Dragon-Bane

[Ryvius]

You arrive at a quaint bar and inn at the base of a colossal mountain. Its purple and blue cliffs arch high above the tightly bricked building. Dusk has settled in bringing with the abrupt drop in temperature a foreboding overcast sky which does little to bolster your already sinking spirits. A signpost above the door swings as your party pushes open the heavy wooden door. You can make out the creak of wood as it groans under several lofty foot falls.

There, swaying in the light breeze, you can make out the sign. It reads 'Inri Dominous', the scholar you brought informs you means 'enter the Dominion'. Nestled in a corner, a dwarf coddling a mug of ale belches a skeptical repose, 'an odd name for an inn'. But you know better. These cliffs are home to them, the Dominion. They are a heretical band of pagans worshiping a foul demon somewhere amidst the bowels of the ominous Archedy Mountains.

Your party have all only recently met, humbled by the cold and bound by familiar circumstance, those circumstances being that yesterday was the last free night of your life. You received word to take up this secret quest from the hidden order known as the Strategast. For now, you are greeted by a funny-looking robust man who methodically strokes his pet lizard while eyeing your group suspiciously.

''ve no trouble wit yer masters,' the boisterous man exhales, 'naut to be on the black 'un's back side. e've taken rooms on yer accord, paid in full and wot. Jus don't let wha ' tever yer sturrin in that eyesore of a pot spill out on this 'stablishment.' He takes the time to wink and in that instant you can see he's addled by magic.

With only threadbare instructions and your countrymen's best equipment, you settle in for a quiet night. Take advantage of this, it may be your last!

[Recycled Human]

Lo' through the hills I find my way still
Though the wind berate me with humorous twill
With the fishies swum from their cavernous bed
And laugh with my brothers while I bite off their heads

-Goblin Verse from 'the Chastening'

It was perplexing. Not only had the arrival of a strange letter fortold of an upcoming doom, but the king himself was taken in by it. A Goblin was selected to join in service to Humans?! And a Dragon? Far above the Dwarven Holts, the 'Spire of Archedy' shook with the news. Such a beast had not been spotted in Derandel in over 700 years. If the Cauldron had been aware then surely it would have been pruned.

'Through the Mountain,' charged the letter, it's unmistakable seal still intact under the lamp-light. 'To the inn at it's base and to guide the flock here. To the peak you ascend in search of foul worship, and whether man or beast be at the root, cast it down for all Meer.'

And it was signed - 'Servants of the Strategast'

The heavy leather cloak worn to shroud his appearance provided little protection against the elements of the mountainside. It was a lousy decent, riddled with those cursed fir trees and upturned roots. The foreboding night owls cackled their cries, cajoling him as he tripped. Then, swearing a curse at the creatures of the night, the little Goblin hobbled down the frozen path. At the base he came to a clearing with a building and a hooded band that seemed to be waiting for him. Glad to have dodged the wolves that roamed the mountaintside, Gnikol Pence exhaled a baited breath, though try as he might he could not mask his fear when a dread howl prickled through the cold, dark night.

Shaking the frost from between his toes, the goblin stood in an awkward silence. He was surrounded by complete strangers for his first journey outside the Spire. The silence must have come from the shared burden of their calling. It had branded them as partners, but at the same time the age old racial tensions soured their newly formed pact.

There was no sound to be heard as they grudgingly trudged up the steps to their room. Though below them jostled with a callous guffaw as the drunk patrons joined in camaraderie. The floorboards creaked, mugs clinked and the hay-stuffed mattress swayed it's scraping tendrils venomously along the knobbly wooden floor.

The Mountain Tribesman loomed at the door, his blank shadow crowding the group. He was to be their guide, they were informed, though to what exactly no one was sure. The large man leveled a gruff gesture in the direction of the make-shift beds then bounded down the steps taking three in his wide gait. A roar from his kinsmen greeted him as the guide reached the bar. He sat with a thunderous boom that rattled it's echo in the skulls of the newly formed 'prisoners of fate'.

'I 'spose I'll take firsties then seconds can 'wot',' Gnikol murmured in the garbled near rhyme of his clan,'m'names Gnikol Pence, a sordid guide y'might say. 've lived in t'spire at 'wot' mountain y'see. So'on my accord you can fetch that I'll warrant no ill amongst us.'

With his first words he brushed a hand over his head. The hood of his cloak fell back, revealing the markings of his Ghalla, a firm set of horns and his deep red palour. Yellow eyes glistened between the furrow of his brow and the crook of his nose fell in a bow. Then in an instant he waved his hands in defense 'I mean you no harm' it seemed to hint.

'Though I know not why they summoned ya, I know that peak and what must transpire.'

It was hard to look past it, in every sense, Gnikol Pence was a demon.

[A Bit Obtuse]

The fresh snow crunched soundlessly under her footsteps as Mia quickly made her way through the thick forest path. She needed to reach her destination before the sun went down and the cold really started to set in, she wasn’t willing to sleep outside tonight, not with wolves and whatever other creatures that roamed the night. Her legs ached from the cold and the long journey she had taken to reach this mountain side, it was only at the last small village she stopped at that she was suddenly swept up into this whole mess.


Mia had traveled to many Inns,asking the patrons if they had seen her brother Julian. After many blank stares and shaking heads, her heart sank and she felt like her search was turning futile until she met that strange man at the last Inn. When she asked the strange hooded man, he merely chuckled and handed her a letter. “It will take you where you need to be...”
Mia read over the contents of the letter and tried to hand it back to the man, demanding that he had mistaken her for someone else.
“No, you are one of the many we seek.” He pointed her towards mountains and said no more.

Mia was too tired to argue with the man any longer and gathering what little supplies she could, she made the long trek to the inn at the base of the mountain. Now as she treaded along the icy path, regret was sinking in along with the cold. There was no way Julian would be here but she had come so far to turn back. Maybe she would really find what she was looking for here.

Ahead Mia saw the soft glow of candle light in the windows of the quaint inn and quicken her pace even more. She threw open the door and she was greeted with odd stares from the people within. Luckily they could not see the dirty looks she was giving in return for her hood was pulled over her face. And before she could even shake the snowflakes from her clothes, she was approached by a rather big and rugged man, he introduced himself as their guide up the mountain. Then she was herded up stairs along with a few others, her staff making a small thud against each step.

The guide left the group of strangers in the room and returned to the lower floor. Mia stood awkwardly in the group, she didn’t even glance at the others until one stepped forward to speak. A goblin. His looks were fowl and it made Mia cringed under her hood. She had came across goblins before, but never one like this and definitely never this close. The silence after was uncomfortable, Mia took a step back from the group and pushed her hood back to reveal her young but rather worn face. Her stone-cold grey eyes made contact with each person before she bowed her head slightly. “Mia...”
Her voice was soft but was as cold as the weather outside. She removed herself from the group and went to claim which bed would be her’s for the night.

[Ryvius]

Markus’s companions waited anxiously outside the sun-room of his pesä. The fact that he had asked to be alone to read the strange letter only added to the tension. In such a small community this would be the gossip for a considerable time. These people waiting wordlessly outside were Markus’s neighbors, his friends, hell they were his family. Markus had lived here for over two years now. He may have been an outsider Lapsi, but not by his own choice. They accepted him from the beginning. Sure, Markus could be a bit of a know-it-all, and his way of not realizing how much smarter he was got a bit annoying. Everybody had their quirks though. Markus emerged from his home. The town elder spoke to him. “Well Eli? What do you think?” Even the elder barely knew how to deal with this strange letter. People outside Rinne rarely tried to contact anyone within. “I will go, Elder.” Markus spoke without the accent everyone else had. “Perhaps I can…” his words were choked to death in his throat. “Perhaps I can find some answers. You know, about Fath-… Arteus, and the town.” The elder gave him a solemn nod. “We will see you to the edge of Rinne. After you pass through the thornwall, you will be alone.

Several men rode with Markus as they journeyed from village to village. It was odd, even though they were his elders he was taller than everyone else. After all, at over four feet Markus was possibly the tallest man in the entire land of Rinne! When they reached the thornwall, everyone had gifts for Markus. A fine Lapsi shortbow, crafted partially from the thornwall itself. It had a green coloration, and small thorns jutting out. He was also given a large quiver of arrows with thorn-crafted heads. Lastly, they gave him several small jewels strung together. Sapphire, emerald, ruby…these tiny stones resembled the eyes and the spirit of the Lapsi. They would always be with him. He attached these to his hat, and put it over his head, tucking his bangs underneath. He felt terribly lonely as the guard let him past into the long tunnel through the thornwall. His only friends behind him, he rode slowly forward on his pony in the darkness until he saw light, and emerged outside of Rinne. From there he followed the letter’s instructions and came to a strange tavern in harsh lands.

Markus found himself with a group, most of whom kept their faces hidden. His outlandish clothes made him seem out of place…which made him fit in with everyone else. What did make him stand out, ironically, was his height. Everyone towered about Markus, even the doors and furniture were oversized for him. The mountain guide made Markus look like a housecat in comparison. His heart beat rapidly in his little chest. Markus stood at his pitiful 4’4’’, light cap with jewels hanging off the right side. His bangs were tucked, but his mid-length black hair fell out the back and covered the back of his neck. His long knife was hidden in his loose clothing, but his bow and quiver were clearly visible. His amazing sapphire eyes reflected every bit of light with a brilliance.

Someone broke the silence. Of all things, he was a goblin! Markus had grown up around humans and elves; he had never seen a real goblin before. Oh certainly he had read of them. He knew goblin history, goblin society, even a few goblin songs. Oh, but to see one up close! This journey was already fascinating. The goblin’s appearance was fearsome, but that sort of thing wouldn’t put Markus off. In fact, he drew comfort that the fact that Gnikol was less than a foot taller than himself. Gnikol’s introduction did little to help the awkward air, but it did give Markus the push to introduce himself.

“My name is Markus Elina Tilde. I am some human, and a proud Lapsi as well. I am a student….” Markus decided not to reveal he was a student of magic just yet, even though he saw the mark of the mage on a one or two others. “A scholar of sorts.” Markus spoke in a very clear and refined manner. “I will help in any way I can. Though simply the journey here has exhausted my little frame.” Markus smiled, signaling that he was trying to use humor. It was completely true however, his body had been pushed to the limit on his journey here. He hoped that perhaps, not everyone was as cold and distant as that Mia. Spending two years in Rinne made Markus accustomed to constantly being surrounded by friends. Here, in this strange land surrounded by tall races, his heart ached with loneliness.

[Aleister Black]

She could scarcely believe people today could still be so stupid. She did not lament this stupidity; quite the contrary, she enjoyed the sight of the well-filled purse dangling from the belt of a tall, cloaked man by a leather strap. It looked fat enough to enable her to live well for the next few days, the whole week even, if she was lucky. The only thing she needed to do was make sure she was the first to get to it. She'd hate to see another cutpurse take off with her loot.

Dew closed in on her target, who was probably still living in that blissful world of ignorance, not knowing that the threat of becoming considerably poorer very soon indeed, was coming closer and closer. Her deft fingers expertly danced to his purse, ready to lift it from his belt - but then a gloved hand closer around her wrist in a vice-like grip. Within a fraction of a second, her free hand had unsheathed her concealed dagger and in one movement cut through both the man's wrist and the leather strap that held the purse. She didn't wait around to see the blood dropping from the cut in the man's wrist, but turned around immediately and sprinted away, leaving behind her the man's screams of pain. Damn, he was fast, flashed through her head as she turned into a dark alleyway, jumped lithely from a pile of stacked wooden barrels onto a low roof.

From there, she jumped up again and after a moment of scrambling for purchase she managed to pull herself atop the ledge of a higher roof still. Her path took her over the roofs of the city, leaping, jumping, sliding and climbing across loose tiles and planks and hay, past chimneys and towers. Dew had several boltholes across the city, vacant rooms, old uninhabited houses, warehouses that were hardly ever used; places she could use to lay low in for a few hours when things got hot. This was one of those times. She landed lightly on a wooden platform and leaned back against the windowsill of one of those boltholes, across the city of the scene of the crime. She was catching her breath as suddenly a gauntleted hand grabbed her by the throat, dragged her into her presumed safe room and slammed her against the wall. Her hands immediately reached for her daggers, but two other hands grabbed hold of her arms and held them against the wall. She kick furiously but ineffectually at the man in front of her, but all that earned her was a knee in the stomach that knocked all breath out of her. She was gasping for breath she couldn't get for the hand that still held her pinned to the wall by her throat.

"We would be much obliged if you don't make this harder on yourself than it already is." A pleasant male voice, talking as if about the weather. "We would hate for one so useful as you to be found stabbed to death, floating in the harbour. Or..." he seemed to turn to one of his fellows. "... Do they still collar mages around here? Why, I think they do. So, will you be easy on yourself?" he asked, turning back to her. Lights danced in front of her eyes, and a somewhere through that haziness creeped the fear of being collared. She managed a brief nod. The gloved hands relinquished their iron grips and she dropped limply to the floor, chest heaving to try and fill her lungs with air again.

"We have a job for you that is much more productive than your current profession. You would do well to take it on. It would save us the trouble of finding someone else, and it would save you the trouble of having a collar around your neck once that black dye comes off. And before you get any silly thoughts," he added, as if reading her mind, "running would be a particularly unwise thing to do. We will find you, and when we do, you will not get a chance like this." He paused, and she heard him smile as he said, "See this as a chance to redeem your sins against the Crafter and your fellow man."

Dew's breathing was slightly more steady now. She managed a whisper. "What if... what if I said I'll take my chances?" The man said nothing, but laughed as if someone had just told a very good joke. Then, from out of nowhere, a heavy boot crashed down on her face, and she felt the skin of her brow split; her vision blurred for a while and sounds were strangely muffled. A scroll was dropped to the floor. "These are your instructions." The men exited the room by the door. One of them turned back and said, "Keep the purse. There should be just enough in there to get you to the Archedy mountains. Travel safely!" he sneered before slamming the door behind him.

Dew was left in the dark room, gasping for air, lying in a fetal position and feeling very, very sorry for herself.


---


And here she was. In the time she had needed to travel from Bisdale to the mountains, her wounds had healed with some help from salves and poultices she had prepared. The split skin at her brow was nothing more than a barely visible scar that would probably fade with time. Her neck still showed vague blue and purple markings but those, too, were beginning to fade. The wounds inflicted on her good spirits and pride would take longer to heal by far. She had spent the last leg of the journey cursing the wind that seemed to find its way to her skin without fail, and the cold, powdery snow that stung her face and eyes.

And the tavern wasn't much of an improvement. When she had stepped inside, her frame clearly giving away her gender, a chorus of catcalls had ensued from the tavern's patrons. If any of them would try to do anything funny, she decided, she'd cut off their main tool to do it with quicker than they could say 'euneuch'. A giant of a man showed them up and pointed out their sleeping quarters. All together, in one room? I think not, Dew decided stubbornly. Share quarters with what looked like a beggar or gypsy, a Lapsi and... a Goblin, no less! Judging by the huge bulk of one of the others, it was probably either a very large human or an Orc. She finally got the answer to the question she had been asking herself all the way to here: how can this possibly get worse?

Reluctantly, she pulled back her own hood. Her large emerald eyes looked around their motley crew, picking up small details as they went. Those shin protectors? Dibran make. A Sky Knight? "My father called me Dew. I don't think I need to explain what I am," she said, knowing that everyone who didn't live under a rock would recognise her slight frame, large eyes and of course the pointy ears. "I'm cold, tired and hungry and all I want right now is a hot meal and drink that will warm me up." She took out the hated purse, depleted save but a few coins, emptied it in an outstretched hand and threw it in the fire, hoping that at least a few bad memories would burn with it. She abled to the stairs, leaned down it and yelled "Bartender!" Another chorus of catcalls and imitated whip sounds rose from downstairs as the bartender trudged upstairs to take their order.

She turned back and eyed the other two who were still hooded, curious despite herself.

[professor13]

In the sitting room of the Morgan manor sat four people, none of whom spoke. The four consisted of a cloaked man, Wylliam, and his parents. Wylliam was the first to break the silence.

"Such a shame that my brother couldn't make it. I mean, it's not everyday that a member of one's family heads out on a deadly quest."

"Now now," his father replied, "he had a very important obligation that he had to see to. He's quite the responsible one, you know."

Wylliam tapped his knee with an air of annoyance. "Yes, I can see how it would mar his noble character to miss a three-year-old's birthday party."

The cloaked man cleared his throat. "This other son of yours," he said, addressing Wylliam's father, "am I to assume you have more confidence in Wylliam's abilities than his?"

Wylliam's father looked almost insulted, and was about to reply when Wylliam grinned widely and beat him to it. "Dear sir, by enlisting my aid, you have not only ensured the success of your mission, but have also reduced any potential casualties to zero. My spear will strike true, no matter how high that dragon tries to soar! Honestly, would my father recommend my participation in this deadly venture instead of my brother's if he wasn't absolutely convinced that my skills were greater than his?"

The cloaked man looked back at Wylliam's father as his mouth opened and closed silently, as if unable to choose between two great evils. Finally, he sighed with resignation and said to the cloaked man, "Y-you heard the man. Best f-fighter in... in the family." Wylliam's father sank back into his seat after he finished, looking as if the words had required effort on par with running the breadth of Derandel.

"Then it's settled. The Dragoon known as Wylliam Morgan will join with the rest of the party, and investigate the situation in the Archedy Mountains."

"Excellent!" Wylliam replied, clapping his hands and getting up from his seat. "Wait... the Archedy Mountains? Isn't that place supposed to be-"

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Unbearably cold!!!

Wylliam wanted to shout complaints at the sky, but every time he opened his mouth, his voice was stifled by the harsh elements of the mountain. Nothing made Wylliam quite as miserable as cold weather, and this was about as cold as weather dares to get.

Not a moment too soon, Wylliam found himself with the rest his band in their room at the inn. He immediately whipped off his wet cloak, glad to be rid of the freezing rag. The stupid thing hid his fashionable clothing from sight. He didn't spend so much money on his attire only to have it go unappreciated beneath an unsightly traveler's cloak. He also slung off his armor pack from his back and placed both it and his spear by one of the beds, after which he rejoined the gathered group.

The first to introduce himself was a demonic looking goblin. Wylliam was ecstatic! He had finally met a member of the race responsible for the creation of his hopper-helpers (what Wylliam calls his goblin made spring-loaded boots)! The guy could have looked like a dragon for all he cared. Wylliam was just glad to have someone around that could fix his boots if they somehow broke. Heck, maybe he could even crank up their power!

Three others introduced themselves; a human by the name of Mia, an elf by the name of Dew, and a human/lapsi mix by the name of Markus. Mia was rather quick to retire for the night, which Wylliam immediately interpreted as a sign of shyness brought on by his own handsomeness. Dew was not much more sociable, only giving her name and a few complaints. Markus, on the other hand, showed a bit more life. Wylliam stepped toward him.

"Worry not, my little friend," he said, his voice filled with compassion, "for I, Wylliam Morgan, the Dragoon with the Wyvern Eye, will be here to protect your frail, tiny frame. And, indeed, the frame of everyone gathered here today, tall and small! You have all shown admirable bravery in coming here, but you may now rest your fears on my spear."

Wylliam bowed deeply, waiting for the applause that was sure to follow.

[Aleister Black]

Oddly enough, Dew couldn't detect any trace of sarcasm in the young man's voice. Surely, someone could be that full of himself...? Yet, as far as she could see, the man was completely serious. She could hardly keep from bursting out laughing when the man bowed deeply, visibly expecting a chorus of 'horray!'s and other such lauding exclamations. Well, he wouldn't get one from her. Dew wasn't easily impressed, and his little presentation just now was just downright laughable as far as she was concerned. However, he eyes had taken on the gleam of a predator's and the corner of her mouth twitched up just slightly before she looked serious again. Maybe she would give him what he wanted... a little bit.

"We will sleep easy tonight knowing ourselves under the protection of your mighty spear, bold knight," Dew said as she approached him, head tilted slightly. The lad probably wouldn't detect the scathing sarcasm. People liked to believe they were actually complimented. Her green eyes locked with his as she went on, "I don't know what we would do without the aid of such a valiant and... handsome knight in our midst. Your very presence gives us heart!" She smiled sweetly as her left hand trailed patterns in the air, hovering just above his impeccable white shirt.

Then she abruptly turned around and ambled off, holding aloft a letter with a broken seal, addressed to one Wylliam Morgan. "How do you think you will protect us, if you can't even protect your own belongings?" She lightly tossed the rolled-up letter back to Wylliam, caring not if he would catch it. "If you want to be lauded, earn it," she added as she ambled back to the stairs, where the red, weathered face of the tavern's proprietor just appeared. Her own face had lit up considerably. "I feel a lot better now. Anyone want a drink?" she inquired, glancing around the assembled party questioningly.

[A Bit Obtuse]

How foolish. She had been tricked into coming all this way to be a part of some ridiculous quests...and with these people! She should of known better and now she was stuck. Hopelessly stuck. She sat down on the bed nearest to the window and laid her staff across her knees and her bag at her side. Though it was nice not be in the cold and to be able to sleep in a bed, Mia still felt on edge. She was tense and being around these strangers didn't help at all.

After Wylliam's atrocious performance and the Elf's quick reaction to belittle the knight, Mia knew this journey was going to be a disaster. How could they work with each other, if they couldn't stand each other. Mia sighed and shook her head, her braid swaying to and fro with each movement. The braid was decorated with many colorful beads to cover the true color of the hair braided underneath. From glancing at the others,it seemed they had the same thing to hide. So be it. It was none of her concern.

When the order for drinks came, Mia shook her head and held up her left hand which was wrapped up in a silk handkerchief, another reminder and another thing she had to hide about who she really was. She pulled her legs up into a sitting position on the bed, her staff balancing across her lap as she reached into her bag to pull out a small silk pouch. From the pouch she retrieve a deck of cards. They were worn around the edge and each one had a different picture used to apparently read someone's past or emotions or even the future.

It was a mere game. A game Mia played with people when they passed through. Each curious as to what the cards 'revealed' about them. But it wasn't about reading the cards, it was about reading the reactions of their gullible faces as she drew each card from the deck. She fed their silly superstitions and they fed her pockets with coins and jewels. And she never lied, no, she just told them what they needed to hear, everyone wanted to know if their life was heading in the right direction and Mia was there for them for a price.

She thoughtlessly shuffled the deck, taking quick glances at each individual in the room.
Could she really go through with this? She tossed the card from the top of the deck onto the bed.

It was a roaring lion, with a golden mane. Strength.Courage

She glanced up at the group again.
Could she trust them?

The next card landed on top of the last. It was a knight with ten swords piercing through his back.
Betrayal. A warning.

Mia stared at the card then quickly flipped the next one over.
It was a tower burning and crumbling.
Failure. Disaster.

She stared at the top card for awhile, it seems like she was pondering the meaning of it, but really she just felt ripping the cards to shred. She fought against the urge and shuffled the cards back into the deck.
Not like she ever believed in the damn things...

[BlackJack]

Gro'thok spat. Here he was, stuck with a bunch of amateurs and braggarts.

The goblin seemed competent, but he was obviously not a fighter. The short one carried a bow, but introduced himself as a scholar. A SCHOLAR! We are going to fight a damn dragon and its brainless worshipers, and what do we get? A damned scholar. Gro'thok's brow furrowed.

And then there was the girl. Mia was her name, or at least that's what Gro'thok assumed she meant. She spoke that single word and slumped to her bed. The last thing Gro'thok needed was a measly little girl to keep up with. He was going to have his hands full with the next two. That fool, Wylliam, thinks MUCH too highly of himself. He loudly claimed that he would protect the group, but Gro'thok was not so easily fooled. That boy's smooth, scarless face and expensive-looking attire was much more truthful. This boy had probably never even been in a real fight, much less fought for his life. He was more likely to run in and get himself killed than protect anyone.

He turned and eyed the elf girl. Her voice was full of spite when she introduced herself. While Gro'thok himself was by no means a friendly man, her icy nature annoyed him. He chuckled when she buttered up Wylliam, but that show of stealing his letter was foolish arrogance. She showed off her abilities too soon. In battle, surprise is your greatest weapon. And now Gro'thok knew what she really was. A thief. And while the thought of Wylliam being so humiliated amused him, Gro'thok scoffed at the thief's rash act. He'll be damned before he lets his guard down around her again.

He closed his eyes and thought back to how he got here. He was sitting in a pub in Dohir. His funds from his last hunt had started to wear thin, and he was looking for work. This pub, the "Wolf's Head", was known as a hangout for thieves and ruffians; and as such many servants of the wealthy would pop in to ask for "specialty help" with a master's problem. The more "respectable" folk never came in themselves. The cowards.

The moon was already in the sky when a confident-looking man in a dark cloak walked in. He stood in the doorway, boldly scanning the crowd. There were some scowls and nasty mutters directed at the man before he spotted Gro'thok in the back. He made his way to Gro'thok's table and sat down. "What do you want?" Gro'thok asked. "Business?" The man grinned. "Yes, I suppose you could say so. You know, you are getting to be a big name around here, Mr. Gro'thok. Everyone I've asked has sent me to you." Gro'thok took a drink of his ale, unimpressed. He met the man's gaze and frowned. "No need to flatter me. Do have a job or not?"

The man nodded and handed him an envelope. As Gro'thok ripped it open and read the contents, the man said, "We have need of men like you to deal with a problem we have. Interested?" Gro'thok thought it over. A dragon? He didn't think they were real. Just a scary story the elders told the younglings around the Huntfires. He picked up his mug to take a drink, but it was empty. Just a bit of foam left. He checked his coinpurse. A few lonely gold coins. Gro'thok sighed. "Well, I've got nothing better to do." The man's smile widened. "Then meet us at the location specified in the letter. And don't be late."Gro'thok grunted, and the man left.

Gro'thok pulled out of his reverie and looked around. The innkeeper was taking drink orders. He ordered a tall mug of ale, then sat down on his bed. He wasn't going to tell these "partners" any more than he had too.

[professor13]

Wylliam's brilliant mood vanished. He stared sullenly at the elf girl as he picked his letter from the air and re-pocketed it. To think, seconds ago, he was trying to come up with a kind and gentle way to turn away the (presumed) latest victim of his charm and good looks. He had, in fact, been so occupied by this task, that his usually sharp eyes did not notice her quick maneuver and subsequent swipe of his letter.

"Well then," Wylliam began with a rather forced grin, "I don't know what I could have possibly done to upset you Miss, but-"

Inspiration suddenly hit Wylliam like a giant rock dropped onto an ant. The reason for the girl's actions were so obvious! How could he have been so insensitive? She was intimidated to be working with one such as he, and was acting out from her insecurity!

Wylliam's face brightened immediately, after which he smiled warmly at the elf. "I see. It makes sense now. I apologize for my earlier reaction."

In considerably better spirits, Wylliam ordered milk from the bartender and walked over to where Mia was sitting.

"Is that a card game?" Wylliam asked curiously, staring at the deck of cards she was holding. "Can you teach me to play? I'm a pretty quick study."

[A Bit Obtuse]

"A game?" One eyebrow arched at the knight's question. Mia was taken aback by his childish innocence. It was something she was never lucky enough to experience since it was beaten out of her at a young age. As if out of reflex she reached up and gently brushed the scar above her right eye before turning her attention back to him.

"I don't play games, but I can show you a trick." She shuffled the deck and spread them face down on her bed. She let her hand hover over the cards for a moment then she pluck the one she wanted and showed it to Wylliam. It was a picture of a white Knight on a horse, it held some resemblance to the young knight in front of her. Mia held the card between her two fingers and tilted her head to the side as she began to tell her routine story. "There once was a Knight who fell in love with a maiden."

She flicked the card up with a simple snap of her wrist and when she caught it the image on the card had changed. It was now a picture of a beautiful woman in a red dress.

"But he was foolish to see that she was a wicked, wicked woman." Mia flipped the card upside down and the woman's face became distorted and ugly.
"She eventually became the death of him..."
She threw the card onto the bed and the image had changed once more into a dark and brooding Death himself.

It was a simple trick, nothing more. Something Raphael had taught her to reel in a potential 'customer' for her card reading scheme. Mia glanced at his face, surely he would be in awe, he seemed dim enough to believe something so simple to be 'magic'. If he wasn't impressed she had another trick for him.

She gathered the cards up once more and picked out a card and placed it in his hands. It was The Fool card. "Hide the fool." The deck was shuffled and cut in half and she had him place the card back into the deck. Another quick shuffle and she handed the deck to Wylliam. "Now find the fool."


After a few times of searching the deck, the card was nowhere to be found. Mia would take some amusement in the confused look he would have once the realization of never finding the card came to him. Mia took the cards from him and pointed to his satchel.
"The fool never travels far from home."

[Doaj]

Worm sat in the bar,as he had for three days. When he'd been broken out of the spire's prison, he was ecstatic to have another chance at life. Not only that, but he already had work. However, he also had nowhere to go. He showed up at the bar early, three days, because he had nowhere else to be. He helped the bartender out whenever he could, to pay for room, board, and enough alcohol to black out every night.

In retrospect, he should've kept better track of the days. Tonight was the night, and as he whistled at a beautiful young woman who came in (or at least, he was fairly sure she was beautiful. She was cloaked, and he was drunk), he began to wonder what all of these strangers could be there for. Afterall, it was far too cold out for them to simply be passing through.

After they had all been lead upstairs by a tall, intimidating man, Worm went through the pockets of the children's clothes the bartender had given him. Worm had been wearing prison-garb and did not want to draw attention to himself. All of the bartender's clothes were too big for him, but he had some clothes left over before his son outgrew them and moved on in life. Conveniently. In his pockets he found a matchstick and a pipe of tobacco. He had actually been given this by a guard at the tower who was an old friend of his.

He lit up and puffed on the pipe, and then realized he'd also pulled out a piece of paper. An invitation. The one that was slipped under his prison door, and into his cell. The paper that told him to push on the stones of the western wall. The one that told him the bar to go to. The one signed from the anonymous and mysterious Strategast.

"Shit!" The goblin yelled, or rather slurred. He sprang up from his seat and sped across to the stairs. The bartender was on his way down, having just served the group drinks. He greeted him on his way up, and then Worm got to the top of the stairs. He swayed a little as he stood there, and everyone seemed to turn and stare. Worm held back a hiccup, unsuccessfully, and pulled out his invitation. "Who's the strabbleghost?" He asked, trying to sound calm, collected, sober. "I woul'ike to gib my regards." Worm looked down at himself, and tried to straighten out his clothes. His short sword on his hip pulled his pants awkwardly on his right side, and he wished he had a belt. Worm swayed a bit more as he looked at everyone, his eyes subconsciously lingering on the beauty whose hood was pulled down. On closer inspection, she dressed more like a thief. He was drunk, but his profession was to find thieves, and it was his profession because he was good at it. Luckily, he didn't have much to steal. Worm snuffed his tobacco and put away the pipe.

[Aleister Black]

Dew thanked the bartender for the hot tea (noticing a bone cup of rancid milk on the tray, among other beverages) and turned around to rejoin the group she had reluctantly joined, accidentally bumping into the bartender as he went back to tend patrons downstairs. She offered her apologies to the bulky man who likewise gruffly apologised and pocketed the coins she'd just spent on the herbal tea. Okay, maybe it was petty of her, but it were the small pleasures that made life even slightly bearable at this point. And to be fair, he had charged too much for the tea. Only fair that she had taken back what was hers.

She was just about the take a sip of the hot but washy tea when a rather scruffy figure shambled up the stairs and stood still in front of them, or at least tried to. Instead, he was swaying back and forth, almost visibly correcting his balance every few seconds. As the goblin introduced himself, a strong scent of alcohol became noticable. 'Noticable', in fact, was a bit of an understatement. The amount of alcohol in this goblin's breath would anaesthetise a wounded man and sterilise the wound. His clothes seemed ill-fitting and of mountain make. Dew had no idea what to make of this sodden creature, but one of his slurred words had caught her attention. "The Strategast?" she inquired. "They don't deserve any regards." Not even from you, she added silently.

Then her mind backtracked and she lowered her cup again. Wait... "Why regards? You're... here for that mission, too?" Her face contorted in a half-smile. They really were the likely troupe now! The arrogant noble knight and the thieving little Laspi (although she wasn't one to blame anyone of thieving), the barbarian Orc and a travelling performer girl (who might double as a prostitute at night; after all, didn't all wandering performers do that?), one drunken lout of a Goblin and an almost demon-like Goblin, and her, a failed thief! A motley crew of social outcasts, most probably. She took a long gulp of the hot tea, feeling the frustratingly weak effects of the herb tea fight and lose against the cold in her fingers and toes.

Oh, she'd need something stronger than this to chase the cold out of her body. She called the bartender again and ordered "What he's been having," pointing at the drunken Goblin.

[Ryvius]

The noble knight’s speech left Markus literally speechless. He responded with a simple “Thank you.” Markus wasn’t sure if he would actually be of any use in combat, but at least he’d be between Markus and the enemy. Of course, if he wasn’t skilled in battle why was he here? Markus was before all things a student after all. He looked around the room, trying to imagine what every person had in common. Whoever the Strategast was, Markus didn’t believe this group was chosen at random. He wondered, perhaps this was a group that could disappear without raising many questions? Maybe a lack of family had been a criteria, he would have to inquire about that.

Markus was being to quick to think outside of the box. Truth does not hide, it is only hidden. For answers, look to the obvious. Fighting skill? Gro’thok was obviously a warrior. Even for an Orc he was large and muscular. There were some scars too pronounced to be from a bar fight. His stance made it obvious he was a warrior. Even as he relaxed in the room, he kept his back to the wall and stood so that he would be ready to defend a surprise attack. He was so obviously a warrior, that it was the only thing obvious about him. So then, what about the others?

Wylliam introduced himself as a knight, but to Markus he was a mystery. He had a title that seemed to imply a fearsome reputation, but his attitude and appearance screamed that he had never seen battle. Perhaps beneath his…unique exterior, he truly was a great warrior? So great, perhaps, that he took down his enemies without suffering a scratch? If that was the case, then he may look inept because he was in fact a master of war. In any case, the possibility of fighting skill as the reason he was here is apparent.

What about the ever shy Mia? She didn’t seem like a warrior. She had scars all right…but these weren’t battle scars. Why was Mia here? Her clothes were fairly plain, the only thing that didn’t seem plain was her hair, which was decorated with beads. Her….hair? Markus’ thoughts turned to his own hair, partially hidden under his hat. Could she be a mage too? The goblin had a streak of white as well. Markus had failed to answer the obvious question. Why was he here? Fighting skill? Certainly, he could handle a bow. Anyone knows that the Lapsi have a reputation as master archers. If they were looking for an archer, why not someone else with more experience? Markus was skilled, but hardly the best archer in the Rinne. So then, was it because he was a mage? If that was the case, why not find a better mage? A military wizard? Suddenly a frightening thought flashed in Markus’ head. Two of the people were obviously warriors. Counting himself, Markus knew that there were at least two mages. Mia was also a likely possibility. Markus would have to look out for more hidden mages. What if this was all a trap? An ingenious plan to capture mages? The “Strategast” was certainly informed, but even someone with that much knowledge couldn’t exactly march into the Rinne. In all of history, the thorn wall was only breached once. Even then, the Lapsi archers routed the invading force at a border village. Maybe Gro'thok wasn't here as muscle to defend Markus, but to hold him down while he was collared.

So maybe, with the promise of answers, they got Markus to trek to his own capture. Maybe the others had been promised something they wanted badly too. If this was all a scheme it would explain the thieving elf’s involvement.

Drinks arrived. Markus didn’t get any alcohol. He told the others it was because he “Prefers not to cloud the mind.” Which was true. It was also true that Markus couldn’t hold his liquor in the least. Instead he got a cup of soup and some bread. He gobbled up the soup, sopping up what was left with the bread. He had been forced to eat like a soldier for most of his journey here. Markus was someone that enjoyed a good meal, so living off nothing but tea and tack biscuit was a terrible experience. As the food settled I his stomach, his weariness caught up with him. He didn’t want to be the first to fall asleep though. “the evening is drawing closer to it’s end. Perhaps we should retire for the night. I expect we will need our strength tomorrow. I don’t know about you fellows, but I’m exhausted just from the trip here!” Despite his suspicions, he spoke as friendly as ever, with a big smile on his face. His stomach was queezy though. Whatever happened, he would have to fight. Would he have to kill? He had hunted game before…but killed a person? The thought was horrifying. He would do it though. He had made the journey here hadn’t he? If there were answers to be found about his master, his teacher…his father, then he would find them. No matter what. No turning back now.

Just then another goblin made an appearance, making it even harder to answer the question of what everyone had in common. It seemed impossible to fathom why he was here. Did he really have an invitation? Nothing to do but introduce himself. “So, you have an invitation as well? I am Markus.” He extended his right hand for a friendly handshake.

[Doaj]

Worm almost felt embarrassed. He fully acknowledged that he was an embarrassment, but was a bit too sloshed to properly feel humiliated. He heard someone order a drink- "What he's been having." in particular. It sounded somewhat familiar. And then, a Lapsi (a very tall one?) named Markus introduced himself. Worm looked down at his hands, not remembering whether or not they were appropriate for handshaking, and saw that they were surprisingly clean. He reached out, and shook Markus' hand.

"My name is Worm." The gobbledeguck said. "And yah, I'm herr fur that mission, too...also." He looked about, and saw another goblin. Drunken paranoia was the first thought in his head. 'What if he recognizes me? Knows me for the criminal I am? Could this be a trap? Some sick joke to show me freedom and take it away?' Fortunately or otherwise, the site of the orc was a bit sobering, and made him realize that no goblin would hire an orc (or humans, lapsi, elves, or any other species for that matter) for a prank on one of their own. Looking closer, that goblin might even be from a village that doesn't get along with the spire. Worm sniffled.

"Do I get a bed?"

[BlackJack]

Gro'thok watched as Mia used her tricks on Wylliam. As amusing as sleight of hand is to the weak-minded, Gro'thok knew that such skills had much more.....sinister applications. He would keep an eye on Mia, as well.

He was about to join the "Make Wylliam Look Stupid" game and challenge him to an arm wrestling match, but then a goblin burst....well, stumbled into the room. He absolutely reeked of alcohol. He loudly asked "Who's the Strabbleghost? I woul'ike to gib my regards." Gro'thok was shocked. Who the hell was this Strategast, and what the hell were they thinking? He could handle the thief, and the idiot, and the assorted other weaklings. But now an ill-clothed, heavily drunk goblin?

Gro'thok groaned and leaned his head back against the wall. "Do I get a bed?"
"You can have mine. I'm not sleeping tonight." Gro'thok grunted. He stood up and nodded towards the cot. He walked over and leaned against the opposite wall. He was nearer to the Lapsi now, and he noticed something he didn't before. The Lapsi smelled strongly of magic. The Hunt Chief had always praised him for being perceptive, but over the years he had realized that he could smell something present only in magic users. As many of his clients wanted him to find mages, this was a useful skill. Although, it was far from perfect. If he was focusing on smelling out a mage, he could pick out one that had used magic in the last couple of days, but nothing more. And he could only casually smell someone that used magic in the last 24 hours.

This was an interesting development. If the Lapsi was a mage, who else was? Mia was a likely choice. And maybe Wylliam. It would explain how a boisterous simpleton like him had earned his spot. At least Wylliam and the Lapsi seemed amiable enough. The women he was suspicious of, and the goblins had yet to do anything needing his attention, but he knew what goblins were capable of, and wasn't going to lower his guard due to lock of activity. On the plains, those who weren't on-guard were the first to die. And Gro'thok wasn't going to die. Not tonight.

[professor13]

When Mia finished her tricks, Wylliam's face lit up and he applauded.

"You're quite talented!" he said, grinning from ear to ear, and quite oblivious to the fact that he had just been called a fool, "You looked so comfortable doing it, you must practice quite a bit! Say, could you teach me some of those sleights? I'm a quick study, and quite the dexterous one, if I say so myself. It would be so much fun to-"

Wylliam was cut off by the entrance of a rather clumsy Goblin. As he took his milk from the bartender and payed him, the goblin introduced himself. When the Orc gave up his bed to the Goblin, Wylliam was almost moved to tears. He walked over to where the Orc was leaning against the wall and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Sir, you have a noble spirit, and a heart like the greatest of philanthropists. That such selflessness and generosity could be shown to one you have just met... What is your name, that I may say to others, 'So-and-so has earned the respect of Wylliam Morgan'?"

[BlackJack]

Gro'thok made a face that almost resembled a smile. Wylliam's naivete and enthusiasm was amusing. He was so different from the usual depressing types he worked with. Then he remembered that he was going to have to fight with this man. His almost-smile hardened into a frown. "Gro'thok. My father named me Gro'thok. And that won't be necessary. All I need you to do is not get yourself killed."

Gro'thok sighed. This was going to be a long journey.

[A Bit Obtuse]

Surprisingly, Mia was quite amused by look on Wyillam’s face after she finished the tricks. His smile reminded her of Juilan, just thinking about her brother made her chest heavy and her mood rather dark. She gathered her cards and put them back into her bag. “These tricks are not for any mindless fools to-” Before she could even finish to insulting Wyillam, he was off to bother the Goblin that had entered the room.

The stench of booze suddenly filled the small room and Mia’s faced twisted into a look of disgust. She had no patience nor respect for drunkards, she made a mental note to stay away from this one...and perhaps everyone in the group as well. Mia had felt the hard stare from the Orc and the occasional glances from the others in the room. They were weary of her which was not a surprise, not many trusted gypsies and she was not ashamed of her lifestyle of conning people out of their coins. It was a living.

Mia sat on her bed with her back against the wall and her staff laying across her legs, she always had it within arm’s reach. It may have looked like just a prop to her gypsy act, but it was heavy and strong enough to crush bones. It seemed the Orc wasn’t going to sleep, it was suspicious, so she decided she wasn’t going to sleep either. Not like she could really do anything to stop him if he did try anything but she would rather die trying to stop him than be beaten to death in her sleep. As she sat there keeping an eye on everyone, she felt her eyelids start to droop. It had be a long time since she slept in bed and she had traveled very far...maybe a few minutes of rest wouldn’t be so bad. It didn’t take long until Mia’s head slumped forward and she was out for the night.

[Aleister Black]

The next day found them all gathered in front of the tavern. Mikal, their sturdy mountain tribe guide, looked ready to guide them through the treacherous passes to their destination: the village of pagan worshippers that raided the trade routes in this area. The sun did nothing to warm up the day, but its light reflected all too bright on the white snow.