<font color=lightblue>Armus Jallak

He had finally been allowed to leave the Town Council buildings. His first visit would have been his family's house, but he had no family. His mother had died giving him birth, and his father he had never known, for he had abandoned his mother while she was still pregnant. Armus had never married, not for lack of opportunities, but because he knew that his lifestyle did not fit with marriage. He had once tried settling down with a woman he loved, but his incessant search for adventure and danger had eventually led to their couple breaking up.

It was market day, and the streets of Dosrothon were filled with peasants from the neighbouring lands trying to sell their animals or crops, and city folk selling their handicraft. As Armus made his way through the masses of people, the crowd started thinning. He was leaving the town, going to the cemetery on the hillside to the East of the town.

As he had suspected the same flower seller as seven months ago was still selling her flowers at the eastern gate. She nodded at Armus, seemingly recognizing him, but then didn't make a comment. Armus brought the same flowers as the last time and strode up the hillside to the small cemetery.

There were only about three dozen graves in the cemetery, next to the nunnery building. Armus's mother, after his father left her had taken refuge in this nunnery and Armus himself was born here. Some of the nuns had wanted to take him in after his mother died, but the Head-Nun, a strict woman had not allowed it. Armus had been brought it by a blacksmith, who had taken pity of him in the outskirts of the town.

He placed the flowers on his mother's simple grave and murmured a prayer for her eternal soul. He turned to leave when a voice from behind him halted him in his tracks.

<font color=white>"If my old eyes don't cheat me, then you must be young Armus, eh?"</font>

The aged, yet kind voice from behind him reminded him of Sister Margaret, who had visited him at times at the smithy. He hadn't seen her for more than a dozen years. He turned and his thoughts were confirmed.

"Indeed it is I. Your eyesight is as sharp as ever." He said smiling, and slightly bowed to greet the aged woman. He could see that age hadn't been kind to her. Her back was bent, and she was leaning heavily on a stick, yet her eyes still had that piercing intensity they had had when he last saw her.

<font color=white>"Her spirit is grateful."</font> Sister Margaret said, motioning at the flowers.

Rumours had it that some of the sisters at the nunnery could communicate with the dead, but Armus wasn’t sure. Still he nodded once again to Sister Margaret and turned heading back into town.</font>

[ 01-12-2006, 09:19 AM: Message edited by: dplax ]

<font color=white>For <font color=silver>Aneuhl J’harna</font>, </font>Rowan<font color=white>, <font color="66CC00">Machaon</font> and </font>Anon Amalon<font color=white>:

It was not often that people were admitted into the majestic halls of the Town Council of Dosrothon. Its twin arches, connecting the opposite corners to each other were built out of solid marble and represented the architectural genius of the man who had designed them. In the dome shaped roof, small windows were cut and through the glass in them the light of the midday sun filtered softly in.

The walls were decorated with drawing depicting various historical events of Paradisia, from the arrival of Olaf Horsfeld, through the founding of Dosrothon to other major historical events. The tiles on the floor represented the symbols of the five major families of Dosrothon, with the biggest of the symbols belonging to the Horsfeld family. Legend had it that Dosrothon was founded by a member of the Horsfeld family, and although this could never be verified the Horsfelds were direct line descendants of the one Olaf Horsfeld, who had discovered the island.

The about three dozen men, and two women, who were waiting in the entrance hall were suddenly interrupted by the arrival of a man, who was flanked on both sides by three body guards, and who wore a tunic, which bore the same symbol as the one of the Horsfeld family, which some of them were standing on.

”Is it really him?” a rather young, and inexperienced looking man asked. ”Pieter Horsfeld?” he added to clarify his question. There was no time for him to get a reply as the important looking man started speaking.

<font color=pink>”I would like to thank each and every one of you for volunteering for these tests. I am Pieter Horsfeld, leader of the Town Council, as most of you might know. As you most probably have heard we are looking for brave men…”</font> he looked around him and added: <font color=pink>”…and women for a very perilous journey. The exact details shall only be revealed to those who are accepted so I’m afraid that I can’t tell you much more at the moment.”</font>

It was a rehearsed speech. He had given it to similar size groups in the last few days already. He hoped that today would be more successful than the previous days.

<font color=pink>”You wrote your names on this parchment when entering these halls…”</font> he said holding up said parchment <font color=pink>”You shall each be called in the order you had signed up. When called follow the guard who has come to get you.”</font>

He handed the paper to the guard captain, who had been in the hall all along and left with his bodyguards. The captain glanced at the sheet, and then nodded to one of his men.

”First up: Sean Mallet!”

The man, who had just been called, stepped forward and the guard escorted him to an inner chamber of the Town Council building.</font>

[ 01-14-2006, 04:13 PM: Message edited by: dplax ]

<font color=white>For <font color=lightsteelblue>Rastheme Chombra</font>:

A dwarf tends to not stand out in crowds, and a crowd was precisely where Rastheme was now. The crowded marketplace in the square in front of the Town Council's halls was bustling with activity as it always did on Market Day.

A large, almost fat woman bumped into Rastheme and remarked indignantly that the dwarf could look at where he was going, but before Rastheme could reply she was swallowed by the crowds.

In the distance an announcer announced the newest edicts of the Town Council, his strong voice carrying over the sounds of the crowd.

"...furthermore, sale of the infected cattle is forbidden, and someone found trying to sell said cattle shall be fined 25 gold pieces."

A few seconds passed, while the announcer took the next parchment.

"The Town Council as in the past few days still needs brave men or women, willing to risk their lives. For more details contact Captain Summers at the Council Entrance Hall."

Murmurs caught in the crowd, and it seemed that several men were going to volunteer, but in the end only a handful walked up the steps to the Town Council, most of them having seen too few winters.</font>

<font color=silver>Aneuhl found himself admiring not the architecture but the materials used in crafting the hall. The marble in particular interested him. Barely aware of the rehearsed speech, he instead studied the stonework and nodded to himself.

After the first man was taken, he glanced around to see who else of interest could pass this test. Personally, he would do whatever he could to get on this voyage… but for his own reasons. He cared naught for those the Town Council gave – no, instead the greatest prize awaited. A star had fallen – one he had seen streaking across the sky with his own two eyes. The very thought of it caused his blood to pulse with excitement as he anticipated what it would be like. It had to be the biggest he had ever seen… the amount of ore or crystal it could have inside would be wondrous. Perhaps the most beautiful thing he would ever see… he blinked and drew himself back to the present. Asking casually to no one in particular, his soft question was the first after the man was taken, <font color=skblue>“Do we know how many places there are? Or how many have passed yet?”</font>

Aneuhl himself is a young man, in his late adolescence with vibrant green eyes, pale complexion, thick hazel hair wound in a pony-tail of sorts, and wears an interwoven light and forest green loose tunic converted to a jacket over a shirt of grey. His breeches are a bluish-grey and he wears sandy leather ankle boots and gloves of the same. At his side is a satchel and at his shoulders a cloak. He bears youthful attractive but not dazzling good looks, an honest persona and a warm and open smile. He seems to be open and cheerful, quite willing to talk to any who would converse with him.</font>

---
OOC: Is this okay Dplax? Er, my edit is for my sig. I kinda forgot to turn it off *sheepish look*

[ 01-12-2006, 07:43 PM: Message edited by: Calaethis Dragonsbane ]

<font color="66CC00">

Machaon

The young man plucked a crumpled leaf from his dirt stained robe and held it close to his eyes. "Hmm, interesting pattern," he mumbled. He turned it over and over in his hands, leaving his staff leaning against one shoulder as the large pack slung across his back emitted muffled clinking noises with each shift of his weight. "Deciduous, dull coloring, two points... hmmph, nothing special." He tossed the leaf to the floor and gripped his staff in his left hand. When he heard another person ask how many people had passed inside he turned to the speaker.

"I also hope the wait won't be too long, I simply must explore the interior of this island before someone beats me to it. Imagine the implications! New treatments for all manners of diseases, new potions, new" He looked at the crowd surrounding them, then back at the man next to him. His shoulders slumped and he leaned visibly on his staff. "Then again, this certainly could take a while."

</font>

Anon stood impatiently against a wall.Not many people gave him a second look.He was a tall warrior after all,and the greatsword he carried was certainly enough to scare a normal person.

His silver dwarven breastplate gleamed in the sun.It had a crest on it that was the acient elvish inscription for "fighter". His blonde hair was short and spiked, it gave him a certain look he thought. His eyes flashed through the crowd, as if expecting trouble. <font color=yellow> I've been hunting orcs and goblins for too long.</font>He said to himself,getting stares from close by people. His pants were also of dwarven make,silver to match his breastplate.He carried no sheild,for rarly was he outmatched by stupid orcs.
He saw a rather dirty looking fellow pick up a leaf and put it back on the ground.He shook his head.<font color=yellow>Odd people.

[ 01-14-2006, 08:34 PM: Message edited by: DrowArchmage ]

<font color=silver> <font color=skblue>“Yes indeed,”</font> Aneuhl replied to Machaon, <font color=skblue>“I imagine that a lot of good could be found in such a place. I too wish to explore there, but for different reasons."</font> he shrugged slightly, perhaps even a little self-consciously, <font color=skblue>“Though my own reasons are not as noble as your own. I seek out metals and minerals, you see."</font> Aneuhl had lowered his voice at the last so others would not hear, even those with superior hearing. <font color=skblue>“Too many seek to take advantage however. I wish you well in your studies. I am Aneuhl. Might I ask your name?"</font>

During his conversation with Machaon which helped pass the time, Aneuhl found himself glancing over at the blonde warrior with the word ‘fighter’ inscribed on his dwarven plate although his look was not one of admiration or fear. Aneuhl’s eyes narrowed in distrust at seeing dwarven handiwork inscribe with an ancient elven dialect. Though he could not read the words, he recognised elven when he saw it. The idea of even using the language with dwarven work seemed so wrong that it stunk to high heavens. Aneuhl did not trust this fellow either – he seemed impatient and cocky, more likely to fight than to converse. Aneuhl was not particually strong and disliked conflict, which may explain did not like that type of person. He made a point to stay away from the fighter and ignore him.</font>

<font color=white>For <font color=silver>Aneuhl J’harna</font> and the first part also for the others:

Contrary to what some had thought, the whole process wasn't taking too long. The first man walked out, downstruck, five minutes after he had been called, and the next three met exactly the same fate.

The captain glanced at his sheet and tried pronouncing the next name, but had difficulties.

"Next is: Anewl Jarhar...Jarna I mean."

<font color=skblue>"Aneuhl"</font><font color=silver> Aneuhl corrected, a tad dryly, but at the same time, amusement showing in his eyes, <font color=skblue>"An-e-yewl"</font>With that he gave a nod to Machaon and stepped forth.</font>

The guard captain muttered something under his breath, which could have been considered an apology and then motioned the same guard to Aneuhl, as the one, who had escorted the first candidate into the inner chambers of the Town Council.

They left the main hall through a small door in the back and reached a dimly lit corridor, which with it's simple granite walls was in stark contrast to the majestic entrance hall of the Council.

They went about forty meters along the corridor and then the guard softly knocked on a sturdy looking, relatively simple oak door. The metal braces holding the door together definitely weren't only iron or steel though, and with his attuned senses and prior knowledge Aneuhl could detect traces of platinum and gold inside them, along with an exotic metal he had never felt before.

The door opened from inside and Pieter Horsfeld himself ushered Aneuhl inside.

<font color=pink>"Please come in and take a seat."</font> He indicated a comfortable arm chair in the middle of the room. At first glance the room would have seemed like an old chamber of some sorts from which all furniture had been stripped. Apart from half a dozen matching arm chairs in a semi-circle around the chair indicated for Aneuhl, no other furniture was visible.

In four of the chairs sat four members of the Town Council, and Pieter Horsfeld returned to the empty armchair. Aneuhl had no idea, who the aged man, sitting in the sixth chair was, yet it was this man who spoke to him first, right after Aneuhl took a seat.

"Keeping your curiosity on a leash can be unhealthy. Go ahead, ask the question that bothers you."</font>

<font color=silver> Aneuhl grinned wryly and took the seat as indicated, <font color=skblue>"If I may ask,"</font> he paused a moment, although not really expecting a reply, <font color=skblue>"Which question may that be?"</font> His green eyes danced, as though amused the council knew there was something on his mind, <font color=skblue>"I have one, yes, but it will lead to several others... but I imagine the one you refer to is this: 'What metal is within the door? The one I don't know.'. Naturally, the next question is: 'Why is it there?' Of course, the answer to that may be obvious - given that you know I have indeed this question on my mind. 'Is the reason for this to fuel an enchantment?'"</font> Aneuhl paused, <font color=skblue>"But where are my manners? I ask too many questions. First of all, thank you for this oppertunity. I will co-operate in any way I can. How may I assist you?"</font></font>

<font color=white>For <font color=silver>Aneuhl J'harna</font>:

Aneuhl could see two of the Council members making notes on parchments. Having such important people scribing down a simple interview revealed as much about the importance of the mission the Council had than its leader's so direct involvment.

The same man, his long white hair, slightly moving as he spoke replied to Aneuhl's questions.

"You perceive much, that is supposed to be hidden from the naked eye. Indeed there is a strange metal inside that door. One, which can not be naturally found on Paradisia. Unfortunately I can't tell you any more about that metal, as there are things, about which even here I dare not speak. You were right to guess the presence of an enchantment, but this is one, which keeps eavesdroppers, both magical and natural from listening in on anything happening in this room."

He brushed a thread of his hair out of his face, and only then did Aneuhl notice a hexagon shaped tatoo on the man's forehead. He had never seen it before, and somehow felt that it would be inappropriate asking about it.

"Eventually you might learn more about this metal than I, or even anyone else does, if you let your curiosity guide you, but some things are up to the fates to decide."

The old man turned to Pieter Horsfeld and nodded, almost imperceptably. The leader of the Town Council spoke next.

<font color=pink>"You came here, because among other reasons you are willing to risk your life on an unknown mission. Why do you play with your own existence so recklessly?"</font></font>