pinkkoala321

Dark Dagger

When enough people are interested, I'll make the main page. It'll have people to choose from, obviously, but I'll also be open to suggestions! @Meleck Long story short: Yes, a mage sounds good. It'll be interesting if there is a variety of different people, races, and classes. I'm thinking maybe 4 or 5 in the party, so hopefully it isn't too long.

Dark Dagger

Yes, it is. And that's sounds like a great idea. Another thief might know best how to catch a thief.

Dark Dagger

D A R K D A G G E R

"A dagger has only a single point, but a traitor cuts from anywhere"

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PLOT

Eastormel Castle is home to the great kings and queens of Ovyadell. Its ancient stone halls whisper secrets and hidden treasures that are buried beneath earth and mortar, kept safe from those who would wish to take them. The walls were thought to be impenetrable, the might of Ovyadell's army and that of the Royal Guard unmatched, and yet someone got through unheard and unseen.

It started small. A silver candelabra, an old necklace, a crystal decanter - nothing too grand or important. People brushed it off, convinced that a maid had simply misplaced it and no one had bothered to look too closely for it. Then the armory grew thinner and thinner. No one could deny that there was a thief in their midst. The King ordered the barracks and servants' quarters be searched. He had them tear Eastormel Castle apart. They found nothing.

The King was outraged but unable to find the culprit. And so, the thief grew more bold. The Dark Dagger, the King's most prized possession and family heirloom went missing. That blade had felled many foes and was a symbol for Ovyadell, one born of blood and death. He would not let it fall into the hands of a thief, left to be bartered for the prettiest penny.

The King had no where else to turn. His own people had failed miserably in catching whoever had been slipping unnoticed through Eastormel. So, he sent word out to surrounding inns and taverns, offering a job for any willing, able-bodied men and women. He would meet them in Eastormel's great throne room to discuss their rewards should they be successful.

SETTINGS

Eastormel Castle is home to the King and Queen of Ovyadell. The castle is as worn as it is old. Years of harsh winds and heavy rains have taken their toll, yet it still stands proud and sure in the city of Ironkeep.

Ironkeep is the capital city of Ovyadell. Situated so close to the Ashen Sea, it is constantly battered by rain and wind. Because of this, the homes are sturdy, made of strong stone and brick. Eastormel Castle lies on the outskirts of the city, its eastern walls looking out over the roiling waves of the sea.

Ovyadell was once a solely elven kingdom, but as the weather grew harsher and the land harder they moved farther inland and left Ovyadell to the race of men. On the outskirts, near the borders of neighboring kingdoms, the elves still live and thrive.

The Underground is the dark underbelly and sits in the barren wasteland that remains unclaimed by any kingdom, though everyone silently agrees that it is part of Ovyadell. It is where the scum of the earth come to roost - thieves, bandits, and murderers alike.

Fog of Torvelt

I meant to check yesterday, so I'm sorry that I didn't. Things have just been a bit busy, but it's a good kind of busy. My boyfriend and I are moving to the city together soon so I can get my bachelor's, and it'll be my first place away from my grandparents'. I'm really excited but, like, super nervous, so I've been doing some massive planning.

And because I like to know things I couldn't help but push and learned that he's planning on proposing once we actually get moved! So, I've been daydreaming about that too. I just like to plan, and both of these things are major planning events. So, it makes me happy.

Fog of Torvelt

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I M A L E S S A S H A R I S

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Fingers tight on her bowstring, Imalessa stared out through the rain and the darkness as the trolls ran toward them. The others, those skilled in hand-to-hand and close combat, stepped forward. Imalessa stayed back, unsure how well she would hold up against the trolls without some distance between them. Let them handle the problem. She would do what she could from where she stood near the cart. But the rain was making it difficult to get a clear shot, especially when the trolls had already reached the line, and she didn't want to risk hitting any of her companions.

"It's poison! Don't let them touch you!"

She hadn't seen it before, but she noticed it now. The trolls looked as if they should be lying in the fetid mud rotting. Instead they stood and ran and shouted just as well as any living beast. Necromancy . . . Imalessa had seen a few forest animals infected with it. Those days she had chosen to go hungry, her appetite having died. But these were no sickly deer or whimpering wolves.

She felt useless as she stood there, bow in hand but not loosing an arrow. The others could handle it, surely, but she did not wish to be seen as a coward. Or worse - useless. She focused, steadied her breathing. Gentle seemed capable of handling himself, but Imalessa found herself to have formed a connection with him, however small. She let her arrow fly and hoped it hit its target.

Fog of Torvelt

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I M A L E S S A S H A R I S

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The rain and mud made traveling difficult, and Imalessa wished she had brought something other than her heavy cloak. It soaked up the water and weighed her down, and the mud sucked at her boots, threatening to pull them off her small feet. Of all the days for it to rain so much and so violently, or maybe she was just more unused to being under the open sky than she'd thought. The only thing that kept her from being in a positively vile mood was that every step brought her closer and closer to home.

As the hours wore on and the sun sank lower and lower, exhaustion started to wear at Imalessa. The chill and damp made her bones ache. Her legs burned and feet hurt something fierce. She wondered when they would make camp . . . if they would make camp, but refused to ask. Forgetting her bow had already cost her; she didn't want to be seen as weak as well as unprepared.

That bow lay across her back now. It was bigger than her own but of much better quality. She had yet to try it out and hoped that wouldn't prove too much trouble down the road.

Soon the smell of rain and mud turned sour. Imalessa wrinkled her nose, cursing her luck that now she had to put up with such a fetid stench on top of everything else. It wasn't until the call cut through the patter of rain and creaking of the cart that she realized the danger.

"Trolls! Ready yourselves!" someone shouted. Imalessa wasn't sure who. It didn't matter, not when she could barely hear over the pounding of her heart in her ears.

She scrambled for her bow and struggled to nock an arrow. The rain and darkness wasn't nearly as debilitating as the trembling of her fingers. She'd thought her experience with hunting, with killing predators had prepared her for this, made her capable of this. But that wasn't the call of a wolf or bear, and Imalessa suddenly realized just how inexperienced she truly was.

Her eyes strained to catch a glimpse. She struggled to bring her breathing under control and still her trembling fingers.

Fog of Torvelt

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I M A L E S S A S H A R I S

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Imalessa inclined her head to the minotaur. "He did," she said. "My mother and half-sisters would never fare too well out in the forest, so he taught me. 'If anything should ever happen to me, I need you to take care of the family,' he always said." She shrugged. "And then something did happen."

The hurt she'd been pushing down for years welled up again. It always did when she thought of her father. Her eyes turned hard, and she moved away from the rest of the group.

Nathaniel spoke again of the town of Mudshit. Or, more precisely, why they were going there. It made sense, Imalessa supposed to stop somewhere and . . . collect themselves.

Imalessa stepped forward. "I don't mean to sound unprepared, but I left my bow behind in my cottage." She winced. Cottage made it sound much better than it was. Hovel was closer to the truth. "Either I need a new one - preferably one I can shoot and shoot well - or I need to retrieve my own." Because she would not spend a second more than she had to without a bow on her back.

Fog of Torvelt

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I M A L E S S A S H A R I S

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Imalessa inclined her head to the minotaur. Gentle, he had said his name was. "I suppose you could try," she said, though she didn't particularly believe it would work. Imalessa simply wasn't the type to believe in gods. If there was a higher power out there, she couldn't believe they would just let innocent people suffer. Or they were nothing but a bunch of bastards high on power. Either way, she didn't put her faith in them.

She looked Gentle over. Her father had once told her about the minotaurs. He'd told her a great deal about the outside world, but Imalessa never believed she would get to see it. "My father told me he had a run-in with a minotaur once," she said, changing the subject. She preferred not to talk too much about the forest. As much as she loved it, it had taken so much from her. The memories it held were a tangled mess of good and bad. "If what he said is true, he almost didn't survive it." She cocked her head, honey-gold hair spilling over her shoulder. "Is it true that your kind runs more . . . hot-blooded than most?"

Fog of Torvelt

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I M A L E S S A S H A R I S

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For a few brief moments, the tension in the air was enough to choke. Imalessa was grateful for the banter and smart wit that seemed to dampen it enough for her to breathe. So many people, and already they were fighting with one another. She scowled. If they expected to go trampling through the forest this way, starting shouting matches and raising hell, they would not get very far.

The elf, Aoné, spoke, voice practically dripping with sarcasm. Elves, Imalessa thought. Though she may have been a half-blood, she knew very little about her father's kin - her kin. Regardless, though she'd loved her father dearly, he'd had certain qualities that she just couldn't stand. She still wasn't sure if it was an elven trait, or if her father had simply been a bit of a prick.

She was starting to think it was an elven trait.

Luckily, it seemed her human blood had diluted it. She had to admit she could have a bit of a temper . . . and that she had a tendency to be stubborn. Something both her parents had had, in their own ways. Imalessa had apparently inherited the worst of both of them.

She pushed off the wall and toward the center of the room, toward the rest of the group. "I'm a huntress," she said. "I like to think I'm skilled with a bow." Again, she ached with its absence. She wished to feel its familiar weight on her back. "And I know the forest as well I know myself. Better, even."

She sniffed, looking around at the group. "If you think you can just waltz in acting as you are now, you have another thing coming. The trees don't like strangers as it is, let alone a group of squabbling, overgrown children." That temper inside her flared. It occurred to her then that, while she had solely taken on the quest for her sisters' sakes, the forest would need her, too. It was old, ancient . . . She would not let it suffer such trivial quarrels. It deserved better after all it had done for her family, for her.

Fog of Torvelt

@Jabberwocky No worries! Honestly, at first I want her to have that timid "faun" look, just because she tends to be uncomfortable when too far away from the trees. But her real personality is a bit more stubborn and headstrong. Just has to be comfortable first. And I like the idea of them bonding over their heritage. Imalessa has only ever really come in contact with her fully human mother and sisters and her full-blooded elven father, so she's never really met another half-elf before.