When the King Rings

A scraggy crow looked in nosily from the stained windowsill of Gurth’s quarters at Tarkuul Keep. Gurth had the grave look of someone on death row, writing his memoirs.

“My dear dreadmistress, Miss Nimien Aluun,

We, the devoted disciples of the Black Hand, are indeed to consider ourselves fortunate upon hearing the news of your imminent return. Too long have we been without your wisdom and counsel to aid us in the furtherance of the Black Fear of our Lord.

Much has transpired since your departure, and I flatter myself to think you may be pleased with the results we have achieved…

The remaining letter talked of the accomplishments of the new clergy members sent by the Commander, the changes in ranks among the Zhentarim, and, with some amusement, the Defenders’ latest ill-fated attempt to raid the Risen City.”

Gurth took a sip of his whisky glass, savoring the brown liquid before resuming writing.

“…you will undoubtedly be pleased to hear that a plan is underway to secure that asset which has eluded us here for so long, that which will without question aid in the spreading of the Dark Fear beyond all else…a temple to our Black Lord. To this end I must request a suitable high ranking priest, who may sanctify such a temple which previously has been used…”

He leaned back in his pine chair, which was just as rickety as the chairs to be found in the Nauseous Gnome Inn, and carefully set aside his quill in the inkwell of grig glitter – most difficult to source that stuff these days. And then with a deep, curling smirk, he sealed the envelope with this thought, ‘I’m sure she’ll find the right man, or woman, for the job.’

The Bitter Coast Bandits

The smell of sugar rum was as thick as syrup in the air and would have been pleasant if not for the heady stench of sweaty, hiccupping pirate drunks who lay crisscrossed about the rubbish ridden pirate haven in various states of inebriation. Occasionally, one pirate would belch and some even slept with one eye opened whilst others had only one eye. Most had hands though, which were resting idle all too close to their cutlass sides despite their drunken stupor. Those pirates who could not find any more than a shot of grog or a drop of rum sat miserably amongst themselves, amidst the stinking squalor, and they looked up with cowardice as two figures, the first one clad in mostly dark attire, a pillar of a man, and the other an attractive woman, in mostly a blue yellowy robe – both had their blades drawn, agleam and magical. The figures stopped in a huff before a dead end, lined with crates of things extorted from merchants no doubt and empty kegs of rum equally so. The man began in a sonorous tone then, ’Who’s in charge of you lay-abouts?’

A burp rumbled out then, from behind a splintered barrel, and a middle-aged woman arose from the skank, her cutlass drawn and held at a lazy angle but menacing all the same. She replied with missing front teeth and in a rasp, sour breath, ‘Yarr, whadya want?’

’I’ll make this simple,’ the man declared, ‘What I want is Wharftown, and I’m prepared to give you, what you want in return.’

The pirate skank considered the two before her with a haughty, unblinking gaze. One might’ve wondered whether she was really thinking about the man’s proposal or had just taken longer to think from the inebriation of her surroundings. An uneasiness developed as the woman in the blue robe began to tap her foot, obvious impatience showing through, until after a few tenuous moments the skank replied, ’Some kind of jester? I would think the King of Cordor would get a chuckle out of you, or maybe I’d a dash too much.’

The man turned to the woman then and in an assertive manner said, ’Do you have the bottle, Shanna?’ The woman indicated with a curt nod and said, ’Here you are, dear.’ She then regarded the skank with a smirk, which looked odd on her own delicate face at least to the skank. The woman known as Shanna then muttered contemptuously to the man, ’A dash too much, more like a bloody bottle too much!’

’Right, what say we put our blades away, and you consider my proposal in a new light,’ the man said confidently. As if on cue, Shanna sheathed her own blade and put on a faked, warming smile for the skank, whilst the man followed suit and sheathed his own too. The skank was far too occupied to even notice that the man had spoken, as she still had her gray turquoise eyes fixed thirstily upon the twinkling rum in the bottle in the thick of his hand. The man realized his sales pitch then and said, ’Drink?’

The skank recovered from her grogginess then and without sheathing her cutlass, she strode for a brief moment to find a rickety table, which she then kicked before Shanna and the man, with the iron shod of one of her boots. The skank came before them again, with the table in-between, and answered the man with a small smirk, ’Sure!’

The man, Shanna, and the skank talked doggedly over matters expressly pertaining to kegs of rum then, for it is high quality rum that interests some pirates, particularly the skank. ’Two kegs of rum per day,’ the man auctioned. ’Fifty kegs as a down payment,’ the skank had argued. ’A hundred kegs at once? You'd drink yourselves into oblivion, and never lift a finger on my behalf. Not bloody likely, lass,’ the man had countered. The skank persisted, ’One hundred kegs, to be tested till the last one in case of frothing!’

Shanna and the man were just about to leave then, as the deal had just about diminished to talk of boats of bananas and other banter when Shanna popped the question, ’Which way is out?’ To which, the skank had smirked, darkening her reply, ’There’s an out?’

The ruse was over before it even began, and lay-abouts, around the skank, who’d only been in a drunken stupor some moments before, had somehow gotten to their feet now and had their cutlasses out!

The two, suddenly unwelcome guests drew their gleaming blades, with little to no concern upon their faces.

The man roared out, ’Maybe Burz can find the way out for us.’ A circle of magic swirled then and you wouldn’t believe it, but a devil popped out, claws and all! This monstrosity of claws and piercing fiery eyes bore down on the hapless skank then, and hurled her against the wall after raking her front with deep, raw crimson scrams.

The skank’s pirate crew looked on with hesitation as their leader, the skank, lay battered and fanned by the splatter of her own blood against the wall. The pirate crew encircled Shanna and the man but was otherwise unsure whether to hold, given their overwhelming numbers or make a break for it, considering the arrival of Burz the Devil.

The pirate crew had little choice then, some ran forward delirious from the rum it was assumed and were cut down by the man himself, swathes of crimson sprayed out amid curt wailings before silence. Shanna hoisted up and held a blade to the skank’s throat despite the skank’s best intentions to hop the scene.

Shanna and the man now had the best of one hundred pirates and the skank, Molly, they’d learnt was her name. Matters soon recanted to kegs of rum, in particular the man’s initial ‘generous’ offering of two kegs per day for the work on Wharftown to be done at his behest. And so, the skank gargled blood and agreed this, ’Pfft fine. Get me a drink already, two a day it’ll be!’

Roana sat alone in the kitchen of her family’s small cottage in Wharftown, peeling potatoes for the evening meal. She looked with some concern at the deepening sky, partly because the foul weather would likely delay her husband’s fishing boat’s return until the morning, and partly because her children should have been home for supper by now. She decided to give them another four potatoes’ worth of time before heading out to find them.

Midway through the third potato, her lips curled up in a smile as she heard breathless shouts of “Mama! Mama!” as her children ran towards the house at breakneck speed. Yet there was something in the tone of the shouts that set her maternal instincts into motion.

As she whirled to face the doorway, her eight year old son Bertran flew into the room and nearly undid himself on a fallen potato peel. His sister Elaina, two years his junior, came in behind him at equally improbable speed.

“Children, wherefore this haste!” she exclaimed with alarm. “You will break your young necks with such!”

Breathless, her son reached her first and tugged urgently on her sleeve. “Mama, come quick! There is a worm in the well, and it ate Horace’s finger!”

“What tales do you spin, young Bertie? You know such fibbing will earn you a good drubbing at my hand!”

“It’s no fib, mama! It really ate his finger!”

But Bertie could utter no further protest, for a swift cuff on his ear dispelled any notions he might have of doing so. He flinched as he looked up at his red-faced mother.

“I have had enough of your falsities, young storyteller! Get yourself to bed, and we will see if a night without supper will mend your fibbing ways!”

Young Elaina briefly considered coming to her brother’s defense, but one look of her mother’s scarlet gaze was enough for her to put her supper, and the preservation of her own ears, above her brother’s immediate welfare. She clamped down in silence, and shared in the family meal with melancholy concern. Once finished, she climbed into bed, and fell into a fitful sleep despite the growling of her brother’s stomach nearby.

Roana herself was hardly less concerned as she settled into her bed alone, with the chorus of teeming rain sounding on her roof. When would the boat return? And why was Bertie telling such tales? It had to be his older friend Horace, that notorious troublemaker. No doubt some prank designed to set the parents of the town into a frenzy. She began forming a conversation with the young villain’s mother in her head when she drifted off into sleep.

It seemed no great while later when she was awakened by heart-rending screams in the next room. Immediately she leapt from her bed, instinctively finding her lantern in the dark and charging into the children’s room. Both children were curled up wailing, Bertie rolled into a ball, and Elaina clutching her foot. Much to Roana’s horror, as she pulled Elaina’s hands away she saw she was missing her last two toes on her left foot; Bertie, on closer examination, had lost his right thumb, the stub of which looked to be hideously blackened.

Beside herself in hysterics, she embraced both children in her arms, her tears washing over Bertie’s sandy brown hair. “I’m so sorry…you tried to tell me…”

_________________
Araxus Balmor
Gurth Balmor (retired)

Three men gathered around a table in the Slanty Shanty. One, a grizzled old sea dog, the next, a young dock worker, and the last, an apprentice blacksmith.

“I’m tellin’ ye boys, I seen it with me one eye, ah worm in that there well!” The sea dog stated, while slamming his fist down on the table to add extra emphasis.

“Bull! Ye nutty bugger, just one of them ‘venturers comin’ through town all magicked up. Yer jus’ seein’ thins!” The next, the dock man responded, while the piece of chewing tobacco in his mouth splattering the nearby men.

The sea dog grew red in the face and gripped the table, his knuckles turning white with fury, “Ye callin’ mah a liar boy? Ah might be an old bastard, but ah can still make ya eat yer teeth!”

The dock worker gave a self-satisfied smirk, enjoying his taunting. He spit his tobacco on the floor and grinned, “Is this like tha’ time ye saw them two wingy ladies on the cliff? Turned out ye just got smashed! hahaha! Found ya blabberin’ ‘bout that fer months.”

The sea dog, thoroughly drunk and furious stood up and rolled up his sleeves and pushed the table back. “See here, I’ll kick yer arse from one end oh’ this bar ta tha other.”

The dock worker stood as well and put himself in the defensive position, two fists in front of his face, rolling them back and forth, balancing on the balls of his feet.

The final man, who had previously remained silent, stood up suddenly and placed himself between them. “See here!” He shouted. By this point everyone in the bar had gone silent and stared in anticipation of the fight, and slowly they all began to move closer for a better view.

The two fighters remained on their toes as the apprentice spoke in a soothing voice. “You two! We can settle this like gentleman can we not? I propose a bargain instead of a brawl; at night you sir,” He said pointing at the dock worker, “Can go to the well and stay there all night in the search to disprove your fellow. If you find or see the worm you must pay that old sea dog twenty gold! However, if you don’t see anything you win twenty gold; of course we’ll need your solemn oath that you shall be completely honest!”

The two men at his side eye balled each other for a moment.

The mediator continued, “Now, if one of you doesn’t agree to this bargain you must agree to cede your point and state that you are wrong, for if this old pirate is telling fish tales again he wont agree to lose twenty gold and if my friend the dock worker doesn’t agree then he is frightened of the worm thus believing the sea dog.”

Both gave a grudging, “Deal.” They then spit on their hands and shook, like gentlemen.


The next night, as agreed, the dock worker went out to the well with a chair and a fishing net which he needed to work on. The sun soon set and the night began.

The next morning, the old sea dog and the apprentice went out to visit the dock worker. They noticed that he wasn’t present. The chair remained unharmed and the net half finished; believing that the he simply went home in the night or was using the lavatory both men waiting for a few hours, joking at how the dock worker must have run home frightened.

Finally, at noon both decided that he wasn’t showing and checked at his home which the dock man did not occupy. Next, they enquired around Warf town, but no one saw him after he left work the previous evening. They began to grow worried until they heard a piercing scream go out from the well. Looking at each other with shock they both raced there to find a weeping woman kneeling next to the well’s bucket.

The duo gave a gulp and looked within the bucket to see an eyeball swimming in blood red water.

The old sea dog shuddered but contained his composer while the apprentice ran to the side of a building and vomited. The town soon gathered and the militia captain ordered the contents of the well brought up as to properly identify the victim. The sea dog began to mutter something incomprehensible as the militia began to send bucket after bucket down the well and dump it out.

After a few hours the militia excavated a plethora of body parts which looked to have been torn to pieces so much so that the owner of them could not be determined until the old sea dog told the collective town’s people his story. At first he came under scrutiny as many accused him of being the murderer until the owner of the Slanty Shanty gave testimony that he stayed their most of the night.

The town’s people listened in terror to his narrative of the previous night’s events, however when he finished his story he took a long sigh and finally said,

“The reallay queer thang is…

I didn’ reallay see the worm, ah was jus’ hoppin’ to scare the bloke.”

The militia captain gave him a cold stare,

“I bet he was scared alright, and I think this is yours,” he said evenly as he tossed a bloody bag of twenty gold at him, “We found a severered hand clutching it.”

The mayor of warftown makes an address before his citizens
Friends! Warf’s Men! Town’s People!

Lend me your ears!

I bring you dire news and tell you have a time of darkness!

The worm in the well is no creator of myth or legend! It friends! It is real and will consume us all and spit not even our bones out!

We have all heard the rumors, but I tell you that these rumors are true, the thing lives in the well and is worse than any,

Dragon,
Or Demon!
Even Devils!

He will consume your children in the dead of night, and save you for last because this worm’s heart is blacker than any drow! We may think none can save us from this horror! None may stand with us against this most terrible foe! This being made of pure evil and malice!

I say to you!

That you think wrong!

I have been visited by a man and woman who have all the virtues any knight or fisherman could aspire! They are most wise and have been sent personally by their god to aid us in our time of need; our visitors will aid us when no others dare or care enough to come! They are like a great beam of light amid our dark despair; they bring hope to us and I assure you, as mayor, that these outsiders shall take up arms and match wits with this most evil worm, and they shall overcome and we shall prosper in a new age of peace!

So my friends, let us rejoice, and give these heroes all the respect they deserve and anything they ask, for assuredly, they shall ask no more than what they need to battle this worm, and they give back to us tenfold for they are pure of heart and intention.

I say to you!

Welcome our heroes; our time of darkness will soon be over.

May this god whom sent these men and women to us watch over you all for under his guidance and protection we shall grow strong once more!

Sign is put up all around Warftown:

The Selunites are hereby banned from the town of Wartown for the attempted sacrifice of a child, worship of the thing in the well, and insurrection of the town’s governing body. They may return if they choose to face trial for their crimes. However, the punishment for conviction is death.

With their removal we believe we have struck a righteous blow against evil with the support of our new heroes.

In addition, half the members of the militia are charged with supporting the Selunites, worshiping the thing in the well, desertion, disobeying a direct order, and insurrection of the governing body. They are required to face trial in one week’s time.

The following people are also being charged with crimes including libel, insurrection, and worshiping of the worm in the well they will be charged in one week’s time.

*A dozen or so citizen’s names including Kald Blake of the Defenders*

A town meeting is to be held before the trial, all land or ship-owning men who are not on trial are permitted to vote on the issues. Outsiders and non-citizens may not participate. The mayor shall be the lawful judge of each trial, and the guilt or innocence of each man will be decided by a pannel of jurors. Jurors are chosen at random from men who are able to vote. Each man and woman undertrial has a chance of defending themselves before the decision has been made.

//Event date for this TBO. Most likely this coming Saturday.

//The selunites are rply gone from the city and in Khol//

// Posted at Semidi's approval/suggestion.

About half of a day after the signs are put up, several notices are delivered to the accused, to the Wharftown authority, and in a few public areas near the signs themselves.

Given the nature of these charges and who they are laid against, I offer to represent a legal defense to any amongst the accused who insist their innocence, free of charge. If you wish to accept my aid, leave a note for me, or send me a letter by means of Speedy's Delivery Service, and charge me for the expense. Send details of your situation as well, if you so wish it.

_________________
Characters:
Yurioji Azzara
Seto

PM me if you need something with them.

//Trial event will probably take place after the closest reset at around 12:45 EST American time. If you think you're involved and can't make it PM me and I'll see about a re-scedual.

Saturday April 7th

// As a reminder, this is today, in roughly 2 hours.

_________________
Characters:
Yurioji Azzara
Seto

PM me if you need something with them.

//Two hours from now around it should begin again, sorry in advance for the issues that may arise. If you cannot make it and participated bug me for rewards in a PM, fantastic roleplay from this event so far guys/gals/other.//

After a long trial lasting several days a verdict is announced:

Citizens of Warftown!

At trial the Selunites have been deemed innocent of their crimes by a jury who voted 3 out of 2 not-guilty.

However, at a town meeting a vote was passed to turn the Selunite temple into a temple of BANE! Renovations will begin soon.

The mayor has also committed suicide due to stress and failing health, gods bless his soul. This means that no trials will be held until a new mayor is elected. Mayoral elections, at the advice of the elder council, will begin next week. At that time nominations will be presented and a new mayor will be elected within the following week. Then he can stand judge over the awaiting trials.

Remember, those accused of crimes cannot vote.

Watch out for more info warftown!

//edit please ignore the city official and the signs for the time being, danke

The newest development in Wharftown seems to concern the Banites specifically, this time.

A few nights ago, in the dead of night, a line of accelerant as lit, and the Banite temple exploded in a fiery... explosion. Six Banite Clerics, along with the Banite High Cleric, are reported to have died in the incident, and three innocent civilians died later on when an adventurer who would later identify himself as "Unu", spread the fires by casting a Gust of Wind.

The fire afterwards was slowly contained, and it burned itself out, leaving agutted and destroyed interior to the temple. The Banite clerics expressed a desire to immediatley pick up and rebuild, swearing to find those who would destroy their Temple. The Elder Council also expressed distaste at the actions, especially towards the loss of innocent lives. Many Adventurers aided the militia, with the exception of the aforenamed "Unu", in helping to put out the blaze and treat the wounded. A man named Braxton, a relatively well known cleric in the area recently, was seen aiding civilians alongside other bystanders, including Defender Kald Blake, who would later cooperate with Braxton to give the dead men a proper burial.

Nearby merchant Zeek was available for comment later on. "I saw somethin' just before it happened. Right outside m'window. Was a skinny little guy. Right as he lit the spark, I saw he was dressed up 'n all dark grey stuff, with some spiky red bits on his armor 'n his boots. Same thing fer his helmet, al spiky 'n stuff. Mebbe some white on there too. Was awful dark, I just couldn't tell. But soon's I saw him light the fuse and saw where it was goin', I ducked down behind my desk. Good thing too, a big ol' chunk of rock got lodged inside my door."

Wharftown Militia has taken over the defense of the Temple, and no one is currently allowed inside except for very specific city officials, and presiding Banite priests. Ordainment of a new High Priest is currently underway as well.

Assessment of the damage reveals that much of the explosives are Dwarven, and alchemical in nature. Many acid bombs were used as well, eivdenced in the heavy pitting and disintegration of the stone within the temple.

Advisors Kal Turgal and Nisha Iyer were not available for comment at the time, nor were the Selunites, who had long since packed up and left Wharftown.

There are currently no suspects for the damage, though Zeek's eyewitness report is being scrutinized heavily in order to find out anything.

_________________
Davion Telemos - Monk of the Four Winds
Korthan Isharnos - Dragon Shaman of Thunder Spirit Zamasham

Dawn at the Wharftown docks brings with it an offshore breeze. One might call it fresh, except for the stale stench of salt and dead fish that rises from the harbor and nearly empty slips. The few remaining vessels, all local fishing boats but one, add their own complement to the miasma coming in from the sea.

The crews of these few boats go about their tasks as listlessly as their respective masters will allow, there being some hours yet before the tide turns. Dockworkers cluster about in small groups, some talking quietly, others taking shelter from the breeze behind pilings or whatever other barrier they can. They would be elsewhere if they could, but men who are paid only if they work do not have the luxury of being away from the docks when work is scarce.

The very character of the docks has changed. The food vendors who hawk meals of fried fish to the dockworkers are gone -- replaced by the most desperate commoners, hoping to be the first to make contact with the crew of a newly arrived ship... the dockworkers have no money to spend, so they are ignored by all.

The breeze gusts, then picks up briefly, leading to an almost universal motion as dockworkers and commoners’ alike shrug deeper into high-collared jackets or move slightly, trying to get out of the direct wind.

In the rising breeze, the voice of the lookout is almost lost: "Sails Ho!"

A militiaman clatters down the stairs repeating the shout at each landing, and once more as he exits, headed for the Mayor's office.

Minutes later, the red-faced and breathless militiaman is escorted into the Advisor to the Mayor's office, saluting as he reports to the man seated behind a small desk off to the side of non-descript small office beset with a pile of books in one corner. "Sails ser! A farking fleet!" Two deep breaths later, the report is followed by a softer "...er, sorry 'bout the language, ser."

Seemingly engrossed in his paperwork, the Advisor to the Mayor looks up at this last, a faint smile on his face. "Ah, excellent …they've arrived. Report back to your post, soldier."

The militiaman turns to leave then stops in his tracks at Kal's next words. "Wait. What's your name, and who is your commanding officer?"

The man trembles slightly as he recites both, then leaves hurriedly at Kal's "Dismissed."

Kal collects Nisha on the way out of the building, and makes his way unhurriedly to the docks, where he is just in time to watch the lines being tossed from the first vessel to the pier. The harbor itself is awash in ships, heavily armed vessels of the merchant navy at the mouth of the harbor, and tub-hulled cargo vessels jockeying for position to be next to unload their cargo.

Far from the sullen silence of the dawn, the docks are a near-cacophony of the shouts of the Dockmaster, longshoremen yelling encouragement to the sailors, and commoners doing the same (albeit for entirely different reasons).

The first ship docked, Kal smiles slightly as bales of food and crates of medical supplies are offloaded, standing unobtrusively, yet unmistakably nearby as the cheers and chants of the longshoremen drown out normal speech. The first mate is claimed by not just one, but two of the commoners the moment he steps off the gangplank and Kal's smile broadens slightly. He finally allows himself a full smile, as merchant factors begin arriving at the docks to barter for any goods not already spoken for.

Wharftown is alive again.

//This post was DM approved by Semidi

_________________

"Come under the flag of truce, and brook no treason... for mineself is Death, and care not whom knows mine touch."
- Frey Asaid'De Majere

// DM approved. However, if someone minds this very POST here, feel free to delete it. O, and I know the Monks haven't been put in yet, but they're ICly there.


'Twas a windy, starless night, and the moon was struggling with the dark clouds. The dockmaster sighed softly, staring out into the distance, over the horizon and the endless waters... In the distance, veiled in mist, two sister ships of average size could be seen, slowly approaching the shores. The breeze played with the large banners set on each of the ships, making them swirl and dance and flutter.

The banners themselves, were clearly a family crest of some sort, represeenting a noble elven house - two gigantic hammers, crossed over one another, as a sturdy stallion galloped through, right underneath them. The colours were of either blood-red or burgundy background, while the finer details were embroided with what seemed to be silver threads.

Not far from the docks stood a slender, elven woman, clutching the grip of her hammer like she always had done. Clearly, she was waiting for the ships to dock, a smug grin decorating her lips. "Finally, they are here... Thank you, my dearest father" she mumbled quietly to herself, pulling her hood over her head to shield herself from the increasing breeze...

Finally, the ships docked, and out of the boats came men and women clad in black and green, shielded by cloaks and hoods. Their voices were deep, but pleasant, as they spoke with hushed voices, admiring and praising the temple once they laid eyes on it. There were sturdy, brooding warriors, there were monks clad in dark robes, there were priestesses with their morningstars, and one priest that stood out among the others. In terms of sheer appearance, one could easily mistake him for Lord Fzoul Chembryl himself, but naturally, he was not Fzoul.

This man stopped right next to the woman, when the others had marched out of the ships. "Pleasant to meet thee again...Dreadmistress" he said, smiling charmingly. She nodded, but said no more, for she now followed the Priest over to the large crowd of men and women that had gathered outside of the temple. The guards were soon evenly divided across the area and within the temple, as were the monks and priestesses.

"Need we be rough, m'lady?" asked one guard, smirking slightly underneath his helmet. "Nay", she abruptly said. "Just please, safekeep the temple. Keep your eyes open, always, for you must be able to rely on all of your senses, to fullfill your duties to the best of your capabilities". The man merely nodded, holding his sword as if though he was someone who was born and raised with it. "Be warned, though..." she continued. "...Ironically enough, many here would attempt to use physical force without hesitation. Hmmmph, savages. Let us not sink to their standards". After having said this, the woman slowly tapped her portal rod with one finger, stepped through it, and vanished out of sight.



//Sorry on the grammar errors, etc. Oh, and it's not really a secret that the "woman" is indeed Nimien. So, no risk of any metagaming going on!

_________________

While there are no colorful flyers, wanted posters, or other environmentally unsound literature being scattered across Cordor, Wharftown, and other areas of the Amian island, the rumor mill goes into full swing, both in the civilian community and in the adventuring community.

The Amian Crafter's and Trader's Federation, headed by Director Emery Hartman from an Office in Forrstakkr and Cordor, has offered 2,000,000 in Trader's script* to any person who brings forth undeniable proof of the worm in Wharftown's elimination as a threat to the industry and, of course, to the citizens of Wharftown. This undeniable proof, it is said, must come not only in the form of a severed head or a carcass of the great worm, but also a noticeable decline in sickness, illness, and injuries in Wharftown, as well as a "product treatment" test to ensure that nothing contaminates Wharftown products.

This proof can be delivered directly to Emery Hartman at the Office in Forrstakkr, or in Cordor, or to the local Amian Crafter's and Trader's Federation underwriter in Wharftown.

*Trader's script: essentially cold hard cash, but redeemable for Federation products, available at almost every large market or retailer on the island.

The air in Wharftown is stagnant on a muggy, windless night; a light fog rolls in from the cove, a captive cloud sweeping in ghost-like phantoms through the stark grass. It smells more like fish tonight than it ever has before. Raw and gutted fish, left to swelter in the setting sun before the nighttime flies descend to lay their maggots in its exposed, pink flesh. In several hours, those little eggs will hatch, and hundred of little white worms will devour the fish, the mainstay of a place like Wharftown.

But the citizens? They are worried about a much larger worm.

Several villagers descend upon the looming Temple of Bane, menacing even in its mild and humble surroundings. Each suffers an unexplainable malady - the whooping cough which brings a lungful of blood, hands that are scarred by unknown lacerations, intense vomiting and evacuation of the bowels, pale and mottled skin, or difficulty breathing. For several moments, these maladies go unexplained, until the High Priest of Bane steps forward and offers an immediate explanation.

"The Worm. Damn that beast; like unfocused fear, it is devouring you all from the inside out. Come inside the Temple, and listen to what I have to say, for while my brother in the faith tends to your bodies, I shall grant liberation to your aching souls..."

He proceeds to weave a wonderful allegory, detailing how Bane, once a mighty power in the heavens, was felled by his foes - his foes who had no fear for him. And then He, the Dark Lord, without a single worshipper, did rise from the Void wreathed in gossamer nightmare, reborn into the Perfect Image of Fear, and that to this day, those who dedicate their lives to His way shall have nothing to fear. Not even Fear itself.

"For there are only two ways to live," the High Priest proclaimed, bringing solace to their worried expression. "In fear, or without fear. When you stand beside Bane, you stand without fear. Without fear, the Worm cannot harm you."

And so, with their eerie wounds tended to, and their souls in a state of confusion, one cleric was brought forth to spread his message to those who were on the cusp of dedicating their lives to the Black March of Bane...

Never one to keep to himself about matters, Yuri is conversely seen treating citizens who have not gone to the temple, with several bags full of specially-made things from the Salandran Temple, and several made by Torin, along with several Remove Disease and Fear scrolls.

"It is not a worm, I am afraid, though there is someone to blame for your illness." is usually the common meaning of his talk, always casting a glance to the Banite Temple as he does so.

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Characters:
Yurioji Azzara
Seto

PM me if you need something with them.

((Posted with Yoss.'s approval))

Braxton stepped up to the alter, his gauntlets still covered in the blood and humors of the injured and ill, smiling slightly.

"You have chosen to accept Bane into your lives; chosen to accept his fear over fear of the worm. In this, you bring upon yourselves a blessing! You sought out aid from the temple, suffering maladies only attributed to exposure to the worm; The temple has provided you with a remedy.

"Service to the Black Lord is a simple thing, fear him and spread his fear. Serve only him. The Black Fist strikes down all those who oppose it in the end. Attend the temple for your needs and your prayers, and thus you do your service. There are no holy days which one must remember. The holy days of Bane are declared when they are needed, not scheduled to bother the devout with many things to remember.

"The temple protects its devout. All who worship may seek our aid. Go forth and tell you friends and families. All wishing to join our devoted are welcomed."

With this, Braxton raised a clenched fist in front of his face, a slight flash of green light barely seen as he uttered a prayer. With the prayer, on the backs of the three men's right hands appeared a dark gauntlet, identifying each of them as a follower of Bane.

"Go forth now, and walk with the Black Lord. In fearing him, he will grant you protection from your ailments."

*hearing about the plan to get rid of the worm, Shada puts all her stuff carefully back into her bags. And heads towards Wharftown, once there she carefully heads down to the cave, and then waited for night far.

Once Night fall came, Shada snuck out of the cave and took out some Dye. She used the dye to write on the wall of the cliff making sure that the writing can be seen from the benchs on top of te cliff, also paints the wall going in with same writing, the writing reads, "Medical Clinic, treat anything and everything you have absolutely free". Procedes to write the same message on the inside wall, and then goes to the Inn, and buys a lot of Ale. Then Shada goes to the other local business's and procedes to buy large quentities of items, as way of saying welcome.

The Medical Clinic currently has four members working there Shada, Ux Gix, Rach oth, and Godien*

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2006/2009 2nd craziest Character

Go here to learn more about Shada - http://fjook.piczo.com/?cr=3&rfm=y

Godien's mind wandered as she tallyed the medical supplies in the cave next to Warftown.

Thus far, the medical camp had been extremely lucky. The location couldn't be worse.. with the Bandites in Warftown on one side and the mysterious dark castle standing through a breach in the back of the cave. For whatever reason, the undead didn't stray from the castle. Godien was happy for that, but it really outlined how precarious their position was.

It was also amazing that the Bandites hadn't attacked. That would only be a matter of time.. either the camp hadn't attracted enough attention or they were waiting until they had completely secured their hold on the temple.

Godien shrugged.. probably a little of both..

Godien reflected for a moment..

Thus far, the camp had only served a few. Some time back, a party of adventurers had attempted to enter the dark castle and were driven back by the undead. The three who didn't fall barely succeeded in rushing through the breach in the rear of the cave. One of them reminded Godien of how much her healing skills needed improving.

The camp had also recieved a few wounded who had been passing through Warftown. They were grateful for not being forced to visit the Bandites... one of the Dark Monks in the streets glared at Godien as she helped them to the cave...

There was no-one in the cave to hear Godien mutter to herself "perhaps this is the perfect place..." Then she chukkled to herself "Well.. either we'll become a beacon of hope.. or utterly coverwhelmed..."

A care package is delivered to the newly appointed mayor, containing a small selection of drinks from the Nomad, and a card which simply says 'Good work - Yurioji'.

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Characters:
Yurioji Azzara
Seto

PM me if you need something with them.

Gurth's first inkling that the day would be unusual came midway through a casual conversation with Shanna. Into Castle Tarkuul walked Enforcer Ravil Koh of the Iron Gauntlet - one of the temple guards in Wharftown. Invariably, temple guards showing up in Tarkuul meant something significant was happening, and it was safe to assume it was not something good.

The assumption in this case was to prove correct.

"High Imperceptor...the mayor of Wharftown is at the temple. He has requested the one in charge. That is you, sir!"

Gurth made a mental note to instruct the Enforcer on protocol. Technically his subordinate, Imperceptor Grishart, was in charge of the temple, and should have handled any local concerns. But he had no doubt as to what was coming, and that his presence would be required.

"My compliments to the mayor, and I will be there shortly."

Gurth absentmindedly nodded as the monk scurried off to deliver his message. He turned back to Shanna, who was now discussing clothing with Nisha. Shanna stopped short as soon as she saw his face.

"Will you both come with me please?"

"Of course dear," replied Shanna.

Stepping outside and through the portal, his thoughts were preoccupied with the last few weeks in Wharftown as he absentmindedly cut down several of the orcs and bandits that accosted them along the way. The townsfolk had grown increasingly hostile towards the temple, even after having been freed from the worm. Local brats had egged it, and most recently, it had been sacked by followers of a rival deity, who would have gotten away cleanly had Gurth not arrived himself with some timely reinforcements. Though this latest incident had nothing to do with the town itself, the new mayor was rather distressed.

And then of course there was the economic impact. Gurth could care less of course if the townsfolk prospered or were impoverished; so long as they lived under fear of the Black Hand the issue was moot, except for the fact that it set the tone of the townsfolk against them. And Amia was not ready for absolute tyranny...not yet.

It was therefore with some surprise they arrived at Wharftown and were confronted not by an angry pitchfork armed mob, but by....pastries.

Tables and tables of pies, cupcakes, small sticky buns, cookies, lemonade, sweetberry juice, even a souffle. Almost every confection ever conceived in culinary history was on display in Wharftown, in front of Bane's temple.

Mayor Garth stood amid it all. His face lit up as Gurth, Shanna and Nisha approached. "Hi! Welcome!"

The three nodded polite greetings, still somewhat taken aback by the pastry parade.

"We wanted to say thanks for all you've done, and wish you well on your way!"

Gurth chuckled lightly. He was expecting a sendoff, but not exactly in this manner. So, the new mayor has some backbone it seems. Something to remember for when they returned.

Putting on his most congenial smile, he nodded slowly to the mayor. "Very well. You wish us to leave...we will do so."

They exchanged a brief conversation regarding the Banite townsfolk in Wharftown. The mayor put his best face on it, saying they wished to leave with the church, but it was clear enough they were being run out. No matter; they were but the first of many converts to the Tyrant's faith.

He excused himself from the mayor and looked around. Shanna and Nisha were mingling with the townsfolk, politely sampling the desserts. Stepping into the temple, he briefly stopped to pray before the idol, then found Imperceptor Grishart, who was looking back and forth between Gurth and the crowd with a look of abject terror stamped on his face. Grishart bowed. "High Imperceptor."

"We're leaving. Make preparations, but the temple is to be guarded until deconsecrated."

"Yes, High Imperceptor." Grishart at once turned to his senior priestess, and started giving instructions.

Satisfied the preparations were underway, Gurth returned to the entryway and contemplated his next move. In order to abandon the temple, a deconsecration ritual had to be performed...basically unhallowing the ground in the eyes of Bane. Grishart could perform it, but he wanted someone more senior. Not yet an ordained priest, Gurth could not do the ritual himself. If only Braxton were nearby...

...and then Braxton approached.

"Dread brother," Braxton nodded in greeting.

"High Inquistor, your timing is excellent."

"Oh?"

"We're leaving. The temple must be deconsecrated."

"I can do that now, but the idol must be removed."

Nodding, Gurth stepped outside and summoned several of the guards to remove the idol. For a brief moment he had a horrible vision of someone dropping it. Sternly warning the guards against failure, he breathed a sigh of relief as they successfully lowered the idol into a bag of holding. He then ordered the temple staff out, leaving Braxton alone to perform the ritual.

By now a few other members of the faith had arrived, and all were standing in line along with the townsfolk, watching Braxton with great interest. Gurth stood facing them, deliberately turning his back on the temple as Braxton began the ritual.

The first of Braxton's prayers were basic enough...invocations of fear and tyranny, standard fare for any Banite ceremony. But a deconsecration was anything but typical. Rarely did Bane give up holy ground...but rarer still were temples established in the open in such a heavily contested region as Amia. Gurth's brief pang of regret gave way to pride at what the Church had accomplished. He knew Wharftown was no longer strategically viable; but just having had the temple there a few short years had made a serious crack in a previously impenetrable area.

Amia had had its first taste of tyranny.

Braxton's voice was rising higher now; his prayers became more solemn, more laden with rarely-used phrases of power. He was invoking darkfire...Gurth could feel its intense heat burning the temple behind him, hear its conflagration almost overwhelming the incantations. He felt an intense infusion of divine power permeate his being, and he knew it was done. The Temple in Wharftown was a temple no more; the Black Hand had forsaken it utterly. Gurth turned to behold the empty building...

...and the building was no more. It had been razed utterly to its foundations, an empty, burnt out shell of its former self.

Recovering his composure, Gurth turned to the mayor, who was standing awestruck. "At your request Mr. Mayor, the Black Hand has forsaken Wharftown. We leave you now as we came, in peace."

Braxton stepped out of the smoldering ruin, collapsing on the ground near the entrance in exhaustion. At Gurth's signal two of the Iron Gauntlet guards came forward and picked him up carefully. Motioning to the rest of the Banite entourage, the Church of Bane departed, leaving behind them the burnt out building, the festival of pastries, and a town which had had its first taste of Bane's dominion.

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Araxus Balmor
Gurth Balmor (retired)