Arabel is baking. While she works, she composes a guest list for her forthcoming wedding. She is happy and smiles fondly as she thinks of her beloved Belessar.
She packs away the still warm pies and climbs the stairs, deciding to cook some dishes for her loyal customers. As she rounds the corner of the building, she gasps, almost staggering in distress.
"The trees! Not again!" She gazes bleakly at the firepit, which now stands without shelter from the weather. She blinks back tears and returns to her depot, gathering buckets and seed apples with a heavy heart.
She works long into the night, replanting her beloved trees in the sheep pen and around the firepit, unable to believe that anyone could be so callous as to destroy so many trees.
Exhausted and hungry, she finally has to stop. She sits at base of one of the new saplings, bows her head and whispers a prayer.
"Ushara, I beg you to guard this place. Let them not destroy these beautiful trees for a third time."
She falls asleep, tired and dispirited.
Arabel at the Union
Moderator: Gamemasters
* under the cover of darkness man sits in the forest out side the union grounds on a tree limb. As he reclines putting his back to the trunk he pulls a dish from his bag and eats quietly. He seems to enjoy the meal quite a bit but his attention would appear to be not on his food but on the ground below. tossing his plate into the nearby water way he pulls a dagger from his belt. The blade is chipped, jagged, and rusty and lets no reflection pass. he runs the very tip of the dagger over a whet stone to get a suitable point on it.*
"Oh that will do nicely. Well my friend you want to cause other's misery. I guess I'll show you the truth behind what misery really can be. I didn't really want to ever do a job like this ever again. But when the money is this good, I cant seem to say no."
*The voice behind the cloak seemed remorseful yet thrilled. A voice inside kept telling the figure "this is what you're good at this is why you were born." The man sat quietly, waiting for his prey, like a cat in the tree. He kept the dagger ready, the thoughts of his training flickering in his mind. It was becoming hard to tell if he was Hearing someone else voice in his head or his own. He waits. With eyes black like coal and flesh shrouded in black cloth wrapped around leather and metal to make it silent.*
"Oh that will do nicely. Well my friend you want to cause other's misery. I guess I'll show you the truth behind what misery really can be. I didn't really want to ever do a job like this ever again. But when the money is this good, I cant seem to say no."
*The voice behind the cloak seemed remorseful yet thrilled. A voice inside kept telling the figure "this is what you're good at this is why you were born." The man sat quietly, waiting for his prey, like a cat in the tree. He kept the dagger ready, the thoughts of his training flickering in his mind. It was becoming hard to tell if he was Hearing someone else voice in his head or his own. He waits. With eyes black like coal and flesh shrouded in black cloth wrapped around leather and metal to make it silent.*
A tall man slowly walks into Trollbane after another long day of work. He stops at his depot and gratefully unloads his heavy pack. Grabbing a ham and a few apples, he walks over and sits at the fire ring to eat. Eyeing the setting sun he wishes for a fire. Looking all around he notices the trees still have not been replanted. With a sigh he gets up to fetch some wood. "Dam It" he mumbles, "Maybe killing all trees was bad idea". Outside the east gate he notices the guards are not sparring. He nods his head "Hmm..They work, good". After gathering his wood he returns to the fire pit, lites it and sits down exhausted. Looking around again he sees that the others in town are busy, not just gossiping or showing off. "Better now, maybe I go to other places and see if trees grow back". Then feeling soothed by the warmth of the fire, his eyes slowly close.
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Olaf Tingvatn
- Posts: 935
- Joined: Wed Sep 10, 2008 12:23 am
- Location: Norway, Lyngdal, Scandinavia
Squatting on a rotten tree stump Orlog bares his chest at the sun with closed eyes, his arms rests idely on his knees. His horned helmet lies on the ground next to him along with a dozen of dead and skinned rabbits. The bear cape flutters lightly in the wind, a content smile forms on his face as he opens his eyes slightly and squints at the sun. After a few minutes the last of the suns rays drift down behind the tree tops on the horizon, with a light grunt Orlog strokes his bald head with his hand then jumps of the log. His bright brown eyes lazily scans the surrounding forest as he places the horned helmet on his head. A slight movement in the underbrush catches his intense attention for a brief moment before he quickly places the dead rabbits in his leather bag. Crooked fingers quickly drift over the arrows in his quiver and he seems to make a mental note on how many there are left, four arrow tips sticks out of the quiver.
Moving slowly and quietly Orlog makes his way towards the Union road, anyone passing by might hear strange grunting calls coming from the forest. As the grunting calls approach an orc walking slowly on all four can be seen approaching the road. Crossing the road he gives whomever is there at the moment an uninterested glance then picks up speed as he lumbers towards the Union house. His grunting calls becomes more inquisitive as he walks trough the small gate leading up to the Union house. With a concentrated frown on his face he fumbles with the lid on his depot, opening it slowly he puts his nose inside it sniffing a few times before he takes out a blood stained bag and drops it in the depot. Sniffing the air he smiles a bit to himself as he takes a sharp stick, roughly the length of his fore arm, and skews/squews one of the skinned and dead rabbits on it.
After gathering some dry pieces of wood he stacks them in the firepit then grabs a thicker stick which he presses against a flat piece of bark, grasping the thick stick with the palms of his hands he quickly rubs the stick in a twirling motion. After a few moments smoke begins to seap out from the piece of bark, he quickly bends down blowing gently at the base of the bark. a small flame licks the bottom of the stick as the smoke turns whiter. Orlog adds some dried moss then shoves the bruning bark under heap of sticks in the firepit. squatting down he holds the stick with the rabbit over the steadily growing flames twirling it slowly he licks his lips with a fat thounge taking a few testing bites from the half roasted rabbit. The sun settles and the darkness slowly surrounds him as he continues to roast rabbit after rabbit, all of them have teeth marks and some chunks of flesh torn from them as they are placed in his leather bag.
Moving slowly and quietly Orlog makes his way towards the Union road, anyone passing by might hear strange grunting calls coming from the forest. As the grunting calls approach an orc walking slowly on all four can be seen approaching the road. Crossing the road he gives whomever is there at the moment an uninterested glance then picks up speed as he lumbers towards the Union house. His grunting calls becomes more inquisitive as he walks trough the small gate leading up to the Union house. With a concentrated frown on his face he fumbles with the lid on his depot, opening it slowly he puts his nose inside it sniffing a few times before he takes out a blood stained bag and drops it in the depot. Sniffing the air he smiles a bit to himself as he takes a sharp stick, roughly the length of his fore arm, and skews/squews one of the skinned and dead rabbits on it.
After gathering some dry pieces of wood he stacks them in the firepit then grabs a thicker stick which he presses against a flat piece of bark, grasping the thick stick with the palms of his hands he quickly rubs the stick in a twirling motion. After a few moments smoke begins to seap out from the piece of bark, he quickly bends down blowing gently at the base of the bark. a small flame licks the bottom of the stick as the smoke turns whiter. Orlog adds some dried moss then shoves the bruning bark under heap of sticks in the firepit. squatting down he holds the stick with the rabbit over the steadily growing flames twirling it slowly he licks his lips with a fat thounge taking a few testing bites from the half roasted rabbit. The sun settles and the darkness slowly surrounds him as he continues to roast rabbit after rabbit, all of them have teeth marks and some chunks of flesh torn from them as they are placed in his leather bag.