Realms of Dread IC, Chapter One

Rafael's and Skybolt's Online Campaign
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Post by kintire »

Shana glances round as if overhearing and then looks eager

"oh you're the hero of the keep? wow! oh yes, do tell us your tale!"
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Post by ewancummins »

at the party-

Jonet Prake blushes at the compliments he's just recieved, and stumbles a bit with his words before managing-

''Oh, why thank you all very much. I tried to do my duty.''

Jonet drains his glass to the dregs and then launches into his tale in earnest.

''Well, the alarm was sounded just a little before breakfast time, and we all rushed to our stations. The city had come under attack, but we didn't yet know by whom. Lord Scoril was taking reports in his dayroom. I was there. We started to get reports that the enemy were attacking the palace and citadel itself. ''

He refills his glass, this time with iced tea.

''Ah, the first reports were confusing. Some reported an attack by goblins, and others claimed it was an army of children. Of course, we came to realize the truth when we actually encountered the monsters- horrible.''

He sips his tea.

''We had gotten some folks seeking refuge outisde the gates, and my lord admitted them. There was some confusion for a moment, as these civilians were running about, but that was soon settled and we got moving.

My lord led us to the west wing, which was under attack at that time. More civilians were there, fleeing the attackers. We went past the crowd, trying to put ourselves between the fleeing folk and the enemy. There was smoke in the hall, but it wasn't yet so thick we couldn't see through it. That's where we first saw those horrible things- crawling over the walls and ceiling like spiders. The tapestries and furniture were all burning...I don't know who set the fires, for I didn't see the enemy carrying torches. The fight came on very suddenly, like a wave crashing over us. Lord Scoril, he was very brave! He cut down half a dozen at least, before he was wounded...''



Now the young soldier's eyes shine with tears. He roughly draws his sleeve across his face to dry it, before continuing.

''I'm not ashamed to weep at my lord's downfall. I'm not. He was a good man, Lord Bledryn Scoril, a really fine and generous master and a good lord for our city.

I was near him and I could see that he had been wounded at least twice in the legs, where the creatures had bitten him. He fell. I grabbed him. I pulled him away from the fighting. There was smoke everywhere, it seemed as if even the stones were burning! That stink, it was so awful, I'll never forget it, it was like rotten eggs. There was a terrific rumbling noise from under our feet, and I felt the floor shift. I couldn't see much through the smoke, but I heard the others still fighting in the west hall. Then there was a loud crack of splitting stone. The ceiling in there gave way and it all came crashing down in a heap! My mates were all killed, but the monsters were buried, too. Only the Baron and I had made it into a safe area, down the hall.

Lord Scoril, he was bad off, I'll tell you. I tried to tend to his wounds, but he was too far gone, lost too much blood. He died while I was trying to stop the bleeding and calling for aid. ''
Last edited by ewancummins on Tue May 12, 2009 6:18 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Delight is to him- a far, far upward, and inward delight- who against the proud gods and commodores of this earth, ever stands forth his own inexorable self.

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Post by ewancummins »

at the party, but away from Jonet Prake and his present crowd of admirers


Lord Hintar Ildool, Baron of Marsember, favors Inovidil with a brilliant smile. He nods politely to 'Blaise Zilfarrik'.

''Well met, Master Zilfarrik and Mistress Inovidil. An interview? Hmmm....well, affairs of state do keep me quite busy these days, as you may well imagine. Nonethless, I'm certain that I will be able to set aside some time to discuss local history with a scholar. History is rather a passion of mine, you see. Indeed, my late father often wryly commented that I spent too much of my time in the stacks and not enough in the lists. Shall we say...ah in two days' time you and Mistress Inovidil call on my here at my home. ''



[OOC Blaise detects several minor magics on the baron's person, possibly of a protective nature- abjurations for the most part, but also some alteration magic]
Delight is to him- a far, far upward, and inward delight- who against the proud gods and commodores of this earth, ever stands forth his own inexorable self.

-from Moby Dick (Hermann Melville)
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Post by ewancummins »

at the Frogwife

Rafael wrote: Ironheart, quiet, looming over Moorkroft's shoulder...


Jamethon opens the package and removes the contents. It is a blue dress, with spots of rusty discoloration near the neckline. After taking a moment to examine the dress, Jamethon seems satifisfed and he neatly refolds it and replaces it within the wax paper packet. Then he deposits the whole package within a satchel beneath his cloak.

Cross-face speaks-

''Alright then, Moorkroft, you've got the dress and we've got our money. We're done here.''

Cross-face gets up to leave...

The slovenly trull to whom Ironheart had given a coin now gives the barbarian a worried look and gestures towards the front of the room.

Six men, their cloaks still wet with raindrops, are advancing on the corner table where Moorkoft sits. As they move closer [now about fifteen feet away] they throw open their cloaks. Four of them have loaded crossbows which they are even now raising to take aim at Moorkroft and Ironheart. The other two are reaching for stout wooden clubs which hang on their belts.

One of the two reaching for a truncheon, a dusky skinned man with a blond beard, says in a hard voice-

''Moorkroft, don't you move an inch, you bastard!''
Last edited by ewancummins on Tue May 12, 2009 4:20 pm, edited 2 times in total.
Delight is to him- a far, far upward, and inward delight- who against the proud gods and commodores of this earth, ever stands forth his own inexorable self.

-from Moby Dick (Hermann Melville)
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Post by steveflam »

Rardi appraises the gnome even before she arrives. He seemed a good enough sort, even for a gnome. "I be Rardi Silverhelm, Priestess 'o' Lathander an from Damara. Well met, Threan. I dun get ta speak with gnomes that often, so this is a treat fer me. What brings ya te the city or is this yer home?"
Last edited by steveflam on Wed May 13, 2009 6:58 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Post by Le Noir Faineant »

Ironheart nods to the friendly whore, and then...

Steps away from Moorkroft, his muscular arms raised, and his hands open.

"Easy...", the barbarian growls. "This is not my fight. Be well, all..."
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Post by ewancummins »

Jamethon sits stock-still at the table, his hands in plain sight.

''It's alright...be calm. I'll not make a fuss.''

Cross-face clears his throat and chokes out-

''None of our business, let's go lads!''

Slowly, very slowy the gravediggers get up and move away from the table. One of the crossbowmen turns to cover them with his weapon. Two more men have bolts aimed at Jamethon. The fourth crossbowman keeps his weapon trained on Ironheart. The leader of the armed strangers says

''Get up, Moorkoft, you're coming with us!''

Jamethon begins to stand from his seat- and then he suddenly throws himself to the floor and rolls under the table! Both men aiming at him let fly, but they are just a split second too late and their bolts strike the rear wall harmlessly. There's a loud noise from under the table- BOOM- and a puff of stinking white smoke billows forth from below the tabletop. The club-man next to the leader falls over, clutching a bloody right knee.

The boltman facing Ironheart is so startled by the blast that he jerks the trigger of his crossbow, launching a bolt into Ironheart's groin!

The man who had been covering Cross-face's gang swivels and pivots confusedly, searching for a target. Seeing Ironheart, he fires. His bolt grazes the big man's left arm, opening a shallow wound.

The leader reacts quickly, jumping on top of the table under which Jamethon hides and swinging his club down in an attempt to strike the -ex-priest in the back. He strikes a chair instead, knocking the rickety piece of furniture to splinters.
Delight is to him- a far, far upward, and inward delight- who against the proud gods and commodores of this earth, ever stands forth his own inexorable self.

-from Moby Dick (Hermann Melville)
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Post by VAN »

Inovidil smiles and bows slightly her head as Blaise introduced her. As the man speaks she keeps her smile and says:

"We understand, the city needs you very much these days, I'm more than sure about that. In two days is just fine for us. Thank you very much Lord Ildool and once again congratulations for this great party."

The evoker sips her punch and looks one more time around the room.

"Really amazing."

She actually does that because she wants to give Blaise some time to intervene before leaving if he wants.
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Post by Ken of Ghastria »

at the party, but away from Jonet Prake and his present crowd of admirers
ewancummins wrote: "...History is rather a passion of mine, you see. Indeed, my late father often wryly commented that I spent too much of my time in the stacks and not enough in the lists. Shall we say...ah in two days' time you and Mistress Inovidil call on my here at my home. ''
"You're very gracious, sir," says Blaise. "And MY father also said the same of me. Too much time reading up on battles, politics, and the dark histories of some families. The fact that you're a student of history as well should make our conversation even richer! In two days' time, then." He turns to Inovidil. "Come, my dear, let's leave his Lordship to greet his many other guests."

Assuming that Ildool doesn't say anything further, Blaise escorts Ino back toward the punch bowl.

"An interesting man," he says to her when they're safely out of earshot. "He has what I think are some protective magicks on his person -- understandable for anyone in his position, especially given recent history -- but some type of alteration magic, also. His appearance may not be quite what it seems, or perhaps he's magically enhanced one of his attributes, say his natural charm. Again, not surprising for any politician. No way to be sure right now, but let's keep looking at him every now and then. I'd be curious if his appearance alters even slightly during the course of the evening."
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Post by BigBadQDaddy »

at the party-

Alain listen to Jonet as he finishes his tale, obviously not masking his expression of astonishment.
"Did anyone ever find out what made the hall shift and eventually collapse? And of the creatures crawling on the ceiling...what did they look like?"
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Post by ewancummins »

BigBadQDaddy wrote:at the party-

Alain listen to Jonet as he finishes his tale, obviously not masking his expression of astonishment.
"Did anyone ever find out what made the hall shift and eventually collapse? And of the creatures crawling on the ceiling...what did they look like?"
Prake's boyish face takes on a nasty look. He flushes, maybe from emotion and maybe from the not inconsiderable dose of punch he's taken since you've had him under observation [who knows how many cups he had before any of you spotted him?].

''Aye, I learned what had caused it, later. 'Twas a cellar full of smokepowder. I've heard that..ummm...Morgath? I forget his right name, but he's a foreign cleric of some god no one's ever heard of before. I was told that he'd been making big batches of it, and without the blessing of the Smith. It isn't safe to anger the gods like that, oh no....and just what kind of priest is he, anyway? A damned charlatan, if you ask me!''

Prake, perhaps unwisely, has another cup of punch, which he drains quite hastily before speaking again-

''The creatures...yes. The priests of the Morninglord tell us they were some sort of blood-drinking undead. It's horrible, but they once were human children! Oh, pardon me miss- I hope that doesn't frighten you too badly!''

Now obviously a bit tipsy, the young hero has fixed his undivided attention upon Shana. He bows to her and says,

''I'd be honored if you took a turn with me, fair maid. The band's begun playing, I'm sure of it.''

The band, in fact, is only tuning its instruments. Some eager guests have already made their way from the parlor into the ballroom, however.
Delight is to him- a far, far upward, and inward delight- who against the proud gods and commodores of this earth, ever stands forth his own inexorable self.

-from Moby Dick (Hermann Melville)
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Post by Le Noir Faineant »

ewancummins wrote: The leader reacts quickly, jumping on top of the table under which Jamethon hides and swinging his club down in an attempt to strike the -ex-priest in the back. He strikes a chair instead, knocking the rickety piece of furniture to splinters.
Ironheart will retreat out of sight of the fighters, and gently place his falcon on a stool next to the friendly whore, handing her another coin, and meaningfully pointing at the bird...

There, in a shady corner of the inn, he will slowly draw his large sabres,
making as few sound as possible...

And then, with an infernal roar, turns around to unleash living hell on Moorkroft's attackers!
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Post by ewancummins »

in the Frogwife-

Seeing the wounded Ironheart seemingly retreat from the battle, the attackers now turn their attentions wholly upon Moorkroft, whose position under the table provides him with only limited protection...

This is a very bad mistake.

The men haven't managed to reload their crossbows when Ironheart suddenly leaps into their midst, his two sabres whirling wildy about him, screaming like a madman! A flashing circle of steel slices three of the hapless crossbowmen to bloody ribbons. Two are dead before they hit the floor, and the third staggers away from the melee, vomiting blood and trying in vain to hold in his eviscerated bowels. The fourth bolt-man escapes physical injury. He stands frozen with terror, clutching his empty crossbow, showered in his comrades' blood.

The injured man on the floor [shot by Jamethon] wails piteously when Ironheart [accidentally?] stamps on his shattered knee.

The leader, from his perch atop Moorkroft's table-fortress, looks back over his shoulder and gawks at the bloody mess Ironheart has just made of his team. He drops his club and cries out-

''I surrender!''

No sooner than he says this and the table on which he stands is upended, sending him sprawling to the floor. Jamethon stands up with a flintlock pistol in his right hand.
Delight is to him- a far, far upward, and inward delight- who against the proud gods and commodores of this earth, ever stands forth his own inexorable self.

-from Moby Dick (Hermann Melville)
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Post by Lord Skybolt »

Threan after finishing up what's on his plate and washing it down with the rest of his ale . He answers Rardi "Me and my brother are from the desert . I thought it would a good place to start a business and safer than were we are from ." After responding he gets up and makes a bee line(1) to refill his mug of ale . Also to stack up with more food on his plate . Thinking to himself-Since it's all free . With a big smile on his face as he does so .








1-Moving at an apparent speed of 40 without running in the least .
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Post by kintire »

Shana smiles, looking a little rueful, having been aiming to support Alain's questioning rather than end it...

"but of course! I'll have a little punch first though, if I may"

She will try to stall until the music actually starts, to give Alain a little more time, then step onto the dance floor with him, mouthing

"don't worry I'll bring him back"

To Alain
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