- Horundul
- →
- The Rest of the World
- →
- Drag'hoon Mountains
- →
- A Thievely Bunch [QUEST]
| Welcome to Horundul. We hope you enjoy your visit. Horundul is an original, fantasy, play-by-post role playing game based around an original world that is developed upon everyday, and has been (forum's age aside) for nearly five years. With a deeply developed story and well thought-out geography and history, Horundul is a world you'll surely want to inhabit. Be sure to read the rules and browse the Wiki, linked on the small menu above and to the right. Hope you will join! I'm sure we would enjoy having you. As a guest, you have very limited access to the board. Register today! Once you register, you'll have to confirm your account via email. If you're already a member please log in to your account to access all of our features: |
| A Thievely Bunch [QUEST] | |
|---|---|
| Topic Started: Apr 9 2010, 11:51:30 PM (407 Views) | |
| Fission & | Apr 9 2010, 11:51:30 PM Post #1 |
We have become our fantasy
|
Timan dug shit out from his rotted, torn fingernails with a knife. Whistling a tune, is scrawny leg kicked back and forth, the only part of him visible in the mess of a tree he housed in. He could see the road perfectly, of course. Thus was his gift. His shaggy, once-blond hair (then brown and matted with mud, bits of green leaves sticking out of it) barely moved as he rocked his head from shoulder to shoulder with his tune. Watch, watch, watch: Timan's day ran its course pretty well save for their raids on the small villages and, more commonly, small hermitages lying around the hillocks and mountains, throughout the valleys lying past the watchful (and dangerous) eye of Hegren. Their small gang--about two dozen people, as it had grown to just that last week with three new bloodthirsty recruits--terrorized and controlled this area. No one dared argue. This made Timan's life easier. For one, he had skills to keep the others of his chest. For two, he had the ability to pick and choose his placement, unlike everyone else. Hilden took care of that, cunning bastard as he was. Their Fearless Leader, hell, Their Fearful Leader. Their headquarters existed past a ravine-like dip between two hills at the base of a mountain. Some months ago Hilden discovered it, and the town--Blad'rek, if the signs told true--was his for the taking. He got his brother, his cousins, his close family, there, and they started building up, stealing things from all around the mountain and the village within the sleepy valley below. Being Breze'ern, the crops were good, even in so much of a podunk town as Brilgrove Valley. Trade was up, government and military interference was down. A perfect time for a gang of cutthroats to start their own little business in this slumber-filled town where the regulars of the pub included everyone but the most religious of folk, where the whores were wives and the farmers took their stock as harem gals and guys. What a lovely, back-assward, fucked up little town. And all theirs for the taking. Blad'rek still creeped Timan right the fuck out. Always pitch-black at night, no matter what moon or stars shone. Always fog in the morning, probably the cause of the darkness. But there were strange sounds heard throughout, and odd shadows seen out of the corner of one's eye, when walking through that town. They had lost a man in the town square, torn in half and guts spread out over the fountain, face half-eaten (torn), even part of the skull having a huge bite out of it. Not a bite, no. This was more like someone or something sucked his face off, leaving a perfect gash even in the bone. They never moved his body, but come next morn what had killed it took the rest of him, down the last speck of life-water spattered on the ground. Timan saw the body. Not a pretty sight. But having it gone was more terrifying. And in that town, something always seemed to be watching them. There were talks of thinning of the Veil in certain regions, certain areas of the world where spirits and daemons and such could cross into the physical plane, easily as man enters an unlocked door. Perhaps this could be one of those? A thinning? They were rare, rarer by far than gold and silver and gems of the rarest variety. But they happened. Or, a daemon could be stalking them. Perhaps some sort of dark, vile wizard. Or maybe it was a god, perhaps Wrain, wanting to cast a shame of doubt on them, to repent for their sins and release his burden by the tiniest amount. But there was no miasma. Where Wrain interfered, miasma always followed. Miasma, dark nectar, flowing through space and time to choke the-- Timan saw something through the trees, just the slightest movement. His leg shot back up into the tree as he saw Revus top the hill leading up from the valley, that last lip that let him have his hiding place. The grass was green and pleasant, and the trail--while rocky--gave enough support for even a heavy traveler. Timan watched and waited. Edited by Fission, Apr 10 2010, 10:30:17 AM.
|
 |
 
|
| Revus Harkings | Apr 10 2010, 03:30:45 PM Post #2 |
Metalman
|
"Dammit, what's with these gangs and their out-of-the-way bases." Revus mumbled to himself as he ascended the hill, his forest-green cloak drooping over his eyes, restricting his vision. Every time he tried to push the lip of the hood up, it fell back down on his face, so he gave up on it. The reason he had the hood on was so he wouldn't risk being recognized by one of the thieves. Not that he had ever interfered with these guys, but they might have connections with his 'old group', and didn't want to risk the possibility. And anyways, if he were to complete his quest for the council, he wouldn't want any possible survivors to recognize him in the future. It was the location of the gang, and the city it was near, which confused Revus the most. Of course, being in Kaijten, it was natural for the base and city to be in the mountains. But it seemed that it was in the highest, most distant mountain in the entire range. Then again, every mountain seemed bigger than the last, having lived all his life away on plains. But that didn't change the fact that almost no one had even heard of Blad'rek. It wasn't on any map Revus had ever seen. Or anyone he talked to about it, either. The only sane person, besides the government, was a scholar studying at the University Arcanum, who had heard about it from the ramblings of an insane homeless man. It was becoming a possibility to Revus, as he looked at his map, that the scholar was pulling his leg, since he was near where the city should be and hadn't seen hide nor hair of another person since he started traversing these mountains. He was about to turn around and leave, hungry, frustrated and tired when he noticed a faint footprint in the ground. It seemed that the careful thieves, too, occasionally missed their own feet. Just as hungry and tired as before, but now filled with a new sense of hope, Revus continued down the path and over the lip, keeping his face hidden by the cloak as he approached the tree Timan sat in. The swinging leg caught his attention, being the only sign of another living being for the past few days. "Ahoy, there. I seek out the Bloodhound Gang, so that I may join them." He kept a smile on his face, hoping he wasn't talking to a leg without a body, or that whoever he was talking to was actually a member of the Bloodhound Gang. The plan was to infiltrate the gang, then kill the members from the inside. It would also allow him to investigate the base more easily, and find the missing research. It would give him a better chance than trying to force his way in, and would certainly allow him to live longer. |
|
|
|
| Fission & | Apr 11 2010, 07:13:05 AM Post #3 |
|
We have become our fantasy
|
Timan almost gasped. How the fuck could he have seen him at that distance? That was impossible. There was no way a human could see his spindly leg among the tree's many branches, especially when he brought it up the moment the man crested the hill. Timan said nothing, watching Revus speculatively, heart pounding as he finally went over what the man said. Join them? No. This man had the way of the civilized. His speech flowed too acutely, too refined for anyone wanting to join the Bloodhounds. No.... this man talked like city-folk. Hegren folk. The whole flow of it was unnatural, Timan believed, as were cities in general. Only chaos and anarchy remained natural in his worldview. Anything else was the work of gods-defying Sentients. Runiks and humans and fost'ren and eborlians and all that hodgepodge of "intelligent" being capable of creating society and going against the loving embrace of Genes and even Armej and the Third Architect, his-name-lost-to-time-bless-him-so-that-he-may-return. Carefully, slowly, as naturally flowing as the breeze, his hand slid down his side and into the torn sash wrapped around his belt line. A dagger--drenched in mud as he was--slid from his waistband, catching no light. He stared out through the trees constantly, peering through the thick bramble of branches. To Revus, he appeared to be some human figure, but the mess of the canopy obscured him to little more than a blob. [[[Just as a note: the footprint and seeing the leg is a bit of metagaming. Try to be more careful about that in the future.]]] |
|
|
|
| Revus Harkings | Apr 14 2010, 04:23:50 PM Post #4 |
|
Metalman
|
No response. Revus stood and waited, anticipating some sort of action. Perhaps it was some sort of secret test, maybe he was preparing to attack. It was possible that the person was waiting for allies to arrive, so that they could get rid of Revus. A dozen different possibilities went through his head, based around previous experiences. The possibility that the person was waiting for him to make the first move, or that the person wasn't at all associated with the bandits had crossed his mind. Revus was hoping that, even if he wasn't associated with the Bloodhounds, that some info could be gotten from him. The tattoo would be a last resort, because reactions were unpredictable, even from other gangs. Rival gangs would kill him on sight, even allied gangs would try to use him as a scapegoat. Revus kept on walking down the path, deciding to continue to the village. Turning around to face the tree, "Well, I guess you're not. I'd think that a gang with such influence would keep at least one guard out, to protect their interests." Shifting the weight of the bag under his cloak, he slowed his pace slightly, hoping to catch what the man did. |
|
|
|
| Fission & | Apr 14 2010, 07:09:01 PM Post #5 |
|
We have become our fantasy
|
As Revus walked away, Timan got his head straight. Psychologically unstable though he was, he still had the sense to warn his friends and partners-in-crime. He flipped his wrist palm up and twitched his fingers, touching the tips to his palm. His spindly digits tugged on strings which ran (coated in mud) across the ground, far enough from he trail and in the brush to avoid it being seen. Half a mile up the trail, a small bell rang. A portly man (rippling with muscle beneath a good layer of fat obtained from the spoils of plunder) looked over, inspecting the small tinkling sound. He held his arms around it as the wind had a tendency to rattle the intricate device, but after another thirty seconds of straight ringing he assured himself: it was a real warning. He turned around to his compatriots. "We've got a live one!" he announced. Nodding, a thin, tall man (covered in dirt and leaves, same as Timan) scurried up a ladder in the small, stone outpost. He vaulted off into a tree and rose further, his body hidden in the lively tree that entwined with the aging, archaic tower. A bow--nearly as tall as he, a lovely-grained mahogany strip pulled taught at an odd angle. An arrow with a simplistic, stone tip rested against the body of the bow, nocked and ready to fire down upon the trail which rose steadily ahead of Revus. |
|
|
|
| Revus Harkings | Apr 17 2010, 07:41:16 AM Post #6 |
|
Metalman
|
It was odd. The path was well-travelled, yet ever since leaving Revus hadn't seen another person travelling along it in either direction. He hoped that this wasn't an omen of events to come, as these things tended to happen. Or, at least, as they tended to happen in tales he had heard, whether they were fables or the ramblings of a drunk adventurer. Of course, bad things usually happened to people who tried to take down a gang of thieves. But such thoughts were driven out of his head by a loud grumble from his stomach. He just realized how hungry he was, having gone without food since the night before. Unfortunately, he had very little food left, which he had hoped to conserve. "Dammit, why didn't I bring a bow?" He lamented his lack of foresight, since he had seen numerous animals which he could have caught for nourishment. But, he figured, he couldn't have very far left to go before getting to the town, so he might as well eat the rest of whatever he has. As he came over the crest of the next hill, he saw a ruined tower off the path, partly concealed by the trees growing through the cracks and holes of the ancient building. He decided to rest for a bit at the tower while he ate, munching on half a loaf of bread which was left over from his previous meal. He figured it would be nice to get out of the sun for a bit, and that there might be some treasure left in the tower. |
|
|
|
| Fission & | Apr 20 2010, 06:14:34 PM Post #7 |
|
We have become our fantasy
|
The large man watched through cracks in the wall, silent and still. Like many people of his girth, he was surprisingly light on his feet. This was especially true in battle, though few had seem him actually fight. Usually no one remained to be a witness. The archer above watched silently, eying Revus closely. There was, however, a third of their party, sitting next to the portly man. No larger than a child entering adolescent, he held a hand to his mouth, desperately trying to avoid that wild snicker he had come to be known by. Snick, as they called him, had the body of a boy and the mind of a very deadly, misanthropic man who got a laugh from everything that happened. Revus having lunch feet away did not help. He ran the flat of his knife along his smooth arm, the edge stroking his skin back and forth. Over his years (of which there were many, make no mistake, though not explicitly expressible in years), this habit heavily callused his arm, forming a tough, smooth sheath of dead skin that no longer bled from his constant knife-running. The knife's tip touched the edge of his nose, running along the less-callused back of his hand, then down all the way to his elbow, sure and steady. Hazel eyes stared out another small crack in the outpost's edifice. |
|
|
|
| Revus Harkings | Apr 27 2010, 06:44:29 PM Post #8 |
|
Metalman
|
Having finished lunch, Revus tried to push open what remained of the rotted wood door before it splintered apart, leaving an empty frame and rusted hinges with a minimal amount of wood left on. The stray rays of light filtering through the open holes in the decaying tower, revealed a minimum of the shattered remains of whatever, or whoever, had been residing here previously. The smell from all of the refuge made him gag, causing him to pull his shirt up to cover his mouth and nose to block out the smell. Looking around for what treasure might have remained untouched, all he found were the remains of rotted chests, with the rusted metal bindings lying on the ground. He supposed that there might be stray coins lying around, but they probably weren't the effort to dig through various bits of waste to find. Giving up on finding anything at the base of the tower, Revus climbed up the stone stairs which went around the wall of the tower. It was difficult, with many steps missing, having created the larger piles of junk on the ground, while the mortar of other steps had worn out, causing them to crumble when Revus put his weight on them. After lots of trying and falling, he eventually made it up to the next level, where the same happened as before. It wasn't until the third floor that he found something, but not quite what he expected: the two bandits. The twitchy one looked as if he had seen Revus, but he slowly backed up anyways, keeping his hand on his rapier as he backed down the stairs. Of course, all the crumbling stairs and falling probably already alerted them to his presence, but he tried going slowly anyways. |
|
|
|
| 1 user reading this topic (1 Guest and 0 Anonymous) | |
|
|
| « Previous Topic · Drag'hoon Mountains · Next Topic » |
| Theme: A Diamond in the Rocks | Track Topic · E-mail Topic |
 12:50 AM May 19
|
