Home forum Help Search Login Register

Site Sections

User Info

Welcome, Guest. Please login or register.
Did you miss your activation email?
July 27, 2021, 06:00:19 PM

Login with username, password and session length

Recent Topics

Site Tips

Before making a question, try using the search function, sometimes your doubt has already been answered before.
Pages: [1]
Send this topic Print
Author Topic: Narrow Path of Honor [IC]  (Read 2212 times)
0 Members and 1 Guest are viewing this topic.
Avatar of the Witch Queen

Spell Energy / Taint +6/-2
Gender: Male
Posts: 1,504

« on: February 05, 2007, 02:55:56 AM »

"The way of honor is a narrow path, a bridge across the chasm of dishonor and despair.   
But the smallest of betrayal of the oaths you have sworn, and you will surely lose your footing,
falling forever, never to return to the way of honor. 
Carefully consider every choice you make, lest you take a misplaced step along the narrow path."

    - Ancient Sarcosian Proverb

Sandulf, Zahrin, Fayne -

The past few weeks had been tense at the Lesser Hound guild.  Orc patrols had been increased for some reason, so Sandulf was quartered in the cellar with the few root vegetables left over from last summer.   Even in southern Erenland, winter's grip meant little fresh food, especially with the garrison claiming so much of it for themselves.  Karim, the guild's leader and nominal owner and keeper of the bar that served as the guild's front, tried to acquire as much food as possible to last out the winter months, but even the black market Karim was so deep in could only provide so much.  Sandulf had no love of hiding behind crates in the root cellar, but the last time a patrol walked in the Greater Hound bar while he was sitting around, he barely escaped with his life, and they had thought he was just a gnome.  Sandulf spent his days peeling potatoes, which pleased him even less.  Karim warned him when he joined up with the guild that he may have to do unpleasant things.  Sandulf thought he had meant killing people in cold blood, though truth be told peeling vegetables was more unpleasant than any sort of proper thief activity Sandulf could think of.

While Karim kept the bar, Roivas darted between tables, serving drinks, and relieving more than a few of coins the customers weren't careful about keeping track of.  She looked like Karim, to the point that many thought she was his daughter.  Though young enough to be, she had no blood relation to him.  Her debt was that he took her in as a young orphan.  She had tried to swipe his purse while he was carrying a heavy load of vegetables back from the market.  She was too young to realize that he was a pickpocket too, and better than her.  More impressed than angry at the skill of an untrained orphan, he decided to take her in.  She was quick then, and better now.  Her nimble hands danced with such finesse and flair that when she put down a round of drinks, it was with a level of art that awed customers.  Somehow they never noticed the piles of coins they were playing cards with drained faster than they should.  But those Dornish soldiers, whose long hair implicated them as Shadow collaborators, were clumsy, and drunks.  They probably would have given the money to her, anyway, for a moment more of her dance, or an evening of it.  Not that the coins were worth anything to anyone who mattered, but the garrision used them as currency, so they were useful for bribing patrols.  Roivas always got pleasure out of bribing guards with coin she had lifted from their pouches the night or week before.  Occasionally she would take one of the rowdier drunks upstairs, with sweet whispered promises.  However, they lost much more than they bargined for, and much more than their coin purses.  Bodies in the street were common in the slums of Alvedara, and dressing a soldier up as a begger was easier than one would think.  Roivas was skilled at that as well.

Fayne had only recently joined the guild, but his size and shoulders made him a good bouncer for the bar.  Of course his sword resided hidden away, usually next to Sandulf's hiding spot, but his arms were usually good enough to diffuse any drunk citizens, and his hide tough enough to take blows from drunk soldiers for the other staff and patrons.  Under one of Alvedara's many bridges as it was, the Greater Hound didn't frequent much patronage by humans from the garrision, but none would dare turn any away that did come, and a measure of tolerance for thier drunken brawls was required if you planned to live out the night.  The orcs stationed in the city only came to inspect, never drink.  They didn't like fraternizing with the human members of the garrision, and Karim did his best to make his bar as friendly to the human garrision as possible, for just that reason.

Jerome was another orphan Karim had picked up at a young age.  A bright young lad, he made sure that the beer always flowed and ran most of Karim's dealings with the black market.  Customers rarely saw him, as he spent most of the day in one of the many back rooms keeping the tally of inventory.  One of the few literate employees of the Greater Hound bar, he had to be very careful to keep all of the books with pictures and tick marks only, lest a patrol take him away.  This natural cypher lead him to invent many true ones that Karim made great use of in black market dealings.  Jerome also organized much of the information the guild received as to possible targets for attack, briefing Karim on the best course of action. 

Alavian always sat in the corner of the bar, furthest from the door, his back to the wall.  One of the few guild members not actively employed by Karim, he was actually a steward for one of the lesser Sussar's palaces.  His ear to the wall, Alavian was the guild's main sources of information as to the dealings of the corrupt rulers of the city. 

Though obviously in the employ of Karim, noone was really sure what function Zahrin was supposed to serve at the bar, including Zahrin.  Spending most of his days wandering around the slums, and his evenings chatting up clientel of the non-military type, Zahrin was Karim's people person.  He knew every face within a half mile of the Greater Hound.  He knew who was watching the Hound, and who was watching the watchers.  He also found Fayne, and brought him into the guild after following him a few days.  Nominally the Greater Hound's entertainer, he had no performing skills to speak of, and spent most of his time talking to the patrons, an ear always to the ground.


Recently, Alavian had found out some important information from a recent party his sussar had.  After a long, private discussion with Karim, Karim and Jerome drew up a plan for breaking into the Prince's palace.  After a full week of planning in silence, Karim called a meeting, and laid the plan out to the guild.  After sneaking into the sewers a long circuitous path would lead the guild to a hidden entrance to the palace's storeroom.  Jerome had scouted out the path, and found it navigable, though not an easy journey to do as a group, or on the run should something go wrong.  Karim's demeanor let the members know that no further questions would be tolerated.  The next night, after the bar had closed and the city was quiet, the guild left.  Roivas scouted ahead as Jerome led Sandulf, Fayne, and Zahrin though the tunnels.  Within an hour, they arrived at their destination: a small locked drain.

"Underground resistance indeed!", Fayne mutters as Roivas unhinges the sewer grating that leads from your secret underground path into the palace of the Prince.  All you were told by Karim was that you task is to destroy one of the Prince's storerooms.  The scrolls contained within could mean the downfall of the resistance, the black market, and any hope of a future life for the guild and the bar.  He assigned the five of you to break in and set fire to the stores.  A few other fires will be set as a diversion, but your real target is the scroll room.  Roivas quickly climbs up the ladder, scans the room, and motions for the rest of you to follow.  She tells you all that she will make sure that nothing disturbs you, and hands you the crudely drawn sketch of the storage level of the palace.  It was the best Alavian could get his hands on, so it will have to do.  Without another word, Roivas takes off, leaving the four of you alone.  Jerome looks at the map, and then whispers:  "This way", as he points toward the tall wooden doors in front of you.  Roivas exits through one of the two smaller iron doors on your left, and another iron door stands to your right.  In front of you are larger double wooden doors.  As you make your way through these doors, which are kindly unlocked, a long hallway
opens before you, a dozen iron doors flanking each side.  "It should be on the left, one of the last few," Jerome says, as he takes out his lock picks and begins working on the seventh door on the left.  He motions for each of you to do the same.

[OoC]Please edit your character sheets to indicate what is on your person, and what is back at the guild (bedrolls, etc).  You can make two seperate sections, if you prefer.  Assume the guild has provided you with a lock-pick set that you are currently carrying. 

Pick a door, any door...


Ashkan -

A slow stirring starts deep within you.  A small force, and quiet life that had been dormant for...

Your mind fades to quiet again, back the the dreamless suspension that has held it for so long.



A creeping warmth eminates from your center.  Dreams are first to return, and they begin where they last left off.  The face of the traitorous sorcerer fills your mind's eye, your last visage before he turned you to stone.  You're pinned down by guards, dishonorable traitors loyal to the betrayer king, and the wizard who only an arc before promised to bring you back into your former glory stands at his side...

And again the feeling fades back to the cold stone embrace.



You feel the stone melt around you, the magics draining off your body, into a well so black it rivals the shine of your armor.  You heart remembers it's former life force, and as your body slowly turns back to the flesh it was so long ago, a feeling of warmth replaces the chill of unknown years of stone.  Breath fills your lungs again, and the flicker of life reappears.  A moment later, the weight of your armor bears down again on your shoulders, still strong, having been frozen in time.  Your flesh too was frozen in time, and the wounds from the beating you received during your capture flare back into pain.  Blood begins leaking again from the once-again fresh cuts.  As your mind begins to slowly reorient, you gasp and your eyes snap open, expecting to see the crowds, the king, and the wizard before you.  But everything has changed.  You are in a dark room, surrounded by dust covered boxes and other forgotten relics of former days.  The ground around your feet shows a thick cover of dust untouched by human feet for years, maybe
more.  Looking down at your hands, you see an equally thick coating on your armor and skin. 

You quickly survey the surrounding room, noting you are against a wall, facing a door.  Little light shines in from under the door, but enough to make out surroundings.  Scanning for danger, you immeadiately recoil, gripping tightly the bow you only just realized is in your hand.  You're surrounded, shadowy figures threaten you from all sides, and your back is to a wall.  You snap to a defensive stance, and only after holding it for fifteen counts do you realize none of the aggressors are moving.  You step toward them on shaky legs, to see visages of your brethern before you, those who only moments ago were by your side in a vault much like this, waiting for punishment from the King and his pet wizard.

Your eye turns back to your bow.  It must have been put there just as the magics were taking hold of you, as your last recollection is of the guards stipping your weapons from you.  You check your belt and your cedeku is in it's sheath, as well as your dagger.  Looking again at your frozen brethern, you see weapons in all their hands, arranged in positions implying strength, yet comically impotent in their stony state.  Would they return to
flesh soon, too?

A faint odor tickles your nose, and you see in the back corner of the room, just past were you were standing is a heavily decayed body.  Hunks of flesh and bone sundered in a way no weapon could cut are scattered about the corner, as though the person they belonged to had just...broken.  Judging from the state they are in, they must have been there for a number of years.  Looking at the face, you recognize the son of one of the Immortals who fought with you originally against the rebels.  The son had come out to reclaim his family's honor.  That line has been broken, now, much like the boy.  The boy's broken body crushes your hope of your squad reappearing to fight side-by-side:  whatever undid the wizard's work is none too quick.

Questions float through your dizzy head:  "What has happened?", "Where am I?", "How long has it been?", "Why was I chosen to be removed from
the stone?"; but the answers do not come.  You only know you are weak, and this place is unsafe.

[OoC]You have 5 hit points, and are dizzied, disoriented, starving and confused.  You have a longbow in your hand and
your polished black breastplate on.  Your dagger and cedeku sheaths sit on your belt, but your longspear, quiver and shield are gone. 

« Last Edit: March 20, 2007, 10:07:38 PM by Pheros » Logged

Dunkin stats
Avatar of the Witch Queen

Spell Energy / Taint +6/-2
Gender: Male
Posts: 1,504

« Reply #1 on: April 10, 2007, 02:12:21 AM »

Pages: [1]
Send this topic Print
Against the Shadow  |  Forum  |  Midnight & RPGs  |  Games and Stories (Moderators: Kane, Bleak Knight)  |  Topic: Narrow Path of Honor [IC]
Jump to:  

Powered by MySQL Powered by PHP Powered by SMF 1.1.21 | SMF © 2015, Simple Machines
AtS Dark Mercury design by Nifelhein, based on the Mercury theme by Bloc
Valid XHTML 1.0! Valid CSS!
Page created in 0.087 seconds with 28 queries.
TinyPortal © 2005-2011