Fantasy SHARD -- Broken World

[Pat]

"My terms are simple," Naoj Laru began. "Leave the Bastion northern outer districts to me once the war over the soul of the criminal underworld is over. The Mender, the bosses, are mine and mine alone to kill. Forge me into a weapon that can strike down all of the gangs that oppose you, and once the dust settles my sword will not next turn to you. Honor your word, and you will find in me an unfaltering loyal ally, a brother, willing to rend the deserving in your name. Otherwise, we can do as you say, biding our time until one or the other must kill to survive. But know this: if I am ever betrayed in your service, I will give no quarter, and expect none in return." With that said, he lifted one of the tankards off the table and downed the ale, slamming it back down onto the surface once he was done and brushing aside the other. "Do we have an understanding?"

 

[Heyitsjiwon]

Wolves were a peculiar thing. They were typically a strong, cohesive pack united around the alpha pair. Not the strongest, nor biggest wolves of the tribes. Rather, the wisest and most capable of keeping the pack united through leadership. Grug chuckled as the Dire wolf finally showed itself after most of its kin had already fought. "Fool, should have ran while you had the chance." Grug muttered. He planted the pavise into the ground and seemingly braced for a charge as his greatsword stuck out from the side like a spear. However, it actuality, he was using the pavise to cover his other hand, a menacing looking gauntlet with small studs/spikes on them and allow him to protect at least one side of him. He would not be able to keep up with the wolf, not with a wounded leg, so he had to at least have one side protected rather than having to worry about every single side.

Grug began to bash his sword against the shield to make a loud noise of clashing metal, a clear, but intimidating challenge as he roared "We're eating wolf jerky tonight!" waiting for the wolf to charge. He had to either attack the wolf's mouth, nose or eyes. His sword would go for the first when it tries to bite him, while his fist would go after the more sensitive parts of the wolf.

 

[Self_Plagiarism]

Looking up at the innkeeper, Denzel just sighed. Looking up at the familiar face he just said, "Look, both of those sound absolutely terrible," taking in a giant gulp of whatever the other had poured him, not caring about the bitter taste, or that it was far worse than anything the upper classes serve. "However, I heard that there has been some trouble between the Eight fingers and the Ghols, is this true?" After listening to the barkeep's response he started surveying the room. While he was looking around the room, he noticed a particularly rough looking gentlemen. He looked over at Denzel in pure disgust, honestly, Denzel couldn't blame him, Denzel did come to one of the outer rings wearing nothing but luxury items. Walking over to the older man, Denzel looked him up and down, "What's your problem?" he said in a husky tone. Not trusting a single person in the establishment, he placed his hand on one of the many daggers hidden around his waist.
Interaction:
Beckoncall
Location:
Legacy of Coin

 

[Beckoncall]

The eight fingers gang agrees to Naoj's proposal. "Forge you into a weapon to beat the Ghols? We'll kit you out!"

Naoj is given sharkskin gloves and boots to help with climbing, as well as numerous hidden instruments of death and blade venom to make his attacks more deadly. He is assured that if he takes the fight to the Ghols at night, he will receive the support of an 8-fingers warparty to back him up.

He is given a bow with rope arrows and serrated arrows as well to cause aggravated wounds.

"The next move is yours, Naoj" -- kick off the battle for the underworld of Bastion, and loose the dogs of war!"

 

[KamiKahzy]

Beckoncall

The door to the Legacy Of Coin seemed to shudder in the breeze, even though there wasn't a cloud in the sky. Only the truly observant would have noticed the tiny figure slip in through the cracked opening, but most were too engaged with talk and drink to care. This suited the figure just fine as it noiselessly made its way through the common area, weaving under stools and between legs to stay out of sight. Eventually it hopped up onto a barstool and stood on its hind feet, giving it just enough height to put its front paws on the bar counter. When the barkeep turned around he would suddenly see a tiny hooded figure standing on his stool, looking directly at him. A long, pointed snout peaked out beneath a blue-grey cloak, but the eyes were obscured by the upturned hood.

The figure would give the barkeep a moment to overcome his shock before setting two coins onto the counter, and asking in a small but clear voice, "What word of the outer-ring folk, barman? Anythin' new since the uppers put out their bounties?"

 

[Beckoncall]

Heyitsjiwon

The wolf charged, throwing itself against Grug's Pavise, as if the sheer weight of it would throw the armored orc off of his stance, but it was not to be.
Grug slashed outward with his blade and the strike went wide, nipping the ear off the giant wolf -- following up immediately with opening his defenses to strike with his gauntlet, burying his fist in the flank of the wolf.

Hoist in the air, the cudgels behind him fired a volley at the dire wolf, but even with almost a dozen bolts fired at it the beast landed on it's feet. It snapped at Grug's gauntleted hand causing another bloody injury before pouncing back into the ruin and fleeing with it's brethren.

Denied their true prize, the cudgels were more than enthused enough just stripping the meat and the fur off the wolves they had slain. One of the thieves found an oddly glowing empty jar amid the ruins, and Grug himself found a silver spear amid the scattered bones and stones atop where he stood.

Night would fall soon. The cudgels were eager to get back behind the wall....

 

[Beckoncall]

Self_Plagiarism :

"Tis True, (ahem) lordling... the ghols and the eight fingers have well been poised for war, and it is overdue for some bloodletting, though I fear nothing decisive will come of it."

but Denzel was already menacing the older man in the Inn. "What's your Problem?" Denzel said.

The old man placed his drink down on the table and pulled his coin purse tighter at his waist.

"No offense to you, sir Denzel -- but mages make many people nervous -- especially ones with your particular... proclivities?"

The man shrugged sheepishly. The bartender continued.

"Night will fall soon... if you have some stake in the conflict between the gangs you will see them on the move in force this night. The guard do not take kindly to being caught in the outer districts far from the markets after dark... surely if the gangs interest you -- you can find them in the North or East outer districts...."

 

[Beckoncall]

KamiKahzy :

The barkeep was taken aback at the little figure that appeared before him. He took one coin and poured the little visitor a beverage, then palmed the other coin to consider his questions.

"The bounties on thugs and thieves remains explicit to the inner districts -- though the word on the wind is that it's time for a blood-letting. The Ghols and the eight fingers will soon find themselves at each others throats, and if things go as bloody as the winds portend, it'll only be good news for the south districts if they can manage to keep their noses out of the fighting."

"Change is on the wind, I'd say -- a time of opportunity to the clever, if the clever get going..."

 

[KamiKahzy]

Beckoncall

The little figure nodded its head and reached down to drink a few sips of the beverage gratefully. Then just as quickly as it came it was gone, weaving back out the door with nary a trace of its passing.

The figure walked along the roads in silence, instinctively keeping out of sight and out of the way to avoid any trouble. But the road ahead was a secondary concern compared to the thoughts running through its head. The barkeep was right, the gangs were out of hand. And he'd already heard whispers of a 'hero' that made an enemy of the Ghol's Mender. Just as well. It would keep the Ghol's worst preoccupied with the loud dog, leaving the silent rat to sneak in unseen.

The situation was bad all around. Of the options left, putting the Eight Fingers in charge would net the least blood when the dust settled. They were cruel, but oddly fair in their cruelty. It would do for now.

There were two things that could keep a gang together: money and ideology. The figure picked up its pace and made way for the northern slums, hunting for a means to disrupt those within the Ghols. Let the heroes fight in the light, he would dismantle the rest in the dark.

And so he went, searching through the lowest cracks and from the highest roofs to find out where the Ghols did their business. All he needed was a lead. Something that could either bankrupt the Ghols or drive a wedge between them. Or both if fortune was kind.

 

[Self_Plagiarism]

Even though the older man had made the decision to hold onto his coin pouch a little too hard, he forgot everything else within his possession. Although Denzel could walk out of the Legacy of Coin with the man's pocket watch, daggers, and basically everything the man seemed to own, he decided to be nice for once. "Next time, remember that coins are not the only thing that is worth something," he said, pacing everything he had stolen from the man onto the table. Making it known that he still is one of the best thieves in all of Bastion. "Thanks, I'll go see if I can help with the Eight Fingers, they always did follow Thieves Guild's rules," he tossed a few dozen coins wrapped neatly inside a pouch to the innkeeper, not only for the information and drink,, but to not tell the guards that he made a show of his "talents". One of the guidelines that the royal family had put in place is that Denzel was not to steal from anyone, poor or rich until the time came that he was deemed innocent.

Walking through the districts that he used to rule was relaxing to Denzel. Making his way around the Eastern districts he knew that the Eight Fingers would have eyes everywhere. Surveying the area he counted no more than six or seven Eight Fingers hiding in the shadows, "Why don't you all come out? I have nothing to hide." Denzel, being one of the heads of the Thieves Guild, knew that the Eight Fingers wanted to return to the "golden days" where the Thieves Guild had a hand in everything that happened in Bastion.

Location:
The legacy of Coin/Eight Finger's Territory
Interaction:
Beckoncall

 

[Heyitsjiwon]

"RAHHAAAAAA" Grug roared in what sounded like a bloodcurdling battle cry to most, especially humans. But in actuality... it hurt. He was screaming/crying in pain. His leg, his hand, both were bleeding a bit. He wasn't used to bleeding and while the wounds didn't seem particularly too bad... he could move his limbs still. Grug was not much of a war-hardened veteran for orc standards. In fact... as "chieftain" he had been dealing with more administrative and diplomatic issues, usually involving Grug giving threats and requesting duels, rather than really fighting. So, the number of times he was injured could be counted on his two hands... much to his relief. It was hard to count too high. But among those instances involved a situation where he was helping to build small homes for his tribe in the outer district when he accidentally hit his thumb with a hammer. Since he was an orc... his thumb turned all sorts of purple. Probably Grug's most painful experience until now.

Getting the attention of the Gang, Grug grunted in pain again and slowly picked up the silver spear. It would serve as a fine walking stick and help him get back to the inn with his injured leg. Heavily panting, Grug gave one of the thugs a mean, death glare and said "You, carry my shield and that jar and follow me back to the inn. We're going to find that wolf. I have to pay back the favor. You boys better be ready to be huntin' again when I come finding you. OH AND GIVE ME THE TONGUES AS PROOF OF MY VICTORY HERE TODAY." With that, Grug started the walk back to the inn where he could maybe get some medical attention... and get paid a portion of the bounty to get a healer, the reason why he wanted the tongues of the wolves. He wanted to hire a human or an elf healer. He didn't like orc or goblin healers, and for good reason. They didn't exist. After all, their actual titles were often executioner or torturer. They would consider amputating Grug's hand and replace it with a mace or a cleaver before actually doing anything helpful. Grug continued to grumble and snarl as he thought about the poor quality of orcish healers, much to the misfortune and fright of the poor thug who was "asked" to carry his things for him.
---

Beckoncall