Search Posts
At this point, Firathir had already secured a table for herself and Jabari, near the black scaled reptillians. When the tavern wench passed by, Firathir quietly order food and drink for herself and her companion.
My Lord Nergal, As I write this letter, I am a half day's travel away from the City of the Unmoving Moon. As I had writ in my previous letter, while staying temporarily with the Pale Wizard Heilo I had heard of murders of adventurers in Mondthep. This was curious, for most sane men would not consider doing as such in a city with such a high density of like-minded me. I had thought for this to be a fine opportunity to study the reactions of the adventurers, and see how many lives would be released, and in what ways. On my travels, I had encountered a small man being accosted by several brutes. I watched, wondering what might happen, when one of the thugs had spotted me, and came over to speak. We spoke, and I had recieved the impression that he was trying to get something from me, due to the words and gestures he was making, but since he wasn't being outright with his queries, I soon lost interest, and paid more attention to the growing scuffle. Apparantly, this did not please him, and he grabbed me by my cloak. I tugged away, and my cloak came loose, revealing the armor that represents our order. Needless to say, this brute had the same mistaken prejudices against our noble order, as do many, and drew his dagger to attack in rage. My spear was quicker. His death was disappointing, for it left no lasting impression. Unfortunately for me, the dead fool's friends saw this, and rushed at me with fury. I am ashamed to admit that the skill at arms that you instructed me in, my Lord, was diminished that day, for they, with unreal ease, had knocked me to the ground. It took all my might to keep my shield in between my body and their blows, and I nearly experienced the sweet embrace of death all too soon. Until one of the avengers fell, a hound of the hells latched unto his neck. I stared at the wolf of fiends as it ripped out the throat of the attacker, and the attacker tried to scream, but could only moan in horror. The man soon went rigid, and the light faded from his eyes. It was most beautiful. I wish I could have touched my savior, but he faded into black and red motes. One of the other thugs screamed in anger, and charged away, at the man they were harrassing earlier. He was the one who commanded that beast, I realized, and as best as I could from my prone position, threw my spear at the charging man. It caught him in the leg, and he tumbled to the ground, just feet away from the fearful arcanist. The final man stepped away from me, from what I assume was fear, allowing me to pick myself off the ground and draw my shortsword. Slowly, I raised my sword at pointed at him, challenging him. He dropped his weapon and fled. I sighed, and sheathed my weapon. I then approached the wounded attacker, who was having difficulty standing due to an inexplicable sheet of what seemed to be grease under his feet. Making sure to stand clear of the grease slick, I reached for my spear and tugged, ripping out the tip as well as a scream from the injured man. I watched as he managed to get free of the square of grease, and fled after his compatriot. Watching him run in terrorl, I glanced out of the corner of my eye at the spellcaster, who seemed to ignore the coward in favor of me. I nodded to him in thanks, and took my lead. Several days later, I noticed that the spellcaster was following me. At first I ignored him, making my way to the plague ridden city of gods. Then, one day, out of curiosity, I invited him to share bread with me. He did, after all, summon that creature of death. I learned that his name was Jabari, and he was a conjurer of some skill. He mentioned that he was formerly a student of some school of magic, but he had recently taken his leave of the place; I did not question him further on the subject. When I continued on my journey, he followed, closer to my side than before. Strangely, it is comforting to be travelling with someone, even if we do not often speak to each other. Is this what it was like for you, my Lord, when I had found you those years ago? In any case, we approach the City of the Unmoving Moon. I must confess, I am growing excited as we come in sight of the monstrous looking city, with the lonely moon hovering overhead. Your shield, Firathir Firathir made sure her cloak was snug as she and Jabari entered the city of sickness. The pale, dark haired elf, glanced from side to side, taking note of the wretched ones. 'Plague, disease... a most slow and excrutiating way to die... I wonder what information the Wheel has concerning it.' Her eyes fell over a steel barrel, where a peasant stoked the flames inside, and she shuddered. She tore her eyes away from the flames, and continued on. "Jabari," she said, looking at her companion with an intense look, speaking for the first time in hours. "Where would adventurers go?" Jabari looked at her, then pointed behind her, where a battle-beaten building, with a hanging sign with a black bird hanging over the door, stood. On the wall was a long tapesty of parchment that read, "Open to Adventurers Only". "... Let's go inside, Jabari." With that, she strode to the bar, ignoring the preaching Kenku, and stopped as she found her path blocked by a smokey looking half orc.
Here's the tentative design for my character. I feel like I'm cheating with the "Shaky" flaw, what with me being a melee character, though that'll prolly bite me in the arse later on. |