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Topic: Scourge of the Black Claw (Read 404 times) |
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Zanthyr
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Taking a deep breath of clean, fresh air, Zanthyr shakes off the last dampness of the cave. Thank goodness we're out of that one. I am beginning to think a tavern and a pint of ale would be good right about now. His thoughts wander as to what he can expect next in this not so clear path he has chosen for himself, as he gathers moss and other items found in nature to make camp for himself and his companions. At least I have not forgotten how to do the basics! Have to work on my diplomacy though.
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Champoux
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You are taken from the ship you were put on in Portsmouth to the deck of a new ship. You are standing in front of a half elven male. He is wearing robes and has a sword buckled on his belt. He is surrounded by 4 guards; all armed and armored. You are naked except for a loincloth with your hands tied behind your back. There are two strong boxes behind him….between the guards.
The elf yells, “Kneel”.
You slowly drop to your knees.
He begins once you are all on the deck, “Right now, I could kill you. It would be easy. It would be merciful. Unfortunately for you, I am not merciful. You are responsible for a minor inconvenience to my lords. To them you have been no more than an irritating fly. But, you do not know my lords. They are cruel, oh, quite cruel. They would not swat a fly -- no, they are slow and patient. They would rather pick off its wings one by one and watch it suffer. They have sent you to me, not for me to kill you... not yet. No, first you will work as my slaves, pulling the oars in my hold. Then, perhaps you will wish to die. Indeed, you might collapse from exhaustion. But, I will revive you. And we will begin again. I wonder how long you can survive. Look, dogs, your equipment “, as he points to the strong boxes. “You won't be needing any of it where you're going." He waves his hands, mutters a few words that only Sleet can make out, and the strong boxes disappear. “Oh, and don't think that you will find your friend either. He will be sold at the first opportunity.” He turns to the guards, “Take them below".
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Sleet
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Tying a bandage around his left leg, Sleet looks around the dank and dark galley rowing deck.
"Has Angus awoke? They hammered him pretty hard when we came down here." Kneeling, Sleet passes a healing potion to the groggy Angus and as he sips it the barbarian becomes more alert. "There mate, taker easy. Those guards banged ye around a fair bit, aye?"
At the questioning look, Sleet continues. "Was able to pick the lock on our shackles with this." The rogue holds up a metal wire and hook about a hand's span in length, deflty slipping it into a hidden sheath in his boot. "Then we took the battle to the slavers, Zan and Xeq''ir bore the brunt of it." Pointing to the stripped bodies of the guards.
"We have a set of padded armour that may fit ye as well as a club. Some other items we found in a locked room over there." Sleet jerks a thumb over his shoulder. "None of these others are in any condition to help, so we are on our own to take control of the Ghoul, or escape.."
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xanofere
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Father ...
Would you believe it? I am in captivity against my will once again, and only having been granted my freedom a short time ago. The sheer thought of it leaves a taste in my mouth like week old moldy bread.
The good news is that I am no longer naked and in chains attached to a rowing bench amongst many sorry souls who are in much worse shape than I am. I am presently holed up with my companions in a supply room in the bowels of a ship known as the Ghoul. I know not why we are here, but I can only guess that my companions gave run afoul of some questionable personages who now seek them ill.
I can thank Sleet for our current freedom, but I thank Shaundakul all the more for giving my the ability to be able to tend to our wounds. A fierce but quick fight with the abusive guards has provided us with some armor and arms. We are regaining our strength as we prepare to break for freedom. My hope is that we can free the ship slaves in our attempt. If not, I will try to enlist the aid of those who have the ability to help.
May He of the Helping Hands bless and watch over all of us ...
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| « Last Edit: on: Jul 30, 2006, 6:22AM » |
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Zanthyr
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....checking his wounds, freshly bandaged shortly after he had been knocked unconscious during the fight, Zanthyr thanks his friends Sleet and Xeq'ir. "Again, I owe you my thanks, mates. Now let's see about getting out of this connundrum and find out what's really going on". He checks Angus to see if he is alright, after the battering he received, then stops himself in his tracks and takes stock of the scene he is in: surrounded by slave oarsmen, starving and bedraggled, many who may have families, not seen in ages. He grabs a bunch of apples from the stores' room and hands them out to each slave. "Don't worry chaps, we'll have you out of here soon". After checking to make sure if they are wounded or other wise hurt, he turns his attention back to his mates and their current dilemna. Although he would like nothing more than seeing his captors suffer the same as these oarsmen slaves, or worse, a little voice in the back of his mind reminds him of what his true duty is. Revenge is not the path to true justice. He thinks to himself, I just hope my mates here will take a similar approach to the coming events. Firstly, we have to get off this ship and make sure we are not noticed at the same time. Perhaps a ruse of some sort would work. Let's see what the lads think...
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Zanthyr
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...Zanthyr wades through a sea of blood up to his waist. He thinks he see his mates Sleet, Angus and Xeq'ir on a far shore, waving him to hurry. His legs surge forward and he stumbles on something beneath the sanguine waves, almost sending him headlong beneath surface. He looks down and see arms, legs and torsos, mangled and deformed, impeding his way. Suddenly up through the surface of the bloody ocean faces can be seen: faces of those he failed to save. Zanthyr falls to one knee, comes face to face with a young woman whom he had given food to, moment s before she was decapitated. He is almost overcome by the moment, but the encouragement from the shore staps his attention back to his friends. "Have to get to shore" he screams out loud. Suddenly, he realizes his friends are not getting closer, but are fading away with every step he takes. "No, don't go, have to get to shore" It's too late, he is being swept out by the arms of those he failed to save, pulling him away from shore, and down to the depths. He is up to his neck in the blood stained sea and a final tug at his tunic brings his head below....
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Zanthyr
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...Zanthyr bolts upright with a start. Sweat pours off his face and down onto his soaked night tunic. He puts his hands onto the bed, expecting them to pierce the bloody waves which had occupied his nightmare. Soft, feathery piles of quilting greet his thankful palms. "By Meilikki" he whispers to himself, and makes the sign of his god. "Just a stupid nightmare, Zanthyr. Get ahold of yourself". He grabs a decanter of water by his bed and throws the contents of it over his tangled locks and down his face. The thankful coolness immediately bring him to full alertness. "You did all you could, so get a grip. Next time it will be different." He looks around the dim room and sees his friends, asleep on their own beds. "Probably dreaming of women, wine and grub", he thinks, enviously. The sight of his companions deep in slumber brings comfort. "We all did our best, and we are still alive", he whispers. "The slavers have been eliminated, along with the Captain of the Ghoul". Invigorated by his new, more positive thoughts, Zanthyr feels more inspired than ever before. "We will soon find out who is behind this treachery and by Meilikki, they will pay dearly" he quietly swears to himself....Zanthyrs' eyes close and he is deep in sweet dreams before his head hits the pillow....
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| « Last Edit: on: Sep 3, 2006, 1:31AM » |
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Sleet
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Walking up to the bar, Sleet pauses. "Lads, me thinks we will need to keep a low profile in these parts.. they mayhap not take too kindly to the 'good' folk as it were.."
With a nod to some passing humanoids goblins or orcs, it wa hard to tell in the dark, Sleet reaches for the door handle..
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Lord_Of_Games
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Devar it seems I must start over. All gains are gone. Subdued by superior forces we were stripped of our gear and loot. We escaped from our captures though and many I put to the sword. The captain of the ship that we were enslaved on fell after a fierce battle but we were only able to claim a fraction of what we lost. I fear that my mission in Baldur's Gate will have to wait a bit longer....regards, Angus.
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xanofere
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Father ... There is one thing I have come to value the most after going through my most recent escapades, and that is Freedom. I have come to relish freedom like a drunk (or a specific barbarian I know) loves his sixth straight stein of frothing cold ale.
My companions and I have managed to make our escape to the upper level of the ship only to meet stiff resistance in the ship's captain. After much fierce fighting we managed to clear the upper decks of any more obstacles.
Despite our well earned freedom, I am very much saddened by what Zanthyr and I found when we returned below deck to release the ship's slaves. Not one slave was left alive. Sometime during our race to freedom, the captain must have arranged a different kind of release for the slaves. Of us all it seems this event has hit Zanthyr the most. Justice must be meted to the guilty (and I wish to see to it), but I hope that Zanthyr doesn't follow the darker path in order to do so.
Now onto the town in which we find ourselves in, High Port.
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| « Last Edit: on: Aug 28, 2006, 1:32AM » |
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Zanthyr
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...tightly gripping the handle of his katana, Zanthyr trembles with rage and anger, emotions he knows only leads to destruction: of others and ultimately, if unchecked, himself. Seeing the desecration of a once mighty Temple of Mielikki, has brought forth this rush of, as yet, unfamiliar feelings. Feelings which Zanthyr has difficulty quelling. He glances furtively towards his friend, Xeq''ir, and seeing a comforting nod from him, the feelings slowly subside, to be replaced with a grim determination to rid this once sacred place of the evil beings who have trespassed upon it. Not all solutions end with the edge of a blade, his mother once told him. His father, a mighty warrior, trained and conditioned to kill those who stood in his way, no matter what his own heart told him, had taught Zanthyr the skills to defend himself and kill others. His mother, a healer, and pacifist, had always shunned violence, and never watched while father and son parried, lunged and thrust, while practicing with their epees and after a time, blades. Now Zanthyr must employ those deadly skills taught by his father, seemingly at the exclusivity of those embraced by his mother. How does he stay true to both at the same time...
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Zanthyr
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...shadows flit and curve eerily as Zanthyr and his friends make their way cautiously and quietly through the rubble and debris strewn ruins of a once majestic temple of Mielikki. Having just dispatched a group of slavers with his friends Sleet, Angus and Xeq’iir, Zanthyr is thankful to be alive. If not for the timely intervention of Angus’s flaming greatsword, and Xeq’iir’s healing skills, he might be lying among the bodies of the dead slavers. “Have you forgotten what your father taught you”, he quietly chastises himself. A moment of doubt crosses his mind, about his ability to help the group's cause. “Maybe I should have spent more time back home with the sword than gathering herbs for healing and living off the land. What’s the use of a being Ranger if I cannot fight well”. Zanthyr checks his bandaged arm, wipes his bloody katana on the tunic of a dead slaver as he steps over it, and forcefully sheaths the blade. Still internally cursing himself for his apparent failings, he thinks he hears a comforting voice in his mind, “draw upon the strengths taught you by those close to you, and of the place you are in, young Zanthyr Ardruin”. The voice, feminine, and soothing in it’s inflections, yet assuring in it’s message, sounds vaguely familiar, yet Zanthyr cannot put a face to it. He swears he has heard the voice before. Drawing in deeper breaths of cool air, which seem cleaner and sweeter smelling than before, he re-checks his Katana for nicks and other battle damage and sheaths it more carefully than before. Reaching behind his back for his longbow, and notching a feathery arrow onto it’s horse-hair string, Zanthyr assumes a stealthy pose, and with keen senses, he takes more deliberate, determined steps further into the temple, with his friends by his side…
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Lord_Of_Games
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The dead walk.
After a good feast of some nameless bird and too many pints of mead to count we stumbled towards the desecrated temple to seek entrance to the inner chambers. We found that the temple would be easier to enter at night but we had eaten too much, drank too long and now found ourselves on the eve of morn. Getting a room we took turns at watch and slept through the day – if you can call it sleep as visions of the damned flowed freely through my mind. Waking up we gathered our gear and headed out into the black. We found the temple easily and through the rogue Sleet’s cunning eyes managed to find the secret entrance that we were told about. The smell was horrid – dank, sour, like some tomb opened after a thousand years. Roots from above poked through the ceiling and the floor was covered in dust - undisturbed. I gripped the flametongue tighter and slashed through the growth. The flame cast eerie shadows across the walls like long fingers reaching inward into the gloom. Then I saw them – their glowing red eyes hinting at evil committed – evil damning them to this existence. I leaped forward as my mates let go of arrow after arrow. The sword easily broke their brittle bodies but one of the ghasts managed to reach its taloned hand through my armour – the pain wracked my body but I fought on. With the first group dispatched the ranger and rogue used their abilities to find the true path. I feel that I may fall soon – the disease courses through my veins. I will fight this my way though – not going to go back now.
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| « Last Edit: on: Aug 27, 2006, 11:54PM » |
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Sleet
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Burning sap drips from the torch held high as the rogue looks down the cobwebbed hallway. No traps as of yet, but one must always be more careful at times like this his Master had always said.
Sleet smiles slightly. A tough battle with the walking dead, their screams and growls seemed to even sap one's energy. Their bite and claw had been worse. Angus had born the brunt of it so far. The stalwart barbarian ignoring questions of pausing and decling to rest.
The rogue looks back and signals all clear. The four had become a tight-knit group, their battle tactics increasing as they learned each others' skills and abilities.
Sleet shook his head slightly. Keep your mind on the goal lad.. he murmurs, edging down the dusty temple hall.
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xanofere
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Father ... I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised to find my blood boiling and my teeth clenching when I felt the intruding and pervasive presence of evil when my companions, Angus, Zanthyr, and Sleet, made our way through the front entranceway of the ruined Temple of Mielikki in High Port. At that same moment from the corner of my eye I saw the weight Zanthyr felt upon his shoulders with each step we made through the defile temple of his chosen godess. I pray that Shaundakul sees fit to grant me the strength to see vengence done upone those who had a hand in the death of the ship slaves and to see the temple cleansed.
The prospect of ridding the city and the coast of a slaver ring helps to focus my thoughts and cool my emotions. As long as I draw breath, I will not knowingly allow the incarceration of innocents.
I do not know how my comrades-in-arms and I will fair against the slavers, so I want you know that if I do not make it rest in peace for I will be with He of the Helping Hands in the hereafter roaming new realms with a happy heart. Though between you and me, considering the friends in my company and our combined tenacity, I think that the odds are against the slavers. We WILL talk again ... father.
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| « Last Edit: on: Aug 28, 2006, 1:32AM » |
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Lord_Of_Games
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We fought hard to reach this area - where had the slavers disappeared to? Although we have only been within this foul place for a couple days I yearn to breath the air outside. Strange winged creatures buzz the halls - Stirges, I heard Xeq call them as he shuddered. Weak creatures but they seem to be filled with blood and explode when they come in contact with the flametongue. Covered in gore we press on though - I only hope the next door, the next hallway is the last.
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| « Last Edit: on: Aug 29, 2006, 4:51AM » |
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Zanthyr
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...Zanthyr feels uneasy and wary as he and his friends make their way through a large cemetery, filled with large oak trees and other vegetation. Having helped to defeat a number of ghouls and large spiders, Zanthyr is now determined to return this most sacred place to its original state of sanctuary and peace. He cannot imagine how tormented the souls of the dead who "rest" here must feel. His determination had almost proved his undoing, as he had ventured from his friends, was almost struck down by a large tree branch which had swung down from the heights, and shortly after was struck fast by a particularly tough vine, which had wrapped around his whole body. Meanwhile, a nearby ghoul had begun to strike at him with its sinewy arms. Fortunately, Zanthyr had freed himself just in time to strike the evil creature down. “What devilry would possess nature to do such horrible acts in a peaceful, sacred place as this", he says to his friends. “There must be a way to calm these trees and free them of their curse and to allow the souls of the dead to rest peacefully". Finding a patch of grass, clear of other vegetation, and in front of a large tomb, he kneels and focuses as he tries to commune with the trees. After a short while, he feels a surge of anguish and torment run through his whole body. "My god", he thinks to himself, "they have been greatly tainted and possessed by the evil that poisons the temple in which this cemetery is located". Inwardly, with most peaceful thoughts he tries to reassure the gentle giants that he is a man of the forest and is here to help them return to their benign state. He opens his eyes, and sees his friend Xeq'iir calmly standing nearby, apparently keeping a watch. Zanthyr hopes that his motives and convictions stand well with his friends. Yes, they have all been through much together and there are certain things he feels that must be done, to preserve the balance of life and nature…
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| « Last Edit: on: Aug 30, 2006, 9:28PM » |
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Sleet
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Sleet leans against a wall. "tough battle mates." He spits some blood and pats Styxx on the head. "good boy.. good work against them ghouls."
The Hell hound growls and woofs lightly. The rogue grins and looks at his comrades. "Well lads, we have some slavers to deal with. They have much to answer for!"
Sleet scuttles down the hallway, pausing often to scan the dusty floor or a crack in the wall..
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