Curse

Sausaletus Rex · Apr 11, 2005, 06:35 PM // 18:35

Swinging ponderously on ancient and rusted hinges the heavy wooden door opened slowly as the road-weary traveler stepped through. Snow clumped on his cloak and clung to his chilled armor trapping the cold close to his flesh. The soft, glowing firelight peaking through the frosted windows had drawn Sausaletus to the inn. The promise of warmth and food a welcome relief after his trek through the wintery mountains.

Pushing back his hood, Sausaletus’s eyes began to adjust to the flickering light of a fire not quite strong enough to chase away the gloom. Dank, still air, filled with the scent of many bodies, much food, and altogether too much ale filled the room along with the fire’s warmth. It felt nearly solid against Sausaletus’s cheeks began to warm. Something to struggle against as he strode into the room and closed the door behind him. The inn was dark and colorless even with the roaring fire. This deep into winter, there would be few candles to spare so the room was mostly left in flickering shadows. Flickering shadows - a confusing mass of shifting phantoms and backlit shapes. The only bright spot was the bar along the far wall where a listless bartender cleaned the counter with a lazy rag next to a fat tallow candle that had nearly burned through.

The bartender was a short and stocky man. Sausaletus suspected he might be of Dwarven stock but he couldn’t be certain. His head was bald, his expression a scowl, and his knuckles bore the scars and signs of many a tavern brawl. Deep-set and dark eyes watched as Sausaletus approached the bar and motioned for service by laying a thick Ascalon coin on counter. Wordlessly, he poured a mug of steaming ale from one of the pots resting above a cooking fire behind him, tore some bread, and set them in front of the brooding warrior.

Sausaletus was a stocky man himself. Not overly tall but solidly built with a powerful frame gained from long, hard years of fighting. He wore a full beard and his hair spread out wildly from his scalp. His cloak had been a fine one, once, but had become worn and threadbare from use. Underneath it, though his armor was solid and well crafted, bearing the distinctive filigree of the master craftsmen of the Ascalon valley. It had been carefully maintained and repaired over time and although it would not shine until Sausaletus had a chance to again polish it once again, it glistened with metallic and purposeful menace as the snow began to drip and melt. The heavy armor of a warrior, a professional and trained soldier ready and able to fight at a moment’s notice.

As his eyes became accustomed to the gloom, Sausaletus could tell that the silent atmosphere of the inn was a deliberate one. It was a crowded place where small groups clustered together. A silence had fallen over the room when Sausaletus had entered as the inn’s patrons sized him up. They were a diverse bunch; Sausaletus spied costumes and outfits from across the entire continent. Many, it seemed, were also traveling through the mountains and looking for a quiet and warm place to rest for the night. He was an outsider here among other outsiders and there was little room for trust on these twisting mountain paths. Those in the inn were waiting. And watching. Just in case and most looked prepared to handle themselves should trouble arise. Considering him either not a threat or too difficult to bother, though, whispered conversations soon became loud talk. There was still an expectant and anxious mood in the air, though, and the atmosphere was far from the boisterous moods Sausaletus remembered from his homelands. He leaned back against the bar and nursed his ale, the spiced and thick beer warming him inside and out, and set in to wait, himself, for what might happen next.

BunnyMaster · Apr 11, 2005, 07:59 PM // 19:59

Standing in the back of the Inn, a pair of bright eyes watched the newcomer. Bunny was leaning on her staff, swaying a bit maybe from the left to the right, humming a song. Drawing her dark cape closer to her body, she lowered her eyes to the floor in a poor attempt to make herself less noticeable to the other customers. Her business here was hers and hers alone. Those days of preparing would've been useless if someone discovered her now. But she had to stay hidden, her eyes were well-known even to this drunken crowd. Bunny stopped singing and surveyed the room.

Bile emerged from within and she had to put a fist in her mouth to remain silent. While getting nearer to her goal, the Curse was draining more and more energy from her. But she could not risk lifting it, not here and certainly not now. Strangers are Death's Minions, waiting to be invited. The words Mother always told her came to her mind. Trusting people was something to dwell on when times are safe, and Trust is something to watch out for when times are dangerous. All her trusted friends were dead, except one. The one that Cursed her. Who needs enemies, when you have such friends. Bunny laughed dryly, these bitter thoughts befit her bitter mouth.

Walking like an old crone, she looked around for a suitable place to rest and rethink her plans. The innkeeper, who felt sorry for this lil' old lady, gave her some hot spiced wine. She layed her staff on the floor, but with the small stone resting on her leftfoot to keep in touch. Marking this piglike innkeeper with an ancient blessing, Bunny accepted the mug and wrapped her hands around it. Her hands, her filthy, dirtcovered and wrinkeled hands. Imagining what she must look like now she frowned: an old lady dressed in a black bag-like robe and faded cape who was talking to herself. She, who once was the Bearer of Light, Mistress of Fate and a Mystiarch of the 7th house! Her hands have formed mountains while her feet could trample entire universes. She was one of the Three who were present at the making of Time itself!

A loud pang silenced the room. In her fury she had crashed the mug and her hands were dripping with wine. Only a miracle could save her now.

Divinity · Apr 11, 2005, 11:55 PM // 23:55

Divinity approached the Inn with caution, an angry mesmer/necromancer named sk33zl0w walked out in a hurry, with a mysterious, wry smile. Best to stay out of his way, Divinity thought. Hoping to seek directions, Divinity entered the Inn.

As she walked through the doorway, a short, heavy-built man whistled. Knowing that she couldn't let anyone know of her powers, it was forbidden for females in her village to wield arcane powers, so she smiled and avoided eye contact with the man. The bartender was busy watching an arm wrestling fight, so Divinity approached an older man sitting in the corner. He looked up at her and smiled. Before she introduced herself, he told her that she should leave now. This man is crazy, thought Divinity. Divinity noticed the staff hidden beneath the old man's coat, with the same symbol on it as hers. Divinity never knew what the symbol meant, and before she could ask, a loud, booming voice demanded for gold from the bartender. As people began to make a run for it, the abnormally tall man conjured a frozen prison over the peasants. He had missed a few, who tried to still run, and he shot a block of ice, knocking them down. The most incredible part was, that the man was not even using a staff or wand, but it appeared that his powers were coming straight from his hands. The old man rose from his chair and hovered in the air, also, using his hands to unfreeze the peasants. However, his plan backfired. His fire had burned the peasants, who were screaming in agony. Divinity jumped onto the table, and purged the peasants with her forbiden powers. The were dazed and confused, but alive. Her spell took all of her energy, and Divinity fainted, falling to the floor with a crash.
To be continued...(in my personel RP story which I plan to write soon..)

Weezer_Blue · Apr 13, 2005, 09:50 PM // 21:50

((ooc\
Name: Weezer Blue
Age: 19 years
Alignment: Neutral
/ooc))

Weezer wandered through the woods. The cold did not bother him much. He held a long black bow in his left hand. The staff of which was covered with wavy gold writing. An ancient language that few now spoke fluently. At his back was a quiver filled with his arrows. They were green with silver fletching and they had particularly nasty looking piercing heads made of some sort of steel. His armour was dyed dark grey from head to toe and he wore armour made from the branches of bamboo trees as well as along cloak that he left open in the front - which exposed the leather wrapping that was the basic protection of his garments. He was young, probably not past his twenty-first year, but his hair was grey and his eyes exposed wells of endless thought. Stuck alongside his quiver was a short staff. The wood it was carved from appeared almost silver among the snow. It's head was slightly narled and it had been wrapped around the middle with a green cloth. It glowed dimly of purple - a sign of his idle mesmeric power. At his side was a very small bottle of a draught known as "troll unguent". It never seemed to empty. He carryed only one personal item that did not seem to be a weapon of war. In his right hand there was a guitar case.
It had been growing steadily darker and the haze of twilight was settling upon the forest. Weezer looked around and saw the dim light of candles through a window up ahead. He followed the path up to the door and walked in. It was only slightly brighter inside than the gathering gloom outdoors, but it was warm here. He ordered a pint of ale from the barkeep and walked over to a particularly dark table to find out as much as he could from the people talking in the bar. He set his guitar and bow down next to his chair. He didn't feel like playing tonight. He had spent the last week tredding through the battles of a harsh time. To think that just a couple weeks ago he was sitting in his home in the Kingdom of Ascalon and hunting in the fields of his homeland. He went over the events that had passed since then. His head was swimming with thoughts and images - Things he would have rather not seen. He pulled the hood of his cloak over his eyes and slept with his chin against his chest for quite some time.

Rushing Wind · Apr 15, 2005, 10:59 AM // 10:59

As the door to the Inn flew open, a bitter cold gust of wind followed Bahala inside making the candles dance with glee. Large in stature and battle worn his eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness that filtered throughout the room. He hardly noticed a soul since there was an amazing collection of outsiders gathered within these walls this evening. What he did notice though was the queer look he found in many an eye gazing upon him. He knew it had nothing to do with his build, armor or anything else of the sort that attracted so many to stare. It was the fire raging within himself, the fire that was mirrored to the outside world by the flames dancing within his eyes. They understood that this man wasn't just any warrior but an elementalist born to the flame. From looks alone they knew he desired any chance or given opportunity to put those inert desires and tested skills to use.

As the door closed behind Bahala, as if on cue, a shattering of glass erupted from the silent stillness. He turned in the direction of the noise and saw a peculiar old woman in black goggling at her sloshed ale on the floor. Odd as it may have been he thought he recognized her but, for the moment, couldn't make much sense of the sudden connection between her and the One that was there even when Time itself had not existed.

His attention was yet again drawn to the bar where a dwarvish-like bartender stood at the ready, mug in hand. He carefully made his way across the floor and past the shadowy phantoms of dancing lights that the candles were creating. He asked the stocky man for some mead. With mug in hand, he tapped the barrel and let loose what Bahala longed for.

Night was setting in fast. That thought flickered through Bahala's mind as he saw one tired, trail-worn traveler upright in his chair, chin on his chest, elbows on the table and hands supporting his head. It was interesting and really rather funny to watch a man snore so loudly and nearly crack his head on the table with every dreamy breath he took.

Bahala quickly came to grips with himself just before he nearly found himself laughing out loud at the sleeping spectacle in front of him. He had come to the Inn with one thought tickling his mind. Companions and friends, of an interesting sort, to continue on with him in the morning to come. His desire was to leave a recently ruined Ascalon behind, journey through the Shiver Peaks and then on to the Gates of Kryta and find, what life there was to it still, the great city of Lions Arch.

He suddenly felt eyes boring into the back of his head. He turned and, from across the room, saw Bunny (as he would come to find out her name later) taking note of him. She was one of the few that he decided to consort with later. For the moment though he kindly thanked the bartender for the mead and found an empty chair at the bar to sit at and quietly drink to his brooding thoughts.

Then he noticed a lone warrior in the chair next to him and decided to find out more about this man. Unique too he found this man to his liking. During their conversation he came to find out what the man's name and business was. He was none other than the infamous warrior, Sausaletus.

Tur713 · Apr 15, 2005, 02:34 PM // 14:34

The doors flew open once again and a beat up, young ranger, with his starter armor stood on the other side. A dense fog seemed to flow around his feet. He placed his fists on his hips and declaired, "I, the Legendary Billy Durango, have returned!" Some whispers were exchanged by others in the room, some pointed and others chuckled to themselves. Billy picked up a bucket of dry ice behind that he must have bought for far too much from a hydromancer. He then sat down at the bar and ordered a glass of water. The fog continued to emit from the bucket. The bartender gave him the glass with a bit of a laugh, Billy took it and drank.

Alo of Lokni · Apr 25, 2005, 01:04 AM // 01:04

The door opened slowly, as the wind drew through the door. It sounded as if thousands of whispers followed him as he entered, growing louder and louder untill finally the door shut apon the release of his hand against it's broad wooden frame. The figure wore many furs, a horn of some type was strapped upon his chest, while on his head was the head of some type of beast with pointy ears.

He was laced with a number of other native ornaments, on his back was a bow, and at his side a sword. He looked erie, as if he had seen he had some type of bond with the land. The wood beneath his feet seemed to moan with each step. Untill finally he stopped at the bar and sat down. A long howl could be heard heard outside of the door. It sounded as if it where just outside the door, untill finally a shadow of massive fur could be seen passing near window of the inn. Then suddenly large glowing eye's begin pearing through the window as if watching this stranger who had entered insuring his safety.

The stranger peared back at the window his eye's calmly closing as he then turned back to the dwarvish tender who didn't seem to impressed. It was of know doubt that he had seen many things enter and leave the tavern. This guy was of know exception. The dwarven tender immedaitely slapped down a cup of warm steamy water and made a comment, "You hear to disturb the guest of this Inn with your silly spirits and that wolf out there again Alo?"

Taking a sip non shalontely of the hot water he smiled as a barley noticeable glow traced from the cup. "The spirits mean no harm to you my friend, as for the wolf, as long as you leave him alone, he will leave you alone." The tender shook his head and moved down back to other duties leaving this Alo to finish his beverage....

eventhorizen · May 09, 2005, 04:05 AM // 04:05

The cold, sharp wind whistled noisily, seeming to pull and push at the doors and windows of every house the old man passed. Coming up to the tavern he gazed in wistfully through a dirt streaked pane at the scene's of warmth and mirth, and the unfolding of events of many lives within.
The old man shook his head and hurried on, the stories of dark deeds done in the village were as increasing by day as they were unsettling at night, and the old man worried as much for himself as he did for his old wife, alone in their cottage.

Turning the corner that would take him on the last leg of his trip home, out of the village to his cottage near the woods, his rheumy eyes swore they could see dim shapes moving in the darkness. Could it be a bear? rustling about at night for a meal on the edge of town? Surely this was neither the season nor the area for bears? Dimmed and decrepit senses straining in the darkness of night and age he looked for what was making his body feel at unease.
Suddenly, just when he felt he could take the suspense no longer, and would have to run as fast as his near crippled legs would carry him, or succumb to his own growing fear, a face appeared in the distance. Pure white, seemingly almost bodiless in the darkness, a tall slim youthful figure approached him. Confused, near dazed, he looked up to take a look at his sudden companion, black and silver leather growing more apparent as they grew closer, pale white hands and neck, and a pure white face... What a face, he looked into the blank white demonic eyes of the mesmerising face belonging to, he knew now, his death.
'Your... your name?' he stuttered hoarsely, tranfixed by the infinate gaze of the deadly beauty before him, straining every fibre of his terrified body to utter the question he could not ignore.
'Ynzia' was the reply. The stranger stared into the old mans eyes, the scene of his old wife's tormeted death being played out across the demonic gaze of the stranger. And the old man was no more. The will to live teased out of his soul as the will to die was given to him in a single peircing gaze.

Ynzia took the corpse of the old man, his eyes fixed wide in death, to a secret spot where he could do his necromantic ceremonies in their fullest glory. A married sacrifice, he smiled, the dark rewards would be legendary this night.

relientK_fan · May 09, 2005, 07:47 PM // 19:47

A young man wearing a black cloak walked into inn. The cloak billowed as the wind blew outside. The man shivered slightly from the cold, and threw back his hood, revealing shaggy brown hair and brown eyes. He looked around the inn, and walked towards the bar. He sat on a stool, and placed a gold coin on the bar. "One ale, please." the man said softly.

The bartender took the coin, and poured him a glass of frothy ale. The man grabbed the glass, and took a sip. He immediately felt warmer, and unfastened his cloak. He was wearing a white longsleeved shirt, and thick brown pants. The man sat his heavy pack in the floor. It held a long sword from his father, and a idol from his mother.

The young man had just enlisted with the Vanguard, seeking revenge on the Charr that had killed his parents brutally. The Vanguard did not give him armor though; he was working on getting the money for it by stealing from small stalls, and finding wayward travellers and charging a toll. He knew it was wrong, but he wanted to survive in battle.

The man's name was Carth, but few knew that. He looked to be about twenty years old. He contiunued to sip his ale, and looked around curiously at the other patrons.

bloodrever · May 09, 2005, 08:33 PM // 20:33

The inn door burst open an in stepped a Blackguard of Nerua. He then held the door open bowed as three ladies followed him in the inn. The three ladies seem to be a noble born and powerful casters by the aura of energy coming from them. The three ladies cast dismisive glances over the people in the inn and head over to an empty table while the blackguard moves over to the barkeep. "My Ladies the Sisters Bloodrever requier your best food and wine", the blackguard says to the barkeep. He then goes to stand guard over the sisters and the wait for their food to be delivered to them.

Death By Hesitation · May 10, 2005, 12:30 AM // 00:30

Quote:

Originally Posted by sk33zl0w

When sk33zl0w was a wee lad o' eight yeras old e didn' kna ow tah read so his mates played a bit o' a funny on im and they says to him the bar is serven' eight yer olds noow so he ran aloong to tah bar and asked for a pint. Tah bar tender says to im that he cant drink till he be 21 sose sk33zl0w gets mad and goes back to is cottage. Sk33zl0w decides to get learned sose he can stop gettin' inta these litta stickies.

13 years rater

Skeezlow trains in the ways of a mesmer necromancer and learns how to speak engrish correctry.HE ten change is name too sk33zr0w the angry He decides to get back at his friends and on a cord snowry day he goes in bar and he aks for pint two times! Bar guy give him 2 pint and sk33zr0w pays his 1 dolla fitty cent and be happy. Sk33zr0w must now find party to do random missions so he can kiil his friends and turn them into rlv 1 skerreton becu he dont put no point into death magic.

Best introduction ever

Death By Hesitation · May 10, 2005, 01:27 AM // 01:27

"Wratch out!" the young irish (or some wierd accent) lad warned, but it was too late. There was no avoiding the collision. Pulling himslef on the floor, Blade helped the other boy off the floor."Exzuse me, srrowy abrout that," wild eyed boy said (or attempted to with his english). "Don't worry about it, but do you mind if i ask why you were in such a rush?" stated Blade. "Haven't ya herd? They swervin 8 year orlds like us at the Inn," and the boy took off sprinting once again. It wasn't until later that day, that Blade made his way to the Inn. He found out the Irish boy had lied to him when the whole Inn laughed at his request for alchohol. Blade wouldnt forget how the boy, who spoke like he was mentally retarded, had embarassed him. (Sincerely to Sk33zlow )
__________________________________________________ _______________
Main story

The apprentice of Drizzt Dourden himself, Blade had a grand destiny ahead of him. A destiny that would only just begin on this cold winter day, in a place we know as The Inn. He placed his worn claoused hands on the wood. The door cracked opened, and the sounds of laughter, music, and conversation rushed toward him. He made his way to the back of the room where he could find privacy and rest. “Can I help ya?” inquired a gruff voice.

Blade turned to face the dwarf, “ A mug of ale, and a loaf of bread please.”
“Very well, have it here in a moment,” with that the short figure walked away. Blade went back to reading of a small hobbit’s great quest. He peered around the room and examined the others. It was then Blade saw the largest man in all of Tyria, Raid. Standing well over 8ft, the warrior was an impressinve and frigthening sight to behold. “What do you want ya rotten midget of a dwarf? I’ve seen moss spiders twice your size!” the insult Raid directed at the serving dwarf. The joke brought roars of laughter from his company. The dwarf walked away angry as a hornet. Blade chuckled when he saw the dwarf spitting in the drinks he brought back to Raid's table. Blade considered teaching this giant a lesson in respect, but the man was to massive to confidently fight with. Putting it out of his mind he went back to his book.

But solitude would not come to him that day. “Well, Well, hello handsome,” came a voluptuous voice. “ What brings you here, and where did you get that nasty scar on your beautiful face?” the women continued. Blade was about to push the shallow lady off, as he had the others, when he twisted around and saw her face. The air expelled from his lungs. The woman was more beautiful than the Twin Goddess, Lysa. He felt his face redden as the young ranger tried to speak up.

He managed to get out, “ I’m from…uh…from uh...” but before he could finish the woman pulled him closer and pressed her mouth against his. Just when Blade felt like forgetting all he had been taught, he heard a deep voice roar, “ Keep your filthy hands off my women! You damned ranger!” The warrior, Raid had made his way over to Blade’s table.

“Raid it’s not what you think…” the beautiful lady tried to create an excuse, but Raid would have none of it. “You’ve had my woman, now try some of me.” He screamed. “I apologize I had no intention –“ Blade stammered but Raid was'nt in the mood for talking. Raid cut him off pulling his hammer out and making a swing for Blades face, but Blade had anticipated such a rash move, he had trained his whole to do such. He quickly pulled out both of his scimitars and caught the hammer. Before Raid’s eyes had opened form blinking, Blade swatted the hammer out of the way and slapped Raid across the skull with the flat of his blade.

“Why you little... I eat amateurs like you for breakfast.” Raid grunted rubbing the red imprint on his face. He threw his hammer down and grabbed Blade by the cloak slammed him onto the table. Surely the man’s strength exceeded that of an elemental Blade thought. He placed his hands on Blade’s neck and began strangling him. Blade grabbed his gigantic arms, swung his leg upwards into Raid’s face, and somersaulted out of range. His second foot hadn’t hit the ground when he sprang forward, and drop kicked his opponent to the ground, where Raid lay motionless, unconscious. Blade gathered his stuff and made his way toward the exit where he found several of Raid’s angry friends waiting... to be continued

( let me know if you would like me to finish the story...it involves ppl from previous introductions)

Krass of Nod · May 10, 2005, 05:02 AM // 05:02

*stumbling head long into inn swearing three languages and promptly takes out an empty table* ~SMASH THUD~ 'WHOOOOOA! oumph' *stands up and dusts off guild cape* 'okay that is the last time i am gonna tell you I never did what you think I did with your daughter....in fact I don't even AHHH! *dodges three fire balls in rapid succesion* HOO! HE! HA! NEENER NEENER YOU MISSED *grabs up cape and grandstands as 2 forieign guards stalk in the door wearing dark soft leather plates and scale* 'Krass of Nod you are wanted for......tresspassing on the lord Estebans estate, you are to be brought back alive to be tortured and killed and then tortured some more' growls the first surly brute. *the guards draw thier swords*. 'well since you put it that way......TO THE PAIN! KEEEEEE-AIIIIIIIIII!!!!!!!! *force of strike sends guard out of the door with a sickening crunch*. Now for you... *guard is looking a little nervous, and whistles a high shrill tone, having ventured to close to the door, a lasso comes flying through the still open portal and catches Krass cleanly around the mid chest area* 'Ah man, another one of these days'. HRRRUMMMPHHH *jerked to the ground and hauled out obviously by a horse at full throttle* 'I will come back and fix the.........*voice trails off in the distance*

Alzbeta · May 12, 2005, 01:36 AM // 01:36

A small-framed woman ducked through the door, which was still swinging in the wake of the dozens of patrons now thronging the Inn. She brushed past a few warriors, a dwarf, and a young man speaking broken, heavily accented English. Overcompensating to avoid the crowds, she bumped into a filthy table, scuffing her freshly-tailored hose. She cursed under her breath, looking down to appraise the damage. Imported green velvet, she muttered. Ruined. She decided on a glass of red wine to settle her nerves, and retired to a table at the back of the room. Rehearsals didn't start for another hour, so she'd have to keep herself entertained until then. She rubbed her temples to get rid of the nagging headache the noise in the Inn was giving her, and shook her auburn hair into her face, a curtain against the teeming masses...

Dante Dismas · May 12, 2005, 02:39 AM // 02:39

Dante was starting to get tired of this smithy. This may have been due to the fact he had been running through town for about ten minutes now, climbing fences and generally trying his best to escape. It turns out Dante had visited that particular weaponsmith at some point in the past and he was now demanding that Dante return a rather large sum of gold. Dantes natural course of action was, obviously, to run as fast as he could and hope to find a large crowd to lose the enraged weaponsmith.

As it turned out there was a rather popular tavern in town with a sizeable crowd in front. Dante dissapeared into the crowd, and then suddenly changed directions and slipped through the door as quickly as he could.

Inside the tavern the scene was alot less dramatic, and made Dante seem more like a fool.

What the people inside saw was this: a very out of breath ranger dashed through the door, slammed it in the face of a rather mean looking man, and pressed himself against the wall of the tavern as if he were trying to dissapear into it.

After an awkward moment Dante glanced around the room, relaxed a bit, attempted to brush the dirt off his armor, failed, then with what dignity he had left just decided to sit down.

Channler Hadrian · May 12, 2005, 10:25 PM // 22:25

Channler walked with a heavy step towards the unkown town on the snowy ridge.

It had been many a moon since the last time he saw his own kind, being as the wilderness was only accompanied by creatures that wanted to the best of you, your life! But there was also an air of regret for leaving the placid place. Long had he meditated on top of the rocks and shallows of the cool springs and brooks. Long had he wished for some way to fix his past, to make everything that haunted him go away. A town sentry walked towards him.

"Who goes der?" the gaurd shouted in the distance
"I am but a weary traveler that seeks refuge from this horrid weather, I mean no harm." Solemly replied Channler
"A'right den, make ye way, but I aint wantin trouble, ye hear?"
"Anything for my lord" said Channler as he bowed and backed away, making his way towards the nearest building. For his luck it appeared to be a inn.

"Wait" He thought to himself, "Is this... that town? Damn, better off keeping my head low" He pulled his hood over his face and remeninced over what had happened here at least 7 years earlier.

"Ok, now parry! Good, to the left, watch the over swing, one overly drastic move and your oppenent has you in their grasp!"
"Yes sir! I'll do my best, no I'll do even better than that!" The boy said with viguor

The two were fighting with wooden swords not but 3 feet in length, hacking and slashing back at one another. The boy was Channler, he harbored a horrible secret but was working his way to a unbeleivable goal. He was to be a Knight. The older man was Sir Jonathon Goodfriend, Knight errant to the local lord.

"Good! Good! Much better!" Goodfriend exclaimed at little Channler's combo, "But watch this!" Sir Goodfriend attacked back with a flurry of attacks that cause Channler's sword to get knocked out of his hand. He took the flat part of the wooden sword and smacked Channler in the stomach, knocking him back several feet. Channler hit the ground, but something weird happened. The air between him and Sir GoodFriend turn to a rotten smell, and thousands of fly's flew out of nothing and started bombarding the Knight Errant. Horrified, Channler lay there, know he had accidently cast the deathly swarm spell. Now all he knew, would know he was a necromancer, forbidden in this area.

He ran and ran, but now he had returned and he must face the future.

The door slowly opened to the Inn, and a good deal of people were congregated inside. No one noticed him there and he felt fine with that. Sitting down in a corner he closed his eyes and listened to the many people around him...

OOC: This was my first post!

Ghoetic · May 14, 2005, 02:04 PM // 14:04

The door said *poof* and a shadowly dust dissapeard. a man with black cloths and a big black hood came in. just as he put both hes feet in the inn, the door *poffed* back. he saw a bunch of faces look at him with their mouth open. then a mighty warrior stood up from his chair and pulled his sword and said: This is no place for things like you! be gone before the light bannish you back to hell!. - Is that so young Sausaletus? do you really belive in the light? said the black man. -How do you know my name?! and yes i belive in the light! said Sausaletus. - Well then prove it too me! show me your so called "light" said the black man. Quickly Sausaletus tried to hit the man with the sword and he screamed: The is the power of light. just as he's sword touched the man, the man dissapeard and the sword too. all that remaind was a shadow likley dust. and a spooky voice said: Your to young to die, hahaha! i will be back!.

Ardus Shadowmane · May 21, 2005, 12:09 AM // 00:09

"Easy, Temple," Ardus murmured to the massive feline padding silently beside him, "An inn is a place of rest for man and beast, I'm sure. You need warmth as well." He chuckled quietly and his eyes twinkled as he moved to open the Inn door. "Besides, who would try and stop you from entering with me?"

A gust of cold air blew at the man's back as he opened the door to the tavern. Most of his face was obscured by a tan mask covering his nose and mouth. A few strands of black hair were all that were visible beneath the hood he wore. Hard lines creased his forehead and upper cheeks, framing his bright green eyes and making it hard to determine his age at first glance. His broad frame was garbed in a blue jerkin, with a black cape clasped about his neck. An emblem of a hand on fire was emblazoned upon the back.

Upon first entering the inn, he seemed taken aback at the amount of folk present. He quickly collected himself and began walking through the crowd, looking at each person, measuring them on his way to a fairly quit and dark corner. A massive cat padded alongside him, her eyes flashing yellow in the firelight. Any unwelcome glances towards his feline companion were dissuaded by stern glances from the man. He unstrung the silver bow upon his back, leaning it up against the wall next to him as one would a staff. He then sat in a chair and leaned back, propping his fee up on the table, gesturing for a glass of whatever wine the place could offer him. The cat moved under the table and curled up into a ball, her gaze ever watchful for any who might harass her master.

Marion · May 24, 2005, 09:23 AM // 09:23

Marion Reclined in his padded chair, swirling a bit of white wine around in his glass as the soft orange flicker of the hearth danced in his deep golden eyes. He quietly observed the patrons of this cozy inn, all seeking refreshment and shelter from the biting chill outside.
His dusty blonde hair rested on the shoulders of his fine coat, contrasting sharply with the rich black material. In his left hand he held a single gold coin which he juggled between his fingers between slow and distant sips of wine. Most of the patrons knew him or had heard his name or were wearing something they bought from him. But he was content to sit seperated from them at a table with a few of his shady business associates, content to merely observe and eavesdrop.

Prince Daniel · Jun 13, 2005, 03:01 PM // 15:01

Vimes was a soldier, a royal knight, one of the trusted few who the King hand picked to be in his bodyguard. Vimes was at first honoured when he got his promotion in his eager youth but had since come to realise the King was loosing his grip on Ascalon and was more content to defend these pathetic lands then restore its former glory. Although Vimes was dissilusioned and yearned for action he was no traitor and was loyal to church and king alike.

Sitting in this gloomy inn which contained some of the most wretched creatures in the city, Vimes lit his pipe and sat back in the corner, his hood and cloak disguising the gleaming armour and weaponry beneath. He watched and waited for signs of the rebels he had been sent personally by the King to kill. When they showed he would spare no mercy.

(OOC there have been some weird entries here

but Ghoetic were you roleplaying another persons charachter?)