The tavern of Infinity...

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Far away in the South.
"Mylady Noella I'm proud to have the honour to hand you out the requested Black Cloak of Virginity". With a delightful smile all over her face the Queen of the Shadownyphs recieves the most wanted artefact of powers. "Finaly mine", she wispers in ecstacy, "go to my treasure chamber and feel free to take what you can bear, but not the golden trouts".
The old sorcerer turns and heading down the endless spiral staircase he hears the bells of the temple greeting the 11th hour. His ponderings about having the 9th or the 10th of february are interrupted by a tremendous scream.........

[This message has been edited by BogiTheWaverer (edited March 26, 2001).]

 

...Sniper looks up...it is evening...he must have fallen asleep...he gets up and decides to look out of his window...

It is dark with shadows looming out of every possible crack...All of a sudden a shadow moves...then another...Sniper looks harder and spots the gleam of a sword hilt aginst the light of a lantern nearby...

Without anymore thought, Sniper mutters a few words and points a finger at the first moving apperation...4 bright pink streaks leave his fingers and slam into the first shadow. Something lets out a groan and slumps on the floor...All of a sudden the 2nd shadow starts sprinting away from the corpse. But Sniper was ready for that, he mutters a few more mystical words and sends a bolt of lightening through the 2nd shadow. It slumps on the floor...stone dead...

..........................................

Sniper returns to his room after collecting all that was thought valuable from the corpses. All he found was 43 gold pieces which will be enough to stay at the tavern for a few more weeks...a potion of rejuvination (already inspected), chainmail armor + 4, a blade with the inscription 'Bleeding blade' and a note...The note read...

Dark ones,
i will pay you 1000 gold each if you carry out the assasination of the old man Fat Egg...once done bring his chain mail armor and his blade to me...then i shall reward you.

Signed,
The dark god

Sniper...looks at the note then the chainmail armor and blade...his eyes swell up with tears and cannot hold them back. He bursts out into a deluge. While flooding the room he swears an oath to find this 'dark god' and slay him to avenge the death of his old buddy Fat Egg.

He remembers Eggs armor well...t was crafted by a mage of old. It is indeed an artifact. It gives the wearer the bonus protection but was harnessed with great magical power forged by the mage Kraztinizi who made armor and weapons not suitable for mages, sorcerers and wizards to allow these classes to use them.

Sniper dons the armor grimly and looks at the blade...yes the bleeding blade is a moon blade and can only be wielded by those that the original wielder would let use. Sniper was one of them that Fat Egg would let use the blade - they would train together with such blades in the underground monastaries.

Sniper puts the rest of the items into his bag. He gets up and decides to have a drink from the bar...a stiff one...a very stiff one in fact...for he needs time to think...

 

fat egg groans as he gets up. he realizes his sword is gone as is his chain mail, he summons up his second set and wears it, feeling for his spellbook he finds it. he enters the tavern only to find sniper with his chanmail and sword he snatches the sword out of sniper's hands and hands him his own sword, the two reunite sobbingly and are ready to head for the sword coast, it is time for a bit of action something egg hadn't had for a while, and something his sword was yearning for.

 

In the Silver Monkey, Ironbeard retires to his room, mulling over Sapiryl's proposition. There was no backing out of it, that was for sure - not only was Sapyril unlikely to accept it, but an offer of protection from the Shadow Thieves was not something to be turned down. He still remembered what had become of his poor brother Cedric when he had accidentaly trodden on some Shadow Thief toes. But still, the finest swordsman in the realms ... Sapyril had mentioned allies,he would be more than happy to share the money if it meant staying alive - but who could he trust? He was new to this town and knew so little he may end up asking Herf's closest friend for aid. One thing was certain, if he wanted allies there was only one place to look - the Tavern of Infinity. Slipping out of his window he took to the thieves' highway. It had been some time since he had made use of the rooftops, but with The Job looming he had to get all the practice he could.

A half hour later Ironbeard stopped. Evidently his lack of experience was showing, as he was completely lost. Scaling the bell tower, he drew a spyglass from his pack to get his bearings. He cast his gaze around and soon found the Tavern, but something else caught his eye. What appeared to be a lynch mob, led by a familiar figure in black armour was making its way from the Tavern of Infinity towards the Silver Monkey. Hastily he began to retrace his steps. Sapyril had to be warned.

 

Sniper and Fat Egg make final preperations for their departure. Sniper queries Fat Egg on what his mission is but Fat Egg gives Sniper a look that Sniper immediately obliges to.

"In time my friend...in time"

Just before their departure, Sniper pays the innkeeper and purchases 5 bottles of ale.

"Why would you want all that then?" queries the innkeeper.

"Well once drunk its always a good idea to piss in it and give it to some clever dick who reckons he skanked me into trading a bottle of good ale for what ever it is i need." replied Sniper

"Thats a good one mate!" laughed the innkeeper.

"No, i'm serious. I will have a whiz in this bottle should i feel that this skill is required" re-assured Sniper.

Fat Egg laughs as he watches but signals that they should be leaving. Sniper waves goodbye to the innkeeper promising to come back again.

As Fat Egg and Sniper walk down a dark alley they hear a crowd making their presence known. Fat Egg and Sniper stop and look behind them and watch as a mob walk past shouting out language that is deemed unsuitable for 12 years and younger.

"Oh well, maybe i won't have to keep the promise then...pity...i liked that innkeeper...and his ale...hmm...ale...that reminds me...the last ale i had tasted rather warm and salty..." commented Sniper

Fat Egg laughed.
After that, they continued their way west...

 

Blood flows freely from Moeken's mouth as he dabs at a cut below his eye. Looks of apprehension from his partners are met with reassurance, "Things are not always as they seem. Shura is indeed a force to be reckoned with, but victory presents itself in many forms." The streets seem deathly quiet at this late hour, news of the mayhem had spread rapidly.

The trio pick themselves up and continue toward their destination, Moeken's thoughts drift to a time when his training was almost complete:
'Indeed you have become a great warrior', his Master's frail gravely voice can barely be heard as he prepares himself for the inevitable, 'You are ready for your final test. You must defeat a Master.'
Moeken's face does not show surprise, he had long ago learned not to question a direct order. The two combatants circle each other, the generations that seperate them readily evident. One man sleekly muscled, the spring of youth in his step, the other, a hunched old man whose age can only be guessed at. With barely a noise Moeken executes a forward foot sweep that is easily avoided; always test your opponent with something trivial so as to assess their ability. Soon fist meets forearm and hand parries leg in a display of speed that can not easily be followed by the gathering students. The old man seems to transform with every move and soon any trace of his advanced years are gone. The only sounds heard as the men attack each other are the fleshy thuds of limb meeting body. Moeken can not believe how he has improved, years earlier he had not been able to touch the Master let alone strike him, and now evidence of his skill can be seen on his opponent's injured body. This fight was more difficult than anything he had imagined, yet slowly Moeken gains the upper hand. With mixed emotions the young monk executes a perfect flying back kick followed by a raised palm thrust to the chin. The Master's head snaps back from the blow which would have killed a normal man, the look of defeat can be seen in the Master's eyes. Moeken knows it will not be long, no one, not even the Master can continue to take this much punishment. He can almost taste his victory as his final manouver presents itself. In a blind daze the Master slightly drops his left hand leaving the win open for Moeken. With unconcealed confidence the young student leaves his feet ready to deliver the finishing blow. Sailing through the air, foot extended, Moeken can not believe his eyes as the Master transforms from a beaten image of frailty to a blur of motion. Instead of stiking the Master, Moeken's foot is swept aside and a backhand blow impacts Moeken's throat. Tears of agony and defeat burn Moeken's eyes as he hits the ground clutching his injured windpipe. His only thoughts are of humility as dark clouds of death obscure his vision. Suddenly the gentle hands of the Master are apon him and the soothing voice or reassurance enters his mind. With careful pressure Moeken's throat once again opens to the sweat evening air and instantly the pain in his body is gone. In moments he is standing next to his smiling teacher.
"That will be your final lesson my son. You are ready."

The sounds of music and revelry snap Moeken back to the present as they approach the Silver Monkey. He quickly drops his hands from his throat. 'Yes, Shura is indeed a dangerous man,' Moeken whispers quietly,'but many a great warrior has fallen to a man less skilled than himself.' Give your opponent ample chance to underestimate you, but never afford him the same mistake in return. Yes, his final lesson had been etched into his mind. Shura was no match for him, of this he was certain, but now Moeken had other things to worry about...


[This message has been edited by Lord Moeken (edited March 27, 2001).]

 

Having fought off the maniacal attacks of the paladin and his monk sidekick, Shura races across the darkened streets, feeling with his uncanny sense for a planar gateway. Since his return from the Abyss to the Prime Material Plane, he had been able to locate planar openings in his immediate vicinity and open them regardless of the required Key. "One gift, among others..." so said the great Balor N''rshreekali as the battered form of Shura lay at his feet. The human had led a suicide squad in a strike against a Baatezu structure and suceeded. He was the only one who failed in the suicide part of the mission though. He was gifted with freedom and the curse of Demonic Mutation, an ironic final touch of his evil master.
Bursting into the home of an elderly peasant, Shura startled the man into giving a choked scream as he leapt into his closet, disappearing in a flash of multi-coloured light......

 

***The reason that I'm not writing any continuation of my story is because I don't want to define anyone else's character.

 

**appreciates the consideration behind Sapiryl's thought having been a victim of that experience herself**

Shura, no, but I would appreciate having been allowed the opportunity to make my own entrance at my own discretion. Yes, Bogi, it's cute and I did chuckle, but still...

(And if anyone gets offended by this response I'm going to have a breakdown!)

*stalks off grumbling about sensitive damn men*

[This message has been edited by Darien Noella (edited March 27, 2001).]

 

(are you angered by the 'cloak of virginity', darien?)

 

Ironbeard crashes through the door of the Silver Monkey. He darts up to the bar, annoying a queue of people waiting to be served, and demands to be shown to Sapyril. The barman points him in the right direction with the minimum of words and turns back to his paying customers.

"Master Sapyril," he exclaims " I witnessed something most disturbing. It seems our "friend" wishes to pay us a visit." He reaches into his pack and draws out a canister of gas "Perhaps we should arrange a reception for him? - Oh and don't worry about getting our virtuous buddies upset by killing any innocents he may drag along - this stuff will weaken him but it's perfectly nonlethal."


[This message has been edited by Ironbeard (edited March 27, 2001).]

 

Under the protection of her ring of invisibility, Duskai ventures into the main room of the silver monkey. Smoke rises and gathers about the ceiling, the floor is wet from many a spilt ale. As she looks around for the thief the dwarf barges in shouting something in a most unsubtle manner, checking the metal band is held firmly on her finger she follows the dwarf as he races of in the direction pointed out to him. The dwarf nearly collides with the thief in his distress, still shouting, this time she makes out what it is that has vexed him so...
Spying the canister, and hearing the dwarf's hasty explaination an idea starts to form.
"Non-lethal eh? she thinks, "this could be a most unique opportunity, and most profitable, this is indeed well timed for my needs"
As she moves closer to try to learn of more, the thief looks away from his irrate employee, eyes darting back and forth. Maybe this time she had taken one step too far, the precious ring no longer aiding her confidence she puts her faith in her stealth abilities and steps back against the wall hoping to remain undetected. To her relief the dwarves rantings sway his attention.
All she need do now is wait til the odd couple leave, then she would see what could be done. But her feet begin to ache and she longs for the comfort of a drink in warm company, she hopes this will not take long, she has other matters to deal with before day finally catches up.

 

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Oops, sorry - never really thought of that - thanks for pointing that out Sapyril. I'll try to be careful when I refer to other people in my posts. If BTA sees this post, could he please delete it as it's just breaking up the narrative now- Thanks in advance.
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[This message has been edited by Ironbeard (edited March 30, 2001).]

 

I apologise in advance if I portray anyone in a way that they do not approve of...sorry
now on with the story...

 

*** S'okay Ironbeard. You and I and Duskai have a specific story to tell, I don't mind in the least if you interact with me. But actually I was waiting for our dear monk and paladin friends to make their next move. Oh well.

"Excellent!" Sapiryl manages to get out, "I had thought of something very similar to your solution!"

Sapiryl grimaces. He was a good thief, but he was an honest thief. Mostly because he couldn't lie worth Ogre feces.

Ironbeard quirks his eyebrow as Sapiryl vaults away toward the door. Brushing against a patron, he turns quickly to apologize to...someone who's not there. Shaking his head, he wonders about his mental health, and continues to the door. Down the street appear two familar figures, and behind them, a small crowd.

"Well, Ironbeard, how do you propose we settle this?"

 

Herf walks down the street with paladins in tow. As he enters the Silver Monkey he spies the dwarf running up the stairs at the far end of the inn while glancing behind himself in a furtive manner.

"Whats he doing here?" The paladin in shinging armour asks, his friend replies with a shrug.

The warrior in black is wary but still proceeds on.

"Everybody out!" He bellows at the top of his voice to everyone in the tavern. "Everyone who has a room get up there while you still can, everyone who doesnt have a room LEAVE! There is a respectable inn a few leauges down the road, GO!" Something in his voice makes them all think twice about not leaving, a few of the younger more inexperienced men mutter under their breath but Herf knows it wont go any further than that, the warriors in tow look on in amazement as everyone bows their head as they leave.

"Shura, get your thieving arse out here right now, and bring that son of a troll with you."

 

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I hereby give other people full rights to describe my character's actions if the narrative demands it. Just nothing permanent (like killing me) - yet.
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Ironbeard tightens his grip on his crossbow. He has the peculiar sensation that he is being watched. He looks around to find that his entrance disturbed everyone in the bar. Remembering an old saying in his clan "Moradin has no sympathy for the careless", he curses his panic. How many of these people could be friends of herf's? However, he has a sensation of being watched by a more sinister prescence, someone more dangerous than any drunks and ruffians that may frequent this bar. "Nah, I'm just being paranoid" he mutters as he shakes the feeling off. Looking out the smalll window of the tavern, he sees the mob approaching and turns back to Sapyril with a renewed urgency. " clear everyone out a back door," he says, "I'll be able to trap this place up really nicely for our friends, got a lens of illusion from Mr. Jansen that'll stop them being suspicious about the place being empty too - then if you've got any men you could call on we surround this place and move in when our "guests" are stunned and blinded. Of course, you're the boss - if you've got a better plan I'll follow to the letter."

[This message has been edited by Ironbeard (edited March 28, 2001).]

[This message has been edited by Ironbeard (edited March 30, 2001).]

 

*umm guys, Shura the Kensai is currently somewhere lost in the planes, not in some tavern anymore*

 

This just caught my eye:

Not even a Balor could do that! Heck not even the Abyssal Lords Grazzt, Jubilex or some other weirdo has that power! Neither do Asmodeus, Baalzebul, Dispater, Mammon, Belial and the other members of the Dark Eight!

Shura are you the Lady of Pain's gigolo?

 

(Just some wierdness with Shura's half demonic constitution that grants him this ability. There's always a first, Rak.)