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[Johnny Paradise]

 

“It dates back to the ancient Onori people,” the sweaty, balding merchant said. “They were quite renowned for their pottery, you know.”

 

Jet stared at the pot, scrutinizing every inch of it. There were depictions of... ancient civilizations? She didn't really know what they did thousands of years ago, and she didn't really care. She just wanted expensive things.

 

“We'll take it!” Jet said. Nicolai grabbed the pot, and the merchant yelped.

 

“Ehm, yes, of course,” the merchant dabbed his forehead with a soiled cloth, “but about the matter of payment...”

 

“No need,” Jet said. Staff in hand, she bashed the merchant in the head. He fell to the floor unconscious.

 

“Very smooth, Jet,” Nicolai said. “Very smooth.”

 

Making their way back towards the Dawn Seeker, food and art in tow, Nicolai and Jet were feeling rather pleased with themselves. Theft was indeed a self-satisfying action, and Jet's horde below decks was growing ever larger with each adventure.

 

“Look what we got!” Jet shouted almost immediately after boarding her ship. She would certainly seem classy and sophisticated with the newest addition to her veritable museum of art. Jonathan and Fiachra would be impressed, no doubt. Unfortunately they weren't around.

 

She searched for them below decks, Nicolai schlepping the large pot around behind her, and ran into Fiachra. She took the pot from Nicolai and asked him what he thought about it.

 

“It's from the ancient, Onori people, you know. They're known for their pottery!”

 

“It's fake.”

“What?”

“It's fake,” Fiachra repeated. He looked at the pot and images of the object's past filled his mind. “It's about 28 years old. Not very ancient.”

 

As Jet had hoped, Fiachra was indeed impressed. Once again, Jet had managed to make a fool of herself.

 

-------

 

The Dawn Seeker carved a path through the clouds straight for the desert city of Ivares, most known for its thriving black market. The desert was also the ancient home of the Onori people. Jet was determined to own some of their world-renowned pottery, and nothing would get in her way.

 

Landing just far enough out of the city to not draw attention to themselves, the crew disembarked. They made their way to the city together, making pleasant small talk, laughing and reminiscing about this and that, wondering how many skulls they'd have to crack to get what they wanted—all the usual things.

 

Once in the city, they split up, as they usually did. The city had a number of interesting hotspots, most obvious among them the enormous bazaar that sold everything from food to furniture to pets to people. Ivares also had a large temple devoted to the worship of Ivar, the god of Mercantilism, a plaza with the finest selection of alcohol for miles (never mind that this was the only city for miles), and a carriage service that could take you to any of the desert's other landmarks: the Wizard's College, built next to a large oasis, an ancient necropolis locked up by indecipherable runes, and the Viashino's Plateau, a large cliff face home to a race of militaristic lizard folk.

 

OOC

Spoiler

Okay, so, y'all are free to do whatever you want. You can go along with Jet and Nicolai to learn about pottery! Or you can shop 'til you drop, go get crunk, take a carriage ride to somewhere else, or you can message me if there's some other stuff you think could be done in a desert setting, and maybe we can work it out so you can do whatever that is.

Edited by Johnny Paradise, 04 December 2014 - 04:18 AM.

[Wandering Rogue]

Jo

 

 

The city of Ivares was a signpost that had long since forgotten to where it led.  The Onori had lived here long ago but that was a different time.   The desert we saw now most likely bore no reflection to the lands they had thrived in.  No, these were but the wind-beaten bones of a long dead people.  The proud traditions and culture of the people here have long been forgotten.  The people here cling to the relics and history within like a fat slovenly child drowning at sea.  They are nothing without it and yet they care so little for this history surrounding them.  "They are no better than treasure seekers or souvenir hunters."

 

 "Or Pirates?"  

 

"Or Pirates,"  I admit aloud to her alone in the center of the crowded markets of Ivares.  The black market here thrived and it brought out the best and worst wares and sellers you could find.  The men sat beneath canvased stalls shouting out the value of what they sold.  It was all lies of course but some of them knew how to weave a net out of them and catch themselves a sale.  Jo was a hunter  though.  She stalked down the road without leaving a sound and not so much as a bead of sweat dripping down.  The heat was harsh here but the humid jungles of her home were again.  One of the first things I ever taught her was how to cheat the mind.  Believe yourself cool and you will be.  The idea of it is difficult for an adult to grasp and therefore all but impossible to do but for a child?  She took to it quickly.  Her pace was quickening now as she came closer to that of her prey.  Jo had been letting her nose lead the way, sniffing almost at random as he she turned this way or that down alleys and between stalls.  It was not the scent of food she was drawn to.  She had passed dozens passing off what they called cuisine here.  No, she was after living meat.  Well, animal meat.  She wouldn't eat people.  Except for the one time that she did but she had been very, very hungry and Nickolai has probably forgotten all about it by now.  Anyhow, her nose had led her to Rocco's Modern Exotic Bestiary.

 

"What's that say?"

 

"Rocco's Modern Exotic Bestiary."

 

"S'at so?  Don't look very exotic to me.  Or modern.  Or Rocco's.  Just look sad and pathetic.  Am I missing something?"

 

"Not really.  The only exotic or rare thing here are the worms working through some of their intestines.  From their conditions I'd say most won't live out the week.  Can't say I'd recommend this place for a pet...or a snack."  The rows of cages were stacks high and tightly together.  The creatures were covered in a layer of filth that hid the myriad of wounds beneath.  Their bodies were frail and emancipated and likely to break at the touch.   The look on Jo's face, however, was not one of pity.  They had allowed themselves to be captured and thus whatever happened was the fault of their own weakness.  It was a waste that they were treated poorly but it wasn't her problem.  She just grabbed ahold of someone working a table nearby, possibly Rocco, and started making demands.

 

"Where's the good stuff?  Show me it.  Or...I'll do stuff you won't like.  Maybe a lot of stuff.  Probably," There was a noted lack of heat form her voice as she tried to come up with ideas to intimidate him.  Not that she wasn't capable of deeds that would leave him crying in a corner it was just that they weren't things she felt were odd or even intimidating.  

Edited by Wandering Rogue, 04 December 2014 - 05:36 AM.

[Vafhudr]

Jonathan Ironnax's Diary – Day 1 in Ivares

 

Today we have arrived in the the fabled city of Ivares. I was much enthused at the prospect of finally seeing for myself the much vaunted city of spires, glittering like a heat mirage in the distance and true boon to the travel weary and those made haggard by the blistering desert wind. I must confess that I was ultimately disappointed by my first excursion into the city. It was, not unlike the land back in Ulthar, a city of dried mud huts. The smell of defecation and sweat hang heavy in the air. The tight streets were veritable ovens, packed with loud, noisome and barbarous crowds of dark skinned men and women that thronged and writhed and smelled. Surely enough they were trying, as they were known to do, to pawn him some awful gri-gri at every street corners, or some kind of awful smelling food or some cheap jewelry for exorbitant prices - prices, they assured, were very low, very low, yes for you my friend, very very low. I had to wave my cane at some of these unmannered people as they try to grab my wallet on the sly. Unfortunately for them, I am used to these shenanigans from my time posted in Silas. They smile a cheap smile, but they can barely conceal the daggers and thieving intentions in their eyes. One cannot expect much more from cattle raiders, pasturalists and highwaymen. 

 

I booked our group as series of suite at a respectable hotel a bit off the center of the city. It was affordable and provided many local comforts - access to many of the stores, fresh water and clean rooms, personable concierge, and a privacy from prying eyes that benefit the ilk with which I now travel. We cannot operate solely out of the Dawn Treader, for that brings about suspicious glances. Some of my colleagues are not one for subtlety, but if we are going to be here for a while, we may as well take precaution and account for discretion. This hotel would do nicely in those respect. I then went down to the restaurant and enjoyed a delicious chilled mint tea along with a lamb pilaf. They certainly know how to cook, this I will give them. I was also able to strike up some conversation with a pair of elderly fellows drinking coffee as black as their eyes. Their face was leathery, worked and roughed by the harsh desert wind. I joiend them for a game and learned much about the town, some of the ins and outs of the current times, a few good spot a man ought to know around the city and who I could talk to if I wanted to get around to some of the more famous landmarks. Adventurers had become rather sparse in the area, he told me – most of the crypts had been pilfered already, and the remaining ones were considered too dangerous or too poor to be worth anyone's time.

 

Tales of the necropolis especially caught my fancy. Much mystery hung low and heavy upon what was now considered a supremely evil place. Once a hallowed ground of ancestors, it was now a nest of demons from another time. Superstitions I am willing to give weight to considering the nature of my current studies. With this information in hand, I returned to the airship. There I was hailed by Jet and Nicolai who had both decided to start early and proceeded to steal from some hapless merchant of tourist trinket. Jet was particularly proud of the find. It was hard to strike down her enthusiasm by confirming Fiachra's prognosis. It was very much a fake. A rather well done imitation, I must concede. It was literally too beautiful and colourful for its own good. The merchant would have been better off becoming an honest pottery dealer instead of trying to swindle some wandering ignorants. I made clear my intention to go explore the necropolis first thing tomorrow morning.

 

I took my belongings and moved them to the hotel, eager to spend the night in something more comfortable than my current cabin arrangements. I then spend the rest of the day exploring some of the landmarks of the city. I got myself a few items of interest, food and drinks, as well as a caravan arrangements for tomorrow morning at 5 AM. An appointment I had no intention to miss.

 

I woke up at 4 AM, fresh and ready for action. Excitement and anticipation jolted me awake. I ate some of the food I bought the previous day, a cup of tonifier, and went on my way. The caravan, to my great relief, was there, and once the transaction was completed, we headed toward the haunted necropolis.  

[Unbelievably Majestic]

Timothy Twist

"Timothy Twist, at your service. Welcome to the Lamb Shack." Timothy proclaimed, leaning into half a bow. "We have a lovely selection of meals for you today. Personally I would highly recommend the lamb. It's delicious." The customers took his advice, ordered up a couple of lamb based meals, and he got them seated. Timothy wasn't quite sure whether they ordered the lamb because he had recommended it, or because this was, in fact, The Lamb Shack. But they seemed to be very pleased with his suggestion either way. They certainly left with a smile on their face. That was why he did this. The smiles. They were worth a hundred of the wallets he'd been stealing from customers throughout the day. Though he did like the wallets. Not to mention the money they'd payed for their food with, money that Timothy hadn't been putting in the safety box. He wasn't quite sure when or how he'd gotten this job but he was pretty sure this was only his first day. He certainly couldn't remember any of the other staff. But it was paying well so far. Plus he got all the free lamb he could want. And I'm not just talking meat. They had actual lambs as part of their whole shtick. And he had claimed one. He called it Hoofs. And he ran off with it at the end of the day. They might have fired him for that. That, and the large amounts of missing wallets. Yeah. He was probably fired.

Waking up the next day Timothy was surprised to find a lamb in his room. He didn't really know where it had come from but it seemed to like him for some reason. He decided he needed to name it. "Hoofs." He said instantly. Like it was already the little lambs name. He just knew it should be called Hoofs. It couldn't be explained. It was just like the time he had that one animal with a name a few years ago. He'd known that guys name immediately too. Timothy picked up little Hoofs and took him around the ship, placing him in front of people and announcing that he was called Hoofs. Everyone would know Hoofs before long. Dorian gave Hoofs the old thousand-yard stare and said nothing. It was quite rude. So Timothy left Hoofs with him so they could sort it out. It wasn't good for crew-mates to have unresolved issues.

Eventually Timothy somehow managed to pull himself together and focus on doing something. He knew there were a number of interesting places in and around Ivares. They all sounded quite fun. But he couldn't go everywhere. He needed to prioritize. He was on a mission. He had a job to do. A mighty prophecy to fulfill. What were his fathers words? "Search the forgotten and mystical places." That was it. So, first he'd need to find one. putting his fingers to his temples he began to think as hard as possible. He rummaged through his memories like it was an old drawer full of junk and about fifty plastic bags. Eventually he found what he was after. The most forgotten and mystical place in the area.

The ancient necropolis.

It was equal parts ominous and promising. Was it mystical? Pfft... Heck yeah. Apparently it was sealed away with runes and stuff. That was pretty mystical in Timothy's books. And forgotten? Damn right. Necropolis's were filled to the brim with dead people right? Who's forgotten more than someone who forgot to keep not being dead? Exactly. Nobody. This necropolis place was perfect for Timothy's quest.

As luck would have it, Jonathan Ironnax was already headed to the necropolis too. So when Timothy finally decided to arrive Jonathan would have had plenty of time to work on the whole 'sealed with ancient runes' problem. Hopefully he'd have figured something out. Otherwise Timothy would have to do it. And that could take, like, all day or something. A very long time.

[Mors]

Ratter

 

First check where the money pouch is, then pat for his mother's locket.It was a habit Ratter developed. When waking up in the kinds of places he woke up, in the company he kept it paid to keep his coins close. The bed was harder and bumpier than the cot he enjoyed on the Dawn Seeker. As hard and bumpy as stones in fact. And it smelled like shit. The glorious safe moment between being asleep and being awake was over. Ratter rolled over onto his side, clutching his nose. Either he'd not been unconscious very long, or the stink kept even the beggars off.

 

"Bollocks." Ratter's nose hurt more than seemed reasonable. "Where'n the bloody hell am oi?"

 

---

 

6 hours earlier

 

The marketplace smelled of spice, incense, and sweat. Despite Ratter's protests, Captain Jet couldn't be swayed once she set her mind to something. Quicker than Ratter could say "Ohgodwhy?" the Dawn Seeker had docked in the desert city of Ivares. It was hot and full of sand.

 

It was hot and full of sand.

 

While his peers sought out their own personal adventures in this desert oasis, Ratter looked for a place he could hide from the sand and the heat. The Temple of Ivar was a towering stone shrine located at the heart of the city. While the commerce stretched out for miles around, the temple itself was a place of prayer and sacrifice. Scattered offerings from the city's denizens could be seen around various statues and shrines standing on the outer area of the temple, but only the dedicated priests of Ivar were allowed inside. Of course, Ratter didn't know that.

 

"This bloody 'eat is gonna kill me it is." Ratter complained, fanning himself with his hat as he rested against a stone column inside the temple, unaware he was committing holy taboo. Now that he found shade, all he needed was to parch his thirst. Maybe they had a fountain or something.

 

Apart from a few candles lined up along the walls, the interior was dark. Even so, Ratter was able to find the small pool at the room's core. A nice swim was just what he needed and the cool water seeping into his skin felt like heaven. At least, until he was approached by a creepy man in a white hood.

 

"Y-you. How did you get in here? Do you realize what you've done?! You are swimming in the divine ichor of Ivar!" exclaimed.

 

"Wuzzat?" asked Ratter

[Juro]

Damian trailed a few steps behind Jet in a drowsy stupor as they entered the city of Ivares. Although missing several hours of sleep and appearing quite haggard, Damian couldn't help but feel overjoyed. Aside from the inevitable adventure that was ahead of them, the source of Damian’s excitement stemmed from the thought of being able to spend an entire day with his beloved captain. Damian was well aware that his feelings were unrecognized, but this did not bother him in the slightest. He was confident that in due time, he would eventually win their captain over. For him, these sort of things did not need to be planned out. The reason behind this was because Damian believed in destiny. He also believed that destiny was on his side.

Unsure of what their agenda was for the day, Damian simply decided to ask Jet but not before letting out quite a lengthy yawn.

“Hey Captain, where are heading off to?” he said as he proceeded to scratch his head, making what looked to be his bed hair even messier.

Damian could have turned to the other members of their crew, but with the opportunity to speak with their captain presented to him, how could he not take it? Unfortunately, his words were drowned out by the gaudy banter and noisy haggling that filled the merchant haven.

“HEY, CAPTAI…” Before he could reiterate what he had just said, Damian had noticed the sizable crowd that was now in between them. This had snapped him out of his lethargic state as he attempted to regroup with Jet. His efforts were commendable but were to no avail. Instead of breaking free from the horde of traders and their customers, Damian was swept away by them farther away from where their captain was heading. Fatigue, the heat, and being shoved around like a rag doll had taken its toll on his body as Damian eventually passed out.

 

..........

As he regained his consciousness, Damian found himself beside a carriage buried in what appeared to be a pile of satchels, poaches, and bags. Confused, somewhat dazed and with a slight headache, he got back up on his feet and was again welcomed by the scorching temperatures of the environment. However, what caught his attention wasn't the heat of the sun, but the reptilian locals that were in front of him.

“Where the hell am I?” Damian murmured to himself as his eyes simply widened in shock.

 

 

For a brief moment, Damian started to doubt his alliance with destiny. 
 

[Johnny Paradise]

Jet and Nicolai

 

Nicolai said a bar might be the best place to look for information. When they got there, he ordered a drink, and when he finished with that, he ordered two more. Jet meanwhile was working the crowd, mingling with the people in the bar, asking about the usual things to do in Ivares, about the local cuisine, about the arts. She was very cultured. The people of the bar, unfortunately, were less cultured. Everyone she asked knew nothing of pottery. When asked what they spent their time doing, most talked of their time spent selling cheap wares in the bazaar; they were commoners. How dreadful. Growing impatient, Jet stood on a table.

 

"Does a single one of you buffoons know about Onori pottery? I just want a fucking pot, and you fucking morons can't help a girl out?!"

Silence fell over the bar for a brief moment before murmurs of plebeian discontent filled the air. Some men stood from their seats, while others just glared.

 

"Who do you think you are, girlie?" one said. He walked up to her table, glaring. He was going to say something else, most likely, but Jet whacked him with her staff.

 

"I'm asking the questions, punk," she said at his crumpled body.

 

Nicolai ordered a fourth drink, and the bar erupted into violence behind him.

 

Jo
 

Rocco was a professional. In a marketplace such as Ivares' bazaar, there were a lot of weirdos who came to shop, and he greeted each of them with a smile. No matter if he could smell the drugs or alcohol on them, or if they only had one arm, or if they talked funny, or if they had half their face melted off. Each of them was a valued customer of his. Of course, he was known to send a fair number of people to the hospital with one of their arms torn off, or with their faces half melted, but those were the ones without any way to pay.

 

Rocco looked over Jo and came to a quick conclusion: she was likely one without any way to pay.

 

“Good stuff, huh?” he said, his voice full of scorn and disinterest. “Alright, get in the tent. Don't blame me though.”

 

He ushered her into his tent, telling one of his workers to mind the stall. In the tent, there were various large cages, each filled with strange creatures. In one, there was a large gryphon with gold and white feathers; in another, a giant frilled lizard with 3 heads; in another, a wolf with dark red fur.

 

“You like what you see? I know, high quality shit. But let me guess, alright? You can't pay for any of it. It's expensive. You're poor. I know the story—it's always the same. But, hey, I'm a good guy, you know? We can work something out. Pick one. Any of them. You can have it. Dead or alive. Pick one, then meet me behind the tent in two hours. Need that much time to draw a crowd, understand?”

 

Rocco traded in exotic animals, yes, but he also dealt in entertainment. Man versus beast, often to the death. Those who couldn't pay with money would pay with their bodies in the arena.

 

Spoiler

You can have a different animal if you want, just check with me. You're going to fight for sport in the arena behind his tent once he gathers a crowd. If you make it submit, you can keep it. Alternatively, you can buy it since you probably do actually have money. When you post, feel free to start the fight.

 

Jonathan and Timothy

 

Jonathan made it to the Necropolis without incident. The large mausoleums were wide, squat buildings, covered in ancient hieroglpyhs and images of gods and kings. The caravan driver told him he would return in 4 hours.

 

4 hours later, Jonathan had made little progress towards entering the buildings. The caravan driver showed up again, and with him was Timothy Twist. The caravan driver had, on his way back to meet up with Jonathan, met Timothy and took pity on him; walking through the desert was, even for a native, a terrible experience.

 

“You want to stay longer, I assume?” he asked Jonathan. “That's fine, that's fine, I'll just require additional payment.”

 

Suddenly, the hieroglyphs on the mausoleum began to glow, and the door started opening. 4 men in black garbs on the other side of the door grabbed Jonathan and Timothy and pulled them into the building.

 

Later, the two awoke together, hands tied with coarse rope and mouths gagged. The room was dimly lit by candles, and two men in black robes stood guard. One of the men was recognizable as the caravan driver. The guards hadn't noticed yet that Jonathan and Timothy had regained consciousness.

 

Spoiler

You two have been captured by people for some weird reason. Feel free to free yourselves from the ropes, so long as it makes a bit of sense I'm probably okay with it.

 

Ratter

 

Priestess Lyra went about her priestly duties. This mostly consisted of counting her money. Today was her favorite day of the month—when the temple closed to all but the priests, when the townsfolk left offerings of gold and their best wares, and when there was never any reason for the altar boys to bother her.

 

“Priestess! Priestess!” an altar boy yelled.

 

“Fuck,” she responded.

 

Lonny lead Lyra to the problem. William had found some fucking dirty plebeian in the temple's fountain of offerings. Honestly, that didn't even make any sense. Even assuming someone didn't know the place was closed today, who just jumps in a temple fountain? Did this person have no understanding of etiquette?

When inevitably she heard his accent for the first time, she would certainly come to understand that no, no he did not.

 

“Get out,” Lyra told Ratter, when she saw him. There was no need for explanations, no need for excuses. There was only the need for divine retribution. Her hand began to glow, and an orb of golden energy appeared in her palm.

 

Spoiler

What the fuck is holy ichor of a god of trade? It's just water wtf

 

Damian

 

The Viashino had attacked. Normally, while dangerous, they never approached the tourist caravans that drove by their mountain homes. However, this time, a caravan was ambushed by three lizard warriors. The caravan wheels were destroyed and the driver was killed. Its three conscious passengers fled, one warrior chasing after them, while the remaining two sniffed through the caravan's luggage. Buried with this luggage was Damian.

 

He woke up and his head hurt. When the wheels broke, a suitcase fell on his head. He wouldn't ever know that, though. When the lizardmen found him, they hissed and drew their weapons—each wielded a large scimitar.

 

“Your life is forfeit, human,” one said. “All is for our Queen.”

 

 

Fiachra, Dorian, and Hoofs

 

Timothy left a sheep with Dorian. The goat stared at it with hollow eyes and Hoofs began to feel uncomfortable. Fiachra, who remained on the ship to make sure nothing happened to it, eventually stumbled upon the pair of animals. He was deeply confused. Dorian never broke eye contact.

Edited by Johnny Paradise, 17 December 2014 - 10:12 PM.

[Vafhudr]

Jonathan Ironnax's Diary - Day 2 - Beneath the Pyramid 

 

That same morning I was joined by Timothy for the expedition. He was a delight, even more so as we both find ourselves bound by a mysterious cabal of mysterious people acting mysteriously. They were trying really hard to be mysterious. Things had been going very well so far and I was wondering when things would take a turn for the picaresque. The ropes chaffed at our wrists as we both wriggled back to consciousness. Fortunately, our assailants were rather amateurish in their method and left our baggages by us. I motioned with great discretion to that brave Timothy an object of particular interest to our current issue – my cane, which was jutting out from beneath the cargo. We both, with great care, move toward the bag and – with the attention of his sublimely deft fingers – he pulled the sword hidden within the cane, exhibiting the sharp, naked blade against which we rubbed our bindings, slowly and deliberately. The affair must have taken about two minutes, being both used to capture (and evasion) at this point. This left the matter of the guards to resolve. My fastidiousness in keeping my belongings in good order saved us once again as the blade made no sound as I pulled the full lenght of the sword from its cane-scabbard. I motioned to Timothy that I was taking the man to the left, leaving the man to the right in his hand.

 

Moving stealthily, I took him from behind, draping my right hand over his mouth and bringing him backward toward me. In the same movement I brought my blade to bear against the interior of his armpit, threatening his major artery, holding it hostage in the event of resistance.

 

“Now now, I thought we had a deal. I understand the necessity to impress tourists, but this is a bit much, wouldn't you agree?” I said to the man who had once been our guide.  

[Unbelievably Majestic]

Timothy Twist

Ropes? Pfft, please. Really? Ropes? Come on. Didn't they know who Timothy was? The dude was practically trained for getting out of this kind of stuff. And when I say practically, I mean literally, because he was literally trained to escape ropes. Though his training was much more thorough than this pathetic attempt at a tie-up job. The Magician, aka Father, didn't do things by halves.

I mean, where did these guys even study tying people up? They couldn't have gone to a good college, like Knotsdale, because they would've just been laughed off campus for this ludicrus display. For starters they should've used better rope, this was just tacky. No class. This entire attempt was weak. They probably went to the school of awful knots, because that's what it seemed like. Idiots. In no time at all he and Jonathan had managed to cut through their ropes and grab the hooded men.

Timothy took a moment to look around as Jonathan tried doing useful things. He was asking questions and such. Timothy didn't need to ask question. Obviously they were in the big spooky tomb place. That was all the info he needed. He had wanted to get in. He was going exploring! He'd find the exit eventually if he explored everything. "Haha!" He cried, "Take that! You silly ancient magical locking whatevers! Timothy Twist, at your service, cracking the mystery codes in an instant!" He had a very annoying look on his face at this point as he looked across at Jonathan rather condescendingly. "Got us straight in, didn't I? What were you doing this whole time, eh, Jonathan? Eh? Made a special effort to wake up early and everything, didn't you. How long you been here? Huh? Been trying to get in have you? That's nice. It's cute. It's a shame you don't quite have my skills though. I just roll up and BOOM! We're in the secret temple! One try, one success! My key is my goddamn face! I'm unbeatable! No locks are safe! Haha!" The cocky grin on his face faded a little as he realized he'd been quite rude to Jonathan in all his excitement. That wouldn't do. He liked Jonathan. And they were crew-mates. It wasn't good for crew-mates to have unresolved issues. He'd heard that somewhere. So it must be true. It sounded like it could be true. "Hey, Jonathan, remember that time I made fun of you because you didn't unlock that magic door? I'm sorry about that. I didn't mean it. I just got a bit carried away. You understand right? You know that it's not easy opening all these rune-locked, mystical, magical doors, it's just nice to enjoy it sometimes."

[Jod]

Zambi woke up groggy and rather sleepy, he found that he was in a large bed filled many beautiful ladies. He wasn't sure what exactly happened the night before, but headache trying to split his noggin clued him into the fact that it was probably ale related. He looked out to see that the sun had already risen well into the sky.

"I feel like I should be doing something" he thought to himself. He shrugged to no one in particular. weaving through the tangle of bare arms and legs he picked up his assorted garments and weapons. The inn master was grinning with a large smile when he saw, the little fellow.

"Well I'll be, havn't had a fellow like yous in these parts for a long time theres gonna be a few more songs to yer legend from today, I say"  he said, clapping Zambo in the back.

 

Zambo didnt want expose his ignorance so he went along with the inn keeper " Hohoho, it was a quaint little party thats for sure" He said putting on his most confident smirk.  "By the way my good man, have seen you my acquaintances by any chance?"

"Ah! I believe they made for the necropolis some time ago" says the innkeeper, pointing to the necropolis' general direction.

"AAAAH! THATS WHAT I WAS SUPPOSED TO DO!" he said,  as he dashed out the door. He promptly jumped  onto the rooftops and made a beeline for the Necropolis. If sped fast enough he might sill make it in time.

 

Inside the Necorpolis

 

For the second time in the day he woke up again, he had barely made it  to the necropolis when he was jumped by two lumbering goons. He was about to call out to Timothy and Johnathan too. Unfortunately for Zambo he was exhausted and his ki was blocked due to a a vengeful hangover, so it didnt take long to subdue him.

He found himself tied up in a neat little bundle and hung from a torch holder. It was quite humiliating. People never stopped making fun of his size. Well it just meant more faces to cave in. His sleep had been restorative and Zambo was once again functional at 100%. He didnt even have to try to blast out of the rope.

As he dropped on to the floor, he heard some muttering up ahead. As he went in to investigate Zambo discovered it was none other than Timothy and Johnathan. They seemed to be deep in conversation. 

"HEY GUYS! YOU FORGOT ME! HAHAHA..... BUT I FOUND YOU ANYWAYS" he yelled in greetings

[Juro]

Damian's day was off to a rough start. Not only was he deprived of sleep, he also managed to get himself separated from his captain just a few minutes after they entered Ivares. To make matters worse, unbeknownst to Damian, his life was apparently already forfeited. We'll, at least that's what the lizardmen in front of him were claiming.

"This isn't how I wanted to spend my day." said Damian as he drew out his trusty blade, Placeholder.

"Captain Jet must be worried sick." This was highly doubtful and should have been the least of Damian's problems.

With his guard up, Damian simply stood his ground, albeit staggering a bit, as he waited for his daze-like state and headache to eventually subside. However, in the midst of his recovery, Damian suddenly spoke out as if surprised.

"What do you mean talk it out?! Have you not seen these guys?!" exclaimed Damian to an apparently unseen entity.

A few seconds of silence soon followed but was immediately ended as Damian spoke out once again, but now, the recipient of his words was more obvious; it was his sword.

"No way. You always do this to me. Chicken out right when I bring you into a fight."

Only taking a few seconds, Damian's gait had become more stable. His mind had cleared as his body prepared itself for what was about to happen.

With a tight grip along his blade's handle as he pointed it towards his foes, Damian stared down the reptilian humanoids.

"We're doing this my way." said Damian as he smiled.

"Let's go!"

Showing off his quickness, Damian moved with above average speed. However, instead of charging towards his opponents, he fled. Running away from them as fast as possible.

"Don't worry, this is all part of my plan."

Damian was breathing somewhat heavily. Although not visibly noticeable, his body was still a bit worn out.

"Shut up and just trust me!"

Damian knew that the chances of him being able to take out the two lizardmen in a head on fight was unlikely. With this in mind, he was aware that he had to do something different. Something that would give him an opportunity to evenly fight back.

Unfortunately for Damian, as of now, he had nothing. All he was doing was stalling and hoping for something to happen.

Edited by Scio, 16 December 2014 - 11:25 AM.

[Wandering Rogue]

Jo

 

Rocco's special stock proved to be about about as unique as you'd expect from a man of that name.  Which wasn't very.  It had some larger and more unique breeds to be sure but they were hardly special or even well cared for.  Yet he had the gal to talk to Jo like that?  What can I do though?  I'm only a mask that none save Jo can hear.  I could only listen as he accused her of being poor which was not only rude but wrong.  Money didn't mean anything to Jo but she had access to enough at least to buy one of these second rate creatures. least after she bargained him down from whatever price he was charging.  I was about to tell her just that as I noticed she hadn't been paying Rocco the least bit of her attention.  She only had eyes for some feathered blanket bundled in the corner of a nearby cage.  Wait, no, not a blanket.   It was some kind of wolf-peacock hybrid.  Maybe.  Nothing came to me as I looked at it.  Odd.  It had happened before but we had yet to discover the holes in my knowledge.  

 

"I want it."

 

You sure?

 

"It feels right, ya know?"  Jo pushed past Rocco and knelt down in front of the cage trying to catch its eye.  The wolf looked up long enough to give her a quick once over before snorting and laying its head back down.  Jo slammed her hands against the cage visibly annoyed.  It was easy to forget but she was still a child.  I couldn't be sure how this would end but Jo would do what she wanted.  It was just her way.

 

If we come back at 2 you can fight it.  Rocco had been reiterating that point but Jo was ignoring him and indeed brushed right by him without a word.  

 

"I Yeah, yeah,  Sure.  Maybe I keep afterwards.  Maybe I cook it.  Seriously, snort at me?  Rude much?"  The words for me but Rocco misunderstood.  He'd get the fight he wanted.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

[Mors]

Ratter

 

Ratter didn't give much thought to the priest who scurried off as quickly as he came. Figuring that meant he was totally allowed to be there, he began to undress and bathe himself. Normally Ratter hated baths, but there was something about being butt naked in this temple fountain that just felt right. He couldn't really describe it, but it was probably destiny.

 

"Get out." The stern looking woman said upon entering the room from the other side.

 

"Oi, at least let me finish!" if Ratter recognized the threat of a glowing golden hand, he didn't show it. But it was a wonder to everyone there if any amount of time in the water would ever make him clean. Not only was he still impossibly filthy from weeks without bathing previously, but the dirty and grime that clung to his skin began to muddy the fountain water and turned it from crystal clear to murky grey.

[Johnny Paradise]

Jet and Nicolai

 

Limp in her hands, Barbour would certainly regret for months to come his decision to mention Jet's thin little girl arms. She was very sensitive about them, and it was rude to mock a lady. Especially when that lady would crush you beneath her oddly powerful little fists.

 

“W-wait,” Barbour managed to wheeze out. “My b-brother works at the museum...”

 

Barbour simply wanted to help the young girl. It wasn't often that one as young as her regarded the fine arts with such zeal, and he thought it a pity that one as delicate-looking as her would be forced to resort to violence.

 

“Oh,” Jet said, releasing Barbour from her vice-like grip. She stood up, helped the crumpled man to his feet, and pat him on the back. “Why didn't you say so? Nicolai, let's go!”

 

Nicolai gave the bartender some coin for the alcohol, then bid him farewell.

 

“Coming, captain.”

 

Jo

 

A sizable crowd had gathered at Rocco's call. These bouts were well known among the people of the bazaar; the people loved to see blood. The wolf wasn't interested in any of the urchins in the crowd, nor in Rocco, nor in Jo. Rocco and his workers opened the cage to move the beast into the arena, but he sneered at their efforts and sat down.

 

Rocco frowned. His animals were usually compliant, and he preferred it that way, but he knew how to handle defiance. He put on a glove, the palm glowing with some sort of energy, and grabbed the wolf by the neck. An electric current discharged from the glove into the wolf, and Rocco yanked it out of the cage. The man was much stronger than he seemed.

 

Rocco closed the gate to the arena, then told Jo to enter from the opposite side. He addressed the crowd and gave the stakes: should Jo force the animal to submit, it would be hers. Otherwise she would get nothing. And it went without saying that Rocco would be keeping 100% of ticket proceeds.

 

The wolf regarded Jo with disinterest, but it understood its situation. Its muscles tensed and its lips curled back into a snarl. Slowly, it began to circle Jo before leaping at her, fangs bared, with surprising speed.

 

Jonathan, Timothy, and Zambo

 

Suddenly at the mercy of the men they thought of as sacrifices, Nolan considered what had gone wrong. His work as a driver was nothing short of flawless, and his ability to stand menacingly in front of two prisoners was equally fantastic. It must have been the new guy, Chet, that ruined everything. The worst guy in the entire cult, Nolan thought. No idea why he got stuck with Chet for guard duty, but it was just his luck. Hopefully when the Dread King Mordem was revived, he would slay Chet for his buffoonery.

 

As the two erstwhile prisoners bantered, Zambo came running up and shouted at them. It saved Nolan some time, because his plan was to shout out “the prisoners have escaped!” but that was no longer necessary.

 

“You won't be escaping, I'm afraid, Mr. Ironnax,” Nolan said. Cloaked men and women began to appear from every direction and did their best to look menacing. “But don't worry, you won't die yet.”

 

The cultists converged on the three pirates, aiming to recapture their prisoners.

 

Ratter

 

Priestess Lyra's concentration faltered for a moment when she realized Ratter was naked. The orb of light in her palm nearly sputtered out of existence when she realized that this must have been his first bath in weeks. Shock gave way to anger, and anger gave way to violence. Her power surged, the magical energy in her palm doubling in brightness and temperature, and she flung the thing at Ratter. The ball singed his skin where it touched him and was gone in a flash of blinding light. It stung something fierce, but Ratter wasn't all to sure what had happened.

 

When his vision returned to him, he noticed a faintly glowing mark on his body where the orb of energy had hit him—the mark of Ivar. Branded by the God, each offense against Ivar now caused him immense amounts of pain. His first offense was entering the temple on the day of offerings. His second was revealing his naked form to a priestess. His third was entering the fountain of offerings. Ratter felt pain run through his entire being three times over and he nearly passed out.

 

“I won't repeat myself,” Lyra said. She would, however, beat the kid if he decided not to listen again.

 

Damian

 

The two lizard warriors were, to say the least, confused at Damian's display of buffoonery. This confusion did nothing to slow them from their goal, however, which was the decimation of anyone so foolish as to approach their lair; the human boy would not escape.

 

They gave chase. The two lizards were faster than Damian by a fair bit and they quickly caught up. One sped up even further in order to route him while the other swept Damian's feet with his tail, intending to trip him.

 

“Die!” they shrieked in unison.

Edited by Johnny Paradise, 19 December 2014 - 07:48 PM.

[Vafhudr]

Jonathan Ironnax's Diary - Day 2 Part 2 - Beneath  the Pyramid 

 

I must confess that at times Timothy Twist can be a right twat at the worst possible moments. It is one thing to make light of a situation and it is another to so completely miss the point. I did not even have good banter to give reply to that. A great failling on my part. Even now I am kept awake at night by possible utterances I could have traded, jabs I could have used as counters. At the time, alas, my mind was on other things, and only the impression of mild annoyance lingers. 

 

Another annoyance was Nolan. My brave guide turned deadly foe. I knew I could not have trusted a dirty Onorian - even the clean ones were not above suspicion. Their race was plagued with that mental and physical weakness that marks the people of this part of the world. Backward and poor - willing to turn on honest folks without the slightest remorse. Truly they count among the wretched of this earth. One simply has to contemplate their physical features and the phyisognomy of their face. Nowhere have I seen such racial character so evidently betrayed by immanent language of the body! They slouch and avert their eyes, their shoulders - their whole body. Committed to secrecy, blasphemy, and evil thoughts while presenting a smile and a pseudo-affable persona. Cowardice could be read in every pore of their body. 

 

Speaking of cowardice, my prisoner took the opportunity to taunt me as we began to be encircled by cultists brandishing arms. Despite being joined by the loud and small Zambo, we were hopelessly outnumbered. I pricked Nolan's skin with my blade and suggested in his ear that he should convince his friends to let us go if he valued his life. Being a cultist, I doubted that he would put much stock in it. This type of man is a creature of low self-esteem which draws power from submission to fabulous and mystical hierarchies in a rather elaborate form of flagellation to appease their personal self-loathing. Truly disgusting.

 

It also gave a me an opportunity to exercise my wit. I shouted to Timothy:

 

"Well, if you are so good at opening doors, now would be a smashing time to do so." I said, calmly, but with a little sardonic twist. 

Edited by Vafhudr, 22 December 2014 - 01:16 AM.