So here is our game thread. I am also creating an OOC(Out of chat thread - things you want to say that wont be taken in context in the game).
IC is in chat
Now I would like all of you to create p.c's with backgrounds and send them to me. In the next 2 days I will be posting to start the game up. It won't invole you as of yet but you can see who the game will involve he he !!!!!
We are in April of 760, btw
P.S - the more of you there are the better it is for you btw ........
November 759:Harmonia, Kartakass
Dominic Reyssey hurried through the Forest, fearing he wouldn’t make it to the Old Inn before nightfall. Already the sun was low on the horizon and he would have to hurry to make it there. The forest had grown eerily quiet in the last few minutes and you could hear the wind rustling through the forest. He could have sworn eyes were on him, yet every time he turned around there was nothing there. Heart beating faster, he urged his horse faster. I hope I can meet this famous Bard at the Inn. If what I was told was true in Skald, he is seen there most evenings.
Finally he crested a hill and in the distance he spied Harmonia. People were walking on the road, obviously lumberjacks by their attire. They were singing about a long lost love as they headed back towards Harmonia. Dominic slowed down and nodded to the men as he passed. What beautiful voices they have. I feel more secure now that I am close to the Inn.
Maybe it was because of the sun setting but as Dominic entered the town the first thing he spied was breathtaking. You can’t really miss it actually. From atop a high cliff, twin waterfalls plunge downwards and shatter a peaceful pond. The roar is almost deafening and a cloud of mists fills the air at all times.
In the center of the bubbling, churning lake (Known as the Cauldron) stands a natural stone island. Long ago polished to a smooth, rounded form by the raging water it now supports a proud stately structure: The Old Kartakan Inn.
The perpetual fog of the Cauldron’s waters hangs heavy about the inn, giving the place an almost supernatural look. Here and there, moving bodies can be seen in the mists. The obscuring properties of this shroud, however, make it difficult to tell if they are human or some form of ghostly apparition.
Dominic headed for the Inn and found the stables. Leaving his horse there he headed for the Inn proper. Pushing aside the heavy oak doors of the Inn releases a shuddering creaking noise and reveals an entrance chamber. Set back on either side is a hat rack next to a bench. Alcoves jut off on both sides of the benches where various coats and garments hang. He leaves his cloak here The room is unusually dark and the odor of wet leather hangs in the air. At the far end of the room is another set of heavy looking doors.
The thick oak doors from the entrance open into a long hallway. The odor of sweet cooking fills the air. The décor is elegant but in a modest and unassuming way. Light is provided by a series of fine lamps secured high on walls. There is a small alcove in which several shawls and other delicate garments hang.
Too the East is an arched hallway leading down some steps and ending in a thick, heavy curtain of some dark brown fabric. You can hear several low voices coming from beyond it and the inviting smell of fine spirits is strong. To the North, a clerk works behind a desk, obviously handling the affairs of the Inn. Behind him, a hallway runs into the heart of the building. To the West, is a busy dining section with a number of tables set out for the guests. The smell of cooking clearly comes from this area.
Dominic heads for the clerk and addresses him. “Pardon me, sir. I would like a room and after that a table for dinner.”
The clerk eyes Dominic up and down and it’s almost as if his nostrils flare. “Yes. That is 10 Silver for the room.” He seemed to be scrutinizing Dominic for some reason as if almost asking him a question but refraining. Dominic hands over the coins and accepting the key, heads for his room and a bath. Later he heads for the dining room and sits at a table. Though the room is large, it is kept fairly dark to promote a sense of intimacy. Well constructed tables are scattered about in an orderly manner. Despite the fact that that they are modernly set, a short, thick candle burns inside a sphere of red glass at the center of each table. At first glance, it is easy to mistake these pinpoints of light for the burning eyes of feral creatures.
The smell of good food, while present throughout the Inn, is overwhelming here. It is easy to see why the Old Kartakan Inn has acquired such a reputation for fine dining.
Sitting and paying the 1sp for the table, Dominic looks around. Through the window he sees that the sun has already set. The patrons here appear to be Kartakans, he the only non inhabitant. Most are men in their early 20’s, appearing to have been drinking a while and acting a little rowdy. Ordering the special of the day, Dominic tries to relax. 2 young men walk up to his table. “May we sit with you?” Without waiting for an answer they do sit and order ale. “Wh-h-yy yes you may. Are Harmonia residents always this brash and impolite,” he asks with a smile.
One of the young men snorts in his drink and the other utters a low growl then speaks. “So friend, are you one of us?”
“No my young man, I am not. I am from Darkon. I gathered my appearance would tell you that,” Dominic replied. Maybe this one has had too many spirits to drink already, Dominic mused.
“Please excuse my friends ignorance, sir. Allow us to offer you a real Kartakan treat.” With that he beckons the waitress and whispers in her ear, swatting her behind as he rose and nodded to Dominic. He then got up and left along with his friend.
Odd. Well at least he was kind enough to offer me a tankard of ale, Dominic thinks as he accepts the tankard from the waitress. Lost in his thoughts he sips the brew and his eyes open wide. What meaning of ale is this? Foul yet it belies a certain sweetness to it. I will certainly take time to sample it. The waitress returned with his meal and as he was about to eat, a man approached his table. This was most definitely a Bard. Could it be? Well he is very well dressed. Look at how the patrons look at him, almost revering him? Strange indeed. The man addressed Dominic, “Might I join you at your table, friend?” He said it with such grace and easer that Dominic could not refuse such a request! “Please, sit and join me in a meal. I am newly arrived here and wished to sample the Inn’s famous dining experience. It reaches as far as Darkon and perhaps farther. I’m sorry, where are my manners? I am Dominic Reyssey of the Church of Ezra branch in Nevuchar Springs in Darkon. Who might I have the pleasure of dining with this evening?”
The man smiled at Dominic and answered, “I am Harkon Lukas, a Bard here in Harmonia and beyond.” His eyes seemed to register the fact that Dominic was from Darkon and maybe something more? Dominic couldn’t be sure. “And how do you find our fine town thus far? Is this your first visit here?”
“I have hardly had the time to enjoy anything as I have just arrived. This is my first visit here to your land.” Dominic has a bite and inspects his dinner partner. He has wavy black hair that falls past his shoulders, a well trimmed beard and a moustache comes to two very fine points. He is wearing a very nice white shirt, blue trousers and a golden coat, topped off with a wide feathered hat. He sports a monocle and he had with him a harp. At his hip is a sword of some sort.
“So Mr.Reyssey, what brings you here to Kartakass and more precisely Harmonia and the Old Kartakan Inn this fine evening?”
Leaning in to Lukas so only he would hear, Dominic answered. “I am here looking for a friend who was here a few months ago. A Darkonian like myself. Perhaps you have met him or know of his whereabouts? His name is Percival.”
Lukas seemed to be thinking about the name but in actuality was fuming inside. That bitch Fury brings an Ezran Priest from Darkon snooping around in my Inn? This one dies and then I must speak with the brethren about her and her sect. Something needs to be done about them.
Smiling at Dominic, Harkon spoke. “I did have the chance to meet him when he was here but he did not stay long the first time. He headed up the mountains and came back a month later seeming a changed man as if haunted by something. He ran off into the night weeks ago and we haven’t heard from him since. I fear the worst for him. Now join me in a drink!” He motions to the waitress and she brings two more tankards. He picks his tankard up and motions to Dominic to do the same. “Drink up! Cheers!” And takes a healthy swig. Dominic takes a healthy swig and suddenly feels dizzy. Head drooping slightly, he feels weak. Harkon gets up and helps Dominic up. “You don’t look so well, Dominic. Let me take you to you room.” Dominic can barely stand, wondering why the ale had done that to him. Lukas as if reading his mind, spoke. “Nice little drug I put in your drink, friend. I am really sorry it has to be this way but this is my way and no one comes to my home and stirs up trouble you understand.”
Dominic was barely conscious. The next thing he knew, he was tied up against a wall and Lukas was in front of him. Lukas smiled an evil, cruel smile at Dominic. As he did his face suddenly grew hair, bones cracking and crunching. His nose grew into a long wolfish snout. Then his face contorted and changed to a wolf’s head!
“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!! What madness is this????? You’re the one who changed Percival aren’t you! A pox on you and your family! Ezra will remember this you monster!”
Then the rest of Karkon’s body changed with loud cracking and popping sounds. When he was done he howled with such bloodcurdling intensity that Dominic wet himself. Never had he felt such fear. Oh my dear Ezra! Help me!
A clawed paw flashed out and ripped a new hole in Dominic’s chest, blood rushing forth making a huge mess on the floor. Dominic died before Harkon could enjoy any more. IN a fit of rage he ripped the body of Dominic apart leaving a messy pulp of flesh and bone in his wake. Roaring in frustration it ran out into the tunnels under the Inn and emerged behind the waterfalls one goal in mind,,,,,, Mother Fury. She would pay for bringing trouble here as he knew others would come and disrupt his world once more......
Last edited by steveflam on Tue Oct 09, 2007 9:54 pm, edited 1 time in total.
He pulled his cloak tight around him to protect his body from the harsh wind. Curse this cold weather! I doubt I'll ever get used to it. That is the only thing I miss about Ched Nassad, the warmth. Will I be glad to back in Darkon and at the Temple of Ezra. His hand absently felt through his cloak, stopping when he felt the letter. He had come a long way in the past 6 years and his first arrival in these lands.
Smiling to himself and looking up to the heavens. It is a strange sensation, that of helping others. It is foreign to me. Yet after the long conversation I had with Chicken Bone and the Père at the Temple in Souragne, I know this to be the right path to follow.
A seaman came up to him and brought Tarlyn out of his reverie "Pardon me, sir. But we are almost docked, you should gather your belongings and prepare to disembark." With that the seaman went around the deck and warned those passengers brave enough to face the harsh winds the same.
Tarlyn found the Captain and thanked him. The reply he got included several expletives he though not possible and he grinned to himself as he walked into Darkon and headed for the Temple. In Martira bay Elves were more common, so he kept the hood down from his cloak.
He found the Temple and knocked on the front door, not havin had much experience with such establishments in his life. An lederly man opened the door and looked staright into Tarlyn's eyes as he spoke.
"You are the one Father Pierre has sent, aren't you?" Though it was more of a statement than a question.
"Yes I am". He bowed then offered his hand to the Priest. "I am Tarlyn Xarann, an outlander. Well met".
The priest took Tarlyn's hand in his and smiled. " I am Father Lucius Dentor. Welcome to Martira Bay. May Ezra shine upon you. Come in! Come in already!" He ushered Tarlyn and closed the door, locking it.
Walking down the center of the Temple to the back and a door. "We have much to discuss and I hope you are not too late arriving here."
He opened the door and ushered Tarlyn through then closed it behind them. Stairs led down so Tarlyn followed father. There was no door at the bottom of the stairs. It opened up into a modest 15x15 room which contained only a bed and dresser along the east wall. In the middle of the room was a table with 2 chairs, and on the south wall was a small kettle on top of an iron cast stove.
"Please sit, Tarlyn. Might I get you a cup of tea? It will warm your cold bones." Dentor fussed around round the stove while Tarlyn took the time to decompress from his voyage. I wonder what I'm too late for? He seems agitated for some reason. In my experience , when Clerics are agitated it does not bode well.
"Pardon me, Father, but what am I late for? You seem agitated as if something has gone wrong. Am I prying too much? Old habits are hard to break I fear".
Father Dentor hands Tarlyn a steaming cup of tea, then gets himself one and sits at the table. He didn't know where to start. He seemed to look within himself, then taking a deep breath he began.
"Last September we got word from one of our agents, Percival Layhden. He was in Kartakass and had been infected with Lycnathropy and was sending word back for a cure. He was presently hiding his urges by spells but that can only help so long in certain cases. So we decided to send our best agent there with some items that would help Percival." Father Dentor stopped and took a sip of tea, letting Tarlyn absorb the information thus far.
"Father, I have been to Kartakass and have had runins with these Lycanthropes. It is an evil disease and I pity those whom suffer from it."
Father Dentor's eye raised at Tarlyn's admission of having been to Kartakass before and his knowledge of Lycanthropy. "Then indeed we have chosen well. Oh yes, the tale. Well our best agent, Dominic Reyssay, was given certain items. These items are very useful in combatting and controlling Lycanthropy. So in October Dominic left for Kartakass and we have not heard a word from him since. As you know it does not take all that long to travel to Kartakass and they both should have returned by now. I fear the worst as our prayers have produced no information on both men." He sipped his tea again and sighed.
"We want to send a Priest from this Temple along with some of his acquaintances here in Martira bay. I think it is a sign that you came to Father Pierre in Souragne and he sent you here. I would like you to accompany these men to Kartakass and help them in finding both men or their fates. Those items I spoke of are an Amulet and 2 wolf's paws. TRy to recuperate them and bring them back." Dentor sipped his tea and sat back, looking haggard and beat.
"I accept this task and will do my best to help and perhaps protect the others." Standing and stretching, Tarlyn reminisced about Kartakass and his time there.Lycanthropes are crafty and I don't think I've ever seen or heard of them any bigger than there. This land must have blessed them for some reason. I will tread carefully, and perhaps I will run into my friend Pietro there.
Reaching over and shaking Father Dentor's hand he smiled "I will be at the Inn resting after my long sea voyage. I fear I haven't got my sea legs yet!" He laughed and clasped Dentor's hand, then walked up the stairs and exitted the Temple. He found the Boar's Rest Inn and entered, paying for a room for a few days. Thanking the woman he walked up the stairs to his room. He unlocked it an enterred, then locked it again and sat on the bed, then lay down, falling into a state of elvish reverie.
Last edited by steveflam on Tue May 19, 2009 10:59 am, edited 1 time in total.
The Maiden's Head tavern was crowded, dirty, and loud. Perched beside the creaking quays, it served newcomers and old hands alike with the same bustling disdain - all that mattered was coin. Small surprise that the elves hated the place. With its bawdy placard above the door and its late-night fistfights, it symbolized all that went wrong when humans came to town.
One such human shared the elves' unease. Marentor sat, alert behind the scarf that covered his lower face, at the corner of the table furthest from the bar. The man's eyes hinted perhaps at an elvish heritage, or maybe one of the myriad ethnic groups that came steaming into port every hour. A dark blue headcloth hid the coils of his hair, continuously grown since childhood, in a tied bun. Aside from that, he wore a simple cloth jacket over robes, and his feet were snugly shod in wraps of cloth over leather soles. His hands and his eyes were the only exposed skin, and despite slightly soiled nails, his fingers were delicate enough to trace complex sigils, and strong enough to collapse an artery.
Though he rarely engaged in gossip, and never engaged in drink, Marentor did appreciate the tavern for one valuable trait: anonymity. He shifted his weight slightly to let the maid squeeze past with the table's drinks, and watched his friends take their sips.
He did not envy their expressions after the first taste. A curse rang out in Dwarfish from the squat mage at Marentor's side, roughly translated as "feline urine", fortissimo. A few heads turned at other tables around the pub, presumably from those immigrants who also worked the mountains in their former homelands. But closer at hand, below the table, a sudden bristling indicated that the Roach-Smiter had taken exception.
Marentor absent-mindedly held a hand out by his thigh, and Roach-Smiter's little claws traced a path up his sleeve. The cat circled around Marentor's neck and shoulders awhile, her mouth full, before finding a comfortable position.
She purposefully held her haunches toward the dwarf, with a trace of haughty indignance.
Gently, Marentor twitched aside the scarf from his lips. In a low voice, airily accented, he addressed the group's eldest human - a rugged man named Tack.
Draven isnt happy, the sip of the rancid ale he has just taken has done nothing to calm the roiling in his stomach, and he quickly resolves not to imbibe further. That stench, the saltiness of the air is bringing memories to the surface, things he'd like to forget....
He pushes the memories down and tries to concentarte on the matter at hand. This is a new chance for adventure, wealth, and maybe the answers he is seeking.
As Marentor begins to speak, Draven leans forward from the shadow cast by the edge of the fireplace. The light illuminates his thin face, which seems a shade paler than normal, but leaves the rest fo his black clad body in shadow. He appears to be struggling with his composure, scratching the back of his right hand forcefully with the thin fingers of his left, but his eyes are alert as he takes in the faces round the table....
Tarlyn rose and stretched. Ah the night. The assassin's time or it used to be, he mused with a smile. I think I'll head to the Maiden's Head tavern this evening. A perfect place for the likes of an elf. Besides it's not the first time I frequent that establishment. Father Dentor described the young men to me so I should find them with ease there.
Making sure he didn't forget anything he locked the door behind him and left the Inn. He walked casually to the Maiden's Head tavern. Upon enterring most conversations stopped upon seeing an elf enter. When the regulars recognised who the elf was, they went back to their conversations. In the back of most regualr patrons minds was only one thought:It has been a while I have seen him here, I hope he hasn't been sent to take care of my gambling debt,,,,,,, or something in that manner.
Surveying the establishment, Tarlyn spied the group he sought and approached their table. Stopping before them, he smiled and speaks so only they can hear him.
"I have been sent by Father Dentor. I am the one who will be accompanying you to Kartakass. My name is Tarlyn. Tarlyn Xarran. Well me."
Clearly, Tarlyn spoke with an accent. He definitely wasn't Darkonian.
Draven eyes the newcomer shrewdley for a moment, and a shadow seems to flicker across his face, however its gone as quickly as it came and replaced by a friendly expression of greeting.
"Well met indeed, Alexander Draven at your service. I am only recently joined with this company so I'll let the others speak for themselves"
With that he gestures around the table and then sinks back into his seat, his eyes never leaving the elfs face, except to have a furtive glance towards the door...
Marentor sized up the newcomer, taking in his foreign clothes and accent. With a slight nod, he gave his own name - in its Hua form of MaRenTuo, not its Darkonian derivation - uncaring whether the elf heard it clearly.
Then he brought his hand palm up in front of his cat, who grudgingly gave him the dead mouse. Marentor dropped it abstractedly into the waitress' tip-plate at the corner of the table. He readjusted his scarf to cover his mouth once again and looked silently to Tack to deal with this new contact.
Warden Valerian Grane surveyed the inn-room with distaste. Rancid place. The he shook his head and murmured. "Without such dens of sin, how may the virtuous know their true place? This too, has its role in the Grand Scheme."
The Warden was a big man, tall and raw-featured, with long, dirty-blond hair and hooked nose, his face and hands covered in small scars. His cassock was large and bulky, making Valerian seem larger still. His broken face might have made him ugly, but his eyes were oddly attractive, grey, misty orbs that were all but hypnotic.
He sniffed cautiously at the water he'd asked the waitress to bring to him, then muttered a short verse from the Fourth Book of Ezra. Valerian took a sip of the ice cold spring water.
"Even those not of human blood have their place in the Grand Scheme, for is Ezra so unjust as to let the virtuous others fall to the Legions of the Night? Greetings, friend Tarlyn Xarran, and I welcome you to our journey."
Ravenloft GM: Eye of Anubis, Shattered City, and Prof. Lupescu's Traveling Ghost Show Lead Writer & Editor: VRS Files: Doppelgangers; Contributor: QtR #20, #21, #22, #23, #24 Freelance Writer for Paizo Publishing
Tarlyn smiled. "Thank you. So who is everyone here?" he asks as he takes a seat , back to the wall, surveying the door as well as the patrons.
Leaning in he continues, "Have any of you been to Kartakass before? I have once, and ended up staying for over a year. The general population are friendly enough but the beasts there are rather ferocious and larger than I have ever seen."
A slight note of disain flits across Draven's features at the mention of Ezra, however he quickly focusses on Tarlyn.
"No I've never had the pleasure, Invidia is as far South as I can claim, there never seemed to be anything worthwhile in Kartakass for one of my particular skills. Although Im always looking for a challenge!"
With that Draven leans back again and returns to scratching his hand and contemplating the others around the table.
The Warden's grey eyes seemed to bore right into Draven, a wan smile on the Ezran's lips.
"I fear the Ezra has not seen fit to have my wanderings lead me to Kartakass, though I have traveled and spread the word through the iron-faned lands of Nova Vaasa, and disputed with the Priests of Chains."
"And yet, Our Lady in the Mists has prepared me for this task, for I do know the tongue which they speak in the land of song, for it is much used by the Iron Ones of the Lawgiver. So does the Grand Scheme prepare us for our tasks, whether we know it or not."
Valerian's hollow, carrying voice grew silent, and he took another sip of the spring water, the slightly off-putting smile still on his face.
Ravenloft GM: Eye of Anubis, Shattered City, and Prof. Lupescu's Traveling Ghost Show Lead Writer & Editor: VRS Files: Doppelgangers; Contributor: QtR #20, #21, #22, #23, #24 Freelance Writer for Paizo Publishing
William Tack stares blankly at the boy standing beside the bar. Barely of age yet is he. He remembers being that young himself. That was about the time William Cante died at sea and was born again as William Tack. Remember the ships old man? By the might of man they where things to behold. Gracefully dancing across the crests of waves, slowly rolling into the Paridon harbor...
HuManBing wrote:"So, what is our first step on this journey?"
His thoughts stir a moment as a voice barely registers...
...Remember the good Captain Barnes? He gave the child a chance to become a man, and become a man he did. Nurtured by the Sea of Sorrows breast. Then You killed him...
HuManBing wrote:He readjusted his scarf to cover his mouth once again and looked silently to Tack to deal with this new contact.
His consiousness spins back into control, turning his attentions back towards the here and now. He sits at a table, a half empty glass of rum sits before him. The dwarven man by the name of Merantor fumbles with a cat and stares at him expecting a response of some sort. A response to what? There is an Elven man standing beside the table adressing the party, saying he is a man of Ezra. Thats right, he thinks, they still have gods in the core.
The weather worn man clears his throat and blinks, returning the gaze Merantor had been giving him moments before.
"Apologies, lad. Was a million leagues away. What where you saying now?" He says in a gravelly voice before picking up his glass and swallowing it down as the sound of rolling waves drift out of his thoughts.[/i]
The inn is crowded and barely anyone notices when the scholarly figure of Lucius enters the Maiden's Head. He scans it quickly and notices a man fitting the description he had been given. Surely, Valerian Grane was not easy to miss. He advanced towards the table careful not to drop the glasses the maids were distributing around and shyly introduced himself.
"Salvete, gentlemen, I'm afraid I'm a bit late but the roads are still muddy from the recent rains, and my superiors gave me the notice to come a tad later than I'd prefer. I am Lucius Plancturus and come in the name of the church of Sainte Mère des Larmes in Dementlieu, though I must say I'm still more a teacher than a priest, I'm afraid."
He looked around at the community that had assembled. Having been almost all his life sheltered in a school one way or another, he was still very unused to the rowdiness of inns and taverns, and in fact most of the evil ways of the world. It showed in his appearance, too.
He wore a hooded cape and an impeccable suit underneath that had tried in vain to remain clear of travel stains. He wore a pair of lunettes and had a well trimmed beard.
"I am looking for Warden Valerian Grane. He sent a call for help to Dementlieu and I have been dispatched in response. To tell the truth, no one told me what this is all about."
Valerian examined somewhat skeptically. As if there weren't enough scholars on this task. Still, all must fill the role the Grand Scheme doles out to them.
"Salve, Lucius Plancturus. I am Warden Grane." The traveling preacher's lips curled in another smile. "Pray, have a seat, Ezra would not wish you to be knocked over by the bustle."
Valerian cast a glance towards the elf. "Perhaps Friend Tarlyn would explain to us our role in the Grand Scheme? I take it you have spoken with Father Dentor more recently then I."
Ravenloft GM: Eye of Anubis, Shattered City, and Prof. Lupescu's Traveling Ghost Show Lead Writer & Editor: VRS Files: Doppelgangers; Contributor: QtR #20, #21, #22, #23, #24 Freelance Writer for Paizo Publishing
