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Post by Deleted on Mar 4, 2016 19:30:15 GMT -5
Arthas closed the siphon into the box Weston had provided and handed it to Mercator "We'll have some time on the ride back to figure out exactly what this is and what it has to do with the undead. Would you mind taking the first look at it? I'd like to inform the mayor of our success first. Olek? Jaz? Feel well enough to accompany me?" he asked the pair of wounded adventurers.
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Post by lloyd on Mar 5, 2016 15:51:35 GMT -5
A racking cough came deep from within his chest-- the immolation of the zombies was a bad decision, despite the spectacular result, and the wight carved him up pretty good. Looking over at Jaz, who had also tasted the blade of the wight, he grinned weakly at the gnome-- the dynamic duo was the first to fall. Most of the bruises and scrapes on his body were quite frankly superficial in comparison to the pulsating, painful wound to his chest. Every beat of Olek's heart sent hot needles radiating from the wound, and the cough was enough to aggravate that so badly he almost wished to sell his soul to a demon for relief-- ironic, as it was not even worth its full price after the wight. Olek had the distinct feeling this wound would take a long time to heal.
"If you mean to the tavern, I feel well enough. I do not want to stink up the carriage with the air of sickness and death, enough of that here as it is." He looked at the others. "I can pay for the night's lodging if you wish-- drinks on me for saving my a--" he was interrupted by another fit of coughing, sending flecks of half-congealed blood spattering on the floor. He seemed barely conscious, in fact. "-- saving my ass. You especially, priest."
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Post by Deleted on Mar 5, 2016 18:05:27 GMT -5
Arthas winced as Olek coughed up blood "Don't mention it, so long as we're friends I'll do what I can for you... Though I wish I could do more, I'm ahh... not very... well, nevermind. Perhaps I can help more tomorrow. Just rest, I'll see if I can buy a keg of ale for us." Arthas gathered up his gear and turned to leave for the mayor's office. "Jaz, you're more than welcome to join me... I have a... well.. bad feeling about this..." Shaking his head Arthas set off for town muttering "Probably nothing..."
Villagers stepped out of his path as he marched down Addler's Stop's road, shocked by the sight of an armed man; flecked with blood, viscera and dirt from recent battle. Scowling heavily Arthas mounted the steps to the mayor's house and pounded on the door heavily. "Radiant! Here to see the mayor."
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Post by chris on Mar 6, 2016 8:49:33 GMT -5
Mercator seemed lost in thought for a moment, his blue goggles muting any signs of emotion. Finally removing them, replaced by ordinary wire-rimmed spectacles, he finally seemed to come to himself. "Certainly, Arthas. I am most curious about that sypher. I want to know what it is, and how it expresses its power. Weston obviously knows more than he's told us."
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Jaz
Plebian
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Post by Jaz on Mar 6, 2016 13:59:22 GMT -5
Jaz coughs a little (he is little),and frowns at what that cough has produced in his palm. He wipes his hand clean on his silk handkerchief, and dabs a little spittle of blood from the corner of his mouth, "This gnome does not feel so good," and his normally bronze skin does have a pasty hue to it. "I dreamed I was in a tunnel, there was a light at the end..."
Jaz shakes his head to clear his thoughts with the priest's repeated pleas, "Jaz will go with the priest boss. You better hold your loot here for safe-keeping," Jaz passes him a bulging pouch. "And if you do not mind carrying this," Jaz burdens him with the longsword he took from the skeleton. "And this," he struggles with the heft of the abandoned greatsword as they arrive at the entrance, loading him down with that as well. Then the gnome struggles to catch the priest and specs.
Jaz follows behind in the wake left by Arthas' purposeful stride. Then he stands between and slightly behind the humans waiting for the mayor to come to the door, listening to the concerns of specs. Noticing the sad state of affairs his attire is in, he circles his palm before him and chants, "Wipe off." His velvet surcoat instantly looks good as new, but for the hole left by that nasty man's blade He fingers that retrospectively. "Ouch," he squeaks, inadvertently poking the wound beneath. He spreads the tear going through all layers of his clothes a bit to reveal a nasty red welt where his wound has so recently been closed up.
That's when he feels that little bump in his coat pocket, and he extracts the blue pebble he failed to give Olek. He holds it up to the sunlight between thumb and forefinger, squinting as he examines it backlit by the sun, "Wonder what this is all about..." he muses. Adding a little spittle to his silk handkerchief, he rubs it clean, "Might make a nice babble." Jaz wraps it up stowing it away in his breast pocket, adjusting his handkerchief, so that just the edge shows. Patting it satisfactorly, he comments on his tangential thoughts, "Do not zombies eat brains?"
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Post by lloyd on Mar 6, 2016 16:25:12 GMT -5
Bringing himself up using the wall as a support after Arthas, Archie, and Smalls left, Olek spit on the mess of the wight. He looked it over, now. The armor was probably worth looting, but just looking at the remains made the wound flare in pain. He picked up Jaz' numerous gifts, bundled them together, and threw them to the first floor, and then climbed up the rope after them, stopping midway to peer into the darkness at the vague figure still standing there, ever watchful. "Are you coming, drow? Pretty spooky in here all alone, I would wager." Seeing no immediate response, he continued climbing and, once upstairs, shouted down "I will be buying us all rooms and drinks in the tavern-- if you come up, please take my rope and piton with you!" With that, he limped out of the crypt, past the numerous coffins, and into the sunlight. He paused a moment to appreciate the warmth of life, having come so close to Andul's Gates, or worse.
He walked to the tavern slowly, and after a while he walked off the cold chill of death. Limping past villagers as one of the Radiant, battered, bruised, bleeding, and victorious, he grinned and bellowed "THE UNDEAD ARE VANQUISHED! DRINKS ON ME!" and stepped into the tavern, yelling "5 rooms for the Radiant, and three kegs of ale to celebrate!" He counted out the silver needed, and sat down to drink and revel.
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Post by Adam on Mar 7, 2016 15:06:51 GMT -5
Blank took one last look around the crypt. With the torches gone out extinguished, the room became a gray scale of coffins and corpses. She didn't fear the dead, at least not when they stayed dead, and the dark rarely held any dread for her. But with everyone else gone and no further business here, she had no reason to remain. She climbed the rope and took it and the piton with her, and left the crypt.
It was still dark when she surfaced and the crowd that had been lingering outside had dispersed when the rest of the group came out, so she emerged in anonymity. That suited her, Blank was uncomfortable with masses inundating her adulation. She kept herself covered and quietly made her way to the tavern.
A cacophony of music, singing, and revelling could be heard clear across the village, the people rejoicing at the "curse" being lifted from their homes. Blank would not be joining them however as such engagements often ended up revealing her Drow heritage, immediately souring the people and the evening. Instead she discretely scaled the building and entered one of the rooms Olek rented. From there she entered the hall and hung his recovered supplies on one of the nearby doors. With that done, she returned to her room to rest and recuperate.
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Post by Corey the GM on Mar 14, 2016 7:46:15 GMT -5
The small village of Addler Stop was abuzz with news of the slain zombies and skeletons in their crypt. After the group had departed, the guards were overrun and had to allow the common folk entry to the crypts. The people wanted to make sure their loved ones were returned to their peaceful resting places. Some others had ulterior motives, like the ripe opportunities to loot and plunder.
By the time Arthas, and whoever else was with him, some of the villagers had returned from the crypts. A crowd had formed once again before the mayor’s doors. A general understanding was that the crowd was not happy with the way their beloved fallen members were treated. There was also a census that some of their items had been stolen. The crowd grumbled angrily at the Radiant members, but parted regardless.
The mayor let them in, went to his desk and sat with a thud. “Well this is a predicament. I am grateful for your help with the undead. Though, our lovely villagers are rather unpleased as you can tell. They feel their kin were treated with extreme force. They found mutilated corpses, burned and maimed. And there were items missing.”
“I can excuse the mutilation, as only Sylar knows what happened down there. Though, I can not accept items missing from loved ones. I will have to reduce your payment to only five gold under the circumstances.” He said grimly, “Unless said items magically reappear.”
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Post by Deleted on Mar 14, 2016 18:10:43 GMT -5
(Here's where we learn about Arthas' other flaw, an explosive violent temper. Language warning ahead)
Arthas' blood boiled as the mayor explained the townsfolk's grievances; by the time the mayor said he would only be paying 5 gold pieces instead of the promised 25, Arthas' normally placid face was a grotesque mask of rage.
His voice quiet and shaking with barely contained hate "How dare you? you little shit. When no one else was there to help you offered us a pittance for our help and NOW you try to bugger me when it comes time to pay?"
Drawing his share of the gold from the chest in the crypt Arthas held the coins tightly, his fist drawn back as if to strike the mayor and shouted "I'd come to return this and explain why leaving swords, gems and coins in a crypt is beyond stupid! But now! Now you've decided to bugger me!"
Dropping the coins back into his pocket Arthas drew the silver longsword found in the coffin, placing it flat on the mayor's desk with his hand on the pommel. "Sylar knows what we found in the crypt, but so do I and now I'll tell you! We found a corrupted soul bred in this very town! Not an outsider! Not some necromancer! One of you!" with his left hand Arthas removed the strange amulet and dangled it in front of the mayor, his voice taking on an icy, calculating tone.
"It makes me wonder where the corruption came from and how much the corruption its spread... what dark gods you've let into your town, into your hearts..."
"Some people compare the corruption of necromancy to a rot, a malady which must be excised... cut out... so it cannot spread... Did you know silver is particularly effective at preventing the spread of rot Mayor?" Arthas said, gently rolling the sword's pommel about in his hand before lifting it up suddenly and slapping it flat on the desk with a deafening *bang* in the silent room "Something to think about mayor... keep your precious money, we're leaving." picking up the sword and sheathing it Arthas turned on his heel and stormed out of the building.
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Post by lloyd on Mar 14, 2016 20:20:17 GMT -5
Olek was leaning on a cupboard, holding a mug of ale, when Arthas exploded. As Arthas left the room, Olek's eyes followed him carefully, trying to not catch the gaze but still re-evaluating the man. When he was out of sight, his eyebrows remained raised as he looked at the mayor, lifted the mug ever so slightly, mustered a "cheers", and took a swig, gingerly leaving the room as if trying to avoid stepping on and breaking something extremely fragile.
As soon as he was out of the room, he jogged towards the sound of angry boots.
"Excellent showmanship, my friend! Tell me, was the swo--" he stopped mid-sentence at the daggers Arthas shot out of his eyes. "--ehhhh, how do you feel about a few drinks to wash that anger down? It's all on me, anyway." He looked Arthas up and down. Strange that he didn't see this part of him early on, definitely something to keep in mind. Could be useful, could be dangerous. Maybe both, but for now his tipsy mind told him to wash the cares away in ale.
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Jaz
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Post by Jaz on Mar 15, 2016 5:22:56 GMT -5
Jaz is a bit taken aback by Arthas' tirade as he guiltily fondles the blue pebble in his pocket, remembering all the items he looted from the dead, the truly dead. He looks nervously from the door the priest stormed out of to the mayor, and back again, before scampering after Arthas to catch up.
Without funds of his own, Jaz secures the barkeep's permission to sing for his supper. He tunes his turtle lyra, wets his whistle with some ale, then standing on a bar stool, he plucks out a tune:
"I hear hurricanes a blowing.
I know the end is coming soon.
I fear rivers over flowing.
I hear the voice of rage and ruin.
Hope you got your things together.
Hope you are quite prepared to die.
Looks like we're in for nasty weather.
One eye is taken for an eye."
Then leaping from the stool, he dances a jig picking up the tempo for his finish,
"I see a bad moon rising.
I see trouble on the way.
I see earthquakes and lightnin'.
I see bad times today.
Well don't go around tonight,
Well it's bound to take your life,
There's a bad moon on the rise."
The gnome takes a bow.
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Post by Deleted on Mar 15, 2016 17:25:27 GMT -5
Arthas grimaced as he drained the last of his fifth ale, or was it sixth? He shook his head to clear the question from his head and the inn's common room spun around unpleasantly before coming to a stop as he refocused on Olek sitting across from him a wide, bemused grin on his face.
"Can you believe that miserable bastard?" Arthas said for the tenth (or eleventh) time that night "And what whining piss-ant peasants! Do you complain when you have to clean up the mouse guts the cat left behind? No, you clean it up and you're happy that the cat caught the mouse and you give him his pudding.. No, I mean you give him... the cat, 25 gold pieces, don't you Olek?"
"Milk?" Olek replied laughing.
"What? No, ale." Arthas exclaimed, gesturing expansively with his empty mug at the sparsely populated common room, most of the clientele having gone to bed or taken their drinks far away.
"Well, we did take rather a lot of things from the crypt didn't we Art?" Olek said quietly, growing serious.
"That's not the point, you see.. the point is that none of it should have been there should it? The gods don't need you to send your dead grandpa with his rusty old pig sticker to their gates do they? The gods have way better weapons, like... I don't know... giant hammers or something."
"The point is Olek that they could have taken grandpa's rusty old pig sticker and killed grandpa again when he got up and started trying to kill people... or used that gold and paid someone to kill him for them."
"I was going to give back what I took you know? But not now, these ignorant bastards would just put it right back in there. No, I'm going to give this sword to someone who'll use it to kill someone's grandpa or sell it or something, I don't know, whatever; I should sleep." Arthas muttered, resting his head on the wooden table.
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Post by lloyd on Mar 15, 2016 18:25:56 GMT -5
After a certain amount of drinks, some men swam quietly in their ale-filled minds, and some men rambled their thoughts out; it was clear to Olek which of the two Arthas was. A grin crept onto Olek's face and stayed there when he was drunk. In fact, he was happy to watch and listen in a profound stupor when he was this drunk. Gently, he reached into a pouch in a habitual mannerism that reassured him he still had money, but this time (like many other times) he discovered quite alarmingly that most of his silver was gone! Anxiety mixed with drunk fury boiled up within him, and his hand reached for the boot dagger as he prepared to cut the thief that did this' hand off-- but then he realized that he did say drinks were on him, for the entire night.
As Arthas continued pondering the importance of paying cats, killing grandpas, and what weapons the gods had for the dead, Olek started spilling his coins out onto the table to count his remaining fortune. He soon discovered he had spent a full 100 silvers tonight-- a noteworthy, nay, appalling sum of money, and his face did not conceal the surprise, even as Arthas continued talking. He reassured himself with a swig from his mug and the sight of gold as he swept the musically clinking coins back in the pouch, savoring the sound, and tilted his head to one side in a drunkenly exaggerated gesture of attentiveness.
The wound from the dark crypt warrior buzzed numbly, the thing's face, blurred, the haunting screech it gave, drowned out by the hum in his ears from the ale. He had accomplished what he came here to do, and smiled drunkenly at nobody in particular.
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Jaz
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Post by Jaz on Mar 16, 2016 6:16:36 GMT -5
Having caught the attention of some of the less inebriated patrons, Jaz climbs back up that stool and sits on the edge of the bar with his lyre on a crossed knee. He starts to pick out a slower melody, and pauses to announce, "This next tune is dedicated to a new friend of mine. He's the gods' own drunk and a fearless man," lifting a mug towards Olek. Jaz picks up the melody, and starts in, "Well, like I explained to you all before, I ain't no drinkin' man I tried it once and it got me highly irregular And I swore I'd never do it again I promised my brother in-law that I'd go up watch his still..." (( www.youtube.com/watch?v=p2USQuKSOhg Although there's more appropriate versions for RP, like by Lord Buckley himself, this one's more fun...kind of long, 12:40)) |
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Post by chris on Mar 16, 2016 19:47:44 GMT -5
Sitting quietly during the revel, Mercator swirled a glass of whisky. Now that the excitement was over, he couldn't seem to keep his thoughts from Octavie and her predicament. Being cheated by the Mayor was not just a bitter setback--it could cost Octavie her life. Mercator occasionally joined in the banter, but mostly he sat lethargically in the corner pondering his troubles.
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