Not to be outdone at the church, Kyleon drops thirty gold pieces into the coffers.
Using his broken English, he asked of the clergyman: "What causes this wolf-curse? Can it be removed from the land?" Maybe that is what I was called to accomplish...
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The nightmares would not stop haunting them. Sea drakes, hags, hydras, werewolves ... all manners of devil appeared before them. Kyleon began to think the encounters were not chance. Why did a bow for my specialized technique appear? Why are these people willing to take a stranger like me in? How can they also be odd like these creatures but opposed to them like myself? More and more, the questions added-up in his head. Less and less the possibilities that made sense remained. One continued to ring for him though. God must be taking retribution on me for my wicked past, my days of raiding. I must repent through action. He had been misguided, truly, before Gotland. Misguided perhaps, but horrific in result, regardless of motive. Shamed by his past, he spoke-up passionately with the scholar's suggestions. "I was at one time a raider on the Baltic, but I cannot help but think God has set me to you lot to work a good in the world. What is your goal together? How did you meet?" He paused. "Were there more of you in the past?" Kyleon concurred with Hisao. "Yes, church would be a relief."
Ex-deckhand or not, the sharpshooter did not care for things that came to close for him to come to blows. While the beast that was felled before he could react surely fit that category, a mysterious and ominous voice was also beginning to sound that way. Where is it? He could see nothing, but as some of their party had made apparent, that did not mean nothing was there. Kyleon readied his weapon on the area from the voice's emanation.
More from his own comrades' reactions than his own senses, the marksman hefted his ponderous weapon, glancing about. "Etwas gefaerlich?" German:
"Something dangerous?"
I'm loving the deep narration you have going with your various avatars, GM!
Kyleon was frustrated, not with the negotiations seemingly at hand, but his ability to understand them. I suppose I'll have to learn a tongue or two, thought the Swede, happy underneath to finally see a face that didn't want to consume them. "Was Moechten Sie" he asked of the scholar, knowing he could likely provide some translation. A few pieces did come through, languages aside. Money was asked for, then rejected. They must be aware of our deeds. Not all the townsfolk are crazy. The baron's name came up again too, though not in a positive way. I don't know who to trust. But their new arrival seemed helpful. In fact, so did the new crossbow bequeathed him by a mysterious benefactor. Blizzard. The word entered his mind as he hefted the object, the 2nd of its kind he'd seen. Something beyond the nature of man was at work here - both for and against them. Soon, they would see which was stronger.
So loot hungry. The gods should just bless us with a well-cooked meal and a song! Though at this point that would be a Heroes' Feast and an irresistible dance. :)
Firing through his penultimate bolt, Kyleon assesses the situation around him. If there is another pack, we will need an exit strategy... He thought to himself about how they came in, then remembered... the horses! They would need to check on them immediately. Their transportation would damn them in its absence.
Taking aim at William's partner in the waltz, Kyleon hoped to take the lead.
Looking at the silvered bolts with interest, Kyleon was more appraising them out of curiosity than functionality. Until their scholar mentioned their true use. Lycanthropy? That is just a tale, yes? But it is the only think that makes sense. All these people ... wolves ... I wonder if they can control themselves. Do they choose to be vicious? He felt bad for them. The crossbowman stooped next to the corpses, looking for artifacts on their persons - wedding rings, notes, charms - something of sentimental value. Does it eat away at their spirit as well? As bidden, he reloaded his prototype weapon with the new silvered bolts. As necessary, he trained his sights on the door and fired.
It must eat away at their common sense though ... this is a death trap for them...
The bowman gave Nacht a long stare as he spoke. "Bist du absichtlich morbid ? Einige von uns nicht auf den Tod zu leben." German:
"Are you being intentionally morbid? Some of us do not live for death." He withdrew what bolts he could unbroken. These will have to last me a long time in this land. Maybe that old cook knows some more helpful inventions... After the scholar's speech, the half-elf replied: "Ich werde erst nehmen." German: "I'll take first."
"Danke sehr, William." Kyleon extended his hand in thanks to the newcomer. "I am Kyleon." The seaman stooped to investigate the corpses. "What would cause people to become such vicious beasts?"
Taking his penultimate shot Kyleon surveyed the room.
There must be some compassion behind these beast-men, some mind. They are dying! "Stop this madness! I do not want to fight you!"
Kyleon rotated clockwise, firing two bolts into the next aggressor. What amount of violence will make them stop? Must they all be killed?
I suppose so...
Apologies for the hiatus. I should be back on track now. Each post I did go through and read. Excellent NPC management, MJ!
Though he enjoyed the relaxing ride on the horse - a quite different rhythm than the water under a ship - Kyleon was looking forward to a hot meal and a bed. Unfortunately, this hope would be cut short. Morphing before their eyes, the tavernsfolk become beasts of ravenous jaws and rugged fur. Though not devils per se, their actions evoked the idea from Kyleon. Shocked at first, as one hit the floor, the sailor standing in disbelief with his weapon idle finally put it to use. He leveled it at the enemy Alphonse targeted, adding his quarrel to its torso.
Heavenly father, preserve me!
"Finally someone who speaks my tongue ... rather my second, for I am a Swede. A scholar must be well-sought in places where so many languages are spoken. As for the viking blood you spoke of earlier, my profession was similar years ago, but I am a different man now." Kyleon seemed to glance inward for a moment. "I would like to assist you in ending the threat of this dragon. It is my duty to my captain, but it would also allow me to see the world, which is why I took a spot on a ship. If you would have me, I would be happy to help." He extended his hand in an offer.
Kyleon follows their gazes. In fact, he not only shared the suspicions, but felt they were the accurate conclusion. Did the artist deserve to die?..
Remember this is medieval Europe circa 1400. Not the modern world. Nacht would likely be found guilty without any evidence or a fair trial at all. I think our only hope is to prove the bard was a devil worshiper (who played with fire of course). +1 I wouldn't be concerned about the party's perception of you. LEOs will be a much larger thing to avoid (though with your stealth, I hesitate to say "problem").
Kyleon's mastery of English and French was anything but, however a few words caught his ears. "Barony" was one. "Italy" was another. Between the assumed talk of worldly affairs and knowing the group would get him closer to making good on justice for his fallen captain, Kyleon wanted to remain with them. It was good at least one could communicate with him. At the gesturing of the horses, he tried to work his way into the conversation. "Mein Pferd heisst Fenster." German:
"My horse is named Window." He will allow me to see the world, like a window. Granted, they were not on the mainland of Europe. And wasn't Italy in the other direction? He would ask the known German-speaker (Nacht) about matters, but he was nowhere to be seen... Until the issue with the artist popped-up. Kyleon had no idea what the problem was, not being able to understand the discussion, but he wanted to believe the best about his communicant with the group.
The man simply seemed to vanish. Maybe he does have something to hide ... but is it an innocent hiding? There were too many unanswered questions. ******* Easily eating his fill at the grand meal, he thanked the lord of the manor as best he could, bowing cleaning his table for him, and kissing his horse on the nose.
Trotting along with his new associates, the sharpshooter tried to learn about them. "Sprechen Sie Deustch? Woher kommen Sie?" German:
"Do you speak German? Where are you from?"
Noting the fire, the former-deckhand gave it his all. A few times, such incidents had occurred aboard ships; his experience extinguishing them expedited the process here. Baldwin? The name returned to him from earlier when it was directed at the artist. Is this his house? How odd of a coincidence...
Though he did not speak the tongue here - just learning as Roger had been teaching him - the universal method of introductions with repetition of name was caught by him between "Hamid" and the baron.
Hamid Persia... an odd name. "Kyleon Yonnatil." He bowed slightly, the man's dress indicating his status was to be respected.
The man at the feast was paid little mind, though observed by Kyleon; perhaps there are cultural differences...
Kyleon shook his head at Magnusson. Auf Deutsch:
"My ancestors' ancestors may have been, but I was not cut out for raiding. Not good enough with an axe. I was left for dead in the Baltic, but since I've taken jobs on vessels. Roger took me in and did not make war about my past. He is dead now. I must avenge his passing." Clearly, Kyleon was getting worked-up. He brushed away some tears. German: "I must come with you to slay this dragon if this is its kin which indeed took his life. My name is Kyleon, now-captain of The Mermaid. It will stay docked here for now. If we can kill that dragon, I will take you back from the island if need be."
The ship wheeled in a wide turn, but it really wasn't Kyleon's business piloting such a thing. In fact, it was quite notably not his; while he'd seen Roger sail The Mermaid, he was performing the manual labor that needed doing - unfurling sails, moving cargo, repairing what he could. In that sense, his knowledge of crossbows came in handy. Waves were another matter entirely. Yet water hazards or no, this group of people would still be a more immediate threat. Or another sea creature. Given they just slayed one, and given the man on it put his blade away instead of thrusting it towards him, Kyleon gambled they were not threats. Directly anyway. "Erzählen Sie jetzt bitte eurere Geschichte. Wohin gehen Sie, dass Drachen mitkommen? Wir sollen nur nach England gehen ... oder - stimmt - gegangen." He folded his arms over his chest, eyes unamused by the situation. German:
"Tell me your story now. Where are you going that dragons would follow you? We are - were to be correct - only heading to England."
Sense Motive with the above DC: It is visible Kyleon is focused on the party in no small portion due his sadness for the deceased captain, barely held back.
Kyleon did not lower his bow. Strange folk happen aboard. Strange creatures attack. Especially the way Hisao showed immediate interest in searching the beast, it seemed the mismatched group knew of its coming - or at least were familiar with dangerous creatures of the sort. "Wo sind Sie?!" The one-step-closer-to-captain asked about, waving his weapon from person to person, but bringing it back to Hisao more than the others.
With a creature so loud, it's a surprise we were surprised!
Not completely dissuaded by his first shot, Kyleon fires again. This time, he was more prepared.
Well Technically your Surprise round was pulling out the Crossbow That it was. DM, please assume Kyleon's shot was on his full round of initiative.
The creature's maw opened, spreading lightning upon the crew with ruthlessness. This beast must be put down.
Though the perceptive skirmisher dodged most of the attack, the scorching energy burned as it coursed through him. Back into the depths with you!
Though my initiative comes later, I would normally queue an action. However, given a giant sea drake goes before me, I'll wait to see if Kyleon is consumed first!
Kyleon looked to the man with keen eyes. Those are not eyes trained by non-hostile matters.
"Gut gemacht!.." The crossbowman responded to Nacht's exclaimation, though his own eyes had already plucked the beast out of the water. Time to earn a bit of a bonus... In a motion of practiced fluidity, the machine on the shipmate's back find its way into his hands, the business end pointed towards the murky shape, waiting for it to crest near enough the surface to suffer the full force of its trespass.
His shot went amiss though, the time spent on menial tasks at sea clearly having taken their toll. Kyleon pushed a crank on the machine, seeming not to mind the loss overmuch.
A fair-haired halfbreed of middling height can be seen eyeing the mismatched crew from across the deck. His demeanor doesn't seem hostile, but his gaze is as cold as the sea. The device strapped to his shoulder indicated he was equipped for trouble, though his relaxed stance against the side of the ship did not expose any willingness for such action. Though out of comfortable earshot, his ears twitched every so often.
Hello, all! It looks like I will be joining in the multi-lingual festivities! As it stands, it will probably make the most sense for Kyleon to brush in when you press to cross the channel.
Sorry, by Stratos I meant Galoria.
This is Stratos. Kyleon here should be polished-up. Let me know if you see anything out of place. Here's the background for ease: Background: Born in the rugged and desolate region of Lappland, Kyleon's parents, Dagmar and Ulf, raised him well. Dagmar's beauty, being of the fairer race, kept his temperamental father tame, though his upsets were only sparked by bad hunts and the like: The living was sparse and simple.
Kyleon was curious about the world though. He took after his Ulf's ability with the hunts, growing in skill from an early age in striking targets at a distance. After a while, his mother had no need to keep his father's temper in check, the pride he took in his son's performance at the seasonal festival competitions and tradesmeets was great. One day, one of the region's noble's lieutenants came into town, asking for the boy. "Asking" meant taking, though no manacles were involved. Dagmar wept, not because she wouldn't see her son again, but because he was being recruited to join the noble's guard. It would be dangerous work. There would be raiding and combat. Ulf had a different reaction: He toasted to the occasion. Kyleon was scared, though excited, for he got to see more of the world. Yet the experience turned sour for him. Sven, the noble, wanted rigorous training for all his men. Kyleon was accustomed to lining-up a shot from afar, but he got bloody and dirty with axes soon enough. One raid took them South to Gotland, and during the battle, Kyleon was nearly killed, a large gash on the right side of his chest (leaving a significant scar) incapacitating him. He nearly died. However, a day later, he woke up in the care of a priest after the raiders had left. The priest, though injured nearly as badly as he had been, managed to pull him back to the looted chapel. "My thanks," was all Kyleon could manage. Why did he save me? He had his answer in time. The priest showed him the ways of Christ, reading to him as they and the few others who had fled, been out fishing, or left for dead recovered and rebuilt. They were not afraid of him, for Kyleon was outnumbered and had no way of reuniting with his raiding band. The young man himself didn't even want to: Battle is not my place. Winning him over with his words, the priest imbued Kyleon with a sense of spiritualism, one not well-imparted by his parents, followers of the old gods. They were more tales to Kyleon then, myths now. After a year or two, his wanderlust set in again, and he took a boat across the small sea to Riga. A metropolis, the religious seat boasted an opening for a guard captain in one of its districts. Keeping the peace was a service Kyleon had provided to the island, and here, they found his speed commendable. However, they laughed at his bow. "Nimmt das!" They pointed to a new device he'd heard of, a crossbow, and trained him with it. It was easy to master, which was apparently necessary for there weren't many skilled bowmen in the town. During one routine capture of a thief, soon after he'd been jailed, Kyleon discovered (by commotion in the barracks) he was the bishop's grandson. It was a few short weeks before the religious rule came down: The guard's "relaxed" vigilance had led to them persecuting "innocents"; a change in leadership was necessary. Though the ruler's word was law, Kyleon was furious. He tried to forgive the man as he was taught, but he could not do it in his heart. His anger clouding his judgment, he decided to leave, becoming a deckhand. Trading vessels out of Lübeck went every direction, and he worked on quite a few of them, providing the services he could. He met a rather quirky man in the city though, an inventor of sorts: Karl. Kyleon's skill with the crossbow was just what the innovative gentleman needed to test a new weapon he was developing. Very complicated in construction, the two tweaked it to be deadly efficient: It did not need to be reloaded as frequently as a standard crossbow, yet the lever did not hamper the accuracy of how the bolts were loaded in any way (this was the main problem to be addressed). Eventually, Kyleon had spent enough time with the man he could make his own, though the mechanism Karl had given him always seemed to work better. It was possible the man knew magic, always being buried in books of some sort, or perhaps he hired-out for it, for he had a good bit of coin. Kyleon kept the prototype with him, occasionally heading back out to sea for more jobs. The most recent vessel took him to England...
Stratos here, posting under the prospective alias of Kyleon. Let me know if there is anything out of place, though I will be fleshing-out the profile in coming days. |