Peace Comes at a Cost
Player Entries (Part IV)
James C Kimball
· Edited: Jan 9
Jonas Kane (Part IV)
It was a loud and busy evening at the Dragon's Claw Inn. The night was still very young but Jonas was already heavily drunk. Audrey had turned twenty just a few days prior and for her birthday Jonas paid her for a trip to the Isles of Rinn Quinnel Nurbonnis. She was thrilled at the prospects of seeing more of this world and could not wait to return with countless stories. Her ship had set sail that morning and she was scheduled to return a year from now. Jonas had grown rather fond of the girl, fancying her as sort of an adopted daughter over the years. He drank so heavily this night because he knew that he had no plans to ever see her again.
In his early seventies, Jonas was old. With his long white hair, gaunt features with wrinkled and leathery skin he looked elderly. The look he could bare, for it was still a distinguished look; but he felt the oldness, and that was the problem. He had walked with a limp that refused to heal over the last few years and every ailment known to man was vying for a spot in his body; he couldn't even piss without feeling excruciating pain. Jonas knew he was done and he was ready to move on, but he was not going to let fate choose how; no, he always said that he would go out on his own terms.
Jonas limped into the kitchen and took out the sharpest knife he could find, using it to pin a sealed letter to the backroom noticeboard. "For Audrey" it had written upon it. "When she returns she'll become the richest woman in Kormyre" he laughed. He turned to the chef who was cooking the evenings stew and said farewell to him. The chef wasn't listening, and so Jonas left, walking through the bar room and into the main hall.
Jonas surveyed the room and after several moments analyzing all the patrons he found his mark. Three burly gold miners from Pendarven were sitting around a table, drinking and engaging in general rowdiness. "Ya, they'll do." he thought as he walked across the room towards them. As he reached the table he lurked directly behind them for a few minutes before things got uncomfortable as they noticed him standing so close just watching. When one of them finally asked him if he needed anything, Jonas took a long draw from his cigar, bent down and blew it slowly in the mans face. His friends laughed, but the man was not amused. "What the hell is wrong with you old man?!" In reaction, Jonas pushed his lit cigar down, hard into the mans hand burning him and then slapped the man solidly in his face. The man was immediately on his feet and the two instantly grappled one another engaging in throwing fists continuously. Jonas threw a couple of outside punches to involve the other two men and before long, the fight involved all four. With the odds now so woefully against him, Jonas reached down and pulled a dagger out from his belt, grabbing one of the men by his hair, and pulling his dagger back, poised to plunge it deep into the man's belly, but before this would happen, Jonas felt it. A pickaxe swung deep into his chest by one of the other men. Jonas had the air knocked out of him from the blow and slowly dropped his own dagger. The wound was most obviously a death blow and so the three men, frantically grabbed their things and fled the Inn, as Jonas slumped down to his knees.
Blood was not only pouring from his chest, but also bubbled up his throat and out of his mouth. His vision was beginning to blur and dim. He strained his eyes and stared over at the double doors leading outside as he listened to the bards continue to play. He could see the doors being pushed open slowly as a score of monsters marched through. He then turned his head further right and saw the scholars table, filled with books, Selby and Starling sorted through them while laughing and sharing some tea. He turned his head then even further right and saw the nobles table, set with lavish foods. Baron Victor Sylus calling for a rousing toast which drew a loud "Hazzah" from all around him. Jonas's eyes were wide and welled up with tears. "I missed this… so much" he whispered choking through his own blood. The tears fell from his eyes and the air was leaving his lungs for good. "I'm finally home", he managed to get out with his last breath before the world went dark and the sounds of the bards heralded him to the world beyond.
Steve Oros
Aleister - Inevitability "Peace comes with a cost. Most often it is the cost of blood and the fallen who fought for that peace. But in other times, that cost is to place trust where it was broken, have faith where there is no cause for it, or forgive those who have never given us reason to do so.
I believe peace is the answer to our great dilemma. Since the first steps across this Rift and the birth of our two lands here in the east, we have been at war. I stood against New Gaaldron when the Nex Nexcus marched with banners high into our home. I was there when the plague was unleashed that caused a great many of our own to succumb to heinous rage and violent urges. Ours is a past bathed in blood and today, I choose to place faith, trust, and forgiveness. We cannot move forward in this future where we remain enemies. And so with this treaty, we aim for a brighter future for Kormyre, for New Gaaldron, and for Arawyn."
With the end of his speech, he signed the treaty solidifying a real peace between the nations. He had never expected New Gaaldron to approach with such an olive branch, but this time felt different. This time it felt real and he refused to pass up this opportunity. That he was chosen to do so was no mistake either. So much history with New Gaaldron made him the perfect representative to show the kingdom was serious about their offer as well. * * * * *
When the rumors began to stir after the red comet, Aleister could not believe it - he refused to believe it. At first, he tried to brush the rumors off as just common rabble, but as they circulated, they started to eat away at him. He had searched his manor study to find a dusty vial full of ash, which to many would have seemed like simply an old sorcery component, something from his younger years that now served more as a novelty, but it was far from it. From the day he found it, he kept the vial of the demon's ashes on his person, as assurance. He told himself it was to assure others that the demon was dead, but deep down it was for himself.
As time went by, his worries grew deeper. He urged his knight and personal guard, Philidin, to carry his old spear, Farslayer, and had the knight accompany him more often. Even still, it wasn't enough to assuage the Duke's concerns. He had to know for sure, and so - as if time had never moved - he went to draw lines in the air with his fingers to create a doorway... but how long had it been since he used a portal? He stopped himself and feared the worst. If something akin to that demon were to return, the world would not be ready. He shook away the thought and called for horses to be readied. Before they left, he returned to his study and plucked the glaive from the wall behind his desk, wondering if he still had the strength to use it. Without a wasted moment more, the two left the manor in the heart of the duchy towards Travance, but strangely, not to anywhere that might have seemed important. He rode until he came upon a small dilapidated shack in the woods, one that had long since been abandoned. Inside he went and down into the basement, and further down into the Abestine Tower. It was years since he ventured into his reliquary, but hopefully something inside would still have some kind of power that could help.
From there, they stopped in Travance Proper, where Aleister penned a letter with a map, to be sent to Baron Piper:
"Though rumors be no reason to cause uproar, measures must still be taken to ensure the safety of the people of our kingdom and of Arawyn. Xualla is a name I have not heard for some time, and yet, I must be sure. I hereby am ordering a garrison to be built at the location specified on the enclosed map. I will personally oversee its operations for the time being. Put a call for heroes out. The pay will be handsome even if their time proves uneventful. By my Will, Duke Aleister Demirosz"
Finally, the two ventured off once again, now reaching the final destination of their journey. The last time he saw it, it was a ruins of sorts. A ruined spire - or... unfinished? - made from a strange material that appeared as black diamond not but a mile south of the Dragon's Claw Inn, but for forty years, it and the surrounding land was barred from entry by a baroness of the lands from decades past. It was here that Xualla, the Demon Lord of Fire, had begun the construction of his Shadow Spire - the place from which he aimed to rule the material plane all those years ago. Aleister could only hope that the Shadow Spire remained as he had remembered it.
Jason Trommer
Jan 9 · Edited: Jan 10
Port Valandria
It was evening in Port Valandria, the fresh salt air rolling in off the harbour while ship's bells and barked shouts intermixed in a chorus comforting to any sailor. One such man was kicked back in a rocking chair on his porch, quietly smoking a pipe, eyes closed with contentment. A battered brown slouch hat was perched atop his head, and he was half-humming, half-singing, a half-remembered soldier's song.
But at the sound of footsteps on the stairs the man's green eyes flashed open, and his chair's motion halted as he regarded the intruders: in front was an elf, in Navy blue devoid of any decorations or insignia, but with elaborate facial tattoos and well-coiffed updo. She'd worn her decades well, her centuries even better. Behind her was a nondescript man in a hooded cloak, face obscured.
"Hello Puren."
"Admiral Nairn." Cobus Puren didn't stand up. "Not sure what skullduggery brings you out here. I'm retired."
Kyla Nairn, longtime head of naval intelligence, gave a smile devoid of any cheer. "Yes, but this task might be of...special importance to you. Sir?"
The hooded figure stepped forward to sweep back his hood, revealing the greying, distinguished features of Owen Piper. "Hello, my old friend."
Cobus shot to his feet with a grin. "Owen! Gods above and below, it's been too---"
And then he looked to Nairn, back to Owen again, and Cobus' grin faded. Nairn indicated the door. "Perhaps we should discuss this inside?"
"Yeah," said Cobus, shooting Owen a rueful look. The two hadn't seen each other regularly since Cobus had accepted the instructor's post at the Academy in Port Valandria, though they'd written to each other plenty in between, even with everything that had happened with the trial and the Barony. Hopefully the Old Man knew just how much of a shame it was this was how they reunited. "Come on inside."
It was a small house, more a cottage really, with the inside decorated with souvenirs from wars long gone and far away: a turbaned helmet with the crossed daggers of the Sultan's Armed Forces, a Kormyrian officer's blade married to a Z'Hadeem scimitar hilt, the blue coat with gold trim of a Kormyrian Admiral, and above the fireplace, a lovingly maintained rifle.
Cobus broke out the good stuff, of course. Over a carafe of rum he listened as his old friend and erstwhile rival told him how he needed to bring his right hand sailor to justice.
"She was a useful evil, at first," said Owen. "Someone bringing control to Coast Haven, even via the underworld, was excellent for our aims. It lent a certain predictability to things, an order that the Kingdom could use to its advantage."
"But," said Nairn, swirling the rum like a disappointed sommelier, "she's grown a bit too fond of power. A bit too ready to resort to excessive force to control it. And that order we can rely upon is dissolving into chaos, fast."
Owen nodded his agreement. "We will give you a ship and a crew, the best we can spare. And you will head for Coast Haven. You will scour every nook and cranny to find her, and when you do---"
Years of service together. Huddled in the trenchline on the Knuckle outside Tavrick, with enemy cannon fire bursting overhead. Charging into the Siege of Bastion's wake, cutlass and bayonet gleaming in the sunset. Helping each other stagger out of the Red Glove's keep. Sharing drinks at the Dragon's Claw, laughing over the vagaries of sailing and service, exhausted exhilarated embraces after surviving yet another brush with death---
"---you will terminate Axiana Lockmoore's command."
Cobus forced himself to look Owen in the eyes. "Be blunt, you owe me that much. Do you want me to kill her?"
Owen shook his head. "We want her out of the picture. Whether she goes willingly or not...that depends on how willing she is to listen to you."
Nairn gave her poisoned-honey smile. "Hope you two have kept in touch."
"One more thing." Cobus didn't dignify the elf with a reply. "The ship."
"Yes, of course." Owen nodded again. "Which one?"
"I want the Saguaro." Cobus pounded the rest of his rum. "If I'm going out there to bring Axiana home, I want to make sure home is there waiting for her."
Owen looked to Nairn and nodded. "It will be arranged, my loyal friend. And now we must away. It is a long way back to Alieander, and you've a mission to prepare for."
Cobus got to his feet along with the other two. "I'll see you soon, I hope."
"Perhaps. And with good news to bear, too." Owen stepped in to embrace his old comrade. "Bring her home, Cobus. Just bring her home."
Moostrav
To never have been, it feels serene To not be, we rest at ease We live behind your ear now, Such as a mouse in a knot of wood, We sings songs such as any other creature that lurks out of sight, And adorn those who see this world for what it is. What a subtle existence, how comforting it is, To see you. "A man finds his son pail and limp one off night, in two weeks time twelve more are dead. His hands stained red, just as his eyes; he looks for where his son has gone." "An old man stumbles into a gully, begging for help a small girl finds him. Days later a his body is found in a carrion, decorated like the most opulent of mansions with an assortment of sharp sticks, thorns, and pretty little stones." "Two of three children starve and wither away, as their father does the best he can to save his coin. The doctor demands a high price to save his favorite child. Weeks later not one wakes. For the doctor was a charlatan." "A farmer claims the land of his neighbor, after laying rat poison in his well weeks prior. He was already well off." "A woman finds an affinity for fire. The bridge to her town, and all who where on it now paint the waters with a black ink. The town will soon run out of food." "The guard knows these children are innocent, but never the less he brings them on charges of killing their parents. He was in love with the wife." "A boy writes in his journal every day. His mother finds it in horror. Each page scribbled black, save for the last. Which read the name of his real father. She rocks him to sleep for the last time." "A priest prays to their god, as they fester on wine and stale bread. Some from the town approached him on this in the cloister weeks prior. He ended the argument, shut them inside, and hasn't opened the door since." We give you the wicked to exonerate the light, Without dread there can be no joy, Neither truly are here, This is only what we make of it anyway. So if we all bleed different colors, Why would we not wish to see them all? We still see you. But can your read backwards as we do?
Bob-Bell-Lebastion
7d ago · Edited: 7d ago
Serr Thomas Bell - Old Hill "She named him Tom." A hand ruffled through white hair, as he couldn't lock eyes on the cold stone," Looks more like me then uh, a Homonculus-? I know that'd matter to yah for some reason."
Tom liked to visit after choring, just as the sun crested the horizon- limping past the graves by the dozen. Every name they could find or think of that ended within a generation of a Bell. It stretched down to the woodline- some marked with names and dates- some others only by a hair color or a kind word someone still recalled. Memories lost in those fiery days and meannesses in the use to be. Atop this hill, alongside Grammie Esther, Jim looked out over the valleys and still forests of Travance. Father or uncle to near a quarter of the hill. He came to Travance from a small town with his hurdy gurdy, his wife, his grandmother, and his brother Tom. By the time he made it across the rift all he had left was his grandmother, a new wife, and a town with an appetite for everything but music. Winter was hard. Soon he had a son named Tom, another new wife, and more on the way. Cousins came, and went. There wasn't much to bury under the soil of that hill. Tom took a steady breath,
"I know that you tried. I get that you were scared. Hell, I was scared too." He remember how his father did little more then scowl. Remembered how he felt no warmth come off him. Remembered how he cussed and hid away an extra hour any day a cousin or younger sibling didn't make it back before sundown. On that quiet hill Tom felt a weight so strong over that grave it shoulda made a sinkhole. "I didn't like when she took to ratting neither, but I'm glad fer the world she's makin' and fer the world I was able to give her- and fer the world you could manage to give me."
Tom drew the old hurdy gurdy and began to turn the crank, and thumb the keys as he had practiced- as his father had once tried to teach him before they both concluded he had "stupid fingers". It sounded better then it did but not by much. To Tom, no matter what someone played on the Hurdy Gurdy- it always sounded like an old home you all-but forgot- but you were sad it wasn't quite like you remembered.
"Sun's setting..." A figure in plaid stood at the base of the hill. Even at such a distance he could hear the concern slipping in under his lit and he felt a touch warmer for it, "Jude's comin' by tonight remember?"
"Right-! I'll be down, just give me a minute." He breathed before setting down the Hurdy Gurdy atop the grave, "Thanks pa."
He turned to leave. There was no gentle wind of forgiveness- nor butterfly of grace- just a grunty voice like poorly peeled tin in the back of his head as it always was- Hell you leavin' that fer-?! Y'all Think antique instruments grow on trees? Damn fool lookin' tah starve us out?! Tom smiled. "Yer right. Maybe the next Tom won't have stupid fingers."
He left the grave. He left the hill. He took the hurdy gurdy. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lojgpJwl1Pw&ab_channel=TheOhHellos-Topic
Narcissus - Return Narcissus looks up at the sky in the middle of the night of 1250. His salt and pepper hair sway slightly in the light breeze of the balcony of his keep. He wanted to do anything other than stare at the blazing comet in the sky, but he couldn't. Something about the comet was unsettling. His children were now teens and were itching to go out and live some sort of life of travel and excitement like he and Reno had. However that comet stirred a rage inside him, something he had long thought had died with the waning of his powers. Those five nights that the comet blazed in the sky all Narcissus could do during the evenings was watch it. He had to rip himself away from gazing at it to feed. He could not sleep during the day even though his body called him to do so. For the first time in a long time he felt as he did when he was younger, but much more mundanely. Sure his swordsmanship was still as well as it could be, but any of the metaphysical and preternatural things that helped him were long since waned, he could tell with how excited his children were when they were able to manifest a cantrip. He bit his tongue and then ended the stories of what wonderous things magic used to be able bestow upon it's wielders. It would be his children that would bring back the rumors about Xualla. The first night after hearing about it he stared at the sky again, though the comet was long gone he wondered if the two were connected. Then came the news of malicious events across the realms happening. One evening before dinner he penned a letter to his siblings, their communication was sporadic, he wasn't even sure if the letters got to the places he intended them to. They merely read. I am returning to Travance before whatever happens... happens. Who knows if this is our last correspondence, but, if it is not and you would like to join me. Please do. With much Love, Narcissus Now that his children were adults he would offer them the option after having talked about it with Reno, the decision for the two of them was obvious, but he would not force his children to follow his footsteps. "Would you like to come to Travance with me and see what Heroes still linger?"
Nath'riia - Redemption CW: Death, descriptions of wounds and bleeding "My Light is a Torch passed to each person I help. My body is weak, my soul is vexed" There is a cough from the Elf, who was propped up against a tree as she prayed. Her one arm unsuccessfully grasps her stomach in an attempt to staunch the bleeding as her shield lays shattered next to her. Her other hand runs slowly over the many colored beads that hang from her waist. She does her best in this moment to recall each one, for each string of beads represents someone she had helped in the past. Someone she continued to hope the light was shining on. "Give me mercy, Pantheon of light as I am consumed with grief, I fear my time of penance is at end" She continues to pray her hands moving onto a new string of beads. This battle, was far finished, the survivors cleaning up the remains and tending to the wounded. The healer had come to her, but Nath'riia knew that these magical acts were few and far between now. "Use it on a non combatant, preferably someone with ill constitution, not me." She manages a smile before coughing up some blood. These sorts of malicious incidents were occurring again but so sporadically and without pattern she wondered if it was her fate that brought her here, for her shield to fail when it did. Perhaps, this was the time, her heroic soul was no longer needed in this world. "I am consumed by my grief that my story will end here, grant me mercy Galmachis that I am brought to Galladel quickly and that my soul does not linger with you." She continues as she moves onto another string of beads. Her eyesight was getting fuzzy around the edges. "Have mercy Galladel that when my soul is judged my penances outweighs my wrongs and that I am granted final rest, that my work is done." She finally stops trying to staunch her own bleeding. "Have Mercy on the souls that commit wrongs for they have no other choice, Pantheon of Light give them the guide they need to make better choices and not strike their fellows." Nath'riia thinks about her past. The cruel things she participated in as a teen who didn't know better. She thinks about her Mother and her former house and their crimes. "Have mercy on the souls who do what they must to ensure the continuance of this world, O Pantheon of Dark, that you do not consume them so entirely that they become what they protect against" Nath'riia thinks about Orophin, whom as this time of peace went on, withdrew back to a simple life. She wondered how his life would be different now if she hadn't allowed the things that happened to him as a child. She wonders if she had known he was her brother earlier could she had spared him the years that he was consumed by his inner darkness. She had direct hand in her younger brother's suffering and she had spent this time trying to rectify that. Just as she spent time trying to rectify every other crime she had committed. She takes one last deep breath. "Have Mercy on me, Nath'riia Del'Udra, for I have seen and carried the light through my own and other's darkness as I return back to where I came" She closes her eyes for the last time.