Fantasy Majesty and Decay - The Saga of the Nameless Lands Volume 2

?War. War never changes. ? Unless it changes. Which has been known to happen from time to time. In fact, one could argue that each engagement warrants its own tactical innovations. If anything, war is pretty damn mutable. But now I?ve gone and derailed my introduction, so let?s try that again.

War. War is a noun. And also a verb. In some cases, it is also acceptable to use war as an adjective.

But nonetheless - war is a word.?
- Cyric Duran, Bard and ?An Entertainer, My Good Sir!?

[image=http://i395.photobucket.com/albums/pp39/darthramza/Medieval_II_screen1_large.jpg]

For almost a generation the Nameless Lands were without the foul mark of war. For seventeen years peace had reigned. Yet it could not last, because mortals are a cowardly, greedy lot ? and because, quite frankly, no one wants to play a game set in a land of pleasant coexistence unless they?re playing Harvest Moon.

There were, in these days, two sizable countries that shared an even more sizable landmass. It had been their war that had rocked the lands seventeen years prior, and it would be their war that shook it anew. It?s worth noting that they didn?t share the same continent in the original SoNL, but Ramza is lazy and this fits his vision better, so he changed it. Not that it matters ? he basically peaked with Aria of the Soul and has done nothing notable since then; it?s rather amazing that he keeps at it even though ?

I?ve been informed that if I wish to keep my paycheck, I?ll need to stop badmouthing the management. So be it.

The eastern nation, Daynor, was ruled by the enigmatic and rather cliché King Elial I, who, as you will soon realize, is the big bad of this game. Upon his coronation, Elial raised a tremendous army, and with the fury of a thousand morning suns the armies of the east came thundering across the plains to attack the west.

In the west, we should note, stood Emrolus, a country that was ruled by a Duke in an attempt to be more hip and relatable. Needless to say, Emrolus did not take kindly to being so rudely invaded without provocation, and the Duke raised his own army to meet the advancing enemy head-on, personally leading his forces into battle.

Needless to say, his chivalry cost him his life. Stupid git.

And so, in the year 1473 of the New Calendar, the Daynish army was repelled; but the Duke of Emrolus was dead. Now, in a proper medieval setting succession would be relatively trivial, but that does not an interesting setting make. So instead, three principle countships ? House Black, House Grynn, and House Crane ? have begun warring for the right of succession to the position of Duke.

This, at last, is where you come in. You have the power to tip the balance in favor of any one house, to lay the course for the future of the Nameless Lands. Perhaps you even have the power to claim Emrolus for yourself. Or perhaps you have neither, and Emrolus shall fall to Daynor. Or perhaps you?re so incredibly awesome that you?ll defeat Daynor and unite both countries under a single banner. Perhaps pigs will fly.

These are the stakes. This is Majesty and Decay.

---

[i]?Time out. If you?re actually the Count?s bastard, and he?s actually the trueborn son, and if I?m Jack the lovable rogue, and she?s the Countess, and he?s an agent sent by Father Sansa of the Order of Light? [b]then who was Assio?[/b]?[/i]
- Jack, the lovable rogue

[image=http://i395.photobucket.com/albums/pp39/darthramza/offire.jpg]

[link=http://splicd.com/nVMk29PlByU/70/387]Welcome to Majesty and Decay, the second tale of the Nameless Lands[/link] ? a magical world where knights do battle alongside sorcerers and rogues, dragons and griffons rule the skies, and monsters roam the countryside. You guessed it; it?s basically fantasy New Jersey.

The Lands are both deadly serious and seriously self-mocking; a place where men are as likely to attack you with a sword as they are to comment on the rather unlikely nature of the plot. But with the right amount of skill and luck, you?ll carve out your niche in this world. Assuming your rivals don?t deal

 

GM APPROVED!


Name:Amilan Nagrah (Ah-mee-lahn Nah-graw)

Race: Wild Elf

Age: 343

Appearance: Pale skin, with very short light-brown hair and a muscular body that is toned from years of training and exercise. Wears a white sengfu underneath which he wears a white warrior monk uniform with luohan shoes and leg wraps (think shaolin monk uniform, but white).

Equipment:
---- Second part of a Pendant of Light. Susan shares the other half. The pendant allows them to find each other should they become separated.
---- Elven Broadsword. Very rarely used, as it is only ceremonial in order to denote his high position since his code forbids him from wearing a uniform.
---- Sleeping Darts
---- Prayer book filled with regular prayers and scripture from the monastery as well as the code Amilan, as a monk, is required to live by.
---- prayer beads usually woven around the wrist or simply hung around the neck.
---- Iron rings sometimes worn around the wrist for martial arts reasons. Not always worn, however.
---- Set of various teas, all for different purposes. Preferring to pick his own tea, he convinced The Hand to allow him to plant an herb garden where he picks his own tea every season.
---- Tea pot set, as he prefers to make his own tea as well.
---- Set of herbs for various instances, from calming him, to helping wounds heal to giving him more energy and even helping in other more... 'private' areas of his life.
---- Simple small wooden box in which the iron rings are kept when he is not using them.
---- Simple cotton sack in which he keeps the teas, tea-pot, herbs, prayer book and ring box.

Personality: Calm, stoic, but highly loyal. Will usually not speak unless it is needed. Very observant and attentive. Kind, and with a passion and joy for life, but expresses it in a calm and serious kind of way. Practices moderation and does not belief in working too hard or playing too hard either, but rather in an ideal of "just right," in all things (think Taoism). Enjoys tea, and nature, and has a passion for knowledge. Does not do anything halfhearted, and does his best to not hate anything. When he loves, he loves fully. When he protects, he protects fully, when he works, he works fully and when he plays, he plays fully. He is a pacifist, but beliefs in defending himself and as an extension, Susan and anyone underneath his protection.

Allegiance: Order of Light

Profession: Warrior Monk. Personal Guard for Susan, the daughter of the late Duke.

Powers / Skills / Abilities / Talents:
--Powers:
---- Sun Rays Hand: Can blind or deafen (But not both in the same attack) opponents with a hit to the head.
---- Bronze Gravel Palm: The monk is able to break usually unbreakable objects and cause injury to an opponent with nothing but his palm.
---- Iron Gravel Palm: More powerful version of Bronze gravel palm. Amilan is now able to break bones with his palm.
---- Golden Gravel Palm: Most powerful Gravel palm. Amilan is able to shatter the entire rib-cage of an opponent, or shatter the bones in any one limb with one simple hit.
---- Five Poisons Hand: With a simple hit of his palm on the person's body, he is able to inflict five different toxins into the body, which if not cured by special medicine will cause the person to experience every toxin as they all race towards his heart.: 1. He will be tired, and unable to move without great effort. 2. His legs will become paralyzed. 3. His arms will become paralyzed. 4. His throat closes and he cannot drink or eat, and breathing is very hard. 5. The fifth toxin reaches his heart and his heart slows, causing him to fall into a coma. The ability itself is not deadly, but given that toxin 4 and 5 make him unabl

 

GM APPROVED!

Kriv Mizzian

 

Name: Findecáno Sindanárië, generally called Finde
Race: Half-Elf (Moon Elf)
Age: 45
Appearance:
[image=http://vincentmikaru.twilightmainframe.net/Stored%20Files/Dungeons%20and%20Dragons/Finde_After_complexion.jpg]
Allegiance: House Black
Equipment: Fey Leather Armor - The armor bares several tassels in its design, each of which holds a fabric remnant or a piece of cloth reminiscent of that worn by the fallen members of ?Team Sea Slug? making his armor a constant worn reminder of those he failed to protect and what he must make up for.
?Staff of Light? - Fancy ivory quarter staff that can act as a light source. Very strong in function despite the fragile appearance.
Wrist crossbow
Flask of Holding: It just never seems to run out...
Holy Symbol: a Platinum Cog wore as a necklace.
A formerly enchanted dagger
Travelers pack
--Healers Pack (healing items for caring for injuries, poisons, etc)
--Sleep pack
--Blanket
--Flint & Steel
--Tender
--Water Skin
--Rations
--Small one person tent
Various Memorabilia of lost friends
Personality: Generally a friendly if sarcastic individual. Occasional bouts of poor humor, pop culture references that nobody understands, and lots of boozing. Sobers up quite well when old friends are mentioned, and in general just speaks with a neutral tone.
Profession: Cleric of Erathis (Holy Emissary)
Powers :
Italics denotes 3.5e, underline denotes 4e, Both denotes something custom.
Staff of Light - Can illuminate the area around the user and be used to produce bright flashes of light to blind targets.
Lance of Faith - A brilliant ray of light sears your foe with golden radiance. Sparkles
of light linger around the target, guiding your ally?s attack.
Daunting Light - Orbital zIon cannon
Lightning's Revelation - Strikes target (and adjacent targets) with a strike of lightning, weakening them.
Turn Undead - Harms and drives back undead creatures
Divine Glow - Engulfs a small area in a divine glow damaging all targets within.
Astral Seal - Binds target in a holy seal, hindering their abilities.
Blades of Holy Fire - The weapon of the caster and allies is imbued with a holy fire.
Energy Drain - Targets life-force is slowly drained away.
Flame Strike - Smite foes with divine fire.
Trumpet of Awe: Finde summons astral trumpets that announce Erathis? presence. The thundering sound shutters the enemies to the bone.
Clerical/Healing Specific Powers:
Atonement - Removes burden of misdeeds from subject.
Healing Word (Gentle Repose) - Heal a single individual.
--Healing; Mass - As above, but with several subjects.
Hallow - (ed are the Ori) Designates location as holy.
Divination - Provides useful advice for specific proposed actions.
Neutralize Poison - Immunizes subject against poison, detoxifies venom in or on subject.
Commune - Deity answers one yes-or-no question
Word of Recall - Teleports you back to designated place.
Skills:
Astral Projection - Projects you and companions onto Astral Plane.
Beacon of Hope - A burst of divine energy harms your foes and heals your allies. The radiant energy lingers and improves healing powers for the rest of the battle.
Harmony of Erathis - Erathis brings harmony of purpose to like-minded allies, emboldening them in battle.
Bless - You beseech your deity to bless you and your allies, increasing their combat effectiveness.
Divine Fortune - In the face of peril, you hold true to your faith and receive a special boon to your attacks.
Tenser's Floating Disk - Creates a small disk that objects can be placed upon and moved.
Endure Elements - The caster and several others receive a blessing and can endure extreme environments for a short time (single day).
Battlefield Elocution - If willing may be heard over great distances as clearly as if next to the listene

 

GM Approved!

Name: Davin Rikter

Race: Human

Age: 24

Appearance:
Just above average height, Davin has a slim but athletic build, and weighs in at about one hundred and seventy pounds. His eyes are dark olive green, and his hair is auburn. He makes sure to keep it well trimmed and styled. ?A warrior?s hair need not be wild simply because his temper on the field may be so.? On occasion he may have some stubble grown from a day or two locked away in the office, but he will rarely let it grow into a full-fledged beard, as they generally prove too unruly to manage properly.

Equipment:
--Two swords ? one is a typical steel shortsword that serves for defensive purposes, and the other a sword of greater length and much more personal meaning. The sword of his father (and his father before him, and several other fathers whom no one really cares to study far back enough in history to discover), as stated before, is a good foot longer than the shortsword, has a blade that curves forward, presenting a deadly offensive threat.
--A yew longbow, which he crafted himself
--His armor is dark plated leather, black in color, over light chainmail. It bears the Rikter family coat of arms sewed onto the chest, being a great cat doing battle with an equally great eagle, sillhouetted in black against a white shield.
--He carries a large amount of paper and several writing/drawing utensils in his pack, seperated from his food and other such supplies.
--When he has the capacity for it, he straps the ol' lute to himself to help keep entertained.
--He also has a black pet falcon, which accompanies him most of the time.

Personality: A mite too concerned about his own looks, but his heart is in the right place. Davin is well-tempered, logical, and generally takes a pacifist?s path around things, although he is not against fighting for what he believes in.

Allegiance: The Order of Light

Profession: Recorder of Deeds

Powers / Skills / Abilities / Talents:
--The Warrior?s Strength ? Once per fight, for a brief amount of time, Davin can call upon the fighting strength of his powerful ancestors in order to boulster bolster his strength five fold.
--The Lover?s Endurance ? In a desperate situation, as energy wears down and things are almost seeming hopeless, Davin regains his strength to 100% one time a day.
--The Warrior?s Speed ? Once per fight, for a brief amount of time, Davin's physical speed and reflexes are boosted, particularly being useful for defensive purposes.
--The Lover's Healing - Davin can, once a day, use this power to heal himself or another, completely eliminating minor cuts and bruises, mending broken bones, and stopping bleeding from most major gashes.
--Darkvision - Davin can, once a day, use the ability to see in total darkness for as long as necessary.
He's also pretty darn good with just about any musical instrument that he touches.

Biography:
His father was Asthom Rikter, a dark-hearted warrior from the Icy North. His mother was Tharma Wane a fair-skinned daughter of the Mountainous West. Their meeting was one of chance, but his mother always said that it was one of destiny?s will, and it was not long before they were wed and conceived their first child.
Davin was raised in his father?s homeland, brought up training as a warrior. He was the only child in this typically happy nuclear family. Tragically, at the age of ten, his parents were murdered in front of him by a mugger on the walk home after a trip to the theatre. Or something like that anyway. The fact that they died is really the important fact, I suppose. So, being without parents, his father's manservant, Ralfe Worthypenn, took him under his wing.
Over the years without his parents, he not only continued his training as a fighter, but grew to love the arts, including painting, writing, and music. As a matter of fact, after meeting a monk of The Order of Light, he decided that perhaps that is the route that h

 

GM Approved

Name: Death
Race: Undead
Age: Immortal
Appearance: Black cloak, bony hands, a bit skinny.

[image=http://the-void.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2008/03/death-in-Terry-Pratchetts-the-colour-of-magic.jpg]

Equipment: A Dark Black Cloak that moves in unnatural angles and seems to be constantly caught in the wind, scythe, sand clock with someones name on it.
Personality: Poetic, constantly amazed by the actions of mortals but indifferent in the end. Not keen on chess.
Allegiance: Everyone and no one at the same time.
Profession: The Grim Reaper
Powers / Skills / Abilities / Talents:

Soul harvest: Harvest the souls of the living, making them indistinguishably dead. No coming back. No, really, no coming back!. Just follow the light.
Chess playing: After eons of chess playing he's truly an expert of the game.
Bee Keeping: Somewhat of a hobby
Philosophy: Another of his hobbies, to pass the time.. sort of..
Horse Riding: Well uh.. yeah.
The Apocalypse: Aren't you better off not knowing what this does?

Biography: He's death, the fourth horseman. On the day of days he's coming for everyone and he is contenplating on how on earth he is going to manage to get rid of everyone. It's hard enough with just.. you know, regular people. 'Oh death let's play chess' or 'oh c'mon just one more year' like it was up to him.
And have you met War? He's really an ass, constantly shouting and banging with his sword.

 

GM approved
Name: Coolman
Race: Human mistake
Age: 29
Appearance: Short blond hair, green eyes, short nose, weights about 110 pounds, has light armor
Equipment: sword of justice(Witch he named himself) bow and arrow of justice(he likes the word justice OK) Dagger of justice.
Personality: stupid, really really stupid. Brave and is afraid of nothing, woman's man, annoying.
Allegiance: House Black.
Profession: soldier
Powers / Skills / Abilities / Talents:
skills.
Dance of death: if he hears a good song he will begin to dance. Be careful though, if he has a weapon... No if he has anything in his hands, run and don't look back.
Accidental kill: if there is some one coming up behind him some how he will kill them by mistake.
Touch of love: if he touches a woman she will fail in love with him.
Annoy till suicide: I think you can finger out this
Talents.
Can jump pretty high: if I have to explain this you should go back to school.
Good leader: yes I know that you think it is impossible, but who would you rather be lead by, a coward who sends you in to get killed. Or somebody who is brave and will lead the campaign, or just tell him "seance your the leader you have to go out there and get attacked wail we wait here."
Biography: So um, I'm coolman, and um, I was told to Wright my Biography, so um, I was born, I went to School, I joined the military, and I killed somebody. That's my life... I think

 

And now, a little something to whet the appetites...

Prologue
The Great Mountains of the North

It was bloody cold.

Adrian Fern was not the kind of man to dwell on a single thought when he was out in the wilderness - he had seen too many men lose themselves in their minds only to lose their lives scant moments later to allow that. He certainly wasn't in a position where he should have only had one thing on his mind. He had been too long out here in the northern reaches where mortal men feared to tread with naught but a pack, some tents, and a couple of equally foolhardy compatriots. Too many wolves and beasties up here. Focused thoughts were like to get a man killed. Yet even now, as he sat beside the fire they had made, the adventurer could not help but dwell on the matter.

It was bloody cold.

He tossed another log on and hovered his hands above the heat source, marveling at the fact that his society was still a long way off from realizing this was all rapid oxidization, and instead referred to it as "small magic." Of course, the validity of scientific progress in a high fantasy setting is always somewhat debatable given that magic is both very real and very effective. That's why the likes of, say Eberron, actually take the concept one step beyond and use magic as a power source, allowing for a distinctly magical steam-punk setting, in sharp contrast to the likes of Arcanum, which favored a fusion of industrialization and less understood magic. Arcanum being a relatively average and somewhat obscure PC RPG, it's not the most well known setting, but it serves as a solid counterpoint.

None of this, however, was on dear Adrian's mind. He watched as the flames danced about like sprites in the wind, flickering valiantly against the cold chill of the far north. His companions, Willem and Gregory, had long since fallen asleep, and his was the first watch. He scratched at his chin, feeling the stubble of a new beard beginning to poke through.

This was going to be a long night. Sighing softly, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a deck of playing cards - which hopefully I don't need to explain to you folks at home. Shuffling rapidly, he dealt out a quick round of solitaire. A mere ten minutes - that'd never do. So, reshuffling the cards, he tossed the topmost into the flames, taking care not to observe its suite or number. Playing solitaire could last until dawn with a deck of fifty one. Would that he had some cigarettes and reruns of Captain Kangaroo; then they wouldn't tell him he had nothing to do. He did, however, have his pipe, and he lit the tobacco with a quick match strike, taking a long drag on the stem.

Minty. That was the last time he imported his tobacco from Riabol. Still, a smoke was a smoke, and he contented himself with a few rather splendid rings before he dealt himself his game of solitaire. As anticipated, this round was taking substantially longer than the last one, although he was certain that he was getting close to winning - however that was possible - when he felt a rather bizarre shaking sensation.

Now, there are a couple of different types of shaking sensations, so I suppose I should clarify that this was more of a "whatever's below me is shaking" shake rather than a "I'm so cold I'm shaking" shake, a "hey man wake-up I'm shaking you" shake, or a... Good lord, I can't say that! There are children on this website! For shame. Fooooor shaaaaaame.

But yes, the ground itself was shaking - and shaking rather violently, at that. Adrian dropped his pipe and drew his blade, stumbling to his feet. Keeping his balance was admittedly difficult in such a situation, but somehow he managed, and his gaze went outward into the darkness, hoping to discern some shape there. He was also dearly hoping that the shaking wasn't being caused by some sort of immense purple worm that was actually a pack of purple worms that was actually a pack of epic level purple worms that were actually a bizarre time travel except not plot d

 

Death
Austria

On a dark night upon a dark hill stood a rugged even darker castle and cast a dark shadow in the moonlight over a small gloomy dark village that rested at the bottom of the dark hill. All the windows and doors were bolted shut, it's inhabitants knew very well that on a dark night like this any dark deeds could happen..

A shadow in the darkness moved from building to building, looking over it's shoulder into the deadly dark expecting only the worst to be thrown at him. Making his way over the small square in the middle of the village a dark figure flashed by over his head, he spun around and faced whatever the dark figure was.
It stared back at him with crystal white eyes and smiled, in his mouth long white fangs glimmered and it moved towards the man in the middle of the square on this dark and dangerous night.
The figure was dressed in a long dark robe with red silk lining and golden buttons, his movement was gracious and there was a subtle elegance about the figure.

"Your doooom hasss come" the figure said lisping and took another step towards the man.

The man, who in turn had nothing elegant about him had a long leather slouch hat that gave his face a protective dark shadow, his body was covered in leather and pockets with all kinds of pointy things laying in or attached to them. At another place and another time you might have mistaken the man for a tailor. On his shoulders rested the beginning of a long dark cape and at his hip you could make out the metal contours of a hilt.
He took a step back and corrected his slouch hat for a reason only he knew.

"No.. I think it is you that has your doom.. uh.. come" the man smiled and moved his hand towards the hilt, the dark figure registered and threw himself at the man with a horrendous screech that filled the night with terror and chilled the bones of sleeping children and protective parents.

The man quickly in turn threw himself out of the figures way and tumbled a few feet across the square, getting up on his feet he tried to draw whatever was attached to the hilt, but to his unpleasant surprise he realized that the hilt had been damaged in the tumbling across the square and now had no intention in being drawn. Fear struck his eyes as realized that the odds of coming out of this ordeal was now significantly lowered.

"Aaaah!" another screech and the figure had come back and was now all over the man, taring at him with long pointy nail and trying to bite him, they brawled on the square and at the last moment with a bit of sheer luck just when the figure saw an opening to bite his neck did the man get a hold of a clay jar and smashed it into the head of the dark figure with the pointy teeth. The jar threw the figure of balance and the man was able to push it aside and get up on his feet. He reached for the hilt again with one hand on the scabbard and the other on the hilt and drew with all his strength and might and in the same motion as the dark figure once again threw itself at the man he drew the hilt, attached to it was a shimmering silver pole that was pummeled straight into the chest of the dark figure, who in turn pressed his fangs into the neck of the man, and as such they stood in the dark night in the dark shadow that was thrown from the dark rugged castle.


GET OFF

The dark figures eyeballs searched it's surroundings, it was still on the square but the man he a few seconds ago, for all he knew, had bitten was not in front of him. And whatever he was biting right now lacked.. well, everything that was associated with humans. Flesh, blood, warmth.. Slowly he released his bite and stepped off his prey. He looked around and saw the man he thought he had bitten crawl away with one hand on his bleeding neck towards an even darker alleyway.

"Whaaat.. whooo whoo are yoooou" he said

LOOK DOWN

The dark figure looked down and saw his own corpse.

"oh.."

INDEED

He looked up at the cloaked being with a long scythe that glimmered in the moonlight.

"Sooo.. then youuuu aareee?"

INDEED

"Whaaaa

 

GM Approved

Name: Clay Masters
Race: Human
Age: 34
Appearance: To know what clothing he wears is to think of the most normal clothing available to whatever locale he is infiltrating. He stands at about 5'9" and his skin is that of a deep tan. His hair is short and black and he wears a short goatee around his mouth. He has a scar above his lip and his blue eyes have an intensity that hides his more playful personality traits. His body is strong and dexterous at the same time.
Equipment: Disguise Kit, Short sword, Dagger, rations, water skins, light leather armor, bedroll, tent, backpack, and various poisons.
Personality: A playboy, Clay knows he is handsome and uses that to great effect when infiltrating different places. He loves money, wine, and women. He loves his job and loves the danger of a good fight. However, that isn't to say he seeks them out without thinking. He knows when to retreat, when to lay low, and when to move from a town to a different town. If he's done his job correctly, he knows no one will ever know he's there. Except the ladies.
Allegiance: House Grynn
Profession: Assassin
Powers / Skills / Abilities / Talents: He is a very dexterous and strong human who can move just as easily amongst the rooftops as he can through the alleyways. He's light on his feet and can blend into a crowd even when eyes are upon him. He is a master of anatomy, and knows precisely where to strike many creatures so as to either end their lives quickly or painfully. His natural charisma allows him to speak his way through many situations.
His class also benefits him with some special abilities:
--Night Stalker Training: His natural charisma throws enemies off guard just enough for him to gain access to more...vital, targets while attacking.
--Shade Form: Can choose to enter a form where he can be unseen as well as pass through solid barriers. He becomes muted in gray tones and cannot interact with things around him without reverting to his normal, corporeal, state.
--Shadow Step: Can use shadows to travel from one shadow to another.
--Assassin's Shroud: When studying an opponent, he can contort the shadows around the target to reveal its weak points.
--Executioner's Noose: He manipulates the shadows to form a noose around his target's neck, then pulls.
--Leaping Shade: As his weapon makes contact, the shrouds he has manipulated into place around his opponent claw into him to deal more damage.
--Nightmare Shades: Can use shadows to manipulate his opponents sense of terror, making the target forget where the actual threat awaits. Can only use once per encounter.
--Strangling Shadow: Usable once per day, can distract opponent with attack, causing them to be unaware of the noose made of shadow clawing at their necks. Until it is too late.
--Lurking Shadow: Once per day he can fade into the shadows, becoming invisible for a short period of time.
--Army of the Night: Once per encounter, can summon an army of shadow soldiers that drive one enemy mad with fright. The enemy then begins to attack its allies.
--Treacherous Shades: Once per day he can control the shadows of his enemies, which rise up and begin attacking their owners, allowing for him to attack at an advantage.
--Darting Shadow: Once hidden, he can move from hiding spot to hiding spot without fear of being noticed.
--Echoing Threat: Using shadows and magic, he can drive a target to see betrayal and murder in the eyes of all around them. If the opponent cannot escape the crowd, they risk becoming insane. Usable once per encounter. Also, as a Night Stalker, this also grants Clay with the ability to teleport a short distance.
Biography: Clay Masters was born an orphan and raised amongst the assassins of House Grynn. He has known the way to the blade his entire life, being trained since he was young to follow the code and edicts of his House and Guild. And while he wishes that more money could be made in a gui

 

Name: Lazlo Lundi
Race: Human
Age: 26
Appearance: Of average height for a human, thinly built, around five feet and ten inches. HIs hair is black and straight, generally kept oiled back. His eyes are green and large, and his nose is small. Lazlo Lundi wears the latest fashions - fine trousers, silk shirts and velvet cravats. His jacket is well-made, but not gaudy, being black with gold trim. Sports a well-groomed mustache and goatee, finely trimmed.
Equipment:

One set of perfectly weighted cutlery in finest steel, carried in a small oak box kept at his waist

One short rapier, ornate but with a dull blade

One small journal and quill

One gold pocketwatch

A set of mysterious six-sided cubes called "Deyes"

Personality: Generally reserved, when in social situations enjoys being the centre of attention. Fancies himself a tortured connoisseur of fine arts. The saner half of the duo. Despises coleslaw.
Allegiance: House Crane
Profession: Gourmand and Thief, simultaneously.
Powers / Skills / Abilities / Talents: A master at all forms of disguise, an expert at identifying individual ingredients as well as having an uncanny knowledge of pesto. In excellent physical condition and is extremely up-to-date on current social standards and cultural differences, as well as knowing perhaps all there is to know about the culinary arts. Some knowledge of basic economics. Does not intoxicate easily, such is his wine-tasting ability.

Name: Valentin "Valya" Voskreseny
Race: Human
Age: 25
Appearance: Of average height for a human, thinly built, around five feet and eleven inches. Fair-haired with bright blue eyes and a long nose. Clean-shaven. Clad in fine trousers, a shirt of white silk with red cravats and a crimson jacket with black trim.
Equipment:

One set of perfectly weighted cutlery in finest steel, carried in a small mahogany box kept at his waist

One short rapier, dull, but hidden in an ornate cane

One small journal and quill

One monocle

A set of mysterious six-sided cubes called "Deyes"

One long wine list, incomplete.

Personality: Outspoken and vocal, generally brash with a knack for speaking before thinking. Tends to argue vehemently out of sheer boredom. Insists that Syrah and Shiraz are two different wines, no matter what counter-arguments are presented.
Allegiance: House Crane
Profession: Gourmand and Thief, simultaneously.
Powers / Skills / Abilities / Talents: A master at all forms of disguise, an expert at identifying individual ingredients in a meal as well as having an uncanny knowledge of game fowl. In excellent physical condition and extremely up-to-date on current social standards and trends. Master of languages and cultural attitudes, though he tends to ignore cultural norms of anyone other than himself. Knows perhaps all there is to know about the culinary arts. No knowledge of basic economics. Does not intoxicate easily, such is his wine-tasting ability. If cutlery were a martial weapon, he would be the deadliest man in the world.

Joint Biography: Forced to find lodgings together in their days at the finer educational establishments (much to Lazlo Lundi's chagrin), the pair of Lundi and Voskreseny bonded over a common love of fine food. After a particularly large drinks tab and a sudden escape out a window ("in protest," insisted Valentin), they took to roaming the lands in search of the finest meal imaginable. They compiled their findings in a journal stolen by an unwitting pickpocket, which was then pawned off to the owner of a bookstore. One thing led to another, and the two were suddenly published - and much-hated - critics of fine food.

Not wanting to give up on their one true calling in life, the two thought long and hard on how to find a way to continue. They agreed to meet again in one year - mostly at Valentin's urging - and discuss their findings. The findings were truly monumen

 

Part The First: Well, It Can't Get Any Worse, Right?

The Battlefield
Utterly Inappropriate Music Track

It has been said of many roleplaying games that play should not commence in the midst of a deliberation. It was for that reason - and presumably something to do with politics, I dunno - that the armies of House Black and House Grynn were preparing to clash on the open plain this day. War, fancying that this would be a rather spectacular show, had called in his associate Death ahead of time. Things were about to get messy, and while War was all about the mess, he wasn't too keen on the clean-up.

"LOVELY DAY FOR A BATTLE, WOULDN'T YOU SAY?!" the anthropomorphic being bellowed, his armor clanking in every direction, including some not yet discovered by modern science, as he spoke. "BIG CHANGES CAN HAPPEN ON THE BATTLEFIELD, DEATH MY OLD BOY," he continued, "BIG CHANGES! WHY, THIS COULD ALTER THE VERY COURSE OF..." He stopped, snickered, and then let out a tremendously powerful guffaw. "WHO AM I KIDDING? I'M HAVING FAR TOO MUCH FUN TO LET THEM DECIDE THE CONFLICT ANY TIME SOON. YOU'RE GOING TO HAVE A LOT OF WORK AHEAD OF YOU. HOPE YOU DON'T MIND." He strapped on his helmet, a tremendous horned ensemble that was redder than the rising sun. It clashed quite garishly with his technicolor multi-metal slapdash of a suit of armor, but knowing War that was probably the point. He was rather fond of getting on other beings' nerves. "NOW, IF YOU'LL EXCUSE ME, I HAVE TO GO GIVE THE GENERALS THEIR IMPETUS TO CHARGE."

He sauntered off, leaving Death to his own devices. What he would do next was anyone's guess, but that's hardly our concern until he updates, now is it?

So instead, we'll turn our attention to one particular platoon of one particular house's army. Namely, House Black's fourteenth platoon - the fighting wombats. Led by Lieutenant Fargo "Marsupial" Merkowitz, the wombats were a crack team of ordinary soldiers with a penchant for getting yelled at. A lot. "Listen up you lilly-livered sacks of [expletive]!" Merkowitz barked, addressing his soldiers - including one Coolman... No last name given. No first name given? I dunno, he's called Coolman. "Lately you've all been settling into a routine of [expletive] [expletive] with your [expletive] [expletive] [Oh my!] [Can he even say that?] [Now that's just wrong. Just. Wrong.]! But today we're going to prove to those [expletive]s in charge why the [expletive] wombats are the best damn thing to happen to House Black since the automated [expletive] [expletive] [Deleted for your safety]! We're going to go out there, kick some House Grynn [expletive], and then go home and make sweet, passionate love to our significant others. But remember - this is the armed forces! None of that [Deleted for your safety] crap! If you [expletive] while you [expletive], make sure [expletive] don't [expletive] [expletive]!"

"Sir, I fail to see the relevance of this diatribe about... private matters, sir!" one bold knight next to Coolman piped up. Dumb move. Merkowitz turned to address him directly.

"Oh, do you think this is funny, Peterson?! DO YOU THINK I'M [expletive] WITH YOUR [expletive]?!"

"SIR NO SIR!"

"THEN SHUT THE [expletive] UP YOU STUPID HORSE [expletive] [expletive] SHEEP [expletive] [expletive] WITH YOUR MUM [expletive]!"

"SIR WHY DO YOU KEEP SAYING '[expletive]' SIR?!"

"I DON'T! THAT'S JUST A NARRATIVE DEVICE, NOT MY ACTUAL DIALOGUE, MAGGOT! COOLMAN!" He turned to the other knight. "You're on the charge! Get going as soon as you hear -" There was a trumpet blast. "As soon as you hear that! Move!"

With the roar of a tidal wave of metal, the two armies collided into each other.

TAG: TDO, grayaus

GM Note: You're both free to start killing unimportant grunts as you see fit.

---

[i][b]House Black[/b]
[link=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4avoEbGjYu0]I Don't Get It Either[/link][/i]

As he sat in his throne room, awaiting the most important

 

Finde
House Black

Such a nice welcome...

As it is, the Universe on whole abides by a number of natural laws and rules. Murphy?s Law for instance is in general constant effect. Other natural laws are of course the Law of Gravity, Rule 34, The Second Law of Thermodynamics, but in this particular case, in the small recesses of Finde?s mind that dwelled on such things, he was rather annoyed at a single particular law. The Laws of Narrative Comedy, which state by the standardized definitions handed down by the Protectors of the Plot Continuum that:

a. the degree to which an individual desires to avoid an event is proportional to the likelihood of its occurrence
and, conversely,
b. the degree to which an individual desires an event to occur is proportional to its likelihood of not occurring.

As it stood, Finde was rather looking forward to a nice hearty meal and a tall glass of wine. Naturally the Universe sent an Assassin instead. Such occurrences were not at all to unusual, especially given the sick and twisted ******* that Ramza was when it came to his characters getting what they wanted. Naturally the Assassin was over the top and cliche as nameless cannon fodder Assassins and bit characters are wont to be. All he lacked of course was a Redshirt to complete the ensemble... ok thats probably enough of that lets get back to the story...

Meanwhile, at the Batcave... er... Dinning Hall

Having dodged the Assassins opening strike the Half-Moon-Elf had rolled out of the way only to watch the dual wielding death dealer go after Kriv. Generally in a fight Kriv could hold his own but the Assassin was of the quick variety that Finde could not help but worry about the well being of his adoptive son.

If Finde was anything he was a Drunkard, but if he was anything else he was protective of his seven foot tall, black scaled, armored, dual wielding son who could breath fire. Honestly its the thought that counts here folks. And it was the thought indeed that was motivation for the Clerics actions.

Certainly a man who had risen to the ranks of a Holy Emissary could have simply waved a hand and likely blasted the Assassin with a prayer, or forced him into retreat for fear of judgment from the divine powers the Half-Elf wielded. But even holy men have their darker sides, and this young man was trying to kill his Son.

He was going to bleed.

Lashing out the Cleric lept forward at the assassin , staff in hand. Raising the ivory weapon up over his head he slammed the two meter long weapon down on the Assassins exposed wrist. There was a loud resounding thwak, which overshadowed the sickening crunch that had been several bones and tendons in the mans wrist turning to dust and meal.

Drawing back Finde readied himself for a second strike but ultimately paused. He?d removed half of the deadly equation from the situation, He?d let Kriv have the enjoyment of finishing the poor sod off. After all dealing with threats against your life was a father-son experience.

Tag: Kev, Ramza

 

Lazlo Lundi and Valentin Voskreseny
The Restaurant

"I don't like that waiter much, Lazlo."

"Estevan."

The white-haired diplomat frowned over his soup. "What?"

"My name is Estevan."

The diplomat's eye's flashed with realization as he remembered the game. "Oh, yes, of course. Estevan, I don't like that waiter mu-"

"Sh, he's here, Henri."

"Who?"

Estevan's eyes flashed too, though in this case the best word to describe that was 'angrily.' Henri promptly shut his mouth, and replaced it with a thin smile. As it turned out the men approaching their quite large table was not the highly-trained team of crack waiters carrying the second round of appetizers for the two men, but was rather a gaggle of armed guards.

Estevan froze. Henri gripped his wine glass, ready to use it at a moment's notice.

The nearest guard called to them. Tensions were thicker than cream.

"We've been getting reports of a couple of dine and ditchers posing as spies who have been posing as dine and ditchers!"'

Estevan nodded, feigning mild shock. The guard on the right made his way over to the table. "Seems they go into restaurants, clear out the stockpiles, and then dash off."

Henri made judicious use of his wine glass.

The one on the left finished the thought. "... So what we're saying is, you seen anyone matching that description?"

Estevan nearly let loose the sigh of relief that so struggled to escape. Henri's use of the wine glass became almost reckless, and he spoke up. "Sacre bleu! My my my, spies? 'ere? You'd best get a tight leash on zat, my friends. An' 'ere I was, thinking zat we were safe, Estevan!" The other man glared daggers across Henri's jugular to no discernible effect. "C'est incroyable, it is incredible!"

Estevan spoke up at that moment. "No. Well...no. Well...they weren't ruggedly handsome? Incredibly dashing? I don't mean in a physical, 'let's run away' sense, of course, I meant in a more, 'do I need to lock up my daughters?' sense. No? Well, some folk have no appreciation of true beauty...I mean, some folk have no appreciation for the beauty of, er, these fine dining establishments."

"Well, the lamb could use some work..."

"What?"

"I was saying, the lamb- "

"Then don't have the lamb."

"I like the lamb."

"Then have the lamb."

"Maybe I'd best get a shiraz or syrah to go with it."

"They're the same grape."

"So you say. Excuse me, I need to find another bottle to employ."

Silence around the table.

"Because, you know, it's a search party."

Another beat.

"For...the other...oh nevermind."

Estevan frowned, and turned back to the guards. A guest at a nearby table piped up. "Accent's a bit funny, eh?"

"So's your face, bignose. Sorry! Sorry, knee-jerk, sorry."

Tag: Ramza

 

Death
The Battlefield

As usual Death turned of his attention towards War as he began his ranting. Once, when a Babylonian army stood ready to take on a small village of utmost unimportance to anyone War grind on for hours at end. The only joy Death got out of it was when the Babylonian general realized that all this time his servants had held the map up side down and thus, they were in the wrong end of the country.

The souls needed to collect that day was not as high as War had hoped. Only a few measly servants. On the other hand War could have simply asked Death how many were going to die that day in that place at that time since well, that sort of knowledge was a part of his job as the grim reaper.
It was highly unpopular amongst the living if Death should turn up late for his work and the soul had already began wandering off causing all kinds of havoc. But on the other hand Death always knew if he was going to be late, since down the line that souls who in the mortal world would be called a ghost surely would drown some children at the creek.
In any case War stopped asking Death a long time ago about such things, he thought it took the fun out of everything if you knew the outcome of the battle at forehand.

However, the side War sided with usually won anyway. Usually being if their two other brothers did not interfere.. Plague and Famine. Plague was a bit of a book worm, not as unpleasant as one might think with the smell of disease and all but rather boring. Famine on the other hand, now that was a horseman worthy of his horse. A real riot, threw the best parties around. At the expense of the stockpiles of the mortals.. But on the other hand. Death knew that to.

Perhaps that was what lacked with the job, it rarely posed any challenges since he always knew the outcome. Like now, this war, this battle which War was so exited about. It was just plain boring.

"sxcuse me!"

Death rose a none existing eyebrow and looked down, there stood a rather short man with a spear in his stomach.

YES?

"Wow.. y'donneedtoyell!"

SIGH

"Isthistheafterlife...? custheystoldmetheredbebeer!"

FOLLOW THE LIGHT

"Whalight?"

Death looked around.

OH, WALK TOWARDS THE SHADOW THEN

"Thaone?" the man pointed at a growing dark dark shadow at the other end of the battlefield.

YES

"Therebebeer?"

Death pondered for a minute (which is rather ridiculous to say since time does not really affect Death. Which is a paradox as his job description has everything to do with time, but at the same time in order to manage all the dying in the world he has to exist outside the metaphor of time. Death himself could not really understand the whole arrangement, that was up to God.. or Gods. Or whoever ran the upper and lower place now days. Perhaps he existed in another dimesion that coexisted with the realm of the mortals and wit-).

"hrmhrm!"

..PERHAPS

"areitey butifthereainbebeerthereI'sewannatalktowhoseverincharge!"

OF COURSE

The short man began walking towards the dark dark shadow and had a growing feeling that there would not be beer there.

TAG: Ramza

 

Amilan Nagrah
Order of Light

Understanding. That was the word of the day. Or was it cake? Amilan rather liked cake. Why would the word of the day be cake? Maybe it was pie. Or maybe it was cakepie, that utterly delicious and sadly nonexistent blending of all the good things of both heavenly confections. No, it was understanding, Amilan was sure of it. Wait... maybe it was patience, that's similar to understanding. Amilan decided. The word of the day would be patienstanding. That's not even a word, but he didn't care, because this intro has gone on long enough.

After entering the room, as usual directly beside Susan, Amilan noticed Cain looking ill at ease. And there was a particular look that had been thrown his way. For as long as they both had been there, Amilan had the feeling that Cain didn't particularly like him, and he really wasn't sure why. He didn't have bad breath, did he? No, Susan would have surely commented on that. Maybe Cain had something against monks? No, that made no sense because the Order had dozens of monasteries under its wings. Regardless, Amilan bore no ill will towards Cain and was content to endure the man's dislike as long as it never became physical.

As the meeting started, Amilan's thoughts wandered to the Tao and what it was urging him to recommend. They usually wandered towards the Tao, when they weren't wandering towards thoughts of tea, and cake, and things to do with a certain female behind closed doors, but those don't nearly fit as well with the mystical persona that cool monks have. The Tao was very much the ebb and flow of the world, and if one could listen to it, live in it, decisions were never hard. The problem, of course, was in the fact of listening to an unknowable force. But this is a fantasy game, so monks can hear the Tao if I want them to.

Of course the problem with the Tao is it is about enjoying life. So right now the Tao was telling him to leave the meeting and go have a nice cup of tea and a biscuit. That, of course, wouldn't do, so Amilan told the Tao to be serious for a moment.

"We will be at the heart of this conflict eventually," he began. "Both house Grynn and Black will be interested in Susan for similar reasons. Count Black's claim originates with his claim that Susan was promised to his son. If Susan is thus removed from he has no claim anymore. He will want to protect Susan. We may even find him a useful ally for a time."

His eyes flicked towards Susan and back towards the hand. He wasn't suggesting an alliance with house black, but he knew that such an idea of an alliance happening might anger everyone in room.

"Likewise," he continued, "House Grynn will want to remove that claim. If they are able to remove Susan from the equation, Count Black will no longer have even a somewhat legitimate claim to the throne. Of the two, I would say we should fear Grynn more. Remember that they are master of espionage and have many assassins at their disposal. Any man in the room, in fact, could be a House Grynn spy, or worse, an assassin. In such a case, they would know what our plan is already and be taking steps to prevent it. I am not a violent man, but I would bet my life that they have succeeded in infiltrating our ranks. We would not know to what degree, and we can hardly go around suspecting everyone because that's exactly what they would want."

He stopped for a moment, pressing his prayer beads between his folded hands and saying a silent prayer before exhaling. "My recommendation is patience. Do nothing. Allow the conflict between House Grynn and Black to continue. Either house will eventually try to take Susan from us in one way or another. Despite the victor, both sides will be weaker for it. We are like the cobra between three mongoose. We have fangs of our own, but we will not win against three predators. Our best option is to allow the predators to weaken each other by fighting amongst themselves."

Amilan couldn't resist the analogy at the end. What was a cool, mystical monk without silly mystical-sounding analogies that

 

Kriv Mizzian, House Black - Dining Hall

It all happened too fast for Kriv. If Finde hadn't been there, Kriv would have probably been sliced into pieces before he could blink. However, Finde had been there, and allowed Kriv a chance to realize what had just happened. Not only had this Assassin made an attempt on his life, but much to the chagrin of Kriv, the pipe he was happily smoking, had been cut in two. This left the bowl to fall to the ground, scattering ashes everywhere, while the remaining stub of the mouthpiece left in Kriv's mouth, between his teeth, which were now beginning to snarl at the assassin.

Kriv was FURIOUS. Nobody, nobody interrupted him from a wonderful meal, and when that also involves damaging his property, ESPECIALLY his pipe, HEADS WILL ROLL. Spitting what remained of the pipe in his mouth out at the assailant, he, with a loud, bellowing roar, drew the Red for Fire + Black for Death his Shuang Dao sword from the scabbard on his back, and, without even splitting it into two swords as he usually did, he quickly lunged at the assailant, with a vicious slash meant to slice the assassin in two.

This man better have been religious, as he was going to need a god to forgive him for his stupidity when he needed passage to the afterlife. Certainly Kriv, Finde and even Erathis, would not allow him that forgiveness.

TAG: Kahn, Ramza

 

Davin Rikter
The Order of Light

Davin Rikter felt out of place and insignificant among those others who were attending the meeting; a lowly scribe among generals, the daughter of the late Duke, and, most intimidating, The Hand. Granted, he was as intelligent as any one of them, but he lacked much of the wisdom that they had earned with age and experience. He did, however, feel that he was the best looking attendee, and so his nerves were settled.

A tablet clutched in one hand, a quill pen in another, the recorder of deeds scratched away as The Hand commenced the assembly. His concentration was entirely on the speaker, who laid out the reason that they had all been gathered. A somewhat strange admiration for The Hand had always dwelled within Davin, in that he held the utmost respect for the man, but he also did not entirely trust his motives. Brother Silence then revealed the plan in somewhat brief terms, Davin gave a curt bow and smile when his name was mentioned, then returned to writing.

When Cain spoke out against what Silence had prepared, the young man's brow furrowed, and he couldn't help but glare. Brother Silence was a mastermind. He knew very well what was best when it came to these sorts of situations.

And then his name was called for opinion, as well as Brother Nagrah's.

Nagrah spoke first.

While Davin had never had much personal bonding with the elderly elven monk, he had come to his place in the world through a lot of hard work and in an honest way, so it was impossible not to respect him. With that in mind, he regarded the counter-plan with an open mind, etching it down both in his mind and in ink. It seemed reasonable and safe. Almost too safe.

Amilan Nagrah's opinion came to a close, and Davin looked up from his work.

"I appreciate the idea of as little bloodshed as possible, I do," he hesitated. "That said, I do not think that patience will restore the D'vrie family to the throne. We should bring down Black and Grynn as swiftly as possible. I realize that we fear open war with House Crane, but, as Brother Nagrah stated, we will be throat deep in this sooner or later, and crippling the warrior houses before that comes about would be of great benefit to us.

"Personally, I would rather be up against a healthy House Crane than have all three houses opposing our cause, weakened or not." Davin Rikter looked each one of the attendees in the eyes as he spoke, trying sincerely to sound convincing, as he truly believed that Brother Silence's plan would be the best for all intents and purposes.

Further sounds of pen scratches betrayed that the young scribe had returned to his work.

TAG: Dade, Ramza

 

Clay Masters
House Grynn

On any other day, at any other location, Clay Masters would have been laughing hysterically at that moment. Standing in front of him was, perhaps, the most hilarious creature his eyes had ever gazed toward. It was a halfling, but not just any halfling, this one only had one eye. The eyepatch and the height difference made it all the more hilarious that the little creature was standing there with such a stern look on his face. It was like speaking to the most serious, grizzled, old, five year old in existence.

I've seen things, boy Clay began to imagine the creature speaking, giving it the prepubescent high pitch of a human child. Things that would mess with your mind. Horrible things. How do you think I lost this eye? Took out a Beholder, lucky an eye's ALL I lost.

Again, it was an incredible feat of self control that kept Clay's mind to the matter at hand. It would be exceptionally unwise to laugh at this particular funny little hobbit. For it is the Hasashin of House Grynn. That meant that this was as close to speaking with the Duke that Clay was ever likely to get, unless he became Hasashin himself one day. And, let's face it, as awesome as that would make him...it would seriously hamper his love life. So, not exactly high on the priority list at the moment.

Not only did the title mean this was the boss of his other bosses, it also meant that he was in the presence of someone who, while Clay was imagining funny war stories as told by a child, was probably thinking about ways in which to kill Clay. And coming up with a lot of them. Too many for Clay's comfort, really. Yep, he was in deep if he let his self control waver even the tiniest bit. So...do not laugh, Clay. Do not laugh. Hoo boy, the Hasashin better get this over with quickly before he loses his control.

And at that height of awkwardness, the Hasashin finally began. Mission talk. Transport sack of diamonds to agent in House. The Order was notoriously stuffy and Clay really couldn't understand why he would need the extra funds. What, is he buying off someone? Is that how he squandered it all away?

I think Mr. Masters deserves a bit of a bonus for this much trouble, Clay thought to himself as he received the empty bag.

Empty bag.

Where in the layers of the Abyss are the diamonds! I want my cut! He nearly screamed in his mind as he looked over the bag.

Of course, the Hasashin explained it nonchalantly. A bag of holding, or some other similar device, this one magically sealed to only be opened by the agent in the Order of the Light. All that work, and now he can't even pilfer some extra jewels on the way. This was going to be a drag. Nothing personal. Clay had heard those words, but considering the first thing he'd done was wonder why the bag seemed empty...he could tell the Duke and the Hasashin were actually correct to be concerned. Of course they were correct, he's a thief and an assassin. They'd have been unfitting of commanding such a large force of assassins if they were anything BUT concerned to hand over diamonds to one.

As Clay placed the bag into a pouch, he noticed the halfling pull out a dagger. Ah, so first he was to be tested. Again, they had to make sure he could accomplish this task. Though, why they felt he would need to be in a direct fight with someone was beyond him. He was a user of shadow, not one to let an opponent get the drop on him. Besides, he was delivering an empty, magical, bag. What could go wrong there?

With a sigh, however, he began to analyze the situation. He was being given the first move here. What could he do at this moment? Well, of course, the first move is to slowly, gain the targets weak points as he draws his own dagger. Using the distraction of his weapon draw, he manipulates the shadows of the room into place over the hasashin, created a shroud in which to reveal his opponent's weaknesses.

TAG: Ramza

 

DEH RAMZA APPROVED

Name: Henry the Winebringer
Race: Elf
Age: 35
Appearance: Long blonde hair and beard, green and silver armor, muscular.
Equipment: An large axe, bow and arrow, sword, dagger, rope, and bear.
Personality: Henry the Winebringer is loud and jolly. He serves the House Black loyally and will not stand for disrespect against his house nor his Lord. He is ruthless on the battlefield, but a smart and cunning ruthlessness that allows him to strategically pick apart his opponents.
Allegiance: House Black
Profession: A warrior, former butcher and wine brewer.
Powers / Skills / Abilities / Talents: Henry the Winebringer is a warrior of divine strength and he is a survival and hunting specialist. He has a set of abilities known as Warrior Talents. Warrior Stomp can crack the earth open for 30 yards around him, Warrior's Cry can blow back his enemies with a ferocious wind, and Icy North Wind Axe Swing has a blast radius of 100 yards in the direction he chooses. He skilled in all forms of warfare, except aerial and can tame any animal.
Biography: He used to be a wine brewer and butcher with a successful shop, but once his country called on Henry to fight for the House Black, he knew that he had to rise to the call. He is a patriot and gets his name from the fact that once he steps onto the battlefield, his enemies might as well be drunk because they fall so quickly. Also, he gets it from his former profession. He is a natural leader and loves commanding his troops and dreams of building an army powerful enough to bring down any force on either continent.

 

GM Note: Alright, it's been over a week, and no one's plot depends on our only player who hasn't updated. Time to move on.

The Battlefield
Far More Appropriate Music Track

War was clearly having a gala of a time with the whole bloodstained affair, gallivanting about like a kid in a candy factory, laughing wildly as he watched the carnage unfold. "NOW THIS IS WHAT MAKES PERMANENT EXISTENCE WORTH... EXISTING!" he guffawed, taking a swig from a tremendous tankard. "I THINK I'LL HAVE THIS BE A DRAW. TOO MUCH FUN TO BE HAD BEFORE IT'S ALL THROUGH!"

War, like a 4chan poster, knew full well that caps lock was cruise control for cool.

Meanwhile, the man who had been walking towards the dark shadow leaned his head a bit forward, glanced around a bit, and doubled back. "Oy you!" he shouted, addressing Death itself. "There's not a lick of drink to be 'ad in there. And now that I'm used to you, I see no reason to keep mah speech goin' at a million miles an' hour. Besides, yee ken that ninety miles an hour girl is the speed I drive. So, tah wit, I ain't goin' in that light. Mind if I pal around with you for a bit? I got nuthin' better ta do."

He paused, and massaged his vocal chords. "Och, me accents' as random as the inner workings o' Ramza's mind. Seems like I'm using a different one with each sentence. Izzat common?"

Suddenly, there was another man, much taller, with a sword through his face. "'Ello," he greeted, waving at the two.

"Looks like ye've 'ad a bad day," the short man said, whistling a low note.

"Certainly 'ad better. Er, sorry, had."

"Y'see that? Not only is my accent inconsistent, it's starting to affect the others as well. Pretty soon we'll all be mixed up in the head."

"Look, I'm sorry to interrupt, but this sword in my face hurts a lot. Where do I go to get it removed?"

TAG: TDO

---

[i][b]House Black[/b]
[link=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lcgyKo7vbm4]Now This is Just Bloody Nonsensical[/link][/i]

Captain Reginald Avery had a reputation for being a very serious old wild elf. The scar we mentioned earlier certainly didn't help this reputation. So when he ran into young Lord Arthur Black canoodling with one of the serving girls, well... his reaction was rather similar to what one would expect from Queen Victoria.

"We are not amused," he grumbled, pulling the two apart by grabbing at their shoulders. Lord Arthur quickly tried to save his own hide. "We weren't [i]making out[/i] per se, we were... practicing CPR. Guys' got to know how to resuscitate a drowned woman."

"CPR."

"Yes."

"Which hasn't even been invented yet."

"Yes."

"And while you were groping her -" Ramza cut the sentence off before he got into trouble.

"Yes."

"[i]CPR.[/i]"

"You already said that."

"I'm telling your father."

"You wouldn't!"

"I would, and I will. But for now I've got business to attend to." He turned to look at an elf down the hall, a younger one by the name of Henry. [b]Henry the Winebringer.[/b] No last name given. That was two now... but that could wait for dissection later. "Henry, be a good lad and go fetch Masters Sindanárië and Mizzian, if you could. Your Duke requests their presence immediately."

Of course, Captain Avery had no way of knowing that [b]Kriv and Finde[/b] were in the middle of an epic fight for their lives! One where... well, the assassin had already had own of his hands rendered more or less useless. But to his high DEX credit, he managed to avoid being bisected outright by Mssr. Mizzian, landing instead on a nearby sidetable, which rocked under his weight.

"Who do you think I [i]am[/i]? Adrian Fern? It'll take more than a swipe to cut me in two! But enough of this talk - have at thee!" He then proceeded to hurl a vase directly at Finde.

Whether it was pronounced Vaas or Vaz was still up for debate.

[b]TAG: Blu, Kahn, Kev[/b]

[hr]
[i][b]House Grynn[/b]
[link=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZOZqcqoTVYo]I Can Still Dig It[/link][/i]

"Good," Hasashin chuckled, watching as the magical shadow began

 

Finde
House Black
Diningroom Blitz


It was an interesting sight, watching the Assassin leap back to avoid Kriv?s strike only to land precariously on a side table. Ramza was busting out the Holywood stunt cliche book for this one. At least that?s what Finde?s player was thinking, not necessarily the thoughts of Finde?s own Comic Awareness.

"Who do you think I am? Adrian Fern?? The Assassin made a reference to the Prologue character to whom Finde was currently blissfully unaware.

?No but at least you?re not Adrian Shepherd!? The cleric yelled back, making a reference only he, and anybody who had ever played a certain game named after the period of time it takes for a substance to decay by half.

?It'll take more than a swipe to cut me in two! But enough of this talk - have at thee!" The black clad assassin cried as he launched vase, regardless of its pronunciation, at Finde. The improvised missile soared over the Cleric?s head as he ducked down. It continued along its path before smashing into a wall and shattered.

Raising up to his full height Finde gave the Assassin a raised eyebrow that would make Dwayne Johnson green with envy. ?A vase?! Did you seriously just throw a vase at me!? Just who the hell do You think I am!?? The tone of Finde?s voice was one Kriv was quite used too. It was the voice Finde used used when the Dragonborn had done something very wrong, only this time it wad directed at the Assassin.

The leather of Finde?s gloves creaked as he clenched his hand around his staff. ?You barge in here, after we return from a long trip. And All I want to do is sit down and enjoy a nice meal. But nooooo! You simply had to barge in before we could get a Single bite in!? Finde slowly raised his left hand and directed it at the Assassin. ?And now my young Assassin. You will die!? With those words of anger divine lightning lanced out from Finde?s hands towards the Assassin, the ultimate example of a holy man?s rage.

Tag: Kev, Ramza

 

Lazlo Lundi and Valya Voskreseny
The Restaurant and Ensuing Flight From It

Lazlo glanced at his friend Valya with a strange look on his face. Valya recognized it as Lazlo's "follow my lead" glance.

"Henri my friend...I think fermented potatoes are in order."

Valya frowned. "But the Syrah-" He was cut off by Lazlo, speaking through gritted teeth, "Forget the Shiraz."

"Syrah."

"Fine. Vodka, please, three shots each - three for big nose, too."

The waiter was prompt, blissfully.

"Clearly, gentlemen," one shot disappeared, "we could not be the men you're looking for," and the next, "as we're clearly spies for the House of Crane." The third disappeared too. Lazlo's well-padded system was feeling the effects of it, astoundingly - he reminded himself not to drink under stress, then thought twice and reminded himself to drink harder under stress because at least that way he'd forget his problems.

"And clearly," interjected Valya, "you've blown our cover."

Brilliant! thought the two men simultaneously.

With practiced ease they pushed out their chairs and broke for the door. With practiced intoxication they only knocked over seven people on their way there.

Suddenly the other guards were on their feet, moving to intercept Valentin. Thankfully his feet weren't quite working in opposition to him (yet), and he leapt up onto a nearby table, smashing a bottle of wine that he noticed carried a particularly good vintage. He shrieked in horror and slipped off the table, landing in a heap and scrambling back to his feet.

"Lazlo! The wine!"

"I told you they're the same bloody grape!"

"THEY ARE NOT!"

Tag: Ramza

 

Kriv Mizzian
House Black, Dining Hall

Feasting Fools

Kriv was frustrated, but now he was alert, and combat ready. That assassin had no right to barge in, that's for sure, and he was irritated by that, but he must not dwell on the situation, but rather what he must do to fix it. He must kill this intruder, and send a message to whoever sent him that they aren't to be pushed around.

Thinking quickly, he soon noticed the side table rocking under the assassin's weight. He grinned, and threw a kick at it, intending to kick it out from under the troublemaker and send him falling to the floor.

"And you're gonna die with a rather nasty burn too!" roared Kriv at the assassin, after he stepped back when he saw Finde using his Divine Lightning. He then took a deep breath, and let out a large burst of flame, at the assassin. However, instead of it coming out in a stream of fire, he hurled it at his opponent, as to minimize the damage to the dining hall.

Tag: Kahn, Ramza

 

GM Note: So it's looking like we'll be either streamlining the game or breaking updates up out of their bulk format, depending on how many of the people I'm waiting on decide to post later. As is, lollygagging isn't my style, so the third section of this update is going to kick start some major events.

House Black
Hey, if This is the Worst Thing to Happen All Day...

In retrospect, the assassin realized, taking on two highly trained, seasoned adventurers with a vase - pronunciation notwithstanding - was a poor choice. Not wearing some kind of flame-retardant insulator was also a bad choice. And, while he was at it, the nervous system based on bioelectrical impulses was probably not the wisest of choices either.

Of course, he didn't really choose that last one so much as inherit it, but when you're being simultaneously electrocuted and burned alive, rational thought becomes somewhat more difficult than usual. There are of course exceptions to this phenomenon - Albert Einstein, in a wholly fictitious event, stuck a fork in an operating toaster oven, and the resulting shock-burn caused him to discover the photoelectric effect. It also made the whole duality of light thing a lot easier to swallow.

Having driven away my non-physicist players - that is to say, all of my players - with the preceding paragraph, I'd imagine there's not too many folks left to read this one, which cuts right to the heart of the matter. No stall tactics. No unnecessary delays. No lengthy diatribes about how I will no longer be stalling in an ironic fashion in order to undermine my own point. And certainly no commenting on my own joke, which is best left unexplained. No, this is to be a paragraph wherein we get to the real nitty gritty, the raw details, the simple explanation right off the bat. And that is - to put it quickly and succinctly - that the assassin in question had gone from being a proper, functioning member of society into a charbroiled, zesty hunk of delicious would-be-killer meat. If you served him with a side of fricasseed paladin, you'd have a meal fit for a dragon. Kriv and Finde had clearly taken a few culinary classes in their days.

"TOASTY!" exclaimed a voice from nowhere. It turned out to belong to a second shadowy figure, one who had the intelligence to stay... well, away. "Rookie mistake. Poor bastard. Well, anyway, I'll be trying to kill you two next time. For now, though, I suggest you evacuate because..."

There was a rumble. The room shook. OMINOUS.

"Because that. Ciao."

The room continued shaking. There was more rumbling. Paintings started to fall down in that sort of standard "OH CRAP" moment you see in movies whenever there's an earthquake. This probably wasn't an earthquake, but you get my point.

The point is I don't have a point.

TAG: Kahn, Kev

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[i][b]House Crane... Sort Of[/b]
[link=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZnHmskwqCCQ]Does This Remind You of Anything?[/link][/i]

Quite a bit of confusion erupted as [b]Lazlo Lundi and Valya Voskreseny[/b] began their rather... er... unique attempt at escape. The guards crashed into each other, the head cook ran around to double back through the kitchen, Pierre kept shouting "I told you so!" in a cockney - or was it French? - accent, Shaggy and Scooby ran through the door on the left, Freddie and Daphne went through the door on the right, it turned out it was old man Jenkins all along, but where was Velma? In any case he would've gotten away with it were it not for those meddling kids, which is when Benny Hill ran up and hit him in the face with a pie LIKE A BOSS. That's when Nabeshin ran in with a bomb shouting something about how explosions made everything better, but he was side-tackled by none other than the fifth Beatle, who turned out to be Brian Epstein. This, in turn, caused Darkwing Duck to fire off his gas gun, enveloping Paul Muad'dib and Kirihito in a veil of smoke that only the great surgeon Black Jack could cut through, which of course he did. Gabe and Tyc