Beacons of Hope: Wrath of the Righteous!

Game Master JohnnyBlack

The Grey Garrison Map
Aberu's Loot Spreadsheet
Old Loot Spreadsheet


201 to 250 of 468 << first < prev | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | next > last >>
Dark Archive

Ithilwen of the Myriad Stars wrote:


Siobhan wrote:
Siobhan watches Ithilwen with something akin to longing. After a moment she plucks up her courage and approaches the other woman. "Excuse me, I understand if you're too tired but watching you dance like that was... extraordinary. Would you... be willing to dance with me?" She blurts the last part out in a rush. "If it's too much trouble then you don't have to, I don't want to be unhelpful. If you're tired I might be able to help with that..." Her sudden splurge is cut off abruptly as Siobhan flushes, her dark skin taking on a slightly crimson hue. Despite her crippling embarrassment she manages to stay put, waiting for an answer

"Don't blush" Ithilwen replies with a half-amused, half-enticing smile on her purple lips. "There's nothing shameful in what you ask."

Another half-human she thinks, the irony of qualifying someone as such in a room mostly full of humans (though admittedly many an ancestor of theirs must have had some particular fondness for the Outer Planes – Lower or Upper as the case may be) apparently lost on her. I think I must have seen her around. She never managed to summon the courage to ask what her story was, though. Every time she has to lie about herself being a former slave she feels a pang of guilt and remorse, as the memories of how she would treat her own slaves forcefully resurface. Meeting a genuine one would probably shatter her.

So, she chooses to perpetrate her blissful ignorance, at least for the time being. This is a night of celebration.

So let's celebrate she thinks, the beverages in her blood loosening her well-crafted inhibitions. Unlike with Miles, she doesn't have to hold back. She starts moving languidly, as she's seen some Desnan do when honouring their goddess, weaving mysterious patterns with their limbs under the pale starlight.

Perform (dance): 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (11) + 6 = 17

Slightly giddy with excitement Siobhan allows herself to be led onto the dancefloor. As Ithilwen begins to move around Siobhan has a moment of panic at the centre of all the eyes in the room before she shuts her own tight and listens for the music that is never far away. Dancing inside a building feels strange somehow, without the stars above her the song of spheres is muted but Siobhan does her best to lose herself in it non-the-less.

Perform (dance): 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (6) + 4 = 10

As the two dance, weaving gently in and out of each others paths like butterflies under the stars Siobhan missteps and finds herself within millimeters of the other woman's body. She can't help but open her eyes and drink in the features of the woman who seems to be so like her, and yet so different - so confident in herself and who she is.

Some fell impulse drives Siobhan to loop her thin arms around Ithilwen's neck, gently restraining the dance into a close swaying of two bodies. Looking up at the older woman Siobhan finds a question rising to her lips and she can't hold herself back. "What's your story, beautiful one? Why have I never seen you before?"


Alexa Dorne wrote:

Alexa audibly sighs in relief. Miles doesn't pay her any attention.

"Em-peer-ree-alls?" The boy scratches his head. "I didn't even know they existed. So, what do they do? Mom always said Shelyn provides for everyone. Does She provide for them too?"

Leaning forward, Uriel smiles down at the boy. As Azura was saying, Empyreal Lords are a sort of bridge between mortals and gods. Surely you know of the Test of Starstone, and those who have passed it, yes? First Aroden, later others including the adventurer Cayden Cailean and great Iomedae, who is so popular in these lands. They were mortals who achieved godhood. Empyreals also were mortals who became something more. Not as powerful, perhaps, as those who passed Starstone's test, but they achieved some amount of divinity nonetheless, and are worshipped and prayed to by at least a few followers. Most are known for one specific aspect, but that is not to say they are simple. Most who know Ragathiel know him as one who avenges the wronged. This could be as simple as a mercenary double-crossed by his employer, or an entire nation of people who homeland was torn from them. At this, he indicates those in the tavern who have identified themselves as Sarkorians. Many do not know that the outer planes are always at war. Ragathiel is one of the chief generals of the heavenly armies, and often leads legions of angelic forces against Hell's hordes. He also commands the outermost ring of Heaven's defenses, including his great steel fortress at the foot of Heaven's mighty mountain, which serves as a bulwark against invasions from the lower planes. In all this he serves the good gods, have no doubt, but he is himself a force for good more powerful than any mortal, a mighty sword and shield that saves us and gives us the power to avenge ourselves and those too weak to avenge themselves. Uriel stops himself, realizing that he let fervor get the best of him. He hoped he hadn't overwhelmed the young man with information.


"Absolutely." Darya says with a radiant smile. "We just want to make the world a better place, while enjoying the company of others who truly understand."


"Don't forget about people who only know of one facet of an empyreal and think that's the totality of them. You wouldn't believe how many times I've told someone that I worship Lymnieris and reply with 'I'm so sorry, I didn't realise that was the arrangement' before digging out their wallets."


Luciana Moretti wrote:
"Don't forget about people who only know of one facet of an empyreal and think that's the totality of them. You wouldn't believe how many times I've told someone that I worship Lymnieris and reply with 'I'm so sorry, I didn't realise that was the arrangement' before digging out their wallets."

"Mmm, right, or folks who think that Arshea means everyone is entitled to your attention instead of let's find the right person for you."


"Ugh! People are idiots. Believing that everyone must live a one dimensional existence. That isn't living. I get people who think I'll cut them down for bumping into me."


Azura Celestine wrote:
Luciana Moretti wrote:
"Don't forget about people who only know of one facet of an empyreal and think that's the totality of them. You wouldn't believe how many times I've told someone that I worship Lymnieris and reply with 'I'm so sorry, I didn't realise that was the arrangement' before digging out their wallets."
"Mmm, right, or folks who think that Arshea means everyone is entitled to your attention instead of let's find the right person for you."

"Whoo, yeah; remember that blond guy we ran into one summer? Tried hitting on us both at once and latched onto you worshipping Arshea? We tried to talk him down, but then he started to get pretty aggressive. Then he got pretty... concussed."

Silver Crusade

Cyril Hastings Alderford wrote:

At this time Cyril re-enters the Defender's Heart with his robes torn, spectacles cracked, and overall flustered. He snatches his belongings from the doorman and makes his way back to the bar counter.

To no-one and anyone in particular.
"If you're worried about a sudden attack, you can stop fretting. My disheveled state is merely the byproduct of some incessant, persistent, incredibly-dense young man convinced that I was some demon in part of his reenactment. I mean look at me!"

Cyril flourishes his arms into the air. His robes were looming and perhaps a size too large on his bony body. His stringy hair reached to his shoulders, unkempt and wild. His nose was rather beak like in how is craned out from his face.

"Do I really look like some sort of foul creature?"

Bahram's face becomes drawn and serious, with a nod to Miles he moves over to Cyril

"Stay with sister here boy."

"Cyril Hastings Alderford what has happened here? You are hurt? You are no Demon, this I know for Demons are clever."

Bahram uses the word clever as an insult, meaning sly and underhand, he does not mean to insult you

"...you are not clever. Your eyes are Broken. Here..."

Invoking Sarenrae's name with a muttered whisper the glass empty glass that Bahram still holds fills with crystal clear, cool water.

"Drink Cyril Hastings Alderford"

Casting orison, Create Water


"Heh, why do people think beautiful and capable are mutually exclusive?"Darya asks chuckling.


Darya Flamekissed wrote:
"Heh, why do people think beautiful and capable are mutually exclusive?"Darya asks chuckling.

"Well I'm hoping he changed his tune once he came to. Assuming he remembers who knocked him out, at least." She took a sip of her coffee as she looked around a bit sheepishly. "Look; he grabbed my tail as we tried to walk away and I had a temper back then, remember?"


Merlin nods at Arthur. He has a determined look on his youthful face.


As their bodies softly entwine, Ithilwen is brought back to old memories, memories of wild celebrations under eerily glowing, impossibly high cavern vaults. Yet this is different, somehow. This time, no dark litany is being hummed in the background, no blaspheme hymn to Nocticula. This time, the Spheres were Singing as they move.

Still, it looks like her past isn't really done with her. Her fellow half-human's question abruptly brings her back to reality.

"I am... no-one, really" answers Ithilwen after some hesitation, as if taken aback by the suddenness of the question. "Just a fugitive slave whose steps Desna saw fit to lead to a new home. I suppose my story must be quite a common one around here."

Bluff: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (16) + 6 = 22

"And you? I don't even know your name" she hastily asks, trying to switch topics. But the music in her head has already died, and she's now walking back to her table, her dancing partner by her side.


Darya Flamekissed wrote:
"Heh, why do people think beautiful and capable are mutually exclusive?"Darya asks chuckling.

Shrugging, Uriel shakes his head. It strikes me that beautiful people do often get breaks in life that others don't. I suppose it could be natural to assume, then, that whatever such a person has was acquired via their looks. I have no doubt that is true for some people. But it is, of course, a gross overgeneralization to think it is always the case or that pretty folks can't also be quite capable in their own right.


Losvarlinth wrote:

Losvarlinth looks at Iommena You’ve grown. It’s been what… 8 years? Where’s Harsiel? I would have thought he would have followed you here. I can’t wait to see him. He’s 13 now or close to it. How is he?

Losvarlinth doesn’t know about Harsiel. She is excited and very happy right now.

Iomenna's smile fades almost instantly, and for a moment you might notice her gaze wander over toward the teenage boy sitting with his elder sister, eying all the beautiful women wandering around the tavern. She looks back toward Losvarlinth and shares the story, About 7 years ago, there was an attack on Kenabres. A small group of lesser demons managed to sneak into a few of the smaller settlements. The crusaders took care of them pretty quickly, but not before... Iomenna sighs deeply and her eyes begin to glisten with tears, but she composes herself and continues. One of the demons came into our house. Mum and dad were on assignment, so they weren't home. I tried to fight the demon, but you can see how that went. Anyway, when I came to, Harsiel was gone.

Iomenna swipes a sleeve across her eyes to clear the last of the tears away, then looks at her cousin again. Ah! Sorry to get so emotional. Let me buy us another rounds of drinks and we can catch up on other matters. How's your family? Still well I hope!


I am curious as to how we are doing?...lol.


Sario Ulum wrote:

I never really thought of Volunteers to follow me, I am not really a leader. I am just trying to find my way home. I am of the Clan Taliesin. From Northern Sarkoris.

I point on the map near what is Green Grave keep.

My parents always told me that we had an odd connection to the Green.

"Aye, the Shining Brows. Some whispered their ancestors lingered in the First World, and the blood of the sidhe courses through them. I can't claim so powerful a lineage. I'm told our line extends to Uloric Dziergas, the warlord who made Sarkoris into a nation, but even he was nothing compared to the Circle of Heirophants."

Cyril's arrival causes some amount of commotion, drawing Arloric's attention away.

"Nay, you look like a cat who just got dunked in the river!"


Alexa takes the opportunity to take out her book, quill & ink, and starts sketching another drawing... this time, taking some inspiration from the two half-drow on the dance floor.

Craft (Paintings): 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (5) + 7 = 12

Unfortunately, it doesn't come out as well as she'd like. Maybe I should find a table instead--the bar isn't a very comfortable or level place to lay a book on.


Darya wrote:
"Heh, why do people think beautiful and capable are mutually exclusive?"

"...because they're idiots?" Alexa casually tosses out.

It's happened often enough in my experience.


@Merlin

Arthur's attention follows Uriel as he explains to Miles the differentiation between Gods and Empyreals.

"Honestly, I don't know much about the upper planes. My study focuses primarily on the lower. Though, I suppose it makes sense that an aasimar would be well versed the goings on of heaven while a tiefling understands the inner workings of hell." Arthur points to himself as he makes his latter statement.

"I have done my best to resist the temptations inherent to my heritage, but I suppose that whether we like it or not, the circumstances of our birth play some role in who we are."


Or he is in need of a good dunking. Not that I can say much, my appearance is not to much better

I have sticks in my hair and I am rather dirty as well, I do wear it well but I am not clear and shiny like some of the other patrons.

I fidget a little at the talking of my ancestors.

Well I hope to live up to all that was once a proud druidic tradition, have you ventured into the World Wound yet?


Aberus sat in silence as the conversation swirled around him. There was talk of gods, empyreal lords, and angels not just at his table, but elsewhere in the tavern. While it was difficult to hear clearly, certain words seemed to stand out from the noise of the room and carry over the music.

His legs were feeling restless. He had been sitting for a while now, and the constant leaning fore and back in order hear his companions more easily was taking its toll.

"I need to stretch," he announced, pushing back his chair to stand up. "Forgive me for leaving so abruptly, but these are not the most comfortable chairs."

He stood up, stretched both of his legs and then his back, being careful not to let the scabbard bump into anything, or anyone.

"Arthur," he said, then turned to face Merlin. "Merlin, it was a pleasure. May the dawn bring you new light." Finally, he faced Telerin and bowed slightly. "Lady Telerin, it was also pleasure to meet your aquaintance."


Merlin also rises. He puts out his hand to Aberus.

I shall endeavor to make your gift a proper one, sir. Thank you!


He then glances about the tavern.

I suppose that meeting new people is a gift too.

He looks at Arthur.

I feel that i have plenty of learning to do. You have been a boon in that regard. Thank you.


Aberus took Merlin's outstretched hand and shook it politely. "That ankh was a gift to me from my mentor when I first came into Sarenrae's light, just as it was a gift to him," he said. "You will know when it is a gift for another."


Arthur turns to Aberus. At the mention of uncomfortable chairs, he stretches his own legs under the table "Farewell, friend. I have no doubts we'll see each other again before this Armasse is over."

Turning to Merlin, Arthur smiles. "It's a pleasure. What use is knowledge if it isn't shared?"


To Bahram

Cyril is smart enough to see the patterns through the broken speech.

"An accommodating man, you have my thanks."

Cyril drinks deeply, happy to have something refreshing after the young duelist waylay him.

To anyone who look like they could perform magic
"I don't suppose any of you have a mending spell handy? I assure you I don't bite like a cat dunked in the river."

Cyril chuckles at the image. Whether or not that transfers into humor or creepy sadism, he is unaware. If no one happens to have the spell, or offers to help, Cyril continues on with his business, making a note to visit an arcane shop for repairs.

To Alexa
"As long as you avoid eager young men looking to impress, you and your kin should be perfectly fine. Although, something tells me that might be an issue you've already been dealing with."


Sario Ulum Taliesin wrote:

Or he is in need of a good dunking. Not that I can say much, my appearance is not to much better

I have sticks in my hair and I am rather dirty as well, I do wear it well but I am not clear and shiny like some of the other patrons.

I fidget a little at the talking of my ancestors.

Well I hope to live up to all that was once a proud druidic tradition, have you ventured into the World Wound yet?

"Only once and not by choice. A band of demoniacs slipped past the Wardstones and raided my family's farmstead."

Arloric fingers his eyepatch again.

"They...murdered my parents. Cut them down as I watched in fear. Then they grabbed me and dragged me back with 'em. They were doing some sick ritual and needed a bunch of folk for it. Darya and some of the others here, they were there too. Their magic burned my eye before we were rescued. I shudder to think of what would have happened if they hadn't been interrupted."

When Cyril asks for someone to cast a mending spell, Arloric stands and walks over to him.

"You're lucky. I keep this spell ready in case our old pruning hook breaks!"

He holds out his hands and begins speaking in Druidic, imploring the plant and animal fibers in the clothes to remember their old strength and become as whole as the day they were sheared and harvested. He touches his thumb and middle finger together, an ancient solar symbol, and steadily the tears in Cyril's clothing re weave themselves until they're as good as new!


To Aloric
"You have my thanks. Would you like monetary compensation as well? Or perhaps the services of an alchemist."

Payment is made when debts are due. Cyril believes in the compensation of ones services.


@Alexa, trying to break out of a meta-stable state I was in. Also trying to get back to whatever connection we might have made at the top of the thread. If you have too much to track as it is, though, no worries.

As Aberus walked away from the table, he reached into the leather pouch at his side and removed a simple, but well made leather necklace that had been coiled up. He unwound the strap, revealing a silver ankh---smaller than the other---that was hanging from it. He placed this around his neck while he squeezed through the crowds that had formed towards the front of the tavern.

He saw the black-haired aasimar in front of him. She had her sketchbook out again, and appeared to be drawing. She was looking up at the two drow--or perhaps half-drow; it was hard to tell in this light--that were dancing a short distance away. She was chatting off and on with her companions as she worked.

Aberus stepped up close enough to be heard, but not so close as to interfere with her drawing.

"You seem to have worn out the young master," he remarked with a smile, gesturing to the boy she had with her.


Arloric Dziergas-Highbough wrote:
"They...murdered my parents. Cut them down as I watched in fear. Then they grabbed me and dragged me back with 'em. They were doing some sick ritual and needed a bunch of folk for it. Darya and some of the others here, they were there too. Their magic burned my eye before we were rescued. I shudder to think of what would have happened if they hadn't been interrupted."

Iomenna overhears snatches of Arloric's story and turns around to face him, her face suddenly carved with concerned interest. Pardon me, sir, but I couldn't help but overhear your tale. I am so sorry for your loss, but I wonder if you remember some of the others who were involved in that ritual you talked about. There may have been a boy, about 7 years old, with dark hair and bright, silvery grey eyes. His name was Harsiel. Do you remember seeing anyone like that? She places a hand gently on the man's shoulder, pleading for any information he might have about the people the demoniacs had abducted. Maybe that's what had happened to Harsiel. Maybe he had even escaped with the others, but had gotten lost and wasn't able to come home.

Her other hand reaches back toward Losvarlinth, seeking her cousin's hand to grasp for comfort, for hope, for some reassurance that her dear little brother might not be lost forever.


Alexa Dorne wrote:
Darya wrote:
"Heh, why do people think beautiful and capable are mutually exclusive?"

"...because they're idiots?" Alexa casually tosses out.

It's happened often enough in my experience.

"By all means, let us not disabuse them of the notion" Ithilwen chimes in, subtly grinning. "Annoying as it might be, you never know when it might come in handy."

Surface dwellers are very lucky. In Zirnakaynin, the first thing they teach you is that the prettiest snakes have the sharpest teeth. And if you don't get that lesson quick, you never have the chance to learn your second.

She's about to grant the rude man's request, but Arloric has her beaten to the draw when her attention is instead caught by Alexa's drawing instead. "This looks very pretty, Alexa. I didn't know your artistry went beyond the blade."


Ithilwen wrote:
"This looks very pretty, Alexa. I didn't know your artistry went beyond the blade."

"Thank you." Alexa blushes slightly, despite herself. "Truth be told, my family are all versed in some manner of art. Mother and Father work with wood as their chosen medium, Kelvim's passion lies in song, Wilhem enjoys poetry, and apparently Miles..." She nods at the boy, who's listening to Uriel's explanation of the Empyreal Lords. "...has talent in the arts of the dance."

"I, myself, prefer to capture the world around me in ink and paper." She looks down at the uneven drawing of Ithilwen & Siobhan together. "Sometimes, it doesn't go as well as I'd like."

She flips the page back to her earlier sketch, of the gathering at the bar before everyone else crowded in. "Sometimes, it does."

Cyril wrote:
"As long as you avoid eager young men looking to impress, you and your kin should be perfectly fine. Although, something tells me that might be an issue you've already been dealing with."

"I've dealt with it a few times. Funnily enough, such *ahem* tactics tend to prove effective when I'm ferreting out potential saboteurs for the Crusade." Alexa admits without hesitation.

"I don't make a habit of relying on it, however."


To Alexa

"Weapons are veiled in many disguises, though I commend you of yours."

Cyril pauses for moment, for once seeming to struggle for the words he wants to use as he usually just speaks as they come to mind.

"Is...is the boy alright?"

Cyril isn't necessarily a terrible person, though most would agree he could use some work. He was proud, certain of himself, and carried a solid notion of how the world should work. Unfortunately it also meant that he was abashed when he realized he had taken out his frustrations on a child less than half his age. One who had even been to the Worldwound.

Cyril face reddened slightly, as he averted his eyes to the flow and cocked his posture forward.

"I did not mean to upset the lad, to open old wounds per se."
I have no idea where the kid is a this point, so if he's there, we'll chalk this up to Cyril being terrible at the timing of apologies.


"Does that mean it's my fault as a muse?" asks Ithilwen feigning a frown. "Jokes aside, this work is stunning. Your art, Arloric's trees... there's more in Kenabres to keep the horrors of the Abyss at bay than just our blades and the Wardstone" she states, eyes wide, her face only inches from the sketch as her hands caress its texture, as if to better savour the technique involved.

@Cyril: I think he's here ;)


Cyril wrote:
"Is...is the boy alright?"

"It looks like he is now." Alexa looks over at Miles with a distant look on her face.

I know I worry so much about him...

Ithilwen wrote:
""Does that mean it's my fault as a muse?"

"More like a fault of this uneven bar, really."

Ithilwen wrote:
"Jokes aside, this work is stunning. Your art, Arloric's trees... there's more in Kenabres to keep the horrors of the Abyss at bay than just our blades and the Wardstone."

Alexa bites her lip and snickers as Ithilwen almost presses her face against the book's pages. "Careful--you might get some ink on your nose."

"In all seriousness, I don't think it's that good..." The aasimar trails off and plays with a strand of her hair, its reddish glowing tip peeking between her fingers.


Cyril Hastings Alderford wrote:

To Aloric

"You have my thanks. Would you like monetary compensation as well? Or perhaps the services of an alchemist."

Payment is made when debts are due. Cyril believes in the compensation of ones services.

Arloric holds up his hands.

"Ah, it's nothing. I just wish I could do the same for the land past the Wardstones."

He pauses as Cyril mentions his trade.

"Come to think of it, haven't I seen you at Truestone park before? I think you were consulting my uncle, Crocris, about some plant reagents you were having trouble finding in the shops."

Iomenna bet-Melkiel wrote:

Iomenna overhears snatches of Arloric's story and turns around to face him, her face suddenly carved with concerned interest. Pardon me, sir, but I couldn't help but overhear your tale. I am so sorry for your loss, but I wonder if you remember some of the others who were involved in that ritual you talked about. There may have been a boy, about 7 years old, with dark hair and bright, silvery grey eyes. His name was Harsiel. Do you remember seeing anyone like that? She places a hand gently on the man's shoulder, pleading for any information he might have about the people the demoniacs had abducted. Maybe that's what had happened to Harsiel. Maybe he had even escaped with the others, but had gotten lost and wasn't able to come home.

Her other hand reaches back toward Losvarlinth, seeking her cousin's hand to grasp for comfort, for hope, for some reassurance that her dear little brother might not be lost forever.

Arloric's countenance falls.

"Nay. I wasn't in much of a state for introductions at the time, clutching me eye and screamin'. But I don't recall ever meeting him in the intervening years either. Far as I know, everyone saved from that rite's gathered here tonight. I'm sorry."

He extends his arm, offering a hug.


"No artist ever does. That's what distinguishes them from the amateurs."

"And don't worry about my nose. It's already black as it is" she jokes, yet immediately takes a step backward – a sign she has taken the hint.


To Aloric

Cyril, confident that his apology was accepted turns his attention to Aloric.

"Crocris is your uncle? He's been an immense help to my work."


Luciana Moretti wrote:
"Well I'm hoping he changed his tune once he came to. Assuming he remembers who knocked him out, at least." She took a sip of her coffee as she looked around a bit sheepishly. "Look; he grabbed my tail as we tried to walk away and I had a temper back then, remember?"

"Ohh yeah!" says Azura with a sudden moment of illumination. "I was so flustered. I've gotten a little better at dealing with that kind of unwanted attention these days, but that was a sad one. He did grab your tail, though, so what did he expect?"


Arloric Dziergas-Highbough wrote:

"Nay. I wasn't in much of a state for introductions at the time, clutching me eye and screamin'. But I don't recall ever meeting him in the intervening years either. Far as I know, everyone saved from that rite's gathered here tonight. I'm sorry."

He extends his arm, offering a hug.

Both of Iomenna's arms drop to her sides, and her face fills with sadness. She steps into Arloric's embrace and rests her head gently on his shoulder, a strange sight to any who have seen her power and ferocity on the battlefield. She quietly sniffs a time or two and returns Arloric's hug, wrapping both of her well-muscled arms around his waist, then stepping back and again wiping a few tears away. Thank you for your honesty. I know it must pain you to recall that night just as it does for me. Again, I am sorry for your losses as well.

She then takes a few deep breaths to collect herself once again, straightens up, and looks into Arloric's eyes with a look of fierce determination. But this is why we fight, yes? So that families, friends and comrades can live happily together without fear of being torn apart by the evils of the Abyss. Perhaps my dear sweet brother is lost in this life, but I will not forget him, and his memory will aid me in the fight to come.
Sense Motive DC 13:
Bluff: 1d20 ⇒ 13
Iomenna is barely holding her composure at this point. You can tell that this is a rehearsed speech, almost like a mantra, that she uses to show a stiff upper lip in the face of the thing that torments her most.


I turn to Aloric

Crocris your uncle is in Kenabres? Would I be able to meet him? I have many questions about the Green in Sarkoris and he may be able to answer some of them.


The elf nods as the cleric leaves.


Iomenna bet-Melkiel wrote:
Arloric Dziergas-Highbough wrote:

"Nay. I wasn't in much of a state for introductions at the time, clutching me eye and screamin'. But I don't recall ever meeting him in the intervening years either. Far as I know, everyone saved from that rite's gathered here tonight. I'm sorry."

He extends his arm, offering a hug.

Both of Iomenna's arms drop to her sides, and her face fills with sadness. She steps into Arloric's embrace and rests her head gently on his shoulder, a strange sight to any who have seen her power and ferocity on the battlefield. She quietly sniffs a time or two and returns Arloric's hug, wrapping both of her well-muscled arms around his waist, then stepping back and again wiping a few tears away. Thank you for your honesty. I know it must pain you to recall that night just as it does for me. Again, I am sorry for your losses as well.

She then takes a few deep breaths to collect herself once again, straightens up, and looks into Arloric's eyes with a look of fierce determination. But this is why we fight, yes? So that families, friends and comrades can live happily together without fear of being torn apart by the evils of the Abyss. Perhaps my dear sweet brother is lost in this life, but I will not forget him, and his memory will aid me in the fight to come.
** spoiler omitted **

Arloric's good eye blinks in surprise.

"Someone get this woman a joint of roast pork! She deserves it for going through such sadness!"

Sario Ulum Taliesin wrote:

I turn to Aloric

Crocris your uncle is in Kenabres? Would I be able to meet him? I have many questions about the Green in Sarkoris and he may be able to answer some of them.

"Sure! He spends practically all his time at Truestone Park. I'd normally be there too but he gave me some time to myself to join the crusaders celebrating Armasse."


Sense Motive: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (10) + 4 = 14

Ithilwen quietly slips a tankard filled with ale and a portion of roasted pork to the tall, steel-clad woman embracing Arloric; the sight of a powerful warrior being moved to the verge of tears having stirred something deep within her.

"The Worldwound had made us all survivors. Drink, eat, and be merry. You deserve it."


Aberus stepped up close enough to be heard, but not so close as to interfere with her drawing.

"You seem to have worn out the young master," he remarked with a smile, gesturing to the boy she had with her. His voice didn't carry over the bustle and noise of the room, however, and she didn't appear to have heard him. A couple of her companions quickly engaged her in conversation.

This is probably not the best time, anyway he reasoned. I can barely hear myself think as it is.

He would not have thought it possible, but the Defender's Heart had swelled past full and showed no signs of letting up. That being said, it was true that this is simply what it was like around Armasse (admittedly, though, he'd only seen the two). He pushed---he literally had to push---his way through the crowd that was still growing inside the entrance, and spilling outside into the street. And still more people were coming up the block. From both sides.

Yes, this is the right time to go.

Aberus turned right and headed towards the temple, the sounds of the Heart fading behind him.

And I am out. A busy afternoon here plus a full weekend will keep me from monitoring this thread with any regularity, so now is as good a time as any to take my leave. Thanks, everyone! And thank you, Asmodina.

Dark Archive

Ithilwen of the Myriad Stars wrote:

As their bodies softly entwine, Ithilwen is brought back to old memories, memories of wild celebrations under eerily glowing, impossibly high cavern vaults. Yet this is different, somehow. This time, no dark litany is being hummed in the background, no blaspheme hymn to Nocticula. This time, the Spheres were Singing as they move.

Still, it looks like her past isn't really done with her. Her fellow half-human's question abruptly brings her back to reality.

"I am... no-one, really" answers Ithilwen after some hesitation, as if taken aback by the suddenness of the question. "Just a fugitive slave whose steps Desna saw fit to lead to a new home. I suppose my story must be quite a common one around here."

Bluff: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (6) + 6 = 12
"And you? I don't even know your name" she hastily asks, trying to switch topics. But the music in her head has already died, and she's now walking back to her table, her dancing partner by her side.

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (10) + 7 = 17

Siobhan's hopefully look falls when Ithilwen leads her from the dance floor, although she can see that she has effectively killed her partner's mood. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to..." She trails off, looking frankly downcast. "My name's Siobhan. I've lived here my whole life. My parents love me but so many people here hate me just because of how I look. I'd never even met another drow before. I just wanted to know... you seem so confident, so sure of yourself. I wanted to know how you did it. I'm sorry."

Siobhan stays in her brown study until Ithilwen and Alexa begin discussing Alexa's drawing. Siobhan finds herself leaning over and gasps as she sees the drawing. "That's lovely Alexa! You're so talented! I don't think anyone's ever done a drawing of me before! I think it's wonderful, and you were perfect too!" she says firmly to Ithilwen when the latter makes a joke about muses. "Could I... could I keep it?" she asks hesitently, "I'll pay you for it or buy you a drink or something... It's just..." She trails off, the red flush on her high cheekbones and the tips of her pointed ears speaking for her.

"I've never been much of an artist, mother is quite good but I always used to drop the charcoal and just make a mess!" She smiles softly before moving on as the conversation does. "I guess lovely women like you must get a lot of male attention. How do you deal with it? The lady over there," she nods towards Luciana "seems to fight them off..."

The entire conversation is fascinating for Siobhan, she's used to mercenary company but most of the mercenaries were her parents comrades, now long in the tooth and still inclined to baby her. Sitting in the Defenders Hearth, surrounded by confident and outgoing people is a wonderful experience for her, the simple pleasure of being accepted at face value, without jeers or snide comments is making her more gregarious than she has been in years. The joy is clearly evident on her face from her smile, although every time she looks at Ithilwen a tinge of something else passes across her face.

Hope you don't mind Siobhan latching onto you Ithilwen - it's just that you're everything she wants to be! :)


Siobhan wrote:
"That's lovely Alexa! You're so talented! I don't think anyone's ever done a drawing of me before! I think it's wonderful, and you were perfect too!"

"Er... thanks?" Alexa looks a bit bewildered by Siobhan's enthusiasm for her drawing.

Really? I accidentally made one of your ears longer than the other, the width of Ithilwen's knee was all wonky, and--

Siobhan wrote:
"Could I... could I keep it?" She asks hesitantly, "I'll pay you for it or buy you a drink or something... It's just..."

"Oh... you don't need to, really." Alexa draws her short sword and runs it along the edge of the page, cutting it free. "Here it is, if you really want it that much."

Siobhan wrote:
"I guess lovely women like you must get a lot of male attention. How do you deal with it? The lady over there," She nods towards Luciana "seems to fight them off..."

"Usually, I ignore them. Occasionally, if he's a gentleman about it and NOT leering at me like some tavern waitress..." She glances over at one of the scantily-clad waitresses in the tavern (and notes that Miles has gone back to doing the same). "...I'll consider indulging him."

"Sometimes, I'd even catch some ladies' eyes." She admits with a shrug.

I imagine 16 CHA has to count for that.


Won't be able to post until tomorrow afternoon. This is really growing into its own....


Azura Celestine wrote:
Luciana Moretti wrote:
"Well I'm hoping he changed his tune once he came to. Assuming he remembers who knocked him out, at least." She took a sip of her coffee as she looked around a bit sheepishly. "Look; he grabbed my tail as we tried to walk away and I had a temper back then, remember?"
"Ohh yeah!" says Azura with a sudden moment of illumination. "I was so flustered. I've gotten a little better at dealing with that kind of unwanted attention these days, but that was a sad one. He did grab your tail, though, so what did he expect?"

"Probably to still have his front teeth afterwards. Could've gone worse for him, though; another few minutes and I'd have had some coffee with me. Nobody spills my coffee." she punctuated the jokingly-ominous sentence with another sip.

I feel like pre-Paladin Luci would've reacted a bit like the opening scene of an episode of Leverage:
Hardison: Aww...See, you made two mistakes, brah. First, you flash that fake-ass FBI badge at me, and second... You spilled his coffee. *points at Eliot*
Camera pans over to Eliot, who has a massive coffee stain on his shirt and looking very angry. The "FBI agents" have a few seconds to realise how screwed they are before Eliot storms towards them, leading to what sounds like a severe off-camera beating.
EDIT: Found it.


Siobhan Sable wrote:
Siobhan's hopefully look falls when Ithilwen leads her from the dance floor, although she can see that she has effectively killed her partner's mood. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to..." She trails off, looking frankly downcast. "My name's Siobhan. I've lived here my whole life. My parents love me but so many people here hate me just because of how I look. I'd never even met another drow before. I just wanted to know... you seem so confident, so sure of yourself. I wanted to know how you did it. I'm sorry."

"How I do that?" Ithilwen can't help but erupt in an uproarious, almost hysterical, burst of laughter. Indeed, how do I do that? "I live, every day, I fight, I improve. Drow is a name most people on Golarion have never even heard; and that's for the best, for I've seen what they do," what I did "their crimes" my crimes. "Remember, Siobhan, never feel sorry for what you are – only for your actions." There's a hint of barely concerned bitterness in her voice, as if she were the last person who could make such a claim – and yet it's clear it's a deeply-felt lesson she's sharing here. "I'm Ithilwen, by the way." she eventually adds, a smile coming back to her lips. "And stop saying you're sorry. Your actions are without fault. You are without fault."

Siobhan Sable wrote:
"I've never been much of an artist, mother is quite good but I always used to drop the charcoal and just make a mess!" She smiles softly before moving on as the conversation does. "I guess lovely women like you must get a lot of male attention. How do you deal with it? The lady over there," she nods towards Luciana "seems to fight them off..."

"I don't think Luciana enjoys fighting off her suitors" Ithilwen muses. "Just those that think they're entitled to take a bunch of liberties with her because of how she looks or how she dresses or whatever rumours they might have heard. Though sometimes they do seem to be the majority, truth be told."

No worry. That's why we're all here – to explore dynamics and see what comes out of them ;)

201 to 250 of 468 << first < prev | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | next > last >>
Community / Forums / Online Campaigns / Recruitment / Wrath of the Righteous IC recruitment thread by Asmodina All Messageboards

Want to post a reply? Sign in.