Allaria: Chapter 2 - Hunt for the Emperor Dragon! [IC]

[Rilla]

Feyerlun Sea
The Tides

The sky was dark gray with clouds, streaks of lightening illuminated the dreary sky, as the ship made it’s journey from mainland out to the Feyerlun Island. Ship hands anxiously worked to keep the ship on its current path, instead of allowing the God’s to take it for their own and cast it about on the rocks of the shore. They knew, as foretold by the breaking line in the horizon, that landfall was due in an hour, and that their passengers would be off for the evening and that the next day they would be heading out across the sea again to their next stop - somewhere near the Gate. The captain, Russo, stood at the helm and watched over the inhabitants of his great ship, unfazed by the impending weather, nor the passengers that took refuge upon his ship. His grip on the helm tightened as the rain began to fall - his men’s focus gaining a renewed vigor as the deck started to glisten with water.

Among the ship’s passengers, who for the most part, were below deck, tending to their own business or to the need of the ships. For instance, Bak’Kar had found her way to the kitchen, and for the majority of the trip had remained there, finding what she could to cook a meal for the men above. Another passenger, Jashta, had seldom been seen since she joined the number on the ship. Having boarded alone and with little equipment to speak of, her outward personality put a lot of people off from her. She seemed to be a bit ungracious in the head, causing the rest of the crew and passengers to keep an eye on her whenever she was in the room, and breathe a sigh of relief when she was out of sight. Many hoped she would be among the first to depart the ship, and many hoped still that she was not one of the ones that would continue with them to Baldur’s Gate. It seemed fruitless for her to be with them, she was crazy, and they all knew it.

Captain Russo looked out upon his men an gave them the call to get into gear, land was in an hour, the rain would pick up before then. The men gave their normal affirmative call, and went back to work. Russo never wore a Captain’s Hat, nor did he wear anything more than what his crew normally did. He felt that there was nothing needed to denote him as Captain - people simply fall in place behind him.

“Taker her in, boys.”

One Hour Later

“And with a swoop of my blade the dragon finally fell to it’s doom! High within upon the hills of the Kyut Forest! By my blade, and by my power, I have did what our God has asked of me! I have sent him to another plane and have become his True Chosen Son!”

The Ship had pulled up to harbor, and many of the riders were stepping out when the spectacle reached their ears. A strange man wearing a glistening golden armor was on his knees, his arms spread, as though he were preaching to the masses. The theatrics of the man were amusing, and could captivate even a crying baby - but there was more to it than that. Something about the man just oozed charisma, just oozed the ‘It Factor’.

“Me and my family, my friends, my followers, the Sons of the Feyerlun Emperor, now stand atop the mountain and praise the name of our Lord, who fell upon sword and blessed me, blessed us - with his blood!”

At that point everyone behind him that was aligned with the man, dropped to their knees and spread their arms - speaking in organized mumbles that seemed to be some type of prayer. As they continued, the man stood and addressed the crowd, particularly those who were departing the ship.

“From his flesh I was granting these scales, these almighty scales of our Emperor! With this armor, I am his faithful servant and those who are now behind me - are his faithful followers! We sit upon the cusp of greatness and those of you who do not believe, we harbor no ill-will towards. Instead, we open our arms to those of you who have been affected by the lack of a Godly presence of late. We offer unto you, a chance to join the Sons, and become something bigger than yourselves!”

His voice boomed out and raced through the ears and minds of those who heard him. The prayer behind him got louder, more intense, and it seemed that those who uttered it were under some sort of trance.

“Unlike those cretins who say that the God’s will once return to use, I give unto you a God that has not yet abandoned us in spirt and mind. I give unto you a God that is there and will always be there - unchained by the Apotheoses, and still thriving with all its unbridled power. You ask yourself, did he not just say he killed the Emperor Dragon? Is it not now wearing the flesh of the very one he says is always there! But I say unto you now, and I say this from the bottom of a bottomless heart! What he lacks in physical appearance, he makes up for - more than makes up for, in living through all of those who believe.”

His hands raised in the air, and the rest of the Sons rose to their feet. The man, their leader, Tiberius Salazar, bowed graciously, and made his way towards the outskirts of town.

Another man, who was in the crowd, gave out a small call. It sounded like the call of Fauna Peacock. This was deliberate, as those who had accepted the town’s call to find the Emperor Dragon, dead or alive - had been informed to listen out for that particular call while at the harbor. The same man, leash in hand, began heading towards a small warehouse on the harbor - accompanied by the Twin-Headed Dog at the end of the leash.

The harbor, itself, was quite large and outfitted with several places for boats and even more warehouses. Many people, most accustom to the way of living by an ocean, went on about their business, though mumbling about the Tiberius Spectacle they just witnessed. There were several shops, many selling varying types of sea creatures and vegetables, as well as clothing and jewelry. Wealthy types frequented the harbor for little trinkets, but they also attracted some of the unsavory types. The man with the twin headed dog, Vairoz, walked past many of these people and was greeted warmly - giving one final look back before entering the warehouse. Once inside, he snapped his fingers and it seemed to come alive - his magic causing candles to become aflame, and water to fill several goblets on a sizeable, round wooden table. It was there he waited.

[Skallagrim]

ROUGH SAILINGS- OR THE LOVE BOAT

The swaying of the ship caused Jashta to clench her teeth once again as the surging of bile raced upward, filling her throat and mouth with the bitter taste of her stomach. Before her lay a scattered array of miscellaneous items, many that seemed broken or otherwise imperfect.

A loud retching came from the pale women as she slammed her fist against the hull, her voice a croak, “I know …I know….don’t yell at me, I heard you the first time. “ She looked at a small straw doll propped against a box, “Look I said I made a mistake by not offering a blood sacrifice to Gro’oople the demon of waves, you don’t need to keep yelling at me.”

Standing on wobbly knees, Jashta grabbed the small bones that lay on the deck, tossing them against the hull she howled weakly as the boat lifted and sloughed to the side from a wave. Her voice filled the small room, “Gro’oople demon master of the waves, I failed to make the sacrifice to you before I sailed your seas. “
Closing her eyes she leaned against the hull as her mind raced and her stomach flipped once again. Anger swelling inside her, spittle foaming on the sides of her mouth as green eyes snapped open, a wild and fearsome light in them, “Look you soggy-headed fish faced pucker wallow. I said I was sorry now stop making me sick, if you want a sacrifice take one of the deck hands and feast on his bones and leave me alone.”

At that precise moment, Wee Willie Beal, a stow-away who wanted to travel the seas, crept out from his hiding place, as the spray of the sea washed over his face. Eager to see the waves the young boy edged forward, always cautious to avoid contact with the crew he smiled wildly as he stared at the deep blue waters , delighting in the large ray that rose seemingly like magi from the depths.

Fascinated by the ghostly form of the ray as it flowed under the water, the young boy leaned over , too far and with a startled cry splashed into the water. Several deck hands shouted in surprise as cries for help filled the air. Rushing towards where the cries emanated, they saw a small boy bobbling in the ocean as the ship sailed away. The rain falling pattered on the surface as the raising squall washed over the boy until he vanished from sight.

Below deck, Jashta finally got her sea legs, her stomach’s tossing ceased allowing the witch to slump against the hull, the spittle drying on her lips and for the first time since sailing, she felt at ease. Taping the hull she moaned, “Thank you Gro’oople…”

The bumping and jostling as Jashta disembarked made her grumpy, casting a baleful gaze upon the deck hand who bumped against her, she growled, “Careful there me pretty…my friends don’t appreciate the rough hands of a lout like yerself on me body.”


Startled the deck hand frowned, his toothless maw opened slightly as he clicked his tongue against is gums, “Forgive me miss but may I ask what friends you be speakin of?”

In an instant Jashta was in his face, her voice shrill as a boney finger jabbed the man twice in the chest, “My friends have been watching you and your roving, lustful eyes as they roam across my body.” Then pointing towards a flock of seagulls along the dock that were eating and fluttering about, “Those demons have been watching you and they know the darkness that lurks in yer soul.”


The deck hand backed away as realization crossed his face, this was the crazy woman who had hidden away in the hold. His voice shaky as he raised his hands in an attempt to placate the crazy women before him, “Forgive me miss, I ask for your pity in this manner.” After all it would be better if he just went along with this loon than confront her, and point out that the demons were nothing more than sea gulls.



Jashta peered closely at the deck hand, her green eyes wild, “I know…I said I know. He is a lustful man. I am well aware that he has desires that he cannot control. What? Oh, I suppose but if I kill him will I not be arrested?” For several moments Jashta just peered at the man before she started talking again, “Well it seems that my friends say you can live, because your blood will not bring me any bounty. But if you think of ravaging me again I will come back and my minions will flay yer flesh from yer bones and devour yer dark heart.”


The Deck hand stifled a laugh as he nodded and hurried away from her. Tromping slowly down the gang plank, Jashta smiled as the flock of sea gulls who suddenly launched skyward in a frenzy as at the far end of the dock several men tossed chum and scraps from their fishing into the water.


“Thank you friends…” She yelled, the horde of demons where racing back to hell and they were dragging something with them. Clearly it was another dark soul who had angered them. Oh well, she had been hired as a scout and witch by someone, she had to find them. Perhaps the kind lady she had worked with before…what was here name…Zacky Khan? Yes that was it Wacky Zacky….she thought she was a princess, and they thought Jashta was crazy, at least she never claimed to be a princess. No matter she would find the woman and ask for help, she was better suited for cities than Jashta was.


Summery:

Sick aboard ship, prayed that the water demon accepted someone as a sacrifice to grant her freedom from illness.
A stow away is lost to the sea and Jashta, who at that moment gets her sea legs. Coincidence? Perhaps.
While disembarking has a run in with a deckhand, establishing her personality in an argument with the man.
Decides to seek out Wacky Zacky the princess and ask for help.

[GrievousKhan]

The ship cut through the tides of the open sea like a falcon soaring through the open wind. The cool winds carrying with it a fine mist of salty sea water, winds which propelled the ship ever onward to it's destination. Leaning on the ship rails Zirena took in a breath of the refreshing sea water air. Early spring was coming in full swing, yet the temperature remained mild, as the clouds above allowed only the rare stray of sunlight. The self exiled princess sighed and allowed herself to relax as she came to the last leg of her journey to Feyerlun. She had heard by word of mouth from a Laycaster tradesmen that there was work to be found in Feyerlun, if one was wily enough to take advantage of the events to come. Rumors spoke of a religious cult and following that was sweeping across the island, all centered around on one of the famed Allarian Beasts, the fabled Emperor Dragon. Zirena knew not how real this beast was, having never seen such a creature in her life before, yet she was determined so find out herself. Though her true purpose for coming to the island did not have anything to do with ancient monsters of legend. She had an old score to settle with a certain Drow by the name of Jhael'zyne Despana. His betrayal had lead Zirena's faithful band to their death, and she would not rest until they had all be avenged.

The cool and calm breeze caused the cloak she wore to stir silently, as he mind wondered back to events several days earlier. He hands griped the railing more tightly till knuckles nearly turned white. A horn suddenly sounded, the signal they were about to dock, the sound bringing her back to the present and she stood straight returning bellow deck to prepare to disembark. Several minutes later Zirena made her way down the gangway to the pier that would lead the way to shore and the city proper. A cowl was pulled over her head, and a simple grey scarf was wrapped about her neck. Qeejess, the few thing's still in her possession she had received from her clan, was in it's scabbed tied to her back, her trusted seax hidden at the small of her back. Only a scant few stains of her snow white hair could be seen, framing her hue eyes the color of silverweed. Zirena also still carried the short composite held in it's own sheath at her waist. The harbor was abuzz with activity, as most coastal city harbors were. the river cutting though the city was so busy, one might ford the river from hopping from boat to boat. The vessels came from all over Allaria. The sights and smells were intoxicating: leather, spices and wine were among the more appealing, with human and animal waste the most pungent of the less edifying aromas. With the rich citizens and their finery came those who fed on them - serving them and doing their bidding- and also the poor, hoping to acquire a morsel just to survive on, who were regularly abused by them. It seemed those of Kyut, at least those that lived in Feyerlun had healthy appetites for all of life's pleasures and were more relaxed about moral turpitude then their mainland neighbors. A Port truly brought trade to a settlement. Indeed, moving goods by water is the only way to carry large cargoes long distances cheaply and thus turn a profit.

Moments from leaving the pier behind, Zirena could over hear a commotion, in what sounded like speech a herald might make. But as she drew closer to the crowd, Zirena quickly discovered the cause of the grouping. A man was speaking to the assembly, who in turn seemed to be caught up in rapture as they listened to the man speak words like honey to their ears. Zirena herself could not make out much sense of the mans bellowing. Yet he seemed to be speaking of Allaria's Beasts; The Emperor Dragon. Zirena was intrigued and gently nudged one of the nearby listeners and whsipered a question.

"Who is this man?"

The women looked slightly surprised by the blunt question, but quickly answered. "Why, he is Tiberius Salazar, he heads the Sons of the Feyerlun's Emperor. Everyone a devote follower of the Emperor Dragon."

Zirena raised an eyebrow at that, she had not even hread of these followers of the Emperor Dragon. Nor heard tale of it being worshiped as a god. Yet with that information she had come across, it made sense when two and two was put together. Soon the man known as Tiberius Salazar had finished his speech. With that the crowd itself began to disperse and Zirena to decided to make her leave. First she'd find a mead hall or inn for her stay in the city, a settlement this large likely had one ore a few. Once that was done, she would seek out her answers.

Has made it to the island, listens to part of the speech and now seeks an inn for her stay in the city.

[MelonHead]

Torn

The air was smoky and humid as his canine ears twitched, the only visible sign of the great rage building up in the powerful Wolfen. He stood a clear foot taller than the two of his pack mates standing behind him near the exit of the rudimentary pavilion. They were the guards of the Alpha, the lead Wolfen of Torn’s pack, whose reputation was legendary as a warrior and leader. Yet they feared for his life as he spoke to the scout known as Torn. His bare chest heaved, distorting the marking of Movius at his chest, the sign of his ‘shame’.

“It is not a curse; it is a gift we must embrace.” Torn growled enthusiastically in Wolfen.

“You shame me and your pack with your presence, by allowing the Dread Wolf to corrupt you…”

“No! You are cowards, we are weak without him.”

“You are banished from the pack; know that I am lenient on you in this… go.”

Torn released a bestial growl as he burst forward with immense speed. He drove his clawed hand forward with the great strength of his large wolf-like humanoid form, ripping apart from the flesh from the Alpha’s chest as if he wielded a knife.

“Why… my son.” The Alpha growled as blood poured out of his mouth. His two guards attacked Torn from behind in unison, their own claws slashing his back, his mind flashed with white hot pain.

Torn awoke in the darkness of a cell, his sudden angry growl cutting off abruptly as he strained against the manacles fastening his arms to the wall. A mocking laugh came from outside the cell as the guard overcame his initial shock. The Wolfen sunk back against the stone, the black and silver-streaked fur covering his body protecting him against the icy chill of his prison despite the fact that he wore only leather pants. He stretched painfully the residue of pain emanating from the scars on his back, and then allowed his ears to twitch and the painful memories stirred in his dreams to fade. As he strained himself listening for noises, he quickly remembered where he was. Prison.

To be exact, he had been caught in the wilderness and now resided in the Feyerlun port dungeons. It was, in his opinion, one of the less pleasant places he had been in his life. However, he was never one to complain about circumstances he could do little about, and with the excessive binds he wore there was no chance of escape at the current moment in time. Unfortunately, being blamed for murder and being caught feasting on a merchant’s horse usually gets you in trouble. He had found them both dead of course, but he had eaten the horse.

His ears twitched and his head spun leftwards suddenly as he heard approaching footsteps. The guard came with an ordinary looking human man in the garb of a mercenary but with an unusually intelligent gleam in his eyes. He seemed competent; Torn would listen to him until he proved otherwise.

“Listen up mutt, you have this man here to thank for your freedom, should you agree to his terms.” The guard grinned cruelly. “Of course, if you’d rather stay I’m happy to keep looking after you.” He unlocked the gate with a dry chuckle and handed the fellow his key, walking away quickly as if not wanting to be in radius of the Wolfen should he be released.

“Greetings, Torn, I am Balen and I work with Vairoz, you may have heard of him.” The man began as he bravely knelt down beside the massive Wolfen and released him from the manacles.

“What do you want with me?” Torn asked haltingly in a dry bark, his difficulties with the common tongue apparent.

“You know much of this island well; your skills have earned you your freedom and will earn you much more should you do as we ask. We know what that mark means, you will need gold to continue your quest, we will provide this, if you but join and guide a party of mercenaries in a simple task.”

“What… task?” Torn asked impassively, even though he knew the answer.

“To seek out the Emperor Dragon.” Balen announced dramatically.

“I will do it.”

The next day, Torn awaited the arrival of the group in the warehouse, his massive frame carrying an imposing figure as he stood in one corner beside the table, not understanding the social equities of the situation. His head turned ever so slightly in a modest sign of respect as Vairoz entered the room, but he released a low growl at the twin headed dog he had leashed. The Wolfen would only speak if it became necessary, better to listen and learn.

--- Summary ---

Torn awakens in his cell after dreaming of the night he was banished from his pack.
He is visited by Balen, an agent of Vairoz, and given an offer he can't refuse. He awaits the arrival of the hunting party in the warehouse.

[mbl]

The Sea Cow

"Come on, put your back into it!" Bak'kar shouted at the wolfen behind her, whom she had tasked with toting her luggage off the ship. She could easily carry the equipment on her own; that only helped make this final punishment for the little bastard all the more sweet. The wolf, a few days into the trip, decided to sneak into the room Bak'kar had been staying in and eat all of the fish she had spent all day that day catching. Bak'kar, of course, caught the imp and, instead of killing him for such disrespect, decided to make him her personal slave for the rest of the trip as punishment. She had tasked the beast with all manner disgusting and shameful jobs as punishment for the theft. She felt it was the right thing to do, teach the hound not to go through a lady's belongings. The belongings she was having her dog carry, all neatly organized in a special-made traveling pack of Bak'Kar's, probably weighed more than the dog himself... and she had made him take the longest way possible to the ramp connecting to the harbor.

Eventually the two reached the ramp, many of the crewmen and other passengers heckling the wolfen on their way there. The wolf's body was shaking and it seemed as though he would collapse at any moments. He looked at the ramp with a sort of fear and hesitated about going down it until Bak'kar suddenly bellowed, " What are you doing, dog? I haven't got all day!" She picked up both the wolf and her bag, raised them above her head, and threw them off the boat and onto the dock. The wolf landed belly first with the bag utop him. The bag crushing him and preventing the fatigued wolf from being able to lift himself up, he let out a pathetic groan. Bak'kar made her way down the ramp and, to great amusement, continued her manhandling of the wolf; she lifted him and the bag up, removed the belts connecting the two, and let him fall back to the ground as she put the backpack on herself. She looked down to the wolf's broken form and chucklingly told him, " Well, this was fun. Maybe next time you'll think twice before robbing a cook of her hard-earned ingredients?"

Bak'kar moved further into the docks, observing the little show those dragon cultists put on and the signal given by Vairoz. Before moving to follow him she noticed two of her shipmates, people she had learned were coming to the island for reasons much like her own... but were perhaps a but slow on the intake of which signal they were supposed to follow. She didn't blame them, though, at least one of them was batshit crazy, she knew. The two were heading off in a directions opposite to where the contact they were supposed to be meeting was headed until Bak'kar called out to them, "Hey, where the fuck are you two going?!?" The made a very clear and exaggerated gesture in the direction their contact was headed, "Come on!" She then made her way to follow Vairoz, trusting the other two either got her message or just weren't worth her time.


-------- Summary
Bak'kar made her way off the boat, forcing a wolfen into a very embarrassing spectacle; got the attention of her two, slower compatriots; and moved to follow Vairoz.

[Uffizi]

The Burn of the Cold

The wind howled like a harlot with cancer in her belly. It was in such a violent, and forceful manner, the young dwarf barely could find his footing. Snow tore at the flesh in a relentless manner, obscuring the vision to near-blindness. Sunlight was drown out from the abominable storm, which was born high atop the Ironspire Mountains. The young dwarf, known as Gorgo Ebonbeard, remembered only this: the cold. Alas, as it began it more felt like he was burning, for the treacherous storms in the mountains could freeze the mind just as quickly as the body. Gorgo's black beard was dusted in white, as were his eyebrows, clothing, and the tip of his nose; it was quite frostbitten. His eyes squinted in the distance, searching for a form of shelter, which was to no avail. An overwhelming sense of fear washed over his psyche, which was frozen immediately with his next thought - How did he end up in such a doomed place?

"D-damn fool of'a dwarf, how'd ye f-find yerself into this o-o-one?"

Through the howl of the wind, it appeared to be momentarily drowned out by what appeared to be a roar. It was distant, but startled the dwarf as it's echo amplified. Gorgo stopped suddenly and bent his knees, which brought the snow he waded through up to his belly. His eyes surveyed through the blinding white, but he couldn't make anything out - but wait! There, in the distance, he thought he saw something move. The wind died momentarily, and Gorgo recalled hearing a crashing sound before the intensity of the wind built once again and changed direction. After a few moments of staring forth, the figure grew in size quite rapidly, as if approaching him. The crashing sound was now felt, the snow around him vibrated as if something large, very large was stampeding towards him. His heart pounded rapidly in his chest; he felt it in his throat.

His squinted eyes opened in terror, ripping a part his frozen eyelashes which were mended to one another. A colossal beast, much taller than a human man, but resembled a dwarf stood before him. Gorgo looked up, petrified with fear to move anything but his neck.. it was a frost giant. Tales were told to the dwarf in his youth of the ancient, and dangerous race, and he knew quite well what was to come. The whipping snow seemed to bend around the physique of the frost giant, which was covered in probably one hundred bear furs. The flesh of the creature was a dull blue, and it's eyes shifted and glowed a dark blue, like the heart of a glacier. White eyebrows matched its white beard, which blew in the direction of the shifting wind. An eyebrow lifted, and a puzzled expression came over the frost giant as he leaned closer to inspect the frosted dwarf. He was quite confused as to what he was looking upon, as the dwarves of the Ironspire Mountains rarely exited their kingdom of Ugarzdaan.

"Urn garok aggee aggee," said the frost giant in a booming voice.

Gorgo remained frozen in place, not by the harsh climate, but with fear.

"Urn garok aggee aggee!"
The frost giant appeared quite angered at the ignorance of the dwarf and raised his right arm, which was the size of a great oak. He clenched a mighty fist and brought it down wrathfully upon the screaming Gorgo, who saw only darkness.

Dwarven Debauchery

Gorgo leapt from his bed and shouted,"Gahhh!"

He peered around in terror to discover it all had been a dream. A flagon of mead sat on a small table to the left of the bed. Gorgo rolled to the left, escaping a cocoon of blankets and planted his stout form upright on the wooden floor of his room. His hand lurched forth and grasped the handle of the metal flagon, his thumb tipped down the lid, and he guzzled down the warm mead within. He burped, and brought his forearm to wipe his lips. Trying to paint a picture of the night before the dwarf recalled at that moment (although, the image was very foggy) of a man inquiring of his services, for a quest of epic magnitude. It was something about a dragon, an "imp" dragon if he remembered correctly.

"Nobody care bout' no damned imp dragon," Gorgo chuckled as he gathered his belongings.

Approximately ten minutes later, Gorgo exited his room in the tavern known as: "The Bootlocker," a haven for pirates, cutthroats, and adventurers alike; it was closest to the port in Feyerlun, and served mead - how could Gorgo resist? He decided to find himself a table, drink some mead, and catch a laugh off the tales of the "imp dragon." A large wench approached him as he sat in a shaded table in the back, with two chairs, one accompanied by himself. The wench placed her rump on the chair opposite Gorgo, and her bosom nearly burst from her stained corset. She smiled, revealing a few missing teeth and those that remained were rotted.

"What'll ya have?" She questioned.
"Ye expectin' a dwarf to have anythin' oddur than mead?" Gorgo snapped back, obviously not interested in anything but a buzz.

The wench hissed, lifted her girth from the chair opposite to Gorgo, and waddled off to fetch the mead. He tapped his fingers impatiently, his opposite hand twirled a braid of his beard.. Alas, he received his mead, the wench demanding coin, which was slapped upon the table multiple times; he guzzled down seven mugs and kept his ears sharp for rumors of this "damn imp dragon," which he found quite amusing at this point.

-Summary-
Gorgo had a nightmare in which he: was lost in a blizzard somewhere in the Ironspire Mountains, and was subsequently squashed by an angered frost giant. He awoke, realized he was dreaming, and recalled being asked if he would join a quest to find the "imp dragon" (which, in his drunken stupor he couldn't distingush as the mighty Emperor Dragon.) He now is enjoying mead in the tavern known as "The Bootlocker," which is near the docks within Feyerlun.