Lane is an odd fellow, seemingly human but with pointed ears belying some form of elvish ancestry. A self proclaimed 'Wandering Wizard' Lane seems to have a severe wanderlust, never staying in one place for too long. Ever seeking change, finding a strange connection with the very concept, seeking a life where things never become dull or mundane. Lane seems ever eager to find new experiences, sometimes finding trouble when they do.
As a child they went to the Maestro Magica Academy, a fairly prestigious school for the Arcane. There was some confusion at their admission, as nobody on the admission board could remember receiving their application, but Lane's paperwork was all in order, immaculate even, so they were accepted. Over the years Lane learned of the mystic arts and found themselves focusing on the School of Transmutation, the magics of transforming one thing into another. Lane became so focused on that one type of magic, they somewhat dulled on learning any other spell. Their fellow students balked at this path, and Lane's teachers insisted that while specializing in one school was something many Wizards did, almost all Wizards still learned other spells. Lane didn't care though, the transformation magic was all they wanted to learn... And their grades suffered for it.
Barely an adult Lane found themselves leaving the Maestro Magica Academy, technically a drop out, but finding they had what they needed. Also, somehow, despite being a drop out Lane does seem to have a certification of being a graduate from the school? Being seen as not just a common Wizard, but a scholar from a renowned academy sure has it's uses on travels across the land, which is what Lane decided to do, having grown bored of duty halls and musty classrooms.
In truth, Lane is a Changeling, child of two Changelings who had decided to take one form and make a life for their offspring. Though tragedy came some years later when the people of the town discovered the parent's. They were called Doppelgangers, and accused of stealing the lives of the people they always were. They were put to death, and the search for the child they had forced the newly orphaned Lane to use the skills she had learned from their parents to forge documents that would allow them to hide at the Academy.
Saturday, April 6, 2019
Malcolm Thanatos [Backstory]
Necromancy... It brings to mind villainous Mages and the despicable Lich. Armies of the undead marching across the land commanded by some deranged megalomaniac bent on conquest. Pale skinned wizard with hooked noses and gaunt features, hunched forward and keeping to the shadow, boney fingers crafting unspeakable spells. The Dark Arts, the ultimate Taboo, the arrogance of thinking man could control the very nature of Death. This is what the mind conjures when the word Necromancer is bandied about.
This was not, however, Malcolm.
He seemed it, at times, pale skinned and a little on the skinny side, but his skin was not the white of a Lilly petal due to hours spent in a shadowy crypt, but due to his heritage as a Tiefling. As well, some people are just naturally lanky, there's nothing to be done! Where Malcolm differed from the popular consensus of Necromancers was his demeanor. He did not scowl or sneer, did not speak with a rasping growl or snarl with an air of superiority to those he felt common. He was quite well mannered, soft spoken at times, and contained a zest for life and pleasure.
Malcolm's was drawn to Necromancy at a young age, a somewhat odd boy he was always drawn to the dark and macabre. But his was a fascination not born of the desire to control death, but to understand life. It wasn't always an easy path, Necromancy is not highly regarded in society, especially when a Tiefling, Planetouched by creatures of the abyss, seek it out. He was able to find a way though, and became a Wizard. His skill would not come to drawing up armies of zombies from the soil of long forgotten battlefields, but as a Mortician, a Coroner, and a Funeral Home Director.
It made sense. Necromancers are specifically skilled in dealing with the dead, Malcolm's ability to suss out causes of death was a boon to the city, which put coin in his pocket and kept the locals from running him out of town, his talents also lead him to being well practiced in the Rights of the Dead for those who did not follow any particular god, or for those who did but lacked the necessary coin for a proper Cleric. Malcolm made a modest name for himself within New Castle, the largest city on the eastern coast, the Thanatos Home for the Dead was kept under some scrutiny, but it's owner was always quite kind, and even jovial to his neighbors.
But then that came to an end.
Malcolm one day decided to stop, close the doors to his Funeral Home, and venture off into the world to become an "Adventurer." When asked by associates why he would decide suddenly to give up on a modestly successful business to try his hand at such a dangerous career he would answer
"I'm simply tired of focusing on the Death, it's time to get out there and focus on living!"
When pressed further, he would add.
"Do you know the words on a dead child's lips? Because I do, and I no longer wish to hear them..."
This was not, however, Malcolm.
He seemed it, at times, pale skinned and a little on the skinny side, but his skin was not the white of a Lilly petal due to hours spent in a shadowy crypt, but due to his heritage as a Tiefling. As well, some people are just naturally lanky, there's nothing to be done! Where Malcolm differed from the popular consensus of Necromancers was his demeanor. He did not scowl or sneer, did not speak with a rasping growl or snarl with an air of superiority to those he felt common. He was quite well mannered, soft spoken at times, and contained a zest for life and pleasure.
Malcolm's was drawn to Necromancy at a young age, a somewhat odd boy he was always drawn to the dark and macabre. But his was a fascination not born of the desire to control death, but to understand life. It wasn't always an easy path, Necromancy is not highly regarded in society, especially when a Tiefling, Planetouched by creatures of the abyss, seek it out. He was able to find a way though, and became a Wizard. His skill would not come to drawing up armies of zombies from the soil of long forgotten battlefields, but as a Mortician, a Coroner, and a Funeral Home Director.
It made sense. Necromancers are specifically skilled in dealing with the dead, Malcolm's ability to suss out causes of death was a boon to the city, which put coin in his pocket and kept the locals from running him out of town, his talents also lead him to being well practiced in the Rights of the Dead for those who did not follow any particular god, or for those who did but lacked the necessary coin for a proper Cleric. Malcolm made a modest name for himself within New Castle, the largest city on the eastern coast, the Thanatos Home for the Dead was kept under some scrutiny, but it's owner was always quite kind, and even jovial to his neighbors.
But then that came to an end.
Malcolm one day decided to stop, close the doors to his Funeral Home, and venture off into the world to become an "Adventurer." When asked by associates why he would decide suddenly to give up on a modestly successful business to try his hand at such a dangerous career he would answer
"I'm simply tired of focusing on the Death, it's time to get out there and focus on living!"
When pressed further, he would add.
"Do you know the words on a dead child's lips? Because I do, and I no longer wish to hear them..."
Herenya Laurë Milmë Goldstandar III [Backstory]
[A lot of stuff has been going on in my life that made things, well, crazy. I have been writing, not nearly enough and not in the style that I wanted, but I have put word to paper. I just hadn't had the time to upload it to this blog (more accurately I completely forgot). I will be uploading a handful of character backstories I've written over the past couple months.]
Two millennia ago there was a forest, and in this forest were the fey folk, and presiding over the fey folk there was a Dryad. They lived well and free for some time, until the Humans came. The humans did not care for the fey folk, seeing them as tricksters and ill omens, they only cared about the resources they could take from the forest. This was a tumultuous time for the Dryad and her people, there was little they could do against the humans and their weapons. They began to resign themselves to their fate, but then came champions! A band of Elves, who had been in bitter conflict with the Humans already over land borders, felt the forest of the Dryad was clearly their land, they had dispatched a family of gifted warriors to expel the humans, and expel them the warriors did. For this the Dryad and her fey folk were ever grateful and bestowerd a boon upon the warriors. A blessing of magic with the prophecy...
"Magic will run through your blood until the last leaf of the last tree falls."
This gave the family power.
Ten or so generations passed, and the border conflicts with the Humans had, mostly, ended. Now came a new conflict, though this was not skirmishes over borders, this was War. The Elves were fighting the Dwarves to the north now, and the battles were harsh and bloody. The descendants of those Elven warriors, now living in a small manor outside the Dryad forest, were keen on staying out of it but the Elf King begged them to use their magic to turn the tide. They were promised land, wealth, spoils that would leave them rivaling the king himself in influence. They agreed. With their sorcery the family was indeed able to turn the tides and in reward was gifted a mountain the Dwarves had agreed to abdicate in their loss. This mountain was filled with jeweled stones and precious metals waiting to be mined.
This gave the family wealth.
The family home was no longer a small manor, it was now a sprawling mansion.Over the next few centuries the family grew their wealth and power exponentially. Their influence within the kingdom grew to the point the King himself would regularly dine at their table, and still it grew further. The family began expanding their empire of money and industry, taking over fineries, luxuries, and all matter of expense and well living. If you were wealthy and looking to buy something? You got it from them. They were once called the Gold Standard family, they liked it so much, they made it their name. All the while, as they gained more influence and power, the Dryad and the Fey seemed to speak to them less and less. Their magic remained, the Fey's prophecy could not be taken back, but the forest behind the Last Tree Manor became silent. Until Heren came along.
Herenya III was born to his father, Herenya II, who was considered a bit of a renegade. The father didn't take to his families greed so strongly, preferring the freedom the wealth he controlled gave him to see the world. Wanderlust kept him away from the home for great periods of time, there were also rumors amongst the family that Herenya II took to adventuring as well, the thought! Through Heren was a Goldstandar, which meant however much of a renegade he may have been, he was still driven by coin and influence, so when it came to handling his part of the family business, he was just as good as any... so the family tolerated his eccentricities... Even when he decided to marry a non-sorcerer, Luana. This was considered incredibly taboo for the family, a danger to their magical line. When Luana II, their first born, was revealed to be not just a Dragon Sorcerer but a Gold Dragon Sorcerer, this quieted the rancor a little.
But then Herenya III was born.
Heren was his father's first born son and carrier of his name. And his magic was tinged Wild. This became apparent when the boy cast his first spell and destroyed an entire library in the east wing of the manor. 'This was the punishment!' The family cried, for Herenya II's constant dalliances in the world and bringing a non sorcerer into the family. This is what they all warned him against! A Wild Magic Sorcerer? It was a disgrace, a stain on their family! The entire family would be the laughing stock of High Society! While this fight raged on in a burnt out library, Heren sat alone in the forest, disheveled and crying. It was then that the Dryad appeared... She didn't say much, she smiled for the young boy and comforted him. She took him into her arms and soothed his tears. From then on, when Heren was alone, they Fey Folk and the Dryad would come to him when he was down to cheer him up and make him laugh. He didn't know why they spoke to him and after an encounter with his sister Luana II, the only person he ever told, left him with a black eye... he did not ask.
Heren grew into a fairly confident, if spoiled, man. His Wild Magic left him mostly untouched by any of his families influence aside from his immediate family, who were still mostly distant. Basically being raised by the Fey, Heren became charming, confident, and quick to dominate a room with his raw charisma. But this would lead to ruin, as while at a Gala held by his family, with not just dukes, not just nobles, not just other members of High Society... but with the Queen of the largest human kingdom on the continent, Heren's magic went wild. He was in the middle of the Gala, entertaining not but two dozen people of staggering influence and power that nearly rivaled his own families when he cast a spell to amaze... The magical energy inside him twisted, it crackled in his hand... A confusion spell erupted forth, spreading over the guests. There was pandemonium. The Queen nearly killed. And Heren was arrested for high crimes against the crown.
Heren was released, to his great relief, when his family bailed him out. Though they soon informed him that the massive monetary expense to 'convince' the Queen to not have Heren executed and the additional expense of buying him out of prison all came from his personal inheritance of the family fortune. He was then told in no uncertain terms that he was no longer welcome in the Last Tree Manor. He was homeless and broke. A dandy expected to make his way on the streets. In high society his name carries great respect, but on the streets? It was little more than a mocking jab at best, a liability at worst. He became known as the Pauper Prince, a derisive moniker given to him with jeering laughter... Now Heren uses his only real gift, his sorcery, to try and keep his head above water.
Two millennia ago there was a forest, and in this forest were the fey folk, and presiding over the fey folk there was a Dryad. They lived well and free for some time, until the Humans came. The humans did not care for the fey folk, seeing them as tricksters and ill omens, they only cared about the resources they could take from the forest. This was a tumultuous time for the Dryad and her people, there was little they could do against the humans and their weapons. They began to resign themselves to their fate, but then came champions! A band of Elves, who had been in bitter conflict with the Humans already over land borders, felt the forest of the Dryad was clearly their land, they had dispatched a family of gifted warriors to expel the humans, and expel them the warriors did. For this the Dryad and her fey folk were ever grateful and bestowerd a boon upon the warriors. A blessing of magic with the prophecy...
"Magic will run through your blood until the last leaf of the last tree falls."
This gave the family power.
Ten or so generations passed, and the border conflicts with the Humans had, mostly, ended. Now came a new conflict, though this was not skirmishes over borders, this was War. The Elves were fighting the Dwarves to the north now, and the battles were harsh and bloody. The descendants of those Elven warriors, now living in a small manor outside the Dryad forest, were keen on staying out of it but the Elf King begged them to use their magic to turn the tide. They were promised land, wealth, spoils that would leave them rivaling the king himself in influence. They agreed. With their sorcery the family was indeed able to turn the tides and in reward was gifted a mountain the Dwarves had agreed to abdicate in their loss. This mountain was filled with jeweled stones and precious metals waiting to be mined.
This gave the family wealth.
The family home was no longer a small manor, it was now a sprawling mansion.Over the next few centuries the family grew their wealth and power exponentially. Their influence within the kingdom grew to the point the King himself would regularly dine at their table, and still it grew further. The family began expanding their empire of money and industry, taking over fineries, luxuries, and all matter of expense and well living. If you were wealthy and looking to buy something? You got it from them. They were once called the Gold Standard family, they liked it so much, they made it their name. All the while, as they gained more influence and power, the Dryad and the Fey seemed to speak to them less and less. Their magic remained, the Fey's prophecy could not be taken back, but the forest behind the Last Tree Manor became silent. Until Heren came along.
Herenya III was born to his father, Herenya II, who was considered a bit of a renegade. The father didn't take to his families greed so strongly, preferring the freedom the wealth he controlled gave him to see the world. Wanderlust kept him away from the home for great periods of time, there were also rumors amongst the family that Herenya II took to adventuring as well, the thought! Through Heren was a Goldstandar, which meant however much of a renegade he may have been, he was still driven by coin and influence, so when it came to handling his part of the family business, he was just as good as any... so the family tolerated his eccentricities... Even when he decided to marry a non-sorcerer, Luana. This was considered incredibly taboo for the family, a danger to their magical line. When Luana II, their first born, was revealed to be not just a Dragon Sorcerer but a Gold Dragon Sorcerer, this quieted the rancor a little.
But then Herenya III was born.
Heren was his father's first born son and carrier of his name. And his magic was tinged Wild. This became apparent when the boy cast his first spell and destroyed an entire library in the east wing of the manor. 'This was the punishment!' The family cried, for Herenya II's constant dalliances in the world and bringing a non sorcerer into the family. This is what they all warned him against! A Wild Magic Sorcerer? It was a disgrace, a stain on their family! The entire family would be the laughing stock of High Society! While this fight raged on in a burnt out library, Heren sat alone in the forest, disheveled and crying. It was then that the Dryad appeared... She didn't say much, she smiled for the young boy and comforted him. She took him into her arms and soothed his tears. From then on, when Heren was alone, they Fey Folk and the Dryad would come to him when he was down to cheer him up and make him laugh. He didn't know why they spoke to him and after an encounter with his sister Luana II, the only person he ever told, left him with a black eye... he did not ask.
Heren grew into a fairly confident, if spoiled, man. His Wild Magic left him mostly untouched by any of his families influence aside from his immediate family, who were still mostly distant. Basically being raised by the Fey, Heren became charming, confident, and quick to dominate a room with his raw charisma. But this would lead to ruin, as while at a Gala held by his family, with not just dukes, not just nobles, not just other members of High Society... but with the Queen of the largest human kingdom on the continent, Heren's magic went wild. He was in the middle of the Gala, entertaining not but two dozen people of staggering influence and power that nearly rivaled his own families when he cast a spell to amaze... The magical energy inside him twisted, it crackled in his hand... A confusion spell erupted forth, spreading over the guests. There was pandemonium. The Queen nearly killed. And Heren was arrested for high crimes against the crown.
Heren was released, to his great relief, when his family bailed him out. Though they soon informed him that the massive monetary expense to 'convince' the Queen to not have Heren executed and the additional expense of buying him out of prison all came from his personal inheritance of the family fortune. He was then told in no uncertain terms that he was no longer welcome in the Last Tree Manor. He was homeless and broke. A dandy expected to make his way on the streets. In high society his name carries great respect, but on the streets? It was little more than a mocking jab at best, a liability at worst. He became known as the Pauper Prince, a derisive moniker given to him with jeering laughter... Now Heren uses his only real gift, his sorcery, to try and keep his head above water.
Monday, January 7, 2019
Impure Heart - Chapter One
[I made this blog in a snap decision to motivate me to start writing tomorrow. As I do not have any time to start writing tonight, I will post this excerpt from a story I started some ten years ago just to have some form of content. Hopefully something I wrote in my early twenties won't scare you off, and the embarrassment of it will motivate me further to bury it with new fresh stories. ]
An Impure Heart
Chapter 1- A New Gig
The Sun was just reaching its peak appearing in the center of the sky over a glorious city. Bustling with life as people made there ways about there days pushing and passing by others. This city was a heaven for thieves, if one were to tie their Gold Pouch too loosely to their belt within the Bazaar Streets; one would find it missing with the wane of the crimson sunset.
This day, there was a cloaked figure walking through the main street of the almost living Market, he soon made his way to a dark and gloomy Tavern, one could almost feel the life of the day leave them as they entered the establishment baring a complete negative to the days bright and chipper mood. This cloaked man made his way to the bar, taking its farthest corner. His hooded head turned, and shadowed eyes caught a glance at a piece of parchment stuck to the wall. This figure reached over to the dried paper with pale white hands, and tore it from the wall, those same shadowed eyes now analyzing it. It depicted an artists rendering of a man, pointed ears topping his head. Hair falling behind his head, just passing where the skull would end seemed to be tightly tucked behind those ears. Dark eyes and a scowling face gave off the vibe of a man with evil intentions. Below this picture lay words, written in the basic Tongue.
"Vaeric the Plague. Wanted by the people of Eisenteral for the crimes of: Thievery of the 1st Level, Thievery of the 2nd Level, Thievery of the 4th Level, Assaulting Palace Guards, Disrupting Public Establishments, Defiling the Governor's Niece. 50 gp Reward."
A slight chuckle would escape the figure, before falling into a hardy laugh; he would soon reach back, and pull the hood from his cloak from around his head revealing the same man within the picture.
"I never look any good in these things. Hey Krulk! Why do you have this thing up?" The criminal from the picture shouted. A man, man by lightest meaning of the word, walked down the bar, a mug in hand, a rag cleaning it in the other. He was the bartender, an obviously a Half-Orc, sort of an odd occupation for his kind.
"What do you expect? The government say's put them up, or take my license down. It's your own damn fault for being caught so many times. Quit going for the big hauls, at least, don't do it without a partner." Krulk answered in a gruff voice, placing the mug down, and filling it with a strange blue liquid, placing it before the Pictured Criminal.
"Not a chance, Thieves are bastards, trust me, I am one. But come on, look at this thing. Defiling the Governor's Niece? I kissed the woman! Had to do something to shut her up, she had a pair of lungs on her, and was waking the guards."
"You could have put your hand over her mouth." Came a low droll from the Orcish barkeep, as if he had already had this conversation with the man, and knew the response he would give. And he did.
"I had the loot in my hands. I've already told you that you do not drop Golarian Goblets, their way to frail, and are basically just display pieces." The man's eyes glazed slightly as his mind drifted back to treasures past.
"Well all I'm sayin' is that you're gonna get yourself in serious trouble, you're lucky they haven't found your real name Eric. Thought you Elves were supposed to be smart." Krulk leaned in as he spoke, his blue flesh contorting to a scowl at Eric.
"Half-Elf, and I am. I just don't have time to waste laying low. Besides, the Militia in this city couldn't catch a Mare with two broken legs." The young Eric sighed lazily, leaning back slightly. He obviously didn't care much for Krulk's serious demeanor. He simply picked up the mug before him, and drank down the blue liquid, his face scrunching in agony as the strength of the beverage hit him. "So what's the latest on the Blue Bloods anyway?"
"Eric, I ain't gonna keep givin' you info if yer just gonna get yourself killed out there." The large man spoke as he stood straight, crossing his arms over his even larger chest.
"Well I wouldn't like it if the dear Governor found out that this Tavern here was affiliated with the largest guild of Thieves this City has." Said Eric with a sly smirk before downing the rest of the strange liquid, again his face contorting in seemingly unnatural ways.
"Now that's low Eric." Krulk took the glass, and threw it under the bar. The metal crashed against the wall, and could be heard sliding across the shelf.
"Hey, this is a give take relationship Krulk. I need you to give me the info I need for my work, and you need me to help you run this scrawny little bar, Gods know the Scorions Guild doesn't give you a fair cut. If I remember correctly, that's how we came to meet; you needed money from outside the Guild."
"Damn it. Fine. But if you get yer head hacked off, don't be telling yer God it was my fault you hear?" Krulk pointed his large index finger at Eric, who only sat there chuckling.
"If Olidammara knew I was coming, he wouldn't waste time questioning me. He would be to busy hiding his valuables." Eric laughed out loud, but was silenced as Krulk was not fazed by his joke. With a sigh, he gave up on his large companion. He placed his hands upon the bar, and leaned in, waiting to be told the information.
"The Governor's throwing a big party tomorrow night. All the Richest families are invited. and so are all the Zealot Guards." He added as he saw Eric's eye's light up. The Zealot's were the city's top Guards, nobody was man enough to face them, so wasn't it ironic that only a Half-Man would?
"The Zealots. That does complicate things. No worries, Arion and his cronies won't even know that I'm there." Eric smiled broadly at Krulk, who only shook his head in futility. There was just no stopping him was there? "Now I have a day to plan this out. I'll need to find designs, a full list of the attendees and staffs, security procedures-
Eric's train of thought was suddenly halted as a crash came from the door, silver hues stared over to the entrance, where three of the City Guards. They had a parchment in hands, and began scanning the room, glares locking onto the Elven man just as he pulled his hood over his head. They commanded all the inhabitants to leave, and leave they did. The guards made there way down to the bar, and stopped Eric as he was about to leave.
"Not you. Mind taking your hood down sir?" The leader squared off, trying to get a glance at the figure's face, but the half-man's head was drooped low, hidden in the shadows.
"I'd rather not. My skin is very sensitive to the light. And the cloak also hides your stench there sonny." Erics voice came out as an old haggard man's, the guard's rage was obvious as his face was flustered bright red.
"Why you old fool!" The leader then grabbed the hood, and yanked it down to find the very man that was on their parchment. The three reeled back in surprise, which was their mistake. The hilt of a dagger slammed into the stomach of the leader, and another dagger's blade sliced across the hand of another as he went for his blade. The man grabbed his bleeding hand, crying out in pain. The third had managed to get his short sword out, and with a shaky hand commanded Eric back against the wall, and he did so slowly, though he never dropped his daggers. Eric just smiled which confused the young guard; this confusion was ended quickly, as a metallic mug was slammed into his skull. Krulk stood there with the mug in hand, looking down at the now unconscious man. The second guard, still clutching his hand, stared at the Half-Orc but his eyes would only remain open a short while, as the hilt of that dagger was now smacked into the back of his neck. He fell to his knees, and to the floor.
"Well that was fun." Eric broke the silent that Krulk was so solemnly creating, twirling those daggers in his hand before sending them into the sheaths at his side.
"You are causing me too much trouble Eric. You've gone and lost me all my customers." The orcish man leapt over the bar in one motion, slamming down on the floor. The wood quaked from under Eric, and he once again realized the size of this Gentle Giant. Never once had he picked up a blade, even with the Kretek tribe, no, Krulk was something different.
"Worried about them squealing about you?" Eric inquired as the large hulk lifted the one who saw him up. He then reached into a pouch on his belt, and lifted a vile with red watery liquid in it. He forced some of it down the man's throat, and held his nose, which caused the liquid to be swallowed. He repeated this procedure with both of the others.
"No. I'll throw them in an alley way, and they'll wake up in an hour, barely able to remember their names." Krulk finished, and shoved the bodies to the side. Eric just stared with marvel, one more trait that went against his barbarian nature, he was one excellent chemist.
"Well I'll leave you to your work then. I have much planning to do. I'll give you a 35% cut this time around."
"40% or I tell these guards everything."
"See? Now you're learning."
Now Eisenteral was by no means a small city, it was the third largest merchant city in the Northern Rouse Plains. But it was still a city of people, and people always fell into classes. An unfortunate truth, but it seems to always happen. The city broke into two sections really, split down the center with the main Bazaar street. From the center of the street, two streets ran off, to the right was Diamond Ave. which cut through the rich side of town. From the left ran Beggar's Alley, this of course split the poor side of town. The upper half of Diamond Avenue was the royalty, all brothers and cousins of one kingdom or another. The lower half was your average Noblemen, rich only because long ago their family had created some great invention or business, not a day's work within any of them.
The upper half of Beggars alley weren't really poor at all; they were the average schmoes, trying to scrape out a living for themselves. They weren't living in the greatest of areas, but they were happy. The lower half of Beggar's alley, was the poverty stricken area, lawless and ridden with disease, this was where the Scorion Guild ran its operations from the old post office, of which had changed locations to the upper Diamond Avenue. This is of course where Eric found himself. The place seemed to have run through an Elven's lifetime, the once sea blue building had now dried out and peeled to reveal its beige cobblestone structure. Cracks ran straight up the building spanning out like a reversed bolt of lightning. Large chunks of the wall were constantly falling, it wouldn't be a long time before the Scorions would have to move once more.
Several men were laying across the stairway into the building, sleeping off their midday booze, The Guild brand of a Scorpion trapped within a circle on both their wrists, Eric was glad that he would never have to endure something like that. In all his time as a thief, he had learned one thing overall, never trust a thief. The Elven-man stepped over the snoozing Guild Members, and walked in through the half cracked wooden door. Within the confines of the Guild House were two "guards" really, they were just two members that had drawn the short straw, they were to sit in there all day, and make sure nobody but members got in.
"Hey-lo guys, I'm here to see Dralon." Eric appeared unafraid when a large knife and a punching dagger were placed up against his throat. He was all to well known in this place.
"No can do Vaeric. Dralon's pissed off at you since you stole his score at the Governor's annual Scimitar's returning ball." Eric smiled softly. Each six months, the cargo ship Scimitar would return to Eisenteral loaded with cash and foreign goods. Every time this would happen, the Governor would call for a grand ball. Eric heard that this latest one was going to be rather big, and stole nearly 50,000 gold coins worth of loot. Dralon, the leader of the Scorions was not too happy about this.
"I'm just looking to talk to the man guys. Planning to hit the Governor's party tomorrow, planning to cut him in if he helps me out." The two men stared at each other, and then laughed out together. They lowered their weapons, and let Eric by.
"You're gonna take on the Zealots? Go on through, this'll finally be the time we get rid of your Elven ass." Eric's eyes rolled slightly, and he headed off for the main office, where Dralon took as his own of course. It was the only room that looked taken care of. The Door was freshly bought, and was well taken care of so far, the room furnished with rugs, wall scrolls, and leather furniture. Dralon scowled as Eric entered his gaze.
"What the hell are you doing here Elf scum?" The man's teeth bared in the most ugly glare a man of Dralon's handsomeness could perform. Eric fell into one of the leather chairs, and placed his feet up on the wooden desk.
"Well m'boy. I be needing your help." He just smiled his all knowing smirk, and clasped his hands over his stomach. He rather enjoyed Dralon's reaction to this statement. It was rather nervy if you thought about it?
"And what, in all the Gods names would be the reason for me to help you?" He asked as he pushed the feet from his desk. Dralon's actions sometimes seemed to be more of a business man than a thief.
"Because, I am hitting the Governor's party tomorrow and I plan to give you a cut for doing absolutely nothing but digging up some meaningless paperwork for me." He sat up, and leaned in slowly, his hand placed against his ever so slightly pointed chin. His silvery eyes stared at Dralon as he considered the offer.
"Hmm. You succeed; I get a fat payroll. You fail, I lose the only major competition in the city. Either way I win. Fine, what do you need?"
"I need a list of all the guests, all the security, and staff. Designs for the building, and if it's not to much trouble, a schedule of events that for the party."
"That shouldn't be too hard to locate. I assume you're giving Krulk an ungodly cut?" Yes Dralon knew about the teaming of the Orcish Bartender, and the Elven thief. And Eric knew he knew as well.
"40% I say it's pretty fair considering he's my only informant. But don't worry, you'll get enough." Dralon's gaze changed, he was no longer angry, he was almost sympathetic.
"No amount can ever be enough. Vaeric, why don't you join the guild, you'll be amongst friends, and never have to take such dangerous tasks again."
"Not much of a social man. You know that. Well I'll expect the paperwork to be at the Sapphire Inn by supper." And he stood, without a goodbye, or even a wave, he left. He did have a chuckle when he heard a crash of Dralon throwing an object in anger. No doubt it was something expensive.
The Sapphire Inn was just barely in the upper half of Beggar's Alley, a cheap attempt to mock the Diamonds Alley people. But it was a good inn, and it was no questions asked. So it was safe haven for all types of low lives. Of course, Eric wasn't a low life, he was just a thief. He was a regular there, and the place even had a specific room reserved for him, up to a certain time of course. He arrived late last night, as he was busy in Diamond Alley, scoping out the building that would be hosting the party. He stepped up to the desk, and was informed that he had received a package, and that his supper would be up shortly. He thanked the clerk, and gave him a few gold coins.
In his room, he opened the small envelope, sealed in the wax with the Scorion symbol. Dralon pulled through, full designs, lists, and even the approximate time the guests would be arriving. Letters from the various invitees, RSVPing, telling the Governor how delighted they would be to come, and what gifts they would be bringing. It was a wonder how the man got this info. Eric sat over his dinner of soup, bread, chicken, and ale studying every document within the package. Then he set off for bed. It was going to be a busy day.
Chapter 1- A New Gig
The Sun was just reaching its peak appearing in the center of the sky over a glorious city. Bustling with life as people made there ways about there days pushing and passing by others. This city was a heaven for thieves, if one were to tie their Gold Pouch too loosely to their belt within the Bazaar Streets; one would find it missing with the wane of the crimson sunset.
This day, there was a cloaked figure walking through the main street of the almost living Market, he soon made his way to a dark and gloomy Tavern, one could almost feel the life of the day leave them as they entered the establishment baring a complete negative to the days bright and chipper mood. This cloaked man made his way to the bar, taking its farthest corner. His hooded head turned, and shadowed eyes caught a glance at a piece of parchment stuck to the wall. This figure reached over to the dried paper with pale white hands, and tore it from the wall, those same shadowed eyes now analyzing it. It depicted an artists rendering of a man, pointed ears topping his head. Hair falling behind his head, just passing where the skull would end seemed to be tightly tucked behind those ears. Dark eyes and a scowling face gave off the vibe of a man with evil intentions. Below this picture lay words, written in the basic Tongue.
"Vaeric the Plague. Wanted by the people of Eisenteral for the crimes of: Thievery of the 1st Level, Thievery of the 2nd Level, Thievery of the 4th Level, Assaulting Palace Guards, Disrupting Public Establishments, Defiling the Governor's Niece. 50 gp Reward."
A slight chuckle would escape the figure, before falling into a hardy laugh; he would soon reach back, and pull the hood from his cloak from around his head revealing the same man within the picture.
"I never look any good in these things. Hey Krulk! Why do you have this thing up?" The criminal from the picture shouted. A man, man by lightest meaning of the word, walked down the bar, a mug in hand, a rag cleaning it in the other. He was the bartender, an obviously a Half-Orc, sort of an odd occupation for his kind.
"What do you expect? The government say's put them up, or take my license down. It's your own damn fault for being caught so many times. Quit going for the big hauls, at least, don't do it without a partner." Krulk answered in a gruff voice, placing the mug down, and filling it with a strange blue liquid, placing it before the Pictured Criminal.
"Not a chance, Thieves are bastards, trust me, I am one. But come on, look at this thing. Defiling the Governor's Niece? I kissed the woman! Had to do something to shut her up, she had a pair of lungs on her, and was waking the guards."
"You could have put your hand over her mouth." Came a low droll from the Orcish barkeep, as if he had already had this conversation with the man, and knew the response he would give. And he did.
"I had the loot in my hands. I've already told you that you do not drop Golarian Goblets, their way to frail, and are basically just display pieces." The man's eyes glazed slightly as his mind drifted back to treasures past.
"Well all I'm sayin' is that you're gonna get yourself in serious trouble, you're lucky they haven't found your real name Eric. Thought you Elves were supposed to be smart." Krulk leaned in as he spoke, his blue flesh contorting to a scowl at Eric.
"Half-Elf, and I am. I just don't have time to waste laying low. Besides, the Militia in this city couldn't catch a Mare with two broken legs." The young Eric sighed lazily, leaning back slightly. He obviously didn't care much for Krulk's serious demeanor. He simply picked up the mug before him, and drank down the blue liquid, his face scrunching in agony as the strength of the beverage hit him. "So what's the latest on the Blue Bloods anyway?"
"Eric, I ain't gonna keep givin' you info if yer just gonna get yourself killed out there." The large man spoke as he stood straight, crossing his arms over his even larger chest.
"Well I wouldn't like it if the dear Governor found out that this Tavern here was affiliated with the largest guild of Thieves this City has." Said Eric with a sly smirk before downing the rest of the strange liquid, again his face contorting in seemingly unnatural ways.
"Now that's low Eric." Krulk took the glass, and threw it under the bar. The metal crashed against the wall, and could be heard sliding across the shelf.
"Hey, this is a give take relationship Krulk. I need you to give me the info I need for my work, and you need me to help you run this scrawny little bar, Gods know the Scorions Guild doesn't give you a fair cut. If I remember correctly, that's how we came to meet; you needed money from outside the Guild."
"Damn it. Fine. But if you get yer head hacked off, don't be telling yer God it was my fault you hear?" Krulk pointed his large index finger at Eric, who only sat there chuckling.
"If Olidammara knew I was coming, he wouldn't waste time questioning me. He would be to busy hiding his valuables." Eric laughed out loud, but was silenced as Krulk was not fazed by his joke. With a sigh, he gave up on his large companion. He placed his hands upon the bar, and leaned in, waiting to be told the information.
"The Governor's throwing a big party tomorrow night. All the Richest families are invited. and so are all the Zealot Guards." He added as he saw Eric's eye's light up. The Zealot's were the city's top Guards, nobody was man enough to face them, so wasn't it ironic that only a Half-Man would?
"The Zealots. That does complicate things. No worries, Arion and his cronies won't even know that I'm there." Eric smiled broadly at Krulk, who only shook his head in futility. There was just no stopping him was there? "Now I have a day to plan this out. I'll need to find designs, a full list of the attendees and staffs, security procedures-
Eric's train of thought was suddenly halted as a crash came from the door, silver hues stared over to the entrance, where three of the City Guards. They had a parchment in hands, and began scanning the room, glares locking onto the Elven man just as he pulled his hood over his head. They commanded all the inhabitants to leave, and leave they did. The guards made there way down to the bar, and stopped Eric as he was about to leave.
"Not you. Mind taking your hood down sir?" The leader squared off, trying to get a glance at the figure's face, but the half-man's head was drooped low, hidden in the shadows.
"I'd rather not. My skin is very sensitive to the light. And the cloak also hides your stench there sonny." Erics voice came out as an old haggard man's, the guard's rage was obvious as his face was flustered bright red.
"Why you old fool!" The leader then grabbed the hood, and yanked it down to find the very man that was on their parchment. The three reeled back in surprise, which was their mistake. The hilt of a dagger slammed into the stomach of the leader, and another dagger's blade sliced across the hand of another as he went for his blade. The man grabbed his bleeding hand, crying out in pain. The third had managed to get his short sword out, and with a shaky hand commanded Eric back against the wall, and he did so slowly, though he never dropped his daggers. Eric just smiled which confused the young guard; this confusion was ended quickly, as a metallic mug was slammed into his skull. Krulk stood there with the mug in hand, looking down at the now unconscious man. The second guard, still clutching his hand, stared at the Half-Orc but his eyes would only remain open a short while, as the hilt of that dagger was now smacked into the back of his neck. He fell to his knees, and to the floor.
"Well that was fun." Eric broke the silent that Krulk was so solemnly creating, twirling those daggers in his hand before sending them into the sheaths at his side.
"You are causing me too much trouble Eric. You've gone and lost me all my customers." The orcish man leapt over the bar in one motion, slamming down on the floor. The wood quaked from under Eric, and he once again realized the size of this Gentle Giant. Never once had he picked up a blade, even with the Kretek tribe, no, Krulk was something different.
"Worried about them squealing about you?" Eric inquired as the large hulk lifted the one who saw him up. He then reached into a pouch on his belt, and lifted a vile with red watery liquid in it. He forced some of it down the man's throat, and held his nose, which caused the liquid to be swallowed. He repeated this procedure with both of the others.
"No. I'll throw them in an alley way, and they'll wake up in an hour, barely able to remember their names." Krulk finished, and shoved the bodies to the side. Eric just stared with marvel, one more trait that went against his barbarian nature, he was one excellent chemist.
"Well I'll leave you to your work then. I have much planning to do. I'll give you a 35% cut this time around."
"40% or I tell these guards everything."
"See? Now you're learning."
Now Eisenteral was by no means a small city, it was the third largest merchant city in the Northern Rouse Plains. But it was still a city of people, and people always fell into classes. An unfortunate truth, but it seems to always happen. The city broke into two sections really, split down the center with the main Bazaar street. From the center of the street, two streets ran off, to the right was Diamond Ave. which cut through the rich side of town. From the left ran Beggar's Alley, this of course split the poor side of town. The upper half of Diamond Avenue was the royalty, all brothers and cousins of one kingdom or another. The lower half was your average Noblemen, rich only because long ago their family had created some great invention or business, not a day's work within any of them.
The upper half of Beggars alley weren't really poor at all; they were the average schmoes, trying to scrape out a living for themselves. They weren't living in the greatest of areas, but they were happy. The lower half of Beggar's alley, was the poverty stricken area, lawless and ridden with disease, this was where the Scorion Guild ran its operations from the old post office, of which had changed locations to the upper Diamond Avenue. This is of course where Eric found himself. The place seemed to have run through an Elven's lifetime, the once sea blue building had now dried out and peeled to reveal its beige cobblestone structure. Cracks ran straight up the building spanning out like a reversed bolt of lightning. Large chunks of the wall were constantly falling, it wouldn't be a long time before the Scorions would have to move once more.
Several men were laying across the stairway into the building, sleeping off their midday booze, The Guild brand of a Scorpion trapped within a circle on both their wrists, Eric was glad that he would never have to endure something like that. In all his time as a thief, he had learned one thing overall, never trust a thief. The Elven-man stepped over the snoozing Guild Members, and walked in through the half cracked wooden door. Within the confines of the Guild House were two "guards" really, they were just two members that had drawn the short straw, they were to sit in there all day, and make sure nobody but members got in.
"Hey-lo guys, I'm here to see Dralon." Eric appeared unafraid when a large knife and a punching dagger were placed up against his throat. He was all to well known in this place.
"No can do Vaeric. Dralon's pissed off at you since you stole his score at the Governor's annual Scimitar's returning ball." Eric smiled softly. Each six months, the cargo ship Scimitar would return to Eisenteral loaded with cash and foreign goods. Every time this would happen, the Governor would call for a grand ball. Eric heard that this latest one was going to be rather big, and stole nearly 50,000 gold coins worth of loot. Dralon, the leader of the Scorions was not too happy about this.
"I'm just looking to talk to the man guys. Planning to hit the Governor's party tomorrow, planning to cut him in if he helps me out." The two men stared at each other, and then laughed out together. They lowered their weapons, and let Eric by.
"You're gonna take on the Zealots? Go on through, this'll finally be the time we get rid of your Elven ass." Eric's eyes rolled slightly, and he headed off for the main office, where Dralon took as his own of course. It was the only room that looked taken care of. The Door was freshly bought, and was well taken care of so far, the room furnished with rugs, wall scrolls, and leather furniture. Dralon scowled as Eric entered his gaze.
"What the hell are you doing here Elf scum?" The man's teeth bared in the most ugly glare a man of Dralon's handsomeness could perform. Eric fell into one of the leather chairs, and placed his feet up on the wooden desk.
"Well m'boy. I be needing your help." He just smiled his all knowing smirk, and clasped his hands over his stomach. He rather enjoyed Dralon's reaction to this statement. It was rather nervy if you thought about it?
"And what, in all the Gods names would be the reason for me to help you?" He asked as he pushed the feet from his desk. Dralon's actions sometimes seemed to be more of a business man than a thief.
"Because, I am hitting the Governor's party tomorrow and I plan to give you a cut for doing absolutely nothing but digging up some meaningless paperwork for me." He sat up, and leaned in slowly, his hand placed against his ever so slightly pointed chin. His silvery eyes stared at Dralon as he considered the offer.
"Hmm. You succeed; I get a fat payroll. You fail, I lose the only major competition in the city. Either way I win. Fine, what do you need?"
"I need a list of all the guests, all the security, and staff. Designs for the building, and if it's not to much trouble, a schedule of events that for the party."
"That shouldn't be too hard to locate. I assume you're giving Krulk an ungodly cut?" Yes Dralon knew about the teaming of the Orcish Bartender, and the Elven thief. And Eric knew he knew as well.
"40% I say it's pretty fair considering he's my only informant. But don't worry, you'll get enough." Dralon's gaze changed, he was no longer angry, he was almost sympathetic.
"No amount can ever be enough. Vaeric, why don't you join the guild, you'll be amongst friends, and never have to take such dangerous tasks again."
"Not much of a social man. You know that. Well I'll expect the paperwork to be at the Sapphire Inn by supper." And he stood, without a goodbye, or even a wave, he left. He did have a chuckle when he heard a crash of Dralon throwing an object in anger. No doubt it was something expensive.
The Sapphire Inn was just barely in the upper half of Beggar's Alley, a cheap attempt to mock the Diamonds Alley people. But it was a good inn, and it was no questions asked. So it was safe haven for all types of low lives. Of course, Eric wasn't a low life, he was just a thief. He was a regular there, and the place even had a specific room reserved for him, up to a certain time of course. He arrived late last night, as he was busy in Diamond Alley, scoping out the building that would be hosting the party. He stepped up to the desk, and was informed that he had received a package, and that his supper would be up shortly. He thanked the clerk, and gave him a few gold coins.
In his room, he opened the small envelope, sealed in the wax with the Scorion symbol. Dralon pulled through, full designs, lists, and even the approximate time the guests would be arriving. Letters from the various invitees, RSVPing, telling the Governor how delighted they would be to come, and what gifts they would be bringing. It was a wonder how the man got this info. Eric sat over his dinner of soup, bread, chicken, and ale studying every document within the package. Then he set off for bed. It was going to be a busy day.
Beginnings
This blog is intended to be a writing tool, a motivtor of sorts. The idea is to post at least a single short story of at least one page in length a week, minimum. I've always desired to be a writer, but the act of sitting down and writing has always come with difficulty. I once saw someone speaking, disparagingly, of NaNoWriMo that 'writers do not need a motivator to write. They simply sit down and write. ' While these words come off as unessisarily harsh and more than a little 'gate-keeper' to the act of writing and motivation, I'd be lying if they didn't strike me when i heard them and continue with me to this day. This blog is here for me to take that, albiet unwarranted, criticism and move past it. I'm going to teach myself to sit down and write.
It's also a learning exercise. Again I wish to be a writer, and while I have plenty of loose ideas, characters, disperate world building, I struggle with plot. A to B to C. This blog will help be hone that skill, ideally. Here I will craft my, you know, craft. Teach myself to write stories, learn how to tell tales. No better wy to learn something than by doing, so here I'm going to learn how to be a story teller by telling stories.
So hello, my name is Will, I don't know what brought you here, but I'm glad you're here all the same. Hopefully I can entertin you during your stay, and I'm honored to have you here with me on this journey.
It's also a learning exercise. Again I wish to be a writer, and while I have plenty of loose ideas, characters, disperate world building, I struggle with plot. A to B to C. This blog will help be hone that skill, ideally. Here I will craft my, you know, craft. Teach myself to write stories, learn how to tell tales. No better wy to learn something than by doing, so here I'm going to learn how to be a story teller by telling stories.
So hello, my name is Will, I don't know what brought you here, but I'm glad you're here all the same. Hopefully I can entertin you during your stay, and I'm honored to have you here with me on this journey.
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