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| >> Campfire Creative >> Appendix >> Fantasy >> ID #1803551 |   |
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| [Introduction]
My dear friend, I need your help. I have just discovered a terrible wrong that must be righted. Young Iriel has been snatched from her home, and is being held captive. Her family have come to me, begging me to find her, and bring her home safe. Alas, I am alone, and have no way of completing this quest on my own. I beg you, I call upon the goodness of your heart, help return this poor child to her bereaved family. Yes, you will be paid. You didn’t think I’d take this job for free, did you? No, of course I wasn’t trying to do you out of your share. I wouldn’t do that. You’re too smart to fall for it, anyway. Iriel’s family is extremely powerful, and extremely well off. No, I won’t say who they are, not quite yet. You’ll know them when I tell you. Now, for some reason I don’t even pretend to understand, the family is unable to do the rescue themselves. That’s where yours truly comes in. Well and good, but now I have to rustle up a crew. We’ll have practically unlimited funds for expenses, good pay at the end, and there’ll be plenty of opportunity for scraping up a little extra on the way. It’ll be well worth the journey, I promise. Alright, it’s risky. We’ll be travelling through some of the most dangerous areas of the country, and will more than likely meet some of its most dangerous inhabitants. I’m planning on having most of them in the gang, though. Yes, you might die, but really, it would only be through your own ineptitude if you did. So, if you’re interested, meet me at the Inn, on the night of the last quarter, and I’ll give you the rest of the details then. Your old friend, Laike Mern This story will be set in a fantasy world loosely based on my own. It’s old world fantasy, with magic, dragons, goblins, fae, warriors, mages, and travellers. Take your pick, or be something else entirely. One big point to note, as this is a pet peeve of mine, is that no one species is inherently evil. You get good mages and bad ones, educated goblins and ones as thick as mud, and even vegetarian ogres. The first round will be getting your character to the inn, and should include anything we need to know about them. Remember, the better you develop your character in this turn, the better the rest of us will be able to write them. Oh, and one last thing. Don’t count too heavily on anything Laike says. Hopefully see you at the campfire. Jess |
 About addition #1: By: Jeska Grace  Added: Sun, 09/4/2011 @ 7:52pm Size: 8,033 Characters  Laike Mern Laike Mern, woman of no fixed abode, trickster extraordinaire, and honorary talka noi, stood on the crest of the road. After pushing an unruly strand brown hair out of her eyes, she scanned the valley below. The road meandered through the rocky terrain, meeting the Green Dragon inn, before vanishing into the woods on the other side. It was a good spot, she mused, perfect for ambushes. Uneven, rocky ground and scattered woodlands provided plenty of cover for anyone who chose to need it. Laike grinned. Maybe she’d pay Dai a visit before she left. You never knew what kind of useful information the bandit king could provide. A heavy rumbling, accompanying a loud and tuneless voice murdering a popular ballad caught her attention. A wicked smile crept across her face, and she turned to see the innkeeper’s son, driving a laden wagon. “Koby! Well met! Can you offer a weary traveller a ride to that fine establishment, the Green Dragon?” Laike watched with interest as Koby’s expressions passed clearly across his florid face. First confusion, he’d only met her once. Then recognition – despite her unremarkable appearance, not many people forgot Laike Mern. Then he flushed even redder. “I, I’m not sure if I can do that, Laike,” he stammered. “Pa was awful mad. Said never to let you near the inn again.” “That so?” “Never. Not at all.” He shook his head so forcefully Laike imagined his brain must be rattling around like a pea in a jar. “No matter what story you come up with.” She just smiled. This was going to be fun. “I am offended,” she exclaimed, laying her hand across her chest, “Struck to the heart. Now, Koby, think carefully. What did your father tell you? Did he say to always make sure I never considered sometimes remaining at too great a distance, but to definitely confirm that I would maybe agree to occasionally leave?” His mental strain was almost visible. “Uh...no?” “No? Are you sure, Koby? You wouldn’t want to get it wrong now, would you?” “Erm, uh, yes? Yes, then.” “Wonderful.” She leaped up onto the cart. “Hey Molly, hey Moke, take us home, quick now!” The mules startled, and set off toward the inn at a good pace. A little later, Laike stood at the entrance to the inn, readying her plan. Poor Koby had vanished to the stables with his mules the moment they arrived, complaining of a headache. It really was too easy, sometimes. She rearranged a couple more points in her head, and then strode into the inn. “Laike Mern!” a voice thundered. “Didn’t I say if I ever saw you here again...” “...You’d string me up and use me as a signpost. Yes, Gupeg, I remember.” Heads turned and cups rattled as a one eyed, muscle-bound green troll stomped across the room. In one hand he held a heavy flagon, and in the other a well used battle-axe. Laike dodged the axe and took a swig of whatever was in the flagon. “Skies, Gupeg. What is that stuff? I hope you don’t serve that to customers. Now, now, settle down. Where’s Durren? I’ve got a business proposition for him.” Two wolfkin shifted and fled out the door, and a fae knight tapped his sword-hilt uneasily. A pair of goblin traders ducked under the table, and a family of herb-fae flew away through the chimney. The room was strangely silent. Everybody had heard of Laike Mern, and no one wanted to get roped into one of her schemes, the bar-troll included. Laike ducked Gupeg’s swinging fist, only to be confronted with what appeared to be an older version of Koby. “Didn’t I tell you never to come back here?” the man growled. Laike looked up at him, then back at the troll. Time for a new plan. She shuffled over to the innkeeper, and, putting one hand on his shoulder, stretched up to whisper in his ear. Reflexively, Durren bent closer to hear what she was saying. It was secret, so obviously it was important. “I didn’t say right off,” Laike murmured, “because I didn’t want to cause a fuss, but I’m currently in the employ of some very important people.” “Really.” He sounded sceptical. “Shh, shh, shh.” she hissed. “Dead secret. I’ll just say, one of them may, or may not, have a falcon on their coat of arms.” She paused to let that sink in. “But you can’t tell anyone, not even Gupeg. It’s all incognito, very hush hush, if you get my meaning.” She let her eyes dart around the room, and back to Durren. Despite himself, the man was listening intently. “It’s a party of seven,” she continued. “They’ll need food and lodgings for the night, but they’ll be turning up separately. Don’t let on that you know they’re together, just slip them through into the back room, nice and quiet.” Durren’s face creased. Weeding the truth from Laike’s tales was a job for a mage academicus, not a humble innkeeper. Inwardly, Laike smiled. It was a sly, vulpine grin that seldom, if ever, reached her face. “If they’re all disguised,” Durren said, marking his thoughts with a shake of a calloused, stubby finger, “how do I know which ones they are? We get a lot of travellers through here, this time of year.” “Good point,” Laike said, beaming. “I knew you were the man for the job. Why, Malkim at the Forest Corner didn’t even think of it.” She allowed the innkeeper to finish spluttering at the mention of his competitor, then added, “I’ve got it all sorted, though, don’t you worry. They’ll be the ones who ask for me.” “Hah! Ha, ha, ha!” Durren guffawed. “That’s clever, that is. Lots of people through, but nobody else will ask after Laike Mern. Ha.” “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” Laike muttered. “So, it’s all sorted, then? The back room, seven guests, plus myself of course, a good fire, and a hot meal.” The innkeeper nodded. “Good.” She palmed him two gold coins. She had considered giving him the last of the counterfeits she’d obtained from the players, but decided against it. There was such a thing as trying your luck, especially with the way Gupeg was eyeing her. Any money she paid would be scrutinised thoroughly at the soonest opportunity, she was sure. Anyway, they might come in useful later. Despite Gupeg’s heavy glare she was escorted to the back room. Durren’s hostility was gone, evaporated in the rosy glow of the idea that royalty would be staying in his inn. Laike watched him as he went around the room, making sure everything was just so. It was sad, really, how some people just wouldn’t learn. “Just remember, Durren. We’re not to be disturbed except for when you bring them in. And not a word to anyone.” “Of course not. My lips are sealed tighter than a...” Durren trailed off under Laike’s steady gaze, and muttered something about being needed out front. She watched him go, then went over the room herself, checking for anything that shouldn’t be there. After that she tested all the chairs. Deciding on an overstuffed floral monstrosity, she dragged it over to the fire and settled down. If anyone had happened to look in, she would have appeared to be sound asleep, oblivious to the world. She remained like that until a knock on the door announced the arrival of her first guest. Laike Mern Human, probably late thirties, but she won’t confirm or deny anything. Brown hair, brown eyes, short but tough, nothing especially memorable in appearance. She’s a traveller, conartist, mercenary, trader, and anything else with potential for making money and fooling people. She knows someone wherever she goes, although they’re not usually too thrilled at the association. She considers the best jobs are those where the target, sorry, client, doesn’t even know they’ve been scammed. No one knows where she came from originally, but as you may imagine, theories abound, each crazier than the last. I have a suspicion that some of them may have been started by Laike herself. About addition #2: By: Dovetailed Added: Thu, 09/8/2011 @ 4:00am Size: 10,975 Characters Hyral Spawnborn This is no place for a goblin nose, Hyral thought to himself and not for the first time. The air festered with a host of foul scents, from the sweet tang of freshly secreted human sweat through to the bitter aromas of death and decay. Each newly detected smell made him want to retch. This was his thirty-seventh day held captive in the dungeons of Sir Trallhurd, lord of Rosenthal, and he had begun to find it difficult to see the bright side. Hyral’s nose was one of the many curses of his heritage. If he had truly been a goblin he would have found such smells appetising, delectable even. Instead he possessed human tastes in such matters, and found the scents to which his nose was tuned to be repulsive. He was a half-goblin, Spawnborn. Hyral wiped his crooked nose on his scented handkerchief. Lavender filled his nostrils, and he attempted to turn his attentions back to the matter at hand. Laid out on the desk ahead of him was page upon page of technical drawings and detailed instructions on the manufacture and use of war machines. He ran his tongue across his thin, pallid lips as he studied his work. It was a habit of his to do so and it required a fair feat of nimbleness not to inadvertently cut his soft human tongue on his sharp goblin teeth. Trallhurd had promised to release him if these plans worked. Whilst Hyral had little confidence in the young lord’s word it would not do to be seen to be slacking in this regard. The top sheet detailed a complex mechanism designed to raise and lower a steel sea-gate across the breadth of Rosenthal’s gargantuan harbour mouth. Hyral’s large eyes, bright with intellect, danced across his own drawings of gears and pulleys that would comprise such a machine. “Oi! Gremlin” came a voice from behind the bars of his cell, “Get over ‘ere you imp!” The voice belonged to the gaoler Trigg, who was now rattling Hyral’s bars to get his attention. Hyral hated being insulted like this, but he needed Trigg on his side. Approaching the cell’s door, he forced his lips into an affable smile and laughed with all the mirth as he could muster at the gaoler’s slights. “That’s really funny, Trigg!” said Hyral, the gaoler looked like a dog who’d been given a bone at the compliment, “What can one so humble and ugly as I, do for one so witty as yourself?” The gaoler was not a handsome man. He appeared constantly diseased and had developed a stoop from working beneath the low ceilings of the dungeon. He was almost uglier than Hyral. Almost. “Here, I gots yer food” said Trigg, holding out an unappetising bowl of mealy stew, “How’s dem war-engines coming? M’lord Trallhurd is getting twitchy – word is dem barons of the Isles is getting ready t’ strike...” Trigg’s breath smelled of fear. A fear that had been echoing throughout the city. Hyral had been arrested for forging patents of maritime trade, normally an offence only punishable by fine, but the arrest had just been pretence. In reality Trallhurd had needed Hyral’s services as an engineer. He needed to defend Rosenthal, and didn’t want to pay for the pleasure. The barons of the Isles, whom were sworn to Trallhurd’s banner, were threatening rebellion. The city and Trigg were on edge. “Bah, Trallhurd worries for naught. My designs will have the barons fleeing like frightened dogs.” said Hyral, he was lying but it served his purposes that Trigg was reassured, “Say, did those dice that I gave you work?” “Oh yeah, did they ever!” Trigg said, grinning like an idiot, “Ye shudda seen Jace’s face when I landed five sixes. Heh, made me some serious coin as well... Yer a damn useful little gremlin to have around” “Anything to help my wittiest friend” Trigg’s grin looked to be permanently affixed now. Then the oaf appeared to remember something and started groping around in the bulging pockets of his overalls. “Oh yeah, I gots something for yer” said Trigg, as he retrieved a crumpled piece of paper, “I got gived it by some sailor from Penrath, gived me a bunch o’coins and told me to give dis paper to ye. I hanged onto it fer a bit, it was no good to you anyway” “Why thank you” said Hyral, as deferentially as could. Secretly he bubbled with rage and wondered how long this buffoon had hung onto the yellowing note. Much to Hyral’s concealed dismay, Trigg decided hang around a while longer and retell, in the crudest terms possible, his recent exploits at the harbour-side brothel. Hyral found himself almost retching again at several of the more descriptive passages, but somehow managed to maintain his facade and laugh on cue. After Trigg finally left he trotted back to work desk and smoothed out the piece of paper in the candlelight. It was a letter, from no other than Laike Mern. Hyral read over the invitation, his wide eyes darting across the words. He found that he couldn’t help but laugh at the presumption of the author. Hyral had always felt a more than wary respect for Laike, and he was certain that the note was leaving out far more of the story than it told. Still, you had to hand it to her – she sure knew how to press people’s buttons. In Hyral’s case that button was ‘unlimited funds’. What Hyral really couldn’t fathom though was how Laike had tracked him here. Even discounting the fact that he was being discreetly held in a prison cell, he had travelled under so many false names since they last met that even he could not remember the path he had forged. Regardless, at least he now had somewhere to go to. Assuming his escape plan worked of course. Hyral had worked through the night; on his designs when he feared detection and on his escape when he did not. By the early hours of morning both tasks were done. The prisoner in the neighbouring cell was snoring loudly when Trigg came around on his patrol. The gaoler stopped briefly at each cell and took a note in a ledger. Finally he reached Hyral’s cell. “Psst! Hey, Trigg!” said Hyral in a forceful whisper. “What is it gremlin?” said Trigg, wearing a jokey grin, “Staying up late to save us all from the barons?” “Something like that” said Hyral, “Listen, I think that broth was fouled, I feel terrible.” Hyral pointed to the bucket that he used to collect his excrement, it was overflowing. “Urgh” said Trigg, wearing a scowl, “Dat is disgusting. What ye expect me to do wi’ it?” “Well I need to ... go ... somewhere. If I go in that it’ll spill on the floor.” said Hyral, “Besides, who knows, what I got could be catching. If it’s left to fester here maybe you’ll get it. You’d be doing us all, but especially me, a favour if you’d empty the bucket somewhere.” Trigg’s face contorted in displeasure at the prospect. The entirety of Hyral’s escape hinged on his decision. He could only hope that the false friendship he had been enduring would swing the choice in his favour. “Alright. I’ll do it. But only ‘cause I likes yer.” said Trigg, drawing his sword in one hand and fishing out his key with the other, “Ye gunna owe me gremlin. Anyways ye know the drill – get to the back of yer cell, hands on the wall, where I can see them.” Hyral did as he was told. Adrenaline pumped through his veins. ‘This will work’ he thought to himself, running through the calculations one last time. He almost felt guilty about what was about to happen. Almost. Trigg had found the right key and set about opening the door. He swung it open quietly and with a steady hand. When it was exactly sixty degrees open the trigger of Hyral’s trap clicked. The three-hundred pounds of tension held in the makeshift rope was released in an instant. The limb of wood, made from parts of Hyral’s cot and desk, had been bowed between the force of the rope and the strength of the stone ceiling. Now it sprang forth. In a vicious arc it swung and, just as Hyral had calculated, the sharpened stake at its end slammed violently into Trigg’s throat. With a gurgle and a splutter the gaoler was impaled. Dead. Though the body slumped the limb of wood held it standing. Hyral grabbed up the hooded cloak he had fashioned to aid his escape. Slinging it over his skeletal frame he ran over to the corpse. The trap had been near silent, but he didn’t have time to waste. He took Trigg’s purse of freshly won coins, his sabre and his ring of keys. Finally, Hyral took back his weighted dice. “Sorry Trigg, but your mother should have taught you not to trust gremlins” said Hyral, he turned into the darkness of the corridor to leave, “Fear not fair Iriel, your noble saviour knight doth come!” Hyral was well used to sneaking and soon found his way out of the keep. In exchange for a few coins and the promise of a forged patent or two he hitched a lift with the caravan of an old merchant friend. By the time dawn had come he was already several miles from Rosenthal and on his way to the Green Dragon Inn. He could only hope this new adventure would work out better than his last one had. Hyral Spawnborn Half Goblin - not necessarily the child of a goblin and a human, rather a descendent of liberated goblin slaves. Goblin blood is intermingled with the blood of other races to create a half goblin or spawnborn. They are often looked on with a mixture of pity and contempt by the other races. As a result of his ancestry (brace for info-dump): -He sweats a particularly foul smelling and slimy substance. -His skin is more pallid, even vaguely putrescent in full sunlight, than a normal human. -Stands 5’8” and is skeletally thin. -He has sharp teeth and thin lips that accumulate spittle in the corners. -Eyes are relatively large and give him a childlike appearance (albeit an especially ugly child) - also exhibit complete heterochromia with one eye blue and the other brown. -His nose is gnarly and looks unnaturally long for a human. -His ears are ‘cauliflowered’ and pointy. Other key points: -Is an engineer, scribe and forger. Has an affinity/mastery of traps, locks, war engines and metallurgy. -Is 34 years of age (Half-goblins typically living between 70 and 100 years depending upon their health). -Doesn’t like to fight head on – even quite cowardly in that regard – prefers instead to set traps/ambush his enemies. -Usually makes a living by forging documents for nobles and merchants, and is often employed to construct war engines or defensive traps for warring barons. About addition #3: By: Kleo Added: Thu, 09/15/2011 @ 11:31pm Size: 15,711 Characters Ember Tanwen This is not a good idea. Astra’s voice passed unheeded through Ember’s reeling mind; it took little effort to ignore the dragon’s well founded concern. Ember was intoxicated with discovery. She could not let this idea slip through her mind untested. “Astra, this is going to be amazing,” she hissed, hands flitting across the contraption she feverishly assembled. “I’m almost done. Come here, I need your help.” Astra said nothing. “Oh, come now Astra,” Ember cooed, twisting around in her stool to gaze at the dragon. “Don’t be such a mother hen.” You’re going to hurt yourself. “Granted,” said Ember. “But it will be quite worth the pain, I think.” Astra held her ground, gazing at her friend with sharp, concerned eyes. Ember pursed her lips. “You know,” she mused, pushing her goggles onto her head. “If you refuse to help me, I will find a way to complete my invention without you. Keep in mind, however, that the means I use will be far less effective than those you could provide me, making the contraption even more unsafe, and possibly causing me further harm.” Ember paused to let this sink in. “Just something to think about.” Astra wilted, un-amusement dulling her clear, glittering eyes. She knew Ember was right. Dragon fire was the hottest in existence, and thus the best option for safe, secure welding. You really are terrible, you know that? she thought. Ember shrugged, a mischievous smirk playing on her lips. Astra stood then, albeit grudgingly, and approached Ember’s wooden work table. “Thatta girl,” whispered Ember, stroking the dragon’s black, scaly hide with a gloved hand. She pulled her goggles back down over her eyes. “Now then,” she said, pulling her long, crimson black curls behind her neck, “I need you to heat this rod so I can bend it into place.” Astra paused, still wary. Finally she obliged, opening her mouth and releasing a stream of bright flame onto the iron rod before her. Ember’s rubicund eyes glinted as she watched the metal redden. “That’s good, stop right there!” she cried, and Astra stayed her flame. With a pair of iron tongs, Ember lifted the yellow-orange rod and placed it over the horn of her anvil, snatching her hammer from her table. Sparks flew as she hammered the iron-- never had she pounded with such ferocity, such untamable ambition. If this invention worked, it would be her greatest ever. And it would work-- it would. Of this she was sure. Once she’d forged the rod into a long, graceful arc, she plunged it into cool water and positioned it on her contraption. “Astra?” she called. Astra sighed, once again succumbing to the will of her impassioned companion. As she welded Ember’s iron arc to the others that made up her contraption, she found herself sorely tempted to blast this strange invention until it became nothing more than a yellow-orange puddle on the table. Upon observing the look of fervor in Ember’s blazing eyes, however… she decided against it. “Good, good, stop!” Ember cried. Astra obeyed, and Ember waved her away with impatient hands. “It’s almost done, it’s almost done!” she trilled, smiling brilliantly as she continued assembling. A disgruntled Astra turned and retreated toward her customary resting place near the hearth. Her mood did not improve upon finding a pile of junk metal in her spot. This place really is filthy, she thought, shoving the metal aside with her tail. She curled up near the fire and inspected Ember’s workshop, noting the streaks of grease and oil on the walls, the array of unidentifiable feathers and tools on the floor, and the teetering towers of books and paper on the chairs. “Cleaning is for common folk,” muttered Ember. As is sleeping, it seems, Astra thought, eyeing Ember’s untouched bed. Ember ignored Astra’s jab, grunting softly as she twisted one last bolt into place. “Ha!” she exclaimed, beaming as she rose from her stool. “It’s done.” With a sweep of her hand, she slid to one side and presented her completed masterpiece. A pair of red, fleshy dragon wings sprawled across her table, eight feet in span, spiny, jagged, and looking eerily like the wings of an actual dragon. Astra cocked her head, saying nothing. Ember’s smile faded. “Well?” she asked. Still, Astra remained silent. Her only response was to meet Ember’s gaze directly, effectively communicating her opinion through one long, pleading stare. Ember’s stomach twisted; she didn’t enjoy causing her friend so much worry. But she couldn’t turn back now. A moment of heavy silence passed. Finally, Ember spoke. “Astra,” she said. “You don’t’ have to stay. I’m not going to force you to watch this.” Astra lifted her chin. And what if something should go wrong? she thought. Do you honestly expect me to leave you here alone? Ember paused. “No,” she concluded, smiling blandly. Astra gave her friend one final, defeated glance. Do what you must, she thought, resting her head. I won't stop you. Ember sighed, and turned toward her table. “Ok,” she said, squaring her shoulders. “Here I go.” Forcefully, as if she were afraid she might change her mind, Ember whipped off her goggles and removed her dark tunic, replacing it with one tailored to expose her upper back. Then, she strode over to her ingredients shelf and retrieved a deep red bottle. She checked the label; “Ashen Pheonix Plume,” it said. Nodding and turning back toward her wings, she popped out the cork and tipped a little of the bottle’s contents into her hand. A pinch of wispy, rubescent powder shimmered against her skin. Cradling the powder in her palm, she approached her work table. Then, bending toward her wings, she stretched out her handful of phoenix ash and blew. The powder swirled over the wings for a moment, whispering anciently, finally alighting on the flesh with a quiet, sizzling hiss. Smoke roiled up from the ash. Once all the ash had settled, she lifted her fabricated wings and strapped them to her shoulders; the black iron hinge that connected the wings sent a cold shock across the bare skin of her back. Now Ember lifted a trembling hand and swept it over the dark, dragon shaped tattoo on her collar bone. Like the warm coals of a dying fire, the tattoo began to smolder, melting from black to flickering orange, and exuding smoke. Hot power seeped from the tattoo throughout Ember’s body, bleeding like spilt ink through all her extremities; it relaxed her muscles, sharpened her senses, and focused her wheeling thoughts… And as she was being thus flooded with power, she found herself praying to some nameless god for relief from the acidic fear that burned in her stomach. None came. So, it was with a pounding heart and tightly shut eyes that she lifted her hands, saying: “Etus duravi ves pah, ventendum auros durucay.” Ember held her breath, clenched her jaw, felt her muscles tense in fearful preparation… Nothing happened. Her eyes opened, and flicked toward Astra. “What the-” Ember yelped as a rush of wind blasted her from below; her hair and tunic frenzied in the phantom gust. Then, curiously, she felt an almost undetectable itch from the place on her back where her wings met her skin. The itch began to intensify, transforming from a harmless twinge to an irritating burn. “Interesting,” she breathed. A whisper of panic fluttered in her chest as the irritating burn began to intensify. Soon it felt as if she’d been lashed on the back with a red hot poker. She rolled her smarting shoulders, groaning through her teeth. Astra stood. “No, no.” Ember raised a hand toward the dragon. “I’m fine.” Astra stood perfectly still, wide eyes boring into Ember’s face with deep concern. The burning on Ember’s back increased further still, now searing against her skin like concentrated fire. As the pain mounted, the trembling in her fingers began to spread throughout her body, growing in intensity until she feared her knees would give. Stumbling forward, she caught hold of her work table, clinging to it desperately, staring with wide eyes at the scorched wood before her. Her chest heaved, and she cursed under her breath. Suddenly, the level of pain spiked; Ember cried out, shivering as a nauseating crackle issued from her back. A warm wetness clung to the back of her tunic-- her ears rang, her vision blurred, and sharp metallic tang coated her tongue. She swooned. Ember, STOP! screamed Astra’s mental voice. Ember recognized that voice… Where had she heard it before? And where was she? What was this place? It smelled like blood, and… and smoke… Suddenly, a final massive blast of blinding pain pulsed through Ember’s tremor-wracked limbs; it bolted through her veins as if her blood had turned to needles. Her body undulated with the pulse, and she drew a ragged gasp, mouth slightly ajar, eyes as wide as discs. A coarse, choked sob escaped her lips… And she fell. Something smelled delicious. Ember was awake now, but she didn’t open her eyes. Acutely aware of the cool dirt floor against her body, she lay perfectly still, breathing evenly, savoring the smell of roasted pork that came from… somewhere... Memories of the day’s events came trickling back to her now-- she felt her stomach turn. Though her body ached as if she’d been flogged within an inch of death, the throbbing in her limbs was nothing compared to the torture she had just endured. Finally, she opened her eyes. Shimmering moonlight streamed through the skylight above, alighting on two wooden bowls that sat before Ember’s gaze. One bowl was filled with water, the other covered by a threadbare cloth. Ember assumed the delectable smell emanated from the latter. For a moment she was puzzled, trying to surmise where the bowls had come from. Then, she spotted Astra, sleeping by the hearth. Until this moment Ember had supposed she’d been out for just a day, and that the painful events of her memories had happened not long ago. But as she watched Astra sleep fitfully by the darkened fireplace, she deduced that the dragon hadn’t slept peacefully in days. And she deduced that the food and water had been provided by her as well. Ember cringed with guilt. What hell this must have put Astra through. Ember’s stomach growled; it was time to eat. Arms shaking violently, she pushed herself up, and with a little struggling managed to sit upright. She felt the bottoms of her wings brush against the floor… Felt her wings brush against the floor? A burst of elation exploded in Ember’s chest; her wings could feel! She scrambled to her feet and twisted around, grabbing hold of one of the fleshy, red membranes—yes! She could feel the coolness of her fingers against the translucent skin! But wait, could she…? Yes, yes! She could move her wings, too! Ember laughed aloud as her wings flapped behind her, blowing the papers on her chairs into a frenzy. She could lift her wings! Stretch her wings! Fold them and spread them and make them twitch and flutter! With no more effort than it took to move a finger, she could control these metal wings that were once just iron and dragon flesh. I did it! she thought, twirling and smiling brilliantly. I did it. Suddenly, a knock came at the door. Ember stopped her giddy celebration and froze. Who could be here at this time of night? The knock came again, more urgently now, and Ember rushed to find something to cover her freakish wings. She ripped open closets, threw open chests, and finally came across a long black cloak in a box beneath her bed. She folded her wings as close to her body as possible and threw it on, scrambling across the room toward the door. “Yes?!” she yelped, tearing the door open. A shocked little messenger shied away from her dirty, manic frame. “A-a message for you, Miss Tanwen,” he stammered, holding forth an envelope in his chubby hand. “Ah! Thank you!” cried Ember, and snatched the envelope away from him. “Uh, M-Miss Tanwen? …The fare?” “Yes, yes of course,” Ember muttered, staring fixedly at the letter in her hand. And with that, she closed the door, giving no heed to the stuttering unpaid messenger behind it. The door clacked shut and there Ember stood, staring at the letter, her hand still on the doorknob. Finally she turned and reentered the room, running her fingers quizzically over the looping green letters on the envelope. "To Lady Ember Tanwen," they read. Ember cocked her head. No one had called her “Lady” in years. Slowly, she lowered herself onto her stool, absently pulling at her cloak until the dark garment fluttered to the floor. Her eyebrows furrowed as she struggled to decipher who this letter could possibly be from. Finally, she flipped it over. There in the dead center of the envelope sat an all too familiar seal—a lovely curling “L” in green wax. Ember froze. “…Damn.” Ember Tanwen: 26 years old, average height, slight, lean build, nutty-brown skin. She has ruffled, loosely curling black hair with a reddish sheen, and tall pointed ears, riddled with earrings (her mother was a pure-blood Elven noblewoman.) Her eyes are red, and slightly incandescent-- characteristic of all mage draconus. Like every mage, she has the power to manipulate matter, but her specific class of mage deems her master of fire and ore manipulation (which she often utilizes to animate the metal animals she constructs-- that's one of her specialties). She can also do a nifty trick or two with smoke ;). Her smoldering dragon tattoo is the key to her power, and tends to change location on her body when no one's looking. Ember is cool headed in most situations, except when she's on the verge of breakthrough (as is seen in this addition). Having lived in solitude for the last few years, she tends to have a hard time warming up to strangers. Once she does, though, pranks abound ;). Astra is her dragon companion, something every mage draconus has, and the two communicate telepathically. Astra has been a free spirit since infancy (as evidenced by the straight scar across Ember's left eye) and is fiercely protective of her master. Laike has something to do with the death of Ember's mother and mage draconus father (Ember hypothesizes Laike killed them in an attempt to steal her father's plans for an invention), and thus their initial contact will probably commence with violence. And that's what's up, yo! About addition #4: By: careisman - TGDW  Added: Fri, 09/23/2011 @ 6:15pm Size: 13,689 Characters Bombec Bronbeard The Green Dragon Inn came to view as Bombec rode down the dirt road. Ollie his new grey mule trolliped along at a fair pace. He bought the mule back at Stonewrought Village, where he received a letter from Laike for employment. The letter mentioned the rescue of some kidnapped girl. He wasn't the type to go running off to rescue the damsel in distress, but his latest unfortunate events left him little choice. You see, Bombec Bronbeard of the Bronbeards Clan wasn't the luckiest dwarf. An Explosive Demolitionist by trade, misfortune seemed to travel with him where ever he went, and being accident prone on top of that didn't help much either. Yet he remained steadfast and kept to the family trade, and was currently working at the Iron Fortress as an Explosives Engineer, but unfortunately that was more or less at an end as you'll soon find out for yourself. The turn of events made him lose not only his former mule, forcing him to spend what little gold he had left, but would forever change his life. This story you are about to hear is the tale of Bombec the Bronbeard. Young Ollie stopped by the first open stall and Bombec hopped down and tied the reigns to the post. The area around the Inn was nothing except a vast wasteland of dirt and dust. The sign hanging above the inn was the only visible one. The Green Dragon Inn painted in brown letters with a carved picture of a green dragon on its wooden surface. He decided first things were first and a good mug of ale was always top on the list. He strolled through the double swinging doors. The bar was located in the middle of the inn since it was the focal point of all who came here. It was a bit hot and muggy for Bombec's taste but the ale was cheap and the glasses were clean as long as you tipped enough. He sat himself near the right side of the bar. Chuvak the Bar Troll was sitting next to him. The troll looked up from his drink. "Aye -- how's it goin mon?" said Chuvac. "Ah it could be better, but atleast I got me enough to drink aye." replied Bombec as he slapped a gold coin on top of the bar table. "Give me two mugs o' yer strongest ale an ye can keep the rest." Chuvac was a frequent patron to the establishment. He always seemed to manage to be at the bar. No one ever knew exactly how he managed the funds to drink himself half to death, neither did they ask. Most kind of figure it was by illegal means and thought best not to ask. The two mugs of ale slid right in front of Bombec with a clank of glass. The froth on top oozed over the sides, taking one in each hand, he downed them both within just a couple of chugs. "Ahh -- now that hit da spot, I'd say," wiping the froth from his lips with the back of his hand. Gupeg the bar keep looked at him with his jaw hanging open in amazement. He then noticed the dent in the dwarf's helm. "Might I ask, how'd you got that there dent on your helm? It looks new, so I'm just a bit curious how's ya got it." said the bartender. "Aye! Well it's a bit o' a long story, but if ye can spare a wee bit more o' ale perhaps I cud tell ye." replied Bombec looking at the empty mugs. The bartender poured another and sat it in front of the dwarf. "If you insist I'll go on ta tellin ye denn," saying with a burp. He decided to sip on the ale, figuring this would most likely be his last since he now had run out of gold. "Dis is whut happened... Ole Pollie me poor mule "This story is about me mule, Ole Pollie. She was a Durniscus full bred mule I purchased back a few winters ago. It costed me a good month's wages too. A good pack mule don't come cheap you know, but anyways." he said taking another drink, and continued on with the story. "Nightfall wuz settlin in as me and me mule was just gettin oot o' the forest. Da trail had taken longer than expected but Ole Pollie was carrying a full pack after all. I just had come from Steel Home Depot, after purchasing all the needit supplies for the explosive shop I worked at in da Iron Fortress which iz the capital o' us dwarven peoples." "I suppose the six mugs o' ale had' int been the best idea before settin off. It put me back a few hours of daylight. Anyways we jus had made the clearing when I heard da howls. Long, deep bellows they were, coming from within the forest we just had left. I recognised the dreaded sounds right off. There was only one animal that they could come from and dat's a hellhound. Blasted creatures wit red eyes in da moonlight. Their fangs were big an stained blood yellow from all der killin." "I immediatley knew I was scruud, there would be no chance I'd make it to Stonewrought Village. I took off Ole Pollie's saddle harness, but the stubborn mule kicked me doon as she boltit upon hearing da howls a gettin closer. Eejit stubborn mule as she was, neva did let me do any' ting wit her wit' oot a fuss. She was headed into the middle of da glen where a dead tree stood. So I made off after her in hopes I'd reach the tree before it was too late." "I dropped me mace an took off me shield from me back, but decided to keep me axe handy, Glissmoire iz me axe's name it had fared me well in many an unexpect disaster. If I didn't make it to the tree I cud atleast take a few of them varmints wit me, I told myself." "I ran pretty fast most of the way. Me new helmet kept swayin back an forth. Bloody ting was a bit too big for me head, but it was a good helm an had a fur liner dat kept me head nice an warm in the cauld wetter. It wuz round an made of silver wit a nice yellow brass trim around the edge dat came doon da mittle." "It felt like me lungs were go' in to explode as I made it to the tree. Pollie was jus a kicking at da tree like she was tryin to climb it. I could hear the snarls coming from the pack of Hellhounds behind me. I took the broad side of me axe an gave her a guut welt in da behind but it did' in even phase her. She was hell bent on climbing dat bloody tree, when I took a quick look back I cud see why. A pack a dozen o' dose hounds were comin our way." "Dammit Pollie! Off wit ya now ya dum lassie, is all I said as I tried to shoo her off to no avail: givin up I decided to climb the tree me self. Jus in time too as I heard Ole Pollie give out a shriek o' pain. They had gotten her by da hind legs, but she managed to billy buck one o' dem to da ground. The crackin sound o' her hoof smashin in da beast's skull was enough to know why it stayed motionless in the dirt. Dat's me bonnie lassie Pollie, ye atleast sent one o' dose dogs to hell. That's all I could muster as tears came to my eyes." "It was' in very long though till she stopped making any sound. They mus o' gotten a hold o' her neck an she died soon after. It was best I suppose atleast she was oot o' her misery. I had noticed on the way up the dead tree had some big gashes in its trunk. I suppose I was' int the first to get stuck up there. The infernal hellhounds probably had dis routine doon packed, an Ole Pollie's kicking at the tree had' int helped eiter. "I could hear da straining o' da wood as I climbed a bit higher up. I was a bit on the heavy side when it came to dwarves, but I sure do love to eat so I always try to overlook dat one. I suspected that it would just be a matter o' time before da hounds finished their dinner an would want dessert, wit no intention o' being anyone's dessert I had to come up wit a plan." "I began searchin me pockets for anytin dat could be used an came up wit me wee tinderbox an a stogie I had been savin for a special occasion. I made a small fire from some dried up leaves. It did' int take long. I put da stogie in me mouth an began to puff on it to get it smokin." "I must o' sat in that tree for a few a puffin away, den it hit me, noticing the box o' gunpowder that Pollie had been carryin had broken open from her realin back an fallin I got a plan. Da idea would be to blow them blastit varmits clear oot o' dis world, but I had to make sure I dropped me stogie just in the right spot to do the job." "I took a few power puffs to get the end o' da cigar nice an red an chucked it right in the middle o' da pack near the box o' gunpowder. A spark shot off from it hittin the box an dat was all that had been needed." "KABOOM!" "Dat sound was all I could hear as the ground below me blew up in the explosion, bits an pieces o' flesh an bone shot out. One o' Ole Pollies shoes came flyin up an hit me in da head wit a big -- *Clang!* Me head began reeling as I tried to cling on to the limb, luckily I managed to hold on, but unfortunately I began to feel da blast an me weight had its toll on the tree's trunk an wit a *Thump!* the tree and me both fell to da ground." "Some how me body ended up just between the limb an da ground. It was a miracle I suppose that I had' int been squashed, gettin up I brushed me britches an took off me helm. It had a big dent in the side in da shape o' a horseshoe, as I put it back on I noticed it fit me now. Ha! I said to me self. Dis here helmet iz me new lucky charm.." "I headed back to the saddle I took off o' Pollie an found me purse, there was jus enough to buy me a new mule. I strapped on the purse, picked up me shield an mace from da ground, an headed to the village." "Poor Ole Pollie wuz all I thought aboot on the way there." After he finished the story he leaned over and whispered in Gupeg's ear. "Ye would' int happin to know where I could find Laike Mern would ye?" The bartender looked nervous at the mentioning of the name and looked over at a man standing over by a doorway. The man noticing the stare nodded in reply as so did Gupeg back. The stranger walked over to Bombec and spoke. "I take it you might be one of the guests seeking Laike I would take it?" "Aye -- that I might be." the dwarf said with some hesitation. "Ah! Don't worry my friend, I personally know Laike and have been instructed to escort all her guest to the back room. My name is Durren, I'm the innkeeper." he said putting a hand of reassurance on the dwarf's shoulder. "Shall we?" he spoke searching for a response to the invitation. "I reckon so den," replied Bombec putting his right hand on the handle of the mace strapped to his side, with a quick swig he finished the remaining ale and got up from the stool. One could never be too cautious he thought before going through the door that Durren had opened. It was always best to expect the unexpected and the way his luck was going at the moment, it would be best to be prepared. His knuckles whitened as his grip hardened on the handle of the mace. The door shut behind them with a thud. Bio: Bombec is from the Bronbeard Clan, which has been the staple family of the explosives side of the dwarven people. It's said their ancestors played a big role in building the Iron Fortress, having such asteem in their community was a big part in Bombec finishing school, perhaps the teachers tended to look the other way at all his miss haps. He does have a tendency to be some what accident prone, wreckless in nature has always added to his dillema's as well. You can expect a lot of comical effect and adventures from this dwarf. Name: Bombec Bronbeard Gender: Male Age: 35 Winters Occupation:Explosive Demolition Expert Location: Steelbridge Valley, Dun Bodach About Me: I grew up in a small miner village. My name was given to me by my mutter, her pa had the same name. See it's dwarven tradition to be named after a member of the family who has passed on and also tradition to take up in the family trade, which so happens to be explosives. The correct term would be Explosives Engineer, but me family had its doubts when I blew off me pinky when I was younger. Dwarven M-80's tend to have a bang to em ya see, but I manage to do without a finger even though my left hand still to this day is numb. I blew up my first mountain ridge at the age of 16 winters, my mutter and vater sure were proud at that point i'd say. The explosion revealed silver ore that was enough to put me through explosive school and become an apprentice explosive engineer. After schoolin I went to work at the forge in Iron Fortress which is our dwarven capitol. Interests: Me favorite pass time other than blowing up things would have to be drinking ale. Dwarven Stout has to be my first choice I'd say. We dwarves sure do love singing too, and having a few mugs in ya always seems to help that along. Maybe it dulls the eardrums cuz ya shur start to sound good after a few. *hic-cup* About addition #5: By: S.P. Schlichter Added: Fri, 09/30/2011 @ 6:37pm Size: 15,495 Characters Einar of Hygelac A tremendous storm had seized the autumn night. and all of the thanes spent the last of the night’s hours in their king’s mead-hall. Their king had recently paid them guerdon, so tonight was especially cheery. Drinking horns were foaming, the thanes sang songs, scops told tales of the ancients, and after a large feast, each thane took a turn exchanging a tale of their own. Thanes aren’t known to lie, but the truth of a tale is in the telling of a thane. So the stories that these thanes told were probably drawn from their origins. The men that they’ve conquered, and riches they’ve looted become much more whenever a thane tells their tale. No thane really seemed to mind too much though (thanks to the mead). The king laughed unattractively, followed by a hic and a swig of mead. “Oh, may that n-never happen to anoder. . . soul.” commented he on Thoron’s tale misfortune. The king stood from his throne, clumsily. He was too drunk to stay awake with the thanes to hear more of their tales, as entertaining as they were. “King, at least you could stay longer for at least one more tale?” Asked a thane named Bjorn. The king shook his head incoherently. “N-no,” a hic, “I must return to . . .,” the king thought, “my chamber. A good night to all of you, ma-my thanes.” The king then mumbled something barely comprehendible, and then left to his quarters. The mead was too strong for him. The storm continued and the night still went on. The thanes had a fire burning for quite a few hours and they knew they could get a little more time from it. So the thanes decided to let one more story be told. “Einar! You haven’t spoken at all this night. You’re a great warrior. You should tell the next!” Barked the eager thanes. Einar finished his mead and slowly peering from his horn he muttered, “Let it be so.” The thanes refilled their horns, gathered around Einar, and didn’t make a sound. This story was going to be intriguing, and the thanes knew it. Einar began to speak “I’m known as Destroyer in other lands than here,” the thanes’ eyes widened. “It’s true what I say. Believe me! Now, do you hear this storm? On a night just like this, I was sailing south to the land of sun-burnt men, the deserts of the Caliph. . ." *** The longboat was violently rocking, the sail bellying, and Einar’s crew was shaken. “Einar, the waves rise too high, and we’ve lost four men overboard!” warned a shipmate. Einar stood vigilant on the ship’s bow. This storm didn’t strike fear into him. He’s been through worse. He turned to his shipmate, “The gods of sea and storm have been merciful to this ship before. The Fate of those men has been met, but ours have not . . . Keep the sails as they are, and tell the men to bucket the water flooding my decks off the ship.” “As you desire.” The shipmate then shouted a command from the ship’s bow, “Let the sails fly! Throw the water back in!” Einar stared back into the stormy sea. He wondered if he was going to arrive to the Caliph’s land. The thunder roared like beasts as whips of lightning cracked the dark skies. The longboat shook as violently as before. The men became fatigued; ship maintenance wasn’t at top prestige. The warrior Einar started to worry. Too far had he sailed away from home to seek riches and renown. “We accept are woven Fates. Let our passing be easy as we enter the halls of gladness and cheer.” Einar’s prayer, however, did not go unheard. Suddenly Einar heard this, “Lights! Look, lights! Land!” Einar quickly beheld the sea, again. The violent lightning brightened a city on a shore every time the it flashed. Einar also saw a pyre high above the city. Recognizing it, Einar knew the flames were of a lighthouse. “Thank the gods!” Einar proclaimed, then asking his helmsman, “Honir, how many leagues?” Honir answered, “About four, Einar. It’ll take the remainder of the night and the storm to reach there.” Einar smiled wryly to himself. We’ve made it. Einar can only imagine what riches he will bring back home. The storm had past that night as they came closer to shore. The sun rose and morning arrived. Einar’s longboat was seen by the men working the lighthouse. The longboat was brought into a bay where dark-skinned porters roped the ship. These lands were of something that Einar had never seen. These lands had no lush forests, no green grasses from home; the air was mild, and the seas were clear. And most bewildering to Einar was the city. It was great! The city was ornamented with gold and precious gems that the sun shone off of. The homes were built of materials he had never seen in use before, and a great palace stood far out in the distance that was greater than any mead-hall he’d seen. A man of a darker complexion, wearing white attire, and that had some weight in his gut approached Einar at the port. He was undoubtedly wealthy. “Greetings travelers,” the man offered his hand to shake, Einar did, “I am Asad, guide of Tekmal,” Asad began to bow, “our great city.” Einar was impressed. “They call me Einar from where I’m from.” “A name we shouldn’t forget.” Asad paused, “I’d have to say. . . Einar, I have not seen your people before. From where do you hail?” Asad asked “The North . . . we hail from Hygelac.” Asad had a curios expression on his face, “I can’t say I’m familiar with the name. You and your men will have to tell me more.” Asad began to face the city, “Einar, I would be honored to show you, and your men Tekmal.” Einar agreed to be toured through Tekmal, but only if each of his men and himself could carry a sheathed sword. Asad saw no harm in the act. The wealthy porter presented Tekmal to the Northerners. The streets were clean, populace, and not at all quite quiet (which was something completely new to Einar). Tekmal’s marketplace had strange foods, unknown smells, and peoples than from the North. Gold also seemed to be the city’s most outweighed luxury . . . and gold is what Einar longed for. Einar interrupted Asad, “Porter, these golden statues and urns, these silk cloths, precious gems, and rich foods must’ve been a blessing from a god! How did Tekmal and your people acquire such luxury? It bewilders me!” Asad laughed. “These blessings are alms from the gods, are they not? There are more to thank than the divine though, Einar. The great kings who lived the god’s destinies are who grant us with these indulgences. However, we are the descendants of those kings. However, they are entombed with the greatest treasures of all never to be seen be Men.” “And why is that?” Asad continued, “. . . Legend has it that the Malik, the Last of Kings, heard of thieves taking riches from his grandfather’s tomb. Furiously, he cursed those who entered the tombs with a plague of undeath. It is also said that Malik invited monsters and all sorts of beasts into the tomb. The curses and monsters seemed to have ward thieves off from the tombs . . . I haven’t heard of any happenings of late.” Einar’s face was slapped with another wryly smile. The tombs are where the gold is. This Malik King seems well beyond wealthy. Asad was allowed to continue the walk around Tekmal. Einar kept his eyes peeled for any clues he could obtain for tombs within the city. Asad was blindly unaware of Einar’s, and eventually his men’s’ intentions. Asad took the Northerners through the entirety of the metropolis. Einar had learned all of the sects, districts, divisions, and strips of Tekmal. With Asad’s (most likely regretful) help, Einar had learned the sites of the tombs of the kings. The warriors then thanked Asad, and the porter left them to the city. Einar had one thing in mind: the tomb. So later that same night they arrived, Eianr slyly took his men to the tomb of Malik, the Last of Kings. With the guards asleep, the warriors had to roll the stone blocking the tomb’s entrance open very quietly. . . The “gate” was opened. Einar stared deep into the gaping crypt. It hollowed an eerie sound much like ravens do at home. Einar wish not of his men to be punished for this crime. “Men,” Einar spoke, “I must do this deed in solitary.” His men began to quietly uproar. “—Ah! Not a word. Hand me my torch.” The warriors did as they were told. “Now let Fate dare not take me.” Einar then leapt into the catacomb leaving his men behind. The warriors watched as his torchlight dimmed. . . . . . Malik’s tomb was much larger than Einar originally would imagine. He trekked through a labyrinth of corridors and entries. Engraved messages warned him to return, but Einar had no fear. He’d been through worse. Then, Einar found a door, no, a gate, more than twice his size! It was made of glass, and it was stained in images of probably Malik, Einar pondered. Needing one hand, and the ability to see, Einar sheathed his sword and pushed one of the gate open revealing something magnificent. The magnificence was a chamber bursting with riches of gold, gems, and crystals. He had found it! The treasure of Malik was all his! But, something disturbing also sat in the chamber, literally. On the opposing side of Einar was a throne with a kingly skeleton holding a sword so immense that it seemed as if it was forged from the cauldrons and the crucibles of the giants! Einar approached the king, cautiously. The king was glorified, that was for sure. But the sword had a hilt of fine leather, gold engravings and a blade with a cunning edge. “A trophy even kings long for.” Einar pried the skeletal fingers from the hilt, and then wielded the sword. He felt as if almost this blade concluded him. The gods were truly on his side! Einar scoffed. There’s no curse. He thanked Malik for the sword and turned for the gate. Einar’s heart then dropped in his chest. Something had grabbed him by the wrist, it was the king. Einar shook Malik off from his arm, and the skeleton fell off the throne lifeless, as it ought to be. Einar began to panic, so he briskly raced to the glass gate. Then his torch burnt out. Einar quickly dropped the burnt stick and raced to the gate. It was closed. . . Einar tried to pull the two doors apart, but he didn’t want to let the sword go from his grip. A low, guttural growl then emerged from behind him. Einar’s heart was really pumping blood now. As he slowly turned around, torches lit around the tomb revealing the beast of the legend. It was a hooved monster with the head of a lion and of a drake. Einar faced the growling beast and begged, “Gods of War bless me this night.” as he reached for his sheathed sword. The beast then roared with fiery lungs that shook even the mightiest of warriors. Einar let out a bellowing war cry as he drew his sword and charged the beast throwing his sword straight at the beast. Both man and beast rushed straight to each other, knowing someone was going to go. The thrown sword clashed off the scales of the drake. Einar still pressed forward wielding the king’s sword with both hands. He tackled the monster gripping it by the lion’s head. The drake hissed and spit poison. Einar tried to strangle the lion, but the fury the great cat threw him right off. With its hooves, the beast bucked Einar’s armored breasts. Einar flew into a mound of coins. The beast roared and quaked while Einar threw off his broken armor. He grasped the king’s sword and cried a battle shout. He faced the beast slicing it where it came to strike. Einar mounted the beast again and drove the sword straight into the lion’s head. A screech crept from the drake’s throat as its lion companion died. It hissed more and tried to bite and gnash. Einar laughed a blood-lustful cackle and began to thrust the giant sword into the drake’s throat. The drake just wouldn’t let him. The beast violently shook and coiled to dismount Einar. Einar yelled and shouted, but wouldn’t let give. The drake hissed and spat trying to get Einar off. Einar gripped harder around its throat. The drake gave one last, immense shake. Einar’s off-hand dropped the sword and heard it clank on the ground. Einar’s eyes raged red as he also became a monster. Einar began punching the drake head in the jaw until he heard a crunch. The North Warrior laughed and started to gouge the eyes of the beast. The drake was now blind and unable to bite, it started to flee! But Einar would not let that happen. He dismounted, quickly retrieved the sword and sliced the leg muscles of the beast. Now it couldn’t walk. . . In agony the drake whimpered and crawled. Einar had won. He yelled in it ears curses and profanities. Einar laughed again. He had defeated the curse and the beast. He earned the king’s sword. Einar pointed the sword at the drake’s throat, “No thief, burglar, or pickpocket; but a warrior am I! I am the Destroyer!” He looked up back at the throne, Malik sat yet again on the throne, this time with his arms crossed. Einar took a breath, “I am Einar!” as he severed the head of the beast. The sword was his . . . *** “My men and I remained in the desert for a month before returning home. The guards were bewildered how we got passed them,” Einar sipped his mead, “a warrant were on our heads at Tekmal, but we left long after that. I still have the sword today; I just haven’t seen as many travels since those times.” Einar finished. “Well surely your name had to have spread! You’re Destroyer!” exclaimed the thanes. Einar smirked, “Perhaps.” The thanes then put out what was left of their fire. They all had a great night before returning to their cots. Einar’s tale had last the rest of the night. *** Einar awoke earlier that morning to a good meal. He decided to peek at Malik’s sword once more. Oh, how he missed those times. As he walked to the shores, a homing pigeon had found him with a parchment. “What is this?” he asked as he removed the letter from the bird. The bird then flew off. Einar quickly read the letter, and was immediately intrigued. “Honir,” he said, “ready the ship!” Einar of Hygelac Einar is a warrior with well-built body. He's very tall. He has blues eyes, long, dark blonde hair, and a long face. He very much resembles a Nordic. Einar is very prideful, but also very respectful of others. Fear is something he commonly struggles with. He tries to block fear out of his emotions, but can never succeed in doing so. Einar will always make a reference to his gods and hs Fate. He wears more leather than anything, but he does have a metal helmet, buckle, and gauntlets. And of course, he carries Malik's sword (a two-handed great sword). About addition #6: By: `lemur` Added: Fri, 09/30/2011 @ 9:54pm Size: 10,367 Characters Faris Thin fingers of light pierced the heavy canopy of the forest, dappling Faris’ skin and coat. He looked up at the sunshine and smiled at the slight warmth it provided to the usually cool atmosphere that extended for miles between the trees of the Darnay Forest. “You look like a foal again, Faris,” laughed Anzja, Faris’ mentor. The two centaurs had travelled away from the clan in search of a site where their clan could move to for spring. “You are a strange character, Faris. In battle, you are the strongest warrior I have seen in a long time. You kill without hesitation, and you’re focused on nothing but battle. But, without battle, you are as light-hearted as anything. So innocent. I’ve never seen such a mix.” “Well, if it displeases you, I will become as stone faced and grumpy as you are,” Faris replied, a glint in his dark brown eyes. Anzja laughed. “You will, one day, if you continue on this path. But it’s not a bad thing you know, the path of the forest.” Faris snorted. “The centaur race is known for their love of the Forest, so I wonder then, what am I?” “Merely inquisitive, is what you are. It will pass. The Forest is good to us. You will see this in time.” Faris wasn’t so sure. Of course, he felt comfortable in the Forest, it was safe, and he had never known any different. But it lacked…something, he didn’t quite know what. Sure there was lots of action. There was constant change in the forest, the change of the seasons, the scurrying of animals, the thrill of the hunt. But there was no challenge. The only dangerous challenge there was, was from other clans of centaurs attacking in pursuit of more land, or the occasional ravenous beasts that strayed too close for comfort. “But, I have never experienced anything else. Only Took regularly travels outside of these woods, and he rarely talks of it.” Faris looked at Anzja, who shook his head. “I have seen the outside world. Nearly twenty-five years ago now, before you were born, I had to travel to a farm where the two-leggeds were clearing the forest.” “And what happened?” “I never talked to them. I exited the forest, and about ten meters into the open, I saw a piece of land that stretched on for what seemed forever, with hardly a tree marking its’ soil. And I…felt afraid. Me! A warrior, never beaten in a fight, was defeated by a field!” Anzja chuckled, then looked around the clearing. “This is good enough, better then what we have now anyway. Let’s head back, the clan should be ready for now.” ------------------------------------------- Faris and Anzja picked up the pace to a trot as they neared the clan, eager to get the clan on the move again. It felt like far too long since they had last moved, and wandering was in a centaurs’ spirit. As they arrived, the clan immediately moved toward them, and Anzja, after clapping Faris on the back, turned to lead them back to their new site. Faris moved to follow him. “Faris. I’m glad to see you have returned safely. There is talk of encroaching centaurs of other clans.” Faris turned to see Sayuni, a petite mare that had always stood out to Faris. He stood for a few seconds, mind blank, then quickly said, “Yes, ah, well, hopefully they won’t find us in the new spot that we’ve found.” Sayuni smiled. “Yes, you found it quickly, I trust?” Faris cursed his tongue, why was he so unable to speak? “Yes, the first place we walked into. Err…not that we couldn’t be bothered to look at others, I’m not adverse to work. Just that…err…I’m going to stop talking now.” Sayuni giggled. “Well I’ll see you there; I must go talk to my father.” She smiled and walked off, and Faris stared after her. You must have something wrong with you. What fool can’t talk? “Faris! Faris I’ve been looking for you everywhere. I have a letter here for you.” Took, the only centaur who ventured outside of the forest for the purpose of retaining relations with the two-leggeds, extended a piece of parchment to Faris. Faris refused to take it. “You know I can’t read, Took. What use are letters and numbers to me? Read it, please. Quickly, we’re on the move.” Took smiled, and relayed the information. “Laike Mern? She was that two-legged that visited a few years back when we were nearly wiped out by the Yall clan. I must help her, repay our debt. I must go at once. Thank you, Took, I will need directions though.” “Of course.” Took gave directions, and wished him good luck. Then a sly look came upon his face and he said “and I’ll tell Sayuni you asked to relay a very heartfelt goodbye.” Faris glared at him, rolled his eyes, then turned and cantered to catch up to Anzja. After reporting what had been asked of him, Anzja gave him leave to go, then wished him luck. With one last look at Sayuni, Faris turned and left the clan. -------------------------------------------- The sunlight was glowing more strongly now, and the air smelled more fresh, less sweet and earthy than it did in the middle of the forest. Faris found himself, at the edge of the trees, looking out at miles upon miles of fields, riddled with farmhouses and cottages. Took had told Faris to ask one of the farmers directions to the Inn, and if he followed those, he would find himself at his destination in less than a day of walking. Breathing in deeply, Faris placed a hoof carefully outside the shelter of the trees. Then the next. He smiled. After twenty years of staying under a canopy of leaves, it was refreshing to see a sky so unimaginably blue, and to feel the full force of the sun, and the gentle breeze that whipped his tail in the wind. He made his way to the nearest farmhouse, and sniffed the wind in search of the scent of human. “Anybody there?” he called. A lanky man popped his head out from a nearby barn. The man, grinned, then said, “won’t be a second, I’ll just ask me family t’ join us.” With that, he disappeared into his farmhouse, reappearing several seconds later with a young lady, and five curious children. Faris quickly recognised that he seemed to be a novelty. The children, and even the adults, were trying their best to hide the fact that they were ogling at his height, the way his skin flowed into hair, and the fact that he wore no clothes- why would he, after all? It was not needed for centaur males. All they carried was a sheathed sword that was attached to a belt fitted around their waist, and a quiver and bow around their shoulders. But as much as they ogled at him, he ogled back. He found it perfectly hilarious, how short they were, and the way that they could still balance, even though they only had two feet. And what strange feet they were! Useless, in his opinion. Faris had seen only a handful of two-leggeds in his lifetime, Laike being one of the few, and he never grew tired of the amusement it provided him. After a short pause, Faris cleared his throat. “Ah, I was wondering if I could get directions the Green Dragon Inn. I have business there, the faster I can get there the better.” “Oh! Yes, of course, just follow this road east of here, it’ll lead you straight there. Plenty o’ houses in between there should you need further direction. If y’ don’t mind my prying, what business do you have? Must be impor’ant to drag you out of yer forest. Haven’t seen a centaur before in me life!” “Yes, very important. Repaying a debt that we centaurs owe. Although, I’m not entirely sure what it entails. No matter, I love a bit of mystery.” Tiring of their stares, Faris thanked the farmer, and moved off. Obviously deprived of the knowledge that centaurs have heightened senses, the farmer’s wife remarked on how strange it was seeing a man with no legs, and a horse with no head. Faris shook his head, thinking, I am no horse though, nor am I a man. I hope not all humans put me into this category. We are a race in our own right. Arriving at the crossroads, Faris turned east, and found himself in a perfectly content mood. Finally, something was happening in his life. An adventure to remember. In no mood to travel slowly, he kicked up his heels, and galloped as fast as he could, stretching his legs out as far as they would reach, feeling perfectly excited for the road that lay before him. Faris -As you may have gathered, Faris is a centaur. His ‘human-half’ is tanned, well-built, with dark brown eyes and shaggy black hair that reaches just past his ears. His ‘horse-half’ is heavily built, like that of a light draft horse (eg Friesian). It is of buckskin colouration (light to medium tan colour, with black stockings and tail) with a dorsal stripe (a black line that runs from the top of his spine to the start of his tail. This can all be googled if anyone be bothered, but I’m sure you get the idea) He towers over most, which is a definite advantage in battle -He is a highly regarded warrior within his clan, with impeccable skill in swordplay. As such, he has a vast knowledge of strategy and fighting manoeuvres. Clan life also requires him to have good hunting and tracking skills. -Twenty years of age. -A very-good natured man, well-spoken, and doesn’t mind meeting new people. However, as mentioned, when in battle he is one-hundred percent focused, his skills in warfare honed from the plenty of attacks from neighbouring clans. -Not much experience with the outside world, so is frequently inquisitive, often shoving his nose where he shouldn’t -Has no concept of the worth of money, or a political system based on lords and serf-class, so is often rude without meaning to be -Knows Laike Mern when she travelled to their clan, for reasons unknown, and happened to be there when several enemy clans attacked at once. She helped them fight and saved a great many lives. The centaurs are in her debt, and Faris hopes to repay this About addition #7: By: uncommonspirit Added: Fri, 10/7/2011 @ 1:33am Size: 10,353 Characters Coryan Benedict aka Raven Ewen When the fog crept upon the streets and gnats gathered in clusters around the lantern that the cloaked woman carried in her hand, overhead the moon was obscured by a layer of clouds that threaten to release their anger upon the small village that she found herself. The air was rich with the spices of a nearby tavern, mingled with the foul stench of human excrement. Hidden not far behind the woman, Coryan glanced up at the second story of the tavern that cast a shadow on her hidden location. One never knew when a chamberpot might be emptied down to the street below, catching the unaware traveler in its embrace. Her target was half a block ahead of her. A woman somewhere in her thirties, dressed in muted colors, but of cloth of quality and cut that spoke of her having much coin in her pockets. The girl had noted the knife tucked into the woman's left boot and the hint of favoring her right side. There must be a pocket there under the fine brown cloak and masculine jerkin. Coryan had been following the woman since she had arrived at the Hen and Bull, an inn that catered to the more wealthy visitors of the village. She grimaced at the memory of being handed the reins of the woman’s horse as she intoned in an accent that spoke of her own societal importance and standing with the noble class,"Here boy, for your trouble." Coryan had watched the woman enter the inn and shook her head with irony. She did not hide the fact that she was female, but due to her flat chest and short platinum blond hair, she was often mistaken for one. Once she had secured the woman's horse in a stall, she crept into the inn and hid in the shadows behind the staircase. "You don't want to go there, Sera," the innkeeper exclaimed, "A woman alone is not safe in that part of town, the worse sort of ruffians stay at the Green Dragon Inn, why the guardian troll alone has been responsible..." Coryan had watched as impatience caused the noble woman to slap her palm on the counter top, forcing the innkeeper into silence, "I asked for directions, not a sermon." Such arrogance. A confident bearing that Coryan would have learned herself before the horde that had stormed her family's country manor and killed everyone from noble to servant. A child of ten and small for her age, she alone had managed to be overlooked by the sword wielding fiends. There was a nagging at the back of her mind about that, a feeling she had never been able to dispel that her older brother Beril had also escaped. The details of his disappearance were locked away along with the nightmare of that long ago day. The innkeeper bowed his head and muttered. The woman snatched the man's hand and squeezed. The innkeeper's face contorted and he gasped, "Down the street, turn right at Old Oaks Road and then go three blocks. The Green Dragon Inn is on the right." The woman released the innkeeper's hand. "Thank you, Ser." Her voice was dripping in sarcasm. "You have been most helpful." She departed via the front door. On the floor was a small folded piece of parchment that Coryan had seen fall from her wide sleeve. The innkeeper grimaced and muttered to himself as he noticed the folded note. He caught sight of the young woman by the stairs, "Coryan!" he bellowed. The girl stumbled forward and bowed her head. "Return the Sera's property. I will not be accused of theft by the noble class." He turned away from the door and strode into his back office, slamming the door behind him. So here she was, out on a soft night without a cloak to warm her, attempting to deliver a note to the proud woman. Coryan doubted that there would be a reward for her trouble, the olive skinned woman showed no mercy to those who she considered beneath her. The girl read the note. It spoke of a mission to rescue a child and a grand payment, but those details were not of much interest. Not that she did not want coin. Gold meant opportunity and a chance to create a better place for herself in the world, but the description of how the kidnappers had snatched the girl from her home haunted her. Were these the same people that had destroyed her home and kidnapped her brother? Inside, Coryan felt a burning desire to know more. Up ahead, the noble woman paused as a pair of cloaked men stepped out of the shadows. Coryan flattened herself against a nearby stone wall and held her breath. The woman drew a long knife and intoned, "Come no further, Sers. Otherwise you will know the taste of my blade." The largest of the men laughed. He drew a short sword, the curved type that were used by the soldiers of the southern guard. "Perhaps you will taste mine instead, unless you have the coin to stay my sword?" A knife flashed into the woman’s hand. “You would do well to retreat, Ser. I am Raven Ewen, perhaps you have heard of me?” Coryan stumbled at her words. The famous mage from the South? The woman who was said to be an adviser to the king and on the wizard’s council? That was who she was following? She looked at the note in her hand. What had she gotten herself into? The man either had not heard of her or simply was too ignorant to be impressed. “As you will,” he informed her as the curved blade whistled through the dank air. Coryan winced as the blade bit into Raven's stomach. There was a metallic clank as blade met chainmaile and the strength of the woman pushed the man back. The man roared and came at the woman again, but this time his two henchmen joined him. They overwhelmed the noblewoman, pulling her into the alley. Coryan counted her heartbeats until she reached fifty. She crept forward and peeked around the corner. The men had disappeared into the fog leaving the noblewoman prone on the broken cobblestones. Blood seeped from her abdomen, pooling around her body. Coryan's eyes widened as she stole forward until she was at the noble woman's side. "Sera," she whispered as she touched the woman's outstretched hand on the ground. The woman moaned, proving that she yet lived. "I am here, Sera. It is Coryan, from the Hen and Bull." "Coryan?" repeated the woman, her eyes looking up at a point distant and ethereal. "My purse...they took my purse....but not my...." the mage’s eyes closed. The girl shook her shoulder, "Sera! Sera, you must stay with me. I will bring help!" "No!" the woman exclaimed as she opened her eyes and gazed at the girl, "No. It is too late." Her strong grip took Coryan's wrist. "Honor. The honor of my House...must be maintained." Coryan tried to leave the woman's grasp, but failed. With care, the noble mage reached into an inner pocket and removed a silver chain. On it was a glittering blue gem that glowed with its own inner light. The light was hypnotizing and Coryan could not take her vision away from it. The woman pressed the gem into Coryan's bare arm. The world vibrated and was filled with a myriad of bright colors. Coryan tried to scream, but no sound would come from her throat. Then it was gone and she was once more bent over the body of the woman. But wait, it was not the Sera that laid there on the street. It was herself. Horrified, Coryan looked at her hands. They were not the thin fingers and pale white skin that she was used to, instead they looked creamy and were toughened by the sun by age. "What have you done to me?" Coryan exclaimed. Raven Ewen put the gem into her hand. "You must go to the Green Dragon Inn. There is a woman there named Laike Mern. Find her. You must help her, for my young cousin and for my honor." The woman closed her eyes and added, "You will be rewarded well. Take my knife and ring. No one must know that Raven of House Ewen has failed to protect her family." She looked at Coryan with regret. "So young to place such faith in. But the spirits must have brought you for a reason...." she whispered, "Promise me. You will do this." Coryan bowed her head. "Will I ever see myself in the mirror again?" "Promise me!" Coryan nodded. "I promise, Sera." The woman closed her eyes and her breathing slowed, then stilled. Coryan moved her body to the side of the alley and did nothing but breath for a time. She removed the knife and ring, before wrapping the mage in her cloak as if to ward off the chill of the night. It was silly of her to do this to a dead woman, but somehow the action made her feel better. She wondered, looking as she did, if she might be able to take the woman's horse back at the Hen and Bull. She took the note out of her pocket and read it again. Laike Mern had called for Raven Ewen, it was a matter of honor. Honor was not something Coryan had thought much about in a long time, but she remembered how important it had been to her family. She looked at her hands and felt her face. Nothing was familiar and she pondered how she would return to her own youthful appearance. Putting the silver chain over her head, she settled the blue gem under her clothing. But what was she doing acting for the House of Ewen when the House of Benedict was still unavenged? How was she going to turn herself back into herself? Maybe the woman who sent the note might know more. She stood and made her way out of the alley, trying to emulate the confident stride that the Sera had shown the world. If she must be Raven Ewen, she would do her best to play the part. In this manner, Coryan entered the doorway of the Green Dragon Inn. Coryan Benedict aka Raven Ewen Coryan is 16, an orphan. Tall with pale skin, blue eyes and platinum hair. Raven is 35, a mage of the first order. Tall with dark skin. Hispanic. Black hair and dark eyes. About addition #8: By: Jeska Grace Added: Sun, 10/9/2011 @ 2:47am Size: 5,619 Characters Laike looked around the room at the gathered questors-to-be. It was an impressive, if a bit eclectic, turn out.“Just one more,” she said, to no one in particular. “Aye, dat’s no problem,” said Bombec, raising his drink, “s’long as dey keep dis ‘evenly brew coming.” The big northerner beside him nodded in agreement. “We are in no hurry, Laike,” Einar concurred. Standing by the window, Faris looked as if he wanted to add something, but remained silent. The big centaur didn’t seem very happy with the confined space. They all seemed rather uncomfortable and out of place, Laike reflected. All but Einar and Bombec, of course. Durren’s brew would make anybody mellow. Hyral stood hunched over the fire, rubbing his hands compulsively, and Raven was being...strange. The dark haired woman had muttered a brief greeting, and then retired to the corner. The Raven Laike knew would have stalked in and taken charge in an imperious manner, not waited patiently for the final arrival. Speaking of which... Laike’s sharp ears caught the sound of footsteps in the now empty inn. Moments later, the door was flung open, and a young woman burst into the room, followed by a small, black dragon. “Laike Mern!” Ember snarled. “You’ve got a lot of nerve, summoning me here like this.” Beside her, the dragon hissed. The rest of the room stared, but Laike just smiled. Lady Tanwen believed Laike responsible for her parents deaths. Laike wasn’t about to give an opinion on the matter. “Invited,” she said, wincing for effect, “not summoned. Do calm down, girl. Love the wings, by the way. Very you.” She then watched as the elf-girl fussed with her cloak, trying to cover up wings that weren’t showing. It had been the fall of the cloak, and Laike’s experience of magi draconus that gave Ember away. That, and her subsequent reaction. “Alright everybody, listen up!” Laike shouted. “I’m sure you all want to know why you’re here.” “To rescue Iriel, presumably,” Hyral said smoothly. “We came because you called, Laike,” Faris added. “That you did, and it was very sweet of you,” she replied, grinning as the centaur blushed, “but that’s not quite what I meant.” “Then by all means, continue,” said Einar. “Yah, go ahead, lass. We’re all ears,” Bombec mumble from the depths of his tankard. Ember seemed to have some sort of silent communication with Aster, then she nodded. Laike flicked a glance at Raven. The mage was still silent. Something’s definitely not right there, Laike thought. I wonder if someone died. “This rescue,” she announced, “is going to be very difficult. We’ve a long way to go, a lot to do when we get there, and – this is the most important bit – it is absolutely top secret.” She glared around the room, daring anyone to not take this sufficiently seriously. “You were all chosen for a reason,” she continued. “Faris, you for your knowledge of woodlore, and your skills as a warrior. Einar, you are a northern thane, skilled in battle and sailing. Bombec, Hyral, between the two of you, we’ll be able to through, under, or out of, any obstruction that comes our way. Raven, I hardly need say this, but a powerful magic user is always an asset on a quest.” Was it just the lighting, or did the mage turn pale? The two of them were going to have to have a talk, Laike determined. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Aster nudge Ember with her nose. “What about us?” Ember asked. Fair enough, thought Laike. She’s an engineer and a mage. “I’ve got something special planned for you,” she said aloud, and grinned inwardly at the worry that crossed the girl’s face. “You, or rather, Aster, are to act as liason.” “What’s dat mean,” muttered Bombec. “And why do we need a dragon to do it?” queried Hyral. “I thought it would make Iriel feel more at home,” Laike said innocently. “Didn’t I tell you she’s a dragon?” She blocked her ears as the force of six voices, plus a dragon’s roar, hit her at once. “What?!?!” “A dragon?” “...you said...kidnapped?!” “...ever the trickster...” “...should have suspected...” She waited until the babble had died down, and then gestured for their attention. “If I may continue? Thank you. As I told you, Iriel has been kidnapped. Her family are very powerful, and they have hired me to get her back. Does anyone have a problem with that?” There was a fair bit of grumbling and muttering, but no one seemed to feel brave enough to voice it. Then Ember spoke up. “She’s Rhinon, isn’t she? They’re the only dragons who can speak all languages.” “Top marks to the mage draconus. I imagine you’ve heard of Direnalsien?” Confused faces and shaking heads abounded, but Ember nodded. “His daughter?” she stammered. “Why... But why...” “Why didn’t they go after her themselves?” Laike finished. “I don’t know, precisely. It’s political. You see, she was kidnapped by a princess.” ~*~ Far into the night they talked, planning and arguing. Laike fielded numerous questions, some she answered, most she didn’t, until finally she packed them all off too bed. It was a long journey, and the earlier they left, the better. © Copyright 2011 Jeska Grace, Dovetailed, Kleo, careisman - TGDW, S.P. Schlichter, `lemur`, uncommonspirit, (known as GROUP). All rights reserved. GROUP has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work. |
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