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We are all evil. We are all good. We are all of everything.
Posted: 28 Apr 2007 04:40 PM |
Tristian sat on the couch, looking at the hin who he had deemed his 'drinking buddy'. But, there was no spirits or ale here for either of the two to consume. Here was solace. Tranquility. No one except the two.
"Well, that could mean anyone. Everyone believes they are doing good, at least in their eyes. You do, I do, Markus does, we all have a concept of what 'good' is." The hunter's words echoed in this room made of stone, encasing them within. He continued; "We classify everything that we don't agree to, as evil."
The warrior looked across the expanse to the hunter.
"It's like if ya so wrapped up in ya own feelins or ya own plans tha ya canna see all tha damage roun' ya...it's like ya a' livin undead."
"However, does that make you evil or undead? I don't think so. I think it simply makes you blind."
"Well, ain tha kinda evil?"
"Not really, because you still try to do what you do for your own sense of good. It may make you evil in the eyes of others, but not yourself."
His own words, accompanied with what Timik had said, followed him. He was trying to do good, except that others didn't agree to it. Not on his terms, which included everything. Everything was a weapon, an aid, an item to be used for the sake of others. He knew that a slim amount would accept his terms, and that was fine. However, it was beginning to hinder him.
This hinderance came full-on, when he met A'mael, Emma, and Alton in the Icy Vale store. The monk-to-be had little words for him, and then finally concluded with; "I don't trust you Tristian. History has been a difficult one for me." Tristian simply called it her loss, and let the three go on without him. He would regret it later, when Alton told him that a nasty trap had nearly claimed his life, but he refused to lie down to someone whose simply could not see things from another point of view. He supposed the Asashi was teaching her that, but they were not to be blamed.
A great deal of time was spent in contemplation and isolation. He needed to do something besides just exist, which was all that he had boiled down to. He wanted to do good, but the views and words of others were overriding his. He simply stopped trying to get a word in against those who claimed to be better. Their ignorance would claim them sooner or later. When it did, he wanted to be there for it.
In the meantime, he would give himself a cyclic to figure out the best option, and then do it. Even if that meant leaving the land, and never returning. They would go on without him. They have before. |
Tristian and Elghinn.
NWN logon =UltimatiumOmega
Lost item: Fire Bomb
Tristian Vike damages Erin: 19 (19 Fire)
Tristian Vike damages Tristian Vike: 7 (7 Fire)
Tristian Vike damages Kard Snyder: 10 (10 Fire) |
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All The Beginnings of An End.
Posted: 03 May 2007 04:51 PM |
The days had come and gone. Tristian's mind was not at all eased during the time. He had felt lost, stranger to even those he cared about, those who were willing to help, but had their own limits. The hunter despised that. The fact that people wanted to do something, but would falter on their own, would prove to be a weakness.
Sitting there, along the beaches, the Kobai desert to his back, a vast ocean to his front, and it seemed that the two geographical areas made up for his turmoil in his life. Behind him, desolation, isolation, solitude, and unyielding sun leering down on him, beckoning him to surrender and be consumed by the light. In front of him lie the ocean, with turmoil, chaotic ripples that held no sense of order, and the threat of something beneath it that could make a lunge at him, ensnaring the man, pulling him under, only to suffocate under the weight.
He thought of his departed wife, Delitia Vike, with her black hair, with the pointed ears poking out ever so slightly, the smile on her face that kept him upbeat for months at a time. He tormented himself with her image these past few days. The pain had gone on long enough, and he wanted to merely be in her presence, to ask forgiveness. After all, she was the only one that-
"Sumthin' buggin' ya?" The guyver asked.
The hunter blinked once. Focus was found within that quick recoil. He smiled, and gave the halfling a nod.
"Something is always bothering me. But nothing to worry about."
He knew what he must do. He would see Delitia again. |
Tristian and Elghinn.
NWN logon =UltimatiumOmega
Lost item: Fire Bomb
Tristian Vike damages Erin: 19 (19 Fire)
Tristian Vike damages Tristian Vike: 7 (7 Fire)
Tristian Vike damages Kard Snyder: 10 (10 Fire) |
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Path.
Posted: 07 May 2007 08:37 PM |
The door to the cold lands was a gargantuan, towering over the guards that watched it. It stood two people tall, looming over Tristian as he faced the behemoth construction, contemplating many possible endings of his decision. One would be that he may return soon, attaining something that he would be pleased with, possibly some form of what the monks would refer to as 'enlightment'. On the other end of the spectrum, it could end in his death. Frozen, devouring, or worse. Imprisonment and custody in the hands of her followers, or enslavement.
Her rule was strict, one whose stone foundation was the structure and following of rules. Rules that, in the eyes of a Swiftfootian, were destined to be broken at one point or another. The hunter grinned, visible to none in the hood that masked his skull, his hair, and the lower portion of his face. His insanity was apparent to him, and he would learn to tame it here. The harshest of places, with the most dire of consequences if he faltered. He remembered the words of Captian Brenner well, as if the superior ranking officer was standing next to him.
"To go into the land beyond Icy Vale is to ask Death himself to accompany your trip. It is foolish, and will yield nothing. No one will dig your body out of the snow, nor will you be given a proper funeral rite. In other words, DON'T DO IT."
The words in the old Midoran tongue stayed with him, to a fault. That Tristian Vike was dead.
He hoped the new one would emerge out of this gate. The hood warped, turning to the right, following the cranium that it shielded from the razor-like winds. The guard that stood to his right, now got his full, undivided attention from the figure in black armor, who stood out like a orc at a halfling festival.
"You wish to pass alone, eh? No one will come for you, and none of the ice qu-"
Tristian cut him off mid-sentence. "I do not ask them to come for me, nor do I want them to. If Helkris wishes my fall, she will make it so. She does not need to rely on her bitches to enable that consequence." A single sapphire eye, one that showed the signs of visible hardships, strain, and torment, pierced a needle into the dark brown eye of the guard who, by Tristian's judgement, was five plus years his younger.
The guard to his left merely watched. His job was to defend his comrades-in-arms, himself, and the town from threats, though not necessarily in that order. He knew better than to blaspheme the man who was imprisoned in a block of ice, and somehow walked out with nary a scratch. He knew the fury of the ice queen, and the folly of Tristian to enter alone. Yet, he said not a word to the man. He only hoped he would be alright, despite hope never being sufficient enough to survive on.
The hunter said nothing more. He gave a simple nod, and motioned to the structure that barred his way. The younger guard nodded, and moved to the door. The older one moved as well, working in unison as the door's latch bolt was slid open, the wooded mass soon following.
The mind worked, feeding off his senses and his insight. A train of thought passed, and was caught by the arms of the brain, scooping them up into a bowl to be processed.
...I have seen whats left for all the rest of you
And its not what you think it will be...
This was, in turn, regurgitated into something else. Something a bit more hopeful, something bound for either harmony... or failure. Tristian, along with his lower, more darker state, embellished in this revelation.
We, who not deny the animal of our nature
We, who yearn to preserve our liberation
We, who face darkness in our hearts with a solemn fire
We, who aspire to the truth and pursue it's strength
Beyond lay a wagon, upturned and with a sign sitting adjacent to it. His mind was set, the last few letters that needed to be sent out were, the boy paid the small fortune to get each letter to each individual. There was no turning back, there was no sympathy for himself now. He let his instinct now drive him, to whatever destination lay at the end of that path. The hunter strode in, boots crunching in the snow, the two guards closing and relocking the door behind them, leaving the lone man to the cold, and his fate.
((Thanks to Dimmu Borgir and Dry Kill Logic for the spats of lyrics.)) |
Tristian and Elghinn.
NWN logon =UltimatiumOmega
Lost item: Fire Bomb
Tristian Vike damages Erin: 19 (19 Fire)
Tristian Vike damages Tristian Vike: 7 (7 Fire)
Tristian Vike damages Kard Snyder: 10 (10 Fire) |
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Into the white.
Posted: 10 May 2007 12:30 PM |
The cold lands echoed a tranquil state of harmony. A cold, dark, state of harmony, one that was unforgiving to those that entered, and fell victim to the cold. In the outskirts of the Ishlak realm, a lone bear had strayed from the group, somehow avoiding the hunger of the nearby wolves, and surviving this long.
The polar bear walked solemly, although cautious, back and forth across the land, looking for something it knew it could take down with little more than a brief struggle. It came to a cliff side, one formed from natural causes, and stopped there for only a moment. The icicles that hung from the ledge above were not disturbed in years, and grew to exceptional size because of it.
The bear did not hear the sound of a single icicle snapping, through a violent motion. The shard of ice did not fall, however. As the bear glanced around, it was unaware that the simple fragment of ice would fall, and be directed in flight to land solely on the animal's skull. A white mass, almost seeming like a boulder of snow, leaped from it's hidden nook, twisitng to land directly on the beast, the piercing object impacting, being driven down with so much force, it would emerge under the bear's jaw. The result was a splurch that dropped the bear instantly. It collapsed, feet giving out due to lack of nervous stimuli, and the white mass finally turned, a single sapphire eye scanning the eternal ivory surroundings.
He was wrapped in a white cloak, white as the snow itself, for that very reason. Not a strand of hair showed from under the hood, it being twisted back carefully to hide the onyx from keen eyes. Such was the same with the armor, now being obscured from prying eyes by draping and attaching various hides around certain areas that would be the most visible.
Tristian, being satisfied with his kill, eagerly skinned the animal, taking from it only a portion of meat, and leaving the rest. The wolves would come soon, and this would be a treat for them, a fresh kill, and a pack's dinner.
Then the sound of a large, pounding foot left a rumble through his body, and he quickly went prone, falling flat on his back, weapon at the ready. Within seconds, the snow would envelop him, and he would be rendered invisible to those who tried to find the hunter in this land.
And as the night took the land, his battle with himself waged on. He had been followed by one person, and made himself visible to another. Serai had returned his letter, let he loathed to open it. Perhaps when he made it back to the Aecini hut, he would read it there. That fear choked up in his throat again when the hermit mentioned a "dark, raven haired woman" had come to this land looking for him. Emma had followed his beginning trek into the white, leaving a letter that he read meticously, and held onto. Kalid had come looking for something, a material good, which Tristian gave up, and dismissed her. She had no concern for him. It was evident now.
After a moment, the giant passed over him, and Tristian emerged from the snow, and stalked after his new mark. He would read Serai's letter when he found someplace where it could be done without threat of attack. But first, he would hunt. |
Tristian and Elghinn.
NWN logon =UltimatiumOmega
Lost item: Fire Bomb
Tristian Vike damages Erin: 19 (19 Fire)
Tristian Vike damages Tristian Vike: 7 (7 Fire)
Tristian Vike damages Kard Snyder: 10 (10 Fire) |
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In red. And blue.
Posted: 16 May 2007 11:34 PM |
To most normal, ordinary people, the ceiling was the piece of the home or place that simply kept the water from not falling on your head. To a deranged nutter, the ceiling was a wall of isolation, something that spoke volumes to them when no one was around, fueling their innermost compulsions, enlarging the maddening world that they constructed around themselves. For the Vike, it was simply something he spoke to, knowing that the answers would not be revealed from the side, but something that would listen, and listen only.
He was prone, making a snow angel in the white sheets, on the bed that was supposedly never used by the person who did take up residence in this section of the Broken Mask Apartments. Kalid had come and gone, much like the norm. His mistress, if he wanted to give her a title, claimed she never slept. Which was true, to a fault. They had their meditations, but that was essentially sleep. For once, he wished she would remain by his side, even for a moment longer than fifteen seconds. Even Delitia, when the hunter lived in the White City, would at least simply lie near him, well after he had fallen asleep.
Tristian arched his cranium back, looking at the suit of ringed armor that sat there decrepidly, with the various punctures that were made by the salamanders that inhabited the volcano. They out numbered him, flanked him, and took him down, depositing his body in the Great River, to awaken inside the Watermill, just has he had done so long ago. When he was still a fledgeling to the ways of the world. When he had not seen what there is to be seen.
His eyes travelled back to the flat surface above him, the question of "What happens now?" erupting from his lips, rising like the lesser density substance in a mixed flask. He was concerned about the results of the forth coming battle that would claim lives, those of his friends, and those of his enemies.
He figured something was going to happen. At least that's what the mages say, according to the Port Royale beggars who didn't mind telling Tristian anything for a gold or two. Even if it was here-say, it still made an impact on the fact that Tristian would devote some, if not all of his energy to ridding the Atalan bastards.
He wondered about his concubine/mistress, and what was to become of her. He saw through the guise, and classified her along with the other one. The problem was making a choice, and sticking to it. He feared it would be his downfall, regardless of the choice he made. And then there was A'mael... but the hunter dismissed the concept totally. She was her own dilemma, and she would lead a life of denial and damnation.
The crystalline blue eyes rolled, a pain sprung in his left shoulder, which caused it to leak aches and nervous system responses.
He had not seen Katrina, or even Aurelya, so their so-called 'urgent matter' took a backseat, especially when he spent close to a week inside their home and found little more than ice trolls who deserved a good beating. So, until they came back and decided to go on another expedition, that idea was defeated, even if temporary.
The male sighed, and climed out of his bed, placing his armor, grumbled at the holes spread about it, and moved with a grace that equaled a minotaur on a sheet of ice. |
Tristian and Elghinn.
NWN logon =UltimatiumOmega
Lost item: Fire Bomb
Tristian Vike damages Erin: 19 (19 Fire)
Tristian Vike damages Tristian Vike: 7 (7 Fire)
Tristian Vike damages Kard Snyder: 10 (10 Fire) |
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The beginning of all things to end.
Posted: 20 May 2007 05:07 PM |
"Again."
Kalid sighed, one that reeked of lament, and a desire to do something else besides stab what she envisoned as a useless combat dummy. She leapt up into the air, where the darkness surrounded her, and made no sound of coming down. Silent, like she was trained.
Tristian watched as she sprung forth, the dim walls of the arena that the Broken Mask never used wrapped around his eyes, obscuring them from the assassin-in-training, as she hung inverted, grasping the underside of the wooden floor overhead. He about-faced, turning his back to the dummy that had the stuffing draping out above the shoulders, victim of many stab wounds before.
The spots were burned into the hunter's mind, areas on the neck he would hope for her to learn before the war-cry that he feared would consume Vives. He found that this spot, with a blade of no more than an inch pushed in, would puncture a tube that fed blood up to the face, that also could be systematically tracked to the heart. This information was very useful to Kalid, who could manifest it in the form of a kill.
The hunter spun around, drawing a small dagger from his inner wrist that he kept concealed there, and threw it directly at the dummy. The blade impacted between the eyes the same instant that two feet in black boots descended from the skies, landing on the shoulders of the combat dummy, each blade in Kalid's hand impacting the cotton golem square in the neck. A misbalance would topple her over, to a trap, rigged by Tristian, sat around the dummy, making the elve pay for her mistake.
He saw that she had landed perfectly, and strode over to her, seemingly floating over the trap that he set. His hands revolved around to his backside, where his right hand caught the left, and stood there, motionless. He moved within a foot to view Kalid's latest marks.
Tristian tilted slightly to the left, viewing the first perfect strike he had seen during his vigorous, torturous, and monotinous training session. His eyes narrowed at the blade, which was plunged deep where it should have been, cutting the red-stitched X's asunder. "Very good. Your blade impacted perfectly, and you have cut off your enemies' chances to live." He pulled his own blade out of the combat dummy's head, and replaced it in the proper slot on his left gauntlet.
She smiled at him, an innocent, girlish smile, one that screamed either youth, or insanity. The hunter by now mixed both, accepting her for what she was, and being done with the dilemma that had passed. His decision had been made, his boot firmly planted on the subject. Her voice was excited, almost giddy. "Ouuu! Does this mean we're done!"
He smiled at her, and arched himself to a straight position, and then down the other side, to view the second stab. This one left a nasty mark, but no where near the intended target. An inch off, if she had brought the blade more forward, it would have done wonders.
His smile disappered and, once viewed, so did hers. She looked over the cotton construct, and saw her grevious error. She muttered a curse, and withdrew both daggers, placing them into her hidden compartments. The woman carried a lot of sharp objects, thus a lot of places to hide such a blade.
Tristian had already meandered back, behind the fishing string that seemed invisible to the naked eye, as he turned his back to the woman, who was already preparing to leap in the air. He knew the fact that war would start within the day, that the possibility that neither him nor Kalid, nor anyone else that did show up, would survive to tell the tale. He feared many deaths, many sufferings, but took them in stride, as he patiently awaited the final hours. A verse traveled through his mind, one taught to him during his life as a Midoran. One that screamed of war.
The sacrifice of innocence
This work needs to be done
Now blow the horn
Hail to the gun!
Done is done
Yes, there will be no taking back
Every journey must come to an end
All hail to the gunslinger
Praise to the Dinh and the King
Beyond our reach, out of control
He spoke, deep-toned, and determined. "Again..."
((Thanks to Demons & Wizards for the lyrics)) |
Tristian and Elghinn.
NWN logon =UltimatiumOmega
Lost item: Fire Bomb
Tristian Vike damages Erin: 19 (19 Fire)
Tristian Vike damages Tristian Vike: 7 (7 Fire)
Tristian Vike damages Kard Snyder: 10 (10 Fire) |
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All in a night's work.
Posted: 22 May 2007 02:28 AM |
They truged, and walked slowly out of that cave, sore and tired from the battle. They were the tragic, the company of few who faced what appeared to be an army. Somehow, they had survived.
The Halls of Bregodim was now the property of the dwarves once again.
Tristian Vike smelled the sweat in his helm, the distinct taste of salt in his tongue, as the weary soldier removed his helm, and looked at the crowd that had left with him. They were all tired. Salt, Alton, Lucifer, Serai, Timik, Fennigan, Johe, Ophelia, Balthor, Talion. All of them were done with combat, and could have been for the rest of their lives.
He looked around, wondering where she was, only to get his result. She clenched up alongside of him, arms wrapped around his torso, blue head of hair buried in his chest.
He grabbed the cloak with the hand that held a weapon that did not belong to him, and swung it in a wide fashion, wrapping them both in it, covering her from the rain.
Lucifer talked of strategy. Johe told him to go to hell. Salt muttered about, while Talion and Alton spoke of missing weapons. Fennigan left, and soon afterward, the rest of them did as well. Tristian stood there, with Kalid under his cloak, and glanced to the sky, ignoring the possibility of rain meeting the eye.
One battle. One battle later, and we were almost broken. We were lucky.
His thoughts trailed off, as he saw a flame lick the sky in the distant hill. One that came from a scythe still ignited through magic. The figure holding the wicked blade said nothing, eyes scanning the two huddled together, watching. And waiting.
He looked down at the small figure, and she glanced up into a mass of dreadlocked hair, and spoke to it. "Can we go home?"
He nodded, and looked back to the hill. The flame was gone, but the image was never forgotten. Comitted to memory, he would never forget this night. The death, the pain endured, for a small victory. He feared the next assault, because now they knew.
The Atalan would be prepared, along with their Durgazon allies. It was far from over. |
Tristian and Elghinn.
NWN logon =UltimatiumOmega
Lost item: Fire Bomb
Tristian Vike damages Erin: 19 (19 Fire)
Tristian Vike damages Tristian Vike: 7 (7 Fire)
Tristian Vike damages Kard Snyder: 10 (10 Fire) |
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((I am Jack's raging bile duct/The first rule...))
Posted: 26 May 2007 03:55 AM |
((After what transpired today, I jumped at the opportunity to write a post that gives tribute to Chuck Palahniuk, author of the infamous Fight Club, as well as other titles like Invisible Monsters, Survivor, and Haunted. I always enjoyed his style of putting ink to paper (or keystroke to computer,) and wanted to take a moment to hopefully attempt something in his familiar style. It's going to be a bit rough and mature, but nothing too harsh, I hope. Constructive criticism of this is appreciated, and very, very, welcome. ))
This man and I, we go way back. We even got frozen together. Not many people can say that they spent a few weeks in the temple of Helkris with their best friend, and managed to stay alive. That's what brothers do.
This also meant we couldn't speak to each other, or even move. The things you give up for safety.
Being a display piece wasn't that bad.
You didn't age.
You didn't get hurt.
Nothing wanted to kill you.
Your money and goods were kept safe.
This orc, he looks at me, and I stare back. I demand of him that we fight in a cage, on the sole fact that we wanted to. To remove frustrations.
To punch each other.
To injure ourselves, and the man we normally looked after.
He agrees.
The first thing you smell when you enter the Broken Mask's underground section is iron. Iron, one of the chemicals that was used in the construction of the bars that encage the chamber.
That's not the only place you smell the iron waifing in from.
Do me a favor. Cut your finger. Right now. Just the fingertip, where it will clot up after two minutes or so. Nice and deep. Let that flow start. Now take a good, long whiff.
Smell it? That's also iron. When you see red blood, you see blood with iron.
Blood with iron imbued in it, that is what we smell when we walk down those steps. Both of us have a deadpan look, like we were walking to our deathbed, or to even Nethar'u itself. We say nothing, as we slowly remove any sort of protective armor we have on.
No rings.
No shirts.
No boots.
No belts.
I stand there, in a pair of sweaty, black shorts that cling to my flesh. Look like I was soaked in water before looking at the man across the cage, there in a simple loincloth. He asks me if I'm ready.
The alcohol in our bodies had taken effect, which served the purpose of lessening the pain. It provided the numbing depressant, making our swings wide, unruly, and less tiring.
I respond by howling at him. We charge at each other.
His fist comes down from an upward angle, and impacts the left side of my jaw, and the sound of him stepping on a twig. But there was no twigs in that cage. That twig was bone, my bone, the one in my jaw, shattering.
The first punch is the one you feel. The rest simply aren't felt until your mind realizes that a two-hundred-plus pound man just drove his fist into it.
That usually happens seven seconds after the fight ends.
Neither of us held anything back. We punched and kicked ourselves tired. Vrodo toppled over on himself, panting and sweating. The floor slowly had trails of a mixture of dirt and blood. The stuff is slippery, if on a smooth surface. One misstep, and you end up falling over the puddle you helped make.
A puddle of iron.
After a moment of beating each other into submission, we stop. Seven seconds passed.
I felt what I thought was a broken rib.
A fractured nose.
My dislocated jaw.
My shoulder about to burst open.
I spit iron, and asked him to go again in a moment in his own tongue.
As if a half hour was going to heal broken bones, and fractured ribs.
Without the aid of magic, we would have spent months trying to be able to move right. Our suffering only took minutes.
We beat each other to near death. Tomorrow, him and I could take an entire army by force, and laugh over this. That's what brothers do. |
Tristian and Elghinn.
NWN logon =UltimatiumOmega
Lost item: Fire Bomb
Tristian Vike damages Erin: 19 (19 Fire)
Tristian Vike damages Tristian Vike: 7 (7 Fire)
Tristian Vike damages Kard Snyder: 10 (10 Fire) |
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Re: ((I am Jack's raging bile duct/The first rule...))
Posted: 26 May 2007 04:53 PM |
((Well I for one like it a great deal. It's gritty, and yet surreal. Of course I'm a huge fan of Fight Club, The film at least, I never read the books. I'm not sure I would enjoy an entire book written this way, I think it would wear on me after a while, but in episode form like this it's refreshing and very interesting.
That's my 2 gp at least )) |
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Re: ((I am Jack's raging bile duct/The first rule...))
Posted: 26 May 2007 10:44 PM |
((Chuck P. is economical, and that's what this is. I loved sitting at the bar, drinking our drinks, and taking off our rings (out of consideration for one another I suppose). I'm a big fan too, and I'm tickled by this short piece - kudos!
I write remarkably little in the way of fight sequences - I'll add to this if that's alright! Spoiler: Vrodo vs. Kalid!)) |
"What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about dying."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means lying in the ground with dirt on your face and holding your breath forever."
-Burt Reynolds, "The End" |
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Re: ((I am Jack's raging bile duct/The first rule...))
Posted: 26 May 2007 11:04 PM |
| ((Absolutely. Go nuts.)) |
Tristian and Elghinn.
NWN logon =UltimatiumOmega
Lost item: Fire Bomb
Tristian Vike damages Erin: 19 (19 Fire)
Tristian Vike damages Tristian Vike: 7 (7 Fire)
Tristian Vike damages Kard Snyder: 10 (10 Fire) |
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Re: ((I am Jack's raging bile duct/The first rule...))
Posted: 29 May 2007 12:00 PM |
Vrodo and Tristian separate pulling away from each other with a few backward steps, one bare foot sliding behind the other making arcs across the canvas. Now the two are separated by five or six yards.
Kalid is leaning against the cage bars on the inside of the cage, watching.
Its ending is unannounced but the fight is over, and both men are still standing. Breathing. Looking each other over.
A line of blood runs suddenly from the corner of Tristian's lips like it had been captured running free in his mouth cavity and ejected. He doesn't catch it, doesn't wipe it away, it just runs in a line to the floor and then its over. He's huffing and puffing.
Vrodo's face is starting to swell but both his eyes are still open. He's also taking in heaving breaths through his mouth and swallowing blood that runs back through his sinuses and down his throat. Tristian worked at his jaw and face mercilessly but it just wasn't satisfying. You throw punches at a half-orc's face and you get broken knuckles. You switch to slugging the broad flat nose and you drive your fists into the ears if you can reach them, and watch the tears start to fall.
Vrodo is probing his ribs on his right side and he starts to chuckle because he is sure they are broken. Maybe they just feel that way. The sound is so deep its profound, barely audible except that nobody else in the cage is saying anything. Smiling hurts his face but he smiles anyway.
"Ha rurokn, ra ku hakhaak, or?"
The question in orcish came from Tristian. We go again?
Vrodo nods. He eases himself down to his knees and gathers his strength and his breath.
"I want to try." It's Kalid. She takes her helmet off revealing blue-black hair and fine white skin.
Immediately Vrodo is thinking: She's hard enough. Yes. I would fight this elve.
Tristian is nursing a bruise dead center on his chest, the size and shape of a half-orc's fist. Tomorrow it will blue-black like Kalid's hair and ringed in broken capillaries. A month from now it will be clouded yellow if he doesn't get some healing before then.
The three are looking at each other and Tristian asks Vrodo, "'u rhak' akrn roh?"
Vrodo stands and scuffs his feet on the canvas of the cage. "Yus," he says looking at the elve, "He fight."
"Oh good," says Kalid. She takes off her cloak and sails it into a shadow where it seems to vanish from sight.
"Beat her up," says Tristian.
Vrodo runs a finger along the inside of his cheek where he's bitten himself. "Really Vike?"
Tristian is grinning. "She can take it."
"Know she take it," Vrodo is saying back to him.
Kalid has slipped out of her robe and is pulling off her rings. She asks if she has to be naked and the two tell her no knives, no magic, just like the fights that Jessup staged at the Broken Mask years ago. "Oh I know that," she says.
Vrodo if finding his strength by stamping his feet on the canvas. He has stepped out to the center of the cage and Kalid scoots out to pair with him.
The half-orc slaps his chest like a wrestler.
Kalid says meow and smiles right before Vrodo throws the first punch.
It sails past the elve who counters with a shot in the half-orc's neck. It is hard like wood, muscular and inflexible.
The neck was just a target of opportunity. Kalid is not practiced with empty-hand fighting, but she knows which targets are the tastiest, even on a hardened half-orc's body.
She has stepped through Vrodo's attack and from a position behind him she finds a better target. A really good target. She hits it so hard that the blow sends a shock into her shoulder.
Vrodo snaps around to attack the pain and a wild shot connects with her head from above, cutting her eyebrow. She throws a fist upwards into his nose and is rewarded with a fresh flow of blood.
The half-orc is blinded. He chokes.
Another blow is drilled into his side, the same spot that Kalid found previously. This time she used her knee. Vrodo wheels and steps backwards across the canvas while he scoops tears from his eyes with both thumbs and blows his airway open.
He senses the elve just before she lands her attack. She is sailing at him with her knee extended and she misses. Vrodo closes and throws a fist into her chest with a thud that steals her breath and he follows punching downwards into the meat of her thigh.
Three times now she has slipped into the shadows. Maybe if he slows her down he can keep his eyes on her.
They square up now and trade blows. Tristian is watching with a morbid interest. Kalid uses distraction to her advantage, and she is quick. She leaps to throw an elbow at Vrodo's head and pushes off of him to evade reprisal. She steps out of his line of sight and wraps herself in shadow.
Catching on, Vrodo retreats. He moves backwards as fast as she can move forwards so that her attacks must come at him head-on. The cage is what saves him. But even on his terms she nearly overcomes him. As he moves in to meet her he opens up his flanks.
"Kuut!" Tristian shouts in orcish. He likes what he's seeing.
Once more Kalid gets at the half-orc's flank. Once more she gets a shot at the sweet spot, and she takes it. She connects with the bone of her elbow. Vrodo feels like he's been bent in half, sideways.
She clings to the spot greedily and her last blow feels like a blade sliding in between the half-orc's ribs. It was her tiny fist, but it stabbed that spot like a knife. His field of vision goes white. His shoulders go rigid from the pain and his arms draw in to a close guard.
Then his big black hands flash out and he gets Kalid by the arm. He swings her and her feet leave the ground. Her light body is laid out onto the canvas like a starfish and then he swings her again letting her fly away from him. He hears her sounding off the iron bars of the cage.
Kalid yells and slumps against the bars, and Tristian runs over to Vrodo who has fallen to his knees and is blowing out hard breaths with great effort. Tristian grasps the half-orc's head and casts a spell of healing and then rushes to Kalid's aid at cage-side.
Tristian casts a spell of healing and Kalid groans as she stands panting.
Vrodo tries to get up and falls to the canvas. A low laugh rolls out of him. "Climbs all over Vrodo," he says.
"She knows where to hit," Tristian says.
Vrodo agrees.
"See?" Kalid says grinning wickedly. "No knives." |
"What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about dying."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means lying in the ground with dirt on your face and holding your breath forever."
-Burt Reynolds, "The End" |
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"It really is best that way. Take it from me."
Posted: 31 May 2007 07:14 PM |
Vestlat stood near his desk, reading a parchment in one hand, the other curled around a shaft that ardorned a skull with glowing red eyes at the summit. He turned, a pair of spectacles somehow being held there, covering the hallow eyes that once held flesh, muscles, and optic nerves.
Apparently, you still have the same bad eyesight when you die, and come back, Tristian mused to himself. He was waved in.
As he walked in, the guardians animated themselves from the shambles of bones that lined the walls, immediately gunning for the hunter, swords drawn and evil desire to protect their master in their bodies. Just before they reached the man, who did not draw his own weapon, they crumbled into a mass right before the hunter's feet, looking nearly the same as if Tristian himself had struck them down. The skeletal mage sighed.
"Mindless help... can be so... mindless." Tristian nodded in agreement, then asked the lich if he was disturbing his studies, noting the fiend's eye(less eyes) continue scanning the document. Vestlat retorted "Not too greatly, no, but still a disturbance nonetheless." Tristian continued to move to the man that once was, more bodies animating as instructed, only to be sent down by a waving hand, a raspy voice muttering "Enough, enough..." Finally, he tucked those spectacles away, and bore them upon the hunter. "So?"
Tristian stood there, practically sealing his death and undeath away, when he had the gall to ask for his blade back. The blade composed of ice, the one Helkris blessed item, given to the hunter by Rosen. She had recieved it from Talion, and now, the lich of Lynaeum was the sole proprietor of that object. This was upsetting, as Tristian favored that blade above the other three that lie vertically on his backside. He would pay four, five times the amount for the blade found in Ticktocken, but he was sure that the blade Vestlat took would never be found in any store, and any merchant that found it would probably seal it away from all eyes.
Tristian offered two things to the lich. One was the robes that had seen battle in the Reclaiming of the Halls, and the other was information regarding his so-called rival, which was dismissed as soon as it was mentioned. They had agreed to exchange the information the hunter offered, for information on getting his blade dubbed Rosenhart back.
The lich held out a finger, and Tristian watched as the robes vanished, added to a collection of robes that the lich would probably never use. He's missing out, Tristian gathered. Would be such a fun adventurer if he ever wanted some fresh air for once in his un-life.
He relayed all the information he hoped would interest the lich, and the lich waited for his moment. "Now, is it my turn?" The hunter agreed, and gave Vestlat the floor on which to discuss what Tristian hoped to hear.
"Very well, your sword. I no longer have it."
"Alright..." The hunter knew this was not going to end with a smile. On either end, because the dead cannot smile. "Would you happen to know where it went, and how I can retrieve it?"
The lich looked into his ice-blue eye. "Well yes, I would. It went into my pot." The lich massaged his temples with bony hands, making a slight scratching noise, the kind when you rub two pieces of stick together to make a fire. "Right... cauldron... cauldron."
Tristian wonder why a lich would take a perfectly good blade, and simply toss it into a pot/cauldron and try to make something else. Thus, he asked the dead man what he was making.
Vestlat immediately responded. "Something to put inside your belly as well."
A line of sweat had formed on Tristian's brow, and tricked down the side of his face, leaping off of his chin, and splattering on the ground below. He nodded, not sure what exactly to say to that outburst. However, Vestlat sighed. "A joke my boy. A joke."
"Oh."
The lich looked down, shaking his head. "I really must work on my delivery."
The lich explained to him that his refuse went to the hobgoblins, and that the possibility of a simple adventurer could have picked it up by now.
"Considering it is the stuff of ice and chill, that may be a good a place to start as any." His words made sense. He could ask for one from any being of the Helkris women, if they had access to it, but they would like something in return, no doubt. Like servitude. The hunter mused to himself the benefits of such a endeavor. The Helkrissian women did look appealing, and not as self-centered as the Naruthians.
Tristian simply nodded, and thanked the lich for allowing him in his home. As he moved for the door, Vestlat spoke one last time. "There was an elven woman with a blade just like yours."
"An elven woman?" A'mael. If she recieved it from him...
"Needless to say, yours was the only blade of it's kind I've ever seen." That doubled the hunter's suspicions, the ones that stemmed forth when he originally saw the blade in her hand as the two of them fought the slaadi, on the way to the Fenghuul woods.
He stepped outside. A waste of time, he thought. He checked the halls where the hobgoblins took residence, and then trekked to the cold lands, even daring to step into the temple of Ice, where Aurora took residence. The only thing he found was himself, being led on a wild goose chase by a dead man who never left his home.
He went back to his room in Icy Vale, thankful he had a place close by. He hoped to find the elve, and ask her what she knew. With a groan and a sigh, he laid down in his single bed, thankful for only one thing. He had met the lich twice in his life, and walked out of both endeavors unscathed. Not many people can say they have even walked out alive.
((Thanks to the DM for that event... it was a good time!)) |
Tristian and Elghinn.
NWN logon =UltimatiumOmega
Lost item: Fire Bomb
Tristian Vike damages Erin: 19 (19 Fire)
Tristian Vike damages Tristian Vike: 7 (7 Fire)
Tristian Vike damages Kard Snyder: 10 (10 Fire) |
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Notes
Posted: 11 Jun 2007 08:22 PM |
*A few pages further into the green journal*
I continue to delve into the unknown, bettering myself through my actions and words. The first piece is securing a woman to instruct me in the learnings of the elven language. Her name is Isania, who besides her seemingly rampant hatred for the male species, I manage to get along with quite well. She had taught me a great many words, and I would be eager to seek her out again to learn more. She is full of wit, and I believe her and I would work well together in many endeavors. The broadening of my knowledge will only better me in all events.
An issue lies with magister Salt, whom I would easily plunge into Nethar'u on a whim for. His rapid aging continues to be a problem, however, the magisters of Naillamne have given us a name and a location to fix the dilemma. Getting this agent will mean a great deal of battle, and twice as much bloodshed. Yet, I only anticipate the attack on the foundry itself; it seems we will be collecting a true godly object for the purpose of restoring his youth.
I am planning the assault to reclaim M'Gok Tukar. I have named the two generals to carry out the orders that I see fit, yet I have yet to hear from one of them at the moment, and if she is unable to participate, I will have to pass it to another. Whom that may be, I am not sure. Vrodo has provided me with details surrounding the compound, and what lies inside that land. It seems that my brother and Fia, the overly-curious Artio woman, have infiltrated the compound, and learned of placements for traps and guard postings. While I hope to leave the orclun unharmed, those that directly oppose us will be dealt with in the same manner as the Durgazon forces themselves.
As such, the efforts to recruit those to help have been slim, but more than a handful have already pledged their swords and incantations to the battle, which is a benefit.
My studies with the chemicals have nearly halted, however, my continued research and trips to the cursed island reward me with what I need to continue studies. These studies may help me work Salt's cure, and make enough potions to aid those in our upcoming battle. Needless to say, it is vital that I continue research.
Finally... I need to speak with X again, on a more divine matter. It seems... I am lost.
*Next page*
In my darkest hours of pain and emptiness when I had nothing to live for
You gave me more than I could ever ask and then persisted to give more
You said you knew I'd do the same for you and expected no gratitude
In turn I owe this simple thing you saved, by death I swear to you
For my enemies I have nothing to give but hate
For those who doubted me you're my enemies just the same
For those who gave respect my respect to you is paid
But for you my friends that bled by my side I give more than blood for you
I'd give my life |
Tristian and Elghinn.
NWN logon =UltimatiumOmega
Lost item: Fire Bomb
Tristian Vike damages Erin: 19 (19 Fire)
Tristian Vike damages Tristian Vike: 7 (7 Fire)
Tristian Vike damages Kard Snyder: 10 (10 Fire) |
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Days after. A wandering mind, a wandering soul.
Posted: 27 Jun 2007 08:42 PM |
A cyclic had passed from the liberation of M'Gok Tukar, as the hunter walked from place to place, donned in robes and staff slung over his right shoulder. Rumors of a rebuilding had filtered through the channels to his ears, even as he wandered from desert to wood, and then back.
The snow had continued to fall in the township of Icy Vale, the Queen continually making her presence known with the crisp chill in the air. Vrodo had made a small camp in her Divider Chain, and those times that he went and visited, the orclun was not home, assumed to be out hunting the warm woolly beasts for necessary supplies, food provisions, and other necessities.
The staff weighed heavily on his shoulder, bogged down from the multitude of scrolls that he was able to place in the compartments, the swirling mass of the stars around a centered bright object, remained in place. Scrolls of all types... those to stop time, bring the dead back to life... or even bless them with the curse of Syn... they were in there. His latest addition, which he prized, were the scrolls that allow the user to teleport from one place to another.
His mind wandered to those who had served under his wing in the battle. Even those he did not expect to show had; each of them had been put to use during the night. None of those who attended stood out, except for one. And someone had noticed.
Much better than the current. Delitia's voice. Potential is obviously visible. The wife long deceased, responding to his train of thought, making the hunter halted to a stop from the delusion speaking inside his brain. He glanced behind him, where he could see the footprints in the snow, even as they were quickly masked by the persistent snows that had graced the land.
Tristian turned back to his front, his eyes looking to the door that gated Whipsnade Pass, protecting the small community from outsiders. A low sigh escaped his lips, as the warm air became visible in the escape from the body. The metal-clad fingers clacked as he tapped them slightly on the Starseeker tool, the head of dangling hair brushed itself across his face, the sandpaper-like grating lightly brushing across his face.
A lot had occupied the mind of this man. Those whom knew him began asking about the next battle, where Tristian advised that the wisest action would be to take the Durgazon city. A siege of an under-ground city that would end in bloodshed, tears, violence, and flames. Tristian had not dared to enter that city again, not after the first time that he had gone, and nearly been decimated, instead walking out with a sense of pride in fractioning the population down. Those he offered this advice to agreed to a fault in the sense. Eliminate one, and move to another, who hopefully, would retreat back into Undreath.
His feet began stepping forward, and a cold hand unlatched the door to Whipsnade pass. His free hand hand pushed the door open, him stepping out as quietly as the snows itself.
His hand had reached out to pet a wolf who came up to him, the metal ridge in his gauntlet soothing the itch in the animal's ear. Back to the battle for the orc city, is where Tristian's mind had wandered. Had he won the respect of his peers? His mind had dismissed all notions of such. His real fear... was if a deity was watching.
And waiting. |
Tristian and Elghinn.
NWN logon =UltimatiumOmega
Lost item: Fire Bomb
Tristian Vike damages Erin: 19 (19 Fire)
Tristian Vike damages Tristian Vike: 7 (7 Fire)
Tristian Vike damages Kard Snyder: 10 (10 Fire) |
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Enemy of all. Enemy of none.
Posted: 03 Jul 2007 12:37 AM |
Tristian had stumbled out of the Broken Mask that night, with Macha and Ashe in tow. Macha had claimed that Tristian wanted to go to the "pub on the river," for the sole purpose of "Ashe had never been there before."
Well, now Tristian was there, at the tiny pub, alone. Macha had been called away by the hin as soon as she had stepped foot in Brandibuck Vale, and Ashe had meandered off while Tristian spent some time in the lighthouse on the coast, recovering from the headache suffered only hours ago.
The hung-over male had ordered water from the barkeep, who gave him a tirade about "plenty of water outside, why not drink it there?" The hunter had, for once, agreed to it, as the words booming from the man behind the counter only amplified the pain that lingered on the inner shell of his skull.
Walking over to the waterfall, taking in several scoops of water with two hands, he paused and looked up, only to see an ominous location, one that was a treacherous district to even be seen near.
The tower of Naillamne. It loomed over the cliffside, the giant boss watching the meek scramble about, trying to get orders done. But no meek here; only a bridge and a small boat that seemed unoccupied for some time.
Tristian Vike did not know why he started walking across that bridge, his blades turning into his extensions as he strode forth. Perhaps it was something new to see, like the inner areas of Naruth's Heart. Perhaps he wanted to test his combat prowless against whatever lie inside. Perhaps he had lost his mind, and wanted to see something besides himself and his friends bleed. Regardless, he stepped inside, a sick grin on his face, as the Maug's gave him a warm welcome.
None of the mages had heard the battle downstairs, as each machination fell to the skilled hand of the man guiding them to their proper positions, striking with accuracy and force. None of the mages had heard him walk up the stairs, purely visible, and the Maugs chase him down the steps to where it would be more quiet for him to operate.
After disposing of the two constructs, he looked back up those steps, and wondered. Talion had brought him here once before, and he had taken care of the head mage... a 'warlock', according to the master smith. His mind wandered, and contemplated his chances of doing the same.
He dipped his hand into a pocket, the faintest of jingling heard as the rings within collided with one another. He had found the one he wanted, and slipped the gauntlet off to fit the small gray ring on. Replacing the metal hand on his arm, he looked up the stairs once more, sliding the handcrafted mithril helm off of his face, letting it dangle at first by his fingertips, then on a belt latch that held it in place. Another word was uttered, and he ascended the way up.
He walked by the mages patrolling the center hallway. They were not his concern. The remaining colossi did not notice his presence, either, being more blind than what Tristian had originally thought.
Tristian opened the door to the warlock's room. The warlock had his face planted in a book as the door slid open, and he looked up as the dark figure entered, and shut the door behind him. Immediately knowing it was not an ally or fellow mage, the arch-wizard began preparing a spell to protect himself from the intruder. However, Tristian had prepared all of his own, and let the last word out after hearing the door latch to a close.
The last thing that warlock saw was a lone man drawing a blade, giving the magus a wide-eyed stare, and then faded to black as that male ripped the warlock to pieces.
That very person left Naillamne without further incident, practically whistling as he began his stroll to head back home, a grin on his face as he realized what he just did, and without incident or retaliation.
The hunter smiled. He had found himself a new training ground. |
Tristian and Elghinn.
NWN logon =UltimatiumOmega
Lost item: Fire Bomb
Tristian Vike damages Erin: 19 (19 Fire)
Tristian Vike damages Tristian Vike: 7 (7 Fire)
Tristian Vike damages Kard Snyder: 10 (10 Fire) |
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Deeper into the recesses of the green tome.
Posted: 04 Jul 2007 02:31 PM |
The events of today, were at first confusing, then bound to me out of necessity, then out of actual desire. My recent voyage had taken me back to Icy Vale, where I hunted the polar bears for the hope of continuing my craft on hide work. So far, I have been meeting very little progress. However, that topic is far, far askewed from the actual realizations and revelations that had come forth from the events of today.
As I waited for the sunrise to board the boat, I took out one of the scrolls I had acquired during my travels, and mused over it. A similar one that Markus and Emma had deemed me 'unworthy' of carrying, and took it upon themselves to dispose of in the fires of the Volcano. Macha had approached me, and with me too busy trying to comprehend why the parchment in my hand warned me of aligning myself against the dark arts, she spoke, rousing me abruptly from the document that most would cringe of, and several had warned me not to incant. The scroll was tucked away, and normal conversation ensued. It became us waiting for the sunset instead, and when it came, I noted that I needed to head to Ferein, to acquire the divine waters from their garden. I invited the bard along, as company, who seemed all too happy to accept. That was laid in stone, when she admitted she had taken 'an interest' in me. I said nothing regarding it, as we made our way to the garden where the waters were located.
I had finished my task, while discussing the specifics of alchemy, talioring, and other arts, when Kalid had appeared before us. Kalid, who hates Ferein with every inch of her being, who had no real reason for her to be there. She had followed us, I am almost sure of it. I was tempted to walk away from them both, and let them kill each other. However, I doubt that would really solve anything. But, she had left, repeating my movements regarding the holy waters.
We had stepped out, when I saw the two amulets. The two I had crafted for her, on the ground, in a small pile. Her message was clear. It seems her and I are finally done. While I am saddened by this, I know now that this is a breath of new life into my body, as the garrote was lifted off of my neck. Scorn for having friends of the opposite gender is a foolish, and backwards reason to draw ire in someone. I came to this conclusion as Macha and I returned to Port Royale, eager for whatever task Johe had in hand for us. The bard and I departed then, leaving me alone to ponder the most recent turn of events.
My first action was to gather my things from her home, and haul them back to Icy Vale, only to return. Alyssa was in the Guyver store when I returned, alongside Timik, Ashe, Macha, and Johe. It seemed that the two women were beginning to spit the venom and coil back into a strike, so I had them alone, until Alyssa had approached me, inquiring about the events about to transpire that night. Of course, I was not going to be out and say it, even when pressured by a beautiful woman such as Alyssa. Johe had quickly shooed me off, which left me in the streets of Port Royale again.
After a much needed trip to the tower of Ka'azim, I found myself nearly able to afford another set of the blessed robes. However, I was a few coin short. I had departed again, instead walking out with one of the fabled "Towers" that all these wizards and blood-magi spoke of.
The small team that was going to Naruth's Volcano met in the back, with the watchful eyes of the shades around us, giving little comfort in their veil of onyx mass. The plan was discussed, and rediscussed, until we had finally agreed that some sort of plan would be formulated, and redirected as the events took place. Too many 'what ifs' and 'possibilities for failure' marred any actual proper dictation.
The trip up to the volcano was met with little resistance, even with the large group that somehow assembled itself before my eyes. We had met some sort of creature that addressed Johe, warning him that the Naruthians were irate at his tenacity. As such, we all ventured into the volcano some more. As we neared it, it seemed to come to life, spewing chunks of flame and sinew in our direction. I merely craned my head from side to side to avoid such burns; others were not so lucky. Timik, in particular, was getting roasted in his armor, and nearly was immolated as we ventured further and further into the volcano.
Our driving force was halted with the appearance of Alyssa, some woman named Anna Marie, and a strike team of fire giants. Alyssa, Johe, and Anna Marie nearly seemed to draw blades and begin the process which could only be called bloodshed, while the rest of us waited with patient and calm minds. At least most of us; Ophelia did have a hard time settling down, especially when the primal flames drew near. Strange as this entire escapade was, Anna Marie may have taken a liking to me; on the account that I was kind, or merely myself acknowledging her beauty, and my non-contempt of the place. While I hate to admit it, I did want to draw blade and take down those who stood in our way, as it seemed they wanted to toy with Salt's health. Something I cannot abide, and will enforce the haste of pain on the person that does.
However, after much ado, Johe had seemed to calm down, and began making conversation that did not have threatening overtones. Anna and Alyssa seemed to agree with this, and provided the two seeds, along with a gift that removed Johe's scarring on his face and arms. I was satisfied, as was the lot of us, and we departed. Thus begins the tragedy.
We were ambushed, and even I was taken down by the large amount of hired killers. They had made off with the seeds, which prompted outrage, and a vengance to take back what was taken, along with a head or two.
However, despite all that has been done, there is still much to think about, as my impulses continue to manifest themselves in new thoughts and emotions, as the shackles of a slave-type bond are broken, and as the days progress onward. I am never sure what lies in my future, nor am I sure if I will live to see it.
As such, the only thing left to do is carry onward, and wait for something to rear it's head. The heads of friends will be given my kindness, while the heads of my enemies will be given my blade. As for Kalid? My thoughts are wary on her, which is how my mind must be in her presence. The god of Deceit lives within that form, and I was a fool for thinking I could exorcise that presence.
Until that time, my mind shall rest, at least for tonight. |
Tristian and Elghinn.
NWN logon =UltimatiumOmega
Lost item: Fire Bomb
Tristian Vike damages Erin: 19 (19 Fire)
Tristian Vike damages Tristian Vike: 7 (7 Fire)
Tristian Vike damages Kard Snyder: 10 (10 Fire) |
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Such revelations usually pay their prices.
Posted: 06 Jul 2007 10:35 AM |
The hunter's day seemed eventful, despite a few shades of discord which gave the day some negative aspects. It began in the city of Port Royale, when lady Isania had found him, and as promised, Tristian agreed to show her the Halls of Bregodim, rich in gold veins and other mining essentials. He quickly gathered his things, and made off with the woman in tow. during their travels, she showed him a trick to use in combat, one that gave a clear-cut advantage, twice as much for those who could hit the vitals of any creature. The hunter watched with approval as Isania killed moderately tough creatures with her hands, knocking them down, then idly walking to the neck/spine, snapping the bone in two, cutting off the ability to sustain life.
He smiled. Here was someone that knew what she was doing. At least, as far as he could tell. She was not very open with herself, but Tristian did not dwell on it for an extended period of time. Vrodo had found them, as they stalked their way back to the Ranger's lodge, and they agreed to head to Hardknott, on Vrodo's request to pilfer the titanium from the goblins who held reign over the metal. Their battle was easy, and Tristian found himself leaving the two on their own for a moment of time.
When he had returned, they had vanished, so the hunter stalked off, taking the skins of crag cats and more crag cats. He even decided to try and harvest malar panther, which dragged him to the orc mountain near Midor. However, the panthers moved about, but no orcs. Like someone had slain them while out for a stroll. Deciding to investigate further alongside Malice, his one real companion over the years, he found one of the objects of his current pondering: a bard with a knack for knowing the taste of wine.
Conversation ensued until the ambush from the Atalan. A single, solitary assassin, he found Tristian the most ample target, and sapped his energy, allowing him to be viciously wounded, Macha soon following afterward. It was a moment of time, until Vrodo along with the ice mephit Grotto, came upon them, Grotto apparently knowing of the downfall the two had suffered.
"See? Flies! Eat away!" The response from the sworn brother was the same.
"See it, yus! The Vike! And... he cocked his head, to look at the woman. "Seen this one." Grotto wanted some sort of offering to the queen, which Vrodo had promised, as the little creature breathed life back into the two, the wounds being barely sustainable, which Vrodo went to immediate work upon with bandages and medical supplies he had gathered.
Immediately, they left and departed, Tristian heading back to Icy Vale in a fit of disgust that he was being singled out by the dark elves. Alton, who was at Icy Vale when he had arrived, gave him some encouragement, in typical hin style. "They noted your attack on Gladden... You should be happy! It means you're making a difference." However, Tristian wanted out of the small community, eager for something to take his mind off of the pain... and the disappointment. It came quicker than he had expected, when he met Macha for the second time in the day.
After short conversation, Tristian and taken her along Skarfell pass, showing her the lodge that rested within a small nook, seeming outside the view of the rest of the world. It was there that the hunter began cooking a dinner for the two, which was a large stack of meat gathered from earlier hunts that he had preserved. Talk was made, one that continued with a trip to the Glitterdell river. For some reason that Tristian could not possibly fathom, Macha had taken an interest in him. When prodded on what this interest contained, Macha laid it out on the table for him.
"You are a man of the woods, who accepts people of most any nature so far as I can tell." She made a gesture to the gnomish stave around his shoulder, the one with the Starseeker calendar on it. You carry a mages staff, and cast spells... You hail from Midor, yet you seem all too accepting of other ideas... Her smile drifted into a light grin. "And you seem to be quite content to flirt with any woman, whatever her disposition or affliations, which speaks to a lack of a sense of imminent danger..or caring that one might be in it." Tristian was caught aware of his efforts to get the volcanis oak seed yesterday from Naruth then, one that at least left him with a positive note regarding Anna Marie, from the halls of Fiirhallen. He shrugged. It almost worked, and could possibly leave him in better conditions, should he ever have to go back for any reason.
He returned the grin. "Would I be in danger now?" Her response was a wink, and a simple non-forthcoming retort. "I haven't decided yet."
The night was coming fast, and Macha wanted to stay in this newfound area, the downstream of the river, and Tristian departed quickly, making waste to the Meenlock swarm that held dominance over the small land. He abandoned the thoughts of Macha, and what had become of their...
What was it? What was it called? Trip? More than likely. At least that was what the trip to Glitterdell was. The dinner? Could he fathom calling it what he thought it was, what he wanted it to be? He halted in place, which paid off for the meenlock who lunged at him, connecting, trying to sap the life from him. Tristian ignored it for the moment, even as it could possibly kill him. It wasn't what he had thought unless she would agree to it. She would have to agree to the proper name before he acknowledged it at that. He nodded, and took a swing with his left hand, batting the creature out of the air, to impact a rock face, and falling to it's death due to sudden and violent impact.
Later that night, he found himself in Port Royale. Isania wanted a ring crafted, and Tristian set out to complete it, except he cursed himself with having no copper. However, the situation was soon alleviated, as the woman brought him the materials necessary to complete the project. He tried his hand at making bags, and promised Isania one of the hopeful magical devices.
One after another, all of them failed. The hunter found this odd, to say the least. He was halfway decent at this, and should not be wrought with such luck. He considered making a prayer to the hin god, Swiftfoot, for the luck to change. This in itself brought a new, completely unfocused train of thought pouring into his mind.
...When was the last time he offered anything, even a prayer to Kaldair? He paused as he tried to recall. He mused for a moment, and surrendered to the fact he could not actually remember. This stopped him, shamed him, even, and he shook it off. He had bags to finish screwing up, which he did. Isania was not too upset, but the hunter was. Close to twelve attempts, gone. He grumbled, and told himself he would finish the woman's ring in the morning.
He walked himself to the Black Pearl, flipped the bartender a few coins, and hopped in the upper bunk, intent on making something better the next day. |
Tristian and Elghinn.
NWN logon =UltimatiumOmega
Lost item: Fire Bomb
Tristian Vike damages Erin: 19 (19 Fire)
Tristian Vike damages Tristian Vike: 7 (7 Fire)
Tristian Vike damages Kard Snyder: 10 (10 Fire) |
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Re: Such revelations usually pay their prices.
Posted: 06 Jul 2007 08:41 PM |
He decided that he was going to try again. After the pure malcontent with the deserts, the concept of Desth'des chasing him down for some unknown reason, Pitter Patter arriving in Ladriel, he wanted to try again.
With Isania watching again, but a different locale. The Ranger's lodge. He had promised her a bag on success, and wanted to work with the easier material first, to get his hands moving and the mind working again.
He drifted a hand through a pouch at his side, until he found the needle kit that had stayed with him since the beginning of his journey into tailoring, and opened the small case to retrieve a needle on the black velvet that lined the interior of the box. He drew a needle-
-and it glowed. A small, tiny aura about it, one that radiated a miniscule nimbus of light, and fully caught the hunter's attention. Isania had not noticed; she was too far away, seated on the nearby stool, legs crossed and watching him, hoping he would succeed, best reason being she would get a bag to help her in her travels.
He began weaving the crag cat leather, Dipping the needle in the first vial of enchanting oil, and running it alongside the pattern that was placed on top of it. He began speaking in a low tone, words unintelligible to all ears, a murmur of divine and arcane, activating the oil as it sifted through the leather seamlessly. The vial had began to radiate as well, which he doused on what he would determine was the interior of the bag, as the leather stretched to an insane size, and then quickly retorted. The process went entirely the same for the second half, and he finished with a smile, and a new bag in his hands.
The needle in his hand still had the traces of an aura. Not sure what to make of it, the hunter tried again. However, this one failed from the start, with the small interruption in his voice, annhilating the stretching process completely, and ruining the leather.
He tried four more times, getting two more positive results. The small tool, threaded countless times, still had the aura of something...
Tristian sensed this, and would try and see what else would happen in the future. For now, his mind reeled of different things. As such, the needle was tucked away from the same spot it had been retrieved.
Isania stood as Tristian handed her two bags, to which she insisted to pay for. The hunter did not desire her coin, only her friendship. He valued that more, but relented after the issue was pressed, and felt himself on the side of a losing battle.
She had left him after that, to which the hunter left the looms, plucked a bowl out of his bag, taking some of the soup (stew? broth?) from the kitchen. He took a seat at a table, and waited a moment more. He then drew that same needle out from it's location. He had found himself giving a pensive glance to the object, as it did not glow, nor give off an aura right now.
Another thing to press his own mind on. Something to ask Salt, or even Alton about later. They seemed to know of such instances, or odd things. Lastly, he drew a blue tome, blank, and waiting for his hands to scribe something into it. |
Tristian and Elghinn.
NWN logon =UltimatiumOmega
Lost item: Fire Bomb
Tristian Vike damages Erin: 19 (19 Fire)
Tristian Vike damages Tristian Vike: 7 (7 Fire)
Tristian Vike damages Kard Snyder: 10 (10 Fire) |
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As the walls close in around you.
Posted: 10 Jul 2007 06:22 PM |
The Halls of Bregodim echoed a hallow emptiness: the stench of death and decay lingered in the air as the hunter made his way, titanium in a large bag that he hauled behind him, nose ignoring the smell as he had done numerous times.
He crept over to the furnace that had been used by humans and elves alike since the recapturing, and began to work his find. Processing took a matter of minutes, the hunter knowing full well how to cook titanium perfectly, each ingot a small, heavy cube that could be processed, and would be for tipping the daggers that the hunter stalked off into the darkness for.
The sounds of axes began to reverberate throughout the expanse of the hall; the metal impacting the rock enough to shatter it and let Tristian claim the stone that looked like it could be melted down itself into its own set of ingots. This was necessary for Tristian to continue his progress with metal-working. The hot iron was immediately placed upon the anvil, and sculpted into dagger shapes, cooling to reveal perfectly-edged blades with a fine hilt attached.
He smiled, and gathered the daggers off of the anvil. He turned to the tipping device that lie across the hall, but reeled back as the Atalan came into view, taking two swipes at him from the cover of darkness.
Tristian, unsure of why this lone assassin was here, drew his own blade in the hopes to defend himself from the assassilant. His Aecini shield deflected a few attacks, while one or two more got in, giving the hunter a good taste blood seeping into his mouth, the wounds digging deep into his stomach, causing internal injuries. His tongue drew out, parched for air, and being drowned in his own blood. Nocking his head to one side, the hunter saw an opening, and let the extension from his arm follow, connecting and impacting the assassin in an unprotected area of his body. The dark elf screamed out in pain, and dropped.
The hunter dropped his shield down, not seeing anything else. It would prove to be a critical mistake.
As one fell, another came out of hiding to leave a good scratch leading from Tristian's left ear, trailing down to near the opening of his mouth, while another gave the already open armor another puncture, and a push of metal inside a fleshy shell. Tristian doubled over, the blade retracting from his cheek-
-and finding his neck. He dropped, and the Atalan began to rove through his belongings, smirking as he claimed a set of prizes from the dead hunter. Talion's gift to him was the first thing stolen, along with the ranger's helm that had seen more battle than could be noted.
-----------------------------------
The sounds of rushing water. An eye seeing a body floating along a river, a hand reaching out to pull what remained of the hunter. A stream of red, emptying into a larger body of water, while the source was dragged to the ranger's lodge in Mirghul.
The hunter, in absolute pain, limped inside after Pippidi was able to bring a small dusting of life into his breath, just enough blood to pump through his body. His armor was in ruins, broken from the Atalan steel. After resting, with a small amount of aid from Buck Swift, he rose, and headed for Port Royale, shame and malcontent in his wake. After all, he still had daggers to remove, as well as armor that needed repair.
Alton had been right. Tristian Vike was enemy number one to the Atalan, and therefore a marked man. They had caught wind of his victories, and would make him pay with each opportunity. |
Tristian and Elghinn.
NWN logon =UltimatiumOmega
Lost item: Fire Bomb
Tristian Vike damages Erin: 19 (19 Fire)
Tristian Vike damages Tristian Vike: 7 (7 Fire)
Tristian Vike damages Kard Snyder: 10 (10 Fire) |
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Forbearance and my vengeance, payment for your intent.
Posted: 18 Jul 2007 08:12 PM |
"There is something I seek in life, tis a romantic thing I suppose, true love, the sort that gives a person someone to fall back on and of course, if something were to happen to you, the other person would do everything in their power to help you."
It wasn't the type of conversation Tristian exactly wanted to have, but here it was. In a small garden, with four walls surrounding it, a door that led back into the Order of the Seven Sisters.
Vakal GaIanderos sat along a bench, while the hunter and artisan looked him over, arms folded as the man spoke his mind. Apparently, he had caught wind of the situation between Kalid and Tristian, one that the artisan had assumed was well over, because she could not fathom the friends that Tristian chose. Those who, in her opinion, could threaten the relationship, if they wanted to take the hunter for themselves and leave the elve behind. And now, as Vakal spoke, Tristian listened.
"Simply that you both had a few arguments and that if she weren't the type to give up, she would come begging to come back. Between everyone I've ever seen her mention, I think you, she respects the most..."
The negotiator talked on, but Tristian's mind left the topic where it was as soon as the door opened, two hin making a mad dash for the far side of the garden, Buck Swift holding a large bone in his hand, while Lyle Ashe followed close behind. Ashe wanted to know what was going on. Even he seemed clueless, and Buck retorted with "Let's leave dis place, we can talk elsewhere." The two scampered out, and the quirked eyebrow Vike had rasied nestled back into alignment on his face. However, when a cloud of red smoke appeared soon afterward from that same spot. Both him and Vakal knew something was going wrong.
The specter rose right out of the fresh hole (grave?), and howled a banshee's scream. It rattled the senses of the hunter, and he was sure Vakal wasn't too excited to hear it either. Both of them drew and unleashed fury upon this nightmare in tranquility.
They both had fallen, the specter misting away before Sister Therese walked out to see the two males, with the stains of ichor and onyx sludge on their armor, leaving ragged marks across their faces, victims of some new tragedy.
Sister Therese lifted them off of the ground with a word, and both men looked to Ashe, who had returned, questions on their faces.
"Buck buried something over in that corner, something he got from the desert." Sister Therese decided to snoop it out for herself, and was met with a sudden, sharp spike taking her soul from the fleshy shell it was contained in.
Two more specters had emerged from the hole, while the three men muttered a collective "dangnabit". The three of them fled to the interior of the hospice, so that Vakal and the hunter could prepare. Spells were cast, and both men looked at each other. One wearing a skull fashioned from a lich, the other wearing a new ranger helm.
"Ready?" Tristian did not respond. He simply strode out, awaiting the art he had found in warfare. When they had walked out, there was two specters. Now... there was seven different forms of undead, all of them welcoming the newest feast as the two flesh and blood males descended upon them, and reclaimed the garden.
They did not have a moment's rest. Soon enough, an angel had appeared before them, except this was not one with beautiful white wings, or a perfect body that radiated light and purity. This one had the stench of dead, wings serving as nests to large swarms of maggots that flew around the creature, body made of what could only be classified as pure rot. Soon enough, another creature rose, one that haunted Tristian's memories from the trips into one of the many Kobai tombs.
They were forced to retreat, the undead following only for a moment. They walked at a hastened pace, and upon seeing one of the members...
"Sister Mina! Get everyone out, NOW," echoed the same time as Vakal's "Everyone clear out!" After a brief foray of uncertainty, Sister Mina had done as commanded, leaving the two to defend the Seven Sister's alone.
They fought well, but Vakal fell, leaving the artisan to retreat further. A blessing came from the Druid who felt the taint beyond the hills, and was already preparing. Amon and the hunter dragged the abomination nearly down, but not before Amon caught his own death.
Tristian uttered a command word, the robes on his body glowing a multitude of colors, as he sense of time was hastened to the point where the world had become a blur. His rage drove the decaying angel down, and snuffed the essense out of it.
Muttering a curse, he picked up the fallen guardian of nature... and walked into the chess hall, interrupting a match between his battle sister, and one of his best friends...
The preparations were quick. Tristian, Ophelia, the revived Amon, and Serai moved out to reclaim what did not belong to the hordes of the dead... |
Tristian and Elghinn.
NWN logon =UltimatiumOmega
Lost item: Fire Bomb
Tristian Vike damages Erin: 19 (19 Fire)
Tristian Vike damages Tristian Vike: 7 (7 Fire)
Tristian Vike damages Kard Snyder: 10 (10 Fire) |
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Birth of the Avatar, Death of the Divine.
Posted: 26 Jul 2007 01:26 PM |
"Who summons me?!"
Tristian pulled off his helm, to press his ear up to the door, enabling him to more audibly hear the conversation behind it. Whatever it was, it was huge, and ancient. It also contained a lot of power behind it which could be told through the voice. The other person in that room spoke to it.
"My name is Talion Deraith. I come for word of the lich Vestlat."
A low voice spoke evenly to the master swordsman.
"He is no longer here. He awaits the outcome."
"He was take- outcome of what?"
The dragon replied without hesitation. "The outcome of the war. In time it will all come... when we choose. Who we follow. Or even... become all powerful ourselves."
Talion pressed another question, seemingly satisfied with the undead monstrosity's answer. "Is it his Glyph that prevents the dead from being brought to life now?"
"It is his that builds his army. With each that fall. He grows stronger. We wait and see. See what is to become of the throne. Who shall sit upon it. Who shall rule. Perhaps... me."
Talion was not satisfied with this answer. "Yes... but how is Deth'des keeping people from being raised? Is it the Glyph of Aman'dur?"
"Death comes quick to those slain by the Avatar. Comes quicker than one can imagine. Souls become one with him." The cracking of bones was heard before the dragon spoke again. "You are not a cleric are you?"
"No."
"The days of the healers are numbered. One by one they fall. Soon.....there will be none. It is those that the Avatar hunts down."
The eyes of those in the room panned to Alton, priest of the wind, and the hunter, who was discovering his holy strength.
The wielder of Pandemonium offered another question. The answer would be the one that left a haunting impression. "By what power does the Avatar walk these lands?"
"By the powers of arrogance Talion Deraith. Your arrogance! The arrogance of all mortals. Who think that they are the incarnation of life and death itself. Little you have learned in the short time you have lived." A moment of silence, before the undead spoke again. "It is your arrogance that has brought you here. Is it not? I find that humorous. Thinking that Vestlat would aid you in this matter. How many times have the temples of the dead been raided for your own personal power?"
The words sank in, to each person that was present. The dragon spoke true, a haunting and grim reminder that no one in that room was innocent in the matter. Each of them had slain the armies of the dead, some countless times, in the meager pursuit of knowledge, wealth, or power.
"Clerics speak of being powerful than death itself! Fools! Even gods die! Why is it that mortals fail to learn this?! Why is it that they stride about with disregard to all?"
At this moment in time, Alton, the only other divine warrior besides Tristian, had turned the handle on the door, and snaked in, slipping through the minuscule crack between the door and the door frame. His presence was not unnoticed by the dragon, who immediately turned and glared at the holy man.
"Cleric of the wind." A deep, resonating laugh sprung forth from the the dead. Tristian felt a gloved hand take his arm, instinctively looking back to see Kalid, the source of the outstretched glove, making sure he was not going to follow the hin's movements, and enter that room itself.
"Ignorance is the only excuse we can claim," are the words that came from Talion's throat.
"Yes... and it is that word that shall be on all of your tombstones. Your time on this world is done." At this moment, the priest spoke up.
"Aye. What you were saying is true, but that is no reason for the entire world to suffer a death sentence."
The dragon gave a mocking tone to the hin. "No? For too long you have failed to learn. For too long you have scoffed at our warnings."
Alton did not flinch, nor cower. "The Fate you make is the only Fate you deserve. We might've made our fate like this, but we can change it. After all, everything dies, even immortals. Even the world."
"There are no more chances Alton Highhill. Indeed! You cannot kill the avatar."
"Then we won't kill him. But we won't let him kill us." Alton's words incited the dragon to laugh once again, a laugh that sent a breath of cool, dark air down the hunter's heated, sweating spine.
"We shall see. I offer you this... it is where he was found that is where he must stay."
Talion spoke "The desert," while Alton answered with "The Tomb of the Kings?" The dragon-dead responded.
"No Talion... think. Where did it all start? Where?! Where is it that your arrogance brought the world to this? Think. Where did it all start. Where... where..."
The dragon vanished from sight, as the group witnessed the haunting horrors of that small home rise up, and ambush the ill-prepared team. People died.
=========================
Talion studied the book. They were running out of time. Half of the group was dead. More nightmares would return in moments.
"...There must be something here." The book flipped pages on their own, stopping on a simple page with a multitude of arcane writing etched onto it. After much consideration, Talion agreed to attempt to read the writing, to reverse the effects of death, to revive those in that room, and the room outside. All of them, before something else came back. Talion began to read out loud the arcane writings. Tristian did not notice the skip in the magister's voice, the mispronunciation of the the magic text, for he was not attuned to the writing as well as the swordsman. However, when he saw the small, yellow ball spinning around Talion, Alton, and himself... he knew something had gone wrong.
In his mind, Tristian braced for impact, and pondered. This... this is going to hurt very badly.
Then the hellball exploded. |
Tristian and Elghinn.
NWN logon =UltimatiumOmega
Lost item: Fire Bomb
Tristian Vike damages Erin: 19 (19 Fire)
Tristian Vike damages Tristian Vike: 7 (7 Fire)
Tristian Vike damages Kard Snyder: 10 (10 Fire) |
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Notes
Posted: 28 Jul 2007 12:32 PM |
*The following is deep into the green tome; scratchings made during a moment of isolation.*
SS: Det.rt/noneCrd? Av.SipPos. KZmg/rsg-BrthElim., Mlrbg-cble? Sup.
Can set more traps with mind than most can achieve.
KG: +c.1stL, -M, +obed. (fault), J woes/acc. fR, --T QA
I'm not in this to be a slave. I must compare verbal words and actions to see parallels. Needs improvement on both ends.
QA: SyC -=life/Md, dP=comm.wds.(?)Oonoom/Naoogd(?), ++s. 1/2friend-other1/2->V, wlth-CM-akWth (rltd?). ThorM?
_______________________When the most fearful thing in existence refuses to take what it needs to survive, this becomes an issue, and is a matter worth finding out.______________________ __________________free fall_________________
V: Hk-Rng/Hu, obedI1st, -off. toHk/rev.
I await the moment I can speak to his priestess, to eliminate the dark dwarves from the caves once and for all.
O/JX: Stlkd/Brth- freq, OzWn-G-hour of battle draws near, ++rel, +tst, +skld.
They know what they are doing in their endeavors, and I hope to aid them in their latest struggle.
LMS: -Msng(?) +Trth rvld-intg? -TrKsire, cflct-fxng. -dscpleFall/Heart. JX-Trth; -wrd/regrd. PhzSpi=V (obtain (actual/locale))
Patience is necessary, and the only action that can be taken at this point. Crucial talk needed.
ID: +Swt/-Vndct. +EV; Nth'U-HntGrd? TtoM? +F-wthy/sgeNthr'I.
GaI: paid, now hired to my employ. Apntc-HKlr. Srg-smsfrm? HorUH?
Potential. Will start with small job first, and watch/evaluate, and designate from there.
AR: Knd-Swt. Elbth, disapproves methods. hsbd? smt, crfl.
Eat and drink well? Is/was it opportunity?
EA: TrndHklr-w/n in b./KG. Brd?L? Msng?
The inside of the book always tells the story better.
Ah: Fthfl. Cmbtprw.Exceptional.
No issue with. Vital to anything I do.
T: Bld-arg? HdnMot--Lkly. Cmbtprw.Superb.
No issue with. Respect will be given to him.
LA: Dmn/Lch;comm. -Sol?? Tnt?
This screams of dark intent. Watch and act if needed.
The Avatar
-To be avoided at all costs.
-Death means death. No holy rite shall save.
-Deth'des... ursurprer of Gukathul?
-Idea: Enemy of my enemy is my friend? What will I give?
When you and a friend are being chased by a tiger, and the tiger begins to catch up to you... |
Tristian and Elghinn.
NWN logon =UltimatiumOmega
Lost item: Fire Bomb
Tristian Vike damages Erin: 19 (19 Fire)
Tristian Vike damages Tristian Vike: 7 (7 Fire)
Tristian Vike damages Kard Snyder: 10 (10 Fire) |
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Apprentice and the City
Posted: 12 Aug 2007 01:15 PM |
The smell of burnt clover waifed through the air, penetrating his nasal passages, registering as a bad, awful smell. However, Tristian did not flinch, nor make a face. He had smelt the odor a thousand times before.
The lady that caused the mess did make a face, a crunching action that made an attempt to seal off the fumes from her senses. When she had finished, she attempted to make heal worts for the first time. Out of a total of four, all of them came out flawless.
The hunter smiled at his new apprentice. He didn't think of what was said only moments before hand, that made her completely flustered, unsure, and confused. He eased that worry rather quickly, opting to clear her mind so she could work better. The talk about Cerno, and his lack of being supportive (at least in Tristian's mind) was dismissed before the work was started. He moved on now, teaching her the more practical uses of the tools on the table.
"Now, the tricky part with a heal potion... is the distilling of the holy water in the alembic. If you distill it too much, you lose that potency. If you don't distill it enough, it spoils the holy water, after mixing in the almond and the birch."
Alis quickly wrote notes down as he explained each part in detail. A good long time with each of them, he had the information to fill a book regarding the things on the table. He also explained where to gather some of the more rarer ingredients.
His lesson was done, but she needed to show discipline and determination in brewing the liquids together. He trekked across the lands, gathering what he needed to make a minor necklace to heighten Alis' senses when it came to what was on the table. He felt he should have done more, but left it alone. His emotions were still leaking in from that minor puncture he's always had.
The trip home was lonely, and uneventful. Opening the door, an envelope was at his feet, inside his room. He expected it to be from Salt, or Kalid, or someone that he was close with. Maybe even one from Alis herself. But much to his surprise, it bore the official seal of Port Royale, stamped in wax, on the backside.
His eyes narrowed to a cautious glare, as the seal was broken, and the letter opened.
Mister Vike,
Your message has been received and we shall send an emissary to conduct further business...
"Well..." was the only thing Tristian said, as the letter was tucked away. |
Tristian and Elghinn.
NWN logon =UltimatiumOmega
Lost item: Fire Bomb
Tristian Vike damages Erin: 19 (19 Fire)
Tristian Vike damages Tristian Vike: 7 (7 Fire)
Tristian Vike damages Kard Snyder: 10 (10 Fire) |
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The second time.
Posted: 14 Aug 2007 07:37 PM |
It was all normal, up until the point the Atalan had shown up in masses in the mines.
Tristian's day started normally enough. Having found a place to rest his head, a cozy hidden corner of Port, he started his day with a bit of writing. Alchemy notes and formulas were put down in extreme detail, and sealed up and delivered to his apprentice.
He toured, collecting cohosh from the mines. Malar hides from the orc mountain.
Then he agreed to go mining with Vrodo, for iron. He figured it would help, since he could benefit his brother with the lifting, and take some home for himself, working some arrows into his schedule of various crafts.
As they drove their axes into the rocks, they did not hear the squad of Atalan approach. He did feel, however, the arrows penetrate his back, the poison seeping through his body, and his failed attempt to get armor or defenses up. He was downed quickly, catching a glimpse of his assailants as he fell.
There was at least three... four? Five? More? They stood while two assassin's were more than enough for the ill-prepared rangers. Vrodo and Tristian both lie dead before them.
Darkness.
Neither of them heard the Judicator telling two to haul the bodies away to captivation. They didn't hear the two panic about strange sounds in the mine, nor did they hear the sounds of an immense bear soon feasting upon the two ill-prepared dark elves.
The bear looked back at the huntress, whom smiled, satisfied.
"I didn't even have to lift a finger..." Tristian was hoisted onto the same bear, fangs dripping with the blood and flesh of Atalan in it's maw, and ran off, out of the mine, the artisan in tow.
Tristian awakened in a room with the tile floor greeting him. A voice, female, greeted him.
"Stay where you are Mister Vike..." |
Tristian and Elghinn.
NWN logon =UltimatiumOmega
Lost item: Fire Bomb
Tristian Vike damages Erin: 19 (19 Fire)
Tristian Vike damages Tristian Vike: 7 (7 Fire)
Tristian Vike damages Kard Snyder: 10 (10 Fire) |
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