Well Xandy finally sits down to relax after the Grand Opening of White Harbor at the Coliseum. Guess the monks still need to teach her how to hold her temper, Xandy thinks to herself. She really should not have hollered at the crowd to sit down and get off of her roof. The event went pretty well considering no one really knew what they were doing. And we had one of our own to win the 1k event. Xandy thinks to herself some things will be different at the next one (making mental notes). Xandy laughs as she thinks of when the 15 white wryms were let loose on the stairs of the keep, that was really interesting. But most of the guild had the good sense to ban them, but not before people were killed. Lightshade was a big help in helping to provoke them on each other. How can you tell people invited to your home you are sorry for letting them get killed. Maybe just maybe they know we did not have any control over it.
Xandy was really glad that so many showed up, many to just watch. Xandy must post a banner in town to thank everyone for coming. The whole guild was there helping. We do have a great group in our guild, every ready to help or come to the aid of the other members or strangers for that matter.
Xandy thinks back to the first night she met Necromancer, never did she think their partnership would develop into this. “White Fraternity” is getting bigger and stronger every day, it would all be wonderful if Cutie was still here. Xandy stares out over the ocean thinking of Cutie and how much she misses her. “Cutie, I know you are still watching over me”, she says to the heavens. Damn pirates, one day they will know how much it hurts to have something taken away, Xandy thinks to herself. Wonder if magic will make a castle disappear? What was that pirate’s name? Hardcore, I think that was it. He likes dragons; he might find a lot of them one day around his castle… Xandy laughs just thinking about 20 or 30 dragons standing side by side waiting for them to come home.
Xandy turns to go down the stairs to clean up the mess from events and to lock up…
Grand Opening - the aftermath
Forum rules
This forum is strictly for in-game RP and storyline related info. For more general discussion, please post in General Discussion or Other, as appropriate.
This forum is strictly for in-game RP and storyline related info. For more general discussion, please post in General Discussion or Other, as appropriate.
Re: Grand Opening - the aftermath
I wasn't able to attend all matches. But I was able to record a bit of the chaos and the fun.
Also, this was a no holds bar event. Roger Don took full advantage 
Re: Grand Opening - the aftermath
digamonk i have your things i put them up. will have to find them again. but they are in a box somewhere
Xandy
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DwMcAliley
- Posts: 53
- Joined: Wed Jul 04, 2012 10:02 am
From The Stands (pt.1) -- White Harbor GRAND OPENING
The Lord Captain surveyed the crowd from the back row of the east grand stand. There were still some empty seats, but more were filled than weren’t. Crowds this size always had their own kind of noise. That steady hum of thirty voices each raised to talk over each other. But, overall, they hadn’t been surprisingly unruly.
One man rode a horse into the grandstands and fell asleep in the saddle. He agreed to stable the pet downstairs once he woke up, but his price was a bottle of aged rum. Still, the rum settled him down, and things had been smooth since then. Ascher took a smaller bottle out of his pack, and took a shallow sip. Sometimes it helped ease an argument to have a bit of alcohol on the breath.
Turbo stepped out onto the floor of the dueling pit, and a sudden, earsplitting crack of thunder from the Emperor got the crowd’s attention. The Lieutenant unrolled a parchment and read the names of the first contestants. The tournament had begun.
The two warriors, the first to fight in the 1,000 gp bracket, faced off and waited. Xandy, seated next to the Emperor, suddenly threw a purple potion into the center of the Coliseum floor. The bottle bounced once, the glass cracked when it hit the flagstones the second time, and the bubbling purple liquid inside burst into flames.
The two contestants launched themselves at each other, their blades spun and flashed as they each tried to draw first blood. The crowd cheered and yelled until the air seemed to vibrate with noise punctuated by the clear, ringing sound of steel on steel from the arena floor. Ascher moved through the crowd, trying to keep an eye on the spectators as well as the participants. With his attention divided, he didn’t see the killing blow, but he heard the sudden explosion of cheers as Doroline won the first match of the evening.
Ascher applauded along with the crowd, cheering for his guildmate. The championship match for the 1,000 gp bracket was next, and the contestants were just facing off, when Ascher felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. Someone was gathering power for a spell.
Just then, he heard the words Vas Rel Por coming from the adjacent grandstands. Two magical gates opened, and Ascher barely had time to glimpse the edge of a bronze colored robe as a figure dashed through the shimmering blue gateway.
Then, all hell broke loose.
White Wyrms began pouring through the gateways. As they arrived, the animals were released from their bindings, and they immediately sprang on the spectators. Fireballs flew from the creatures’ mouths, and talons began tearing at armor, clothing, and flesh alike. Several fell in the initial confusion.
Then, Necromancer’s voice rose clear and powerful, “BAN THE CREATURES!!! QUICKLY!!!”
Ascher began speaking the words of power that would seal the animals outside, and one by one the creatures were banished from the Coliseum. Even so, they were still able to spread chaos, destruction, and death. The wyrms spit fireballs at those still on the roof, cracking the stone ramparts and singing some of the grandstands. Contestants and spectators quickly banded together, though, and began attacking the animals in kind. Several bards present were able to entice the wyrms to attack each other, while some of the mages present cast spells and summoned energy vortexes to deal with the rest.
The entire chaotic attack lasted barely twenty minutes, but it felt like an eternity. When the last wyrm finally fell, the Emperor and Xandy made the rounds, pulling those fallen souls back from the edge of the underworld. As Necromancer resurrected the last victim, Oafule burst through the brush to the southwest of the Coliseum.
As he came into view, a surprised look on his face, Oafule blinked and took off his hat to pick a few leaves out of it. He walked calmly up to the door of the Coliseum, and Ascher watched as he knocked twice and was let in. The Lord Captain frowned and started making his way to the nearest staircase. There was more to that merchant than showed on the surface, and Ascher meant to have a word with him.
Ascher met Oafule as he reached the top of the stairs to the second level, “Where have you been, Merchant?” Ascher asked, “You missed the action.”
“I think Roger Don was one of the culprits,” Oafule said, ignoring the question, “I am pretty sure I saw him, or someone next to him, cast a gate right before the wyrms came through, but I lost sight of that gate and him when the second gate opened. By the time the wyrms were through, he was gone. But I saw him out in the jungle try and steal from one of the warriors battling the beasts.”
Ascher’s eyes narrowed, “And how did you get out into the jungle so quickly?”
Oafule met the Lord Captain’s gaze rather calmly, “I saw someone dart through an open gate, and I followed them.”
“Very brave,” Ascher said, appreciatively, “Quick thinking, too. The person was probably the perpetrator, and you could apprehend them. Or kill them.”
“Not at all,” Oafule said, smiling a small, reassuring smile, “Surely no one could blame a frightened merchant for seizing the opportunity to run. No need for anyone on the other side of that gate to be anything but a friend to me, and me to them.”
“Is that a dagger up your sleeve?” Ascher asked, and Oafule shrugged uncomfortably, putting both hands behind him.
“Well,” Oafule said, “In any case, I ran through the gate and found myself in the jungle. I could hear the roars of the creatures in the distance, so I followed the noise here. I saw Roger Don in the trees stealing from one of the warriors.”
The Lord Captain nodded, “You’d better get back up there,” He said, nodding towards the grand stands, “Doroline is doing well, and she needs a good cheering section. She’s up for the championship match.”
Oafule nodded, and walked up the stairs to the west stands. Ascher waited a moment, still a little unsure about the Merchant. He was tough, no doubt about it…and smart…but was he trustworthy? There was something shifty beneath that easy, winning smile, and his flowing dialogue. Was that just the dealer in him, or was it something else? The Lord Captain shook his head, and turned back to the stairs behind him.
In the grand stands once again, Ascher scanned the crowd as he watched the fight, and he noticed something different. The spectators were talking to each other a little easier now. Even the ones who bore freshly healed scars on what was recently a broken body were relaxed and laughing. The attack, frightening as it had been, had united them.
Ascher smiled, and said a silent thank you to whoever the perpetrator had been. He also made a mental note to track down this Roger Don. If he hadn’t sent the wyrms, he likely knew who had. And this kind of thing couldn’t go unanswered.
The championship match for the 1,000 gp bracket was intense, and both contestants nearly died several times, but Doroline held out. The crowd cheered, and a chant of, “White Harbor!” lasted for several minutes.
And then the arena floor was cleared. The crowd fell silent, and Turbo took center stage once more. He called the first two contestants to the floor. The two men stood, hands empty, muscles tight and wary. The watched each other from across the arena. Suddenly, a purple potion appeared ten feet above the flagstones, and fell straight down. The glass shattered instantly, and the bubbling purple liquid inside burst into an expanding fireball of an explosion.
The 5,000 gold piece tournament had begun.
*Intermission*
One man rode a horse into the grandstands and fell asleep in the saddle. He agreed to stable the pet downstairs once he woke up, but his price was a bottle of aged rum. Still, the rum settled him down, and things had been smooth since then. Ascher took a smaller bottle out of his pack, and took a shallow sip. Sometimes it helped ease an argument to have a bit of alcohol on the breath.
Turbo stepped out onto the floor of the dueling pit, and a sudden, earsplitting crack of thunder from the Emperor got the crowd’s attention. The Lieutenant unrolled a parchment and read the names of the first contestants. The tournament had begun.
The two warriors, the first to fight in the 1,000 gp bracket, faced off and waited. Xandy, seated next to the Emperor, suddenly threw a purple potion into the center of the Coliseum floor. The bottle bounced once, the glass cracked when it hit the flagstones the second time, and the bubbling purple liquid inside burst into flames.
The two contestants launched themselves at each other, their blades spun and flashed as they each tried to draw first blood. The crowd cheered and yelled until the air seemed to vibrate with noise punctuated by the clear, ringing sound of steel on steel from the arena floor. Ascher moved through the crowd, trying to keep an eye on the spectators as well as the participants. With his attention divided, he didn’t see the killing blow, but he heard the sudden explosion of cheers as Doroline won the first match of the evening.
Ascher applauded along with the crowd, cheering for his guildmate. The championship match for the 1,000 gp bracket was next, and the contestants were just facing off, when Ascher felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. Someone was gathering power for a spell.
Just then, he heard the words Vas Rel Por coming from the adjacent grandstands. Two magical gates opened, and Ascher barely had time to glimpse the edge of a bronze colored robe as a figure dashed through the shimmering blue gateway.
Then, all hell broke loose.
White Wyrms began pouring through the gateways. As they arrived, the animals were released from their bindings, and they immediately sprang on the spectators. Fireballs flew from the creatures’ mouths, and talons began tearing at armor, clothing, and flesh alike. Several fell in the initial confusion.
Then, Necromancer’s voice rose clear and powerful, “BAN THE CREATURES!!! QUICKLY!!!”
Ascher began speaking the words of power that would seal the animals outside, and one by one the creatures were banished from the Coliseum. Even so, they were still able to spread chaos, destruction, and death. The wyrms spit fireballs at those still on the roof, cracking the stone ramparts and singing some of the grandstands. Contestants and spectators quickly banded together, though, and began attacking the animals in kind. Several bards present were able to entice the wyrms to attack each other, while some of the mages present cast spells and summoned energy vortexes to deal with the rest.
The entire chaotic attack lasted barely twenty minutes, but it felt like an eternity. When the last wyrm finally fell, the Emperor and Xandy made the rounds, pulling those fallen souls back from the edge of the underworld. As Necromancer resurrected the last victim, Oafule burst through the brush to the southwest of the Coliseum.
As he came into view, a surprised look on his face, Oafule blinked and took off his hat to pick a few leaves out of it. He walked calmly up to the door of the Coliseum, and Ascher watched as he knocked twice and was let in. The Lord Captain frowned and started making his way to the nearest staircase. There was more to that merchant than showed on the surface, and Ascher meant to have a word with him.
Ascher met Oafule as he reached the top of the stairs to the second level, “Where have you been, Merchant?” Ascher asked, “You missed the action.”
“I think Roger Don was one of the culprits,” Oafule said, ignoring the question, “I am pretty sure I saw him, or someone next to him, cast a gate right before the wyrms came through, but I lost sight of that gate and him when the second gate opened. By the time the wyrms were through, he was gone. But I saw him out in the jungle try and steal from one of the warriors battling the beasts.”
Ascher’s eyes narrowed, “And how did you get out into the jungle so quickly?”
Oafule met the Lord Captain’s gaze rather calmly, “I saw someone dart through an open gate, and I followed them.”
“Very brave,” Ascher said, appreciatively, “Quick thinking, too. The person was probably the perpetrator, and you could apprehend them. Or kill them.”
“Not at all,” Oafule said, smiling a small, reassuring smile, “Surely no one could blame a frightened merchant for seizing the opportunity to run. No need for anyone on the other side of that gate to be anything but a friend to me, and me to them.”
“Is that a dagger up your sleeve?” Ascher asked, and Oafule shrugged uncomfortably, putting both hands behind him.
“Well,” Oafule said, “In any case, I ran through the gate and found myself in the jungle. I could hear the roars of the creatures in the distance, so I followed the noise here. I saw Roger Don in the trees stealing from one of the warriors.”
The Lord Captain nodded, “You’d better get back up there,” He said, nodding towards the grand stands, “Doroline is doing well, and she needs a good cheering section. She’s up for the championship match.”
Oafule nodded, and walked up the stairs to the west stands. Ascher waited a moment, still a little unsure about the Merchant. He was tough, no doubt about it…and smart…but was he trustworthy? There was something shifty beneath that easy, winning smile, and his flowing dialogue. Was that just the dealer in him, or was it something else? The Lord Captain shook his head, and turned back to the stairs behind him.
In the grand stands once again, Ascher scanned the crowd as he watched the fight, and he noticed something different. The spectators were talking to each other a little easier now. Even the ones who bore freshly healed scars on what was recently a broken body were relaxed and laughing. The attack, frightening as it had been, had united them.
Ascher smiled, and said a silent thank you to whoever the perpetrator had been. He also made a mental note to track down this Roger Don. If he hadn’t sent the wyrms, he likely knew who had. And this kind of thing couldn’t go unanswered.
The championship match for the 1,000 gp bracket was intense, and both contestants nearly died several times, but Doroline held out. The crowd cheered, and a chant of, “White Harbor!” lasted for several minutes.
And then the arena floor was cleared. The crowd fell silent, and Turbo took center stage once more. He called the first two contestants to the floor. The two men stood, hands empty, muscles tight and wary. The watched each other from across the arena. Suddenly, a purple potion appeared ten feet above the flagstones, and fell straight down. The glass shattered instantly, and the bubbling purple liquid inside burst into an expanding fireball of an explosion.
The 5,000 gold piece tournament had begun.
*Intermission*
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suomi perkele
- Posts: 4
- Joined: Thu Jan 17, 2013 3:38 am
Re: Grand Opening - the aftermath
I suppose it is only fair to reveal that it was indeed The Purple Llamas who executed this plan in all silence. We couldn't possibly turn a blind eye to this open injustice and discrimination of the practitioners of particular source of livelihood, who were not allowed to participate in this event! Yes we talk about the tamers!
Me (Hax) and MacBeth were ready to straighten the world from further crookedness. A wyrm bomb sounded like a good option at first, but after investigating the castle and its details, we came to notice it was not a very suitable place to release the beasts. However time was not on our side and we had to act.
Our noble comrade and a partner in business, Roger Don was more than willing to help. Maybe it was because of his earlier showdown with Turbo or perhaps his loss in the first match that he was ready to help, we don't know. Also other thieves were around, it is believed Nadia stole a few trophies as well.
For the grand finale, after the wyrms were defeated, we decided to use a more conventional way and targeted a nightmare owner with purple potions. The target itself managed to escape but his comrade was not as lucky.
Overall this mission was not a complete success but some terror was spread. The world is now a slightly better place.
Me (Hax) and MacBeth were ready to straighten the world from further crookedness. A wyrm bomb sounded like a good option at first, but after investigating the castle and its details, we came to notice it was not a very suitable place to release the beasts. However time was not on our side and we had to act.
Our noble comrade and a partner in business, Roger Don was more than willing to help. Maybe it was because of his earlier showdown with Turbo or perhaps his loss in the first match that he was ready to help, we don't know. Also other thieves were around, it is believed Nadia stole a few trophies as well.
For the grand finale, after the wyrms were defeated, we decided to use a more conventional way and targeted a nightmare owner with purple potions. The target itself managed to escape but his comrade was not as lucky.
Overall this mission was not a complete success but some terror was spread. The world is now a slightly better place.
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DwMcAliley
- Posts: 53
- Joined: Wed Jul 04, 2012 10:02 am
The Stands (pt. 2) -- White Harbor GRAND OPENING!!!
The sound of an explosion spell detonating in the center of the dueling arena snapped the Lord Captain’s attention back to the fight. Ascher watched as two men circled each other on the floor, halberds in hand. They each had singed clothing and dried blood in several places. One of them had blood dripping down the side of his face from a gruesome gash on his head. The fight had been going on for nearly twenty minutes, and both men were breathing hard, but neither was panting.
The match was only moments old, but already blood had been drawn on both sides, and several times. The two contestants now seemed content to circle each other and analyze what they’d gained from that first encounter in hopes of finding a weakness. This was going to be an intense fight.
Ascher pulled the small bottle from his pouch and uncorked it. He took a shallow draft, and started to put it away when the man next to him, a few seats down, cleared his throat.
“That rum?” The man asked, leaning closer.
Ascher shook his head, “Rye.”
The man’s eyes widened a little, “You have any more?”
Ascher nodded, and reached into his pack. He handed the man a bottle of the deep burgundy-brown liquor. The man offered payment, but Ascher shook his head, “Your name, instead.”
The man nodded, “Matthias,” He said.
Ascher nodded, and glanced across the crowd, but he wasn’t really worried; not anymore, anyway. The crowd had solidified and as he looked out across the grandstands, he could see several others whose faces he didn’t recognize doing the same. Everyone kept casting glances off to the horizons, too, searching for some far off sign of danger. The crowd was wary now, awake in a way that would make a real surprise attack difficult to pull off.
“Care to make a wager?” Ascher asked Mathias.
“Sure,” Mathias answered, “Which one do you like?”
Ascher looked down at the two contestants, and realized he’d never seen either of them before in his life. He considered it a moment, and pointed to the one that wasn’t bleeding, “I’ll take him for 50 gold pieces.”
Mathias smiled, and stuck out his right hand, “I’ll take that wager. I know Plagues, and he’s tough.”
Ascher got a sinking feeling, but he took Mathias’ hand and shook it. Too late to back out now. He turned, and with a renewed interest, began cheering for the other guy. The two duelists circled each other, then Ascher’s man darted in, his halberd swinging in a tight, powerful arc. Plagues managed to dodge most of the strike, but he still suffered a bad gash across his back, and the cut over his eyebrow opened up again.
As Plagues staggered backwards, trying to cast a heal potion, Ascher’s Man swung his halberd onto his back by a long strap running the length of the halberd’s shaft, and he released a spell he’d been holding. An explosion rocked Plagues, and then a cloud of thick green fog enveloped him, and he began to cough and twitch. The man Ascher had bet on seemed to be gaining the upper hand, but just then, Plagues pulled an orange potion from his pouch and drank it, rolling away and out of the cloud of poison. As he came to his feet he cast four quick, well practiced heal spells, and then began casting an explosion spell of his own.
A wicked grin came over Plagues’ face as he swung his own halberd into his hands. In quick, confident steps, he strode towards Ascher’s man. The tide had turned… for the moment.
Plagues landed sever blows with the halberd, but none directly. The explosion spell only singed the other man’s shoulder, and he quickly stopped the bleeding with some bandages and quick incantation. The two had both exhausted their mental capacity for a moment, so they instead turned to their blades. They circled each other quickly, blades flashing and feet dancing in and out in rhythm, each searching for a lapse in defenses, a dropped guard, or a missed parry.
Both drew blood, but only minor scratches, quickly tied off with a bandage or two. The two contestants were nearly evenly matched, and they fought ferociously as the minutes stretched. Finally, Plagues gained the upper hand. He cast an explosion at just the right time, and Ascher’s man ran into the full force of it. The shockwave sent him reeling a good four feet back, and a well-timed writhing bolt of pure energy met him there. The spell wrapped pure, writhing energy halfway around the man’s waist and chest, searing him, and scorching his skin. The man was thrown to the floor.
As he rose, dazed and bleeding badly, Plagues walked up and calmly slipped a gleaming broadsword between the man’s ribs. The man’s eyes went wide, and his body convulsed when Plagues twisted the blade, and pulled it free. The man took two steps, raise his hands as if to cast a spell, and fell face first, his last breath ragged and shallow.
And it was over. Plagues had won the first round. The loser was resurrected, and the next contestant was called. Ascher fished out a pouch from his pack that had 50 gold pieces counted out in it. He handed the pouch over with a grimace, and Mathias toasted him. The two men drank a sip of whiskey, and Ascher nodded towards the dueling pit.
“Care to go for a hundred this time?” Ascher asked.
“Sure,” Mathias said, “But I take Marzipan.”
“Deal,” Ascher said, extending his hand. Mathias took it and shook it, and Ascher smiled to himself. He’d just seen Plagues at work, and lost money because of his skill. He was happy to have his money in Plagues’ corner this match. The two opponents offered each other a shallow bow, and another for the Emperor and Xandy, the faced each other and too their stance.
Xandy threw a purple potion into the center of the ring, and it landed in one of the smoldering forges set up as obstacles in the center of the dueling floor. The bubbling purple liquid in the flask flash boiled and the glass bottle couldn’t take the pressure. It split with an ear-splitting crack, and the explosion from the vapor inside was intense.
Suddenly, there were spells flying through the air. Marzipan unleashed a barrage of Harm spells, hammering Plagues as he tried to close the distance to use his halberd. Then and explosion tore through Plagues’ left side and knocked him off his feet. He rolled when he hit the flagstones, and came to his feet running, barely missing the whistling broadsword in Marzipan’s hands.
Plagues darted around the forges, pulling bandages from his pack, and Ascher’s heart sank. Marzipan was deadly, and swift, and he’d been paying attention to the previous round. He knew just where and how to hit Plagues. Ascher looked over at Mathias, who was smiling.
“You seem very good,” The Lord Captain said, “At picking out winners, Mathias.”
Mathias grinned, and raised his bottle, “Doesn’t pay much to be good at picking out losers, m’lord.”
Ascher chuckled, “No, I don’t suppose it does.”
The two men battled each other back and forth for what seemed like hours. In the end, Marzipan wore Plagues down, bit by bit. He never let Plagues rest or recover. He pressed the attack relentlessly until he finally caught Plagues drained of mana, drenched with sweat, and bleeding. He cast an energy bolt and called down lighting from the skies. The spells rocked Plagues, and sent him sprawling.
Plagues tried to rise, but made it only to his knees, before collapsing, and laying still.
Ascher smiled and shook his head. He reached into his pack and pulled another small pouch, this one holding a hundred gold pieces. He tossed the pouch to Mathias, who caught it, and hefted it, nodding at the weight.
“Care to make another wager, M’lord?” Mathias asked with a grin.
“I don’t think so,” Ascher said, shaking his head, “Not with you any way. No offense, but you are much better at this than me or Luck is with you tonight. Either way, I want at least a chance to win.”
Mathias chuckled and nodded, raising his bottle in a toast. Ascher continued bid him goodbye and continued his rounds of the grandstands. He nodded and talked to people here and there, and watched the fights as he could. Marzipan was skilled and deadly, and he ended up carrying out the 5,000 gold piece bracket. As he finished the last match victorious, he made a lap around the ring, holding his hands high, and the crowd cheered.
In the chaos, Ascher heard a different kind of noise…it was the thump of explosions, though they sounded muffled by the noise of the crowd. Ascher ran as fast as he could without tripping and falling off the raised benches. As he rounded the last corner, he saw a man on a frightening black Nightmare, the creature’s nostrils flaring, and two dead bodies.
Turbo was down on the arena floor when Ascher got there, and he stood with kryss in hand, facing the man on the Mare, “What happened here, sir?” Turbo asked, his voice firm, but not aggressive.
“This guy,” The man said, pointing at one of the bodies, “Started dropping purple potions under my Mare when the crowd started cheering. The other guy was just standing too close, and the potions killed him.”
“Why would someone want to drop explosions under your mare?” Ascher asked.
“Either trying to kill her,” The man replied, “Or drive her mad and make her kill all of us. Doesn’t matter,” he continued, patting the mare on the neck, “My girl’s too well behaved for that. Anyway, after the first one, I told him to stop. He didn’t, so I killed him.”
Just then, the spells the man had been casting on the corpse of the bystander took hold, and the man arched his back and took a long, ragged breath in, his face contorted in a mask of shock and confusion. Slowly, the realization of what had happened dawned on him, and he got shakily to his feet. Ascher offered the man a bottle of rum, but the man shook his head, his face pale.
“Water,” He said, his voice hoarse.
Ascher nodded, and handed him a pitcher of clear cold water, that he immediately began drinking.
“Thank you, sir,” Turbo said, “For handling the situation quickly and efficiently. We usually like the guard to handle security and respond to aggressors whenever possible, but we encourage everyone to defend themselves if necessary. The Guard can’t be everywhere at once.”
Ascher nodded his head in agreement, and went back to patrolling the crowd. He kept his guard up, and a ready hand on the hilt of his kryss. Someone was making a concerted effort to disrupt the night’s entertainment with acts of open aggression. What he had brushed off as an isolated raid was, in fact, a full scale attack.
Ascher made his way around to the east stands, his entire focus on watching the crowd and the empty seats around them, scanning for any sign of a hidden attack or another ambush. None of the faces he saw looked aggressive, but none of the others had either….right up to the point when people had started dying.
The Lord Captain found Oafule in the east grand stands talking to a spice and gemstone merchant from outside Vesper. When Oafule saw Ascher approaching, he bid the man a hasty goodbye, and nodded towards the back of the stands. Ascher followed him, and they sat in an isolated corner several seats from anyone else. Still, Oafule kept his voice low as he scanned the crowd.
“I think something bigger than we thought is going on,” The merchant said, and Ascher blinked in surprise at his own words coming out of the other man’s mouth, “Between the wyrm bomb and the failed Mare stampede, I think someone is trying to send a message.”
Ascher nodded, “I was just coming to tell you the same thing. Have you heard anything about who might be behind it?”
Oafule shook his head, “Not yet, but I may be getting close. That fellow is a very well connected trader in gemstones and spices, and we’ve been conducting some…business…”
Ascher nodded, “I recognize him from Vesper. He’s a wealthy man, but very private.”
Oafule nodded, shifting uncomfortably, “Yes, well, sometimes honest merchants have to be private to alleviate suspicions of…shall we say less than reputable customs practices… if you catch my drift.”
“He’s a smuggler,” Ascher said flatly, “And we’re on an open harbor to the sea. I don’t like where this is headed.”
Oafule raised his hand, and said in a matter of fact tone, “Do you want to find out who did this, or not?”
The Lord Captain ground his teeth, but nodded, so Oafule continued, “Well, some information has a price. But, for now, let me see what I can get for free. It helps that we know that whoever it is, they’re big time tamers. After all, who else can afford to lose fifteen white wyrms in a failed attempt at wiping out an event?”
Ascher nodded, “True. I hadn’t thought about that. Just see that we don’t find ourselves on the wrong side of the law…or Justice. That would be unfortunate.”
Oafule nodded with a smile, “This conversation will help,” He said, “It’s always good when doing business with a smuggler to appear to have the law after you. It lends me credibility.”
Ascher shook his head as he watched Oafule walk back down to the Merchant of Vesper, smiling a conciliatory smile. He held both hands out, palms open and shrugged slightly, speaking in a low voice to the merchant as he took his place next to him again, undoubtedly apologizing for the interruption. For the thousandth time since meeting the man, Ascher thought to himself, There’s something more to that Merchant than what’s on the surface.
With a shrug, Ascher went back to patrolling the crowd, but the rest of the event was quiet…at least from a security standpoint. No more attacks, no more interruptions, and no more problems. Whoever had been behind it, they had either abandoned their efforts or achieved their objective, and Ascher wasn’t sure he liked either choice.
The match was only moments old, but already blood had been drawn on both sides, and several times. The two contestants now seemed content to circle each other and analyze what they’d gained from that first encounter in hopes of finding a weakness. This was going to be an intense fight.
Ascher pulled the small bottle from his pouch and uncorked it. He took a shallow draft, and started to put it away when the man next to him, a few seats down, cleared his throat.
“That rum?” The man asked, leaning closer.
Ascher shook his head, “Rye.”
The man’s eyes widened a little, “You have any more?”
Ascher nodded, and reached into his pack. He handed the man a bottle of the deep burgundy-brown liquor. The man offered payment, but Ascher shook his head, “Your name, instead.”
The man nodded, “Matthias,” He said.
Ascher nodded, and glanced across the crowd, but he wasn’t really worried; not anymore, anyway. The crowd had solidified and as he looked out across the grandstands, he could see several others whose faces he didn’t recognize doing the same. Everyone kept casting glances off to the horizons, too, searching for some far off sign of danger. The crowd was wary now, awake in a way that would make a real surprise attack difficult to pull off.
“Care to make a wager?” Ascher asked Mathias.
“Sure,” Mathias answered, “Which one do you like?”
Ascher looked down at the two contestants, and realized he’d never seen either of them before in his life. He considered it a moment, and pointed to the one that wasn’t bleeding, “I’ll take him for 50 gold pieces.”
Mathias smiled, and stuck out his right hand, “I’ll take that wager. I know Plagues, and he’s tough.”
Ascher got a sinking feeling, but he took Mathias’ hand and shook it. Too late to back out now. He turned, and with a renewed interest, began cheering for the other guy. The two duelists circled each other, then Ascher’s man darted in, his halberd swinging in a tight, powerful arc. Plagues managed to dodge most of the strike, but he still suffered a bad gash across his back, and the cut over his eyebrow opened up again.
As Plagues staggered backwards, trying to cast a heal potion, Ascher’s Man swung his halberd onto his back by a long strap running the length of the halberd’s shaft, and he released a spell he’d been holding. An explosion rocked Plagues, and then a cloud of thick green fog enveloped him, and he began to cough and twitch. The man Ascher had bet on seemed to be gaining the upper hand, but just then, Plagues pulled an orange potion from his pouch and drank it, rolling away and out of the cloud of poison. As he came to his feet he cast four quick, well practiced heal spells, and then began casting an explosion spell of his own.
A wicked grin came over Plagues’ face as he swung his own halberd into his hands. In quick, confident steps, he strode towards Ascher’s man. The tide had turned… for the moment.
Plagues landed sever blows with the halberd, but none directly. The explosion spell only singed the other man’s shoulder, and he quickly stopped the bleeding with some bandages and quick incantation. The two had both exhausted their mental capacity for a moment, so they instead turned to their blades. They circled each other quickly, blades flashing and feet dancing in and out in rhythm, each searching for a lapse in defenses, a dropped guard, or a missed parry.
Both drew blood, but only minor scratches, quickly tied off with a bandage or two. The two contestants were nearly evenly matched, and they fought ferociously as the minutes stretched. Finally, Plagues gained the upper hand. He cast an explosion at just the right time, and Ascher’s man ran into the full force of it. The shockwave sent him reeling a good four feet back, and a well-timed writhing bolt of pure energy met him there. The spell wrapped pure, writhing energy halfway around the man’s waist and chest, searing him, and scorching his skin. The man was thrown to the floor.
As he rose, dazed and bleeding badly, Plagues walked up and calmly slipped a gleaming broadsword between the man’s ribs. The man’s eyes went wide, and his body convulsed when Plagues twisted the blade, and pulled it free. The man took two steps, raise his hands as if to cast a spell, and fell face first, his last breath ragged and shallow.
And it was over. Plagues had won the first round. The loser was resurrected, and the next contestant was called. Ascher fished out a pouch from his pack that had 50 gold pieces counted out in it. He handed the pouch over with a grimace, and Mathias toasted him. The two men drank a sip of whiskey, and Ascher nodded towards the dueling pit.
“Care to go for a hundred this time?” Ascher asked.
“Sure,” Mathias said, “But I take Marzipan.”
“Deal,” Ascher said, extending his hand. Mathias took it and shook it, and Ascher smiled to himself. He’d just seen Plagues at work, and lost money because of his skill. He was happy to have his money in Plagues’ corner this match. The two opponents offered each other a shallow bow, and another for the Emperor and Xandy, the faced each other and too their stance.
Xandy threw a purple potion into the center of the ring, and it landed in one of the smoldering forges set up as obstacles in the center of the dueling floor. The bubbling purple liquid in the flask flash boiled and the glass bottle couldn’t take the pressure. It split with an ear-splitting crack, and the explosion from the vapor inside was intense.
Suddenly, there were spells flying through the air. Marzipan unleashed a barrage of Harm spells, hammering Plagues as he tried to close the distance to use his halberd. Then and explosion tore through Plagues’ left side and knocked him off his feet. He rolled when he hit the flagstones, and came to his feet running, barely missing the whistling broadsword in Marzipan’s hands.
Plagues darted around the forges, pulling bandages from his pack, and Ascher’s heart sank. Marzipan was deadly, and swift, and he’d been paying attention to the previous round. He knew just where and how to hit Plagues. Ascher looked over at Mathias, who was smiling.
“You seem very good,” The Lord Captain said, “At picking out winners, Mathias.”
Mathias grinned, and raised his bottle, “Doesn’t pay much to be good at picking out losers, m’lord.”
Ascher chuckled, “No, I don’t suppose it does.”
The two men battled each other back and forth for what seemed like hours. In the end, Marzipan wore Plagues down, bit by bit. He never let Plagues rest or recover. He pressed the attack relentlessly until he finally caught Plagues drained of mana, drenched with sweat, and bleeding. He cast an energy bolt and called down lighting from the skies. The spells rocked Plagues, and sent him sprawling.
Plagues tried to rise, but made it only to his knees, before collapsing, and laying still.
Ascher smiled and shook his head. He reached into his pack and pulled another small pouch, this one holding a hundred gold pieces. He tossed the pouch to Mathias, who caught it, and hefted it, nodding at the weight.
“Care to make another wager, M’lord?” Mathias asked with a grin.
“I don’t think so,” Ascher said, shaking his head, “Not with you any way. No offense, but you are much better at this than me or Luck is with you tonight. Either way, I want at least a chance to win.”
Mathias chuckled and nodded, raising his bottle in a toast. Ascher continued bid him goodbye and continued his rounds of the grandstands. He nodded and talked to people here and there, and watched the fights as he could. Marzipan was skilled and deadly, and he ended up carrying out the 5,000 gold piece bracket. As he finished the last match victorious, he made a lap around the ring, holding his hands high, and the crowd cheered.
In the chaos, Ascher heard a different kind of noise…it was the thump of explosions, though they sounded muffled by the noise of the crowd. Ascher ran as fast as he could without tripping and falling off the raised benches. As he rounded the last corner, he saw a man on a frightening black Nightmare, the creature’s nostrils flaring, and two dead bodies.
Turbo was down on the arena floor when Ascher got there, and he stood with kryss in hand, facing the man on the Mare, “What happened here, sir?” Turbo asked, his voice firm, but not aggressive.
“This guy,” The man said, pointing at one of the bodies, “Started dropping purple potions under my Mare when the crowd started cheering. The other guy was just standing too close, and the potions killed him.”
“Why would someone want to drop explosions under your mare?” Ascher asked.
“Either trying to kill her,” The man replied, “Or drive her mad and make her kill all of us. Doesn’t matter,” he continued, patting the mare on the neck, “My girl’s too well behaved for that. Anyway, after the first one, I told him to stop. He didn’t, so I killed him.”
Just then, the spells the man had been casting on the corpse of the bystander took hold, and the man arched his back and took a long, ragged breath in, his face contorted in a mask of shock and confusion. Slowly, the realization of what had happened dawned on him, and he got shakily to his feet. Ascher offered the man a bottle of rum, but the man shook his head, his face pale.
“Water,” He said, his voice hoarse.
Ascher nodded, and handed him a pitcher of clear cold water, that he immediately began drinking.
“Thank you, sir,” Turbo said, “For handling the situation quickly and efficiently. We usually like the guard to handle security and respond to aggressors whenever possible, but we encourage everyone to defend themselves if necessary. The Guard can’t be everywhere at once.”
Ascher nodded his head in agreement, and went back to patrolling the crowd. He kept his guard up, and a ready hand on the hilt of his kryss. Someone was making a concerted effort to disrupt the night’s entertainment with acts of open aggression. What he had brushed off as an isolated raid was, in fact, a full scale attack.
Ascher made his way around to the east stands, his entire focus on watching the crowd and the empty seats around them, scanning for any sign of a hidden attack or another ambush. None of the faces he saw looked aggressive, but none of the others had either….right up to the point when people had started dying.
The Lord Captain found Oafule in the east grand stands talking to a spice and gemstone merchant from outside Vesper. When Oafule saw Ascher approaching, he bid the man a hasty goodbye, and nodded towards the back of the stands. Ascher followed him, and they sat in an isolated corner several seats from anyone else. Still, Oafule kept his voice low as he scanned the crowd.
“I think something bigger than we thought is going on,” The merchant said, and Ascher blinked in surprise at his own words coming out of the other man’s mouth, “Between the wyrm bomb and the failed Mare stampede, I think someone is trying to send a message.”
Ascher nodded, “I was just coming to tell you the same thing. Have you heard anything about who might be behind it?”
Oafule shook his head, “Not yet, but I may be getting close. That fellow is a very well connected trader in gemstones and spices, and we’ve been conducting some…business…”
Ascher nodded, “I recognize him from Vesper. He’s a wealthy man, but very private.”
Oafule nodded, shifting uncomfortably, “Yes, well, sometimes honest merchants have to be private to alleviate suspicions of…shall we say less than reputable customs practices… if you catch my drift.”
“He’s a smuggler,” Ascher said flatly, “And we’re on an open harbor to the sea. I don’t like where this is headed.”
Oafule raised his hand, and said in a matter of fact tone, “Do you want to find out who did this, or not?”
The Lord Captain ground his teeth, but nodded, so Oafule continued, “Well, some information has a price. But, for now, let me see what I can get for free. It helps that we know that whoever it is, they’re big time tamers. After all, who else can afford to lose fifteen white wyrms in a failed attempt at wiping out an event?”
Ascher nodded, “True. I hadn’t thought about that. Just see that we don’t find ourselves on the wrong side of the law…or Justice. That would be unfortunate.”
Oafule nodded with a smile, “This conversation will help,” He said, “It’s always good when doing business with a smuggler to appear to have the law after you. It lends me credibility.”
Ascher shook his head as he watched Oafule walk back down to the Merchant of Vesper, smiling a conciliatory smile. He held both hands out, palms open and shrugged slightly, speaking in a low voice to the merchant as he took his place next to him again, undoubtedly apologizing for the interruption. For the thousandth time since meeting the man, Ascher thought to himself, There’s something more to that Merchant than what’s on the surface.
With a shrug, Ascher went back to patrolling the crowd, but the rest of the event was quiet…at least from a security standpoint. No more attacks, no more interruptions, and no more problems. Whoever had been behind it, they had either abandoned their efforts or achieved their objective, and Ascher wasn’t sure he liked either choice.
Re: Grand Opening - the aftermath
Glad to see my old keep being put to good use!