The Scourge.

The destruction of the world, unending legions of demons overran the world, destroying everything in their path. They Horrors laid waste to entire civilizations, consuming the very souls of their victims. Some fought. They died. Some ran. They died. Some joined them. They died. The only hope was to hide. Enter the Theran Empire.

The Empire discovered the Rites of Protection and Passage, the only means of protection against the Scourge. The Empire used the Rites as a means of control, enslaving whole civilizations under Theran rule, their wealth, culture, and very lives feeding the Empire's hunger. When the Scourge came, Thera sealed it's self away from the world, protecting it's self from the horrors that came in ever increasing numbers. In the Barsaive region, the nation of Throal sealed it's gates under the mountain, using the Rites to survive the long night.

500 years oater, Throal has repoened it's gates to a world ravaged and near death. Struggling to survive, Throal reentered the world, becoming a center of trade and a leader among the emerging peoples in the Barsaive region. Formerly the regents for the Empre, Throal threw off the yoke of Theran rule, declaring their ways corrupt, and their intent to lead Barsaive to another way.

For the affront of leading the peoples of Barsaive away, Thera attempted to overthrow the kingdom from within, through what was later named the Death Rebellion. Now, thirty years later, the Theran Empire is back.

A Theran Behemoth called Triumph, a flying city in it's own right, Thera's ultimate weapon has landed at the Ayodhoya Liferock atLake Baykal, securing a potential supply path and landing point from which Thera could begin an invasion of the Barsaive region. In the halls of Throal, the dwarf King Varulus watches the Therans efforts with a heavy heart, recognizing the first signs. War is coming to Barsaive.


Link to OOC http://forums.dumpshock.com/index.php?showtopic=24039

Three days ago...

Walking through the forested foothills of the Throalic Mountains, the elf feels a familiar tingling, as if something is crawling up his back. Quickly looking around, he takes a seat, crossing his legs , focusing on the feeling of his skin crawling. Quickly focusing on his energies, beginning the ritual and the incantation he had been taught, the elf soon fell into a trance.

A familiar, warm sensation rolled down the elf's shoulder blades and down his arm. A blackness like ink but with the scent of blood rolls off his arm dripping from his fingers to the ground, swirling in a pool until it forms into the likeness of a dragon. It speaks.

My servant, bring yourself to the kingdom of Throal. Take your stay in Barter Town. Take no work until you receive a summons from the Palace. Follow the path on which it leads you. This task will be crucial to Throal's survival in the coming months. Do Not Fail Me.

The elf slumps, exhausted from channeling the dragon's magic as always. Recovering over several minutes, the tattoo is once again in it's place upon his back. Time to head south.

Barter Town and Throal's survival. What did I get myself into with that Dragon?

The elf stands after several minutes. The communication always takes it's toll on the elf's body.

And the itch!

It's only been a few times that he's talked to me. I only hope it gets better after time,thinks the elf as he tries to scratch his back. The elf picks up a branch that would make a good arrow and begins to carve a rough shape as he looks towards the mountains and begins to walk. The elf begins his journey, thinking of past memories. And new beginnings.

Jecht and Shal'hair

In a town like Bartertown, you can walk from a street of elven vendors selling wine goblets, to a street with ork s selling blades "acquired" from dwarven trade caravans, sent to help a populace stop the raids of trolls the likes of which are very likely strolling down the street with you as they loook for a good weapon to smash elven heads with. It's what one might call an eccletic city.

A hodgepodge of mismatched building styles with no organization controlling, adminstering, or claiming responsibility for it, Bartertown is an entity in and of it's self. Situated just outside the great gates of Throal, Bartertown sees beings from every walk of life wander down it's streets. It's citizens belive that they have seen it all.

Inside the Black Unicorn Inn & Winery (Sorry, all out of cheese and violins)...

Wait .... a windling wha'

That's what I said! A windling nethermancer! Right over there by that big dumb human!

It was the third time in a week. Jecht and Shal'hari, seeking accomodations within the more accepting Bartertown had already left two bars. At least there was less attention on them than in BarterTown. Unfortunately, their relative fame as seemed to caught up with them. Case in point, the trio of orks in the corner, giving Jecht the bhuunda. The human warrior sips from his mug as the orks continue their barrage in insults, Shal'hari half lost in a tome shey'd procured from the Lost Nethermancer's library some montsh again.
combact/
Yo pixie girl, wy don't you go fetch us some more drinks! We're good and ready to go!

Jech't looks lazily and raises an eyebrow at his windling friend.

Would you like to go to a new bar? Or do you think we can stand to ignore some drunkards?

Peering up from her book, Shal'hari eyes the man who spoke. "Jecht, we might need to move to another bar again." Without putting her book down, her hands begin to move in a familiar dance. She's weaving a spell...

Jech't reaches out and puts his hands over hers.

Shal. No. Please. He looks her right into the eye as he pleads. His face as grim as ever.

Shal'hari's gaze breaks from the man across the bar to the man standing beside her. She moves her hands out from under his, still weaving...
"Jecht, this is how legends are made."

Her spell complete, she locks eyes with the man again.

Casts Evil Eye.

Threadweaving #1:

Threadweaving #2:

Spellcasting Test

Jecht sighs and steps out of the way. Knowing exactly what his partner has in mind, he readys himself for a fight. Or atleast an explanation.

Cien

Laying up in the Thundra's Best, a simple establishment with decent prices for good food, Cien's days so far in Bartertown have been far from eventful. He's heard little from the locals, or his Master. For an Archer however, waiting is just part of his art. He remains ready, a nocked arrow only waiting for a target. He's so intent on his frame of mind that he half jumps, startled by a sudden heavy knock at the door.

*muffled by door* Master Cien! Master Cien are you in there? The Inn Keep told me I could find you in this room. I have a message for you!

The voice has an obvious throalic accent, and judging by the fussy manner of his speaking, probably not a Bartertown resident.

Jecht/Shal'hair

From her stoop on the table, Shal'hair waves her hands dramatically in the air, as if tying strings only she can see. The orks watching her laugh aloud, not impressed by her "mumbo-jumbo". That is, at least, until a burning green unholy light fills her eye, and the more talkative ork cries out in dismay, swooning as if suddenly incredibly exhausted. The other orks bellow roars of first dismay, and then outrage, upending chairs and tables as they leap to their feet.

Sorcery! Kill the bug!

Initiative

Initiative: 20

Cien waits. These day's it seems thats all he does. From one town to the next, one place to another. He doesn't mind, not much at least. The last few years of his life were hectic, hurrying from one location to another, fights and intrigue. He can do with the break.

And if I never see another Horror again, it would only be too soon. Cien thinks as he eases the arrow forward on the string. No use skewering a messenger. Unless he's an Ork, and then of course accidents DO happen.

I'm coming. You only have to knock once. Cien says, as he sets his bow and the arrow he was holding on the bed. Walking up to the door he eases his dagger from the sheath at his side and cracks the door open, peering out into the hall and staring at the figure standing outside.

Yes?

http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/1779718/
1st initiative. Step 5

[ Spoiler ]

Roll 1d8
Total:8
Exploded

http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/1779720/

[ Spoiler ]

Roll:1d8
Total:7
Total roll:15

Jecht/Shal'hari
Orks Initiative 10

Cien
Cien looks put the door, finding no one... wait, there he is down there. The messenger is a dwarf, wearing elaborate livery. The dwarf with his perfetcly trimmed silver beard and glasses, looks every inch the city dwelling court fop. The dwarf presents a sealed case to the elf, bowing and holding the scroll up "high".

Journeyman Cien, I present to you a missive from my Master. I am instructed to await your reply.

Perception Test to see if you can reconize the Livery or the seal.

Perception Test


Yes, well let me see here.Cien peer's down at the scroll tries to recall who the seal belongs to while reading what the letter has to say.

Shal'hari's eyes glow with an unnatural hue as she flies above the onrushing fray. Holding her Deathstaff high she begins to chant again, her hands moving through another spell.

Casting Fog of Fear

Threadweaving #1:

Threadweaving #2:

Spellcasting Test

Perception Test Success - The Livery is of Throal's Royal House

Cien's eyebrow slowly rises as he reads the letter. Royalty. Dragons and Royalty. I never even thought I'd hear from him again. Icewing you are indeed sly. Cien looks down towards the dwarf, who is obviously straining to keep the the parchment raised.

Alright friend, let your master know that I will be there at the designated time. Be safe.

Cien begins to closing the door and thinking of what the future may bring. Indeed times have grown more restless, more violent as the years have gone on. Something is changing in people. Or maybe the world was returning to normal after long years being ravaged. Cien looks down at his clothes and sighs. Rips, tears and patches marring the Archers clothing and mountain boots hardly holding together.

I guess I can buy something presentable to be seen in while visiting with such nobility. It wouldn't do to be seen looking like an underfed porter.

Jech't steadies his sword. and looks sternly at the orcs.

If I were you, friends, Id run. Fast.

Withholding his attack until after the effects of Fog of Fear.

Cien

Very good Master Cien. I shall relay your acceptance. Best wishes.
The dwarf cuts a quick, precise bow, turning on the ball of his foot and marching off.

Jecht/Shal'hari
The rolling dead white fogs pools out from the table where Shal'hari and Jecht were sitting. The customers quickly jump to their feet, scrambling back to avoid the unnatural fog as it billows out to the corners of the dining hall. People begin to scream as the fog rolls over them, shouts of panic and terror echoing hollowly through the dense white.

Jecht can the sound of stomping feet as the people run for the door (or where they think it is), along with the sounds of customers blindly running into walls, tables, chairs, and each other. Within half a minute, most of the sound seems to have died away as the commonfolk have fled in terror, a few going through windows by the sound of it. There's no sign of the orks.

Jecht returns to his seat.

Well, at least now we can have a quiet drink in peace.
He takes a long swig from his mug. Then glances toward his friend.

That wasn't neccessary though, Shal. We didn't need to involve all those people. Our quarrel was not with them. Never the less though, we'd better go. Im sure the local gaurd will be here soon.
He finishes his drink.
And I for one don't plan on going to jail today.
Jecht holds his hand out to his windling friend, gesturing a quick exit.
Shall we, friend?

At the sound of the frightened stampede, Shal'hari laughs derisively. Honestly, I'm tired of having to teach these fools this lesson. Never anger the Nethemancer. It doesn't end well. Idly, Shal'hari digs through her coin purse, pulling out enough to pay for her drink while the human prattles on.
She turns in time to see him hold out a proffered hand. She looks from it to him to it again. "You're joking, right?" She rises into the air, her wings beating quickly and hovers there for a moment before heading towards the back of the inn.

He chuckles as he follows her out the back.
Just a friendly suggestion.
After navigating his way through the back he speaks again.
So where do you suggest we go now?

Interlude
"Our streets are filled with Ruffians of every description. Some are worst than others, and grow to truly fearsome power. To those we give medals, in hopes that calling them heroes will make it so."

-King Varulus the Younger

Jecht/Shal'hari- Streets of Bartertown

Shal'hari exits the Black Unicorn, finding the alley outback deserted except for a number of horned rats going through the refuse. Towards street side, she can hear the noise of the crowd forming, mostly of former patrons of the wine house, along with random passerbys A good brawl is some of the best entertainment in Bartertown. Of course, magic changes everything.

Cien walks the streets of Bartertown, heading towards where he remembers the market district was located. It has been some time since Cien was last in the town, and he doesn't look forward to meeting with nobility. But the dragon sent him here, and he does what he must to build that bond between Icewing and himself knowing that there's nobody else that he can trust. Even the connection with the dragon doesn't bestow a trust with Cien; its hard to trust when all you know is betrayal and loss. Maybe the lack of trust is what keeps Cien separated from those he would normally consider friends, though those are few and far between. But its also kept him alive all these years. Peering into shop windows and at vendor stalls Cien looks for a tailor, one that could fit him to his specifications by midday tomorrow. Of course he knows it's rushed, but he's willing to pay the added price. He's needs the clothes anyways. Despite the heavy thoughts filling his mind he watches intently the crowd around him and the people that pass nearby. Always wary, as an Archer must be, and despite his thoughts and his guard, he notices a shop that might suit his needs. Cien enters the store hoping that all will be revealed at the meeting tomorrow, but also knowing that all parts of the story are never revealed, at least not without a little digging and prodding.

A sign in sperethiel catches Cien's eye, drawing him in to a small tailors shop at the end of a street. The shop doesn't appear to be very busy, the old addage "Location, location, location!" seeming to have fallen on deaf ears. Looking around the small shop, Cien sees a number of outfits, centering around tight fitting clothing that gives way to flowing cloth that suits the elven frame. The *Ding* of the bell above the doorway summons an elven man from the back. He appears to be of middlign years, with a short, well kept brown beard and long brown hair tied back neatly.

The elf gives Cien a small bow. A good day to you sir. I am Elsiph. How may I be of assistance?

Cien looks at Elsiph and returns the bow, smiling. It has been awhile since he has had a chance to talk to someone of his own kind. Cien begins to speak to Elsiph in Sperethiel.

Good day honored tailor. I hope you can be of assistance, because I am in need of clothing, in a rush. I have a meeting with the Master of Records tomorrow. I'd rather not appear dressed as I am. I need something, fitting to appear before nobility. But I also need it to be practical, befitting a Hunter and an Archer. Muted colors are favorable, greens at the least. But as I said before, something suitable for my meeting. If you could also do something about getting me a pair of sturdy but supple boots.

Cien abashedly smiles at the elf.

I do understand that it may be asking a lot. But I am willing to pay up front, and add a bonus if everything meets my requirements. I may be picky, but I'll gladly pay that price.

The elf nodded, smiling.

Yes, I believe that I can help you. Of course. Please, do come in and allow me to do some measurements. When did you say you needed this by? Oh my. Well, let us get to work then.

Elsiph quickly takes measurements, then begins laying out garments for Cien's inspection, suggesting a green tunic with long sleeves and silver embroidered ivy at the cuffs, along with doe skin pants with a thick black embossing running up the outside seems in a sharp angled pattern.

Cien looks over everything quite pleased. Smiling at the elf,"I think this will do perfectly. Thankyou."

Hmm... an angry mob. Should have seen that coming.

I think our evening of drinking is over, Jecht. I suggest we make our way back to the inn, quickly... Shal'hari straightens her robes as she hovers, tucking her Deathstaff back into its Astral Pocket. "Besides, I doubt we were going to find work there anyway. At least none befitting someone of our caliber and expertise."

She never learns. But, I suppose thats what makes her, Shal'Hari. Her and her.... I can't beleive Im calling it this...Death Staff

Alright Shal. Lets make haste. We'll move on tommorow to a different location for work. Shouldn't be too difficult.

Cien
The elf finishes Cien's order, directing him to a cobbler associate that can provide him with some high quality boots. Finishing off the outfit, he provides a fine elfweave cloak of a green so deep it is almost black, taken from a locked trunk he has stored away.

Jecht/Shal'hari
The pair move off through the alleys, moving with perhaps just a bit of haste, looking for a new place to stay and perhaps a crowd more appreciative of moody little people with wings .

As the turn a corner, someone shouts from the end of the alley they just left.
You there! STOP!

Damn, And I thought we'd gotten away too.

Easy on the magic until we know who it is.

Jecht slowly turns around. Gripping his blade.

Shal'hari turns slowly from her perch on Nettle's back. She looks the caller up and down, trying to determine their intent.

Thank you master tailor. You've been extremely helpful and very generous.

Cien picks up the items and places a 40 silver bonus for the tailors help and steps out of the shop. Following directions to the cobblers Elsiph gave him. Just to make this quick and done with so I can get back to my inn and get to tomorrow.

A short figure huffs and puffs his way down the alley, carrying something long and slim in his hand.

Once the dwarf comes into some window light, the pair see that he seems to be some sort of messenger decked in livery. The dwarf haunches over for a moment, catching his breath, before unceremoniously holding the scroll case out to them.
You'd *huff* ... better run *huffhuff*

Moments later, a small group of armed people, led by a familiar ork, come down into the alley looking around, then spot the trio.

GET 'EM!!!!

Shal'hari nods to the dwarf, noting the crest on his livery before hearing the all-too-familiar mob refrain. Looking up, she smiles.

"You sure you want to do this again?" Her hand tightens around her DEATHSTAFF, the tip glowing with a nimbus of eerie black light. .

Jecht looks towards Shal'Hari, and shouts.

Don't be foolish! No magic! We run or they will kill us! You want to be a Legend? Lets see you live for it!

He looks towards the dwarf.

You, come with us, now.

Jecht turns on his heel, and runs.

The dwarf hesitates only for the moment it takes to draw in another breath.

Shal'hari's eyes flash with anger, this time its directed at Jecht. You are so lucky we don't have time for this now. Don't worry. I'll remember.

Towards the onrushing mob, she throws up her hands and screams out in a strange language, chanting. Using Arcane Mutterings. From her outflung hand flies a small vial of oil aimed at one of the torches.
Dexterity Test for Thrown Object

There's a flash of flame as Shal'Hari screams out her chant. One man falls back burning, roiling in fire, while the rest screech to a halt, the ork spreading his arms out to hold back the rest of the crowd for a moment.

That... uh, worked slightly better then I thought it would.

Shal'hari yanks on Nettle's reins, pulling him hard around. "RUN!"

Giving Jecht and the messenger a good head start lead, Shal'hari flies up above the roof tops, easily caching them as they run through the alleys. Within few more minutes, they've lost the smal mob through the twist and turns of Bartertown's alleys. Unfortunately, they too are lost.

The dwarf clearly not used to this sort of thing, is leaning against a wall catching his breath.

Alright, lets find an Inn. We need to lay low till tommorow.

He looks at the dwarf.
You may want to stay with us, till then. I assure you, this isnt a regular occurence.
Hey eyes Shal'Hari for a moment longer than a second.
Do you think you could fly over head and tell us where we are?

The dwarf shakes his head vehemently.
With all due respect Warrior Jecht, I would much prefer a response to my Master's missive, so that I may rid myself of this squalid place.

Shal'hari returns Jecht's look. "Keep eyeballing me, Jecht, I'll give you something to look at." She turns to look at the dwarf. "You're probably going to want to return to your House. Where do you come from? I can fly up and get a better look at where we are, point you in the right direction."

He glances at Shal then back to the dwarf.

Curious.
He crosses his arms.
Okay, talk.

Shal'hari sighs."He doesn't want to TALK, Jecht. That's what the little piece of paper you have crumpled in your hand is for. Read it.

I ... My 'house' is not here. I reside in Throal proper . I am merely here to relay my Master's missive, and await your reply.