Game Posts

I've been preceded by my reputation. I don't know if it's my tattoos, or if my past exploits created a lot of stories that would pass from one criminal to another, but I found that where my old criminal contacts and I have lost touch there were plenty of strangers who recognized me or my dice. As we found ourselves in various towns I'd, out of old habits, find myself in the tavern and I'd somehow always have someone wanting me to reminisce. I may have tried to forget my past but it definitely would not forget about me. Luckily as I would talk about the "good old days" my temporary friends at the taverns would fill me about the here and now.

Criminals always seem to be focused on the here and now, so there was not much information to be had about the past, and now the empire was solidly in the past. It's bones had been picked over by looters and scavengers so my criminal brethren had little concern for it so I little information to share with Pageflap and Iman.

Early on I learned that though he may not be known by name or reputation Aegar still holds himself like a soldier committed to to order, and because of that many of my "friends" were wary to be in the same room as him, much less talk to him, at least until I would fervently vouch for him and they had plenty to drink.

The real treasure trove of information came from our wayward Acolyte and the Thespian extraordinaire.

Raishe, I learned, was quite vilified publicly to go against his religion in such a violent was was inexcusable. To the public this was the clergy's stance. However, some of the more... human... clerics recognized the Bishop for what he was. As these clerics would find their way to alehouses, brothels, gambling dens, to "proselytize" and the like they would let slip that "they would have done the same without any misgivings" this seemed, to my fellow criminals to be a lot of grandstanding and ego stroking, To me it showed that the man had support for his actions and may have a path back to the fold he had devoted his life to. I see this as good. Men of faith need hope. Kit's is the most amusing to me. I expected his transition out of the top of society to be challenging, but he seems to take to the grit just as well as the glamour he was used to. At first it seemed like he missed fine wine and feasts, he also seemed reluctant to enter some of the taverns I would gravitate toward. Now he seems much less preoccupied with what people might think. At first there were some murmurs about people looking for him. Word now is that with his uncle being held accountable and him leaving the spotlight the crown seems to be indifferent his existence. His skills for the stage seem to transition quite well to making sure he stays hidden and disguised. His flair for drama seems to break the melancholy of our current existence. He came to me in a time of need and so I took him in. He's decided to join us, since the stage seems closed to him for now, and it seems like he's taken to our quest quite well, though he sometimes forgets where we are or who were talking to, and the consequences for that has been...interesting at times, but we can usually walk away unscathed, sometimes laughing sometimes hastily, but rarely bruised or battered. I do still feel kind of responsible for him especially when we deal with the seedier side of society. Maybe in our time together I'll be able to see him perform the play that got him into hot water in the first place. I did enjoy his performances in my youth.

Not even three days remaining until he finally made it within the walls of Katagia when Pageflap was beset by a boisterous band of bandits. The preceding weeks were hardly any trouble, and he was beginning to think that the threat of being mugged on the road may have been slightly exaggerated. Turns out the middle of nowhere wasn't a good place for muggers to find victims!

"I think I saw that bird thing go this way!" Another thing to note was that apparently Kenku were not as well known around these parts as back home. They were known, a couple of the bandits mentioned seeing something like himself a couple of times before, but they seemed to be rarer around here. That or the bandits were not worldly enough to know the name 'Kenku.'

At the moment, he was high upon a tree, using his talons to perch on a sufficiently foliaged and sturdy enough branch. The hope that the bandits would give up and leave before nightfall was waning as the hunt seemed to only spur them further. He could probably keep going until they did give up, but he was getting worried that the man of faith hiding in the tree with him would not.

Meeting on the same boat, the cleric Raishe was initially wary of him, knowing the reputation Kenku were known to have. A week at sea was enough to put some of that worry to rest, but not so much that they wouldn't have parted ways once they reached port. That they were headed the same way was a coincidence, and though the cleric kept him at arms length throughout the journey the presence of bandits warmed them up to each other pretty quickly.

Pageflap felt something click in his head.

Waving the cleric over, they slowly began climbing down the tree. Stealthily sneaking among the bushes, Pageflap neared one of the bandits. The cleric didn't seem to have ever done something like this before, and made a bit of noise. As the bandit started to rise at the noise, Pageflap spoke aloud, "I think I saw that bird thing go this way!" The bandit then got up and headed towards Pageflap's direction. As he was about to reach the tree he was hiding behind, Raishe clubbed him in the back of the head with his mace.

"Hey! Are you alright? What's with all the noise!?" yelled one of the bandits.

"Where the hell is that bloody bird!?" Pageflap yelled back. The bandits went back to their searching, unaware that they were being picked off one by one.

When all was said and done, Pageflap flipped open his book and turned to find an empty page. That was clearly a creative plan! He should write it down in case he needs it again! Though there was the possibility that it would not work again. Perhaps he should look for more help once he gets to Katagia? There's bound to be someone there wanting to go to the Arkasian ruins....

I find myself in an unfamiliar setting. This is the first time since I can remember sharing the warmth of a campfire with someone other than my own. I sit here with a group of interesting individuals, and although I don't particularly trust any of the others, it's comforting to have Aegar in the group to side with.

The flames are peaceful...

I remember that day, 20 years ago. I was supposed to start school the following morning. I thought knowledge was quantified by the amount of books you owned, so I would sneak around and take books and scrolls from elders to prepare myself. I wanted to grow and become a powerful wizard, just like my parents. I was so excited. But I will never forget the sound of the Arkasian horns that night. I had no idea what was going on. They looked like monsters, they were huge, these invaders. I couldn't make out who they were, but I was frightened. I couldn't move, I couldn't run, and I couldn't scream. They destroyed everything and I couldn't do anything about it. I wish I was brave.

Just the other day we came across the ruins of Tevik again, it was another town under the Arkasian rule that was also attacked. Aegar and I passed by here while I was still under his unit around 15 years ago. My first time by I saw the remains of what seemed to be a child. A skeleton about four feet in length laying there with a rusted sword at its side. These children, with sword in hand, had to fight amongst men for survival, when I could barely stand. I was ashamed.

But Im different now. I'm stronger and fearless. I've been chased off these roads countless of times into hiding, but im back with a different purpose. In these flames I see visions of coming disaster, and whether this group shares a common purpose or not, I will do anything to prevent it.

Out of all the people Aegar had come to find himself on this journey with. He'd never imagined he'd see Iman Pyregrip again. The last time he saw the boy was during the fall of the Empire, and he was but 10 years old. The boy he met then was a very timid one, but after having seen his home and family savagely ripped away; who could blame him? Aegar saw it imperative that the boy be taught some basic fighting skills. They would be his only means of survival in the years to come, that is if he isn't destroyed by the barbarians.

Iman today was no longer the timid boy Aegar once knew. He had grown strong and tall into a man with great capabilities. But Aegar had come to notice something that haunted him. Whether by pure chance, or as means or survival, or maybe it was the gods continuing to punish Aegar; Iman had become a Barbarian. Much like the ones who toppled the great Arkasian Empire and brought Aegar's life to ruins. This deeply concerned Aegar, as he could not understand how someone could be satisfied with such a way of life. The life of a knight was once one of great responsibility and honor, If only Aegar had made sure to impress the importance of such things upon young Iman.

But in this failure, Aegar sees a source of redemption. Throughout the course of this journey, he will try to right the wrongs of his past. And perhaps he can bring Iman back to some semblance of the young friend he once knew.

Along the way Raishe decided to cut his hair short, and wear a hood at all times with simple monk vestments over chainmail. The vestments gave him away.

"Hello there brother!" Hailed someone above a stone mound various meters beside the road. "Come and join us by light of fire folks, these are dangerous times with bandits and foul creatures about."

The party had walked hard and far that day, so the invitation to partake in food and hearth by Raishe's brothers in the faith seemed to raise their spirits.

They all stared back at Raishe as if for approval. They knew, they all knew. He had only ventured to tell Barendd and Pageflap, but the rumors had begun to circulate in Katagia before they took their leave. While he hoped that by staying quiet, and speaking little he could fend off any suspicion amongst the rest of his companion the result ended up being the opposite.

Kit began to question why did the cleric not engage in conversations of theology, history or anything at all with him.

Iman had not met a person of the faith that had either fled from him, attempted to convert him or chase him off. Non of which Reishe seemed to be interested in doing.

And Aegar, Aegar just knew. He knew what killing for the first time did to men, and Reishe could have just as well have parchment nailed on his back that read what he was hiding.

He wished nothing more than to sit by those who shared his faith, and his new found companions by am already set fire, and roasting meat, but it was too risky, he wasn't able to make out how many nor what kind of group the pilgrims had, but if by any chance there was a paladin... Maybe they wouldn't recognize him, but sin was easy to smell to these people, and his brief time on the trail with his own group had thought him that he was currently no good at hiding what ailed him, nor who he was.

He lowered his head, and walked down the road as he spoke. "I'm sorry brothers, if we wish to make it to our destination in time we don't have any time to waste. Thank you for your generosity, may the lord richly bless you. I pray that I might return the gesture to you some other time."

"I'm sorry friends." He said in a lower voice to his companions, eyes averting their gaze as he continued walking. There were sighs, there were moans, and those who had their doubts about Reishe had them no more. He was the outlaw priest.

It has been nearly a decade since I've had to worry about where my next meal was coming from, and my mood was sour. Bitterness at the turn my life had taken, I barely spoke for days. That fate had led me to this point, bereft of friend and no escape from derision. I felt a fool from morn to eve the whole day long over my hasty decision to flee.

I had only known Barendd as a patron of the arts with some connections to less savory characters, but I felt he would be my best chance to escape the fate that befell my uncle. It came as a surprise to me that he was the one who was going to smuggle me out of the city. I had gone to him expecting him to KNOW someone, not expecting him to BE the someone.

As the days trudged along, I began studying the book my uncle had always near at hand. Whenever he was asked about it, he talked of a man who sold his soul for all the knowledge of the world. I had always assumed he was talking about a play he was writing and that this eventual masterpiece was contained within the pages of this tome. That was not the case. Upon opening it, I was struck by the strangeness of the writing, intermingled with my uncle's own notations. It seemed to be a grimoire of more than passing uncanny. I have had some difficulty in the deciphering of its meaning, but I will have it. It does seem, though, that my uncle was the one who had sold his soul. Or at least had made some bargain. That bargain was contained within these pages. I would have the secret soon.

In the meantime, as the days trudged on, I found myself mired in tedium. As we started on our journey, my fame preceeded me, and I found it necessary to call upon my skills with makeup and putty to alter my features, though, often enough, a simple change of stride and dropping or raising my voice an octave or two was enough to fool the casual observer. And, if necessary, I was able to easily call upon the sorcerous skill that is my birthright to quickly change my appearance. But as it became clear that I was no longer a target, I grew emboldened to again entertain. I had had enough of cold gruel around a sputtering campfire, and I would make certain that the six of us would soon have better fare and accomodation.

And I soon saw the means to have it.

At first, I barely paid attention when the others joined the journey. I had thought merely Barendd had hired them as further protection, and I vaguely wondered how I was going to pay for the extra swords. They seemed rough types, and I was determined to keep my distance.

I scarcely knew what to think when the Kenku joined us. I had heard of the bird people. Cursed, human-like, and flightless. Most thought them to be legend. I had certainly never thought to actually meet one! And then I heard him speak. As he told us the tale that led him to us, my mouth hung open. He effortlessly switched from one voice to another and back again. It was flawless! I admit to a certain amount of professional jealousy as I am known far and wide for my talent at mimicry. But this creature! This Pageflap! Though I am loathe to admit it, his skill outstrips my own.

Once my petty feelings subsided, though, I knew what I needed to do. From memory, I taught him a number of plays, giving him the parts to repeat and the voices to repeat them in. Though he had the voice, I could not see him playing the parts to suit me, his appearance too shocking for a simple audience. As I had done in the past, I created an illusion of a second actor. But this time, it could have a voice! The perfect voice!

As I stood on the stage in the backwater, one-inn town we found ourselves in, I began with my line.

"Goats, from a shepherd who stands here, from Lacon, keep away: Sibyrtas owns him; and he stole my goatskin yesterday."

I mentally commanded the image I had summoned to move in response, and the Kenku, who stood to the back of the makeshift stage, let loose with a suitably comical tone, with the predictable murmur of laughter from the crowd.

"Hi! lambs! avoid yon fountain. Have ye not eyes to see
Cometas, him who filched a pipe but two days back from me?"

The second time we enacted The Battle of the Bards, it began as successfully, but Pageflap's hidden position was not as hidden as it should have been. When the audience noticed him, I expected anything but the response we received: more uproarious laughter than I had ever received for the playlet! What a coup! That is until I realized that I was being upstaged by an amateur! Nothing more than a copy! I seethed with jealousy, I am not ashamed to admit. But, then, the showman in me took over and I realized I must turn the part of Cometas over to this strange birdman who was delighting the crowds even to the final line.

"By Pan I will! Snort, all my herd of he-goats: I shall now
O'er Lacon, shepherd as he is, crow ye shall soon see how.
I've won, and I could leap sky-high! Ye also dance and skip,
My horned ewes: in Sybaris' fount to-morrow all shall dip.
Ho! you, sir, with the glossy coat and dangerous crest; you dare
Look at a ewe, till I have slain my lamb, and ill you'll fare.
What! is he at his tricks again? He is, and he will get
(Or my name's not Cometas) a proper pounding yet."

And then it struck me! Between the two of us, Pageflap and I could provide various voices as our comrades paraded on the stage (coupled with an illusion or two, along with the appropriate noises and, sometimes, odors provided by Pageflap's own magical skills). Although Barendd seemed game enough (and became an audience favorite), and Raishe at least appreciated the linguistic legerdemaine involved in crafting a suitable pun, Iman and Aegar seemed a little, shall we say, intense to be crowdpleasers. When an audience isn't sure if they should applaud or avoid eye contact, things can get a little uncomfortable.

And though Barendd was sore disappointed that I refused to let him use his own voice, he was yet thrilled that I cast him in the roll of the King. Less pleased were Aegar and Iman cast as Tidy and the Slut (though I think Aegar hid a smirk at Iman's discomfort in his roll as the slattern who marries a king by a cruel trick of fate). Raishe, for his part, was pleased to remain behind the scenes for these performances, the ribald nature perhaps too saucy for him.

With Pageflap able to provide the voices for the other characters, I was in my full glory as the narrator. Though having fewer lines, the final word is mine, and it never failed to leave the proper impression on the audience as to our lots and how the cruel hand of fate could bring down the mightiest among us. Using illusion to grow my height and darken my countenance, the audience shivered and then roared as I intoned the lesson for those who, mayhaps, overlooked it:

Now that the play is at an end,
By CHANCE you have enjoyed it, friend;
By CHANCE to you his sweet was gall;
By CHANCE you slumbered through it all.
Howe'er it be, it was by CHANCE
The KING was led so merry a dance,
By CHANCE that TIDY met disgrace,
By CHANCE alone SLUT washed her face;
From morn to eve the whole day long
It was by CHANCE that things went wrong.
Wherefore, good friends, t' escape derision,
Be not o'er hasty in your decision,
For he who heedeth not this rule
BY CHANCE HE WILL BE CALLED A FOOL!

In any town, village, or hamlet, it was the rarity that we did not eat and drink our fill and have a warm spot to lay our heads!

It has been a jolly rip, I must admit, and has done much to pass the days.

Kit barely suppresses a shudder as he attempts to peer through the gloom. In a low but audible voice, he mutters, Dark, dark! The horror of darkness, like a shroud, wraps me and bears me on through mist and cloud.

Aegar, out of sheer habit, scans the area for traps or any obvious signs of foul play. thinking to himself Something about this just doesn't feel right. Although, for now, he keeps this thought to himself.

Seeing the felled log Barendd grabs a handaxe from off of his belt, and says to the group, "We might as well get this out of the way. I'm not particularly interested in trying to drag the whole thing in one piece, so does anyone else want to help?"

Iman proceeds to the log and nudges at it to try to get a good judge of the weight. He wedges the end of his halberd underneath the log and pushes it up like a lever to attempt to roll the log just enough to create a path for the party to walk through.

"Argh, heavy thing. Chopping it to pieces might be our best bet if we cant move it. Im in!

Thinking that chopping the log up into smaller pieces to move around is an excellent idea, Pageflap hangs back and decided to watch the other, more strength inclined members of the party do just that. As it is now, he is well aware he has no chance of moving the thing. Perhaps once it's in smaller pieces he'll be able to help. Maybe they'll get some firewood out of this?

He doesn't feel to comfortable just sitting back and watching, so he looks around to see if there's a notable place to start chopping. He looks at the tree top to bottom.

Ah there's a good lad Iman, but a halberd is no tool for chopping a log. Borrow one of my handaxes so we can get to work. I myself like to always work smarter and not harder. Let me look around and see where we should put the debris.

Kit, still staring at the dimly lit woods with trepidation, suddenly realizes he's standing by himself as everyone has walked up to address the log problem. Deciding it would be prudent to stick close to his burly Dwarven friend, he walks around the log to Barendd, helping him inspect the area.

Frustrated at his inability to see clearly, Kit casts Dancing Lights, keeping each of the four lights within 20' of each other, but spreading them around in enough of an area to light up the fallen log.