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DragonSworn

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POG:
Night.

He knew they would come for him.  Cloaked in the cover of darkness they thought themselves safe.  They sought to do murder.  They would be found wanting and less than prepared.

Night.

Darkness was his.  His realm was shadow.  No longer concerned with earthly pursuits or vices, dedication to his craft consumed him.  His craft was death.  The overwhelming lust for power was both blessing and bane.  He was incomplete and his enemies were infinite.

Powers such as his waxed and waned with the phases of the moon/  This night, the eve of the full moon was when his power reached the apex.  It was a time of rebirth and recharging.  His adversaries thought themselves protected by the night's shadowy embrace as they ventured via magical means toward his most private chambers.  They were mistaken.

Such Folly!! Such Hubris!!

Cobalt eyes smoldered beneath silvery brows.  Pale skin drawn tight in the rictus undeath pulsed with newly acquired energy from the new moon.

The wards, powerful creations, imbued with magik most fell, were rent asunder with the sound of a thousand mirrors breaking.  The doors to the chamber, his inner sanctum, weighed nearly a ton.  They burst inward explosively.  Hinges as think as a man's arm shuddered and groaned, protesting briefly before shattering like spun glass.

The doors flew inward with enough force to crush any unfortunate to fall within their path.  An uttered phrase, a negligent flick of the hand sent a tight weave of magik screaming in opposition, end over end, cleaving the deadly missiles of wood and iron, shattering the massive portals, in mid flight, with the sound of a thunderclap, sending deadly shards of metal and wood flying back towards those who would enter the chamber.

The response was immediate; an inhuman roar rent the air as silver scales flashed in the wan torchlight.  A reptilian snout surged forward as the Dragon seeking entrance tried to force herself into the room.

"B**CH!"  His eyes blazed.  He should have known.  None but her and the cursed wretches that served her could bypass his wards so easily.  It mattered not.  Even now he was drawing forth his energy.  A malevolent swirl of eldritch power that would both protect him and finish Her, once and for all.  It danced about his body by the shriek of tortured souls that was music to his ears.

She drew in air; her lungs filled as silver eyes blazed like liquid beacons.  She would release frosty death and finish him once and for all.

They released ll the magikal might within their powerful bodies at the same time...

POG:
Twenty Years Later
It was going to rain.  Ever since Trafgar Dunrik knew when it would rain before it happened.  His knee told him.  That was a decade ago.  He ran a calloused hand over the mostly grey hair covering his face.  Less hair on his head and grey hair on his face, hundreds of battles, that was his lot.  Durnrik could complain but that wasn't his way.  Armed with two blades and a disarming smile, he was confident but not cocksure.  It would serve him well on this fools mission.  There was no doubt who the fool was as he smiled down at his sleeping charge.  The Guild thought the girl was something special but he knew that she was.

He knew that he would protect her by any means.  The world depended on it.  They would have to rely on haste and secrecy to get to their destination.

Dunrik didn't want to leave her in the room but he saw no other way.  He had a bit of magik about him, nothing spectacular, merely cantrips and such.  But sometimes it was just enough to swing the scales in his favor.

Setting a few wards about the door he gathered his blades and walked down the rickety stairs to the main room of the tavern.  The others the guild was sending would be here soon and he wanted to see what they were about.  They didn't know what he looked like but he'd know what to look for in them.

The Crying Jester was a small tavern with a few rooms upstairs.  There were a few people int eh main area, mostly workers from the harbor along with some mercenaries up north.  Hard men.  They gave Dunrik wary looks akin to that of a predator showing respect to one he knows is more dangerous than he.

The serving wench was comely.  Under different circumstances Dunrik might have pursued something more than the ale she placed on his table.  She gave him a warm smile.  He returned it then settled down at a corner table to wait...

Pee-cola:
It was going to rain. Standing at the forests edge, Jori-ell could see the cloud cover was dark and thick. Not a star in the sky can be seen, yet the torchlight from a far away town guides Jori-ell to his next destination. A normal human’s eye would hardly detect such a distant glow, yet he could count the number of guards at each gate from this distance but Jori-ell was no longer a normal human. His years spent mining in the dwarves prison camps have sharpened his eyesight, and hardened his fists. Due to the absence of sunlight, his brown skin is less damaged and his short, stocky stature, he appears to be much younger than his human years would reveal. With a quick flip he pulls his hood over the single thick braid of hair emerging from the top of his otherwise, bald head to protect him from the elements. After gathering all of his belongings, he retrieves his stead from a near by watering hole, which should quicken his journey as a lite drizzle begins to fall. With a swift kick to his steady, he quickens his pace for fear of getting caught in the coming storm.
After an uneventful journey down the mountainside, Jori-ell arrives at the well-guarded front gates of yet another strange town.
“State your business!!!!” barks a guard perched high on the stonewall that surrounds the entire town.
“I am but a traveler seeking shelter out of the rain for my steed and I….” Jori replied.
As if on cue, the rainfall became torrental and the guards began to scramble for shelter. “Please kind sir, I merely have but this cloak to protect me…” Jari stated.

“Open the gates!!!” the guard replied from his hiding place.

The single gate swung open and another guard motions him inside.
“You can find a room at the Crying Jester,” pointing off down the road, “….just mind your purse!!!!”, the guard yells over the pounding rain.

With a thankful nod, Jari rides into the direction the guard indicated looking for the sign. The streets of this town are now desolate due to the inclement weather, however he notices one particular building that seems to be teeming with activity. “That must be the place.” Jari thinks to him self. Through his travels Jari-ell has found that a cautious approach to places like this is always wise. While dismounting his horse, he carefully surveys the surroundings for hiding places; escape routes and such…just in case. Then he cautiously walks into the inn….

POG:
Dunrik peered at the newcomer over the rim of his mug.  He drank in the details, the measured gait, the stance, the way he moved.  The man was a fighter.  Although the new arrival looked young, hard eyes told a different story.  He had seen much but would see more and be changed.  Dunrik ventured a rueful smile and gestured towards the empty seat at his table.  He waved the serving wench over as well.  You can't trust anyone who doesn't drink.

Pee-cola:
Pulling back his hood enough to reveal his eyes, Jori takes a quick scan of the place. Nothing unusual here, yet the hair on the back of his hands was beginning to raise. Perhaps it was the unwelcome feeling he got from the patrons of this establishment. Lowering his hand, Jori makes sure that his trusty warhammer is well concealed beneath his black cloak. “Soque” is what he called her, named after his true love. But this was no ordinary hammer in the hands of its maker. Forged with his own hands from ore he himself had mined. Beset with magical properties by the elvish folk who rescued him in such that only its maker can actualize it’s hidden powers.

A drunken man points at Jori and shouts,  “Look…a lost pup!!!!” Then there’s an eruption of laughter from the rest of his party. He ignores the drunken crowd and makes his way through the sparse crowd toward the bar but then he is stopped by one of the serving wenches.
“This is no place for children. You may want to seek shelter elsewhere.” She politely whispers in his ear before she continues serving her customers.

Just then he notices a dark lone figure nestled at a corner table, beckoning him to join him for a drink. Jori looks around as if confused, then gestures as if to say ”…you talkin’ to me?…” the figure nods, never losing eye contact with Jori. “Hmmm, Could this be the one I seek? Or does it seek to harm me?”, Jori thought to himself. "I really could use a drink."

“Awww….the pup lost his Maamaa. I think she upstairs in my room!!!.” Shouts another drunken patron. More laughter from the men can be heard thought the tavern. Jori shoots them quick glance but says nothing as he inconspicuously checks for Soque, turns and approaches the figure at the table.

A half smile greeted Jori as the strangers face became more visible. This certainly put him at easy however, Jori knew that looks can be deceiving. The bar maiden rushes over and places 2 large flagons of ale on the table then scurries off.

"Greetings and thank you for the drink, I'm parched."


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