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lstormhammer

The tale of The Five

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Evening, all.

 

Kind'a glad Enchantra rolled up a Druid, lets me put the second half of this posting in here to give you an idea of your opposition...

 

And welcome to Enchantra, this should be fun....

 

--begin--

 

As the conversation between Hin and Dwarf continues about songs, the Inn begins clearing out. The ruffians remain, their red sashes worn as a badge of thuggish authority. The mood continues to darken in the room, and not even the Hin's nimble fingers upon his chosen instrument can bring the mood to calmer times.

 

One double-chinned member of this cadre watches the exchange between the smaller races, and spits to the floor, his disgust clear upon his piggy features. Clearly this one is the leader of the group. Already he has washed down his drink in heroic gulps, his lips glisten from the liquid. He mutters something low and unheard but for his drinking companions, and they nod in agreement.

 

The Innkeep attempts diplomacy, bringing another hearty round of beverages for these strangers into town. “Drink up, lads!” he says with good cheer, but a dark undercurrent still resides in the Inn. The Innkeep goes about with fresh mugs to the others. “And a water for you, young Master.” he japes once more with Roderick.

 

Innkeeps, always with an eye on their patrons, brings another frothy beverage to the savage-looking Dwarf, Oskarr. “Easy, lad... They'll be on their way soon. Don' do anything rash or they'll just attack later when you're gone...” The Innkeep's girth keeps his features hidden from all but Oskarr, which become very serious for a brief moment before he becomes smiles and mirth once more.

 

The Cadre at their table drain their drinks once again, cheeks begin to brighten as the potent drink begins to take hold. “Another!” barks out the piggy thug. The three begin looking around the inn, noticing the sparse population. “Lookit that!” he exclaims to his friends, loud enough for the room to hear. “Everyone tall enough or old enough to have a pair have scattered... Only womenfolk remain here!” he roars in laughter, his companions snickering in agreement. Dangerous words to be casually bantering about when two Dwarves are well within earshot.

 

A grave insult has been issued, a gauntlet has been thrown in this verbal challenge, which of these patrons will answer?

 

--

 

Meanwhile, in the cool shade of the forest near this Human settlement, a silvery white wolf watches intently down a hillside. Pale eyes wide in the shadows and deep sniffs at the air tell this beast that Men are near.

 

Slowly the creature pads forward, eyes sharp for a sign of their patrol. Slowly a hand reaches down, stroking the beast's think fur as a pair of emerald eyes scan the settlement as well.

 

Perhaps a dozen Men can be seen, each dressed as they wish, unified in their outfits with the same dirty red sash worn about their waists. Their cookfire gives a needle of smoke rising to the sky, the scent of deer meat roasting lingers in the air, giving the wolf reason to lick its chops.

This encampment is new, less than a moon's turn in length. Already the effect can be seen in the forests, the trees beginning to be thinned by their axe's bite. The waters downstream of them already showing the effects of their living here. If more arrive, then they will move, or continue consuming the forests.

 

Emerald eyes grow wide just as the Wolf freezes suddenly, they both see the cloaked figure emerging from a tent. Deep hood hiding features, hunched back giving the cloaked figure a strange gait. This is possibly the leader of these Men, possibly someone new. But they are not welcome in this forest, yet too many of them are here to be removed by her and her Wolf alone. They will need assistance...

 

...But whom?

 

--End--

 

--LSH

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“Lookit that!” he exclaims to his friends, loud enough for the room to hear. “Everyone tall enough or old enough to have a pair have scattered... Only womenfolk remain here!”

 

As the last of the thug's insult leave his mouth, Oskarr feels his pulse begin to quicken, his teeth clench, and both his hands find themselves tightly gripping the handles of the large razor sharp kukri on his belt...

 

"YER BLERSTED STINKIN' DERGS, THERMS BE WERDS FER FIGHTIN! NOW OSKARR'S GUNNA SHERZ YE HIZ PAIR!"

 

Oskarr draws both his kukri, one in each stubby fist, sets his shoulders, and leers at the large sash wearing human that just insulted him and the rest of the inn's patrons, including the fellow dwarf that just entered room only moments ago.

 

"LES DANCE THEEN YER ROTTEN SON ER' AN ORC!"

 

With a quick glance at Rul, then back to the big human thug and his troop, Oskarr spits at the human's feet and takes one step toward him.

 

By now a black powerful force is building deep within the young berserker's mind and body. Rage. Breathing ever more rapidly, Oskarr fights to maintain himself, battles to supress the brewing impulsive beautiful anger... His thick short muscles flex and shutter as he begins to slowly lose control.

 

Ye dern't need this fight yer dolts, a few dreenks, serplies, thas' all! Smash him, slice him, rip tha stinkin derg ta bits! YES! YES!

 

SK

 

 

 

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Rul unhooks his sap from his belt as Oskarr begins to go off. Standing up he adds to the retort.

 

"So my question is were ya hit with the stupid stick before or after you were weaned from your orc-sow mother?"

 

He looks to his young new friend and nods, "Now you've got a bit of excitment, ja?"

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Roderick gulps deeply, heart racing and adrenalin coursing through his veins.

 

He chuckles uncertainly. "Yeah, excitement aplenty..."

 

His eyes dart around the room between the two dwarves and the men in red sashes and the start of the rest of the tavern patrons. His eyes grow wide in excitement, and not a little fear. He checks his knife to make sure it's ready if he needs to protect himself, but more importantly notes avenues of escape from the thick of the approaching melee. He knows he is not nearly strong enough, or tough enough to stand toe to toe with men trained for combat. His only chance for survival if it turns as ugly as it looks, is to try to stay on the periphery and keep moving. He plants his legs beneath him, ready to spring away if needed.

 

Maybe Mother was right about me spending too much time here, these places can be dangerous. But, it is exciting.

 

Roderick hisses over to Rul in Dwarven. "Her Grace's men often wore such bright colored sashes. Ware, they are likely stout men despite their look." Roderick notes Rul's sap and sighs thankfully. Master Rul does not seem as bloodthirsty as his kin. This is good. I don't think it would be good to have their blood on his hands if they still serve Her Grace.

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Kneeling down Aulustrianna gently gazes into the one yellow and one blue eye of her wolf, Motyar. "Easy there Fellow," She breathes out in a soft hushed tone like a mother would use with a sobbing child. She gazes at the vermin who are murdering her forest, feeling anger well up within her, but her anger does not cloud her judgement.

 

Idly she scritches Motyar's ears. As if she can tell that wolf wants that venison adrift on the air she speaks again, "At nightfall after they sleep you can scour the camp for bones and traces of meat." Motyar wags the tip of his tail in what seems to be understanding. As her gaze focuses back on the humans encamped below she hunches down to continue her observation, her motions slow so to remain undetected. Her emerald orbs take in their every action, their approximate numbers, and their habits. It's hard to tell what race some of them are due to their garb concealing their features and stature. Though they appear mostly human. The one in the cloak certainly puzzles her. Whoever they are they are vermin, foul ooze to be washed from her forest in a river of their own blood.

 

She looks to Motyar who is leaning into her scritching hand, "There are to many of these plagued beasts for you and I to handle alone, even if we did attack them as they slept. I'm no match for an Orc or even a half-orc, much less a dwarven berserker or even a well armed human or experienced wizard. Whatever they are, we cannot fight them. We shall have to go into town to seek aid." Motyar's fur bristled and his teeth bared a bit. The female druid gently cupped Motyar's snout and leaning forward kissed it tenderly, "I know you hate the town my friend. I'm not fond of it myself, but if we are to save our home from these beasts, we have no choice."

 

Slowly the elf stands upright and backs away from the area keeping an eye on the encampment till it is out of sight. She pads softly back to a large old overgrown pine whose boughs touch the ground. Parting the boughs she enters the spot she calls home. Motyar is only feet behind and he curls up on the pine needle ridden earthen floor.

 

Aulustrianna gathered up a few things. Her possessions could be counted on two hands. She needed little out here in the woods. Grabbing her waterskin, some spell components, a small few gold coins, and her walking stick she nodded to her wolven companion, "We must head into town now by daylight, for at night odd creatures lurk." With that Motyar gets to his four paws and follows his friend out from under the tree. The druid then softly treads on the ground, walking in a light manner to avoid the encampment but make her way to town hopefully undetected.

Edited by Enchantra

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Essieu's fingers falter as the fight forments. Figuring out the fallacy of fudging around with false friendliness, he eyes the forming fellowship, and fetches himself a fall to the floor, from whence he finds more formidable cover behind his table, which he tips over.

 

At that point, he composes an epic satire on the foolishness of firebrands, particularly these, and launches into a rendition of it, including praise for the inkeeper's brews, the heroism of the two dwarves, and how silly the rogues look in rouge.

 

"Fight, fight, fight fiiiiiight the disruptive ruffians!"

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Hi, all.

 

Sorry about the delay getting this to you, but I like it. We're pretty much in combat rounds in the Inn, but more story-based in the Forest. Yes, it might seem time's running a little wierd, but hey, it's my world and I'll tell the story. :D

 

--Begin--

 

Essieu's nimble fingers pluck out a lively tune. Even with the blood rising to the occasion, he fills the companion's hearts with courage enough to battle these rough men. Any other time than now, this would be an enjoyable tune to listen to, worthy of country faire or light-hearted competition.

 

Low growls come from Oskarr, in each hand a gleaming sharp curved blade. His challenge does not go unanswered as each man acts with familiarity of their surroundings. A swift kick sends their table to its side, creating an impromptu yet sturdy pavise for the three to be covered by. This sudden movement has cause Roderick and Rul's table to skitter a few feet away. Of the three men, each pulls out wicked sharp blades, each the length of a forearm, dark with age but their edges catch the light of the inn. They hold their blades close in, but their off-hand out away from them. Each hunkers down a little, keeping their weight on the balls of their feat. Eyes search out the room, not just the threatening Dwarf who comes closer to them.

 

The piggy-eyed one spits over their emplacement, a well-aimed gob of spittle strikes Oskarr's cheek and he gets a good laugh. “More where that came from, half-man!” they chortle to themselves. These brigands are ready for whatever comes their way.

 

Now is seen why these three chose this very seat near the corner of the room. With the table up-turned so, they leave little way for any would-be attacker to come for them except one route around the table, unless a madman would climb over their emplacement.

 

The Innkeep rolls his eyes and knows the fight is to happen. He drops his bar rag and with suprising speed and agility for his advanced years, bolts for the still-open door, his shouts loud enough to gain what little constabulary there is in Apple, but even they will take their time coming into this fracas.

 

--

 

In the forest, the Druid's first warning is the soft whistle of air moving, then the solid thunk of arrow hitting the trunk of an old Oak not a handspan from her head. Her wolf companion barks in suprise, matching the Druid's own call of alarm. Turning back to the originator of that attack, she sees one a Man in the forest, his steps crude and awkward compared to her own light steps. Already he's drawing bead upon her, ready to loose another arrow.

 

Diving behind that Oak, she knows that the village will help her, but with this pursuit, will she get there in time. Her advantages are few, she knows this land well, and the land gives its thanks to her in the bounty of spells she may cast, but if the entirety of the encampment is following her, then she must make with all haste to the village.

 

...But does she have enough of a lead on these ruffians?

 

--End--

 

There's three ruffians with daggers in the Inn, they've kicked their table over so if you attack them, you must climb over the table (climb or tumble check) or come at them around the table. Your call.

 

--LSH

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As the human's thick glob of fresh warm spittle finds it's mark on Oskarr's bearded face, the young dwarf loses his battle to control the black rage that roils within his body. He charges head long into the beckoning melee with promises of death and destructon chanting their seductive mantra deep within the berserker's mind. Whether these promises are of his own death or the death of his foes, in this momnent, it matters little to Oskarr Stonebreaker.

 

"AAAHHHHHHHHH!", screams Oskarr as he launches himself at the overturned table.

 

Using his curved daggers like a arctic climber's ice picks, Oskarr attempts to scale the overturned table and throw himself at the big human thug.

 

Now fully in the grip of his rage, Oskarr's savage nature is a disturbing thing to behold. The stocky dwarf seems to swell in size, his eyes roll back in their sockets, his strength and speed clearly improved. Oskarr is now a wild, psychotic, berserker with a lust for blood and destruction on a scale that is difficult to truly comprehend.

 

 

SK

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"By the dragon's breath! He's gonna get himself killed." Rul thinks to himself.

 

Rul moves forward, and rolls around the upturned table."Let's make 'em watch their flank." He knows this fight isn't going to be easy, and any edge will help.

 

Tossing another oath at the brigands,"Ich bewege meine privaten Teile an Ihrer Tante wellenartig," Rul strikes out with his sap.

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Aulustrianna draws in her breath a split second as she dashes to cover behind the tree. She looks to Motyar and slinks herself around the tree a bit to stay out of view of her assailant. Motyar has run behind another tree but is close in sight for her. She can see the village, it's maybe 100 feet from where she stands. The village equals safety, an odd conundrum for her since the village is where brigands and thieves and murders like to dwell. A crowd that under any other circumstance she would care to avoid like a plague of locusts.

 

Her only hope is to cast a spell on this vermin and run for it. In smooth quiet whispered fluid words of Druidic, She utters the following spell as she gets ready to run for it under the cover if the mists she is creating.

 

"Ο μεγάλος Θεός με κρύβει στην υδρονέφωση που κρύβεται από την άποψη του επιτιθεμένου μου έτσι ώστε μπορώ να κερδίσω την ασφάλεια."

 

With those words she casts the spell of Obscuring mist and under her breath she utters a silent prayer to Obad Hai that it works as she waits for it's cover to dash for safety.

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Hi, all. Here's the posting. Made a quick posting for QS as well, as he had not posted yet. Enjoy.

 

--begin--

 

Oskarr makes the most notable impression upon these brigands. His bestial roar and assault upon their table brings their attention to him. His ferocity knows no bounds as he leaps up the table, large, heavy knives being shoved into the thick wood. Alas, such sharp weapons are meant for slicing, not stabbing, and he gouges the wood, instead of climbing up and over it.

 

For his reward, Oskarr receives a short, sharp punch to his head from one of the brigands. Thankfully, the Dwarf's thick skull does little but absorb the impact, but it is still felt.

 

As the three watch Oskarr attack, the second Dwarf slips past the thick table, his leather-wrapped weight whipping up and in an arc to strike with surprise. Rul is accurate with his stroke, crashing down on the Man's neck, causing him to stagger suddenly.

 

Piggy snaps around suddenly, dashing his knife out viper-quick at Rul but too slowly he twists the blade, catching naught but air.

 

Crashing crockery breaks Essieu's dexterous display! Roderick was caught completely off-guard by the table's upending, and he staggers back, bumping into tables and the Hin! The cool, wet splash of ale surprises the Human as he rights himself to see the fight beginning before him.

 

--

 

In the forest, the air remains cool under mighty shaded boughs. The moment of forest magic brings with it a cool misty haze, a fog surprisingly thick for this time of day. Another arrows flies towards Aulustrianna , but it is as a bird on the wing, high through the air to miss her completely. As she dashes through the remaining forest towards the clearing before her, the sounds of her pursuers grows quieter with each step. Soon, she can see the light farmlands surrounding Apple, the golden seas of grain swaying in the light breeze. The sun still in the air, she is watched by farmhands who pause in their harvesting duties when they see the Elf and her wolf...

 

--End--

 

--LSH

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Aulustrianna is running as fast as she can, not letting her feet stay still for even the briefest of moments. Motyar is on her heels, staying close. Finally within the safety of a farm, she stops before one of the farmers, one she remembers speaking to at some time in the past.

 

The man is on the older side but his face does show some kind of recognition. He waves, "Dear lady of the woods, why you running so far?" Aulustrianna shakes her head, "Kind Sir, I'm being pursued by men wearing red sashes. They made a camp up in my forest, I've come here for help to be rid of them."

 

The farmer takes a step back, "Men in red sashes?" The druid nods and speaks, "In case they have followed me, take cover. I'm heading into town to seek the help of anyone who is willing to help me rid my forest of them." Reaching into her coin pouch, Aulustrianna places one gold coin into his hand, And smiles at him, "This is for any trouble I may have caused by being here." The man nodded, and Aulustrianna gave a slight bow, "Good day Kind Sir.."

 

With that Aulustrianna broke into a run again though not as fast as before and soon she found herself running between buildings as she entered the village proper. She looked around a bit and took in the area to see where she should go. Her eyes spied the tavern, "Ahh Motyar, I need to go over there." Motyar looked up at her from where she was pointing and gave her one of those wide eyed looks. Scritching his ears, she Gently spoke to him, "Go hide, come for me at sundown, as we cannot go home till after dark for fear of being pursued." Motyar flicked his tail and turned and dashed between some houses and was gone.

 

Slowly Aulustrianna stepped towards the tavern. Her keen ears were picking up on something, some kind of loud ruckus from within. She watched as a man, one she recognized as the Innkeeper dashed out. With caution she proceeded towards the steps of the tavern, the only sound she made being that of her staff end thudding on the trampled earthen road....

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"Y'know, you guys really did start the fight here," observes Essieu as he hurls a no-longer-intact flagon at the nearest ruffian. "All they did was provoke you. It was the Dwarf with the Kukris that made the first violent move..."

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Rul continues attacking with his sap, knowing if these guys aren't incapacitated, they'll be killed by the raging Oskarr. Keeping his wits about him though, this is no time to panic. Rul looks at the brigand who punched Oskarr in the head.

"Hows the hand feel Weibchenjunge?"

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