(Scroll over spells, items and rituals for more info.)
Health: Fine
Energy: Fine
Sanity: No worse than normal.
Spells:
Siphon, Imbue, Bolt, animate. Rituals:
Rite of binding.
Items:
1 Fine Wand ,
1 Plain Wand,
1 Plain Prepared Staff, 1 Plain Small hammer and chisel,
1 Plain Leather Armor,
1 Fine Sword, Steel Aoul bastard sword, 1 Plain 3 days rations.
Health: Fine
Energy: Fine
Sanity: No worse than normal.
Items:
Plain Sword, Lockpicks (3) x2,
Professional attireHealth: Fine
Energy: Fine
Sanity: No worse than normal.
Items:
Bow, Arrows (20),
Leather Armor,
Sword,
Cloak, 3 days Rations, Field Cooking Gear, Spheres of fire (3)
Health: Fine
Energy: Fine
Sanity: No worse than normal.
Spells:
HexRituals:
Ritual of ConjurationItems:
Bow, 60 arrows,
Leather armor, 3 days ration,
knife,
Cloak of Feathers (crow)Health: Fine
Energy: Fine
Sanity: No worse than normal.
Rituals:
Rite of binding,
Rite of passage, Ritual of blood. Ritual of symbiosis.Items:
Advanced Ritual Kit,
Sword, Fine
Leather armour, Cooking equipment, 3 days rations
You came in to this city from the eastern road, it's been a long journey with your only company being xenophobic travelers, thieves, and all to rarely a kind person. The city is strange in daylight, unfamiliar and a little blinding to your eyes. Prisms and shapes of crystal are set into the windows of the houses along this street, and they scatter the light into a shattered spectrum that dazzles the mind and overwhelms the eye. You have lodging at the inn of the Dusty yellow dog, but for now you merely walk the streets. Trying to get a feel for the place, trying to decide if this place is merely one more stop on an unending journey, or whether there's really something here for. As you press in closer to the center of the city the street widens out into a massive square, with an incredible tower in the center, not as high as the towers of Aestar but impressive in it's architecture. The eastern half of the tower is in white marble, streaked with gold accents, it is a beautiful sight to behold at this hour of the morning. The western half faces away from you, but from what you can see it is made of some black or near black stone with jagged bolts of silver running up and down it.
You're brought out of your staring by an elbow jostling yours, a smaller human who nods his head in apology and scuffs his heel on the ground twice and says a word before continuing on. What a strange fellow. You take in the rest of the crowd, mostly humans with a few of your own people sticking up here and there. A few other strange creatures with white and gold headscarves, Tamir you would wager, And a smattering of the stranger Keyite. You give another look to the tower, a flow of water cuts around in a circle to either side of it, cutting the square and the entire city in half. This Hemisphere is largely given over to the four temples of the bright Primal Gods, and you would imagine that the hemisphere on the other side of the river is the same except to the dark Primal Gods. A peculiar city, but a beautiful one.
That charming observation is broken by a sound like a lightning storm dying, a howling roar of fire and lighting. Your turn your eyes back to the tower, even as your more magical senses scream that you should be running and hiding under a rock right about now. A part of the tower near the top, almost a hundred feet up, has blown away. Fire and lightning, frost and crackling waves of raw force emanate from the hole, as do flaming bits of debris.
One of them smashes into your chest before you can react.
As darkness consumes you your observation of the city changes. This place is painful, not pretty, or peculiar. Whatever, they all start with a P, that's what's important right?
"Great, six-hundred years of waiting and we get stuck with an insane savage. Our luck has not changed." Huh, voices in your head. That's not good, of course there are voices and shapes outside your head too. So maybe it's okay...
You come to gradually, staring at a carved figure of Tulm for a couple of minutes before it registers. You're on a pallet, your entire body hurts. You would guess this is Tulm's temple, a suspicion confirmed when you manage to turn your head to one side and see a couple other people on pallets with bandaging as well with a priestess moving among them and laying hands.
"Oh good, It's awake." A dry voice remarks in your head.
"Be easy, he's bean dead twice in an hour. He'll be very tired for a while yet." Another voice, warmer and more friendly remarks.
You just got hit with debris from a magical explosion, you're laying in a cot in a temple, and you've got at least two voices in your head. What in all the realms of fire and blood is going on?
Lür CelantBusiness has been poor recently, where were Maar's prodigal sons? Where were the great thieves who could actually crack the magical fortress that most people had around their houses recently? Without them you're a jackal without a lion, a pickpocket without a mark, a prostitute without a- well no that one really doesn't fit. Blowing out a breath you itch your back, head, and leg at the same time, that last place wasn't at all clean. Five coppers had not been worth a trip to that flea infested rotting cesspit. It had been a job though, the first in a while, and not one you were willing to pass up.
You walk along the market circle, keeping a shoulder to the wall of the city. Maybe you should visit the festival tonight, you did have a little money left that you'd squirreled away for a rainy day. You might actually find someone in need of your talents, really in need, not hacking coughing, grubby, parasite infested need. The need you're looking for is scared, stupid, and has too many possessions to be scared for at once. That thought brings a smile to your face, even though the world seemed to be wearing thin of the naive and rich you're sure you're going to hit a big job soon. All of your senses tingle with it, maybe the Festival of shadows is just the thing, there's bound to be a pretty one or two who are still excited by the novelty of a third arm.
The only thing you know for sure is that tomorrow is going to come, and nothing is going to keep Lür Celant down for long. Sound erupts from the inner city and your eyes track an off-color fireball emerging from the top part, well now you also know that the Tower of Lords just exploded, that's interesting. And perhaps, just perhaps, very Very lucrative.
Marcus ZeicaustYou walk the streets of the low district, taking in the smell of disease and human filth. Business as usual, some son of a dog-raped whore needs killing. The plight of the people you've grown up around strikes you every time, perhaps the reason you walk this way. You grew up here among the filth and the rats, the dying and the shadows of the dead. You found an out, a way to get away from this place, a way to escape the fate of these poor souls. You know you'd make the same choice again if fate put it before you, but that doesn't make it anymore right. These people live and die, same as you will. You help people into the hole yourself, bad people, and you get paid for it. You aren't sure how that sits some days.
Your current job is nothing special, find a ritualist with streak of killing people bloody and using them to call up angry ghosts for no better reason than a couple minutes of personal power and a hell of a magical high. He was said to be born and raised here like yourself, maybe you can pick up a lead as to where the man is staying here. A long shot, but better than the alternatives, which all cost something.
As you walk off the cracked cobblestones of the street the air is rent with a hideous noise, and the top of the Tower of Lords is consumed in fire and lightnings.
"Bones of Nalu..." Is barely a whisper as it escapes your lips, whatever did that is bad. Your gut says run, you bones say hide, and you heart seems to be trying for a room up in your lungs.
Varmint ZeroThe air is wonderful up here, the cold scents of old muck and human sweat, caked on greed and rage stay down below. The smells of cooking meat and baking bread, the sound of a sudden burst of hoarse, drunken, and entirely mirthful laughter reach you here. The top of the Tricked Specter is an ideal place your morning reflections on your deity. Thirty feet off the ground the three story in takes you away from the people, from the sheer oppressive weight of people that plague the streets. Your cloak of feathers about your shoulders you feel ready to face the streets, armored for the day.
Things won't be busy until night when the festival of shadows begins, and the streets aren't as bad as you had imagined. You hardly need press your way into the square, once again marveling at the great tower. Still has glorious as ever in the dawn's light, you knock elbows with one of the gangly Aoul who'd stopped to admire the sight. You mumble a ward word and scuff your foot to shake of the bad luck and continue on, right up until the Tower ahead of you explodes with lightning and rippling shockwaves of force. The square dissolves into panic as you glance around, yelling and waving arms as if anyone would not notice the top part of the Tower of Lords catching fire. You lock eyes with the Aoul you bumped elbows with a moment before something flying and flaming hits him the chest.
After a second you reach a decision and grab the Aoul under both arms and start dragging him to a temple of Tulm, his body is a dead weight, but a fairly light one. After a minute a watchmen and another civilian join you and help you carry the wounded Aoul to the temple. After depositing the man with the priests you help the others carry a few more people into various temples collapsing into pew back at the temple of Tulm ofter the tenth or fifteenth body that you helped carry. Not what you had planned to do at all this morning.
EveyoFealing refreshed and cleansed you rise from one of the duskside's Dragon shrines, beautiful creatures with as many lesser shrines as there were temples to the 'Great' Gods. Fools. The Gods hadn't acted except through intermediaries in years, the Dragons though were a force of nature. Shaking your head in disbelief at the errant beliefs that these people possessed you walk out of the Shrine, you have a job at the Festival of shadows later today, muscle at a magic show. Not the greatest job you've ever pulled but it pays, and in times such as these that's all you can ask. Still that means you've got most of the day before the festival begins, you wonder what you'll do to occupy the time until then.
Your sense give warning a second before a noise like thunder tears at your ears and fire explodes from the great tower, sending scurrying in every direction. Someone is having a busy morning.
Author
Topic: Imperfect - Siege, Evil bitches keep piling out of the clowncar. (Read 20194 times)