Grand Purposes

[Raelyse]

The landscape of Alerar is simply breathtaking.

While Corone has its bustling metropolis and Raiaera its elegant elven grace, this continent has a rustic and primitive yet stunning feel. It has just as much charm as its two cousins, though perhaps, this one is much more beautiful. The gods sculpted it, the mortals were too scared to touch it, thus making it the last bastion for natural beauty in Althanas. Its mountains are filled with untold danger and yet they are the most imposingly beautiful of their kind in the entire world.

There are many who come to see the sights of Alerar, perhaps in case one day it will all be gone, ruined by the invading humans or the dwarves' endless greed. One man though, cares not for such trivial things as beauty and grace. At least not on things that weren't himself.

His name was Raelyse Salidan, leader of the Grander's Order. And as he stared from his mountain fortress of Erebus onto the imposing landscape of Alerar, there was one thing on his mind. The Dwarven mines. Fuck all that stuff about beauty and untold natural splendor, beneath that facade laid the best profit possible on Althanas. Gold, Silver, Damascus, Ore... Whatever. It was all simply there for the taking. All he needed to do was take it.

"Casiba," he said slowly. Instantly the door to his quarters flew open and a short, blonde haired soldier strode towards his leader, bending down on one knee, his head angled towards the ground as if he was not worthy to be in the presence of such a man.

And to the man, he was not. For the moment though, he would be elevated to the point where he deserved to divulge information.

"Progress report on Gold Digger prologue."

The code speak revealed a long line of information that perhaps only the two understood but there was a basic gist. It was going well. Raelyse's lips curled into a smile, but his attention was still firmly on the mountains that seemed to stare at him from beyond his window.

"But Sir... it appears that we do not have enough..."

A word was whispered and for a second, the superior turned around, appearing to lose his ice cool composure. It was quickly regained though and he turned to the landscape with a confident smirk across his face.

"You know what to do then," he said slowly. "Furs Yeria."

Casiba nodded slowly and began to rise, but was suddenly shocked when Raelyse turned around, flashing that wide, confident smirk to his subordinate.

"Three."

[Abbie]

Clouds blanketed the sky in fat cushions of mist, their contents reigned in but threatening to spill over at the nearest chance. No sun penetrated them, though they glowed brightly, illuminating the bustling docks below. Anticipating a storm, sailors and dockhands swarmed over the docks like bees in a hive, tying, lifting, carrying, shouting, and moving as fast as they could. Particularly heavy winds whipped through sails that hadn't been secured, the canvas booming and flapping in protest.

Watching the commotion from her room in a dockside inn, Abbie pouted, wishing the day held more cheer. Days like this, those with money and items to be pilfered rarely stepped outside. Oh, she'd managed to gain a few coins from the men downstairs, the so-called adventurer types, but it was nothing compared to what she could get on a clear day. Sighing to herself, she turned away from the window, drawing down the shade. The only light now was that from a few candles burning brightly on the endtable, the flames creating lazy rivers of wax along the tall sticks.

Climbing off of the bed, the pooka ignored the horrid squealing of the rusty frame. Her bare feet were shocked by the cold wood suddenly beneath them. As she now realized, the entire room was chilled, likely because of the dark and damp of the pre-storm air. Sighing, the thief strolled to her wardrobe, sliding the doors open to reveal the emptiness inside. Her clothing remained packed, as always, in her trunk hidden beneath her bed. In her line of work, she was always prepared for a hasty retreat.

Reaching into the darkest corner of the wardrobe, Abbie retrieved a clay jug, the contents of which sloshed over the opening as she lifted it. Steadying it with one hand, she moved over to a mirrored dresser and set it down on the worn surface. Using a small cup that lay waiting there, she scooped up the clear liquid housed in the jug, then poured a little over her flame-red locks. Instantly, the strands darkened to the color of fresh blood, though she paid it no mind. Repeating this process, she eventually had her whole head saturated. Using her fingers, she combed her hair, taming it to remove the marks of the pigtails she so often wore.

Satisfied at last, Abbie toweled her hair until it was simply damp and no longer dripping on her shoulders, the dark locks hanging in limp waves to just past her shoulders. Lifting her eyes to the mirror, she inspected her reflection, the unsmiling girl staring back at herself. Unhappy with the frown, she practiced smiling a bit, eventually falling into making silly faces. Cheered a little by her own silly antics, the smiles became real, and she was able to even laugh a little.

After a moment, she turned away from the games and knelt next to her current bed, sliding the small trunk out into view. Removing a small key from a chain that pierced her left ear, she opened the lock, then returned the key to its home. Lifting the heavy lid, the pooka sifted through several items of clothing, including ball gowns, dresses, a black leather catsuit, and several trouser/shirt combinations, all of which had been purchased with gold she had lifted from unsuspecting fools. Locating a black mini-dress of simple design, she closed up the trunk and slid it back under the bed.

Trading the stiff, cream colored linen shift she had been wearing for the dark cloud of chiffon and silk, her body felt lifted, soothed by the sheer softness of the garment. Smiling to herself, she slid on a pair of silver sandals with only one toe and one ankle strap holding them to her feet. Thoughts bent on alleviating her boredom, the thief strolled out of her room, locking it behind her, and padded down the stairs to the tavern portion of the inn. It may not be much, but even a card game would be better than sulking in my room alone!

[Sparrow]

If someone can explain how searching for a sparrow in Corone can lead to one ending up in Alerar's docks, then that person would have the eternal gratitude of Erutan Nadilas. Unfortunately, his love for alcohol combined with his carefree nature and considerably poor memory ensures that the only thing he remembers time from the moment he wakes up to the moment he passed out. Today, the pirate woke up on a trade ship bringing gunpowder from Corone to Alerar and (un)luckily, there was no woman beside him when he woke up. He had even brought his hands up to his face to stroke his facial hair to make sure he had not shaved them off in a drunken stupor.

"Oh, my baby... oh you're still here... Oh, I love you... Let's never part... ever..." Clearly still in drunken stupor, the pirate had bided his time and waited for them to make land, before he snuck out of the boat and into Alerar, not sure whether he had stowed away or got onto the ship legally. Not really wanting to find out, he simply made sure that all of his arms were with him and made his way into the "business district" of this dock city. He found a small, quaint bar and took the seat furthers from the bartender but also the darkest corner and sat down, plopping his feet on the table and sighing to himself.

His breath did not stink too much of alcohol so Erutan merely assumed that he must have just gotten drunk last night, not horribly drunk. His clothes still stank, which probably meant that he had been wearing them last night. So, he could not have gotten that drunk. Unfortunately, the weight of the rum jug that he secured to his waist was less than optimal, probably indicating that some scamming swine had drunk it for him. He sighed, reaching for his pistol that lay holstered at his waist. The pirate pulled it straight out, examining it and cursing underneath his breath. It appeared that the weapon was still damaged, no one had repaired it for him. It looked fine on the outside, but a quick inspection of the inside instantly informed the pirate that the only thing this pistol would fire was air.

He instantly holstered it again, before lifting his rum jug from his belt and slamming it loudly on the table, attracting everyone in the bar. Ashamed, he quickly rose to his feet to raise his hands in apology. "Terribly sorry about that mates, go back to you’re..." Erutan turned outside to see that the sun was shining outside. "... morning drinks. Riiiight, there's no one really here except... you." He said, spying the bartender who was busy cleaning glasses. Shaking his head in disgust, he went back to his menial task, leaving his strange patron to his own devices.

As he sat down, the pirate felt something leave his belt and turned around to notice that a piece of paper had fell from his pocket. He picked it up, noticing that it was heavily scrunched up and smelt of delightful rum. When he unfurled it and put it up to the sunlight, the ink was visible and he just managed to read it out.


Dear Captain,

Since everything regarding payment has been settled, you are to engage Diy Beluny of "The Yeria" in Salvar and get the package. How you find him, get his attention and get the package is up to you. After you get it, you will need to find means to transport it to Alerar and then to Erebus. If you lose the package, please note that we will not hesitate to kill you.

Thank you,

Lieutenant Casiba of the Grander's Order

"Right... wonder where this came from?"

The pirate slumped back into his chair and studied the note again, reading it over and over again. He turned it around to examine the other side and noticed something that shocked him. The crest of his old band of pirates, the crew of the S.S. Destiny was imprinted on the back. This meant that this was something that was meant for his band of friends to do and not some piece of crap that had been shoved into his pocket at the last moment.

Sighing, he placed it flatly on the table and began to stroke his moustache gently. Looked like he had something to do after all.

[Vorin]

This thread hasn't been posted in a month. I'm closing it up due to inactivity and moving it to the "Unresolved" Forum. Please Private message me to retrieve it if you intend on completing it further. Thank you.