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Post by Ser Mehran S'Disraeli on Oct 12, 2007 13:50:58 GMT -5
"Death threats? Death threats? He must be insane. That idiotic, ill-advised, ill-tempered..." Mehran trailed off, at a loss for more words beginning in "i." This was the third letter this week, the fifth this month. They always arrived with ravens (chatty ones, at that), and they always carried news of Mehran's own impending doom.
"Mehran, calm yourself. You don't even know it was him what sent it," Sidheag replied, always the voice of reason. Mehran was not convinced.
"How dare he, lowly disgusting deserter that he is, send me, the Mistress of Murderers, these letters?"
"Well, he obviously does dare." The Wolf was the only creature on the planet allowed to use that amount of cheek with Mehran and not have her tongue cut out. "The question is, does he dare do it?"
"Oh, I'm sure he'll have no choice. He often murders for no reason." But both Mehran and Sidheag knew that this was a somewhat loaded statement; Mehran had ordered people dead for much less. "But let's see him try, and see the backlash he recieves."
"I'll reiterate, we don't even know that it is Kriggud sending these ill omens, Mehran." Sidheag wasn't convinced.
"Well, we'll order up extra protection anyway. The Court is now closed for business. No one without the Mark gets through the front gate, do you understand?" She smiled evilly. "Or else they, and the stupid fool who let them in, will both get the Hornet's Hive."
So she said, and so it was. The defenses around the small encampment went up. Archers, loyal to Mehran, began to stay in the trees around the Court. Some had hammocks; all had full quivers. Footmen were set to patrolling the perimeter to guard from intruders, unwary or otherwise. Eunuchs who had been trained in the martial arts were placed around two tents in the heart of the Court, one set around a false tent, and the other around Mehran's. She was taking no chances. "Any intruder is to be tried by my Court." No accused ever survived Justice Mehran's court.
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Buster of Shadows
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Post by Buster of Shadows on Oct 17, 2007 14:49:43 GMT -5
The demon stands quietly, looking at the camp, which is just absurdly running security. He grins his toothy smile, fangs baring. "Lets go stir up some fun." he speaks, mainly to himself.
With this, he streaches his wings, and arms. And then he walks, So demonicly elegant strait into the camp. As he steps in, a Gaurd shouts"Stop! YOU THERE!" Looking at him all he could think was, this should be fun.
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Alo Taleweaver
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Post by Alo Taleweaver on Oct 26, 2007 11:24:09 GMT -5
Another day come and gone, and another patrol waiting for nothing to happen. I stopped to light a pipe and reflect on the situation.
The caravan had come to the court looking for work, trade, and some rest. Finding it closed, we had scavanged a living untill Orrin cut a deal with Mehran. It was nerve wracking to always be on edge, ready to fight, but it was work and not everyone in the caravan had the opportunity.
Suddenly a cry came from the gate. Hurrying to the disturbance, I found the guard trembling before a winged man. Source bless me, I fear I may need it.
"Show the mark or begone, sir. The court is closed. This is your first and last warning." I tried to make my voice a comanding presence. Maybe we'll get lucky. Maybe this will only be a blip on an otherwise quiet patrol.
Yeah, and maybe the sky will be green tomorrow.
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Post by Ser Mehran S'Disraeli on Oct 26, 2007 12:29:52 GMT -5
"Mistress, wake up." The eunuch sounded rushed and nervous. As well he should; no one woke Mehran up and didn't live to regret it. "There be monsters at the door!"
Mehran turned over and shot him a dirty look. "What are you ranting about, servant?"
"A daemon, Mistress. He's in camp. Camp is closed. You must come!" The eunuch looked as frantic as he sounded, and the woman sighed. No doubt he was overtelling the story. And yet...
"I'll be right out. Now get out of my face, servant." The man left as quickly as he'd came. She arose and donned the silk dressing gown to mask her nudity. The robe left little to the imagination, but that might come in handy. Going to the flap of her tent, she peered out.
The demonic apparition met her eyes, and she felt a trifle light-headed. Mehran was a woman of little actual skill and almost no magic; all her own apparitions and entertainments were because of her working knowledge of how to be tricksy and fool the unwitted. And yet, she kept meeting new magic every day. Pyra, Skeith, and now this creature. Mehran tightened the belt around her waist on the robe and strode out, djinn bottle in hand.
Sidheag soon came to her side. "What shall we do, Mehran?" she asked, once again the only person Mehran allowed use of her real name.
"I don't know. Let's see what he requires, first, my dear." Glancing beyond the daemon, Mehran saw the Taleweaver, a storyteller of a different kind, apparently trying to gain control of the situation. She sighed. She shouldn't have allowed him to camp outside of the Court; she should have given the command that he and all his caravan be disposed of. Sidheag said as much. But she couldn't give up the offer of extra protection on both their parts, so she'd allowed him to stay.
"This is your first and last warning," he said in that odd lilt of his version of the Common Tongue. Sometimes she had to read his lips just to understand him.
"Now, Alo, is that any way to treat a visitor to the Court of Miracles?" Her eyes bade him be silenced. "Perhaps our guest is just turned around; perhaps he thinks that this is a royal court of some sort. Perhaps he believes princesses and kings here dwell." She looked at the thing, right into his dark eyes and at his damned fangs. "It bloody well isn't, but who knows. What do you want, dark spector? Speak or leave, I tolerate no nameless nor tongueless here in my Court."
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Buster of Shadows
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Post by Buster of Shadows on Oct 26, 2007 13:00:32 GMT -5
The winged beast grins. He had not been spoken to so fearless ly in years, least since the seconed age. yet, the camp stunk of fear. Must have never seen a demon before.
"You are talking to me?" he askes, In his demonicly innocent voice. "Truth be told" he started, I wished to kill all of you. Yet your tone, and manner, has interegued me. I have not been met so fearlessly since old Melkor himself roamed free of chains."
He noticed the unease of the people staring at him. As he spoke, hands went to blades, and some drew. With almost no worries, he spoke, " Do not draw on me, mortals. My means are halted, unless you continue to draw blades. Then there shall be no mercy. I have killed for less, and for more. I do not wish this as I am interested in you." The threats were not as empty as they apeared, for this demon had spilt many gallons of blood, and was willing to spill more.
He looked at the woman who had spoke to him. " Call of your gaurds. I will not harm you, nor your men. You seem to be the one in charge around here."
He looked at the group, still growing unsteady, and as his eyes grew red, he griped his weapon waiting for the response......
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Alo Taleweaver
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Post by Alo Taleweaver on Oct 26, 2007 13:34:06 GMT -5
I am always facinated by the wandering of my mind during a tense situation. I dropped my pipe. I hope it's there when I get back.
The men are too fightened to fight, and my employer has taken the field. I cannot-will not- let this escalate further. I cannot command the men. I cannot speak in her stead. The Caravan needs me, but I cannot draw arms first.
I can lead by example.
Raising his shield, Alo steps between the men and the demon. His free hand is unarmed in anticipation of a grapple.
"Speak your pourpose. By the Source, you will not take another step without the lady's leave. You will not be attacked by these men without my intervention. If you raise your blade, I will smite you in even my death.
You are free to speak. Please do so, sir, before this becomes more than it must."
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Post by Ser Mehran S'Disraeli on Oct 26, 2007 16:00:31 GMT -5
"Gentlemen, good sers, surely there is something what can be done to lower tensions and tempers?" Mehran almost laughed. Alo, playing the Good Ser Knight in Bright White Armor, and this giant hulking demon, practically at each others' throats. It was beautiful. "Servants, sheathe thy weapons, though bear them loosely. Alo, return to my side, ser, and quietly be. Your valor is not doubted."
She heard a low growl behind her. Sidheag was unhappy with this arrangement. Mehran hoped the girl would keep her head. The Mistress turned back to the daemon. "Though, ser, to hear you speak of interesting creatures would seem to harken us to a mummer's monkey. I assure you, you shall find us much less entertaining should you further provoke this image." She was made unhappy by his tone; the tone of one immortal to someone whose span was much shorter. Mehran preferred to think that her shorter life made her more grateful for its happenings. "But in any case, I have sheathed my swords; now I believe the time is come for you to do likewise, Ser Daemon." She smiled, unafraid of the being.
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Buster of Shadows
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Post by Buster of Shadows on Oct 26, 2007 16:24:01 GMT -5
The demon sheathed his weapon. A mortal, Would dare talk to him like this? Admirable. Not very bright, But admirable.
"Should I be less of a Demon, young lass, you would be dead. But I find your words, as elegant as an Immortals." He paid as such a compliment, and aslo a degrading remark. It was hard for demons to listen to Mortals. But this one had a fire, seen in very few.
" Your men, they are scared. They should not be. Not anymore."he grined. " Though, that one there, with the sheild was ready to graple me. " He looked at the group, and at the leader. He streached his wings, and arms.
"What is it they call him, and what is your name as well?" He half asked, half demanded. It was not custom to show respect to mortals, at least not fully. He hoped they would understand. a strange look crossed his face, and he looked at the gaurd infront of him.
" Sir, Did you Shat yourself?" And he laughed as the gaurd turned and shuffeled away.
Looking back at the leader, he simple stated" sorry bout that."
And a fang filled smile crossed his face. " You, and your troop here have bought me fun tonight. Shall we drink, and chat?" His offer hung heavy, as it was well knowen that demons dont drink and talk lightly.
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Alo Taleweaver
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Post by Alo Taleweaver on Oct 30, 2007 10:10:21 GMT -5
The abbot had told me once 'The comfort a soul often requires nothing more than a friendly ear and a couple rounds of mead.'
The court is safe, and hospitality has been extended. If I refuse I will insult this demon-man and shame my faith. If I accept, I will certainly open myself to far greater dangers.
"I need my pipe." Realizing the thought had been spoken aloud, my mind raced to find ways to justify the words.
Why shouldn't I accept? If he is a creature of darkness, maybe I should drink with him. Let him see a Source priest as an ally or friend, not as an enemy to kill or a soul to corrupt.
"Let me get my pipe, and we'll have a drink. If you have a need to talk, then we shall."
With a smile on his face, Alo fetched his pipe and said a silent prayer that the night wouldn't get out of hand.
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Post by Ser Mehran S'Disraeli on Oct 30, 2007 10:53:58 GMT -5
Mehran smiled, not unkindly. "My mead and hearth were not made for sharing, yet I find it impossible to turn away such an interesting guest. Very well," she continued, gesturing toward the large bonfire in the center of the camp. Magical means kept it from smoking and giving away their location to searchers, but it was no less warm than any other flame. She doubted the daemon would care. "Sidheag, to me." Her Wolf knew what the command meant: stay next to me and guard me.
"Aye," was the simple response. No more needed be said. Most khals took three bloodriders to call kos; Mehran needed but one. Sidheag was truly the only body guard the Mistress required. Small, but wiry, and tough and enduring as the wolf, Sidheag was an intelligent and wary person, with most unusual senses. Sometimes Mehran swore the girl was as supernatural as the djinneyeh she carried around in the turquoise bottle.
"Let me get my pipe, and we'll have a drink. If you have a need to talk, then we shall." Alo turned to retrieve said object. Mehran chuckled under her breath. He was a good man, truly.
"Aye, an irrepressible need. The mind and soul always hunger for new stories and information, and perhaps our esteemed guest would be so kind as to share both." She turned to the daemon. "You asked my name. Good ser, I have many, many names. Rarely am I ever the same person as you met the first time, and I never give the same name twice to a group of listeners." She grinned. "Most on the road know me as Phen, my friends know me as Pharys, and my enemies know me as Story-teller and Spider. Those who have tasted my steel, or that of my assassins, call me Mistress of Murderers. In my early and wily days, I was known as the Fox for some supposed cunning and slyness. But my associates and family know me as Mehran." Ah, the age-old speech. I do so love names; rather gnomish of me, I believe. She smiled, and gestured to him. Alo could introduce himself. "But who are you, Dark Spector?"
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Alo Taleweaver
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Post by Alo Taleweaver on Nov 1, 2007 16:05:19 GMT -5
Knocking the ash from my pipe, I strolled up to the others at the fire.
The local customs seem to dictate a story while drinking. Most of them are personal experience. I have few, and it wont get any easier with more ale. Perhaps I should start.
"My name is Alo. In my days as a Source priest, I spent much of my time at the Farsong abbey. The abbot used to tell a story of a scribe who found the fountain of youth... " A hearty slap on the back interupted me.
"Preacher, save the morality story for another time. Have a brew and tell us something we WANT to hear. Like, why you left Farsong." I took the brew from the gruff soldier and quaffed the mug.
"I'll tell the story if you refill my mug." While the others laughed, my mind drifted back to that fall day. "The abbot sent Cor and I to a nearby town to conduct services. I say town, but it was small enough that if it didn't have the mill, it wouldn't exist.
The service was small, even for the town. Harvest was comming in and most of the people couldn't spare the time for comforts like religion. I suggested we help. It would do us good to be involved. Cor insisted we return to the abbey for evening prayers.
As we left, a group of riders came rushing past us on their way to the mill out side of town. Perplexed, I went to investigate despite Cor's protests. The riders were part of a local warband and were demanding the village give them its store of grain. The head miller refused, and the riders struck him down. When they set fire to the mill I grabbed a nearby farm tool and charged the men. The attack was easily deflected. I was struck from behind and remember nothing of what happend next.
When a Source priest takes his vows, he swears never to bear arms, kill a living soul, or eat meat. I had violated the first vow and attempted the second. The villagers had gotten out in time, but I was exiled from the abbey."
"Howzit you're a guard? Can't even defend yerself!" Someone in the back called.
"You ever crossed the orc that leads the night wacth over the Caravan?"
"Once. That's all it took."
"Ask him." Laughter sperad through the men as the second beer arrived. Wheat, my favorite. " That is my tale then, who shall be next?"
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Buster of Shadows
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Post by Buster of Shadows on Nov 2, 2007 13:38:41 GMT -5
"I shall" Spoke the Demon. "And In it I shall answer all questions you have one me"
" It was long ago, Many years before the Seconed Age. I sat talking to Lord Melkor, Or as you may know him from Legands, Maugoth. He Told me, Buster of Shadows, I should like to know one thing. Why is it You are here." He looked at the soldiers, and at Alo and Mehran. They now ask the same question of him, But he has no loyalty twards them. He shall Not let this upset his story, as he has been treated well, with the passing of the pipe, and the drinking of the Mead, And Beir. He Rather enjoys these mortals, as it seems they do not take their life for Granted.
" I told him< as I tell you know, What is becoming my Greatest trail." He began. " when I Came to this plane of existance, I knew nothing of man. You are all strange creatures. I am here to learn, and to enjoy. I have started wars with mere words, Spilt blood on all countrys of the world. I have sat by and watched Armys March into war, And Soldiers die. I have wittnessed your range of emotions, Such as Love, and Hate. "
He looked again at Mehran
" And Fear. Evey few hundred years, you run into a mortal, who has none. Every race carrys this similar fear. IT is the ones who do not who are blessed" His words Rang for a second, Bearing into his own mind, more than any of them knew.
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Orrin None-son
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Post by Orrin None-son on Dec 1, 2007 12:30:50 GMT -5
( I want more!!! Don't let this story die here)
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Post by Ser Mehran S'Disraeli on Dec 5, 2007 10:21:38 GMT -5
Mehran snickered. What wonderful storytellers these two were! "How delightful a life you must lead, O Lord of Darkness and Death. And Alo, the poor monk-who-once-was," she sighed. "It's almost a faery tale, is it not?" She took a sip of her summer wine. Such a drink was not cheap, but the Mistress of Murderers had money to spare. "And that three such as ourselves should be able to come together at a hearth...indeed, it almost warms this tiny black coal heart of mine."
Mehran did not wish to tell her story. Not in complete. A woman should always have some secrets, she thought. And her story was too personal, entirely too private, to share with these strangers. And information could be used against her. Still, there's more than one way to skin a direwolf...
"Very well," she said aloud. "I supposed that brings the proverbial mum-ball to my lap." She would tell a different sort of story, one not really about herself, but it could have been. "There was once a young wildling girl. She thirsted for life, but beyond that of her peers. Stealing South-of-the-Wall, she vowed never to return." Not entirely true, but it would do. "At once, she was free. More free than she had ever been with the freefolk. She was free unto herself. It was as a storm approaching; there was apprehension, and not quite fear, but also a feeling of warmth and calmless to her soul. She knew the freedom would affect her. She was right.
"As she wandered, for she truly was a vagrant soul, she happened across a coven of people. They spoke in lilting tongues, and the nature of the group shocked the Wanderer's mind. They took her into their folds, and taught her their ways." This was truer to the course she had actually taken, save that she had had no choice but to be taken into the group. "After many, many months of training, she deposed the old, despotic leader and took her place at the head of the Court." Actually, Mehran bore no ill will towards Kabhi, her predecessor, but it made for a better story. And Kabhi enjoyed notoriety, almost as much as she currently enjoyed her large castle on the southern beaches.
"Almost immediately, she began to rebuild her council. The cabinet of her predecessor scattered like mice to candlelight, and so the new Leader had no guidance...or protection. She found aid in a wolf-girl." Sidheag, beside her, remained silent, but knew the story referred to her. "The Wolfling was brave, courageous, sly, and cunning...and lonely. Wolves are never truely meant to be alone, and the same stood for this She-Wolf. The Wanderer attracted the Wolf like firesides attract moths. And so, they were together, and bound as ko is to Khal." Most of that was true. Sidheag and Mehran were as thick as thieves.
"And so the Khaleesi continued, finding thrust upon her a djinneyeh, of the Djinn (old spirits of earth and fire), a kitsune and her age-old daemonic enemy, an unknown one of immortality, and others. Their destinies became bound to her, and hers to them.
"And then, one night, the Khaleesi's most vicious and horrible enemy, a murderer, came upon them in the night. The Khaleesi ordered the camp closed and guards mounted, but somehow, a huge daemon bursted through the front gates, no doubt hoping to illicit mass terror and fear in the subjects of the Court. Luckily, the Khaleesi's brave defender, a poor young monk, was there to help. But! no help was needed, as the daemon only wished to drink and make merry. And there the trio sat." The last part of the story had been added to illicit a laugh, and Mehran smiled.
"And that's the best story ye'll recieve of me for no charge," she chuckled. "No, dear Daemon, fear is not high on my listing of qualities. Some," she said, glancing at Sidheag, "might think I was careless and without caution. And they might be right."
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Alo Taleweaver
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Post by Alo Taleweaver on Dec 6, 2007 13:06:40 GMT -5
A warm fire and good mead were quickly making for fuzziness of the mind. Absentmindedly, I started to cycle through my prayer beads. I startled me when someone spoke to me directly.
"Little priest, did you carve those yourself?"
"Huh? Carve wha...No. I stole these." It took me a moment to catch why everyone was laughing. With a chuckle I tried to explain. "He was gonna eat the caravan. I had to stop him."
"Stop who?"
"The dragon." This brought more laughter than the first time. A clear head would have pieced together the absurdity of a priest fighting a dragon with stolen prayerbeads. I didn't have a clear head, and instead I launched into the story.
"I was about a day's walk ahead of the caravan. It was hard to find a clearing large enough for everyone to camp. I followed a steam to a clearing that was almost ideal. I nealy fell over when I walked into the clearing to discover that I was disturbing a dragon during a meal.
"I should have run. I wanted to, but fear kept me rooted like an old tree. It was as big as a Clydesdale. Snarling, it spread long leathry wings and took to the air. My mind drifted along the possibilities of what those claws and bloddy teeth could do to me. Or worse, the caravan.
"The thought of this beast tearing through those who had made me family and given me a home cleared the fog of fear and I knew what I had to do. It would be my death, but when the dragon left everyone would be safe.
"I set my spear against the charge. I knew how to unhorse a rider. Maybe this would work in similar fashion. The force of the clash knocked me to the ground. Before I could gather my thoughts, I was flying.
"The rush of the air and the earth racing beneath would have been an experience to tell grandchildren about. If I hadn't been fighting for my life. Claws bit into me, and I tried not to scream. The pain became worse as I fought to wiggle free.
"An arrow sang through the sky and caught the dragon's tendon on a back leg. With a grunt the dragon dropped me. Arms and legs flailing, I grabbed ahold for the briefest of moments before I fell. I was lucky and hit a tree. The branches slowed my fall, but not enough. My leg made a wet cracking sound as I landed.
"Orrin came out of the underbrush, another arrow nocked in his bow. Bojac followed, greatsword in hand. I was relived to see them, but in too much pain to do anything.
'You don't pick small fights, do you?' The orc grunted agreement to Bojac's statment, and dissapeared in to the woods again. The dragon was coming back, flying low over the tree tops. It was then I noticed these beads in my hand.
"Written in the old tounge, prayers had been burned on to the beads. This was a common pracitce at the abby. As I started to read these prayers an idea came to me.
"With my injured leg, I had to lean on Bojac to stand up. The dragon was barreling down on us. Hope seemed lost. That is when I spoke the name.
"Many beads have a name worked into the prayers. I hoped that the beads were the dragon's, and not a dragon's meal. The dragon landed, roaring at us in fury.
'Who dares to speak my name?' I hadn't thought far enough ahead to plan my next move, and so I rushed on, trusting the Source that my luck would hold.
'I, Alo Namemonger, sage of the north have come to sell you your name. I posses a scroll that bears your name, and will sell it to whomever I wish. Unless, of course, you would like to buy it first.'
'Petty bookman. You hold nothing I cannot destroy.' I spoke the name again. The dragon Stepped back a pace. 'What is your price?'
'Safe passage through the wood for me and my kin.' I held up a piece of parchment that held a recipe for rabbit dumplings. A line of flame shot from the dragon's nostril and burned the scroll.
'Done. If we meet again, Namemonger, I will kill you,' he said and flew away."
"What was the dragon's name?"
"He kept his word, I'll keep mine." I stood, wobbled, and then stumbled over to refill my stien. The laughter at my drunkeness was a comfort. Life is good.
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