The Struggle for Aldaris

"'Bout a month." Atheli answered. "Surprised you managed came in, considering they've been shipping people out. Then again, I'm not keeping track of what's going on". He emptied his drink before continuing. "Highwaymen eh? And you ran for it alone?" he looked at Bryn, feeling somewhat skeptical. As much as it would be easy to be, he didn't think highwaymen had the numbers to fight trained mercenaries. On the other hand, he always thought mercenaries had his prowess, and he didn't ask about more details. "Although if they were nuts to come here, they'd be a nice distraction at least". He didn't elaborate further, only asking for another drink.

He heard some loud laughing to his left. He didn't have to see to know it was that merchant. He was definitely not a local, nor did he look like a merchant, like he had overheard in some of the times that man has been there. Not it mattered to him, the only thing he seemed to sell were material goods, not something he'd personally keep.

"Oh right, name's Atheli". He told Bryn as he got his next drink.

"If that is what you truly believe," Sir Dire-Shot said, "Then I'll be sure to lend you a few shots in assistance in the coming battle. Just don't be too shocked if you see a man's head explode right next to you. It'll usually happen in twos, just to warn you." Withholding an all too loud chuckle, he pulled his peculiar rifle from on his back and laid it down before him.

"You ever hear of a Sacred Arm, son?" The dwarf whispered. "Old Castle-Bane thing does magic and more." It was a double rifle, one massive barrel lying right on top of another; a thick band of gold held the barrels together .The receiver and the very end of the stock were plated similarly gold, both sides of the reciever being engraved with the visage of a snarling dragon. The beast was breathing a jet of flames, the decoration of which seamlessly spilled onto the stock in a wood carving.

"If I could lay on the clouds , I could very well shoot the sun out of the sky," he boasted, "If it had the mind to spite me."

Making her way out the back door, the robed figure snuck away from the inn and roamed through the back alley, her tattoos giving a soft glow in the dark passage. The rendezvous is at the main plaza... That should be this way, then...

"The Empire's been in a lot of places around the area. I probably arrived here days before them. I was far from being in top shape. The innkeeper here saw me and gave me a discount for what little I had. I've been a sick man in a room for a few weeks now, so there weren't too many inquiries into me," Bryn took his own drink, before looking over the bar tender, "A drink for my friend here."

He paused and looked over, "If you're to here my story anyway, you may as well have a drink. As I was saying, the Empire has been cracking down on resistance. The survivors find themselves suddenly armed, trained, exiled and outlawed. It's sad really. If I were to speak to the Gods, I'd say I'd known one of those bandits from my youth."

"I did my bit fighting," He looked in into his drink for a minute, "I didn't run. I was just wounded, tossed to the side and ignored. They were after other things. It was an even match. Some of them were like us. A lot of mercenaries threw their lot in against the Empire and lost pretty badly."

He took another drink of it. Longer this time.

"Nothing can be done for the past though but to drown her sorrows. It's not an impressive recommendation but I'm willing to seek work where I can find it."

edited 6th Jan '13 9:09:23 PM by Fauxlosophe

"Allow me."

The voice of the "merchant" responded to Bryn's command instead of the bartender. Donatus was already carrying a glass full of beer, and he gently placed it in front of Atheli. "I'm always happy to help a fellow late-night visitor of the inn." He said with a smirk, nodding over to the table where he was sitting a minute ago: the men that were listening to him were now in the middle of telling their own drunk tales, not even realizing the one paying for their drinks was gone. "Don't worry," Donatus said, grabbing an empty chair. "There's nothing wrong with that drink. I was about to drink it myself, but I changed my mind after I've heard your request."

He placed the chair besides the two, sitting on it and getting closer to the table. His smirk morphed into a smile, as he ran his hand through his unusual green hair. "Donatus." He said. "A pleasure to meet you. I'm just a simple merchant who happened to get stuck in this town thanks to the unlucky actions of fate. And I hope you two won't mind my interruption, it's just that men who are now on their fifth glass of beer aren't exactly the best people to talk with. They're... what's the word?..." Donatus tapped his finger on his chin, chuckling. "Oh yes. Too drunk to even form basic sentences. And you two seemed like you were having a good conversation, so... naturally... I butted in. Again, I sincerely hope you don't mind."

"Not at all," Bryn said, "I've been confined to my room for last while by some injuries. Company does me, no ill."

The hair of this newcomer caught Bryn's eye but he recalled no specific fear of it. It was a strange thing that might see him shunned in a smaller village, but in either case, he saw no reason to leave the fellow be. The odd clothes in truth were more grounds for him to be wary. However, it was likely that he was one of the more eccentric forgienners from near the Capital? Or else a common occurance in an eccentric place. The arrival of the Empire's soldiers would draw out more than military men, after all.

Still, with that thought finished, he looked at his drink closely. He examined the size of the mug, under it and then into the drink itself.

"Odd. Back home, it would take far more of these to kill my ability to speak in a basic sentance. These don't taste much stronger..."

"Maybe it's the fact these men have more to worry about?" Donatus said, leaning back in his chair as he crossed his arms. "The winds of fate will once again travel through this town. I'm not surprised if they're supposedly enjoying their... last minutes until the wind strikes once more." He glanced at the window, staring into the distance, before facing the two, smiling once again. "But let us enjoy the moment, instead of worrying about the future. After all, who knows what exactly will happen?... Heheh. Do you want me to buy you another drink?" He asked Bryn, leaning forward. "I have money to spare, friend."

Editing.

edited 7th Jan '13 2:50:25 PM by biomechtraveler

A dwarf with a Sacred Arm! Gods, this adventure was proving to be full of new things!

"But only if it did." Gerrard replied, eyeing the rifle. "It's—it's certainly an amazing gun. For sure. I don't have a Sacred Arm, per se, but I do have Pluck," Gerrard lifted his sword, "and Tenacity!" Gerrard grabbed his shield with his other hand. "An interesting contrast, actually. You have a gun, a gift from the gods, and I have a sword and shield, a gift from my friends and family. There's Grit, my armor, upstairs. They'll no doubt get quite the workout tomorrow. Don't worry about friendly fire, though, Sir. If the legends are anything to go by, these Divine Arms are holy implements incapable of doing harm to anyone with a pure heart, even by accident."

The Dark Lord's convoys had taken a heavy toll on the people of Alicris in the month since the city had finally laid down its arms. The metal trains came with a heartless, crushing inevitability, and when they left, yet another street of houses were left to slowly fall to ruin, yet another chair stood empty at dinner, and yet another void yawned in the lives of the ones who were left behind. The city was dying, and not just because of the bitter wounds it was sustaining. A terrible quiet had begun to settle upon the rooftops and eddy in the streets and alleyways; people bowed their heads against the fall, shuffled their feet through its drifts, and shuddered behind closed doors as the silence chilled the warmth from their hearts like a cruel winter wind.

In a once-grand two-story house that had once stood in the middle of the residential district, but now marked the edge of a field of still and empty shells, in a tiny windowless room under the staircase, one who called herself a traveler took shelter from the quiet. The little door opened only a small distance into the chamber before it was stopped by the thick carpet of crisp, dry straw inside, the result of many a furtive trip back and forth to nearby stables. It had been a lot of work, but worth it in the end. The tiny room was warm, softer than the ground, and secure from the piercing yellow eyes of patrols; its resident was very satisfied with it. However, she was currently facing a problem that had nothing to do with her little nest.

Even if there had been anyone else in the tiny, musty-smelling room - more like a broom closet, really - they wouldn't have been able to see the face of the tiny, slender figure sitting half-buried in the straw, not with her hood pulled down as far as it was. This hypothetical guest would only be able to see the figure's mouth twist, thin dark lips pulling back in a grimace from bright, slightly long teeth as she fished around inside her bag with the peculiar energy of someone who is desperate to find something but knows with certainty that it's not there. After a moment of resignation, the figure pulled her hand free and looked grimly at the two - only two - copper pieces glinting in her palm.

"No choice, then," the figure murmured, her voice low and slightly raspy. The contralto tone belied her size, making it obvious that she was no child; she closed her hand around the money and stood up, brushing straw from her canvas cloak with her free hand. The coins vanished back inside her bag and she stretched, taking care and moving slowly as she limbered up her legs left stiff by an evening of half-sleep in the strawpile. This day had been coming for a long time, and it meant that things were about to change - for better or for worse, she couldn't say, but it was about time to leave her comfortable nest for good. She closed the cupboard door firmly, took the little verdigris-stained key from the lock, and did not look back.

However tonight and the next day went, money wasn't going to be a worry anymore very soon. Settling her bag comfortably on her shoulder, Lihtu turned her soft footsteps toward the inhabited part of town, where there were still lights in windows and fires banked in hearths. A nice hot loaf of bread sounded like a good idea.

edited 7th Jan '13 6:52:11 AM by RedSavant

The frail black hands twitched with each passing moment. To the unlearned eye, the hands—though they looked much more like needles than hands—appeared to moved of their own free will, as if a powerful sorcerer had breathed life into them. But Prometh knew better; behind the hands were tiny gears that commanded every movement, ordered every twitch the feeble hands made. And of course these gears did not move by themselves; every day Prometh needed to wind them back up, or else they would stand frozen in time. From the hands, to the gears, to himself; even in something as miniscule as a pocket watch Prometh could see the chain of command...and only the top of the chain benefitted from the process. Even pocket watches were imbalanced.

The lawyer sighed and put the round metal device away once again. She was late, and he was getting anxious. The main plaza was more or less deserted, with a sprinkle of Karnas' grunts to remind the townsfolk that their lives were no longer their own. For the most part however, they left Prometh to himself; his demeanor and expensive clothing gave him the look of an official, and the foot soldiers were very cautious about approaching their superiors. On more than one occasion he had even recieved salutes from the dim-witted pawns, which he answered with false—but convincing—orders to patrol empty buildings or scrub the latrines. The lawyer considered it his small contribution to easing the civilians' pain; a brute performing pointless tasks was a brute who couldn't harrass the people of Alicris.

Of course, duping stupid soldiers was hardly the Justice he desired. It was only a minor setback, and was bound to be thwarted by a real officer sooner or later. Prometh may had been trapped in Alicris by accident, but now that he was there, he was determined to deliver the justice these monsters deserved. Which was why he waited in an inconspicuous part of the main plaza: to meet a powerful aquaintance who would hopefully help him throw Karnas' minions into the eternal fires of Hell.

But in the back of his mind, Prometh knew that a victory here would only be the first step. As obscene as the crimes in Alicris were, they were only the symptom of a far worse disease. The chain of command needed to be severed from the bottom up, but if there was ever to be balance in Aldaris once more, then the Dark Lord Karnas would have to be eliminated as well.

First the hands, then the gears, and finally Karnas himself; all of them would face the wrath of Justice.

Bryn paused for a moment, before taking a long draught of the beer.

He thought for a moment.

"You're not sober yourself. If you're to wake with an empty purse, then it's not my place to stop you, but I'll not be emptying it myself."

"Well, I haven't tested that theory out yet," Sir Dire Shot said, "But for your sake I'll stick to busting demon's skulls, alright?" With a warm smile, he put the rifle back in-between his backpack and his shoulder. This boy is going to die., he thought. And the world is going to be worse off for it. Propping his arm up against the wall, the hunter stood back on his feet and dusted his pant-legs.

"I really hope your faith in the other townsfolk is well placed." he continued. A look of worry nit itself onto his expression. "I have a feeling that this battle is going to be short, victory or otherwise." He let himself towards the door, feeling that he's made his intentions clear enough. "I'll be over at the inn for tonight, and don't forget, you might want to check for loiterers before you close up."

Without another word, Sir Dire-Shot made his way out.

Icarus frowned slightly.

From what she could see, the main gate- the only thing she had ever passed to get into town- was heavily guarded by nasty looking government troops and the odd thing that most definitly was not human. The thought crossed her mind of blowing the whole thing to smithereins, a long charge up time, a sudden attack...perhaps......

Perhaps years of isolation had clouded her judgement, though the hearts of men were the same the world around them changed with startling swiftness. Icarus no longer could be sure of what she would be up against should she dare a fool hardy attack at the main gate.

With a resignated sigh Icarus turned as if to head back but turned around with equal speed- if she was here already, almost within bowshot from the town walls then she might as well finish the night with a walk through the town. Then came an idea- she had wings right? well, there weren't wings so to speak but they functioned as wings. Spotting an area of the wall that looked deserted, Icarus took a running leap and the wings did the rest- silently lifting her over the wall like a shadow with scarely a rustle.

The landing however was different.

Icarus crashed into the side of an abandoned building, lamenting her rustiness with the wings, it had been a while since she last used them. But at least she was in and none of the guards had seemed to see her.

The city was too quiet at night nowadays. Lihtu's steps were light, but even so, the quiet tap-tap of her bootsoles against the cobbles seemed to ring down the streets as she made her way toward the bakery. At least in the swamp, there would have been birds crying, insects buzzing around... even the bubbling of swamp gas. There would be sound of some sort. As it was, the only sounds audible at the moment were her own footsteps and, in the distance, the rattling and clanking of the demons patrolling the outer wall.

Under normal circumstances, looking for fresh bread in the darkness after midnight would have been a fruitless endeavor, if not a crazy one. However, life in Alicris was hardly normal, and the inviting smell that caressed Lihtu's nostrils as she drew close to the bakery was not surprising, not with the convoy arriving with the morning sun. Nighttime was the best time to plan, after all. She ducked into an alleyway, crouching, as the door to the bakery opened and a stout, heavily armed man stepped out into the cloudy moonlight. He turned in the direction of the inn, and only after he was well out of sight did Lihtu leave her hiding place.

The door to the bakery, in a stroke of good luck, was unlocked.

Eliza's weary eyes flickered open as a resounding thump reverberated against the wall of the little cottage. A frown flickered across her thin face as she hauled herself to her feet, silently making her way over to one of the room's broken-shuttered windows.

There was a woman lying on the ground outside her window, a strange pair of mechanical wings whirring on her back. She didn't look like a soldier; she wasn't wearing a uniform, for one thing, and for another, Eliza had never seen anything like the odd contraption on the woman's back. Soldiers tended to come in standard-issue ranks, all wearing the same uniform and carrying the same weapons. If any soldier in Alicris had wings like that, then they would have been joined by an entire cohort wearing the exact same thing.

She wasn't a soldier; that much was obvious. She didn't look much like a demon, either, and the demons haunting Alicris at the moment didn't seem to care much about disguising themselves. Demons, in Eliza's considerable experience, also didn't seem to be particularly fond of crashing into walls, which was another point towards Eliza's growing argument that the woman who had crashed into her makeshift home was probably not an immediate threat.

And if she wasn't an immediate threat, then it was time to move onto the next matter; the pressing, burning question of whether or not the winged lady happened to have any food. It was perhaps too much to hope that she would be charitable, but either way, the woman didn't look like the type who would attack someone simply for asking. Even if she had, it didn't matter. By this point, anything was worth a shot.

Padding along on wooden clogs soled with sound-muffling wool, Eliza made her way out of the house, opening the front door (it creaked a little, something that always made Eliza nervous) as the strange woman passed by. Clearing her throat a little, Eliza attempted to speak.

"He-hello?"

Her voice, cracked and diminished by weeks of inactivity, slipped insignificantly into the night like a pebble into a lake. It barely made a ripple as she took another step forward, clearing her throat a little harder this time to remove the cobwebs.

"Hello?"

Were Icarus to turn towards the source of the voice, she would see a young woman standing in the doorway of a cottage that looked much more abandoned than it was. Inky black hair sprawled over a hollow-cheeked face, while limbs far too thin to be healthy buried themselves under a dress and cloak far too big for her body. Her wide blue eyes peered out through the darkness as she repeated the word she had already spoken twice, one scrawny hand resting at her hip.

"...Hello?"

edited 7th Jan '13 11:05:24 PM by KiriAme

It didn't take long for the night to find Arvy leaning on a wall across the tavern, looking cool and collected. Inside, his mind was whirling like a leaf caught in the inexorable grip of raging rapids.

In the backstreets, there was no place for him to bed down. The less-than-fortunate elements (and they were everywhere) of Alacris might have been asleep, but the man from the barrel didn't doubt that they'd be on him as soon as he closed his eyes. Every other building not occupied and locked was boarded up. Any attempt he would have made to enter might have been met with suspicion and subsequent jailtime for him.

He thought about how bad a night behind bars would have been and decided against him. If hobos were bad enough, the unsavory elements that were regulars behind bars would be worse.

Looking into the smoky-lit tavern, he surreptitiously reached into his pocket and fingered the contents,; half of all his material wealth. A few coins, silvers and coppers, and trinkets. A bag of sand from some distant shore. His fingers closed around a pearl of rather average quality he'd prised from a gilt cup a few weeks ago in a pawning scam. His face twisted in exasperation as he remembered that the one who tried to pawn it in passed it off as a magical cup. A quick glance of wizard-Sight put paid to that claim. But Arvy put on a pleasant face and took it anyway.

Besides, a day later, Arvy found the man's lodgings and took a more valuable ceremonial shield. Now that had a good day. He'd been able to feast and sleep off that fence.

But that was then. Now Arvy Tamerlane was down on his luck, running from his favorite haunts and ending up here in the ass end of the country, with Karnas' apes dragging their knuckles and generally running roughshod wherever they roamed. His lips pursed in pique. The Dread Lord and his forces could do whatever they wanted, so long as they didn't bother him.

The skeevely-looking man in the tattered blue coat, which might have been a fine garment once, made up his mind and strode in. It was relatively empty, given the lateness of the hour and the general idea that not many people would have spending money. He found a seat far away from a showy green-haired gentleman and a pair of mercenaries all clustered like they were sharing dread secrets.

He waited for the barman to attend him, fingers absently playing with the pearl in his hands. "Pardon me, good gent," he pasted a pleasant expression on his face when the mustachioed proprietor with a stained apron and bags in his eyes sidled up to him. "You wouldn't happen to take goods in exchange for an ale or two, would you?"

A grunt issued from behind the thick facial hair. "All depends, friend. What do you got?"

"Just a pearl from the Bright Deeps." In Arvy's handling,, he began to lace the little item with a scrap of power. Nothing big, just to give it a lustre.

And a dark starburst in its core to make it look like on of those fabled pearls guarded by legions of coral-helmed merfolk. The barman looked to be one of those who'd spent much of his nights listening to tall tales from itinerant bards. For once, the barman didn't look so tired. His mustache was prickling from the smile within.

The rogue put in his worn palm in a gesture of good faith. He held it up to the low lantern light, but Arvy could feel the man's greed leaking out like the air from a child's balloon or steam from a whistling kettle. He looked back at the man with stubble on his face and tattered coat, suddenly suspicious.

"Not stolen is it?" The baggy eyes were narrow in accusation. Arvy looked affronted.

"Stolen," he spluttered. "I'll have you know that it was a gift to me from my sainted aunt!" He leaned closer, looking conspiratorially. "She died recently, you see. And left me with a rather tidy sum and a map to a vault out in near the Coastal Cliffs." He winked. "Just spare me some ale and a room, gov'ner, and I'll see you and your establishment right. Heck, y'can even keep the pearl for a rainy day."

That sealed the deal. The barman took the pearl and bustled to fetch Arvy a drink. The rogue tried not to look too triumphant. He looked around the counter and reached for the bowl of peanuts.

And thus, as the people in Alicris drank, slept or conspired they would all, no matter who they were notice the barest hints of a new day peeking through the horizon, as the black night sky became just a tad less dark.

It is now, just a little time before dawn the cloaked figure which invaded the city previously makes her way towards the town plaza... doing her best to remain unnoticed by the patrolling guards of the Dark Lord. She didn't actually step into the plaza... that place was too open, and clearly dominated by the minions of the Emperor. There, to one side, the great mechanical shells which would soon eat a bit more of the heart of the city rested for the night.

The cloaked figure, Paladin Sophia of Lerian, then stood by the entrance to the plaza, leaning against a wall and joining her hands together in prayer. Now, she could only hope for her ally, Nasira, to find her as soon as possible.

Firock was awoken early by the first lights of dawn hitting his face from directly head on rather than from ninety degrees to some side, had he been sleeping lying down. Just as planned. Of course, the drawback to the plan was a great soreness in his back generated from sleeping sitting up instead of lying down. But what was done was done, and done out of a felt necessity; the soreness would just have to be tolerated.

Firock got up and stretched, twisting his back this way and that to get the worst of the kinks out, and actually did likewise with his tail, too. Giving a sigh of relief now that that was over, her turned his attention back to the town, expression turning dead serious. This is it. No turning back. Firock thought, and started making his way down the sloped forest towards the town.

The gates would likely be guarded, heavily. Firock wasn't sure how he was going to deal with that just yet, but he wasn't about to turn around just because of a guard or two or two dozen in his way. He would have to figure it out as he went.

Before Time Skip

"Tch"

Icarus rubbed her left arm which had taken the brunt of the bad landing. The wings on her back folded up and stopped any machanical action- magic was so useful. Icarus loved it- the wings would obey at a thought, how she managed to obtain the wings had long drifted out of her memory- it would take some time to remember.

"hello?"

Icarus turned sharply.

"Huh?"

She saw what appeared to be a blue eyed girl staring at her out of the darkness.

(We should continue this in flashback, My apologies for not posting but its getting late).

It's all cool. Post when you can; we can just chip away at this conversation in flashback form. ^_^

2 am

The woman turned to face Eliza, who resisted the urge to melt back into the darkness, away from the stranger with the mechanical wings. Her hunger pangs forced her to stand still, clamouring for attention and satisfaction. She might have food, and she might be willing to share it. Surely someone who could afford magical wings could afford to spare a piece of bread.

It was best to work up to that question, though. Best to start with something else, to speak to them long enough and make them just invested enough to be more likely to accept a simple request. There were too many hungry beggars on the streets. Simply asking wasn't enough.

"Excuse me, but are those wings?" Eliza asked instead, gesturing at the contraption on the woman's back. They looked like wings, but she supposed they could have conceivably been something else. Either way, some part of her hunger-hazed mind recognised them as being vaguely interesting - something she would have loved to find out more about, if she'd been in a position to have a long conversation about anything other than food.

She'd have a chance to ask for food soon enough, and maybe questions could come after that. Perhaps that could be how she'd spend her last day in Alicris; asking questions about all sorts of things, and finding out all sorts of answers that she wouldn't need at all when the convoys finally took her away.

edited 8th Jan '13 2:25:46 AM by KiriAme

As the sun began to rise, Arcaros, who had been sleeping on the dusty ground, covered in his robe, felt a sharp pain in his abdomen. Jolting awake, he jumped up, grabbed his staff and looked around for his attacker. The only other creature he could see, was his golem.

"Who attacked me?", the Goblin asked.

"Me punch you. You tell me to do so.", was the response.

"I did not tell you to punch me!"

"You say to wake you up when sun rise. Me punch you. You awake now."

"Yes, but I...you...I didn't...Argh! Forget it! Just follow me!", Arcaros shouted as he walked out of the door of his hut. As he walked through the town, his golem following him, he tried to clear his head.

"Hrrrgh!" Gerrard stood up, roused from his sleep by the sound of someone opening the door to the bakery. He must have dozed off at some point after the dwarf's departure. The bread was still there, at least. He smiled sleepily at the new arrival, another foreigner to town like himself. From the swamps, from the smells of things.

"Good morning. Welcome to the, ah," he yawned and stretched, "sorry, the Marburgh Bakery. The real proprietor is upstairs still sleeping; can I help you? I'm Gerrard, by the way." He reached over and offered a hand to shake, smiling.

In spite of having the bar man essentially in his pocket, Arvy was a cautious man by nature. Rather than milk the proprietor for all he was worth, he played it cool. Spinning a tail about prying eyes and walls having ears, he started up a tab, just like everyone else and took his rest one of the more flea-ridden rooms (Arvy slept on the floor with one of the tavern's better blankets. The bar man made sure his surly staff swept it out first).

Now we reappeared in the common room, looking more or less refreshed (he was given a mirror, rather new-looking razor and a bowl of water) as he sipped from a wooden tankard and tried not to bring attention to himself.

The newcomer jerked back as Gerrard sat up, for an instant reminding him of a wild animal of some sort. The height marked her as either a tall child or a small adult; the canvas cloak enveloped her from head to ankle, giving away no information on that score. After a moment, the figure took a step forward and raised a hand; a faint whiff of swamp mud and musty straw accompanied the gesture.

"Lihtu," she replied, her voice rasping somewhat on the long vowel. "I want to... buy some bread." She looked over at the rack of still-warm bread, then at the large map on the walls, clearly labeled with tactical notes, street names and the makings of a battle strategy. "...Plans?"