- Posts: 549
- Joined: Wed Feb 03, 2016 12:21 pm
- Location: United Kingdom
The cold drizzle had soaked the man's clothing to the skin, the wet fabric clinging to his body as he settled himself inside the tavern, the two strangers across from him curious to his eyes, one was clearly a proud Amnian nobleman, the other, one of those female devil folk, gorgeous but deadly.
"So... what should we name the group then?"
The three sat with drinks in hands long into the night that evening, ideas and plans circling in the poorly lit room, the three faces flushed with excitement and possibilities. Not anyone could have foreseen nor known what the trio would create in the many moons to come.
"Devil worshippers! - Necromancer scum! Cultists!"
The gathered group by the watchtower shouted and cursed at the caravans crew as it cantered past, the emblem of the Golden Wheel was upon the new wagons and carts shining in the rare sunlight, the wood freshly waxed, and the horses, proud stallions, perfect for long trips - though their eyes had become fearful at all the sudden noise and spectacle, nostrils flaring as they whinnied.
"Go back to Amn, you Bastards! - "You are not welcome here!" "What are you hiding in your caravan?! Is it children for the devils!?"
The large crowd on the side of the road kept howling abuse at the merchant train. it was a rather mixed group of people, all from knights in shining armour to hooded men and women in black attire, even some local adventurers were there, some joining in, some more confused and curious to what was going on. Some of the merchant folk would in turn also be shouting back insults, a woman, in particular, would be the loudest of them all, she wore shining armour cursing and calling back to the gathered group on the side of the road
"Filthy fisherfolk! Bastard Northerners! Go back to your damned fish wives, you knaves!"
The noise had reached its crescendo, the tension was filling the air with every rancid insult, some of the men and women carefully placed a hand to their side, ensuring weapons were at hand both for comfort and for what was perhaps about to break out. The noise had become so much so that even the Flaming Fist had become involved, the name calling and insults flying over the Fist officers head as he tried to make sense of all the commotion.
The day after the man who had met the other two many moons ago sat in his usual spot in the inn at Nashkel, nursing a mug of ale in the silence of a rented office there. A pensive look on his face as he was considering all that had transpired since he had met those two, all from the siege of Tymount which they had barely escaped to the betrayals within the merchant group that they had built. The man took another sip of his ale, the taste sour upon lip and tongue, shaking his head as he considered the days in front of him, he was so lost in thought that he didn't hear the soft creak of a door opening, nor the shadow drawing across him as the person stepped into view.
"Kiran, can we possibly... talk?"
The man would look up at the person speaking, eyes slightly widened in surprise as it was clearly the last person he expected to see visiting him in his private time. A slight nod from the man would indicate for the person to go on, the mug of ale still in hand.
"Do you know anyone who would... perhaps be willing to.... kill someone for me?"
- Posts: 549
- Joined: Wed Feb 03, 2016 12:21 pm
- Location: United Kingdom
The blood was in his clothes, soaking him through to the cold damp skin beneath. The rancid iron scent was sending waves of panic and nausea through his system, his heart racing as sweat broke out on his forehead. what had meant to be a simple meeting between two factions had become murder, cold, brutal and instant. There could be no witnesses. The rain kept pelting down on the man's face, his moustache soaked and dripping on the corpse below him, his own gaze met by a lifeless one.
It had been a ten-day or so since the incident, yet the memory still lingered perversely in the man's mind, the half bottle of putrid rum he had been given as a gift doing little to dispel those memories, alone as he was, in his rented office in Nashkel. even another heavy chug of the rum did little more than make him recall it more clearly, though it also brought up recent memories from earlier in the day, buzzing of the large insects, the humid air and the odd snarl like language of the lizardmen. He could still feel the fetid swamp, his boots near the fire in his rented office, drying from the mud and cold of the swamp.
The leader, Derik Ranloss, Director of the Bladestone Foundation, had with some difficulty due to the stubbornness of adventurers, loosely organised the small army into two groups, taking the right flank himself with the large force as the gap was much wider, more space for the fiendish troll army to push through with their assortment of minions and lesser devils.
"Here they come!"
One of the forward scouts, perhaps it had been Nathan, maybe Firozara, it was hard to remember this specific moment exactly, but they started the call, and the cry was echoed down the lines. The nervous men at the siege engines, including the moustached man himself, shaking, no, trembling with evident fear...
The first machine of war fired its deadly salvo, a beautiful arc missing the massive army of trolls and fiendish kin alike, a soft thump echoing in the moors as it's ammunition simply hit the ground, creating a massive crater. the Engineers operating the behemoths cursed and screamed as they tried to adjust the weapons. The sound was drowned out by the roar of the oncoming horde of minor devils and heavily armoured trolls. They were coming closer now, their swift movements becoming a stampede.
Bodies of creatures flew everywhere, some instantaneously turned into red mist as others had limbs torn from them in a maelstorm of destruction. The second shot from the siege machines had been more precise, nearly hitting the center mass of the oncoming devil army, the cheers from the engineers and the Moustached man himself once more submerged beneath the clash of battle as the two sides smashed into one another. Over it, you would hear the squelch and screams of trolls as the Archdruid of the Elder Circle had transformed himself into a giant bronze dragon, the titans teeth and claws rending into the trolls as they tried to avoid the creatures deadly weapons, some were stomped upon beneath its mighty feet,the mud of the swamp swallowing them up. Others swiftly incinerated as it turned its massive serpentine gaze upon them, its breath a fiery inferno, setting all alight that it touched, screams and howls quickly silenced, yet the horde kept coming.
From the Moustached man's vantage point on the hill with the siege equipment, he turned away from the destruction that the large dragon and the other folk were inflicting upon the masses of trolls, turning his sights on the other group. The trolls had met the shield wall there, however many were covered and riddled with arrows, their lifeblood draining from them even before they engaged with the defenders, their blows were weakened from the blood loss as the smaller group of adventurers dealt mercilessly with the trolls and smaller fiends alike...
Another deadly salvo was released, yet this one never reached the ground, a large shadowy shape loomed in the air, darkened wings spread wide, the whole battlefield going silent just for a moment, the impact of the siege engines explosive shots not even staggering the beast above, it's massive red eyes scanning the field as it let, and for a split second it felt as if they met the Moustached man’s eyes, just for a second...
Something had shattered.
The man would look down to see blood once more again, though this time his own. Shards of broken glass in his hand as he had crushed the now empty rum bottle, his fist clenched, knuckles white as a bone. The blood on his hand swiftly changed before him, it became that of that man's lifeless corpse a ten-day ago, laying on the floor covered in blood.. the eyes would open.. horns would sprout from the man's forehead, his eyes red.. they were laughing...
The man would after some moments go and find a basin to clean and pick the glass shards from his damaged hand, his eyes reflected in the water as he considered a woman's request to him recently..
"Say, Kiran, you wouldnt happen to know where I could hire a thief?"