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[IC] Stormrunner


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#1
Johnny Paradise

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Brix stumbled drunkenly from the bar into the rain. The distant rumble of thunder greeted her like an old friend. Even amidst her drunken haze, she confidently walked back to her hovel with all the grace and poise of a court dancer that had drunk as much ale as she had. Stepping out of the tavern lights that colored the cobblestones orange, she slunk into the darkness of the alleyways of Castow, her fingers tracing lines in the stone buildings she walked beside. Soon her fingers ran across a jagged crack in the wall, and she began to count her steps. One, two, three, and then a recess in the broken pathway, thigh-deep and perpetually full of rainwater.

 

She took the first step and congratulated herself for her ingenuity. She took the second step and congratulated herself for not forgetting about the puddle. She took her third step and tripped over something heavy, landing directly in the large puddle. The water was thick and murky, full of the grime and refuse of the slums, and Brix swore loudly. She stood up and kicked whatever it was that she had tripped over, before angrily returning home. She wiped her face and arms with a rag, took off her wet clothes, and promptly passed out.

 

The next morning, she found her hands not caked with grime and dirt, but with a dark red residue. Walking outside, she found next to the puddle a thick half-orc, face down on the stones.

"Are you alright?" she called out. She nudged the man with her foot and he didn't move. She turned the body over and found his clothes cut apart and dyed red, his torso perforated with wounds, and his eyes missing. She dropped him and screamed.

 

-------------------

 

"You got a job," Reed said. He was tall and had a thick beard. He carried a greatsword on his back, and a smaller sword by his waist. He was overall very imposing, so when he spoke, people listened. The other reason people listened to him was the fact that he was their boss.

 

He gathered up the available Wardens--there were four of them at the moment not currently engaged with another assignment. The four of them--Marceline, Rokthar, Aiolos, and Effie--followed Reed into a briefing room, where they saw before them a a plump man with ruddy cheeks, dressed in fine silks and linens. He was as nervous as he was rotund.

"Tell them what you told me," Reed said. Then he left. He was a busy man. He had things to do elsewhere, like run a company of mercenaries--which involved a lot more book work than one might think.

 

The fat man looked lost as Reed left. The four before him certainly didn't give off the same feeling of security that Reed did. Sure, one was at least as large as the captain, but he was quite terrifying in appearance. The others were even worse. Yes, the fat man truly regretted his circumstances, which left him with little more than a demon and his troupe of little girls, and little men with girlish figures. But he was strong; he would persevere.

 

"H-hello there. My name is Ames, and I come here representing Lord Havi Heinrison," the plump man said. His voice, like his face, was very greasy. "Lord Heinrison owns most of the taverns here in Castow, and has recently come under duress. You see, many of his most loyal customers are dying. Rather, being killed. So far, there have been six bodies found in the past two weeks, all of which were regulars at his establishments. He is offering 5000 gold pieces to your... organization if you can solve these murders, and... dispose of the one responsible."

 

Ames spent a few moments describing the victims: a portly half-orc man that worked as a blacksmith, an elven woman who delivered flowers, two human men that worked as cobblers, a halfling man that didn't work at all, and a gnome woman that worked as a cook in a local restaurant. There were only two common details between all of them, as far as Ames and Lord Heinrison's men could tell: they all frequented Lord Heinrison's establishments, and they were all found with their eyes missing.

 

The four wardens were left with two leads: a trail leading to the Cymith Wood that disappears just a few feet into the forest, and a woman named Brix, who after stumbling into the body of a half-orc narrowly escaped her own death at the hands of her would-be assailants.

 

Cymith Wood

 

Going to Cymith Wood is not a difficult task, but it is one that involves a hell of a lot of mud. The rain-soaked paths suck at the feet of travelers, as though they were trying to pull them under. And it is for this very reason that a pair of footprints could be followed from Castow to the forest. This was not in itself a strange thing, but the woods themselves are no different from the pathway leading to them--thick with mud, animal tracks could be followed for many days before the rain washed them away. And yet, these tracks--these very distinctly humanoid tracks--seemed to vanish into nothing but a few steps into the forest.

 

Castow--Lord Havi Heinrison's Manor

 

Lord Heinrison was not what one would call a magnanimous person, but there was certainly one thing which he would not abide: a poor reputation. And what his taverns were currently building was exactly that. Something had to be done, and ideally by some other person that he could throw money at. In the interim, he did what little he could to abate the community's growing dissatisfaction with him, and that involved housing a woman in mortal peril. A dainty human woman, whose hands were calloused to such an extent that most people would rescind their use of the word dainty, named Brix was currently holed up here, and her heretofore intense horror at the state of affairs that was her current life had changed to intense wonder at the life of the rich and pompous. She received meals for free the likes of which she had never dreamed of eating. She could bathe every day--in warm water! It was quite wonderful.

 

 

OOC

Spoiler


Edited by Johnny Paradise, 29 June 2016 - 09:28 AM.

here's to a long life and dead friends

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#2
Unbelievably Majestic

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Effie Faltra

 

"Their eyes were gone?!" Effie exclaimed. "Oh my! They should have blinked! That's the eyes main defense. That's what Grandmother told me. But I always thought a better eye defence was constantly winking one eye then the other." She began demonstrating. "That way you can always see, but also you have safe eyes. It's really quite useful." She continued doing it for a short time looking quite pleased with herself. And then a thought hit her. She narrowed her eyes at stared at Ames suspiciously. "Are you absolutely sure they had eyes to begin with?"

The red colour drained from Ames' cheeks, and along with it went all hope he may have had for this endeavor. "Yes," he said plainly, rigidly. "Yes, I am sure."

Effie stared at him a moment longer. Something she said had made him less red in the facial area. Maybe that meant he was feeling a little more at ease now. That was good,
her prankster heart whispered. It was easier to surprise someone who was feeling comfortable. "Maybe they all sneezed with their eyes open!" She suddenly blurted out. "Wait. No. They were murdered. Right? So the murderer probably did the eye thing..." She meandered off from the sentence. Her fingers were constantly tapping on her leg as she tried maintain a single train of thought. What was important. Or what could be? What did they need to know. "How were they killed exactly? Do you know? The type of weapons used and such?"

"W-well, I'm not sure on the specifics..." he said, fumbling with his words. Talking over the grotesque details made his stomach shift around uncomfortably in his round body. "The girl at the master's manor, Brix, she mentioned a number of stab wounds on the half-orc, and the guards said much the same about the other bodies."

The man was clearly uncomfortable with this talk. That meant Effie clearly had to continue. In greater detail. She fixed a serious look upon her face. "So they were stabbed. Repeatedly." She made a show of pretending to contemplate something quite deeply. "Lots of blood I'd imagine. Plenty of pierced organs. Was it with knives or swords? Do you know Mister Ames? Were the wounds huge bloody gashes as though from a sword, or more like multiple smaller stabbings oozing out instead of gushing?"

Ames dabbed at his oily face with a wet handkerchief. "If I had to guess, I would say... a knife. But I can't be certain."

Effie smiled. "Thanks!" She really wanted to make that handkerchief stick to his face the next time he dabbed at it. She just couldn't decide whether it was worth it or not. Not mid-conversation anyway.  Ames seemed like the kind of man who would find being made fun of a little to be a blot of ink on the pure white sheet of canvas that was his pride and honour. And Reed might get cross. That was never fun. Maybe she'd just make it stick a little instead of completely. So it doesn't come off as easy. That could be funny. And he probably wouldn't know anything was happening... It required more thought. She'd let other people talk about things while she considered it. Pranks were serious business after all. They required serious thought.



#3
Wandering Rogue

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Marcy

 

The young Marcy sipped daintily from her cup before tossing in a few marshmallows into her cup to heighten the taste of her steaming cocoa that had maliciously scalded her tongue.  Why was she drinking it?  Why, obviously because it was a lovely and delicious drink for any occasion.  It was also very comforting.  She thought about offering some to this Ames man but she was worried that he might of had far too much chocolate already in his life.  Somebody had to worry for his health so why not Marcy?  She listened to Effie go on and on with her silly talk while enjoying the pleasing aroma from her cup.  Effie was a sweet girl but Marcy did worry sometimes that her head was as empty as Mr. Skellypants sometimes.  Who, for his part, was covered by a traveling cloak that cast a shadow across his face making it featureless which was for the best considering his was a face without features.  He rhythmically drummed his bony digits across the table softly.

 

"Any chance that I could get some time with the victims?  I have a few questions that can really only be answered by them I'd imagine," she took another quick sip and her face twisted into sweet misery.  Delicious cocoa why did it burn her so?

 

Mr. Skellypants stopped his drumming to make a few oddly dexterous signals with his hands that seemed to convey some deep message to Marcy who nodded quickly.  "Right, of course I'll ask.  So what kind of flowers did this woman deliver?"


Edited by Wandering Rogue, 29 June 2016 - 09:33 PM.

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#4
Diabolical Rhapsody

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Rokthar Ironhide

 

Rokthar listened silently to the rotund man go on about his explanation of the weird case he had come seeking their help on. Both Effie and Marcy seem to ask probing questions apart from the ones that came to his mind. All he could think was about the money, not that it meant much but given the case he thought that for the first time since being a member of this outfit, there was a serious case he may have chanced upon.

 

As Ames finished responding to Marcy, Rokthar held his silence a while longer before speaking, his voice a deep baritone. "What about the payment? Also, do you want the perpetrators dead or alive?"

 

Ames turned to Rokthar with a puzzled look. "Like I said, my master is offering 5,000 gold for ending these  murders. And, well," he said, fidgeting in his seat, "the master did not specify, but I think it would be best if... if they were dead."

 

"Hmm..so dead it is." he said with a brief smile before turning to Marcy, "Well I think we'll work quicker if you can get something out of the coroner while some of us can go investigate the tracks. We can arrange for a meeting back here with our findings to decided on a plan of action, what say?" he said before looking over at Aiolos "Would you be interesting with tagging along? I plan on visiting the woods."


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If you have the time: 

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#5
Vafhudr

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Aiolos Myrsky

 

It was a tranquil morning at the Weather Vane that day. The heavy downpour of the night had regressed to soft rain pouring pleasantly on the roofs of the city, the kind of rain you would see in spring. Soft and warm, having lost that charged edge of heat now that the storm had abated. Aiolos was sipping black tea in his quarters when he heard the daily ka-klang, indicating that the weekly almanac had been dropped by. Aiolos was subscribed to at least 4 of these periodicals – three from the city itself and one from the neighbouring town that had a regional distribution. In it was contained all the latest hot takes on the phases of the moons, the best tools and see for the upcoming season, moralistic injunctions and wise bland phrases, as well the news of the last week – politics, economics, church-steeple gossip, woodcut comics, crimes and other distractions. This particular installment had a rather eye-catching first page.

 

THE VICTIMS DID NOT SEE IT COMING: NUMBER OF BIZARRE AND GRUESOME VICTIMS ON THE RISE. HOT ELVEN WENCH DISCOVERED STABBED AND LACKING EYES. NO SUSPECTS YET IN MOST MYSTERIOUS CASE.

 

Under it a woodcut of an elven woman with rather generous proportions was depicted. A generic rogue in cape and high hat and shady apparel was depicted holding a dagger to her ample breasts.  Text above the women spelled: “I AM KILLED AND ROBBED OF MY LIGHT.” The brigand, looking at the viewer, had the following caption atop him. “FOR YOU SEE, VERILY I HAVE TAKEN THINE BEAUTIFUL EYES.” Scandalous. It’s only sex and violence in papers these days. On the sides he could see the following sub-headers: “Are knaves hautning Cymith wood? See page 6 for something disturbing.” Followed by “Smyrn man manages goes on a rampage while drunk. Found dead in bed with ten whores.”

 

 Aiolos threw the almanac on the table and finished his breakfast of tea and sweetbread.

 

He then prepared himself for his day – he was not expecting much, quite frankly. He had joined the Storm Wardens because, like many, he had heard tales of their daring do, of their bold expeditions within the Stormlands, but so far he had mostly run errands around the city. He was, at this rate, just a notch above the paper boy that had come and delivered his paper. His hopes were not much higher today. Nevertheless, he put on a tunic over his undershirt, strapped on his belt and his many filled pouches, laced up his boots, donned his gloves , slung his waterproof satchel containing his spellbook upon his shoulders and threw on the distinctive yellow impermeable tarp that had become, in a way, the trademark of the Weathermen. A lamp with a light spell in hand, he ventured forth in the relative darkness of the overcast morning. The city was alit with similar false flames, moving splashes of light beyond a thin curtain of falling water. The smell of pretrichor, fresh herb and pine and kerosene filled his nose and uplifted his spirits as he ventured forth.

(…)

 

Contrary to expectation, Aiolos found quite a bit of activity waiting for him at the Storm Runner’s barracks. Reed had him and 3 other members – actually the only other members on hand at the moment – come to the meeting room, where a sweaty ball of man was waiting for them. The sweaty man dabbed himself with an expensive looking handkerchief, which only highlighted how sweaty he was.

 

Aiolos’ face darkened slightly at the realization that this was going to be another errand. Well, actually, now they were getting to play crime investigator. It’s not like the city recently voted to create a crime inspecting force and bringing 2 alchemists and 3 inspectors in the city police force and militia. They had, admittedly, had very little success in their effort, but Aiolos was a tad weary to having to fill those shoes as a private contractor.

 

After a bit of back and forth, Aiolos came to the conclusion that he had no desire to spend a day at the morgue – he had spent enough time there during his anatomy lessons days, he was sated for the rest of his life – and so opted to go check the lead at Cymith wood. Maybe he would get to verify the rumours about knaves and other rogues lurking. That would be a useful dispatch to the almanac, he thought. So when Rothkar voiced his desire to investigate the forest, Aiolos raised his hand quickly.

“I’ll go with you!” he spat out energetically, crossing the room to join the man with the frame of a glass cabinet. He didn’t know Rothkar very well. Might be a good occasion to learn more about him – his general opinion is that this was a silent, stoic man who didn’t much to say – nor did Aiolos have much to tell him. They lived in different spheres, basically. He was hired muscle. Aiolos, despite working for an organisation of hired muscle, didn’t think too highly of people living by the sword or simply muscle power. Sure, he could respect it, but he didn’t approve of it necessarily.

 

He then turned to Reed: “Well, if that’s decided, me and Rothkar will go as quickly as we can to Cymith and try to catch some trails. We’ll pass by the stables and get some horses and be on our ways.”


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#6
Johnny Paradise

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Cymith Wood

 

Aiolos and Rokthar suspected that the trail was not as dead as Lord Heinrison's men had said and went to see the woods for themselves. By this point, of course, the deep, muddy prints had all but washed away in the rain, but they made their way to the perpetrator's supposed path into the forest using information given by Lord Heinrison's men. A river, often flooded, cut through the forest, and the two found themselves entering the wood by way of this river.

 

There was little to see, overall. Some trees, lots of mud, and drowned undergrowth. It was a dreary place, and neither found it all too pleasant. But there was something off about the situation. Rokthar could feel it in the air, his intuition roaring that something was wrong. He tried to locate the source of his uneasiness, but could not. There was not a sound out of place, nor any sign of a person. That is, until there was.

 

A footfall on the wet floor of the forest caught his attention. There was only one--and it was very quiet. So much so that Aiolos did not hear it himself. He did, however, notice Rokthar's unease, and cast a wayward glance around, spotting in a tree a humanoid shape in the canopy, concealed within the dense foliage. For a brief moment, their eyes locked. A flash of steel, and the man leaped from the trees at Aiolos, two daggers in hand.

 

Rokthar was distracted by the sudden movement, and turned his attention away from the sound of the lone footfall. The source of that footstep took this chance and very quietly approached Rokthar from behind, a dagger in his own hand. But Rokthar was not so lax in his efforts to spot this man, and the sound of a man trudging through mud rang loud and clear in his ears.

 

 

Lord Heinrison's Manor

 

Ames brought Mr. Skellypants and the two most rude members of the group back to his lord's manor. It was a very trying time in his life, and he had hoped for something... better than what he got. Indeed, he lacked faith in these three entirely, but put that lack of faith aside in the hopes that the rumors about the Storm Wardens were true. Eccentric they may be, but also effective, right? He wiped the rain off his face with his handkerchief and looked up to the sky pleadingly. He mouthed the word "Right?" to the desolate cloudscape above.

 

Once the group arrived at the manor, Ames called for a servant to fetch Brix. She soon appeared, wearing a plush red blue bathrobe and looking comfy. He did little to hide his disdain, and then fetched the guards.

 

"Please excuse me, sir," he said, nodding at Mr. Skellypants, "and madams. I will return shortly with the other witnesses. In the interim... perhaps get acquainted?"

 

Brix stared at the two women with a look of confusion. Who were they? Why did they need to talk to her? Why did Ames interrupt her relaxation time? These were very important questions, and they likely had unsatisfactory answers.

 

"So uh... hi. How are things?" she asked. "I imagine you're here about... well... the murders. Shit bit of luck I've had, let me tell ya. Woke up to a half-orc on the floor outside my house, then soon enough they're also coming for me. And you know, why the hell is that? I didn't see nothin, why the fuck are they coming for me?"

 

Without even saying anything, the 3 Wardens had opened the floodgates, and Brix droned on and on about her misery. She was unstoppable, a complete force of nature, a hurricane of discontent. It was very annoying. This continued for some time, until Ames returned with 4 men in tow. All four had freshly dressed bandages on various parts of their bodies, and one was missing some teeth.

 

"Yes, well, I hope you all have become fast friends so that we may get down to busin--"

 

Suddenly, Brix screamed. Her mouth was agape in terror, and she pointed at the man missing some of his teeth.

 

"What is he doing here?" she screamed. "What the fuck is he doing here? You told me it would be safe!"

 

Ames looked at her confused. "What do you mean? These men have been here long before you arri--" he trailed off again, this time due to a blade in his back.

 

"Hello again sweetheart," the man said, wrenching the sword from Ames' back. Ames dropped to the floor, slowly bleeding out and fading in and out of consciousness. "I didn't think you'd recognize me that fast, but I suppose you always were a quick one."

 

The man lunged at Brix as the other wounded guards stared on in confusion.


here's to a long life and dead friends

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#7
Unbelievably Majestic

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Effie Faltra

 

A bad guy was here! Right here! This was super exciting. The mean man made a break for it, stabbed Ames, and charged straight for Miss Brix. That wasn't very nice by Effie's standards. Probably not by many peoples standards. But it certainly was a whole lot more fun than just standing around talking and stuff. Effie usually end up getting bored pretty quickly in times like those. And when she gets bored she thinks of ways to mess with people. She would have had to glue Ames' handkerchief to his face at some point. For sure. That was a great idea. Pure gold. Maybe after this whole 'there's a murderer attacking us' thing... Maybe she'd stick it to his face then. Oh. But he'd been stabbed hadn't he? He could die. Maybe she'd never get to do that now. That was a sad thought. She liked the handkerchief prank idea. And Ames was the perfect guy to try it on. With a little noise that was half-shock half-excitement, Effie hopped a step backwards out of danger. She worked better at a bit of a distance. She quickly directed a sticking charm at the foot of the running man who looked like he'd payed the price for trying to eat rocks. "Stick around Toothless. Thing's are getting fun!" She laughed. Deep down though she knew she needed to work on her one-liners. And not casual work. She needed to get down to some serious business working on those bad boys. Because that was terrible. Hopefully nobody would notice due to all the surprise in the air.