The World of Layonara

Character Development => Development Journals and Discussion => Topic started by: Stephen_Zuckerman on October 07, 2005, 01:48:00 PM

Title: A bundle of leather and parchment...
Post by: Stephen_Zuckerman on October 07, 2005, 01:48:00 PM
Before you, lies a sizeable scrip of leather, bundled around a large assortment of parchment, papers, and scraps of canvas. It seems to be quite old; the leather is cracked, the leaves of writing folded therein in various states of yellowing, water damage, and general disrepair. An assortment of pouches, sewn onto the outside of the leather, appear to hold various oddments and mementos, some of which appear quite broken, others of which simply look as though removing them from thier long-time resting places would tear the entire bundle apart. The whole thing is tied with a length of cord that looks suspiciously like a bowstring, but which comes loose easily, and without damage to either it, the scrip, or the writings inside. Carefully unfolding the leather scrip, reveals the contents to be exactly what they appeared to be from the outside: an array of parchments, papers, linens, and canvases, all written on in either charcoal, or an ink which has faded slightly with age. There are more pouches sewn into the inside of the scrip, but the parchment laying prominently on the top of the pile of papers catches your eye. It is a fine leaf of parchment, only slightly yellowed with age, but the writing thereon is smudged, and in some places blurred, where water had dripped onto it. Still, it is clearly legible, entirely by virtue of the regularity of the hand it is written in, however angular that script is. Entirely in Common, the page is crossed with even lines of text, the angular letters somehow elegant in thier simplicity. At the bottom, though, is a note that seems totally apart from the rest of the writing, and appears, too, to be less worn by time and hardship. It is in the same hand as the rest, but slightly more stylized, and reads, simply, "What I thought to be the last, was only barely the first... Irony, a hallmark of my life."

--------

"Well. Herein lies the (possible) final statement of Pyyran Rahth, self-named adventurer and infamous bloody fool. I have always despised the necessity to write; fooling with inks, charcoal, or even a woodmarker has always been tedious. It isn't that I lack mastry of the language, or that I have any deficiency in the fine control of my fingers... Merely that I find it far too time-consuming. Amusing, then, that I take the time to waste my figurative breath, complaining on this parchment about having to go on with what I am extending by my own actions?

I'm not sure how I got here. Mentally, yes; I walked, ran, hid in the backs of wagons, sneaked, slinked, and generally meandered down whatever roads I could find, resting in shelters much like this leaking, smelly amalgam of warped wood they call a barn. But it still seems as if I could not possibly have done this of my own volition; what adventure is there in this? What pleasure, what excitement, what plunder or fame? Admittedly, I have seen small bits of all of these, and have thought my travels the best investment of my time and effort, but at this moment, I have little more than the gloom of my surroundings.

Almost, I wish I were home again, back to that little village that I can't even be sure is East, West, over or under me. Back to farming, back to practicing with Elder Fynnel at fencing, back to the knife-throwing, stone-skipping, racing, and riddle matches at the Festivals, back to everything. But it was so unbearably dull, there! There was nothing more a man could hope for but to one day join the Village Council as an Elder, or to some day own a farm apart from that of his family's. Nothing changed, nothing grew. And when that Bard came through... The tales he had told, I have not the parchment to record, nor the skill to merit thier repetition. But I saw that there was more out in the world, greater things! A grand adventure, that has become a grand discomfort.

A man who passed me in the road told me that there is a city a few leagues from here; if I'm lucky, I'll make it before dark tomorrow. However, the luck that would take would be incredible, as I have not eaten anything in days... The homes I have approached refused to even let me work for a meal, and I was never one for forestry. I am struggling to stay awake even now, and am thankful that this farmer had forgotten his lantern out here; it is by that forgetfulness that I am able to scribe these words, which may well be my last. If I am found here, I doubt I will wake, and if I do, it will almost certainly be to a pitchfork in my belly. But... I cannot fight the natural course of things, only try to weasel out of them, as always. I've tried to lead my life well enough, and I hope there will be much more of it ahead. Thanks be to Katia if I find something edible before I keel over, and thanks be to Shadon if I escape here. If not...

Perhaps there will never be anything truly remarkable about this son of a grain-farmer. Perhaps there never has been. But perhaps, whoever reads this (as I plan on burning this, if I live) will take my advice, and stay in thier homes, instead of setting out on some mad quest for glory. If there is a wonder at the end of my journey, it is not worth this interim. Heed me, and live a full life where you are.

Myself, I'm going to sleep."
Title: RE: A bundle of leather and parchment...
Post by: Stephen_Zuckerman on October 29, 2005, 06:46:00 PM
A small letter falls out of the bundle into your hands, slipping out from the other sheets with the wax seal falling from the paper, brittle from age. The seal was pressed with what looks to be a blank signet ring, with a large caubochon-cut stone central to a simple knotwork design. As you example the letter, you see a name written under the flecks of wax left from the seal. It is slightly smudged, the angular Common script spelling out "Pyyran Rahth" in an age-faded charcoal. On the front of it, is another name, this time written in Dwarven letterling: Stonespirit. Simply Stonespirit, with no forname to add distinction.

The parchment crackles with age as it is unfolded, the strangely long leaf of specially-prepared hide bearing two messages, in very different hands. The first, written in Common, is clearly the writing of the same person to have signed both the back of the letter, and the bottom of each message on the page; the charcoal of the writing is so badly smudged that only the regularity of the letters has kept it in any way legible. The second message, in Dwarven, was scribed in ink, and has withstood the rigors of time much more successfully than its earlier-written counterpart. A name, recurring throughout the text in both parts, suggests that the second is merely a translation of the first, but one would have to understand Dwarven to know this for a fact. However, even in the Common, the feeling put across is clearly one of regret and mourning.

---------

"I begin this without preamble, as such would be pointless and inappreciable. It has been eighteen months since Derald's death, and I do not doubt in the least that I, too, am presumed dead by the people of our villages. In truth, I feel this is best, for I could not bear to return, even were I able. I merely wish to do the few things I can to honor his memory: in this, it is to tell you the truth of his death. Honored, his memory should be, for he died in defense of his closest friend. Me. He was the best of dwarves, and an incredible fighter. And it was at my urging that he came with me into the Endwood.

We set off, searching for the camp of the Wild Goblins who had stolen the temple's icons, and quickly found ourselves lost. Still, we kept on, and followed what Derald said to be the trail of a raiding party. When we caught up to our quarry, we found it to be not the goblins we had sought, but a band of bugbear warriors. Terrified, I could not keep from shaking, even as Derald crouched silently by my side, and when one of the bugbears turned towards me, my panic overcame my better judgment; I had not even the time to register my actions before I saw my arrow sprout from its throat. I had even less time to dwell on what a horrendous mistake this was, before the other bugbears, alerted to our presence, rushed at us, forcing us to fight.

Derald felled three of the creatures, but I was hard-pressed to keep the one left to me from putting his sword through my gullet. The bugbear lashed out with a foot as Derald's axe clove the next of the only other bugbear remaining, and I was knocked to the ground. When the bugbear again raised its sword, I thought I was to die, but suddenly, Derald Stonespirit, harmed by only a tiny cut across one arm, has between that blade, and my. The swing of his axe neatly decapitated the creature, but it was not enough to keep the bugbear's sword from sinking into his own neck.

I, on that moment, lost my closest friend, just as you lost your son. All that I hope, is that you may know pride in him, and honor his life as only family could. For me, the only thing I can do now, is strive on in pursuit of my own dreams, dreams Derald shared and supported. I only pray it will be enough to honor his memory as it should be.

And so I go on, in hopes that I may have made some small reparation.

Blessings on you,

~ Pyyran Rahth."
Title: RE: A bundle of leather and parchment...
Post by: Stephen_Zuckerman on November 28, 2005, 01:05:00 PM
The remains of a journal, the cloth bindings tattered and moth-eaten to a poinmt of near-destruction, catch your eye in the midst of the disorganized leaves of paper and parchment jumbled into the scrip. It seems to be fine cloth, the skeins of cotton fibers woven tightly and evenly, but age has overcome even such crafstmanship; the cover to the journal is half-gone, only a few of the embroidered letters on the front legible. "Pyyra-" is all that remains, though the pages within seem to have fared somewhat better. All of fine, pressed linen pages, somewhat the worse for wear, are intact, save for a noticably burned corner, and the yellowing that all such materials gain with age.

Opening it, you find a variety of entries; all are written in the same angular, clearly-read Common, but some were penned in ink, while the majority of the others were scratched out in the same, blurred charcoal that is past legibility in some places. On some pages, there are what seem to be lists, ranging from pricing of precious gems and scrolls, to tables of dues, and alchemical recipies. On others, however, scraps of stories, legends, and even personal notes, cover the page with hastily-written text, the eagerness of the writer to record such things almost tangible in the roughshod forming of the letters. Many are legends that most children have heard at one point or another, but a few are more personal, and some (these written in ink) are even more intriguing...

"Four visions: One of dragons, ruling all with tooth and claw, raining torment on those mannish slaves who refused thier word. Another, of destruction, the lands ravaged by war, bloodshed, and eventual ruin, brought on the heels of great armies, meeting in uninhibited conflict. Yet another, of peace; prosperity, life, and richness of the land. And end to strife; an era of harmony. And finally... Nothingness. Emptiness; a Void of Being, encompassing all that is. The Soul Mother's embrace upon existance as a whole. And end, and a beginning.

I know not what this place is we have all been brought to; from those most newly summoned to this land, to those who have been here since Bloodstone himself walked the wilderness that would one day become Hlint. The tower, there, that I have never seen before, this near to Krandor; they say it belongs to the Shifter. Death took me, though, the moment I touched the door, warded as I was by the magics of Reventage herself, and I lay there for what seemed an eternity, one more vision floating through my mind.

A city, shrouded in darkness as if it were a fog, descended on that great metropolis... Swallowed up by shadow. A city... Sitting amongst a void, just as I was, where my ring cast no light, save upon myself.

Awakened, later, a gift of the Soul Mother, I heard tales from those others present of many things. An ancient spirit, wise with his years, yet whose soul had been taken from him; hidden, where none could find it. Others, like that spirit, who could lead us to Shifter, so we could find some truth in these events. And finally, a necklace, the Necklace of Souls, the purpose of which, even now, we know not, save that it is paramount that we retrieve it from its hiding place.

I know not what I can do, but my support against Bloodstone is always assured."

Several pages of charcoal records of business transactions later, there is another, more personal entry...

"Gold does seem to slip like water through my fingers, these days... And elderberries weigh like lead in my pack; those blasted Freelancers are never around in Hlint, it seems. The number of times I've had to shove elderberries at Calendel, too shaken to carry everything after a brush with the Soul Mother... 'Shadon's own luck' indeed. I can make it from Pranzis, to whatever that southern port on Dregar is, to Karthy, across Rilara to Point Harbor, to Port Hampshire and all the way up Mistone's southern half to Hlint, without even a scratch, but I can't go grab a few walnuts outside of Point without falling victim to a pack of insects? Injustice, I'd say. But then, it's my own rashness that gets me into scrapes like that. Better to stick to the Crypts, when travelling companions are lacking; good gold down there, oddly enough, and plenty of deanimated corpse bits for potion-brewing. Though I can't ever seem to catch Ayla idle, and Kali is only very rarely around. Silool... Well, she has her own issues to attend to, bless her.

I suppose, though, that as I'm writing this, it's as much for whatever lore-monger finds this improvised notebok as for my own memoirs. And, as such, I suppose I offer you, dear reader, an explanation of a few things. The other pages I've scribed before now, that are still in my keeping (though I assure you, some are not for lack of effort towards thier disposal), likely tell enough of who I was in the beginning, before, even, Derald's demise. However, more remains to tell, as my entirely egotistic penchant for flamboyance in manner and deed will not allow me to simply let my story die. At least, not now that I've already set pen to a page.

When I left my home, I had nothing in my mind but a terrified drive to be gone from anything that would remind me of my hand in Derald's death, to push my guilt and grief from my mind with fancies of adventure, and dreams for fame, and to gain skill that could inspire songs. Naturally, this was all nothing more than the ridiculous fantasies of a seventeen year-old boy, but it still drove me to wander the roads enough that every bit of gold I made that didn't go to keeping me from starving, went to boots that weren't worn through. I saw quite a bit, and met a great many people who I doubt, even here, I will forget. More than a year I spent, just walking from city to village to town to hamlet to bustling metropolis, stealing my supper as often as working or singing for it. Then, one night, in a cold, rain-soaked barn, I dreamed of a dragon, and awoke with my back not to the rough, wet planks of an animal's stall, but to the smooth, finely cut shape of a Bindstone.

It took me nearly a year to realise that I had not simply lost a day of memories, as had happened several times before, but that I had been summoned to help in the fight for Layonara against Sinthar Bloodstone. Supposedly, I was chosen for some great merit in myself; some potential in me that would blossom into a grand advantage for the forces of the Mistone Alliance, and for all of Layonara. Myself, I think that's ridiculous, but I've little choice but to try, eh?

In the time since my arrival, I have indeed grown greatly in skill and experience; I have some abilities in the alchemist's craft, and I am told I am as natural-born to a gemcutter's chisel as I am to a rapier. My more-or-less useless skills with a loom have produced little more than this notebook, and the clothes I wear on my back. Still, I can not only survive encounters with hordes of skeletons, zombies, even ghouls - Things that haunted my nightmares until I began ridding the local crypts of the foul creatures - I find myself triumphing over them with relative ease. Goblins, too; horrible little beasts whose arrows seemed to be drawn to my neck, early in my days here... Though weak they are, in comparison to some of the things I have seen, I am still proud, when I say that they offer barely any threat, even when I face many of them alone.

I have overcome a great many obstacles, gained a great many friends and allies, and let a great deal of gold pass through my pockets as if they had holes in them. And yet, for all of my grandiose words of myself, I am still young... Barely twenty, and not even halfway to my hopes of becoming a master of fencing. Still unsure enough of myself that I've little doubt I'll burn this book before I'm done; its contents be hanged.

If you're reading this, however... Perhaps you'll find, in what I may yet live to write, that there is some merit in this existance I've followed. And perhaps, you'll put it to use."
Title: RE: A bundle of leather and parchment...
Post by: Stephen_Zuckerman on November 28, 2005, 01:31:00 PM
As you turn the pages of the small, tattered journal, a leaf of parchment falls from it, a hasty message scrawled out in what appears to be an improvised ink of some sort of juice, and ground charcoal. The pages it had been pressed between show stains, where the parchment had obviously been folded before it was allowed to dry.

"Club Llast looted - Closing? Investigate.

Silool evicted - Azaria & Co acting oddly - Investigate?

Everyone acting strangely - Investigate.

Shadon's luck."

Several pages later, there is a small note, written in a gap between alchemical recipies, which catches your eye.

"Must lie low; infighting among the Summoned. Pray for us all."
Title: RE: A bundle of leather and parchment...
Post by: Stephen_Zuckerman on December 01, 2005, 02:27:00 PM
//Not part of the bundle, but worth filing in here, nevertheless.//


Quote
*Posted across Mistone*

The wake of Ayla Bineau

As my beloved Ayla has died there will be a wake at the time we should have been married.

The ceremony will be held at the waterfall west of Blackford Castle.

Ceremony starts at 8 PM.





*Pyyran, casually reading through the various notices on the Wild Surge's public board, suddenly stops breathing as his eyes fall upon this posting. He stands there, not moving, for a long time, before collapsing to the floor, body shaking in silent sobs.

Hours later, he slowly climbs to his feet, and draws a small, handmade journal from a pocket inside his coat, flipping to the middle and quickly glancing through the text of several pages. Nodding slightly to himself, he tears them out in an almost violent movement, and slips the cloth-bound book back into his pocket. From his belt he takes his skinning knife, and holds the pages against the board with his offhand, a cry of grief and rage coming up from his throat as he slams the blade through the linen sheets of writing and into the board with force enough to shake the wall.

Nursing a small cut, Pyyran walks out of the inn, noticing neither the small amount of dust that had fallen from the rafters, nor Yastin's protests at his treatment of the board.*

***

The pages, leaves of fine linen paper written with a dark, fine ink, are pinned in a margin, the blade holding them to the board having missed every letter of the text. Upon inspection, they are from the tail end of a journal entry, that had gone unfinished.

"...and that is, at times, a bit tiresome for such a 'troll-kissing fool of a brainsick barmy' as myself. Still, she is quite helpful to those in need, and quite a bit of fun, if one can keep up.

Next, is Ayla Bineau, priestess of a deity whose name I can never recall; the only person who I've known as long by a face not her own as by the one she was meant to wear. She has been human again for quite some time, now, but before then, I had only known her as an orc. Even as an orc, though, Ayla possessed a certain degree of elegance and grace, but once more in her true form... The only fitting words I have ever heard are in Elvish, but the closest translation I could give would be, 'breathtakingly beautiful.' By far, she is the most beautiful (if not quite the most alluring, to me, at least) woman I have yet seen. Though... It is not simply a fair face, and an artful figure that give her such a quality; there is a kindness and grace that flows from her that I cannot do justice with words.

She was given the appearance of an orc, some time ago, to infiltrate and bring down the leadership of a vast orcish army, only to be returned to her true form on that task's success. Others also took part in this attempt, and a long, and perilous journey it was. Succeed they did, though, and it was thanks to thier efforts that this entire continent was not ravaged by an Orcish onslaught. I have helped in what little ways I could, by bringing her ingrdients for healing potions, and I have always been helped in return; she has made potions for me out of those ingredients as often as not. She'll actually be married, soon, though, and I am left trying to think of a suitable wedding present..."

The writing leaves off in the middle of the last page, as though there were a good deal more left to be put down, but there is still a note of finality to the message. As for the knife... The blade is embedded deeper than all but a truly exceptional strength could remove. The pages suffer little, though, from being torn from it; however, there is something about them that compells the reader to reattatch them to the board, again in clear view.

Much as the notice above them has a sense about it that discourages one from taking it from plain sight, where all who knew her would see, and weep for the loss.
Title: RE: A bundle of leather and parchment...
Post by: Stephen_Zuckerman on December 30, 2005, 08:16:00 PM
*Another few pages of supply manifests later, you come to yet another loose sheaf of parchment, folded into the journal. It is in an elegant, flowing Common, and appears to be correspondance regarding something of a great deal of note.*

Quote
//Originally written by Mandrake Shilling, player of Lepus Pox.//

To: The INESTIMABLE MR PYYRAN, Friend of SURFACE DWARVES, Aspirant SWORDSMAN, and Habitué of THE SCAMP’S MUG, Port Hampshire

Regarding the RECOVERY OF AN ARTIFACT

Sir - I REGRET that I was unable to continue our discussion earlier this week; I was in fact already about to retire for the night when you entered the tavern, but it is always encouraging to meet fellow adventurers who are not solely obsessed with honing their WARCRAFT, and wish to swap STORIES for a while.

Well, anyway - to the meat of this communication:

During our converation, you spoke of a SORCEROUS BLADE. I confess that privately I was a little sceptical at first - in troubled times such rumours of common. However, I find that it is somehow difficult to shake the thing from my thoughts; perhaps, as you intimated, this artifact is somehow connected to the war effort, to my purpose here, and to yours.

And so I propose that when we are able to free ourselves from other ADVENTUROUS DUTIES here on Mistone, and of course from the mundane requirements of daily life, we should form an alliance with the ultimate end of recovering the blade. Of course, I well understand that this would be no easy task, and I suggest that we should plan carefully before HURLING OURSELVES AT THE ZAINGE RIVER, and proceed cautiously, in the following (provisional) initial stages:

I. A meeting in the Scamp to discuss the matter further in pleasant surroundings, with proper refreshment. Tactics, possible obstacles, potential allies and so on should be considered, and we should perhaps make some discreet enquiries amongst the bards and sages of Mistone.

II. A short and relatively safe training mission - against the beasts outside Port Hampshire gates, for instance, or somewhere even less dangerous - in order to establish best practice with regard to confrontation: an exercise in luring opponents into snares, striking from shadows and so on; we should learn to co-ordinate our attacks before lurching into a head-on assault like so many of the warriors I have travelled with so far. I would always prefer to spend longer planning a battle than actually fighting it … [// of course, in pnp this always used to be the case … I am aware that with traps & tactical battles etc. it’s important not to overdo it or interpret “tactics” as “exploits”, but it would be nice to use those highly undervalued rogue skills]

III. A discreet scouting mission into the Zainge River area, first setting up a base camp in some safe corner. We should alternate “point” duties so as to apportion danger equally. It is my opinion that we should remain unseen, if possible; I have heard that there are ogres in the region, but they are as good as blind most of the time … should force prove necessary, we can fall back on the set routines we have already practiced. If you think it would be wise to recruit aid, I recommend that anyone accompanying us should be capable either of camouflage or at the very least of hanging back and following a battle-plan. We should thoroughly investigate the area, then retreat to discuss our findings and plan the next stage.

If you are interested in such a CAUTIOUS VENTURE, and you sense that it is possible to reach me on Mistone, send a messenger and we can meet at the Scamp to talk it over. The plan outlined above is by no means inflexible - I am sure a gentleman like yourself has many ideas of his own about how to proceed; it is merely an indication of my own preferences. As for the sword: well, I am tempted to say that it would be fitting to draw lots for it, but as the senior partner, you are probably entitled to the weapon - if we find it, that is … For the moment I am happy with a shorter blade.

I wish you good luck,

Your servant &c.,

Lepus Pox
Title: Re: A bundle of leather and parchment...
Post by: Stephen_Zuckerman on February 25, 2006, 02:34:14 PM
Six years... How can it have been six years, already? I've seen, and done, so much in these six years... My bladecraft has become almost good enough to rival Elder Fynnel, my skill with a bow good enough to skewer a coney at an hundred paces... I've learned Alchemy, gemcraft, and I've even finally learned how to cook. To a degree. More gold has come and gone through my fingers than I would have thought possible, back at the old village. What I scrounge in a day is more than even most of the Elders would have seen in a year, and yet I'm still strapped for coin at every turn. Perhaps, if I practice the blade more, I'll be able to enter the Tournament in Leilon; I hear there's a healthy prize for the winner.

Lepus Pox is dead. The poor man fell to an illness which took him before he could get to a healer, and our hopes for finding the Final Strike together are dashed. Still, perhaps I owe it to the man to find it, myself. Some Adventurer, I am, if I give up on such a quest simply because a compatriot was lost. I have no more leads, but with things the way they are...

I've infiltrated a ring of spies... Faceless, or, as they're called here, dopplegangers. Masquerading as a Faceless is more than a bit tricky, but I don't have much choice, anymore; I've been given an assignment to spy on an enclave of drow. I'm supposed to meet the commander again rather soon, in Lorindar, but I honestly have no idea what to report, as I've no clue which drow I'm supposed to be spying on. Honestly, I'm mainly just hoping he'll buy my excuse about having accidentally stolen the face of a well-known adventurer, and having to play the part to keep down the suspiscions that would arise from his death.

Och. Ilsare grant me peace... I'm losing my bloody mind with all of this.
Title: Re: A bundle of leather and parchment...
Post by: Stephen_Zuckerman on May 27, 2006, 11:36:32 AM
//I think I'll just discard the bundle idea... It was nice, but seeing as I have trouble keeping up with it, I'll just let it go and start updating this in whatever manner suits the update. Gods, but I miss the days when I could actually Write.

Twenty-five hundred gold on a necklace that doesn't work... Honestly, I'm beginning to grow tired of this sneaking about, just to place an effective blow. I paid Jharl twenty-five hundred gold for a pair of bracers and a crow-feather necklace. The bracers operate perfectly, gathering the darkness nearby into a globe where no light penetrates, thick as soup. The necklace, however, was meant to make me immune to that effect. Unfortunately, though I can plainly tell that the necklace is genuine, I cannot for anything figure out how to make it operate! If I could only find someone who could teach me more than I already know about the rapier...

But that's moderately immaterial. It's not as much gold as all that, after all. What matters more is that the war with Bloodstone is coming to a head. Tales of the things I've seen of late would span tome after tome, but suffice it to say that the climax of this world's struggle will be one that will shake the foundations of existance, if not crumble them entirely. I simply hope to survive.
Title: Re: A bundle of leather and parchment...
Post by: Stephen_Zuckerman on June 09, 2006, 11:44:45 PM
Another step, and Pyyran Rahth, self-proclaimed adventurer, felt a tug at his soul. He couldn't quite describe it, but it was a strange feeling, one reaching down to gently pull at his core; pulling towards the center of the lake. Interrupting his many-scarred, greatsword-wielding friend, Cole Norseman, he turned to the island in the lake.

"Cole... You lot go on, I... I have something I need to do."

Cole, and the others who had joined them, asked him what he meant, but he waved thier questions away, stalking off toward the small ferry that crossed to the island. The island on which lived Rhizome, High Druid of all Layonara. The thought coalesced in Pyyran's mind, and he saw an image... An image of the Greak Oak, its arms spreading out to touch everything on Layonara, a single twig snagging the front of his shirt and pulling him closer.

Wrapped in the image, Pyyran barely noticed his surroundings until setting foot on the shore of Corax Island, when he found himself facing the High Druid himself. Rhizome was speaking with another, AnnaLee, but turned before Pyyran could speak, and waved to him, a warm smile on the old man's face. Pyyran stood there, stunned, but approached without a word, and sat near Anna, listening to the High Druid's words as the two discussed the responsibilities and diversities of Druidism, and the path that Anna might take.

As a demonstration, Rhizome cast a few dozen spells to immobilize opponents, and strengthen allies, to show the usefulness of the gifts of Nature. He stated as much, and Pyyran finally piped up.

"But what of those with no gift in magic or nature? My skills revolve only around killing things, and disabling various devices." He sounded somewhat dejected, his real question for Rhizome obviously just under the surface. However, it was not Rhizome who answered first, but Ireth Telrunya, the lovely elf who Pyyran had, perhaps unsurprisingly, with his concentration on the High Druid, not noticed until then.

"You say that like it's a bad thing, Pyyran."

He shook his head. "But what will I have when the war is over? When invaders are cast away? When... Well, peace reigns? Alchaemy? People won't have as much use for my potions, without battle to strengthen for."

"A family, maybe?"

"I'm no farmer... How could I support one?" He shook his head again, looking to Rhizome for guidance. It was AnnaLee who spoke next, however.

"You're assuming that peace will reign..." Her voice was subdued, quiet.

The High Druid looked from Anna to Pyyran, and smiled slightly. "Battles will always rage. When this war ends, and the vaccum of power it leaves behind becomes realized; a great many will struggle to assert themselves and thier agendas into it. There will always be evil. There will always be good. There will always be conflict between the two."

A thread of distress crept into Pyyran's voice, and he shooks his head almost violently. "But then am I fated to be, in effect, little more than an assassin for peace? I helped 'protect' people in Haven by killing the ogrish leader... And the trade routes between Llast and Hlint by killing the goblinoid chief. Killing... There must be more to life than that."

Rhizome nodded. "Of course there is. Just as there is more to your killing than just death."

Ireth piped up again, a smile clear on her face. "And there are children, love, and joy to life, as well."

"The fun part is starting one.  It's what comes after that makes all the trouble." Rhizome smirked playfully at his own comment. Anna merely blushed.

"But High Druid... A family..." Pyyran shook his head. "I can't even imagine that... It's something else I want from life, something I can never seem to catch up with."

"And what is that?"

A somewhat sheepish grin crept across Pyyran's face, and he lowered his eyes. "Adventure." His grin faded somewhat as he continued. "With every legend I hear, I hear also the tale of its conclusion. It seems as if everything new, unknown... Someone's already come along and mapped it out, plain to see."

Rhizome smiled warmly, shaking his head. "No, my friend... Adventure can never be taken from you. It can only be surrendered willingly. There is adventure in the details of even the most mundane existence." Ireth, nodding at the comment, stepped closer to the gathering, a smile warm enough to make the High Druid's seem cold on her lips.

"Pyyran... I am planning a wedding. Does that sound like an adventure? Because it is. The first time I saw my dress... The vision my designer created for me... It was magical. Picking the location, decided where we wish to make our vows, a true exploration."

The Rhizome and Anna both smiled at her statements, while Pyyran sat with a thoughtful expression on his face, nodding slightly. Then Anna spoke.

"And the adventure of truely knowing ones' self through it all sir..." She spared a gentle smile for Pyyran, whose thoughtful expression intensified. "Nothing is ever quite what others say, and perspective makes all the difference."

Pyyran nodded again, repeating her words softly. "Perspective makes all the difference..." After a few moments, he suddenly spoke up again. If you've done something a hundred times before, how is it an adventure? I have cleared the Hlint Crypts, the Red Light Caverns, and the Haven Mines dozens of times... The first, even fifth times, there was a spark of excitement, of newness... But... Once something has become commonplace; once something has become near-enough the same each time... What, then? The world is old... How can there be newness in a world where everything has been done?"

Ireth laughed, and said, "Because each time is different." Nodding, Anna followed her comment closely.

"When you hear a tale, do a thing, cast a spell... An open mind shows the newness of each doing, listening, casting."

Waiting for Anna to finish, Rhizome finally spoke. "I would rather say that you are letting a strange notion of adventure shape your actions in non-adventurous ways. There is newness in repetition. But if you can't find it to enjoy and respect it, then you've become a slave to habit and are slaying your adventurous spirit yourself." Pyyran looked to him, the impact of the High Druid's statement clear in his eyes. He nodded faintly, and turned to Anna as she commented.

"Half of what happens to us, we do to ourselves... In some cases... More then half."

Rhizome gave her a crooked smile, to which she blushed. "You certainly have the wisdom to be a Druid..." He turned again to Pyyran.

"You say the world is old. You are right... Yet... The world is made new, every moment. There is a relief effort by the Mistone Alliance for 'The People of Roldem.' But there are no longer such people. There are only the former citizens of Roldem who live on the islands of Calishan, Alibor, and so on. Roldem is gone. From its ruins people will rebuild new cities and kingdoms and such.  The world is new. It has been since its birth, and shall be 'till its death."

Pyyran looked up at Rhizome for a long time, meeting the High Druid's eyes with an expression of thoughtfulness, and, slowly, a growing relief. After a time, with noone speaking, Pyyran slowly climbed to his feet, and made a deep bow to Rhizome, the few tears that slid down his face seeming more of greatfulness than sorrow.

"Thank you, High Druid. Thank you."
Title: RE: A bundle of leather and parchment...
Post by: Stephen_Zuckerman on June 10, 2006, 12:33:09 AM
//Due to Intellectual Property complications, this post is no longer valid for Pyyran's past. I'm ret-conning his origins to fit, as detailed here. (http://forums.layonara.com/879952-post12.html)

//Ooh, and here's a REALLY fun one to do. I finally get to elaborate on Pyyran's past, pre-Layonara. I'll be editing it as I get it posted in parts... There's no way I'm finishing it tonight. EDIT: Maybe I won't elaborate much. That'll be for a future post dedicated to his history with the Derakins. MAN, that'll be cool, though. For now, I'm just transcribing logs, and fixing THE MASSIVE SPELLING ERRORS that Ozy and Rhynn seem to love piling on. I love the two of you, but really, could you give a dictionary a chance and just read? [/playful dig]

Pyyran, ever a loremonger at heart, had been discussing Paladins, Priests, and the Deities in general for some time, when the subject shifted to how the gods became gods. Ozymandias explained that the majority of them had either gained an immense amount of power, or been born into godhood, but that Pyrtechon and Rofirein had arrived in Layonara as deities.

"Rofirein and Pyrtechon..." The Bard shrugged. "They came to this world from another and to my knowledge had already ascended."

Thomas Stormsinger, a paladin and member of the discussion, broke in. "Another?" Pyyran likewise looked intensely interested.

"Another world? You don't mean another Plane, do you. You mean something else entirely, aye?"

"No I mean another-" The Bard pointed down. "-World. They came to this one on invitation from the T'ol. Probably because they had destroyed their origional world in war like they nearly destroyed this one."

"Wait... Another world? On... The same plane, or something else entirely?"

"Same plane just a different really big rock floating in whatever. It's easier to jump planes than travel between Primes, though."

Pyyran frowned for a moment, looking thoughtful. "Ozymandias... Could the Dragon from the dream call someone from another of these... Primes, you called them?"

The Bard sighed. "No, actually, he can't. People end up on this world, and he calls them."

"What could bring a person from another Prime, though?"

"Heh, secret of the eons. I've a fair guess, but still a guess. I don't travel between Primes often. Infact, this is the third one I've ever been on. Half of Hlint is from another world, I've noticed."

Rhynn, a sorceress who had been very vocal in the debate on Paladins, yet strangely quiet, now, suddenly spoke. "So you've done it... And yet you're only guessing as to how?"

Ozymandias shrugged. "I know how I do it, not how they do it."

"And how do you do it?"

"Outer planes, come back into the prime following someone else."

Pyyran slowly nodded. "Like grabbing the back of a wagon and being carried along... Aye?"

Ozymandias grinned, nodding back to the adventurer. "Yep."

"Ozymandias, when did you come to Layonara?"

"Back when Blood opened the Rifts."

Rhynn spoke up again. "You followed him?"

The Bard scowled, and shook his head again. "No, the twit opened one up into the Negative Planes, and I happened to be caught in it. It nearly killed me and I landed in the Forsaken Isles and chartered a ship out. Three months later, just as I was recovering enough to gate back home, the Dragon showed up. He hired me and griped about how hard I am to find."

"You said something once about being a great and powerful mage... When you came through, you lost all of that, or is that something different entirely?"

"I lost every last bit of it Rhynn. It comes back when I'm in the outer planes but otherwise I'm tapped. The Weave isn't universal; it applys to this world and near the planer gates. Oh, and of course near Lucinda's fortress, wherever that is."

Rhynn frowned. "I'm sorry to hear it, Ozy. I couldn't imagine losing the touch I have with the Weave... Or magic... Or whatever you lost touch with." Pyyran piped up at this.

"The Weave is Lucinda, so of course it wouldn't go beyond her influence."

Ozymandias chuckled darkly. "Heh... Oh, Lucinda is not the Weave. She's just its guardian."

Rhynn seemed somwhat distressed at this comment. "But the teachings..."

"The teachings misinterpreted some things. Think about it, how would Lucinda's enemies use magic if she were magic? Why would she allow that? It's beyond chronically stupid. She's just its guardian and its balance, magic comes from..." He waved slightly. "It's complex to explain outer planar magic."

Pyyran, silent in this exchange, carefully thought over the things he had seen in his years of wandering, before he found himself in Hlint. "Ozymandias... Before I found myself in Hlint, I travelled with a group of gnomes, who told me a great many things about magic, but... None of it dealt with the Weave."

"Chances are you were from another Prime. Thing is, most people don't move around alot; when they get here they just assume they are in a different part of the country or whatever. Sleep in a funny grove, a gate opens, you fall through, opens up on the other, side you blame it on pixies."

Pyyran was silent again for a long moment, then sighed, shaking his head. "I had suspected as much... Does this mean I can never return?"

"Of course you can return, if you figure out how where and what. But really, is there anything truely left for you back there?"

The adventurer met Ozymandias' gaze for a moment, falling silent again, before dropping his eyes. "Some."

The Bard shrugged. "Life isn't easy or fair; you can look, but I don't know any such rift that's stable. It happens, it seems, nearly at random. Certain points, magic builds up, then releases."

"Then... Is there any way to predict these 'buildups'?"

"Not on this rock. This is the first place where I've ever been that magic has been controled and kind. Magic is gentle here, easy, soft, predictable, orderly."

"Mages were always great destroyers, in the old stories..." Pyyran's voice was soft, distant.

"Odd how not a single story like that exists here. Magic destroys the mage, consumes them, and that's that in all the old stories."

"The Derakins had a way to control it, though... I've seen similar things from the wizards, here." The young man offers no explanation of who "the Derakins" are. Ozymandias simply grinned.

"Are they really controling it? Or just using it."

"I'm not sure; they explained only that they manipulated certain 'laws' of magic..."

"That sounds more like the magic I'm used to. Uncontroled, powerful, harder then iron. Also angry and unpredictable, magic was exhausting really. You wouldn't see anyone throw down a full string of spells, it would kill them."

Pyyran nodded. "There were other things, that they swore wasn't magic, but... I couldn't very well tell the difference. Things with fire, iron, boiling water... Do you understand things like that, Ozymandias?"

Another grin broke Ozymandias' face. "Yes I do actualy, I'm always looking for a way around using magic. hen it feels like your being dipped in burning oil every time you cast a spell. You quickly look for other solutions."

"Aye... I would suppose so. They did have alchemy, with products similar to the ones I've learned to make."

"Yep, alchemy and things meshed slightly with magic. I once saw something that made pictures move." Pyyran's eyes widened at this.

"Move? But... Surely it was simply a clever illusion."

"It was weird and loud and strange...magic isn't the only way to do things just sometimes not the best."

Rhynn suddenly spoke up. "I once saw this large destroyer tube... It exploded whatever it was pointed at."

Pyyran nodded thoughtfully. "That sounds like the dry alchemist's fire the Derakins had. It didn't burn, like mine, just exploded. They guarded the recipie fiercly, though; I was only allowed to see it once."

Ozymandias nodded as well. "Alchemy, lots of alchemy. Alchemy isn't a joke either, its rather impressive. A keg of powder number four can put a serious dent in the dirt."

"Powder did that?" Rhynn was stunned, but Ozymandias kept on.

"Fortunatly the gnomes are the most peaceful race in Layonara. They have lots of things that make impromptu weapons by design, though, and many more not by design. If they need to, Gnomes protect their interests. While that digging machine looks harmless enough, it can dig through flesh alot easier than dirt."

Pyyran laughed nervously, nodding. "Aye, that's certainly the truth. The things they threatened me with, running me off after I caught Robyn's eye... But..." He glanced up at the sun, and frowned slightly. "I do have to be getting back to work. I was a pleasure discussing things with you, Ozymandias, Rhynn. I will have a great deal to think on, over the next few days."

He made his bows to both of them, and left.
Title: RE: A bundle of leather and parchment...
Post by: Stephen_Zuckerman on July 30, 2006, 03:26:04 PM
The Fall of Pranzis.

Never before have I seen such solidarity in purpose among adventurers and tradesmen. Never before have I seen so many good people cut down so low.

At dawn of the first day, a full forty-two of Layonara's finest trackers, healers, warriors, and spellcasters, all gathered in Lorindar to prepare for the coming battle for the City. Freldo Jabutica and Katrien Hommel played the sunrise, thier violins singing hope across the docks as we gathered into four groups.

Two groups were to defend the gates East and West, while one, with our greatest heroes, was held in reserve. The fourth fell to my command, those who would go out and scout the surrounding countryside. Just as the groups were decided, though, a Pranzis guard stumbled into Lorindar, broken and bleeding. He brought word of attack on the City itself.

We, all of us, set out for Pranzis, cutting through a small regiment of Bloodstone's troops as we marched, arriving only a few short hours before the full brunt of Sinthar's army. The City guards had taken heavy losses in the skirmish before our arrival, but when we marched in the gates of the city, cheers went up.

I mourn the fact that our resistance cost many of those cheering faces thier lives, but even more that we were not strong or numerous enough to keep Blood's forces at bay.

The first day, Rael, general of the troops Blood had sent, gave us a chance to surrender before the fighting began. Naturally, the defenders denied, and the first wave commenced.

My group, however, was running as swiftly as we could manage to Saudiria, to make sure that Blood had not ordered more troops in by that avenue. We passed a huge encampment as we left Pranzis, but our senses were fooled by thier spellcasters' charms, and we ran on, oblivious. Zanirth Nur Drichstarr, a drowess tracker, and I had just reached Saudiria at nightfall, the other lagging behind somewhat, when a runner from the City caught up to them. Upon our return, we learned that the City was under attack; Saudiria had been a ruse.

We made haste back to Pranzis, arriving on the morn of the second day. The defenders had weathered the first wave, and the Mouth of Rael had returned to offer, again, the chance for surrender. We, adamant in our belief that we could hold the City, refused.

The second day was a blur of fighting; the West and East gates were set upon with frightening regularity, the West defenders having to fall back from the gates and set up a line within the city. It was then that I found the first ballista.

It had been years since I had been close enough to touch one, but I remembered well the operation of such devices from my time with the Derakins. It was lined up with the wagons, as a sort of barrier, but I wheeled it back and loaded it, having to strain even with a young paladin's help to turn the crank. When ready, I aimed it for the gates.

The next wave to break through the gates found its first few ranks impaled by a two-thumb-thick spear of oak, launched faster than any bird has ever flown. It punched through the first of them, and was lost to my sight quickly, but I saw nearly a dozen dwarves under Blood fall. The paladin and I barely managed to load the ballista again before our allies were joining the fray, only missing Karana Elksoul by a few feet with the second loose. Seconds after that, though, the wave dispersed, the enemy defeated.

This was not to last, however.

Having found a station that required my skills in particular, I appointed Zanirth as acting leader of the Scouts, before they went off to patroll the northern and southern districts. The sounds of battle soon rose, but I spent my time teaching the paladin how to operate the ballista. I barely had time to show the man how to alter the angle of the siege weapon before shouts for help rose from the east gates.

I ran, with others, only to find few living targets to loose my arrows at when I arrived. The wave there had been defeated, but I had learned the power of ballistae. It was as I returned from the Temple of Toran in the city with another three ballistae and the priests to man them, when Varka's body slammed into the cobbles. I learned of his plan to use explosives to kill Rael, and an idea occured to me. The fire bomb I had so carefully carried around everywhere would work brilliantly to bring Rael's troops to the ground, and even Rael himself, if my aim was lucky.

Unfortunately, my plan was never to reach fruition.

Between waves, much deliberation occured among the defenders, centering around sending a preemptive team of shock troops to cut down Rael's men during the night. While the others argued, I took the time to raise one of the ballistae to a very sharp angle, securely fastening the bomb to the head of one of the massive quarrels. When fired, it would have decimated ranks of the enemy's troops, but...

Though I worked through the night, strengthening the defenses as well as I could, on the morn of the third day, just before we were to send our team out, cries of retreat rang out from the western gates. An erinyes, a succubus, had shattered the ranks to the west, and was bearing around to flank us. At the same time, the eastern gates burst open, and dozens of dwarves streamed into the city. Many Dragoncalled fell, and I was only barely able to cut the bomb free of its spear before dashing away at the call of Retreat.

We regrouped at the Citadel of Rofirein, but Pranzis had fell. The City was lost, and my hastily requisitioned siege weaponry for the defense of the Citadel went to naught, as Rael himself came to order our surrender, in exchange for letting us, and whichever citizens who wished it, to leave peacably.

The survivors were evacuated, but I remained. I remained, a fury burning in my heart against Rael, this dwarf who had brought the proud capitol of Layonara to its knees.

I remained, plotting revenge.

From the journal of Pyyran Rahth, in the weeks following the Capture of Prantz (formerly Pranzis).
Title: Re: A bundle of leather and parchment...
Post by: Stephen_Zuckerman on October 05, 2006, 05:15:50 PM
//I should note: Pyyran is not the type to meticulously "wrap up" a storyline in his life just to appease some potential future reader. He does it from time to time, but some things bear remembering in his mind. Other things don't. Sorry for the haphazard fashion of all of this. Also, anything actually from his writings will be noted as such, while the rest is just narration.  

Falling...  

Falling, falling...  

Drifting and falling through the blackness of the void.

The glowing conch shell around his neck, inscribed by a mer-king, offered little solace, casting its light only on the tortured form of the figure falling through nothingness. Weapons and tools hung from the man's waist, but there was no wind to buffet them, the only proof of his descent in the void the wrenching feeling in his gut. Clutching his right arm to his chest, a grimace of pain twists his face, but not mark shows, the only visible oddity the unusual streak of white from behind his right ear to the end of his tied-back black hair.  How long had he been falling? He didn't know. Time washed away in the void. Everything washed away, lost to the eternal nothingness. Even the sounds of his own breathing were lost to his ears. Days, it must have been; hunger and thirst burned inside him, but he never lost consciousness, never died. Days, weeks... His only solace, that he had held firm against Perenar, and that the lantern was safe in Brisbane's hands.  Still. Little comfort, that.  

...  

Eventually, after such time as he did not understand, the man woke in Arabel, and, looking around fearfully, slunk off to the docks to charter the first ship that could take him off Xantril.
Title: RE: A bundle of leather and parchment...
Post by: Stephen_Zuckerman on October 05, 2006, 05:21:10 PM
From the notes and journal of Pyyran Rahth, adventurer...  

Simmer 1 gramme crushed catnip leaf in 1/2 pint water and 2 oz. Essence of Knowledge. Reduce to 4 oz. Pour while hot. Makes 2 full vials of Awakening Draft. Will experiment with Essence of Speed in attemts to reduce side-effects (shaking and nausea for up to one hour after taking one 2 oz. dose.)  

~  

Sleep... Gods, what I wouldn't give for a good night's sleep... I've been awake six days, now, but I'm not out of Awakening Draft yet. It's to the point where I dread sleep, and the Dream that comes with it, only a little bit more than the taste of that horrid potion. Diluting it ruins its effectiveness, but chewing a bit of ginseng helps lessend the side-effects. If I could only get some almond oil... Essence of Speed might work better.  

All throughout these shakily-written pages is scattered the word "falling," written between lines, in margins... There is even a page written nearly black with it.
Title: Re: A bundle of leather and parchment...
Post by: Stephen_Zuckerman on November 18, 2006, 11:00:14 AM
From the notes and journal of Pyyran Rahth, adventurer...

The Velensk Combat Academy

A more grueling day where my life was not at stake I do not recall. Three hours discovering and disarming traps, ten in constant fencing drills. Ireth was the instructor, and astonishingly enough, she didn't seem the least bit fatigued. A lovely woman...

The traps that were set for us were truly impressive; set into floors and walls, bloody well camouflaged, and with the tiniest, deepest little openings to get at the disarming triggers. How they were set, I can't imagine, but it took quite a while, and a bit of help from that wand Daeron gave me, to get them taken care of. The trouble was that I kept losing my focus... I couldn't concentrate on the task, which usually requires incredible patience. Mostly, I just wanted to let someone else take over, while I was inching my fingers further along the stone and between taut wires. Nearly set one of them off; a nasty flame trap that would have burned my hair right off. Mayhaps I'm getting too old for traps and sneaking... But no, surely that's at least another ten years off.

The fencing simply wore me out. It was a week ago, and my legs are still a bit sore; I vow I haven't darted about so much in my whole life. Much of my technique was very sloppy; the position of my blade was too low to properly defend higher, and I grip the hilt harder as I get wearier. I also tended to fall into very obvious patterns, which made the openings in my defense as wide as the gates to Hlint. Ireth taught me a bit of a trick for defense, however: The next movement is always dependent upon the last; watch each movement to see where the next strike can come from. Honestly, though, this would be much more useful if I didn't rely so much on my leathers. They pinch, too, with some of the contortions Ireth put me through.

I think I'll go try on those cobalt-spun clothes I bought from the 'Lancers...
Title: Re: A bundle of leather and parchment...
Post by: Stephen_Zuckerman on November 25, 2006, 12:00:57 PM
From the submission for Duelist...

For the past eightteen years, the entirety of the time Pyyran has spent on Layonara, many goals have flitted through his mind. Temporary goals, set on finding money, housing, equipment, women... Legends, magic, wealth. They meant much to him, but throughout, one goal has remained firmly in his mind, a goal he was constantly working towards, with each time he drew his rapier from its sheathe. "To be a master fencer" does not adequately describe Pyyran's yearning; it was an almost abstract idea of a blade-wielding dervish, the metal almost a living part of the man. With combat prowess, too, came the confidence and acceptance of life around him, as it went hand-in-hand with the idea of the man Pyyran wanted to be. Hardships innumerable, near-madness, and recovery from all have brought him closer to the state of mind for which he strove, though purest chance, and those same troubles have given him every chance to hone his skills both offensive and defensive with a blade. Sadly, also, he has been forced more and more to take the front in a fight, and his practice has been more and more for combat rather than exploration.

Always an advocate of speed and precision rather than brute force, Pyyran has been expanding upon and perfecting the careful aim that the man who taught him the blade, the Elder Fennyl, had drilled him so thoroughly on. Pyyran's greatest intent, in regard to this, was not as much to be able to do more harm with a strike from the flank, but to apply this study upon every blow he made. While still a ways off from perfecting this technique, he has been striving to master it from the moment he understood the concept.

Defense has been a prime subject of debate for Pyyran for many years. At different times, he has worn everything from iron-spun cloth to heavy hide armor, and he has been striving for a balance between restriction and protection, always acknowledging that there would be a point at which his dexterity and skill would keep him alive more readily, totally unhindered, when the protection even of leathers would not compensate for the restriction of his movement. He has reached that point, and passed it, and studied ever harder to improve his skill at simply not being hit. His studies under Ireth Telrunya, and his careful observation of those more combat-able than he, have yielded a font of information and technique, which Pyyran has striven to incorporate into his own style of combat. Already one to duck and tumble about, the most useful concept was one only recently learned: watching the opponent's balance can allow you to anticipate his attacks better than merely watching his hands, and thereby avoid those attacks.

For all his progression, he has finally stepped foot into the paradigm which he had imagined long before even leaving for the Endwood with his friend Derald. His skills have room to improve, that is certain, but his study of traps, locks, and the arts of stealth has waned in the face of struggle for betterment with his blade.

--

His current description:

This slender man moves with a lithe grace, weapons, tools and pouches hanging from his belt making little sound as he steps along. Usually wearing a calm, friendly expression, his cold blue eyes sparkle with some inner mirth, and are touched at the corners by the finest of lines, belieing his otherwise youthful appearance. A small, simple beach conch hangs from a cord around his neck, but the unnatural streak of white following from behind his right ear to the end of his shoulder-length black hair draws your eye.

--

The shell Pyyran wears around his neck was a gift from Jethradialin Anraleckiathi'zaa Nonethrelem'noil Grythilenthelia Oreth'calaghad, a mer-king known more commonly (by Acacea at least) as Jango. Pyyran doesn't remember his full name, and can't honestly be expected to... What he does remember, however, is the lesson he was taught by the very gift of that shell. At that point, Pyyran had focused on gaining material wealth as a compensation for his feelings of worthlessness... However, it generally didn't work.

There is an inscription on the inside of the shell, which reads: "Worth comes from things that grow from within. Find your worth first before finding that in things external. Then you will truly see how to love what surrounds you. Take it from me..." These are the words Jango spoke to him upon giving him the shell, which glows brightly when he concentrates on it.

Pyyran's materialistic nature took a rapid turn at that point, and from then on, he took a more minimalistic approach to equipment, gold, and often even healing supplies, focusing on his own skills and relationships with others.

--

The shock of white hair behind his right ear is a product of the truly immense stress he was put under during his time falling through the Void, and his lack of sleep afterward. He suffered from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder for several years afterwards, which caused the dreams, but has since coped, acknowledging how much stronger his mind is against torture and hardship.

--

Just some notes on his development that I'm not sure how to properly frame IC and preserve the chronological order I prefer.
Title: Re: A bundle of leather and parchment...
Post by: Stephen_Zuckerman on December 03, 2006, 06:19:22 AM
With a great sigh, Pyyran Rahth, adventurer by trade, tossed his copy of an unnamed druid's essay on the Balance into the storage chest at the foot of his bed. He would learn little more from it, he was certain; that all things, civilized or not, fit into the Balance seemed a given, from which sprung naturally all the other ideas presented in the book-length publication. He leaned forward, onto his knees, propping himself up with his elbows, and shook his head slowly. "I need to find more..."

"I need to find Rhizome."

The aging adventurer stood, and began to pace back and forth in his small room in the Independant Inn, his mind shifting between subjects as a bee flits from blossom to blossom. The druid, Kyoro... His crimes in Hampshire. Drogo's increasing vigilantism... And the upcoming rent due. Seven hundred fifty True each month; not a great sum, but when one's hours were all spent in Blackford or the Great Library, that sum became more and more difficult to procure. Then again, the price one pays for learning...

Kyoro. His mind settled on her, as it often drifted during his studies, or travels, or... Any time of day, really. She was so young; indeed, she was older than he by three times at the least, but there was an innocence to her that struck a chord in Pyyran's heart. For all the troubles she had met since coming to Hlint, there was still a lightheartedness to her, a freshness that was a cool autumn wind... "And other poetic rubbish," he muttered with a grin. The grin softened into a smile, though, when, for the dozenth time, that he hadn't felt this way since he was sent on his way at a run, with gnomish contraptions racing behind... Since the only girl who'd meant enough that he'd considered leaving his traveling boots on the doorstep for good. And it was honestly rather obvious that she felt the same way...

A first, since coming to Hlint. Not even Silool, the only woman he had ever been with, had made him feel like this; with her, it had only been a gentle fondness, and even then, he had been so young...

Youth had altogether left him now, though. Just as it had left those mercenaries in Hamp. Taken from them by his hand, his blade... They had attacked first, laid traps all about, and several even had poison coating their blades, but it never would have happened had he not taken the unknown job in the first place. They, the good and the bad, would have lived on to protect other people, other homes and shops. They would have lived, had feastdays with their families, perhaps met a lover, married and had children... Lived full lives. But these were not Dragoncalled, nor the lucky adventurers who the Bindstones took to. Death was final, for them. And Pyyran Rahth, adventurer by trade, failed Dragoncalled hero, had been their killer. At the time, he had had no choice; he accepted that. And, in the end, their deaths helped disrupt a group of very dangerous criminals... But it didn't matter. They were dead, and Pyyran had been the one of his little group to kill most of them.

The package his group had been after was found without too much trouble, and taken to Krandor, where they were met by a man claiming (probably in truth) to be the head of a group called the Moral Initiative or somesuch; it escaped Pyyran's memory. In the package were bags full of an incredibly expensive drug... Which this man destroyed with some spell. The price was offered for the service, but Pyyran had still been reeling from the realization that that many innocent mercenaries, not unlike himself at that age, had been killed out of hand just to dispose of a drug that would harm only those who chose to use it.

He had refused the money, and left in disgust with himself. He was not one to dictate another's morality, nor was he some assassin. No. Drogo, perhaps, but...

Drogo. Pyyran sighed, shaking his head at the thought. Drogo had seemed more and more violent against any who would do what he saw as harm to the forests. The death of a pair of bear cubs... And for this, he would kill some young elf every time the poor fellow stepped off of a road into the woods? I fear I see my old friend descending into madness... Is it not the Druid's purpose to protect the Balance? Even if a hunter kills an animal just for its skin, leaving the carcass there... The carrion-eaters have a rich meal that night, and the worms and insects that crawl find home and hearth as well as food. Drogo's protections only disturbed the Balance, from what Pyyran could see.

But there was nothing he could do...

"So," he said to himself, "I suppose all there is for it is to go earn my monthly rent."
Title: Will and Testament
Post by: Stephen_Zuckerman on December 22, 2006, 10:12:03 AM
THE LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT OF PYYRAN RAHTH.

1. Regarding personal effects. 2. Regarding other belongings, properties, etc. 3. Final wishes and requests.A final request:
[INDENT]Remember what gave we Dragoncalled strength.
[/INDENT][INDENT][INDENT]~Pyyran Rahth
Minstrel, Scholar, and Adventurer
[/INDENT][/INDENT]

Witnessed by Dillon Kasis of Brenuth
Mar 26, 1440
Title: Re: A bundle of leather and parchment...
Post by: Stephen_Zuckerman on December 26, 2006, 06:43:34 PM
I'm beginning to grow sick of this. Foiled at every turn by those I trust, and expect to trust me...

For the record, for whomever is reading this: I AM NO BLOODY THIEF.

I have striven to finish what tasks I set myself to, and complete the jobs I'm hired to do, consistently for the past ten years. I go in first and leave last, and have fallen more times than I can count in defense of another. I am DRAGONCALLED; I fought at Pranzis, opposed Rael directly for years after the Fall, and still do; I have fought devils, been tortured by the same, and given nothing up... I have been the soul of the trustworthy man, when dealing with any but those who would hurt me or mine.

And still, noone seems to trust me, save a very few. Frustratingly enough, those few are listened to roughly as often as I am, which is not to say terribly much.

Kyoro is gone... Didn't even leave a note. Another source of solace and perhaps eventual peace, gone. The only new friend I've managed to make is a fellow named Karn. Odd fellow; not sure why I mention him in the same breath as Kyoro, but... Well, I suppose I had to record my thoughts at some point in this meandering entry.

Every other time I fall, it seems, I lose another piece of myself. If the stories are true, the Soul Mother steals away a tenth, when she decides to claw at your soul. If that is the case, then I have just over a quarter remaining. Three more, and... Well. The next great adventure.

Dalliance and daydream between paragraphs... Perhaps folly. Perhaps simply not wishing to state my intentions in writing. The latter is certainly folly.

If I cannot find the Coup de Grace before I find myself with only a scrap of my soul remaining, I will retire from Adventuring. I can serve better by studying my alchemy and training others in the blade than I can by getting myself killed for good.

I can only hope, if mayhap foolishly, that I can find someone with whom to spend my "retirement."
Title: RE: A bundle of leather and parchment...
Post by: Stephen_Zuckerman on January 04, 2007, 08:48:32 AM
Assorted notes, scattered throughout the book Pyyran writes in...
   
  A Shifter(?), no name, assimilates into other races to "truly understand" them, met by Haven. | Tried tracking, failed. Found bandits. Bandits dealt with.
   
  KARN - Interesting book, Xeenite; find copy. Interesting fellow, Xeenite; continue drinking with. Good to talk.
   
  HURM IDIOTS - Bugging the Plague again. Plague has cauldron needed for Seeds (Seeds will heal Oak and fix sky faster). Selian wants cauldron for own ends, can kill Oak. Rhynn wants sand (glass -> crystal) to bargain w/ Plague. & Polishing oil. Kobal & Co. bargaining w/ Plague, will come along. Sall joining, bringing Scion. JUST IN CASE.
   
  27 Chestnuts, box coming in - need phenalope, amethyst. Need catnip for Grace. Need aventurine for Cranberry, hawthorn for Strength.
   
  EXPLORERS - Ruins of Madness Satari, Minotaurs.
   
  "Prosperity comes in the most unexpected guises, from sources one never thought to encounter. To spurn happiness merely because of the source is truest folly."
   
  How in the seven hells can ten pounds of venison become a third of a pound of jerky!
Title: Re: A bundle of leather and parchment...
Post by: Stephen_Zuckerman on January 15, 2007, 07:19:13 PM
*In the blank space at the back of Pyyran's book, several pages after the rough drafts of a number of stories that are clearly still very unpolished, is a section in ink. The handwriting is careful and even, and will likely be legible to the day the parchment is dust.*

Karn...

At the time you're reading this, you'll have likely paged through the rest of this, reading tidbits and oddments I've recorded, with a mind and heart full of our most recent meeting. Perhaps you'll have waited with this in your pocket for a few days before reading, but I rather think you'll have cracked this little red book's pages within moments of seeing it where I left it for you to find.

I have given the subject of us a great deal of thought, poring over my own emotions and experiences just as I have thought so carefully over the expressions you've shown me. However, I've come to only two real conclusions.

That I think far too bloody much, and that I want the relationship between you and I to go as well as possible.

I considered quite a bit very carefully, and at great length, and in the end, made a simple enough decision.

At the time I write this, my feelings are somewhat unclear to me... I feel caring, fondness, longing for you, Karn. And more... But that more is only sharp enough to put into words when you're near, or perhaps I've simply not grown used to the feeling. As you read this, I'm sure that uncertainty will be washed away by perfect clarity, but...

You'll already know that, by now.

The decision, though, is very simple. I plan to stop thinking so hard about what is and isn't best, and trust that our feelings will guide us true.

Respond as you will, Karn. I await.

~ Pyyran
Title: Re: A bundle of leather and parchment...
Post by: Stephen_Zuckerman on January 24, 2007, 09:00:01 PM
From Pyyran Rahth's journal and book of stories...

I love him. Simple as that. Forty years of life, and I've only barely tasted this feeling a few times before... Never drunk deep of it as I drink of his lips... I could honestly write on for hours in this poetic fashion about how wonderful he is, but I'm beginning to run out of space in this little book. I'll have to buy another one, soon.

He's a man. Well, elf. But male, aye. I'd honestly never even entertained the fancy of loving a man; hadn't really thought it was possible, mentally or... Physically. But it's surely enough possible both ways, as Karn's taught me. As much as he teaches me about the ways of Xeen, though, we seem to be teaching each other what it's like to really be in love... And I find my actions further tempered by thoughts of self-preservation. Not for me, though, but for Karn.

I'd had plans, before - assuming I lived to old age with Soul Strands intact - of heading off into the wilderness when my body began to fail me, fighting what monsters roamed until I fell. However, my bard would be devastated by this, so that plan's out. Even as far off as I'd hope that would be, and considering my plans to retire, anyhow.

The Coup de Grace seems as far away, today, as it ever has, but I'm not worried. What will happen will happen. I found an old notebook of mine, earlier today. Another half-finished book of tales that I scribbled my own notes into. The circumstances in which I found it, though...

I came upon him in the depths of the crypts, surrounded by still and silent twice-risen remains. His face was grizzled and scarred, a peaceful expression on his apparently sleeping features, but... I knew at once that he was dead. His armor, copper scale, was obviously old, but seemed in good condition; oddly, though, the left arm ended abruptly at the wrist, a withered, twisted claw-like remainder of a hand just beyond. An old wound, long since healed... Indeed, upon examination, the fellow didn't have any wounds at all. He had died calmly and painlessly of some internal trouble after dispatching all the undead he met with.

Among his effects was my old book, which I'd though lost since a fishing trip to Lake Ibnoune.

After reclaiming my book (which seemed to have served this fellow well, in finding a more gallant end than withering in some farm), I burned everything; it would be poor service to this man to let him rise as undead in days hence.

The ordeal has left me with a sense of fate... And this now-empty bottle of wine has brought back memories of Karn, and the nights we've spent together.
Title: Re: A bundle of leather and parchment...
Post by: Stephen_Zuckerman on January 25, 2007, 09:31:05 PM
From Pyyran Rahth's journal and book of tales...

Karn's going to kill me; chasing after an assassin, carrying his corpse out of the gates of Prantz, half-raising him, killing him all the way, raising him proper, and then locking myself in a room with him. I'm fine, not a scratch... Just a tense moment or two, and further mysteries deepened.

I stood in the doorway, though, blocking the fellow's path when he wouldn't tell me more. We had had a deal, but he wouldn't tell me what I wanted to know... So I didn't want him leaving. But... We had a deal. So, in the end, I let him pass. I can't so much claim professional courtesy, as I'm not in the same business, but... But, but, but.

Drowning a helpless man, even a known assassin, takes a toll on you. And I pumped the air out of his lungs to kill his half-alive body after Galen half-raised him. Then pumped the water in. There was no other choice... None that were reasonable, in any case. Yet I still wish Karn were here to hold me after all of it. All of all of it.

I hope "professional courtesy" extends to not trying to kill me, or tamper with the Guildhall. Sallaron will kill me himself when he finds out what's happened.
Title: RE: A bundle of leather and parchment...
Post by: Stephen_Zuckerman on January 27, 2007, 10:44:22 AM
Pyyran's Better Brewing Cards  

All recipes require 2 Hops Flower, 1 Brewer's Yeast, and 4 Empty Brewing Bottles.

Barley Wort  

Iron Hammer Bock[INDENT]2 Hazelnut [/INDENT]Black Knight Malt[INDENT]4 Blackberry [/INDENT]Big Rock Bock[INDENT]1 Powdered Limestone
1 Crushed Pearl
1 Pear Juice [/INDENT]Corn Wort  

Will-O-Whiskey[INDENT]1 Will O' Wisp Essence [/INDENT]Cherry River Lambic[INDENT]1 Cherry Juice [/INDENT]Dead Orc Porter[INDENT]3 Raspberry
3 Cherry [/INDENT]Red Crow Cream Ale[INDENT]1 Sugar Cane Juice
1 Raspberry Juice
1 Cow's Milk [/INDENT]Oat Wort  

Pig's Ear Pilsner[INDENT]1 Ear from a Red Light Goblin Scout [/INDENT]Black Horse Ale[INDENT]1 Blackberry Juice
2 Almond [/INDENT]Dark Dragon Pilsner[INDENT]2 Chicken Egg
1 Elderberry Juice [/INDENT]Tower Malt Liquor[INDENT]2 Malted Barley
2 Holy Water [/INDENT]Rice Wort  

Silver Buckle Gin[INDENT]1 Powdered Silver [/INDENT]Axe Head Amber[INDENT]1 Apple Juice [/INDENT]Firewood Lager[INDENT]2 Dust of Fire Agate
1 Stick of Charcoal
1 Cranberry Juice [/INDENT]Cracked Skull Cream Ale[INDENT]2 Skullcap Leaf
1 Cow's Milk [/INDENT]Rye Wort  

Blue Sword Swill[INDENT]4 Blueberry [/INDENT]Broken Knuckle Beer[INDENT]4 Skeleton's Knuckle [/INDENT]Wheat Wort  

Dwarf's Head Ale[INDENT]2 Chestnut [/INDENT]Jumpin' Juniper Brau[INDENT]1 Juniper Berry Juice [/INDENT]Wizard's Wheat Ale[INDENT]1 Potion of Cure Light Wounds [/INDENT]Dwarf's Sledge Draft[INDENT]6 Cranberry
1 Honey [/INDENT]Green Forest Draft[INDENT]1 Belladonna
2 Peppermint Leaf[/INDENT]
Title: Re: A bundle of leather and parchment...
Post by: Stephen_Zuckerman on February 04, 2007, 07:59:31 PM
From Pyyran Rahth's journal and book of tales...

I need to speak clearer when hopping through portals... Landed myself in Arabel, and with no tickets for the boat. Ended up wandering Xantril (feh, Belinara, right) for a few days. Didn't run into any trouble, just a few planar cutters who decided to try drinking me under the table. Didn't work, and I managed to beg passage to Karthy off of them. Learned a fair bit of Cant... Not the Thieves', but the planar Cant. Chiv, cutter, chant, lann, and whatnot. Apparently I'm pretty well-lanned for a clueless primer.

Been reading through this thing, and came across that school bit, again... For my retirement. Still a bloody ways off, let's hope, but... I've ideas, aye. Can't just be fighting, can't just be art...

Got to be able to support itself, got to really serve a purpose. Needs a good location, central or northern Mistone, but not too busy... Maybe Melnan or Edal.

And let's hear it for a simple, powerful name. The Academy. Been done, I'm sure, but this one would be mine.

-------

From Pyyran Rahth's journal and book of tales...

I sit here, holed up in a tiny cave in the Grey Peaks, sheltering from the cold outside... And yet not even the merry little fire I've managed to build can warm the chill that's settled into my bones.

Eight times, the Mother's called me to tea. Eight times, I've choked it down, forced a smile, and remembered how horrid the stuff is.

Only two strands of my soul hold me here to Layonara.

Lepus Pox and I planned, once, to track down the Coup de Grace, the legendary greatest fencing sword ever smithed, and I vowed on the poor man's grave that I'd find it. I have the skill, now, to warrant such a blade, but... Even though Ozymandias says it is simply an iron rapier, and no more, I'll have it. He's given me the name of the dwarf it last belonged to: Ironforge, of Lar. I'll head the rest of the way there, come morning. Though if I can't get past those ogres, I'll turn back.

I can't be taking chances any more.

Ironforge supposedly passed it on to someone... Gods, but I hope they don't realize what it is, or don't care to have it. Or something.

I have to have it.

And Karn can't know of this.
Title: Re: A bundle of leather and parchment...
Post by: Stephen_Zuckerman on February 16, 2007, 09:34:09 AM
From Pyyran Rahth's journal and book of tales...

Three letters sent, to the two I trust most at my back, and the one whose skill I need.

Nothing sent to the one I love... Not until I have it.

I'll wait in the inn for them; it should take a little while for two of them to make the journey.

It's so cold.

Below this are written two words:

Berhand Silverbeard.
Title: Re: A bundle of leather and parchment...
Post by: Stephen_Zuckerman on May 05, 2007, 09:58:22 PM
From Pyyran Rahth's journal and book of tales...

Bloody dwarf... Bloody son of bloody Berhand... Dead end, no leads, bugger it all. Have to wait for the next...

But I've got his book! It's in dwarvish, which I'm talking with Beli about learning... Not that he'll ever hear about the book. If it weren't for Silverbeard's effective murder of all those adventurers, I'd feel bad about taking it.

Have to wait for more leads to come to me... Or have to wait for Sall to get it and bury it with me.
Title: Re: A bundle of leather and parchment...
Post by: Stephen_Zuckerman on May 05, 2007, 10:25:20 PM
From Pyyran Rahth's journal and book of tales...

Book, timeline:
Kenson hired to get book from deal cele. lass
Kuhlat works w. us, fights live cele., kills, runs off w. book (2 yrs past)
??? Book returned?
Jennara told:
[INDENT]Book taken by Darkies from secret place (told 2 mns past)
Darkies run off, Jen's party gathered
Party tracks Darkies to Mnts, loses trail
[/INDENT]Party searches libraries, reconvenes
Party searches "librarian's" home, find like to Kuhlat in Hurm, oncover clues that "librarian" might be Kenson ("old friend")
Party goes to Hurm, corner Kuhlat, Kuhlat gets away in confusion w. guards
Party questioned, released, barred from Hurm till Red Bear's Arrival.

Notes: Rhynn and Storold not present for questioning
Kuhlat cut loose?
Rofireinites all mad (not Jennara)

----

I think that our chances of ever getting the book are gone, but... My Trouble-Itch tingles like there's adventure afood. I don't like it, not with the Rofireinites still about, but so long as Jennara leads, the others will follow. Unfortunately, I'm fool enough to be in the same boat. Burn my curiosity and blast my gratitude!

Too few good people among the Dragoncalled still live. I suppose the truth is not gratitude, but... Rather, solidarity. I wand to help Jennara. She's a better person than I.
Title: Re: A bundle of leather and parchment...
Post by: Stephen_Zuckerman on May 05, 2007, 11:41:48 PM
From Pyyran Rahth's book of tales and songs...

Pranzis

Crossbow-strings winch!
Armor-straps cinch!
Up your sword, down your pikes, teeth are all clenched!
Every young lad wanting cover or trench!
Banners all raised!
Trumpets, they blaze!
All soldiers thinks this the end of all days!
Young recruits boldened by glory's new haze!


Defenders gathered, all marching from Lor,
Adventurers, sellswords and heroes of yore,
March through the night, and upon the first light
The gate are a charnel field, dripping with gore.

Blademasters fight!
Arrows take flight!
Warriors defending against Rael's foul might!
Determined to beat back the Duergar's dark blight!
Fighters, so large!
Meeting their charge,
Steel meeting steel, the fruits of the forge!
But through our lines still, do Bloodstone's men charge...

Dragoncalled blood staining cobblestones red,
Divine favors granted, saving the near-dead
But it's not enough, the fight is too rough,
To save what's remaining, the heroes, they fled.

Fall back and run!
This fight is done!
Back at the citadel, we stand as one!
Knowing our chances of holding were none.
Onward they poured!
Heading the horde:
Rael himself, fancying to be a lord
Off'ring save passage, to lay down the sword...

They lay down their banners, call quarter, do all
Accepting the price of the capitol's fall
But some remain, plot to rise up again,
Plan to reclaim Pranzis at the first call...

Many accept, now, that 'Lord' Rael does rule...
Deny reconstruction and you'll be the fool.
But is it true, good he claims to do?
Think hard for yourself, don't be commonlaw's tool!

Some still consider this tyranny's win;
I count myself one of them, outside and in.
I am very proud, and will say it quite loud,
My love of my homeland cannot be a sin!

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

From Pyyran Rahth's book of tales and songs...


The Scamp (variations encountered in other taverns, but the Scamp seems the origin)

Refrain (sung between each verse):

But now we come to the Scamp to drink
the mugs filled o'er with ale
And as we sip our sorrows sink
Our hearts made jolly, warm and hale

Verses (only a handful, with two of my own - typically made on the spot, typically humorous, often very wry, often raunchy, though not these)

PR:
Oh, I once loved a bonnie lass
In lands I called my home
But her clan ran me off fast
For this lass was a gnome!

PR:
I came to Hlint with heart so hot
Like so many folk
My hope was a fortune sought
But now I'm dead-flat broke!

"No-nubs" Flannigan:
When lizard-folk cut off my leg
I thought that I were done
But then I learned the truth when bears
Ate the other one!


Kendal Shortsail:
Oh I once spent six years at sea
The time flashed in a fog
The only friendly face to me
My full-up cup of grog!

Boradush:
When my wife's angry, as she's oft
She's strong as seven men
But I admire the smooth and soft
Hair that's on her chin!
Title: Re: A bundle of leather and parchment...
Post by: Stephen_Zuckerman on May 05, 2007, 11:51:06 PM
From Pyyran Rahth's journal and book of tales...

Serendipity. What does this word really mean to most people? Luck, at least. Fate, at best. To me? To this aging adventurer... It is that which guides my every waking moment. Each choice I make seems at once a whim of chance, and guided by some deific weights in the dice that roll out my fate. When I look for adventure, the seas are calm and the roads clear and broad. But when I give up on that, and go for a drink, trouble springs out of my mug. I don't mind so much, really... I only wish that once I started a job, I could finish it.

Kuhlat. The name of the mace-and-dagger thieving scoundrel I worked with, finding that book all those years ago. Paid in diamonds, blocked by celestials, a divided group chasing after the prize. If it weren't for Kuhlat getting away with the tome, it would all be the makings of a fine tale. But... He did, and I didn't hear of it again until a few months ago. The book was wanted by the Rofireinites, led by Jennara, and I - grateful that the lass didn't have me hanged for my rendezvous with "Fred" - decided to help out in the finding. Didn't know of the connection until well into thw whole business, but that turned out to be quite the boon in dealing with Kuhlat - the connection, that is.

In trying to track down the book, we - or rather I - stumbled across him,. To shorten an infuriating story, he fought rather than make a deal, and one of Jen's underlings went off for the guards. When they showed up, the not-so-well-bound Kuhlat was able to slip away, and the rest of us are being held for questioning.

I'm more and more convinced that Luck really is a woman, pulling my strings like a puppet... And the lass loves an interesting show. Not sure whether or not I love the treatment, but I'd bloody well rather have a little satisfaction in my work from time to time.

If I meet her in the afterlife, I think I'll kiss her and ask her for a game of dice.
Title: Re: A bundle of leather and parchment...
Post by: Stephen_Zuckerman on May 28, 2007, 02:56:13 AM
From Pyyran Rahth's journal, and book of tales...

On one page... Is a simple list of words. Perhaps associated, perhaps not.

But rain or tears smear the ink.

Nine.

One.

Retirement.

Karn.

Explorers.

Seras.

Death.

School.

Music.

Pain.
Title: Re: A bundle of leather and parchment...
Post by: Stephen_Zuckerman on May 28, 2007, 03:15:19 AM
Narration.

Pyyran sits, pale and haggard, over a desk in the Freelancer's Inn, staring down wearily at the parchment before him. Three pages of fine linen, the creamy-white surfaces crossed with tight lines of text, and sand for the blotter.

The Adventurer's hair, always stark black, save for the one shock of white earned in the Void, is now touched with grey at the temples, and the lines in his face are deep wrinkles - marks of age and hardship, beyond what would kill another man. His formerly ice-blue eyes reflect a dull slate... An unreflecting mirror, shining deep into a pit of despair and regret.

A day before, he had been discussing, in his usual way, the outlandish idea of growing with an artificial sun, with a promising young mage... But today, his task is as grim as his body is weak - the toll taken by the Bindstones greater, it seems, than ever before. He had wanted to howl, upon awakening...

But there had been too much to do. There still was - funds to gather, friends to contact, more copies of his Will made and distributed...

The weary man looks over at the bundle of his things, the innumerable magical trinkets, little tools, and materials for his hobbies each in their own little bags and cases...

And the rapier laid on top. So much...

So much like the one he will never, now, hold.


And Pyyran Rahth, adventurer by trade no more, begins to weep.
Title: Re: A bundle of leather and parchment...
Post by: Stephen_Zuckerman on May 29, 2007, 01:22:46 AM
{This is a placeholder for the various plans for the Academy, and the letters sent to Port Hempstead authorities and church leaders. It's too late for me to think and make it go just now.}//(N/A)//

Despite Pyyran's valiant efforts towards raising money for his grand ideas, and his somewhat-less-than-successful pleas to church leaders and government officials, the entire plan has fallen to shambles since his unexplained disappearance.

The likelihood of the Academy ever becoming a reality wanes with each passing day...

And the days pass, with no word.
Title: Re: A bundle of leather and parchment...
Post by: Stephen_Zuckerman on August 14, 2007, 12:43:10 PM
Pain. Pain and loneliness, loneliness and fear.

The old man half-hobbled his way along the narrow mountain path, tattered grey cloak clutched about him for some meager warmth against the chill autumn air. Fearfully, he looked about, his ears strained for the slightest hint of his hunters on the wind. Deep in the winter ice, he hadn't needed to worry for anything but his dwindling stores, and the increasing pressure of solitude... But giants roamed the mountains, now, pursuing the man through summer and now deep into fall. The howling, bitter wind, though, brought to the traveler only the sound of its own course through the rightly-called Splintered Peaks.

The Grand Mountains loomed before him, already visible in the distance. Beyond them, if he could make his way there in the short weeks ahead, was the Fort of Last Hope... His last hope, indeed. Two years, since he had heard the sound of a voice other than his own, not screaming curses in the foul giant's tongue. Two years since a song not wrought by his hand had warmed his heart. Two years, since the misguided portal had dropped him fifty feet above a jagged slope, not three miles from Shadison's Viper.


The fall had broken his leg, badly, as well as his belt of equipment. The few healing potions left to him were enough to let him run, hide... But not enough to mend the torn limb. And the snakes... The whole summer, he spent, frantically trying to escape the serpents' run, foraging where he could and making his way west. The Roughlands, however, offered him no respite, for the snakes were everywhere... As were the fire giants, insensed at the blue-clothed sneak's intrusion to their realm. It was only at the bluffs of the Ocean Cavern that they ended their chase, when a desperate bid by the one-time adventurer of scrambling down the cliff put him well out of reach.

But winter had arrived, and Pyyran Rahth, old and tired, was forced to take shelter against the bitter, black ice.

His small cave, several miles north of the dreaded cliffs, was a welcome haven. Old and dead trees were plentiful, as were predators, lured by the heat of fire and songs of adventure. They, however, found naught but the swift silence of chilled adamantine, and became food for the prey they sought. Twice, inquisitive giants fell to the same trap, and the same fate on a spit over flames.

Much had been lost in the first fall and flight; only the most basic, and most valuable of Pyyran's supplies remained - that which he did not trust to the heavy belt upon which his life had hung so many times. Without magic trinkets, or alchemical surprises, all that remained were his books of tales and songs, the pink-and-green luckstone that so often orbited his head, his sword, cloak, and clothes, and the shell at his neck that so often became the only light in the darkness of his world. Even his lute, the hickory instrument which he had poured so much time and effort into, had shattered in that first, painful impact.

Music was all that remained to him in those dark, cold months... And a flute, carved first from a dead oak, and later, from giant-bone, held his sanity intact, even as its lure brought him what would keep him from starving.

When the ice melted, he struck west, only to find the same barrier of cruel terrain and crueler giants. His progress that summer, chronicled only by the filling of his books with songs and stories, was slow, and winter found him again in the Splintered Peaks.

But Pyyran could not make his home away from all he loved. West he forged when the chill began to fade, stumbling along on a poorly-healed leg, and still, when the chill rose again, he did not stop.

No. He could stop when he was dead.

He had been away too long, and would not get home for even longer... But stopping, hiding away from the ice and snow...

It could only make it worse.
Title: Re: A bundle of leather and parchment...
Post by: Stephen_Zuckerman on October 04, 2007, 02:39:21 PM
In the Scamp's Mug, in Port Hempstead, a hush falls over the crowd as a cloaked and hooded figure, clad all in a deep navy blue, steps, limping, up onto the smallish stage. After quietly begging the temporary use of one of the regular performers' lute, the man speaks in a dark, melodic voice.

"Sirs and madames, and all assembled... This is the tale of a man stranded on Belinara, dropped by magic in the Splintered Mountains with little but a sword, a book, and a quill. He chronicled his struggles, and I... I am here to tell the tale."

With this, the figure's gloved fingers begin to pluck at the strings of the lute, the melody as dark as the shadows under the man's hood, in a low, minor key.

"From jagged peaks the wand'rer came
Through lands that fire giants claim.
He crept around, but still was found,
By brutes with more of bile than brain.

An injured leg, it weighed like wood
But he still fled as best he could.
His woodland skill kept him from ill
But those who followed were as good.

They kept him hounded, tiring not
Upon his heels, the giants hot.
As autumn waned, the giants gained
Counting the days 'till he was caught

Then winter 'pon a storm was borne
The wand'rer climbed a broken horn
Its jagged side helped him to hide
From those who chased, by light of Orn.

But trapped was he by coming cold
His aching bones, they felt so old
The caves he found, were safe and sound
As all of Belinara holds.

The age-long winter in that place
Etched lines upon the wand'rer's face.
But deeper still, seclusion drilled;
His sanity was near erased.

The wand'rer's fire inside his caves
Brought hunting giants, and yeti knaves
But yet their prey, in ambush lay,
And roasted all on wooden staves.

He missed e'er more, his hick'ry lute,
When fever his bright voice made mute.
From giant's bone, with jagged stone,
He chipped the Pipes, a grisly flute.

When winter, at last, sought its rest
The wand'rer set out once more West
He did not know, how far he'd go
To end his ever-homebound quest."

Here, the man pauses in the song, fingers still rolling across the neck and the strings of the lute... Yet after a few short moments, when the crowd begins to murmur, a flurry of notes falls from the lute, and the verses resume.

"With spring the wand'rer gladly found
His fever gone, although no sound
Would ring out strong, after so long
Of cold confinement under ground.

At first, he noticed not, the sky
Until a calling crow flew by
The sun shone clear, after many a year
And soared the wand'rer's spirits high.

The Pipes, they sang to all he passed,
In shadow; there and gone as fast.
His stiffened limb, encumbered him
But he could travel, at long last.

He traveled west, through spring so short
His aim, the apt-named Last Hope's fort
Though many weeks of climbing peaks
Were 'tween him and his lone resort.

The summer quickly killed the spring
And back his voice the warmth did bring
This boon, his song, turned curse 'fore long,
As red-skinned giants heard him sing.

The wand'rer learned his folly soon,
And hid well under two new moons
The giants wraths took other paths
Charging headlong, like buffoons.

Silent, now, with songs in mind,
He left the Splintered Peaks behind,
The Mountains Grand, the wand'rer planned
To scale before the fall's decline.

However, this was not the case
The wand'rer lost a losing race
The autumn failed as he slowly scaled
Another mountain's looming face.

Winter saw him struggling through
The passes, which were slim and few
And yet he blazed a trail, unphased
By weather other men might rue.

The wand'rer westward ever roamed,
Not stopping in his search for home
As winter thawed, he looked out awed
From 'top the highest mountain's dome."

The audience, rapt through the tale, remains silent through another pause in the dark man's song.

"Spring and summer, marked by writing
In a tome, by conch-shell's lighting
The wand'rer stirrs the heart with words
Each tale concluding with good tiding.

This story also ends with fair
News, although we're not yet there
That fall's report at Last Hope's fort
Tells of a wand'rer in their care.

In warmer months, his path sloped down
The sunset he, before him found
His steps felt blessed, as he forged west
Each day he covered healthy ground.

As mountain slopes with hills did blend
The promised fall a chill did send
A whiff of smoke brought with it hope
That all his hardships neared an end.

He came at last to Last Hope's wall
But to the ground the man did fall
His travel here, had cost him dear
Though hope sustained him, through it all.

The wand'rer woke to hearty smells
The food, it drew him, like a spell
The healers asked, as he broke fast
How was it, here, he came to dwell.

The wand'rer told them all his story,
Flecked with bits of drawn-out glory
But one exlaimed, when told his name,
"Your friends were nearly dead with worry!"

He asked the cleric what he meant;
The healer told of letters sent
Of questions hurled, around the world
All begging news of where he went.

But winter'd closed its icy grip
And so delayed the wand'rer's trip
For noone roamed the roads alone
But he was anxious to take ship.

When spring and summer once more came
The wand'rer joined a merchant's train
The road was long, but yet his song
Kept spirits up with each refrain.

He came at last to Arnax's gate
His homesickness would soon abate
On autumn's wind, he felt an end
To his lonely, wand'ring fate."

As the musician finishes the tale, the audience remains quiet; even the most inebriated of the sailors present stay hushed... Until the first of a light smattering of applause begins to ring out. It does not last long, for the man limps off of the stage, returning the lute somewhat hesitantly to its rightful owner. For a few moments, the more sober-minded of those gathered speculated that the man performing had been the very man in the song, but such talk quickly died down.

It had been nearly four years since Pyyran had performed in the Scamp, and noone remembered.
Title: Re: A bundle of leather and parchment...
Post by: Stephen_Zuckerman on November 04, 2007, 02:15:03 PM
The note, found by Pyyran after going out in search of Kinai...

Quote
Pyyran,

I'm leaving. Take the house, take the chests, take whatever's in them...As much as it saddens me to say it, I don't think I will be returning.

We both knew that, after Hawklen's disappearance, my own was close. I tried to hang in there, I tried to continue a semi-normal life... I don't know, maybe I'm missing a vital part of the human healing system. I can't seem to get over him. Even when I thought I had, I realized he was the only man I ever truly loved. No, correction, the only person I would ever truly love.

So I'm going to find him, Pyyran...Whether it means I hunt down the avatar of Shadon or leap into that portal with him, I'm going to find him. I want to do one thing right in my life to offset these wrongs, and by restarting a new life, perhaps I will be able to achieve just that.

I just can't handle living as I am now...

When you read this, I'm sure you'll think of Seras. If you want to find her, seek out Dur'Thak... Have him teach you what he taught her, and maybe he'll even tell you what I told him. If he won't, and due to his unpredictable behavior as of late, I can't tell you how he'll be, then step into my shoes and think as me. Either way, the answers will be far from comforting, and you'll probably curse my name for all time afterwards.

That's fine... Do what you think is right. I trust you more than I trust myself.

So, this is goodbye. Maybe we'll meet again in another life, but for now, this story comes to a close.

Thank you for always being there for me, however, and I'll never forget that...

Kinai
Title: Re: A bundle of leather and parchment...
Post by: Stephen_Zuckerman on November 13, 2007, 12:45:12 AM
//To be honest and frank, I'll never really edit this to my own standards. My apologies... But at least this way you get to see the RP in true form! :) As a side-note, I cut out some ten minutes, real-time, of nothing but casting. Most of the mid-healing emotes were well spread-out.//

[attempt]Scarred and battered svirfneblin part, in the great chapel of the Temple of Beryl, for a limping man in blue. Age has lined the human's face, hardship drained his eyes and hair of colour to make them a flat, steel grey. The staff upon which he leans is, on the upper end, a tool for setting stones, and clearly of great quality... But of greater quality, still, perhaps, are the offerings in the bag he carries.

Strapped to his back is an oblong leather case.

The stranger stops before the temple's priestess, and an elf with silver hair. "Merabo... Quillwem." His greeting is loud in a brief moment of silence, but the noise of refugees guessing his identity buzzes back up, drowning out a faint, smiling mutter to himself. The man leans heavily on the staff as he bows, right leg not bending.[/attempt]

Pyyran: **He limps in, leaning on what looks to be a slightly modified gemsetter of great quality.*
Pyyran: **He bows, leaning the majority of his weight on the "staff."* Merabo... Quillwem.
Pyyran: Unless, of course, you're really Voon and you've lost a hundred pounds or so. **He smiles wearily.*
Pyyran: Right, right, not funny... **He shakes his head, smiling, and limps over to the bench, upon which he sets a leather case from his back.*
Quill: Hello Pyyran *he offers him a brief friendly smiles*
Pyyran: **He lays his staff aside, and opens the case, smiling up to Quill.*
Pyyran: **From it, he takes a beautiful lute of dark wood, the keys and frets gleaming silver, the strings as black as the body. The sounding hole is carved in the shape of a phoenix in flight.*
Quill: *looks over Pyyran with a concerned look then back to his eyes*
Quill: *quickly takes in the instrument*
Quill: Learning to play I see?
Pyyran: **His right leg is stretched out straight, as usual, the lute settled on his left thigh.* Learning? **He gives a small, impish grin.* You could say that.
Quill: *nodding to his legs* May I take a look and see how much damage has been done?
Pyyran: **Quietly, he begins to tune the instrument, quickly pleased with the sound. He nods to Quill, setting the lute aside.* By all means... Though if you mean to get the cloth out of the way, I'd ask that we retire someplace more private. **He chuckles softly.*
Quill: *bends down with a smile to Pyyran's comments and removes the boot* Forgive me if I am a little forward.
Pyyran: By all means... **He chuckles.* I've run around adventuring in less, I assure you.
Pyyran: And... Thank you, Quillwem. Thank you so much for agreeing to help me with this.
Quill: *chuckles slightly at that* I am sure we can all say that.
 Quill: **waves the comment off* I am more then glad to do it for an old friend that I do not get to see enough of anymore.
Pyyran: Starr assured me the Church would be willing to help, but... It's amazing to see it actually in the process. Almost thought I'd never be right again... It's the grandest thing anyone's ever done for me.
Quill: *glances up to him before touching his leg* I will warn you this will sting...
Pyyran: I bring thirty-six thousand True for the church... A bit less than I'd planned, but other things as-.. Hm?
Pyyran: **He scoots the lute aside a bit more, and settles his hands on his thighs, nodding.* Aye, then.
Quill: The True is unneeded as I have said you are a friend.
Pyyran: **He smiles warmly.* A donation, and a token of thanks.
Quill: *he puts his right hand on the new and with his left grabs the calf and begins to bend the knee joint* Let me know when it becomes stiff?
Pyyran: **The joint does not move in the slightest.* Er... About now, actually. **He tries, and fails, to suppress a smile.*
Quill: Hmm.
Quill: I wish I could say I have seen worse my friend *he starts to apply pressure with his fingers to the joint in the knee*
Quill: *looks up a bit to Pyyran*
Pyyran: **He doesn't show any signs of pain at the pressure.* Aye... It's rather impressive, from another's perspective. **His small, wry smile is genuine.*
Quill: And potions did this you say?
Quill: *feels around the leg until he can find out where he will need to stop in his work*
Pyyran: Well. Smashing the leg to bits did it, mainly... The potions mended it enough to hobble on, but, from what Starr tells me, they healed it as if it had been one bone, rather than four.
Quill: Very odd. In my long life I have never... **shakes his head a bit*
Pyyran: **His smile widens to a grin.* For everyone's sake, I rather hope you never do again.
Quill: And you feel no pin when you walk on it?
Pyyran: No... Not since it finished healing, if you could call it healing. Just can't bend the bloody thing. Had cramps for a long time, but those've subsided.
Quill: So mostly just muscle pain then?
Quill: **begins to feel the muscles around the used to be joint*
Pyyran: Not for a while... Only when I bend it funny; too much strain by one tendon without the movement to go with it, you know.
Quill: *rises slowly looking once more at Pyyran's leg before focusing back on Pyyran himself*
Quill: I was hoping Starr would be here. But, I believe we will have to start without him. .
Pyyran: Starr said... **He pauses for a moment.* He said it would take carving me a new knee.
Pyyran: That's more or less what the other chirurgeons told me, too.
Quill: I cannot begin to describe the pain you are about to be in.. *shakes his head.* That is a good idea but it would only be a temporary fix you see.
Pyyran: **His expression shifts to one of caution... Wariness more than suspicion.* How do you mean?
Quill: *rubs the back of his neck* You see in time the substitute knee would break down.
Pyyran: Well, I figured he meant out of my own bone... **He seems to be starting to feel a bit less sure of himself.*
Quill: Causing you years of long term pain and even more limping.
Quill: *shakes his head*
Quill: We are to carve the knee while you wait patiently bleeding to death?
Pyyran: Well... I figured... You'd be healing me the whole time?
Quill: In my best guess...
Quill: It would take two days to complete the detailed carving of a new knee.
Pyyran: Huh. Really. **He blinks.*
Quill: Aye,
Pyyran: So... This means we'll be doing... What, now?
Quill: *swallows a bit, His Emerald green eyes looking into Pyyran's* It means will will have to completely remove the fused part of the bone and regrow it with magic.
Pyyran: **His storm-grey eyes meet the emerald gaze of the Emerald of Beryl, and he simply stares for a moment, before letting out a long, low whistle.* Well.
Quill: The Good part is it will not last as long if we do it my way.
Quill: And I would give you a week at the most until you are out running around again.
Pyyran: **He speaks slowly, as if having trouble putting his thoughts into appropriate words.* I... Can't say as I've ever quite experienced that before...
Quill: Will be like a brand new knee well simply stating because it will be.
Pyyran: But... A week? **He blinks.* Hm. Well, that certainly has merits above the rest. What's a week of agonizing, mind-shattering pain next to a month of regular old agonizing pain? **He chuckles weakly.*
Quill: The Pain will go away once the healing has been complete
Quill: It is the muscles that will need to be retrained.
Pyyran: Ah, and the rest is just relearning? **He sounds almost eager now.* Well!
Quill: Or more so the mind.
Quill: That is the gift of divine healing. *he smiles a bit*
Pyyran: Aye to that... **He shakes his head, smiling.* Well... To celebrate, and while I still remember the tune... **He reaches for his lute again.* Before the rough part comes.
Quill: *smiles warmly to Pyyran*
Pyyran: And the other things I planned to give are near the entrance... The coin, and a few other things. The entire metallic spectrum of dragon stones, containing a portion of the power of all the metallic dragons' might. Pieces of both Orn and Ausir, holding some of their mystery and might.
Pyyran: **As he speaks, his fingers begin to flutter across the strings of the lute, the adamantine cords humming to produce a truly marvellous sound from the exquisite instrument.*
Pyyran: Perform Check: 16 + 21 = 37
Pyyran: These gifts, in thanks for the kindness given, the respite and rebirth offered to this old man...
Pyyran: That he can live again.
Quill: *is focused on the melody of the music and Pyyran's words nodding once every so often*
Quill: *places a hand on Pyyran shoulder* Come then old man, let us make you new again.
Pyyran: **The music seems to impart an image of deep caverns, the darkness sparkling with some unseen treasure; that great beauty for which all yearn and ever seek. The notes echo through the great temple, and finally fall quiet.*
Pyyran: Aye to that.
Pyyran: **He lays the lute back in its case, and takes up his staff.*
Quill: [Tell] * you would see a bed and a table beside i in the middle of the two holy pools. Both of them plan but you could see clean as possible for this era*
Quill: I will have to ask you to remove your clothes.
Pyyran: **He nods, sitting down on the table as he quickly and deftly removes boots, clothes, and various trinkets.*
Quill: *bows his head*
Pyyran: **He closes his eyes as he lays back, his body quickly stilling to an almost unnatural state of quietude.*
Pyyran: **Deep in meditation, he waits. Patient, mind empty, the coolness of the table as unnoticed as the faint dampness of the air... Only a faint awareness of his own body remains.*
Quill: Beryl, Mother, Guide my hands to heal Pyyran of this inflection that he so desperately needs to feel whole, to feel prefect once again.. Aid me with your infinite wisdom and bless Pyyran with your strength. Bless me mother with your inner light and let me be your vessel of your divine radiance. In your name we pray.
Pyyran: **In the darkness of his mind, a faint light glitters. Shimmering, it catches his eye, and his mind turns to it, a distant light reaching him as if striking some great, many-faceted thing. His eyes slide open ever so slightly, his breath catching at the beauty.*
Quill: *removes six lengths of rope from the table and starts to tie Pyyran's hands and feet down* I am doing this to make sure you do not recoil and fight what I am tying to accomplish.
Pyyran: **If he hears, he does not respond, his half-lidded eyes fixed on some unseen point in the roof of the cavern.*
Quill: *takes his time with each knot and only when satisfied does he move on to the next*
Quill: Do you wish for whiskey to dull the pain?
Pyyran: **Again, it seems as if he does not hear, his brow furrowing slightly as he peers up into the dark.*
Quill: *Starts a low whispering prayer as he binds Pyyran's torso*
Quill: [Whisper] Mother take away his pain take him to your centre where he can only feel the warm of your light and love..
Pyyran: **His lips move slightly, as if echoing the words...*
Quill: *Still praying, he reaches over and picks up an Obsidian dagger*
Pyyran: **He lies there, still and unstruggling against the ropes that bind him.*
Quill: [Whisper] He and I need you know Mother in we need your divine presence with us holding Pyyran's hand and leading mine.. Let Him know that he is not alone..
Quill: *close his eyes whispers prayers of healing*
Quill casting Resistance
Pyyran: **His eyes slowly open fully, a faint, wondering look in the colourless orbs.*
Quill: * holds the knife and starts to cut a line deep and long over the centre of the knee to about four or five inches down*
Quill: *looks to Pyyran as his finishes the cut*
Pyyran: **A tightness settles in around his eyes, but his body remains still... His head turns, reminiscent of a dancer, hearing music...*
Quill: *nodding to himself he quickly looks back and grabs what appears to be a saw like instrument*
Starr: *runs into the temple panting and heaving...looking up to Merabo for directions*
Starr: *waves in thanks*
Starr: *runs in breathing heavily*...
Starr: *stops and takes in what he sees*
Quill: *nods briefly to Starr* Hurry, I will need your assistance.
Starr: *calms himself and concentrates to get control*...
Starr: I see you've started then..sorry teleporter trouble from Dalanthar.
Pyyran: **He lies on the table, clad in nothing at all but the robes that bind him to the slab between the holy pools. He seems to be deep in meditation, and his right knee is sliced from the top of the knee to several inches below, deep and clean. His slate-grey eyes stare, seemingly at nothing, at some unseen spot on the cavernous ceiling above.*
Starr: *goes to the washing bin and preps then moves into position*
Quill: *nods once and starts to speak* I need you to push back the skin around the bone so I may start cutting.
Quill: Gentle as you can be..
Starr: *nods to Quill and gently reaches over and holds back the skin around the bone area needing access*
Starr: *monitors Pyyran and listens for Quill's instruction*
Quill: *leans over Pyyran and starts to saw into the bone above the fusion*
Pyyran: **The tightness around his eyes increases, deepening the lines in his face, but he hardly seems to notice the pain... Until the saw meets the bone of his leg.*
Quill: I have decided the best and fastest course is to remove the bone completely and regrow it with healing prayers.
Starr: *speaking a soothing prayer as he nods to Quill*
Starr: *watches closely keeping senses alert on Pyyran's breathing and movement*
Pyyran: **His arms and shoulders clench with tension, his jaw tightening as his eyes squeeze shut, his trance clearly broken... But, though he does not breathe, and his arms and chest strain against his bounds, his lower body remains still and limp under the deft hands of the two healers.*
Quill: *as he continues to saw he looks to Starr*
Pyyran: **Though he bleeds, it is not a gush, but merely a slow flow; the first incision done well enough to sever the flesh cleanly.*
Quill: A light healing prayer if you would...
Starr: *looks up to Quill with concern watching his motions and then back to Pyyran and speaks a prayer of healing and relaxation*
Pyyran: **With each vibration of the saw against his bone, he tenses a bit more, tiny grunts of pain escaping his mouth... But at the spell, some of the tension ebbs, the flow of blood from the incision lessening.*
Quill: *nods slowly as he finally saws through the top part*
Quill: There.. One done... *looks up to Starr* Grab some rope or use your belt and cut off the circulation in his leg
Pyyran: **Now exposed to the air, both healers' suspicions are proven true; the four bones of his leg and kneecap were fused together as if one, perfect bone. With the worst part, perhaps, over, Pyyran's tension no longer increases... *
Starr: *pulls his belt from his waist and quickly wraps around to cut the circulation off*
Quill: *he quickly moves down the leg and begins to cut again*
Pyyran: **Yet neither does it decrease. The tendons in his arms stand out, an faint, strange markings, like old, long-healed scars can be seen on the inside of his right forearm.*
Starr: *returns to speaking a prayer in a low steady monotone voice..trying to get Pyyran to concentrate on the rythm and sound and relax*
Quill: *the sawing of the lower bone is much quicker then the femur. As the final snap is hear he tosses the fused section of bone away*
Pyyran: **Suddenly, Pyyran thrashes against the ropes; Starr's prayers seem, evidently, to go unheard. He is torn literally screaming from what remained of his trance, and only a tremendous effort keeps him from straining his legs as strongly as the rest... But still, they, too jerk against their bonds.*
Quill: Steady him Star! *grabs hold of and pushes down on Pyyran's chest holding him in place*
Starr: *grasps firmly to keep Pyyran in position*
Quill: We're almost there Pyyran, fight it.. I know you can...
Pyyran: **His screams echo throughout the cavernous temple, the two healers' efforts to keep him still doing little more than the ropes. As the bear down on him, though, his thrashing slowly subsides into a shuddering, all over his body.*
Starr: Pyyran...controll yourself....you can win the battle...concentrate....remove the pain from your mind...CONCENTRATE...
Quill: *he does not wait for Pyyran to collect himself but concentrates on the exposed leg*
Pyyran: **And... Eventually, the trickle of blood from his leg dripping off the table and onto the floor below, he begins to relax under their reassurances, seeming to come to terms with the pain.*
Quill: *weaving his hands back and forth, his hands glow a light blue as the healing magic of Beryl flows through him*
Starr: *maintains firm grasp working on keeping him steady*
Pyyran: **The marks in his right forearm seem to stand out more, an almost angry red.*
Quill casting a whole lot of unknown spells
Starr: *whispers to Pyyran*...almost there...he is calling upon the blessing of Beryl....
Pyyran: **His eyes fly open as the positive energy surges through him, gasping for air like a drowning man, his body tensing, but not thrashing as before.*
Quill casting even more unknown spells
Pyyran: **As the light and power of Her Perfection flow over him, the bone can be seen visibly regrowing, knitting itself together and growing apart, cartilage filling in the gaps. Tendons reconnect to bone, muscles to tendons, and slowly, the ski begins to flow over the flesh.*
Quill: *slowly the bone starts to grow.. eventually forming a new knee, the process takes many long minutes the pain slowly eases in Pyyran's right leg as the wound closely slow*
Quill casts major healing magics!
Quill: I need you aid Starr..
Quill casting major healing magics.
Quill: The bone needs to grow more steadily..
Quill casting unknown healing
Starr: *begins to speak the blessings of healing*
Quill casts unknown healing
Starr casting gnomish healing
Pyyran:Healed 0 hit points.
Pyyran: **Slowly, as both of the great healers pour the life-giving energy of Beryl into his body, the pain subsides. Over the long, agonizing minutes, his body is knit together and made whole... Whole, and perfect. The lines in his face seem less, his skin more supple... And his leg, absolutely whole.*
Quill: *The joint is fully re grown and the skin begins to heal itself, muscles start to weave themselves around the new bone and tendons reattach*
Pyyran: **And of course, Quill describes the process more slowly, working in Elven time.*
Quill: *stumbles back once the wound has fully healed*
Starr: *hunches over hand on knees breathing heavy*
Quill: *His face covered in sweat and blood, his breaths come slow and heavy Looking over Pyyran*
Starr: *looks up and speaks one more blessing*
Starr casting the final blessing
Pyyran: **As the last of the magic slips through him, he collapses down against the table, taking in deep gulps of air. His body is covered in a thin sheen of sweat, and yet all the blood seems to have been driven off the table, sitting in a collected pool beneath.*
Starr: *looks at Quill's work and smiles*...by the blessed Flawless Diamond....perfection be done.
Quill: *Wipes his forehead* We should release his bonds.. *he slowly stands and unties the binding so n Pyyran's left side*
Quill: *he offers a weak smile to Starr* Aye he will be done. .
Starr: *nods releasing the belt from the leg and then assists in releasing the other bonds*
Quill: *places a cloth over Pyyran*
Pyyran: **His breathing slows to deep, shaky pulls of air. For a moment, his mouth moves, as if he is trying to speak, but it soon stops, and he satisfies himself with being able to breathe.*
Quill: *he places a hand on Pyyran's forehead wiping away the sweat*
Quill: I told you.. It would be intense but the duration of it shorter then if we had to carve out your new knee.
Pyyran: **He turns his head into the touch, and slowly, as if with great effort, opens his eyes. For a moment, he looks puzzled.*
Pyyran: [Whisper] Yer na' Karn...
Pyyran: **He blinks and gives his head a little shake.* Och...
Pyyran: **He speaks quietly, slowly propping himself up on his elbows.* Quill.
Quill: *walks around the table and examines the work that Starr and himself were able to do*
Starr: *smiles to both*...Very nicely done too....I knew Quill would know the best way to perform this...
Pyyran: **He looks about.* Starr... You're here.
Starr: aye..I'm here...had to make sure you behaved yourself.
Pyyran: Knew ye'd come... **He starts to try sitting up further, but gives up the notion fairly quickly.*
Quill: He was a great patient I must admit.
Starr: aye...a little spastic at times but considering....he was well behaved.
Quill: He didn't even offer the whiskey to dull the pain.
Pyyran: **He gives it another try, and manages to prop himself up on his hands, half-sitting.* Och... Whisky? Ye offered whisky? **His words have a faint dwarvish brogue to them, strangely.*
Quill: Well, how would you feel having you leg cut open and the bone removed?
Quill: *pushes Pyyran back down on the table* Aye I did.
Quill: But I think you were too lost in prayer to notice.
Starr: *eyes widen*...what...*looks to Pyyran*...no to the whiskey...you daft....
Pyyran: **He slips back down with a quiet thud. He winces slightly as his head knocks against the table.* Wish I'd known there'd be whisky.
Pyyran: Would'n'a gone down so quick...
Quill: *chuckles*
Starr: *smiles*
Quill: Can you move your leg Pyyran?
Quill: *his eyes focus on the right leg*
Pyyran: **He looks up at Quill, blinking.* I donnae... Know.
Starr: hmpt...try...
Quill: Aye, *nods to Starr* Give it a try Pyyran.
Pyyran: **He reaches down with his right hand, tentatively feeling at the freshly-healed limb. The marks on his right forearm are clearer, now, almost like a fresh burn. They seem to be writing of a sort.*
Quill: I would be really amazed if you could honestly..
Pyyran: **Upon finding that his thigh, at least, is still there, he closes his eyes, and frowns in concentration.*
Pyyran: **His right foot wiggles a bit.*
Quill: *smiles weakly to Pyyran*
Quill: Remember what I said earlier?
Pyyran: Did I do it? **He chuckles wearily.*
Pyyran: Aye...
Pyyran: Most.
Pyyran: Which part?
Quill: You will have to retain your muscles and your mind about bending your knee.
Quill: But I assure you it does bend.
Quill: Starr.. Help Prop Pyyran up would you?
Pyyran: Aye ta tha'... Just... Figure it took so long tae learn how tae not bend it...
Starr: *reaches under Pyyran from behind and begins to push him up in a propped position*
Pyyran: Och... Aye, well... **He starts levering himself up with his arms, and with the welcome help from Starr, he manages to sit upright.*
Quill: This will be mildly umcomfortable. *once Pyyran is propped up Quill genlty grabs his right leg and slowly bends it so he can see*
Pyyran: **He keeps himself propped up with his right arm, looking down at his leg in wonder. When Quill starts to move his leg, he braces for pain, but... Then relaxes, feeling little more than the soreness he had already felt.*
Quill: I say a week or two at the most and you will be able to run again.
Pyyran: Well, och. Luck strike me...
Quill: You will not be able to run on it for long durations for probably a month maybe more.
Quill: But you must practice bending it daily once the soreness fades away.
Pyyran: **He reaches out to touch his knee, eyes full of wonder and suddenly glinting with unshed tears.* Och...
Starr: *smiles*...you'll be back to normal before you know it...
Quill: Just take it easy.. Pyyran
Starr: listen to him...don't rush it...it may be healed but it is tender...
Pyyran: **He turns his gaze to the others, the expression of wonder mingling with gratitude.* You two... Beryl... By all Luck... **A broad smile stretches across his face, and the tears begin to fall. As they stream from his eyes, own his face, his eyes... Thye glimmer blue for the first time in many years.*
Quill: And I don't want to see you back here asking us to regrow muscle next..
Pyyran: **He breaks into hearty laughter, wiping at the tears with the back of a hand.* Och, Quill, don't ye worry about that!
Starr: *chuckles*
Quill: We have a small souvenoir for you as well.
Pyyran: Aye?
Quill: Aye..
Quill: *reaches in the basin and pulls out the fused knee and surrounding bone*
Starr: *chuckles trying to stifle a hardy laugh*
Pyyran: **His eyes widen at the sight of the bone.* Och... That's what was in me?
Starr: you don't want to make soup with that...
Quill: Aye.. As I said.. It is the worst I have ever seen.
Pyyran: Not soup, nae... But... Hm. **He grins, shaking his head.* Mayhaps something else. **He puts a hand to his stomach, his grin slipping a bit.* Hrm.
Pyyran: Well, let's hope it's the worst you'll ever see... But... **He looks between the two, scrubbing at his face with the back of his hand again.* I could never ask anything greater of you, the church, or Beryl her lovely self.
Quill: Might be good for you to have it to remind you what might happen with ill proper use of potions.
Pyyran: But... If either of you has some kind of food.
Pyyran: Ill-prope-...
Pyyran: **His retort dies away as Quill hands him food.*
Pyyran: **He simply shakes his head again, grinning, and tears into the well-made fillets of fish.*
Starr: *stops from summoning a greenstone*
Quill: Lets just say, I come prepared and leave it at that?
Quill: *playfully winks at Pyyran*
Starr: that's why your the Emerald...*chuckles*
Quill: Indeed!
Pyyran: **He chuckles softly around a large bite of fish, washing it down with the joy of all joys, blueberry juice.*
Quill: If you have any problems or questions Pyyran me or Starr will be around.
Quill: Do esititate to call upon us.
Pyyran: **He nods.* Aye...
Quill uses World Leader XP Item
Quill uses World Leader XP Item
Experience Points Gained: 16000
Quill: But for now I am weak and need rest.
Pyyran: Aye... Think we all might... **He chuckles quietly.*
Quill: Feel free to rest in one of the other chambers.
Starr: aye...marvelous work Quill.....I learned a few techinques....
Quill: I will send a Greenston in here to clean up the work station.
Pyyran: Aye... **He casts about for his staff before swinging his legs over the side of the table, looking down and marvelling over his bent knee.*
Quill: *he offers Starr a sincere smile of gratitude* Thank you Starrr and I couldn't of done it with out you.
Quill: *Starr too
Starr: thank you....I think I will go check on the other patients too while I am here...
Quill: *nods to that* Aye.
Pyyran: **He reaches down, albeit a bit unsteadily, and snatches up his staff before hopping down from the table, nearly toppling over as his weight comes down on both legs. He keeps his feet, though, thanks to the sturdy gemsetter turned staff.*
Quill: My Her Perfection keep you safe friends.
Starr: Pyyran...take care of yourself....hope to see you running about back to normal before long...
Pyyran: **He sets about slowly pulling his clothes back on, and grins to Quill.* May the Flawless Diamond watch over you, and may Luck always guide your steps.
Pyyran: Do my best, Starr. Do my very best.
Quill: *with one last smile to each he tiredly turns and walks away*
Quill: I need time to rest.
Starr: *waves to Quill as he leaves*...by the blessed Deep Mother
Pyyran: I cannot thank either of you enough for being here...
Pyyran: For doing this.
Pyyran: If there is ever, ever anything I can do for you, let me know.
Pyyran: Though...
Pyyran: There's actually something I think you might be able to use. **He smiles.*
Starr: grattitude is enough my friend....that is all a healer realy needs...perhaps you'll pass along some good to another one day.
Pyyran: I do my best... But there is something I think you can use. You may've seen it, if you've stopped by the tradehall in Hempstead of late.
Starr: whats that...*looks on quizzically*
Pyyran: Well... When I'm back in traveling shape again, I'll get it for you. I... Think you'll like it.
Pyyran: Myself, I've got acrobatics to relearn. **He grins.*
Starr: *as he mentions trade hall, eyes widen*...weren't you looking for an infuser, enchanter?
Pyyran: No... Better. **He winks a bit, grinning.* Though I suppose one would need both... But you'll find out.
Starr: *smiles when he mentions acrobatics*..as long as you don't injur yourself again...don't rush it...
Pyyran: I'll be careful.
Pyyran: May Luck ever guide your steps, Starr.
Starr: *looks on puzzled*...ok...I look forward to hearing from you then...get some rest and may Her Perfection keep watch over thee...
Pyyran: And may the Deep Mother bless you as always. **He gives a rather unsteady bow, leaning heavily on the staff, and smiles.*
Starr: *waves as he heads to the healing wards to check on the other patients*
Starr: *speaks with a couple of Greenstones about healing herbs in the tea for Pyyran*
Starr: yes yes..those will help him regain his strength.
You close your eyes briefly and impress your soul upon the land.
Title: Re: A bundle of leather and parchment...
Post by: Stephen_Zuckerman on November 25, 2007, 02:50:56 PM
Sapphire-blue eyes look critically over the careful craftsmanship of the piece before them, their calm, steady gaze having watched over the slow shaping of an off-white cube with barely-rounded edges. Each angle is precise and perfect, the corners square enough to satisfy a master tinker. Tiny shavings of white cover the mahogany table, giving contrast to the black-bladed dagger set almost carelessly aside.

A perfect cube. Good. The final piece of ten. Not a single mistake had been made in this meticulous effort; not a single scrap of this most precious material wasted. Even the shavings would be put to use...

The craftsman picks up the dagger again; more a tool of war than of design, its adamantine edge bites easily into the bone. Tiny divots of bone it carves from five of the cubes, little pips in age-old patterns; one, two, three, four, five, six...

These near-finished, the craftsman sets them aside for the final touch, and takes up, one by one, the last blank cubes.

The faces, he carves with intricate detail, enchanted diamonds at his fingers and throat lending steadiness to his motions, taking out tiny, fine lines and little chips, all the same depth and size. The artist, for in this, he truly is, makes a single face on each die, and takes his time to check and recheck the amount taken in each design, all the while muttering prayers to the goddesses of art and beauty.

Stars... Beryl's Geode, hardly so lovely as in its full splendour of colour, but each star in perfect place, the circle of seven traced with a fine line. The Traveler's Luck, the nine stars linked to show more clearly its shape. Ilsare's Heart and Arrow, the one pierced by the other as only so rarely occurs. The Triennial Sphere, both moons framed within. The Trickster's Toy is more carefully made than perhaps even Shadon had done, the arrows crossed and traced out in great detail.

Moons... Orn and Ausir both on each die, one with both full, one with both new, one where Orn shines in Ausir's darkness, one where Orn's darkness gives way to Ausir's light, and one where the both barely glimmer with crescents in the night sky.

Swords... Wicked, the greatsword of the Norseman. The Shadow Blade, which felled Sinthar Bloodstone. Coldfire, the iron blade of burning ice that gave a duelist his mastry. Bloodfall, the longsword forged innumerably to take back Roldem. Silence, the right-hand kukri of Kinai Ancalime, traveler through the realms.

Coins... A Diamoniar True piece bearing Kareem Waylend's face. A Voltrexian Tower in exquisite detail. An innkeep's piece, bearing a foaming mug of ale. A Queen's Coin, elegant rose with each petal in place. And a strange coin, marked with a heart and a clover...

Keys... A housekey, etched with the numbers 249. A skull-shaped key, fitting a lock at the bottom of Eon's Well. A simple-looking key, fitting the inner chambers of Storan's crypts. An aged and battered skeleton key, for the locks of a chest. A key to a tiny locket, etched with a heart.

Cups... A heavy, empty mug of dwarven design, "Silverbeard" on the side. An elegant wineglass, half-full and resting in a slender hand. A gem-studded goblet with the crest of two crossed arrows. A small tea-cup and saucer, a thorn design around the rim. A leather dicecup, with dice pouring out.

The labor takes such a time... The artisan knows not how long passes; his stomach has long been empty, throat parched for drink even as he carefully etches the shapes of the cups. Far from any window in this secluded study, his efforts have gone uninterrupted, and nothing has been wasted.

Laying the dagger once more aside, he takes up a gleaming silver needle, and pricks his wrist. A drop of blood wells up, and, careful not to let that drop roll down and ruin the dust on the table, he gathers the dice near.

With the needle and endless care, he slowly stains the pips and pictures of his perfect dice. Tireless patience see him through the drying of each face before he turns each die, and continues the painting.

His own blood staining his own bone.

And there was still enough left to do so much with.

---


More information here. (http://forums.layonara.com/712992-post3.html)
Title: Re: A bundle of leather and parchment...
Post by: Stephen_Zuckerman on March 22, 2008, 10:39:26 AM
The Four Stars Tavern.

Music rises from the slowly prospering tavern late into the Freas evening, business near its peak for the night. The staff are all at work, serving drinks and food, carrying away used plates and bottles, all like honeybees, flitting from patron-flower to patron-flower. The songs are fair, played by a young bardlet whose fine violin was on indefinite loan from the House. A few bottles rest beside him, half-gone, but with plenty of courage left within to get his fingers moving... Albeit a bit less steadily. A bent old elf, circled by children, tells a tale of his younger years, this time in hunt for a legendary golden-pelted bear which roamed Alindor's forests. A young, pretty elf lad serves drinks with the joy and flair of innocent exuberance, while...

While upstairs, a lined face looks out from a window, sapphire-hued eyes scanning the dark skies. Sixty years, these eyes have watched the world turn, from first opening upon the dying form of their source, through darkness and across great distances... To now, silently watching the city they call home.

"Worth comes from things that grow from within..."

The whispered words, drifting on the warm, Jular air, bring with them the faintest of pulsing glows. Below, hanging from a bone-beaded cord between a diamond cat's eye amulet, and an emerald clover, shines a small, simple conch shell, the softest of glows rising and falling with the steady beat of the old man's heart.

"Find your worth first, before finding that in things external."

A smile curves the man's lips as he recalls the first few years of his life. So driven, so focused on achievement, so mindful of material gain and 'useful' skill. Trying desperately to compensate for his perceived worthlessness. It had taken a king's guidance to set him aright. This little gift of a shell...

"Then you will truly learn to love what surrounds you. Take it from me... I know."

His youth, he spent chasing dreams. In adulthood, he found them. Old promises kept, old ghosts laid to rest, and a paradigm met. Confidence found, ego left behind. Finally, at least a small measure of good sense had found its way into the man's head. But with dreams for himself fulfilled, a blade made living part of the man... As his own tale found a conclusion, if not an end, the tales of others shone bright in his heart.

"And now I'm back to chasing dreams."

Only... Now the dreams are not his own. So many live in a world just emerging from darkness. Few live whose parents, at least, were not prisoners of the shroud which enclosed the world of Layonara. So many have hopes which may never be met. And yet some are lucky enough to have garnered great fortunes in life. Many of these hide away, hoarding their wealth in their own little worlds... But a few look around, and see how their long efforts could aid more than themselves.

A fine violin of elvish make, taken back from thieving giants, aiding a bardlet's music.

Books and scrolls from the world over, put in the hands of the young and learning.

Tales, songs, and the financial clout to support an inn and multiple young, talented artisans.

Mayhap the eyes which scan the stars will see a tomb before long, but the life they have been given... The life of Pyyran Rahth will never be for naught.

Not now, he hopes.
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