Darvan Singra's page

As with Sylvara, Darvan too notes that the oncoming horde isn't terribly keen to come into contact with certain kitchen implements, and he is quick to reason out why. "Cast iron! Not as potent as cold iron against their ilk, but they instinctively shun its touch regardless. Perhaps...," his thought trails off before he too arms himself with whatever lies within reach, ending up with a heavy skillet and a ladle with which to test his notion. Unfortunately, the search takes precious time, leaving the holy warrior little enough to spare on bringing his ad-hoc weaponry into use, so he settles into a guarded postion and awaits the rush instead. As he does so, he remembers to tell his compatriots about the soulbiters' aversion to iron, in case have yet to notice that fact for themselves. "Though it is not blessed with same effect as true cold iron, these vile little monsters shun the touch of the iron cookware, so it may have some power that they recognize in dim way. Perhaps making use of the ample arms we suddenly find ourselves in possession of would be a helpful addition to our survival," Darvan calls cheerfully to those elsewhere in the kitchen.

This kitchen fight is going to be a delightful clusterf##@ of mayhem and chaos, I just know it. I'll get my post up as soon as I can get map access.

On that note, where would the members of the "cork" be starting from, assuming a move action to fall back to the kitchen at the end of round 6? Also, I note that the map has appear to be tables awaiting placement, who gets to put these out?

Addendum to the previous question regarding improvised weapons, would these qualify as light if I go TWF, and what kind of damage values would I be looking at?

If I can main a skillet for 1d6 or so, and off-hand a toasting fork for 1d4 as a light weapon, plus modifiers, then eating the improvised penalty to attacks might be worth it for the reduction in DR that cold iron would grant. Especially if the AC reduction for just smacking any soulbiter in reach is also in effect for these attacks.

With two further kicks delivered just as accurately and punishingly as the first, one soulbiter among the horde pressing forward dies, it's head reduced to a thick mess of pulp held together only by battered skin. Taking stock of the way in which the little horrors surge along the floor and even the walls to advance, Darvan quickly realizes that this position is not one that can be held, and moves to fall back into the kitchen proper. "I do believe that our presence in this particular area is no longer tenable, and quite firmly suggest joining the others before we find ourselves swarmed and brought down," the holy warrior says as he adroitly slips past allies and foes alike in the course of his retreat.

@TWO: Question regarding arming up with improvised weaponry from the kitchen's various utensiles and cookware. I'll assume it's a move action to grab something on my own, but what would be required for someome else to grab an item and toss it to me? I'm sure that there has to be at least one NPC in this gaggle with nothing else they could do to help besides tossing frying pans to waiting hands.

Also, will there be a map of the kitchen area, or is it free-form movement for now (i.e., we declare a move, write something appropriate, and call it good)?

Stepping right along as the massed group of guardians continues their own escape, Darvan says little to those around him, for words aren't particularly necessary at the moment. His body still glowing from the touch of his divine patron, all around him are lit by a wash of blue light that competes with the light already present.

Reaching the kitchens, Darvan doesn't hesitate to offer himself as one of those to engage the oncoming demons while the rest move onward to safety. Though he's not currently at his best for a fight, he's still a bit better suited than some others by virtue of not actually needing either weapon or armor. And Irori's grace should serve well in keeping his new fellows hale and healthy through their own parts in the trial to come. Smiling broadly at those who choose to stand alongside him, Darvan remarks in a confident tone of voice. "I am glad to see others willing to stand and face this trial even when they are ill-prepared for it. Anyone may stand firm when given a chance to ready themselves properly with their best tools and advantages. But doing so under these circumstances? Truly, this is a most fitting way to prove one's mettle."

Turning his attention to the soulbiters rushing forward in a mob, the holy warrior casually lashes out with a savage kick aimed at the head of the one that seems most interested in him personally, then drops his foot back down to stomp the vile creature as well. The entire time, he doesn't stop smiling or speaking, seemingly unbothered by what the group is facing. "And do not fret for the safety of your flesh against these foes, for the Master of Masters will act through me to aid those who face this trial with their utmost effort."

Darvan is still moving to follow the last order given him, and runs unflinchingly into the cloud of magically-generated mist with only his memory of the hall's arrangement to guide his steps through and beyond. Fortunately, he is able to avoid running into anyone, or anything, and makes his way clear to join those gathering around the royal children. Looking around, the holy warrior shakes his head in dismay. "I fear that this hall will be the site of much death and suffering for any who are unable reach an exit in time," Darvan remarks aloud as he eyes take in the spreading chaos and violence--though he is cheered somewhat by the sight of his friend's form, decked out in that familiar robe, scampering with unusual swiftness up the staircase at the hall's opposite end. With that bit of worry removed from his mind, the warrior turns back to the door and prepares to move through as soon as he is able.

Darvan is prepared to advance when his motion is brought to halt before it properly begins by a barrage of spell effects targeted at the area around the open doors. He winces in sympathy as a number of luckless people find themselves receiving the same treatment as their attackers, with fatal results in a few instances. Still, it's better than what those foul creatures would have done to them. And, feeling the bolstering touch of divine power from another deity, followed soon after by a rather inspiring bit of music that fills his body with energy, the delay at least allows some folk to respond with positive results. Once again, Darvan prepares to attack, and once again, the motion is abruptly stopped.

The reason this time, however, causes a chill to race through his body and an unconcious oath in his mother tongue to escape his now-pale lips. "Dhikāra hai." It seems as though their undead and daemonic foes have reinforcements who've decided to join the assault. Well, this is another matter entirely. Two devourers and a horde a minor rabble? He's willing to take the chance that his skills will compensate for his lack of equipment, particularly with allies at his back. But four--no, no, a quick check reveals two further arrivals--six devourers is another proposition altogether. There is a distinct line between confidence in one's abilities under less than ideal circumstances and suicidal idiocy, and it's not a line he's much interested in crossing.

Deciding that discretion is the wisest course, the bald holy warrior falls back as quickly as he is able through the panicking crowd, moving to the cloud of mist from where the ringing command to fall back and follow is coming. Not that he would have disobeyed the order in any case, he notes to himself as he struggles through the crowd, but it does help to narrow his range of options in light of his prudent retreat. As he leaves, Darvan casts a look back at the doorway, wondering what else is waiting to cause trouble. Between the spells obscuring his vision and the need to mind his step, however, he can make nothing out.

Round 1

His warning delivered, Darvan glares fiercely at the devourer that just finished its act of consuming an entrapped soul. Pointing at it with a glowing finger, Darvan shouts across the scattering crowd separating them. "You, vile abomination! Come and try your foul deeds against me, if you have the spine to face something that fights back. Unless you prefer prey that is too weak to offer challenge. Or do you just lick up whatever kills you find, like a common scavenger?" As he speaks, Darvan calls upon the wellspring of holy power within to infuse his words with potent magics, trying to compel the undead beast to answer his words with deeds. At his forehead, the tattoo of his faith shines like a beacon, momentarily overpowering the glow suffusing his body.

Forewarned by the soul-deep taint of wrongness that washes over him, fouler than the contents of any midden or cesspool, Darvan rises from his seat and readies for battle, even though he lacks the armor that would surely be helpful right now. Still, he is fit, unbound, and in a position to lend his strength to those in direst need. To do any less than his utmost in this situation, armor or no, would be utterly unacceptable on a number of levels. Taking a deep breath, he briefly closes his eyes to focus inward, reaching for that intangible but potent connection between himself and the one he calls 'Master'. Finding that connection, he opens himself to it, basking ever so briefly in the feeling of perfection before it recedes, leaving him to humbly request his god's aid in the coming fight. The response is swift and positive, and Darvan smiles when a familiar glow of light washes over his closed eyes.

However, Darvan isn't quite done just yet. Leaving that connection, he shifts his focus and brings to mind the tiger, a mental image of the majestic feline at rest appearing before his mind's eye. Swiftly, the image shifts to the tiger in motion--walking and then running--and then to the tiger attackink, with emphasis on its heavy paws and the wicked claws concealed within. Darvan emulates the movements with his own body, fingers hooking and raking across an imaginary foe in different directions a few times. His eyes then snap open, a very growl rumbling up from his torso as he strides forward, eyes fixed intently on the doors.

When they are violently breached to reveal the attackers, Darvan can't stop the instinctive flinch back, though he swiftly recovers. Watching the horde of smaller beast swarm several unfortunates caught by the doors, Darvan realizes that he can render no aid to these poor folk, so instead tasks himself with properly identifying the creatures that will soon enough be paying for their actions this evening.

Frowning in concentration as he mentally sifts through a number of memorized holy texts--those sources seeming most appropriate, based on the unnatural appearance of the two types of creatures present--Darvan spits in disgust as he manages to pin down their specific details. He controls his growing sense of outrage to loudly inform those nearby of what he can recall of these vile abominations, hoping that the knowledge will guide them in their efforts to fight back. "The small ones are soulbiter demons, foul little beasts that entrap the souls of those slain as small stones, and they are best treated to weapons of cold iron or blessed with the touch of the holy and pure. After they are slain, we must recover and shatter any of those stones they have made, else those poor souls will be bound to an aferlife of torment! The bigger duo are undead known as devourers. They are resistant to the effect of spells, can slay or sap the vigor from victims with a touch, and also entrap the souls of those they kill to feed upon, though they can only hold and feed upon a single soul at a time. However, with those demons playing fetch for them, they can quickly consume far more than usual."

:: Joachim Vierziger ::
Looking at the crowd filling the Great Hall with a somewhat discontented frown, Darvan releases a sigh of resignation and nods his acknowledgment of Joachim's words, disheartening though they are to the paladin. "Indeed, indeed. But necessity required my presence here, you understand, so here is where I hoped to find a good time. But, as you say, such things are clearly not suited to such exalted personages this evening." His expression slips momentarily to something a bit uglier as he continues to look over the assembled mass of people, his ears picking put stray bits of conversation that prove the truth of Joachim's biting commentary. "So much potential wasted on nothing of consequence, in pursuit of trifling goals whose value will be eclipsed at the moment of death, if not well before then. All of the vile, self-serving status-mongering that I left home to escape, just in a different language." Darvan's words, laden with equal measures of contempt and disgust, don't seem meant for Joachim, or anyone else for that matter, and his unseeing gaze is directed at something other than the Great Hall and those within it.

After a few moments of distraction, Darvan gives his shaven head a hard shake, as if to forcibly dislodge whatever held his thoughts. A brief reappearance of Darvan's customary good humor accompanies his attention returning to Joachim. "The evening isn't entirely wasted, however, since I was able to make the acquaintance of yourself and the lovely Teresa. While I'm quite sorry that I couldn't indulge your respective outlets for relieving the tedium of this grand event, your company is still quite enjoyable. A shame Teresa had to leave, mind, but clearly whatever drew her away was insufficient to compare with my charm and wit where you are concerned," Darvan concludes with a laugh.

Late Afternoon - Restov

:: Darivan ::
Taken aback when his attempted jest is turned around on him, Darvan fills the darkened street with his own laughter. "Oh, that is well-played, by both of you. Well, I shall keep your secret close, no fear. It will be more fun that way." Still smiling, he looks around thoughtfully before asking of the pair. "What was the name of the place where you and your associates are staying? I am ashamed to admit this, but I've quite forgotten it myself. And being that I'm only an occasional visitor to Restov, I wouldn't recognize it by sight alone." The moment he stops speaking, a soft but audible grumble is heard in the vicinty of Darvan's midsection, and he glances down at it with an amused lift of his eyebrows. "And I'm apparently quite ready for a bit of something warm to fill my belly, as well," he adds over the sound of another, longer grumble from the same area.

Late Afternoon - Restov

:: Darivan ::
Shaking his head, Darvan waves off the other man's concerns. "Oh no, should we ever have the opportunity to spar, I absolutely insist you fight at your best. It's hardly a challenge to face someone when they're not able to use their skills to the fullest." That said, Darvan then watches with an amused expression as the Darivan and Slyvia lightheartedly squabble with each other. Unable to resist the sudden impulse to mischief, he idly comments as Sylvia gets up. "It's nice to see that the two of you get on so well with one another, it should make your marriage a pleasant one." Having delivered his little poke, Darvan struggles to keep a straight face afterward.

Late Afternoon - Restov

:: Darivan Orlovsky ::
Darvan nods in understanding when Darivan explains the troubles his group is faced with. Though possessing little more than a layman's understanding on the subject of ruling and governance, it takes no great insight to see why an established ruler might take issue with a group teaching what the Auram Chain wishes to teach, and not have that group firmly in control in as many ways as possible. Starting from nothing in the service of a new-crowned ruler and firmly proving their value early on is a sound idea, and Darvan says as much while watching interestedly as the light moves from hand to stone. "The Harvesters haven't yet reached a point where such a consideration is necessary in their own planning, and it may well have been overlooked in fact. I must remember to raise this point when I return to camp," he says with a considering expression.

His expression soon changes to a more cheerful one, however, as he shifts topics slightly. "This venture certainly offers many propects to prove, and improve oneself in a variety of ways. I'm certain that the Auram Chain will do well so long as it maintains a clear vision of its goal. I feel a bit privileged to have such company against which I may measure my own progress." Darvan laughs softly as he continues. "My friend Theodric says I have an 'unwholesome obsession' with challenges, but he doesn't quite understand that constant testing is needed to see one's progress. For without that visible evidence, even the most dedicated can become discouraged. But it need not always be a challenge undertaken. Just having someone else to compare to can be enough at times."

Late Afternoon - Restov/Red Table Square

:: Darivan Orlovsky ::
Darvan grins broadly as he listens to Darivan rapidly, and quite accurately, use what knowledge is available to him to identify Darvan's calling. "You are quite correct, I am a champion of the Master of Masters, though not a part of the regular order. Unlike my brethren, I seek my own path to enlightened perfection, with the blessings of the Enlightened One." Sparing the Square another glance, Darvan nods toward the north of the city. "Come, let us go to this inn of yours. I will possibly have time to seek out one or two more groups after our meeting, and see no purpose to wasting time in traveling back to camp and then to Restov once more. And this will spare yourselves a rather unpleasant walk back in the dark and cold as well." Then Darvan pauses and looks Darivan and Sylvia over more closely. "Though I've a hunch that neither of those things may be all that much of an issue for either of you."

As they leave Red Table Square, Darvan explains a bit about the Dashing Harvesters and their goals. "The Harvesters existed before Theodric and myself joined, and the founders came togther for the purpose of founding a school where students could learn the arts of war. Not what they teach aspiring swordlords, mind, but the more practical elements. And alongside that, the fundamentals of command, strategy and tactics, and the ever-popular subject of logistics as well." In no particular hurry, Darvan follows Darivan's lead through streets lit by torches and the eerie glow of the other man's magic-blasted limb as he continues his brief history of the Harvesters. "Such things do not simply pay for themselves, naturally, nor do students simply appear in a puff of smoke on command. So, to gain funds and reputation needed for their grand endeavor, and to demonstrate their grasp of what they wished to teach, the Dashing Harvesters were established to hunt bandits plaguing Brevoy and neighboring lands alike."

Late Afternoon - Restov/Red Table Square

:: Darivan Orlovsky ::
Hearing how the arm achieved its admittedly eye-catching effect immediately cools Darvan's interest in getting his tattoo to do the same; the idea of running lightning through his head and hoping it doesn't cook his brains is, understandably, just a bit much bit much for the sake of one's appearance. "Ah, well, that certainly was a bit good of fortune on your part then. Miscast spells are rarely so forgiving," he replies with an understanding tone. Then the young man's name registers, and Darvan visibly perks up. "Darivan? As in, Darivan Orlovsky of the Auram Chain? If so, this is certainly a convenient encounter. My name is Darvan Singra, and I was actually on my way to look for you just now." Before going further, the paladin takes the time to incline his head politely to the others pointed out by Darivan, seeing nothing odd in the slightest in greeting a bird and a blade, since the effort was made to introduce them. "I am currently in the service of Theodric Valtrava, one of the captains of the Dashing Harvesters, and we're spending some time today introducing ourselves to various groups included in the expedition to the Southlands. In part for the sake of politeness, and in part for learning more about folk we might be trusting our lives to."

Looking around the Square as the light steadily fades, Darvan frowns in thought. "Perhaps we should continue this someplace more pleasant than here? I don't much enjoy having metal frozen into my skin," he adds with a laugh and finger pointed at some of his piercings. "The frost bite is bad enough, but they itch quite fiercely when they're thawing out, and even I find that just a touch distracting." Gesturing to the west, he continues. "If you don't mind close quarters in an admittedly comfortable Varisian traveling wagon, we can go to the Harvesters' camp. Or we can go to where your group is currently residing if that would be more to your liking?"

Late Afternoon - Restov/Red Table Square

:: Darivan Orlovsky ::
Passing through the Red Table Square on his way to where the Auram Chain are currently residing, Darvan comes upon a most curious sight that stops him in his tracks. A young man, one arm currently glowing a brilliant blue, draws his gaze, and Darvan is interested enough in this oddity to approach for a closer look. Clearing his throat politely to get man's attention as he converses quietly with his female companion, Darvan points at the arm. "Interesting effect you have there, how do you manage it?"

Darvan blinks for a moment, as though unable to believe what Tomas has said, but soon a smile splits his lips. "Truly, for how else can we know who among our companions can stand unaided against the might of those arrayed against us, while others need our strength as a bulwark." Face bearing an expression of mingled hope and barely suppressed excitement, he waits for Tomas' response to this. Behind Darvan, Theodric's voice can be heard making an impassioned plea.

***Theodric***
"Gods above and below, please, not this. Not two of them in the same damn city, I beg it of you," Theodric implores to any power whom he thinks can--and hopefully will--answer his desperate prayer. He's had years of exposure to Darvan, and knows full well just how intense the Vudrani can get about his challenges and tests. And the prospect of someone else with a similar mindset is enough to make Theodric despair. Hands pressed firmly against his mask, he can be heard to mutter. "I've had nightmares about moments like this, but I never thought for an instant that it could actually happen."

Giving his friend a flat glare over his introduction, and realizing that the effort is quite pointless, Darvan adds a rude and startlingly childish gesture to the glare--surprising a giggle out of Lillana in the process--before speaking for himself. "Yes, Darvan Singra, holy warrior in service to the Master of Masters, at your service as well," he says with an elaborate bow to all present. Straightening up, he gives an appraising look at the various members of this gathering, lingering on those with obvious martial focus. "And, when matters here are no longer pressing upon our time and attention, I would be quite pleased if some among you would consent to a small test of our respective skills. A friendly test, to be sure, carried out purely for the joy of the effort involved. Though I won't object to any wagering you might make on the side," he concludes with a broad grin. Having--finally--been able to offer challenge to what he sees as worthy prospects, Darvan is quite happy to go back to observing this odd assortment of people.

Feeling the contact on his leg, Darvan halts in mid-stride, looking down to ensure that he hasn't just unknowingly run over one of the children or small-folk in the crowd. Finding instead that the contact was intentional, and meant to get his attention, he listens carefully to the proffered warning, as well as the offer that follows. Though the fellow is entirely mistaken as to Darvan's purpose in attempting to challenge a swordlord, this is hardly the time or place to get into a lengthy discourse on Darvan's personal philosophy, so the paladin maintains his silence in that matter. The offer itself has a broad grin appearing Darvan's face as he responds. "I thank you for this most wonderful news, and ask that you contact this swordlord of your acquintance to arrange a meeting. You'll find me encamped roughly a quarter candle mark's brisk walk out from the west gate, under the colors of the Dashing Harvesters, ask for Darvan."

With that said, Darvan nods his head in thanks and resumes his interrupted journey, with a bit of a spring in his step over the prospect of the impending challenge, even if it won't happen for some time yet. Before he can get too much deeper into the crowd, he suddenly veers to one side as he spots a familiar and somewhat eye-catching bit of garb among the people filling the Red Table Square. It doesn't take but a few moments of ducking and weaving before he reaches the side of his friend, Theodric. Before he can get close enough to call out, Lillana makes note of his arrival and stops Theodric with a hand on his arm and some words that Darvan can't make out over the noise of those around him. Reaching the pair, Darvan claps Theodric's shoulder in greeting before offer Lillana a polite nod, which she returns. "And a fine morning to you, Theodric," Darvan says brightly, voice full of cheer. "I hope you haven't been stuck in this mass for too long, it looks as though the whole of the city's populace is trying to pack this square today. Probably explains why I had such poor results in my searching."

With the anticipation surrounding the day's big announcement, Darvan finds little interest in challenges among the usual candidates, when he can even find a swordlord who isn't at the Red Table Square for some reason. Shrugging to himself in resignation, he makes his own way to the Square with the intention of joining up with Theodric. If his friend isn't there already, he most assuredly will be before noon, and will likely be making plans as soon as he learns of the Dashing Harvesters' role--or lack thereof--in the events to come.

Rolling out of his tent already bundled in the thick clothing this atrocious northern weather demands, Darvan greets the pre-dawn light with a joint-loosening stretch that easily shifts into his morning ritual of practicing his stances and forms. The movements flow easily, even in his heavy outfit, and Darvan quietly relishes the familiarity of his actions. After what he estimates, with the aid of the increasing light to the east, to be a third of a candlemark, he brings his movements to a controlled stop, with only a faint increase in his breathing showing his exertion. His next action is a curious one, were an onlooker available to comment on it; Darvan takes a loop of braided hair from around his neck and carefully undoes the braiding, combing his fingers repeatedly through to ensure that the strands are fully separated. He then takes a seat on a bare patch of frozen ground, folds his legs into a painful-looking contortion, and begins to carefully rebraid the hair. He doesn't even look at what he's doing, yet the motions of his fingers are sure and steady nonetheless. When the braid is restored, Darvan carefully makes a loop of it once again and places it back around his neck. By this time, the sun has risen fully, and Darvan reaches into his tent for a slim volume, which he spends a time reading through. Closing the book with a regretful sigh, he returns it to his tent, then rises to his feet and approaches a nearby wagon.

Entering the wagon, Darvan soon returns with a bundled blanket whose squirming contents he remorselessly turns out into a convenient snowdrift, revealing a cold-stunned young man who quickly gathers his wits and makes a desperate dash for the interior of the wagon, only to be stopped by Darvan. "None of that, young Valtrava! You know quite well whose turn it is to ready the morning meal. And you also know what Theodric is like without coffee." At the mention of Theodric, the young man pales slightly, slumps dejectedly, and makes his way to a nearby firepit, which he begins readying for use. Darvan chuckles and gives the young man a pat on the back before returning the blanket. "Be of good cheer, Mikos, for next week is someone else's turn to greet the morning like this. Now, I'm on my way into the city to find someone to spar with. Be sure to inform your cousin of this when he's awake, yes?" Getting a nod and a mumble from the young man, Darvan chuckles again and leaves the camp for the nearby gates of Restov.

Getting into the city takes little time, and Darvan is soon on his way to Riverside and the many schools devoted to the swordsman's art that are to be found there. Though no swordsman himself, Darvan hopes to find some eager opponent who won't let such a minor detail as that stop an earnest challange from being accepted. Of course, before finding this hypothetical opponent, he first has to find a school where they congregate. Fortunately, his years of working in the area have left him with a bit more information than most foreigners would normally possess, so Darvan has at least some idea of where to start his search.