Saving Face

Shadow rode tall in her saddle atop a pure black Clydesdale stallion named Phantom. The breeze felt good on the hot summer day as she rode alongside her five Paladin companions. Each from different orders but all tasked to the same mission. They weren't exactly sure what that was yet and would find out once they'd met with the woman they had been sent to meet in the village of Rock Rump.

He wore a thick but tight fitting and tailored suit of leather armor, stretch over the leath and slender female human form he regularly used. It was crafted to appear like platemail but only protected like heavy leather. From her waste hung a long tattered leather skirt. A sheathed scimitar was strapped to her back just under a backpack which held her gear. Over the backpack was slung a round steel shield. Her long white hair fluttered and wisped in the breeze.

As usual she was fairly quiet as they rode. After days on the road there wasn't really a whole lot to talk about anyways.

SHADOW


PHANTOM

Caranthir, the largest half-elf anyone had ever seen, looking hungrily at the preparations for the clamfest. He was busily, and expertly shaving in his saddle. He had absolutely no doubts at his victory as he was going to compete. He had been talking about it all morning. "I tell you there is nothing I love more than eating a clam." He had joked for the 12th time that day. He winks at Sigrid, and breaks into a cheeky grin as he was overcome by how gorgeous, strong, and brilliant she was. He wore that same stupid grin that he had just dumbly offered when he first met her, back when he was too shy to talk to anyone.

He was of course gigantic compared to the average humanoid. Even Shadow's complexion was darker than his chalk skin and platinum hair. Something about Caranthir was just unfair, he had all the right mutations. Bearing the face of his mother Skadi the Seeress, but the nose and brows of Imlerith. It was sharp, a deadly and fierce beauty. But also maintained majesty through his savage and brutish demeanor.

The glow of magic, its taste, sound, and the effervescence of it radiated from him. As did dread and an unrelenting will to conquer. It focused on Mimir, his shamanic fetish. A glowing mummified head on a chain and hook about his waist. He would occassionally converse with it, as they spoke the runes on Mimir's flesh would warp. Caranthir idly touched the head and refilled the casks on his mount's saddle bag.

Sigrid rolls her eyes at Caranthir's joke. "Would that I had a shell I could close around myself, that I wouldn't have to hear your tired puns!" she says with a good-natured laugh.

The jotun paladin is massive, towering even over Caranthir. Her light blue skin is the color of a glacier under the midday sun, with darker patches under her eyes and in the creases of her skin. Her long, white hair falls like snow, and her eyes are white with flecks of red. Her muscles bulge, straining her mail armor, and her well-worn sword and shield leave little doubt as to her combat prowess.

"I do hope that the harvest was bountiful this year, though. I am bringing my appetite with me!"

Hugh sat in his saddle, content to let his nondescript brown horse follow the others as he quietly watched the countryside pass them by. He hid a smirk at the Jotuns' back and forth, but otherwise ignored them.

Hugh was unique in how completely average he was. Like somehow, he defined nondescript. A human male of average height and weight, brown hair, brown eyes. If it was possible to be more average than average... Hugh had accomplished it in spades.

A genuine smile crossed his face as they entered the town of Rock Rump. "Aye, I also hope their harvest was bountiful. Good people deserve the rewards of a good harvest."

Everyone looks forward to the Clam Festival...except Fachtna. He hates seafood and the briny smell of the ocean makes his stomach queasy. The elf was already an oddity, although less of one currently with the large jotuns and half-jotuns around the place, and the festival made him feel even more of an outcast. Fachtna has a few tell-tale signs of the fae: animal horns and tail, with green moss growing in patches on his dirt-colored skin. He keeps most of these traits hidden under his clothes and a full-length hooded cloak dappled in forest green and tree-bark brown.

Nevertheless he is on a mission and must mingle somewhat. He moves among the people and inquires among those alone or in small groups of twos or three for the whereabouts of Eidella Haraldsdotter.

A rather sad looking donkey pulled a cart behind the group. The cart jangled with scraps of metal and whatever other bits of junk the group had decided to throw in there for later use. In the rider's seat of this cart was Lorenzo, another rather plain looking human man with some exceptions. This priestly paladin was barely taller than a dwarf, and one of his arms was not made of flesh. Instead, a mechanical prosthetic adorned with some shining bits of plating gripped the reins. He didn't mind the extra attention his arm earned him over his bland brown hair and typical facial features. Well, that was before traveling with this exotic group, anyway. Now he felt practically invisible compared to the towering mountains of muscle, snow-haired beauties, and leafy fey.

Lorenzo scratched the back of his head, glancing over to Hugh. At least he wasn't totally alone in his relative normalcy. The Clam Fest may have been on the minds of the others, but all this paladin could think about was what secrets are hidden in the town of Rock Rump. It was a far cry from the wondrous city of Lij that he was raised in. It might as well have felt like a different world entirely. At the same time, there was something to appreciate about these quaint little places so far removed from the grandeur of the sights he had seen since joining the Keepers of Lore at Seven Spires. In addition to the mission they were given, he would seek out any important knowledge or relics so that they may be safeguarded back at the capital of the Holy Kingdom.

"I just hope this mission isn't too dull. A holy contingent of this size and might shouldn't be squandered on small matters."

Fachtna pulls out his staff as he runs over to the man, swinging it about trying to get the birds to fly away. "Back, back! Shoo you feathered fiends!"

Seeking to protect the man from being attacked, Fachtna reaches out a hand and touches him. The paladin utters a few holy words and the man disappears from the birds' sight.

Slow Turn.

"Time for some thrilling heroics." Caranthir just walks into the birds and interposes himself between them and the old man. He waits to see if they disperse, any sign of hostility will be met with a slam from his navigation rod. His aura of menace surely would be enough to disperse a flock of seagulls.

Fast Turn

Shadow only goes near enough to the birds to be in range for her spell (Range: Medium).

OOC: She casts Clamor (Level 0) in the center of the birds Starting with the loud smashings of pots and pans being hit with a steel spoon and increasing the volume to the crashing of thunder until they disperse or the spell elapses in 1 min.

Clamor (ILLUSION UTILITY) Level 0 [casting 1 of 2]

Target: One point in space within medium range
Duration: 1 minute

The target point emits sound you choose for the duration. This can be noises or speech in a language you know, and its volume can range from as quiet as a whisper to as loud as thunder. For the duration, you can change the sound as you wish to mimic effects such as the clash of blades, a conversation, or the approach or retreat of footsteps.

OOC:

target the birds that are attacking the old man