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Author Topic: Clarion Quietus (IC) Part 1  (Read 343162 times)
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Kiron Whitemoon
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« Reply #75 on: July 06, 2010, 09:06:55 PM »

Nefario opens his mouth to reply to the woman when the other halfling comes awake. he shouldn't have turned his back.He moves away from the stunning beauty and toward Reese. He says nothing listening as the information pours from his mouth like water down a river.  Nefario glares as he hadn't saved the halfling from this comfortable hell and was already being lied to.

"Mine's Nefario. and yeah, we will be getting you guys out." He doesn't put down his blood soaked dagger. Nefario stays at the ready and tenses a bit more as Garion seems to be taken aback. "You two can walk out of here with us safe and sound, the second I smell treachery, I don't ask questions. we clear, Reese?" making the statement and the decision to address him as Reese from here on out.   "Now miss, as nice as you are to behold, you mind putting your clothes on so Garion can pick his jaw off the ground? Also what are we going to do about the other prisoners? They either need to come with us or be put out of their misery, the crying one with a tentacle has me concerned.

He eyes the halfling across from him and gives him a once over for weapons.
« Last Edit: November 22, 2012, 12:59:43 AM by Doomed Hero » Logged

All it takes is one candles flame to send the shadows in all directions. We must shine brightly, and even brighter still. If the shadow is to be cast out,We must not just stand upon our wick,But cast ourselves to the ground, stand upon the tender. Rise lightkind and burn. Burn brighter still.
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« Reply #76 on: July 07, 2010, 10:22:53 PM »

The other halfling, Reggie, shakes his head. "Can't do nothing for them, pal. Most of them are kept alive by the Legate. They'd die within days without him fixing all the weird things that go wrong with their bodies. Most of the rest, crazy. They'd be grateful up until the point where they had an episode, and then they'd try to eat you, and some of them can sprout mouths from places you'd really rather they didn't."

"Saw that when we were on our way in." Garion nods, "Nefario already put the two things in the bowls out of their misery."

The halfling whistles low. "Really? Man, that's cold. Necessary though, I guess. Means we gotta get out of here fast though. Someone in the guard room is going to notice sooner or later that security's been breached."

"What? How would they notice?" Garion asks.

"Because you killed them." Reggie says, gesturing out the door into the hall.

"I don't get it." Garion says looking over his shoulder toward the bowls.

"See those cords going up to the ceiling? The ones they got instead of heads?" Reggie asks, pointing, "Their lips are on the other side of it. Those cords run into the guard rooms upstairs. Those little strings that run all over the place are like our skin, kind of, only you know how if you peel back a few layers when you scrape it on something, the only thing it registers anymore is pain? It's like that. Anything touches them or brushes up against them, those poor souls feel it like someone was playing the fiddle with their nerves. Scream so loud we can sometimes hear it down here."

Garion looks horrified. "Those two...the Legate....he turned them into a....living...alarm...?" He trails off.

Reggie nods. "And now that they ain't making any noise, we should probably get the hell out."
« Last Edit: November 22, 2012, 01:01:36 AM by Doomed Hero » Logged

Jack Chick, Abdul Alhazred, and Aleister Crowley walk into a bar...
Kiron Whitemoon
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« Reply #77 on: July 09, 2010, 06:13:28 PM »

"Lovely, Well on that note lets move." He glances to the looker. "You dressed and ready to go lady?" His glance toward her direction would verify things one way or another.  another glance at Garion. " Well mate, you keep the kids moving and I am going to wait at the other door in case I need to greet the security." not worried about the red strings any more he runs toward the other door getting in place to get a the drop on those that would stop them.
« Last Edit: August 11, 2010, 12:52:32 AM by Doomed Hero » Logged
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« Reply #78 on: July 15, 2010, 05:52:29 PM »

Baden's Bluff, Arc of Zimra, Fall

"...what the hell do I hire you bunch of useless boro-lovers for! We can't even get out the damn gate before your incompitance ruins me? You! Yeah, you! I know you've got more muscles than brains, so let me talk you through this... GET MY BLOODY WAGON OFF THE GROUND SO WE CAN GET THIS DAMN WHEEL FIXED!! The brace bar goes here! Not there! HERE! You put it there, you're going to crack the beam, and then I kill you and use your bones to build my next wagon! Now LIFT you idiot!"

Wendle had been going off for the better part of five minutes. Every time something seemed to finally be going right, something else would go wrong. First it was the wheel. Then it was a bent axle brace. When the cart tipped, crates had gone everywhere, cracking them and spilling bolts of cloth and earthenware vials of salt and spices everywhere. Even passers-by and other teamsters were beginning to help with the clean up, either out of pity, kindness, or self-interested desire to get the damn wagon out of the road and out of their way.

The Judicator manning the gate and inspecting outgoing travelers was looking less patient by the minute. He was staring daggers at the loud little gnome at the center of the chaos, but so far had not left his post. He was, however, distracted, so when another long haired, cloaked erenlander joined the chaotic mass of people trying to get the wagon righted and repaired, he didn't notice.

But the massive Dorn single-handedly levering up the wagon, did.

« Last Edit: August 11, 2010, 12:52:47 AM by Doomed Hero » Logged
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« Reply #79 on: July 18, 2010, 09:35:39 AM »

Eirik almost winced at the amount of chaos and noise rising up from the gnomish man. He took note of the passers-by, attempting to clean up the mess scattered across the street. How many of these people were a part of this ruse?

His eyes were drawn to the Dornish man who propped up the cart. He was most likely the "big guy" that his most recent contact had instructed him to check in with. Eirik waved to him, stepping in to collect the the scattered goods.
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« Reply #80 on: July 19, 2010, 06:10:50 PM »



The giant Dorn grunted at Wendle, used to the Gnome's abrasive attitude. He may only have been around the little trader a short time, but it had been a learning experience. You could either do what the crusty Gnome wanted, or endure a haranguing that would go on for hours. Dorin had been kneeling in the road with some of the others, trying to load the damn crates back up, but here was something he could do without fumbling his way through Wendle's precious goods. He placed a thick hand on the shoulder of one of the two men struggling with the brace bar, and the smaller man moved aside, taking his helper with him. "Lift. Right." Cracking his neck, he stepped over and heaved up on the thick brace bar with one arm, wrenching the wagon a foot or two off the street, inadvertently spilling another box or two.

He waved back at the Erenlander with his other hand, motioning him towards the newly spilled goods back at the back of the cart. He only barely seemed to pay any attention to the newcomer, not really bothering to note another helper.

"Somebody load the damned boxes already." Then, as if remembering himself, Dorin got another arm on the bar and hiked it up another couple feet. "Take your time."
« Last Edit: January 29, 2013, 07:37:25 PM by Doomed Hero » Logged

"You want me to what?! ... Gimme a minute."
Dorin's combat data | Dorin's character sheet
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« Reply #81 on: July 21, 2010, 01:51:29 PM »

The Erenlander nods in acknowledgement, moving his way through the scattered cargo to settle the most recently spilled goods in a stack. Wouldn't do any good to load everything back on again if the wheel wasn't settled. It would simply lead to more cargo being spilled across the cobbled streets and, he imagines, more yelling from the gnomish taskmaster. His green eyes shifted around the gathered crowd and cargo as he stacked more boxes, quickly tucking things back into spilled crates.

He eyes the massive Dorn again, eyebrow arched. "Do you... want some help?" He doubted it, judging by the ease with which the Northman held up the cart.
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« Reply #82 on: July 22, 2010, 01:11:20 AM »

Dorin blinks at the words in Norther, slightly surprised, and replies gruffly in Trader's. "No. If you must help, do it in the back, out of my way."

He gives the Erenlander a pointed glance as he emphasizes the phrase, tossing his head in the right direction. The motion shrugs his shoulders and jostles the cart again, threatening to spill more of the cargo.
« Last Edit: July 22, 2010, 01:13:35 AM by Sholano » Logged
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« Reply #83 on: July 22, 2010, 10:05:23 AM »

"Less talk more work!"

The gnome continues his tirade. He points from person to person, regardless of whether they are actually working for him, or if they're just helpers off the street.

"You two, stack those crates at the back. You, squinty, and you with the lips, collect up the stuff that fell out. You three, open up that sail cloth and start putting the stuff that broke out of the crates on top. Can't salvage the broken stuff, so we'll have to contain it in something else. You, give me a hand with this wheel. Meathead, six more inches up. You-" he yells at Eirik "Get in the back and keep what's left in there from shifting around. He can take the weight. You two, if you're going to watch, you're going to work, now get your asses over here, or get lost before I break another crate over your useless heads!"

He grunts as he helps lift the replacement wheel and get it onto the axle. As he does he says low to Dorin "my nephew still have the Hobbo's attention?"

The annoyed Judicator looks back and forth from the mess to the tiny, garish gnome youth talking a league a moment and flashing stacks of transport writs and permissions, asking questions and generally doing an expert job of getting underfoot.
« Last Edit: August 11, 2010, 12:56:05 AM by Doomed Hero » Logged
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« Reply #84 on: July 24, 2010, 04:44:51 AM »

The big man cast a lazy glance over at the Judicator and the younger Gnome occupying his time, trying to pass off the look as simple boredom. "Seems that way," he replied to Wendle, in the same low tone, "He's getting the ugly thing pretty annoyed." He snorted. "Your nephew seems to have a talent for that."
« Last Edit: December 19, 2011, 04:35:20 PM by Sholano » Logged
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« Reply #85 on: July 24, 2010, 07:16:28 PM »

Wendle smirks, almost imperceptibly. "Aye, that he does." and then bends to look at the line of the axle. "She's good." He says a little louder. "You, Ugly, and you, Uglier, get that wheel on before the human boro here shits himself."

As the pair of stocky teamsters lift and grunt while the massive Dorn continues to stoicly hold the weight of the entire cart, the ascerbic gnome seems to be everywhere at once. As soon as the cart settles on it's new wheel Eirik and another lanky erenlander are ushered into the back of the cart to act as a catcher. Spilled crates and newly-filled bundles begin quickly filling up the wagon. Wendle himself jumps up, kicking out the lanky erenlander, yelling "You're too damn big and too damn dumb to stack these crates right" Get the hell out! Go check the animals!"

It quickly becomes apparent that the gnome is actually piling the crates and bundles around Eirik in such a way as to wall him in completely. He never makes eye contact, but he does occasionally gesture and point. In the end, Eirik is perplexed to find himself sitting fairly comfortably inside a narrow coffin-like enclosure of wood and fabric.

A muffled voice whispers "You better not be claustrophobic. Now don't make a sound."

Wendle yells at teamsters, the cart jostles as he thunks himself down. A moment later the cart lurches forward displacing one of the sacks down heavier onto eirik's head. He tries not to move or shift as a new voice, muffled, but speaking with the unmistakable crispness and slight serpentine lisp of a hobgoblin joins the chorus.

"Finally....for inssspection.....gnome."

"What? You already saw every damn thing I have! It's been all over the ground for an hour?! Kid, you showed him the writs, right?"

"Yes, Uncle."

"Then what's the hold up? You can't really expect me to take everything back out again so you can look at it? Look, just climb in, look around, poke whatever you want, and let me get the hell out of here."

"Fine...contraband would...ssspotted. You ...go...Isssrador...keep you."

"Yeah, you too."

The cart lurches forward once more, bouncing and jostling. Time crawls by. Nature's call gnaws at the Erenlander trapped in the back, and finally boxes begin to move. A gnomish face pops up above him.

"You coming out, or what?"
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wolfen_child
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« Reply #86 on: July 25, 2010, 06:25:02 AM »

Eirik rushes to help in piling boxes up, following the gnomes gestures, startled for a moment when the other Erenlander is sent out of the cart until he takes note of the boxes piling around him. The gnomish trader was certainly crafty. He'd expected as much from the - no doubt - smuggler, but perhaps in not such a sublimely subtle manner.

He chuckles silently at the whispered words. No, he was not claustrophobic, certainly. He was more afraid of the wide open city than the comfort of the surrounding boxes. He flinches as the sack jostles onto his head, holding his breath and the bag over his shoulder as the stilted Trader's Tongue spilled from the rotted tongue.

Just go away... Just go away...

He doesn't breath again until the sounds of the city are far behind him, too frightened to move even to relieve the pressure on his bladder. He's proud that he doesn't squeak when the gnome pokes his head in the back, but he does jump.

"Yes," he nods, shifting the boxes carefully, worried about drawing the ire from his carrier should he spill his cargo. He ignores the kinks in his back and neck, settling the sack which had been draped over him to the floor and climbs to the back of the cart, inhaling the fresh air.

"How long have we been... traveling?"
He cocks his head, asking the gnome in slightly awkward Trader's Tongue. He studies his surroundings, trying to gauge the time of day.
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« Reply #87 on: July 25, 2010, 01:03:15 PM »

"About three hours." Wendle replies, helping Eirik out of the back and up onto the bench seat where the big Dorn was holding the reins to the Boros trudging along the road.

"Welcome to rest of the world." The gnome says settling into place. "Just so we're clear on a few things, it's my job to get you to safety for a while. It's his job-" the says with a thumb towards the big dorn "-to keep you safe. I'm just going to be dropping you off with some family in the mountains, then I've got to get back to work. Him you're stuck with. I don't really know what the big deal is, but the right people said the right things and more of the court jumped than anything i've ever seen. I have my suspicions as to why, but I don't really want to know. The less I know about anything, the better. Him though, I wouldn't doubt if he knows more about you than you do. We've got some stops to make and some other folks to pick up. Seems there's a lot going on right now and it's all laid itself in my lap, so we have to get you acting right as soon as possible. Rule one: You do exactly what I say, when I say to do it, without question. We might not be on the water, but this wagon is my ship and I'm the captain. Some things I say might not make sense at the time, but you will hop to. You can ask questions later. Rule two: officially, you're hired help. Act the part. Keep your mouth shut and your head down. I'm not going to ask you if you understand. I'm Wendle and this is Dorin. What do we call you?"
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« Reply #88 on: July 27, 2010, 09:22:10 PM »

The fair-haired Erenlander settles in between the Dorn and the gnome. They are like a set of stairs - from smallest to largest. The comparison would be amusing if it weren't for the panic still fluttering about his stomach.

'The rest of the world...' the words echo in his head and he's not quite sure how to feel about them. He listens intently to the rest of the verbose gnomes speech, replaying the words in his head. He glances at the large Dorn who had remained silent. "My name is Eirik. Well met," he nods to each in turn. "I think I can manage to be tight-lipped. Am I going to have to hide in the cart again?" the wildlander arches an eyebrow.
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« Reply #89 on: July 28, 2010, 04:27:35 PM »

Dorin, sitting still and quiet during Wendle's speech, unexpectedly tosses his head back and barks a laugh to the sky, sudden mirth taking him at Eirik's obvious trepidation. "Ha! That you might, if we're unlucky. But," and here he gives the smaller man a hearty slap on the back, "It's a damn sight better than the other choices!" He chuckles to himself at his own humor, shaking his head.
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« Reply #90 on: July 28, 2010, 06:52:29 PM »

Eirick winces at the sharp clap against his spine, jostling his upper body. He smiles uncertainly at the larger man, coughing. "Suppose that's true. Better sweating like a pig then writhing on the end of a goblin pike like one." The reticent wildlander grimaces, rubbing his middle unconsciously.
« Last Edit: July 28, 2010, 06:54:47 PM by wolfen_child » Logged
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« Reply #91 on: July 30, 2010, 07:52:06 PM »

The road rolls on before them. It is strange. After so long in Baden's Bluff, where the limestone cobbles were so worn and cracked they all seemed to blend together, and where the stonework was either ancient dwarven-make (and so never seemed to break down, but was so old that if it did, it would be impossible to repair) or post-war manufacture (and so was needing repairs within a few years of construction, but never got it, and so was now being held together with mud and hope), Eirik expected something similar. This was not, in any way, what he was used to.

The road was wide enough for four wagons to travel side by side. It was hard-packed earth, smooth and clear of any debris or foliage. It was very well maintained, but possessed not an ounce of the artistry that normally went along with expert craftsmanship. Every mile or so was a small guard tower manned by attentive hobgoblins. The road was busier than he expected as well. At least a dozen wagons had passed them headed north, and one long line of marching orcs coming from the south had taken so long to pass them that even Wendle had lost his gambler's-face and raised an eyebrow.

They tromped along in perfect unity, hobnailed boots shaking the ground around them. They packed their shields and massive war-blades on their backs. Their armor was heavy plates sewn onto leather. The construction was simple and quick to manufacture, and the soldiers had added their own touches to them. These orcs wore no helms. For most their hair was shaved on the sides and swept back into a tall flare. Their faces were tattooed in the markings of warriors, and their armor painted with the same. They bore no pennants and marched under no discernible commander. They simply marched north, woe be it to their destination.

Wendle speaks low as they pass. "Blood Mother tribe. Lost count at five hundred. I'm guessing about eight. Haven't seen this many coming north in about twenty-five years. They don't ever come north in groups that big. Wonder what's going on..."

He makes a chitting sound to silence Eirik and Dorin before either of them can reply as a Warg-mounted pair of Hobgoblins come up on the wagon's left.

Eirik had heard of them, but never seen them before. The shadow's forces didn't bring the savage creatures inside the walls of the city. They were enormous. Like a short-haired mastiff the size of a donkey. Their short muzzles and powerful jaws gave them a perpetual bunch-faced snarl. They were thick too, barrel chests, with massive haunches and shoulders that moved differently than any dog he had ever seen. The muscles rolled under the short hair, bunching outward, giving the creatures a powerful, bear-like stride. The saddles the hobgoblins sat on rode just behind the things shoulders, with pegs and pads just under the seats so their legs did not hang. They were instead bunched beneath them, almost as if they were kneeling on the warg's broad backs. These were a different breed of hobgoblin.

In Baden's Bluff Hobgoblins were armed and armored more as a recognizable uniform than anything else. They wore short sleeved reinforced leathers designed to stop dagger thrusts and club blows. They carried leather-wrapped truncheons to quell the unruly, and shortswords, that were almost never pulled. Only an insignia on the chest distinguished the Judicators from the Guard or the Viziers.

These hobgoblins bore no insignia. Their armor was heavy studded leather that covered them from head to toe, only their yellow-brown fang-mouthed faces visible, with metal plates protecting the most vital areas. It looked like they had made the alterations themselves. The craftsmanship of the leather seemed militarily uniform, but the plates seemed added later, bound and sewn on with effective, but inelegant means. They carried short bows on their backs, carefully folded nets and wickedly curved sabers on their hips, and long, thin lances with two foot long leaf-bladed spear-heads tucked into stirrup-sheathes low on their strange saddles. These hobgoblins were not here to promote social order. These hobgoblins had bent their kind's natural inclination toward efficiency and innovation to a different task. These were the light cavalry of the Shadow's army. They had earned the right to ride and fight alongside Orcs and Oruks. They were blooded killers and they were looking right at the trio on the wagon.

"Sspare any water, tradesssman?" The closest one asks.

Wendle doesn't miss a beat. "Aye, you lads look like you could use it. You," he says, backhanding Eirik's arm without looking away from the hobgoblins. "Climb in the back. Get a one of the big bladders to refill these soldier's skins."
« Last Edit: August 11, 2010, 01:03:24 AM by Doomed Hero » Logged
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« Reply #92 on: August 02, 2010, 07:29:09 PM »

Eirick watches as the road before him passes under the cart. It was different than what he was used to  in Baden's Bluff. The wildlander allows his eyes to drift around, examining the other wagons as they passed by, his mind reeling with the possibilities of what could be hidden in the safety of the caravans.

With every guard's tower at every mile, the man's insides began to quiver. He keeps his eyes down, never making eye contact with the guards posted. The fear that one would take note of them gnawed at his stomach like a beast. The orcs passing in perfect silence causes the Erenlander's skin to crawl. It seemed unnatural that monsters of such violence could be so silent. Never in that many numbers? Eirick grits his teeth against the urge to question as the gnomish trader chittered at him.

The appearance of the well-armored hobgoblin cavalry almost gave rise to panic in his chest, but he steadied his breathing. They were a sight that he never could have imagined, even in his darkest dreams. These well-armored nightmares were enough to make his blood run cold. He was ripped from his thoughts as the gnome smuggler hit him. "Of course," he manages to croak out before slipping into the back. He does as instructed, testing each of the larger bladders, ensuring that the skin he presented to Wendle and thus the soldier of the shadow was full and more than satisfactory. He's careful when passing over the skin, keeping his head bent, eyes locking on his own feet. No reason in giving them a chance to harass us.
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« Reply #93 on: August 02, 2010, 10:25:41 PM »

Wendle's subtle hand pushing back behind the fold of the covered wagon keeps Eirik safely in the back away from prying eyes. He takes the skin and hands it to the hobgoblin warg-riders.

"S'a lot of soldiers coming north. Don't they usually head south and then head towards one of the war fronts? Did we win somewhere?" The gnome says offhandedly.

The first cavalier takes a long pull off the skin and hands it to his partner.

"No. The warss drag on. These are headed to the Bluff. His Holinesss is disssatisfied with legate Csserano'ss performancsse in maintaining order." The hobgoblin says.

"Things seemed to be running pretty smoothly on my end. The Judicators never waste time. It's nice. Keeps me from missing my deadlines. Other cities don't work that way, humans make lousy organizers." Wendle says with obvious distain.

"Too many late or misssing ssupply shipmentss. We come to insstill martial law. Or perhapss jusst to threaten it." The second hobgoblin shrugs.

"Pretty well informed blokes. Most soldier never really seem to know where they're going or why. At least that's the way it is with the orcs I've talked to." Wendle says, risking the comparison.

"Orcss don't much care where they are going." The first says with a toothy smile. "Our kind underssstand the value of information."

"See, that's why I've always liked you folk better. Keep the skin fellas. And try not to let those grunts tear down my city. I've got to come back." Wendle nods and whips the boro forward as the hobgoblin soldiers wave in thanks and nudge their savage mounts back toward the north.

After about thirty seconds, wendle rubs his face and lets out a long heavy breath.

"Martial law..."
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« Reply #94 on: August 03, 2010, 06:51:07 AM »

The serpentine tongue of the hobgoblins brought ice flowing through his veins, the information they shared with the old gnome terrifying him where he stood in the back, hidden from their eyes. Martial law...? What will happen to uncle? To be earnest, he knew his uncle was resourceful and clever. He would survive somehow, as he always did, but it didn't quell the urge to warn him somehow. He probably already knows...

He replayed the image of an unending line of orcs passing him along the road. What destruction could they cause to his home? Would he ever see it whole again?

Wendle's voice, seemingly turned inward rather than spoken towards the warg-riders, brings him out of his own reverie. He pokes his out of the back, glancing around. "Anything else, boss" he asks quietly, sticking to his cover.
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« Reply #95 on: August 03, 2010, 10:15:10 AM »

"No." Wendle says. There is gravity and concern in his voice, and for the first time what must be the "real" Wendle shows through as he considers what he has just witnessed. After a hearbeat the gnome goes from his own thoughts back to the task at hand. Eirik can't see, but he can practically feel the mercurial gnome's attitude take on it's previous sardonic bent. "Get your butt back up here. If it were up to me, you'd just live in the back of the wagon until we're far enough away that the horizon had swallowed this place, but Dorin wants you to get a good look around. You're not going to have babysitters forever, and the more you learn now, the more likely it is that you won't be dead or worse later. Besides, I've got a delivery to make at Vorstuk, and I'm going to need you two to help with the lifting."
« Last Edit: August 11, 2010, 01:06:21 AM by Doomed Hero » Logged
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« Reply #96 on: August 04, 2010, 03:22:51 PM »

Dorin sits with his head turned towards the now far-off column, his burly arms crossed. He'd kept silent during the affair with the hobgoblins, as a good guard should, but now he growls audibly looking back at them, and his hands clench. He runs a hand through his short hair and grimaces, as if unhappy with what he finds there.
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« Reply #97 on: August 04, 2010, 07:54:50 PM »

Eirik climbs back out of the wagon's depths, settling into his previous seat. He studies each of his traveling companions, unsure of what to make of their behavior. If he was honest with himself - which he made a habit of being - he agreed more with Wendle. He would certainly feel more comfortable out of sight. He recognized, however, the necessity of knowing about his surroundings. He didn't particularly enjoy the thought of being under someone's protective gaze for the rest of his, however short or long, life.

"Alright. How far are we from Vorstuk?" he asks mostly because he doesn't know what else to say and he finds the gnome's demeanor oddly comforting.
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Doomed Hero
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« Reply #98 on: August 05, 2010, 06:51:09 PM »

"Another three to four hours." The gnome relaxes the reins letting the boro plod along at their own pace and unrolls a floppygreen wide brimmed hat from inside his coat, pulling it low over his eyes to shade him from the bright afternoon sun. "Settle in."

The day's events catch up with him and somehow, in spite of himself, Eirik finds himself suddenly overwhelmed with fatigue...
« Last Edit: August 05, 2010, 06:58:26 PM by Doomed Hero » Logged
Doomed Hero
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« Reply #99 on: August 05, 2010, 07:14:02 PM »

Durgis Rock, Arc of Zimra, Fall, Eirik's Dream

The old dwarf was angry. His stubby finger scratched the deep scar that angled down his forhead and rythmically thudded his clenched fist into the table before him. He took a swig of whatever was in the tankard before him and wiped the froth off his thick beard with one hand. He sighed long and deep.

"Ah get that, Dunkun, an' yer right. Ye yerself was th' one who said th' patrols were gettin' closer, but this must be done. That pass has'ta be unblocked within two arcs."


« Last Edit: August 11, 2010, 01:10:56 AM by Doomed Hero » Logged
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