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Rumours and Portents
Posted: 21 Oct 2005 01:22 AM |
The rumor is spreading among the lands…
Many have already seen a white haired woman (although sometimes people say she had hair the colour of cherries) wearing a breastplate over a long dress flowing in the breeze, riding on a splendid steed, as white as the snow, as swift as the wind. The Maiden (so everyone calls her) always carry a standard in one hand, symbolizing a butterfly with a single, silver star on a white satin background.
Rumors also say that she often stops to help people and tell them about a “better future” and some “Code of true Virtue”, even of some “Lost souls” to rally with her in a “search for Justice” on an “Island in the mists”…
But after all, these are just rumors… |
Purpose in life: finding better ways of allowing players to kill themselves. Repeatedly.
--
"...Cause he mixes it with love
And makes the world taste good."
--
<@James42> Lawful good isn't in your vocabulary, it's on your menu.
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Re: Rumours and Portents
Posted: 21 Oct 2005 01:22 AM |
| *bump* |
Purpose in life: finding better ways of allowing players to kill themselves. Repeatedly.
--
"...Cause he mixes it with love
And makes the world taste good."
--
<@James42> Lawful good isn't in your vocabulary, it's on your menu.
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Re: Rumours and Portents
Posted: 21 Oct 2005 11:47 AM |
The rumor is spreading among the lands...
A knight walks the lands, clad in black and gold. He bears on his chest and sword athe crest of a time and place long thought gone. He speaks of the past, and the future. He speaks of true nobility in Men; a city set above and apart from the base corruption that so easily ensnares Men's hearts.
He speaks of Aristi, and the Heralds that protected Her.
He is a bearer of the Mark of Aristi; a phantom of a forgotten time and place; a would-be Herald of Aristi.
He speaks of a Code to any who would listen, and offers a chance to learn more. To gather at the island of the mists, all Men that yearn to fight for a justice long forgotten by the powers of the present world. To be a Light in a world of darkness. To restore the Nobility of Man and nurture in each person a true sense of righteousness and peace.
From Port Royale to Icy Vale, from Buckshire to the reminants of Haven, he spread speaks of a Code to ennoble those who would follow.
Uphold Justice, for it is your strength
Fight inequity, for all are part of the Greater Good
Protect the weak, for who else will defend them
Be humble in all things, for pride brings the fall
Be merciful to all, even your enemies. Vengeance begets evil
Be peaceful to the peaceful
Walk with honor and uphold all good things.
This is the Code of the Heralds. This is the Code of Aristi. |
My name is Byron Lorian....I am the Last Son |
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Re: Rumours and Portents
Posted: 19 Jan 2006 05:48 PM |
A fair haired man traveling from pub to pub across the lands.
In each he buys food and drink for all within and pays local bards to sing throughout the night. It is said that after a few drink he can be heard speaking about the order of the Novus Aristi. He speaks in awe about how rich the movement is, and how the rebels never suffer for a meal. Then in another pub he speaks mockingly of how the rebel army has recruited beggers to canvas the streets because they are suffering a lack of funds. He has been heard laughing and joking in another that the soldiers are thin and malnourished and can barely lift a blade. In yet another he speaks somberly of how the army is suffering for supplies. How most of its soldiers are reduced to training with farm tools and crafting crude weapons from sticks and rocks. How thier once bright armor is now tarnished and rusted. Then in another with all gathered around he speaks loud of how the army has hired the best smiths and enchanters in the land and are creating powerful magical weapons and armor for all its soldiers. In another dank and shady bar he speaks of how the army drills day and night and how all the former paladins of Midor are among thier ranks. Ready for the chance to reclaim thier former glory. Yet down the road and around the bend he speaks of how the army is spread throughout the land. That they are lax and thier lines of comunication are slow an unreliable.
He makes many friends. He tells many tales, but is gone before the morn. A nameless stranger of the night.
Only one fact does he spread in each pub the same.. That the leaders of the rebellion have run away leaving the young Lillian in charge of the army. |
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Re: Rumours and Portents
Posted: 27 Jan 2006 12:00 PM |
An elderly, bearded man had taken up residence at the Broken Mask and seemed content to do nothing more than live out his days. He would have been beyond notice save for the invariability of his routine.
Each morning, he would arrive with a noticeable limp from his room and sit alone at a corner table. Each morning, he would order his bowl of gruel and an egg, boiled hard. And each morning he would slice the egg, mixing it with his gruel, and then eat without so much as a word to another – except the one morning when Doreen, a serving wench who felt pity for the old man, had questioned him of the habit in effort to draw him from his reticence. He looked at her for a time before answering simply, “an old habit.”
He said nothing more.
At the end of each week, he would leave a small pouch of coin on the table’s edge – enough to cover his expenses. It carried on like this for months. It was always the same with him. That is, it was always the same until the one morning when the fair-haired traveler had taken his breakfast at the Broken Mask and shared his tale of the order of the Novus Aristi. In this telling, it was soldiers, thin and malnourished, forced to train with farm tools who had answered the Order’s call. Doreen would later say she noticed the elderly man took his time over his gruel that morning, and listened, growing enrapt by the fair-haired traveler’s words. Others had not noticed, but neither Doreen nor the others saw the man after that day. He had departed in the night, leaving nothing behind save a small pouch of coin - enough to cover his expenses. |
"Beer is living proof that god loves us and wants us to be happy." - Benjamin Franklin
"I hate quotation." - Ralph Waldo Emerson :P |
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Re: Rumours and Portents
Posted: 29 Jan 2006 05:17 PM |
The Mirguil Forest. Thick with tree and brush. A wild wooded land where one could go to perfectly lose themselves from civilization and all races of Vives. Solitude and isolation were whispered upon the trees by each leaf it held.
Or, as the case may be, it could be where someone can go to unexpectedly meet any variety of people.
Such seemed to be the case so often as Willom and Iris traveled the deep woodland area, and this day was no different.
“Hello there,” came the casual greeting of a familiar voice from an outcrop of ground above. Willom looked up to see Conn waving at them. It was always a pleasure for him to see Conn, one who has helped them so often without question, and Willom smiled to the pleasant surprise.
“Hello, Conn,” Iris returned warmly, and they climbed the rise to their friend.
They spoke casually about topical subjects for a time, until a rustling caught their attention, and their eyes caught the glimmer of red approaching them. Iris drew her bow reflexively.
“Well, this is a joy,” Sir Percival Sanner stated with his usual acidic tone. He gave a smile, and Willom was pricked by its barbs. “Mr. Wilde. And Ms. Tammarack.” His eyes then fell to Conn with unguarded disdain. “Mr. Connavar,” he stated flatly. Conn folded his arms and nodded in such a way that would have made Willom flinch were he on the receiving end.
The presence of Sanner for Willom was usually an effective way of deflating his spirits for the day. Today, however, it was merely a tense convenience, as Willom and Iris happened to be on their way to see him. “Sir Percival,” Willom greeted. “Amazing. How do you always seem to find me in the oddest places?”
Sanner’s features remained stolid, though Willom could sense the pride and condescension oozing out of the cracks. “My luck, I suppose.”
“The irony, however, is that I was actually looking for you.”
Percival raised a surprised eyebrow to Willom. “Oh? Well, this is your day then, eh? And why, may I ask, are you looking for me?”
Willom looked to Conn, and immediately felt regret. Too many times, the inconvenience of fate and circumstance had forced Willom to cast Conn aside. In truth, Willom would wish few others to be on his side. Current situations, however, had the tendency to be quite inconvenient for Willom. This was one of those moments. It was time to act out one of his many roles in the deadly game he played.
In cautious tone to Percival, Willom asked, “Perhaps we could step away and speak privately a moment?” He turned to Conn. “I am sorry, my friend. Do you mind?”
“No, of course,” Conn replied, and looked briefly upon Percival one last time. Percival tilted his head to Conn and gave him a smile that sizzled like frying bacon. “I will be on my way. Take care Willom...Iris.”
Iris waved to Conn. “Good seeing you again, Conn.”
They watched the warrior step away, lost soon to the woods.
Percival sighed with contempt. “The company you keep, Mr. Wilde....leaves something to be said.”
Willom let go a frustrated sigh. “Sir Percival. How can I write this play if I do not keep company with those involved in the subject?”
Iris’ eyes fell upon Percival. “What’s wrong with Conn?”
Percival’s shoulders rolled back slightly as his nostrils flared. “Hmmph! The man used to be a thug of Jessup the Younger!”
Willom froze, certain he had heard Sanner wrong. “He what?”
Percival’s response was repugnant. “You heard me. He used to work for that pig. Tsk, tsk.”
Willom found this impossible to believe. Sanner was playing with him. “Oh, no. I believe you are quite mistaken, Sir Percival.”
Iris was equally obstinate to this news. “Conn is not like that. He is a very kind man who will help anyone in trouble.”
Sanner’s mouth curled, and Willom was certain he was enjoying this. “I’m afraid not. It’s quite true. You must remember, it was my duty to bring down that organization. I have done much research on them.”
Willom was stunned. He didn’t want to believe Sanner, but at the same time, what would someone think about himself, who had inadvertently gotten involved with the same organization? “Perhaps...I do not dig deeply enough,” Willom muttered.
“Now then Mr Wilde...what is it you wish to see me about?”
Willom’s thoughts were still tangled by this news of Conn, but he tried to push it back. “Yes, of course. Well, as I have told you, I’ve been researching this play, and I decided it was time to dig deeper into this Aristi cult.”
That got a reaction out of Sanner. Willom savored the stiffening face. “Really?” Percival responded.
Willom nodded. “You see, Sir Percival, it’s quite easy for me to infiltrate such groups, as I have no outward affiliations.”
“Quite,” Percival pondered.
“Do you know anything of this group?” Willom asked him, and it was a bit facetious, but Willom could not resist.
Percival’s reply was equally coy. “Perhaps.” He grinned. “Mr. Wilde. There is someone that can help you.” The grin spread to a smile. “If youll allow me to make arrangements. I can set a meeting for you.”
Willom’s insides twisted. Percival had been nothing but persistent trying to get him before Vidus. Willom had kept him at bay so far, but he could only dodge this proposal for so long. “I have actually found out a bit on my own, if you will allow me, Sir Percival.”
“Oh yes, yes.”
“To the point. Everything that I had heard about these Heralds involved two names: A Byron Lorian and a Blanche LaBelle. These were supposedly the leaders of this group.”
Percival scowled. “Heretics.”
“Yes, yes, of course. But this is not the point, you see. Now, I had met this Byron and Blanche once before, early on, and spoken with them. I was not impressed.”
Sanner’s brow knitted together. “Oh? Where did you meet them? And......when?” He stepped closer to Willom, and Willom swore he could feel heat radiating off the red, garish armour of the Righteous Swords onto him.
“They...bound us...blindfolded us...so we couldn't know where the location was. It was over a month ago, to be sure.”
“That is not important anyhow,” Iris stated.
Percival’s eyes ignited. “I beg to differ madam. It is of the most serious import!” The righteous sword turned back to Willom. “However...we can discuss this later. Continue.”
Willom resumed. “They were quite suspicious of us at first. However, it was fairly easy to win the man over once I stroked his ego about this play. But, to get any actual substance out of him was quite a chore, let me tell you!”
Percival sneered. “I’m sure.”
“He was nothing but a love-sick puppy over this woman he keeps. And Blanche was a flighty woman who could not keep a focused thought! I wondered to myself, ‘Could these truly be the leaders of an army???’"
“They didn’t seem able to lead anything,” Iris added.
“Indeed,” Percival said. “Of that I agree.”
Willom moved in slightly, his brows lowering with intrigue. “A few days ago, we found out the truth.” Willom paused for dramatic effect. “Byron and Blanche are nothing to the Aristi movement. They are figures only.”
“Really?” Percival stated, but Willom could not read the man’s reaction.
“ There is one among them. An ex-paladin. She is the force behind the Heralds. She keeps herself hidden so as not to be a target.”
Percival seemed intrigued. “Her name?”
“Lillian Blackstone. She is the brains and the force behind the entire outfit. It is to her that the Heralds dedicate themselves.”
“She is very dangerous,” Iris stressed.
Percival frowned. “Ahh yes...Blackstone.”
Willom nodded. “She uses her Paladin training to enthrall their new recruits.”
Sanner seemed to absorb the information. “Interesting.”
“ We thought you might wish to know this,” Willom concluded with an insinuating raise of the brow.
“ Indeed Mr Wilde. I would like to thank you. Very brave of you.” Sanner extended his hand to Willom, who received it vigorously.
“Oh, it is the very least we can do, Sir Percival!”
“I assure you, you will be protected, Mr. Wilde.”
Willom lightly scoffed at this remark. “Oh, I am quite safe, I can assure you.”
“No, no Mr Wilde. These people are dangerous.”
“I believe we have secured their trust, Sir Percival.”
“Excellent!! That is good news indeed. I must say I am most surprised.” He paused for thought, then nodded with satisfaction. “Well. Now that we know you are in with them we can arrange their capture thanks to you.”
Willom bowed graciously. “We are at your service, Sir Percival.”
“Remember,” Iris said to Percival. “You only need Lillian and the rest will fall.”
“Yes. Byron and Blanche are decoys.”
“ Oh no no.” Percival’s steel gaze turned oppressive to Willom. “They all must be brought in.” His grin seemed as taut as a bow string. “All!”
Willom stammered slightly. “Well...yes...of course. In time. But don't spread your forces thin. This Lillian is cunning! Cunning, I tell you! Remember, she was trained by your own ranks!!”
“Nonsense,” Percival dismissed. “With the faith of Midoran and our army, they shall stand no chance.”
Willom’s throat became dry. “I am sure.”
Sanner’s face loomed over Willom. “All because of you.” His teeth glimmered in his smile.
Willom could only swallow and smile back.
“Now lets see....Yes. I’ll make arrangements for you.” He put his finger to his lips in concentration. “Yes. I know just the one.”
Willom was feeling a sickening lurch in his stomach. “The...one?”
Iris frowned, shifting in her place. “One what?”
“The one that shall guide you and protect you.” Sanner’s grin seemed petrified on his face.
Willom quickly and defensively waved a dismissive hand at Percival. “Oh, no, no. Really! Completely unnecessary!”
“You will be in good hands, Mr. Wilde. I wont hear of any objections.”
“But-!”
“ I insist,” Percival intoned, and Willom was reluctantly impressed by just how effectively insistent Percival could be. “After all, you will be a marked man after this. Why...the enemies of Midor shall come to you like flies to honey. But one by one they shall fall. All because of you.”
Iris was showing desperation in her tone. “If you send someone now, they may blow Willom's cover.”
A slight movement from the shadows caught Willom’s eye. “Did you-? Is someone....?” He saw the figure then, clad in red armour like Percival, but more dramatic. The stern female stood there, and it was impossible for Willom to tell how long she has simply been standing there... watching in perfect unmoving silence, with two severe-looking blades grasped in each of her hands.
Percival bowed to her. “Good morn.”
Willom’s sinking feeling was deepening. He eyed the woman with trepidation. “Sir...Percival?” he asked, unable to keep his voice steady. “Who is this?”
The woman acknowledged Sanner with authority. “As you were, Mister Sanner.”
Iris leaned into Willom, and her voice was hushed and suspicious. “Now, how did I miss that one coming up? I should have heard her.”
“Thank you, Ma’am,” Percival answered and stepped back, hands folding behind his back as he widened his stance to a stationary respect.
Willom’s concern was starting to feel suspiciously like fear. His eyes flitted between Percival and the woman. “What...what is this?”
“Relax, Mr Wilde,” Percival chided with some frustration. “After all, you are a valuable asset to us.”
Willom forced a smile. “Relax? Well, of course I'm relaxed. Why wouldn't I be relaxed?”
Iris took a step forward. “Is this supposed to be our protector? She stands out a bit.”
The unknown, red-armoured woman turned rigidly to Willom. Her gaze never touched Iris. Her tone was emotionless and flat. “Your presence is required at the Midor Temple in a week.”
Sanner smiled to Willom at this, and though Willom tried to smile back, he found that his face muscles no longer worked quite right.
The mysterious woman contintued. “My orders come directly from His Grace, the White Bishop Khain, himself.”
At the name of the bishop, Percival stiffened with respect.
Yes, Willom’s face was falling apart. His jaw seemed to insist upon investigating his chest, and his eyes didn’t seem content in their sockets anymore. He pointed at himself with disbelief. “M-me? T-the White Bishop?”
The woman’s stare was piercing. “I do not think I need to repeat myself.”
Iris’ voice became gruff and defiant. “Why must he go?”
Willom meanwhile tugged at his beard nervously. “Um, next week? Oh, dear, dear, dear. Let's see. I think- YES! I...I have an appointment then. What a shame. But maybe we can reschedule...?”
Sanner slowly shook his head at Willom, but the woman showed no change in emotion. She merely said in the same severe manner, “Unacceptable. You will be at the Temple. One way or another.”
Willom knew he could not get out of this. Finally, after all this time, he was going to have his meeting with Vidus Khain. His spine felt rubbery. “Oh. Yes. Of course. It...It was nothing important. I...I will be honored to see the White Bishop, of course.”
The stony face of the woman would not stray from Willom’s eyes. “Seven days, this time, then.” Then, her eyes narrowed, and Willom thought he had never seen such cold eyes in his life. “I will be watching you.” She finally turned to look at Iris as well. “Both.”
“Thanks for that,” Iris muttered bitterly under her breath.
Willom bowed shakily to the imposing woman. “I look forward to it.” He tried to smile, but his lips only pursed tightly. “Well, um...lovely to meet you, miss....Oh, I didn't catch your name?”
Percival gave a terse clearing of his throat.
The woman responded bluntly. “That information is classified.”
“Oh, well, of course it is. Of course it is! Yes. Well, a pleasure none-the-less.”
She turned her gaze from Willom and, with a brief nod to Sanner in farewell; she stepped off silently and was lost to sight amidst the trees. Willom didn’t know if she was gone, or just hiding.
Percival was beaming. “Well isnt that exciting! The arch Bishop himself! You are lucky!”
Iris smoldered. “Exciting isn't exactly the word I had in mind.”
Percival looked Willom over and gave a concerned hum. “However, those rags won’t do. You must clean yourself up.” He nodded to Iris. “You as well. You shant go before the arch bishop like that.”
“These are simply our travel leathers. Sir Percival! Really! I'm surprised at you. You think I would not dress my finest for the Bishop?”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Iris mumbled.
Percival’s tone turned exhaustive as he tilted toward Willom. “And for Midoran’s sake...no dresses!”
Despite the anxiety he was feeling, Willom could not resist. “Oh, no. I reserve the dresses only for you, Sir Percival.”
Percival blinked, was about to reply, then dismissed the thought. “In any event, things seem to be going well. If it continues this way, your tombstone shall read ‘Protector of Midor!’ Well done, Mr. Wilde! Well done!”
Willom’s hand clutched at his chest. “My...tombstone???”
“Oh. Well, that’s if you fall to those heretics. But fear not! We shall do our best to protect you. And with Grunge watching you, you’ll be fine.” He nodded with satisfaction.
Iris’ jaw went slack. “Grunge?”
“Why yes. Grunge. He’ll be with you this week to ensure you make to your meeting. He’s quite the bodyguard.”
Willom’s mind flashed white with utter panic. “WHAT?! But that lumbering giant was trying to KILL me!!!”
“Oh, I’ll have a talk with him. Not to worry.”
Willom jabbed an accusatory finger at Sanner. “You! You did send him after me!!!!”
Percival gasped. “Nonsense.”
Iris glared at Percival. “Then who did?”
Percival shrugged. “I do not know. He is however...a mercenary. And as it stands, we can’t very well have a Midor guard guiding you, can we?”
Willom’s mind was suddenly overwhelmed by Grunge’s monstrous face and his rank, overpowering odor. He could still see Grunge introducing his “girlfriend” to them, and he broke out in a clammy sweat. It was too much. In desperate situations such as these, there was really only one sensible, logical thing to do.
Grovel.
“No. Not Grunge! Please!! “
Iris attempted a more focused strategy of rational thought. “Everyone knows Grunge tried to kill Willom. How can we explain suddenly being his bestest buddy?”
Percival seemed to take this all in. “Well, I tell you what. There is one that I can send along with him. She is young... but is up to the task, I’m sure. I’ll see what I can do.”
Willom did not buy this solution. “What is she??? A hill giant??? No, no thank you!”
Iris scoffed. “A snow orc, perhaps?”
Sanner tried to calm him. “Please, Mr. Wilde. Trust me. You’ll be fine. Now, I must be off.” He grabbed Willom’s limp hand and pumped it again. “Well done again!!! Take care. I look forward to our next meeting!”
And with that, Sir Percival Sanner was gone. Willom and Iris were once again alone in the quiet solitude of the woods. And as Willom looked with wide-eyed shock at the slumping Iris, he could only wonder to himself, What in the world just happened here? |
Willom Wilde--Actor, Playwrite, Head of Wilde's Vials, and fearful of all things cheesy
Califus Sarten--Mercenary for Hire
Bennigan Songsinger--Brooding bard. |
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