Right back at Square One
The pungent smell of rotting dreams and limbs in the great hall gave the air a near-solid quality. It was hard for anyone not invested in the fine-art of begging and steering clear of the city watch to be present in the hall, and indeed there was none of the respectable kind of citizen inside. The cutthroats and bastards desperately looking for employment littered the streets outside. They were herded to Square One, to proceed with the census and witness the banquet first hand. They weren't invited inside, of course, but they were given a good look of the event. Magic was a great advancement in the development of everyone, and among those was the wonderful invention of the mana-vision - a grand spectacle for those far away from the heart of the action. A great wall of fog rose above SO, forming behind the wooden stands and rising higher and higher as several of the Guild's sorcerers were making the preparations for the banquet. It would project images from inside the banquet, for all of the newly-arrived bastards to see.
The waste was being lead to the hall through alleyways and dark rooms connecting crammed buildings together in the old part of the outpost. Lines of stragglers and thick guards guiding them stretched through the city like ants going after the smell of their brethren, which in this case was a terrible stench no mortal could withstand without losing her humanity, or bull-nity, or cat-nity, or whatever the fuck they call civilization in all of the places in the wide circle of the world. They all came inside, broken wrecks of once glorious warriors and deserters from far-away armies, arcane masters and renowned duelists, all sharing from the same dish of failure. They had lost everything, and sold what little they had for nourishment. They couldn't afford leaving the outpost, so they stayed, crowding the streets with their filth and disease. They were all making themselves a nuisance, and the good people of the city had enough from marauding critters. They shouldn't be faced with bleedin' beggars as well.
Gan didn't really sit as much as he crashed. He practically launcher himself on a wooden chair, nearly breaking the absurdly weak wooden construct and leaned forward with his grubby arms, mushed his hands all over the plentiful foodstuff presented to him and smashing it down his throat like that one time the dog-bugger did - he didn't want to remember, he was happy for the first time since... he couldn't honestly remember how long it had been, only that it had been too long. He wasn't alone either - the table was being filled with other lost causes like himself, faces he recognized from the shit-filled streets - and some even from far back, at the lich's lair, or the dragon hunt... those were the good old days, before everything in his body ached from taking a mere breath. The pain didn't matter nor did it make Gan flinch since he couldn't care less while he stuffed his face with more smoked snake-tarts.
Outside the hall, a voice spoke out seemingly out of nowhere, and yet coming at the ears from everywhere. It was a booming sound, uncertain of its race or tongue, speaking in such a way every person in SO could understand. 'Welcome, adventurers, to the outpost. Tonight we will begin the count with a great feast - and a spectacle for all to see'. It spoke, but did not make a sound, yet everyone understood - the words were beamed directly at their minds by some awesomely powerful magic. The image on the mana-vision became clear, and it told the tale of desperate men and women given a last chance at redemption, bestowed with love, food and drink - and most important of all, hope. Then the story takes an unexpected turn when weapons materialize inside the hall, and the beggars look up to the sound of someone speaking.
Gan should have seen it coming. It was too good to be true. 'Welcome to the banquet, where we provide free food, drink and entertainment. Get your fill before you begin your final act'. An echo went through the hall, and all heads perked up to see what it was talking about. There was only waste inside. The words penetrated through all thoughts and brought with them a terrible panic deep in their guts. Steel quickly followed the grub, and it bared itself on the tables, materializing from thin air. 'Fight', it commanded them, and they all understood the meaning of such kindness, 'to the last, and the victor'.
[hr]2[/hr]
'Victor', a shivering voice peered outside of a street leading to the three-points, and a warm body quickly followed. A middle-aged human woman, olive-skinned and dark-haired with a certain hardness to her physique entered SO in search of someone. She stopped in her place when she laid her eyes upon her husband, or more precisely, ex-husband. 'Victor!', she shouted. The realization sunk in rather quickly, and with it she screamed bloody murder and ran up to his shambling corpse. 'You murderer, fucking shit-for-brains furry necro-*****', there was fury in her voice. There was madness in her eyes. There was naked steel in her hand, a sword she drew from a distracted and now bewildered adventurer whose head was stuck at the screen.
'*****, you killed my husband'.
Damn. It seems like everything has its consequences.
The pungent smell of rotting dreams and limbs in the great hall gave the air a near-solid quality. It was hard for anyone not invested in the fine-art of begging and steering clear of the city watch to be present in the hall, and indeed there was none of the respectable kind of citizen inside. The cutthroats and bastards desperately looking for employment littered the streets outside. They were herded to Square One, to proceed with the census and witness the banquet first hand. They weren't invited inside, of course, but they were given a good look of the event. Magic was a great advancement in the development of everyone, and among those was the wonderful invention of the mana-vision - a grand spectacle for those far away from the heart of the action. A great wall of fog rose above SO, forming behind the wooden stands and rising higher and higher as several of the Guild's sorcerers were making the preparations for the banquet. It would project images from inside the banquet, for all of the newly-arrived bastards to see.
The waste was being lead to the hall through alleyways and dark rooms connecting crammed buildings together in the old part of the outpost. Lines of stragglers and thick guards guiding them stretched through the city like ants going after the smell of their brethren, which in this case was a terrible stench no mortal could withstand without losing her humanity, or bull-nity, or cat-nity, or whatever the fuck they call civilization in all of the places in the wide circle of the world. They all came inside, broken wrecks of once glorious warriors and deserters from far-away armies, arcane masters and renowned duelists, all sharing from the same dish of failure. They had lost everything, and sold what little they had for nourishment. They couldn't afford leaving the outpost, so they stayed, crowding the streets with their filth and disease. They were all making themselves a nuisance, and the good people of the city had enough from marauding critters. They shouldn't be faced with bleedin' beggars as well.
Gan didn't really sit as much as he crashed. He practically launcher himself on a wooden chair, nearly breaking the absurdly weak wooden construct and leaned forward with his grubby arms, mushed his hands all over the plentiful foodstuff presented to him and smashing it down his throat like that one time the dog-bugger did - he didn't want to remember, he was happy for the first time since... he couldn't honestly remember how long it had been, only that it had been too long. He wasn't alone either - the table was being filled with other lost causes like himself, faces he recognized from the shit-filled streets - and some even from far back, at the lich's lair, or the dragon hunt... those were the good old days, before everything in his body ached from taking a mere breath. The pain didn't matter nor did it make Gan flinch since he couldn't care less while he stuffed his face with more smoked snake-tarts.
Outside the hall, a voice spoke out seemingly out of nowhere, and yet coming at the ears from everywhere. It was a booming sound, uncertain of its race or tongue, speaking in such a way every person in SO could understand. 'Welcome, adventurers, to the outpost. Tonight we will begin the count with a great feast - and a spectacle for all to see'. It spoke, but did not make a sound, yet everyone understood - the words were beamed directly at their minds by some awesomely powerful magic. The image on the mana-vision became clear, and it told the tale of desperate men and women given a last chance at redemption, bestowed with love, food and drink - and most important of all, hope. Then the story takes an unexpected turn when weapons materialize inside the hall, and the beggars look up to the sound of someone speaking.
Gan should have seen it coming. It was too good to be true. 'Welcome to the banquet, where we provide free food, drink and entertainment. Get your fill before you begin your final act'. An echo went through the hall, and all heads perked up to see what it was talking about. There was only waste inside. The words penetrated through all thoughts and brought with them a terrible panic deep in their guts. Steel quickly followed the grub, and it bared itself on the tables, materializing from thin air. 'Fight', it commanded them, and they all understood the meaning of such kindness, 'to the last, and the victor'.
[hr]2[/hr]
'Victor', a shivering voice peered outside of a street leading to the three-points, and a warm body quickly followed. A middle-aged human woman, olive-skinned and dark-haired with a certain hardness to her physique entered SO in search of someone. She stopped in her place when she laid her eyes upon her husband, or more precisely, ex-husband. 'Victor!', she shouted. The realization sunk in rather quickly, and with it she screamed bloody murder and ran up to his shambling corpse. 'You murderer, fucking shit-for-brains furry necro-*****', there was fury in her voice. There was madness in her eyes. There was naked steel in her hand, a sword she drew from a distracted and now bewildered adventurer whose head was stuck at the screen.
'*****, you killed my husband'.
Damn. It seems like everything has its consequences.
You are confronted with your zombie's wife, err, ex-wife. What will you do?
The obvious answer is to cut her down just like you did her hubby, which is always a solid lead. Do bear in mind that you're not alone. Nearby outlaws and guards will not take kindly to bloodshed. Or...
You could engage her in polite conversation as you try to explain why you murdered her husband and paraded his corpse around for everyone to see.
Skill-check: This is an ex-soldier you're talking about, while you're handling a short blade. The odds seem slightly to her favor. Throw the dice, the cut-off is 9. 1-9, You win. 10-20, you lose.
Talking requires some charisma. Since you don't have a specific trait, you can try your luck at talking down a widow from avenging her hubby.
FYI: If you're not books, then I recommend you do not engage (=try to murder) the pissed-off lady until books decides what to do first.
The obvious answer is to cut her down just like you did her hubby, which is always a solid lead. Do bear in mind that you're not alone. Nearby outlaws and guards will not take kindly to bloodshed. Or...
You could engage her in polite conversation as you try to explain why you murdered her husband and paraded his corpse around for everyone to see.
Skill-check: This is an ex-soldier you're talking about, while you're handling a short blade. The odds seem slightly to her favor. Throw the dice, the cut-off is 9. 1-9, You win. 10-20, you lose.
Talking requires some charisma. Since you don't have a specific trait, you can try your luck at talking down a widow from avenging her hubby.
FYI: If you're not books, then I recommend you do not engage (=try to murder) the pissed-off lady until books decides what to do first.
