Forums » Fantasy Roleplay » A Terrible Time (Invitation Only)

I am the Voice. I am one of many, and I shall guide yee adventures as haphazardly as I can through these lands of Yawnder. There may come a time where I randomly change persons, but it usually doesn't last long. For I am Reason. Or rather, his-her voice. Of Reason.

This story starts in an adorable little hamlet, far, far away from any ominous dark cloud of evilness. There are only four buildings, and though the villagers of this hamlet can't tell east from west, or whether to capitalize them, they knew how to build buildings. To the North, there is a small church, with large wooden doors and white-stone walls, with a wooden roof. To the East, there is a tavern. Short and stocky are some human characteristics that have been given to the tavern, and its dark-wooded existance appeals to many. Behind the tavern, a field of hops grew. To the South and West, there were medium sized houses. The two families that tended the hamlets lived in both houses, as they are the only ones who thought that "taking ranks" in building houses was a good idea.

A man knelt before the church's alter. His hands were placed on his knee, folded. His knuckles touched his forehead, and his eyes were closed. His garb was simple and coloured grey and green, a scarf wrapped around his neck. Close by, a sword lay on the ground on the man's right. On his left, a metal kite-shield lay with the leather-strap handle in the middle of the shield's interior was exposed. The man's mouth moved silently, the sun shining through tinted glass and warming his body in a completely natural way. Slowly.

(I have an awfully hard time choosing which chracter to use before finally deciding on this one.)

Sorea had taken on her child appearance and was currently in a very tiny hamlet with a rather irritated expression on her face. She had a simple tan cloth bag across her back, inside of which were a few gold coins, a few of her shed scales, three black feathers and one gold one from her wings. Sorea had arrived her after seeing it on a map and hoped that she would be able to sell her wares. Yet no, this hamlet was pathetically tiny with no chance that she would be able to sell her wares for a half decent price. This had been nothing more then a waste of time.

So she decided to go see what all the fuss was about when it came to churches. Once inside, she raised an eyebrow at in interior as she had no idea why there were so many benches or what the man was doing in front of that....structure? She walked over to the man and said. "What are you doing? It looks like a huge waste of time!"

Wandering into the church of the little hamlet, Grendur, (with his massive club, and heavy chainmail) barely fit through the door. "Hello my friends! May the Gods smile upon you always. This is a wonderful time to make a pilgrimage, is it not? Please, I must ask that you don't disrupt his train of thought while praying, it's very rude." Grendur has always been fairly oblivious of his physical strength and sheer size. [He's a bit of a schmeg head]

The man's hands fold flat on his knee. A breath was released through his nose and he stands up slowly, dusting off his pants. His eyes opened at gave a fleeting glance to the child, "You are young and brash, child." The man's hands brush off some of the dirt and dust off of his pants, a weary smile crossing his lips, "Maybe when you're older, you'll learn how to give thanks to the spirits of this world." He turns to face the alter. The man's hand taps his left, right shoulder. Then his forehead and chest.

The door's hinges nearly broke as the massive girth of a monk opened the door. An inch of space on both sides of the door allowed the monk inside.

The man turns around, his eyebrows lifting. A perplexed expression formed. "A pilgrim, this far out in the lands? Where do you hail from, friend?"

"Oh, the High Church in White Haven. My pilgrimage brought me here to pay homage to Shrine in this church." He was looking very affectionately at the Idol.

Sorea rolled her eyes at both men. What did this praying do to help the spirits of nature, when men would happily destroy it for their own gain. "What good is this "praying" when you adults destroy the spirit's home by cutting down the trees and kill off all the wildlife? What good are words when compared to those actions?" Her golden eyes flashed dangerously, young and brash was she? These men were like eggs compared to her.


She would never understand humans no matter how long she lived. They say one thing and then do the exact opposite. They claimed to be virtuous and then kicked at people that they thought were beneath them. She then went over and did a very blasphemous thing; picked up the idol. She then examined it in her hands with a confused expression. "Why this much fuss over a statue? It's just cold unfeeling metal. Why not give that attention to those who actually need it?"

She then put it back with indifference and went to look around the church some more.

{Just to make sure, she is acting very OOCly. I just picked her for the heck of it.}

"The Gods will give fortune to those who give them praise, and strike down those nonbelievers. I had thought everyone had known this, if you would like, I could you the writings of our Gods." Grendur was smiling at the chance to educate someone in the ways of the White.

The man nods once. "I've never been there, but word of its greatness is often shared between travelling merchants and cups of mead." The man looks to each door side. An absent nodding overtook his head, "I hear they eat well." Words from the side. A slight frown. The man looks down at the metal chain around his neck and the metallic cross attatched to it. "I have my own reasons, as do others. But to say that we are adults is false, child. We are all children." A few fingers touch the metal cross.

Somebody better find the owner. Their brights are on.

A sudden light brought the man's attention to the child's eyes. Eyes open wide. The man stumbles back onto one of the benches, his arm catching the edge. "Lady's breath!" Heart beats faster. "You have metal in your eyes, child..." The man's body was stunned, and his head turns to follow the child's movements towards the alter. "I see why you're upset at the spirits now."

To speak of blasphemy is blasphemy in itself. Nobody understands the need to keep it clean. It takes a pair of hands and a rag, and if somebody were to spit on it, there's always the disinfecting powers of local alcohol. It's a hunk of metal, after all.

The man swallows auidbly. "The idol is a...symbol of the Lady. We cannot shelter an entire goddess within this building." The man's body slowly calms itself, his eyes glancing towards the large monk. Still frozen in shock. "We give the Lady attention so that we may recieve her attention."

A buzzing sound could be heard behind the large monk's mass. The sound of flapping wings. Very small wings. A high-pitched voice spoke up, tiny hands beating on the large monk's back, "Excuse me? Exccuuuusseeee meeee? Hello? Helllloo?! Hey!"

(uhh what does he mean by metal in your eyes?)

[Beats the crap out of me. It's a Wiegraf thing. ^^]

Grendur could barely hear the tiny voice, "Oh I am very sorry little one, please, do excuse my rudeness." He moved aside putting his massive club to the ground, all the while still looking at the small child. "Who are you my boy, if I may inquire?"

Has nobody ever told you, you have golden dragon eyes? Or maybe you have something in your eye that looks like gold? Well maybe they should.

The tiny fists clenched at their sides. A receding hair line. Rags for clothes. And a snaggle tooth grin that's currently frowning.

"Who you callin' a boy, lard butt? I'm a grown man!" The man didn't come up to the monk's knee in height and was portly. "The name's Richard. I gots a message for you lot. The Duke's lookin' for a couple of problem solvers. For his problem. You interested?" Richard scratched at his portly stomach.

Grendur, well aware of his sheer size was very upset by the rudeness the tiny had shown him. "Well I'll have you know, Clerics don't appreciate the rudeness you portray, little man! For your height, you aren't much better off in the over size area, so why don't you show some respect to those around you?" He didn't even need to go for his club, he knew he could just sit on the tiny person and be done with it.

Sorea turned to the monk and replied coolly with. "If the gods can grant fortune then why do I have no parents? What crime could I have committed to make that a suitable punishment? The gods left me to fend for myself as as long as I could remember. They were not there when I struggled to feed myself or when I was lying half dead on the ground."

She then promptly turned her head away from the cleric and towards the swordsman. "I have been told a few times, but one cannot change one's eyes so I must accept them for what they are."

It was true, her eyes were the only part of her body stayed constant. While she could change their size and shape, their ultimate appearance would always remain the same.

However it was the news of the duke that interested her. "Maybe this duke would be interested in my wares. I don't think anyone else in the hamlet would be able to make use of them."

She then took the cloth bag off her back and held it tightly to her chest. It would be a pity to have come to this hamlet for nothing. While it was true that as a dragon she didn't need money to live, she still liked to have some just in case something interesting caught her eye.

The man pushes off of the bench and adjusts his footing. Slowly, calm approaches. The man tugs on his shirt a few times, then stares at the child. Both confused and sympathetic. "You have? You poor child."

The man places his hand on the pommel of his sheathed sword, his head bowing and his eyes cast down at the stone beneath his feet, "My Lady offers her compassion to you, child. It is no man's plan that you have found such pious men. Lady forgive us." The man looks up, his hand enclosing around the metal cross necklace. Brightly colored glass in the shape of a womenly figure. Then the man puts the large monk is in his sight.

Richard cocked an eye at the large monk. He jumps up and down and slaps his knee, "I bet you can't do that, sausage toes!" Richard's stomach hobbled up and down. Richard turns and spits on the ground, his meaty hand gives the cleric the fig, "I don't get paid enough to do that, bub." Richard attempts to look behind the massive monk, "Somebody gots the right idea. Hope ya didn't eat them." Richard cocks his eye at the monk and grins his snaggle-tooth grin. "Anyway, this is for you's." Richard finds a rolled up scroll and tosses it at the monk's feet.

Ignoring the intense insults the little one kept insisting on throwing out there (obvious as it was they were aimed at him,) Grendur bent down and picked up the scroll. Sneering at the tiny man he unrolled it and read it's contents. After finishing the scroll promptly, he briskly rolled it back up and smiled a wicked smile at the tiny man. "This is how you are to be punished from insulting a Cleric of the High Church." and before the little man could even think about what was going on, the monk tossed the little man into the air and violently SLAMMED the scroll into his forehead, knocking him senseless.

"If you do not mind sir, I must bid a due, and go see this Duke. If you do not mind keeping company with a large Cleric, I would welcome a companion." He reached over and retrieved his massive club, while awaiting Mister Folles reply.

Sorea stayed silent as the smaller man expressed pity at what she had said. She didn't want pity but she was pleased by his discomfort though she was careful not to show it.

Tho it turned out to be a good thing that she didn't have anything to say as it likely would have gone unnoticed considering that the large monk had just knocked out the unusually small man. However unlike a real child, she didn't express any concern for the punished man as she trusted that the cleric had enough restrain not to do him any permanent injury, but even if he hadn't, well it wasn't her job to take care of a man whose own mouth got him in trouble.

Of course she was readily able to get away with it since she had already portrayed herself as a bitter child. In all truth, she wasn't actually bitter, she just couldn't understand humans need to worship these gods. It wasn't that she didn't think that gods existed, but more of that she had never had a reason to worship them. Tho she did grant them enough respect not to vandalize their places of worship which is why she had shown enough care not to harm the idol.

Sorea then promptly moved closer to the monk as she fully intended to see this Duke herself.

(FYI Knocked senseless means to knock out someone. Which I am going to assume isn't what you meant to do since you would up talking to him and waiting for his reply. Sorry if I am being annoying, I am really just trying to help.)

[Don't worry. Just count the number of names, and you'll realize who Grendur knocked out. Mister Folles is fine and conscious.]

[Ah crap, I somehow overlooked Richard and thought that Folles had been the one with the scroll, I feel quite embarrassed now. xD Let me go fix my post!]

[It's all practice. We ain't gonna get mad. Heck, there may come a time where simple over lookin's can lead to even better situations.]

(Well you see I have this tendency for being overly apologetically at times. I have a decent reason for this little flaw, but this isn't the time nor the place to discuss it. I just hope you can overlook it and I should stop derailing the thread. *zips lips*)