Tales from the Glastonbury Irregulars - many auteurs

For any stories that don't fit into the other categories... let loose with the writing!

Postby earthwulf » Wed May 14, 2008 10:00 am

The Boar sits at a corner stool reflecting.
« on: Feb 26th, 2003, 9:13pm »

Sitting at a corner stool in the pub, the cleric looks at the ceiling taking long drags on his tavern pipe full of pipeweed.
"Ack....it's bin a long time since I'd actually thought abou tha day."...........
Walking into the noisy smoke filled pub he notices a large boar over the hearth and a merry faced friar behind the bar. He heard his old friend Credic was hanging his hat here in Glastonbury but could not find hide or hair of him.
"This be the kind o place he would come teh teh relax fer sure. Barkeep a beer please!"
Suddenly a drunkin highlander walks up to him with a full mug in each fist.
"Ello there young cleric, ye'll nay pay fer ye first drink 'ere." The brute hands the cleric one mug and grabs another. He drains both mugs two fisted at the same time and looks down on the seated cleric.
"Care teh play some darts, or are ye as bad as me at it?"
" Worse most probably since i 'ave ne'er played 'afore. I came lookin fer a man named Credic, would ye 'appen teh know his whereabouts?"............

" Now why did i head out in search o Credic all tha' time ago?"
The village in the highlands was much like any other, cool, damp and foggy. The baying of sheep and the bark of dogs was heard from the pastures and the clop of hooves in the four streets.
The Wallace family lived outside the village on a small barley farm, the barley being for the family still.
Rhendadd was a young one then newly married and still in amazment at his newborn son named Culhan. The day was bright as Rhen worked in the field on this planting day just after the spring solstice.
Now this village was far north in the highlands and not but ten miles from a larger seaport that had been around since the bindin of the clans by Arthur's father Uther. The King's death though had left the port with very few armsmen to gaurd it against the coming raid by the Midgaran pirates.
The town was razed and in due time the vikings turned south to strike further inland bolstered by trolls, dwarfs, and kobold hoards.
Looking up from his tilling the soil the young man noticed a column of smoke arizing from the village and then rush home to the sound of drumbeets and measured footfalls.
Diving in the house he cried to his wife, "Flee teh the forest and raise the alarm in the next town. There be monsters 'eaded our way with fiece norsemen leadin them, I'm sure it can nay be good!!"

Rhendadd


The changing of the guard
« on: Apr 7th, 2003, 2:47pm »

The castle sauvage had been quiet for some time, and the guards tried their best to stifle their yawning. The third watch it was, the time most favored of those watched over by shadow.

From the trees walked a woman, tall and willowy, and though she was clad in a bandit's tattered fighting leathers, her grace could not be ignored. Twin daggers swung at her hip as she made her way...lazily...down the road to the castle, and blue eyes flecked with a sharp, light brown smiled at the guards as she passed between them....

...some time later, Aienn of Anakiir remembered to breathe. Sparing a glance up to the sky, a sky lit by the same full moon, she approached the stablemaster.

"Like a ticket, if'n ya don't mind, srr." Five silver made themselves known to the man, who nodded once in reply.

"Where ya goin', then, lass?"

Aienn's lips curled up in an impish smirk. "To Camelot. I'm gonna learn me some dirty tricks, I think..."

Aienn


Yulian Arisen
« on: Oct 27th, 2002, 9:51am »

The tower had grown cold....the coals had been banked and the lamps extinguished. Strange winds howled through along the cobbles of Glastonbury this eve, keeping most of the respectable citizens near their hearths. The figure moving silently, almost ghostlike, throughout the spire was less than respectable. Despite the shadows he seemed aware of every detail. A jar, a quill, precious memories...every item selected in careful fashion before being packed securely in the travel sack. One last look at his beloved village, his steadfast friends, and the tower he called his sanctum and Yulian began his journey north.
Time had taken it's toll on the once proud mage. The pressures of the Glastonbury township coupled with the everpresent threat of the Troll and Elf bastards had become more than he could endure. With sad heart he strode north, looking for a peace that had always been elusive. He was through with the wars. Glastonbury had grown into a fine town. His presence was no longer needed. Solitude was his only desired companion.

As Yulian marched north a new feeling washed over him. It was as if a weight had been removed from his breast. He no longer needed the trappings of a Defender and his simple travelers garb was all that was required. His belongings, robes, weapons all packed so carefully he laid by the edge of the road, casting off his past. Confident and renewed the now former death-dealer walked through the gates of Snowdonia Keep and into his new life.

His explorations took him far from Glastonbury and eventually his curiousity was his downfall. Wandering through the province known as Odin's Gate he never even saw the trolls approach. With no staff, no golem, and no warning he was easily taken. Yulian then learned an important lesson; one could wash his past from his own memory, but enemies would never forget past transgressions.

Tortured and ridiculed, Yulian spent the next several months in the clutches of the hated monsters. Escape was inconceivable. He had no idea where he was and no means to defend himself. His best plan was to keep quiet and hope he would be forgotten. This, however, was not to be...

Every pain, every plague, every suffering was visited upon his now wasted frame. The trolls never grew tired of trying to break his stoic visage. The more cruelty they inflicted the deeper Yulian retreated into his soul. His torn flesh was nothing to him. The broken bones were forgotten. All that remained was a burning, too bright to quench. When, finally, his limp form was removed from the pit he had solidified himself. Yulian had mastered his pain and overcome his sorrow. He now knew his folly and what must be done.

The Cabalist's battered body was thrown into the Sauvage Forest and left for the wolves. From the lichen-covered floor of the dark woods Yulian summoned the last of his waning strength. Though he was unable to move, his mind was focused. A sending was needed. A call to one who would be listening was his last hope. He focused all his energy into one seething ball of despair and hatred and thrust it into the night sky. Hundreds of leagues distant, in the hamlet of Glastonbury, in a dark tower, his sending was answered. The echoing scream burst through his entire body. Yulian smiled for the first time in months, and rolled over to sleep, and wait......

Yulian Dragosani


Shailiha, then known as Sinestro, was having strange visions of late.

With the spirit world wracked in termoil from Morgana's foul doings, the ethereal world grasped and lashed out to those sensitive. Some saw visions, heralds of the new allies, the Inconnu. Others saw great hardship, of beautiful cities laid to waste and overrun with dragon-men.

But this day, Shailiha's refined senses picked up the pain and suffering of not thousands, but one. The visions came wafting through the spirit realm, like feathers on the wind. Faint yet poignant. When the visions became more pronounced and defined, she immediately summoned her guildmates.

-------------------------------

They left hastily when confronted with her telling of dire visions wrought with pain. Onward they traveled, to Castle Sauvage and the wood beyond.

Shailiha's visions were getting clearer now, almost too much for her to handle. She told the band of particular visions, and they knew were to go. Bandits among the forest. Ettins. Giants. There was only one place where these foul creatures and men mingled in Sauvage Forest.

When they arrived, they began searching. The evil woodsmen wandering the valley would need slaying if they were to go any further. And then,... a grave!

T'was no ordinary grave... for upon the headstone read the name known to all present:

"Yulian Dragosani"

Ex


The ghoulish figure watched as the militiapeople stumbled across the bedraggled Cabalist, deep within Sauvage Forest. They raised their voices like the living are wont to do when elated. The battered mage was provided clothing and hearty sustainance from their travel packs. As the Cabalist's spirit returned to the flesh, Nephrix hissed in disgust.

"Perrrhapsss Minion Nephrrrix wait... Wait and watch... watch and lisssten... walk among zem even..."

The sickly necromancer cackled softly to himself. With a long incantation, he sacrificed his body to transform into an undead servant, taking his rightful form among the spirits.

Minion Nephrix


Glastonbury Borne
« on: Apr 21st, 2003, 1:29pm »

Coming in from the freezing rain, Eartwulf shook his massive head, spraying a fine mist throughout the tavern. It was a small one, not yet finished in it's construction, but he was proud of it.

"The Laughin Lion was me home for many a year before the great Destruction, an' Glastonbury were me town," he said to himself and the mangy boar that lay asleep in the corner. "Wot wunce was great, so shall be greeat 'gain, metinks. Glastonbury shall rise, an' shall be know fer it's kindness, it's courage, an it's strenght ter aid those wot needs aidin, er die tryin'."

Eart chuckled. "Oh, an we's gonna drink lots o ale..." He yawned, and headed for the brew that was percolating in the basement. "Mayhap I'll git one or two ter come wit me."

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Deep in the night, or perhaps shallow in the morning, 3 lone beings stood on a cliff overlooking the strait. They were quite, but not solemn... just reflective. Glastonbury had nearly died once. Now they had planted the seeds of what could be a new beginning. There was life in the air, and hope, and honor. The Minotaur took the keg off his back, cracked it open, and poured 3 mugs.

Earthwulf


As the sun sets in Glastonbury...
« on: Apr 1st, 2003, 12:56pm »

As the sun sets behind the small township of Glastonbury, a figure makes its way to the back of The Laughing Lion, heavily burdened.

The rear door to the kitchen of the tavern burst open with a loud bang. A tall highlander walks in, turning sideways to allow passage of his burden, a large deer carcase. With a heavy thud, he tosses the skinned and cleaned deer onto the large central table.

Doragar the Cook, busy at the stove, turns toward the man, wiping his hand on his dirty apron, "Well lookie here! A fine slab of meat Toe. And just in time. A band of the king's men stopped by earlier and made quick work of my stores."

"King's men eh?" Toedric questioned as crossed his arms and leaned up against the counter. "Must be trouble brewin' up north again.", he said gruffly. "I been noticin' there be fewer deer up around Gossmar Lake, which be unusal for this time o' year. They must know somethin' ain't right. War is on the wind."

Droagar nods as he draws forth some silver coins from his purse. "Indeed, i don't mind the business now mind ya, but nothin' good comes from it in the end." He passes the coins to Toedric with a nod. "Go grab yourself an ale Toe. I am glad ta have a fine hunter like you around, else i'd be servin' beans and bread every night!".

Toedric nodded in thanks and headed toward the kitchen exit. He rested his hand on the door, pausing for a moment to gather himself. He did not care for crowds. Too loud, too "disruptive" to his senses they were. But, he could tolerate for short periods, especially when a frothy mug of the house special was in his hands. "Just a quick one for th' road", he thought. Little did he what fate had in store for him....

Toedric


Araendor, a new face, but something familiar...
« on: Feb 13th, 2003, 8:00pm »

<Araendor>

<Walks>

Araendor


Hola los de Glas-tonbury
« on: Jan 16th, 2003, 10:16pm »

My amigos call me Rodriguez. Yo soy, how 'jou say, a traveler from el Sur - the es-South. Mi pais is Espania. I camn' to Camelot to fin' adventuras and aid 'jour countries cause.

Today, I came across a citizen of 'jour billage...oh forgive me accent, I am es-still learnin' 'jour language. Anyway, I was told 'jour town could be a place for a
es-stranger to be welcome.

I look forward to meeting more of 'jou.

Hasta luego - until again.

Rodriguez


Goblin Wine
« on: Dec 28th, 2002, 7:59am »

*Izdihar wanders into the tavern, smelling of rum and lavender.*

So. Ah. Well. Yeh. I ah - I ah, found this goblin wine. The, ah, the kindest goblin gave it to me. He gave it to me and then, ah, tied himself to the ceiling like some children's toy. I took a stick to him, only because it would seem like a waste otherwise. But, ah. Yeh.

*Izdihar then places the bottle on a table and ponders it a bit.*

It's, a... yeh, it's a good vintage, methinks. Brought it here for the lot of yeh. Just curious who's eager to actually have the first glass.

*She then opens the bottle - a foul odor wafts from the mouth of the glass jug, causing Izdihar to cough violently for a minute or so. She then takes a mug, and turns the bottle to it...

The wine has a consistency of mud, at best, with pebbles and other unidenfiable stuffs as well. The viscous concontion takes a full minute to pour from the bottle enough to fill the mug. Satisfied, Izdihar turns the bottle back, plugs it, and grins weakly.*

So, ah. Bottom's up. Who's first?

Izdihar


As Carac watches the liquid ooze out of the bottle, she is reminded of all the days spent in the caverns of Tepok's Mine...

"I used t'drink tha' stuff all th'time!!"

And with a nostalgic look in her eyes, she nearly reached out her hand to take the mug, but another hand reached it first......
Carac Dhun
-Armswoman for Albion
---
Earthwulf sits at the table with his two hunting companions. "Ah, them was th' days, eh, Carac? Why, jes saw Teapok tother day, an ee were quiverin' in fear! I'll ha' me a mug, thar Izzy, iffin ye dinna min'. h' gobbie tied imself ter th' celin', ye says?"

Earthwulf


Aye.. those were th'days...

Carac


<Jonn>

Drink? Did someone say drink?

Brother Jonn


<walks>

Now yeh donnae 'ave t'old back b'cause yeh 'ad jus' th'one bottle, Izdihar!! 'ere, let me pour yeh a glass!

<sets>

'appy new year t'yeh all! T'another great year with th'lot o' yeh!!

<tips>
Donnae be shy Izdihar... Tha' mug's jus' fer yeh! All t'yerself!!

<nudges>
Carac Dhun
-Armswoman for Albion


Erm, Deady? Tha 'he' ye be talkin aboot be Izzy's simarcaplinum... she's hidin behin' tha' big grey ape...

Earthwulf


<suddenly>

Here ye go!

Just thought id...bring it over to ye.

Deadus


His Divine Shadow falls upon Glastonbury
« on: Jan 6th, 2003, 4:58pm »

For weeks now the newcomers had blended into the mundane town life of Glastonbury. No one suspected the motives behind their daily actions. Every day that passed on the bright surface world the minions worked methodically towards their goal. And that goal was soon to be realized with the arrival of their leader.

The day was bright and the townsfolk were busy talking about something. The four strangers walked into town, their faces hidden within hooded robes. Two of the figures were short, barely reaching the waist of the other two. They all wore grey and red robes with a black skull in the center.

The four companions moved to the center of town and noticed a crowd gathered around the tavern known as the Laughing Lion. They had noticed that something was always happening in that place. Mostly it was filled with drunken people that called themselves the Irregulars. The minions had studied the Irregulars and assessed their abilities and prowess.

The smaller figure in lead turned towards the Lion.

Outside the tavern a Cabalist simulacrum held in its arms a figure of a woman. As the four companions stood nearby a figure, in robes standing in front of the simulacrum, turned to others behind him.

"Thar be nothing I cin do fer her. She be beyound thar Lord's reach." He lowered his head for a minute.

"Ye are correct, Cleric!" The figure in lead spoke in deep and cruel voice.
"Yer god cannot save her now. She requires the attention of one of our priests."


<Right>

"Hail Glastons!
Greet ye Ah do with open hand. Ah am Saltheort Bytholanysbryd, Overlord of the minion ye see with me and others. We have been sent to yer Upperworld to lend aid in defeating Morgana and her Drakoran allies.

Aware ye must be of what has happened to Avalon. Perhaps even ye know the pact Morgana has forged with the Drakoran. Here Ah stand with my bretheren seeking to form our own alliances. Command those Ah do are known as Divine Shadow. Few we are, but a force nonetheless. Our forces combined we may be able to turn back the forces of Morgana and the Drakoran.

Ah shall let yer elders speak of this proposal to become allies against a common enemy. As a gesture of our intention to aid ye, we shall take this woman and repair the damage that was done to her by Morgana. <snicker> Aye, Ah do know what has happened to her. Ah have seen it before."

The figure, calling himself Saltheort gestured to the figures behind him. One of the figures began to cast a spell. Strange words and sounds came from the depths of the hood. The air began to crackle and dust began to stir. Then suddenly the figure seemed to disappear and in his place stood a figure nearly nine feet tall. It's skin was ashen. It's limbs were grotesquely elongated. It moved toward the simulacrum, bent it's boney muscular arms and took the woman in it's hands. The elongated fingers wrapping themselves around the body like a predator holding a meal.

The now three cloaked figures and the giant walked out of the town, with the limp form and more importantly the proposal for an alliance.

The grey and red cloaks with the black skull fluttered in the wind as the figures left the town.

Saltheort Bytholanysbryd
Necromancer
llywodraethu ar, Divine Shadow
Contributor: http://haystackblog.wordpress.com/
Occasional winner: http://needleinthehay.net/
User avatar
earthwulf
Diddly Womper, 1st class
 
Posts: 1910
Joined: Fri Aug 03, 2007 8:45 am
Location: Seattle, WA

Postby earthwulf » Wed May 14, 2008 10:01 am

The Missing Son of Glastonbury, part 1
« on: Dec 5th, 2002, 1:33pm »

Many years ago there was a simple family of cloth weavers, the Mowgens to be exact. There was nothing all that special or out of the normal about them. Marylynn and Mikiah Mowgen lived in a small house raising their only son, Dahrnkiel. A small, but loving family living in Glastonbury, and constantly on the road delivering their woven goods to other nearby cities.

When Dahrnkiel was 4 years old, however, this all changed. Only a mile outside the borders of Glastonbury, on their way back from a sucessful sale, a group of bandits jumped the Mowgen family. Mikiah being the blockheaded and stubborn fool he was tried to stop them, noly to find a bandit's sword thrust into his chest. Dahrnkiel watched in horror as his father turned white, then collasped in front of him, turning to his mother in time to see another bandit decide to slash her throat open, her blood spilled on the ground before him, Dahrnkiel could only open his mouth and could not muster any sound. The bandits looked at the shocked kid and laughed, decided to leave him there with the bodies of his parents and they fled into the night with the money the Mowgens earned earlier.

About 7 hours after the attack as night was beginning to fall, a patrol of guards who have heard of groups of bandits roaming the area decided to take a look. They soon after came across the horrorific scene of the Mowgen cloth weavers dead, with their son, covered in his parent's blood kneeling there on his knees, unmoving, and eerily quiet still. A funeral was held the next day for Dahrnkiel's parents, and the Church agreed to take the son in, who has still not said a word, nor even shed a tear. Perhaps with their love and care he'd once again have a chance to lead a normal life.

Over the course of the next half year Dahrnkiel made no changes for the better. While still mute, but seemed to wake up shivering horribly, even in the summer months, and generally felt very cold. He eventually did regain his voice, but the child only mumbles to no one in particular, talking about dreadfully dark things like, death, and spirits like he was having conversations with himself. The priests grew fearful Dahrnkiel was becoming possessed by some sort of demon in his strange ramblings. They tried to purify his spirit buy each time met with failure. It seemed to darken all the moods in the Church knowing the boy couldn't be helped by anyone.

As the ramblings got worse and worse, Dahrnkiel stared out of the church windows and into the horizen, always in the same direction as before. Then one night, while the priests were all asleep, the child snuck out of his, and slipped out the church doors in the midst of night, in the direction he was staring to. And after that, no one from the church saw him again.

Dahrnkiel Mogwen


<shudders>

Tha' ent somethin' I like t'ear 'bout 'appenin' 'round our own back door, if'n yeh know wha' I mean... But it kinna sounds like th'lad Dahrnkiel 'as some settlin' t'do with all th'bandits tha' lurk 'round th'landscape.

Carac Dhun
-Armswoman for Albion


A Common Foe
« on: Nov 25th, 2002, 12:20pm »

A few weeks after the alliance between Morgana and the Drakoran was formed. The armies of undead and dragon-men marched upon the lands of Albion.

Avalon had fallen, the celestial order in chaos, the future of Albion uncertain.

************** *************************

Hail Glastons!

<Right>

"Greet you I do with open hand." The dark figure stood at the edge of town, upon the road leading out or in. Behind the person that had spoken stood several strange figures. They seemed to be all dressed in a similar fashion. A gloominess seemed to follow them.

"Aware you must be of what has happened to Avalon. Perhaps even you know the pact Morgana has forged with the Drakoran. Here I stand with my bretheren seeking to form our own alliances. Command those I do are known as Divine Shadow. Few we are, but a force nonetheless. Our forces combined we may be able to turn back the forces of Morgana and the Drakoran."

The figure and those behind moved off the road and waited for a response. Their grey cloaks with the blood red chevron and skull fluttered in the wind.

Anysbryd
Reaver
llywodraethu ar, Divine Shadow


Eyes flicking
back and forth, looking around him, alert for any that might want to do him harm, Our Hero steps up to the doors of the Laughing Lion, and steels himself. And is then knocked rightly on his arse in a most unseemly manner by two patrons, rauciously exiting Afore Mentioned establishment.

Sitting there in the mud, Our Hero looks up sheepishly, and states in his most nobly affected voice "Och, tha' 'appens e'ry time I get near on' o' them door tingys..sigh."

The Two Companions look down perplexedly at the lad sitting there in the muck. The woman in Plate and the obvious Sneak Theif start to snicker.

Wulfred


<with>

'ere yeh go lad!

Pulling the mud dripping Wulfeye to his feet, Carac exclaims, "ACK! Yer light as a feather!! I nearly threw yeh back int' th' door!!

Putting an arm around the shoulders of the mud caked lad, Carac leads him inside the doors, and sets him down in a chair near the fire.

Oy Daylan! Yeh bes' be startin' somethin' warm t'brew an' in th'mean time... I'll buy this lad a few ales...

Carac wanders up to the bar to retrieve the ales, setting a small purseful of coins on the bar...

Bes' see tha' this boy ent walkin' outta 'ere til 'es good an' ale-soaked.

Grinning, Carac returns to Wulfeye at the hearth...

Carac Dhun
-Armswoman for Albion


Our Hero greatfully accepts the companionship... and the ale. Especially the ale. Really, the ale is what keys his interest...

"Beggin' yer pardon, ma'am, an' I does appercerate yer kin'ness... but what might be th' honor o' yer name? I be Wulfeye..."

Wulfeye


Carac's m'name... Donnae listen t'wha' this lot calls me.

<hides>

Carac'll do jus' fine. Drink yer fill m'friend, I left 'nough coin on th'bar fer a whole days worth o'drinkin'! (e'en fer me)

<refills>

Flyin' Friar's finest ale 'ere... Tha' boy Daylan can make a fine brew 'e can! So, wha' brings yeh ta Glastonbury? I do love a tale wit' m'drinks!

Carac Dhun
-Armswoman for Albion


How can ye not have heard of Carac!

Shes almost as famous and mismatched as me <grins>

Deadus


Our Hero stares thoughtfully into his 3rd mug, after having spilled one and broken another. He is not what one would call the embodiment of grace. Looking at Carac and the new one, Deadus, he grins.

"Well, I dun 'eard that Glastonbury
ha' drunken sots an thick ale slurry
An nights with friens most Irregular,
So I thought I'd stop in, ma'am 'n sir.
Wi' tales o' folks that doth begin
Of friens wot stick through fat an' thin
Be it in times o good or times o bad
Tis said th' Irregs are th' best to be had
I wan' ter try me hand, me friens,
At this guild wot seems ter last til' th ends."

Blushing, he took a quick drink and sat on the cat, mumbling into his cup "Or something like that..."

Wulfeye


<clapping>

If'n tha' ent th' best I 'eard in a long while!! Ver'nice lil poem yeh 'ave there, Wulfeye!

Whispering to the lad behind her hand... "Mebby we'd do best t' glue yer 'and t'tha' mug, yeh know... jus' in case."

Carac Dhun
-Armswoman for Albion


...following a wayward breeze...
« on: Nov 4th, 2002, 8:56am »

<Along>

Salutations to you, Irregulars of Glastonbury. I admit I had not...intended to be visiting your fair city, but, thinking on the words of good Sir Mordru, and young Eathan as well, I...thought I might pay my respects, and see where it takes me.

I am Mildred, a Friar of no great skill, though I have been wandering the realm idly for many months. Joining a guild is...not truly my intention at this time, but nonetheless, I have found great company in several of your number. Have any of you need for me, know that my services are at your disposal.

<curtsey>

Mildred


"Welcome t' the Laughin' Lion tavern, young friar! I am sure yer company is well regarded by fellow Glastons, fer the travels arduous are oft' softened by a friendly companion."

<Excelsius>

"Rest ye here a while, share some tales! Perhaps some o' them ye've met along yer path will wander in an' say hullo!"

Ex


<Yet>

"Greetin's, sister Mildred! What can I get for ya? I guarantee ye, I stock more exotic brews than any other barkeep in Albion, and I have some fine home concoctions too - what's yer pleasure?!"

Mildred


(the door bangs open, revealing a large bag that seems to be squirming around, supported by a pair of blue boots............Prioress drops the bag in the middle of the floor, where it squirms, squeaks, and generally behaves as if it is full of unhappy small people)

Hail Irregulars!

I were just over at the Friar's pub.......one o the regulars taught me a really interesting game using, of all things, Lurikeens....

(the bag makes a particularly unpleasant squealing, and a small hand snakes out of the neck of the bag and feels around on the floorboards)

OI!! down ye buggers!

(Prioress smashes the bag repeatedly with the butt end of her staff until it stops squirming, and just lies there gurgling)

What have we here? a new face? and a friar at that?

Delightful!

Welcome to the Lion, Miss Mildred, a pleasure to see ye stoppin by......

Now if ye all will grab hold o' that sack and drag it outside, I'll show ye how this game works.......

Prioress


Warwulf sees the young lass walk into the Lion. With drinks in hand and puffing on his pipe he staggers towards the gathering crowd.

Not seeing the squirming bag on the floor, Warwulf trips and slides to the foot of the young friar lass.

Sounds of snoring and gentle chirpings emanate from Warwulf as he falls asleep where he lay.

Chiraghdin


<Somewhat>

Thank you all, I...

<Her>

I...uhm...Lurikeen?

Mildred


<awakes>

Welcome teh Glastonbury lass hope teh see ye round in the future.
<looks> Lass we need teh take this out back in the yard fer more room....i'd like teh learn this game.
<drinks>

Rhendadd


<pokes>

Hello i am Deadus...yes, the famous one.

Deadus


Famous? Ye mean that trick with the cow got out?

Lorric


A note is tacked high above the door to the Laughing Lion, pinned to the wooden framework of the inn. For those curious few who take the time to decipher the eloquent Avalonian script, it reads:

Dear Mildred,

If you are reading this, you are here, which is good, because that means you are not violating the First Law of Unitary Dimensional Location. It is also bad because there is an ale spill behind you and you are a wee bit off balance from reading this.

Now that you are back on your feet, I will be brief.

My apologies for not being here in person to greet you. My order has me quite busy defending the realm, and a personal quest of mine has left me quite drained. I have been forced to act sooner than I wished in both regards....

...but that is neither here nor there, so to speak. Welcome to Glastonbury! As warm and friendly a burg as you will ever find, you will rarely have recourse not to smile and laugh here. There is ale a'plenty - though don't let Daylan buy you one, or Lorric, they tend to run up a bill - and coffee under the counter if you prefer it.

Stay away from the Cabalists, they're nothing but trouble, and be wary of wild horses at night, and be mindful of cryptic notes written by tired Theurgists that think too much of themselves.....hmm...ignore that last bit.


Signed, Myrthemne Maegis'leigh

P.S. I minored in Astrological signs at Lethantis, if you were wondering.

P.P.S. Yes, I failed that course. Stop snickering, Daylan.

P.P.P.S. One of these days I will make a study of Low Britton, until then, I hope you can understand my High Avalonian script. Fare thee well, Mildred, my best wishes are with thee.

<Daylan>

<It>

Such warm greetings...I see that Sir Mordru's claims of this fair town were not amiss. I look forward to meeting more of you, as...time...allows.

Mildred


<Walks>

"Majicians! ...'ere then, nuthin a quick mop can't cure"

<waves>

Ex

Donnae call Danae a barwench Excel! Yeh know she'll do yeh in fer tha'!

<snickers>

Carac Dhun
-Armswoman for Albion


Greetings, again. Sort of.
« on: Oct 31st, 2002, 12:52am »

It has been some time since I first came here, if I even spoke at all, I'm not certain. I'm Ethann, also known as Eathan. I was of the Crimson Band, and then the Wayward Band... but they seem to have thinned out, and I seek more numerous companions. I've known some of you for some time, and have travelled with at least one of your number, Mordru, recently.

I am curious as to how one takes up residence in your village, as I'm in need of a new home. I have fond memories of your company, and would like to at least learn more.

Eathan, friend of the earth
---
Hail Eathan

Aye, I think everyone must have noticed the decline of the Band. I've just recently rejoined the Irregulars myself, but I'm sure that you'd be welcome in Glastonbury <smiles>

Elorian


Daylan!

A Round of Ale fer Eathan, Elorian, meself and ah what the hell, the whole Tavern! Get them all what'er they wish.

And yes, put it on Lorrics tab.

<hiccup>

Frederyck, the Surly Carpenter


<Daylan>

"Lorric has given ye permission ta' charge to his tab? I hope ye know, the sneak is runnin' up quite a bill here, and if'n he doesn't pay, I'll be sendin' Carac out to toss him about some. Ye be sure ta' tell him he owes a heap o' coin, aye?"

"Oh, and Ethann; good ta' see ye! I b'lieve ye knew me old friend Caerlyon way back, he has mentioned ye and yer little rock friends. He also mentioned that they skipped quite nicely across the lakes in Lyonesse, but I dinna know much about that. Welcome to ye though, mate!"

Daylan


Ah, yes, I believe I remember him... if vaguely. It has been much time since I've been that far south, I must say! And much has happened in the meantime. Some good, and some ill, but all likely necessary in the grand scheme.

Eathan


"Greetin's an' welcome, Ethann!

Aye, ye come t' the right place. Drinks first, eh?"

<chuckles>

"Aye th' well-bein' o' the Band weighs heavy on me heart, mate. Ye are more'n welcome t' stand among us, or at least sit a spell an' enjoy some libations."

Ex


<stomps>

Where is he!!!

FRED!!! WHERE YE HIDN!!!


If any o ye see him...tell him I'm lookn fer him, aye?


<leaves>

Lorric


<sees>

Daylan


<wonders>

And what instrument do ye play, good sir?

Ah, no matter......i donnae think there is enuff room fer a stage in the Lion right now.

I do hope ye all will play a tune er two fer us once the rest o yer bandmates arrive, perhaps we can set up a bandstand out back fer ye.

Prioress


<sneaks>

Ello again Daylan! remember that code i told you about a week ago? <shows> heh, seems the wenches be talkin to each other <grin>. I didn't even know that last lass what slapped me and said NO! <wink>

Lorric was here? An his shorts was too tight? Wonder what that sneaks problem is. Oh, his tab, well that aint my problem, he didn't say fer me to stop using it did he? heh, good.

<Yells> Another round fer the house! Compiments of Lorric!

<chugs>

Well, I best be going, take care friends <wave>

Frederyck, the Surly Carpenter


<offers> Welcome teh our tavern me friend o hope ye ave a good time here.
<passes>

Rhendadd


<smiles>

I'm glad ye found yer way here Ethann

Glenin Tanriel, Armswoman, Vivum Imperium
__________________________
Terrel Dellon, Cleric, Glastonbury Irregulars


<Myrthemne sits in the corner of the room facing the fireplace, perched on a thin stool and balancing his staff sideways on his head. For a moment he has the oddest look of concentration on his face - then he hears Eathans' name called out, and collapses in a great crashing of staves, stools, and shouting>

From the ground Myrthemne groans out "Ah, hello again Eathan. Pull up a chair, if you like....and help a man up, would you?" with a grin.

Myrthemne


<helps>

Please, let me help you... what precisely were you doing with your staff, anyhow?

After having a bit of a look about, I think I may do with something of a small home in the hills to the northeast of the town proper, if that is suitable to the town. Where might one purchase supplies for building?
<looks>
Cheaply?

Ethann


<accepts>

"I was concentrating, Eathan, on a problem. Well, more precisely, I was trying to ignore the problem by concentrating on everything else...it was going quite well for a spell too!"

<ponders>

"You could fetch them yourself, by slaying a few of those Carniverous Trees, or you could perhaps ask one of the Paladins to chop down a few normal trees for you. (If you tell them its for a wonderful good, like sealing up a demon, they go right for it) For nails and such, just see the village blacksmith."

<Myrthemne>

"I must go....I would recommend starting your home quickly, or simply staying in the inn a while..."

Myrthemne finishes with no traces of humor left on his face. "....It seems a storm is coming."



Myrthemne


Myr... i wouldn't go to far in belitteling the paladins of god... <smiles>

Tyrfnir


<Replies>

"I have never in all my days spoke badly of a truehearted Paladin! Now, stop listening to private conversations, young Tyrfnir, and go help Eathan construct his four-walled wooden demon trap."

Myrthemne
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earthwulf
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Postby earthwulf » Wed May 14, 2008 10:01 am

So....this is the Laughing Lion eh?
« on: Nov 4th, 2002, 6:07pm »

*The door swings open, revealing a short, hooded figure. The figure walks in silently and sits at the nearest booth. As the waitress approaches nervously, the figure slowly removes his hood, revealing a bearded Saracen face, and a devious grin. The Saracen reaches in a pocket, and pulls out two gold coins, tossing them casually on the table.*

"Give me the largest portion of the best ale you have. I am weary from my latest job, and need some liquid to soothe my soul. or perhaps you might be more soothing, madame'?" The Saracen said in a casual, yet focused tone.

The waitress smiles as she turned and heads to the bar. The Saracen, takes his Main Gauche, unsheathes it, and places it carefully on the table, making sure to spread the towel he carried with him on the table first. The weapon is still wet with blood from his last job, so he takes special precaution not to get any on the furniture or floor.

He wipes the blade clean, then takes out a small stone and began to sharpen the blade. As he is sharpening his blade he says to himself:

"So this is the place Rhoane spoke of. Nice digs, for sure. I'd think I wouldn't mind operating out of this town. I'd think it'd be a bit easier to get my jobs and payments in an out-of-the-way town like this one. Wonder who runs this joint? I'll ask Rhoane next time we meet, if i remember and am not busy....aww great. time to exit stage left."

The Saracen utters this last remark as he watches two guard-like Britons walk into the building. He notices the emblem on their shields, and on their cloaks. It is that of the Cotswold Guard Patrol, the police unit of Cotswold. He gathers up his belongings quickly, strapping his Main Gauche to his hip, and a Gladius to his back, while quietly standing, and mkaing his way to the back of the tavern. He replaces his hood, just as he walks past the two Guards. The Saracen takes two steps past the guards, and stops briefly to eavesdrop on them as they speak with the Bartender.

"We're looking for a Saracen Mercenary. goes by the name of Meyvon Alarein. seen him? no? you sure about that? ok, i'll take your word for it. but if you do see him, report him to us. He's suspected in the murder of a Cotswold Noble earlier this evening. We got an anonymous tip that he'd be in this area, so keep your eyes open."

The Saracen stands quietly as the Guards walk past him and exits the tavern. He then looks at the bar, locking eyes with the bartender, who gives him a knowing glance.

The Saracen thinks to himself:

"The bartender knows. Why he didn't give me up is beyond me. Well, now is not the time to look a gift horse in the mouth. Now is the time to find the snitch who ratted me out. I will start with my employer. I smell a set-up."

The Saracen Mercenary exits the Tavern quietly, keeping his face hidden to all. He looks up at the night sky, and grins beneath his hood.

"Well, time to go back to work."

Meyvon


<looks>well lad nice teh meet ya....here ave some whiskey

Rhendadd


Daylan leans casually against the bar and watches the mercenary leave before he turns back to the glasses and mugs he was polishing. A slight grin flashes across his face as he remembers the look on the saracen's face when Daylan got rid of those guards. An interesting character, that mercenary; perhaps he would be at home here in Glastonbury.

Of course, it was likely that Meyvon would be quite happy anyplace where officers of the court and the royal guard were unwelcome; and Glastonbury certainly fit that bill.

Well, if Meyvon were ever looking for a place to be safe from prying eyes, now he knew that the Laughing Lion would be a safehouse for him.
Daylan, Barkeep of the Laughing Lion
---
Offer him some of your coffee when next ye see him, Daylan. Maybe then he would stay a little so we can get to know him.

Nazia


I 'eard tha' Meyvon was about?
I wish I'd 'ave been 'ere t'wish 'im well... As tough a mercenary I've e'er seen, but when I met 'im 'round th' bridge t'salisbury plains, 'e seemed ver'friendly!

Well, may as well 'ave an ale or two whilst I'm here!!

<Rhoane>

Carac Dhun
-Armswoman for Albion


Daylan pours a frothy mug of chilled ale for Rhoane before putting on a fresh pot of coffee, with a nod to Nazia.


Erm...ah...hello
« on: Oct 20th, 2002, 1:19pm »

A loud creaking followed by the squishing of wet boots and dripping clothes, along with a chill draft emanating from the door, alerted the more astute regulars of the Laughing Lion that a newcomer had arrived. Or, atleast, the more or less sober ones.

The stranger was at the moment a smallish huddle of soaking robes, out of which protruded an old, bent staff. After a few awkward moments of wringing, shivering, and some irritated mumbling, a brief flame erupted around the strangers staff, covering everyone nearby in a thick cloud of steam.

Emerging from his own fog, the stranger looked around sheepishly as he took in the room full of bemused expressions and drunken scowls.

"Ahem...ah...you see... this Daylan fellow, nice chap and all, invited me here...I'd always wanted to see your lovely burg. Truly it is lovely, even with the rain and cold and marauding bandits and all... ah, hello?"

Myrthemne


<swoops>

Greetin's t'yeh Mthmnrmane (trips over the pronunciation and mumbles)! Good t'ave yeh! Come 'ave a seat by th'fire an' warm yer bones with th'stout an' th' fire. Daylan's usually tendin' th'bar, but 'e 'as a way o' makin' 'is rounds fer 'ellos.

<smiles>

Carac Dhun
-Armswoman for Albion


<Deadus>

Glenin turns from the bar and says ' As Daylans nae here ? alright ta get me own ? ye look mighty comfy by the hearth . Ill leave some coin behind the bar '

<nips>

'Anyone else want one ?'

<surveys>

A pint o' Flyin' Friar Stout, if'n yeh'd be so kind, Glenin.

<grins>

An' I'll jus' move this pile o' green platemail outta th'way so's Me.. meth.. mumble can sit 'ere by th'earth...

Carac


"Myrthemne. Mere-them-knee. Well, close enough."

The obviously worried and somewhat out of place traveler takes a nervous seat next to Carac, balancing precariously on his seat to stay both near the fire and a proper gentleman's distance from the lass.

"Th-thank you for the fire, its bloody cold outside." Myrthemne peers around with a curious expression.
"I dont suppose there is anything, other than spirits to drink? And perhaps a spot of food? I can pay."

The traveler begins to relax a little, thinking to himself - Perhaps Daylan was right - these people seem to be a good sort, if a little rough. And perhaps a smidge dirty. And there is that dreadful accent. But, we can't all grow up in lethantis, he reminds himself, forgiving them the slight of their birth.

"Well, you all know my name, more or less. I am a magus from the Lethantis Association, in training defend our realm. I have come here to, ah, meet some of your citizens and see if you live up to the reputation a good friend of mine has given you - you may know her, the good friaress Prioress."

A brief frown creases the Theurgist's face. "I really need to find a better title for that lass."

Myrthemne


At a break in the conversation, a hollow thud sounded from the room directly behind the bar. A few seconds later, the door swung open to reveal a young friar in disheveled robes, his hair flattened on one side and poofed out on the other. He looked around a little groggily, then his eyes lit on the newcomer at the bar.

He smiled slowly, the look of confusion on his face gradually being replaced with a bright grin.

"Ahh, Myrthemne! Good t' see ye! Ye'll have ta forgive me, I was takin' a bit of a nap in me room; I were dreamin' that a troll was about t' toss me from a keep wall, and then I awoke face down on th' floor."

Daylan smiled a little bashfully, and then noticed the empty bar before the mage.

"Eh mate, be ye wantin' some drink or food? I recently met a traveller from saracen lands who taught me how ta make 'Coffee', and he sold me a sack of his best beans. None o' these blighters will try th' stuff, but it might be just right fer a magus, eh? An' I can whip ye up a nice leg of lamb and some roasted potatos if ye want too!"

With that, Daylan struggled to straighten his robes and smooth down his hair as he began to bustle back and forth between the bar and the kitchen.

Daylan


<Solitiri>


<Rhendadd> Welcome ter Glastonbury lad.
<Rhendadd> I'll take some o tha coffee....goes good with the whiskey.
An i'll be needin a few travelin bottles agin...seems someone watered mine when i was nappin.
<Rhendadd>

Cookies and ale Soli? What a revolting combination
Elorian

<Deadus>

<Deadus>

Daylan began fussing with his new grinder and coffee pot, obviously enjoying serving his friends.

"There ya go Rhen, an' I have heard that it goes well wi' a bit of yer spirits. Oh, an' Myrthemne, yer lamb and potatos will be right up, and thanks t' Carac I have some fresh vegetables t' put on th' side!"

<Excelsius>

"Myrthemne, aye I noticed that name in me travels just recently. Serindipity 'tis, fer ye have found this tavern an' the folk within. Yer name made me curious when I passed ye a few days afore..."

<Excelsius>

<Warwulf tries to swoop next to metha...mither...someone's knee, trips over a green hunk of armour on the floor...falling to the floor and lay there snoring>

Strangely, the bottles of whiskey did not spill a drop.

Warwulf

<The> Greetings M'lord. 'Tis good to meet a friend of our young Prioress. And we certainly can use more people of the magikal sort! <She>

Daylan, I should be more than pleased to share your coffee, it is something I have missed greatly in these dank lands. While the tea is enjoyable, coffee is a taste of home. And I must say that Cait's cookies would be excellent with a good cup of coffee!

Nazia


Daylan was a veritable whirlwind of activity, brewing steaming mugs of coffee and turning juicy legs of lamb on a spit over the massive fire.

As the Irregulars came in from the driving rain one by one, none sat long before a cup of strong coffee, a steaming mug of mulled spiced cider, or a hot tankard of rum appeared in front of them. The young friar was busy, but his face glowed with a bright grin as he met the needs of his friends.

"Aye Nazia, I am glad t' have found some'at that ye like t' drink, and I thought of ye when I bought these beans from that saracen trader!"

<Prioress>

Well now, tis about time ye got here, Myrthemne, been telling these folk lies about what a fine person ye are.....

Sorry i weren't here right off when ye arrived, I were ummmmm...taste testing the cellar stock....can't have it going bad y'know.....

<takes>

<Carac>

Ent no need t'get yer plottin' look about yeh... Yeh jus' need a bit more ale, methinks.

<Carac>

(to keep both hands busy)

Har!!! Tis good ter see so many friends in the tavern....
course who would like ter be ou' in tha'.
<Rhendadd>
MMMM...tha be a taste tha goes a long ways,specialy on a cold wet day as we ave in these parts alot.
<Rhendadd>

Glenin takes a tentative sip of the steaming mug.

'Hmmm it does taste good! and hot too !'

Wraps her hands more tightly around the mug

'Hmm Daylan, please can I have one of these things of Coffe ? and Rhendadd some of what ye poured into it' <grins>

Passes the mug back and waits for her own.

/looks up from the corner table where she has been scribbling by candle light

/smiles at Myrthemne and waves

/walks up to the bar and leaves a big plate of cookies for all to enjoy.... and to dip in their ale of course

/walks back to the corner table to continue her scribbling and hopes for chance to finish and join her friends
Cait

<Deadus>

Thankyeh Rhen...

<Carac>
<Carac>

Tha' stuff would nay be 'alf bad, if'n yeh jus' took th'coffee outta it!

<Carac>

*A fresh faced nun peeks in...
« on: Jun 29th, 2002, 5:22pm »
...timidly at first, her mood changing like quicksilver*

"YOU! Jes because yer a singer now don't mean ye can be missin' Mass!"

*storms over to Doil, attempting to drag him outside to howls from the patrons and a showering of ale*

>splutters and sinks to pray<

"Dear Lord, I see the task ye've laid 'fore me. I pray ye give me the strength...."

*rises up to release her old friend and meet her newfound companions*

Moiree

.....

Lorric

<Rhendadd> Hey what're ye doin ere lass i ave no seen ye in an age.<Rhendadd> Ere
try some o me brew,<Rhendadd> It be the Lords own recipe fer whiskey now passed ter me in a revilation from Himself.

<Excelsius thought he spied the young nun floating through the Lion's hallways...>

*Carac wanders up to the nun with 2 ales behind her back, gently puts an arm around the nun's shoulder and offers Moiree one of them*

Carac whispers in the nun's ear, "here, this oughtta help tha' fresh face o'yers, yeh donnae want t'be too innocent lookin' 'round 'ere!"

*Carac looks around at everyone, raising her mug in toast*

Greetin's t'yeh all! Seems like years since I 'ave seen a friendly face! Good t'see a whole room full o'em atlast!

*Carac pulls up a seat at the bar with a signal to the bartender to keep the ale flowing*

CARAC!!!!


<faints>

Lorric

*Carac revives Lorric with a sip of flying friar's finest*

Hya wee one! Good t'see yer still a pushover.

<Daylan>

Carac! So good t' see ye again!

Hmm...

Since Carac and Lorric are twins, they better stop flirtin!

Or else the friars round here gonna have a tizzy fit!

Frederyck

*Carac tosses back another ale while embracing Daylan in a bear hug*

M'ammer does all th'flirtin' I need done, Fred... an' I ent introduced poor Lorric t'bessie-the-hammer.

tis good t'be back in th'tavern, though I ent wandered int' th'lands o'Albion in ages!

sure good t'see yeh all initiatin' new boars all th'time!


*Deadus waits for a bear hug*

<Carac>

<Deadus>

<Deadus>
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earthwulf
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Posts: 1910
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Postby earthwulf » Wed May 14, 2008 10:01 am

An Introduction to Cait!
« on: Sep 26th, 2002, 12:59pm »

Hello my new friends. Thank you for inviting me to your town. I am thrilled to be living here and I look forward to sharing a laugh and a pint in the near furture. I thought I would say hello and offer a few words about my history and nature.

Cait first stepped Albion, Nimue in the somewhat incongruous form of an Avalonian Cleric known as Sula. Naively, she invested her starting skills, not in piety which would have been most suited to her job description, but in intelligence and charisma because she wanted to be smart and have people like her. Surprisingly, perhaps, Sula grew to 33 seasons in the company of several fine friends, notably a brave and most-loved companion scout named Tatau, a noble fellow cleric named Throne LeStat and her fine Guild, The Sisterhood.

Soon however the Northern climes called to her and she began a new career as a mighty Thane in Percival where she was known as Sula Stormcaller. She considers herself fortunate to have made many friends and comrades and has come to love her family of Fallen Souls and her brothers and sisters throughout Midgard. Recently, however, after battling bravely for 50 seasons Sula Stromcaller felt the need for a new challenge. She has returned to Albion, Nimue as Cait - stronger, wiser and in the form of a Briton Scout who enjoys, enormously, her ability to move about undetected.

Cait, is happiest when her friends like her cookies since baking is the only part of being a girl that she ever got right. Her tender soul is gaurded only by studded leather armour and her sense of community. She is fiercely protective of the latter and you will likely feel a chill surround her if she puts to use her "insta-mood flash" ability. This special gift was provided by her trainer for protection against the "bigger-faster-more types" that threaten the realms. While you will find Cait, to be playful and kind you will also find in her a firmly defined set of ideas regarding fair play and the nature of respect - simple ones really: share your toys, be humble, lead with compassion and by inspiration and live like the revolution has already happened.

Cait


Well met Cait Archer!

<bow>

I am proud and happy that ye have found a home in Glastonbury.

Chiraghdin


*Deadus waves*

pass the cookies this way!

Welcome t' Glastonbury, Cait!

Please 'ave a look around, our halls are littered wi' notes an' such posted t' the tavern walls.

Ex


<smiles>

Welcome to the Irregulars and the Alliance
Glenin Tanriel, Armswoman, Vivum Imperium
__________________________
Terrel Dellon, Cleric, Glastonbury Irregulars


*Deadus gives Glenin a cookie*

Be wary of that one <points> He's an unscrupulous Paladin.

<glares> Stay away from this girl. I don't want to see you charming her with your foul intentions.

Sinestro

Aye lass careful o tha one he be Sinestro's
<Rhendadd>

An watch ye purse round Lorric he'll git yemoney an give it back ter ye like nothin e'er appened.
Most o all thanks fer the cookies
<Rhendadd>
They been keepin me a we more regular with all the whiskey i drink

WELCOME TER THE FAMILY
Rhendadd Wallace

hello

<Solitiri>

<Cait>

<pours>

Welcome to the Irregulars. No do nae let these men corrupt ye, for they certainly will try!

Nazia

<Waves>

Hello lass, I am Frederyck, Carpenter and Scout fer the irregulars. Look me up. I have some bows and thousands of arrows made special for you.

We can also go for a walk in the woods to some of the most secluded and private hunting spots. Bring some cookies, we may be camping there a while <wink>

Frederyck
Surly Carpenter - Glastonbury Irregulars

Soli!

*Deadus gives Soli two cookies*

Oh and Sinestro, why do you seek to make me look bad everytime a young lady enters our tavern? Its almost as if ye fear competition
---
<Steps>

Well First of all I'd like to welcome ye the ranks o us Glastons.

Now fer some explain, ta ye on a few o our more colorful folk.

First o all. <Steals> I am not quite as untrustworthy as some folk would make me out ta be. <Glares> I am well known fer me good intentions and wit.<steals> Glennin here is a good friend o us Glastons and many o us hope she makes us her home here someday. <Thinks> Now Sin here. <steals> Rhen here tho rarely sober is a good cleric and cin fight a bit too.<steals> Nazia here be good in a fight and she keeps the rest o us in line.<frowns> Solitiri here is a fine warrior and a good one ta have back amongst us.<hands> And that brings us ta Excel. He be the best Captn we could hope fer. <wonders why Excelsius doesn't have a cookie to steal so he places one in his pocket and then steals it jus to keep in practice> Well that’s only part o the Glastons but I think ye find we goodly folk.

Well me friends I must be off fer Odin’s.

<Leaves>
Lorric

<Glenin>

I would be honoured to join ye and mayhaps in the future, who knows.

I have currently been given charge of the band, though I nae be sure I want it. <smiles> I have a lot of thinking ta do

<grins> Thanks Deadus for the cookie !

<growls> Its mine Lorric
Glenin Tanriel, Armswoman, Vivum Imperium
__________________________
Terrel Dellon, Cleric, Glastonbury Irregulars


<Daylan>

I certainly hope ye like ale, for nothin' goes better wi' cookies!

I am Daylan, th' Flying Friar, and mostly I tend bar in th' Laughing Lion. I also heal an' bash a bit, but I will be glad to serve ye an ale any time ye need somethin' to wash down a cookie.

<Daylan>

Greetin's t'yeh, Cait! I am ver'glad yer 'ere in Glastonbury with us all! Th'more th'merrier!

<grins>

Fer th'boar! An' fer Glastonbury! An' fer ALE!

<lifts>
Carac Dhun
-Armswoman for Albion

Carac!

*Piles cookies onto Carac*

I made a special appearence in albion today but didnt see yeh
Deadus

Ale!!!! Lemme ave some.......<wonders>
/yell Blast.....who's bin at me stash!!!
If I find tha bugger who did this....<raises>
<asks>
Hmm...tha be better
Now Deadus....I need ye advise on fashion<thinks if anyone could make a Troll puke just by making them look at them it's Deadus>

Rhendadd

BAH !

<grins>

Deadus is fine just the way he is
Glenin Tanriel, Armswoman, Vivum Imperium
__________________________
Terrel Dellon, Cleric, Glastonbury Irregulars

Seriously....I need ter find a way ter baffle them Trolls an make them fall o'er laughin.
I call it my Troll mirror tactic

Rhendadd

An Introduction to Cait!
« on: Sep 26th, 2002, 12:59pm »

Hello my new friends. Thank you for inviting me to your town. I am thrilled to be living here and I look forward to sharing a laugh and a pint in the near furture. I thought I would say hello and offer a few words about my history and nature.

Cait first stepped Albion, Nimue in the somewhat incongruous form of an Avalonian Cleric known as Sula. Naively, she invested her starting skills, not in piety which would have been most suited to her job description, but in intelligence and charisma because she wanted to be smart and have people like her. Surprisingly, perhaps, Sula grew to 33 seasons in the company of several fine friends, notably a brave and most-loved companion scout named Tatau, a noble fellow cleric named Throne LeStat and her fine Guild, The Sisterhood.

Soon however the Northern climes called to her and she began a new career as a mighty Thane in Percival where she was known as Sula Stormcaller. She considers herself fortunate to have made many friends and comrades and has come to love her family of Fallen Souls and her brothers and sisters throughout Midgard. Recently, however, after battling bravely for 50 seasons Sula Stromcaller felt the need for a new challenge. She has returned to Albion, Nimue as Cait - stronger, wiser and in the form of a Briton Scout who enjoys, enormously, her ability to move about undetected.

Cait, is happiest when her friends like her cookies since baking is the only part of being a girl that she ever got right. Her tender soul is gaurded only by studded leather armour and her sense of community. She is fiercely protective of the latter and you will likely feel a chill surround her if she puts to use her "insta-mood flash" ability. This special gift was provided by her trainer for protection against the "bigger-faster-more types" that threaten the realms. While you will find Cait, to be playful and kind you will also find in her a firmly defined set of ideas regarding fair play and the nature of respect - simple ones really: share your toys, be humble, lead with compassion and by inspiration and live like the revolution has already happened.


<many>



<Steps>

Well First of all I'd like to welcome ye the ranks o us Glastons.

Now fer some explain, ta ye on a few o our more colorful folk.

First o all. <Steals> I am not quite as untrustworthy as some folk would make me out ta be. <Glares> I am well known fer me good intentions and wit.<steals> Glennin here is a good friend o us Glastons and many o us hope she makes us her home here someday. <Thinks> Now Sin here. <steals> Rhen here tho rarely sober is a good cleric and cin fight a bit too.<steals> Nazia here be good in a fight and she keeps the rest o us in line.<frowns> Solitiri here is a fine warrior and a good one ta have back amongst us.<hands> And that brings us ta Excel. He be the best Captn we could hope fer. <wonders why Excelsius doesn't have a cookie to steal so he places one in his pocket and then steals it jus to keep in practice> Well that’s only part o the Glastons but I think ye find we goodly folk.

Well me friends I must be off fer Odin’s.

<Leaves>

Lorric


<Glenin>

I would be honoured to join ye and mayhaps in the future, who knows.

I have currently been given charge of the band, though I nae be sure I want it. <Glenin> I have a lot of thinking ta do

<Glenin> Thanks Deadus for the cookie !

<Glenin> Its mine Lorric

Glenin Tanriel, Armswoman, Vivum Imperium
__________________________
Terrel Dellon, Cleric, Glastonbury Irregulars



<pours>

I certainly hope ye like ale, for nothin' goes better wi' cookies!

I am Daylan, th' Flying Friar, and mostly I tend bar in th' Laughing Lion. I also heal an' bash a bit, but I will be glad to serve ye an ale any time ye need somethin' to wash down a cookie.

<smiles>

Daylan



Greetin's t'yeh, Cait! I am ver'glad yer 'ere in Glastonbury with us all! Th'more th'merrier!

<grins>

Fer th'boar! An' fer Glastonbury! An' fer ALE!

<lifts>

Carac Dhun
-Armswoman for Albion



Carac!

*Piles cookies onto Carac*

I made a special appearence in albion today but didnt see yeh

Deadus


Ale!!!! Lemme ave some.......<wonders>
/yell Blast.....who's bin at me stash!!!
If I find tha bugger who did this....<raises>
<asks>
Hmm...tha be better
Now Deadus....I need ye advise on fashion<thinks if anyone could make a Troll puke just by making them look at them it's Deadus>

Rhendadd



BAH !

<grins>

Deadus is fine just the way he is

Glenin Tanriel, Armswoman, Vivum Imperium
__________________________
Terrel Dellon, Cleric, Glastonbury Irregulars



Seriously....I need ter find a way ter baffle them Trolls an make them fall o'er laughin.
I call it my Troll mirror tactic

Rhendadd



In the hills of Snowdonia...
« on: May 24th, 2002, 9:52am »

Darkness was being beaten down by the morning sun, its rays touching each blade of grass that braved to stick up through the snow. Daylan the Friar was happily trapsing along the hillside, stopping occasionally to pick a flower, lost in his own thoughts. Absent-mindedly he twirled his staff. As he topped the hill, a lone ray of sun temporarily blinded him, forcing him to run into the camp of a young wizardress and her armsman friend. Stumbling through their campfire, scattering it to the four winds and nearly knocking the armsman over. Had the young armsman not been wearing his armor still, the bruises left by Daylan's twirling staff would have been far worse.

With a hop and a skip, Daylan jumped aside and begged forgiveness, attributing his clumsiness to the rays of sun cresting the hill opposite him. Seeing the two were still considering whether to be angry with him, he quickly sat down and pulled a small cask from his pack, filling three small mugs. "Nothing cures like ale," he thought, his face brightening with his most winning smile as he handed the mugs around. In relative silence, they drank their ales, Daylan savoring his mug with such relish that the other two were wont to disturb him, muttering to himself of the ale's overall goodness.

Full morning approached, and the three sat around the campfire sharing a friendly conversation about Glastonbury and its finer points, when from behind a distant tree the form of a man appeared, approaching at fair speed. The three, not wanting a repeat of the earlier fiasco, attempted to step out of the way of, upon closer inspection, a mercenary with shining blades. The crazed mercenary ran toward them and stopped mere feet from the adventurers, shining mithril in his hands, poised for attack.

With a crazed laugh at the clouds in the sky, the mercenary eyed the three, laughed again, ran in circles around them, then ran again for the tree he was hiding behind. Confused and not knowing what else to do, they sat down again and had another ale, ale also being the cure for confusion...

--
<clears>
ahem, wizardress, armsman and mercenary...
edit: verb tenses OY!

Carac Dhun
-Armswoman for Albion

Daylan stood to his feet, wobbled slightly, and then beamed at the two still seated. With a flourish, he bowed in the general direction of the tree behind which the odd mercenary was hiding. "M'lord sellsword, ye are welcome to join our little meeting here; we are lacking the opinion of one of your profession on the virtues of this ale we are contemplating." (Daylan tended to get a bit verbose when he was particularly drunk) "And it seems that ye will fit right in with our little group here, for we are staggering drunk, and ye are staggering mad!"

With that, he dropped back to his seat against a fallen log and took a long pull on the flask they were sharing. He grinned as the mercenary dropped from a tree branch overhanging the campsite and landed right between the other two.

Daylan


A Chance Encounter...
« on: Mar 25th, 2002, 7:43am »

While travelling through the hills last night, I came across a rather shadowy pair of strangers who appeared to be engaged in a bit of a dispute. One was a dangerous-looking dark-haired gent (and I use the term 'gent' loosely) by the name of 'Mujahir', while the other seemed a bit loath to venture out of the shadows enough for me to get a good look at him. Mujahir addressed the fellow by the name 'Xalabar' and by his accent the name seemed appropriate.

Well it appeared that the two had happened across a family of tree-hugging Filths from Hibernia and had managed to dispatch the parents to the obvious distress of an infant in their possession. Given the local bounties, they had claimed a right ear each from the parents but could not decide who had rights to the child.

Well, as we were travelling in the same direction and I know how a good rhythm makes the leagues go quicker, I invited them to travel with me.

Eventually, the tedium of their arguements got the best of my nerves and I reached back into my fairly broad repository of stories and began singing the ancient tale of a great king who when faced with two mothers each claiming a child decreed that the child should be split down the middle.

Well, before I could get to the part about the true mother revealing herself by relinquishing her claim on the child, Mujahir had silenced the little Hibern native with a single cleaving sword stroke and claimed the left side. With the arguement settled, I obviously felt no need to continue the story and let the silence they obviously preferred carry us the rest of the way to Camelot.

In the final miles I gave plenty of thought to my companions and their actions. "A good pair to have around in a fight", I thought even as I made sure that I travelled behind the two. In the very depth of night we arrived at the lights and respective shadows of Camelot.

As we parted company, Xalabar mentioned this tavern as a place of friends and adventurers who might find a fresh song or two welcome and perhaps a new face in their fold. My feelings were obviously mixed considering the previous journey. A warm tavern and a captivated audience (their coin as well) is always welcome to a minstrel such as myself, but the dark red stain at the base of Xalabar's pack gave me a bit of a chill.

I stood for the moment in the darkness, suddenly alone while struggling with whether to follow the two who were already disappearing into the night. At last, a single deciding thought crossed my mind:

It was only an elf.

I picked up my pack of instruments and ran into the alleyways knowing that while I had no chance of spotting Xalabar and Mujahir, the smell of a roasting pig and sound of a crowd would be directions enough to any tavern.

'Tis indeed a crowd worth knowing.

Euphony m'Lodius - Minstrel of Rapidly Passing Seasons


Greetings Euphony!

If such a grisly introduction didn't send you into the hills then perhaps you'd enjoy more of our company. If you'd like to pledge yourself to the Irregulars you may speak more with myself, Xarielle or the other Adjutants- Sixtus, Dru, Danae, or Aragoth and continue to hunt with those you mentioned.

While you rest between your hunts feel free to sample our ale.

Xarielle


The ale is outstanding (by that I mean in front of me), but it is the company that will keep me frequenting this location!

Last night, I had yet another wonderful experience with a mystical type named Wallter. While I had previously enjoyed his company, I did not realize until last night that he was affiliated with you

Euphony


While Euphony is a very talented and lovely musician, I assure you her tail is rife with inaccuracy. Mujahir and I would never consciously slaughter even an elven child so brutally. You see, it was so tiny, we assumed it was lurikeen.

Luckily, the bounty was the same either way, and I find the elves to be much more savory in a fine barley and carrot stew.

Welcome to the Irregulars Euphony! So glad to have you.

Xalabar
Contributor: http://haystackblog.wordpress.com/
Occasional winner: http://needleinthehay.net/
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earthwulf
Diddly Womper, 1st class
 
Posts: 1910
Joined: Fri Aug 03, 2007 8:45 am
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Postby earthwulf » Wed May 14, 2008 10:02 am

An average day in Glastonbury...
« on: Mar 15th, 2002, 6:07pm »

Carac walks heavily into the Laughing Lion, soaked head to toe, followed by her soaking wet travelling companion, Galy. They saunter up to the bar and order 2 mugs of ale and promptly down them, almost in time. With a satisfying, "aaaaaaah" from both of them, they order a second mug each and a meal, as they scan the room for a table near the fire.

Leaning on the bar, a puddle of water gathering around their feet, they notice they have the attention of a rowdy bunch of common-folk in the center of the room. A wry grin creeps across Carac's face as she speaks.
"What!? ent you lot e'er seen a pair o' wet armsmen (or women)?!"

Breaking into a fit of laughter, Carac drags Galy to a table near the fire, just a chair away from the group, now rowdy with laughter.

More than a few sets of eyes following her, Carac slinks out from under her wet cloak, hangs it over the back of a chair near the fire, turns to the group and says,
"Me'n ol' Galy here <Galy> was jus' gettin' into town after a long horse ride from the south. In all th'days we was on our quests, notta once did I see ol' Galy nip off fer a bath... So, we was standin' on that bridge just over the way from th'pub 'ere, an i gave Galy a shove off the edge... Thought maybe a good dunkin'd wash the smell o' some o' those miles off 'im! Wouldn't yeh know it, the badger grabbed me on his way down... Yeh can imagine how glad we was teh see the lights from this 'ere pub when we crawled outta the water! Roarin' fire, good company, an' the best ale I had in DAYS!!!"

The crowd cheering with much enthusiasm at the compliments, tipped back their mugs and laughed...


As Carac finished her story, the barmaid stepped up to the table with their ales and meals, she quickly set them down and headed back for the bar. Grinning at the jovial, ale-soaked crowd (and how they reminded her of home), Carac yelled to the barmaid, nearly across the room, "And a round o' yer finest t'all in the house, on me!"

The room erupted in cheers, and the nearest folk, clapped her on the back more than a few times.

Settling into her seat, listening to the sounds of laughter and the conversation of good friends, Carac relaxes for the first time in weeks, the weight of her own thoughts lifted, for a time....

Carac Dhun
-Armswoman for Albion


Hmm... I think that's how Bowar gets his baths too, must be an armsman thing. <grins>

Welcome to the Laughing Lion! With any luck, the fire and food will have ye feeling warm and dry in short order, and the ale will have ye not caring in even less time. <laughs>

I'll let ye get dried out in peace, but if ye need to speak with me I'm always 'round the tavern someplace... just give a hollar.

Sixtus Anticetus
Cicero DeSonius
Sandore


Startling awake, Carac yells, "Ale!" in the direction of the bar, then quickly gestures to the startled barmaid to ignore her request. Rubbing her head, she wanders to a bulletin board near the door, and reads a notice posted about Glastonbury Irregulars. Nodding as she reads, a smile forms on her face, as her head fills with thoughts of home. Thinking aloud, she says, "I'll hafteh make a point of meetin' more o'these Irregulars."

As she walks over to the bar to settle payment for the night's indulgence, she notices that her friend is no longer at her table. Shrugging, she heads over to the table and gathers her things to go find a bed for the night. Upon reaching the door, she turns around and yells out to the few friendly faces remaining in the common room, "If any o'yeh are e'er in need o'me hammer an' me arm, consider 'em yours! I'll see yeh all again, i'm sure." and with a wave, she exits the Laughing Lion.

Carac turns down the street in search of an inn that will take her in at this time of night, and checks her pack for quill and parchment. "I'm really lookin' forward teh tellin' me sister about the Glastonbury Irregulars, " she muttered aloud, as she walked into the first inn she came to...

Carac Dhun
-Armswoman for Albion


"Carac, THAT was yer name!"

Buford sighs and scribbles something on a parchment real quick and gives it to a wee lad along with some coins. "Go give it to the soaked lass who just left."


----------------

Carac,

My humblest apologies for not hunting with you last eve, as life decided to become very busy. This eve, if you like, you can have me all to yerself, if ye so wish.

Yours,

Father Buford
Cleric of the Irregulars


Excelsius
« on: Mar 6th, 2002, 8:13pm »

A traveler is caught in a winter flurry deep in the Black Mountains. Nightfall approaches, and the stinging cold wind is unrelenting. The traveler spies a soft glow in the woods ahead... 'tis the window of a small cottage, cut in the shape of a cross. As the traveler approaches, a solid oaken door creaks open suddenly - through swirling snow and squinted eyes, the traveler sets eyes on a kind-looking fellow in unassuming robes, the attire of a hermit monk or holy man....

"Greetings, friend! Please, come in and take shelter from the cold! I am Excelsius, welcome to my humble home!"

<Excelsius>

"Sit a spell and share some of my new brew! ...'Tis a batch I affectionately label "Friar's Special Reserve".... I brew it after the harvest in fall and let it ferment through the winter... most of it till Spring, but one must make sure the batch hasn't gone bad, no? The secret is letting the grains get a little ergot on 'em - don't worry, my brewing process filters it out. <ahem> It's merely for the underlying taste..."

<A>

"Ah, 'tis a lonely road we sometimes travel, but many friends are met along the way. Just as ye have found yer way to my humble stone and sod domicile here the Black Mountains. I watch over the good peasants of these hills, and travelers like you who need a little help... or refreshment, eh? HA! Hehehe."

<Several>

"...The winds of battle stir once again, ravens gather in the frontiers to feed on the fallen, and I fear I must soon venture forth to watch over the spiritual and earthly health of our realm's folk."

<Yet>

"Where am I from?" <chuckles> "Now that is a good question!"

"I was born far from here, during one of King Arthur's campaigns,... yes, that's right! "Artorus Rex" by the lost tongue of the Roman invaders. The monastary taught me many things, including that dead language - well and me own Nom d'Plume eh? HA!.... But back to yer question. <Excelsius> My father was an armsman in the King's army, and well, it must've been a long campaign... When the battles halted and the quest was secured, he returned to Camelot with my dear Ma..." <Excelsius>

"What's that? Oh yes, my parents were wonderful, and I had me a kid sister to tangle with too... <Excelsius pulls another tankard of Friar's Special Reserve from the cask, leans back in an old chair worn comfortable by many years of liquid theology> Yes, but they are gone now... Gone for some time really. I was raised up at the monastary near Swanton Keep."

"How'd I wind up there? Well after me Ma and sister passed from the plague, I reckon me Pa thought I was a handfull... Oh, no, it's quite alright, that was many, many years ago."

"Well, so, me Pa never did fit as a family man, being a soldier and all. And well, the priests thought I was a handful too - so they sent me to the monastary." <Excelsius>

"Well I'm here to tell ye, that was probably the best thing fer me. <Excelsius> My family was gone, and the Friars of the monastary, well they became me family. I knew I wanted to help people, and... there are certain advantages to being a Friar."

<Excelsius>

"I took after me Pa, and ventured forth with the armsmen and Knights of the kingdom early on. Being a holy man of the peasants, it didn't bother too much to march through the mud and filth of the battlefield. Aye, there's no royal blood in this Albion's flesh! <chuckles> I'm a holy man of the people, give me the downtrodden masses, the peasant farmers and travelers, pilgrims and sinners." <A>

"Well, the oil in me lamp is gettin low, and I've bent yer ear long enough. Have me cot, traveler, while I go gather some more wood for the night's fire. The winter nights up here in the Black Mountains are quite bitter."

<Excelsius hands the traveler a thick woolen blanket, and heads out of the creaking cottage door, wind and snow flurries twist into the room for a brief second as the door crashes behind him. The traveler settles in for the night, full of Ale and the strange monk's tale. A short while passes, and the traveler is awoke from the start of sleep by a clamorous series of sounds, some thick and some sharply wooden. Before the traveler can rise from the simple cot, Brother Excelsius quickly enters the cottage with a bundle of firewood under one arm and a long gnarled branch in the other hand.>

"What's that? Oh, 'twas nothing for you to worry about. Eh? Well, if you must know, it seems a small band of goblins thought they were going to disturb the good citizens of these hills tonight. No, no, more than that. Eh? hehe maybe a score, I didn't bother counting."

<Excelsius tends the fire for the night, spends a long silent while in prayer and meditation, and sits back in his favorite gnarled wood and leather chair, eyes slowly closing in the dim orange glow of the fire, one hand on the worn, twisted staff leaning against the corner.>



Can you yell 'Friar' in a full Inn?
« on: Feb 21st, 2002, 1:10pm »

The door opened, leaving a sillouetted form in a robe showing. He looked in on the gathered people, his self-confidence rapidly leaving him. He straightened up and strode in the large room , his staff thumping on the floor as he crossed it to the bar. The inkeeper nodded to him at first ,then bowed his head a little more when he saw the brown of the robe, and the quarterstaff more clearly. Carven in his staff were words, such as righteousness, faith, smite, and repent.

"Welcome ,father, to the Laughing Lion Inn. How may I help you?" He asked politely of the brown bearded man. He was of the cloth after all.

"Please, call me Brother Jonn. I seek two things. I understand that a excellent ale may be found here, in this inn of Glastonbury. I am always looking for a good ale, so I would like to try it. One mug if you please." The friar's voice was steady as he placed his order.

"Certainly Fath.. Brother Jonn. One mug of the best in Albion." He turned and filled a mug with the brown ale. " What was the second thing you were seeking?"placing the mug before the friar.

Brother Jonn looked at the mug, holding it gently, almost looking as if he was savoring just the scent of the ale as he gave thanks over it. He slowly raised it to his lips and sipped a little, then a little more. Finally he took a long draught, draining 3/4's of the mug. With a satisfied look, he faced the inkeep. "Great gifts have we received from on High, and high among these are barley and hops. I am glad I was not told wrong, this is good ale." He set the mug down. " As to the second thing I seek. I am led to believe that the Glastonbury Irregulars are wont to meet here. I have been sent from the local parish to aid them in their fighting for the kingdom. The priest said I may be better used helping here, than in the church."

"Aye, they are here often, and you may find them at any time, friar. There is one thing tho', you may have been sent by the parish to help them, but it is up to them whether they will let you do so. You will have to ask them before they will let you join."

"I see." The friar looked worried for a moment, then smiled. "Well, who must I talk to so I may join. I am willing to pull my weight, and I am sure any group of men loyal to the king and church will give me a fair chance."

Brother Jonn
I can smite, I just have to be next to my enemy to do it


Two hours later ...

Brother John had been pleased to meet an Irregular, and the ale they had shared was perfect. But this was too damn much.

"I saw that card not five minutes ago," he snarled at the armsman. "I don't mind passing time in such idle ways, but at least you could play honestly."

Macheath looked up with his best imitation of innocence. "Tis but a friendly game of Shank the Pillar, a longtime favorite of the Irregulars. Why whould I cheat ye? Och, and ye owe me another five silver."

Brother John picked up his staff and stood. "I'll play no more cards with you, Macheath, until you admit to cheating me of almost twenty silver."

Mackie leaned back in his chair. "Yer new best friend Mackie, cheat at cards? Now there's a good one. How well do ye think ye will get on with the Irregulars if ye make such wild accusations, eh?"

Brother John did, indeed, want to meet the Irregulars, but there were limits to what any man would endure. With a swift motion he brought the staff down on Mackie's thick skull, sending the armsman tumbling to the floor. John stepped around the table, ready for more, only to find the armsman was out cold.

"Hmph. Well, surely the rest of the Irregulars will be cut from better cloth than this cheating scum," he said, as he walked back to the bar, cradling his tankard. "My good man, pour me another!"

"I'd like nothing more, m'lord," the barkeep smiled, "but first ye must settle the tab."

"Tab?" Brother John sputtered. Macheath had assured him that all the drinks were courtesy of the Glastonbury Irregular Found Friendship Fund.

"Aye," said the barkeep. "I'd ask old Mackie, but ye have knocked him out cold. So I'll have to ask ye for the full five silver before I pour ye another."

Brother John stood a moment in thought, then turned back to the supine form of the armsman. A moment's digging through Mackie's leather sporran found the coin, as well as several duplicate cards. Holding up the coin, he returned to the bar. "Here you go, my good man. And please take this five gold for your good health."

The barkeep bobbed his head. "Thankee m'lord, ye are most generous, most generous indeed."

Brother John would wait for another Irregular, or for Macheath's recovery, whichever came first.

MacHeath


After sitting for another tankard of ale, Brother Jonn began to feel bad for having hit the highlander so hard in the head. The word 'repent' was clearly raised on his forhead from where he had been struck. It was part of the reason he had been sent to the Irregulars. He had a real need to work on his temper. Deciding that he should repent off his hasty actions, he knelt beside the prone figure.

"Oh Lord bless this poor wayward sheep of of your flock, and heal his cracked, thick skull, so that he might better serve you in defending this chosen kingdom. Forgive him, as forgives others, and let him learn from his experiences, that cheating a man of the church is not wise. Amen"

He felt the healing blessing flow though him and into Macheath, helping to mend his head, and sober him up some. Faith could only do so much, and self inflicted illness fell outside of what could be healed. As the highlander tried to awaken, Brother Jonn lifted him off the floor (with some effort) and set him in the chair.

Macheath blinked his blurry, bloodshot eye, trying to reset his mind as to what happened, and then fell unconcious again as the effort of awakening was too much at that time. He slouched in the chair heavily and snored.

The friar, sat back at the table across form his unconcious drinking mate, and began to play a very one sided game of Ship/Captain/Mate with a set of dice he pulled from his pouch.

Brother Jonn




Four strangers in search of companions
« on: Feb 13th, 2002, 2:06pm »

Cousins, they be, walking into town, three laughing, jostlin' an' carryin' on, the fourth... tall an' a wee bit aloof.

Earthwulf is th' obvious leader, the eldest - and a Highlander. He follows th' mercenary path, yet his heart is anything but mercenary...

Wulfling is his younger brother, a Cleric for th' Goddess, kind, gentle, and concerned wi' th' ills o' others...

Dragonwulf, the Briton, son of the brothers' aunt, has a mischevious glint in his eye, an' will swear tha' he is but a mere merchant, though he looks as if he could slip in anywhere...

Finally, a step behind, Trolfriend, a beginning master of the Dark Arts, and Avalonian by nature. He wishes revenge on the murderous beasts from the north tha' slaughtered his family, an took his name to lull them into a sense of... complacency. He will destroy every last one of the trolls and there ilk... he swears it.

They look around, ondering... have they finally found a home? Have they foun' a people willing to ally themselves wi' th' likes o' them? Only time will tell...

Earthwulf


Welcome to the Lion, fellows... make yourselves at home and enjoy the food and ale, as well as the warmth and the stories!

We have a description of the guild tacked up near the door in the common room, so those follish enough to wander in here can get a better idea of the rabble they are trying to join. <Sixtus grins>

Apart from that, seek us out in the wilds and try to get in on some of our hunts... with a bit of ale to bribe us with it shouldn't be a difficult task!

Sixtus Anticetus
Cicero DeSonius
Sandore


The cousins confer for a moment after reading what this illustrious band o' merry travellers be about. Earthwulf steps forward, throwing his cloak on th' rack an' some coin on ther bar an shouts "Barkeep, ale fer all! We ha' had a weary road an' ha' weary tales, bu' mebbe we coul' sit as' talk a wee bit wi' ther locals..."

"And mayhap learn some proper form of speech," grumbles Trolfriend, darkly.

Earthwulf


“Ye all should try and get in on a few hunts with some Irregulars... just bring some ale to share with us and you'll always be welcome!” Sixtus offered.


"Aye, that we ha' done, wi' both Voerym an Eulum (i be truly sorry good Infiltrator, fer my spellin' leaves many scratchin' their heads...)," Earthwulf grins as he hands a bucket o' ale to sixtus....


A man comes seeking Bowar.
« on: Feb 16th, 2002, 2:37pm »

Arguyle MacFadden rides hard to the camp of the Glastonbury Irregulars with a matter of some import to discuss with Bowar. He had spoken to Bowar through correspondence only but he had grown fond of the man. His gruffness and straightforward demeanor was oddly comforting, especially after dealing with the beaurocrats of Camelot for so long now.

As he approached the camp he could tell that there had been many men in and out of the camp. There were bloodied bandages and broken cruches strewn about and he prayed that all was well with the Irregulars. When he reached the gate he leapt from his horse and was shocked when he was not stopped by any guards when he strode through the wide open gate. The camp was in disarray and Arguyle felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. This sloppy camp was not normal, especially with a battle hardened crew such as the Irregulars.

There were men gathering up their belongings as if they were packing up and returning to the farms that they had worked before joining Orec's band. He stopped one and said, "Where are you going man? The battle continues. The Crown needs you."

The man glared at Arguyle and for an instant Arguyle thought the man may draw his blade. But in that instant the man's face sunk and he pulled his gaze from that of the highlander.

"Well, if'n the Crown be needin' us then it surely has an odd way o' showin' it", said the soldier.

"What are you saying? Where is Bowar man?" replied Arguyle.

"He be in prison by now I am sure. Him an' the other officers o' the Irregulars. It seems the Crown has a funny way o' payin' its heros." stated the man.

With that Arguyle grabbed the man by the shoulders and looked into his face saying, "What do you mean 'in prison'? Did something happen?"

"That high falootin' Racius came an' arrested them all this very morn. Said that they were all traitors to the Crown and ordered the rest o' us to disband." said the soldier.

Arguyle slammed one fist into the other, "By God! That is nonsense. What has gotten into the man? Can't he see that he is acting blindly?"

Arguyle grabbed the man and any other he could find. He placed some gold in their palms and said, "Gather up your army. Ride just east of Snowdonia Station. There you will find my country home. Wait there for me. My man will put you up. Do it without delay. Do not let even one of these men believe what has been said about Bowar. Do not let the Irregulars disband."

With that Arguyle mounted his horse and reigned it around toward the Camelot Hills. As he spurred the horse he heard the man call out, "What of you? Where are you going?"

"I ride to Camelot! I ride to Bowar!" shouted Arguyle.

Lord High General Arguyle MacFadden
Order of the Red Lions
Paladin of the 24th Circle
Riddle Master of Albion


A deal gone bad
« on: Feb 14th, 2002, 1:11pm »

Lorric stood looking up at the sign of The Laughing Lion. 'This looks like a good place to get lost for a bit.' He thought.

Strolling up to the door he checked one last time to make sure he wasn't followed. The mage hadn't liked the fact he had sold him a wild horse, and after bucking him off and running away, had sent his pets looking for Lorric.

After entering Lorric looked around, seeing a variety of patrons. Warriors, Priests, farmers and townsfolk, even a few of the roguish type. Suddenly he felt a bit self conscious standing there looking around the room.

"This is no way to blend in" he muttered.

Moving up to the bar, he found a good vantage point and set to watching the door.


"What ye have lad?"Lorric twitched at the barkeeps question. 'I gotta relax'he thought

"What ye got?" Lorric said trying to look as normal as possible

"Ale"

"Well I guess I'll have ale then." Reaching into his pouch and realizing that he only had some copper left. Tossing a few he had left on the bar. The flight from the Mage had drained almost all his funds including what he had saved up. He was going to have to find a way to make some cash. Looking around the room he quickly decided that this crowd was not ones to scam, even the farmers looked tough. Maybe some information would give him a lead.

"Hey bar keep, who owns this place?"

"Why the Glastonbury Irregulars do."

"Ok I'll bite, just who are the Glastonbury Irregulars."

"Ye haven't herd of them? They're a bunch o' the local folk trying to protect the realm form those that would do us harm."

Lorric looked at the door one more time.

"They hiring?"

Lorric


Sixtus spoke up from his spot at one of the tables near the fire.

"Nay friend, the Irregulars are not some business with workers. Tis more of a... volunteer position, ye might say."

Sixtus paused to take a few gulps from his mug.

"We've a guild description tacked up near the door in the common room. If ye read that and are still interested, I can answer any other questions ye might have. Until then, enjoy the food, drink, and warmth of the Laughing Lion!"
Contributor: http://haystackblog.wordpress.com/
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earthwulf
Diddly Womper, 1st class
 
Posts: 1910
Joined: Fri Aug 03, 2007 8:45 am
Location: Seattle, WA

Postby earthwulf » Wed May 14, 2008 10:02 am

A Conversation in Church
« on: Feb 7th, 2002, 7:56am »

The young woman stood patiently before church official. “Your name?”

“My name is Xaviera.” “You appear to be of highland descent but your name is peculiar for one of that race.” She reached over and cupped Xaviera’s chin and slowly turned her head from side to side. After a moment she released her and asked, “Do you know the origin of your name, child?”

“I was raised in the keep overlooking Humberton while my father was in Camelot. I was educated at Vetusa Abbey by Brother Darren. As a result, my manner of dress and the style of my hair reflect the traditions of the highland clans. However, I was born in Metz, which I understand makes me a Merovingian. My father was part of the retinue of Robert de Monfort from the court of Childric III to your King.”

“Odd, de Monfort was recalled to Paris many months ago and there has been some indication that Childric no longer rules. Of course, it’s all rumors and speculation at this point. How is it you did not return with de Monfort; your father left as well or is that not the case?” Xaviera, turned her head slightly to the right side, “Indeed, he did return to Paris.”

“How is it you came to remain behind in fair Albion?” “Brother Darren, and Brother Tanis as well, were concerned by my lack of progress as an obedient child of the Church and they attributed this too my willful nature. They suggested that I stay behind and work to overcome my defects rather than go on holiday to Paris.”

“So, I take it Xaviera that your willful nature has been corrected and you are ready to serve the Church as an obedient daughter?” Again, Xaviera tilted her head slightly to the right, “Indeed, I have come to understand the importance of obedience.” “Well time will tell, Xaviera, and welcome to the service of the Church and our Lord.”

As she walked away, Xaviera broke into a broad smile as she recalled the farewell bash two nights ago with Zenob Mra, the armourer, and a few select lay workers from the abbey in the crofter’s hayloft. Her head hurt the entire next day. However, the smile faded as she also recalled her last conversation with Zenob. “Why the Church? You are no more suited to that life than I am to being a faithful wife.” Xaviera sighed, “We’ve been over this before, Zenob. Except for you, I am alone here. Eventually Pippin will send his own emissary to Camelot and I will be bundled off to Paris. The Church offers me anonymity and perhaps some protection should I be discovered.”

Soon the optimism that marks the young as naive returned. The prospect of adventuring as well as reveling was far more appealing than worrying about some usurper on the other side of the Channel.

Xaviera


The Great Paladin that never quite was
« on: Feb 17th, 2002, 5:30pm »

Sat at a table with his head in his hands, Deadus thinks about what could have been.

When he was younger he always thought he would grow up to be a big, strong Paladin of unbreakable honour. A true figure who would be recognised everywhere as a symbol of all that is good and holy.

Deadus then breaks out of his day dream, and sees the true reality of what has become of himself. A useless, scared, dirty, pathetic man who dresses up in shining armour in the hope that it will cover up his true self, a self that he has come to hate.

His thoughts then shift, to the people who have been around him and who have supported him. The Glastonbury Irregulars. Deadus loves these people, but his obsession with himself has never allowed this love to show - and instead he has abused them.

Thinking about this, a real self hatred builds up inside Deadus, as he picks up a box of chocolates and thows them at the wall. Chocolates fall in a big mess on the floor. Once upon a time, Deadus would of cared about this.

For a moment, his eyes glance towards his sword, and a dark thought passes through his head, one that would relieve him of all this sadness in an instant.

A second later, he pulls his eyes away and looks out of the window. Staring into the hills he says to himself, "no....not yet".

Deadus


Yulian Arisen
« on: Oct 26th, 2002, 7:32pm »

The tower had grown cold....the coals had been banked and the lamps extinguished. Strange winds howled through along the cobbles of Glastonbury this eve, keeping most of the respectable citizens near their hearths. The figure moving silently, almost ghostlike, throughout the spire was less than respectable. Despite the shadows he seemed aware of every detail. A jar, a quill, precious memories...every item selected in careful fashion before being packed securely in the travel sack. One last look at his beloved village, his steadfast friends, and the tower he called his sanctum and Yulian began his journey north.

Time had taken it's toll on the once proud mage. The pressures of the Glastonbury township coupled with the everpresent threat of the Troll and Elf bastards had become more than he could endure. With sad heart he strode north, looking for a peace that had always been elusive. He was through with the wars. Glastonbury had grown into a fine town. His presence was no longer needed. Solitude was his only desired companion.

As Yulian marched north a new feeling washed over him. It was as if a weight had been removed from his breast. He no longer needed the trappings of a Defender and his simple travelers garb was all that was required. His belongings, robes, weapons all packed so carefully he laid by the edge of the road, casting off his past. Confident and renewed the now former death-dealer walked through the gates of Snowdonia Keep and into his new life.

His explorations took him far from Glastonbury and eventually his curiousity was his downfall. Wandering through the province known as Odin's Gate he never even saw the trolls approach. With no staff, no golem, and no warning he was easily taken. Yulian then learned an important lesson; one could wash his past from his own memory, but enemies would never forget past transgressions.

Tortured and ridiculed, Yulian spent the next several months in the clutches of the hated monsters. Escape was inconceivable. He had no idea where he was and no means to defend himself. His best plan was to keep quiet and hope he would be forgotten. This, however, was not to be...

Every pain, every plague, every suffering was visited upon his now wasted frame. The trolls never grew tired of trying to break his stoic visage. The more cruelty they inflicted the deeper Yulian retreated into his soul. His torn flesh was nothing to him. The broken bones were forgotten. All that remained was a burning, too bright to quench. When, finally, his limp form was removed from the pit he had solidified himself. Yulian had mastered his pain and overcome his sorrow. He now knew his folly and what must be done.

The Cabalist's battered body was thrown into the Sauvage Forest and left for the wolves. From the lichen-covered floor of the dark woods Yulian summoned the last of his waning strength. Though he was unable to move, his mind was focused. A sending was needed. A call to one who would be listening was his last hope. He focused all his energy into one seething ball of despair and hatred and thrust it into the night sky. Hundreds of leagues distant, in the hamlet of Glastonbury, in a dark tower, his sending was answered. The echoing scream burst through his entire body. Yulian smiled for the first time in months, and rolled over to sleep, and wait......


The Summons (A Glastonbury Irregulars Event)
« on: Oct 22nd, 2002, 1:48pm »

The call for aid could not be ignored. The power of the mind that send it forth was immense. Through the cold night sky the message travelled.

A dark tower stood on the outskirts of Glastonbury. The stones of the tower emenated an eerie bluish black glow that swirled round its perimeter. There were stained glass windows near the top of the tower. No entrance could be seen.

The message travelled, as a serpent in water, through the air and made its way into the tower. It slithered through the dark interior seeking the master of the tower.

The room was the diameter of the tower. Thousands of books lined the walls. Strange instruments lay on shelves and a large intricately carved bone-coloured desk. That they were the instruments of pain was no doubt. A large oval shaped bed lay opposite the desk.

The message struck the figure lying on the bed square in the forehead. The force pushed the figure's head into the pillows and her entire body recoiled to sit up in bed. Her mouth open in a silent scream. Her eyes wide, gazing at something far far away.

Somewhere else in Glastonbury, another silent scream escaped the lips of a Cabalist.

The tips of her toes moved back and forth, grazing the soft area rug under her bed. Beads of sweat ran down over her nearly translucent, milky white skin. Splotches of pinkish colour filled her strong face.

She regulated her breathing, to gain control of herself. The movement of her chest slowed under the midnight blue/purple gown.

Her body had regained it's composure but her mind was in chaos. Flashes of bright light, faces of people, and creatures, assaulted her mind. She felt the pain of the person that was sending her these images. She knew this must be looked into. But she knew it would be too much for her to go at it alone. Even if Grumple decided to join her, the forces that held the summoner would over power them.

She would need the help of the Irregulars. Collectively they were a strong group. She must contact their leader. Excelsius! Yes, that was his name. She thought to herself. This was her way of controlling the chaos that was her mind. But first she must decipher the meaning of the images.

She searched for answers in her tomes for days. She felt drained, having not eaten in a day, and from the Summons. But now she knew. The general location of the person that had sent her and her dark brother this message. And she knew they must make haste.

They must begin their search outside of Castle Sauvage. At the latest they must organize and head out in search on the morrow (Saturday). I shall leave it up to Excelsius to arrange the time and meeting place.

The tall, slender woman walked to a cage on the far wall from her desk. Her thin gown made a sighing sound as she walked across the cold room. She looked at the creature in the cage. Her eyes fell upon the beady eyes of the bucca. Her lips gave a silent incantation and the bucca started to whither. As the life drained from it's little body, a azure aura surround the beautiful woman.

The little body of the bucca fell lifeless in the cage, as the woman made her way back to the bed.

Chiaghdin


Preaching among the peasants of this Black Mountain village was both chore and pleasure for the friar. Excelsius would return here periodically to minister, baptise, marry, and sometimes lay dead to rest for the poor country folk. But also to aid the village in their constant struggle with the goblinkind that plagued the hills. Several of the villagers had volunteered as guards, and their tattered gear needed upkeep.

As Excelsius strode through the village one day, headed for the baker's tavern, he noticed a small throng of upset villagers. He made haste to the disturbance. Some where fearful, others yelling at something. Small children ran to their houses to cling to mother's aprons.

As Excelsius neared the crowd, he noticed a tall figure. But something was amiss. The grey skin, large malformed proportions, unblinking black eyes...

The simulacrum walked unphased through the din straight to Excelsius and reached out. The creature held a note in its lifeless hand.

Excelsius smirked and then took the note. The simulacrum simply walked off, the villagers unmolested and confused. Thee were glares of suspicion on their faces. This being the end of harvest and the beginning of winter, the folk were undoubtedly even more fearful. They still vaguely recalled their pagan history, which survived in simple innocuous festivals and holidays. Pumkins and scarecrows came in from the fields, to reside in the village. It was the time when souls where said to roam the countryside.

Excelsius spent the rest of the day appeasing the villagefolk of their worries, saving the letter for later.

That night Excelsius sped towards Bledmeer alone to join the few defenders there. The keep Bledmeer had been taken by his realm mates, and they now stood upon the ramparts to defend it. With the help of a few stalwart realm mates, Glastonbury laid claim to Bledmeer and outfitted the guards for the ensuing battle. The seige waged through the morning, firstly attacked by a score of Midgardians who broke down the outer gate and had set rams upon the inner before they were turned away. The defenders repaired the gates and rested.

In a sudden attack, nearly 4 times that number of Midgards appeared. The flury of battle was intense. The friar began raising his fallen realm mates as fast as he could. There was no time for delay with such a army on the outside.

A great bolt of majik hit Excelsius with a pounding, dark purple energy. Mortaly wounded, he staggered a few steps, falling off the rampart to his doom.

As he lay there, the rest of the defenders made haste to raise the fallen and retreat to the Lord's room. The Midgard horde pushed through the last shreds of gate, guards, and finally felled the defenders and set upon the Lord.

When Excelsius awoke, he was at Castle Sauvage. The Saints granted him yet another resurrection. As he sat resting, still feeling the pain of his now vanished wounds, he remembered the note that had came clutched in the hands of that simulacrum.

He opened the note and read the Cabalist Sinestro's words. Dire visions indeed. She wrote of the vision - painful sights, of forest Giants, and of a ruined building. The mysterious vision had struck Sinestro and the Cabalist sought aid to investigate its meaning.

Excelsius turned and looked through the portculis toward the dark forest. Sauvage had many mysteries. Some lay deep within the cloak of darkness among the hills of twisted trees.

Excelsius grabbed the arm of an Albion runner and gave him a message to take to Glastonbury.

X


Carac's Tales...
« on: May 23rd, 2002, 11:56pm »

This is the tale of Earthwulf and the troll. It was told to the Glastonbury Irregulars one night over many mugs of ale...

Carac: "Was a dark night on' the battlegrounds... hope was lost, it was... "
Carac: "Trolls, dwarves, norse, runnin' round th'place, menacin' bunnies an' Albion soldier alike..."
Credic: "Bunnies"
Earthwulf: "heh, bunnies! Aye, them bunnies was meanced, they was!"
Carac: "Th'elves an' lil lurikeen were all tucked away in their beds, snug fer th'night, when Earthwulf plodded ont'the scene..."
Carac: "Th'moon was jus' a sliver an' th'eerie glow made e'en the smallest dwarf seem 5 feet tall!"
Carac: "But Wulf weren't 'fraid.. nosiree... "
Carac: "He opened th' gate t'see 15 trolls standin' like a wall 'fore 'im, guards lay dead all 'round..."
Carac: "th'dwarves an' norsemen hoppin' up an' down in back t'get a glimps o' such a fine wa... mercenary!"
Carac: "Wha' little light was left was caught on th'shining tooth of our hero's smile at the overwhelming odds.."
Carac: "Th'trolls, sensin' that e'en with their numbers, they were no match for this one, even the moon seemed to be on his side!"
Carac: "slowly they all trickled away as the 10 foot gap between Wulf and the trolls slowly closed"
Carac: "Amazingly, only one troll was left... he an' Wulf, with hate in their eyes..."
Carac: "the battle was joined! Wulf poundin' his mace an 'ammers o'er th'body o' the troll"
Carac: "Th'troll was more than a match fer poor Wulf.."
Carac: "he had used every trick he had with the mirror on his tooth.."
Carac: "he was scrambling for hope, kicking dirt in the eye of the troll"
Carac: "The troll was not pushed back... struggling to remain standing, Wulf runs back inside the keep"
Carac: "The nearby bunnies howled in anger at their hero giving up on 'em..."
Carac: "so loud were the bunnies tha' the elves were nearly awakened!"
Carac: "The troll thinkin' 'e 'ad won th'battle, smirked an' looked around, not realizing that Wulf was a crafty one indeed..."
Carac: "From atop th'tall tower next to the gate, Wulf hurtled his near lifeless form directly on top the troll's head, sending him 6feet into the earth"
Earthwulf: "Har! Crafty indeed!"
Credic: "HAr I<looks> um... "
Carac: ", leaving only 'is head, which, t'this day, is still 10 feet from th' gate o' the Murdblah battlegrounds"
Earthwulf: "<claps> well tol', well tol' indeed!"
Daylan: "<tops off Carac's mug with a grin>"

The storytelling mood, being thrust upon us like an illness... The story of Credic's New Armor came out...

Carac: "On th' 'ill o' Cotswold, o'erlookin' th'water, a group o'folk were sittin' in a large circle talkin', jus' a few days ago..."
Carac: "Th'circle weren't so large tha' any 'ad t'raise their voices, but tweren't any whisperin' neither..."
Carac: "Th'talkin' went on, soundin' much like th'water 'fore long, when outta th'forest came a crazed young armsman, with branches in 'is 'air, leaves billowin' out b'ind 'im like smoke, an'closely followed by a large dragon ant."
Carac: "Th'talk was so enthrallin' tha' most in th'company dinnae e'en notice th'armsman til it was far too late, an' 'e crumbled in a heap in the center o' the circle..."
Carac: "Th'nobles o'the lot looked down their noses at the unskilled lad, pincer marks riddling the back of his armor..."
Bloodhawk: "i have to ride all the way to cornwall for THREAD!!! such a pisser"
Carac: "Before any could e'en stand t'elp the wee lad, 'e released 'is soul, an' met 'is body back at th'stone in Cotswold..."
Carac: "Drat, Blood'awk.. I woulda grabbed tha' too, but I dinnae think yeh needed it."
Bloodhawk: "well, if anyone needs any craft crap lemme know while i'm there"
Earthwulf: "ye cannae get it ere in Camelot?"
Bloodhawk: "i need Sylvan thread"
Carac: "Skirtin' around th'crowd this time, th' lad 'eaded back fer 'is revenge.."
Carac: "Nay 10 minutes later, a loud CRACK was 'eard as 'e came runnin' agin, only from a new spot o'the trees..."
Carac: "Behind our Armsman in trainin' was a small bear, wit' a verr'large limb, swingin' it wildly at th'wee lad, rarely missin' i's target"
Elorian: "Our four brave albions hide at the Mid Darkness imps waiting for prey..."
Elorian: "The hordes will pour in soon!"
Carac: "Do us proud, Elorian!"
Elorian: "One dwarf falls to their blades!"
Carac: "As yeh all can prob'ly guess, th'armsman dinnae make it... Again, crumbling in a heap near th'circle of people.."
Carac: "This time, th'nobles weren't jus' lookin' down at th'lad, they were laughin' outright.... Th'commoner folk o'the group grimacing at th'poor outcome o' Our Hero's trials..."
Elorian: "another 2 dwarves fall unawares!"
Carac: "Our Hero was nae one t'be givin' up, 'e released 'is lonely soul an' with a look o' determination, heads out agin..."
Credic: "why do I get the feeln this is bout me?"
Elorian: "Three norse are next to fall, shocked to see our brave heros at their very gates"
Carac: "With almost clockwork timin', 10 minutes later, a crash is 'eard, an' the armsman comes strollin' outta th'forest..."
Carac: "Pullin' b'hind 'im a string o' ants, bears, bandits an' a few other thins, all crashin' through th'forest"
Carac: "Our Armsman, Credic strolls right on past th'talkin; people, all starin' mouths agape watchin' as 'e passes.."
Credic: "<puts> It is me......"
Carac: "O'er th'ill 'e goes, an' outta sight..."
Carac: "Th'sound o'dyin' beasts is 'eard next... ants, bandits all o'them critters dyin' to our wee lad's blows!"
Carac: "Th'conversation stopped some time ago, an' the people in th'circle were exchanging bewildered glances... wondering, "what next?!""
Elorian: "Another 5 fall to us! <grins>"
Carac: "Back o'er th' ill comes th' armsman, only instead o'th'armor o'chain 'e was wearin' b'fore..."
Carac: "<cheers>"
Carac: "Tha' industrious lil lad was wearin' Dragon Ant Breastplate, drippin' with ant guts, apparently th'skull o'the bandit servin as a helm..."
Carac: "an' th'rest o'is armor was all assembled from tha' string o'beasts too... He was a gory sight t'be sure..."
Carac: "Up o'er th' 'ill 'e walked, an plopped 'imself down next t'me an says, "So, wha' are we meetin' about?""
Credic: "<look> I Did Nae!!"
Carac: "The smell o' 'is armor quickly dispersed th'meetin'.. Th'nobles 'avin' no stomach fer such things..."
Carac: "But us commoners swilled ale till th'wee mornin' ours with th'wee lil armsman, Credic..."

Just when it seemed we could take no more, Carac would not shut up, and all resigned themselves to stick it out anyway... The story of Bloodhawk's New Friend was born...

Carac: "Twas an uneventful day in Camelot..."
Carac: "Our Hero, toilin' away at th'forge... Beads o'sweat formin' on 'is muscular arms, th'sound o'ammers strikin' metal makin' th'music o'the City..."
Carac: "As Blood'awk worked 'is piece, a small crowd gathered t'see 'is 'andywork...."
Carac: "Whispers flitting through th'crowd like butterflies, the giggles of young girls joining the song as he worked..."
Bloodhawk: "young giggling girls...now yer working it lass"
Carac: "(tis m'job!)"
Earthwulf: "Carac th Mistress o Tales..."
Earthwulf: "Carac th Mistress o Tales..."
Earthwulf: "er be tha Tails <winks>"
Credic: "<looks> ye said tha"
Carac: "A hesitant Desloc, looked on, for twas 'is swords tha' Blood'awk worked, 'is life savings in metal bein' formed an' beaten int'shape..."
Earthwulf: "<looks> strong drink, this"
Carac: "<thoroughly>"
Credic: "<looks>"
Earthwulf: "<grins>"
Credic: "Cin I ave one o those?"
Carac: "Suddenly, Blood'awk stands bolt upright, sending a current through th'crowd..."
Carac: "A look of shock passes o'er Desloc's face, for Blood'awk has yet t'finish 'is swords..."
Carac: "Blood'awk's grizzled face erupts into what can only be described as a roar, but tis a roar tha' would make roarin' beasts hide in shame..."
Carac: "Th'crowd cowers in fear, wondering if th' master weaponsmith has indeed snapped, th'pressure o'making such quality items finally taking its toll on his mind..."
Bloodhawk: "that's more true than you know"
Earthwulf: "g'night all"
Credic: "G'nite me friend"
Carac: "With a further grunt as the crowd parted before him, one of the wee lasses reaches out her small hand t'touch his arm as he passes by"
Carac: "G'night Wulf"
Daylan: "goodnight, Earthwulf"
Carac: "With a small squeal, she runs off through the streets, vowing never to wash that hand again!"
Credic: "HAR"
Bloodhawk: "heh'"
Carac: "A look of determination upon his face, Blood'awk pushes his way through the crowded streets, as the color drains from Desloc's visage, shock setting in as th' crafter departs..."
[Carac: "Out the East gate, Blood'awk makes a bee-line fer the Stablemaster, tosses an extra coin 'is way fer th'fastest mount 'es got"
**Dance with Aeso at the main forge. 1c. Best level 3 Highlander dancer with 3 vowels in his name.**
Carac: "The horse's knees nearly buckling under the mass of weaponsmith upon his back, he breaks into a swift run, Blood'awk barely able to control the beast..."
Carac: "As the horse ran, foaming mouthed into Caer Ulfwych, Blood'awk dismounts and convinces th'stablemaster that he does truly need another horse to take him as far as Cornwall..."
Carac: "The stablemaster, seeing the poor beast Blood'awk rode in on, charges him triple the normal price for a large donkey..."
Carac: "The donkey gladly takes Blood'awk, feet dragging on the ground as far as Caer Witrin, but will take not one step further without bribery"
Carac: "A brief visit to th'Caer Blood'awk must buy 2 very large bottles of whiskey to coerce th'beast to take him th'rest of 'is journey..."
Rickon: "Hello all"
Carac: "One bottle, firmly attatched to 'is own mouth, th'other emptied quickly into the donkey's mouth.. an the pair was on their way!"
Carac: "Greetin's Rick"
Rickon: "Hello Carac"
Carac: "At long last, Blood'awk an' 'is new friend arrive in Cornwall, slightly inebriated.."
Carac: "Swaggering up to th'merchants, he makes his purchases and returns to his mount, making for an uneventful trip back to Camelot..."
Credic: "Bah"
Carac: "Meanwhile, Desloc... forlorn, has thrown 'imself face down on the stones before the forge and would be crying, except that all of his tears were gone, he just lay ther, distraught"
Rickon: "Credic yea are new here are yea not?"
Rickon: "Glad to have yea here"
Carac: "Yeh missed 'is story..."
Carac: "Hours later, Blood'awk an' Bo (the donkey) return to Camelot, stopping off at Ye Mug for a quick nip..."
Rickon: "<scratches his head when thinking about Bloodhawk and his donkey"
Carac: "The bartender was a little unsure of Bo, but was quickly satiated with a few silver.."
Rickon: "Ah, good to see yea here then friend"
Carac: "The crowd 'aving dispersed, left only Desloc at the forge, staring blankly into the stones at the base of the forge.."
Carac: "Blood'awk an' Bo stagger up to th'forge an' Our Hero pulls out a spool of thread and a sewing kit...."
Rickon: "Walt! Yea shall grow past me any day now"
Waltain: "<smiles>"
Carac: "Thinking he had no tears left to cry, Desloc finds some tears down deep and begins wailing and pleading for Bloodhawk to give him any news of his blades"
Carac: "tears streaming down his face, all dignity gone.."
Carac: "With a crooked smile, Blood'awk looks at Desloc, and produces two shining mithril swords... The finest he'd ever seen.."
Carac: "Desloc, unsure what to say, threw himself to Our Hero's feet an' thanked him profusely for his wonderful work, then ran as fast as he could to the Mug for an ale..."
Carac: "Climbing onto Bo's back, sewing in hand, Bo and Bloody stagger into the distance, flinging puppets and dolls to the children.."
Carac: "(the end)"

Wha' became th'beginnin' o' th' storytellin' night... Such 'umble beginnin's... In Elorian’s own fateful words, “A mercenary’s work is never done.”

Elorian's Bravery

Carac: So, Elorian cut th’ Princess o’ Darkness t’bits, single’andedly, while others watched an’ took notes.
Elorian: That was the way of it…
Elorian: Sort of.. <smiles>
Carac: It would nay ‘ave been such a feat, ‘cept tha’ Our Hero had one hand bound o’er ‘is own eyes!!
Carac: An’ with fightin’ skills ne’er seen b’fore, an’ moves so fancy, ent any present seen any better…
Elorian: Stop it, yer making me blush <shuffles>
Carac: As th’dark princess fell, so did the onlookers, in awe!
Carac: With his free hand and wounded leg, ‘e stumbled o’er t’the scrapin’ onlookers, trying in vain to pull them to their feet…
Carac: And thus, our first hero was born…

And now...
Daylan's Ale...
A tale of confusion and misconception, heroism, loss, love and a friar...

Carac: So… Daylan, flittin’ thru th’frontier, pickin’ flowers an’ straightenin’ ‘is dre.. err, robe…
Carac: ‘appens across a pack o’ angry norsemen!!
Elorian: Who have their wicked way with ‘im!
Carac: th’norse, thinkin’ they ‘ad finally struck gold, rush at our friendly friar an’…
Daylan: <growls> ye’d better watch it, lass! I like yeh, but all this ‘pickin’ flowers rot’ needs t’stop!
Daylan: <grins> Of course, if ye go on with me killin’ ‘em, it will be all right.
Carac: <beams>
Daylan: <glows> Carac, how do I love ye?
Daylan: <sits>
Carac: Daylan, in th’middle of wha’ seems t’be an entire clan o’norsemen, throws down his flowers and picks up his staff from the grass…
Carac: Th’norse, all lookin’ at daylan with greed in their eyes, notice tha’ he ent a young maid ‘tall… jus’ some unruly mage pickin’ ‘erbs fer ‘is magics!
Daylan: mage? MAGE?
Carac: Well, as yeh would ‘spect, th’norse were unhappy.
Daylan: I am no mage!!
Carac: They set upon our hero wit’ fury!
Carac: Jus’ b’fore th’ hoarde o’norse set their ‘ammers t’our fair friar, ‘e starts twirlin’ is staff like ‘e plans t’fly!
Daylan: Aaah, there we go. <grins>
Carac: Spinnin’ his staff, deflectin’ blows wit’ one ‘and, sippin ale from a small cask wit’ th’other, the norse quickly lose faith in their ability t’defeat Daylan.
Daylan: <beams>
Carac: One o’th’norse, thinkin’ ‘is friends were cowards, stays b’hind, t’do in our hero on ‘is own…
Carac: With much dismay, Daylan mus’ set down ‘is cask fer a moment t’use both ‘is hands t’do in this arrogant norseman…
Carac: Th’norse, seein’ th’lovin’ look in Daylan’s eye as ‘e sets down ‘is cask, rushes in fer th’attack!
Carac: Daylan standin’ ready wit’ ‘is staff is dumbfounded as th’norse passes ‘im by an’ sets ‘is ‘ammer t’the cask.
Carac: With a fury th’norseman will nay ferget, Daylan pummels him thoroughly, all th’while thinkin’ his ale ‘ad been saved.
Carac: Th’norse, lyin’ on th’ground with a smirk upon ‘is face, breathes his last breath an’ Daylan looks down, wonderin’, “why th’smile?”
Daylan: <looks> say it is na so…
Carac: Turnin’ ‘round, he picks up his precious cask, only t’find tis cracked an’ all but th’dregs ‘ave drained int’ the soil!
Daylan: <sobs>
Daylan: I need a drink…
Earthwulf: Noooooo! Na th’ Ale! Take th’ Virgin, bu’ leave th’ ale be!
Carac: Uh, Wulf… tha’ would be Credic yer sacrificin’…
Carac: In despair, Daylan throws ‘imself to the ground, cryin’.
Carac: Finally, after many hours this way, ‘e heads ‘ome t’the Lion, a beaten man…
Carac: Only to find Wulf, Credic, Walt an’ all th’ Irreg’lars impatiently waiting fer ‘is arrival, ‘olding a much larger cask of the lost nectar.
Daylan: <sniffs> I love happy endings.
Credic: Appy endn? I jus got sacrificed

The Surly Carpenter Goes to Lyonesse.

Carac: "The clouds were thick, barely a ray of sun could sneak past..."
Daylan: "<smiles>"
Credic: "<looks>"
Frederyck: "ah... Carac, entertain us please..."
Carac: "The swamps of Lyonesse were hot and fetid, little flying bugs aggravating the most patient adventurer"
Carac: "Enter, Our Hero..."
Daylan: "Who gets t' be the hero?"
Carac: "Clad in leather, a bow strung over his back, a planing tool and some thread hanging from his belt"
Daylan: "ahh, not me <grins>"
Carac: "a mob of angry chickens trailing behind him, missing patches of feathers"
Daylan: "<snickers>"
Carac: "Spitting and cursing as he traveled, a particularly violent swarm of bugs swirling around his head, he headed for the hills"
Carac: "Hoping that the higher ground would prove some relief from the angry swarm about his head, and allow him to shoot his bow"
Carac: "Up the hill he trudged, pulling the chickens behind him, the constant clucking an annoyance in itself"
Daylan: "Hmm, perhaps if this archer were to bathe more often he would attract fewer insects? Just a thought . . ."
Carac: "As he reached the top of the hill, a few rays of sun peeked through the clouds, and landed on his face, small rays bouncing off the wings of the tiny insects"
Daylan: "<quietly pours Carac a mug of Flying Friar's Special Blend>"
Carac: "Cursing the gods for placing the flying bugs around his head, he searched the hillside for prey"
Carac: "Sighting in the distance a foe that should fall easily to his exceptional skill with a bow, he nocked an arrow..."
Carac: "Squinting and pulling back the arrow, bugs flying with the violence of a small hurricane, a few even being so bold as to rest on his eyelashes!"
Carac: "Releasing the arrow, it struck the ground 5 feet from his foe."
Daylan: "Haha!"
Frederyck: "Grrr"
Carac: "With cold determination, he nocked another arrow and did his best to look through the insects"
Carac: "Pulled back the arrow and released, striking the target, dead center mass..."
Daylan: "Huzzah for Fred! <coughs> err, I mean the completely fictional archer in th' story"
Carac: "A smile worked its way across his face as he pulled another arrow from his quiver, and quickly fired.."
Frederyck: "<cheers>"
Daylan: "aye, definitely fictional"
Carac: "Unfortunately for Fred, the creature was still healthy enough to continue running at full speed"
: "<grins>"
Carac: "A look in Fred's eye, bordering on insanity, crept into his fingers as he pulled another arrow and fired so quickly even he was surprised!"
Carac: "Striking true, Fred nearly jumped with glee..."
Carac: "But the creature was upon him!!"
Carac: "(the insanity crept into your fingers there, I was distracted... )"
Carac: "With a howl, and a fist shaking at the sky, Fred turned on his heel and ran, nay sprinted down the hill"
Daylan: "run away! run away!"
Carac: "The swarmy vapors grabbing our hero and stifling his breath, his running slowed as the creature followed closely behind..."
Frederyck: "<woulda>"
Carac: "The vaporous air was so thick that our hero could not see the pond ahead of him.."
Carac: "Giving his legs a push, for a final attempt at escape...."
Carac: "Fred trips over a rock and flys headlong into the pond!"
Carac: "Chickens broke free of their bonds and made a quick escape, clucking happily"
Carac: "The creature, being unused to hunting its prey in water, turned and headed for home..."
Frederyck: "Whew...."
Carac: "Fred was safe, but even safe, the despair of another failed attempt gripped him hard"
Carac: "In despair he sat in the water, soaking.."
Carac: "for hours"
Frederyck: "Har!"
Carac: "Emerging later, a prune of his former self, water pouring from the sleeves and legs of his leather armor...."
Carac: "his head and shoulders slumped, he went on, searching for his chickens while trimming small branches for arrows"
Carac: "As he walked, he began to lift his head and look around..."
Carac: "he squinted and stopped walking, confused, staring toward the horizon"
Carac: "scratching his head, he continued walking..."
Carac: "With a quick jerk of his head he tried to catch the horizon by surprise!"
Carac: "but there was no mistaking it... it was clear"
Carac: "the bugs were gone!"
Frederyck: "Huzzah!"
Frederyck: "What a great Tale!"
Frederyck: "I am a legend I am!"
Carac: "His spirits lifted he happily went on hunting, for many days...."
Frederyck: "ah, I will sleep well tonight"
Carac: "when it all begins again... <wink>"
Carac: "..."

Earthwulf and the Sorceress.

Carac: "The sorceress puttered around her small room in Glastonbury, gathering ingredients, practicing the incantation..."
Dru: "story time!"
Credic: "<hides>"
Carac: "That Wulf had been a thorn in her side for too long... Mocking her name, her heritage..."
Carac: "The spell was nearly complete. She just needed one more ingredient... the toe of a giant from the vast plains of Salisbury"
Earthwulf: "<somber> I was joking. I shall never make light again. <turns>"
Carac: "Sending a message to a few of her "friends", she commissions them to bring her a toe, fresh from the giants of the plains.."
Credic: "<looks> oh no leave me outta this one"
Credic: "<points> USE 'IM"
Kart: "Kart who was already killing them brought 3 toes just to make sure he got the one"
Carac: "As Saleh, Credic and Kart hunted on the plains, an odd messenger approached each of them, leaving each with a small piece of parchment"
Credic: "ah I do love that sound"
Carac: "The three stalwart adventurers looked to each other, then silently read their parchments."
Carac: "Upon reading them, they looked at each other, and began discussing how they would approach the problem of the giant's toe..."
Saleh: "How hard could it be to get a giants toe?"
Credic: "<puts> 'ere it comes"
Carac: "The three set out, enlisting the help of a few unknowing travelers..."
Carac: "Not knowing why the great sorceress needed the toe, they set about getting it done, feeling an unnatural urge to complete the task quickly"
Carac: "As they stood on the sandbar, eyeing giant after giant, Saleh ran forward to call one over with his bow..."
Carac: "But, over the hill was a large, angry boar!"
Carac: "The boar attacked and Saleh ran to the group for aid.."
Saleh: "Preposterous!"
Credic: "prepos...wha?"
Carac: "Again he set out to beckon a giant to them... but this time he was beset by a very large, very enchanting chicken like creature"
Carac: "As he ran to his group, a giant saw the chicken chasing something very, very small, and went to see what it was all about..."
Dru: "<taunts>"
Carac: "With relish the giant patted his belly and went to stomping his snack, an 8 pack of adventurers..."
Saleh: "How gruesome."
Carac: "Fighting the chicken, the group was caught unaware, each in the group finally being smashed flat. The giant retreated, obviously in search of something."
Saleh: "What happened?"
Carac: "Messages of the death of the party reached Dru, she was furious!"
Carac: "Stirring her cauldron, she pulled at the strings that held the three in her sway... "
Credic: "See I told ye. "
Saleh: "I should have known.a"
Carac: "While Kart was rather enjoying the cool sand one moment, suddenly he felt the urge to get up and fight, but death held his body down..."
Kart: "I hate when the sand gets in the mail"
Carac: "All three felt the urge to kill a giant as strongly, and struggled and pleaded with cleric and friar a like to raise them!"
Carac: "Before long, a cleric came by and raised them, healing their wounds. The giant still being off on his errand."
Carac: "The giant returned, large slices of bread in hand, looking to fill his adventurer sandwich.. and finding them all squirming about! “AARGH!” the giant said, as he rushed forward to smash them again"
Carac: "The group was ready this time, and went straight to hacking his ankles to shreds."
Carac: "Our three, rushing the big toe, working very hard to hack it clean off... A moments delay would have meant a second failure, a dead giant’s toe being well over their heads, and none of the three wanted to risk the wrath of the sorceress."
Carac: "The three howled in victory and carried the toe between them with bits of rope, making a bee-line for Glastonbury."
Carac: "Meanwhile, back in Glastonbury, Earthwulf was feeling rather spry, having had plenty of ale... His lips were loose and he was looking for trouble!"
Carac: "Sending message after message, taunting the sorceress."
Carac: "She bided her time, mentally urging her helpers to hurry"
Dru: "<bides>"
Carac: "Running through the gates, the three ran, big toe between them, to Dru's study. As she dropped a gold piece in each of their hands, she snapped her fingers releasing them from her service."
Dru: "thank ye fer the toe!"
Saleh: "Delightful."
Credic: "one meesly gold?"
Carac: "The three bounced out of the room joyfully, feeling the weight of a whole gold each in their grimy hands"
Saleh: "We're a rather sad trio."
Carac: "They bounded off to the nearest pub and drank themselves silly, telling stories of their bravery."
Dru: "another 5 gold each if ye make EW cry"
Carac: "Dru added the final ingredient to her potion and began rhythmically stirring, incanting the words with just the right inflection..."
Carac: "Wulf, having been bound in a tower near Camelot, escaped with some secret oil, frightening bandits in his crazed flight... But Dru was ready!"
Dru: "<incants> <cackles>"
Carac: "As he approached Glastonbury, she cast a small spell of mesmerization, freezing Wulf in his tracks!"
Carac: "As he stood, staring at the sparkling lights about his head, she finished her spell, turning Wulf's body from ale!"
Dru: "take that! You soiled cur!"
Carac: "As he broke free of the sparkling lights he ran straight for town, for the nearest Pub"
Carac: "Telling Dru, "Aha! I've outwitted you, sorceress! I'll nae touch th'mug!" tipping the mug over, and lapping up the ale, looking very proud of his own cleverness..."
Carac: "As poor Wulf's stomach began to cramp, confusion took him..."
Carac: "Dru cackled happily, exclaiming, "Aha! It is not the mug, but the Ale itself! You shall remain cursed until...""
Dru: "heheheheheeee!"
Dru: "until I say you're not!"
Carac: "Dru's voice was cut off as Wulf threw himself at her feet, begging for mercy... “Pleeeeeeeeaaaassssssssse, not m’ale! I promise t’nae mock yer name!”"
Carac: The trio of adventurers sitting nearby with ales in their hands, not knowing that they had a part in poor Wulf’s demise, looked on, hoping, praying that they never upset the sorceress.
Dru: "err . . until . . "
Carac: "Pondering such an interesting position to be in, Dru left it at that, and walked away, muttering about him mocking her name.."
Carac: "the end.. for now..."

Rickon and the Goblins


Carac: "High noon at th'base of a small hill in Lyonesse..."
Rickon: "ugh oh"
Dru: "whee!"
Carac: "The sun beatin' down on a hill teeming with small creatures"
Carac: "The brave polearmsman Rickon at the base making crazed runs to the top, whacking one of the mass on the head then running for his life back to his group, a trail of teensy goblins hopping along behind him."
Carac: "The stream of angry goblins swarmed around our hero, nipping and slashing at his ankles and feet..."
Dru: "rotten little beggars! Leave him be!"
Carac: "With loud "Ugh"s he made his way to the group..."
Carac: "Seeing that the time was finally right, Dru cast her spell... The mob of small goblins stopping in their tracks to stare at the pretty shiny things about their heads"
Rickon: "(ohh very nice)"
Carac: "Rickon quickly finished his journey unmolested, meeting his fellows, they gathered around the wounded armsman and healed his ankle wounds.."
Rickon: "my poor feet"
Dru: "at least they didn’t hurt that rear o his!"
Rickon: "<smiles>"
Carac: "With a sigh, Rickon dropped to the ground to rest, pulling a flask from each side of his hip, his armor apparently having chambers for his flask built in, to keep them safe.."
Carac: "..”I've gotta quit drinkin',” he said as he took a long pull from the left flask, then another long pull from the right"
Carac: "Seeing the goblins before him, mesmerized, he decided one more pull ought to do it, and put his flasks away."
Rickon: "(hehe, one more pull did do it, and I feel stronger!)"
Carac: "The goblins, being the crafty lot they are, although entranced, were making plans…"
Carac: "As the shiny things disappeared, they began to organize..."
Carac: "Dru would have noticed, but for the fact that she was being approached by group leaders with gold and silk and other fineries to woo her to join their parties..."
Carac: "The party, standing ready for the small horde, sent Rickon out first (mostly on urging from the sorceress)..."
Carac: "To Rickon's shock, the goblins were ready for him!"
Rickon: "evil things"
Carac: "they were not standing in a mass about his feet, they had organized themselves into a triangle, 2 feet over Rickon's head, all attacking different parts of him at once!"
Dru: "eek!"
Dru: "circus goblins?"
Carac: "The group rushed the wall of goblins, hacking at little goblin bodies..."
Carac: "The mass of goblins and humans was so confusing, many were turned around as goblin bodies were thrown from the pyramid"
Carac: "But alas, the group was no match for the pyramid of goblins... the tenacious creatures wearing each of them down until they lay flat, the cleric heading for the hills arms flying overhead..."
Rickon: "oh no"
Carac: "When sanity finally befriended the cleric again, she came back, walking, breathless at what she had been witness to."
Carac: "Raising each of her party, then healing their wounds... they all discussed what happened..."
Carac: "Dru, with bolts of purple and crimson cloth and small chests of gold lying about her feet assured the group, that all the goblins had been mesmerized."
Rickon: "oh no Dru"
Carac: "Rickon, flasks in hand, showed them all the nasty wounding he had taken in the backside..."
Rickon: "not me backside!"
Carac: "After much talk they stood and decided the remedy would be speed. They were going to give it another go!"
Dru: "anything but his backside, please?"
Carac: "<nods> but it will heal, I'm sure of it."
Carac: "Out Rickon went again, and with a healthy swagger to his step, he dutifully thwapped a goblin on the head."
Carac: "Making what he considered to be a straight line back to his group, the throng of goblins was again, mesmerized."
Carac: "With sickening crack after crack, the goblins were taken down, one by one..."
Carac: "The party, feeling strong, and quite invincible, laughed at the last two goblins, mocking their puny little bodies...."
Rickon: "not good to be cocky"
Carac: "As the last one fell, he looked at Rickon, his wee little arm reaching out in the final motion of a curse..."
Carac: "Chills running down his spine, Rickon decided the best thing to do would be to have another nip at his flasks..."
Rickon: "aye <takes>"
Carac: "While Dru urged the cleric to do something and fast about his backside..."
Carac: "The sun went down, and the party fought on... the curse, well.. that is another tale.."
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earthwulf
Diddly Womper, 1st class
 
Posts: 1910
Joined: Fri Aug 03, 2007 8:45 am
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Postby earthwulf » Wed May 14, 2008 10:04 am

The flame is kindled
« on: Feb 14th, 2002, 5:49pm »

It was a night of celebration at the Laughing Lion... the Irregulars had just returned from the hunt. More than usual, the tavern was loud and raucous; with all the stress and alligations surrounding them of late, the Irregulars were really letting off some steam.

Apart from the crowd, Danae stood silently in the corner, watching the rest of the patrons laughing and drinking themselves into a stupor. With a slight sigh and a frown on her face, she slipped quietly out the back to be alone for a bit. Lost in her thoughts, she didn't see Sixtus until she nearly walked right into him.

"Hey there Sixtus... you make a lousy door." She tried to make her way past the paladin, but he didn't budge.

"Very funny, but I'm not really in the mood... now please let me get by you." Danae looked up, and saw that whatever Sixtus was about, it was no joke. His face looked like it had been chiseled from stone; she had seen him look that way before, but it was always when he faced near-certain death in battle.

"I know you've learned something Danae... something about this alliance," he looked as if the word itself was sour in his mouth, "or even about Orec himself. You've been quiet and withdrawn ever since this alliance was thrust upon us, and I know it is because you found something out."

Danae started to take a step back, but Sixtus took hold of the neck of her cloak and held fast. He was never an emotional person, but his eyes were nearly ablaze... Danae was actually frightened of this man who had been her friend for so long.

"I need to know Danae. Now that Bowar is leading the Irregulars, whatever happened to Orec may happen to him next, and I won't let that happen. Whoever is behind this, whatever they want from us, I will put an end to it. Whatever the cost, I will see the Irregulars safe again. Now, tell me what you know."

Sixtus Anticetus
Cicero DeSonius
Sandore


Trapped.
She could stick a knife in him, or stomp his foot, but this was Sixtus, a good friend, and she wouldn't do that.

"Six ,C'mon, let me past, this is something I really don't think it's safe for ye to dig too deep into"

Sixtus nearly laughed in her face. "Too dangerous, you say? Well, I can tell by the look in your eye that YOU'RE not going to let it rest, so out with it".

With a frustrated sigh, Danae pulls Sixtus outside, where only one drunk, passed out by the wall, could possibly hear.

"Look Six, I followed Bowar and that Racius after we met in that tavern."
"Cadeag followed too, but they caught him, and sent him running off. Listen, this is NOT all roses and punch here, the way it sounded to me, Bowar had an inkling this was coming, like he had been told what had to happen, or else."

"Really, it sounded to me like if we had not agreed to this little joining, that perhaps the Irregulars would have met some foul turning from Constantines men"

Taking a slow breath, Danae looks up and down the street before continuing.

"Look, I followed that Racius some after he left Bowar, and he reported to half the guilds in camelot that his plan seemed to be working, And he caught me out, Six. ME! He figured out I was there, somehow, and cool as frost, leads me to Master Eadig, and asks him to take care o' me!"

"Well, luckily, I was already due for some training, and may have made him believe I was supposed to be there, but I won't believe that for sure, no way, it just isn't safe to feel comfortable."

She stops there, looking impatient, wanting to leave.

"That was all, Six, so let's go in and have a drink, we can make this work out, I just know."

As she starts to walk in, Sixtus grabs her by the arm. "What else, Danae"?

She looks up with wide eyes. "That's all, Six, really" But he won't release her, only keeps staring at her, until a slight blush creeps into her cheeks.
"OK, listen, I don't want anyone else stickin their neck out, let me keep digging, but if you hear of a "Lady" Judith, you let me know right away, you hear?"
"And don't go doing anything stupid, you big lout, you hear that name, you tell me, and then forget it, and don't you DARE let anyone else catch wind of this, I will dig, and if someone needs to get hurt, let that be ME."

With that, she yanks her arm free, dashing past Sixtus, and disappearing into the night.

Danae Taltos


Enuru watched the two separate from his position just outside the Lion. Shedding his disguise into an empty mead barrel nearby, he stood up and krept back into the shadows of the night. He bounded accross the rooftops in search of his next target. Slowly he was learning more and more, and would prove to them that he was worthy of being among the most respected.

Aragoth


Sixtus watched Danae move off out of view, and then stood for a moment in the cool air before returning to his room above the tavern. Danae had filled in some of the gaps for him... but she was still holding out something, he was sure of it. For now though, what she had told him was enough to start.

Sixtus took out a piece of parchment and a stick of charcoal and began to write the oath for what he would call the Bloody Tusks. His father had been an uneducated man, and had believed writing had a mystical power that could bind the soul of men. Sixtus knew well enough that there was nothing mystical about writing, but it did indeed have the power to bind. Some of the old superstitions were more right than people would like to believe. Sixtus locked the door and set to work on what he hoped would be the backbone of a secret society of guardians.

From this day forth, the safety of the Glastonbury Irregulars is my task. I shall root out the source of any injustice, any threat, any enemy, and put an end to them no matter what the cost. I shall operate in secret, never mentioning any of my fellow Bloody Tusks by name. If I am found out, any knowledge I have learned shall stay with me to the grave. I shall not write any knowledge gained. I shall not speak of any knowledge gained to any outside the Tusks. I shall mark myself only by the orange armband I shall wear at all times. For the life of Glastonbury and her champions, I will kill or die with no regrets.

Sixtus spent a few moments committing the oath to memory, and then cast the parchment into the fire, watching it burn away to ashes. The task now would likely be his most crucial... he would need to seek out those both worthy and capable of being these secret guardians.

The list of those he could truly trust was very short, and seemed to be shrinking every day. Cadeag might tell him something Danae had kept hidden, but Racius would have his eye on the rogue, and Sixtus wouldn't endanger him further unless he absolutely had to. Frederyck was likely also being watched by countless sources by this point, so he was out too. Bowar, though he was one of his closest friends, would never allow Sixtus to do what needed to be done, so it seemed he too would have to be avoided. Also there was the curious note from Xaviera... if it was true then Tanaburs could not be trusted either. Danae might even go so far as to reveal this new order to Bowar (or worse) if she thought it would be safer for him, so she could not be told.

Of the rest, he would have to find those passionate enough to do what is necessary, and disciplined enough to keep the secret. The task would likely be a difficult one.

Sixtus


Off a ways in the shadows across from the Laughing Lion stood the young friar, Winslow. He could not hear the conversation and was not a master of stealth, so he dared not to get any closer. He could barely make out the shadowed forms of Sixtus and Danae in the dark alley. They spoke for a few moments then Sixtus grabbed her roughly by the arm. Winslow tightened the grip on his staff for a moment, then released it.

"I know he would do her no harm, Sixtus is a good man" Winslow whispered.

His thoughts drifted back to the small scouting party he had been a part of in Yggrda with Danae. He had watched her skillfully cut down the gloating Norseman battlesinger after the party had been all but wiped out by a patrol next to the gate to Midgard lands. So dangerous and yet so fragile all at once. Something about her he could not explain . . . admiration perhaps.

Being a friar, he should not have admired anything about her profession. Perhaps he was not a good friar then, but he knew he would stand by and protect her as best he could. He had pledged to her "gang" a few nights past under the pretense of taking the fight to the heathens. While this was indeed a part of it, he knew he had other reasons as well.

"There is much going on within the Irregulars, none of which I understand as of yet, but I intend to" he whispered.

The shadowy figures departed soon after. Winslow waited a few moments and then followed the smaller one, trying to stay back so as not to be seen, but still keeping her in sight.

He rounded a corner she had passed not 25 seconds before and she was gone.

"Silly of me to think I could follow a rogue". Winslow sighed and stood there for a moment.

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Postby earthwulf » Wed May 14, 2008 10:04 am

About the Glastonbury Irregulars
« on: Jan 26th, 2002, 5:16pm »

Let it be known that the small township of Glastonbury has assembled a rag-tag group ready to march in defense of the realm. We are known as the Glastonbury Irregulars, a name appropriate for our seemingly chaotic and unruly nature, we make no claims to being superior in combat or any other such boasts. Perhaps if we could bring ourselves to spend less time, and coin, in the Laughing Lion tavern we would have more to crow about...

But alas, the people of Glastonbury have always been known for their love of drink and a good time. We are no exceptions!

For God, glory and mead!


============================================
The specifics of gaining membership, titles, and honors may change over time. However, our general principles behind the policies below will remain much the same.

Membership: We are firm in our standards for potential members. Generally speaking, we only want mature, quality, good people who role-play. If that means we are doomed to be a small guild that never "accomplishes" much then so be it. Our members simply don't enjoy playing this game with people who don't fit that description; we would rather do something else with our time.

Role-playing: Members of this guild are not role-playing a fancy, noble army. In character, most of us are common citizens of Glastonbury (no such place exists in the game so we have freedom with role-playing stories and such) who have volunteered to serve in the defense of the realm. This is not to say heroes will not arise from within our ranks (nay I expect they will!) or that a noble knight may be so taken back by the courage of this group that he pledges his sword. Worthy individuals from outside Glastonbury are welcome, but the core of this guild should role-play as forming there at the Laughing Lions Tavern one fateful night.

Role-playing Chat: All talk in public channels is to be role-play. Guild chat and group chat is a bit more flexible. However, members should keep out-of-character comments to a minimum and precede such non-role-playing statements with ooc: , (ooc), or place them in brackets or parenthesis (( )).

Leadership: The guild will have positions of honor but in essence all proven members are considered equals. We are a volunteer army that in a moment of drunken courage decided to bear arms for Albion. Having a true leader (Orec holds this position, but only for the purpose of game mechanics) would not really make much sense. Those of us who are most vocal, as would happen in such circumstances, tend to organize things and keep The Glastonbury Irregulars from getting too chaotic. Once a member has proven their worth and their judge of character they will be granted full rank in the guild. This includes the privilege of inviting new members.

Goals: Our goal is to have a fun role-playing experience with the people of Albion and especially our guildmates. This interaction, beyond all else, is our goal. Pursuit of power, wealth, and success in realm battles will not be ignored but will definitely NOT come at the expense of quality.

Composed by: Orec / Bowar,
And the Glastonbury Irregulars

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Postby earthwulf » Wed May 14, 2008 10:05 am

Rise of the Glastonbury Irregulars... (Read 550 times)
« The story so scribed and started Feb 12th, 2002, 6:21pm »

<One>

Bowar stood with his back to the camp and the other Irregulars, his eyes transfixed upon the gates of the Mile Fort Wall. He had yet to take off his armor and it clanked and scraped against each other as he shifted in the cool breeze.

"Bowar come and eat what little we have left" Sixtus placed a hand upon his shoulder and tried to hand him a bowl of stew.

"I will go without Sixtus, our supplies are low and it is better put in the bellies of someone who could stomache it. No need wasting food".

"Bowar going without food? I never imagined this day would come!" Sixtus lowered his head as he realized this was not the time for levity "I am sorry Bowar, I know Orec was a friend but staring at those gates will not bring him back, nor will it put food in our stores. Come and sit, regain your strength and we can head back out there tomorrow."

"There is more Sixtus" Bowar now turned to look his friend in the eyes "I spoke with the guard captain today while your patrol was out. He tells me they are to receive a shipment of food and supplies from a caravan soon but they will have none to share with the Irregulars."

"What the hell? They already have enough stores to last them weeks! No way they will hold this wall that long before Midgard decides to push through again or the Hibernians take offense to us being on their soil. I am sure even now both enemies amass and will put us to retreat soon enough"

Bowar could only nod "It gets worse friend. They refuse to spare anymore men to continue the search for Orec. Once our supplies reach their limit all hope to find him ends. We have a few days at most Sixtus and then we will have to return to Albion, giving him up for dead".

Sixtus was silent suddenly needing to sit on a nearby log "Dear God, it as though the Crown conspires against us!?"

Bowar clenched his jaw but said nothing. He looked now over the Irregular camp and compared it to that of the "Crown's men". Where the Irregulars slept in make-shift tents of whatever materials they could muster, these "noble" armies had huge white pavilions to house the leaders and smaller tents for the foot soldiers to share. Where the Irregulars fought in piece mail armor, often taken from the bodies of their enemies, they wore finely polished armors of plate and chain, crafted by Albions finest. Where the Irregulars carefully rationed each portion, they passed around food and ate heartily.

"Sometimes it seems that way doesn't it?" Bowar said breaking the silence.

And then it returned for some time.

Bowar
Armsman, Glastonbury Irregulars
(Originally Orec, now deceased)


Enuru steped out of the shadows behind Sixtus

"Your suspicions are indeed correct, paladin. Forces are amassing from the north and east of our current location. The scouts of the nobles have refused to share any information with me, so I fear I must move about alone."

Sixtus shook his head. "Have some stew, brother, ye may need it out there." Sixtus ladled a small wooden bowl full of the thick soup and held it out for Enuru to take.

"Nay lad, none fer me. That food is best saved for those who will need their strength when the battle comes, not for me." Enuru's head shifted slightly. "Hold." With that, he was off into the shadows.
A few minutes passed before he returned. "One of the nobles scouts was foolish enough to get too close to a keep and was slain."
Bowar spat on the ground. "Aye, I fear our time here may be short as well lad, I will need you to keep on the lookout fer us though, and report back when ye find something new." Enuru merely nodded and ran off into the forest beyond.
"We may all be doomed yet," Sixtus said softly.
"Aye, we may at that brother, we may at that."

Aragoth


« Reply #3 on: Feb 13th, 2002, 12:14pm »
<In>

Xarielle posted the note on the wall of the Laughing Lion. News traveled quickly, especially when the words were dark.

"May the wind favor those who continue the search..."
Xarielle
Friendly Interloper
Net Mistress


Mackie was working at the forge, his small brain filled with dreams of catapaults and ballistae. An armsman approached, quite young in years, but carrying the pig-sticker all such soldiers are given by the grace of the crown.

"Give me fifty silver fer a new weapon," the lad demanded.

"Off with ye, beggar!" Mackie roared, shaking his hammer at the lout. "Ye've a good pike in yer hand, so use it! Get yer coin fighting, nae begging like a common leper!"

The other armsman stood out of reach, but made no move to leave Mackie alone.

"I've armor to make fer the fighting men in the north, blast yer eyes!" Mackie said. "Enlist with the legions, do nae give armsmen a bad name with yer snivelling and begging."

"Why should I go to the north when there's work right here?" the lout answered. "Just give me fifty silver and I'll be alright."

Mackie had heard enough.

"Armsman or beggar, still yer tongue;
Tis wrong to beg in one so young!
A figther fights, a beggar begs,
A fool gets hung with jerking legs."

The lout thought about it for a moment, and answered,

"Armsman Irregular, be not bold,
For Orec thy master is bought and sold."

Mackie surged up from his work at the forge, hammer gripped in a tight hand. "What do ye mean?!?" he cried. "Orec, bought and sold? Orec a traitor? A damned catamite of the Norse? A Hibernian whore? Explain yerself, damn yer yellow eyes!"

But the lout skipped away, laughing as he vanished in the crowd. As Mackie swung his head back and forth, trying to spy the lad, from the keep gates he heard the lout chanting, "For Orec thy master is bought and sold!"

By the time Mackie reached the gates, the lad was long gone. Mackie lumbered back to the forge, grumbling all the way.


<elsewhere> Rickon looks over at Sixtus and Bowar. Rickon he looks on at their converstation and thinks "These two men I have bled with. I lost my family to bandits, and the Nobles <glances> have done nothing to clear them." Rickon glaces around the Irregular camp, and thinks "these are my family now, the chocolate Paladin Deadus, Father Cellach, Elorian the sellsword, Danae the sneaky, Macheath the mighty, and others. Yes these are me new family."

-By Rickon of the Irregulars


"What was that?", asked Rickon, glancing around hurriedly.

Surma reached automatically for his great bow, before letting his hand drop away as he stared in astonishment at the Ice Lizard that was moving slowly towards their fire.

Sixtus spun with an oath (which he automatically repented as should any good Paladin), at the same time reaching for his great sword.

Bowar stared, then reached out an arm to indicate that the Irregulars should remain seated as more scrambled for their weapons.

"I think we are safe", he said.

"Safe!", spluttered Sixtus. "From an Ice Lizard?! Have thy senses entirely deserted thee?!"

Bowar laughed, something he had not done for a long time, and then seemingly pointed at the ground in front of the lizard that was now stationary, but swaying from side to side in an alarming manner.

"Normally I would agree with ye, but I suspect we have not much to fear from an Ice Lizard that has two legs of plate and two legs of chain!"

The Irregulars started, hands still gripped tightly round pommels, although with much less alarm than before, and then with some amusement as the wild gyrations of the Ice Lizard finally ceased as it crashed onto its side.

The Irregulars stood en masse and approached the now recumbent lizard, listening with some glee to the argument that seemed to be emanating from its mouth, but on closer inspection was revealed to be issuing from an area somewhere near the centre of its body.

"I said left, you clumsy oaf!", said the platemail legs with some annoyance.

"Oh aye, left is it?" said the chain in response. Well perhaps I shall tickle thee with the point of this dirk now resting in my left hand, should ye continue to call me oaf!"

There was a silence, followed by a roar. "That is thy RIGHT hand, ye blithering fool, and put it down right now or I... ouch!"

The exclamation was followed by a rapid spasm of movement in the plate legs as the figure wearing them fought to extricate itself rapidly from the Ice Lizard's body.

Staggering to his feet, Vasarious glared at the Irregulars, who by now having recognised the voices, were convulsed with laughter, some barely able to support themselves, but well able to step rapidly back from the Paladin as they realised that the Ice Lizard had not been cleaned out properly before it had been placed over their shoulders.

Caratacus the Armsman, Forlorn armour covered in items that Xarielle examined almost too eagerly from her place in the crowd, also made his way to his feet, and stood there laughing uproariously at the Paladin before him.

"Lord, but these creatures do have a certain aroma do they not?", he said with a smile, reaching out to clasp Bowar by the arm in a brotherly way, and watching with some amusement as Bowar backed rapidly away muttering something about bathing being a good thing to do at this time.

"For heaven's sake", said Cellach the Cleric, what on earth have ye been about? This is no time for playing the fool lads", he said, shaking his head at the two before him.

"Oh, but they haven't been playing the fool", came a quiet voice from the side. "They have been acting under my orders".

"Danae!", cried Erevan, his Cleric's pious face now wreathed in a smile, "where have ye been?"

Danae did not reply, but instead made a forward gesture with her right arm. There was nothing to be heard for a moment, and then out of the shadows could be heard the soft shuffle of supple leather.

Cadeag, Frederyck, Surma, and Shsar, all scouts, and Neliv an infiltrator like Danae the party leader, stepped forward before wordlessly starting to place heavy packages on the ground by the fire.

Bowar stared in astonishment. "Food?", he asked?

Danae nodded.

"But, from where..." He broke off suddenly as one of the packages burst open on being dropped, and the seal of the Holy Crusaders of Albion stared up at him almost accusingly from the surface of the wrappings on many of the contents.

"Oh Lord", he gasped. "This is from the expected caravan!"

"What hast thou done? Are the men slain? How...", he broke off, unable to continue.

Danae laughed, a genuine laugh that brought a smile to the faces of all those that stood near.

"Nay, ye should not fret, Bowar", she said with a smile. "The last I saw of the men guarding the caravan was that they were scampering at high speed toward the safety of the Mile Gate fort. We just happened to be nearby at the time, and thought we would avail ourselves of this unexpected gift from the heavens", she said with a straight face.

"Just happened to be there?", enquired Cellach, holding one of the packages in his hand, and staring at it as though it were poisoned. "I suspect ye were not 'just there' at all, were ye?"

Danae stared at the ground before her, twirling a booted toe in the dust, before admitting to the Father that perhaps they might have had something to do with their flight.

Caratacus could not contain himself any longer and rushed forward into their midst, causing a rapid widening of the circle around him.

"'Twere wonderful!", he exclaimed, face lit up like that of a wondering child.

"Do ye remember the dragon head that the children made for that party some months ago? Well, we took that, and carried it out to the forest near the Mile Gate. On arrival we found an Ice Lizard was occupying the spot we wanted, so we slew it, and then Cadeag suggested we use it to embellish tha plan - though I note he did not choose to don it himself".

Caratacus stared accusingly at Cadeag, who grinned and muttered something about scouts having delicate olfactory senses that could not be damaged in any way.

Caratacus, who understood not one word of what Cadeag had just said, apologised and wished his olfactory well - not quite understanding the amusement this statement seemed to cause some of his fellow Irregulars - and then continued with his tale.

"Well, that Polgara, the Sorceress what wears the purple robes, she came along.."

"Polgara was involved in this?!", gasped Bowar, shaking his head in amazement.

"Oh aye, and one of the Sisterhood, though I dare not say who, lest Sister Stella discover she was with us, and not abed this night".

"Anyway", he said, anxious to continue with the tale, "Polgara did cast an enchantment on the dragon's head so that it glowed most alarmingly, and then we hid it under a sack until we espied the caravan approaching".

"Then, as it drew alongside us, we didst uncover the dragon, and Vasarious and I didst rush forward with the Lce Lizard".

He smiled broadly.

"The wagon masters took to their heels like all the hounds of hell were after them, trying desperately to keep up with the escort of Holy Crusaders who were riding their mounts away with some degree of skill it has to be said".

He laughed aloud, and clapped his hands in glee, and tho other Irregulars joined in his laughter.

Bowar clapped him on the shoulder, and then recoiled in horror as he remembered why he hadn't wanted to do that earlier - bringing even more laughter from the assembled crowd.

"Come everyone, we must hurry and hide this food. I suspect this matter may not go unchallenged by the Holy Crusaders, but mayhap the knights and wagon masters will be too ashamed to admit to Sir Lucius that they ran rather than protect the supplies their own men needed. We shall see".

So saying, he turned, ripped open a package, and began to sample its contents, watching his Irregulars as they did likewise, while begining the process of secreting the contents of the packages away in various places of concealment.

"I wonder what Sir Lucius will make of his men's tale", he mused, as he sat down to eat with his companions by the fire. Then he shrugged his shoulders and smiled - the Irregulars could indeed look after themselves, and he was mighty proud to have been chosen by the Lord to lead them.

-Cadeag of the Irregulars


By this time, word of the 'dragon' in Emain Macha had reached the ear of Sir Racius Lutheran, Minister of Defense for the Holy Crusaders. While he had been pondering it for some time, never had doubt that there was indeed a dragon lurking in Emain Macha crossed his mind, for the knights that reported this to him were of a reliable sort. He could not blame them for fleeing, for is there not greater honor in making an escape so that one may continue fighting another day then to cast away thy lives in a futile battle?

This matter would have to be investigated further, but for now, Racius had more pressing matters to attend to. Most notably, a meeting with the Council on the matter of the Irregulars.

-Racius of the Crusaders


<A>

Bowar wandered over to the sleeping Cadeag and gave him a kick with his boot. There was no lizard, the caravan had come and gone, and there was no extra food. Waking from the dream hurt more than Bowar's foot.

"Come on, get up Cadeag" Bowar bent over to hand the scout his morning breakfast "we need to get this camp in order, we push out soon".

"So that is it then? We give Orec up for dead?" Cadeag questioned but he knew the answer.

"Either that or starve. Come you know we have no choice, we were over this last night." Bowar turned his back then and continued down the camp towards the officer's pavilion.


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Postby earthwulf » Wed May 14, 2008 10:05 am

=================================================

With their packs firmly in place the Irregulars began the slow march towards Albion. Their heads bowed almost to a man, they shamefully wound their way past the camps of the Crown's men which for the most part ignored them as they always did, except for one man who stood along their path.

"Move aside friend" called out Bowar.

Removing his helm the knight saluted and rushed forward with a note in hand "For you Sir Bowar, a letter from Lady Polgara and Father Drane".

Bowar gave a puzzled look to Sixtus as they ordered the march to a halt.

"I am no sir, friend knight, but I thank you" Bowar said accepting the letter.

The knight pressed closer then and embraced Bowar planting a kiss on each cheek. Whispering in his ear he placed a small pouch under his armpit "And a gift from Father Drane. Hurry your men back, find your leader and beware of watchful eyes."

Bowar stood dumbfounded as the knight gave a final salute and hurridly returned to his camp. It was some time before he unfolded the parchment and began to read it.

"What does it say Bowar?" Sixtus questioned.

"It Seems we may have some allies afterall. Lady Polgara secretly disobeys the Crown" Bowar said in a hushed tone as he pulled Sixtus closer "Her scouts continue to look for signs of Orec and will do so until this army is put to retreat. Meanwhile good Father Drane has gifted us with thirty gold coins in order to buy the necessary supplies we need to return here."

Sixtus gave him a shocked look "Should we tell the others, lift their spirits a bit?"

"Nay" Bowar shook his head as he spoke "We must tell no one of this aid or put both of them at risk. Speak no more of this until we can meet in secret with the other officers. For now we will send scouts ahead to arrange for a merchant who can fill our needs and continue on as though it was nothing more than old friends giving us their blessings".

"Blessings aye" Sixtus nodded as he tried to contain a smile.

"When we are out of sight of these camps send Surma, Danae and Frederyck ahead on this matter" Bowar ordered as he called for the march to proceed again.

"Perhaps we have some allies afterall".
Bowar
Armsman, Glastonbury Irregulars
(Originally Orec, now deceased)


<A week later in the Albion keep in Emain. Supplies had been secured through Drane's gold and the Irregulars are ready to return to the wall and resume their search for Orec at daybreak.>

Haaruuuumphh!

Haaruuuumphh!

The horns blasted signalling a force approached. Bowar waited for a third call but none came.

"Only our own" he called to the other Irregulars "....only our own. Officers to me, lets greet them at the gates. Everyone else, set things in order in case they have wounded."

Slipping into proper attire Bowar lead a small procession over to massive oaken doors and waited for the first of the Crown's men to enter.

"Damnit, this means we lost the wall!" Bowar cursed "We can only hope Polgara's scouts managed to locate Orec."

Just then the gates groaned and shifted inward allowing the first of the soldiers to enter. Ragged and tired they came in two by two, evidence they had seen battle was everywhere: torn banners and cloaks, dented armor, bloodied bandages, slings and make-shift crutches were common amongst the ranks. Those that required immediate attention were quickly escorted to the guard houses while those with less serious wounds were sent to the Irregular camp.

Patiently Bowar and the other adjutants waited for sign of Polgara or Drane, standing in salute to each pair that passed. Two by two they went by and still no sign of either.

A throat cleared behind them as they stood waiting, diverting their attention. Holding the salutes they turned their heads to find Sir Racius with four keep guards, spears held at the ready.

"What is the meaning of this?" Sixtus exclaimed.

"By order of the Crown I hereby decree the Glastonbury Irregulars to be an unlawful band of cowards who are to disband immediately" Racius called out, reading off a scroll "The officers are to be arrested and placed in holding. The rest of this band will remain here to aid with the war effort and placed under the Crown's command, or in cases where they are found unfit to fulfill their duties will be sent home."

"Unlawful band of cowards?" Bowar tried to contain himself but the anger in his eyes was evident "What the hell are you talking about? And why do you dishonor us with weapons at the ready? We are no enemies!".

Racius stepped forward, his hand held upright to try and calm the warrior "Bowar please."

"Racius explain this to me!" he shouted back "What is going on?"

"Your retreat from the Mile Fort Wall was a shameful act of cowardice" answered Racius "Because of your dishonorable retreat the Albion forces were crushed by the Midgardians and many good men were lost."

"This is madness!" Bowar exploded "They know we had no supplies! We begged them to spare some so we could stay."

"And yet we find you in this keep, your stores full, and the Irregulars carelessly camped without a care for the war?" Racius questioned.

"We just bought all of this!" Bowar answered "We were to head out at dawn. Ask the guards here."

"Trust Bowar, that a full investigation will be made and you will be given fair chance to present your case. I am not your judge though and act only on orders of the Crown" Racius stated, trying to contain his emotions though a hint of pity showed on his brow.

"And what is with this "unlawful band" charge?" questioned Sixtus.

"With Orec's death.." Racius began.

"Orec's death?" Danae cut him off.

Racius nodded "The Crown has given him up for dead. With his loss the Irregulars are now without a sanctioned leader that the Crown recognizes. Hence you must disband immediately or be marked as outlaws."

"Take me Racius" Bowar pleaded as he fell to his knees "I beg of you, spare the others, spare the Irregulars! For God's sake they are an inspiration to the people! You do not see how they flock to us as we pass through the land, how we fill them with hope. Do what you will with me but please, do not do that! You will crush the peasantry!"

Tears now fell from Bowar's eye's such was his emotion, something that had not happened since he was a child. He knew what the Irregular's meant to the peasants of the realm who had suffered under the oppression of the nobles for so long. Men and women who knew only lives of deep dejection and despondency found a spark re-ignited by their tales. And then it became all to clear to him and he stood, broken.

"That is it then, isn't it?" Bowar spoke, the fire of resistance lost in his eyes.

Racius's head dropped in shame.

"Come Bowar... Danae, Sixtus" Racius said softly "It is the Crown's orders."
Bowar
Armsman, Glastonbury Irregulars
(Originally Orec, now deceased)


Arguyle MacFadden rides hard to the camp of the Glastonbury Irregulars with a matter of some import to discuss with Bowar. He had spoken to Bowar through correspondence only but he had grown fond of the man. His gruffness and straightforward demeanor was oddly comforting, especially after dealing with the beaurocrats of Camelot for so long now.

As he approached the camp he could tell that there had been many men in and out of the camp. There were bloodied bandages and broken cruches strewn about and he prayed that all was well with the Irregulars. When he reached the gate he leapt from his horse and was shocked when he was not stopped by any guards when he strode through the wide open gate. The camp was in disarray and Arguyle felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. This sloppy camp was not normal, especially with a battle hardened crew such as the Irregulars.

There were men gathering up their belongings as if they were packing up and returning to the farms that they had worked before joining Orec's band. He stopped one and said, "Where are you going man? The battle continues. The Crown needs you."

The man glared at Arguyle and for an instant Arguyle thought the man may draw his blade. But in that instant the man's face sunk and he pulled his gaze from that of the highlander.

"Well, if'n the Crown be needin' us then it surely has an odd way o' showin' it", said the soldier.

"What are you saying? Where is Bowar man?" replied Arguyle.

"He be in prison by now I am sure. Him an' the other officers o' the Irregulars. It seems the Crown has a funny way o' payin' its heros." stated the man.

With that Arguyle grabbed the man by the shoulders and looked into his face saying, "What do you mean 'in prison'? Did something happen?"

"That high falootin' Racius came an' arrested them all this very morn. Said that they were all traitors to the Crown and ordered the rest o' us to disband." said the soldier.

Arguyle slammed one fist into the other, "By God! That is nonsense. What has gotten into the man? Can't he see that he is acting blindly?"

Arguyle grabbed the man and any other he could find. He placed some gold in their palms and said, "Gather up your army. Ride just east of Snowdonia Station. There you will find my country home. Wait there for me. My man will put you up. Do it without delay. Do not let even one of these men believe what has been said about Bowar. Do not let the Irregulars disband."

With that Arguyle mounted his horse and reigned it around toward the Camelot Hills. As he spurred the horse he heard the man call out, "What of you? Where are you going?"

"I ride to Camelot! I ride to Bowar!" shouted Arguyle.

-Arguyle, Order of the Red Lions


<Three>

Bowar scratched at his neck, which was starting to itch from his growing beard, as he watched Racius come down the hallway towards his cell.

Standing up and scowling he motioned dramatically with his arms "Pardon the mess Racius, I was not expecting company. Here let me just quickly tidy up this bucket OF MY OWN EXCREMENT, oh and throw out this dead rat, and then feel free to come inside."

Racius remained stone-faced though part of him wanted to laugh at the display. For some time he merely stared at Bowar until at last he spoke "I have come to make you a deal."

"Really? I didn't know I had anything you wanted!" Bowar replied sarcastically "Oh wait I know what it is, here take my bucket Racius! Please I beg you, I want nothing in return. It is the least I can do after all you have done for me."

As the warrior bent down to pick up his offering Racius put a hand on his sword "Calm yourself friend, if you spill so much as a drop of that on me I will not hold back."

Bowar stopped for a moment and thought better of his plan. Putting the the bucket back down he questioned "What do you want Racius?"

"I know you think I am just a pawn Bowar, eh maybe you are even right, but right now you have no choice but to trust me" Racius spoke in a hushed voice as he drew closer "You have enemies within the realm Bowar, so did Orec but I will speak no more of him, not now, not here. But it seems you also have the backing of some powerful forces, and those who seek to put the Irregulars down underestimated this. The people protest, the church has thrown its weight to your side and many respected men and woman like Sir Arguyle, Father Drane and Lady Polgara speak on your behalf. Deals and pacts are being made behind every closed door in Camelot and the Crown now hesitates in its efforts to continue this case. They still do not trust you but you have too many supporters to carry on. And yet it refuses to lose face over the matter. They will not be seen as bowing to some lowly peasant army."

Bowar stepped back confused, relieved and angered at the same time "I am not certain how to take this news."

"You have a chance to save the Irregulars" Racius said emphatically, grasping the bars "But their is one hitch.... the Holy Crusaders of Albion will now serve within your army to ensure the Crown's interests are seen to."

"You son of a bitch! You have been scheming this from the start haven't you Racius?" Bowar shouted back "How convenient is this? Good Sir Racius now has an army at his command!"

"ENOUGH!" Racius returned "You have no choice. I do not expect you to trust me, you would be a fool to I admit. But trust me in one thing! You have NO choice! What you think of my motives I care not, but this is the only way to save the Irregulars."

Racius turned down the hall and as he slammed the door he added "And to save yourself Bowar!"

Bowar
Armsman, Glastonbury Irregulars
(Originally Orec, now deceased)
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earthwulf
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Postby earthwulf » Wed May 14, 2008 10:06 am

Enuru's breathing seemed like a drumset to his ears, even though no one outside of him could hear it. He bounded across the tops of the buildings, looking for that one building that he had recieved the blueprints of from a mysterious young lady with the dragon green eyes...there it is. Enuru deftly grabbed the gutter and swung down silently behind the guard outside of the building. "whatever it takes to ensure the safety of my brethern," he recited silently to himself. He slowly unsheathed his stiletto, the tip darkened from the deadly venom of the Western Red Adder. Slowly, Enuru began to position his body to slit the guardsman's throat. "No this isn't right," he thought, "these are my own people." Sheathing his dagger, Enuru took the hilt of his large gladius, and clubbed the guardsman on the back up the head, then caught him as he fell, unconcious, to the ground. Once the guard was secured, gagged, and well hidden, Enuru entered the building he seaked.
The entire place had a dank, musty smell that was nearly downed out by the smell of feces and urine. Enuru kept to the shadows. Even if the other prisoners saw him they could easily and unknowingly raise the alarm that he was there. Enuru slowly climbed up the side of the wall, using the cracks and imperfections as his father had showed him. From there, he took out the map and found the cells with the red X's in them, indicating the Irregulars' cells. Rolling the map up, he bouldered his way across the wall until he came to the first of the small chambers. Bowar's cell. Enuru carefully slid down the bars to the front of Bowar's cell. He was fast asleep on the cold ground. Sliding a small package across the floor, Enuru began climbing back up the bars to reach the others. Something grabbed his leg. He looked down to find Bowar looking at him from within the cell. Bowar nodded and motioned with his head to the other cells, then let go of Enuru's leg.

Aragoth


Bowar looked inside the contents of the package and considered his options. He knew the other officers would not act without a signal from him and he wanted to be certain he was making the right choice.

Resting his head against the cold stone wall he sat there some time deep in thought. He had means to escape but dare he use them? What good could it bring besides saving his own skin? The Irregulars would be outlaws then and the Crown could claim they had been correct all along and hunt them down like dogs. The good men and women who had come so far with him, who had fought so hard and given up so much would, have done so for naught. Eventually the group would end up being reduced to banditry as stocks ran low; no merchants would dare sell to them or risk the wrath of the Crown. They would be constantly in hiding and could hope to do little in the war. With time history would forget all they had accomplished, all they had stood for and they would be remembered only as a plague upon the realm. Worst of all, the serfs and common folk would start to believe this as well. The Irregulars would no longer be a symbol of hope and pride to them but a reminder that they could never be anything more than servants to the nobles.

Bowar stood and looked through the small grate that gave him a glimpse of the city. How many fires of resistance burning in the souls of the people outside there might be extinguished with this one act?

Praying that Enuru would escape Bowar slid down the wall and for once enjoyed its coolness. He was finally confident in his decision. Accepting the Crown's proposal could end up being the worst thing he had ever done...

But Racius was right, he had *no* choice.
Bowar
Armsman, Glastonbury Irregulars
(Originally Orec, now deceased)


It was near the time of planting, and Excelsius had finished with his task of seeing the small Black Mountain village through the winter. He had sent word to the monastary that the request had been fulfilled, and received notice to return to the service of the Holy Crusaders.

He readied himself to prepare for the travel and return to battle. His tried and true companion, Thaulm, had left the adventurer's life prior to Excelsius accepting this ministerial duty. Perhaps he would find Heartham and his wizardess charge and join them. But first he would have to report to his unit, the Holy Crusaders of Albion, and to Connor, his current liege.

With a smile and a wave, and a "Click-click" to his horse, he started out. Children ran alongside him laughing, stopping short of the treeline that led south to Camelot.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

Inside Camelot, Excelsius peered at a notice upon a door to the guild chambers to the Holy Crusaders of Albion.

"Wha' the...," he muttered in a stunned voice.

He opened the huge oaken chamber doors. Inside, the tables and chairs were sheathed in white linen. Where once clamorous chatting among knights and holy men took place, now it lay silent, the fixtures and hearth collecting dust, the great room darkened by shuttered windows.

"I must find the Crusaders," he vowed, and set off.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

He met Sir Racius at Castle Sauvage. The Paladin was returning from a campaign in the frontier and appeared distant.

"Where is Connor? The men...? Wha' has happened here?" Excelsius stammered with confusion and concern.

"The Crusaders now stand among Glastonbury. We are to keep them in line and under observation for now," Racius said bluntly as he dismounted his horse.

"The Glastonbury Irregulars? Tha' commoners militia wi' the boar insignia? I've met one o' their soldiers, a giant of a Highlander named MacHeath. They seemed t' have honorable intention..."

Racius interupted without any thought of decency. "I must go, speak with Bowar and trade your Crusader's crossed lances for the swine," Racius said in a passionless voice as he left the grounds of Castle Sauvage.
Much time had passed since that day Excelsius came to Glastonbury. Much had transpired. The friar had come to the small band of militiafolk seeking answers, seeking his brethren.

He discovered that Racius and others from the Holy Crusaders had come to Glastonbury as envoys, to watch over the doings of this irregular militia. Certain Nobles that bent the Crown's ear distrusted this motley lot, and Racius maintained the faction of Holy Crusaders within the Irregulars as a bargain.

A bargain of limited freedom.

Excelsius had no wish to be a part of such politics. His vow was to mend and protect Albion's children, Noble and peasant alike. He himself came from lowly background, and still maintained a parish within the Black Mountains.

So he would stay a while, for it mattered not to him of this secretive agreement. It mattered not to him of a few Nobles' paranoia over such a seemingly harmless militia. Dispite this, he wore the crimson cloak designating himself as a Crusader within Glastonbury.

During the months that followed, Excelsius grew to know many of this guild. With the exception of the ever-present Racius, his old comrades seemed to have faded back into their domestic lives. Slowly, as time passed, he felt more at home within the grubby, merry, ale-soaked tavern than he did once with the Holy Crusaders.

Thoughts of what part Racius and the faction of Nobles played within this militia soon left, and were almost forgotten...
The Nobles met in secret, upon the bridge leading to Snowdonia by the light of a sliver of moon. The scheme they discussed and the other company there with them remained hidden from the light of day.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Some time later, in the harvest season, Racius left the Irregulars. No great feast was prepared. No herald nor message. Just the absence of the watchful Paladin.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Months had passed. The face of Glastonbury had changed slightly during this time. Certain members were nowhere to be found. Of particulary concern was the absence of Bowar himself.

There was much talk within Glastonbury and the Laughing Lion tavern. Where had these folk gone? Some had returned to their lives back in the country or gone on to venture under other banners, but others still were unnaccounted for. And where was Bowar?

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Sixtus Anticetus left messages and called for a gathering of Irregulars. Once rallied, Glastonbury learned of their new course. Bowar had left Sixtus the charge of leading the Irregulars, to venture off alone on a quest that tugged at his psyche this long time. Bowar would set off to find Orec afterall, and perhaps discover the disappearances of other Glastons unnaccounted for.

For several months, Glastonbury continued with its doings, Irregulars ventured out seeking new tales, others crafted or tended to matters of the town. During this time a great weight seemed to be carried by Sixtus. Whatever it was he bore it with a Paladin's grace, never disturbing the calm of Glastonbury.

One fall day, another sudden change came to Glastonbury. Sixtus stood before the militia and said plainly and painfully, "I must depart for a time, friends. In my absence, the young Minstrel Kessaria will lead ye. I shall remain Defensor fidei... Bore to the Fore!"

There was much shock on the Glastons faces. What was happening to their militia of commonfolk? Discussion filled the Laughing Lion with a din. Whatever the cause, they would follow Kessaria as they had their previous leaders.

The young Minstrel courageously took the helm of the small militia, yet a barely perceptible look of unease could be found in her dark Saracen eyes...
Glastonbury had escaped being decreed an Outlaw group long ago. The accusations of leaving their post on battlefield had been alayed by a bargain. A bargain of oversight, of having a certain Noble and his company join the Glastons for a time to 'observe'.

That time had passed, or so the citizens of Glastonbury had thought. Since then, through several changes in leadership, there remained a measure of distrust within a faction of Nobles... and correspondence between them and the leaders of the militia. Although the Irregulars numbered but a couple dozen, they represented a growing sense within the peasantry that common folk could rise up to rival even the armies of the Crown.

The letters came sporadically. Before Kessaria left, she had whispered of the arrangement that maintained the Irregular's station as a lawful Albion militia to three Captains. The thought weighed heavily. Under an aire of secrecy, the Crown demanded occasional correspondence to record the Irregulars' whereabouts and occasionally 'test' the loyalty of the Glastons. Always, the crimson wax seal set these letters apart from the rest. The seal carried the Crown's crest and the falcon of the House of Hughlynn, the secretariate House in charge of crimes of war, among other services.

The Captains continued with the charade, giving only enough information to appease the Nobles in the hope that they could find some way out of the bargain without jeopardizing the Irregulars.

Some requests where unavoidable, however.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

It had been some time since the last letter. Excelsius flipped this one to and fro nervously. The common militia of Glastonbury wasn't used to such correspondence, in fact rarely did written word reach the Laughing Lion tavern that they called home. But this was neither foreign nor news.

Finally he broke the waxen seal. The message was simple, as it had been before. Hold Caer Benowyc. Hold it at any cost.

------------------------------------------

The ramparts were ablaze in purple energy. Guards and scouts clad in the brown and tan cloaks of the Glastonbury Irregulars fought against a force of Midgards below. The Boar upon the Caer's flag waved in the hot breeze of flame and war. The few Glastons within the walls of Benowyc would be no match, even with having outfitted the guards with fine equipment and bolstering the outer gate.

Fortunately for the Glastons, their Realm mates harbored no distinction of nobility nor common rank when the defense of the land was at stake. Several folk from all walks of Albion trickled along paths through the wilds of the Pennine Mountains, rushing forward through the embattled gates to the courtyard of Benowyc.

As the outer gate buckled under ram and weapon, a few but stawart Albions showed from the west. The few within the Caer set aside rejoicing to rush out and fell the invading Midgards.

These fellow Albions gathered now, resting as the outer door was repaired. Many of Glastonbury's own alliance, the Defenders of Albion, stood guard now at the Caer. Small groups were sent to the milegates to watch for any other invaders.

Then, the scouts reported. Elflings. Many of them, headed for Benowyc!

The battle waged for what seemed like hours. Clerics and friars blessed the guards and their own realm mates, healing and raising non-stop. Dru the sorceress sent her mind-majiks down upon the horde. infiltrators waged their shadowy warfare on rampart and wall. Armsmen and paladins stood at the ready, engaging the enemy when they could. Trebuchets were built and slung flamming stone toward the Hibernians.

This time both mighty gates fell, as the mass of pagans surged forward. The remaining few fled to stand aside Lord Benowyc. Whether they fell or no, Benowyc would be defended. The pagans filled the Lord's room as the few Albion fought on. Some of the elflings summoned powers of the stag, transforming themselves into man-beasts to battle the hardy defenders.

And then, when hope was thought to be lost, a message was received of more Albions making haste to the Caer to aid its defense.

The defenders within the Caer had been felled, but the Albions arriving came into the chambers like a gnashing wolf. They continued the battle that the few could not finish. And finish it they did.

The dead were raised, and Lord Benowyc still held the Caer. But the gates were demolished. Woodworkers set to fixing the damage. Unexpectedly, the decision was made to further strengthen Caer Benowyc's doors beyond normal. Many folk stepped forward with expensive woods purchaced from the Caers merchants. The sound of hammering and sawing continued at length.

As the final repairs and strengthening were made to the gates, yet another call was put forth. Midgards again! These heathans had no end to their thurst of blood, but the Albions at Caer Benowyc would not be swayed.

They were outnumbered, but they would not leave. This Caer, as any, would hold or they would fall defending the Lord. Long did the battle wage, magical energies exploded and shamanistic powers crept over the ramparts like spores from some malignant fungus. The few clerics and friars countered with angelic heals and cures, their blessed powers continually drained as the injured were healed and the dead were raised. Lightning rained down on the invaders as Clerics reached toward the heavans. Arrows swarmed through the air, making vile slipping sounds and clinking against armor and stone.

As the second mighty doors finally heaved and splintered, the remaining Albions took to the Lord Room. But then a scout reported something odd. Hibernians had counter-assaulted from the Midgard rear. This would be a battle of 3 enemies.

The pagans and heathans fought each other in the courtyard like dogs after scraps of food. But the Hibernians outnumbered the now weary Midgards, and the norsemen fell, scattered in the courtyard.

The Hibernians entered the Lord room like a wave. Albion steel met Hibernian, clashing in the din of war. There were too many, the battle raged too long. As the last of the Albions fought valiantly for Lord Benowyc, a second wave of Midgards arrived within the Lord's chambers. There were few norse, but their battle-lust sent them forward. The Hibernians slew them after a short but violent fight, and then set upon Lord Benowyc himself.
How many times had the wicked half-sister of Arthur touched the people he once led?Excelsius thought to himself. Tales arose within the Lion every night, but now there appeared to be a connection between several.

This would not bode well in the eyes of the Court, thought Excelsius. The three Captains of Glastonbury had managed to bargain their way out from under certain Noble House's watchful eyes, or so they thought. Excelsius was always leary of dealing with the Crown, or the Church for that matter. But the Irregular's strength of character and deed could not be overlooked, and the charade of political powers that held the Irregulars in a delicate balance between lawful militia and Outlaws appeared to have been set aside.

Even though this pressure seemed to have vanished, still there were factions within Camelot that would look for opportunities to vie for bargaining chips with the less honorable royal Houses. If Glastonbury were indeed being targeted by some foul plan - whether it be one the enemy Realms, Morgana, her minions, or a combination of them - it would be an easy avenue of blackmail. There were royal Houses still that saw the free militia as a threat to their own devices.

And then the day came when a seemingly innocuous fellow arrived at the Laughing Lion. Dressed as a lowly commoner nearly in rags and a hooded cloak drawn tight to keep out the chill night air, this man requested a most unusual sup of fish broth served in a mug and sat in a dark corner near the backdoor. There he waited, hood still drawn, quitely sipping the pungent broth.

When the night grew heavy and most patrons had left, the strange man shifted forward and approached Daylan behind the bar.

"Captainsss... Irregularsss... where...?" the odd fellow hoarsly asked the friar.

Daylan noticed the unhealthy hue of the man's skin even under his hooded exterior. The man's hands were grotesquely bluish, even though he sat near the warmth of the hearth for several hours. But Daylan had been watching this one, and had sent word by a barwench to fetch any nearby Irregulars.

"Oh, I keep 'em in a bottle behind the bar here... see?" Just then Daylan made a slight motion and spun around with his staff at the fellow's throat. Several Irregulars emerged from the doors and staircase, decending on the man.

The frenzy of the dog-pile slowed and as the man was picked up forcibly, everyone looked on in shock. The pointed features, greyish-blue skin, and black unblinking eyes were compeltely alien to them. Writhing free slightly, the short man composed himself and snapped his shirt into place.

"I represssent the Guild of Shadowsss! I isss Nephrix! Have you sssneakss and mercenariesss not told you?! Guild of Shadowsss comes with offer! Unhand me foul Britonsss!"

Surprised, confused, and a bit disgusted, the Irregulars give the odd fellow a little room but maintain a circle around him.

"Summon you Captiainsss now! I isss honorable, repressent Guild of Shadowsss and Ssir Borss. Dey know yous problemss withh Nobless... dey sstand on yous sside if yous do small thing..."

The strange man reached into his cloak and produced a note stamped with the seal of the Guild of Shadows.
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Re: Tales from the Glastonbury Irregulars - many auteurs

Postby XLCS » Thu Jan 29, 2009 10:15 am

Hirebrand still hosts the doc actually = http://hirebrand.homestead.com/files/DAOC/TheGlastonburyTales.rtf

Only covers our DAoC days... still a bunch of stuff on the Guildportal sites that were abandoned, but I think they delete stuff as it ages so it won't be there forever.

XBOX/PS3: zenbiont, Steam ID: [GC] XLCS, Xfire: xlcs
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