Another Quest

Luna opened the door to her room. It had a bed to the farther left corner with a drawer next to it. Above the drawer was a window. A dresser occupied the far right wall. It wasn't anything fancy, but Luna didn't care. She walked toward the bed and sat on it. She was instructed to be in the lobby before night fall. She looked out the window. She estimated that she should probably head down there in a few minutes. Luna was excited, she always dreamed of being able to enter the Lordor Palace, but never dared because on normal circumstances she would not be allowed to enter. But this was something different. She was not only allowed to enter the palace, but she was allowed to guard it. And her first day of guarding began on a spectacular day. She was going to begin guarding on the royal wedding!

Spoiler:

In the center of town, Morde hung upside-down in magic resistant chains from a tree. As yet another piece of rotten food struck his cheek, he shouted into the usual crowd of mocking onlookers, "437, I know your face."

He swung, desperately trying to call forth the primordial fire to consume them all, but the chains thwarted him. I'll reward the man who sets me free with a thousands years of servitude, he thought, After I slaughter every last one of these fools, of course.

The mad glint in his eyes burned ever brighter.

Eventually, the the bartender took the character sheet away from Mutar and asked to be payed for his ale. Mutar looked around in a daze before handing him a coin, which he pocketed quickly. Then he asked to be payed for the bench. Mutar looked down at the pile of broken timbers below him and realized that the bench was in fact destroyed. He took out another coin and handed it to the barkeeper. So he sat there, bored.

He tried calling out to the voice of the GM, but it failed to respond. A few of the other patrons did decide to leave however. Thinking (which is something Muatar was considering adding some points in on his next level ), he decided to read what some of the other characters posted.

The first one was some kind of drivel about some kind of 'Royal Wedding'. Mutar didn't know what a 'wedding' was, or a 'royal' for that matter. He decided to not care and continue on to the next post.

The next post was kind of scary. He didn't understand much of it, but he did think he knew what a 'servitude' was.

'I've always wanted a servitude', he thought quietly to himself and left to leave the inn. On his way out, he forgot the door was there. The wood splintered around him as he left the building. The barkeep could only stand in disbelief before sending a page to ask for a carpenter.

So Mutar made his way towards the center of the city. It was thoughtful that Morde had given him directions. People stared at him as he walked by, but he payed them no heed. As he approached the tree the sight of people throwing food at the man bound in chains reminded him that he was hungry.

He paused, and felt as if he was approaching some kind of major crossroads. As he moved towards the nearest stall, the feeling subsided. He spent his gold and consumed a mighty meal of pastries, taking his painful time on each one, adding more and more descriptive terms so that the reader might become anxious. Eventually, however, the stall ran out of meat-buns and he was forced to confront the storyline once more. It sat there, like a hydra, each of its heads snapping at him. Mutar decided he was still hungry and ate it, to the relief of the nearby citizenry, who were glad to be rid of the apparition.

Now satiated, he walked over to the tree and reached up at the chains. Making a decent roll on his strength check, he managed to beak them, a foreboding sound ringing out across the city. Everyone in the square turned to watch the confrontation as the warlock righted himself to standing.

Mutar was the first to speak. "Since I have freed you, you must give to me a green-apple servitude with vanilla icing on top!" He imagined how delicious it would be, for how could the word servitude represent anything other then the best of desert treats!?

Parlan watched the behemoth walk through the door, all quite literally, and decided a being of that girth must have a soul that equaled his strength and a soul that strong would feed the demon within him for quite a while, forcing the demon to name him master a while longer. He knew he was only useful to the demon while he could feed it the souls that granted it power, and he knew that as long as he fed the thing it would never learn to feed itself. It all worked out quite well. He killed whoever he wanted, took anything they had that he wanted for himself, and fed the soul to the demon who gave him the power to kill who he wanted. It was beautiful. Today, he thought he might want to kill the giant. That was until he released the mage. Oh, the mage had power and intelligence. Maybe enough power to rival his own. He would love to have that soul, but first he would have to get close. It would be much easier to steal that gem while the mage slept, and he had to be a friend to trust him with his sleep.

The world was blood and thunder. The lamentations of the people echoed throughout the village as they were blasted apart by primordial flame. The skies were blackened with the soot of burning homes and bodies. Everywhere was death, mocked by the maniacal laughter of a mage floating on high…

Morde snapped out of his daydream at the mention of servitude by the ogre. An honest man, even if he had never said his promise out loud, Morde felt somewhat compelled to fulfill his oath. “Very well, you shall have my servitude,” he said as he knelt before the half-giant.

Spoiler:

She went to the lobby where she met 4 men and a giant. She assumed that they were also there for the same reason she was. The main doors swung open revealing a dwarf. He walked into the center of the room.
"Welcome! Welcome to Lordor. You have chosen or been chosen to work for the Royal Guard. Tomorrow, you shall go to the gates and present your letters to the gatekeepers. They will then escort you to the armory where you are welcome to take any weapon that you desire. Afterwards you will be directed to your post. Now we do not expect any disasters during the Royal Wedding, but if so, fix them. Any questions?"
The room was silent for a few seconds and the dwarf began to speak again.
"Well I shall be off then. If you wish to speak to me, ask the Innkeeper to tell you where Ozgard's room is."

Spoiler:

No one seemed to have noticed that a man convicted of genocide was not only now free to run amok, but is has now also been drafted into a military force in charge of protecting the Royals of the continent. Morde was perfectly fine with this.

The next morning the party went to the gate and showed the door guards there letters. They were then escorted to the armory, just like the dwarf had said, where they chose a weapon if they desired. When they got there they were yet again greeted by Ozgard.

"I hope you all slept well for there is rumor that Plaque plans to strike today! Now this is just rumor, but that doesn't give you an excuse to slack off. Remember, if anything goes wrong, it will be coming out of your pay, understand?"
The group was silent which Ozgard took as an 'Ok, boss.'
"Good, now you can pick your weapon and go to your designated station."

Luna already had what she needed so she started heading toward her station. She took out the letter and began following the directions to where her station was. She was located in a tower. This was perfect, it allowed a birds-eye view for the wedding! She was excited. She started down a hallway that led to a staircase up to the tower where she was suppose to be positioned. As she walked up the staircase she noticed someone walking down in monk robes. Nobody was suppose to be up here. She disregarded it and kept on walking. She didn't want to be late for the wedding!

Parlan looked at the wall of weapons before climbing the west tower. He didn't see anything of interest and turned to leave, when a gleam of light reflected into his eyes. He turned to see what the light had bounced off of when he saw his weapon. It was a staff with a plain ash-wood handle topped with an odd crystal at the top, held together by golden dragon claws. He knew this staff contained power and the orb already contained a soul. As he checked the orb Parlan realized that, by some miracle, this orb could hold multiple souls. It was as if this staff was destined for him. He then continued to climb the tower and about halfway up a man in monk robes passed him. He wasn't sure why there was a monk in the tower, but he was sure it was Ozgard's doing. It would be nice to get hired once and told everything. It would make his life as a mercenary so much more simple.

A shadow in the corner of the armory twisted and crept out into the shape of a human figure. Van glanced about eh room but nothing caught his eye. That man had taken the only real treasure here. There were still a few men in the room, among them Morde. None had noticed him, or at least they hadn't reacted to him. Van pulled the staff from his back and held it in front of himself in a manner that was clearly not aggressive. He walked slowly until he was just within earshot of Morde, and not a step closer than he had to be.

"A gift from the rouges guild." Van tried to talk confidently, but when facing such a powerful figure, even with positive intentions that was hard to do. He presented the mage his staff.

Morde’s eyes widened, ever so slightly. Instinctively his hand shot out, gripping the staff. He should have been more careful.

For a moment, Van and Morde were connected by the staff. The world faded and blackened. Van’s vision was filled with the image of Morde, his eyes were pits of fire in a face without any capacity for mercy or kindness. It was the image of an avatar of destruction. With a gasp, Van let go of the staff, his world snapping back into the armory, and he was looking once again look at the face of a young wizard.

“Thank you,” Morde said through an impenetrable, wry grin.

Van dropped to the floor barely managing to suck in a livable amount of air, his mind still burning, seared with the flash of Morde. His flapping gasping ruckus drew the attention of everyone else in the room. The attention drew him back into the current situation. Van slid back against a wall, waiting to see how the others would react before he took and decisive action.

Mutar watched as the obvious man in robes walked past everyone, and was disappoint. He stood in the armory, unable to locate a sword that was any larger than his current ones, watching the plot walk past everyone. Not like he particularly cared about the stupid wedding anyway, he had more important things to do.

We walked over to Morde and picked the man up by the scruff of his neck and deposited the warlock on his shoulder, like some kind of demonic parrot.

"Come little man, let us go in search of the servitude you owe me", Mutar grumbled quietly before walking out of the room in search of the kitchen, past the suspicious man in robes.

Dear Fans,

Now I know what you are thinking:

"William, why you no medieval rp?"

Now there are 2 good reasons why and I'm about to list them:
1) No time. Having a job is like having a baby...except you have to clean up more poop with a baby. What's that? Oh, I take that back, someone pooped in the pool today. So yeah, babies and jobs are like the same thing, If you don't watch them they will probably kill you.
2) Dungeons and Dargon is like a better version of this. It's like the prequel to the Star Wars series. True, they have better effects and CGI, but none of them had characters that we know and love. And if I did have a character that we knew and loved they kinda butchered him *cough cough* Anakin/Darth Vader *cough cough*

Now enjoy this image

Another Quest is officially dead. I will be taking Mutar and Morde for use in Fist of Heaven, when it is ready.

Rest in peace.