Bloodsong: The Unsung
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Wooga continued to follow Marco, he had nothing better to do. Also he felt like following someone for a change, instead of people following him. He wasn't sure where the Paladin was going for one thing, but it was probably somewhere nice or lawful. Maybe a church where he prayed to his deity or something.
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As Aria found the herbal salve she was looking for (the last one too boot), a sudden, and very loud metallic clamor startled her, and caused her to drop the container. It hit the floor and rolled... Wonderful... She kneels down to get the salve from where it fell, only to discover the sad fact that it had rolled far beneath the shelf... Of all the luck... And I still need that salve. she thought glumly. She sighed exasperatedly...
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If you would like anything done [i.e. if you need the part of a shopkeeper/other NPC played] or if you would prefer to be railroaded into the plot at this point, post in the OOC.
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"There was a small Red Vessel,
Filled with the power to Heal,
Fell under the shelf,
but now It's right here."
Finishing the song-poem, the slim genteel raised his hand slightly, propelling the small container out from under the shelf, levitating up to Aria's hands. The dandy spoke in swift and deft elven, slightly suspiciously no accent, but that was understandable. He was a slim human, looking weak in stature, but had intelligent eyes, as well as a small smile on his face.
"I'm always glad to help a fair maiden," The bard spoke, bowing slightly before the elf, He seemed only slightly nervous as he saw Aria's ears, but for what reason, he hoped she possibly couldn't comprehend.
(Use Mage Hand to get it to Aria)
(Disguise check to notice: 33 (9 + 5 -1 +20))
Filled with the power to Heal,
Fell under the shelf,
but now It's right here."
Finishing the song-poem, the slim genteel raised his hand slightly, propelling the small container out from under the shelf, levitating up to Aria's hands. The dandy spoke in swift and deft elven, slightly suspiciously no accent, but that was understandable. He was a slim human, looking weak in stature, but had intelligent eyes, as well as a small smile on his face.
"I'm always glad to help a fair maiden," The bard spoke, bowing slightly before the elf, He seemed only slightly nervous as he saw Aria's ears, but for what reason, he hoped she possibly couldn't comprehend.
(Use Mage Hand to get it to Aria)
(Disguise check to notice: 33 (9 + 5 -1 +20))
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Aria was preparing to cast aside her dignity and fish for the item the hard way, when she heard a short poetic verse... In a language she recognized: Elven? She gave no indication that she had understood the poem... As it ended the small, round, red-wood box floated its way back out from under the shelves, and levitated upwards... What...? She cupped her hands under the item, which proceeded to land in her palms. She stood once more as the stranger bowed, and thanked him in the Language of the Plains: "Umm, thank you." ... even as she thought: He speaks elven, but he looks human. Still, the poem and the display of magic... A Bard likely.
Glancing back over the benevolent stranger's shoulder, she saw the silhouette of a heavily armored human just outside... She pegged him as the cause of the incredibly loud racket that had startled her, giving him a daggerish look and a silent epithet, Brainless fool.
With that, she turned and walked with her salve to the counter...
Glancing back over the benevolent stranger's shoulder, she saw the silhouette of a heavily armored human just outside... She pegged him as the cause of the incredibly loud racket that had startled her, giving him a daggerish look and a silent epithet, Brainless fool.
With that, she turned and walked with her salve to the counter...
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The man behind the counter of the apothecary displays all the signs of being staggeringly old for a human: A long (probably trimmed that way) white beard and thinning hair on the top of his head, but the movements of his body and the look in his eyes are sharper than those of people half, or even a quarter of his apparent age.
He doesn't even look up to confirm that people have entered his store, but when they approach the counter, he immediately sets his current project in the mortar and pestle aside and comes to the counter wordlessly.
He doesn't even look up to confirm that people have entered his store, but when they approach the counter, he immediately sets his current project in the mortar and pestle aside and comes to the counter wordlessly.
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Aria stopped at the counter, and addressed the shopkeep in a pleasant tone "Pardon me, but how much for this box of healing salve?". As she speaks she sets the box on the counter, and secretly prayed it wouldn't cost it's weight in diamonds... It still struck her as odd that this simple healing item was so hard to find in this city.
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"In your hands is a box of my own herbs, not any manner of 'healing salve.' My healing potions come straight from the local healers and wizards, and are much cheaper than some traders you'll find around here, but they will still cost 50 gold pieces each. However, if mundane treatments are what you seek, then the entire box you hold will cost you the same as only two healing potions-- 100 gp. It contains a variety of painkillers and disinfectants, which should last you for many, many uses."
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Grakas watched people walking busily around the city, keeping his head low and his thoughts to himself. "Hrmm... There has to be somewhere else around here that a man can get some booze, but I can't read any of the signs," he thought, stroking his chin and squinting at different signs. I'll just look until I find some kind of picture or carving depicting a mug. That ought to work, I guess," he nodded, heading away from the bar he'd just been ejected from.
He ended up at the apothecary, stopping to look up dumbly at the sign and advertisements. "Huh..." he grunted, observing a picture of what looked like a bottle of liquid. "I guess it's possible they've got something to drink," he shrugged, scratching his head with one of his chalky gray fingers. He entered slowly, keeping his head low in an attempt to avoid drawing more unnecessary attention, but making no other real effort to stay hidden.
He ended up at the apothecary, stopping to look up dumbly at the sign and advertisements. "Huh..." he grunted, observing a picture of what looked like a bottle of liquid. "I guess it's possible they've got something to drink," he shrugged, scratching his head with one of his chalky gray fingers. He entered slowly, keeping his head low in an attempt to avoid drawing more unnecessary attention, but making no other real effort to stay hidden.
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Marco was brushed aside, as the half-orc from earlier barged past him into the apothecary, interrupting his silent meditation. "Blasted..." He growled, before catching himself.
There was no sense in blaming someone for lacking facilities that he could not reasonably possess. Glancing around behind him, Marco wondered if there were any followers--he was almost certain that that band of thugs wouldn't give up their hatred so easily.
"Bahamut, grant me your strength..." He whispered, as he followed the half-orc into the apothecary.
There was no sense in blaming someone for lacking facilities that he could not reasonably possess. Glancing around behind him, Marco wondered if there were any followers--he was almost certain that that band of thugs wouldn't give up their hatred so easily.
"Bahamut, grant me your strength..." He whispered, as he followed the half-orc into the apothecary.
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An Apothecary, that is an interesting place to go. No real reason unless your stocking up on items. Wooga said as he slipped into the apothecary. If the man he was following had gone into the store. He might as well, no reason passing up another store rumble.
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"A Paladin of Bahamut," says an amused voice from the shadows. Marco turns to look, and a man wearing a dirty brown robe is standing there, partially obscured by the crazy patterns of shadow thrown on the ground by laundry lines and support beams high above the ground.
"You're far from home. What brings you to a city like ours? Who sent you? What is your mission? Surely one such as yourself would have no inhibitions with sharing such information, if your goal was truly as pure as your sword and shield seem to tell?"
"You're far from home. What brings you to a city like ours? Who sent you? What is your mission? Surely one such as yourself would have no inhibitions with sharing such information, if your goal was truly as pure as your sword and shield seem to tell?"
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"Far from home...?" Marco growled, as he turned towards the shoddy commoner. "I am sorry, stranger, but you are quite mistaken."
"While I am far from my eventual reside beside the celestral abode of the Platinum Dragon, my Order is based in the city. Bahamut prefers the icy gales of the mountains, it is true--however, the peaks of civilization appease him just as much as the peaks of nature." Marco squinted at the stranger, his curiousity getting the better of him.
"I'll have you know that I am a local of this great city. If you are intrigued by my background--" with a grunt, Marco shifted his shield from his left hand to his right, exposing his bare left hand--"--look up the name of Judgejoy." The opal on the Signet ring flashed hypnotically, as the golden shreen declared without a doubt that Marco was of noble birth.
His shield back in his off-hand, Marco ran his right hand through his moustache. "Now, you wish to hear my mission? Well, it's a simple one--to bring the light of the Platinum Dragon to the foresaken battlefields, to end the rumored squabble that the orcs are trying to raise. Don't take me wrong." Marco waved his free hand. "I have no delusions of my role in this. Bahamut grants me his strength, but in exchange I follow his every command wholeheartedly. I am his sword, one of many deployed to bring about his order to this land. I cannot guarantee that I can bring about this miracle single-handedly... But I trust that the Dragon King must have given me this mission for an important reason."
"Your turn, stranger." Marco stared down the robed figure, his eyes starting to glow eerily in the weak light. "You have heard my side. By equivalent exchange, I will now hear yours."
((Begin Detecting Evil))
"While I am far from my eventual reside beside the celestral abode of the Platinum Dragon, my Order is based in the city. Bahamut prefers the icy gales of the mountains, it is true--however, the peaks of civilization appease him just as much as the peaks of nature." Marco squinted at the stranger, his curiousity getting the better of him.
"I'll have you know that I am a local of this great city. If you are intrigued by my background--" with a grunt, Marco shifted his shield from his left hand to his right, exposing his bare left hand--"--look up the name of Judgejoy." The opal on the Signet ring flashed hypnotically, as the golden shreen declared without a doubt that Marco was of noble birth.
His shield back in his off-hand, Marco ran his right hand through his moustache. "Now, you wish to hear my mission? Well, it's a simple one--to bring the light of the Platinum Dragon to the foresaken battlefields, to end the rumored squabble that the orcs are trying to raise. Don't take me wrong." Marco waved his free hand. "I have no delusions of my role in this. Bahamut grants me his strength, but in exchange I follow his every command wholeheartedly. I am his sword, one of many deployed to bring about his order to this land. I cannot guarantee that I can bring about this miracle single-handedly... But I trust that the Dragon King must have given me this mission for an important reason."
"Your turn, stranger." Marco stared down the robed figure, his eyes starting to glow eerily in the weak light. "You have heard my side. By equivalent exchange, I will now hear yours."
((Begin Detecting Evil))
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"Just someone looking out for the people," the man said with a crooked smile. "If you're just here to wipe out all the damn piggarts, then I've got no problem wtih you. It's just that your kind has caused trouble around here before. Paladins, I mean. They're great business for good ol' Sar over there, right up until they start using their potions to set fire to our homes."
He pauses, realizing he's said too much.
He winked. "You seem like a good sort, so you don't have to expect any trouble from us," he said. "I probably shouldn't say any more. Good luck with the piggart infestation."
With that, he turned his back and started to leave.
He pauses, realizing he's said too much.
He winked. "You seem like a good sort, so you don't have to expect any trouble from us," he said. "I probably shouldn't say any more. Good luck with the piggart infestation."
With that, he turned his back and started to leave.
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"Wait mister, I have a question. Do you know anything about the coastline? See, I've been wanting to go down there, but it seems Orcs have taken residence down there." Wooga said, trying to prove some information he had been given. If this guy was a Orc hater, he would give him his information. If this guy was just a normal everyday guy, then he might still know something about this. "Me and my family, always wanted to see the coastline. That is why I'm mainly here at all."
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In his blessed sight, Marco could see the taint rolling off the man--it wasn't overwhelming, but it was there.
In fact, it was everywhere... around him, the world was shrounded in darkness, corruption running rampant--wait, what was that?
A stronger concentration--within the building. Unlike the others, this one was far more focused--far more potent.
He ignored the retreating rambler--the man was too deluded to be taken seriously. Piggart... That word seemed to be on the lips of every lowlife in this town. Why was that? If he hadn't been charged with such a dire mission, Marco would have taken it upon himself to set these people straight--none of them were past the point of redemption yet, without the opportunity to delve further into darkness.
But this aura that clouded his eyes... this was different. His hand strayed to his rapier, as he strode determinedly into the apothecary, leaving his shadow to pursue his own questions--
In fact, it was everywhere... around him, the world was shrounded in darkness, corruption running rampant--wait, what was that?
A stronger concentration--within the building. Unlike the others, this one was far more focused--far more potent.
He ignored the retreating rambler--the man was too deluded to be taken seriously. Piggart... That word seemed to be on the lips of every lowlife in this town. Why was that? If he hadn't been charged with such a dire mission, Marco would have taken it upon himself to set these people straight--none of them were past the point of redemption yet, without the opportunity to delve further into darkness.
But this aura that clouded his eyes... this was different. His hand strayed to his rapier, as he strode determinedly into the apothecary, leaving his shadow to pursue his own questions--
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"Each of these bottles smells fouler than the last," Grakkas grunted, picking up a bottle and sniffing it experimentally only to quickly replace it in its spot on the shelf. "They probably taste even worse than they smell. I can't read a cursed thing," he grunted, trying in vague to read the labels on each bottle.
He ignored the comments of "piggart" and "infestation" that seemed to be being tossed around. "No need to get in any more trouble than I've already gotten myself into. This place obviously has no booze, so I'm wasting time here," he thought to himself, heading for the door out.
He ignored the comments of "piggart" and "infestation" that seemed to be being tossed around. "No need to get in any more trouble than I've already gotten myself into. This place obviously has no booze, so I'm wasting time here," he thought to himself, heading for the door out.