|
|
|
|
Author |
Topic: The Shattered Kingdom (Read 168 times) |
|
Skeeneyman
Forum God
Last On: 06/30/11
View Profile
Message Player
United States
Posts: 1766
|
This is the RP thread for the Shattered Kingdom campaign. Please follow these two simple rules when making posts to the forum.
1) Please keep all posts to this thread "In character." Any posts made “Out of Character,” will be deleted or moved to an appropriate thread.
2) Never speak, move or in any way control another Players character without prior permission.
Other than those before mentioned rules, the forum is wide open for just about anything your character wants to do or say.
|
|
 I.P. Logged |
|
|
|
Skeeneyman
Forum God
Last On: 06/30/11
View Profile
Message Player
United States
Posts: 1766
|
Even though, your Aunt Pol is not a very well read woman she does keep a few books lying around the house. These are some of your favorites.
Three thousand years ago the great elven cities which dotted the landscape on the Karn-Thet Peninsula went to war with each other. Ancient war machines battled arcane forces in a conflict which lasted decades and once the dust settled the landscape lay scared and forever changed.
Lost were the great Tree Spires of Sylvantai, no longer would the endless churning of the Ca'Dish engines be heard through the Valleys...
To this day the reasons why the elves went to war are still vague and much interpreted. Historians have identified three major cities in the Fay Swamp lowlandsat the start of the Elfwar:
Ca'Dish - The Technomancers, able to weave eldritch energies into great technological marvels.
Sylvantai - The Tree Dwellers, or 'High Elves'. The Sylvantai drew their namesake from the great forest which once covered the region, for the low lands all the way up to the World Spine mountains to the east.
The Sidhe - Pronounced Shi-Day. Not much is know of the Sidhe except that their civilization was ancient, even at the time of the Elfwar. They are most famous for the ancient order of warrior wizards, the Bain Sidhe.
There is also mention of a fourth elven city called Myth Drannor that was somewhere in the Fey Swamp region. However, it is believed to have somehow destroyed itself hundreds years before the Elfwar began.
Prof J. Merrywether
Crosswater Institute of Research
|
| « Last Edit: on: Mar 3, 2005, 5:13PM » |
I.P. Logged |
|
|
|
Skeeneyman
Forum God
Last On: 06/30/11
View Profile
Message Player
United States
Posts: 1766
|
Wayland Cribbs - This once famous master-thief is often the subject of many a bar-room tale. You name it, Cribbs has nicked it.
Unfortunatly in recent years Cribbs spends most days in a bottle, resting happily on his laurels, "Buy me an' ale and I'll tell you a tale" his current catchphrase.
Morham Goodfellow - A half-orc from east Ajentia, Goodfellow's kind and gracious nature hides a warrior-born, with more than one legend under his belt. A Prince from amoung his own tribes and a great hero to many, Morham was dubbed Goodfellow by his old adventuring companion Wayland Cribbs after his kind nature.
Shazram - A powerful wizard from Raus, Shazram lives deep in the Fey Swamps of the Tharen Peninsula. Shazram is believed to be the only surviving student of the Eternal Sorcerer Amon Sul.
Houser McFinn - Selfstyled detective Houser McFinn is a man who knows when there is a game afoot! The curious halfling made quite a name for himself after recovering King Kalador's Sceptre after it was stolen by thieves during last years Beltan Eve celebrations.
Joh Mith - What can be said about this generous, kind, handsome trader that hasn't been celebrated in every community on the Tharen Peninslua. Some describe him as a businessman, others a ladiesman, by most 'though, he's 'The Man'.
Moma Yaga - This curious creature appeared in the Fey Swamps about the same time Shazram constructed her tower. Many believe Moma Yaga a nature spirit, bound to Shazram in some way. Those who have witnessed their use describe her powers as considerable.
Joh Mith - Author and Trader
|
|
I.P. Logged |
|
|
|
Skeeneyman
Forum God
Last On: 06/30/11
View Profile
Message Player
United States
Posts: 1766
|
The Tharen Peninsula lies to the south-east of the Kingdoms heartland. Still a frontier of the Kingdom, the Peninsula remains pretty much unsettled. This is mainly due to the in-hospitable nature of the land and it's inhabitants.
Vast areas of the hill lands to the west and south of the peninsula remain home to various humanoid races, including goblins and their larger cousins, the hobgoblins. Lizard-folk infest the coast line north and east, threatening the established port towns (Tallon, Reach and Maken Keep)
The heart of the peninsula is sliced in two by the Worldspine mountain range, which runs north-east th south-west across the peninsula. To the west of them is the area now known as the Fey Swamps. The ancient elven cities of old once dotted the area, until their destruction in the Elfwar three thousand years ago.
|
|
I.P. Logged |
|
|
|
Skeeneyman
Forum God
Last On: 06/30/11
View Profile
Message Player
United States
Posts: 1766
|
Ports of the Outlands
Port Tallon
Port Tallon was founded a two hundred years ago in an attempt by the Kingdom
to establish a trade port on the eastern coast of the Tharen Peninsula.
Baron Keld was given the charge of establishing the port and was successful
in opening trade relations with the Mani Empire across the Sequtaine Sea. To
this day, the Sequtaine Trade Routes are some of the busiest in the
hemisphere, bringing spices and silks from the far east to the Kingdom.
The Port town remains a loyal part of the Kingdom to this day. The current
town leader, Baron Keld II, lacks the charisma and strength of character his
grandfather and father displayed and is seen by many as a weak leader. Due
to the dwindling numbers of conscripted soldiers being sent to garrison Port
Tallon (there just isn't enough to go around what with the war on the
Kingdoms far northern boards with the Kodai Orcs requiring so many troops),
Baron Keld II has hired a troupe of Mercenaries from the Mani Empire to act
as a support garrison to the Kingdoms own troops. These days, more Mani
troops police Tallon than Kingdom ones and the animosity between the two
groups continues to grow...
Crime is rife in Tallon. The local thieves guild, The Upright Men, are said
to possess more authority in town than the Baron and his men do. With the
Mani being so easy to bribe, many illicit activities are undertaken in town
with confidence. Anyone who wishes to cut a (dodgy) deal could choose a
worse place than Tallon...
Maken Keep
When Lord Maken, one of the greatest heroes of the Battle of Vernane Bay,
was given a free commission on his retirement from the Army, he requested
the opportunity (and resource) to establish a frontier outpost. A hundred
years later the family home of the Maken family still stands, acting as a
gateway for the Kingdom to the Tharen Peninsula.
This small fortress sits close to the coast line and maintains a small dock
for trade ships and the like. Lord Maken VI, third Lord of the Keep, is very
much liked by the towns residence. A small (but loyal) Kingdom Garrison is
based at the Keep and it is from here that the Kingdom despatches the local
patrols who police the roads between the Keep itself, Hedge Gate and the
town of Cross River to the East.
Maken Keep has recently been under threat from a Wyvern which seems to have
set up home close to the keep. No one has yet to locate the creatures nest,
even though Lord Maken has offered a large bounty for its death.
Port Reach
The remote town of Port Reach sits on the southern most tip of the Tharen
Peninsula.
|
|
I.P. Logged |
|
|
|
Elewan
Expert Poster
Last On: 06/24/09
View Profile
Message Player
United States
Posts: 112
|
*SLAP!*
He'd rushed it. Steven made a shocked face and turned back to the buxom beauty, "Hey, Luv, what was that for? I was only playin'."
The beauty screwed up her face. "You'll be keepin' yer paws to yerself, you will."
Damn, she was serious. He glanced at the darkening sky. It was going to be full night before he made it home, and Aunt Pol was going to box his ears for sure. She was already mad he "forgot" to buy nails on his last visit to town necessitating another trip.
Steven blew the beauty a kiss as he hurried off. It's just as well. His mind was on the choosing. He just had to be chosen as a bard. Any other choice was unthinkable. Working as a Smith in the hot forge all day? Studying magic until his brain exploded? Entering the church with their endless prayers and vows of poverty -- or horrors, silence! The only worse future would be to not be chosen at all. How could he spend all his days as a laborer on a farm? How could he handle that?
Steven began to sing as he trotted along,
My days have been so wondrous free,
The little birds that fly
With careless ease from tree to tree,
Were but as blest as I,
Were but as blest as I.
Ask the gliding waters,
If a tear of mine
Increased their stream,
And ask the breathing gales
If ever I lent a sigh to them,
If I lent a sigh to them.
|
|
I.P. Logged |
|
|
|
Kerlyssa
Expert Poster
Last On: 01/20/07
View Profile
Message Player
United States
Posts: 248
|
Nina kicks her heels against the fence she's sitting on, squinting at the book laid out on her knees.
She flourishes her hand. "Numira!"
Gazing expectantly out from her thick glasses, Nina is rewarded by... nothing.
Scowling, she returns to the book.
"Numira!" flourish "NuMIRa!" gesture "NumirAHohworkNUMIRA!"
Sighing, Nina jumps off the fence post and retrieves her glasses, lost during a particularly violent recitation. Cleaning them with her handkerchief, she watches a small, blurry figure racing past on the road.
"Hmph" as she replaces her glasses and squints in the growing dark, "Scatterbrain. 'Forgot' to be back by sunset, no doubt."
Picking the book back up, she flips through the pages, finding her lost place.
"Oh."
Looking equal parts pleased and embarrassed, she gestures again.
"Numina!"
Glowing sphere bobbing after her, Nina heads for home.
|
|
I.P. Logged |
|
|
|
Belenduil
Veteran Poster
Last On: 04/09/05
View Profile
Message Player
United States
Posts: 92
|
Grok lounged on a soft cushion of moss as a furry badger dug persistently at a patch on the ground. It squeaked it's delight when it found what it had been digging for, nice juicy grubs. Grok opened one eye then and noted the badger seemed content with his find. Grok's stomach growled then and he rolled over on his side to examine the grubs the badger was eating.
"How dems taste, Squeaky? Grok hungry toos. Yous bring Grok one ob dems."
The badger, Squeaky, turned and regarded the half-orc for a moment and as if in answer, quickly wolfed down the last of the grubs and then gave a squeak.
"Hey! Dat nub nice, Squeaky! Grok's middle growls like Bigfur! Stoopid furry!" He launched a playful swipe at the badger, who bared his teeth and growled and then attacked Grok's hand with what seemed like typical badger ferocity.
"Har, yous too slow!" Grok shouted as Squeaky launched himself at Grok. The two wrestled for many moments before they finally stopped and Grok slowly rubbed the furry animal, which curled up in his lap.
"Now dere nub anyting to eats. Ungle Mesner didn't hab anyting eider." Grok chuckle remembering his Uncle Mesner.
Most everyone said that the man was totally insane, but since Grok didn't know what that meant he just figured it was a compliment, since everyone said it with a slight smile or grin on their faces. Maybe people would think he was insane one day. He liked his Uncle despite what anyone else said. Of course Aunt Pol said he was trouble, but family was family, so Grok was allowed to visit him. Uncle Mesner seemed to enjoy the visits, though he was convinced that Grok was a large green, talking bear. Uncle Mesner couldn't see very well, but he was extremely wise, Grok thought. He was a majoka boomer, something others called duid (druid)and Grok wanted to be just like him. He could make nature around him do strange things and he was friends with all sorts of animals. Grok liked animals, and not just for eating, though they were good for that too. His two best friends in the world, well two of the three were animals. Squeaky the badger in his lap and Bigfur, a large brown bear.
The third was his half sister Nina. Nina was a majoka boomer too, but a different kind than Uncle Mesner. She was going to be the most powerful majoka boomer in the world one day, so she said and Grok believed her. He figured he would be the second most powerful. He liked Uncle Mesners power better though because he didn't have to read any books like Nina did. Those books she read made his head hurt something awful and they were all a jumble of lines and pictures that made no sense.
Something nagged at the back of his mind as he sat there with Squeaky, not a care in the world. It was one of his free days and he was going to enjoy every minute of it. His stomach growled and he wished he had brought some of that chicken from the night before. Whatever was nagging at him he knew it was something he had forgotten. He wasn't really prone to forgetting things, he just kept getting sidetracked. Most likely it was Squeaky's fault. Stupid furry, always getting him in trouble.
"Yous know, if Nina was heres, she woulds tell Grok what Grok Fergots. Yub." He pointed a finger at himself and put on a higher mock voice, which one would be left to assume was Nina, since he had just mentioned her. "Scatterbrains, yous would fergot to eats if Nina didn't tell yous to do it!" all the while he shook the pointing finger at himself.
"Har, dat nub true doh, Grok neber fergots to eats. Grok always hungrys! Har Har!" BURP!
Grok tried to concentrate for a minute, which made his head hurt a little. He looked down at Squeaky who was licking his lips and it reminded him of the grubs. Then it came back to him and he looked around with a start. It was almost dusk. He jumped up, launching Squeaky a few feet away. The animal rolled over to his feet and then gave a series of squeaky growls, showing his anger to Grok. Grok ignored him.
"Dis nub gud. Grok hab to runs. Aunt Pol said dat if Grok late to dinner agains, dat Grok nub get to eats. Dat would be horrible, Grok would starves!"
With that and the looming despair of starving to death firmly in his mind, Grok began to run down the road towards the farm. After a moment, Squeaky followed him.
|
|
I.P. Logged |
|
|
|
jdon7
Expert Poster
Last On: 08/29/10
View Profile
Message Player
United States
Posts: 219
|
Merudo sat in the small room loaned to him to work out of, perusing a very interesting article on the anatomical breakdown of the human lymphatic system. Ever since her husbands death 5 years ago, Aunt Pol has kept an onsite medical practitioner on hand to ensure the health of all her farmhands and relatives. She nearly didnt make it herself on his death, being striken so strongly with grief. However she proved to be quite a resilient woman, pulling through out of sheer necesity. When she finally came back to the old Aunt Pol, at least on her outward appearance, she had hired someone to look after the health concerns of all that lived with her. She had hired on another gnome by the name of Piddle. She was a very nurturing and caring female, but after a few years she had decided to move on and further her career, which, after a year himself, Merudo hopes to do soon as well. It would be impossible to become a full fledged surgeon remaining here, but for now it has given him some important experience in the field. Suddenly a thought came to him, which is not uncommon as his brain seem to be in constant motion. It was an article he'd read a few months back about surgeons reaching to the divine to enhance and in some instances replace the need for medical treatment and healing. Merudo thought it absurd at the time really. He'd heard of some stories about "holy men" being able to make wounds heal before the patients very eyes, but thought it rather ridiculous that one could heal another through worship and prayer rather than a profound knowledge of anatomy and medical procedures.
"Hmmm....Perhaps this could be worth some further investigation, yes, yes indeed."
Why not. Merudo's learning had grown a bit stagnant recently, usually doing nothing more than bandaging the farmhands blisters after tilling in the fields all day. Desptie his studious nature, the ways of the divine had not been a subject hed delved into.
"Perhaps Aunt Pol would have some advice on the matter. Yes, Im sure she would, yes."
A small grumble welled within his stomach. It never ceased to amaze him about the bodies subtle ways to deal with us in certain matters to get what it needed. In this case, it had been several hours since his stomach had last received food and has decided to remind its owner that is was time for supper. Merudo set down the article he was reading and headed for the supper table.
|
|
I.P. Logged |
|
|
|
Decider
Forum God
Last On: 09/22/11
View Profile
Message Player
United Kingdom
Posts: 1135
|
"Dull dull dull DULL!"
Amon hung upside-down from the tree, his thick red hair hanging down over his eyes. Just to see if he could, he punched the air a few times, the thin branch wobbling just enough to dump him down onto the ground. After a painful impact and a slight bounce, Amon rolled upright, quite ready to point out to anyone around that he had MEANT to do that.
On this occasion, however, there was no-one around. Giving the tree a kick and a hard stare, he slumped down onto a nearby stump.
Well, he'd finished his chores early today, so what else was there to do? Stevey boy was off chasing tail again, and Nina had managed to give him the slip today. She never seemed to appreciate his efforts to make her studies more exciting. What good was magic if it didn't blow stuff up or make interesting noises, anyway?
Cradling his chin in a thoughtful manner, the young halfling dug around in his pocket, producing a small flask of the spirits that Aunt Pol had been very careful NOT to let him have. He took a swig. It tasted like bing hit in the face with a battleaxe.
Ahh. The good stuff.
Hmm. Maybe Grok would be up for a bit of an armwrestle? Probably not. Too busy playing with that privvy-rug pet of his. Not that Amon MINDED the little badger, exactly... It just stank. Ask anyone. Halflings have very advanced senses of smell, as everyone surely knew. Was it his fault that the badger had some kind of crappin' disorder?
He took another swig. Everything was going all blurry. Probably doing it to spite him. He aimed a random punch at the world in general, missed and fell on his back.
Ahh. Some days, the farm lads and lasses were no fun at all. Where was the adventure? Where was the majesty? Where were the vast amounts of drunken violence, followed by a kebab, then home?
Oh, they were alright in their way, his mind hastily pointed out. Nice. A bit naive, but sound as steel in their own way. Yeah. How long had it been now? Four years he'd worked here? Never had a problem. Yeah.
Like a family, really. O'course, he didn't NEED them, oh no, proud and independent spirit, he was. Could leave any day he wanted. Probably would, soon, go seek adventure and things. He was a big guy, after all, and this was a small pond. Yeah. Right on.
Propping himself up, his head spinning, Amon shakily began to trot back down to the farm proper.
I mean, even a fierce and proud independent spirit didn't want to be late for dinner, now did he?
|
|
I.P. Logged |
|
|
|
Decider
Forum God
Last On: 09/22/11
View Profile
Message Player
United Kingdom
Posts: 1135
|
Go
Amon flung himself forwards, the goblin's dented blade rasping along the side of his armor. With a bestial snarl he span, burying the axe he carried into the creature's neck with a deep, satisfying crunch. The second one leapt, seeking to drag him down while his weapon was occupied. The iron-tipped edge of his shield punched out, hammering it twice in it's lower jaw. The small creature was neatly lifted off it's feet and plucked out of the air, slammed face-first into the stone floor. It had just enough time to roll, look up, yelp out a scream- Before it was cut short by Amon's hobnailed boot stamping down onto it's neck. He looked down at the squirming thing. He twisted his heel. Amon's face split into a feral grin as he heard the telltale snap.
The rest was a blur, heavy breathing counted in heartbeats. Keep walking. Keep moving. We hunt. We kill. We avenge.
The spider reeled back, stunned. Amon leaned back and headbutted it again. Desperate and confused, the creature tried to back up. It's frantic, animal mind trying to understand the situation. Prey was supposed to be cautious, hesitant...
Amon roared, the enhanced edge of his axe cleanly severing one of the spider's reaching limbs. With a screech that left audible pitch, the spider recoiled... Allowing Amon the opportunity to smash it in the mouth with his ichor-stained weapon. For a moment, the creature's thick outer shell bent under the pressure... Then it burst.
More! Is this all they have? Every death at your hands chips away at a little piece of the sorrow, makes the anger strong, puts fire in your breath, until you could hold up a mountain in one hand. A blood-felt heartbeat that could shake the earth...
Staggering, legs refusing to move the way they should. A warm, wet, sharp feeling around one of his ribs. His breathing was ragged, his voice gone from battlecries. The world seemed... Hazy. Distant. But the axe felt solid in his hand.
There were others with him... As his breathing began to even out, he realised he had forgotten all about them.
Tav had been there with him, blades just as deadly as his. The chump might be too big for his boots, and a damned moral vacuum at times... But in a fight, you damn well knew he was looking out for you. You didn't have to LIKE someone to know they were with you till the end. And vice versa. Amon knew a born soldier when he saw one.
Grok had felt the... feeling, too. The Rage. The Hatred. The compulsion to kill and rip and tear and never stop until your mind shut itself off from fatigue... But as tough as the big guy was, he wasn't a killer at heart. He couldn't let the fury feed him, sustain him... let it make him immune to weariness. He was always looking over one shoulder, protecting.
Perhaps it was just as well. Nina wasn't cut out for this. Amon would have sooner walked over hot coals than tell her to stay behind, she had a right, this was her blood-debt, too... But she wasn't ready for this kind of a fight. She didn't study majik to kill people with it... In Amon's personal opinion, she studied majik because it was just a way of bossing the laws of the universe around. But she wasn't a warrior.
Neither was Steve. Oh, he'd claim to have loved it when it was all done, probably write some annoying plinky-plonk tune about it afterwards... But bards were always there to pick up the pieces after the battles, not to fight them. But he was needed, in his way. Someone has to make sure the fallen don't fade from memory. It just irked Amon immensely that, in the end... It would sound like some kind of grand adventure, rather than the black, dark thing that revenge always was.
And Merundo... Well, who knows? Poor geek was probably making interesting notes on the size and odour of the spiders as he hit them with his weapon. He just didn't have the imagination to be scared. But damn, if his healing fingers-trick didn't make a body feel better. Useful guy, even if he thought like a pocket watch, all springs and greased wheels and flat edges.
Amon ground his teeth as another goblin scrambled from the shadows. He could still see the dining room. The bodies. Aunt Pol lying there on the ground, a broken, bloodied puppet with cut strings. The goblin attacking him vanished under a hail of blows, shredded. Slapping aside the greasy remains with a snarl of contempt, Amon raised a hand, wiping the mixture of blood and tears from his eyes. Searching for another one. And another.
He'd kill every damn goblin in this world, follow 'em to hell and kill 'em again. And again.
And as many more times as he needed to bring his home back.
|
| « Last Edit: on: Mar 21, 2005, 12:47PM » |
I.P. Logged |
|
|
|
Skeeneyman
Forum God
Last On: 06/30/11
View Profile
Message Player
United States
Posts: 1766
|
Corelithorn Ca’Dish is a brilliant but humble Elf living out his long life in the large city Suzail at the base of the Stormhorn Mountains. He, his wife Velle’Torna and there two children run a magic shop on the main plaza. “It’s a good life,” he thinks to himself as he heads to a back room of his shop.
This back room is his little workshop where he “tinkers” with various inventions and experiments. It is filled with books, scrolls, and all kinds of liquids and powders, in the center of the room, there are even a few body parts for the iron golem he has been working on for 20 years, it is his pride and joy. Sometimes he comes into the workshop just to polish his massive creation. “Almost done,” he thinks to himself “only another 10 years and he will be ready.”
One day a beautiful winged elf enters his shop. “Good afternoon sir” Corelithorn says with eyes wide. He knew there was a colony of winged elves that lived in the mountains but had never seen one. “What can I do for you?” The words seem insufficient for this great honor but it was all he could think of to say. The winged elf does not seem to hear him. Corelithorn turns beet red realizing that he was speaking common to this noble elf. He repeats the question in elfish. The elf turns to Corelithorn with a slight frown and puts out his hand to initiate the Elvin traditional greetings. He had not used this greeting in almost 100 years but he stumbles his way through it realizing that some things you never forget. “My name is Ce’Lith Greyling I am leader of the Bain Sidhe. The question is not what you can do for me but rather,” Ce’Lith pauses as if to consider the wisdom of what he is about to say, “What I can do for you and WE can do for all of Elf kind. Is there some place where we can speak in private?” “Certainly my lord” Corelithorn stammers “This way”.
He leads the winged elf into his workshop; Ce’Lith starts looking around and begins nodding his head as if something was being confirmed. “I have a gift for you,” He says. From out of his pocket, he pulls out a small glowing box and extends it to Corelithorn. “What is it?” he asks. With a smile, Ce’Lith says “power.” With wide eyes, Corelithorn takes the small box, which is surprisingly heavy and cool to the touch. “Power?” he asks. “Yes” says Ce’Lith “It is called Cold Fission and it is yours.”
|
|
I.P. Logged |
|
|
|
nightcleaver
Experienced User
Last On: 08/15/10
View Profile
Message Player
Unknown
Posts: 15
|
A feminine shape cloaked in black sat on the ground, it's back leaning to the fencepost, a grey woolen blanket stretched over it's arched legs. The sword lying next to her dwarfed her relatively small size with it's own, and her blackness with it's shine. As someone ran past, she looked up and removed her hood to meet his eyes, but he ignored her. "Must be too important," she thought. For a moment she sat and listened; wind stirred gently her pale blonde hair that held tight to her head in inexpert cuts, and she carefully placed her hand on the hilt of her sword beneath the tent of her covered legs, humming. Her black-amber eyes raised further to the moon in the distance, meeting it's gaze with her own; two pale faces looked back at one another, still and gentle even with their marred surfaces.
She looked back down to her sketchpad.
"No, now that's not right," she said, setting pencil to paper once again.
The day before she had arrived without the people who had been her companions for the past couple years; guards and scholarly men of various sizes, headed by two of the more ogrish men she had ever encountered in her life and one breathtakingly beautiful woman. It was safe to assume they were dead; it... wasn't important, now. There were bound to be other's with the same idea in mind.
She drew a line. No, two. And three.
It was amazing that she had survived. "Well, of course, this sword scared even death away." She smiled at that. It had been the gift of Hart, one of the Woman's bodyguards. He was her favorite. He was a Friend, something she'd had little enough of in her short life. He had taught her everything there was to know about surviving, everything that hadn't been enough for him in his last moments.
Her sketching hand moved in disarray. Her face was grimly determined.
She couldn't remember what had happened to Hart, or Joel the caravan driver, or Fendrid, the beautiful woman that had led them all. They would all have died for that woman...
But she hadn't.
|
| « Last Edit: on: Apr 21, 2005, 7:25PM » |
I.P. Logged |
|
|
|
|
|
|
