Of Mages and Kings : A Twokinds RP (Open, PM sheet to GMs)

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InkBlot Royalist

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Sep 13, 2011
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Greetings all! Hoping this is an acceptable character:
Name: Borta
Race: Keidran
Gender: Male
Subspecies: Arctic Wolf
Age: 19
Profession: Traveller/bard
Physical description: 6ft 0", weighing 165 pounds. His fur is mostly a greying colour, although patches of white still show around his neck and belly. His eyes are green and his hair is just below shoulder length, left completely free. His left ear is badly mangled, but there is little scar tissue. Borta is muscular, despite his age and has broad shoulders. Other than this he has no particular distinguishing features. He wears a long leather coat and a suit of chainmail armour underneath. He wears fingerless leather gloves, and no boots. The only showy peice of jewelry he owns is his belt buckle, which shines silver and has a small emerald set in the center. He also wears a battered, wide brimmed hat with a single, huge green feather in it; for no reason other than he wants to.
Weapons: Borta has a mace as his main weapon. He also wears a single steel vanbrace on his left for-arm; which reaches from his wrist to his elbow. This is mainly for blocking purposes.
Other notable equipment: His pack is filled mostly with travelling supplies (tent, food, etc), and a decent amount of gold pieces. Borta does have an item of note however: an old lute, with peeling paint which he carries slung across his back. Despite its age and apparent condition, it is fully functioning and Borta can play many beautiful melodies on it.
Backstory: Borta was born free in the Arctic Republic, and spent his early years as a hunter with his father and elder siblings. They were a close family unit, and spent the evenings huddled around the family hearth listening to the elders spin tales of great deeds and heroes. Borta was gripped by them, and vowed to himself to one day be a part of a great tale.
When he was seven years old, he and his elder sister Barnia went travelling together, both eager to see more of the world. For the next 3 years, they wandered the land, seeking adventure and glory, but often as not ending up lucky to have a bed and food. His sister grew bored of the life on the move soon after Borta's 10th birthday returned home to find a mate.
Borta never gave in though. He continued hunting for "Evil-doers" and trying to challenge slavers and criminals to duels for the next three years. After single handedly attacking an entire slaving party, Borta was beaten to a pulp; had his ear almost torn off and was left for dead on the side of a track, aged 13. Fortunately, a band of travellers passed by and took him to the next town, where he slowly recovered.
It was after this event he realised he was much better at recounting the stories than being in them himself.
For the next six years Borta studied the arts of the bard, memorising and improving the old tales and songs, and earning no small amount of gold and fame travelling from city to city, singing and speaking in taverns, with a roaring fire to his back and an audience on his every word. Those were the best days of his life.
Now, Borta is feeling his age, and knows he won't live many more winters. He has never fully recovered from his childhood dreams of greatness though. So, sending his money home to his family, Borta has packed his bag and donned his old armour for one final journey. One final attempt to become join a legend.
Additional notes: Borta is a story teller and has picked up many things over his years of travelling. He understands basic Bastilin and has a firm grasp of the human tongue.
Borta can also sing beautifully in any language, and accompany this with lute playing.
Borta is a competant fighter, although this revolves more around his physical strength and experiance than any particular honed skill. If he hits something, it doesn't often get back up.
Hope this is acceptable! Looking forward to getting started!
 

ShindoL Shill

Truely we are the Our Avatars XI
Jul 11, 2011
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Name: Murtaugh
Race: Keidran
Subspecies: Forest Wolf
Age: 9
Profession: Assassin

Physical description: Murtaugh is 5'11, 157 lbs with light brown fur and dark brown, mid-length hair. He has brown eyes, and has a thick, muscular build. He wears a black cloak over dark brown trousers and a dark brown shirt. He also wears leather kneeguards and bracers, tough enough to lessen the damage of arrows and blades and stop most punches.

Weapons: Three throwing knives, shortsword and dagger.
Other notable equipment: Lockpicks, food, firelighting equipment and camping equipment.

Backstory: Murtaugh was raised in a border nation village of mostly forest wolf Keidran. His village was raided by Keidran from another nation. He survived the raid and escaped his village and the attack, but was found by slavers and sold to a human.
His master taught him to speak Human, and the other slaves taught him to play the lute for the master's family and guests of the house. His master, as well as his family, were assassinated less than a year later by a Keidran on the orders of someone who remains unknown to Murtaugh.
He escaped captivity, but had nowhere to go and no practical knowledge of the world. The assassin took pity on him, and brought him along. Murtaugh proved himself to be a fast learner in assassination and survival techniques, and later left the Keidran assassin to make his own way in the world.
As he grew older, his past gave him a distrust of all races, and a belief that loyalty should only lie with yourself and your family and no others unless they truly earn it.

Additional notes: Murtaugh still carries a lute he stole from his former master's house during his escape as a reminder of what his own people did to him and what Humans did to him. He uses it to disguise himself as a minstrel when travelling and in cities.
He can speak both Human and Keidran, but has had no interaction with Basitin and therefore cannot speak their language.
Murtaugh is proficient in hand-to-hand combat and swordfighting, skills he learned from the Keidran assassin, and won't shy away from a fight, or the chance to free slaves.

EDIT: I changed the Backstory and added a couple of things to the Additional Notes.
Not sure where this would go in the sheet, so to answer your question:

Murtaugh trusted the assassin, because at that time he was still very young and both of them realised he would either starve or get himself killed or recaptured on his own, so the assassin brought him along and kept him safe which meant that Murtaugh grew up trusting him.
Also, it wasn't until he matured more and saw more of the slave trade from an outside perspective that he began to distrust Keidran and Humans.

EDIT#2 I slightly derped my character's fur/hair colour, so I've changed that (grey-brown).
 

RBMidknight

Elite Member
Nov 27, 2009
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As of now the deadline has been reached and the submitted sheets have been locked in. The selection process has started.
[hr]

Early Years

Jarrod was born a third-generation free slave. His paternal grandparents had been freed in their late adulthood by their owners - a kindly old couple who purchased workers from passing traders but offered them freedom, and assistance leaving town, when they came of age. Jarrod's father was born a free Keidran and the first in the family to be offered a formal education. He became a night guard and met Jarrod's mother during one of his rounds. Jarrod's mother worked as the chief assistant of their village's apothecary. Jarrod himself was born with little knowledge of his grandparent's life. He often spent time climbing the walls of the village buildings in order to reach the outer forest. To try and calm down her wild offspring Jarrod's mother began give her son down lessons on plants. These lessons included small quizzes on the ingredients for medicine made in the apothecary. Jarrod learned the different types of plants that were grown for the apothecary supplies. Jarrod would obediently recite the plant names, for he had a talent for memorization, but he quickly grew bored with the lessons. Whenever his mother had to help customers Jarrod would look for a way to escape outside.

Taken

When Jarrod was five years old he wandered away from his mother during a routine shopping trip. While his mother was busy purchasing some herbs Jarrod ducked between the vendor stalls. He was small and slipped by the vendor unnoticed. He began heading toward the sweet roll vendor but something else caught his attention. A large crowd was moving to the village square. By the sounds of it, some sort of commotion had broken out there. Jarrod was curious. So he made his way toward the square.

The commotion turned out to be an argument between a group of slavers and the local law enforcement. The loud shouts between the two forces had attracted the crowd. The slavers were loudly protesting that they were allowed to be in the village, that they were allowed 'by law!' to try and sell their goods. The guards countered that the village had declared their independence and slavery had been outlawed some ten years past. The crowd, bolstered by the guards' words, began to grow angry. Several villagers began to demand the slavers leave.

Wanting to get close to the action Jarrod pushed his way through the crowd. His small body fit between the adults quite easily. One large human male, however, took offense to Jarrod's rush. He shoved the young Keidran away from himself causing Jarrod to stumble and fall. Dirt from the road coated the boy's clothes as he scrambled to his feet. Young Jarrod froze when he saw the line of slaves fitted with their collars and iron restraints. Several looked to be his own age. All of the slaves were haggard and their clothes were threadbare as they stood shivering in front of a small wooden cart. Having never seen a slave before the sight confused Jarrod.

Abruptly the guards and crowd began to herd the slavers and their wagon to the front gates. The slaves, most of whom were chained in a line to the wagon, went along with their captors. The mob of a crowd followed as well. Jarrod fought his way to the font of the crowd again. He wanted to see the slaves. He didn't understand why they were chained. By the time he reached the front of the crowd everyone was outside the village gates. The crowd spent time hurling insults at the slavers. Though the law was clear about not allowing slavery, the residents knew if one of the slavers attacked, it was grounds for them to be arrested and their 'property' to be handed over. This included the slaves. The traders bore the insults and tossed back some of their own. But neither side attacked the other.

When the crowd became bored the noise died down. The residents slowly returned to their duties and the guards busied themselves surrounding the gates and informing the slavers about the path they should take 'for their own good'. Everyone began to leave except for one. Jarrod, now dirty from falling on the ground, attempted to get closer to the wagon. A slave that looked to be his own age had his hands through the bars that made up the door. The slave, a young feline Keidran, noticed Jarrod getting closer and reached out to him. The crowd reached the gates and people began filing into the village. Their backs were turned. So no one noticed when Jarrod was grabbed by the nearest slaver. The boy fought immediately, but the closest man put one massive, beefy hand around the young Keidran's muzzle to keep his cries from being heard. A sharp blow to the head knocked Jarrod unconscious making it easy to toss his unresisting body into the cage of slaves. The young Keidran quickly went to the groggy Jarrod in an attempt to help him. The slavers resumed their travel, hastening the horses to put as much distance between themselves and the village as possible. They now had one more item to sell at the next stop. It was a good day, as far as they were concerned. No one paid attention to the frantic Keidran female who was describing her son's clothes to the one of the guards at the gate.

Consequences
The slave wagon traveled for days. The slaves, still cramped in the small wagon, were given very little water and scraps of food. On the sixth day Jarrod was roughly dragged from the wagon. He was hauled by the neck out into the daylight and thrown onto a patch of cold damp earth. In the middle of an unfamiliar forest the young Keidran was fitted with bands of metal over his wrists and a thick collar of the same material was put around his neck. Money was exchanged between the slavers and a tall human with greying hair. The man had a heavy build and a there was an axe fixed to his belt. In a matter of minutes Jarrod was bought and sold. The slavers continued on their journey. But Jarrod was left behind. The large man looked Jarrod up and down, gave a derisive snort, and instructed his assistants to bring the boy with them. "For that much money, he better be a good worker." the man said.

Jarrod was carried, without clothes, and deposited next to several other shivering furred bodies. They were other slaves. Everyone in the group had been recently purchased. After the grey-haired man finished his speech, five Overseers used fist and whip to herd the slaves to their designated areas. It took Jarrod but an instant to bolt away from the burly Overseer and his cracking whip. Running on two legs and then four Jarrod fled from his captors. But suddenly Jarrod struck something or someone. His head ached brutally and his vision went black as he fell to the ground. The Overseer gathered the unconscious slave and carried him to his designated area. A quick face-full of water revived Jarrod. He awoke gasping and sputtering. He glared at the Overseer but the man simply pointed to a nearby tree. It was marked with a bright red X made of paint.

"Cut it down." the man said. He tapped his folded whip against his leg. It was clearly an order. Jarrod refused. The Overseer struck Jarrod across the face. Once. Twice. He yelled obscenities at the Keidran. And when that proved fruitless he hit Jarrod a third time knocking him to the ground. When the boy refused to stand the Overseer seized hold of his shirt and dragged him back to the main camp.

It took three days and three food deprived nights for Jarrod to finally realize that he couldn't escape from the wretched place he'd been transported to. The metal bands that he wore prevented him from leaving his the work camp. Every escape attempt he tried failed. When the exasperated and angry Keidran tried to strike out at the humans in anger, his fists seemed to slide off an invisible wall and the bands lit up with odd symbols. He was trapped. He was defenseless. Sullenly Jarrod turned his anger to his so called 'job'. He attacked trees with a vengeance. He pooled his anger into his fists and arms and all that resulted was that the Overseer happily noted the increase in logs. Despite his failures Jarrod was determined to find a way to escape.

The man who purchased Jarrod, he learned, was the owner of a lumber yard. Jarrod's job title was lumberjack or woodcutter or slave or chopper or tool. He was called many things. His first assignment was to cut down designated trees and then to cut the fallen trees into smaller logs. He was to fell as many trees and sections as he could from morning until afternoon. After a very short lunch break (bread and water) the second part of his job started. Jarrod had to haul all of the logs to a designated pile were they were sorted by another group of slaves. "It's a simple job. For simple animals." the company manager often told the Overseers. Jarrod was not the only woodcutter but he noticed that other slaves had different jobs. Whenever Jarrod deposited a wooden section into the pile, there was always another slave there ready to take it away to be prepared. For what, Jarrod was never told. He was never told anything that didn't have to do with his particular job.

For a year Jarrod was the only woodcutter in his designated area. Under the careful eye of the Overseer he and other slaves chopped and hauled trees in their own areas of the forest. It was a densely wooded forest. And the trees selected to be cut down were carefully chosen. Jarrod overheard another slave say that they only marked certain trees so that the slaves would always have work to do. To Jarrod the job seemed endless. Day after day he worked. The constant labor kept him awake at night with aches and pains until his body and mind became used to the strain. He began to develop the muscles in his arms and back.

During Jarrod's second year the company lost three of their slaves to felled trees. The man in charge decided to try a new tactic. Jarrod was given a partner, a fox Keidran who was a year or so older than Jarrod - despite the fact that Jarrod was a good five inches taller. With the "buddy" system each slave took one of the jobs. One would do the bulk of the cutting, and the other would be in charge of cutting the sections. Then they both hauled the wooden sections during the latter half of the day. The man in charge was immensely satisfied at the increase in production.

Jarrod didn't talk to his assigned partner. Nor did his partner talk to him. Not so much out of fear of the Overseer, but because neither was used to talking. But at night eventually Jarrod became curious. He learned that the fox Keidran was named Thane and that he was born a slave. But he was not born a laborer. Before being brought to the forest Thane had been a house-slave. Something that he'd done had caused his master to sell him. Thane wouldn't say what it was. Jarrod found it odd that Thane was not outraged by his captivity. He never tried to escape and didn't even complain or name-call the Overseers. Instead Thane seemed to endure the work and daily insults without comment or complaint. "I am a slave." Thane explained to Jarrod during their evening mealtime. "It is all that I am and all that I will be." Despite Jarrod's vehement denial that Keidrans not supposed to be slaves to Humans Thane could not be persuaded. Despite their differences in opinion a friendship was formed.

Hope

Winter was the most difficult time to endure. Whereas the Overseers had large bonfires and cabins as housing the slaves were given a series of cloth huts and some threadbare blankets. Often the slaves slept in large groups simply to remain warm.

During one such winter Jarrod caught his partner doing something strange. Early in the morning before the sun rose Thane slipped outside into the forest. Jarrod was awoken by the sound of the wind picking up. He peeked outside of the hut. After gathering a pile of half-frozen branches Thane began to arrange them in a way that seemed to mimic the tents Jarrod slept in. When he was finished Thane knelt down in the snow and pulled out a small stone from his pocket. And he stared at the pile of branches. Jarrod wondered if perhaps he was praying. He'd heard some of the other slaves prayed. Jarrod stepped outside to try and approach his friend when the branches suddenly caught on fire. Startled, Jarrod fell and landed muzzle-first into the snow. When he rose, shaking ice from his fur, Thane was sitting calmly next to a decent sized fire. Jarrod approached his friend cautiously.

Thane admitted freely that he knew a bit about magic. It was, he explained, part of the reason his previous master was forced to sell him to the traders. Jarrod ignored the confusing comment and pleaded with his friend to be taught how to use magic. At first, Thane refused. It was dangerous, he said. And magic wasn't a toy to be played with. And not everyone had the ability. But Jarrod continued to persist until Thane agreed to give him a small lesson. "Just to see if you can." Thane admitted.

And so, in secret, the magic lessons began. The two slaves quickly found out that whereas Thane's affinity and abilities were based around fire, Jarrod's affinity was with something entirely different. He had an affinity to plants. Whenever he aimed at a tree, trying to create a fireball, the tree would instead sprout into life; even if it was out of season. Thane asked Jarrod what his parents' jobs had been. The answer seemed to interest Thane but Jarrod failed to see any sort of connection. He continued to experiment with his newfound gift using Thane's mage-stones. The stones had a name, Thane mentioned one day, but he'd forgotten it a long time ago.

Over the next two years Jarrod and Thane practiced their abilities whenever they had free time. Thane would show Jarrod something, and then Jarrod would work on creating an equivalent. Thanks to the abundance of plant-life the slaves lived with every day finding material for Jarrod to practice with was not difficult. Jarrod even practiced on the marked trees during lunch. And at night there were plenty of roots and vines within reach of the tent's cloth walls. Once Jarrod found and strengthened his main skills the lessons took a slight turn. Thane and Jarrod began using their abilities against one another. They participated in mock battles to see how effective their magic was in combat situations. They had but one stone to use so the battles were short and done in extremely close quarters. These sessions were only done during times that the humans had a feast or night of drinking. Very often the Overseers consumed too much wine and slept as though dead. Jarrod and Thane were very careful during these sessions and made sure that they weren't noticed.

Plans

Toward the end of the fourth year of Jarrod's captivity he and Thane came up with a plan of escape. Or rather, they came up with a plan for Jarrod to escape. Thane had no desire to leave. "I will be caught." The fox explained, "And the next master I have may not be so kind." Jarrod objected that their current 'masters' were not kind at all. Thane countered that there were worse things a slave could do than cut down wood. Jarrod became upset and questioned these 'worse things' but Thane would not explain any further. HE considered the matter closed.

Their plan was simple. "The problem," Thane explained, "is the bands." The magic infused metal bands that kept slaves from escaping. If they could get the bands off Jarrod could be free. Their first attempts at removing the bands failed miserably. Thane attempted to use his magic to melt the bands. Despite his best attempts to control the heat the attempt caused his magic to backlash. The superheated metal severely burned Thane's wrists. Jarrod's wrists were also affected but his fur had minimized some of the damage. They were lucky that the scars were hidden by the thick metal but several days afterwards Jarrod had to help Thane with his job. Their Overseer complained about the decrease in production, but did not bother to investigate. It took two weeks for the burns to heal. And even after the singed fur grew back, the scars still remained. The second attempt at removing the bands was a tad more successful. Using his ability to control plants Jarrod tried to use them to pry the bands off. But due to his lack of experience the mana stone drained before he made any real progress. But at least, Thane commented, there were no scars that time.

Their third attempt was over two cold and rainy nights. The slaves were allowed to leave early because of the lightning the storm brought with it. The man in charge didn't want to have to deal with the mess of an accidental felling and dead slave. Huddled in a corner of their hut Jarrod used his magic once again. Instead of gradually using his magic to coax the plants to move he poured all of his energy into a single effort. The thin vine he controlled strained and twisted in its obedience trying to pry apart his left wrist band. But still there was no true progress. The next night Jarrod focused his energy more carefully and right at the end of the stone's capacity the vine lit up from within - the same color as the runes on the bands and the sigils that always appeared at the edge of the forest. The color grew brighter, then dimmed, and the band clicked open.

The resulting commotion that Jarrod made resulted in several slaves starting to approach. Frightened that he would be discovered Jarrod quickly snapped the band closed again. He whined quietly at the sensation of being trapped again. The curious slaves ignored Jarrod as being sick. But he was in fact invigorated. He knew how to get the bands off! He just had to practice.

Several months passed while Jarrod honed his ability. The trick, he learned, was putting just the right amount of power into the vine and doing so quickly. Each band seemed to have its own amount of power required. Thane called it a frequency and he tried to explain how the plants were acting as a key. Jarrod didn't quite understand. But he did understand that when he abandoned the tactic of brute force prying he had just enough energy stored in the stone to remove the two wristbands. But that still left the collar. "It's time I taught you one last lesson." Thane decided after seeing Jarrod succeed for the fifth time at taking both wrist bands off but run out of energy for the last item.

Jarrod's last lesson was on how to put mana into the stone by himself. Thane felt that perhaps he could get more mana into the stone. It was the hardest lesson yet as it required complete concentration. And Jarrod was distracted by the possibility of escape. Weeks passed. A few slaves tried their own escape attempts. But all were caught, punished, and forced to return to work. One slave had managed to blind an Overseer. That slave was not returned to work. His body was lashed to a tree for all the captives to see until the birds and predators stripped it of any resemblance to a Keidran. The gruesome sight drove Jarrod to be more diligent during his lessons. His diligence and Thane's patience paid off. Jarrod became able to prepare the stone himself. As a reward for succeeding in his final lesson Thane gifted Jarrod with the stone. "You will need it more than I." was the cryptic response to Jarrod's partial protest.

Spring was in full swing the day that Jarrod decided to escape. Thane was to be the distraction. "It is," the young Keidran assured Jarrod, "the least I can do." Thane said that if he was clearly in the camp he would not be in very much trouble.

They worked the morning as though it was any other day. But just before they were to haul their first cartful of wood back to the base, Thane began to wail. Faking a bout of severe stomach sickness, he moaned and groaned his way to their Overseer. He pitched himself forward, crying, wailing, and making and as much noise as he possibly could. Concerned only that he would infect the other slaves the head Overseer approached the flailing Keidran. And in his moment of inattention Jarrod reacted. He ducked behind the nearest tree while pulling the stone out of his pocket to call upon his magic. Finding the closest growing plant he grabbed it. The plant, or briar, as it turned out to be, cut into Jarrod's skin. But he ignored the pain and concentrated on the amount of energy he was using. The vine twisted and writhed but obeyed. Jarrod got one wrist band off. Then he broke the other. The collar was harder but with a solid push it too released. Thane was still moaning loudly and the Overseer was yelling about moving faster. But Jarrod was free! He shook his wrists and the bands dropped to the ground. But the sound of metal colliding caught the Overseer's attention.

The big man gave a startled yell and raised his whip. He snapped it toward Jarrod but the Keidran quickly picked up one of the bands and threw it the Overseer. The whip hit the band instead of Jarrod.

"Run!" Thane urged his friend, no longer faking his sickness. Jarrod ran.

The next crack of the whip caught his ear and the pain nearly blinded Jarrod. But still he ran. There was a loud shout behind Jarrod and a cry of pain. It was a real cry of pain, not a fake cry of sickness. Jarrod stumbled to a halt in order to turn.

"Run!" the voice called again. But another cry of pain sounded.

Jarrod watched the Overseer's hand raise preparing to strike Thane once again. Jarrod angrily called upon the grass to hold the Overseer in place while he charged the man. Together they fell to the ground. Jarrod kicked, scratched, and bit the human doing as much damage as he could to whatever he could reach. It didn't occur to either of them that they had axes on their belts until Thane called for Jarrod to use his. Still on the ground Thane was struggling to rise.

Jarrod was fast. But the human wasn't distracted by Thane's condition. The human was faster. The blunt edge of his axe connected with the side of Jarrod's head. Knocked semi-conscious Jarrod fell back to the ground.

The Overseer rose to his feet and began sweeping dirt from his pants. "Stupid slave." he grumbled.

So intent was he on cleaning his clothes and complaining that the Overseer missed Thane coming up behind him with the Overseer's own whip in his hand. A sharp crack sounded as the whip wrapped around the Overseer's feet. Thane jerked the whip backwards and the Overseer fell. His momentum was increased by his own weight and his head collided with a rock on the ground. The Overseer did not rise.

Stepping over the inert body Thane approached Jarrod and shook him several times to wake him up. Jarrod awoke with his head pounding and his eyes unable to focus.

"Get up." Thane said urgently. "You have to go. They're coming."

Jarrod had a hard time focusing but he remembered. The plan. The escape. Freedom. Jarrod hurried to stand and pulled at the broken collar still partially attached to his neck. As he turned Jarrod saw the slain Overseer's body. Realization made him stop his efforts. Injured humans meant dead slaves. A dead human certainly meant a dead slave. Pulling out the stone, Jarrod tried to take his friend's wrist.

"You can't." Thane said firmly while shaking his head.

Jarrod became angry then confused. Then with a sickening feeling in his gut he raised the stone and looked closely at it. His still blurred vision revealed what he hadn't realized. The stone was broken. Cracked through its middle. Somewhere in the fight he'd destroyed it. The stone would never hold mana again. He truly couldn't save his friend. Not now. Not ever.

"Run." Thane said again. The single word held sadness and determination. He folded Jarrod's paw over the broken stone. "Go." he urged. Jarrod shook his head. He didn't want to leave. There was a dead Overseer and an escaped slave. His friend wouldn't live through the night if he stayed. Thane pressed his felling axe against Jarrod's chest before giving him a shove. "Now," Thane insisted a final time.

Frightened, heartsick and angry Jarrod fled. He ran past his designated area, passed the tall trees, passed the boundary fence, passed all of the known forest. He jumped over the sigils that no longer acknowledge his existence. And still further Jarrod ran until he collapsed onto the ground. He crawled to a small stream. Using the last of his strength Jarrod pulled himself onto a stone covered in moss and hidden by leaves. And there he slept.

Freedom

When Jarrod awoke he was alone in the middle of a strange forest. But he was free. Jarrod finished removing his collar and set it on the ground. He used Thane's axe and several large stones to break the collar into pieces. With every blow he imagined one of the Overseer's heads. Even that of the man in charge. Jarrod took the pieces with him in a pouch made of his shirt. He wandered through the forest for days feeding off of the rabbits he could trap and fish he could catch. He found another stream which became a river which lead to the ocean. The coast lead Jarrod to real civilization. A small city. A port city. Cautiously he approached the front gate. The guards welcomed Jarrod and asked if he needed assistance. When he reached the gate the guards noticed his appearance.

Jarrod was seized before he could properly run. His clothing, coupled with the remnants of collar that fell from his pocket, was enough for the guards to deduce Jarrod was a runaway slave. To the frightened Keidran's astonishment the guards released him inside of the city. They told him that within their city's walls slavery was not tolerated. And escaped slaves were welcome though not 'officially' they were quick to explain.

With the remains of his slave collar clinking quietly in his pocket Jarrod walked further into the city. A passing elderly woman took one look at his appearance and gave him a few small circular items. Coins, he was told, for him to get some food. Jarrod followed his nose to the nearest produce stall. Using the kind woman's money he bought his first decent meal in five years. From bits and pieces of conversations Jarrod was able to determine that he'd escaped to a city called Arroy in the Republic of the Free Lands.

During his first week in Arroy Jarrod became a scavenger. He asked, begged really, for money and food and took whatever was offered. He found bins of old food behind the taverns. A few mischievous Keidran children taught Jarrod how to break into the city's garden/greenhouse where they promised he could sleep without the night guards noticing. It had to do with the night guard being allergic to pansies.

One afternoon a gruff grey-furred Keidran refused to give Jarrod any coins saying that anyone with his tools could find better ways to get money. Before walking away the stranger informed Jarrod that if he was looking for a job to be at the docks at sunrise. Jarrod arrived when the moon was still in the sky. The Keidran that had spoken to him was there waiting. "Good." the stranger commented. "You'll do." They shook paws and a deal was made. The Keidran turned out to be the owner of a docking company. And the company needed a few extra hands for the spring season. So Jarrod became a dockworker. He started at the bottom of the job chain sweeping floors and hauling out trash. Slowly but surely he worked his way up to become a full time worker. Most of his full time job was made up of manual labor. He helped unload the ships that arrived and load the ones that were leaving. He broke down old crates that were too damaged to use any longer and put together new crates for fresh shipments. Jarrod was paid enough that he could get three meals a day and he was allowed two days of rest every month. For the first time in his life Jarrod felt free.

Working at the dockyard gave Jarrod many advantages. Among them was the being the first to know when a new shipment of mana stones arrived. Each month Jarrod saved part of his pay so that he could eventually purchase new mana stones from the market. He purchased three stones in total. Not counting the one that he'd broken. Jarrod never restored the stone he'd escaped with to a useable state. Instead he found a jeweler who, for a modest fee, affixed the stone to a clasp and leather string. Jarrod began to wear the stone around his neck as a reminder of where he'd come from, and who he'd lost.

Jarrod slowly began talking to his coworkers. He stopped sleeping in the gardens and rented a room at the Inn. But he talked to the gardeners and visitors of the garden. He learned that along with slavery being banned in the city magic was allowed. One of the gardeners had what he called 'a smidge' of magic. It was just enough to let him sense when weeds began to take root. On his free days Jarrod visited the market and bartered with old man at the apothecary. He practiced his abilities during the night when no one was in the gardens because even if it was allowed using his magic in public made Jarrod nervous. If he made a mistake or accidentally uprooted a plant he made sure to replace or substitute another plant with seeds he purchased.

Current Events

While in Arroy Jarrod began to dream of his childhood. His memories, buried under anger during his time as a slave, began to resurface as he spent time in the gardens. He remembered his parents? faces, and his mother's voice, but nothing concrete about the village he was born in. He dreamed of his lessons. At times he recalled certain parts of the village. A fountain, the sign from his mother's apothecary, the neighbor's roof where he liked to hide. But Jarrod wanted to know more. He wanted to find his home. But he had no idea of where to start. And Arroy had been good to him. He was starting to feel safe in this city.

Jarrod's dilemma began to show itself at work. He stopped talking to his coworkers in favor of mentally weighing his options. One of his coworkers, thinking that Jarrod was bored, suggested he try visiting Wreathwood if he was feeling restless. It was a neighboring city to Arroy, very close by. Jarrod's boss informed him that there were always companies willing to hire security details for their more valuable goods. There was even one company who signed an agreement with five of the port cities on the coast just to make sure there would always be workers available to use. Some sort of perfume company. "They pay us and we let them have one of our guys wherever their latest batch leaves." And as it so happened the latest batch was leaving soon.
 

RBMidknight

Elite Member
Nov 27, 2009
5,022
0
41
The following sheets have been accepted for the RP. Finalized sheets and Group invitations for these people will be posted/sent out tomorrow, the RP itself will start on Friday. Thanks to all who applied.

Lambi said:
UnusualStranger said:
Mortis Nuncius said:
Grim327 said:
Athol said:
CounterAttack said:
InkBlot Royalist said:
Meta_Trooper said:
 

Baldrek

Elite Member
Jun 26, 2008
2,031
0
41
Country
Norway
The port city of Wreathwood is a sprawling urban area filled with lines upon lines of houses divided by cobbled streets and alleyways. Walls of stone more than a century old cut through the city, dividing it into rough districts and encircling its border to protect its inhabitants from outside threats. Once an important city in the Human Empire, the city used to have a Templar garrison at all times before the rebellion. And a Templar tower used to rise far above the walls, an imposing sight to remind people of who the real power in the city used to be. Nowadays however, only the ruined first floor of the tower remains, having been razed to throw off any remaining ties with the old empire. And as a result the skyline is now dominated by the few towers and church spires belonging to the resident magic academy and the clerics, as well as the countless masts of ships leaving and entering the harbor. As an important trade hub between the Republic of the Free Lands and the outside world, the city of Wreathwood receives more than its fair share of traffic and commerce, and many outdoor markets and shops of all kinds can be found within its walls.
The city is positioned at the northern end of a small gulf, making the area a natural harbor that is well shielded from rough seas and storms. A small lighthouse is positioned at the inlet to the gulf to help ships avoid the reefs close to the inlet, it is kept running by apprentice mages in an agreement between the city council and the mages guilds. But there is little else of interest close to the inlet to the gulf.
The area surrounding the city is mostly rural farmland with a few villages in between, but the high road west is a valuable trade route to the capital city, even though the perils of brigands and highwaymen are as present today as they have always been. The high road leading east first comes into contact with a smaller port city called Arroy before crossing the border into the Border Nations.

- From Lucious Askanti's, The Travelers Guide to Mekkan.
The cobblestones felt cold against Katja's feet as she walked, having only been out in the sun for the better part of an hour. It made her glad that she kept her feet wrapped up, as the cold feeling would have been even more intense without the cloth between her feet and the roughly shaped stone.
Pulling her mind away from the cold sensation, she focused her gaze on the horizon, where a few stone spires had been visible for a while now, a tell tale sign that a bigger city was just beyond the horizon. And surely enough, a few hours later she was walking up to one of the city gates. It was an imposing sight in and of itself, the walls encircling the town reaching at least 10 meters, and with two even taller towers flanking the gate. The gate itself, however, was wide open, in what seemed like a gesture of welcome.
Katja stopped and looked in suppressed awe at the massive stone structure spanning around the city, feeling terribly uneasy about entering as one of the guards near the gate shouted. "Alright people, keep moving! Don't hold up traffic!" As he motioned towards the gate with his halberd for people to get a move on.

Not wanting to be a nuisance to the local guard, Katja pulled the hood of her cloak closer around her face and followed the crowd into the city. And moments later she regretted it.
All around her there were people, so many that one could hardly walk through the main street without bumping into someone. She remembered that this was one of the main reasons she disliked cities like this, there was just too much happening all at once, she could hardly keep up with what was happening right next to her in this chaos.

Finally making her way into one of the side streets branching off from the main road to the harbor, she stopped to collect herself. She needed to find somewhere to stay for the night, but finding an inn in this mess would be harder than she thought. And to top it off, cities were terrible to navigate, everything looked the same. How the people living here managed to find their way around everyday she would never understand. Having collected her thoughts somewhat, and regained her composure, Katja set off once more into this maze of stone and timber.



Dusty looked out over the hustle and bustle of everyday life in the city, the central street going from the harbor to the west gate was chock full of people this early in the morning. There were merchants heading to the markets to peddle their goods, farmers bringing in produce from outside the walls, workers heading off to their jobs both within and outside the city, and also guards trying to keep the whole mess moving. But as for her, she was none of the above, and that probably played a large part in why she wasn't outside at this moment, instead letting the time pass by with a couple of rays of sunlight shining in on her at her vantage point from her room.

Yawning widely and stretching her arms over her head she let her thoughts wander from the numerous people just outside her window, she thought back on the last few months out on the road and realized that this bed right beside her was probably the only really comfortable place she had slept in all that time, even now it felt like it was beckoning her to lie down for 'just a few minutes more'. However, just as she was about to indulge in the almost heavenly softness of the linens there came a series of timid knocks on her door.

"Excuse me, Miss Durand, but you're going to miss the breakfast if you don't get downstairs soon." The voice of a young woman told her through the iron-bound oaken door, likely one of the proprietor's daughters that she had met last night when she purchased a room.

"Thanks! I'll be down in just a minute!" Dusty replied as she rose from the chair she had been sitting in for the previous hour or so and grabbed her overshirt from the bedpost, quickly putting it on before sitting down to put on her boots, since they were a Keidran make they didn't cover her toes, allowing for free use of her claws, but they were sometimes a pain to fasten correctly.

Fastening the final clasp she decided to leave her archery glove and her chestguard in her room, along with her weapons and her pack, they weren't exactly necessary items for getting breakfast, well not in the city anyway. Exiting her room and locking the door behind her she headed downstairs to the first floor of the inn to get some food, greeting the staff and some of the other patrons with cheerful nods as she grabbed a seat at one of the vacant tables.
 

Athol

New member
Sep 15, 2010
2,563
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0
The door to the inn opened with a crash to reveal a solidly built, and rather dusty, male Basitin. Steeping into the building he shook himself rather vigorously, causing a shower of fine grit to fall to the floor. "Terry you ass, I jus' cleaned tha' floor!" The innkeeper moaned. The Basitin smiled. "Sorry Bill, once every ten years does not qualify as 'just cleaned'." He shot back.

Boy it's good to be off the road. Terry thought as he made his way to a booth. He'd been working as a guard on a run to Arroy, and had just gotten into town. Winding his way through the crowded inn, the distinctive sound of someone heavily armed, made people move before they even saw him. Finding a clear table, he dropped his bag and crossbow underneath, while propping his warhammer against the edge. Placing his order with the serving girl, he sat back and scanned the crowed room, looking for one of two things.

The two things he was looking for where either recently free slaves, and Basitins. Ah there's one. He though, spying a fox Keidran who's eyes where constantly flicking around the room. The Keidran was trying to make it look like he wasn't looking at the collar Terry wore, but was failing badly. Are there any....yes. Spotting a table full of what appeared to be Basitin sailors, he lent his chair back and but his, oh horror, unwrapped feet on the table. Watching the sailors get fidgety and uncomfortable, when they saw him nearly had Terry burst out laughing.

*SNAP*

His mischief making was cut short by a twisted up bar towel being snapped at the sole of his foot. "Get yer filth paws off my damn table!" Bill swore, re-twisting the towel for another shot. "OW! Ah geez I'm sorry!" Terry yelped, pulling his feet down and rubbing the pad. Terry's plans for revenge against his friend where immediately derailed by the arrival of food and drink.
 

CounterAttack

A Writer With Many Faces
Dec 25, 2008
12,093
0
0
Light steps of leather boots were easily drowned out by the hustle and bustle of the multitudes in the markets of Wreathwood. A petite, black-haired woman cut a path through the crowds, weaving her way through the small gaps between people until she suddenly found herself standing in the open, away from the masses. The figure noticed that she was in a fairly large gap between two stalls, beyond which lay an open path away from the markets. It was free of people, for the most part.

The diminutive person was never really a fan of places where a large number of merchants got together and tried to entice potential customers into parting with their money. Lots of yelling, people jostling one another for positions, and potential for pickpockets to sneak away with someone's purse. She began to head away from the markets at a pace slightly faster than a walk, intending to find a nice quiet spot down near the harbour to spend some time more or less alone for a while.

A few minutes later she was seated on a bench in the harbour itself, near one of the few unclaimed docks. Hazel Katriana took the time to just sit and let the ocean's breeze gently play with her hair, as she gazed outwards to the waters beyond. She often came down to Wreathwood's harbour in the mornings, to collect her thoughts and prepare for the day ahead of her. It was quite peaceful when she wasn't disturbed, a welcome break from the chaotic nature of a city such as this one.

In the past few days, she had once again returned to Wreathwood, secured a room at her preferred inn and begun her usual routine of going out and asking people if they had any short-term work for her. There had been a few things to do, but none of them brought Hazel any closer to finding her goals. The city's Academy had been kind to her when she visited, but as usual she hadn't found anyone there with both the skills she wanted to learn and the time to take her on as a student...

But once she had learned more, what would she do? Hazel didn't have an answer to that question yet. She sometimes felt that she was lacking direction. She needed something to keep her going. Advancing in her talents of choice wasn't the end goal: it was only the beginning. She had to put her abilities to good use.

For now, she set those questions aside. Instead of burdening herself with familiar topics which she had yet to answer, Hazel tried to relax, enjoying the scent of the ocean and the breath of the wind on her skin.
 

UnusualStranger

Keep a hat handy
Jan 23, 2010
13,588
0
41
The rolling ocean was of some comfort to the Basitin ashe sat near the docks, simply biding his time for the moment. The sound of the oceans, and the slight breeze as it went around him was a little more chilll than he liked, but he had done his best to get more used to colder climates, especially since sometimes a target thought knowing the assassin was Basitin would mean going to snow would keep them safe.

Leaning against the anchor post for the time being Victor decided to close his eyes for a moment. While the peace was somewhat appreciated, and possibly a good change after the long mess the last mission had given him where he had to not only chase down the target but kill several guards along the way. However, the money he had gotten coming here was a good enough payment for the mess, and he was taking it easy for a while, and letting the stories play their part.

However, the longer he stayed at this city, the more he became attuned to what it once was. It was a former fortress, a place of Templars and battle and probably more. The burning down of the tower may have taken care of the most obvious sign, but that didn't mean that the people and town itself forget them so easily, especially when the first floor was still there.

And all these damn merchants, thinking that I'll work for next to nothing to track down a bit of stolen merchandise. "Available" does not mean "free labor" you greedy bastards.

Rising from where he sat, he decided his restlessness could be calmed slightly by at least walking the docks. Perhaps he would get lucky and find something, or perhaps find something someone left behind for his own uses. Either would be a bit more favorable than the nothing this city seemed to like offering him.
 

Grim327

New member
Jul 21, 2011
408
0
0
"Alright boys! Let's get this ship ready to set sail!" the captain of the ship Chris was working on yelled. "We only have until nightfall to get the ship ready, so move your asses!" He yelled again. After Chris was finished moving barrels and crates from the docks onto the ship, he started tightening ropes and making sure everything was battened down. Once that was finished, Chris headed to the captain to tell him his work was done, and that he was heading off.

The captain was hulking man with simple garbs on and a corn-cob pipe in his mouth. He was a good captain, who cared about his crew, and overall had a big heart. Chris liked him and was glad that he went on a voyage with him. As Chris walked up to him, he could see the captain pointing and barking orders.

"Hey Captain, my job's done here, I'm going to go and head off on my own."

"Alright, boy. It's been great working with you on board. Maybe our paths will cross again sometime in the future," the captain replied.

"Maybe so. Well, it's been real captain."

"Take care Chris." And with that Chris was heading off, "Oh, Chris! Don't forget your pay!" The captain yelled, pulling out a small pouch of coin and tossing it toward Chris. Chris turned around and caught it. "Thanks captain." Chris headed off the boat and to the marketplace to buy a few things. After that, he went to the inn he was staying at. Chris was bumping into people left and right on the way there, and he started to remember how nice it was when he would camp in the woods and sleep under the stars, but he needed coin if he was going to keep up with supplies, which is what brought him to Wreathwood today. Once he finally made it to the inn, he felt relieved to be back, and able to sleep in a warm bed. He opened the door to the inn and walked in. People were sitting at tables, playing card games, and drinking out of their mugs. He saw a few keidran slaves, but that was the only thing was possibly out of place; everything else looked normal. He walked by the front desk, said hello to the woman behind it, and went to his room. He opened the door, set his recently-bought supplies down next to his bow and quiver, took his boots off, and fell face first onto the bed, and quickly nodded off to sleep.
 

Lambi

Yuki-Onna
Oct 20, 2009
30,217
0
0
Arryn was in awe at everything that was happening in the city. This was her first time in a city, after all. All the different people, all these places she had no idea what were. Though it wasn't easy to find someone who could help her get around the place. Because she only knew Keidran, some people just pointed her away, though she still managed to find people who were helpful enough. If only because they could understand her.

She had been stopped at the gate for wanting to just walk into the city without clothes on. How was she supposed to know it wasn't acceptable everywhere to be in the nude? Grumbling and mumbling, she had put on her pants and sweater and been allowed inside, though not without a few stares before she had put on her clothes from bystanders who were either eyeing her for her looks or just looking in shock because they would think others could show decency.

Today seemed to be a bit hot, but there was still a cooling wind in the air. She took her time walking around so she could soak in the sights. She didn't want to miss a thing, but she couldn't see anything. Luckily, if someone would try to pickpocket her, they wouldn't find anything, because she kept her bow and arrows fastened tightly on her, at least tightly enough to not hurt her, but not so loose that it could be taken off easily, and she kept a paw on her sheathed sword. As for her necklace, no one saw it, so she knew it was safe.

The ocean nearby fascinated her. "[So much water. And where does it all come from, anyway?]" she asked herself out loud in Keidran, with no answer to that question. She went down on all four to look at the water closer. And promptly got a face full of salt water. "[Bleh! This water doesn't taste good!]" She shook her head to dry off as much as she could and got away from the ocean and into Wreathwood again.
 

Tortilla the Hun

Decidedly on the Fence
May 7, 2011
2,244
0
0
The river just south of South Leighton was a river Alistair has become quite partial to; especially during the spawning runs where, if fortune favored him, he'd catch plenty of egg-filled fish. Atop a boulder along the western bank of the river sat the mage, his reel and rod nestled between his knees as he was scrawling in the journal he kept. Though he may have put attention towards his writings, he hadn't turned all attention from the other task at hand. On occasion the fishing rod would bob and bend, in which case Alistair would stay his writing hand and focus on the rod. Too many times he recalls nearly losing his fishing rod on account of misplaced attention, but he has yet to let it drop into the river and be carried off by the catch or current. His right hand had the book steadied while his left darted back and forth across the pages, using the quill to mark down a list of ingredients; the list nestling between lines of scrawl describing in full detail the features of a rock he found with markings strikingly similar to those of his favorite beetle. Even though there were many blank pages in his journal, he felt it would be a waste not to use every available space on one before moving onto another. Many times he struggled to keep a thought on one page, and found himself needing to wrap his writing around the fringes of the paper.

As Alistair was turning the journal to the side to continue his list, a large trout saw fit to bite his fishing lure and make a mad dash with its prize. The fishing rod slipped past the mage's knees and flew towards the river, forcing the mage to drop his journal and quill into his lap to catch the rod before it fell. This motion caused him to bump the bottle of ink that was set beside him and knock it off the boulder, then onto the rocks below where it shattered, spilling its contents which were soon washed downstream.

"Blast," he muttered softly. "The damned thing was nearly half-full." He pulled the fishing rod and turned the reel, vying to catch the bringer of his ink bottle's end, ultimately ensuring that justice would be done. Perhaps he let his frustration get the better of him; perhaps the fish was stronger or the line was weaker than first thought to be; perhaps even a combination of those factors were the cause of what was to come. Regardless of the cause may have been, Alistair gave the fishing rod a great tug and the line snapped. The breaking of the tether between the man and the fish caused the man to reel backwards and tumble off his perch. He called out again as his sudden plummet both surprised and frusterated him, "Blast!"

Alistair landed in a heap at the rear of the boulder with his fishing rod and journal beside him. After picking himself up and dusting himself off, retrieving and pocketing his journal, he proceeded to examine the tearing of the line. "Took no more than a few inches of line," he said to himself, "but robbed me of my lure." He examined the place where the bottle of ink fell, but found nothing more than a small pool of dark water and shards of glass. Sighing in resentment and wishing he had secured the bottle better, he decided he should make his way over to Wreathwood. Although South Leighton was considerably closer, he never really felt welcome in the settlement after the incident at the inn he accidentally filled with nauseating fumes from one of his experiments years before. Collecting his satchel and resting his fishing rod on his shoulder, he set off westward into the woods, towards home and Wreathwood.
 

Meta_Trooper

New member
Mar 6, 2010
187
0
0
Namar Crell sat quietly next to the open window in his second floor room at an Inn near the docks, he'd been reading for several hours and the room had been getting steadily smaller for a while now, no matter how much he read though, no book had the answers he was after, perhaps he was looking at it from the wrong angle?

A knock at the door caught Namar's attention and he looked up as a rather scruffy looking man walked in, he was nervous, it was written all over him, and soon enough Namar could smell it too.

"Uh, i was s-sent with the money for y-your job by Mr. Carson..." He was shaking as he held up a bag of coins, Namar simply stared at him for a few moments before turning back to his book.

"The Item is on the table beside you, leave the moeny there, tell your boss that next time he tries to skip the payment by having me killed he'll be the one going six feet under." He said it with a straight face, not a hint of anger or even malice, you could even say Namar found it uninteresting, He didn't watch the man pick up the object and drop off the money, he just continued reading, the messenger left and he never bothered to check the amount he'd been given, after all, if they didn't give him enough, he'd just have to go collect the rest.

After about another hour or so of reading he finally closed the book he was reading, there wasn't anything in that one either, so he picked up and put on his red cloak which was hung on the back of the door and left, leaving his entire payment behind, he walked down the stairs and through the bar, it was somewhat busy and he got a few stares from customers familiar with him, but it didn't bother Namar, as long as they didn't annoy him they were insignificant, as he stepped outside he looked upward at the sun, taking it in for a few minutes before heading onward to the library to get some more books, and maybe get someone to collect the others.
 

InkBlot Royalist

New member
Sep 13, 2011
215
0
0
Borta followed the crowd. He had no real idea where he was going, but the stream, or raging river as the case may be, of people around him seemed to, so he went with it. The sounds of life filled his ears as he strolled down the cobbles streets, feeling their re-assuring coldness and the cosyness of the close street walls. Unlike most of his kind, Borta loved cities. He loved the way they pressed around you, close and certain. In the forests and tundra's of his homeland there was little other than an ocean of snow, coating the ground as far as the eye could see. But in the cities, as far as the eye could see was generally ten meters. Borta liked that, it helped focus him.

This city was somewhat of a rarity for him however, as it was one of the few he'd never stopped at before. Borta sighed. He could remember when he'd first seen a map of the continent, and had marveled at the names of all the tiny places and vast cities, little more than dots on a parchment. He'd felt like an explorer simply visiting them, experianceing local customs and ways for the first time, the thrill of gazing at a fresh landscape and a new place to call home, for however long...
Borta hummed a few bars of "And I shall tred the earth" quietly to himself. He missed that feeling. But age and experiance were a harsh combination on the pleasures of naivety and youth. At least he still had his memories though.

The tide of people seamed to be thining, and Borta found himself infront of an inn. He stopped outside its door and looked at it. It seemed to be a block standard "red meat and mead" fare. Perfect.

The pressing grip of people seemed to have released him too, and once he heard his stomach growl he decided this was the place he should be tonight. Opening the door he found the place suprisingly full, the serving maids bustling around with trays of food and drink, and the patrons seemed good natured enough, as it was too early in the day to get rageing drunk. He crossed the room towards the bar and waited patiently for the landlord to come to him.

"Wha k'n I do for ya?" He asked, loudly and slowly. Most people seemed to speak to him this way. He didn't see the point, if he didn't speak human, he'd be talking to another Keidran.

"I would like a room for the night." He replied, over-articulating each word. He smiled as the man raised his eyebrows in suprise

"Yur in luck! We've got a couple lef. Ain very big mind..."

"That will be..." he searched for a word. Ah. "adequate. My thankses" He caught himself. Damn. That'd teach him for showing off.

After depositing his surpluss equipment, chainmail, mace and lute (which he lay reverently on a chair facing his bed), he returned downstairs. Glancing around he found to his annoyance that most tables were taken. Over in the corner, however, was one with a single occupant. A huge Bastilin was tucking into a suitably sized breakfast. Borta considered this, then the colosal warhammer propped against his chair. He shrugged to himself. Why not?

Walking calmly across the room he walked up to the Bastin, who he assumed was a warrior of some kind, and smiled

{Mind if join you I, friend?} he asked calmly in its own tongue
 

Athol

New member
Sep 15, 2010
2,563
0
0
"{Mind if join you I, friend?}"

Terry looked up from his meal as the Keidran spoke. "{Please be sit.}" He replied, motioning to a vacant seat. With a rueful shake of his head he switched to Keidran "[Although perhaps it's best we converse in a more familiar language. I am not as familiar with my mother tongue as one would expect.]" Taking another bite of his meal, he smiled and shook the Wolf's hand. "[My name is Terrance, or Terry if you prefer. So my friend, what brings you to Wreathwood?]"
 

InkBlot Royalist

New member
Sep 13, 2011
215
0
0
Borta was pleasantly suprised, most of the Bastin he'd met spoke human, but rarely Keidran. It was a refreshing change to find one who seemed to do so fluently

"[My thanks Terry.]" He began, lowering himself into a seat opposite him "[I'm called Borta...]" he paused briefly to watch for any hint of recognition in the Bastin's face, but if there was any, he didn't give it away. Not that Borta was expecting any, he was hardly famous.
"[I'm just travelling, having another look round the world to see if its improved since the last time.]" he continued, relaxing into the chair "[And yourself? I'd assume...]" he glanced at the hammer "[...buisness?]"
 

UnusualStranger

Keep a hat handy
Jan 23, 2010
13,588
0
41
As Victor continued his walk, he noted the something that struck him as absolutely hilarious. While it might not be good form to laugh, he couldn't help it. A Keidran had wandered up to the water at the port, and for some odd reason decided that it would be a good idea to try and take a drink. As they sprang up disgusted, he was less surprised as they wandered back into town.

Out of town, I imagine. Probably out of environment too. Probably doesn't even know what they are doing here.....I wonder if they would happen to be a one time slave? Hmm...

Slightly curious, Victor decided he would tag along and see if there was anything else that this interesting individual would present to himself. It wasn't like he had any business to attend to today. Besides, keeping track of the wandering Keidran would help practice his skills of tracking. Checking his equipment and cloak, Victor went on his way grinning. Perhaps the day would get more exciting, as to find work and pay, you needed to be able to find and follow the interesting folks.

A game it is then! Let us have some fun today, rather than this boorish city with nothing going on. May you bring more good times with you...
 

Athol

New member
Sep 15, 2010
2,563
0
0
"[Right now I'm actually going to take a bit of a break.]" Terry replied. "[I just finished up an escort job this morning so I figured I'd relax for a few days; see what kind of trouble I can get into on my own time.]" Sitting back, he let out a contented sigh. "[Been thinking 'bout heading north, back to Fellan where I grew up. Maybe cross the border into the Human Kingdom, see if I can find out anything 'bout my parents. Long shot though after so many years.]"
 

Grim327

New member
Jul 21, 2011
408
0
0
The old man yelled out to the mercenaries to not kill his wife, but they wouldn't listen. In a cry that rung in Chris' ears, the wife was cut down, and blood drops splattered onto Chris' face, and his eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. He then watched as the old man was quickly, but bloodily chopped down. Chris stood there frozen, unable to do anything but watch.

"Why Chris, Why did you not save the parents of the little girl? She did not have to grow up alone." Chris heard his mother say.

"It's all your fault for them being dead Chris, all your fault." His father added.

"Why Chris, whyyyyyyyy?" They both moaned.


Chris jolted up into a sitting position in a pile of cold sweat on the bed. "Eh, that damn dream again." He said while grabbing for the necklace around his neck. He looked out the window and noticed it had not hit sundown yet, "Ah man. I might as well, get woken up and try again later." Chris got up, wiped himself off, put on his clothes and dagger, and headed downstairs. He looked around the room of the bar, and saw that different folks had come in when he was asleep. The most interesting seemed to be a keidran and basitin speaking to each other. He walked over to the bar, asked for a simple glass of water, and after the weird look he got from the bartender, took a seat at an empty table. Chris took a sip from his glass, and started thinking about the dream.

Why am I having this dream? I thought I got over it. Why now? And with that Chris quickly got lost in his own thoughts, completely oblivious to his surroundings.
 

Lambi

Yuki-Onna
Oct 20, 2009
30,217
0
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Arryn felt compelled to take a close look at everything, from the buildings to the people around to the market that was there. Everything was interesting, although not knowing these people made her keep up her defenses in case she needed to defend herself. So far, though, it didn't seem like she'd need to. But you never know, and so she kept her paw on her sword, at least.

At the market, she ran into a bit of trouble. She was hungry, and having grown up in a secluded group of Keidrans, she of course only knew of free food. With that in mind, she'd just walked up to one of the stalls and taken a piece of meat to eat, although she didn't get away with it. "Hey! You have to pay for that if you want it!" the butcher said to her. She turned around, confused and tilted her head a bit. "[Huh? I don't understand what you're saying.]" The butcher seemed to understand her, though, because he switched to Keidran. "[I said that you need to pay for that if you want it! Now hand over the meat or hand over enough gold for it.]" This only served to confuse Arryn even further. "[Pay? Gold? I'm sorry that I can't say I know what you're talking about.]" Her stomach growled and she didn't want to let go of the meat. The butcher only sighed and looked at her with even more annoyance in his look. "[Well, if you don't have gold, then hand me back that piece of meat. You can't just steal food from hard working people.]" That made Arryn quite miffed. "[I've worked hard too, just so you know! I am a hunter and have been for a few years now, helping my father provide for our family as I could!]" The ruckus from their verbal fighting was attracting a bit of attention from the nearest bystanders. Mostly people that could actually understand them, though a few who weren't fluent or knew nothing in Keidran still watched as well.