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Paladin's Endgame
Posted: 30 Mar 2004 10:04 AM |
Centuries ago the throne would have been considered a piece of art. Carved from the finest oak and embellished with gold and silver accents, the throne in it’s formative years was said to belong to the Prince of Aristi himself. With the Fall of Aristi and the subsequent rise of Midor, the throne, as well as much of the treasure of Aristi was lost to history.
The tale of how the throne journeyed from fallen Aristi to the dark shores of Moldovia had been lost to antiquity. Mr. Loccard did not know, and at that point, he could not have cared. His full attention was on the shadowed figure that sat upon one of the ancient thrones of Aristi. The hands of the shadowed figure rested on the throne’s arms and his face was obscured by darkness. The figure was dressed in flowing dark clothes that disguised his exact form. “I grow impatient, Loccard.” The voice was strained, like butter spread across too much bread.
“Master,” Mr. Loccard spoke quickly, “My spell was successful. I have caused much discord in Midor..”
“You have done nothing of the sort,” spat the figure. Mr. Loccard cringed at the interruption. “You follow your own petty desires for revenge. A desire I will indulge, for now, but only to a point.”
Mr. Loccard knotted his brows in fear. His master was difficult to please, and Mr. Loccard’s failure in Midor did not help the matter. “But master,” spilled Mr. Loccard, “If you give me only a few more days, I will drive a wedge into the hearts of those loyal to him. You will see, even if we return him to Midor, he will be disgraced.”
The dark figure raised it’s forefinger, “Why should we care of that, Loccard? This is your own petty game. You have been careless. Needless threats and poor judgment has plauged your efforts in Midor. You toy with the mortals in the white walls, and for what?" The dark figure spoke me?”
The question had the desired effect. Mr. Loccard dropped to his knees, “No, master, never that!” He buried his hands in his face, “What do you require of me, master?”
“Remember why you are here, Loccard. You live on my whim only. Do not forget why you are in Midor. It is not to torture paladins.” The figure sat back in the throne, hiding more of his form in shadow. “I give you one more week. After that, you may do with the paladin as you will. Release him, kill him, I do not care.” He waved his hand dismissively, “Now leave me.”
With effort, Mr. Loccard removed himself from his masters presence without seeming overly eager to be gone. Only one week, what could he accomplish in a week? Mr. Loccard returned straightaway to the dungeon, where his favorite prisoner was kept. Perhaps after another round of tourture it would be easier to decide. |
Most men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them.
-Henry David Thoreau
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Re: Paladin's Endgame
Posted: 30 Mar 2004 10:43 AM |
| OOC I knew it! Great beginning of the end =) |
Humbly Submitted,
Sinjin Kane |
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Paladin's Endgame
Posted: 30 Mar 2004 07:29 PM |
The lock was heavy. The door was strong enough to stop someone long enough so a priest or a paladin would hear the noise. Yes, Blanche was safe inside her room. Safe enough to start speaking again, even if it was to nobody else than herself.
"Oh My... What have I done! I know I shouldn't speak to Mykal, I know it! But ... But what? I don't even know! A burst of courage? No....of course not I was shaking like there was no tomorrow. Foolishness? No, I know that I have to do something...Then what, why did I told him that I would take care of him, that I'll find what was going on...I'm so..."
She sighed as she sat on her bed. A burden he said before he left? Yes indeed! And even more than that...
A knock on the door made her jump. Who was it? Maybe it was...him? And she's all alone! The door shook a bit as the knock was a bit louder and more nervous. Another knock. Blanche ran in her room as she tried to hide behind her bed...Yes, it was him...Who would knock at her door this late! Someone told him that she tried to speak...but..but she never told it! She closed her eyes and heard a feminine voice.
"Blanche, what in the great heavens are you doing!!! Open the door! Are you ok? Answer me or I force the lock in no time!!!!"
Indeed, in no time the door was opened, showing a tall woman, with brown hair. The woman entered, holding a set of keys, and look around...
"Blanche where are you? Y..."
The woman stopped. Blanche was behind her bed, shaking and crying. Blanche looked at the woman and recognized her: she was the one who take care of her during her convalescence, Arian.
"Blanche ... are you alright?"
Blanche rushed in Arian's arms. She was safe for now... |
Frodo : What are we holding on to, Sam?
Sam : That there’s some good in this world, Mr. Frodo. And it’s worth fighting for.
-The Two Towers |
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Re: Paladin's Endgame
Posted: 30 Mar 2004 07:33 PM |
((OOC))
This is a great read! |
I'm The Cult of Personality. |
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Re: Paladin's Endgame
Posted: 31 Mar 2004 06:07 PM |
“You were seen!” His voice, which was usually thin and raspy, found new strength in its rage. “I should kill you where you stand!”
Mr. Loccard cringed at his master’s words. Fear kept his apology lodged in his throat. “The elf has seen you. Why did you not kill her when you had the chance?” The dark figure stood ominously pointing a long finger accusingly at Mr. Loccard.
“I…I wanted her t…to know,” his words failed him again.
“I understand your intent,” the venom in his words struck Mr. Loccard as deeply as any whip. “And it is flawed. Now she knows your true intent. And she will tell the others. And after that, even after all of that, you managed to be seen by the half-man.”
“P..Pickston is devious,” stammered Mr. Loccard. “He is hard to avoid.”
“You should not have been there in the first place!” Mr. Loccard could almost feel the white-hot anger pulsating from, his master. “Your foolish desire to revel in your handiwork compromised you. What if the half-man recognizes you?”
Mr. Loccard knew his master was correct. He was fortunate that Pickston did not remember him, though it had been many years ago. Mr. Loccard’s graying hair had been shorter as well as black, and his face had been meticulously clean-shaven. Such was the life of a sailor in Her Majesty’s navy.
He blocked out his masters voice, allowing the memories come. He had served in Her Majesty’s navy for ten years by the time he met Pickston for the first time. He had been a quartermaster on board the HMS Queen’s Hammer, an outdated man-of-war that was better suited for custom patrols then high seas, front line duty. It was a ship filled with officers whose careers were in decline. A common threat to officers in the rest of the navy was a transfer to the Queen’s Hammer. “The place where careers to go die,” was the joke officers on other vessels often told. Mr. Loccard recalled the low moral, high desertion rates, harsh discipline, and a series of inept crewmember that plagued the beleaguered ship. It was on board the Queens Hammer that Mr. Loccard developed a taste for using whips as a form of discipline. And as quartermaster, he made sure that he was supplied with plenty of fine, hardened leather whips. It would have been a shame to be left without one on the long sea voyages.
One day the Queens Hammer came upon a small caravel. A green cross flag, a universal signal to other vessels to prepare for boarding by custom’s officials of Port Royale, was raised per standard procedure. Fear of pirates was minimal in the part of the ocean, as the waters were heavily patrolled by the Queen’s navy, causing pirates to give the area a wide berth. The caravel turned its sails into the wind in an effort to outflank the cumbersome man-of-war. Captain Pritson, was the venerable Capitan of the Queen’s Hammer. This had been his command for nearly ten years, and while he knew the reputation of his crew, he always refused offers for transfer. The captain ordered full mast in an effort to cut off the nimble caravel. The first mate, a swarthy man named Gerod, ordered the starboard cannons loaded with shot. The Queen’s Hammer may have not been a ship of the line, but the sheer number of cannon’s in her line still made her a formidable opponent. Cannon’s thundered as the first volley sprung from the Queen’s Hammer towards the speeding caravel. “Reload,” shouted Gerod, “We’ll git them dogs yet!”
The cannon’s on the Queen’s Hammer were as outdated as the ship herself, but there was a reason they were still in use. Rather then firing single iron balls, the cannons on this particular man-of-war fired scattered shot, ineffective against other large warships but still commonly used in custom patrols. Custom patrol ships were usually larger and more sluggish then those attempting to avoid customs, so a way to hit faster, more maneuverable targets was necessary. Scattershot cannons were the answer.
First, gunpowder was manually tamped into the rear of the cannon through the barrel’s opening. Then several small balls of iron, called shot by the sailors, were loaded, again through the front opening. Each ball of shot was about the size of a man’s fist. Igniting the gunpowder caused the shot to be expelled from the cannon towards the target. This type of cannon normally had slow reload time and poor accuracy. It counted on the shot spread to tear into the hulls of opposing ships, causing widespread damage rather then damage focused on a single area. The shot would also allow for a wide spread of fire for the larger customer vessels, which was useful when smugglers and blockade-runners attempted to use their superior maneuverability.
The mystery regarding the Queen’s Hammer that baffled even the highest ranks in the admiralty was that a crew with such an inept reputation could be so successful in stopping smugglers. The Queen’s Hammer, despite its poor reputation in the navy, was infamous among the smugglers and bootleggers around Port Royale. Without fail, the crew of the Hammer sunk and captured ships that would have outrun and outmaneuvered lesser vessels. Capitan Pritson was awarded most of the credit for the success of the Queen’s Hammer, but the real secret was below decks.
The cannon master onboard the Queen’s Hammer was exceptionally brilliant, especially compared to the rest of her lackluster crew. He had devised an integrated locking system that allowed the scattershot cannons to be rear loaded. He also had devised special smokeless gunpowder that, in combination with the rear loading cannons, decreased reload time from two minutes to less then thirty seconds. Most of the vessels the Hammer came into contact with were taken by surprise when, after the initial barraged missed their ship, a second one came so quickly.
Another volley quickly erupted from the man-of-war’s cannons. This time, a lucky shot impacted on the side of the caravel. Caravels are not designed to sustain much damage. Reinforced hulls are sacrificed in favor of lighter ones that increasedthe vessel’s speed and maneuverability. Lighter hulls are, by nature, more susceptible to scattershot cannons, yet another hidden benefit the Queen’s Hammer possessed.
Unfortunately for the caravel, the entire load of shot from one cannon penetrated the port hull. Sailors against the caravel’s hull were torn to shreds as the small iron balls ripped through the hulls. Sailors on deck also received part of the shot, half the crew dropping in the hail of iron. With its masts torn and half the crew dead, the smaller ship listed to one side, irreversibly crippled. The caravel began listing immediately to port. A white flag was run up its pole, indicating surrender.
Boarding hooks from the Queens Hammer latched to the deck of the caravel. The motley crew of the smaller vessel was already on deck. They knew their ship was sinking and scrambled across the boarding hooks onto the deck of the man-of-war. Several burly sailors armed with scimitars met them on the deck. The prisoners were escorted below decks, to the brig.
The caravel had sunk before any salvage efforts could be made. Mr. Loccard scowled at that, he could have used whatever the smugglers were running. Contraband usually sold for a pretty penny in port, and Mr. Loccard was not afraid to steal confiscated items for his own personal use.
It was Mr. Loccard’s duty to see that the needs of the prisoners in the brig were met. This when he first laid eyes on Pickston Rickticks.
His world exploded in pain as his master slapped him. “Pay attention, Loccard. I have removed servants for lesser indiscretions then possessing a short attention span.” Mr. Loccard’s master spat as he spoke. “Now listen to me, Loccard. Your time runs short, as my patience runs short. You will be more careful, or I will feed you to the Midoran myself.”
Mr. Loccard slowly turned to face his master. He would have killed any other man for striking him. But it was his master’s right. He knew that he had failed repeatedly. “Leave me, Loccard. I grow tired of lecturing today.” The dark figure gestured in his dismissive fashion. With bowed head, Loccard departed.
Who shall be next, he thought viciously. The monk? The priestess? Or the insolent girl that interrupted my fun yesterday? Or perhaps I will pay Pickston a visit and remind him of an…old friend. Lost in thought, Mr. Loccard did not realize he was already in the chambers where his favorite prize was kept. |
Most men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them.
-Henry David Thoreau
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Re: Paladin's Endgame
Posted: 31 Mar 2004 06:30 PM |
*** OOC
Gah! How many powerful evil types can Vahlah piss off anyway? Great story!
*** |
Three sisters, born of the Sea
A sad fate t'was in store for thee
Oh Vaisha, Vahlah and Vallaesha |
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Re: Paladin's Endgame
Posted: 31 Mar 2004 07:04 PM |
| ***Stands and Applauds!*** |
I'm The Cult of Personality. |
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Re: Paladin's Endgame
Posted: 01 Apr 2004 09:27 PM |
Macha sat quietly by the fountain in front of the temple in Midor. She was alone...but she was in plain sight, and she felt fairly safe. She glanced at the temple door, and thought of Aloria. Broken and battered, her skin torn and shredded. The look in her usually sparkling eyes as she coughed blood and then fell into Machas arms, whispering the name that brought chills to Macha's very soul. Loccard.
Tears filled her eyes. How many of her loved ones was she to cause pain and destruction to? Perhaps Vahlah was right..she should have let them kill Loccard when they had the chance. She glanced at the temple doors again...then Aloria would never have been there, in their keeping. There wouldn't be a chance...no, she wouldn't think of that. But...Mykal. And her vow. The code was clear..once she gave her word, her pledge, there was no turning back. She had many vows, to her friends. But three wrestled in her mind, vying to exist without contradiction, to dictate to her a clear course of action. They shifted and struggled...and knotted her heart until she felt it twisting inside her. But still, they would not rest. To protect her friends....to save Mykal...and to repay Loccard for the damage she had allowed him to do already.
The first two vows provoked pain, and confusion both. The need to save them at all costs, even the cost of abandoning the third. The third provoked a rage within her, a blood-lust that she was unfamiliar with. She wanted to kill Loccard, slowly and viciously, and she felt no guilt or confusion about it. His very name provoked within her a hatred so deep, so pure, it was a need. When she thought of it, she had to hold herself back from going herself to Maldovia, and ripping the heart out of his undead chest.
The tears began to fall as she watched the fountain and thought these thoughts. She remembered threatening Loccard on the plains, feeling the rage and knowing that she was not strong enough to fulfill what she wanted so badly to do. And the knowledge that even if she did, it might be the killing blow to Mykal. She sat, and she cried, and the feelings raged within her. She sat by helplessly, waiting for evil to make the first move. And she hated herself for her weakness. |
Trishy
Macha Sparrowsong - Song is my life
Coretta Alandar - Cleric of Midoran
Dekla Debena - whatever
Not all people who wander are lost.
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Re: Paladin's Endgame
Posted: 01 Apr 2004 10:07 PM |
Balthor had no idea what was going on.
It seemed like he had just been continually in the wrong place at the wrong time for the past several weeks. One night being on the great plains left him stalked by an evil entity, one day helping Sinjin fight dragons left him in debt beyond his wildest dreams. And then there was the afternoon in the Unicorn.
Mykal had showed up, tales of cruel things he had said preceding him. Surrounded by friends and loved ones, especially his apprentice, Balthor had felt the need to stick up for what he knew in his heart to be right.
Well, he certainly hadn't thought things would go the way they had afterward. Mykal took Elliea aside, admitting the murder of his brother, and threatening that if she ever told anyone, he would kill her, too. At least, that's what she said, and Balthor would take an arrow to the throat before doubting the word of his apprentice.
Filled with anger, Balthor strode right up to Mykal, and threatened, that in no uncertain terms, should he ever see him within one hundred paces of Elliea, he would kill Mykal, and drag his body somewhere it would never be found.
What began was a very tense relationship between Paladin and Dwarf. For a while it consisted mainly of Mykal's thinly veiled threats, and Balthor's very straightforward ones. He knew that people were telling him that Mykal was not acting like himself, that something had power over him. Something called "Loccard." Or at least, that's the inference he made. The name always seemed to be uttered when the question of what had controlled Mykal came up. Balthor may not be very wise, but he certainly wasn't stupid.
Bidding Mykal away one night, he was visited briefly by, what he could only assume was Loccard. The creature was stealthy, Balthor had to grant him that, but wizardry has a way to keep a dwarf prepared.. and protected. It took only a wave of his hands to have Loccard on his back, in a daze, completely helpless.
How humorous it must have looked! The dwarf casting spells and threatening the life of what may as well been the air. Certainly Sinjin didn't see anything, nor Macha. But Macha knew the creature that lay at the wizard's feet. Surely it was Loccard.
It took every bit of urging from the bardess to keep Balthor from killing the man right then and there, and once again, Balthor was left with a feeling of abject worry and anguish. Before Loccard got away, he threatened Elliea.
Elliea. Balthor would never, ever forgive himself if he were the cause of but a SCRATCH on Elliea's skin. The wound would heal, but he would ultimately lose faith in himself. When Loccard had gone, Balthor sat the table, head in his hands, and wept bitterly for the danger that had now befallen Elliea. She was responsible for nothing. She was so innocent, so pure... He didn't want to compromise that.
A few days passed, and the event in Balthor's mind seemed to slowly dissipate from his mind. After all, he had plenty of other demons to worry about. But the more he thought about it, the more he let it eat at him, the more he started to realize that if Elliea was hurt by Loccard or Mykal, then the only person responsible would be the one person who continually urged Balthor not to hurt them. To let them go. To allow them to continue this madness, this evil.
Balthor would blame Macha. |
- [Rob], Balthor, Jake, and Thomas. |
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Re: Paladin's Endgame
Posted: 02 Apr 2004 06:58 AM |
As I was sitting on the steps of the Midoran temple, waiting for Sirac and Solitaire, a man approached, coming from the direction of the gate. My instincts to heal nearly took over when I saw that he was wounded, but something held me back, something which told me to be cautious.
“Greetings.” It was all I managed to say in a casual, neutral tone.
The man looked at me, eyeing the staff with its shimmering blue crystal. “Indeed greetings. You are master Xanather, I presume?”
I gave him a brief nod. “I am Xaranthir, aye. And who may you be Sir?” I often think about running around in more casual attire and leaving my staff behind. But how many people are there our there with a pair of mismatched eyes?
Bowing slightly he introduced himself. “Mykal Vecar, paladin of Midoran.”
Sirac arrived only moments before and introduced himself as well, sending a pleasant greeting. Recognition dawned in his eyes. “Ahh, Sinjin has oft spoken of ye.”
The paladin glanced over at Sirac and missed the brief flash of light in my eyes. “Mykal?” I asked him to be sure.
“You know Sinjin then?” He grunted and turned back to face me. “Ah and you know me as well, Master X?”
I studied his face for a moment. “So it would seem. I believe we both know Blanche?” The other person I had been waiting for, Solitaire, arrived that very instant, nearly out of breath.
Mykal pursed his lips. “It seems my reputation precedes me. And Madam La Belle?” He nodded. “Yes I know her.”
So this was indeed –the- Mykal Vecar I had been hearing about, the one I saw in Blanche’s mind. An emerald green and an ice blue eye locked gaze with the paladin’s eyes. “Then you also know of her heart failure.”
Momentarily the paladin flinched under the unblinking stare and then looked quickly away. “Yes, a pity that was. She is sickly and put too much stress on herself.”
“Yes very much so. Regrettably so even.” I paused momentarily. He still refused to meet me eye to eye. “Although it would seem she was put under strain.”
“She does take her duties seriously that one. I imagine she pressured herself into illness.” Solitaire and Sirac had been silently listening to the conversation, not entirely sure what was going on. They were the ones who had come to tell me about Blanche’s heart attack.
“She’s a very devout priestess. I have never known her as anything else.” I changed to my lecturing tone, if this was what it was going to take, fine. “Even during the attack on Midor, she did not relent to help the wounded.”
“And her fragile health…” Mykal closed his eyes and was silent for a few seconds. “Yes, that is right. The attack on Midor. She healed me when Fri’el pierced my shoulder.” He opened his eyes once more.
I still hadn’t blinked. Something raw, nearly animalistic came over me. This must be how a predator watches its prey. I suppressed the feelings. Meanwhile the paladin closed his eyes once more and shook his head from side to side. Finally he sat down. Were the wounds becoming too much of a burden?
“I hope no one bears her ill will. You see, I wouldn’t take very kindly to that.”
Still he kept his eyes close. What was he doing? Trying to lock me out? Was it all a mere act? Or did he feel the influence of that Mr. Loccart Sinjin told me about? “There are enemies of Midoran everywhere. Those wishing harm on a priestess of Midoran are easy enough to come by.”
“Yes but often it comes from where one least expects it.” He finally opened his eyes. Would I be able to draw him out? “I do of course not have to explain to you the treachery of Fetter.”
“You speak in subtexts. Fetter…” He looked upward as if trying to read the answer in the skies. “Right Fetter, the servant of Gukathul.”
“Indeed. And yet here he was in the heart of the city. Soiling the stones of the temple.”
Vecar shifted his weight uncomfortably. “Stone does not reject evil Master Xaranthir. You of all people should know that.” And what are you trying to imply with that statement you twisted adder?
“No unfortunately it does not. I know that all too well.” Fine, lets play his game. “I have known Fetter for a very long time.”
“Truly? And you did not see his decline? I find that… hard to believe.”
“Oh yes, I did.”
“And yet nothing was done.”
What manner of paladin was this? Was he really this ignorant or was it but a masquerade? Fetter had locked himself up in the Chapel, giving orders to his underlings. Even they found him changed and weird to say the least. “Midoran took care of him. I thought this was a city of justice and law. What should I have done? Strode into the temple and kill him? That would make me no more than a common murderer. We told the priests, they scoffed at the idea of Fetter having changed.” I paused for a brief moment. “Where evil has once found a place to root in, it can do so again.”
My countenance suddenly changed, my eyes becoming hard. “Let me assure you that Blanche is now under my protection.”
Mykal paused, a frown momentarily crossing his face. “And why would she need the protection of your graces?”
“I know what happened.” The smile on my lips never reached my eyes. “I know exactly what happened and I didn’t need for Blanche to tell me.” That was not even a lie. Blanche didn’t tell me a thing.
“You trust too much in your senses, master Xaranthir. To continue to do so would cloud reality, even for the sanest man.”
Ah yes reality.. I wonder if he has any idea how much reality can be warped. “Let it be known that those who caused her harm previously will not do so a second time.”
“Well then, it is good that no one here wishes her harm. Is it not?”
“Yes indeed. Extremely good.” I kept smiling, but instead of amusement it promised swift death to those who would harm Blanche. “If you’ll excuse me, I have some business to attend to. Sir.”
As I stood up from the steps, his eyes never left my body. “I’ll take you up on your offer Sirac, Solitaire.” My smile was a genuine one now, but it turned into something cold when I addressed the paladin one more time. “Take care Mykal Vecar. We might soon meet again.” I never turned back towards him, but went off into the direction of Sirac and Solitaire’s new housing.
The paladin looked uncomfortably at me as I went towards the southern section of Midor. |
Luther McIath: I see, so [X is] the right person in the wrong place with the wrong people at the wrong time.
[Fictrix] ... And can speak French, like both! Wait, I mean Elven. |
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