Cambrya the Second Age

The Boars Beard Inn

From this point forward all 3d renderings will assume walls are 1’ thick, stories are 10’ in height, Doors are 7’ high. I will try to convert all the maps I make to a sketchup file so you can look around. This will come in handy the more we explore cities, the more of the world will create itself, and have a real city to ‘scale’.

I give you, The Boars Beard Inn!

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Biscuits N' Gravy

Sitting inside the bar, nursing an ale and trying to enjoy the view. What did Dad used to say? Oh yes, The female form is a wondrous thing. But too many things from the past days are nagging at me to be truly paying attention. Too many opinions of what’s wrong with me. That I have a huge chip on my shoulder, that I’m not trying and that I don’t know who I am. I know who I am dammit, I’m Emiel Laon! But maybe… I don’t really know that means. What got me to this point, what got me through teacher’s training was the goal of showing up Valence. That I’m better then him, by beating him up or showing I’m the bigger hero. Rubbing my bruised lip, I know better than that now. It was a kick to my ego to lose my first one on one fight… if it had been real, I’d be dead now. Rynn had half joked, or at least I think it was a joke, that I was the leader of this group. I don’t think I’m a leader. I feel responsible for them since I convinced them to join and if Richard tried something well I’d… But really all I have is what I know. What teacher taught me, what Valence taught me and what father taught… Wait, that’s it! I may have not been many battles, but I know plenty about them. Dad would always play chess with me after Valence left, but every time he did he’d tell a story along with it. With the story, the battle, dictating what he did. We are the pieces on the board… If I can do this is a real battle, then I can show what I’m capable of.

The sound of yelling and then the even more distinct sound of fist hitting flesh and flesh hitting ground break me from my train of thought. I turn to see the distinct size of Audgeir with two bouncer drawing blades on him and the owner flat on the ground.

With the rest of my companions joining in, I mutter to myself, “I just learned something else, yelling loudest, doesn’t make you right.”

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Journal of Eilliandor- 1

The great events in history alway start with seemingly innocuous events. This one happens to be a simple task that was asked of me by the Council of Seasons. I was informed that there was a _man _named Oblitus that needed protection and it was imperative that I make sure he remains safe and escort him to the Temple of Corellon. I was instructed to take my gear with me so that should his life become endangered that I could properly defend the both of us. It was a wise precaution. Shortly after my arrival at the Boars Beard Inn it became clear that there were other factions seeking out this man.

Ultimately it came down to four factions. The Council of Seasons, the church of Avandra, some unknown benefactor that sent a _drow _and a group of hired thugs. It became clear in the inn that the thugs sent to abscond with Oblitus were working for someone in the University. With that knowledge and given the church of Avandra’s interference (side note: change interference with involvement should it be proven that their motives are true and just), I believed it was prudent to leave the town for the safety of Oblitus, which I believe was the Council’s ultimate goal. If one assumes that the thugs outside of town being led by (XX) were with the same group from the inn then someone managed to dupe (XX) into believing that the Council of Seasons wanted Oblitus for dissection, which they clearly did not, otherwise I would not have been sent.
The man I was sent to protect turned out to be of a race called shardminds. Although I am not intimately familiar with their race (I believe he is the first of his kind to ever walk Cambrya) his demeanor is one of innocence and curiosity. His talents are also new to me. Somehow he is able to control the very energies of the world and even affect the thoughts of others by an extension of his will. He has proven himself a very capable ally.

Even with our escape from the city I am worried about what will happen next. We have an odd collection of traveling companions, two of which I am unsure at to their true motives. First, we have a _drow _(named Is’bryn) that channels shadowfell energies; the very energies that destroy life and drown one’s soul. He has an unlikely ally, the paladin of Avandra, Scarlet. According to her, Is’bryn has been working to redeem himself and to unyoke himself from the vile traditions of his race. I find this highly unlikely but I do not believe that Scarlet is lying but I can easily see how she could be tricked. Scarlet is a highly emotional and ill rational half-elf with some serious misconceptions about reality. She is constantly belittling and accusing me of being a spy and believes that I will betray Oblitus. If I didn’t need her skill at arms and if I didn’t believe she was being genuine I would have convinced Oblitus that we should separate from them.

In addition to the drow there is a _halfling _that has also taken to following us and claiming to want to protect Oblitus. Like Scarlet it appears as though he is genuine and has demonstrated great skill of arms; my instincts tell me he can be trusted. I have often been accused of following my heart too much, but something just resonance well with the little man.
I do not believe in coincidence of this magnitude. There is a greater force out there at work and it is tied to this shardmind. I am an eladrin of honor and truth before all else and I believe it is these traits that will see us safely to the end of this ordeal and in the process, possibly make history.

<side> Keep a more accurate count of sayings and conversation for history if filled with facts but nothing about the underlying motivations, emotions or thoughts of those involved. A great historian would account for these factors.*

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If Rocks could talk

Oblitus sits near a rock, fumbling around in his backpack before he pulls out a Small Decorative box. He slowly opens it, seemingly amazed at how the hinges allow the top to open. He pulls out a Door Knob, and starts to polish it as he thinks about his companions

I wonder why they keep yelling at each other. I don’t understand why they hate each other so much. Elves seem like such a strange lot. Lady Scarlett seems kind, and as though she truly wants to help me, but I wonder if she will be able to put that mistrust for Eilliandor aside when it will matter most. Eilliandor has been putting up with all the allegations for me, and I am unsure why. Lloyd said nothing about a council, and while I do believe that Eilliandor isn’t here to hurt me, he did say that he would if this council asked him to. This worries me a little, but aside from that he gives me no reason to question his intentions. Oh! Look at that bird! I can’t wait to figure out how to fly like they do. But I don’t have feathers yet, I wonder when they will grow in. Maybe I am like the other races, and can’t grow them though? Oh I hope not, to fly like them would be splendid!

If I was little like Tobias, I might be able to ride on a large bird. I wonder if there are any like that? Tobias would likely know the answer! Surely he has seen all of the wildlife in the area. An accomplished swordsman like himself must have travelled the entire world. He is a curious little guy, and reminds me of me. I hope to be able to wander about like him one day. I should offer him some of my bread, I won’t need it. He likes bread. I wonder if the Drow likes bread too. From what the others communicated to me though, Drow don’t seem to like much of anything. I find it curious that an entire race can do such evil things. Scarlett seems to think he is no longer evil, and not like his others. I wonder why she still insists that Eilliandor is like the others of his kind. My guardians seem to not trust each other. I wonder what Lloyd would tell me if he was here. Perhaps tomorrow I will try to contact him, and figure out what I should do. They all seem believable, and sincere in their desire to help me. I wish I was not such a burden though. I wish I knew my purpose. I wish I knew the others. I can feel you out there, why can’t you come to me?

Oblitus gently puts the Door Knob back into his Box

-Chris

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Ice and Flame, Part 1

Three years ago
Snow fell in fat, wet flakes, sprinkling the snow-covered ground. Light filtered through the heavy clouds, draping the world in twilight. The only sound was the soft hiss of snow falling through the trees and the soft trudging of heavy feet plowing through the thick snow with the help of a walking stick. The feet stopped every few minutes and the sound of digging in the snow could be heard before continuing on.

Salinas Xarzithdaari Frostfire, 6’8” of heavy muscle and rust-red flecked silver scales, moved methodically along the path, both blazing a trail through the snow and lighting the snow lanterns that had gone out. The snow lanterns guided the village’s hunters home and provided a guide over the icy path.

Frostfire stopped and reached out with his claws into the snow bank, brushing off the snow where the top of the fence post and the snow lantern should be. The lamp was out, having been put out by the snow. Salinas tsked softly to himself and unlatched the lamp, opening the weather guards. He then took a deep breath, leaned in, and breathed out slowly onto the exposed wick. Bright red-orange flame leaped out of his jaws and licked the lantern’s wick, lighting it once again. Satisfied, he leaned back and shut the weather guards.

Picking up his walking staff, Salinas turned and walked back the way he came, having lit the last of the lanterns. The way back was easier, though the falling flakes meant that he would be back out early tomorrow morning. It was Salinas’s job to maintain the trail just outside the village. For the most part, he didn’t mind. The cold didn’t bother him as much as the other villagers, due in part to his sorcerous heritage and in part to his natural inclinations toward icy weather.

Soon, the peaked roofs of the village could be seen through hardy, snow-covered conifers lining the path. The houses were dark, with banked fires glowing in hearths and chimneys puffing a light stream of smoke. Everyone would be gathered for stories before heading off to bed, the rest of the village winding down for the evening. Salinas hustled towards the Smiling Crescent as he heard the muffled notes of his grandsire, Eregar Xarzithdaari Frostfire, singing to a beaten drum. Salinas sang the refrain quietly to himself, slightly off key, having heard the story many times before.

The Smiling Crescent was a large, sturdy building in the middle of the village. It was designed for defense and was one of the few buildings in the village built entirely from stone and slate tiles. It had tall and narrow stained glass windows set up high that created colored shadows on the deepening snow bank around the base of the inn. The Smiling Crescent’s sign was that of a crescent moon shaped like a sparkling smile. The owner, Hriedar Prainsson, his wife, Elisabet Ulfarsdottir, and their son, Jakob Hriedarsson, were all devout human worshipers of Sehanine. He and Salinas’s grandsire had been fast friends, and thus was considered a friend of clan Frostfire, for as long as Salinas could remember. Jakob and Salinas had grown up together and were also close friends.

Salinas walked up the cobbled stone steps, clawed feet catching on the mortar between the stones, and switched the broom standing at the top of the steps with his walking staff. He briefly brushed off the light dusting of snow before replacing the broom where he found it and picked up his staff again. He then dusted himself off and opened the stout wooden door to a wave of warmth and sound. Smiling, he stepped through and quickly shut the door behind him.

The common room of the Smiling Crescent had two long fireplaces on the walls perpendicular to the door. Several long tables, filled with the villagers from the surrounding houses, were placed around the fire, leaving a brief open area around the fire where a pale ochre-scaled figure was ensconced on the stage with his soft drumming and melodic voice. Tiny cracks could be seen around his eyes and mouth, and he moved with a stiffness that belied great age. One dark red eye with a verticle slit caught Salinas’s entrance immediately, but the song continued uninterrupted.

Salinas ducked in behind a group of human teenagers too young to be out hunting alone and picked up a spoon and empty bowl. He then walked over to the fire opposite his grandsire where Elisabet was cooking to have her fill it with a hot, thick broth from the pot. Hriedar himself sat at one end of the table and was listening intently to the older dragonborn. Salinas thanked Elisbet quietly and walked over and sat down in an empty seat facing his grandsire next to another dragonborn, as the people on the bench adjusted to give him room to sit down and eat. Salinas picked up a small loaf of rye bread from the table and dipped it into his soup, eating and listening to his grandsire.

“You’re in trouble, Frostfire,” the female dragonborn on his left whispered as he sat down, mischief glinting in her bright golden eyes. Her scales were a deep, rust red that went well with the thick black cloak embroidered with the flickering flames of the Everflame. That she used his clan name rather than his child name meant that she was teasing him as much as warning him. “Your grandsire was expecting you hours ago. The hunters have yet to return, and he was getting worried.”

“I was lighting the snow lanterns,” Salinas returned in hushed tones between bites. “It took longer than expected because it started snowing again.” She nodded, readily accepting his answer, and went back to watching the older dragonborn.

Soon, his grandsire finished the song and everyone clapped politely. Eregar Frostfire stood, using a cane that was lying nearby to stand. The old dragonborn nodded to himself, accepting their praise, not arrogantly, but as if it were rightfully his due. He walked over to Salinas, and in a gruff voice that seemed at odds to the melodic voice from just a few minutes before said, “I need to speak with you, boy.” He nodded to an unused corner of the common room. Salinas stood, picking up his now empty bowl and followed, dropping his bowl into the dirty dishes bucket.

When they reached the corner, the elderly dragonborn turned to Salinas. “Where have you been, Rusty?” he berated quietly, a touch anger in his voice. “You were supposed to have been here before dusk.” He looked out the window, judging the time and pointed to the dark window. “It’s now past dark.”

Salinas’s nostrils flared with annoyance at being berated for something that wasn’t his fault and for the use of his child name when he was all but considered an adult. “I was lighting the snow lanterns, grandsire, like I was supposed to be. It took longer than normal because it started snowing. I finished as fast as I could before coming here.”

“Even with the snow,” the older dragonborn continued, but at a much calmer voice, the worry and anger draining from his tone, “it shouldn’t have taken you as long as it did.”

“Several of the lanterns were buried in new snow. I had to dig them out before lighting them,” Salinas answered and then attempted to change the subject. “My dam said that the hunters haven’t returned yet, visel?”

“Yessss, visel,” the older dragonborn said with a sibilant hiss and nodded. “I’m old and I worry. They should not be gone this long. It is Jakob’s first hunt and to be late like this is not a good sign.”

“Jakob will be fine, grandsire,” Salinas returned. “He’s as old as I am,” he said jokingly.

Eregar snorted, amusement in his eyes. “Which is why I am worried. Humans are even more immature than certain young dragonborn.”

Salinas smiled, a long toothy affair, and turned back towards the fire. “Come. Let’s go back to the fire. The hunters will be back any minute with stories of their hunt.”

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The Dance

10 years ago
“Your form is not bad, but you keep you torso too stiff, loosen up.” The older eladrin speaking was still young for his kind, barely 60, and had a vibrance too him that gave him a virtual aura. It didn’t help that he was a Knight of the Summer Glen, paladins of Corellon, and walking connection to the Feywild.

“Thank you, Master Kaelian, I will remember.” The younger elf just celebrated his fourteenth birthday and was beginning to explore his future options. Eilliandor wasn’t too keen on becoming a knight or a solider.

“You are a natural with a blade El’ and we’ve seen you on the dance floor, you have the grace of the Fair Lady. You just need to merge the two together.”

“I appreciate your kind words Master Kaelian, but I just don’t feel it. I’ve tried, really I have.” Elliandor met his master’s gaze, showing his sincerity behind his words. “I have read the stories of our great warriors and although I am proud of their ability I don’t think I have their same spirit for battle.”

The sun was just rising over the horizon as the two eladrin talked. The Dawn approached. The air shimmered as the Dawn guided the great eladrin city of Westhaven into the Feywild. As it did the air itself took on a glow, colors grew vibrant and the plants whispered gentle songs of ages lost.

“You heart may be leading you in a different direction, but while you are apprenticed to me I will see you reach your potential.” Master Kaelin brought his sword up in salute. “Now, sword up!”

The dance began and he followed.

6 years ago

Eilliandor sat across the long table from his parents. His sister, Azira, had just left and his parent’s frustrations with their eldest turned to the younger sibling.

“How could you support her?” His father’s voice was rarely harsh, it was more suited for singing, but today it was filled with anger. Eilliandor’s mother sat quietly at his father’s side, her eyes unfocused on the table in front of her. “You are a Vearyll! Our ancestors fought along side Corellon in the Drow wars!” He rose to his feet to allow him to use all his dramatic essence, Eilliandor fondly remembers it as flailing-angry arms. “Our family is well respected and our kin number among the strongest mages in the realm and you turn your back on that heritage to support her marriage to a human!” Generally my father wasn’t prone to exaggeration and although we could trace our linage back to the founding of the Eladrin empire it has been clearly indicated that our role in that great war was nothing special, but that didn’t stop my father from taking on airs. “Others will speak of this. Do you think this will happen without repercussions?!?”

The silence seemed to linger exceptionally long. Eilliandor’s father turned around and faced the wall behind him where the banner of our family’s crest hung proudly. He clasped his hands behind his back and spoke with a more reserved voice. “You will not escape this debacle untouched my son. We cannot support your sister in this and if you continue to support her then you will do so alone.” Eilliandor’s mother gave a small sniffle but remained unmoved, refusing to gaze upon her son. His father turned around, eyes still blazing. “Make your decision.”

Eilliandor closed his eyes and tried to calm his rapid beating heart. In front of him stood two options that were both horrible. Either he could side with his father, disown his sister who he cared deeply for and continue to benefit from his family’s prestige, or follow his heart and support his sister and lose all dreams of schooling.

Eilliandor stood up, hands slightly shaking and gazed at his parents. Sadness filled his eyes. Through the large stained glass windows the sun was setting. He turned and watched as the sun kissed the horizon. He turned back to his parents, hoping that perhaps they would perhaps give him an out or an opening to get his point past their chilled hearts.

Seeing no way around it, Eilliandor turned and walked from him home and all he had known. He could not live with himself if he didn’t follow his heart. He left his home as the last rays of the sun disappeared beyond the horizon. His future steched before him as the great city faded out of the Feywild and back into the Material Plane, home of the humans.

And the dance continued.

5 years ago

The sound was nearly unbearable. Eilliandor stood in one of the large lecture halls of the Academy of Corban. Second to the sound was the smell, it bit aggressively into his senses. All around him were his fellow students; humanoids from all over Cambrya that have come to the largest academy of learning (outside of Cantor). The largest percentage of them were human, as expected, Corban is a primarily human country. Eladrin were the smallest minority, and Eilliandor felt like he stood out.

Chatter quickly changed among the students as the professor walked into the room. Before he took his place behind the podium, all 200 students quietly found their seats and silence, blessed silence, fell upon the room.

“Good morning, welcome to Modern History of Cambrya. I will not stop for questions, you will either follow along or be left behind. Questions need to be forwarded to my assistant. Lets begin.”

As the professor began the lecture, Eilliandor smiled to himself. As uncomfortable as he was, Eilliandor was at peace and he knew that he had made the right choice a year ago. For all its muted features, the Academy of Corban was alive and never boring, even if one did have to bear through the smell.

The dance continued and he took the lead.

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Oblitus, the Early Years

I remember the very moment that I could remember; the day I gained my sentience. It was cold, and dark, I could not see; I could sense however. I was floating; I didn’t know what that was though. I was aware; aware that I was alone. That concept was strange to me, because I wasn’t alone. I could feel that there were more of my kind, but what are my kind? I felt a connection to them, I knew they existed, were they aware of me as well? I drifted for centuries through the Astral Sea, alone, yet not, contemplating my origins, and ultimately what I was. I was unable to interact with my… I wasn’t sure what to call them, they knew I was here, and I knew they were there, but I didn’t know how to communicate.
I was at the mercy of the astral current. I would go where it and it alone wished me to go. I understood that I was here for a reason. I was unsure of what that was though. I still wasn’t sure who I was. I had never seen myself before. I had never seen others before. I was curious what they would look like. I spent an eternity being confused, pondering all sorts of things. Eventually I realized there was more to me. I had extremities; Arms, Legs, even a head! I was dumbfounded. I had floated around for what seemed like forever before realizing something so simple.
Shortly (time at this point isn’t really relevant) after discovering my head, I discovered that I was giving off light! Prior to this, I only knew darkness; this was a lovely and exciting revelation. I learned that I was able to control the light as well, while I could not make myself brighter, I could dim myself. So I continued on my path, blinking on, and off, keeping myself entertained. I still felt the connection to others; in fact, I was feeling like I was getting closer to them.
What seemed like an eternity had passed, and I got to learn a new lesson. I learned what pain was. A large object collided with me, and the darkness embraced me once again…

-Chris

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Marked for Death
“Don’t come back without proof that you’ve killed him Iz’bryn. I am spending a great deal of money on you to prove yourself to me. Do not disappoint me, you know what happens when I am disappointed. Now go. ”

Of course I do, I’ve helped punish those who have disappointed you.

With those words Iz’Bryn nods and kneels in front of the Mother Matron momentarily before walking out of her chambers, back to his room to collect his equipment.

As he enters his room he momentarily pauses to look around, looking at all of the tokens he has taken from his victims proudly displayed, a ring from a noble, a sword from a warrior, a pen from a writer, a toy from a child, a tooth from an orc chief, and many others scattered around on shelves. As he prepared his equipment, a small form of excitement crept over him at the chance to add another trinket to his collection, perhaps something more of value. He would of course also have to remove the ears or eyes from his target in order for the Mother Matron to believe he has completed his task, like many times before.

“Fitting.” Iz’Bryn says lowly to himself. “My twenty fifth appropriated kill will be a man of importance”

And my twenty sixth will be my brother, then I will be the first boy. He sneered as he donned his long knives and boomerang.

As Iz’bryn left the halls, he stopped over to the temple of Lolth to pay his respects and request the she give him a lethal blade and a quick strike, and that the shadow realm favor him. Of course he paid his dues to the temple and the priestesses blessed him before once again, turned to leave to murder. This time however, he would have to travel quite a distance, and most uncomfortably, the first time he has left Ostwick.

Walking outside the Mountains of Ostwick into the crisp cool night, Iz’bryn stared downward toward the water, looking at the smuggling ship that he would have to spend a week and a half on, away from the general populace in the cargo hold. Sighing to himself he quickly and stealthfully made his way down to the meeting point, where he was supposed to rendezvous with the captain of the small ship and assure that he will not be disturbed.

Closing in to the large rock structure so described by the Mother Matron, where he was to meet the captain, he saw a large portly human, eyes darting about, smoking a pipe nervously.

“Your early. Not exactly safe to be here by yourself.” Iz’Bryn uttered lowly, with his hood up and face wrapped so only that his amber eyes showed.

Startled, the captain boggled his pipe in his hands and grasped his heart, taking a moment to steady himself. “Agh man, don’cha be doin’ that kinda stuff ‘round me. I’m already nervous enough carryin’ ya around on me ship” The captain gulped. “We ain’t gonna have no problems are we? Yer just gonna stay back there, until it’s time to dock, right?”

Iz’bryn sneered underneath his face wrap, “ Make sure I’m fed, at the appropriate times, and no one bugs me and I can guarantee your vessels safety from myself.”

“A…alright then” the captain nervously spat out, then turned his head and thumbed toward the ship “Yeh can board back there, by the cargo bay…Ill send someon…” He stopped suddenly after he heard a small snap, turning his head quickly toward Iz’bryn and realizing he was not there, just a small tuft of black veiny smoke left behind which dissipated in the blink of an eye.

Iz’bryn stepped out of the shadow realm, where momentarily before was a vision of a delaptated ship, barely afloat, rotted to the core, sails ripped and torn, and waterlogged wood surrounded him, into his new quarters, filled with boxes and random treasures ready for transport. “Greyson” he said while pulling out a rudimentary map showing his path he would travel once he landed in Atria, showing the coast line up the Valkyn sea. It would be a month’s long travel before he was at his targets home.

The week and a half on the boat, while quite uncomfortable was uneventful, someone would deliver him food twice a day, and Iz’bryn would spend his time studying the small amount of information he had about his target, his supposed height and weight, imagining how he carried himself, memorizing it all. When it came time for the boat to dock, Iz’bryn carefully slid into an appropriate sized crate, and waited for the grunts to come and carry him onto the docks, where he would wait till night time to crawl out and begin his two and a half week trek up the coast to the Kingdom of Greyson.

Traveling up the coast, while time consuming didn’t feel near as long, mainly due to the one track mind Iz’bryn’s thoughts were on. He pushed himself to near exhaustion daily, setting up rudimentary camps and hunting and scavenging for food, only where he stopped. It wasn’t until he knew he was approaching the Kingdom of Greyson did he slow down his pace, making sure completely he wouldn’t be seen by anyone, ensuring every footstep was quiet, and that even the wildlife was unaware of his presence.

As he approached the spot to where his target was supposed to be, he saw a small cottage in the middle of nothing, no other houses around. A small farm and plenty of trees to hide in and observe for a few days were the only things around. A little disappointed at the lack of a challenge in his surroundings, Iz’bryn sat and watched, gathering himself in the shadows, for three days studying the movements of his target from outside the house.

When the three days ended, and night approached Iz’bryn uncovered himself from his camouflage, took off his face wrap and stood a mere fifteen feet from where he would enter through the houses roof, into the rafters. He steadied himself, locked his eyes onto his placement, unsheathed his long knives and uttered to himself “Your time has come Dawson, it is time for your death to further my position.”

With that, a small snap and again, veiny black smoke was all that was left behind where Iz’bryn last stood.
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A Gargoyle's Roar
An Interlude

Ten years ago

Darkness, sweet rainy darkness. Three men, armed. Two left side, one right. A lefty, huh? Must have caught hells for that when he was a kid.

The dark elf crouched on the rooftop, his hand resting on the stone head of a roaring gargoyle. He surveyed the men in the alley below, their voices carrying tales of riches and womanly conquests to his pointed ears. Rain pelted the hood of his crimson cloak, but the absence of other noises in the dark city street kept him apprised of the situation at hand.

“I’m telling ye, ‘twas like she ‘ad two bloody pumpkins ‘idden in ‘er top. So I did what any self-respectin’ man’d do. I put me face in there and—“

Lefty first.

It wasn’t the drop of the dark elf that cut the sentence short, but the sudden presence of darkness. In an already dark and cloudy night, an unnatural darkness obscured the light from the lanterns. At first there was only a wet gurgle. The sound of blood gushing to the pavement was lost in the falling rain.

A man’s shaky voice called into the darkness, “Wilbur? Who put out the lanterns? What kind of sorcery is this!?”

Kill them before the screaming starts, Martin. You know what the screaming does to you.

“Jeffson?”
“Karl! What’s going on? Wilbur!?”

They’re of similar heights. Symmetrical double cross-slash, both throats. Enough space between them. Less chance of a scream.

The sound of metal sinking into meat was never heard, but the bodies fell softly to the ground, nonetheless. With a gentle lift of keys, the dark elf opened the alley door. The light of a fireplace spilled into the storm along with a voice, “Wilbur! Karl! Shut my door! I don’t pay you to ruin my antique rugs with runoff from the rain!”

The dark elf stood in the darkness, calling into the door. “By order of the Crimson Song, you are relieved of your presence in Cambrya.” Then, in a fluid motion, the dark elf flicked a dagger into the merchant’s neck and was gone into the night.

When the sun rose, the guards would find the bodies. The marked dagger would lead them on a trail that would implicate a particularly nasty band of bandits out of Bridgestone had assassinated the merchant. With no family or friends left behind, nobody would ask why the merchant was killed.

As Martin Whitemane traveled across the rooftops, toward the docks, he tried to fight the thrill rising in his heart. He tried to fight the disgust that brewed inside of him.
One hundred and thirty-nine. How many more will they make me kill? Richard, I will do whatever it takes to make sure that you do not inherit this life.

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Emiel - First Step

Standing in front of two huge double doors, Emiel takes a deep breath, staring upwards at the sign of a coin purse spilling open with a sword beside it. “Come on Emiel”, he mutters under his breath, “this is just step one… I can do this”. He then swings the doors wide open, all inside just start staring at him. Emiel looks left to right, with a nervous look on his face, but shakes it off and regains his composure. “I want to join the Hawkins Adventuring Company”, he says with a shout. “We don’t hire kids”, one of the men retorts. “I’m not a kid”, he spits back, “and I’ll take on anyone here to prove it”. “Well doesn’t he have spunk?”, another says, “who do you think you are?” “The name is Emiel, Emiel Laon”, he announces. A few of the men start to give each other odd looks till one finally says, “As in Valence Laon?”. “Yes… he’s my older brother”, as Emiel’s voice trails off at the point he says brother, “but, I’m better than him!” The men are silent for a second, then burst out into fits of laughter. “What’s so funny?”, Emiel replies. “Your not half the man he is”, one says in between his laughs. “Yeah and that’s just going by your height!”, another adds, which just continues the laughter. Emiel face is burning red now as he starts to draw his sword. “Shad Up!”, a voice yells from the shadow. Everyone immediately goes quiet as this man comes into view. A balding redheaded man glares at Emiel, though overweight he still had some build to him. “Seems ta me that yer looking for a test”, as a grins starts to cross his face. “Well when Valence started here, he brought in six new recruits… do ya think you can do better?” “I can and I will”, Emiel states and start to storm out out the building. “Go try the Port of Atria and be quick about it”, the redhead says with a laugh.

With Atria in front of him, Emiel scans the scenery. “Oh great… how am I supposed to find the right kind of people here?”, he mutters. Looking down on the ground he spots a stick just lying there. Emiel starts to smile thinking of old times. “I haven’t done this in years, but it can’t hurt to try”, he muses as he grabs the stick. “Avandra guide me”, he says as he closes his eyes and flips the stick into the air. Emiel hears someone say “Ow” behind him as he turns around to survey the damage…

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