Rebirth of Orpheus - Adamar Medblum

[Mathias]

We're going to try a short RPG now. I know it's going to suck, so please leave constructive, positive criticism and support.

I'm going to start this RPG with just one person, HKofsesshoumaru. Depending on how it goes, we'll see about adding others.

This is going to be a simple Dungeon and Dragons, Medieval / Fantasy adventure. Don't worry about the stats. We're centering on the roleplaying, storytelling, and fun factor here.

We're not going to rush this, so I'm going to ask for pieces of information and give you a story segment. You then return it with your story segment. Put the story segment in quotes for now to keep it separate from the other info. If I get better with the forum we'll find a better technique.

HKofsesshoumaru, if you remember anything about D&D, I need you to pick one of the base classes. You'll be the equivalent of a 1st level character and will level up as certain benchmarks are met.

Along with the class, I need you to provide a small background of your character, including race (std please), gender (keep it female, straight up and simple for me!), description, simple equipment and a little of the personality. You control only your character, but you can do anything within reason, I repeat WITHIN REASON! :meh:

I'm not expecting a novel here, and though I'll be writing a lot, you don't have to. A paragraph or two is all I really need. Relate your character to the storyline, answer my questions, tell your part of the story, and have fun.

[Mathias]

"Keep your grip on the sword, Merlais!" Jelar yelled to the fighter on his left. He was a fresh recruit to the Bluecloaks and if he didn't get his head straight quickly, he'd lose it in no time.

Merlais tightened his longsword with both hands, straining to see through the blood dripping from a wound on his forehead. The goblin warrior feinted a strike to the left, and though he saw through it, he slipped to a knee as the muddy ground gave way. Jelar slid his shortspear under the goblin's overhead swing just in time to deflect the attack.

"Strike now!" Jelar screamed through the pain as a second goblin slashed his shortsword across Jelar's chainshirt. Merlais regained his composure immediately and thrust his longsword through the goblin's mold-green skin, piercing his heart.

Jelar whipped his shortspear back to slam his attacker across the side of the head. The goblin fell to the ground, blood pouring from his exposed ear.

"You're a true Bluecloak now." Jelar patted Merlais on the back and offered a hand up. He remembered how he was in a similar situation a few years back when he first joined the Bluecloaks. Back then, they were just a mercenary guild created by Wrenton Bluecloak, an adventuring wizard long since retired. Now the Bluecloaks could easily qualify as an adventuring guild as well.

"Is it always this intense?" Merlais smiled gruffly as he took the proffered hand to stand up, leaning on his longsword for support. Jelar brushed Merlais' messy brown hair aside to examine Merlais' wound.

"Yes." Jelar spread a white salve across the wound. "You'll have a scar, but you'll live."

"Were they the ones that destroyed Clergyman Billows wagon and made off with his assistant Narine Usil?" Both gave a cursory examination of the two goblins. Both wore leather armor with three bloody lines across the chest.

"Yes, but the cleric said the goblin leader bore a scar through his left eye." He turned the heads slightly and sighed. "Neither are him, but this one still breathes. We may yet learn of Narine's whereabouts in a few hours."

Distracted by their examination, they did not notice a third goblin approaching from behind.


HKofsesshoumaru, I need you to answer the following questions:

1. Who are you? (Story format with Merlais and Jelar asking questions is a nice way of bringing you in.)
2. Why are you here? (Were you scouting ahead?)
3. Are you a Bluecloak, or why do you work with them? (Were you a local hunter/guide hired for mission?)
4. How do you help kill the third goblin? (You can describe the fight, or I can. If you do it, no one else gets hurt except the ambusher.)
5. Ask any questions you may have.

[HKofsesshoumaru]

Ok, this is a double post I know but I had a bit of trouble here so..

[HKofsesshoumaru]

The Goblin raised it's sword to strike down upon the men. One of them glanced over his shoulder, the expression on his face horrified, as the other reached for his long sword. Suddenly the Goblin's head jerked to the side, as an arrow pierced it's temple with a loud 'thunk'.The arrowhead tore through to the other side of it's face, splattering blood onto the faces of the astonished men. Dazed the goblin roared in fury, as it stumbled to regain it's composure. A second arrowed whizzed through the air, piercing the beast in the neck. It dropped to it's knees, as the two men scrambled backwards, avoiding being crushed under it's massive weight. The beast crumpled onto the ground, blood gurgling over it's lips, as a cloud of dust settled over it's fallen body.
The two men now turned their attention to the cloaked figure, standing at the forest's edge. His bow still quivered, as the figure lowered it to it's hip, and began to walk in their direction. One of the men tightened his grip on his longsword, eyeing his partner. His comrad responded, gesturing to him to ease his weapon, as the figure approached. "That was a close call Gentlemen." said the cloaked figure, calmly, pulling back the hood of the blue velvet cloak. He ran his fingers through his long raven hair, pulling most of it around the back of his neck and over one shoulder. His skin was somewhat pale, as his pointed ears gave hint of elvish backround "Allow me to introduce myself, gentlemen" he said acknowledging the pair with a nod. " I am Adamar Medblum, Son of Aramil, and Lord to the western lands of Dareken."

Ok. So, Adamar is the son of my orginally Blade Dancing Elf, Aramil from a previous game, years ago. His mother is a human, to which his father had a brief encounter with. Adamar looks more elf than human, and is very proud to be his father's son, knowing his father's excellent fighting abilities.

[Mathias]

"So, Lord Adamar," Jelar Riverman wiped the goblin's blood from his face, "what do we owe the pleasure of our meeting?"

Adamar sniffed his nose and looked away in disgust as he approached. Merlais took no small offense at the "lord's" smugness. The elven nobleman didn't notice the anger in the warrior's eyes as he leaned over the goblin he killed. In actuality, the small goblins reeked from months without bathing, and though blood was not foreign to him, he was rather indisposed to seeing so much of it.

"Silmere Rathorn bade my father to look into a most dreadful incident that occurred in this backwater region near Gormain. My father was...preoccupied, and sent me in his stead." Jelar binded the goblin he knocked out earlier with leather strips, while Merlais collected the few coins worth keeping from the dead.

Jelar whistled, overlooking the lord's inadvertent slight. "Silmere's the leader of the Bluecloaks in these parts. His stubbornness wouldn't have allowed him to ask for outside help unless there was something special about him."

"Silmere and my father were partner's in the past when my father joined the Bluecloaks for a short time. In fact, this very cloak I wear once belonged to my father." The elf answered somberly. "My father wouldn't talk much about those troubling times, so I can't answer anymore."

"I didn't know this Eljah Billows or his assistant Narine Usil had that kind of weight behind them to call forth a lord." Merlais Torash emphasized lord in condescension of the title. Being a son of simple farmers in the human community of Gormain, he was always jealous of anyone in higher society. His own self pity twisted that jealousy into anger.

"I know not of whom you speak. Silmere asked my fa...me to track down rumors of an old nemesis of his." The archer chided himself. Though he loved his father, he was his own man. He reassured himself, that this mission would bring him out of his father's shadow, and hopefully in the near future he could look his father in the eyes with pride. "My sources led me to some local banditry along this road, when I heard your fight upon this hill."

"Billows covered wagon was attacked by goblin raiders just down this hill on the road." Jelar briefed Adamar about their mission and the circumstances leading up to their meeting. "Two of his servants were wounded by the sword. They were able to hold on as the cleric sped the horse and wagon away. However, the goblin's were able to pull Narine, his assistant, out of the wagon before the others got away. We were investigating the crime scene, and tracked the trail up here, where we were ambushed."

With the help of the two warriors, Adamar rolled the oversized goblin he killed onto his back. The corpse was half again as tall as a normal goblin, and layered in fat. He'd swear the goblin's pig-like nose would make him part orc if he didn't see the telling marks of where the nose was severed off some time ago.

"This fat one has the same three bloody lines across his bare chest." Jelar quickly recounted. "The lines weren't painted. These are actual wounds, probably caused by claws."

"It's as I feared." The two warriors looked to Adamar quizzically. He pointed to the claw marks. "I've heard of this form of mutilation before from my father. These are the servants of my father's old nemesis." The warriors blinked back their shock and silently urged him to continue.

"Let us setup camp for the night on the neighboring hill to the west." Jelar advised. "I'd rather not sleep near the dead. You can tell your story along the way." The two warriors dragged their prisoner roughly by the arms through the small forest between them and their destination.

Lord Adamar cleared his throat and began. "My father told me a story about an adventure he participated in a long time ago..."

Please tell me what class Adamar is. I'm thinking ranger 1, but he could easily be a fighter or rogue at this point still.

Guess what HKofsesshoumaru? I want you to recount, in brief, the epic adventure Adamar's father participated in. Tell the good parts, and not the bad aftermath with his friends. :happy:

If you want to, you can include Silmere Rathorn, a rogue, in the retelling. You can tell it in his retelling at the campfire in the third person, or as if you were reliving the experience as Adamar's father. Good luck!

[Mathias]

I'm posting this message on behalf of HKofsesshoumaru (http://forums.ancientclan.com/member.php?u=1402) who is having problems posting right now.

Aramil steadied himself. Staying crouched low to the ground, he curled his fingers around the first of two bastard swords. He quietly pulled it from its sheathe, the metal caught the fading sunlight across its blade. He could hear the cries of his companions. The Bluecloaks faced off with the dragon's small army of orc followers. His breathing slowed as he felt the weight of the beast barreling its way through the brush after him.

Aramil had been wounded by an arrow to the shoulder earlier, so he had ducked into the woods. He desperately tried to stitch his wounds up, as the orc giant closed in. He could smell the beast's flesh, the stench of it rolled into the elf's hiding spot like a heavy fog. It turned, looking around the forest's landscape, searching for its prey. The blade dancer noticed the hideous scars on the beast's back. The deep, jagged scars ran from shoulder to hip, forever bearing the marks of allegiance to the dragon Orpheus.

The orc-ogre halfbreed sniffed the aroma of the elf's blood thick in the air. It growled as it turned in the elf's direction as Aramil lunged forward. The first of the bastard swords caught the beast behind the knee tumbling it forward. The second sword cleaved the back of the beast's massive neck, blood and bone sprayed in all directions. The blade dancer landed gracefully, as the orc crashed onto the forest floor with a loud thud. It snarled as it struggled to get up, but to no avail.

The blade dancer winced, his wounds throbbed from being reopened. He sat down on the ground, safely distancing himself from the beast. The orc rolled his yellow blood shot eye to look at his killer. The somber elf ignored the beast's fowl stench.

"Who sent you after me?" The elf asked quietly, peeling back his blood stained cloak.

The orc laughed, blood spitting from its mouth as it did. "Foolish elf," he choked. "Your comrades lay dying, their bones being picked clean by my brothers while you hide here." The elf was unfazed. The orc's body settled, the last bit of air escaping it's lips.

[Mathias]

I'm posting this message on behalf of HKofsesshoumaru (http://forums.ancientclan.com/member.php?u=1402) who is having problems posting right now.

I'm not sure if the Blade Dancer prestige class allows for dualwielded bastard swords, but it sure sounds sweet.

"Aramil!" A familiar voice cut through the forest air. Tattered and bloody, a ranger appeared from the brush. He was gulping for air as he came in sight of the elf. "We were ambushed." he said breathlessly. "Orpheus and his followers..."

Aramil winced as he got up onto his feet. "We have no time, we must hurry." He said, making his way back to the battlefield.

Smoke still lingered in the sky as the dragon struggled to stay alive. Around him the dead laid scattered. Their efforts rewarded with the fatally wounded dragon. The blade dancer did not hesitate as he charged forward, almost knocking over a cleric who seemed to have appeared from thin air. The cleric seemed unfazed as he attended to his own business of magic spells and potions.

The ranger followed close behind the elf, raising his heavy crossbow toward the beast. The first of its bolts struck into the dragon's scaly shoulder, angering the beast more than damaging it. It pulled the bolt from its shoulder as if it were no more than a splinter. Turning to eliminate its attacker, the green dragon inhaled, its acidic breath crackled and smoked as it readied its attack.

The elf pulled one of his bastard swords from its sheathe, paying no attention to the dwarf who came charging up on his flank. The dwarf barreled across the battlefield as fast as his short legs could carry him and his large battle-axe. The elf leaped into the air as he aimed the blades downward. They pierced the chest of the beast. He hung on by his swords for a moment, before dropping to the ground.

Blood pulsed from the dragon's wounds, pouring oodles of blood onto the earth below. The dragon's front legs gave way, as its massive weight shifted forward. The elf scrambled backwards to avoid being crushed by the dragon's massive weight, dust and debris scattered everywhere. As the dust started to settle, the elf breathed a sigh of relief.

[Mathias]

I'm posting this message on behalf of HKofsesshoumaru (http://forums.ancientclan.com/member.php?u=1402) who is having problems posting right now.

The elf assessed the damage he inflicted on the beast, carefully avoiding the pools of acidic blood. He hummed quietly as he yanked his bastard swords out from the scaly remains. The skies above warned of an upcoming storm, grumbling as the skies darkened. Aramil turned to walk in the direction he came, the ranger already up ahead. The cleric looked at him dumbfounded and confused as he stared at the blood splattered warrior. They made brief eye contact, the elf nodding in acknowledgment as he sheathed his swords as he passed by.

"And just who the hell are you?" Anger was evident in his tone. The short battle-axe wielding dwarf grumbled, coming from around the cleric. The elf paused, turning to glance over his shoulder. He ignored the small man's protests, as he continued on his way.

"I'm talking to you!" the dwarf continued, stepping in front of the elf. He held his battle-axe in front off him, his dirty, dark beard covered much of his face. He narrowed his eyes at the elf as he tightened his grip. "What business do you have bombarding into my battle, and taking the glory of MY kill?"

Aramil was unamused as he looked down at the distraught little man in disgust. "I don't have time for this." He growled, trying to get around the dwarf. The dwarf responded by side stepping in front of the elf, and pushing him back with his heavy axe handle. The blade dancer responded quickly reaching for his sword.

The cleric stepped between the two. “Friends!” He said, turning his back to the elf. "We do not need to end this battle with more fighting. Please...let us rest."

The dwarf scowled up at the spell caster. "I had everything under control!" He yelled waving his axe at the elf. “When here came this pompous, prissy, fair skin dancing his way into my fight with his fancy sword play, taking all the glory for my kill!"

The cleric placed a hand gently on the dwarf's shoulder. "It does not matter now my friend, for the dragon Orpheus is dead, and his followers have been scattered. Take this," he said placing a bottle of ale in the dwarf's hand "and be still. Drink and remember our comrades who lost their lives here today." Reluctantly the dwarf agreed, pulling the cork from the ale and taking a long and heavy swig. He wiped the ale from his beard.

[Mathias]

I'm posting this message on behalf of HKofsesshoumaru (http://forums.ancientclan.com/member.php?u=1402) who is having problems posting right now.

Man this girl likes to write. It took me a while to find time to edit the piece, but it sure was enjoyable. I hope everyone else likes it as well. I'll try to find time to post a reply soon.

HKofsesshoumaru (http://forums.ancientclan.com/member.php?u=1402), if you need any of the story edited, please send me a PM.

Aramil was already gone, having slipped away to disappear into the brush. The other Bluecloaks could handle the rest from here. He trusted their capabilities in seeing to the wounded and the dead. The air grew cool, the rain began to pour over head. Aramil pulled his blue cloak over his damp and bloodied golden locks. He plopped down under a tree, to wait out the storm and tend to his wounds. Exhausted, the blade dancer tried not to give into his body's weakened state, fighting back the urge to close his eyes.

Through the rain, a shadow caught his attention. A silhouette of a small creature appeared before him. He assumed it to be an imp, small and gangly in appearance. Its yellowish skin covered mostly by its tiny hooded cloak. It didn't say anything, fading into the rainstorm as quickly as it had appeared. Aramil payed it no attention, blaming the figment of his imagination on his lack of rest. As the rain poured over head, the elf drifted into a deep sleep.

[Mathias]

"So, you're sayin' these these goblins belong to this dragon, Orpheus?" Merlais Torash stoked the campfire, so sparks shot up into the air. "But ya just said he was killed?" He turned the cony over the makeshift spit, the backside had burned while he was engrossed in the prissy elf's story. Now he was browning the underbelly that remained uncooked, trying to act like that was what he had intended.

"I did, didn't I?" Adamar Medblum smiled briefly when he noticed Merlais' inattentiveness to dinner. He took pride in his storytelling and was pleased by his own performance. "However, you neglected the fact that Orpheus' army was routed, scattered to the mountain holes they had crawled out of, and not destroyed utterly."

"Truth speaks in his words, my boy." Jelar Riverman spoke with his back towards them. The young mercenary, Merlais, scowled at the reminder of his young age and inexperience.

His eyes scanned the forest edge, wary of any sudden movement or sound through the downpour outside the cave at the base of the hill. They barely discovered the entrance during a bright flash of lightning moments before the rain picked up speed. They quickly explored the small cave and created a campfire near the opening. Jelar stood guard at the edge.

Jelar continued. "But the question that stands before us now is why are they here now, and perhaps more importantly, who leads them?" Jelar looked over his shoulder to emphasize the importance of the question that he hoped the elf lord could answer.

Adamar lowered his head in dismay. "I know not. Though I wouldn't doubt that one of the dragon's lieutenants survived and only now has gathered enough minions to join his ranks to peek out of the dark."

A soft moan echoed through the cave where they had taken shelter from the rain. Their goblin prisoner shuffled across the dirt. The welt across the side of his face had blossomed throughout the night.

"Perhaps we'll learn the truth now." Jelar turned from his sentinel duties and motioned for Merlais to take his place. Merlais reluctantly followed his superior's orders. He had hoped to have had a front row seat for the interrogation.

Jelar walked slowly and with intent towards the goblin. His shortspear dragged loudly across the dirt covered ground. The goblin struggled against his bond to no avail. He inched away as the menacing warrior closed in. Jelar raised up the shortspear causing the goblin to cover his face and start to whimper.


Be patient, there's more coming...

[Mathias]

Jelar hefted the shortspear horizontally into the air with a slight twist. He abruptly spun around catching it in the process. He quickly strode forward two steps, gathering speed before launching the shortspear. It struck the large oak tree almost ten feet from the cave entrance with a loud thud.

Merlais had relaxed his guard while relishing in the goblin's misery. Caught unawares, he stumbled backwards tripping over his own feet. His head hit the rocky wall painfully. He squinted back the throbbing headache as he drew his longsword.

An arrow was readied across Adamar's bow an instant later. He crouched behind the short rock he was using as a stool moments earlier. He scanned the landscape for the cause of Jelar's outburst.

A barely audible rustle of a bush near the oak tree was all the incentive that Merlais needed. He rushed out of the cave with his sword held high in both hands with a scream in the air. "For Gormain! For the Bluecloaks!" Adamar lost sight of the brazen, if not foolish, warrior in the cover of the forest.

"What's out there?" Adamar looked to Jelar for guidance.

"I don't know, I've been hearing something moving around out there all night, but I couldn't point it out." Jelar's stern face grew worried. "Be fleet of foot Adamar and catch up with Merlais. I swear his impulsiveness will be his downfall one of these days." Under his breath, Jelar murmured. "Or mine."

Adamar trotted to the oak tree and yanked the shortspear out of the tree. The tip was was slick with a foul smelling blood. "Huh, looks like Jelar was right. There is something out here." He tossed the spear back into the cave near the campfire. Concern was evident in the elf's eyes. He did not like the idea of splitting up at a time like this. He ran after the thick-headed Merlais as instructed, trusting in Jelar's experience to keep himself safe.

Jelar gave the shortspear barely a glance before grabbing the goblin by its leather armor. He shook the sickly green creature ferociously. The creature cried in fear.

"Why did you attack us?" Jelar spat out the words vehemently.

"You Bluecloak, get too close." The goblin whined.

"Too close to what?"

"Watchtower, not too far, we take."

"Pert's tower?" Jelar wondered aloud before continuing more sternly. "Pert. What happened to Pert?"

"Who? You mean the Bluecloak? Motapha hanged him, he did." Jelar punched him squarely in the jaw. Pert was a ranger who manned the tower, and is, was, a good friend of his. He almost regretted punching the goblin in the jaw, though, in case he broke it. Thankfully he didn't.

"Who the hell is Motapha?" The goblin squirmed in the warrior's grasp, but could not escape. Jelar shook him again. "I won't ask again, worm." His eyes burned with intensity.

The creature screamed in pain before it suddenly fell limp, a final gasp left his lungs. "No! What just happened?" Jelar belted out in confusion. He dropped the goblin to the round and quickly examined it. Nothing. He flipped it over. A trickle of blood flowed from a small wound in the back of its neck. The flesh around the wound had already turned a yellowish pigment. Poison.

As Jelar wrapped his mind around the discovery, he found that it came too late. A single drop of a foul smelling blood splashed across his cheek. He instinctively tumbled backwards to the campfire to slip his hands expertly around the haft of his shortspear. He twisted around and thrust in the spot behind him hoping to catch the creature as it came for him. He pierced nothing but air.

The soft flap of wings sounded in his ear, moments before Jelar felt the sting in the back of his neck. The intense pain from the attack renched a cry of torment echoed throughout the forest. He swung the shortspear around him in desperation.

Jelar struggled to his feet and staggered towards the cave entrance. Quickly succumbing to the poison, his vision blurred as he crawled for what seemed to be an eternity towards the entrance. He heard a soft voice whisper into his ear before darkness enveloped him.

"Motapha will be pleased."


I love cliff hangers!

HKofsesshoumaru (http://forums.ancientclan.com/member.php?u=1402), please write about what Adamar and Merlais encounter in their forest trek. I was thinking about them fighting off 2-4 goblins and work on their character development, before hearing Jelar's scream and realizing that they were just duped into being lead away from the cave. Both should receive minor injuries in an encounter with one of the goblins escaping with heavy injuries.

Or do whatever you want, though, I'd like you to lead them back to the cave to see the aftermath from above where I'll take over again. Don't do anything with the watchtower, we'll come back to that later.

[HKofsesshoumaru]

The blow came out of nowhere. Adamar could hear the cartilage in his nose break, his own warm blood pouring down his face. Slightly dazed, he managed to keep his balance while reaching for his dagger.

"Foolish half breed." The goblin hissed as he fiercely swung the club in his hands. Adamar flung the dagger hard, diving forward beneath the blow. The goblin screeched loudly before softly cursing under its breath, confirming that Adamar had hit his target. The half-elf tucked and rolled to safety a few feet way. He felt a slight spark of relief at the sight of the greenish creature struggling to pull the dagger from its forehead.

"Curse you!" It screamed, collapsing onto the ground. Its breathing became shallow as Adamar approached to retrieve his dagger. "No matter.." It whispered. Adamar grasped the handle of the dagger tightly. "We have what we came for…" Adamar grimaced at the grating sound the weapon made as he pulled it from the skull of the dead goblin.

The taste of blood was never one he got used to, even in all his years of battle. The sticky warm liquid was clotting, drying in clumps on his lips. He plopped down against a tree, leaning his head back onto the trunk. His clothes were drenched and uncomfortable, but now at least the rain cooled down his throbbing wounds.

The warrior could fend for himself for now, he thought, not being in any hurry to go chasing down a battle hungry human. His head swirled as he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Raising both hands to his face, he grasped the sides of his broken nose with his palms. His face throbbed, and he squirmed at the thought of what he had to do. He jerked quickly, snapping the cartridge of his nose back into place. He did well to dilute his cry of agony, pain, and the instant relief embracing him.

"Damn you!" Adamar's ears perked when he heard the warrior’s cursing. The sound of clanging metal followed shortly after as Merlais locked blades with his opponent. Adamar made his way to the commotion. His elven blood came in handy as he weaved in and out of the forest with out being seen or heard. Adamar peered through the brush, Merlais was locking weapons with a goblin similar to the one Adamar had encountered earlier. They were both clearly out of breath, becoming sluggish on blocking one another’s blows.

Adamar pulled an arrow from his quiver. The tight spot in the brush did not allow much room for his draw length and the light rain that seeped through the forest cover did nothing to help either. He quickly realized that he was going to have to risk being seen, if he was going to make an effective shot. He readied his bow and sprung out of the brush, like a startled game hen.

He released his finger, the bowstring vibrating hard. The arrow pierced through the startled goblin’s throat with a loud 'shwunk’. Its body violently snapped backwards, startling Merlais. He glared over in the bow wielder’s direction. Though wounded, the goblin took advantage of the distraction. Raising his weapon above his head, he aimed to cleave the human straight down his exposed flank.

The human’s face was bloodied and angry. He scowled at the half elf, not happy with the assistance. The second arrow whizzed by Merlais’ face, barely missing the tip of his nose and burying itself in between the goblin’s eyes. Merlais snapped his attention back to the dead creature, which collapsed harmlessly at his feet. Adamar didn’t flinch, keeping his bowstring drawn and another arrow ready for any more attackers.

The two men exchanged glances. They both had their differences and pride to take into consideration. Adamar was unamused to be chasing after the thick headed human who once again almost got himself killed. Merlais was offended by the presence of the snobbish half-elven lord, which in his opinion, had no business tagging along with him and Jelar.

Adamar turned back to the direction of the cave, the heavy rain settled to a mere sprinkle. Merlais started to say something, biting his tongue before the words could escape his lips. Risking being rude and ungrateful, there was no way in hell he was going to give the half-breed the luxury of a thank you.

Suddenly a cry pierced through the woods. Merlais recognized his comrade’s voice as he sprung forward. He barreled through the woods again, shoving past Adamar as he did so. Adamar followed, cursing under his breath at Merlais' sporadic judgments. Merlais was the first to break through the woods, into the clearing near the cave. Adamar followed shortly after, snapping past the last of the tree branches.

The ranger was shocked back a couple steps. Several goblins with readied shortspears and shortswords stood between them and the cave. A half-orc dragged what looked like a large crumpled up blue bag pass towards a magnificent, yet deadly hippogriff.

A set of large yellow eyes appeared out of the cave. "If you value your life you will be still." It growled, the hairy muzzle of what appeared to be a wolf was glimpsed briefly through the flickering campfire. Adamar complied, being in no position to argue with the beast for the moment. The human was not so wise.

Merlais swore at their attackers, his voice loud and harsh. "Damn it!" He yelled, his voice loud and harsh. "Where is Jelar!"

To their horror, they watched as a half-orc draped not a blue sack, but the lifeless body of their companion over the dirty white flanks of the hippogriff. The effortless cries of the hateful human were silenced, the goblins fended him back with their sharp edged weapons.

"We have no use for them." The half-orc denounced, mounting the saddled hippogriff behind its ruffled up wings. "Motapha has all he needs with this one." He patted the back of still body laying in front of him. The goblins reluctantly complied, holding Merlais back with their weapons as they slinked away.

"MOVE OUT!" The half-orc commanded, whipping the hippogriff across its bare flanks. The horse-like creature whinnied in anger as it reared slightly. It stretched out its white feathered wings with a soft gradient to red coloring along the edges. The wings beat heavily, spreading dust and leaves everywhere. The three-lined bloody scar denoting the members of Orpheus' army was clear upon the creature's chest as it gained altitude.

Adamar reached for his dagger, the large wolf instantly growled at his movement. "I said don’t move, Medblum." Adamar froze at the sound of his mother’s name on the worg’s tongue. The worg approached the elf cautiously, but sure of itself baring its teeth intimidatingly. Its slobbery tongue dripped its stinky drool onto the elf’s clothing. "The son of the Blade Dancer aren’t you?" It growled, licking its chops. "I shall enjoy picking your bones clean."

"LEAVE HIM!" The screeching voice of the creature's handler called out. The rusty old goblin jerked on the beast’s heavy reigns. "You heard what the boss said, Motapha has no use for him."

The worg perked an ear at the goblin, but ignored his commands. "If he is useless, then I have more reason to indulge in this tasty morsel."

The goblin snapped at the reigns again, jerking the beast back. His skill at handling such a fearsome beast along with the many aged scars, hinted towards his veteran status in the group. "I said leave him," he yelled, "there will be plenty of time for that later." The worg backed away, keeping his eyes fixed on Adamar. "Until later," it said turning to follow the others.

Merlais waved his fists at the beast in the sky. "Damn it!" He cursed. "Come back here and fight me now you coward!" Through the sweat and the blood, Adamar swore he saw tears on the warrior’s face. Frustrated he stomped at the ground. "I will save you my friend." Melais fumed. "I swear it."

Adamar stayed quiet, resting in the spot where the worg almost gobbled him him up at. He shook his head, contemplating his next move. "Obad hai help us." He said under his breath, standing up. "We are going to need it I fear."


HK, the reason you're getting that "you must have at least 3 characters" error, is because everything in the quote DOESN'T count toward the number of characters you have typed. So basically type something in there like "What do you think?" or "Cool beans!" Just 3 characters or more outside of the quotes.

[HKofsesshoumaru]

http://www.absoluteanime.com/sorcerer_hunters/thumbs/_marron.jpg

Ok, so everyone is up to date on what's what and who is who.

Adamar Dalsein (elven word for "Thunder") Medblum, is the son of a chracter I ran years ago, Aramil. Aramil is an elven blade dancer, about 8th level. I used the elven blade dancer stats from the "Oriental Adventure" book for him (I'm not sure what I used to begin with, but most if the stats stayed the same). Adamar looks alot like Marron from Sorcerer Hunters. He is half human and half elf, standing 5'5 @ 140 pounds. He has long black hair, with purple highlights (see my included pic for general image). He is a level 1 ranger.

His mother is a human, that his father casually came across and well..it was a brief encounter. Aramil went his own way, and Adamar grew up, for the most part, with out his father. (He's a busy, ass kicking blade dancer who travels a whole lot!). Adamar carries a long bow and a dagger. He also wears his father's hooded blue cloak, with jeweled clasp (there is a story behind that clasp too). He is the Lord of the Western Lands ( the DM had to tell me which land, since the map is his) and was hired for a mission, involving the blue cloaks. I think the DM and I agreed that it's the same mission that Jelar and Merlais are on.

---Mathias' notes
I think we agreed that Adamar is a minor noble in the kingdom of Dareken. His mother is probably a baroness who wants her son to be as free spirited as the man who fathered him.

Merlais and Jelar are in search of an acolyte named Narine who was kidnapped by a goblin with a scar over his eye. Adamar was sent on behalf of his father, since he couldn't be found, for his knowledge of the battle with the dragon Orpheus. They quickly discovered that the goblin's that took the Narine belong to Orpheus' routed army.

***HK here: Yes, we did agree on the above and I will make sure I keep that in mind when I write my future posts. These edits rocked! Thank you for editing my post here but keeping my original post intact. I am pleased with how this turned out! What does everyone else think?***

[Mathias]

The door slammed shut behind the furious dark green goblin. Two female goblins of lighter shade hurriedly tended to their lord and master. The servants wore simple commoner clothes, but they were of better quality than others in the tribe. The leader roughly handed his dire flail to Tiri who nearly dropped it in the process. He unlatched his shield and threw it upon a table spreading the table's contents across the floor. The other servant, Kipot, took the opportunity to offer up a bottle of beer, careful to keep his head down. He downed it in one drought.

They unbuckled their leader's full plate armor, pock marked by corrosive acid. Though fitted for a halfling knight, he claimed it as his own after defeating the knight in single combat. It's been many years since his time of glory, but soon his father would return. The servants pulled the helmet over the horns that jutted from the back of his head, revealing the scaly skin of the half-green dragon.

He hissed his forked tongue softly, his eyes averting to side slighty to the door behind him. "Enter Schriit no Eye, I could smell you coming down the the hall."

A chain shirt clad goblin entered through the door shut moments later. With his head kept low, the goblin walked suredly into the room. He knelt down to one knee about five feet behind the warlord. The goblin paused, waiting for his lord to address him.

The servants lifted the heavy chest plate off the half-dragon and hung it on the dummy in the corner. Unwilling to wait for his aides to address all of his needs, he grabbed another beer bottle from a nearby table. He turned around to look upon the Schritt, his most loyal, if not trusted, commander. The eye, he remembered, was lost upon that most fateful day of his father's death by some overzealous elven blade dancer. He hissed in anger over their passed failure. He downed half the bottle, letting the rest wash over him to mix with his blood and sweat. "What is it?" The goblin lord scowled.

"Lord Motapha, herald of Orpheaus, and host of his Legion. Hock'nar has returned with the Bluecloak. Poison has left him at the brink of death." Schriit no Eye reported in a husky voice.

"Good. He still lives." The warlord sneered in pleasure. "Take him to the cage. He'll be joining his friend soon."

"My lord, if I may ask, what do you need of this Bluecloak, and why did you let the others go?"

The servant Kipot handed Motapha a leg of mutton, which he heartily sunk his sharp fangs into. Tiri took the beer bottle in hand, but he wouldn't let go. He pulled her close until her body pressed against his and he kissed her with his greasy lips. She struggled briefly until she remembered her place as his concubine. Of course, he had enjoyed breaking her will a long time ago.

"According to the imp, Issar, this Bluecloak" Motapha spat in disgust of the name, "was sent to recover our guest, Narine Usil. I need to know the extent of his mission and gather more intel." He gobbled down another morsel of mutton. "The others are expected to get help."

"But why sir?" The only answer Schriit received was a deep laugh that left shivers down his spine.
HKofsesshoumaru (http://forums.ancientclan.com/member.php?u=1402), I would like you to hit upon the following points and questions in your next post.

1. As a ranger, it wouldn't be difficult for Adamar to track the goblin party back to Pert's tower. However, will Adamar be baited into following this path by the headstrong Merlais Thorash following cautiously. There would be several obstacles to pass along the way, especially in avoiding a confrontation with the worg. Adamar could deduce the goblins path and try to lay an ambush before them, but this would be very dangerous and would end up more or less as a delaying tactic.

Or will Adamar seek help from the Bluecloaks Jelar left guarding Clergyman Eljah Billows. Merlais will mention this reluctantly if asked. The transistion could still be done after finding a hidden message indicating Pert's Tower, that Jelar left behind (Mummy Returns) and possibly hiring a guide.

Help would come in the form of a small strike force, four warriors, 3 human, 1 dwarf, trained with longbows and longsword in chainmail and one halfling cleric trained with a warhammer, sling, large wooden shield, and breastplate armor. This consists of the small search party found along the road searching for your wear abouts.

2. I don't want you to reach the tower. Above all, no interaction with Motapha or Schriite at this time. Overall, it's about a two day hike to the tower from the cave. It will take a day to backtrack to the road and get back to the cave if you get help. Their are pros and cons to your decision, no matter which path you choose that you know and don't know from above.

3. The path to the tower is fraught with natural obstacles. Though it's mainly hills and valleys, there is a short river that needs to be crossed. The goblin party crosses it, but is attacked by a black bear. They injure it and scare it off. Adamar and companions will have to deal with slippery rocks and an enraged black bear injured from the fight.

Ok, that's enough for now. Use what you will and follow the INTENT of my notes. Ask any questions you may want.

[HKofsesshoumaru]

Ok here is my post.Sorry it took so damn long. LOL. Enjoy!

Adamar took a deep breath. The stench of the worg hung in the forest's breeze as it whispered through the trees. “They’re heading north.” he said calmly, looking up to the sky. The sun was beginning to set, streaks of gold and yellow peeked out behind clouds. A single star flickered its light down onto the earth below. “The North star...” Adamar whispered. “They are following the North star.”

Merlais rolled his eyes. “We are wasting our time standing here.” He started back into the brush, halting when the half-elf grabbed the back of his arm.

“No, we can camp here. We will save our strength for the real battle ahead.” Adamar said a little more condescending than he had planned.

Merlais jerked his arm back. “I am tired of of your foolishness, half breed.” He snapped grabbing the hilt of his sword.

Adamar looked at him coldly. “Do what you will.” He said calmly, ignoring the warrior’s threat. The two exchanged glances before the warrior reluctantly sheathed his weapon. The half-elf disappeared into the brush. “Get some sleep.” He called back. “You’ll need it.”

Adamar wasn’t sure if he was asleep when he felt the soft stroke of fingertips across his cheek. His vision was blurry and trance like. He tried to move, a mysterious weight holding him in place. He felt the soft caress of lips brush up against his own, embracing him in a kiss. The overwhelming scent of blueberries and lavender overcame him. He tried to move out from under its weight, but it kept him pinned up against the tree. He relaxed a little. Suddenly, it pulled back. Adamar recognized the green-violet eyes almost instantly.

“Arethusa” he whispered. She giggled sitting back onto the half-elf’s lap. Her long, fiery hair hung down over her voluptuous breasts spilling into her naked lap. Gently, the slightly flustered half-elf brushed his fingers over her round, naked hips. She smiled, fluttering her golden wings and covering him in fairy dust.

“Son of the blade dander.” She purred, twirling a strand of his raven hair in her fingertips. “What brings you into this forest?” Adamar was no fool to her fairy magic, but he played, entertained with the thought that she may be of assistance to him.

“I have lost a good friend to the Goblins.”

“The ones that flew off on the worgs?”

“Yes. They followed the North star.”

“But it is light now. Will you rely on just your instinct to track them?”

“Well, I thought that’s where you could help.” Adamar said with a slight smirk.

Arethusa brushed some of her hair behind a shoulder and folded her arms with a slight pout as if offended. That didn't last long. “And what shall you give me in exchange?” She said raising an eyebrow.

“Exchange?” Adamar mused. He gently leaned into her, stroking his fingers through her long hair. She relaxed, wrapping her arms around his neck. He kissed her softly on the lips, running his hand gently down her inner thigh. She blushed, the heat in her cheeks warmed his face.

“I can help you in your quest.” She sighed, pulling away from him. “The flower root upon my lips will help you see the North Star in the daytime.”

Adamar smiled to himself. “How do I know that you have not poisoned me?” He said, as she pulled herself off of him.

She smiled as she began to fade into the streaks of sunlight the morning sun was bringing. “I guess you will just have to see…”

Adamar felt well rested when Merlais found him still against the tree. He looked at the ranger in disbelief, bewildered by the half-elf’s calm demeanor. “Good morning.” Adamar said as he stretched. “Sleep well?”

Merlais stared at him coldly. “A fairy!” He hissed. “You have been bewitched in your sleep!”

Adamar stood up brushing himself off as he did. “I am far from bewitched my friend.” He said with a slight smirk. “Besides, there is no such thing as fairies.” Merlais tried to argue with him, but Adamar was already making his way ahead. “Let’s go.” He called, motioning to the rising sun above them. "We have a long journey ahead of us.”

Two days had passed and Merlais was beginning to doubt the ranger’s sense of direction. He trudged along behind Adamar, observing the wildlife as he did. “Wait.” Adamar said suddenly, stopping completely. He perked an ear to the wind.

The human looked confused, seeing no obvious danger ahead of them. “What the hell are you waiting for?” He demanded. He stepped around the half-elf, pushing his way into the brush. A loud roar startled them both as the warrior shot out of the brush.

“Bear!” He yelled, sprinting past the slightly amused Adamar. He had already drawn his bow, having sensed the bear half a mile back. He had hoped the bear would have ignored them as they took a roundabout path to avoid it. Unfortunately, the bear appeared aggressively territorial and would not back down to any trespassers.

He took aim. The bear barreled at him, each of its heavy strides shaking the ground underneath him. He released the bowstring, the arrow burying itself into the animal’s shoulder. It didn’t phase the beast at all as it was coming dangerously close.

“Shit.” Adamar swore under his breath, realizing he had no time to reload another arrow. He turned to run. The human must have already fled, since there was no obvious sign of him.

The bear was gaining on the ranger, its heavy breath beating down on him. Adamar dodged into some brush, hoping to lose the animal with the sudden movement. The bear was heavy at his heels, tearing through the brush of the thick forest.

Adamar leapt into the air. He grabbed hold of a thick tree branch and swung himself up into a nearby tree. He balanced himself on a branch, readying his bow. The animal stopped at the base of the tree confused at where its prey had scurried off to.

Adamar’s arrow sunk deep into the animal’s neck as two more arrows followed. Dazed, the beast seemed subdued as it sluggishly pawed at the tree’s trunk. Suddenly, it gained footing on the trunk and, to Adamar’s surprise, it began to claw its way up toward him.

This could not have been any ordinary black bear. “Three arrows to the neck should have kept him down.” Adamar thought as he climbed the tree higher. The bear was gaining on him again and he was running out of branches.

Adamar assessed the situation. He was too high in the tree to jump to another one safely. He could attempt to shoot at the bear again, but his footing was becoming tenuous the higher he got. The bear was close now. Adamar could feel its weight bending the tree’s branches toward it. He braced himself and readied for the bear’s attack. Adamar clung to the treetop, hoping that bear’s blow would deliver him a quick death.

“Ankoe!” A shrill voice echoed through the tree tops. He opened his eyes at the sound of the voice. The familiar scent of blueberries and lavender caught his attention. The fairy had wrapped herself around him tightly. “Ankoe!” She hissed, waving a hand at the bear dismissively. “Leave him!”

The bear hesitated, growling in defiance. “You know what will happen if you interfere with matters that are not of our realm.” The bear complied begrudgingly, climbing its way back down the tree.

Arethusa turned her attention to the ranger. “What were you thinking?” She scolded, slapping him across the face. “You don’t belong in these woods.”

Adamar looked confused. “I was just passing through.”

“You could have been killed!” The fairy berated him.

“By that bear?” The half-elf looked away, hoping she wouldn't notice his sigh of relief that he was still alive. “No. I had it under control.”

“Did you now? Is that why you were huddled around the tree trunk like a scared raccoon?”

Adamar gave her a hard, indignant glare. “I was far from scared, thank you.”

Arethusa smiled, leaning into his face. “Now that I saved your life, how shall you repay me?” A familiar voice piped up through the trees.

“Adamar!” the human yelled from below, “Is that you!?”

The fairy rolled her eyes. “I can put him to sleep if you like.” She smiled, kissing him on the lips. “So that you can repay me...properly.” She smiled raunchily.

Adamar sighed, pushing past her. “Another time perhaps.”

“Why! What is so important that you cannot stay here with me?”

“I have a quest to fulfill. You know this.” He licked his lips, pausing for a moment to taste the bitterness of the poison. “You really should give up trying to fool me with your fairy tricks, Arethusa.” He said coldly, looking up at the angry fairy. “I am immune to your poison and spells.”

Flustered, she disappeared into the trees, cursing him as she did. Adamar dropped to the ground, gaining his balance as he did.

“I thought you were as good as dead.” Merlais snorted as they made there way back through the brush.

Adamar shrugged. “No matter.” He said, “We have far deadlier beasts to fight.”

[Mathias]

“Who are you talking to, my friend?” A hoarse voice questioned with a muffled cough.

There was a slight pause as the dwarf, huddled in the corner of the damp cell, fidgeted for a moment longer. “Sorry my friend.” The stout dwarf shifted his knees, so his rump hit the uneven stone floor with his back against the sidewall. He kicked his leg out, his foot now under his right knee, with a resigned sigh. “I’ve been alone for so long, I fear that I’ve found myself talking to, well, myself.” He ran his stubby fingers through his long, black hair. The humidity in the air caused the coarse lengths of his hair to mat across his face. He released a forced chuckle, amused with his condition, but not really.

“My friend, how long have you been awake?” The dwarf spoke with genuine concern. The cellmate attempted to answer, but was wracked by a painful coughing fit. The dwarf crawled over to his friend and, with his own dirty brown tattered shirt, wiped the man’s face clean of blood. He tore off a strip of his left sleeve, revealing a tattoo, as a makeshift bandage to replace the one around his friend’s neck.

“They brought you back pretty beaten up.” He tied the bandage snuggly; fully aware of the infection swelling around the small hole he covered. Their rations of water were slim and he let his injured friend drink both shares to keep up the cellmate’s strength. At any rate, the man would die of dehydration before the infection would kill him. “I wandered if you would even wake after that last session.” He brought the bowl of water to the man’s mouth. He licked his own chapped lips as his friend drank the water down slowly. The dwarf would have to make due with the sweat off the rocks again.

The dwarf sat the bowl to the side and deposited himself back against the wall. “What’s that on your arm, Murkannon?” The impaired warrior shakily pointed out the dwarf’s tattoo of a blue cloak threading an elegant but simple crown. He looked at his arm questioningly, then turned his arm until he saw his tattoo. Relief spread across his face as he realized that it wasn’t another rat. He had killed one earlier in the day but, though he detested the thought, it did provide sustenance. Of course, he wasn’t eager to have another meal of that type anytime soon.

“Ah, you had me going there for a moment, Jelar, my friend.” Murkannon slapped his arm over the tattoo and gave it a good rub. “It’s a right of passage for the Bluecloaks of Dagolmane.” Dagolmane; the dwarf was a survivor of Dagolmane. That explained much. “Each of us received tattoos of a blue cloak on our left arms.” The cellmate nodded, knowing that the custom had picked up again over the past decade.

Jelar Riverman opened his mouth to ask about the crown, he was silenced when the dwarf brought his index and middle finger perpendicular to his lips with a hush. The hobgoblin guard, Chjeck’Na if he remembered correctly, patrolled the short hall with two open barred cells on one side and two isolation rooms on the other. The guard grated the flat of his blade across the iron bars of their cell as he passed. Motapha’s servant girl, Tiri, followed five steps behind according to protocol with a bowl of porridge and a bottle of brown water. The hobgoblin knocked on the door diagonal from their cell three times, one long, then two short. Jelar could only see the profile of the hobgoblin and hear his portion of the conversation.

“Back away from the door.” Chjeck'Na barked. A few moments passed. “Be good for Tiri now or you'll taste the sting of my whip again.” He chuckled, hoping, almost demanding, that she bait him into unfurling the black leather strapped against his reddish-orange skin. She must have denied him his pleasure, because Tiri was already administering to the prisoner within.

Ten minutes passed as the anxious hobgoblin paced back and forth in front of the door in anticipation of an attack. Finally, Tiri exited the room with her head bowed and bowls empty. “Did you secure the mouthpiece properly?” Tiri nodded and started to walk away. She stopped in front of the Bluecloak's cell, her eyes shared an unspoken plea. Chjeck'Na answered it with a kick in the ass. “Get behind me swine, remember your place.” She bowed and whimpered several times, inching her way around the dungeon master. “Hurry now, I have some bones to roll and purse to fill.” They quickly moved down the hall and entered the adjoining guard room, an audible click sounded as the door closed. Jelar scolded himself for not noticing the tell-tale sound earlier.

“Who's in that room, my friend?” Jelar asked, pulling himself to a sitting position. His back ached terribly, but he knew he would need to push himself if he was to escape anytime soon.

“That's Narine Usil, my charge.” Murkannon shook his head slightly before bowing his head in shame. He pinched the bridge of his nose with his index finger and thumb, holding himself back from shedding a tear, though he was so dehydrated that he probably couldn't. “I was paid to keep the young acolyte safe. I failed her.” He held his hand up to stop the pressing questions on the warrior's mind. He let out a few dry sobs. Several uncomfortable minutes passed, before the dwarf spoke up. “Motapha's men attacked our caravan and she was taken. While the other's were carried away on the carriage by the frightened horses, I chased after them only to be captured myself. I failed us both.” He looked away, not able to look his mercenary comrade in the eye.

“You did all you could, my friend. Now rest a while.” An hour passed. Jelar woke up with a start, immediately realizing that his nightmares were far more like a frolic across a flowery meadow on a windy day than the all too real dungeon he languished in between the torture sessions. He shifted his weight, trying to wake his legs from their tingling sleep.

“I've told you much, my friend.” Murkannon said with all due seriousness; he had recovered his composure. He sat a few feet away from the warrior with his knees folded against his chest. His fingers and thumbs were pressed together at the tips, his index fingers touching his black bearded chin and thumbs at the base of his thick neck. “Forgive me for changing the subject, but can we talk about you for a while?” Jelar was taken aback at first and a little wary. Strangely, he felt compelled to please his friend, if questions Murkannon had, answers he would give. After all, he was good and trusted friend. The warrior nodded his approval. “What information did they ask for and how did you answer?”

“Schriit's interrogation was fairly straightforward. Our guild locations, strength in arms, local militia, but primarily the troop movements of the Kaloranian armies surrounding the area of Ethcalm, a small city farther down the southwest coast.” Murkannon absorbed the knowledge, confirming the communique he received earlier from his plant in the region.

“I didn't tell them anything that wasn't common knowledge already and just enough to ensure that they'd keep me living. The weird thing is, Schriit kept asking about the 'Nekranian Eye.' He described it as a transparent blue, sapphire lens.” Jelar shrugged his shoulders in total confusion. “What the hell is that and what do they need it for? I just don't know.” Murkannon nodded knowingly; he breathed a sigh of relief. That meant his capture served its purpose to gather information on all parties involved and as decoy for the package.

A couple hours later, Jelar found that he had told Murkannon everything that he had fought so hard to keep from Schriit. Why had he given over so much information to this dwarf, who very well could be one of Motopha's minions? Jelar shook his head as if coming out of a dream. He endured the horrible tortures of the demented goblin Schriit and give up so little, while this benign dwarf with a devilish smile on his face convinced him to allow highly classified intelligence to slip off his tongue like a cascading waterfall. He squinted his eyes at the dwarf. “What need do you have for the information I gave you?” Jelar shivered.

Murkannon closed his eyes slowly; Jelar couldn't help himself from doing the same. Jelar's head exploded in a bright white light and a pounding headache that drowned out all sounds around him. He feared that his broken rib had pinched a nerve along his spine or some vital organ and he was dying. A few seconds later, his head calmed and his vision slowly returned from the daze. His dwarven friend gave an inquisitive look, worried about his well being. Jelar nodded with a smile, reassuring his good friend that he was fine.

Murkannon waved off Jelar's concerns with a slight chuckle. “Just call me a history buff. I've always been interested in the Bluecloaks since I was a kid.” He leaned in closer with elbows on his knees and his chin rested in the palms of his hands, reminiscing of a happier time in his childhood. “Dregfon and Murkannon Stormweaver,” he said proudly pointing to himself when he spoke his own name, “were at the battle of Lake Aspic where the Bluecloaks killed...” His eyes darted back and forth, ensuring that the hobgoblin guard was still out of sight. Satisfied, he whispered, “you know who” with a childlike wink.

Jelar scrunched up his face quizzically for a moment until his face blanched as the answer dawned on him. “Orpheus” he mouthed, not daring to utter the cursed name within the very walls of the tower where the dragon's son, Motapha, held them captive. The warrior's attention peaked as he beckoned the dwarf to go on. “Adamar told me this very story nearly a week past.” The dwarf was surprised, though his cheerful demeanor returned quickly. “So you and Dregfon, your brother was it, was there too?”

“It was his axe that brought down the dragon.” Murkannon returned to hushed tones and kept an eye out for the guard. “He broke its wing, keeping it earthbound while we and the other Bluecloaks finished him off.” Jelar held his tongue, not wanting to interject that Aramil's, Adamar's father, final blow actually killed Orpheus. He couldn't tell if it would change the story or hurt his friend's pride, so he didn't speak up, after all Adamar may have been mistaken; it was a long time ago. Jelar reaffirmed his trust in Murkannon Stormweaver as he continued to weave tales of his exploits. He'd do anything for Murkannon. Anything. He was a good friend.

HKofsesshoumaru (http://forums.ancientclan.com/member.php?u=1402), please include the following points in your next post.

1. Adamar and Merlais reach Pert's tower. It's a two story wooden fort twenty feet cubed with a ten foot by ten foot by twenty foot tower frame with a ladder leading to the nest on top. The former owner, Pert, hangs from a noose beneath the nest, swinging against the wind.

2. A small tent camp surrounds the tower. Tiri, the goblin slave, brings the worg and his goblin trainer their dinner at their isolated post. The disgruntled worg trips Tiri in anger.

3. The scene looks like the worg is going to kill Tiri. Merlais tries to convince himself that he could care less about the situation. Adamar is probably more confused about the situation than anything. Arethusa should probably appear and chide him for his indecision in allowing the abuse to continue.

4. Basically have them kill the goblin trainer and the worg hopefully without sounding an alarm. Perhaps Arethusa, the pixie sorceress can cast obscuring mist to create a light fog over the guard post allowing the Bluecloak's to perform the deed.

5. Basic information gathered from Tiri:
a. Man matching Jelar's description is in the watchtower dungeon, former animal pen for injured animals Pert was trying to help.
b. There's a nice dwarf down there to. He is a good friend. That should sound a minor alarm, but not enough to act upon or believe otherwise. While in bigger cities it's not too uncommon, out in the boonies here that is a rarity.
c. There's a gagged lady down there too. Her words our dangerous. Referring to cleric spells, but she can't confirm.
d. She can help them free the prisoners, if they promise to take her away from it all.

6. I will write the epic escape scene. It is the final post of this adventure. It involves Arethusa, the bear, and others already discussed.