In the scared eyes of a young girl...

[Tarren Evenpath]

((And intro that is open for anyone who wants to go a'Goblin Huntin' with me :)))

Tarren stepped off the boat, nodding his thanks to the captain and winking at his daughter when the large man turned away. The girl giggled and blushed, as girls often do, returning the wave shyly. Then she hurried away, likely to tell her friends of the handsome black-haired stranger who had boarded her father’s ship.

The young wanderer stepped onto the docks, observing the hustle and bustle as goods and people were transported on and off ships. After spending so long in solitude the movement of people felt so foreign and claustrophobic. For one brief instant he longed for the mountain sanctuary he had called home for so long…

That place is gone. Burned to the ground. The reminder was sharp and curt in his mind, the voice of his father. He nodded and began to walk down the dock. His walking stick made a thumping noise every time it hit the wooden boards, the only noise that came from his person. His feet slid silently across the ground, almost appearing to glide rather than walk, and while the soft cotton of his loose garments made a gentle whisper when they rubbed together, it was far too soft for any human ears to hear.

Movement through the town was simple enough; No one questioned him as he walked down the main road, although he drew quite a few young girls’ gazes. One or two of them he graced with a charming smile. Once they realized he’d spotted the, they looked away. The bold ones would hold his gaze until he passed, sometimes giving flirtatious smiles of their own.

He paused only once, when he saw a young teenage boy holding a doll over a young girl’s head. The girl was jumping and crying, begging the boy for the doll back. She pleaded with the bully, telling him that her mother, who had since passed on, had given her the doll. Still the cruel child held it above the girl’s head laughing.

Tarren strode over with powerful stride. He grabbed the doll from the boy, giving him a frigid glare. The boy stopped his taunting and looked up at Tarren’s muscled form. He looked for an instant like he was going to make trouble but decided against it last moment. With a snide remark, the boy rolled his eyes and left. Tarren let him go.

He crouched down in the dirt and offered the girl her doll. It was small and well-made. He smiled at the girl and she cocked her head.

“Thanks mister!” She exclaimed, breaking into a smile and throwing her arms around Tarren in a strong hug. “Thanks a lot!” She released him from her grip. “What’s your name?”

Tarren reached into the dirt and traced his name into the dust with one finger. The girl stared at it for a moment.

“T…Ta…ren. Tarren!” Her forehead scrunched up in concentration as she gazed at the letters. When she finally figured it out, she beamed a smile at him. Tarren returned it, ruffling her hair gently. “What’s the matter? You can’t talk?”

Tarren shook his head.

“Well why not?”

He smiled, shrugging, and opened his mouth in a silent laugh that he had become accustomed to in his years of silence. Apparently the girl thought it was funny because she laughed right along with him.

“Lyssa?” The voice cut through the laughter like a knife.

The little girl looked up at the man who stood in a doorway of a nearby house. He had a haunted look to him, a look Tarren recognized. It was the look of someone who had lost themselves in an addiction.

“Yes pa-pa?” The girl responded hesitantly, fear slinking into her voice as a cat slips discretely into a room.

“Get away from that man. Come here.” There was a drawl in his voice and to Tarren he seemed drunk.

“Yes pa-pa.” She got up and shuffled meekly to the man’s side, looking over her shoulder only once to whisper “’Bye” in a sad tone to her new friend. In the scared eyes of that young girl he saw a flicker that made something inside him squirm. The flicker was forgiveness. She forgave him for not doing something to save her from the monster who had once been her father.

Tarren watched her go and turned walking toward the Zirden. He needed a drink. His imagination played tricks on him and he could see the man beating the poor girl as she begged for him to stop. He needed a stiff drink.

When he reached the arena area he approached the man who sold drinks. He pointed to a bottle of the stuff and slapped some money onto the table. The bartender, who had seen far stranger things, didn’t ask questions. He gave the wandering monk the drink and returned to his business.

Tarren knew he stuck out with his loose airy clothing, the traditional garb of his people, his bare feet and carved walking stick. His shaggy dark hair, sparkling blue eyes, and handsome face drew the lady’s eyes, but he didn’t want them at the moment. Instead he took his drink and moved to a shadowed corner.

The men in front of him were discussing a recent goblin raid in the town. Apparently his younger daughter had been taken. Tarren listened intently, the alcohol burning in his throat as he drank it down.

He couldn't save young Lyssa. That thought burned in his mind. Maybe he could save this other young girl...

[Tarren Evenpath]

The young man’s face was downcast as he mulled over his troubles. If he went after the little girl, that would mean finding this goblin compound and then assaulting it single-handedly. While he did think that he was accomplished and could handle himself very well, the though of infiltrating a goblin nest with no back-up wasn’t promising. In fact, it sounded more like suicide than anything else. He had plans for the remained of his life. Dying for the sake of clearing his guilt was not one of them.

Unbidden, Lyssa’s young eyes rose in his mind. The startling green orbs filled with fear and that disturbing sense of forgiveness. The look that had assured him that this was the way of the world. Fathers could beat their daughters and no one would think twice of it. With all the heroes in the world, not one would spare a passing glance. They were two filled with thoughts of glory and honor to see the common folk who suffered in silence, since silence is all they would ever know.

Tarren had no delusions about the state of the world. He knew of darkness first hand. He knew of power and corruption, and he accepted it. There was no such thing as a utopian society, and there never would be. He should just let it go. People were hurt, even killed, every day. This girl was no different.

But she’s just a girl! No more than eight years old if looks tell the tale. Part of him argued. This wasn’t an old merchant sea-man getting raided after entering into a trade he new was dangerous. This was a child who was being beaten by the hands of the man who was supposed to care for her, nurture her. The man she was supposed to be able to trust. The man who was betraying the word fatherhood. It wasn’t right.

But there was nothing the wanderer could do. He was outsider who couldn’t just burst into someone’s home, especially since he couldn’t explain himself. There was nothing he could do.

But the other girl… The one lost to the goblins.

So you’ll throw your life away for the sake of a guilty conscious?

But it was more than that. It was more than Lyssa. It was deeper. She wasn’t the only picture in his mind. The bodies of dead children, dead children littered across the dead ground. Children who had died defending their home… his home. The children he had been too corrupted to help protect. He had known them all, been friends with more than half of them. And they were dead, their bodies left unburied as carrion food. Lyssa was not the first child he had let down. She was not the first toll on his guilt.

“Hey buddy, you’re in my seat.” A gruff voice invaded thoughts, drawing him from his mental struggle. Tarren raised his bright blue eyes to the intruder, eyes narrowing. The monk could smell alcohol on the man’s breath. He lowered his eyes and scanned the table, as if to show he didn’t see the big drunk’s name on it

“That means move it, or I’ll make you move it.” The drunk continued. Tarren stood slowly, his face a mask of icy courtesy. He nodded obligingly, stepping from the table. He felt fury rise in his veins, his temper rising furiously.

The man went to move into the booth when suddenly there was a blur of robes and fists. Tarren first struck his gut, and then spun and slammed his shoulder into the man’s chest. The man grunted, flailing backwards and crashing into a table.

“Hey, let’s keep the fighting in the ring, boys! Take it outside!” The barkeep shouted. Tarren looked around with his sharp eyes. He spied three men who stood as the large drunk man fell to the ground. Tarren thought that maybe it was wise to take the barkeep’s advice. He glanced at the door. One of his new “friends” was between him and it. Still… that shouldn’t be much of a problem.

Tarren turned and sprinted toward the man blocking his path. The man grunted and grabbed for him but Tarren sprung lightly into the air, pushing off with his staff to gain more air. He tucked into a ball, feeling his knees touch his forehead as he did. He flipped twice before landing on the ground behind the man who had been between him and the door. With a smirk he turned and ran out of the building.

“He’s runnin’ boys! Don’ lett’em get away!” Someone shouted. Tarren smiled to himself and readied his carved quarterstaff.

Come and get me boys. He thought to himself.

And they did. The first that rushed through the door was met with the tip of Tarren’s staff crashing into his nose. He reeled backwards cursing and screaming as blood poured from his nose.

Soon his two buddies arrived. They circled Tarren warily, who watched both intently and calmly, feeling his temper bubble and boil inside of him. They dove at once, one going for his legs while the other tried to tackle him. He jumped over the strike of the one who was trying to take his legs out, smashed the heel of his bare left foot into the man’s skull. The man grunted and his eyes fluttered close.

Tarren blinked his eyes as the remaining foe jumped at him. He reeled and spun, launching his foot at the man’s chest. As his foot flew, it was surrounded by a fiery black aura. The man screeched in surprise as it connected, searing a hole through his shirt and leaving a slight burn beneath. As he flew backwards from the blow, Tarren twisted, shooting his staff out. The wooden beam connected solidly with the man’s side, like a bat hitting a baseball.

The last man was sent flying sideways, landing with a thud on the ground where he lay groaning.

Tarren looked at the small audience he had drawn and shrugged his shoulders, adjusting the shoulder of his shirt, which had slipped down in the brawl.

A thought struck him as he stared at the men and women now staring at him. Maybe some of them would join him to help rescue the girl from the goblins. Hope bloomed in his heart and the haunting picture of Lyssa’s eyes faded a little in his memory.

[Roscar Palidyne]

The sea. What a glorious gem for the eyes....even its breath is pleasing to the skin. If there's one place to know where I came from, I could say the sea for certain.....the womb of all life.

Taking in the sights of Scara Brae, Roscar had concluded that his time here was nearly finished. Memories were surely to be discovered in all the other places to perhaps patch the empty areas of the life he had forgotten. The sea, however, had all of a sudden stopped his thoughts and his trekking. He stood right at the edge of the port, watching the ebb of the waves splashing foam against the pillars of the piers. The water felt familiar to him, as if a home second to the lands he stood on. Perhaps he was a seaman in his previous life? If questions could cure this amnesia, he would be done with this endless meandering.

Suddenly he heard the sound of glass shattering. Turning around quickly, he faced what seemed to be a house that settled next to a pier. Its door swung open with desperate force, and out from the dark interior ran a little girl, sobbing. She had to be no more than 8 years of age. Her sobs were accompanied by wails that rang in Roscar's ears as she wisked by, fear in her gait. He had no time to watch her go as another sound came from the door.

"Allyssa! You get back here, now!"

What Roscar assumed to be the girl's father was sluggardly attempting to run his way to Allyssa, a bottle of cheap wine fit firmly in his hand. Once the father realized that he had no chance of catching the scared youngster in his innebriated state, he threw the bottle at her general direction just as she was about to turn the corner. Whether it would have hit her or not, Roscar's hand instinctually reaches his hand out and clasps the thrown bottle easily. The alcohol-glazed eyes soon left its initial target and found its way towards the firmly built Roscar in front of him. The father sneers at this new found obstacle.

"Hey buddy! Yyou mind shticking your arshe in yer own bushinessh? You musht be one of those.....er....."

A silly drunk would not know better than to step, eye to eye and toe to toe in front of Roscar. Even then, this would normally not be a problem, even for the average jackass. However, this behavior, this obvious mistreatment of a small child....it awoke some unspoken anger in Roscar.....like some old scab being poked at, but for the life of him he could not figure out the circumstances. All he knew is that this man was severly angering him, and he was not about to allow this abusive jerk go to that girl as drunk as he was.

"Pedofuls! Yeah, yer lookin' to have me durter for yershelf, ain't cha? Well, ain't cha?"

Thoughts of what this man could have done to that poor Allyssa before flooded Roscar's mind. Ideas of dark, wet nights, being hurled across the room with one hand, smashing her head against the wall, bleeding profusely and crying her sockets out. A grizzly beard laughed at this sight, as he yelled at the girl and pointed at her to head out to the deck to swab it some more while pipe smoke consumed the room with a foul oder of some burning wood.

Wait. That wasn't a girl. That wasn't his imagination....that was.......a mem-

"Well, if ya really want her......my earsh's open for offersh, buddy."

That's it.

A snide grin was immediately wiped from father's face when Roscar's hand quickly and forcefully grappled the entirety of the drunk's throat, lifting the man a foot in the air. Gasps of air and choking was all that came out of the blaggard's mouth now, and this pleased Roscar greatly. He could feel the scum's trachea starting to collapse......his air supply running short.....his heart racing to try and battle this constriction of blood to the brain.....just a little longer .....just a little more force.....and he'd be........

NO.

This felt wrong. This feeling. These actions. Killing a drunk......as much as the world would be serviced by it, he couldn't do it. He just couldn't.

But he wouldn't let this man forget.

With one powerful swing, Roscar throws the nearly limp so-called father crashing into the wall outside of the house. His body bounces off the wall and his body hits wooden pier with a loud and pleasing plop. The man was barely conscious as Roscar bends over to lower his mouth right into the drunk's ear. His voice was filled with forced restraint.

"You ever...EVER.....even so think as to lay a hand on that girl's head again.....I will make you regret it."

With that, he briskly stood up and noticed a small group of people watching him. Roscar did not care in the least, but the only other thought in his mind was that he hoped the girl would be ok....at least for a little while. Shaking some grey hair that had been hanging down out of his face, he got a better look at the people who had been watching. He stared at all of them hard before continuing on his way. On his way out, he heard something about the town going to hell in a handcart, another fight was going down, and the goblins raiding and kidnapping someone......it was somewhat distorted, but this information interested him nonetheless.

Walking down the road away from the pier, at the middle intersection he came across a black-haired individual, wearing clothes light and airy, a scrawny individual to say the least, but did not appear to have a floaty demeanor to match it. More was it a determined look, prepared and set forward to a path of greater proportions than most other men. If anyone knew anything about this goblin situation, it'd be him.

"Excuse me, sir. You with the quarterstaff. Could you help me? I'm trying to find some information about a girl being abducted by goblins, would you know anything?"


((I think I went a little crazy with this post, sorry if I threw off anything you were previously gonna do.))

[Tarren Evenpath]

((Don't worry about it. S'all good :) ))

He stood surrounded by the group of men and women who gazed at him with wide unbelieving eyes. The whispered among themselves and Tarren only caught bits and pieces. Some thought him a demon, how else could he move so quickly and perform such stunts? Others whispered that he was probably on a drug of some kind that heightened his abilities. They stared at him in reverence and words like freak and unnatural assaulted him from all angles.

With a silent snarl of disgust, Tarren turned and made his way toward a side of the gathering. The people parted in front of him, making sure to keep safe distance. He walked through them and shook his head from side to side. When clear of the people, he turned back for one last look. Their eyes had followed him as he walked away. In that instant he would have given everything for a voice, just so he could name them the cowards that they were.

So he walked to the edge of town, cursing himself and the people of the world. Life was better in the solitude of the mountains, where the corruption of people didn’t seem to reach. He wanted to go home… If only there was a home to return to-

"Excuse me, sir. You with the quarterstaff. Could you help me? I'm trying to find some information about a girl being abducted by goblins, would you know anything?"

Tarren paused at the sound of the voice but didn’t turn. Could it be a trick? Someone cruel enough to joke about such matters? He didn’t know and wasn’t sure he wanted to wait to find out. Let this man say his words, let them fall on deaf ears. It wasn’t as if Tarren could mirror them anyways. Darkness had closed his throat for all eternity.

Don’t be a fool. The voice of his father rang in his ears. Would you become the thing you despise? Just one more person who looks the other way?

Tarren closed his eyes and turned very slowly to face the man who had approached him. The fellow was older, graying hair and weathered skin that would mark him as a sailor. This was no young trickster, out for a laugh. If a man like this offered to help him, it probably meant sincerity.

With slow deliberate motions, Tarren placed his hand over his chest. He then raised his hand to motion towards his eyes, and then placed his hand parallel to the ground, about three and a half feet high. His eyes held the old mans, startling and unblinking. His lips were a grim line, pressed together firmly.

I am looking for the child.

[Roscar Palidyne]

Roscar's eyes locked with the bright blue eyes of a young man just hitting adulthood. His youth, however, could not hide the years that dismay and hardship would have implanted into his personality. It was as if an inner chaos stirred inside this youth, but it was well hidden, only detected through a deep look into the very windows of his soul, the eyes. Regarding this young man's signings, Roscar sighed a little, understanding what he had said, but dismaying at the fact that this was the second person he was about to deal with that he couldn't have a decent conversation with.

"At least you're not a gorilla......"

Knowing this would probably confuse the young man, Roscar smiled a little and shook his head, relaying a gesture that said don't worry about it. So, by the looks of it, this man knew just as much as Roscar himself did.

"I'm looking for her too. There seems to be a lot of problems with little girls here lately. So, would you like to work together on this? I doubt either of us could take these goblins on our own."

With a sincere smile, Roscar outstreaches his callous right hand, hoping for this shaking of hands will seal at least a temporary alliance with the young man. Perhaps even a friend.

"Name's Roscar. Roscar Palidyne."

Lonely was Roscar's old mind, with no real memories to keep him company. A friend would be therapeutic, even. Living in the present was all he had, and after learning about a little of his childhood, Roscar felt that this wasn't necessarily a bad thing, especially if all the memories he regained would send him into a bloodthirsty rage. Washing these thoughts from his mind, he scratches his head and crosses his arms, pondering their next move.

"So, a question arises: where do we start looking?"

And just then, a loud ringing was heard coming from the top of one of the watch towers, making Roscar turn away from his new ally. It was the warning bell for the town, desperately and forcefully ringing. Apparently they were either being attacked or about to be. Was it another goblin raid? So soon? Whatever it was, Roscar was going to be prepared for it. His hand reaches for the short spear roped on his back, turning to the blue-eyed young man

"Maybe they're saving us the trouble, eh?"

[Daemiendrake]

He stood in a field of flowers, a tall, sinewy man in dark black traveling clothes wearing a very noticeable frown. Daemien heard the bells ringing behind him and offered a quick glance back at the town. He had just stepped through another rift created by another wizard and had ended up here. He was stuck between what appeared to be a rather perfect town where he would love to sit and drink and an oncoming rush of goblins.

"Just perfect", Daemien thought to himself, "put in another odd situation. What do you make of it boys?"

In reply to his question the two ferrets, one black one grey, stop running around his feet and quickly barked at him, almost as if they were communicating. In reply all Daemien did was throw back his black silken cloak and draw his steel blade. A metallic ring echoed over the field as his blade cleared his scabbard. He knew he couldn't fight this party of goblin raiders by himself. He had to stall and hope help would be coming from the village. He thought for a moment then a grin lit up his face as he murmered some words in his native toungue.

"RISE FORTH SPIRITS OF THE FALLEN!", he bellowed at the twelve oncoming goblins. As soon as he spoke seven swirling globes of light appeared. He quickly murmered a few more words and noise began to issue forth fromt he glowing orbs. He also decided, for dramatic effect, to drop his disguise. His skin slowly faded from tan to silver, a rather striking juxtaposition to his sombre black silk clothes. He spread his legs slightly and assumed a graceful fencing position.

"Have at you foolish little creatures. Your blades are no match for my Sidhe sorcery and my enchanted blade!" he shouted. He then thought to himself, "Please, oh please, let this work."

The goblins stopped and stared at the lights and the oddly shaded man in front of them. He was only a hundred yards or so from them, but the weird spirits were blocking their path. They hesitated and stood bewildered not sure what to do next.

((hope i didn't mess anything up for yall :) ))

[Roscar Palidyne]

((Considering this topic hasn't been moving for a couple weeks now, no worries bud.))

Not willing to wait for his stalling new comrade, Roscar ran into the direction that all the well-armed men were heading to. He had yet to fight any goblins, but if he remembered them correctly, they weren't the hugest threat in the world. At least, not alone. But Roscar wasn't too worried, there were plenty of soldiers and armed men nearby to aid in the battle. Something told Roscar they were used to this kind of thing.

But all the pumping up for battle could not have prepared Roscar for the sight he saw as they rounded about the gate. Seven flickering lights were flowing and bobbing through the air, moaning and letting out screams of anguish as they blocked the path of what seemed to be twelve goblins. A man stood about a hundred feet away from the goblins, a silver-skinned guy with a sword in hand, positioned to strike anything that came. But the goblins weren't coming. In fact, all they did was sat there, timidly gazing at the lights while a few whispered among themselves. The soldiers and Roscar, likewise, did the same. Roscar guessed that this was some kind of illusion, but he was reckoning that the goblins wouldn't be so smart.

Suddenly, the group of goblins shove one of their own out from them, who seemed to be the runt of the litter. He cursed something in goblin gibberish before he turned back to the lights and tip-toed his way towards them, slowly. Once he gets into melee range with the ghost lights, he takes his sword, bends his legs, and jumps straight through them, sword in front. As he passed through the illusion, his sword gets stuck into the ground as he lands straight on his head.

A moment of silence. The goblins gaze in awe. The soldiers wait for the reaction. The runt goblin rubs his head.

"GHOST! RUNAWAAAAAAAAAAAY!"

Immediately, with many squeils of fright, the goblins turn tail and flee for their dear lives. The lone goblin spends his time trying to get his sword out from the ground. Suddenly, Roscar gets an idea, remembering they had to find a way to the goblin hideout. Pushing himself through the soldiers, Roscar runs directly for the goblin, who had his back turned to him while trying to get the sword unstuck. As Roscar closes in behind the goblin, one final strong heave gets the goblin's sword free, which makes him fall back and slip out of his hands. Before the spinning sword strikes him, however, Roscar is barely able to use his spear to block it to the side. As the goblin gets up, he sees Roscar towering over him, somewhat smiling. The goblin's eyes widen, pivots to run away, but with one swift swing, Roscar hits the goblin with the flat edge of his short spear, knocking the goblin to the ground. His body lies still.

Knocked out, perfect.

Roscar gets some cheers from the soldier side, but also some dirty looks, wondering why he hadn't killed the little bastard in the first place. Roscar heaves the body of the goblin on his shoulder, holding it in place with one arm. Suddenly noticing the man with wild red hair and ice blue eyes, Roscar stops and turns, hoping he had put up his sword by then.

"Neat trick. You saved some blood from being spilled today, you know. Want a drink?"

[Daemiendrake]

Daemien stood in shock and awe. His trick had worked. He had thought goblins a dull. dimwitted breed and this just proved it to him. The voice of the man who had felled the last goblin snapped him out of his stupor. He quickly sheathed his sword and breathed a sigh of relief. He stood for a moment looking at the man. He appeared to be not as young as most of the warriors who had come running to the towns defense. Yet he had wielded that spear of his as if he were a spry young buck.

"Well boys shall we join this man for a drink?" he asked, seemingly speaking to himself. Then the ferrets at his feet barked a short reply and climbed up his clothes onto his shoulders.

Just then he noticed that the man had incapacitated the goblin instead of killing it. This had illicited many dirty looks from the soldiers who, Daemien suspected, had expected to return to town bathed in goblin blood. They had hoped to be heroes. Instead they seemed to have been as enthralled with the lights as the goblins had been.

"Quit staring at him you fools," Daemien said, venom dripping from his voice,"At least he had the obvious wit to know my tricks for what they were. While you stood gawking he made a move to fight!"

Some of the men winced, others just growled. However, they all turned back to town and left, walking with that sulken droop of scolded children. He then turned to the man who now stood with the goblin over his shoulder.

"My name is Daemien. The two sly creatures on my shoulder are Shadow and Shade. It is a pleasure to make your aquaintance. Now first things first. Why did you not slay that foul little being? And where can i find a good whiskey around here?" At the last remark Daemien chuckled heartily believing he had made quite a good joke.

[Roscar Palidyne]

Roscar had to admit that the man he had just met was a little out of the ordinary. Silver skin and vibrantly colored hair aside, he even had a peculiar habit of talking to ferrets. Roscar questioned giving this guy alcohol, but perhaps he wasn't a raving lunatic after all. He had a fairly good heart though, defending Roscar against those soldiers like he did. Roscar was grateful for that. Adjusting the goblin's body on his arm to make it a little more comfortable to hold, Roscar answers Daemien's question.

"Oh, this? It's.......kinda complicated. The second question's much easier to answer. Come on."

Turning towards town, Roscar headed in the direction of the nearest bar in town, thinking something to drink would be a great mood smoother to discuss the latest events with. He just hoped the establishment would let him in with the unconscious body of their most persistant enemy over his shoulder.

~~~

Taking the nearest table they could find, Roscar plops the body down on top of the table. All the patrons stopped their drinking, gambling, or shit-shooting to look at the new customers. Roscar, at a loss to explain it in one sentence, opts to shine a thumbs up to everyone in the room. The rest of the bar continues their normalities, although the main topics of discussion now consisted of a crazy old man who seemed to harbor a fetish for goblin bodies and monks who fight a bar's worth of men. Ignoring them, Roscar calls the bar maiden over, who gives him a disapproving look before taking his order of a glass of whiskey for his new friend and some water for himself. He turns back to Daemien now, prepared to explain everything.

"Alright, so, where to begin....."

Roscar tells Daemien of the hardships that the people of Scara Brae faced, of the many goblin attacks that Scara Brae constantly faced, and of the recent kidnapping of a girl during one of the last raid (before the one that had just occurred only minutes ago). He made it clear that a reward had not been posted for this event, as to not trick the swordsman into thinking this to be a well-paid job. Though Daemien's help would be welcome and certainly appreciated, Roscar wasn't planning on tricking the man into going.

"..............And so, what I plan to do is to use this," Roscar points to the unconscious body, which he had recently realized was smelly. It was a goblin, after all, "....to lead me to the goblin cove, since no one really knows where it is exactly. That's the idea, anyway."

Roscar stops to take a huge swig of his water, rethinking his plan over in his head. He wasn't even sure if he could get the goblin to do it for them, but perhaps a bribe could do it. They were "intelligent" creatures, meaning they put value in things that the civilized races do, but were much more barbaric in their culture. Roscar would just have to see. But for now, Roscar would see if there was some way to employ Daemien to work with him without "employing" him with guaranteed pay.

"You know, a man with your gifts would be quite helpful with this endeavour. There's no promise of reward, like I said. All I can say is that there's a girl's life in danger right now, and I think it'll take more than one man to do it."

((Tarren, FYI, I'm not blocking you out of the quest right now, but more kind of a "pretending you're there without mentioning it." Don't be afraid to pop in any time you like, wherever we're at.))

[Daemiendrake]

Daemien sipped at his whiskey as the man, who called himself Roscar, explained the situation. It sounded quite dire to him, a girl being kidnapped by goblins. It seemed everywhere he went nowadays someone was in danger. He wasn't the heroic type, but he always stopped to help however he could. The main thing that worried him was the other people in this town. They didn't seem to take kindly to outsiders aiding them.

"Hmmm...should I help this man? How dangerous is this,well, quest?", he thought to himself. As if on cue with his thought Shade barked loudly at him snapping him out of his self inquisition.

"Ah yes...I know Shade, the situation seems quite dire.", he said down to the ferret. He then looked across the table at his new aquaintance. "I would be delighted to offer assistance. Monetary reward isn't really neccessary seeing as how i always manage to get by somehow. So it would seem we need to take this little man into a more quiet place." Daemien had reached an idea in his mind about how to question the little monstrosity.

"The way i see it, his kind were frightened by my little trick. Maybe, just maybe, it'll work twice. You know threaten to sic the ghosts on him unless he tells us where his kin are hiding. Mind you threats are, in my opinion, rather barbaric but the royalty of my lineage would see this as a grim but neccessary course of action." He then smiled to himself, hoping that this man would think highly of his idea. He also, at this point, took the time to survey those around him. He noticed the odd looks he and his companion were getting. Him for talking to Shade most likely, and his companion for having the goblin.

[Roscar Palidyne]

Things were looking up. Not only did he have a companion, he also had an able plan to get the goblin to cooperate. Daemion had thankfully read his mind and saved a lot of explaination. Without further ado, Roscar stands from his seat, hoisting the goblin runt over his shoulder, and throws a few silver on the table. Roscar then makes his way out of the unwelcoming bar, beckoning Daemion to follow the voices of chatter and drunken laughter dying behind him. He could have swore, though, that he had heard the sounds of applause as he stepped out of the pub. Taking a good wiff of the green-skin, he could smell why.

Roscar knew that a goblin inside the city, actually moving about, would be immediately assaulted by the occasional roaming soldiers, so it had to be done outside the city walls. By the map, the nearest good place would be Valeena Lake. Water, perfect. He hadn't felt the goblin move one bit since being knocked out, so he needed some way to throw in back into reality. He took this trek to go into detail with his partner for dealing with and acquiring the goblin's help.

The lake was wide and its water gleamed under the sun's immaculate rays. Geese were waddling their way to the waters to float peacefully, and the chirping of birds could be heard. Their homes must have been in the sparse amount of trees that surrounded the outer edges of the lake shore. The lake was relatively unmarred by the dealings of the sentient races. It was here where the two men would put their plan into action. Roscar points Daemion to get into position behind a nearby oak tree, as he lays the body of the goblin by the nearest shoreline. Roscar doesn't waste any more time as he cups some water into his hands and splashes it on the goblin's face.

With a shriek, the goblin regains consciousness. His body bolts up in surprise, but before he even realizes that Roscar was towering over him, he first feels the blade of Roscar's short spear against his neck. He releases another shreik at the realization of this fact. His voice quivering, he looks back to Roscar with pleading eyes.

"You no kill Gubclod? No kill?"

Roscar was glad the small goblin wasn't as defiant as he orignally feared. This would make negotiations simpler.

"No, I won't kill Gubclod. But, I need Gubclod to do something for me first."

Gubclod's eyes lit up, and he nodded his head in fast anticipation. A glimmer of hope spread over his less intelligent eyes.

"Yes! Yes! Gubclod very good! Me do things! Gubclod do things for you! Yes!"

Things were seeming much less complicated by the second.

"Alright Gubclod." Roscar says with a smile. "All I need you to do is show me where your home is, and then you're free."

Eyes of happy hope melted away with these words. There was no more anticipation in the goblin's face. He snarled and hissed at Roscar, seemiing to not understand the fact that he was pinned by Roscar's spear. No fear was left. Only anger and bloodlust.

"Go ahead kill Gubclod! Dirty human, dirty elves, dirty dwarves! Gubclod no help you! You try kill brothers of Gubclod! I no help!"

Well, you felt it would come to this, didn't you?

Giving a slight sigh that only comes with realizing that things never work out the way you want them to, Roscar puts down the spear, no longer holding the little goblin hostage. He straps the spear back up onto his back, and when he's done he throws his hands up with a kind of resignation. Unbeknownst to the goblin, that was the hand-signal for Daemion to ready his spell and go with the plan.

"Oh well.....you asked for it."

[Daemiendrake]

Daemien gave himself a devilish grin. That flustered display was exactly what he was waiting for. He had hidden behid a large oak, watching the discussion between Roscar and Gubclod. He surveyed his surrounding s and noticed that the lake waters were extremely srene. Perfect.

"Ariet sulter sengrek!" he whispered under his breath. As soon as he finished the arcane utterance, 4 lights appeared beneath the lake. "Artek seclorum antedor!" As he finished then second magical phrase he cupped his hands to his mouth and started to speak as the lights rose out of the lake. The second spell amplified his voice and made it appear to issue forth from the four globes of light.

"GUBCLOD! We are the spirits of all those your people have harmed!" The lights sped toward the now cowering goblin. "BOW DOWN OR WE SHALL SLAY YOU! Foolish impotent goblin cur!" The lights began to whirl around Gubclod as a wet stain appeared on the front of his trousers. He quickly ducked under the swirling globes and ran to Roscar. He dove down and clung to Roscar's leg pleading for his life. "YES! Help this man in his quest and you shall never see us again. Fail him and we shall drag your worthless soul down to the underworld where it belongs!"

[Roscar Palidyne]

Roscar grinned as the cowering goblin shook, though the idea of it having his cheap soiled trousers against his leg wasn't comforting at all. Roscar throws him off his leg with a nice swing of his leg, landing him right in front of the lights. Gobclud sits on the ground, his head buried under his arms, unable to move from the fear. At last, he throws his head up in terrified anguish.

"OK! I HELP HUMAN! NO HURT GOBCLUD! PLEASSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSE!!"

With that, Roscar looks toward the tree that Daemion was hiding behind and nods his head, gesturing for the lights to stop. As they do, Roscar helps the goblin up, dusting the poor frightened thing up a bit with a firm hand.

"Good choice, Gobclud. You won't regret it, alright? I'll get ya somethin' shiny if you help us, too. Oh, and the whole keep your life thing."

Roscar looks to the tree again, this time gesturing an OK sign with his hand, hoping to bring Daemien out from hiding place. When he does come out, the goblin looks at the new presence very confused. Scratching his head, he asks, "Who that?"

Roscar looks to him. "Oh, him? That's Daemien, don't mind him. He's traveling with us. Nice guy. Alright Gobclud, you gotta tell us where to go now."

Pulling out the map that Roscar had previously hoped was "magic" back at the Peaceful Promenade, the goblin began to tell them where they were to head next. First, they would have to backtrack east, following the mountain range back to nearby town to Arask Pass. From there, they would travel through the narrow ravine. After that they would go west, continuing through some forest. That's where they would find Goblin Cove. It would make for a couple day's journey. To get there would be a day or so's journey, by the looks of it. It all seemed to check out. The goblin still looked at Daemien, his small brain trying to put something together, but seemed to be failing.

"What he doing behind tree before?"

Roscar panics a little. "Oh wow, look at that, we need to get going!" Roscar tugs the goblin by the arm, disrupting him of his thought and pushing them onward. Roscar turns around and gives Daemien a thumbs up on the job well done. Their journey was only beginning, honestly, but things were looking well already. Now all they needed to do was get to Arask Pass. But, uninformed, Roscar had no idea what to expect. He just hoped their goblin partner wasn't going to turn on them.

[Taskmienster]

This thread has been sitting for a full year. Since no response has been made to create activity I am going to be moving this. If you would like it to be reopened please feel free to PM myself or another admin and they will be able to move it for you back to Scara Brae.