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Welcome to Axis. City of dreams. Maybe nightmares. They say nearly a million people live here, biggest city what ever existed. Maybe ever will. Lot of problems in the city, lot of people need solutions. That is where we come in. The Axis Research, Reconnisance, and Rapid Response Guild Hospitallar. ARRRRGH, for short. Most of us just call it the Adventurer’s Guild. Or the Guild. You know how it is. Pay your dues, there’s good money in it for you. Not everyone is a member, mind, and the Sacred Compact of Adventuring Brothers would say different, but we don’t mind them SCABs much. Unless we cross ‘em in a dungeon, right? Come on, let’s hit the bar. I see your friend found the library already… It has been a long night. The main sitting room of ARRRRGH was filled with smoke, the sweet tang of roasted pork, and the smell of men and women too much in their cups. It was Pig and Board Games Night, a once a month affair where the whole of the guild who was still in town traded stories, ate pork, and played board games. Yet now the room was deep in their ale, the pig all but eaten, and only the group playing Boardrooms and Businesses in the corner was still bothering with anything resembling a game. Their cries and complaints that the Humanities Major Supremacy had once again come to pass had died down, and it was time for everyones favorite bit. Drunken storytelling. Many tales of bold adventure had passed the pig and beer flecked lips of many and adventurer, and some drat hobbit just wrapped up a seemingly endless tale about a ring and one of the icons. Half the room is asleep as the sort of psychic finger that governs such things drifts over to one of our heroes, fresh from their latest adventure and doubtless eager to regale the room with a yarn or five...
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Sep 13, 2014 03:51
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| # ? Apr 26, 2024 14:40 |
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VARAKYN Sitting with her back to a wall, an empty mug before her, Varakyn scowls across the table at the hobbit. As usual, her savage attire and the hard set of her features, the intensity of her gaze, alternately cold as the winds through a northern pass and hot as the fires beneath Axis, have provided her with more than her share of elbow room. "It is time for boasting and the telling of adventures, not for the dead dry mutterings of histories." She leans forward, her wild hair shadowing her face. "I will tell you something worth hearing, if this is filled again." She holds up the empty mug for more ale. quote:Name: Varakyn Comrade Gorbash fucked around with this message at 01:35 on Sep 15, 2014 |
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Sep 14, 2014 03:59
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Alwilda of Snagglehorn "Is it a story about spearing a monster? Because I'm pretty sure we've heard that one.", Alwilda says, stirring loosely as she tries to sit up but only gets about halfway. "And the other one. And the other one." She squints and grins, reaching with her fingertips to nudge her empty glass forward with the laziest of effort. "If somebody fills mine first, I'll tell you something really interesting." Well, then, it's a race!... of sorts. pre:Alwilda of Snagglehorn
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Sep 14, 2014 17:50
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Race: Human
Class: Druid
One Unique Thing: The First Behemoth-Rider
Str 14 Dex 8 Con 16
Int 8 Wis 18 Cha 14
HP 27 Recoveries 8 (1d10+3) Init +0 (roll twice)
AC 13 PD 14 MD 13
Attack +3 vs AC (1d8+2 axe) Attack +5 vs PD (1d8+4 whoomph)
Icons Backgrounds
Dwarf King (negative) 1 Koru Exile +1
High Druid (negative) 2 Hunter in High Places +3
Nature Talking +5 (+6 plants)
Rider of Wild Beasts +4
Features Feats
Divine Implements
Initiate: Terrain Magic > Koru Behemoth (adventurer)
Adept: Wild Healer
Nature Talking > Nature Talking (adventurer)
Quick to Fight
Wilderness Survival
Spells
Whoomph (at-will)
Terrain Spell (daily)
Regeneration (battle + daily)
Wild Healing (daily)
Equipment: Long Druidic Axe, Utility Shortbow,
Leather & Fur Armor, Flint & Tinderbox, Money Pouch (small),
Symbol of Snagglehorn (adventurer holy symbol),
Three Torches (1 hr.), Traveling Satchel, Waterskin
Money: 9 gold, 9 silver
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Exclairmonde "Telling stories just means living in the past. Who wants to live there? The past is almost invariably worse than the present, and definitely worse than the future." Only two cups in and already rambling. That's not good, better slow down but wait the cup is full again? Where'd that come from. Oh well better keep drinking. "So yeah, you want stories, I ain't got stories. No good at telling stories anyway." pre:Level 1 Human Commander Str: 18 +4 (+2 Racial) Dex: 12 +1 Con: 14 +2 Int: 10 +0 Wis: 8 -1 Cha: 16 +3 (+2 Class) HP: 27 Initiative: +2 AC: 15 Phys. Defense: 12 Mental Defense: 12 Recoveries: 8 Recovery Dice: 1d8x1+2 Backgrounds: Royal Knight +5, Court Attendant +3 Racial Power: Quick to the Fight, Extra Feat Talents: Armor Skills, Martial Training, Sword of Victory Commands and Tactics: You Set Them Up, I Finish; Try Again; Basic Tactical Strike Feat: Basic Tactical Strike (Adventurer), Sword of Victory (Adventurer) Gear: Royal Knight Armor (Insignias Removed) [Heavy Armor AC 14], Claymore [Heavy Two-Handed Greatsword 1d10], Heavy Crossbow [Heavy Martial Ranged 1d8], Standard Traveling Gear, A few changes of clothes, an Embroidered Handkerchief (From: Franz, never used), a good romance novel, 25 gp. Icon Relationships: Emperor +-2 (Conflicted) Crusader -1 (Negative) Alaois fucked around with this message at 01:12 on Sep 15, 2014 |
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Sep 15, 2014 01:09
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Sorraza Dragons' Daughter "Stories aren't about living in the past at all! I want to hear these! Oh, I don't know who to pick so..." She is practically bouncing in her seat. After all, her stories mostly deal with her education and life at home, rather than actual field experience. This has meant she is always a ready sap to buy rounds for the group just so she can hear more stories, especially if they involve daring midnight rescues, thefts from horrible evil or fancy descriptions of clothing or food. "A round for the table, and whoever gets their mug filled first wins!" Today is no exception. quote:Strength: 10
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Sep 15, 2014 01:31
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Niamh Niamh is a lightweight, and she knows she's a lightweight. Just a consequence of her upbringing, one would suppose. Niamh also isn't possessed of a particularly great degree of self-control, which is not a thing she knows quite so well. And so it is that on this particular Pig and Board Games Night, Niamh is quite drunk. "Pfeh! You don't know nothin', Varky. Hist'ry's very important. Affer all, those who don't study histry are doomed to...eh...repeal it. Yeah. So since I don't want some magistrate to tell me I never existed, I'm givin' Alwilda the rest of this here mug of ale, and that means she wins, and that's that. So let's hear the story!" With that last, she slams a fist down onto the table, slides her stein shakily over towards Alwilda, and leans back with a satisfied expression on her face. pre:Niamh Reilly Human Necromancer 1 -1 Lich King, C1 Priestess, C1 Archmage
Uncomfortably Close to Death +3 Str 12 (+1) Int 18 (+4)
Child Of Cultists +3 Con 10 (+0) Wis 11 (+0)
Outcast Wanderer +2 Dex 12 (+1) Cha 15 (+2)
HP: 18 AC: 11
Initiative: +2 PD: 12
MD: 13
Talents:
Cackling Soliloquist (Feat: gain 1d6 + level + Cha THP on use)
Deathknell
Skeletal Minion (Feat: enemies take escalation die penalty to disengage)
Spells:
Level 1
Chant of Endings (at-will)
Channel Life (1/battle)
Summon Undead (daily)
Unholy Blast (daily)
Majuju fucked around with this message at 01:58 on Sep 15, 2014 |
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Sep 15, 2014 01:53
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There is a murmur around the room. The crew was a bunch of rookies, relatively speaking, and no one liked buying beer for stories untold. Yet the round bought by the dragonspawn is enough, and so it goes that the server bustles up. In the moment of silence, a man speaks. The one who calls himself The Miz. A veteran of many years, he is an adventurer of old. He was, in fact, the champion of the Guild for a number of periods. These were not good periods, mind. They were bad periods. Because The Miz, like all people who preface their own name with an article, is a total rear end in a top hat. Still, he is popular enough and probably one of the Guild's biggest earners. He is also a dick. "So, this ought to be good," says Miz O'Genie. That latter name many people think he made up so he could claim he was part genie. "Haven't had a good laugh in awhile, eh lads?" There is the sort of uncomfortable laughter that comes from realizing someone is kind of a poo poo but not wanting to piss them off too much. Still, it gets quiet as the winner begins to speak... Whoever wants to win can, just post. It is a storygame, motherlickers. Meet the leader of your RIVAL GROUP
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Sep 15, 2014 02:24
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Alwilda of Snagglehorn Squinting at the commander, Alwilda says, "I'm not a seer, I can't tell stories about the future!" She takes a deep breath, and shrugs. "Anyway, unless you're ordering me not to tell a story, I'm tellin'." She doesn't wait for the all-clear, instead launching into her tale. "So, a couple weeks back I was hired to protect a prize cow. You know how the fair's coming up? Well, some farmer was worried the competition might do some sabotage. Couple promising cows had gone missing already, so..." Alwilda shakes her head. "Thought it'd be easy money, worst you get some of the locals to bust in and yank a cow, and that's when the ground came up from under me." "It was burrow dwarves." "Now, you all know they're not proper dwarves, that's just what we topsiders call them, but I don't have a better name, so you'll have to excuse me. They came up with their picks and shovels ready to stick me one, but I wasn't worried about myself, I had to get that cow out of there. I ran to the stall and tried to guide it out, but it wouldn't budge. It certainly wasn't coming out after I blasted some of the little devils with a little druid trick I like to call whoomph-" When she says it, a lot of the mugs clatter around the table. "- and so I had to come up with a new idea." "While I was kicking one off me, I wound some rope around the cow, and then swung my ax as I went to the ladder. I didn't have time to climb, so I just went up a few bars and leapt for one of the beams, pulling myself up with the rope. Some of them were already trying to hack the rope off the cow, so I threw the rope through a pulley - what you use to get anything in the attic - and then leaped off." "That cow went shooting up like an arrow, setting those beasties flying, and I landed down pretty hard. The trick was holding on to the rope with my foot as I fought them back to their holes - had to change feet a number of times - and then make sure I lowered the cow down gently before my shift watching it was up. But they never got to harm one hair on it. Client didn't believe me until I showed him the holes. Guards are looking into it now, from what I understand."
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Sep 15, 2014 04:04
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Exclairmonde Face went sour. Bad druid. "I've told you before Alwilda, don' be calling me 'commander.' I ain't a commander anymore. Not a knight. Just another brute with a sword and a hero complex." Drink drink drink. Good ale. No, not good, strong. That's the word. Bad, strong ale. "So how'd that story tickle you, Sir Miz? Sir The Miz. Sir The Miz O'Genie." Hahahahahehehehhe
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Sep 17, 2014 07:22
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VARAKYN Varakyn slams her now empty mug back down on the table. "It was a good tale, I say. Better than any other words that have dribbled out of some fool's mouth tonight." She glares at the Miz, no love lost there. She holds it up again, and quickly enough ale flows into it. "And to prove it is no fluke that , I will give you another." She drains the mug in one pull before she begins. "Far to the North, where the peaks are tall enough to scrape the ice from the bottom of the vault of the sky, where heroes forge their blades from the wind because it cuts deeper than steel, there is a valley so deep that sun can only clamber high enough to peer into once each year. And each year, when she pierces the darkness, she flees from what she beholds, until the memory fades and she grows curious enough to turn her gaze there again." "At the center of that valley is a fortress of ancient black stone, a relic of an age so long dead that even the mountains were young when it was reared up from the earth. And within that fortress dwells the Witch-Oracle, who dreams of fate and doom. On the one day the sun forgets its fear, she wakes, and any brave enough to make their way to her chamber may ask of her knowledge of things hidden from mortal sight. If they can find her dwelling, if they can untangle her wards, if they can conquer her guardians." "I know these things to be true, because I scaled the mountains and delved into the valley, on that one day of sunlight. I crossed the bridge and pulled open the gates, and I did those things." "First I fought the Stone Dogs, one beast in two bodies, half-stone, half-spirit, who cannot be pierced by any spear, or cut by any blade. But an old blind shaman had told me their secret. So I brandished a torch of cedar and pitch, and with its smoke drove off their shadow and pushed their body into the bottomless ravine that served as moat to that black fortress." She pulls a leather thong out of her tunic, which has a single piece of stone, carved like a tooth with a hole drilled through so it could be worn as a necklace. "I tore a fang from their mouth before I cast them down." "Then I passed into the labyrinth. The shaman had told me that a lodestone suspended from the hair of a man who was burned by a will'o'wisp would guide me, but either that old man was too far into his cups or Jorym of Clar was a gutless liar. So I became lost in that foul place, but within the maze dwelled the Kaline Worm. I took up the length of burned cedar and struck it against the wall until the Worm came for me, the foul burning slime hissing against the stone. To touch it would scour the flesh from bone. But I before I went to that wretched place I had hunted the tusked beasts that swim in the northern waters, and rendered an oil from their blubber that would protect me. We fought, and my spear soon gave the Worm many wounds, while it could not harm me. Yet I did not slay it, for when it turned to flee I caught it by the tail and ran behind, so that it led me from the labyrinth. The oil wore off before we escaped, but I did not let loose my hold, for I would not find another way out." Varakyn raises her left hand, palm out to show the broad pale discoloration across it. "And so I ascended to the Witch-Oracle's tower. Before I could enter, her last guardian, the Fimbul, barred my way with his sword of glass. He demanded I answer his riddle, and should I fail I would die. He asked what had no voice but could scream, no hands but could grasp, no heart but could live. I do not know the answer to this riddle. I told the Fimbul this, and then I told him that it did not matter, for I would take his voice and his hands and his heart. This made him great with wrath, but once more I had learned the secrets of that place of night. As he raised his sword, I brandished this." Varakyn pulls an amulet of dark metal out, polished to a dim sheen, save for a crack down the center. "A piece of star, knocked loose from the sky. I had wandered through a desert for ten days and ten nights to find it. The Fimbul could not bear to look upon it, and when he covered his eyes I kicked him between the legs and threw his sword out the window." "Then I entered the chamber of the Witch-Oracle, and heard of my destiny and my doom. Of that I cannot say further, for her words were for me alone and should they pass my lips they will be unmade. Suffice to say she was a woman of great and terrible beauty, icy and as secretive the deepest cavern. I passed some time in her company, and only when the shadows lengthened did I realize I had tarried too long. For to stay in that valley when the sun fled was death. My very breath would have frozen in my chest." "But she took pity on me, I know not why, and lit my torch with a green flame. It burned just long enough for me to find my way up the path and back to the lands of the living." Varakyn picked up her newly filled mug and drained it again. "That is my tale."
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Sep 18, 2014 05:18
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Whatever response The Miz might have is drowned out in laughter and cheers from the two tales, spun so expertly. Humor and horror, light and dark, the mix is a heady one and the group is roundly cheered. Drinks are passed around, and the rest of the evening is spent in cheerful and charming revel. A fine night by all standards. The next morning, the group finds themselves around another table, breaking fast after a long night of partying. Othlo, an attendant to the guild of long service and rumored to be one of the deadliest assassins ever born a halfling before losing and arm and a leg in some chore too dire to ever be spoken of again, comes thumping up. He is cheery, as is his usual custom. Only the scars on his face and remaining arm tell of a history more dire. He brings two things. A pot of fresh coffee, and a commission scroll. "Morning ladies," the charming hobbit chimes. "Got work for you, maybe. Usually we put these up for bids, but you lot are the only ones in town who qualify," he says setting the pot on the table and handing the scroll over. "Woman's work, you might call it," he continues with a chuckle. "Good pay too, by the sound of it. Wouldn't mind having her on my side, you know?" Icon rolls for the session, please!
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Sep 18, 2014 15:28
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VARAKYN Varakyn glowers at the pot, looking even less approachable than normal, normally wild hair even more out of control. It takes a mighty consumption of ale to make an impression on Varakyn, but she's more than up to the task when called on, and even she is a bit worse for the wear so early in the morning. After a moment she blinks, then seizes the pot to pour a generous share into a mug. She immediately takes a deep draft of the steaming hot liquid. A bit unnerving, but past experience has shown she is largely immune to heat and cold, even so far as to reach into roaring flames without ill effect. Blinking a few times, she brushes her hair back out of her face and turning her attention to Othlo. "Having who on your side? And of course it's woman's work, you're offering us an adventure aren't you?" Lich King [10:31] <Krysmbot> Gorbash, 4 = 4, 1 = 1 Crusader [10:31] <Krysmbot> Gorbash, 2 = 2 Orc Lord [10:31] <Krysmbot> Gorbash, 4 = 4
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Sep 18, 2014 16:08
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Niamh Niamh is slumped over, head on the table beside a plate of eggs, wishing she could head down to the inn's cellars and find a rat or two to drain the life out of and take the edge off of her vicious hangover. After Othlo delivers his piece, she rolls her head slightly towards where the scroll rests, and moans. "URRghhh. Not so loud, you're gonna wake the dead. Someone pour me some of that coffee, and someone else read me some of that scroll...quiet-like."[/i] Niamh Icon Rolls (Lich King, Priestess, Archmage): 3#1d6 2 3 3 Nothin' here.
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Sep 18, 2014 16:35
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Exclairmonde Time in the Royal Court teaches one to hide their hangover. A key goal in the mind of any knight or former knight: look fresh in the morning. Hair up in a neat bun, wearing a fresh change of clothes, seated with good posture and looking attentive. Nobody else needs to know how much your head feels like it's about to split in twain, or that your stomach is about to force itself out of your body via your mouth. Instead, fill the stomach with water and farina to calm it. And coffee. Plenty of coffee. "Thank you, Sir Othlo. Your services are always appreciated this early in the morning. How you retain so much energy is astounding. I'll take the scroll, if you please." Icon Relationships: Icon Rolls: 3d6 8 [1,6,1] Emperor: 1, 6 Crusader: 1 Alaois fucked around with this message at 05:38 on Sep 26, 2014 |
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Sep 18, 2014 17:26
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VARAKYN Varakyn pours more coffee into her own mug, then fills Niamh's. "If it was to wake the dead, why are you still lying there in your own pity?" She downs her second cup of coffee, smacking her lips in appreciation. "This drink of yours is one of the best things you lowlanders have come up with. Shame you ruin it with cream and sugar." She waves at one of the servers to bring over another pot, and finally address her plate of bread, cold meat, and fried egg.
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Sep 18, 2014 18:00
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Sorraza Sorraza, as always, is bright-eyed and cheerful. She is a morning person, because the universe has conspired to make her as chipper as possible. It is infuriating. She doesn't even need the coffee. Her raven, on the other hand, has dunked his head directly into a mug full of it. "Father always says that coffee is best taken with horse's blood. Black Mother won't let me have any, though. It stunts your growth." She is happy to devour a whole steak, three eggs, two glasses of orange juice and half a loaf of bread, though. Growing dragons need their food. The Three: 4, 5, 6
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Sep 18, 2014 22:42
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"This more than most, eh?" the little assassin turned butler says as he hands over the scroll. It was heavy, and marked with the seal of the Cult of the Good Goddess. That one was popular throughout the Empire, but particularly here at the heart. Fertility, family, and to a certain extent the protection of the state and being of the Empire, in these things she was much beloved. Her rites were often only open to women, however, and if this commission had that request added as a rider it would almost certainly carry the band who bore it into her sacred spaces. Her temple was no match for the Cathedral of the Priestess, of course, but it was one of the largest and oldest in the city. A thing of great domes and subtle beauty, the interior gardens are said to rival any in the Empire. An interesting commission, to say the least. With a bow, Othlo takes his leave.The privacy of such a contract was doubly important, and even the usual band of rubbernecks and onlookers had cleared out. Open to suggestions on what you want to do with your Icon results, or I can toss you a thing!
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Sep 19, 2014 04:40
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Alwilda Alwilda squints from beneath her bangs, chin on the table, and presses herself up, squinting. "Work?", she says in a slight stir. She cradles some tea which is undoubtedly oversteeped at this point, but doesn't seem to be paying that fact much mind as she sips it. Occasionally she dual-wields egg on toast with it, but seems to be awakening in steps throughout the morning. "Good Goddess?", she continues as an echo from her her corner of the table. She is, as well established at this point, a bumpkin, and lacks in education regarding things that you don't find around a tree trunk. "Oh, right, a city god. Well, don't suppose the whys and wherefores matter so much, as long as they hire same as anyone else." Icon roll provides a 6 for her negative High Druid connection! Maybe this religion might appreciate a druidical heretic, much to Alwilda's chagrin.
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Sep 19, 2014 10:05
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Exclairmonde "I can see what he meant by 'women's work.' The Good Goddess doesn't hand these out lightly. If they have such a need, it should be very high payi-" oh god dry heave. Nothing came up. Good. More coffee down the gullet. "Pardon. Very high paying work. This could be our big break." I'm open to the 6 Emperor roll being used however you see fit, Winson.
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Sep 21, 2014 22:28
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Sorraza "Oooo, I've heard about her temple. Very pretty. Gods aren't really my thing, but I do want to see that." Sorraza grins cheerily, taking off her hat to examine the feather in it, then removes the feather, replacing it with a white one. "I think this will go better for this. I wonder what we have to rescue from evil for this. It's definitely a rescue mission, I'm certain, or we're stealing an artifact from an evil temple. I mean, it's always rescues and artifacts for religious quests, right? Maybe there'll be pirates!" I am always up for having monster minions show up to help and also cause me trouble.
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Sep 21, 2014 22:36
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VARAKYN Varakyn finishes demolishing her plate. Her own breakfast conquered, she starts casting covetous eyes at Niamh's untouched plate. "Whatever it is they want, there had better be some challenge in it. I had to make my own on that last one." She considers, then smiles slightly. "Though I did beat my personal best distance with a thrown goblin." She looks at Niamh's plate again, less subtly this time.
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Sep 22, 2014 03:48
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Alwilda "Well, as the saying goes, a full purse is often accompanied by an empty head.", Alwilda comments to Exclairmonde. "But hopefully that'll work out for us." She finishes her eggy toast, before then downing her tea as if it were medicine as much as drink, given the sour look on her face as she finishes it. With a glance to Sorraza, she echoes, "Pirates? Really?" A dismissive shake of her head, and she clears away her bangs as they fall across her face. "Never did understand why anybody crosses the sea in something smaller than a behemoth. Sea isn't meant for people."
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Sep 22, 2014 11:18
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Niamh "The only good goddess is a goddess that minds her own business," Niamh mumbles to herself, before forcing her body upright in the chair and addressing the group. "But if they're payin', they're payin'. Got to keep you voracious monsters in food," she states, pulling her plate of food close and away from Varakyn's hungry eyes. "I already gave you the sausages! The eggs are the only thing I can eat anyhow!"
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Sep 23, 2014 01:33
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Alwilda knows this god, and she is not on good terms with the High Druid. Going by many names in many places, she believes the Good Goddess to be an aspect of one of the many nature gods or spirits out there, perhaps a specific one, perhaps a gestalt of hope and belief. The exact theory is of little interest to any outside the Priestesses monasteries or the Archmages libraries, for in these matters the High Druid held a practical sort of respect for such things that put academic labels to the side. Such a Goddess would have adapted to city life, to an urban setting, and to the concentration of souls crying out for succor in such a place. In this the Druid saw perversion, a twisting of what was meant. The High Druid saw this as a kind of maggot ridden stump, to be held in scorn. Yet Alwilda knows the blessings of life and growth and, with them death and renewal were open to all. She would get on well enough, perhaps even have some inside connections at the temple, provided enough respect was paid. The nature of such an exile would only be fostered in such a place. Indeed, some there may know Alwilda if only by reputation for the apostate behemoth rider was not entirely unknown in such circles. Opening the petition, it is a short poem followed by a note in a firm, prim sort of hand. pre:“Hope” is the thing with feathers - That perches in the soul - And sings the tune without the words - And never stops - at all - And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard - And sore must be the storm - That could abash the little Bird That kept so many warm - I’ve heard it in the chillest land - And on the strangest Sea - Yet - never - in Extremity, It asked a crumb - of me. These words of poesey are true, and so they have been since the dawn of the first age. Yet now hope must ask, and in that asking hope must be satisfied. The gale blows too fiercely in this hour, a small group of those on whom the Good Goddess looks with most favor must undertake the cause of Hope. Yet such must be pure of heart, and purified of heart in turn or all is lost. The reward for this will be substantial, both in spirit and in weight of coin. Winson_Paine fucked around with this message at 16:46 on Sep 23, 2014 |
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Sep 23, 2014 14:55
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Niamh The groan that Niamh emits is half hangover, half violent opposition to flowery prose. "Great. This sounds great. On the bright side, I think I have a pure heart in a jar upstairs, do you think they'd settle for that?"
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Sep 23, 2014 17:45
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Sorraza "Oh, we're definitely pure of heart! Right, ladies?" Sorraza puffs herself up proudly. "After all, we are heroines. And we even have a little bird with feathers and a big heart of his own!" Egg looks up, coffee dripping off his beak and down his head. Also, because I forgot to, rolling for Egg's current powers: 7: Tough - +1 save bonus. 5: Poisonous - 1/battle, when you hit an enemy engaged with you, you can add 5 ongoing poison damage per tier to the damage roll.
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Sep 23, 2014 18:20
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VARAKYN Varakyn rubs one knuckle at the corner of her eye, gazing off into the distance for a moment. Then she frowns, and gets up, shoving her chair noisily across the floor. "If they're offering adventure and coin, why are we still sitting around here?"
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Sep 24, 2014 02:05
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Exclairmonde "Because if I stand from my chair too swiftly, I'm going to vomit." The poetry didn't help. Reminded of a letter from a suitor, back in the Court. Would make a sailor's stomach turn, that one would. His name was... Claude, maybe? William? Not a particularly memorable one. Whatever his name, he was far too vivid in the descriptions of his proclivities. Sliding back from the table, slowly rising out of the chair. "If you would allow me to freshen up, prepare and properly dress myself in my armor, we shall proceed shortly."
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Sep 24, 2014 05:21
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Alwilda Alwilda stretches in her seat, before leaning over the back of it as she turns to face those standing. "My heart is pure, and the better I'm paid, the purer it becomes." Her hands slap the table, and she pushes herself up, smirking as she tugs her hangs back from her face. "Let's get going once the com... boss is ready and presentable." "If you want, I can make some more tea. I'm sure it'd be just the thing you need to clean out your roots.", she says cheerfully to Exclairmonde. Judging from the smell of her drink earlier, that's probably a euphemism for puking.
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Sep 25, 2014 06:16
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Niamh Niamh has comparatively little to pack, having learned early the keys of travelling light, and eschewing complicated armour in favour of comfortable clothing. It takes her only a few moments to plod her way back to her room and retrieve her gear. The hooded cloak disguises her form, and the staff is a welcome aid as the world continues to spin ever-so-slightly in the aftermath of last night's indulgences. She exits the building haltingly to wait for the others, looks around, and makes a small gesture towards a heap of trash piled near a back alley. The pile of rags begins to shuffle and move, and shambles its way over to Niamh's side, where it remains, motionless and silent. "Time to go to work, Crom."
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Sep 26, 2014 19:07
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VARAKYN Varakyn travels light as well. She's waiting outside, leaning against a a wall with her heavy spear, the dark metal of its hooked blade somehow still managing to glint in the sunlight, balanced in the crook of one arm and a wolf-pelt pulled over her shoulders like a cape. She's gotten new boots at some point, fancy black leather ones with gold trim. Some nobleman or cavalry officer lost a bet or a fight or both recently. Her hair has been partially tamed, probably just by the expedient of fingers being run through it. She waves at Niamh, and takes another bite of the apple she grabbed on her way out the door.
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Sep 27, 2014 04:43
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Sorraza Sorraza takes a bit to get outside. She had to coordinate accessories (cuff links, scabbard for her purely decorative sword, gloves) before she could. One can't be a heroine and look bad doing it - at least, not according to the books Sorraza bases her work on. Egg is out significantly before his mistress, landing on top of Varakyn's wolf pelt briefly. he brushes his beak against his wing - it's dripping now, some kind of greenish liquid. Apparently he is venomous today. Sorraza arrives a few minutes later, wearing new gloves and looking quite nice, really. "All right, ladies!" She draws her sword, striking a pose and pointing it out at the road, angled upward. "Off...to ADVENTURE!"
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Sep 27, 2014 05:23
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Exclairmonde Armor donned, stomach emptied (into the sink), hair let out, sword on the back, everything ready. Finally fully awake and less hungover. Never drinking that rotgut again. Absolutely dire. Outside, the sun's still far too bright for the eyes. Gotta shield them for a second. "Alright, let's get on with this. Sooner we actually learn what our job is, sooner we can stop associating with cultists."
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Sep 27, 2014 07:58
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It is perhaps an hour's walk through the streets of Axis to arrive at the Sacred Temple of the Good Goddess. The city is alive today, more than usual, for the returning legions from the latest military expedition into the frontiers are back and spending much in the way of plunder. Soldiers spend freely of the strange coin, selling the spoils of war and generally welcoming themselves back in the inimitable style of the Emperor's legions. This section of the city will be spared the riots and fires which inevitably follow; here it is the officers and their husbands and wives who do the celebrating. Still, the din can be heard throughout. In two days the grand triumph will proceed, and that will be a spectacle to behold indeed. It is quieter in the quarters of the Good Goddess. Her estate is built right into the side of the crater that forms the bowl of the city; the edifices are carved from living rock. The side of the mountain is terraced and covered with trees, vineyards, orchards, and gardens. In the outer gardens there are a few parties, men and women mix here. They pray for children, pray for success in childbirth and in life, and more commonly right now make thank offerings for the safe return of the men and women who have returned.  The inner building, into which the group is permitted to pass, is a sort of great hall leading into the deeper recesses of the mountain. Here there are only women, and the only arms and armor are worn by the guards. The group gets more than a few looks as they pass in, before coming to a matronly woman, bald as a hilltop, skin as brown as a nut. She eyes the group up and down. "May I help you?" Nearby two guards in the red cape and steel armor of the cult draw a bit closer. 
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Sep 29, 2014 00:29
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Exclairmonde Kept my face covered walking the streets. Never know when you're going to be recognized by a former comrade. The upper echelons of the Axis begin to blend together in their level of ostentation eventually. You become desensitized to it after a point. It just washes over you like room temperature water. Money being tossed around in an ever-escalating contest of one-upmanship, the metaphorical dickwaving contest. "I believe we are here to help you, madame. We received this," presenting the scroll, "and are at your service."
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Sep 29, 2014 02:53
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VARAKYN Varakyn draws herself up under the gaze of the guards and the matron. "We were summoned to aid the cause of Hope, and so we have come. If there are those who would oppose that cause, show me to them, oh Honored Grandmother, so that I might teach proper respect!" Comrade Gorbash fucked around with this message at 19:33 on Sep 29, 2014 |
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Sep 29, 2014 03:10
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Sorraza Sorraza bows theatrically. "I am Sorraza Dragons' Daughter, and these are my Dragon Ladies!" Sorraza changes what she calls the group whenever she feels it needs new pizzazz. "We are your heroines in your time of need, the swords that will fight villainy with our wit and charm!" She poses dramatically. Then she grins. "I love your capes, by the way!"
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Sep 29, 2014 03:35
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Alwilda Looking away at the effusiveness, Alwilda mostly just looks embarrassed. "What they're getting around to saying is that we've received word that there's a job to do.", she says, without looking the bald woman in the eye. "And we're a capable bunch." She then looks to her as if to emphasize her words, though it's still mixed with some self-consciousness. Alwilda always has a bit of look as if she just got out of bed, but that's fairly typical of druids.
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Sep 29, 2014 03:47
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"I see," she says. With a gesture the two guards are joined by two more, and the quintet leads the team into a side passage. This leads to a spiral staircase, clearly leading up one of the towers on the edifice of the place. It is less ornate than the rest, but well lit and pleasant enough. The older woman (in spite of her apparent age) and the guards (in spite of their heavy armor) seem to have no trouble. It is rather a long way up. At the top is a small room with a plain pair of double doors. "She will see you now." Outside is a wildish looking garden. In the center of this particular terrace is a circle of stone chairs around a firepit. The place seems calmish, relaxing. Below the sounds of the city filter up, but they are far below indeed. In fact, the sweep of the city view from this high up on the crater is quite majestic.  In one of the chairs is a woman dressed in the robes of a priestess. Alwilda is not totally familiar with the style, but from the way she wears them and the way she sits, she is probably pretty loving important around here. She has an air of serene calm to her, as if the world might crumble about her but she would be content to sit in that chair as if it were the most important thing in the world.  "I see the summons was served promptly," she says in a voice not unlike honeyed oil. "Sit, be welcome. This is a place of peace, of meditation. Sit, and know that peace. We have much to discuss."
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Sep 29, 2014 16:29
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| # ? Apr 26, 2024 14:40 |
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VARAKYN With a frown, Varakyn takes a seat in the closest chair. She fidgets and taps her foot. Peace is not something she wears comfortably, and she's clearly very much out of place here. "What would you have us, Honored Grandmother? A terrible beast brought to heel? A foe cast back down into the mud? A hidden relic pried from the skeletal hands of a long dead despot? Some other great and terrible deed?"
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Oct 1, 2014 17:14
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