The Wind Whispers of War

[Razalic]

OOC
Plot: World-wide Warfare, Band of heros to repell threat from behind enemy lines.
Npcs: Brem (Dwarvern Barkeep), Lord Drak'thon of Kil'Daron (Ruler), Harogar of the North (barbarian tribeleader), Sslenith'sir (Baron and General of the Southern Empire).
Setting: Explained in-character below.
PM me with any questions.




IC
A lone figured stood atop the hill in the twilight, an elongated blade held tightly in a backwards grip. His shadowy sillhouette rustled and changed with the winds as he gazed over the forever-stretching lands before him.
His horse trotted up beside him, and he spoke, " It will be a long week Keisha ".
" The sanctuary of the east is being inextricably thwarted out of existance by the strangling grip of the dreadlands of Kil'daron in the west. To the north, the Barbarians feast on raw meat and the day's huntings, unaware of the fate that grips the known world. The Dragonlings of the south care nothing for the lands, destroying everything in their infernal trail of hellish fire. We are trapped, my Keisha. It seems the whole world is poised to strike, ready to wipe out the ancient strands of humanity and of the elves. What can I do? My own powers are but a meager spark in comparison the flames of the south and steel of the west. I have to seek help, resorting to mercenaries to solve the troubles of the east. "
And with that, he mounted Keisha, his dazzling white stallion and cantered his way down to the Tavern at the bottom of the hill, dismounting and slamming the door open with his half-elven fist.

[Ancient Gamer]

Jake, more  commonly known as "Smiling Jake", but not to his face, skulked in the shadows at the far end of the bardesk. He was leaning heavily forward, nearly dipping his chin in the ale. His greasy auburn hair obstructed the vision, so he could more hear than see the newly arrived traveler. He wrinkled his long, crooked nose as he took another sip of the lukewarm piss-ale he had bought with his last copper. Angrily he reflected the fact that he hadn't the money to get drunk tonight.

It had been long since he last slit a throat and his economy was beginning to suffer. He had already pawned the chain mail he obtained last month and someone had stolen his boots when he passed out last night. He still had his knife though, "Slow Kiss" as he called it. He guessed no one wanted to search his groin to discover if he was hiding something or just very well equipped.

Jake arose and walked to a spot where he could better see what was going on but without drawing too much attention to himself. The tavern's only barmaid changed direction when she saw him, having learnt long ago to avoid his groping hands. "Awww, me luv! Spare a kiss for Jake" he laughed, and with a slow, deliberate gesture he removed the long hair from his face, revealing cold and sadistic pig-eyes.

[Shadoweagle]

The general tavern drunkards burst into laughter at the commotion caused as a dark-robed male was barged to the ground by a particuarly large man.
"Come on, Mage-boy, Cast a Hex on me!" The large man laughed heartily, taking another heavy swig from his tankard whilst the object of his amusement pushed himself back up from the ground unsteadily, only to be nudged once again, causing him to sprawl into the taverns barmaid, consequencly making her spill the ale she was carrying towards the pig-eyed man.
"Aah, where ya goin' Faramid? Had enough?" The drunkard jeered, seeing the robed man walk towards the door, muttering to himself and not looking back.
A quick glance was spared to the half-elven man who was just entering. Within his black eyes was not an ounce of shame, as might be expected, but rather barely controlled fury, and as he passed the elf, some of that muttering may be heard: "...Fools are fortunate I don't have my components..."
Faramid continued out the door, nudging by the half-elven man and making his way to lean against the wall in the darkness, pulling the hood of his robe over his head and crossing arms in front of his chest, forcing himself to reduce his anger and calm down.

[Ancient Gamer]

The pig-eyed man was quick to catch a flagon mid-air that had been knocked off the barmaids tray. "Thanks me luv!" he said before he greedily emptied it in one swig. This caused much of the ale to run down his cheeks and chin, soaking the tattered brown shirt he was wearing.

"Ahhh, high qual'ty Kurchandlian brew!" Jake said with reverence, and moments later he unceremoniously dumped the flagon to the floor.

Jake stretched and yawned. Weeks of inactivity had taken it's toll and he had lost much of his equipment. A grim realization dawned upon him as he noticed that his guild ring was gone. Garbled memories of yesterday night, and a particularly ill advised trade involving the ring and some tankards of cheap ale, came to the surface. By the Rat God's fermented hide, women always made a fool out of him!

Jake obscenely scratched his crotch, in reality drawing his dagger. The blade was then hidden on the inside of his forearm and no one noticed the flashing gleam when he cut the large man's purse off. " 'scuse me, purrdon milady!" he said as he bumped and groped his way through the crowd, often invoking hostile reactions, but always managing to evade and redirect the attention. With a self-satisfied smirk he followed the dark robed male out the doorway, pausing to nod at the half-elf. "Lovely ev'nin' noble elf" he said, his revolting and rotten breath assailing the elf's olfactory senses.

Routinely he tried to drape his body with his cloak, but it was gone. Another piece of property lost while drunk. Jake sighed and exited the tavern.

[Razalic]

The half-elf cringed as the pig-eyed man strided past him. He surveyed the room...
"Drunkards!" he hissed under his breath, this search was proving hopeless... Unless... He had overheard the commotion with the dark-robed man, "Mage" he had called him...
He approached the hooded figure, "Greetings mage, I am Azael, an emmissary from the east..."

[Shadoweagle]

Faramids eyes flickered over to Azael momentarily, taking in his features, before he stared once again in front of him. Several seconds of silence were given, before the mans arms uncrossed and lowered. The robed man inhaled sharply, before speaking in irritated tones - he was not in the best of moods, this night. "What care I, for news of the east?" Faramids eyes twitched then to the other who had left the tavern, recognising the pig-eyed man as one of the general drunks he had seen in the bar earlier.

[Ancient Gamer]

He had lost the guild ring. He had LOST the guild ring!

Outwards Jake seemed calm, but his thoughts raced, considered possibilities. How far had he let his drunkeness carry him this time? The loss of the guild ring not only meant that his life was forfeit, it meant that outside forces had access to the guild, and was within reach of the guildmaster himself. Jake shivered at the thought.

Then he overheard the conversation between the beat up mage and the imperious half-elf. Interesting! He sheated his purse-knife, checked if the other knives were arranged  correctly (OOC: very important considering their location in the groin area), and made his way in the shadows towards the stables. It would not do to let anyone notice his departure, not whom he was traveling with anyway. The half-elf wasn't a local, chances were that he'd leave town soon. He would have company.

He hid within the stable, in the shadows atop the beams above an unoccupied bin. The stable boy never saw him enter the building and was shoveling muck this very moment in the bin underneath him. Safely perched Jake spied upon the two men. If they left by horse he would follow, but it wouldn't do to steal a horse before the travelers had their own.

[Razalic]

"You are not aware of the situation, mage? The Eastern kingdoms are falling under the mallet of the West, our own military strength is not enough to repel the threat, the kingdoms of both men and elves must look to other methods to ensure their safety, to mercenaries, if you will..."
He reached into his pocket and pulled forth a jet black stone inscribed with a magical runic glyph.
"I am sure this Aerin Stone will suffice as payment for your services? The magic of these stones are much sought after among your kind."

[OOC](Aerin Stones absorb magical energy as the caster is affected by it, storing it and allowing it to be called upon when required for manipulation by the owner... If you want to be statistical, 10% magic resistance, adds 5% damage to spells every time the owner is hit. They are elven crafted and are extremely rare, they are portable so more than 1 can be carried at a time.)[/OOC]

[Shadoweagle]

Quick to grasp the meaning of the lans words, Faramid snorted a reply, "Hah! I am no merce..." His sentence was slowed to a halt at the sight of the Aerin stone, however, and silence reigned for several seconds as the mage peered up to Azaels eyes, then back to the stone. After some time, the robed man spoke once more, "Er...Well, I will also need money for supplies, a horse and so forth." Faramid shifted to face the man, "So what foolish risks will you have me take, to spend such a valuable item?"

[Ancient Gamer]

(OOC: I am gone for a while so you'll have to manage without Jake. Just play as if he wasn't involved, and I'll pick up from where I left, when I am back.)