Tamaranis

Well, I read that first post and that narration style made it fun to read before the plot even really reveals itself. I can see bits of people you know surfacing in your characters too, I'm not sure how much of that is deliberate and how much is just how this sort of thing works, and I'm probably missing most of the times it happens anyway. Heh, "slash."

Robby felt his eyes being drawn to the knife in the woman’s hand. It seemed to be just a knife, he didn’t exactly feel physically threatened by that in itself, but the fact that she felt like she needed to have a knife bothered him. Plus it might always be more than just a knife. “Well,” he said carefully, “my name is Robby. As for where I come from...” he couldn’t properly explain where he had come from if he didn’t no where he was. He didn’t want to mention the empire incase they were known but not particularly loved, here. “...I’m at a bit of a loss to explain that.” He smiled despite the fact he really didn’t like that knife. He looked about as harmless as anyone with all their limbs intact could. It was hard to say exactly how old he was, young, but not a child. A little on the short side, too. He could have been anywhere in his teenage years, perhaps even his early twenties, but the lack of facial hair suggested something toward the younger end of the spectrum. He clothing was simple, like a peasant might wear, and it was a little ragged. He somehow seemed to give the impression this must be a result of playing in the dirt. His arms were still easily visible at his sides, and there were no weapons or armor of any sort visible anywhere on him, not even anything as simple as a sling or small knife on his simple rope-belt. His difficulty in explaining where he’d come from carried what was almost embarrassment with it. Between all this and the insistence of Troy that he was harmless, it was difficult for Dana to keep her guard up. But when she was close like this she noticed something she’d missed before. It was very subtle, the way the mana flows were twisted by his presence. The typical mage would never notice it unless they were looking for it. Even as closely tied to the mana as she was, she had hardly seen it. If she hadn’t been on such high alert she’d have missed it entirely. The effect reached a few hundred feet in every direction, down into the earth as easily as upward into the sky. It wasn’t particularly strong, nothing strong could be so difficult to perceive, but it was definitely there. The purpose of the distortion, it seemed, was to generate energy in the surrounding space and funnel it into him. It covered enough area that despite the weakness of it, the entirety of the effect must have been significant. Only by following the flow back into him was she able to see the mana coursing through his body, more of it and far more fluid than in a normal human. Even actively casting mages didn’t have manaflows that looked like that. It was totally out of synch with his physical appearance, which suggested nothing even remotely dangerous or even out of the ordinary.

Robby was at a complete loss. He was used to his thoughts being dominated by who might be pursuing him and how best to avoid them, and he hadn’t had a lot of time for other questions, like what he would do if he wasn’t running for his life. But so far as he could tell he really was in a place where the empire would never find him. There was a mild elation at the idea that he’d never again have to face the prospect of fighting imperials, but that didn’t give him any ideas on what he should do now. He was going to have to build some kind of a life, and he’d rather do it without upsetting whoever the local power was. If he really was done running he wasn’t keen on starting again. He’d spotted a few tree stumps that looked like the work of human hands, so there somebody around here. He was distracted from these pressing thoughts by a ball of fire hurtling in his direction, thirty or forty feet above the ground. It’s course seemed level, and he couldn’t see any sign of where it might have come from, so all he could do was watch it and try to get out of its path if it should suddenly plunge toward him. It didn’t plunge toward him, though, and when it passed overhead he saw that it was no simple fiery enchantment, but a bird with feathers of flame. He was wary that there might still be some malice behind the appearance of the burning bird, it had the look of a distraction about it, but he couldn’t help but follow the path of its flight as it slowly curved around toward him again. Then, in a very startling flash of light and fire, the bird appeared almost directly overhead. Between its impressive wingspan and the fact it was on fire, Robby retreated a few steps before he realized it wasn’t attacking him. The bird hovered there for a moment, then made an extremely non-threatening “coo” noise, and descended to the ground. “Cooie?” It seemed to ask. Unfortunately, Robby didn’t know giant flaming bird. He didn’t really know what to make of it. It was obviously magical, but also definitely not of the Empire. The way it was staring at him made him think it must be intelligent, but whether it was the intelligent in the way a crow was intelligent, intelligent like a human, or intelligent like a dragon, he could only guess. He decided to assume like a human, and held his arms out to either side, displaying his empty palms to the bird. He couldn’t help grinning a little at how foolish he suddenly felt, first for being afraid of the bird and now for trying to speak with it, “Uhh... Hi?”

Almok decided he would walk a bit. It wasn’t that he’d lied to Taelth, even Almok had more honor than that, he was still going to loose a few score of arrows this afternoon. The weather was nice and he was going to take the long way, was all. In a human village with a similar population of fifty or so people, Almok had never actually bothered with a headcount, you wouldn’t be able to get much walking in just going from place to place. But elves spread things out. They didn’t actually live in the branches of the trees, as the stories of them reputedly claimed, but they didn’t feel any need to get every little bit they could out of the land they lived on. There weren’t many of them, and they had a lot of land, so they didn’t need to. The whole thing was spread out with homes and places of labor for fifty elves spanning nearly two miles. The buildings themselves were of excellent construction. Having a life that could not be extinguished through age or disease, and often living in the same place for most of their lives, elves naturally tended to invest a lot of effort into the state of their homes. Many of the buildings were wooden, but stone had been imported for many others. Roofs were not thatched, they were shingled. Most of the walls were exceptionally thick, actually consisting two separate walls with a gap between for added insulation. Even glass windows showed up here and there. His own home lacked both stone and glass in its construction, as Almok had thought the effort of acquiring such materials too great. The double wall structure was in place, though. Tall, healthy trees were scattered throughout the settlement, but were spaced thinly enough not to block the sun. Tiny crops of various sorts and gardens were just off the beaten, unpaved path, and stretched out for several miles from the actual dwelling places. Almok only saw two other people on his way, despite the scenic route. An eccentric shepherd who had, in fact, managed to work several living trees into the framework of her home, and a seeg named Raeb. Everyone else was either training at some talent they held to be important or working in the surrounding area. The archery range consisted of a sturdy shack with a few bows and strings inside and a pile of arrows. There were also a couple of sacks of branches and other debris with targets drawn on them at various distances from the shack. Taelth had put those together, probably. “So I hear swordsmanship is the flavor of the decade,” said a mocking voice. Almok started, and noticed that a deceptively small looking woman was already on the range. “Meeri, I didn’t see you there.” Meeri chuckled and let loose an arrow that struck slightly off its mark. “And to think, people are thinking you’ll become a defender, now.” Almok looked for a bow with a high draw weight, and realized Meeri was using the heaviest one already. Settling for the runner up, he set about stringing it. “I don’t see why they shouldn’t think that. Just eight years and I’m better than Taelth already.” Meeri shook her head, “Unless someone like Taelth just walked up behind you and stabbed you in the back.” “Well,” Almok considered this as he selected a handful of arrows that were straight and still had fletching, “I move pretty quick. I think if Taelth wanted to kill me I’d come out of it on top as long as I spotted him before I was actually dead.” “You wouldn’t” Almok walked up beside her and knocked an arrow, “Doesn’t matter, Taelth’s a nice guy. He wouldn’t kill me.” Meeri loosed another arrow, and it struck a little farther off the mark than the last one had. Almok loosed an arrow at the same target and hit dead centre. “Hmm. I’ve got so much natural talent for this I got better at it by practicing swordwork.” “Taelth might just kill you. Eeph knows I would if I was training with you every day.” Meeri’s next arrow was actually touching Almok’s when it struck, but it wasn’t quite centre. “Since when are you an expert on our training, anyway?” Almok asked. “Word gets around.” Meeri loosed another arrow, “Taelth has impressed a lot of people over the years. And then you end up better than him in under a decade.” She laughed suddenly, “You know, the farther I was from here the better I heard you were. In Capital they’re comparing you to some of the legends.” “And rightly so,” Almok loosed. The arrow struck the outer edge of the target, but it didn’t seem to faze him. “Which legends?” “Omuron, Ighgresk, Nedala,” Meeri’s arrow landed as close to center as the last one had, “The swordmasters, basically. Nedala doesn’t particularly appreciate the comparison.” Almok completely missed his target, “Omuron?” he asked indignantly. “I’m sure if Omuron were still around he’d be just as upset about it as you,” Meeri’s arrow landed midway between the centre of the target and the outer ring, “But you can’t blame these people, they’ve never met you.” They each loosed a few more arrows in silence. Almok didn’t suffer any more complete misses but Meeri was definitely better with a bow. He was forced to admit to himself that that first one must have just been lucky. Almok chuckled suddenly, “Ighgresk, I like that.” “Of course you do.” There was another pause of a few minutes before Almok asked, “So why are you bothering with a bow at all? I thought you mastered some spell that would turn a man’s heat to a weak jelly, so that the force of the next beat would tear it apart.” “Something like that,” Meeri replied, “But being a seeg means being ready to overcome anything, in any situation.” “I think,” Almok ventured, “That if you tear an opponent’s heart to shreds, well, that’ll pretty much overcome any opponent.” “But if he’s got spelled armor, or there’s a magic damper, or if he’s a void mage, or any number of things, putting an arrow through his heart will work just as well, and won’t be nearly as hard.” “That’s what Taelth and I are for,” Almok said dismissively. “Well, if you’re not there, or you two are already dead, I’ll have to do it myself. So I’d better be able to use a bow if the time ever comes.” Meeri stately flatly. This time it was Almok’s turn to shake his head, “…always thinking about killing people.” “It’s my job.” The loosed a few more arrows each before Almok started up the conversation again, “What brings you back here, anyway?” “What if something happened around here? Do you know what Feltha’s defence force would consist of if it were attacked?” Meeri returned. “Not really.” Almok landed an arrow almost right on top of his first. “Hah!” “You, Taelth, and Raeb.” Meeri told him. “You’re forgetting Reblin. And the guy with the stick.” Almok corrected. “The guy with the stick?” Meeri asked skeptically. “Yeah, I forget his name, actually.” Almok elaborated, “Weird guy, he carriers a stick around all the time. He fought off a couple of dwarves with it once.” “And Reblin?” “Hey, Reblin’s almost as good a mage as I am a swordsman.” Almok’s voice took on a bit of a defensive tone. “And who’s going to attack us anyway? Dwarves? there are about twelve of them within ten miles of us. Humans? Reblin, Taelth, and I could stop an army of them.” “Was that injured pride just now?” Meeri asked, genuinely curious. Almok considered this. “No, I think I’m just insulted that you don’t think any group of people that has me in it will automatically succeed.” “I think you were defending the honor of the warriors of Feltha.” Meeri disagreed. “Anyway, there’s a real shortage of capable people around here to stand up and fight in the event of a conflict. Feltha was the best place for me to be.” After several moment of intense thought, Almok responded, “Oh it is, is it?” “Yes.” “You always come back,” he said slyly. Their archery had come to an end a few minutes ago. “Almok. I know this is hard for you to understand,” Meeri spoke slowly, as if to a particularly slow child, “but everything the rest of the world does isn’t centered on you.” “Oh Meeri, you’re such naïve, perfect little killer, that’s what I love about you.” “I am a perfect killer.” Meeri loosed an arrow again to accent her point, “or at least I strive to be. No matter how good you become with a sword, or a bow, or whatever other weapons you decide to master, you never will be.” “Yeah, I’m more an artist, really.” Almok either missed or ignored her tone, “I’ve got this perfect, intuitive, beautiful control over swords. It’s not really for defending or killing, it’s for its own intrinsic perfection.” He resumed his archery as well, and loosed another arrow. “Not so much with bows, though.” Meeri laughed again. Almok was confusing and frustrating, and his total lack of regard for everything that wasn’t him made him unpopular sometimes, but it always made her laugh when he took himself seriously. “You’ll give it up in another two or three years, at the outside.” She grinned. “No…” Almok almost sounded as if he really didn’t know what she was talking about, “It’s my calling.” “Just like painting, dancing, sculpting, smithing, and human languages?” she asked. “I never once claimed smithing was my calling,” Almok replied, “Just that I had a gift for it.” “The world isn’t here for your personal amusement.” “I’m just exotic, is all. That’s what you love about me. I’m also very attractive” “How many women have you been with in the last eleven years, Almok?” Meeri asked. “Four.” Almok responded immediately. “No… five. Six if you count that human girl.” “A human?” Meeri was incredulous “Well, it was just a couple of nights, really. There wasn’t much to it besides mutual fascination.” Almok caught a disgusted look. “You see, she came here to study our ancient wisdom or something, I’m not really sure. And I was still into human languages at the time so it was a chance to put it to practice, plus I was the only person who could actually speak with her. Anyway, she was really fascinated by elves on the whole, and she was pretty attractive for a human, almost looked like an elf. I figured that I might as well go for it, since they die so fast. And even before that they get all feeble and-“ “My point is that you’re too fickle to hold the interest of any reasonable person, no matter how exotic you are. There’s no point in getting involved with you again, you’ll get bored of it in a couple years.” “Oh…you always come back.” There wasn’t a hint of doubt in Almok’s voice.

Jadros was fully and completely prepared for another not particularly appetizing meal on the road. He had long ago ceased to fear such things and now simply expected them instead. So he was surprised, shocked even, at the quality of the food Grasshopper and Matthias had prepared. This was so unexpected that he didn’t immediately comment. He ate a bit more first, making sure that first bite hadn’t been some sort of a fluke. When he discovered it wasn’t he felt his mood unexpectedly and inexplicably improve. “Best food I’ve had on the road in as long as I can remember,” he declared, “and I can remember a lot of being on the road.” Leli smiled a bit, and Grasshopper and Matthias seemed to appreciate the appreciation. Jadros immediately realized he’d just complimented Grasshopper’s cooking, and that this might provoke a comment from Hrath that would deepen the rift between the two of them. Hrath was his superior and a good man, Jadros didn’t want to confront him directly regarding the matter, but he didn’t want any members of Lymnor’s hand becoming alienated, either. “I can remember a couple of times we had food like this in camp, though.” he added, then laughed a little, “We had this angry little guy cooking in the camp when I was on the Mynten campaign, and he caused me about as much trouble as anyone I ever commanded.” Jadros stopped to process another mouthful, “He made food like this, and he felt real important about it. Now, people thought they could kind of shove him around, ‘cause he was a little guy, about yay high,” Jadros held his hand out to indicate the stature of the cook in question, “Now he’d usual work a couple of extra hours after his shift, because like I said, he took himself really seriously, and thought what he was doing was really important-not that I objected to that. He was a good cook. But troops would sort of slink over from their assigned mess tent to eat at his, and so there would still be people hanging around looking for food when he finished up.” Jadros chuckled again at the memory, ate some more, then continued, “Now, a hungry soldier isn’t exactly the most diplomatic sort, so sometimes he’s trying to close up for the night, and hungry troops hanging around don’t want to go eat at some other tent, and they’d kind of try to intimidate him a bit.” “He was little, and people thought they could push him around,” Jadros continued, “but as soon as someone touched this guy, he’d just explode. He’d be swinging at anything that moved. Now we had some big lads in that campaign, but they just didn’t see it coming, and half the time they ended up hurt as bad as he did. Usually to stop it we had to get two or three people on him.” Jadros shook his head and ate a little more, “Now I don’t know how many of you remember the Mynten campaign, but we had some bad intel, and one of our camps got hit really hard. And as usual, this stuff happens to me. “So we’re totally overrun, they’re right in the camp, can’t use my bow, I’m slicing at looms left right and centre,” Jadros was speaking animatedly, he was telling the story for its own sake now, “And this bloody loom, all high on magic, doesn’t even have a sword or anything, rushes right at me.” Jadros put another spoonful of the stew into his mouth, chewed swallowed, and grinned, “So I catch him right across the belly and chest,” He mimed a swing, “and it should have killed him, but this guy was thicker than me and taller than Hrath by a longshot both ways. He just charged right through it, grabs me,” Jadros mimed a bearhug this time, “And just keeps on going. I’ve lost my sword by now, of course, and he just bulls right into the mess tent.” Jadros laughed out loud, “And we go into the mess tent, and I see that angry little cook still going about his business cooking. And he was mad. It was like, ‘how dare these assholes fight right beside my kitchen?’ So the big loom runs me into this table with all sorts finished meals laid out on it, and me and the loom and the table all go over.” “He had me against the ground and he was so bloody strong I couldn’t believe it. He’s crushing the life out of me and I’m thinking, ‘this is it, I’m dead.’ But suddenly the loom forgets about me and stands up, and little cooks hanging from the loom’s back by a kitchen knife!” Jadros was laughing as he spoke, “So this big dumb loom, all high on magic and doesn’t really even know what’s going on is trying to grab little cook, but he’s too big and he can’t reach. So he starts rolling around, and can’t get him off. He picks up the table and he’s hitting his back with the bloody table, but angry cook just won’t let go. So just as I get up again and I’m looking for some kind of weapon, the loom runs backward into the tent pole, and the whole mess tent comes down.” “By the time I get the damn canvas off me and find where the big loom and the angry cook were, the cook’s all beaten up and bleedin’ all over the place, and loom? he’s dead! I don’t know exactly what happened, but I’m just glad that bloody cook decided it was the loom’s fault that table got knocked over and not mine.” Jadros set about finishing his meal.

((If some prospective new member should happen to want to participate in this, but not be able to get to the post in this link: http://www.patrickdurham.net/themightypen/index.php?showtopic=14199 just PM me.)) It wasn't that Robby was tired. Oh no, he couldn't become tired doing anything so simple as running. It was that he was running as fast as he possibly could. He was at the absolute limit of his speed, no sudden rush of determination or sight of his goal would be able to grant him any more speed. This was it, as fast as he could ever move, and it wasn't fast enough. Branches lashed against him, stinging his face and beginning the work of turning his clothing ragged. The ground was uneven here, and covered in exposed tree roots and low growth. He adjusted his step accordingly without any significant loss in speed, he couldn’t afford to go any slower. He couldn’t even afford to move as slowly as he was now. Most humans would have found matching his pace for even a few seconds to be a difficult task. But his pursuers, imperial soldier golems, were even faster and more tireless than he. They were stronger too. They ran heedlessly through branches and other growth he would have to take care to avoid. At least it meant he could hear where they were. They were close, now. When he looked back he imagined he could see the glint of light of their weapons. They were even with him, too, far off to either side but slowly closing in. They would find him, he would have to face them. It would have been better to turn around, take them by surprise, try to fight through the way he'd come and hope most of them didn't realize he'd changed directions until he was away from them again. But he couldn't do that, so he kept running. It didn't make any sense, they would just tighten the noose, he would still have to face them, all he was doing was postponing the inevitable. But he kept running. This, I think, is appropriate repayment It was more an impression of someone else's thoughts and intentions more than a voice. Not that he had any idea what that was supposed to mean anyway. “Spectress! What the hell!?” His breath still came easily, he didn't need it for running, shouting proved no additional challenge and the imperial golems knew where he was anyway. The spirit didn't answer. It seldom did. So Robby continued to run. But something was different. It was taking too long for the imperials to find him. He should have felt their weapons suddenly tear into his flesh by now, or seen a wall of the determined creatures in his path. But nothing of the sort happened. If anything, the sound of their pursuit was dropping farther away. That shouldn't have been possible. He couldn't outrun a soldier type golem. But the sounds of pursuit were definitely dropping away now, and faster. They were yelling now, in confusion, they had lost track of him. What exactly it was they were saying, Robby couldn't tell, they were suddenly too far off. Suddenly, and completely unexpectedly, he came out of the forest he was running through. He hadn't seen the trees thinning, or any sort of edge to it, he'd just suddenly stepped out into a cleared area. He continued running, though he couldn't hear sounds of pursuit at all anymore. It didn't bother him at all that he was moving uphill now. He finally slowed his pace when he glanced back and saw that the “forest” he’d just exited was, in fact, a small copse of trees that would take him perhaps a minute to run across. Taking a more careful survey of his surroundings, he realized he didn't recognize anything. No landmarks he recognized anywhere. He stopped running. “Where am I?” He wondered out loud, not really expecting an answer. Somewhere the Empire will never find you

Almok da’Faalon and Taelth da’Murak circled one another, each of them holding a long sword in one hand and a short, heavy parrying blade in the other. Both were breathing heavily, Taelth more so. They came together again weaving swords in a way that most mortal swordsmen would find difficult to follow. Each began a feint, switched off into a different feint, and flowed from there into a third before actually committing to an attack that the other saw coming anyway. Both fighters were a perfect example of elven swordsmanship. Tall, lean and tanned, elves didn’t long carry scars or injuries. They were tired, but even in exhaustion there was a distinct sort of nobility in their appearance. Had a human been there to observe them they would have seemed perfect, and their fighting no less so. It was the sort of contest that inspired poets. Their feet moved as quickly as their swords, constantly changing stances even in the rare moments when their position was static. Neither one experienced a lack of balance, or less that total control of their weapons. That would have ended the duel. The swords each of them held were light, but their strength and control ensured there would be every bit as much force behind a successful strike as with a heavier weapon. Almok caught and tossed aside one of Taelth’s thrusts with his own sword, reversed his stance, and worked his parrying blade so quickly with his off hand that it kept both of Taelth’s blades away. “Am I going to have to start tying one arm behind my back?” he asked. Taelth kicked him in the knee just as he finished asking then swung of his sword into Almok’s side as he stumbled. The sword wasn’t actually sharp enough to really cut into flesh, but it was steel, and heavy enough to cause damage that was uncomfortable if not life threatening. “Not if you’re going to keep walking into things like that.” Almok put his sword down, lifted his shirt with his free hand and pointed indignantly at the welt that had already appeared. “Ow!” He picked his sword back up, “But I had to give you something. We’re what, six and two now?” “You could just quit cheating.” Taelth took a step back and readied his weapons. “You mean like not kicking my opponent in knee?” “Well you’ve got to be cheating somehow.” Taelth reasoned, “you couldn’t keep beating me, otherwise.” “Fah! I’m just that good.” Almok attacked again. He was stronger, and it made him faster. Beyond that, though, if there were more than one valid response to a maneuver, it was impossible to judge which Almok would use, and he seemed to think three strokes ahead. After a few minutes Taelth started to slow slightly, and Almok returned the blow to his side. “You’ve got no business being that good though,” Taelth wheezed. Almok had hit him rather hard. “I’m going to figure out how you’re cheating one day. Then I’m going to tell your mom.” Almok laughed at that, “Even if I am cheating, I’m far too clever for you. Figuring me out would be harder than finding her.” Taelth had to admit, Almok probably wasn’t cheating, because that wasn’t true at all. First of all, Almok’s mother had disappeared over a hundred years ago. His father was one of the only elves in the world that could be considered wealthy and powerful, and he hadn’t been able to find her. Second, Almok really wasn’t half so clever as he thought he was. After a few minutes of heavy breathing Almok had nearly recovered from the exertion of their last match and he attacked again. Taelth was one of the few people willing to regularly spar Almok, and so he was used to sudden attacks without warning. He wasn’t caught off guard, but unlike Almok he was becoming exhausted. He fell completely into a defensive pattern, and Almok gladly took on the role of attacker. After two minutes of frantic bladework Almok seemed to forget that his opponent might at some point retaliate, and so he nearly missed it when Taelth did so. He didn’t miss it entirely though. He reacted faster than even an opponent like Taelth had thought he would, twisting out of the knife’s path and thrusting his sword deliberately past Taelth’s head. It was just as good as a hit. “I figured you didn’t need any more bruises today.” “Very considerate of you,” Taelth sighed. Almok really didn’t have any business being this much better than him. It wasn’t that he wouldn’t have expected someone who trained as Almok did to have a fair amount of ability. But Taelth trained harder, was older, and had experienced actual battles. It wasn’t fair, “but I think you’ve beaten my pride enough for today.” Almok snapped his fingers, “I’m probably going to have to just fight a post or something, then. You’re just about the only person who’ll fight me these days.” “I’m terribly brave,” Taelth agreed, “but I’ve got my limits. I’m going to go do something where there’s no danger of embarrassment. I’ve got land to tend.” Taelth returned his practice weapons to their normal resting place along a wall, Almok hesitated a moment and then did the same with his. “Oh, what needs to be done?” Almok inquired. “The grounds I’m tending are producing all kinds of food right now, and I need to get it before the animals do, and on the note of animals, there’s a bear or a boar or something digging around, and I should probably kill it before it causes any real damage.” “Ah, good luck with that then.” Almok answered, his curiosity sated. “You could always offer to help, you know.” Taelth told him as they stepped out into the village. “No, no… I don’t really like manual labor. I’m not cut out for the farmer/gatherer lifestyle. I’m more the sort of person who elevates swordsmanship to an art form.” Almok explained, “I think I’ll just go for a walk or something.” “Well, if we’ve got a bear that needs killing, you could help out by just challenging it to a duel to the death.” Taelth suggested. “You can handle a bear by yourself, Taelth, I’ve got faith in you.” “You’re going to feel terrible when I get mauled to death.” “I’ll mourn you for days” Almok agreed. But that wasn’t enough. Taelth still seemed to think Almok should lend a hand in the day to day duties of living, which was a sound theory, but in practice Almok didn’t really want to. “But you’ll be able to handle it, because you’ve got such great aim.” Almok added. “Sure I’ve got you hopelessly outclassed with a sword, but you’re a really great with a bow… I really need to work on that if I’m going to be better than you at absolutely everything.” Taelth sighed. Despite Almok’s attitude, if he really was going to train to make himself a more effective protector of their people, then he was doing something productive, and Almok doing anything productive at all was enough of an improvement that Taelth felt he had better just settle for it. “Same time tomorrow, then?” Taelth asked, gesturing toward the practice house. “It’s not like there’s anyone else worth fighting.”

It's good to sometimes just get confirmation that someone hasn't gone and died on you. You should update your sig, though. That quote is dated, now.

ONE THOUSAND AND SIX!!!

"I love how easy it is to get these fish pregnant!" -Katzaniel "Why are you still pregnant? Hurry up and have your baby fish so I can make you pregnant again!" -Also said by Katzaniel "That's going in that out of context quotes thread." -Tamaranis I think it's more fun if I don't explain the context.

The troop of elite soldiers, Lymnor's Hand, drifted away from the conference room in a disorganized gaggle. No one said anything for a few minutes. With a slight shrug Jade turned to head away from the rest of unit, apparently intent on some personal task. It made Jadros a little uneasy how Jade just slipped off like, that, not bothering to explain what she was doing or where she was going. If they were going to succeed in this mission -and they were- they would have to rely on each other, and everyone was going to need what everyone else was doing and when they were going to do it. Instead of just wandering off without a word. He was probably worrying over nothing, though. It probably wasn't an indication of her behaviour in the field. They were in the heart of the confederacy, not some dark forest crawling with rebels. And besides, Captain Katherina had recognized and been impressed by "Grasshopper" so she must be useful soldier. Hrath made his excuses and went his own way as well. This was not unit cohesivness. Everyone was separated from their home unit here, and most of the membership was going from being a relatively important figure in a relatively large military body to just one of six soldiers in a small one. It would take some time for everyone to adjust to that, but better to start now. “I’ve got to say, ‘Lymnor’s Hand,’ I like the sound of that.” Jadros said, breaking the near silence, “That’s the sort of name a unit that has songs sung about it has.” This produced some agreement and a few grins. “So, does anyone else actually have any last minute business to attend to?” Jadros asked as what was left of the group migrated away from the conference room. For himself the military was his life and his immediate superiors and subordinates already knew he was going to be on assignment elsewhere, so he had no goodbyes to make. Likewise, he was only a few minutes away from being outfitted for the field and ready to march or ride.

I make it a matter of personal pride to be late! But happy birthday.

Due to Ayshela thoughtfully keeping the lights low, it should have been as easy for Tamaranis to shift into the shadows of the birthday hall as it was for Peredhil to curl up and take a nap on the floor. But evil, brooding dark lord types can't be expected to return that sort of thoughtfullness and actually show up when and where they're expected for trivial social engagements. They're often busy crushing dreams, extinguishing hopes, performing dark, forbidden rituals, etc. Also, they're mean. Tamaranis did eventually show up, though, through the door, like any reasonable person might. Perhaps his entrance wasn't meant to top Finnius' in menace and style. Or perhaps it was ruined by Ayshela's pounce. Couldn't an ancient vampire, having survived multiple wars with archmagi, demons, and crusaders move quickly enough to avoid such a pounce? Surely he wouldn't have lived so long if that was not the case. Or failing that, shouldn't he have the sheer strength and presence to withstand the impact? Probably! But from the point of view of an omniscient narrator it works a lot better if the answer to both questions is "no." ((Aren't I the classy one, showing up for my own birthday thread six days late.))

Qualifications It would typically be expected of a large man like Jadros that melee with heavy weapons is where the man specializes. This is not exactly true of Jadros. He recognizes the power in killing people before they can ever take a swing at you, and as such he is extremely proficient with the poweful shortbow he keeps as part of his own personal arsenal. Since mobility is key for bandits, he's also a fair horseman and isn't a poor shot from horseback. All the same, the reason he prefers a smaller bow is so that it has some utility in a melee or near melee, and he can also handle himself close quarters, though not perhaps so well as might be expected of a warrior as large and experienced as he is. He prefers to use a large scimitar-like weapon, but since such swords are not typically available and swords sometimes break, he tries to know a little bit about how to use everything. Jadros isn't simply a skilled combatant, though. He also has some qualities necessary in leaders. People working under him seldom appreciate him at first, because he isn't typically kind to subordinates, but he is fair, and he does everything he can to ensure their welfare. And on that note, he's pretty good at judging the welfare of people and animals around him. He's a very good judge of when the troops should be forced to march on, or when they have been driven past their limit and need rest before they can be expected to accomplish anything else. He can spot when moral is dropping, and when some kindness needs to be extended to ensure the troops remain on the right side. Finally, he's very good at setting up ambushes. He can hide a phalanx beside a road, knowing full well that they won't be spotted until the signal is given for them to attack. Conversely, he is good a predicting where it would be easy to do this and avoiding such places.

Personalilty Jadros excludes himself from society somewhat, because he know society didn't particularly appreciate his activities as a theif. On a certain level, he doesn't feel he augt to be associating with regular, law abiding citizens, but at the same time he feels he's better than them, because he has martial prowess and knowledge of tactics and raids that they lack, and such knowledge and ability has becomed engrained in his mind as vitally important. All the same, he laughs easily, and seems to appreciate the humor in situations where others don't. Of course, sometimes he has trouble not laughing when its in his best interest to remain formal and collected. Other than that particular problem, he has little issue with authority. He struggled at first with the transition from leader to follower, but he recognizes the importance of the chain of command and knows that each soldier must obey their superiors.

History Jadros lived the early part of his live farther North than the proper control of the Confederacy extended. Before the confederacy was able to establish proper control of the area, when they were more concerned with mages and rebels than they were with common theives, banditry was in its prime. The way Jadros saw it, his options were to be a bandit, or be one of their victims, and he didn't want to be a victim. Jadros turned out to be very good at banditry, and was soon leading his own little band of outlaws, being careful to stay away from seemingly sweet but ultimately damning targets like confederacy supply lines and Rebel groups that more than likely had a few mages among them. Eventually, the confederacy began to establish an unquestionable supremacy, and Jadros knew that the time when it was practical to live as a bandit had ended. He might have gotten a couple more years out of the area, but the confederacy was establishing the sort of order and organization that would allow him to become infamous if he did so, and that would have led to his death. So Jadros jumped ship early, pledging himself to the confederacy and joining their army as soon as the chance presented itself, and encouraged his men to do the same. As far as the confederacy was concerned at the time, Jadros was no worse a criminal than a common footpad or cutpurse, and since such types usually ended up drafted anyway, there was little trouble with this arrangement. Because of his past, it was quickly established that Jadros knew the lay of the land extremely well, could say what roads or routes to take in order to avoid ambush, and where the rebels liked to move and where the best places for an ambush were within their lines. After a few years within the Confederacy, Jadros discovered he liked an ordered, structured existence much better than the chaotic, unsure one he'd led before. He also quickly realized he regretted the theivery and murder aspect of his previous life, but that nothing could be done to change that now. He still has the air of a bandit, and he can't help but think like one, but he has a religious devotion to the Confederacy and its cause.

Appearance Jadros looks like a thug, if you were walking toward him on the street you'd have a tendency to cross to the other side. He's an even six feet tall and around 230 pounds. He has the general look of a footpad, it isn't that he's dresses poorly or is unwashed or seems like street trash in that manner, he wears whatever clothing is in style for the region and keeps it in good condition. But he's big, and tends to give people the impression he's sizing them up, calculating if their valuables are worth the trouble of taking them. He has a few noticable scars, including a perfectly horizontal one across his forehead and another slightly left of centre on his gut, the result of some long dead opponent's spear. He's thirty six, and his hair isn't quite as black as it used to be, but that doesn't prevent him from keeping a squared off, immaculately trimmed beard and mustache.

Katzaniel likes to play with English, but she doesn't make herself nearly as clear as she sometimes thinks she does. According to a discussion I had with her earlier, "Thair", "Yoor", and "Meir" Are deliberately incorrect spellings of "There, their, they're," "Your, you're yore," and "Mere, Mirror, and Meer." None of those are alternate spellings for the same word, but rather are different words that sound the same, even if "mirror" doesn't really sound exactly like "Mere." And I'm not entirely sure "Meer." is an actual word, though I haven't looked into it. I hope this makes her post less confusing... if it doesn't, it's best to pretend it never happened.

Yeah, right... Maybe I'll just form a resistance consisting mostly of cats and dogs who don't kill each other at the slightest chance...

That .60 caliber hand cannon took five minutes to load and got horribly inaccurate out past thirty paces... Ninjas were, as Zadawn put it, Navy Seals. The Japanese had guns too, and Ninja's persisted. They were heavily involved in a lot of wars, I've read some things here or there (And I can't back it up, but its something people say, so it might have some basis in truth) about Ninja presence or lack therof essentially turning the tide of a battle. Considering they were so effective in battle, we have to consider a couple possibilities: 1) The fact that the ninja can't fight face to face is irrelevant, because you're never ever going to get a chance to fight a ninja face to face. or 2) Ninjas were practical enough to realize some one might occasionally take a swing at them, and they were well capable of standing toe to toe against a samurai (And apparently a lot of ninja *were* samurai) Now any sort of a conflict between pirates and ninja is pretty unlikely anyway, since you don't typically have a boatload of ninja sailing around looking to prove themselves superior to pirates, and pirates typically kill some people, take some stuff, and run away, not press far inland looking for worthy opponent. The only way a fight between them could happen, I think, is if pirates were going to raid some port, and whoever was in charge there somehow new about it, and hired a bunch of ninja to defend it. In this scenario I think we'd see pirates get slaughtered. Not that the ninja wouldn't take casualties, but I'm thinking at least a 3:1 kill ratio, mostly due to the pirates not knowing about the ninja until it was too late. Probably you wouldn't have a bunch of guys in black pajamas hiding in the shadows. Instead it would probably be more like: A quarter of the panicked, fleeing people you're currently terrorizing suddenly draw hidden weapons and become a frighteningly well coordinated enemy who strikes before there is any chance to withdraw. I voted pirates are better, though, because pirates can ride burning flying sharks. http://www.stanford.edu/~scodary/tkam.htm (Very silly link)

Well two things... One is that pirates, I think, are perfectly willing to cheat. Pirates aren't usually nice people. And I don't think it's a clear cut scenario of pirates being experienced fighters while ninjas are trained fighters... Pirates probably practive from time to time, and most ninjas who have been ninjaing for a while have probably put their swords to good use on occasion. In a lot of cases ninja were basically "special forces" participating in all that mad warfare going on in feudal Japan, unless I'm mistaken.

You make a convincing argument for the ninja, Yanyan. But you fail to take into account the general utility of being a pirate. If you're a ninja it's all about doing what some one pays you to do, regardless, and doing the whole seppuku thing if you fail. If things turn sour and your crazy scheme goes awry as a pirate, you can just sail off and plunder some improperly guarded merchant vessels. Yay.

Pirates are just somehow really funny lately. Like if you're out in the middle of a lake in a canoe, you can charge the other canoe, while shouting "Yar, I be a pirate!" You could shout "Yar, I be a ninja!" but then everyone would just think you're a jerk. But I do need to make a correction here... if the ninja in question is a generic ninja, then they do indead have mystical powers.

Alright... and the winner is... Kasmandre! (Because he's the person who wrote the first entry) The second entry was Wyvern, the third Katzaniel, and the last Orlan. So now you all know what you're bidding on. (The first one, the folder) Aaaand... I can't really think of anything else to say on the matter.

"Don't those burns hurt?" Lassar asked suddenly. "Hmm? Oh yeah. Sure, they hurt like hell.” Robby answered. “Well, shouldn’t you do something about them? Won’t they get infected?” “Nope.” For a few minutes they trudged on in silence. When it became perfectly clear Robby wasn’t going to elaborate on that, Lassar pressed, “Well why not.” “Magic.” At first it seemed like that was all the information Robby was going to volunteer, but then he continued. “It’s sort of a trade off. Healing spells don’t work on me, but my body pulls ambient magic out of the air. It uses it to automatically banish infection and conjure new skin. New muscle and new bone when it has to, too. In a few days I‘ll be good as new.” “That’s amazing!” “Sure is.” “Well, how does it work?” Lassar asked. Robby grinned, “Magic.”