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Post by Shura on Nov 4, 2003 15:40:12 GMT -5
The Exile has been revived as a purely RP thread. Just join in with your char, races and classes being standard DnD fare.
The Black Bear is a cosy inn which porvides much-needed respite from the enviromental hazards abound in the Mountains of the Far Snows. It is a bitter, cold night and a motley group of patrons eat, drink and make merry, knowing that when they continue their jouneys they will have little to jest about. Most are labourers from nearby logging camps, and there are also some merchants and mercanaries staying the night, members of a late caravan.
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Post by Little Blue Dragon on Nov 10, 2003 6:46:40 GMT -5
The door to the inn opened letting a cold blast of air rush in to the inn. A slender elven female, wrapped in a thick hooded blue cloak and an oak staff in hand, enters quickly.
She apologises, in common, to those most affected by the intrusion and pulls back her snow covered hood, her long honey blonde hair falls about her shoulders. Embassased she she mutters more apologies, blushes violently and then moves gracefully across the inn to an empty table. She sits in a chair and sighs. It is apparent to those that look at her that she is tired after traveling. She leans her staff against the table and rubs her frozen hands together - in the hope of warming them up. A young girl moves past her - she seemed to be serving drinks. "Excuse me." She said politely to the girl "Would it be possible to have some mulled wine? I'm terribly cold"
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Mourne Taivan
Peasant
C'mon, at least the reactor didn't blow...
Posts: 6
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Post by Mourne Taivan on Nov 10, 2003 9:46:50 GMT -5
A man in his early twenties steps in behind the elven woman, giving her a look of contempt he walks toward a table in the far corner. His black hair stuck up in natural spikes, his black poncho swirled as he took his seat. His dark violet eyes scanned the crowd as he signaled the barkeep, "Bring me DarkWine, quickly or else." He smirked as the barkeep panicked and went behind the bar. Sighing he removed his head band, revealing a third eye which glowed a cold blue as it stared about.
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Post by Shura on Nov 11, 2003 16:55:25 GMT -5
A gaunt, hatchet-faced man covered in furs enters the inn, flanked by mean-looking armed men. He is obviously a foreigner and is not taking easily to the cold.
Skeggi, the inns proprietor and bartender greets the newcomer. 'Hail, southerner! What news from across the plains?'
The thin man seems almost comtemptful as he declares 'Death stalks the land. The reavers of Chaos have come across the western sea. They bring with them death and desctruction, terror and mayhem. Already Terresport has fallen. Nowhere is safe, not even this place, high up the mountain though it is. Already the orcs and their ilk gather to raid and throw in their lot with the invaders.'
'The outlander speaks reason,' comments a nearby caravan mercenary, 'we were set upon by gnolls twice on our way here.'
At once the inn is filled with excited, babbling voices, and the newcomer orders a drink and sits down in a corner with his guards.
The other arrivals can tell that their drinks will not come quickly, as the serving wenches are distracted by gossip and speculation, despite Skeggi's best efforts.
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Post by ripshark on Nov 11, 2003 17:26:16 GMT -5
The door of the inn slowly creaks open, strangly enough the noise is ignored by most. in sidles a hunched figure, his feature disguised by a long draping cloak that drags along the ground and is stained with all maners of muck and dirt. One hand snakes out from the fold of the cloak and grasps a stoat wooden staff, the knuckles obiously weatherd but strond, yet strangly unaffected by the cold outside. he steps in without a word, the door edging shut behind him as, from the retches of his cloak, if it is a he, scans the room and eventually decides upon a stool in the darkest reaches of the inn, where a candle has been left to burn to the stump and the corner is shadowed and abandoned by others. his sits, quite un profically and makes no sound, not wishing for any bevrage, alcholic or otherwise. in one hand, he has a strange lump of what seems to be coal, and is constantly flickering it between his fingers, yet never dropping it or even rasing the cowl from his head.
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Post by Shura on Nov 13, 2003 14:54:35 GMT -5
Just then the door is thrown open once more, letting in a chill that passes through the whole inn. Two strangers stand in the doorway, wrapped in thick furs. One is dressed in red trimmed with white and has a feminine way about her, despite being so well-wrapped. They other is dressed in blue and black and appears to be struggling to move. He leans on his companion's shoulder, despite the fact that he is heavier in build than she is. A large, long, cloth-wrapped item is tied to the male's back.
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Post by little red dragon on Nov 13, 2003 17:45:01 GMT -5
In a quite corner of the inn, there is a table. At which, as well having numerous empty glasses, there is a someone sleeping.
She sits up and yawns opening her large green eyes and gazes around, suprised at how noisy and busy it seems to have got in the last few hours. She runs her fingers through mass of red curls attempting to look presentable.
She stands up, and after a cat like stretch. She straightens her long leather scale mail skirt which is slit to her knee, showing her leather boots, straightens her linen blouse and tightens her scale mail coat. Then checks that her dagger is still attached to her belt picks up her gauntlets and bastard sword. She grabs her long bottle green wollen cloak and puts it over her shoulders.
she looks around for anyone who could tell her what had been going on while she was asleep. she notices a young elven lady who was sat on her own and walkes over to her.
she looked down at her and smiled. Hello! I'm Marie. I don't suppose you could you tell me what is happening? I may have overdone the mulled wine and seemed to have missed something. She laughed and sat down.
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Post by Little Blue Dragon on Nov 13, 2003 22:51:27 GMT -5
Hello. I'm Tari She smiled as Marie sat down. I'm afraid i'm as in the dark as you, I know there's been problems with the orcs, i met them on my way. But it seems to have got worse. I'm sure he knows something. Tari points to gentleman who was surrounded by army men. We could ask him what he knows.
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Post by ripshark on Nov 14, 2003 12:26:28 GMT -5
Around the strange man sitting huddled in the corner there is a strange aura forming, as if by his very precense reflects the will of men and women alike, discouraging their approach and seemingly making everyone completly ignore his very existance within the walls of the tavern. the strange rock in his hands is still being flickered around at great speeds, almost as if it were not there at all but merely a shadow diving and weaving between his deformed fingers. he seems to be retreated into a world of his own making, deep within the cowls of his robe that not even the bleary candle light seem able to penetrate. for a while he listens to the conversation on the nearby tables, for a brief moment on the table with all the armed men. He hears a name spoken aloud and with great fear from the mouth of the captian, "Ioxles". the rock falls from his hand, a barely audibly gasp emerges from his cowl. suddenly, everything in the tavern stops, the pure black rock touches the floor and nothing moves, nor alive nor dead, nor moving. All, as if stuck in treacle, the very snowflakes in the sky suspended in the air With the greatest amount of force, he flickers an eyelid, ionising the path before his hand with thought and willing it to snake down and grab the rock. It does. He snatches it back up and holds it revrently in his palm for an instance, almost trying to sooth the surface of the rock, then resuming his task of juggling it between his fingers. as a rush, the absent seconds abscond, filling the crack in the fabric of time and the missing seconds of life from everyone in the room. 'Ioxles!' he thought, the darkness in his hood darkning a the very thought of the name. 'Ioxles indeed', he'd thought him so long dead, but people still remembered. It was a name from times long past. A name not easily forgotten. His own.
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Post by Shura on Nov 14, 2003 17:28:03 GMT -5
The hatchet faced man is describing the situation to Skeggi. 'The Reavers, came from the sea, led by Chaos Knights. There were warlocks with them, who summoned storm daemons to weaken the ports defences before the attack. King Terhan has assembled his armies and sent them south to defend Merrihane and Damustra. Thats why barbaric humanoids have been gathering on the tundra and making their raids, becuase there aren't soldiers to stop them. You think you might be safe high up here, but it wont be long before the exhaust the spoils of the foothills and move up to your logging villages. The mountain bandits will most likely fall in with them, too.'
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Post by Shura on Nov 14, 2003 17:31:29 GMT -5
The two new arrivals stagger to the bar. You think you glimpse a lock of silvery hair dangle from the hood of the black-cloaked figure, but you cannot make out further features. The lady speaks in hushed tones to the inkeep, who cannot quite conceal his expression of surprise. The two figures struggle up the stairs, the male shivering badly. Eventually the red-cloaked lady returns and sits at a corner table, carrying the cloth-wrapped item with her, inspecting it but concealing her actions. Seeing her alone, a couple of carousing mercenaries move over and begin too make lewd jokes. The lady refuses to even look at them, but it looks like they might start getting rough.
Tari's keen elven eyes notice that the eyes of the outlander constantly stray towards the lady.
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Post by ripshark on Nov 14, 2003 17:44:01 GMT -5
getting up, Ioxles placed his staff firmly upon the ground, his bones and skin reshaping themselves as he strode magnificently towards the table, weaving a path between the other customers. when he got their, he was a full inch shorter, and pulling back his hood he revealed a stunningly handsome youngman with jet black hair. One of his eyes was the deepest of deep sea blues with a hint of murky greeness at the center that gave him a penetrating quality to his stare, but the other was like nothing they had ever seen, it was too a deep sea blue, but like vibrant viens or fine threads on a silken web, a blackness had spread throughout his entire eye. he remained quite for a moment or too, seemingly coming to a decision, then decided it was time. time for what? well, he'd find out after the time had passed. Banging his staff against the ground once, then twice, he called for silence amongst the bawdy warriors.
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Post by Archmage Turanis Altaine on Nov 16, 2003 20:31:41 GMT -5
(OOC: I am posting this for Kenshin, he had to make an emergency trip an will be back tomorrow.)
~finally some fun...~ he thought, smiling he lept onto the table and into the air. Energy arced about his body as he spun his body about, his foot heading for the leader's head...
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Post by EK - Shadow of Death on Nov 16, 2003 22:53:40 GMT -5
The door opens again, sending a chilly breeze through the room. A man dressed in a large, billowy robe steps through. The upper part of his robe, a dark indigo is apparently made of some sort of quilted cotton, while the jet-black, overly large pantlike section covering his bottom is constructed of a thinner, more airy material, covering his feet almost completely. The man has white hair, specked with gray and black, with a thick black blindfold covering both eyes and looped behind his slightly pointed ears. Silently walking towards the bar, he sits down upon a stool and places both hands on the bar. It is immediately apparent that both of the man's hands end in 2 inch long, wicked looking claws, their backs reinforced by a thin iron glove frame.
Black bear inn, eh? A nice kip you've got here, cutter! Reminds me of a flophouse I set up shop on when hopping through the Mount for a spell. he says to the bartender, with a slight chuckle I'll have me a cup of the house specialty, please
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Post by Shura on Nov 17, 2003 14:08:38 GMT -5
-I'm assuming that Kenshin's attacks are at the rowdy mercenaries, as they're are the only ones who have invited such a response so far.-
One of the louts harassing the red-cloaked lady grabs her arm, and as she struggles the cloth covered item slips from the table, revealing a glimpse of the black rune-carved metal beneath the wrappings. The other turns to face the stranger who challenged his, bellowing a challenge, the fetid stench of cheap ale on his breath.
The lady's own hood is thrown back, revealing the face of astunningly beautiful elven woman, with hair like spun gold and eyes like liquid moonlight, which glitter in fear. 'no!' she exlaims, 'Anaerion...' but her call is cut short by her assailant.
Kenshins kick strikes home with deadly force at the ruffian clutching the lady, and his neck snaps back with a sharp crack, lolling like that of an imbecile and splattering blood. The lady, now free, makes a move to sieze what appears to be a black, rune carved metal staff rolling across the floor away from her.
The outlander stands up suddenly, a hungry look in his eyes. He snaps his fingers and his two guards rise in unision and draw their swords, making for the lady.
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