[IC] Estermere- A Medieval Fantasy Roleplay (Reboot)

[BingTheWing]

The warhammer was beautiful, in a way. A rectangular block of iron about four fists wide and ten fists long, was perched atop a thick oaken handle laced with gold and adorned with various jewels. Some jewels seemed to be missing - there were some notable holes in the goldwork, some seared. One quarter of the iron block seemed violently melted, a horrific, almost hellish amount of heat applied in a single moment. About half of the melted end had mysterious dark shards protruding from it, some glowing eerily but faintly in the candlelight. A single word in sharp dwarf-runes was lightly inscribed along the top of the hammer, a fiery light seeming to emanate from it at times. Translated into the Common script, it read Dumatír in dwarf-tongue, which in the Common tongue is Dark-sealer. "Don't touch it." Hidur gruffly lifted the hammer with his soot-stained gloved hands away from the entranced Helm, who blindly raised a gauntlet to it as if in a trance. "I-I'm sorry." The Helm quickly retracted his gauntlet, as if the warhammer was aflame. "It's just that Perundus wishes to take Malbareth's Bane into its custody for safekeeping-" "NO! A thousand times in stone and never more, no!" Hidur set Dumatír back into its ornate case and shut it defensively. "This is the third and last time you people will come to see Dumatír taken away from her rightful place! Have you people no respect for family heirlooms?" The Helm narrowed his eyes, while some of his men backed away in a mix of fear and respect for the dwarf's Adamance. "The Grand Temple has more than ten times the manpower and blessed weaponry than here." "Not for all the branches of Icebreaker Arms and Armor and the death of that miserly elf will I give in to your demands, master Helm! As long as this dwarf and his descendants draw breath, it will stay right over there." Hidur motioned to the case latched into the wall with a wary eye at the holy knights. A stray hand gripped the blacksmith's hammer at Hidur's waist. "Then there is nothing we can do except to send more men here, Hidur son of Hodor, and that will leave Perundus undefended," the human reasoned with a frustrated look. "We cannot guarantee Dumatír's safety outside Perundus's walls. The Black Wanderer will not smite the Grand Temple's gate unless he brings an army along with him, which in the increased vigilance of ALL of Belar's armies will prove more difficult than a hundred years ago." "I'm telling you, your Grand Priest will come over here to Estermere if he wants to be the worthy man to wield it. And I am the only dwarf worthy enough to guard it!" The Helm simmered until his comrade took him by the shoulder plate. "Captain. Surely you must know the stubbornness of dwarves. This one is no different-" "I know." The Helm shook it off. "We'll return to the temple. Send word to Perundus that Icebreaker is not budging and to double the guard again here." His comrade nodded, and the armored knights exited the smithy in an orderly but dissatisfied fashion, their captain no exception. Meanwhile, Hidur eyed every single one of them with a suspicious eye and proceeded to securely turn the last locks of the the ornate case. "Yo, ho ho, to you I go To break my heart and drink my woe! For horse may bolt and gold may go, But to you I'll go, through friend or foe! Oh, black are the foggy clouds of night And bright be the fat pig's flesh in light! But through rain and shine, through sword or bow, To you 'll go, through friend or foe! Merry is our meeting down here, And solemn is the Light's presence up there! But through black and blue and Light's sword too, To you I'll go... though I be a fool!" A general laugh with a puke and a burp here and there was heard in the large backyard of the Leaping Stag as all the patrons began another drinking song with more or less the same tipsy melody as the first one. A tremendous bonfire with three boars on the roast was at the very center of the enclosure. Two still-sober but laughing figures stood leaning onto the wooden fence encircling the area. "Good batch of ale tonight, I presume?" "Aye, mayor." The other figure supped his ale. "Though I doubt it'll last for long, with this Malbareth lark from a century ago." The other figure stopped supping his flagon. "You think old Hidur'll give up his old man's hammer?" "Doubt it. Dwarves are stubborn folk and this one ain't any different." The two clinked their flagons together and drank deep.

[Marcus XVI]

There had been so many homes, so many different lodgings and the occasional safe haven. Some had been damp and dark, unwelcoming and drab, some had reminded him of the old times, better days. Leaping Stag easily belonged to the small group of welcoming and safe places that he had seen over the years. He had seen hundreds of places like it, most of the welcoming ones in fair Faerún - a place he didn't miss nearly as much as he should have. The few people he had known were either dead or still trapped in horrible places with no hope of escape. The Yan-ti shook his head as words pulled him away from his thoughts. "Could you tell the story about the dragon again?" The blue, slitted eyes opened a bit more, gleaming very slightly from the small shadow caused by the hood as he lifted his head to rest against the back wall on which he had been more or less sleeping against. Ramius seemed to ponder the question and forced a little smile to his thin lips as he examined the person who had asked the question - a youth of perhaps 17 summers, dark haired and eyes full of the joy of a simple life - the cloaked bard nodded his head ever so slightly. "Very well, but mind you there will not be much excitement since I'm sitting here telling the story to you." The boy nodded and waited patiently for the cloaked man to pry open a bottle of wine with his teeth. "Years and years ago in a place called Faerún - a normal enough place with normal enough people it was as far as I can remember - there was a city called Neverwinter. For a time only misfortune happened to that city - none my doing, or so I hope... Though there was that one time with that noble, but that is a completely different story." Ramius paused to take a hefty gulp from his wine and scratched the burnmark like scales on his cheek. "Neverwinter and it's noble lord Nasher Alagondar one day had the most wondrous plan of hiring a sort of an adventurer's company. I somehow managed to end up becoming a member in the company and we were given our task. It seemed like an easy little job with a good pay. We were to find an old sculpture of sorts from a seemingly abandoned mine complex..." The middle part of the story wasn't very exciting, but at the very least the storyteller kept it interesting. The group got to their destination without much of a hassle and began examining their surroundings. Every now and often Ramius took a sip of wine. Then he reached a part of the story where the group finally came face to face with a dragon. "...That's when we realized that we were not alone - at the back of the cavern slept a scaled being, nearly 200 feet long, with wings at least twice as wide. If we had all been wise we could have gotten out of there without any casualties, but no. There were untold riches down there with the hideous lizard and the more greedy of us were already eyeing around with that certain gleam of greed in their greedy eyes." Again the Yan-ti paused to take a sip of wine and now placed the empty bottle next to himself. "Some of us tried to dissuade them from touching the valuables - we were certain that the dragon would wake up and roast us where we stood..." He paused, glanced longingly at the empty bottle of wine and lifted his right hand slightly - showing the scales and scaleless fingers with the pointer finger extended towards the sky. "Give me a brief moment - I shall get myself something for these horrible symptoms of sore throat and then return to tell the rest of the story. Calmly the cloaked man stood up and disappeared inside the Leaping Stag.

[The Fated Fallen]

Tirarian sat in the corner of the yard, overlooking the motley crew. The Leaping Stag was one of the inns in the city that both was refined enough to attract the upper classes and yet cheap enough for the poor (well, probably not the poor poor). After a few drinks all of them would be toasting before forgetting it and going back to hating each other in the morning. But there was a fellow this place didn't attract often. Grey skin, slitted eyes and covered ears. She had seen him performing here and there, and she knew just what would satisfy her curiosity. The Gnome lifted the brim of her hat up, and raised the flute to her lips. Tightening her lips into the appropriate embouchure, she thought to herself "Because if there's anything a bard loves to do, it's to tell other instrument players they can't play." She started a steady song, hardly impressive. There was a distinct lack of other musicians out in the backyard and it wasn't hard to be heard at this distance from the bonfire.

[Orior]

I have made it to Estermere... The silhouette of the great city had been growing on the horizon since high sun. Livet's sojourn from the south, the path of which had meandered all over the countryside, was nearing its intended completion. She knew that once she got to the city she would have some pivotal decisions to make, but she had confidence that even though it wouldn't be easy, she could somehow make some sort of hold there. She knew magic was not welcomed by those unaccustomed to its use (that was to say most people in general) and thought that the best way to hide herself was in the crowds of Estermere. Not only that, but she was curious about the city. Many rumors existed about the grander of Estermere in the surrounding country, some scandalous, some outrageous, some horrifying; most were undoubtedly just tales told by those with fierce imaginations. Livet had approached the imposing gates of the city with sweat on her brow at the same time the sun crossed the point halfway through its descent to the earth. Her exchange with the guard was awkward, but civil. She thanked him as he let her through. Long shadows played on the cobbled streets as she hesitantly stepped past the threshold, the large apparatus behind her groaning as it sealed her inside. The guard had suggested the infamous Leaping Stag Inn. She hadn't much money left and didn't know the best way to go about getting more. She had thought about inquiring around the city to get employed as a serving maid or something of the like, but didn't want to be at the mercy of some perverted innkeeper. Her hand rested on the pouch containing her funds at her belt, the rumor of cut-purses one of the many thoughts clouding her mind. The city had a colorful crowd although it was small in the few final hours of the day. The sorceress set off at a brisk pace in the direction the guard had given her, keeping her hood up and worn cloak closed. Hazel eyes roamed the picturesque expanse of the city, a sight she hadn't seen since she was a young girl. Colorful flags and tapestries waved in a slight breeze. The citizens she had the chance to observe were obviously preparing for the end of the day. To have to step around and through the obstacles of other hustling patrons, collapsing street carts and displays, and workers carrying odds and ends was something Livet had never experienced before. More than a few times she caused a collision after backing away from one in front of her. She had to ask for directions multiple times, and was relieved when she finally saw the Leaping Stag emerge from the cityscape. A weary smile appeared on her face. She didn't know if she had enough to cover a night, but if not she could inquire about a cheaper inn or maybe even if there was any work available. As the young woman approached the door, a muffled roar could be heard from the street and got louder until she pushed open the door, and like a bubble popping, she could hear the sharp cacophony of the lively crowd inside the inn. Livet smiled; once she had adjusted to a more populace scene, she found she enjoyed the festive atmosphere. Her eyes widened as she stepped into the inn proper - it wasn't much larger than others she had visited, but there were so many more people! The room wasn't packed to the point in which no one could walk, but she could see through windows to the backyard that there were many more patrons than those who lingered inside. The air smelled of fresh cooking meat, and in here away from the more intoxicated of the bunch, lacked the subtle sour undertone of vomit. The sorceress swallowed hard; once she initiated conversation, she had no problem upholding it but had trouble getting to that point. Having been raised in semi-isolation, she still hadn't gotten completely over a few awkward tendencies. Two pale hands came up and brought down her hood as she strode toward the bar. She wanted to ask the price of a room, though she doubted she had enough with what meager currency still rattled in her coin purse. As her hand touched the counter, her stomach growled, and she made a note to ask the price of a meal. Livet also wanted to inquire about any rumors of work going around, but she didn't know if it were better just to go to the guard and ask about bounties. She didn't know if it was a good idea to just put herself out like that; she hadn't much experience in a bigger city environment. She paused for a moment at the bar, not really sure how to proceed, avoiding getting the attention of a barkeep.

[Marcus XVI]

Ramius stopped to glance behind himself when he heard someone playing a flute. His eyes scanned the crowd and located the flute player. A gnome? Hmh... I'll sate my curiosity a bit later... He shook his head ever so slightly and headed through the door to meet the ear aching sounds of the patrons that seemed to love their little drinking establishment. He moved through the crowd with ease, stealing a few coppers here and there from people too drunk to notice his sleight of hand. His swift hands also found a half empty tankard of ale - the owner of which had fallen in to drunken sleep. The Yan-ti did not particularly enjoy the taste of ale, but a free drink was always to be enjoyed if you had a chance for it. Ramius emptied the tankard with few sips and placed it back on the table while leaning over to the sleeping man and nudging his shoulder "You shouldn't fall asleep like that, neighbor." The man flinched awake and blinked his eyes. He let out a little yelp due to the piercing blue eyes that were staring at him from under a hood. "W-wha? Uh... Y-yeah... I Sh-shouldh be headin' back to m' lass already..." Ramius smiled surprisingly warmly to the man and nodded. "That you should, neighbor." He nodded to the man before again continuing onward to the bar. His eyes caught a new sight - a brown haired woman, quite attractive by the Yan-ti's standards, a new face surely. Ramius hid his right arm under his cloak and made his way closer to the woman while making sure the hood of his cloak covered his head. "I'm surprised to see a new face in the Leaping Stag, what brings you to this fine establishment li'll miss?"

[BingTheWing]

Inside the Stag, Mr. Harrison Montomgery Tinder was at his rightful place in society once again - behind the counter. Him and a few other barkeeps running the show, were, essentially, the backbone of common society in Estermere. "If ye don't remember, Jones, a flagon'll cost you two coppers. All those chuggers getting to your memory again, eh?" "A night here? Four silver pieces, if I may, good sir. The best beds in all of Rostguard, if ah may intrude to say." "A-nother pie, Johnnie? Five coppers. That's yer eighth one tonight, I'm remindin' ye. Yer getting too robust to be old man Jenkin's woodcutter." "I've told you time n' time again, Dave, the red stuff is five gold pieces a bottle! This is quality wine, imported all the way from Harleston! And you can't even pay for a joint of lamb. Go find a better job, and then maybe we'll talk." "I know, sire. Horse thieves are gettin' more common around this district nowadays. But if ye need a quick ride around town, there's a manned carriage that often stops nearby. Eight coppers a trip." Busy, busy, busy. Just the way he liked it. This could turn out to be just another one of those nights. "A jug, Mister Tinder. Don't forget the flagon." Standing in front of Harry Tinder was a man, presumably an elf in frame, cloaked in grey and leaning on an oaken staff. His eyes were shrouded by his tattered hood, which had a strange curling symbol emblazoned on its peak. "Ah, good evening, Mister Berion." Harry gladly accepted the four copper pieces and proceeded to fill up a clay jug with ale. "Not often you come here downtown." "The cottage can get... lonely sometimes, Mister Tinder." Berion said lonely strangely, as if he was hiding something. But he was always hiding something. He always had, even before the Black War. "Glad to see you enjoy the company of the Leaping Stag then, Mister Berion." Harry smiled sincerely, revealing a splendid set of teeth beneath a long red mustache. "Good evening." The elf simply nodded, got his jug and flagon from the table (leaving his staff propped up against the counter) and proceeded to a quiet part of the tavern. Wherever he went, even the most intoxicated of patrons inched away to make a 'path' for him. When he finally sat down at a nondescript corner table, patrons on neighboring tables suddenly quieted down to a whisper. Berion made a second trip to the counter to receive his staff, then sat down and began to open a nondescript leatherbound book. Nearly half of the patrons looked at him odd. His 'normalcy' was too good to be true. "Oi! You there! Elf-boy!" The door had suddenly burst open, letting in a thuggish group of men. More than thugs, actually - two had shortswords by their sides, one had a handaxe, another two daggers, and one simply had a very, very big club. They strode confidently but menacingly towards Berion's table, and quite suddenly hoisted the elf up by the soldiers and stood him up on his feet before he could react. Berion's cowl was suddenly thrown back, revealing long golden hair, sharp cheekbones, and emerald green eyes. The leader unsheathed his handaxe and placed it dangerously close to the elf's frail throat. "Oi. Elf-boy. Still in the land of the living?" "Better than ever, gentlemen. " The elf shrugged off his captors' grips on his shoulders and stood up to his full height. "What do you req-" "Don't give me them formalities!" The leader grabbed Berion's collar and quite literally spit into his face. Berion at this moment seemed placid, but some saw burning coals behind the elf's eyes. "Remember when you nearly burnt Coujin's arm off last week?" "He tried to extort twenty gold pieces from me." "We take whatever we bloody please in this district, elf-boy! We had to take him to a healer, and you're gonna pay!" "I also made him stab himself with his own dagger." Berion subtly gestured with his eyes towards the leader's shortsword. "And I am not afraid to do it again." "Oh, you will be, elf-boy... after we show you this!" The leader unsheathed a very long ornate golden wand. Its ruby-eyed carefully-wrought dragon head glimmered menacingly in the candelight. A crackling deep blue ball was forming inside its mouth. For what seemed the first time in a hundred years, Onar Berion displayed a (faint) expression of fear on his face. All the patrons were now ignoring their drinks and paying close attention to the encounter. This, after all, would be no ordinary bar brawl. "You obviously didn't buy this, did you?" "None of your business! Now, apologize and swear to become the Big Rats' slave until your dying breath, or be incinerated!" "I am not obligated to apologize." Almost immediately, Onar Berion was violently thrown by an unseen hand against the wooden wall. There was a collective gasp. Onar lay limp for a few seconds, then managed to stand up and hurled a massive fireball at the leader's face. The leader received a similar effect as he was thrown outside through the wooden wall. A second later, Berion abruptly followed suit. "Oi!" "Ye can't do that to him!" "He'll burn ye! And freeze ye, and sorcery ye!" "Come on, lads!" The four other thugs unsheathed their weapons and growled as the Stag patrons all came for them. Tinder sighed. Place would be a mess in the morning. Probably, it would all boil down to nothing. But for now, he kept a hand on the handaxe used for chopping firewood under the counter.

[Orior]

After a few moments of listening to the ruckus of the bar, Livet had gotten all the information she had needed. A small smirk pulled at the corner of her mouth. She had enough gold for more than a few nights, but she didn't want to spend all of her gold on lodgings. However, after a moment she sighed and decided that, after so many days of travel (it had been a while since she last swept through a village) she at least deserved a comfortable night in an inn. Plus, she could really do with a bath and a hot meal. Her feet ached, and she was desperate to wash herself thoroughly; it was much too cold in this frigid winter to properly bathe or wash one's hair. She finagled her way to a stool, but before she could talk to one of the barkeeps to discuss what she needed, a man approached her. She tried her best not to start, but she honestly wasn't expecting the attention. The woman tucked a few loose strands of hair behind her ear and smiled politely. He was strangely proportioned and his face was mostly covered by his hood, but she could see that he had electric blue eyes and a somewhat disfigured face. "I'm surprised to see a new face in the Leaping Stag, what brings you to this fine establishment li'll miss?" He asked, and Livet pursed her lips. The last thing she wanted in that moment was for some man to start hitting on her, but she tried to pull the judgmental thought back. She was dirty and obviously worn out. "Oh, just travelling," she said lightly. She leaned over the bar as a barkeep tried to speed past and ordered a meal for a handful of coppers. She straightened again and cocked her head back to man who had addressed her. "And you?" She inquired, although to be honest she wasn't too interested. She was too tired and too focused on the hearty stew her stomach was anticipating with hungry grumblings. The sorceress was still cordial, however. As their conversation progressed, she noticed a confrontation brewing on the other side of the inn. A man, who she thought looked like an elf, was being accosted by a group of thugs. A staff was at his table, and Livet swallowed thickly. It drew the attention of more than a few of the surrounding patrons. Unfortunately for the hungry sorceress, the confrontation on the other side of the room came before her stew. A flash of light dazzled the people inside The Leaping Stag. Livet, at first just out of the corner of her eye and then in full view and she turned toward it, saw what looked like magic fly through the air. Her blood began to pound and she gripped the hilt of her short-sword. She stood and turned in one movement to see two clear sides emerging around her before it devolved to a massive brawl. She scooted her stool in front of her, ready to throw it at an opponent and dash for the nearest exit. She didn't want to have to do anything drastic, and doubted she had the nerve to channel any arcane energy in this crowd. Ready to draw her short-sword with one hand, her other open near the stool, she hoped the violent mass would just leave her alone, but she doubted it.

[The Fated Fallen]

The Stag was a lovely family place, or at least Tirarian had been told. "Go to the Stag," she had been told "Fantastic tippers." they had said. What they didn't mention was fantastic entertainment. First the drama of a group of thugs making the eternal mistake of thinking they had one over a wizard, (you NEVER have one over a wizard) and now a bar brawl! All whilst playing her flute the Gnome leaped upon a table and started kicking the food and drinks at nearby patrons, before leaping to the next to do the same thing. Her small size enabled her to do so without knocking over the table, and soon she was just a part of the thriving mess that was the bar fight. Headlocks left right and centre, an elf woman weaving in and out between flailing arms and flying drunkards, taking purses from whoever seemed not-fit enough to protect themselves. They all realised the guard would be here soon, which Mr. Tinder kept reminding them by bellowing over the whole mess, but they'd be damned if they weren't going to have some fun first. Tirarian started hopping from table to table in the direction of the broken wall, at the very least she could see what was going to happen to the wizard

[Marcus XVI]

Ramius was about to retort something polite to the young woman when a fight began brewing. With his strength and speed he could have easily intervened on the whole thing and maybe could have reduced possible casualties - however this was not the Yan-ti's fight. He just turned on his heels and surprisingly calmly made his way towards the door that was farthest from the spreading fighting. He nearly got out before his way was blocked by a very tall and quite drunken fellow. Ramius cursed under his breath as he removed his cloak to give himself more freedom in his movements and lifted his arms to a proper hand to hand combat stance. It wasn't long untill the two ended up grappling with each other. Both men tried obviously to get an advantage over the other and to his great annoyance Ramius wasn't the one gaining the advantage. His self control broke completely as he let out a rather unnerving hiss which was followed by spitting acid to the large man's eyes. The man let out a pained scream as he was tossed to the floor while clutching his sizzling face.