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 Posted: Thu May 10, 2007 4:03 pm
((Wow! First time I wrote this long for one post! eek Hope it's ok?))
"...ri... Iri.... Iria...... IRIA!!!!"
"Huh, wh-wha... Whaaaa!! ... Oww!!!"
Iria was dozing nicely in her chair with a small poring in her arms, a pink squeeshy blob of a creature, when her sister's loud calling threw her off the chair. She hit the floor with a loud ruckus, but managed to save the little poring from it's fall by holding it high above her, though she did land on her head/back because of that. The poring looked around surprized at the rude awakening, and Iria smiled apologetically at it, tucking it under her arm. She brushed off her clothes and hair, and looked outside. It was getting dark, and she still hasn't closed the door. Iria set down the drowsy poring on the counter and closed the shop, making sure that she bolted it hard enough so that thieves won't get in. She then tucked the poring back under her arm and walked to the back of the store where her sister was preparing the dinner.
"Wha--... -at?"
Iria yawned loudly without even bothering to cover her mouth. Iria's older sister, Chias, glared disapprovingly at her, and slammed down Iria's dinner hard on the table.
"Have you been slacking off again?"
"No."
Iria quickly answered, not meeting Chias's glare. The poring under her arm looked up at Iria, and immetated her expression. Chias sighed heavily, though her anger was somewhat calmed by the poring's comical immetation. Iria looked around, trying to find something to distract her sister from the torment that Iria was about to recieve.
"Where's Kai?"
"Outside. Don't change the subject."
Attempt failed. Using her niece never worked, though she tried every time. Iria could feel the sweat on her forehead. Her grip on the poring hardened, making it squirm around.
"I know Kanori is being extremely generous to you by letting you work here, so could you at least TRY to work diligently here? I thought you liked working with creatures..."
"But he won't let me work with anything but porings or lunatics!!"
Iria thrusted out the poring out in front of Chias's face, gripping hard at the poring's squeeshy sides. Chias smiled at the poring and petted it's head, taking it from Iria and setting it loose on the floor. It scurried outside towards the fields where other creatures in the farm all dwelled in. Kanori was Chias's husband, the owner of the farm, and a very nice generous person, but stubborn in his own ways.
"That's because you're not experienced enough yet. You should go find some work for a mage instead..."
Chias said quietly, with a mix of sadness in her tone, as Kanori walked in. Iria threw her hands in the air and rolled her eyes. She watched in frustration as Chias greeted Kanori, and faked hurling at their 'lovey-dovey' mode. She grabbed her plate and small utensils, and pointed nervously out at the fields and smiled at her brother-in-law.
"I'll just eat out there..."
Iria slumped down onto a stool outside, watching falcons fly back to their nest before the night fall. She ate vigorously, licking the plate off down to the last piece of crum. She let out a sigh of satisfaction and looked up at the darkening sky.
"I just want to work with them more..."
Iria mumbled pitifully as Chias and Kanori worried for her from the window. They expected her to go find a better job at Prontera after her successful years in the magic school, and thought Iria was wasting her magical talent over creatures.
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Posted: Thu May 10, 2007 4:05 pm
After a time, he came across an Inn. It looked fairly decent, and it was sure to have some good food inside. It appeared as if there was a crowd here previously, but now it was about the same as the rest of the city. He went inside.
Apparently the inn was called the Droselle Inn. Interesting name. Never heard of it. He went up to the front desk. "Excuse me, but would it be possible for me to get some food here?"
"To get a meal, you must be a resident of the Inn. If you wish to stay, it will cost 150 zeny for a normal room."
He thought about it. He would only have 50 left if he did it... Well, he liked life on the edge. Anyway, he could always resort to aiding others and asking for money in return.
"Okay, then, I'll stay." The secretary gave him a room key, and he continued to walk about the inn, in search of the restaurant. In a few minutes, he found it. It was unmistakable, there was a brilliant smell of food emitting from the room. He received a few looks from random people (He was an Alcolyte, so he had a somewhat different outfit. Luckilly, it was able to cover up his rod.), but most people ignored him. He made his way through the area, and looked for a table to sit at. Apparently, they were almost ready to serve food, so perhaps he wouldn't have to wait too long.
He looked around and saw a mostly empty table, with what appeared to be some kind of warrior and another girl, looking pretty normal. He shrugged, and walked up to that table. He sat down next to the apparent warrior, and smiled to him. "Hello, there."
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Posted: Fri May 11, 2007 4:52 pm
(Hehe. NPC time. >D)
In a secluded area just outside of the city, a lone thief stood alone with his stash, snickering as he grasped the large sack within his wiry fingers. He'd been lucky, yes; very lucky. That merchant wasn't harmless- quite on the contrary- and he, the black sheep of his flock of three, had been the only one to successfully flee from the axe of Talaris and the arrows of the archer Alisia. Neither mattered now, he knew; if no one had caught him now, huddling in his own secluded corner behind the city gates, they never would.
Looking through the stash quickly, his rough, airy laugh hissed from his lungs as he counted the zeny that would roll into his pocket the moment he hit another nearby town to sell the wares he'd stolen. He was set for months, with this stash alone, and that was no small feat for a common street urchin. Had he had this degree of success in any other job, he was sure he'd get a medal for his prowess... but, seeing as it violated at least three different laws, Zeirhen made himself content with the thoughts of zeny guardian angels flying through his mind.
Chuckling to himself, he carefully hid various bits and pieces of his catch on his own body, hiding as much as he could before hefting the rest of the loot in the merchant's sack. Appearing to be a merchant, he made his way into one of the small houses on the outskirts of town, carefully checking in each of the windows for any signs of life. Confident that the normal occupants were not at home, he hastily picked the lock and made his way inside, smirking all the while. There was no better place to hide than just under the noses of authority; they wouldn't check the house of an ordinary citizen without a warrant, and he would be gone long before they had any of those niceties.
Locking the door from the inside, he smiled victoriously before pausing before the small cot, starting as a quiet hiss of air entering the building alerted him a single, open window... one he had looked through earlier, and had not opened. Turning around, he bit back a curse as he met the eyes of another that he could have sworn had not been there thirty seconds earlier.
"Thief." The figure hissed, charging forward at the criminal. Instinctively, as they always did, Zeirhen stepped backwards, backing himself into the wall as his guilt-ridden spirit began to irrationally fear detection. While his mind knew that he had no reason to believe that this person knew what he had done, something told him otherwise.
"Yes, I am a thief; I steal from monsters for a living. Why do you antagonize me so?" He said as smoothly as possible, barely keeping the shaking out of his voice as the figure only moved closer. Said person wrapped their finger's in the thief's collar, smiling coyly at the one who had assailed the merchant.
"A monster? Are humans monsters, Zeirhen? Do merchants deserve to have their livelihood snatched from them? Do they?!" Pushing their hand forward and pushing against the thief's throat, the thief screamed a garbled, strangled cry as he looked down, his eyes widening with realization.
"You are charged with theft, and assault and battery of the lone witness who saw the crime... myself. The penalty is death."
"...It's... no, it can't be--!" He hissed, watching his assailant grab his own knife from his belt.
"Sleep, and greet Hel in my stead."
A lone scream was cut off as, with a splatter of blood onto the floor, the thief breathed his last. Gathering the possessions quickly from his body and leaving all that was his, the assailant thrust the items belonging to the merchant into his sack, tying it securely in a knot. Attaching only a single note with the merchant's name upon it, the guild member left the lone pouch before the Inn, with the insignia of a strange guild branded upon it.
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Posted: Sat May 12, 2007 1:24 pm
Dagon was growing impatient in the lack of food appearing before him so initially, he didn't grant notice to the somewhat cheery fellow that sat down next to him. The man reeked of cleanlieness...and his garb bespoke a member of some church. Wonderful....an acolyte. Sighing, Dagon turned and fixed the man with a level look. Most people could hardly stand the somewhat crazy eyes of Dagon Adaos but the cleric held his ground. Dagon lowered the intensity of his gaze and nodded
"Well met." Really Dagon had no true motive for being so chilly anyways. On the battlefeild, acolytes where a true gift to a warrior with a body unable to take another step but soul still blazing to fight. If anything, Dagon should be respectful to such a class of being. The annoyance due to the lack of food in front of him was probably most to blame for his volatile behavior. Dagon made a mental note to conduct himself honorably and that he was no longer on the road anymore. This was a place of principles and social protocol...if Dagon couldn't understand that...then there would be no business for him.
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Posted: Sun May 13, 2007 3:27 pm
Iria laid under a large tree in the field of the farm, her hands as pillow. Porings were gathering a larger poporings and drops on the field to sleep. She knew she should also be sleeping because she had to go into Prontera first thing in the morning to buy fresh ingredients for taming creatures. Iria overheard Kanori that afternoon about a new group of wild rockres and chonchons in the far side of the field, and knew the the breeders would go tame them.
Iria imagined herself with the group, working with varieties of creatures on the field when she felt a tug on her skirt. She lifted her head slighly and peeked down in the dark to find her 3 year-old niece, Kai, hugging a small lunatic in one hand and grabbing Iria's skirt on the other.
"Aunty Riri, what are you doing out here?"
Iria couldn't help but smile at the angelic toddler, who couldn't pronounce her name quite corectly. She pulled Kai near her and petted her head.
"What are YOU doing out here? Isn't it past your bedtime?"
"But Mommy told me to go find you, Aunty Riri."
"Did she? ... Alright, let's go in. You need your beauty sleep, Princess."
Iria smiled and poked Kai's nose. She got up, brushing the dirt off of her clothes and carried Kai in the house. Kai was already sleep by the time Iria reached the house, with her cute bunny, Luny. She handed Kai to her sister to put in bed, and sat in the living room, grabbing a book and some snack from the kitchen. She sat in front of the fire and opened the book when Kanori walked over to her.
"Iria, could you go buy some-"
"Singing flowers and fish? Don't worry, I got it. Just leave some zeny on my table and I'll go first thing in the morning."
"How did you...?"
"I have good ears."
Kanori stared at Iria with a surprised look, but Iria simply smiled and tapped her ears. She dug into the book called "Magic Application in Creature Breeding," and Kanori smiled as he walked into his room, leaving iria alone with her book and fire.
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Posted: Mon May 14, 2007 4:13 pm
Dream, somewhat startled by the look the man gave him at first, soon realized that it was just the effect of moderate impatience. This was confirmed when he relaxed his look, and spoke to him. He seemed to be of the serious type, which Dream most certaintly respected. He was extremely serious when the time was neccesary. But for now, it was definately not neccesary. He smiled, deciding that it was better to remain in a good mood. People rarely caught Dream in a bad mood anyway, because he just didn't operate like that. It wasn't his nature, or his teaching. Another reason why he was able to get through the stupid church without people suspecting his contempt towards the belief.
"Same to you." He paused a moment. "May I ask your name?"
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Posted: Mon May 14, 2007 7:32 pm
Kel slinked down the street, avoiding the flickering lights from windows and lampposts. Sometimes this was what she liked best, just walking through dark, quiet streets, and knowing that nobody else knew she was there. She saw many things, of course. But she never told anyone the stories. There was no point. She didn't really have friends. Her customers didn't come to her for gossip or information. And there would be many people who wouldn't like to hear their secrets blabbed.
These streets had become second nature to her now. She had not grown up in the city - in fact, she felt most comfortable amongst silent trunks and rustling leaves. The forest would always be her home, but she had adapted well enough to the city to move through the streets as if she had been there her whole life. She practically danced around drunkards falling in a stupor from tavern doors, slid in and out of shadows, and skillfully deceived the eyes of passersby.
Abruptly, as she passed through a small street, she heard some yelling and some loud scuffling, and finally a scream that was quickly cut off. She froze, in case whoever it was burst through a door or a window still wielding their weapon and still thirsty for blood. Her eyes were fully adjusted to the night, but she saw nothing on the street, no movement. Even the rats hid at sounds like that. She waited. Nothing.
After a moment, she moved on again. None of her business.
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Posted: Mon May 14, 2007 9:46 pm
Dorian tossed another mysterious device of unknown use into the cart and yawned, stretching and moving to lean in the open doorway of the Blacksmith's shop. His quick eyes instantly percieved a familiar figure moving along the street quietly. Dorian grinned as he recognized the woman coming into view. Kel Berisk...
An interesting women this Kel. Was she a thief that dabbled in apothecary? Or an apothecary that dabbled in thievery...to take the wrong definition would be to completely insult her likely and invite the wrath of someone with very intimate knowledge on how to turn ones next favorite meal into a dish of death. Knowing that, Dorian had spent a few months observing her casually. He was never too crafty, always letting her see him if she so desired...for it was better to be caught easily...with no hint of foul play apparent, then to be noticed skulking about and be under the suspicion of everything from murder on up.
At the end of the third month, Dorian had approached her, introduced himself as Dorian Blayde, a simple thief, and wished her a pleasant afternoon. Judging by the fact that he had YET to eat some poisoned leg of mutton...he assumed she did not take him as a threat. In truth, her neutral expressions and slightly frigid demeanor threw him off somewhat. Profitting mostly with people skills now, someone with guarded emotions was dangerous. If they did not show emotions, they they were unreadable...unpredicatable....if they were unpredicable...they were a threat.
Dorian also realized at that moment that in the unlikely event she would deign to talk to him...Madame music merchant behind him knew him as Elohman the fool. To be caught in an identity mix up would be hazerdous indeed.
Quiet as a shadow, Dorian ducked back into the shop and turned, a somewhat foolish smile back on his face.
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Posted: Wed May 16, 2007 11:39 am
Dagon paused and silence lengthened after teh acolyte asked his question.
A name, a name, what's in a name? the words flashed in his conciousness. Probably some garbage a village girl offered to try and mask her common appearence with mystery. What was it about women that made them think men just wanted the mysterious? Personally, Dagon would much rather KNOW the girl he bedded. More oft then not he had heard of powerful mercenaries in the trade killed by a female assassin as he lay asleep after an...eventful night.
Dagon blinked and frowned deeper, his mind was wandering again. Inwardly he cursed himself for the lapse in concentration...but truth be told it was coming more and more often these days. Somehow, Dagon could not keep himself concentrated most of the time and it led to problems in communication from his employers. It wasa personal failing Dagon was working on....but not making much success.
"Dagon," He gruffly growled "Dagon Adaos." He debated whether he should say more, then decided it was pointless. No more had been asked of him then his name.
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Posted: Wed May 16, 2007 12:13 pm
Dream thought for a while, then decided that the man was telling the truth. Therefore, he would as well. Why not? It's not like it would hurt anything. He wasn't wanted anywhere, and nobody even cared he existed. Unlike many merceneries, it was harmless for him to give out his real name.
Anyway, if anyone really wanted to find him, he'd probably come see them, they wouldn't really have to hunt him down or anything. And if someonw was trying to kill him (which he saw no reason why they should be), then they'd be met with a little surprise. He was skilled in fighting, for an acolyte. No match for a really strong warrior, but he could fend for himself.
"Hello, then, Dagon. I'm Dream Starr. Nice to meet you." He held out his hand to him, offering to shake.
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Posted: Wed May 16, 2007 11:15 pm
Mrs. Droselle was quite astonished with this young lady’s offer. Her only reaction was a giggle that was forcefully held back by a smirk and her hand. Her hand glided over to her special cupboard that was usually locked and left alone, but tonight, there was something in the air that made her feel a little extra cautious. Hoping that the guest, Alisia, would mistake the several bottles that she took out as a variety of spices, she took them one by one and pretended to sniff them, then disapproved of them, and then flawlessly tucked them in the secret pockets under her apron.
“Oh my, did my daughter tell you that I needed help?” she mused, putting a palm to her cheek in disbelief of her daughter’s concern. “Well my dear, I’m quite capable of lifting this humongous pot by myself, now if you would just go sit down now please.” And with that, Mrs. Droselle effortlessly lifted up the gigantic stew pot with one hand and walked over to the dinner table, carefully, but only so that she wouldn’t spill any.
“Now if it’s like father, like daughter, then Mr. Droselle should be here at any moment now . . .”
True enough, Mr. Droselle did walk in through the dining room hall at that very moment. He was big and tall, yet not brutish, but still muscular in the way that women usually swooned for. He had the air of an experienced woodsman, and artisan. One could tell that he did mostly everything a man could ever do: from woodworking to farming, and from hunting to breeding. A big smile was marked across his face, if it was anyone’s guess; it was probably because of the number of guests at the table tonight.
His dark-blonde hair with traces of gray reflected and proved his genes of Avelaine, for they had the exact same hair. Nearly everything she inherited from him, except perhaps his wife’s eyes and perfect lips. Being the male that he was, he often times joked around perversely with women, sometimes even with his own family. Innuendos were his personal favorite, and so were dirty jokes.
Like his wife, though, he had a sense of intuition, and he sensed trouble the moment he entered home. He kept a special bow under the custom table that he had built for the dining room, just centered enough so that he could reach it, but no one has ever found it, or much less known it was there. The arrows he used were in a special compartment in one of the thick, cylindrical, table legs near him, and only he knew the way to open it.
Mrs. Droselle started to dole out heaping servings of stew onto everyone’s plates. She saw that the loaves of bread was expertly cut by her daughter and laid in perfect distances across the table. She sat down carefully next to her husband and they both looked each other in the eye. They both knew that something was going to happen, though they were not sure what.
Mr. Droselle thought that the wait was maddening, and that whatever will happen should happen already, but first, not without conversation with the guests . . .
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Posted: Thu May 17, 2007 6:11 am
Dagon looked at the offered hand as though he was being offered a venemous snake. Among the principle rules of being a known mercenary was to never be caught in a compromising position. Shaking hands, while innocent enough, had been the death of Gelen, a friend of Dagon. An assassin offered to shake hands under the pretense of being a kindly merchant and when foolish Gelen had taken his hand, the surprisingly strong assassin clamped down upon that hand, denying Gelen his precious seconds needed to draw a sword and defend himself. The assassin drew a poisoned dagger with his other hand and stabbed Gelen twice under the table.
Gelen was dead within moments, taken for passed out drunk in the bar where he had met his demise.
It was now habit that Dagon would never, under any circumstance, shake another's hand.
An awkward silence ensued, relievingly broken by a steaming plate of food placed down in front of both he and Dream.
Dagon turned from Dream's extended hand with a nod and a grunt, quickly siezing a cut loaf of bread and savagly tore off a warm chunk, chewing and swallowing as though he were more hungry then a poor boy in the street.
Table manners had never been Dagon's strong point. He once had rudimetary instructions from his mother, but it was so long ago he could scarecly remember her face much less the lessons. Being a slave of a Bandit camp required no etiquette and thus, Dagon looked more like a ferocious wolf tearing into a dying prey then a man eating a good dinner.
If there was anything more intimidating then his less-then-sane eyes, it would be the absolute beastial way he feasted.
Spoons, forks, and knives lay forgotten, and within moments, the terrible display of every misconduct to be conducted at even a less then high society inn was over. Dagon sat back in his seat, grey eyes glittering hungrily, the stew all but gone and the bread vanished without a trace. His eyes never wavered from the large stewpot and the sloshing contents within.
Such a huge cauldren would certainly have seconds...would it not?
Dagon decided the best course of action was to wait. If there were seconds that was all fine and well...if there wasn't...well at least he wouldn't be taking someone else's dinner.
As one who had faced starvation before, nothing was more shameful then stealing another's meal...or killing for no reason.
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Posted: Thu May 17, 2007 4:05 pm
Dream watched as the arrival of food brought Dagon to a whole new level. Unlike him, he had been taught how to be polite, and the most important rule was to never tell someone else they were being impropoer. But it never mattered much to him. Food was food, people were people, manners were pointless in such situations. Instead of finding his methods revolting, as he probably should have, he found them comical. He had finished his entire plate in seconds, while he had only taken a couple spoonfulls. Laughing, he broke his piece of bread in half and gave part of it to Dagon. He looked hungrier than he was, anyway.
He also realized far too late that many warriors never took chances, and from the looks of him, he was no exception. He had refused to shake his hand, which wasn't as uncommon as one might have thought. At this point, someone not shaking his hand earned him just as much respect as doing so. The only way it would not is if they took his hand and tried to kill him, which had only happened once. It was very surprising, but not very well done. He supposed that the man who had tried to destroy him was not expecting an acolyte to be trained for battle, or for that seemingly harmless healer to blast him away in a burst of air and light.
He never knew what happened to the guy, he never saw him again.
Anyway, he didn't care what Dagon did at this point. Politeness was a virtue, but there were many more important ones to remember, including knowing when to ignore it. He smiled at Dagon, curious as if he would eat the bread. He had eaten the inn's food without a second thought. Actually... he hadn't even bothered to think at all, he just ate it. "You seem hungry." He laughed again, eating more of his own share.
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Posted: Thu May 17, 2007 5:54 pm
Dagon nodded in agreement and gavea short bow in thanks for the food before it vanished down the dark hole of his throat. Dagon was not a talkative man...his philosophy was that if it could not be expressed without words...it wasn't worth saying. This, of course, made him a bit of an icy man to attempt to socialize with, but it also insured that if he ever DID speak...it was worth listening to.
All food gone, Dagon sat back in his chair, savage eyes lost in thought. This a rather rich looking town...but also heavily defended. There might not be much work for a mercenary in a place like this. He could always play bounty hunter...but he would rather face down his enemy in epic combat then play cat and mouse with an opponent more slippery then strong. Still...food wasn't free...and money was hard to come by. He had some extra gil with him of course...but it wouldn't last him that long. Quietly, he listened to other's conversations. If there was one thing to rely on in an inn...it was the most interesting gossip and information to surface. When drinks loosened the tongue...work was never far away...or bribery for that matter.
Dagon considered asking the acolyte if he knew where a mercenary might be needed but refrained. Dream was taking his time eating and thus Dagon would rather not interrupt unless absolutely neccesary.
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Posted: Thu May 17, 2007 6:44 pm
Dream did eat fairly slowly compared to most. Unlike some, he liked to savor his food when he ate it, because he never knew when his next good meal may be. He was only about halfway done by this time, and decided that they might as well start a conversation. He liked to talk about things, it helped him to get to know his surroundings. Plus, he seemed to be waiting to start talking to him, and was just waiting for him to finish. Perhaps the warrior did have a sense of etiquette after all. Not that it really mattered.
He swallowed another spoonfull and then took up the conversation. It was a pitiful start to a conversation, but he'd never been too great at starting good discussions. Oh well. "So, what brings you here?"
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