Shu

FORGOTTEN REALMS - Gambit of Scoundrels

“You were just telling us about the man, the elf, and the dwarf - all professional killers it would seem - that came to find the man’s uncle in this forsaken city.” Elthel, the young woman, said venomously as her companion cast aside the now empty potion bottle.

“I wonder, she continued, “do you all have the same mysterious uncle? Is he human, elf, or dwarf?”

“Elthel, please,” the half-elf man said, wiping at the corners of his mouth, “these… three saved us. Be it intentional or not. And… they just killed that oaf Gunalar. Well done master dwarf… either way…”

Iliskra narrowed her eyes as she looked the half-elf man over. He was still quite sickly pale and seemed to be under great strain even now despite the healing potion given to him. “I… believe that… dart was poisoned…” he said aloud, as if he had read Iliskra’s very thoughts. The young red-haired woman lowered her blades and crouched next to her companion, Iliskra catching a glimpse of the concern welling up across her features.

“Those bastards,” Elthel hissed, “they were intent on killing you one way or another.”

“Who?” Iliskra asked, Elthel looked back around - her face immediately regaining all its’ distrustfulness. The half-elf grunted as he adjusted his sitting position, unlike Elthel he seemed more willing to talk, “Gunalar, who you just killed. I… was a fool. He lured me to his lair under promises of… a partnership. And then… he and his men sprang upon us; myself, Elthel, and Aseilia and Vrein. The latter two… did not make it. And one of Gunalar’s cutthroats threw a… dart straight into my shoulder… just after I had escaped the others’ trying to… flay me like a freshly caught trout. I should have known that boar-headed clod would throw… his lot in with Shagarm over me…”

“We need to get you back to-…” Elthel caught herself, realizing she had nearly revealed either a name or a place in her concern.

“Who are you lot? Truthfully, if I dare press.” the wounded man managed to string the query out smoothly, eyes moving between Leon, Iliskra, and Ibdur.

“We are not actually looking for his uncle,” Iliskra blurted out very suddenly, nodding toward Leon, “we are… let us say refugees that just arrived here.”

“Refugees?” the half-elf all but barked, raising his head and brows in disbelief, “and you came here - willingly?” Elthel’s eyes were but slits by now as she squeezed the hilt of her dagger tight, ready to pounce.

“We came from Chandlerscross together, where we first crossed paths,” Iliskra said evenly, “let us just say we are not welcome there or in Scarsdeep as we are the type of folk to be on the… offside of the law.”

“And so you came here? Here? To this fallen city overwhelmed by marauders, Red Wizards, and mercenaries?”

Ibdur looked sideways at Leon, as if waiting for a command to attack.

FORGOTTEN REALMS - Gambit of Scoundrels

Iliskra sharply inhaled as the two men crumbled to the ground side-by-side, weakly gasping for their last breaths as blood poured from their throats and mouths. Very impressive. Iliskra thought admiringly as she steeled herself for further melee. She turned her attention to where Ibdur was fighting with the half-orc, or rather the far smaller dwarf was proving an untouchable force as he hacked and chipped away at his larger opponent.

“Tempus’ fury upon you, foul beast-thing!” Ibdur shouted as he swung both axes at once and parried away a sideways arc from the thug leader who snorted furiously and bared his tusks. Ibdur rushed in, swinging at the half-orc’s knees, the latter stepping back and using his weapons’ end to try and counter-parry Ibdur’s strikes. The first two axe swings were blocked, Ibdur however ducked low and rolled forward beneath his foes’ reach. The half-orc impulsively brought his knee up in an attempt to smash Ibdur in the face - and that was his dire mistake. Ibdur made an upward slash with his right-handed weapon, the wicked blade cutting straight up the front of Gunalar’s knee severing flesh and ligaments. Gunalar’s hammer fell from his grasp and the half-orc wailed in pain, falling backward onto the ground.

Ibdur dropped his left-handed axe and leapt over Gunalar’s legs and onto his midsection, balancing himself atop the writhing half-orc. Gunalar’s hands came up, palms open in either surrender or failing defense. It mattered not. Ibdur with a single swing flayed eight of the fingers from Gunalar’s hands, the brute squealing like an oversized boar now as his bloodied stumps streamed crimson down his forearms. Ibdur grasped his one axe in both hands and raised it high and then brought the blade straight down Gunalar’s face with a loud crunch of bone and a spray of blood that painted the Tempuran’s crazed visage. The half-orc went silent, arms dropping against the dirt.

“Ha!” Ibdur let out his war cry a second time and pulled his axe free and then buried it a second time into the mangled face beneath him, Iliskra visibly wincing as more blood as well as flesh and gray matter spattered onto Ibdur and clung to his weapon and armor. Satisfied with his merciless butchering of the half-orc thug Ibdur finally hopped back onto the ground, collecting his second axe and using one shirt sleeve to try and wipe the gory remains from his face - succeeding only in smearing them into his beard and eyebrows. Iliskra felt her stomach churn and shook her head, turning away from the dwarf who now beamed in victorious pride as he twirled his axes at his sides.

“By Tempus it always fills with me a lively fire to fell an orc-blood!” Ibdur grinned viciously as he looked between Leon and Iliskra. Drops of blood ran along the dwarfs’ lips and pearly whites.

Ban the User Above You

Banned for being so shiny, mister birb.

Word association Game!

Algebra

How high can we count before a mod gets involved?

477

the alphabet game. lol

Romp

Last Comment Wins!

V

FORGOTTEN REALMS - Gambit of Scoundrels

A shadow passed overhead raising a few gazes. Iliskra came hurtling down from the rooftop behind the half-orc and his goons, her mace raised overhead. With a hard downward cleave she slammed her weapon into the head of the man to the furthest right with an audible clang that knocked his helmet from his head and sent him toppling to the ground. There were gasps of shock, Iliskra ignoring them and raising her mace overhead a second time and bringing it down with both hands - cracking open the fallen humans’ skull, hot blood spattering across her face.

“Ha!” Ibdur shouted loudly, eyes and nostrils flaring violently as he bared his axes and rushed forward. “The orc is mine!”

Iliskra was suddenly struck in the side of the face, her vision blurring as her whole head erupted with pain. The half-elf landed hard on her right side a few feet away from the man she had just killed. She had been too slow to move out of reach and one of the remaining two thugs had slammed his shield into her, stunning her slightly. Iliskra turned over on her back to see the man approach her drawing his sword, she rolled backward and up into an unsteady stance - avoiding a downward swing in the process. Only to realize she had come up with her back in a corner.

“Leon!” Iliskra blurted out, taking a defensive stance. The other thug, sword drawn, focused on Leon while the half-orc - now free from the Maskaran’s spell - turned to defense as Ibdur came at his larger opponent in a whirlwind of steel and savage yells.

Last Comment Wins!

🗿

FORGOTTEN REALMS - Gambit of Scoundrels

“You stay back.” Spat the woman, holding her stance and keeping her weapon at the ready. Even with the hood she wore concealing part of her face the woman was obviously quite young, given by the sound of her voice particularly.

“Calm yourself, girl,” Ibdur grumbled, “we did not follow you down this alley just to kill you two.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” the woman retorted forcefully, “you follow us here, start raining questions upon me - a complete stranger - and insinuate in the same breaths you can help… him. You are either fools or this is a ruse, an illusion.”

“Leon-er… Leo…” Ibdur hastily corrected himself, “we are wasting time here. All I see is two common hooligans that were on the bad side of a deal. A purse cutting gone wrong or a gang fight I would wager.”

“‘Common hooligans’,” the woman repeated with an indignant mocking tone, “the gal, I say!”

“Elthel…” came a weak groan.

The hooded woman looked down at the wounded half-elf, his pale, dainty face twisted into an expression of equal pain and weariness.

“If… they can help…” the half-elf strained, “we… I… am in no place to turn them away.”

“But… we don’t even know who they are! What about all your words and ways of caution? They could be with Gunalar!” Lethal replied.

“If they are… perhaps they will make it quick for me…” the half-elf forced a pained grin, “but… I do not… think they are that half-orc’s thugs. They do not… look to be. And… at this point… I have not the privilege… of caution.”

Elthel turned back to face Leon, eyes narrowing beneath her hood. Her lips parted as she was about to speak when a deep voice boomed out from behind Leon and Ibdur, “Did I hear ‘mine name?!” A short chorus of harsh laughter followed in tow. Ibdur’s axes came free from his belt as the dwarf sharply whirled around to face the newest arrivals in the alley. Lumbering around the corner came a towering, ugly, swarthy-skinned half-orc with thinning hair and a scruffy, greasy black beard. The half-orc was adorned in a rickety set of chainmail with a scarred breastplate that barely fit over his wide midsection, over his right shoulder he carried a large, gleaming war hammer. His beady black eyes were pressed into a scowl and his wide mouth was spread in a vindictive grin that revealed two yellowed tusks jutting up from his jaw. At his back were three human men baring shortswords and round shields, their only protection cheap iron helmets and breastplates like their apparent leader wore.

“So… Gunalar…” the half-elf forced himself up into a sitting position, arms quivering at his sides, “you… found me. Very clever… for an orc.”

“Ha!” snorted the brute, “I needed only follow the fresh trail of blood, frail half-elf. Even a touched bloodhound could have found you in this hole you backed yourself into.”

“Or even… a poorly bred orc-blood.” came the weak but sneering reply.

“We will see who laughs when I kill you and your little friends here and carry your head to Shagarm, thief.”

“So… you’ve sold yourself out too…”

“Not sold out. Made a smart move.”