to prove her point, earning an exasperated sigh from the young woman.

“Oh, shoot!” Arryn said, standing suddenly in alarm. He had gotten so caught up reminiscing with Belegor that he forgot all about Hogan's deadline. If he didn't get back to the Forge by 3, he could kiss his eardrums goodbye. “I have to run, guys. Thank you for your hospitality, Dhalia. The food and drink were excellent as always. I'll give Hogan your regards.”

Dhalia's face took on a dark cast at the mention of the old blacksmith, but before she could respond with some cutting remark about Hogan's flute and where she wanted to shove it, Arryn spoke to Belegor. “I'll see you later, old friend. We'll have to have another crazy night on the town while you're still in the city. We'll bring Hogan this time; I'm sure he'd love to catch up with you as well. Remember that you always have friends and family in Alcamoth.”

“Aye, lad,” responded Belegor with an amiable smile. “We'll certainly have to do that, the three of us. Thank ye, truly. It means more than I can say to hear those words. Give the old man my regards, will ye? Let him know I'll have to stop by after I win the prize money for some armor repairs and perhaps some new weapons.”

Arryn nodded before turning and rushing out the tavern door. He scrambled as fast as he could without running someone over up the hill toward the industrial levels.

“You think he'll make it all the way back up there in ten minutes?” Dhalia asked Belegor with an uncertain, slightly worried tone.

Belegor took a thoughtful, serious look inside his mug. “I certainly hope so, lass. Ancestors be with him if he doesn't. I love Hogan almost like a grandfather, but I'd sooner face that monster in the Wetlands again than have to deal with that old man's horrid screeching.”

The two of them both shivered at the thought, praying poor Arryn was spared that horrific fate.

MagicPenguin

 

[Avari]

Name: Grand Cleric Lucina
Location: Grand Chapel - Lucina's Study
Time: Day 1 3:30PM

Lucina’s study, housed within the southern most tower of the Grand Chapel was as luxurious as one might expect. In fact, to refer to it as a study wasn’t exactly accurate - her personal space, after all, was larger than some real houses - and was complete with a gigantic bedroom, en suite bathroom and a sizable study room, the Grand Cleric's private quarters could likely house a large family in relative comfort. For Lucina however, the luxurious nature of her private study was a secondary feature - it was practically her home, and it reflected her personality.

Every wall was covered in paintings, diagrams and illustrations of all shapes and sizes. Pictures of hand drawn maps, castles, swords, ancient hieroglyphics depicting Dwarves and elves, famous battles, odd looking runes, old warriors out of song and even a genuine tapestry depicting the fall of Odania which must have been worth an absolute fortune.

What wasn’t used for paintings was used for bookshelves - which were filled to bursting with rare tomes that would make even the most self controlled historian let out a shriek of glee. There was also a fireplace that crackled merrily, the symbol of the Church of Light- a sunrise - was emblazoned upon its mantle. Lucina’s desk was a gigantic and ancient looking thing, covered in the wear and tear of a table that had been in constant use for centuries. Rolls of parchment and letters awaiting to be opened were piled neatly to the side, and there were three comfortable looking chairs that Lucina saved for her frequently visiting guests.

As for the woman herself, she sat quietly at her desk flicking through the Knight-Captain’s report of Grorbath’s death, her expression grim. In normal circumstances, a full investigation would already be under way, but with the wedding imminent, there was little time to do so - at least for now. The death of a Church employee, in the center of the capital city itself was both troubling and upsetting for her - after all, the Clerics were her responsibility. Each and every one of them - for one to die in such a manner was... painful for her. The report had offered a few leads that could be pursued thankfully, and Lucina had been surprised to see Aurora and Andwyn’s names mentioned. Aurora had performed admirably, as she always did - she had a bright future ahead of her, though the Grand Cleric was concerned about her somewhat hardline approach to her faith. With a gentle hand, Lucina hoped her outlook would soften a little in time. Andwyn’s name being mentioned alongside Aurora’s had also been interesting; were they friends? Their personalities were almost comically opposite. Perhaps they would be good for each other. Andwyn may learn Aurora’s competency, while she might learn to...thaw herself out a little more.

It was unlikely, but Lucina made another mental note to have the pair work together in the future. It would be interesting to see what came of it.

There was a gentle knock on her door.

“Enter.” Lucina said softly.

The door creaked open, and a man promptly stepped into the room, wearing a smart black uniform. One of her servants, a rather prim and proper chap by the name of Jacob.

“Forgive the intrusion, my lady. There is a messenger downstairs from Knight-Commander Ulfric, requesting your presence at his home most urgently. Apparently the King has arrived in a rather foul mood.”

Lucina folded over her report and placed it in her desk drawer. Ulfric and Ariandel in the same room was always a risky proposition. It would not do to delay.

“Ready my horse, please Jacob.”

 

[MagicPenguin]

Character: Arryn Blacksmith
Location: Hogan's Forge
Time: 3:01 PM

Arryn was out of breath by the time he fumbled through the front entrance of the forge. He hadn't run so hard since he was just a small boy stealing buns from Old Man Vicker's bakery down in the middle levels. Despite all the exercise his upper body got working with his hammer, the burning in his lungs told him loud and clear how his body felt about running so hard for such a long distance.

“Oooooh,” said Lena from behind the front desk with a wide, mocking grin, “Arry's in troooouble!” She looked like the cat that ate the canary as she mischievously displayed for him the pocket watch in her hand with a dramatic flourish. One minute past three. Damn. She was always making fun of him for being too serious. She was never going to let him live this down. He rushed past her without dignifying her teasing jab with a response. He wouldn't give her the satisfaction; also, he wanted to be gone quickly before she realized he was late because he was drinking in a tavern in the middle of the day. “It's been nice knowin' ya, big boy! I'll give the eulogy at the funeral!” he heard her call cheerfully from behind him as he stepped through the door to the workshop.

Once inside he found exactly what he was afraid he would. Hogan standing at the ready, flute in hand. It was a bulky, metal thing, bigger and thicker than any flute Arryn had ever seen before. Its finger-holes looked hastily carved in and the end looked like something else was attached to it once upon a time many years ago, but now it just had a cone made of a different color metal than the rest of the tube for Hogan's lips to blow into. It was a thing of death and despair, the stuff of Arryn's worst nightmares.

“You're late, boy! I said 'back by three!' That don't mean 'give or take a minute.'” He raised his flute to his lips as if to start playing.

“W-wait, Hogan!” he said, raising his hands plaintively. “Don't be hasty, now. I'm only a minute late and it wasn't my fault! Something horrible happened in the markets; there was a massive crowd gathered and it really slowed me down!”

Hogan wasn't buying it. “Was it Myrkul's second coming? I hope it was fer yer sake, boy, 'cause I ain't lettin' you off the hook for anything less.”

“N-no, but just listen to me, Master. A cleric died. He fell off the top of a building. There were paladins down there and everything. They said it was a murder. And...” Arryn winced at having to say this, “...and it was a dwarf who was the victim.”

Hogan nearly dropped his flute in shock, Arryn's impending punishment suddenly forgotten. “Dwarf cleric...? That could only be Grorbath, the thieving little rat. He fell from the top of a building?” he asked incredulously.

Arryn nodded his head. “Yes, but it gets worse. You may want to sit down, Master.”

Hogan found a stool at a nearby work table cluttered with carving tools, seemingly in a daze, and did just that.

“When I couldn't make it to the market to find a food stall, I decided to push onward to the Drakefall Tavern instead for lunch. I met Belegor Ironhammer there.”

“Belegor...?” Hogan asked, uncomprehending. “Durin and them are back already? They were supposed to be gone for months yet...” his searching eyes suddenly shone with understanding as he figured out the rest for himself. “Ah, boy, don't tell me. The Seekers...they're all okay, aren't they? I could take it if it were only a crooked old burnout like Grorbath, but don't tell me Durin and the others...”

“I'm sorry, Master,” Arryn said, eyes downcast so he wouldn't have to look Hogan in the eyes as he broke his heart to pieces. “They all...died. All except Belegor. He said some of them were eaten by a humongous Wetlands creature. The rest...he said that they were ambushed by someone from Gulorum named Devon and his gang. Said the man put a crossbow bolt in Durin's back himself.”

Hogan said nothing for a moment. He simply sat in stunned silence, trying to process that several dozen of his kinsmen, young, healthy dwarves with long lives ahead of them, were now dead at the hands of another several dozen of his kinsmen. Tears fell unbidden down the leathery skin of his old, weathered cheeks.

Finally, he gathered his wits about him and spoke. He seemed to choke his words out one by one as if each were a struggle. “Durin, that blasted, cursed fool. I told him that plan of his was madness. I begged him not to go. He and his Seekers were the best of our race. Their heart, their strength, their courage...there were none like 'em anywhere else on Aether. They shoulda been livin' peaceful in Gulorum, findin' pretty wives and makin' lotsa little dwarf babies. Instead all they found for themselves was a creative new way to commit suicide in a forsaken hell hole like the Deluge Wetlands. What could that idiot man have been thinking? What could've been worth all this senseless death?

“And Devon...I never did like him. He's near as old as I am and as long as I've known him he's always had his eye on political power at any cost. Oh, he knows all the pretty words to say and he has an easy smile to win the hearts of any crowd he stands before, but beneath that shiny, polished veneer he shows the world lies a heart black as the ash from the forge, sure as my name's Hogan Blacksmith. I've always seen through him, even when he had everyone else under his spell. Even knowing all that, though, I still can't believe even a serpent like him would sink so low as kinslaying for something as petty as a crown. If Belegor hadn't been the one to bring ya this tale, I never woulda believed it...A dwarf killing other dwarves in cold blood? It's unthinkable. Stark, raving madness.”

Hogan's tired eyes widened as they fell on Arryn once again, as if remembering suddenly that the man was there listening to his tale. “Get back to work, boy. That sword isn't going to make itself. I want the best piece this forge has ever produced and nothing less, do you understand me?”

Arryn nodded solemnly.

“Good. I need to step out for a bit, get me head on straight. I'll be back after I take a walk.” Hogan stood from his stool and hobbled slowly out of the workshop. To Arryn's eyes, the old dwarf had never looked more his age than he did right at that moment. All his usual vim, vigor, and vitality seemed to have been sapped from him with all the ill news he'd just heard.

The blacksmith tried to put Hogan out of his mind. He had work to do. He slipped on all his gear and fired up the forge. He took his tongs and grabbed the hunk of metal that was to be the sword for the tournament's victor. Remembering his promise to Belegor to make the sword more functional and less ornamental, he started thinking of ways he could strike a delicate balance between usability and appearance.

When the metal was red hot, Arryn placed it on his anvil and lost touch with the world around him once more as the hammer in his hand resumed its steady bobbing rhythm up and down.

...Clang...Clang...Clang...Clang...

 

[Pai Chan]

Aurora's Journal Entry: No. 1
​

If there is one thing that really gets under my skin, it's not being able to do anything about a problem that is right in front of me. A cleric was most likely murdered right in front of me. Well, not exactly in front of me but I'm pretty sure his death was from the fall and not before hand. Not only could I do nothing to help him but I couldn't go after the person, or persons, that were responsible for the dwarf's death. Dealing with criminals is a Paladin's job or the city guard's. A cleric has no business sticking their nose in that type of business, lest they make the situation worse due to their lack of training in that very matter.

Now I sit here filling out my journal hoping that the events of this terrible day shall leave my mind by transferring to the parchment I am writing on. It started with hearing those drunk men speak ill of Grand Cleric Lucina. I can't possibly understand why any creature would speak of her in such a manner, drunk or no. Unfortunately, for both me and the men I was within earshot and acted before I could think. It is something I have heard from many of my instructors. My gift and curse was that I acted on my emotions first without regard of consequences until later. It's not that I didn't want to confront the men. If I went in my cleric garments then I would have gladly given the two men much more than a threat or two.

Luckily, this also came to my mind when I was speaking with the cleric Dominicanes. He is the type of man that I loathe. He and I are of complete opposite auras. We are not alike in any way besides working under the church. I would even go as far as to say he thinks I'm only a hair's breath from a monster. He does not approve of my actions and strict policy about dealing with heresy. I can't fault him too much. He views the world through warped glass. He doesn't understand that if you give man an inch they will take much more in time. I choose to snap off any potential threats immediately. He always debates that the heretics should be reasoned with. I personally think it's a waste of time and effort that could potential ruin the church. You must get rid of any bad apples that way they do not corrupt any of the other nearby fruit. Dominicanes may not see that what I do is for the greater good but I am glad people of his mindset are in the minority here at the church.

Going back to what I was mentioning earlier, he was leading onto something, during our discussion, that would have caused my hand immediately if not for the incident that happened with the drunkards. He mentioned my family...Well, not exactly mentioned but I got enough of the context to know what he was getting at. He mentioned the family that didn't support what I wanted. The family that ABANDONED me. The left me because my beliefs conflicted with theirs and they couldn't stand it. So you ask, Dominicanes, would I condemn them in the same way I have condemned others. Put them to death for defying the church. For being tainted fruit. I answer, you, that I would in a heart beat. And I would gladly cut them down with my own blade without so much as a blink...

 

[Avari]

Location: Ulfric's Manor - High Alcamoth
Time: 5:30PM


Knight-Commander Ulfric’s manor looked like many of those belonging to Aether’s lesser nobility. It was a fine looking home, with well kept up outbuildings. Not a castle, certainly - there was little need for such fortifications at such a high level in Alcamoth, but Ulfric had still seen fit to reinforce the walls and double the guard since the manor had become his home.

Lucina dismounted in the handsome stone courtyard, and a stable boy came out to tend to her horse. Emerging from the carved front doors was a portly man who she recognized as Ulfric’s seneschal, a man by the name of Peterson.

“Your eminence! Thank you for coming at such short notice. I know my lord will appreciate it.”

“It is no problem, truly.” It never hurt to be polite to staff. “Has his majesty already arrived?”

Peterson looked to respond, but was suddenly cut-off by the din of raised voices and something rather expensive sounding being smashed on the floor from within the manor.

“...ah.”

“I... regret to say they’ve been at it quite sometime your grace.” the seneschal informed her as he quickly stepped ahead to open the door for her - for which she gave him a nod of thanks. “...shall I summon you a guide?”

Lucina shook her head as she stepped into the manor. She was used to people assuming she was truly blind. “I can make my own way there. Thank you.” Peterson gave her a respectful bow as he closed the door behind her.

--

Ulfric’s Manor lacked much of the extravagance one would expect from a noble abode, but still shone with a certain alluring quality. Every wooden pillar was carved with dogs and deer, and riots of oak leaves at the top. The table was polished like armor and even the benches were padded. The walls lacked the fine tapestries of other homes, but had precious looking maps and pieces of scripture mounted and framed.
For the two men who stood within the study however, admiring the craftsmanship of the building was probably the least important thing right now. One was old and scarred like a gnarled root, one young and handsome with flowing blonde hair like that out of a fairy tale. The shouting had continued for almost an hour.

King Ariandel Astora had visibly winced as Knight-Commander Estevenot Ulfric’s piercing gaze had torn into him, but he had held his ground so far....well. Just about. He hoped that his golden tinted armor was hiding the worst of his shaking.

“I...I cannot go through with this, Ulfric. The whole thing is nightmarish. I just can’t.”

Ulfric took a step forward, his mouth twisted into a snarl. For a brief, terrifying moment Astora thought he meant to strike him - but the older man slammed a fist down on the table instead.

“Idiot boy! Do you know how much money the city has put into this little party of yours? Do you realize the damn implications of what you’re saying?”

Astora flinched, and finally collapsed into one of the Study’s chairs, hands in hair.

“She despises me Ulfric. Absolutely detests me. You should have seen the way she looked at me at the Gathering.”

“You’re just nervous because she didn’t swoon over you like all those other bloody girls you sneak into your bed chamber.” Ulfric replied gruffly, his glare not yet dissipating.

“No. I...I honestly thought she was going to stab me.”

“Now you’re exaggerating.”

“I can’t marry her Ulfric.” Astora replied glumly, looking down at his feet. “I will not marry a woman who holds such hate for me in her heart.”

“You bloody well will, boy.”

“I will not. I will have no part in this - I am in my rights to refuse.”

Ulfric - his limited patience finally at an end, was in front of the King in a moment. Towering over the younger man, who looked as if he wished the chair would swallow him whole. The Knight-Commander leaned forward, a hand on each arm of the chair, his dark grey eyes cold and uncompromising.

“You listen to me - and listen well - Sumia Silverward was promised to you when you were still in your smallclothes. You would insult your closest and most powerful allies because you’re a bit uncomfortable? You want to risk a bloody war because you find her a bit disagreeable?”

Astora opened his mouth to retort, but found himself unable to conjure any words to defend himself. Ulfric terrified him - that much was true, not because the man was physically stronger than him, or that he was probably the finest swordsman in Aether -

but because he was the closest thing Astora had to a father these days. The disappointment in Ulfric’s eyes had been far worse than the shouting. He was the only man in the entire Empire who could make the King feel like some petulant miss-behaving youth, but Astora refused to give in - Ulfric didn’t understand. He hadn’t seen Sumia in the flesh, only her reputation. Astora couldn’t spend his life with her...he just...couldn’t. A King was supposed to have a queen he loved...didn’t he? That’s what all the stories said. This was truly for the best.

“I am King.” He managed finally, feeling anything but. “...My word is.... final.”

“You damn--”

Ulfric had risen his fist - to actually punch the king or something else, Astora never found out because a gentle knock at the door interrupted them.

The Knight-Commander growled and looked up. “Enter!”

The door creaked open, and a familiar looking woman glided into the room. Her blonde hair a mess as always, her plain dark robe juxtaposed with the noble surroundings. Her crown of bone glinting gently in the light of the crackling fire place. She glanced around, as if taking in her environment - before looking at the two men who looked as if they were about to strangle each other.

“Good afternoon.” Grand Cleric Lucina said cheerfully.

CODEX UPDATE - NPC - ULFRIC

The leader of the Paladins within the Church of Light, as well as a respected tactician and advisor to the King. Ulfric rose to fame during the Ashen Wars as a incredible strategist and warrior who held the line against overwhelming Orc forces on several occasions, turning seemingly inevitable defeats into victories. He is known for his stoic attitude who has little time for fools, and is regarded as one of the most talented swordsmen who ever lived - even in his old age.

CODEX UPDATE - NPC - KING ARIANDEL ASTORA

Son of King Kailen Astora who passed away two years ago. Ariandel quickly proved himself to be a popular man with the common folk thanks to his easy going attitude and handsome good looks. Despite his popularity, he is somewhat disinterested with the general day to day running of the realm - much to the frustration of his advisors. He has a great love for stories and legends, and hopes one day to be regarded as a hero.