# Forging Ansur [Action]



## Scathainn (Feb 21, 2010)

*Forging Ansur*
_A Neo-Fantasy RP_










_"The true adventurer goes forth aimless and uncalculating to meet and greet unknown fate." 
― O. Henry 


"There is not a truth existing which I fear... or would wish unknown to the whole world." 
― Thomas Jefferson 



“...so one day my mother sat me down and explained that I couldn't become an explorer because everything in the world had already been discovered. 
I'd been born in the wrong century, and I felt cheated.” 
― Ransom Riggs_



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*Today's Date:* 19th of Last Harvest, 906 PO, Evening.

The Shivering Maid is a dilapidated old bar, worn with a hundred years of age and stained by a hundred flagons of spilled beer. The wood is old, the bread has mold, and the rooms stink to high heaven. If it weren't for its location, the Shivering Maid would be a completely and utterly unremarkable place, and it wouldn't receive even a tenth of the revenue it does. But like the Vodi say: location, location, location.

The Shivering Maid is literally the last outpost of humanity. Nobody knows who built it, not even the current owner, a sour man by the name of Kosu, but whoever did picked a hell of a spot to put it. The tavern is beyond the borders of all of the five nations, to the east, and further east is…nothing. More recent maps of Ansur have the Shivering Maid standing before a vast swathe of the unknown; the Maid is where humanity shrivels and dies.

But the vast unknown does better for business than any other conventional bar on Ansur, and many are the souls who seek to trek out into the vast reaches of nothingness to make a new discovery. Maybe one in a thousand return, if they’re lucky. Odds, however, have never been the foe of the everyman, and they come and go by the dozens, seeking to make their names known. Acamian, Vodi, Zha-Ni, Utogurran, or even Mazim have stepped into the doors of the Maid for a final drink, or a last night in a bed, then set off into the reaches…never to return.

But you never let the odds get the better of you. You were never a plaything to cosmic dice. All of you were compelled for a reason, and the call of the unknown is too strong for you to ignore. For whatever reason, you made your way here, to this shithole of a tavern, to set out on your journey.



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*Dadrzin* – Occultist: The trek to the Maid was a far one. Being an Utogurran, your home country is quite far from the Eastern Unknown where the Maid lies, and so the journey for you was long and hard. Luckily for you, that’s now over. As you step into the dilapidated bar, you let your eyes wander the room, taking in the characters that inhabit the bar. There’s a number of them, and they all look like they’ve seen their fair share of hard times. Seeing another Utogguran sitting at one of the tables, nursing a lukewarm mead, you head over towards him to make small talk. Start with what you know, right?



*Var Ki* – Monk: You and your brother are at a booth in the corner, simply watching the other patrons. You arrived here yesterday evening from your village, and both of you are already sick of this disgusting inn. Liang Kai is sitting diagonally across from you, chowing down into a plate of an almost unrecognizable meat dish. You’ve already eaten, but watching your brother pig out on such a disgusting dish is making you nauseous. You hear a clanking sound, and a hulking Mazim warrior steps down the stairs and seats himself at another table. Since neither you or Liang Kai have ever seen one of the Northmen (being Southron yourselves), you point him out to Liang and begin to talk about the stranger.



*Lucas* – Knight: You’re sitting at a table to yourself, sipping a flagon to yourself quietly. You’re surrounded by heretics; some more so than others. The Zha-Ni and the Mazim are explainable enough; you’re not sure if the barbarians even have a religion, but it doesn’t matter to you. The Vodi in the opposite corner is a fool; machines cannot replace a god. The two Utoggurans, including the one who just entered…they’re not to be trusted. And then there’s the real heretic…as in, _the_ Heretic. The one who was on all the wanted posters before you left. He’s at the bar counter, absently toying with a small glass, long since empty. You’ve been watching him for several hours, ever since he came in from the stables, and you’re wondering if you should accost him.



*Rayland* – Rogue: You’re the only Vodi in the room; a shame that you’ll have nobody to talk to. Not that anyone would enjoy such a conversation, yourself included; you tend to get bored by conversations with new people, since one of the more common topics is one’s past, and…well, that’s not something you care to talk about. There’s certainly a motley looking crew in here; the two Zha-Ni in the corner seem the strangest of all, though. You’ve never seen one of the Southrons before, and you’ve always wondered what their culture is like. You almost get up to talk to them before a massive Mazim thug lurches down the stairs behind you. Oh dear, you think. This is not going to end well.



*Liang Kai* – Shaman: You’re not sure why Var Ki isn’t eating – this stuff is delicious! You’re already on your second helping and by the Spirits, it’s the best food you’ve had in weeks. Apparently, however, Var will have none of it. Serious as always. He’s staring at something, and you look over and see a large Mazim trudge down the stairs to sit at an empty table. He’s easily got a half a foot on you, and he certainly seems much stronger. Var may be preoccupied by the Northerner, but your eye catches something else…or rather, someone else. A young Vodi lad sitting alone was staring at you, and when you meet his gaze, he averts it, looking into his drink. You narrow your eyes; he seems suspicious.



*Athurmaz* – Alchemist: The mead you’re drinking is terrible, you decide after much tentative sipping on it. You pull a bit of ground herb from your pocket, sprinkling it into the drink. It fizzes slightly, and you take a sip. Much better. The bell over the door jingles softly as a newcomer walks in. _Finally someone to talk to_, you think, as what turns out to be a fellow Utogurran enters the room. His hood hangs low over his eyes and a metallic mask bearing a leering grin covers his mouth. You can see the veins stand out on his pale skin, and at his side is a satchel filled with eldritch tomes. Any other person would be unnerved, but you hardly bat an eye. You beckon him over to sit down, eager to hear some news of home.



*Nathaniel* – Rogue: The small glass you’ve been rolling around for several hours is getting heavier and heavier in your hand. You’ve run out of things to do, and that knight has been watching you for literally hours. Ever since you stepped inside from the meager stable outside, you could tell he’s had his eyes fixed on you. Ordinarily, this wouldn’t bother you much, but the knight is in full regalia, with the triangular symbol of the Oversoul displayed proudly on his head, and a heavy sword rests at his side. You can’t risk drawing attention to yourself by leaving; that would be suicide. Perhaps it might be best to talk to someone; maybe you can subtly alert them to your plight?



*Sidek* – Druid: The journey from the North was exhausting; you travelled much further than any of the others, arriving yesterday evening, and you’ve spent the last several hours sleeping in bed or meditating. Leaving your room behind, you start down the stairs to get something to eat. As you enter the room, you notice a number of strangers, most of which weren’t here yesterday. Two Zha-Ni sit in one of the corners of the room; one points to you rather obviously and begins conversing with the other. Two of those queer Utoggurans chat quietly to themselves. In front of you, a Vodi youth visibly jumps in his seat as he hears you, but he doesn’t turn around. Two Acamians sit on opposite sides of the room; both ignore you. You’re not entirely sure why everyone’s seemingly so afraid; hell, you’re small for a Mazim warrior. It’s your choice who to talk to.


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## Romero's Own (Apr 10, 2012)

Lucas sat on his own. But that was how he wanted it. He didn't know if he would be able to cope if any of the other ‘customers’ of the Inn sat near him. Heretics, every last one of them. He was the only pure one amongst them. Granted the two Zha-Ni sitting together and the towering Mazim that had just entered didn't know, Lucas doubted they even knew what a god was, let alone the brilliance that was the Oversoul.

The Voli sitting in the corner, a fool. No machine could replace a god. Man’s creations could not replace man’s creator. It made no sense to Lucas and even as he looked upon the shadowed face of the man the Voli unnerved him.

That left the two Utoggurans, their flowing robes and pale faces unmistakable. Lucas couldn't help feeling a sense of distrust towards the pair, seemingly conversing like friends. Lucas had never liked the strange people of that land and the few he had met he had taken an instant dislike to.

But it was not them that Lucas had been watching for the last hours. It was the dark haired man huddled over the bar, a trench coat covering him. Lucas had recognized him the instant he had had stepped into the inn from outside. His sullen face was posted on every street corner in Acamia. Nathanial, or as he was known to all, The Heretic.

The Heretic was wanted for countless crimes and the price on his head was astronomical. Lucas had been running his fingers over the hilt of his long sword for the last three hours, toying with what to do. Lucas saw the man turn his head slightly and saw the clear forehead, displayed with pride.

That decided it for the Knight. Rising quickly to his feet he began to walk across the inn, each step ringing out as he clenched his swords hilt, ready for action.


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## Deus Mortis (Jun 20, 2009)

Dadrzin pushed the double doors of the dilapidated bar open and passed from the harsh outside into the relative warmth of the tavern. Well, relative warmth by comparison to everyone else. Dadrzin had spent a large portion of his energy walking and warming his own blood for the trip. It had made the journey far more mentally tiring, but less physically tiring, which made him more prepared for a fight should it come to it. And, given his experiences, it came to a fight more often than he would like.

The Shivering Maid was the final frontier, the last stop. It was the place where any man or woman seeking to explore the great unknown would come and eat their last meals and drink their last drinks before venturing into the unknown. It was sort of depressing but also thrilling. Many adventurers had stood before him and, even if they had died, they died with fire in their hearts and having seen sights no one had ever seen. That made Dadrzin smile. He was going to see amazing things, whatever happened. Most importantly, he was going to live to tell about it. 

He took in the patrons at the bar. The was an Acamian knight staring intently into the back of what Dadrzin judged to be another Acamian by his stature. A small but still heavily muscled Mazim had just walked down the stairs, each step making the weak staircase quiver slightly. He was shorter than the few Mazim Dadrzin has seen in his time, but if the two stood next to each other, the Mazim would look like an oak standing next to a reed. A Vodi was here too, and Dadrzin knew there was someone he might enjoy a conversation of technology with. Although, the Vodi would probably not approve of his blend of technology and sorcery. Then there were the two Zha-Ni, already embroiled in a conversation, pointing rather obviously at the Mazim. 

Then, Dadrzin noticed a kinsman. He was just grounding an herb Dadrzin recognised into his mead. An Alchemist he once knew used to improve the taste of cheap tea. The herb and tea combined was cheaper than the expensive stuff the man preferred. However Dadrzin couldn’t for the life of him remember what it was called. Still, if he possessed it he probably had at least a rudimentary alchemical knowledge. 

Feeling more comfortable starting his conversation with one of his own people he strolled up to the table as the man beckoned him over. "So, another Utogurran. Didn't expect to find anyone out here, if I'm honest," Athurmaz said, holding out his hand. "I'm Athurmaz. Qualified Alchemist, at your service." Ah, so he was an Alchemist then, Dadrzin thought to himself. His lips underneath his totem made a smile to match the one he wore in steel. He took the hand and shook it strongly and was pleased to find that the Athurmaz returned the firm grip. Good, he thought to himself. He couldn’t stand people who gave limp hand-shakes.

As he pulled the chair from the table and sat on it he spoke. “I am Dadrzin. Pyrokinetic and communicator with those of the Outer Beyond. Normally I would phrase it better to these other folk, but you would see straight through that bollocks.” Dadrzin chuckled lightly. There was no point in trying to hide what he was from one of his own people. They already knew what he was the moment he spoke of anything of magic. “Judging by that herb you just ground into that mead, I take it is vile.” Once again, unseen by Athurmaz and the other patrons because of his mask, Dadrzin smiled widely. “So, what is worth my silver in this place? I’d rather not squander it on bad mead and foul food.”…


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## Septok (Jan 21, 2012)

Athurmaz walked into the Shivering Maid, his robes flowing behind him, making him seem evil and cold. The door, dirty and dilapidating from the many people who went in and out daily, swing open at a small push. This was the last frontier, the last bit of civilisation. Gulping, he walked into whatever would come next. 

He walked to the bar and sat down, ordering some mead. He hadn’t eaten or drunk much in days, as it was a long journey, but worth it. A metal flagon slid down to his end of the bar, filled with lukewarm mead. A small sip was enough to upset his taste for it. Bleh. He rummaged through his robes for a clove of Icewart, which he soon found, and crushed it between his fingers over the drink, letting the dust fall into the drink. He saw hot gases rising from the mug. The next sip tasted of mead and was much colder. Refreshing. 

He had been walking for days, though he assumed he was going more slowly than he should – picking every herb along the route didn’t help his speed at all. On the plus side, he was well-stocked. He knew there would be something out in the wastes to the east. A new herb or root for use in a powerful potion, some new kind of potion to find, maybe a better power source for homunculi or a new spell. Whatever it was, he needed the money. His family needed the money.

When the mead had lost its charm and he had begun to feel quite bored, Athurmaz heard the door open again. He turned, and saw what appeared to be a fellow Utogurran. The hood, the facemask, the veins sticking out of his face, none perturbed him. The others in the bar appeared shocked, even scared, of this newcomer. But he welcomed it – he hadn’t been to Utogur for weeks. He beckoned him over for a conversation, pushing out a stool for him. Might as well make some allies, especially if they look capable. He certainly did. 

As the stranger began to sit down, Athurmaz could feel his power – and it was good power. "So, another Utogurran. Didn't expect to find anyone out here, if I'm honest," Athurmaz said, holding out his hand. "I'm Athurmaz. Qualified Alchemist, at your service."

“I am Dadrzin. Pyrokinetic and communicator with those of the Outer Beyond. Normally I would phrase it better to these other folk, but you would see straight through that bollocks.” Dadrzin chuckled lightly. “Judging by that herb you just ground into that mead, I take it is vile. So, what is worth my silver in this place? I’d rather not squander it on bad mead and foul food.”

“I’ve only been here a few minutes, and warm mead hasn’t exactly impressed me. It doesn’t look like this place has had a fresh shipment in weeks. I wouldn’t be surprised if you could make something better yourself. If not, grab whatever you fancy – I’ll be happy to add something to it to make it better.” Athurmaz replied. This looked promising – could he have found an ally already?


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## Deus Mortis (Jun 20, 2009)

Athurmaz was brutally honest, the usual awkwardness between strangers broken by their shared kinsman-ship. “I’ve only been here a few minutes, and warm mead hasn’t exactly impressed me.” 
“Well, that much was obvious by your aversion to swallowing.” Dadrzin replied snidely with a grin, not out of malice. It was just his way.
“It doesn’t look like this place has had a fresh shipment in weeks. I wouldn’t be surprised if you could make something better yourself. If not, grab whatever you fancy – I’ll be happy to add something to it to make it better.” 

Dadrzin mulled this over. He could do with a good healthy slab of meat to chew over. He’d get the salted stuff, hopefully that would have kept away the worst of the aging and give it some flavour. Even if not, between his own ability to burn out any questionable areas and Athurmaz’s alchemical skills he was certain he would be fine. Perhaps he should instead order something less…certain. He could use it to see just how qualified Athurmaz was. Not that he doubted the man, he just knew it was always good to size anyone up before you let the too close and that would be a start. “Well friend, I will get me a drink and some food. Shades know after the trek here I need it.” Dadrzin stood up. “I’ll be back to talk soon and we can talk of home and future travels we might embark on together. We can be useful to each other.” 

Dadrzin left the table by making a casual salute with two fingers. He strolled up to the bar and purposefully walked into the knight who was moving on the way up. The man was staring too intently on the other patron at the bar to notice Dadrzin until their shoulders collided. Dadrzin spun, feigning surprise “Hey! Watch it shiny boy!” Before the knight could reply Dadrzin spun back and walked intently toward to bar. He got a good look at the knight, probably 6 feet in height and well-muscled. In an even fight, Dadrzin would lose. But he rarely fought fair and this place was well shadowed. His eye was golden, a strange quirk of the universe that this man should be almost the exact opposite in appearance. The golden light in the knight’s eye had met the darkness in Dadrzin’s. But there was more darkness than just him here, and Dadrzin could feel it. The darkness of the lack of knowledge was almost as tangible to Dadrzin as the shadows everyone else could see.

He walked up to the bar and leant forward on the counter. He decided he would have a better chance to learn about Athurmaz’s abilities later, for now he would something he was almost certain he would like. The bartender asked what he would have. “I’ll have a quarter pound of your salted-beef and some bread and…” Dadrzin trailed off. He still hadn’t decided what he would drink. He was unwilling to order the mead, even if Athurmaz could change its taste. But what else? There was another patron who was nursing an empty glass. Certainly more promising than Athurmaz’s nearly full tankard. “Hey friend, what are you drinking? Your empty glass looks more promising than my friends drink.” Dadrzin’s savage metal grin leered out while his true lips remained a thin line, aware he was taking to a stranger, and one the knight he had sized up was staring murderously at…


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## komanko (May 16, 2010)

The journey was a long one; it took him a fair bit of time to reach this hellhole of a place. The Shivering Maid it was called, or at least the old, beaten, and rusty sign on the outside of the bar said so. There was a reason for this place to be called hellhole; it was literally the last bastion of humanity, beyond that, only the unknown lay. The Shivering Maid was really an unremarkable place but its location was that which earned it all the revenue. To the east spread nothingness, the unknown, at least that’s what Rayland’s map said, this was literally where humanity came to die, so isolated it was that even its current owner did now know who built it.

Rayland strode through the cobblestone road that led to the medium sized building. It seemed that it would be the last place for him to get some rest before his real journey began. Light rain was dropping over his leather trench coat and hat; he came to a halt in front of the bar’s door. There was no turning back now, surly nobody will find him when he ventures into the unknown and if he would be lucky he would return in several years, rich, and powerful by his discoveries, powerful enough to face his father.

Slowly he opened the well-oiled door and slid inside quietly, nobody seemed to notice his arrival as he quickly pressed on towards the bar and the owner of the place. He was hungry and thirsty. Looking around he swiftly swallowed the scene, moderate amount of faces, some eating and drinking other just eating yet there was none who were just drinking, he came to a quick conclusion that the mead or ale that was served here wasn’t the best. 

Facing the bartender he removed his hat and scarf revealing his handsome features. As shadows left his face the bartender immediately smiled seeing that he was a potential customer and not a threat. He whipped out a small cotton bag and opened it, from there he pulled two silver coins and sent them rolling to the bartender, “Get me some food. I’ll be sitting there.” He said and pointed at one of the shadowy tables near the stairs. The man nodded and Rayland quickly closer the bag and stored it back inside one of his hidden pockets.

Sitting down at the empty table he took it the scene again. As hard as he looked he did not manage to see even one Vodi, he could not tell if that was bad or good but at least nobody here should know him by face. He slowly took off his black leather glove and set it down beside him, the bloody eye stared at him gazing into his soul. Sighing he took out a small bottle of liquor which he stole on his way here. He tore out the cork which was used to close the bottle with his teeth and spit it away from him, he then proceeded to drink from the bottle while waiting for his food.

Some hours passed, patrons gone and went yet he was still sitting, he couldn’t decide on what to do next. Though several hours passed there were some patrons that never left which the Vodi noted with interest, two Utogurrans which looked suspicious to him, two Var Ki dressed in their peculiar clothing, and two Acamians who couldn’t stop eying each other menacingly. Silence fell, a thick shadow pulled over him, and looking back he saw a huge bearlike human, a Mazim! The monstrosity stood by the flight of stairs surveying the room. Rayland quickly turned back to his table laying low and hoping the huge creature would ignore him. 

Finally he couldn’t stand the stare of the Mazim at his back, taking out pistol just as a precaution he trod towards the table of the Var Ki intend on starting u a conversation. “Interested in a drink?” He said and quick sat down in a free chair near the Var Ki smiling at the man with his charming features. “What brings you folk to these parts?”


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## Jackinator (Nov 18, 2008)

Var couldn't take his eyes of the plate his brother was eating, it was a large, shapeless mass of unidentifiable meat and gristle. It was disappearing from the plate at an alarming rate as Liang shovelled it into his mouth. He looked away from him, glancing around the inn and seeing a huge long haired figure emerge from the stairs. It must be one of the fabled northmen. Though he'd never seen one before he'd heard of them and this one was true to the fable. Huge, muscular and dreadlocked, blue eyes as icy as the lands from which he came and dressed in leather armour surmounted with furs that made him look even bigger.

Var pointed the figure out to Liang, perhaps more obviously than he should have done, "look brother, one of the northmen."

There was enthusiasm in his voice, and a little wonder, perhaps it was the loss of his village, perhaps it was the return of his old sense of adventure, but he took more joy now in life than he had in a long time. "They are fascinating are they not, I would like to visit the north when we return, perhaps we should ask him about his homeland."

Before he could continue any further a handsome, trench-coated Vodi sat down next to him, a charming smile on his face. "Interested in a drink? What brings you folk to these parts?"

Var could only half smile back, he did not want to think of the real reason he was here and instead he bowed his head in a gesture of greeting, "I am Var Kai, this is my brother Liang. We are pleased to make your acquaintance, we seek to explore into the wastes."

His Common was stilted, rusty and a little old fashioned, he had only had a few old scrolls from which to learn the language. Some of the words he used were in fact out of use, but still recognisable and understandable to a native speaker.

"What brings you here...."

He left it trailing off, hoping for the name of the smiling man before him.


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## Midge913 (Oct 21, 2010)

Liang had stared at the dilapidated structure that peeked over the crest of the rise that signaled the end of one part of his and Var's journey. The Shivering Maid so the sign named the place, looked like a hell hole, which in all honesty the likelihood was that it was just that. But it was also the last bastion of civilization. Beyond the bar, the eastern horizon stretched, unblemished by building or town for as far as the eye could see. It was there, out in that vast wilderness, lay his and his brother's destiny.

Shaking off such grandiose thoughts he centered himself. Feeling the power of the Earth beneath his feet, taking comfort and strength from the solidity of it. The thought and the exercise of focus caused a slight smile to cross his face. Suddenly reflections of the past that had brought him to this point in his life, to this journey central in his thoughts. He had found that his many years working the elements of his trade, shaping Fire, calling Earth, floating on the Winds, and flowing with Water, he found that his emotions, his outlooks had become influenced by the very nature of the powers of creation, the spirits of the earth with which he communed to wield the skills he did. As he aged, more and more his moods and attitudes had been volatile and erratic, flashing temper and mercurial joy. His teacher, Master Meung, postulated that it was his strength with those elements that had caused the change in moods. Liang had struggled under the imposed focus on the skills of Earth that Master Meung had demanded to regulate his emotions. It had worked, his temperament had evened, but still he had to at times remember his connection with the Earth at his feet, to bring it into focus just as much as the fire within his heart and his head with in the clouds. 

His thoughts centered, he glanced over at this brother. Var had been taciturn, quiet, depressed in the weeks that their journey spanned from the decimated village where his brother had lived to this point on the edge of the frontier. Liang could not blame him, he had suffered much and lost many. Liang, not for the first time, lamented the stain it had put on their reunion. The joy of being back in his brother's company, tarnished by the bloodshed that had caused Var's grief. With a sigh, he had led the way into the Shivering Maid, into the last stop, the last place to resupply before entering the great unknown. 

It didn't take long for the two brothers to find themselves in a corner booth, a steaming hot plate of meat and broth in front of them. Var as usual lapsed into a distracted silence, barely touch his food, barely deigning it worthy to push round his plate. Liang, however, had seen much worse, had eaten much worse, his calling taking him to all corners of the Zha Jiu territories. He knew that sometimes hot meals where few and far between.... and he was famished. Digging into the plate with reckless abandon, he found that it tasted much better than it looked. 

As he ate, he barely paid attention to the other occupants of the tavern's main room. He had noticed several Acamians, one or two of Utogurrans, perhaps one or two more, but he really cared very little. He had come across their kinds more than once in his travels and he had learned that with some, especially the fanatical Knighthood of Acamia, it was better to keep one's business to himself. It wasn't until Var tapped his leg under the table that he drew his attention away from his plate. His chin jutting in the direction of the source of a heavy thumping noise that had come down the stairs. Behind him, swathed in furs, hair a matted tangle of braids, a huge man, pale in skin and eye, had emerged from the rooms above. "Look Brother," Var said, "one of the northmen."

Now there was something that Liang had not seen in his own travels. The Mazim of the steppes were rare as far south as Zha Jiu, a fable really. To see one in the flesh made him wonder if the stories of giant warriors from the north and their incredible combat abilities might not just be true. In this, he shared his brother's fascination and it was good to see excitement on Var's sunken face. "They are fascinating are the not, I would like to visit the north when we return. Perhaps we should ask him about his homeland." Always questioning, always seeking new knowledge, that was Var's way. It was good to see that push through the gloom that had hung on his heart. 

"Should we return I would gladly travel there with you," Liang said in response to his brother's question, "But.." His thoughts and words were interrupted when a young man, handsome in features, clad in a long coat, plopped down in the seat next to him. His features, labeled him one of the Vodi and despite being charming in his approach, had caused Liang some annoyance to be interrupted and joined so unceremoniously. 

"Interested in a drink?" The young man said, "What brings you folks to these parts?" Eyeing the stranger sideways, Liang wondered why their business could be of any interest to this stranger. He was about to tell the man to go away, when Var spoke, "I am Var Kai, this is my brother Lian. We are pleased to make your acquaintance. We seek to explore into the wastes." Nodding his head in greeting when Var named him, a motion almost identical to his brothers, Liang could do nothing but agree. 

Var's common was a little rusty, but he was perfectly understandable to the young man. "What brings you here?" Var asked and quickly before the man could answer Liang interjected, "and by what name can we call you. You now know ours, it seems only fair that we should know yours."

Wondering at the wisdom of engaging in conversation with the occupants of the Shivering Maid, Liang merely watched and waited for the young man's response.


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## BlackApostleVilhelm (May 14, 2008)

His journey had been a long one, more so than he had imagined when he initially set out. He had made his way through the lands he and his people had raided for so long, choosing to stick to the woodlands as much as possible for fear of being attacked simply for who he was. Yet as he traveled further and further east signs of humanity began slipping away rapidly until finally it was weeks in between signs of any human settlement or activity. Sidek had arrived at the inn late last night, one lone watchman greeting him and letting him inside the dilapidated building, where he was met with darkness and no one in sight. 

A little old woman was suddenly at the bottom of the steps with a lamp in hand beckoning him to follow her so he did, welcoming the sight of a bed, no matter how moldy it smelled. He was out before his head hit the pillow and slept far into the morning before he was awoken by the smell of ale and cooking meat. Yawning he pulled himself to his feet and stretched before making his way downstairs, by the noise coming up the steps he could tell there was a lot more people here than he had originally thought, what kind of people would be here?

As he walked down the last few steps and entered the tavern part of the inn he realized everyone was staring at him, had they never seen a Mazim before? By the looks on many of their faces he could tell the answer was a resounding no, he chuckled as he made his way over to a table in the back corner of the tavern, if they thought he was a sight they would probably run in terror if they were to lay their eyes on his cousin Haziz. Now THAT was a true representation of his people's warriors, big, fast, deadly and meaner than a full grown bear fresh out of hibernation. 

He sat back in his chair and filled his pipe before lighting it, there were a few people of interest among the common rabble that usually filled an inn or tavern, and now was the time to figure out a little more about them. There were two Utogurrans at table conversing with each other, when he was young he had been taught to fear them and that they were a dark and evil people. He had met one on his travels here and he had been far from evil and something to fear, in fact he had been quite kind if not a little strange, but that could have been due to his extreme age. Not far from him a Vodi took a seat with what looked to him to be two Zha-Ni, he had never met anyone from the southern lands before, the only information he had were the few legends of raids into the south. He could sense nature's touch on the one stuffing his face, he would be an interesting one to talk to.

The sight of the Zha-Ni stuffing his face made his stomach rumble in anger, he patted it before grabbing the nearest wench, *"I'll have what he's having, plus an ale."* his accent was thick and gruff, and he could tell he needed to slow down his speech by the look on her face,_ "I missed the last part...sir." _he smiled, *"That was an ale please."* she nodded before quickly walking away from him, he had to admit he was surprised by her fear of him, he had been quite nice.

He sat back and turned his head to take in the two Zha-Ni again, he stared at them both, not trying to hide that he was studying them. It was not threatening, he was simply curious about the only two people in this room he truly knew nothing about. As he studied them and smoked his pipe his attention was drawn to the commotion that an Acamian Knight was causing, it would seem that the lonely man at the end of the bar was of great interest to him, apparently he was about to get breakfast AND a show.


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## komanko (May 16, 2010)

It seemed that their names were Var and Liang, the former seeming much friendlier and sincere than the latter. As they introduced themselves Rayland smiled, a disarming and friendly smile, hopefully making him seem less threatening, still, the one named Liang did not yield before his attempts; quickly assaulting him with a counter question about his name, right after Liang tried prying information about Rayland’s course.
OOC: Wow, Ralynad is terrible, lol.

He studied both of the Zha – Ni before replying, it seemed that Var was, by far, friendlier and trusting while Liang kept looking aggressive and grim, probably a straightforward person with no knowledge in the dance of the tongue. A tactic that always seemed to make people comfier was to empower them, making them feel important and stronger and so Rayland answered in that way while still trying to go around the question not answering it directly. “Me? You surly aren’t interested in me; I am but a wandering Vodi, not as much interesting as you.” He said with feigned surprise. Rayland stopped and took another moment to see if they really wanted to pressure him into an answer, and while Var might have backed off a little Liang seemed very keen on the idea of Rayland introducing himself. 

“Well, if you insist… I am always happy to pry away some information about myself.” He said with another fake smile, if he was to be honest he probably hated it, he never wished to give any information about himself and avoided probably every chance he had to do so. The thought of sharing his past with some unknown low life peasant Zha – Ni was repulsive to him, at least if he would’ve known them… He decided to make himself more comfortable strengthening his presence in the table by claiming the sit as his own. He took off his duster coat and put it around the chair revealing his worn leather jerking which he wore on top of his white cotton shirt. The worn jerking made him look like a traveler of sorts and while it was true for the past time he wasn’t really the traveler type always preferring to settle down in some city or village and dominate the populace with charm or sheer brutality. 

He hung his duster bowed his head a bit and removed his hat as well while keeping his smile up, people always felt more safe with a smiling man in front of them, Rayland could never understand why, the fact that he was smiling never really stopped him from killing anyone on the contrary, when he killed someone with a smile he always felt far more satisfied… He hung his hat on the side of the chair and sat back down his two pistols and short sword rattling as he took his seat, his foldable sword also rested on the side of his left hip but he really doubted if the backwater Zha – Ni would understand the technology behind it so he did not fear that they would realize it was a sword.

“So… Me… Well ironically my name is Kai, what are the odds huh?” He said, the lie coming out smoothly out of his mouth, “As you can see, I am a traveler of sorts, been here and there, seen some stuff in the known world but after a while…” He sighed as if the words weighted on him, “You know… It gets uninteresting, you’ve seen a bit of the world than you’ve seen it all so I myself would also head towards the unknown hopefully finding some more excitement there while witnessing he beauty of the world.” Oh havens, so many lies in one sentence, he was getting way to good at it and while he did answer the questions presented to him he felt like some hostility was still left there, he took a seep from his drink and then shrugged as if trying to convey that he might as well tell about himself more. “I am a scavenger of sorts, life on the road is hard, all I have I either bought with the little coin I have or found on my travels. I come from a poor family, nothing fancy; my father was a woodcutter working for an invention store, supplying them with wood and some herbal mixes, my mother well… “He sniffed as if holding back a tear, “Sorry… I always get a bit emotional while talking about her… She was murdered while I was but six, in front of… No matter, I would not like to weigh on you with that, you probably aren’t interested anyway…” He said with a wave of his hand and a sad face while inside he was gleaming with pride of his well made story.


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## Santaire (Feb 13, 2011)

_Long have I wandered, seeking a peace within myself. I find it difficult to imagine such a thing possible, such is the turmoil within me. But I must keep trying for should I stop I fear what might happen to me. When my hunters catch up with me..._
_The personal journal of The Heretic
Distributed to the Acamian priesthood that they might know their enemy’s mind​_
I was clutching my coat around my shoulders as I came within sight of The Shivering Maid. I didn’t think I’d seen such a hellhole in all my days. But it was all I was going to find and so I walked to it and entered through the door.

The first person I saw had my hand reaching for the sword in my coat but I stopped myself, knowing that if I drew a blade the Knight would gut me. So I went to the bar, ordered a drink and sat down but I could feel the Knight’s eyes boring into my back.

A few hours later I was still there, rolling the now empty glass around in my hand. The bloody Knight was still glaring at my back and I was almost out of options. My ever analytic mind had been busy calculating the likelihood of various plans succeeding and so far none had shown promise. I considered simply making a break for it, but knew before the thought was even finished that It would be suicide. The Knight was no doubt the owner of the war horse I had seen while approaching while I was on foot. He would ride me down before I’d gone a mile.

More and more people had been entering during the time, including a Vodi, two Mazim, two Zha-Ni and two Utogurrans.

I turned my head slightly to look at the Knight and saw him stand, an expression like thunder on his face. I turned back, looking down at my drink as I heard his footsteps coming closer. There was a sudden pause, the sound of a voice and then one of the Utogurrans sat next to me and spoke. “Hey friend, what are you drinking? Your empty glass looks more promising than my friends drink.” I smiled grimly and straightened as I heard the Knight come closer still.

I looked at the Utogurran and the smile on my face was savage as I spoke. “I was drinking Acamian wine Utogurran.” I turned to stand before the Knight, matching his glare with one of my own. His mouth opened, doubtless to issue a proclamation that he was going to kill me and drone on like his kind always did. I cut that short by taking up a combat stance. “Yes Knight,” I snarled, my face twisted into a rictus by hate. “I am Nathaniel. I am The Heretic...”


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## Romero's Own (Apr 10, 2012)

Lucas was still striding towards the Heretic with his hand clasping his swords hilt when a figure knocked into him. Taken by surprise Lucas stopped and he silently half-pulled his sword from his sheath before he saw the man that had knocked him. 

His skin was pale and pulled tight over his flesh and bones giving him a gaunt expression. His right eye was a balmy oceanic blue. His left eye by contrast was nought but a jet black orb. His scalp was shaved clean and in an instant Lucas recognized him as an Utogurran, with the look of an Occulist.

““Hey! Watch it shiny boy!”

The surprised tones of the sinister looking Utogurran brought Lucas quickly back to reality and before he could respond the Occulist had turned and walked purposefully over to where the Heretic sat at the bar. Sitting down beside him the Utogurran spoke to the one that Lucas hated so.

“Hey friend, what are you drinking? Your empty glass looks more promising than my friends drink.” 

Lucas wasted no time and quickly set off again towards the pair, hoping to avoid having to kill two men rather than one. Lucas almost retched when he heard words issue from the mouth of the Heretic.

“I was drinking Acamian wine Utogurran.”

The Heretic rose to his feet and turned to face Lucas, matching his glare with one of his own. Lucas went to speak but Nathanial cut him off, dropping into a combat stance.

“Yes Knight, I am Nathaniel. I am The Heretic...”

Lucas smiled, his fist clenching as he crouched slightly, ready for combat.

“I know who you are”

With those words and a warcry Lucas barrelled into the Heretic, his fist flying towards his twisted face.


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## Deus Mortis (Jun 20, 2009)

“I was drinking Acamian wine Utogurran.” The Acamian's thoughts being brought back to reality by Dadrzin's question. "Much obliged." He said whimsically with a nod of his head. Turning back to the barman he finished his order "...and a tall glass of that Acamian wine."
"Thank you sir." The barman said as Dadrzin handed him the gold he owed for his meal and drink. At the same instant, the Acamian had turned to face the knight. Dadrzin couldn't help but wonder why the knight was so fixated on the other patron. It was only now that Dadrzin could see his face that he noticed that the Acamian did not bear the symbolic triangle on his forehead that Darzin knew, or thought he knew, every Acamian had. Clearly this man had defied worshiping the Oversoul. Not that Dadrzin thought he was particularly worthy of worship. He would sooner offer his neck to the Shades that worship the Oversoul. Dreadfully dull. 

_“Yes Knight, I am Nathaniel. I am The Heretic...”_ *Oh, _THE_ Heretic* Dadrzin thought snidely to himself, the name being lost on him. He assumed is was a self-proclaimed title, as if he were the only heretic ever to have existed. Still at least he knew the Acamian's name now. The title seemed to mean something to the knight though as he growled _“I know who you are.”_ Dadrzin didn't like the look if the knight. Just like the rest of the Oversoul fanatics, so convinced they are justified where ever they go and whatever they do. As if anyone outside Acamia gave a rat's-ass about what the Oversoul did or did not want. Just the self-righteousness the man reeked of made Dadrzin want to hit him. 

Fortunately, the knight launched a blow of his own against Nathaniel. Dadrzin leapt into the brawl, not through any love of Nathaniel, just because he wanted to shame the knight. Self-righteous gits. His open palm connected with the knights arm and sent it away, opening his guard. A moment later, Dadrzin's fist connected with the soft bridge of the knight's nose. Should have worn a helmet, the fool. Blood started from the knights nose, and it gave Dadrzin a chance to ready himself for a real fight. The knight drew his sword with a speed and deftness of a true swordsman, but Dadrzin had his pistol out and pointing at the knight, his other hand open as if holding a ball or fruit of sorts. By comparison to his jovial tone thus far, Dadrzin's voice sounded heavy, dark and full of a malevolent sense of foreboding when he spoke "In case you haven't noticed, pretty boy, this isn't Acamia and no one gives a damn about your fecking Oversoul here. We are all patrons and just want to continue our evening in peace. Now I suggest you sit back down. Because if you don't, you'll have to fight one with real power..." As he spoke, Dadrzin flexed his other hand, pulling on the strings of magic he held. The shadows of the room, darker emotions of wrath and vengeance which the knight was providing in abundance and fear from others, all started to wrap around Dadrzin like a dark cloak. The dark fog began to obscure the finer details of his appearance. Dadrzin's voice grew even deeper and took on an otherworldly rumble to it as he issued his last word of warning "...and I promise you, you don't want to do that."...


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## Romero's Own (Apr 10, 2012)

Before Lucas could land a strike upon the Heretic he felt an open palm connect with his arm, sending it away, opening his guard. Before he could react, in a split second, a fist connected with the soft bridge of his nose. Blood began to flow freely from his nose but he ignored it, drawing his sword quickly and holding it before him, ready to strike down the unknown assailant.

The man standing before him was the very same Utogurran that had sat beside Nathanial, a complete stranger to him. The man had a pistol drawn, levelled at Lucas and his other hand was open and extended to the side. When he spoke his voice was different, heavy, dark and malevolent.

"In case you haven't noticed, pretty boy, this isn't Acamia and no one gives a damn about your fecking Oversoul here. We are all patrons and just want to continue our evening in peace. Now I suggest you sit back down. Because if you don't, you'll have to fight one with real power..." 

Lucas began to notice the shadows of the room beginning to draw themselves around the man as his voice grew deeper still, rumbling darkly.

"...and I promise you, you don't want to do that."

Lucas flexed his grip upon the hilt of his long sword and tilted his head slightly to get a better look at the dark shadows drawing closer around the pair. He spoke in a low, menacing tone.

“I know your type Occulist”

Lucas moved his hand to his face, wiping it across his nose. He looked at the crimson blood upon his gauntlet and seemed to examine it for a few long seconds. He could feel the tension in the bar. He looked up eventually and spoke again.

“I don’t think we are going to get along”

In a movement so fast that it was only achievable through a life time of training for combat Lucas brought his heavy shield up in a sudden movement. The top of the hardened wood connected with the barrel of the outstretched pistol, knocking it up towards the ceiling before it could be fired. He then swung his sword and brought it to a resting point with its tip levelled against the throat of the Utogurran. When he spoke once more his voice had a hint of laughter in it.

“Stalemate I think”


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## Deus Mortis (Jun 20, 2009)

_“I know your type Occultist”_ the knights said with a hint of venom. Dadrzin still held his pistol at the man, ready to fire. He couldn’t read the knight. He was facing a warrior born, and his stance betrayed nothing. Some small part of Dadrzin wondered if he might have bitten off more than he could chew, but he was enjoying this too much to care. _“I don’t think we are going to get along.”_ Behind his steel mask, Darzin could not help but grin. The knight was just as arrogant as he seemed. With a speed Darzin had guessed the knight possessed, but was powerless to prevent, the knight smacked the pistol out of Dadzin’s hand. The heavy shield struck his hand hard. At best his hand would be heavily bruised from such a blunt impact. At worst at least one of his fingers would be broken. The knight lashed out with a savage kick to the shin of Nathaniel, not that Dadrzin cared much about him at this point. His sword’s blade extended to point at Dadrzin’s throat and stopped just before his chin. Dadrzin didn’t flinch, to his credit. _“A stalemate I think.”_

Dadrzin broke into a mirthless chuckle. The knight thought he had won so easily, as if Dadrzin had been disarmed. The knight thought he knew about Dadrzin, but it was clear he had never fought an Occultist. Dadrzin pulled the shadows on their strings and hurled them at the knight. A ball of inky blackness enveloped the knight’s head and darkness consumed his senses. Dadrzin quickly picked up his pistol from where it had fallen to the floor, keeping one eye on the knight in case he made a blind strike at him. He seemed to be clawing at his face to try and pull the veil away. Most people without an understanding of magic did. Dadrzin stood in front of knight and levelled his pistol at the knight’s chest. “You know nothing.” Dadrzin stated bluntly as he tore the veil away from the knight’s head. He did not fire for a split-second, just long enough for the knight to regain his senses. Just as he fixed his attention on Dadrzin, Dadrzin fired a single daemonic round into his chest.

The incandescent orb struck hard into the knight’s breastplate. The heavy armour withstood the impact with not a lot of trouble, it was designed for that purpose. However, the thick plates were no defence against the soul-searing fire which the bullet brought with it. Those passed through the material with ease, disturbing nothing as the moved. They flames merely vanished into the Other-realms, where men’s souls dwelt, and attacked there. Dadrzin knew what he weapon did better than anyone. The knight staggered from the impact and then was dumbfounded for a moment, and Dadrzin knew the crippling depression the round wrought in people was manifesting. “You knights and your damned self-righteousness…” Dadrzin hissed “…You think yourselves masters at everything and second to no one. It is a lie. Your precious Oversoul cannot protect you. Nothing can.” Dadrzin knew that a trained mind like the knight’s would overcome the depression that momentarily gripped him, and Dadrzin cursed himself for mentioning the Oversoul. His own sadistic glee at the knight’s situation had made him give his opponent the weapon he needed to overcome the emotional attack he was suffering. 

Dadrzin almost panicked as he saw the knight regain his composure. Another shot would not have the same effect if the knight’s mind still burned bright with the thought of his deity. It would be another impact, but it would not stop the knight. He could draw his sword, but a capable swordsman as he was, he would be mis-matched against a knight who lived by the sword. No, magic was still his best weapon. In such a dilapidated bar as this, Dadrzin would not risk fire and the knight could probably strike blind and still hit Dadrzin. He recalled an incantation as the knight rose. Dadrzin quickly spoke the words of power to cast his spell even as the knight closed the distance between them. The knight reached out and grabbed Dadrzin placing his sword to Dadrzin’s throat. _“No more games.”_

Dadrzin’s haunting grin stared at the knight as he whispered the last word of the incantation. In an instant, the knight’s grip slid through where Dadrzin had been a moment before. Dadrzin had become ethereal, straddling between the material world and the Outer Beyond. It was a dangerous spell, for the longer it was used the more one slipped into the Outer Beyond and so Dadrzin only used it for short duration. However it gave him a moment to breath and he quickly moved away from the knight. The knight struck at him a few times before he realised he could not harm Dadrzin in this form. Dadrzin needed a plan to end this fight. He could feel himself slipping more with every second, and he needed to end this fight. But he needed to not look like he was straining. He could not show that. Dadrzin spoke, his voice now faint, like one speaking from a great distance “I can play games all day knight.”

Dadrzin ended his incantation, and in an instant began a new one; a binding incantation this time. The words of a daemonic tongue flowed quickly and easily from his lips and the shadow leapt to his aid once again. The shadows of every patron in the bar coalesced on the knight, and wrapped round his wrists like heavy iron chains. The knight, to his credit, pulled as them so much so that his muscles strained. Dadrzin just fixed him with a stare. For a short time, he didn’t speak, his chest gently rising and falling. Sweat beads ran slowly down his face. This fight had taken more of him than he had originally expected. He could still fight, and he imagined the knight could too, but did not think it wise for either of them. He spoke slowly this time, his voice still an otherworldly growl, but more laboured. It took a great deal of concentration to cast and sustain this incantation. “You should stop, or you’re going to get yourself killed…” In truth, Dadrzin knew if they continued, they could well both end up dead. “…If you die, that man walks free, and you don’t want that do you?” Dadrzin let the knight think on that for a moment.

“You don’t have any authority here knight. Your standing in Acamia means nothing here. And more importantly, his crimes in Acamia mean nothing here. He’s innocent as far as the law goes. If you kill him, you are just another murderer, a petty criminal. Do you want to lose your title, your honour because of him?” Dadrzin thought his words were getting through to the knight. It was true. The reason Dadrzin had not killed him was because a bar fight, even an armed bar fight, could be forgiven if nothing of the owner’s was destroyed. But a murder was a murder, and no one here could get away with that, not even this knight. “Wait for him to cross to the border, and you can have your vengeance and return a hero.” Dadrzin held the incantation, although he had almost lost it by speaking such a complicated train of thought. The knight fixed him with an evil glare. _“I still don’t like you.”_ Dadrzin chuckled, realising that the knight understood he could not kill the other Acamian without losing everything he cherished. “You don’t have to. You just have to realise I’m speaking sense.” The knight dropped his shoulders and relaxed his muscles. Dadrzin allowed the incantation to slip, the shadows reforming into their natural positions. 

The moment he was free, the knight lashed out with a heavy fist and struck Nathaniel in the face, sending him sprawling onto the floor. _“You never said I couldn’t hit him.”_ The knight smiled clearly satisfied with his moderate, if only temporary, revenge and Dadrzin could not help but laugh. He was happy. He had shown up the knight and forced him concede, or at least he felt like he had. “Bar-tender!” Dadrzin shouted, his voice having returned to its previous lighter timbre “A glass of Acamian wine for my combatant as well.” Dadrzin rolled his shoulders. He was rather tired now, the magic he used having taken quite a lot of concentration. Plus his hand ached and neck were already starting to go purple where he had sustained superficial wounds and bruises. He was looking forward to his food even more than he had been before now, and he walked slowly to sit back at the table with Athurmaz…


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## Romero's Own (Apr 10, 2012)

Lucas allowed himself a slight smile. But the smile disappeared as quickly as It had appeared when he noticed the quickly approaching shadows, streaming from all over the room. A ball of inky blackness enveloped his head and darkness consumed his senses. 

Lucas could see nothing, but he could hear the Occulist moving nearby. Lucas began to claw at the veil upon his eyes, but to no effect. Suddenly the man’s voice, still low and unworldly.

“You know nothing.” 

In an instant the darkness was gone. Lucas had a split second. In that instant he took in his opponent. The pistol was once more in his grasp, levelled at his chest. He looked to the man’s face and saw an expression of cold determination. And then the still air erupted with the gunshot.

Lucas staggered back from the impact. He knew that his heavy armour could withstand bullets but his instinct told him something was wrong. And then the wave of emotion struck him. The memories of his parents, the nightmares made all too real before his eyes. And then the man’s voice, seeming a long way away yet so near at the same time. Fire and blood absorbed his sense as the low hissed voice echoed inside his head.

“You knights and you’re damned self-righteousness. You think yourselves masters at everything and second to no one. It is a lie. Your precious Oversoul cannot protect you. Nothing can.”

At the man’s words Lucas suddenly saw a light through the nightmarish black enveloping his mind. The name of his master, the Oversoul. It seemed as if his symbol began to burn, burn away all the nightmares, all the terror that the Occulist had wrought upon him through foul black magic. Lucas drew himself up straight and gripped the handle of his sword tightly. Soon his mind was clear once more and his thoughts focussed.

He quickly closed the gap between him and the Utogurran, vaguely aware of the man hissing words beneath his breath, and grabbed him by his collar, lifting him slightly as he held his long sword against the man’s throat. He felt no anger, no sadness, only a purpose.

“No more games”

The man smiled widely as, before Lucas’ own eyes, he faded and slipped from his grasp. Lucas could not see where the Occulist had gone, but in a strange way he could sense him, standing close. He struck at the presence several times before realizing it was doing little. And then a voice, sounding like It was coming from a great distance but recognizable as the voice of the Utogurran.

“I can play games all day knight.”

And then the man was once again there, but now several paces from where Lucas stood. Lucas went to charge him but he felt his wrists restrained. Glancing to his arms he saw shadows, wrapped like chains around his forearms. Lucas strained till his muscles threatened to snap before relaxing and turning his cold stare upon the man.

When the man spoke again it was till in an otherworldly growl, but it sounded laboured. Lucas could see sweat upon the man’s brow and upon his own. The fight had taken a lot out of them both.

“You should stop, or you’re going to get yourself killed. If you die, that man walks free, and you don’t want that do you?” 

The man paused for a moment and Lucas could not help but agree with the man’s words. Although he suspected the Occulist did not believe himself he could easily win the fight.

“You don’t have any authority here knight. Your standing in Acamia means nothing here. And more importantly, his crimes in Acamia mean nothing here. He’s innocent as far as the law goes. If you kill him, you are just another murderer, a petty criminal. Do you want to lose your title, your honour because of him? Wait for him to cross to the border, and you can have your vengeance and return a hero.” 

Although he agreed with what he said Lucas still fixed him with an evil glare, he didn't like to be beaten. In fact, defeat was a new experience for him.

“I still don’t like you.” 

The Occulist laughed and Lucas could feel the room breathe a sigh of relief.

“You don’t have to. You just have to realise I’m speaking sense.” 

Lucas dropped his shoulders and relaxed his muscles. He felt the shadows loosen their grip upon his wrists and eventually fall away.

The moment he was free, Lucas turned and lashed out with a heavy fist, striking Nathaniel in the face, sending him sprawling onto the floor. 

“You never said I couldn’t hit him.” 

Lucas allowed himself a smile as the Utogurran laughed heartily. When the man spoke again his voice was once again light and friendly.

“Bar-tender! A glass of Acamian wine for my combatant as well.” 

Lucas nodded in thanks to the stranger as he walked slowly to sit back at the table with another man, Utogurran again from the look of him.

Lucas picked up his shield from where it rested upon the ground, sheathed his long sword, spared a fleeting glance at the Heretic, who still lay upon the ground, and walked, back to his table to sip at the wine of his homeland. He’d learnt a thing or 
two about fighting Occulist’s. He wouldn't make mistakes next time.


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## Septok (Jan 21, 2012)

Athurmaz was a bit embarrassed, to be completely honest. Dadrzin had walked up to the Knight and begun a fight. He had been here an hour at best and blood was to be spilled. _Spiffing._ 

Realising the due problems, especially when the Knight’s nose was punched like tenderised meat, Athurmaz knew that his skills could be of use here. Minor fractures, broken bones, bleeding, magicka withdrawal and magical wounds were among the possible needs, so, deciding that it could do nothing but good to his family, he began work. He pulled out a few herbs from his robes – Clotweed and Morphroot – and began to refine them. As he removed the Clotweed’s leaves, he yelled to the bartender. “You don’t have any small bowls, do you? Get me a few and a few spoons, and I’ll be happy to pay you. I’ll return them, I promise.” The bartender nodded after a quick thought. He put the Clotweed on the bar, dodged the Knight’s sword being unsheathed, and began to crush the Morphroot. As the last drops of Morph were released, the bartender handed over the bowls and a few spoons, just as ordered. Athurmaz put the Clotweed and Morph Drops in a bowl as he handed over a few coins. 

As the bartender began to walk away, Athurmaz dodged something flying and asked “Could you get me some honey? It’s good for this kind of thing.” A nod of recognition resumed his task. Soon, he had a painkiller/healing salve/potion all ready for an injured person. As his family always said, ‘If you can’t make friends by yourself, give them the fruits of your skill’. It was wired into him. 

The bar brawl went on, and so did Athurmaz. He dodged things a few times, often muttering _‘Shades damn it’_ under his breath. By the time the fight had ended, he was a small amount poorer and ready for allies. Dadrzin shouted something to the bartender, but Athurmaz wasn’t listening. He had already put some of his healing salve and a note where Lucas had been sat, along with instructions. That batch had a bit of Priestess’ Bane to deal with any ongoing magical effects. As Dadrzin sat down, Athurmaz greeted him with a quick “Nice fighting,” and offered him a healing potion and a magic-replenishing potion. Dadrzin seemed a bit hesitant, so he elaborated.

“This one,” he said, raising the blue concoction. “Is a healing potion. Clotweed and Morphroot, with a touch of honey. Apply it to a wound or bruise or ingest it, your choice. Might taste nasty though. And this one,” he raised the other one, orange in colour. “Is Geltzar’s Mix. Weird potion, mostly Glowleaf and Hixar, but I’ve added a drop of Neuroviate Blood for good measure. Drink it if you can, you won’t feel exhausted from the magic. But you may go slightly nutty for a while. By which I mean you’ll be willingly ingesting neurotoxins -brain poison, if you don't know - and you will… go nuts. But it’ll wear off in an hour if you don’t drink alcohol. I’ll make some without the blood, if you want.”


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## Romero's Own (Apr 10, 2012)

When Lucas reached his seat again he noticed a small bowl, sitting beside a simple note. The knight sat down heavily and picked up the note warily. It read simply.

“Healing salve for your wounds.”

Lucas placed down the note, reaching for the bowl. He lifted it to his nose and inhaled. He was no expert in the herbs but thought he could detect what he thought was Clotweed, something he knew had healing qualities.

Deciding to trust the unknown benefactor Lucas dipped his hand into the salve, scooping a portion with his fingers. He carefully rubbed the cold salve on his sensitive nose and instantly felt a wave of relief brush away the dull pain from his bleeding nose. He reached his hand to his face and found that the blood had stopped flowing. Not only that but, with a sudden rush, Lucas felt the last shadows, that had been hanging around his mind, clouding his memories, flow from him and disappear into the rest of the room.

Feeling full revived Lucas smiled and thanked the bar tender as he arrived with the glass of Acamian wine. The knight sipped gently, his eyes returning to scanning the room.


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## Scathainn (Feb 21, 2010)

*All*: Your conversations are quickly interrupted as an Acamian man bursts through the door of the bar, clutching an arm bleeding profusely. His clothes are tattered and he’s soaking wet; at some point in the night it began raining, and you can hear the drizzle of rain on the rooftops. His breathing is ragged and he’s shaking almost violently as blood drips from his arm onto the floor.

“S-s-s-someone help!” he half-shouts, half-sobs as he stumbles through the door, almost like a drunkard. Blood flows out of his mouth as he speaks, and you can see that at some point he bit his tongue, or lost several teeth, or both. With a heavy thump, he collapses onto *Dadrzin* and *Athurmaz* ’s table, scattering their plates and utensils. *Sidek* flips him over, desperately trying to treat his wounds, and *Lucas* begins to pray quietly over the man. 

The man is shaking wildly, almost frothing at the mouth. “Th-th-th-th-the caravan, it’s all gone…” he cries. “All the gold, the men, the horses, the s-s-s-salt…” 

*Rayland* and *Nathaniel* both have a pretty good idea of what this caravan might be. An Acamian trade convoy was making its way north towards Cinnaris, and it passed within a few miles of the Shivering Maid around yesterday morning. From what you heard from some of the locals and saw from the wagon tracks, the caravan must have been massive; rumor even has it that it was carrying the Crown of Rucis, worn once by Acaman himself.

The dying man pants hungrily, his breathing ragged and shallow, and his tears begin to flow with his blood. “It took m-m-m-muh wife…” 

After a few more minutes of mad shaking, you can tell that his life is fading. Despite *Sidek*’s best efforts, his wounds are too great; his cuts contain a thick, black bile that even *Dadrzin* and *Athurmaz* cannot identify, and the more *Sidek* tries to heal him, the more the wounds bleed. 

He mutters incoherently, red liquid dribbling slowly out of his mouth. Sweat beads on his forehead, covering the blue triangle tattooed on it, and his eyes wildly look around the room randomly. He makes note to look at each and every one of you, trying with manic desperation to get help. Words come out of his mouth seemingly at random, and you can’t really understand what he’s saying. “Th-th-th-forest, innawoods….ittsgone, gottagoGET THAT thin….Xuutum Awa-Uru…” He pauses once more, licking his lips as if to desperately taste a meal long forgotten. He coughs, and further rivulets of blood trickle down his chin. “Someone st-st-st-stop….” With a final sputtering cough, the last breath of the unknown man’s life escapes him, and his eyes glaze over and roll into his sockets. The man is dead.

*Var Kai* and *Liang Kai* look at each other nervously. You two both recognize the name Xuutum Awa-Uru; it’s an old folktale legend, told by grannies to naughty children to get them to behave. Xuutum Awa-Uru was a great mountain spirit, with a hundred arms and a thousand teeth, who crept in the night to steal away children and clean their bones, deep in the black forests of inner Ansur. You wonder if you should tell the others.

“Someone ought to DO something!” sobs one of the kitchen wenches, dropping he tray and running into the kitchen crying.

Maybe she’s right.


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## Deus Mortis (Jun 20, 2009)

Dadrzin sat back at the table and leaned back _“Nice fighting”_ Athurmaz remarked. Dadrzin could tell he was not impressed. He smiled behind his steel mask as Athurmaz produced two potions. Dadrzin was curious; his fight had been tiring, but he hardly sustained any mortal wounds. He was still able to function with only mild discomfort. Athurmaz explained the nature of the potions he had concocted. _ “This one,”_ he said, raising the blue concoction. Dadrzin took it from him and listened _“Is a healing potion. Clotweed and Morphroot, with a touch of honey. Apply it to a wound or bruise or ingest it, your choice. Might taste nasty though. And this one,”_ he raised the other one, orange in colour. 

Dadrzin dabbed some of the healing potion onto his fingers and massaged it into his bruised neck as he listened to the other half of Athurmaz’s explaination. [/I]“Is Geltzar’s Mix. Weird potion, mostly Glowleaf and Hixar, but I’ve added a drop of Neuroviate Blood for good measure. Drink it if you can, you won’t feel exhausted from the magic. But you may go slightly nutty for a while. By which I mean you’ll be willingly ingesting neurotoxins -brain poison, if you don't know - and you will… go nuts. But it’ll wear off in an hour if you don’t drink alcohol. I’ll make some without the blood, if you want.”[/I] 

Dadrzin let out a light chuckle. “Trust me kinsman, blood has never phased me in any capacity.” Dadrzin pocketed the second brew without so much as opening it. “I thank-you kindly for your skills. The healing potion is very potent, from what I know.” It was true. Dadzrin had barely had to use more than a couple of drops on neck before he could feel the bruises healing, his skin returning to its normal pale texture. “I will refrain from drinking your Geltzar’s mix, though I shall keep it. It is a more arduous process to recover magic over time, but I could not be much of an Occultist if after a fight with one man I needed to be tended to like a babe fresh from the womb? But, I’m sure I will need it at some point.” 

Dadrzin took a sip of his wine he had bought. It was good, just like Nathaniel had said. Dadrzin was pleased as he took a bit out of his salted meat. That was less impressive than the wine, but he could not complain. He did not feel swindled for what he had paid. Dadrzin could tell Athurmaz was not overly impressed by his starting a brawl. “I know you think me rash Athurmaz…” Dadrzin began as he took another small bite of meat and bread, already feeling a measure of his strength returning. “…but my actions served more purpose than my pleasure at showing an Acamian his place, enjoyable as it was. You see, I now have that knight’s respect. If he were to need a magical compatriot, he would know one whom he had seen their experience first-hand. The other Acamian, Nathaniel, will also appreciate living to fight another day for sure. As for the rest; either they now know that we are not easily taken advantage of and so will not threaten us or will desire our services.”

Dadrzin felt satisfied with himself. Even if Athurmaz did not believe him, Dadrzin believed that he had acted for the best. He raised his glass up to his lips once more as the door burst open. Another Acamian barrelled through the doors clutching his arm. He was bleeding from numerous gashes all over his body and he was holding his arm. Even as he spoke, blood dribbled from the corner of his mouth _ “S-s-s-someone help!”_ Even though he had almost a full glass left and it was meant to be sipped, Dadrzin gulped back the remainder of his glass of Acamian as the man came crashing into his and Athurmaz’s table. He stood up with Athurmaz as the Mazim he had seen when he came in came to the Acamian’s assistance. Draped in furs and totems, Dadrzin could tell even before he started casting healing incantations that he was a Druid. 

Dadrzin assisted in flipping the man onto his front. The Acamian continued to babble wildly, seemingly unaware of those around him. _ “Th-th-th-th-the caravan, it’s all gone…”_ he cried. _“All the gold, the men, the horses, the s-s-s-salt…”_ Dadrzin didn’t think man caravan came travelling this far out. The dying man panted hungrily, his breathing ragged and shallow, and his tears began to flow with his blood. _“It took m-m-m-muh wife…”_ Somehow, Dadrzin doubted whatever it was had taken anything from his wife except her life. Certainly the man’s wounds seemed to testify to that reality. As the Mazim cast more of his healing magic, the wounds seemed to only bleed more profusely, as if to spite those who wished to help the man. His blood ran thick with a black bile that Dadrzin had not seen. In an effort to stem the bleeding, Dadrzin summoned small fires into his hands. He tried to cauterise the wounds, but the moment h had sealed one and tried to stop another, the first broke in a miniature eruption of blood and black bile.

The Acamian was fading fast, him Athurmaz and this Mazim could see if best of all. Athurmaz had not applied any of his potions; either because he had none or he was unsure it would help. Or both. Nothing seemed to help at this point. The Acamin muttered incoherently for a few second before shouting _“Th-th-th-forest, innawoods….ittsgone, gottagoGET THAT thin….Xuutum Awa-Uru…”_ Xuutum-what? Dadrzin had never heard of whatever the man spoke. In his last moments of desperation, the man looked at everyone gathered in the bar. Dadrzin there was nothing they could do to help. The Mazim seemed competent and had been unable to help, and neither had Dadrzin or Athurmaz. At best, they had given him the few minutes he had just used to half explain himself. _“Someone st-st-st-stop….”_ The Acamian spluttered before finally the fight left his body and he died. 

Dadrzin met Athurmaz’s eyes across the table. Both of their hands were slick with blood and that black bile as they had attempted to help while the Mazim had cast his spells. “Do you…” Dadrzin began, but Athurmaz was already thinking the same thing. “No, I don’t. I’ve never seen anything like it before.” Dadrzin had hoped Athurmaz would know something about the black bile clogging the man’s wounds, but it seemed he did not. “Perhaps we, well you, should take samples to study kinsman?” Athurmaz did not respond, probably trying to work out what it was and what had just happened. Dadrzin met the eyes of the Mazim and nodded in acknowledgement. He had tried to save the man; a noble gesture. The name still puzzled Dadrzin as he heard one of the kitchen wenches scream in horror. The pervious jovial atmosphere of the bar had fled like the like once a candle was blown out. “Knight! Nathaniel! Either of you know what Xuutum Awa-Uru is?” Dadrzin assumed it was an Acamian folk-tale. Even as he spoke the name, he caught the two Zha-Ni exchanging as nervous look between one another. Perhaps they knew something. Either way, what had just happened vex Dadrzin so much that he had long forgotten that the meal he had just bought now lay either under the man or on the floor…


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## Septok (Jan 21, 2012)

As the rain fell to Ansur faster than Athurmaz could ever remember it (possibly thanks to the wilderness that stood slightly east of them), something weird happened.

“S-s-s-someone help!” Came a voice from the entrance, belonging to a man that certainly felt worse than he seemed. Blood flew out of his mouth as he spoke, likely from some kind of internal bleeding rather than merely from teeth and tongue, stumbling across the room. Athurmaz jumped up just as he keeled over on their table, everyone in the inn visibly shocked. The Northman ran over to the table and flipped the man as Athurmaz began to draw a few leaves, giving them to the Mazim who clearly knew what to do with them. He neither had the time to make a potion to help the man nor knew what to use. It was up to the mages to heal him.

“Th-th-th-th-the caravan, it’s all gone…” he cries. “All the gold, the men, the horses, the s-s-s-salt…” He foamed at the mouth. Athurmaz began to suspect a monster attack, and his inquisition was sparked. As the man began to cry, he bawled a few words: “It took m-m-m-muh wife…”

Athurmaz noticed an amount of black bile seeping deep from the man’s wounds, and, taking one of the spoons the barman had lent him, scraped some from a wound with a whisper of “Thanks, friend. Keep trying, we can get you through this.” Athurmaz began to study the strange liquid, finding little of note. Intriguing. 

The man spoke again, “Th-th-th-forest, innawoods….ittsgone, gottagoGET THAT thin….Xuutum Awa-Uru… Someone st-st-st-stop….”
Then he was dead.

Athurmaz met Dadrzin’s eyes from across the table, confused.
“Do you…” The Utogurran began.

“No, I don’t. I’ve never seen anything like it before.” He replied, puzzled even more as it sunk in that nobody in the room likely knew what on Ansur this stuff was. Perhaps we, well you, should take samples to study, kinsman?”

As Dadrzin began to search the room for answers, Athurmaz’ lust for knowledge kicked in. He closed the man’s eyes in respect, and took a few more spoonfuls of the bile, putting them in a bowl. Once most of the oil had been drawn up, he took the corpse and laid him out, shouting for an Acamian burial for the man. Returning to the bile, he opened his totem, and put a drop inside. He began to let magic flow into it, and the internal machinery began to grind as it began to set about the stuff. He returned to the bowl, and dipped a bit of Auctate into the potion. Nothing. He split what he had of the liquid into two bowls, one for him and one for Dadrzin. When he comes to sit down, they will have a lot of work to do.


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## Romero's Own (Apr 10, 2012)

“S-s-s-someone help!” 

Lucas turned like a flash at the sound of the voice and saw an Acamian man burst through the door of the bar, clutching an arm that was bleeding profusely. His clothes were tattered and he was soaking wet; at some point in the night it began raining, and Lucas could hear the torrent of rain upon the rooftop.

The man’s breathing was ragged and he was shaking almost violently as blood pumped from his arm onto the floor and he half-shouted, half-sobbed as he stumbled through the door, almost like a drunkard. Blood flowed out of his mouth as he spoke. Lucas could see that at some point he had bitten his tongue, or lost several teeth, or both. 


With a heavy thump, he collapsed onto the table of the two Utogurran, scattering their plates and utensils. The Northman, moving quickly, flipped him over onto his back, desperately trying to treat his wounds as he whispered the incarnations that marked him as a Druid.

The Acamian Knight was quickly upon his feet and he walked swiftly to the side of his wounded kinsman. Grasping one of the man’s hands in his own gauntleted one Lucas began to trace the mark of the Oversoul with his finger upon that which already lay there. He whispered beneath his breath words of prayer that had been ingrained within his mind since he was a child. Lucas vaugly registered that the man had begun to speak.

“Th-th-th-th-the caravan, it’s all gone.……All the gold, the men, the horses, the s-s-s-salt…It took m-m-m-muh wife…” 

The man fell silent again as he thrashed upon the table. Lucas kept a firm steady hand upon his forehead and his grip never faltered although he sensed from the druids frenzied efforts’ slacking that the glimmer of hope had vanished.

The man muttered incoherently, red liquid dribbling slowly out of his mouth. Words come out of his mouth seemingly at random, but it is almost impossible to understand

“Th-th-th-forest, innawoods….ittsgone, gottagoGET THAT thin….Xuutum Awa-Uru…” 

He paused and coughed, further rivulets of blood trickling down his chin. 

“Someone st-st-st-stop….” 

With a final sputtering cough, the last breath of the unknown man’s life escaped him, and his eyes glazed over and rolled into his sockets. The man was dead.

The voices of the two Utoggurans broke the silence, the Occulist speaking first.

“Do you…” 

The other quickly cut in, obviously thinking the same thing

“No, I don’t. I’ve never seen anything like it before. Perhaps we, well you, should take samples to study kinsman?” 

There was a silence and Lucas took the moment to begin the burial of the Acamian. Drawing out his knife Lucas proceeded to, with a few quick, clean cuts; etch the Oversoul mark into the man’s forhead. Placing his hand on his chest Lucas closed his eyes and spoke quickly and quietly. Upon finishing the prayer he paused as he felt the man’s soul flow from his body and return to the Oversoul. The body was now nothing more than that, a husk. Lucas was brought back to reality by the voice of the Occulist.

“Knight! Nathaniel! Either of you know what Xuutum Awa-Uru is?” 

Lucas looked up, shaking his head. He had never heard the name before and doubted it was of Acamian origin. Although he noticed the two monk like characters share a glance.


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