Gameplay goes here! :)
Greetings, Game Enthusiast!
The countdown to Ibith's Great Game LXXXIV has begun! In just a few short weeks trials will begin. Check often with your local flyer, town crier, or magical scryer; we will have updates, announcements, and information coming regularly.
- News for the nimble-fingered: Strongarm Safe and Security will once again be providing their latest model for you to take a crack at. Inside their Strongarm 3XQ, they have placed 2000 gold pieces, a magical dagger, and a job application. This safe has never been cracked - are you the one to finally manage it? (Remember, dragging the safe to the exit doesn't count.)
- In game teleportation - where will it take you? We can confirm that teleporters to many of the traditional locations will be on the GameFields again this year: Lotus Quagmire, Narrow Jungle, and Altar Isle, to name a few. There are also rumours of a few new locations - one may be a mountaintop, so bring a scarf!
- Would you like to be a vendor? The Game Authority is currently taking applications for MarketTown on the GameFields. Drop off your application and administration fee to the Ibith Game Authority (IGA) Office nearest you. Market Insurance is strongly encouraged, as the IGA takes no responsibility for damages caused by rampaging monsters, rogue magical events, or game contestants.
- As always, Nelly Winterstem will be reporting on in-game fashion. She has generously offered prizes for the following categories: eye-catching armour, stealthily stylish, robes to remember, and viewers choice. Remember, just because it's kill or be killed doesn't mean you have to dress for a funeral!
That's all for today, but keep your eye(s) open - more announcements coming soon. Until then, keep your knives sharp and your wits sharper, and may the Obelisk be waiting for you.
Internal Memo
IGA - security division.
All members are notified that another attempts was made by the EFA (Elves For Animals) to sabotage GameField integrity last night. Guard watch is being increased at the following entrances: Fire, Mind and Moon. Password rotation will be increased, with false passwords being circulated in an effort to pinpoint where the leaks are coming from (if indeed there is a mole). Check in with your shift leader at the start of each shift, and be advised that any behaviour that could be construed as compromising to IGA security will result in immediate dismissal and incarceration. Let's keep the games safe.
~ Captain Velna Rhak, Chief of Security
Team odds will be released within 24 hours of teams being announced.
Jake Relgonath
Race: Human
Age: 23
Areas of specialty: leadership, brawling
Goals: "Winning this damn thing"
Contribution to team: 6/10
Odds (survival): 80%
Helly Goldenrod
Race: halfling
Age: 19
Areas of specialty: Lockpicking, trapfinding, pickpocketing
Goals: "Crack the Strongarm 3XQ, be rich and famous"
Contribution to team: 4/10
Odds (survival): 30%
Huj of Marshwaters
Race: Half-orc
Age: 17
Areas of specialty: Great-ax single combat, swearing
Goals:"Kill monsters, get famous"
Contribution to team: 5/10
Odds (survival): 60%
Keddan the Magnificent
Race: Half-elf
Age: 63
Areas of specialty: Fire magic, mind control
Goals: "Find the pools of health, survive long enough to bring some to my sister"
Contribution to team: 2/10
Odds (survival): 10%
More contestants will be published soon!
The GameField Doors
13 Teams enter through one of the 13 doors. In the past, teams with highest rankings got to choose their door; this year, first pick will be awarded by lottery.
Some doors seem to always have the same challenge behind them, others are new each year.
Traditional:
*Death Door: Opens into an old cemetery. There are many undead to fight here, but also several tombs and grave sites with valuable treasure.
*Earth Door: Opens into a traditional dungeon, with narrow passages and dangers to overpass.
*Tooth Door: Opens into a gladiatorial type arena, with wild animals to fight.
*Trap Door: A series of traps to overcome
*Fear Door: Nobody really knows what exactly happens here, as the spy-eyes show contestants seemingly battling an empty room.
*Sand Door: Opens onto a teleporter, which brings contestants to a desert, with local dangers to face.
*Magic Door: Always opens onto some sort of magical battle.
New:
*Fire Door
*Water Door
*Ice Door
*Moon Door
*Wind Door
*Mind Door
A most curious dwarf stands in one of the green team-tents, bending down to touch his toes, and rising back up to stretch his arms as high as he can reach, over and over again. He counts as he does this, well into his sixties, and shows no signs of stopping.
Khaddar Khaggan is thin for a dwarf, but only of about average height. He still stands stocky and low at only four foot and three inches, but he carries himself upright with a hopeful kind of pride. His brown hair is shaved and tied into a little bun over the top of his head, and his beard is neatly trimmed, a wedge of brown whiskers that just brushes his chest a few inches below his scarred chin when he dips his head, not yet bound or knotted or clasped. Bushy brows wag over beady brown eyes, and a few of his teeth are crooked, with one off center bearing a notable chip. Other than the brass and leather bracers, and the completely incongruous spiked metal boots he wears, the dwarf is clad in linen jammies, like a short robe and calf-length shorts, his waist tied off with a black cloth belt tied in an ornate knot. Around his shoulders, laced around his forearms, and twice around his waist, thick sashes of bright saffron hues glare against the otherwise un-dyed off-white linen of his robelet, and a nine inch stick dangles from a leather thong around his left wrist. Cap that off with a backpack that groans under the weight of odds and ends, and you have a dwarf who cuts a most unusual image.
Quinn moved gracefully through the crowd that had gathered for the start of the Game. Everyone was excited and were looking for the best vantage point to watch whether it be rooftops or bleachers. Quinn however was looking at the crowd and deciding on her mark.
It doesn't take long for Quinn's eyes to fall on someone. He looks to be quite the dandy and definitely looks like he could afford to lose whatever she takes from him. As she gets closer to his somewhat thin-frame and blonde hair, she gets a better look at his face. Is that eyeliner?. She moves to stand close to him and takes his coin purse which is in plain sight. She then moves off into the crowd with him non the wiser.
Her tall, willowy frame walked away with her dark curls bouncy slightly. Her own clothes are well made but worn. She wears a chain shirt under her dark green shirt. Her pants are dark grey as is her cloak which she wears over her own gear. She soon gets lost in the crowd as she prowls for another unaware spectator.
A scent of forest loam is couriered but the air. A scarecrow of a man seems to be chasing it. Wrapped in a worn indigo cloak with either moth holes or arrow holes in it. He looks boyish, they must be moth holes. That claw shaped tear on the other side must be from when when someone trod on it to. There is something large embroidered on the back but it is monotone indigo and covered by bundles and tool or weapon handles. One ear is poking out - he has some elven blood. No one would guess. He's so plain.
He's walking about looking in tents. So many of them seem full ... am I late?
He stops, seeing a crow one, there should be a small murder in a crowd like this ... one is strange he stops. He seems to me trying to hold a conversation with it.
He leave it to pass another tent, green, takes a quick glance and keeps walking.
hmmm ... interesting He walks by again a little more slowly nice belt knot ... talking to himself, sounded like 'seventy-one'.
Jibril walks into the tent and sits down without looking around. He hefts off his bundle of bundles and tries not to meet this dwarf's gaze.
"Se'enty two... se'enty three... Any word yet on when they'll choose teams, lad?" One of the dwarf's cleated feet hits the earthen floor with a clunk and he squats down, rear-to-heels, and rises again, arms held out in front of him for balance. We may find our sael's taegether on this bonny trip!" Loud, with his beard abruptly ending a few inches past his chin, the ruddy dwarf addresses Jibril in the most jovial fashion, grinning brightly at the moth-eaten half-elf.
His pack continues to clank on his back, whatever accoutrements inside hidden by leather and belted cloth, but continuing to protest the rather svelte dwarf's quick, concise movements.
Duncan thought one more time how he could get away from participating in these stupid games. He'd been thinking for the past week or so when he finally realized that his family, well his father, was serious about him playing. Or participating. Whatever.
But he hadn't been able to come up with a good excuse. And so here he was. The Games hadn't even started and he was wishing they were over.
To rub salt on his wound, he found that he couldn't even pick his own team. As if.
He was hoping to charm the best and brightest, well just the most athletic people to his team since he would, of course, be making all the strategic decisions.
And the worst part was that the majority of the participants looked like mere peasants or worse. Duncan wrinkled his nose at the girl next to him...
Her tall, willowy frame walked away with her dark curls bouncy slightly. Her own clothes are well made but worn. She wears a chain shirt under her dark green shirt. Her pants are dark grey as is her cloak which she wears over her own gear. She soon gets lost in the crowd as she prowls for another unaware spectator.
She obviously had no class. Was she wearing her grandma's clothes or something? And that frown on her face? She looked like the type of girl who bit into a lemon and made the lemon cringe. Duncan cringed just thinking about it.
His stared out into the crowd and continued to wish the Games were over...
At the crowd's periphery, a woman prowls through the sea of humanity, hunting for places where the crush of people grows thinner. Dark, shaggy hair hangs lank over her forehead and ears, not quite making it to her shoulders. While her features are fairly plain, common even, the look they express is anything but - her black eyes are alight with wariness, and her head bobs slightly as she scans from one person's face to another's arms to another's feet, almost as if she's sniffing as she looks. Broad hands and stubby fingers flex slightly, betraying a deep tension that the stiffness of her slightly hunched shoulders confirms. Finally, as she edges past a twig of a boy with a perfectly arranged coiffure of golden hair, she pauses, pulling the strap of a cloth rucksack off her shoulder and lifting it easily to the ground. Setting it beside her, she fidgets with a narrow belt of braided leather that holds a short brown tunic closed beneath a grey fur cloak.
Why did I even think I had a chance at this?
She'd expected the people coming out for the games to be...rougher, somehow. After all, this was a chance for the strong and the fast to prove themselves, right? But half this crowd was dressed in satin and silver and painted faces - what they'd simply call "makeup", she supposed, though she'd never quite bought that there was a difference between that and simply wearing a mask. And the mask wouldn't sweat off five minutes into a good run. They're soft. Like as not a stiff breeze'd blow them over, let alone a true scrap...this was where I was supposed to come, right? For the choosing? Maybe the actual candidates are in the tents... Ifanna, here, she murmurs, and from a small grassy area beyond the tents a canine saunters in to stand next to her, its shoulder at the woman's hip. Though it seems perfectly obedient to the woman, the sharp features and narrow stance make it clear that this is a wolf, not a pet hound. Quietly, the wolf drops to its haunches, and the two survey the crowd's movements together, a strange similarity to their stances as they watch and wait.
"Se'enty two... se'enty three... Any word yet on when they'll choose teams, lad?" ... We may find our sael's taegether on this bonny trip!" ...
"I've only just arrived and all I've heard were a series of pre-game announcements from somebody named Nelly Wintershem about a red carpet and some semi-practical footwear. A lot of people are gathering though. I'm looking forward to getting inside. Out here ... it feels like everyone is waiting for a starting flag.
Jibril takes off his left glove and uses his fingers to comb his hair down over his forehead.
"I am called Jibril.'
The dwarf drops to his rump with a thud, the cleated soles of metal boots coming together with a clank, and then he's rolling over his shoulder, sideways across his heavy pack, and up on one foot again, his hands slicing the air with a sharp, crisp Snap Snap!
"Aye... they'll take their sweet time mountin' ah spetacle an' buildin' suspense, they will, afore they bother naming groups. Afar as we know, we're put taegether by lots ah where we be standin, ken?" He drops to his butt again, a heavy thud as nearly two hundred pounds of dwarf plus equipment strikes the ground and rebounds with alacrity. He steps into a familiar, wide-legged stance, his knees perpendicular to his hips, and goes through a series of quick, fluid hand motions, sparring an imaginary partner despite the heft of his gear, before finally crooking his hands down sharply like hooks and moving through another array of baffling motions, like casting a spell, or scything wheat with his bare hands.
"Me name's Khaddar Khaggan, Jibril laddie, and yer welcome tae join me... cause I'm in it tae winnit this year!"
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Champions Plaza was full almost to bursting. The bleachers were packed, and every balcony, window and rooftop around the plaza was crammed with onlookers. The plaza had been divided in half - the front half for the contestants, the back half open to the public. Those who'd arrived too late for a seat packed onto the stone plaza, craning their heads, hoping for a glimpse of the future heroes. Food vendors pushed their way through the crowd, hawking baked goods and beer, honeycakes and dried fruit.
The contestant's side of the plaza was less packed, but the tension was higher. A large stage stood near the GameField wall, just offset from Champions Door. Several celebrities mingled onstage, getting ready for their announcements. Thirteen green team tents ringed the edge, some empty, some occupied.
One tent held four half-orc contestants in matching red cloaks. Three were garbed in mismatched armour and bristled with weapons. The fourth wore ostentatious red robes, clumsily embroidered in stars and moons. Rowdy shouts and laughter rolled out from the tent every few seconds - they were clearly feeling confidant.
Another blond halfling pushed her way through the milling throng and joined a group in another tent. Her elven and human companions welcomed her warmly, and they sat down together in a circle, holding hands and chanting softly.
It was clear that five or six of the teams were already complete, or nearly so. The rest of the contestants milled about in twos or threes, or alone. Burly, scar-covered humans in platemail crossed paths with slender elves in robes with wands. Gnomes raced through the crowd, apparently playing tag with each other as a warm-up. A half-orc who looked more like a five-sixths orc stood alone near the doors, shouting "Bugrash WIN! Bugrash WIN!"
Finally, the trumpeters stood at attention, lifted their horns to their lips, and called the proceedings to order. The contestants immediately turned their attention to the stage; the crowd somewhat slower.
A tall elf appeared in the middle of the stage. Her silver hair hung to the floor, and her golden dress glinted in the sun. She raised a hand and the entire plaza quieted. After a moment, she began to speak, her soft voice magically enhanced so nobody missed a word.
"Welcome, contestants, to Ibith's Great Game. You have proved yourselves worthy to compete, luck has given you the opportunity, and you have paid for the privilege. In 24 hours the Doors will open, and you will begin the test of a lifetime."
There was an instant reaction from the crowds - both contestants and spectators. Traditionally, the teams had 2 days to prepare after teams were announced. This moving forward of the schedule was unprecedented.
Ignoring the hubbub, the elf continued speaking. "But first, it is time to announce the teams. As you are announced, please move to the indicated tent." She gestured, and thirteen half-elves in matching gold livery moved to the tents, each holding a pole with numbered banner blowing in the breeze. "You will have one hour to meet each other and come up with a team name. We will then draw the Door Lottery, and you will choose your doors."
She gestured again, and another gold-draped elf, this one much younger, approached and handed her a thick scroll. Unrolling the top, she began to read.
"Team one, complete as entered, Family Zarfu, members Bashuk, Glob, Orbul and Uram. Right to a fifth member waived. Move to tent one." The red-cloaked half-orcs cheered mightily and swaggered through the crowd to their appointed tent. The spectators cheered, then quieted for the next announcement. "Team two, complete as entered, Sir Caryl the Swift, Hareg Blessedbow, Liliflora Willow, Peter Millarson, and Urlion Fenfaren. Move to tent two." A motley team, no two races alike, moved to the tent two banner, which snapped in the wind.
Four more teams were thus called, all having entered as a complete team. Then the teams put together by lottery began. Team seven consisted of a threesome that looked like halfling triplets, and two single fighters. Team eight brought together a terrified-looking half-elf girl, two snarling half-orcs, a human wizard who floated to the tent, and strange druid who sported branches sprouting from her shoulders and at least a dozen birds within.
Finally, the silver-haired elf called out. "Team Nine. All single entries. Duncan Clayton, Elia Aoine, Jibril Johan Sameh, Khaddar Khaggan, Quinn Starling. Please move to tent nine."
The names of the last four teams were lost in the confusion, as what appears to be three humans, a wolf, a half-elf, and a dwarf move together, converging on tent nine.
Duncan was just about finished with this whole game-thing'when the event became lively. The teams and contestants were going to be announced.
The blonde man had a comment for everyone. The half-orcs were garish; the druid was crazy, the floating wizard was just showing off, etc. when a thought came to him, Why didn't father get me in a team?
He couldn't ponder much on the question when his name was announced. He tried to shout above the crowd, "The third! The third! That's Duncan Clayton the Third." He smiled dumbly as people looked at him and pointed to his chest, "Duncan Clayton the Third; that's me."
He was being ushered to the tent when his jaw dropped. His companions looked nothing like he would have expected. The frowning girl in her grandma's clothes was even there! He brought his hand to his forehead trying to think how to get out of this mess....
"Oh, aye, a baird! We're well set then! No like a baird tae keep us in good spirits, aye?" He beams at Duncan, showing somewhat crooked teeth. Then he eyes everyone else up and down with a bit of appraisal, crossing his arms over his chest and flexing his fists and forearms till his bracers are protesting as loudly as his backpack.
"A druid, an aelf, an expert, a baird, an' me, who defies all expectations and yet somehow abides by all the rules. We're quite the hodgepodge. A melting-pot. Slaga as the Dwarves might say. Dross. Leftovers, and nae in the most spectacular light, hey? So what'll we call oursaels? Remnants? The Orra? An is it 'Team Orra' or 'The Orra' or 'Team The Orra', cause that'll bloody well matter won't it?"
The dwarf rocks there on his feet, looking back and forth at the assembled motley crue, the cleats digging into the earthen floor with a soft, chewing grind of loam being utterly pulverized to atomic particles between gravity and steel spikes.
Quinn watches Timothy go off to tent six. Her seriousness broke as she smiled and waved at him. "Good luck!" she yells at him. "You're going to need it because my team is going to beat yours.". Of course, she made this promise to him before she actually met her team.
As her name is called to tent nine, she begins to make her way over. She sees the blonde toff and her step hesitates for just a moment as she groans inwardly. Just my luck to be partnered with someone so unobservant. Hopefully he can do more than just apply makeup.
She assesses the others as they appear. She notes that the wolf is definitely more of an animal companion than a pet and should be treated with due respect. Maybe the dwarf was accurate in his assessment of druid. The half-elf looked to have tatttered clothes but she could tell that the holes were battle wounds and not just random holes so he must have seen some fighting and lived to tell the tale. The dwarf looked capable but she was still uncertain as to his specific talents.
She forces a polite smile and says, "My name is Quinn and as...sorry I didn't catch your name... she says motioning at the dwarf, "said, I'm the expert. Nice to have others recognize it. Those are good suggestions for a team name. I care not what we call ourselves, only that we win.".
To Quinn but starring at the wolf - his face is all peacefulness.
I will try my uttermost
Jibril kneels closer to the wolf's height
I would have you know that I have no expectations of you. If you should bite I would be bitten and not bite back. Neither you, nor your family are my foe.
I am Jibril
He comes out of his revery, stands and looks at Elia Aoine. He reaches into his pack.
Forgive me for not being prepared but I think you are the lead and I owe you an offering. It's embarrassing but this is all I have
I offer up a soft bread of oats and berries sweetened with honey making sure the wolf can see I don't look Elia Aoine directly in the eye. While I hold the bread out hoping that Elia will take it ...
It occurs to me that we are in a game that has already started. I am from the seasonal travellers, the summer-kin to the west. I am good with the longbow or so my father told me and I can be quiet when I need to. I have been taught to read the earth, to love the sun, and to know the ways of the un-calmed dead.
I think we need to set up a watch right away. The others will try to learn about us ... we should out flank them. If you trust me I will watch this tent from a high spot.
...oh, and 'Team The Orra' sounds fine but I will defer to the wisdom of ... my team
You think Jibril may have grinned a bit at his last words.
Duncan surveyed his supposed companions with a mix of giddiness and apprehension. Definitely a people-person, he was always happy to meet new people but... he was particular with whom he cared to meet.
He looked about and cleared his throat, "Hello. I am Duncan Clayton, the Third."
He quickly added, "My grandfather was Duncan Clayton, the Second. You probably heard of the Claytons."
He waited for the expected recognition and adulation...
tag?
----------------
Duncan was not happy with the name of the team, "The Orra? What does that mean anyway?"
He thought for a moment, "That's not a good name. Not really. Our name should be memorable. It should strike a chord in people's mind."
A bit more thinking... "How about Duncan Clayton the Third and his Fearless Associates? Is that too long?"
tag?
Quinn stared at Duncan, wondering how he managed to make it home everyday without dying. She often didn't feel guilt for taking things from people and this was definitely true about Duncan. She knew of his family and in fact they lived in her neighbourhood. She hadn't gotten around to visiting their house with Timothy but it was definitely on their list."So what's your father's name? What did he do wrong to not be named Duncan Clayton too?"
-------------------
Quinn laughed deeply at Duncan's suggestion until she realized he was serious. "That wasn't a bard's joke to lift our spirits? Why would you possibly think that that's memorable? Why not call us 'Duncan and the Duncanettes'? We'd be a laughingstock but at least the name is memorable."
Khaddar looks bemused, and a little non-plussed, but he pats Duncan gently "Yer a terrible baird, lad. Sit doon and try no te hurt yeself, aye?"
"Orra is a Dwarven word, it means the unsorted or the left-over. When ye put metals to the crucible there's always a bit a slag left in... but sometimes, jus' sometimes, that bit is a bit o gold, or a bit o mithril, or a stone a uncommon beauty." Grinning, the blusterous dwarf drops his pack off his shoulder and unfastens it from around his waist so he can swing it down proper, and then rummages up a set of tin cups and the small keg he has had strapped to his backpack all this time.
"And AYE! The laddie has the right o' it! Gather round, comrades, and we'll drink a sniff a Galian pear ale tae oor good fortune and new friendship!" He winks at Quinn "So says Khaddar Khaggan!"
He...he thinks I'm an alpha. With an expression torn between bashfulness and satisfaction, Elia accepts the bread from Jibril, tearing a bit off and holding it down to the wolf at her side. Curious, the canine's long muzzle nudges forward, deftly pulling the morsel from her fingers and snapping it up. She likes it, the sturdy woman says with a smile, tearing the loaf into two pieces and handing one back to the nervous half-elf. You should enjoy it, too. Drawing it to her face, she discreetly sniffs before biting into it, hiding her heavy teeth with one hand; the sweetness is almost overwhelming, but in an incredibly satisfying way.
Carefully, she listens to the others introduce themselves, sneaking more bites of the bread. Most of her newfound allies seemed capable - better than she'd hoped, anyway. But this golden-haired lordling...what was he getting at? Why should I know Claytons? she responds quizzically. What deeds have your fathers? Were they hunters? Wise ones? And what are your deeds? Why would we bear your name? This "Orra" feels more right. Shorter, too.
When the conversation turns to abilities, Elia falls silent for a moment, steeling herself for her response. Elia, of the clan Aoine. Druid is not quite right. I am...a hunter, she finally ventures forth when the conversation wanes slightly. I know how to track, how to watch. How to fight. And Ifanna hunts with me. With indifferent concern, she pets roughly at the scruff of fur around the wolf's neck. But our bond is not a druid's. It's more like...kinship.
As she speaks, her features begin to twist and shift. Her already piercing eyes narrow even further, the whites turning to a sharp yellow. Her already-broad hands widen even further, the fingers shortening slightly and the nails growing long and rounded. The hair on her tanned arms thickens to an almost fur-like covering, and her already-hunched shoulders bend and twist even further. And her snub nose and pointed chin push forward, erupting and narrowing into a short snout with wicked canines protruding past the thin lips. There may have been hints of wildness in her previous form, but this one leaves no doubt of her ferocity.
My blood is strange, but it serves me. I am not its prey. Worry not.
Jibril looks at Elia with some confusion and fascination.
I have heard of shamanic skin-walkers but I have never met anyone like you.
Jibril looks at the expressions of the others. Khaddar Khaggan, thank you for this toast. Orra it seems is very apt for it is in chance that fate shows itself undisguised. You suggested we travel together and here we are chosen to travel together and paired with other wonders I see this group and I see Jibril pauses for a momment as he looks over Duncan, his voice gets a liitle more serious a greater hand at work
Khaddar looks bemused, and a little non-plussed, but he pats Duncan gently "Yer a terrible baird, lad. Sit doon and try no te hurt yeself, aye?"
"Orra is a Dwarven word, it means the unsorted or the left-over. When ye put metals to the crucible there's always a bit a slag left in... but sometimes, jus' sometimes, that bit is a bit o gold, or a bit o mithril, or a stone a uncommon beauty." Grinning, the blusterous dwarf drops his pack off his shoulder and unfastens it from around his waist so he can swing it down proper, and then rummages up a set of tin cups and the small keg he has had strapped to his backpack all this time.
Something clicked inside Duncan's brain as the dwarf explained the meaning of the word 'Orra'. The part about the slag was evident by just looking at his teammates. He was no stranger to people around him having an inferiority complex and he could understand why they felt so out of place next to him.
It was the part about the gold nugget that resonated most with him though. The dwarf was actually paying him a compliment. He silently mouthed the word 'Thank you' and really just wanted to hug the dwarf to assuage him of his fears. But he understood.
He looked with a but if sadness on his face as he looked at each one of them, "You know what? I think Orra is just fine for our team."
Quinn laughed deeply at Duncan's suggestion until she realized he was serious. "That wasn't a bard's joke to lift our spirits? Why would you possibly think that that's memorable? Why not call us 'Duncan and the Duncanettes'? We'd be a laughingstock but at least the name is memorable."
Duncan was about to answer when he heard his mother's advice in his head, Don't say anything if you have nothing nice to say'.
He looked at the girl with pity, Her life is probably not as fabulous as mine so I understand.
"No, I don't think Duncan and the Duncanetes is a good name. You have no right to my name."
Duncan was genuinely surprised and more than a little apprehensive about this wolf-girl and her wolf. he was glad the girl apparently had things under control but he made a mental note not to get her mad. I wonder if she'll smell like wet dog after a rain.
I have heard of shamanic skin-walkers but I have never met anyone like you.
Jibril looks at the expressions of the others. Khaddar Khaggan, thank you for this toast. Orra it seems is very apt for it is in chance that fate shows itself undisguised. You suggested we travel together and here we are chosen to travel together and paired with other wonders I see this group and I see Jibril pauses for a momment as he looks over Duncan, his voice gets a liitle more serious a greater hand at work
Ah, there it was again. The unmistakable sign of someone recognizing a superior being. Duncan was feeling a little sorry for everyone and tried to cheer them up, "Do not worry. I will help you overcome whatever shortcoming you have. And let me tell that the first thing you have to do is believe in yourself. And smile. You should always smile."
She watches Elia's transformation with awe and fascination. "That...is...so incredible! To be able to live in two different worlds seems pretty cool."
You have no right to my name.
In a deadpan voice Quinn says, "You are right. What was I thinking.". When he turns to speak to someone else, she rolls her eyes behind his back.
She listens to Duncan offer his expertise and wonders how he could possibly help her other than to be a source of easy money she could take. When he mentions smiling she gives him a huge, fake smile like children often give their parents.
Khaddar, however, is rewarded with a genuine smile when he hands her some ale for the toast. She nods and adds, "And to success."
Offering up cups to everyone, Khaddar whistles softly as he pours, and when he's out of cups, he's the only one without one. Which is fine, cause he'll just drink from the barrel! "Aye! Drink up then! To The Orra! May we win victories and honor all round, may we never want for company, may we bring home memories and new friends that last an age!"
The one-gallon keg is full of a frothy, tart, crisp and sweet ale, of uncommonly light flavor and with a refreshing, zesty note that speaks of aging in rough citrus-wood casks. The dwarf guzzles quite a bit before offering to top anyone else off with what remains. "If ye couldnae' tell, I'm a close combat specialist. I've studied hand fightin' with the moost honorable Sen-Say Tsu Sun Bak, Master o' the Order o' the Inward Eye. Quite a few years, afact. I kin knock a body off his feet and tie his legs round his ears afore he hits the ground, I reckon, so long as all the rocks are fallin favorably. I'll be the first intae danger, ye ken, and likely the last out, so you lot keep an eye on how much o' me blood is on the groond. Too mucha that and we're likely tae see we're losin, aye?"
Like someone who's never had a drink before That is an excellent toast-
Jibril suddenly goes stiff. He's trying to hide it from everyone in the room - perhaps if he absentmindedly combs his bangs down a bit no one will see his discomfort.
Quinn cocks her head at Jabril as she senses his agitation. "Something bothering you? Have we done something to offend?"
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the spying eye, the in game remote viewer, my people can see me ... why didn't I disguise myself ... i should try not to look at it ... oh no, I looked at it ... it was just a glance, I may have gotten away with it ... hoarfrost I did it again ... directly at it that time
Embarrassed at the admission and lowering his voice a bit I have never seen the Great Game played. Ri'dwan, my father's wathiq ... that is 'his best friend', used to tell me stories about the games of the past. In my mind's eye I never thought people would be watching me. Somehow, I never made the connection between - Oh, I've said Ri'dwan now. Touch Lightning! They'll know me in truth.
where is the wisdom that Ri'dwan once accused me of having - foolish, foolish
"The lad's no much of a drinker..." Khaddar doesn't even have to try. It's written on Jibril's face more clearly than chalk on a board, and the dwarf knows from long familiarity what it means to not be able to name liquor by taste. So many humans just don't have the familiarity with it! Unlike his people, who have Boozecunning listed right before Stonecunning in their racial features...
"It's no to be ashamed aboot laddie! I'm no much of a drinker meself! Milk, juice, water... won't catch me drinkin' em!" The dwarf brays a rough laugh and gestures for the half-elf to coninue. "This is light stuff. We call it 'breakfast ale'. It's bad luck no to finish your toast, though, so polish that off me boy and we'll see the reprasentative coomin' roun' tae take our name up... Elia me gael!"
He turns to the self-proclaimed hunter "Ye've no bow, lass, so I take it tae mean you hunt by tooth and claw then? I've had mates run down rabbits afore, but I've no talent for it meself. Ye'll be up front with me, aye? Ye and Me will make way foor our Quinn, and she'll knock down whaterre' we leave standin."
Jibril's utterance about people watching him caused Quinn to take a better look around their tent. It was then that she saw it and she understood. She knew that there were magical eyes for the Game; however, there were also spying eyes from other teams. She took a longer glance to see which one it was. If it belonged to the Game then there wasn't anything they could do about it but if the second scenario was true, then she'd have a little fun.
Quinn saw what had initially spooked Jibril - a spy-eye hovering in the top corner of the tent. The magical spying device looked like a lidless insect eye - its jewel-like facets glinted with any stray ray of light. The dark-haired girl tried to determine if it was an "official" spy-eye, but didn't have enough magical knowledge to figure it out. All she could tell was that they were being watched, probably recorded and possibly broadcast.
@Khaddar "We can talk strategy, yes, but I would like to here more about this Claytonthethird family that always smiles. I am from the west and have not heard of this"
@Khaddar "We can talk strategy, yes, but I would like to here more about this Claytonthethird family that always smiles. I am from the west and have not heard of this"
Duncan took a liking to this young fellow. While he was clearly inexperienced with the good life, as could be seen by the telltale sign of his clothing, he was willing to try.
After tediously instructing him on the correct pronunciation of his name, Duncan started to recite his family's history. or what he knew about it.
"Well the Clayton's are famous for our wines. Much better than this horse-piss we just had."
He quickly lifted his hand toward the dwarf and smiled, "No offense meant there my good man."
He continued with Jibril, "And... well we do... like other things I'm sure but my older brother and my father take care of that. They're the dull ones of the family but luckily they are still useful. I love them to death."
His smile grew brighter if that were possible, "But what we are most famous for are our social events or PAR-TIES like I like to call them."
"Oh, and me myself, I'm a pretty good drinker, a fabulous dancer, and an even better conversationalist."
His mood changed, "So how about you? Have you and your family always been in such dire straits?"
-------------
"No offense meant there my good man."
"Dwarf." Khaddar corrects, before polishing off the remainder of the pear ale. He smacks his lips appreciatively and nods, before setting aside the little cask and knocking the cork back into it. He expects there to be eyes, possibly even spies, and doesn't particularly find anything out of place at the moment, dealing only with his teammates at the moment and considering their places on the team.
"My good dwarf. M' no a man, lad, ye are. And I've had Clayton wine. Verrah... grapey, innit? A bit weak fer my taste, but I've some good wines in me pack fer keepin yer whistle wet while we're walkin past the second gate. Yer da' don't make a stout port, does he? Thas a real drink, port." Note tae self. The bedwetter gets a cup o' horse-piss next time.
The stout pugilist collects his tin cups once everyone is done, and gives them a little squirt and rinse of water from his waterskin before dousing them out against the corner of the tent and then packing them back away. That ought to give Clayton plenty of time to talk about his parents business. "So yer no bard, laddie. Ye been suckin yer ankles since ye got here. D'ye have anything tae actually add tae this team, or are ye just blowin smoke up me arse? We know where aught else will be standin; surely ye don plan on dazzlin' oor opposition with yer sparklin' hair do?"
Someone please point out the spy eye to Duncan. :)
Jibril was certain that this was a game led spy-eye and not another team - then he remembers his own words
The others will try to learn about us ... we should out flank them
With real concern @Duncan It is a hardship that your Father and your 'elder?' brother are not keen. But it is truly sad that they have not brought you into the traditions of your family Jibril means this. If his father and Ri'dwan had not been there teaching him their ways his youth would have been truly misserable.
I start unwrapping my composite bow from it's canvas roll.
Standing and @Quinn in a whisper Tent eight?
With pride I hand the bow to Khaddar. It's handle and riser is mahogany and silverwood, the limbs are yew and silverwood. The wood is oiled and well loved by someone who knows something about bow-making ... it is also very valuable.
I have not seen my people these twelve years past but they are not meanly attired nor in need. Opulence is not there way but they have an uncomplacent life, a harmonious life.
I shake out the canvas making sure it is between Quinn and the spy-eye should she want to do a quick roll under the tent wall to the outside.
As I do this the others might see the embroidered sun pattern on the back of my indigo cloak more clearly. Some of the threads are loose but it is an expanding pattern of circles and triangles assiduously sewn. In each cloak the pattern is different.
A little forlorn but trying to sound content My state is owing to my being on my own. I have been participating in a 'walkabout' to learn, to free my spirit from earthly needs ... and to accumulate the fee for this entry
"Ach! A mighty fine bow! Yew?" Khaddar draws the string back to full draw, getting it into the sweet-spot where there's less effort to hold it back for a long few seconds and sighting down the grip. "Ye could kill a man with a bow like this, and I don' mean with an arrow, ye ken." He lets the string back gently so it doesn't thunk empty, and does a little stutter step forward on his heavy cleats, raking up dirt in a furrow beneath him and flicking the bow up awkwardly in his hands, string up, to go through a semi-circular fwip, like the thing is a lever aimed at a human chin from below.
"Ye know, one o' the brothers I trained with, he had a bow not unlike this. Human fellow, but maybe a bit elven around the eyes, ye ken. He did a kind of martial dance w' it. Between low kicks, jabs with his arrows, and target-practice, I'd no be surprised if he could fell a gross o' goblins in under a minute."
"So yer no bard, laddie. Ye been suckin yer ankles since ye got here. D'ye have anything tae actually add tae this team, or are ye just blowin smoke up me arse? We know where aught else will be standin; surely ye don plan on dazzlin' oor opposition with yer sparklin' hair do?"
Duncan thought for a moment, "While I'm sure, good sir, that my style may dazzle more than one participant here, I have seen some of them and I don't think they all appreciate beauty and good taste."
He continued looking at each in turn, "So my main contribution to you all will be my intelligence and my naturally strategic mind."
He smiled, "Moreover, I can ask people for favors. Everyone knows a Clayton."
He brought forth his finely made crossbow and laid across from the half-elf's bow, "I'm a pretty good shot too. Many a fowl has fallen to my skill."
He ended, "Speaking of which...", he lowered his voice, "I have magic and can call on angelic beings to help me. Wanna see?"
Quinn looked at Jibril in understanding. She was about to use his distraction to exit the tent and see if other teams were spying on them when Duncan said the first useful thing since they met. "Wait, you know magic?". Pointing at the spy-eye hovering near the top of their tent she asked, "Can you use magic to tell if that's an official Game spy-eye or if it's another team spying on us? Either way, everyone here should be aware that someone is watching us."
Nope.
Nope.
No.
Uh-uh.
"I have magic and can call on angelic beings to help me. Wanna see?"
Finally!
"I expect we'll be watched practically every minute of our time here, lass. It's a contest, no a secret. Folk are desperate fer any little thing tae distract them from the mundanity o' their lives, and this is no little thing! Folk talk about the games all year long, till the games roll round again... those with money and power are like tae hire wizards tae show them every minute o' the game they can recall. There'll ere be summat floatin nearby!" The dwarf hands the bow back to Jibril gently, then turns to start loading his pack back up and hoisting it onto his broad back.
Her wolfish features morphing back to more human, Elia drinks Khaddar's offered ale in a single go, returning the cup with a small smile and taking another large bite of Jibril's bread. Yes, I hunt by tooth and claw, she answers the dwarf, her smile still somewhat unnerving even with the overtly canine features gone. Can't be taken like a spear can - seems best to me. I must say... she adds, turning to include Jibril and Quinn in her smile, you two are the first excited about it. Most are...not.
With that, she falls quiet again, letting the golden boy continue on. I've yet to see smarts... Not likely to get favors from people trying just as hard as us to win... And if this Game is a bird-hunt, I want my money back. She's just about given up on the lordling when he throws out his last offhand comment; at that, she can't help but smirk. I'd have mentioned the magic first, she murmurs to herself softly...but not so softly as to showcase any real concern as to whether she's heard or not.
Know a bit about magic, Elia responds to Quinn's question, but that's past me. Like Khaddar says, though, not surprised. There's not going to be many secrets here. Everyone'll know what we do the second we get into things.
Jibril relaxes a bit as he unstrings and rewraps his composite bow. Quinn has banished some taboo deftly - don't look into the 'camera'. 'Angelic beings.' Another wonder reveals itself. The bottom of our crucible does indeed contain riches. This my team is a very earnest one. Even this Clay Ton is as he is - there is no disguise in his nature. Khaddar is nothing like the things my people say of Dwarves - congenial and determined. Elia is one of the hearts of the forest and this human Quinn as perceptive as any elf ... and here I am afraid of having eyes on me. I must do better
"I expect we'll be watched practically every minute of our time here, lass. It's a contest, no a secret. Folk are desperate fer any little thing tae distract them from the mundanity o' their lives, and this is no little thing! Folk talk about the games all year long, till the games roll round again... those with money and power are like tae hire wizards tae show them every minute o' the game they can recall. There'll ere be summat floatin nearby!" The dwarf hands the bow back to Jibril gently, then turns to start loading his pack back up and hoisting it onto his broad back.
Clayton puffed his chest out when the wizard-eye was pointed to him. He looked straight into the eye and smiled, of course. He also waved his hand and slowly said, "HI MOM."
He turned to his companions, "I wouldn't worry about this. You may as well get used to it. They probably figured out that I, Duncan Clayton the Third, was in this team and just want to get some footage of me."
tag?
MAGIC
Duncan loved the attention and he was a showman if nothing else. He started to speak some arcane-sounding words. Words taught to him by a traveling wizard.* His gesture turned a little more to the dramatic...
He suddenly stopped, opened his hands, and showed them... a rabbit. A beautiful, white rabbit; the creature was well above the average for its species and seemed to glow with energy.
Duncan put the rabbit down and looked at his companions, "Is that cool or what?"
tag?
---------------
...
"Can we et it?
...
"Can we et it?
"Only if you can catch it, skin it, cook it, and eat it in a couple of minutes."
Seeing the dwarf was ready to take up the challenge Duncan quickly added, "No, the angels are not for eating. They go back to heaven after only a little time here in this world. I guess it's the ugliness of the... world that prohibits them from staying."
He put his hand in his pocket, "But I have money to buy you a good meal if you're hungry. I can't have one of my teammates go hungry, now can I?"
When his hand came back empty, "Wait, I did have a pouch with money. I'm sure of it." He started looking around the tent, []"I must have dropped it. Can someone help me look for it?"[/b]
"OH! Check yer pack! Mine's always in the bottom o' me bag. I've got mine bread in me pack, laddie, but I figure if all ye can summon is bunnies, we'll at least ha' plenty a game tae eat." NOW the dwarf narrows his eyes and actually looks around with an ambition, even sniffing a little like he could scent the gold or something. He kicks his pack, moves things around, and eventually stops and crosses his arms over his chest.
"Well lad... if it's no in yer pack, I fear ye lost it on the way in. Ye don keep all yer money in one purse do ye? Were it an old one? Maybe worn out the ties?"