This round begins at 12:00 PM PACIFIC TIME on Friday! Good Luck!!!
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This round begins at 12:00 PM PACIFIC TIME on Friday! Good Luck!!!
Barnabas walked down the gangplank onto the docks of Lyridia. He could smell the salty sea air and could feel the cool breeze on his face. The ship he had just departed was the Stant. It was a giant passenger ship that stopped here weekly. It's main mast was probably five stories tall with two three story tall masts at bow and stern of the 70 foot long mahogany wood ship. The docks itself was nothing special. It was made of white stone and didn't have much in decoration. As he looked out to the sea he didn't notice the young lady who floated up to him.
They arrived early in the morn, before the mists lifted fully from the seas.
A purse full of gold had convinced the clipper’s Cathayan shipmaster to take on two passengers at Turicum in addition to his valuable cargo. Now the Grande Lighthouse guided the sleek vessel safely through treacherous offshore reefs, circling beams of light slicing through the pre-dawn darkness like holy daggers through necrotic flesh. The scent of salt mingled with the fishermen bringing in their nets, the calls of opportunistic gullwings echoing plaintively over the wash of the waves.
As champion and anointed ambassador of the Order of the Golden Eagle, Jehan Leitdorf knew he had sufficient credential to enter the notoriously xenophobic island nation. He had journeyed to Lornius to pay his respects to the High Council on behalf of Olbina and the Five Dukedoms, and to express a wish for firmer trade links between the sovereignties. The orc who accompanied him represented his own tribes in a similar endeavour. But they travelled lightly and alone, and apparently the civic officials of Lornius had trouble recognising emissaries without an entourage. Scrutinised with thorough hostility as soon as they disembarked, only after nearly an hour of inspection and interrogation could they convince the bureaucrats of their mission, and of their right to pass through to the city proper.
By the time they stepped from the austere warehouse that served as border post, visibility had increased to the point that Jehan could at least see his gauntleted hand before his face. Stray rays of wan dawnlight glinted from his full plate armour, the mark of his rank as First Knight, and danced upon the links of the orc’s chain mail. Immediately they halted their steps, the orc sniffing tentatively of the city air.
They had emerged into what appeared to be a courtyard that accessed all three of Lyridia’s ancient stone piers, but even the fountain at its centre lay silent, rank and unmaintained. Cobblestones echoed to the clank of Jehan’s armoured boots as he took a bold step forth, yet closed doors and boarded windows greeted his sea-green gaze wherever it strayed. Tendrils of heavy mist reached like clawed fingers into the hinterland, gouging great wounds in the tilled earth as they slowly retreated from the day’s gaze.
“Where is everybody?” the knight asked aloud to the uncaring spires and domes laid out before him, genial voice rumbling through the empty streets. The orc muttered something in his own tongue, still focused on the unfamiliar architecture ahead, sounding to Jehan’s ears just as confused and disoriented as his own thoughts.
In his homeland the port cities bustled feverishly through the day and drunk rowdily through the night. Travelling through Turicum and along the Salvic coast, he had seen nothing to dispel his preconceptions.
But Lyridia barely stirred, even as sunrise came and went.
Warm ocean air caressed their faces, seeping into Jehan’s peaked barbute helm and lightly ruffling the leather straps on the scabbard of his massive longsword. Puzzled, he returned his attention to the seaward buildings, and to the ships that lay at anchor there. He could sense isolated fisherfolk moving about on the docks, feeding the flocking seabirds with the waste from their catch, but otherwise an eerily silent pall settled over the city like a funeral shroud.
Aside from the clipper that he had just made port on, he could make out through the banks of fog an ironclad from the north and the furled masts of a third vessel of nondescript origin. Jehan wondered who else had made landfall that morn, and whether or not their presence had anything to do with the deserted city that greeted him.
Another ship started to peak out from the mild fog as it's features became more clear, as it headed towards the docks of Lyridia. The first to appear was the bow, as the figure of a beautiful sea maiden with the features of a sea creature began to become into view. The details on the decoration of the half-breed were of great detail as you could see the various tiny gems of emerald stones that made the tail of the woman, as the sapphires and rubys made up her bodily features. She also wielded two battle axes that covered her bare bosoms that signified that the vessel had gone to war in the past.
As it came closer, you could start to see a couple of small holes in the sides of the ship where cannon balls had slipped by piercing the innards of the ship. Even further now, the mast started to appear fully equipped with a crows nest as part of the sails were showing signs of wear from war as you could see tiny rips throughout the silky material of the sails. The mid-section was now visible, as you could see a few of it's many cannons, some of which had been damaged in the past.
The rear of the ship was the last to leave the fog as the name Temptress was now visible, a ship that had been around Althanas for some quite some time and saw it's many cases of wars since it had been built. The Temptress was known to sink a few dozen ships, and it was not one to be taken lightly in battle.
The heavy anchor was thrown overboard as it plunged deep into the sea with haste as the ship quickly came to a full stop near the deck. Grinding of the steel gears inside the ship could be heard as the "door" of the ship opened up and fell onto the dock revealing the many workers inside. Two men alongside Alicia got out of the vessel and started heading closer to the shore. "It's this way Alicia" said the men as the guided her further. Getting to the end of the dock, the men headed back to the Temptress as Alicia continued to float further down towards a few others she could barely see in the distance. She headed towards the closest one to her {Barnabas} confused at what exactly is going on.
"Sir ... excuse me sir? Do you know exactly what is going on here by chance? No need to be frightened, but if it helps you feel at ease, my name is Prolicio Prolixi, but my friends call me Alicia ... and you are?"
Barnabas Turned toward the woman who had addressed him. Most of the dock had been deserted at the sight of this young lady Stereotype much?Barnabas thought as the people ran. "My name Prolicio Prolixi, is Barnabas Casimir Tourneymant. However, you may call me Barnabas. I am waiting for my partner for the Lornius Open Island Tournament. If I remember correctly, you are my partner no?"
The woman was white and slightly see-through. She had a beautiful dress on and a sword on her side. Her hair was long and and slightly darker it also had a reddish color to it. Her hazel eyes glowed as she looked at him.
Barnabas on the other hand looked like a 7' tall human shaped shimmer. There was no features visible on his face and the hair was cut to short to tell where it started and where it ended. The ship he had just come from started ringing it's departure bell as the last of it's passengers boarded. The breeze that could threaten to pick Barnabas up blew against their faces as Barnabas held onto the safety chains on the sides of the dock.
Damn the human tongues.
If not for the knowledge of what they called Tradespeak, Thrommesh son of Skogul would not be here in the sun-baked south. The Chief told him this was of the utmost importance – how else could she know who her greatest enemies were and how they lived? – but Throm wasn’t so sure.
The great port cities were overwhelming and chaotic, brimming with the unfamiliar. Not all men spoke Trade, and many that did spoke it strangely, and their tools and lives made so little sense. They lived messy, spreading into every corner without rhyme or reason, eating their strange foods no matter how sick or frail they became as a result. Worst of all was their love of the little metal disks they carried around and traded, and men from one place wouldn’t take disks from another, especially if there were certain faces printed on them. Throm hated them all.
If not for his metal-clad companion, the orc would have been lost early on. Throm had been warned by Jehan and by city-orcs in every port in Salvar that Lyridia would not be a friendly place toward strange human beings, and so even less-so toward an orc of the north. Even so, he had not been prepared. Unfriendly orcs meet one another with blades drawn, but the people of Lyridia instead overwhelmed with questions and silly accusations and then more questions. Throm’s instinct was to start breaking little necks and spines, but Jehan had been calm throughout it all and Throm did not want to be accused of fear.
And now there were no people, which should have been a welcome change. Throm retrieved his shield and slid his forearms through the straps, and then he used his teeth to tighten them. Jehan began to speak, no doubt to caution him against rash action, but the orc snorted. “They know something we don’t. I’m not getting ambushed unprepared. I want to hurt something.”
Jehan might have argued, but Throm suddenly cocked his head to one side and tensed, eyes going unfocused as he listened as only orcs and dogs can, and then he turned to face the fog-concealed silhouette of a ship. “Something’s coming. Get your damn chopper out, coward."
"Calm yourself, grunter."
Being called ‘coward’ by a barely literate savage didn’t rankle as much as it might; after all, one didn’t berate the sheep for bleating obscenities on the way to the slaughterhouse.
What rankled, rather, was that the orc was right.
In the distance a bell tolled: once, twice, and again. Muffled and distorted by the fog, the ominous tidings portended the approach of something sinister. Silently the masts of the unknown vessel unfurled, billowing in a barely-existent wind as they slipped the unknown vessel from its berthing. Its passing parted the veil briefly, and in that brief moment of clarity Jehan identified a single humongous figure braced upon the swaying stone.
What rankled even more, now, was that he would now have to obey the orc’s commands.
Shaking his helmed head resignedly, one meaty gauntleted hand reached for the leather-wrapped longsword strapped upon his baggage trunk. He hefted it into a stray beam of dawnlight before bringing it to rest on his shoulder, where it reached up far past his head like some pennant-less banner pole. Only then did he realise that the deserted silence had unnerved him far more than he dared admit, and that the great weight now lying upon his shoulder did much to rein and focus the battlelust flowing through his blood.
“Ho! Who goes there!” Jehan called, clarion and stern, into the slowly fading mist. Alongside him, that thrice-cursed orc brought his shield up defensively and reached for the ballista strapped to his back, growling beneath his breath.
"...If I remember correctly, you are my partner no?"
He doesn't seem threatening, 'nor did he try anything stupid as to ambush me. Was this my ally? I trust him enough to assume that, at least for now. I will keep a steady watch on him for anything suspicious though.
Shrugging towards Barnabas in reply annoyed by his sudden accusation.
I could have been the enemy you fool! You were lucky.
With a deep sigh she could hear bits and pieces of conversation, some from the townsfolk in the distance buying supplies from the black market, her ignorant friend, and a couple of deep voices that she could only interpret as mumbling garbage from that distance.
"Keep your voice down", Alicia said quietly. "We are to far away to hear what people may be saying. I say follow the voices, slowly and silently and then take them by surprise. I can try to flank them from the rear, while you distract them somehow from the front. Hopefully they will focus on you while I make a swipe or two with my sword from the rear, got it?"
Without waiting for a reply, she hovered several inches above the ground so she wouldn't make any sound. Alicias' hand kept a firm grasp on her sword at all times now as she was looking down several allies of countless villagers each keeping a strong gaze upon her. Some of them were making snide comments about Alicia and her companion, while others were intrigued by what they saw, others kept to themselves and ignored them as they continued shopping for their wares.
"No luck yet." she whispered. "Do you see anything? Perhaps they came by ship as well, or at least by the ports like we did. I say we start looking there. Stay prepared and don't make any sudden loud noises or movements, you will give us away do you understand me?"
A shrug! Barnabas has been to many worlds. The first one he visited was one known as Galinar. The people of Galinar consider a shrug to be rude. Since they were the first group of visible being he had seen, he had taken on thier culture the most. Thus, to barnabas a shrug is rude. However he could not argue with the logic of being quiet so he decided to talk about it later.
"Out of everyone in this thing I had to get the one who takes charge and is rude." Barnabas grumbled under his breath as he walked casually without making any sound, A perk to being zero lbs of pure calorite.
As they walked, someone ahead of them called out, "Ho! who goes there!" Barnabas froze, however, remembering the plan he stepped right in front of two men. They hadn't really noticed him yet due to him only being a blure. With this advantage he got up close to one before pulling out and swinging his giant wooden mallet he chose to use for this tournament at the orc.
Something smelled undeniably off in the square, and for once it wasn’t just Jehan stewing in his wearable pot. It took a deep, controlled expenditure of willpower to breathe normally, turning his head very slowly from one side to the next. It would be easier to take a dozen short, sharp inhalations, he knew, but he would also grow quickly accustomed to the alien scent and thus lose it. The concentration required was good, anyway: it prevented him from expressing his annoyance for all of the clunker’s gleaming and shouting.
The scent strengthened though the air went still, and Throm narrowed his eyes but focused on nothing – there was nothing to see here, but for an orc of Berevar that did not preclude a presence. Direlings came from the mists yearly, and a scent of sweat on the breeze is often the only harbinger before a rain of arrows, and goblins and trolls love caves and only emerge in the darkest nights. The orc had known striplings that could fight blind, and Thrommesh out of Skogul was no stripling.
So his big ears twitched when Barnabas hoisted up his mallet, and when the weapon emerged Throm roared, stepped in, and shoved his shield against the swing to deflect it. Wood knocked wood with a tremendous crack, but the shield held and the nearly three hundred pounds of muscle behind did not budge. Throm was not puzzled by the lack of warning before he was attacked, but he was baffled by the force of the blow. It was as if there was no weight behind it, as if his shield were a bell to be rung and not a barrier to break.
The orc was no bell, and the little love-tap he received was actually a little insulting. Feeling slighted, Throm overreacted a bit, roared deafeningly, and shoved his entire body forward toward the handle of the mallet with his shield raised, intent on steamrolling his unseen foe.