Erastus the 28th. Oathday. 4714
Oh, now here's a story. Here's one that a lot of people remember well. It's about a group of adventurers that went to Chul'Galbrann at one point. Now, I know what you might be thinking, and yeah, a lot of those types went to that city. These guys, though? They had a different spark about them. See, Chul'Galbrann could be defined as a place where an adventuring career went to die, as, the city was so magnificent, that adventurers, who were usually out of place, were the norm.
There wasn't a soul in ol' Chul that didn't have a history of excitement and greatness. Sure, some people were a bit less extravagant than others, but, at the same time, what happens to people when you're surrounded by people that are just like you? Average folk see adventurers on a higher plane, and they get glory, but for that kind of thing to happen in Chul'Galbrann you had to have a special spark. You had to be something more than just a wanderer, an enthusiast, or smart to really make waves in the city.
These guys though? They did it. Don't remember particularly which ones, and I think 1 or 2 may have even gave their lives, but... Well... Hm. Ah, I'm beating around the bush. Here, let me think for a moment... How'd it go again? Ah, yes... It all started on a boat... in the sky.
It was late in the month of Erastus, a couple of years ago, before the war. The ship, the "New Blood" was carrying it's namesake. The New blood was the ship that went out the farthest to pick up the new recruits, the "Fabled" or, the "Drips" as the long-standing mercenaries, the guildsmen, liked to call them. They called'em Drips because Chul'Galbrann may as well have been a still lake most of the time. Well, honestly it was a roaring tide, but the city was paved on extravagance. The drips were the people that made a splash, though.
Now then... let's talk about these fellas that were on that boat."
The sun was at it's peak in the sky. The great ship, the "New Blood" sailed through the air on it's alchemical engines at full. Magic had been weaved into the wood to resist the air flow on the deck so people didn't get blown off during the storms. There'd been a few accidents, sure, but they weren't annual, and some of these crazy people even managed to survive the fall. Al the more reason they needed to make it to Chul'Galbrann
The ship was made of wood, primarily. It was made with a masterful hand, as if a genius carpenter had his hands in every piece of it. The walls of the deck were typically walled off at about waist height, so people could admire the view if they didn't get sick or weren't afraid of heights. The ship, by all means, wasn't that large like it's sisters, but that's a comparison for later. At most the ship could hold about 30 passengers, but it's load was feeling a bit lighter than usual. Probably had about 20, 25 people on board.
Below decks there was a bar. Thing may as well have been a full blown Yacht, really, only a bit more compact. Nothing fancy, really, but you could get as much magically crafted ale as you wanted from a fountain that had the cups sitting near it. New blood didn't stay in the sky long. She was far more vulnerable than her sisters. The lower decks were pretty rowdy, honestly. See, I remember being on that boat, actually. Hell of a time. This is what happened..."
Below decks, the lot of you find yourselves enamored. There's only 3 sections, but despite being so straightforward it's still designed with an artistic hand. The bedrooms have 30 beds, with 2 king sized ones in the corner for the heavier set. Whoever planned the rooms pulled out all the stops and seems to have registered the fact that there are some larger adventurers out there. The room has so many beds that its pretty easy to sleep comfortably, even at full capacity. It's mid-day though, so there's not a soul in there, save for the occasional chatty types that wanted to get away from the crowd.
There's the ale-room, where a fountain will poor you as much as you can handle. It's not extremely alcoholic, but enough of it will knock out anyone, and you can have as much as you want. The room has 2 very long tables with about 12 chairs each. At the moment there's food on the table, and more than enough for everyone on the ship to eat till their stuffed. The room roars with excitement as the various grab-bag of races converse with each other and stay rowdy.
If you can name it, it's in the room. The shady types against the wall, the hulking brute stuffing his face, the fickle and small halfling telling his stories. Everyone in this room has a story to tell, and some are grander than others.
The final section is a rather wide, empty room with a staircase that leads to the deck. You can hear the hum of boisterous laughter echo about the room, but other than a staircase and 1 or 2 of the silent reserved types, there's no one here.
Finally, on the Deck, there's a few people that are just looking out across the vast expanses of land as the clouds roll by. At the head of the ship, looking far out into the distance is a man with a different aura about him from the rest. He stands, with an eyepatch and a noteworthy scar over his eyes. His hand rests on a long bladed katana within it's sheathe and the other at rest at his side. Beneath his coat is some serious, finely crafted armor from the east.
One of the odder people amongst the crowd is the obsidian skinned creature with black wings who has claimed a corner chair to himself. He has a strong, wiry build and ears nearly as prominent as an elf’s. Above his slitted nostrils rests pupil-less eyes that don’t seem to move, as if affixed in his head. White hair falls to his shoulders, combed back neatly but flowing free and loose. Somebody well educated or who spent time in western Cheliax might recognize him as a strix.
The slow rasp of a whetstone is the only sound coming from him. In his hands rests a polearm with a curved blade at the end called a fauchard. His head follows the movement, slow and somber, before he glances up at the door longingly. But he remembers how he dropped the whetstone when he was in the crow’s nest, causing laughs and scoldings alike when he dove off the flying ship to catch it. I still don’t see why there was a problem. Not like I put anybody else at risk. He lets the whetstone rest, running a finger run along the newly sharpened blade before sucking away the fresh dot of blood on his finger. Satisfied, he returns the weapon to his back and thinks about the beginning of the trip.
Not all of the passengers took to flying very well, which was clearly evident due to all of the bodies leaning over the rails and the half-digested lunches that ruined the smell of the air. Aviz had just laughed and flown up away from the smell. Probably didn’t earn any friends with that one. Still, his lip curls in amusement at the memory. He brings himself back to the present and glances around at all of the other passengers, ignoring any curious looks and returning scowls in kind.
Aviz had enjoyed listening in on stories of adventures being told, shadowing from behind corners or at a nearby table. The talk of lands, people, and monsters from places he has never heard of appealed to his fairly secluded life in western Cheliax. But whenever an elf stepped up to tell one their stories he scowled, leaving the area. The half-elves held a deep curiosity for him. Why would a human want to breed with an elf? The entire idea of it perplexed him, and he pitied what kind of childhood they must have had.
Aviz stands and makes his way towards the door, but the rumbling in his stomach diverts him back towards the food. He raises his arms, wrapping the feathery black wings around his torso before squeezing between people to a table, trying to gather a plate of food and leave before catching too much attention.
"The first man I ever managed to really talk to was a man by the name of Aviz, a Strix from way out of the usual place. Had a bit of a vendetta, but no one could really tell at the time. Narrow features, pitch black wings, and had a weapon people couldn't hardly pronounce, but boy did he know how to use it. I'd see that personally some time later, but at that time he was just trying to avoid people in general. Now, I figured that was a trait the wall-flowers didn't need to have in Chul'Galbrann.
You see, the Silent types always ended up in the gutters, though not that deep, because like it or not, only the talkative, boisterous, story-telling types ever managed to stay up top with the people. Was a right proper social type of city.
Right as soon as he managed to slip a piece of some enormous birds leg onto his plate, I figured I'd strike up a conversation with him."
With a gentle tap on the shoulder, Aviz takes note of a man behind him. A gruff, old fellow with a short build. He was wrapped up in a breast plate, but aside from seeming to be in his middle stages of age, nothing seemed that special about him. "Enjoying the food, wall flower?" he asked, giving the man a firm smack on the back between the trunks of his wings.
He crossed his arms, which was about the time you notice what makes him so remarkably special, and brings a good amount of questions. His right arm is a prosthetic, but it's made up of multiple layers of metal, which explains why the smack on the back hurt so much. It clinks and clanks, and upon closer inspection actually seems to be a part of his breastplate, built into it.
"The name is Ranky. They've got me watching over the New Blood. Not just the ship, either. Pleasure to meet you." he says, presenting the metal hand out to you. On his back you see a longsword, as well as a shield, though they're both properly sheathed. The way his arm looks, though, you wouldn't imagine he needed it.
"Funny thing about opening up to someone in my case was everyone always asked the same question..."
The robed figure standing on the deck bows his head and mumbles intelligibly to himself, and the bluish glow that just left his eyes quickly returns. In the split second before, a sharp observer could catch the fact that the eyes are all black with no visible pupils. Those eyes are one of the few things that set this man apart from the others milling about the ship - Deylar could be human or of elvish descent, with a slight grey cast to his skin and drab whitish hair. The robes and quarterstaff mark him as some kind of spell caster, and he wears the holy symbol of Nethys prominently around his neck.
Then the airship slightly banks, and the shadow of the sail moves to put Deylar in direct sunlight, and a very different image of the man is now visible. In the bright sunlight his skin takes on a textured look almost like scales, the silver streaks in his hair reflect and refract the light, giving this man a rather other-worldly appearance.
Deylar leans against the rail and continues to turn his head from side to side, trying to take in every site that the ship has to offer. He has heard of these magical vessels, of course, but this being his first time examining one up close he has no intention of letting the opportunity pass. That gaze turns to the waist-high rail beneath his hand. He runs his fingers along it slowly, his arcane sight revealing only hints of the massive dweomers that went into creating the craft. Deylar nods with appreciation. Quite a creation, really. His gaze turns aft, where from his present angle he can only get a slight glimpse of the alchemical reactions the engines are producing to keep the thing aloft. A creation that uses destruction to fulfill its role. The Eye must be quite pleased.
He turns his head forward. No sign of the ship's destination yet, of course, but the sight of flying through the air is quite beautiful. Again Deylar cannot help but appreciate the enchantments that allow him to view this spectacle without the adverse effects of traveling at this speed, this height.
The glow leaving his eyes once more, he raises the empty waterskin at his side and mumbles again. As he brings it to his lips the skin appears to fill instead of empty. After taking a long draught he returns it to his side, his thirst quenched but the skin no longer empty.
After another quick scan of the people on the deck, Deylar decides to continue his examination of the ship from within. He makes his way toward the staircase, mumbling to himself as he goes. Before his foot hits the first step his eyes are glowing yet again.
Right as soon as he managed to slip a piece of some enormous birds leg onto his plate...
"Funny thing about opening up to someone in my case was everyone always asked the same question...
"How'd you lose your arm?" He frowns, flexing his back muscles at the dull pain. His head turns to inspect the armor, shield, and sword before looking back at the arm. After a moment he realizes he ignored half of the man's questions as well as not responding to his handshake and asking him about his prosthetic on top of it. He shakes his head. "Uhh, yeah. Food is good, much better than the slop I got as a city guard." He offers his own strong hand, preparing to either hold onto dead weight or get a crushing handshake.
Oh you want to know about the boat in the sky? Largest group of misfits I'd ever seen. To be fair, though, if I fit in there, it had to be because I didn't fit in just about anywhere either. I took it as an opportunity, you see. It's not often you get such a diversified group of people together. Hell, half of them had to be drunk to boot. I think, anyway. I don't remember half the ride myself. I was taking advantage of my situation and that was drinking ale, telling aloud my stories of heroism with the other big shots on the boat, and just being merry. Loud and merry.
Ya know, that was something I'd never understood about my adoptive parents. They always harped on me about poisons of the body and poisons of the spirit. I always chalked it up to be narrow-mindedness myself. There was nothing wrong with a few steins of ale among friends. Or complete strangers. It mattered not, anyone listening to me knew I was either a hotshot or a complete phony but, to be honest, I didn't give a s~%$ which one was which. I was having fun with it. So much fun, in fact, that I had gotten into exaggerating a bit. I didn't want any of my tales to get outmatched. You understand.
"You should have seen this one! She had cast some voodoo or another and grown over twenty feet tall and her skin was like stone! She shot fire and chanted hexes at me until she couldn't anymore. I could tell by the look in her eye she knew it was over."
If there were spell-casters in the room, they probably thought I was stupid, arrogant, or frightening. Possibly all three. I wasn't quiet, that's for damn sure, and I never was the best people-person. Probably another reason I could never make it as a paladin. They're always so prim and proper. Don't torture and fight honorably. How did any of them expect to take down evil with nothing but a pretty haircut?
"Another round!"
Anyway, there I was drinking ale on a flying boat. Not something I regret, but I sure am glad I turned out not be sea sick. Er, I guess I should say sky sick. Either way, I guess you could categorize me as one of the brutes stuffing their face. Only difference is I'm a little smaller and a little more outspoken. Boy did I love that bar though. I could take on the world.
Witch boat! The skyship sailed through... well the sky. And Rova had spent his time here alternating between eating until he could hold no more, then going up to the deck to take some fresh air, followed by a round of intensive vomiting. The little men scurrying around the deck like mice in a field had started yelling at him every time he went to the deck. The first time he had punched the shouter in the face, the second time he had merely thrown up on the man. The third time, Rova realized they wanted him to puke off of the ship. After that Rova gave them little trouble, as he joyfully vomited into the sky. Look out down there. he thought with disturbing glee.
Rova was in the eating part of his cycle. Plates and mugs littered the table in front of him, drawing many a strange glance from the other patrons of the dining room. Of course Rova himself drew stares, a large ridiculously muscled half orc, often bare chested, his scars on display. His left arm bore several tattoos, the beast mouth spider on his bicep, the mark of the destroyer was enough for people to sit far, far away from his table. His forearm was marked with a strong orc arm crushing an orc skull, his underarm marked with his clan symbol, babies and children speared to a rock, the murdered child tribe, it was called.
Pausing mid chew, he stared open mouthed at a black birdman taking a seat in the room, his agape stare broken by the declaration of a free round by a beautiful woman. With a roar he smashed his mug and signaled for a serving girl to bring him the promised round.
His chipped greatsword was sprawled across the table, taking a gulp of ale Rova sang to himself in the guttural tongue of the orcs ”Mabaj nar armauk. Mabaj nar armauk. Mabaj nar armauk.” a sadness in his tone.
The handshake the man gives you is strangely warm, and upon further inspection of the arm you see that the hundreds upon hundreds of tiny rivulets dance upon each other mimicking the role of muscles. The arm may as well have just been turned to metal, and by all means just from looking it could very well have been. He doesn't seem bewildered at all when it comes to the question, actually, and just sort of throws his eyes up with a smile before answering.
He spends the arm around a bit after the handshake and seems to make the rivulets wash across it in a wave-like motion. "Let's just say you shouldn't trust people so easily, haha!" he said as the hand turned into a long knife-like blade before snapping back into a regular hand form.
Tilting his head at look of surprise you no doubt give him, he smiles. "The food's great, isn't it? Captain's a Cleric of some wind god I can't remember. You're pretty much eating his blessing! Food heals wounds, and ails the mind, alike. Most people love it." he says as he looks over to Rova, who just so recently came back from evacuating his stomach. "Most people..."
Horrific images aside, the man walks over to the table and sits beside Rova as he hears the song go about. In a rather stern, yet condescending tone he replies with a garbled hunk of words that only those who'd seen too many days with an orc would understand.
He hails over Aviz, and is will within earshot of everyone as he sits at the table. Raising his hand he says with a bit of a joking voice. "This always does surprise them..." Suddenly, as he begins snapping his fingers the sound is overwhelming, and rather good at it's job. Getting people's attention.
The room falls into a hush of surprise and near-deafness, and after a few seconds of glares being tossed at him, Ranky just says "Relax drips!" before standing on the table and nudging off a gnome that had been using the table for storytelling.
"My name is Iron arm Ranky! Third in command of the guild Wyvern's Soul, and I am the man in charge of keeping the lot of you under control, among other things." he says as he crosses his arms behind his back. "In exactly 1 hour you're going to be gracing the mother of all cities, Chul'Galbrann. For those of you that know of Magnimar, it's about twice that size. It also floats, but I'm sure you've heard the stories." He kneels down on the table and continues. "The stories haven't prepared you for that place, and I'm sure you guys have been thinking pretty hard about what it's gonna be like, well, stop. Nothing can prepare you for that." he says as he raises his arm again.
Despite a few people reflexivly covering their ears, he doesn't snap his fingers again. "This sort of thing is the kind of stuff you'll see in Chul'Galbrann!" he says as the hand spikes about with multiple waves. Holding onto that arm seemed like it would be a chore to grapple, but no one had really tried yet. "You're about to step into a city of legends, gentlemen. Some of you will go into the Dark guilds, I can tell. I've been in Chul'Galbrann for over 30 years, and that's a lot for a human, let me tell you! Gnomes don't bleach. Half-elves aren't shunned, nor are half-orcs. Dwarves and Elves alike make weapons for races they can't even pronounce. Half-dead, Celestially touched, demonic friends, you name it, you'll find it." he said as he stood up again.
"As a Guild Leader, I make it a point to welcome you to the city with open arms. Find your place in the city and don't let anyone take it from you. That's all I've got to say. Now, back to your merry making! It's the last time any of you will settle for so little! Hahaha!"
"A few people just sort of looked at me when I did that, but back then you had to get the imaginative gears flowing. After all it'd be the last time they could ever flow properly for some people. A few men in there had the look of evil about'em. No doubt they'd go to those dark guilds I mentioned. The Strix I had hung out with, well, he'd end up with me. Surprisingly enough, so did the Orc. The witch-hating lady with the stories would too, but I can't remember much about that moment. I just know that what happened after we all had our fun was a pretty good surprise.
Perfect way to welcome them in, too."
As the hand turns into a blade, Aviz jumps back with a scowl before relaxing. That's more helpful than harmful to him. When he snaps so audibly Aviz just shakes his head. Almost worth losing your arm for that.
Oh really, everybody is all chummy with everybody? That's something I'd like to see. He thinks pessimistically. Won't see me fighting with an elf. Fighting against one more like... Still, he looked forward to seeing the flying city. He has only seen Corentyne so his imagination of regular cities was already stunted; he couldn't even get a raw grasp of what Chul'Galbrann must be like. But a city where everybody was reliant on the power of flight suited him just fine.
As Ranky steps down Aviz gives him a little nod, holding a bit more respect than it did before. "You're well spoken, and I'm guessing from the blade in that chunk of metal you're a fighter too. Although I'd like to see that proved." Aviz gives a wicked smile.
Ranky just smiled at the provocation and shrugged.
"Pretty much everyone in that ship was hungry to prove themselves. Hell, that's half the reason I was there. Didn't feel like telling anyone, but I'd seen grittier things than anything they've ever had the luxury of dealing with. Didn't tell them that though. They'd be able to prove themselves when they got to the city."
He grabbed his sword, and a bit of warmth could be felt coming from him as he grabbed it. "Son, you'll be able to prove yourself the moment you set foot in the guild halls." he said, holding his longsword in a strange way. Instead of holding it upright, he held the sword upside down to where it faced against the back of his forearm, slightly out of view.
His fist glew with a slight crackle, and upon looking at the sword, the faint glimmer of lightning crackled about the blade, as well as his entire metal arm.
"There was a reason they had me on guard duty."
The faint hum kind of filled the room and gave everyone a good amount of understanding. That arm wasn't just a fancy prosthetic. It was a full blown weapon, and a magical one at that. Putting the blade away after he was done showing and telling, he continued. "You seem like the type that enjoys a good brawl. What guild you signed onto?" he asked as he crossed his arms.
Aviz's feathers stand on end when the crackling emerges. Interesting trick. I wonder what happens if you throw water on him when that's up. He returns the shrug. "Not trying to measure whose is bigger, as you say I just like a good brawl." He points to the odd weapon. "And I've never fought anything like that before; best to learn how against somebody that won't kill me with it. I assume." He grins, actually taking a bit of a liking to the man. Although for every question he answered three more came to mind. "How do you keep the electricity from flowing to the rest of your armor? It seems the two are connected by metal."
"Oddly enough I'm in Wyvren's Soul with you. Seems proper, doesn't it?" He partly unfurls a wing, but keeps it tight against his body in the cramped room. Too many people are too curious for him to let them furl out properly. "So you say we prove ourselves when we enter the guild halls, how is that done?" As Aviz relaxes, being in company that actually holds a conversation with him, his accent begins showing. It has a hint of the dead Azlanti tongue. Common probably wasn't his first language.
"Another round!"
Delyar is on the last step as the woman shouts, and her words are barely out of her mouth before the hall erupts into cheers and shouting. He leaves the staircase and moves along the wall to survey the room. Such camaraderie, and it seems to come so easily. Not something I am used to. I wonder....if this is the place where I can finally learn it?
As his arcane sight wears off again, the last thing to catch his peripheral vision is the short warrior with the strangely armored arm. The strong aura coming off the limb blinded him to the truth for a moment, but as the hand shifts into a blade and back Deylar comes to understand what he is seeing. By The Eye! That's actually his arm, filled with enchantments unlike......
He almost starts casting again, telling himself that it is because he wants to get a closer look at the limb, not because he acutely feels the absence of Nethys's touch. A small smile crosses his face. How can they think of you as a comrade if you hide in the corner, spying on them with His gifts? He does cast another spell under his breath, but it is instead a minor incantation to allow him to accomplish small tasks magically instead of physically. This one will last for quite some time without a need to renew it, a useful feature as he begins to move into the room, into the crowd.
Just as he is about to move closer, the man snaps his fingers with a sound like a cannon and climbs up on the table. Deylar joins the others in giving this Ranky his undivided attention. How could you not, after an opening volley like that? As Ranky climbs down from the table Deylar starts to make his way over to the table. He sees the warrior strike up a conversation with the strix, and sees yet another display of the arm's enchantments. He regrets not examining it further, camaraderie be damned. Pushing that feeling aside, he approaches close enough to hear the last bit of the conversation.
"Forgive me, but did you say 'Wyvern's Soul'? That is my destined path as well." Deylar gives a slight bow, his black eyes never breaking contact with the eerily similar ones he finds looking back at him. "I am called Deylar, servant of The All Seeing Eye of Nethys. If the wonders I have seen today are even a hint of what is in store for us with the guild, I can only imagine what we will uncover in our travels."
As he says it, he is almost able to stop his gaze from shifting to look at Ranky's amazing appendage.
Almost.
Aviz turns to face the lithe man, pupil-less eyes meeting pupil-less eyes. He nods to affirm his statement about the Wyvren's Soul guild, but as he proclaims himself a servant of Nethys Aviz snorts, taking a new look at his flashing skin.
"To strong arm Randy!"
Yeah, I was a bit out of it. A lot of people drink away their sorrows or their problems, not me. Drinking amplifies my excitement. I was finally going somewhere that might make a difference and might, just might, lead me to the clue I needed to get what I wanted.
Funny thing about getting rounds of drinks for people and shouting about how great of a warrior you are; they'll toast to just about anything you shout at them. I might as well have yelled 'buttered spoons make great beds' and I'd still get the "Yarrrr!" that I got, followed by clanking glasses. I was going to like it here, I knew I was. I would just need to grow a little more tolerant of white witches. I knew they were present in the room I was drinking in, but I think I was too drunk to really care.
I could see now that Ranky was speaking to a bird man then. I'm not sure if he was put off my complete butchering of his title and name or if it just amused him. Either way, he was a guy I was willing to get to know. He had an arm made of metal. Now I definitely had no clue what to make of that, witchcraft or a feat of technology beyond my grasp, but he seemed like an important guy to the place I was going. I should probably also mention that I was a bit too inebriated to pay attention to my own manners. I'm not sure if I interrupted something or not. As I said, things were a little fuzzy. I had to have drunk half a dozen steins of ale at this point, but I was always a bit of a heavy weight. Especially for a woman. Wondering over to where the bird man, Ranky, and a third person had positioned themselves, I let my loudmouth go.
"Heya there, Randy. I couldn't help but overhear something about a brawl. I sure love me a good fight!"
I remember grinning like an idiot and raising my stein up for everyone who was listening to me. From what I could tell, I was going to like this new place. Figured ol' Ranky would appreciate my enthusiasm. To this point, however, that had remained to be seen. Lowering my stein back down, I placed my foot up on the lower dowels on the chair the bird man was sitting in. I occasionally didn't mind making other people's business my own, especially with a bit of ale in the system.
He stretches out the arm as the rabble starts to set in again, stretching out the hand. "Brawls aren't Wyvern Soul's favored thing. We favor duels, more than anything, but only when a person's honor is called into question and even then it could be lethal. Rarely ever happens though. Camaraderie is something we favor." he says as he clenches his fist.
"I don't know how this arm works, honestly. It does a few things that I will it to, but other than what you've seen there isn't that much. It's stronger than my left arm, though, that's for sure."
"That may as well have been the understatement of the century, but I didn't like revealing all of my cards at once."
As everyone that signed onto Wyvern's soul starts to come out of the woodwork, he smiled, seeing the group unfold. "Hey, hey, quite the bunch. Usually we get 1 person a ship, but what's this? 3 people? I'll be damned..." he stated as he pondered over Aviz's question.
"We've got our share of things you can do, but the guild master, Alexander Ortos, will figure out what you do. Might be individually, and it might be as a group, but you'll no doubt be on a boat again within the week." he says with a bit of a laugh. "My advice? Get used to being on sky ships. They're your ray of hope at the end of the week." he said with a bit of nostalgia.
I can't count the number of times I'd been on a hard mission that took me a month to finish, covered in dirt and blood, and I saw one of those boats arrive for just me and only me. They were a sight for sore eyes, that's for sure."
Looking over at the tiefling with the scales, he can't help but chuckle. "Oh you're just brimming with magic, aren't you? Don't you worry friend. This arm? This may as well be minor when compared to some of Chul'Galbrann's devices. Suits me just fine, though..."
"Me and this arm had a long history, that's for certain. It got me through plenty of awful situations for just surprise factor alone. It'd toppled a number of men before, but the real magic lied in it's passive abilities. Sure the sparks were nice and painful, and the sudden use of a sword was pretty swell, but there was more to it."
At the sight of the drunken witch hating lady, he smiled. A lot of people were interested in fights, that was for sure... It was written all over his face that it was a minor concern, but he seemed to dismiss it. "Oh, then you're going to love the tournament in the next few months then. The guilds pit their rookies together and if you guys play your cards right, you'll be able to participate, but not until you've been successful on a few missions, of course." he said.
At this point, he'd managed to make the table that he was at an entirely Wyvern's soul table, and he seemed to know that Rova was a member as well, making the table he was at the table they were all at now.
"Anyone talked to the man on the deck? He's a veteran in the guild. Name's Cid. No one knows his last name though. Can't miss him, though. He's our first responder to... incidents."
Aviz shrugs. "My enemies aren't going to play nice so why would I train against somebody who does? Yeah try not to cut their heads off, but a bruise never hurt anybody. Well, you know what I mean." He looks at Rose. "Scythe wielding woman. Can't say I see too many of those. I like scythes myself. As a backup weapon."
Aviz laughs at getting used to flying. "You'd be hard pressed to find somebody who will get along with being in the air better. How do you suppose you would deal with a flying enemy with a polearm?"
At least there's always one thing I can talk about. Fighting talk breeds fighting talk, and this is something I could go on about for hours.
Tournament, eh? I'd see all sorts of fighting styles in that...
"Can't say the name comes to mind, but I imagine I've seen him. Saw just about everybody when I was perching on the crow's nest."
Rova grunts through a mouthful of bread, "Mmphhaa tournament you say steel arm? An offering to the destroyer, I will have to partake." he tears another chunk of bread and dips it in some broth.
"Grab polearm, grab birdman, tear off wings. Simple." he says to Aviz's remark about air borne fighting.
"I may have puked on the one called Cid, steel arm. There is no way for me to know. We are all memebers of the Wyvern Soul clan now? It is good."
"Yes! I can tell you would make a strong companion on the battlefield, orc. What is your name?"
See, what I didn't know about Rova at this point was how he handled things. He was... Morally objectionable to say the very least. He was strong and benefited from some of the same training I did, but he didn't start out his career in a monastery. It remains to be seen if that was a good thing or not. Still, like any strong warrior, he enjoyed his ale and liked the idea of fighting in an arena. I could respect that.
"You've got me at a loss, friend. Since I've boarded this boat I've been down here. I have not met this 'Cid'."
I remember taking a big drink of ale then, polishing off the last bit in the stein. I sat my stein down on the table that the orc was sitting at, perhaps a bit forcefully, as I demanded
"Another!"
I then pulled an unused chair from beneath the table and sat, propping my feet up on the table, my leather boots taking up more than my share of the table, I crossed my arms and waited for more ale to come my way. I was a bit of a drunk in this instance, but I could reasonably retain my wisdom. We were all headed to the same place and I was a bit curious myself.
"So, what's this Wyvern Soul all about?"
I had only heard tidbits of this or that. Braxton had sent in a letter recommending me to this guild and he only had the bare-bones information himself. I may not have been very educated, but that doesn't mean I didn't grow curious. Most of all, I wanted to make sure there were good intentions in what the guild was all about. Possibly even icing on the cake if I got to do some real witch hunting with a team.
"Good people?"
Aviz laughs harshly. "I think you have a bad understanding of how distance works, either that or you can stretch your arms."
He smiles at the harsh laughter from Aviz before placing his metal hand on his wings. "Careful, you'd be surprised what some people can do in the place you're going. Stretchy limbs may as well be minor, especially for the magical types." he says as he raises a stein to his mouth, downing the whole thing at once.
Slamming it down, he coughs a moment, before smiling and following with; "Or you know. Use a net."
Sliding the mug all the way to the end of the table, ignoring where it goes, he smiles at the question of what Wyvern soul really was about. "Heh. Haven't actually had the chance to answer that question in a while..." he says, before placing his iron arm on the table and changing a finger to a sharp tip. In a flash the hand had turned into a 3 digit claw.
Scratching a line in the table, he wrote the name "Alexander Ortos" beside it, before scratching in a king's crown beside it. "Alexander is the guild leader, and has been for 70 years. He's a powerful man that wields magic as well as he does the sword. Second in command-" he says as he draws a line farther down. "- Is Oswald Marcus."
His eyes sit on the name for a moment, somewhat bothered."He's our lore keeper and can, through memory alone, recite every single thing every single member of the guild has done. Mind you, he's not about to do that for the rookies... or us, for that matter. Right secretive bastard, most of the time."
After he looks at it for a moment, he smiles, and then continues. "Then there's me, the combat coordinator. I'm the one that recommends people for the tougher things, as well as the easier things." he says with a bit of pride. "Alexander meets the hopeful drips and sends them on the important stuff, though. You guys are a bit away from that, however." A slow growing smile on his face.
He reverts the hand back to it's normal shape, and waits for a moment before continuing. "Wyvern's soul is... hmm..." he swishes his hand about the table a moment. "We're a guild that helps those that really need it, and do the things that most people don't even worry about. We've got friends everywhere. We're essentially the underdogs of the guild scene, but we're well-known as fine mercenaries. Does that answer your question?" he asks, giving you a satisfied look.
"And that is why catfolk don't always land on their feet!"
The punchline of some joke he was used to telling visitors of his clan. Jahl'ra was happy to elicit a din of laughter from the group with which he sat at the end of a table. He shared in the laughter, partook of the ale, and had more than his fair share of food. However, for as generous as his mouth was, his eyes and ears were doubly avaricious. He'd chosen to sit with the smallfolk because - as far as he could tell - there was some muscle on board. Serious muscle. And those types always have attitudes to go with it.
So he made himself comfortable with the halflings and gnomes, sharing their tongues and sharing his stories. Good to know not all of what I've read is rubbish. While his people weren't xenophobes, they were pure of race in their settlement; vindicating stories of the world with people from the world was something Jahl'ra wanted to do. And, to be honest, it was quite relaxing.
Except for the whole flying in the sky thing.
It sounded straightforward - big magic craft uses alchemy to travel through the air. Well, straightforward in purpose, complex in mechanic. But Jahl'ra had a mind for these things, and though his field wasn't alchemy, he got the rough picture of the plausibility of the craft's existance. The actual picture of being so high up in the air? Well ... he jumped back a few feet from the balcony after looking over it the first time. He'd forced himself to look a few times after, and the fear subsided somewhat, but it still made him quite uncomfortable. And here I sit making jokes about me landing on me feet. Heh. If nothing else, the bipedal feline knew how to make - and take - jokes. Even if they were about himself.
Wyvern's Soul, hmm? He would have to say hello to this master Ranky. Excusing himself from his group, his smiling eyes reverted to their cold, appraising disposition. That man could be deadly as he is jovial. Who has a arm made of ... quicksilver? He'd be damned if the thing was actually iron, counter-intuitive to the man's namesake, but he couldn't say for sure.
Setting down his stein and plate on a long table, the bard straightened his shoulders and walked towards the group the man seemed to assemble. He'd caught sight of the Strix earlier - hard not to with his size and alien appearance. The woman who was heavy with the sauce was hard to miss too - if you couldn't hear her, you were deaf. But as he didn't know the details about them, he decided formality would be best. "Master Ranky," intoned Jahl'ra, waiting for a gap in the man's conversation, "I heard you were to represent the Wyvern Soul, the place I am to go. My name is Jahl'ra. It is an honor." As was customary with his clan, he gave a sweeping motion of his hand and a deep bow, waiting for the man's recognition before rising again. A good size for his race, the motion of black and white striped fur was hard to miss as he bent himself in respect.
His eyes searched the floor while he waited though. Such heavy gear. Unlike most of the others, he didn't have large implements of war, but a simple whip through his belt. A dagger or three lay on his person, but there was no need for others to know that...
Deylar sat at the table as the conversation happened around him. Clearly this was not his forte - there are a few times in the conversation where he opens his mouth to reply, but either the fast-talking coordinator or the loud-talking woman is always there to jump in first, and before the tiefling knows it the conversation has progressed so far down another path that his planned response no longer makes sense.
Best start getting better at it. If you want to be part of the guild you'll need to BE A PART of the guild!
As the woman orders yet another round Deylar sips from his waterskin again. Not wanting to seem rude for not partaking he reaches for a platter of bread on the table. With a thought his spell lifts a piece a few inches into the air so he can grab it and take a bite.
Just then the catfolk also arrives at the table, another hopeful bound for the same company when the ship arrives at the city. Deylar nods to him but says nothing, watching the reaction of the others to his arrival, again looking for a place to interject himself into the conversation.
As the crowd grows around him, Rova continues to eat listening to the tales and questions. The shiny devil pulls food toward him and it starts to float. With a startled motion, Rova snatches the loaf out of the air with a hamfisted swipe. "Ghosts are stealing your food devil man. Protect yourself." he says handing Deylar the food.
Then a cat person approached. "Look at all the half men. Half orc, half bird, half cat, half devil. Our mothers were all sluts!" He proclaims. By the tone of his voice, you suspect he meant this monologue as an inner one, but didn't notice.
"Aye, and a right good answer it was!"
With the arrival of more ale came another over-sized swig. To be honest, the magic present made me a bit nervous and Rova's joke didn't make handling the situation much better. It became painfully obvious to me that I was the only full blooded human at the table. Well, the only one with both arms anyway. Normally this isn't an issue for me, I've fought alongside plenty of races other than my own. Other half-orcs, elves, halflings, that sort of thing. The half-bird was clearly magical, a half-devil was something difficult for me not to judge, and I'd never even seen a half-cat before. I couldn't help but wonder how half-cats even happen. Nonetheless, the floating bread trick almost caught me in a bad spot. I went to reach for my scythe when it happened, but after a moment's thought retracted the action and instead tried to make it look like I was fixing my hair. Rather poorly, I might add.
"Ah, and the name's Evelyn Rose Fury. Most call me Rose, a handful call me Eve. No one calls me Evelyn and lives to tell about it."
And with a laugh coming straight from my gut, I took another drink of ale. I wouldn't let a soul think I was nervous. Well, you know, if I could help it.
Half-bird. Aviz mirrors Rose, reaching for his weapon when the bread starts floating. He scowls. "Keep that to your bloody self."
In a place like this I'm going to be surrounded by damned magic users. He clutches his wayfinder for reassurance. Suppose I'll have to get used to it.
"And what's so wrong with Evelyn? Think it sounds pretty, just like you." He grins, tone only slightly betraying the sarcasm.
Ranky merely laughs at all of the sudden situations arising out of the blue. His old eyes, while not completely venerable are wracked with far more experience than they let on as he subtly notices everyone get nervous at the prospect of magic. He smiles rather wide when the orc grabs the half-orc grabs the bread as well. "Best lose the nervous twitches, friends, or you'll go into shock as soon as you take foot in the city."
Just as soon as he says it, a man on the far end walks into the room. He stands tall at a flat 6'2 with a long, brown ponytail and an eyepatch over his left eye. His left arm lies flat on a long sheathe that almost reaches the ground beneath his coat. His armor seems to be brilliantly constructed and from the eastern lands, similar to that of a Samurai's, though it lacks the usual ornate helmet and some of the finer pieces of armor, such as the pauldrons.
Pointing at him, he presents his metal hand; "That, my friends, is Cid." The man wastes no time walking over to Ranky before his eyes meet with Aviz's weapon and a single brow raises before returning to an expression of boredom.
The sword of unknown type hangs delicately off of his hip, and from what little part of the sheathe is visible, seems rather mundane and even battered. It is also quite long. Too long to be a longsword, yet too thin to be a claymore or bastard sword. Most likely it could be a katana, but seems too long (All of 5 feet) to be a regular one. Tossing a single eye towards everyone he rests his eye on Aviz, shifting momentarily between him and Ranky. "I see that everyone's enjoying themselves." he says without moving much of his body.
Can you believe the nerve of some people? Now I know I wasn't in line to win any beauty contests, but I wasn't the ugliest person in the room either. I suppose at any other time I would have been a little more reasonable and able to take a joke, but the winged man just nudged the wrong button. There are just a few things I'm a little self conscience of I guess.
"Yeah, yeah. Keep talking, winged rat. I might not be the most beautiful woman, but I'm sure you'll come down off your manly pedestal if a woman crushes your skull. Aye?"
I was prone to rage and anger at times, I know. I could keep it under control most of the time and this was one of those times I had to. So I left my comments at that. Taking another swig, I remember Cid walking into the room. Ranky had just introduced him. A right impressive looking man, I remember. He stood a head taller than me and I'm pretty tall, even compared to men. He made a comment about everyone appearing to be enjoying themselves, and I had to admit that I actually was. I raised my stein to him and nodded, after finishing my drink, nearly polishing it off. I sat it back on the table in front of me.
"Well met, Cid. The name's Rose."
Cid turns to rose to give her a casual nod, though he doesn't say much for a moment. He tosses Aviz yet another look, giving his weapon a glance. "A hopeful for Wyvern's soul, then?" he says, taking in the look of your strange weapon. "A strange choice. A weapon made to disarm and muddle footwork..." he says with one bored eye placed on it.
"Troublesome, but not unique." he says, adjusting his weapon in its' sheathe. "What separates the lot of you from the 'silent'?" he asks, looking around.
"Cid always was rough with the hopefuls. His expectations were lower than anyone's if only because he was pretty much unchallenged within the guild. New blood duty was one of the most boring things a man like him could get assigned to and it took a pretty decent amount of pay to even get him on the boat, but I wasn't about to tell them that.
Cid lacked any amount of faith in the new guys that come in every month. Most either leave the guild or conform to the common people in Chul. If we didn't send him to tough missions alone, I don't think he'd stay with us. He was a strange man, for sure. The fact he'd taken an interest in the new group perplexed me, to say the least."
"Can't imagine anybody would remain standing if their head was crushed. Although I suppose some of us actually use our brains."
Aviz returns Cid's curious look. "I could say the same for you. I've never seen a blade built that way." He takes the fauchard off his back. "I don't know where this originated from beyond it's elven build. It comes in damn useful when you're ten feet off the ground. Leaves half of normal fighters useless."
Aviz took an immediate liking to Cid. A short spoken man who appreciated a good blade.
Regaining his height at Cid's entrance, Jahl'ra was not offended by the overlook of Ranky; different customs in different lands. Perhaps they did not bow here, or perhaps in situations he did not know. It was still a mystery to him.
Cid's weapon of choice was less so. A katana, it seems. The bard had seen a few chance items from across the Eastern Sea, and the sheathe, along with the man's armor, were good indicators of his choice of equipment. The catfolk didn't mistake the sheathe's condition for neglect; rather, it probably had a history of use. Both men were on in their years, and if they survived at dangerous work, they were to be commended.
He tried the less formal approach with Cid, brushing-off the glances he got from the others. Not used to my kind; he was used to it though. "Hopefully the fact we are uniquely troublesome," quipped Jahl'ra. I'll try the less formal approach with this one. It worked with that loud Rose after all. "But hopefully not to you. I am known as Jahl'ra. It is good to meet one respected by the respectable," Jahl'ra lauds, gesturing to Cid then Ranky.
The strix's display of weapon knowledge and prowess well exceeded Jahl'ra's. Fortuantely, it seemed they were part of the same grouping. [i]And I certainly wouldn't want an airborne lancer coming at me.
"Your weapon will just prove to be a useful tool for removing your bones from some monster's teeth. If we fight the stuff I'm excited about."
The exchange was almost beginning to amuse me, I'm not sure I even cared that Ranky and Cid were there to overhear. Well, to be honest, I was never that worried about authority. Getting paid was nice and doing good was priority. Aside from that, I wasn't terribly concerned.
Cid's words had puzzled me though. The 'silent'? Did that refer to the deceased new bloods before me? No way to know for sure without asking and I was always the straight-forward and blunt type.
"Tell me what you mean by silent and I can hopefully tell and show what makes me different. I don't disappoint."
Cid didn't break his bored stare with Aviz, save to acknowledge the existence of Jahl'ra. "Combat is not merely three dimensional. Remember this well." he said sternly. Having said that he turned his head to Rose and answered her question. "The 'silent' are 'drips' which don't make any waves. The new blood that do not offer anything to the city. Mundane adventurers." he says astutely.
He oggles Aviz's weapon for a moment, but doesn't seem to dwell much on it. As he does, he reaches for his blade, pulling it out of it's home. It takes the full arc of his arm to get the blade out of the sheathe as he brings it out. The blade is exquisitely crafted at a glance, and despite the tatter of it's sheathe, the blade is not dented whatsoever and seems to be perfectly sharpened. The blade is almost 5 feet long and seems remarkably thin, as far as thickness is concerned.
For a moment he looks at it for a while before placing it back in its' sheathe. Looking to Jahl'ra he shakes his head. "It matters not what you do, so long as you stir the water."
At that point Ranky gives a momentary cough to gain attention before looking around at people. "Cid here is Wyvern Soul's second most-decorated member. I'm not even the lorekeeper and I could tell you stories about what he's done. Hell, you guys might have even heard of him if you really take a moment to think about it."
The hoard was then given to the people of the city, though it's rumored that he kept a few things. His Katana was not amongst the horde and appears in every story there is of him."
A thousand questions about the weapon pop into Aviz's mind, the chief one How do you keep it from breaking? But he holds his tongue, knowing a man of few words and many stories is unlikely to diverge such details.
Aviz grins. "Most fighters learn the fourth dimension before the third. I think I'd like to cross blades with you one day. I could probably learn something."
Rova looks at the blade with interest. "Seems a bit flimsy but the beheading length is extraordinary." he says with glee.
Rova looks confused at the sarcasm in Aviz's voice. But then picks up on the joke but speaks with sincerity. "Evelyn is a pretty name, but none are prettier than Rova." he says with confidence, and while he is scarred and tusked, he is actually incredibly handsome for a half orc.
"Rova is not a drip, he is an avalanche of destruction and a tidal wave of death, I will make waves of blood that will drown the weak for a thousand miles!"
Cid laughs just 1 simple noise through his nose and throws up a smile. "You could test yourself now, if you wished. There is still an hour till we reach Chul'Galbrann, and the deck is clear. I must warn you now, however, that you are not ready to stand on the same plane as I. Not yet, anyway." His gaze is cold and yet astute, and he seems sincere in his suggestion. Despite the fact, the words are still quite chilling to hear for some reason, as if the man made it a point to exude his pressure with his words.
He looks at you sternly for a moment before following. "I jest. I admire your tenacity, but at the same time we have all merely spoken words. Some day me and you will clash, and I hope we can enjoy ourselves. It has been quite some time since I met a worthy opponent." he says as he takes a few steps towards you. Presenting to you his fist in hopes a bump back he says, "In Wyvern's soul we show respect through the bumping of knuckles. I shall watch your growth. Do not disappoint me, yes?" he says, keeping the fist up.
"When we arrive in Chul'Galbrann I will introduce you to a rather bothersome individual by the name Gogolgenheim. A sword collector. He pines after my blade if only out of curiosity, but he may know more of your strange weapon, Strix." he claims.
Acknowledging Rova he smiles. "Chul'Galbrann could use that kind of splash."
"I am strength. The personification of power. I am the way, I am the light, and I'm the dark inside the night. I hear people's hopes and dreams and in the dark I hear their screams. When you make your final stand, I'll be right there. I live for the day I'll die, and the day I die will be the day most lived. I'm not what you are used to, my friend, but you will come to know and trust my name because in power comes honor and with honor comes glory."
They were mere words, but even in my innebriated state I could defend my honor and showcase my wisdom. Well, or so I tried. Words were one thing while actions another. I had a lot on my plate for when we arrived and most of it was a heaping pile of proving myself. The things my adoptive parents taught me were going to prove extremely useful in the future and I wasn't sure I was ready to accept that. My little monologue was a testimony to that, but I paid it no heed.
I wasn't sure I was interested in getting in on the weapon discussion either. Simplicity was often the finest answer and my weapons were far more simple than anyone else's. I was always armed and I had a stick - well, quarterstaff, and a scythe, which was easy enough to pick up since it's basically a quarterstaff with a huge blade on it. Still, I found satisfaction in knowing all the time they had spent just figuring out how to hold those... things, I had spent it mastering my style. I couldn't help but smirk at the idea.
Confident. Very confident. I suppose he has a right to be if half the stories are true. Aviz returns the odd knuckle bump gesture, wondering at it's origin.
Aviz gets a small grin as the others boast their strength and prowess. When they finish he just gives a small shrug. "Words mean little. Give me a proper mission so I can show you the splash I can make. I'll let you judge that for yourself."
When Cid mentions the sword collector possibly knowing something about his fauchard he grows very serious. "You'll have to introduce me to this man."
"Strength is not power. Magic, magic is power. Magic is all..."
Deylar's voice trails off, almost as if he is just realizing that he spoke out loud. As all eyes turn to him he takes a deep breath, steeling himself as he prepares to go on.
"There is nothing your swordarm can do that magic cannot. It can be a weapon as well, and an effective one, but it is also a tool." Another piece of bread floats the few inches from the platter to his hand. "It can deal out horrific wounds then rebuild your body as if you had never been hurt. An axe destroys, magic can destroy or create. Your enemies fall beneath your blade, the very fabric of reality can bend to the whim of a spellcaster. Magic is all."
The tiefling gazes around the table again. "I mean no disrespect. None of you would be here if you did not possess great skill, had not achieved mighty accomplishments. The All Seeing Eye teaches that things like weakness.....strength.....good.....evil.....none of these apply to magic. Magic simply is."
Rova stares at the shiny tiefling. "Magic is how the weak try to gain power. The strength of Rova lets him take a hit from magic and live, the strength of a wizard would break beneath an onslaught of blades. The All Seeing Eye can teach what it will, until it is blinded forever by the strength of the destroyer."
Rova pats his blades crossed behing his back, "Magic can be a useful tool, I admit, but it is often not used to its full destructive potential, as it should be. Where is the spell that kills all the snakes? That would be a great feat of strength."
The priest holds out both hands with palms up - the universal symbol for 'there is room for all'.
"There are magics that could turn those blades away. There are magics that could turn those blades into mist."
"And there are magics that could do more destruction in seconds than you and your blades could do in a lifetime."
"What is strength of arms when a lifetime of training and skill can be undone with a single word? The ability to strike your enemies down with a mighty blow is insignificant against the power of magic."
Again he raises his hands in that gesture. "Perhaps we will get to travel together, and teach each other more about our point of views?"
"Strange, magic has always fallen short of harming me. Of course, so has any man's blade."
The air was getting competitive. I was all about competition most of the time, but we were all incredibly skilled and likely to become companions. I could always handle a bit of friendly competition, but I knew that wasn't the case for everyone and I didn't know these people very well. The witch's words made sense, but I would have been wary either way. I nodded after my previous statement and continued.
"Maybe I've been hunting the wrong witches though. Any up close and personal experience will be... welcome."
It probably wasn't too hard to pick up on the hesitation I had with admitting a good magic user could prove to be useful. Still, though, I'd never admit it.
"I am sure there will be plenty chance to test your might against something in a productive way." Jahl'ra felt the need to chime-in before things got too rowdy. He sensed the possibility for in-fighting here. And once started, it doesn't matter who began it. The ferocious Rova and the drunken Rose in particular had the capability of being lose cannons.
"Speaking of which, perhaps our hosts could tell us some more of our tasks-to-be." He hoped that redirect could get them all on the same page; otherwise, things are going to heat up.
A somewhat pallid gnome steps from the shadows. Personally, I find stealth to be a most effective tool against both mundane and magical foes. It is rather difficult to bash in the head of an opponent one cannot see--likewise for directing magical attacks. Hello, I am Poshket the gnome, and I too would be interested in learning more about what kinds of tasks we may be called upon to accomplish.
0: Light, Read Magic, Prestidigitation, Daze
1: Grease, Grease, Color Spray, Silent Image,Protection From Evil, Feather Fall
2: Web, Web, Rope Trick, Invisibility
3: Summon Monster III, Haste, Stinking Cloud
The airship was a fun enough place for Illenara. She was being whisked away from the university that she had called home for 80 years into a world of adventure and sights that she had only seen in books. Everyone was so interesting, and it was a lot more funny when they fell victim to her pranks than the elves back in Kyonin. Elves were stoic enough to maintain their composure somewhat when they tripped on something that wasn't there a second ago or found their room covered in spider webs, but humans lost their minds when they tried to open an illusory door or jumped onto an imaginary beautiful woman. She had already gotten into her fair share of mischief no more than a few hours into their flight, but she was only doing it to get to know her soon-to-be comrades. She had managed to make a few of them laugh, and that made her happy.
"Whatcha gonna do today?" the little dinosaur on her shoulder asked as Illenara strolled about the deck, looking for her next mark. The took of them spoke in a special language that only they shared as wizard and familiar.
"Hmmmm, I'm not quite sure. I think we've met most of the people on this ship already. Oooooo, I know, we could go down belowdecks and see what's going on there!" Without any warning, Illenara took off, prancing for the downward stairs, almost dropping Rex in the process.
In the mess area Illenara saw a number of her future comrades gathered around a table talking, boasting, and laughing. One of them was going on about how magic was everything, and everyone else seemed to brush him off. "He seems kinda silly, huh, Rex? I hate it when people get all hoity-toity about the study of magic, anyone can figure it out if they pick up enough books!" Rex agreed, as did another woman sitting separate from the rest of the group.
"Strange, magic has always fallen short of harming me. Of course, so has any man's blade."
"Oooo, she seems interesting, let's go say hello!" Illenara pranced over to this large and imposing woman. "Hi, what's your name? Where are you from? What do you do? You look tough, are you good at arm wrestling? Do you like books? I like books. My name's Illenara, nice to meet ya!" Illenara spoke in as carefree of a manner as it gets, and she didn't even give the woman a moment between her barrage of questions.
Ranky takes his metal hand and pinches the fat between his eyes with a bit of a sigh. "Alright." he says, taking the fist and lightly pounding the table with it. "As much as I enjoy whipping it out and measuring, some of you are going to be working together in the future, so listen up." he says as he stands up, presenting a seat to whoever wants it.
With the crowd bustling in the background unaware of the conversation he waved Cid over, whom immediately comes to stand at his side and watch the situation unfold. Clearing his throat, he dons a serious face. "Wyvern's soul was founded about 30 years ago by Alexander in the prime of his youth, just shortly after he defeated the mythical Wyvern Aglasthiel. You guys might some day do something of similar caliber, but that's a long ways off..." he says.
He draws a strange, bound bit of plant from his pocket as he speaks. Putting it in his mouth, he held the tip of it that wasn't between his metal fingers, and upon removal it burned, surprisingly. Taking a long draw, he removed it to continue. "We've got a guy missing." he said with a long sigh. "New blood named Archie. People dying on missions is one thing, but this kid was just supposed to help out some militia in a fort just a day away in Ostenso. Simple, right?" he asks.
"Long story short, we're going to send a group over to check on him. We haven't lost a new blood in 8 years, and Alexander wants to make that time longer. We're only sending 5, though. Seems a bit excessive, but you lot should know what uncertainty spells out at this point in your careers." he says with a smile.
With a quick "Hmph" Cid follows up. "Blood Basilisks..." he mumbled.
Simplicity, like appearances, is often deceiving. What else can you tell us about the situation in Ostenso?
Ranky takes a prolonged breathe of his strange plant before breathing it out again. "Ostenso is a 3 day flight from Chul'Galbrann on one of the guild's sky ships. You'd have to fly to Oregent, Augustana, and then to Ostenso and arrive at the end of the third day. After that it's about a 4 hour walk to the fort on foot to the north." he says, pulling the reed-like plant out of his mouth. He waves it around for a moment as he continues with "Nothing we've heard about is going on in Ostenso, however."
Cid takes a step forward and continues where Ranky left off. "Arcturus was more headstrong than you lot can even muster. He wasn't happy being on guard duty, but the new blood has to start somewhere." he states.
"I... Well, let's start from the bottom. My name is Rose. And you are...?"
I had the utmost respect for everyone on the ship I was on. They demanded it, of course. They all had accomplished great things and had proven themselves to some degree. This even applied to the witches on board, the difference being that my respect came in the guise of suspicion. I suppose that's why my confusion toward the girl with the pet raptor was so amplified. I expected a lot out of these people, but I didn't expect someone so... ditsy. What even was she? She had a quarterstaff like me, but from the looks of her she probably couldn't make a name for herself by hitting things with it. Possibly a witch, but she definitely had something up her sleeve.
Then of course Ranky finally sheds some light on the task at hand. Sending new bloods after new bloods. I think there was just a little too much alcohol in my system to really question it and I had heard nothing of any of the places they were mentioning, so I decided to remain quiet on that subject. Even more surprising was the statement that not a single new blood had been lost in eight years. I guess I figured if anyone would be lost it would be them.
"Arcturus, eh? How sure are you he didn't just go AWOL on ya? If he's more headstrong than ol' half-orc over here, I'm not sure he would stick around to watch the grass grow."