Elandor held his hoopak with two hands as this thug approached, looking at the man with a daring expression. Every muscle in his body tensed, ready to tumble aside should the man attack. Perhaps he would even try to trip this bandit into the water. Adrenaline pumped through his vains, making his little legs shake in excitement. The situation changed just when Elandor wanted to jump asside and give the man a strong poke in the back. Instead of coming for the little thief the robber decided to choose for the certainty of life and ran off. Elandor could not believe what happened. He waded out of the reeds and jumped onto the bridge, where he could see the three bandits growing smaller and smaller in the already lowering sun. He shook his fist at the running men and made some very impolite gestures I won't describe here, yelling: "That will teach ya!"
After the burning energy in his body had cooled through the taunting Elandor dismounted the bridge again and made his way to the rest of the group. He helped as well as he could in burrying the bodies of the bandits, for he agreed with Vilyamar: these men had known joy and pain at some point of their lives and were to be treated with dignity. Besides, they had brought a pleasant diversion from the journey.
Yes, Elandor liked a good fight every once in a while, for it brought the thrill Elandor was constantly looking for. Many years ago the little kender had gotten dissatisfied with the life he was leading then. He grew more restless with every breath not taken in some quest or adventure. So he choose the life of the traveler, on a permanent search for challenge.
Elandor appreciated everything that helped him cool off this hunger for excitement, and honoured them silently, knowing that it brought peace to his brain for a short while.
So, calm again, he helped carrying the bodies to the side of the road. He didn't notice how an earring of one of the robbers fell into his pouches, nor did he mind the fact that one of the bandits borrowed him his shining ring, as it wasn't any good to him anymore. These men were actually quite nice! With a content feeling Elandor rested the short moment that the group paused, his mind already going ahead towards the adventures that would be awaiting beyond this bridge.
Mahou let a slow breath out as she let the last arrow lose from the bowstring. Her plush lips curled in a satisfied grin as the arrow head pierce through flesh. With a toss of her head, ruffling the lengths of auburn hair around her shoulders, Mahou’s hoofed feet carried her close to the falling man. Her hazel eyes cast down as his sword fell and focused on the road until the mans limp body followed. All the while the same smirk graced her lips. Now, you shall own nothing Slinging her bow across her shoulders once more, a scowl passed Mahou’s fair face as she kneeled pushing the corpse over. Retrieving her arrows from the mans body Mahou stood up again and looked to the others of her “group”
“Let us not spend more time here then we have to.” Her eyes never once cast down to the dead body at her feet after rising instead they looked on the others. Tucking a few stray locks behind her shinny black horns she turned herself to face away from the work of burial at hand. Mahou would not take place in giving these men’s souls peace. She could only imagine what pains they had caused others by how they had intended to treat her. No she had it in mind that their souls should suffer for the wrongs they caused in life and that the gods would save them when they thought their suffering was over.
As the others carried the bodies to the cool lake, placing them down to their watery grave Mahou busied herself with finding Gemi who had hidden himself among the underbrush at the sight of the bandits. A few soft calls, a little chasing, a mad dash and a tackle brought Gemi back up into Mahou’s arms. Once securing Gemi and making sur e he would stay near Mahou would return to the group and await for them to finish with what they felt they must do.
Derak stood towering over the dead bandit, his sword was dripping with blood as was his armor, which the blood flowed over the smooth metal like water over a river bed. They were mostly dead, a mere shadow of their formerselves. He watches as the remander of the bandits flee, his gaze also darts back and forther at his "teammates" action making sure that they allow them to flee. Derak belives in mercy when it is due. Many might look at Derak and see only a cold blooded killer, but he wasn't all a killer. Past this lies many morales and respect which some may see as a weakness but to Derak was a strong point. His big brown eyes slowl made way to the sun, which was fallen from the grasps of the daytime. The crimson glow reflected off of the moisture of his eyes. He dazed off for a momement at this point, but flinched back into reality. He kneeled down next to the dead corpse and wiped the blade clean with the bandits shirt. However this attempt failed because the shirt wasn't much cleaner and more dirt clung to the sword. So he made way to the edge of the river. He cleaned himself off their wistleing some old farm song to himself as he did this. He said to himself but really to the others in effort to spare the embrassement of cleanslyness "keep my equipment clean so it don't rust" he says drying it with his under clothing wool. He looks to the others in the group and says "yea kno'....we didn't have to dive right inta fighting, it woulda been more nessasary to try and negatotiate first. If every person whoever asked for a women to please a sensation and few gold to pay for food got wiped out like this half the world would be dead!" Derak says with a taste of sacarasim in his words.
Teros watch cooly as the bandit leader fell. A moment of sadness took him as he looked into the man's eyes, but that soon was over.
"Vilyamar is right. These men may have cause the suffering of many, but they at least deserve to have a few rocks placed over their bodies." With this he moves down to the leader and says a little prayer in his native tongue while his hand rest on the mans forehead. After around 10 seconds the prayer was done and he closed the mans eyes.
He moves to aid the other in the task of burying, moving quickly so that the group may get to a nice point to stop and rest for the night
::Mahou paused, her eyes flashing green as they turned to Derak. Her slender brow arched at his statement. On light feet she brought herself before him a twisted smile on her lips.
And I suppose.. ::she started in a low voice:: if every woman where to simple lift dress when a man declares in such a beastly manner that she is obligated to like some bitch who is ready to be breed ::her voice rang softly and seductive through the air to his ears as her hand lifted to trail against his thigh:: this whole thing could have been avoided…
::she paused looking over his face a moment:: you shall excuse my hast in putting these pigs to ground as they should be. I have no doubts of how many times their call for simple satisfaction of a manly urge has lead many woman to spread their legs obediently upon threats of pain and death. :her eyes narrowed the pools of bright green flashed at him with distaste as she turned on one hoof and trotted away.::
Next time, I shall simplify it all for you all… and stick to the obedient position you humans place your females in… that way your morals over killing someone will not be tarnished for such a stupid reason. ::Mahou tucked Gemi into the crook of her arms and continued past the group her head held high in the air, and her walk was such a stride that showed her annoyance and disgust at this all. She would continue past everyone and over the bridge. Assuming that they would follow when ready she wouldn’t stray to far, but far enough to put them out of sight.
The black-clothed bard felt frustration well up inside as he returned his daggers to their sheaths, turning to see what the loud smacking sounds were caused by. The cowards flee when they should stand and fight! I gave them unfair odds as well, in their own favor! Surely they cannot be so frightened of me. I am not even large in stature. Hardly a ready threat… He wiped clean the rapier upon the clothing of the dead bandit before him, and sheathed his rapier, dispelling the enchantment that was active upon its blade, and took in what was happening around them.
Battling the leader of the brigands was the dark skinned man wearing a turban atop his head. The duel between the two seemed to be moving nowhere, as neither could outmaneuver the other to land the finishing blow. However, the bard smiled slightly when an arrow buried itself into the bandit’s middle, fired from the bow carried by the strange satyr. All around them, bandits lay dead on the ground, slain by the numerous members of the party. Damien’s eyes locked onto the one missing his arm, and looked over to see Derak standing above him. I must pay my respects to that warrior, though he does make quite the spectacle of himself while eating a meal.
The remaining living bandits fled the scene, and they had right to. Not one of them would be able to hold his own against such a diverse group, and this thought made the bard smile. Intimidation was a powerful weapon when wielded by the proper user. Kneeling, he scooped up the coins he had hurled into the face of the one bandit he slew, returning them to his pocket. Anything was fair in a fight, unless you were fighting one of those religious warriors that were paladins. The thought of those holy warrior made Damien shudder beneath his dark clothing.
Having finished collecting his coins, he turned to the body of the bandit he felled, running a quick check over his pockets and searching for any coin purses, or other things that may come useful that the bandit may have carried.
(After taking whatever may be useful or of any value.)
Standing up, Damien shifted his cloak around on his form and smiled wryly, watching the others speak amongst themselves. They could squabble among one another as long as they wanted for all the bard was concerned. Intent on finishing what he had started, Damien grabbed the corpse around the wrists, dragging the body towards the river. Wading in partway, Damien pulled the body into the water, letting it drift with the current. “A proper burial for highway robbers.” He said bitterly, watching the body float away as he turned and walked out of the water, trying to find a place to stand where he might be graced with the breeze from the evening air, hoping to dry his now wet clothes.
He noticed that the satyr began to travel onwards, and, not wanting to stick around near the scent of death and blood, the bard began to walk after her. She had proved an able warrior, and seemed to have a musical nature about her as well. From what Damien knew, all satyrs loved music and tale-telling. Perhaps Damien would be able to exchange a tale with this one, adding to his repertoire.
(OOC: As some of you know, I had a horrible computer incident early last week, and have had absolutely NO internet access until yesterday. I’m sorry for the halt this game has come to, but I pray you have not lost interest unable to be regained. So, from here on out, lets please post regularly, and make some good progress! Thus far, the game has gone swell, and I’m back in action, so lets get this show on the road!)
So it was that with the cowardly retreat of the few remaining bandits, that the battle came to a close. Would it succeed in drawing the group of acquaintances closer? Or would it force a barrier between them? Only time could tell.
Different individuals had different ways of dealing with the “afterbattle”, for each had their own opinion of how the bandits should be treated after death. Most, however, agreed with, and followed Vilyamar and his example. They were human, and they had souls. Most, at the least took a moment to recognize this fact, and gave a brief prayer. Mahuo, however, made not the slightest hint of remorse, nor the faintest of movements towards helping with the bodies.
As was expected by some, Derak, after washing his precious weapons in the river, hinted at his discontent, and was attacked, whether wrongfully or rightfully by Mahuo, before she tramped her way over the stone bridge, and to a nearby grove of oaks, to wait, at a distance, for the others.
Damien, also showing no interest in the well being of bandit souls, set about searching the bodies. The proved to be perhaps the lowliest group of bandits he had ever encountered. After pocketing a measly 13 copper coins total,(I put it in your CS, in the QA) and tossing other, less than desirable objects aside in disgust, he ended the debate over how to deal with the bodies, by dragging them to the river, where they would be given to Alquelynia, (Goddess of water) and left to her mercy. Not, however, before the the kender was able to borrow a few dainties off the generous corpses. (I gave you a section in your CS called Kender Bags. In this I put everything you loot.)
As lifeless bodies drifted down a river laced in the fire of a setting sun, the company prepared to continue. Mahuo was already gone, and Damien was crossing the bridge. There was nothing to be said, for now. They must continue.
It wasn’t long before the sun set in clouds of fire, leaving a sky of ash, pricked with the first of young stars to watch over the company. They would have to stop, they knew, though they may not have wanted to so soon after blood had been spilt. After about an hour of travel, they came to a small grove of tall, sweeping spruces. Their dark boughs swept like a screen of shadow under the rising moon. Still, however, her gaze shone through, like countless silver threads, veiling a small clearing in the midst of the grove. It was here that they would stop for the night. Firewood was easy to find, even in the dark, and a spark was easy to light. Soon they sat in the dancing light of a cheerful fire. Their first day of travel had come to a close. What lay in the miles to follow, they could not say. None of the company had been this way before, and the road was strange to them. Nomatter, it was good to be out again, with the sun in the sky, and a road at the foot.
(I now give you an opportunity to converse. PLEASE take it. I expect responses to one another. They need not be long, if you don’t have much to go off of, but please make them often, so that you do not bore of conversation. I feel this is a good way to get your characters more acquainted, and histories to begin unveiling. These are also the best times to talk (camp, night, ect) because you aren’t fighting and such. I do this at the end of every day, so please, make it worth while
As the groups settles down Elandor sits next to the fire and grabs a thin stick. Poking the fire he looks at every member of the group and rests his chin on his left hand. His eyes half closed in a content expression he lets out a heavy sigh of satisfaction.
"Ahhhhhhh! I always dreamed of being in the company of such a wonderful group of adventurers, spending the evening roasting saucages and reminiscing the good things the day brought. Hey, I must have them somewhere in my pouches!"
He drops the stick and opens a red leather pouch that dangles at the left of his belt. His little fingers disappear inside and apparently search for something. Their action seems to be in vain, according to the annoyed expression on the kender's face. After several seconds he draws back his hand, which is now in a fist. Fine dust seeps from his fingers in small streams and back in the pouch. Thoughtless Elandor throws the dust away, half of it penetrating the fire.
Upon contacting the heat the dust undergoes some sort of chemical reaction and colorful beams of flame shoot up towards the heavens.
"WOAH!" the Kender shouts, falling backwards, "I forgot it did that. No wonder that mage wasn't too happy to part with it!"
As if the fireworks brought clearness to the chaotic mind of the kender he dives in one of his pouches and seems to find at once what he was looking for. A small leather wrapper is brought out containing 12 small sausages.
"I found those this morning in the inn, waiting for us. I couldn't just leave them there, could I?"
As he pierces the meat to his stick and another lying near, he sighs again.
"All we need is a little tune to accompany a good story. Won't you try something, Mr Bard? And who knows a good story? Mahou? Teros? Yes, Teros, I'm sure you can liven up the cracking sounds of my heating sausages with a good tale, ey!"
Derak stood leaned up against a nerby tree gazeing longinly at the fire. The fire danced in the moissture of his eyes and the deep parts of his body were hidden in the shadows. Fires always made Derak think. Many thoughts tossed over in his big head. A major portion of these thoughts of what the goat-lady said. His gaze skipped back and forth from the fire to the goat lady. He cleared his thoat and approached the lady. He slowly sat down next to her. "umm excuse me miss....." he says clearing his thoat with a slight taste of nerviousness in his tone, for Derak wasn't used to this kind of thing. He in fact had never travled with a women before. "I-I meant no disrespect miss, I was merly attempting to say that men shouldn't be slaughtered like lambs for WANTING such a thing, I did not intend to offend you in any way miss. I offer you my apology miss, please....I don't wanna come across as some mindless perve to you miss. I respect women I-I really do." And with this Derak offered the lady an apology, take or no take. His words where true, for Derak wasn't too much of a liar. However, Derak had been shown something by the ladies words on the consent of females. :I guess that is kinda true: the thought corsed threw Derak mind seeminly make more sense the more he thought about it. In Derak's eyes he was "a man" however little to his knowledge he still had some areas for matureing. Derak wasn't very an open minded man, he knew what he knew and that was that, he cared little or questioned anything outside his knowledge. And perhaps the lady had shoken some new knowledge into the mans mind, even though he really didn't inntend to come across the way the lady thought he was because he wasn't trying to hint that. He sat waiting for reply from the women, however he sensed the women wouldn't take to kindly to the his words. For she seemed like a rather bitter person to Derak, even though he didn't let his word's tone come across that way.
(It's ok man, we all have our lapses in i-net service. It happens, I doubt much interest in this game has been lost.
I AM assuming that all by now know each others names, which I also assumed were given before the start of the quest, when the band, or fellowship, if you will, was formed. I think that part was mandatory and need not have been said.)
Vilyamar walked at the rear of the group, his eyes glazed over, remembering some of the many memories he had shared with other groups of adventurers just like this one. Well, not exactly like this one, but one could grasp the point.
His thoughts wandered to his family, his home. He wondered just how well the village was doing. He had last seen it when his father had just died. He had wondered what new families had sprouted up among the trees, who their new rangers were, or if there were any new rangers. Few children came to the elves.
So lost in thought that he was quite startled when he nearly ran into the person he was walking behind, though he had been quite a few paces back. He had not realizaed that they were going to stop for the night at this spot.
The monk chose a spot that was on the grass, not underneath, but close to one of the trees at the grove. He placed his gear here, telling the kender that he would know if curious fingers crept there. At this, he laid his eyes upon the bard, conveying the same message with the dangerous look of calm, but respectful, anger that would await those who tampered with his things.
He sat down upon the ground, crossing his legs, looking into the fire that was soon burning. He did his share of the firewood gathering and other duties. He watched the flames dance about, just above but never really touching the wood that turned to blackened ash as the energy of its fibers and being was released into the night air. He remembered the flames of his own home all too well, the past haunting his waking moments now more than ever before. Who knew why such memories chose to return at that time? Perhaps the answers were with the gods only, not for mortals to know, but as it were, Vilyamar silently ate a meal of his own rations which were still from his previous trek that lead him to that fateful town. Why let it go to rot and waste wating the fresh food that would stay good longer.
The tough, leathery rations were ground down to insubstantial mush between his jaws as he thought and listened to the conversations around him. The kender blathered on about this and that, not caring who, if anyone was listening. Teros was asked of a story, the monk did not truly care either of that, though he did listen politely, laughing or sitting solemnly looking into the fire when need be. Derak apologized to Mahou for anything he might have implyed back at the battle site. The monk cared not for what the man could say at this moment, his interest was on the bard.
Vilyamar watched the bard as he went about his business. The monk was concerned about this one, his dark nature was infectious. Though there was not much that could get a kender down and the monk himself was pretty stable in his own emotional department, he had no idea about the others. He watched for awhile, then continued to gaze into the fire, listening to the conversations around him, and possibly the song or tune the bard strums on his lute if he does play one.
Teros moved along with the group silently, watching and listening to what each was saying or doing. When they finally reached a spot for rest, he chose something far away from the kender, who seemed to be obsessed with every little thing than anyone was carrying.
Although he was like that as a child. Full of life and energy. He didn't have many friends, then again he grew up two miles outside the nearest town. But things changed after THAT day. The day when his father and mother where stolen from him.
He was just about to think about his past more when the kender asked someone to tell a story, focusing more or less on him. Teros was in no mood to think back to stories he had heard, or to pepper on of his up. So he took the easy way out.
"Ah my friend.." he says with a slight smile. "I am no story teller. I have travelled the lands, yes, but my goal is not to collect or remember stories. And my past is that which would not make for a very interesting story, and I'm a bad liar." He looks up at an angle to the stars, rubbing his chin. "Yes, I'm afraid that you'll have to ask someone else for a story."
With this he looks at the bard, smiling. It had become apparent to him that the bard disliked preforming. So Teros decided that it would be fun to put the spotlight on him. Besides, music is good at putting you to sleep...as long as it dosn't offend you....
Mahou, made her spot next to the little fire. The walking since the battle had been spend in silence for her and now that they had made their camp for the night, Mahou was content to sit in silence. Letting Gemi down from her arms some time ago, and he had snuggled into the bushes to watch the strangers Mahou traveled with.
It was the Kender who first drew Mahou’s eyes from the hungry little fire. A story, she had many stories and her mind raced for a moment as to what she could tell them all. She knew Damien was a storyteller but surely he was not the only one. Mahou was interested to see what stories the others of this group had gathered in their travels.
Mahou did not offer yet a story to fill their ears and ease their souls rather she waited, and lost her chance momentarily as Derak made a seat next to her. Mahou’s eyes shifted sidelong to the fighter and she listened carefully to what he had to say. When he was finished she thoughts for a long moment before speaking to him.
“First, my name is Mahou, and you are welcome to use it.” Mahou said in a calm voice clearing her face of loose hairs. “As for your apology, I’m sure you meant no harm, men hardly intent harm as much as they bring it. But there are experiences in life that someone like you will never experience, and someone like me, has already been through.” Mahou’s voice trailed for a moment. Yes, she knew what came from men and their desires, she had been around the world for quit sometime and she’d already tasted of a mans desire and what it meant when he got it in his mind he “wanted” something. “Perhaps I should not of taken my anger to my past out on you, but it is obvious there is many things in life you have yet to learn. As do all of us.”
A sigh escaped her plush lips and her hand was raised and her fingers where ran through her silky hair. Letting her eyes dance over the brave fighter she finally smiled, “look, forget it Derak, you wouldn’t understand. I should be the one to apologize for misplacing my anger, you did nothing to harm my physical person, you only hurt my pride.” Again Mahou let her eyes fall back to the Kender who still squirmed silently for a story. It seemed in the time she had taken to talk with Derak, several had declined to tell a story.
“Elandor, I will tell you a story… I have dabbled in the art of bardic tales, I think I can muddle through a story to entertain you.” She smiled to the tinny being as she adjusted her seat to face him better. She took a moment to clear her mind and remember a childhood memory that she once had. Her hazel eyes lifted to meet the Kenders with a smile.
“My story starts, on a clear summers night, to many years ago. When the earth was clam and the stars where bright, in a far away town, whose name no one knows. In this town, a young girl did dwell, no more then six winters old. Her hair was fair as honey, and her skin lightly kissed by sunbeams. She was one of the most beautiful created the gods had ever created. Her father called her Haltia, a name that then meant of fair and delicate nature.
And though her Father loved her so, Haltia’s mother was a cold-hearted woman, who only saw Haltia’s nature as a curse to herself. For the child gained far to much attention from her father, leaving her in a cold un touched world. Haltia’s mother was not so much wrong, for Haltia’s father did spend far too much time with the young girl, and would neglect his wife. Her father would even take her side over that of wife, believing his child could do no wrong.
Haltia’s mother bided her time for six long years, before she could stand the torment no more. And on that warm summers night, while her husband was away, she wrapped her baby girl in a blanked and set off into the darkened woods. With no tears in her eyes, not emotion on her face the angry woman walked for miles and when she’d reached the deepest darkest part of the woods, she laid down her daughter amongst the soft underbrush and walked way with out even a look back.
And as the night passed into day, the gods all watched their child sleep. Sorrow in their hearts that something could happen to something so innocent and pure. As the child rose from sleep afraid and alone, one such gods transformed into a giant bird, fly down and took the child away. On golden wings they flew through night day and time until they reached the farthest shores of the world. Here they stopped, and the god smiled upon the child. He’d resolved in his flight to turn her into a magic being and send her from this world.
In manly form he bent and kissed the crying Haltia’s head, granting her a magic life away from pain and death. He gave her sparkling wings and blessed her with a magic touch then found a home with in his garden, where she would never be alone. from that day forth Haltia would be known to us all, but not as the child who was left for dead, but as the Fairy who graces each and every home. “
Mahou trailed off and smiled again, the story was certainly not her best, but she thought it fitting to tell something light hearted, and that being one she was told as a child seemed fitting enough.
(sorry the post is so long, I spend 3 days trying to find something short, but legends and stories are not easy to come by. If this totally sucks that’s because I wrote it off the top of my head so I could hurry up and post..)
Teros watches as Mahou, suddenly and unexpectedly, takes up the offer to tell the story. He listens with great intrest, smiling at the end. "I do believe thats the best entertaiment that I have had in several days!" he says giving a mocking smile at the bard. "I would be very interested in knowing how you came across that story, and perhaps you would have another.."
OOC:Sorry for it being so short, I really don't have much to say, nor did I know what I was going to say.
OOC: Tek isn't going to be back for a little while yet. His comp's broken.
Looking up as the satyr finished her tale, Vilyamar turned his head away from the fire, looking at those who were listening intently to her story. Teros requested another one, and the monk nodded slightly, though he doubted anyone saw in the low light.
He turned to the bard and said, "Are you not going to join them in their merriment? Do not worry, I shall guard us."
The monk got up and moved slightly away from the fire, more into the shadows, peering into the night to stand vigil against any foes daring to peer through the darkness at them.
Mahou Smiled her hazel eyes turning to Tero's and quarked a brow at his interest in her story. adjusting her legs her hooved feet dug into the dirt under her, the chain shirt she wore shifted with a muffled clink over her plain cotten one. she's not yet gotten ready for sleep, though the thought had crossed her mind. the same thought as if she should keep the unfomrotable human shirt on to spare raised brows from the men she traveled with. setting this thought aside though she smiled
"That story? My Mother use to tell it to me as a child. a fairy tale of sorts passed down through the generations of my people, though the words change i'm sure your people have a simular tale, of how fairies where first created." Mahou smiled softly and raised a brow not that it was acctualy a question," I've traveled a great deal in my life Tero, i have many stories to tell. You'd be suprized how many of Inenhalla's children have ears to listen, and interests in the civilized world. Besides, music, stories, and dance are one of the few links between the different races that everyone con connect with, that everyone can understand. Even if an elven tongue, i'm sure you could tell the difference between a song that is sad or one that is joyful."
Mahou smiled a bit glancing side long to Damien. "Perhaps Damien could explain such things better, my dabling in barci abilities are purely that... i seriousl doubt any of my talents could match up to his."
Mahou trailed off a bit still looking at Damien. "as for another story, i think we should let Damien entertain us with his handsome voice... something more interesting then my own rambling." Mahou grinned brightly turning her head fully to damien, she was eager to hear him sing once again, the small taste she got in the tavern had peeked her interest, even if some had taken offence to his words, she greatly enjoyed the prefomence.