A Dark Horizon II: (Invite Only) IC

[Hattish Thing]

A Dark Horizon

The wind blows over the desolate landscape, it's howl like the mourn of some unfortunate widower through the marshes, bogs, and creaking ruined houses. The land of Serinet was a blasted area, devoid of pleasant tourist attractions and beautiful weather. Here, there is only the dull thud of the cold rain and sleet beating upon cobblestone streets to a slowly maddening rhythm... Only the cries of the undead known to haunt the landscapes beyond the small walled settlements of the land... Only the ever-constant sense of fear that infects the air, and blows in through towns like the thick fog so common here. Serinet was a place of death and loneliness, seemingly forgotten by the rest of the world. Guided to this place by torturing dreams involving disembodied voices, and images of a strange staff... this dreaded land appears to be your destination.

Music: (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o5CxT0I4Ng8&index=1&list=PLJ1kFPfzSafZj3vrJSgX-aebW2IjmsknJ)

---

For each of you, the nightmares had been steadily growing more and more disturbing, turning what was once a mild annoyance into a full blown fear of sleep. The dreams were always quite horrific, but the one you all experienced the night before, while sleeping in the back of one of several tall wagons that composed the trader's caravan was... different. It was more vivid, more physical, as strange as that sounds. Each of you could almost feel what was around you. Thinking over the dreams that had been had was always easy, for the nightmares were always very vivid. In the dreams, you had been standing in some strange marsh, a desolate and lonely place, all muddy and unpleasant. A thick and sour smelling fog covered the ground and reached up to your knees, and nothing was visible below the mysterious dark grey mist. You had looked about, feeling something was watching you, your eyes flashing from twisted tree to twisted tree, the old and dead branches seemingly pointing somewhere over your head.

Though you turned to run, you found your feet were stuck in place, and a strange external force turned your head to face the direction the trees were facing. Each time you turned, three dead and maggoty ravens that had been staring at you from the largest tree had cawed simultaneously, before flying over you, their forms dark against the full moon. You had turned quickly to gaze at what they flew towards, and what the trees had been pointing at, to see a large hill behind you. A massive church sits upon the hill, it's once proud stained glass windows smashed in. A horrifying mural depicting the ouroboras, a snake eating it's own tail, wrapping around a dull, milky, reptilian eye flashes into your mind quickly, before you are somewhere else.

Usually, you had been startled awake by this part of the dream, but occasionally the nightmare progressed. You had seemed to be inside the large church then, tied to some dark wooden chair by a rope that was far too tight, and barbed to match. It hurt you, the pain was almost real it had seemed on occasion! The rope appeared to be magical, for it radiated a dull greyish blue, like the color of a bruise. In the dream, you had looked in front of you to see some horrific pit in the bottom of the stone floor. A pentacle of blood and candlewax has been drawn around the pit, and the bodies of many young men and women, stripped naked and brutally slaughtered, lied within. There had always been a horrific sense of dread and rising fear here, for a terrible pulse of noise seemed to resonate from the walls themselves here, a hideous pulse from the depths below, forever building yet never reaching it's foul crescendo. As the dream growed only more disturbing, the shrieks of many men and women had always begun to be heard above the wicked pulse.

They howled all at once, quiet and muffled despite their screams, as if the voices came from underwater. "Help us!" "Serinet!" "The Serpent!" "Please!" "Neru, Neru, Neru!" The voices got louder and louder, the unnerving sound like a razor blade cutting across some broken bard's violin, the wails grinding into your mind like a red hot screw, slowly turning. The sound had risen each night, along with the shouts, until the caw of the three ravens pierced the air once more, adding to the tortuous cacophony. Fortunately, as it all got nearly unbearable, and just you had begun to slowly wake up, a final noise was heard. It was a scream of absolute horror and pain. However, it certainly wasn't yours. It had sounded older, and wizened, and raspy, but each night gets weaker and weaker. The scream had coupled with the familiar image of the ouroboras around the milky eye, flashing again and again each night, before you finally had been startled awake. After enduring the same dream, three weeks in a row, you decided to finally head to this dreaded place... This, "Serinet."

Pre-Game: Serinet had always been a particularly small country, wedged beneath the colder areas to the north, and the flatlands to the west. However, despite the small size of the country, it was once a fairly important land due to it being regarded as a holy place for both the church of Sarenrae, and the church of Urgathoa, both religions believing that their god had touched down onto this earth and hidden a special artifact to combat the other god many years ago, in this very country. Hundreds of years ago, great religious crusades raged on here between the two religions. At the time, Urgathoan worshipers were incredibly common, funded by rich and mad vampiric noblemen from strange places. The worship of Sarenrae was also very common as well, resulting in both sides having ample funding and military might. The poor natives of Serinet, with their tiny and peaceful settlements had no real military, and were caught in the cross-fire, and very soon the native towns were occupied by either force. Many people died, on all sides. Women and children were slaughtered in the name of the gods. After the marshes were clogged with bodies, and the once beautiful Asper River choked with the blood of the fallen, the war came to a close. With funding spent and no artifact found, a treaty was made. Both churches would leave the area forever, and leave everything to the natives once more. The Serinetian people soon rebuilt, this time with tall walls and a capable militia.

Unfortunately, the land was tainted by the evil energy the tragedy produced. The once rich soil had been fertilized with flesh and blood of the innocent, the dark taint of war having a strange effect on the naturally mystic land. Those who weren't buried and cleansed with holy power were cursed to rise again for one month every year, a horrific consequence the angry gods had sowed upon their followers for their horrific wartime acts. The dead walked the earth! The land was cursed, it was said! But the Serinetians did not care. They were a hardy people, and lived their lives behind their walls, only occasionally making travels back and forth, from hamlet to hamlet. Using the regular times of the year to farm and build their walls high for the upcoming dark month, the period of time renamed "The Witching Weeks" by the suspicious people of the land. The people had become more and more reclusive, despising both the Urgathoans and the Sarenraen worshipers, instead accepting the Pharasman religion. The blight of Serinet only worsened over the years, and the negative energies produced by the undead, and by the curse on the land warped the landscape. Fog covered all, it was difficult to grow food, and to this day mysterious holy artifacts remain lost in the bogs, broken chapels, and desecrated temples dotting the land. The rain is constant, and cold, and the sun hasn't been seen in this place for many years. This was a dark place...




---

Chapter 1: MOON OVER BASTION.

http://fc03.deviantart.net/fs71/f/2013/237/d/1/haunted_house_by_tnounsy-d6jm3pr.jpg

All of you arrive in Bastion, after about two days of travel by caravan. Though the traders were pleasant and several of the others that journeyed with you seemed kind enough, if mysterious, the travel had been quite forboding, for none of you save the one called Markin, and a much younger Mayli had ever truly experienced a land as gloomy as this. The pleasant skies had gotten darker and darker the closer you got to this small country, the rabbits and birds were less and less frequently seen, until their looked to be nearly no living things about. A cold steadily crept in as the caravan of three wagons drew closer and closer to the border of Serinet. Once the border was crossed, the travel grew even more difficult. The roads were ill-maintained and the mood of the Trader's worsened as the cold rain continued to bombard the wagons. There were only the ancient and dying trees to keep you company, the occasional visages of malice seemingly carved into their twisted bark, or maybe it was just your imagination, or this terrible place. It seemed to have had an effect on each of you, even the native. There was little in the way of hope here, and the oppressive feel of the cold air and rain crept into each of, morale worsening each day. Every once in a while, a small house could be seen by the road, by most everything was boarded up, or in the process of being boarded up. There were very few actual Serinetions sighted on the road, but the ones that had been seen ignored you. It's clear that foreigners weren't exactly well-liked in this land. Though you grew closer and closer to Bastion, the journey was uncomfortable, but at least it took your mind off the nightmares which had appeared every time you slept.

The time is seven thirty nine in the afternoon, and the trio of wagons finally arrive at Bastion. Now, the great looming twin gates into the city of stone stand before you. With walls higher than any ever seen, and thicker than trees, the sight was somewhat intimidating. Guardsmen frequent the ramparts above, dressed in plate and well-armed. It's as if the people here were expecting some kind of great army to come riding down upon them at any minute! Twelve guards stand outside the open gate, looking anxious. As they notice you, the twelve guards in half-plate look towards you, their pikes clutched tight in their hands. Six more gaze down at you from atop the wall, in two small circular guard towers, three towers per section of rampart. Huge ballista are mounted to the towers. What an ominous sight the ballista were! However, before the group can begin greeting the guards, a figure that seems to be of some importance steps out of a guard-shack near the entrance to the city. He's a tall man, 6.5 at least, clad in a dented and clearly well-used breasplate. A helmet, cracked and scraped, is held under his arm. A large greatsword at his back. As he steps out, he looks upon the group with a look of confusion and pity. Another man dressed in robes of a Pharasman cleric pops out behind him, a spellbook and a large holy symbol clutched in his right hand.

The guardsman walks out with the cleric behind him, though the younger cleric seems somewhat apprehensive to meet strangers. However, the Captain of the guard seems more used to it, and with a wave of his hand and a warming, if small smile, he gestures for his men to stand down. The Captain of the Guard lurches closer, and that's when the more obviously unusual thing about him becomes more apparent. At his left knee, a carved chunk of wood is bolted and strapped to what appears to be a stump of a limb. He was obviously some kind of warrior, and an old one judging by the wound and graying hair. He speaks out to you all in a friendly if concerned voice."...Huh. We don't often get many traveler's 'round here. And certainly not this many at once! Uhh. Welcome to Bastion, I suppose. Capital of Serinet. Something tells me you're not here on... uh... touristy-like business, now are you? No one comes to Serinet for the sight-seeing. My name is Gray, Galder Gray, Captain of the Guard here. Merchant Caravan, yeah?" It was more of a question that didn't really need to be answered. Galder looks down the caravan train, sighing as he does so. "Sorry to be a real stick in the mud about this, strangers, but we'll need you to dismount your carts, please. It's nothing bad or anything! Just the way we do things. Father Armant here is going to do a quick scan, make sure nothin's out of the ordinary. Can't be too careful what with the Witching Weeks so close, eh? I reckon you're the last batch of traveller's we're going to have time to let in before we lockdown... Hm." Galder walks closer to the closest wagon, which happens to be the wagon that you are all on. "Pardon me sayin' it, buy you kind folk there don't look like no traders. State your business?" He awaits your individual answers, as the cleric moves behind him, quickly casting a weakened version of Detect Undead. Meanwhile, a guard to his left, about ten feet behind him looks over at something. It's distracting. Maybe just a bird.

((Post your reply, and make a Listen Check, please.))

NPCs of Note: Galder Gray: (http://s1051.photobucket.com/user/Singingnoodle/media/A%20Dark%20Horizon%20NPCs/Galder%20Gray.png.jpeg.html?sort=3&o=19)

[Mornings]

[The Dawnhammer]

The tireless, ceaseless rain beat down upon the thick and colorful canvas of her wagon's heavy waxed tarp. She could remember day, terrible days, lost in these lands. Wicked days, and some... not so unpleasant, in the company of Gar'nuk. The foolish orc... she'd never met a creature, a man, so brave and passionate. And dared not believe she would again.

She shook the foul smelling water from her stark white curly hair, and raised up her deep patch-work cowl. The badges of The Dusk and Dawn embroidered upon it's sides, a long with a number of coats of arms, and house colors from regions far and wide. Across oceans and time... three generations of bards, of Dervish Swordsmen immortalized in the well maintained, yet thick haggard cloth. The rain whipped and pounded, but the oil based wax she coated it with regularly made it as water-proof as any fabric might be. Moving back from the forward steer, she sat under the cover of her wagons canvas. Vigil, her proud white wolf laid upon her lap. She left the horses reins in his mouth as they made their slow, yet steady approach to the great walls of Bastion. She did not remember the damned place to be so fortified in the past. She plucked a small tune, a eerie dirge upon her mandolin as the guards began to encircle her caravan. She hung her instrument from her back, Vigil's ears perked up as the strange men made their approach. She detested dealing with cowards, she detested dealing with men... She took her steel flask from a secret pocket in her cloak and took a swig of sweet tepache. The light alcoholic tingle cleared her senses. She wanted nothing more, then to jump down from her cart and give the squeamish looking sorry excuse of a cleric a kick in the face. Mostly due to his lack of a spine, and she knew an easy target when she saw one... She simply did not enjoy being halted, nor questioned by these would-be 'defenders'. She knew well... better then even them perhaps. If the horde came upon the city, their feeble blades and tin armor would account for little. She took another swig.... it was a laughable practice in the art of futility. She signed, Father Nel had said she was often too hash, too... forward in her methodology. She looked back to 'Mako' behind her and smiled. Her only friend.... the only one she could trust. She ran her hand through her white hair quickly, a common ritual that restrained her volatile temperament fabricated by her rage against the injustice of her life. She issued a short whistle, to both the man... this 'Galder Grey', and to her loyal hounds, putting them at alert about her. She jumped out unto the couch's steer, with a gallant, dramatic flare.

She waved out to them, standing proudly upon the wagons steer, before the horse, two men's height above the subjects she addressed, as the rain pounded against her thick cloak and strangely colored garments. She spoke loudly and elegantly with a lovely sing-song voice in poetic tongue, and very old verse. While ineligible, it came across as highly unusual.

" Hail, Sir Grey! And a thousand welcomes, to you and your own! Ich beg pardon of myself , that ich mean not speakith adoun, nor father dout, nor drede, agayns my fellows and kin. "

She swept back her crimson cowl from covering her face. and with a grand sweep, gave an incredibly exaggerated bow, rather then a courtesy as fitting for a lady. With a bright and beaming smile upon her face.

" Thine fortifications and might lette no force by which thy may find defeat. Maystow clepe, I, myself, Mayli Ar'tel. The grand bard and caravaneer of Capitas! A delit-and-blessing, for us both, i'm sure. Ich and my own, have come to thy blessed fortress of solemn beauty for many reasons. For each a story, tales of grand deed to be sure. Long enough the rain would leave a very sodden man. But ich givith this, of our reason. Kin, blood of my own, hath been found missing, absent, away and removed from me! Thus do I travel with my own to forthren my fellows of trade and their wares, and reclaim the blood that is my own, as I do venture to seek Captain Lewis Batel, of your guard. If not in answer, but in passing... now if you would please. Let us not tarry bitwixen thy spear and rain."

Mayli Perception - [roll0]
Mayli Diplomacy ------------------------------------
(Pass Through Gates Without Further Interference) - [roll1]

Wolves on Alert
Chaucer Perception - [roll2]
Faust Perception - [roll3]
Sigurd Perception - [roll4]
Vigil Perception - [roll5]

[Vhaidara]

The road had been long, but Markin was glad for the journey. As much as he had hated to leave his home, the man his uncle had introduced him to had been a master of combat, and the techniques he had learned would truly prove useful to train the guards in. Now, the dreams were different. He had long prayed for them to go away, and instead they had changed. His eyes were bright with destiny, and he touched the pentagram tattooed on his face. His Lord had chosen him, he knew it.

He saluted Galder.
Have no fear Grey. I have returned. Good to see you kept the place standing in my absence.
He grins as he speaks, oblivious to any threat that may be approaching.

Perception: [roll0]

[stack]

Orthos spends the journey chatting amicably with the traders, the rain and dreariness of the setting untroubling to him, pleasant company an uplifting turn from the growing darkness of the dreams. Not that dreams were unaccustomed, but of late they had taken an unfamiliar coloration. Despite his blindness, he seems always to know what way their destination lay.
------------
He stand to greet the guards. "Well met Captain Grey. I am Orthos, a pilgrim and penitent. These good trader's were in need of useful companions on the road and I wished to pass this way, so here I am. I must confess, though, that I am unfamiliar with the witching weeks you speak of."

[Desril]

Makoto

Having grown up in a land where the only sorts of precipitation were snow, more snow, and freeing rain with hail, the downpour here was more intriguing to the foreign tiefling than it was dreary. Where the traders and her dearest companion wore heavy cloaks to shield themselves from the rain, the ring-bound spell-blade was covered only by her usual attire of a hakama, dyed with of deep blues and reds, and a white sarashi bound loosely around her chest, indicating that it's clearly intended more for modesty than either of its standard purposes.

Content to let Mayli talk their way into the gate, she pets each of the wolves that have traveled so far with them before stepping out of the wagon herself, though with more grace and less flair than Mayli. Struggling to keep up with her savior as she goes into her archaically poetic speech, she silently chastises herself for not being able to pinpoint the meaning of every word used. I should practice my Common more, maybe then I will be able to figure out what she's saying without having to think about it. Not letting the struggle deter her though, she smiles cheerfully at the guards while the others handle introductions, deciding that there's no point in adding to the list of names the guardsman is likely to forget soon.


Aid Another Diplomacy [roll0]

Perception [roll1]

[Hattish Thing]

The Captain of the Guard moves forward, his wooden leg clunking on the cobblestone path with a solid thump. Rainwater falls upon him, falling off the wide-brimmed hat he wore to cover his face and scraggly beard from the water. A small tag at the front of his dull grey and bronze uniform reads, "Galder Gray", the Captain bit only recently scribbled in. Now that it's closer, it's obvious that the uniform is incredibly old. How long has this man been a guard here? Galder's a lot taller up close, Markin may find, for he moves towards Markin first, knowing the man already. Markin and Galder met every once in a while, for Markin made frequent trips to and from the capital. However, this seemed to be the longest Markin had been away from the city in a while. Galder shrugs to his question before speaking to him, his voice friendly, if gravelly. "Fear, old friend? Hah. Oh how I've missed you and your nonsense. However, I do want to get this over with. It's almost evening. Now, can we hurry? I'd like to spend my night at home, with Saren, and a big bowl of stew, rather than ending up some torn up corpse in a ditch. Get inside, Markin. If ya wanna talk, you can find me at the Sleeping Goblin. He smiles lightly, but it's clear he's quite stressed. The Witching Weeks were an incredibly difficult time for guards. He'll place a hand of his on Markin's shoulder before nodding and letting the younger past him. Markin will be able to walk into the city, just past the incredibly thick stone walls. However, as he begins to walk closer inside, he'll notice that one of the guard's eyes widens. You pause... Was something behind you?

In the meantime, Galder Gray will then move past his old acquaintance to meet the young woman beside Markin, the incredibly talkative one. Apparently she was some kind of performer, or scribe perhaps. He'd never heard several of the words she stated, and didn't quite understand what she was saying half the time. However, he looks her over once more, before pausing. The Captain of the Guard sighs deeply before speaking to the young bardic woman. "Ahh. I see? I think? Uhhh. Social type, eh? Well, there's uh... Plenty of opportunities here in the city for people like you! Especially now... But welcome, friend, to Bastion. You're quite lucky to have arrived here at all, actually. Most of the time we block the road up ahead... You're the last group we're going to open the gates for, so I hope you brought enough gold to stay the weeks here before we open gates again. I suggest you head over to The Sleeping Goblin tonight. It's cheap, low-rates and all that. Plus, there's sometimes a few nice people. Games and such. I think you'll like it." He continues talking to her, but doesn't look her in the eye, instead he's looking to his left. He's always looking. An odd trait, but most likely useful for someone in his... position. He shrugs and steadies his nerves, before giving her the "OK" to walk in by waving his hand to a guard behind him. He speaks to her one more time before he moves on. "Welcome to Bastion, friend. City of Stone. Keep to yourself, and you'll be just fine." Mayli will be allowed to get back in the wagon and proceed into the open doors of the city. However, she could swear he heard... something rustling between two large and gnarled trees about forty feet behind the others. Both Sigurd and Faust seem to notice it too. Probably a rabbit... right?

Captain Gray will move again, heading down the line of strangers to approve entry into Bastion. He approaches Makoto, the odd looking tiefling. As the older guard moves closer to her, he furrows his brow, looking her up and down with a gaze depicting confusion and curiosity. It's not every day you meet a woman that looked quite like Makoto, after all. He tenses his fists and releases a few times, clearly the sign of a nervous tic. He had no idea who this woman was, but something seemed distinctively off about her, though he wasn't quite sure about it. He'd remember meeting a woman like her, and he met just about everyone. The people all came through the gate sometime in their lives, after all. "Erm... Hello there, stranger. I don't think... Are you a trader, miss? Or..." He tries not to stare before he decides he really doesn't want to wait for an answer. Just as he comes even closer, possibly with the intention of getting a better look at her face, he steps on a twig in the road and squirms a little. The distraction absolutely derails his train of thought, and Galder just shrugs in place. With a sigh he quickly speaks before she has a chance to respond. "Um. Nevermind, I don't really have time to talk. Welcome to Bastion, ma'am." He nods and lets her past, and as she walks through the gates, he'll speak back to her. "Hope you find the city enjoyable, miss." He doesn't smile, but seems sort of wrapped up in his thoughts. Clearly she inspired some sort of curiosity in the Captain of the Guard. She's entirely oblivious to whatever may be making noise. Perhaps that shiny badge on his chest distracted her in some way? Or maybe that wooden leg of his.

He moves to Blind Orthos now, already positive that this man was completely normal, and friendly. There was just something about the younger man that reminded Galder of himself. That, and the old guard felt a semblance of pity for the oracle, knowing full well what it was like to be crippled in some way. The well-spoken oracle earns a nod from Galder, and a smile, however it's unlikely that Orthos could tell that the older guard was smiling. He clasps his hands together, before before scratching at his beard. The Captain of the Guard had a bit of rainwater on his face from the way the wind was blowing. How unpleasant. He gives the sign for the man to move past him, trying to be helpful in some way. "Welcome to Bastion, my friend. No one will bother you here, aha. Just continue up the path a while. Watch for that one nasty brick in the path a bit ahead. I've tripped on it sooo many times now, hah. But, I think you'll like the city, friend. Nothing really happens in Serinet, but perhaps that's for the best, right sir?" Sanguinius will be allowed to pass, and Galder doesn't even look back as he moves forward, allowing the blind man to walk into the city of stone. Orthos won't be able to hear a thing, however, in addition to not being able to see anything, for the wind had picked up as the Captain of the Guard started speaking, distorting whatever might have been heard.

Galder moves to the last individuals, the traders, ready to instigate conversation with them, when there's suddenly a cry for help coming from behind a gnarled tree about twenty feet away. A man lurches past the tree, his once finely made trader's clothing ripped and gruesomely torn. He's not one of the trader's the group entered the city with, but rather wears the colors of Capitas. His arm and neck are badly wounded, and thick black blood oozes from the wounds. His skin and sinew can be seen hanging from his bite wounds, and small bits of blood-colored phlegm fly from his mouth as he gurgles his speech. The blonde merchant calls out towards the others, desperate for some sort of assistance. "P-Please! Help me... They... They're coming..." Upon hearing the man cry out, the twelve guards move backwards, quickly ending up inside the city, six of them dropping their weapons and splitting into two groups of three to pull the large levers to close the door. The doors aren't full closed just yet, but the men in charge of pulling the levers are ready and prepared to do so. The men manning the ballistae prepare to aim the massive crossbows at the wounded man. The Captain of the Guard draws his greatsword, before yelling at the others outside. "Get back! Don't go to him. He's sick! One of them!" The trader desperately tries to lurch forward, tears falling from his face as he sees the men he once trusted prepare to leave him to the monsters not far behind him. "Wait.... I have a wife... Galder! It's you... I know you... please..." Galder frowns, and it's clear he's now emotionally upset. He had known the trader well. Galder shouts one more time before moving backwards. "Run!"

"I'm sorry..."

---

((So, PC's, you are all still outside, and can choose whether or not to go help the wounded man or not. It's up to you. Your wagon is in the front, Mayli. Make a Ride check to get it inside the city before the gates close. If you choose to do this though, you can't help the injured individual. It's not combat just yet, but there are zombie forces, apparently a large one, on the way. Here's the map.))

Map for you! (http://pyromancers.com/media/view/main.swf?round_id=110855) (May take a second to load, it's okay. Please don't touch anything, anyone can edit it. :smallsmile:)

Key:

PCs: Blue
Friendly NPCs: Gray
Unfriendly NPCs: Yellow
Hostiles: Red
Wagons: Black

[Vhaidara]

Markin, seeing the man, quickly resolves to do what needs to be done. He hops from the cart, pulling forth the mighty blade his father had given him during his visit, Hell's Reaper, as he steps towards the bleeding man.
I am sorry. But this must be done. I shall do what I can to help support your wife, goodman. Now die with dignity, and rest in peace.
With his brief speech, Hell's Reaper flashes, severing the man's head from his body and ending his misery. He turns back to Galder.
Get as many people through the gates as possible. I will help you hold off this horde while they get through.

5ft step to be right in front of the man, and coup de grace him.
[roll0]+[roll1]

[Desril]

Makoto

Like Markin, Makoto too draws her weapon when she sees the man running toward them, but in an effort to defend him from whatever danger he's running from rather than to execute him. Hearing Markin's short speech, she slows momentarily, "What, wait? No!" While the executioner readies his ax to decapitate the injured trader, the kind-hearted tiefling turns and charge toward the trader, getting ready to throw her weight into him, hoping to knock him aside and evade the blow. Sorry, there's no time to be gentle!

Before she can get there, however, the man drops to his knees as his head plops softly on the ground next to the rest of his body, the dark knight having moved too quickly for Makoto to react in time. Furious and disgusted, she rounds on Markin, "Murderer! "For that do you did what!? Him help to tried have should we!"




Bull Rush the victim! [roll0]

[Mornings]

Without a thought, she grabs the wagons couch-bar, and springs back into her seat, garbing the reins, and issuing a whistle with her other hand. Her hounds gathering together in the back of the vehicle safely. She looks over to the enraged tiefling, screaming out above the whipping rain and water.

" MAKO! CEASE THIS NYCETEE YOU FONNE, AND GET IN THE WAGON, POST HASTE! " she ordered sharply. She snapped the reins, as the horses reeled and readied. Preparing for their swift escape through the closing portal.

[Vhaidara]

Markin turns to the tiefling's outburst.
Young woman, that man was sick. He was too dangerous to bring into the city, and left out here he would have become nothing more than another shambling corpse like those. what I gave him was a clean and honorable death. It was the best that could be done for him.
He gestures towards the approaching horde of zombies with Hell's Reaper, the man's blood flying from the blade.
Now, be a good girl and get back on the cart with your sister.
He turns away and walks to stand by the gate, between the zombies and the road.

[Desril]

Makoto

Before she could say anything more or respond to Markin's reply, the compulsion took root in her soul and, in spite of the indignation of being called a fool by her closest friend, sheathes the Aria as she jogs to the wagon and hops inside it. Calling back as she moves, "Him helped have could we, care not do I!"

"Fine, but I'm taking one of your bottles," she says as she reaches for nearest tepache, fuming at being confined here and distressed at her inability to save the trader. He was hurt and sick, yes, but not beyond salvation. He just needed a healer! If I was faster...

[stack]

Orthos jumps down from the wagon and readies his shield at the commotion, but events transpire beyond his sight. He bellows toward the sound of the commotion and subsequent disagreement, "Can someone tell me what has happened. I am a healer. What is going on?"

[Vhaidara]

Markin turns to Orthos
A local man was caught by a group of the undead. He was infected, and doomed to turn. I spared him that fate, and our young companion disagreed with my methods.

[stack]

Orthos face grows grave. "I know little of local matters. It could be that what you say is true, I can not know at this moment. I do not care for unnecessary bloodshed, but that can be left to the guards that witnessed your deed. What is done has been done, let us get inside the gate before that which he fled falls on us."

[Hattish Thing]

With a slash and a mincing of harsh words, the trader is offed in a most efficient manner by the uncaring Thorn Knight. The merchant's head flops uncermoniously onto the dirt road, black ichor and blood mixing in an oily mass, pouring from the stump onto the dirt, fouling the pathway. As the rainwater falls, there's some brief conversation, however it ends quickly. Now, Galder moves by Markin, getting out of the pathway before shouting towards the now panicking traders behind. Makoto and Mayli successfully ride the much more valuable wagon into the city. This takes them briefly off the map, but the wagon is safe for now. Blind Orthos is left outside, but quickly spoken to by Galder.

"You there, stranger, how good are you at defending yourself? The others need time to get their wagons within! Help if you can!"

It's clear that Galder means for Orthos to clear the road. Galder then shouts back to his guardsmen. "The door! Keep it open, don't close it all the way! But assume combat positions!" At this, the guards are quick to get to work. Now though, the sound of the moaning dead can be heard. It was faint before, but now growing much clearer as the undead approach. As the cursed voices begin filling the heads of those on the road with their agonizing moans, the group can finally see them ahead. There's two of them ahead, but many more just behind, it's quite clear. One of them hungrily gazes towards the road before rushing close, it's gore-soaked arms ready to swing towards the others next turn.

Roll for Initiative!


Makoto & Mayli got in the wagon and shuttled away.
Traders get their wagons ready and prepare to move forward next turn.
Galder moves to assume defensive position, telling both Orthos and Markin to get out of the road.
Guards stop closing the door, rushing to the ramparts to man crossbows.
Ballista are being loaded.
Zombie Horde moves forward thirty feet, unable to attack in the surprise round.

Updated Map: Roll For Initiative! (http://pyromancers.com/media/view/main.swf?round_id=110913)

[Vhaidara]

Markin steps up besides Galder.
I shall help you hold them off while the civilians enter the city.

Initiative: [roll0]
Move to the square below Galder (I should currently be in the square behind him) and ready an action to initiate Piercing Strike when I get a line of zombies in front of me. It lets me attack a line, so I'm thinking a sweep of the three squares in front of me is ideal.
Attack: [roll1]
Crit: [roll2]
Damage: [roll3]+[roll4]
Crit Damage: [roll5]

EDIT: Including full text of Piercing Strike for convenience
With a powerful thrust, the Piercing Thunder disciple is capable of issuing a potent impaling blow with his weapon, potentially skewering multiple foes with great reach. This strike must be performed with a discipline weapon. Make an attack roll against foes within your reach in a line (example: a longspear would have 10-ft reach, and could attack any foes within that 10-ft reach in a 10-ft line). Make one attack roll and apply it to each individual within that line.

[stack]

Orthos takes position as requested, Shield read to interpose between the defenders and the coming undead horde. As soon as one comes within his limited perception, he hurls the shield mightily, causing it to ricochet back to his hand.initiative [roll0]

ready action to use throwing shell strike against first enemy that reaches 20' distance Using a special technique developed for surprisingly effective ranged attacks, the disciple of the Iron Tortoise knows how to deliver his shield in a powerful throw in a manner similar to a champion discus thrower. The initiator throws his shield (light or heavy shields; this does not work with bucklers or tower shields) with a range increment of 20 ft. as a ranged attack, inflicting damage as if the character had just shield bashed his opponent and inflicting an additional 1d6 points of damage and the shield falls to a space adjacent of his target (the player may choose which space it lands in). If the attacked target is within the first two range increments, then the initiator may catch the shield as a free action and regain use of his shield on his turn.

attack [roll1]
damage [roll2]+[roll3]

in snapping turtle stance (+1d6 shield bash)

[Hattish Thing]

Initative: Orthos > Zombies > Galder > Markin > Mayli > Makoto.

Orthos:

With a great rushing motion, the blind man winds up his shield, moving forward from the gravel path to the muddy dirt beyond, finding comfort in the rainwater. With a well-timed motion, perfected through years of work with his unique style, he throws the shield with great strength and power, his muscular arms flexing and releasing as the weapon is sent forward through the air. Unfortunately, the shield misses it's target, but reflects off a nearby tree, bouncing back to it's wielder. At the very least, he had his shield back before the zombies came too close. The rain continued to patter down onto the path, and onto his shield. Perhaps the slickness from the rain was what put the shield so off course? Regardless, the man will be able to hear the sound of the trader's carts grinding against the cobblestone as the mules that led it forward are promptly kicked into action.

At least the merchant's were protected from the zombies for now.

Zombies:

The sound of gurgling ichor and breathy moans can be heard quite loudly as the creatures approach, the creatures in front deciding to charge forth, hungering for the taste of flesh. Before Markin can move forward beside Galder, they attack, cutting off the Thorn Knight from his defensive position. (One Zombie charges Markin. [roll0] (Charge Bonus) Damage: [roll1] + Fort Save, DC 11.) The zombie on Markin swings forward, it's claws long and sharp, hoping to find flesh to rake and tear, despite the Warlord's heavy armor. The claws do strike the steel plate, but don't even get close to penetrating the armor. However, the clear force behind the strike may somewhat jar the warrior. This thing was absolutely desperate for the taste of human flesh. Who knows what would have happened had Markin's heavy armor not been there to protect him? In addition, to the initial zombies violent attack forward, Galder is charged as well, and the monster's gore-soaked arm swings towards the guard captain, who's eyes widen as the thing approaches. The claws slash through the air as the beast growls in anger, trying to grab his shoulder and bite down hard, hoping to rip flesh and infect the Captain of the Guard. (One Zombie charges Galder. [roll2] (Charge Bonus) Damage: [roll3] + Fort Save, DC 11.) (Galder Save:) [roll4] This creature had accidentally stumbled upon a rather large root from a nearby tree during it's charge, putting it's attack far off balance, missing the guard entirely. Fortunately, Orthos is spared from a charge, the large tree in front of him preventing the next zombie from charging through a straight path, instead it turns around the tree, moving close to rip at the blind man. (One Zombie moves and attacks. [roll5] Damage: [roll6] + Fort Save, DC 11.) However, it's slam fails to hit the dexterous man. However, another zombie moves close to Orthos, but cannot attack this round. The other zombies move, but cannot attack.

Galder:

The Captain growls as he's attacked, and responds with a strike of his own, his greatsword coming down over his head with just as much precision as anger. Though the attack is somewhat panicked, the older man has at least a little bit of training, and lots of experience, which guides his great blade. Just as the zombie which fumbled and missed a second before flails about awkwardly in the rain, Galder's well-trained eye finds a spot just at the thing's shoulder to come down upon. The heavy blade slices through necrotic sinew and bone, clipping an entire slice off the zombie's shoulder and sliding down through the zombie's soft flesh to nick at it's neck. However, the captain somewhat slips in the mud at the last moment, making what could have been a devastating attack only a moderately dangerous one for the zombie. (Galder attacks zombie. [roll7] Damage: [roll8]

However, the creature seems badly wounded, nonetheless, rainwater mixing with it's black blood.

Markin:

Though the Thorn Knight cannot make his devastating swing that would have sliced across any opponents in front of him now, due to the slow wind-up of the heavy swing, he can still bring his massive weapon down upon the zombie that charged him. With a great growl, the knight expertly swings the halberd around, bringing the slashing weapon down upon the zombie that had struck his chestplate a second earlier. Markin's great weapon, Hell's Reaper, strikes the zombie easily, slashing it straight in half, down to it's chest, with ease. (You couldn't do Piercing Strike, but you still hit with a regular attack, killing it, and opening the space up for next turn!) As it's body is split down in half like a particularly violent lumberjack versus a wood block, the plague zombie explodes outright, maggots, black ichor, and all manner of vile liquids slashing and spraying all over, the plague burst affecting all adjacent enemies. Fortunately, Orthos evades the majority of the bile and body bits, but Galder unfortunately takes it straight to the face, crying out in pain as infected fluid lands in his eyes...

There's filth all over now, it's disgusting. (Additional rolls will be taken in OOC.)

Others:

Moving to and fro. Guards are loading the ballista and will fire next round.

---

New Map:

http://i1051.photobucket.com/albums/s440/Singingnoodle/b8ca38b8-ee08-498d-8c0f-96e01802130a.png

That red puddle is where the previous zombie that Markin killed was.

[Mornings]

The Dawnhammer


Acts when able

She reeled back on the reins slowing and halting the wild charge through the gate, her horse bayed and kicked at the sudden excitement. With a firm reassuring pat on the rump. the beast began to settle. She parked the wagon around to the direct right from the inner city. Not far from the Gate. She issued to quick whistles, directing them at her loyal hounds. One to one team (Faust and Vigil) and another at the other pair (Chaucer and Sigurd). The later pair was always set at guard, to protect the wagon, 'The Dawnhammer'. The other two, came to her side, ears laid flat and ready. She Grabbed her hammer from just above her head from where it hung, it's massive pole-like adamantine shaft collapsed down to a manageable size, like a heavy 4ft broad anvil with a considerable handle upon it. Throwing the thing under her leather buckle upon her lower waist, beneath her bardic cloak. She grabbed her greatbow, and a large leather pouch, that looked as if it held feathered spears. She always left it close at hand. She slung them both across her back, over her messenger's pack. The ring of battle outside the gates can be heard in full now. Steel cleaving bone, and the sound of some sickening explosion. Whatever was occurring outside, whatever fate befell the men beyond those gates was of little concern to her.. but she would not let the city remain in peril as long as Mako was in it. She turned to Makoto and smiled her familiar confident smile, while throwing on her absurdly large feathered hat, that covered one eye, making her appear like an archer, and a theatre's player at once.

" Dear, lemman... With haste and recchelees abandon you cast thineself upon tides mescheef would bring'ith upon thee. Let that be thine last misguided foore to ruin! "

She paused, dropping her familiar speech for all but a second, and smirked.

" Fetch my incendiary arrows, n' my satchel of oil and cloth. We make for the ramparts... Let us see how the profane and cursed enjoy drinking of fire and death. " Without a pause in step. She lept off from the couch-seat, and began running towards the walkway to the ramparts, while supporting the massive 8ft bow that bounced ridiculously across her back, two hounds closely at her side.

Flavor on picking up what she already has equipped. Mayli makes for the ramparts.
Double move: 80ft.
Only quiver of obsidian arrows in possession.

[Vhaidara]

Markin steps forward, readying his mighty swing once again.

5ft step forward onto the puddle of zombie
Ready Piercing Strike again
Attack: [roll0]
Crit: [roll1]
Damage: [roll2]+[roll3]
Crit Damage: [roll4]

[Desril]

Makoto

Blushing at May'li's choice of words, the tiefling hurries to do as bid and searches the wagon for the necessary supplies. Thank the Eternal Rose that I'm not some frail weakling or I'd never be able to lift these gargantuan arrows!

Supplies in hand, Makoto dashes to catch up to May'li on the ramparts and help her set up her gigantic bow with her face still flushed as she quietly mutters, "You cannot just say things like that in public! Now everyone will think that we are..." she turns her head, unable to finish the sentence as the mental image redoubles her blush and she hands over the arrows.


Move action to search the wagon and gather the supplies, then moving to catch up to May'li

[stack]

Orthos shelters himself from the vile explosion, then quickly turns to drive the rim of his shield into the nearest zombie. "Unpleasant creatures. I say we withdraw as soon as the wagons are past."shield bash against the one down and left (maximize the zombies hit by the explosion if it drops that way)
[roll0]
damage [roll1] + [roll2] from stance

when attacked, will use iron shell counter, shield bash negates attack as immediate action, prerolled here:
[roll3]

[Hattish Thing]

Initative: Orthos > Zombies > Galder > Markin > Mayli > Makoto.

Orthos:

After quickly evading the burst of filth that comes from the dead zombies' rotted carcass, Blind Orthos rushes forward, turning to ram one end of his shield into one of the other creatures, this particular undead missing a good section of his chest, bare bone visible to those who can see it. As Orthos comes close to bash the zombie, he'll gag a little bit, the repulsive stench of the zombie quite apparent, the rainwater moistening the once-drier sections of the corpse. At least when it was dried out, it didn't smell as unpleasant. However, these zombies had been chasing the other man for a while now, through the downpour, and the horrid smell was by now quite fresh. The shield clips against a large chunk of exposed ribcage on the thing, the blunt force trauma of the shield violently pushing the brittle bones back inside the zombie, bits of the bone piercing through the thing's internal organs, blood bursting and splotching out of it's chest and splashing all over the shield that Orthos wields so expertly.

Although the thing has taken some incredible damage as it's entire chest caves in on itself, it still lives, but just barely.

Zombies:

The horde continues to move relentlessly forward, ever-hungry for the taste of living flesh. The majority simply move forward, unfortunately hindered by the rather large tree that separates the majority of the undead from the three brave defenders. With Markin having just crushed the undead before him, there's no zombie close enough to take a swing at him, however, several zombies do move by him to surround Orthos, which enables the pair of warriors to take calculated strikes against some of the zombies. (OOC: Orthos and Markin, take an attack of opportunity on the same zombie.) However, while Markin may have avoided being attacked, Orthos will not. Instead, the blind man will be attacked twice by the zombies to the side of him, one striking to rip away at his shoulder, the other attempting to swing his arm at an exposed chink in his armor. (Shoulder: [roll0] Dmg: [roll1] + DC 11 Fort.) However, the blind man deftly dodges to the side, the swipe to his shoulder missing, the zombie groaning out in frustration, seeing as it's attacks seem to continuously miss the blind man in front of it. The other zombie attacks, hoping to have more luck than his predecessor, his rotting arm like a club as he swings towards the blind man. (Armor Chink: [roll2] Dmg: [roll3] + DC 11 Fort.) However, this misses even worse, several bones in it's arm cracking as veins and parts of it's disgusting arm pop from over-extension. The zombie on Galder attacks the Captain of the Guard once more, despite it's injury. Although black blood drips from it's wounded shoulder and neck, the thing attacks with the same wounded limb, not appearing to feel the pain at all. It's quite unsettling. It claws towards Galder's face, attempting to rip right at him and tear what it can. (Face: [roll4] Dmg: [roll5] + DC 11 Fort.) However, it misses, the Guard Captain making a repulsed face as the claws come close to him. The remaining group of zombies continue to move forward, groaning as the great hunger continues to spur them forward.

Galder:

Galder continues to cry out in pain, the vile fluids still burning into his skin after Markin's incredible overhead swing split the adjacent zombie clear in half. However, the old guard captain swings anyway, gritting his teeth and forcing through the pain, this time bringing his greatsword below, lunging backwards and bringing the large blade up from the bottom, before thrusting it upwards from his low stance, attempting to skewer the thing's chest at a downwards angle, growling in anger as he does so. "Urgh! Damn these things! Why won't you die... Where's the god damned priest when I need him... Probably hiding behin-" The Captain loses his train of thought as he violently thrusts his blade forward. (Chest Skewer: [roll6] Dmg: [roll7]) The large sword finds it's mark, slicing into the chest of the zombie, the undead's own weight causing the blade to slice more of it, Galder having lifted the entire zombie into the air for a brief moment as he skewered the nasty thing. However, as it dies, it's chest explodes, sending even more of the bile out, landing on both Markin and Galder. (Rolls will be made OOC:) After the attack finishes, Galder growls and shouts out, wanting to get out of combat and wipe the plague burst off his face.

"We need to hurry! Just a little more time!"

Markin:

The Thorn Knight moves forward, his heavy boots sinking in the mud as he steps into the puddle of gore, over the body of the now split up zombie. Although his early swing on the zombie that waded close was a valuable bit of assistance in combat, the time to do some serious damage was coming up. Soon the undead would have the trio completely surrounded, and now was the time to truly turn the tide of battle. Markin sees no enemy forward, but hears the groan of one of the beasts behind him and to the left. So, the skilled warrior swings his heavy weapon around, spinning in the puddle of blood and organ as he does so, using the momentum of the turn to brutally bring Hell's Reaper around to slice at the zombie's shoulders and neck. With a sickening crunch, the blade of the weapon slashes into the zombie and pushes right through, the weapon blasting through bone and slicing through flesh until the undead abomination has been completely beheaded, it's rotting head falling down into the mud and splashing. The body crumples down soon after, just as a geyser of yellowish puss and crimson blood erupts from it, the undead's death burst spewing it's bile and filth all over the two individuals nearby, Orthos and Markin. (Orthos Burst: [roll8] Dmg: [roll9] + DC 11 Fort.) ... (Markin Burst: [roll10] Dmg: [roll11] + DC 11 Fort.) Unfortunately, the geyser was particularly potent, the burst of hot steaming bile landing on Orthos, but failing to get through Markin's heavier armor, but it's very close. (Roll Fort Saves in OOC, please.)

Now, the mud is starting to look a truly disgusting color, all manner of nasty fluids mixing into it.

Mayli and Makoto:

Mayli rushes onto the ramparts, brushing through several guards in full plate rushing up the stairs as well. She was much quicker than the heavily armored guardsmen, but she still gets a few heated words thrown her way by the men. What was this civilian doing on the ramparts? Only guards were allowed to be up here! However, no one bothers to stop her amid all the confusion and panic. She'll be able to find a nice place to look over the large area outside. However, the large trees somewhat hamper her vision. Luckily, Galder wears a large lantern at his hip, so the area is at least well lit. She'll be able to make a shot next turn.

Makoto in the meantime rushes to collect the arrows and bring them back up to Mayli as the guards scramble around.

Guardsmen:

This turn the two ballista off, teams of four manning the pair of large and well-build ballista weapons mounted on the ramparts above the main gate, three men in plate around the first ballista, reloading it with each shot fired, one man in nothing but chain aiming the weapon to fire down. This team aims down to fire upon one of the nearest zombies, a loud grating sound coming from the siege weapon as it's pulled back and set, before fired, the large bolt ripping through the air to violently find it's mark. (Ballista 1: [roll12] Dmg: [roll13]) Despite the great size of the bolt, the ballista misses, the heavy ammunition ripping through a tree, splitting it straight through with incredible power. On the opposite side of the gate, the other team fires as well, this time aiming towards a zombie next to the one that was just fired upon, hoping to take down two of the foul creatures before Galder is overwhelmed. (Ballista 1: [roll14] Dmg: [roll15]) This bolt finds it's mark, crushing the zombie behind the one Galder skewered, hitting the creature so hard and killing it so thoroughly that the undead ends up impaled, stuck to the ground.

It explodes, but there's no viable target in range.

---

New Map: For Me: (http://pyromancers.com/media/view/main.swf?round_id=111368)

For Players: http://i1051.photobucket.com/albums/s440/Singingnoodle/c4b5db7e-a375-462d-ae42-e694795ac11b.png (Red are zombies that were killed and exploded this turn.)

[Vhaidara]

Get back, traveller! I can deal with this group!
Markin calls to Orthos. If the warrior heads his words, he steps forward and unleashes the mighty swing he's been holding in this entire fight.

So, this is probably really dumb. Delaying until after Orthos. If he moves out of the way, 5ft step into the spot he's in, initiate Strength of Hell, and initiate Piercing Strike at the line beneath him.
Attack: [roll0]
Crit: [roll1]
Damage: [roll2]+[roll3]
Crit Damage: [roll4]

[Mornings]

Recklessly, carelessly she charged up the hard stone steps, running up the circular steps, making way up to the defensive positions which the city guardsmen were postured to defend the walls. And yet........a simmering anger... an infuriation began to smolder in her breast... and yet... they did nothing. Standing upon the stone shield-like walls like helpless babes, not even daring to fire defensively. There was a time to run, a time to live, a time to fight, and a time to die. But now, here, upon this bastion's immovable walls was the time to fight, to fire, atleast defensively. Or had these trained soldiers have not the skill to cover these traders retreat. She finally made it to the rampart's walk, glaring at the still soldiers behind their crossbows and balista. Pfft... useless men.

She charged angrily though them, it didn't matter if they put an balista arrow through a tree, a solider and a afew zombies. They just needed to stem the advance of the horde if they wished to hold the city. Protecting the traders came first, but she had no intention of being caught, held at bay as the capital was held in siege by a roaming band of undead. No, no, no. That would not do at all! She intended to do what needed doing here, and being on her way! The Urgathoan's would not be waiting for her to finish her business her as she was held under siege. Sir Giles... Lady Mawdelyn... did not have such free time to spare, while she was entrapped within Bastion.

She charged forward madly, with strange, skip-galloping-steps. One hand on her ridiculous wide-brimmed hat, with its massive feather, one side folded up in a stylish manner. Her other hand steadying the massive greatbow and leather quiver across her back. She pushed aside the armored men, hurriedly, while shouting " Weyve! Weyve! " She paused, frustrated as she passed one bowmen standing with clear line of sight, she shoved him aside, rather then securing her hat, crying out in agitation as she advanced forward taking an alternate angle off his same sight-window all the while grumbling at him. " Je vous dy! wilt thy stant likeith some a swain wight, or loose thine arwe!? "

She knelt down to a knee drawing the massive weapon off her back. With a quick flip and push, the limb joints bowed and extended, she ran a second string quickly setting her knock. The double string set over the bow made it take a massive arc'ed shape. She turned it flatly horizontal bracing her bow arm against the stone of the rampart's barbican, flipping up a wooden double pronged arrow-rest from the bows massive raiser. She lifted a small brace under the riser to stabilize her bowing arm. The shock of the weapon was..... considerable. A metal 'CLACK', and the massive arbaleste was set. With a smirk she tapped her hat low, over one eye. Greatbow... arbaleste... a flexible weapon, though the shock, and ammunition was the tricky part. There was no guarantee she'd hit anything with this angle and the recoil, even doubly so in this dim moonlight and the poor visibility the guard-captain's lantern provided. She could barely confirm exactly who, or what it was they were combating, but based on the previous experience with the befouled trader, and the terrible groans, she could make an educated guess. With a smirk, she turned her shoulder with a quick jerk, loosening one of the large feathered javelin-like bolts from her shoulder. She lifted her left hand, drawing the fletched-spear and fit it upon the dual pronged rest. The massive nock fitted into the double strung serving and she began to draw back. A slow, powerful keening creak issued from the limbs and they protested against her immensely unnatural strength. She drew to her knock-point, letting her hand rest on her cheek, looking down the shaft, and aiming through the window the arrow rest provided. The massive obsidian bladed spear-bolt sat drawn and readied, it's black fletch quivered under the draw weight of the weapon. The dense ebony of the wood, pitch as night. It appeared as a dark, primitive, well crafted missile. Her one exposed eye, focused... unfocused.... movement. Combat. She'd little chance of hitting anything in combat, but one particular target stood out, limping through the woods with sluggish steps. Yes, that one would make a fine target. Her hands shook from the weight, She lightly glanced down the ramparts where Mako begun her advancement. She yelled over a command as she held her shot. " Come swiftly alderlevest, 'nd light my arwe! Half dozen should do! Then takith twine and fix upon it to thine flasks. Al' should fashion a fine wepene to werreye these fonne's. " Finishing her command, she refocused upon her prey then paused, and began to sing;


VERSE 1; Song of Calamity; Drawn To Black [Rounds Remaining 7/7]

She focused, unblinking..... her thoughts extending outward to her target. She opened her mouth, her voice beginning as a whisper. Ritualistically, as if in trance...

" Only the stars see.... only the moon hears... "

She drew back slightly further, adjusting her nock-point to accommodate for her targets movement.

" ...And quietly the water-lilies sigh,
Like the last breath of a weary soul.
...And the weed sway in the dreary waters.
...Like a girl's dark hair they wave about.

...And the black stones under my bare feet.
...Cold and smooth like her milk-white palm.
And the silence which falls upon this shore...
Resounds now louder than oncoming storm...

...For all is gone. "


She fired. A massive bounding sonic ripple raced through her small frame. Her feet skidded back from the shocking recoil leaving small leather burns from the friction. The bowyer's-brace locked her arm and chest securely, preventing the dislocation of her small arm from her shoulder by the violent shot. The flexing archer's paradox of the massive javelin rippled outward, with thunderous force, racing forward to meet it's target.

Move Action: Battle Dance (Song)
Attack Action: Fire Arrow
Command: Light 6 Incendiary Arrows with a tinder twig, then begin preparing fire bombs with oil flasks if possible. (A Standard Action). .
[B][Battle Song: +2 Attack / +2 Damage

ATTACK: [roll0]
DAMAGE: [roll1]
THREAT: [roll2]
CRITICAL: [roll3]


Position- Marked Square (Brown/Purple)
Target-Marked (Golden Circle)

http://i44.photobucket.com/albums/f7/DreadfulMorning/SHATTERED%20STAR/Dark%20Horizon/c4b5db7e-a375-462d-ae42-e694795ac11b_zpsyjezzdrz.png



The distance was far longer then she had anticipated. The night had cloaked the true range she had to contend with. The recoil was also just as staggering as she had remembered. She could not see the ebon-bolt's flight, but was sure it could not have struck-true. She turned her head, yelling over to Mako;

" Belay my last! Brace me! We shalt fynde wrye to the accosted! Perhaps the witful shall flee throwe they still catel time. "

Alters command, to aid another, while firing to increase accuracy.


[EDIT] Altered order based on distance per square.

[Desril]

Makoto

Doing her best to catch up already, Mayli's order doesn't help Makoto go any faster, but she obediently follows the order, doing her best to light the arrows for her friend. "We are wasting time, we both know you cannot aim that thing on your own, you should let me help you!"


Short post, because I can't really do anything right now. If I still have a standard action, Aid Another ranged attack roll to help aim the bow [roll0]

[stack]

Orthos hears the warrior's call, responding, "As you say, after I distract this one from the wagon." as he slams his shield into another zombie before stepping back to let the other man enact his plan. AOO [roll0]
damage [roll1]

att vs bottom right zombie [roll2]
damage [roll3]

fort [roll4]

have combat reflexes (Int based), so is more than one provoked, let me know

[Hattish Thing]

Initative: Orthos > Zombies > Galder > Markin > Mayli > Makoto.

Orthos:

Orthos calls back to the black knight, the pair of strategically oriented warriors positioning themselves expertly. The blind warrior brings the blunt side of his shield to the side, violently thrusting the shield upwards in an attempt to hit the zombie that maneuvered behind him right under the chin. On any other day, the strike would have knocked the foul thing's head clean off, but today the mud beneath Orthos' thick boots was particularly slippery, and the man missed by just a little due to sliding around in the muck. However, this slip-up put the shield on a course that led straight for the chest of another undead, the one to his right. Orthos growls and the shield finds it's mark, crashing into the Serinetian plague zombie with the force of a mountain, the shield hitting the zombie hard enough to push the thing right down onto the ground, it's entire front completely caved in.

Orthos slides out of the way as well, allowing Markin to take his place and prepare a powerful swing. However, as the blind man steps away, the zombie he just killed below twitches slightly, its flesh seeming to bubble, as if something underneath was moving. It's a disgusting sight, but luckily Orthos is spared from it, due to being unable to see. However, before Orthos can move again, the zombie's skin and sinew split apart like the seams of a worn out article of clothing, it's innards suddenly exploding outward, puss and filthy fluids flying everywhere.

Plague Burst: [roll0] Damage: [roll1] + Fort (Passed.)

Zombies:

With their numbers thinned out, the zombies are beginning to appear like a lesser threat, the horde now a good deal smaller than it once was. However, anyone who knew what these things were knew not to underestimate the horrific Urgathoan-born undead. Those that are left simply shamble forward, their bare feet sliding through the horrific mixture of blood and mud, the zombies hardly caring about stepping through the remains of those that once fought beside them. Due to their nature as a plague zombie, the undead can only move forward, unable to exert too much effort, else they'd burst. So, they approach the others once more, unable to do anything further.

At this time, the last of the wagon's has driven inside.

Galder:

The Captain of the Guard looks troubled as more zombies move forward, a new creature sliding in front of him, hungrily gazing over the older man's flesh. Galder's breathing quite heavily now, his heavy armor beginning to inconvenience and fatigue him now. Still, at least he's not dead, however, his face looks rather burnt up due to the bile. He'd need medical attention as soon as he was within the walls of the city. As the newest zombie comes forth to great him, Galder coughs out violently, before bringing his greatsword back. He puts his weight on his back foot, shouting out as he does so. "The others are inside! Come on Markin, let's go! We do not need to destroy these things up close!" With a cry of battle, he growls and thrusts his greatsword forward, using it like a polearm to stab forward, attempting to rip right through the zombie's gut in front of him.

"Run!"

Markin:

With a cruel look on the knight's merciless face, Markin calmly moves forward, his large and blood-covered weapon glittering crimson in the pale moonlight, and as the cold wind rushes around his form, dancing with his black cloak, the Thorn Knight swings. The slice comes at a high angle, aiming to cleave right through the head of the first zombie, then the shoulder of the second, and the chest of the third. As the weapon rips through the air with a malignant sounding whistle, it violently meets it's mark, the large blade slicing through flesh and bone as if cutting through paper. The head of the first zombie outright pops, like a hammer against a bubble, blood and teeth going flying about, mixed in with bits of chin and skull. Next, Markin's blade cuts through the shoulder of the second undead, barely meeting any resistance through the somewhat rotten shoulder bone, ripping into the creature all the way down to it's middle chest. The head and shoulder of the creature fall off, coating Markin's weapon in dirty black blood, the lungs and half-eaten organs of the zombie plopping into the mud below, a spray of foul liquids mixed with maggots bursting all over everywhere. Finally, the third zombie is absolutely decimated, just completely broken in half, spine crushed and severed, it's stomach contents dripping and flowing out of it, all over Markin.

The gore is everywhere, and it's quite foul.

Zombie 1: [roll2] Damage: [roll3] + Fort.

Zombie 2: [roll4] Damage: [roll5] + Fort.

Zombie 3: [roll6] Damage: [roll7] + Fort.


Mayli and Makoto:

For all of Mayli's loudness and vibrant clothing, she goes mostly ignored, most of the guards around her focusing upon the battle below. Though they do not have ranged weapons drawn, for fear of accidentally hitting the Captain. The ranged offensive is left to the ballista-men to lead, the other guards moving to assist in reloading the ballista with the incredibly large and heavy bolts it needs, getting the job done quite quickly. One of the guards nearby is pushed out of the way and scolded by Mayli, though he has no idea what she's saying due to her speech. As she goes to her knee and aims the large weapon, the guard in heavy plate shakes his head and grumbles towards her again, seemingly quite annoyed at the stranger that randomly whips out a massive weapon in front of him. "You... what are you doing?! You're not allowed up here, you'll hit Galder!" He makes an aggressive movement towards her, in an attempt to simply grab her weapon. Before he even gets close, however, another guard calls him back quite loudly. They needed more help with bolts. So, the guard leaves, but stares back disapprovingly before moving to help out with the work once more.

As Mayli sets the bow down, and Makoto helps alight it, there's a brief moment of quiet meditation, the sound of guards arguing fading into the background as Mayli sings her song of battle. She takes a deep breath and realigns her shoulders, taking the stance that she'd worked on most her life. Just as she's about to fire the shot, however, a cloud of red, yellow, and white is spotted by her, down by Markin. Something horribly violent just happened over there. The distracting gore causes her massive arrow to miss, the shot falling just a bit out of the way.

However, it seems that combat may be winding down.

Guardsmen:

The guards continue to scramble about, reloading the ballista this turn.

---

New Map: For me: (http://pyromancers.com/media/view/main.swf?round_id=112491)

For Players: http://i1051.photobucket.com/albums/s440/Singingnoodle/f10db241-b16c-487e-be2c-db521039b441.png (Red are zombies that were killed and exploded this turn, wagons are inside.)

[Vhaidara]

Markin, following Galder's orders, begins to fall back, taking the shoulder of the blind man who had aided them in combat as he retreated.
Follow me back to the gate!

Move back into the gate. Markin should be able to make it, even in his heavy armor.

[stack]

Orthos withdraws to near the gate, taking up a defensive position to cover the others as they withdraw. ready action to hit any enemies that come in range [roll0]
[roll1] +[roll2]

[Mornings]

She stood with her bow. It looked like the fighting was already beginning to diminish, and the cowardly men had begun their retreat.... They would be locked in this place... no, no. She couldn't have that. Sure, the dead had begun to rise, but she still had to make for Southmarch, she still had a mission to see through!

She grabbed the lit arrows, and quickly blew them out and slung them in her large canvas quiver. With a quick whistle to her two hounds who had perused, She turned to Mako; "Thynketh they move to seal the wyket!" She grabbed her hand with her free one. "We shalt not bileve here! Come, we shall avalen from this halkes. Let the hertelees cower." She begun to run back down the ramparts, pushing those who got in her way aside, leading Mako with her, her massive arbaleste still secured to her other arm.


-Takes Mako's hand
-Make double move back towards wagon.

[Desril]

Makoto

Seeing May'li throw her over-sized bow over her shoulder, the tiefling sighs in relief and her heart stops screaming at her to jump down and help the guards against the undead horde. Unfortunately, that relief is briefer than she could have imagined, as her eager companion takes her hand and runs off at full speed, practically dragging the slower swordswoman down the stairs. Though she's usually happy at the touch of her best friend, her mind had no time to wander toward embarrassing what-ifs this time as she awkwardly runs at full speed. "W-wait! I can not keep up!"

Struggling, she does her best to keep pace, but ultimately serves only to slow her master down, I hope everyone made it inside safely...

[Hattish Thing]

Markin, Orthos, and Galder:

The trio of wounded warriors rush backwards, retreating from the group of undead that pursued them. Luckily for the retreating entourage, the plague zombies are bloated and slow, unable to chase after the fleeing fighters with any sort of confidence. As the guards behind the city gate notice their Captain running forward, they begin to shut the city gates, cranking the heavy levers with great skill and timing, aiming to have the doors shut right behind the last of the Captain's strange new comrades. Galder reaches first, followed by Orthos, and finally Markin.

Makoto and Mayli:

The pair reach the bottom of the great steps after a fair bit of running and dodging through guardsmen. As they reach their exquisite looking wagon, they'll be able to spot the massive doors close behind Markin, the strange dark knight that killed so many of the dead outside. They'll all meet by the gates now, each one of them quite tired from all the running and fighting back and forth, no doubt. Still, at least no one ended up too hurt, right?

The danger was behind them, for now.

---

Trapped Within the City of Stone:

Theme: "City of Stone." (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=egZApIpsq1Q&index=3&list=PLJ1kFPfzSafZj3vrJSgX-aebW2IjmsknJ)

Now that the four companions and the Captain have found their way to safety, the door finally shuts. The boom of stone on stone is intimidating, and it rings with an air of grim finality. A few more guards have arrived on the scene, and assist in employing the heavy steel and wood bars to the door, ensuring that the only way up into the city was climbing the incredibly high walls, which was impossible for all but the birds and vultures above. The way was shut, and nothing was getting into the city, or out. After the door has been barred, and the area calmed down a tad, guards begin moving more of those mysterious cauldrons that Mayli and Makoto may have seen upon the walls earlier up the stairs and onto the ramparts, to pour the contents down upon the restless dead, which have since started to slam into the heavy doors They appear to be pots full of some kind of acidic alchemical substance, a kind of industrial waste most likely produced by a resident alchemist. The heated liquid soon does the trick of melting away the zombies now piling against the doors. With a final CRACKOOM of thunder, and a brief yet magnificent lightning strike, the moan of the zombies seems to fade away. They were safe, all of them, only the rain breaking the temporary silence. The Captain will then call to the thin priest that had been outside, who spent the majority of the battle. throwing up all over the rampart. He'll call to him, and beckon for him to come down. "Smitt? Was that your name? Come down, sir. Join us. First time with one of the undead, I see! We require your aid." And so, the priest known as Smitt wanders down before standing at attention.

At Galder's request, he will begin to spend his time healing up those injured, until the group is finally healed up once more.

A minute or two passes, and once Galder has calmed down, he'll move to address the party as a whole. I... thank you, all. That didn't quite go the way it was supposed to. But, it happens. It's not the closest I've ever been to 'em. But I ain't never seen them burst quite like that before. That was... wrong, different. They didn't use ter be like that, you know. It's almost as if they got tougher, er... fuller. More of that bile in 'em. Damn Urgathoans..." He shudders and frowns before changing the subject. "Erm. Some of you look pretty ragged. If you like, you can follow me to a nice place I know. It's warm there, and there's drink. Tis a nice little place, known as The Sleeping Goblin. Yer... uhh... Yer going to be here in Bastion for a while, and I think I have some explaining to do, yeah? I reckon most of you aren't quite used to seein' things like what happened outside there."

"Let's put all that behind us now though, eh?"

"So.. who's interested?"

[Vhaidara]

Markin nods.
Galder, before we forget, you knew that merchant, correct? Can you tell me where I could find his widow. It is only right that I inform her of her loss before the night ends.

[Desril]

Makoto

Relieved that everyone who was left behind as her friend dragged her up the ramparts, Makoto lets out a bated breath. As Galder begins explaining the situation though, she bites her lip and looks anxiously to May'li. She's not going to like being told we can't leave. This could end badly...

When Galder offers to explain properly at the Sleeping Goblin, she replies briefly, wishing in the back of her mind that the guard in question was a woman so she'd be easier to talk to. "Lovely sounds that. Join will we."

When Markin brings up the window of the man he executed so mercilessly however, the tiefling's mind changes tracks and stops worrying about what May'li might do as she glares at the dark knight. She practically growls at him, not trusting herself to speak due to one of May'li's orders causing her words to reverse themselves whenever she tried to talk to a man making her almost as unintelligible as her friend could be whenever she had something lengthy to say. Instead, she trusted her steely gaze and twitchy sword-arm to relay her disgust at what Markin did. If not for him...she wouldn't be a widow!

[stack]

"Indeed, I rarely see such things." Orthos quips wryly. "If you are offering a drink and an explanation, I believe I will be more than happy to accompany you."

[Mornings]

She slowed her pace for her slow friend as they raced down the rain-slickened stone steps. They still made good time, She smiled as they reached the wagon, 'The Dawnhammer', her hounds bayed and lept up and onto the wagon. Mayli reached about about to do the same, placing one foot upon the wagon when the last of the men rushed in, she looked back, as the gates closed with a thundering slam, with such a tone of finality, she dropped her bow.


I... thank you, all. That didn't quite go the way it was supposed to. But, it happens. It's not the closest I've ever been to 'em. But I ain't never seen them burst quite like that before. That was... wrong, different. They didn't use ter be like that, you know. It's almost as if they got tougher, er... fuller. More of that bile in 'em. Damn Urgathoans..."

She froze in place, looking at the blooded men blankly. The cowardly men should have stayed and held the gate. They should have held the gate! She took a step towards the men, away from the wagon. That spineless man.. the captain. Her grip tightened on Mako's hand, her right eye visibly flinched in enraged agitation. She let go of Mako's hand...

She reached back for her compressed adamant hammer which rested upon her lower back, held firmly in place by well-cut leather and brass pins. She whipped out the massive anvil-sized weapon, and with a violent windmill motion upwards extended the shaft to its total 7ft length with a shower of sparks... Gripping it tightly with both hands she rushed at him, weapon held high, leaping up to strike the fatigued old geezer in his crown. She smiled. The visions of his blood and the fleshy grey matter of his brain bathing her face. His spine driven down into his pelvis, the magnificent percussion of crushing bone. The wondrous choir of the screaming guards... The Song of Thunder filled her mind, and made her swoon with its ecstasy. An uncontrollable violent euphoria as the hammer came down. And down. And down, again. The pounding of her heart as she crushed his limbs, and turned flesh to gore, and gore to wine, she laughed in gleeful rapture as she sto-


"Erm. Some of you look pretty ragged. If you like, you can follow me to a nice place I know. It's warm there, and there's drink. Tis a nice little place, known as The Sleeping Goblin. Yer... uhh... Yer going to be here in Bastion for a while, and I think I have some explaining to do, yeah? I reckon most of you aren't quite used to seein' things like what happened outside there."

"Let's put all that behind us now though, eh?"

"So.. who's interested?"

She released her grip upon the shaft of her weapon which sat resting upon her back lower-back. His last words finally reaching her ears as she made her murderous approach, held fast within her hypnotizing hallucination. She smiled brightly. A good man, a great man! What foul man invited her over for drinks? None, say she!

" Haha, Aye! A fine sentence. That i've caste thy would dorste return in nedelees, and thusly would have greeted thee routhelessly. Foryeve thy'self, foryeve thilke, for shapen are we this night for great things! That 'ere shalt I sing and leave thine men and heart astoned ! "

She turned quickly back to the wagon, her bardic cloak whipping from the motion, throwing moisture from it's waterproofed, waxed surface. She picked up her bow, unstringing the massive greatbow, and putting it into her wagon. She began to climb onto the vehicle. "Come Mako, they'll not abyd forever."

[Hattish Thing]

Markin nods.
Galder, before we forget, you knew that merchant, correct? Can you tell me where I could find his widow. It is only right that I inform her of her loss before the night ends.

Galder seems somewhat bothered by the question, seeming to have already pushed the memory of the dead trader to the back of his mind. After so many years of work here in Bastion, one could imagine things like this happened every once in a while. The Captain usually locks the majority of the unpleasant happenings that occasionally occur in a little box somewhere in the dustier, darker places of his head, and tries his best to throw the key. It was the only way to really stay sane. Still, this particular death wasn't as terrible as others that the older man has gone through, although each loss of life is a waste in the good guard's eyes. "I... Yes, I did. I didn't know him very well that is, but his name was Lodowick Thistledown. Bit of a fool he was, by anyone's account. A good man though. He usually makes his route down from Southmarch, a small town a bit away from 'ere. I don't know what he was doing so far away from the other gate, hm, nor do I got meself any idea as to why he didn't arrive any sooner. I imagine his wagon trip was delayed on the road and he got caught by the things..."

"Her name was Danya, iff'n you ever head that ways."

"But... please, enough of the sorrow and gloom, gods know there's enough of that 'round these parts."

---

http://tgchan.org/kusaba/questarch/src/134057016674.jpg

Galder flashes a smile to the others as well, not even noticing Mayli's brief fit, leading the group through the darkened and rainy cobblestone streets of Bastion. Despite his smile, there's a certain pain in his eyes that some of the more perceptive companions may pick up on. What horrific things has this man seen in service to the people? He speaks on the way, attempting to make conversation. "Heh. I must say, it's nice to see new faces 'round here, though. Gets awfully repet... repetet... Uhh." The Captain struggles for a word, clearly a little bit embarrassed by his lack of a proper education. "It gets borin', is what I mean." He'll now begin escorting the companions. Now, the group will finally be able to see the sprawling mess of gothic houses and businesses, the doors mostly shut and sometimes even barred. It was evening now, the bright and foreboding moon shrouded by the layers of thick fog and dark clouds. Everlasting Torches have been placed on street-corners, or mounted on businesses to light up the gloomy way. It's majestic in a way, and certainly comforting to see the light of civilization here, a beacon of hope standing tall against all the darkness and gloom of the outside world. Bastion was beautiful, a tall castle looming in the northside, with the buildings nestled up tight beside it, like a shepherd watching over it's flock. The castle's thick and well-supported walls stretch all around the city, and guardsman patrol the rampart at every hour of the day. Four guard towers can be seen, large torches lighting them up and making their presence known. Galder leads the gathering of companions down several labyrinthine streets, talking as the rainwater falls, mixing with the sound of footsteps on cobblestone. "It's really quite a shame though, for ye to all head over to our fine little city 'ere at a time like this, what with the season bein' what it is. My is that a proud looking moon up tonight, I imagine it'll be getting as wide as can be in the next few days. They say a full moon is bad luck 'round here though, ever since... Nevermind." He sighs and gulps before moving forward, changing the subject as the huge castle can be seen ahead.

He gestures towards the keep and speaks. "Ah, there it is. Castle Stonehearth! No doubt you've noticed it already. The thing can hardly be missed, after all. The nobles of Bastion live there, along with Lord Markly. He's the one in charge of the place officially, keeps things running and all that. Nice man, sometimes comes over to visit us in the mornings. Why, just last week he brought me some of the best brew I'd ever had. Delicious really, quite tasty. Er, the drink that is, not the man, hah!" He continues down a path until a small board can be seen just outside a large building. The sign is quite old, and the lettering is difficult to read. The inn is somewhat out of the way, oddly built apart from the rest of the houses. Still, the quality of the construction is quite nice, if a little bit weathered. "The Sleeping Goblin! Nice place, even though Haster can be a tad morose... That's the innkeeper's name, by the way. He's awfully friendly though, I assure ye, well... As long as ya don't mention his eye thing! He's somewhat rough 'round the edges when 'is er.... 'condition' gets mentioned."

---

The Sleeping Goblin Inn:

http://fc05.deviantart.net/fs70/f/2014/171/9/b/_left_hook__tavern_by_takeda11-d3iivms.jpg

The Captain of the Guard walks into the place and waves. The tavern is well-kept and tidy, and a fireplace roars in the corner. A massive bearskin rug can be seen on the floor, the animal that provided the skin must have been enormous! There's many tables set out, but only a few patrons can be seen. There's a young woman sitting alone by the fire, reading a book. She looks quite tired, and her grayed hair doesn't quite match her youthful face, suggesting stress is rampant in her life. Though she seems to be honestly attempting to read the book in front of her, her attention seems elsewhere, a somewhat sad expression on her face. The darkened circles under her eyes suggest that she hasn't been sleeping, as well. At the bar, a balding and pudgy man dressed in the brightest bit of noble's clothing humanly possible, the luxurious cloth colored a glorious bright yellow. A gigantic hat sits atop his head, a great big feather sticking out of it. He smiles widely, his large handlebar mustache quivering as he laughs and chuckles. Two women sit on either side of him, whispering nice things into the fat but evidently quite rich man. A strange and foreign looking weapon can be seen by him, leaning against the bar. He appears to be talking and boasting of some great deed done by him. He must be some kind of adventurer. A few traders and uninteresting individuals sit in corners, quietly talking to themselves. There's a small stage, and the curtain is currently drawn up, several musicians playing a little song to liven up the scene. A somewhat robust and bug-eyed little man stands behind the counter, his large beard taking up the majority of his facial space, talking to what appears to be a friend of his from across the counter.

Musician's Song: (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pWqV3mWNcQM&list=PLJ1kFPfzSafZj3vrJSgX-aebW2IjmsknJ&index=5)

Galder rushes forward, throwing his arms out wide in the direction of the counter-man. "Haster! My friend, hallo there! How are you ya old cook?" The bearded man's gaunt face lights up, and his attention is brought to the Captain. His voice is unique, and thoroughly strange. Too high for such a big looking man! In addition to that, one of his eyes seems to droop a little bit, it's... quite evident, and more than a little bit distracting. "Galder? Is that you? Why hallo! I heard something happened at the gate? Is everyone alright? Always seems to be something horrid going on nowadays... It's bad for business, ya know." With a sad little smirk, Galder replies. "Tis the Witching Weeks, m'friend. Nothing to do but get drunk off yer ass and sleep it all off!" In response, Haster looks over at the small crowd his friend had brought in. "Speaking of drunk asses, who are these... fine looking fellows? Friends of yours? You always seem to bring in the weird ones..." Galder claps a bit and heads over to the largest table, by the wall and facing the stage, gesturing for the others to sit by him. "Friends, Haster, so be nice. They managed to get in right before the gates went cold. Last group, too. Wasn't... entirely pleasant for them, as you can guess. Sooo. With that said, we'll need a whole bunch of ale! Aheh." Haster simply nods and calls two barmaids from a sideroom. The pair of fairly plain looking women move over to the table, and offer small menus to each of the characters now sitting by the table. Galder will look towards the group and sigh as this all goes on.

"Now..

I suppose I ought to explain this whole situation?"

---

Haster: http://fc06.deviantart.net/fs70/f/2013/028/d/3/chr6__3__by_mikeperryart-d5t1ckb.jpg

[Vhaidara]

Markin nods, storing the name for when the Witching Weeks were done.

When they reach the Sleeping Goblin, he waves a hand to Haster before removing his helmet.
Haster. It's been too long.
Once they are settled down, Markin looks solemnly at Galder.
Yes, I think it would be best. I've been away for some time. What has changed here in Bastion?

[Desril]

Makoto

Taking in the sights of the new city, Makoto beams a cheerful smile, at least once she stops glaring at Markin. Though she hasn't forgotten his actions, it's just not in her to remain upset for very long when there's nothing she can do to change things. Instead, she focuses on enjoying the massive town and its archetecture, glad for the change of pace from the wilds that she and May'li usually roam. While she may be comfortable enough in the wild, her heart is in town where all manner of interesting people live and fun things can happen.

She listens carefully to Galder as he points out things along the route while also drinking from the bottle of tepache that she still had from the wagon. The fermented drink was still a little sweet for her tastes, but it was the one form of rebellion she had against her friend's orders that seemed to poke at her without actually upsetting May'li. A few years ago she'd only had alcohol at large celebrations, and only small amounts, but ever since her curse, she's grown fond of the uninhibited state it puts her in as a way to relieve stress, though she'd yet to do anything truly regrettable thanks to May'li's aid. Unfortunately, she never could figure out when to draw the line and often drank herself well past tipsy when presented the chance.

It was in this not-quite-tipsy state that Makoto found herself entering the Sleeping Goblin and jealously eyeing the heavy-set man with two gorgeous women clinging to him. I wish I had the nerve to get those two hanging off of me like that...the three of us and even May, she thinks before her face flushes red as a result of something other than the alcohol and she quickly shakes her head to the side as if to force such thoughts out of her head. She bows her head briefly, saying a silent prayer but earnest prayer to Sheyln, Forgive me, My Lady, for having such impure thoughts. I wish I was stronger.

Not wanting to run afoul of temptation, or more accuately, being afraid that she might give in to bodily desires despite her heart's wish, she focuses on the woman reading the book, wondering what could be bothering her. She was just about to go ask when Galder finally offered to begin explaining. Figuring that the distraction could be just what she needs, she nods and simply affirms him with a "Please," keeping it short so as to avoid needing to reorder her thoughts in a way that would make sense to the man. When the barmaid asks what she wants, however, she speaks much more plainly, requesting the strongest ale they had in stock and whatever meal they personally thought was the most delicious.

[stack]

Orthos gratefully accepts a mug, thanking the barman with a nod. The dark foreboding appearance of the town may not trouble him visually, but the tension and dread permeating the setting is palpable. He settles in and listens after ordering a dinner. Foreboding or not, the road leaves one hungry.

[Mornings]

The Dawnhammer

Rather then simply walk, she opted to ride her wagon behind the entourage. She wasn't overly fond of the men gathered here, but she didn't hold any particular distaste for them as well... a quite indifference. The thought of free drink and food was a major weighing factor within her mind though, and did begin to make the Guard-Captain reflect with a somewhat positive light in her mind.

The city was unique and quaint in its own unique sort of way. A certain flavor, a certain zeal peppered with the looming seasoning of dread. It was a seasonal dread, long-awaited and overbearing, she knew that well... and yes, the city was well defended, but she did not wish to idle here longer then need-be. She ushered her horses and let Mako walk with the others, keeping a close eye on her friend, and a keen ear open to the man's words. She didn't trust the lot of them, and from this height, and from the rear, she could pounce upon any one of them, and cave-in their silly little heads before they would even notice. She smiled, stroking the collapsed stalk of her adamant hammer. Waiting. Listening. But they made it to the tavern without incident... how... disappointing.

She parked the large wagon to the side, refilling her previous flask and grabbing two more. Teapanche was her favorite. No comparison. None. She whistled twice to Sigurd and Vigil leaving two hounds to guard the wagon after she locked and secured her stores. She took her hammer and covered it with her cloak. Leaving her shield and scizore secured in her lock-box, she turned and gathered a quiver and satchel, filled still with the half dozen incendiary arrows from before, and a half dozen large obsidian arrows. She filled the satchel with some bells, twine, and a couple flasks of oil and tindertwigs. Could never be too careful. She lept off the coach seat and secured her horse's rein's. She walked in with the party falling in step behind them, looking like a traveling bard, Mandolin at her side. Bow and large canvas quiver upon her back. Her flashy bardic patchwork half-cloak and flamboyantly large plumed hat made her the scion of a troubadour. She did not sit at the table, or look at the menu. She picked up a tankard and downed it with a long drink before slamming it down on the table. Foul stuff, she liked it better sweet. She looked around the place. The Barkeep. An interesting fellow. The fat man. Pfft. She'd slit the throats of men like him. The lady. But by far the thing that held her attention was Galdur's words, an explanation perhaps. She hovered by the table, taking a long swig of a flask, leaving it half empty. Waiting for him to be out with it. She eyed the stage longingly... not exactly a note-worthy performance, but she did enjoy the music.

"Graunt mercy, Captain. Thine drink is welcome. Tho' must I biknowe, I'd see you find thy stevene with haste. That thilke corages to find foore upon this stage. " She pauses, a brief moment in silence, realizing the level of competence in both deed and wordcraft the man had displayed thus far.... " ....This, 'explanation'. If you'd be so kind."

[Hattish Thing]

((During the Sleeping Goblin Scenes, posting order won't be enforced. It's not combat.))


Markin nods, storing the name for when the Witching Weeks were done.

When they reach the Sleeping Goblin, he waves a hand to Haster before removing his helmet.
Haster. It's been too long.
Once they are settled down, Markin looks solemnly at Galder.
Yes, I think it would be best. I've been away for some time. What has changed here in Bastion?

The barkeep looks up past Galder, as the Captain moves to sit down. Upon seeing the somewhat familiar looking face of Markin, he raises a finger, pondering over who this man speaking to him may be. After a few seconds of quiet contemplation, he speaks, his peculiar voice warming up a little bit upon recognizing a familiar face. Haster smiles towards Markin before clasping his hands together somewhat happily. "Markin...? Is that you? It's been ages since I've seen you around here... Where've ya been, son?" He smiles lightly. Last time you were here, I seem to remember you getting into a bit of a tussle with one of 'em Carren kids, the big one, Darvery If I recall. Smashed one of my finest tables on 'is head you did, not a good day to be a table.... Or Darvey Carren, ahaha! The table's fine, by the way. Your father was good enough to supply me with enough to purchase a newer one. Still around today, if I can recall. I believe it's upstairs though, in one of the guest rooms. Oh it's been such a long time. I'm amazed I recognized you. My brains aren't quite the same anymore. Speaking of your father though, I haven't heard from 'im in a while, though. Is everything alright? I heard he left town... But, I hear a lot of things, it's not my business. If you need anything, feel free to ask." He'll nod before turning to continue his conversation with the other man at the bar.

Galder sits himself down at one of the largest tables in the corner, and motions for the others to sit down as well. As Makoto's face turns a curious shade of red, Galder raises an eyebrow, looking over to see where Makoto is staring. He smiles lightly but rolls his eyes a little, crossing his arms and enjoying having a sit. "Oooooh, these old bones just ain't the same. Gettin' a bit of a belly methinks." He stares down at his stomach before chuckling a little bit, speaking towards Makoto in an attempt to make her feel a little bit more comfortable in the inn. "I blame the wife, person'lly, that or the mead. M'wifes a baker, 'as a little shop down the street near here. Perhaps we can head over there after we've let the mead settle a bit! I'm sure she'd like to meet you all, an' I really should introduce Markin to her again. It's been aaaages, 'asn't it... You know him well there, Ms... erm... Majoto was it? M'terrible with names, pardon me." Incidentally, a barmaid comes close just as Mayli begins to speaking to Galder. The older Captain stares towards Mayli with a look of incredible confusion, as if she'd just sprouted a third eye or something. The barmaid stares as well, but smiles awkwardly in an attempt to save face. Still, Mayli's strange speech will earn her quite a few stares from others around the inn, but after a tortuously long silence, the barmaid gets the point and leaves to begin her task. So, Mayli and Makoto will be left to listen to Galder's explanation in peace, hopefully not embarrassed too much!

Galder settles down and orders himself a large spiced ale, resting for a few seconds before he begins to speak to those gathered around him. He sighs loudly, shifting in his seat. "I wish you had all come by at a better time... Makes our little community here look quite poorly, but I promise it's not always like that, friends! Not... not really. We're a peaceful town, for the most part. We have plenty food, water is easily gathered, and the people are happy enough, despite the cold... and the rain... and the... Hmph. Well, damn, when I word it like that everything sounds miserable. I'm... not good with words, I'm sorry. What I mean to say is that what you saw at the gates doesn't happen all the time. You know, it's actually fairly rare. After all, we don't open the gates during the Witching Weeks, so no one ever gets hurt. The creatures stay outside the city gates, and the people stay inside and live on what we've stocked up on during the rest of the year. Still... It's difficult to tell when exactly the dead start their walk, though. So... sometimes we get caught off our guard. But, with any luck, and a bit of prayer, we won't lose anyone else to their claws." He looks towards Orthos, shrugging a little. "You look to be a man of the cloth, friend. I might be mistaking you fer something you're not, but I'm generally fairly good at this sort of thing. If ye ever need to pray, or get yer spells in order, there's a church out by the graveyard."

"Ahh, but I'm gettin' off track, as I so often do."

"I suppose we ought to start with just what these 'Witching Weeks' are for those who don't know." He shrugs a bit, turning his head to face the others. Well... Hundreds of years ago, the great War of the West occurred. The churches of both Sarenrae, the goddess of light and good and all that, and Urgathoa, the god of death and plague wanted these lands for themselves, saying they was holy land or something silly like that. There was some sort of artifact involved, so the legend goes, but to be perfectly honest, no one really knows. All we know is that both churches, which both possessed a great deal of members at the time gathered up their bannermen and marched here, back when we native Serinetians were simply farmers and sheepherders. The battles were unpleasant, to say the least, and by the time it had ended, no one had a clear victory. The leaders of the two churches met after much blood had been spilled, both ending up agreeing to leave the land, and only send a few missionaries a year. Although we were mostly trodden upon by both churches, we were given back our lands, and we continued what we'd been doing in the first place. However... the blood that had been spilled cursed this land. Some say the gods were angry at the death that went about. For two weeks or so a month, the dead began to rise from their graves. From graveyards, to dirty marshlands, to in the middle of the land, they rose. It didn't matter where they were buried. However, we had our walls. So, for a while we defended ourselves from them, hiding behind our thick stone. We improved upon their designs as life went on, and now we have a pretty nice city to call ourselves. There's also Southmarch and, a smaller town out there. Walls and everything. We get by here, no matter what."

"Still. It's not called the Land of the Dead fer nothing, I'm afraid."

Galder frowns, his mood somewhat sunken. However, more drinks arrive, and so he's distracted! He'll take a long drink from his spiced ale, before eagerly stuffing in a few peanuts for good measure. He makes sure to thank the barmaid and tip her before she leaves. He may not be educated, but he knows his manners. Now, he places an elbow on the table and waggles a finger towards Markin. "Anyone, onto nicer conversation... It's wonderful to see you again!" He furrows his brow, pondering something for a second. "You know it's sort of odd, you're not the only old friend that's come back to our little ol' Serinet these past few weeks. Remember that old man that used to come by here every once in a while, Markin? Large beard, tall as well. Had those big billowing purple robes and that snake amulet, oh and the stick. That curious walking stick of 'is. Felran was his name, you know. Anyway, he was around a little while ago. It was nice to see the old cook, but he seemed particularly agitated, blathering on and on about something called the... the... um... "Ouroboros", and some lonely ol' church out there in the marshes. I hope you're all planning on staying longer than he did, though! He was only around for about a day, didn't even have time to have a drink together. The old goat left out to explore the ruins, and I warned him that the Witching Weeks were comin', but he didn't listen to me. Silly people, wizards are."

"It was some nasty place too... Altarview, I think was the name?"

((Roll Knowledge History in OOC:))

---

Makoto: Upon making her perception check, she'll be able to lightly overhear the man with the two women down by the bar. He seems to be flirting with the two women there, a small bag of gold on the counter, several downed mugs of mead around him. Although she can't see his front, it's fairly evident that the rich man's some kind of war hero or something. There's a whole bunch of badges around him, and a bright yellow half-cloak rests over his shoulder. Was this some sort of decorated war veteran, or just some noble with a fondness for shiny golden things? He speaks, his voice loud and flamboyant, a little bit slurred due to the drinking and all that. "So there I was girlshhh... Me handy musket in hand, barrels loaded and locked as I stared death strrrraight in the face, fearlessh! For you all know that the GLORIOUS and Legendary Rick Brutal fearshhh nothing! And nobody! Anywhere! Rick Brutal, the Great Slayer of The Beast of Bonesaw Basin, Hunter of the Fearsome Black Lion, and All Around Dazzling Hero of Our Land, Golarion! But of course, my little loveliesssh, you already know my name, aheh." He drunkenly laughs before whispering something into the girl's ear on the right, making her blush. "Anywashhh, back to the shtory! As I shttood in front... *Hic* As I stood in front of the cave entrance, I heard thish terrible ROAR! It was incredible, loud and terrible, sounding like the end of the world. The sound would have left a normal man quivering in his bootshhh... BUT WE ALL KNOW RICK BRUTAL ISH NO NORMAL MAN!" He takes a long swig before continuing the story. "Sho I moved onwards, knowing that I had to reschue Little Timmy, who the beast has taken. It was only my duty as the hero I am! I walked into the cave, a courageous smile on my face, ready to fight to the bitter... *hic* end..."

[Desril]

Makoto

Listening intently to Galder's explanation, the tiefling frowns. Already tipsy from the tepache she'd been drinking along the way to the bar, the addition of the much stronger ale, something which she had no business drinking but out of stubborn pride couldn't resist, was far too much for the slight Makoto. Her face now flushed from alcohol rather than blushing at her own overactive imagination, she still manages to figure out what it was about his story that bothered her, albeit a little more slowly than she would have if she'd been sober.

Understanding and being able to get the point across is another matter, however. Between her restrictions and steadily rising level of drunkenness, her first attempt is almost unintelligible. "Undershtand not do I. Wheeks Whitching the before bodies *hic* the burn not why rishing are dead the if?" Frowning, she shifts her gaze toward May'li and asks her much more simply, taking a deep breath first and managing to avoid slurring her words. "Can you ask him why they do not burn the bodies? That would be safer, would it not?"


****

After hearing his answer, she can't help but overhear the boastful Rick Brutal. War hero? He's no more than a lying pig. He probably has never even seen a...a...she snaps her fingers to seemingly nothing, as no one can hear her thoughts, lion!

That thought in her head, she can't help but look to the girls he's leading on, wanting both to be in his place, wooing them with her accomplishments, and saving them from a terrible mistake of listening to the braggart's drivel. Eventually, his story gets too much for her and she takes one final swig before slamming her mug down on the table and quickly stands and swaggers over to the trio without a word to her own table. Getting there, she glares briefly at the man, but even in her drunken state she knows that trying to talk to him will just end with her looking the fool. Instead, she directs her words to the women at his sides, and though she speaks slowly at first to make herself clear, as she talks the slur in her words returns. "Please...do not listen to this...braggart! *Hic* Any one who was *Hic* half as heroic ash he'sh claiming...wouldn't be sho...sho..." Not finding the right word, she just gestures to all of him. "I bet he could not even *Hic* hit me with that thing, let alone...beat me in a duel! And *hic* and theresh no way he could have shlain shome cave monshter!"

[stack]

Orthos replies casually, "I do have something of a calling, not a properly ordained priest though. I serve the Inheritor, though I am not one that bears the blade, not until my penance is complete. How long do the witching weeks last and what is there to do here in the meantime? I fear that which drew me forth was not entirely specific in the reason for my coming."

"So, you have a missing wizard? Curious, but in my experience such as they look after themselves or find themselves beyond any aid quickly."

[Vhaidara]

Markin's brow furrows as he tries to remember back.
I think I recall him, a bit vaguely. If he's out there though, he's probably dead.
He sighs.
So, do you have any happy news from the past few years? Your wife is well, I trust?

Then the little girl goes and starts picking a fight. Markin leans in to whisper to Galder
Is she about to be in trouble, or is he all talk?

[Hattish Thing]

Makoto:

Theme: "The Legendary Rick Brutal"


Listening intently to Galder's explanation, the tiefling frowns. Already tipsy from the tepache she'd been drinking along the way to the bar, the addition of the much stronger ale, something which she had no business drinking but out of stubborn pride couldn't resist, was far too much for the slight Makoto. Her face now flushed from alcohol rather than blushing at her own overactive imagination, she still manages to figure out what it was about his story that bothered her, albeit a little more slowly than she would have if she'd been sober.

Understanding and being able to get the point across is another matter, however. Between her restrictions and steadily rising level of drunkenness, her first attempt is almost unintelligible. "Undershtand not do I. Wheeks Whitching the before bodies *hic* the burn not why rishing are dead the if?" Frowning, she shifts her gaze toward May'li and asks her much more simply, taking a deep breath first and managing to avoid slurring her words. "Can you ask him why they do not burn the bodies? That would be safer, would it not?"


****

After hearing his answer, she can't help but overhear the boastful Rick Brutal. War hero? He's no more than a lying pig. He probably has never even seen a...a...she snaps her fingers to seemingly nothing, as no one can hear her thoughts, lion!

That thought in her head, she can't help but look to the girls he's leading on, wanting both to be in his place, wooing them with her accomplishments, and saving them from a terrible mistake of listening to the braggart's drivel. Eventually, his story gets too much for her and she takes one final swig before slamming her mug down on the table and quickly stands and swaggers over to the trio without a word to her own table. Getting there, she glares briefly at the man, but even in her drunken state she knows that trying to talk to him will just end with her looking the fool. Instead, she directs her words to the women at his sides, and though she speaks slowly at first to make herself clear, as she talks the slur in her words returns. "Please...do not listen to this...braggart! *Hic* Any one who was *Hic* half as heroic ash he'sh claiming...wouldn't be sho...sho..." Not finding the right word, she just gestures to all of him. "I bet he could not even *Hic* hit me with that thing, let alone...beat me in a duel! And *hic* and theresh no way he could have shlain shome cave monshter!"

As Makoto moves forward, the ever-vigilant Rick Brutal notices her presence, his bushy eyebrows furrowing before he rolls his eyes noticeably. As she staggers forward and glares towards Rick Brutal, the particularly ridiculous looking fellow finally catches her eye, before looking her over, up and down, pausing at all the uncomfortable places humanly possible before flashing her a slight smile, a gold tooth flashing in the candlelight. Now that she can see his face, she'll get a far more detailed description of the man. Though he is obviously somewhat overweight, it's quite evident that the man held some sort of skill. He's not particularly muscular for a man of his size, but his moves are quick and smooth, almost fluid-like. He's got a very pretty face for a supposed warrior of such valor, with little scarring at all. A tall and floppy-looking hat rests atop his head, the beautiful and expensive looking feather hanging down to lean over the side of his hat. Rick is dressed in the finest nobles clothing, composing of a blow undershirt with golden buttons, a yellow tailed overcoat, and finally a golden cloak that tops off the entire getup. Tall and beautiful looking boots are pulled up to his knees, the material shining in the light, unlike any other leather Makoto will have ever seen. To top it all off, a gorgeous belt of purple and gold is tied around him, his initials in silver written into it.

Rick Brutal boasts a thin pencil mustache and a proud goatee, his face set into what seems to be a permanent smirk. His confidence was attractive, in a way, but at the same time there was just something entirely ridiculous about him. How could anyone take this man seriously, especially in battle? He raises an eyebrow as Makoto speaks to the two women beside him before chuckling to himself. Several of the people seated around him quiet down and turn to stare. No one said anything like that to the Legendary Rick Brutal! He was a man held in fairly high regard here as a people's hero, there was something very familiar about the man's name and face, but Makoto was simply too drunk to realize anything. Rick stands up slowly, pinching the rear of one of the women before winking her direction and speaking quietly to her, his voice dripping with charm. "I'd love to shtayy and talk, lovely, but it appears that I've... business with thish... person." He's still a fair bit drunk, but it's clear he hadn't quite finished. As the two women scamper off giggling, Rick reaches down to grip his musket slowly, a smile on his face. The weapon is beautiful, clearly masterwork quality at least, and seems to be plated in the finest gold. He flips it around as he grabs it, twirling it in one hand as a master would with a simple tool, showing off his prowess with the foreign item.

At his side, a beautiful looking rapier can be seen as well, it's hilt covered in what looks to be both gold, with small sapphires all over, causing it to glitter and shine in the light, like the rest of the man. He speaks to Makoto now, moving to rest his loaded musket on his shoulder and lean against the wall. He looks over her once more before speaking again. "You called me braggart, did you not? Hah! Do you not know who I am, girl? Perhaps you did not hear me shpeaak earlier... I am... The LEGENDARY Rick Brutal! My titles are numeroushh... I am known throughout all the lands, as a hero of incredible shhkill and, of coursshhe... Wealth, aheh." He chuckles to himself before he points a gloved finger to the young girl, before calling out to everyone in the tavern, attracting attention.

"Lishhten here everyone! Thisshh... girl wantshh a fight! I generally make a point of not hitting little girlshh, but thish one sheems to want it, ahah! Sho how about it, ladies and gentlemen!"

There's a bunch of cheers and huzzahs from the tavern-goers as Rick Brutal makes a show of himself, as he so often does. He laughs out heartily before resting his free hand on his hip, assuming a heroic pose. "However... My shilly little drunkard of a girl, I give you thishh final chance to shimply back away from thish fight while you can, eh? But if you do shtill want to fight with a hero of shuch shkill and might as myself, draw your blade!"

"I've never backed away from a fight!"

---

Rick Brutal: http://i21.photobucket.com/albums/b261/mikeperryart/Mist/cutthroat-Swashbuckler.jpg

[Desril]

Makoto

Getting a proper look at the pompous fop, Mako notices that he might not be entirely talk, but isn't going to back down at this point. Blushing as he undresses her with his mind, or at least so she assumes by the lecherous look in his painfully slow moving gaze, she notes the gems on his rapier, So wasteful, and on such a good blade otherwise.

As he draws the attention of the entire tavern to the drunken pair of himself and Makoto, she, in the back of her mind, realizes that May'li will likely interfere now, but at the same time, she's enjoying the attention too much, and is far too drunk, to care. Instead, when he offers her the chance to withdraw, she slips the Aria of Castigation out of its sheath with practiced ease, even as she wobbles a little on her feet. "Withdraw not *hic* do I! Termsh the what are?!" She frowns and turns to the women again, "Duels in thish land have prizes for the victor, or penalties for the los*hic* loser, riiiight? What do you think we should wager?"


Waiting until we settle on the Terms and Conditions, but I already skipped them and hit Accept so Initiative [roll0]

[stack]

Orthos continues his chat, leaving fools that pick fights in bars to their own devices. There was a time he would have been too happy to join in just for the action, but that time has passed.

[Mornings]

[ The Dawnhammer ]

She took another sip of her tepache and slid the flask away, enjoying the music and the talk, leaning against the fine wooden back of a support beam. The captain's words were interesting, at least from a certain point of view. It was not anything she was unfamiliar with, but it was certainly interesting to hear it from the mouth of a man who lived his days here. Lived his days behind these walls, weathering the rain and loss the days would bring. She signed. She missed Capitas, sure, the city of Bastion had its charm.... its own distinct, charm, but it was dismal and... Her eyes sharply turned in to Mako's drunken steps as she moved to the strange man's table. .... sullied. It took no thought to realize what her friend intended to do, but she pushed the thought out of her mind. Even in a drunken stupor, she wouldn't be so foolish to challenge a man in pointless, open combat for the sheer sake of it. Not after all they had been through, all they had shared. She chuckled to herself, it would spit upon every-


"I bet he could not even *Hic* hit me with that thing, let alone...beat me in a duel! And *hic* and theresh no way he could have shlain shome cave monshter!"


"Lishhten here everyone! Thisshh... girl wantshh a fight! I generally make a point of not hitting little girlshh, but thish one sheems to want it, ahah! Sho how about it, ladies and gentlemen!"

"However... My shilly little drunkard of a girl, I give you thishh final chance to shimply back away from thish fight while you can, eh? But if you do shtill want to fight with a hero of shuch shkill and might as myself, draw your blade!"

"I've never backed away from a fight!"


"Duels in thish land have prizes for the victor, or penalties for the los*hic* loser, riiiight? What do you think we should wager?"

Her words struck her as surly and with as much force as her own massive hammer. She staggered, to one side, her legs going weak from under her. She stared wide-eyed and in disbelief at the floor... the floor.

...The floor. It was covered in blood. Dark and red. Violent splatters of crimson sprays decorated the walls and her face. Her hands were still, her breath was calm, though the terrible lacerations across her arms and flank oozed forth profusely with the freezing black inkor of her birth. Exhale. A step. Inhale. A step. Stalking upon her next victim. Her only witness. A teary-eyed girl no older then herself, a captive of the cleric she had been sent to murder. Her face was so pure, filled with the vibrance and innocence of life, a life that had known no taint. Not as she. She felt, nothing. Not the throbbing pain of her broken hand. Not the sting of the dust in her open wounds. Nor the tourniquet fastened to her still bleeding arm. She was born of this world. She was born in this place. This space, where only monsters dwelt. She did not understand, she could not understand, the indifference of a creature such as she. The torture in the agony of her disquieting complacency. The silent all-consuming maelstrom of condemnation that existed within her soulless, passionless existence, denied a name. Denied the right to live. Denied the right to exist, and to rob others of the same.

The massive stone hammer within the ruined monastery had struck the man with such great force, its stone ceremonial head had quite literally exploded with his own. It left nothing left, but a sharp and jagged rod of stone, a spear she readied above the girl. Without thought or hesitation. Prepared to stab her until death released her from the torment she sought to bring... yet, she hesitated. The glint in her eyes, that innocence... it held her for a short while. For indeed in her eyes, she was beauty. Something... perfect. Something, she had never know could be... and then she spoke. Of the ring, the curse. All of it. She could not kill her... that innocence, that purity... it was then. Looking upon the blooded floor she had resolved to herself, upon her life. She would protect it. She would shield it from the darkness of the world she knew. She would break free.

Her eyes leveled upon the women before her, the drunken, over-confident buffoon that stood in place of the girl she once knew... She couldn't see it anymore. She couldn't see. Only, this women.... and her soul, was putrid and decayed. Caked with the grim of that dilapidated chapel, collapsing upon itself, corroded by the sea breeze and salted air of a barren earth. She loved her.... She hated her. She loved her. Once. Perhaps, it was the world... this world. This place. It could not be overcome, it could not be repulsed nor repelled. It could not be overcome. It could only taint, corrupt and tarnish... as it had done to her. As it had done to her....

She whipped her face. Her eyes, they felt heavy. Her face was warm. Water? So strange. Her throat felt tight, she could hardly breath. What was this.... this feeling. She whipped her face again with her sleeve. She had seen the strange spectacle before, water running from the eyes and nose of those men, those women.... those children she had run through. She had never understood the gesture. Though father Nel had told her of 'tears', and that they reflected 'sorrow', but what had her victims to be sorrowful of, save for their crimes? She placed her hands to her face, and finally the sensation abated. Finally she understood.... this 'sorrow', this grieving. She had failed. She had reached out for so long, reached out and gathered up all the light with her crippled fingers, none was left.... was she dead? That holy scion in her mind. That goddess? The mother of her hope and spirit that reforged her spirit. She couldn't see her any longer... only, a swordswomen. Skilled as she might be. Only a warrior. Only, the pale grey of a dimming, once-brilliant burning brazier that thwarted the very night of this world. Disgusted. Shamed. Terrified. What had she done? What a terrible crime to have lived to see such a day. What a crime to have let live to become such a tarnished light....

Perhaps. Perhaps, she would never see that light again. Never see that which once illuminated her world, spirit and song. Or worse yet, perhaps it never existed at all. She shuddered. Perhaps, she should have done what she had set out to do so long ago, and extinguish that beautiful luminescence while it still existed, and known satisfaction that she had been at least gifted with it's vision. She eyed the tiefling's back dangerously.... No. No... She could not.. would not believe that all that had once been had existed not at all. That such was but another illusion cast upon by the terrible dark claws of the demons that dwelt within her starless-night...

No. She knew. Still. Deep within that drunken stupor, that flame. That eternal light still flickered, but she had smothered it, and now it sought to burn away all around it with it's smoke and heated embers... There was another way. The only way. The single way. The way by which perhaps she could see what she was... what she wasn't. What it meant to wield that sword in earnest. That light... it might change, it might flicker and cast terrible shadows, but it would be no less magnificent.

It didn't matter anymore... It didn't matter. She looked about the room. Bodies attached to souls. Minds attached to bodies. Worthless curs, the lot of them, their existence nothing in light of that purity she worshiped, the light within her friend everburning, as if blessed by The Dawnflower herself. There was only one way now... a path she knew well. Lashed by storm and left bereft of the warmth of the heart, til only darkness remained. A darkness so deep, even the most distant light could be found. At least, she knew what she had to do.... what had to be done. Reparations for her past sins. Atonement for her folly. She smiled.

With soft steps she walked over to her drunken friend placing a hand upon her shoulder and whispering into her ear. "By my command and this word. I do release you from all charges placed upon you....but... by my words, by this command, shalt you always know me as your master and love, whose word shalt you follow. For always will it be true. " She paused, kissing her on the side of her face. "....and" She continued with a new command, beginning to move away, she strummed her mandolin.

" A blessing upon ye shalt I place. A curse upon those who you'd face. That thy enemies are my own, as mine shall be yours. Together bound are we, souls entwined. That any that shall rise to dispute me shall be accosted by your blade. That any that shall dispute you, shall know my rage.

Never shall thine sword waiver, with strength thy will fight. A warrior so great, that thine enemies will break and flee, yet pursue them you will. Thine enemies that are my own. Thine enemies who'd contest me. Thine enemies who would contest you. Let no creature live, who you'd would raise arms against. Without fear, nor plea, with great strength shall you strike. Without mercy or hesitation shall you rise. For a warrior so great, thy presence will suffocate, the foes that stand before your arms.

Forever shall thy bare naked steel against those who would accost you, those who would accost me. Those who would dispute you, and strike without mercy.

The tempo changed, to a slow, haunting reversed plucking that was harsh to the ear, and carried an eerie unpleasant frightful ring of a nocturne played by some infernal creature, still issuing a single command.

...Yet ever still, will this word, this command I shalt name as past as it be spoken, will I find thee in bleakness.

Nights. Nights of dark, pitch sky, painted in shades of shadow shall guide you, rear your flame, and emerge once more, born anew upon seeing the sightless, and knowing the unknowable. For you will bare that which I have born... which we have born. The warrior's sobering truth. The ballads closing act. The Father's final prayer. For never shall thy blade be drawn in play and dance. That all before it will know your fury and strength to suffer and die, and that thy feet shall walk upon the fields sown of your foe's marrow, and from each kill will you collect your prize. 10,000 heads shall you collect. 10,000 heads shall you sever, and claim. From the fresh bodies of your fallen prey, to be mounted from wood, or pike, or spear, all and any place above the soil, that all will know of thy passing.

Those who would contest you, do I name enemy. As all men who would contest me. Let no creature find rest, nor peace of mind that stand as foe before your blade. Let no enemy draw breath before your sight, let no man who bares arms against you, live...

And by this word...
You shalt never speak of thy past.
...And by this word.
You shalt never speak of thy future.
...And by this word.
You shalt never speak of thyself.

...For you are reborn anew.
Least this dirge be played again, shalt this remain, shalt this remain. Unbroken by word or phrase, shalt this remain, shalt this remain. By deed or will, might of hand, by arcane prowess and gods touch. Shalt this remain, shall you remain, least this dirge be sung again, for you are born, anew."


She bowed once, left, then right, after the most unearthly, and possibly unsettling performance anyone in the tavern had ever heard or seen. The chords tuned low and distorted, her voice ominous and frightful... perhaps it fit too well with the reality that surrounded them, the reminded of the reality that awaited just outside their own walls.... She turned on her heel and walked out the door slinging her mandolin over her shoulder as she closed the taverns door behind her.

She looked to her wagon, just besides the strange zig-zaging rise of the stairs. She took off her satchel, still filled with flasks of oil, putting the twigs in pocket, she smashed it against the steps letting the contents run all about her feet and the tavern's well carved steps, before throwing the bag to the side in the brush splashing it's liquids a long the side of the building. She signed, with a hop she lept over to the coach's seat of the wagon. Her hounds issued a short bark, Sigurd and Vigil had become slick with oil as they made their way from off the oiled walkway into the wagon. She sat down.... thinking..... waiting. She would know her darkness now... soon. but what had she done?

She sat upon the leather bound seat, curling her legs into herself. She threw off her hat in the wagon and pulled her hood low. Then quietly. silently. For the first time. She wept.

[Hattish Thing]

Orthos replies casually, "I do have something of a calling, not a properly ordained priest though. I serve the Inheritor, though I am not one that bears the blade, not until my penance is complete. How long do the witching weeks last and what is there to do here in the meantime? I fear that which drew me forth was not entirely specific in the reason for my coming."

"So, you have a missing wizard? Curious, but in my experience such as they look after themselves or find themselves beyond any aid quickly."

Galder shrugs, and though he smiles, it's quite evident that he's just a little bit worried about his lost wizard friend. He furrows his brow and replies to the priest, taking a liking to the reserved blind man. "Do you now, sir? Hah, you're still more of a priestly man than I, so there's always that! I never was one to take great interest in the church meself, no offense o' course. Could never stand the sermons, and the eeeendless talking. Little me always preferred the thrills of climbing a tree, or taking a swim, or playing swordfighting with me brother. I was an active little bugger, hah. Drove my poor mother mad, didn't you know! I was aaaalways getting into trouble, but I seemed to have turned up fine, yeah? Mostly intact as well, so there's an added bonus, hah!" He frowns briefly before glaring down at his wooden leg like it was more of an inconvenience than a terrible hindrance. "Mostly bein' the important word there."

The Captain takes a swig from his cup and runs a hand through his salt and pepper hair. "I talk too much, as I've said. Well, the Witching Weeks generally last two to three weeks, and as for what to do in the meantime, well... Nothing really, to be honest. Lots of drinkin', I suppose, and there's a theatre down the way that occasionally puts on shows. I believe there's one about to open... I don't personally like plays, too many words, and it always takes too long. But other than that, there's not really anything. No one's supposed to leave, under orders of Lord Markly himself. Just safer this way."

"And you'd think so, but I don't know. Something seems different this time. I'm really starting to worry about him, going off into that terrible place alone. Speaking of, you're a clerical type, yeah? I've been havin' these awful dreams of late..."


Markin's brow furrows as he tries to remember back.
I think I recall him, a bit vaguely. If he's out there though, he's probably dead.
He sighs.
So, do you have any happy news from the past few years? Your wife is well, I trust?

Then the little girl goes and starts picking a fight. Markin leans in to whisper to Galder.
Is she about to be in trouble, or is he all talk?

Galder shakes his head slowly, before chuckling a little. "Always the optimist, eh Markin? It don't surprise me that you don't remember him all that well, the man was around a bit before ye really had a mind for things. You were so small, and I wasn't even Captain at the time, just a lowly spear-holder like anyone else. By the gods, that was so long ago. That was before I even met Bridonna, I believe. Yeah, it was a year later before I even knew my wife existed. Gah! Seeing you here's made me feel old as dirt, friend. Where did the years go..."

He breathes in deeply and gazes off, and though his eyes are directed towards one corner of the inn, it's clear his mind is elsewhere. However, Markin's conversation brings him back to reality. "Hm, news? Hah. Plenty of news, old friend, but not much good. However, Bridonna is quite fine. She still looks as beautiful as ever. I'm sure she'd like to see you sometime, perhaps. Maybe tomorrow you can come over to the bakery for breakfast. She's always got a sweet roll or something in the makin', she's incredibly good at what she does, hence my big ol' belly, hah!"

As Markin comes closer, Galder looks over towards Rick Brutal and frowns a little bit. "It's... hard to tell. That there is Rick Brutal! He's some foreign celebrity or something, hero of some sort, monster hunter to be exact. There's a bunch of books about 'im, I hear. He's here for a little while. Father Hackett down by the Church of Pharasma's put out a bounty on some sort of creature that killed a few men outside the walls a month or two ago. I reckon he's down here to go after the thing, and if he's going after something like that, well... Perhaps there's something to the silly looking bastard."

---

Local Checks (Passed By All): Now that you think about it, the name "Rick Brutal" is somewhat familiar, almost a household name throughout the lands. After a second or two of thought you finally recall a little bit about the man. Rick Brutal is a monster hunter of some renown, known throughout the more civilized places of the world for his charm and great skill. There's actually a series of books written about the man's exploits, all of which seem to sell quite well.

What could he be doing in Serinet?


Makoto

Getting a proper look at the pompous fop, Mako notices that he might not be entirely talk, but isn't going to back down at this point. Blushing as he undresses her with his mind, or at least so she assumes by the lecherous look in his painfully slow moving gaze, she notes the gems on his rapier, So wasteful, and on such a good blade otherwise.

As he draws the attention of the entire tavern to the drunken pair of himself and Makoto, she, in the back of her mind, realizes that May'li will likely interfere now, but at the same time, she's enjoying the attention too much, and is far too drunk, to care. Instead, when he offers her the chance to withdraw, she slips the Aria of Castigation out of its sheath with practiced ease, even as she wobbles a little on her feet. "Withdraw not *hic* do I! Termsh the what are?!" She frowns and turns to the women again, "Duels in thish land have prizes for the victor, or penalties for the los*hic* loser, riiiight? What do you think we should wager?"


Waiting until we settle on the Terms and Conditions, but I already skipped them and hit Accept so Initiative [roll0]

The hero smiles towards her, raising a hand to stroke his goatee and ponder over things, continuing to present himself by taking on a most heroic pose, gold-plated musket on shoulder, hand on chin, his legs spread wide with his cloak hanging behind him. As she speaks to him, he'll scrunch up his face in confusion. This woman must be incredibly drunk judging by that silly way of talking. Did she even understand what she was saying? Following her question, Rick rests one leg of his upon a small stool rung, leaning upon it and assuming yet another pose. Finally, he raises his free hand upwards and gestures towards the others around the tavern. "Hmm... Yesshhh, yes! A prize must be set, but what to wager! What do you think, lads?" He shouts out to a rowdy group of four young men sitting at a nearby table, all who suggest various quantities of gold. Rick frowns and shakes his head, clearly disproving of the suggestions. "Hah! Gold is meaningless when shoommething as valuable as my *hic* HONOR is at stake! No, no. If I win, milady, I ask only for a kiss." He turns to the table of four and winks their direction, speaking loudly to them. "And maybe a little more from there, huzzah!" Rick turns back to Makoto before reiterating his wager.

"Yeshh, here's the deal! If I win, you owe me a kiss! If I lose, well... I shall grant you a small token, my necklace perhaps, it ishh quite the magical little trinket..."

It is at this point that Mayli approaches Makoto and offers a few crpytic words. The 'hero' takes his chance and steps his way backwards now, attempting to take a more tactically sound position in the bar. As he steps backwards, however, he steps on his own cloak and just about slips, before laughing it off. He's lost initiative it seems, meaning that his rival will be able to act first. He jabs his free hand towards Makoto and begins to stretch a little bit. "Give me a minute to shhtrech myself... One mushtt be limber before attempting these things." This is when Mayli begins to play her song, which is reacted to quite poorly from several of the other tavern-goers, who simply glare her way, before she leaves the inn to wait in her wagon as the fight continues. A man towards the far right of the inn dressed completely in white wakes up at this point, the aged looking man looking towards the middle of the bar where the duel is starting to begin.

Rick Brutal speaks. "Now, come at me, I say!"

---

Makoto acts first, Rick Brutal is five feet away from her.

---

Battle Map: http://i1051.photobucket.com/albums/s440/Singingnoodle/Sleeping%20Goblin%20Round%201.png

Key:

Rick Brutal: RB
Makoto: MA
Galder Gray: G
Markin: MR
Orthos: O
Haster: H
Man In White: I
Tavern-Goers: T

[Vhaidara]

Markin, scowling at the proceedings, stands and walks towards Brutal as Mayli is speaking to Mako and singing to the tavern.
You call yourself a man, a hero, and a warrior. Yet when a girl so clearly lost in drink as to be senseless challenges you, you accept it? There is no honor in fighting a woman, especially one as young and drunk as her.
Markin pulls Hell's Reaper from his back and points it at the man.
However, there may be honor in fighting her champion. My name is Markin Abrang, Black Thorn Knight and initiate to the Reverants of the Lance. I will challenge you in her place. Be warned, however. In case you are unaware, I am the adopted son of the head of my order, and a man of considerable skill.
He settles into a combative stance.
So, what say you? Are you man enough to face me, or are you a coward who would prefer to do battle with an inebriated child?

Move to just below the space between Mako and Rick.
Intimidate: [roll0]

[stack]

"Honestly, they did not make this much trouble on the road." Orthos shrugs as events progress. "As guard captain, will there be legal repercussions for a duel breaking out in the inn? If you want, I can help you try to break things up."

[Desril]

Makoto
AC 14 (Touch 13 due to Dex Damage)
HP 17

Nodding eagerly at the proposed wager, Mako can't help but grin even though the thought of kissing him repulses her, she'd thought the price for losing would be much worse. Not that she had any thought of losing her. When her friend whispered into her ear, however, she blushed once more in embarrassment, wanting to tell her that her curse doesn't work that way and she can't just be ordered to fall in love, but in her inebriated state she can't find the words, instead she only smiles elatedly at the realization that she's free from the other commands binding her.

The smile doesn't last long, however. Though she isn't entirely able to keep up with the barrage of new orders that May'li gives her in the form of a song, her Common isn't so weak as to not understand the basic gist even though some of the subtleties are lost on her in her current state. She only has time to turn her head toward the now retreating May'li, wanting to scream and ask why she would do something like this, but the curse manifests itself too quickly. I've already drawn...which means...first it will be Rick...and then anyone who tries to stop me...

Unable to look around under her own power, trapped behind her eyes as she is, the only sign that anything is wrong are the tears pouring freely from the tiefling's face as her mind drunkenly races through the inevitable consequences of her new set of commands and she realizes the fate in store for her now. No! It's not just everyone here...she...she always thought of everyone as an enemy...I won't be able to...to stop. I'll have to...to...trapped and desperate as she is, she can't help but picture herself standing triumphantly over a mound of headless corpses, Serinet burning behind her.

Unfortunately, her thoughts no longer matter, as her body moves under its own power, without any input from her own desires. Giving the battlefield a sweeping glance, Makoto's body calls upon arcane power to imbue her blade with magical might while simultaneously chanting a simple spell to shield her from harm far more effectively than any buckler could. That done, she wordlessly steps toward Rick, intent upon cutting him down where he stands and claiming his head as a trophy as per her orders. NO! Shelyn! Sarenrae! Asmodeus! Nocticula! Someone, anyone, please...STOP ME!

Tears still fall, ignored by the monstrous machine that is Makoto's prison now, as the tiefling's body lunges toward Rick.



Attack (1d20+4)[19]
Damage (1d8+4)[7]

Parry (1d20+6)[23]
Riposte if possible (1d20+6)[18]
Damage (1d8+4)[12]

[Hattish Thing]

Rick Brutal stands with his loaded musket over his shoulder, one eyebrow up. As Markin comes close to him, Rick turns his head to gaze upon the much taller man in full plate. Though the impeccably dressed hero certainly seems to be full of himself, he's also not suicidal, and as such doesn't bother to taunt or otherwise antagonize the dark knight. However, the short-ish and somewhat wide man doesn't seem to be particularly fearful of the larger man's loud voice, chuckling loudly as if the Black Thorn Knight had simply made a joke. Rick shakes his head but raises his free hand up, a clear sign that he meant no offense. "Call myself a hero I most certainly do, my friend! But then again, shhhoooo does everyone else. Tishh... Tish a title I bear upon mine most humbled shoulders with great HONOR! And DIGNITY. Huzzah! These are things that are very important to me, as you can no doubt tell." He smiles, his pencil mustache looking fairly silly as he does so, one of his several oversized rings upon his hand flashing in the light of the well-lit tavern.

He continues with his wide smile, his drunken slurring somewhat beginning to fade. "There is always honor in a fight, my overshhiized companion. Whether it be with a woman like your friend, or one of the great and TERRIBLE beasts I've done battle with aaaaall my life. That being shaaid... If you truly want to fight instead of your companion, I abshholutely accept your challenge! I am no coward, I am the LEGENDARY RICK BRUTAL!" Rick looks Markin up and down before frowning. "...Though perhaps I may wisshh to rethink the stakes. No offense, but you don't sheem like the type of person to possess particularly pleasant lipshh, hahahah!" Rick laughs loudly as the four at the table beside him laugh with him. Rick seemed especially popular around here, which made sense. A man as bright and bombastic as the hero in yellow certainly comes as a welcome change from all the gloom and doom of the world the peasants dealt with here in Serinet on a daily basis.

Rick smiles before lightly nodding to Markin and speaking. "So, shall we begi-..."

---

At this moment, the curse of Makoto's ring takes effect, and the young tiefling woman begins to cry out, tears falling down her face. A commoner at a nearby table speaks out to her, a bit concerned with her crying. "'Ey? Wots wrong wit' 'er?" Rick noticed the crying as well, which is what interrupted his sentence. He looks around before his brows furrow in incredible confusion. After a second, he raises a hand to Markin, the universal sign to pause, before he quietly speaks to Mako. "Are... Are you alright? Why... are you leaking?" Rick was never particularly good at identifying with people that happened to be upset. "Perhaps we should just sit? I meant no troub-!" At that, Mako lunges towards him, quite evidently attempting to skewer the 'hero' right through with her katana.

Rick is narrowly missed, the gunslinger barely ducking his formidable gut away from the sharp blade, before he moves fifteen feet away, shouting out as he does so. "By the gods, what is wrong with you?! She's trying to kill me!" A commoner at the table by him panics and leaps out of the way, onto the table, spilling drinks everywhere and creating quite the scene. As soon as Rick backs away, he'll fire his double-barreled musket, Glittergold. At first he almost wants to shoot her fatally, but instead decides to simply take her out if he could. He blasts the loud weapon forward, and a burst of incredibly hot exhaust blasts forward from both barrels, which scald and burn at Mako's right hand, but for non-lethal. Rick throws his musket off to one of the women at the side and prepares to draw his rapier. "Someone call the guards!"

---

Meanwhile, Galder stands up from his chair and draws his greatsword, before squinting down at Mako. He speaks to Orthos a fair bit of confusion and concern in his voice, his eyes squinting as he thinks over what had just happened. "Orthos, something's wrong, she's... She's not doing that on purpose, something's controlling her!' He shouts now before continuing to stand, not wanting to get close to her and risk harming the innocent. "Witchcraft, witchcraft! Someone, bind her!" The Captain of the Guard does not act at the moment, however, unsure of what to do.

At the same time, the old man in white and light blue robes gets out of his lonely chair in the corner, his aged brown eyes glaring towards Mako He does not speak but moves forward through the inn, before silently casting a spell to himself, muttering something and clutching a holy symbol on his chest, his eyes never leaving Mako. The old man points a finger towards the young and inebriated tiefling before speaking quietly, his frail voice very weak. "Halt."

At his Command, Mako will find herself unable to take any action next turn.

The old man speaks once more, now that his spell succeeded. "Disarm and hold her, please."

---

http://i1051.photobucket.com/albums/s440/Singingnoodle/Sleeping%20Goblin%20Round%201_1.png

http://th05.deviantart.net/fs71/PRE/f/2013/077/f/b/priest_of_groetus_by_katemaxpaint-d5yga5s.jpg

[Vhaidara]

Markin stares in amazement for a second as the girl actually attempts to murder the man. Then something clicks in his mind. The song that had been sung by her sister. The reaction the girl had to it. The control now being exerted over her. His grip tightens on Hell's Reaper. He strides towards the door.
We need to stop the other girl. She did this. I don't know how, but I know that she did.
As he reaches the door, he turns to the tavern.
People of Bastion! A witch has come among us! She has claimed the mind of this poor girl, and seeks to use her as an instrument of murder! Join me in pursuing this vile creature, that we may end her with fire!

Diplomacy: [roll0]

[stack]

Matters clearly having gone out of hand, Orthos lumbers acrosss the room and attempt to disarm the suddenly halted woman as instructed. "I do not know what is going on, but it may be best if I hold onto this, miss." disarm [roll0],
using iron shell to block any AOO is she is capable of taking one [roll1]

[Mornings]

[ The Duskwalker ]

The blade smashed into the man's face. Splitting his skull from his jaw to the back of his head, blood sprayed upon her face. She felt nothing. It was not the man she had come for, but he interfered, the loud mouthed man crossed her path on the wrong day perhaps. His body shook disgustingly as it fell to the floor. She ripped her bladed fist from the stone wall. He was just a merchant who couldn't follow the rules, the rules set by the guild... and he payed now with his life trying to protect his investment. She turned slowly to her true target. The small child quivering in the corner. She glared down upon him with empty eyes. Making her approach, before bringing down the blade in the child's skull, splitting him down to his spine...

She opened her eyes... so many memories, washed away for so long. Now they all came flooding back to her. She kicked and beat the walls. She stood and grabbed the bag Mako had held on the ramparts, filled with half a dozen oil flasks. She grabbed two and poured them upon herself, drenching herself in the slick fluid. She clawed at her hair, kicking the boxes, shattering the glasses she held. Her wolves growled in protest sensing her fury. How many bodies had the beasts claimed for her. How many souls had they mauled

' Only one more.... Do you remember the day we first met? How the days became harder... what you did to me.... I'll do to you. You never got far, and now it's just you and I, this dark night, and your starless eyes yet remain.... We can loose ourselves, and paint these walls in pitchfork red. I'll take back the life you stole, yet this night won't tell me how.' She wept, as the familiar voice filled her heart and mind and she lit the one of the flasks Mako had prepared upon the ramparts. The crack of gunfire shook her to the core. What had she done. ' She doesn't deserve this... who deserves to live so cruelly as I? ...Who as I, deserves to know the light...' She thrashed about in a terrible dance, She lept back to the walk-way, with a whistle, her pack joined her. The shouts from inside unable to be ignored. A terrible madness, the madness both so old, and new, it flooded her. Who was she, she danced before the door, hearing.. listening to the chaos. Washed amid the memories of death, the terrible deeds all came back to her. She could see the past once more. Her hands shook, sliding the collapsed hammer from her back.... ' This hell you put me in, wasn't deep enough... and I return now. I will avenge my ghost with each breath I take. I claw from my death, and I shall take you home with me..."

Battle Dance: ROUND 6/7 - Frenzy
**********


Battle Dance: ROUND 5/7 - Frenzy

She held both of the flaming flask and hammer in hand standing before the door of the tavern. She could hear the clang of steel hit the floor. A sword, perhaps. The voice spoke within her mind once more... herself. ' ...And now you've run out of places to hide from me. That wherever you go, I will remember you. That while you breath, you will know, that living was the hardest part, and then one day...we'll be together, to fall apart like the seasons change the leaves in colors. Then I will be with you.'

The battle fury of old began to build.... this was the end. Her repentance.

She stood before Sir Aldon Cevich, holding the bloodied heads of that man, and his son. Their grotesque-horrified features forever frozen upon their faces in each hand. She looked upon him with such desperate admiration. The trails of dark congealing sanguine pools trailed across the chapel floors of their chapter's hall. The horrified faces of her kin were but an after-thought. He placed a hand upon her head. She had done well. They had ran, and hid well. Hiding within The Mason's bakery basement-ceiler. She had bled them. Made them confess, made them forsake the child and man protected within their walls, then murdered each of them.... the Mason's daughter, his wife, the man himself. All before finally taking her trophies....

All these terrible memories, accosted her mind. Repressed and recovered. What had she been, but a sword. A Tool. An Agent of such a dark organization. Tears streamed down her face, Father Nel had saved her from that. Makoto had saved her from that.... from this, the Cycle of Death. She would not understand, not yet. But she would. This was her penance now. She could hear the loud raucous shouting of that Knight from the otherside of the door... she smiled... fire... yes, fire. All purifying flame. The faces of hundreds of faces burned in her minds-eye. The bodies of the charred corpses she had disposed of. How many.... She pointed down at Sigurd to heel with her hammer, then she moved to the door pressing past the hounds, dropping the flask at her feet. The flames ignited the floor and ran up her cloths, wreathing her in flames. She stepped within the tavern, a walking pillar of burning flame. Raising her hands out wide to her sides, like some infernal scion.

She pointed out to Mako, the flames lapping at her face, catching into her oil-soaked bardic-cloak. She screamed out " THAT BY THIS, YOU'VE KNOWN BUT A FRAGMENT OF YOUR FOLLY!

THAT NOW KNOW'ITH YOU, WHAT MUST BE FORSAKEN, AS YOU HAVE FORSAKEN ME!

I RELEASE YOU FROM ALL CHARGES PLACED UPON YOU! AND ALL SHALL REMAIN RELEASED, UNTIL THE DAY, THE HOUR, YOU TAKE A LIFE! FROM SUCH A DAY, WILT THIS CURSE RETURN IN FULL, NEVER TO BE CEASED UNTIL, BY MY LIPS, BY MY WORD AND SONG, WITH FORGIVING AND WILLING HEART, AND BEFORE EVERY SOUL THAT STANDS 'ERE TO HEAR THESE WORDS, TO HEAR SUCH SONG, WILT SUCH A CURSE REMAIN!

TWENTY-TWO CHARGES UPON THEE HAVE BEEN PLACED!
TWENTY-TWO CHARGES FROM THEE I RELEASE.
...AND TWENTY-TWO SHALT RETURN BY THE HOUR YOU HAVE VIOLATED THIS COMMAND. LIVE AS YOU WOULD, OR FIND THE PEACE I'VE NEVER KNOWN. FIND THE SINS I SHALT NEVER FORGIVE NOR FORGET, OR FIND A LIFE THAT IS YOUR OWN! LIVE! AS I CANNOT. LIVE AS I NEVER SHALL, AND NEVER SPEAK'ITH AGAIN OF ME! "

She spun the anvil sized hammer extending it with a shower of sparks, taking a wide stance, and resting the end of the massive weapon upon the tavern floor, with the striking head facing herself in a wide stance. As if she moved to strike at her own body.

At the top of her lungs, with all her raging spirit, the dark abyssal words which with her wolf-like hounds had trained was screamed out from her lips, with a terrible frightful hiss;

" SILA MINA V'DRE !!! "

The wolfs behind her howled terribly and began stalking forward upon the flaming witch, as the flames sheathed her face. Her terrible screams echoed across the silenced tavern, like the resounding knell of a martyr's bell.

Fire Damage: 2 Points
**************************

Mayli Ar'tel - The Duskwalker
HP 15/17
AC 12

Initiative

Mayli - (1d20-2)[1]
Chauser - (1d20+2)[17]
Faust - (1d20+2)[3]
Sigurd - (1d20+2)[4]
Vigil - (1d20+2)[6]

[Vhaidara]

Markin steps back as the flaming woman reenters the tavern.
I see that you have done our work for us already, witch. Release the girl from her bonds, completely and unconditionally, and I shall make your end swift. You have repented. You need not suffer.

[Mornings]

Markin steps back as the flaming woman reenters the tavern.
I see that you have done our work for us already, witch. Release the girl from her bonds, completely and unconditionally, and I shall make your end swift. You have repented. You need not suffer.

Her tormented raucous laugh rang out across the tavern, like the very archetypical-witch that haunted the dreams of their children. Her skin slowly burning, but revealing no traces of blood, only slowly burning flesh, and patches of black inhuman smoldering inkor.

" ...Mercy? Recall my curse? I need not your misguided pity! But, very well, I will withdraw my song... and curse... and you shall by my witness, to bare silent vigil of my 'repentance'! So be silent and still, and behold the only penance worthy of the crimes I have borne! "

[Desril]

Makoto
HP 2/17
AC 14 (-1 due to drunkenness accounted for)

Mentally crying out in pain as Rick's shot scorches her flame-resistant hand, That's not enough! As long as I can still move--before she can finish that thought, the man in white's command reaches her, halting her attack and freezing her in place for Orthos to move in and send the Aria of Castigation sailing through the air. Flipping end over end, the blade effortlessly slices through a nearby bar-stool, recently vacated, and impales itself the floor. Yes!

Frozen in place and disarmed as she is, Makoto can't help but mentally sigh in relief, trusting that whatever happens now will at least keep everyone else safe. Even if they end me...at least I won't have killed anyone. But she doesn't have long to come to terms with her perceived impending doom as May reenters the tavern, coated in flames. Unable to move much thanks to the command, she can only barely see her immolated friend though she can hear clearly even as she silently cries out in pain and terror at May'li's fiery entry. As her new command takes effect, she can feel some semblance of control returning to her, but the command still prevents her from moving for a few seconds longer.

Still teary eyed, but now in anguish over her friend's fate rather than her own, she slowly starts to get control back over her body but still isn't able to speak. No! What are you doing May?! Someone stop her, please! As May and Markin carry out their brief discussion, the tiefling knows the meaning of the words that are being used, but can't bring herself to understand what's happening, unable to contemplate May'li's actions. Mercy? Repentance? What are they talking about? Someone save her, I still can't move!


Thanks to the MiW's Command I can't take any actions this round. Or, more accurately, until the MiW's turn begins. I can talk after that, luckily.

[Hattish Thing]

As chaos envelopes the tavern, individuals all over begin to stand up and form around Markin, hearing his cries of Witchcraft and mobbing together. There was strength in numbers, after all. Several of the men take out small daggers but most are unarmed, however that doesn't make them any less dangerous. Rick Brutal remains in the back, his eyes wide as he watches the terrible scene taking place near the door of the tavern, fear in his eyes. He'd never seen a real witch, and seeing one up close, flaming and burning, cackling madly, frightened the 'hero'.

Galder acts much faster, speaking to Orthos quietly as he moves to grab ahold of Makoto. "Keep that away from her, alright? I don't think she's freed yet." He looks forward towards Mayli with a look of sorrow on his face. He had been manipulated, and betrayed by someone he thought would be a new friend, and now he'd brought a witch into the city. At least no one had been too hurt yet, but he'd probably lose his position for the mistake. He shakes the unfortunate thought out of his head, deciding to focus on the task at hand, grapping Mako's shoulders and clutching her.

While this occurs, Thackery steps forward, his robes resting upon the dingy tavern floor. He stares towards the witch, stepping right in front of her and curling a lip up in disgust. However, although his voice quivers in distrust, he seems somewhat unemotional, speaking quite straightforwardly, his words a command, not a question. "Witch, you will drop your weapon now, and banish your flames. Then you will surrender, and be apprehended by the guard. Obey what I say, or you will be punished." As he speaks, his holy symbol begins to glow, and the Inquisitor prepares a spell, however it doesn't go off.

http://i1051.photobucket.com/albums/s440/Singingnoodle/Sleeping%20Goblin%20Round%201_2.png

[Desril]

Makoto

Finally able to control her body again, Makoto cries out loud for the first time since this terrible incident began. Hysterically, she shouts out as she struggles to escape Galder's grasp and move toward the flaming May'li. "No, let me go! I'm in control again, I have to help her!"

Given everything that's happened in the last 30 seconds, however, she's in no condition to behave calmly and rationally. Though she struggles, it's in vain, the guard captain maintaining a vice-grip on her that keeps the tiefling from doing anything more than shift a little to get a better view of her friend's doom. Between unchecked tears and the emotional trauma of the situation, Mako is barely understandable as she shouts to her friend. "May'li! What are you doing?! Stop this, this is insane!"

Escape Artist (1d20+7)[9]

[Mornings]

The flaming-witch, bit her lip and spat a glob of black inkor at the man in white's feet, to hiss upon the floor, like acid. A freezing permafrost where the liquid had landed made the wooden board creak and crack.

She sung out her words, still caught in her frenzied screaming song;
" ARE YOU DEAF OLD MAN! OR DID YOU NOT HEAR MY TERMS WITH YOUR BLACKENED KNIGHT!? DO YOU THINK I RETURNED HERE TO SURRENDER TO YOU? " She pointed to Markin, " I will release her as I have spoken, and upon such I will accept your offer of 'mercy'. You will see that I not leave these walls while I yet live..." She pointed to Mako now, " Or if you've not the gall to honor your own word! A single curse shall stand in it's place! ...BY MY WORD AND COMMAND, SHOULD THIS MAN FAIL, YOU WILL KILL ME MAKOTO YUKI! " She screamed out the words across the tavern issuing another curse, un-trusting of the man's resolve, or stomach for action. She'd find her revenge, her penance. Her assurance. She pointed to the mob gathered by the black knight's words. " ...AND TO EACH OF YOU, KNOW WELL! IF I LIVE TO SEE THIS NIGHT'S END, EACH OF YOU SHALL BE CURSED IN THE SAME. YOU SHALL CUT OUT YOUR OWN THROATS, TO RISE ONCE AGAIN, AND FEAST UPON THINE OWN CHILDREN! MY RAGE AND CONDEMNATION IS BOUNDLESS! THE DARKNESS MY OWN BRING, ENDLESS! I OFFER YOU THIS ONE CHANCE! STRIKE ME DOWN, OR WATCH YOUR CITY BURN! AS FATHER'S DEVOUR BROTHERS, AND MOTHER'S THEIR SONS! " Her words were deathly and horrific, she stood dreadful and aflame. Pointing the massive 7 ft hammer at them. Her blood was black and cursed, and simply the strength to hold such a terrible weapon.... It was all like a dream. Like the stories, the common-folk spoke to their children. Bedtime stories to scare the little-ones. But, this was no story... this was no dream. The scent of burning flesh and the caustic stench of the black inkor in her veins burned at the eyes, and shook the spirit as she screamed out at them.
***********************************

A howling growl erupted from behind her with those words, as one of the large wolves that seemed to always follow the witch lept into the tavern. With gnashing fangs and mauling claws, it attacked it's own master. The command she spoke previously finally becoming evident.

(The Wolf - Chauser) - ATTACK

Attack - (1d20+4)[18] Vs 12 AC
Threat - (1d20+4)[16]
Damage - (1d6+3)[7]
Critical - (2d6+6)[16]
Trip - (1d20+4)[15] Vs 12 CMD

[Hattish Thing]

The man in white narrows his brow and speaks to her, his cold eyes flickering as he releases his spell. "What you have returned here for is irrelevant, as are your intention, witch. You require correction, your are ill. Do not make this harder on yourself than it needs to be." As he finishes speaking, his spell activates, and Mayli will find herself frozen in place, white light covering her body before sinking painlessly into her flesh, the feeling of pins and needles beginning to creep all over her body. The man glares down at her now from above, looming above her due to his rather tall stature. He speaks out towards two guards, which were seated nearby, who come rushing at the Inquisitor's command. "Subdue her animals, leave her alive. She is of no use to the state while dead." The two guards nod affirmatively and reply zealously before drawing their weapons and moving close to Chauser, the one wolf in the tavern at the moment. His eyes follow the bit of black ichor that she spits forth, and the man notices the curious nature of the blood.

A small frown forms on the man in white's face, and he speaks to May once more. "It is a shame that you have scalded yourself so thoroughly. Such a waste." Thackery, for that was the man's names, calls back towards Orthos and speaks to him. "You, stranger. Kindly assist an old man and pull this would-be witch out of the flames, would you? You look armored enough. I will patch your wounds afterwards." Thackery looks like he's about to speak once more, but the sudden sound of gunfire interrupts him.

---

From across the room, Rick Brutal has fired his musket. The hero was more than a little bit unnerved by the witch, and so with a shaky grip on the gold-plated weapon, he blasted the firearm. The bullets fly through the air, blasting through a chair and causing wood bits to splinter out all over the place. One bullet lodges itself into a table and misses completely, but the other flies true, punching it's way into Mayli's chest with incredible force, getting stuck into her. The two guards that were swinging at Chauser miss entirely due to the sound, somewhat distracted by the loud noise.

Thackery shouts out as the bullet hits. "You idiot! What are you doing?!"

[Vhaidara]

Markin's face is set as stone. As the burning witch falls to the ground, he raises Hell's Reaper. The blade, still bloody from the merchant's execution less than an hour before, gleams dark red in the light of the blazing Mayli.
Let it be done then, witch. Burn in the everlasting hellfire of your damnation!
The blade falls.

Swift Action: Initiate Strength of Hell

Full Round Action:Coup de Grace
Damage: [roll0]+[roll1]

[Mornings]

[ The Duskwalker ]

Just as she screamed her words, and spit at the man's feat, her hound leaping upon her, mauling her brutally upon the ground knocking her to the floor. The Inquisitor unleashed his spell in reply. His magic held her body fast, the flames spun, danced, and burned the hound. The roaring blaze now could be heard outside, as the front of the tavern was a raging inferno. The yelps of her burning hounds could be heard from the other-side of the door. The guards moved upon the hound, swinging feebly as the wolf-like hound growled and dodged the blows. ' Let it all burn.... burn away all the dark.. the pain... the light..'

The panicked cries could be heard through out the tavern, her damning words striking fear into the common folk. The roar of gunfire, a shower of wooden splinters, and the crack as a round penetrated her back. She couldn't feel anymore. The blaze burned away all the pain. The numbness of death. A small spray of blacked inkor from the wood hissed out. The impact jostled her body. Finally she heard the Dark Knight step forward. Perhaps he wasn't such a worthless cur after all. With all her will, she managed a smile.


Let it be done then, witch. Burn in the everlasting hellfire of your damnation!

Her lips quietly, soundlessly moved. The slow droning strum of the music filled her consciousness.

' I collect the light from the stars...
...When I close my crippled fingers.
...And when I draft my emaciated back.
Confined in my gazebo of crystal.

It only shines for you...

Come by, my father. Look!
...Come and see my fall!
For I collected all the light!
...See my fall, for I've gathered all the stars.

...I tear off my skin,
and bow to thee humbly.

...Take my tongue.
...So you may always hear my worries.

...Take my ears.
...So I may hear your solace.

For I've gathered all the light.
...with these crippled fingers. '


The blade came down. Then, nothing.

[Desril]

Makoto
HP 2/17

Finally in control again, Makoto wanted to cry out, to tell everyone that May'li was lying and that she couldn't do any of what she was threatening, but her mouth wouldn't open whenever she tried. In her inebriated state it took her a moment but then she remembered, just before, NEVER SPEAK'ITH AGAIN OF ME!.

As she figured it out, however, the blade fell. "NO!"

Struggling with renewed strength she finally slipped out of Galder's grasp and ran across the room to May's body. It was too late do anything for her, her head was already rolling and blood spurted from the opening in her neck, but still Makoto reached through the flames to grab May's body. Why? Why did you do any of this?! Drunk and unable to process, the tiefling couldn't do anything but weep over her friend's headless body, ignoring the flames leaping at her.


Escape Artist Nat 20 for 27 in the OOC

Mako's going to be ignoring everyone else until someone tries to touch her.

Fire damage [roll0]

[Hattish Thing]

Thackery glares back towards Rick Brutal with no small amount of frustration in his eyes, before turning towards Mayli's body just to see Markin behead her. With a sigh of resignation and a scowl now on his face, the old man walks towards the body, his hands curled up into fists. He'll bark an order out to the pair of guards nearby, annoyance clear in his face. At this moment, Makoto runs forward, escaping Galder's grasp and moving towards her fallen friend. Thackery glares at the guards once more, including Galder this time. "What are you doing, remove the civilian, forcefully if you must." The Inquisitor speaks loudly towards everyone in the tavern now, including Markin. "This is now official Bastion business, leave the area now, unless you're with the guard." The two guards rush forward to Mako and swing their swords.

However, as the move closer, the sheer sight of all the black blood pouring out everywhere, mixed with the terrible smell of burning flesh distracts the guards, and although they were attempting to simply bash Mako with their hilts, the pair don't even get close, missing wildly and backing away, fear in their eyes. Thackery snarls out at them and draws his heavy mace, moving forward to Makoto with anger in his eyes. "Dammit you. The civilian with the halberd's more competent then you two. Must I do everything myself!" He walks forward and brings the grip of the heavy mace up before slamming it down onto the top of Mako's skull, knocking the young woman out. From there, he'll gently push her away from the fire and onto the dingy tavern floor with his boot, and shout back to Galder. "You! Guard Captain, come do your job. Manacle the woman and put out the flames."

The Inquisitor turns to Markin and Orthos before speaking to them, sheathing his mace now that the job was done. "You two would do well to come with me. The living one will be taken to the prison for questioning. I would appreciate it greatly if you two came as well. We'll need to get to the bottom of this, and with what happened I cannot simply let you free yet. I apologize for the inconvenience." Galder rushes forward now before removing his cloak and slowly creeping down to smother the body, the flames quickly being put out. Mayli is now covered in the blanket, and the two guards will be instructed to pick her up. The head and the body are now carried by them. Thackery speaks. "Take... that to the asylum. Leave it with Mr. Penceworth, he'll make sure the corpse is destroyed." The two guards begin to make their way, and leave the tavern.

---

Thackery speaks to Galder, Markin, and Orthos once more. "Move ahead of me, gentlemen. We're heading to the prison. Kindly refrain from drawing weapons, you are not under arrest." Galder picks up Mako and begins to silently walk forward.

---

They'll reach the prison next turn.

[stack]

Orthos shakes his head and complies, slinging his shield on his back. "I will answer whatever questions you have, but if you expect me to make sense out of all that i fear you will be disappointed. I saw the whole thing and I have no clue what it all was."

[Vhaidara]

Markin returns Hell's Reaper to his back.
Very well. Though I recommend that the witch's corpse be burned. These are the Witching Weeks, after all.

[Hattish Thing]

Bastion County Prison:

The long walk to the prison is quiet, for Thackery doesn't bother speaking, and Galder's too preoccupied with worrying about the chances he'll be allowed to keep his job after all this. After about five minutes of walking through the cobblestone streets of Bastion, with nothing but a few nearby torches and the light of the pale moon above them to keep their path visible in the night, the sight of a large building built a little ways away from the many homes sprawling all over Bastion makes itself apparent. It's an absolutely massive building, but seems to be used for several different things. There's three sides of it, suggesting that each large section of building is used for a different thing.

As they come close, the suggestions prove true, a sign nailed to a nearby tree pointing towards various sections of the facility. To the left, the prison, looking fairly expansive but not quite full. All the criminals in Bastion are eventually taken to this place, and while the prison might be nicer than some of the less well-made holding cells of the world, it looks quite intimidating up close, with the moon shining down upon it. To the right, the Bastion Home for the Mentally Unsound is located, while rooms and housing for the large staff are built into the middle of the area. It's quite the proud looking establishment, and quite close to the tavern, which explains why Thackery was there at the time of the incident.

http://zillionarts.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/LAst_Leg_Prison_by_matellis.jpg

The group is led into the prison, several guards at the doors inside nodding silently to Thackery before accompanying the entourage of civilians walking around the Inquisitor they recognized so easily. Once inside, the group will be led to what looks like a seating area, with two large steel, chained, and bolted doors leading forward into the actual prison, surrounded by several men in full plate. There's a desk here in a side room, and as the door leading into it remains open, the group can notice a woman standing behind iit, filling out papers. Once here, the old man that guided the group here speaks. "Welcome to Bastion County Prison, civilians. Would you mind telling me your names? As you follow please, we don't have all day." He waves Galder forward, and the Guard Captain moves to the woman in the side room and states his business.

The woman smiles and waves over to the group of prison guards around the door, who set to work on unbolting it. Soon, the heavy looking door is lifted and the group will be allowed to move forward through a vast hallway. After a few minutes of silent walking through the windowless halls led by Thackery, the group comes to an area with several rooms built into it. On each door, there's a sign that reads, "Questioning", making the purpose of this area quite obvious. "Captain, bind the prisoner and set her to the chair. Kindly refrain from failing this simplest of tasks. I've enough paperwork to deal with now already thanks to the incompetence of you and your men." Several prison guards can be seen here, sitting behind a few desks around the area, obviously as well armed as the others seen earlier.

Galder simply nods quietly, looking quite unhappy before leading Makoto into one of the Questioning rooms. Thackery follows, leading the others within. "Close the door behind you, please." The small room is quite cold, and featureless, with nothing but a few mostly empty shelves and a few chairs lining the right wall. Prison bars are located in the middle of the room, with a small door into them. Within this enclosed area, a metal chair rests fixed into the ground. Makoto will be placed onto it gently by Galder, before being strapped into it. Thackery speaks to Markin and Orthos once more. "Regularly, I don't deal with this sort of thing, but the Warden is currently away at Lord Markly's estate. Some celebration I wasn't invited to." He moves to the other side of the room before pulling some thick leather gloves off the wall, along with a small box that rested on a shelf. He grabs both of these things and puts on the gloves, before pulling out a small key from beside the box and moving to enter the cell.

Thackery sends Galder out to wait with the others before addressing Markin specifically. "There are chairs there for your comfort. You are allowed to watch, but do not interfere, unless commanded as such. I do not suspect either of you of foul play, you were the one to finally end her, as it were, although I would have preferred her alive..." He moves towards Makoto before placing a hand on her forehead and whispering something. Makoto will find herself stirred awake, strapped and bound to the chair at her wrists, arms, throat, and ankles. It's quite thorough, and the seat is uncomfortable.

The Inquisitor speaks as soon as she stirs a tad. "Are you awake?"

[Desril]

Makoto
HP 13/17

Suddenly opening her eyes, sense and feeling returned to her, Mako glances side to side rapidly in a combination of fear and quick-thinking plotting to escape her captors before she recalls what happened just before she blacked out. With downcast eyes, she slumps down, at least in so much as her bindings will allow her, realizing that it's already too late to do anything to save her friend from whatever madness took hold of her.

Belatedly, she croaks out a simple, "Yes," to answer the inquisitor's question as she prays. Though Mako reveres The Eternal Rose most of all, she directs a short, silent prayer to The Dawnflower, wanting to tell the goddess her desire before she suffered whatever fate was about to befall her. I do not know what came over May'li, but please, I beg you, take her spirit in and let it heal from all the pain she must be in.

[stack]

Orthos takes the offered seat, more from sense of responsibility for witnessing the proceedings than from any desire to do so, sitting quietly and praying silently.

[Vhaidara]

Markin nods silently, taking the seat next to Orthos. He pulls Hell's Reaper from his back, and a cloth from his bag. He begins cleaning the blade.

[Hattish Thing]

Makoto
HP 13/17

Suddenly opening her eyes, sense and feeling returned to her, Mako glances side to side rapidly in a combination of fear and quick-thinking plotting to escape her captors before she recalls what happened just before she blacked out. With downcast eyes, she slumps down, at least in so much as her bindings will allow her, realizing that it's already too late to do anything to save her friend from whatever madness took hold of her.

Belatedly, she croaks out a simple, "Yes," to answer the inquisitor's question as she prays. Though Mako reveres The Eternal Rose most of all, she directs a short, silent prayer to The Dawnflower, wanting to tell the goddess her desire before she suffered whatever fate was about to befall her. I do not know what came over May'li, but please, I beg you, take her spirit in and let it heal from all the pain she must be in.

Though the uncomfortable chair binds her, Mako will be able to look this way and that, as she can still turn her head somewhat, despite the metal keeping her bound and manacled. Thackery moves forward to her, before unlocking the small box by her and opening it. Inside, there's a plethora of torturer's tools, all looking sharp but somewhat rusty. The instruments were truly terrible, but the Inquisitor did not seem particularly fond of them either, judging by the look of moderate disgust on his face. He quietly shakes his head before setting the tools on a nearby table.

He speaks to his prisoner, his tone a tad friendlier than most. "Many would not be shown the mercy I show you here, witch-friend. For many, your visit here would be a particularly bloody one, full of shouting and begging. I prefer to simply talk, however. Regardless, this does not mean I trust you, understand that if you will."

Thackery takes out a small headband before gently setting it onto her head, a small and ruddy looking stone built into it. "Now, to make this as easy as possible on us both, I want you to tell me who that woman was, why you were with her, and why she attacked everyone in the tavern there. And why you attacked someone as well."

"And don't bother lying, the circlet will know."

[Desril]

Makoto

Ignoring the implements of torture, either too depressed to care or simply unable to process that they might be used on her, Mako locks eyes with Thackery, the sorrow clearly visible on her face when he asks his question.

Thinking about his questions, she wonders how best to answer him before deciding that keeping this short and simple was the easiest. "I cannot tell you." Before he asks the obvious question or makes any pointless threats however, she continues, "But I think I may be able to write what you want to know down."

[Hattish Thing]

Makoto

Ignoring the implements of torture, either too depressed to care or simply unable to process that they might be used on her, Mako locks eyes with Thackery, the sorrow clearly visible on her face when he asks his question.

Thinking about his questions, she wonders how best to answer him before deciding that keeping this short and simple was the easiest. "I cannot tell you." Before he asks the obvious question or makes any pointless threats however, she continues, "But I think I may be able to write what you want to know down."

The Inquisitor curls his fits up tensely as she denies him what he seeks. He was hoping that the young woman would spare him the gory task of forcing her to talk. The old man wasn't quite as fond of blood as most believed him to be, and he certainly preferred working in silence. Her screaming would no doubt give him a headache for an awfully long time, unfortunately.

Luckily for all involved, Makoto continues to speak before Thackery can respond. Eventually, the man raises an eyebrow in suspicion before clasping his hands together. "...Alright." With a wave of his hand, the tall man sends Galder out to the desk to fetch some parchment and ink, and within a small amount of time the paper has arrived.

He'll speak to Makoto and warn her before unlocking the bindings at her wrists, allowing her motion from the elbow down. "I give you this chance, but do not break my trust."

Thackery hands her the paper.

[Desril]

Makoto

Stretching her wrist out a little, Mako sighs and does her best to explain aloud the parts that she doesn't need to write. "Her name was May'li Ar'tel," "Oh, good, I can still write it." "I was with her because she was my best friend," she writes honestly. "We had been traveling together for years, and she had never snapped like that before."

She pauses, trying to think of what to say. "I do not know what happened to her. She did not want to be stuck in this city and was upset when the gates were shut, but I never imagined she would act like that," Mako writes, choking back tears. "I don't know why she did what she did...but I had no choice." She switches to speaking aloud, "I was cursed a long time ago. There is a ring, I have to do whatever its holder says." "She had the ring, I trusted her with it as she saved my life the day I was cursed. She had never done anything like this before though, I do not know what possessed her to act like that tonight. You remember what she said last, I assume?"

[Hattish Thing]

Makoto

Stretching her wrist out a little, Mako sighs and does her best to explain aloud the parts that she doesn't need to write. "Her name was May'li Ar'tel," "Oh, good, I can still write it." "I was with her because she was my best friend," she writes honestly. "We had been traveling together for years, and she had never snapped like that before."

She pauses, trying to think of what to say. "I do not know what happened to her. She did not want to be stuck in this city and was upset when the gates were shut, but I never imagined she would act like that," Mako writes, choking back tears. "I don't know why she did what she did...but I had no choice." She switches to speaking aloud, "I was cursed a long time ago. There is a ring, I have to do whatever its holder says." "She had the ring, I trusted her with it as she saved my life the day I was cursed. She had never done anything like this before though, I do not know what possessed her to act like that tonight. You remember what she said last, I assume?"

Thackery groans deeply as he reads the paper. However, seeing as the headband had not gone off, he believes her. "I am inclined to believe you, young woman. However, know that your friend's insanity almost resulted in the death of many innocents, and has already resulted in plenty of damage being done to the inn there. You are lucky I was there at the time, or else who knows what would have happened."

He continues before clasping his hands together. "I do not know either. Perhaps we shall never know then. This magical ring you speak of is no doubt destroyed by now, the fires having melted it to slag. The bodies are incinerated as soon as they arrive here to prevent contamination. Within a few hours time, you will find that the effects of your curse have faded completely. I consider myself an expert in these sort of things. You're free to go, however I would like you to ingest this before you leave, just in case the effects do not leave as fast as they should." He'll take out a small green elixir from the case and hand it to her. "This will stem the effect of the curse, for a time."

"Drink, then go. Take your friends as well."

[Desril]

Makoto

Frowning, the tiefling tries to shake her head, or tries to anyway, as the clasps still prevent her from moving much. "The curse is not upon the ring, it is on me. Even if it was as simple as destroying it, and I do not believe it is, the effect would be immeditate, wouldn't it? So if the fires really did destroy the ring, I would be able to say," she pauses, stopping mid sentence as she mentally fills in the name of her crazed, deceased friend.

"The fact that I can not means that either the ring is not as destroyed as you claim, in which case, it is mine, and I want it returned," she says simply before speaking with barely concealed fear. "Or, it is gone and the curse remains, and now I do not know who or what can order me about or free me from that last command!"

[stack]

Curses and betrayal, a dark tale indeed. Still, it explains nothing of why the girl went mad in the tavern. I hope I was called here for more than to witness this bizarre occurrence.

[Hattish Thing]

Makoto

Frowning, the tiefling tries to shake her head, or tries to anyway, as the clasps still prevent her from moving much. "The curse is not upon the ring, it is on me. Even if it was as simple as destroying it, and I do not believe it is, the effect would be immeditate, wouldn't it? So if the fires really did destroy the ring, I would be able to say," she pauses, stopping mid sentence as she mentally fills in the name of her crazed, deceased friend.

"The fact that I can not means that either the ring is not as destroyed as you claim, in which case, it is mine, and I want it returned," she says simply before speaking with barely concealed fear. "Or, it is gone and the curse remains, and now I do not know who or what can order me about or free me from that last command!"

Thackery raises an eyebrow at her and speaks, a tad annoyed that she was speaking back to him. The Inquisitor leans in front of her, resting his hands upon the table and looking her in the eye. "False. The ring, when used, forced you to do whatever was commanded. You yourself are not cursed, the ring controlled you. I know a good deal more about these things than you do, young woman." He seems somewhat offended by what she said, but he'll stand up straight once more and shrug, turning his back to her.

"Trust me in my wisdom. It will wear off in time, and this potion will stifle the effects until it's been completely worn off. Trust me, you will be fine. If not, well, your companions here will bring you back to me and we will continue working upon removing the curse." Finally, he looks over her again, his studied eyes glances over her features.

"Your father, what race? Your mother, what race?"

[Desril]

Makoto

Scowling somewhat as Thackery claims to know her own situation better than her, she shakes her head. "Were you there? Did you hear the curse put on me years ago? If so, why did you sit by and do nothing?"

Glancing at the potion she frowns and continues speaking in an exhausted tone without looking back at Thackery, "If you are wrong, then I will be a monster trying to kill countless people."

She sighs, "I do not see why it matters, but...my father was human, and my mother was elven." Not ashamed of her heritage and not seeing any point in pretending she isn't what she is, she wiggles her tail free from behind her, "Though I'm not sure which one of them this came from."

Still staring at the potion, having become much more wary thanks to the events of the past hour, she wants to know what it is that he thinks he knows so well and quickly casts a simple cantrip.


Detect Magic, Spellcraft [roll0]

[Hattish Thing]

Makoto

Scowling somewhat as Thackery claims to know her own situation better than her, she shakes her head. "Were you there? Did you hear the curse put on me years ago? If so, why did you sit by and do nothing?"

Glancing at the potion she frowns and continues speaking in an exhausted tone without looking back at Thackery, "If you are wrong, then I will be a monster trying to kill countless people."

She sighs, "I do not see why it matters, but...my father was human, and my mother was elven." Not ashamed of her heritage and not seeing any point in pretending she isn't what she is, she wiggles her tail free from behind her, "Though I'm not sure which one of them this came from."

Still staring at the potion, having become much more wary thanks to the events of the past hour, she wants to know what it is that he thinks he knows so well and quickly casts a simple cantrip.


Detect Magic, Spellcraft [roll0]

The old man glares towards her and speaks, sounding quite annoyed with her backtalk. "I don't need to have been there to recognize a basic curse. I've studied curses and hexes for many years." He'll look over her again before rolling his eyes and beginning to put several tools away. He doesn't bother to remove the magical headband yet, however.

He'll continue. "I won't be wrong, I rarely am. It would be best for you, your friends, and for the people of Bastion if you simply did what I asked." Thackery gestures towards her chair and continues talking to her. "Are you so certain of your parent's heritage, youmg one? You are what most call a tiefling. Half-Demon, usually. Or Devil."

"Might want to look into discovering more about your past."

Thackery will continue, a bored look on his face. "Now drink the potion, and when you're done with that, you will be let go. Now that your ring has been destroyed, the magic will slowly begin to fade from you."

---

The potion is magical, but it's difficult to tell what kind.

[Desril]

Makoto

Frowning, Makoto looks irritated at Thackery. Normally she's quite trusting, but between everything that happened and his know-it-all attitude conflicting with her stubborn nature, she's just unable to take the inquisitor at his word. Everything he says makes her doubt him more and more, though out of perceived incompetence rather than intentional deception. "Yes, I am sure who my parents were. If you were as studied as you imply, you would know that fiendish blood can lay dormant for generations before it manifests."

Somewhat surprised at her own snark, it doesn't stop her from continuing, an idea forming in her mind. "If you want to put my mind at ease, then...prove that you are right. This headband you have on me, it detects lies, does it not? Wear it, and answer three of my questions, if you do, I will do as you ask."

[stack]

Orthos leans forward, intrigued by the conversation, remaining silent to not interrupt.

[Hattish Thing]

Makoto

Frowning, Makoto looks irritated at Thackery. Normally she's quite trusting, but between everything that happened and his know-it-all attitude conflicting with her stubborn nature, she's just unable to take the inquisitor at his word. Everything he says makes her doubt him more and more, though out of perceived incompetence rather than intentional deception. "Yes, I am sure who my parents were. If you were as studied as you imply, you would know that fiendish blood can lay dormant for generations before it manifests."

Somewhat surprised at her own snark, it doesn't stop her from continuing, an idea forming in her mind. "If you want to put my mind at ease, then...prove that you are right. This headband you have on me, it detects lies, does it not? Wear it, and answer three of my questions, if you do, I will do as you ask."

The Inquisitor begins to slowly put away the tools, and the gloves, and pays her very little attention for a bit as she speaks. When she finishes speaking, he'll reply to her, annoyance quite evident in his voice now. He was not used to being questioned so rudely by someone even with the authority to do so, let alone a prisoner of his. At first he'll just nod before scratching at his rather long nose. "That," He'll frown. "Is a subject of much debate, young lady. And with a devil, or a demon, it's oftentimes difficult to tell if the parent is truly who they seem to be. There are creatures, such as succubi, capable of such a thing, doing so in order to breed some sort of creature that may one day serve the same demon lords it does. Tell me, which god do you serve? Regardless, sometimes the deception can go on for years... And you turned up different, which implies that there may have been some sort of secret one of your parents was hiding from you. You may never truly know." Thackery sighs.

"Not that it truly matters with me. Others may find your nature threatening, or frightening, however. I've learned over the years to look past things like that, little differences in skin type, or color, or how one is shaped. I find all life quite interesting to document, and explore, and learn more about. People are my passion. Just not usually when alive..."

He seems almost dreamy there for a second, thinking about something or other, before his usual monotone drone creeps in on his voice once more. "The headband does, yes. It's how I know whether or not I am being told the truth. So far you've said nothing to trigger the magic, so I can only assume you are, for the most part, innocent." He'll scoff at her before simply placing the potion on the small table by the chair. "Ohh, well, you'll find you'll do as I ask no matter what, young lady. You're a prisoner of the state, after all, and under Lord Markly's decree you are to do as I say, or be forced to do so through whatever means I find necessary. Of course, I find all that violence quite unpleasant, so don't expect something like that from me. I've had enough excitement for today."

Thackery shakes his head. "It is not your place to be telling me what to do, for what kind of civil servant would I be if I listened to the demands of the prisoners I take in? Not much of one at all, I can tell you. Nor is it your place to be so disrespectful. When I was younger, waggling a tongue like that to the man that was once in my position was a dangerous thing. Perhaps I am too easy on you." The Inquisitor shrugs before pulling the key from his pocket and leaving the small jail chamber, closing the metal bar door behind him. He'll speak to the two seated in the room now, and set the key on the shelf. "When your companion feels like being a good girl and decides to drink her medicine, you may unlock her bindings. Place the key back upon the shelf when you are done, thank you. You will be escorted out by Galder and some of the Jailors."

"Behave yourselves."

With that, he'll leave the room, making his way out.

[stack]

Orthos gives a nod, not inclined to test the man's strength, not that he thought having her drink the cure was unwise anyhow. Once the inquisitor departed he looks to the warrior sitting beside him. "I am inclined to follow his wishes in this matter. Are you?"

[Vhaidara]

Markin nods.
Thackery is a good man. A bit overzealous in his research, at times. And not much of a warrior. But he does what he believes is best for the city.
He rises, turning back to Mako.
Young woman, I understand this has been a very hard day for you. But the sooner you agree to drink the potion, the sooner we can get you out of here. I think you need a good night's rest.
His tone is friendly, and a sad smile adorns his face.

[Desril]

Makoto

Frowning at Markin, not trusting him either, after the incident at the gates, Mako slowly takes the potion and stares at it. "He is wrong, you know. Even if he destroyed the ring, it will not help me. It will just mean that I will go mad if I step on an ant," she says in a depressed tone, wishing that they'd never come to this gods forsaken city, even briefly wondering if she'd have been better off being subjected to the fate that initially awaited her when she was cursed than the one May'li set for her.

Sighing, not seeing any possible choice in the matter, she takes a sip of the potion, trying to discern what it does by taste and only drinking it if she can't confirm it isn't safe.


Perception to identify the potion [roll0]

If she identifies it and it's not dangerous she drinks it, if she fails to identify it, she drinks it.

[stack]

"Well, then find an ant and find out. We'll stand behind you and stop you if you do. Sound fair? We can even tie you up first, if you'll feel better."

[Hattish Thing]

Makoto

Frowning at Markin, not trusting him either, after the incident at the gates, Mako slowly takes the potion and stares at it. "He is wrong, you know. Even if he destroyed the ring, it will not help me. It will just mean that I will go mad if I step on an ant," she says in a depressed tone, wishing that they'd never come to this gods forsaken city, even briefly wondering if she'd have been better off being subjected to the fate that initially awaited her when she was cursed than the one May'li set for her.

Sighing, not seeing any possible choice in the matter, she takes a sip of the potion, trying to discern what it does by taste and only drinking it if she can't confirm it isn't safe.


Perception to identify the potion [roll0]

If she identifies it and it's not dangerous she drinks it, if she fails to identify it, she drinks it.

The potion seems fairly legitimate, the somewhat greenish fluid tasting sickly sweet, and as she looks to the bottom of the clear glass, she'll be able to see that a bit of white material has collected at the bottom. Perhaps those were simply parts of what went into the potion? It seems quite harmless, although the smell is honestly quite overpowering after a bit. After a bit of time glaring at the potion, Mako decides it may be best to just down it as fast as possible to just get it all over with. With a quick swig, the small vial is downed, and the effects of the curse will be temporarily banished.

(The potion will fade in an hour or so, but by then other measures will have been taken to stop the curse.)

---

Galder will begin to lead the group out of the prison quietly, a great deal less bright and cheery than before. However, he does speak to Mako as soon as they leave the tall building, a bit of concern in his voice. "I'd trust Thackery, if I were you, ya know. Still... I guess you've got yer own reasons for being suspicious and like, after what happened."

"You know, back at the inn... I mentioned a guy who's known to be somewhat of an expert when it comes to black magic, curses and such. I'm sure he could help you out and make sure you're completely cured. I can vouch for 'im meself, as I was saying to Markin."

"His name's Felran."

[Desril]

Makoto

Not trusting the liquid, even as she drinks it, the tiefling frowns at the vial once more, wishing herself to wake from the nightmare even while accepting the grim reality of the situation she's found herself in. But when Galder speaks up, Makoto looks at him with the faintest trace of hope in her eyes. "That is better than just sitting here doing nothing," she says, her voice still depressed and monotone. "Where can I find him?"

[Vhaidara]

Markin's eyes shoot up as Galder mentions Falder
I thought you said he left the walls? There is no way we could reach him before problems arose, especially during the Witching Weeks.

[stack]

"Indeed, I am not eager to cross the authorities by venturing outside the walls against the law and attracting the attention of the zombies. Fighting them was not an experience I am eager to repeat. However, if it is the only way to help her...I do not know."

[Hattish Thing]

The Gray Ghoul Inn:

The week had been a long one, of both mourning and sorrow. The skies hadn't changed from the angry gray and black that it had been ever since walking into the land, and the non-stop rain did little to liven up the sorry spirits of the many individuals cooped up within the steel and stone walls of Bastion, and already the long arms of man-made metal and rock began to feel claustrophobic, trapping the people inside instead of protecting. Still, it was better than the alternative, being kept in here with nothing at all to keep you safe from the wicked things out there that went bump in the night. The people of the city wandered here and there, working and going about their regular lives, but there was still a sadness in the air, an ever-present weight on the shoulder of every man, woman, and child that lived within the great city. These people were weathered, sure, but also worn.

Years of living in fear each time the Witching Weeks came around has had an effect on the native folk here, and the foreigners were beginning to feel it as well. They had to get out, soon too.

---

Today was the day though! Galder had arranged for two people to come and meet the surviving members of the original journey to the Cathedral of Edges, across the marshes, and they were to all meet here, at the Gray Ghoul Inn. It was a small one, fairly empty, for it was the middle of the work day as well. Here, all sit around a dingy table waiting for their contact to arrive, one "Barbary Pleasant", a man who apparently knew one of the only ways to enter the Cathedral without requiring a key lost long ago. The newest introduction, a young boy, sits nearby, waiting as well.

Waiting.

Waiting...

[Vhaidara]

Markin Abrang, the Strength of Hell

Markin stares at the boy.
Do I know you? You've likely grown since last I wa in town.

[stack]

Even waiting around a tavern is a pleasant break from the dreary monotony that has filled the days after their shockingly violent and inexplicable entrance to the city. Orthos gives the boy a smile and a nod, leaning back in his chair and nursing his drink to pass the time.

[Desril]

Makoto

Though she wasn't as depressed as she'd been a few days ago, Mako still sat slumped, her tail lifelessly resting on the floor and her chin laying on the table as she stared with downcast eyes into the mug of booze in front of her, silently debating with herself whether or not to drink it. Torn between her old heroic resolve and her new found depression, though she looks barely conscious, her mind is at war with itself. What am I doing? I'm better than this. Even if I am, what's the point?

[Mornings]

The Kid - 'Art', Lisren Crowley
The time passed by slowly even in the light of the rather well-lit establishment. The days had taken their toll upon the people, just as it had upon himself. Bastion was his home, the distant pat of the rain outside from the window, natural. Still, his eyes darted about as he learned back in his seat, half his face buried in his scarf. It was a quiet kind of suffering. A certain kind of stillness, that left one restless. A too familiar routine he'd played out, perhaps too many times. He rolled a silver coin across his knuckles with one hand, keeping his hands limber. His other hand resting on one of the long knives on his side. He didn't like being cooped up behind the walls, but he detested the idea of being outside them at this time of the year. He'd been out their, he'd seen the dead come up from the bloodied soil. The thoughts still made him shiver. The coin rested the back of his middle finger. ...Bad things. Dead things. The coin began its dance across his hand again. Yes, he didn't need to think about it long. Many times the temptation of the vast wilderness drew him away, as easily as his curiosity. He knew he often put his nose where it didn't belong, for better or worse. His eyes scanned over the sorry looking lot he sat with... his 'patrons'. He sighed. They were even more miserable then the rest. He glanced at the strange women at the table. He lived in the streets, he walked the allies and heard the whispers. The happenings in town a week or so ago had been passed along, changing a little from person-to-person. Still, he had the general idea. He looked away from her. She was strange. A foreigner. Those things, scared him, made him fidgety. Still, he was a professional, he wouldn't let such trivial matters break his poker-face. He closed his eyes. The coin rolled one way, then the other. The dark knight spoke. He was a big man, bigger then most. Iconic here in Bastion, he knew who he was before they had even met some 12 or so hours ago. He didn't bother giving them a name, to call him. He didn't need to, not then, but maybe now... ..Guardsmen. Swordsmen. Scion of the lording-bastards who piss on the peasants and enforce the 'righteous' arm of the law. The famous Sir Abrang... They had never met before. Not that he remembered, but he'd always held that name in contempt. Contempt for the 'legend', as much as contempt for the law during his days as a runner and 'transporter', for the 'free market'. He'd only been with the man for a number of hours, yet he was surprised to find he wasn't the intolerable cur he had envisioned. He was just.... a man. A very big man, but a man no less. Perhaps the tales of Jamie has spun back in the days after they escaped the orphanage and took to the streets had painted the man in a false light. A tool he employed like anything else to manipulate them. To manipulate him. He wouldn't be surprised, after all. He was a liar, and scoundrel, gallant, but a scoundrel no-less. The memories of the bloodied knives in his hand from that bleak day he had murdered the traitorous pig, still haunted him, the only man he had ever killed. He wondered if he would ever get past those times, if he would ever overcome these strange and terrible nightmares that seemed to morph and grow with time. ...Will I ever put you behind me? He opened his eyes.

He lifted his chin out of his scarf smiling cheerfully at the big man. Yes, yes, he was still a professional, be they peasant or... pig, he wouldn't let it fray his professionalism and resolve. He'd made a promise. He swore he'd finish the job for Petrick Thomas, the late grandfather of his dearest, long departed friend. Though even still, the fact that the Thomas's were no longer among the living did not shake his conviction in the slightest. Lisren Crowley never, ever, broke his word. It was his first rule. He lie, cheat and steal, but he'd never go back on a promise he truly meant. Not for value of his word. He wasn't so frivolous or boorish. No, it was out of simple dedication to the choice he had made so long ago. He would not be like Jamie, he would grow to become a man that could live with his father's name proudly... one day. " Sorry about all of the mystery and walkin' about. This's my last job as guide, it's always when you're closest to the finish, you trip on a root, if you know what I mean. I've become weary of strangers... or rather foreigners. Even in your company, Sir Abrang. No disrespect." He paused for a moment trying to decide how best to answer his query without sounding... impolite, or too curt. " 'fraid you must be mistaken, Sir. I know you, heck. Everyone knows you, but we've never met before. Im'a orphan. Spent most of my time in the State Orphanage until I was taken in by the old man Petrick Thomas, the old woodsmen who used to provide his services as guide by the old gate. Me old-man passed on not too long ago, 'bout I week now I suppose. So you've my humble apologizes if I'm not exactly the guide you've expected. I promised me old man, I'd see the job through before he went on his way and I intend to do just that, even though you chose a hell of a time to go poking around beyond the wall. I'm as good as the old-man, faster too, and I been out beyond the wall.... during these times. You know what's out their. I know what's out their..." He looked at the disheveled and moping Makoto. "...Looks like they know what's out their too. So, i won't bother assuring you of safety, but I'll see'ya through even with the rotters walking all about the damned place, and the damned witches lurkin' and creepin' in the deep dark. All I ask, is that you don't rush to your death needlessly, cuz no man can protect a man from himself, ya savy? I lived out their for awhile, being fast as just as good as being strong, sometimes better. I'll watch ya back mate, see ya through like I said I will, and get ya back, if the gods are good. " He nodded at the other man, and extended a handshake to the big knight. "Pleasure to make ya acquaintance. Call me Art. Short for 'Artful Dodger'. Name from the trade, if you catch my meaning." He smirked confidently from above his muffler.

The boy appears to only have two fine well-maintained twin knives on either side of his belt. His outlandishly billowing sleeves and multiple scarves cover much of himself. His cloths are not fitted to him, patched where they have been worn and belted down where they would otherwise, drag or become a hindrance. The only two pieces of not so worn and shabby articles he wears are a long but very old looking dark brown threaded woodsmen's vest, seemed to be slightly modified with steel twine to offer light protection, and an odd pair of eye-wear that hang around his neck over his large scarf. Almost no part of his body is visible under the heap of make-shift garments aside from his face.

Conceal Small Objects (All other weapons/etc - Size Small)
Pick Pocket's Outfit/Trickster's Longsleeves (Masterwork Tool)/Pocketed Scarf
SoH [roll0]
**********************
**********************

[Vhaidara]

Markin Abrang, the Strength of Hell

Markin smiles.
I can understand being wary of strangers, my young friend. Much as I can understand the life of a fosterling. Many people do not realize that I myself am an orphan. I never knew my birth parents, and while my adoptive father still lives, he has since moved to Capitas to oversee the operations of my order.
When the boy speaks of what lies outside of the walls, his face is grave. But when the boy mentions having his back, he laughs, and claps the boy on the shoulder with a mailed hand.
Good lad! I think we are going to get along quite well!

[Mornings]

The Kid - 'Art', Lisren Crowley
The boy was caught quite off-guard by the large man's brief recount of his own history, though he didn't show it, returning the smile with a firm handshake. " Never knew that bit. The tales dun speak much of a 'hero's' upbringing and whatnot. At least ya father's still breathin' though. Dunno what I wouldn't trade for that peace of mind. Mine? Gone. They were born here same as me, an' they fought and died to see I made it home..." His voice begins to drift off. "..They all did." He clears his throat quickly recovering. "..But I guess that just goes to show, men of the city don't go down tame and begging. As proud to be my father's son, as I am to be a man of the city, like the men who made their last stand with him, if ya' know what I mean. The rain and walls breed hard men. Men ya' don't much need to call to question." He looked at the others. " Quite curious how you came to party with this strange lot, though. They dun much look like they've seen the rain and dark of our land much. Hell, I heard about you fighting the rotters just to get in the damn gate before the lock went down. What happened out their? ...Or more importantly, why ride back now of all times? Hasn't gotten any betta' since the last. Might even say, it's worse... with the stories of witches creepin in from beyond the wall and all. " He looked down at the sullen female again, then back at Markin. " Your lot don't look so good, either... to put it lightly. You sure you wanna' shove off to the brush and muck with moral so low? We'll be in the thick of it, ya know. I'd like to get on through with minimal...encounters, if the gods be good. But as they say. Prepare for the worst, eh? " He addressed all of them "Dunno, much of what ya'all been through, but ya look like bloody-hell opened up and ate ya favorite dog. There no shame'in delaying if ya need the time. I'd rather go knowing you've all got ya mind's clear and head's right, before we step off past the wall. It's not in my interest to see my gracious patrons mauled by the bloody-rotters. "

[Desril]

Makoto

Still laying with her head down on the table, Mako seems to rise up, but it's just the result of languidly opening her mouth to speak from her sunken position. "It won't matter...s'not like time will fix anything, let's just go..."

[Mornings]

The Kid - 'Art', Lisren Crowley
The silver coin continued its dance across his hand after the man gave him the firm pat on the shoulder. The fellow wasn't as nearly as much the atypical-cur he had come to expect. He looked over as the down-trodden women looked up from the table and spoke. It was the first time he had gotten a chance to really look at her face. The coin fell off his hand, bouncing once upon the table before he quickly recovered, slamming a hand down upon the table stopping the coin from rolling away. The women's strange appearance and dark eyes caught him off-guard, startling him more then a little. He cleared his throat. He'd heard some talk about a 'strange one' walking about after the merchant caravan had made its entrance into the city a little over a week ago, some time during the battle during the closing of the gates, and the rumored 'Witch Attack' within the city. He didn't have the details, but he got the rough idea, and seeing the 'strange one' in front of him, he glanced from one, to the other, to Markin. ...Aw, bloody fuggin' hell. What did you get yourself into this time Kid? He had a bad feeling about it. He took the words of the other vagrants and peasantry just like any man, with a grain of salt and a healthy serving of skepticism, but it looked as if for once his fellows word's held a hearty bit of truth. He picked up the coin and slid it into one of the deep folds of his cloths where he kept one of his purses. " Look lady. Dunno what ya seen or been through. But ya didn't just come to this dark corner for a reason. We've all lost. Lost friends, family, both..." His hand slipped down and pulled out a long thin bone spike a few inches long, sliding it in his mouth, biting down on it. An old habit, his other hand tightening around the reassuring short pommel of one of the blades at his side. Memories of his dear friend and the days they once shared coming back to mind, and the day he pulled his body out from the rubble of their destroyed home, these very blades still clutched tightly in his cold hands. "...I know that look, better then most. Wore it well, for longer then I'd like to admit. The day my brother betrayed me, betrayed his own family, and I murdered him. Still, even that wasn't enough, and I lost my family a second time. Lost everything again. There's things in this world we can't come to terms with by time. Things that won't ease with time, that brand ya with the weight of the memory. But ya here. Here at the goddam end of the world, as far as most would care to admit. But ya here for a reason. Ya came for a reason. Da gods might have brought ya blind, but that don't mean their aint no reason fer ya bein' here. There only two things ya need to remember. There good people behind these walls, and sure, some less good. But there's evil out their, evil that claimed more then a few, and spun more sad tales then yours or mine. I dunno why you crazy bastards want to venture beyond the wall now, but I believe whatever the reason, da gods put that answer out their, in the rain and gloom. Not at the bottom of ya cup! So, stand up. You're alive, you're still here, you can still make a difference. Whatever it was that got to ya, it wasn't comin' for ya', not really. Or you'd be dead too. You gotta believe, believe in yourself again. Believe there's still a reason ya' here, cuz there is, and you'll never find it drinkin' ya'self to death." The boy stood up. "...I need a drink." He walked over to the bar, patting a few drunk men on the back laughing with them in their drunken stupor while his other hand went to work trying to poke through his pockets for a few silvers or coppers. Then sliding over to his friend doing the same, giving him a jeering pat on the shoulder, then moving to the bar counter looking at what he'd managed to grab.

Steal some cash from Drunk Guy 1 [roll0]
Steal some cash from Drunk Guy 2 [roll1]
Regardless of success moves to counter.

He threw a silver on the counter. "...Hey bar-keep. Milk if ya got it. Keep the change. " He pocketed whatever was left from his little hustle through the tavern.

[stack]

As slow as these days have been waiting out the undead siege, I still am not going to sit in a bar and tell strangers, potentially violent and unstable strangers, about my family and past.

Orthos stands and slings his shield. "Gods call and answers beckon. If I did not have dreams before this I would now just to have a reason to leave these walls for a bit."

[Vhaidara]

Markin Abrang, the Strength of Hell

Markin turns to face Mako, his face bleak.
"Young lady, your behavior is disgraceful. This drunken state is hardly proper for one of your fair nature. You think you are the only one who has faced loss? The loss of one you cared about? Two years I trained in Capita's in the ways of the Lance. Two weeks before my training was complete, my father summoned me to his chambers."
A dark cloud seems to pass over his face.
"The man who trained me had fallen to chaos. He had stolen the weapon that was forged to embody the alliance between my order and the warriors of the Lance. I was sent to hunt him down. I took this blade from him, and purified him of his taint. But not until he had killed almost a dozen people."
The large man sighs heavily, his armor clanking as his entire body moves
"He was one of the most dedicated men I have ever met, to the cause of justice and righteousness. And now he is dead. But I fight on in memory of what he stood for. That is all that we can do for the dead: Carey on and live our lives to the fulfillment they no longer can."

[Desril]

Makoto

Listening to the kid's words, some part of it gets through. Not enough to bring her back, but enough to get her to half-heartedly shrug her shoulders and slide what was left of her drink to him when he'd mentioned needing one. "Here, not thirsty now anyway..."

Markin, however, gets a different reaction. Raising up slightly, she turns her head and glares at him as he tells his tale. Or, at least, she tries too, as it's rather difficult to glare when drunk with your eyes only half open. "So what? What would a murderer like you know about guilt or loss?" She practically spits the words, though in her state it's more like a drunken slobber that she's slow to wipe away.

[Vhaidara]

Markin Abrang, the Strength of Hell

Markin stares coolly at the drunken girl.
"You make accusations that are utterly found less, girl. I am a man of peace. However, when I am called upon to act, I do not hesitate to protect those in my charge. My mentor had become a menace to all he encountered. The merchant was a dead man already, as this particular condition cannot be cured. Allowing him into the city would have done nothing but place innocent lives at risk. The witch took control of you mind and tried to force you to kill an innocent man. Her rightful punishment was the burning she inflicted upon herself. However, because she repented in the end, I gave her the mercy of a quick death."
His gaze has not left her face.
"I do not enjoy these deaths. I myself have wondered if my mentor could have been saved. But his eyes showed a madness that was all consuming. I saw the same in the witch's eyes. There was no recovery. I do know of guilt, but I feel none when my actions were what they were to protect others. It is as my father taught me. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. I gladly sacrificed my own innocence to protect those who cannot protect themselves."

[Desril]

Makoto

Scowling, too inebriated to parse out everything that he'd said and form a coherent rebuttal to each point, Mako just shakes her head. "Men like you...are why there are always more monsters to fight..."

[stack]

"Perhaps we can put that question aside until a point when the city is not surrounding by the type of monsters that don't ponder the morality of their actions?"

[Mornings]

The Kid - 'Art', Lisren Crowley
He took note of the distasteful scowl the women gave the black knight. Yes, it was an outward expression of how he had felt about the man as well, born of his legend and rumor. Still, the man was more a man then he had come to expect, and while his personal stigma's had not been changed life had taught him not everything in the world existed in the 'black-and-white'. Meeting the man had perhaps healed more damage then it had caused. He was the both the bleak-faced-bastard he has expected, he could see the stone'y-cold of his visage even in passing and he knew what kind of things he had done, but not what kind of man he chose to be. For there was indeed a man under the armor, and perhaps even he had forgotten that. He bit down on the bone dart in his cheek, grabbing a glass of the counter, his hand moving to the milk when the keep placed it down.

He walked back over to the table. " Well said good-sir. 'The Enemy, Beyond The Wall', is not one you need think about. Things are simple. The bad guys - and us. However..." He took Makoto's tankard away, and replaced it with the glass of milk. Before pulling out the pick from his mouth, and hammering down the brew himself; " I Don't want to see any more people, who would stand to defend the goodly folk of our city die... And similarly, watching you drink yourself to death, is just the same." He placed down the empty tankard on the table, flipping the bone dart in his fingers before replacing it back in his cheek. " I can't give ya' any council, any rebuttal to dispute ya claim ma'am. But all I can say is people, are people. I've seen evil people, dark people, do good things. I've met criminals and murderers who were good men. It's not the actions that define us alone, it's how we choose to define ourselves. Morality is such a tricky bit, and truly, who can claim to be a better Judge of Man then another? The lenses of our individual perspectives taint that truth, something I was reminded of, and paid for... But all you can do, is do the best you can. Believe in yourself again, like the people who believed in you, past and present." He let out a long sigh, casting a side-long glance at the apparently blind, priestly man, then back at the strange women, who obviously needed better words then what 'Sir Black-Knight' had given. Her contempt for him was palpable. "I'm not asking, you to change how you think. Just consider the thought, that it is the man whe defines how his history will shape him, not his history alone. Men who eat monsters, sometimes become monsters... Sometimes. There aint no absolutes in the world of men, but that doesn't mean it's wrong to hold to them, to cherish the flawed beauty of those convictions you hold dear. To hold-on to those painful memories that still tear ya up, and make ya eyes water." He didn't need to crouch with his short stature, he pulled her close burying her face in his scarf. He held back his own tears remembering the family he'd lost, and the family his brother sacrificed. "...The pain. It never goes away. But it's you. You. The one who's gotta decide. Will it be your burden to drag you through the muck of these watery-streets? Will it break and bend you, make you become like those men you hate? Or will it become your fire... they did, for me. Will you remember, those times, the good and the bad? Will the sorrow and the joy of the times shared make you remember, someone cared for you, more then you care for yourself right now?" He held her at arms length, looking her dead in the eyes, his poker-face broken, and slightly distressed. "...You know the pain, now. The pain to loose what you held dear, the pain of something intangible being cut away from you. Like a piece was taken. But you're not the only one, you're not alone... and now that you know this pain. I ask you. I ask you now. When that man.. that child, that women, is left broken and kneeling before talons of those monsters you so despise. The real ones, that have lost that light, of question, the flickering candle of morality and civility. Will you let their loved ones suffer as you have? Would you let a stranger know this pain? Or will you stand up!? Will you cast down this sullen routine, to raise your sword once again in another's defense!? For there is no question. No question of goals or morality, or right and wrong. The evil is out their! Beyond the wall! The evil that took my father, the sorrow that drove my dear friend mad, the evil that spreads with each life lost! You are not powerless. You are not weak, unless you bow your head to this terrible world. When the one's we loved left us, they left us with a message, with something, with words and feelings, both bitter and sweet. This pain won't ease. So take up the crucible! Carve that love upon your heart... those feelings, those memories. And stand again for what you believe. For what you think is right, without question, with conviction and purpose. Believe in that flawed beauty, those distant memories you cherished, and not let another know this anguish... that sense of powerlessness and betrayal. That pain when you are left bereft. A piece of you stripped away....." He pat one of the fine-blades at his side. "That is the lesson my brother taught me. Of powerlessness, weakness, pain, and betrayal. And he killed our family... though he was not the 'evil' I knew, or any knew. He was just a man... a man who needed help, but I couldn't save him. I blamed myself for being so blind for so long, how many years had I left him alone, let the wounds in his soul fester... and the boy I was, killed him. Denied me, and him, the possibility of redemption. Of a future. Of making right of what wrongs I had committed in my failure to act. Something I will regret, and hate myself for every day. I lost the ones I loved to this life, and killed the one I loved in my blindness, too weak to see he was a man, not a monster. Only a man who had eaten the flesh of a monster... I'll never let the men of my city know that pain if I've still the strength to stand for them... will you?" He pulled away sliding he glass of milk over to her with his off hand. " I believe in the gods. I believe they brought you here for a reason.... and that reason is beyond the wall. Not scribed on the bottom of a dozen empty tankards... So drink the damn milk." He turned and plopped down back in his seat, fitting his goggles over his eyes, and burying his face in his large muffler. Maybe he said too much, but he felt as if he didn't say enough. He knew that look too well, he'd shared it, owned it, wore it... for too long. Something about this strange women seemed to get under his skin. Reminded him of his own mistakes and bloodied history, the childhood he never had. He sighed. Pull it together Kid... We still got a job to do. With that, his resolve returned, the feelings, washed away, his mind re-focused at the task at hand. He'd tried, tried his best, and he couldn't say to himself honestly he did anything less. He saw himself in this stranger, and knew, out their in the wilds. She'd end up getting herself killed like this, or letting it become her armor against the foul things that lurked beneath the mud and blackened waters. He could only hope perhaps he had done enough.

[stack]

Not so long ago I would have burned this place down to to stop them from talking so much. Inheritor give me patience.

[Desril]

Mako

Listening to Crowley's words, eventually, enough of it gets through that when Mako sighs and sits up, though she remains slouched and stares at her feet, she says "You're right...at least...you sound right..."

Looking at the milk he offered her, she stares at its opaque whiteness, still not sure what to do before reaching out for it. Anything has to be better than what I've been doing...if nothing else, if I die...at least I'll die fighting. That's better than in an alleyway. She sighs again before taking a drink, "I don't know what to do anymore," she admits, looking at each of the party in turn before resting her gaze on the new kid, "but I guess I can try to help you all." Maybe then Shelyn will forgive me, she thinks, though she's still not willing to forgive herself.

[Mornings]

The Kid - 'Art', Lisren Crowley
The young-man slid out another piece of silver before beginning to roll it across his knuckles habitually. An old habit, one his old friend had passed to him during their years together. The dexterous movements were comforting somehow...

He nodded, curtly from behind his large muffler at the woman's words. It was perhaps the best he could hope for. Perhaps more then he could have expected from even himself not so long ago. "...My father, my adopted father. Mr. Thomas had made preparations for this expedition before he passed away. I don't believe he ever thought it would be him that would be going on it however. My old man acted strangely during his last days. Making sure I remembered what he'd taught me, had me promise this contract be fulfilled... Strange dreams began to distract me during those last days, and persist still. Of strange things beyond the wall... a snake eating it own tail, and perhaps the form of what was once a church... " He bit down on the carved spike in his jaw as if it were a cigar or similar article. " I don't know why you've come, why your expeditious little party has banded together, or what you hope to accomplish... but regardless if you know what you desire or not. I believe the gods brought you here for a reason, and now, by some strange thread, I've been pulled along right beside you. What lays at the end? Who could say. But I believe we'll find reason and purpose in time - the 'why', of why we are here. But for now... believe in yourself. Believe you can still do good by your own hand, and that will be enough. The fates will guide us the rest of the way.... That's what my old man would say anyways." In truth he didn't know if what he said held much weight at all. It felt like the old man who'd taken him in was speaking through him, and he was addressing himself as he was long ago. He wondered if hearing those words would have made a difference, if he would have listened, if things would have been different. He'd lived with the pain for so long, the last year felt like a dream, and passed just the same. Now he opened his eyes again, the dream had ended, the old man was gone and the house which he lived was dark and quiet. He couldn't go back. He wouldn't go back. He'd made due in the streets for a few days, anywhere but their was better. It was too painful to look back, and he'd changed so much in so short a time. He could hear the grizzled-old-ranger laugh at him, tell him he was just running away. Just running away, instead of facing 'the demons' he was leaving behind. He was a hard-man, an insufferable man, a gritty-old-bastard who'd spent more of his life beyond the wall then behind it. He remembered when he finally met the old fool, he recognized the blades the roguish-child wore on his side instantly. It was the first time he'd been forced to confront his past. To tell the father of the man he called 'brother, his son was dead. That Enri Thomas... was dead. The words bit deep into his heart, speaking of the past he'd buried long ago. Yet, the old-man didn't even flinch. It was the first time, the only time he retold his story. The old man took him in, gave him a home and taught him his trade. Taught him the strange blade dance Enri has tried to teach him, the sword of his father, of his family. The Starlight Fury. It took so long for him to rebuild himself, to put the pieces back together, yet, in a year. He had been broken down and rebuilt, stronger, more resilient then ever before. He understood the meaning behind his old friends words and the martial prowess he displayed. He learned of their gods. The stars, the moon, the night and the wind. The land. And so he grit his teeth, and yelled back at the old man in his mind, his lips moving under his muffler absent-mindedly whispering. "...I'm not running."