Someone taps Borris's armor from behind rapidly as he is deep in concentration smelting some Iron in a hot forge.
He jerk's prostrate reaching for his sword hilt mindlesly.
Before him stands a small dirty human boy. The child is looking up at him with his head cocked to the left. He is wearing a set of battered leather armor that apears to have been made for a Gnome but is entirely too mangled to be of any real use, and he is holding a wooden sword limply.
The tensed muscles on Borris's sword weilding arm go loose and he takes a more casual stance.
"You Boris?''
"Huh?''
The boy points his wooden sword at him.
"You Mister! Is you Boris!?''
Borris looks about himself as if to confirm for his own record quite who he is.
"Erm.... Ya! Um Borris!"
The child almost leaps as he stabs the air above his head semi triumphantly with the wooden sword. "Ahoy matey!" He chirps. "I am the Dread Pirate Breaksalot! I've come for the mission!"
Borris stands still dumbfounded. His eyes blink twice from behind his helmet.
"Duh mission?"
The child lowers his sword.
"Yaaas! The mission? Aint you mount'n a hunting mission? Me mates told me they heard a fellow named Boris was? I wanna go!"
Borris chuckles a little, then cocks his head a bit. he looks around the Smithy.
"Ok Will! Jokes over! C'mon out!"
There doesn't apear to be anyone else in the Smithy.
The boy speakes again. "Sooo? When do we leave? See? I brought us some rations!" He produces a crust of bread. "Oh and potions! Just incase!" He presents a bottle of water. "But we gotta get going quickly 'cause my dad say's I gotta be home before sundown!"
Borris Snorts.
Ha, ha! Erm...Listen sonny, dere ain' no mission see? Ah don know about no mission, an' even iff'n ah did we..." He pauses. "erm... you..."
The boy is looking at him wistfully but his posture is beginning to slump a bit.
"...Erm..."
" Ah tell ya what ..erm..Dread Pirate Bustalot er... yew uh.. yer uh good scout! Ah kin see dat! Yeah! An' ...uh... Ah ain' got all duh infermation on duh mission jis yet see? But...uh...Iff'n yew finds out more infermation ah kin..uh..go on dat..uh..mission fer ya! Yeah! So, yew jis lemme konws what yew finds and..uh..Captain Borris is on board see?!
The boy cheers! "Yay! Yay!''
"Dat's Right!" Cheers Borris.
"An here, take one uh these, but don' yew use it unless yew really needs to!" He gives him a bottle of lesser healing potion.
The boy accepts it gleefully. He cradles it in his hands as if it were a true prize. "Wow!"
"Dat's right! Now Yew run along now kid, ..erm.. Bashalot! Gonna git dark soon an' ...uh...its been uh hard fought battle! Yeah!"
"Thanks captain Boris!"
"Aye! An' yew be sure to tell's me what news yew learns about dat mission iff'n yew hears anything! Yeah?"
Aye mattey! Ahoy" Shouts the boy then he turns and scurries out of the hall craddleing the potion delicately.
Borris stands motionless for a few moments in dull thought.
"Heh heh heh! Dread Pirate Smashalot huh?"
He turns back to his forge, tosses a few more coals on the fire and begins to stoke the lever in preparation of a long night of smelting.
"Bah! Don' blame'm! Ah likes dem hunt'n missions too! Yeah!"
The flame begins to rise..
//Oops! just realised the lvl reqirements and the date dont jive for Borris lvl 16 and only available on Mondays and Tuesdays. I'll delete all this if you like, but I'll leave it up to you first. For what its worth I'll hapilly husband the forum thread of this thing as a NPC without actually participating in the quest. (not looking for xp or rewards. just love the RP) or scratch the record altogether. I'm easy. : )//
Boris Shiel brushed his long greasy bangs out of his eyes and looked up from his desk as one of his thugs entered and shoved a small boy to the floor. A few flies were buzzing around the dirty little man in lazy little circles. He smiled at the child creepily, showing yellowed teeth suffering the abuse of many years of severe neglect. “What’s this Billy?” The thug shrugged his shoulders and replied in a gruff voice. “Don’t know boss... found him poking around a window outside.”
Boris focused on the boy. “What’s your name little cur?” The frightened child responded in a shaky voice “I’m the Dread Pirate Breaksalot… I was looking for news of the hunting mission for my big friend… You’re mount'n a hunting mission, right?” Boris grinned again. “I’m always hunting for something little cur… there’s no profit in turning a blind eye to opportunities.” With that, he winked at Billy who promptly slapped a set of iron manacles on the boys wrists and dragged him outside… the illegal slave ship from Arnax would arrive within the week… and the boy would wait in the holding area with the other unfortunate victims until then.
The only evidence of the “Dread Pirates” presence was a small shattered bottle lying next to a box outside the merchant’s window… broken, its life giving fluid leaking into the dirt between the cobblestones.
//Hi Brutus... Thanks for the lengthy response… you evidently put quite a bit of time into that and I enjoyed the morning read. Although your toon does not meet the requirements for this particular quest, I do have one in the planning stages for higher level characters after I finish up this one… and the bandit impromptu working itself out. Take the above response as a possible CDQ opportunity, if you choose to explore that route… and a little lesson that in my quests all actions have the possibility of some type of far reaching or significant affect. ;-) Looking forward to seeing where you go with this. Feel free to use this thread as your venue for forum work and response…
The bag is too full.
Theres no getting around it.
He could push it. He could pull it. He could call it names. He could even sit on it if he wanted, but the one thing he could not do is consider it to be anything other than TOO FULL!
Most folk would work with that.
Most folk would find a different solution. Perhaps two bags, or make two trips, or three.
Most folk would alow even the subleiest hint of simple engineering to enter in to the equation.
Borris, with all his Half-orcish, dull minded, stubborness, would not.
In Borris's perception, the "too full" bag of newly smithed Iron ore ingots is simply being "harder than usual." And the ever slow peogress he is making, tugging it, inch by insignificant inch, to The Bank of Layonara in Fort Vehl is well worth the hassle.
Well worth the hassle right up to the moment when the bag does what any bag of it's kind should do in such situations, it collapses entirely from all the "too full" weight, spilling it's contents only a few short paces from The Bank of Layonara's front door. At which moment, and upon any moment folowing, Borris does not make the mental conection that "harder than usual" is otherwise definable as "TOO FULL!"
Instead, he merely set's about the task of carying the Ingots two at a time, in to, and out of, The Bank of Layonara, one trip at a time, some fifteen times over....
Some time later, having completed the slow task, spent, dehydrated, and near exhaustion, he more or less colapses right next to the broken bottle and the box.
Not too long after that, he notices the bottle.
"Huff huff, huff huff! What duh? Huff huff, weeze! Whats diss?'
He picks up the broken bottle and examines it dumbly.
"Diss is one uh mine.... Diss is duh one ah give dat kid!
But..."
He then notices the box.
He stares at it a few moments.
He attempts to open the box....
*The box is a medium sized crate constructed of wood planks and iron rivets. Size is approximately 4'X4'. There is a latch on the box, but no lock. Stamped on the outside in black paint on 4 sides is the word "Adversary." Inside the box are coils of hemp rope. It is filled to the top with these items.*
A rather colourful character with mud spattered robes walks through the opening gates of Fort Vehl with an air of importance. An air which is immediately turned to disgust and dissapointment as he views the hollow dive that is Fort Vehl. With an exasperated sigh, he settles on the rim of an old fountain, its waters green and slimy from lack of care and attention, and pull a large spell book from his pack. Not even a quarter of it seems to be written in, but he flicks to the back pages, where a myriad of notes and comments have been scribed in no particular order.
" Boris Shiel" he murmurs a few times, lost in thought.
He stays awhile, sat on the edge of the fountain, watching in fascination as a rather large individual struggles with a bag that is quiet clearly, too full.
After what seemed to be only a couple of hours proping up the bar in the One Eyed Harpy , drinking and amusing himself by playing pranks on others in the tavern. For instance he made one poor fellows Drink disapear as he turned his back for just a moment , using a shroud to conceal it And when the Bar man poured him anouther he did it again . At the third attempt he was caught red handed , As he lent backwards laughing loudly , loosing his balance landing on the floor . The fella in no mood to be toyed with after a long hard day stared at him , for a moment before downing a pint in one . As the door of the Tavern closed behind him , he sharpishly pulled his hood up as the bright afternoon sunshine shine right in to his eyes . As he started to squint taking a little stumble forward , he noticed a large figure in the distance , as he continued to get closer he recognissed the distinctive armour and helm . There was only one person who wore that Boris , with a little smirk he concealed himself in a shroud and crept towards Boris . Stoping whenever Boris glanced his way , As Boris paused to inspect the wooden box , he saw his chance and went for it . Quickly and quietly undoing the laces to his boots and tieing them back together in well fasterned knot , so both were fasterned together . With a smirk on his face he crept towards a close by bench , to admire his handy work and to see what followed..... ////hahaha , i know bad form for playing pranks on Dim witted half Orcs , but thats for hitting Riley LOL
//Excellent. Continue with your role-play and I will respond as appropriate or to specific requests. Be aware, everything will probably go into this thread, so be cautious of meta-gaming accidentally. I usually avoid forum RP in PM's. I am monitoring the thread closely, so there should be very little delay.
Ropes.
//Treat this as OOC...
-----------------
The thug standing in front of Boris Shiel cringed as the fat smelly man roared and overturned the table. "Nobody double crosses me! Nobody!!" He then paced back and forth a few times before muttering under his breath... those fools have cost me a fortune... they will have to be dealt with. Nobody gets away with disrespecting me like that!" He then turned to his thug and pointed a dirty chubby finger at him. I need an assassin. Leave word discreetly at The Harpy.
Deep in the Sooth Moor a brown and green garbed woman collected the floating corpses of several rare Sooth Moor Spitting Cobras with tenderness and respect. She carried them to a low outcrop of dry soil and began the task of burying them, chanting a low death dirge that was carried across the water by a rare breeze. When her task was complete she sat in contemplation. A vaguely humanoid shape comprised of brambles, sticks, and thorn bush made its way to her side. Cocking its thorny head and peering up at her it issued a series of clicks, pops, and whistles. The druid turned to the small creature and said "Yes my child I know. They brought fire and death to our land, and they have upset the balance. If they return we will be ready for them and will destroy them. They will not harm another creature. Ensure that the others know what they look like and are told the extent of their crimes. They are marked for death my child."
//Riley, please post here after you disperse reward coin to each member of the party. Thanks.
-Ravemore
*Riley hands micheal a large bag tightly bound around the top.* Its all there , 1000 trues for your time *he sniggers and disapears and start to wander off* //havent come across the rest yet
//No problem, Continue to post as you pick people up. No hurry.
"Aaaavvvaaaahumumumbahmum"
"Bah! Too many letters! Why dey wanna have all dem letters?"
Borris yawns. All this thinking is making him sleepy. He propes himself up against the box marked "Adversary". He sets the broke bottle asside and gradually falls asleep, completly oblivious to the label on the box and the fact that his bootlaces are tied together. He apears as any hapless, drunken, vagrant in the streets of Fort Vehl. He even smells the part. Only folk who actually know him might recognise him to be slightly more upstanding than his current apearence.
Borris wakes to a sharp kick to his groin. “Move out of the way you scallywag.” The wool cloaked thug’s eyes widen a little when he glimpses all of the weaponry and equipment on Borris, but the presence of his companions embolden him a little more than usual. The men hastily grab the box stamped with the word “Adversary”, pulling it toward the alley entrance. Borris hears one of them say, “We need to hurry, the ship sails at the outgoing tide. I don’t fancy a Raven’s blade in my gut… or Shiel and his stink yelling at me within arm’s length.”
"Oooooooffffff!
Hey!
What the?"
Borris takes one look around himsef and realises he is fairly out numbered, coupled with his tenency to more or less expect human folk to treat him badly genearlly, he fights back an almost instictual urge to reach for his blade. likely his hand on his sword arm, at the very least, jerks and shakes impulsively, but years of experience keeps him set and level. Grogyness plays a roll as well.
"Ooooohhh"
He rolls over to his side, sensing the boots and acompanyment stepping around him and manuvering as the box marked "Advesary" is moved.
He attempts to get to his feet but something isn't working properly, his feet don't seem to want to move about as freely as usual, and it costs him much more effort than usual. After some stumbling and fumbling, he does get to his feet, and stands upwright. The crewmen huddled around him and the box all fall a fair two feet shorter than him.
"Allwright! Allwright! Um mov'n! gimme a second! Ah fellah cant git no rest around here!"
His feet are not moving well.
"Hey, any uh yew fella's seen ah little runt kid, thinks he's a pirate? Punk smashed me bottle uh potion and Ah wanna tells him what for!"
Realising the company of men aren't interested in his ''kid" he set's about to march off. His shoelaces being tied together cause him to fall heftily, directly, in the direction of the box marked "Adversary"
//Hi Brutus. :-) This has reached the point to where it will require some in-game work on Borris's part. If you wish to pursue it, let me know and I will calendar it as a CDQ. Saturday's in PST timezone work best for me, but I'm flexible. It will be one session of about 1-2 hours if you choose to do so. Let me know. ;-)
//You heard'm lads!
Were taking this thing online!
Mondaynights and Tuesdaynights are best for me and I'm putting together an PM sign-up-sheet but I would OPENLY encurrage you to pop in on this forum with Ravenmores permission.
Boss man say's its about a two-ish hour thing, and My best guess is we start at Fort Velm but I'll leave that one up to the boss also.
For now I'm aiming for next week (the 7th or the 8th) but that too is up to the boss man.
Hows that look to you mister Ravemore sire?
Quest Date - "Adversary"
*Riley sits watching the antics unfold , musing to himself wondering if he should help boris out or just carry on sitting sipping at his drink. Invisable to the naked eye of course* ///// id love to be able to help out or just cause as much mischief as possible , but thats 3 am in the morning for us in the UK so there will be no chance
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Topic: Mud, muck, and zealots (Read 2476 times)
