Third Earth : Quest For Ravenstone

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:

 

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.