Bloodsong: The Unsung

Garak Cruld
Barbarian/Fighter 3rd
True Neutral

Marco Judgejoy
Fighter/Paladin 3rd

Wooga Damada
Rogue/Fighter 3rd
Chaotic/ Neutral

Aria "Winter" Naimion (Diamondbreeze)
Fav Soul/Sorc 3rd
Alignment: Neutral Good
Gray Elf

Dethis Harbin
Bard/Swash 3
Chaotic Neutral

Chaotic Neutral

After several hundred years of peace, the world is at war once more. Pre-emptive strikes on any Orc nomads coming too close to the city has provoked attacks on every Human urban center known, although most have been unsuccessful. Paranoia and fear is growing in the city, although the people of the coastline and countryside remain somewhat tolerant. The Elves have refused to join the bloodbath, but this has only aroused suspicion in the hearts of both Orcs and Humans.

No one knows what started the war. No one cares; hatred and violence seem to have found their way into the hearts of every living soul, and even the highest offices seem intent on prolonging, or finishing, the war. Their goal seems to be nothing short of complete domination of the continent.

Libraries have been burned; elders are all dead, save for a few ancient Elves so decrepit that they refuse to share their knowledge with anyone unworthy-- and precious few are ever found worthy.

The only record of the world of the past that remains is the songs and oral history passed down through the voices of Bards: Myths and legends of heroes, monsters, gods, lovers, and intrigue known collectively as the Bloodsong. All Bards know parts of the Bloodsong, but no one, not even the ancient Elves, know the truth of the past.

They came from all walks of life, but the common thread was that they were without hatred.

You must create your own reason to find yourself together and relatively familiar with each other, in a bar in the Central Plains' capital city, populated by almost all Humans. The day before, you were Gathering Information; post your modifiers in the thread designated for dice and I'll roll that now. Drinks and food at thish particular bar are paid on credit, and you do not have to eat your provided ration.
Against the wall of the pub, Marco sat calmly sipping his drink. His rapier was sheathed at his side, his lance was strapped across his back, and his trusty shield lay on the wall beside him.

His banded mail, his only true possession, remained attached to his body. As a warriorknight of the Order of Bahamut, he had been trained to regard personal strength on par with the calling to cleanse the world of its taint. He doubted that there were any who would challenge his divine might at the moment, but if they chose to do so, they would need to first get past his armor first.

He continued sipping. He knew his own tolerance, having experimented amply with liquers before his initiation into the Order--while drinking was not restricted, it was frowned upon by the current head. He indulged himself while he could.

But that was pleasure. Business was at hand, especially his own mission. Charged to eliminate the orc threat to humanity, Marco had left the bastion of the Order of Bahamut too quickly to be told that it was merely a joke. As he traveled, however, he had heard that he was not alone in this great crusade. The coast. He must get to the coast, where the action surely would be.

Bahamut would demand that he engage upon this task alone, but Marco was a realist--he would need additional manpower to survive the journey, for who knew what kinds of ill fiends lurked amongst the towns, the villages, just waiting to strike down the innocent and unsuspectant. It didn't matter if they followed his cause--he would have little use of them after he met up with his brethern.

For now, Marco watched for anyone who looked like they had met their share of conflict--
Wooga laid calmly on a table, not oh so far away from the paladin scanning the pub. He held a pint of beer in his hand, occasionally taking a long hard drink from it once or twice. His glaive rested on a wall in his viewing range, it was his only weapon and no one was going to steal it from him. His chainmail was resting on his body, it's occasional glint off of the pub's small flickering flames could be seen.

He took his right index finger, and ran it along the scar on his face. From his mouth, to the opposite ear on his face. He occasionally listened in on passing stories, taking bits and pieces. Forming a whole rumor sometimes, sometimes just getting a small hint of a magical weapon or item in a newly formed digsite.

His adventurous feeling had begun to grow on him in the past couple of days. Being the well trained rogue he was, he rather not go alone and take the chances of zombies or grave diggers. Yet, if he had a couple powerful fighters with him, then he might be able to find the courage to go fight.

The drinks here made him not want to leave though, so thats why he laid on the table. Taking a nice long break from searching for the past hour or two for partners. He constant thought of breaking the table pass through his mind, so he didn't really move from his position. Even if there was a nail jabbing him in the back, only to be stopped by his chain mail. This place needs some wenches, I get bored of seeing the same old men walking around. Especially that prepped up man over there with the fancy armor and clothing.
A man roared in the backround, making the drunk man's head throb. He slowly lifted his head, speaking in an extremely slurred tones, so that he didn't even recognise his own voice.

"Driiiiing 'Btend..." He tried to force out the words to land himself another drink, but couldn't. His arms barely moved. His head pounded. He couldn't get up, with the sheer drunkness. He fell off his seat, barely feeling it as he hit the ground hard. He almost crawled, but managed to regain control of his legs. He staggered toward the entrance of the tavern, barely making it instead of hitting a wall, but he didn't care. He propped himself up against the wall with an unsteady hand and retched at the side of the tavern, nearly falling into his own mess, but instead falling right next to it, unconscious.

His thoughts swam, and memoies...Damned memories haunted him.
Marco sees Wooga, but little discerns the Rogue from another drunk. Beyond that, he fails to notice anyone interesting. At all.

Wooga, on the other hand, is acutely aware of every PC in the bar. He also sees some people looking agitated at a table in the distance.

Marco hears the words "Woodie" and "Piggart" coming from those same people, though he doesn't know their location, and those are such common racial slurs that it's nothing to get excited about. The bar is very noisy anyway.

The bar is too noisy for Wooga to hear anything.
"Guh." Dethis shook his head. He felt... Better. Perhaps throwing up had caused his system to recover. He raised himself from the ground, even his throbbing headache was fading. He ran a hand through tangled black hair, stumbling only slightly back inside the bar as he felt the inside of his mouth with his tongue. It felt bitter, brackish, and bile was thick in his mouth. He walked to the bar again, sitting down on the exact same chair, it hadn't been filled yet, and he looked up at the bartender, snapping his fingers.

"I'd like aaaa- Ale, please. (Can't get too drunk again right now, do that later.)" He said under his breath, noting the number of people in the bar, spinning around on the stool as he looked at everyone with a sly eye. He eyed the bar, the dust, and made a slight design in it. He winced as those damned memories surfaced again.

"Make that two Ales." He gave into his urges. He wondered how many people had died... That night, in that fire... He had just run... Not looking back after he realized what had happened, he was... "A coward." He finished for himself quietly.

"So... Bartender, anything happen lately?" He asked, looking down and scratching letters into his arm with his fingernails, leaving trails of white in the pale skin.
The barkeep doesn't pay much attention to you. "Just the same crap," he says. "You've obviously heard of the occupation, and honestly, you're better off asking someone else. Sorry, I've got a table waiting for me."
"Buddy, you look like a damn drunk out of his mind drunkard. Also, you know how many times I've wanted to say that to some random man who wouldn't kill me?" Wooga said as he sat next to Dethis, once again he took another chug of his pint. He shook it at the barkeep and then placed it on the bar. "Fill 'er up ol keep man." Wooga then turned around and began to watch his glaive carefully, he wouldn't be able to carry it around like a sword. So he left it leaning against the wall.

"You look down on your luck, and I think I know the one thing you need. Something to kill mr drunkard. And I know just the place to find it, I hear rumors that would knock peoples socks off." He tapped the side of his head with his left index finger. "Also, don't mind my scar. I wasn't good enough to notice the one trap that killed my old group." Wooga began to think about what he just said, he then covered his mouth. "Forgive me, I'm a better rogue then when I was those so many years ago. My rudeness, I'm Wooga what is you name Mr. Drunky."
Wooga manages to hold his ale.

He also doesn't manage to piss Dethis off.

I know that was roll-playing, but this situation deserved it.
"Well, well. I dislike people who repeat 'drunkard' as a pejorative comment. It is my and only my reasons as to why I drink, and that gives you no right to make fun of my habits." With that, the drinks were served, and Dethis took them both. He nodded his thanks to the bartender, then slid the mug of ale at his antagonist... Just a bit too much over the edge, spilling it all over the other person.

"Aw, well, would you look at that. Must be my drunky drunkness." Dethis spoke, his voice filled with contempt for the other man. He slowly sipped at his own ale, preparing for a fight if it broke out.

Dethis splashes Wooga with ale. This isn't Nethack, so his armor does not rust. But it kinda stinks.
"You must find that real funny, don't you? I have a few jokes of my own. So don't worry your little head." Wooga said as he began to stand up. He started to walk away, but he suddenly turned around and kicked Deth's chair out from under him. "I find that funny you piece of drunk shit. Let's both start laughing at out jokes." Wooga began to chuckle a bit, he pulled himself up onto the bar. Then looked down upon Deth, "So, who else wants to tangle with my wit."
Dethis fell hard, but crouched as he did, minimizing the impact and making sure he didn't fall flat on his ass. He kept a firm hold on his drink, bringing it around to create a shock absorber for it, managing to keep most of it from spilling and the bits that did splashed and hit the ground harmlessly. He felt a rage boiling up within him, but surpressed it, making himself calm, but smiling slightly. This man was a fool.

"If you think you're so smart..." Dethis nearly twitched, but he had managed to keep a hand on his drink. He took a long draught, then placed it on the ground, standing easily as he fisted the punk. Once, then twice. That would either put him down for the count, or either keep him out of the way. Either way, it'd start a decent fight. He was up for that. Clear away those horrible memories with the sensation of a fist squashing someone's nose.
((Sorry I'm so late into this. ;__; ))

Grakas cracked his neck wearily, watching droplets condense on the sides of the empty mug that sat on the bar in front of him. They broke stillness every once and a while to race down to the bottom of the glass, but for the most part, it was still. It was satisfying, much unlike the room in which he sat. The room was loud, boisterous, and chaotic; it reminded him of his old days in his home village, back before it became like the others from the anti-orc sentiment surrounding it.

Once or twice, as he stared at two men, drowning themselves in ale and speaking nonsensicly, he considered slamming the bartender and yelling for him to simply stop serving them. His nostrils twitched as he thought about the position he would put himself in by doing such a thing. "Me, a half-orc, stirring up trouble in a human city! What an idea! I may be dull," he thought, "but even I'm not that stupid!"

He drooped his head down upon his arms, crossed over the table, and watched the drunkard Dethis attempt sarcastic conversation with his drinking partner. His eyes narrowed and his frown deepened as he further considered the idiocy of others. "A man shouldn't drink more than he can hold. Doesn't he know his limits?" Grakas grumbled audibly, snarling in the direction of the two. "His welfare is none of my concern. Somebody ought to have the sense to smack the next glass-"

As he grumbled, he watched with interest as the customer fell to the floor and then got back up in a flash to retaliate. "Huh. These guys are fighters... if I cared, I'd walk over there and knock em both. They're both numbskulls, the drunkard and the one spurring him on," he muttered, crossing his arms as he continued to look on.
Grakas didn't have to go looking for trouble; trouble found him. A group of five humans approached him from all angles, and one of them slammed a heavy walking stick on the table, upsetting everything on it, with a shout of, "PIGGART!" that out-voiced everyone in the whole bar put together. Whatever commotion the barfight made, it was nothing compared to this.

"Get out of here, piggart scum," said the largest of them, eyes full of hate. "Your ilk killed my brother. Get out of my sight before I'm tempted to return the favor."
By the way, Wooga fails his save vs. Stunning Fist and can take no action.

He slumps onto the floor. Whack.

He loses dex bonus to AC and has an additional -2 AC.

All the PCs recognize the fact that Dethis used subdual as opposed to lethal tecnniques.
"Huh... my clan picked the wrong time to try and assimilate ourselves," Grakas grunted. "To think! My proud half-orc father and my concerned half-orc mother, trying damn hard to please you humans!" he growled under his breath, narrowing his eyes and flaring his nostrils as he gazed at the men. "Well, in this day and age, that won't cut it! There's no use trying, so far as I can tell."

Grumbling, he rose to his feet, taking a look toward the man to his side. "What, you want me to swing my axe at one of the others, cut him down so the other four can carry out their lynching with a sense of pride?" he inferred. He didn't seem to realize, however, that in reality, all five were likely to attack him no matter what he did. "Not a one of you have even considered your own mortality, counting on the others to be the one to take the fall! What you mistake for courage and a sense of duty is only ignorance toward your own weakness!"

Grakas, realizing the dire situation he had gotten himself into, attempted to barrel through whatever opening he could find in the ring with a roll. "Damn it. Here I thought I had learned to control my rage, when in reality, I'm itching to slaughter you humans just like any full-blooded orcish warrior would," he muttered in a monotone fashion as he performed his maneuver.

Grakas wasn't paying attention to the drunkard and his antagonist any longer. He couldn't afford to think about others' petty downfallings such as overindulgance when he had his own life to defend.
Hearing the conversation going on in the backround as he beat the name-caller-chair-stealer into a pulp, his senses warring for a second as he looked to the foe. Wooga seemed to be firmly out of it for a couple seconds, and while he would probably snap back to attention... He could take him to unconciousness here and now... or... His sense of self-hatred warred with his hate for Orcs, but his morality managed to pull out a neat win. He sighed, affirming himself in the course he was going to take, then opened his mouth, knowing he was probably dooming himself.

"Ey! Pricks!" Dethis yelled at the aggressors in the racial confrontation, turning down and scooping up his mug, as he brought it up in a smooth motion, then paused for a second, drinking it down to the dregs, then hurling it, end over end at the person who looked like the leader of the group as hard as he could. Wiping his mouth off, he licked his lips.

"Leave the Green thing alone!" He finished, grinning slyly.

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[X][ ][X][D][xxxTHE BARxxx][X][X]
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|= Wall
X= Table or Passable Barrier (tumble/destructible)
G for Grakas
D for Dethis
W for Wooga [11 Subdual damage sustained; no longer Stunned]
M for Marco
Aria is assumed to be outside, but I can place her if desired.
T for Thug
L for Thug Leader
Grakas dives under his table. The leader takes the stick from his buddy and takes a swing, but only succeeds in knocking over the table.

Turn order:
Thug leader
Other thugs

Dethis slings a mug, and it smacks the leader with a dull thud.

"Who threw that?" He bellowed, and the entire bar fell silent. Obviously, this man is a regular here-- everyone seems to respect his presence. "What piggart-loving swine dares to challenge Rodra and his men?"

Marco is too far away, but Dethis sees the bartender silently reach under the counter.
"I'm no orc-lover, but I'm not willing to see someone persecuted for something that they didn't do. It goes against my moral code. Men have murdered orcs without good reason, does that mean the entire human race as a whole should be simply stalked and hurt? Leave the orcey alone, asses. He has better things to do, like get drunk. He paid for his drink, he's got a right to be here like everyone else. You want to mess with him? Mess with me first, racists." Dethis settled into a battle stance and walked forward casually, swaying slightly with each step, as a snake might sway, ready to bite the head off of the one that moved.

He arrived at the side of the thug leader, shrugging slightly.

"We can fight this out, or I can buy you an Ale, if you like."

(Dodge target: Thug leader, Ready an action to attack back if the thug attacks, and from that point on, fight defensively.)