Third Earth : Quest For Ravenstone

"...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

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.