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Post by dorkknight23 on Oct 5, 2006 17:32:58 GMT -5
The time: Zol, 10th of Zarantyr, 998 YK, less than two years after the signing of the Treaty of Thronehold. Early afternoon (around 11.)
The place: read on…
Sharn, City of Towers, the most populous city in all of Breland, all of Khorvaire, perhaps one of the entire world of Eberron itself, gateway to the Lost Continent of Xen’drik, is built of huge hovering towers, rising out of the bay like the spindly fingers of a colossus.
This is a city of stories, a thousand adventures begin or end in Sharn every day. Our story begins in Sharn’s Clifftop district, located near the top of the Dura quarter (one of Sharn’s oldest towers.) Clifftop is one of Sharn’s famed adventurers’ quarters. The towers are a dull gray granite and has a generally dingy tone to it, but the people who fill the street more than make up for the lack of color. Those who seek discreet bodyguards, mercenaries, guides to the wild of Xen’drik, those seeking to purchase exotic goods or adventuring equipment, and adventurers looking for patrons for such quests can find what they seek within the bounds of the quarter.
Within Clifftop, explorers, adventurers, scoundrels, and sellswords of all stripes move about. You can spot a Halfling, holding a boomerang at his side and clad in the traditional garb of the Talenta plains, leading his dinosaur mount to a willing stable. Warforged porters carry massive loads of exotic goods for a gibbering gnome researcher. A regal elf in the traditional garb of the Aerenal, bumps into another of his kind, a warrior elf of Valenar, who displays his double-bladed sword proudly. Goblinkin, lizardfolk, dwarves, changelings, kalashtar, shifters, and other creatures best left un-catalogued bump into each other and only occasionally check their pockets afterwards.
Properly, this story begins in the Clifftop Adventurers’ Guild, a setting for those very same sort of explorers and wanderers that fill the streets of the district to find company and support. Since the end of the Last War, such people seem more and more common. Today is a general mixer of sorts, organized by a couple of different groups (one on a trip to Xen’drik, another discussing exploring and, some cynics would say ‘graverobbing’, the Mournland, the site of the end Last War,) seeking sword, spell, or skill in their own expeditions. Far more people than both the adventuring parties could take have assembled in search of adventure, but it seems like that’s not letting the other adventurers down. Somebody brought a bottle of clear blue Aundair wine, and a wheel of Karrnathi cheese and a spit of roast boar. Groups of related characters on either national or class lines (warriors, wizards, Brelish, Karrnathi, worshippers of the Silver Flame, and so on,) talk the trade.
Introduce yourselves, adventurers.
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Post by Manticore on Oct 6, 2006 21:49:19 GMT -5
There is a young elf seated by the fire, spooning chunks out of a hefty bowl, though you're sure that you see a cat claw amongst the detritus cluttered in his stew, and all appetites are immediately killed by that disgusting revelation. He has the skin colour of a Valenar elf but he is far paler, positively ill-looking. He eats mechanically. Either he has iron self-control or atrophied taste buds, and it is uncertain as to which, yet. He is wearing long robes and leaning on a stick of wood that could have been cut from any sapling. When the various members of the crowd jostle him his lip begins to curl in disgust. It is soon evident that he abhors the idea of flesh-to-flesh contact and all associated activities. The wild light of madness in his eyes suggests that he may be amenable to all manner of schemes. This elf carries with him an aura of unease. But he is fascinating, though. He has a strange power within his frail form. It would be interesting to see how this strange elf reacts to the pressures of combat. Either he would have a spectacular breakdown or an equally spectacular breaking-in. But then most magickers are a little strange.
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Post by GhostKnight on Oct 6, 2006 22:05:25 GMT -5
Near a corner of there is an elf girl. She is eating a salad in a really slow pace, she seems to enjoy every bite of it, but she keeps staring at the nothingness of the space between two tables like if that place had something of interest.
She wears arcane robes including a hat, yet she looks different than other magic users. Beside her, leaning in the wall, there is a quiver and a short bow, elves are known for their mastery with the bows, but instead of a staff that anyone would expect from a wizard there is a spear, and it seems it belongs to her. Her clothes are tattered including her hat which has holes where parts of her ebony hair can be seen. Her hair is short, almost manly, except from a thin pigtail in the back of her head.
By the way of her look either she has had it rough or she is a homeless who happened to get a wizard outfit. Wizards stare at her and makes comments. Some laugh at her, some pity her, others just stare at her. Humans with naughty smiles point at her, arrogant elves stare at her and turn to continue their business, curious halflings wonder, among many other talk filling the place with an air of partnership and friendship. Yet she is there, eating peacefully staring at the nothingness.
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Post by browwiw on Oct 7, 2006 19:23:24 GMT -5
A young human male leaned against a cask of ale, frothing tankard in his left fist and a slice of roast boar impaled on the dagger in his right. He had not quite seen his twentieth summer, straight and slender as a sword blade. Thick dark hair hung to his shoulders and lively, aware grren eyes were set deep into his narrow, angular face. When he laughed, as he was like to do as he japed with the other warriors that had congregated around the cask, those jade eyes lit with an easy humor. When some comely lass passed by they shone with a hungrier type of delight.
His armor was an oiled chain shirt over boiled leather. His clothes were sturdy, unadorned wool and doe skin leather. This one was not made for velvet and silks, it seemed. From his left hip hung a practical castle-forged longsword and quiver of grey goose fletched arrows rode on his right. The upper notch of a sheethed shortbow peeked from above his shoulder. His light armor and high, mud specked boots marked him as a horseman or outrider.
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Post by browwiw on Oct 13, 2006 2:13:19 GMT -5
ooc: did I kill another game? It always feels like its me.
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Post by dorkknight23 on Oct 13, 2006 2:14:51 GMT -5
ooc: No, it wasn't your legendary game-killingness (joking, joking.) Only half the party's posted thusfar. Waiting on Shigoki and pgholland.
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Post by pgholland on Oct 13, 2006 11:18:41 GMT -5
OOC-Ooops sorry didn't see this thread!
Snerak fought his way through the crowd, muttering hateful words in a language none understood. He glared at the towers, the flying carts of the city, the great glass tower, the markets, the shops, all of the trappings of a city. "Skelios, heel!" his voice was forceful and loud, "I don't want you getting lost in this Arawai-forsaken place, who knows what they'd do to you!" He continued to push his way through the throngs of people, not bothering to check whether his command had been followed. He burst through the door to the adventurer's guild, making an impression he did not want to, one wholly of power, arrogance and pomp and circumstance. The sunlight backlit him as the door swung closed, his thick cloak swirling around him in the stream of air, his features hidden by the sudden bright light. Next to him a shape three feet high, not quite a dog, more feral and powerful in appearance. As the door swung shut the assembled masses could see the man who stood before them, a tanned human, his face smeared with dirt, as were his hands, one of which was grasped around an ornately carved quarterstaff, images of animals and plants seemingly swirling around it's oaken body. He wore a cloak, some sort of brown animal fur, perhaps deer, the hood was pulled up concealing all but a single curl of Blond hair entwined with a vine flower of a shocking red. His hands looked weather beaten, cracked and worn, his face no better. He still had the air of a young man, but one who had lived a life of hardships not faced by most city dwellers. Next to him stood a wolf, it's silver-grey fur immaculate, it's eyes glinting green, it's teeth clean and white. Adventurers backed from the beast, daggers were drawn. The wolf merely trotted to the fire and curled before it. He reached for the clasp of his cloak, a golden brooch set with a ruby that had been carved to resemble a red rose. The cloak was away, swirled around his staff, revealing the armour he wore underneath. Green scales, large and tough looking, yet flexible too, covered his chest, upper arms, groin and thighs, no doubt the hide of some dinosaur or other large lizard. His trousers were rough woven wool and his shirt was made of a similar substance, although it may have been some sort of woven reed fibre. He snatched a tankard of ale from another present, then tore a leg of meat for himself and carved a section of meat onto a plate. Crossing to his wolf companion he threw the plate down, allowing the wolf to fill its belly, while he did the same.
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Post by shigoki on Oct 13, 2006 19:29:28 GMT -5
Alik didn't knew what to expect from this run down place, he had been following the directions given to him by that Ork shaman that there was something great for him in this place, what ever that could be.
He made in way in to the building, food sounded like a plan after 3 days from constant walk. His cloak up he made it to a half empty table, his leater armor and soft leater clated hands an feet's made no too noticeable sound on the floor. Not that anyone would have minded, but one had to stay sharp, specially on THIS kind of places.
One glance at the attendant showed his brown eyes, eyes made that way by a minor enchantment to keep curios people to try to "make a name with this plane touched" 'Tch! humans are such pitiful creatures'. "Get me some food.." He didn't add more, he wanted to keep himself apart. He knew he was good, but to really make a name for himself he needed... more.
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Post by dorkknight23 on Oct 14, 2006 18:55:48 GMT -5
The attendant hurries for Alik's plate, a small sampling of the fares present, he didn't seem sure just what he wanted.
Conversations filled the room as you eat and talk:
"I still think it isn't right. After what happened during the Day of Mourning..." "There's two kinds of people in this world, friend. The timid and the rich. Guess which one I'm gonna be." "But I hear all sorts of things happen in the mist..." "By Dol Dorn's beard, man, If you're not looking to risk your skin, you'd best find a new position." "Not like going to Xen'drik is that much better. Crazed giants, drow, I hear tell stories of ants that walk like men." "But the lost continent will definitely yield something of value. Odds are all you'll find is that crazed warforged messiah and his cult." "Watch what you say about the Lord of Blades." (A warforged, obviously.)
The two parties to Xen'drik and the Mournlands were all but decided, when a skittish looking goblin messager enters the room. He looks around, "Umm...excuse me. I've got a telegram for Jonelim, Koyle, Brizza Icewinter, Alik, and Snerak. Anyone know where I can find them?"
This is odd. Prior to hearing your names read in succession, none of you had ever met the others. He hands you the message, and waits for a tip. He leaves either way after he gets one or not.
The message he gives you reads thusly:
"To whom it may concern, I have been instructed by Flamewind, one of our resident theorists, to summon you for an audience with her as soon as possible. She has not told me why you in specific, or why she wishes to speak with you. It would mean much to her and to my staff if you would meet with her.
Larrian ir'Morgrave, President of Morgrave University (dictated)"
Those of you with some knowledge of Sharn or Morgrave University might be familiar with Flamewind. A gynosphynx from the Lost Continent of Xen'drik, Flamewind supposedly possesses oracular powers (in addition to much firsthand knowledge of that continent itself.) She has been known to summon people to her chambers, to deliver prophecies of great import. She is supposedly one of the few nondragons to study The Draconic Prophecy. One might presume her latest prophecy concerns you.
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Post by pgholland on Oct 15, 2006 5:33:07 GMT -5
Snerak already despised this place. He could see no living creature that was not upright and clothed, save for his wolf companion. That gods-forsaken goblin worsened it further. "A university? What need do we have of a university? Surely nature is our greatest teacher, does she not point us in the correct direction? Either way i do not trust this note. It was delivered to us directly, and knew that we were here at the same time, yet it was adressed, 'To whom it may concern' a sure sign that this blasted creature," he said indicating the wretched messenger, "simply picked out a number of people from this building. No doubt we will be ambushed by his fellows hoping to extract our coin purses."
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Post by Manticore on Oct 15, 2006 10:44:38 GMT -5
Jonelim rubbed his nose with a pained expression. He coughed ostentatiously for a few seconds and contrived to look bored. The young elven necromancer looked askance at a shabby, boorish druid who had entered the hall with a decrepit wolf in tow. Really, did he expect anyone to listen to his foolish verbiage? Jonelim kept his thoughts to himself. He maintained a wise silence, although an expression of disdain on his delicate features was an elegant sufficiency to remind others of their inherent inferiority.
He had received a telegram. A telegram, moreover, pertaining to the prophecies of a mad gynosphynx. He glowered as the officious messenger waited for an unearned tip, hand outstretched. Jonelim was not silly enough to pay someone extra just for doing their job properly. He read it quickly. He hated the very idea of prophecy and fortune telling and all that garbage. The belief that somebody could tell the future meant that there was no free will and therefore everybody could be absolved of blame because their actions were foreordained and so there was never any way they could break from the path. Jonelim would much rather choose his own destiny. The consequences might be dark, depressing and deadly, but at least he would have earned them. He had nothing but contempt for the fools who were afraid to seize control of their own lives.
But he would go to see this "Flamewind" nonetheless. Jonelim was in need of a new adventure. He was fast running out of money: he needed to eat, and the bodysnatchers required paying by the hour.
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Post by GhostKnight on Oct 15, 2006 13:03:57 GMT -5
"I hate waiting" - muttered Brizza looking how the light moved in the floor by the pass of time. She feels with her hand the texture of the Wizard hat and wonders if the person she is waiting will ever come.
She looks at the door when every person enters just for a brief second before turning back to her statue like pose. Then she heard some words from a unknown goblin. She heard her own name so she stood up and avoiding the other people she walked to where she heard the voice.
"Finally..."
She reads the message silently over and over while listening to the other people addressed. This isn't what she was waiting for but something else. The fact her name is know makes her look suspiciously at the goblin. Could this be any kind of trap? Yet the university hears more like a better place to wait.
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Post by browwiw on Oct 16, 2006 17:14:45 GMT -5
Koyle licked pork grease from his fingers and took the letter from the upjumped goblinoid. He read it several times, green eyes sliding over the words. This was a good omen...working coming to him rather than he to it. Indeed, Koyle would play guest to this Flamewind.
He pressed a copper into the fussy little creature's awaiting hand. Never let it be said that a bastard was not generous. When the goblin scowled at the coin, Koyle scowled right back and touched the pommel of his sword. "Aye, would you like some steel with that copper? That I am quite rich in."
The goblin scampered off. Some sentients just have no sense of gratitude.
Shouldering his leather bag, Jaek made for the door with an easy gait. He next stop was the stables. His destrier, Warstrider, was nodoubt giving some hapless stableboy fits.
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Post by shigoki on Oct 16, 2006 18:07:42 GMT -5
Alik frowned at being called, it was his first time on that city and he wanted to make a name of him, but not like this one. Seing the group of people gatter around the meesenger he got closer and not seeing anything suspicious he moved the final step and took the script.
Something wasnt right, almost like that ork shaman was seting him up and to side with this guys...
Either way, thay could be usesfull for my cause on the short run.
... then again I could be wrong. He didnt rush, but the coments shoting from the group didnt made him that certain.
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Post by dorkknight23 on Oct 17, 2006 2:52:19 GMT -5
The young adventurers traveled up the towers by the various ladders, stairwalks, and walkways, from one tower to the next towards the University District. Although you are higher up the towers, and the air is clearer, you are still only near the top of Sharn, with the massive Skyway hovering above your heads. Morgrave University is one of the more famous academic establishments in Khorvaire, although not as prestigious as Korranberg University in Zilargo, it contains a wide array of Cyclopean artifacts from Xen’drik, recovered by various exploratory parties.
After passing various students (aspiring scholars of all stripes,) you reach Lareth Hall, a massive structure in the middle of the university. In this building, you are greeted by a dull receptionist, who points to yet another flight of stairs, to the dome on the top of the hall. You climb the stairs.
Flamewind is massive creature with a body of giant lioness, orange stripes marking her dark black fur which ripple like flame when she moves. The massive wings on her body, like a falcon, fold over her back. She has the head of a beautiful elf woman, though her features are feline and marked with the same orange and black striping as her body. She wears a few platinum and gold bejeweled chains around her neck and forelimbs, and a silver diadem rests on her brow.
She looks at you knowingly, with little more than a nod at first. She begins to speak, not to any one of you in particular, but to the group en masse:
“Travel to the peak of the City of Towers. From there, you will see how far you have to go. Amongst a forgotten land within the land, you will find a most coveted item. Keep it secret and keep it safe, for all from the Dragon Above to the Dragon Below hang in the balance.”
She will not explain more than that, or explain any further than she already has. She ignores you, telling whatever she needed to tell you.
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