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Clearing the ruins of the temple; Taras GRP. If interested, please PM.
Topic Started: Tue Jan 11, 2011 9:02 pm (687 Views)
Rothardan
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After the battle of Taras, very little stood of the city. What was once a proud and majestic capital of a land was now a wasteland. Construction was starting again on the city's buildings and a wonderful word was starting to spread amongst the survival camp. Hope. People were beginning to talk about the future again, what they would do when their home was rebuilt and where they would start. However there were still problems that needed addressing, which explained the flyer that was nailed to a wooden post stating the following:

WANTED
Adventurers for hire.

Escaped prisoners have been found in the ruins of the Temple of Swords. Adventurers needed to capture the prisoners (alive or dead) so that construction of Taras Castle can begin. Will pay for every prisoner brought back.


Roth approached one of the few Taras guards that were patrolling the camp and pointed to the poster.
"I'll clear the temple," Roth told the guard, "Give whatever gold I earn to the fund used for rebuilding Taras."

And that is how Roth found himself staring at the ruins of the old Temple of Swords. There was very little there now, just a burnt out building that was soon to be a castle of some sort. He stood there, staring at the ruins, then he drew his sword and shield and walked towards the ruins...
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swordhunter
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OOC: I took the liberty of adding a time of day and stuff. If there's a problem with that, let me know and I can edit the post when I get the chance.

BinC: Aiden shifted uncomfortably under the mid-afternoon sun. While the heat was hardly bothersome, the brightness of the day was somewhat...painful to the elf, who had woken up less than an hour before. I've apparently picked the brightest day of the year to wake up late, he thought glumly as he walked through the roads of Taras. Despite his own demeanor, Aiden was somewhat heartened by the presence of happiness and determination in a place that, only months before, had been lifeless and abandoned. The shells of future inns, stables, and homes were being erected where ruined stone and wooden buildings once stood, surrounded by legions of carpenters and stonemasons.

Merchants were milling through the streets, selling their limited wares to the foot traffic on the streets, excited that there were now customers to which to display their goods. The entire scene was filled with such hope that even Aiden was able to lift himself from his gloomy mood and allow a smile to spread across his face. Today, brightness aside, would be a good day. “Well…I hope,” he muttered, thinking back to the flyer he’d seen on a forlorn wooden post just yesterday. The warning about a gang of escaped prisoners was alarming, to say the least. While the identities or origins of the prisoners were hard to determine—cities all over the continent had seen reports of increased criminal activity—the fact that they posed a threat to the rebuilding effort obviously had to be stopped.

It was that determination that drove Aiden to action. Then again, I am moving on a lack of sleep, he thought sarcastically. This could be an awful decision…I could be way in over my head here…these guys could be armed with…whatever you’d find in ruins, I suppose. Rocks? Well, it’s the former Temple of Swords…it’d be horribly ironic if there weren’t any weapons there….. Aiden allowed his thoughts to trail on while he approached the location of the ruins from the south. Even while letting his mind wander through a series of comical thoughts, the elf was careful to draw the blade at his side just a bit, readying it for quick action should the need arise.

While this probably wouldn’t be the most difficult job ever, there was still no need to throw caution to the winds. Whether or not he acknowledged it outright, Aiden was aware that this could be a threat that could eliminate the fragile peace of Taras, dooming the rebuilding effort and throwing the surrounding lands back into chaos. . .
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Mathias Stillwater
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“If you plan to collect any gold, I’d suggest you reconsider entering there alone!”

A derisive whinny echoed between half-walls and over gnarled memories of a dead and peeling past. A massive black steed navigated through muck and over stones quickly; not through its own adeptness but rather a sort of determined rage. Mud caked up its muscular legs, viscous and more grey than brown; above the bend of its arms, dry flecks randomly spotted its usually pristine coat. Its eyes blazed, steam spitting from its nostrils and sparks rolling from its throat with every open-mouth pant. How fortunate the tempered steel of its bit could withstand a few small sparks.

Taras stunk. Perhaps those flocking back had accepted it as a fair trade off, but Mathias personally found each inhale nausea inducing. Bugs and vermin moved in the light of day, some more desperate merchants trying to catch and sell them as adequate meat. The thick sludge that had overrun many streets was being cleared, and in the meantime wooden planks had been set down. They groaned and creaked and demanded patrons file in a single line or risk tumbling into the abominable ooze for a death comprised of slow drowning. Idly, the brunet wondered just how many corpses lined the street, that had been added after the fall. One hundred? One thousand?

No doubt the looters would crawl out from under their stones as soon as the rotten carcasses were found.

The stallion snarled when the reins over its head were pulled low to the left, its head snapping to the opposite side. It stomped its hind hooves in irritation, tail twisting and lashing in response to the handling. Mathias ignored its tantrum, leaning forward to better address the two men he’d just discovered. Temple of Swords; pathways cleared – two, with another one scheduled to be worked on the following week. Estimated damage? Eighty-percent above-ground structural damage; columns were fallen, the roof sunken, and holes laid in much of the cement work. A fire had obviously ravished most of its form as well.

Interior destruction? Most likely major as well. Fires had a habit of spreading, and the smoke would have weakened whatever the fire chose not to eat. Perhaps lower levels, constructed of stone, would still be standing and unmarred; could it bear the loads atop it, though?

It would not still be housing inmates if it were completely impassable.
Hopefully none of the grotesque flooding had made its way inside; it’d be a pain to navigate, particularly if he had to bring bodies back out with him.

Mathias wiped some sweat from his forehead, not bothering to curse the uncharacteristically heavy spring heat. Then he let his arm drop so it was crossed with his chest, his hand fisted – an elegant blue bird appeared a breath later, perching on the offered limb and glimmering. It must have weighed nothing, or else he was very prepared; the arm did not bob with the sudden weight but rather remained precisely as it had been.

Leaning forward, he whispered quietly into the soft blue feathers of the animal’s face; its body dwarfed between the stallion and man. Then the human leant back, pet its small head with a thick forefinger, and threw his arm out to launch it. It shimmered as it flew, the sparkles gradually losing colour before the bird, too, lost colour and disappeared.

With that dealt with, Mathias returned his attention to the men stationed outside of the temple. “I assume you two are gathered here over that sign posted some ways back,” A nod over his left shoulder; “For the prisoners?” His feet pulled free of the stirrups with wet plops and minor suction; he tugged the reins once more as warning to his horse, then dismounted with a loud thud. “I am Mathias,” He strode over to the larger of the two men, decked out in armour and dripping with noble intentions. A hand was offered to shake, and a smile was given that was all teeth and no expression.

He moved to repeat the gesture towards the second, but paused before his hand was completely out-stretched. After a moment’s deliberation, he retracted it entirely. “You’re not human, are you?” Here he’d thought the smell was just the afternoon sun cooking mud and whatever pieces of dead body it could reach. His stomach coiled uncomfortably, threatening to eject its contents.

Money was money. There was good coin to be had in this investment. He couldn’t let some throbbing little pustule steal that away; besides, word had it the nobles were starting to rouse, how ideal to have himself painted a hero in their fairybooks.

“No man should be entering into there alone. Have either of you considered what it will be like inside; where the prisoners might be holed?” The question lacked an accusatory bite.

Mathias stepped forward; closer to the burnt temple husk. He eyed it the way a butcher eyes a newborn calf, then wiped some sweat from his brow again. “There are probably multiple exits. On different levels, no less. We will need to be certain they don’t escape through them. Simple barricades could act as deterrents, o—“

Mud splashed near the stallion as a large drake dropped to the ground, outstretched wings pulling slowly in. It snapped its jaws and rolled its shoulders, every bit the deadly monster a drake should be. It blended well with the mud, its scales remnant of underground tunnels and caves. It was large – probably close to the same proportions of the stallion near it, but with exaggerated muscles and a stocky way of holding itself that made it seem bigger.

Mathias smirked, continuing, “Or a guard dog. No prisoner will get by him lightly. He can watch the entrance.”

The drake snorted, tail swaying slowly back and forth. Mathias crouched before the temple, touching a chunk from one of the pillars; it had apparently fallen all the way over here, and had sunken into the ground. At one time the grounds had been flooded here, but constant commotion and a sweating sun had hardened the ground here to stone, leaving only a thin film. Mathias’ hand enclosed the top of the bleach white break, pressing down slowly to test its give – it didn’t move. Inside, without the sun or traversing, there would be flooded chambers.

“We need to be very, very careful inside. I’ve never visited this temple myself, but its name hardly inspires courage towards those breaking in. It’s a good thing it isn’t raining today.” He rose up again, looking to both men. “I was unable to find any documents mapping the temple, or an available architect. Cells do favour basement levels, though.”

The mud squelched as it was rubbed between either of his hands, eventually gaining enough form that he could brush the largest chunks off of his palms. “The men in there are going to be desperate and fighting for their lives. Don’t underestimate their courage or cunning. That said... what say you two to forming a party of our own?”

He drew his sword, affirming it had not been lodged with mud as he’d feared. The dull scrape of steel on sheath made his spine tingle. “I have said all this in assumption we can work together, given our common goal. That notice wasn’t fresh; there have been others trying to navigate within there and not faring well. I’d rather not end up under this stinking rat hole; it’s a little too... lacklustre a demise for my tastes.” Another smile; another lack of the emotion that comprised them.

The smile of a snake.
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WolfheadMGJ
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Plop.........Plop............Plop

The sound of water dropping from the ceiling into a knee-high flooded hallway of cells was lulling, especially to tired ears. Sithis had been trying his patience for last three days. Ulfr had forced himself to stay conscience which, admittidly, was a losing battle. So Ulfr had to find somewhere secluded, where he could hole-up and prevent Sithis from doing harm.




Last night, he had stumbled across a rather large ruin, and upon searching it, found a door of sorts in the ground. When he opened it, he found a flooded basement. He quietly slipped in while two guards stood nearby, posting some sort of sign. But they weren't close enough to hear Ulfr. So in he went.

The first basement floor only had water up to one's ankles, the second up halfway one's shins. Ulfr was on the third down. There was countless cells, on this one, and seemed to stretch farther than he could see. Obviously larger than the basement floors above.

Ulfr approached one that had a rusted key, a key that was bigger than most. Stepping in and then back out, he closed and locked it, and began to look around him for something to push agaisnt it so as to prevent Sithis from getting out of the cell. His problem, however, was that Sithis had access to all of his strentgh as well.

There was several columns and boulders laying around, and the wheels in his head began to turn.

Hmm, maybe if I them in a row, braced against the other wall... Yes, that might work.

So, Ulfr began to heft and push with as much might as he could muster, managing to push and roll two columns side to side, with three boulders inbetween the wall and the columns. The hallway was wide enough for four to seven grown men, depending on their size.

Smiling to himself as Sithis raged within his head, tossing insults and taunts as fast as a forest river, Ulfr teleported into the cell. Since Sithis had access to partically none of Ulfr's magical abilities, he couldn't get out until Ulfr was good and ready. Before he let himself rest, he took the key out of the keyhole on the cell and tossed it into the water.




Plop........Plop.......Plop

Ulfr stared into the eyes of the mangy looking group numbering around thirty-five as they crawled over the debris that Ulfr had managed to work in front of the cell he had slept in since last night, though he had no idea if last night was still tonight. Several were carrying weapons, mostly swords, and even fewer had mostly rusted armor. The largest had armor that seemed fairly new, with no sign of rust on it at all, and he sported an axe with a serrated double-bladed head. And a bald head to boot.

Want us to let you out? Follow me, and we'll get revenge on those that put us in here. Whad'ya say? the largest asked, his voice deep and gruff.

No, that's quite alright, I can get out myself, but thanks for the offer. I'd rather sleep. I advise you to not let me out, as it could be a trick, and then you would be in my stomach, and that would just be a bloody mess.

They all just stared, dumbfounded by the straightforward and matter-of-fact tone in which he had responded.
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Logan Pathwalker
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It had been some years since the hermetic Ranger, Logan Pathwalker, returned here to Taras. During his time residing in his hermitage, Logan had more or less severed all connections with the outside world. The former adventurer, however, still made the journey to the city from Norwood to pick up various supplies he could get from the Humans but not the Elves that served as his neighbors.

The demonic invasion of the great kingdom changed the Ranger's whole dynamic, however, when the kingdom was razed. The resulting fires drove most of its citizens out into the countryside, including Norwood forest. The flood of refugees through Logan's retreat had left him without a home or any real place to live. His quiet retirement had been uprooted and now he was back to adventuring once more.

Such an adventure had now brought him to the ruins of the old Temple of Swords, which had burned down during the attack. Apparently, the authorities of Taras sought to rebuild the temple as some sort of castle for a ruling party, but needed the sub-ruins to be cleared of several escaped convicts who'd made it their home in the interim. They offered a bounty for every convict's head, dead or alive, and this sort of prospect meant that the Ranger would be free to operate in this.

However, as Logan drew his dragon-hide longcoat about his body while approaching the ruins of the temple, as the underfloors would undoubtedly be clammy and chilly, he noticed a small party of three men already gathered, with a brown drake next to them. While Logan would have preferred getting all of the money for himself, a split reward would work as well. Quickly the Ranger drew up alongside the three, who'd seemed about to begin their trek underneath.

"Four swords are better than three, good sirs," the Ranger announced, pulling back the left tail of his forest-green coat to show the hilt of his longsword, Thrae, at his side, "I would like to accompany the three of you, if you'll have me." Logan cast a quick eye about the other three fellows, looking to assess their strengths and weaknesses...
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Mephz
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“Are you the Tiax?”
“ah, yes..”
Can you handle yourself in a fight?
”..I’m hard to kill, but..”
Have you killed someone before?
”metaphorically, but..”
“Are you looking for easy gold?”
“ah, yes that…”
Then follow me to get signed up!

What was she doing here? Standing among males of all shapes and sizes, their smell ranging from horrible to biological warfare and not a female in sight to brighten the mood. Simply being death had given Hel chance to see many things, travel to many different worlds and experience both good and bad times in them, but there was one thing she could never get used to no matter what era and dimension she was in, males.

She did not hate them to a point that she wanted to kill or hurt them, but tried to make them into something that happened to other people. Also too make matters worse, she was now in Imythess and if she was any judge then males in Imythess and even Chaon are at the bottom of the hygienic league, with few exceptions of course and if grey was added on top of dark then there simply were a lot of males of all races in Imythess.

Hel thought that it was likely the difference between the survival rates of the genders within Imythess. After all very few females seemed to become good fighters, most of those that did relayed on bows and arrows instead of cold hard steel. Hel did not like bows, a bow was fine up to the point when you got charged down then it was utterly worthless like the branch it was created from. Though the females that did most of the head kicking in Imythess and had the highest survival rate of gender, usually relayed on magic in order to lengthen their lives and to put it frankly, Hel was one such woman.

Hel was born into the Tiax family before she became Death, a family famous in Chaon for their seers and frankly that was one of the main reasons she was now a part of this group of adventures. Someone had clearly informed the advertiser about her and the fact that she was currently standing on this pile of ruins called Taras. The advertiser had clearly been a great strategist with an incredible brain on his shoulders, after all he sent a girl to do Hel’s recruitment. A flawless plan, or simple luck, but in the end there was no way Hel could have said no to that face when she was asked to clear out a little temple. Good thing the pay was good or she would never forgive herself for having this stupid weakness for cute girls.

Hel noticed a few of the men moving towards the entrance, put one leg in front of the other and went along with the group of adventures. With a quick glance there seemed to be few decent looking guys in this party of riffraff, in other words they did not look filthy, sadly still no female in sight.
Edited by Mephz, Thu Jan 13, 2011 1:16 am.
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Rothardan
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It had seemed that the promise of gold had lured in more people to help evict the ruined temple's current inhabitants. As Rothardan walked towards the temple, he was joined by several other adventurers. But the paladin did not stop to greet them, nor did he introduce himself to anyone. He continued onwards, ignoring them, as he reached what used to be the temple entrance.

"It's not like you to be rude Rothardan," commented the Archangel within him, although there was no voice. The words appeared in the paladin's head, fully spoken. Such was the power of a celestial infused.
"I can't talk," Rothardan replied back, "I have to do this... you know why I have to do this..."

The Archangel didn't comment. He knew Rothardan still suffered from nightmares of the attack. Hardly a day went by when the paladin didn't awake in a sweat, panting heavily from the screams and death that plagued his dreams. Rothardan wasn't just here to clean the temple out. He was here to confront his demons. And he didn't need help for that. As he approached the ruins of the temple, he was hit with memories of happier times. Training with the students, talking with Veronna, the caravan with Enelya.

Rothardan closed his eyes and tried to shut out the memories, shaking his head vigorously as he did so. But the memories kept on coming and soon the paladin had had enough. Entering the temple, Rothardan saw a bandit come out of an underground room with a smile on his face... before he looked up and saw the paladin coming at him with a snarl on his face.

The bandit tried to draw his weapon but before his hand touched the hilt, Rothardan struck with unnatural speed. He struck out against the bandit, sword slashing against the criminals chest. The bandit collapsed with a look of horror in his face before perishing in a pool of his blood.

"Rothardan, what are you doing"?" the Archangel shouted, "You have never struck an enemy down like that..."

But Rothardan didn't say anything. He had noticed that the bandit had been carrying some sort of horn with him. It was probably an warning horn that would no doubt alert the bandits. So he picked it up from the bandit's corpse and wiped the blood from it.

"Rothardan, I know what you're thinking... don't do it..."

The paladin ignored the celestial within him and placed the horn to his lips, and blew as hard as he could. The sound seemed to echo across the ruins and the sounds of many voices could be heard. The paladin gripped his sword and prepared for what would be his most difficult fight. For many bandits began to appear from the same area that the last had come, each armed with swords and clubs.

Rothardan brought his sword up against a crude attack and parried it with ease, then countered with a slash. His attacker went down, clutching the stump that used to be his arm. And then began the deadly dance of parry, counter, slash.
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