LOF: Awakenings

[Elif Godson]

Vincent Pathfinder

"Well met good sir. My name is Vincent, and I would like to inquire about a bow? I had a mishap with mine and it currently resides in a shattered state at the bottom of a god forsaken bog. What may ye have in stock, or can ye craft one to my specifications?"

[ 03-12-2007, 02:43 PM: Message edited by: Elif Godson ]

[ZFR]

Xaver

"Oh, I'm just a simple travelling merchant and er... healer, who happened to pass by your peaceful town. Just stopped here for a few days; I'm staying at the inn. Thought I'd go for a stroll today... the countryside is beautiful... I'm thinking of going through the forest to collect some er... herbs and berries and the like for my potion-making... You wouldn't by any chance know of any places in the forest where one could plenty of those...?"

[Kazilan]

Pandaros

The scout froze and dropped into a crouch. He focused his senses on detecting the presence of a threat, listening to the sounds of the forest and scanning the clearing and surrounding woods for places where a creature may hide. If nothing jumped to his attention, he would move slowly to the cabin and search for any clues as to the identity of the monster that had ravaged the woodcutter.

After investigating the cabin he would search the area around it in hopes of finding tracks that would point him in the direction of the beast's lair.

"Not that I'm going to follow those tracks alone," he muttered. "But it will be worthwhile enough evidence to warrant bringing in the dwarf."

[Larry_OHF]

NPC Farmer to Xaver:

[persuade attempt: failed]

The farmer eyed this dwarf with one of those looks that people get when they're getting annoyed.

"Can't say I know nuttin' much 'bout potion-makin' with foods and the like, much less what some merchant wanna go makin' em fer to do healin' and all...ye best bet'id be goin' on out there and lookin'. Or ye might go ask ol' Oley. He be knowin' 'bout potions...drinks 'em all the time they say...helps 'im ferget who he was, or least that's what we here ou' cheer."

================================================== =============================

GM to Pandaros:

You hear nothing out of the ordinary to suspect a close-at-hand enemy. The forest wildlife sings to you of the safety they feel.

You inspect the destruction. The body of the woodcutter is nowhere to be found. Should you suspect that family or friends have taken it away for burial...or did the monstrosity return later and claim it? You may not be able to figure that one out just yet, but that is beside the point. Right now, you are more interested in the large footprints that you see about the ground. Heavy, large footprints. This is a giant of some kind, to be sure. You search the area until you find the set of prints that lead away from this area and realize that your chances for finding this fiend must lay in that direction. That would be North.

================================================== =============================

Simon Locke, speaking to Sever

At first, Simon could not even speak, for the confusion of what had just occured was still spilling over him. That turned into a slight hint of anger before he realized what must really be the true nature of this unfolding event.

"Ah! I see now. You've gone and found more wine to drink, attempting to calm your nerves before the mission and went too far. You're drunk and actually have no idea why you are here or even where you are supposed to go. Really, Sever...we did have high hopes for you. A man's favorite weakness is the one that he cherishes while those around him pay the price. Very well, let's get you into a room at the Inn to sleep it off, shall we? And then we can discuss this later."

Simon sees Jeanette dusting nearby.

"Jeanette, would you fetch a guard to escort our friend here to the Inn and have Grant put it on our tab?"

Simon turned back to Sever.

"Follow Ms. Jeannette now, and don't give her any trouble or you'll find yourself wishing you'd just passed-out outside. Now go."

Simon watched on as Jeanette waited to see if Sever would come with her.

[ 03-23-2007, 09:03 AM: Message edited by: Larry_OHF ]

[dplax]

Vindson

Business was good today. Whatever the townsfolk thought about strangers, they sure were good for business. Not that Vindson really needed any more business...since he had sold that armour to that mercenary of the Lockes, and they had paid him, he had quite a bit of gold coins available. A donation to demeter might soon be in order.

"Well met Vincent!" Vindson shook the half-elf's hand warmly.

"I have a few bows available," he said pointing at about half a dozen bows lying next to the wall. Five of them were short bows, quite probably too short for Vincent. The other two were long, but not really the type of wood Vincent liked to use.

"I can craft you one if you bring me the wood. There are quite a few suitable trees even on the outskirts of the forest."

[ 03-13-2007, 02:27 AM: Message edited by: dplax ]

[ZFR]

Xaver

Seeing how he's not likely to get any more help out of this farmer, Xaver decided to try his luck somewhere else. He looked around and picked the largest farmhouse, the owners of which had to be relatively wealthy (that is if any of those farmers could be described as wealthy).
He thought for a moment about putting away his shield and helmet to appear more 'merchanty' than decided against it. The farmers here had never seen a dwarf, and for all they knew this is what a dwarven merchant looks like. He just made sure his axe is covered and out of view.
With a polite 'goodbye' to the farmer he made his way towards the farmhouse. He passed the gate which was open and ignoring the barking dog, knocked loudly on the wooden door.

[Armen]

Gillian

The noise of the serving girl dropping a spoon behind the bar woke Gillian with a jolt. He looked around slightly disturbed at having dropped off. The pub was still quiet. In fact it was empty although perhaps that was inevitable in a farming community. The light through the windows showed him that he hadn’t been asleep for long and farmers were likely to work through all the daylight they could get.

If he was too tired to work there was little point waiting around here and in any case the serving girl would probably be glad of the opportunity to close for a while. Gillian stood and returned his journal to his satchel and with a word of thanks to the girl stepped out into the town. Leaving the pub, his footsteps lead him past the green and he strolled around in a roughly clockwise direction noting with interest both the Locke’s sturdy mansion and the recently burned out warehouse. Eventually he found himself passing the open door of a shop attached to a smithy building. He could hear voices within and, on an impulse, decided to step inside. As the smith was talking to a customer Gillian examined the weapons on display with what could probably be taken for interest while he waited for the pair to finish their business

[ 03-13-2007, 07:58 AM: Message edited by: Armen ]

[dplax]

Andrion Wilgor

It had been a peaceful morning. The sun, partially obscured by the clouds, still managed to warm up the air to a pleasant temperature. Andrion sat in the back of a cart, behind the barrels of wine it was carrying. He had promised the merchant payment upon arrival at his destination, the small village just visible on the horizon.

The soft 'fffft' of an arrow flying through the air was all the warning he got. The cart, pulled by two horses, slowly ground to a halt. Andrion did not move, not even when footsteps approached the back of the cart. He felt the cold steel of a sword press against his neck from behind.

"Get off of the cart!" ordered a rough, male voice.

"You are a dead man." Andrion muttered under his breath.

"What was that?" asked another, younger voice.

"Estan quemando mis manos." (*) As the strange words left Andrion's lips his hands started to glow. When he whirled around, his hands were already aflame. He grabbed the sword with both hands, but to the surprise of the man holding it he did not try tearing it from his hands. The intense heat generated by the spell, simply melted the blade of the sword, dripping liquid metal to the ground. Suddenly unbearably hot, the sword was dropped to the ground.

Andrion backed back several paces. His robes were smoking from the heat they had been next to, but his hands were unhurt. There were six of them, and they looked like a well-organised band. Two had their bows pointed at Andrion, arrows ready to be fired. The one, whom Andrion presumed the leader, the one who was clutching his badly burnt hand, was to whom the other five looked for guidance glancing quickly between him and Andrion. The three remaining bandits, two of them looking to be twins, or at least brothers, all yielded similar swords to the one, lying in a pool of metal and several bits on the ground.

Several seconds passed, before the leader released his injured hand and drew a dagger with the other. His injured hand lay limply at his side. He opened his mouth to speak.

"You have just -"

"Oh shut up...if you leave now, I shall consider sparing the six of you. Take the cart by all means. I have nothing to do with its former owner."

The bandit leader was not used to being interrupted.

"Things are not that simple, you -"

"They are." Andrion muttered the phrase to another spell and pointed at one of the archers. One second the man was alive. The next, he was dropping lifeless to the ground.

"It is up to you whether you want to live or die." His words were lost in the roar of the two twins, or brothers, who were already charging at him. The archer's arrow missed his head by a fraction of inches. He did not get the chance to fire another. An illusory double, almost completely identical to Andrion appeared out of nowhere as Andrion suddenly disappeared. The double was ordered to mimic casting spells. Not caring any more about it, Andrion started casting spells of his own.

Several seconds later fumes erupted from the ground around the cart. All, but one of the brothers was immediately killed. It was another minute before Andrion reappeared. His body was covered in what looked like flames, and a shimmering globe surrounded him.

"You can still leave if you want my fight is not with you."

Surprised by the clemency of such a powerful mage, the young man hastily stood up and started running away, down the road. He didn't get further than fifty yards away, a flaming arrow fired by Andrion disintegrated the clothes on his back before burrowing deep inside of his chest.

Two days later

The horse was not made for heavy riding. In its whole life until two days ago it had been used to slowly pulling a heavily laden cart with its companion on the same road, every day. Its companion had died of exhaustion twelve hours earlier. This dark haired man - no, he was no man, he did not have the characteristic smell of one - was driving them as though he had his masters standing with whips behind him.

The brown horse staggered, almost falling. Fifteen meters later it was all over. A small hole in the ground, a broken foot. No more suffering, just a painless death as he had seen his companions receive at the hands of their masters once suffering such an injury. But what was this? The rider was simply walking away? Was the agony not going to suddenly end?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Tower of Shadow, abode of the Modding Mage was finally in view, albeit still two hours of walking away. Blasted horse could have lasted a few extra miles...

It is an imposing structure. Enough so to make anyone approaching it feel belittled by it. Its walls made of the shadow rocks brought for the Shadow Mage by his most faithful servants, the Shadow Giants.

There once was a time when getting into the Tower was simply a question of exploiting its weak points. That time is long gone. The roof has been reinforced. No longer can attackers enter from there. Getting to the tower now requires either the will of the Mage or moving across the barren wastelands surrounding it.

He already knows I'm coming. He has enough spies to spot a solitary figure barely an hour away. He knows I've succeeded in testing my powers.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fourth level of six. The throne room. One of the most powerful beings of Ironworks resides here. The shadow dwarves proudly guard the entrances, but allow the cloaked figure passage. Grey, once a powerful ranger known as Brendon doesn't even spare Andrion a passing glance. He poses no danger. Andrion knows his place. He serves the mage. And the servants of the mage have to be allowed to live. The mind of a zombie is really simple.

"I have returned." Andrion did not bow. It was not with gestures of subservience that he showed his allegiance to the mage. It was with action. Now that he had proved himself and the marriage between the gift of the mage and his previous powers was proven to be a deadly combination, he was ready for action.

"What are your orders?" Just four words, yet they carry so much meaning. Gone are the thoughts of rebellion against the Mage Andrion once had nurtured. Gone are the feelings of resentment against he, who gave Andrion a new body, a new chance. They are replaced by obedience.

OOC: (*) My hands are burning.
Spells used in order:
-Shadow enhanced burning hands (considered level 4)
-Finger of death
-Mislead
-Mantle (special spell)
-Abi dalzim's horrid wilting
-Flame arrow

[ 03-13-2007, 12:24 PM: Message edited by: dplax ]

[Elif Godson]

Vincent Pathfinder

Vincent smiled at the man and headed over to inspect the few bows available. The short one's were indeed short, good for wall defense or close quarters, nothing compared to what he normally uses. Standard were boughs used in this work, he turns and looks at Vindson with an inquiring look, Maybe I should make the bow, if we have time and this man will let me use his tools I could craft one. "Vindson, by chance could I , when the time allows use your lathe and craft my own bow? I am skilled in fletching and am very familiar with the work.I can pay ye for the use if you require such, or work something out in trade? In the meantime I can take this bow for use."

[ 03-13-2007, 02:13 PM: Message edited by: Elif Godson ]

[dplax]

Vindson

"Not a problem! Of course I'd allow you to use it. Bows aren't my speciality so I understand if you want to make one for yourself."

Vindson glanced at the bow Vincent was pointing at. It was worth less than two silver pieces. With the money he had made recently, especially from the armour of the Locke's mercenary, he could risk losing the value of the bow. And besides, this chap looked to be at least halfway honest.

"Feel free to borrow it in the meantime."

Vindson turned to his new customer, a human by the looks of him. He allowed the man to look at his wares, waiting for him to notice that he had finished his business with Vincent. When Gillian glanced at Vindson, he slightly cleared his throat, and spoke to him.

"I am Vindson, the smith around here. Anything I can help you with?"