ThreeDawg
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Voice of the Wastes
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Post by ThreeDawg on Aug 6, 2015 17:26:25 GMT -5
When you grow up in Muertia, you get used to three things. Cold, Clouds and Soggy Boots. A storm had swept across the mountain forests of Eagle's Claw the night before, the skies still hung heavy with dark clouds and they would spill their load sparsely throughout the day... An average day in Muertia, really. Anoura, her firey hair held back in a ponytail, had just crossed the boundary into the little hamlet of Fel's Folly, a curiously named town famed in the area for its hospitable inn and its sauna. Apparantly the construct, a coal filled bowl in a room, was an idea taken from some Northern culture far beyond the borders of Fonté. It was said the original proprietor had been an adventurer in his time, before he returned back to settle down with a family. Now it was almost a tradition for people to visit the sauna after a bad storm, to ward off evil spirits or some such. Anoura had never visited, of course. The only thing she needed to ward off evil spirits was the Light of the Ten Holies.
She'd not come today for the sauna, no she'd come to trade. Her Da had given her a handful of Crowns to buy some fruits, and a new basket. Anything she could get, really, for they'd ran out of it and Da's apple tree hadn't yet fully grown. The basket... Well that was because Anoura had accidently left the last one with the pigs. She smiled at the quaint little memory, for one of the two giant hoggers had managed to get the thing stuck around its neck. It'd either ate out the bottom or crushed it against something. She'd never seen anything quite like it, and doubted she ever would again. Da hadn't been too pleased with it, but her Mother just clapped him over the ear for getting mad and they'd all ended up laughing it out over some soup. It was Anoura's spoken opinion that they were due a new basket anyway!
The town smelled of lavender and willowhurt this time of year, and the occasional buzz of bees that braved the weather graced the place with some natural sound. Birds had long fled the area, gone in the face of the storm to someplace more gentle for flight. On the way here, it had been eerily quiet for their absense. But now she was inside the village, she felt much safer. Children ran about, men and women chattered at the road side. One man was repairing the thatched roof on one of the houses. Seems the storm had shown him there was a leak. The treck here had done a number on her clothes, her boots were mudied from the trail and her legs felt damp from the fields she'd had to forge a path through. In particular, her feet seemed to have collected their own puddle. "Darn boots.." She thought aloud, lifting a foot up behind her to check if the soles had fallen out completely.
"Can't help you with boots, little lady, I deal with flesh of the fruit not hides." Spoke out a rather gruff, yet friendly voice. Anoura looked up in some surprise, she must've dosed off again. Somehow she'd managed to walk right up to the fruit merchant without so much as a thought to where she was. She gave him a smile at his joke, it put a bit of colour back into her cold cheeks at least. "So, I take it you're here to buy some of the fruits of my labour?"
Anoura let out a slight laugh at his joke. It wasn't often she got to come out here, she'd forgotten what these kind people were really like. "Well, lets see..." she said, giving the fruit at his stall a cursory glance. It was all a bit damp from a recent shower, but it looked perfectly edible, even quite tasty. "I'll need to go buy a basket first..."
"Nonesense!" the gruff man abruptly blurted out, and from behind his stall drew a wicker basket. "You can have this one for a crown, trader leaves 'em every time when he brings around fresh apples. Wife apparantly makes them." He handed the thing over, and threw a bright red apple in after it. "Call that one a gift, keep your hair nice and red." he said, with a wide smile.
Anoura took the basket with a respectful nod, and a short thank you. It was a nice little gift. She reached into the trays of fruit, and pulled out a scratch over a dozen more apples, most of which were green or nearish. A handful of peaches, two muskmelons and three boxes of mixed berries later and her basket was decently heavy. "How much for all this then? She said, holding the basket up with her hip as she fiddled about for her coin pouch. She emptied the contents out onto the hand of the fruit vendor. It was a meagre offering, she knew it... She just hoped it was enough to pass. The fruit vendor seemed to err for a short time, but he put two of the crowns back in her little brown pouch. He was probably barely making money on that deal... She gave him another smile.
"Enjoy your fruits, little red hair." The fruit vendor said, and gave her another wide smile beneath his large moustache. She gave him a short bow, and another thank you. She turned back from the vendor, and walked off. There was no point in going back home just yet... Might as well... Experience the town a little. She found herself following a sound she hadn't really heard before... A gentle piece of music. She fished the red apple out of her basket, and sunk her teeth in as she followed her ears.
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Post by Court Baron Butters on Aug 6, 2015 23:33:21 GMT -5
A solemn quiet day in Muertia could be considered a rare site in the land of the undead, and you would think that Slythem's parents would have received that memo before taking him here. Though all things considered the major cities of the land weren't that dangerous, and that's exactly where his parents had taken up roost; However, since there emigration from Anica they were unable to afford the lifestyle they held so dear back in there home, and had turned to the same class which plagued the streets of their old turf. Now living the lifestyle of the ruffians back in the old kingdom, Slythem was forced to adapt, and make a living for himself, and it didn't help that he decided a home in the far off land of Fonté should be his destination. A trip that would cost for more Té's than the young boy had.
Most people would have payed there way to Fonté through craftworking, doing odd jobs, or possibly even performing an 'extermination' but Sly was a different type of kid, no he earned his paperbacks through a special skill. He is earning it through a very delicate hand, formed in such a way that he makes very delicate music for the humble people walking down the street, and on this very same day he was performing one of his most favorite ballads for the people of Fel's Folly, he was on his way out of Muertia, excited to pick up his bags, and head for the world famous Bards Guild in The Seat of Fonté.
A small crowd nestled around the boy awaiting the finale of his performance, already he had played several tunes for the townsfolk, and his large oblong hat lie on the floor with a beggars fortune of coins, and a few bills tucked haphazardly about the hat. His lute was slung lazily over his back, and his harp was sitting on his thigh as he himself sat on a small boulder. He rose his hand to calm the crowd, and then placed it on his harp, as he began to speak.
"Well thank you kindly for your generosity folks,
I'm almost done, but before I go, this is a quite famous song,
my mother used to sing to me.
This was a song first sung on the streets of the capital of Wickfall after the People were first united with Fonté. You may remember it!"
The small boys smile grew as a he began with a few scattered notes on his harp, they at first seemed unintelligible, though they slowly fell into a gentle melody which grew faster, and faster.
"She sat in a field with a quiet repose,
A lady I thought would never give up her prose.
She sang a tired old song, I had heard before Sang it so much I thought it a bore,
But today I know it wasn't just a story;
It's an unending stride of infinite glory.
She calls herself the luckiest maiden,
But today it is me, who is rendered unladen.
Her name is a score that cannot be forgotten.
Not one single word but something that cannot be trodden.
Some call her liberty, and some call her the ultimate amalgamation,
But I call her my breath of life, which brings my salvation.
Come all along we chant her now
Cause victories sweet, band so is her vow.
Bring us forth the wealth of nations,
Bring us all our well deserved elation.
Bring us all our new found Haven,
Now we are all rid of our Craven!"
The crowd slowly started to sing along with the young boy chanting the last four lines which had become famous among people living under the Councils banner, but even more so; a rallying call to those living under the crown of Fonté. For just a little while, those within the range of his harp forgot all of their worries for a little while, and some more cash began filling the young boys cap.
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Post by KapitanAntarctican on Aug 8, 2015 16:07:54 GMT -5
Slop! Mud and muck ran rampant across the small, ex-dirt, muddy road. Nature itself was drowned out as well, all sounds of the small insects that usually buzzed throughout the woods now were replaced by the heavy sounds of mud sinking beneath any traveler to dare the muddy path that winded throughout the small mountainous landscape. Kyral had been slogging along this seemingly endless path for several days now, the bottoms of his coat slick with grime and his boots caked with muck up to his knees. He had left from the small border town of Arvorstone a couple of weeks ago, slugging through the now marshy landscape from the border of Ghisté. His small satchel on his hip weighed heavily upon his shoulders and he continuously sighed as bypassing caravans refused to allow him onboard, even though the town known as Fel's Folly was only another half a league or so away, it would only take another half an hour to reach it in time, shaking his boots of muck as he stopped to readjust his satchel Kyral sighed out and pushed back his hair, pulling his hood over his head as a light sprinkle trickled across the ground. It just couldn't get any better than this...reminds me of that Agipos harbour I was at a while back... Shaking free of his thoughts, Kyral continued his tedious trip towards the town, wondering to himself why he decided to go south first rather than north.
After what seemed to be an eternity, a small breeze brought a rather pleasant scent to Kyral's senses, the smell of a market, of civilization, something Kyral had been deprived of for a few weeks time. Picking up his pace with a small, almost unnoticeable smile, Kyral stomped through the now hardening mud, which crusted onto his cloak, boots and trousers, making him a sorry sight for the townsfolk who gazed upon the adventurer as he entered the town's limits. Mud turning into somewhat flattened and smooth mud and pebble, small buildings spread across sporadically with markets and the sense of heat from the small waters from steamy chimneys that extended from small sections of some buildings. Sighing in quick relief, Kyral let his hood cover over his forehead, shadowing his nose from the high, bright sun, spreading out his arms quite oddly to let his clothing bathe in the warm light. Taking this moment, the grey-haired man smiled and put down his covered arms as townsfolk scattered about in a buzz of life. An actual town...not some little rinky-dink hellhole. Laughing at his own thoughts, he looked across the quaint little town and sat down upon the small corner of a road and a market. It was time to relax for him, after an entire week of almost no rest and food all Kyral wanted, was to sit down, read and sleep. Even if it meant in the middle of the day, on the corner of a busy market.
Kyral wouldn't actually sleep though, even though his body told him otherwise, he simply opened his satchel which lay strewn upon his lap, to reveal a clutter of books and tomes which he carried around besides him, his small longsword rested up against the wall as he pulled down his hood and chose a small, parchment covered booklet. With no title, Kyral opened it up and began to search his satchel again, gripping a small, charcoal chunk with a sharpened point. Quickly flipping the next few pages, the wanderer began to jot down a few scribbles about the town, the scribbles were crammed between several other notes of the previous towns Kyral had visited, with information about what the townsfolk were like, how busy the town was and what was being sold. Charcoal smudges were left across the pages as he attempted to erase some with his cloak's sleeve, giving the page an even dirtier, older look to it than it should have, smiling at his work, he laid it upon his satchel and pulled out yet another book, sliding the small booklet into it and closing it shut, small pieces of parchment would stick out randomly with odd drawings of animals, beast-men and other assorted living and non-living things. Kyral was an oddity in this town, though he didn't care, he simply packed his small bag up and laid back in relaxation from his long journey to the small town of Fel's Folly.
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ThreeDawg
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Post by ThreeDawg on Aug 9, 2015 6:11:39 GMT -5
Anoura had followed the sounds of the harp to a short fellow squatting in the centre of a marketplace. He was an odd little thing, seemed quite young too - maybe a scant few years younger than Anoura herself. His clothes were too lavish in colour and design to be from around these parts, and it was a wonder he hadn't torn a hole in them already.
He began to gently strum out a string of notes that picked up into a melody...Oh that song... She's heard her da sing that song many a times out in the field. Never with the passion of this Bard or of those few in their little crowd that held the words deep in their heart. She found herself mumbling some of the words too as she picked up the fervour, although the only lines she truly knew were the last. They spoke of what had to be done in this world to make it all better. Rid us of our Craven. Bring us to Haven. Da had told her, so long ago, that those words meant for us to rid this world of evil people, of monstrous beings unnatural and unloving. In return, we would be granted eternal peace and happiness. Anoura had never seen an evil being, although she'd heard Gnolls had recently ravaged a few farms not far from here before being forced back. Pesky Gnolls stole food, livestock and what metal goods they could find...
Mother had actually taken Anoura to one such farm, with a basket of their vegetables and a few bottles of milk. Small gesture, but enough to help out the family. The mess was horrible, like a thousand little pigs had ran across the field, their barn was burnt to the ground and fences were smashed everywhere these little dog-like footprints went. At least they hadn't harmed anybody, and they'd left their Home untouched - bar a few smashed windows. All this trouble in the farms, and Da wondered why Anoura sometimes wanted to go live in a town. At least they were safer, as she took a moment to look around the marketplace she could never have thought it could be attacked by Gnolls or Bandits or.. Worse. Too many people here. She found her eyes brought to another strange traveller, standing out like a sore thumb with his odd clothes and what looked like a book. She turned her attention back to the Bard, who had finally dropped his notes.
She dropped her half eaten apple back into the basket. As was only right, she fished around into her pouch for a couple of coins - and remembered they were all she had left. She pulled the two out, gave them a despondent look for not magically reproducing in her pocket, and chucked them into the Bard's upturned hat. At least she thought it was a hat. It looked about as odd as he did. "Here you are," she added, "that was a far nicer version than me da's field ringing." She gave the little bard a smile, and found her feet wandering off again.
Off towards the other strange traveler. She wasn't a shy girl, Anoura, in fact she had a strange confidence about her. Mother had said it was her hair, and it'd be her downfall one of these days. Anoura liked to think it was because she had faith, faith in her self and faith in others. So she walked over to this stranger, who seemed to be scribbling away in a book, and stood there. Hands before her, holding her basket tightly, she looked down at him. He had little drawings poking out from it, strange things she'd never seen before, and some she could only guess from tales of far off lands. Her lack of fear rang out in her words, which came out of smiling lips. "Trade you an apple for some of those words in your book. I like books." She dived under her melon for a green apple - her least favourite kind - and held it out to the man.
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Post by Court Baron Butters on Aug 10, 2015 15:28:11 GMT -5
The young boy shortly finished his song, after repeating those last verses dozens of times. It seemed like the town folk here were more familiar with the song than he expected, and that made him smile. Several townspeople walked up to his hat, and dropped assorted currency into it, which made him smile even more, but what really got his cheekbones working was a young girl, probably not much older than he, dropped two coins into his hat. She spoke to him, but he barely noticed as he focused on the girls grin which could have melted iron as it was so striking to the young boy. She wandered off, and he was sucked back into reality, he grinned, and nodded to all of the passersby dropping more change into his hat, the majority of them dispersed, but there were two people in the crowd who stuck around for a moment, the two individuals stuck out sharply from the rest of the crowd, and Sly was surprised he didn't notice them earlier. It was a man, and a woman both dressed in the clothes of nobility. There appearance made Sly wonder why they were in such an outlandish environment such as this, but it also reminded him of his own family, and how they used to be the odd ones out wherever they went in Anica. They stood their smiling at the young sly, though their glances were interrupted by a woman in servant attire ran up to them, and spoke 'Malady, Milord.' She gave a small curtsy, and kneeled next to the nobleman, and woman. The man whispered something into the servants ear, and then handed her a small coin purse. She clutched it and then ran over to the small boy. Once again she curtsied, this time in front of Sly, and spoke again 'Courtesy of Aronto's, they wanted to say thank you for the show.' The boy gave a large stupid grin, as the woman dropped the purse into his hat. As Sly carefully assorted all of his new found wealth, he thought on his plans for the following day, and how he would likely be able to get just beyond Ghisté with it, maybe even further if he chose to walk all the way there. Though going through the money he remembered the two coins he was given by the girl. He grabbed two of the coins in his hat, and smiled at them. Though looking at them he remembered the face, that the young girl made when she handed it over. It depressed him a little to think about what her face might have meant, clutching the coins tightly in his hand, he perked his head up to look around for the girl, but only saw adults, and children far to young to be her. The kid Sighed, and strapped his harp carefully to his lute, which he then secured to his back. His posture slouched more than it would usually, and he began shuffling the coins he was given back and forth in his hands. As he was walking away from where he was sitting his eye was caught by odd color of hair on a younger adult which was white like the fields of the svarjlands, and just beside that head, was an equally outlandish head of hair - the very same color of red, as the girl who passed him by earlier. Sly got excited, and started running over to the couple, he ran in with the to coins in hand, waving the pieces back in forth to get the girls attention. "Hi!" The young boy said, with a perky grin on his face. "Sorry to bother you, but when you dropped these two coins into my hat,
You didn't look very happy. Is this all the money you have? Cause I
Just couldn't take it then." Sly held out the money, signalling for the girl to take it from his hand. |
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Post by KapitanAntarctican on Aug 11, 2015 20:32:31 GMT -5
Kyral had no plans to speak to the local populace, this small hamlet was like many before on his travels throughout the world. Stopping, jotting down a few odd notes then leaving within the morning next day. Though, his plans usually never make it very far without a bump or two, her appearance was mostly ignored, Kyral heard her walk up to his position but he paid no mind, keeping his nose deep in his book until he heard the proposition for food. The words soon rang throughout his ears with a reaction emanating from his stomach in a soft growl.
Sighing, Kyral switched his view from the book he read to the young woman standing in front of him, though young was almost an understatement as her facial features held the soft tone one would find upon those who had just turned of age into adulthood. Giving off a small simper, Kyral's stomach finally overpowered his mind as he glanced upon the green, shining apple,forcing him to answer the young woman's proposed trade. "Your food for my words? A strange, but generous offer if any, but one I am glad to accept!" Eagerly, he sifted through his small satchel to reveal a large, purpleish-brown coloured book with the title: Tales of Swords and Sorcery, Volume 2. Pulling it open in a slight rush, the white-haired man gave a small motion towards the patch of dirt next to him as he flipped through the yellow-brown pages of the tome. This certainly isn't the most...interesting of tales, but I'm sure a small townsfolk like her won't mind.
Trying to sound a bit more chipper than his mixture of desperation and bleakness earlier, Kyral leaned his back against the building behind him preparing himself for the small tale he was about to read out to the woman in trade for a delicious morsel. "Aye, so I shall regale you of a young farmer turned hero in a small land known as-" His words though, were soon drowned out by a young male's voice spouting out in greeting. This irritated Kyral, looking up from his book to the streets, he saw quite the sight from the man's clothing. An oddity in this small hamlet this boy was in his bright and fancy clothes, almost younger looking than the woman which made the white-haired man chuckle as the boy spoke to the girl. "I always thought I was some sort of mystical townsfolk repellent, 'pose I was wrong."
Chuckling off to himself as the boy's plan to give the coins back to the woman was soon revealed, Kyral read a bit further into the story, readying to speak out once he was given the opportunity to do so, in order to earn his meal which his stomach so ravenously desired. Living off of Bark and small flowers had barely sedated the monster growling within his abdomen, now it was simply a nuisance which together with the young boy's interruption, didn't play well with the white-haired man's mood.
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ThreeDawg
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Voice of the Wastes
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Post by ThreeDawg on Aug 18, 2015 6:43:22 GMT -5
((Darn, sorry I took so long guys.))
Anoura gave the odd fellow a wide smile when he accepted her offer of food. "Well, it's a strange day to find somebody reading a book in the middle of town. Perhaps today is a day of strange things." she said in response. The man motioned for the patch of dirt next to him, well why not? She nodded, and folded her legs down beneath her. She sat on her knees, her basket of goods lay before her. She pulled out her own half-eaten Apple. It had browned already, bruised by the very air. As she brought it to her lips, she thought it didn't taste any less as sweet as before.
Swords and Sorcery? That sounded fascinating, more so than her well read holy book. There was always a fundamental difference between words written to entertain, and words written to inspire faith. She's not had the option to read many of the former, and her parents only had so many stories (and the patience) to share. The story started quite... Well, it was familiar. A young farmer, in a small land. It was something she could immediately attach to, and the thought of her - or him, she didn't even know it's gender yet - and what type of hero they might become immediately enthralled her into the story.
It was a surprise then when he stopped, she followed his gaze all the way to the odd looking musician. "Oh, hello again." She replied to him with a smile. Her smile dropped a notch when he held out the coins. Anoura quickly shook her head, "No, no those are for you. They're not my coins, they're my mothers. They were for fruit, but the fruit-man gave me them back. Your music brought this little place some joy and you deserve them for that. I... Have no use for them, I already have my food." She waved the coins away and indicated her basket of assorted fruits. "You need yours."
She had a thought, and her face lit up with pride and joy at it. "If you don't need those coins, why don't you give them to this storyteller, and you can sit here with me and listen to a tale. You might earn some inspiration for a new song or piece of music." She gave him a smile, and offered a hand to the spot next to her.
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Post by Court Baron Butters on Aug 19, 2015 22:12:31 GMT -5
((Not a whole lot for me to do here so this is basically a skip))
Sly was more than happy to keep the coins but he knew he had far more money than he needed, and was delighted to give up the two coins for a story, however he was almost certain that - whatever book the white haired man held in his hands - he had read it.
Sly put his instruments aside as he grabbed the nice ladies hand, and sat next to her. He eyed the two coins, and shrugged them off as they meant little to them not being regularly accepted as legal tender at his eventual destination. He set them both down one by one on the ground in front of the storyteller, and eagerly anticipated his musings.
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Post by KapitanAntarctican on Aug 31, 2015 20:32:42 GMT -5
(1. Sorry for thy wait.)
The dynamic duo's idle chatter soon ended with the placement of two coins in front of Kyral. Chuckling out a bit loudly, the white-haired man pulled his book closer to him and cleared his throat out a bit before speaking out to the two younger 'companions' he had obtained by simply sitting there.
"Back unto the story...hrm, where was I- yes!"
"The young farmer, had been residing in a small hamlet upon the land known as Ivarstown. Ivarstown was situated in a small valley, forgotten by the Council of Man and generally lost from the text of historical nature and even forgotten by the royale tax collectors! All was peaceful, many simply enjoyed life the way it was while a few even celebrated for their simple nature, no stressing over wars, politics or anything, just living off the land in a bubble all their own. Yet, this farmer, the one who stood against the grain of the norm, was soon to see this almost century lasting bliss, destroyed." Coughing out, Kyral sighed and rubbed his stomach as it growled a bit further before he continued his story, his cloak now slightly wrapping around his knees under his book.
"During this young farmer's normal duties, plowing the fields, caring for the family and other things of the like, a large horn had been sounded. Howling an eerie buzz across the valley, into even the farthest of cities in the land around. No one knew what, or who had blown thy horn, but many shivered in an odd fear as a chill crawled from their spines into their very souls. A large rumbling then proceeded to shake the land, the hillsides around the town became covered in hordes of horses and men alike, charging down into the valley in a spree of plunder that had spread from the western shores to the seat of Fonte itself. The town had not been prepared, the farmer had quickly scrambled inside the barn, owned in the family for many a century, to hide the family and the livestock in as the oncoming attack approached. There was no real garrison, no city watch, it was all peace until now and all combatants had long forgotten how to simply swing a sword efficiently, many were being slaughtered, cries screeching into the skies and heavens above in agony as heaven was destroyed in front of their very eyes. The farmer though, had gripped a sickle and pitchfork, before rushing out towards the town in an attempt to save whomever the farmer could.
The town was ablaze by the time valiant farmer arrived, but there were still many scattering about as the bandits slashed throughout the town as if guided by some unknown force of destruction. The farmer knew that little could be done, yet that didn't stop the farmer. Pushing into the blaze, scorching and burning all the while, the farmer rushed to save as many a villager as possible. Only a young one the farmer was, about the age of sixteen just like you two are now...I think...no one of this age should face their victim, but bravely, the farmer killed the first of the bandits, clumsily, the peasant had no skills to fight, yet the bandit had fallen, saving the child whom was about to be skewered with a mighty spear. Motioning for the child to hide, the farmer continued it's efforts. There was no magic nor divine intervention, but the will of a single farmer to protect the land which had been unscathed for ages of peace.
Soon the bandits had noticed the farmer, scoffing and chuckling at the poor sod's efforts, they attacked. This was though, to no avail. The farmer survived the first wave by almost sheer luck, killing over five men with his own sickle while the villagers roared in unison to their new-found champion. Over and over again the bandits would attack, but the power to protect ones loved land prevailed over the common feeling of lust and greed. The smallfolk of the town began to cheer and chant the farmer on, his own body wounded and scarred now from the waves upon waves of banditry attacking the valiant farmer.
After some time, only a few were left, a large scattered pile lay strewn from village end to end, retreating from the farmer, they screamed in horror as one measly plebeian fought back a horde by only sheer willpower alone, no magic like the many other heroes who are regaled in these tales. The farmer fell to it's knees in a sweet bliss of death, the death of one saving the lives of many as to this day, the farmer lives on as a martyr to all smallfolk, that even they may become a hero, even they can achieve that of the grandest of nobles.
This was the story, of a single farmer, whose name remains unknown to this very day. Though throughout history, we all shall remember the peasantry's hero by the name:
The Saviour of Rockycrest"
(If anyone else wants to pull a story out their ass be my guest, this was the best I could do xD)
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ThreeDawg
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Post by ThreeDawg on Sept 6, 2015 14:39:01 GMT -5
(A warm welcome to the first story built into LoC canon! Nice one Kap.)
Anoura sat back to listen to the story, wrapping her arms around her knees. Her favourite listening position. Throughout she took idle bites from her apple, when she wasn't completely enraptured by the tail of marauding invaders, a man's love for his land and the perseverance to - in her eyes - push back the darkness. It was a tale that wouldn't look amiss in her Holy Book, if the twist was more towards the seemingly Divine intervention or blessing of the act. It was an odd tale, in that the storyteller mentioned the invaders were men. Most of the tales around these parts would've replaced them for Trolls or Gnolls, or even the distant and brutish Orcs she had heard in fevered whisperings recently. The way people talked about them... They seemed worse than Trolls, that was for sure.
"The Saviour of Rockycrest..." she repeated, still a little awestruck by the tale. "I've never heard that one! It's good! To think, a man managed to best a horde of invaders on his own. Really now, that's impressive. He must have been truly blessed by the Ten Holies, to fight with such vigour." She turned for a moment to that Bard, with his so-strange hat, "Perhaps you could turn that tale into a song? You might earn some more coins for your travels!"
Anoura's hand dove into the basket next to her, and pulled out the green apple she had brandished before. "I think you've definitely earned this apple for your story, if only I had more to give you for it... Or for more stories! Unfortunately, my Da would be furious if I went back with nothing but a melon!" she gave the storyteller another smile, and pointed towards the two coins the Bard had left by his feet. "Don't forget those either, might fetch you some more!"
With that, the red-haired girl was about done. She rose from the two, and nodded her head politely. "It was great meeting you both, and listening to your tale and song. Unfortunately, I should be off. It's a long walk back to my farmstead and... I've already dallied too long!" She bent, her hands stretching out to grab her basket. She let out a grunt as she lifted, the heavy breath came out cloudy... Frosted. Goose bumps prickled her skin, and the girl looked up and around, startled. The market seemed to grow silent as those milling about stopped their conversations, their deals, even moving. Muttered mumblings spread about the square like a fire in dry grass.
The air seemed to grow thick and cloudy, seeming to roll in like water from the roads leading into the little square. Anoura gripped the basket tightly, the tensity of the moment instinctively causing her white-knuckled grip. "What's... Happenin-"
There was a scream. The opposite end of town.
It wasn't Human.
(Apologies for the short content, wasn't really much to be done without moving the story along somewhat. After a full month, why not right?)
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Post by Court Baron Butters on Sept 13, 2015 19:05:55 GMT -5
As the man with the polished hair began his tale Sly reached for his lute, pulling it into his lap, he held the thing often not even playing, just for comfort, it was an item he had owned for some time now. It was a valuable memento to him, and without it his very lifestyle could be at risk if he lost it. Sly was amazed at the sheer impossibility of an untrained farm 'yokel' being able to bring down score after score of merciless marauders, he too was a consumer of the tails, and legends of the lands, and was quite used to the nearly completely uneven odds that many adventurers faced, but none topped this one on the savior of Rockycrest. His attention was jerked away form the story for just a moment as the girl with the read hair began chomping down on her apple, Sly's stomach began speaking, and he covered it to hide its interruption. He had truly earned his share today, and he would hopefully eat well on his coming trip. He looked to the girl as she started to speak 'Perhaps you could turn that tale into a song? You might earn some more coins for your travels!' That wasn't a terrible idea Sly began thinking to himself, he tilted his head away from the girl,he started strumming gently on his lute picking out a tune,but briskly stopped as the girl arose, and started saying her goodbyes. He waved to the girl as she began trailing off, and turned to the young man. "Thank you dearly for the story friend, it was inspiring." He nodded his head to the white haired man, and began walking off on his own. Sly was planning in his head just how he'd take a meager wagon into eastern Fonté, and hopefully be able to rest before heading further north, but his thoughts were torn away from him as the air began choking him, a thick cloud of nauseous air made the young boy feel light headed, perhaps it was best for him to lie down before he continued on his journey to the Bards Guild. As Sly tried to get his head back together he was once again brought into reality by a wild shriek in the air, it sounded almost primal, a truly frightening roar from the unknown, it shook Sly to the bones, and he knew he needed to do something about it. He was no master but he could certainly defend himself if need be, he held the loop that supported his curved short blade tightly, just waiting for the impending danger. he made his way through the desolate streets in search for the mystery howl. |
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Post by KapitanAntarctican on Sept 30, 2015 12:26:17 GMT -5
(Sorry for the Delay! I got it in by the end of the month at least.)
The cold crisp air wafted in slowly at first, Kyral had no mind of it at the time as he ravenously bit into his apple, having food after days of tree bark was the only thing upon his mind. His breath soon became noticeable though, an odd change of weather since it was midday and soon the white-haired man began to feel the slow crawl of gooseflesh across his arms. He never really got used to this feeling, no matter where he went, he was always slightly disturbed whenever he felt the odd sensation.
Still seeing the young girl, only a few meters away stop frozen is what perked the young man's interest. Ears pricking as utter silence began to envelope around them, usually Kyral wouldn't mind the silence, he loved it as it allowed him to read in peace, but this was different. A town never is quiet, it almost always has some poor sod stumbling around, or the lonely weaver making some small background noise upon the monotonous chirps of the insects who lived among the crags of the street. Closing his satchel tight with the small leather straps adorning its frontal pouch, he stood examining the town streets, then he sighed yet again as it seemed to be as if a raiding warband ran off the inhabitants, all but the young woman in front of him. Quietly, he reached for his lengthy slab of somewhat rusted iron that rested behind him. His instincts almost yelled into his mind to book it to the next town, to no avail did his instincts convince Kyral though, sliding the sheath over his shoulder, he gave a slow pace to gather his things and join the young girl.
The scream stopped him, a shriek that pierced into Kyral's heart as terror flowed through his veins. Muttering to himself he slightly gripped the hilt of blade and sighed out as fear gripped his throat, stopping him from swallowing. He paced forward, the scream rapidly echoed out into the streets and Kyral braced himself for the worse to come, as he had so many times before upon his travels.
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