Post by Torrential on Oct 1, 2008 9:31:48 GMT -5
The first flakes of light snow sailed down from the sky onto the bustling village of Tamasha. A light wind blew as many of the village's shoppers were out in the street, eager to trade their goods for necessary items for the imminent winter.
Many of the village's women were perusing the traders' selection of winter coats and jewelry while the men stopped to look at various tools. Roril V'radril was one of the people prowling the streets, his hood raised, stopping here and there to look at various objects. Scanning the table laid out by a rather large man with a bushy, gray beard, Roril took notice of the man's oddly assorted wares: butcher knives, household dishes, candles, and even a light axe, worn from many years of chopping wood. The man glared at Roril as he passed; Roril moved along.
The crowd in the street began to expand as more people came to the market to trade their supplies. Roril stooped into a nearby tent to avoid a rather large throng of shoppers.
As he stepped inside the tent, a strange aroma filled Roril's nostrils, like crushed pine needles. Roril enjoyed the smell as he made his way deeper into the tent.
An elf woman was sitting in a chair behind a table laden with various works and objects. Her skin radiated, even without the presence of the sun. Her long, brown hair billowed down her back and her face bore the look of many years' life experience.
"Can I help you?" she asked as Roril approached.
"No," replied Roril, "I am simply browsing." He lowered his hood and looked at the elf.
Her eyes flashed dangerously, but it was gone as soon as Roril noticed it. "Very well," she said warmly.
Roril inspected the table: elvish knives, staves, bows, arrows, and swords filled the table. A weapons' tent, Roril surmised. At the very end, however, Roril noticed a small, blue orb that gleamed. Roril picked it up, inspecting it. The orb was light-weight and felt warm to the touch. Though Roril could not think of a single purpose the orb could serve, he could not help feeling attached to it, as if he could now not part with it. "How much for this orb?"
The elf's eyes flashed again, but vanished instantly. "I...have no price on it. You may have it."
Roril, surprised be her response, looked at the orb with comfort. After a long moment, Roril averted his gaze from the orb and looked back to the elf. "I thank you for this gift," he said, bowing.
"It is....my pleasure." The elf quickly stood up and retreated far back into the depths of the tent.
Slightly confused about the elf's demeanor, Roril glanced at his orb warmly and pocketed it before exiting the tent.
As Roril made his way back into the open street, he noticed that the volume of people parading the street had increased four-fold. Where did all these people come from? Shrugging aside the development, he drew up his hood and walked among the large mass of shoppers.
As he walked down the street with and against the flowing tide of bodies, Roril bumped into a man walking opposite him. The man dropped the item he was holding.
"I'm terribly sorry," the man said, stooping low to retrieve his object.
"No matter," said Roril with friendliness.
The man smiled and continued on his way.
Growing tired of the enlarging throng of people, Roril pushed his way through the crowd and broke into a small alleyway. Relieved to have escaped the many shoppers, Roril reached into his pocket to retrieve the blue orb.
It's gone!
Roril looked about frantically for the orb, but to no avail. Roril tried to think of where he might have lost it.
The man! He was a pick-pocket!
Angered at the man more than anything else, Roril jumped out from the alley and pushed and shoved his way in the direction the man went. Roril found a large boulder nearby and cast himself upon it, scanning the horizon for the man. Nothing.
Angered at his loss of his newfound treasure, Roril jumped down from the boulder and cursed his misfortune. Before Roril could devise a plan to find the man, however, a low, loud rumble encased the village of Tamasha. All movement ceased and curious onlookers stared in the direction from which the sound issued.
A large, muscled orc, adorned with steel armor and wielding a large club, mounted atop a giant boar led a pack of similarly fashioned orcs, but was much larger in comparison to its followers. The procession stopped in the middle of the paralyzed crowd of people, proud of their entry.
In a gruesome, guttural tone, the lead orc said, "Where is the Drow?"
The crowd stood frozen, petrified to even make a move.
"Where is the Drow?" the orc repeated.
Roril slowly backed behind the boulder, not wanting to confront the pack of savages.
"Where is the Drow?" the orc repeated for the final time. When no answer came forth, the orc let loose a terrible war cry, charged forth on his boar, and slammed his club into the nearest woman's head, crushing it upon impact. The people nearby screamed and fled, trying at all costs to avoid the terror. The rest of the orcs issued a similar cry and likewise charged with their clubs raised.
Roril sprang into action, drawing his scimitars as he ran in the direction of the orcs. Here's to another feast of bloodshed.
Many of the village's women were perusing the traders' selection of winter coats and jewelry while the men stopped to look at various tools. Roril V'radril was one of the people prowling the streets, his hood raised, stopping here and there to look at various objects. Scanning the table laid out by a rather large man with a bushy, gray beard, Roril took notice of the man's oddly assorted wares: butcher knives, household dishes, candles, and even a light axe, worn from many years of chopping wood. The man glared at Roril as he passed; Roril moved along.
The crowd in the street began to expand as more people came to the market to trade their supplies. Roril stooped into a nearby tent to avoid a rather large throng of shoppers.
As he stepped inside the tent, a strange aroma filled Roril's nostrils, like crushed pine needles. Roril enjoyed the smell as he made his way deeper into the tent.
An elf woman was sitting in a chair behind a table laden with various works and objects. Her skin radiated, even without the presence of the sun. Her long, brown hair billowed down her back and her face bore the look of many years' life experience.
"Can I help you?" she asked as Roril approached.
"No," replied Roril, "I am simply browsing." He lowered his hood and looked at the elf.
Her eyes flashed dangerously, but it was gone as soon as Roril noticed it. "Very well," she said warmly.
Roril inspected the table: elvish knives, staves, bows, arrows, and swords filled the table. A weapons' tent, Roril surmised. At the very end, however, Roril noticed a small, blue orb that gleamed. Roril picked it up, inspecting it. The orb was light-weight and felt warm to the touch. Though Roril could not think of a single purpose the orb could serve, he could not help feeling attached to it, as if he could now not part with it. "How much for this orb?"
The elf's eyes flashed again, but vanished instantly. "I...have no price on it. You may have it."
Roril, surprised be her response, looked at the orb with comfort. After a long moment, Roril averted his gaze from the orb and looked back to the elf. "I thank you for this gift," he said, bowing.
"It is....my pleasure." The elf quickly stood up and retreated far back into the depths of the tent.
Slightly confused about the elf's demeanor, Roril glanced at his orb warmly and pocketed it before exiting the tent.
As Roril made his way back into the open street, he noticed that the volume of people parading the street had increased four-fold. Where did all these people come from? Shrugging aside the development, he drew up his hood and walked among the large mass of shoppers.
As he walked down the street with and against the flowing tide of bodies, Roril bumped into a man walking opposite him. The man dropped the item he was holding.
"I'm terribly sorry," the man said, stooping low to retrieve his object.
"No matter," said Roril with friendliness.
The man smiled and continued on his way.
Growing tired of the enlarging throng of people, Roril pushed his way through the crowd and broke into a small alleyway. Relieved to have escaped the many shoppers, Roril reached into his pocket to retrieve the blue orb.
It's gone!
Roril looked about frantically for the orb, but to no avail. Roril tried to think of where he might have lost it.
The man! He was a pick-pocket!
Angered at the man more than anything else, Roril jumped out from the alley and pushed and shoved his way in the direction the man went. Roril found a large boulder nearby and cast himself upon it, scanning the horizon for the man. Nothing.
Angered at his loss of his newfound treasure, Roril jumped down from the boulder and cursed his misfortune. Before Roril could devise a plan to find the man, however, a low, loud rumble encased the village of Tamasha. All movement ceased and curious onlookers stared in the direction from which the sound issued.
A large, muscled orc, adorned with steel armor and wielding a large club, mounted atop a giant boar led a pack of similarly fashioned orcs, but was much larger in comparison to its followers. The procession stopped in the middle of the paralyzed crowd of people, proud of their entry.
In a gruesome, guttural tone, the lead orc said, "Where is the Drow?"
The crowd stood frozen, petrified to even make a move.
"Where is the Drow?" the orc repeated.
Roril slowly backed behind the boulder, not wanting to confront the pack of savages.
"Where is the Drow?" the orc repeated for the final time. When no answer came forth, the orc let loose a terrible war cry, charged forth on his boar, and slammed his club into the nearest woman's head, crushing it upon impact. The people nearby screamed and fled, trying at all costs to avoid the terror. The rest of the orcs issued a similar cry and likewise charged with their clubs raised.
Roril sprang into action, drawing his scimitars as he ran in the direction of the orcs. Here's to another feast of bloodshed.
' Bloody heck, two jobs and a BUNCH of kerfuffle later, and I'm back AGAIN.