At the far reaches of the universe is a planet called Third Earth.
It is a time of warrior’s mystic’s magicians and Kings. The sky here is grey when at day and black at the night. There is no sun to brighten the lands. Many different races live here many chose to fight and others chose to quest across the lands some quest until death reaps them.
The kings pay handsome rewards for deeds done bounty’s collected and trophies returned.

Dragons will occasionally set flight across the skies looking to burn villages and other warriors who dare to battle these giant creatures.

King Victor Arcadius the first Rules the land known as Blackthorne this is the last place governed by Men.

Blackthorne is the wealthiest land on all of Third Earth.
In Blackthorne many travellers come to seek fortune and rewards. Also across Third Earth exist the The Dark Mages who unleash their evil.

King Victor Arcadius the first calls for all who will Journey to the darkest corners of Third Earth looking for a precious stone.

The Ravenstone.
The Ravenstone is a powerful orb that will shield all of Blackthorne from the evil Dark Magic of the Dark Mages.

This journey will be perilous route with all kinds of Dangers On your Journey you will face the Dragons of Reds Deep the Orc’s Giants and the retched goblins, you will even face the undead. But worst of all these adversaries you will face the dark Mages.

The Game
You will travel across Third Earth in search of the Ravenstone fighting off any dangers. Its up to you if you wish to team up together or travel as a loner.

Your Stats
Only two players can be magicians
For each character type there can only be two no more. That way we don’t have t10 dwarfs or ten magicians and one Knight.

Race: (Knight, Noble, Elf, Dwarf, Warrior priest, Magician, Hobbit, White Witch, Barbarian, Bounty Hunter,)
Age:
Weapons: (Max Three)
Armour: (Light, Medium Heavy)
Occupation: If a Magician or White Witch What Spells do you have. (Max Three)
Sex:
Personality:
Appearance:

As the games goes I will from time to time post in a situation for you to solve or fight your way out of.

Please only join if you will be actively playing regularly

Games starts on 16 April 2007

Name: Morian
Race: White Witch (Erm. Sorta.)
Age: 16. (And that's where we reach the "sorta."
Weapons: A sword, an enchanted bow, and herself (A very deadly weapon.)
Armour: Light.
Occupation: Apprentice white witch, on her first mission. Her spells are: Risearth (A spell that controls plants, trees, etc.), and Armory (An enchantment on any weapon to give it unlimited ammo and aim- in this case used on her crossbow). The rest is sheer witchiness. (Real witches don't need spells, after all.)
Sex: Female
Personality: Unusual for her time, but very usual for a witch, Morian is an independent, intelligent, outspoken young woman, who has no foolish preconceptions about being polite to others older than her. She will speak her mind, and when in a pinch, she is absolutely deadly.
Appearance: Long, chestnut-brown hair, wearing a crown of laurel leaves, and vibrant green eyes. Tall, graceful, and deadly as a phantom. Wears a sensible brown tunic, unusual for a young girl like her.

Eh. Why not?

Name: Shannon Darrosdatter
Race: Barbarian
Age: Thirteen and five (18)
Weapons: A long-handled greataxe, a composite longbow and a large wooden shield. (If you don't think it's a weapon, you haven't been hit by one.)
Armour: Medium. She wears an aketon and leather jerkin over a cotton shirt, leather rerebraces and leather gloves, and armoured boots (sabatons).
Occupation: Farmer/rancher. She trained as a fighter because her clan has been involved in skirmishes recently and even women need to know how to defend themselves.
Sex: Female
Personality: She tends to think that the city-folk are softies who could never survive a week in the wilderness. Generally, Shannon prefers horses to city-folk, and regards those who cannot fight as liabilities. She tends to jump to conclusions and has no pity for those who are too lazy to learn how to do things in a better, easier way.
Appearance: Dark brown hair, with a bleached streak of red-blonde hair running from her widow's peak backward. (Denotes her rank as a fighter.) Muscular, with many small scars on her hands from learning how to fight with bladed weapons. She is about five and a half feet tall.

Name: Orara
Race: Bounty Hunter
Age: 27
Weapons: Bow & Arow, short daggar
Armour: Light
Occupation: Type of freelancer.
Sex: Male
Personality: all-around- reckless, cautious, proptective, loveable, hateable, etc.)
Appearance: Red messy hair, green eyes, light cowhide vest, black leather pants, wristbands, a silver earing

(It seems that it shouldn't be too hard to play more than one game.)

Name: Laramy Swift
Race:Noble, I suppose that's close enough to bard for my taste.
Age:22
Weapons: Rapier, Violin (I guess that it should go in this category, and, my sultry, velvet pipes.
Armour: None
Occupation: Singer, dancer, charmer of women. I also happen to be an accomplished scam-artist.
Sex: Male, at last check at least.
Appearance: 6 foot one. Dark hair. Medium length goatee. Brown eyes. Fairly handsome, in a rugged way. Dresses in fine Grey & green silks, but wears a coarse black cloak over the top of it.
Personality: I'm the kind of person who tends to find out how people tick and really get under their skin, if they anger me, or, if they're a pretty young lass, under their...um, you know. Love to drink. Love to hide when a fight breaks out.

Name: Jonath Alrond
Race: Knight
Age: 38
Weapons: Greatsword of Alrond; Dagger; Long bow
Armour: Heavy - Full plate armour(no helmet)
Occupation: Finest knight of the kingdom.
Sex: Male
Personality: Arrogant, pompous, but subtely charming at the same time. Rigid and unmoving, though strangely compassionate.
Appearance: Tall, with a wide frame, and heavy set build(you'd get one, doing what he does). Dark blue eyes, and greying brown hair, with a small goatee.

Name: Tabula Rasa
Race: Bounty Hunter
Age: 39
Weapons: poisoned caltrops (sedative), a long hooked chain wrapped in silk, and short stabbing spear.
Armour: Light - Reinforced Leather Greaves and armlets, soft black-leather doublet. Soft boots with specially hardened soles.
Occupation: Doer of questionable things.
Sex: Male.
Personality: Quick to smile, slow to anger, relentless in the persecution of duty - though that duty is solely to his own pocket. Gritty, practical and not squeamish.
Appearance: About 6' nothing in his hose; half bearded; unruly long dark brown hair with a streak of pure white running back from the temple. Murderer's hands with fat strangler's fingers. Not bad looking in a 'people regularly hit me in the face with hard pointy things' kind of way. Mickey Rourke caught somewhere in between starting his boxing career and having his face end up looking like a slab of dough.

Name: Tabula Rasa


Badda-bing-badda-boom!

Um...are we starting today?

yes we start today.

King Arcadius thanks you for taking up the challenge to bring back the Ravenstone.

Once you leave Blackthorne you will have to pass through Reds Deep land of the Dragons. Some of the dragons are good fire breathers but some are very bad.

Its up to you if you travel alone through the whole game. You can interact have conversations or just join up from time to time.

Occassionlly I will post up a situation for you to wade through.

The Quest Begins

Tabula sits and puffs, blue grey smoke curling away to become one with the horizon. He grunts and shifts his back into a more comfortable position against the rock that props him up; his feet stretched out in front of him on his bedroll. With the tip of his spear he prods idly at the dirt-track nearby: Light grey sand rucked up by the wind, pock-marked by what looks like worm-spoor.

He's a patient man. He's waiting for one of the others to pass this way on the road toward Red's Deep. He's got something to ask them. A question.

((Is it too late to join? I wanted to wait for more people to start posting before I posted my character profile... Should I have PMed this to the thread creator? ))

If your joining you'll have to join today or you will be unable to play.







~Raven.

If your joining you'll have to join today or you will be unable to play.
.

(ooc: BOO HISS RARR. Dumb idea. All people should be able to join whenever they want (At least before the climax) if they can work themselves in. Otherwise you're cutting yourself off from new members, ideas, places, choices- new fun, in short.)

Morian sat in a bar, waving over the barkeep. "Hey," She said. "Can I have a mug?"
"Sure," The bartender shrugged, and turned around.
Then he turned back. "Hey, wait! You don't look old enough!'
Morian sighed, grabbing her staff and hopping off of her seat. "Crud. Why is it that everyone says I look two years older, but just when I want to, I don't? Oh, well." She threw a coin over her shoulder. "Here's for the good service and music. Witch's blessing on this place, all that, blahblah."
The barkeeper stared as the tall girl gracefully ambled out of the bar, then shrugged and got back to wiping the counter.

Meanwhile outside, Morian turned onto a road (Not into one. All witches are careful to make that difference). She walked through the city, ignoring the calls of the prostitutes, the harkenings of the beggars and sellers, and the general clatter. She came soon to the border of the city, looking for some quiet. She found a nice rock off by a road and sat down, resting her head against it, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath of the misty, yet bracingly clear, morning air. She opened her eyes just a bit and noticed, farther down the road on a similar rock, a brown-haired man with a curious streak of white.
Morian rolled her eyes with the high level of skepticism found only in teens. He had to die it. How horribly cliche. Witches didn't do cliche. They did witches.
But then she did something else witches did- absorbing. When they get too close to a noticeable person, they catch a glimpse of what has been and will be with that person. And the glimpse hit Morian in a rush- a feeling of great distance, a shock of fear, a spirit of adventure, a danger, a great, great, danger-
-and then it was gone, leaving Morian's eyes wide with wonder, a hard feat to achieve in a witch. Something was about to happen with this man. Something big.
Morian smiled. And damn if I'm not going to be a part of it.
She got up and walked over to the man, who looked up, opening his mouth to speak.
Morian cut straight to the chase, glaring at the man. "Something's happening with you. Let me in on it." She sat down next to him, suddenly smiling softly, and waiting for a reply.

A personal address from the king himself. My, my.
The mere fact that the king had adressed him in person was not what astounded Jonath; the fact that the king spoke to him like a son, and presented him with this quest. It was amazing - the oppurtunity of a life time. A chance to glory his family, a chance to glorify himself and his king, and seal away evil forever. Incredible.

Jonath rode from the unbarred city gates at speed, atop of Grein, a noble chestnut warhorse that had carried Jonath for the past three years. Jonath had become quite attatched to him. They rode along the cobbled, wide roads that always sprung up near cities at a great pace for many hours, stopping only so Grien could drink. It would be a long ride.

“And stay out of my house, you Drunk!”
The words resonate in my mind; their sharp edges weren’t being dulled by the near gallon beer I just swigged down. Raising my glass towards the sky, I say “Well, Dad, I guess you were right about me. I’m nothing but a drunk, a low down, dirty alcoholic, nothing more. Hell, even our Ass of a king thinks so. The bastards sending me outta the damn kingdom. I guess I even managed to piss him off somehow…”
I trailed off. People were begging to stare at me. I stand, and with a fair amount of effort, I manage a fully vertical stance for about three seconds, before I fall back to the ground. I can hear a few people laughing. “ Ha ha Boy, you best learn how to handle your drink.”
Screw them. I get to my feet, a little more shakily this time, and with the support from various beams and pillars, I find myself leaving the establishment. The old wood of the floor, the rustic chairs and tables, all seams…irrelevant as I reach the door. Why do I keep coming back to these places? I look back at the man who gave me drinking advice. It certainly wasn’t the company.
Closing the door, I take a swig from my flask. The whiskey was rather bad, horrible actually, but it’s been a long time since I drank for the flavor. Massaging my forehead, I make my way along the street. Stumbling and falling periodically, it takes me a good hour to reach the gates of the city.
I look up at the guard tower, at the brilliant bouncing off thesteel of a knight’s armor. That could have been me a long time and a few thousand drinks ago. I was going places, top of my class at the academy, excellent violin player, and all around likeable guy, but then Sarah had go bitch-out and die. Taking another swig from the metal canister, I push her from my mind.
Thud.
From my position on the ground (The damn street was uneven), I see a dog across the street sitting, and I couldn’t believe it, looking down on me. I was being judged by a ****in’ dog. His eyes, big, brown, and round look down on me, judging me. Incredible.
This is rock bottom. No, I passed that a few months back, I’m well below that if an animal that licks its own ass is being judgmental towards me.

The sun hurts. It was trying to kill me, it was just that, God must hate me. Must? ****, of course he does. I’m only about thirty yards out from the guardhouse. I spent that night crawled up under the porch of someone shop or other, curled up next to the judgmental dog. It took me a full hour to decide not to leave all the booze I had on me under the porch. I had considered it, and I’m sure that the dog opinion of me had lessened after it watched me take the bottle out from my pack, stare at them for a few minute, and put them back and leave.
I can’t hear a thing over the pounding of my head, leaving my eyes as my only real sensory instrument. With my hand over my semi-permanently squinted eyes, I notice an elderly man, not old, but older than the girl he was talking to, sitting on top of a rock. Unless my hangover was more severe than I thought, the girl was a witch. Well, this was getting interesting.

Dawn came. The day before had been long and hard, for both man and steed. But Jonath was a knight. He was tougher than your average man, and as nature painted flashes of orange and scarlet across the horizon, Jonath rose and rode on.

The track was grey and dusty now, the dirt and grit getting in him and his horses eyes. Jonath decided that a break need; so was a stream.

Up ahead on the dirt path, A man lay propped against a large unintersting rock, gently puffing his pipe. Jonath brought his horse to a stop, and looked down on the man, smiling faintly. "Greetings, fine gentlemen. Do you know of any nearby streams or lakes?"

'Damn' Tabula thought, a horseman. And wearing full armour.

"Greetings, fine gentlemen. Do you know of any nearby streams or lakes?"

The cultured tones of one of the well-to-do, a boy playing at knights and horses. Well, he'd learn. Tabula rose, dusted himself off and touched his cap obediently.

"Arrr - I don't be knowing the laand arround these parts m'lud, I'm just a simple traveller trying to scrape a livin' from the larrnd... You'd best be movin' on, don't you be awastin' yer time on and old-timer loike me." Tabula ended his soliloquy by cutting loose a quick tight fart. The knight's nose wrinkled in disgust. With narry a 'fare-thee-well' he spurred his charger toward the horizon, his horse's hooves kicking dust in Tabula's face.

'ptttui' Tabula spat red dust between his feet and then settled down once more to wait. A pity he thought, the knight would have been a fine prize.

Hours passed.

Tabula tapped his pipe out on the rock as the White Witch approached, her soft leather shoes making hardly any impression on the hard packed dirt of the path. She drew close and sat, folding at the waist in a jangle of charms and talismans.

"Something's happening with you. Let me in on it." She exclaimed abruptly. Then she squirmed, a stone perhaps sticking into her backside.

Tabula broke into a grin, wide and slightly rueful. "Well young lady, something is indeed happening, but not so much with me, as with you."

The White witch stared at him blankly, her mouth lolling open, and a single glob of drool escaping to dangle like a silver thread from the corner of her lips.

"You see, you've just sat down in the middle of a patch of my special sleepy little caltrops. You are gonna have one hell of a headache in couple of hours." Gently catching her unconscious form as she collapsed he propped her next to him in some semblance of normalcy on the rock. 'Damn' he thought, wrong victim.

Just then he heard someone approaching.

'By all the Gods' - he cursed inwardly, 'Adventurers are like camel-trains, you wait and wait, then three come along at once...'

Shannon Darrosdatter strode down the semi-busy dirt road. Her weapons were to hand, and her supplies, stacked neatly in her leather pack, kept her company as she walked. It had been a week since she had left Hartland, sent by Houston the Raven in response to one of the King's messages. Well, fine. She'd get the task done, whatever it was, and be back before planting time next year.

After many hours of walking, she neared Blackthorne. Outside the city, she spotted a group of people who looked like they might very well be the "mages, warriors, and sissies" the King was also sending on his little quest.

Well - one of them looked as though the sun had knocked her out. She'd fainted, not at all bravely, and Shannon rolled her eyes to the sky. Well, if this was the group, so be it.

She approached the group, hailed them with her fist in the air. "Long live the King! His blessing on the Wilder-Folk!" Then she waited, lowering her fist, for whatever response might come.

Jonath rode a short distance on. The old man had angered him. His motives were not true. He was no mere beggar. Jonath looked to the sky wearily, remembering the kings words. There were others on the quest; was that man one of them? As Jonath neared the small city of Blackthorne, he decided that tomorrow he would go back and see the old man once more.

(ooc: BOO HISS RARR. Dumb idea. All people should be able to join whenever they want (At least before the climax) if they can work themselves in. Otherwise you're cutting yourself off from new members, ideas, places, choices- new fun, in short.)


Very true. But I'm just thinking of other members Ivan.

But feel free to join if you can keep up with the game i don't mind. But once the game reach's its climax fear not another will start straight after.




~Raven.

Obviously the newcomer was not about to approach as uncautiously as the girl had done. Tabula stood up and beckoned at the teetering figure.

"Hail and well-met stranger. If you're a friend step forward, if you're anything else I suggest you stick your head in a barrel of cold water and come back tomorrow - you look as if the barest breath could knock you on your arse."

The figure stayed where he was, one hand sheilding his eyes from the weak light pervading the landscape. "Ho welcoming one, what would you have me do..? Come stepping blithely over your hidden points and fall a-napping like your girlfriend there..? Nay, I reckon Laramy Swift shall stand awhile and admire the view."

Tabula snorted, this new one seemed to be no-one's fool. "Well Mr. Swift, approach along the left of the path, and leap to the rock from where you see that stick dropped on the path. Let's talk."

Soon the pair were as thick as the thieves they were.

"Long live the King! His blessing on the Wilder-Folk!" A rawcous voice broke them from their discussions.

Facing them, one grubby fist in the air, was a diminutive figure dressed in leather. Not the leather you might see in one of those special shops along the waterfront, but rather the kind of apparel you'd see gracing a swineherd amid a mass of hogs.

Tabula turned toward her and said "Be home now with you girl, as you see we have no swine for you to drive and have no time for your bawdy farm-girl charms."

The barbarian girl went a bright shade of purple and, peeling her greataxe off her back, thundered through the scrub toward the trio by the rock, howling incoherently.

Tabula noted her path and fumbled in his pouch for his pipe. Laramy Swift started up, his hands reaching for his weapons. "Are you mad sir..? She will cleave us like capons..!"

Tabula lifted a finger and said "..Hold." At that moment the barbarian went down like a sack of beets as she tripped over a wire concealed underfoot. Snarling she pushed herself up from the dirt, swiping at something stuck to her cheek.

Something metal, something pointed, somethng smeared with yellowish goo.

Then she keeled over like a felled tree.

Tabula sighed and went over to drag the heavy woman over to the rock. The two men gazed down at the catch.

"So," Said Laramy eventually, "what were you intending to do with them..?"

"We're headed into dragon country and I've got nothing to wear my friend - nothing to turn away dragonfire at least." Tabula said, and slapped his purse. "And the coffers are empty. I thought to borrow some small sum from my compatriates... But it seems all I've caught is some hippy and an escaped farmer's daughter."

"They're going to be somewhat testy upon awakening my strange friend. Perhaps we had better make haste." Observed Laramy drily.

"This enchanted bow looks like it should fetch a pretty penny..." Tabula mused as he plucked it from the sleeping Witch's back. Then he stood and dusted himself off. Squinting at the horizon he turned. "Aye Mr. Swift - let us strike out, should you wish to accompany me..?"

Tabula paused and stooped to tie the laces of the sleeping ladies' footware together, a crazy grin on his face...

...which was wiped off when he felt the earth rumble under his feet, and before he could respond, vines burst from the ground, wrapping around his arms, his legs, his waist, and slamming him to the ground spread-eagle, keeping all his limbs from connecting to save himself.
Morian stood above him, holding her head in one hand and her staff in the other. The look on her face could have burst a book into flame.
"You're harassing an innocent girl..." She spat, rubbing her sandals around Tabula's nose, "...you're horribly arrogant, you just tried to put me under with the very element I control, and I have a hell of a headache. And it is not a good thing to piss off a witch. Now, please explain yourself so I can be gone on my mission for the king.
She put her hand down and waited expectantly.

(ooc: Oh, and please don't try another stupid move to make yourself look oh-so-cool and powerful and mysterious. To be frank, it's getting quite annoying.)

(ooc: But I am oh-so-cool, powerful and mysterious.:) )

The Witch spun on her heel, and abruptly fell over once more, having forgotten to untie her shoelaces.

"I suppose you'll be wanting your bow back then m'lady." Tabula said. "And if you'd get these plants off me... I'm not as young as I used to be."

Tabula had always wondered how exactly plant magic worked - did they carry the seeds around in their pockets..? How'd they get the vines to grow in such a cold climate..? Where did the actual biomass come from..? Or did the magic words conjure instant manure..? Or perhaps some breed of instant sub-terrainian micro-cow to fertillize the seeds..? Why didn't they just buy a chain of farms somewhere and make an absolute wodge of cash for little to zero effort..?

Just then, something else happened.

(ooc: points at the part of my last post that says sandals.
Snicker snicker.)

Morian still waited for the man's reply as he stayed tied down.

(ooc: Observes that ancient sandals had thongs - And it's about 12.30 over here and definitely bedtime).

"Would it help if I put on my contrite face..?" Said Tabula, "These vines really chafe."

“Ah…, Miss, would you mind lettin’ him go. For the moment at least.” I interject. The girl-witch seemed happy enough to just ignore me, but it seems that all good things must end, and the pounding in my head will not go away. Maybe she can do something about that, maybe not.It’s hard to hear her curt response over the noise, “Why, its not like I shouldn’t just leave him high ‘n’ dry?”
“Calm down, have some wine – beer, brandy?- we can stalk this tuff through can’t we?”
“Well I suppose.” She responds, taking the bottle from my open palm, still looking at my new…”friend.”

Suddenly the sky covering reds deep began to churn and change something strange appeared in the sky turning like a whirlwind but not wind it was the dragons of reds deep circling up above eventuually they spread out across the sky some launched fire into the woods below others swooped down across the fields and back to the sky.

The Dragons of reds had woken again.

Morian stared into the sky.
"Um." She said. "Maybe. Maybe I should let you go now. Yeah."
"Yeah," A sarcastic voice said from the ground. "Maybe."
Morian made a gesture, and Tabula began crawling up.
"How about," Morian suggested, "We have introduction time later, and currently worry about the big red overgrown snakes in the sky?"
And then a dragon looked down, opened its mouth...
"DUCK!" Morian screamed.
And fire rained on the earth.

(ooc: I have a sneaking suspicion that those dragons aren't supposed to be here right now. If so, please correct me. But for now...action! Yay!)

The time of dusk in Blackthorne was not a friendly site, at the best of times. Thieves, bandits and all manner of unsanitary beings came from their hiding places of day, preparing for the nights mishaps. The local guard, undermanned and under resourced stood not a chance against the evil of Blackthorne.

Jonath learnt this the hardway. Though he was now an experienced knight, cunning and more than adept in battle, shining, full plate armour and the kings crest doesn't do well in a town of thieves. Jonath was promptly hassled and annoyed out of town.

Then, the dragons.

They came from nowhere. The beggars image spun through Jonath's mind. Even if he is not the old innocent man he seems, he may still need protection... Jonath muttered a few quiet words in the ear of his horse, and they were off, kicking up thunder clouds of dust behind them, making rapid ground on the place where these dragons were seemingly kicking up the emotion. He drew his sword mid -ride, the piercing metallic ring sounding out, the faint red glow accentuated in the dusk light. Spurred by the magic from the blade, Grien sped just a little. The old man came into site; there was others with him, another man, a woman, and a young girl, asleep on the rock. Asleep? At a time like this? Jonaths mind grew heavy with the thought.

This man was most certainly no ordinary beggar.

All of a sudden, a dragon swood down at him, blowing a plume of flame. Grien veered to the right, narrowly avoiding the flame. Jonath slashed at a wing, missing by mere centimetres. Long night ahead, perhaps.

Tabula sneezed and batted the sparks out of his hair. "Oh for God's sake", he muttered. "Bloody Dragons." He looked up at the wyrm coiling in the darkening, smoke-ridden sky. Russet scales shone poisonously in the half light as the beast twisted, folding its gigantic batwings against its flanks as it stooped back toward the figure of a mounted Knight not more than a couple of hundred yards away. Fire foamed at its lips as it fell to earth.

'Oh well, better get over there, even if it's just to prize melted steel off a parboiled corpse.' He thought.

"Hey, Witch lady - You got any fancy Vines that can hold that bugger..?" Tabula swept his remaining caltrops out of everyone's way with his feet, then broke into a run toward the beleagured knight - unwinding his chain from around his waist as he ran.

The knight ducked under the flame and swung at the creature as it barrelled past him not more than an arms-length from the ground. Extending its membraneous wings to their limit; sinews popping and twanging as its huge muscles fought against the air to slow the its flight, the Dragon scrambled back upward into clear air.

Ten feet it climbed, twenty.

Tabula's hooked chain spun out of the smoke and caught a trailing wingtip as it rose to catch the wind. The Dragon's own strength pulled the hook deep. The weighted tail-end of the chain whipped up, blurring round and round like a pinwheel to foul the the vanes as the Dragon's wing flailed vainly for lift. The beast roared and slid sideways through the heated air. It hung, seemed almost to rise slightly - so massive were its efforts to fly - before crashing to the ground like some huge wing-shot pheasent.

Tabula squatted to catch his breath a good safe distance from the enraged Dragon - now a fire-spouting mass of scaled death thrashing titanically upon the ground where it had fallen, its spurs and wing-tips gouging up great torrents of earth and flinging it about.

"Okay - That's it from me folks - if anyone wants to play the hero and slaughter that overgrown chicken, I've trussed it up good." Tabula gasped, and then our weary hero fell back upon the blasted heath, exhausted.

"Ye Gods, where is it, where is it, where is it- oh, there it is," Morian said brightly, jumping up from behind a rock, holding her quiver and bow.
She drew an arrow and quickly locked it into the string, whirled around, closed one eye, dropped to her knees...
Whap. A tree suddenly found itself with an extra dose of arrow.
"Damn," Morian muttered as her bow reloaded itself, then shot again.
Whap. The next one barely missed the head of the girl who Tabula had enchanted but was now waking up, as Morian wondered where the bow's so-called "enchanted aim" had gone.
Splat. The third one made a rather disgusting victory, splashing into the dragon's red eye, and inducing a bone-shaking scream of pain. It threw itself upwards, gouging a hole in its hooked wing, and started to come down again...
And Morian saw something.
"The underbelly!" She yelled. "It's weak! We need to get at that!"

With a sudden burst of speed, Jonath raced forward. I shall not make this distance in time... he though as je raced forward.
Jonath looked down at the tinged blade; it's enchantments made it unbreakable, among other things. Jonath flicked the blade underarm, making full use of his wrists as it twisted towards the dragon, striking it horizontally, going just below the skin. The dragon screamed in pain, and reduced a nearby tree to cinders.

Jonath dismounted quickly, and thrust his blade into the dragon to the hilt, twisting as he went. out of the blue, the dragons massively strong tail whipped around, nearly striking Jonath across the back. "In the Kings name, why does it take such effort to slay such a beast?"

Well, dad, mom, you always said I'd end up getting my ass burned. I don't think, I don't reason, I don't consider, I just race towards that one rock the old guy was sitting on. Maybe, I can hide behind it, or at least, sit there while I get my head together.

"In the Kings name, why does it take such effort to slay such a beast?" The knight cursed and, with a final wrench on the hilt, withdrew the blade from the gash - readying it for another downward stab.

Suddenly The high throbbing keen of the runeblade was drowned out as the Dragon bellowed: a fountain of flame and boiling blood splattering the scorched soil. The beast convulsed - throwing the knight off his feet - then lay still, its sides pulsing slightly, the great ribs fluttering spastically under its scaley skin. Soon even that small movement ceased and a silence descended, mitigated only by the soft spit and pop of smoldering pinecones.

"Dibs!" Cried Tabula, getting to his feet and shambling over to the great corpse. Leaning over the dead dragon he pulled out his dagger and began peeling off the scales from just below the great ridge of spine along its back.

Tabula looked about him.

"What..? - these things are worth a fortune from the armourers guild. Hey - Can someone give me a hand to roll the bastard over..? I know an Alchemist who'd pay a pretty penny for a Dragon's pizzle."

Tabula punched holes in the fleshy roots of the scales he'd collected, threaded them on a length of sinew he'd stripped from one wing, and stowed them in his gear. Enough for a Jerkin at least he thought. He rewound his chain around his waist and dusted himself off.

"Whoo - Exciting stuff. I'm a bit wired - How about we find an inn an get pissed..?" The idea met with little applause save from the cowering Laramy. "Oh come on people - We can er, discuss our next moves..." Still nothing. "By all the Gods and their three-titted mothers !" Tabula swore - "Look - I'll even carry the damned Barbarian okay..?"

Morian leaned on the staff.
"I reckon," she said bemusedly, "They're all waiting for the part where you tell us why we're all suddenly travelling together. But I'm assuming it's because you've already figured out that we're all here on order of the king?"
"Well, I might've been getting to that..." Tabula said.
"The bit about the three titted goddesses was quite good," Morian said, now walking. "Although I've met a few goddesses myself, and I must say they tend to stick to strictly two and under, as is average. Now...."
She bent down, and wrapped her arms around the prone figure of Sharros.
"..I'll carry the girl."
She turned to the others.
"Shall we head out?"

(ooc: Where is HF? You'd think he'd have gotten back to Sharros-or whatever her name is- by now...)

Standing, my knees begin to knock, and I reflexly reach for my flask. Well, the one strapped to my belt at least. Tilting my head back, I down the moderate amount of fluid left in the bottle. Damn, my head still hurts. Flying lizards.
When the hell did the status quo change? Drink, wake up, drink some more, ignore comments about my life. Was rinse repeat. Now I'm sitting in the middle of some field next to the smoking remains of dead race. oh, I forgot the miscreants I'm now keeping company with; a knight, among others. As if the bottles didn't remind me enough...
"Well, it seems to this bum that the gods, who ever they are- assholes off in the sky, or just random ****, don't want us traveling together if the dragon is indication." I try get the last few drops out of the flask. Fully drained, I toss it into the air. "And there's nothing I like more than pising off self Righteous deitys on a daily basis."

"Aahh, " Tittered Laramy unevenly, pointing an already soused finger at the Witch and the Barbarian over her shoulder, "Girl on girl action..."

"I'll box your ears when I've a spare fist you drunkard." Spat Morian.

"So," Said Tabula, patting his empty purse, "Whose round is it..?"

"Hold - I must warn you all now. Blackthorne is a town full of evil. Thieves, murderers, kidnappers and the like run the place at night. They can smell a full purse from a distance, much less dragon scales. Be careful."

Tabula glanced up at the mounted Jonath. "Look - You're a fully armoured knight, dripping with fresh dragon blood, carrying a magic sword. We've got a guy who knows his way around the streets like the back of his hand, probably even better than that now he's drunk again. We've got a Witch with a hair-trigger and an attitude problem, and we've even got a spare barbarian, if she ever wakes up, just in case."

Tabula paused, scratching his arse contemplatively.

"I mean - what thief in his right mind is gonna start any trouble with us..?"

Across the borders of reds Deep over Toricous River on the boarders Of Avolone Masses of Orcs gather watching over the river for anyone who dares to cross from Reds Deep into Avolone Home of the Skarrab Orcs.

The Orc Warboss stands at the foot of the violent river watching its constantly morphic ripples and thrashing currents bashing and slamming hard into the rocks. "Me Telling you dat anythin dat kross's you godda shoot at da blighters." he bellows to the 100 or so Orcs that surround him.

And all are armed with brutish swords and big axes.

And they wait for those that have to cross Toricous's river into Avolon.

Jonath stared at Tabula for a short time. "Very well. To Blackthorne, but we remain for no more than a night, and then we should continue on our quest."

"Right, gotcha," Morian said. She stopped for a second, looking down the winding path that reached out to gently touch the horizon.

She sighed.
"And so we go. C'mon."

(ooc: Sorry about the delay, fellows. I got back on late Monday, in time to have a ton of old schoolwork dropped on my head . Then I loaded on the site, saw that the barbarian had used her axe for some reason when she would've explained her position as emissary, and then read that the dragons were attacking. So I [quite pettily] decided to let you guys get eaten while a decent off-main fighter slept through it. And now Shannon's waking up.)

Shannon blinked blearily, thinking [I]Eh? Wha? What happened? She saw a group of people, not quite sure who they were - it seemed that the formerly unconscious young woman had awoken, but she didn't recognise the others.

She sat up, feeling dusty. One of the group was talking: "Very well. To Blackthorne, but we remain for no more than a night, and then we should continue on our quest."

Someone else replied in the affirmative, "And so we go. Come on." It didn't take much to figure out that, despite appearances, this was the group Lord Houston wanted her to accompany on behalf of the King.

Rising carefully to her feet, Shannon surveyed the situation. Two unruly-looking fellows, one vaguely familiar. A knight on horseback - must ask him how he fights with that sword of his, she thought instantly, fingering the axe at her side. The steed looked well-bred, also; a true destrier rather than the faster, lighter breed the Wilder Folk used to send messages and as mounts in war. When she turned thirteen-and-eight, she would begin to train with a war horse from the Raven's stables, but until then, she felt free to admire the knight's steed.

The other two didn't look so bad, either. The young woman was there, and it occurred to Shannon Darrosdatter that perhaps whatever sudden exhaustion had affected her might have affected the woman similarly. Magic, perhaps, or trickery. No doubt she'd find out eventually. Until then, it looked like the road for her.

She walked into the midst of the group as they left, accepting a slightly slurred, "Oh, you're finally awake" from one of the rogue-ish looking men with a nod, then headed toward the mounted knight.

"Greetings, honest traveler," she said to him, inclining her head slightly. "I gather that all of us are traveling in the service of our good King. Where, may I ask," and she looked around, including everyone in the question, "are we headed? And what dangers may we face along the way?"

"To Blackthorne for the night, and so that our fellow companions here can drown the days sorrows and hardships. After that, it's onto the dragon country. It will be a long journey, and the dangers are thoroughly unpredictable, however, I'm sure that we are more than capable to face them." said Jonath, his eyes boring through hers. Pure intent.

He then began a slow trot along the road to Blackthorne. He was weary from the days mishaps, and the days before. A drink and a rest would do him good.

(ooc: Unless anyone else wants to dialogueify, I suggest we time-skip forwards to Blackthorne.)

King Victor Arcadius the first Rules the land known as Blackthorne this is the last place governed by Men.

Blackthorne is the wealthiest land on all of Third Earth.
In Blackthorne many travellers come to seek fortune and rewards. Also across Third Earth exist the The Dark Mages who unleash their evil.

King Victor Arcadius the first calls for all who will Journey to the darkest corners of Third Earth looking for a precious stone.

The Ravenstone.
The Ravenstone is a powerful orb that will shield all of Blackthorne from the evil Dark Magic of the Dark Mages.

This journey will be perilous route with all kinds of Dangers On your Journey you will face the Dragons of Reds Deep the Orc’s Giants and the retched goblins, you will even face the undead. But worst of all these adversaries you will face the dark Mages.

The Game
You will travel across Third Earth in search of the Ravenstone fighting off any dangers. Its up to you if you wish to team up together or travel as a loner.


I thought we left Blackthorne and entered Reds Deep and now Hulls Raven has set the scene for those leaving Reds Deep.

So why would you want to return to blackthorne were the king has sent you from to quest for this ravenstone?

(and what do we say to Night Haunter..? We say - "Stop breaking the flow Joe. Pitch in with the narrative or pitch your tent somewhere else.")

Tabula grumbled under his breath, staggering back to the table with a heavily-laden tray.

"I have no truck with the temptations of material wealth." Jonath had said.
"I'm skint." Laramy.
"I'm er, a bit short." Shannon.
"Spent it on fertillizer." Morian.
"For the love of God." Tabula.

Booting a bandy-legged whore out of the way Tabula clunked the drinks down on the table and sat heavily. Draining half his leather tankard in three gulps Tabula swiped the froth off his lip with the back of his hand and looked around.

"Wuz talkin' to some lads at the bar, some sheep-farmers from the borderlands, down here for the markets. Seems there's some talk of Orcs on the move in those parts - massing near the bridges. From what I remember the Toricous river is too damn fast to swim."

He turned to the Witch, who was sipping at a Rajoga-root spritzer, little finger carefully extended. She made a face - "What..?" She said, "Have I got juice on my chin..? God I hate that..."

"No - just wondering how powerful you are, and what kind of range you can work at. Could you split rock with those roots you command..? Could you take out a bridge..? Say while there was a whole bunch of Orcs crossing it..? How close would you have to be..?"

Morian creased her pale brow, and steepled her long fingers beneath her chin...

"Well I...

"Spent it on fertillizer." Morian.


(ooc: Hehehehe.)

Morian took a large guzzle of her beer, basking in that glow of joy one gets from drinking underage and getting away with it.
Then she creased her pale brow, and steepled her long fingers beneath her chin.
"Well, I generally have to see the spot to be able to command it, to answer your last question. And horizon doesn't count. I'm a witch, but just a teenager. As I've been reminded," she sighed, "countless times before. As for a bridge...I dunno. Depends on the scenery. If it was, say, in the middle of a cliff, I could grow a root right here," She started making hand gestures as only the slightly drunk can, "And start a few rocks rolling right there, and before you know it, you've got an avalanche pouring down on your Orcish arse. But other places...I'm just as helpless as you. And as for the strength of my plants...don't know. I've never really tried."
When Leremy gave her a skeptical look, she shot back, "Oh, come on, I'm a witch. Generally, we work as midwives, healers, or nurses for those on the deathbed. As we say, we help people get into this world, stay in this world, and then get out of this world. It's not like I go off everyday and say, "Let's see if I can get a bloody big root to smash through that mountain over there." I'm far too busy helping along the little things in life. That's what a witch does."
She took another swig of beer, then looked thoughtful.
"Y'know," She said, "I don't think I've ever given such long monologues, especially not in succession and especially not with a beer in my hand."
"Oh, lucky us," Tabula said sarcastically, and rolled his eyes.

"...If you were allowed, if people didn't think you shouldn't," I interjected ",would even bother to drink?" I look down at the bottle in my hand. God I hate this. The more I try to the stop the more I want it, and ,God, it makes the pain go away."It doesn't help you know. You try and chase away the pain, but in the end all you get is more of it. Shat." the stunned expression look on her, all of their faces, face says I've tooken them completly off guard."****. Sorry...I didn't, I was just think' out loud... Gohead, finish your drink." I can't even talk about the only thing holding me together. ****.

(Its spelt Laramy, no second e.)

Tabula slammed his empty tankard on the table. "Yes," He said in a low drawn out whisper, "Verrry inciteful Mr. Laramee-no-double-e"

Tabula pulled his boot knife and started whittling the dried dragon blood out from under his fingernails. "Remind us again, how you are useful to us, beyond illustrating the finer points of cowardice..?"

"Actshually," The easily-smashed Morian burbled, "Cowardiche can be quite handy when ye've got a billion pisshed-off warriorsh bearin' down on ya, y'know? Ye've heard of that play, right? 200? The one they schow at the theater in Ankh-Morpork? With the 200 men from the Trommisch country fighting a bazhillion uber-mensches?"
"Yes," Jonath said primly, disdainfully viewing Morian's slurred speech. "The one wear the 200 warriors win...despite, I might add, wearing a conspicuously low amount of clothing in the face of arrows and spears."
"Yeah, well, witchesh no hishtory inshide and up," Morian said, "And trusht me when I shay: Thoshe men didn't really win. Every one killed. But shee, if they had jusht run home and put up the good ol' white flag, who knowsh? Shome would shay shlavery ish better than dyin'."
"It's disgraceful," Jonath said.
"It's schmart. They're often confushed for each other," Morian said, slapping Laramy on the back.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

From the other end of the bar, a bag of gold clinked on the table, as happens at so many tables at so many bars, especially at times when others are undertaking great quests.
"Alright, there's the gold. Now for the info," The man in gray said.
"Over there," Pointed the bandy-legged whore, at where the travelling group was seated. "I heard 'em talking about some sort a' battle. A great undertakin'. And that man," She rubbed her shoulder sulkily, "Shoved me. Honest-to-Gods. Brute."
"Yes, yes, horrible," The Man in Gray said distractedly. "But- you're sure that's them? A drunken young girl, a drunken young man, a priss, a warrior girl, and a...erm, other person?"
"Look, hun, I don't even know who "them" is," The whore said, counting out her gold as she talked.
"No, of course not. Just...hmm."
The Man in Gray stood up. "Thank you for your time. Now go off and...er, hawk your wares."
"I'm a seamstress, thank you very much," The whore lied indignantly as she grabbed her gold and began to walk away.
"Yes," The Man in Gray muttered, "And apparently, when talking to the bartender, you were a sickmaid."
The whore, who's back was to the Man in Gray, stopped, eyed wide.
"How'd you hear that?" She snapped. "You weren't even there!"
"I'm always there," came the voice of the Man in Gray. "You just don't take notice."
The whore whirled around to glare at him- but there was nothing there but shadows.
Gray shadows.
The whore shrugged, and went off to hawk her wares.

(Ya, I'm not drunk yet.)

"I can run, talk my way out of most things, sing, play the violin," I gesture towards the instrument in my pack, "I'm a more than fairly good at fencing, and, hell, I was even up for a knight-hood in my earlier days..."
Did I honestly just blurt that out? I can feel the look of disgust on the knight's face. Damn. I sure as hell can make a mess of things. I look down at my drink, the third one of the night. Time to change that.
"Barkeep, another round o'er here....Also, you didn't answer the question..."

"You WHAT! You, off all people, up for knighthood? Unbelievable. Come, let us duel; that is the only way for me to verify your story." Jonath looked down at the man with disdain as he shouted for another round. Jonath had of course told a small lie there - he could infact tell if the man was lying, and Jonath knew he wasnt, but there were other things on his mind. One lie for a good cause is acceptable. Morian stared down into his drink again, seemingly contemplating his decision.

Just at that moment, a large, drunken brute of a man crashed into Jonath, the man spilling his drink in the process. Slowly, the man turned his thick, bald and sweating head towards Jonath. "See wot yee did 'ere knight?" The man spat the words with disgust. "I assure you good fellow, that it was infact your fault that you spilt your drink. You, ran into me." Morian and the others began shaking their heads furiously, but alas it was too late. The man, with a large growl, swung a fist at Jonath, connecting with his shoulder plate and then colliding with his jaw. Jonath fell off his barstool with a loud CLUNK but in a second was standing, glowing steel unsheathed and humming quietly. The bar went eerily quiet...

(ooc: Hey. Psst. You. Frost.
Morian is a girl.)

As all eyes were connected on Jonath glaring at the harasser, Morian, who even though drunk was a witch through and through, knew enough to keep her eyes elsewhere. Wherever there weren't people watching, something bad was bound to happen.
Something, indeed, happened.
There seemed to be a collection of shadows in the corner- but in a strange contrast to the flickering shadows of the candlelitten bar, they were...gray. Not black or dark gray, just...gray. Bland. Simple.
And they were moving.
Morian nudged Tabula, putting a finger to her mouth for them to stay quiet, as the entire bar held their breath at Jonath and the brute circling each other.
Morian pointed at the shadows in the corner.
Tabula looked at the corner, and his expression didn't change very much, but an eyebrow peaked.
He looked back at Morian, who also raised her eyebrows. This time, they both looked back to see-
-nothing.
Tabula shot an inquisitive look at Morian, who was now desperately casting around the bar for where the shadows had gotten off to.
Then her eyes fell on Jonath and the man, still circling, still tense.
Her eyes widened.
The man, who had once been dark in the gloomy bar, now seemed to be cast in a dull gray light- that didn't seem to have a source.
Tabula had seen it too. Then he started making gestures. He poked at the blue tablecloth of their spot, then at his eyes, then at the man.
Morian looked, puzzled, and then saw it:
The man's eyes had gone completely, utterly, purely gray.
Whatever had made the man the man was no longer in control. And no one else seemed to notice it, not even Jonath.
The thing posessing the man's body let out an inhuman roar- and leapt.

(OOC: Oh dear. I feel very, very bad.)

With incredible speed and agility, the man catapulted himself accross the circle, his large muscled hands going straight for Jonath's neck. Jonath ducked beneath the mans hands, knowing that if he got hold of his neck, Jonath was done for. The man landed ontop of Jonath, the two collapsing onto the bar floor. The cold plate metal plus the mans enormous lefft Jonath struggling to breath, as with his spare elbow he struck at the mans temple. The inhuman roar sounded again, and the man rolled off him. Jonath sprung up, surprisingly agile in his armour, and grabbed his sword. He spotted Morian and Tabula staring, wide eyed, making fierce gestures towards each other. The man leapt again, and Jonath quickly dodged. "Run!" he yelled at the gaping Tabula and Morian. "All of you!"

Damnit! A fight now of all times. Standing, I shake off the effects of the seemingly little booze in my system, and grab for my pack, searching blindly for my sword. Felling something long and hard, I grab it rush to go help Jonath. My eet planted firmly, I stand close enough to rub shoulders with him.
I bring my wrist to chin,ready to send the blade straight into someone's chest only to realize instead of a three pound slab of steel I'm holding the bow to my violin.
"Sh*t!"
I have no idea where anyone else is at the moment, but I'm, without a doubt, royally screwed...

The man snickered and let out a gruff growl. Jonath saw that his back up had come to fight with the bow of a violin. The thought that counts.

Jonath stepped forward and fiented towards the man. The fight had turned lethal; this was no longer a mere bar brawl. The man side stepped, nimble and agile. Jonath flicked his sword around, the tip slicing along the mans upper thigh. A small trickle of blood flowed out. The sword glowed a brilliant crimson, as the man threw various objects at Jonath with frightening accuracy and speed. Jonath swung at the first flying bar stool, the splinters showering the bar memebers, as he ducked behind a large barrel and awaited the end of the barrage. "Good king help me!"

Barroom brawls. No monster more lethal once they get going. Tabula ducked a flying stool, and turned to watch its trajectory terminate on the head of some unsuspecting punter who'd just been quietly trying to have a drink in the corner. Always the way - A barroom brawl has a hundred arms, all clutching something heavy, or pointy, or both, and no thrice-damned idea of what it's going to do with any of them from one instant to the next

Which is what makes them so dangerous. Sod's law. Sod's Law dictates that a slightly drunken primary-school teacher out for a small sherry and polite conversation, will end up killing Zod-the-Dominator-of-the-Seven-Cities by accidentally sticking the stem of his broken glass through Zod's carotid artery, after said primary school teacher has tripped over someone else's feet. The teacher is extremely apologetic, and Zod, who has survived over a thousand incidences of single combat with blood-thirsty champions from all around the world with narry a scratch... Well, Zod's fighting days are over, brought to a premature and inglorious end.

'Better not let this one get out of hand' thought Tabula.

What do people care more about than blood..?

Tabula snook round the back of the ring of men watching the fight and selected the fat pouch of an equally fat merchant, his bodyguards distracted - both raptly craning their necks to see who'd stab who. Deftly pulling the pouch from the man's belt Tabula hoisted it over the crowd to splatter in an expensive cascade of gold and silver on the wall opposite.

The crowd suddenly wavered, then trampled all over itself to reach the fallen riches. Jonath and his possessed opponent, still struggling, were temporarily without an audience.

"Finish him quickly Sir Knight !!!" Cried Tabula, his stabbing spear out, point weaving in the half-light, seeking a target.

"Finish him quickly Sir Knight!!!" cried Tabula. Jonath took heed of the advice, advancing with deadly speed, impaling the brawly brawler onto a near-by wall. He gasped, choked, and finally his eyes rolled into the back of his head. Jonath retracted his blade, said a quiet prayer and closed the mans eyes. Jonath walked to Tabula and placed a hand on the mans shoulder. "I thank you. Your distraction was just what was needed. How much did you steal from the poor man who's coin ended up on the baroom floor? We will pay him back..."

"Your wretched altruism turns my stomach worse than the rancid piss they call beer in this establishment." Tabula griped. "What price would you put upon your life Sir Knight..? Let us pay him that."

Tabula paused. The crowd were getting even uglier. "Let us discuss metaphysics at a more secluded location, away into the night my friends, Away !!!"

"Here, here," Shannon muttered in response, her knuckles white as she gripped the handle of her greataxe. She had come from a wilder, rougher, but more civilized place - a tavern brawl was all but unheard of; if people wanted to fight they'd go outside and punch each other until one of 'em quit.

It annoyed her irrationally that the attacker had not announced himself. It seemed somehow uncouth of him to strike in a crowded public place, where Shannon could not swing her axe in any but the smallest of arcs for fear of hitting an innocent bystander.

As the others quickly exited to talk outside, (ooc: I'm assuming that is what the group is doing, or I wouldn't have written it) Shannon paused a moment to take the late attacker's beltpouch and to rifle his pockets. If he had anything to identify himself or his reason for attacking, she wanted to know.

After catching up with the others, who were keeping a wary look about them even as they conversed, (ooc: this prevents more sneak attacks, if that's okay with you fellows) she stepped up and dumped the contents of the pouch on the ground in a well-lit area.

"I took this from our attacker," she said, noting the rolled-up pieces of parchment, small ceramic tokens, coins and other minor miscellany that fell out when she shook the pouch harder. "See anything of interest? Other than the coins, that is - we should probably give some of them to the, er, benefactor who lent us his purse."

"Benefactor..?" Grinned Tabula, "Dat's awwfy high-falutin' talk for a, ahem, barbarian..." He slapped his thigh. "No-no - don't tell me, you come from an ignorant, but highly educated tribe."

"Stop harassing her, dickhead," Morian snapped, mind focused elsewhere.
That man had been nowhere big enough to launch an attack like that. That gray stuff...whatever it was...it was bad.
Oh, well. It was a dark bar. A one-time thing. Who knew? Maybe she'd never in her life run into it again.
Being a witch, that kind of thought was so absurd that it made Morian snort with mirthless laughter.
"What's so funny?" Sharros asked.
"Nothing," Morian answered truthfully. "Right now...nothing's funny. Oh, sorry, sir."
The man she had bumped into nodded to her, and then walked back into the flow of the street. Morian, too distracted by her thoughts, never thought to actually look at the face of the Man in Gray.

While Morian came to her defense, Shannon stared at Tabula. Just stared.

After enough time had passed that the stare was starting to feel uncomfortable, she carefully re-fastened the axe to her belt and looked up again.

"Only a man truly ignorant of the woods would say such a thing. Yes, there are 'barbaric' barbarian tribes - eaters of human flesh, defilers of temples, berserkers, scum among true men. My clansmen and clan-kin long ago submitted to the just and honest rule of the Kings all of us serve. In return for fighters in time of war, he sent emissaries. Priests, healers, teachers, smiths to show us how to fashion weapons out of iron instead of just bronze or chipped rock."

Shannon took out the axe, displayed it in her open palms. "See those runes? I doubt any of you - well, except maybe the magic user there - can read them. They are in the tongue of my grandfathers's clansmen from before the rule of the Kings. We have had word-pictures for thirteen generations, and the Common-speech for five thirteens of years."

She paused again, aware that she sounded angry. Well, maybe she was. She took a deep breath to calm herself.

"Of course," she went on, much more quietly, "it only makes sense that you would think me a fool. I am younger than all of you, I ween. My speech is . . . odd. Even I notice my accent. And I haven't explained to you my purpose here."

"I am the daughter of Darrow, a thane of Houston the Raven, who in turn serves the good King. My father went to a temple of scholars in his younger days and learned the ways of your people - your city folk. He taught them to me, and so when our King requested a representative of our clan, I was chosen. So I am not an 'ordinary' barbarian, as you call me."

She narrows her eyes at Tabula. "But enough. You fight well - you use your head when others use their fists. This can be useful, and I respect that. And your age. If not much else."

(Ooc: I'm picturing barbarians as similar to the Norsemen. They were actually quite civilized in some ways: they were, for example, skilled in metalwork and shipbuilding, some of them could read if I recall correctly, and they were just about the only Caucasian group at the time to value washing up. Heck, they actually took baths - at a time when no Englishman or Germanic man would have been caught dead taking a bath. He would have considered it unhealthy.)

"Indeed, it is true. One of the finest knights to ever serve the king - my mentor - was a man from the barbarian tribes. They are not such savages as they are made out."

"However, as much as Im sure you all enjoy tarrying and discussing the...how would you say...extent of intelligence, of fellow members, I believe we'd best be off. We have spent too much time in Blackthorne as it is."

"At last check, we're headed for the Dragon lands. Would anyone be so kind as to direct us to the shortest possible route?"

"It seems I stand corrected my fair barbaric lady," Said Tabula in more courtly tones, glaring at the witch all the while. He drew himself up from the half-bow he had performed and sniffed the smoky air. "And I do believe midnight is fast approaching. I will see you all upon the morrow perhaps, as for now I have an appointment with a seamstress. My, ah, socks need darning."

"I'm sure I will catch up with you should we become parted. Goodnight"

"Ah, seamstresses," Morian said grimly. "I understand they are very satisfactory in this town."
"Erm. Um. Yes." Tabula said, eyeing Morian cautiously. "At. You know. Clothes, and things."
"Yes, specifically taking them off," Morian muttered.
"What?"
"Nothing. Go on."
As Tabula departed, Morian shrugged and turned back to the others, who seemed slightly perplexed except for Laramy, who was snickering.
"Right," She said. "Let's find an inn. Tomorrow, we find Tabula again, and then depart."

"Don't be so critical, little witch. From the looks of you, it'd seem you'd make a great...seamstress."I say the girl with the extremely annoyed look on her face, "I don't know about you guys, but I'm going to go get some thing more to drink...See you guys in the morning." I look down at the bow in my hand, and can't believe that I brought a bow to a sword fight. Am I honestly that far gone? As much as it hurts to admit, I'm no longer the young knight-in-training. Maybe I should talk to the knight, but brining the "sword" to my cheek was as natural as it was when I was seventeen...
Either way, I should talk to that knight after my hangover blows over tomorrow.

(ooc: anyone else going to make their final goodbyes or should i cut straight to the morning?)

(ooc: suspecting no-one wants a quick hardcore cutscene, involving swordsmanship of a different nature - I'd say let us cut to the chase.)

Important.



Your Journey to retrieve the Ravenstone.

First is Reds deep.
Reds Deep is Land of the dragons. Some dragons are friendly but many are not. the land is mostly fields with small sets of woods. Some deserters have been known to live in the small woodlands of this place.
Across the borders of reds Deep is Toricous River on the boarders Of Avolone

Avolon is ruled by the Orc clans and they hate Humans elves dwarfs.
Avolon itself is filled with hills and trees there are a great number of woods in Avolon and there are a great number of Orcs

From Avolon is Fenris.

Fenris is covered in snow and ice always with strong winds and very cold need to warm up on clothing to cross Fenris. Also living in Fenris are Thousands of goblins with tribes of Orges roaming across the dune ice seas.


Calubous is the next part of your journey. Calubous is the land of the dead Zombies skeleton warriors dead Orcs even the Vampires are known to Calubous.

And Finally is Norfolk.
Norfolk is equal in size to that of Blackthorne and has a mass army Norfolk is the land were the famous Mage Von Caste Mortian lives. in his caslte on the high mountain he keeps the Ravenstone
As the game goes I will from time to time post in a situation for you to solve or fight your way out of.

This still stands once a situation has been placed you must wade through or solve the riddles issues etc.



~Raven.

Dawn.

The street criers were out, calling their wares. Jonath rose from his small but comfortable room, washed his face in the small bowl of surprisingly clean water in the corner, slipped on a soft felt shirt and then put on his armour. Taking up his sword he went downstairs to wait for Morian and the others to descend.

Tabula groaned; extractinging himself from the musky tangle of silken limbs wound around him. A series of sleepy murmurs berrated him. He winced as he stepped down onto the cold flagstones. Parts of him that he hadn't even known he'd had were aching. He suspected he'd probably used up his entire lifetime's supply of hardons.

Dragonscales buy a whole lotta love.

Climbing into his clothes he shaved in the mirror with his bootknife, nicking himself out of pure unadulterated weariness. 'Tally-ho' Tabula said under his breath and hit the streets.

What the hell? Where am I? The air smells like straw, and the ground is fairly wrong. Barn? Maybe I should open my eyes, but then I couldn't play the where am I waking up today game...
"MOO!"
Defeinetly a barn.
Yep, I spent the night with livestock. Damn, the last thing I remember was going "home" with a ...girl, I hope.
I stand, shakily, and look around the barn. Looks exactly like an other barn in this particular hemisphere; cows, hay, pitch forks, and a pissed off farmer...
His intent glare makes me look down at my underweared-body, then at the hay, and the half-naked body on top...
Crap...

The early morning light, like still water, lay over the orchard. The sky was the same pinkish yellow as the apples on the trees, which rustled just the slightest bit in the gentle breeze.
The girl's eyes were closed, her body curved in a way that defined grace- back in a semi circle, one leg bent up under her, arms bent out in positions that made it look as if it was drawing substance from the air.
A murmuring of Earth, a ray of sun, a rush of power, a ritual to prepare for the rest of the day....
...and a voice called out, "Hey, there's a wench in the old geezer's orchard! Who thinks we didn't get enough last night! Alright, Tom, grab her legs, Jon, take off the tunic, and I'll- aaak!"
The girl's eyes opened, revealing a storm of emerald. Behind her, unseen but easily heard, three boys dangled by their ankles as giant vines cracked from the Earth and yanked the young men into the air.

Morian smiled in a way that would have given Satan a shiver, then grabbed her staff and walked away happily, ready for the day.

Shannon rose early from the cheapest bed in the inn, dressed in a newly purchased set of clothing, stretched, and reached for her old clothes. The innkeeper directed Shannon to a hired girl who would wash renters' garments for the price of three ales, and Shannon spent most of her time waiting for the girl to finish by braiding her hair back, out of her eyes and close to the back of her neck so it would not impede her vision or balance during a fight.

Her leather armor took a few minutes to buff and polish, since she'd done most of the cleaning the night before. Her greataxe didn't need any; she just sheathed it and wore it as a familiar weight on her belt.

When her clothing had dried to the 'slightly damp' point she rolled it up as part of a traveling pack and went to a merchant across the street who had just set up shop. Ten minutes later, he grinned at her, clinking her former coins in his pocket and wishing her a good day as she went back to the inn. She had hard candy, the boiled-down syrup type, a small ceramic pot of honey, hard sticks of bread, a thin pouch of salt, spices that she hadn't purchased there but which she'd brought from home, two small sacks of dried stone fruits, a hard wax-coated roll of cheese, and jerked meat. Pemmican she could make on her own, as they traveled. Now they had no time.

It was eight-thirty in the morning, and already, several of the others had wakened and were making their own preparations. Shannon sighed. It was exhilerating to be on this adventure, but . . . Well. Every step she took would be one away from her home.

She went to turn in the room key, sat at a table with her pack and weapons at hand, and waited for the others with a tankard of fresh milk in front of her.

(ooc: Im going to skip this and just say that we've all met up and were ready to go off and continue our adventure.)

Standing at the gates of Blackthorne, Jonath felt an eerie sense of focus wash over him. This was his destiny; this was the time where he had to prove himself. He did a quick count of the party members - Tabula, the bow fighting bard, Shannon, Morian. All were here.

"We have tarryed long enough - we cannot simply turn around for rest and recreation everytime a dragon attacks us. We are journeying into dragons land; attacks should be expected. Some dragons are noble creatures, Im sure we can find allies there if we play our options right." Jonath cut in on the general murmour in a pompous tone. "We should aim to be deep in their territory by night fall, and have scouted it enough to know where to shelter for the night. Let us go."

"Sounds like a plan." Said Tabula, scratching his crotch absently. "Hey Morian - you got any control over fungus..? I think I got an infestation..."

"Ask one of your godsdamned seamstresses to get it off with a needle," Morian growled, rubbing her eyes.
Past the ritual, she was not much of a morning person.

As if being threatened with a bear, my hand moves very slowly towards my clothes. I can see my pack off in a corner next to the door-an ideal spot to grab while running. I slide my pants over my legs, and begin the process of butting them up before being interrupted.
‘So, what the hell happened last night? Did you…” he trailed off, now staring intently at his daughter.
Sir, I would assume that I got her good and drunk, much like I ways at the time, no doubt. Then she probably said something about having an empty room somewhere, and I was to too drunk to notice that her room was a barn. See that spot about five feet in front of you? Yeah, that’s where I took advantage of your daughter last night….sorry.
Instead I say, “Well, sir, I, uh, can’t exactly remember the events of the last night, but I can assure whatever deflowering that-“
I should have known that would’ve lead straight to hell.
He doesn’t say a word. He just runs right at me, pitchfork parallel to the ground and my chest, as fast as he can. I duck, and his elderly body flies a few inches over my head, making one helluva a racket when he hits the floor.
I manage a “Thanks for last night” to the girl, now sitting up in bed.
I tear out of the barn, and remember I got drunk last night. My head swirls and I make my shaky way into the next alley. I hide behind a few barrels and wait for the farmer to pass. He does, and it only takes a few minutes to find the others.

A small group of several Orcs watch Laramy Swift the brutish creatures lurk in the distance waiting to ambush Laramy Swift. All are armed with very bulk curved blades and axes their armour is black and rusty. and it appears they are looking for a quick kill


A small party of Orcs are also watching Tabula Rasa Only these orcs are aware of his Bounty Hunter status and armed themselves with Crossbows. and slowly but clumsily they follow the Bounty Hunter Tabula Rasa, to make a kill.

(ooc: Erm...we're all together. How can the orcs be watching two specific people but not the others? Are they all watching blinders?
Please educate me.)

Well maybe they are bounty hunters themselves. plus there a are seven in each band. remember the last post the orcs were watching and waiting. Now they are persuing.

As the group walked along the road, Morian said, "Y'know, we should get horses for everyone sometime. If we come across a farmhouse soon, I vote we rob a few steeds."
"But- that is not the knightly way!" Jonath sputtered indignantly.
Morian shrugged. "Alright, sorry if I offended you. Feel free to walk behind us."
Jonath glared.
"Oh, and in other news," Morian said, her voice dropping to a whisper in a tone that said 'I really don't care if anyone hears me, I'm just obeying protocol', "There are two big lumbering Orc parties that appear to be trying to shadow us, and failing miserably at it."
"You know, I wondered when someone was going to mention that," Laramy sighed.
"Yeah, I just wasn't too worried because, well, honestly...the average orc has the IQ of moss," Shannon said. "And that's an insult to moss."
"Right," Morian said. "Should we act like everything's normal and wait for them to finally charge, or just take them out right here and n-"
As it turned out, the answer was both, because at that moment, the orcs charged.

14 of them. Both sides of the rode. Jonath whipped out his crimson glowing blade, singing in the morning air as it promptly carved through an orcs gut. He ducked a lunging swing great axe and rolled to avoid a heavy flail about to come down on his head. "Funny that."

OOC:
[QUOTE=Crazy Ivan;36562]
"Yeah, I just wasn't too worried because, well, honestly...the average orc has the IQ of moss," Shannon said. "And that's an insult to moss."
QUOTE]
Crazy Ivan! You, sir, win. :D

Back in character:
There was a flurry of movement to Shannon's right as the orcs attacked. She heard the clatter of metal on metal and the twang of the bard's bow when he counterattacked in the instant before her attacker reached her. She parried the first blow, catching the orc's falchion with the blade of her axe and using his momentum to knock it to her side, where it struck harmlessly against her wooden shield. But it wasn't hard to see that the brute's attention was focused on someone else; his eyes, instead of looking at hers or at her weapon, were focused over her shoulder.

She took the opportunity to swing her axe in a short arc toward his neck, which he parried, snarling, without too much trouble. Again their blades crossed, and then again their weapons parted. Shannon had the feeling that her attacker was just waiting for the chance to bullrush her or otherwise get around her and face his real target.

There was a solid Thock! to her side and back, and blackish blood spattered her and the orc before her. She heard a grunted "Treacherous - beast - " from the knight and was struck from behind. It wasn't much of a blow, but enough of one that she had to change her footing, and in that moment her attacker lunged.

Reflexively, in a move guided by years of training and brief skirmishes between her people and the brigand groups that sometimes came into Clan territory, she stepped right and forward and swung the blade of her axe even as the orc's falchion came around, attempting to circumvent the shield. It swung into whatever had pushed her from behind, and she heard a sharp outflow of breath dying into a hiss even as her axe met the centre of the orc's back.

She sidestepped in time to see her attacker crumple at the knees, his eyes suddenly and expressively aware of his impending doom. Shannon turned away, her shield up and ready, and used the momentum from the turn to pull the axe's blade free. In the brief second of her turn she saw the bard, backing slowly away from the melee even as his arrows punctured the attackers; Jonath the knight, who had taken two at once, narrowly blocking a try for his neck as one of the orcs (the one, Shannon now saw, that had shoved her) reeled back with both its neck and stomach cut open; Morian who was guesturing and speaking quickly in a low tone as a nearby shrub threatened to engulf three orc crossbowmen; and Tabula, wielding whatever came to hand, sufficiently well enough that his first attacker hadn't hit him yet and the crossbow-orc watching couldn't get in a shot without hitting his orcish companion.

Then her feet were both on solid ground, and Shannon raised her shield between her and an orc with a crossbow. "C'mon," she muttered through clenched teeth. "I'm ready for you."

Blood stained his armour, red and black merging somewhere around his middle. The orcs strength had crumpled his armour, caused a gash in his stomach; a glancing blow to the neck also left him bleeding. He quickly stepped forward and together with Laramy, disposed of the last remaining orc, before sitting down and checking over his wounds.

The first Tabula had known of the encroaching orcs had been the rattle of black-iron crossbow bolts on the rocks a bare yard from his face. He cursed his own unwariness and shook his head to clear the last mists of road-trance from his brains.

The others reacted quicker - Jonath and the barbarian spun their weapons out and were on the foe like dervishes, whirling in tight bright arcs of steel and death. Laramy and the girl-witch hung back, looking for lines of fire. Some of the orcish band too were circling around the melee, looking to surround to two principle fighters.

Tabula swung out his chain and wrapped it around his forearm to serve as a buckler; his short, broad-headed spear steady as he took up position to protect the rear.

Morian entangled and Tabula stabbed: staving in the trapped orcs' ugly faces and splitting their chests like great overripe mellons. With most of the axemen down or dying the crossbow bearers spent their last bolts harmlessly and fled, their heavy legs pumping over the scrub-brush, armour aflap.

Seeing all was in respite, however temporary, Morian went to tend to the wounds of the bleeding knight.

"We'd best keep moving to the bridge, those runners will bring an army down upon us." Tabula said, scrubbing black blood off his armour with a handfull dockleaves.

“That could have been worse,” I add, “it was a actually a pretty good warm-up.” To say I’m pleased with my performance would be an understatement. For being five years out of practice, I did alright, if not pretty good. I took three or four of the buggers myself, and help the others kill two more. I’m not wounded all that badly; I have a scrap on my left arm and a deeper cut across my right shoulder, but I reckon I’ll be alight.
…Maybe I don’t need to talk to the knight after all.
I put my sword into its leather scabbard adjoining my pack, not my belt. As nimble as it was and as easy as it was to thrust with, the sword would’ve been little use against the orcs and their heavy axes. If I had been forced to block instead of dodging attacks, the axe would have plowed through my defense like a knife through butter.
I walk over to the knight sitting on the ground, left leg up, and offer him a shot of whatever happened to be in the top bottle.

Jonath glanced up at Laramy. He had a few small wounds, nothing major. He was holding out a bottle of liqour; Jonath took it and took a large sip. "Thank you." he said as he wiped his mouth. "Morian, do you have the power to heal these? If you dont, I know how but it will take time, and we do not have that much time."

(ooc: Were you referring to Jonath's wounds, or Laramy's wounds? I'm going to take a guess with Laramy, but if I'm wrong, just inform me, and I'll change it so you get the potion.)
"Here," Morian said, rummaging through her satchel, looking for something.
"Ah, here we go." She pulled out a flask of a purplish liquid, and uncorked it with a phlssk! sound effect.
"Take a tiny sip of this," She said. She handed it to Laramy, who took a sip, and nearly gagged.
"Gods, woman, this is terrible!"
Morian shrugged. "Your body will thank you."
As Laramy swore and got up shakily, Jonath whispered to Morian, "What, does that stuff really work?"
"Well...technically." Morian admitted. "Really it's just sugar water with food coloring. But he thinks it's real healing juju, so it heals itself. 's called the Playzyboe Effect. Cutting-edge science, you know. All the rage with the alchemists."
"I didn't think witches went for science," Tabula digged.
Morian shrugged. "We add our own touches."
"Wait, though," Jonath said. "I've heard of that. But the Placebo is only supposed to work on sicknesses and stuff. It shouldn't be able to heal wounds-"
He stopped and stared at Laramy, who was still shakily walking ahead.
His skin was already regrowing around where the wounds were.
"Like I said," Morian shrugged. "We add our own touches."

(so the hardcore drinker doesn't like the taste of sugar-water? ;) Any who, I think Jonath's were the wounds in question...)

(ooc: yeah reffering to mine. but we'll keep going)

"You should've told me that after I'd had some. Pity. Im going to have to concoct some real healing remedies. But not right now, we need to move. Let us go."

(ooc: shall we?)

It didn't take long to check the orc bodies for identifying marks - uniforms, papers, ritual tattoos or whatever else the monsters might have. The group came up empty-handed save for minor trinkets in the form of a few good coins, unspoilt rolls of hard rye bread, and one wooden slab with six notches in it under the scrawl, "Cunfirrmd kils". It was split with the beast's own weapon and left there. No one so much as gave the fallen group a backward glance, although the Knight, honor-bound as ever, made some gestures that Shannon interpreted as some kind of prayer.

They continued on their way, more cautiously now than ever before. The Knight took the rearguard, from where he could see everything around them in the forest that was slowly merging with scrubland. Tabula, the bow-laden bard, and Shannon took the sides in turn. They decided by unspoken agreement that Morian, the only one who could heal wounds quickly, had better stay toward the middle of the group.

Shannon noted with approval that the group had fallen into a kind of wary kinship; they were no longer bickering, and if they each though the others were a bit - odd - they knew at least that the entire group could be relied upon. No one had run; no one had surrendered. And when Jonath had been wounded, there had been no cutting comments, so hint of disdain. They knew he had taken a wound that could have fallen to any of them. And now, though they were increasingly paranoid of pursuit, they kept a steady pace that would not overexert either the slowly-mending Jonath nor the others, most of whom had sustained minor injuries.

Near sunset they reached a rivulet of water, where they watered themselves and the horse, and washed some of the blood off their clothing and equipment. Shannon looked around; they were in a flat, grassy land as alien to her as the far side of the sun. And the sky was rapidly darkening.

She noticed Morian calling the group to order. "Should we stay here," the powerful magic user asked them. "It isn't safe, but it may be the best choice."

Shannon looked to see the others' responses.

(ooc: I try not to god-mod, although I'm not quite sure how else to do travel, et cetera, involving the group rather than individual actions. I promise, I'll try not to a) make you look like a fool, b) make your character say something inappropriate or otherwise dumb, or c) put your character into danger.

Is everyone okay with this? Or should I just focus on my character alone?)

(Uhh, who is the bard exactly? Me, or Sparty? I have no problem with you guys using my characters, so long as you don’t have them do anything out of character, Also, in terms of danger in placing, I have no problems either.)

The pounding in my head has disappeared, which is nice; it was really starting to get annoying. I don’t know whether it was the potion, the adrenaline from the fight, or if it just went away, but I feel great- no trace of a hangover what so ever.

My feet beat the ground in way that is a little-too reminiscing of my time as a knight-in-training. The trees and bushes that pass by us seem to be a bit more happy now, their trunks, stems, leaves all seem to be straighter, as if they’ve given up the idea of suicide and decided to stop being completely emo. It’s a nice change, for now. Something tells me that things are going to get a hole lot darker.

Morian bumps, squealing and red-faced, into my front after a playful push from the barbarian. She apologizes and returns the favor, though the barbarian doesn’t move that much. The knight laughs, and my fellow rouge- here used a reference to personality, lets out a chuckle.

( I hope you don’t have any problems with the use of your characters to underscore HF’s comment of camaraderie.)

The sun began to set in the west. Far off, Jonath spied the dark shape of a dragon on the horizon. "Wait," he said in a commanding tone, bringing them to a halt. "Draw your eyes to the west. Tell me what you all see."
"The sun."
"The horizon."
"A shadow."
"A dragon."

The word cut through the mumble of voices like Jonath's sharpened blade through orc skin. "Precisely a dragon. Heres how I see it. We get off the road, take cover in the woods. It wont do much, but something is better than nothing. We stay in the woodlands until well into morning. It is unlikely that dragons of evil will be hunting in mid-morning sun. Does anyone disagree?"

"Sounds like a plan." Said Tabula. The manhunter seemed troubled, his eyes clouded and his brow wrinkled. Abruptly he swerved from the path.

In a swish of green and the crackle of brush underfoot, he was gone.

(ooc: I'm really sorry I haven't posted much, but life is being all homeworky at me right now, so I probably won't be as active until towards the end of the school year.)

(Which is what, two weeks? Pansy.)

(ooc: Four, actually, and a lot can happen by then. Namely, four giant projects, two huge tests, and three seperate final exams.)

(ook: Me too, though I will be giving the exams, rather than taking them. Good luck to you Ivan, Ferret)

(OOC: Mwah hah hah hah! *Thumps chest like a gorilla.* Me heap big senior! Graduate four weeks! You petty other folk. Hwah hah hah hah!)

(But AP Chem will hurt me. Bad. *Gorilla looks sad.* Stupid redox reactions. *Gorilla thinks about it.* No, stupid reactions. All kinds. Reactions not like HeinleinFan. They make exam grade fall like old tree.)

(*Gorilla brightens.* But college next fall make HeinleinFan happy. Escape stupid school district. Is good.)

(ooc: I graduated about 15 years ago, with honours no less. Does that make me a silverback..?)

Ooc: Or just old, whichever you prefer.

Another definition of "Old" is the age at which a person can no longer play Laser Quest effectively.

But college! *Sprouts a humongous grin* Only three more months to go . . .

By the way, the AP exams weren't as bad as I thought they'd be. It is quite happy-making.

(I've got finals all next week, so don't expect to see me at all. I love you guys, but enough to phail a class. )

Shall we agree to resume again next weekend, then, with the group either taking on the dragon or skirting around it and hightailing it through the rough country as fast as possible?

Assuming the answer is yes, I'll see you there!

(Y'know, speaking of, it might be a good idea to start voting on a course of action when stuff happens.)

(ooc: I'm too middle-aged to believe in dragons. I think it's a trick of the light).

This thread would be best served for gaming posts only. Instead of chit chat. I thought this was a game afterall.

There seems to be a few pages of this since the last game post was posted. I take it this game has ended then.

yeah Can we get back on the game topic please.




~Raven.

(ooc: OOC speak is a general part of any RPG. You get it, and it makes much more sense if it stays current. Putting it in a seperate post makes many misunderstandings, so I advise against a "chit chat" topic or whatever.
As for the game ending, I repeat, wait it out till the end of the school year. Once summer hits this forum will be flocked with members with spare time, seeing as so many of us are teenagers.
In the meantime, if you REALLY want a game post...)

Morian sighed.
"Dragons suck. Like, really, really suck. but hey, the woods are supposed to be my thing, so..."
She dashed after Tabula, the sound of flapping wings increasing in the distance.

(OOC: I would point out that several posts ago, I told the group to wait for the weekend. I had seven AP tests this year, plus finals; I just won't have much time for a while, and most people on this post are in a similar position. Don't worry, Hulls Raven - we're not going to abandon this place; it's too interesting.)

The barbarian sighed and followed. It seemed to her that, with luck, they could avoid the beast; if luck was not with them, they would probably have to fight. She wished for more control over her surroundings, but what was done, was done.

She jogged after Tabula and Morian, her axe sheathed at her side, stringing her longbow awkwardly as she went - just in case. Behind her, the sound of snapping twigs and the thud of footfalls told her that the rest of the group was following.

Up ahead Shannon heard a snap and ran faster. In very few seconds, she had run up to an area of higher ground, where she could see the dragon clearly through the trees. It had not spotted them; instead, it had apparently snapped at a running deer and missed, closing its jaws on a sapling instead and uprooting it. The loud pop of the roots breaking up had made the 'snap' Shannon had heard.

It was a truly magnificent beast. Like the old legends promised, it looked to be about the size and weight of the knight's warhorse, with a huge protuberant breastbone that supported the muscles to power its wings, which were at least thirty feet wide and covered in scaly webbing. Its tail was long, with sharp-looking spines supporting more webbing, and the dragon's neck was thick, strong, and held parallel to the ground. The eyes were those of a lizard or bird, and Shannon could find no hint of emotion therein. Those eyes, amber and filled with sparkling motes, looked at the running deer blankly for a moment before the huge beast took flight.

It was an awkward lift-off, as such things go. It had to move forward in a sort of trot, then leap with what looked like unreasonably powerful hind legs, spreading its wings as it fell back down. But the speed with which it moved after it had gained some altitude was impressive indeed, and Shannon felt a momentary pity for the deer. Somehow, she didn't think the dragon would miss again.

As the dragon vanished, still hunting, Shannon realized that the group had re-formed nearby. Morian was looking at the sapling, her forehead creased in a slight frown, and it occurred to Shannon suddenly that the jaws which had ripped the young tree up must have had a huge force behind them. Jonath and Laramy both were looking at the horizon where the dragon had disappeared, and Tabula was looking at one of the dragon's footprints from a distance, his eyes calculating.

Presently the Knight cleared his throat. "We should move on," he said. "No use staying where evil dragons are for any longer than necessary." He headed into the woods, Morian helping to guide the way, and the others followed. Shannon noted that all of them had weapons of some kind near at hand. If the dragon returned, they would be ready for it.

Now, it’s not that I’m unaccustomed to hiding, it’s that I don’t do it that often in a group. I’ve had reasons enough in the past to throw caution to the wind, and run like hell like through the woods, usually naked. Like I’ve said, this time is a little different. Long story short: save Tabula, I wouldn’t to have break out of prison with these guys. I’m sure that they mean well and all, but they make so much damn noise.
I remember lowering myself out of a tree, in order to escape traversing water, and seeing some one actually breaking a few twigs in their way. Gods help us if we ever have to run away from a real enemy. The dragon threat seemed a little far at the moment, that potion was having some great after-effects. Everything had a slight orange hue to it, which made the whole experience quite fun, to say the least.
Where we were going, I’ll never know. All I remember is that we made our way through the woods for what seemed an ass long time. Noise, cries of “Ouch, you sunnuva”, and the thudding of wet boots meet my ears, or, at least, I think they did. Through my pleasant dizziness, I noticed that the noise seemed to have stopped. Whoever was doing the elephant impression had clearly gotten their credit taken away.
I don’t rember much about the dragon, but all I do remember is that the group seemed a little... disappointed. Is that really the right word? Disappointed? Well, at any rate, I expected it to be bigger. Everything after that is a bit of a blur to me. I suppose, the potion had something to do with it, but I’ll never now for sure.
Presently, I ‘m leaning against the knight, and looking off into the sky, trying to piece together the evening. If knows why I’m actually leaning against him, he doesn’t say a word.

The grey sky above lights up momentarily. Once the light dies down a black sphere the size of a football spins in the sky above.
Its the mages eye. Your been watched. meaning somewhere ahead will be the walking dead.

Race: Warrior Priest
Age: 21
Weapons: Legendary Broken Sword Of Magma, Dual Daggers
Armour: Light Frag Armor
Occupation: Same occupation as a Paladin
Sex: Male
Personality: Forceful yet Independent and Strong Witted
Appearance: Calm yet Self Centered

Above them, the sky flashed, a bright light against the usual clouded gray. Half a dozen weapons went up, reflexively, and stayed there; the group had learned to act quickly in the face of a threat. Shannon glanced about her to see Laramy Swift almost invisible in the shadow of a tree, his rapier ready at his side; Jonath with his greatsword out, standing in the middle, looking ready for anything; Morian, her hands moving in the swift gestures she used when casting; and finally Tabula, his short spear held parallel to the ground, his hands placed in thirds along the handle in a blocking position.

(OOC: Dang! Somehow I never realized there were only five of us . . . Six if Carrson's Warrior Priest, above, steps in and helps.)

But the light dimmed again, leaving a small black sphere that hovered above them. Shannon felt a chill go down her spine, and she heard Morian's voice: "A Mage's Eye!"

"Gee, that helps," Tabula said, his eyes still focused on the floating black sphere, his spear still raised defensively. "How do we kill it?"

"We don't," Morian said. Her voice was tense, which worried Shannon Darrosdatter more than she liked to think about. Even Morian didn't like this.

Morian continued, "A Mage's Eye is - well, it's hard to explain, but it's like a window that evil wizards use to spy on things."

"Oh."

"Not just any evil wizard, either," Morian added, almost as an afterthought. "Necromancers use it most. We're going to encounter undead soon."

"Oh." This time, the whole group spoke. Shannon was definitely feeling more nervous.

But Jonath spoke up. "Well, we knew it was dangerous when we started. Let's head out." The group followed behind, keeping a watchful eye on the path ahead.

Morian wasn't scared of the dark. That was silly, she knew it. It was stupid to be scared of things you didn't know.

The thing was, it was really easy to be scared of the things you didn't know you didn't know.
As she walked through the forest, keeping a vigilant watch for the undeads she knew would soon be coming, things took on dangerous new dimensions. The warps in that tree were snarling faces, long ago turned into plants by angry gods. The shadows were full of creepy creatures waiting to jump out at you. That vine you tripped over was really the hand of an undead soldier reaching out at you. That hand of an undead soldier reaching out at you was the hand of an undead soldier reaching out at you-

Wait, what?
"Oh my GODS!" Morian screamed, in spite of herself, yanking her ankle upwards. There was a cckkreatch noise as the rotting hand severed from the fleshy, grey arm of the zombie crawling along the ground, moaning at her.
The travelers backed up in a circle against each other, as undead soldiers, crawling and limping and walking out of the darkness, began to surround them.

In a strange, and forceful language, Jonath shouted praise to his God. Filled with strength and valour, his blade glowing a mighty crimson, he awaited the enslaught.

Three.
Two.
One.

And the undead were upon them. "Here, you die - for eternity!" He swirled in a vicious circle of death, slaying any undead soldier that fell in his or his blades path. The group sprung into action, acting as a unit, swirling steel dancing in Death's ballroom.

Then there was more. Jonath looked around him. They seemed to be coming from all around. Jonath's mind raced for a way out. Think. Think. Oh, Great Armandil help me!

Morian thrust her hand upward, striking a dramatic pose. (One of the things she had learned about witching was that sometimes, it was all about appearances.)
Indeed, she struck a cosmic note- above her, the trees rustled, and started to grow. All around them, all along the path, leaves, vines, and creepers burst from the bark and the ground, covering, enveloping, adding to the weight-
"Take cover!" Morian yelled, and leapt backwards as the gigantic trees began to fall under their own weight, crushing undead around them, and blocking others from getting to the group.
She whirled and twirled, dodging undeads and trees, and focusing on making more growth, waving her staff-
-and then she moved just the wrong direction, and a tree almost took her hand off. She jumped back just in time, but her staff was catapulted from her grip by the errant tree, and she watched with horror as it flew into the darkness.

I learned a trick, back in my younger days, dealing with whiskey and marches. I only remembered it, when I found my sword utterly useless against the undead hordes surrounding us. It was little more than a razor when compared to the others’ weapons of choice. Of course all of this came with a price: it took me minute to figure it out.
THe first of the bastards was a God-awful grey, with hair like dead grandmother, maggots crawling out of his(?) mouth, and all the usual undead jargon. Shrieking, moaning, and welding a very imprecise claymore, he was quite an adversary.
He came at me, swinging his massive sword, I dodged, his word got stuck in the dirt. In the few precious moments it was stuck, I stabbed him about four times in the back with gusto. And I mean with gusto, the blade went down to the hilt. All he did was turn around and spit in my face.
I will admit that my next actions are, with little exception, comparable to a teenage girl yet to get her training bra. I turned, ran, and triped…twice…I may have been screaming. Upon the second time, my pack opened, at that night eight years ago came back vividly…
I send my arm deepinto the pack, next to my pipe-Damn, I’m almost out, too- and grab my matches, and, what I hope was, my cheapest bottle of whiskey. I take a deep hit, try vigorously not to swallow, and spit in the face of the ready-to-strike-zombie. The look of complete surprise on his face was almost human. The look of pain and melting “skin” a few seconds later wasn’t.
Turning,