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04:55, 29th March 2024 (GMT+0)

Elsewhere in Rimuldar...

Posted by StripeFor group public
Stripe
GM, 233 posts
Mon 10 Nov 2008
at 22:50
  • msg #1

Elsewhere in Rimuldar...

Never before had Jeremy's heart raced so fast. A pounding drum in his ears, it practically beat right out of his chest. Heaving, panting, eyes wild with fright, the lone thief dashes through the filthy, moonlit alleyway as fast as his legs can carry him. If only he could cry out, but who would help him? Who could help him?

Jeremy's boots splashed in the shallow pools of muddy water as he sprinted down the narrow passage. Fatigue began to replace adrenaline. The chill night air began to burn like fire in his lungs. Knowing the consequences of failing to escape his pursuer pushed him farther; moments ago, he had witnessed his young partner in crime get hacked in twain from shoulder to hip with the single stroke of a crescent-shaped sword.

No! It was a sickle! Gods help me it was a sickle! One in each hand!
Stripe
GM, 239 posts
Tue 11 Nov 2008
at 07:15
  • msg #2

Re: Elsewhere in Rimuldar...

Inspector Kane was a cold, callous scarecrow of a man, tall and slender to the point of gauntness. His skin was a pallid sheet of white, a stark contrast to the well-worn black, ankle-length overcoat he wore. It had a high collar and two rows of silver buttons. Flanked by two of the finest, battle-hardened soldiers stationed in Rimuldar, the scowling inspector strides across the floor of a posh master bedroom with a beautiful dressing table against one wall. Kane walks over to its large round mirror and stares at himself, bony hands clasped behind his back.

"This is the table on which your chest of illusions sat?"

"It is, inspector," whimpers a man in the background more round than tall. He stands beside a third soldier, a newer recruit whose no less imposing than any other Imperial Guard.

Kane sniffs. He slowly reaches into his pocket and draws out a watch. With the push of a button on its top, the bejeweled timepiece opens. "And, it was just before eleven the day before yesterday the three invaded your room?"

"It was, sir. I heard the guard call 'midnight' shortly after they escaped."

"As you said..." With that, the golden timepiece snaps shut and gets dropped back in Kane's pocket. "Very well."

What was once a scowl softens as the tall inspector's eyes close. One hand raises, its long, bony fingers curling and writhing in a series of gestures. Beneath his breath, Kane whispers a few indecipherable phrases of arcane dialect. After a few seconds of quiet chanting, his eyes flutter open, hand still raised. Carefully, Kane reaches out to touch the tip of his finger to the mirror. Strangely, the mirror's surface ripples outward from his fingertip as if it were made of water.

Where once the distorted images of their reflections danced in its rippling surface, now the large, round mirror goes dark. In silence, the four watch the looking glass.

Suddenly, a noiseless flash erupts inside the mirror. Then another. Through the bursts of light, the fat man can see a reflection of the bedroom in which they stand. However, the reflection is of an empty room... at night. The intermittent flashes were from lightning.

When he realizes what he's watching, the fat man's curiosity overrides his fear of the inspector. "The mirror... It is displaying a reflection of that night, is it not?" The fat man notes the reflection of a large silver chest sitting on the table where in reality, there is none.

"It is."

Moments later, the mirror's reflection shows the door to the room opens slightly. Dim, flickering candlelight creeps in though its crack. Following it, a catlike burglar nimbly tiptoes inside. After a quick, cursory search of the room, the burglar approaches the mirror.

"That's her," the fat man breaths.

As the young cat burglar approached the mirror, she seemed to admire her own beautiful reflection. The woman took a moment to make a few poses, blinking her eyes slyly. She then slowly opened the silver box. Strangely, she seemed to hesitate -- at one point almost closing the box -- before she selected two necklaces, placing one in each pocket. She then took a handful worth of diamonds and placed them carefully in her bosom.

Just as she finishes, the mirror shows the reflection of two men bearing candles slinking into the room behind her. The young woman spins around, startled.

Kane holds up one hand and the image freezes.

"Yes, yes. Those are the other two," the fat man says as he dares to walk closer. He then points to the reflection of the one wearing a hood. "He's the one who struck my manservant on the arm. The other's the one who nearly started the fire and was off with my chest."
Stripe
GM, 426 posts
Fri 19 Dec 2008
at 18:57
  • msg #3

Re: Elsewhere in Rimuldar...

Alone in darkness, Durgin leans into his high-backed chair and places his elbows on its wide armrests. Face up-lit by a ghostly flicker, the brooding man steeples his fingers, the tips of which meet at the top of his nose. Time passes in silence as Durgin, lost in thought, stares into nothingness.

From the darkness, a creaking door opens, then closes with a heavy boom. Durgin doesn't bother looking up.

Moments later, a voice familiar to him scoffs, "Twenty five! Ha! I even offered them thirty, and they still took twenty five!" Zuul cackles. "Where do you get these kids? 'King of Thieves' they call you. More like 'blockhead magnet.'"

Taking his seat across the small table, the old gargoyle groans as his bones creak. A silvery glow casts a soft illumination upwards onto his face. "Cold tonight. Bad moon too."

"You should have given them thirty." Durgin says without a twitch, still lost in thought.

"Bah," Zuul waves his hand dismissively. "Giving that bunch thirty pieces would be like throwing a handful of pearls to the swine." He sniffs and pushes the glasses back up his beak-like nose with one gnarled talon.

When he sees Durgin has no argument to offer, Zuul quickly becomes impatient. "Well, get on with it! We ain't got all night."

Durgin shakes his head as if coming out of a daze, and looses an exasperated exhale as he sits up.



Through the keyhole an eye watches. A little girl, barely in her teenage years, spies on the meeting. She sees Durgin's up-lit face through the shadows, but the ugly old gargoyle's chair is facing away from the door.

Suddenly, Durgin sits up as if waking from a dream. He looks down at the table at his knees, down at the glowing crystal sphere the girl knows is magical. He then begins to wave one hand palm down in a slow, circular motion above the crystal. His words are hard to make out, but she knows its some sort of enchantment. She knows the ball shows them things, things they want to see.



"Mmm. Diamonds. That one must be two carats at least," Zuul says matter-of-factly. "It'll fetch a silver penny or two.

"Who's that?"

Durgin doesn't reply immediately. They watch the glowing crystal ball for a few more moments until he answers. "Whisper," he says as if the name is a curiosity to him. "You wouldn't know him. He's a bit more than a common crook. He's a young mage."

"A mage? Well, since you know everything, what's he doing with our loot? We supposed to get it from him?"

"No... He's supposed to get it... for us..."
This message was last edited by the GM at 01:39, Mon 12 May 2014.
Stripe
GM, 658 posts
Wed 27 Jan 2010
at 09:13
  • msg #4

Re: Elsewhere in Rimuldar...

Dusk -- a cold autumn wind blew through the winding streets of Rimuldar. Across a skyline of thatched roofs and stone tower tops, the cruel Inspector Kane's piercing stare swept. The imperial mage-tacker surveyed the lantern-lit streets from high above, his gloved fists resting on the bell tower's balustrade.

Curiously, a misplaced envelope made of black paper rested on the street where it was undoubtedly dropped by mistake. The red wax seal remained unbroken; no boot had yet trod on it. It was one of many discarded items of trash littering the streets, but the parcel caught the inspector's keen eye. Casually, he wondered what messenger could have been so careless with his letter. In this neighborhood, such a letter's contents could bring swift indictments. After his meeting, he would have to pick it up.

That is, if he survived.

He is only a mortal; flesh and blood. He is not the omnipresent, omniscient, walking death he would have everyone believe. Kain scoffed. It wasn't a weak attempt at calming his nerves -- the inspector's heart was as cold and callous as his stony visage.

When the breeze suddenly became chill, a thin lash of the inspector's shoulder-length white hair fluttered in the wind, escaping from beneath his wide-brimmed hat.

The inspector spoke without turning, his steel gray eyes still scouring the streets far below. "Lord Slayer, I presume?" It was more of a statement than a question; more of an accusation than an address.

From shadows darker than night, a hollow, ghostly voice replies in an ominously-low rumble. "Your presumptions have not brought me the stone, Inspector."

"They have brought you the heads of many who have possessed it."

"And with each, another excuse." The voice brims with malice and vile contempt.

With that, the inspector turns to face his accuser, a fierce glimmer burning in his eyes. "And what of Garinham?"

In less than a blink of an eye, the inspector found himself gasping for air, feet dangling inches above the floor. His hands desperately clutched the wrist of a powerful arm. Fingers wrapped tightly around his throat like a hangman's noose, choking Kane in their crushing grasp. Worse that the constriction was the searing pain, pain like fire. Somehow, in the back of the inspector's flailing mind he knew it was not heat but extreme cold that burned his flesh.

"You dare to question me? Draped in a void of utter blackness, the hooded figure had stepped out from the shadows then crossed the space between them instantly. He simply appeared -- arm already in upward motion -- and caught the inspector by his throat, lifting him off his feet.

Kane's brain screamed for blood and his lungs ached for air. He struggled to remain calm, focused on not making a single degrading noise. He would not whimper. He would not cower. If the Reaper took his life this night, than so be it. Let it be known that Kane was a man of unrelenting courage to the bitter end.

"Well, Inspector? I await your reply."

It felt like eternity, but in reality, it was only a few more agonizing seconds before the cloaked figure tossed him like a rag doll against the stone railing.

Kain wheezed and hacked. Blood trickled down the corner of his mouth. His gullet wanted to heave but his willpower kept him from retching. He couldn't help but succumb to a fit of coughs. Straining between coughs, he managed to give a standard answer in flat monotone, "Your authority is without question, My Lord."

Despite his attempts to keep from doing so, Kane resumed coughing as the Reaper loomed above him.

"The Tooth is here in Rimuldar once again, Inspector." The silhouette turned and began to move away. "You have three days to bring it to me.

"This time, I will accept no excuses."


With that, the Reaper disappeared slowly into the shadows.

Still hacking, Kane cursed his old bones as he rose to his feet. He took a moment to compose himself as he stared into the empty darkness inside the bell tower. Satisfied that the Reaper was gone, he turned back to the edge to gaze upon the city.

"You have failed, Lord Slayer," Kane thought to himself. "I know who you are; I questioned your failure in Garinham. Yet, I remain alive."

Of course he remained alive. How could the Reaper kill him? Kane revealed that he knew his secret, that he was the Viscount Hans Slayer. It would be a political disaster if it were known that he traipsed around murdering citizens by the masses at night; that a high chancellor was guilty of atrocities far beyond those he prosecuted.

Who else had Kane told? Surly the Reaper couldn't know, and that's why he could not kill Kane. Kane had power over him, a power that could be used to his advantage.

"Only a mortal. Flesh and blood," Kane sneered. Oh, he would get the Tooth and he would go to the Reaper. But, the Reaper would have to pay for it, and he would have to pay dearly.

Just then, the black envelope laying on the sidewalk far below caught the inspector's attention once more. Kane removed one black, leather glove and with a wave of his bare hand, the mage-tracker conjured a brisk wind that blew it from the streets to the tower's top and right into his outstretched palm. He broke the seal and opened the letter.

It was blank.

Or, so it seemed initially.

Before Kane's eyes a flaming script appeared letter by letter until the paper was gleaming with fiery writing. It was Ancient Gnomish, the forgotten language of scholars and historians. There were only two words:

THREE DAYS

Shocked, Kane stared at the paper, eyes filled with horror. He waved his trembling hand over the paper. A mystic mark appeared -- the Reaper's signature skull and crossed sickles.

"No!" Kane shouted, dropping the letter.

Again, he began coughing, this time into his bare hand. He looked down at his palm, knowing what he would see: blood. The Reaper had inflicted him with the plague. Everyone knew that once contracted, the plague was incurable. Kane knew then why he had been given three days; it was an old saying: "From the moment blood appears on your breath, upon this earth you have three days left."

The realization that the Reaper was in complete control of the situation came crashing down on the inspector. The Reaper was all too aware that Kane knew his secret. The three days wasn't just a deadline, it was also warning. He was the only one would could cure his illness...

...And, he would only do so if Kane brought him that which he sought.
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