Divica: Fantasy

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The Premise:

You are a lost wanderer from another faraway land of fantasy. There is a key to finding your way home again but first you must help finish a quest.

The Story:

(One month ago)
Valentis sat atop the Dragon Throne, the Crown of Moons perched perfectly atop his head. At his side sat the stunning queen, Ganda, in her thin, low cut dress, hari set in a perfect mass of loose curls. Together the two made a perfect pair of vanity and arrogance. The throne was on a raised dias, something Valentis had built to rise him even further above those who came before him. Today was a special day and Valentis made sure that some of the higher-ranked nobles were present. He knew that some of them were seeking ways to pull him off the throne and he had to set and example. It had come to his attention a day ago that his long lost cousin was had returned from his adventures, staying in the Outer City and meeting in private with nobles... Spreading his dissension. I will make an example of him. So he sent an invitation to come home out to the inn his cousin had been residing in. It was something that he knew his cousin couldn't refuse.

The door opened and a handsome young man with blond hair and striking emerald eyes strode into the Silver Hall. He wore no armor, but instead something a little more ceremonial. Clearly he was expecting to be welcomed home. Marring his face was a scar that ran from his temple to his jaw. Obviously he had been through much during his time away from home. Valentis stood and stepped down from the dias, holding his arms out and smiling at his cousin. "Aethan! We were beginning to believe you had died in the far north fighting war for someone else."

"All wars are for the same ends during these times, cousin," Aethan replied, boldly walking toward Valentis.

"Indeed." Vanlentis embraced his cousin, receiving a hug in return. However, before Aethan could pull away Valentis pulled his knife and stabbed his cousin in the gut. He leaned close to Aethan's ear. "I know what you have been up to. I cannot allow it," he whispered.

He stepped back, waving for his guards to remove the slumped over man. "See that he is healed. I will have him serving in the games. Let us see how long he lasts there." Then he turned his back on his cousin and looked at the stunned, pale faced nobles congregating. "That man has been commiting crimes against the throne behind my back! He will be punished like any other, blood or no blood." Some of hte nobles shifted feet nervously. "This is my kingdom. Everyone is subject to my rules. No one is exempt. No one! Let this be a warning to anyone attempting the same." Then he tossed the knife aside and walked back up to his throne. "You are excused."

((Everything from this point on will be based off this lovely ruler :) We will start in a tavern across the street from the colissium. It is packed full of people waiting for the games of the day to start. Bring in your characters to the tavern to meet and interact with others and I will get us rolling later.))

Gwenlynn sat at a small table crammed into the corner, waiting for Clearcall to return. The roars of the congregating masses across the road could be heard quite clearly despite the closed door and the loud chatter of the people in the taverns. The very idea of these games made her sick to her stomach, but that wasn't what brought her here. She and Clearcall had arrived just a few days ago and he was currently checking to see if the reports she heard on the way were true. What brought her here was the story of a new Champion in the colissium. The people called him the Dragonslayer, but if the rumors could be trusted, then he was the cousin to the king, thrown into the games as punishment for treachery against the throne. Gwenlynn was tense as she waited, fidgeting with the ring hidden in a pocket of her dress. There was no way he had committed crimes against the throne without just cause.

After waiting for a couple of hours in the corner, Gwenlynn spotted Clearcall as he pushed his way through the throng of people gathered in the tavern, then took the empty seat at her table. "I didn't get to see him at all, but from what you described it's him." Clearcall handed over an advertisement on some parchment. The likeness of the man to the man she knew was there, even if he was a little bigger than she remembered. Written across the top were the words "Dragonslayer strikes again today!" She sighed and folded it up, sticking it into the pocket with the ring. "I did a little sniffing around to see what I could find out. Turns out he did just what he told you he would. He came back here and tried to align the nobles with him. When the king found out his cousin was here and trying to usurp him, he had him thrown into the games as punishment. He got his new name because the king gave him the task of fighting a dragon his first time out. Apparently he was weakened at the time as well."

"He would have learned how to kill it from our dark-haired friend," Gwenlynn offered in a soft, sad voice. "Weakened. Do you think his cousin poisoned him or something to try and ensure his death?"

"I don't know for sure. Some say he was feeble when he arrived, others say the king tried to kill him and he survived." Clearcall looked around the tavern. "Either way, he succeeded and survived. And he has survived every task set before him since for nearly a month now. Rumor says the king is getting desperate to find someone capable of killing him."

Gwenlynn ran her fingers along the glass in her hands. "Send one of your little ones with word to Blue Eyes. He must delay his arrival a little longer. If he arrives and finds his friend in such a state he is likely to tear this city apart in a fit of rage."

Clearcall nodded in agreement. "I assume you want to plan an escape."

"Noted. But we can't do it alone and I don't know if we can trust these people. Someone reported him in the first place." She glanced over at a couple of city guards who must have been off duty as much as they were drinking. "There are guards everywhere."

Wolf wandered down the road of the strange place, trying to take in all the surroundings. By the Creator, she had never seen anything like this before... these trees she saw (if they could even be called that) had their tops cut off... how did they survive? Yet there were people coming and going i nthem. She saw one that quite a few strangely dressed people were going into and followed a woman with long blonde hair inside, marvelling at it all. Perhaps she could get some answers in here...

Alis had told her men to stay moored out on the ship while she tried to figure out where they were... how embarrassing. She thought she had a good pilot but this port they passed wasn't on any maps. She rolled her eyes and hurried into a tavern in the city. It had taken her a while to get anywhere that looked like there were knowledgeable people. She'd buy some drinks and hope for some kind of answer. The -name- of the place at least. Going inside, she let a woman who was dressed in... animal skins? Gods, what a strange place. Was that normal here? She looked around, apparently not. Anyway, she let the woman pass by her and headed to the bar. The woman looked as lost as she did.

"A brandy." She ordered, putting some small coins on the counter, turning and restingher back against the bar when she had it, sipping and looking out for someone who looked like they knew something.

Wolf was getting more confused all the time. She felt a little panicked when she couldn't understand what people were saying. What tongue was this?

Sophia meanwhile had taken to hiding in a darker corner of the tavern by the stairs, watching with frightened eyes the people coming and going. It was almost like she was expecting someone to come along at any moment. The thought sent her quivering back into the corner, she saw a few fae around and she seemed to grow smaller, fiddling with the hem of her simple white dress.

((I apologize if this is a tad grim.))

Owen watched as a human boy shoved his sword into the gut of a man old enough to be his grandfather. The geezer toppled, and the terrified boy tripped forward to land on his knees with his hand still gripping the hilt.

The dwarf scowled. In the hour since the "tournament" started, he had seen nothing but starving boys, diseased and crippled beggars, and rickety old men stumble shaking into the arena. He had seen enough blood soak the ground to know that this was no battlefield. It was a killing ground, not a place to stake your life and honor on a chance for glory and prize money. He was not quite so enamored with war and killing as some of his kin, but even he felt something while fighting, or else watching a real match between two trained warriors. This was wrong.

The young man vomited into the puddle of blood issuing from the old man's corpse. As he stood, trying to tug his weapon free, an opportunistic cripple shambled up behind him and swung his own blade into the young man's neck.

The crowd went wild. Owen stood. He shoved his way past half a row of spectators and began to walk down the stairs. Their cheers ringing in his ears, he walked out of the stadium into the city streets. He looked for a pub, a bar, an alehouse--somewhere, anywhere to get at least mildly intoxicated. He spotted a tavern.

He made his way to the bar and sat on the tallest stool. To his right, a young woman sat sipping her brandy, back propped against the bar. To his left, a dark-skinned human sat nursing his own drink, nervously tapping out a rhythm with his fingers on his knee.

"Ale," Owen said. He scrounged about in his pockets for any loose change, and found a few silvers. He plopped a coin down on the bar. Soon, the barman passed him an ale and several coppers. Owen took a long drink, then sighed.

He looked to either side. The dark-skinned man looked too out of place to be useful, but the woman with the brandy at least looked comfortable. He took a chance. "So, how often do these...tournaments happen? I'm...new. New here, I mean."

Tournaments? Ah... that would explain the noise outside. "I have no idea. Do I look like the sort of person interested in things like muscle and pissing contests?" Alis asked, looking over the man warily. "Aside from all that... I'm not native to the area either, I came in here to get my own answers. He looked respectable enough... and they were in the same boat it seemed. "Lamour. Alis Lamour, captain of the Galatea." She said, holding out a hand to give his a firm shake.

A young woman entered the bar, eyes extremely wide, drinking in every sight and smell. Despite the atmosphere of dread and death she seemed entranced by it all, pushing through the crowd without a care until she reached the bar.

Behind her, head lowered and face shadowed by a fairly short and wide-brimmed top-hat, followed a man over ten years her senior. Though he appeared to be staring at the ground, his eyes were actually darting around the tavern and quickly analysing everything, from potential rough customers to escape routes and all the while he kept his charge in his sight. When she leaned against the bar, grinning at whoever so much as glanced at her, he quickened his pace until he was by her side.

"Morwenna..." he said, in a gently warning tone. "Please. Do not leave my sight."

Morwenna was a full grown woman, but she wilted like a teenager under his gaze. "I'm sorry, Professor. I promise I'll be careful." She turned back to the bar. "So, what do they have to drink in this place?"

"Your medicine, Morwenna."

"Oh, yes!" She reached into the little bag hanging across her shoulder and withdrew a little purse and a bottle of thick, green liquid, which she took a swig from, closing her eyes and gagging at the hard, liquorice taste. "Done. Now can I have a drink?"

Just across the bar, separated from Morwenna and her bodyguard by several other patrons, a tall, blue eyed man sat slumped with his head in his hands. He had barely enough money to pay for his drink, let alone lodgings, and he knew nothing about this town. He couldn't try and sleep rough, he'd be captured or murdered in his sleep, or worse. The nagging little voice in the back of his head reminded him that he could quite easily fight off any attackers, even kill them...

Morgan Rook downed the last of his ale, hoping to loose the voice to the fuzzy alcohol haze.

If it weren't for the "tournament" in question, he would have laughed at her description; as it was, he smiled and took her hand. She had a firm grip. "Owen Daymie. Mercenary fighter and troop manager by trade." He let go and took another drink of his ale. "I'd say I could use some answers now, too." He thought about lowering his voice, but decided against it; he wouldn't mind a good fight. "Like what the hell is going on in this city. They have a bunch of invalids throwing themselves on each others' blades only a block away."

"Hn..." Alis looked intrigued by his introduction. "Well me Owen Daymie..." She said along with her hand shake. She downed the rest of her brandy and tapped the bar. "Another brandy for me... and another ale for my friend." She told the man behind the bar, sliding more coin across when the glasses were placed infront of them. "To being lost and stranded... but not alone." She said as way of a wry toast.

"Do they really? Are they quite mad?" She wondered out loud. "That -does- sound mad... are they meaning for them to fight? What sort of entertainment is it if there isn't much of a fight put up? How dull and gruesome. I do loathe those who take such pleasure in others pain... well... when it isn't in a sporting way," She said, quirking a brow.

Browning, as he was trained to do, homed in on the conversation.
"So that's why all the talk of these games has been so hushed or disgusted," he commented. "And yet there's enough people out there enjoying it, by the sound of those cheers."

"Games?" Morwenna interrupted. "Did you say games? Can we go watch? I like games!"

"Mingle and keep your ears open," Gwenlynn told Clearcall quietly. "Maybe there are some people here who aren't so thrilled about these games that we can use as sympathizers to our cause." My how she hated human politics. But if there was one thing she had learned in her time in the far north form her now captive friend it was that nothing ocncerning humans was ever simple and politics was the only way to win out in the end.

Clearcall stod and moved away from Gwenlynn's table, leaving her alone with her wine. He began working his way through the room, seeing if anyone was brave enough to voice against the games. He would have to find a discrete way to approach if he did happen to find anyone.

"I can toast to that." Owen drank, then set his mug down on the bar once more. "And yes, it's beyond moronic. I don't really see how anyone would bother watching, but I suppose there are people that enjoy watching a bunch of beggars and cripples stab each other."

His eyes narrowed. A stranger--well, everyone here is a stranger, he reminded himself--was approaching from the rear end of the tavern. He sat up straighter. Almost nonchalantly, he raised a hand to rest on the grip of the steel club strapped to his back.

"Morwenna, go and get yourself a drink," Browning instructed his charge and leaned in closer to the other man. "My name is Browning," he said, then looked pointedly from the approaching stranger to the steel club. "You know that person? Trouble?"

Owen couldn't help but grin. "It's more the fact that I don't know him, actually," he said. He slid the weapon out over his shoulder, then let it rest across his thighs. The man approaching him walked with clear purpose, but it remained to be seen what that might be.

A deep voice growled a curse at her as Jayde Wesye bumped into the third person in less than a minute. She didn't even know why she had stumbled into this plcae, if not for the fact that she couldn't stomach the sick revelry of the hoards of people watching teh games. Anywhere, she was sure, was better than there. Suddenly, she realised that she had been staring into space for far too long, and people were pointing at her face, murmering about her unusual appearance. She quickly made her excuses and headed to the bar. She hadn't been in this city a very long time, and was still getting to grips with how everything worked, the money, the people, the social classes.

She ordered ale and at her first sip almost spat it right back out again. Humans actually enjoyed this foul stuff. She grimaced a smile to the bartender who looked satisfied and moved away. Trying to look small and insignificant, she tried to plan her next move.

((Sod it, I'm going to stick Kalin in as well. I'll go write his bio up when I'm finished with this post))

Tornica hated cities. Give him the wide open plains any day of the year. With enough open sky above you you could never feel trapped. But cities...buildings crowding in from all sides, people pressing even closer with their noise and smells and apparently their complete and total fucking inability to stay the hell out of his way! He'd been bumped, jostled, and shouldered out the way more times than he cared to mention. Hopefully it was just the part of the city he was in. There was a lot of shouting and cheering from one big building that all the roads were bending towards so maybe the crowds were just here for whatever was going on there.

But if he'd been having difficulty with the crowds, Kalin was having an even worse time. Despite being small enough that he could slip through gaps in the crowd with greater ease than most other people marching around, he was also light enough to really get thrown about when people decided the space he was currently using suited them better than the space they were currently in. Thus far he'd managed to rein in his temper and hadn't been using his magic to send those others flying in revenge, but it was only a matter of time. And since those bastard guards had confiscated Tornica's sword when they entered the city in the first place Tornica didn't have anything beyond his fists if Kalin did end up starting a fight.

"Come on," he said, putting a hand on Kalin's shoulder. "Let's get inside and away from all these fucking people. I don't know about you but I need a drink."

The first tavern they tried wasn't too crowded so they decided to quit while they were ahead and set up shop there for a while.

"Huh," Kalin said, picking up an abandoned, beer stained advert. "Apparently that big building is some sort of arena. The Dragonslayer Strikes again." He flashed Tornica a grin. "How could the crowds resist?"

Tornica shot him a sour look in return. "Delightful name." He reached out and plucked the parchment out of Kalin's hand. "Still...it might be fun to go. Good duels can be pretty fun to watch."

"Aye, good duels are. Proper duels to first blood amongst people who know what they're doing is some of the finest sport to be found. Dressed up executions to keep the masses amused? Tend to be just flat out slaughter. And to be quite honest the only butchery I'm prepared to put up with on a daily basis is watching your attempts to spell."

((I'll stick Kezia in when I can think of where to put her))

As he made his way through the crowded tavern he was surprised by the number of people he heard speaking in disgust about the games. Would they stick around once the main event began? Hopefully. It would be so much easier to approach them if all the riled up masses were drained away. He glanced toward the tavern window. Not too much longer until the main event just before sunset. They needed a benefactor. Someone with a large enough house to keep them in. If Regan were here it would be easy to find someone, but it was dangerous for him right now. And dangerous for anyone who stod against him once he found out who was in the arena being forced to fight for his life almost daily. We are brothers, Regan had once told him of this mysterious man, and if there is a chance that he yet lives I must go to him. Clearcall sighed. That man had a death wish. And coming here as boldly as he wanted to would only make matters worse. Apparently the king wasn't as ammendable as they had hoped he would be.

((You can go to the games or stay at the inn. Either way works. Gwenlynn will be going to see if it really is who she thinks it is, just to make sure for herself. Clearcall will be staying behind to talk to whoever thinks these games are disgusting.))

The Comte Dumont entered the tavern keeping a tight grip on his companion's elbow, at least the tavern wasn't quite as crowded as the street. He tried to keep from goggling at all of the strange people and clothing. He maneuvered her to a table near the far wall past a very small man, not as small as the Marquis' dwarf however, talking to a larger and from the looks of him, younger one. He eyed them suspiciously.

Every step the woman made sounded like windchimes, which was pleasant in certain circumstances, but he was afraid some thief would have a mind to try and steal the baubles that made that tinkling sound.

"Sit here and do not move." he said sternly. "And use you dagger if you have to. I will be back with wine."

Marcel threaded his way to the bar and ordered wine and something to eat to be brought to them.

----

Finn was in a sour mood after having to give up his claymore at the gate. "Feckin' idjit rule if ye ask me. What difference the size of the sword? Ye can do damage with any, why ban jest the big 'uns?" he asked his friend.

Jack shrugged. "Perhaps there is some prophecy to do with long swords."

They walked and talked for a while, winding their way into the city until they reached the arena that everyone was talking about. "Smacks too much of the Romans to me." Jack said. "A curse on their bones."

"I'm parched, maybe we can get a whiskey in there." Finn jerked his head toward a tavern.

Jack grinned. "I thought you had all you needed in your wineskin?"

"Best place to learn about a town is in a tavern."

((And crap just realized I forgot to mention Finn's magical wineskin and bag o holding...and now he's made at me that I didn't have him think to put his claymore init before they entered the town, but ah well. At least he has his bag and wineskin.))

((Actually Jez, his bag of holding might come very handy when it comes time to enter the city. Sorry I wasn't clear about this before. The arena was bilt outside the city in what has been built up as the Outer City, so it isn't within the actual boundaries of the city. So those of you who have given up your swords, you haven't yet ;) And we can shove them in Finn's bag when the time comes if need be. That might work out wonderfully as long as his bag isn't searched. Jez what are the odds the guards wound find the swords if they did search the bag?))

She fell and fell and fell. There didn't seem to come an end to it as she tumbled down the corridor of time and space. It had been so sudden and so unexpected; a tear in the universe opened up behind her just as she fell backwards. And she hadn't stopped falling so far.

Laurian held tightly on to her sword. She felt dizzy and found herself unable to breath. She was going to die, she was sure of it. No one could survive a fall like this and if the landing didn't kill her, the lack of oxygen surely would.

Her vision blackened and Laurian could feel how her grip began to loosen.

--------------------

The next thing Laurian knew, was that she woke up in some dark alley of a city. It was the noise more than anything else that woke her up. Her body was all black and blue and she was certain she'd bruised her ribs. Still, when she carefully worked herself up in a sitting position and examined herself, she considered herself lucky. No wounds, no blood, nothing broken. Just sore all over, like she could be after a long day on the training fields. All she needed was a nice hot bath and a lovely warm, soft bed.

But that would have to wait. Laurian worked herself up to her feet and looked around. She didn't recognize this part of the city. In fact, she didn't recognize the city! That rift must have taken her further from home than she'd hoped. The woman took a quick look around the corner. Well, she thought to herself, at least the majority of the population is human. It could have been worse.

But no elves or half-elves. Her eyes were sharp enough that she would have seen the telltale sign. And in case of elves, she would have certainly felt the difference too. Laurian quickly pulled her hair free from the braid and let the thick curtain of dark hair cover her ears. Better safe than sorry. And even if they were quite positive towards elves and half-elves, Laurian didn't feel like being questioned about her ears or heritage.

She looked a bit further around for a place to ask around where she was. And more importantly, what that noise was. A pub was not too far away located from her and Laurian knew that if she would get an answer anywhere, it would be in a pub. She began to walk with a slight limp towards it, but then her steps faltered. Money.

She had money with her, of course, but that was the currency used back home. And she had a credit card, but from the looks of this world, Laurian doubted that they even knew what a credit card or paper money was. No, never mind. Money would come later. Knowing where the hell she was would be her first problem.

Laurian entered the inn, looked around and then approached the first person who seemed helpful enough. "Excuse me," she said in her Scottish brogue, "but could you tell me where I am?"