Chasing Legends -- Part One

[Max Dirks]

Five years ago, a group of terrorists led by the cruel Godhand Striker led an assault against Max Dirks. They destroyed everything he held dear, including his home, his fortune and his love. After returning from the brink of death, the criminal now hunts them one by one to take back the life they stole from him. He will not stop until Godhand Striker, Damon Kaosi, Dan Wilmhearst, Rayse Valentino, Teric Bloodrose, Seth Dahios, Witchblade, Lillian Sesthal, Findelfin ap Fingolfin and Ashiakin are dead.

Part One: Hunting the Lost Rot

Radasanth Library

“Listen boy,” Dirks shot back, “I don’t give two shits about corpses, the fall of Raiaera, or Xem’—whatever. I just want to know where the fuck he’s hiding.”

“I don’t know why you’re here, then,” the jovial young scholar replied. “He entered a tournament with Kylin Rogue once, why don’t you go ask him? Or any of his old cohorts for that matter?” Dirks grit his teeth, but the scholar was unfazed. “Look, it takes years to develop an accurate account of history. All I’ve got here are unsubstantiated stories that say Dan Wilmhearst sided with Xem’Zund in the Corpse War. Some of them say he was in Eluriand at the same time he was in Anebrilith while others accounts are pegged years apart. In other words, until someone comes along and consolidates these stories they’re simply useless as a means to track someone.”

“Isn’t that your job, Ceidon, to ‘consolidate’ stories?”

“Do I look like an initiate to you?” Ceidon Lore retorted. “That stuff is left to the level one orderlies.”

Dirks shook his head as Ceidon droned on about the internal structure of his organization, the Order of the Golden Dawn. Though Ceidon helped Dirks in the past, the criminal’s patience had run out. With one swift motion, Dirks reached into his trench coat and pulled his patented Beretta 950 from its holster. He pulled the hammer and pointed the direct gun at Ceidon’s temple. “Consolidate...the...stories...now!” He demanded.

“Oh! Is that your famous Beretta?” Ceidon called out with glee. The scholar acted as though he was in no peril. “I’ve heard so much about it. Can I hold it?” He asked Dirks. The criminal maintained his aim for a moment, but then sighed in defeat. Shooting Ceidon would be like shooting a kid with Asperger’s Syndrome. Dirks released the hammer and lowered the gun. Ceidon immediately grabbed it and began inspecting it.

“Don’t aim that thing at me,” Dirks cried, as Ceidon pointed the loaded weapon in every direction.

“Oh, sorry,” the young scholar replied. “What’s this marking? Did you have the gun enchanted?”

Dirks nodded. “Unlimited ammo.”

“Neat,” Ceidon replied. “You should get it enchanted to instantly materialize in your hand. That’ll improve your time to fire by 1.26 seconds.”

Dirks raised his left eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Yeah. In fact, when you pulled your gun a second ago, I could have jumped to the side, nocked an arrow and shot it at you before you even aimed. Well, that’s if the gun even fires.” Ceidon released the chamber and inspected the bullets. “These bullets are almost the size of the barrel. I’d say you’ve got about a 20% chance of jamming on each shot…” Ceidon handed the gun back to Dirks in pieces.

“How’d you know… ugh, I need a drink”

This is doubling as a Crimson Hand initiation quest and a Raiaera mission board quest. It is closed to Lye and other guest posters.

[Max Dirks]

Radasanth Library

“Wait a minute, I think I got it!” Ceidon said, breaking the short silence. Dirks, still busy putting his gun back together, did not immediately reply. Ceidon continued, “Could it really be this simple? I mean, ‘x’ hardly ever marks the spot, but in this instance I think it does.”

Dirks holstered his weapon and looked over at the mumbling scholar. Ceidon was looking back and forth at two documents. “Well, spit it out,” the frustrated criminal finally demanded after a few moments.

“This,” Ceidon said. He lifted one of the documents. Dirks squinted. It was Dan Wilmhearst’s wanted poster. It showed the Slayer standing in a striking pose with his massive weapon, the Rotslayer, in hand. “This sword…it’s the Rotslayer, Wilmhearst’s 500 pound buster sword.” Dirks nodded. He was very familiar with the weapon. It had helped lay waste to his home.

“I’m aware. What about it?”

“Well, eye witness reports from the Corpse War stated that Wilmhearst could wield the sword without touching it. He ‘manipulated the blade with his thoughts and destroyed his enemies with a swipe of his wrist’” Ceidon quoted. “Matter manipulation such as this, particularly when it is caused by innate magical abilities, always leaves a resonance.” Dirks knew little about magic, so he stared at Ceidon blankly. “It’s almost like a magical breadcrumb. While there is no one in the Order strong enough to detect such a resonance surely there are others across Althanas who might be able to assist you.”

“What do you mean?” Dirks asked?

“It’s simple,” Ceidon replied, “It means find the sword and you can find Wilmhearst.”

For a moment, Dirks interest was perked, but then he saw the obvious flaw in Ceidon’s logic. “Well, that’s not very helpful if he still has the sword.”

“He doesn’t,” Ceidon replied almost immediately. The scholar’s eyes were glued on the other picture. “This,” he began, “is a picture of my best friend Cohen Ephraim and me at the Silver Pub in Underwood. Gosh I miss Cohen, Dirks. He’s off working some contract for Chronicle. They’re a new group that job cropped up in Corone.” Dirks cleared his throat and Ceidon got the hint. He ushered Dirks to the table. “There, on the mantle above the fireplace. It’s the same sword. It’s the…”

“…Rotslayer.” Dirks interrupted. Suddenly, the same thoughts that plagued Ceidon moments before erupted in Dirks’ mind. Surely it couldn’t be this easy, could it? After briefly becoming excited, a cold chill ran through Dirks spine. “Where did you say this picture was taken, Ceidon?”

“The Silver Pub.”

“Fuck,” Dirks replied, slamming his fist on the table. Roughly a year ago, the Silver Pub was destroyed when the Thayne zealot Lorenor attacked it with a summoned meteor. The Golden Autumn Inn had been built in its stead. Dirks was there roughly four weeks ago and he did not see any sword above the mantle, let a lone such an infamous one. “The Silver Pub is gone. Destroyed. They built the Golden Autumn Inn on top of the rubble.” He proceeded to explain the details of Lorenor’s actions to the scholar.

“So?” Ceidon replied. “Why aren’t you on your way?”

“Because the sword isn't there and it sounds like a ridiculous fucking goose chase to me,” Dirks countered.

“It is? It is any more ridiculous than going door to door in Raiaera asking if they’ve seen a beast of a man with a gun blade and a 500 pound sword? You know the sword’s been there. I can tell you for a fact that Wilmhearst has not been in Corone since that picture was taken. He’s a fairly popular man and there have been no sightings, no suggestive murders or any mention of a 500 pound sword on this island in years”

“Well, what if the sword is a replica? Tshael used to run the Silver Pub, and they were apparently pals. He was at her wedding.” Dirks knew this because he bounced for Tshael's wedding and he and Wilmhearst had gotten into a minor altercation.

“That’s all the more reason to assume it’s real!” Ceidon replied earnestly. The usually jolly scholar was clearly getting irritated with the criminal’s lack of vision. “Look, you’re hunting someone who clearly doesn’t want to be found. Or he might already be dead, who knows? I’ve been searching for Althanas’ secrets for a long time. If I’ve learned one thing in my travels, it’s to never leave any stone unturned. The most ridiculous lead is still a lead and it must be worked through until it can be eliminated as a plausible theory. If you’re unwilling to go to Concordia to find a sword, are you really ready to blindly go to Raiaera to kill a man?”

Dirks frowned. Ceidon, in all his foolishness, was right. Unwilling to give the scholar any gratification, Dirks let out an audible sigh and grabbed the picture from Ceidon’s hands. “I need to borrow this. I’ll be back when I find the sword.” Ceidon objected, but Dirks ignored his rant.

Find the sword and you find Wilmhearst. Dirks silently repeated. Without any additional fanfare, he made his way out of the library and onto the cobblestone streets of Radasanth.

[Max Dirks]

Two days later...

The Golden Autumn Inn

Max Dirks slid onto an empty stool with a frown on his face. The Golden Autumn Inn did not have a fireplace or a mantle, let alone a 500-pound buster sword adorning its walls. In fact, the décor seemed to be the only thing that changed, as the Inn was still packed with it's typical Underwood dregs.

“What can I get you?” the burly ginger haired bartender said as he approached the criminal.

“A pint of Lavinian Ale,” Dirks replied. The bartender worked the tap, then handed Dirks the glass.

“That’ll be 2 gold.”

“And 50 more if you can provide me with a little information,” Dirks laid the bribe out on the bar. The ginger hesitated for a moment, but eventually grabbed the money and tucked it into his tunic.

“What exactly do you need?” He said, leaning in close.

“About a year and a half ago—back when this place was still the Silver Pub—there was a giant sword hanging above a fireplace in that corner of the bar.” Dirks pointed to a corner that now contained a coat rack. “Whatever happened to that sword?”

“Well,” the bartender scratched his beard. The pause was unnaturally long. “To be honest, I only moved to Underwood a few months ago when my Grandpappy died.” Dirks made a fist and cracked his knuckles. “Seriously!” the bartender responded, “And I ain’t heard no one talk about no sword, neither.”

Dirks picked up his glass and then slammed it down onto the bar in frustration. The glass did not break, but ale spilled all over the counter. “Useless,” Dirks said, rising from his seat. He was tempted to strangle the bartender to get his bribe back, but he knew the man was telling the truth. The real issue here is that Dirks had followed Ceidon’s cockamamie lead in the first place. His anger was better saved for the bumbling scholar.

“You should ask one of the regulars if they’ve seen your sword.” The bartender called out as Dirks walked away. “That one, in the corner there, he’s been coming in here at least two times a week since I started. Maybe he can help.”

Dirks eyes slowly moved his right, and when he saw this “regular”, he sighed. In the corner of the bar furthest from the door sat one of the most powerful and most mentally disturbed characters on all of Althanas. To some, he was known as the “Breaker of Man”, but to Dirks he was just another annoying steroid laden meathead.

“Well, well, well,” taunted Dirks as he walked across the bar. “If it isn’t my old pal, Joshua Cronen…”

Dirks pays 52 GP. Breaker has the first guest post.

[Breaker]

"You should let me kill him," the young dark elven princess whispered in Breaker's ear from her seat on his lap. "I have not seen such a rude man since my visit to Scara Brae." Her soft azure ears flicked in aggravation. "I understand this Dirks' head could fetch a healthy bounty in the right circles." She flicked at the red tassel adorning the throwing spike on her hip. Like Cronen, she had heard every word uttered between the criminal and the bartender.

"You're a killer for hire now, Autumn?" Josh joked in an equally muted tone. He and the Aleraran had not seen each other since Breaker's first night working at the Flesh Failures in Radasanth, but the sleekly fitted sifan outfit she wore did not suggest a lack of coin flowing from her nation's royal coffers.

"I have enlisted the services of a land broker here in Underwood," the blue-skinned beauty reminded him, "A little extra weight in my purse, and you may have me as a neighbor," she nipped his neck, "Heartbreaker." Josh sighed, closing his eyes as Max Dirks sauntered toward their table. Remembering the night he'd met Autumn and the reason she'd given him his much-adapted nickname made keeping the Aleraran princess around seem like a smart idea. On the other hand he felt he owed Dirks slightly better than a surgically placed throwing spike to the face.

"Hey," the bearded Salvic man seated across the table cut in, "I spent six days worth of whisky-coin tracking down Miss Autumn here. You two are bloody well gonna' enjoy each others' company!" Reyjan tugged at his curly black beard. "If anyone needs to drain that blind idiot's innards it'll be me!" The boy downed a shot of Yurik's Firewhisky and then poured himself another from the near full bottle on the table. Reyjan was an old friend and ally from the Salvic Civil War. The bartender had indicated the burly-shouldered northerner as his "regular", not Cronen, but Dirks had never won any contests of depth perception. Since visiting Underwood Reyjan had made it his purpose to re-introduce certain vital elements to the Breaker's everyday life.

Mostly women and whisky.

Autumn vibrated with laughter as Reyjan bounded out of his seat to intercept Dirks' path. Josh ran a hand down her thigh and squeezed her sleek quadriceps appreciately. He lifted his glass of water and took a sip, wondering what Dirks could possibly want, and how the bastard had managed to pick such a bad time to show up.

"Cronen's on vacation, softhands." The bearded man said, aiming a poke at Max's chest. "Anyone wants to speak to him's gotta get through me." Reyjan's face split into a toothy grin as he signaled to the bartender for another glass and a canvas drinking straw. "And the only way to get through me is to prove your worth at Firewhisky Press!"

Several of the locals raised their glasses at the name of the game - it had become a regular spectacle since Reyjan's arrival. In the space of seconds all eyes were on Dirks and the odd trio he had approached.