Pre adventure posts here.

The thin man wound through the thick crowd of the marketplace, bypassing beggars, ignoring hawkers pushing various goods into his face, and doing everything possible to avoid touching anyone in the throng - though he did pause at one food stand. The proprietor immediately shoved a flatbread wrap toward him.

"Ah, my good sir!" he greeted him, and gestured at the man's clothing. "Only the finest for a man such as yourself. I buy only the best lamb, and marinate it for three days in Courisanthi wine."

The thin man scowled, and continued onward, the meat seller yelling after him.

Clank! Clank! Clank!

He paused, his head swiveling, until he located the source of the metal-on-metal sound, and took off in that direction.

Clank! Clank! Clank!

It grew louder as he approached a thin, but long, stall in the marketplace, seemingly run by a single old man, currently pounding away at a red-hot bar of metal with a hammer. The walls were covered in pieces of metal - half a breastplate, a shield, the front half of a helmet, hilts of various designs, gauntlet fingers, hiltless blades. On the back wall was a gleaming blade crossed by a matte hammer, both with handles wound with red and black leather.

The thin man paused, taking all this in, and glanced at the sign swinging a few feet from the old man's head. Trager Metals it read. He narrowed his eyes and looked back to the old man as he inserted the bar into the forge for a few seconds before removing it to begin hammering again.

He was large, easily a head taller than the thin man. His hair was silver, damp from the day's sweat in the heat of the smithy, but well-kept. He could see the man's right side in profile, and he was clean enough shaven, though stubble indicated he had likely not shaved this morning. His arms were each as large as the thin man's head.

"Smith," he said, loudly, between hammer strikes. The old man continued hammering. "Smith!" he yelled over the pounding of the hammer. The old man lifted the bar, now much thinner, looking at it from various angles. He placed it in the forge again. The thin man reached toward him.

"Smith!"

Pain blossomed in the thin man's throat as he stared into eyes gray like a storm. The hand around his throat relaxed and then tightened again. "My name," rumbled from the face before him, "is Trager." He grabbed the thin man's hand and pulled it to him, and stared at his palm for a moment before he pushed the thin man by the throat, causing him to stumble and fall. The voice like a rockslide spoke again. "And you tell your Lord Kirstane if he wants a blade, he comes to me himself, or sends someone who knows how to handle one." He returned to the forge, pulling out the bar and placing it on the anvil. He raised the hammer and paused.

"Now leave."

Clank! Clank!
This message was last edited by the player at 23:14, Wed 16 Sept 2020.

The sun shined bright overhead, beating down its midday heat, creating a slight haze on the dirt road outside of the nearby large city. Above, a lone eagle soared, screeching out its cry to pierce the quiet. EDi looked towards his opponent, his burnished copper eyes glinting beneath the brim of his tattered bowler hat. He took a few paces closer...his bare metal feet crunching on the dirt beneath him.

"Looks like its time, DeadEnd Pete....Time for you to either step up....or back down."

The villain stayed motionless in front of a large oak tree, leaning almost casually against it, and said nothing. That was fine...they were well past the time for talk. With a slow exaggarated gesture, EDi lifted his slightly moldy and smelly rug poncho, tossing part of it over his shoulder. The motion revealed a pistol, resting precariously from what had once been someones coinpurse. The hole in the bottom of it had ruined it for holding currency, but it worked almost okay as a makeshift holster.  The minutes seemed to drag by as the sun creeped across its path in the sky. EDi's hand hovered over the grip of the small pistol hanging low on his hip, held on by a stout piece of rope used a belt. A bit of motion caught his attention out of the corner of his eye, a lone leaf, slowly drifting its way to the ground. The tense pressure in the air almost seemed to catch fire now as the leaf fell. He could tell...this was it.

The leaf touched dirt and there was a sudden blur of motion. His hand went for the gun, lifting...aiming....firing a single shot!

BOOM! !

The loud roar of the gun caused countless unseen birds to take flight, fleeing the sudden deafening noise. The once villainous figure slumped to the ground, his head rolling to the side just a bit down the hill. From nearby the shouts of passersby could be heard as horses began to almost bolt in fear.

"Dammit EDi!  What in blazes are you doing? I told you, no more of your silly games! You can make it the rest of the way to town on your own!"

 The angry wagon driver glared down at EDi from his seat on the cart before nimbly leaping down and calming his own horses down. There were other shouts of equal disdain and a few offered suggestions on just where EDi should put his gun, if he was going to continue to scare horses and honest folk on the road.

"Oh!  Sorry Mr. Jameson, I was just practicing." EDi responded, offering a friendly wave to the man as he climbed back onto his cart and promptly drove off, ignoring EDi.

He looked over at the 'corpse' of DeadEnd Pete...the large oak branch he had found nearby, and the big rock he had settled on top to represent his head. There was a clean hole, right where his chest would have been. EDi hummed to himself, pleased. The rock was still down the hill a ways, so he decided to let it lay. He gathered up his sock of remaining ammo, and tied it opposite his gun holster. He decided not to reload the single shot pistol just yet, the city guards might not approve. After making sure his things were as secure as he could make them, he adjusted his hat and continued his way on in to town, wondering just what heroic adventures he might find there.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:32, Thu 17 Sept 2020.

Adora sat behind a tree, hidden from view of the road. Black hair tightly coiffed behind her head, she held an air of elegance about her - despite her scars and ragged clothing. Once a great elven beauty, deep scars now marred her one side of her face, the remnant of a fight that would have claimed her life were it not for the intervention of her patron. Her clothes bore the scars of her lack of prospects. She clutched her small coin purse with its measly one gold remaining in it.

She leaned against the tree and closed her eyes, listening for the sound of employ. Clip clop. Clip clop. Clip clop. Horses. A traveler.

Adora smiled a smile that distorted her scar grotesquely.

A mark.

A blur of movement and shadow, she slunk to the road and watched for the traveler. She had heard only one horse, so it should be a small group at most. A lone traveler at best. A few tense moments passed before she saw the horse and rider come into sight. It was indeed a lone rider. From the look at his saddle bags, a letter courier. Such couriers usually carried money.

She pulled her mask up to obscure her lower face and lowered her hood to cover the rest. She drew a dagger and rose to walk to the center of the road. The courier slowed and stopped his mount fifteen feet from her.

"You-You might want to get out of the way... I-I have magic!" He drew a dagger and a small wand. She recognized this device most couriers carried one any more. A wand of magic missiles. Cute, but it could hurt a lot.

She gave a dramatic sigh and expertly threw her dagger to cut one side of the horse's reign, causing the beast to rear back in alarm, making it impossible for the courier to activate the wand properly. As the horse settled in place, dark shadows gathered in her left hand, at first like mist forming a short sword. In her right hand, a longsword materialized out of the aether.

"I don't want your parcels. Or you letters. Drop one pouch of gold and I'll let you leave with your life, mail-man."

The man gulped and pointed the wand at her.

"Mistake."

A blur of motion, she ran at the horse who reared again at the attack, spinning away at the last minute to come to the side of the man, slashing at his barding and the saddle bags at his side. She heard the coins pouches falling even as the three bolts of force hit her and threw her to the side a little. The weakened saddle straps caused the man to fall from his horse even as she was standing again, wincing with pain and anger. She approached the man. Anger burned dark in her eyes. She brought her blades to his neck as she bent down. He groped for his wand, but it must have fallen when he did.

"You must be new to this. I'm a more generous bandit than any other you will meet. It's your good fortune that you now have to carry all of this to town without your horse." She spied his wand ten feet away. "I'll take one pouch of gold. You take your wand, your parcels and your life. Now you sit here til I'm gone from view or I'll change my mind. Savy?"

The man nodded, an acrid smell growing from below him. Adora nodded, twisted and picked up one pouch of gold and then darted into the trees, running fast as she could at first then darting off the game trail and crouching to stealth.

The day was still early and she was concerned that she wouldn't be able to rob anyone else today with her wounds. At least she could get herself a room at the inn tonight and hot food. Even so, she waited two hours then made her way closer to the road and waited for the sounds of more travelers.

The day wanes on and becomes pretty late, Trager's work is done for the day.
This message was last edited by the GM at 00:39, Sun 20 Sept 2020.

The crisp scuff of EDi's metal feet seemed at times both quiet, and oddly piercing in the dim light of late evening. After entering the city at around noon, he had quite happily spent the bulk of the day simply wandering around, checking out all the sights. He had never been in a city so large as this.  He had caught more than a few stares from passersby, but moreso from the slight stink of rot from his poncho than from his own physical peculiarities. It mattered not to him, he gave many a person a polite nod or tip of his dishevled bowler hat. As the day has progressed he had started wondering if he might find a late night district, or some place that he might spend his time without seeming out of place or appearing as some sort of stalker.

"Hmmm now....I reckon I should vacate this here area of shops and such, they might not take too kindly to vagabonds."

He picked up his pace a little, trying to appear to be someone in a hurry to get somewhere instead of his usual mosey. Up ahead a bit he spotted a couple of figures standing across the street from what looked like some kind of smithy. One of the figures squatted down, putting flint to steel and lighting a torch. The bright light illuminated the figures for a brief moment as a few other torches were lit from the first, but showed only silhouettes and dark clothing. EDi's head tilted in mild confusion at the small gathering that apparently hadn't seen him yet.

The figure who lit the first torch stepped towards the shop, pulling up some sort of mask. to cover his face more. His arm that held the torch reached back, then whipped forward with speed, launching the flaming stick through one of the smithy windows with the crack and shatter of broken glass. EDi jumped at the sound, scared and caught off guard by the sudden and bold criminal action. He stood there, frozen as the remaining figures threw their torches as well each claiming a different window. The light from inside the smithy grew as the torches collected, in moments the sight of yellow flames could be seen at the base of the windows as smoke began to seep out. The back of his mind tried to get him to turn, to flee away from this new danger, yet some small part of his mind just clicked.

  "Halt!  Halt you yellow bastards!"   He cried out, almost shocking himself at how loud it was.

The men turned as one and saw him, the ones in the back turned and fled. The rest stayed for a moment more before also scattering in different directions. EDi gave an internal sigh of relief as his feet finally seemed to let go of the ground. He rushed forward, reaching for his gun. Maybe he could at least would one enough for questioning? Maybe...? He slid to a stop, he would need all of his focus and aim to hit the target right where he wanted.  He whispered to himself as he raised the gun.

  _{"Come on, just like practice. Split the sights. Pull the hammer back. Lead the target....and..."}

*click*

He chest sank at the impotent sound of the small gun.  He hadn't reloaded. He was so caught up in being new in town he forgot to reload. He was his own damned bastard to blame. The figures had all disappeared into the night by now, long gone. He swore under his hat as he thought about rushing off after them. Though, new noises from inside the smithy drew his attention. Was someone in there?

Trager dunked the hot blade into the barrel of water, holding it there with his tongs as the water bubbled. He wiped the sweat from his brow and looked out at the market street. The shadows were lengthening; it was time to close up shop. He'd have no further visitors today. Lord Kirstane's lackey was enough for today, he thought, face darkening.

He pulled the blade out, shaking it once, and held it toward the shopfront opening, inspecting it closely. He traced it with a finger, nodding. The blood channel, misnamed though it was, was smooth and well shaped. The tip was centered, the tang was solid and centered, the unsharpened blade was ready to take an edge. You will make me proud in your bearer's hands, Iona. He could never give up naming each weapon, even if he never told those names to the new owner, a habit from his first master.

He wrapped the blade in canvas then unlocked a chest at the back of the shop, which was bolted to the building frame. The blade was placed inside, then locked, to protect the blade from scavengers. He hadn't been robbed in the five years he'd had this shop, but that didn't mean it was time to slack off.

He lit a lamp, then closed the shop front, dropping the wooden awnings and latching them from the inside. He covered the doorway with a piece of sheetmetal, which he held in place with wooden bars at the top, middle, and bottom. He double checked the latches on the two small front windows and, satisfied they would hold, began the last closing ritual.

He took down the round shield from the back wall, laying it on the workshop table, then the crossed hammer and sword. He laid the two weapons on another sheet of canvas, then slowly rolled it up, and inserted the roll into the shield's arm straps. He hefted the shield, then exited through the back door - and into his residence.

The quarters were small: 20 by 20, a single bed, a fireplace with small cook pot, a wash basin, and chamber pot. A small desk sat along one wall with another oil lamp on it. There were shelves lining each wall, covered with books. He dropped the shield with bundled weapons on the bed, placing the oil lamp from the smithy on a standalone shelf. He lit the lamp on the desk, which was much brighter, then put out the other. He splashed water on his face from the basin, the cooling sensation making him more alert and rinsing away the day's sweat.

He stripped off his work shirt, and threw on a clean one in case he went out for anything - something that was unlikely, but he was always prepared for. What book today? he pondered, eyes sweeping the shelves, not needing to see titles as he knew the layout by heart. His eyes settled on a dark blue canvas-bound tome. The Van Diven Treatise will be good, he thought, pulling it down. He set it on the desk and paused, tilting his head.

What was that? He heard it again, a tinkling sound, followed by a soft pop. Then he smelled smoke. He crossed the room in two strides, grabbed the handle of the door but paused, feeling the heat beyond the door. He sighed, letting go. Shouldn't have grabbed his throat, Trager.

He wrapped a belt about his waist then grabbed a bag from beneath his bed and strapped it to his back. He pulled out the roll of weapons from the shield, attaching the shield to his bag, and the sword in a sheath on the belt. The hammer he hefted in both hands and approached the right wall near the rear. Should have put in a window, he thought, before slamming the hammer into the wall. One board cracked. He lifted it again and aimed for the crack, the hammer exiting this time.

As he pulled the hammer back through, he looked through the hole, and saw a metallic face staring back at him, a bowler hat atop its head.
This message was last edited by the player at 05:18, Sun 20 Sept 2020.

Adora slunk through the city looking for more marks. Hopefully she could get a nicer inn for the night. She had picked a few coppers off some guy stumbling out of a tavern. She had used her Mask of Many Faces to hide her ghastly appearance and looked like an affronted noble woman as he walked into her. She had easily picked his last few coins.

Still in her guise, she wandered the darkening street, salty over her poor fortune. As she walked she saw a building on fire. No sign of a fire brigade. And she got mad. For a robber she was an odd cookie. You never took a livelihood from someone you rob. Otherwise how could you rob them again in the future?

Two figures ran from the building and she moved to intercept them, gliding like a wraith. Her hands came up in front of her, curled like claws as she grinned at the figures approaching her. Slowly, curling, clawing black tentacles rose from the ground around her once they were within 10 feet of her.

[OOC- casting arms of hadar. Need a strength save from them guys please. DC 12]

Attack

Adora smiled as they went motionless in thr tentacles. Her smile grew feral as she leaned closer to them.

"Okay boys we will wait right here for the guards. Get comfy or Hadar might get hungry..."

Trager blinked, staring at the figure on the other side of the wall. "Either help or move," he growled, and swung the hammer again, and again, splintering the wall bit by bit. The room was growing increasingly hot and smoky, and he could hear the fire consuming the shop, but he pushed those thoughts from his mind.

He assessed the opening he had made. He couldn't fit through it; that would take a while. He dropped the hammer through a loop in the belt. To his right, the door to the smithy became fully engulfed in flames. He stared at it for a long second.

He pulled the shield from his back, strapping it to his left arm and crossed the room as far from the opening as possible. He took a deep breath and ran for the wall, jumping at the last second, pulling his body behind the shield as he hit the rough opening.

The boards around the opening splintered outward as he exploded through the wall. He hit the ground and slid on the shield into the building next door, the breath being pushed from his body. He groaned and came to his knees, taking lungfuls of air. He hadn't realized just *how* smoky it had been in there until the fresh air felt like water to a parched man. He stood, rolling his shoulders from the impact, and stumbled down the alley toward the street.

Coming out of the shadow of the buildings, he could see the front of his shop ablaze. The metallic bowler-wearing figure stood nearby, draped in a... was that a moldy rug? Two men were wrapped, completely limp and still, in dark tentacles seemingly growing from the ground near a woman dressed in noble finery.

Trager looked from scene to scene about him. "What in the infinite Abyss is going on here?" he asked.

Sombody starts shouting, "FIRE!"
This message was last edited by the GM at 23:21, Sun 20 Sept 2020.

Adora looked from her captives to the burning building and the two who stood outside. One looked like he had been inside, the other was wearing some kind of metal armor and wearing a poncho and a bowler hat....

She blinked at them through the smoke. Then she looked at her captives. She had thought them unconscious, but now she saw that they were expired. Taking an involuntary step away from them, she gasped in horror. She hadnt meant to kill them. It was bad business.

The arms of Hadar vanished letting her victims fall to the street before her. She looked down at her hands and the glamour that made them look pristine. They shook. She was a murderer. She looked at the bodies and then at the two witnesses.

Backing away from it all, she turned and fled down an adjacent alley, changing her Ma mask of many faces to make her look like a beggar boy once she was out of view. She didnt need a murder hanging over her in addition to her regular list crimes.

Trager watched the noble woman flee down an alleyway. I should follow her, he thought, but could already feel the adrenaline crash beginning now that he was out of direct danger. Weariness washed over him, and he staggered as his legs wobbled. He took a deep breath and widened his stance to steady himself.

He stumbled to the two bodies on the ground. Their bodies were blackened where the tentacles had been wrapped. Why did she have them entangled? he wondered. He pressed a finger to one's throat, then sighed. The other looked worse.


He stood, shakily, and looked to the other figure. "Well, these two are dead." He stood, and watched his livelihood and home burn. Five years of life, gone. He remembered hanging that sign for the first time, the first weapon he had crafted there - Theranfilin - and the reputation for solid work he had slowly built.

I've started from scratch before, he reminded himself. Ten years ago, as a worker for another smith, little to no money to his name to open his own shop. Emotionally, leaving NeverWhere for the second time. That memory always gave him pause.

"Did you see anything?" he asked, turning to the other figure.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:42, Mon 21 Sept 2020.

His mind was abuzz with all these new and extraordinary experiences all hitting him back to back.  Coming into a large city, followed by a lovely day of sightseeing, then followed by arson of all things. His first real shot at doing something hero-y, immediately overshadowed by his first big failed chance. Then the sounds of splintering wood as a large heavily armed man beat his way through the wall with a hammer...then gave up and simply crashed through it, sliding on his shield side a damaging a small potted plant. The flames of the smithy began to climb higher and higher into night sky. The man spoke, making his way down the street and into the alley way to check on the would be assailants.  EDi had seen them caught in some sort of trap, but was completely unfamiliar with what could be happening. Had the man done something to them? What about that strange noblewoman who ran off? EDi wanted to run off as well almost, and was very near considering it when the man knelt down, pressing his fingers to the necks of the fallen men.  He had seen soldiers do that before, and it rarely ended well for the person being touched.

EDi jumped as the man spoke, jarred out of his own mental loop of being overwhelmed. His voice had a very familiar tone and cadence to it, and his formative years working for military men snapped him from the brink of shock. Had he seen anything? Who? Him? He previous experiences stepped up, helping him to stammer out something at least.

"Oh! Yes!  I spotted unknown personnel lighting torches outside the smithy. I saw them throw the torches inside and then run off, Sir!" He unconsciously snapped to attention as he spoke, reverting to his limited military training.

It took EDi a long few moments to realize what he had just done, and quickly tried to shake it off.  That wasn't him anymore. He relaxed his stance, and gestured with his still empty pistol down the way, now sounding a bit more deflated and full of regret.

"I....I tried to take a shot at one. You know...to wound him....but...I forgot. I forgot to....it wasn't loaded."   He looked saddened somehow, his expressionless metal face and his slumped shoulders. Though he seemed oblivious to it, his poncho was starting to smoke a bit, being as dry as it was and so near to such heat.

In reply to Darhill Trager (msg # 14):



Men are forming a line with buckets passing them down and tossing water on what is now a blaze.
This message was last edited by the GM at 03:23, Mon 21 Sept 2020.

Trager noted the snap to attention and raised an eyebrow. One to two years training. He eyed the weapon the figure raised; Trager was familiar with firearms but had little experience with them, and had never had riflemen or pistoleers under his command. "I think you should load it, then," he replied, turning back to the fire, then added "And step away from the fire."

The fire brigade continued to bring buckets in a futile attempt to save his home, but he knew it was a lost cause. They could, however, save the buildings and stalls around him. He approached the two bodies again; the foam about their mouths triggered something in his memory, and he tried to recall what it was that tickled in the back of his brain.
This message was last edited by the player at 03:41, Mon 21 Sept 2020.